The Shadow of Your Smile

Chapter Two: The Shadow of Your Smile

Author: Michmak

A/N: okay, I must admit I'm a little nervous trying to expand on the ideas from She Never Stops Talking and forming an actual story with extended plot around them. I hope no one is disappointed – if you are, let me know. If you're not – let me know that too. As always, I appreciate each and every review, the good and the bad. Let me know what you think. Thanks Zambi!

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Hermione Granger had always been an annoyance to him. He disliked her. He didn't think that would ever change. If you asked him why he disliked her, he could ream of a myriad list of reasons, outside the obvious fact that she was best friends with Pot-head.

She was an irritating know-it-all chit who was too smart by half for her own good, or anyone else's for that matter. She was an incessant hand-waver; a show-off; a bushy-haired harridan who still had a slight overbite and a voice that sounded like fingers on a chalkboard. She was – or would be – with a little more experience and a few more years – his intellectual equal. She had stolen his potions, solved his riddles, set him on fire and been a general pain-in-his-ass since she was eleven years old.

These were all good reasons for disliking the chit; all valid, all believable - none of them true. He disliked her because she was as close to a female version to him as he had ever met – could have been like him, had she made different choices. Or, conversely, if he had made the right choices when he had been younger, he could have been like her.

Therein lay the real truth: he disliked Miss Granger because she had managed, despite her overbearing intelligence and her social awkwardness, to make a place for herself at Hogwarts and in the Wizarding World. This was something he himself had never been able to do, despite his longing when he was younger for acceptance. He hated Miss Granger because, where she had been embraced for her intelligence, he had been castigated for his. Where she had been able to make friends, he had failed. And now after the war, she was the one who was revered along with Potter and Weasley where he had been consigned to the dungeons, a disgraceful footnote to an otherwise wonderful story.

And now, here she was: sitting at a desk at the back of his classroom as if she belonged there when he walked into his first potions class of the new school year. Her presence had taken him aback momentarily, but he had quickly hidden his surprise behind his scowl.

"Miss Granger. What an unpleasant surprise."

"Good morning, Professor Snape," she had replied as if he had just wished her the pleasantest of days, "It's good to see you again, sir."

Snape looked around his empty classroom, noting with satisfaction that no stupid little dunderhead had decided to show up early in the hopes of brown-nosing their way into a better mark, before he turned his glare back on her. "I wish I could say the same," he replied silkily. "Alas, I cannot. Classes start in less than ten minutes, so if you would be so kind as to tell me what you are doing here and then get out, we could end this dreary reunion."

"Oh, that's not possible, sir," she replied, "It seems I'm here for good – or, at least, the next two years. You see, I've decided to become your potions apprentice. Albus has already given his permission. Today is my first day."

Snape frowned at this. "Pardon me?"

"Is there anything you would like me to do, sir? Perhaps I can help you set-up the ingredients for this class?"

"The only thing you can do for me, Miss Granger, is leave. I don't appreciate this little joke of yours."

"But I'm not joking, sir. I am your apprentice."

"I was under the impression that, should I decide to take an apprentice, I would be the one responsible for choosing who that apprentice would be. I can assure you, Miss Granger, you would be the last person I would consider. I suggest you go and tell Albus he has made a mistake, or would you like me to drag you by that bushy mass of hair out the door and throw you into the hallway?"

His voice was deadly cold and whip sharp, his sarcasm honed to strip flesh from bone, yet the girl didn't even flinch. Instead, she reached calmly into her bag and removed a piece of parchment, which she handed over to him. "Perhaps you should read this sir – it's from Patroculis Paternoster, the acting Minister of Magic, and signed by Headmaster Dumbledore in your stead. I received it when I received my commendations at the end of the war."

Snape grabbed it reflexively. "And what has this to do with me, you irritating piece of baggage?" he growled at her as he opened it up, quickly scanning the content before pausing to read it again. "This cannot be binding."

"It is, sir," Hermione replied rather smugly, "I made sure it was before I had Albus sign it. I've always been quite good at charms, you know."

"Goody for you, Miss Granger," was his sharp retort, "however, since I was not aware of this at the time of it's signing, it holds no sway over me."

"But it does," she pointed out. "If you recall, you yourself gave Albus signatory rights on your behalf when the Ministry had you and your actions as a double agent investigated immediately after the war. When the Ministry of Magic gave me this writ of command, stating that I was entitled to any position or job I so desired within the Wizarding World of Great Britain for my role in Voldemort's defeat, Albus still had signatory rights - you hadn't reveresed them yet. He agreed when I decided that training for apprenticeship with the best Potions Master in Britain would suit my talents, and signed this contract along with the writ of command in your name."

Snape's head was spinning. "The bloody bastard! He had no right..."

He paused when he noticed Miss Granger was still standing there with a rather pleased little expression on her face. "Wipe that smug look from your face this instant, Miss Granger. I refuse..."

"It's too late to refuse," Hermione interrupted, "The contract was signed the first week of July. It could have only been legally dissolved within the first two weeks after it came into effect and it's been two months."

Snape growled at her, "Seeing as neither Albus nor yourself thought to tell me about this..."

"You should have asked him if he'd signed anything for you, shouldn't you have?" came her bright retort. "It's not my fault you failed to do so. By the way, sir, I can't express how angry I was on your behalf when the ministry decided to investigate your actions. I was even angrier when they failed to invite you to the presentation ceremonies. I didn't find out until after they were over that you were told specifically not to be there, or I wouldn't have attended myself. However, I did return my Order of Merlin in protest."

The angry tirade he was about to let loose caught in his throat. "You what?"

The girl smiled at him, "I told them to take their medal back, and that I would be more then happy to accept it after they publicly acknowledged your efforts in the war, sir."

He realized he was gaping at her and snapped his mouth closed in irritation, "Yet you kept the writ promising you any position you wanted within Wizarding Britain."

"It was the only way I could ensure your cooperation in becoming your apprentice, sir," she replied. "If there had been any other way, I would have given that back to them too."

"I don't want your pity, Miss Granger." He could feel his anger beginning to boil again, just at the thought. "I am not a house elf."

"No, definitely not, sir. And I don't pity you – I just despise hypocrites. You were more important to the war effort then anybody, I think – even maybe Harry. It was you putting your life on the line every time you answered a summons. You sacrificed years for the cause, sir – and what did you get for it?" She was gathering a fine head of steam, her eyes flashing angrily as she spoke, "I was ashamed to be part of it, Professor Snape. How could they think it was alright to let you risk all that you risked and then, at the end of it all, question your loyalty and fail to recognize you as the hero that you are?"

Snape looked at her stunned. "You are a foolish girl indeed, if you think the world is a fair or just place, Miss Granger. And I still do not wish to have you as my apprentice."

Hermione shrugged, "Whether you wish it or not, I am your apprentice Professor Snape. The contract is legal and binding and you cannot break it. So, what would you like me to do?"

Snape glared at her, "Nothing. You can sit in the back corner and do whatever you feel like, but it will be a waste of two years of your time. I refuse to teach you."

The young witch grinned at him, "You'll change your mind. I suppose I'll sit over there, then, where I was when you came in. And just in time too – here comes your first class."

*~*~*~*~*

She was almost as impossible to ignore now as she had been when she was a student. Of course, the hand-waving had stopped but her mere presence in his classroom was a distraction. What did she do, sitting so silently in the corner while he taught his classes? He found his gaze straying to her time and again, watching the way she nibbled the end of her quill when he spoke, occasionally taking notes.

She had already been there for over a week – sitting in that same desk every day, for every class – nibbling her quill and taking notes. Why hadn't she left yet? She was quiet enough when students were in class, but the minute they left she would jump up and start puttering around his classroom, chattering away like a lunatic magpie. She never stopped talking.

"Well, that was an interesting class today," she would grin at him brightly. "Who would have thought there were other Neville Longbottoms out there?" She said the name rather fondly, while he shuddered and made a silent mental note to throw salt over his shoulder at some point during the day to erase the bad karma saying the dolt's name in class could cause. She looked at him as if expecting an answer, and when he scowled at her she just shrugged and carried on, "I mean, how does one melt an entire cauldron with just shrivel fig and hippogriff urine? Those two items shouldn't react together so violently..."

The only times he ever spoke with her at all were to tell her to shut up, or threaten to hex her if she didn't get out of his sight. She would ignore him and continue prattling away. He couldn't even escape her at meal times, as Albus had seen fit to seat Hermione right next to him. "I'm sure you have many things to discuss with your apprentice," the old goat would twinkle at him when he attempted to voice a protest. "It's so nice to see you sharing your knowledge with a witch as intelligent as Hermione. Lemon drop?"

The only rooms he was reasonably safe from her incessant babbling were his own and he escaped to his private library with great relief every night at the end of the day. He supposed she wouldn't be that awful if she could just learn to hold her tongue. Albus was correct in that she was reasonably intelligent. Even with no instruction from him, she could see when his stores were getting low and took it upon herself to keep his potions supplies fresh and well-stocked. She had even started preparing the ingredients he would need for the weeks classes over the weekends, which freed up a considerable amount of his time for other work.

She had access to his private lab, of course. Albus had given her the password her first week when Hermione had mentioned that he had failed to do so. She was often in there, chopping and dicing things, watching him intently when he brewed this potion or that, asking him questions which he always failed to answer. She had left her notebook behind once and he had picked it up and read some of her notes despite himself, amazed to see she had correctly figured out he was trying to create a new treatment for botched memory charms. She had even written a few ideas of her own in the margins of her book – 'Must ask Severus if lecithin might be beneficial in this mixture', or 'Could Muggle herbal extracts be beneficial to Wizarding potions research? Must enquire further...'

She thought of him as Severus. How...bizarre.

*~*~*~*~*

She had been his so-called apprentice for five weeks before he finally gave her something to do. Poppy had reminded him earlier that morning that, with Quidditch season starting soon, a fresh batch of Skele-Gro would not be remiss. That morning, in class, he had looked up and seen her making her usual notes when it suddenly occurred to him that he should make her do it. He hated making Skele-Gro.

"Miss Granger!" he had barked suddenly, causing more than half the class to jump in surprise and the young witch in question to look up at him with her big brown eyes.

"Professor Snape?" she replied.

"Instead of sitting there, doing whatever it is you do day after day, perhaps you could bring yourself to brew some of the Skele-Gro Madame Pomfrey needs. I refuse to tolerate a lazy apprentice!"

The smile she flashed in his direction was enough to rival the sun. With stunning sudden clarity, he realized she was beautiful.

*~*~*~*~*

"How can you bring yourself to mark these things?" she moaned at him a few days later. "Honestly, where do these children come from? I'm amazed Hogwarts is still standing if the knowledge displayed here is anything to go by. How in the world have you managed to keep anyone from blowing themselves and the school up for more than twenty years?"

He smirked at her as he carefully stirred the tincture in his potion counter-clockwise, but didn't reply. She didn't expect him to, after all. His silence was something she accepted, much as he was getting used to the sound of her voice.

He could hear the sharp scratch of her quill on the essays she was marking, her occasional snort of disgust or exasperated comment the only thing breaking the silence. It was a pleasant change, not having to mark the dreadful essays of the first and second year students – it was worth having her do it, even if it meant he had listen to her prattle.

Now that he was getting used to it, he found he didn't dislike the sound of her voice as much as he initially thought. Perhaps he had been too hasty in comparing it to the horrendous screech of nails on a chalkboard or the incessant buzzing of a particularly irritating gnat. No, her voice was like neither of those things – it was more like the sound of waves lapping gently at a shore, or a soft breeze whispering through the trees. He could easily consign it to the background of his consciousness when he chose to do so, but the majority of the time he found it rather soothing. At the very least, her incessant chatter proved that there was someone other than Albus or Minerva who would talk to him, even though he was sure the girl often talked just for the sake of flapping her gums.

"You know, Professor Snape – now that you've finally admitted I'm your apprentice, wouldn't it be customary for me to take you out for a drink somewhere to officially seal the contract? I think I remembered reading something about it somewhere..."

Snape jumped in surprise and darted a quick look at her. She was no longer marking papers, but lining them up neatly on the desk she had been working at. A dab of red ink was smeared across her chin and the quill she had been using was sticking haphazardly out of her hair. She was looking at him expectantly.

He scowled at her, "Customary drinks? I don't remember ever reading anything about that, Miss Granger."

"That's another thing, now that I'm your apprentice – now that you admit it – shouldn't you be calling me Hermione? After all, we are colleagues now. 'Miss Granger' sounds so...stuffy."

"And I suppose you'll want to call me...what?" he retorted.

"I can continue to call you Professor Snape, if you'd like," she replied. "I just want you to call me Hermione."

"But if I start calling you Hermione and you're calling me Professor Snape people will wonder about it. I get enough lectures from Minerva on social etiquette without having to worry she'll show up at my doorway to berate me for treating you with a familiarity I deny you."

Hermione grinned at him, "If you want me to call you Severus all you have to do is ask. I have no problem with that and I wouldn't want to inflict Minerva in high dudgeon upon anyone – Severus."

"You are like water torture, Hermione," he growled.

"Yes, I know," she agreed happily. "Now, about that drink..."

"I don't think it would do your reputation any good to be seen with me, Hermione. However, if you insist on a drink to seal the deal, I could have Dobby spike your tea with brandy the next time he shows up." He kept his voice carefully blank as he said this, noting the sudden amusement that lit her eyes.

"It's not the same thing at all," she replied. "No – what we need is a real drink, in a real pub. And it is customary. If you don't believe me I can accio The Comprehensive Apprentice. Albus gave it to me when I signed the contract last July, and on page 52, paragraph 4 it clearly states...."

"Sweet Merlin, girl, you've memorized page numbers and paragraphs of where you've read things?" Snape was appalled.

Hermione grinned at him, "Not for everything I've read, just for references I think I'll need to use at some point in time. I might be a little obsessive compulsive, but I'm not so totally anal that all that minutia is important to me."

Snape could feel his lips twitch slightly and realized the irritating baggage had almost made him smile. "Sometimes I think you were sorted into the wrong house, Hermione. Memorizing facts that can be used to blackmail people into doing what you want is very Slytherin."

"Oh, I'm not trying to blackmail you, Severus," she replied, letting her lips wrap around his name in a long drawn out sibilant hiss, "I just know what I want. And right now, I want to take you to Hogsmeade for a drink to celebrate my apprenticeship."

"Does it even count if we have the customary drink so many months after the initial signing of the contract?"

"Considering you just admitted what has been fact for months now, I think the drink is necessary. Besides, you've always struck me as a very traditional man, Severus."

Snape looked at her intently, before nodding his head slightly in acknowledgement and sighing. "Fine. Traditions are important, so we shall go and you can buy me a fire whiskey. However, I must warn you now that I will stay for one drink only – not a moment longer."

*~*~*~*~*~*

Everyone was looking at them. Snape sat stiffly at the small table she had led him to, his back firmly against the wall as he tried to keep his glare from wandering around the room. He knew this had been a bad idea.

Hermione, for her part, seemed quite capable of ignoring everything around them – including the horrified looks frequently sent her way. Everyone recognized them of course; Hermione Granger, part of the triumvirate that had saved them all from Voldemort and Severus Snape, the black-hearted bastard who should have died with the rest of the Death Eaters.

"So, Severus, I believe you said you wanted a fire whiskey," she smiled at him. "I think I shall have a margarita – I feel the need for tequila."

Snape shrugged, but didn't otherwise respond. Over at the bar, a rather large man was staring at them, his gaze hostile when it caught his. "I don't believe this is a good idea, Hermione," Severus muttered at her. "Perhaps I should leave you and return to Hogwarts before things get ugly."

"Then you wouldn't be fulfilling the terms of the traditional drink," she retorted smoothly.

"Hermione..."

"Well, wot 'ave we 'ere." The large man was upon them, his bulk casting a shadow over their little table as he glared at Severus. "I'd 'eard you were still alive, but seeing as no one ever saw you, I t'ought it was only a malicious rumor."

Snape did not reply, but Hermione turned to glare at the man. "If you don't mind, sir, I don't recall inviting you to join us. Please leave us alone, or I will be forced to call the manager."

The man snorted at her, obviously not concerned. "Call away, missy. 'e's not welcome 'ere, I can tell you dat. No one's saying you 'ave to leave, Miss 'ermione – after all, if't'weren't for you, Voldemort," and here he spat on the floor, "would still be alive. But dis bastard, 'e's not wanted."

"Severus Snape did more than any of us to destroy the Dark Lord," Hermione replied calmly. "Without him, victory would not have been possible. Everyone in the Wizarding World owes him a great debt."

Snape stared at Hermione in surprise as she asserted this fact, before she turned her back on the large man, "Now, will you please leave us alone to enjoy our drink in peace?"

The larger man reached out to grab her shoulder, his eyes flashing angrily, but before he could lay a finger on her Snape found himself on his feet, nostrils flaring as he pressed his wand into the fleshy part of the rotund man's throat. "I believe Miss Granger requested you leave." His voice was cold and menacing. "I suggest you keep your great meaty paws to yourself and do as she asks."

The pub was so silent he could have heard a pin drop. Even Hermione was staring at him, but her eyes flashed with something inexplicably like pride as she rose to her feet to stand beside him. Her hand lifted to touch his, fingertips cool against the back of his wrist, before gliding upwards to lightly stroke his wand. "Always trying to rescue me, it seems," she murmured to him softly, before turning to face the silent crowd.

"You should all be ashamed of yourself, treating one of the greatest heroes of the war this way, as if he were a pariah. What did you do during the war? I don't recall seeing any of your faces at the final battle, or any of the battles before hand, working for either side. It's much easier to have convictions when they're no longer needed. I will not tell anyone else again to leave us alone to enjoy our drink in peace. The next person that disturbs us unnecessarily will be hexed, and not only by Severus Snape." She turned an icy glare on the large man Snape still held at wand point. "As for you, you overgrown pile of putrescent flesh, I suggest you leave before Professor Snape and I lose all patience with you. Consider yourself lucky to have escaped with a warning." She cast a cool eye over the crowd, focusing on the man behind the bar. "I'll be sure to tell Rosemerta how we've been treated tonight the next time I see her. I would like a margarita, please, and my dear friend would like a fire whiskey. Immediately."

*~*~*~*~*~*

They stayed a little over an hour at the pub, nursing their drinks and conversing quietly. Several people attempted to send cocktails to Hermione, but she refused each and everyone with a cold glare and an icy enquiry as to whether or not his own had been forgotten.

"You don't need to do that, you realize," Snape offered bluntly as she turned away yet another complimentary drink. "Not on my account."

"I'm not doing it solely for you," she retorted. "I just refuse to accept 'peace offerings' from a pile of rabid jackass hypocrites. How can they treat you this way?"

They were both quite aware of the glancing looks and softly whispered conversations taking place around them, despite Hermione's earlier warnings. "They have every right to detest me, Hermione. I was a Death Eater."

"Not really," she replied. "Not for long."

"More than half my life," he retorted. "Longer than you've been alive."

"You were a spy – there's a difference."

"Don't fool yourself. Even though I was Dumbledore's spy, I was still an active participant in many of the atrocities they committed." His voice was cool, his eyes empty and bleak as he admitted this. "You should remove those rose-colored glasses of yours, Hermione. I'm not a nice man."

Hermione smirked at this statement, "Whoever said you were nice? Trust me, Severus – I'm under no illusions as to what you had to do during your tenure as a spy for the Order. There's a difference between the other Death Eaters and you, however – they acted out of malice and bigotry, whereas you ... you did what you had to do to avoid suspicion and keep yourself alive. You were invaluable to the cause and you know it."

"It won't do your reputation any good to be seen with me," he tried again, nursing the last of his drink. "I'm a pariah in the Wizarding World, in case you haven't noticed."

"Only because you allow yourself to be. Besides, I'm your apprentice – people will get used to seeing us together eventually. I'm sure that given enough time, they'll even stop whispering about you – at least, where you can actually see them." She reached out suddenly and placed her hand on top of his again, giving it a slight squeeze. "You are a hero, Severus. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

"Only a Gryffindor could say something like that and mean it," Snape replied. But he didn't move his hand from underneath hers until they stood to leave, and when she tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, he allowed himself to enjoy its warm pressure.

TBC

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A/N Redux: I know I normally end my angsty chapters with a song, but I'm changing that today, and ending with a poem I wrote while making mac'n'cheese for my boys. I like it, but I'm in a particularly emotional mood today and find myself tearing up at the slightest provocation, so if it's horribly maudlin and cheesy, I apologize in advance.

The Shadow of Your Smile

The shadow of your smile is written on my soul

Like shadows in a moonbeam and footsteps in the snow.

I was a man of silence, I had no words to give

Lonely in my solitude, unsure how to live.

But your voice wrapped around me; made my heart take flight,

And while I hid in shadows you were shining in the light.

How can you love my darkness? This frost-bite on my soul?

I'm nothing but a hollow man, broken long ago.

Your touches are so gentle, like waves upon the sea,

And deep inside your body you set my spirit free.

You fill my empty spaces with your tender smile

And you let me live inside you – I think I'll stay awhile.

The shadow of your smile is written on my soul,

Like words I've never said before, with love that makes me whole.