Three

Acknowledgements: much thanks to my wonderful beta, Subversa, whose encouragement and kind words are, as ever, invaluable.

Disclaimer: nothing recognizable from the Potterverse belongs to me and I make no money from this. The story, however, is mine.

The business continued to thrive. Hermione made some changes to editorial policy in the publishing side, and also installed a Muggle selection in one of the smaller rooms, using cunningly placed displays and advertisements to entice customers to try something new. She was working on a plan to install a coffee shop, but for the moment did not quite see where they would put one. She became used to seeing Ron with Gabrielle and was delighted that the children liked her. She admitted to herself that she was somewhat jealous of Rose's adulation of the Frenchwoman's beauty, but decided to get over that as well. It wasn't Gabrielle's fault, after all. For herself, there was still no social life as such, but work was rewarding, and the Friday night forays into Muggle London with Severus were becoming a regular event, once every two weeks.

It was on one of these Fridays, when she was finishing up her work in the office and looking forward to Severus' prompt arrival, that the Floo connection activated and Ron stepped through with the children.

"I'm sorry, 'Mione – there's an emergency – all hands on deck, and Mum and Dad are away. Can't get hold of Harry and Ginny at all. I'll make it up to you!" And with that, he was gone.

Hermione stared at the children, who stared back. They were already in their pyjamas and dressing gowns, their only concession to going out being the hasty addition of shoes to the ensemble. Hugo was clutching his old teddy bear to his chest.

Hermione didn't know what to do. In ten minutes, Severus would be arriving, and she realised suddenly that she had no idea how to get in touch with him to let him know what was happening. She rubbed her forehead.

"Right, then. We'll have to wait here for a little while, darlings, because I have a friend coming – we were going to look at some bookshops..."

Rose rolled her eyes and Hermione giggled, seeing the funny side of it.

"Yes, I know, I know! Have you two been bathed? Have you eaten?"

Hugo piped up. "Daddy was going to buy us a pizza and play Gobstones and let us stay up late," he said, sounding profoundly reproachful.

That was the moment when Severus came through the Floo. As he dusted himself off and straightened, the children stared up into his surprised face. He looked an enquiry at Hermione, who sighed.

"Something came up," she said.

"Mummy, who is this?" Rose asked, doing her best impression of her grandmother.

Well, it had to happen one day, thought Hermione. "Children, this is Mr Snape, my friend. Severus, this is Rose, and this is Hugo."

"This is Teddy," said Hugo solemnly.

To Hermione's astonishment, Severus shook hands all round, even with Teddy.

"Are you the Mr Snape who used to be Mummy's teacher?" asked Rose suspiciously, having heard a few tales. He nodded. Rose's auburn brows began to lower.

"Mr Snape can't talk, children," said Hermione, recognising a gathering head of impertinence.

"Then how...?" puzzled Hugo.

Severus drew his pen and note pad from a pocket and wrote, Like this.

Hugo read the words out loud, and after a moment's thought said, "That's so cool!"

Hermione couldn't help it. She just burst out laughing and couldn't stop. The idea of any child finding Severus Snape 'cool' was the unlikeliest and funniest thing she had heard for what seemed like years. She recovered enough to start to apologise, but saw that while Rose was looking at her as if she'd lost her mind, Severus and Hugo were regarding one another with interest.

Pizza? Games? wrote Severus, showing that he had heard the original plans for the evening.

Rose was suspicious, very much a haughty young lady, but Hugo jumped up and down on the spot.

"Can he come home with us, Mummy?" he chirped, obviously, and for no apparent reason, very taken with the former Great Bat of the Hogwarts dungeons.

Hermione didn't know how to answer. It would be an enormous step to take, and in any case, she doubted that Severus would want to spend his evening with her children. He eyed her, sensing her confusion, and calmly saved the day – or the evening, at least.

We can stay here. I will hunter-gather, he scribbled, if you will lend me Hugo to be my voice. You and Rose find a game to play. Don't worry, he added when she looked at him in consternation.

So Hugo, his pyjamas Transfigured into decent clothes, set off hand-in-hand with the Git, chattering fit to burst, while Hermione and her daughter set to work transforming other bits and pieces into a selection of games.

Later, Hermione looked back on one of the best evenings she could recall spending since leaving school. Rose had gradually warmed to Severus, as he had diplomatically abandoned his most forbidding range of expressions for the evening, and Hugo had been his slave since the moment the two of them clapped eyes on each other. From the way they had interacted, though Snape remained a little distant, Hermione suspected that the feeling was mutual. He had even allowed Hugo to read him a bedtime story.

The children were asleep on their feet by the time Hermione called a halt. Partings were perfunctory at best, but Snape pressed a scrap of parchment into her hand at the last minute, while she was buttoning up dressing gowns and grabbing her bag. She read it before she slept. Your daughter is charming, but Hugo is extraordinary. I would like to see him again. Hermione pressed it to her breast, her hands trembling. It was a precious gift he had given her.

Yet not so precious as the note she found on her desk the following Monday morning.

Friend.

Naturally, the news that Snape was co-owner of the bookshop and that Hermione was seeing him regularly, took all of about a nanosecond to make the rounds of the Weasley family. She tried to make light of their astonishment and barely-disguised disapproval, but it was hard. There was one particularly raw exchange with Ron and Molly that hurt her deeply.

"How could you?" Ron bellowed. "How could you let the Git associate with our children? You know what he was like at school – he's a complete bastard, even if he did work for the Order!"

"Ron! He's not like that – I know him. How do you think you would have behaved in his position and with his history? You'd have been far, far worse, and you know it."

"How can you say that?" butted in Molly. "Ron's a good man, Hermione dear – you know he only wants to protect the children."

"Meaning that I don't?" Hermione snarled. "Are you saying I would deliberately expose my children – my children – to a person I believed capable of harming them? Are you?"

Molly backed down swiftly. Hermione was losing control, and the air was beginning to crackle with magic.

"How dare you insult me like that!" she almost screamed. "And how dare you doubt him! You know what he did – what he sacrificed. You know he always did his utmost to protect the children in his care. Even us!"

"Hell, Hermione," said Ron in disgust, "you sound as though you're in love with the guy."

"He's my friend," she said flatly. "And if he should choose to come into contact with the children again," she prevaricated, "then I will allow it. His trustworthiness has been proved time and time again."

The fact that after this confrontation all she wanted to do was find Severus and seek comfort in his presence made Ron's accusation that she was in love very troubling. That she had found a special friend in him was clear; that she was fiercely loyal to him was also obvious. But in love? It was unlikely, to say the least. And as he was undoubtedly not in love with her, it was best that she quash the thought before it had time to develop.

With only six weeks of her probationary period to go, Hermione was busting a gut at work. She was reasonably sure she had already won the approval of both her bosses, but she had set herself targets which she was determined to meet. Her pattern of late nights persisted. The children accompanied her to the shop on occasional Sundays. She didn't know how Severus managed to detect their presence, but if they were there, sooner or later he would make an appearance. He was gracious enough to show an interest in the handcraft projects Rose usually brought with her, even finding her one or two helpful books, but it was Hugo he had really come to see. Hermione, grubby from turning out another forgotten room, would come upon the pair of them poring over some old volume or other, Hugo reading aloud and asking endless questions. Severus corrected the boy's reading by dint of indicating where there was a mistake and patiently waiting while Hugo worked out the correct pronunciation. He answered questions either by encouraging Hugo to think it through himself, or by writing on his pad of paper, always with the pen she had given him. She noticed that he took the trouble to print his answers so Hugo could read them easily. He never cracked a smile, but everything he did showed that whatever it was that had soured him at Hogwarts, it was not the activity of teaching.

Rose and Hugo delivered such glowing reports of him that even Ron was reassured.

The time she spent alone with Severus was even better. She had never felt so at ease, so accepted for her intelligence and enthusiasms, so able to express her thoughts, plans, and even, on occasion, her feelings.

Hermione was happy. She had her Friday outings, her work was a success, her children were blooming, and she had a friend who was becoming more dear to her than she cared to admit even to herself.

Thus it was that the contents of the letter brought to her at her desk by a fine tawny owl one afternoon came as an almost physical blow.

Dear Miss Granger

I am instructed to inform you that, your probationary period of six months as manager of Flourish & Blotts now being over, your services are no longer required. You are requested to turn over your accounts and keys to your deputy upon closing this Saturday evening.

Yrs

Theodore Nott BDSM

Legal representative

With a few cold words, all of Hermione's hopes and dreams were overturned. She felt utterly betrayed. She barely heard when the rest of the staff left. It was automatic for her to raise the wards after the door closed – she did it with a wave of her wand from where she sat. Time passed. She opened a drawer to retrieve the parchment on which Severus had so carefully written "Friend". Her eyes caressed the strong lines of his script and her sense of betrayal deepened. Time passed. Hermione grew cold, sitting still. Time passed.

The fireplace flared green and Severus stepped through. Hermione didn't react until he placed a gentle hand under her chin to make her look at him. What is wrong? he wrote quickly, his natural frown deepening as he took in her pale face and shadowed eyes.

"How could you?" she said tonelessly.

He looked perplexed.

"How could you?" she accused him, with more vigour. She rose from her seat and rounded the desk to face him. "How could you, how could you, how could you?" she began to sob, impatiently smearing the angry tears from her cheeks.

He spread his hands, helplessly.

"How could you?" she shouted, thrusting the letter with such force against his chest that he staggered backwards. The other scrap of parchment she held clutched tightly against her own shaking body.

He scanned the letter quickly, and his lips thinned ominously. He reached for Hermione, but she swung away from his grasp, fumbling blindly for where she had hung her coat that morning. A paper was thrust in front of her, but she pushed it away, making for the door. Feeling the keys jangle in her pocket, she wrenched them out and threw them on the floor. Snape grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her to turn round. The contact broke the last of her self-control, and she went for him with her fists, silent but for the sobbing breaths that escaped her. She still couldn't see through the tears, but she felt his arms close round her, pinning her to him so that she could do little more than struggle vainly, her face crushed against the buttons of his jacket. She fought until there was no energy left in her, and when she finally stilled, Snape released her, once more placing his note before her.

There has been a mistake, she read.

She looked up into his dark eyes, which for once were not cool and distant but filled with an agitated concern.

"The letter seemed clear enough to me," she said bitterly.

Forgive me, Hermione. I instructed Nott to dismiss you before you even began. I neglected to rescind the order. It is my mistake. I would never intentionally hurt you. Forgive me.

She held his words in her trembling hands, looking at them fixedly in order to avoid his intent gaze. He wanted her to forgive him? Severus Snape was begging her forgiveness? He did not wish to hurt her? Hermione simply did not know how to react.

"I wish you could talk," she whispered.

He froze. There was a long moment before he wrote, I can.

Hermione's eyes flew to his in consternation.

"But you said..."

I told you that I do not speak. That is true.

"And all this time, you've just... I don't understand. I just don't understand! Don't touch me, Severus," she said as he reached for her. Suddenly, everything had become too much for her. She whirled and ran out of the shop, leaving her keys on the floor and the door open.

An exceedingly respectful ("smarmy", Harry said) letter from Theodore Nott apologising for his error and confirming his client's intention to allow Hermione to continue as manager, nay, his client's earnest request that she should do so, arrived by express owl early the following morning. Snape must have roused Nott in the middle of the night and put the fear of some deity or other into him, thought Hermione dully.

When the children asked her what was wrong, she replied that she was just tired and might be catching a cold.

A second early owl brought her the keys. There was no accompanying note. She suppressed the urge to burst into tears again. After a night spent weeping in her bed, being a watering-pot at the breakfast table seemed like the ultimate sacrifice of dignity, one which she was not ready to make, even if her life seemed as wrong in every aspect as it had been wonderful just twenty-four hours previously. She stared at the keys. Ron arrived to collect the children – it was his turn to have them for the weekend.

"Don't be late for work, Mummy," admonished Rose, seeing her mother still immobile at the table.

Hermione dragged herself to work. She accomplished what needed to be done with the minimum of communication with her staff and went home at the end of the day. She lay awake half the night, unable to pin down her thoughts and feelings regarding Severus. He had seemed her friend, but he had deceived her. What game had he been playing with his silence? She felt strongly towards him, but exactly what it was she felt, she feared to face – it raged inside her and made her afraid. Her emotions had never been so outside her control.

And so the pattern of her days for the next two weeks was established. She was like an automaton. Her only comfort apart from the children, to whom she could not unburden herself, was the 'ghost', whatever it was, which still showed her the occasional kind attention. She thought she really ought to investigate exactly what it was, but lacked the energy. Everyone who knew her was greatly concerned by her apathy, but she kept them at arm's length, politely turning aside enquiries as to her state.

Harry's and Snape's lawyers organised a meeting to draw up a new contract of employment for Hermione. The terms were more than generous and included an option for equal partnership at the end of a further year as manager. Surprisingly, it was Snape who suggested that, though Harry was more than happy to agree. As the two lawyers sniped at each other over the final wording, their clients drifted off to the other side of the room so as to be out of earshot. Harry jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Padma and Nott.

"You'd think they were still on opposing sides," he said, attempting to break Snape's icy facade, but there was no reaction. "Shall we break the news to Hermione or let the flunkies do it?" he tried again.

It would be better if she were to receive the news through official channels, as it is a professional matter.

Harry looked sharply at his former professor. He could not claim to know the man well – though he knew him better than most – but it was clear that he was suffering. And Hermione was miserable. And she hadn't mentioned Snape at all for the last fortnight. Harry found that, in spite of what Ginny always said, he was capable of intuition, after all.

"Well, I still think we ought to celebrate. I'll set something up and let you know," he said breezily, leaving the room as quickly as he could without actually running. He caught Snape's exasperated huff and grinned to himself. He'd leave Ginny to handle the Hermione end of things.

Hermione needed strong persuasion to agree to an outing with Harry and Ginny, but as they were insistent that her success at Flourish & Blotts should be properly celebrated, she gave in with as good a grace as she could muster. It was her fixed intention to resign as soon as she figured out what else she could do to earn a living, but they didn't need to know that. Yet.

She had been forced to promise Ginny that she would dress up properly, as the venue was to be one of London's most expensive restaurants – nothing but the best for their friend. So when she arrived, attired in a simple black sheath dress, her hair piled in an elegant twist, and her make-up subtly highlighting her fine brown eyes and the curve of her full lower lip, she turned heads.

She gave her name and was ushered to a table set for four. The waiter informed her that the rest of her party was sure to arrive soon, and would Madam care for a drink. Madam would. She fortified herself with Burgundy, sinking into a brown study while she waited.

When the feeling that she was no longer alone touched her awareness, she looked up and saw Snape seated across the table from her, regarding her inscrutably. With some difficulty, she managed some sort of neutral greeting. He nodded in reply. The fact that he did not speak, though she now knew he could, hurt her. She looked down into her glass.

A second waiter appeared with menus in the wake of the first, who informed them that their companions were delayed. Hermione took refuge in the elaborate descriptions of food, none of which interested her in the slightest. With a sigh, she laid down the menu. Snape was still looking at her intently.

"I'm not hungry," she sighed.

Nor I.

He was still using the pen she had given him. Her lip trembled.

Shall we leave?

There was till no sign of Harry and Ginny. Hermione knew it would be more polite to wait, but she felt too drained for courtesy. She stood, signalling her agreement. In an unexpected show of gallantry, Snape arranged her stole around her shoulders and tucked her unresisting hand into the crook of his arm. Hermione was assured by the maitre d' that Mr Potter would cover the bill for her wine, and they left. Not giving her a chance to protest, Snape drew her into the first available patch of shadow and Disapparated with her.

Struggling free of his embrace, Hermione found that they were outside the bookshop.

"Why here?" she asked, cursing the thickness in her voice that betrayed her agitation. She prepared to Apparate away, but Snape caught her hand and held it until she finally looked him full in the eyes. He had never attempted Legilimency on her, and she was sure that he was not using it at that moment, but very clearly she understood his unspoken request to enter with him. A faint tendril of hope that she might be able to regain her faith in him began to curl in her heart.

Once in her office, they took their accustomed places by the fire, and were still. Snape's black eyes were fixed, unseeing, on the flames. Hermione studied him. He was no beauty, that was for sure, with his harsh features, sallow skin and imposing nose, but she knew how mobile and expressive his face could be in such rare unguarded moments as he permitted himself. She realised that she had never seen him fully lower his guard in anyone's presence but hers. She remembered how his eyes had lit up the one time he had forgotten himself so far as to grin at her over something they had both found funny. Perhaps she had been too harsh with him, overreacted to his deception. Perhaps there was more to it than deception. She noted the bitter angle of his mouth and suddenly the anger went out of her. In one moment of intense clarity, she knew what she had found in the man opposite her, and she knew that she did not want to let him go.

Hermione rose from her chair and knelt quietly at Severus' feet. She rested her hands on his knees and looked earnestly up at him.

"Tell me why you don't speak," she said.

He retrieved his pen and paper.

Penance.

"Oh, Severus!" she exclaimed softly, her eyes filling and the tears gathering to run down her cheeks. "You have nothing to pay for any more. Any guilt has long since been expiated. Can't you see that you are a good man?"

I have been a monster.

"And yet a small child sees in you a gentle soul and a friend," she reminded him.

What do you see in me, Hermione?

His face was expressionless, shuttered against what she might say to him. Hermione gently took the pen from his fingers and pressed her cheek into his hand. She turned her head and kissed his palm. He twitched, almost drawing his hand away, but she firmed her grip. Looking at him frankly and openly, she said,

"I love you, Severus."

She rose up on her knees to press her lips to his, hoping with all her heart that he would find it in him to respond, for here, at last, she knew she was in the presence of the man to whom she belonged, mind, body and soul and who, if he would only let himself, belonged equally to her.

Severus' arms closed around her. He kissed her hesitantly at first, but with a mounting passion that left her clinging weakly to him. Her fingers wound into his hair, loosening the tie that held it back, drawing his head down to meet her urgent, questing mouth. She wasn't aware of being pulled to her feet, but they were both standing when they broke apart. She reached for him again, but he took her hand and pulled her towards the door.

Quickly, Severus led her through the maze of back rooms and up an obscure staircase to a room she had not yet inventoried. A flick of the wand and a brief non-verbal spell Disillusioned a door that she had never known was there. Dim light penetrating a dusty window caught his eyes with a strange glitter. She was feeling fey herself as she followed him through the doorway into a large room. The moon's glow flooded the chamber, revealing clean and simple furnishings – a table and chair, bookcases, a sofa, a wardrobe and a bed. Hermione turned to him.

"You live here?" she asked in astonishment.

Some of the time. More of late, he wrote and looked expectant, as if he wanted her to work out more.

"You've been here all along. My wards wouldn't have excluded you because you were within when they were set up, which is why you can come and go as you please." He gestured for her to continue. Her mind was racing. "You... you were never seen because you are adept at concealing yourself. It's you! You're my ghost!" She was overwhelmed to think that he had been watching over her, caring for her from the very beginning. "But – why?"

I was there that first evening, when you came to lay claim to the shop, he wrote. I saw your sadness, your intelligence, and your courage. You called to me, though you did not know it. You gave me a chance to touch a life without causing damage. I came to know you. And then, face-to-face, you showed me that you trusted me. You will never realise how it shook me that you would trust me not only with yourself but with your children. You are an extraordinary woman.

Hermione read his hasty scrawl as he wrote, and as he finished she again took the pen and paper from him, tossing them onto the table. With a laugh of pure joy she threw herself into his arms, confident at last in what she felt, and in the knowledge that she was loved in equal measure.

Time passed.

Low murmurs and soft moans stirred the dust motes floating in a moonbeam.

Time passed.

A voice, cracked from disuse, spoke into the night.

"Hermione."

THE END