Marsters was doing far better than the last time Hermione had quizzed him: he was able to work through the Third Operation with very little difficulty, and much more speedily. She was quite impressed to find that he'd tutored another student who was having trouble with it, and she spent considerably longer with both of them than she'd anticipated -- and worked her hair back into quite a snarl in the process, having shoved it out of the way several times in the course of the tutorial. A touch-up was definitely in order before lunch, and she hurried back to Severus' rooms.

She was a few feet away from Severus' door when she realised the rooms were occupied: a shrill but muffled voice reached her, and she slowed.

She nestled up to the door and pressed her ear to the crack at the hinged side, trying to pick up more of the conversation.

"And he... ...sell...."

Definitely female, but very odd.

"It doesn't...."

That was Severus, certainly. But who's the bloody woman? ...Oh, my God, don't tell me his mother's come to visit --

She decided to cheat, pulled her wand, and worked another of the neat little charms Bill Weasley had shown her: he'd taught it to the twins as well, and they'd based their Extendable Ears on it.

"Dobby taught Pinky to read from The Prophet. Even the Financial section."

She fumbled with her wand, fingers clumsy in her haste, and directed a Silencing Charm at each of the hinges and the latch.

"You and other wizards is owing Pinky a great deal. And Dobby and the others."

Another charm to disable the ward alarm -- Severus wouldn't be happy to learn she knew that one, but he'd better not snarl under the circumstances -- and Hermione eased the door open, hoping that Pinky wouldn't see her in the entry-niche immediately. She kept her wand hidden behind her back.

"And Pinky is going to make you pay," she clearly heard the Elf growl, even before she saw Severus standing directly before her in front of the fireplace, wandless, arms caught in his coat.

"Pinky," Severus cautioned, not giving the least sign that he knew Hermione was there, "how is that going to help? You'll be in a great deal of trouble."

"Help?" Pinky shrieked. "Help? How many Elves is hurt by Green-way? How many by wizards? Pinky doesn't care what happens to Pinky, Pinky is needing to hurt back. And you is always so mean to Pinky anyway, and nasty-snarly to all the Elves, and Pinky is wanting a bit of her own back!"

That was quite enough of that: Hermione gently cleared her throat and stepped into the archway, and flinched when a hex hit the corner of the entry, blasted a hole in the wall, and sent plaster-dust airborne.

"It's only Madam Snape, Pinky," she managed through coughing, and squinted in pain: she'd got a good blast of grit in the near eye, and it hurt like hell. "Why do you want to hurt Professor Snape?"

"Go away," the Elf growled. "Pinky isn't wanting to hurt Madam Snape. Not yet. But Pinky will if Madam Snape tries to stop her. Go away."

"I can't, Pinky," Hermione said. "I need to sit down a moment, I can't see terribly well...." She sidled back over to the mouth of the niche, crouched down to elf eye-level, and cupped her hand over her eye, which was now tearing up. "What's the matter, Pinky?"

"Get out of here," Severus ordered her under his breath. "Get McGonagall."

"Quiet," Hermione shot back without looking at him, just as Pinky gave a snarl and whipped her finger back in his direction.

"The stories is true," Pinky wailed, eyes darting back and forth between the two of them. "The stories is true, he says so. And then he says they isn't and thinks Pinky is stupid and will believe him, the nasty-snarly old wiz-"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Pinky, he's nasty-snarly to everyone," Hermione said evenly. "He treats you and the others the same as he treats us. It's when he's nice that you have to wonder if he's lying."

"Thank you," Severus said. (She was sure he was glaring at her, and she was rather glad she couldn't see him, as she was watching Pinky carefully with her good eye.)

"Not at all, perfectly accurate. Anyway, Pinky, what stories, and why are you about to hex him?"

"Bad Green-way and the elves," Pinky sobbed.

"Green-way?" Hermione asked, trying to puzzle it out.

"Greenaway," Severus muttered. "The breeding potion."

"Oh, that. How did she --?"

"Fudge and Corcoran's memos."

"Oh, cripes. Well, Pinky, I'm afraid it is true."

Pinky drew herself up to her full height, glared at Severus, and said, "You is fibbing to Pinky."

"I did not --"

"You is saying it didn't mean selling elves."

"Did he say that?" Hermione asked the elf. "That was naughty of him --"

"Don't help me any more, will you?" Severus growled.

"-- but I think you've frightened him rather badly, Pinky, and you really haven't given him a chance to explain."

"But if the stories is true --"

"He's quite right about one thing, Pinky. There are things you don't understand about the situation, and you might regret hurting Professor Snape when you do know."

Pinky hesitated: then her ears flattened down against the back of her head, and she stared suspiciously at Hermione through narrowed eyes.

"You is his wife," she hissed. "You is lying to Pinky, too, to help him."

"Wand?" Severus muttered, rather desperately; and Hermione said, "I don't think it's necessary," hoping rather desperately herself that it wouldn't be, even as she gripped it more tightly behind her back. "What else has Dobby taught you, Pinky?"

"What is Dobby to do with this?"

"Has Dobby told you about Harry Potter?"

"Yes."

"And about Harry's Weezy?"

"Yes."

"What about Hermione?"

The elf, now thoroughly confused, said, "Miss Hermione?"

"Yes. Harry Potter's friend Miss Hermione. The one who knitted hats for all the elves. The one who wanted to free them."

"Dobby is saying Miss Hermione is loopy," Pinky said matter-of-factly.

"For once I agree," Severus muttered. "And how you think that will help is beyond me...."

"Thank Dobby for me, would you, Pinky?" Hermione said wryly. "Considering his eccentricities, I'll take it as a compliment."

"Madam Snape is --?"

"-- is Harry Potter's loopy friend Miss Hermione, yes," Hermione said, snuffled, and carefully patted about her eye-socket with the hem of her jumper. (Bloody hell, if I don't get this cleaned out soon....) "Pinky, it's true that I'm... fond of Professor Snape, however nasty-snarly he is, and I certainly don't want you to hurt him, but I've always thought that what's been done to the elves is terrible. And I always wanted very much to help them, but I never found a way that really worked. So you see, I'm not going to lie to you about what happened. I'll tell you whatever you want to know if I have the answer. I'd just like you to calm down for a moment and listen to what Professor Snape and I have to say before you decide to hurt anyone."

Pinky stared her down for a moment, and then said, "Green-way hurt the elves, so he could sell them."

"Yes, that's true. He developed a potion to make them breed when they didn't want to."

"And wizards is buying elves and making them work ever since."

"Yes, that's true, too -- some wizards. Not all. Not all of them think it's right."

"And all the elves in the wild is gone. Or nearly gone."

"That I don't know.... Severus?" she asked, voice clotted: her eye was tearing up and stinging so badly that she could hardly concentrate.

"I don't.... Pinky, would you let my w-- Would you let Miss Hermione go rinse her eye, please."

"No, you isn't playing tricks on Pinky," the elf said instantly. "Tell Pinky about the wild elves."

"I shall, you little.... I shall, but I can tell Miss Hermione is in a great deal of pain, and her eye may be damaged if she doesn't flush it clean. Would you please allow her to do so, or let me bring some water from the bath?"

Both eyes were streaming tears now: Hermione couldn't see a blessed thing, and neither Severus nor Pinky were talking. Then Pinky said, "You isn't to move, or someone is going to be hurt," before Hermione heard her shuffle across the room. When she'd reached Hermione she tapped her under the chin, said, "You is to keep your head up and eye open for me, Miss Hermione," and waited until Hermione held the lids open; then she snapped a glass of water into existence, and gently dripped it from her fingertip onto Hermione's eye until most of the grit had gone.

"Thank you," Hermione heard Severus say, voice strained, as Pinky patted Hermione's cheek dry with the edge of her tea-towel. "Now, your answer. As you read in the documents, Minister Fudge seemed to think wild elves are extinct. Apparently they're not."

"So there is more elves?" Pinky asked. "Ones that is wild, not like us?"

"I don't know. I've never heard of them. I suppose I could make inquiries, but in all likelihood that would put them in danger."

"Oh," Pinky said, ears drooping.

"Did you understand the rest of the papers, Pinky?" Hermione asked.

"They is about a potion. And espear-- espeara-- "

"Experiments. Right. It's nearly the same potion Greenaway used on your ancestors, except Minister Fudge wants it used on wizards. We're not breeding well at the moment either, you see, and he's going to force us."

"So?" Pinky said, and sniffed disdainfully.

"So Professor Snape and I found out about all this only a little while ago, about Greenaway. Even I didn't know how the elves had been captured and bred, and I'd studied everything I could lay my hands on. What happened simply hasn't been written about at all, so most people don't know."

"And stopping Minister Fudge," Severus said, "will mean everyone has to read about it, Pinky. Not only what he plans to do to wizards, but how it was done to elves. But we have to have the evidence to have him arrested, first. What you read today is part of that evidence."

Pinky gazed at Severus quite sceptically, and then looked to Hermione for confirmation.

"He isn't fibbing, Pinky, it's true." He's making bloody well certain you hear the thing most advatageous to you, Pinky, but he's not fibbing. "The whole thing will be published in the papers if we're able to prove it. But we're the only two that have the whole story so far, and I don't think I can prove it by myself if you... put him out of action. Does that make sense? Do you see why hurting him isn't going to help you, and may hurt all the elves?"

"Yes," Pinky whimpered. "Pinky understands now."

"It isn't really fair, anyway -- he's not responsible for what Greenaway did, he hasn't made that potion, and as far as I know he's never owned an elf in his life. Have you, Severus?" she asked, glancing up at him.

"No."

"But he is always nasty to Pinky," the elf said darkly. "Always calling Pinky nasty names and throwing things at Pinky's head."

"And I've already told him it's not nice or right to do that, and he's promised me --" Or he will, by God, promise me -- "-- that he won't throw things any more. I can't guarantee he won't still call names, he's a terrible one for calling names, especially if you go rooting among his personal things, because he's a very private person. Can the two of you promise to behave better toward each other?"

Pinky looked doubtful, but nodded: Severus looked as though he were about to spit nails, but managed a sullen "Very well."

"Good. I shall hold both of you to it. Pinky, can I have that, please?" Hermione said of the paper the elf had stuffed in the waist-band of her tea-towel. "It's important evidence, I'm afraid."

Pinky pulled it free and carefully smoothed it out before handing it to Hermione.

"What in bloody blue blazes is going on here?" McGonagall demanded from the open doorway.

Hermione started, lost her balance, fell on her hip with a thud, and all three of them said simultaneously, "Nothing."

"I doubt that. Middle of luncheon, the castle tells me it's been damaged, I have to leave the table, and what do I find? A chunk out of the plaster, my Potions Master looking quite ridiculous with his coat half-off, his wife looking as though she's cried her eyes out, and a very guilty-looking House-Elf."

Pinky attempted defiance, and then wilted. "Pinky didn't mean to cause such trouble, Headmistress," she whimpered. "Pinky is reading something terrible, and is losing her temper -- Ohhhhh!" she wailed, curled up in a ball on the floor, and blubbered as she banged her head against the stones.

"Merlin's balls --"

"Pinky, stop that immed-- ... Really, Severus, I hope you don't use that language in front of the children. ...Pinky, stop that at once. Is everyone all right?"

"Yes," Hermione said. "No harm done."

"Bloody well was," Severus accused. "The little sneak broke into my --"

"Severus!"

"...Pinky broke into my safe and read some highly sensitive documents which she had best not blab to the rest of the elves. Or anyone else, for that matter."

"Did she? How enterprising, Pinky. Quite wrong, but enterprising," McGonagall said severely, stepped into the room, took Hermione's chin in her hand, and stared critically at the damage. "I should have Poppy look at that right away," she advised. "Is Pinky responsible for this too?"

"Yes," Severus said.

"Accidentally," Hermione amended.

"I see. Pinky, you and I need to have a talk. To my office, if you please."

Pinky -- still prone on the floor -- looked mournfully up at Hermione, mouthed "Pinky is sorry, Miss Hermione," and popped out of the room.

"I'll have that seen to tomorrow, Severus," McGonagall said, staring over her glasses-rims at the hole in the wall. "Which one of you was she aiming for?"

"Me, but I'd startled her," Hermione volunteered.

"Minerva, you can't possibly keep that bloody creature about -- she might have killed Hermione, or that bloody hole might have been in my chest --"

"I'll give her a good dressing-down, Severus," McGonagall said calmly, and moved to the door. "They will get fashed over things and go off their heads every once in a while, but I shall put her right."

"How much did you hear?" Severus demanded.

"Enough to know you've been chucking things at the scouts," McGonagall said, and fixed him with a glare. "Not done, young man. I shall have to dock your salary if it happens again. See to that eye, Hermione."

And she left, smartly closing the door behind her.

*****

Severus stared after McGonagall, absolute outrage purpling his face; and then he seemed to realise that he must indeed look ridiculous, and began to wrestle himself out of his coat-sleeves.

"Bloody little beast threatens to --" he wrenched his left arm free, "disembowel me --" (right arm free, then, and coat balled up in a bunch) "-- and all bloody Minerva McGonagall can say is --"

"She's got you pegged, young man," Hermione said, trying not to giggle as he hurled the coat to the floor. "Does she always call you that when she's --"

"Yes," he snarled as he whipped around to face her. "Where's your bloody wand?"

"Right here," she said, held it up, and ill-advisedly asked, "Where's yours?"

He went even more purple (if it were possible), and bellowed, "Why didn't you bloody use it?"

"Would if I'd had to," she said, dropped the document, and started to scrub at the irritated eye with her hand.

"Don't do that, you stupid --"

He stopped himself, swore again, and then strode over to her, pulled her to her feet, and dragged her through the inner door and into his office: the lamp-wicks popped into flame as they passed, automatically.

"Next time," he muttered midway across the room, "don't bother trying to sort it out, just shoot."

"I couldn't, not to Pinky, not until I was sure I couldn't get her to.... Where are we going?"

"Classroom. Safety station," he said, barging through the connecting door, into the classroom, and hauling her over to the basin.

"Oh. It's really much better --"

"Filthy little creatures, you've probably got more muck in it now than before. Flush it out," he commanded, and left her to deal with the eye-cup and saline while he pottered around at the nearest worktable.

"You fibbed to me, too," she said, voice bouncing back at her from the well of the basin.

"I what?"

"You fibbed to me too. You said you hadn't got the memos any longer."

"No, I said they were out of my hands, and they were -- in the safe."

"Bastard," she muttered, and winced as the cold saline hit her inflamed eye. "They were in the safe in the same bloody room we were sitting in at the time."

"Granted. I never said it was actually dangerous to get them, just inconvenient."

"Lazy bastard."

"Hermione," he said, raising his voice over the chink of bottles and flasks as he blended whatever-it-was, "the one thing I cannot be accused of is illegitimacy. If you must call me names -- and I'll point out that this is a case of the pot calling the cauldron black, since you object to me calling that despicable creature anything descriptive -- be more accurate."

She had to snort at that, and finally came up with "Phrase-parsing pettifogger."

"Thank you, much more appropriate.... Are you done? On the stool, here."

He thrust a towel in her hands, and guided her over to the stool; and when she'd patted her face dry he checked the eye for damage, reached for the phial of potion he'd concocted and an eye-dropper, and carefully squeezed a few drops of potion into her eye.

Everything went blurry for a moment, .

"What is it?" Hermione asked. "I didn't see what you used."

"Standard Soothing Solution," he murmured. "And a trace of phoenix's tears."

"Ah. Fawkes?"

"Yes. Just about the last of it. Blink again."

She did: the oily haze cleared, and with it went the horrid sandy feeling under the eyelid and the heat of the irritation.

"Better? It looks so."

"Yes, thank you."

"Now," he said grimly, setting the phial and dropper on the table-top, and boxing her in with an arm to either side, "the next bloody time I tell you to get the hell out and go for help, I expect you to do precisely --"

".... Hermione?"

"And with the juice of this they'll streak your eyes...." she said, and chewed at her bottom lip.

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"The riddle, Flaherty's riddle. 'And with the juice of this they'll streak your eyes, and make you full of hateful fantasies.' D'you suppose that's how the potion is delivered?"

"Hermione, how the devil do you expect me to know? The damned documents didn't say a thing about it."

"But aren't there philtres that are --"

"Not love philtres, no. Ingestion is preferred, as it's less suspicious to slip it in someone's drink than hold them down and dump muck in their eyes," he said dryly, and moved back to his work area to clear away the mess he'd made. "I believe there are all manner of silly folk-tales about bathing one's eyes in morning dew to encourage visions of one's true love, but all that's likely to achieve it a nasty case of ringworm. I imagine it's possible, but what does it matter?"

"It doesn't, I'm just curious about it. It doesn't make much sense in terms of a genetic therapy, is what I mean. At least I don't think so.... Damn, I ought to read up on that."

"What possible difference can it make?"

"Because it's a hole in their story. Genetic therapy, well and good, but if it isn't delivered in a proven, effective way.... Well, people should question that, don't you think? A quack therapy's worse than none. They'll baulk."

He snorted. "The average witch or wizard won't know that. Judging by the stupidity of the questions I heard asked at the conference, four-fifths of the healers can't understand the damned genetics procedures either."

"It might be a good challenging-point, if you know what I mean. If we need to stall for time. God knows I have plenty of time for research, since I'm forbidden to do much else."

"Bully for you," Severus muttered, and took the dirtied implements over to the washing-up basin. "Some of us have to traipse about only the gods know where."

"What do you mean?"

"The researcher hired an assistant," Severus said, not bothering to turn, intent on his washing: Hermione wandered over to the basin to hear him better, and absent-mindedly pulled a clean rag from the shelf. "The assistant is, I think, a nasty little beggar who Left in 2000. And he was stupid enough to have some supplies -- the Nadder-skin, as it happens -- delivered to a specific location, rather than taking custody of it himself."

"And you think that's where they worked on the potion?" Hermione asked, and took the first clean instrument from him and polished it dry.

"Possibly. It might also be a dropping-off point, and everything was moved elsewhere. Shan't know unless I go to check it out."

"This was all in the memos?"

"Of course not," he muttered, and handed her another instrument. "Deduction and some judicious questions to the source of the Nadder-skin."

"Well, where is it?"

He shot her a suspicious glance.

"No, I'm not going to run off and spoil your fun. But I'll come along, if you like."

"Not a good idea, I think --"

"Severus, be reasonable. If they've already got the stuff at Mangel and Mortars, they've probably abandoned the original site, don't you think? And isn't it a good idea to have someone watching your back?"

"Only if they're willing to shoot instead of talk," he said bluntly.

"Oh, come on. It's an entirely different matter. You'dve been angry with me if I had, because McGonagall probably would have docked you for the cost of an elf!"

"Would've been worth it."

"Severus!"

He shot her another sidelong glance: for a split second she had the distinct impression that he was deliberately goading her, and then he grunted and said, "Cane Hill, Coulsdon. Wherever the bloody hell that it."

"Coulsdon's South London, or at least it's a stop on one of the lines. Near the Downs, I think. Don't know what or where Cane Hill is, though it sounds awfully familiar...."

"I hadn't planned to wait until the week-end, not if McGonagall would give me leave," he said, handing off the beaker in which he'd mixed the solution. "I can't afford the time but I'm tired of wasting my free days, and if they haven't already cleared everything away they shall as they get closer to implementation, to destroy any evidence."

"She obviously knows something about it --"

"Generalities."

"-- so I shouldn't think she'd object. Give me a day or two to learn what I can about the area, and then we'll go in," Hermione wheedled, and took the cleaned equipment back to its proper work-table. "I should think night-time would be better, anyway, if you're not certain it's deserted."

He didn't answer: and when she'd done pottering about with the glassware she turned to gauge his reaction. He was thinking about it, staring into her eyes in a quite assessing manner as he dried his hands, but his eyes kept dipping downward to the vicinity of her chin: she fancied he was vacillating. (That was astonishing -- he wasn't usually indecisive about anything.

"Do I have dirt on my face, or what?" she asked, uncomfortable with his stare.

"Come here," he commanded softly, and she crossed back to him, at the sink-basin; he wet the corner of the towel and wiped away some smudges of plaster-dust from her face before tossing the towel aside, and then said, "The next time I tell you to shoot, you do."

"Severus, it was Pinky --"

"And next time it might well be someone you recognise from school, someone who would have no trouble at all in harming either of us, I can assure you. If it's a single person a stun is perfectly acceptable, but not if there's more. You don't have the luxury of leaving loose ends about, it's not one of Flitwick's bloody civilised duels."

"But --"

"It's my responsibility," he said, voice tight. "If it helps, you're following an order, and the responsibility is mine."

"It doesn't help," Hermione said. "I've always thought that a shit excuse, frankly."

His eyebrows shot up at that, and then he wryly conceded, "Didn't think it would work with you, but I had to try. I'm quite serious, Hermione. I need to be able to trust you to do this. You must assume that people are dangerous from the first."

"I shall," she assured him. "I just thought Pinky could be calmed down, that's all. I know there's a difference."

"Fine. Learn what you can -- maps, identification," he said, his gaze dropping again to her chin. (No, it's my mouth. Damn it, what is he --?) "It's a Muggle building, abandoned, I should think. When you have decent information, we'll investigate it."

"Good --"

He reached for her and swiftly bent to nip at her lower lip -- it was tender, where she'd chewed at it earlier -- and when she jumped in surprise, he pulled her closer, snugging her quite firmly against his pelvis.

"Stress tends to do that," he muttered against her jaw, and his fingers traced a deliberate path from her lower back down to her bum. "To me, at least. Thought you'd sussed that out by now."

He punctuated that last with a subtle thrust of his hips that she couldn't avoid, given how tightly he was pressing her against him.

"But we're missing lunch --"

"Not mucking about with lunch in this condition, thank you, I'm quite uncomfortable."

"Consider it a detention for disobeying a direct order," he said, pushed away from the basin, and began hauling her back toward his rooms.

"It wasn't a direct --"

"As direct as I could afford to be in front of a crazy house-elf, and you knew bloody well what I was telling you to do," he said as they crossed the office. "It was understood, and you ignored me anyway. So now, loopy Miss Hermione, you is going to pay."

"Severus, stop being ridiculous -- And I've left my wand in the classroom --"

"Too late for that," he said, muttered a charm, and Hermione heard all the outer door-wards snap into place. "Day's a total waste now, I might as well enjoy something about it. I'd intended to catch you before lunch, anyway."

Well, that was it, then: Severus Snape hated being thwarted and had been at least twice today -- by not having her quite conveniently still in bed, and by that stupid, stupid elf. It was a lost cause.

She did manage to avoid the destruction of a very decent bra; and her acquiescence seemed to calm him down enough that his single-minded passion abated a bit, and eventually included some rather generous gestures on his part solely for her benefit.

*****

Lunch had been totally forgot in the midst of everything. Severus had fallen into a doze afterwards, but woke whenever she tried to sneak out of the bed and held her back; and rather than protest (which always seemed to make him more assertive and commanding), she'd given up and lain quiet for what seemed like hours, tolerant if not comfortable with his arm thrown across her waist, until he'd staggered off to the bath for a soak in the tub. He really had staggered, the bad knee apparently playing up, and she'd felt a pang of remorse for forgetting about what might help that.

She desperately wanted another bath herself, for he'd worked himself into quite a sweat and consequently she smelt strongly of well-exercised Snape, but she certainly wasn't going to snuggle in the bathtub with him: as far as Hermione was concerned some things were, and always should be, terra incognita when Severus Snape was involved. (She supposed she ought to be grateful that he always closed the door, whether he was having a pee or simply a bath. Her mum had confided once that she'd known the honeymoon was over when Dad had wandered into the bath early one morning -- quite sleepy -- neglected to close the door to the old-fashioned water-closet, had a long and distressingly tuneful session on the toilet, and had been totally unconcerned and unselfconscious about it.)

She dressed in Saturday's clothes and went out to the sitting-room to read while she waited for him to vacate the bath.

"I suppose," he said later from the bedroom door, tying his neck-cloth, "that you've had a good look at the bloody memos now."

She glanced up from the book she'd Summoned from the Library (Magical Sites of the British Isles), and said, "No. On your desk. Back in chronological order."

That threw him a bit: his hands stilled, and then he stiffly offered, "Might as well, if you like. If something happens to me, you ought to know what's in them."

"So tell me," she said, and shrugged. "The name of the brewer's really the important thing, isn't it?"

"Yes. Debdale. He wasn't directly affiliated with the Death Eaters, so his name never came up during the first trials. Avoid him at all costs."

"Very well," Hermione said, and buried her nose back in her book. "I don't see Cane Hill or Coulsdon in here at all, so you're right -- it's a Muggle building. I'll see what I can pull up on the Internet tomorrow."

"The what?"

"Internet. It's a... oh, hell, it's like a vast electronic library, in a way. You reach it through the computer."

"Ah." Neck-cloth tied, he retrieved the memos from his desk, stuffed them back in the safe, and muttered a rather complicated ward-charm before swinging a portrait of a surly-looking Slytherin back over it.

"I've warded it so you may get into it -- once," he informed her. "If something should happen. Only the things on top."

"Right," she said. "That'll do. I don't imagine I shall have to."

That seemed to satisfy him, and he went back to the bedroom for his coat.

But if I ever have the chance to hex Fudge, Hermione thought, I know precisely what I'll do. I wonder what kind of monkey would look best in that awful, gaudy waistcoat he always wears?

*****

After she'd had her own bath they managed dinner in the Great Hall, enduring Sprout's giggles at their sole appearance that day; and afterwards Severus took himself off to the corner of the sitting-room to do marking. She left him alone to it, knowing he was far behind, and went to bed before he did.

But not to sleep. She'd read the dates on the memos, of course, and frankly wanted to kill both Fudge and Corcoran.

This is bloody ridiculous. All of it. Why on earth did I ever think I could pull this off? They've been planning this for years. They've far too much to lose now than just a few thousand Galleons' fine to the ICW, and I've only been pottering around playing at being a spy for six months, doing nothing at all useful to date. Here we are, going to all this trouble for people who can't be bothered to fight for themselves, and we're likely to pay for it dearly....

Severus came to bed about eleven after a detour to the bath to brush his teeth, and Hermione resigned herself to another round of sex. (He sometimes did her the courtesy of brushing beforehand, but never did when he didn't intend to impose on her.) He surprised her, though: he merely slipped under the covers and lay quiet, on his back, and made no move to touch her. She thought after a while that he'd dropped off: but after the third time she'd shifted gingerly, unable to sleep, he quietly asked, "What is it?"

She sorted through the jumble of her thoughts and then admitted, "Perhaps we ought give up on it all."

"What do you mean, give up on it all?"

"Let everyone else bugger themselves. Stop risking our necks. Be good little citizens, shut up and keep our heads down, and do what we ought."

"What," he said, rolling onto his side to face her, "precisely do you mean by that last?"

"Maybe," she said slowly, "we ought to try. Unless you really can't stand the thought, and you want to take your chances with someone else. Make arrangements before the lottery kicks in."

For once he seemed lost for words: and then he managed a strangled, "Try to conceive a child?"

"Yes. What else would we try for, a Crumple-Horned Snorkack? You're right, chances are it won't happen straight off. If we wait too long October will be here, and they'll reassign us. I've come to the conclusion that I'd rather stick with you, but I'm not the only one whose future needs consideration."

"Now you bother to ask what I want.... Better the demon you know than the one you don't, is that it? Don't try to convince me that you were serious with that blasted elf. Used to me, yes. Fond? No."

"Not exactly. About the demon thing, I mean, I'm not going to dignify the rest of it with a response. It's just that.... We mayn't exactly suit, but we can co-exist well enough, when we really try. And no matter how uncomfortable it is at times, I know you're trying to... to respect me, within certain parametres, no matter how much you went on at first about Pureblood traditions and all that rot. I appreciate that, I do, though I haven't said it before. And I don't fancy the idea of changing hippogriffs in mid-air, and ending up with someone who won't appreciate me for something other than a... a brood mare. Or a brood sow, more likely."

"Hermione, you aren't serious about this. About a child."

"You were."

"That was before I found out what you were mucking about with.... We've gone too far, and now DeLaine has documentation that proves we had evidence -- do you think the ICW would hold us blameless, when it all comes out in a year or two? When they start to question why the birth- and death-rates are up, and the children produced still have deficiencies? You can't be serious about bringing a child into this. We might both wind up in Azkaban or worse, and then where would the poor little bugger be?"

"Safe as houses, because I don't think François would implicate us," she said firmly.

"You don't know that --"

"No, I don't, but I do know that we can say we were only gathering the information for him. Make him the prime mover -- he'd like that -- and give him all the credit. And the responsibility. He's not the one facing imminent danger, after all."

"This from a woman who thinks avoiding personal responsibility is practically criminal."

"I'm not," she said, angry. "I'm not avoiding the responsibility. I've got the information to someone trustworthy, someone who isn't subject to the reprisals and danger that we are."

"You're tired," Severus said bluntly. "You're tired, and you're frightened -- not that I'm complaining about that, if it makes you more cautious -- and you're not feeling up to the task at the moment because you're giving too much credence to the opinions of bloody idiots like Fudge and Corcoran."

"What?"

"You read the damned memos, Hermione. And you're allowing their idiocy to colour your better judgement."

"Did you ward those things somehow?"

"No, I simply know that there is no way in Hades an intensely curious female would sort through a mass of papers and not look at anything besides the dates."

"Bloody --"

"I'd already decided it was short-sighted to withhold them given something might happen to me -- damn that elf -- and I was going to give them to you.... By the way, whatever you do don't try to dig up information on Debdale, it will send up too many red flags.... As Fudge's stupid comment hadn't seemed to have bothered you, I didn't press the issue."

"You're slipping. I lied to you outright."

"I allowed you to as it simply wasn't worth concealing them any longer. If you'd put them back in the safe, that would have been another matter -- other papers to tempt you. I should have quizzed you more."

"All right, fine. You trust me, at least to a point. And it's been hard-won, and I don't want to go through that all over again with a total stranger, do you?"

"No, but I don't want to have a child for safety's sake, either, not in the circumstances."

"Nor do I. But I think you were right about our chances. It would likely be healthy and intelligent, and between the two of us we could manage. I'm sure I'd grow fond of it, most mothers do --"

"Don't listen to that," Severus warned her. "Don't. Where are you in your cycle?"

"What?"

"Your menstrual cycle, where are you? About..." he stopped a moment, silent, and then added, "...about three weeks in? Or have you already --?"

"Three, I think -- it's not always that exact, anyway. Why?"

"The biological factor. Nature's little joke on the Reasoning Animal. Add hormones -- whether from ovulation or premenstrual -- to the fright, and your instincts are telling you that everything would be all right, you'd manage, everything would be a bit difficult but lovely in the end."

"That's ridiculous. How you can make such a sweeping statement is beyond --"

"No, it isn't, and I have years of teaching to and working with women to prove it. There are times when you have to be especially on guard against your impulses, Hermione, and for you -- for many women -- those are two. For me, it's when I'm angry or tired. I know myself far too well to imagine that everything would be 'all right,' or that a child will make a damned bit of difference to us personally."

"I've not said it would, I've just said we could manage," she argued, adamantly ignoring the rather horrific thought of a child not mattering to one 'personally,' or that that was, in fact, precisely the miserable option she was considering.

"Do you think that would be the end of it, even if we could?" Severus asked her, voice low. "One child, and we're clear? Five children, you said that woman had. You're quite right that she's done enough for the Wizarding World, and yet they took her away for protecting the ones she has by trying not to have any more. Do you think, having produced one healthy child -- if we should -- that they'd leave us alone?"

No, they probably shouldn't. She knew that: she'd been uneasy with the implications of that since the moment Harrison had told her.

Immensely frustrated, she couldn't be bothered to control her misery any longer, and she started to cry -- horrifying, that, crying in front of Severus: it was weak of her, and it proved him right on the stupid hormonal point (damn him), and she knew he couldn't stand snivelling under any circumstances.

"Oh, Merlin's balls. Stop that," he commanded in disgust, and flopped back onto his back; and then after a moment he raised his hand and said, "Accio handkerchief." One shot from his dresser-drawer and into his hand, and he rolled back over and carefully groped for her face. "Stop," he said more gently. "It's not worth tearing yourself up about. It's the way things are, and I refuse to make the situation worse by giving in to the pressure of it. If you wish a divorce so you can try with someone else, I'll agree to it -- although I suspect you'll see reason in the morning."

"I don't want to try with someone else," she said through sniffles, took the hanky from him, and blew.

"In fact you don't want to try at all, not when you're in your right mind. Nor should you, it's a bloody bad reason to bring a child into the world. I should be kicked for having made that a condition. In my own defence, however, the situation appeared quite different at the time."

She considered that through the last of her snuffles, and then said, "I shouldn't have expected that from you."

"What?"

"Such an about-face. You've never impressed me as the type to change your mind easily."

"I didn't say it was easy. The situation required a re-evaluation, and I've done. If we hadn't the information we have now, we shouldn't be having this particular conversation, I assure you -- I'd probably be doing my damndest to get you in the club."

"That's not all there was to it, though. You were trying to make me feel as guilty as possible in October, weren't you?"

"Of course. Rather over-did it, I think -- you have a stronger sense of guilt than the average Gryffindor. No, I think we ought stick together and see this through, and then assess the whole bloody mess afterwards when things settle down. Agreed?"

"Yes," she said, and balled the hanky tightly in her fist. "But what if it drags out past October, and they --?"

"I bloody well don't intend to let it go that long. But if it should... You'll have to go off the potion in September and I'll have to control myself. Or ask Weasley to pass on some of those French letters he impounded, since wizarding ones can't be had now," Severus mused.

Hermione stifled a despairing snort.

"You don't think I'll give up unless I've exhausted all possible avenues, do you?" Severus said mildly. "No matter how wretched the whole business is, there are advantages I'm quite enjoying."

"Yes, you've made that clear."

"And if we both pass their tests, then we plead the usual -- bad timing -- and you'll have to move up here for appearance's sake. Try to get some sleep," he advised, and rolled back over to his side of the bed. "It won't look better in the morning, but you'll feel more up to dealing with it."

He fell asleep almost instantly -- or at least she thought he did, as it could well be that he was tired of dealing with an hysterical female, and ignoring her -- and despite her mind's attempts to keep returning to the issue, she eventually slept herself.

*****

Severus was back in uncommunicative mode next morning, grunting non-committally when Hermione tried to make conversation over breakfast; and so she finished up, rose from the table, and said, "I'll floo you when I have something on Cane Hill, all right?"

"Mmmm hmm."

"And you'll let me know that you've got the time off to come down."

"Mmmm hmm."

"Right, then, I'm off."

"Mmmm," he grunted again, still intent on The Prophet.

Oh, for pity's sake, she thought as she finally retrieved her wand from the classroom, it's always two steps forward, one step back with him.... What is it, that he can't bear a little real intimacy and shuts everything down again?

When she returned to Severus' rooms she pulled on her coat and boots, grabbed her bag, and -- just to be totally obnoxious -- she crossed back to the table, bent over his ear, whispered, "Have a good day and don't throw anything at anyone," and kissed his temple before rushing for the door. (The kiss wasn't horrid at all. He'd actually washed his hair that morning.)

She heard the clatter of his fork as it dropped from his hand to the plate, and could practically feel his eyes boring into the back of her head as she closed the door.

*****

Work was immensely boring that day as there were no reports due for the next month, so Hermione had plenty of time to feel stupid for being so emotional and irrational the previous evening. The one good bit was that she didn't run into Corcoran at all: Severus was probably right about that, too, and she'd have trouble dealing with the man without letting her contempt show, at the moment. (Or even worse, he'd lay into her over something and she'd lose it and start bawling like a baby again.)

Once home, and after checking the flat for anything amiss, she fixed a light supper and relaxed in front of the telly; and when she'd closed the curtains after full dark, she powered up the computer and logged on.

She plugged the terms into the search engine, clicked, and then puzzled over the page titles that scrolled down the screen.

She did, scrolled down the page for any mention of Cane Hill, found it under the heading "Absolutely Rollicking Good Explorations," and clicked -- and then sat back, surprised, when the top of the next page loaded as a huge image file with "Blazing Inferno Engulfs Cane Hill" as the header.

She grabbed for the mouse and scrolled the image up, reading the slightly-blurred text.

A suspected arsonist struck at the abandoned site of the former Cane Hill Hospital on Monday last. Responding to the call at 10 pm, over 100 fire-fighters and fifteen engines from Greater London were called to the site on Brighton Road west of Coulsdon.

The fire continued out of control until 3am, but crews were still damping down the coals and performing safety checks almost seven hours later, causing massive delays for those returning to work after the Bank Holiday. Traffic was halted on secondary roads, and greatly slowed on the A23....

Under the image was an index: she clicked the first page listed, and started looking for the really useful bits.

It was an incredible site, actually. "Underground Bob" -- that was the site owner's moniker -- had masses of photographs of Cane Hill, and -- most astonishingly -- ground plans of the entire area and of many of the wards, which she promptly downloaded and printed.

Underground Bob had done much more, though. He'd annotated his jaunts about Cane Hill, noting which buildings were merely derelict and which absolutely dangerous to enter. It would take days to go through the whole thing, so Hermione decided to cut to the chase and clicked on the email icon at the bottom of the screen.

More than one way to skin a cat, she thought as she typed up her message. And more than one way to bugger around in strange territory.

She sent the email and turned the computer off, hoped for the best, curled up in bed with the maps she'd downloaded, and studied.

*****

She thought to check her email before she went to work, and nearly whooped when she heard the tinny, unfamiliar ping that announced she had mail.

Crookshanks101,

Good luck's all I can say. The place is an utter disaster now, it's been mucked with so much. I'm not able to take you in -- new baby, and the wife's put a moratorium on my more potentially dangerous hobbies. I know a bloke who's still crazy enough to go in, though. He's utterly mad but he knows the place better than anyone except me, and I think he's been in pretty recently. Shall I pass along your number, have him ring you up?

Bob

She sent a reply, shut everything down, and rushed off to work, where she tried to floo Severus just before luncheon; he eventually appeared at the floo, sounding grumpy and looking quite tired and thunderous.

"Yes?"

"Severus, I --"

"-- I, erm, bought one of those Muggle test kits that I was telling you about."

"What kits? The gong's rung, and I have a bloody mess to clean up here before I --"

"The, erm, ovulation ones. The ones that say when it's your best time to guh- get pregnant." (That was an outright lie: she was actually due for her period in a day or two, but any listeners wouldn't know that. Or they'd better not.) "I think the next few days would be a very good time to try."

Severus' face cleared, the severe line between his brows disappearing. "I suppose I ought to go down, rather than have you travelling?"

"Yes, I think that might help. Would you? If you can get leave."

"Tonight's probably too soon, but tomorrow evening is possible. I'll just check with McGonagall. If you don't hear from me, I'm on my way."

"Good. Thank you, Severus --"

"Thank me tomorrow night," he said with a glint in his eyes. "And don't worry over it so, Hermione. It will happen if we're patient."

He broke the connection before she had a chance to get back at him for the 'thank me tomorrow night' business; but she couldn't be bothered to be too irked with him.

Well, it's that or muck around in dangerous buildings and get ourselves killed the old-fashioned Muggle way -- by accident. I suppose we can always cast Soporate on the poor sod when we actually reach a likely building.

Quite satisfied with herself, she worked through the rest of the afternoon in very good humour; and she hardly noticed when Corcoran passed her in the corridor and shot her an appraising and speculative look, and actually bothered to wish her a good afternoon.

*****

Chapter 17 Footnotes.

Link to Chapter 18