Six

"May I help you, at least?"

"No."

"I do know how to cook."

"I don't doubt that, Granger, but I do not require your assistance."

Hermione subsided. Snape, with Professor McGonagall's shouted approval, had confined her to the sofa for the past twenty-four hours, and she was itching to be up and about.

"May I at least read?" she asked.

"If you can Summon a book. I am busy," came the reply from the kitchen.

"I feel stronger."

"I do not doubt that. But you must rest, Granger, unless you wish to be unconscious on my floor again."

Hermione subsided with a sigh and reached for a book.

"Accio Charms text."

As the book flew and hit her hand with a heavy thunk, Hermione felt a brief surge of satisfaction – her magic was stable, and, unless she was mistaken, stronger. It was promising. Or it would be if Professor Snape would ever let her do anything.

"I must return to Scotland. You will stay here."

"I... why can't I go back to school with you?"

"Because Professor McGonagall and I have agreed that you should not yet travel by Portkey. It is safer. I will take your work to her and Professor Flitwick and return tomorrow with new coursework."

"But the first years?"

"Will survive without your exalted presence. They will have found another teacher to torture – doubtless Horace has been suffering from their shenanigans.

"But..."

"Count yourself fortunate, Granger, that you do not have to deal with them. From what I hear, they are a group of little monsters."

"But..."

"And in truth, Granger, you do not have the temperament to be a teacher. Trust me."

With that dramatic pronouncement, Snape spun in a flare of teaching robes and disappeared with a loud pop.

"Temperament indeed," Hermione huffed. "If that's not the pot calling the kettle black..."

Carefully, she padded back to the sofa. It was actually quite late at night at the house, and although she was stronger, no sensible person would be awake at 3am if she could help it.

"You're silent this evening," Snape observed that night over dinner. "Not that I mind, compared to your incessant prattle, but it seems unlike you."

Hermione resisted the urge to make a face at him.

"How long have you had this house?" she asked.

"Since I began teaching at Hogwarts. I came here every summer that I could to work on it, to make it my own."

Lucky you. Must be nice.

"I knew this place was special – it was worth it to me."

"A retreat," Hermione said.

"In a sense. If it had not been for this place..." Snape trailed off, opening his hand.

"But Professor, why did I see this place? Why was I standing on the deck out there, watching the sea?"

"Granger, I don't think you truly wish to know."

"Why not?" Hermione banged her fork down. "Why do you keep treating me like this? You open up and tell me things about you, you've been caring for me for the past week, and then you treat me like a child! You're only telling me half of the story!"

"You are a child. You are impulsive and, despite your allegedly superior talent at witchcraft, unthinking. If it had not been for Minerva's intervention and my assistance, you would be a squib. Did that not occur to you?"

"What?"

"Why do you think you are really here, Granger? Surely you would have noticed your magic slipping before that incident in Filius' classroom?"

"Noticed..." Hermione paused. "How did you know about that?"

"You're a terrible liar, Granger. Let me guess. Until this week, you haven't slept more than two hours a night. Until I showed you how to focus, until you saw this place – Merlin help me – your magic came only in fits and starts. Wake up, Granger. You would have died if I hadn't helped you."

"So once again," Hermione sneered at him, "the brave Severus Snape comes to my aid."

"I am as surprised as you," Snape returned. "I had hoped that, unlike Potter, you had at least some sense of self-preservation."

Pushed to her limit, Hermione shot up from the table, sending her chair sliding back on the floor. "Fuck you, Snape!" she cried.

Oh my God, I just said "fuck" to a teacher!

She clapped her hands over her mouth and slowly backed away into the living room, Snape watching her go, step by step. Dismayed, she sank onto his sofa and buried her head in her hands. She heard Snape pick up his fork and resume his dinner.

She did not hear his murmured, "About damn time."

Hermione, despite the horror she felt at having said "fuck" to a teacher, spent the night fuming.

How dare Snape tell her she was a child?

How dare he insult her?

How dare he claim to have saved her?

When morning crept over the house, she was still furious, lying stiffly on the sofa, staring at the ceiling.

From the kitchen, she heard Saturn jump down from the countertop as Snape padded down the stairs and began to make tea.

"Here." Snape squatted by her head and shoved a steaming mug at her. "I may have been... hasty."

Hermione levered herself up on the sofa.

"My mother withered and died when she was forbidden to return to Devonshire," he said shortly. "I do not wish the same fate for any-... Minerva would have been disappointed to lose her favorite student in a generation."

"Thank you," Hermione replied. "I am sorry I..."

"Do not concern yourself. You were being goaded. It may have been... unfair of me to do so. What is important, Miss Granger, is that you heal. Minerva expects you to return to Hogwarts with me on Monday."

Hermione nodded over the fragrant mug. "I do love it here," she said, looking over his shoulder at the pink-stained clouds scudding across the sky.

"Accio jumpers," Snape said suddenly. "Let us drink our tea out on the deck."

Bundled into Snape's bulky jumper, Hermione snuggled into a chair and let the wind toss her unruly hair about her face. From behind the curtain of hair, she watched Snape, his face turned upwards as he greeted the day.

He's not handsome, but when he's not snarling and growling at the world, when he's at peace...

Hermione stood and joined him at the railing. Holding out her hand, she turned to her former professor.

"I'm Hermione Granger," she said, "and I very much appreciate your hospitality this week."

Snape looked shocked, and then a slow smile crept across his face.

His smile is rather nice, even with those teeth.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Gr- Hermione."

If traveling through the tunnels at Gringotts was terrifying, driving with Severus Snape through the Pacific Coast Mountain range from Siletz Bay to Portland was an exercise in torture.

Snape apparently maintained a small sports car that he hurtled through the hairpin turns on the densely wooded back roads and across narrow, one-lane bridges through the pouring rain as if Dementors were after him.

White and shaking, Hermione was never so grateful to arrive at the International Portkey Terminal in the northern part of the city.

"We will return via Portkey on Friday. Pack more clothing this time. We will return every weekend, until your magic is fully restored."

He shoved a battered water bottle into her hands and clamped his own hand over her wrist.

"Hang on," he whispered in her ear, drawing her close to him as the Portkey spun them into the whirling vortex. The last thing Hermione was aware of before they vanished was his warm chest against hers and the delicate scent of his shaving soap.

Though she could not swear to it, she was certain his touch lingered slightly as he released her when they landed outside of the gates of the school.

Though she could not swear to it, she was certain that as they parted in the Great Hall – he to ascertain the damage that a week of Slughorn had wreaked upon his classroom and she to the staff room to find Professor McGonagall – that he gave her a brief smile.

Though she would not swear to it, she watched him go in a billow of robes and wished that they could be together in the house again.

AN: Not mine, no money.