Hermione woke from another of the dreams, not the nightmares. She preferred the nightmares. There was no guilt after the nightmares. It was the other dreams, those where she woke up sweat-soaked and frustrated, the ones she had to consign to her Pensieve before she visited Severus, that unsettled her more. It had been four months since he had told her of the events that night, secrets she'd never be able to tell anyone else. Four months since she had realised that, even if Harry killed Voldemort tomorrow, this war would have consequences that would live on for a lifetime.

---

Her studies had progressed beyond her wildest hopes.

While her Occlumency studies were still ongoing, Severus had recently suggested that she might broach the idea of tutoring Harry.

As for Defence, it had been two months before he'd allowed her to cast a spell. "No Protego will stop a Killing Curse, Hermione. You have a gymnast's physique. Use it." It had been his arm that had been at her back giving her the support she needed until she gained the confidence to flip and tumble like an acrobat, only then moving on to offensive practice.

However, Potions was her fascination.

---

Her last two brews of Wolfsbane had been indistinguishable from Severus's and, on reading his research journals, she'd realised the scribbles in Harry's book had been nothing more than crib notes. It wasn't just the subject itself that enthralled her, but the insight into the inner workings of the man. There were projects she knew without question had been instigated by Voldemort (often annotated as to information withheld), still others where the end result was less important than the academic challenge, and then there were those that made her think he was a better man than anyone had ever believed.

---

Few of the potions he had supplied to Poppy Pomfrey had been made to standard methods. In almost every case he had increased the efficacy, reduced side-effects or made other improvements. In June 1996, he had developed a sudden interest in tissue repair, lung damage and anti-scarring measures. Hermione had never realised she should have taken months to recover, or that he considered her scar his failure. Even after she was healed, he'd kept researching until he found the treatments that should have been administered immediately, so that he would be better prepared for any repeat occurrence... fortunately for Malfoy.

---

The journals showed her a brilliant man, a flawed man, a man who often found himself forced into doing things he had no wish to do. They showed what she chose to call determination, because she knew others called it stubbornness when they saw it in her. Projects that he worked on over years, putting them aside when he hit a dead end, only to resume them when some advance in the field brought new hope. They showed her a compassionate man, who would spend long hours brewing or researching for Pomfrey's patients, Gryffindor and Slytherin alike.

Hermione was ensnared.

---

Fate capriciously chose to have the two epistles that would destroy any semblance of peace arrive at The Burrow on the same day.

As soon as he entered the kitchen, Ron glared suspiciously at the Siberian eagle owl which had haughtily displaced Errol from his perch. He, then, glowered at Hermione or, rather, the five feet of parchment that she was hidden behind. "Vicky got less to say than usual?" he snarled.

Hermione flushed slightly as she corrected him. "He... had some news, and he wanted my opinion, so he thought he would send it straight away."

Then, Hermes arrived.

---

"It's from Percy!" Molly almost screeched, ripping the letter from the owl's leg almost before it had landed. "He's invited Arthur and I for lunch... Oh my! He says he's getting married and he wants to put things right."

Hermione's guts twisted into a nervous knot that had nothing to do with her own letter.

"Doesn't want to look like Billy-No-Mates, you mean," Ron muttered derisively, between mouthfuls.

"...Before the baby is born," Molly continued.

"When's it due?" Hermione asked, trying not to sound strained.

"September." Molly sighed contentedly, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I'm going to be a grandmother."

---

Hermione wanted nothing more than to be in Edinburgh, in Severus's flat, that instant so she could get his advice. Unfortunately, the best she could manage was to stare at her own not insignificant letter, while Harry tromped into the room and Ron chuntered on about how it was about time Percy came to his senses.

Ron's interest in Percy was short-lived, however.

"So, what's this important news of Vicky's?"

Hermione's teeth pressed into her bottom lip. "He— Well, he's had an offer to play in Britain."

"And he wants to know if you'll shag him before he decides?"

---

"Ronald Weasley, you will apologise this instant!" Molly screeched.

"Come on, Mum. Why else is someone famous like Krum interested in someone like Hermione?" He gave a snort. "It's hardly for the conversation. He can't even speak English. Unless he's spying for You-Know-Who!"

Hermione had already made it to her feet, letter clasped in her hand. "Well, it's nice to know what you really think of me, Won-Won," she spat back at him as she ran for the door. If she had wanted Severus minutes before, she needed him now. As soon as she was past the wards she Apparated.

---

She was in his arms before she realised she was still dressed in her pyjamas, taking great heaving herb-scented breaths while Severus tried to make sense of the few words she managed to gulp out.

"P—Percy's made his move... and we still don't have any proof... and M—Molly's so h—happy and if—if we're right th—then it's going to break her heart... and I can't tell her how I know what we think we know and Ron was mean."

Severus brushed stray hairs away from her face until her eyes met his. "All teenaged boys are mean." He kissed her forehead.