Eight: In which Hermione shows true grit

Eight: In which Hermione shows true grit

The first Fortescue's ice cream of the year was an occasion to be taken seriously. Hermione had persuaded Ginny to dress up and come out with her, and she herself had taken some pains with her appearance. It was, of course, just her luck that Snape and the awful Lapanne woman would come and take the last available table on the terrace and that it would be next to hers. Who could compete with a six-foot-nine Barbie, after all? Hermione decided to dismiss Snape's dollybird from her field of consciousness and turned her attention to the important business of choosing flavours.

By mutual consent, the two girls agreed not to talk about Harry and Ron. The day was gloriously sunny, they'd had an agreeable couple of hours shopping, and nothing was to be allowed to spoil the fun of reviewing the new season's creations by Mr Fortescue Jr. Once matters were settled (Hermione chose chocolate-chilli, blueberry and bitter orange, with toasted hazelnuts and whipped cream; Ginny went for the Rainbow Glory, a concoction of seven different colours with dancing, fizzing stars sprinkled on top), they sat back to talk about Ginny's job. After taking her NEWTs early in the fast-track tutoring course run by the Ministry for war veterans, she was working for Cleansweep in the testing department, though she had tried her utmost to be taken on in R&D.

"It's okay, I suppose," she said, pleating a napkin between her fingers, "especially the diagnostics under real-time Quidditch conditions, but I have some ideas I'm sure would bring Cleansweep back into competition with Nimbus, and they just don't want to listen, because I'm a girl."

"But Nimbus and Firebolt both have a lot of women working in R&D, from what I heard," said Hermione. Why didn't you apply for a place with them, instead of your bunch of old fuddy-duddies?"

"What makes you think I didn't?" Ginny replied bitterly. "All I got was the 'we only take people with experience' routine."

Hermione watched her friend fiddling and fussing with the paper serviette.

"Look – you've got good ideas, haven't you? You know the principles of broomstick construction. You know people who know wood, and who are good with their hands. And you can use your position at Cleansweep to improve your technical know-how."

Ginny nodded slowly.

"Well, why don't you use your spare time for your own R&D? And once you've made something really good, go and talk to the big companies? Hell – you could even start your own!"

Ginny giggled.

"Hermione, you've been at the vodka again, haven't you?"

"At four in the afternoon? I think not, my friend. Four o'clock is a time reserved strictly for highly calorific sweet things. Good grief – is that your sundae?"

They picked up their spoons. There was a moment of reverent silence as the first mouthfuls melted on their tongues, and then Hermione began to ask after their acquaintance, since she'd been out of the loop for a while. As they discussed the unlikeliness of Gregory Goyle's decision to train as a Healer, they watched the passers-by, all strolling along at a leisurely pace in the spring sunshine.

"Is that Seamus with Lavender Brown?" exclaimed Ginny. "Jumping Jarveys – he must be the fifth new boyfriend since Christmas! Huh. It must be nice to have her looks, and have men just falling over themselves to get a moment of your attention."

"Do you think so?" Hermione asked. "More of an inconvenience, I'd have thought. Such a nuisance when you've got better things to do. And no, Ginny, you don't need to give me an old-fashioned look. I suppose it would be nice to be pretty, but really, when you think about it, being pretty is no kind of raison d'etre in itself. It takes a heck of a lot of maintenance, and it's bound to fade sooner or later, and then what have you got – nothing to fall back on. Nothing to fill the days except thinking about how you used to look and trying to be twenty when you're eighty-five. Ew. No, thank you."

"Weirdo," Ginny said.

Twenty minutes later, they paid and got up to leave. Hermione turned to nod goodbye to Snape and realised she had heard no conversation at all from his table. Indeed, when she looked, he was engrossed in a book and Ms Lapanne was toying discontentedly with the melted remains of her dessert. Perhaps the honeymoon was over. Lapanne raised her sapphire eyes, and Hermione flinched at the expression of open dislike in them. The perfect lips twisted in a smile remarkable more for malice than humour, and she seemed about to speak, but at that moment, Snape closed his book. He assessed the situation with a glance and sighed.

"Did you want something, Miss Granger?"

Hermione pulled herself together.

"Um, yes, Mr Snape. Will you have time tomorrow morning to discuss an idea I've had regarding the repairs to the walls?"

"Is it really all that necessary for you to encroach on my work as well as shouldering the no doubt burdensome load you already possess?"

She grinned.

"Well, yes, actually, when it's something that will benefit both. I've been doing some research ..."

"Of course you have." He rolled his eyes. "Can't you just produce your usual nine feet of parchment, or do you really have to talk to me?"

"The latter, I'm afraid."

"Nine o'clock, then. Goodbye, Miss Granger."

She took the dismissal in good part and left with Ginny in tow.

"How can you stand working with him?" asked the youngest Weasley.

"He's okay. He's ..."

If Severus was curious as to Miss Granger's opinion of him, he was doomed to disappointment, as the two young women moved swiftly out of earshot on the crowded street.

*

Hermione woke up feeling good. Feeling fantastic, in fact. She swung her slim and supple legs out of bed and practically danced to the loo and then the shower, where she stood for much longer than usual, soaping, shaving, shampooing and conditioning. Then she spent a good half hour drying her hair as she watched herself in the mirror, experiencing a kind of dreamy satisfaction whenever her eyes met those of her reflection. All of a sudden, the look in those eyes took on an edge. She examined herself. Still recognisably Hermione Granger, but the skin was flawless, the hair a slightly richer shade of brown and tumbling in pretty curls around her face instead of doing the usual Gorgon-with-her-finger-in-an-electric-socket thing, her lips were a fraction fuller and redder, her eyes still the same shade and size, but framed by longer, thicker lashes and perfectly arched brows. She sank her face into her hands (soft and smooth and free of ink stains).

"The cow," she said. Even her voice was musical. "The utter, utter bitch-troll from the lowest circles of Hades' cesspit."

She took a deep breath.

"Right, then."

She screwed her hair back ruthlessly into a thick pony-tail. Sheer strength of will pried her hands off her make-up bag. She looked at her watch. Bother! Almost missed breakfast! Another moral and mental struggle of gargantuan proportions resulted in plain white undies and a set of workmen's overalls. There wasn't anything she could do about the way the overalls somehow clung to her body to accentuate her luscious curves. She crammed a baseball cap on her head, stuffed her feet into a pair of scuffed docs, and grabbed a pair of sunglasses as she dashed gracefully down to the Great Hall for breakfast. She very nearly caught herself preening under the gazes of adolescent and post-adolescent males alike, and, though the urge to make do with a small cup of black coffee and half an orange for the sake of her figure was strong, she forced down her usual bowl of porridge and three slices of toast. Smithing required energy. But – oh no! How would she protect her fingernails if she had to work in the smithy?

"Hangover?" enquired the Headmistress archly, gesturing towards the dark glasses on Hermione's nose.

"No, Professor, it's just ..."

"Oh, Hermione, you really must take better care," the older woman said breathlessly.

Hermione extricated herself rapidly, wryly thinking that one of the major causes of speculation during her school years had just been answered, and ran lightly – docs notwithstanding – down to the forge. She had an hour to sort herself out before meeting Snape. Merlin! She couldn't meet Snape in this state! It had been bad enough preening under the lecherous stares she'd got from Hagrid and Professor Flitwick. The doors were open and she could hear Smith moving around inside.

"Do you think you could possibly stay right back when I come in?" she cooed melodiously. "Drat it!" she added for good measure.

"Hermione?" The Smith's voice was puzzled. "What ...? Yes, I'll stay back."

She slunk provocatively through the entrance. Stopping by her anvil, she removed her dark glasses and cap, and tore the scrunchie from her hair, letting it cascade forward, its shining curls catching highlights from the fire's glow.

"Oh."

"Yes, oh. Your bloody wife's got me too." Hermione took a deep breath, which caused her breasts to strain against the fabric of her overalls. Smith did his utmost best to control where his eyes went, but a male god is still a male, for all his power. Hermione pouted charmingly.

"Sorry," he said. "Do you want me to see if I can fix it?"

"No." She folded her arms. "No. I'm going to do this myself. I may not be able to do much about the prettiness thing, but I can and will stop myself caring about it. It's just ... Snape's coming in less than an hour and I can't see him like this! I can't see him when I feel as though it actually matters what the hell he thinks of me! We have work to do! I want to feel that it's the work that interests me, not ... not ... this!" She ran her hands down her body, revelling in the feel of her own beauty, then abruptly reached for her hammer and tongs. Tears like crystal coursed down her cheeks. "I am going to beat this out of me if it's the last thing I do. Just please, Smith, keep him outside until I'm done."

"My respect to you, lady. There's iron for horseshoes in the coals. Firenze wants a new set." He gave her a curiously formal bow and left to keep a lookout. The steady sound of Hermione's hammer filled the air.

When she finally emerged, Snape had been and gone and come back again. He and the smith were sitting on the bench against the forge wall, discussing the reasons why iron was so much better suited as a vehicle for magic than steel.

"As I see it, it all comes down to methodology," Snape was saying. "I suppose that elemental metals take enchantment much more readily because just as in potion-making, you can't simply chuck in anything anyhow – you can't just barge ahead with the physical processes regardless of what you want the metal to bear on the level of the idos magicum."

Hermione flopped down onto the grass.

"That's exactly what I wanted to discuss with you," she said.

"Finished cobbling?" If Snape noticed any changes in her, he wasn't letting on – but then she still didn't compare with a goddess, so she was probably pretty safe.

"Enough shoes for the next three years."

"How do you feel?" asked the smith.

"Much, much more like myself," said Hermione. "My hair's a mess, my nails are broken, I'm badly in need of a shower, and all's right with the world."

"Apart, of course, from your sense of punctuality," interjected Snape.

"Yes, sorry about that," she replied uncomfortably. "Had a bit of an emergency."

"Shoes for Dobbin constitute an emergency?"

"I'll tell Firenze you called him that."

Snape snorted. "So what was it you wanted to discuss so urgently, Miss Granger?"

Hermione sat up tailor-style, cradling her hammer upon her knees. She looked up at Snape, eagerness written all over her face. As she spoke, telling him about the ideas she'd been having while raiding Elland's library, he leaned forward, his dark eyes gleaming with the same fervour.

"... You see, if we can reproduce the same or similar techniques for binding the potions into the complex structures of the links – once you've finished analysing the fragments you've unearthed, of course – then we can re-integrate new sections of chain into the foundations where the walls are worst damaged! And we can employ the same magics for the gates when we put together the sections to make the whole, and thus build a cohesive defensive boundary!"

"Ta-daaa," said Snape. Hermione deflated a little. "It's one hell of a complex notion you've got there, Granger – but it seems sound."

She beamed.

"It is sound," the smith agreed. "I use a great many chemicals in my work as you know, Hermione, but binding in the magical aspect using the subtle processes of potion-making as well as Charms – both of which draw on the essence of the brewer or caster, am I right? – well, hmm..." He scratched his beard. "I have some scrolls of my own that may prove enlightening, though Elland's collection deals more with your native magic. I'll have to go home and hunt for them. In the meantime, you two will have to get analysing." He stood up and pulled Hermione to her feet. "Good work, apprentice – in more than one sense, today. I'll see you later." He squeezed her hand, took off his ever-present apron and gave it to her, then limped off down the path, a big man wearing an eyesore of a shirt.

Hermione watched him silently for a moment, then turned to find that Snape's dark gaze was fixed on her.

"What?" she said.

"Are you going to stand around mooning over Smith all day, or shall we get started?"

Hermione bounced into the forge to lay down the hammer and the apron.

"I'm ready! This is going to be fun!"

"It's going to be hard work, often frustrating, and very difficult. Just try not to be this irritating all the time, will you?"

*

He was obviously not such an old dog as he had become used to believing, thought Severus, if he could learn such a significant new trick as the one Granger was teaching him – though maybe she was also learning it herself. A month filled with arguments, study, experiment and louder arguments, characterised by early mornings, late nights and surreptitious afternoon naps while Granger was down at the forge beating the crap out of iron bars while she hissed incantations into the glowing metal, had brought Severus to the realisation that, contrary to all expectation, he very much enjoyed working collaboratively. Even when he was in a bad temper and fighting a headache, he couldn't resist another battle with Granger over some obscure alchemical twist they'd discovered. He no longer wondered why she had so few friends. She was driven, she didn't know when to let an enquiry drop, and she was damned odd. He didn't know a single other female who, when told "You look like hell," would respond with a radiant smile.

Of course, she didn't really look like hell any more – she never had, really – just tired and often grubby. He wondered why the goddess had chosen to favour Granger. She obviously didn't like her, and had thrown a huge hissy fit when he suggested firmly that Miss Granger be left alone on account of the fact that she at least had been inclined to save his life the previous year, but perhaps the gift was given as a sideways way of honouring his request.

"Professor?"

He blinked.

"Professor Snape, would you come and be tall for me, please? I don't want to use my wand so close to the brewing."

She was pointing at a set of phials he'd put away on the top shelf.

"You're such a squatty little thing, Granger," he said, reaching for them easily.

"Remind me to wear stilts in future. Thank you."

He returned to his calculations, keeping an eye on Granger's technique as she dissolved a few flakes of corroded metal for the next stage of their analysis. They were both startled into error, and profanity, by a loud knock and the entrance of Miss Lapanne. She swept into the dungeon laboratory and made a moue of distaste.

"Severus, my dearest love, I will never understand how you can spend so much time in a hole in the ground."

"Potions laboratories are traditionally constructed underground, as many ingredients and potions are photosensitive and one needs to be able to regulate the illumination precisely." He reeled off the standard explanation without thinking, as he slashed a thick red line across his ruined page. "What can I do for you?" he added dispassionately.

"We have reservations – remember?"

"Oh. That." He dropped his quill. "Do you mind clearing up, Miss Granger?"

"Not at all, Professor. No rescuing this mess anyway."

Hermione watched them leave but didn't relax. It was no surprise when the goddess came back into the room. She closed the door behind her and leant on it, her arms crossed under her bosom and anger in her eyes.

"I should take back the beauty I gave you, you ungrateful little worm."

"Hardly ungrateful, since it wasn't meant kindly. And you can't take back a gift. Once a thing is given, it's given, isn't it? It's mine to do what I want with. Those are the rules." Hermione gave an infuriating shrug and started stacking her implements. "The rest is just compulsion."

"How did you do it? How?"

"It's called free will. I don't have to do what you want me to do. Nobody does. Not even Professor Snape – he's just being nice to you." Aphrodite flinched a little at that. "For a goddess of Love, you don't seem to do a very good job of it, in my opinion. All you seem to do is try to make sure everybody's unhappy."

"How dare you, little girl?" Aphrodite towered over Hermione, who stood her ground. "How dare you question and insult me? Have I not shown love towards Severus, he for whom nobody cared?"

"I don't think so. He's just a project to you, isn't he? You show no interest in anything he actually does or cares about..."

"You will suffer."

"Oh, bite me."

"You know nothing of love!"

"Perhaps I don't," Hermione agreed. "But then I don't think you do, either."

She waited until the door had slammed to collapse onto a stool, shaking violently and pressing a hand to her racing heart.

*

Hermione and the smith were just leaning a section of the gate up against the stack at the far end of the forge. Despite its weight and size, and the evident physical effort of moving the object – Granger in particular was firmly braced against its gravitational single-mindedness – there was an astonishing amount of care and even tenderness in the way they finally let it come to rest with barely a whisper of metal on metal. Hermione patted it fondly. She put her hands on her hips and blew upwards in a futile attempt to move a curl that had fallen across her eye.

"Well, done," said Smith, flinging an arm round her shoulders and giving her a squeeze.

Severus, in the doorway, cleared his throat.

"It's finished," he said. He held up a basket containing six large bottles that shimmered with peacock hues. The bottles were carefully padded and stoppered with red wax over the corks.

Hermione bounced across to him, beaming delightedly.

"And so have we! The last section is done – look!"

She grabbed his free arm and hauled him over to look at what seemed an assemblage of abstract patterns, layer piled on layer back into the shadows.

"And if you're finished, too, we can start on assembling the gates and making your chain links! But not tonight," she added when both men drew breath to quash her enthusiasm. "Tonight, we celebrate!"

But Smith shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I am called away on family business. I'm sorry to let you down." He tweaked her chin. "But you two should definitely toast your success – your effort and your achievements have been exemplary."

"So kind of you," Snape drawled.

"Catch!" said Smith, fishing a flask out of the cupboard and chucking it across to Snape, who plucked it neatly out of the air. "I was saving this for a special occasion, but I think you both deserve it tonight." He hung his apron on a peg and walked out without a backward glance.

"He seems preoccupied," observed Severus.

"He gets like that sometimes," Hermione replied, shaking off her disappointment. "So – tell me about ..."

"No, Granger. He's right. No more work tonight. Got a corkscrew in your toolkit?"

"Look ..." She hesitated. "If we're going to celebrate, let's do it properly, shall we? Get right away from work. Go and find some food. Talk about, I don't know – other stuff."

Severus looked at his watch.

"It's late. Finding something to eat now might be a problem."

"Well, do you at least know of a good chippy?" She sounded exasperated.

"As a matter of fact, I do."

Of course, bringing Granger back to Spinner's End might have been a rash decision, Severus reflected when he saw her eyes widen appreciatively at his overloaded and buckling bookshelves. But it was too late. She couldn't very well take him back to her rooms at the school, and neither of them felt like wandering the streets sharing chips from a bag and swigging wine from the bottle, so his house had seemed like a sensible option. For all of two minutes.

"Ooooooh! You've got the out-of-series edition of Potions Monthly! Madam Pince hasn't put that on the shelves yet. Has it got Brightwall and Murgatroyd's new article on the principles of magical decay in it?"

"Yes, and it's complete tosh."

He went through to his kitchen to find plates and glasses. To his surprise, she tore herself away from the books to follow him. It felt uncomfortable having someone in there with him. It was clean, and it was functional, but it was also small and desperately old-fashioned. She ran her finger along the edge of the ancient gas cooker.

"What a lovely kitchen!" she said. "Not at all like the ghastly fitted affair my mum had, and felt she had to rip out and redesign every two years. This has character."

"Have a plate," he said and led the way back to the living room.

The chips were perfect. Just on the edge of soggy, and laden with far too much salt and vinegar. Severus crunched through his fish with great enjoyment, not so much for the pleasure of the flesh within, but more for the perfection of the beer batter his local chip shop used. Hermione had turned her chicken pie upside down so she could pick it up and eat it without the softer bottom pastry collapsing.

"God, I'm starving," she said just before she sank her teeth in. She gave a little moan of pleasure and closed her eyes. She caught Severus watching her closely when she opened them again. "Well, you can't say this isn't heaven," she teased. "Are you going to open the wine, then?"

"I never knew you were such a hedonist." Uncomfortable again, he stood up to fetch a corkscrew from the kitchen. "Swotty little Miss Granger with her revision timetables and homework always on time actually living in the moment?"

"A year of thinking on my feet just to stay alive taught me a lot." She held the glasses while he poured golden liquid into them. "Besides, just because I plan ahead doesn't mean I don't know how to make the most of the moment I'm in. I'd never be so good at learning stuff if I didn't."

There was no boasting in what she said – just simple fact. It was nice for Hermione to be able to say it out loud for once, knowing that she'd be understood.

"You have certainly learned a great deal this year – a remarkable amount, even for you," Severus said. He put the bottle carefully between two piles of books on his coffee table.

"I've had the very best of teachers and workmates," she replied simply.

She raised her glass and they toasted silently. The wine was extraordinary, full of light and warmth, not sweet, yet honeyed on the palate.

"You know who he is, don't you?" Severus asked. He returned to his fish.

"Of course I do – I'm not stupid. I could never have learned so much, so fast, even from the most gifted of mortal teachers. And I know exactly who your 'Miss Lapanne' is, too." Hermione giggled. "Lapanne? Lapin? You couldn't come up with anything better than Jessica Rabbit?" She laughed outright, then. "'I'm not bad – I'm just drawn that way...'" she quoted huskily, still laughing.

"You must admit the resemblance," he said.

"Yes, but ... but ..."

"And I was thinking on my feet."

She laughed harder.

"Eat your pie, Granger. It's in danger of falling onto my first edition of Biggles."

At this, she was helpless. His eyes creased at the corners and he sipped his wine again.

Hermione couldn't remember when she'd had such a good ... No, that wasn't right, but she was having just as much fun as she'd had with the smith at Yule. Severus, who by the second glass had somehow become Severus, proved to be just as funny as she'd often suspected. And he smiled sometimes, which transformed his dour face. He looked positively endearing when embarrassed, as he was when she discovered that one whole bookcase was sporting a glamour. She forced him to remove it, and thereby discovered his extensive and eclectic record collection. Shelves of LPs and, from later years, CDs made her fingertips itch. Soon they were seated cross-legged on the floor with albums scattered around them.

"I got through the war on this stuff. Two wars," said Severus, waving his hand. "Had to be alert the whole damn time just to stay alive, never mind keep you lot alive, but even spies need to switch off sometimes." He slipped A Momentary Lapse of Reason into the CD player. Hermione was impressed at the charms that made it run despite all the magic swashing round. "It was horrible having Wormtail here. Unhygienic in whatever form, and no privacy at all. Had to invent things to get him out of the house so I could listen." He leaned back against the sofa and rolled his glass across his forehead, closing his eyes.

"It must have been ghastly. I used to escape into books to shut the boys out. It wasn't too bad before we had to leave Grimmauld Place, but the tent ..." She shuddered.

They were quite for a moment, listening to the music.

"Mind if I use the loo?" she asked, abruptly aware of the need to do so.

"Upstairs."

She got to her feet, swaying a little from the wine. Only two glasses and she felt distinctly floaty. The stairs were steep and a little problematic, but she made it to the spotless bathroom without incident and sank down gratefully, her head resting against the wall next to her. Downstairs, Severus had raised the volume. Words drifted up to her:

A soul in tension that's learning to fly

Condition grounded but determined to try

Her eyes pricked. Was that what his apparent devotion to the goddess was all about? She flushed the loo and washed her hands, then left the bathroom.

Above the planet on a wing and a prayer,

My grubby halo, a vapour trail in the empty air

Suddenly she felt very sober. Did he really feel so lost and ephemeral? Clinging to a shred of hope that he wasn't completely ruined?

"Oh, no!" she said to the portrait of an old lady that hung opposite the open door of Severus' bedroom. "Not this." To her, he was solid, and real, and vivid, and above all things, she now knew, an essential part of all that was bright in her life. When had respect and liking evolved into ... this?

Severus was clearing away the plates.

"I ... I have to go," she said awkwardly, not quite meeting his eyes and thus missing entirely the disappointment that showed fleetingly in them. "Thank you so much – it's been lovely." She grimaced, knowing how stupid that sounded.

"You don't want to finish the bottle?"

"Work tomorrow," was her feeble reply. "Shall I see you?"

"Of course you will, Miss Granger. We do work together for the present, if you recall."

She didn't mind the sarcastic tone, but being 'Miss Granger' again was a bit of a blow.

"Bye, then." She Disapparated from the doorstep.

He shut the door and dropped into his armchair. "'Tongue-tied and twisted, just an earth-bound misfit'," he said aloud.

*

Granny Snape permitted herself a small smile. She'd never let on that she was a witch. Not to her husband, not to her son, and not to her grandson. Eileen had known immediately, of course, but sometimes men were better left in the dark. Most of the time, really. Wisdom could be passed on without foolish wand-waving, to her thinking. Of course, it was a bore pretending to be plain paint, but if she hadn't then the lad would never have had anyone to unburden himself to. And he'd needed to, when his godawful music didn't do the trick. One pickle after another, silly boy, despite all those brains he was so proud of. And now he was stuck with some strumpet he'd never thought good enough to bring home to see his old Gran, when it seemed – oh dear, he'd turned the volume up again, never a good sign – there was this girl all sweet on him and him too daft to do anything about it.

*

Hermione lay awake for some time, pondering the sudden transformation of her feelings. She wasn't the kind of girl to just turn round and think she was smitten. Definitely something fishy going on. Definitely. Well, if she could discipline Ron and Harry to do their homework, she could discipline her own emotions into some semblance of rational order.

She did get some sleep, but in the morning was distressed to find herself still hopelessly in love with Severus Snape.

She brushed her hair savagely, at each stroke telling herself, "I will beat this!" until she felt ready to face the world. She stood in the middle of her room with her fists clenched and her eyes shut.

"I beat one compulsion. I'll beat her again. And I'm NOT going the let her drag Severus – Professor Snape – into her stupid games with me."