Chapter Eleven: Comfort from the Most Unlikely of Sources

Author's Note: I am so excited to be working with my beta reader and XXX from the staff of The Petulant Poetess. These two wonderful women have given me help and guidance, inspiration and support. My story has benefited immensely from their care and expertise. I also tip my hat to my first beta reader, XXX. I feel as though she is cheering me on, and I am so grateful for her support and encouragement.

To my readers, it's all for you. Your generosity and kindness recognize no bounds, and I thank you.

Chapter Eleven: Comfort from the Most Unlikely of Sources

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Hogsmeade, Scotland

The next few days passed in a blur for Hermione. She conferred with Winky about suitable accommodations for all the guests who were coming to Hogwarts. When she ran out of guest rooms to assign and menus to plan, she buried herself in reading lesson plans from each of the teachers, even though this was mid-year and no changes would be made to the curriculum. She desperately needed to stay busy.

She met with Mr. Attenbury, the solicitor whom Draco had recommended, and retained him to represent her in the matter of her divorce from Ron. She spent a nightmare evening at Potter's Hollow trying to explain to Rose and Hugo that she and Ron were not going to be married much longer. Her heart broke when Rose and Hugo turned to her for an explanation, and all she could say was, "Daddy has Caroline in his life now and will be much happier living with her." That nightmare evening was followed by a long, lonely night in the guest room, where she lay awake wondering if her choice had been the right one.

What if she refused to grant the divorce? What if Caroline mis-carried and it brought Ron to his senses, made him realize all that he was throwing away? Then again, what if she and Ron stayed married but argued all the time? What if they stayed married but he paraded a succession of lovers through their home? She thought of taking a lover herself, and that thought made her ill. No matter how far-fetched her fantasies, she continued to believe that granting him the divorce was the best decision out of a lot of really bad choices.

She got up the next morning feeling exhausted and went downstairs to face Rose and Hugo, who looked at her as sadly as though Ron had died. Harry and Ginny hovered over her until she wanted to scream. When she did snap at them, she suffered the tortures of the damned for being so shrewish. Be fair, Hermione, they mean well. Later, she rudely interrupted Molly Weasley's lament that Ron would miss Hugo and Rose very much by pointing out that it was entirely his own choice. She'd added, spitefully, that his mistress had already started working on replacements, so Ron wouldn't feel childless and lonely for long. She'd felt ashamed of what she'd said and had apologized sincerely, even though it was Molly's thoughtless remark which had sparked her anger. To avoid hurting any more people who were dear to her, she took to locking herself in her offices...old and new... to pack, arranging for the house-elves to move the boxes to her new office as she filled them.

Her greatest comfort came from the least likely source.

Towards the end of the week, she'd stormed into the Headmistress's office feeling as if the all the Furies in Hades were at her heels, to find the office quiet and the portraits asleep. Needing to keep busy, she started packing some of the thousands of knick knacks that Minerva had collected. She filled one box and carried it to the sitting area by the fireplace, then glanced up to find Professor Snape wide awake and gazing down at her.

"Good evening, Miss Granger."

"Good evening, Professor Snape."

That was all he said for several minutes. He did not ask her about Ron or the children. He didn't insist on commenting about the upcoming services for Minerva McGonagall. Instead, he waved his hand in a sweeping circle, his gesture calling attention to the boxes stacked around the room.

"I commend your industry, Miss Granger. I always found it soothing to bury myself in work when I was distressed or angry."

"Thank you, Professor."

"My godson tells me you retained Mr. Attenbury as your solicitor."

"Yes, I did. He seems very competent."

"The firm of Attenbury and Associates has served the Malfoy family for generations. They are intelligent, shrewd, hard-working, and utterly ruthless when protecting the interests of their clients. I commend you again for having the sense to retain them."

"Draco said they are sharks."

"My godson has a fondness for colorful metaphors."

Professor Snape's drawling voice and understated comments were so familiar, so safe. Hermione relaxed and drew in a deep breath for what seemed like the first time in days. Before she could decide what to say, Professor Snape had drawn her attention to the latest edition of Potion Masters Monthly, which had been delivered to her office with the morning post. He'd found a very informative article on brewing Wolfsbane. Had she found the time to read it yet? No? He was sure she would enjoy it when she did find the time. The author had written about the very exacting potion and the proper steps to prepare it. The beauty of the article had been the detailed information about each ingredient in the potion and the precision of the author's description of the process. He, Snape, had always enjoyed reading about a familiar process because it helped fix the details in his mind. Perhaps she felt the same way?

Hermione looked up at Headmaster Snape and was amazed at what she saw. Those black eyes, usually cold with disdain, were filled with something that looked quite a lot like compassion. His expression suggested they were discussing something as innocuous as the weather. He wasn't conspicuously mournful or sweetly solicitous and didn't set her teeth on edge by asking impertinent questions.

"As a matter of fact, Professor, I do learn a lot from reading a well written description of a familiar process. I shall be sure to read the article." She conjured several boxes and some packing material and went back to wrapping the china figurines that filled entire shelves.

The corners of his mouth lifted briefly in what might have been a smile, but he continued to listen quietly and kept their low-key conversation going. After some time, Hermione looked up in satisfaction from the box she had just finished sealing with Spellotape.

"There. That's the end of the knick-knacks. Thank you for your company, Professor Snape. I have enjoyed our conversation very much."

He lowered his head so his hair swung over his face, concealing his expression, but Hermione could hear the smile in his voice.

"I also have enjoyed our conversation, Miss Granger." He hesitated then cleared his throat and added, "I had not anticipated finding our association so agreeable."

She looked up at him, a brilliant smile lighting her eyes. "I believe I shall enjoy our association very much."

Neither of them said any more than that, but nothing more needed to be said.

Hero's Memorial, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Hogsmeade, Scotland

To Hermione, it seemed that half of Wizarding Britain arrived at Hogwarts on Saturday for Minerva McGonagall's memorial service. The castle was crowded, with a constant stream of carriages clogging the road between Hogwarts and the train station at Hogsmeade. The Great Hall was filled with adult witches and wizards, and the High Table had been expanded to more than double its normal capacity to accommodate all the visitors. The house-elves were in their element with all the guests to care for, but Hermione just wanted the whole ordeal to be over. The visitation at the Ministry the night before had been a nightmare, too. Crowds of people had thronged the largest meeting room, creating a nightmare of jostling and noise overlaid with the cloying perfume of too many flowers in too small a space.

The guards had closed the doors and blocked the Floo network at eight, but it had been ten-thirty before all the people had gone. Hermione had been at the Ministry the entire day, shaking hands with people as they came through the receiving line, trying to find something kind to say to each one, inwardly wincing as her hand grew sore and her feet began to ache.

By the time she was free to apparate back to Hogwarts, she was trembling with exhaustion and had a blinding headache from all the noise. She was hungry, but was sure she would be sick if she tried to eat the kind of meal that Molly and Ginny had most likely prepared at Potter's Hollow after the service. She knew Harry and Ginny expected her to stay at Potter's Hollow that night, but once she got to her own cozy suite of rooms and took off her shoes, she had no intention of leaving the castle again. The weather had been cold and damp all day and now rain was pouring from every corner of the sky.

Her children were all at Potter's Hollow with their grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins. She would see them at breakfast before the memorial service. Deciding that it was too late for a visit to the Potters tonight, Hermione sat down at her desk and wrote a note to Ginny.

Office of the Headmistress, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Hogsmeade, Scotland

~OoO~

Hermione

She sent the owl on its way and received an answer within a few minutes.

Ginny

~OoO~

Hermione gave the Potter's owl a treat and called for Winky, requesting a pot of cocoa and a bowl of soup. Within minutes Winky was back with both, as well as a plate of dainty sandwiches and a slice of cake.

"Mistress must eat. Winky is not liking to see Mistress looking so peaky." Hermione felt silly being scolded by a being who reached only as high as her knees, but Winky was right. She needed to eat. She dimly recalled a tea break at the Ministry, but that had been hours ago. The simple meal Winky brought was exactly what she wanted. When she had finished eating, she was still too restless to sleep and decided to go over the lesson plans for the seventh-year Defense classes. Where were they? Hadn't she brought them to her quarters the night before? With a sigh she realized she'd left them in her office.

She shrugged on her teaching robes over her comfortable flannel pyjamas and slipped her feet into fleece-lined slippers, tucked her wand into its pocket and marched bravely down the dimly lit corridors to her office.

"Hermione Jane Granger, what are you thinking?" she scolded herself as she walked. She couldn't possibly be hoping Professor Snape would be awake? Of course not, but she did enjoy his company. She slipped into her office as quietly as she could but automatically glanced to the left when she saw a soft glow emanating from the portrait over the fireplace. Professor Snape was awake, and her heart gave a funny little bump when she saw him look up at the sound of the office door closing. He slid a bookmark in place and closed his book, then greeted her quietly.

"Good evening, Miss Granger."

"Good evening, Professor Snape."

He studied her for a moment, taking in the red puffy eyes with shadows under them, the pallor of her complexion, the tired slump of her shoulders. She looked exhausted. She also looked just a little silly with her flannel pyjamas peeping out from under the hem of her robe. And what were those things on her feet? Whatever they were, they were violently pink on the outside, appeared to be lined with fur, and covered her ankles.

"Given the lateness of the hour and your attire...especially your er... slippers?...I hope you are not planning to leave the castle again tonight, Miss Granger."

"Pardon me?"

"I daresay your feet will remain warm tonight. The only thing I can say for the rest of your costume is that it appears to be comfortable." One thick black eyebrow arched in surprise and amusement at the sight of the pink bears and elephants, yellow stars, and dancing green frogs printed on her pale blue pyjamas. "Is this the latest fashion trend?"

She looked down at herself and mentally compared her attire to the professional suits, formal robes, and high heeled shoes she usually wore, then began to laugh at herself.

"Did I say something amusing, Miss Granger?"

Between giggles, she replied, "Since I began teaching, I have always tried to show respect for my students and my work by dressing appropriately. And look at me now."

"You look rather like you have come from a... What do the Muggles call it? ... A slumber party."

"I'm surprised you have even heard the term."

He rolled his eyes and retorted, "Miss Granger, I was a teacher for a number of years. I am familiar with even the oddest practices among adolescents."

"Of course." She couldn't stop the giggles, but after a moment, and to her utter horror, the laughter turned to tears, and the tears poured out in a virtual flood. The tears were for Minerva, for the end of her marriage, for her children, for her anxiety over her new job. Hermione thought she had cried all the tears she could cry, but clearly, that wasn't the case. Professor Snape said nothing, just patiently waited for her to stop crying. When she had cried herself out, she fumbled in the pocket of her robe for a handkerchief and used it to wipe away her tears. Then she looked up at him and smiled weakly.

"I didn't mean to go to pieces like that. I'm sorry."

"It's not unexpected. You have had a great many unpleasant things to deal with recently."

"You really have changed." Her voice was filled with quiet wonder.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I dreaded moving into this office because I expected you would question every action I took, criticize every decision I made. I didn't expect you to be so nice."

His eyes lit with malicious glee, and his mouth twisted into its familiar sneer.

"Merciful Merlin, I'm not nice, Miss Granger. I spent more than twenty years as a spy. I have never been able to afford the luxury of nice. "

Her eyes opened wide in surprise as he continued, "You are confusing niceness, which is insipid and mediocre, with approval, Miss Granger."

"Approval? You approve of me? I'm the Insufferable Know-It-All, remember?"

"Some things will never change." His lips quirked up in amusement. "Nevertheless, I do approve of you. You were always an intelligent child and, later, a sensible young woman. I admit my good opinion of you suffered when I heard you had married Mr. Ronald Weasley. But you have accomplished a great deal in spite of that."

She looked up at the portrait, shaking her head in amazement. Was he teasing her? He seemed to be completely serious.

"How did you even know what I was doing?"

He snorted.

"Surely you don't think Minerva could resist bragging about you at every opportunity. She regaled Albus with your accomplishments every time she received a letter from you, and you were often the topic of conversation in the staff room. I wondered how you accomplished so much, when you obviously spent so much of your time writing letters to her."

She snickered at that. She had written to Minerva every chance she got.

He was looking down at her, sardonic amusement in his eyes.

"You have improved immensely since you were my student. You have learned to think rather than rushing off impulsively to do the first thing that comes to mind. You possess the ability to make a plan and carry it out, and you no longer insist on filling every available moment with chatter. You do those things that need to be done without demanding constant approval for each achievement. In short, Miss Granger, you are an intelligent, accomplished witch, and I approve of you."

If Professor Snape had stepped out of his frame and hit her over the head with a Beater's bat, Hermione could not have been more surprised. She felt herself melting in pleasure at these long-desired words of approval from this, the toughest teacher she had ever had, and the one from whom she had learned the most.

"I truly do not know what to say."

"Then say nothing, or say 'Thank you, Professor Snape,' and tell me how Mr. Zabini is managing Slytherin House, Miss Granger."

Was that a smile she saw lurking at the corners of his mouth? She smiled in return and said demurely, "Thank you, Professor Snape. Blaise is an excellent Head of House. He is strict with the students, but very just and fair... "

Albus Dumbledore had only been pretending to be asleep. As Miss Granger and Professor Snape continued to discuss Slytherin House until Miss Granger leaned her head back against the cushions and fell asleep mid-sentence, he simply watched the two of them, wishing, somewhat wistfully, that they could have had this conversation twenty-five years before. Ah, well, it didn't matter. They were having it now.

~OoO~

Prompt Information

My modifications: The story is written about a portrait and not a ghost. I only borrowed Hermione being in love with Severus from prompt 8.