Ordinary People

The worst day since yesterday---

The next five weeks simultaneously crawled and flew by. Severus could not decide whether he would have preferred for them to slow down or to speed up. Speeding them up would have brought final exams and the end of the semester more quickly, but at the same time, slowing them down would have meant being able to savor his evenings in Hermione's company.

All of the students and many of the professors were so completely wrapped up in the typical pre-exam rush that he probably could have stripped down naked and danced on the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall during supper without capturing anyone's notice. Hermione had even reported that Potter and Weasley were finally leaving her alone in lieu of their studies. Of course, they were now apparently pestering her for help studying, which she'd been reluctant to give.

"I don't want to spend the next month trying to cram seven years' worth of classes into their heads," she'd told him one evening. "And besides, it isn't as if either one of them isn't intelligent and perfectly capable of reviewing on their own."

Severus had privately disagreed with her assessment of her friends, but he wasn't about to share that with her. And perhaps, in some small way, Hermione was correct. Potter and Weasley might be fairly intelligent, but he still stood firm in his conviction that between them was probably significantly less than an ounce of common sense.

And now, with roughly a week until the beginning of exams, the corridors were daily deserted, as students packed into their Common Rooms and the library to study and professors sequestered themselves in their offices, writing out exams and trying to fit a few last-minute bits of knowledge into the more stubborn students knocking on their doors.

Fortunately for Severus, his second year of teaching, he'd stumbled across a triply-warded room adjacent to his office, wondering what it could be. It took him nearly six months to bring down the wards, but once he had, he discovered a treasure trove of information. Fifty years' worth of old Potions exam papers, for first through fourth and sixth years. It was common practice among all the professors, of course, to retain exams for ten years, just in case they were needed for some reason, but to Severus' knowledge, no one saved them from any further back.

But Severus was no fool. While some other idiot might have cleaned out the dusty room and used it for something else, Severus restored the wards immediately and began devising an exam schedule. If he used twenty-three year old exams and worked his way through the old papers in that fashion, no one would notice that his exams were recycling. Too many years for most siblings to notice it, and too few for parents.

The only final exams Severus had ever written were the ones he'd come up with his first year of teaching. Since then, he'd used his archives, making a few corrections and adjustments as his curriculum altered slightly. The end result, then, being that it took Severus only about three hours to come up with his finals and it generally took the rest of the professors the better part of two weeks. The foolish ones, like McGonagall, who was convinced that she should make her exams interesting, often took even longer, as they wanted so-called 'thought-provoking' questions. Severus had never found a single 'thought-provoking' question on any Transfigurations exam he'd ever taken in his entire life.

Maybe one day, if he remembered to, he'd ask Hermione if she'd ever found McGonagall's exams interesting. Of course, she probably would. Silly girl.

Although Severus noted with great delight that she'd finally conceded his point and given up trying to study further for her NEWTs. But she'd informed him primly about two weeks ago that she was taking the week before exams to study and he wasn't going to stop her and she would hex him if he tried.

He wasn't actually going to try, of course. She was mostly correct--she did need to study, at least a bit. But it was nonsensical for her to have started revising back in March and he was gratified that he'd finally gotten her to acknowledge that fact.

Instead of studying, then, Hermione had continued on Iustus, working through his description of what she was now calling the 'Ritual of Death.' He'd told her how pompous that sounded, but she'd promptly thrown a roll of parchment at his kneecap and he'd left it alone. Besides, Severus himself was becoming more and more intrigued with the ritual, against his better judgement.

It was not particularly complicated. The child of the person you wanted to kill had to surrender some of their blood, completely willingly, of course, and then you said a few ritual words as you symbolically spilled the blood on the ground. Not even exceedingly difficult, given the presence of a willing donor. And that was the interesting point, really. It took a wizard of above-average strength and a fair amount of willpower to be able to control the Killing Curse well enough to use it against an actual person, but practically anyone could use Iustus' ritual. It didn't even seem to require the use of a wand.

Severus had wondered aloud whether or not a Muggle could successfully perform the ritual and Hermione had tartly asked him if he really wanted to know the answer to that question. That response more or less meant that she didn't know either and he'd tactfully switched the subject.

The other question was the incantation itself. Severus was of the opinion that it had to be recited in the original Latin, but Hermione replied that just because the earliest account they currently had was written in Latin didn't mean that the incantation was as well. "Delacroix had absolutely no grasp on Latin and he used the ritual," she'd argued.

So they had a Latin copy of the incantation and an extremely rough English one. The pieces of parchment looked so innocuous in Hermione's hands that Severus often forgot that they held the power to kill someone. Fortunately, she'd put them away soon after completing them and Severus tried very hard not to think about the fact that she routinely carried the earliest known form of the Killing Curse in her rucksack.

And despite the grisly nature of her discovery, Hermione was still delighted with it. She was enjoying her work, possibly even more than she enjoyed working in the laboratory. The look of sheer joy in her eyes after she'd completed the passage on the ritual simultaneously unsettled and amused him.

She'd probably approach a vampire and ask him for a blood sample, Severus reflected with a little snort. He wondered if there was actually anything that bothered her or made her truly afraid. Probably not. She would be too interested in seeing how whatever it was worked to bother being scared. It was oddly alluring.

He was turning into a right old sap, really. Mooning over a woman. There was something deeply bitter inside him that rebelled at the very thought of love. But slowly, it was dying down, smothered by the wonder that Hermione actually returned his love.

Severus had been terrified nearly continuously these four months past. Terrified that Hermione would suddenly come out of her daze, realize she was being held by the evil old Potions Master and laugh in his face.

And at the same time, he'd marveled at the reactions he could provoke in her. Her blushes at his compliments (as the weeks progressed, he'd become more elaborate in his declarations, just to see the blush deepen), her satisfied grins as he pounced on her at random intervals and smothered her with kisses, just to prove that he could. Courtship was as simultaneously wonderful and horrible as he'd been led to believe. He could stand poised on the edge of this juxtaposition forever and be content. Well, mostly.

He had to admit, sitting in a chair with Hermione's knees pressing into his hips and her tongue sweetly exploring his was the closest to heaven he'd ever been. He'd been trying to finish up the last few touches on his third-years' exams when Hermione had seated herself on his lap, presumably to see exactly what he was working on. It had taken her less than fifteen minutes to distract him entirely from his task and he rather suspected she was proud of herself.

The exams now sat forlornly on the floor amidst the bits of parchment she'd been translating to. Severus was fairly certain he had ink on his face from when Hermione had pitched the quill across the room, but he wasn't complaining. Instead, he chose to wrap his arms around her waist and draw her closer, hands sliding up her sides and mouth moving down her throat.

Hermione's hands tangled in his hair and she panted into his ear. "That feels good," she said, low and surprisingly sultry.

His nerve endings sprang to life, skin tingling even where she hadn't touched it. In response, he hummed into the curve of her neck, suckling hard enough that he knew she'd have a small bruise there.

Moving to his chest, her hands pushed him away so that she could capture his mouth again. His thumbs brushed the sides of her breasts hopefully and she smiled against his lips, tilting her hips firmly into his and then ...

She froze, mouth closing.

Severus dropped his hands as if burnt. "I'm sorry," he muttered, willing himself not to cross his hands over the part of his body she'd unknowingly just thrust into.

Relaxing a bit, Hermione gave him a shaky smile. "Don't be ... it's just that I hadn't ... I mean ..."

"I'm sor--"

"Don't apologize, Severus," she said firmly. "I hadn't realized, is all. It's normal, you know."

"I know," he said lamely. "I just didn't want ..."

"Good Lord!" Hermione cried. "Severus, it's not as if you were forcing yourself on me. And besides, if I'm not mistaken, this is a natural progression for people who're in love with each other."

"Do you want to talk about this?" he asked, nearly withdrawing completely.

"Not as much as you apparently want to," she said, giving him a cheeky grin that nearly undid his resolve. "I mean, I hadn't really planned anything out, as it were, but if I were to say anything, it would probably boil down to: I've never, you've never. You haven't, have you?"

Exasperated, Severus sighed. "Hermione ..."

"Sorry," she replied, remorseless.

"I just ... want to make sure everything is all right," he said, not knowing how to go about this and aware that she was tensing.

She fiddled with the cuff of his shirt, folding the edges over themselves and not making eye-contact. "What makes you think something's wrong? Did I ...?"

"Oh, no," he reassured her. "But this is a ... significant step, I think, and it warrants a little more than 'I've never, you've never,' in my mind, at least."

Relaxing in his arms, she smiled again. "Do you want me to run fetch a couple of candles from Lavender for the occasion?"

"Please stop deliberately misunderstanding me," he said sternly, putting a hand on her chin and forcing her to look up at him. "I'm attempting to be serious and cooperation would be helpful."

Her eyes skittered away from his momentarily before making full contact. "Severus, this isn't something that's comfortable to talk about, you know."

"You had managed to convey that point fairly effectively," he replied dryly, letting his hand trace the curve of her neck and come to a stop on her shoulder.

Her fingers moved from his shirt-cuff to his collar, playing with the top button. "I don't know--there's no right way to go about this, I don't think. I mean, those stupid books you keep confiscating from the girls talk about moonlit evenings on the beach and heaving bosoms and silk sheets, but I can't imagine actually going about this that way."

"So you do read those books," he said, tapping her nose with a single finger. "I'd always suspected."

"What happened to being serious?" she asked teasingly.

Severus shrugged a bit. "I can't be serious when you're blathering on about romance novels. But I confess that I'm rather glad to hear your pragmatism."

"Not pragmatism, exactly," she replied. "That somehow implies that I'm settling for something."

"And you're not?"

To her credit, Hermione only rolled her eyes slightly before she kissed him.

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"So ... did bosoms heave?" Severus asked her playfully as he drew a single finger down one of the scars Lestrange left on her torso.

"In the interest of scientific research, I believe we ought to establish a proper range before we can fully answer that question," she replied with a little smile. "And stop doing that! It tickles."

" All right," he said, moving his hands to a location that elicited a surprised squeak from her. "I'm sorry I don't have any silk sheets, either," he continued blandly. "If I'd known that you had a fantasy built up, I would have made preparations."

"I didn't have a fantasy built up," she retorted good-naturedly. "And besides, you know as well as I do that if we'd tried to do anything involving silk sheets, someone would have been perilously injured. Silk is slippery," Tugging at a lock of his hair, she gave him a gentle kiss on the lips.

He grinned. "More of your pragmatism, I see."

"Our track record is sadly self-evident," Hermione said, curling further into his side and yawning a bit.

"Maybe you ought to go back to your room," he said quietly, evenly.

"Do you want me to leave?"

"That does not merit a response." Severus wrapped his arms around her and pulled her even more firmly against him.

She wriggled a bit, making herself comfortable. "I'll stay, then."

"Won't your roommates notice your absence?"

Hermione snorted. "They're so busy studying for Divination that I could probably walk in and inform them of exactly what I've been doing this evening and who I've been doing it with in incredible detail and they wouldn't even so much as look up from their books."

"How do they study for Divination?" Severus asked curiously. "I didn't know that was possible."

"Parvati and Lavender are perhaps the only two students in the entire school who haven't resorted to simply making up Divination results," she replied drowsily. "I'm just glad I got Lavender to stop burning incense in the room last year. You could tell she was walking down the hall fifteen feet before she actually got there because of the patchouli cloud drifting in her wake."

Mentally gagging with the thought, he kissed her shoulder and relished her soft sigh. Sleep was not far off for either of them, he realized as she yawned once again.

"'Night, Severus," she mumbled into his neck, letting her eyes slide shut.

He hummed in reply and allowed sleep to claim him as well.

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There was a collective sigh as the seventh-year Gryffindors stumbled into their Common Room, weary after their first NEWT.

"Well, that's Charms down," Ron announced to the group. "And Divination."

Arithmancy, Hermione mentally corrected, remaining silent.

"Transfigurations tomorrow," Neville said gloomily. "Want to study in here?"

Most of the students agreed with grim smiles and several moved toward their dormitories to collect their books. Hermione just coughed a bit and retraced her steps toward the portrait hole. "I'm going to go to the library for a little while," she said to no one in particular.

Ron looked up at her, alarmed. "But it's nearly curfew," he protested.

Shrugging, she hesitated momentarily at the exit. "There are extended hours on account of exams, you know. Madam Pince won't throw anyone out until eleven."

He let her leave without further protest. She, of course, had no intention of going to the library and headed toward Severus' quarters unerringly, encountering no one in the hallways. In fact, she had the added incentive of having left her Transfigurations textbook in his sitting room. Perhaps she might even open it.

Hermione had forced herself through revisions all last week and stayed away from Severus, knowing he would only distract her from her work, intentionally or not. But during the exam week itself, she had no intention of denying herself of his company--she'd studied enough for her own comfort the week before and if she didn't know enough by now, she wasn't going to by tomorrow.

And besides, if she had to endure another second of hesitant questions from her fellow students on the exact wand motion needed to turn a kitten into a puppy or the number of ounces of powdered bicorn horn in a Polyjuice Potion, she was going to scream. Her only consolation was that in less than seven days, they would stop. In less than five days, actually.

She wondered if it was that high level of NEWT-induced anxiety that prevented anyone from noticing any difference in her over the last week or so. Hermione certainly felt different and assumed it was probably reflected in her bearing. She wondered if Severus felt different after last week as well. It wasn't something they would discuss, even if they'd spent any time together after that night, which, of course, her self-imposed study schedule had more or less prevented.

Coming up on the suit of armor, Hermione noticed with a start that it was already gone. Apparently, Severus had heard her approaching footsteps and greeted her in the open doorway, leaning casually against the stone wall and smirking lazily at her. "Good evening," he drawled. "How were your first exams?"

She shrugged. "They're over. How were yours?"

Turning to allow her to walk past him into his quarters, Severus placed a casual hand at the small of her back. "They're over," he echoed. "And only one student fainted."

"Fainted?" she asked with a quirked eyebrow.

"I don't think it was in any way my fault," he replied. "You know Ravenclaws and exams--the poor boy probably hadn't slept in a month. He even stayed to finish after I woke him up."

"And then you sent him to Madam Pomfrey," she prompted.

"And then I sent him to Madam Pomfrey," Severus parroted with a grin. "Honestly, Hermione, I'm not quite that cruel. I even offered to let him go see her before, but he wanted to stay."

Hermione regarded him with suspicion. "Just how often does this happen in your exams?" she asked.

"Generally not during the written sections," he said. "But quite often on the practicals, for obvious reasons. I've taken to keeping a fairly large stock of Pepper-Up Potion in my desk during finals week. I also try not to test students on potions that are easily combustible--they're nervous enough without the added possibility of blowing themselves up."

"You're too kind," she said sarcastically. "Next thing you know, you'll stop reducing first-years to tears."

Severus rolled his eyes. "That usually only happens a couple times in a year," he defended himself.

Patting his arm, Hermione retrieved her textbook from the table she'd left it on and sat down in one of his armchairs. "I'm glad to hear it."

"You're studying?" he asked with a grimace.

She opened her book and gave him a stern look over the spine. "Really, Severus," she began in a fair imitation of McGonagall, "these are the NEWTs. They determine my future and it is very important that I excel."

He snorted.

"I'm not going to study all night," she said with an exasperated sigh. "But I might as well refresh my memory on self-Transfiguration. Harry asked me about it last night and I couldn't quite remember the specifics."

"Bloody right you're not going to study all night," Severus grumbled. "You can just go back to your room if that's what you're going to do."

"And here I thought you'd be glad to see me," she said airily. "What with me being off all last week, revising."

Suddenly he was right beside her chair, his warm breath puffing on her neck as he spoke. "I am glad to see you," he muttered. "But I am somewhat less glad to see your Transfigurations text."

Hermione suppressed her shudder. "Twenty minutes."

"Ten." Severus planted a kiss on her cheek and allowed his hand to drift to a rather pleasant but decidedly inappropriate place on her person.

"Fine," she said, shoving him away with only a little regret. "But you've got to go over there." Pointing toward the other chair. "Go stare gloomily into the fire or something."

"Gloomily?" he inquired.

"Shut up."

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"We're done!" Harry shouted jubilantly as he nearly ran out of the Potions classroom.

"No more classes, ever!" Ron cried, darting after his friend.

Hermione followed the two boys more demurely, choosing not to comment on the completion of their NEWTs. It seemed rather redundant, after what Ron and Harry had already expressed.

"So, what, 'Mione?" Harry asked over his shoulder. "Already mourning the end of classes?"

Making a face, she picked up her pace to walk side-by-side with the boys. "Mourning?" she asked derisively. "Hardly."

"I find that hard to believe," Ron scoffed. "Hermione Granger, glad to be done with school?"

"For your information, Ron," she said stiffly, "there are more important things in life than school."

"Like Quidditch," he replied with a cheerful grin.

She rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him. "You know what I mean, you prat."

"Yes, yes," he said, waving an impatient hand in the air. "The beginning of our adult lives, moving on to the next step and so on. Very important business, that."

"I'd like to start the beginning of our adult lives with supper," Harry interjected. "What time is it?"

Ron glanced at his watch. "Sorry, mate. We've got a good hour before they start serving. I've got a few Chocolate Frogs in my trunk, though, if you're starving."

"Famished," he agreed with a grin.

"Celebratory Chocolate Frogs it is, then," Ron cried. "On to the Common Room!"

Laughing and bantering, the three of them made their way up to Gryffindor tower and into the suddenly more cheerful Common Room. Ron went up to their dormitory to retrieve the Frogs and Hermione and Harry flopped onto the sofa, still chatting.

Harry was regaling her with his best Flitwick impression, even going so far as to stand up on the sofa and topple over the edge, affecting surprise, and Hermione was trying her best to breathe through her rampant giggles when an owl suddenly swooped into the room through an open window and dropped a fairly large parcel onto Harry's head.

"Hey!" he cried, picking up the package and glaring at the owl. "You could be more careful, you know," he told the owl.

The bird just hooted and flew back out the window.

"Curious," Hermione said, looking down at the brown parcel. "Wonder why it didn't wait for the breakfast post tomorrow. Or why it wasn't delivered this morning, for that matter."

Shrugging, Harry turned it over in his hands experimentally. "Dunno. Maybe it just got a late start. It was just a post owl. Or at least, I didn't recognize him. Did you?"

She shook her head. "What is it, anyway?"

"From Mrs. Weasley," he said curiously, shaking it gently.

"Strange."

Harry didn't reply.

"Hey, whatcha got there?" Ron asked from the staircase.

"Package from your Mum," Harry responded absently.

"Huh," Ron said. "Probably some after-exam sweets or something for us. Wonder why she didn't send it to me, though."

"She didn't use Errol, either," he continued, a thoughtful look on his face.

Shrugging, Ron dropped a few Chocolate Frogs on the sofa and offered Harry a hand to stand. "You know how Errol is. She probably just sent it through the Post Office since it's heavier than just a letter."

"Probably." But Harry continued to turn the parcel over and over in his hands.

"Well, come on, then," he prodded. "Open it."

Hermione was filled with a sudden sense of dread. "Harry, wait!"

Startled, both boys gave her confused looks. "What?" Harry asked slowly.

"Don't open it," she said breathlessly, shaking her head. "What if it's ... you know, dangerous?"

Ron sighed. "Hermione, it's from Mum. The most dangerous thing in it might be a new jumper she's knitted."

"But it's so strange," she protested. "I think we ought to take it to someone."

"Who?" he asked. "Dumbledore? Oh, sorry to disturb you, Headmaster," he began in a falsetto, "only Harry's got a package he's afraid of. Will you open it for us?"

Hermione resisted the urge to clobber him. "Ron ..." Gritting her teeth, she closed her hands into fists. "For pity's sake ..."

"Don't be stupid, Hermione," Ron said. "Come on, Harry, maybe it's toffee."

"I dunno," Harry said. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief--at least Harry might be listening to her. "But it is from your Mum ..."

"Harry ..." she tried one last time as she saw his hands move to break the seal.

But it was in vain. Pulling off the lid, Harry peered down into the box, confusion evident on his face.

"What is it?" Ron asked excitedly.

"Strange," he replied. "A little box, like." His hand reached tentatively forward into the box. "Pretty little design on the top, though."

Hermione watched Harry's hand dip further into the box as if in slow-motion. And it clicked.

Severus' little puzzle box. The one that had been missing since January.

"Harry, don't!" she cried, just as the tips of his fingers made contact with the puzzle box.

With a surprised cry, Harry vanished into thin air, leaving Ron and Hermione to gape at the empty space in which he'd been standing.

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