—————H—————

The sun wasn't even completely up and Hermione was already in Severus' secret lab, waiting for him.

Since her realization of what was going to happen to him and what that meant, she'd been thinking. She was almost certain of what was coming for Severus. The one question that plagued her was whether or not he would want her around when the time came.

She'd been so careful since Eileen had explained pure-blood etiquette. She'd even made an effort to observe the Slytherin girls, aware that they were the best chances of seeing proper pure-blood behavior.

But what if it wasn't enough? What if, when it all came down to it, Severus decided he needed a real pureblood to help him become a Death Eater? Maybe that was why he looked at her with such contempt and disdain when he was older; he was trying to change time by making himself so unpleasant that she wouldn't seek him out.

Sighing heavily, Hermione rested her head against the wall.

They hadn't had much time to talk since the realization of his future had crashed down on her two weeks ago. He was trying an experimental brew that he wouldn't tell her anything about, and then there were classes, studying, and socializing. She hoped she hadn't come across as distant or withdrawn, but she couldn't be sure.

And the more she worried about him slipping away from her, the more she thought about her own future loneliness.

She startled terribly when the door opened, and she whipped her head around with her wand in hand, only to find Severus staring back at her in surprise.

Pulling himself together much more quickly than she, he shut the door and crossed the room swiftly. He had his fingers in her hair, holding her head still as he crashed his lips on hers before she could even contemplate a greeting.

His kiss was desperate, yearning, though not at all in the way she would have thought it would be after nearly three weeks without physical intimacy. It was like he was ... scared.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers as he got to his knees, and it struck her how much taller he had gotten since before the summer began.

"I'm glad you're here," he whispered, sounding a bit sad.

She touched his cheeks. "Yeah?" He nodded against her head. "Why is that?"

He hesitated, then took a deep breath. "I think we need to talk."

His ominous words didn't match the kiss, and while she wanted it to be a good thing, she couldn't shake that foreboding feeling.

"Okay," she said softly, steeling herself.

He took a deep breath and took both her hands in his.

"I'm not sure where to begin," he said, eyes on their hands. "I ... the headmaster ..." He shook his head. "We were invited to Lucius' soiree again last night, only it's because someone in particular wants to meet me." He stroked her fingers with his thumbs. "Things are starting to be expected of me, things I hadn't planned on or wanted. But I fear rejecting even one offer would have me in ruin."

"Why do you say that?" Hermione asked.

"Because they would jeopardize my studies, my future in Britain. I ..." he sighed. "I love you, Hermione."

The sudden declaration startled Hermione. She blinked, shocked, mouth agape, trying to process that he'd actually said it.

Barely louder than a whisper, in case her brain had shorted out and made her hear something that hadn't been said at all, she replied, "I love you, too, Severus."

He let out a very heavy breath, as though he'd been holding it the whole time, his shoulders sagging with what she hoped was relief.

"Then maybe there's still a chance that this'll work out. If you really feel the same way I do."

"What will work out?"

He met her eye, a seriousness in the blackness that was eerily similar to his own gaze twenty years in the future. "Alastor Moody recommended that I accept Lucius' offer, he has a list of names of Masters. They have ties to Death Eaters. If I keep my head down, keep quiet, it may serve not only to earn my Mastery, but to give information to those who are fighting the Dark Lord and his followers. I have the list. However, in order for me to be accepted, I would either need to wait four years post-graduation. Or ..."

"Or?" She chewed her lip.

"Or take my N.E.W.T.s this year, to start an apprenticeship immediately."

"Oh," Hermione replied, relief mixing with heartbreak. "So ... so you would be gone? We ... I mean, you'll be with..."

"I don't want to leave you," he said vehemently. "Not at all. You are the best thing that has ever happened in my pitiful existence. Merlin knows what sort of wizard I would be had it not been for you. But I can't pass up this opportunity. I have to admit that an early graduation is the better option. But before I knew, before I heard you say the words, I was unsure if I should ask you to do something for me."

"Which is?"

"Wait for me?" he asked, swallowing. "I realize asking this of a witch as beautiful and intelligent as you, with no ring and no promise of marriage, is the most selfish thing I could do. But I don't want to make those promises without knowing I can give you everything you want and deserve. Without knowing with absolute certainty that I am not going to turn into some man you despise. I've no idea what I will be put through, nor the social circles I am going to be forced into. I may become everything you stand against, and I refuse to tie you to me when I can set you free the moment it's too much. But wait for me. Give me a year away from you, at least, before you decide." He paused, looking downtrodden. "Give me this academic year with you, at least. Until I leave these grounds, let me keep you. And if during our time apart, you decide that your feelings have changed, then—"

"Severus," she said, getting him to take a breath. "I love you." Her lips twitched at the joy of declaring it openly. "I ... I think I know what's going to happen."

He panicked, eyes wide, he reached over to silence her.

She caught his wrist and shook her head. "It's not something I know for certain, it's a hunch. I'm not in danger, I swear. But I think I know what's going to happen, and to be frank, I'm more concerned with me not being enough for you . So, yes. I'll give you this year, I'll give you next year. I'll give you as long as you need and never hold you to those archaic relationship notions. Our courtship does not need to end in a proposal, nor does it need to end. If we merely ... date ... for the rest of our lives, then so be it."

"You're Muggle-born is showing," he teased with a smirk.

"Oh? I have no family as far as anyone is concerned, so who's to say you aren't stringing along the orphaned pureblood with an American mindset? Maybe that's how they do things stateside."

He huffed, shaking his head as he tried very hard not to smile. He sobered quickly.

"Much as I want to take your declaration and hold you to it, there's one more thing you should know. Something that may change your mind. Something that the headmaster and Alastor have asked of me."

"What is it?"

"To become a Death Eater."

—————S—————

Severus was both surprised and not by how calm Hermione was upon hearing about his conversation with Alastor and the headmaster. There was fear in her eyes, and she clutched his hand as though he'd disappear if she let go, but she never protested. Didn't yell or complain throughout his explanation.

It was only after he had finished speaking, that she spoke at all.

"You're underage," she said quietly. "Dumbledore can't possibly ask you to do something you are not legally old enough to do."

"My birthday is in a couple of months," Severus reminded her. "And I imagine he took that into consideration. He probably thinks I can be tempted into being one of the Dark Lord's followers before then..."

"He's a bastard," she said, a single tear slipping down her cheek. "I should have known. I shou—" she gasped, but before Severus could comfort her, she pounded the cushion. "You know, his first thought when we spoke in the hospital wing when I arrived was that he had sent me. He thought nothing of using a fourteen-year-old girl to give him an edge."

Severus had no idea what to say to that, so he put his arm around her shoulders.

"I wish I could tell you what I know about you, but even if I could, it wouldn't be much."

He nodded.

"What can I do?" she asked quietly.

He frowned. "I'm not sure I understand."

"What can I do to help you?"

"Hermione, there isn't anything you can do. I would never expect you to accompany me..."

"And why not?" she snapped. "Is it that obvious that I'm Muggle-born?"

"No."

"Then you think I'm weak?"

"Hardly," he snorted.

"Then why would you not expect me to be there with you? For you?" she demanded. "I'm hardly going to run and hide."

"Because being seen with me ..." he trailed off, the pain of what he was going to say stopping his words. "Because being seen with me introduces you to them. Should ... should you change your mind about me, us..."

"It's hardly like I would start an affair with someone who hates what I really am."

"I'm going to have to pretend, too," he reminded her.

"But I know you don't believe." She took a deep breath, gathering her nerves. "It's not like it would be my first time hearing the 'M' word tossed around, and at least I know it won't be directed at me."

"Are you really willing to do this?" he asked with a fraction of uncertainty.

She smiled sadly. "How is it that after nearly a year together, you still have trouble believing that I genuinely want to be with you?"

He huffed as she chuckled at his annoyance. "Has it only been a year? Feels like I've endured a lifetime with you."

"See? We don't need marriage. We're already an old married couple without the bonding."

"Bloody hell, you're insufferable."

"I hardly think you can call me that anymore," she said, twisting to face him properly. "I can think of many ways you do not find me insufferable in the least."

"Oh? Name one?"

She leaned in to kiss him tenderly, but before long, the kiss turned more passionate until he had little choice but to drag her over his legs and have her straddle his thighs.

"Yes," he said when they parted. "I'd almost forgotten about that."

Hermione gave him a skeptical hum and another gentle peck.

"I am going to be by your side when you go to that party next month, you know," she affirmed, brooking no argument.

"And if the headmaster doesn't want you to?" Severus asked, aware it was a distinct possibility.

"I'm of age. He's not my guardian, and it'll be the holidays. Considering what I know and what you told me, I can't ... I can't say I fully trust the headmaster."

Severus nodded, noting the sadness in her eyes. The sadness wasn't because she didn't trust Dumbledore, he was sure. He would guess that maybe she'd trusted him before her accident and was starting to regret ever doing so.

He gave her a peck on the lips, gaining her attention once more. "If you see no reason why you can't, I'll inform Lucius that we accept."

—————A—————

Breakfast in the Great Hall was a normal affair. Harry was sitting with a view of the other houses, and from what Aurora could tell, was occasionally making faces at Draco. Ron was beside him, grumbling and complaining about homework with his mouth open and oblivious to what Harry was up to. Ginny was chatting with Luna, the girls each turned with their backs to their tables to face one another. Neville was beside Aurora, quiet except when he stumbled upon an interesting fact in his Herbology book.

Aurora was thinking of Potions class, her first period of the day, wondering what sort of mood her father would be in. On a good day, one that started with decent coffee after a fair amount of sleep (or disgustingly, a night with her mother in the castle), the class wasn't terrible. On a bad day, well ...

She glanced at Colin Creevey a few seats down and hoped he wouldn't cry if her dad caught him not paying attention again. He didn't cry very often, but it was a bit off putting.

"My mother is still going on about that bloody article," Ginny complained. "'It seems Ginevra Weasley, a pretty but immature girl, is getting sick of not being first among Harry's favorites. Her parting from the Boy Who Lived has caught the interest of Bulgarian bonbon, Viktor Krum, '" she quoted in a high voice, imitating Rita Skeeter. "She's utterly convinced that I have, indeed, caught a famous Quidditch player's eye. Which has set her mind to thinking of weddings and babies. I'm thirteen."

Luna laughed a delicate tinkling laugh. "Yes, I will say it is quite outrageous for her to think such things."

"Exactly!" Ginny said, pointing at Luna with her spoon. "No one knows who they're gonna end up with until they're seventeen or something."

"My dad knew he wanted to marry my mum the day they met," Neville chimed in as he turned a page in his book.

Aurora snorted. "My dad definitely didn't want to marry my mum when they met, and vice versa. But I think they were about fifteen when they started dating."

Ginny huffed. "Okay, maybe not seventeen, but certainly not thirteen."

"Some do," Luna said thoughtfully as she paused with her toast halfway to her mouth. "Some know precisely who they'll end up with. Like Neville said, his dad knew the moment he met his mum. It's like an instinct, their magic meeting each other's."

"And have you found that special someone?" Ginny asked.

"Of course I have," Luna declared with a slight tilt of her head. "You have, too. We all have."

"Well, that's good to know," Aurora said thoughtfully. "Though I can think of a few people I wouldn't want it to be."

"Like who?" Neville asked.

"Like anyone who hasn't figured out how to chew with their mouth closed," she said pointedly.

"Oi!" came Ron's indignant shout, his mouth still full of food.

"You're disgusting," Aurora said bluntly.

"Hermione didn't think I was disgusting," Ron countered petulantly.

"She asked you at least once a day to chew with your mouth closed. We all find you disgusting. Seriously, you're the only member of your family who has yet to figure out the most basic of table manners."

"I think he needs a healing salve," George said from a couple seats down.

"That did sound like quite the shot," Fred commented. "I think she's implying we're gentlemen."

"Of course we are. Two for one deal, we were. All the brains, good looks, and charm left for Weasley men were given to us," George said as he straightened his tie.

"Prats," Ron grumbled, and Harry laughed.

Then there was a clinking sound and the Great Hall quieted as Dumbledore stood, hands out for a silence that had already settled.

"Now that you're all fed, or at least partly so, I have a special announcement to make," he started with a smile, and Aurora noticed her father's cool black eyes were scanning the room, passing over her. "In honor of our Beauxbatons and Durmstrang guests, the Board of Governors has agreed to reinstate the tradition of the Yule Ball for this year."

"Not a tradition, then, is it?" Ron grumbled with a confused frown.

"The ball will be held at eight o'clock on Christmas evening, and is open to those in fourth year and above. Third years ..." Dumbledore stopped, glancing at her father, and smiled as her dad locked eyes with the headmaster. "I will allow Professor Snape to explain the details pertaining to third years."

Dumbledore sat and her father stood, taking his robes in hand before crossing his arms and looking down at the students. A cold ball of embarrassment settled in her gut, knowing that no matter what he said, she was about to be humiliated.

"As it has always been, third years may attend the ball only if invited by a fourth year or above. However, I would like all of you to bear in mind when asking someone who would not be permitted to attend otherwise, that perhaps parental consent should be considered. Or in some cases, mandatory."

She slammed her head on the table, and she felt Ginny's hand rub her back.

"Thank you, Professor Snape," Dumbledore said. "I would recommend all third years write their parents for permission if asked."

That wasn't what her dad meant, and now she was quite certain she wouldn't be attending the Yule Ball unless Draco asked her.

"You heard Snape and Dumbledore," Ron said. "Better write Mum."

"That's not what they meant," Ginny retorted.

"'Course it is. Anyway, I'm going to write Mione. She's a sure bet, and she'll love the excuse to come back."

Despite everything, Aurora couldn't help bursting into peals of laughter, both at the situation and Ron's idiocy. She might actually have a better chance of going than he did, if that was his line of thinking.

If she wasn't grounded for trying to hex her father, anyway.

—————S—————

"Your daughter's going to hate you," Minerva said from his right, looking out over the crowd of students.

He nearly smirked but refrained from doing so with so many eyes to witness it.

"Is it not customary to have one's teenage daughter loathe you? I thought that was the goal."

Minerva chuckled. "I don't think there's much you could do to get Aurora to loathe you, but don't deny every suitor that comes calling. I imagine if she's the only one of her friends who doesn't go, it won't be pretty."

"I won't deny everyone. Honestly, anyone who has the courage to ask my permission is probably going to get a yes. And she will know who asks, I'll make sure of it."

Minerva shot him a skeptical look but said nothing.

He finished his coffee and rose from his chair, ignoring Igor, who was staring with an intensity Severus didn't want to deal with. It could only mean one of two things: Karkaroff expected Severus to force his daughter to attend the ball with Krum or another Bulgarian, or he wanted to talk about the darkening Mark.

He'd noticed a slight difference just before term began. It wasn't anything he paid much mind to, not like he went out in shorts and short-sleeved shirts during the summer. He hadn't had a reason to look at his arm until the end of September, when he had to brew for Poppy. His bathroom was always dimly lit, and dressing was so automatic that he barely looked at his hands, let alone his arm. Hermione never looked at it unless she needed to. But he had noticed it when he rolled up his sleeves to begin his prep work.

His heart had dropped into his stomach.

He desperately wanted to believe it wasn't happening again.

But there was the evidence on his arm: The Dark Lord was returning.

Up until Potter's first year, it had remained faded, looking like nothing more than a very pale and old Muggle tattoo. And when he'd first gotten it, it had been dark and fresh-looking, laying just beneath the skin. It was starting to look somewhere in-between those two states.