Chapter Five

The next day, Snape had her practise Arresto Momentum.

Hermione tried to argue that it was a charm she had known since high school and had used it previously in a life threatening situation.

To her surprise, Snape had listened to her arguments in interest. He then made her practise the spell while falling.

It was just about possible to gasp out "Arresto Momentum!" whilst collapsing to the floor. The charm had just enough time to create a jarring buffer of air between her and the ground, although it took Hermione a few attempts before she could manage without catching her tongue between her teeth as the impact jolted them together. Snape, apparently expecting this, had brought a foul tasting healing potion for her to rinse her mouth with, before demanding that she try again.

He stopped being quite so fanciable after that, which was a relief seeing as he'd arrived that morning wearing a battered leather jacket which had proved rather distracting. Seeing a wizard dressed like a Muggle was almost as good as seeing a normal man in a uniform. This realisation led to the thoroughly distracting thought that perhaps that was the reason behind the whole fancying Ron fiasco, a train of thought that nearly lost her a tooth.

It was worse when Snape made her practice falling from her conjured office chair. Although sturdy and leather, it had a sickening habit of sliding on its casters before she had even managed to climb on properly, and the whole exercise left her shaken.

Strangely, none of it was enough to make Hermione want to stop. She was nervous, edgy and growing increasingly addicted to the feeling. Something about Snape let her believe that she was safe, regardless how many bruises she acquired. It was like being turned upside down on a rollercoaster. No matter how hard she was shaken, no matter how many twists the ride took, she was secure in her harness. She was safe.

Hermione, unlike Harry, had never experienced Professor Snape in a one to one setting. Being the sole focus of his attention was unnervingly intense. Without the distraction of twenty classmates to diffuse his penetrating black stare, she could feel his gaze like a physical pressure between her shoulder blades every time she turned her back to fall.

He never caught her with his hands after that first time, and Hermione began to wonder if she'd imagined it. It struck her as absurd that he would have suggested catching her so casually, yet she couldn't shake the memory of his hands lowering her gently to the floor. He'd snatched them away the second she was down, but that brief moment had been enough to etch itself indelibly upon her memory.

"The ability to fly has garnered much interest over the years, both in wizard and Muggle culture. Yet for all the huge wealth of stories about flying carpets, witches on broomsticks and winged horses, there are very few tales of anyone flying under their own power. Icarus and his father donned a pair of wings that allowed them to flee from Crete."

Hermione floated some six feet above the ground, her wand clutched securely in her hand, letting Snape's voice wash over her as he paced below. It was an interesting lecture, and it was easy to see that he had devoted an impressive period of study to the subject.

"The Togolese Adze can fly, but it must transform into a firefly to do so. The Japanese god Fujin is often depicted racing through the sky, but usually with great bags filled with wind that keep him afloat. The Serbian Zduhac protects his village by flying up into the clouds to fight the demons that bring storms, but only by leaving his body behind. According to Greek..."

The spell holding her suddenly failed and Hermione, who had been caught up in his lecture, fell to the ground in an ungainly heap.

"Miss Granger," Snape murmured, standing over her. "You recall the purpose of this exercise?"

She pulled herself to her feet and dusted herself down. Her landing had jolted the air from her lungs, but it could have been far worse had it not been softened by a Cushioning Charm. "To see if I could halt a fall that I hadn't planned."

"And how would you say that went?" he pressed.

Hermione bit back the first five retorts that sprang to mind and concentrated on getting her breath back. "Not well."

"Let us try again." Snape flicked his wand at her, and Hermione felt herself being carried up towards the ceiling, caught in the intricate web of his magic once more. "And Miss Granger? This time I shall not be casting any charms to aid you, is that understood? Now, in Greek mythology, flying is often depicted as being the domain of the gods. However, in times of need they were willing to share this gift."

Hermione gripped her wand tighter and tried not to fall for the mesmeric qualities of his voice again.

It was a difficult letter to write, but Hermione knew she was making the right decision. The offer to renew her contract for the next year had seemed like a safety net when she had left Honiara, but more recently it had come to feel as if it was hanging over her. She needed to fully commit to the idea of staying in the UK if she was going to succeed. Archiving the previously oral history of Melanesia had been a wonderfully challenging job, but she had swiftly come to realise how difficult it was. There, spells and magics had been passed from generation to generation and often were closely guarded. Some Malaitan families baulked at the idea of allowing their Guale neighbours in on their secrets, let alone the wider world. With the islands' Muggle population teetering uneasily on the edge of civil unrest, Hermione couldn't help but feel that her time in the Solomon Islands was through. It had been an adventure, a glorious, amazing adventure – but her real life was waiting for her back in Britain and had been all along.

She had enough money saved to see her through, as long as her first payslip wasn't too far off. Thankfully, with Snape teaching her there was no way she could fail at her current task. She'd learnt a lot from him at Hogwarts, even when he used to overlook her in class, and not just about Potions. Expelliarmus, one of the more useful spells she knew – and one that had saved Harry, and therefore everyone, on numerous occasions – had first been demonstrated by him in that ridiculous duelling club. The graffiti in his sixth year text book alone had taught Harry more about potions than Slughorn had managed in an entire year.

Being taught by him one on one was intense, but Hermione could almost feel her mind expanding to take in all the new knowledge he wished her to absorb. No one had pushed her to learn like this before. Her previous teachers had always been happy to let her move at her own pace, confident that she would manage her own time. Snape, on the other hand, was relentless.

There were spells to reduce air resistance, spells to change her centre of gravity so that she did not spin in mid-air, spells to keep the wind from tearing away her Warming Spells. She had thought that it would just be a case of learning the spell to stay afloat, but Snape hadn't so much as hinted at what the incantation might be, let alone provided a practical demonstration. A few years ago this would have frustrated Hermione to the point of madness, but now she could appreciate the solid grounding his lessons provided. He wasn't just teaching her to fly, he was teaching her to excel.

No, with him on her side there was no reason to worry. Flying might have seemed like an insurmountable task just days before, but if anyone could help her achieve the impossible, it was he. The man had put a stopper in death after all.

It was decided: tomorrow, she would get to the Ministry in time to hire an owl and send her resignation. But before then, she had a far more difficult task to accomplish. Sealing the parchment, she left it on the dressing table by her handbag and picked up her phone.

"Goodness, Hermione, it's almost a reasonable hour! What time is it over there?"

"Late," Hermione guessed. "I've got news."

"Have you learnt how to fly, darling? Or is there a Scandinavian couple somewhere needing medical attention?"

"I haven't learnt how to fly," Hermione continued, ignoring the running joke that had been tired by the time she was sixteen. "But I'm close. That's not the news though."

"You're staying in Britain." It wasn't a question. It was hard to tell from just four words, but Hermione didn't think her father sounded too upset at the idea.

"I've been looking in the Prophet," she admitted. "If I don't get this job, then there are plenty of other departments recruiting. It just feels... like it's time to come back home."

"Oh, poppet. It's not like Honiara is exactly close, and you know your mother was never happy at the thought of your living somewhere so exotic. Although I think the onus will be on you to do the bulk of the visiting. Where will you live?"

"I hadn't got that far yet. There are some cheap boarding houses off Diagon Alley, but Harry's been hinting about renting me a room until I get myself settled. The Ministry pay would cover a flat, and it's not like I'd need to pay for transport." Hermione fiddled with the parchment on the desk. "Do you mind?"

"We know how much you gave up to move over here in the first place, Hermione. It's time for you to do what you want to do."

A glance at the clock had told him it wasn't quite six o'clock, but Severus kicked back the covers, unwilling to waste the morning. By seven, he was washed, dressed and on his second cup of coffee. It wasn't until he Vanished the dog end of his third cigarette that he realised there might be a problem.

He was looking forward to meeting with Granger.

Granger wasn't the main attraction, although her company had been surprisingly less tiresome than he had expected. It was having company full stop. His days seemed to revolve around getting ready to meet her, drilling her on her spellwork, answering her questions – of which there were many – and setting her tasks to practise. Then, when he came home, he spent his evening planning the next day's lesson. He had more drive and focus than he had done in weeks.

It was rather sobering to realise just how lonely his life had become. It was one thing to convince yourself that you neither wanted nor needed the companionship of your peers when you were an angry teenager or a bitter, frightened man, but when all of that ceased to matter, a life lived alone was every bit as terrifying.

Which made him wonder if he was perhaps stalling for time. He'd wanted to give the girl a thorough grounding in the additional spells that would aid her, something he'd never been offered, but perhaps he'd been playing for extra time. Once Hermione Granger knew how to fly, she would have little need for him anymore. So, yes, by then he would hopefully have found gainful employment within the DoM, but he doubted any of his new colleagues would be so quick to assume he wished for their company at lunch or listen so intently whenever he spoke.

Severus forced himself to wait until half past eight before taking the Floo to the Ministry, counting down the minutes until he could reach for the pot of powder on the mantel, berating himself for his foolish eagerness all the while, but unable to contain it.

The Ministry was still quiet. With most workers arriving by Floo or Apparition, the Atrium didn't tend to get busy until almost quarter to the hour. Granger arrived only seconds after he did, approaching from somewhere else inside the Ministry, her cheeks flushed with evident excitement.

"Do you think the room will be unlocked yet?" she queried.

"It doesn't matter," Severus heard himself reply. "It's time we put what you've learnt into practise." He held out his hand. "Will you come with me?"