Solving All the Problems

So, this is the chapter where it is expected that we neatly tie up all the ends. Where Snape and Hermione reach a conclusion acceptable to both of them. Where they learn to work together, to enjoy spending time in each other's company, and eventually to shag, preferably with snuggling afterwards.

Except this isn't that kind of story.

Because every so often, the story doesn't end like that.

This is how the story ends, then:

When we last left Hermione, she was puzzling over the mystery of Snape and reflecting on his relative attractiveness. Sure, he wasn't a looker, but she was a vampire, and a short one at that. It was funny, she thought, how in movies and books, vampires were supposed to be not so much tall as "stately." Anne Rice had a lot to answer for, she thought. Not that she was excessively short, thank you very much, but every female vampire she'd met in fiction had been at least six feet tall. Being a bloodsucker (pardon, Life-Challenged Individual) had limited her dating prospects, certainly, and now her work at the GG-whatever even more so.

And she liked sparring with Snape.

As has been established repeatedly, both through her Hogwarts life and her Ministry career and now her undead life, Hermione was a practical individual. Confronted with the problem of making Snape, if not fall in love with her, then at least agree to a relationship with her – one that might, if she was very lucky, lead to consensual bloodsucking. Given the success that she'd experienced with her spreadsheets, she saw no reason to change tactics and so began a new one, based on her list of Facts About Snape.

Her spreadsheet did not fail her. Given her Facts About Snape, and the power of her magic, and of course her massive intellect, she reached the particularly satisfying conclusion that the best way to catch the lesser-spotted Snape was to beard him in his native habitats: either pestering her for progress on her report or teaching.

The former habitat turned out to be the best option: Snape taught above ground during daylight hours.

So, on the appointed night, Hermione took extra care in her dress and hair and general fang-brushing routine and prepared to seduce (or at least attract the romantic attentions of) one Severus Snape.

If her heart had been beating, the minute Snape dropped by her cubicle, it would have sped up. As it was, it didn't move, but Hermione did feel a thrill of excitement as she hopped up onto her desk, extended her fangs, and began to arrange her skirt to show her legs to best advantage.

"Granger, what are you doing?" Snape demanded as he loomed in her cubicle entrance.

"I have the report completed," she cooed at him, holding out a sheaf of parchment.

Snape snatched it, flipped through it and grunted.

"Adequate," he said. "Although I notice several infelicities in your analysis that will require further review."

"Oh really?"

"Really. Rewrite pages seventeen, subsection four, eighteen, subsection twenty-two, and thirty-five, the entire thing." He thrust the stack of parchment back at her.

"But..."

"But? But nothing. Amend your analysis, and for the love of the Stygian Shades, stop licking your fangs!"

"Why?"

"Why what? God, Granger, you're such a... Your analysis on those pages was weak. Redo it. Licking your fangs is distracting. Stop it."

"Distracting?"

"Is there an echo in here? Distracting."

"Oh, well... perhaps we could discuss my corrections over a cup of... tea?"

"Or blood?"

"Well..."

"Let me guess: pig's blood, slightly warmed, with a sprinkle of cinnamon and a dash of milk?"

"Well..."

"Oh, stop saying 'well' like some halfwit, Granger! And dammit, stop licking your fangs! Even better, put them away!"

Hermione retracted her fangs with a surprised sucking sound.

"You don't like it when I..."

"No. I don't. You obviously think it's sexy, but I keep waiting for you to stab your tongue."

"I... what?"

"I keep waiting for you to impale your tongue on one of your fangs. And I don't think you actually want a tongue piercing, as in vogue as it may be with Muggle teenagers." Snape shuddered.

"Oh. So... but... I thought..."

"Granger, are you actually trying to seduce me?"

"Erm, well..."

"Oh, Merlin. Granger... Look, I suppose I should appreciate the sentiment – fuck knows that it's been what feels like forever since anybody's shown an interest – but really, Granger, I'm not interested."

"In me?" Hermione felt deflated. Embarrassed. Disappointed. Angry, even. How could anybody not find her attractive when she'd put so much effort into being seductive?

"In anybody. Ever."

"But..." Hermione frowned. "What about Lily?"

"What about her?"

"The memories... Harry..."

"Please. The admiration was never even remotely romantic, or..." Snape shuddered. "Sexual."

"Really? I was sure that..."

"Well, you were wrong. Obviously."

"So, you never..."

"No. And I never will."

"What?"

Snape sighed gustily.

"Why are we talking about this, Granger?"

Hermione shrugged.

"I'm curious. And I do fancy you."

"Well, find somebody else. There's no attraction on my part, except to the possibility that your brain might still develop in interesting and analytical ways."

"You make it sound like you're a zombie or Inferius."

"No. I'm not. I'm asexual."

"WHAT?"

"I'm asexual. I don't experience sexual attraction to anybody. Or anything."

Hermione was aware that she was staring at him in shock. She snapped her mouth closed.

"But..."

"It is possible, Granger. Even in humans."

"But you're a human. Or you were. I don't know what you are now, but..."

"No, Granger. I was never human."

Hermione's mouth fell open again.

"What are you?" she whispered.

Snape smirked at her.

"An angel," he said.

We're going to take a break here. Hermione's just fallen off her desk in surprise and bitten her tongue, and Snape's burst out laughing at her.

---

Once she'd managed to staunch the flow of blood, and Snape had managed to stop laughing, the two of them sat down for a "mature, adult discussion" – Hermione's indignant phrasing. They sat on a bench outside the Department's canteen, in a quiet alcove.

"So... you're an angel," Hermione said.

"Only just," Snape said with a wry grin. "I've always been an angel."

"Like Arizaphale?"

"Who?"

"He's an angel in a book I read."

"Oh, no. Never heard of him. And I know all the angels. He's not real."

"But angels are real?"

"And demons."

"God?"

"What do you think?"

"Erm..."

"Just so." Snape nodded peaceably and sipped his tea. Hermione stared at her pig's blood (body temperature, with a dash of vanilla).

"So are you, I don't know, good? And what about being asexual?"

"Since bad angels are considered demons, you could make that argument. But it's not particularly accurate. And most angels are sexual. They're not really hetero or homosexual as a rule. More bisexual, or pansexual really – angels tend to be attracted to soul more than gender, if you were wondering. And there are some of us who are not wired that way."

"How is that not accurate? Aren't angels either good or evil? And so you're... I don't know, functional?"

"What is it with you and sex? Every vampire I've ever met's been like that. It's all sex and bloodsucking to you isn't it? Yes, some angels do, in fact, shag like demons. I'm not one of them. Anyway, that's not the point. Every so often, Granger, there's a grey area between good and evil. That's where I Fell."

"Where you fell?"

"Fell. I'm a Fallen One."

"WHAT?"

"Granger, if you don't stop screaming interrogatives at me, I'm not going to tell you."

Hermione squirmed.

"Can you keep still for five minutes so I can finish my story?"

Hermione nodded.

"Very well. Being silent suits you, Granger. And having your mouth shut definitely improves your appearance."

Hermione glared at him.

"Right. So... I Fell. But not all the way. If I'd Fallen all the way, I'd be in Hell. I was told that apparently I'm too proud. Arrogant, even. That I had to be born on earth and grow up and learn humility. Apparently, you aren't supposed to call members of the angelic hierarchy dunderheads.

"So if you were ever wondering about my wretched childhood," Snape said reflectively, "that's really the cause. I mean, it wasn't all bad. I still had limited powers – they made me a wizard, at least, not an out-and-out Muggle."

"So, wizards are... I don't know, higher beings or something?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Don't let it go to your head, Granger. It's one of the most frustrating things about being me. You kids never appreciated what you had. You always assumed that being magical was some kind of right, instead of the gift that it is."

"I never..."

"Not you, perhaps. But certainly those cretins you ran around with. And ninety percent of your classmates, to boot. It's what made Lily different. It's what makes you different, Granger. Even now."

"Oh," Hermione said. "Erm... thank you?"

"You're welcome. It was a compliment."

The two lapsed into silence. Around them, the magic of the Department of Mysteries hummed.

"So... why are you here?"

"Limbo. I still don't qualify for reentry into Heaven."

"That's unfair! After all you did, all you sacrificed!" Hermione cried.

"Do you think so?" Snape asked without rancor. "It seems all right to me, really. I went through a long time, Granger, with nothing but bitterness and resentment. Some of it directed at Heaven, some of it directed at myself, but really most of it directed at the denizens of Earth, Wizard and Muggle alike. And that, Granger, is how I wound up with that blasted Mark. Not because I thought Pure-bloods were superior, but because I knew that, compared to everyone on this stinking planet, I was superior.

"And then Lily died. And I realized... I'm just as fucked up as the rest of you lot."

"But you died! Surely that was enough sacrifice to atone for... everything!"

"Who said this was about atonement?" Snape asked.

"Well, don't you want to get back into Heaven? Don't you have to atone for your pride?"

"It's nothing to do with that," Snape said.

"Then..."

"It's about learning, Granger. And appreciation. I suppose I'll get back in eventually. But until then..." Snape shrugged.

"That's..."

"They say that Slytherins are ambitious," Snape said with a brief smile. "But really, it's Gryffindors that have the corner on that market. It's not always a race to the top, Granger. Sometimes you have to stop and..."

"Smell the flowers?" Hermione asked. "I'm dead, Snape. I can't go out and do that anymore."

"I was going to say, before you interrupted me," Snape said, "that sometimes you have to stop and enjoy the details. This world, both magical and Muggle, has some amazing things in it, Granger. You were so close to realizing that when you were a First Year. Then, of course... the war. But now..."

"Now?"

Snape smiled again.

"Enjoy your Death, Granger. Enjoy your job. Enjoy your cat, for fuck's sake. Enjoy whatever friendships you still have. Make some new ones. But take your damn time. Discover new things. You practically have eternity."

The hysterical thought crossed Hermione's mind that Severus Snape, Fallen Angel, was not exactly the person she'd have picked for a motivational speaker.

But he did have a valid point. Okay, several valid points.

"So you enjoy my curiosity," she accused Snape.

"Yes. It's always been rather refreshing, actually."

"Oh." There was another pause.

"What, Granger? You're thinking. What are you thinking?" Snape asked, wariness creeping into his tone.

"So..." Hermione said. "You're an angel. A fallen one."

"Yes."

"What would – out of curiosity, naturally – what would happen if I bit you, then? Would you die? Taste different? What?"

"Honestly, Granger, I have no idea."

"Do you want to find out?" Hermione asked. "I mean... for the sake of curiosity and... I don't know... living?"

Snape closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall, the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth again.

"Well?" Hermione pressed. "Do you?"