Chapter 2

Disclaimer: All together now: JO OWNS IT!

*****

Severus greets all her plans with flat rejection.

No multihouse Quidditch teams. No mentors from a different house, a different family background. No swapping around seating in the Great Hall. No 'school trips' to Muggle London. No bloody beginning-of-term camping trips for incoming students...seriously: This? From her?

No student newspaper. No officially sanctioned student wireless. No student 'talent show.' No 'subject of the month' presentations among staff. No cross-subject 'workshops' or 'seminars' in support of Minerva's future curriculum reforms.

Just no.

She's stunned, he can tell. For a minute, it looks like she might cry, but then her jaw sets, and the blush of upset and humiliation turns to the flush of anger.

'We'll see what Minerva has to say,' she says. 'And Kingsley, if it comes to it.'

As predicted. 'Mmm. I say no, so you're running to Mother? Tsk. Gliding in here on borrowed authority and throwing a tantrum when I don't clap my hands with glee and hand you the keys to the castle.'

'My authority isn't borrowed. It's quite real, and you know it.'

'I'm not so sure. You're not proving much by coming here and laying your childish plans at my feet for me to say yea or nay to.

'This whole enterprise is... rubbish. It's a foolish hope on Minerva's behalf...and obviously not terribly important to her, or she'd be sitting here talking to you instead of leaving it to me. As for Kingsley, his support is three-quarters political opportunism and one-quarter an attempt to get into Minerva's knickers.'

She blushes even deeper, clearly mortified. 'That's, that's... I don't know how you can say that.'

'Really, Professor Granger. The villa in Ibiza? Belongs to the Ministry. Kingsley's fancying a love nest.' He regards her with a smirk. 'Do you really want to tattle to Mother and Father? It might be a little more... complicated... than you think.'

She gazes at him, her expression wiped clean of any trace of her earlier enthusiasm. Her eyes are wary now.

That's right. I'm no longer a dying man you half-kill yourself to save, or a prisoner bound to cooperate with you. I'll make you look before you leap this time. And I OWE you nothing anymore.

'But I'm not going to force you to cry to the Ministry. Instead, I'll do you the favour of trying to get you to think for a moment.' He walks behind her and stands with his back to the window. She has to twist in her chair, squinting into the glare, in order to look at him.

He continues. 'So tell me. How does this sort of dealing...you and me, up in a tower, deciding between ourselves how things should be arranged...comport with your notions of cooperation, openness, and fairness?' He sketches a circle with his hand. 'Seems like the same old thing, to me. And it's not going so well for you, is it?'

He lowers his voice to a low, insinuating murmur. 'Where is your authority? Think.'

'Obscuro,' she says. The glass behind him darkens, neutralising his advantage.

'My authority lies, among other places, with the staff and students of Hogwarts.' She rises from her chair and pulls on her cardigan. 'Which reminds me. I've had a chat with nearly everyone on the staff...just informally, you know, over tea and biscuits, or Ogden's in a few cases. They've all agreed to be present at a meeting tomorrow morning after breakfast, in the room just behind the Great Hall. We'll be voting on which of these projects we would like, as a staff, to organise this year. Then we'll discuss who will be in charge of each, so we can have it sorted before the students arrive on Monday.'

She reaches for her bag. 'Oh, would you do me the favour of telling Professor Malfoy about the meeting, please? I haven't had a chance to visit him yet.'

At the door, she pauses, looking down at the floor. 'And I must confess I was surprised at your analysis of Kingsley's, ah, secondary motivation.' She looks up at him, and there's more than a little light back in her eyes. 'Considering Minerva got into his pants months ago, he doesn't need to scheme at her knickers. I'm sure he already has several pairs around the place, should any need arise.

'Until tomorrow, then. Headmaster.'

For about two minutes after she leaves, he stares out the window, his eyes glinting.

Then he snorts softly and turns back to his...or rather, Minerva's...desk.

* * *

'You look chuffed.' Neville grins.

'I am chuffed. I think that went marvellously well.'

For the students, the staff have approved the mentoring scheme, trips for sixth- and seventh-years, seat swapping for House points, and newspaper and talent show participation ditto...all with rules and safeguards to curb cliques and bullying and promote actual interhouse friendships.

For themselves, the staff have decided there will be regular but informal meetings about the ways their subjects overlap or complement one another. Just to get them thinking and talking about these things before Minerva returns and begins her programme of reforms.

Hermione chuckles.

'What?'

'Just thinking about my Quidditch gambit.'

'Which was?'

'You know...the suggestion that we divide up the House Quidditch teams into four interhouse teams. A notion so horrifying and wrong that almost any other plan sounds like the whispering of the angels.'

'You did that on purpose!' Neville howls with laughter. 'Gods, Hermione, you are brilliant.'

'I am.'

'I thought Rolanda was going to clout you. And Snape looked like he'd eaten live grindylows for breakfast and they were dancing on his kidneys.'

Now she laughs out loud. 'He did. But then, really, he always does.'

'He shouldn't have underestimated you like that.'

'No.' She turns her face up to the interlacing branches of the trees that line their path. 'I'd bet he won't again.' Wish he weren't my adversary. Wish he'd be my friend.

Neville picks up a long, thin stick from the ground and whips it through the air so it whistles.

'I'm so glad you're here,' he says. 'It will make my year.'

Neville doesn't say such things lightly. They walk in silence for a little while. She hates to break it, but she feels the subject looming.

'Nev, how was it? Being in the same room with him? Are you, um, are you okay?'

He uses his stick to behead a few dandelions before answering.

'I am, actually. Surprisingly so. It was... helpful... to have advance warning. And the sighting in the Leaky Cauldron last week took some of the shock out of today.'

He's silent for a moment. 'I think...I hope...that this will be a good thing, in the end. Seeing him every day...' He swallows hard. 'Seeing him every day, working with him, might allow me to finally... let go.'

She nods, mute. It's what she can manage. Inside her head, she worries about so many things. Is Neville really bearing up as well as he claims? And what is Draco thinking, coming back to Hogwarts to teach alongside Neville...even if only for the year? Is he just that insensitive? What if Draco's dating someone else? How would Neville deal with seeing the love of his life really, finally, out of reach?

Now that she knows what they had in their seventh year...a grand passion carried on in secret, and ending in the agony of Draco's weakness and betrayal...she's a little in awe of Neville. And of Draco, it must be said.

Though she'll kill him, of course, if he ever, ever hurts Neville again.

They walk on.

* * *

'You look hacked off.'

'Hardly. You'll recollect this is my usual expression.'

'If you say so. She did outmanoeuvre you, though, didn't she?' Draco grins. 'That was rather brilliant, that whole Quidditch thing. Granger always did like plotting and intrigue. She'd have made a good Slytherin.'

'No, she wouldn't.' Severus says. 'She'll resort to low tactics, certainly, but always in the service of the greater good.'

'Which you would never do, of course.'

'Shut it. And stop grinning. I have a job for you.' Severus strides to a side table and picks up a sheaf of parchments. 'You'll need to get started on this today...the owls need to be out by dinnertime.'

Draco shuffles through the sheets, baffled. 'What is all this?'

'The Bezoar. Hogwarts' new student-run newspaper. Congratulations; you are the staff advisor. Here,' Severus points, 'is your reporting staff. They need to be informed of their appointments before they get on the Hogwarts Express on Monday morning. So. Owls out this afternoon.

'Here is your template: news, sport, announcements here; editorial here, including the Headmaster's Corner, which I will write. This' he pulls out a sheet 'is the inaugural column.'

Draco's as pale as wax. 'But... but at the meeting, Nev...Longbottom said he'd oversee the newspaper.'

Severus sneers. 'Do you really think I'm going to let Granger control the press by way of Longbottom? No. On Monday at the Welcoming Feast I'll announce all these delightful innovations and when I mention the Bezoar, you will stand up and introduce your staff. She'll see that two can play a game of fait accompli.'

'But... but... Longbottom...'

'You have until tomorrow to get him to cry off. If he won't, then you'll share the job. Close your mouth, Draco. You look like a guppy. Oh, bollocks, sit down before you fall down.' He shoves a chair under his sagging colleague and pushes his head down to the level of his knees. 'Breathe.'

They're both silent for a minute, until it's clear Draco will neither vomit nor faint.

'You did realise, did you not, Draco, that working with him would entail actually working with him? No, don't answer that. I don't want to hear it. What I want is for you to stop trembling like a first-year and go and send those owls.'

Draco mumbles something that sounds like 'fuck you and the broom you rode in on,' but Severus is already back behind his desk, quill in hand, giving Draco his chilliest why-are-you-still-here look.

As the door clicks behind Draco, a rich, warm chuckle sounds from behind the Headmaster's desk, and a familiar voice says, 'Well managed, Severus. I...'

Without looking up from his work, Severus points his wand over his shoulder and mutters 'Silencio.'

He has got to look into a permanent binding spell for Dumbledore's portrait. Worst bloody thing about this stupid bloody job.

* * *

'You're not going to like it.'

She wants to laugh. 'Name one likeable thing Snape's done this year. Let's see. He rejected every one of my reforms out of hand. When that didn't work, he took over the Bezoar by coup. He stuck you working with Malfoy. He refuses to sign up for any of the staff round tables. He's throwing up every kind of red tape around the school trips. Nope, nothing likeable there. He's a contrary, obstructionist, sneering, dour, overbearing, underhanded bastard.'

Neville smiles. 'In other words, he's himself and, furthermore, he's used some of your own best tactics against you.'

She's silent for a moment.

'Well... well... just... okay, I suppose, if you put it that way.' She huffs and holds out her hand. 'Just give it to me.'

He hands her the paper and settles back in his chair.

She starts to read. After a paragraph, her mouth has fallen open. Two paragraphs in, and her face is red. Halfway through the column, she's making explosive little sounds. She finishes it and throws it, hard, at the wall.

'Greasy! Slimy! Destructive! Git!'

'I know,' says Neville. 'It's bad.'

She leaps to her feet and grabs the paper up off the floor. 'This!' She shouts, slapping it with the back of her hand. '"I wish to reassure all Hogwarts students that the many rumours swirling around this Ministry appointment are almost all unfounded." Almost all unfounded! Ugh!

'"Professor Granger is in fact not authorised to dismantle the centuries-old, dearly cherished tradition of interhouse Quidditch competition." Sneaky, rotten bastard, using that against me and starting rumours when he pretends to be quashing them.

'And then! He just starts making things up: "As of this time, students may still date members of their own Houses." Well, good gods, that was never on the table.

'"Students will not be penalised if they elect to sit at their own House tables or if they decline to travel to Muggle London in November or participate in the so-called talent show." Of course they won't! This scheme is not about penalising anyone, it's about rewarding behavioural changes that will benefit all of us!'

'No need to shout, Hermione. I know all that.'

'Right here, Neville,' she wails, 'right next to my own article discussing the changes. His stupid column, undercutting them. Why? Why is he doing this? What does he have against me? Why can't he show a little, a little...'

'Gratitude?' he offers.

'No! No! Of course not gratitude. Maybe just something that's not pure, pigheaded, nonsensical hatefulness.'

'Because he owes you that much, at least?'

'Neville! Stop it! You know he doesn't owe me anything! All of us, everyone involved with his, his rescue and with the trial, forgave him his Life Debt to us without his even having to ask.'

'Putting him, in a way, even more in your debt.'

'You know Life Debts don't work that way...'

'Hermione, love. That's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about his own sense of justice, his pride. Technically, he's not in your debt, or Harry's, or Minerva's, or the Weasleys'. But in a sense, he always will be. It has to be galling to someone like him.'

'Someone hardly human? Too right! Depending on other people? Horrors! Ceding a little authority? Never! Admitting that I or anyone who's not him might have something of value to say? Perish the thought!' She's pacing as she rants, and the combination is making her feel energised and excited. She feels... rather great, actually.

Neville sighs. 'I don't think that's exactly it...'

She stops short and holds out her hand. 'Wait. Neville, can you accommodate an anonymous item?'

He thinks a minute. 'Well, sure, I suppose, as long as, um, either Draco or I know what the source is. And as long as it's not, well, you know, defamatory or any of that.' He looks worried. 'What, um, what are you thinking of?'

'You'll see. Deadline's Wednesday, right?' He nods. 'Wonderful.'

She thinks, So this is how you want it, Mr Snape? Very well then. The game is on. And she smiles a hard little smile.

* * *

'Suborning the portraits now, Miss Granger? Who next? The ghosts? The squid? The Whomping Willow?'

Against her will, she shivers. She has to admit it...no one else could make sheer contempt sound quite so delectable. That voice: it's like rich pastry. With a knife baked in.

'Professor Snape,' she says. 'As you and I are not on informal terms, I must ask you to call me Professor Granger. I'm no longer your student.'

'Small mercies.'

She widens her eyes theatrically. 'Oh, I quite agree. But please, what were you saying? Something about the portraits?'

She has rather lovely eyes...actually, very lovely eyes. Large and clear and warm. Well, warm in colour. Their expression, at the moment, is... not warm, exactly.

He tosses the latest edition of the Bezoar on his desk.

She makes as though she's just got his meaning. 'Oh. You mean that little anonymous item?'

'You admit you wrote it?'

She smiles, and there is warmth there. She's enjoying this, too. He feels an unaccountable burst of pleasure.

'I hardly think you'd call me in here to discuss it if you hadn't already ascertained that for yourself. Also, Neville told me you'd asked him.'

She looks pointedly at the portrait of a slumbering Dumbledore on the wall behind Snape, then returns her bright gaze to him.

'Well?'

'It's not anyone's business what I do with the portraits in my office.'

Hisses and gasps issue from the few unbound portraits left on the walls.

'That's not what the portraits think. Clearly. And I do think it's of interest to the greater community that you are cutting yourself off from the customary counsel of past Headmasters and Headmistresses. It's, mmmm, eccentric? Yes, that's the word.'

He shrugs. 'Unlike some people, I do not choose to do my job according to the dictates of a committee. Now. Who was your source?'

'Oh, Professor Snape. You're forgetting the whole point of an anonymous item. If the portrait I spoke to wanted to be identified, I would have quoted that portrait. Or portraits, really. I'm sorry, but I can't identify my source. Sources, I mean.'

'Very well. It seems I will have to start authorising the final layouts for the Bezoar. I can't allow frivolous or scurrilous reports to upset the students and the staff.'

'Well.' She raises her eyebrows. 'If you truly relish the extra work, by all means.' She sits and looks at him for a minute, letting a smile slowly take over her face.

She leans forward and murmurs, 'I'll just take the fight elsewhere. I'm quite indefatigable. And very, very resourceful. As you know.'

'Quite,' he says, and allows the silence to pool between them. 'You've changed since then.' Why did I just say that? He narrows his eyes and glares at her, because looking away would be too revealing.

'Well, you haven't,' she shoots back, because of course that's the best possible response. But she thinks, What do you mean? What do you see when you look at me? Why am I an enemy?

He smirks. 'No. I haven't.'

'That's good, then. I shall know exactly how to act. Ta.' And she saunters out of the door.

He shakes his head. Truly, he could happily stare at that arse forever.