Ordinary People

Conditions of complete reality---

Righteous ire mixed with liberal amounts of self-pity made poor fare, Hermione reflected. And she wasn't only considering her physical appetite. In fact, she currently was quite disinterested in food; she hadn't left her dormitory since Dumbledore had sent her there two nights ago and still had no real desire to.

It had become painfully clear how closely McGonagall intended to observe her the previous day, when she brought a stack of exams along when she showed up at Hermione's bedside. She'd stayed until Parvati came into the room and departed only when it became obvious that Parvati was retiring for the night. Not a word had been exchanged--a cold, tangible silence rested between them.

For her own part, Hermione was content to lie on her bed listlessly, focusing on the dull ache that had taken up residence in her left side. She'd changed the dressings the day before, noting dispassionately that they were blood-spotted. The wound itself was quite ugly, the surrounding skin red and angrily puffy, muting the black stitches and purpling edges of skin pulling at their bindings. Not knowing if that was to be expected, she just put on a fresh bandage, like Madam Pomfrey had shown her in the Infirmary.

The pain, however, had only really resumed in earnest some time in the night. Hermione dimly suspected that was not normal but, in the end, let it pass. Somehow the pain made her feel more real--she'd been suspended in this laconic, unanimated state for nearly two days. No one had spoken to her in that time and, apart from a few initial tears that were more fury than sadness, she had not made a conscious sound.

If Dumbledore was bent on punishing her like a small child, she would be damned if she wasn't going to act like one.

What irritated her above all things, though, now that she'd had ample time to give it consideration, was his blind presumption. Other than allowing them to confirm the existence of a potentially questionable relationship, he had not permitted them a defense of any sort, preferring his own conclusions, drawn in the absence of the facts surrounding the circumstances.

She had attempted to convince herself that it didn't actually matter, from a rational standpoint, whether or not Dumbledore was aware of the complete situation. She and Severus had broken an important rule, regardless, and ought to be punished.

But every time she tried to tell herself this, Dumbledore's accusing face flashed in front of her eyes and she became upset all over again.

All of a sudden, Hermione's line of vision was flooded with blinding light as someone tore her bedcurtains open so violently the rings rattled. Blinking, she tried to see who it was.

"It's been forty-eight hours since I last saw you," a woman said. "And I distinctly recall requiring daily visits as terms for your release."

Squinting, Hermione made out the tip of Madam Pomfrey's hat and sighed. "Sorry," she said remorselessly. Was it possible the mediwitch wasn't aware of her confinement? "I have not been allowed to leave the tower," she continued cautiously.

Pomfrey clucked, mercifully blocking some of the bright sunlight as she moved closer to Hermione, stripping off her pajama top with ease and skillfully ignoring her protests. "Nonsense," she said with a gentle prod at the dressing. "I told you to take it easy, dear. That doesn't mean you have to restrict yourself to bed. If I'd wanted that, I would have kept you in the Infirmary."

Hermione was incredulous. She really didn't know what had happened. "Um, Madam Pomfrey, have you spoken with the headmaster recently?" she asked, unbelieving.

Quickly, Pomfrey pulled off the dressing, face sharpening upon seeing the actual wound. "Not lately," she said in clipped tones. "What on Earth have you managed to do to yourself, child?" She placed a cool hand on Hermione's forehead, frowning further. "You're feverish. Miss Granger, you've worked yourself into a fine low-grade infection. Why didn't you come to me as I requested?"

"I'd forgotten in all of the rush," Hermione admitted, her utter shock at the fact that there was still one person in the castle that didn't know what had happened transcending her impulse to be recalcitrant and uncooperative. "Professor Dumbledore said I couldn't leave my rooms and I was just so mad ..."

"Why did Albus say that?" she inquired mildly, pulling a jar out of her sleeve somehow.

Wincing at the sting of the gel Pomfrey was smearing over her wound, she shifted unconsciously, giving the mediwitch better access to her side. "Well, when he found out about ... that is ... you really don't know?" she asked.

She shook her head, coming up with a bottle out of nowhere and uncapping it. "Drink that. All of it--it should take care of your fever and a fair amount of that infection. I can guess, Miss Granger, that you must have somehow made the headmaster quite angry. Although from what I've observed as of late, he has been none too pleased with your behavior. Yours or Professor Snape's for that matter."

The potion Hermione was sipping gingerly was surprisingly un-medicinal, even going so far as to have a rather pleasant fruity undercurrent. She thought briefly about inquiring as to its ingredients but rapidly decided she would probably be better off not knowing. "Funny you should mention ..." she began in an ironic tone.

With a little frown, Pomfrey started applying fresh dressings to Hermione's side. "Now, dear, it's none of my business, I'm sure. I'm sorry you're in trouble, of course, but I confess it makes me feel a little better knowing that you're not permitted to run around the castle like you normally do. I'll be by tomorrow to check up on you," she said, taping the gauze down and helping her back into her pajama top. "Get some rest, Miss Granger."

She offered the mediwitch what she hoped was a reassuring smile as Pomfrey pulled the bedcurtains closed once more, leaving Hermione again alone with her thoughts.

----------

The house-elves must have cleaned his office last night, Severus thought to himself. Running a finger perversely along the surface of his newly polished desk, he smiled grimly at the smear it left. He resisted the sudden urge to spill a glass of water on the old wood and wondered briefly at the recent onslaught of destructive impulses he'd experienced.

True to his word, Dumbledore had spent the last two nights in Severus' quarters, drinking tea and watching him like a hawk. Dumbledore showed up at his office after supper--Severus was not attending meals as he couldn't bear the thought of sitting in the same room with Hermione and not being able to speak with her--and walked with him down to his rooms, where a steaming pot of tea and a plate of the headmaster's favorite treats were inevitably waiting.

The first night, he'd attempted small talk, asking Severus about his students' finals, Slytherin's Quidditch prospects for next year, and such banal things that it took every fiber of Severus' self-control not to throw his teacup at Dumbledore's smiling face. Perhaps, however, Dumbledore had realized this and subsequently treated the situation with the gravity it deserved, content to merely watch Severus scowl at the rug in silence.

But the final indignity was one that Severus had only discovered by accident. Awaking last night around two in the morning and stumbling to the lavatory, he'd nearly knocked over the headmaster hovering in the hallway. Dumbledore was actually performing bedchecks, above and beyond merely seeing Severus to bed every night. He was slipping back into Severus' rooms to make sure he did not leave.

The wave of raw fury that washed over Severus in that moment had left him shaking, but he'd simply given Dumbledore a tired look and continued on his way to the loo, feeling something deep inside him break even further.

His relationship with the headmaster had always been of a complex nature, or, at least, Severus had always considered it as such. Dumbledore kept him under his protection here at Hogwarts, as safe from Voldemort and the Death Eaters as he could be, and in return, Severus offered him what little he could. He had thought that, through the years, they had developed a sort of friendship, a sort of mutual regard for each other.

Apparently that was simply not the case. Dumbledore clearly regarded himself as Severus' employer and nothing more. In that light, the headmaster's ire and punishment were not only understandable but acceptable to Severus. Harsh, perhaps, but Severus had been breaking some fairly significant rules as of late.

But to be on the receiving end of such a thing from someone he considered a more or less close friend ... that was unforgivable. Severus may have entrusted the headmaster with his life, but Dumbledore clearly didn't trust him one whit. Not about Voldemort, not about Malfoy, and now, not with Hermione. Maybe Dumbledore really did see him as nothing more than a useful traitor, after all. And now that his usefulness had run out, where did that put him, really?

In a dungeon, alone, with only an old man to babysit him, it seemed.

With a disgusted sigh, Severus stood and stalked out of his office. Enough of this. If he wasn't going to actually finish up his marking, he could sulk just as well in his comfortable armchair in his sitting room as the hard wooden desk chair in his office. Maybe if he didn't look down at the chintz design on the upholstery, he wouldn't hear Hermione laughing about it in his head.

"Memento mori," he growled at his armor impatiently.

Oddly, nothing happened.

"Memento mori," he repeated, louder and more distinctly.

Again, the armor remained stubbornly in place.

Rolling his eyes, Severus turned and walked down the hallway. "Wonderful," he grumbled under his breath.

Fortunately, Argus Filch was in his office, grooming a Mrs. Norris who was purring like a rusty motor. He looked up, startled at Severus' entrance. "What can I do for you, Professor Snape?" he asked with a wide grin.

Inwardly, he sighed. Of course Filch knew what had happened. "Something's wrong with the entrance to my quarters."

The grin widened. "I believe that's between you and the headmaster, Professor," he replied, definitely smirking now.

Not choosing to reply, Severus simply left Filch to his cat and made his way up to Dumbledore's office. "Ice Mice," he said tightly, willing the gargoyle to move faster.

The headmaster's eyes narrowed upon seeing who had just entered his office. "What are you doing up here, Severus?" he asked, a warning clear in his tone.

"I cannot access my quarters," he replied.

"I have taken the liberty of changing your passwords," Dumbledore said. "I think it best if I escort you to your rooms in the evenings."

Opening his mouth, Severus realized he didn't know what to say to that, and he closed it once more. Inwardly, he was screaming.

"Do you have something to say, Severus?"

He willed himself to calm down, breathing deeply through his nose and digging his fingernails into his palms. "I would like to retire to my rooms now, Albus, if that's not too much trouble," he said through clenched teeth.

With one last glance at the papers liberally scattered across his desktop--Severus saw yesterday's edition of the Daily Prophet among them, headlines about Voldemort's death in stark black capitals--Dumbledore rose and walked around his desk. "I don't see why not," he said blithely. "In fact, I could do with a cup of tea right about now."

----------

Yesterday had been the first day Hermione had left her bed. Madam Pomfrey had all but ordered her to on her morning visit. "You've only got three more days to enjoy Hogwarts, Miss Granger, and I would take advantage if I were you," she'd said.

And now she only had two more days. Well, one and a half, really, she thought, watching the afternoon sun cast shadows on the floor of the Common Room.

Gryffindor Tower was fairly empty as of late. Harry Potter was off giving interviews and meeting with Ministry officials, giving out the official story of the death of Voldemort (leaving Iustus' ritual out, as per Dumbledore's instructions) which now involved a duel to the death and fighting off more than twenty Death Eaters alongside the brave Professor Snape and Hermione Granger. She wondered occasionally if anyone had questioned Harry's tale, but she hadn't seen him so wasn't able to actually ask. Most everyone else seemed to be permanently outside, out by the lake or on the Quidditch pitch, celebrating in general. Voldemort was dead, finals were over--what on Earth was there to be unhappy about?

She folded her hands behind her head and stared out the window, watching a laughing Ginny Weasley coach a rather nervous-looking Neville as they flew around carefully on broomsticks. For all that Neville had matured and grown, he was still nearly as anxious as Hermione herself was about flying. The more things change, she thought with a slight smile, the more they stay the same.

Her side was much better today. Madam Pomfrey had actually smiled upon seeing it this morning. Apparently, Voldemort's hex was fading--her wound might respond to magical treatment in the near future. And Pomfrey had informed her stiffly that the second she could, she was going to seal it magically, regardless of the scarring. "After seeing how well you take care of yourself, I want to get this shut as soon as possible," she said tartly as she redressed it. "Maybe as early as tomorrow."

That would be nice, at least. Hermione was sick of being hurt. She'd spent more than a month back in November covered in crusting, disgusting scabs, and she was already so irritated with her current injury that the possibility of complete health in less than a day from now made her downright ecstatic.

As if on cue, there was a scuffling noise from the vicinity of the portrait hole and Professor McGonagall climbed into the room, straightening her hat and tugging at her robes. "Miss Granger," she greeted.

Ah, yes. It was time for McGonagall's daily check-up. Hermione glared and stood carefully, walking out of the room and up the stairs to her dormitory. Once settled on her bed, she pulled the curtains firmly closed. It generally took McGonagall less than an hour to go away and she hadn't actually come up to Hermione's room for at least three days now. She highly suspected that the professor had enlisted either or both Parvati and Lavender in Hermione's punishment. It did not signify, really--Hermione had no intention of allowing them to punish her further by trying to break the rules once more.

She waited patiently, pulling out a novel from under her pillow and beginning to read. But ten minutes later, the door flew open with a bang and Hermione jumped as her curtains were yanked open by a clearly irate McGonagall.

"This has gone far enough, Miss Granger," McGonagall said icily. "You have proven your point, I think."

"What point?" Hermione retorted, briefly glancing up from her book.

McGonagall looked genuinely surprised--after all, she hadn't actually spoken to her professor in five days at least. "Miss Granger," she said more softly, "I am sorry. Truly, I am."

Hermione looked at her impassively, waiting for elaboration and actually putting aside her novel.

"I do not like to see any of my students ... suffer," she continued. "Especially not those that I've grown particularly fond of." Here she offered Hermione a rare smile that went unreturned. "But you must understand our position, Miss Granger."

"I don't see why," she sniffed. "You've made no attempt to understand mine."

"Unfortunately, Miss Granger--Hermione, your position is unacceptable irrelevant of any potential understanding," McGonagall replied, sitting uninvited on Hermione's bed but keeping a respectful distance. "You must see that."

"Regardless, that doesn't make me any more content with it," she said, unyielding.

"Such observations on your part are to be expected," she said carefully, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle on Hermione's quilt. "Professor Snape has taken advantage of you in ways that you cannot yet understand."

Laughing shortly, Hermione drew further away, resting her back against the headboard and tucking her feet under herself. "Taken advantage?" she echoed. "Respectfully, Professor, you've just demonstrated your utter ignorance of the situation. He has done nothing of the sort."

"As I've said," McGonagall said scornfully, "there is no possible way for you to realize what he has done to you."

"I will not discuss this any further," Hermione said, crossing her arms over her chest and injecting as much dismissal in her tone as she could.

McGonagall gave her one last pitying look that made her jaw tighten and left the room, closing the door gently in her wake. After a few moments, Hermione rose and went back to the Common Room, taking her novel with her.

----------

Mornings left the Gryffindor Common Room rather cool and dim, even in the spring. But Hermione was prepared, dragging the quilt off her bed with her as she made her way down the stairs. Wrapping it around her, she sat down on the sofa, settling back with her book yet again, delighting in the silence that resulted from everyone else in her house attending breakfast. Her last day at Hogwarts. The train would take her back to London tomorrow and Hermione couldn't really say she was sorry to leave all of this behind. Not anymore.

Now completely unable to concentrate, she laid her book to the side, choosing to turn on her uninjured side and watch the small fire the house-elves still lit dutifully every morning. The cheerily flickering flames did nothing for her sudden foul mood. And besides, students were beginning to trickle back after breakfast. For the most part, they ignored her, intent on their own tasks and not caring about that batty seventh-year girl being punished for carrying on with their awful Potions professor. Her novelty had simply worn off and Hermione was glad of it.

"Uh ... Hermione?" Ron asked as he entered the room, putting a cautious hand on her shoulder.

She turned her face into the back of the sofa, not wanting to talk to him right now. "Go away, Ron," she mumbled into the fabric.

"It's just ... you haven't eaten anything that I've seen in the last few days, and all you do is lie around the Common Room. I'm worried about you, love," he said, not letting her run him off. "And Harry is too, I think, for all that he's not been around to talk to you about it."

Flipping over to look at the carvings in the ceiling, Hermione patiently ignored him.

"I thought Dumbledore said you could go to meals," he continued hesitantly. "He didn't lock you up here, you know."

She sniffed. "He's treating me like a disobedient child and I'm therefore exercising the right to behave like one. I've got no interest in going anywhere--everyone stares at me like I've got another head."

"You should go, though," Ron said. "If nothing else, to see the little crook in Malfoy's nose. Madam Pomfrey couldn't get it perfectly straight, you see." He gave her a conspiratorial wink that she didn't return. "Hermione ..."

"Ron, I'm fine," she replied with an exasperated sigh. "Well, mostly. I'm not going to throw myself out the window, if that's what you're worried about."

"Thank you for bringing it to mind," Ron said with a wince. "Actually, I was more worried about you endangering someone else. I saw that look you gave Lavender last night when she came over to talk to you."

She snorted. "She wanted me to kiss and tell. Can you believe that?"

"I can, actually," he said mildly. "This is Lavender Brown you're referring to, after all. She'd offer to give Hagrid a pedicure if it occurred to her."

Wrinkling her nose at the mental image, Hermione pulled herself upright, allowing Ron to sit beside her. "I don't want to talk about Lavender."

"What do you want to talk about?" he asked. "Seriously. I'll even talk about the blasted NEWTs with you if you'd like."

"You must be worried about me, then," she replied with a ghost of a smile.

An owl swooped in through the window suddenly, perching on the arm of the sofa and cocking its head at Hermione. With a soft hoot, it held out a leg at her, letter tied carefully with blue ribbon.

She took it and smiled at the sight of the familiar seal. "Edoras," she said to herself, half a question. Why was he sending her an owl now? Their second paper had already passed review. "I'm sorry," she said to the owl, stroking its feathers cautiously, "I don't have anything for you, but there's an Owlery on the grounds, if you'd like to rest a bit."

With a quick ruffle of its feathers, the owl flew off. Ron regarded her letter with frank curiosity. "Edoras?"

"Edoras Griffiths. He's the editor of Magical Review Letters. It's an academic journal," she explained with a flap of her hand.

"I know what it is," Ron said complacently. "Percy spent his whole third year pretending he was reading it. But why is someone from there writing to you?"

In response, Hermione pulled out her wand and swished it through the air. "Accio MRL, issue eighty-two," she said, not even bothering to look down as the roll of parchment thwacked into her outstretched hand. "Here ... page ten."

"'The Magical Energy Field, A Quantum Mechanical Description,'" Ron read slowly. "By H.G., submitted October 1996. You wrote this?"

She nodded. "That was my second published paper. Actually, sometime next month the newest issue should come out with our latest one."

He was silent and she assumed he was skimming the article. "Hermione ... most of this is gibberish! What's that upside down triangle thingy you keep putting in here?"

"It's a differential operator," she replied absently. "Muggle calculus, Ron. Don't worry about it."

"Cor ..." Ron breathed. "You're a genius, Hermione. Why didn't you tell anyone about this?"

"The theorists would all be furious if they knew they'd been one-upped by a sixteen year old brat," Hermione said with a grin. "Not to mention they wouldn't have taken me seriously in the first place. You're the only one who knows, apart from Severus, of course."

"Of course," he echoed. Hermione looked over at him, finally, to see the dazed look in his eyes. "When did dearest, darlingest Sevvie find out?"

"He'd hex you to the ends of the Earth and back if he ever heard you calling him that, you know," she replied. "And he found out back in November, for your information. We were working some equations together, and I let it slip." Slowly but surely, Ron was making her feel all sorts of degrees better.

"No wonder you stopped caring about schoolwork," he said. "I wouldn't either, if I were you. 'Course, if I were you, I'd have to kill myself--no Quidditch, no girls ..."

"Sometimes, Ron, you're a right wanker," Hermione replied, sitting up.

"And that would be why you love me," he said with a cheeky grin, handing her the parchment. "Hey, Hermione?"

She hummed, stretching and suppressing a yawn.

"If I went down to the kitchens and brought you back a sandwich or something later, would you eat it?" he asked hesitantly, worry back in his eyes.

"I guess," she grumbled. "If you insist."

"Excellent," Ron said, brightening as he bounded out of the room, leaving Hermione to break the seal on her letter, reading it quickly.

Skimming the letter once, twice, a grin slowly spread across her face and ill temper disappearing completely. She was feeling better than she had in days.

----------

Severus was in his office once again, making a rather pitiful attempt to finish up his last few exam papers. It was rather poor planning on his part to put off his third year exams--they seemed to be an utter disaster, and Severus was unclear on how to handle that fact. He'd already promised himself he wasn't going to fail every student in that year, but it didn't seem feasible at this moment that many of them were going to pass on their own merit. Oh well ... he had the entire afternoon to worry over it.

There was a sharp rap at the office door and Severus sighed, twirling his quill in his fingers. "Enter!"

A surly Ron Weasley walked in and plunked down in one of the chairs, uninvited.

"What do you want, Weasley?" Severus asked, irritated--he wasn't up to righteous Gryffindor indignity at the moment.

"I say one nice thing to her, and she turns me into her bloody post owl," the boy grumbled in an undertone. "Here you go, Professor," he continued, flinging a small roll of parchment onto the desk. "From Hermione, of course. Be careful--she charmed it to catch fire as soon as you've finished reading it."

Severus was absolutely stunned. He'd expected Weasley to start throwing around insults and shouting to the heavens. But not this. "Um ... thank you, Weasley," he said after a moment. "I, uh ... I confess I cannot understand why you've done this for me, for her," he amended quickly. He would have thought that Weasley would want nothing to do with the situation.

The boy shrugged, shaking his head some. "Professor, Hermione's one of the best friends I've got and I'd do anything for her. Including accepting her decisions. But don't think I want to be your friend, sir," he said in a rush.

Smirking, Severus also shook his head. "The feeling is heartily mutual, Weasley. I think you're an ignorant idiot with a nary an independent thought in his head that doesn't involve a broomstick or a female."

"And I think you're a sadistic old bat who gets his jollies from tormenting children," Weasley retorted. Already trying to take advantage of the fact that he was no longer his student, Severus noted.

"Twenty points, Mr. Weasley," Severus said mildly.

"See ... just like that," Weasley replied.

There was another tap at the door, and Dumbledore stuck his head into Severus' office. "Ah, good afternoon, Mr. Weasley," he said pleasantly. "I'd wondered who was in here when I heard the voices."

Weasley nodded and Severus wondered for a horrible moment if Dumbledore had overheard any part of their conversation. The boy must not be as stupid as he'd previously thought--he'd actually whispered for the most part. "Afternoon, Professor Dumbledore, sir," Weasley was saying.

"Might I ask what you're doing here in Severus' office?" the headmaster asked, losing a fair amount of the pleasantness in his voice.

Weasley smiled openly, widely, at Dumbledore and Severus was rather startled at his easy dissembling. "Oh, I just wondered if Professor Snape had received our results yet. I was particularly worried about my Potions NEWT--Aurors have to have top-notch grades, you know."

Dumbledore relaxed visibly. Apparently he hadn't heard anything amiss.

"I wouldn't worry, Weasley," Severus replied acidly, tucking the small scroll up his sleeve as he spoke. "I'm sure you made as spectacular a failure of yourself as you always do. Now get out of my office."

Bouncing to his feet cheerfully, Weasley made his way to the door. "A pleasure as always, Professor. Headmaster."

"The seventh years are always pestering me about their grades," Severus said to Dumbledore's raised eyebrow. "They never manage to remember that their final marks are sent to them personally as soon as they are completed."

"It is difficult to ask them to wait for such important results," Dumbledore replied. "Well, I think I'll leave you to your marking. Oh, and don't forget that supper tonight is being held in honor of Voldemort's defeat. You have a seat of honor at the High Table, you know." And he went back out the door, closing it behind him firmly.

With a sigh, Severus pulled the parchment out of his robes as soon as he was sure Dumbledore was really gone. Breaking the wax seal, he read it as carefully as he could, Weasley's warning echoing in the back of his skull.

And sure enough, as promised, the little scroll began to smoke and flame as soon as he read the last couple of words. Quickly, Severus flung it into the fireplace to complete its destruction safely. Mind whirling, he mentally poured over the letter again, hanging on to it as one would a comforting lifeline.

With one last glance at his desk, Severus tossed down his quill. For all that he was concerned, he could give the third-years all perfect marks for the entire year, despite their terrible exam scores. He strode down the hall to his quarters with a spring in his step that hadn't been there before.

----------

"You owe me for life," Ron said, nudging Hermione in the ribs with his foot. "I fully expect you to name your firstborn child after me."

Hermione laid her novel to the side and gave him a questioning look. "What spectacularly good deed have you done today?"

He grinned. "I lost twenty points from Gryffindor to play post owl for your darlingest Sevvie. Are you sure he's nice?"

With a minute shrug, she returned his smile. "When he wants to be. Twenty points, eh? What did you do?"

"I called him a sadistic bat," Ron replied. "But he called me an ignorant idiot," he continued defensively.

"Ron, he calls everyone an idiot," she said. "I wouldn't take it personally if I were you." She sobered momentarily. "But I really appreciate you taking that note for me. You don't know--"

He raised a hand in protest. "Yes, yes, I know. You're the best friend in the world, good ol' Ron, and I can't believe you'd brave evil old Snape for me, and so on and so forth."

Chuckling, she whacked his shin with her bare foot. "You're also the most modest friend in the world."

"That's me," Ron agreed cheerfully. "Now come on, up you get. We've got a special supper to attend tonight and I'm not letting you out of it. I promise you can spend the entire evening glaring at old McGonagall, just like usual."

"That reminds me," she began, "Madam Pomfrey is due in a bit. She said she's going to take my stitches out today. Now that the hex has run its course, she can knit everything together magically."

"Won't that scar?"

Shaking her head, she allowed him to help her to her feet. "I don't care. I'm already a roadmap of scars. What's one more?"

"That's the spirit," he told her with a grin.

----------

Severus' good mood disappeared the instant he walked into the Great Hall, clothed in one of his nicer sets of robes. Nearly immediately, Dumbledore was at his side, directing him to a seat between a fairly stunned Potter and Dumbledore himself. Without ceremony, Severus plunked down, alternating between glaring at the headmaster and scanning the room for a glimpse of Hermione.

"I don't know if she'll be here tonight, Professor," Potter said quietly, watching Severus' eyes flicker about.

He was taken aback. "What?"

"Hermione," Potter hissed. "She hasn't come to a meal in a week."

What was the world coming to? First Weasley coming to his office bearing messages and now Potter attempting to be consoling? Everyone had gone mad, and there was no other explanation for it.

"So, Severus," Dumbledore said jovially from his left, "have you completed your marking?"

"The third form performed exceptionally well this year," Severus replied with a small smirk. "All of the final grades are on my desk, Albus, if you wish to pick them up. I find that I am quite unable to deliver them to your office personally."

Taking the jab in stride, Dumbledore just poured Severus a goblet of juice and turned to speak with Hagrid, on his other side.

"I, uh ..." Potter stammered, nearly making eye contact with Severus. "I was wondering if you'd received our NEWT scores yet, sir."

Severus sighed. "Potter, as I'm sure you were at one point made aware, your scores are sent to you before they are sent to Hogwarts for archiving. But I wouldn't worry. I'm sure you performed to your usual substandard."

The boy scowled, but there seemed to be little heart in it.

The Great Hall suddenly went more or less silent as tall Ron Weasley all but pulled Hermione into the room and all eyes were either on her or on Severus himself. Weasley propelled her toward the head table and made his own way to the Gryffindor table, seating himself beside his sister and keeping a careful eye on the still Hermione.

Dumbledore nodded a bit at her, Severus noticed, and waved his hand at the other side of the table, beyond Hagrid, where there was presumably an empty seat. An empty seat where there was no way Severus could potentially catch a glimpse of her.

Apparently Hermione noticed this as well. Sneering a bit at the headmaster, she shook her head at him and deliberately walked over to the Gryffindors, sitting across from Weasley and in Severus' direct line of sight. He breathed in sharply, able to see her for the first time in nearly a week.

She was pale, he saw, and looked rather tired. Of course, she was still recovering from a life-threatening injury, he reminded himself. Her eyes remained firmly locked with his and the tiniest of smiles crossed her face. Severus permitted himself to return it and saw Potter out of the corner of his eye, watching them both curiously.

With great deliberation, Dumbledore chose that moment to stand and wave his arms for attention. Both Hermione and Severus more or less ignored him, content to watch each other for the moment.

"I'm sure you all know, by now," the headmaster began, "about Harry Potter's recent victory over Lord Voldemort." He paused for the inevitable roar of applause that followed his statement--Potter blushed and fiddled with his fork. "And it is my great pleasure to award two hundred points to Mr. Potter for his outstanding bravery and courage!"

Another cheer. A slight shadow crossed Hermione's face, but she managed to applaud with the rest of the students. Severus did a bit of mental math. Two hundred points to Gryffindor put them fifty over the current leader, Ravenclaw. Dumbledore had just given Gryffindor the House Cup for the seventh year in a row. No, he'd just given it to Harry Potter for the seventh year running. How terribly surprising, Severus thought sarcastically.

"Thus I believe that the House Cup goes to--"

But Dumbledore's little speech was interrupted rather rudely as a neat little man came walking into the Great Hall with a bit of confusion written on his face. He was dressed in pressed robes and his grey beard trimmed expertly and somehow managed to look important in spite of his clear apprehension.

He looked back and forth between the high table and the wide-eyed students with an apologetic smile. "I've just interrupted the Leaving Feast, haven't I?" he asked with a slight Welsh accent.

To Dumbledore's credit, he didn't look as completely surprised as most of the other staff. "What can I do for you, sir?" he asked pleasantly.

The man coughed and tugged at his earlobe in a nervous gesture. "I've actually come to have a word with someone," he said. "Unfortunately, I'm not entirely sure who it is I need to speak to."

Interest piqued, Severus found himself actually leaning forward in anticipation.

"I need to talk with someone who goes by the name H.G.," the man continued, smiling self-deprecatingly.

Severus' eyes widened, and it took a great deal of effort for him to not leap out of his seat.

Dumbledore was clearly confused. "H.G.?" he echoed.

Apparently Hermione could contain herself no better than Severus. Her chair scraping preternaturally loudly against the floor in the silence of the Hall, she squinted at the man. "Are you ... Edoras Griffiths?" she asked hesitantly.

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