Chapter Nine and a Half

Author Note: I wish I could say that the Wizarding World belonged to me and that I lived in a castle rolling around on a pile of money, but that isn't the case. Many thanks to the betas who have worked on this piece: queenofspades, corianderpie and Southern Witch 69.

Chapter Nine and a Half

With all of the work that she had put into finding him, Hermione really shouldn't have been surprised that she actually did find him, but the finding itself was rather anticlimactic and left her at a loss. She stepped into Thames and Hudson on a blustery March afternoon – or, rather, was blown into the shop. She took a moment to catch her breath and straighten out her hair before taking a look around. Her sixth sense made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck, and she turned. She saw Snape leaning over a stack on a display table, completely intent on the book he was holding. She didn't run over to him, but walked as quickly as was possible. She stood there for a moment, not knowing what to say, unsure if he could sense her in the same way that she had felt his presence.

He casually glanced up and said, "Ah, there you are, Granger. Fascinating book they have here on alchemy. Lovely illustrations." He held it up for her to see, as though they hadn't been apart for months – as though this was just another weekend bibliophilic jaunt. Love may be a many-splendoured thing, and hope may be the thing with feathers, but at that moment Severus felt as though the winged creature itself was lodged in his chest. Try not to give the game away by coughing up a feather now . . . She looks deliciously half-crazed with her hair getting away from her like that . . .

"Hallo, Severus." She tried to keep her voice steady, the tone unexcited. Most importantly, she tried not to faint or pant. I'm a fool. An absolute bloody fool. This was a complete mistake – he doesn't care a fig that I've found him.

He shot her an inquisitive look at the use of his first name. They were both trying to figure out how to gauge their new level of interaction. Casual or familiar? Casually familiar? Formal? Studied indifference? "You look well." I wonder what he's been up to these last couple of months. It's as if we never said good-bye, as if he never almost kissed me.

"Let me purchase this book and we can go and get some tea, if you like." Please say yes.

"You never asked me why I left New York." Don't think you're getting away with it that easily, Mr. Snape! Although tea would be a good start . . .

"I have a theory, but this is not the appropriate venue for that conversation." Why can't she simply be happy to see me? I'm pleased as punch she's finally here. But it sounds like she means an interrogation . . . They walked together to the register, and Hermione was surprised to see him pay with a credit card.

"I have an appointment at the British Museum at two o'clock, but we've got time for tea before then." They headed out of the shop and started the short walk to the museum. The wind buffeted them with stops and starts, throwing them off balance – at times pushing them close together, at times leaving them staggering and fighting to stay upright.

"What are you doing at the museum?"

"Have you heard of the Secretum? It was the Secret Library at the British Museum – an annexe full of materials deemed too obscene for common viewing. The Muggle artefacts have been integrated into the museum's public collection, but the Wizarding Secretum still contains some fascinating ancient tomes."

"Are you going for something in particular or just for fun?" Libraries – of course! I should have had libraries on my list . . . there aren't that many other people who would think of spending their weekends in a library as entertainment.

"They have a special exhibit of documents on loan from the Vatican library. I'm scheduled to have a look at some of the Borgia materials."

"Oh, right! The Borgias were known for poisoning their enemies. So, they were wizards?"

"Yes, Lucrezia Borgia was a particularly powerful witch – known particularly for her acumen in potions. The Vatican has her diary, 'Il Diario della Strega Lucrezia Borgia'.'' Snape looked uncomfortable for a moment. "I don't know that it has any actual application for potions research, but I'm not planning on telling that to the Ministry."

Hermione gurgled a bit. She was right; this was just a lark. Looking at the personal notes of one of the most notoriously nasty pieces of work in Renaissance Europe was a pleasant weekend jaunt for Snape.

They walked in companionable silence to the museum and headed upstairs to the tea room. Once they were settled at a spindly tea table, mugs in hand, Hermione took up the conversational reins again.

"Your theory, Mister Snape?" she queried. Her arch look was a transparent attempt at disguising her eagerness to hear what he had to say.

"You are probably aware that I'm half-blood." He looked to her for confirmation, and she nodded solemnly, so he continued. "The choice was easier for me because my Muggle father was such a wretched excuse for a human that there wasn't much incentive for me to consider life as a Muggle. However, I believe that, for those of us who have ties to the Muggle community, 'mulling it over' it is a common phenomenon upon coming of age."

Hermione nodded. "I wondered what my life would have been like if I had been, you know, normal. If I were just a clever girl, going to university, having boyfriends . . . Not – finding out I was a witch and living through a war and seeing my friends killed." She took a fortifying gulp of tea. "But then I realised that, even if I were just a Muggle, I still probably wouldn't have been considered 'normal'. I'm too interested in books and not interested enough in boys." She looked deep into her tea cup, as if suddenly taking up the art of tasseomancy. Oh gods, that didn't come out right! I don't want him to think that I don't fancy blokes . . . "I mean, boys my age are so grotty and into sport, and well, I've found they haven't much to say."

"You may be unduly prejudiced by your experience with Potter and Weasley – a singularly uninspired pair of..."

"Yes, dunderheads. You needn't remind me of your low opinion of them. They're my friends – but they are SUCH boys. I'm tired of boys." Does he understand what I'm trying to say? I don't want him to think I'm off to join a convent!

Snape sniffed dismissively and took his own sip of tea. "At any rate – that is my theory of why you left New York. Your assay at Muggle life had reached its logical conclusion and you returned home."

"I came home to my parents, and I thought I'd make a go of it in their world. I thought the problem was maybe America versus Britain. But it wasn't. I worked as the receptionist at their practise. I went on dates with every one of their friends' eligible sons. I was bored stiff. I needed a project. So – I decided to try to find you."

"You've turned me into an independent study project?" He wasn't sure if he should be offended or flattered.

"You're an interesting subject." She flushed as she smiled hesitantly at him over the rim of her mug. "I do hope you don't mind that I've found you."

"You could have just owled me."

"I wanted to give you the opportunity to 'not be found', if you wished."

"We're friends, Hermione." He made the concession as gracefully as he could.

"No, we're not."

"We're not friends?" What on earth is she playing at? Doesn't she WANT us to be friends? Does she think I sit around and sip tea with my sworn enemies?

"Well, we are. But I've missed your company. I've been thinking of you. We could be . . . friends with . . . benefits . . ." She looked down at her hands on the table. There – cards on the table. There's no way he can misunderstand me now.

"Benefits?" Snape looked completely befuddled. "What kind of benefits?"

"Honestly, Severus! It's a colloquial expression." Why is he humiliating me by making me spell it out like this? Clearly, he isn't interested and is just playing with me prior to the pounce.

"Do tell," he drawled in a supercilious manner to mask his confusion and buy time.

"It means people who are friends who aren't in a romantic relationship yet share, um, intimacies."

"Oh." She's having me on. This is some kind of elaborate jest. She knows I desire her and want to be serious about this, and she's mocking me. "You must have mistaken me for one of your more wanton peers," he said rather coldly.

"Perhaps I'm just hopeful." Stupidly, blindly hopeful. I wish the earth would swallow me up right now. Could this possibly be going any more pear-shaped?

"I'm going to venture onto a particularly shaky limb here, as I don't quite understand your meaning. Are you trying to tell me that you wish to be . . . physically intimate with me, but that you despise my company enough to not want to be in a relationship with me?" Deep breaths, old man. Steady on. She can't possibly WANT you – you must be misunderstanding it – it's some modern understanding of 'hopeful' with which you're unfamiliar.

"No. Well, yes. Partially. No – this is coming out all wrong." She felt like she was on the downward swoop of a roller coaster. I feel like I'm going to be sick. That would really impress him – great chatting-up technique, being sick on the bloke.

"I thought we were friends," he said in a hurt and frustrated voice. I thought I understood the English language reasonably well, but nothing she is saying is making any sense at all. She might as well be speaking Mermish.

"We are." She nodded patiently. He's going to have to work his way through this himself.

"And yet you don't have enough respect for me to sustain an observance of the niceties of courtship; you want to jump to the lewd." Can't she tell I've had all of this under consideration? Doesn't she want the nicest possible Snape she could have?

"My assumption is that you wouldn't want to be entangled in a relationship with me."

"I find this whole conversation offensive in the extreme."

"Fine – let's just pretend to Obliviate the last couple of minutes and go on our way." Hermione's mouth was set into a firm line. Both of them looked anywhere but at each other. She took a couple of sips of lukewarm tea and set the empty cup down with a touch more than necessary force. She started rootling around in her bag and making moves with her jacket as if to leave.

"I wouldn't be averse to continuing our exploration of bookstores," Snape said in a low voice, not making eye contact.

"Not slamming the door entirely in my face, then?" She felt a bit rueful, but wondered if a friendship could be salvaged out of this disaster.

"Hermione, how do you expect a man to react to being told that he's naught but a piece of meat upon which a nubile creature wishes to slake her lusts?"

"Jubilation? Huzzah! A heavenly chorus singing hosannas?"

Despite himself, he laughed. They both laughed at the absurdity of it all until tears were streaming down Hermione's face and his face was red, and they had to stop and gasp for breath.

A/N: Credit goes to Ladyofthemasque for permission to use the concept of Lucrezia Borgia's diary as an artefact of the medieval Wizarding world.