Questions

Hermione is lost in that soft and hazy place where thoughts glide gently across the surface, barely rippling into a coherent stream at all. It's really very pleasant; the sounds around her are muted, and she stares past a sea of students into a beautiful nowhere place that only she can see.

"Hello! Earth to Hermione." Ginny's high-pitched voice shatters the floating bubble, and Hermione drops back to the plane of reality with a start.

She frowns at Ginny. "What?" she asks, feeling a little peeved at the intrusion.

"You don't take sugar in your tea," Ginny says tartly.

"Huh?" Hermione glances down and sees that she's holding a spoon; a cascade of sugar crystals are sliding off the silver edge and into her morning tea. "Oh," she says in bemused fashion, shaking her head as she puts the spoon onto her saucer. She doesn't stir her tea and takes a minute sip. It's not entirely tainted by sweetness, so she decides it's good enough to drink.

"What is wrong with you?" Ginny murmurs. "You've been drifting for two days, now. If I didn't know better I'd swear you were in love..."

Ginny's words cause Hermione's stomach twist into a riot of slippery knots, and her heart gives a fast and panicked flutter. Am I? she wonders. "I was just thinking about my Mermish lessons," Hermione says, and she glances up at the teachers' table. It looks like Severus is bickering with Professor Sprout about something. Amusement lifts the corners of her mouth because it's funny to see him in snide action when you're not on the receiving end.

"Mmhmm," Ginny mumbles sceptically through a mouthful of toast.

Severus glances up at that moment, well before Hermione hears the approaching rush of wings, and he plucks a spiralling letter from the air with graceful nonchalance. "Letters incoming," Hermione says, glad to distract Ginny from the fact that she's been caught daydreaming again.

"Impervious Charm," Ginny mutters, quickly swishing a wash of magic across their food. Ginny's eyes narrow as she watches the cartwheeling owls above. "Here we go," she mutters darkly.

Godrica delivers Hermione's letter happily enough, but it's with spiteful and unerring aim that she drops Ginny's letter straight towards the tureen of porridge. The letter bounces off the charm, and Ginny's little hand darts out to snatch it. The tip of the owl's wing clips the top of Ginny's head, and Hermione winces at the loud, disgruntled hoot that blasts in her ear as the Godrica rockets past to the Ravenclaw table.

"Owl stew," Ginny mutters. "With potatoes and carrots."

Hermione watches as Harry's owl settles at Luna's elbow and accepts a scritch-scratch and a piece of bacon. "She's jealous of you," Hermione says, hiding her amused smile behind her hand. This is a conversation that she and Ginny have at least twice weekly.

"Well, it's getting to the stage where it's going to be me or that owl," Ginny snaps as she opens the letter and begins to read.

"You just need to find a way to get along with her... find a way to her heart..." Hermione's gaze flickers up to Severus again, and a vibrating sense of nervous realisation jitters in her stomach. When did it happen? she wonders. She knows that she is fond of Severus; that awe and respect have twisted into a different sort of yearning; that she wants to get to know him better; she wants a chance to find a way to his heart. But along her journey through the paradigm shift, she's lost her heart to him without even realising it until now.

Severus gives Professor Sprout one last, mocking smirk, and then he leaves the Great Hall. Hermione watches the straight and proud line of his posture, the liquid slide of his walk, and she sighs softly as he disappears from sight.

Hermione opens Harry's letter and raises her eyebrows at the neat and unfamiliar handwriting that flows across the parchment in straight and regular lines.

Dear Hermione,

Love, Harry.

Hermione smiles at the warmth of friendship that shines through the Charmed script. Harry might be a little self-righteous in his concern sometimes, but it's obvious that he genuinely wants her to be happy. She folds his letter again and gives a whisper of a sigh as she hopes that Ron is just missing their old friendship and not the disastrous romantic turn it had taken towards the end.

After she's finished with classes on Thursday, Hermione finds that a house-elf has placed another item on her pillow. She drops her schoolbag onto the dormitory floor with a thud as she gives a soft oooh of surprise.

The box is exquisite...silky, shiny wood with inlaid panels of silver and shell, and a midnight velvet lining. The shell holds all the mysterious colours of the water in its luminescent shimmer, and when Hermione tilts the box, the colours and patterns shift like there's light dancing under the lid.

There's a note curled up in the bottom of the box like a secret:

This is one of a matched pair. If you place your reply in the box, then press the central panel, it will transfer between the boxes.

Until Saturday.

Hermione smiles at the compliment, which is typically wrapped in the prickly guise of an insult. She realises that she's never considered how much Phineas Nigellus told Severus last year. Of course, there had never been anything of tactical importance discussed during the evenings they'd taken the snotty portrait out, but they'd bickered and debated with him about many other things to pass the time. She can imagine Severus listening to a recounting of those conversations in the shadows of his isolated office and gnashing his teeth at reports of their utter incompetence.

It seems rather apt that Severus was so close to her through that lonely time... always just a veneer of canvas and paint away. He's always been there in the background of her life like a shadow; she'd never realised how intricately their life threads had intertwined, circling around each other like a double-helix, until they'd run finally out of slack and come to stand face-to-face at last.

Hermione comes to the conclusion that Severus is picking the easiest questions from her list...and asking her fairly complex ones in return...when she opens the box the next day to find another note:

While I am partial to sashimi and oysters, I do not enjoy the thought of eating whole, raw fish, no.

Why did you choose Gryffindor over Ravenclaw when you arrived at Hogwarts?

Hermione strokes the cool patina of the shell inlay as she closes her eyes and remembers the tingling and humid dark beneath the brim of the Sorting Hat: "If you weren't Muggle-born, I'd stick you in Slytherin with your ambitious streak of yours, but keeping in mind the current political climate... no, that would not be wise. Right, then. Ravenclaw with that mind... or Hufflepuff with that resolve... or Gryffindor with that heart... All three would suit you well, although perhaps Gryffindor may stretch you beyond your comfort zone. But it is your choice, Hermione Granger. There is no doubt you belong in this magical world, know that."

I've always been keen for a challenge, Hermione thinks, and hungered for an extraordinary life. She opens her eyes and watches the shifting gleam of light under her fingertips. And now I think I've fallen in love with Severus Snape... He's probably the most complicated and challenging person I know. Hell, he's even half-selkie on top of that. But I want the chance to evaluate this attraction I have for him because the most remarkable things have come to me when I've taken on a challenge, haven't they?

On Saturday, Hermione is surprised when Severus leads her into the cool shadows at the foot of the cliff below Hogwarts. She gazes up at the castle, which seems to grow from the top of the cliff and soar, fairytale like, into the clouds. "Oh, I haven't been here since first-year when I arrived at Hogwarts," she murmurs. She remembers the expectant yearning she'd felt that night; what she feels now is similar, except that the moment is full of adult expectations and importance. "Where are we going?"

Severus steps into one of the small boats and extends his hand to balance her as she joins him. "I thought that, given your future career, perhaps you would like to meet the Chieftain of the merpeople," he says with a hint of a smile.

Hermione sits on the small bench, and she's surprised to note how much smaller the boat seems, now; how her knees almost brush Severus'; how this feels like an exceptionally romantic moment rather than the lesson it is supposed to be. "I would, yes," she says. "Thank you."

"It is my pleasure, Hermione." His suave voice sends a warm flood of awareness chasing through her blood. "Have you heard from the Department yet?"

The boat begins to glide into the sunshine again, leaving only the slightest ripple in its wake. "Yes," she says with a nod, "they've offered me the job in the Water Division, contingent on my NEWT results."

"Well, that should not be an issue," he says, idly flicking his elegant fingers.

"No," she agrees softly, thinking of the promise that the time beyond Hogwarts holds...bright and shiny and hopeful, like magic. They lapse into restful silence for several minutes; the noise of the world fades until there's only the two of them and the water. She thinks that he does this on purpose... draws them away from the castle where there are rigid lines to divide them. She wonders when he ever began to see beyond those lines, when he first looked at her and saw a grown woman with promise and not a recalcitrant show-off.

"Severus?"

She seems to draw him from his own nowhere place...perhaps he's looking into a possible future, as well...and he blinks and raises his eyebrows.

"I was just wondering..." His lips quirk as if he's holding back some wryly amused comment, and she gives him a rueful smile. "When did it change... the way you saw me?"

Severus dips his fingertips into the water so that they drag through the silvering divide as the boat moves. He seems to be searching for the answer in the shimmering surface of the water. Hermione bites the inside of her cheek as she tries to be patient. She's already learned that Severus likes to take a moment to formulate the fullness of an answer in his mind; to taste the words before they leave his lips; to measure the weight and feel of each syllable. They're different that way; her own words often spill in the air before she's even thought them.

"I always thought that you were a student who liked to absorb knowledge like a sponge just to be able to state that you knew a particular fact," he says slowly. "I suspected that you had somewhat of an eidetic memory, actually." He glances up and raises an eyebrow.

Hermione nods slightly. "Partial," she admits.

He nods. "I found your brash eagerness to share your brilliance... annoying," he says, and there's no trace of spite in his voice... no hint of apology, either.

It's a rather difficult thing to hear when you're a perfectionist who wilts under the sharp light of criticism, but Hermione nods again. He's telling her the truth, which is something she values more at this moment than the bruise to her tender ego. She dips her own fingertips into the water, feels the way the stream of disturbance in the water from his fingers tickles against her skin, like they're connected in some fundamental way.

"You proved me wrong last year...your fortitude under pressure and your inventive application of magic... well, that impacted directly on the outcome of the war, Hermione. You grew from a needy child into a competent and strong witch." He tilts his head and gazes straight into her heart. "I noticed, and when you returned here in September it was impossible to miss that you carried that new competency with grace and maturity."

"Oh," she breathes. For so long. "You really didn't treat me any differently until just before Christmas." And sometimes he was even more spiteful and vitriolic than usual, perhaps just to make up for the softening of his heart?

Now, Severus' face tightens into a grimace and his lips twist into a sneer. "I did not particularly care for the manner in which Professor Slughorn handed his teaching duties off onto you."

Hermione sighs. "Neither did I, really. At least he hasn't invited me back to the Slug Club meetings." She gives him a wide and impish smile. "I do have you to thank for that, I'm guessing."

Severus just smirks at her as the boat slows to a stop in the centre of the lake. The forest is a thin green blur in the distance, and the water is black-green and smooth around them like the thickest glass. A moment later, a merman appears, and Severus introduces her to the Chieftain. While they exchange pleasantries and the merman tells Hermione that he remembers her from when she was smaller, from when she slept through a visit to his village, Hermione has a chance to compare the selkies with the merfolk. While both species have the blackest hair and eyes, the merman's skin is a dull, uniform grey, and it lacks the lustrous shimmer that makes the selkies gleam in the water. The merman is bigger, too, and his Mermish is rougher and more guttural, like he's swallowed a handful of sand and stones. They're more... brutish and savage-looking, she thinks as she waves goodbye and the merman disappears with a flick of his powerful tail.

"Thank you," Hermione says. "Do the merfolk and the selkies ever have disputes?" She wouldn't think so... Severus seems to get along with the merpeople well enough, and Syrena has never mentioned them in any slanted light.

Severus shrugs elegantly. "It is in the best interests of both settlements to co-exist peacefully. There are some minor resource disputes that arise at times, but for the most part each tribe keeps to their natural territory. The merfolk do not often surface; they are more comfortable in the deep. The selkies, however..."

Hermione feels a warm blush burn at her throat. "Yes... I read something about that," she admits.

Severus' deep and delicious chuckle echoes in pleasant notes off the water. "The selkies cultivate some surface plants in the forest, as well," he says blandly, now, although there's wicked mirth glinting in his eyes.

The boat begins to slide back to the castle, silent as a whisper. The blush tickles hotly in her cheeks, and she presses her palms to her burning skin. When she lifts her eyes with determined bravery, he's still watching her, although his expression is serious and contemplative, now. "I have a question of my own for you," he says, leaning his elbows on his knees.

Her heart flutters because he's leaning so close to her that she can smell the warm hint of spice and musk on his skin. "You always do," she says, inviting him to speak with a slight widening of her eyes.

"Why would you want an old, scarred, cantankerous half-man when you could easily have your pick of young and bright and whole wizards?" he asks softly.

Her heart begins to ache in her chest at his words and the starkly melancholic expression that settles into the sharp planes of his face. Please, please don't pull away, now... not when we've just started!

"Because when I'm alone with you," she says, trying very hard to pull her feelings into adequate enough words, strong and powerful words that will slide into the web between them and reinforce their bond, "the world isn't like a black and white movie without sound any longer."

His expression relaxes minutely. "Ah," he murmurs, and he nods before sliding back into silence, staring past the tree line, far beyond the horizon. When they're almost back to the castle, Severus sighs. "That was such a Muggle metaphor, you know," he tells her, and a smile plays across his lips.

"I don't know any selkie ones yet," she retorts, and she revels in his softly amused chuckle.

As Severus takes her hand to help her out of the boat, she asks in what she hopes is artless fashion: "Could we do duelling practice again next week?"

A/N: Mini Disclaimer... I have read a lot of fanfic and come across many wonderful types of magic boxes. I can't recall having read of one like this, but I'm sure a magical device of this type surely does exist somewhere in somebody's Potterverse.

Thank you to Gelsey, as always.