The Albright Special

A/N - Okay, so I pretty much squealed in horror when I realized how long it's been since I updated this fic. I'm SO sorry. Thank you all so much for supporting my lazy @$$ and the abusive, on-again-off-again relationship I have with my whore-muse. She's so damn fickle. Anyway, here's the latest chapter and I promise I'll have the next one up as soon as humanly possible.

Chapter Twenty-One – The Albright Special

Albright Special – "The Albright Special ... is a strong knot used to tie two different diameters of line together, for instance to tie monofilament to braid. The Albright is relatively smooth and passes through guides when required. Some anglers coat the knot with a rubber based cement to make it even smoother and more secure. When tying, it is important to wind the loops neatly around the loop of larger line." from Wikipedia's List of Knots

Hermione found herself most unusually grateful for the professor's distaste for small talk. The walk back to her guest suite seemed interminable, but at least she didn't have to drudge up something to say. Professor Snape seemed to feel just as uneasy as she did, if his stiff arm and swift strides were anything to go by. He was in just as much of a hurry to get rid of her as she was him.

"So Mr. Potter is safely delivered from the Marriage Law then, hmmm?" he said suddenly.

Hermione turned to regard his face momentarily, trying to gauge his mood. His sharp features were typically inscrutable, with the exception of the small smirk on his lips.

"So it would seem," Hermione answered stiffly. "But I'll be hanged if I can figure out who Ginny was talking about."

Snape scoffed loudly. "Please, Granger, an infant could have gleaned whom she was referring to. Subtlety is certainly not Miss Weasley's strong suit. Or yours, for that matter."

Snape glanced down at her briefly. When he saw the consternation plain on her face, his stride slowed and his small grin turned to a sneer.

"You mean to tell me that you honestly do not know to whom she was referring?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, unhappy about admitting her ignorance, before shrugging jerkily. Snape chuckled, a clearly mocking tone to the laugh, then hitched her hand up further on his arm and resumed his breakneck pace. After several long minutes of quiet chuckling from her fiancé, Hermione finally huffed aloud.

"Well, are you going to tell me or not?"

"Not," Snape said, enjoying the refusal immensely. "If you can't wrinkle out such a pathetic code, then you deserve to wait and wrack your pithy brain."

Hermione couldn't stop an angry rolling growl. "Insufferable man," she muttered.

"Ah, there's the brilliant command of subtlety that I knew you were in possession of," he said sleekly. "Well done."

As they reached Hermione's door, Snape turned to regard her, his posture suddenly stiff, his face taut, and his brows drawn together. His lips pinched together and relaxed several times before he actually spoke.

"You did well this evening, Granger," he said shortly. "Even in the courtyard garden, though I'll admit I have no idea why you suddenly decided to play the shy maid." He seemed to shake himself out of that train of thought before saying again, "You did well."

Hermione felt herself flush at the mention of what had happened in the courtyard. "Thank you, sir. Severus," she corrected almost immediately. Then, when he raised an eyebrow, she again amended, "Sir."

"Severus," he said.

His dark eyes were inscrutable as they held hers, but Hermione couldn't help but notice that this was the first instance of him instructing her to use his first name with out a scowl on his lips.

"Severus," she repeated.

For another long period of silence, Hermione gazed up at her tall, hawk-face professor as he loomed over her, completely devoid of movement or expression. He simply stared back at her, black eyes absorbing whatever it was that they saw in her face. She had to tilt her head backwards to look in his eyes now, but even that seemed impossible when the steady ebony gaze left her eyes and drifted slowly down away from her face. Flabbergasted at what could be drawing his attention so thoroughly, Hermione's lungs pawed at the air, chest heaving as she fought panic. What could she possibly have done to gain his anger, especially so much so that he wouldn't even look her in the eye? Realization struck suddenly, and her hand flew to cover her throat.

"Lady Martine gave them to me," she gabbled. "I knew I shouldn't have accepted them, I knew it would make you mad, but they were just so pretty!"

"What?"

Snape's usually silky voice sounded worked over with sandpaper, as if he hadn't used it in quite a while; he shook his head as if to clear it. Once again his eyes locked with hers, but this time, they held distinct confusion.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to make you mad..."

"Granger, what are you babbling about?" Snape said, a scowl settling into familiar lines and his tone resuming its customary frostiness.

"The pearls," Hermione said. Her cold fingers clutched at the strands at her neck as if he had just that minute threatened to rip them from her throat. "Your mother's pearls. I didn't...that is what you were looking at, isn't it?"

Leaving her question unanswered, Snape snapped, "Keep the damned pearls, I don't care."

Bewildered by his sudden anger, Hermione looked up into his face, then back down at herself, trying to figure out where things had gone wrong.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled again. "Martine gave them to me, and told me that they looked pretty. That I looked pretty. She seemed to think that you'd be pleased. She said that you..." Remembering with a crash of nervousness exactly what Martine had said regarding her appearance, the pearls, and Severus, she shut her mouth with an audible click of teeth.

Snape's attention snapped back to Hermione's face. "She said that I what?"

"That you..." Hermione started, but trailed off. Her cheeks flushed again, and Hermione raised a hand to her throat, this time using it to cover her fluttering heart rather than the strand of pearls. "That you wouldn't be able to keep your eyes off me."

A sneer bent the tips of his lips. "Such romantic rot. Cinderella is transformed to a princess with just a necklace, is she?"

Hermione started to bite back defensively, stung by the reemergence of the acerbic professor of her school career, but that was before she saw his eyes. The sneer curled his lip and created the same angry lines in his face as ever, but for just a moment, she thought she saw something flicker behind his eyes. For just a moment, she thought she saw that same alarm that had flashed across his inky eyes in the ballroom, when he'd nearly kissed her. So she drew herself up as much as she could and thrust out her chin.

"It worked, didn't it? You were looking while we danced, and you were looking just now."

"Naturally, only a stone would be immune to your charms," he responded dryly.

Snape took two swift strides forward, causing Hermione to back away until her bum bumped against the corner of her bedroom's doorjamb.

"What's the matter, Granger?" Snape said in a mocking hiss. "Your grand plan was to make me look, wasn't it? Well, you win: I'm looking."

Snape had planted himself just far enough away from her that his gaze could trail fairly far down her body without having to shift his position. Almost able to feel the scorch of his roving observation, Hermione fought to stay still and allow the inspection, refusing to let him intimidate her into quailing. As his eyes came back to her face, however, his expression had changed, had lost some of that hard, venomous quality to it. His dark eyes bore into hers, and she felt an odd, fluttery sensation in her mind, like butterflies had taken flight inside her skull. When the sensation stopped, Snape's expression held just the tiniest quirk of surprise.

"You should go to bed," he said at length, his words a low drone that was too quiet to be normal speech but too loud for a whisper.

Instead of backing away to allow her to retreat into the dark safety of her bedroom, Snape leaned towards her, dominating her field of vision nearly completely. Several minutes passed; neither of them moved. Eventually, Snape leaned in even farther, so close that a fall of heavy wool brushed against her forearm as he moved one long, slim arm around behind her. He was going to kiss her again! Hermione's thoughts scattered like ants, her breath racing and heart hammering, her skin flushed hot in places, cold in others. She let her head tip back, her eyes sliding shut as she took a few steadying breaths, trying to grab hold of her composure as she waited for his lips to descend upon hers. The quiet banged at her ear drums for a few heartbeats until she realized that Snape had jerkily stopped his forward progress ...

She felt his arm turn at her side, and the door behind her swung open with a loud creak. Snape stepped back from her as if he'd been burned.

"Goodnight, Granger," he said shortly, turned on his heel, and strode away down the corridor as if Lord Voldemort himself were pursuing him.

*****

Hermione sat curled upon the enormous bed, her knees pulled up to support the weight of the psychotherapy text she'd special-ordered from Flourish and Blotts. No matter how many times her eyes scanned the page in front of her, little of the content sank into her consciousness. Trying valiantly to focus on the research she was supposed to be doing and not on Snape, Hermione scrubbed her hands across her face, readjusted the book against her legs, and reapplied her concentration to the chapter on grief counseling. It only worked for a few moments.

She honestly hadn't the foggiest idea of what to make of all this nonsense with Snape. Ever since she'd gotten here, she'd felt completely discombobulated. Snape was bandying back and forth between treating her like an adult and like a student, a prized pupil and a complete idiot. And worse yet, he insisted on maintaining the ridiculous charade of culture and refinement and ... well, niceness, and she didn't know what to make of it at all. The minute she thought she had him pegged, could see where the seams in his acting were so that she could orient herself, he changed again. He made it seem as if he wasn't really acting at all, and yet, she knew he must be. The whole performance was just so bloody convincing. Then again, she thought as she dropped to her feet on the chill floor and began pacing, he'd have to be convincing, wouldn't he? If he let the mask slip even the tiniest bit, surely everyone would see the truth, not just her. Especially his father, whose sharp eyes seemed to slice through people, not just gaze into them. So it must all be fake. And yet...

Her fingertips went to her mouth, skimming her lips as she knit her brow in thought. And yet, that kiss in the courtyard .... Well, it certainly hadn't started as anything more than an act, but just at the end, she felt something change in his arms, in the way he held her, she was nearly certain that had Lady Martine and the Marquis not stumbled upon them, he would have kept kissing her, charade or not. But then again, their presence had been the reason for the kiss in the first place, so was that softening not part of the act as well?

Hermione growled aloud and clawed at the back of her hair in frustration. How was she to have any idea which face was real, which actions were the truth? Or was nothing the truth? Then, suddenly, she thought about the way his gaze had seared over her in the hall, the way his dark eyes slid down from her face to her...Hermione gasped and clasped her hands over the neck of her nightgown. Suddenly, his confusion made perfect, horrifying sense. He hadn't been looking at her necklace, he'd been looking at her....

Hermione dropped to the floor, her bottom making a muffled thump against the carpet. Perhaps she wasn't crazy. Perhaps the actions weren't as fake as she thought they were. As he tried to pretend they were. As he no doubt wished that they were. Her pulse started to race against her will and a strange tingle zipped through her belly; Hermione hoped that she was wrong and that Severus Snape was a far better actor than she gave him credit for. Either way, Hermione Granger was damn confused.

*****

Severus tried not to grit his teeth when he realized that the parlor he'd walked into wasn't vacant. He'd come to the music room counting on the fact that his father would have either parted company with Martine and retired to his chambers or taken her to one of the drawing rooms or the library for a nightcap before bed. Unfortunately, his father had anticipated Severus's desire for solitude and his habit of smashing violins to vent his frustration. Damned instruments; he'd never liked them – they sounded far too much like a whiny student – and as a child, he had found a visceral release in bashing them relentlessly against the antique molding of the music room. His scowl deepened as Martine looked up from her position at the piano keyboard, surprised, while Tobias's smirk deepened.

"Well," his father said sleekly, "that was quite a quick tumble, Severus." The Marquis removed a filigreed pocket watch from a fob pocket and gazed pointedly at the face. "Ten minutes? Your age is catching up to your libido."

"Don't," Severus hissed warningly.

His eyes slewed to Martine, whose thin, high brows drew together with a wary pucker. Tamping down on his quicksilver temper, Severus moved across the room to the large bay window just to his father's left. Leaving after spotting his father would have been a gesture of defeat or cowardice, but the way his nerves were roiling, Severus wasn't all together sure that it wouldn't have been the more intelligent move. Never one to back down when his spine got called into question, however, he continued to the window, putting his back to his father.

Obviously not dissuaded by the dismissive gesture, the Marquis continued with an expression of mock concern. "Poor Miss Granger must be going to bed quite unsatisfied."

Feeling his last vestige of control snap, Severus crossed the distance between them in only three ground-eating strides. In another two, he had curled his fingers around the Marquis's slender throat and slammed him against the nearest wall. Lifting just enough that he heard the gurgle of trapped air in his father's throat, Severus leaned down to glare into Tobias's quickly reddening face.

"You will refrain from commenting on my private life with the future Madam Snape."

Martine spoke in a voice tight with restrained concern, uttering a quick, "Gentlemen, please..."

The Marquis attempted to chuckle, but all the came out was a half-hearted wheeze of air. Wriggling to take a breath around his son's fingers, Tobias didn't fight Severus's grip, only smiled into his face and raised an eyebrow.

"You really are a beast, aren't you, Severus? Always so rash when someone plucks at the strings tied to your Mudbloods."

Severus's face didn't change one iota as he clamped his fingers even tighter against his father's throat.

"You will also keep a civil tongue in your head when speaking about Miss Granger, or I will squeeze hard enough to cause it to shrivel up and fall out."

By now, the harsh compression of his wind pipe caused Tobias's face to heat unbearably and sweat to pop out on his forehead. His arms jerked up once as if to try to loosen his son's grip, and even though he fought to keep his expression serene, panic flashed behind the Marquis's mahogany eyes. Clearly measuring his son's hatred of him against his ability to survive any further attack, Tobias opened his mouth to retort but seemed to think better of it when Severus let a low growl of anger out from between his lips. Before either of them could make a move, Severus vaguely registered the noise of a bang like a gunshot before he was propelled forward, knocking foreheads with his father and tumbling to the floor. The Marquis stayed a groaning heap leaning against the wall, but Severus flipped himself over quickly, clutching at his head as he stared up into Martine's livid face.

"Stupid, testosterone-driven, barely-civilized apes, all of you," she spat quickly, but her lips quirked up at the ends just a tiny bit when Severus started swearing himself blue. "Forgot I had a wand, did you? Poor little woman will only flutter her hands and cry for peace when the big, scary men are fighting?"

Severus swore a few of his choicest curse words for good measure as he rubbed at the angry welt just above his brow where his head had knocked into the bridge of his father's nose. Glancing up, he couldn't help a slight smile despite the fact that hot fury still ran like mercury in his veins: he'd nearly forgotten how formidable Martine was when she got angry. Tall as an Amazon, Martine's auburn hair made her seem like a torch when angry, and her scowl was epic as she glared down at him, tucking her applewood wand back into a concealed pocket. Martine heaved a thick sigh before extending a hand down to him to help him off the floor. Severus merely stared at it, chuckled, then hoisted himself off the floor. Brushing at his robes absently, Severus turned a half-hearted grimace at his cousin.

"Your aim has deteriorated somewhat since Hogwarts, Martine. I would have appreciated it if you'd confined your spells to the deserving party."

"I did," she said in a clipped voice. "You're both as bad as my bitch water spaniels. One would think that after twenty years, you would have learned to restrain your temper, but I can see that you are still as quarrelsome as you ever were. Can't you ever leash your fits of pique, Severus?"

Though their relationship frequently revolved around good-natured yet brusque ribbing, Severus couldn't help be rankled by the comment. After twenty years as a spy, he'd more than perfected masking his emotions. Not that he could say as much to Martine.

"You'd be surprised," he said coolly before turning back towards his father.

With a lazy flick of his wand, his father was hoisted none-too-gently into the air and set back on his feet. The Marquis coughed indelicately and rubbed at his throat, glaring daggers at his son. Severus ignored the obvious enmity and lowered his face the few inches required to become uncomfortably close to the Marquis.

"If you ever again even contemplate any action that insults me or causes Miss Granger to so much as sniffle, I'll personally disembowel you. Slowly. Without magic."

Taking the hand that Martine had extended to him, Severus escorted her from the room.

"What must the students think of you, Severus? I suspect you're not the favorite, are you?"

Severus snorted derisively and gave her a half-grin. "My potential popularity with a ravening pack of calamitous dunderheads is hardly my greatest concern."

"Which, I'm sure, is painfully apparent in your demeanor and teaching style," Martine said with a slight smile.

With a harsh exhalation, Severus dropped her hand from his arm. "What is the point of this, Martine? Your criticisms have been particularly persistent this evening, and quite frankly, if I wanted to be abused, I could have stayed in the music room with Father. What are you trying to get at?"

One slim eyebrow rose as Martine watched Severus's cheeks color in anger. "My, aren't you touchy this evening?"

When a growl escaped Severus and he started off down the hall, she jogged to catch up, laying a gentle hand on his upper arm.

"Forgive me, dear, I didn't mean to antagonize you. Truly, I didn't. I'm merely ... curious about the Severus Snape that other people know. I can see that you are not the man your father sketches you to be, Severus, but I wonder what the rest of the world sees."

Severus stared forward as they made their way down the hall, a scowl pulling his heavy brows together. "People see only who and what they want to, Martine. You know this."

After a pregnant pause, Martine ventured carefully, "Shall I ask Miss Granger what she sees?"

Unable to check the motion, Severus whipped his head around to study Martine's serene and questioning expression before facing forward again. His scowl deepened as he struggled with equal urges to tell the truth and conceal it. He decided for middle ground.

"Only if you care for a faltering attempt at a tactful description of admiration which is achingly naïve and transparent."

Martine quietly digested this for a moment. "You do not believe she cares for you, then?"

Severus snorted again. "Do not feign ignorance, Martine; it doesn't suit you. Affection is not the motivation behind our marriage and you know it."

Lady Snape sighed delicately and placed a hand on his arm. "There must be something she sees in you, cousin. I don't doubt that most of the people you know only see what their eyes present to them – and I must admit, you do seem to revel in playing the villain – but there must be some sort prospect for better things. Miss Granger doesn't strike me as the type to marry blindly where there is no respect or hope."

"Miss Granger does what she is told to do," Severus snapped. Getting a tighter grasp on his emotions, Severus schooled his voice into calmness. "And as for what she 'sees in me'," he said the phrase with no little amount of scorn, "she is as woefully blind as everyone else."

Martine's grip on his arm tightened as she sighed. "One must wonder why she is marrying you, if the picture is as bleak as you make it out to be."

Again, Severus considered the relative merits and flaws of telling the truth. "Because she is a Gryffindor," he said at length.

"She is?"

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Did you have any doubt?"

Martine sighed and fought the smile lurking at the corners of her mouth. "Then good luck to you, Severus, my dear. If your estimation of Miss Granger is correct, then you're both cornered good and proper. And I've rarely seen a lioness back down, regardless of how unfavorable the odds. She'll drag you into respectability by her teeth if that's what it takes."

Strangely, Severus found himself chuckling. "Respectability? Lord, I hope not."

*****

Hermione had never been so glad to be on the verge of leaving somewhere in her life. Only breakfast to get through and then they'd be Apparating to Hogwarts. Carefully spreading a napkin across her lap to protect her pale yellow robes from any errant drips, Hermione accepted the cup of tea that a house elf left beside her plate and took a cautious sip to test its temperature. Finding it acceptable for drinking, Hermione took a long, slow drink from her tea cup, much longer – she was sure – than was entirely polite. Talk was rare this morning, and the atmosphere of the table seemed even more charged than the previous evening. Because of her nocturnal ruminations, Hermione couldn't quite bring herself to look at her sullen fiancé, who seemed to be consistently glaring at his father, who was flicking his eyes nervously between Severus and Martine, who happened to be studying Hermione with a keen and assessing eye. Hermione, on the other hand, confined her gaze to her breakfast plate and tea cup. She would be profoundly relieved when she returned to Hogwarts and an absence of perpetual scrutiny. A small chuckle escaped from Hermione's lips into her tea cup when she realized that she now thought of the place where she was Head Girl and best friend of the Boy Who Lived as a break from scrutiny. Over her cup, Hermione noticed that Lady Snape's expression had changed from appraisal to amusement, so she returned a small grin. Still, no one spoke. The meal felt interminable. Eventually, she breathed a sigh of relief when Severus broke the silence abruptly.

"We must be on our way shortly," he said, dropping his napkin to the side of the plate and standing.

Thankful for the diversion and escape, Hermione followed suit. As she made to rise from her chair, Hermione felt Martine's cool, slim fingers alight on her forearm.

"It's been such a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Granger," Martine said, a smile settling on her lips. "I do hope I'll get to see you again sometime."

She slewed her eyes towards her fiancé, who'd already begun to leave, and hesitated only a moment before responding. "Lady Snape..."

"Martine," the older woman reminded gently.

"Martine," Hermione repeated. "I don't suppose you'd like to come to the wedding, would you? It would be nice if someone came to represent Severus's family."

Hermione didn't turn in that direction, but the rustle of robes and heat on the back of her neck told her that both Snape men were glaring at her. Not that she could blame them, really: she'd clearly left the Marquis out of the request and had offered the invitation to Martine without Severus's permission. Of course, she'd done both things intentionally, knowing that Severus would object to any of his family being present, especially his father. But something about Lady Snape appealed to Hermione, in her robust and genial nature as well as her thoughtful glances and realistic appraisal of her cousin. Hermione didn't miss that Lady Snape glanced at both men before replying.

"Someone ought to represent the Snape family, I suppose," Martine said, tapping a finger against her lips in mock consideration. "And I'm certainly happy to be the one to do it. Saturday next, you said?"

Hermione nodded.

"Don't be ridiculous, Miss Granger," Snape said in a quick, clipped voice. "Martine is a very busy woman; I'm sure she can't just jaunt off to England for a wedding with less than a week's notice."

Before Martine could deliver the response that she opened her mouth to give, Hermione had crossed her arms over her chest and straightened her spine as she replied. "She 'jaunted off' to France on a moment's notice for an entire weekend. A cousin's wedding is sufficiently important for one day's journey, isn't it?"

Martine obviously sensed danger brewing as Severus narrowed his eyes at his fiancée because she too rose from the table, but she moved over and took up Severus's hand in her own. Patting it gently, she said, "I'd love to come. It'll be good to see you settled at last, Severus."

Snape hmmphed indignantly but managed to restrain himself from saying anything further. In a few quick strides, he had moved to take Hermione's arm and led her across the room decisively. Just before they crossed the threshold, Hermione turned back to regard Tobias.

"Marquis Snape, it was ... an experience," she said after a marked pause. "Your home is lovely." After a moment, she added, "I hope we get it when you die," sotto voce.

Not 'sotto' enough, it seemed, because Hermione heard a snort of laughter from above her.

"You're too kind," Tobias responded, rising from the table and crossing to them. "Of course, it was such a pleasure meeting you. It is not often that someone of your ... ilk is seen here."

Hermione gave him a tight smile. Though she couldn't exactly put her finger on what was different in the Marquis's demeanor, she was quite certain that something had transpired last evening after she parted company with him. Despite the biting tone and veiled insults, something wary, almost ... frightened, lie behind the Marquis's mahogany gaze. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him momentarily before he shifted his glance upwards to Severus.

"Such a lovely visit, Severus. Perhaps you'll return for Christmas?"

Snape's face never changed expression but for a single raised eyebrow. The Marquis flinched.

"Perhaps," Severus said dryly, and steered Hermione out of the room. The instant they had cleared the Marquis's earshot, he added, "when the Black Lake turns to treacle."

Surprised, Hermione stopped dead in the vestibule. After a moment, Snape realized that he had lost her.

"What?"

"You made a joke!"

Snape rolled his eyes. "I do possess the requisite amount of wit to do so, as well as a sense of humor, believe it or not."

"I'll go with 'not'," Hermione said.

Apparently ignoring the comment, Snape shouldered the messenger bag in which Hermione had packed her belongings and jerked his head in the direction of the front door. Without hesitation, Hermione followed him out of the house into the warm afternoon sun. The pair of them had walked not even a hundred yards before Snape moved close to her. Her head was suddenly flooded with potent memories from the previous evening: his face looming over hers, his lips on her mouth, his hands at her back. Hermione stumbled a few steps backward, grabbing a firm hold on his forearm rather than stepping into the open embrace that he obviously intended for their journey. She vaguely registered a single raised eyebrow before she felt the crushing squeeze of Apparition.

*****

Hermione barely hobbled three steps away from him before she lurched into the bushes outside Hogwarts' main gate and vomited. She heaved indelicately a few times, then crouched for more than a moment, breathing deeply and allowing her stomach to right itself before she stood and rinsed out her mouth with a quick charm. Unable to look at Snape, whom she knew was still only a few yards away, Hermione straightened her spine and started off to the school at the quickest pace she could manage without jogging. After a moment or two, she heard the soft rustle of robes that told her that Snape had caught up to her with his long, ground-eating strides.

"The long ones always make me ill," she said by way of an explanation. She still couldn't bring herself to look at him, especially not with her cheeks heating in such a horrible manner.

"The short ones as well," he said. "It would have been easier on you if you had allowed me to steady you."

"I can manage just fine on my own, thank you," she said huffily.

Snape sneered. "All evidence to the contrary. People who suffer from Muggle motion sickness are instructed to fix their vision on a single stationary object to cure the queasiness that occurs from items rushing through the vision. The principle is similar with Apparition: people who suffer from balance issues and queasiness should remain stationary and..."

"...anchor herself and her gaze to the Apparator. I know." It bothered her to no end that not only was Snape correct, but he had spat out an answer that was in the Ministry-issued Guide to Apparition. "Must you be such a know-it-all?" Her voice sounded petulant even to her own ears, which only served to annoy her further. She sped up her pace.

"Isn't that the cauldron calling the kettle black?"

"Oh, shut up," Hermione snapped.

Teeth gnashing in annoyance, Hermione snatched her bag from his arm as soon as her feet hit the bottom steps of the castle. Wordlessly, Snape followed her up the stairs then made a large show of bowing as he opened the main door for her. Hermione felt herself rooted to the spot once she stepped into the entrance hall; something kept her standing there, watching as Snape caught her up and then swiftly strode towards the stairs descending to the dungeons. She fidgeted with the strap of her bag, inexplicably incapable of moving from the spot; she felt as if she ought to wait for something, something from him. As if her indecisive thoughts had been a Klaxon wail in his head, Snape spun around and pinned her with a glare.

"What are you waiting for, Granger? A biscuit for performing a trick? Get back to your common room or I'll take off points for loitering!"

Hermione heaved a sigh and hitched her bag further up her shoulder. Well, what had she expected really? Now that they were back at Hogwarts and out of France, had she really expected him to be any different? He was back to being Professor Snape, Potions Master and generally unpleasant pain in the bum, and she was back to being Hermione Granger, Head Girl and best friend of Harry Potter.

And then, like a shot, it hit her...

"Harry!" she squeaked and took off up the marble staircase like a rogue Snitch.

*****

She'd nearly made it to the Fat Lady when she careened around a corner and into Ginny. After picking herself up off the floor, she realized that Harry was there, too, leaning against the statue of Vlad the Impaler and looking slightly surprised.

"Easy there," Ginny said as she helped Hermione dust herself off. "No need to rush. We knew that Snape would take the mickey out of you if we waited downstairs, so we came here after lunch. How was Snape the Elder?"

"Absolutely wretched," Hermione said but found herself smiling into Ginny's warm expression and Harry's inquisitive one. "Beastly man. Worse than his son, in a way, because at least Professor Snape will tell you he thinks you're a stupid prat instead of buttering you up and then stinging you like a Portuguese Man of War."

Harry and Ginny both laughed.

"Never thought I'd hear someone say they preferred Snape's way of dealing with people," Harry said.

"Me either, but there you have it," Hermione said, smiling.

Her expression turned serious, however, when her mind circled back round to the reason she'd been in such a hurry.

"So, about this person you've got to petition for Harry," she said breathlessly. "I tried like the devil to work it out – Professor Snape, wouldn't tell me – and I've just been dying to know who..."

"Professor Snape?" Ginny interrupted.

"What's he to do with it?" Harry said, grimacing. "Bloody interfering git ..."

Hermione waved Harry's grumbling away dismissively. "Oh, he was just there when I opened the note and was taunting me because I couldn't figure it out. Don't keep me in suspense, who is it?"

Ginny adopted a rather smug look and Harry crossed his arms over his chest.

"Rather brilliant, I must admit," said Harry. "Ginny came up with it and the last minute on Friday night and I..."

"Never mind the back story, just tell me who!"

Ginny opened her mouth to answer, but smiled as she looked over Hermione's shoulder.

"Hello there," said a dreamy voice from behind Hermione's back. "Don't you look lovely in yellow. You sent for me, Ginny?"

Hermione whipped around as she recognized the voice and couldn't help but gape. It all made sense suddenly, the clues all falling neatly into place:Raven ... Lovebird ...

"It's Luna!" Hermione exclaimed.

The subject of Hermione's utterance seemed only mildly bemused by the goings-on, choosing to focus on the bag of sweets clutched in front of her. Luna's eyebrows raised slightly over her protuberant eyes, but she just smiled gently as Ginny motioned towards the Room of Requirement with an offer to explain everything. Hermione had no choice but to follow, laughing lightly at Harry's knowing smile. As they headed towards their destination, Hermione nudged Harry gently.

"What do you think of all this, then?" she said, nodding her head towards Luna. "Ginny didn't bully you into it, did she? You didn't just say yes because of the time deadline?"

Harry sighed lightly and shrugged. "Time was obviously a factor, but no, Ginny didn't bully me." After a moment, Harry added thoughtfully, "Actually, it's rather brilliant if you think about it. I'm sure Ginny will sell you on the details, but honestly, I can only think of one possible down side."

"That you'll spend the foreseeable future with someone who's absolutely barking mad?" Hermione offered with a mock-helpful smile.

Harry chuckled. "She's not so bad, really. Always good for a laugh, at least, which is more than I can say for your fiancé."

Hermione scoffed and rolled her eyes. "You can say that again."

Something of the strain of the weekend must have showed in her eyes because Harry grasped her arm, holding her back as Ginny and Luna forged ahead into the Room of Requirement.

"What is it?" Harry asked, his green eyes troubled. "Did Snape do something to upset you this weekend?"

For a moment, Hermione wanted to spill out the whole sordid story of her confusion about Snape's quicksilver changes in demeanor and the strange heated moments of his lips on hers but she couldn't bring herself to do it, not when Harry looked relatively happy and calm. So she mustered up a somewhat wobbly smile and shook her head.

"No more than usual," she said lightly. "I'll tell you about it later. Let's go and let Ginny explain the method behind her madness."

Harry chuckled again and stood back as Hermione preceded him into the room. Reclining into a squashy armchair, Hermione blew out a deep breath and let her mind drift away from the man pacing his dungeon chambers eight floors below them.