No Coward Soul

A/N: As always, this world and its inhabitants are the creation of JK Rowling, and I am just playing with them for fun. The poetry is by Emily Brontë, who might be horrified that I have been so inspired by it (but maybe not, big romantic that she was).

And my deepest thanks as always go to the incomparable sshg316. Shug has been swamped with her own work (not to mention her own life!), yet remains gracious, giving, and immensely helpful. This all could not exist without her.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"No Coward Soul"

Hermione ended up accompanying him back to the dock. He hadn't invited her, but she had insisted, in a voice that would brook no opposition, that it would save him a second trip.

"There are several crates waiting for you with Mr. Riley," she said simply. "It'll take all day if you try to shift them yourself."

He scowled at her, but his only reply was a brusque, "It's just 'Riley.'"

He refused to utter another word the whole trip down to the dock. He set a brisk pace, and Hermione was quickly panting from the exertion of keeping up with his long strides. She was, however, not about to complain. Working hard to keep her breathing regulated, she was happy not to have to make conversation as well.

Riley looked more surprised to see her again than to see Snape. In fact, he beamed at the tall, scowling man at her side, though he, too, remained mute. He indicated the cargo that was waiting for Snape, who began to heft one of the barrels onto his shoulder at once.

"Wait," Hermione gasped, holding up a hand. "Riley," she acknowledged, "I believe that the gentleman owes you a match. You told me that was the price of keeping his provisions overnight."

Riley smiled again, seating himself immediately next to the chess board. With a growl, Snape put down the barrel and sat on it. He moved a pawn and then focused intently on the board, pointedly ignoring Hermione.

She breathed a sigh of relief and turned her attention to the sea, walking away from them toward the pebbled shore. An indifferent tangle of waves lapped against the shore, mixing strands of seaweed among scattered rocks. She bent her attention to the water's edge, enjoying the chance to simply meander along the shoreline at her own pace.

The grey of the Atlantic stretched out on three sides from her eventual vantage point, blending haphazardly into the sky. She breathed in the tangy air and watched a bird dipping into the waves a long way off. The wind whirled her already tangled hair around her face, and she shut her eyes, surrendering to its ministrations.

The sharp tingle of the wind suggested changeability in the weather. Hermione smiled to herself. The weather was trying to warn her. This would not be an easy visit. She had found the man at last, but could she do what she had come for? She hugged her cloak around her and opened her eyes again, gazing out at the shifting sea.

By the time she returned to the dock, Snape had finished the game and was already on his way back to the cottage. He was a distant figure in black, a barrel on one shoulder and a crate tucked under one arm. Riley indicated the remaining crate with a nod of his head and turned back to the chessboard, carefully setting it up for a new game.

Hermione picked up the crate, which was heavier than it looked, and sighed with resignation. She looked at Riley, who had not spared her another glance.

"He's been here awhile now, hasn't he?" she asked.

Riley straightened from his task and simply stared at her. She held his gaze, trying for a serenity she did not feel. He blinked at her.

"The boat comes on Tuesday," he said at last in that oddly flat accent she had been hearing for a few weeks now. "Early," he added and then went into the hut.

She nodded to the air and turned toward the cottage, shifting her burden as she began to walk.

~~~~~~~~~~

"So, what name have you been using?" she asked into the stony silence of the long afternoon.

He continued breaking up the crate he had just finished unpacking, stacking the pieces by the stove. He was trying the Silent Treatment. She was refusing to be annoyed by it.

"Because I didn't ask for you by name," she continued calmly. "Riley doesn't seem to call you anything. And one of the lobstermen in Black's Harbor actually thinks your name is Chessminster."

He snorted and continued stacking wood.

"At least, that's what it sounded like he said," she went on. "Hard to tell with that accent. He thought mine was odd, too. I'm not sure you've talked enough for anyone in this part of the world to guess where you might be from."

He glared at her, and she could see him struggling with the urge to respond. She was secretly delighted: his curiosity would be his undoing.

She kept at it. "I hadn't realized how good you are at chess. Minerva didn't tell me. Maybe she didn't know. Or maybe you've just had a lot of time to practice in the last few years. But you're something of a legend in certain circles." Her lips quirked. "Geek circles, to be sure, but it's still impressive." She looked at him speculatively. "I know Ron was impressed, and that's saying quite a lot."

He cleared his throat loudly.

"I mean, he's become something of a master himself," she told him. "Wizard chess, of course. He'll probably make the tournament in Bruges this year."

It was all too much for Snape, though he managed to keep his response to a disdainful mutter. "The competition must be particularly execrable these days."

"Oh, quite probably," Hermione responded cheerfully, as though he had been participating in the conversation all along. "I've never been any good at the game myself, wizard or Muggle versions. I'm afraid my mind will never be devious enough."

He looked at her, his eyes narrowing.

"Of course, Ron is one of the least devious people I know," she continued, "and yet he's very good at it. I've no idea why."

Snape's voice was low but still quite distinct: "The term 'idiot savant' springs to mind."

"Be careful what you say about my ex-fiancé," she replied brightly. "I'm still quite fond of the man."

Snape's eyes flickered toward the ring finger of her left hand.

Hermione saw the glance and laughed. "No, we didn't go through with it. It was a near thing, though." Her face became serious, and she blushed suddenly. "He was convinced I was falling in love with someone else."

Snape inclined his head slightly. "Or you simply recovered your wits," he replied snidely.

She laughed again. "Possibly. Harry and Ginny already have a son, by the way."

Snape looked at her disdainfully. "How wonderful. The Potters are breeding."

"Their wedding last year was really lovely," she told him. "And Harry's final toast was to you and Dumbledore."

Snape looked startled, as much at the sharpness with which she said the former headmaster's name as at her pronouncement, but he quickly schooled his features once more.

"He called you the two greatest wizards of our time," she continued. "He caught a bit of guff for that. It was before--" She stopped and went to her pack. "I nearly forgot!" she exclaimed, rummaging through its contents. "Ah!" She pulled out a thin silver case and held it out to him. "There was a ceremony," she explained, "but I doubt you'd have enjoyed it much."

He simply stared at the object in her hands.

"Go on," she urged. "That's not the original packaging. There's practically no magic there at all."

"Practically?" he asked sardonically.

"Well, it moves a bit, but it isn't traceable. I had Harry make sure."

Snape looked up at her. "I can't begin to tell you how relieved that makes me," he said with a sneer, and his voice was nearly back to Classroom Terror level.

Hermione struggled not to grin. "Take it," she urged. "You can throw it in the sea if you want to, but I'm not returning it."

Snape reached out and grasped the case with two fingers, looking for all the world as though he were picking up a dead animal. He placed it on the table. For a moment, Hermione thought he might simply leave it there, but he finally shrugged indifferently and opened it.

Resting inside on a bed of cotton wool was the Order of Merlin, First Class, its ribbon curled beneath it. It caught the weak gleam of the sun through the cottage window and magnified the light. The tiny orb at its center whirled slowly. Even without bending to examine it closer, Snape could see the letters of his own name curving gently around its base.

"Harry wouldn't give up," Hermione told him quietly. "He kept at them until they acknowledged you. He insisted that everyone needed to know what you'd done."

With a snap, he closed the case. "What I'd done," he repeated with a snarl. "What does anyone know about what I've really done?"

Hermione looked at him solemnly. "I do," she replied. "That's why I've come."

~~~~~~~~~~

She had decided not to talk about returning the memories until she had a clearer idea of his state of mind. As the week wore on, she discovered that he was surly, uncommunicative, sarcastic, and incredibly quick-witted, with a tongue that could slice to the bone in a single stroke.

In other words, he seemed not to have changed at all.

But she also began to notice a few signs that disturbed her deeply. His dress since her second day had been a variation of the pristine, constricting black ensemble she remembered from her schooldays, though without the billowing teaching robes. But the clothing he had been wearing the day she had arrived had been mismatched and decidedly threadbare. She could not remember a time before that when she would have described him as careless in his dress.

She took advantage of his absence at another game with Riley to examine the "summer house," as she thought of it. Although the cave did prove to hold many more books than the cottage had, and it did appear that he still conducted an experiment or two there, it nevertheless had an air of deprivation and isolation that Hermione was not convinced was completely a conscious choice. The workbench looked unused, and Snape seemed to spend most of the daylight hours stalking the desolate moors.

Hermione admitted that might simply be to avoid her company.

Yet she sensed that he actually enjoyed their conversational duels when he decided to talk to her. And though he grumbled loudly when she insisted that he visit Riley again a few days later to play another game, he did deign to go in the end. He returned in a talkative frame of mind, too.... Talkative for Snape, that is, she reminded herself.

"You continue to have quite peculiar tastes, Granger," he said as he stalked through the door.

She looked up from her reading. "Oh?" she asked mildly.

"Three books," he announced, gesturing at the volumes she had brought with her. "And those are the three you select."

She looked at them. Although he had finally decided to examine her first gift--albeit when he thought she wasn't watching him--he still had not integrated them into his meager library. They sat, separate and otherwise untouched, on the floor. She half wondered if he had considered using them as a doorstop. The thought appalled her.

"Well," she began, "I couldn't carry as many as I would have liked, and I didn't know what you might already have. I was fairly sure you wouldn't have Heinlein or Random Harvest. I had a hard time even finding a copy of that one. And this Potions book was only published a few months ago. I tried to be eclectic."

He smirked. "That's what you call it. Eccentric might be more accurate. I observe that you have not changed at all."

She looked up sharply at him. "And what, exactly, do you base that on?" she asked.

"Still a swotty little Clever Dick," he replied smoothly. "Nosy, too. While I am gracious enough to tolerate your presence here until such time as you can go the hell home, my hospitality does not extend to the privacy of my study."

She raised an eyebrow. "Your study?" she asked. "That unfortunate little hole you escape to each night? Is that what you call it?"

He sniffed. "What I call it is immaterial. You are even less welcome there than you are here."

"Fair enough," she agreed serenely. "There's hardly anything of interest there, anyway."

She picked up her book and made an elaborate show of returning to her reading.

Snape scowled and made tea.