Four

Severus walked down the hall towards his office. Despite summer being in full swing outside, it was still cool in the castle, but this had done nothing to help his temper. He sensed another's presence close by as he neared the gargoyle, but no one was there. After too many years spent as a spy, he was going to die paranoid. He brushed off the odd feeling. But as he said the password for entrance, "Dunderhead," he felt a Disillusioned person materialize beside him.

Granger. Damn. He raised an eyebrow at her in acknowledgement and walked past the gargoyle onto the moving stairs. She entered behind him. Severus really didn't want to deal with her right now, but it might be a good thing she caught him at such a bad time. It gave him all the more reason to get angry with her. He wondered briefly if he could get her to cry before she fled his office, like a little first-year. It might improve his mood.

She seated herself without waiting while he swept behind his desk. Albus' portrait was smirking. Severus arranged his face in a sneer as he turned, so she understood he was not happy with her unexpected presence.

"What can I help you with, Miss Granger?" he asked, staring at her...daring her to get smart with him.

"We, at the Ministry," she began, putting on an air trying to make herself sound important and worth listening to. "We haven't received a response regarding the House-Elf Union in proposal. And with Hogwarts housing the largest group of house-elves under Ministry jurisdiction, we'd greatly appreciate your take on the proposition."

"Indeed," he said. Apparently that translated to "babble-on" in her mind, because she droned on and on. Her small hands animated her speech, and her eyes deepened in color as she became involved in her cause. Disgusting. The chit couldn't actually believe anyone would approve of a union for the elves? The elves themselves wouldn't allow it, he was sure.

When he'd first received the red flier by owl, he'd laughed so hard he nearly cried. Then he'd promptly disposed of the paper in the fire. But he had received another and another. Finally he assigned Winky the duty of destroying any red papers from the Ministry. He even explained what they were in reference to, and she was also angry. She too had received a brochure addressed to the house-elves, and she had reacted in much the same way as he. Winky told him she had refused to show either of the fliers to the other house-elves. It was sure to just anger them, as it had her.

"How many others," he interrupted Granger mid-sentence, "have accepted this proposition with open arms?"

She faltered a moment and dropped her eyes, "None, sir." Somehow she bolstered herself and added, "But if you were to accept, I feel the others would more readily consider the union. Right now, they still aren't following the recommendation fliers."

"Indeed," he said, but before she could start up her vocalizations again, he continued. "Miss Granger, it is a bad venture. The Hogwarts house-elves are at ease. They are the best treated of their kind in this country, I can assure you. I see no need to force a union on them. Why upset a quiet community just to serve your own purposes?"

She glared at him.

"I remember hearing something of an organization called 'S.P.E.W.' when you were a student. Are you reviving your old passions? You want everyone to see things your way. Well, I refuse to look through your glasses."

Granger opened her mouth again but promptly shut it.

He held no obligation to help her. Yes, she'd saved his life, but that was a personal matter. This House-Elf Union was strictly business. She was being selfish to force her ideals on others because she assumed she alone was correct in understanding how house-elves should be treated.

This had nothing to do with house-elves, as he saw it; this was all about what Granger wanted, and she was abusing her power to effect change. Oddly, it reminded him of the Dark Lord: forcing personal ideals on others so they would conform. She desired personal gain and public recognition while pressing her morals on others. He was about to voice this similarity but stopped. Why? He wanted to see her cry, didn't he? But looking at her, he realized she didn't know what she was doing. The Dark Lord had been intentional when he'd tried to take over, while Granger was only confused and overzealous with her dreams. It also reminded him of himself a bit.

No, he wouldn't crush her. Was this pity he was feeling? Almost, but not quite; she did not deserve pity, but sympathy instead. Did he really just think that...sympathy? Ugh, how unpleasant. He was turning soft.

"Miss Granger, I will not be swayed in favor of this union. I do not approve. I believe you to be fighting a losing battle. But I give you my best regards. Now if you'll excuse me, I am very busy preparing for the coming term."

He pulled a stack of parchment forward and watched her slowly rise from the chair. She was no longer full of the energy she'd brought into this meeting; she looked deflated as she quietly left. Thank Merlin she didn't put up a fight or whine. It was decent of her.

Only a few days of August remained, and Severus Snape was looking over his schedules. He was a simple man, and as Headmaster he required perfection to maintain his delicate balance. So when Minerva rushed through the Floo into his office with a whirl of tartan and ash, he knew something was tripping up his carefully balanced system.

"What is it, Minerva?" he asked.

"I am resigning, Severus," she said, not making eye contact.

"Now?" he asked incredulously.

"Dear me, no. This will be my last year. I thought you should know before term began. And before you ask, Horace will remain teaching."

Severus rubbed his eyes. He would have to find a decent replacement, and it would be tough to match Minerva's level of expertise.

"I know what you're thinking, Severus. And it's already taken care of. I have someone to replace me . . . "

Hermione Granger. Minerva had better not say that know-it-all's name. He would flat out refuse. He couldn't stand the swot.

" . . . I want Oliver Wood," Minerva finished.

Well, that was unexpected. "Wood? The Keeper for Puddlemere United?" He was surprised he actually knew the Quidditch fact.

"Yes. It seems he's had a bad accident in the past year while playing, and he's been forced to retire prematurely. His hand is permanently crippled." She was absentmindedly straightening stacks of parchment and dusting the books at the end of his desk. "Anyway, he was quite gifted in Transfiguration as I remember, and he could replace me as Head of House. If you approve, I'll have him set up an appointment with you for an interview as my intern."

At least she had planned it out before she brought it to his attention. Perhaps his balance would stay in place.

"All right. Set up the appointment. But I will not have him as my Deputy Headmaster."

She thanked him and started to leave.

"Minerva?" he called. "I'm sorry to see you go. You've been a decent friend to me, and I'll miss you around the castle. We haven't actually sat down for a cup of tea and talked in years. We should set up a standing time to just enjoy the good times while they last. How about Sundays once term starts?"

"Oh, I'd love to, Severus, but I have tea with Hermione Granger every Sunday. You're welcome to join us, though."

Minerva was still in close association with her? He had assumed she had limited contact with her previous students. Everyone in England was against the insolent girl. Why would Minerva still see her?

"No, perhaps another day then."

She left, and he sat thinking for the longest time. Minerva, friend to refugees, rejects and unwanted persons. She always saw something more in a person than their outward appearance. Even when she hadn't known his reasons for killing Albus, she'd at least done her job correctly. It was hard, and their friendship was virtually lost, but she'd remained tactful and realized he was trying his best to be a decent person while under Voldemort's control. What did she see in Granger though? The girl was like a deck of cards face up.

No matter, perhaps they could have tea on Saturdays.

One year to the day, and this January Hermione wasn't feeling so sure of her decisions. Two thousand three wasn't looking to be a good year. She woke up with a pit in her stomach knowing what today would bring, as it had for the last few months. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was bombarded daily with owls and Howlers and angry house-elves themselves. None of her coworkers were speaking with her anymore, unless it was required. Of course she'd been through this before while a student, but it hurt nonetheless. Mr. Diggory's competitive personality had really flared up too. He was constantly reminding her that she was falling short of his expectations.

Each night she cried herself to sleep in her bed. This room had seen many tears over the years. As a child, she had always been teased because she was different, or too smart, or because of her hair or teeth. But these tears were for her failure. She couldn't see any way out of this mess. She refused to quit. She had known it would be hard. But she hadn't been prepared for the outright refusal from both house-elf and master for a solid year. No one was relenting or even trying to improve the situation.

She'd even received a letter or two from Ron, who had tried to explain the situation from a pureblood's point of view. And Harry had stopped by once at her home, trying to talk her out of her ideas. But she'd brushed them off, telling them she knew what she was doing. What had she been thinking? Part of her wanted to drop the union idea altogether, but then where would she be? Had she ever given up on anything before, when it had really mattered? Where would they all be now if she'd quit during the war? Dead! She needed to just tromp on through the knee-deep doubt and rejection until things started to look up.

But she was fairly sure she was going to get fired any day now. And Hermione Granger was not the sort to get fired. She was too intelligent and dedicated to get sacked; it was comparable to failing a test. But she was stuck, and she could only take a backseat and watch her hard work get booted out the window, and then they would boot her out as well.

The glares she endured while walking to her desk were no different than before, but Mr. Diggory had a sad look on his face. Oh no; this was not going to be pleasant.

"Hermione, may I have a word with you in the conference room?" Mr. Diggory asked. He was staring at the floor in front of her feet.

She sighed. "Yes, sir," she said reluctantly, obediently following him into the room and sitting with her back to the window. She didn't want to see everyone watching as he cut her loose.

Mr. Diggory closed the door and waited a moment before sitting, as if readying himself for this task. He coughed a few times and fiddled with an abandoned quill nib on the tabletop.

"This union isn't working, Hermione. You know that and I know that. We haven't had one positive response since you started this project a year ago. I'm not one to lose optimism, but this has been dragging behind us long enough. It is time to stop and cut our losses. When you presented this, I thought it was a great idea, but now I realize the mistake I made listening to it. It's just a childhood dream, Hermione. I've been thinking about it for some time, and I remember meeting a young girl a number of years ago at the Quidditch World Cup; she had defended this house-elf who had conjured the Dark Mark..."

"Winky did not make the Dark Mark! It was Barty Crouch Junior! I can't believe you!" Hermione said.

"So it was you. I had a feeling. Anyway, Hermione, I think you have too much emotional investment in the house-elf cause, and none of the other employees are happy with you. So, I'm sorry to say this, but I'm going to have to transfer you to the Centaur Liaison Office."

She wasn't getting fired?! But wait, what?

"Sir, no one works in the Centaur Liaison Office because the centaurs refuse to leave the Forbidden Forest or even speak to any of our representatives. What are you getting at? Are you pulling my leg? Besides, the last time I saw the centaurs they tried to kill me. I, er . . . never mind."

Mr. Diggory grimaced and then let his breath out in a long, slow blow. "I'm sorry, I guess you haven't been here long enough to understand the euphemism. I was trying to soften the blow. Hermione, I'm letting you go."

Her mouth dropped. There was no excusing it. She couldn't wrap her mind around it. She had been expecting it, but the centaur reference had thrown her off completely. Fired? Really?

She stood numbly and fumbled with the doorknob for a moment, then walked to her desk. She flung her purse over her shoulder and rummaged through her desk for a moment. She knew everyone was looking at her. It was quiet in the office, and her desk drawers were loud as she slammed them. Randomly, she grabbed her stapler and left. The faces all stared at her, but she didn't know if they were sneers or looks of sympathy; she blindly made her way into the Atrium and then into a fireplace, stumbling into her living room. But she didn't know what to do with herself. Her routine was thrown off. Claiming defeat, she kicked off her shoes and climbed the stairs to her bed. Hermione's crisp work robes wrinkled as she pulled the sheets up to her chin, and she finally let the first few tears roll down her nose and land on the pillow. Here she could cry; here she could just be Hermione.

Wood was chipper, too chipper, especially for the middle of bloody February. Severus wasn't sure he would do well in Transfiguration. The cocky boy was good-looking for a Gryffindor, and he flaunted it. Girls were seen giggling behind their hands when he passed in the hallway. The stocky ex-Quidditch player seemed to take no notice, but Severus watched him and saw the gleam of approval in his eye when the students threw themselves at him. This replacement was going to be the death of him. Wood spent a lot of time with Rolanda...probably trying to set up unauthorized Quidditch games so he could play at his leisure. Shouldn't the young man be more focused on learning his duties? There was a lot to cover if he were to meet Minerva's expectations, let alone Severus' own. He expected nothing less than the best with all his staff. But no matter how many times he'd spoken with Wood, the git wouldn't settle down.

Minerva would hear nothing of it when he complained to her. He wanted to put an advertisement in the Daily Prophet, but Minerva refused to dash Wood's hopes at a teaching career. Why did he always have a soft spot for whatever Minerva wanted? True, they had been friends for years, and she seemed to understand him more than anyone else, even more than Albus, the manipulative old bastard. Despite knowing how he worked, she never let on or smeared it in his face. She just let him work his own way. And they'd gotten along quite well . . . until he'd killed Albus, that is. But once she had learned the truth, they'd gone back to their old kindred friendship. So, maybe she deserved to have things her way. She'd earned it.

He had certainly found her marriage to Horace a bit of a shock, though. He still wasn't too sure how he felt about it. Severus wasn't one for mulling over feelings. He didn't want to acknowledge them if at all possible, and so, when a sort of warmth rose within him as they were saying their vows, he had to look at Granger in order to make the fuzziness fade. Granger had been pleasant-smelling, and it reminded him of the hospital...all his things had smelled of her, and he had needed to use a cleaning charm on everything to get her out of his life. Severus had been surprised when he entered her mind, and she hadn't fought back, at least not right away, not until he'd started entering a more private territory.

Granger had been very clever with making a bezoar out of the persimmons and then soaking it in the antibodies. He was impressed...but only slightly. Not that she deserved to hear it. She hadn't had the right to save him, dammit. She'd ruined his death. Although, when he really thought about it, he would still be in limbo were it not for her actions. He wouldn't have ever really died if she hadn't made the anti-venom, so he wouldn't have been with Lily anyway. And living now was significantly more preferable than the previous horrible hell he'd been forced to endure without Lily. His time in limbo was just a blank in his memory he could not recall if he were aware of anything while petrified. But now that he was alive, he could always hope for another chance at death and a future with Lily, but in stasis he had been neither here nor there.

He was in debt to Hermione Bloody Granger, not that he would openly recognize it. She was dependant on recognition from others for her brains. She had all the intelligence in the world, and she still felt like she needed confirmation from outside sources. Pitiful.

Honestly, he hated being dependant on others, so it was hard to view Granger as his savior. She was bound to hold it over his head sooner or later. He needed a way to even the score. The last person he'd been indebted to was Albus, and look what he'd been forced to do to Albus. Severus had given up his life for the love of a dead woman and her arrogant son.

All those years were spent spying, risking his life and playing as a pawn for both light and dark. He was a grey man through and through. His life had been miserable for as long as he could remember. And when he woke up and found out both his masters were gone, he was free . . . until he realized Minerva hadn't been his rescuer, but Granger. How long before she asked for a favor to even the balance? Before she took hold of the reigns and directed his life?

Hermione would have been lost if Minerva hadn't come round. Hermione's situation was all over the Prophet for a solid month. Surely more important things were happening that January, but they didn't find their way into the newspaper. She wouldn't leave the house, except to buy food and even then only in Muggle grocery stores. Going into the Wizarding world was not an option; the stares would drive her mad.

Thankfully, Hermione had enough money saved up to live comfortably for a few months before she would need to worry about finding a new job. But she wasn't sure a few months would be enough time for future employers to forget about her Ministry disaster. On the other hand, she was a bit scared of being unemployed. Not for the usual reasons, but because she didn't know what she would do with her newfound time. Her floors were littered with used tissues. Sometimes she would see red with anger, and then within a few minutes, she could burst into sobs as she wallowed in self-pity.

Minerva appeared in the living room with a pop while Hermione was punching a pillow on the couch. When Hermione saw her best friend, she lost it. Minerva gently held her as she sobbed and blubbered incoherently. And after a time, Hermione calmed considerably and went through a numb stage. She didn't think or speak; she just sat there, breathing.

"Hermione, I'm so sorry. It's my fault entirely; I shouldn't have pushed you into this job. I feel so responsible. You were happy in Potions yet I convinced you to quit. Can you ever forgive me?"

How could Minerva have thought she was at fault? Had she dreamt up the stupid House-Elf Union? Had she tried to force everyone to conform to her standards?

"No, Minerva, it wasn't your fault at all, and I would never blame you. It was mine. I did it all by myself. And I can't believe I didn't see how stupid I was. I tried to force everyone to change. I still believe house-elves are mistreated, but I cannot help them if they don't want to change. Anyway, I don't want to talk about it anymore. I need to move on. This past week has been good therapy, but I need to let go and find another muse!"

"Too bad," Minerva said, "you didn't get fired sooner. I could have had you replace me at Hogwarts. But I've been training Oliver since September, you know, and I would hate to tell him to leave just so you can take the post."

"No, no, Minerva. I don't think Professor Snape would appreciate me at his school anyway. We don't seem to get along. Could you imagine me working for him? We would kill each other. And that would be rather ironic, as it was me who saved his sorry excuse for a life."

Minerva smiled. "Well, I brought a copy of the Daily Prophet. No, listen," she said, stopping Hermione's protesting. "It's not for the articles about you; I brought it so we could look for job openings."

They spent the next hour or so looking through it, trying to find a job, something she would enjoy and excel at. But there was nothing. Not that Hermione was complaining; she could use the time off. She needed to decide who she was and what was important to her – where she wanted to go in life and what her goals were. She'd changed so much since the war, and she needed time by herself. But she wasn't ready to tell that to Minerva. After a nice cuppa, she watched as Minerva Disapparated, going back to Hogwarts. If only Hermione could make all her problems disappear with a simple crack.

The summer sun heated the house within hours of rising. Hermione dashed upstairs to get her shoes. The air was sultry, and the sheen of sweat on her forehead felt cool for a few seconds as she rushed up the steps. Frizzy hairs were pasted down, and she rubbed them with the back of her hand while searching for the missing shoe. She was due at Minerva's for tea any minute. The Sunday teatime had seeped over into the week, and since Minerva had retired when school had gotten out two weeks ago, they'd spent a good half of each day just sipping tea and relaxing.

Hermione refused to get a job, as there was nothing piquing her interest. She would wait, although her money was getting tighter and tighter. Thankfully, the house was paid in full. Most of her money went to utilities and food, and she didn't require a lot of either, being a witch. Her cooking skills had greatly improved now that she was on her own, compared to the year she'd cooked while on the run with Harry and Ron. Scrambled eggs had been the extent of her talent, but with her knowledge and skills as a Potions mistress, her abilities had soared. She understood ingredients and methods. Her cuts were precise as she prepared the food. The results were perfection...at least she thought so. Never one to pass up an opportunity to show off her talent, she'd spent the morning baking a pie. It was to celebrate both Minerva's retirement and her one-year anniversary.

The pie was cherry and it was cooling on the countertop. It had come out of the oven only ten minutes ago, and so it was too hot to handle yet. She placed a cooling charm on the pastry and wrapped it up, hoping her pie would make it through the Apparation.

As she stopped spinning from her journey, she thought she was in the wrong place. Heavy smoke surrounded her. As it billowed about, she saw the cottage. It was ablaze. The smoke, which issued from the thatched roof, smelt of burning wood mingled with flesh.

She had no time to panic. She flung the pie while reaching for her wand. The fire was too great to use a water spell. She wordlessly used the flame-freezing charm and rushed into the cottage. A tickling sensation accompanied her entrance into the fire, but she was far from laughing. The charm did nothing to cut down the smoke she was inhaling. She finally cast a bubble charm around her face, and it helped, but only little.

Furniture was either scorched or burning, flames destroying the refuge she'd had only yesterday. Through the blazing inferno, she found Slughorn's burning body on the tiled floor of the kitchen. The counter was destroyed, and there were scorch marks all around. This must have been the source of the fire. She levitated the charred man out of the cottage. Placing him down on the soft grass she checked his pulse. There was none. Minerva was still inside somewhere, hopefully alive.

Upon reentry she went to the back of the house. There wasn't as much damage here, and hope bolstered her. After several minutes of searching, she found Minerva in the small bedroom closet. The hanging robes had melted...dripping onto her unrecognizably burnt body. A sob escaped Hermione, but hot ash replaced it. She gagged as she levitated Minerva and led her out of the house. Hermione ran diagnostics her once they were safely outside the inferno. Minerva was alive but just barely. Tentatively grasping her best friend's crispy arm, Hermione Disapparated with a crack.