Reconciliation

Disclaimer: JKR wrote and owns the Potterverse. I claim no ownership and make no money from this work of fan fiction.

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7 May 1997

As Hermione finished her last cool-down lap, the Ravenclaw Quidditch team began landing, shouldering their brooms, and making their way into the changing rooms. She exchanged tired smiles with Cho Chang as the older girl walked past carrying the chest containing Ravenclaw's practice set of Quidditch balls.

The last match of the season, Ravenclaw versus Gryffindor, was in four days' time and both teams were cramming in all the practice they could. Though it was just past seven, the sun had been up for nearly two hours, and the Gryffindor team had now arrived to take possession of the pitch for the next hour and a half.

They all looked nearly as bedraggled and forlorn as Hermione felt after her sleepless night. She waved dispiritedly at her friends as they kicked off the ground for a strategy meeting high in the air, up out of earshot.

The Quidditch pitch was still soggy from last night's storm, but the clouds were almost all dispersed and the unobscured sun glinted off countless tiny puddles and rivulets and droplets of water.

Hermione shut her eyes against the dazzle as she began her stretching routine. She bent her left knee up behind her and caught her ankle in her left hand while her right arm lifted up to help her balance. The idea was to pretend she was a tree, rooted and strong, reaching up towards the sky as she stretched the large muscles in the front of her leg...

'Miss Granger.'

'Gah!' she screeched. Staggering forwards out of the stretch, she stumbled right into Professor Snape, who caught her by her upper arms.

He held her steady for a moment before releasing her. She immediately crossed her arms over her chest, gripping her biceps where he had grabbed her.

'Oh... god, sorry, sir, you completely startled me,' she gabbled. 'Sorry!'

He didn't answer her immediately, instead regarding her with an unreadable expression in his black eyes. If she hadn't known better, she might have taken it for a spark of humour. Whatever it was, it wasn't the swift irritation she might have expected.

When he spoke, it was in his most measured and silken tones. 'Not at all, Miss Granger. Rather, I should apologise for surprising you like that.

'In fact, I came over here to apologise for my behaviour last night. I made, hrhmmm, I made unwarranted remarks of a personal nature, and it was inappropriate. I... didn't mean to cause you any pain. I would be... sorry... if this contretemps got in the way of our working relationship.'

By the end of what was, for him, an outlandishly gracious speech, he was looking up and away from her, as though something really quite interesting were happening up in the Hufflepuff section of the stands.

Hermione shut her mouth as soon as she realised it was gaping open and, cheeks aflame, stared down at the toes of her trainers.

'Thank you, sir. I thought afterwards that I shouldn't have begun that topic, knowing that you... er, that is, I was inappropriate as well and I would like to apologise for that.'

They each shifted their eyes towards the other at the same moment. Meeting his gaze, Hermione broke into a smile that lit her whole face.

He offered his hand for her to shake. 'Friends, Miss Granger?' he asked, one brow raised.

'Friends, sir' she said, reaching out her hand and giving his the kind of firm shake her father had taught her to use.

'Very well. I'll see you this afternoon.'

He strode off towards the castle.

Hermione didn't watch him leave, but instead walked rather slowly up into the lowest tier of the stands. Stretching routine forgotten, she sat quietly smiling and cradling her own right hand to her chest as though it were a baby or a precious pet.

After a few minutes, she rose and made her way to the girls' changing room.

High above the pitch, the Gryffindor team had begun to train, but down in the stands a lone, unheeded spectator had seen something that riveted her attention even more than the manoeuvering of Gryffindor's red-haired Keeper.

Lavender couldn't quite believe she'd seen what she thought she'd seen. It could have been completely innocent. The body language had been subtle and ambiguous, but she couldn't shake the feeling she'd just witnessed a meeting between lovers.

It was almost unimaginable. But she didn't believe she'd imagined it...

A handful of puzzle pieces suddenly clicked into place.

Unrequited, my arse, she thought, gazing speculatively at the door that had just closed behind Hermione. I've got my eye on you, you superior cow.

* * *

'You didn't sleep much last night, did you?' Lavender's tone was deeply sympathetic. 'I mean, it must have been three when I got up to go to the loo, and I could hear you turning a page in your bed. Are you okay? Did you have a row with someone... or something?'

Hermione stared at Lavender for a moment. Unbelievably nosy. WHAT is she on about now? Lavender had been in a sulk for two solid weeks, ever since Ron had broken it off with her. This show of concern was just... odd.

'Erm, thank you, Lavender, I'm okay. No rows, just bog standard insomnia. You know I have that problem sometimes when my brain is running on something.'

After sharing rooms for nearly six years, the Gryffindor girls did indeed know quite a bit about each other. They knew, for example, that Parvati snored; that Hermione often closed her curtains and read in bed, sometimes deep into the night; and that Lavender usually had to get up for the loo at least twice each night. It was all routine.

'Mmmmmm,' said Lavender, still looking at Hermione with a little smile that did not reach her eyes. 'Well I'm glad. It's no fun to suffer.' She took a bite of toast and a sip of tea. 'I wouldn't want that for you.'

'Well, um, thanks. That's... sweet. But I'm fine, really, quite fine.' She smiled briefly at Lavender and stood to go, sweeping her gaze casually around the room before shouldering her bag.

Her heart somersaulted. He was there at the staff table, bending down a bit so he could catch what Professor Flitwick was saying. His hair was tucked behind his ear, giving her a full if fleeting view of his profile.

He'd used the word. Friends. And he'd actually apologised for hurting her, said he would be sorry if this contretemps got in the way of our working relationship.

And the handshake. Gods. She'd had to sit in the stands for a few minutes trying to fix in her mind the sensation of his long cool hand in hers.

She still didn't understand why he had snapped at her last night, but now, with their friendship confirmed with a handshake, she thought maybe he really had been trying to protect her, or give her good advice. It was misguided and hurtful, but seen in this light? So very sweet. She felt she could forgive him anything this morning.

Beaming, she practically floated out of the Great Hall, Lavender and her weird attentiveness quite forgotten.

* * *

Wednesday afternoon DADA classes were Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw fifth-years. Five minutes after the lesson ended, a few students were still queuing to place their work in the box on the corner of Professor Snape's desk.

In the doorway, Hermione brushed past a sharp-featured girl whose thick black hair was bound in a long plait.

'Excuse me,' Hermione said, smiling at the girl, whom she recognised as Aphra Vesey, a fifth-year Ravenclaw.

'What? Oh. Erm, yes. No problem,' muttered Aphra distractedly, shifting a few inches to the side. Her eyes were fixed at the front of the classroom, where a fair-haired boy and a tall girl lingered a few steps from the desk. The boy was whispering something in the girl's ear, making her blush. But the colour drained from her cheeks when her professor, momentarily forgotten, spoke.

'Mr Giles. Miss Michaelson. I want you gone from my classroom. Your papers. In the box. Now.'

Hermione recognised the blend of boredom and impatience in his voice, and had to fight to swallow a huge smile. She glanced sideways at Aphra to see if the other girl had noticed her reaction.

But Aphra could only see her classmates walking towards the door, James Giles grinning rakishly at her while Sara Michaelson shadowed him, her right hand just inches from the most perfect arse in all of Hufflepuff...

Hermione stood aside to let the three fifth-years through the doorway, then walked up the aisle to Snape's desk.

She looked up at him quizzically and shook her head. 'He really is playing with fire, isn't he? What a little rotter.'

Severus returned her gaze with the same unreadable look she'd seen there this morning. 'Indeed. As I mentioned last night, he's not the sharpest tool in the box.'

She smiled. 'Professor Snape, that's a Muggle saying! I haven't heard a witch or wizard say that since I've been at Hogwarts.'

He shrugged very slightly. 'It's a favourite saying of my aunt, who is a Muggle. Usually used in connection with her husband.'

She laughed. 'Then your aunt and my grandmother have that in common. Though really my grandfather is neither as stupid nor as deaf as he pretends to be. He simply has a very difficult wife.'

'My aunt is rather more justified in her use of the epithet, then. Her husband is thick as two short planks, as they say. Now,' he said, pointing at the box. 'Here are the day's takings. Enjoy.'

He smiled. It was just the merest quirk of his closed lips and the ghost of a twinkle in his eye, but it was, unmistakably, a smile.

Oh. My. God. Muggle aunts. Personal exchanges about difficult family members. Humour. Smiles. Was he trying to kill her?

She ducked her head, which felt like it was on fire. 'Thanks,' she mumbled, and began shoving parchment rolls into her bag.

'My pleasure, Miss Granger.' He turned away to place his own books in his bag. Snapping it shut, he said, 'Shall we?' and gestured towards the door.

Which he held open for her.

'Until tomorrow then, Miss Granger.'

'Y-yes, sir. Until tomorrow.'

Definitely dying now, she thought as she watched him billow towards the Staff Room. Dying happy, though. And she walked off in a daze in the opposite direction.

* * *

No one else was in the Staff Room yet, which was just how Severus liked it.

'Coffee,' he barked at the air, and in two seconds a house-elf Apparated in with a steaming pot and several cups.

'I is bringing plenty for tired teachers,' squeaked the creature, setting the tray down on a table.

'Hmmph,' grunted Severus, reaching for the pot. The house-elf bowed and Disapparated with a crack.

He settled into a chair by one of the tall windows. The afternoon sunlight, still strong at this hour, slanted in obliquely across his feet.

That went well, he thought, smiling slightly into his cup. Apparently, sometimes apologies do what one hopes they will.

His idyll was shattered by a piercing wail that sounded like it started several floors below and was rising fast. 'Aaauggghhhh, he's killed him! Help! Murder! Murder in the bathroom! Heeeellllllp!'

Severus leapt to his feet as the author of the screaming erupted through the floor. It was Myrtle, the ghost from the second floor girls' bathroom. As soon as she saw him, she began to fly in loops around his head screeching, 'Murder! Murder! Blood! He's kiiiiilllled him, oooooooohhhhhhhh!'

'In your bathroom, Myrtle?' he demanded, already sprinting down the corridor.

'Yes, oh yes, it's terrible, professor, come quick!' howled the ghost and dived back down through the floor to the scene of blood and destruction Severus would find moments later.

* * *

Severus wasn't given to bedside vigils: he found them maudlin and useless. Yet here he was in the darkened Hospital Wing, gazing abstractedly at the peaked face of the boy he was sworn to help. He'd stopped by in the course of his nightly rounds of the castle...he hadn't seen Draco since he'd carried the boy's bloodied form up to Madam Pomfrey earlier that evening.

Draco's wounds were knit and treated with Dittany; the second dose of Blood-Replenishing Potion was doing its work; and he was in a deep, drugged sleep. There would be no permanent damage from the Sectumsempra curse Potter had cast. Thank Merlin.

The hot rage in which Severus had spent most of the evening had burnt down to cold exhaustion laced with a sense of the absurdity of his position. He was bound by codes of honour, love, and magic to protect two arrogant, disrespectful boys intent upon getting themselves killed...possibly by one another.

He was sure Potter had his thieving little hands on his own old Potions book. He was equally sure Dumbledore would do nothing about retrieving it or punishing his favourite miscreant. It was beyond galling, but Severus would have to settle for the satisfaction of ruining the rest of the boy's Saturdays this term.

Draco, though... He focussed his gaze on the sleeping boy. How wretched he looked...thin, greyish, and pinched, even in sleep.

Draco hadn't the bottom for what he was ordered to do. There was a softness about him...his father called it weakness...that was nearly invisible beneath the carapace of spite and haughtiness he'd inherited from Lucius.

But Severus could see Draco's vulnerability. He knew what it was to be an angry boy with an implacable, punishing father. He knew what it was to be in thrall to Voldemort's Death Eaters, and to take the Dark Mark before he was really a man.

He himself had stopped trying to please his own vicious Muggle father before he was ten years old, and had been shot of him completely before he was seventeen. Draco was less fortunate; he would never measure up to Lucius's expectations and perhaps he would never stop trying.

Perhaps he would, though. There was a chance that Draco could become his own man in time...if he lived long enough, which was really quite unlikely. But he might. And Severus could perhaps save the child from doing something so horrific that he'd spend the rest of his life either running from it or repenting it. Or, worse, repeating it.

Such a supreme effort to protect a single rather unremarkable soul.

A vivid image of Hermione Granger flashed across his mind. She was standing on the Quidditch pitch, one arm reaching up gracefully to the sky. Now there is a soul worth protecting, he thought.

Abruptly he stood up, body tense as a bowstring, lip curled. Sentimental tripe. And it's not actually her soul you're interested in, is it?

Draco shifted and moaned, and Severus turned to leave. There would be time enough when the boy awoke to get his account of what had happened in that bathroom today, and to find whether it had something to do with Draco's great task. Severus wanted to discern if Potter knew or suspected anything.

Knowledge was everything in his position. He needed to have his hands on as many strands of the web as possible.

Severus paused in the doorway leading out to the third-floor corridor. You could ask her. Potter's probably told her all about it. She'd tell you, her professor, if you asked her.

He passed his hand over his eyes. Can you make up your sodding mind? he demanded of himself. Do you want to pump her for information, protect her, or shag her senseless?

Yes. Yes. And... yes. Bugger it.

A lit wand appeared at the far end of the corridor, its circle of light revealing Dumbledore's long grey robes. The Headmaster had returned to Hogwarts.

Albus's progress up the corridor was slow, and when he drew closer, Severus could see how haggard...how sick...the old wizard looked. Much worse than a few days ago. Severus's stomach lurched. It won't be long now.

'Good evening, Severus. Minerva just told me what happened. How is Draco?'

'Alive. Sleeping. On the mend. Poppy can tell you more.'

'Do you know what spell Harry used on him?'

Severus sneered. 'An old one of mine, actually. Sectumsempra. I believe that Potter has somehow got his hands on my old copy of Advanced Potion Making and that he found it there.'

Albus drew himself up and looked at Severus sharply. 'Are you sure of that? Did he tell you so?'

'Well, not aloud, but it was swimming in the very front of his mind. When I questioned him, he lied repeatedly. Of course.'

Albus sighed. 'I'll speak to him about it.' He paused. 'I understand it was an emergency, Severus, but you know how I feel about your using Legilimency on students without their consent.'

Severus felt a portion of his earlier rage returning. 'Potter had just used a lethal...a lethal...spell on Malfoy. Given that simple fact...never mind the identities of the two students in question and their singular positions...I might expect you to trust my judgement. Headmaster.'

Albus held up his good hand in assent, then laid it on his colleague's arm. 'Of course, Severus. Forgive me; I misspoke. I trust your judgement completely. I'll just go and look in on Draco and speak to Poppy. We'll continue this conversation tomorrow.'

He passed through the double doors to the Hospital Wing, leaving Severus in the darkened passageway.

Albus's apology didn't make Severus feel any better. He wasn't sure what was worse...a patronising Dumbledore or a weakened one losing his grip on his own judgement and self-control.

Desolation surged through Severus. Very soon he would be lonelier and in greater danger than ever...in a living nightmare from which he would probably never wake.

He stood up straighter. He wouldn't think in those terms. He had the power, the brains, and the nerve to enter the darkness. Whether he'd come out the other side...well, that couldn't be part of the calculation. He need only try to ensure that there was another side for anyone at all to come out to.

Striding down the corridor, he dismissed the notion of his own loneliness. It was completely beside the point. Completely.

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A/N: The HP Lexicon posits that the Sectumsempra incident happened on 6 May, a Tuesday, but the day/date is uncertain. So I made it that Wednesday (7 May) to suit myself. Ron and Lavender had broken up 21 April, according to ze Lexicon (I know! Can you believe they lasted that long?).