Ten

It changed everything and nothing at all. They did not moon about the house making calf eyes at one another, nor spend all day in bed. Granger worked the same hours that she had before, and they took the same number of meals together that they always had. Snape did not begin referring to Granger as his girlfriend, nor did they surreptitiously touch beneath the table. Neither one took to spending the night in the other's room, though they often met before bed, as they had done before that night.

But something fundamental had changed, and although Snape had no words for it, he knew it when he bought an alarm clock for his bedroom, so that on the rare nights that she did fall asleep before returning to her own room, she would still wake on time for her morning meetings. It seemed their late nights had destroyed her ability to wake two minutes before five each day. He knew it when an owl arrived to tell him that she'd been held up at Gringotts and would not be home until after ten. He knew it when he asked Malfoy to design a house logo for the Augurey that would complement the ones he had done for Granger's proposal to the Board of Governors.

He knew, in short, that whatever existed between them was not a figment of his fevered imagination, nor something one-sided and brief that she would cast off as easily as a new robe that did not quite fit properly. It was a strange feeling, entirely welcome but entirely unfamiliar, to be able to assume that his touch was welcome, that his space in her life was secure, at least until further revision.

It had been one of those evenings when Granger had drifted into sleep with her head pillowed on his chest, and he'd had no inclination to wake her and return her to her own bed, and so he'd set the alarm and settled into the task of trying to sleep beside her. They always lay together restlessly, tossing and turning, like small animals unused to burrowing together. Snape was often awakened in the night by Granger's kick to his shin, or to her elbowed demands to give back the blanket. And yet, he welcomed these bleary, half-conscious moments, for the reminder in the dead of night that she was there.

When the alarm sounded, Granger always shot from bed as if she were on fire, an act Snape continued to find amusing. She would frantically search for her wand on the nightstand, muttering, "Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop." This morning, he took pity on her and used his own wand to silence the thing. He picked up her wand from where it had lain beside his and handed it to her.

She smiled sheepishly. "It's loud," she said.

"That is what makes it an alarm."

She stuck her tongue out at him and laughed, and as she turned to go, Snape sat up and watched her. That woman just came from my bed, he thought, and the words had such physical force that he felt winded.

***

Snape spent the morning brewing. It was oddly difficult to return to; he didn't suppose there had ever been a time since he was eleven years old that he had gone so long without brewing something. But now the knife felt awkward in his hands, thought that was likely because it was not his own preferred instrument, but part of Potter's school Potions kit.

The facilities were not, perhaps, the best he'd ever worked with. He'd had to approach Potter several days into the new year, and while the boy had provided all he could, Snape could not help but feel that that was not saying much.

When he'd asked if Grimmauld Place had a basement that could be used as a potions laboratory, Potter had asked why Snape could not just brew in his room.

"What is the catalyst for change in a potion?" Snape had asked him, a disbelieving look on his face.

"Sir?"

Snape had raised an eyebrow. "What makes all the ingredients turn into a potion, Potter?"

"Oh, er, heat, I guess. Or stirring?"

"Heat, Potter. Heat is what causes the reaction between ingredients. Too much or too little heat will destroy a potion, rendering it impotent or far more potent than the brewer's intention. Heat at the wrong stages will create different combinations entirely, giving results that are not only not intentional, but possibly lethal. Heat must be controlled absolutely."

"And it's too hot in your room?" Potter had said.

"Six years of magical education," Snape had muttered. "What gives off heat, Potter?"

"Fire, sir."

"Besides fire."

"Uh, the sun, I guess."

"Exactly. Heat is given off by the sun. Which is why Potions are brewed in windowless rooms, preferably underground."

Potter had looked genuinely surprised. "I thought you just liked it down there," he had said under his breath.

Snape had glared at him. "I do. I like it because it is a good place to work. Now, about the basement?"

"Yeah, I think you can work in the basement. I'll ask Kreacher to--"

"That will not be necessary. I can do it myself," Snape had said. "Are there any brewing supplies in the house? A cauldron, even?"

"My school kit is in my room. I'll send it down to the basement for you."

"Marvelous," Snape had replied.

And so he found himself brewing a rather complicated Poltergeist Repelling Potion with sub par tools in a dank and dusty basement. He was skinning Shrivelfigs when Potter's knock came on the doorframe.

The knock startled him, particularly because it seemed so unnecessary. Was this not Potter's house, Potter's basement, as he'd been so quick to point out at Christmas dinner? But when he motioned impatiently for the boy to come in, Snape saw that he looked pale and excited.

"What is it?" Snape demanded.

"This," Potter said and thrust a sealed envelope at him.

Snape took it and glanced over it quickly. It bore the Hogwarts seal and was addressed to the Hermione Granger Foundation.

"Been going through her mail?" he asked.

"No," Potter said, glaring at him. "It just arrived. The owl delivered it to my office. I suppose that technically, the office is the headquarters of the Foundation."

Snape stifled a smirk. It seemed he'd been wrong all those months ago. Potter was Granger's secretary.

He turned the letter over in his hands. "It is brief," he said, "whatever they have decided."

"Yeah, I know," Potter said. "Do you think that's good or bad?"

"I'm sure I have no idea," Snape said, though inside, he was asking himself the same question.

"Do you think we should owl her?"

Snape thought this over. If he were the one waiting for news, he would wish to be contacted. And yet, if he knew Granger, she would feel duty-bound to complete her engagements for the day and knowing that the letter was here would only prove a distraction.

"I think not," he said. "She is meeting with the Goblin Liaison Office today. She will be unable to return home immediately and--"

"And that would drive her mad," Potter finished.

"Indeed," Snape said.

Potter held out his hand, and Snape realized that he meant to take the letter back. He made no move to hand it over.

"Oh," Potter said. "I mean--yeah. You can give it to her."

"She is, after all, in the next room," Snape said, and Potter blushed to the roots of his hair. He turned to leave.

"Potter," Snape said, and the boy turned back toward him.

"Yeah?"

"Do not run off and Floo Weasley."

"He's her friend," Potter said, bristling. "Just because he isn't here doesn't mean he hasn't been supporting her. He's been waiting as long as the rest of us to know."

"I am well aware of their friendship," Snape said. "And I'm certain that if the news is good, she will Floo him immediately. I only meant that in the case that the news is... less than favorable, it would not do to have a house full of guests, all waiting eagerly for her to open that envelope."

Potter gave him a long, searching look. "You're right," he said and then, after a pause, "I think. House only?"

Snape gave him a stiff nod. "House only. But if you would, ask that they wait for her to share the news."

Potter headed for the door again. "Thank you," he said.

Snape did not acknowledge this, but returned to his skinning. He knew that he was slightly unfair to Potter insofar as the assessment of the boy's intelligence was concerned. For whatever reason, Potter seemed to be reduced to a gibbering moron in his presence, despite the fact that, if others were to be believed, he was fairly competent outside of it. And Snape admitted that where Granger was concerned, Potter was at least not so bloody stubborn minded. He was pleased that the boy had agreed to wait before alerting the entire wizarding world to the presence of this letter. He was also pleased that he had not had to hex Potter into silence to secure that agreement.

The fact of the letter remained, however, and Snape quietly worried over it until he noticed that he had skinned more than three times the number of Shrivelfigs necessary for the potion.

***

In the hours before Granger returned home, Snape found himself dreaming up and casting away every more ludicrous scenarios in his mind. In one, he used an Unsticking Charm to open the envelope and accidentally triggered a charm that secured Granger's acceptance of a much changed proposal. In his imaginings, when he tried to explain that it had been he who had opened the envelope, he was imprisoned for tampering with owl post. He did not want to think about what such a daydream said about him.

By the time Granger arrived home, he was anxious and deeply out of sorts. When he heard her enter her room, he knocked rapidly on the wall in a heretofore unknown pattern, which he imagined clearly said, "Emergency. Coming over immediately."

When he walked through the inner door, he found Granger standing immobile in the center of her room, her handbag still clutched in one fist.

"It's here, then, isn't it?" she said.

"It came this afternoon," Snape replied. "I would have owled, but--"

"You knew I couldn't leave the meeting; yes, I see," she said. "Where is it?"

Snape drew the envelope from the pocket of his robe and held it out to her. "Here."

She took it and tore it immediately open. He watched her eyes as they traveled over the parchment, barely daring to breathe.

Without a word, or the slightest change of expression, she handed it to him, and he began to read.

Dear Ms. Granger,

for the Hogwarts Board of Governors

Snape resisted the urge to throw the letter to the ground. It was Granger's to do with as she wished, and he sensed somehow that if someone were to have a fit of temper, it should not be him.

"Granger," he said haltingly.

"I'm all right," she said.

"Why do you always say that?" Snape asked. "I don't recall ever insisting that you fail to react to disappointment or pain."

"I don't know," Granger said. "But honestly, I don't care to discuss it at the moment. I just--fuck. It's not that I didn't know this could happen--that this probably would happen. You've always taken great care to keep me grounded about what my chances were--"

"I certainly did not intend to thwart your endeavor."

"No, no, that's not what I meant. I simply meant that you've been helpful to me in understanding why it was such a longshot. But I really felt--that is, I hoped--I mean... I mean, fuck, Severus! I thought I had something workable."

"You did," he said.

"Yes, well, not according to the goddamned Board of Governors."

Snape's first instinct was to point out that the board had not dismissed her ideas as trivial or unworkable; they'd only said that for this school year, they were hanging their collective hat on tradition and stability. It was not the most discouraging rejection he'd ever read; and yet, somehow he sensed that this was not the time to look at the bright side. Nor did Granger seem to have any inclination to burst into tears or require comfort. So Snape decided to take a small leap of faith and do what he himself would prefer if he were in this situation.

"I suppose that is true; however, I prefer not to rely on the opinions of a bunch of bloody unqualified morons."

Granger's face had been tilted toward the floor, but she raised it slightly. "I know!" she said. "As if a one of them has ever taught a class or even spent a day at Hogwarts! I have no idea what gives them the right to make decisions about what's best for the students."

"Galleons, mostly," Snape said. "They buy their way on, most of them because it makes them look benevolent. A position on the board hides a multitude of extracurricular sins."

"Lucius Malfoy was on the Board of Governors, for fuck's sake," she cried.

"Indeed," Snape said. "And most of them are as eager as he was to keep up appearances. Which is why their little missive today has nothing to do with you or your work; it is only the chattering of men who care more for protecting their gold and their reputations than protecting children."

She sat down in her desk chair. "Thank you, Severus," she said quietly.

"For pointing out the obvious?" he said. "It hardly requires thanks."

She gave a slight smile. "Don't tell Draco what I said about his father. It wasn't kind... considering."

"I had no intention of doing so."

She looked up at him, eyes wide. "Everyone is waiting, aren't they?"

"The letter was delivered to Potter," Snape said. "I'll let you draw the necessary conclusions."

"I don't want to go down there," she said with a shuddering breath that tried to be a laugh. "I just--not tonight. Tomorrow, fine. But not tonight."

"I will let them know," Snape said.

"You will?" she asked. "Severus, you don't have to. I didn't mean for you--I can do it. I was just feeling sorry for myself."

"You have every right to one evening free of having to put a pleasant face on things. If you want to scream and throw things, I would not blame you." He crossed the room to the door. "I'll even cast the necessary charms."

She did laugh then; it was weak, but present, and Snape allowed himself the brief thought that perhaps he was getting better at this.

***

His assorted housemates were gathered in the dining room, minus Kreacher, who, Snape assumed, had gone to see to his 'Miss.' All eyes rose to his face as he entered the room, and it occurred to Snape randomly that this was as close as they were likely ever going to get to voluntarily making their relationship public.

Malfoy exhaled heavily. "Sod it," he said. "It's a no, then."

Pomona clasped her hands together with a troubled expression. "Oh, Severus, is she all right?"

"Granger is fine," Snape said. "As Mr Malfoy so cunningly deduced, the Board of Governors rejected her proposal."

Potter rose from his seat.

"I volunteered to tell you the news," Snape said, pausing awkwardly, "and to ask that you grant her some privacy for the evening. She knows you are interested and concerned, and I am certain that she will be happy to speak to everyone tomorrow."

Potter opened his mouth and then seemingly thought better of it and shut it again. He continued on in this charming impression of a fish for several moments before saying, "Look, when Hermione is upset, she likes company. And chocolate biscuits."

"Is that your answer to everything, Potter? Chocolate?" Snape snapped.

"I take it you won't be wanting me to finish the house logo, then," Malfoy said.

"Do not use the misfortunes of others to try to weasel out of a contract, Malfoy. I paid for that drawing, and I expect to have it," Snape said bluntly, and Malfoy gave him a slight smile.

"Is there anything we can do for her?" Longbottom asked.

"I imagine that Kreacher is seeing to her needs," Snape said. "However, there is something that I need."

"Sir?"

"Several months ago, I asked you to grow something for me, Longbottom. I will need it tonight."

"Bugger it all," Longbottom said. "I mean--excuse me, sir--I mean that the flower had its first burning day not two days ago. It looks pretty shoddy."

Snape sighed and ran a hand over his face. "Typical," he said. "Well, I'd best have it anyway."

He followed Longbottom from the room and waited in the hall for him to produce the plant. He did not want to risk entering the greenhouse and discovering something that needed to be attended to, as he wished to return to the fourth floor as soon as possible.

It was impossible not to hear, as he stood there, the mutinous mumblings of one Harry Potter.

"So we can't see her, but he can?"

"Leave it, Potter. You'll see her tomorrow," Malfoy said.

"Yes, but what right does he have? I've been her best friend for seven years."

"Which is not the point, and you know it."

"I'm just saying that he doesn't know--"

"Yes, I know what you're saying, Potter. It doesn't take a genius. And what I'm saying is that your friends are not always what you need when you're distressed." There was a rather pregnant pause. "No?"

"Fuck off, Malfoy."

Draco laughed, and Snape missed what was said next, as Longbottom shuffled through the door bearing what appeared to be no more than a pot of ashes with a single twig sticking out.

"Worse even than I imagined," Snape said. He considered abandoning it and returning upstairs empty handed.

"It might be all right," Longbottom said. "I mean, maybe it's for the best."

"I'm afraid I don't see how giving Granger a burned stick will be beneficial."

"Because--well, I imagine this is a bit like how she's feeling right now."

"Which I'm sure will be of great comfort to her," Snape said acidly, but he took the pot. "Thank you for your efforts."

Longbottom looked vaguely taken aback. "You're welcome, sir."

***

He approached the twin doors to his and Granger's rooms from the stairwell. He paused. It seemed more efficacious to enter her room here rather than through the loo, though he had never used the front door before. After a moment's hesitation, he knocked.

"Who is it?" Granger's voice said from the other side of the door.

He sighed. Why is everything so bloody complicated? he thought, but he uttered the words that rose to his lips. "It's me."

The door opened, and she stood there, looking at him, a small smile on her mouth.

"Whatever are you grinning at?" Snape said.

"You."

"I was not aware that I had done anything amusing."

"You haven't. 'It's me,' just wasn't a phrase I ever expected to hear you say."

This irritated Snape because he knew exactly what she meant. It had felt strange in his mouth. But why couldn't he get away with saying 'it's me?' Everyone else said it. And 'It is Severus," had felt too formal--and this was exactly why he should have gone in through the loo.

"Yes, well, here," he said, thrusting the pot at her. "I asked Longbottom to grow it for you."

She looked dubiously at the flower, took the pot and set it on her desk. "I suppose it's the thought that counts."

"It is a Phoenix Flower," Snape said. "It just had its first burning day."

"Oh," she said and turned once more to the plant, fingering its singed bark. "In that case, thank you, Severus. It's lovely."

"I trust the message is not lost on you," he said, and she gave him the same wry smile of a moment ago.

"No," she said. "Message received." Her hand brushed briefly over his.

Snape was at a loss. His gift had not gone over as well as he'd hoped, and Granger's behavior was giving him no idea what to do next. He sat down in her desk chair. She flopped down on the bed.

"I don't know what to do with myself," she said. "I know I said I didn't want to see anyone. And I don't. The idea of having to gracefully accept everyone's sympathy tonight makes me feel exhausted. And I don't want to work. I know I should--get back on the horse and all that--but I tried transcribing my interview with Miknak today while you were downstairs, and I can't keep my mind on it. I wish I had some chocolate."

Goddamned Potter, Snape thought.

"I think I want to read," she said. "Do you mind?"

He rose awkwardly. "Certainly not." When she said nothing else, he added, "I'll leave you to it, then," and exited her room through the loo, feeling vaguely out of sorts.

In his own room, Snape drifted to the desk. He did not know what to do with himself any more than Granger did, it seemed. Heretofore, he had been glad for any moment he'd got to spend alone, away from the demands of communal living. It seemed there had been any number of things to do, although now the only ones he could remember were reading and arguing with Granger in his head.

Reading it was, then.

Snape ventured briefly to the library where he chose a slim text on recent research concerning the effects of potions on ailing Merpeople, which he brought back to his room. He flicked on the bedside lamp with his wand, stripped off his robes, and climbed into bed. It was pleasant, he told himself. It had been several weeks since he'd read himself to sleep. He stretched his legs. And there was adequate room--and blankets.

He opened the book and read the foreword, which had been written by an officious little prick by the name of Quentin Snick. Snick seemed to be of the opinion that generalizations could be made on the reactions of various species to common potions based on an arithmantic equation that calculated the difference between their DNA and that of wizards. This seemed very unlikely to Snape (Did the man believe, for instance, that a potion intended to cure boils in a wizard would achieve the same results on a vampire, as they shared nearly identical DNA?) but he would have liked to ask Granger before he dismissed it outright. Her skill at arithmancy--as loath as he was to admit it--exceeded his own, and might be able to provide an explanation for the results Snick was achieving.

He turned over onto his side, and the book fell slowly closed. There was really no point in continuing until he had resolved the matter of the equations. He wondered if Granger were awake and turned out the light. It would not do to seem pathetically unoccupied, if she were, he thought. It was not as if his entire world revolved around her. Still, he would have liked to have known how she was getting on.

Snape closed his eyes. It was ridiculous to take up the business of being lonely now. Thirty-eight years seemed well enough time to have established some habits, and feeling as if the day were somehow unfinished if he failed to say goodnight to someone was not one of them.

The door to the loo opened, taking him by surprise.

"Severus? Are you awake?"

"I believe we have already discussed the stupidity of that question," he said dryly.

"Good," she said, climbing into bed beside him. He took her hand beneath the blanket.

After a few minutes, she said, "Severus?"

"Mmmm."

"Do you think they were right?"

He paused for a moment. Whatever he said now would have to be utterly truthful. She would know if it were not, and it was no place for false encouragements, here in the dark.

"No," he said. "I do not. I think that, as Pomona said about her greenhouses, now is the time to make the changes that must be made before everything becomes established again. However, I do not doubt that they think they were right."

"Obviously."

"No, not obviously. It would have been relatively simple for them to dismiss your proposal out of hand and then devise some verbiage to make it appear as if they had reasons for doing so."

"So you think they actually considered it?"

"I do."

"I don't know whether that makes me feel better or worse," she said.

He squeezed her hand. "They are notoriously hard to move. I do not think a single official change was made to the building or curriculum during the whole of my schooling. And the changes you remember were largely brought about by Umbridge, which is to say the Ministry, and were outside the control of the Board of Governors. I think you should be impressed with yourself that they considered it at all."

"Well, seeing that I failed, I don't feel quite up to being impressed with myself," she said.

Snape chose his words carefully. "Like many intelligent people, you think that you can make people agree with you by explaining your ideas. And you have been accustomed to getting your own way," he said. When Granger sputtered in protest, he interrupted her. "Come now, Potter and Weasley were hardly admirable opponents. Even when they disagreed with you, they went along, did they not? Not that I am implying that this was a poor state of affairs. I do not like to think of what would have become of Potter if you had not guided him. Even Dumbledore himself gave you a great deal of latitude in order that you might steer Potter correctly. And so, I think, you have become used to deducing the best course of action and then carrying it out with little opposition."

She said nothing.

"This will not happen overnight, Granger. The changes that you want to see in the world cannot be hung upon a name and an Order of Merlin, or even a good idea."

"So where does that leave me?" she said, almost angrily. "I feel like this is what I was supposed to do. Everything I've endured, everything I've lost, makes sense if I can use what I've seen to make things better."

He thought of her traveling music. He supposed that he had understood the imperative that she had created for herself the moment that Malfoy had told him she had lost her family. "I admire your willingness to... force your losses into service, as it were. But I think you are wrong if you believe that it is the last year that makes you want to bring about change."

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's in your blood, Granger. You were haranguing Potter and Weasley about house-elves--however ridiculously--before Voldemort ever returned to his body. You befriended the world's most hapless hero at the age of eleven and stuck with it, despite the danger that it put you in personally. You stayed with the wizarding world long after it was safe to do so, and fought for it when it would have been much easier to go home and pretend you'd never heard of magic. You do these things because of who you are, not because of what you've lost."

He thought he heard the sound of her tears and wondered if he'd gone too far.

"I am not trying to strip away your comfort, Hermione, nor the way you find meaning in the loss of your parents. It only seems to me that if you take every setback as a blow against their memories, then you do a disservice to both yourself and them."

She clutched him tightly, silently in the dark. Long after he had thought she had fallen asleep, she said, "Can I stay here tonight?"

Snape snorted. "I hardly think that's worth asking."

"Well... most of the time when we stay it's by accident. Although I admit that sometimes I know I'm falling asleep."

"Much as it pains me to admit it, I know sometimes myself."

She pressed more firmly up against his side. "Severus, what should I do now?"

"That is the third in a series of asinine questions," Snape said. "You know the answer."

"Say it anyway."

He sighed. "Fine," he said and turned onto his side as if to prepare to sleep. "Just keep trying, Granger."

Her knees tucked up behind his, and he thought there was a chance, however small, that they both might rest that night.