Complicated

The first Saturday after the Christmas holidays is traditionally very quiet; most of the students burrow into the warmth of their beds and grumble about how it was much warmer at home. Even Hermione can't see herself skidding and shivering her way through a walk around the lake this morning. The snow is dull grey and waterlogged, just like the pewter sky above the handful of breakfasting students.

Harry's owl looks wind-blown and disgruntled when she arrives; even a rasher of bacon doesn't quell her querulous hooting, and she refuses to relinquish the letter from her sharp grip before Hermione soothes her with a Warming Charm. Godrica (it was Godric before Harry discovered he was a she) hoots happily, steals another piece of bacon, and wings off towards London with alacrity. Hermione sighs when she sees that the owl has shirked her duty and left Hermione with all of Harry's correspondence. "Bad Rica," she mutters as she wonders when Harry finds the time to write to her and Ginny as well as to Professor Snape, Dean Thomas and Luna Lovegood.

Hermione pockets the other letters, resolving to play mail-elf later on, and she reads her letter:

Dear Hermione,

Love, Harry.

Hermione thinks that Harry's gift is more cheeky than tongue in cheek, but it makes her smile anyway. She leaves the Great Hall after breakfast and notes that Filch is stationed near the Great Doors, wearing his most anticipatory smile as he waits for the Quidditch teams to drag slick trails of mud and snow in when they return from their morning practice. Mrs Norris is a grizzled sentinel at his side, yowling a dire warning to any student who ventures into the cold morning.

After traipsing the length and breadth of the castle to deliver Harry's letters, Hermione pauses outside the Ravenclaw common room, wondering where Snape would be on a grey Saturday morning, a Saturday morning that was also his birthday. "Hiding from the harpies," she murmurs to herself with a slight smile. So, not in the staff room, then.

On the way down to Snape's office, Hermione stops on the first floor and peeks into the DADA classroom, just in case he's there. The classroom is empty and quiet, but Hermione feels a gentle tingle of magic wash over her face like a whisper. She winds through the desks and steps into the interconnecting DADA practical room, where Snape has now permanently installed Cushioning Charms on the walls and floor so that the students don't injure themselves on desk corners when they're trying to jinx each other.

Snape is alone in the practice room, sending a rapid-fire stream of hexes and jinxes towards one of the walls, which shimmers with an iridescent, blue quality each time it is hit, before the spells bounce back at Snape at random angles, forcing him to dodge the jets of light or flick up a quick Protego in response. It's like squash for magicians, Hermione thinks with surprise, and she wonders why she's never seen anything like it before.

A hissing Stinging Hex rebounds quickly, too quickly for a Shield Charm, and Hermione winces because it's at waist-height and she can't see that he's going to move quickly enough to avoid its scorching tendrils. Hermione's jaw drops when Snape bends backwards underneath the streak of orange light, touching the floor with the fingertips of one hand before he straightens up in an impossibly fluid movement.

"Woah, Neo," Hermione gasps because the move almost mirrors that beautiful and graceful slow-motion movement from The Matrix, and although she knows it was a special effect, she has always thought it was a little like magic, the way Keanu Reeves moved like that.

Snape turns quickly, his wand ready at eye-level, his reflexes obviously lightening sharp from his adrenaline-filled duelling practice. He drops his wand when he sees it's her at the door, and he makes a frustrated sound. "It's Saturday morning, Granger...will my free time never be sacrosanct?" he grumbles, raising his dark eyebrows dramatically.

He tucks his wand into an arm holster, and Hermione takes a moment to absorb the fact that he's barefoot and robeless, wearing only a loose pair of black pants and a charcoal t-shirt. His long, black hair is also fastened into a knot at the back of his neck, baring the sharp lines of his face and the long curve of his neck to open sight. He looks much younger like this, even though he's technically a year older, today. "What is it?"

"Sorry to bother you, sir," she says, retrieving Harry's letter from her pocket. "Godrica dropped all of Harry's post with me this morning. I think she wanted to get home to her perch." Hermione smiles at Snape as she hands him his letter. "Oh, and Happy Birthday, sir."

Snape scowls at the letter for a moment before his lips twist into an ironic smile. "Potter has the biggest mouth I have ever had the misfortune to witness," he says darkly.

"Oh, no... I think Hagrid's probably got an advantage over Harry," Hermione says, shaking her head. Over the years, Hagrid has certainly let some huge secrets slip, including the most recent about Snape's mother. Harry is simply honest and open, and he's the type of guy who thinks that Snape should be wished many returns of the day.

Snape's lips quirk slightly. "Perhaps," he allows. "Thank you, Granger. Now, give me the gift of peace and go away..." His tone carries only dry amusement; there's not a single trace of scorn or spite.

Hermione pushes her luck for a moment longer: "What was that charm you were duelling against?" she asks curiously, gesturing to the now quiescent wall.

Snape folds Harry's letter and slides it into his pocket. "I knew it was too much to ask," he says sardonically, but he answers her question: "It's a Rebounding Charm. Professor Flitwick gets arthritis during the winter months, and he's not inclined to get out of bed on a Saturday to duel, anyway."

"Why haven't we learned it in DADA?" Hermione asks.

Snape snorts with dark amusement. "Madam Pomfrey is busy enough as it is." He shakes his head. "Until the students can learn to shield and defend themselves during a simple duel with a classmate, this type of tool is not only unnecessary, but dangerous. The charm does not just reflect a spell...it intensifies both the magnitude and speed. It is primarily used by defence experts and duellists. Potter has mentioned such a charm being used for Auror training, as well."

Hermione bites the inside of her cheek as she considers the information Snape has given her. She is the best duellist in her NEWT DADA class, but that isn't really saying much because Snape never pairs them off with friends, and so she never gets to duel against Ginny, who is probably a close second. "I'm really good at duelling, though, sir," she wheedles. "Couldn't you teach just me?"

Snape narrows his eyes, and for a moment Hermione thinks he's going to revert to bellowing at her for being presumptuous and intruding upon his precious privacy. "Duelling is more of an art form than a sport, Granger, far different from warfare or hexing your classmates," he says, still staring at her intently. Then a smile curves his thin lips...it's the sly type of smile that Slytherins must practice in front of their mirrors...and he gestures towards the wall. "If you can last for five minutes, I may consider teaching you how the charm works..." He takes three paces backward and leans against the side wall with his arms crossed, that quasi-amused smile still firmly in place.

Hermione dithers for a few moments, feeling a thread of anxiety twist through her stomach. She can feel the weight of his stare, the intensity of his regard, and the smug expectation that simmers from him. She curls her fingers around her wand, feeling the tingle of magic against her palm as she stares the challenge down. She shifts her weight to the balls of her feet, feeling her muscles tense. "Diffindo." The spell rebounds from the wall with lightning speed, and Hermione ducks underneath it, feeling the sharp blade of magic whistle over the top of her head with crackling intensity. It defuses into the Cushioning Charm behind her, and she straightens up with a victorious smile.

"No gloating, Granger," Snape snaps from behind her. "Defend and attack in the same moment; your opponent will never allow you that moment to revel in your cleverness..."

Hermione whips her head around to give him a baleful look before she applies his suggestion: hex-shield-jinx-duck-curse-shield... She gets tired more quickly than she'd ever imagined, becomes absorbed in the exercise, starts using reflex and instinct rather than pausing to contemplate her next move, forgets that Snape is watching like a hawk. Her muscles burn and a flush rises up her neck to burn in her cheeks. "Stupefy!" The streak of scarlet magic whips back towards her with a visceral snarl... she's a fraction of a second too slow, and it clips her mid-chest. Her vision is flecked with scarlet sparks before everything fades to black.

The world roars back to vivid life as the bright spark of an Ennervate jump-starts her mind. "Come on, Granger," Snape is murmuring. "That's a girl..." She feels the cool tap of fingers against her cheek, and her eyes flutter open.

Snape is bending over her, wisps of dark hair falling forward to slant over his cheekbones. He gives her a look that tells her he's incredibly long-suffering and patient to put up with her like this, and he offers his hand. She takes his long-fingered hand and hauls herself to her feet with his help. She winces, feeling her muscles ache where the Stunner hit her.

Snape crosses his arms over his chest again and gives her an ironic look. "That was sixty-three seconds, by my count," he tells her.

Hermione hefts a big sigh. "Thanks for letting me try, anyway, sir," she says glumly, feeling a little inept and stupid, now.

"Oh, don't sulk, Granger," he chides. "It was a lot better than Lockhart ever managed."

She refrains from rolling her eyes. "Now that's a big achievement," she says with a slightly sarcastic edge.

Snape smirks. "It's not politically correct to speak ill of the mentally-challenged," he informs her.

Hermione smothers a giggle. Perhaps, she thinks with amazement, Harry's stupid present really did please him. Whatever it is, she can appreciate this side of Snape. His backside, too, her mind adds as he turns away and walks over to face the wall once more, pulling his wand from its holster as he goes.

"Be off with you, Granger," he says. "We'll see if you can last a bit longer next Saturday, shall we?"

Hermione would love to stay and watch him duel, but she's already been given a gift of such magnitude that she feels like she's swallowed an Engorgio. "Thank you, sir!" she calls, and then she races up the stairs to the fourth floor and the library.

Hermione has decided that while the lake is quiescent and she cannot visit Syrena, that she will attempt to learn Mermish so that she can speak to her friend without resorting to begging Harry for more Gillyweed.

She finds the appropriate textbook in the Language Section fairly easily, and she settles at a desk and opens the book. Each word is written phonetically beneath its English counterpart, and Hermione discovers that if she touches the typescript with the point of her wand, the word is sounded (well, screeched and clicked, more like) audibly. It's a very good thing because she cannot seem to work out exactly which letters go with which vocal intricacies.

Hermione's only managed to repeat the first word...a generic greeting for all races...twice before Madam Pince swoops into sight around a bookshelf, looking absolutely scandalised. "Silencing Charm, Miss Granger," she says, her lips pursing into a disapproving little pucker.

Hermione...with a serene smile because she's in a very good mood even after being felled by her own Stunner...flicks up a Silencing Charm and continues to try to wrap her mind around a language that is cumbersome and otherworldly on her tongue.

Five days later, Hermione lingers after DADA to talk to Snape.

"Do you have a moment, please, Professor?" she asks.

Snape shrugs elegantly. "It's what I'm paid for," he replies, Conjuring a chair for her, which tells her she's probably more welcome than his expression suggests. "Sit, speak," he says. "I have first-years in half an hour, and I need a cup of tea to fortify myself before then."

Hermione sits down and pulls her bag into her lap. She sighs. "I'm having some... issues with this week's assignment," she admits reluctantly. They're studying the Ethics of Magic in DADA at the moment, and Snape has given them homework that has had her staring into the common room fire as she juggles the questions in her mind.

Snape puts down his quill and flexes his fingers. "What is your particular issue?" he asks, watching her with dark eyes. There's a flicker of curiosity there, and she can read his interest in the way he leans forward slightly.

"Well, it's easy to see what the 'right' answers are to the scenarios," she begins. He'd given them five 'what would you do in this situation' scenarios. This has become a hallmark of NEWT DADA lessons: rather than research a topic, Snape has begun to ask the students to give their own opinion, to think rather than to simply regurgitate facts. It's a challenge for her because it makes her think about many things that she doesn't always want to consider. "It's just that some of the cases are... in some of the scenarios I know that if I were in that situation I probably wouldn't do the 'right' thing at the time."

Snape tilts his head slightly. "Why?"

Hermione bites on her thumbnail. "Because life is more complicated than that; most situations don't actually have one clear answer; some answers that are easy might have unforeseen and long-term effects; sometimes it's very personal and people can't apply an objective, clinical approach; sometimes you do things that feel right but are wrong, in the end."

"Yes," Snape says.

Hermione frowns. "Yes?"

Snape drums his long fingers on his desk, and then he clucks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Yes, life is more complex than we realise," he says simply. "You have the benefit...or perhaps the misfortune, really...of having experienced the difficulty of choice under duress. Your view on this exercise is vastly more complicated than a student who has never faced war. And such things also depend upon upbringing and conditioning, of course," he adds with a wry twist of his lips.

"Like the children of Death Eaters," Hermione says quietly, thinking of Draco Malfoy.

Snape nods. "In the end, it is a matter of perspective... and choice."

Hermione thinks about Dumbledore and the concept of the 'Greater Good' and how the whitest magician she'd ever known had made choices that had ultimately been detrimental to Harry.

Snape spreads his hands and shrugs. "But, Granger, you have to remember that there are always consequences to whichever choice you make. And ultimately, attempting to justifying your choices or seeking atonement for the consequences thereof are often heavy crosses to bear."

Hermione presses her lips together as she considers the stark lesson in his words, the sharp edge of experience that he brings to their classes with his own choices and his lifelong atonement. She thinks that it will take a long time for her to rationalise her own actions with regard to her parents, and she doesn't know where to start with making it right.

"So, there isn't really a right answer, then," she says.

Snape's smile is wry. "There isn't really an easy answer, ever, Granger."

A/N: We are going to pretend that The Matrix wasn't released two months after this chapter takes place, yes? It's the right year at least, yes?

Thank you, as always, to Gelsey.

Thank you to everybody who reads and reviews The Silvering Divide. Writing this story has been a shining and silver experience.