"Think about it, Severus," Hermione said in a soothing whisper. "Pettigrew went to ground straight after Godric's Hollow, but when Harry was Portkeyed to Little Hangleton, he had the Dark Mark. Do you really think the Dark Lord was in any condition to give him that mark before the restoration ritual? Or maybe you think Pettigrew did it himself?" She brushed her lips to the tip of Severus's chin. "Or do you think that mark was already there before Lily died? Dumbledore wanted his prophesied champion. I believe he thought that meant letting Riddle confront Harry, and Dumbledore wanted you."

---

Hermione's teeth caught her lower lip, and she had to take a calming breath through her nose before she could meet Severus's eyes and continue. "If Lily Potter hadn't died, she would have been a forty-year-old matron by now. She might have found a job after Harry was old enough for school and begun to realise some of the potential everyone says she had, or she might have had four or five children and built her life around them like Mrs Weasley, and you might have found peace and moved on." She gave a watery smile. "Or moved on sooner."

---

The tiniest almost-smile came to Severus's lips. "Yes, my love, I have moved on. Never doubt it."

Tension eased from Hermione's body, and her own eyes began to fill in an echo of the brightness in her lover's. "It was all Dumbledore, all for a prophecy that I think came true without him ever laying eyes on Harry. People say, 'mark my words,' mark as in take note. Just as that prophecy might have meant Neville, marking the child as his equal didn't have to mean Harry's scar, just that the Dark Lord acknowledged Harry as his adversary, but Dumbledore..."

---

Severus's brow creased in confusion, and his hands gripped her shoulders. "What are you talking about?"

Hermione's eyes widened in shock. "He never told you. All those years and he never told you."

"Hermione..." Severus growled.

"I can't!" she squeaked. "Not now, anyway. I have to think it through." She rushed on. "I trust you. You know that. You hold my life in your hands all the time, but you might be safer not knowing. And tonight's not the time." She swallowed. "We have other things to do."

Veins throbbed in Severus's temple as, turning Hermione, he fixed her braid.

---

Hermione almost stumbled as her feet sank slightly into the ground covering of pine needles and yellowed grass. Tall tree trunks surrounded them on all sides, preventing her from picking out any landmarks, but a Disillusioned hand at the small of her back indicated the direction she should take.

They walked no more than a hundred yards before Hermione noticed a change in the vegetation, pines becoming interspersed with oak, ash and chestnuts that covered the ground with the spiky green shells that had been picked clean of their prized conkers by the children of Hogsmeade.

"Stop here," Severus commanded.

---

"Go ahead. Wait for me to close the entrance before you light your wand."

Hermione glared at the steep spiral staircase concealed under the hollow tree. "Great!" she muttered. "When someone asks about our first date, I can say we went to 'The Pit of Despair'."

"Only teachers get to call it that," a silky voice whispered near her ear.

"Where are we?" Hermione asked as complete darkness enclosed them. She lowered the cloak's hood and lit her wand. "This isn't on Harry's map."

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Hermione, than are dreamt of in Potter's philosophy."

---

The tunnel seemed to go on for quite some distance, but it was lined in stone and able to easily accommodate even Severus's height. Hermione guessed they had been walking briskly for twenty minutes when the flagged floor began to slope upward and terminated in a wall studded with corroded iron rungs.

"Don't—"

Even as Severus voiced the warning, Hermione tugged on one of the rungs near head-height, only for it to come away in her hand, leaving it stained an ugly orange when she dropped the metal.

"Gryffindors," he muttered under his breath, casting a silent cleansing spell.

---

Hermione looked at the chimney-like area above their heads with a roll of her eyes. "How else are we meant to get up there?"

"How do you think? We fly. Put your arms around my neck and hold on," Severus responded, feeling very restrained at not adding a dunderhead in there. "And don't go pulling on anything else unless I tell you to."

Hermione glowered in his direction, but it lacked effectiveness between the dim lighting, Severus's Disillusionment, and their proximity once she obeyed his command. "Damned Slytherin!" she squeaked, wrapping her legs around his waist as they surged upward.

---

When they reached the top, Severus, rather awkwardly given Hermione's position, drew a knife from a sheath at his waist and nicked a finger. He drew the cut over the single stone flag of the roof to sketch in blood two triangles tip to tip, like a simplified hour glass. Touching his wand to the outline, he whispered softly, "Diem." For an instant the rune glowed a buttery yellow before it dimmed completely. "Dowse your wand and raise your hood," Severus warned Hermione as the massive slab of rock began to slide slowly to one side on an unseen pivot.

---

The stone slipped back into place, and Hermione knew as it settled with a click that she wouldn't be able to pick it out from any of the other boulders that were partly buried in undergrowth. "Where are we?" she whispered, unable to see the night sky clearly for the tangle of tree branches overhead.

"We are in the Forbidden Forest, but we must travel silently... unless you wish to attract the centaurs."

Hermione released her grip, following the line of his shoulder down to his hand and pulling it under the cloak. "No centaurs for me. Lead the way."

---

Severus matched his pace to hers and kept to animal tracks, heading in a consistent direction. The walk might have been pleasant, if Hermione wasn't so worried about what might await them at the castle, so well aware of the denizens of the forest, but it was Severus who reacted first.

The sounds, which had been so faint as to be unrecognisable, mere seconds later seemed to be almost on top of them. The high howl of one dog harmonized with the low baying of a second, bells high and melodious, and the breaking of dry wood under thundering hooves.