Chapter 4

"So, tell me, Mr Snape, what do you do these days?" Thomas Granger asked his guest.

Christmas lunch at the Grangers was always an affair inspired by the consumption of wine. Hermione's father was an amateur oenologist who delighted in trips to France and Italy and other wine-bearing regions, much to the distress of his usually abstemious wife.

"I'm a librarian in Long Higgleton. It's in Northants," Snape replied, sipping his wine.

"And you are a retired teacher, is that correct?" asked Elaine, passing the bottle to her husband.

"That is correct, Mrs Granger. That is how I came to know your daughter."

"Oh, of course, you used to be Professor Snape, Hermione's Potions teacher!"

"Yes, Mum," Hermione interjected.

"Well, it's nice that you've been able to branch out then, isn't it?" smiled Elaine.

"Yes, Mrs Granger, it is."

"So, Mr Snape, may I call you Severus?" said Thomas, pouring another glass, "What is it like to be a retired wizard? Did Hogwarts provide you with benefits? What is your pension like these days? I'll tell you, Elaine and I have had a dickens of a time with ours, but we've made some good investments in-"

"Dad! Sev- Prof- Mr Snape is a retired teacher, not a retired wizard! He still can-"

"Well, Mr Granger," Snape overrode Hermione's objection, "I have a small pension courtesy of the school, and I have been able to, over the past few years, branch out into other investments. Working at the local library offers variety."

"Well, that's lovely, isn't it, Ducky? You know, your mum and I could do worse than that," said Thomas Granger to his daughter.

"Yes, dad, it's lovely." Hermione's voice was very flat. She took a deliberate sip of her Bordeaux and tried not to watch the corner of Snape's mouth twitch at her childhood nickname.

"Let me help you with the dishes, Miss Granger," Snape said later as Hermione rose to clear the table.

"Thank you, Mr Snape," snapped Hermione, "I'm sure I can manage on my own."

If Hermione had any expectations of what dinner with Severus Snape and her parents would have been like, the last hour was not meeting them at all.

Snape had been quiet and charming. His dark hair was attractively tied back, his charcoal jumper and white shirt clean, his trousers neatly pressed. In fact, he looked every inch a respectable forty-something. His manners were slightly aloof, but friendly, as if he were a slight acquaintance trying to make the best of an awkward situation.

And awkward was exactly how Hermione would have described that dinner. Snape had manners! Charming ones at that! And now he was offering to help with the dishes!

"Severus," Thomas Granger said grandly, "you're a guest in our house, don't think for a moment that . . ."

"It is truly no trouble at all, Mr Granger," replied Snape. "I am happy to help."

"Well then," said Thomas, highly suggestible after a bottle and a half of his favorite Bordeaux, "off you go. Elaine and I will see to the presents."

So there they were, rinsing and stacking dishes in the Granger kitchen while Hermione desperately fumbled for something, anything, to say. She had tried to start the conversation by mentioning that she tried not to use magic in her parents' house because it made them nervous. To which he had tersely replied that he was not in the habit of using magic in front of Muggles anyway.

The silence stretched. It had been a few days of very uncomfortable silences.

"A retired wizard," she finally croaked, trying to conjure up a decent approximation of a chuckle, "my dad..."

"An understandable thing to say."

"Professor?"

"Severus, according to your father."

"Yes, I'm sorry about that . . ."

A barely perceptible shrug.

"Severus, I've been meaning to . . . why did you agree to come to dinner tonight?"

Another barely perceptible shrug.

"Miss Granger, Hermione, ducky, I've been asking myself that very thing."

"It's not because I threatened you, is it?" Hermione blushed the shade of the Gryffindor red dishtowel she was using.

"If I were that insecure, Miss Granger, I would not have survived the last thirty years."

"Then why?"

"Perhaps the same reason I talked to you in the graveyard."

"What was that reason?"

"Miss Granger-"

"Call me Hermione."

"Not ducky? No, it doesn't suit you. Hermione, if I knew why I agreed, I'd be a much happier man."

Snape sighed and handed her the last of the plates.

"But there must be . . . in all the years I've known you, you've always had a reason for doing everything you've ever done: love for Lily, to protect Harry, to fight on the side of Light . . ."

Snape's lips thinned into what could have been, in some lights, a wry smile.

"If you believe that, Miss Granger," he said, "You really don't know me at all."

Snape had responded well to his gift of shampoo and conditioner, raising an eyebrow at Hermione's cheeky comment that he should see how his name was being used.

"Very nice, Hermione," he had said calmly and slowly as if to a backwards six year old.

Hermione had blushed as her parents looked confused.

"Ducky," said her father, "do you want to let us in on the joke?"

"Oh, it's an old Hogwarts joke," Snape came to the rescue, "my colleagues used to joke that as a Potions master, I could make a fortune brewing and marketing magical cosmetic products. Hermione must have been familiar with it..."

Hermione's mouth dropped open.

Snape was being gracious over a gift that he, by rights, should have been furious about. Hell had decidedly just frozen.

"Oh, my," she interrupted, "look at the time!"

"Yes," Severus agreed mildly, "it is quite late. And I have plans for Boxing Day. Mr Granger - Thomas - Mrs Granger, it was a lovely evening. Thank you so much."

"You're quite welcome, Severus." Thomas enfolded Snape's hand in a crushing handshake. "Please, do come back again. I know Hermione brought you down, but since you're retired now, I do hear the trains from Northants are quite reliable, and we're just a few moments from the rail."

"Thank you, Thomas, Elaine, it was lovely."

"I'll walk you out," Hermione volunteered, dying to know what in the hell this charming man had done with her Potions master.

"Please do, Hermione," said Snape, pulling on his long black coat and putting a guiding hand on her elbow.

And then she felt the tension in those strong fingers.

He propelled her gently but firmly out into the chilly Wimbledon night. A light mist was falling.

"Shall I Apparate? Or would you like to?" asked Hermione politely.

"I would like a word with you first, Miss Granger," Snape hissed, jerking her towards him.

"Professor!"

"Stop calling me that, you ridiculous girl, I'm not your professor any more. Now, I want you to explain to me very clearly and very carefully just what went through that mop-covered head of yours that made you decide inviting me to your house for Christmas and subjecting me to your parents was a good idea!"

Hermione tried not to cringe as Snape held her close to him. He smelled of wood smoke and whatever it was that he used for soap - part of Hermione's brain registered these facts as being rather intriguing while the rest of her brain struggled with the fact that Snape was holding her uncomfortably close in a grip that could, in a very short time, end up breaking her arm. Her hand slipped down to the side pocket of her skirt where she kept her wand.

Except her wand was on her dresser in her bedroom.

"No answer?" asked Snape. "Well, I have a theory about your little stunts over the past few years, Miss Granger. Would you like to hear it?"

Hermione could do nothing but nod.

"I have a theory that somebody- and I know it was not Augusta Longbottom - told you I was still alive. Just what do you do in that office of yours, Miss Granger?"

"Work with the registration of Dark Artifacts," Hermione whispered.

"And you've been haunting my grave ever since you got that job, haven't you?"

"O . . . only because that's the time when I found out that you were buried there!" Hermione brought her hands up to Snape's chest and gave a mighty shove. Snape stumbled backwards and sat down heavily on the small stone wall in the Grangers' front garden.

"How dare you suggest that I'm tracking you down!" she paused "You think I'm working for the Aurory, don't you?" she cried. "You think that somebody betrayed you and that I'm trying to find you and capture you! You utter git! I felt sorry for you because I thought you'd been abused and maligned and your memory was being desecrated! And you didn't have to agree to come to lunch!"

"I didn't have a choice!" Snape bellowed, rising and stalking towards her.

"You did too!" Hermione retorted. "You could have warded your house, avoided me in the graveyard, Stunned me or Obliviated me at any time! But you didn't! You agreed to this, and you've, God help me, actually managed to charm my parents into inviting you back!"

"What choice did I have but to play along with your little game?" Snape cried, grabbing her by the arms and pulling her close to him, leaning in to speak into her ear. "Knowing that you could turn on me in an instant, bind me and send me to your little friends in the Ministry to be tortured, imprisoned or killed. You know perfectly well I don't have my magic anymore, you stupid bint! So if you're going to kill me, you might as well do it when I'm facing you."

With a shove, he released her and stood with his arms wide, waiting for her to strike. When Hermione stood staring at him mute and motionless, unable to answer, he said, "I thought as much." And slowly, he started off down the street as the rain began in earnest; in the morning, it would be snow.

AN:Not mine, no money. Thanks and praise go to Subversa for taking this and making it recognizable English. And thanks also go to Lulabelle72 for the lovely prompting!