Chapter Seven: Silent Camaraderie

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author.

A big hug of thanks goes out to VIVAvivacious for the beta of this chapter.

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Silence. It was quiet for the first time in the Burrow since the arrival of all the guests the afternoon before. It was early in the morning on the second day of Christmas, and the house was still and silent; not even a creature or bird outside disturbed the air. All that could be heard was a rather obnoxious snoring from down the hall. That was Ron, Hermione thought with an internal laugh.

She had decided she would stay at the Burrow as long as she could handle it, and if she made it through the entire fortnight, she would consider visiting more often and staying at her house in London while researching to visit Lesley and Harriet as they had requested – or demanded, rather. Shifting in her bed, she sat up and looked around her own room. It was small but still lovely, with a dresser, cupboard, fireplace, a soft couch, a coffee table, and of course her bed and a nightstand.

It was the first time she had ever had her own room at the Burrow. It was the first time she had slept so peacefully in years, too. Checking the time, she saw it was only four-thirty, and no one would be getting up for another hour and a half, at least. Decidedly, she got out of bed and slipped her feet into her soft navy slippers and shrugged into a warm robe before tip-toeing to the bathroom down the hall and relieving herself.

Afterwards, she slipped outside onto the porch and sat in one of the more comfortable outside chairs, wrapping her arms around herself before relaxing into the seat. She had neglected to cast her glamour just yet; she would when she heard the house begin to rouse from sleep. She was glad to be able to save her magic; she wasn't short of it by any means, but she did get tired by the end of the day.

'It's too cold to be out here this early, especially for you,' said a deep, familiar voice from the front doorway.

Hermione almost spun around and looked at him when she heard him speak, but she remembered her glamour and quickly cast it wordlessly before looking over at him. 'I never believed my health or welfare would be a concern of yours, Professor Snape,' she replied.

He smirked at her. The girl had never been one to shy away from conflict; he would give her that much. 'You speak your opinion so readily for a woman,' he joked, closing the door to keep the cool outside and moving to the seat next to her. 'May I?' he asked before he sat.

'Do as you please,' Hermione answered before he sighed and seated himself anyway. 'And I'm sure you noticed I am not just any woman.'

'Indeed,' he mumbled.

'You never came here for Christmas before,' Hermione commented as she watched the sun begin to peak at the horizon.

'No.'

'Why not? Why did you come this year?' she asked quietly before she realized it might have been impertinent of her. 'Forgive me; you don't have to answer that.'

'I believe parties and other such frivolities have been too distracting for me, and I don't care to indulge in inane prattle,' he replied simply. 'I usually research and am therefore too busy as a result.'

Hermione nodded and turned to look at him. He was dressed in what appeared to be long pajama pants and a long-sleeved cotton nightshirt beneath his thick black dressing gown. She was surprised to see him wearing slippers also, but then he had not disappointed her and wore all black. It was typical of the former Hogwarts professor.

'And why, might I ask, were Molly and the Weasleys so surprised when you announced you would be staying?' he asked, practiced disinterest thickly belying his tone.

'I only ever stay Christmas lunch and then leave,' she answered. 'I don't come here often... about three times in the last two years, I think.'

He didn't say anything after that, thinking it would be wiser to just shut his mouth than to unwittingly tread dangerous waters and run the risk of having her blubbering all over him. Then again, he had never known this girl – no, woman – to be much of a crier, so he didn't worry himself too much about that. The only topic he knew to avoid with everyone in the Order was Potter, and especially so with the dead boy's two best friends.

It was, disturbingly, quite a sensitive topic for him, also. He wasn't able to save him. He had never lost a life before, never when he had tried to save it. But he had made up for that by taking down Voldemort in memory of the boy he had failed to save. It still irked him, though.

'Professor Snape, what do you do?' he heard Hermione ask him.

'What do you mean?' he asked back in confusion.

'Well I mean, what do you do now that you don't work at Hogwarts anymore? As you can tell, I haven't kept a very thorough track of what happened to people after the, umm, war, that is,' she said hesitantly.

'I research and publish books every now and then,' he answered. 'I enhance and create potions. It is my field, after all.'

He watched as her expression changed, and she furrowed her brow in concentration. 'You publish all your books with a pseudonym, don't you?' she asked, her eyes puzzled.

He nodded. 'Yes, I imagine you know my pseudonym to be something along the lines of L. Machiavellian,' he answered silkily. 'I write books for Defense against the Dark Arts and Arithmancy, also.'

'Yes, I have all of them in my library,' she announced to his surprise.

Snape mused about how she had been quite open to him in the short time they had been there, and that she had not even spoken so much to the youngest Weasley boy or any of her closest friends. It was odd because he had always known her to be quite steadfast in conversation with them, but then again, he had never really known her at all, and he had not seen her for seven years.

'What is it that you do, Miss Granger? I apologize, but I overheard Arthur mentioning that nobody even knew where you lived, let alone what you did with your time,' he asked carefully.

Hermione smiled at him then. 'I am a Potions researcher, too,' she replied. 'I use some formulas from Arithmancy to improve my research and potions, and I have published my work.'

'Jane McLaughlin,' he noted. It was a pseudonym – her pseudonym.

'Yes,' she said with a traceable amount of surprise. 'How ever did you guess that?'

'Your style, now that I think on it, is unmistakable – it reminds me of the novels for school essays you wrote,' he answered, noting she colored at the mention of her scholarly habits. 'I have all your written works in my library, as well. You are very thorough.'

'I know,' she said in her own roundabout way of accepting a compliment.

But it wasn't as if her had complimented her outright, so saying 'thank you' would have seemed a bit presumptuous. Snape looked out along the line of trees, noticing the sun had risen quite a bit more during their quasi-conversation. She wasn't like he had remembered, all attitude and questions, ever the inquisitive and irritating know-it-all of a girl. She was more subdued, quiet and solemn, not unlike himself. Although her books were thorough and solely intellectual pieces, they did not have the excitement of her essays and were not as hectic as her schoolwork had been.

She was truly a changed woman, and he hated to see her looking so forlorn. She had always been more mature than anyone her age, and she was bearing the brunt of over twenty years of war on her shoulders when she herself had only been involved for seven of those years. He understood her predicament and silently applauded how well she seemed to handle it all.

But, he would never admit that aloud. 'I think the rest of the house might be stirring, Professor,' she announced from outside his thoughts. 'We should probably get in out of the cold before Molly scolds us.'

He looked over at her, puzzled at how she did not seem to despise him, despite that he had been unable to save her best friend. 'Yes, I suppose that might be wise,' he answered, keeping his thoughts to himself.

She got up from the chair and, wrapping her arms around herself tighter, moved into the house, pausing at the door to look back at him and smile faintly. 'Thank you for this conversation, Professor,' she said politely. 'It is the most intelligent one I have had in ages where I have been responded to with something other than an animal's noise.'

'You're welcome, Miss Granger,' he replied honestly, watching as she silently slipped inside, closing the door behind her.

He listened as her soft footfalls slowly faded away on the floor inside until she reached the carpeted hall and could be heard no longer. This woman was a mystery to him, one he intended to figure out or, at the very least, understand. Standing from the chair, he moved to the door and opened it, pausing once more to glance at the beautiful orange sunrise before closing it on the morning.

It was entirely too cheerful for him to bear. Christmas would always just be as any other day to him.

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A/N – Thanks to all of those who have been reading and reviewing so far.