Part Twenty-Six

AN: Once again, many thanks to Lariope for the wonderful beta work she manages to fit into her busy life.

"The Saturday before Valentine's and I'm going to be spending it cooped up in a potion's lab." Why didn't that sound as bad as she was expecting it to?

Because your friend Severus will be there with you.

Friends.

It was a tentative friendship at best, and bittersweet because she had glimpsed the beginnings of what could have been.

That was before. This is now, and things are different. I can't let myself think about what-ifs until we've managed to find an antidote, and we will find it.

That had been her mantra since she'd last seen Severus. "No what-ifs, and we will find the antidote."

After Severus had left the store, there had been a minor uproar as word had spread through the customers and employees. Hermione had refused to comment, and Mister Fitzgerald had graciously volunteered to deal with any written inquiries that had nothing to do with the buying and selling of books for the next few weeks.

Still, it had been several hectic days with Hermione dodging one curious gossip after another. "No bloody comment," seemed to be her other mantra for awhile.

She couldn't dodge Harry, who had been quite upset to discover that Snape was not only alive and well, but that Hermione had known about it and not told him. She'd tried to explain that it hadn't been her secret to tell, but she suspected he was still annoyed with her, because he had ended the Floo call quite suddenly and she hadn't heard from him since.

She and Severus were getting together to brew, not for a date, so Hermione wore older, comfortable clothing that could survive a stain or two. She finished pinning up her hair and told herself one last time that Severus needed a friend right now, and she was the only likely candidate other than his bird.

With the reminder of Yorick, Hermione rushed into the kitchen and snatched up a tin of the biscuits she liked to give the falcon.

-~8~-

As soon as the owls started arriving Severus regretted his momentary lapse in judgment when he had replied to Kingsley's first letter granting him an Order of Merlin, and a full pardon, therefore confirming the rumors Severus Snape had lived.

"I knew it!" he yelled at Yorick while shaking a fist full of crumpled pages. "The only worthwhile scrap of correspondence in all this mess was the short note from Kingsley, and I should have burned that one as soon as I knew what it contained, but noooooo! I just had to return that scrap of metal and advise him what he could do with it, didn't I?" Glancing around his paper filled flat, Severus shook his head in annoyance before a small smirk lifted one corner of his mouth.

"Some of the death threats are somewhat amusing," he advised while using his wand to sort the pages into three neat piles. "The greatest majority show an appalling lack of imagination. Hufflepuffs, I'd wager."

As he considered the piles, Severus realized he felt really alive again – in a way he hadn't for a long, long time. Squatting down beside the smallest of the piles, he read the topmost one without touching it and sent a questioning, disbelieving look in Yorick's direction.

"I'll never understand the feminine mind, my chicken. Do you have a clue why this woman would want me to marry her daughter, let alone meet her? I'm a bloody Death Eater for Merlin's sake, and I killed their dear, darling headmaster."

Rising to his feet, Severus pointed his wand at the offending offers, and a moment later, they were reduced to a small pile of ash. The stack containing the death threats soon followed. That left the second highest stack of papers, which were quickly sorted into three other stacks. The largest joined its predecessors in the dust bin as ash, while the other two, much smaller, found a place on his desk.

February 10th, 2001

Post script – I have noticed a disturbing trend among our newborn citizens. A large number have been given the name Albus, which isn't surprising. What is surprising is the amount that have been burdened with the name Severus. If you and the former Miss Weasley are EVER cursed with offspring, I forbid you to use my name, alone or in conjunction with the aforementioned Albus. If you go against my wishes – I shall find you.

Putting down his quill, Severus rose, stretched, and raised his hands toward the ceiling.

"I'm in need of some lunch, Yorick. I'd forgotten how tiring it can be to correspond with acquaintances. The rest can wait, with what I know is bated breath, to hear from me."

His arms dropped, and he turned as his brewing partner appeared in his sitting room.

"Good afternoon. Would you care for a bite of lunch while we look over the notes?"

-~8~-

Her first instinct was that she had made a mistake in coming.

Better here than at the house, where every room holds some memory of... She shut that line of thought down quickly, but not before heat bloomed on her cheeks.

"Lunch would be fine, thank you. Oh, I brought these. For Yorick. Since we haven't – he doesn't get them as often as he used to."

While he dealt with gathering the lunch things, Hermione looked around the sitting room. Curiosity got the best of her, and she peeked at the letters he had sitting out, presumably waiting to be delivered.

A small smile formed on her lips and she quickly wiped it away as she followed Severus to the kitchen. "You're not really planning on sending those letters, are you?"

-~8~-

Is that a trick question?

Deciding it probably wasn't, Severus paused in the cutting of the sandwiches, glanced at Hermione with a questioning look on his face and asked, "Why, after taking the time and effort to pen them, wouldn't I?"

Picking up the tray containing their lunch, he headed toward the small dining area.

"I can assure you, my dear Hermione, my handwriting doesn't improve with practice."

-~8~-

"Didn't anyone ever tell you that you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar?" she teased back. "Although, I never did understand why someone would want a bunch of flies in the first place."

She took a seat at the table and reached for a sandwich. "You wanted to go over your notes?"

-~8~-

"Ah-ha!" Severus stated emphatically while waving a knife in the air. "I told Yorick it was vinegar and not acid! I am somewhat familiar with the old saying, however, the amount of honey involved depends on whether or not you wish to be bothered with those particular flies, does it not?"

The knife was set down on a plate while a sheaf of notes were drawn from his pocket.

"Yes, I'd like you to look these over, please. There are a number of variations we shall have to try. Some of them due to the fact I don't know if I ingested the potion or if it was applied topically," he noted. Severus took a bite of his sandwich, chewed, swallowed and took a sip of tea before continuing. "Dumbledore would have had to be close to me either way at the time, as it isn't a potion that requires the use of a hair or any other item from the intended heart throb, but merely the mention of his or her name."

-~8~-

Swallowing quickly, Hermione wiped her hands on her napkin and reached for the papers. She read them, her mind whirring as she thought about anything she might have seen or heard in the memories she had borrowed from Harry.

Several minutes passed in silence before Hermione lifted her head, eyes wide. "I think – I think I might know when he did it. If the potion can be administered topically, then I think I saw the bastard do it."

She stood up, her half-eaten sandwich forgotten, and began to pace as the memory came back to her. "It was the same memory as when he put the guilt curse on you. You were in his office, head bent down in grief and sorrow, and he had this vial in his hand. It must have been just a few drops on your head – any more and you would have noticed, I'm sure. Then he leaned closer and whispered her name, and I thought he was just reminding you of what you'd lost, not – not condemning you to..." Here she stopped, well aware that it would be very easy to say the wrong thing.

"Do you think that could be it?"

-~8~-

I wonder if that intense look of concentration is on my face when I walk and think aloud? Severus mused silently as his eyes followed Hermione in her travels. The rest of his sandwich was demolished just before she halted.

"I think," he said before wiping his mouth, "that you should sit down and finish your lunch. I'll not have an assistant that faints from hunger during an important phase of brewing." A sip of tea followed this pronouncement, and he summoned a plate of chocolate biscuits he'd ordered specifically for Hermione. Taking one, he nibbled a corner.

"I have no doubt that could be the moment in question," he stated firmly. "After lunch we shall brew a sample of the topical potion and see if it matches the diagnostic you ran on me before. Then we will know for certain it's the correct one before we subject our volunteers to its properties. If not, we'll have to make each one before we know for sure."

-~8~-

Her "Yes, Mother," was mumbled very quietly as Hermione took her seat and picked up the rest of her sandwich.

"We have volunteers? Do they know they've volunteered for this, or am I about to be introduced to the mating rituals of the rodent world?"

She dutifully finished her lunch and then snatched a biscuit off the plate, biting into it with obvious enjoyment.

-~8~-

His minor irritation at being compared to her mother quickly evaporated when Hermione's question about the volunteers started running through his mind. Severus' eyes narrowed slightly, and his elbow rested on the table while a hand caressed his chin.

"There's a thought," he muttered aloud. "We could run an advertisement, to either sex, really, offering to help them in their love lives. It could turn a pretty galleon or two at the same time we're solving the puzzle. The volunteers wouldn't really be volunteers in that sense; however, as we would be paid by a third party to perform the service, any damage settlements could, and would, revert back to the party who hired us. It would have to be put in a iron-clad contract, of course."

Severus sent Hermione a congratulatory smirk.

"You are, indeed, living up to your press, my dear."

-~8~-

For a split second, she almost believed him. Her biscuit nearly got caught in her throat as she gave him a wide-eyed, horrified look. Then she realized he had to be joking – Didn't he? – and began to giggle.

"You had me going for a minute."

She took another biscuit and nibbled on it for a moment. "Speaking of press, I just wanted to reassure you that I haven't said a word to any of the vultures who have come by Marks and Sons looking for a juicy quote or two, and I've asked my staff to do the same."

-~8~-

How would I have had her going, when I didn't move, and neither did she? pondered Severus. A quick glance under the table confirmed that she hadn't moved as much as her feet. He decided against having her explain the comment and took the initial expression on her face and the giggling to mean she was against using witches and wizards as volunteers.

"Why did you bring it up if you didn't want to use... Never mind," he mumbled shaking his head. Once again, he would have to adjust and try to take into account the wishes of a soft-hearted Gryffindor if he wished to share her company, which he did.

"I have a number of mice that will work. You'll have to name them, I suppose, in order for the potion to take affect," he stated while briskly putting their lunch dishes in the sink.

Turning, he leaned back against the cabinet and sent her a gentle smile.

"I've had no concerns about what you would or wouldn't say to the press, Hermione, and while I do appreciate you cautioning your staff, the press will do as it pleases."

He straightened and held out a hand.

"Shall we begin?"

-~8~-

He held out his hand. Hermione stared at it for a second, blinked, told herself that the world would not shatter apart if she were to touch him, and stood up to take it.

The world won't, but I might. To distract herself from how good he felt to her touch-starved person, Hermione asked, "How many mice are there?"

-~8~-

Frowning slightly, Severus led them to his lab. Once there, he paused, released her hand, and considered the room. It was a far cry from the private one he'd had access to at Hogwarts, but it had served him well.

"I have a dozen, six of each, in the cages over in that corner. We may need to rearrange the tables. I'm used to working alone, so I haven't allowed enough walking space for two," he commented absently while pondering how best to move them.

He turned and regarded his new working partner.

"I wonder. Would Minerva..." The sentence broke off, and he shook his head fiercely. "No. I want to owe nothing to her or that institution. This will have to suffice."

-~8~-

She bit her lower lip to keep from telling him that Minerva McGonagall probably would have loved to allow him access to the castle and any thing he might need.

"Your set-up will be more than adequate, I'm sure. I'll do my best to stay out of your way."

Hermione drifted over to the mice and bent to look at them. "I apologize in advance for what we're going to do to you. If it is any consolation, it shouldn't hurt." One of the mice noticed her and wandered to the side of the cage. "Oh, look at that little itty nose; you're a cutie. I think we'll call you Juliet."

She tilted her head and looked a bit closer. "Or Romeo from the looks of things."

Eleven little tails were counted, which made Hermione frown. She counted again. "Either you miscounted when you got them, or one of your volunteers has had second thoughts and run away, Severus."

-~8~-

"Again! Blasted, flea-bitten – Accio rodent!"

The frightened little mouse flew into Severus' outstretched hand.

"I warned you before, did I not?" he asked while staring into the small face peeping out of his fist. "I'm sure Yorick would love an indoor hunt for his dinner. No snow. No icy winds blowing his tail feathers around."

While he didn't imagine the mouse understood, it was given a satisfied nod before he approached the cages.

"You misunderstand, Hermione. It's not a matter of you staying out of my way or me out of yours. We have to work together, in the same space, to properly brew these potions. There are at least three stages in one of the potions that require..."

Severus' eyes narrowed slightly, and he paused in the act of putting the runaway mouse back in its cage. His head tilted as he considered the witch beside him.

"You know all this. Why are you acting like the scared little mouse in my hand?"

-~8~-

Poor mouse. She wondered if he'd really let Yorick eat it and decided that there was a very real possibility that he might.

Then he had proceeded to lecture her as if she were a first year student once more.

"Perhaps because I spent six very tense years under your tutelage, in which every single mistake I made, no matter how infinitesimal, was held up for ridicule in front of a classroom full of my peers, by you? Five of those years were in a potions lab. Add to that, I haven't really brewed anything of actual consequence in more than a year, and you tell me why I might be a little tense."

-~8~-

"Fair enough," Severus commented as he secured the fastening on the cage after putting the mouse away. Turning to face Hermione again, he said, "I'll not apologize for my teaching methods, Hermione. I'm not Minerva, Flitwick, Sprout, or any of the others. Potions is too dangerous a subject to make stupid mistakes when you're out on your own. I wounded the psyches to save the bodies. Plus, to a small extent I enjoyed it, but I'll wager you never made the same mistake twice."

Unsure if it was wise, he continued, "I don't want a brewing partner with a swelled head, but of all the able-bodied witches and wizards currently at my beck and call – in light of the honors they're so anxious to bestow upon my head – why would I chose a know-it-all such as yourself, Hermione? Keep in mind that while I'm not proud of the situation I'm in, I'm not striving to keep it a secret either. Those that revere Dumbledore will do that well enough if it ever comes out."

-~8~-

"I don't think anyone would ever make the mistake of confusing you with McGonagall, or Flitwick, or the others." She sighed and forced herself not to reach for something to toy with to keep her hands busy.

It would probably kill him to give her a compliment that wasn't some sort of twisted, backhanded almost-insult, assuming she understood him correctly in the first place.

"I didn't ask you to apologize for your teaching methods; I was merely answering your question as to why I was – skittish, if you will. It's an ingrained response. I'm in a lab, about to brew, with you, therefore I'm tense."

She found a clean piece of parchment with their notes and began to write. "Before we start, you wanted me to name the mice. Let's see, I've already decided on Romeo and Juliet."

Hermione bent down to examine the rest of the mice in the cage, pointing as she named them. "Petruchio and Kate. Othello and Desdemona. Lorenzo and Jessica. Antony and Cleopatra. And finally, our little escape artist and his mate shall be ... Clyde and Bonnie." She finished scribbling on the parchment and set it next to the cages.

Hermione spoke without looking up at him. "I feel that I should remind you that I am not a Potions Master, and there is a more than fair chance that I may make a mistake at some point during all of this, and while I do not expect you to hold your tongue should that happen, I do hope that you will endeavor to remember that we are no longer in a classroom and we are friends."

-~8~-

"Again, fair enough," Severus said after he rolled his eyes over her choice of names.

Clyde and Bonnie? I don't recall anything by Shakespeare using those names.

"You are my colleague, not my student, and not a Potions master. Would you like to know how you disappointed me the most and get it out of the way before we begin?" he asked carefully.

-~8~-

Would she like to know? Of course not.

Was she going to ask him not to tell her? Of course not.

"Will this be in essay form, or will a simple, bullet-point list do?"

-~8~-

Severus smothered a laugh and shook his head, but couldn't contain the dark merriment evident in his eyes.

"Not an essay or a bullet-point list, Hermione. You disappointed me the most when you became quite a good bookseller instead of an extraordinary Potions master. I should try harder to find a substitute for Acromantula venom in my duplicating potion and force you to change professions, perhaps?" he asked with a small smile.

"But then, that wouldn't be your choice, would it," he said sobering suddenly. "You and I both have done far too many things we'd rather not in the last few years."

-~8~-

"Yes, we have," she whispered and reached for one of his hands, cradling it between both of her own.

"But things are going to be different from now on. Trust me."

**********