Nexus

A/N: My thanks to my alpha- and beta-readers, Anastasia, AnnieTalbot, Indigofeathers, Lady Karelia, Machshefa and Melenka. Special thanks to Indy and Karelia for their extremely late-night final beta passes and to Ana for her patience with art!betaing an ant.

Additional thanks to Scoffy and Emmacrew for assistance naming "Vinum Caritatis" and to the "Choose Your Own Potions Ingredients" participants on LJ, especially RichardGloucester for mentioning calvados. It won. *smiles*

---

20: Nexus

Her smile was as old as time. Athena, could she have seen it, would have recognized it instantly...

He sat twisting his ring in Hermione's living room and waited for morning...

"Once more, with feeling, Francis..."

-----

At the sound of Hermione's door opening in the flat's back hallway, Severus stood up and walked audibly to the kitchen.

"Good morning, Professor," she mumbled through a cloud of tousled hair.

"It is," he said quietly.

She shot him a half-asleep smile, and his breath caught.

A light thumping in the hall, and Mimi bounded enthusiastically into the kitchen. "Meee? Meee!" She wove a figure-eight around Hermione's bare feet and Severus's invisible ones. "Meee!"

Hermione laughed. "Think she's expecting two breakfasts?"

"That cat is an optimist."

"Can't blame her for trying," Hermione said, reaching for the cat food.

"Never," he said quietly, and something in his tone made Hermione's hand pause mid-air.

She straightened and pushed her hair away from her face, her eyes searching the kitchen for something she knew she couldn't see.

A rueful smile crossed her face. "I can't see you in the daytime."

"No," he concurred, his voice still warm. "I lost sight of my outline with the sunrise."

Hermione blinked sleepily. "You can't see yourself either?"

"No."

"Well, it's beautiful while it lasts," Hermione said, with an echo of her falling-asleep smile.

Severus rumbled skeptically.

"I'm serious, Professor. To see someone – you – in a transparent, fluid outline – well, do we ever truly see more of another person than that?"

"I have seen rather more of you than that. As you noted to your advantage not two nights ago."

Hermione laughed, and her smile transformed into a new variation.

He found himself involuntarily cataloging her smiles. "However deceptive an exterior can be, it does have its..." ... merits. He coughed.

"Uses?" A single dimple appeared in her cheek, and her eyes sparkled.

He rumbled incoherently.

She laughed again. "Rather." She bent to fill Mimi's bowl and reached for the kettle.

As she moved to the cook-top, he stepped aside.

"You don't have to do that," she said, then blushed.

"In light of Mr. Weasley's timing, I am uncertain as to the state of... things. I've no idea what is and is not..." ... welcome... "...appropriate, under the circumstances."

Her eyes automatically sought his face in vain. "I'll let you know," she said.

"Very well."

"I wasn't finished." She lit the flame under the kettle. "I'll let you know if we cross into something too soon. I can't promise I'll always know in advance, but I will do my best."

He said nothing.

"Fair?" she asked, her color deepening as she started to reconsider her frankness.

"More than. I'd call it... generous."

Yet another smile.

He raised his hand under her hair, lifting it away so he could cup her cheek.

"Oh," she said softly, her eyes fluttering closed as she moved her cheek in his palm. "No gloves this morning."

"No."

"What's this?" she asked, her hand coming up to his. She rubbed her thumb on his mother's ring. "I don't recall your wearing this..."

"A ring," he said, unnecessarily, reflexively shying away from the thought she must have scrutinized him while still a student. "It would have been in my pocket when you knew me."

"Your mother's?" she asked.

His rumble affirmed her question.

"You said you'd sealed the wax with a ring; your mother's initials, yes?"

"Yes," he said curtly, and Hermione removed her hand.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"No need." But he sounded flustered, nonetheless.

"Too soon." She smiled again. "I understand."

For a while, there was silence in the kitchen. The water boiled, and Hermione set about making tea. "Would you, hrm... care for any?"

"Please."

She looked up, mild surprise playing on her features, but she got another mug from the cupboard.

When it had steeped properly, she took a long sip and tried not to stare too openly at the as-yet untouched mug on the table.

A chair slid back and the mug slid toward it. Then it rose, tilted, and, to her astonishment, disappeared.

"What did you just do?"

"Sipped my tea."

"The mug disappeared."

The silence that met her announcement contained an unmistakable aura of cocked eyebrow.

The mug reappeared.

"What did you do?"

"Removed my other hand."

Her eyebrows rose. "Fascinating."

A small silver ring appeared in mid-air and hovered there for a moment. Something hung in the balance in its stillness; something important.

Something shifted – she couldn't say how she knew; the ring didn't move, and Severus made no sound. But she knew a moment before it happened that something was about to change.

The ring started to lower in the air.

Hermione didn't breathe as she watched. She could almost see his hand tilting under it as he let it slide gently to the table.

It was facing away from her; she couldn't see what she knew must be there – the initials he'd pressed into sealing wax on his instructions. She stared at it. It was visible proof of... of him.

Visible proof of what she couldn't really see.

Her hand longed to hold it.

"Meee?" The kitten leapt to the table top and sniffed the ring.

"I wonder..."

"Mm?"

"I wonder why Mimi doesn't disappear when you hold her."

"She has her own personality."

"Quite..." Hermione frowned. "But the quill..."

"I write one-handed."

"Interesting... so visibility may depend on the degree of..." Hermione gestured vaguely, searching for her own meaning.

"In the absence of identity, it perhaps depends merely on the degree of contact."

"Perhaps... I was thinking more conceptually."

A chuckle resonated in the kitchen. "Of course you were."

The ring disappeared again.

"Did you pick it up or put it on just then?"

"It remains closed in one hand." Severus opened his hand, and the ring reappeared.

"Amazing," Hermione breathed. "I wonder if..." She blushed.

He chuckled again. "If what?"

"You know."

"I assure you, I do not know."

"If I disappear when you... when we..." She shook her head, suddenly fully aware of how absurd she sounded. "Last night. When we kissed."

"You do not."

"You peeked?"

"Your individuality is no less than hers." Mimi's fur flattened, and the kitten arched into the invisible hand.

"Hm," Hermione murmured noncommittally, remembering the sharp contrast between the strength of his arms and the awe of hushed reserve with which his lips had brushed hers... If I had a separate identity when you kissed me, Professor, you couldn't prove it with a Pensieve.

A corner of her mouth lifted slightly.

Severus frowned and shifted in his chair.

Something caught Hermione's eye as he moved, and she peered intently across the table, her eyes going slightly wide.

"What?" he asked irritably.

Her smile deepened, and a slight satisfaction glinted in her eyes.

He crossed his arms. "Do share, Miss Granger."

At the rustling of his robes, the corner of her mouth twitched – she well knew what that rustle meant – but she said nothing. Under no circumstances would she tell Professor Snape that under romantic scrutiny, sunlight be damned: his outline turned faintly pink.

Athena would have approved.

"If you're done playing..."

Oh, not done, Professor. Not even close...

"... then we've a logistical problem to consider."

She sighed but didn't stop smiling. "Of course we do."

"Despite my serious reservations regarding the efficacy of a time-transported potion, if we are to test your theory, the anti-venin requires brewing. I presume you've no laboratory facilities here?"

"No... I didn't advance in Potions after Hogwarts. Just Charms."

Charms... indeed... His mouth twitched. "Quite," he said, forcing as much disapproval as he could into his tone. Why, he didn't know.

She laughed. "Thank you."

Flustered again, he growled, "I did not intend that as a compliment."

She laughed again. "Of course you didn't. Nonetheless... logistics. You need a lab and ingredients, yes?"

"Indeed." He paused, but she seemed to be done laughing for the moment. "This is serious business, Miss Granger."

The eyes she turned toward him were both analytical and, somehow, dancing. "Of course... but does it therefore follow that there should be no joy in it?"

He had no idea how to reply.

"I'll need a list of ingredients – those are easy enough, I think. Equipment, however..." She frowned and leaned her head on her hand, thinking. Somehow she ended up nibbling on her thumb, and he found he was quite content to watch her do that.

"Where might have adequate facilities?" she asked.

He forced his gaze away from her mouth. Right. "In London, any number of apothecaries' societies. My memberships have presumably lapsed."

She nodded. "Probably – although given the utter lack of attention paid to your... hrm... death... well, the oversights are maddeningly inconsistent. No portrait, no Floo recognition... and yet..."

He snorted his displeasure at that. "There is also Hogwarts."

"Oh, of course... But – well, you can't Floo. Can you Apparate?"

"I've not tried."

"Then how –?"

"I can walk."

She shot him – or, rather, his side of the kitchen – an exasperated look. "It's a bit far."

"The route is not unpleasant."

"When you've all the time in the world..."

"Your point?"

"We may not have that much time, Severus."

He blinked rapidly. He was fairly sure she'd not called him that before. He opened his mouth to speak but couldn't. So he coughed.

"Oh. Right. Professor Snape."

Damned if the witch wasn't laughing again.

It wasn't long, however, before the seriousness returned to her eyes. "Demetrios said that your having a dream indicates... well, I'm not sure how to interpret what he said, but I'm not inclined to waste time."

"Nor am I. I do take your point."

"We could Transfigure the equipment from –"

"No."

"I'm sorry?"

"The balances are too delicate. The cauldron and knives must be first-forged metal."

"Then I'll have to go shopping. How long will the potion take to brew?" she asked.

"Several days." At her astonished look, he continued, "Other variations required more time; I limited the specifics for what I imagined were your probable circumstances."

She laughed softly.

"What now, Miss Granger?"

"Just wondering how I was supposed to have found a first-forged cauldron while hiding in the woods."

He was quiet for a moment, absorbing again the truth of how thoroughly illogical his vengeful intentions had been. "Quite."

She nodded, her eyes soft. "I'd have found a way, Severus."

"It was a long shot, Miss Granger."

She nodded again.

---

A few hours later, Hermione returned to the flat with the ingredients. As she closed the door, he rose from her armchair.

Mimi looked up from her perch on the windowsill and stretched, yawning. She leapt into the armchair and curled into a ball.

"Did you have any trouble acquiring the ingredients?"

"Not really. The calvados was a bit challenging, but a specialty shop off Tottenham Court Road had some in stock. Posh, and horribly overpriced, but they do carry an excellent selection."

"Muggle?"

She nodded, removing her cloak, catching her hair and necklace on a button. "My father used to shop there at Christmastime." The cloak-rack wobbled, and she steadied it with an elbow as she tried to untangle hair, button, and necklace without dropping her parcels.

"Allow me," he said quietly, crossing to her.

She stood very still as the necklace chain lifted and disengaged from button, then, strand by strand, her hair.

His finger brushed her neck, swept lightly across her cheek, and then went away.

"Shall we get started, then?" The largest of the parcels floated toward the kitchen.

"I rather thought we had," she said, following with the rest of the packages.

"Mmm."

---

Hermione sat at her table and watched as he prepared the ingredients. Already, the scent of fermented honey and milk thistle extract was emanating from the small cauldron she'd purchased, infusing the air with a sense of... surely kindness didn't have a scent.

"Professor," she ventured, not wanting to interrupt his concentration.

"A moment."

As she watched, a peony root rose in the air and shot forth several pale, reddish shoots. Slowly, the shoots turned green, and he set the growing plant on the table, where it sprung forth with new leaves and buds.

The parcels shifted on the table. "The ant?"

"Right. Sorry." She reached into her pocket for a small box and held it out. "Why an ant?"

"The action of its feet will encourage the bud to open properly."

"Ah. Symbiosis?"

"No. The ant does not need the peony."

She leaned in to watch the tiny insect as it waggled its antennae, then followed its instincts, intent on the nexus where green met green. "I've never seen this before. Such rapid acceleration from dormancy to bloom, I mean."

"I believe the technique was first developed by a singularly underfunded American researcher somewhere in the Middle West. It set the Potions field ahead several decades – to be able to acquire fresh blooms no matter the season or geography."

"Fascinating," Hermione said, watching the ant's progress as the hard bud burst forth in a lush bloom, dislodging the hapless ant to the tabletop.

Its feet wiggled in the air for a moment until it righted itself.

Severus made to remove the plant to the dustbin, but Hermione held up a hand. "Give me a moment."

She disappeared to the storage area off the back hall and returned levitating a large, dirt-filled terra-cotta pot. "Put it in here."

"We only need the one bloom, Miss Granger. This mad scheme will either work or not." His tone left no doubt as to which he believed.

"Regardless," she said. "We've forced it to bloom out of season – we can at least give it a chance, yes?" She held out a finger to the ant.

Severus snorted, but made no attempt to dissuade her.

The ant's antennae wavered, a thin filament of hesitation, before it marched onto her fingernail.

She deposited it on the plant and levitated it all into the living room, returning to the kitchen wiping her hands on her jeans. "There. The ant seems happy."

Intent on removing the flower's thin, round petals without tearing them, Severus said nothing.

Hermione stared, fascinated, as one by one the petals levitated from Severus's hands to the cauldron.

When the first petal touched the liquid, the calvados sighed, releasing its breath in a misty plume.

For a moment, the rising mist surrounded Severus's outstretched hand, and Hermione saw the shape clearly.

She swallowed hard, and he turned toward her. The empty mist furled inward where his hand had been, curling as it rose toward the ceiling.

"Don't die," she said, scarcely aware that she was speaking.

"I already have done, Miss Granger, as you pointed out so bluntly."

"Oh, I'm sorry about the memo, really. I was quite distracted, as you can well imagine."

"I cannot."

She arched her eyebrows. "No?"

"No. Any ill-timed distraction might have meant failure, Miss Granger."

"I plagued you no end, didn't I? As a student, I mean."

A low cadence of surprise issued from the air around him, followed by what she assumed from the sound was a nod. "The dangers of over-competence without the judgment to mitigate it were somewhat more than usually bothersome in your case."

Her laugh was quiet but rich. "Is 'yes' such a difficult word?"

The air around him seemed to strangle.

The dimple in her cheek deepened. "I rescind the question."

"I expect six more will arise in its wake."

"Probably... what's the history of this particular potion?"

He raised his invisible eyes to the ceiling. "The Vinum Caritatis, or 'Wine of Kindness,' originated in Ancient Rome during the reign of the Emperor Nero. Scholars speculate that it was developed as a countermeasure to some of Nero's more extreme..."

His hands worked as he continued speaking, and Hermione found herself transported as her memories of countless Potions classes in a dungeon classroom blended with the sound of his voice in her kitchen. The first doubled memory gave way to a single long strand of continuity, ending abruptly in seven years of absence.

If she hadn't been determined before, by the time he finished, she was fingering the coin.

"... choosing its aspect and its name – 'caritas,' often mistranslated as 'charity' – from amongst the known virtues, singling out the one thought to hold the most power against pride."

"So the peony?"

"Is said to represent compassion," he said shortly, before clearing the work surface. "It will need to steep for several hours. The next steps are somewhat involved; I shall require complete concentration."

Hermione pushed the chair back from the table. "I'll leave you be, then." She paused. "Thank you, sir. I – this was..." She shook her head, the sentence hung unfinished. "Thank you."

He nodded as she left the kitchen, and somehow she knew it.

As he reached for the jar containing the next ingredient, the Floo sprang to life, and he froze.

"Hermione," came a light feminine voice from the living room. "Ron's just now left – Harry's taken him and James to the park for some air, and Mum's got the baby for the day. Can I come through?"

"Why don't I come to you, if it's not too inconvenient? It's been ages since I've seen Crooks."

"Okay, then..."

The Floo made a rushing sound, and Severus was left alone in the flat.

"Meee?"

Or perhaps not.

Mimi spotted the peony bush and bolted behind Severus's ankles. A very quiet rumble as she peered out from behind his invisible cape became a full-throated "Rrrr" as she growled at the plant.

He chuckled.

"Meee?" She blinked up at him.

"Who else?" He gestured toward the living room. "There's an ant somewhere in there. Go. Hunt."

Mimi stared at him in blank astonishment for a moment then started washing her paw.

"Ridiculous cat."

---

Notes on Feet and Other Important Things:

1. That peony buds require the action of ants' feet to open is an old wives' tale. Any similarities between the wee ant on its pink flower and the tiny Spaniard with his lovely pink rose in the last chapter are purely the result of your imagination. (But just because it's happening in your imagination doesn't mean it isn't real...) See also: Authorial Intention: Whimsical Parallelism; see also: Ari-herring.

2. Caritas: One of the three "Theological Virtues": Fides, Spes et Caritas (Faith, Hope, and Charity/Kindness). That caritas stands in strongest opposition to pride has no theological basis that I'm aware of. We'll leave the question of whether or not it should up to the blackbird...

3. Emperor Nero: A passably good violinist, albeit one with terrible judgment and abysmal timing; see also "Megalomaniacal Bastards: Classical."

*twirls quill*

~ A.