Chapter Four

Chapter Four: In which Filius Flitwick and Minerva McGonagall request assistance, and Hermione Granger learns Severus Snape can be witty.

~o0o~

"Hermione, I didn't expect to see you." McGonagall greeted the Aurors as she unlocked the school's gates.

"Harry asked me to join him. I hope you don't mind." Her breath fogged as the words left her mouth, and Hermione pulled her heavy woolen cloak tighter about her body. London hadn't been nearly as cold as Scotland. At least it wasn't snowing. Yet, she thought. An ominous blanket of clouds stretching across the horizon presaged a coming storm.

"Certainly not." McGonagall led the way up the freshly cleared path toward the school. "Mr. Potter, thank you for coming. Thank you both. I hadn't anticipated such a prompt reply."

"Of course, Professor." Harry's glasses fogged almost immediately when his hot breath met the cold air, but it had been many years since he'd needed Hermione's assistance, and with a tap of his wand, the lenses cleared. "I want to help if I can," he said. "I have one favor to ask first."

"Yes?"

"If you can call Hermione Hermione, then do you think you could call me Harry?"

McGonagall smiled and pulled her scarf, knitted in Gryffindor colors, tighter around her neck. "If you will call me Minerva."

"With pleasure," he replied, but he exchanged a worried look with Hermione. She, too, had noticed the strain behind the smile of their former head of house.

They were quiet during the rest of the trek up the hill, and by the time they arrived at the castle, the impending storm announced its presence with a reverent hush of snowfall. When Harry held the great oak doors for his companions to pass through, McGonagall informed him, "We're meeting in Professor Flitwick's study. I hope you don't mind, but I thought his account would be useful."

Hermione waited until they were halfway up the marble staircase and she had ascertained no one was near enough to overhear her question. "Will Professor Snape be joining us?"

"No." McGonagall, too, checked their surroundings – no portraits, no students, no ghosts, and no poltergeists – before answering. "He's rather fatalistic. Severus believes this sort of treatment is to be expected, and aside from taking additional precautions, he won't initiate any official steps." When they reached the second floor landing, the three turned toward Ravenclaw's domain in the West Tower.

Harry leaned against one balustrade. "I can understand his position."

None of the three spoke as they transferred to another staircase which swung wide, bypassing two floors and conveniently swinging to the landing leading directly to Flitwick's study. As Hermione strode to the top, she asked, "If Professor Snape thinks these incidents are nothing more than student mischief, then why are you so concerned?"

"They've continued into the holidays." McGonagall's mouth was pinched with disquiet. "Whoever is perpetrating these ... I can't call them pranks any longer ... is still in the castle. Filius thinks the holiday break is our best chance to identify him or her." She stopped outside an open door and gestured for her guests to enter. "Very few students remained for the holidays this year and with a skeletal staff ...."

"It's an excellent idea." Harry paused while Hermione stepped ahead of him into the Charms' professor's private domain.

Awaiting their arrival, Filius Flitwick was dressed to impress. His hair had been brushed until it gleamed, and his smile was wide and welcoming. His deep brown suit was spotless, its tails hanging to the mid-point of the backs of his knees. His shoes had been the recipients of house-elf tender care and shone until their surroundings reflected off their surfaces.

"Professor," Hermione greeted, "it's very good to see you again."

Initial pleasantries were exchanged in short order. Seating and tea were administered as an antidote to the chill and their journey, and once the biscuits had been passed, the two professors launched into their subject as if they'd rehearsed a presentation. Briefly, Hermione glanced at Harry to see whether he was as amused as she by the easy camaraderie of the two teachers. It was clear they were good friends. Harry dipped his head in acknowledgement, but then Flitwick's retelling garnered their full attention. "One of the oddest and most recent developments has been the flowers."

"Flowers?" Hermione asked.

"In Severus' classroom," McGonagall confirmed.

Harry leaned forward in his seat, placing his cup and saucer on the hovering tray. "I thought the tributes were vermin and only found in his office."

"Not any longer." Flitwick wriggled his fingers and his chair dropped by several inches, so he could slip to the ground easily. With quick steps he crossed the room to a corner cupboard. Opening the right-hand door, he withdrew a see-through bag containing what appeared to be a botanical specimen. "In the last two weeks, there have been several floral offerings and one vial of a poorly brewed love potion." He handed the bag to Harry. Inside was a slender stalk of late season heather.

"May I?" Hermione reached for the bag which Harry easily relinquished. She peered at the perfectly preserved bells of the local flower and bit her lip in thought.

"We don't know whether it's one or two people leaving these things for Severus, but enough is enough." McGonagall's teacup rattled as she placed it in its saucer.

"Forgive me, but the obvious answer is that Professor Snape should apply better security spells on his rooms," Harry said blandly and watched the teachers bristle at his implied criticism.

Flitwick stretched his spine, lengthening his stature by a full inch. "Mr. Potter, the security spells and wards on Severus Snape's office are barely legal as it is. I, personally, have adapted three charms for those exact purposes."

Pausing in her scrutiny of the heather, Hermione slanted a look at her friend through an unruly fringe of curls. He was using one of his favorite interrogation techniques; it was especially useful with highly intelligent people. They disliked being thought ignorant or incapable and usually divulged more information than intended. She smiled privately while fingering the translucent bag in her hands. It felt nothing like plastic, but appeared to function in a similar manner. A thought occurred to her, and she asked, "How often do these events occur?"

"The incidents have no discernable pattern, but we're none of us an Arithmancer. They never occur two days in a row." Flitwick resumed his seat and the chair rose to acceptable conversation height.

"It happens two to three times a week," McGonagall supplemented Flitwick's answer. "Severus refuses to bring the situation to the headmistress' attention, which is understandable if exasperating. His circumstances are precarious enough as it is."

"Precarious?" Harry brushed crumbs from his jeans. "How so?"

McGonagall shifted uncomfortably and it was Flitwick who replied. "As you may know, the Board of Directors resisted employing Severus, and for a time, he – like you, Miss Granger – explored other potential career avenues. I'm sure you can imagine the obstacles he faced, and while he wasn't a popular teacher during his tenure, he was an effective one. His demonstrable results and the Minister's endorsement were what ultimately persuaded the Board to offer him a position. However, he has a number of restrictions written into his contract, and those decrease in number and severity over a period of years. Following that he will be treated as if he were any other member of the staff."

Hermione was outraged. "How unjust!"

"But not surprising," Harry said.

"No," she agreed, with regret, "it isn't surprising. Has anyone considered that one of the Governors might be the instigator?"

SNAP! The strap of Flitwick's braces slipped through his fingers, and the sound of its impact with his crisp, white shirt was as loud as a Muggle rifle in the highlands. While no one jumped, Hermione and Harry carefully avoided looking at each other; they would laugh about the nervous habit later.

"How utterly despicable," McGonagall said tightly, and she crossed and re-crossed her ankles.

"No, no. It's highly improbable." Flitwick fingered his braces again. "It is a possibility we hadn't considered, Hermione, and you've quite startled us. However, none of the Governors were on the school's grounds when the first vole was delivered. The revealing spells Severus and I used were comprehensive – and no, Harry, I shan't be more forthcoming about which ones we performed."

"An accomplice? A child, a nephew?" Hermione asked.

"None who are at present in the castle have ties to the Board. While I wouldn't put this sort of harassment past several members, I don't believe it would be to their advantage to pursue that course of action. Inexplicable as it may be, since Severus has returned to teaching our enrollment has gone up. People may dislike what he did, but it's common knowledge that he protected students to the point of his own death."

Harry jotted another note on the parchment he'd removed from his coat pocket, scribbling on it with a Self-Inking, Quick-Notes Quill. "To recap, if I may: Professor Snape doesn't want to draw attention to himself if it isn't necessary as that could trigger one of the restrictive clauses in his employment contract, and you believe the perpetrator isn't a member of the Board of Governors, nor one of their offspring or relations."

Flitwick pursed his lips, his head tilted as if re-appraising his one-time, indifferent student, but it was the deputy headmistress who answered Harry's question. "Exactly. We don't want our investigation to be detrimental to him in any way, and to put it bluntly, Harry, you're our solution."

Unable to hide his reaction to the implicit compliment, Harry's cheeks grew ruddy with pleasure. "Thanks."

However McGonagall hadn't finished. "I realize Severus wasn't particularly generous to you while you were a student, but we trust you."

"He's the bravest man I've ever known, Professor. I owe him my life." Despite his embarrassment, Harry's response moved Hermione deeply.

"Yes. Well." Flitwick cleared his throat, blowing his nose into a capacious handkerchief. "As you see, we have preserved the evidence. Would you like to inspect the rest?"

"Unfortunately," Hermione said, as she removed her wand from the bag containing the heather, "without seeing these specimens in situ there is very little my specialty can add to the investigation. Whoever put the flowers on the professor's desk didn't use a wand. Although, I do have a question." She held up the preserved heather. "Is this lavender?"

McGonagall frowned. "You should know better, Hermione. It's heather."

Hermione shot Harry a nasty look when he chuckled. "I'm sorry, Minerva," she said. "I was unclear. I'm referring to the color. Would you call this lavender?"

"Why?" Flitwick asked, stepping down from his chair and scurrying closer to study the specimen Hermione held. "It's certainly a pale purple."

"I'd say it was lavender," McGonagall assured her, "but I, too would like to know why you ask."

"I imagine Professor Sprout would know immediately." Hermione raised the specimen for all to see. "In the language of flowers, lavender heather expresses the sentiment of admiration."

McGonagall sucked in her breath sharply, and Harry nodded, rising to his feet, pocketing quill and parchment. He said, "I'd like to take a look at the rest of the evidence."

"We've kept everything except this item in my classroom rather than Severus' office. We thought it wouldn't be quite as obvious a hiding place." Flitwick led the way to the door.

"Brilliant idea." Harry followed his former teacher. "Hermione, I suspect our theory is correct."

"I'm afraid so. Do you need me to come with you?"

"No need." Harry retrieved his cloak from the obliging coat rack. "I'll catalogue the flowers so you can tell me if there are any other hidden messages."

Hermione, too, rose to her feet, addressing Harry as if they were in her office at the Ministry. "And the potion, please. I'd like a sample for analysis."

"Don't you think Snape's already analyzed it?"

"I'm sure he has." She handed the bagged flowers to her friend. "Although a second opinion never hurts."

McGonagall cleared her throat, her spine straight and shoulders rigid. Hermione found it amusing that her former teacher was no longer the towering authority figure she'd once been as seen through the eyes of an enchanted eleven-year old. Now their eyes were at a level. "Just a minute, please. What theory?" the older witch asked pointedly.

Harry's response was so immediate it was obvious he had expected the question. "We were concerned that these pranks might be the signs of a stalker."

"A stalker? Is that some type of game hunter?" Flitwick asked.

"Sorry." Harry flushed while draping his cloak over his arm. "It's a Muggle term, and in this case it could easily mean that whoever is leaving these presents for Professor Snape has become obsessed with him." What Harry did not say was that they all had first-hand experience with obsessive wizards.

Hermione then retrieved her cloak. "Please let me know when it happens again and, if at all possible, I'll come immediately. I would very much like to see the evidence as it presents."

"I'd cover for you if necessary, 'Mione."

"Thanks, Harry," she said, touching the sleeve of his robes lightly, "but don't call me 'Mione. You know how much I dislike it." He smirked and she knew he'd done it on purpose. "While you go with Professor Flitwick, I'd like to say hello to Professor Vector and then stop by the library." She explained, "I haven't seen Madam Pince in a very long time, and I'd like to wish her Happy Christmas."

McGonagall rose from her chair and made her way to the door. "Irma recently told us that you and she were friendly."

Hermione's eyes darted to Harry, to whom the revelation was news. His interested green eyes rested upon her face. "I spent a lot of time in the library while I was a student," Hermione explained, "and Madam Pince was very kind to me on occasion. I had planned to see her the last time I was here, and you too, Filius, but it got too late."

"Which is why I had to learn of your visit from Minerva." Flitwick crossed his arms. He then waved his hands when she apologized. "No need; you're here now." A small clock on his wall chimed the setting of the sun, and he said, "Dinner will be served in an hour. You're most welcome to stay, although I imagine you both have plans this evening." He followed his guests into the hallway.

"My only plans are to find my bed." A jaw-popping yawn finally overcame Hermione.

"She's been working in her lab for the past thirty-six hours." Harry watched with professional interest as Flitwick locked and warded his door.

"You'll work yourself into an early grave if you're not careful," McGonagall admonished as they waited in the draughty hall.

Hermione just shrugged. "There's no one else who does what I do."

"No one?" her former head of house inquired when they reached the landing. "Is the Aurory so understaffed, then?"

"I –"

Harry stepped between the two women, his expression proud. "What Hermione won't say is that she's a pioneer in forensics analysis. It isn't a standard area of MLE investigation, and neither the Wizengamot nor the Department recognizes it as legally admissible. That means she ends up working harder than anyone else, but there are some of us who appreciate and rely on her expertise. At least no one can argue her results."

Flitwick beamed at his former student and led the way down the hall. "I would expect nothing less from a witch of your intelligence. It's really too bad you weren't sorted into Ravenclaw."

McGonagall snorted as her skirts swished. "She's a Gryffindor to the core, Filius."

"Actually," Hermione said, diplomatically, "the Sorting Hat did want to put me in Ravenclaw, but it decided Gryffindor at the last minute."

"Ha!" Flitwick crowed, and then gestured for Harry to precede him. "How fortunate it's a Friday. The left hand staircase will align straight to the second floor. After you, ladies, Harry." Gallantly, he brought up the rear, and at the second floor landing, he said, "We part ways here. If either of you, Harry or Hermione, wish to remain for the night, I'm sure there are guest quarters available."

"That's very kind, but after I see the headmistress and Madam Pince, I'll probably go straight home."

Harry paused before taking the left-hand corridor. "I'll come find you in the library when I finish with Professor ... er ... Filius. I don't want you splinching on your way home."

She touched his sleeve. "Thanks, Harry. I'll meet you there. Goodbye, Filius."

The wizards retreated down the corridor, wall sconces flaring brightly as they passed. Hermione and McGonagall chose the corridor toward the stone gargoyle guarding the headmistress' office. An occasional scorch mark could be seen, the result of a magical spell which hadn't been scoured clean in the intervening years between the last battle and the present day.

"Have you had a chance to read the Ubasti?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Yes, it's excellent. Her anecdotes of Cleopatra Selene's mother were so fascinating I've begun to read about her and Mark Antony. History was never one of my interests, outside personal recollections, but this has become something of a holiday project."

"A break from student essays?" Hermione's face alit with amusement.

"Yes! I doubt the students look forward to their holidays with as much enthusiasm as the staff." McGonagall's smile curved her lips as she moved on to the topic of her newfound interest. "Since I've read the Ubasti, I've taken to haunting poor Irma's library more than the Grey Lady."

"And you used to chide me about the numbers of hours I spent revising."

"I doubt anyone could have prevented you." The smile turned affectionate.

"When I first learned I was a witch, the Ministry gave my family two books. One was about the Statute of Secrecy and the other was Hogwarts, A History. As you can imagine, I read them both in a week."

"You've always been a diligent pupil."

Hermione explained simply, "I wanted to fit in."

The Transfigurations professor stopped in the empty corridor and faced the young Muggle-born woman. "You are an asset to this world, Hermione Granger, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

The unexpected comment practically stole Hermione's breath. "Minerva," she said, softly, "thank you."

McGonagall nodded, uncomfortable with her own outburst. "Yes, well." Resuming their walk, she cleared her throat and said, "One of the things which drew my notice to the history of Ubasti's time was the short Muggle lifespan. It's no wonder witches and wizards were sought-after counselors; their experiences spanned several generations."

"What an excellent point. I've always been shocked by how young girls were when they were forced into marriage. For all that some were queens and ruled their own lands women weren't much more than chattel." As they rounded a corner a sprightly witch in a livid purple hat waved from a nearby portrait; Hermione smiled in passing.

"It's an enormous departure from the wizarding world. I'm not certain which disturbed me more, Muggle women treated as possessions or the commonplace acceptance of arranged marriages. Although some of the older pureblooded families follow that practice, I've always thought it barbaric. Did you know Cleopatra was married to her brother at the age of eighteen?"

The sound of Hermione's footsteps stuttered. "That's revolting! I can't believe it was anything other than politically expedient?"

"I'm sure it was. He was twelve and sent her into exile shortly thereafter. Ubasti first joined her household when Cleopatra was in Alexandria."

"Is that when she met Mark Antony?"

"No, that was later, after she bore Caesar a child." Minerva pursed her lips to recall the information. "I believe she was in her early twenties and Caesar in his fifties."

"At least that's similar to wizarding culture. Age difference between couples isn't an issue like it is in the Muggle world."

"I wasn't aware it was an issue at all."

"It is." Hermione nodded her head in emphasis. "Not a ten-year age difference, mind, but anything greater and people tend to look down their noses. You should have seen my parents' faces when I brought Kingsley to dinner."

"Hermione!" McGonagall's astonishment was so great she stopped in the middle of the corridor. Flickering light from a nearby torch, nestled in its metal sconce, highlighted the strands of gray in her tightly knotted hair.

Hermione's laugh bounced off the stone walls. "We were very circumspect, and it was a good thing because it never would've worked. You didn't know?"

"I had no idea."

"It started right after he became Minister. He attended every debriefing session the boys and I had. One night when Dawlish had kept us there for hours, Kingsley offered to take us to dinner. Harry and Ron had made plans with George – you know how unstable he was during that time – so Kingsley took me alone. One dinner led to another, and then to something more."

"I – you – I had been under the impression Ron Weasley was your only ... er ... love interest." McGonagall patted her hair, her fingers nervously tucking in stray hairs.

"No. Kingsley and I dated for three months, and they were wonderful, but he wanted a wife, and I wanted to take my N.E.W.T.s. He's quite lovely though."

"I've always liked him." McGonagall's voice was faint.

"Ron and I didn't get together for another couple of years. I was barely on speaking terms with him until after Professor Snape left England."

"I see."

"Now" Hermione said briskly, "what were you saying about Cleopatra?"

Back on firm academic ground, McGonagall resumed their course toward the headmistress' office, and the cadence of her comments was so like her teaching style Hermione's fingers itched for a quill with which to take notes. "She met Antony in her mid-twenties, so it was probably a more equal relationship than the one she had with Caesar, and they had three children. Ubasti became young Cleopatra Selene's handmaid, and when young Selene was held captive in Rome, Ubasti went with her.

"It was there Ubasti had her daughter, Fulvia. The father was a young Libyan wizard of good family, and he later hid the child amongst his household. In the latter pages of the journal, Ubasti wrote how proud she was that Fulvia achieved a marriage of some note."

Neither witch noticed they had reached the stone gargoyle, too immersed in their conversation to pause. Intrigued, Hermione asked, "Any idea who?"

"That's the interesting part. Fulvia's great-grandson was Publius Septimius Macer, and when he lived in Rome he became an equestrian. His grandson became the emperor."

Hermione's eyes widened. "So there was wizarding blood amongst the Roman emperors. That is interesting."

"Before the Statute of Secrecy, mixed marriages weren't unusual, but that's not the interesting fact."

"Oh?"

"The Roman Emperor was Septimius Severus." McGonagall's eyes gleamed as if she'd just pounced on a mouse in her Animagus form.

Chills shuddered down Hermione's arms, and if she'd believed in Divination, she might have paid attention. "Really?"

McGonagall nodded. "I have no idea whether there's any connection to our Severus, but I do know there's Roman ancestry in the Prince family."

"That would be quite remarkable. Does he know?"

"I've lent him the book, but as we've all been marking end-of-term exams, I doubt he's had time to read it yet."

Off to their left the massive gargoyle leapt to the side as the great circular stair descended, carrying the headmistress. As always, Septima Vector's poise was enviable. "Hermione, Minerva, good evening. What a delightful surprise."

"I'll see you at dinner, Headmistress. Hermione, it's been enlightening. I'll look forward to seeing you again soon." McGonagall nodded to the women and retraced her path.

"What brings you to my door?" Vector asked curiously.

Rather than discuss the real reason for her visit, Hermione prevaricated. "Harry and I came to wish some of our former teachers a happy holiday. He's seeing Professor Flitwick, and I took the chance you might be here before I go to the library to wait for Harry."

"How thoughtful of you. I'll walk with you if I may. I trust you've been well."

"Yes, thank you. Busy at work, of course, and I'll confess to a slightly ulterior motive for wishing to see you. I wanted to ask about the Arithmancy post."

Vector's eyebrows rose. "It remains unfilled. Have you reached a decision?"

"I don't want to mislead you; I am strongly considering it. I'm sure all careers have their positive and negative aspects, but ..."

"Teaching," said a voice designed to curl a woman's toes, "is five parts exasperation, three parts sheer drudgery, and two parts exultation."

Hermione whirled to face Snape, her eyes wide, and her lips parted. His eyes strayed to her mouth for a moment, and he inclined his head in a greeting. "Miss Granger."

"Professor, how nice to see you again."

"Is it?"

"Yes," she replied. "Would you care to elaborate on your evaluation?"

Vector insinuated herself between Snape and Hermione as they traversed the school. "He thinks to scare you off, Hermione, but I shan't allow it. If you want the position, it's yours. I'm scheduled to meet the Beauxbatons junior Arithmancy professor at the end of January, but she is very young and Madame Hagrid has reservations about her stamina."

Snape snorted, coming from him it was a surprisingly elegant sound. "Headmistress, it is less than adroit to imply that Miss Granger has the staying power of an ox."

"Severus!" Vector cried. "That was not my intention. Miss Granger – Hermione, I hope you weren't offended."

The curly-haired witch laughed, and it was the second time her gaiety had filled the empty corridor. "Not at all. I've known Professor Snape long enough to know he occasionally says things he doesn't mean."

Dark eyes, enhanced by thick sooty eyelashes she had never noticed before, met hers. "What are you suggesting, Miss Granger?"

"There have been times when you've had to act in a certain way so as not to reveal your true loyalties." How gauche, she thought, and flushed at being wrong-footed with this man again.

"Times change. Lately, I have been fortunate enough to match desire and necessity."

Grateful he hadn't whetted his sharp wit on her Hermione lengthened her stride to keep up with the pair of teachers. Vector and Snape were both taller than she, and by the time they reached the stairs, she was panting and attempting not to let it show.

Vector asked Snape a question about his seventh year class, and Hermione was content to let them talk over her head while she climbed two flights of stairs. In fact, she was so focused on keeping pace she didn't notice Vector skipping a vanishing step. Completely unprepared, Hermione's foot slipped right through the missing riser, her hands flaring out to grasp at anything to prevent her fall ....

Snape grabbed her roughly from behind, and lifted her to safety beyond the empty space. "Careful," he murmured in her ear.

"Thanks," she whispered in reply, her cheeks suffused with color.

She had never realized how strong he was, and gave him a sideways glance, only to discover him looking at her. He said nothing further, but when they reached the fourth floor, Snape, without uttering a word, modulated his pace, subtly slowing Vector to match the stride of the shortest member of their trio. Hermione smiled gratefully, vowing to start an exercise regime in the coming year; although had she not been exhausted from thirty-six hours of work, her stamina would have been better.

"If you are to consider teaching a career, Miss Granger, I strongly recommend you prepare yourself for vexation and futility with rare moments of true satisfaction," Snape commented as they passed a row of gleaming suits of armor. Fleetingly, Hermione remembered the remnants of more than one battered cuirass lying on the stone floors. "Alternatively," he said, "you might check yourself into the Janus Thickey ward for a long weekend to cure yourself of the foolish impulse."

"Severus!" Vector scolded, but her tone was indulgent. "Don't listen to him, Hermione. He's known to despise his students."

"I do not despise them." His expression was stern as he peered down his nose at the headmistress. "I merely accept that the vast majority have mediocre intellects and are uninterested in learning anything other than that which will allow them to pass their exams or bed their most recent hormonally driven fancy." He raised a hand when Vector opened her mouth to demur. "Those who stand out do so at either end of a bell-shaped curve, isolated by their scant number, and where failures are more spectacular than those who achieve brilliance."

"It's not the same in every discipline, surely?" Hermione asked.

"Perhaps not. However, it has been my experience that destruction is easier and more noticeable than perfection. I'm certain you remember Longbottom's potions."

"Of course I remember Neville. He was utterly pathetic at Potions. And you're quite right about his successes. Very few people have any idea that he's a brilliant herbologist. He's teaching at Beauxbatons now."

Snape's expression could best be described as a suppressed smirk, but Hermione was too busy chasing a thought to notice. She stopped walking just as they arrived at the library, but she didn't reach for the door handle. She turned to face the former spy. "Are you suggesting Voldemort was a failure? He was certainly a travesty."

Snape's expression hardened, but he considered the question rather than eviscerate her for impertinence, even as Vector sharply inhaled at Hermione's brash use of the former Dark wizard's name. Tension coiled about them, but it was the faded remnant of a serpentine monster whose time had passed.

"I was not referring to him," Snape finally replied. "Yet given my own criteria, the answer would be yes. He was a failure of astounding proportions."

"Which is why," Hermione said, continuing the through-line of her thoughts, "your contributions have been all but ignored. You were at the cutting edge of perfection."

Expecting mockery, he stiffened. "It was a very sharp edge, Miss Granger, and one tends to bleed when one is cut."

Taken aback, Hermione blinked in surprise, only then realizing how insensitive her comments could have been perceived. "Forgive me," she implored, wide-eyed. "My friends despair of my ever learning to keep my mouth shut."

As once before, Snape's gaze dropped to her mouth. He inclined his head as he answered, "You were young to have so much thrust upon your shoulders, and there is nothing wrong with learning from the past. Those who refuse to do so ..."

"Are doomed to repeat it," Hermione finished his thought, realizing that while he had said she was young, he hadn't said she was incompetent. A compliment from Severus Snape, no matter how sideways the delivery, was a thing to be cherished.

"A sound precept."

His mouth twitched, Hermione grinned at him, and Professor Vector said, rather abruptly, "I believe the library was among your favorite places at Hogwarts."

Snape held the door for his companions to enter. Several students, none of whom Hermione knew, were situated at a number of tables in the large room. Without fail, they all stopped working to look at the newcomers, but most quickly returned to their tasks. A pair of Gryffindors, sharing a table, bent their heads in a fierce tête-a-tête, casting furtive looks in their direction.

"I'll take my leave now, Miss Granger. I have a few matters to discuss with Madam Pince," Vector said while her eyes skimmed over the nearest students before settling on Snape. "Professor Snape, you'll be at dinner this evening?"

"It's certain to be the highlight of my day."

Hermione bit back a desire to laugh at his caustic delivery, and managed to wish the headmistress a Happy Christmas before Vector slipped between two tables toward Madam Pince's office. Prior to enterring the librarian's inner sanctum, however, the elegant headmistress turned to bestow the unlikely couple she'd left with a final glancing assessment and graceful arch of her neck in farewell.

With her plan to see the librarian thwarted, Hermione looked at the familiar nooks and crannies of the enormous library. It was like a homecoming, slightly bittersweet but nostalgic and familiar.

"And you, Miss Granger, what are your plans?"

"I had wanted to see Madam Pince, but I won't interrupt her now, of course." She waved her hand vaguely in the direction of a table tucked between the stacks in the Arithmancy section where a student, a Ravenclaw, had spread his research materials to take up the entire tabletop. "I had thought to sit at my old table."

"I'm surprised you would consider it."

"Why is that?"

"Surely you know the adage 'you can never go home again.'"

She faced him, biting her tongue on the most obvious reply, you did, but said, cautiously, instead, "I imagine it would be awkward."

He snorted. "If that's your attempt at being tactful, I would prefer the uncensored version."

She opened her mouth, but then snapped it shut, and settled for following him to a table nearest the circulation desk. She sank onto the wooden seat of the chair he held for her and then sighed suddenly. "I must've been mad to consider the Arithmancy position. I have so many memories in this castle, a number of them quite horrifying; they're why this is only my third visit." She angled her head to look at him, her eyes seeking the dark shadows lurking within the depths of his, and then spoke in her blunt but not unsympathetic fashion. "It must've been hell for you to return."

"In comparison to my previous tenure it has been Utopia."

Her heart practically seized in sympathy and stilled her tongue. She followed his movements as he choose an adjacent seat, his long frame folding into the chair, her eyes riveted to the movement of his hands as they smoothed the length of his frock coat and then settled, one in a loose fist upon his lap, and the other to trace the grain of the table.

When she looked up, he was watching her.

Fully aware that he was a Legilimens of some note, she stared back. After several long seconds, his mouth twitched, and the corners of her mouth tilted upward.

It was impossible to know where their conversation might have led if they weren't interrupted at that moment. She, who had only three female friends, was blessed with a legion of putative brothers. "Hermione?" asked one of their number.

She didn't rise to welcome the ruddily handsome Charlie Weasley, but she greeted him affectionately, "Hi, Charlie. How are you?" He bent to kiss her cheek, balancing a grubby hand against the table. She crinkled her nose in distaste. "Where have you been? You reek!"

He smiled broadly. "I was on my way to get cleaned up when I ran into Harry. He said you weren't here for long, so I seized my opportunity." He rocked back on his heels and stuck his hands in his pockets. His dragonhide trousers were heavily soiled and his suede shirt bore the evidence of recent physical labor. The shirt's russet color matched the generous portion of freckles he'd inherited from both sides of his family. "It's good to see you, Brat."

She rolled her eyes. "You know I loathe that name."

His eyes glinted mischievously, but he let the subject drop. "You coming to Mum and Dad's for Christmas?"

"Boxing Day. I'll be with my parents at Christmas."

At that moment, Charlie noticed her companion. His easy smile changed. "Professor Snape."

"Professor Weasley." Snape's posture had become as rigid as the back of his chair. "What a rare pleasure to see you in the library."

Charlie broadened his stance and crossed his arms. "I certainly didn't come to see you."

"However will I bear the slight?"

Before Charlie could respond, Professor Sprout, dressed in a mustard yellow set of work robes, complete with an odd hat festooned with a bouquet of overblown cabbage roses, bustled up to him. "Weasley!" she said in a rush. "I've been looking for you. I thought you were going to deliver that Thestral dung to Greenhouse Five."

The heightened color which had so recently tinted Charlie's cheeks deepened into embarrassment. "Mellors and I collected it for you, Professor. I had planned on telling you after I cleaned up, only I was saying hello to an old friend."

The gray-haired Herbology professor took notice of Hermione for the first time, and what began as a welcoming smile froze in a grim mockery when she recognized the Defense master. "Miss Granger, how are you?" she asked stiffly, and then, without waiting for an answer, she addressed Charlie once more, "Hurry up with that delivery, I need it immediately after dinner."

"I've already made the arrangements, Professor Sprout. It should be happening as we speak."

"Good, good. Thank you, Weasley. I'll have to transplant those seedlings tonight or the entire crop of Abyssinian shrivelfigs will be lost, and it would mean re-arranging my syllabus for the spring term." Dismissively, her eyes brushed past her black-haired colleague. "Miss Granger, you might want to reconsider the company you keep." With her parting shot, the dumpy Herbology mistress left the library.

Snape's chair scraped against the floor as he stood, his expression darkening into a livid scowl, but Hermione didn't notice as she stared after the Herbology professor. Indignantly, she said, "Well, that was rude."

"You have to expect it," Charlie replied. "It's the way most people feel, Hermione." He forestalled any response, by adding, "I have to go. See you Boxing Day."

In the silent wake Charlie left behind, Hermione brushed a wayward strand of hair from her face and stared up at Snape. He was looking in the direction of the exit, a sneer curling his upper lip. In the past, she had championed those who were treated unkindly. Where Sirius Black's conduct toward Kreacher had angered her, Charlie's and Sprout's reactions to Snape hurt. When the scowling man's attention returned to her, he straightened to his full height. Swallowing her distress, her pity, and her outrage in the certainty they would be unwelcome, Hermione nonetheless gave Snape the compliment of not avoiding his eyes as they evaluated her. She spoke before he had an opportunity. "I can't believe ... I ... that's just ...."

His rigidity eased as she stumbled over her words, but he turned from her to survey the library, scowling at the Gryffindors revising nearby, and only when the fifth years returned to their work did he regain his seat.

Hermione said earnestly, "There's much I would say right at this moment, but perhaps that censorship I do so poorly would be better put to use this time."

"And yet the unexpurgated version falls – in Perrault-worthy fashion – like lumps of coal from your enchanted lips."

Hermione opened her mouth to snap at him as she might have Harry or Ron, but then shut her mouth abruptly. He arched an eyebrow.

A swoosh from the library's double doors announced another arrival, and the instant hush followed by frenzied whispers revealed the newcomer's identity. Ignoring her friend's incipient arrival, Hermione grinned at Snape, and said, "I suppose I should thank you. No one's ever called me a diamond in the rough before."

The fine lines around his eyes crinkled as if he was holding his mirth in check.

At that moment, Harry arrived in a whirl of black wool, carrying Hermione's winter cloak looped over his arm. "I hope you haven't been waiting long."

"Madam Pince is meeting with the headmistress so I haven't seen her, but Professor Snape has kindly kept me company."

Harry faced his one-time nemesis without a trace of his former enmity. "How are you, Professor? Thank you for waiting with her."

Snape's demeanor shifted again; this time an entirely neutral expression masked his face, and Hermione thought he might be part-chameleon. When he stood, she rose to her feet also. He nodded his head, and brushed nonexistent lint from the left sleeve of his coat. "The pleasure has been mine, Mr. Potter. Miss Granger."

"I've enjoyed it," she said truthfully. Then, as he started toward Madam Pince's office, she asked, "Are you sure about Utopia?"

His eyes met hers for a moment. "As sure as coal turns to diamonds under sufficient pressure."

Hermione watched him walk away, noticing the absence of billowing robes for the first time, and then accepted her heavy cloak from Harry.

"What's Utopia?" he asked.

"Hogwarts," she replied. "Shall we go? I'm all in."

"Absolutely. Let's get you sorted."

They saw no one as they made their way through the halls of the school, but Hermione didn't say anything until they left the building. "You were very nice to Professor Snape."

He tucked his thick scarf around his neck. "I saw Charlie on the stairs so I knew he was with you. Besides, I don't hate him anymore."

"I'm very glad. There are entirely too many who do." She quickened her pace, thankful for her heavy coat, although the cold was an effective stimulant.

"Yeah," Harry replied, lengthening his stride, "and one of them is stalking him."

"Do you think so?"

"Yeah, mostly." He pulled his hand from his pocket and offered her a small vial enclosed within another clear bag. The vial was only filled halfway.

Hermione accepted it from Harry. "What was the preliminary analysis?"

"According to Filius, Snape says it's a Class Three love potion, one found in Horace's Epodes."

"Horace?"

"Some Squib who died centuries ago." Harry's boots crunched on the ground as they headed down the hill toward the front gates. "He said it wasn't as coercive as what Vane dosed Ron with back in school and nothing like Amortentia."

"I see. So, having the professor ingest a portion of it in the hope he will lead us to the brewer isn't a viable option?"

"Unfortunately, no," Harry said, holding his wand higher to light their way.

"Its presence does give weight to your theory of a stalker, though." She stepped carefully along the frozen path, peering out into the early darkness of the Scottish highlands.

Their thoughts were so consuming that neither spoke again until Harry bade her goodnight in her flat's small entrance, snow melting from his boots onto her tiled floor.

She didn't bother to light any of her lamps, instead making her way through her flat by ingrained Pavlovian repetition, although the candle on her nightstand flared to life as she unfastened her bra. In its yellow light Hermione saw four parallel bruises on her bicep. She stared at them with exhausted incomprehension until she remembered they were where Snape had grabbed her when he'd saved her from a nasty fall through the trick stair. Unaware of doing so, her mouth softened into a smile, one which remained until she fell asleep.

~o0o~