Four

A nod was all Severus was willing to give as recompense for Granger's friendly smile and customary 'oh-hello-Professor-Snape', but that – and the fact that he took the seat next to hers at the table – seemed to satisfy her. An odd young woman. A week of knitting, reading, and intermittently talking at him while he worked on the barn seemed to have established, well, if not ease, then at least custom. He certainly hadn't made any effort to encourage her. When his natural lack of charm hadn't sufficed to drive her away, he had tried out-and-out obnoxiousness, but the Gryffindor (clearly amused, for some reason) had refused to be chased away on any but her own terms.

And she had shared her sandwiches.

Of course, that meant he had to share his tea.

And yet, the fillings she chose were inspired ...

So Severus nabbed the Daily Prophet from her neat stack of papers, took his seat, riffled through to find the crossword, and proceeded to ignore her. For her part, she continued to doodle runes and flowers on a sheet of parchment as the rest of the staff drifted in for the pre-term meeting.

It was the thirty-first of August, and all of Hogwarts was getting ready to don tin hats and dive for the bunkers.

The noise level in the room increased exponentially with each new arrival. Severus imparted the odd grunt of recognition but kept his nose otherwise firmly directed to the puzzles page. Granger, for her part, dispensed cheerful greetings with a sad lack of discrimination.

McGonagall swept into the room and smashed an armful of files onto the table with a deafening crack. Trelawney squeaked and fluttered but then, under the headmistress' icy glare, joined the rest in silence.

"Good morning to you all," said McGonagall. "I am glad to see all of you back looking rested and healthy and fit to take on the new school year." Her gaze rested pointedly on Granger, who returned a mildly sarcastic smile. "Before I hand out your timetables and deal with any particular issues you wish to raise, I would like to alert you all to some welcome changes in staffing this year – some of which are already known to some of you, I am sure, but bear with me." She paused. "As you know, Professor Babbling retired at the end of last year."

"About time," whispered Hooch to Sinistra. "Gone a bit bananas, if you ask me."

"Thank you, Rolanda," McGonagall said repressively. "To continue: now that Bathsheba is no longer with us, I am pleased to announce that Hermione Granger has acceded to the full professorship and all its duties."

There was a brief ripple of applause, and Granger's cheeks flushed delicately. She nodded at the rest of the staff before sinking down a little in her place. Severus was mildly surprised that she didn't seem comfortable with the attention, over-achiever that she was.

"I believe we have an addition in the Herbology department, Pomona?" continued the headmistress, waving a hand to give Sprout the floor.

Professor Sprout standing was not much different in height from Professor Sprout sitting – the only clue that she was on her feet was the fact that she was bouncing on them.

"Yes! Thank you!" she gushed. "Yes! I've decided to take on an assistant this year!"

Severus started making a tally of exclamation marks. From the corner of his eye, he saw Granger take note and smirk.

"Yes!"

Another mark.

"Given the expansion of the greenhouses – and we're now one of the foremost producers of rare plants in Britain! –"

And another.

"– and given that Herbology is one of the most popular subjects at school, I have been lucky enough to recruit ..."

That was a logical progression? scribbled Granger in the margin of her parchment. Severus' lips twitched.

"... a hugely well-qualified young Herbologist whom many of you already know well!"

Another ... Severus looked up in horror.

"Yes! Neville Longbottom!" Sprout bustled to the door and opened it onto the vision of a tweed-clad backside.

"Trevor?"

McGonagall hemmed.

Longbottom straightened awkwardly, toad in hand, face red. Some things never changed.

"Come on in, Neville," cajoled Sprout as the young man teetered on the threshold. Crowds of well-disposed and not noticeably unbalanced people were clearly more terrifying than giant serpents and deranged Dark Overlords.

Poor Neville. How on earth is he going to face even the first years? scribbled Granger.

Hide behind Sprout? Severus replied.

Her shoulders shook. Neville was at least twice his boss's height.

Sprout conjured a chair, and Longbottom, looming over her, followed meekly to take his place at the table.

"Neville will be helping me particularly with the rarer plants grown for Potions use," added Sprout, shooting a mischievous glance in Severus' direction.

"Splendid, splendid!" puffed Slughorn. "I'm sure I'll find lots of uses for them!"

Neville, whose horrified stare had been fixed on Severus' face, sagged with relief. For his part, Severus felt for the first time that there might actually be an advantage to not teaching Potions, since by now Longbottom had almost certainly developed the ability to explode cauldrons remotely.

"And now," McGonagall interjected, "I would like to move on to this year's appointment of a teacher to the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts."

There was an expectant hush, and most faces turned towards Severus.

"As you are aware, I have until now continued the tradition of reappointing to the post every year – not because of any continuation of the alleged curse, but simply because I did not feel that we had yet been able to attract a professor of sufficient calibre; someone experienced in the theory, the transmission, and the practice of the discipline."

Another dramatic pause. Snape's name was whispered around the table.

"This year, I believe we have found our man."

Granger had gone very still and was avoiding Severus' eyes.

"Harry Potter."

Merlin on a motorbike. Severus seized Granger's quill and scrawled, "You knew?" dotting the bottom of the question mark with a ferocious splatter.

"Sorry," she whispered.

He leaned towards her, meaning to demand an explanation, but the thunder of applause and chairs scraping as people stood up drowned him out. He had to satisfy himself with a glare. Granger gave him an apologetic grimace and mouthed, "I'll explain later," before getting to her feet and threading her way to the doorway, where Potter stood drinking in the adulation. The smug display tightened Severus' lips. Try as he might (which wasn't saying much) to recognise what merits the boy had, he still got on his wick.

Potter toured the room and eventually ended up where Severus still sat looking unfriendly. He stuck out his hand.

"It's good to see you again, sir," he said simply.

Severus returned the shake as briefly as he could.

"Which brings me ...," the headmistress said shrilly over the hubbub, "if I may?"

The old cat still knew how to control a classroom.

"Which brings me," she repeated as quiet fell, "to the introduction – or rather, welcome re-introduction – of Professor Severus Snape to the staff of Hogwarts school." She hemmed. There was no round of enthusiastic applause – rather, an expectant silence, with many glances ping-ponging from Minerva to Severus and back.

Severus sat back and laced his fingers across his stomach. He raised his eyebrows a fraction, daring the headmistress to admit her mistake. She lowered hers in riposte.

"As you know, everyone, Horace still has a year to go before taking his well-earned ..."

Severus huffed discreetly.

"... retirement, so a vacancy in the Potions department is not the reason for Professor Snape's presence here today."

"Then what ...?" said Potter, who was sitting quietly next to Granger, doing a passable imitation of an adult.

"Professor Snape has been kind enough to answer my appeal for a teacher to fill our final vacancy this year," said McGonagall.

Neatly done, Minerva, he thought sarcastically.

"He will be taking on the course in Care of Magical Creatures, and will, I am sure, make a fine job of it."

There was a slightly shocked pause – Minerva was becoming as adept as Albus at keeping things from people – but then just as someone let out a giggle, someone else started clapping. Severus didn't have to turn his head to know that it was Potter, closely followed by Granger, already falling back into the habit of shadowing the Golden Boy's every move. His rancour deepened. He scowled and crossed his arms.

"Severus, thank you so much for helping out," McGonagall said, adding her own handclap to the sparse applause. "Very well. Now that's all over and done with, I think we might get on with business."

He kept his seat as his former colleagues got on with the nitty-gritty of schedules, supplies, and House affairs, but it was a close-run thing. He was aware of the lumpy cushion under his backside, the smell of the coffee cooling in cups here and there on the table, the changing angle of the sunlight through the windows, and most of all, Granger fretting at her quill next to him. It was a sorry-looking object by the time the meeting was over.

With another scrape of chairs, the staff got up to mingle, chat about the summer, for those who had not seen each other, or the coming year, for those who had. Potter had his circle of admirers, of course. Longbottom shadowed Sprout like a lost duckling. Lost giant duckling. Flitwick came over to express a greeting that was warm enough, Sprout already knew he was there, Trelawney flapped her scarves at him, though whether in alarm or delight it was impossible to tell, and the others seemed too awkward to want to approach.

He left the room, belatedly aware that Granger had been at his elbow the whole time.

*

The holding pens were a jumbled mess of shapes and sizes, cobbled together by Hagrid as and when he had had need of facilities for the various monsters he shipped in. There was no logic to their placement and no elegance to their construction – they shunted up against each other, a random collection of huts, pits, caves, perches, cages and barns, an unsightly yet undeniably solid settlement located half a mile inside the borders of the forest.

Severus shouldered the gate of the Thestral enclosure open and made pretence of checking that everything was in order. A deep straw bed gave the animals a place to lie down, if they wished; the water troughs were full and fresh; stands bearing large hooks were ready for the carcasses that would be brought down later to summon the herd. Nothing needed doing. He considered reviewing the facilities for the first creatures to be delivered the following day, but knew it was a pointless exercise. He was ready. His course was ready. Everything was sodding ready. Or if it wasn't, he didn't care.

He climbed up the paddock fence and sat slumped on the top, facing the Forest with a gloomy frown. A faint howl drifted in from somewhere deeper in the trees. It matched his mood. Enough time passed that he began to get thoroughly narked at the wood-pigeons. Every time he got onto a really satisfyingly bitter train of thought about McGonagall's manipulations – Albus had been right about Sorting her too early – some bloody bird would softly coo, undermining the frigid resolve he was attempting to build, thank you very much, to never even consider having a good mood ever again.

Well, at least target practice might cheer him up.

"I thought I might find you down here."

"Sod off, Granger."

"No." He heard the Forest gate open. Her footsteps made no sound on the lush grass as she walked round and parked herself on the ground below him, cross-legged, a substantial covered basket next to her. After one glance, which showed that there was a whole bucketload of Gryffindor bravado overlaying something less brash at play, he turned his face away.

"Shouldn't you be holding court with Potter?"

"I have neither reason nor desire to do so," she shrugged, ignoring Severus' waspish tone. "Everyone here knows me already. Besides which, I'd just distract him from all his course prep."

"You mean you're not –"

"I don't do anyone's homework for them any more," she snapped. "Especially not when they leave it until the last minute."

"Do I sense moral outrage, Granger?" He was looking at her now, concentrating on chasing away any signs of sympathy. "Finally managed to learn to let other people make mistakes?"

"Not really." She shrugged again. "It's a pointless exercise in Harry's case anyway. He'll just stroll into the classroom and wing it and be a huge success without having to make any particular effort."

Now she was sounding disgruntled. Excellent.

"So that's why you've stalked off here in a miff, then."

"Not at all," she responded, putting on an air of hauteur. "You left your timetable behind."

She lifted the lid of her basket and an enticing smell crept out with the clear intention of ensnaring his senses and enslaving his stomach. He ignored the loud rumble and reached down for the parchment Granger was waving.

"Oh – what?!"

Granger's shoulders slumped.

"I know – she did it to me, too. Fourth years, double lesson last thing on Friday. How I'm going to keep them awake, I have no idea."

"I'll swap you," said Severus grimly. "First year Gryffindors and Slytherins, followed by two sessions of third-year theory. All Friday afternoon. And why in Hob's name she feels she has to continue Dumbledore's insane notion of friendship through proximity, I don't know!"

"Yeah. Being in a class together hardly resulted in spontaneous love between Harry and Malfoy."

"More like spontaneous combustion."

"No – that was Neville," she responded judiciously.

Snape snorted and felt his stomach gouge at his ribs.

"What's in the basket, Granger?"

"Yummy things."

"Your attempts to be enigmatic overwhelm me, as always."

"I'll share if you stop pretending to be a sulky crow and come down off your perch."

She looked directly up at him, her expression lightly teasing but her eyes serious.

"I suppose McGonagall told you to keep me in the dark."

"I don't believe in keeping secrets for secrecy's sake – and I don't believe anything was to be gained keeping Harry's appointment from you. But on the other hand," she added, forestalling him, "I don't think you should blame him for someone else's decisions, either."

A heavy silence fell between them. Granger sighed and got to her feet, bending to pick up the basket, but Severus jumped down from the fence and blocked her path as she made to leave. She frowned up at him from her disadvantageous height.

"How about if I only blame him for his own stupid decisions, then?"

"I think you're being overly optimistic – Harry's grown up a lot, you know – but I might consider sharing."

"Oh, honestly, Granger! What does it take to get a sandwich out of you?"

"A strong emetic?" She grinned. "Okay, okay. Conjure a blanket and we'll have lunch."

Some time later, the remains of their picnic scattered on the rug, a half-full bottle of Chablis resting in an ice bucket within easy reach, Severus and Granger fell into a comfortable silence. He lay on his back, ankles crossed, his wine glass perched on his stomach and one arm underneath his head while he watched the clouds through half-closed eyes. Summer had begun to wind down, and the air was comfortably heavy, overripe with growth and sunshine. A simple charm kept the ever-present midges away, and Severus could feel his resentment at the morning's events ebbing. Yet something was missing, though he could not put his finger on it. He rolled onto his side and looked at Granger, apparently going for the world record in daisy chains. That was a thing about her, he'd noticed – her restlessness. Be it her mind or her hands, one or the other was always occupied, and usually both.

He sat up. Something was definitely missing.

"Granger, you haven't asked a single question since you got here. What's wrong with you?"

"Professor Snape .... Oh, all right! Snape ..." She looked desperately uncomfortable calling him that. Severus did enjoy putting people on the wrong foot. He smirked. She huffed.

"Very well, then. Snape – you're bothered about stuff. I've enough wit about me to work some of it out, and I know for certain you wouldn't answer if I asked you to tell me the rest. I've read your timetable, so I don't have to ask you about that. I know you've done all the prep for term. And, well, I'm just happy enjoying the sunshine, really." She paused, then something caught her eye and she laughed. "No – here's a question: are Thestrals supposed to eat hummus?"

A particularly huge Thestral – sneaky, cat-footed buggers – caught in the act, lifted its head abruptly, only to find that the hummus pot was wedged on its nose. It danced anxiously on the spot, its wings spreading in alarm. Severus rolled his eyes and got up to help the animal, humming low as he approached. He ran his hand down its scaly neck to calm it, then gently levered the pot off. A long, pointed tongue snaked out to clean the Thestral's nose before leaving a garlicky wet streak up the side of Severus' face.

"Stupid beast," he said, giving it another pat.

It snorted.

"Isn't that Tenebrus, Hagrid's favourite?"

"I believe so." He retrieved his wine. "No, you may not have any of this," he said to the curious Thestral.

It nickered mournfully then folded its wings and lowered itself to the ground as though invited to the picnic. Severus passed it the remains of the pâté.

"You're very good with him," Granger remarked.

He shrugged.

"Do we have any chocolate?" He rummaged in the basket, where he found not chocolate, but paper. "What's this?"

"Oooooh! Yes! Give it here!" She lunged forward, narrowly missing the bowl of olives.

Severus held the scroll just out of reach. Tenebrus took the opportunity to sneak the end of Granger's abandoned daisy chain into his mouth.

"Oh, come on, Snape – I was going to show it to you anyway!"

He relented and let her spread out the fine parchment on a clear patch of blanket.

"This is the one McGonagall confiscated?"

"Uh-huh. Oh, look!" she said happily, lost in contemplation.

"So this is what you found in the staircase." Severus bent over the swirling, delicate design, intrigued by the interweaving of runes and embellishments. "I can barely make some of these out, the pattern's so dense. May I?" He lifted the paper and held it up against the sun, which shone through the lines in the wax rubbing, flinging them suddenly into sharp relief. "It's ..."

"I know! I've never seen anything so complex. But it's graceful, too, isn't it? Look at the way the flowers and vines are woven into the incantation. It's just ..."

Severus recognised that trailing-off as the academic's equivalent of a bloodhound's bay – something he'd experienced himself in the lab, and a feeling that would never grow old.

"And Filch says this stuff's everywhere in the castle!" she added with a fanatical grin. "No wonder I keep ..." She broke off.

"Keep what?" he prompted.

She looked away, suddenly uncomfortable. "You know the thing I told you down at the pub that night? And you thought I was completely barking? Well," she met his eyes again, challenging. "Well – perhaps I am barking, but the castle does talk to me. Maybe it's something to do with the runes. Maybe it's something else. But, well, would you be prepared to try and hear it too? I mean, you're about the only person here who might take me seriously and not think I'm simply imagining things, and I know hearing voices isn't good, but it's not precisely voices as such, and now I think there might be a chance it's objective and ..."

"Breathe, Granger."

She deflated. "Would you?"

Movement between the holding pens caught his eye. Elves were bringing down carcasses to lure the Thestrals.

"Would you?" she repeated.

"Why me? Why not Potter, or McGonagall, or one of the others?"

"Oh, honestly – as if Harry has an ounce of subtlety in his body, when this is subtle magic. And the headmistress just thinks I'm overworked and overwrought. You ... you're drawn to what's intriguing, to what's hard to explain. I remember your speeches for Potions and DADA so well .... Please?"

"Time and place, Granger."

She beamed. "Sunday, midnight, the Great Hall."

"Very well. Tenebrus." Severus poked the Thestral with his toe. It sucked the last of the daisy chain in like a piece of spaghetti and got clumsily to its feet. "Time to summon the herd. Carriage duty tomorrow."

"Talking of which, have you got a speech for COMC?" she asked.

"Oh, right, Granger. 'The subtle art and exact science of toad-husbandry.' It has such a ring to it."