Spellcaster Hermione G. & Severus S. - Words: 150,332 - Rated: M - English - Drama & Romance - Chapters: 34 - Reviews: 631 - Updated: 11-06-2008 - Published: 23-05-2007 - Complete - by SGCbearcub (FFN) Author's Introduction: Well, I had no intention of writing in this fandom at all, but as you can see, my muse decided otherwise. This story is fairly long, and complete – although it is intended to be part of a two-book series. Fair warning! This is a HG/SS fiction, loosely inspired by the WIKTT Marriage Law Challenge. Hermione is of age, and when I say rated M, I mean it. Hermione stared up at the rafters of the dungeon laboratory, her ears still ringing from the explosion. She tilted her head thoughtfully and stared at the nauseating color of the mixture plastering the ceiling. She was not truly concerned about the droplets raining down upon her. Her shield charms had gotten much better in the past year. Witness the fact she was still alive after an explosion like that. "After five years of working with Longbottom, one would think you would have learned to duck." For a moment, instinctive fear and conditioned caution held her motionless as silk-edged contempt reached out for her. His voice was just as she remembered. The chill disdain. The arrogant sneer. She wondered how long he had been watching her and surprised herself when she managed to roll to her feet and turn casually, mindful of the slippery goo coating the floor. She had been beginning to fear she had miscalculated. "Professor Snape,"she acknowledged without thought, her curiosity focusing on the patches on his robes and the odd glitter in his dark eyes. Past his shoulder, an unfamiliar door now gaped in the stone wall. She couldn't help her initial surge of relief followed closely by a rather smug sense of satisfaction when she saw it. He had come, drawn by the Marriage Law as all her equations had predicted. She had been right. Not that being right under these circumstances was anything remotely like victory. Firmly putting thoughts of the future from her mind, she focused on her prize. Even from where she was standing, she could see the odd convulsive shudder travel through his body and wherever he had been hiding, it had clearly lacked many of the more civilized amenities. His clothes hung on his wasted frame, and he smelled. Mostly of woodsmoke and rancid wool, but a sour note of illness lay beneath. She studied his lank hair and sallow face with distaste. He had aged in the linear year since that night on the Astronomy Tower - and not kindly. Nor did he possess any of the mystique with which her younger self had once imbued him. There were no mysteries here. Just a malicious tongue and nasty temper. Something of her thoughts must have shown because he sneered abruptly, a relatively pale thing compared to her memories. "You seem unsurprised to see me, Miss Granger." She ignored his mocking attitude and saw him pause as he waited for her to take the bait. She felt rather proud of herself for recognizing it for what it was and wondered if he actually cared what emotion he inspired as long as he got the information he was seeking. A strange expression crossed his face as she remained silent and he sent a searching glare around the room that had once been his private laboratory. "No one else wanted the traitor's quarters I take it,"he drawled. "Hardly,"she said shortly. Slughorn had been quite appalled at the thought. Especially when Hermione casually mentioned the possibility of secret passageways known only to not-so-former Death Eaters. Anticipating Snape's reaction with some morbid humour, Hermione removed her glove and raised her right hand. Snape studied the golden lines of the magical tattoo etched on her skin, and for a split second, the rage that suffused his expression was almost enough to rip away the grey veil that had muffled her emotions since the first of November. Almost. She watched with startled fascination as his rage abruptly disappeared and for a moment, his face took on an eerie, emotionless cast. Then the Snape she remembered spilled from his eyes, flowing over his shoulders and down his body as if he were black ink poured from a bottle. As disturbing as the change was, more so was the intensity of emotion that burned within him. When she had been younger, he had just seemed angry. Now, it was clear that whatever the emotions he held banked and smoldering, they were far more complicated than simple anger. His curiosity had weight as black eyes focused with unnerving single-mindedness, and she shivered slightly. Anger. Rage. Fury. None of these words seemed to encompass whatever it was he held barely leashed and barely contained. The shadow of the potential she had sensed within Harry was fully mature in Snape. Whether it was the Dark magic or his understanding of it, she did not know. Only that it was dangerous, and held the seeds of madness within it. "One would have assumed you'd be blissfully married to Weasley by now,"Snape said bluntly. Hermione forced a casual shrug. "He and Harry are still alive," she said," if that's what you want to know." Motion stilled and black eyes met hers. Surprised, she thought. Although whether at the news or her assumption that he would care, she could not guess. Death Eater or not, it was valuable information. His mouth twisted into a sneer as he studied her again, this time letting his gaze roam over her body. There was no sexual question in his hard-eyed evaluation. Only suspicion, and speculation. She wasn't sure how to interpret the odd look he gave her boots. His gaze returned to her throat and lingered. He didn't ask if she possessed a Time Turner, but he had never been lacking in logic or wit. The three-year education exemption was the only way she could have avoided being forcibly joined by the Marriage Law six months after her eighteenth birthday. It was a fool's exemption, meant to soothe the mindless masses, but useful all the same. The magic hadn't differentiated between a Wizarding Apprenticeship and a Muggle University. She had also squeezed more time into that total than even Harry had suspected. The clock the Ministry used did not start ticking until midnight on the night of her eighteenth linear birthday. After that, they counted time lived. Her Muggle identification declared she was nineteen. A few months older than Ron, almost a year older than Harry. Only a year and a half from that night on the Astronomy Tower, as linear time went. Still young enough to consider going back to Hogwarts. Finish her NEWTs. Take back the year she had missed. Minerva had tried to convince her to do just that when Hermione had come seeking sanctuary four weeks ago. Too much had changed. Her classmates had graduated. Most of the girls had been married off as soon as they turned eighteen. The boys were given an extra year to find jobs and an income, but those who had not married voluntarily were in their final months of freedom. Ginny was a Seventh year and the Head Girl was a Hufflepuff that Hermione had never personally met. Oddly, it wasn't the loss of that coveted position that made it impossible to rejoin those students and try to pick up her life from where it had left off. It was their ignorance. Their innocence. And their lack of understanding. Hermione Granger was almost twenty-three biological years old... ...and that was four years she could never get back. She had been surprised when Dumbledore gave the Time Turner back to her after the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Especially when he had placed no limits on its use. Something in the way he had warned her not to tell anyone made her suspect the Ministry was not aware he had given it to her. She was a registered Time Turner user, so it wasn't illegal, but it was frowned upon not to tell the Ministry she had it in her possession. "From your lack of surprise, I assume my presence here is not unexpected," Snape said dispassionately, eyes roaming the laboratory." My felicitations, Miss Granger. I did not expect such ruthlessness from a Gryffindor." He smiled mirthlessly." But then, your house is odiously self-sacrificing. Does Potter plan to kill me himself, I wonder? Would he actually risk trapping you in my bed long enough for the Wizengamot to extract their pound of flesh?" The malice in his leer was strangely impersonal. The disgust and contempt, however, were not, and her hand itched to draw her wand. It was only by reminding herself that this was what he no doubt wanted - and the fact she seriously doubted she was fast enough even with his debilitated state - that she kept her hands still. She thought instead how ironic it was that Harry's paranoia had made this possible. Harry had never rescinded his orders to Kreacher to follow Malfoy, and in the confusion following Dumbledore's death, no one realized that the elf had continued to be bound by that order. There had been a pattern in where Malfoy kept popping up and where the elf kept losing him. That pattern had not changed even after the Wizengamot fell victim to its own idiocy and allowed the Emergency Wizarding Council to pass the Marriage Law.