Chapter Five

A/N: Everything you recognize belongs to JKR. I make no money. Thanks to Shellsnapeluver, my lovely beta.

When she emerged from her room the next morning, she found Harry and Ron waiting anxiously in the Gryffindor Common Room.

"Hermione!" Ron said, striding toward her as she descended the steps. "Where were you? You never came back from Dumbledore's office. We waited here until midnight!"

Harry was looking at her warily. She knew that he must be wondering whether Dumbledore had, in fact, given her information or privilege that he did not have. She knew she should sympathize; poor Harry had no one but the old wizard to guide him, and he guarded his relationship with Dumbledore jealously. But at the moment, she had no sympathy to spare for anyone. Harry could stuff his jealousy. He had no idea what she'd been asked to do.

She sighed. "I'm sorry. Professor Dumbledore wanted to see me about Muggle crossword puzzles of all things. He's taken a fancy to them and thought I'd enjoy helping him. He seemed to think it would be a birthday present of sorts. He kept me up late, so he agreed to Floo me back to the Tower. I was so exhausted, I fell straight to sleep."

In fact, after thanking whatever gods had allowed Lavender and Parvati to be asleep when she returned, Hermione had lain awake half the night replaying her evening in Professor Snape's chambers and trying to come up with an excuse so simple and boring to Harry and Ron that they would forget about the whole thing. She had finally decided that crossword puzzles were sufficiently academic to put them off: Muggle enough to be beneath their interest, and absolutely something that Dumbledore would love. Still sleepless at 3 am, she had crept through the corridors of the school to the owlery and sent the Headmaster a message explaining her story.

Harry laughed and told them again about the knitting patterns that Dumbledore had professed interest in when they visited Professor Slughorn over the holiday as if to show that he, too, had intimate knowledge of the Headmaster's unusual interests. Hermione sighed. At least they'd bought her story.

***

At breakfast, Hermione received another owl from Dumbledore. She untied the parchment from the bearer's leg, offering up her toast as a reward. She didn't have much of an appetite.

Dear Miss Granger,

Albus Dumbledore

Harry read the note over her shoulder. "What does it mean?" he asked.

"Just a Muggle saying," Hermione said, and she turned away for there were tears in her eyes. She blinked them back.

"I've never heard it. What was the answer?"

"Marriage," she said quietly.

"Hermione, are you ok?" Ron asked. "You look peaky."

"I'm just tired. It was a long night," she said.

"You look like you weren't the only one who had a long night. Snape looks even more disastrous than usual," Harry said, indicating the high table with his fork. "Doesn't the man realize he needs to shower?"

Rage bubbled up in her chest--How dare he?--Until she remembered that she, too, was furious with the former Potions master.

"Greasy old git," Ron said amiably. "Speaking of which, Hermione, now that you're done helping the Headmaster with his homework, could you look over my essay for Defense?"

***

She entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom flanked by Harry and Ron. She slid into her usual seat between them without looking up and pretended, for a few long moments, to be searching through her bag for a quill. Anything to keep from looking into the face of the man she had so hastily agreed to protect, who had driven her to such wanton peaks the night before and then sent her on her way without a word of advice or comfort.

"Silence," he said, by way of commencing the class.

Hermione glanced quickly around her and saw that, as usual, the room had fallen quiet; every face was turned to Snape. She hastily complied.

"As so many of you proved to be incapable of wordless magic, it seems prudent that we spend some time on Shield Charms."

The class remained silent, waiting.

"The most common type of Shielding Charm is, of course, Protego. However, there are three distinct variations on the Charm. I don't suppose any of you know what they are?"

Hermione took a deep breath and thrust her hand into the air. He wanted normal? He would get normal.

Snape made an exaggerated show of looking around the room before he sighed and said, "Very well. Miss Granger?"

"The three types of Protego Shield Charm are: simple Protego, Protego Horribilis, and Protego Totalum."

He nodded curtly at her.

Well, that's a far cry from his usual cutting remarks, she thought, but instead of feeling grateful, she felt concerned. He knew there must be no deviation from their normal behavior--he'd told her that himself, the bastard. That's why she was sitting here in class instead of in her dorm room, licking her wounds.

Her hand shot back up.

"Yes?" he snapped.

"I-I--" she said, adding some tremor to her voice for show, "I thought you'd want to know what each one does."

"I assure you, Miss Granger, I know very well what each one does. Perhaps, dare I suggest it, better than someone who has simply memorized their definitions from a textbook? And I'll thank you to let me teach this class."

There. That was better. Her cheeks were burning naturally, a nearly Pavlovian response to his ire. Now they were on even footing again.

"The simple Protego Charm," Snape said, seeming to taunt Harry, who was, of course, proficient at it, "is a one-shot Charm. It repels the hex that is thrown at it and then dissipates. It has some lasting effects against physical or Muggle attack, but as none of you should be so crass as to resort to fisticuffs, its usefulness is limited. Far more worthy are the two variants, Protego Horribilis and Protego Totalum."

Harry's hand was in the air. Hermione watched him out of the corner of her eye and noted with pleasure that he was clutching his wand angrily.

"Potter?"

"You didn't mention that the Protego Charm can repel a hex thoroughly enough to launch it back at the caster," Harry said. She knew that Harry was recalling his disastrous Occlumency lessons with Snape.

"I hardly feel that accidents are a necessary part of the curriculum," Snape said. "I've never known the Charm to display those results consistently."

"Perhaps you're not very good at it," Harry muttered darkly. Snape shot him a murderous glare that told Hermione he'd heard.

"Shall we try it, then, Potter?" he asked, eyebrow raised.

Harry rose at once, swiping his wand back to throw a hex, but Snape chuckled coldly. "Oh, no. Surely you didn't think I'd allow you to hex me? If you are so confident that the Charm will do as you say, why not allow me to hex you?"

Harry nodded stiffly, preparing to cast the Shield Charm.

Snape twitched his wand in Harry's direction as Harry yelled, "Protego!"

Suddenly, Harry was flying through the air. Hermione watched in horror as he was upended, dangling in the air by a single foot, his robes pooling about his midsection.

"Perhaps you will value wordless hexes a bit more now that you've witnessed their advantage first hand?" Snape smirked.

Thank God he was wearing trousers, Hermione thought wildly, whipping out her wand and shouting, "Liberacorpus!" Her thoughts darted to the Half-Blood Prince's potion book. Harry had learned this spell only recently. Perhaps she should be grateful to the book after all. At least she knew how to counteract the jinx.

"Miss Granger!" Snape shouted as Harry fell unceremoniously to the ground.

"Sir?" she asked angrily.

"I don't recall giving you permission to release Potter."

"I don't recall hexing students to be an accepted part of the Hogwarts course of study," she retorted.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor," Snape thundered, "and detention in my office at eight."

"For releasing a jinx?"

"Hermione," Ron hissed, laying a hand on her arm. Suddenly, Snape seemed to flinch, and an odd look crossed his face. He crossed his arms, tucking his hands into the folds of his robes.

"Sit, Miss Granger, before you lose your house any more points," he ordered, turning on his heel and striding to the front of the classroom.

What had just happened? She glanced at Ron, but he didn't seem to have noticed anything unusual. Harry had collected himself from the floor and was sliding back into his seat beside her.

"Are you all right?" she whispered.

He nodded, staring straight ahead. "Sorry you got detention," he said, sotto voice, and she nodded as if to say, "It's nothing." She turned toward Snape, arranging her face into its usual angry-but-interested expression.

Oh, God, detention. What perverse form of torture would he dream up for her, given their circumstances? She tried to concentrate on Snape's lecture, even taking some notes on the benefits of the Protego variations, but her mind had drifted to the dungeons.

***

She knocked at the door to Snape's office promptly at eight. The door swung open at her touch. My home, your home, she thought ruefully as she strode into the room. She refused to cower before him in private, though she had to do so in public.

Snape was seated at his desk, which was littered with parchment.

"Good evening," he said without looking up.

"Sir," she answered.

"I apologize if I was harsh with you last evening," he said, still not raising his face from his marking. "You performed admirably today."

"Thank you, sir. Though it was hardly a performance. I would have released Harry from the hex regardless."

"Exactly, Miss Granger. Had you deferred to me in any way I would have been... disappointed. I trust you see now why I insisted you attend class?"

"Did you assign me detention in order to gloat?" Bastard.

"Certainly not. I assigned you detention because assigning detention is what I do. And because the first year cauldrons need attention."

Hermione fought not to smile. At least he was honest about it. "I see. May I use magic?"

"Naturally."

Hermione set to work cleaning the cauldrons. Snape continued marking parchment at his desk. She was amused to note that he hummed slightly as he worked. It wasn't a tune so much as a constant thrum of disapproval.

Several of the cauldrons were nearly melted through. She was reminded of Neville in their first year, how he was unable to brew even the simplest of potions without horrifying results. Wordlessly, she cast a Reinforcing Charm on the weakest of the cauldrons, hoping that some poor student would have a better time of it next week.

"Tell me, do you reinforce all the Gryffindor cauldrons, or just Longbottom's?"

She jumped at the sound of Snape's voice cutting across the stillness. When she turned, guiltily, to face him, she saw that he had rolled the last parchment and was sitting motionless in his chair. She wondered how long he had been watching her.

"Sir?"

"I wondered how Weasley's cauldron had survived his last attempt at the Hiccoughing Draught."

She smiled, remembering. Ron had added the hellebore before the fluxweed, which had rendered the potion unstable. When he'd added the powdered porcupine quills, it had caused a terrific explosion.

"I thought you said there was nothing between yourself and Weasley," Snape said, settling back in his chair.

"There isn't," she replied.

"Really?" he said, sounding bored. "Most people don't stare fondly off into the distance at the mere mention of those they care nothing for."

"I never said I cared nothing for him. Ron is one of my dearest friends. I simply said that there's nothing... romantic... between us."

"Liar."

"I'm not! And frankly, I don't see why you care."

"Why do I care if you lie to me? Because my life is in your hands! I must be able to trust you."

She nearly growled with frustration. "You can trust me. I don't see why you care about my relationship with Ron!"

"Because I don't like people handling my possessions, Miss Granger."

His possessions? "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"When he touched you in class, my ring flared gold," Snape said. "It was visible, if only for a moment. The rings are charmed against infidelity as I'm sure you must have realized. Anyone who touches you with... amorous intentions... sets off the charm."

Hermione was gobsmacked. Ron... had feelings for her? He had touched her with amorous intentions? For a moment, her heart leaped into her throat, and then it crashed down through her ribcage as she realized that it didn't matter anymore. All the hours of looking over his work, of charming her hair, of dating that ridiculous Viktor Krum--all of it was worthless. She'd won him, and now she couldn't have him. She pursed her lips and set her jaw, willing herself not to cry.

"I won't lie to you, Professor Snape. There is nothing between Ron and me and never has been. I--well, I harbored a crush on him for several years, but he never returned my feelings. That's all."

Snape sat forward, and some of the lines on his forehead slackened. A look like shame darted over his features and then vanished so quickly, she thought she might have imagined it.

"Apparently, you were mistaken," he said quietly. "However this complicates matters. We cannot have my ring becoming visible every time Weasley passes you the butter."

She nodded. "I know, sir. I'll--Well, I don't know what I'll do. I'll harp on him about his homework and refuse to look over his essays. I'll disparage the Chudley Cannons--"

The corners of Snape's lips turned up. "I'm afraid that won't do. If the boy has taken a fancy to you, he'll simply take those things as a challenge. No, what you need to do is to find him someone else to snog."

"Someone to snog?"

"Surely there is some female in your year, besides yourself, who would take pity on him?"

"I don't know, sir. But I'll ask around."

"Do that. And Miss Granger?"

"Yes?"

"Do it quickly. It will hurt less that way."

She looked at him, wonder written on her face.

"You're dismissed," he said curtly, gathering his parchment and rising from the desk.

***

As Hermione clambered through the portrait hole, she saw that Harry and Ron were again waiting for her in the Common Room. Though she knew that they were simply doing as they had always done, waiting to commiserate with whichever of the three of them had suffered detention with Snape, inwardly, she sighed. To simply climb the stairs to her room without having to invent the last hour and a half would be...well, it would be heaven.

"What did he make you do?" Harry asked, the moment she joined them. She suppressed a weary smile. What did he make me do, indeed?

"Nothing too terrible. Just cleaning the first year cauldrons."

"With or without magic?" Ron asked.

"Without, of course," she said. "And from the looks of it, the new first years are about as talented at potion making as Neville. But still, it could have been worse."

"I can't believe him!" Harry said. "Hexing me in the middle of class--he planned that! He knew I wouldn't be ready."

"I agree that it was wrong," Hermione said, "But it does kind of prove his point about wordless magic--the caster really does get a split-second--"

"I know that!" Harry yelled. "Do you think I'm not doing it because I just don't care? I can't do it."

"You can do it, Harry," Hermione soothed. "You just haven't got the hang of it yet. We'll work on it. I'll even let you practice on me."

"Can I practice, too?" Ron asked, and Hermione wondered how she could have been so blind. Ron Weasley, asking for extra lessons? It should have been obvious that he'd finally fallen for her. How long had this been going on? She would have to work quickly to redirect his attention.

"Of course you can," she said. "Maybe I'll ask--"

Just then, Lavender and Parvati entered the Common Room, reeking of incense and giggling madly.

"We've just come from Professor Trelawney's," Parvati said. "She predicted that Lavender would be swept off her feet by a handsome Quidditch star."

Harry looked at them uncomfortably, a blush creeping down his neck.

Lavender. That might work. She was pretty and vivacious and as uninterested in school--save Divination, of course--as Ron himself. Naturally, Parvati was out. Ron had so terribly botched his date with her sister, Padma, at the Yule ball back in their fourth year that Parvati was barely on speaking terms with him.

"--Lavender!"

"Yes?" the blonde witch said, eyeing Hermione suspiciously.

"Oh, I was just saying the boys need some extra help with wordless magic, and I was thinking, maybe you could practice with us?"

Lavender looked warily from Harry to Ron. Then she seemed to remember Trelawney's "prophecy" and her expression brightened. "Sure! I could use the extra practice, myself!"

"Brilliant!" Hermione said, ignoring the questioning looks from Harry and Ron.

"Well, we were just on our way upstairs," Parvati said, clearly ready to extricate herself from Ron's presence.

"I'll come with you," Hermione said, leaping from her seat. She knew that everyone in the room must be wearing identical expressions of confusion, so she didn't look at anyone as she hurried up the stairs to the girls' dormitory.

"So, what's up, Hermione?" Lavender asked awkwardly when they'd reached their room.

"Nothing. Just ready to be done with them for the day." She sighed heavily, as if to convey what a burden Harry and Ron could be. Parvati snorted her approval. Take the bait, Lavender, she thought.Take it.

"Oh, but I think you're lucky," Lavender said. "Harry and Ron just follow you everywhere."

Sold! she thought triumphantly. "Well, it would be different if we were dating," Hermione said. "As it is, they just want me to look over their homework."

Lavender nodded sympathetically. Then she asked, "Do you... you know, fancy either of them?"

"Oh, no. No, I'm still with Viktor," Hermione lied.

"I wondered!" Lavender exclaimed. "Tell me, is he as dark and mysterious as he looks?"

Viktor? Dark and mysterious? Well, she supposed he might appear that way to those who hadn't fought to understand a word that he said for six months. "Yes, he's very... intense," she said.

"You're so lucky!" Lavender squealed again.

Hermione looked down, smiling slightly, and hoped she looked modest and smitten. "Yes, well, he makes me feel lucky. But if I didn't have Viktor," she added, "I'd think that Ron would make an excellent catch."

"Ron?" Parvati said. "Ron is the most inconsiderate clod! At the Yule Ball, he--"

"But that was years ago," Hermione interrupted. "He's... matured a great deal since then..." She let her voice trail off, suggesting all sorts of inappropriate things that were probably untrue.

"Really?" Lavender said. "I would have thought Harry--"

"No, not Harry," Hermione said. "Harry's too preoccupied, you know. Between He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and Quidditch... well, I just don't think he'd be the most attentive boyfriend. And he's a little short, don't you think?" she added, feeling traitorous.

"Well..." said Lavender. "I hadn't thought of that. And he's always sort of coming in and out of fashion, isn't he? Ron's much more consistent."

"Yes," Hermione agreed, baffled that anyone could consider a person to be fashionable or not.

"Thanks, Hermione!" Lavender beamed as she shed her robes. "And you know, if you ever need any advice with Viktor or anything...."

"You'll be the first to know," Hermione said.

Hermione sank onto her four poster, the day's events chasing each other through her mind. So, she'd thrown Ron to Lavender. It stung less than she'd thought it would, though she realized that she wouldn't really know until she'd seen them together. But surely Snape was right--best just to get on with it. And how odd that had been when he'd suggested it to her. He'd looked so... nostalgic... somehow, as if he were passing along advice that had been hard-won. Are you feeling sorry for him, Hermione Granger? she thought. After he hexed Harry and gave you detention... not to mention... well... But he hadn't been so bad, had he? He'd even joked with her, in his way, telling her that he'd given her detention because he didn't want to clean the cauldrons himself. He's softening you, she thought sharply to herself. He's softening you so that he can hit harder the next time, and you mustn't let him.

She drifted off to sleep amid the confusing tangle of her thoughts.

***

Back in his quarters, Snape moved restlessly from room to room. Why had he let her see so much of his home? Now there was no place that he could sit and simply be without being accosted by memories of her pale, delicate hands and her warm, eager mouth. And that ridiculous bush she calls hair, he thought fiercely. Not to mention her teeth. Clearly she's not as brilliant as everyone says if she hadn't even realized that Weasley was after her.

He played back her detention in his mind, trying to satisfy himself that he had acted the part of the dark-hearted Potions master as well as usual. However unconventional their circumstances, he could not allow her to penetrate his image. Perhaps he should have been more harsh with the girl. It was simply a comfort to him to think that there was finally someone else within these wall that was living a double life. Someone, perhaps, that he could trust.

You must not come to rely on her. She may trust you, he told himself sternly, but she will never want you--for friendship or anything else. It would be inconceivable to her. And that had never been more obvious than during their discussion today. It hadn't even crossed her mind to ask who might have interest in him, who might set her godforsaken ring ablaze. Who could love Severus Snape? she would think, if he suggested it. No one, it seemed. Not even his wife. But what did it matter? There would be a few more months of torture and then the blissful silence of infinity.

Finally, he settled at his desk and began to work.