Chapter Four

Hermione set her drink on the table, threw herself into a club chair, and leaned back to watch as Snape settled in at a more decorous pace. He stretched his long legs out in front of him, crossed them at the ankle and took a sip from his steaming tumbler of Firewhisky, closing his eyes and seeming to sink deeper into his chair.

"Better?" Hermione asked with a hint of amusement.

It was a moment before Snape spoke, and she allowed herself to keep looking, taking in the man whom she no longer thought of as her teacher or as the spy who'd given them everything to win the war. This man, scowling (though it was a contented scowl, if such a thing could be said to exist) even in repose, was just Severus, her potions friend. Dimly, she was aware that she was a bit more appreciative of his form than she might be of some other friends, a bit more of aware of the picture she made on the chair next to his, but that was normal, wasn't it? These stray feelings, these anxious sorts of flutterings, bits of misplaced attraction...they were only human. It wasn't as if she intended to act on them. It was simply a distraction from everyday life, a tiny jolt to the system that kept things interesting.

"Infinitely," Snape said. "That man is a menace. I only give thanks that he is not teaching children."

"No, far better to leave that to snarling, perfectionist spies," she said.

"Hmm," he grunted, but there was a glimmer in his dark eyes that delighted her. Being impertinent, far from raising his ire, seemed to cement their acquaintance, and Hermione exercised the right as frequently as she could.

He took another sip of the Firewhisky and placed it resolutely upon the table.

"So," he said, "what outlandish new theories have you dragged me out to discuss this evening?"

"I've finished the tests on the store-bought Befuddlement Draught," she said. "There were marked molecular differences between all three of our test samples. I've run some equations...here, let me show you." She dug in her bag, pulling out a sheaf of parchment, and scooted to the edge of her chair so that they could look at them together. "You can see that if you change the rate of reaction, you're creating more of a bond between the inflaming qualities of the lovage and the sneezewort. That should create a more potent potion. What will be interesting is to attempt the additional heat on unpreserved ingredients."

Snape pointed at a string of symbols in red. "But the stronger potion lacks the overall balance of the original...the hellebore dominated here, and that would result in..."

"Mmm. Yes, perhaps in paralysis or amnesia."

"Reassure me once again that you are not using yourself as a test subject."

"Would a wand oath ease your mind?" she asked.

He scowled, sincerely this time. "That will not be necessary," he said.

She sighed. "I'm sorry, Severus. That was thoughtless. I promise that I am not ingesting the potions."

"If I didn't think you were far too guileless to lie, I would assume that was an evasion," he said, lifting an eyebrow.

"I solemnly swear that I am not testing the potions on myself in any way," she replied.

"Very well," he said, handing back the parchments. "I've gathered some more articles for you. I think you'll find the Pottinger Experiments interesting." He pulled some papers out of the inner pocket of his robes and returned them to their usual size with his wand. Hermione took the journals and tucked her parchments into them.

"Thank you. I'll look forward to discussing them next week," Hermione said, settling in for the leisurely drink that she had learned was the true point of their after-class meetings.

"Ah, yet more claims upon my time."

"Which implies, of course that you're quite busy."

"Naturally," he said and seemed disinclined to say more, but Hermione persisted.

"Give over, Severus. You know all there is to know about me, but I know nothing about what you do when you aren't in class."

"I would hardly claim to know all there is to know about you."

"Evasion," she said brightly.

"A simple statement of fact. I know you work for the Ministry, that you head the Wizengamot." He shuddered theatrically. "I know you like that miserable elf-made wine, bar pretzels, and my potions journals. I know you married Weasley and that there are two more red-headed brats at Hogwarts, most likely in Gryffindor, wreaking havoc upon order and civility."

Hermione smiled at his list, and said, finally, "Well, you might have it right in Rosie. Gryffindor to the core, far too sure of herself, and if she hasn't yet shown a penchant for rule-breaking, I'd hardly imagine her the type to scorn it in others."

Snape inclined his head as if to accept the point he was due.

"Hugo, though... much quieter, more academic. Nose always in a book."

"No family resemblance there, I'm sure."

"You'd think... but no, he's quieter than I ever was. Less bossy, less... certain somehow that his gifts will be received."

"Well, he needs only to join up with two idiots who require constant guidance," Snape said. "I'm sure it would improve his self-worth tremendously."

Now it was Hermione's turn to look at him darkly.

He raised a hand to placate her. "You were saying, your son..."

"Hugo. And don't change the subject."

"I wasn't aware there was a subject to change," Snape said smoothly. "Is Hugo also in Gryffindor?"

"He is, which was a bit of a shock, really."

"You held secret hopes for Ravenclaw...or let me guess, Slytherin?"

"I know you think you're joking, but I would have been pleased with Slytherin. Proud that I had enough cunning to produce one, I suppose. And glad for what statement it might have made."

"And your husband would have been equally thrilled to have a son in Slytherin, I suppose?" Snape said, arching an eyebrow.

Hermione was seized with a strange discomfort at the mention of Ron. She knew Snape was right...Ron would have struggled with the notion of a child of theirs in Slytherin...but her sudden reluctance to speak had little to do with trying to explain the legacy of the Weasley family and the lingering resentments that stemmed from their own years at Hogwarts. Instead she just wished, for reasons that she could not explain, that Ron had not come up in the conversation. She waived her hand dismissively.

"Well, it's neither here nor there, anyway. Hugo is in Gryffindor. And you still haven't told me where you've been all these years."

Snape gave her a long look that she had difficulty deciphering. "I've been right here."

"Here?" she said.

"Here," he repeated more sharply. "Here as in Britain...in Manchester, if you must know. I shop in Diagon Alley. I work for Hogwarts, St Mungos, your precious Ministry, among others. I haven't gone anywhere. There is no mystery to unravel, no secret." He uncrossed his legs and sat forward, looking as if he meant to bolt for the door.

Hermione unstuck her tongue with haste, afraid that she would lose the chance forever if she did not stop him from going now.

"But why haven't I seen you? I haven't even read about you..."

"We are not all as eager for media coverage as The Golden Trio," Snape said with a sneer.

Hermione dismissed the barb. It was meant to distract, and she would not be distracted.

"Severus," she said, "until the first day of class, I hadn't laid eyes on you in almost twenty years."

"And why should you have?" he asked suddenly. "There are hundreds of wizards in Britain that you have likely never seen in twenty years, never known at all! I live a normal life. I brew potions for the companies that request them, and with the money that I make, I pay my bills. I live in my own house. I cook my own meals. My life is entirely my own, and that is the way that I like it."

Snape no longer appeared ready to leap from his chair, but there was an odd twanging quality to his demeanor, as if he were gearing up for a fight. She knew she must tread carefully.

"Except when you're being dragged out to discuss potions with insufferable Gryffindors," she said with deliberate lightness.

"Except then," Snape conceded with a snort, his shoulders losing some of the tension of the moment before.

"I'm glad for you," Hermione said, "that you've been granted your privacy. I wouldn't have expected it. And although it pains me to admit it, I'm also surprised that you easily found work in brewing. Glad, but surprised."

"I have found," Snape said stiffly, "that people have always been willing to overlook the more... unseemly... parts of my history, provided I was making myself useful."

Hermione kept silent for a moment, sipping from her drink and letting the soothing sound of the fire behind them quiet her feelings. She knew that despite the sadness of his statement, Snape was not asking for her pity. Instead, his words were meant to sting her, and she suspected that he meant for her to argue with him, which she could not, because of course, what he'd said was true.

"Why did you decide to take the class?" she asked at last.

He gave her one of his sharp looks and was quiet for so long that she was not sure he would answer. She did not intend to ask again...tonight anyway.

"Because I was struggling with a few of the larger orders for St Mungo's. I keep up with the latest potions research, as you know, and I was aware that there were some Charms techniques that were becoming popular in brewing large batches of various potions. I have never excelled in anything but defensive charms, and I knew I would benefit from directed instruction."

"Ah," she said. A part of her still waited for him to answer the unspoken question. It might very well be that Snape had lived under her nose all these years, but surely he did so by remaining extremely private. Why open himself up to repeated exposure to the masses?

"These classes are generally comprised of university students, Hermione," he said. "They neither know nor care who we are or what we might have done during the war. I did not expect to see anyone I knew."

She nodded. It was odd to find herself in a room full of people who not only did not stare at her, but showed no interest at all in either her actions or her opinions. She had been pursued by the Daily Prophet for so long that she had forgotten what life felt like outside its relentless gaze, and she realized, as she sat there, that she enjoyed it.

"And I believe that is quite enough of these sorts of revelations for the evening," Snape said, rising to his feet. "Until next week," he said, abruptly Apparating away and leaving her with the bill.

At least there would still be a next week.

***

Hermione crept up the stairs to their bedroom. Ron was surely already asleep; it was after 11, and he nearly always gave out before 10:30, whether he made it to bed or passed out on the couch beside the wireless.

She removed her robes in the dark and slipped into bed.

"'Mione?" Ron mumbled.

"Sorry to have woken you. I had a bit of a longer brainstorming session than I meant to," she whispered.

Ron patted her arm sleepily and rolled over, snuffling something that sounded like, "Hope you had a good time," into his pillow. Within moments, the familiar sound of his snoring was punctuating her thoughts.

Hermione had never been able to read herself to sleep. Books excited her, got her mind agitated and roaming, rather than lulling her toward rest. For years, she had used her own routine, a rehashing of the day's events and the listing of the next day's duties to quiet her thoughts. But tonight she could not stop thinking of her conversation with Snape and all that he had (or had not) told her.

She did not know why she felt so ashamed that she had never seen him, carrying out his own life and routines in the wizarding world they shared. Perhaps it was the implication that she hadn't noticed him, that once his role in the war had been fulfilled that he had somehow become beneath that notice. She thought of what he'd said about his own usefulness and shuddered.

And yet, if she were to press the point, she was certain he would admit that he had not wanted to be noticed, that he was deliberately circumspect and simple in his habits and routines.

Not that she hadn't tried to be. Whatever he might think, Hermione had never sought the spotlight. She had never wanted the dreadful judgment of the press on her...on her children...as she moved through life. In some ways, she thought, everything that had happened in the last twenty years had been in reaction to that notoriety. Both Ron and Hermione and Harry and Ginny had wed young, and both couples had fled to Ottery St Catchpole and quiet village life among family. Oh, she wasn't saying that they'd married each other because of the press...who could survive what they had together and not feel that they shared something no one else could ever understand or intrude upon?...but there was a way in which they all knew, she thought, that it would have been unfair and perhaps impossible to drag an outsider into their world.

Would Harry have ever been able to believe that a stranger could care for him as more than 'the chosen one'? Would she have ever been anything other than "Hermione Granger, the brainy sidekick of Harry Potter" to anyone but Ronald? And even if someone had managed to get over that hurdle...no one could really understand the relentless scrutiny of the press until they were in it. Nothing was off limits to the quills of the journalists, and whoever had attached him or herself to a member of the trio would have found that their family's secrets...affairs, improper uses of magic, squibs, feuds...splashed across the front page of the Prophet alongside singularly unflattering pictures and spiteful commentary.

Suddenly, Ron gave a loud snort, and Hermione shot him a dirty look in the darkness.

As she collected her thoughts once more, they turned back to Snape. She didn't blame him for avoiding all of that. If she could have, Merlin knew, she would have. But it had seemed there was going to be no reprieve for the four of them, no time forthcoming when the press would turn its piercing gaze away from them, and so they had timed their pregnancies together so that their children would at least have the fortification of each other, tucked their families safely away from London, and hoped that their careers, at least, would benefit from the publicity.

She'd never had the luxury, dammit, of going unnoticed, of fading into the background. And perhaps that was what had her so wound up, after all: the notion that perhaps he thought she should have found a way to disappear, to leave all this behind, as if his choices had somehow been more virtuous than hers. She'd given her childhood and risked her life for the wizarding world, and if she'd come to care a bit about the fate of the world she'd sacrificed so much for and seen a chance to try to change it, what was wrong with that? Why shouldn't she be able to live out in the open like a normal person?

A strange, tingling feeling swept through her chest and down into her belly as she suddenly pictured Snape, sitting easily beside the fire in The Leaky Cauldron, a drink dangling from his pale, slender fingers, the very image of a normal person out in public, having a drink with a friend.

He hadn't just gone to a class in which he expected to see no one he knew. He'd... asked for her company. He'd accompanied her to a pub.

She smiled tentatively and rolled onto her stomach. Huh, she thought happily, unable to be more eloquent, even in the privacy of her own mind. And suddenly, she found that she was quite tired after all.

***

A week later found Hermione up so up to her ears in work that she barely had time to spare a thought for Snape and her odd late-night realization.

"Miz Weasley," said a bored voice, and Hermione jumped, spraying ink across the parchment she'd been writing on. Though she'd invented the charm that allowed her secretary to speak directly into her ear from the next room, it never failed to startle her.

"Yes, Angela," she said, glancing at the clock. It was nearly six, and she'd been embroiled in new legislation concerning Goblin rights for the last four hours. Before that, it had been a review of several judgments set down by the Wizengamot in cases of Muggle-baiting, and before that a meeting with Harry (in his official capacity) about the use of Obliviation by the Aurors. She was tired, and there was ink in her hair, and there was nothing in the world she was looking forward to as much as having a drink with Snape later.

"There's been a call from Ted Thistlewaite in the Goblin Liaison Office. Seems there's an emergency meeting in Beasts and Beings tonight, and he'd like you to be there."

Hermione thought quickly. She'd been trying to get the Goblin Liaison people together with Beasts and Beings for months. The new legislation was set to be introduced to the Wizengamot in less than two weeks, and without the backing of those departments, she thought, there really wasn't any point. She'd simply have to go. And yet...

"Tell him I'll be there, Angela," she sighed.

"Yes, Miz Weasley."

Dammit. Dammit dammit dammit. She hated to miss class; today would undoubtedly be the day that Professor Potage finally said something of value. But more than that, it troubled her that she had no way of letting Snape know what had happened. For all that it had seemed he'd opened up to her the other night, she actually still knew remarkably little about the man. Where, exactly, in Manchester, did he live? She could hardly send an owl to search the entirety of the city. And yet it seemed unspeakably rude to simply fail to show up, especially because of their standing post-class date. Well, not date, of course...appointment. But still, she'd be terribly put out if he didn't show up to class. What if they started the charm work he needed today? And worse, what if he thought that she hadn't come because of something he'd said the other night?

She shook her head sharply. For Merlin's sake, Hermione, she said to herself. Pull yourself together. It was unfortunate, but it was her responsibility to attend this meeting, not to go running off to class and pubs with her former professor. She would simply have to explain next week, and he would have to understand. Probably he'd be glad for the reprieve.

Still, she couldn't shake a slightly frantic feeling as she left her office for Beasts and Beings.

Just as she got to the lift, she stopped short and cast the Ventriloquist Charm again. "Angela, Floo Mr Weasley and let him know where I'll be, please."

Losing her mind. It was the only explanation.

***

She'd heard nothing from Snape. That first night, she'd half-expected to come home to a scathing missive on the subject of those who fail to show up for their appointments, but there had been nothing, and somehow the lack of communication troubled her more than a Howler would have.

Still, she tried to put her lingering unease from her mind. If he wasn't bothered, why should she be? She was blowing the entire incident out of proportion. Really, she had no idea what had gotten into her lately. The draft of the Goblin legislation was due to the heads of Beasts and Beings and the Goblin Liaison Office in two days. She had no time for these petty little dramas.

"Miz Weasley?"

Hermione swore that damned charm was taking years off her life. "Yes, Angela?"

"You have a visitor. A Mr Snape. Doesn't have an appointment." Her tone left Hermione little doubt as to what Angela thought of those who turned up without appointments.

Good Lord, she thought. She was vaguely chagrined at the reception Snape must have received from Angela, and equally disquieted about what Snape might have done to the woman to convince her to announce him. She ran her hands distractedly through her hair, and then, almost in the same motion, tried to smooth it back down.

"Send him in, please," she said.

"Very well," Angela replied frostily.

Snape entered her office and shut the door firmly behind him. A nervous frisson shot through Hermione, both at the idea that he'd come here to chastise her and the idea that for the first time since school, she was alone in a room with Severus Snape.

"I'm so sorry, Severus," she began. "I never meant to skive off class...or our meeting. Things here have been simply mad, and there was an emergency meeting at Beasts and Beings, and I couldn't think of any way to contact you. I wouldn't have missed if it hadn't truly been necessary, but I've got this project on a very short deadline and..."

Snape was watching her with a slight smirk, as if he intended to let her run at the mouth indefinitely. She promptly shut up.

He held out a rolled parchment, and she hesitated for the slightest instant before taking it.

"Notes, Granger," he said with gruff amusement. At the look of confusion that must have been plastered across her face, he added, "From the class. That you missed."

She smiled then, and it was as if everything in her world had just subtly clicked back into place. She was Granger again, and Snape had brought her notes.

"Thank you!" she said and tucked the parchment into her bag. "That was incredibly thoughtful. I'm looking forward to reading them." She realized she was babbling senselessly again and added, gesturing toward her work, "I'm sure it will be more entertaining than this lot."

He shifted a bit from foot to foot, and Hermione realized that he had no more idea what to do now than she did. She stood up, but that only made things feel more awkward, as now they were standing face to face, separated only by the sea of parchment that was her desk. Still, she wasn't quite sure how sit back down without seeming as if she were dismissing him.

"Um, anything interesting in class?"

"No more so than usual. What paltry information Potage provided is in the notes."

Of course. In the notes. The awkward silence drew out still further, yet neither of them made a move to end their misery and part.

"Shall I expect you next Wednesday," Snape asked, finally, "or should we reschedule our little tête-à-tête?"

This felt more as if things were winding up, which both relieved the tension and heightened it somehow.

"I certainly plan to be there," Hermione said. "But in case something like this were to happen again, perhaps you could provide me with a way to reach you?"

"Also in the notes," Snape said, and with a tight smile, he turned and left her office.