Accidental Stars

As she laughed I was aware of becoming involved in her laughter and being

part of it, until her teeth were only accidental stars with a talent

for squad-drill. I was drawn in by short gasps, inhaled at each momentary recovery,

lost finally in the dark caverns of her throat, bruised by the ripple

of unseen muscles. An elderly waiter with trembling hands was hurriedly

spreading a pink and white checked cloth over the rusty green iron

table, saying: 'If the lady and gentleman wish to take their tea in the

garden, if the lady and gentleman wish to take their tea in the garden ...'

I decided that if the shaking of her breasts could be stopped,

some fragments of the afternoon might be collected, and I

concentrated my attention with careful subtlety to this end.

- T. S. Eliot, Hysteria

***

Severus was unusually tense. He had risen before it was bright and had repositioned his cauldrons exactly fourteen times. Then, having reorganised his Potions books according to subject, he had gone in search of breakfast. Moe had appeared shortly before seven o'clock and had chuckled as she'd served his toast.

"You is not the only one up early this morning, Master Severus," she had said.

He had taken this to mean that Hermione was also preparing for their first day together, and, not caring to be outdone, he had returned to the laboratory immediately, determined that not a single thing should be anything less than perfect.

He had discovered, to his horror, that not all of his ingredients were in exact alphabetical order. He had spent the last three-quarters of an hour rearranging jars, tins and phials, and he was finally satisfied. He stood back and regarded his newly categorised shelves with a smirk of approval. There was not so much as a single bezoar out of place. If there was anyone who was likely to notice, it was surely Hermione Granger.

***

Hermione was unusually tense. She had risen well before dawn and had restyled her hair exactly three times. Then, certain that not a single errant curl had escaped her notice, she had gone in search of breakfast. Moe had given her tamed hair a complimentary nod.

"You is right to be impressing Master Severus," she had said. "He is liking everything to be just so."

Feeling queasy, Hermione had returned to her room to file her nails. She remembered that he had hated long fingernails almost as much as bitten fingernails in his classroom. Knowing that her hands would be under his direct scrutiny, she was determined that her nails would be nothing less than perfectly manicured.

She'd had an hour left to her before she was due at the laboratory, and, after applying a subtle layer of makeup, she had begun to leaf through all the information she possessed on the topic of Telenium cauldrons. It was now approaching eight o'clock, and she knew there was little more she could do in the way of preparation. She regarded her neatly plaited hair in the bedroom mirror with a small smile of approval. There was not so much as a single hair out of place. If there was anyone who was likely to notice, it was surely Severus Snape.

***

"Good morning," Severus murmured as he opened the door.

"Good morning," Hermione replied, giving him an uncertain smile.

"May I have your wand for a moment?"

"Certainly," she replied, extracting it from her practical, black robes and handing it to him.

He held the tip of her wand to the heavy bolt on the front door and whispered an incantation. The bolt shone bright green for a second before he gave a satisfied nod and returned her wand to her waiting hand.

"The door will recognise your wand from this point onwards," he said. "All you need do when you wish to enter is press the tip to the lock, and you will be granted access."

"I see," she said, feeling rather pleased. "Thank you."

He turned and strode to the stairs. She shut the door behind her and quickly followed in the wake of his billowing robes.

"Will I be granted the same access to the laboratory?" she asked as they descended the stairs.

"Not yet," he replied.

"Not yet? Am I not to be trusted?"

He turned to her. "You have to earn my trust, Hermione. After all, you've stolen from my stores before."

She gasped. In all the years she had known him, he had never once mentioned her second-year thieving at Hogwarts. "You knew? You knew and you didn't report me?"

He smirked. "I considered it, make no mistake, but I decided instead to deduce what you were up to."

"Did you find out?"

"Yes. I watched in some astonishment as you successfully brewed Polyjuice Potion. Quite a feat for a second-year, I thought, and rather undeserving of punishment."

She couldn't decide whether to be embarrassed that her covert operation had been discovered, or pleased that he had been impressed with her skill.

He opened the heavy wooden door to the laboratory with a wave of his wand. "It would seem you've already exceeded your quota of questions for today as per item twenty-three of our contract."

She glanced at her watch. "I don't think so. It's not quite eight o'clock: our working day hasn't begun, and we've not yet entered the laboratory."

"I make it to be only a few seconds before eight, so I suggest you choose your questions carefully between now and five o'clock."

"In that case, I'll make the most of the last few seconds left to me: If I don't ask my three questions each day, do they carry over to the next? For instance, if I save up all my questions, can I ask you fifteen questions on Friday?"

He leaned against the frame of the open door and crossed his arms. "Why weren't you wandering the corridors of Hogwarts alone and friendless, Hermione? How on earth did your companions put up with this for seven years? My estimation of Potter and Weasley has just risen. They must have had enormous patience."

She grinned and walked past him into the laboratory, a shiver of excitement running up her spine at the sight of the workbenches. Directing a longing glance at Nicolas Flamel's Telenium cauldron, she wondered how long it would be before he permitted her to brew in what was surely his most prized possession.

Severus closed the heavy door and crossed the room. "For the foreseeable future, this will be your workbench," he said, indicating the bench where the three pewter cauldrons sat. "Although I have a number of tasks for you to complete this afternoon, I'd like you to spend the morning familiarising yourself with the laboratory. From what I can recall of you at Hogwarts, you are gifted with a sharp memory, and if you know the whereabouts of the various ingredients and textbooks, I might be spared needless questions. I would like to be interrupted as little as possible. Is that clear?"

She nodded her understanding.

"The parchments on your desk are Potions contracts. I've divided my contracts into two halves. The ones on your desk all deal with common potions that I'm certain you'll have no problem brewing." He crossed to a shelf and selected a jar of preserved Reishi. "I have a number of potions which require my immediate attention, so I'd like you to begin by looking through your contracts and familiarising yourself with our clients and their needs."

Feeling a slight thrill at the words 'our clients', she watched as he opened the jar and extracted one of the mushrooms from within. He began to pummel it to a paste with a pestle and mortar, and she gave a soft sigh, marvelling at the ease and efficiency with which he worked.

She read through the first contract, then moved to the second. When Severus had finished with the Reishi, he disappeared into the storeroom where he kept the more volatile ingredients. A few seconds later, the strains of Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony filled the room, and Hermione smiled in recognition.

He emerged from the storeroom with a jar of yellow powder.

"Might I ask how you're playing the symphony?" she asked, puzzled. The quality of the sound was far too good to be coming from a wizarding radio station, and she couldn't see any speakers.

He gave a flick of his wand: six small, silver speakers appeared, mounted at the juncture of the wall and ceiling at various intervals around the room. "Not everything can be improved upon by magic," he said, "among them Herbert Von Karajan, the Berlin Philharmonic and Muggle sound systems." He resumed work on his potion.

She became quickly absorbed in reading through the various contracts. Quite a few of them were for St. Mungo's; a couple more were for one of the apothecaries in Diagon Alley. Most of the remedies they ordered were straightforward: Pepperup Potion, Skele-Gro, Bruise-healing Paste and Invigoration Draughts. She was glad to see he'd included a few more demanding potions in her list: a complex medication used in the treatment of Dragon Pox, and an elixir used in Hippogriff-taming of which she'd never even heard. It pleased her to find he had enough confidence in her abilities to trust her with the preparation of something other than Cough Potions.

She spent almost three hours poring over the contracts and making notes in a journal she'd brought with her. The stack of parchments on Severus's bench was even greater than her own, and she had no idea how he'd coped with it all on his own before now.

As the morning wore on, she darted occasional glances at his cauldron. He was using the simplest of the three: the wrought-iron cauldron lined with platinum, and although she could tell the potion he was working on was an antidote, it wasn't one she'd ever seen brewed before.

While she watched him work, she became increasingly mesmerised by his hands. She could hardly believe that she'd been his student for such a long time and had failed to notice his long, slender fingers. He held a metal stirring-rod in his right hand and used his left to prepare and add additional ingredients. The lecturers in Potions at the Sorbonne had been, for the most part, incredibly gifted at their subject, but never before had she watched someone brew with such consummate grace and ease. He had a habit of allowing his left hand to hover above the cauldron. He would move his fingers in the air as if caressing the rising steam.

Severus was aware that Hermione had been watching him for quite some time. He was impressed that she'd managed to curb her inquisitive tongue and had not yet asked him what he was working on. He had worried that he might find her presence in some way bothersome or distracting, but so far she had behaved, and all was well.

Apart from the Beethoven problem, that was. Within moments of his playing the Beethoven symphony, she had begun to hum along. Once the second movement had finished, he could stand it no more. With a flick of his wand he had changed to a Beethoven Piano Sonata. It seemed she knew this one, too: the humming had begun again. He had considered asking her to refrain, but, certain that it would cause her embarrassment, he bit his tongue.

Another flick of his wand had moved the disc along to a string quartet. The humming had continued. She evidently knew her Beethoven. Uttering a curse beneath his breath, he had returned to the storeroom and had replaced the Beethoven with some Sibelius. That had finally shut her up. He would have to avoid Beethoven from now on.

He finally looked up from his cauldron and caught her staring at his hands. "I take it you've finished examining the contracts, Hermione?" he said, pleased at the colour that rose in her cheeks.

"Yes, I ... I have," she replied, embarrassed at having been caught.

"Have you any questions? You've remained unusually quiet."

She shrugged. "It all seems straightforward. Is there a particular order in which you'd like me to complete the different batches?"

He shook his head. "I'd like you to manage the contracts in addition to brewing the potions. You've examined all of them now. What would you prioritise for the coming week?"

She looked through the notes she'd made, biting her lower lip in concentration. "The Pepperup Potion for St. Mungo's will need brewing today, and although the Veritaserum for the Norwegian Wizengamot is not needed for some time, it will be necessary to prepare it now as it requires a full month to mature." She turned to the next page of her journal. "The other priorities this week are the Invigoration Draughts and the Skele-Gro for the Department of Sports."

He gave a stiff nod. "That will suffice. Have you any idea what I've been brewing this morning?"

Hermione frowned and peered across the room at his cauldron. "It's not something I've seen brewed before, but it's an antidote of some kind."

"I'm sure you can be more precise than that," he said, a gentle reprimand in his tone. "Consider the ingredients ..."

She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to recall everything she'd seen him add to the mixture. "It's an antivenin," she said, hoping desperately she was right.

"Correct," he said. "This particular antivenin also has a second purpose. If I tell you this phial contains the venom of a green mamba, might you hazard a guess?"

She smiled. "It can act as an antidote to many wizard-made poisons that attack the central nervous system."

"Good," he said, returning his attention to the cauldron.

Hermione knew a rush of satisfaction. A 'good' from Severus Snape was equal to a 'phenomenal' from practically anybody else.

He glanced at her from beneath his hair. "Of all the antidotes I brew, antivenins are particularly close to my heart. I'm sure you understand why."

She looked up at him, surprised he'd made reference to the night in the Shrieking Shack. She could not think of a suitable response. "Might I familiarise myself with the whereabouts of the ingredients?"

"You may," he agreed. "I'd urge you to exercise caution in the storeroom. It holds many unstable substances: Erumpent fluid among them."

She nodded, and he watched as she crossed to the shelves and began to take notes on row after row of his ingredients. He studied the manner in which she rubbed the tip of her quill against her chin while she worked, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she was doing it. When she was deep in concentration, she also had a habit of biting her bottom lip. After a time, she turned to him with a broad smile.

"There's little need to memorise anything," she said happily. "Everything is in perfect alphabetical order!"

He knew a distinct throb of self-satisfaction and was glad that he'd taken such pains to ensure his shelves were properly arranged. He watched as she made her way to the storeroom, her plaited hair swinging behind her. No-one had been permitted entry to his storeroom before, and he was not comfortable with her presence there. Many of the items were dangerously volatile, and he hoped that her training at the Sorbonne had instilled in her a suitable degree of caution. He was relieved when she emerged unscathed.

"You've the most extensive collection of rare ingredients I've ever come across," she said as she returned to her bench. "I'm so excited about working here."

"You're easily pleased," he responded, amused by her enthusiasm. Having siphoned the last of his antidote into a crystal phial, he placed it alongside a number of others in a small wooden box. He sealed it with a tap of his wand and carried it to her workbench.

"This box requires immediate delivery to a client in Cape Town. It's obviously unwise to trust an owl over such a long distance with such a heavy package," he explained, "so I generally send such deliveries by Floo. Might I ask you to do so, using the fireplace in the kitchen?"

She nodded. "Of course."

He extracted a piece of parchment from his robes and handed it to her. "This is the name and address of the client. Once the order has been dispatched, you may take your lunch; I'm certain you must be hungry by now."

She hadn't once thought of her stomach during the morning, but now that he mentioned it, she realised she was famished. She picked up the wooden box and headed for the door. Severus pulled it open for her, and they found Moe waiting outside. She looked as though she'd been standing there for quite some time.

"Mistress Cordelia and her friends is still in the living room," she explained. "I has made you both lunch in the kitchen."

Before either one of them could respond, she disappeared with a click of her fingers. Hermione directed an apologetic glance at Severus; she'd presumed she would return to her own house for lunch. She was sure he wanted a break from her by now.

He inclined his head. "I have one or two chores which require my attention. I will join you presently." He returned to the laboratory feeling mildly annoyed; Moe would ordinarily have asked his permission before inviting somebody else to dine with him. Perhaps, he thought, she'd become so accustomed to Hermione that she simply viewed her as one of the family and thus above the usual formalities.

Hermione made her way to the kitchen, where Moe was busy levitating cutlery onto the table. When she had successfully delivered the parcel by Floo, she took a seat and helped herself to a bowl of soup and a sandwich. Severus arrived a few minutes later and took the chair opposite.

Without the distractions of cauldrons and contracts, an uncomfortable silence fell between them. Uneasy with the lack of conversation, Hermione squirmed in her seat. She could stand it for no more than a few minutes.

"I read some of your journal articles while I was at the Sorbonne," she ventured. "You published quite prolifically in The Potioneer and Brewer's Quarterly for a time."

Rather than respond, he leaned back from the table, his arm draped over the back of his chair, and regarded her with a strange expression.

"Tell me, Hermione. What were your favourite subjects at Hogwarts?"

Surprised by the sudden change of topic, she said, "Charms and Transfiguration. Closely followed by Ancient Runes and Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"And your least favourite?"

"Divination, without a doubt. Muggle Studies was boring, and Care of Magical Creatures was stressful beyond belief...I spent my days worrying that Hagrid was going to do something to get himself fired."

"So Potions came somewhere between the two?"

She nodded, her cheeks growing warm. "I suppose so."

"And yet you chose to pursue that subject to Master's level. Might I ask why? I was generally successful, during my time at Hogwarts, in turning every student outside of Slytherin House completely off Potions."

She put down her spoon. "You were the reason I wanted to study Potions."

"I was the reason?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

"I've been asked the same question many times since I went to the Sorbonne, and I've never answered it with the complete truth. My usual explanation is that I was never as good at Potions as some of my other subjects, and as a result it was a challenge. In a way, that's true. But in reality, it's all your fault."

"Would you care to elaborate?"

She took a deep breath and studied her fingernails. This was not a conversation she had intended to have on her first day at work. "Once Harry discovered the notes of the Half-Blood Prince, I was filled with envy."

He said nothing. After a moment, she raised her gaze shyly to his. "You knew Harry had your copy of Advanced Potion-Making?"

He gave a brief nod. "Yes, I was aware of the fact."

"Harry followed all the tips you'd written in the margins of the book. Professor Slughorn assumed Harry had some sort of innate talent. I must admit, I didn't enjoy being outdone in class, especially when Harry's work was not truly his own."

"I still fail to see how this resulted in your choosing to study for a degree in Potions," he said, becoming irritated.

"You were a N.E.W.T student when you wrote those notes, the same age as I was – possibly even younger. I know I managed an Outstanding grade in my Potions O.W.L and N.E.W.T exams, but I never had that kind of flair. Those notes were beyond brilliant! When I had to choose my subjects for the Sorbonne, I decided that what I didn't possess by nature, I would acquire by hard work and determination. So that's it, really: I was jealous of the Half-Blood Prince and I resolved to make up for my shortcomings." She lowered her gaze and hoped he would drop the subject.

"I see," he responded quietly. "Misguided as your reasons may have been, if your Parisian professors are to be believed, you've certainly attained a commendable level of ability."

"I hope my brewing skills will prove them correct." She fiddled with her tea cup, suddenly annoyed that she'd been so honest. She felt silly now. "Might I ask you a question in return?"

"It would seem only fair," he acquiesced.

"When we studied Potions at N.E.W.T level, Professor Slughorn often praised the instinctive talents of ... of former students," she said, avoiding the name of Lily Evans. "He never mentioned you, either before or after the war, and I've always wondered why. Weren't you on good terms with him?"

"Horace Slughorn and I were neither on good nor bad terms while I was his student. I just did not interest him as did certain other less talented pupils. I had no connections; I had nothing to recommend me. I was silent, outwardly unremarkable and clearly from an impoverished family. I would not have fitted into his little club."

"I still don't understand it," she continued. "You were incredibly talented, and not all of his favourites were well connected."

Severus shrugged. "Connections were what he desired above all else. The occasional exceptions to this were usually female, vivacious and talented."

"Like Ginny Weasley," she said.

"Many still were Muggle-borns, completely devoid of connections in the wizarding world. Like you," he added, "and like Lily." He rose from the table.

She couldn't believe he'd mentioned Lily's name.

"Come," he said. "We have much to do."

They returned to the laboratory, Hermione still surprised that he had spoken of Lily Evans. She couldn't decide whether it was a good thing or not. Perhaps it meant he'd overcome his feelings for her. Or, perhaps, it meant that Lily was still on his mind night and day.

By the end of the afternoon, she also couldn't decide whether or not she'd made the right decision in accepting the job. She'd spent the hours after lunch brewing Pepperup Potion; hardly a challenge for a highly qualified Potioneer, but enjoyable, nonetheless. She'd been conscious of Severus casting furtive glances at her cauldron as she worked. His lack of complaint assured her he was satisfied; she'd no doubt he would have corrected her had he been displeased with her technique.

Overall, she supposed, they'd gotten on rather well for two people with such an unconventional past. He had bitten his tongue; she had done the same. But there was still an air of unease. There were issues hovering between them, and Hermione was sure that the only way for them to become comfortable around one another was to deal with those issues. She would find a way to draw the intractable Severus Snape into conversation with her, despite the ridiculous clauses in his contract. Lance had told her that Severus watched her. Maybe it was time she watched him in return.

***

It wasn't too long before she had an opportunity to do just that. On Thursday evening, Cordelia invited her to dinner along with more than a dozen other guests, among them Draco and Susan. Narcissa Malfoy was there too, but Hermione was relieved to find Lucius was visiting friends in Italy.

She arrived arm in arm with Lance, who had insisted they be fashionably late. Severus admitted them, and Lance hobbled ahead of them to the dining room, mumbling under his breath about the ridiculousness of Cordelia's dinner parties.

Hermione turned to Severus. "I'm sorry we're late. Lance insisted we be the last to arrive."

Severus rolled his eyes. "Yes, he's exceptionally fond of making an entrance."

Hermione laughed. "So I've noticed. He's quite the drama-queen." They reached the door, and she took a deep breath, placing her hand on her churning stomach.

Severus frowned. "Nervous?"

She nodded. "Yes, a little. I haven't been around the Mills since Theo left. I just feel a little awkward."

"Hold your head high, Hermione," he said, his tone kind. "You've done nothing to be ashamed of. I dissuaded Cordelia from placing you between her Aunt Millie and Narcissa Malfoy. You'll be seated next to Susan and opposite Draco."

She felt a rush of relief and gratitude. "Thank you," she said, touched he'd considered her comfort.

They entered the room to find the other guests already seated at the long dining table. Hermione mumbled an apology and took her seat next to Susan Malfoy, who flashed her an encouraging smile.

"Thank you for coming, dear," Cordelia said genially. She turned and addressed the table at large. "You'll notice we're missing a few guests this evening. Both Lucius and Theodore are abroad."

Hermione instinctively looked at Severus, who was frowning at his wife.

"And on that note," Draco announced loudly, "might I just say, Granger, that you're looking most excellent since you got rid of..."

"Draco!" his mother hissed. "That will do!"

Lance chuckled at the other end of the table. "The boy's right! She's much better off without that idiot."

"Lancelot!" Cordelia said, darting an anxious glance at her confused aunts. "That's quite enough, thank you."

Hermione suppressed a giggle. She could have sworn that Severus had given her the briefest of smiles.

Draco and Lance behaved themselves for the rest of the meal, and Hermione enjoyed talking to Susan, who filled her in on what had been happening at the Department of Mysteries.

Hermione was well placed to observe Severus as the evening progressed: he was seated at one end of the table next to his wife, and it was easy to watch his from beneath the safety of her curls.

What she saw unnerved her. Despite Lance's remarks that Cordelia and Severus were not all that they seemed, Hermione had always assumed they were just like any married couple. But now she realised that she'd been so wrapped up in her own misery that she'd never noticed their interaction at all. Or, rather, their lack of interaction.

While Severus elegantly performed the role of co-host, ensuring everybody's glass was kept full, Cordelia fussed over her guests and drew them into conversation. But over the two-hour meal, Hermione noticed that they barely exchanged one word, and when they did converse, it was in relation to the dinner. On the few occasions that their eyes met, she registered no affection, and on the one instance that they made physical contact, she rather formed the impression that it was nothing more than an elaborate act on Cordelia's part. On rising from the table to fetch another bottle of wine, Cordelia placed her hand on her husband's shoulder, and Hermione watched in fascination as Severus immediately stiffened.

The most interesting episode occurred just as they were finishing dessert. A tapping at the dining room window announced the arrival of a large brown owl, and Cordelia rose from the table. Before she crossed to the window, Hermione heard Severus remark, "That's the sixth visit from that owl this week. Your popularity seems boundless, my dear." Cordelia responded with a frosty glare, and then, having read the note, she returned to her seat with a vague, distracted smile.

Hermione continued to scrutinise their behaviour for a minute or two, until Severus turned towards her, and she knew he was aware she'd been watching him. Rather than turn away in embarrassment, she bravely held his gaze and gave him a hesitant smile. She felt a profound rush of pleasure when he returned her smile, a puzzled expression on his pale face.

The evening passed quickly, and she soon bade farewell to Susan and Draco. Lance left early, bored by his elderly relatives, and Hermione eventually found herself alone with Severus.

"Come," he said, pointing to the seat opposite him. "Have another glass of wine."

Hermione feigned surprise. "Another glass of wine? When I'm due at work tomorrow morning?"

He smirked at her. "And how are you enjoying work, Hermione?"

"I'm enjoying it immensely; I've missed Potions since I left Paris. How are you enjoying having your laboratory under siege?"

"It hasn't been nearly as painful as I'd expected," he said, pouring her a glass of wine.

She gave a wry laugh. "Well, I'm glad I'm not as painful as you'd foreseen." She picked up the bottle of wine and, feeling cheeky, topped up his glass. She liked the way wine seemed make him more unguarded than he would normally dare to be. The only other time she’d seen him like this was on the night of her wedding.

"It would appear," he said, plucking the bottle from her grasp and placing it out of her reach, "that we're both still on our very best behaviour."

"Hmmm," she said, sipping at her wine. "You haven't made a single derogatory remark all week."

"You haven't given me cause to make a single derogatory remark all week."

Her eyes widened. "Thank you very much," she gushed, beaming.

He arched an eyebrow. "You take that as a compliment?"

"From you, that's as much a compliment as I could ever hope to receive."

He tutted. "You make me out to be a very black character indeed, Hermione Granger."

She laughed. "You know very well that you are every inch the quintessential black character, Severus Snape."

"Thank you very much," he said, imitating her.

"You take that as a compliment?" she asked, grinning.

He smirked and then fell silent for a moment. "Welcome back."

She frowned. "What?"

"I don't pretend for one moment that I knew you in any detail," he said, dropping his voice to a whisper, conscious that Cordelia and Narcissa had retired to the next room for coffee, "but you've become less and less like the Hermione Granger I'd imagined you to be over the last few months. It's nice to see you back."

She sighed. "Thank you ... I think. I haven't been myself since I got married, really."

"Theo had a much more negative effect on you than I'd expected."

She nodded. "You're right. And you were right about Theo: we were incompatible in all the ways you'd known we would be. When did you learn to be such a good judge of character?"

"Believe me: it has not always been so." He rubbed his forearm where he had once sported the Dark Mark and regarded her thoughtfully. "But it is gratifying, now, to see you returned to your ... former glory," he finished with a smirk.

She laughed. "Former glory? What was it you called me in third year? An insufferable know-it-all?"

"And what was it you did to me when you were in third year?" he countered. "Knocked me unconscious in the Shrieking Shack?"

She laughed again. "Touché, Professor Snape. Besides, I thought we were letting bygones be bygones; burying the hatchet and all that?"

"You're the one who started the mud-slinging. But yes, we have called a truce, if I remember correctly. We'd need rather a large hole in the ground for all the hatchets we've used over the years."

He picked up his wine glass and raised it to his lips. Hermione watched him, admiring the recently-discovered long, slender fingers with which he lifted his glass.

"But you were right about many, many things," she confessed. "I should have listened to you."

"It's not always a difficult thing when you reach my age, Hermione, to view other people and their actions objectively. It's another thing entirely to apply that same wisdom to one's own life.”

She frowned, wondering whether he was referring to her or to his own clearly troubled relationship. "Do you think, Severus, that you'll be able to put up with me at work?" she asked, wondering if they would ever converse as comfortably in the laboratory as they did at dinner parties.

"Perhaps," he drawled, his black eyes glittering with sudden amusement, "if you can control your humming habit."

"My humming habit?"

"It seems limited to Beethoven, but I've no idea how far your knowledge of music extends. So far, you seem unaffected by Sibelius, Shostakovich and Brahms."

Hermione groaned and lowered her head to the table. "I hummed along to Beethoven?"

"Indeed, you did," he said, entertained by her reaction. "Are there other composers I should avoid?"

She giggled and looked up again. "Tchaikovsky and Mozart, probably." She smiled. "I'm really sorry, Severus. I'd no idea I was doing it."

"Apology accepted," he said, returning her smile. "Now, it's after midnight, and I intend to present you with something a little more challenging tomorrow. I suggest you return to your abode."

"Okay," she said, rising from the table and stifling a yawn. "Goodnight, Severus. You're very funny."

He stiffened. "Funny?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"Yes," she insisted. "Funny."

She took her leave, sorry to say goodnight, despite the fact that she would see him the following morning.

Without knowing quite why, she smiled all the way home, suddenly excited about the weeks and months ahead that would be spent in Severus's laboratory. Maybe Lance was right: taking that job might just prove to be the best thing she ever did. It was certainly the first good decision she'd made since she'd said yes to Theodore Nott.