I am so going to regret this, Hermione thought, hastily pouring hot soup into a vacuum flask. What in God's name possessed me to offer to help?

Well, it was technically her "project." And Snape had gone to great pains to determine they were on the right track (so had she -- her chest still itched), and was giving up a considerable amount of his holiday to hunt down some potentially dangerous -- strike that, definitely dangerous -- documents.

The weather was the least of her worries. Snape hadn't returned to her flat last evening; he'd presumably spent it wherever his "errand" had taken him yesterday, or at the club. She didn't dare ask -- he'd shown up quite early, snappish and moody, and exceptionally put out that she wasn't already dressed for the weather and ready to go. She'd only prevented him from roaring about it by pointing out the wisdom of taking something hot along, so they shouldn't have to stop searching to find a pub or restaurant out in the middle of nowhere.

Pathetic luncheon finally packed, she left the kitchen, dropped the rucksack in the hallway, and popped her head into the sitting-room as she pulled on a heavy coat and boots.

Snape was occupied with prising a brick out of the fireplace facing; he'd already pulled off one of the flimsy wood mantelpiece panels that covered it.

"What are you --"

"Hiding my notes," he said tersely. "No sense in someone finding everything on us, if we're apprehended."

"Oh."

"It's not as though you use the bloody thing, and it came right off in my hands anyway. Have I told you how terrible a flat this really is?"

"Yes."

"Good," he grunted, crammed his journal into the recess, replaced the brick, and pounded the panel back into place with his fist. "Are you finally ready?"

"Yes, damn it, I've even got my coat and boots on, which is more than I can say for you."

He glared at her and reached for his cloak, which he'd slung over the back of the sofa.

"If you are going to be this contrary," he spat as he flung it about his shoulders and worked at the clasp, "we might as well call it off -- I'll do it alone. I refuse to inflict myself with a foul-tempered female on what promises to be an exceptionally frustrating day."

"Oh -- Look, I'm sorry," Hermione grudgingly said. "I'm rather wound up about it, that's all, and it's not fair for you to do it by yourself. Is there anything else we need? I've got the lunch."

"No, I've borrowed secaturs and a trowel from the club just in case -- You have a bag? Good, chuck them in there," he said, handing them over. "And this," he added, and snatched a throw from the back of the sofa and tossed it to her.

"Whatever --?"

"If we have to follow through on the initial excuse," he said, quirking an eyebrow, "I have no wish to roll around in the snow and catch my death."

"Oh, bloody --"

"Unless, of course, you're offering to cushion my old bones and risk a cold yourself --"

"Wouldn't be any different than usual," Hermione muttered as she Reduced the throw and stuffed it into the rucksack.

"Shall I take that as an interest in options requiring more initiative on your part?"

"No," she said, cringing at the thought. (He was quite inventive as it was, having shocked her with different "options" on two occasions, and she had no absolutely no interest in encouraging more experimentation. Especially any that required her active participation.)

"Stop whinging, then. Ready?" he asked, reaching for her.

"Where exactly are we going?"

"There's a small wizarding community on the edge of Henley-in-Arden. We'll Apparate there, and then see if we can't find a guide."

"Very well," she said, and wrapped her free arm about his waist without being chivvied.

"Hang on, then. It might take a second longer -- I've never been there, I'll have to focus on map coordinates."

He muttered the charm, and they popped out of the flat.

*****

"Damn," Hermione muttered as she unwound herself from Snape's grasp. "It seems much colder."

"Not in comparison to Hogsmeade. Enough to make my knee ache though, blast it," Snape muttered back, and glanced up and down the deserted little lane.

"Where should we start, do you think?"

"The pub, of course, since there doesn't seem to be an apothecary."

"Oh, of cour--. Sorry. I'm new to some of this, you know," she said, defensive, when he glared at her. "Some explanation would be welcome."

"The pub," he said after a long-suffering sigh, "is often the heart of such a small community as this. Prime spot for picking up gossip and information about the residents, or finding the contact you need. Also," he added under his breath, "for spreading misinformation about oneself and the reason for one's presence."

"Oh."

"Moreover and, frankly, more importantly, I want something hot to drink before we commence freezing out arses off. Come along."

He took off down the lane toward the dilapidated little pub -- the sign of which, hanging loose from one hinge above the door, declared it to be the Groggy Gnome (complete with an actual, severed Gnome head) -- with Hermione trotting fast to keep up with him; he pushed open the sticky door and shooed her in first.

The interior was dim, which was probably fortunate because Hermione guessed it was so filthy that it would turn her stomach otherwise: and she could hear a ruckus from the back of the building, some of which was the shrill voices of a pack of children, or at least two or three very loud ones.

"Not hours, yet," someone grunted from across the room. "Shove orf."

"Don't want a pint," Snape retorted cheerfully, and flashed a grin in the direction of the bar. (Hermione gaped like a fish, and only closed her mouth when he squeezed her elbow in warning.) "Tea or coffee would be wizard, though. Blimey, it's cold out there!"

"Someone" poked his head up from beneath the butterbeer taps (he'd been fudging with the pressure, she guessed, and hastily scratched behind his ear with his wand to cover the misdeed). Hermione fancied that somewhere in the man's family was an unhealthy dose of Troll: there was a slight green cast to his skin, and a characteristic flattening of the bridge of his broad nose.

"Oh. Southerners, are yeh?" Troll-face said with more than necessary derision.

" 'S right. Any chance for that hot drink?"

Troll-face sized them up, suspicious.

"Awright, then," he finally muttered. "I'm ready for my elevenses anyways. 'Spose the missus can make you a pot as well. Hang on," and he turned and shuffled into the back room.

"Is he...?" Hermione muttered as Snape pushed her over to one of the scarred tables.

"Hush. Their hearing's bad, but not awful. And yes, probably," he admitted as he sat. "You often see things like it in little backwaters like this. Hogsmeade is a notable exception. Whatever you do, don't stare."

There was a thud from the back room, a wail from one of the children, and a woman's sharp retort to someone or other.

"But isn't that...? Wasn't cross-species mating prohibited, back in...? Ewwwww."

He snorted. "What a typical reaction. Look," he said, and leaned across the table, "if you behave and stop acting so suspiciously, perhaps I'll tell you the real reason Slytherin objected to Muggleborns and Mixedbloods."

"The real reason?"

"And stop being so jumpy about what I say and how I say it. Let me do the talking, and play along."

"All right, all right," she retorted, and unbuttoned her coat.

"Now," he said, and pulled the map from his pocket and spread it across the table, "we're going to have to decide just how much time to spend on this, assuming we can find a way to get into any of the damned things."

"Split up, do you think?"

"No, definitely not. One, because of the excuse for being here. Two, because we don't know what we'll face if we do find the right grove. He might well have booby-trapped the area, and I don't want one of us injured and with no way to contact the other. In an area this widespread, Auxiliatus isn't of much use."

"All right, that's sensible, I suppose," Hermione granted.

Troll-face plodded back in with a squat, chipped-spouted teapot and dumped it and two grimy cups on the table without waiting for Snape to pull the map aside; pointedly neglected to offer milk and sugar; and retreated behind the bar, where he glared at them as he spit-polished the glassware.

"Ta," Snape threw over his shoulder at Troll-face, and then poured the tea as Hermione watched with disgusted fascination.

"Won't kill you," he said sotto voce.

"I'm not thrilled with his cleaning technique," she muttered back. "Passing acquaintance with Tr-- with bogeys and mucus of a certain variety."

"I still have a jar of that in the stores," he said pleasantly. "That was a particularly yielding specimen, as I recall, no difficulty at all getting it to express the substance. Wonderful stuff, keeps forever."

"What on earth would you use that for?"

"As a binding agent. Natural mucillage. Totally inert, won't harm you a bit."

"Do I want to know what it's used in?"

"No, but I'll tell you anyway," he said, glancing at her over his cup-rim. "Restorative Mandrake potions, foremost."

Hermione felt instantly nauseous.

"You would have preferred remaining --?"

"No, but I could have done without the information," she muttered.

"You did ask," he said, and sniggered at her, showing far too many teeth: when she glared at him, he explained, "You're nearly as green as our host."

"Oh, shut it."

"Drink up, you'll offend the missus," Snape gravely advised, and she took the smallest sip possible, trying to avoid the slick of... whatever it was, floating on the surface of the tea. "You don't want to see how they react to insults like that."

"Wot might two Southerners be doin' muckin' about on hollyday here, then?" Troll-face blurted out loudly.

"Oh, I'm here on business, like," Snape said cheerfully. "The wife's just keeping me company. Thought we'd see the magical parts of the Wood, before they're all gone. Spend some time alone together, away from the sprogs."

Hermione choked on the murky tea, and Snape trod on her toes to shush her.

"And wot business is that?"

"Collecting a specimen or two. Oxlip root, if I can find it under the blasted snow."

"Wait, now," Troll-face warned, indignant, and belligerently slammed a slimy glass down on the bar. "That's restricted, that is. Wood's pertected, like -- off-limits wi'out proper clearance."

"I've got it," Snape said mildly. "It's not for me, you see -- it's for Master Bluett. I've got a letter from him. Member of the same club, don't you know."

Troll-face blinked, surprised, and then said with great disappointment, "Oh. Oh, well that's differnt, then. How's t' old codger? Ain't seen him in, oh, twenny years or more."

"Getting on. Can't move about much any more, so he asked me.... Finish your tea, dear," Snape told Hermione in a bossy voice, "we're already running late, we shan't have time for the, ah, more pleasureable possible activities if we dawdle...." (Hermione glared at him, but kept her mouth shut, verbally speaking, and took another queasy-lipped sip.) "Problem is, he couldn't remember which grove the best specimens were in, or how to get in it."

Troll-face ruminated over that -- literally ruminated, working up a good spit, which he then deposited in a glass and absently wiped away -- and then admitted, "I dunno. 'Spose you oughter ask Runty Roxbury -- Dolly!" he bellowed over his shoulder as another crash-and-squall came from the back, "send buggers out t' yard, they're botherin' customers. Runty," he said placidly, attention back to the two of them, "knows t' place better'n anyone else round here."

"Wizard. And where can I find Runty?"

"Cottage over near east edge of Morton Bagot," Troll-face said, and wandered over to look at the map. "Here," he added, jabbing a thick finger at a pokey little lane. "You take Redditch Road to Oldberrow, then road toward Morton Bagot, an' there's a lane on left after miler so. Follow that till you see t' stile on right. Cross that, an' another half-miler so's Runty's place."

"Ta," Snape said, and grinned again. "That's a help."

"Well, f'you'd said you was workin' for Master Bluett, I'd a been more friendly-like in first place," Troll-face grumbled, and then stared at Hermione in frank interest. "So ye've got yourselves wee 'uns? How many?"

"Three so far," Snape quickly supplied. "All under six. Doing our duty, and all that. Not that it's not a pleasure..." he added, and gave Troll-face an absolutely indecent wink.

Hermione badly wanted to kick his shins, even as she marveled at how easily the lie came to him.

"S'trewth," Troll-face said, and shook his head. "Mighty well-preserved in spite of it, f'I may say, Madam. We've eight," he added morosely as he stumped back over to the bar, "and wot I wouldn't give for a hollyday alone wi' missus...."

"That's why I hope to get the business over with quickly," Snape agreed, and pre-emptively trod on Hermione's toes again, "so we can have some privacy and work on Number Four. It's no reflection on my skills, mind you, it's just that the sprogs need attention at the most inconvenient times...."

Troll-face finally caught the implication, guffawed, and then, satisfied with the haze on the glassware, disappeared into the back.

"That's disgusting," Hermione muttered.

"That's the average male psyche -- I should have thought you'd be acquainted with it from your Common Room, given prevailing Gryffindor attitudes. And it was more or less your suggestion, if you recall. No point in having a cover if you don't use it. I really expected you to be better at this, you did an acceptable job at that café."

"I knew what to expect, then, I'd set it up. No, I mean that you have to broadcast it with such... enjoyment."

"Part of the persona. Which you should recognise," he said, shoving the teapot aside so he could study the map.

"No, don't."

"Ah. Perhaps it's the lack of purple robes that's throwing you off," he said absently.

"What? You're channelling Lockhart?"

"Chanelling? Don't know what you mean. I'm certainly using a toothy 'hail fellow well-met' attitude that was his forte, though a rather more manly version. Odd, you don't seem inclined to make cow-eyes at me."

"It loses something in translation."

"Of course it does -- because I'm not overdoing it and I'm being sincere, whereas he couldn't manage actual sincerity if his stones were in a vise."

Hermione choked again, and grabbed her teacup and sipped to cover the gaffe as Troll-face trudged back in the room.

"My Dolly," he announced proudly, "remembers old Bluett very well, and she's makin' ham sammiches for yeh to take with. Compliments of the House."

"Thank you," Hermione managed as Snape shot Troll-face another grin. "Very kind."

"Not at all. Old Master Bluett's well-thought of, these parts, and anyone he cares to send."

"Well," Snape said, and folded the map, "I suppose we'll get going as soon as the comestibles are ready, then...."

*****

They Apparated close to Morton Bagot, and hit something which wasn't quite the target, unfortunately. Hermione promptly lost her balance, fell backward over the tombstone that had materialised just behind her knees, and landed flat on her arse.

"Ow! God damn it, Severus, you've --"

Snape was too busy cursing, rather more creatively than she, to notice her: he'd barked his shins badly on the tombstone's mate.

"I thought you were perfectly capable of --"

"I am, blast it -- the damned place isn't marked on the map. It looked like pasture."

"Well, it's not."

"I see that, now," he said with a glare, and limped over to give her a hand up. "Have you broken anything?"

"No," she said, scrambling to get her feet under her as he tugged at her hand. "Just got a lovely jolt."

"Where the bloody hell are we, then? I can't have gone that far off...."

"Let me look at the map -- No, not out here in the open, let's go into the church," she said, and started picking her way through the minefield of tombstones.

"Are you sure --"

"What?"

"Well, look at the place," Snape said, scuffing away a patch of snow to reveal a tangle of dead vegetation. "It's overgrown. They'll have locked it up, won't they?"

"Even if they have it doesn't matter if we use it for a few minutes, just to get out of the wind. It isn't necessarily abandoned, anyway," Hermione explained. "It could be a Living Churchyard."

"Which is --?"

"A wildlife conservation effort. The won't keep it mown flat like a meadow any longer, but let things grow. Encourage the right kind of plants, provide shelter for birds and animals, that sort of thing."

"Ah. I wouldn't have expected that kind of... sensitivity," Snape admitted, and limped along after her through the lychgate and toward the porch of the squat little church.

She glanced at the road-signage in the lane, at the placard in front of the church itself, and then cautiously checked the door, found it open, and slipped inside, dropping the rucksack beside a bench.

"Are you sure?" Snape said uncertainly behind her.

"Come along. As it's open they won't mind at all. They're probably used to tourists and academics popping in for a look -- it's quite old." She shot him a glance, and took a guess as to the real reason for his unease. "Really, it's all right, Severus. It's just a building. A sacred one, but you won't be unwelcome unless you steal the communion plate, if that's what's worrying you."

"Very well," he muttered, and moved past her into the nave, still limping a bit.

"Map?" she asked, took it from him and unfolded it, and moved into the weak sunlight filtering through one of the windows. "You were shooting for where, precisely?"

"There," he said, jabbing a finger at one point first, and then at a second, greasy mark. "And that's where our host said the turn-off to the stile was. I didn't think it wise to get closer -- Roxbury might be the hermit type."

"Well, you were spot-on, that's exactly where we are. They just haven't noted any smaller Muggle features like churches on this -- we probably should have got an Ordnance map as well, and checked against it. Apologies for calling your Apparition skills into question."

He grunted an acceptance of the apology and sat on the bench, rubbing at his shins.

"Given that the map mayn't be strictly accurate," Hermione added as she folded it up, "I think we ought to hoof it the rest of the way. Roxbury can point out any other obstructions in other areas."

She wandered over to look at a plot of the conservation scheme, posted on the wall behind the door.

"Fine. Let's hope there's only one method to get into all the oases," Snape muttered, still working away at his shins. "Otherwise, your Arithmancy skills will get a lot of use."

"Are you all right?"

"Will be," he said, and rose and wandered toward the sanctuary. "Why do they leave it unattended?"

"Sleepy place like this with little crime? They'll have a caretaker check in once a day and lock up at night. The priest is probably shared between another church or parish, but they'll leave the doors open for any parishioners or visitors. There's certainly yew about," Hermione observed after a moment's study of the ground-plan. "That's not unusual for a churchyard, though. Most older churches have them about."

"Co-opted," Snape said absently. "They're long-lived, some here long before Christianity. Many mark sacred sites for the pre-Christian Muggles."

"Do you think it's worth considering? That he might have meant someplace more general? The whole area was once one big wood, after all."

"I sincerely hope to the gods not. If so, our job is immensely more difficult. He shouldn't have done, anyway -- it's a distinctly magical problem, I can't imagine why he's resort to that."

Hermione returned to the ground-plan, and had almost forgot about Snape until he said, "Are you observant?"

"What?" she said, and turned to him: he'd wandered halfway down the nave, and was staring up at the altar.

"Are you observant? Of Religion?"

"Oh. No, I'm not. Mum and Dad were agnostic, though Dad was raised Catholic."

"Ah. Easier for you, then."

"Than for students with religious backgrounds?"

"Yes, of course."

"I don't see why," she said. "There was nothing in the curriculum that even remotely clashed with personal religious belief. At least the little I know of it."

Snape snorted his objections to that. "Nothing to do with belief, everything to do with antipathy and fear," he finally noted. "On both sides."

"I suppose. But then, people will keep telling silly stories -- fear-mongering at its best, on the one hand, and encouraging idiocy on the other. Like Wendelin, when nothing of the sort happened."

"Sussed that out, did you?" Snape said, and turned to watch her, one corner of his mouth twitching. "Bagshot is an idiot for repeating that hoary old tale. I suppose is was the historical inaccuracy?"

"Yes," she said, and walked into the sanctuary to join him. "Did she think no-one would check the actual evidence?"

"I'm sure Binns appreciated your refutation. How many inches of parchment did you inflict upon him?"

"Twenty, if I recall rightly, with graphs and charts as addenda. The horrific thing to me, regardless of the burning issue," she added soberly, "was the thought of the ones who weren't wizards and who couldn't escape. The squibs or herbalists or ordinary people who were charged and who were tortured for it anyway."

"Wendelin is much more effective as propaganda," Snape retorted. "When it's one of your own...."

"Yes, I know. But there comes a time when one needs to set aside bogey-tales meant to frighten children and face the truth, isn't there? To see things as they really are?"

"That," Snape said, "is far harder to do than one might suppose. I'm sure Wendelin served a purpose at the time. A cautionary tale."

"Too much comfort in old prejudices to let it die now?"

"Perhaps that," Snape granted.

They stood silent for quite a while, looking around at the ancient beams above them and the sea-blue light flooding in through the stained-glass, before Snape said, very softly, "It's much more peaceful than I would have thought."

"You expected a hail of fire and brimstone? Or a Divine presence manifested?" Hermione said, and tried not to let her amusement show: he wouldn't appreciate it, and it was a bit churlish of her to think the observation funny. She was surprised at his interest, actually: he didn't seem the type to be taken with religious matters, and certainly not Muggle ones, at that.

"I didn't know what to expect. A... disturbance, perhaps, considering that a place this old is probably built on ancient pagan ground. You wouldn't think them compatible."

"Ah. It's like magic, I think. It's the people and the community who tend to make the difference, not the place. Barring a few instances like Hogwarts." Something prickled in the back of her mind, and she added, "My parents took me on holiday, once, to... well, I shouldn't call it holiday, I suppose, it was more of a pilgrimage. My great-grandfather Granger was killed at Ieper -- that's a battlefield in Belgium -- and it had that feeling, too. Even if you didn't know the history or bother to look at all the memorials about the place, you knew that something had happened there, something terrible. It wasn't magic, of course, but...."

"The sacred and profane," Snape said quietly. "Blood spilled and mingled together in the soil, that leaves a palpable feeling of what happened there. It's quite powerful. There's a reason that the Darkest Arts call for Blood Magic."

Thoroughly unsettled with the turn in the conversation, Hermione held out the map: he took it from her and tucked it away in one of his pockets, and then stared down at her and said, abruptly, "You haven't been to the battlefield, have you."

It was a statement, not a question, and she knew exactly which battlefield he meant.

"No," she managed. "No, I... I've thought about it, but haven't had the guts."

"You've experienced something like it already. Given that, I'd advise you to continue to fight the urge," he said, and turned and made for the door.

She stared after him, perplexed with the advice, and then hurried to join him outside on the porch, snatching up the rucksack and carefully closing the door behind her.

*****

"You left Tr- -- the barkeep -- far too much," she said after twenty minutes' walking, desperate to break the silence.

"I left him precisely what I thought it would take to keep his mouth shut," Snape said. "That and the connection to Bluett should do the job. Any Ministry nobs who come poking about will get the sullen treatment we had at first."

"Bluett's the old fellow at the club library, right? How did you know they'd recognise the name?"

"Because he told me. I saw him yesterday. He, ah, helped clarify the situation, the day I bought the perfume."

"You told someone else --"

"You involved Tonks, I involved someone whose expertise I needed," Snape said, arrogance firmly intact, judging by his tone of voice. "It's proven a good decision so far."

"Fine," Hermione said, conceding the point. (She was too much out of breath to argue, anyway: Snape wasn't bothering to slow his pace, no matter how badly his knee might ache.) "I don't suppose he just blithely gave you a letter though, did he? How much did you have to tell him?"

"Generalities."

"But why should he help you?"

"Because," he retorted, "I apprenticed with him. Because I asked as a favour, and he obliged. Shall I ask him to submit his vitae to you, so you can have him thoroughly vetted?"

"No, damn it, I.... Oh, never mind," she grumbled, and stopped dead when Snape made a sharp turn onto the verge, picked his way over to a stile, and climbed over it.

"Come on, we've wasted enough bloody time today " he said impatiently, and held a hand out to help her over. "Watch your step, it's slippery...."

If I kill him now, no-one will find the body for months, Hermione thought uncharitably as she plodded across the verge.

It was utterly maddening of Snape, this habit of slipping into something that marginally resembled actual humanity, and then the inevitable backslide into everyday, nasty-git Snape. She'd never noticed it much before: of course she wouldn't have at school, but then that was quite different to living with him on a near-daily basis.

"What's wrong?" Snape said, voice sharp, and she glanced up to find her hand still firmly clasped in his, and that she'd frozen just on the other side of the stile.

"Nothing," she stammered. "Just something I forgot to do. Nothing important for this."

"Come along, then," Snape said, dropped her hand, and took off along the cow-path that (hopefully) led to Runty Roxbury's cottage.

"Hang on, I've got the bloody sack to drag about," she muttered, and trotted along after him, trying desperately to shove further thoughts of Ron to the back of her mind.

Roxbury's cottage was, thankfully, just around a bend in the path, in a little cluster of birch trees: Snape slowed his pace and put up a cautionary hand to halt her, and called, "Halloo the house!"

One of the shutters opened and hit the wall with a bang, and something that looked suspiciously like a blunderbuss was pointed at them.

"State yer names and business!" a reedy tenor voice bawled out at them.

"Samson Agonistes and wife, on business for Master Bluett," Snape called back.

"Bluett? What's t'old bastard want?"

"Oxlip root."

"Woffer?"

"No idea, I'm just the brute labour."

"Got proof?"

"A letter."

Roxbury seemed to pause to consider that: the end of the blunderbuss wavered a bit.

"How's old fooker 'spect you to find it now? Three bloody inches snow!"

"Presumably that's why he sent me to dig, rather than shifting his arse."

"Typical. Always was lazy bugger, makin' me haul his kit for him."

The blunderbuss was withdrawn and the shutter smacked closed.

"Samson Agonistes?" Hermione muttered, sidling up to Snape. "That's odd, even by Wizarding standards."

"It's not mine -- or anyone else's, as far as I know -- and it's memorable for purposes of misdirection. And it's far more original than Steven," Snape retorted sotto voce as the front door opened.

"Awright, then," Roxbury said as he scurried toward them, blunderbuss still in hand. ("Runty" was apt -- he was barely five feet tall, and looked as though the next wind would blow him away.) "Lemme see t' letter. Careful, like -- f'I see a wand, I don't ask no questions."

Snape pulled another bit of of parchment from his pockets and handed it over, and Roxbury opened and scanned it.

"Looks right," he finally admitted, and handed the letter back to Snape. "Sorry -- have to be careful last few years, wi' all idiots muckin' wi' Wood. How d'ye do, Madam," he said, finally acknowledging Hermione.

"No, I entirely understand the precaution," Snape said easily, and gave the man a pseudo-Lockhart grin. "A lot of trespassing? Muggles, damn their eyes?"

"Oooo, I don't care about them. Not a blessed thing they can do to Wood, not important parts, leastways. No, it's buggers from apothecary comp'nies, mostly, muckin' wi' restricted plants," Roxbury added, and his seedy moustache gave an irritated twich. "Not even proper herbalists, really -- wantin' flowers an' such, stuff they could get almost anywhere. I'm caretaker, they're 'sposed to check wi' me first, but do they ever? No, just barge on in and dee-nood half a grove."

"Damned shame," Snape said, and Hermione added a muttered, "They ought to know better."

"That oxlip root, now, though -- that's differnt, you can only find that here, an' if it's for Master Bluett.... You've come t' right place."

"Ah, yes -- I'd hoped you could point us to the most likely bits -- Bluett can't seem to remember where he got it last," Snape said. "And we've never been before, so we've no idea how to get into the groves."

"That's easy, if you know t' trick. Lemme get get my cloak --"

"I can probably manage any charms. Unless it's not allowed, of course," Hermione said as Snape rooted in his pockets again. "We've got a map, if you don't want to bother."

"Oh. Well, seein' as Master's Bluett's spoken for ye, I can let you go on -- just put stew on t' fire an' I don't want to leave it. Right, then," Roxbury said, and stepped closer as Snape unfolded the map. "Two most likely groves are here -- Bannam first, that's right over hill." He pointed at the nearest rise. "And next best bet is Withycombe Wood, over t'other side of Henley."

"Wizard," Snape murmured. "Oh, would you suggest a good Apparition point for Withycombe? We nearly had an accident getting here. They hadn't noted that church up the road."

Roxbury snorted. "Careless buggers. Church was there well before Wood was felled good an' true. There's a little clearing here, on western edge -- I'd shoot for that, and then skirt the edge."

"Thanks."

"Now, as you enter northern edge of Wood, you'll want to look for t' King Stone."

"King Stone?" Hermione asked.

"Standing stones," Roxbury explained. "Wee cousins to stones down near Oxfordshire border."

"Oh -- like Henge stones?" she said, and Snape shifted a bit, apparently intrigued as well. "I hadn't known there were any here."

"Oh, they were all over," Roxbury said. "Leastways until Muggles carted 'em off. Old grave entrances, mostly, but not strictly magical, so they've not been noted much in the bloody academic books. Now, speakin' of Muggles, you'll have to look close -- some of 'em look more like tree stumps, now, they're that old, and that helps hide the doorway to the magical parts from the Muggles. You have to invoke the guardian -- not really, 'course, that's just old stories, it's just so the ignernt won't figger it out -- an' then the stones will let you pass."

"Wizard," Snape murmured again (Hermione managed not to start, this time), and after a long pause he finally prodded, "What's the invocation?"

"Oh, right. You put your hand on the stone and say, 'I' -- or we, in your case, you'll both want to touch it -- 'We supplicate for entrance to the guardian of the Wood, Herne, Lord of the Forest.' That simple, really, takes no special skill atall."

"Great, thanks," Snape murmured as he refolded the map. "Is there any way that we can, ah.... An entrance fee, perhaps?"

"Ooooo, no, not f'yer on Master Bluett's business. I'm paid by t'Warwickshire Wizard's Council, any road, and not 'sposed to take gratuities. But don't tell bastards from comp'nies that," Roxbury added slyly. "They've got a choice -- pay me, or pay Council a great bloody fine if I catch 'em."

Snape laughed at that -- the sound sent a shiver up Hermione's spine: unlike his usual wry snort, it was relaxed and open, and disarmingly pleasant. "Serves them right. We'll be off then, and leave you to your dinner."

"Stop by f'you come back this way," Roxbury offered, "or f'you need a warm-up, like. And tell old fooker Runty says hello."

"Shall. Ta," Snape said, turned Hermione back the way they'd come, and linked his arm in hers as they plodded up the slow rise of the hill.

"Watch out for t'gnomes," Roxbury called after them. "They're rare, now, but nothin' like spendin' a sickle to get li'l buggers to attack when your guard's down"

"A blunderbuss?" Hermione asked when they were a reasonable distance away.

"Probably a squib," Snape said. "Or at least he wants to give that impression. Nothing quite like the thought of a Muggle firearm in the hands of a barmy caretaker to give a trespassing Wizard pause."

Hermione snorted.

"Yes, it's just the same," Snape said. "But it's using the prejudice to your advantage. Can't really fault him for that in the circumstances, and it probably makes the Muggles wary of such an eccentric old coot as well."

They reached the crest of the hill, and found Bannam Wood spread out at the base of the other side; Snape shot a cautious glance behind them toward Roxbury's cottage, and then dropped her arm as they began the descent.

"What did you mean, the real reason Slytherin didn't --"

"Later," Snape muttered. "When we... stop for lunch."

But he seemed a bit breathless -- as she herself was -- so Hermione shut her gob and trotted along beside him, trying to keep her balance on the snowy grade.

Another ten minutes' walk brought them to the northern edge of the wood, and they entered and began searching for the King Stone -- vainly, as everything vaguely stump-shaped was covered in snow. Hermione put up with Snape's increasinly ill-tempered mutterings for a good three minutes before she finally said, "All right, just -- Hang on, all right?", dropped the rucksack, and pulled her wand.

"What --"

"Shhhh. I'm trying to remember a ward-revealing spell."

She couldn't, though -- it had been far too long since Bill Weasley had shown her that helpful little trick, and she hadn't used it since -- and she finally resorted to working the operation out manually, and then directing it in three wide swathes before her. (And bloody hell, it worked: a faint, harmonic hum began over to their right.)

Snape hunted down the jagged little monolith in question while she kept the spell going, and then brushed it clean of its blanket of snow.

"Good work," he murmured when she joined him next to it. "If I'd known you could do that, I might have asked you to just break the bloody ward."

"Not done, unless it's an emergency," she said. "Besides, I'll bet Roxbury would have known and come after us. Shall we?" She lay her hand against the stone.

"Go ahead --"

"Ah, why don't you. I'm a bit.... I haven't had to work that hard for a while," she admitted. "I feel a bit tired."

(She hadn't had to make such a concentrated effort in a long time, not the way she lived, and was rather disgusted with herself and ashamed to admit it: Snape looked at her quite sharply, but rather than sneering at her as she expected, he simply nodded.)

"We supplicate for entrance to the guardian of the Wood, Herne, Lord of the Forest," he rattled off: the ward dropped, and they stepped through into the magical oasis of Bannam Wood.

*****

"Bloody hell," Snape muttered after an hour and a half, and collapsed against a boulder. "No circle of yews -- or anything else remotely like it, blast the man."

"I vote for lunch," Hermione said in agreement. "Are you ready?"

"Might as well."

"The sandwiches are all yours," she noted as she rooted in the rucksack, pulled out the throw, and Engorged and spread it on the ground.

"Don't be stupid, I'm sure they're perfectly fine," he said testily, lowering himself onto the throw. He winced as he extended his bad leg, and Hermione felt a pang of pity for him: she wasn't exactly fresh herself, and she had two good legs.

"You first, then," she said, and handed over the napkin-wrapped bundle. "I don't like surprises."

He glared at her, pulled one of the sandwiches free, and lifted one piece of bread to examine the gooier contents.

"Pickle," he announced, and took a bite. "Nice ham, and a very good cheese. I'll be happy to finish them all, since you're so squeamish."

"All right, I'll have one. D'you want some soup now, or wait?"

"Now, before it cools further. Tea's worn off, I'm afraid."

She handed the flask over, and he busied himself with opening it while she pulled out a sandwich and took a bite -- and stopped in mid-chew when he gave a muffled, inhaled snort.

"What?" she demanded, shocked: it had sounded suspiciously like a tease, and as such was certainly from a most unlikely source.

"Nothing," he said nonchalantly (he couldn't quite seem to manage actual innocence).

"Yes, there is, you just... you just oinked at me! Are you implying that I'm a --"

"I'm saying that for an avowed vegetarian," he observed, not bothering to refute the charge, "you have demonstrated a decided preference for pig. That deep-freeze of yours is stuffed with sausages."

"I didn't have any breakfast at all," she sulked, and went right on chewing. "At this point, food's food -- as long as it doesn't contain Troll mucus."

He sipped at the soup, and then said, "With the possible exception of yesterday, you've had meat at least once a day since Yule. I'm afraid it's a matter of willpower."

"You're a rotten influence. Happy?"

"Oh, I'm quite satisfied. I'm simply pointing out that your habits don't match your ideals, and you have very little resistence to temptation."

"I'll feed you nothing but vegetables for the rest of the weekend, if you'd prefer," she threatened.

"Ah, but I now know where you hide the sausages, and I'm perfectly capable of cooking my own."

"Bastard," she muttered. "Stop hogging the soup, hand it over."

(His snarking didn't stop her from finishing the sandwich, though, or picking out another.)

"So," she said, largely to change the subject, "who is Herne?"

"Guardian of the --"

"I know that, and you know what I mean. Mythologically."

"Why should I know about ancient Muggle mythology that doesn't apply to --? Very well. Probably the local version of the Horned God. Protector of the animals and all wild things. You've heard of the Green Man?"

Hermione nodded.

"Another face to the local deity which would take that role."

"Oh. Fertility and all that," Hermione noted sourly.

"Not necessarily," Snape said. "Or rather, the darker aspect of it. Death, that replenishes the earth -- that must, to make way for rebirth and new growth."

"I don't think I like that, in the larger context," Hermione said. "Do you think Flaherty might have been trying to --"

"I shouldn't read so much into it, if I were you -- probably coincidence," he said, took another sandwich himself, and leaned back against the boulder. "Anything else you'd care to annoy me with before we move on?"

"You did promise to tell me about Slytherin," she said, ignoring the barb.

"Ah, so I did, blast it. The problem with Muggles and Muggleborns," he said thoughtfully as he chewed, seeming to disregard any offence she might take at that, "is not that they dilute Wizarding blood. It's that they dilute magical blood."

"What the bloody hell does that mean?"

"Think of Classification, but not solely of human subgroups, not Muggle or Wizard. Think of the larger issue."

"Magical creatures in total?" she said, shocked. "Regardless of whether human or animal?"

"Human or humanoid, to be precise. It's a question of the introduction of non-magical creatures and humans into purely magical bloodlines."

"Are you telling me," she demanded, "that Slytherin would have preferred that wizards breed with something like trolls, resulting in cases like that... that man back there, rather than a non-magical human?"

"Infinitely preferable, as far as he was concerned. Not that troll would be a good choice, mind you -- that's a bit beyond the Pale for even the most dedicated magical purist, though in some isolated areas it was obviously done well past the legislation. Slytherin had a hierarchy of desirable humanoid types, with what we would classify today as homo sapiens wizardii at the top, Veela next down, and so on -- with Muggles classified as non-magical creatures rather than homo sapiens, I'm afraid. Nothing at all wrong with being a magical hybrid, as long as the mixture wasn't too far down on the scale. A specimen like Hagrid would have been perfectly acceptable three thousand years ago, for example, and as late as a thousand years ago to someone who shared Slytherin's views."

"That's --"

"Disgusting?" Snape said mildly. "Is that how you feel about Hagrid, as you felt about our host?"

"No, of course not. Come on, Severus, how can this even be.... Cross-species mating is impossible --"

"For non-magical creatures, yes. For magical creatures that might once have shared a common magical ancestor? Entirely possible, at least before the species became so distinctly different. Again, there's Hagrid. How do you explain him, if it's impossible? Or Flitwick? He was one-quarter human, did you know that?"

"No, I -- But why? Why take such a restrictive stance?"

"It's not restrictive, it's inclusive, magically speaking -- inclusive of species you think of as inferior. And he did so because of precisely the kind of problem we have today," Snape said more-or-less patiently. "Because Slytherin foresaw that if wizards continued to breed with Muggles, it would eventually lower diversity of gifts and skills in the magical population. Not in those terms, of course, but that was the gist of it, even if he was terribly off on genetic undesirability of Muggleborns.... Better a wholly magical creature, even if there were some annoying traits involved, than risk diminishing magical power and losing valuable skills. He'd already noted the trend -- gifts and talents such as Animagism beginning to disappear, for example."

"That's ridiculous," Hermione said stubbornly.

"Is it? Look at your culture's mythology and folk tales, Hermione -- good gods, you don't have to look at it overall, you can confine it to Britain. What were Selkies, if not witches and wizards in their Animagus form? Any of the stories involving animal transformation and communication will do, really, and there are a great many, because in ancient times the talents were fairly common. Slytherin's own gift of Parseltongue was one reason he developed an interest in the problem, and wanted to examine why those gifts were becoming unusual. Now, of course, they're actually rare, and a case could be made that Slytherin was entirely correct."

"But there are people like Tonks, too --"

"Yes, and she's considered a freak, in certain quarters. That gift was always rare to begin with, and highly prized -- and here she is, a half-blood who by all rights shouldn't have any outstanding special skill at all, and she's a bloody Metamorphmagus and a quite good one. She's a sport, a throwback, at least to those who care to assume that Mixedbloods must be inferior. She makes both camps uneasy -- the exclusively-human proponents, or at least the ones who know how the gifts were acquired, and the Pureblood. It could only have been worse if she were Muggleborn, as far as the latter are concerned.... Are you going to drink all the rest of that yourself, or do I deserve more? I rather think I'm earning my upkeep, with the lecture."

Hermione shoved the cup over to him.

"So you're telling me that as far as Purebloods are concerned, a creature is better than a Muggle?" she demanded.

"No, I'm not saying that at all. You're confusing Slytherin's ancient philosophy with modern Pureblood attitudes," he retorted coolly, and poured more soup for himself. "Slytherin objected on the broad principle that what was not purely magical didn't belong at Hogwarts, or anywhere else in the magical world for that matter, and that resorting to a cross-species mating of magicals was preferable to anything else. The modern Pureblood -- most of them, at any rate -- would no more accept that than you. Slytherin's was never a popular view to begin with, for obvious aesthetic reasons," he added. "As far as Pureblood belief goes, it's a matter of a similar philosophy, but on a smaller scale, if you will. More exclusive -- mating with only other Pureblood wizards or witches. And the Isolationists take it a step further by calling for expulsion of all Mixedbloods."

"I see. Now. Why on earth didn't Binns cover this in History?"

"Would you care to try to explain all that to a room full of hormonally-addled adolescents? It's difficult enough with an adult female with the wits to understand, but who has a vested interest in having her knickers in a twist."

"I'm not being hostile," she mumbled. "I just.... I had no idea."

"It brings up sensitive issues, in any case," Snape said. "Few people mind admitting to Veela blood, but if you've something else that's now considered... undesirable, hanging off a branch of the family tree, you don't want it known nowadays. Gregory Goyle's great-great-uncle turned out much like the barkeeper, for some reason. They kept him locked up in the cellar until the day he died."

"But why the.... Oh, that's just disgusting, locking someone up. I really didn't need another reason to detest the Goyles more.... Why the antagonism now? I mean, look at the way giants and trolls -- well, full trolls deserve it, given how destructive they are, but -- the way giants are marginalised."

Snape laughed cynically. "That's quite an understatement. The unpolluted homo sapiens form was always considered more desirable. By the fifth century before the Common Era, it was the absolute norm. And what people dislike or fear, they denigrate. In this instance, they go so far as to subjugate, because the fully-human wizard must be superior. Whether they can really be called 'fully-human' or not, given that somewhere back along the line there may be creature blood, as well as Muggle."

Hermione stared off into the trees. "Hating what they are, or were," she said slowly. "No wonder Malfoy thought me a freak, with all those stupid notions floating about." She shot Snape a sidelong glance. "I don't suppose you know whether --?"

"The Malfoys, or the Snapes?"

"Snapes."

"No idea," he said, thankfully more amused by the question than offended. "Not enough information, and the line has... bred true as far back as I'm aware. What were the wagers in the Gryffindor Common Room?"

"Bat," she admitted. "Or vampire, but I knew that couldn't be right after you'd refereed Quidditch. One hundred percent git, certainly. Cripes," she muttered in disgust. "So Slytherin really did start it all, just not precisely the way I'd thought."

Snape had the decency to let her sit alone with her thoughts for a few minutes -- and to get away with her jibe -- and then nudged her elbow and handed her the last cupful of soup.

"I suggest that we go on to Withycombe," he said. "If it's here, it's so well-hidden that we can't find it. And it will be getting dark, soon."

"All right. Hold on a moment," she protested as he stood, his knee audibly cracking.

"Stay put and finish that, I have to... attract a gnome or two," he said vaguely, and wandered off into the brush.

She felt the blood rise to her face, and mentally swatted at the embarassment.

Funny, that you could learn to stand someone touching your body in very intimate ways, and yet become so stupidly silly over other normal bodily functions.... But then he must feel a bit awkward, too, or he wouldn't have used that ridiculous euphemism. That, or he was being deliberately teasing again, but she didn't think so: his "teases," such as they were, were usually quite pointed, mocking (like the one this morning about sex), and frequently vicious.

The oink was a definite anomaly, however.... Probably just a vestige of the Lockhart persona. She remembered that he'd had one of those annoying laughs, some disgusting mix of a bray and a snort. No, Snape was simply undoubtedly happy to get off that damned knee, and a bit confused from acting like silly-ass Lockhart. That must be it....

All in all, though, Snape was far too much work to attempt to figure out, and she wasn't going to do it in the middle of the bloody cold Warwickshire woods. (She was absolutely certain she wouldn't ever, regardless, but certainly not today.)

And she was very glad that she didn't have to pee yet herself, because she was just nervous enough about gnomes that she'd feel the need to have him watch her back. Literally.

She had the things packed away in the rucksack by the time he ambled back into the clearing, map already in hand.

"Ready?" he murmured, and she nodded. "Let's backtrack to the King Stone, I imagine we can't Apparate from within the oasis. Perhaps you'd care to try the Apparition? I'd suggest going singly, but if one of us is off we'll waste time tracking the other down --"

"I suspect," Hermione said with some regret -- because she should like to try it, "that you're much better than I at doing it blind. I've never had to go solely by a map."

He nodded. "It does take a bit of trial-and-error, unfortunately, until you get the knack of it," he said, "but now that you've experienced it, you could always practise later in the general area since you've a reference now."

They made their way wordlessly back to the King Stone and stepped to the other side of the ward; and then Snape drew her next to him, took another look at the map, and then popped them over to Withycombe Wood.

*****

They repeated the process of finding the King Stone all over again, once they'd trudged to the northern edge of Withycombe -- which was a bit confusing as another wood abutted Withycombe to the north, but thankfully Snape had noted that, and took care to consult the map often; the King Stone let them pass, and they searched for anything at all like a ring of yews, moving through the brush and undergrowth, and trying to keep the other in sight at all times.

Snape's odd good mood was deteriorating fast: after a long hour's hike, he was muttering curses under his breath -- Hermione could hear him quite clearly, even at a distance.

"I'm beginning to think it's no use," she admitted when they took a break, both seated on a deadfallen oak; Snape had pulled out the map again, and they'd made a guess as to how much area they'd covered. "It's a very small needle in one of many possible haystacks."

"There's nothing you can do Arithmantically, is there?" Snape asked. "No tracking charm, or --"

"No, those only work on wands and people, I'm afraid. Or if there's a deliberate attempt to leave traces, but I doubt he'd have left breadcrumbs, so to speak. A letter written in his hand just isn't enough." She glanced at Snape. "How did you track down, er, whatshisname?"

"Kingsley. I'd prefer not to.... It's a rather complicated story, and the tracking involves a Dark spell you're better off not knowing," he muttered. "Nothing that would work with Flaherty, at any rate."

That was perplexing -- until she remembered a Dark Arts ritual she'd seen described in a restricted text, one she'd "borrowed" from her mentor out of sheer curiosity: it required a certain... prior intimacy on the part of the Caster and Subject, as she recalled.

There might be other spells that didn't have potentially shocking implications, of course, but given that he didn't want to talk about it....

She filed the information away for future reference -- it might do to research the ritual and any counters later, in case she ever found herself needing to disappear from Snape's radar -- and quashed the impulse to ask totally impertinent questions that would no doubt make him snap her head off. It had been a fairly uneventful day for that, considering, and Hermione didn't feel like breaching their uneasy truce.

"Have to keep on slogging, then, I guess," she finally said, and stood.

"Hang on a moment," Snape said irritably.

She nearly retorted, swinging around with a retort on her lips, and saw how pale and drawn his face was -- the lines about his mouth deeply carved, and both hands clasped around the blasted bad knee, presumably attempting to warm it -- and instead she said levelly, "I'm just going to the top of that rise, and I shan't be out of sight. According to the map we're near the edge of the wood, so if we can rule that direction out...."

"Fine," he muttered. "Come back straightaway if I call to you."

"I will," she said, and took off up the slope.

It was nasty going: snarls of brambles had grown up under the areas not thoroughly shaded by oaks, and she had to pull her wand and cut her way through at one or two points: by the time she reached the top she was out of breath and sporting more than a few scratches, and had to lean back against a tree-trunk at the summit to rest for a moment.

It was no wonder that what was in the hollow below her didn't quite sink in for a while: a ring of jagged protruberances sticking out of the snow, around a little hillock with an ancient yew rising out of the centre.

"Severus!" she shouted over her shoulder.

He started. "What is -- Get back here if it's dangerous, you fool --" he snarled, and shot up from the log and started to limp up the slope, wand in hand.

"No, no, it's not. Don't rush, I just think you need to see this."

(He rushed anyway, slipping once and nearly going down when his knee buckled under him.)

"What?" he managed between gasps when he'd reached the top.

She pointed, he stared, and then he barked out a laugh.

"Do you think --?"

"Better possibility than anything we've yet seen," he admitted.

"But Pugworthy said yews."

"Pugworthy's not noted for strict accuracy -- more interested in being poetical than precise. He probably conflated one yew into an entire ring. Henge markers, and around a barrow, no less -- deathly sentinals, indeed."

"It's a barrow?"

"That's a man-made hillock, it's far too regular in shape. Might have been more an observatory or worship site, once, before they built the barrow -- they must have moved on, and perhaps left their dead behind in their sacred site. You see that jumble of stones, at the base? Probably the entrance."

Hermione felt slightly queasy. "So we might have to dig at an old burial?"

Snape's mouth twitched. "I doubt the occupant is in any condition to object."

"It's not that, it's a disruption of an archaeological site, that's all. Very bad form."

"Ridiculous. Muggle archaeologists aren't getting in here, regardless," he noted. "And if there is any digging involved, it shan't likely be much -- I doubt he was able to enter the barrow itself. Come along," he added, went ahead of her down into the swale that surrounded the barrow, past the standing stones, and carefully picked his way up the side of the hillock; he halted at the top and reached for her as she scrabbled after him, and pulled her the rest of the way up.

"What if it's not --"

"It is," he said sharply, and nodded to one of the yew-branches: an odd bit of tattered, transluscent fabric fluttered from it, secured with several loops of stout twine.

"What on earth is it?"

"Nadder-skin," he said, voice oddly content. "Hallucinogenic properties when the infusion is ingested."

"Oh -- 'weed wide enough to --'"

"Exactly. The bloody man didn't exactly mark it with an X, but he certainly sent a clear signal to any expert."

"What do you mean?" she asked as he moved to the base of the tree.

"It's an old herbalist's trick," he muttered. "Pull out the trowel, would you? Nadder-bite is quite unpleasant -- as are any number of things -- so you leave some kind of sign if you've run across a dangerous patch of whatever-it-is. A symbol scratched into a tree or rock, or as in this instance, you secure a bit of the substance where it will be seen. Anyone else seeing that would assume it's a nesting-site for nadders, avoid it during mating season, and be careful at any time," he added, taking the trowel from her.

"You never told us that."

"No use -- the centaurs will obliterate any human attempts to leave signs in the Forest, just to be bloody-minded," he said, and squatted next to the tree, wincing. "Come over here and block the sight-line. If I hit something, I don't want any watchers to see."

She crouched down next to him, and watched as he swept the snow clear from the ground.

"They wouldn't have planted the tree, would they?"

"No, it's not that old. A few centuries at most, probably a volunteer. Ha," he said, examining the dead matter underneath. "Fortuitous -- I think he'd found a patch of oxlip as well. Do you have a handkerchief?"

Hermione rooted in her pockets, found one, and held it ready while Snape struggled with the frost-frozen soil, and then he dumped several wizened little roots and bulbs into it.

"And that, he muttered, and nodded to an odd bare patch in the middle of the vegetation, "looks very like someone's been here fairly recently."

Snape pulled another handkerchief from his own pockets, and then dug into the bare patch: it was a bit more yielding for being recently turned, and about five inches down he uncovered an oilcloth-wrapped package, about the size of a very small biscuit-box.

"Cripes," Hermione muttered. She couldn't quite believe they'd done it.

"Right, then," he said, tucking the box away into a pocket on the inside of his cloak, "put that lot away in the sack -- very visibly and casually, mind you -- and I'll clear up here."

She fussed with putting away the oxlip, and then took the trowel when he was done and put it away as well.

"All right, let's get out of here," she said.

"There's no rush now," he said, and she turned to find him propped up against the tree. "Bit of daylight left."

"Severus, we've got to get that thing open and --"

"And totally ignore the secondary excuse for being here?" he said mildly. "I think not."

"I am not going to shag you or anyone else in the middle of winter, in the open, on top of a bloody burial mound," she hissed.

"Don't be stupid," he shot back. "And you needn't worry, I'm not in any shape to do anything strenuous at the moment. Although I shall make an effort if you insist on being intractable. Come here."

She glared at him, and then dropped the rucksack and stomped over to the tree: his mouth twitched at the victory, but he had the decency to spread one wing of his cloak over the ground for her. (The better to wrap his arm about her shoulders and pull her closer, she noted.)

"I'm tired, I'm cold, I'm hungry again, and I shall have to pee, soon," she muttered.

"If it's any consolation, I didn't see a single blasted gnome," Snape said. "Just remember, 'Leaves of three, let it --"

"Oh, shut it," Hermione said, and he snorted and perversely drew her even closer, and, most alarmingly, began to unbutton his coat, at the chest.

"Don't even think of it."

"Put your hand in, idiot," he growled. "What adult woman doesn't bother with gloves in the middle of winter? Your fingers are practically blue."

"I don't usually.... Oh, bloody hell."

Well, he was right: she'd forgot to dig her gloves out of the pile in the cupboard, and her fingers were aching from the cold. She snuggled closer and slipped her left hand inside his coat, (cripes, it is warm -- he has a blast furnace hidden about him somewhere), and her other arm around his waist.

"How long do we need to keep this up? I'm serious about the pee," she grumbled, and blew at a wayward strand of his hair that was tickling her nose.

"You know.... Firstly, this is quite an accomplishment, all concern about the cover aside. We deserve a minute's rest. And secondly, there are moments when I vastly prefer you with your mouth stoppered," Snape muttered, and promptly shifted, bent his head to hers, and initiated a thorough snog.

Hermione quite forgot about having to pee, at least for a few minutes. "We are right on top of a grave," she finally noted in desperation once he'd let her up for air.

"Consider it an experiment in the juxtaposition of Sex and Death," he noted distantly once he'd straightened and leaned back against the tree again. "An extremely mild one."

"Don't be faceti-- ...are you serious? People get worked up about that?"

"Some. You'd be horrified by the lengths to which some will go," he said, staring out at the eastern end of the standing stones. "I am not among them."

"Ewwwwww. I don't mean squicky ewwww, I mean horrible ewwww."

"Yes, I'd gathered that. I feel the same. An innocent encounter in an otherwise lovely setting, in the presence of a dead someone unburdened with modern morals who would probably have whole-heartedly approved in any case, is another matter. Besides," he added with an upward glance, "I've needed the time to think. Been trying to figure out how to get the blasted snakeskin down. It might be important, and it's hard to find -- I don't want to have to come back, if I can avoid it."

"Oh. Can't you just pull it off?"

Snape pulled his wand and tried, but the skin stayed put.

"Thought so," he said, and grunted. "He's fixed it too firmly, damn it, with a spell. The skin will have to be cut, not the rope -- it's delicate work, and a charm will likely shred it."

"Levitate me?"

"Terribly high for that, it must be twenty feet up, and.... No, it's not safe."

"Well, then," Hermione said, and pulled herself free of his arms, "I'll have to go up the tree."

"I don't think that's wise --"

"I used to do it all the time, at home -- we had an apple tree," she said as she stood, "and Dad sent me up for the top ones. He secured me with a harness, of course, but.... You'll just have to cushion the ground for me if I fall, that's not nearly as rough as Levitation. Have you got a knife?"

"There's a bloody big difference in springiness between apple and yew, blast it. I don't want you to --"

"I'll be fine -- I'm skinny, and it's a bloody big yew. I'll just have soggy socks when it's done," she said, shucking off first her coat, and then boots. "Knife?"

He stared at her for a moment, and then went through his pockets and finally withdrew a penknife.

"If it's too slippery, come down," he said, stern. "It's not worth it."

"I will," she said, and took the penknife from him, slipped it into her back pocket, and started shinnying up the tree, careful to brush the snow away as she went so she wouldn't slip. (She did once anyway, and had to reassure Snape that she was fine despite his angry, "Hermione, come down this instant.")

"There are four or five of them, actually, all in the same bundle," she called down once she'd reached the slender branch they were fixed to.

"Leave one, then," Snape called back. "In case it's an actual warning."

She hooked a leg firmly about the nearest thick limb, pulled free the knife, and bent across to saw at the skins, sending them floating down to Snape: and then, teeth chattering, she folded and dropped the knife to him and began the perilous climb down.

"Hold on," Snape muttered when she was close enough to the ground to jump: he grabbed one sodden-socked foot and jammed her boot on it, and then the other, and then caught her about the waist as she dropped, to make the landing easier. "Let's go -- you're sure to catch cold, now."

"D- don't suppose you have P- Pepper-Up on you?" she asked as she wriggled back into her coat.

"No," he said, scrambling after the skins. (He must have resisted the urge to catch them and kept his wand and eyes trained on her, she decided, surprised.) "And the apothecaries will be closed by the time we return. I can make you some tomorrow at the club, if need be. A hot toddy will have to do tonight."

"That'll work. Let's g- get out of here."

It was a long hike back to the King Stone -- with two stops interspersed, one ostensibly to address Hermione's aching bladder (she didn't need to go that badly, really, but she could tell Snape needed a rest), and the other when Snape stumbled into a fox-hole, twisting that damned knee -- and they finally stepped clear of the wards; and without even asking, Hermione reached for Snape's hand, clasped it firmly, and Apparated them directly to her flat.

*****

Snape didn't grumble about her taking charge, as it happened: he merely quirked an eyebrow, took the rucksack from her, and said, "Hot bath now, hot toddy soon as I can manage, and hot soup after," and gave her a push toward the bathroom.

"You won't --" she began anxiously as she shucked off her coat.

"No, I won't open the blasted thing without you," he growled, and pulled it out of his cloak. "Go on, before you start sniffling."

"All right. Whisky's in the --"

"I know, I've already found it," he said, and waved her away: so she trotted off to the bath, turned the hot tap on full, and prayed that the ancient boiler would provide something other than tepid water. (If it died before she could have it replaced, she would have to have the water line hooked back up to the Aga, something to be avoided at all cost: the bloody thing was almost as temperamental as Snape when it was required to do its entire job properly.)

The day hadn't come without cost, Hermione noted once she'd stripped. A few of the brambles had poked through her trousers and left nasty scratches down her legs, matching those on her hands; she had rather spectacular bruises along the backs of her knees from the tumble over the tombstone, and her bum hurt from the same incident; and she'd managed an abrasion to her stomach as well, shinnying up the damned tree.

She clipped her hair up, rooted in the cupboard for the salts and dumped a generous handful in, and then followed them into the tub. Whatever god oversaw the proper functioning of water-boilers was gracious, and the bath was blissfully hot (though she hadn't had to add any cold), and she'd nearly forgot about Snape until the door opened.

"Drink this down," he said, and matter-of-factly crossed to her and handed her a glass of toddy.

And then he promptly turned to leave.

"Severus --"

He halted. "Yes?" he said over his shoulder, not meeting her eyes.

(Funny, that he wouldn't look at her: he had no trouble doing so in other circumstances....)

"There's a heating-pad in the cupboard, if you want it for your knee."

"A what?"

"Kind of an electric hot-water bottle."

"Ah.... I think I'll pass, thank you. I'm putting the soup on, so as soon as you're warm...."

"Thanks."

He slipped through the door, leaving it ajar.

Hermione took a sip of the toddy -- wonderfully hot and buttery, although the tremendous amount of whisky he'd used made her eyes water -- set the glass on the tub's edge, and sank further down into the water, letting it lap about her earlobes.

She worried over some of the day's thoughts -- Ron, mostly (I shall have to write, the sooner the better -- if he's heard and I just show up, I'll get an earful), and then, very briefly, of Snape and Kingsley.

Was that why he'd been determined to find Kingsley, because they'd been... involved? And if they were -- if it were an emotional attachment, rather than casual -- how could he bear to give the man Eternal Sleep?

It couldn't have been something serious, though. Could it? Severus Snape had -- in the last week, certainly -- impressed her as unmistakably heterosexual....

Oh, for fuck's sake, Hermione -- why do you care? At any rate, let's not be hypocritical or jump to conclusions -- he's a human being, no matter that it took you forever to figure that out. No need to be squicked by it, either, they were adults, and presumably chose each other. At least I hope so, for Kingsley's sake.

She took another long drink, scrubbed at her face with wet hands, and tried to put everything out of her mind.

Doesn't tell me a damned thing about Snape, anyway, other than that someone might have found him desirable in whatever way, she thought, grumpy. No accounting for taste.

*****

Hermione didn't spend nearly as long in the bath as she'd anticipated, the toddy neatly warming her from the inside-out; and she suspected Snape needed a hot bath as much as she had, though he'd have to wait a while for the boiler to recover. By the time she'd decided a good hair-wash was in order, though, the smell of tomato soup wafting through the flat convinced her it could wait: she managed to drag herself out and pull on some clean clothes -- and to snag the heating-pad from the cupboard -- and went out to the kitchen to see what Snape had wrought.

He was seated at the kitchen counter, in his shirt-sleeves, had already started on his soup, and had unwrapped the box though he hadn't opened it.

"Better?" he grunted at her, eyes fixed on the box.

"Much, thanks," she said, and filled a deep mug with the soup. (He'd added something intriguing to the tinned muck, though she couldn't identify it: it could only be an improvement.) "There should be enough hot water for yours in a half-hour or so."

"I'd like to sort this out, first."

"Well, let's take it to the sitting-room, then. I need to put my feet up."

She padded on ahead of him with mug in hand, left it on the table, and had plugged the heating-pad in by the time he'd slowly made his way in after her and seated himself.

"Here -- put this over the knee," she said, switching it on.

"What? No, thank you."

"Severus, come on, it won't hurt in the least.... Or would you rather try cold, first? Is it swollen?"

"What I want," he hissed, "is to get this over with. My bloody knee is not your concern."

"Fine," she managed and dropped the heating-pad, doing her best to keep the hurt from her voice. "I just don't think you need to be uncomfortable, that's all. How did he ward it?"

"He didn't."

"Let's get on with it, then. Go ahead," she said, and curled up next to him, sipping at her soup.

He fumbled with the catch for a moment, and lifted the lid: there was a tightly-folded bundle of papers inside, and he prised them out and spread them apart.

"What --" she said, wriggling closer.

"First is a contract, it appears. For manufacture of the substance," Snape said, scanning the paper. "Signed by Bingelwort, Cunningham, and Fudge himself."

"Bingelwort's the CEO, but who is Cunningham?"

"Head of Research, I think. I'd heard he was with them.... Took NEWTs a few years ahead of me, decent Potions scores. Not good enough for Bluett to take an interest, so he must have worked his way up. This is.... It's absolutely blatant," Sanpe said, not bothering to conceal considerable astonishment. "They're very forthright about the actual purpose of the blasted stuff."

"They'd have to be with the Research and Development Division, wouldn't they? It would have to be tested for effectiveness on premises before they shipped it."

"I imagine so," Snape murmured, and passed that paper to her. "Particularly if they wanted to make certain it shipped directly from Mangel and Mortars to St. Mungo's, that would keep the Ministry out of the distribution. They can pin the blame any so-called tainting squarely on M and M, then -- tricky, that. This," he said of the next sheet, "is results of the tests in Azkaban."

"Oooo -- what does it --" Hermione said, dropping the contract and unconsciously wriggling even closer, leaning against Snape's arm.

"Roughly seventy-two percent effectiveness," he said, voice strangled. "Of one hundred fifty-nine female test subjects, one hundred fifteen became pregnant within two months, although there was a higher incidence of miscarriage than in the general population --"

"Christ --"

"-- and another twelve percent achieved pregnancy in the following two months, with a similar rate of miscarriage. There were significant side effects for the male test subjects, including instances of priapsim and madness in cases where the mated pairs -- that's exactly how they phrase it, 'mated pairs' -- were isolated after pregnancy occurred, and no other mating partner was provided."

"My God."

Snape swore a blue streak, and dropped the paper as if it were red-hot.

"So it's a fertility drug," Hermione said. "Pregnancy rate in the general population has dropped to sixty percent in the last decade -- that's a damned huge increase."

"A fertility drug with a significant aphrodisiac quality," Snape corrected her. "Look at what it did to the male subjects."

"They can't possibly hope to pull this off. What's the use of a fertility drug when people have contraceptives available?"

He turned to face her, unaccountably angry. "How an otherwise intelligent woman can miss an obvious.... Are you certain they will?" he asked more cautiously, searching her eyes.

"What do you mean? I haven't seen any evidence at all of.... All right, Severus, what do you know that I don't?"

The tense lines about his mouth softened and he asked uncertainly, "You really hadn't thought to go to an apothecary, had you? Or haven't been in any case, so haven't noted the changes?"

"No, I seldom need anything that I can't get up the road at the chemist's -- I hate dealing with the mess in Diagon Alley. Why?"

"Last year," he said, "several rather important ingredients were put on the Restricted Usage list, including two vital to Contraceptive potions, and the Ministry has limited the amount of brewed contraceptive that manufacturers can produce. Consequently, you can't simply buy a potion any longer. You must have a healer's order, and you have to sign for it at the apothecary just as you must for Slug Repellent or any number of more dangerous substances. They have the means now to track contraceptive users, Hermione. Have probably been doing so for a while."

"But how can they --"

"The Ministry can't keep people from going out and collecting the herbal ingredients, no -- if they don't need them in great quantity, if they can get hold of the restricted ingredients, and if they have the skill to brew it themselves. And I can tell you that most don't, no matter how hard I've tried to knock Class 1 potions into the idiot's heads. Even those of us with perfectly above-board reasons for requesting the restricted items have to jump through hoops. I have to submit very precise requests for many things, and justify each. I'll wager that's why half the people on the flight-risk list have been put there, because they've signed for contraceptives or have access to the restricted ingredients --"

He broke off, suddenly, and took a deep breath before continuing. "That's why I elected to brew it for you myself, so you shouldn't have to sign... or sign any longer, as I didn't know what you'd been up to before October. Not to mention that I didn't trust that pre-brewed muck before, and certainly don't now."

"Holy.... I had no idea about those restrictions, none."

"Wasn't announced, even in the Prophet -- they simply put it in place. The next step, I presume, will be an outright ban on contraceptive, which shall be almost impossible to enforce in the first place and impractical at any rate as people find other... options. And that's where this fucking thing comes into play. Require at least part of the population to undergo the supposed treatment -- those who haven't proven their fertility and that they can produce healthy children, at minimum -- and then sit back and watch the pregnancy rate shoot through the roof."

"But... but I've told them," Hermione said, utterly bewildered. "I've told them you can't try to force things like reproduction. It has tremendous social consequences -- increased death rates for mothers and children, increased poverty -- and those don't even begin to address the long-term consequences."

"They don't care, Hermione. The Ministry simply don't care. Their agenda -- whether it's meeting the blasted quotas, or some zealous commitment to their own personal morality at the expense of others' lives -- is paramount, and anyone else's choices and opinions don't matter. Not in the least. You might as well try arguing the Fourth Arithmantic Operation with a dedicated anti-Apparitionist. There's no logic involved, and no consideration for actual evidence. It's all about belief, not common sense and science. Surely you've had some proof of that by now, judging by Corcoran's behavior."

She lapsed back into the corner of the sofa, hands trembling; Snape stared into the empty grate for a moment, and then reached over, plucked the mug from her hands, set it on the table, and pulled her close to him. He was hot and stank of sweat from the day's exertions, and his neck was grimy with it as well as his own scent when she buried her face against it.

Hermione didn't care in the least. At the moment he was the one fixed point in her universe, as unlikely as that seemed or as unthinkable as it might once have been.

"I retract it," he said, voice unsteady, though Hermione couldn't tell whether from suppressed rage or horror.

"What?" she mumbled against his shoulder.

"Anything I said about the idiocy of your meddling. Not that I approve of the way you've gone about it, but...."

She shivered, and he chafed her arm and back.

"If you must sneeze," he muttered, "try to miss me, please. You're no Troll, but I'm sure it's unpleasant."

"Don't need to, I think the whisky staved it off. No, I was thinking about their... test subjects."

"Yes, that's a particularly horrid image, isn't it? I wonder how many of my former associates were among them."

"Does it say how many deaths there were as a result of --"

"Probably, but I didn't get that far and frankly I don't want to look again, at the moment."

"All right, I can't blame you for that."

They sat silent for a while, Hermione not at all inclined to pull away -- nor, apparently, Snape willing to shove her off -- and she finally ventured, "They won't be able to cover it up for long, even if we can't do anything. Someone will start to question the rising death rates. Or the economic impact."

"Who is there to question the death rates? You, and a few healers at St. Mungo's. I shouldn't try that if I were you -- not overtly. And the economy.... How long will that take? A decade? A generation? They've always blamed poverty squarely on the poverty-stricken. Laziness, lack of ambition, alcoholism -- as far as the government is concerned, they're a cause of poverty, not a result, and as long as most people are getting by the public don't bother to question that. Look at the Weasleys -- they've always been blamed for their situation precisely because they were so fruitful. Living beyond their means, with all those mouths to feed -- and to some extent it's true."

"But they were an unusual case," Hermione argued, "and God knows Arthur Weasley's done his damndest to provide for them, successfully. I understand your point, though -- it will be a quite different matter when it becomes far more common. There'll almost certainly be a backlash. Cripes."

Snape sighed, and looked down at the last bit of paper in his lap: it was obviously a potions receipt, but it was far beyond Hermione's comprehension, even with NEWTs-level training.

"Can you make any sense of it? Does it look at all like a --"

"Aphrodisiacs are not my speciality," Snape said dryly. "I chucked those out of the curriculum first thing. The antidotes, yes -- every few years some idiot decides it would be great fun to do extracurricular brewing and wreak havoc in their Common Room. This simply doesn't look right, in any case, from the little I do remember. They're not the kind of ingredients one would associate with an aphrodisiac. Then there's the fertility component, and I really have no idea whatsoever on that score."

"It's not a straightforward potion?"

"No, it can't be, it's a hybrid. You see here, where they've added Mugwort? That's to buffer the reaction between the Doxy egg and Skullcap, because the two react rather violently in combination -- they're from totally different potions. They've taken a great deal of care to minimise several problems like that, because so many of these are uncomplimentary. I'd go so far as to say dangerous, in terms of the potential interactions."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione asked, and pointed at a scribbled notation.

Snape held the paper closer to his eyes, squinting, and then snorted. "'The last active ingredient is to be delivered to M and M by a third party, and is not to be analysed or stockpiled.' It's proprietary, in other words -- the Ministry doesn't want the company to be able to produce the potion on its own."

"Oh --"

"-- balls," Snape finished for her. "Exactly. Working with incomplete data. Lovely."

He flicked the receipt away from him, and it went, spinning, to join the other papers on the floor: Hermione gave up the fight, closed her eyes, and buried her face against his neck again.

"All right," she finally said. "What do we do now?"

"Do we do anything?" Snape said softly. "Don't forget, that's always an option."

"I don't know about you, but I don't think I could live with myself, knowing this is a possibility. And it has nothing at all to do with our own situation."

"Hmmmph." He sighed. "Unfortunately I agree with you, although I'll admit that it's largely because under no circumstances do I want to be inflicted with that... muck. And we should be concerned about the possibiliy, because I now have no bloody intention of... of bringing a child into this mess simply to avoid detection. Not in the current climate."

"We could always leave, relocate. Separately, I mean," Hermione added hastily. "I'm not implying we'd have to remain together, although a joint holiday would be a decent excuse to get out of the country."

"I... don't think that would work," Snape said. "Not that you're not free to make your own decision, but... I should appreciate knowing, because there's no point in pursuing this if you don't stay. You have all the useful contacts on the dissemination end of things."

"True. And I don't think I could get all the documents out with me, at any rate, not with my present...."

Snape sat upright and stared down at her. "Your present what, Hermione?"

"Present arrangements," she said weakly. "I did have a backup plan, you know. I just didn't count on finding this much additional info. Or having to get someone else out, as well."

He stared at her for another moment, and then snorted several times in succession and ran his free hand over his face.

"I should have guessed," he admitted. "'Plan B Granger,' indeed."

Hermione's cheeks burned. That hadn't been a compliment the first time around, though she'd noted Snape, at least, had glowered at Finnegan when the idiot had jeered about her caution.

"Yes, well this one isn't good enough to handle recent developments. And it shall take a bit of work to make it viable."

"Very well. I'd suggest, then," Snape said, "that we do split the work, for the time being. I'll have to take the receipt -- a copy, actually -- to the club tomorrow, and see what I can do to decipher it before Term starts. After that it will be very slow going. Among your other... arrangements, I'd suggest finding a good hiding-place for this lot. Not here, and I certainly don't want to take them to Hogwarts. Find someplace no-one would connect with either of us."

"All right, I can do that."

"I think I need that bath, now," he said, and unwound himself from about her and stood. "Much as I'd like to start on that tonight --"

"No, go in the morning," Hermione said, mind already racing. "Have a fresh start. I'll clean up here, just have your bath and go straight to bed."

"I shall."

He left the room, limping slightly; she heard him moving about in the kitchen for a moment, and then he entered the bedroom and closed the bathroom door.

She gathered all the documents together, folded them, and stuffed them back into the box: and having no better hiding-place for the time being, she wedged it up behind the flue's damper, and then wandered into the kitchen to tidy up. (There wasn't much to do: Snape was unusually considerate about that, but she imagined it was force of habit for a Potions Master with a spotless classroom.)

There was one thing she probably ought to do tonight, though, or it would bother her: write to Ron. She'd keep putting it off, otherwise -- just as she'd put off writing to her parents -- and it wouldn't do, not any longer. The problem was how to do it without him hitting the roof. (Too much to think he wouldn't question her sanity -- that was a given.)

She went back to the sitting room, sat at the desk, pulled out her stationery, and mentally composed her letter.

Dear Ron -- Guess what? I've finally done it! Married good and proper. Need a hint? Think Greasy Git --

She froze for a moment, and considered the implications of that: and then she uncapped her pen and made a start of it.

Dear Ron,

I haven't been in touch because you weren't very happy with me when we last spoke, and you're probably still not. This is terribly important, though, and I really need you to bear with me and hear me out.

There's a favour I need to ask of you, in person, and if you want to talk about anything you've heard about me recently (or not), that's fine. The important bit really doesn't have anything to do with that, but I'll be happy to have you tick me off on anything else if you'll only say it's all right to come see you. As soon as possible. I'm not joking about how important this is, unfortunately. I shouldn't bother you, otherwise.

Please let me know if it's possible. I'm sort of counting on you for this: my back's against the wall, at the moment.

I hope Laura and the kids are well -- I saw little Arthur's birth announcement in the Prophet. Big Arthur must be tickled pink, but I haven't seen him around to ask about the latest addition.

Hermione

She folded the letter, tucked it into an envelope ready for owling and set it aside with Flaherty's letter to his wife, and then made the rounds of the flat, turning out the lights and locking up: and then she got ready for bed and waited, impatient, for Snape to vacate the bath so she could brush her teeth.

After a half-hour she gave up and tapped at the door.

"Severus?"

No answer. She opened the door and peeked in.

He was still in the bath -- which was steaming copiously, far more than it should have been, given the condition of the boiler -- and his wand was on the tub-edge, next to a nearly empty and very large glass of hot toddy, his second as far as she knew, and looking as if there wasn't much water in it at all (none, possibly). Severus himself was asleep, and so far down in the water that his nose was nearly touching the surface.

She padded over, moved the glass and wand out of harm's way, and gently jiggled his shoulder -- and he jerked and wakened instantly, and foundered in the water.

"Wha --"

"You fell asleep," she said, and grabbed a fresh towel for him. "Put a heating charm on the water, didn't you? Not wise, given how tired you are --"

"I'm not, and I'd appreciate it if you'd --"

"Come on, out," she bossed him, and flipped the towel open to give him some measure of privacy.

"-- get the bloody hell out!" he sputtered.

"I shall, when I'm sure you can stand without keeling over. Very hot water and alcohol? Not a good combination, and now you're probably dehydrated, too."

"I don't need you treating me like a child, damn it."

"I'm not insisting on scrubbing your ears, I just don't need you cracking your head open. I'm being sensible. Come on, Severus. I shan't look."

He glared at her: she glared back, and refused to move.

"You are the most bossy, irritating --"

"-- impertinent, presumptuous bitch, yes. Let's consider that said and get on with it."

He finally gave up, struggled to his feet, promptly slipped, and had to grab for the edge of the tub.

"And, in this, instance, I'm right," Hermione added levelly.

He didn't appreciate that, not at all. He actually snarled at her as she wrapped the towel about his waist, and then he had to grab for her shoulder as he swayed again.

"Good God, your knee is swollen," she said, horrified, as he stepped out of the tub, giving her a good look at it -- and at the bruises on his shins.

"Blast you, it's none of your --"

"Severus, shut up," she said, and wrapped an arm about him and steered him out of the bathroom and toward the bed, barely getting him to the edge and the coverlet down before he collapsed. "Let me just get another towel to -- Stay," she commanded, and headed for the bathroom.

"Woof," he shot back sullenly, and she stopped and turned back to him.

"Playing at being Lockhart does very odd things to you, do you realise that?"

"No, that was Black. Fucking bastard," he muttered. "If I were acting like Lockhart I shouldn't be in your bed, believe me."

Hermione bit her tongue before she snapped out something involving the words testosterone or machismo or pig, and fetched another towel from the bath.

By the time she'd returned he'd splayed out across the sheets, wet body and all.

"You're going to regret that," she said, beginning to rub his shoulders and bony chest dry. (He'd managed to wash his hair before falling asleep, thankfully, although the pillow would be damp come morning: she'd have to remember to pin it up and leave the covers down, to air-dry.)

"Won't notice a thing," he said, damp hair stringing all over his face, and lay quiescent while she patted at his legs, and finally returned to the top to give his hair a vigorous scrub.

"I'm going to get you a big glass of water, and I want you to drink it down before you go unconscious," she informed him: he squinted up at her, and swatted her hands away.

"Yes, Matron. Must I pee in a basin -- which I shall inevitably have to do, in the middle of the night -- or shall you escort me to the loo and help me piss, Matron?"

He's half-drunk -- more, I think , those toddies were damned potent -- he's exhausted, in pain, and very, very upset, she reminded herself, and then smiled sweetly and said, "I'll be happy to help, if you'd like."

It almost backfired: a very intrigued and calculating look crossed his face, he opened his mouth to retort -- and then he seemed to re-evaluate the situation and give up. "Don't be ridiculous," he mumbled, and drew his left forearm over his eyes.

"Right, then. You'll thank me in the morning, anyway," she said. "Are you certain.... I know it's none of my business, Severus, but are you certain you don't want some ice for this?" she asked, and gingerly prodded the angry, swollen skin around his knee: he hissed and jerked his leg away, and said. "Yes. Yes I'm certain, no I don't want ice."

"That's no simple bolloxing-up, no matter what you told me earlier. What happened?"

"Firenze fell on me," he admitted thickly. "After we.... The field outside the house."

"The bloody horse squashed you!"

Snape chuckled, a rusty, pained sound, and peered at her from under his forearm. "Your prejudices are showing again, Miss Granger."

"Three-quarters horse is enough for -- Never mind my bloody prejudices, what happened? I knew you'd been in Infirmary for two weeks, but I didn't.... Well, I was preoccupied with Neville, and I didn't even see you in the ward."

"Understandable," he muttered indistinctly. "He was in extresh- extremis, you were allowed to be preoccupied. Was as it should be."

"Well?"

"We'd... we were searching for survivors," Snape admitted, arm once more firmly across his eyes. "Firenze and I. We'd missed McNair, he'd been chucked in with their dead, and he took a shot at me. Firenze stepped in front and... took it. Fool. Collapsed on me, crushed the leg from the knee all the way to the hip."

Oh, shit.

"Why on earth didn't they send you to St. Mungo's?"

He snorted. "Half the Death Eaters who'd escaped went there directly. Not the place to be, I'd be dead within an hour. Pomfrey did a damned fine job, anyway...."

"Obviously not."

"Yessss, did," he contradicted her, and glared. "She's bloody good. Just took a bit longer. She had to work all the... crushed bits out before she could adminish -- administer Skele-Gro."

"Oh, bloody.... Never mind, I don't want to know how long it took. It sounds awful."

She wisked away the damp towels (including the one over his privates, ignoring an abortive swipe and growl from him), and went to the kitchen for the water: by the time she'd returned he'd wriggled under the sheets -- the need to protect his modesty greater than his drink-induced sloth, she assumed -- and she had to chivvy him to sit up and drink.

"Serious about the pee," he said darkly.

"So am I. Wake me if you aren't steady by then."

"Sorry."

"Don't be stupid, Severus, it's... it's been a long and tiring day, and very upsetting. I don't mind helping under the circumstances, really. Do you want a basin, in case your stomach --?"

"No, not that bad off. Usually a better head than this. Disgusting."

"Yes, it is, and no, I don't care -- I told you, I understand. Do you want to brush your teeth before --"

"Fuck it," he said succinctly. "Not moving."

"All right," she said, and went in to brush her own.

He was asleep by the time she slipped into the bed herself.

*****

Hermione had quite forgot what day it was until the ruckus outside woke her, seconds before Severus shot up in bed and groped frantically at the bedtable.

"Where's my --"

"It's all ri-- Severus, calm down, it's just fireworks. It must be midnight."

"Fireworks? Where's my bloody --"

"And noise-makers. It's New Year's Eve, it's nothing bad, really. Your wand's still in the bath -- No, no, I'll get it."

She stumbled into the bath in the dark and grabbed it, brought it back to him -- despite second thoughts on the wisdom of giving a tipsy, paranoid wizard his wand -- and then wriggled back under the covers.

"Bloody fucking hell," he cursed, and flopped back down flat.

I'm definitely not telling Ron about this bit, Hermione thought, and snorted.

"What?" Snape said belligerently.

"Nothing. Just the... the whole day. The last six months, actually."

"Lucky you, finding it amusing," he muttered.

"I don't, precisely, it's just.... It's either laugh or cry, at this point, and I'd rather laugh."

"Better than my solution, I suppose."

She wasn't certain why she felt the need to reach out to him -- residual pity for his physical pain, perhaps, or his embarassment at his over-reaction, or knowing that in his condition he wasn't likely to be able to take advantage of the gesture for once: but she followed the impulse anyway, leaned over, and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips.

"What the bloody hell do you --"

"It's a tradition. Happy New Year, Severus," she said, and snuggled back down under the covers, her back to him.

"Oh," he said, sounding more than a little shocked. He was silent for a bit, and then said more softly, "May it be a better one than the last."

She didn't know if he had to use the loo later: she was so tired herself that she didn't wake next morning until the sun was well up. Snape was snoring heavily beside her, with his wand still tightly clenched in his fingers.

*****

Chapter 9 Footnotes.

Link to Chapter 10