((Want me to change it? I can... I'm kind of typing off the top of my head...))

----

Hermione's smile was blinding, and Severus' heart began thumping rather loudly and quickly. "I'm very glad to hear that," he said, as she expressed her enthusiasm for teaching. He wasn't sure how to react to the gleam in her eyes that hinted at... something. But he was genuinely glad that she was enjoying her new job.

"But you're right, time is getting tight. It's the sixth years next, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, and Luna Lovegood will no doubt have created a brilliantly useless new conconction if I leave her alone in there for more than thirty seconds."

He wanted to lean down and kiss her, but didn't want to in Minerva's presence. So he settled for an extended touch on her shoulder and a pat on her hand. He loved the feeling of her skin, and wondered what it would be like to feel all of her skin on all of his skin.

"Make sure to come to lunch. You're welcome to sit at the High Table, now, if you like," he said, "though you can still sit with Gryffindor also. It's up to you."

((Oh, no no! I wasn't implying anything, I just wanted to clarify.))

---

The idea of sitting at the High Table sent both good and bad chills down Hermione's spine. Good, because it would give her a great sense of achievement and authority. Bad, because hundreds of student eyes would be scrutinizing her, starting rumours out of jealousy and calling her obscene names behind her back. Malfoy came to mind at that thought.

“I think it's still a bit too early for me to attend the High Table, to be perfectly honest. But thank you for the offer, I will certainly hold onto it until I am ready,” she politely declined. It was nothing personal, so she only hoped he wouldn't take it that way; she just wanted to wait a bit until the students became more comfortable with her position. Then maybe it would seem more natural and acceptable when she'd decide to sit there.

Once he was gone from the room, she went back to quickly finishing up with the rabbits, all the while a smile plastered on her face as images of the now absent potions master remained in spirit. Minerva had to clear her throat twice to break Hermione out of her little reverie.

“You and Severus seem to be getting along well,” she mentioned, a smile similar to Hermione's crafted from her lips.

Hermione stopped what she was doing and blinked in stupor for a moment, realizing that Minerva witnessed the whole thing. “Oh—yes, well, he's really not so bad.” The blissful look on Minerva's face stumped Hermione, but it was a much better reaction than a repugnant one, she decided.

Minerva gave a hearty little 'hum'. “In all my day, even I haven't managed to get on that man's good side.”

A small blush grew on Hermione's cheeks as she looked away from the woman and directed her attention back to the last of the rabbits. She didn't want to say anything more, as the suspicion in the air was heavy and making her uncomfortable. Fortunately for her, the next batch of second-year students came to her rescue merely seconds later.

"As you like," Severus replied. He could understand her hesitation. "Naturally, you'll want to spend whatever time with your friends that you can, as you're no longer attending classes with them." It must be quite a change, to suddenly not see her fellow Gryffindors day-in-day-out as she probably had for the past six years.

With that, he took his leave and strode quickly back down to the dungeons where, indeed, Luna Lovegood was staring tragically at the closed classroom door. As he swept them into the classroom, he gave Lovegood a sharp warning look. No funny stuff.

"Today," he announced, "we will begin our study of antidotes. Today, you will each be given the same poisonous draught to study, and you have until the end of the period to identify its major components. I warn you now that at the end of the term, I will be giving each and every one of you a mild toxin, under the influence of which you must discover its nature and conconct an antidote."

They gasped and stared.

"It won't kill you," he snapped, "just knock you out for several hours if you fail to produce an antidote. Quite bad if you have a final examination immediately afterwards," he added, smirking.

So far, none of his previous classes had failed this exam, which he'd given every few years, but he wasn't going to tell them. Rumor would do the rounds, and his reputation as the nastiest teacher at Hogwarts would be saved.

Severus distributed the small phials of poison, and the class set to work. Now that he knew Hermione was doing well, he found it much easier to concentrate, which was good as Lovegood nearly caused a violent explosion midway through class. As usual. But, she was also the first to complete the assignment, and was absolutely correct. Strange girl.

“We will be continuing with this exact same assignment tomorrow, class, and I want you all to read page 132 and 133 in your text book for homework,” Professor McGonagall struggled to announce as loudly as she could over the bustle of students rushing to put away their things and make haste toward the exit.

The room was cleared in a matter of seconds, and while Minerva let out an exhausted sigh as she turned to slump back into the chair behind her desk, Hermione started immediately on clean up duty.

“Don't worry too much about that, my dear. I can easily take care of it later. You should head off to lunch now so you'll have the opportunity to set up early for your next class,” Minerva suggested with her eyes trained the entire time on the paper she was marking.

Hermione was a little hesitant at first, but eventually she did give a yielded nod. “Thank you, Professor.”

“Address me as Minerva, dear. And it is I who ought to be thanking you... your assistance today was greatly appreciated. I look forward to all our up-coming classes together.” Finally, she looked up and smiled brightly.

“I do too,” Hermione replied. “See you later, then.”

With a short wave, Hermione left the classroom and made her way briskly to the Great Hall. She would finally get the chance to see how Harry and Ron were doing, but a huge part of her really just wanted to sit and talk with Severus some more. Her chance would come afterwards, though, she knew.

Severus dismissed the class, except for the Ravenclaw boy who was pretending not to sniffle as he used his wand to clean up the goopy mess he'd turned his entire table into, meriting a 50 point loss for his House and a detention with Filch. He'd been goofing off instead of following instructions, so Severus felt no qualms for his punishment.

As the boy finally left, giving Severus a sulky glare, Severus briefly rolled his neck around on his spine to try and loosen some of the accumulated tension, and then locked the classroom behind him as he headed up toward the Great Hall. Students naturally avoided being within two or three feet of him, which he rather liked. He could swing his long arms without bumping into anyone, and walk at his own pace instead of trying to work through the crowd.

However, what was new this time were the smirks of various girls as he passed. And giggles. Giggles! Girls were pointing at him and giggling! Severus surreptitiously checked his robes to see if someone had pasted a sign on his backside, or if he'd managed a tear, split, or stain in an embarrassing place, but no. Nothing. They were simply giggling at him.

Then, he heard a muffled, "Detention every night with him!" from a group of third- and fourth-year girls, many of whom were Gryffindors. They were goggling, looking as if they were about to split their sides any minute with holding back laughter. Then he heard another sniggering murmur: "...looks like he finally got shagged..." and decided he'd need to do some serious rumor quashing, for Hermione's sake.

He turned majestically toward the boys from whence this particular comment came, and said in a carrying voice, "And what would any of you know about shagging?"

They blanched. Many of them hedged away with mutters of "lunch." But one boy, a Slytherin fifth-year, kept looking Severus in the face. "It's just, you've been so cheerful lately, Professor," he said innocently. "It simply seems like you've released a lot of tension lately."

"Perhaps I have," Severus responded evenly. "Perhaps if you asked your parents..."

The boy scowled, then began to gape. Severus was rather proud of the double meaning of his words. In the obvious meaning, he was implying that the boy knew nothing about sex (which he probably didn't). But on another level, he was implying that Severus' condition of cheerfulness had something to do with the Death Eaters.

Severus doubted Lord Voldemort would have told his devout followers that he'd lost a minion, much less that he'd been wrong all along about Severus Snape. The Dark Lord would hate to have any sort of weakness exposed. Nonetheless, rumor was as rife in the Death Eaters as it was in any enclosed community, and Severus had just hinted that the boy might be able to confirm that a certain rumor was true.

Feeling very pleased with himself, Severus smirked and strode off to the Great Hall.

He almost broke into a grin as he saw Hermione coming down the stairs just as reached the entrance hall. He made a beeline for her, not caring what the students thought; though, he did make an effort to compose his features into a professional interest as he asked, "How did the other class go?"

Hermione's journey to the Great Hall was much like a girl on a mission. So, when a familiarly silky voice echoed out to her from the side of the vast hall, she came to a sudden halt with a start, and whipped around to face the owner of the voice. Involuntarily, as if placed under the Imperius Curse, her heart rate increased when her eyes spotted the figure of the potions master striding toward her. He was having that effect on her a lot, lately, and she hated it.

"Hello, Severus," she greeted before inhaling deeply, trying to mirror his professional attitude. "It went well. We had to send one student to Madam Pomfrey because his hand was in the way and he accidentally turned it into slipper plush... but other than that, I think it was another fairly successful class." A beaming smile was present on her face as she stared up at him, but it quickly transformed when she heard a sudden giggle off to the side. She glanced innocently in the direction it came from, and saw a group of huddling girls whispering and sneaking quick peeks at the two of them.

Rumours were something she had been forced to get used to over the years, but it still couldn't help but dampen her spirits. Trying to ignore the giggling girls, she returned her attention Severus—the smile back on her face, but strained.

"How did your class go?"

Severus sent his best Stop that or it's a hundred points from Hufflepuff—each glare to the group of girls before responding. "As usual, Luna Lovegood nearly destroyed the classroom halfway through, but she also finished the potion first, and did a very good job of it."

He took Hermione by the elbow and propelled her toward the door to the Great Hall. Leaning down a bit, he murmured, "I seem to have created a rash of rumors by appearing, in one Slytherin's words, 'somewhat cheerful.' Don't let the talking bother you."

He was concerned, though—the last thing he wanted was for someone to realize that his relationship with Hermione was anything more than student/teacher. But he didn't want to hurt her by appearing to play with her feelings. He resolved to explain a few things that night, at detention.

“Cheerful?” Hermione piqued, surprised. “I'm flattered to have induced such an effect on your public image.” The tone in her voice expressed that she was simply teasing him, but in a way she couldn't deny that it made her feel special... and somewhat powerful. She was making students accuse him of being 'somewhat cheerful'. Only she was able to achieve that. She had to be breaking some kind of record there.

When they entered the vast dining hall, Hermione turned serious and eyes quickly scanned the room. Many heads turned in their direction, but Hermione ignored them and instantly sought out the two individuals that mattered more to her than all the inquisitive stares.

After spotting them, she turned once more to Severus, her tone having restored its professionalism. “What are the plans for after lunch, then? Will you be needing my assistance or shall I approach one of the other professors?”

Severus considered for a moment. On the one hand, he loved having Hermione around, plain and simple. On the other hand, there was no doubt that she'd be incredibly useful to another professor. And on the third hand—despite the fact that he had only two—if he were to have Hermione in the Potions classroom, perhaps that would quash the rumors. Or fuel them.

He sighed. "I'll ask at the High Table," he finally answered, "and see who'd like to borrow you for the afternoon. I'll arrange for a schedule shortly."

He was aware of many eyes on them, especially the entire Slytherin table. That wasn't good. He wanted to keep her out of danger, not involve her.

Jerking his head slightly toward the stares, he murmured, "Keep an eye out and be careful."

“Don't worry.” Hermione looked back up at him after scanning all the faces a second time. She smiled, but only very slightly so as not to be seen by the other students.

“Come to me again at ten minutes before the end of lunch,” she suggested while turning around with a small wave. Her feet then lead her over to the Gryffindor table, where she approached Harry and Ron. Squeezing herself in next to Ron (he hadn't held the seat), she cleared her throat and prodded his arm lightly. Disdainfully, he turned to her.

“What a surprise,” he said bitterly. “Don't want to spend your lunch hours with precious Snape?”

But Hermione just shot him a reproving look. “You know that's not how it is,” she said, sounding as though she'd said it a hundred times. “Yes, Sev—Professor Snape”—she wasn't ready to push it—“will be mentoring me now, but that doesn't stop the fact that you two are still my best friends! I'll spend whatever available time I have, with you guys.” Her face and voice both expressed the topmost sincerity. Their hesitation could only mean that she must have at least struck something; she took that as an opportunity. “How did your meeting with Professor Dumbledore go, Harry?” She peered over the table, past Ron, to get a better look at him. He was staring down into his food, looking particularly broody.

“Fine,” was all he said, and nothing more.

But that was a much better answer than she could have asked for. Something in his face told her that he had gotten over most it, but just wasn't ready to admit it to himself or anyone else. He still needed a bit of time, she concluded.

“Hermione,” Ron said suddenly, making Hermione lean back and look to him instead. “Just promise—” he seemed to be struggling to find his voice. “Promise you will tell us everything that happens, right?” He met her gaze with a worried or disturbed expression, she couldn't tell; but she also couldn't help but notice his eyes darting back and forth quickly around the room.

It was obvious to Hermione that he, too, must have heard some of the rumours... and that he was curious about the extent of truth to them. Even if they did know the truth... would they still accept her as their friend? Or just feed the rumours and make them grow into fact. Only Harry and Ron had the power to do that, since they were closest to her. She just didn't know where their line was, which was a terrifying realization.

“Of course I would tell you,” Hermione finally said, forcing the most convincing smile she could.

This seemed to ease Ron up a bit—especially as she didn't go on to reveal anything within the next few minutes. It meant that he believed her... for now. When they all returned to eating, she snuck a silent glance up at the staff table, where her eyes laid on the potions master. She felt a small twinge in her heart then. Why did everyone have to become so uptight and ridiculous about the situation? Is this the kind of thing he had to deal with his whole life? A feeling of sorrow swept over her, and she quickly looked away. She hated how the whole thing was so complicated; why couldn't she be freely close to both her friends and Severus? It felt like the early 20th century all over again.

Severus tried not to keep his eyes on Hermione throughout lunch, but it was difficult. It was almost a gravitational pull, her brown bushy-silky hair next to Ronald Weasley's ginger and Harry Potter's black.

However, he did have the excuse of talking about her with the other teachers to explain why he was constantly looking over at her. His general inquiry, about who would like to have her assistance, had brought a round of enthusiastic "me!"s, and he was currently scribbling down a schedule for the next few days. This afternoon, Flitwick had won out over Sprout, but Sprout had unexpectedly glared at Professor Sinistra until the younger Arithmancy professor had stepped down, leaving tomorrow morning's first period with the Herbology professor.

Then, to everyone's surprise, Professor Trelawney had said in her misty way that it would certainly be of benefit to both herself and to the "rather narrow-minded Miss Granger" if the girl would assist during her fourth-years later in the week. To that, Severus had had to politely insist on asking Hermione first, as "after all, she didn't take even an O.W.L. in the subject, and is not quite qualified..."

But then Albus had put his foot in it, and sided with Trelawney of all people, remarking blandly that it was often character-building to be thrown into a situation where you have to teach something you don't know well at all. Severus, and everyone else, stared at Albus, but the Headmaster by then had turned his attention to his treacle pudding.

So, with the schedule for the next several days scribbled onto a piece of parchment, Severus bid farewell to his colleagues and headed for the Gryffindor table, shooting cold glares at the tittering Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws as he passed their tables.

As he approached her, he suddenly wasn't sure what address to use. "Hermione" would cause an instant flurry of rumors, though it was the correct way to speak to her now that she had moved up to near-faculty level; but "Miss Granger," despite being less apt to produce gossip, might cause Hermione to doubt her own position... it was frustrating.

Still, he had to call her by name; it would be even weirder if he didn't address her at all. And he was now standing behind her at the Gryffindor table, and he had to say something. He wondered what would come out as he cleared his throat.

"Hermione."

Crap. He heard tittering from along the Gryffindor table as he produced the sheet of parchment.

"Here is your schedule for the next few days. Filius insisted he had priority, so you'll be helping him all afternoon. Sybill requested your assistance, but I insisted on asking you first; I should warn you, though, that Albus is on her side, and you might be forced to take part in some of the fourth-year classes."

That was better. He'd used first names for everyone.

((He didn't say Filius!))

---

When she heard her name being addressed from behind, Hermione's heart skipped a beat right while popping a whole roast potato in her mouth. She spun her head around and swallowed the potato hard as she looked from her professor to the little slip of parchment he was holding out for her.

Gratefully, she took the list from his grasp and surveyed it while hearing him mention that she would be assisting Professor Flitwick directly ensuing the lunch break. That made her insides warm with joy, as Charms was once her favourite subject and still held a high spot on her personal list. But that excitement was quickly quashed when he went on to mention that Professor Trelawney also took interest in her availability. Her face twisted unpleasantly at the idea and she was tempted to give a flat out 'No' before Severus could even finish his sentence. But her lips remained pursed as she was informed that Dumbledore was for the idea. That fact didn't make her any less reluctant to assist Sybill Trelawney in her godforsaken 'class' that could hardly be considered a real subject. However, it was still only her first 'official' day working as a Teacher's Assistant, so she really did not wish to push her limits by already refusing subject positions—especially when the Headmaster was on the opposing side.

"Thank you, Professor, that all seems well," she said formally, glancing from the paper, back up at him. "I shall see you this evening again, then?"

((*fixes*))

---

Severus frowned at the "Professor," and said, a bit reproachfully, "The correct way to address me now is by my first name."

It was so hard not to stare at her, to take in all of her face, her figure, her expressions, her smell. He tried to look instead at the parchment she was holding, and found that that direction gave him a very good view of her decolletage, scant though it was.

"Yes, I'll see you this evening. If you wish you may come after having dinner with your... friends," he added, glancing at the two boys next to her.

Murderous glares from both, still. What did they think he was doing to her?

((Don't professors tend to address other professors by title/surname most commonly when in the presence of students?))

---

Hermione nodded in response. The instant he left, Ron was onto her again, trying to peek over her folded arms at the contents of the paper. He was seemingly interested in her schedule, but a part of her felt that he was just searching for any secret hidden messages that might possibly be on there.

"So—er—how is it going, anyway? The whole assistant thing, I mean..." He stopped trying to pry, and just looked at her with a bit of a flaky grin. But this made Hermione smile brightly in return; he was at least trying to be open and interested about it... that's what counted.

"It's going quite well," she admitted, still smiling. "I had Transfiguration with the second-years this morning, which really brought me back to our second year. So much has changed, yet it only seems like yesterday. Funny, isn't it?" She was looking at him, fascinated—an expression he did not reciprocate. His face was looking down at the table, a very weak smile on its last thread of existence. "Yeah..." was all he muttered.

The rest of the lunch break drawled on very silently—excluding the population of students outside of Hermione, Ron, and Harry's little circle, of course. And when someone did speak, it usually ended pretty awkwardly.

At precisely ten minutes to the next class, Hermione bid both Harry and Ron farewell as she took off towards the Charms classroom.

((Hm, good point... they usually say "Professor Snape" when talking to a student about that professor, for instance. But I don't know if it's in the presence of students, or only when directly addressing students?))

----

The afternoon went as routinely as most afternoons did, with the usual mix of accidents, mixtakes, and incompetencies. When the last student left after the last class ended, Severus leaned back in his office chair, sighing deeply.

There was so much going on: his relationship with Hermione, which needed delicate handling not just because of who she was and who he was, but because of the current situation with the Death Eaters... and of course there was the death sentence hanging over him. He could feel the scar pulsating under his robes, though currently with no pain.

He pulled up his sleeve to examine the tattoo. It was a glowing silver, but tinged with red and black around the edges. Severus pressed it experimentally, and felt a small twinge. This was bad, very bad. He let his sleeve fall down and let his head fall into his hands, staring at the rough grain of the desk in front of him.

Would he ever live to properly romance Hermione? Or would they struggle through the coming weeks, searching for a cure, only to fail, and he would die an agonizing death? Or a calmer one, helped along by painkilling potions that would render him moronic? And Hermione would go on to find another man to love, marry him, and live happily ever after with no complications.

An angry bitterness welled up inside him as he thought of the stupid decisions of his youth, decisions which now still ruled his life. If he could only get across to the young Slytherins, that they would regret the rashness, the anger, the sense of entitlement which led them to follow Voldemort... but he couldn't. They were, in fact, rash and angry, and they most certainly felt entitled.

If a few tears slipped out of his eyes and down his cheeks, he would never have told anyone.

He stood up. With a few waves of his wand, he cleared the classroom of the usual setup, and arranged a work area in the middle. They could make do for tonight, but he'd arrange for a nearby room to be devoted to permanent research into the Dark Mark problem. Severus Summoned various equipment from the cupboard, and finished by performing a Sanitizing charm on everything.

Then he rolled up his sleeve again and, with a sharp scalpel, excised the smallest portion of skin from the Mark. The skin let out a hissing, crackling noise. He'd never tried this before, but he wasn't surprised to see that the tattoo immediately grew back to cover the removed portion.

He deposited the sample on a glass slide and put it to one side, a thought having struck him. With the scalpel, he penetrated a portion of skin outside the tattoo. He hissed at the slight pain. Then, carefully, he drew a cut from the unmarked skin toward the marked.

The knife hit a barrier as he reached the tattoo. He pushed. He pushed harder. Finally, the scalpel jerked forward, traveling quite a bit farther than he'd planned. He pulled it out, gasping in shock. But, realizing time was of the essence, he immediately put the scalpel back in, ignoring the trickle of blood coming out of his pale skin outside the Mark. He drew the scalpel slowly back toward the clear skin, until he had a small patch of his own skin, part tattooed, part clear. He pulled it away, clenching his teeth as it stung.

He watched carefully to see what the Dark Mark would do. Its silver-black-red glow oozed over the new wound, covering not only the place where the Mark had once been, but pushing out toward the clean skin. As it did so, Severus could feel the pain building, but only in the new expansion. Crap. This was bad. Sweating, Severus carefully used his wand to extend the stasis spell around the Mark. It stretched quite thin before reconnecting with itself on the other side, but it held. He could get Hermione to help him strengthen it later that night.

So, trying to remove the Mark wouldn't work. However, he'd only tried removing a small portion. What if, he thought, in a kind of desperate horror, he got Poppy to simply cut out that entire portion of his skin? How deep did the Mark go, he wondered? Could they just amputate his arm?

His gut reaction was to answer in the negative; something about the Mark felt like it was embedded not only in his skin, but in his entire magical being. Removing the visible tattoo would not remove the Dark Mark's effects.

Gritting his teeth and mentally girding his loins, Severus set about studying the two small portions of skin he'd just cut off his arm. He hoped that when Hermione showed up later that night, he'd have some information for her to start working with.

((I think either way is probably acceptable.

Also, how do you actually think the Dark Mark can be removed? Harry? Some other made-up spell/blood transfusion thing? Just Voldemort? Because I have honestly no idea, and I don't want to steer in the wrong direction.))

---

Charms went rather well that afternoon: the third-years first with Cheering Charms, followed by the fourth-years with Summoning Charms. Hermione was very talented in Charms, so the extra assistance she provided for the students turned out to be very productive indeed. Professor Flitwick's gratitude was blatantly displayed by the glowing look brandishing his dwarfish face—someone would have guessed he was under a Cheering Charm himself.

Time throughout both Charms lessons that afternoon soared by very quickly, as so far it was the most enjoyable subject she had assisted with. She still had many more subjects to experience from an assistant's perspective, but similarly to how Charms was one of her most favourite subjects as a student... she had a very strong feeling that interest would carry on into her new position.

There wasn't much tidying up to do after all the students had filed out at the end of class, so with a short wave and 'Goodbye', Hermione too left the room—a million squeaky 'Thank you's following her on her way out from behind.

With two hours left to spare, Hermione took the time to shower up and then tame her hair somewhat with a clip at the back. It exposed more of her face so that she'd be able to see better while working, without her wild hair getting in the way. There was also the slightest incentive to look neater for Severus, however that factor remained subliminal.

After a journey to and fro the Gryffindor common room, Hermione finally travelled down to the Potions classroom in the Dungeons—fifteen minutes early. The duration of time between then and their last session seemed like it was calculated in centuries; she was eager to see him again, talk with him, find out how he was really doing (in matters purposefully evading discussion in front of other students). Of course, she saw him for very brief moments throughout the day, but that was hardly sufficient enough for her.

Arriving at the classroom door, Hermione gave it three knocks warning before letting herself in.

((I'm thinking Harry has to do in Voldemort. What are your thoughts?))

----

Severus was about to say "Come in" when the door opened and Hermione entered. He knew he probably looked a mess; he'd cut a few additional bits out of the tattoo when certain experiments backfired, destroying the sample, and there were blood-stained bandages littering the work surface. He'd grown frustrated about an hour ago and simply torn off his robes, leaving him standing in what he considered his wizarding underwear: a short-sleeved grey cotton shirt, and loose grey pants held up with a drawstring. He'd planned to re-don his outer robes before Hermione arrived, but he'd lost track of time. He knew his hair was probably falling in greasy hanks, and wondered if the strain of the past few hours showed on his face.

"Hermione," he said, and heard the crack in his voice. "I'm glad to see you. I've... made some discoveries."

He had, in fact, and they weren't pleasant. He had tried every method he knew of to rid the skin samples of the spell, and the only methods that had worked had taken the skin along with the spell. Some of the spells he'd tried had seemed to strengthen the Dark Mark 's adherence to the skin segments, and others had caused rather terrifying tendrils of Dark Mark to expand outwards, groping for something to cling to.

But the most discomfiting discovery he'd made yet was the essence of the spell itself, and he'd made that discovery just a few moments before Hermione had walked in. He remembered his own Initiation and Marking Ceremony quite well, and it was only those memories that made his discovery make sense. The Mark was connected on a deep magical level with the Dark Lord himself, rather like he suspected Harry Potter's scar was. Voldemort had used a wand to engrave the tattoo, but had then allowed a drop of his own blood to fall into the new tattoo scarring. It was a combination of powerful blood-based magic, and an equally powerful Protean charm. It couldn't be removed without either removing Severus' arm entirely (and even that was suspect), or killing the Dark Lord.

And Severus had no idea how to convey this to the girl standing in his classroom doorway, looking like a curly-haired angel: fresh-faced, glowing, obviously thrilled with how her day had gone.

((I read an article about his blood or something, but I don't know. Your suggestion is most logical, but also the most mundane, lol.

By the way, I don't think I actually told you yet... but I am going away on vacation this Saturday until September 11, so I'm afraid I won't be as active during that time. BUT, I'm pretty sure I'll have internet access for the most part while I'm away and since I cannot live without the internet, I doubt I will spend TOO much time offline. Just in case anything does happen to come up while I'm gone and impede my access, you know why!))

---

Hermione's expression when she first entered the room was polar opposite to the expression distorting her face after she entered it. Her gaze had travelled instantly over to where the Potions professor stood behind a little table—that of which was suffocating under crimson-stained tools and tissues. His fingers appeared to be equally painted, and she could clearly see the exposed Mark on his arm, which was seemingly glowing. Her eyes inflated like balloons and she would have dropped her school books, were she carrying any. What with his daunting physical appearance and the setting before him, he looked like a crazed masochist from some old horror flick.

"Oh my god... Severus!" Hermione screeched, rushing to his side in a panic. Instinctively, her hand went to her pocket and extracted her wand in a flash, ready to perform any magic that may be necessary. "What are you doing to yourself?!" she asked when she reached the table, shifting looks between his arm and the chunks of skin she only just spotted on the surface. "Surely this can't be the way to go about your research!" She looked revolted, and every time she looked at the little bits of skin, she felt the sick feeling in her stomach churn even more. It was obvious what his intentions were, but she thought it a bit too morbid of a start... and she definitely didn't believe she would be able to handle watching him hack away at his own flesh.

((No worries about vacation! I've been spending too much time on my Fulbright application [which is now TURNED IN and I can't do anything about it for a month at least] and should focus on dissertation proposal stuff anyway.))

---

Hermione's reaction was a bit heart-warming, if overboard.

"I'm fine," Severus said, "I'm fine, really. I needed samples of the Mark to work with. I only took small bits, and it's under control." He eyed her wand, a little warily. "The stasis charm is holding just fine. And if I hadn't taken the samples, I wouldn't know what I do now."

Severus met Hermione's gaze, and knew his words would probably shatter her idyllic world where study and rationality and books and cleverness could solve everything. She was so optimistic, so full of bubbling enthusiasm, and he had to crush it. He hated himself as he continued to look deep into her eyes.

"To get rid of the Dark Mark," he said, in a grating voice full of anger and resentment, "the Dark Lord must die."

((Sorry for the super late reply, we had some issues getting the internet all set up down here.))

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All of a sudden, there was the sensation of a cold iron fist clenching her heart. She knew it. Deep down, she knew all along that there was no beating around the bush. When she had done her own research, the results from that alone should have been enough to convince her... but somewhere within she just couldn't bring herself to accept it.

Without even realizing it, she was shaking her head with the most blank, soulless expression on her face. "What do we do..." Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper. She seemed to have lost it. "We don't even have any leads on him, do we?" Finally, she looked up to meet his gaze, her face twisting from the blanched expression to something struggling against the inclination to tear up at any second. "For all we know, it could be a year before we find him... and you only have..." Her voice trailed off as her glassy eyes fell back onto his arm, then impulsively she found herself reaching forward and pulling him into a gentle embrace. Hands on back, her fingers curled around the material of his shirt as if holding on for dear life. She felt as if letting go would mean letting go forever.

((No problem.

Sorry for the sucky post... I think I've got a migraine...))

Severus found himself being embraced by Hermione, and his first instinct was to comfort her. "Shh," he heard himself saying as he stroked her hair, "shh, it's not all that bad."

He could tell she was trying not to cry, and that touched him deeply. She wanted him to live -- wanted him to! And so he would have to. He wouldn't just stay alive for the sake of his own pursuit of her.

"We do have a lead on him," Severus said. "You forget, my Mark is burning because he's trying to Summon me. We could, in an instant, Apparate to his location. The problem is that he would then probably kill me, along with anyone who arrives as well."

He sighed. "If only there was a way to get the location of the Dark Lord out of the Mark..."

((Aww, I hope you feel better soon!))

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"Or," Hermione began as she pulled back slightly, with one hand still clutching the fabric of his shirt, while still being able to look up into his eyes, "how much Dark Magic do you know? I read an article once, involving some kind of Taboo curse. I'm not too sure about the details, and even if it was possible, I wouldn't know what word to use... but I just figured... maybe..."

She found herself staring blankly at his chest with her thoughts drifting. If that didn't work and they couldn't find any other solution, that meant that they would have no choice but to Apparate directly. Of course the other choice would be to just let him suffer and die, but that was absolutely not an option in Hermione's eyes. The thought alone made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle, and heart palpitate. With help or no help, she would be willing to risk her life to save this man.

((Your post has left me lost as to how to respond...

Well, I'll try typing and see what pops out of thin air.))

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Severus stared, astonished, at Hermione. "How... how have you come to be aware of any Dark Magic?" he asked. He wanted to shake her, force some sense into her.

She had spoken so vaguely that he wasn't sure what she was talking about, but his back had begun to prickle at the thought of using Dark to fight Dark. He thought he'd known pretty much everything there was to know about Dark Magic, except for what Voldemort and Dumbledore knew—or thought they knew. But if anyone would know something obscure, it would be Hermione.

He gripped her hard by the shoulders, still fighting the urge to shake her. "What curse?" he asked harshly. "What did you read?"

((Gah! Sorry! I can change it if you want!))

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The reaction she got from Severus came as a bit of a shock to Hermione. It must have really struck something, because the tight grip on her shoulders gave her the impression that he wasn't aware of his own strength at that time.

"Well—as I said, I don't know too much about it... I only just came across the mentioning of the curse in a very old article that I read in the Restricted Section of the Library." Her eyelids blinked furiously as she tried to recall what the passage said. "Apparently a large part of the reason wizards today still fear to speak Voldemort's name was due to this curse that was rumoured to have been cast on it a long time ago. If I remember correctly... it mentioned that using this curse enables the caster to track whomever dares mention the jinxed word or name. But—" she finally looked up to meet his gaze, "I know absolutely nothing about how it works. That's why I was hoping maybe you would... because it's utterly useless to us, otherwise."

((I couldn't resist, once I'd seen what you'd posted. But I won't be around much tomorrow. Recording in the morning, then I'm not sure what our plans are for the afternoon. I hope I can pop in at least once and catch up!

I hope you're having an awesome vacation, in any case!!))

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A lightbulb went off in Severus' head at Hermione's words. His desire to shake her immediately switched to a desire to kiss her. He settled for switching his grip on her shoulders to a squeeze on her upper arms.

"Yes!" he breathed. "Yes, of course! The jinx on his name.... But I don't know if it's been re-invoked this time around. Few people actually do speak his name, out of fear from his last years of power."

He leaned in and kissed her, briefly, gently, nothing extended, just a peck.

"You're brilliant, Hermione," he said. "Let's summon Albus and talk to him. And—" he hesitated only a moment— "if you wouldn't mind, perhaps Harry Potter should join us for this talk."