Chapter One

Disclaimer: Not mine, alas.

'Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others.'

Jane Austen, Sense & Sensibility

Day One

That they should meet at a wedding was almost cruelty...almost, she thought, dwelling on their last encounter. Her hand clenched around the banister as she watched him through the rails of the old mahogany staircase. He had just arrived and was chatting with the owner of the Rectory, whose sister was a witch if she recalled correctly, and he nearly grinned as Cian bounded in from another room.

'Severus, old man! Didn't think you'd make it.'

Her heart tugged a little at the two men's embrace, at the affection he so openly shared with his friend. Not that others would have seen it as affection, per se, but it was Cian's wedding weekend, and he was obviously making an extra effort.

Cian stepped to the side to chat with the owner, and Hermione took advantage of the full view to peruse Severus, wanting to see that he had healed but also seeking out evidence of anyone else's ... touch. Her eyes travelled to his face, and she was almost startled as his eyes met her own, unflinching.

She steeled herself and met his gaze head on before Cian stepped back into her line of vision.

Round one: stalemate.

*

Hermione went back to her room because she forgot something; this is what she told herself. But instead of looking for a lost object, she found herself in front of her mirror, examining her reflection for any blemishes or imperfections, inspecting her figure, wondering how it had changed since he'd last seen it. She'd received more than a few compliments from other gentlemen here at the Rectory, but then, she'd been gone a very long time.

It'd been ten years since the war...ten years since Hermione had gone to Australia to restore her parents' memories. Ten years since she'd remembered that she was someone apart from her best friends. In England...in Europe...she couldn't escape the press. There was no peace. Withdrawal had seemed idyllic, and she had begged Harry to Secret Keep her location, but he'd maintained that they were needed. The public needed hope; the public needed them.

In the end, it'd been Ron who understood. Curious, she'd thought, that her dear friend who'd never lived a day without magic had somehow empathised, had grasped her need, had supported her decision. So he had Secret Kept her location for almost a year before she'd resurfaced. But by then, she'd found work, taken up surfing, and been quite comfortable living in her flat by the sea.

Her parents returned to England shortly after she relinquished the Fidelius. She stayed.

By her second year away, alone, doing nothing, a restless feeling had settled over her, permeating every nook and cranny of her seemingly peaceful life. She'd tried to fight it; she wanted to do nothing for the rest of her life. She deserved some peace and quiet. But she'd read articles in Australian papers, both wizard and Muggle, and she'd cringe at the injustice, wanting to jump in and take up a cause ...

They'd approached her soon after. Itching to jump back into action, eager for more training, desperate to use magic for something greater than herself, she'd joined the group and never looked back.

Her suddenly erratic schedule meant that neighbours noticed her disappearances, and after the fourth or fifth inquiry about why she'd been gone for weeks on end, she decided to sell her place and move to the middle-of-nowhere New Zealand where there were no neighbours to notice her ... unusual ... lifestyle. She had found a perfectly lovely, remote property overlooking an enormous lake, with tall grasses and wild flowers on one side, a shorn lawn and remote beach on another, and a gazebo she'd restored herself...peace, juxtaposed against the rush and danger of her work life; beauty in contrast to the depravity of humanity.

She tilted her head in the mirror. She looked more different every time she came back, she thought, which was perhaps why she attracted a fair bit of attention. People could tell she was different; they knew her life was not following the trajectory of other war heroes, and it intrigued them. Even though she attended every Weasley wedding and most Christmas festivities, as well as stopping by London for coffee with friends when her work took her to Europe, people never stopped staring. Or asking questions.

Ron got it. Harry couldn't understand how she'd 'abandon' England and her family; she couldn't see how he could ignore the wider wizarding world. Only Ron was their common ground anymore; Ron, who loved her no matter what she did. Ron, who in a recent Floo call had suggested naming his firstborn after her...she'd protested almost as vehemently as Pansy. Hermione loved Ron, and Ron loved her, but he had a family now, and...well, the moment she'd declined his offer to join her in Australia, that door had shut. Not slammed, just ... shut, creakily, like a door in an old musty house that has too much sentimental value to fix.

'Hermione?'

Speak of the devil. She waved a hand, and the door opened. Ron's bulk took up most of the doorway, and she laughed.

'Nice suit.'

'Better than the one I wore to Harry's, yeah?'

Hermione closed her powder case. 'Pansy's fashion sense has finally got to you, thank God.'

Ron snorted. 'I did just fine on my own.'

'That's what they all say,' she said, flashing a grin. 'Come on, let's head downstairs. I need a cocktail.'

*

Ron took her arm in his as they entered the Blue Room, where dozens of people were already gathered, some watching the football game on the telly, others chatting, still others sitting quietly at the bar. Heads swivelled in their direction as they entered, and Ron waved.

'Greetings, mortals,' he said, eliciting a large laugh.

They approached the bar, and Hermione attempted to slide onto her barstool with some amount of modesty. 'Does Pansy know Hermione has a dress like that?' someone asked, and Hermione's head whipped around to see Blaise Zabini sitting next to her.

She glared, but Ron laughed. 'Have you seen the dresses my wife wears when Malfoy takes her to a party?' he asked.

Blaise raised his glass. 'Point taken.' He exhaled. 'You two trust your friends. More than most of us can say.'

'Which is why you insist on interrogation?' Hermione asked.

Blaise looked at her thoughtfully. 'Just trying to organise things in my head.'

'If there's no room in your head for platonic friendships between adults of different sexes, I am sorry for you.'

'Hermione.' Ron laid a hand on her arm gently. 'He's just winding you up.'

'Times like this I wish I was with you all more often, so people couldn't get away with jokes like that,' Hermione said, tipping back her drink.

'We wish you were around more, too,' Ron said.

'Speaking of which...where's Harry? I thought he was coming,' she said, glancing about the room for her other third. Though she and Harry hardly spoke anymore, she couldn't help but think of him when Ron was with her.

'Got a call from him before I went to your room. Ginny just went into labour,' Ron said quietly.

'What?' Hermione almost shrieked, and Ron looked at her sternly.

'Keep your voice down. It's Cian and Katie's wedding; they don't want to distract from it. Harry said he'd let us know when it...when it was all...you know...done.'

Hermione laughed. 'Is it childbirth or babies themselves that scare you?'

Ron nodded, looking a little green around the edges. 'I'm terrified of the little buggers.'

'You do know that Pansy's almost full term?' Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows.

'Yeah,' Ron said, looking even greener if possible, and Hermione laughed.

*

She and Ron talked at the bar for a little while, including Blaise in their conversation after a few minutes, and Hermione was enjoying herself so thoroughly that when she realised she had to go, she practically ran to the loo.

It was surprisingly large, given that the Rectory was so old, and it was quite ornate, with tiled marble and gilded faucets. Her eyes started when she saw a gentleman walk out of a stall on her way in, and she realised it must be unisex. She took a deep breath, reminded herself that she saw men in comprising positions all the time, and shut the stall door.

Minutes later, she was leaning so far into the marble countertop as to be almost bent over as she applied her eyeliner; she'd no idea how she'd forgotten to do that in the room. She was almost done lining her eyes when she heard that voice...

'Advertising, Miss Granger?'

She turned away from the mirror quickly, her eyeliner smearing across a cheek as her hand flew, and she saw Severus Snape standing there, blocking the door, all hard and lean and clean shaven and short haired in a black formal suit.

She reminded herself to breathe.

She cocked an eyebrow. 'On the market, Mr Snape?'

His eyebrow rose to match hers, and then his eyes trailed down over her form. She practically felt them travel from head to neck to breasts to waist to hips to ...

'Are you quite finished?' she asked, her tone a bit sharp, but then, he deserved it.

'I'm in the market for a stall, actually,' he drawled. 'If you'll excuse me.'

She turned back to the mirror to fix her makeup, and she could have sworn she felt his hand brush her bum as he walked past her, far too close for comfort.

She heard him unzip his fly, and she practically ran out the door.

*

She and Blaise were having a perfectly pleasant chat at the bar when she felt rather than saw him approach.

'I didn't realise you kept company with such women, Blaise,' Snape said. Hermione turned to face him and found herself staring directly at his chest, he was that close to her.

Blaise took one look at Snape and rose.

'Wait...where are you...' Hermione started, and Blaise whistled through his teeth.

'I'll leave you two alone,' he said, winking at Snape.

Snape looked down at her with a feral grin, and Hermione could have sworn he was going to kiss her, and then Ron sat at the stool next to her and she didn't know whether to thank him or tell him to shove off.

'Oy, Hermione, what's...oh, Snape...'

'Aren't you married, Mr Weasley?' Snape asked, clearly annoyed at being interrupted.

'Yes, why?' Ron asked, tossing back the rest of his drink.

'I expect your wife wouldn't appreciate you being seen with such a piece of ... totty ... as Miss Granger here.'

Hermione bristled, and Ron immediately spoke up, perhaps sensing her discomfort but more likely emboldened by the drink. 'Whoa, Snape, Hermione's like my sister, and I don't want you looking at her that way.'

'If it looks like a tart, and it tastes like a tart ...' Snape trailed off as he rose to walk away.

'What would you know about how a tart tastes, Snape?' Hermione called after him, unable to stop herself, ignoring how their corner of the room had gone silent.

His stride didn't falter, but she saw his hand clench.

'What are you two on about?' Ron asked.

Hermione put a hand on his arm and shot him her best smile. 'Just a misunderstanding. It is Snape, after all.' She could have winced for pulling that one out of her arsenal, but Ron nodded, and she practically watched him forget all about it as he started telling her how Pansy's business was doing (well), what they were planning to name the baby (Rose), and all sorts of things that inured Hermione to the chill she'd felt during her entire interaction with Snape.

*

All in all, the cocktail hour was a success. She and Snape met only once more, this time on the patio, completely by accident, which perhaps was why they were both so thoroughly discombobulated. She threw her drink at him, and he called her a slag, and she then stalked off to her room to get ready, embarrassed at throwing such a tantrum at her friend's wedding but wondering why the bloody hell Cian and Katie had invited them both in the first place.

*

She was in her room, trying to sober up and calm down, when there was a knock at her door.

'Katie?' she asked, completely surprised to find the bride at the door, even more surprised that the bride in question was in a silky robe and slippers.

'I'm not very good at this confrontation thing, but I have to ask. What the hell is up with you and Snape?'

'Shit,' Hermione muttered, leaning against the door frame. 'I'm sorry, Katie. It's your wedding day...you shouldn't have to deal with us.'

'You're damn straight I shouldn't. But seeing as how the sexual tension between the two of you is all anyone can talk about ... oh, and the fact that you threw your drink on him, and he called you a slag, and you are both usually so implacable that the two of you in a snit is a thing to behold.' Katie took a deep breath. 'I care about you, okay? What's going on?'

Hermione took a deep breath. 'We worked together a while back. That's all I can say.'

'Well, Cian told me that. I want details.'

Hermione winced. 'Does confidentiality count for anything these days?'

'Cian is marrying me, and Snape has been his mentor for years,' Katie said, dropping her tone. 'So when Snape comes into the office after a week on assignment and informs the head of the bloody Department of Mysteries that if he ever has to work a case with you again he'll kill someone, and when everyone believes that he is indeed angry enough to actually kill someone, given that Snape would never make such a threat lightly ... that, plus what's happened today ... well, forgive me for thinking something might have happened between the two of you.'

Hermione stared at the floor. 'It was a year ago. I haven't talked to him since.'

'Until tonight?' Katie asked.

Hermione nodded.

Katie let out a low whistle. 'Well, that explains a lot. Also, can I just say that you might want to work on fixing whatever happened? Because a year has obviously done nothing to quell any ... feelings. You two are like tea kettles blowing off so much steam that only dogs can hear the whistle.'

'So I should just walk up to Snape and tell him we need to talk about our feelings?' Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow.

Katie smacked her arm lightly. 'You're a big girl. Clean this up. At the very least, don't ruin my wedding.'

'Katie,' Hermione said, putting a hand on Katie's arm. 'Katie, you can't believe I would ruin your wedding. You are one of my dearest friends, and my issues with Snape are nowhere near as important as today.'

Katie swallowed. 'Okay. Cause I love you, but I'll be really upset if you two burn the place down. Really upset.'

Hermione grinned. 'I promise we won't. At least I won't; can't speak for him.'

Katie grinned in turn. 'You don't have to. Cian's talking to him about this, too.'

'I'm sorry, Katie.'

Katie gave her a brief hug. 'I've got to go get ready.'

Hermione grinned. 'See you soon.'

Katie smiled as only a bride could before sprinting down the hallway.

*

It really was a lovely view. Hermione sat in the seventh row of chairs overlooking a sunset over Glandore Harbour waiting for the ceremony to begin, and she decided that this was the most peaceful she'd felt all day.

Until Snape sat down next to her.

'Okay,' she said as his knee brushed hers. 'This stops now.'

'So you were scolded, too.'

Hermione stuck her hand out and looked him square in the eye. 'Truce?'

He hesitated, staring at her hand suspiciously.

'What?' she asked, a bit miffed. 'You won't burn if you touch me.'

'Might,' he murmured, and she felt heat where she hadn't in a long time, a heat that spread like wildfire as he shook her hand, holding on for perhaps a moment too long.

'Truce,' he said.

She nodded.

'Until the ceremony is over,' he said, and her stomach sank.

*

She knew she should be watching the bride and groom. It was a beautiful wedding, damn it, and one of her dear friends was getting married, and all she could bloody think about was bloody Severus Snape, who looked as though he was having no problem focussing on the ceremony.

Damn him.

Having him this close brought back everything. It brought back their meeting six months ago...get it out of your head before he sees it!...not to mention their week in China a year ago, a week that had evidently upset him as much as it had upset her, even if the only feelings he nursed were anger and disdain, rather than ... well, a broken heart.

A broken heart. Severus Snape had broken her bloody heart, and it had been a year, and she still wasn't over it.

What was wrong with her?

She watched as Angelina Weasley, neé Johnson, rose to read a poem. 'Let me not the marriage of true minds admit impediments ...'

The wedding really wasn't helping.

Her mind was whirling in thoughts of him, and it took everything in her to not reach for his hand, and in that focus, her thoughts settled on their first meeting...two years ago, before China, before everything had gone pear shaped, when they were still feeling each other out. When they were still professional. When there was still the option of being friends.

*

Two years ago...Prague

She was sitting at a bar, nursing a victory drink, when someone sat down next to her. She glanced at the interloper before starting to move over when she realised exactly who had sat down next to her.

'Miss Granger,' he said, not looking at her, accepting a drink from the bartender.

'Mr Snape.' Two could play that game. 'This is unexpected.'

'I didn't expect you to survive your last stay in North Korea. Well done.' He smirked and sipped his drink.

'Gin and tonic?' she asked, heart racing.

He chuckled. 'Gin,' he said, and she could have kicked herself for sounding like a schoolgirl.

'What makes you think I was doing anything untoward in North Korea?' she asked.

He full on laughed at this. 'Consider my department,' he said. 'Rarely do people talk about projects, but when a member of the Golden Trio goes on what for all intents and purposes is a suicide mission, well...rules about discretion tend to go out the window. People were rather ... put out.'

'Well, don't trouble yourself on my account, Professor,' she said, inwardly delighting at how his eyes narrowed. 'I know what I'm doing.'

'You are...'

'Alive.'

His sharp intake of breath was the only sign of annoyance. 'I didn't realise you'd developed a taste for megalomaniacs. I should have thought one quite enough for any lifetime.'

'Voldemort hated Muggles. This one works with them...with their government, no less. I don't know anyone who wouldn't be fascinated,' she said, folding her arms across her chest.

He downed his drink. 'I never pegged you as the thrill seeking type. Excuse me.'

She stood in front of him before he could rise from the barstool. 'I don't know what you're accusing me of, Snape.'

'Snape, now, is it?'

'For the record, I live remotely in New Zealand, quite quietly, if you'd believe it. I consult; I have the freedom to work at whim. It's most relaxing. Just last week, I was working with native magic in the Philippines. On contraceptives.'

He snorted. 'Is that what you tell your friends?'

She quirked an eyebrow.

'Oh come. I would normally resist sinking to your level, but it takes at least three drinks to get me through one of these things...'

'Conversations with Gryffindors?' she asked.

He ignored her. 'Suffice it to say, my tongue is loosened, and I find myself very eager to respond in kind. We know all about what sort of business you're tangled up in, North Korea notwithstanding.'

'We? You're a thoroughbred Ministry man now?'

'As inept as our government is, I've seen firsthand what happens when powerful men run unchecked with no accountability. Given the option, I'll take red tape.'

'I prefer results.'

'Then it seems we are at an impasse.'

'Really? You don't want results?' She couldn't help but be surprised.

'I deal in theory. I am a scientist. I experiment. I am not one of those involved in the underbelly of world politics.'

'And see, I would have said it takes one to know one.'

'I'm not the one working for a private international firm bent on policing the world's magical populations. Consultant, my arse,' he said.

'The preservation of justice and human dignity might have something to do with it,' she said.

'Even the American Ministry doesn't have the...what is it called? 'Cowboy' mentality? Each government looks out for its own. Your group meddles.'

'I will not apologise for making a positive difference in people's lives.'

'The end justifies the means?'

'Sometimes.'

He paused. 'See...that, that coming out of your mouth...that surprises me.' He walked away, and she could sense his disappointment. It felt like a nag in the pit of her stomach, and she wondered why she cared what Severus Snape thought.

*

Cian and Katie kissed, and Hermione wanted to cry.

*

She stuck close to Ron during the reception, Ron and as many Weasleys as she could find. There weren't many, given that Katie was Charlie's ex, but as they seemed the people least likely to be sought out by Severus Snape, Hermione figured they were a safe bet.

She had a good time drinking and chatting with Ron and George and Angelina, and soon enough she was dancing with Blaise. When she saw Snape staring at her she thought, what the hell, make him jealous...a perfectly reasonable deduction when one was buzzed, she thought...and so she kept dancing. She didn't dance like a tart; she just danced like a woman enjoying herself, because she was determined to enjoy herself if it killed her, and she didn't grind or roll her hips, she just swayed and laughed and danced with as many men as she could find, including Cian's exceedingly attractive American friends, who were perfectly charmed by her imitation of an American accent.

She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised that Snape was waiting for her in the hallway when she went out to powder her nose, or whatever excuse ladies gave when they needed to use the loo in a bad way.

'You've been drinking, Miss Granger,' he said casually.

'I am perfectly sober,' she said, barging into the loo, and he followed her.

'You are perfectly pissed.' He rounded on her and stared. 'And even I am not so low as to bed an intoxicated female.'

She marched into the stall. 'Well, what makes you think I'd want to take you to bed?' She supposed it was terribly embarrassing that she was peeing while talking to him, but then she decided that was about his level of importance in the grand scheme of things. 'I might be pleasantly buzzed, but you've been a perfect arse tonight. You called me a tart and a slag, and then you sat by me during the ceremony. Your behaviour has been wretched,' she said, exiting the stall after a few moments, surprised to find him still standing there.

She bent over the sink to wash her hands, and he walked over and stood behind her...too close, he was too close, why was he this close?

Their eyes met in the mirror. 'If the shoe fits.'

'You know what I think, Snape?' she asked, turning around to face him. 'I think you still want me and are bent on proving otherwise. Of course, the manner you're choosing to go about proving such nonsense is complete rubbish since everyone in this godforsaken house knows that we want each other.'

Oops, hadn't meant to say that. He cupped her cheek with his hand. 'You want me?' he asked, staring her straight in the eye.

She swallowed. 'Course I do, you berk.' She clumsily grabbed for his tie, and he immediately backed away.

'Try again when you're sober, Granger.' He turned on his heel and walked out of the loo, not bothering to hold the door for her.

Arse.

*

She sat next to Ron and matched him drink for drink, forgetting that Ron was much better at holding his drink than she was. But it didn't matter if she got drunk now, since Snape already thought she was drunk, and since she wasn't going to talk to him for the rest of the night. And her approach worked, she thought, congratulating herself. She didn't dance and he didn't stare; a half dozen drinks later, Ron commented that he was glad that she and Snape had settled their dispute. At least, Hermione thought that was the word he used.

She did watch, though, when Snape left the reception, and, wanting to get one last word (or two) in, she followed him down the hallway and out to the lawn, and then down the lawn and onto a path that led down the cliff, which led to a cosy little spot of land nestled into the cliff, right next to the shore.

Glandore Harbour had nothing on Lake Wakapitu, in her opinion, but she wasn't about to say so. Besides, all water looked beautiful at twilight.

Severus was already sitting at the shore's edge, knees drawn up, arms leaning on them. He beckoned her over to sit next to him, and though she hesitated, she did so.

He snorted when she sat down. 'Found me, did you?' He sniffed the air. 'You reek.'

She sniffed her underarms before she realised what he meant. She arched an eyebrow defensively. He had been so mean to her all day...how dare he be nice now, when she was drunk? She knew she'd be terribly hung over tomorrow.

She said as much to him, and he laughed, and then she said, 'It's all your fault, you know.'

He turned his head sharply. 'Miss Granger, I did not force you to imbibe anything.'

'Been drinking cause of you,' came out before she could stop herself, and she looked away, coherent enough to be embarrassed, and he reached for her. He gently took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and turned her head to him.

'I did not mean to drive you to drink,' he said, and she thought that he sounded awfully sorry. 'I...forgive me, Hermione.'

'Sev'rus,' she muttered, hoping it didn't sound too slurred, 'can we just lie down a bit?' She leaned on his shoulder. 'Like we did before?' He was so warm, so strong, and she knew it wasn't her imagination when she felt his arms wrap around her as they lay down against the grass.

*

They fell into a deep sleep, perhaps because of the other's presence. They looked peaceful, the mermaid thought as she watched them from the harbour. It was a shame the goddess wanted them so badly. Bored, she dove beneath the surface and emerged a scant foot away from the shore, flipping her tail as she did so. Magic was rolling off the Rectory tonight; she could afford to be less careful when wizards were around.

Mermaids had, however, been more careful today because they could feel her intentions. Something about the party had riled her up. Only occasionally did she inhabit the harbour and the wave that bore her name; tonight was one of those times.

The mermaid watched as the girl inched toward the shore, partly due to being a restless sleeper, but partly due to the mermaid's call. She felt the tide start its push, and then the wave rose and she heard the goddess' command:

Grab her.

So the mermaid latched her scaly, webbed hand onto the girl's foot, now dangling in the water, and pulled her under as the wave washed over them.