Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks to my team of Sshg316, Machshefa, and MagicAlly for their beta/psych/Brit-picking help. Thanks due this chapter to Savine Snape, who assisted with Severus' credentials. All errors are mine.

Banner by Savine Snape

Chapter Five

A thick, wet winter fog hid the buildings and obscured the streetlights on Grimmauld Place as Severus Snape stepped from an alley between two houses. An acute observer might have noted the snow upon the shoulders of his heavy cloak, for it had been snowing in Manchester when he left. In the general misery of the London fog, however, the snow melted in mere moments as he strode purposefully down the street to number twelve. He mounted the steps hurriedly, thinking only that the girl would be inside.

It was the night of the January meeting of the Order of the Phoenix Trust, and he had not seen her since the morning after the Order Christmas party.

The temperature on the basement stairs was stifling, a sure sign that Molly had arrived early and begun readying the place for them. With a grimace, he unwound his loden green scarf as he entered the kitchen. Even Shacklebolt had already arrived, which meant that Severus had timed his entry precisely as he had wished. The latest arrival, after all, would have the opportunity to fill the empty seat of his choosing ...

But mere seconds were sufficient to tell him that he would not be staying for the meeting.

'Where is Miss Granger?' he said tersely, his words directed to Arthur Weasley.

Arthur stood, placing a quieting hand upon Molly's shoulder, but she spoke anyway. 'We thought she might be with you.'

From behind him came the closing of the front door, followed by another voice. 'Do you mind, Snape? You're blocking the doorway.'

Severus stepped back, allowing Percy Weasley to squeeze past him. The younger wizard's hair glistened with a sprinkling of damp, as if he had stood outside a while in the foggy night.

'Still with us, are you?' he muttered to Percy sourly.

'Perce is with us until summer,' Arthur said, seeing his son's irritated glare at Severus. 'He's on special assignment for the Canadian Department of International Magical Cooperation.'

Percy turned rudely from Severus and addressed the table at large. 'There're no lights at her flat, but I couldn't get onto the stoop to knock on the door...there's some sort of strange ward I couldn't get around ...'

William Weasley stood. 'I'll give a go, shall I?' the curse breaker said, his wand hand flexing.

Molly spoke again. 'Severus,' she said tentatively, and he gave her his attention, his expression determinedly blank. 'I haven't seen her since the Christmas party...have you?'

He moved his head side to side once, a negative reply.

Molly's face crumpled. 'She's never missed a meeting, no matter how ... poorly she's been,' Molly lamented. 'And she doesn't like it when we come to her flat uninvited. Sometimes she won't answer the bell, even when she's expecting us ...'

'Mother, you couldn't get to her flat, aren't you listening?' Percy snapped irritably. 'Something has happened to her...someone has barred us from her door!' He turned to glare accusingly at Severus. 'We need to call in Magical Law Enforcement.'

Shacklebolt leaned forward, a frown on his face. 'Shall I call for the Aurors?' he said, reaching for his wand.

Dear God, the last thing she needs is to have a pack of Aurors descend upon her, Severus thought. This was going pear-shaped fast.

'I'll investigate, Minister,' Severus said, projecting smooth confidence. 'There is business to be conducted here and nothing in the bylaws to prevent the meeting from going forward without the Chief Trustee.' He replaced his scarf with crisp movements. 'You know how clever she is...she undoubtedly placed the ward to protect her privacy. If there is need, I shall send word.'

And without waiting for anyone's acquiescence, Severus turned and started up the steps, hearing Percy's angry protest, Arthur's calm reassurance, and at the last, Nymphadora's voice rising above them all.

'Am I the only one with plans for tonight? Let's get on with it!'

Then Severus was out the door again, into the foggy London night.

She lived in a Muggle area some distance from Grimmauld Place, and he elected to walk there. Sometimes, even now, he missed the endless corridors of Hogwarts and the hours he had spent patrolling them. Those prowls had given him wide scope for mulling things over, though frequently, they had also been filled with obsessive, if well-earned, self-recrimination. He couldn't prevent his mind now from beginning again to list all the mistakes he had made thus far in his quest to fix Hermione Granger.

With the utterance of one word, she had awoken him to her plight, and in an instant, he had known the overpowering impulse to save her.

Handling her had been a challenge from the start; it wasn't as if the gentling and healing of a bruised wildflower was a science. It was, at its core, an art form of the freestyle sort, with no direct path to its heart ... to her heart. And so many times already he had bungled it, driving her from him as a feral thing from a fool blundering through a wood.

She had run from him first the morning they had shared their initial breakfast, because he had questioned her about what she meant by wishing to be owned. What a dunderhead he'd been! He had sent the jam as an apology, as an inducement to lure her to nourish her starved body...as bait to the snare of his determination.

The next month, after supper, he'd announced his intention to retire to the library, hoping it would be enough to tempt her to seek him out. He'd placed the wine beside him, left the book for her to find, and waited, hoping. She'd been a brave girl to seek him out as she'd done...he'd been filled with pride for her as she'd gripped the back of the chair and asked him why.

Careful manoeuvring had inveigled her into the chair, and by the simple expedient of leaving her in peace, he had been privileged to watch as she relaxed and enjoyed sipping her wine and reading her book ... until Percy Weasley had breached the cocoon Severus had so carefully created for her.

Percy! What a fuckwit! Severus had seldom been as furious as he was when the idiot Weasley had invaded the library and had cocked-up the serene atmosphere. But it hadn't been Weasley, in the end, who had driven Hermione from the room, had it? No, he'd been the arse who'd challenged the Weasley twit, and the excess of testosterone-fuelled brangling had set the girl to flight as surely as if they'd partaken of fisticuffs.

He'd hoped to recover his position with her the next morning over the teacups, by offering to escort her to the shops...it was a shrewd bet that she had nothing decent to wear to the party...but once again, he'd fucked it up, pushing her too far too fast, and he'd had to mop her up with the entire household as an audience. At least he'd finagled a way to get her out of the house in a safe way and accomplished his goal of having her look the part of the Chief Trustee of the Order of the Phoenix Trust before the press and the Ministry higher-ups...but he'd frightened her off again the next morning. He might be a prize bungler, but he was damned if he'd leave it there.

By God, he would save one of them, or die trying.

Severus ducked into a doorway and waited a moment, listening for footsteps, but he heard none. The fog seemed to muffle sound, and it was virtually impossible to see more than a few feet in any direction. But years of caution had ingrained the habit of stealth, and being abroad on the open street filled him with a base level of constant uneasiness, compounded by his apprehension for the girl. What stupid thing had she done now? After a moment, he emerged into the persistent silence and continued on his way.

After the Christmas party, she had lain upon the floor outside his door until dawn. He had kept watch with her from within his room, willing her the strength to touch her knuckles to the door and request entrance. Then she had plodded back down the stairs, he had risen and dressed, exhausted but determined to persist in his venture.

When she had slipped wordlessly into a kitchen chair, he had turned with the tray of tea things to see her as she had been a month ago, rather than the almost-healthy girl from the night before. Newly trimmed hair still slick from the shower, she had washed away the careful hairstyle, scrubbed away the spa-day makeup, and sat with pasty skin and downcast eyes, awaiting him.

He had prepared a cup of tea for her, placing it before her as well as toast and the homemade brambleberry jam. Then he had sat back and waited for her to speak. She had drunk the tea but left the toast untouched. She had not looked at him, instead staring at the cup and saucer beneath her hands, as if she had been too angry to speak to him, but unable to resist the lure of a quiet hour with him. Minutes had passed, the kitchen clock ticking them away, the silence continuing.

Then she had stood, darting a quick glance at him to see his response. In that glance he had seen her desolation, her desperation, and her longing, and empathy had jittered through him. Keeping his face carefully noncommittal, he had risen to his feet as well. She had tensed, and he'd recognised the stance, knowing she was at war with herself...would she run or would she strike out at him?

Flight had won out over fight, and she had sidled to the door, as if fearful to turn her back to him. He had slipped his hand into his coat pocket, and she'd whirled then, her wand raised defensively, her eyes glittering, as if she wished he would give her an excuse to use it.

As he penetrated deeper into the city, leaving behind the decaying grandeur of Grimmauld Street and its environs, he began to see other pedestrians and the occasional automobile. A couple passed him, arm in arm, their heads together, and he marvelled as always at the implied intimacy betwixt the man and woman. How were they able to share themselves so whole-heartedly, without holding back their true feelings and motivations? In his youth, he had attempted to be open and frank with a girl...after all, he had lacked the skills to hold himself back from her...and the revelation of his heart and dreams had brought nothing but desertion and unending heartache ...

Severus had ignored the girl's readiness to hex him where he stood and striven to present a calm, accepting face to her as he removed his hand from his pocket and extended his card to her.

'My address,' he had explained and was actually relieved when she accepted the card from his fingers.

She had studied the white rectangle for a moment, then had begun to read aloud.

'Severus Snape BSc, M.Res, War.D

Potions Master

Fellow of Ostanes and Artephius College

Albertus Magnus Chair, Bavarian University.'

Severus had twitched the card over, feeling irritated. Did she think he would parade his accomplishments before her like the pathetic Percy Weasley? Couldn't she do the simplest thing without challenging his instructions? 'On the back, Hermione,' he had said, with more gruffness than he had intended.

For the first time that morning, she had looked into his eyes, her own wide with interest. 'I didn't know all that about you,' she'd begun, but his feelings of discomfiture had persisted, so he'd talked over her.

'... and I would appreciate it if you would keep it private,' he had snapped. 'It's not common knowledge.'

She had blinked her big, tired eyes and asked, 'Your credentials or your address?'

It was just possible, he now thought, that she had been teasing him; at the time, he hadn't paused to consider the likelihood. 'My address,' he had exhaled.

And overcome with awkwardness, he had turned from her and begun to clear away his breakfast. He had struggled to rein in his galloping ineptitude, to behave as the mature one in this exchange, but his voice had still sounded fractious to his own ears as he had said, 'Why don't you finish your toast?'

She had stepped up beside him, her face turned up to his. He had not looked at her, pretending to be occupied with brushing crumbs from the table, but he had felt her curiosity like a burning upon his skin. In a move of rank cowardice, he had turned away from her with the tray clutched in his hands.

'But ... why did you give this to me?'

And having the conversation slide from his incompetence to her insecurities had placed him on solid ground again. Turning to her, he had said, 'I am available to you, should you have need of me, Hermione. You have only to knock.'

In the next instant, he had read her desire to throw the address in his face...had known her bitter rejection of his exaction...but she had simply spun away from him and slammed her way out of number twelve.

Now he stood before her house...a dilapidated building on a dingy street in a dodgy neighbourhood...of which she possessed the ground floor flat, complete with its own private entrance to the street. The stoop was naught but three crumbling steps up to the door, and a murmured charm showed him clearly the magical barrier she had created to keep away unwanted visitors...and for the first time since he had seen her on the Grimmauld Place stairs in her party finery, looking so lovely, he felt a surge of victory. She had used his spell!

He passed through the ward keyed to his DNA...when had she collected his hair?...feeling jubilant. She had wanted him to come...only him...the ward had repulsed the efforts of Percy Weasley to mount the steps. A fierce satisfaction filled his lungs with victorious breath as he puffed out his chest and straightened his shoulders ... and stared at the begrimed brass knocker, fashioned in the likeness of a gryphon, situated at his eye level.

In an instant, his elation leached away, leaving the far more familiar slick of self-doubt behind. She would know he was at her door, would have felt the sensation of him passing through her meticulously placed protective spell. She found peace in his company, did she not? In his undemanding presence, she soaked up his approbation like a long-dry sponge, the scales of her self-blame falling from her like the winter coat of a lioness in the spring. She would be pleased...happy, even...to see him.

And still, he stood uncertainly upon her door step, loath to take the knocker in his hand and knock.