Tell Me

A/N: Apologies for being slightly late with this chapter, and apologies, too, for not having answered your very kind reviews for the last two chapters. I promise I will get to them all – Real life has just been a little cruel this week. Please do keep them coming. They make the long hours I spend editing worthwhile.

LB x

Let us twain walk aside from the rest;

Now we are together privately, do you discard ceremony,

Come! vouchsafe to me what has yet been vouchsafed to none...

Tell me the whole story,

Tell me what you would not tell your brother, wife, husband or physician.

- Walt Whitman, To You

***

The month of March passed quickly, and the apple blossom trees in Kensington Square bloomed, announcing the approach of summer.

It was a sunny Saturday afternoon, and although she had come to the park with the intention of reading a well-battered copy of her favourite Jane Austen, Hermione found her mind wandering again and again to the conundrum that was Severus Snape.

All in all, she thought, the first few weeks of her employment with Severus had been a revelation. The most disturbing thing of all was that she liked him. She actually liked being around him. Him. Severus Snape. Who would have thought it possible?

Yes, he could be waspish. Cold sometimes, too, but she had already learned to read his moods and understand his temperament. She had vowed to watch him, and watch him she had. Closely. And the result was that she'd learned much about her former professor. His foul humours, which were mercifully rare, had resulted in more than one heated argument. But with a little observation, she had come to realise that there might be an excuse for his behaviour on those occasions.

Over a week previously, she'd arrived at the laboratory a few minutes before eight. A tap on the door had gone unanswered, and a quick spell had confirmed there was nobody inside. She'd frowned: she hadn't once arrived at work before Severus. He was always there ahead of her, already brewing.

After ten minutes of waiting patiently by the door, she'd succumbed to impatience and had tip-toed up the stairs. He was not to be found in the living room or the dining room, and she had been about to climb to the second floor when a creak on the floorboards above had told her he'd finally left his bedroom.

"Good morning," she'd said, concerned, wondering if he was ill.

"Is it, indeed?" he'd snapped, darting her an icy glare.

Stung by his response and annoyed by the lack of apology for his lateness, she'd followed him silently down the stairs.

He had barked instructions at her for over an hour, finding fault with her chopping technique where she knew there was none. Still, she had not once risen to his inflammatory remarks, and as the morning had worn on, she'd detected the scent of Firewhisky from his breath and had noticed the deep, dark shadows beneath his eyes. He'd obviously not slept well, and shortly before lunch she had finally understood.

He had left his bench to retrieve something from the storeroom, and as he'd crossed the floor, she had watched from beneath her eyelashes as he'd raised his hand to his neck and winced. Comprehension had hit her like a Bludger to the stomach: he still suffered from the wounds to his neck. Familiar as she was with his obstinacy, she guessed that he was reluctant to take a Pain Potion.

Since her first week at work, she had often joined him for lunch in his kitchen, but when the weather was fine she sometimes grabbed a sandwich and went for a walk, determined not to crowd him. But on the morning she'd finally discovered the reason for his dark moods, he had dismissed her to lunch, insisting he needed to stay in the laboratory.

She'd crossed the square to her own house, where she'd taken a tasteless Pain Potion from the cabinet in her bathroom. Then she'd headed straight for Cordelia's kitchen, where Moe had prepared a lunch tray with a steaming mug of tea, to which Hermione added the Pain Potion. She'd carried it to the laboratory and had set it in before of him. He'd raised livid eyes to her face.

She had put up a hand. "Don't hex me, Severus. You look tired, and I thought you could do with something to eat. I'll be back at two."

She'd fled from the lab, stopping briefly at the door, half expecting him to hurl his potion-laced tea after her. She'd turned and watched as he'd raised the mug to his nose and inhaled. She had been certain that he would know about the potion, but after a moment's pause, he had sipped at the contents, and she'd breathed easily once more.

When she had returned from lunch, the tray had disappeared, and she'd gone straight to her bench, half afraid to look at him. The afternoon had passed without so much as a word from either of them, but a brief glance had told her that he didn't look as grey in the face as he had done that morning.

She had been tidying her bench that evening when he'd finally approached her.

"I'm grateful for the Pain Potion," he'd murmured. It hadn't been an apology, exactly, but she had read remorse in his eyes.

"You're welcome," she'd replied, refusing to smile.

"How did you know it was needed?"

"Are you serious?" She'd looked at him, her eyes wide with incredulity, her hand on her hip. "Severus, do you remember the Hungarian Horntail at the Triwizard Tournament?"

He had nodded with a deep frown.

"I would rather have faced that dragon than face you this morning," she'd said, pouting.

He had returned silently to his own workbench where he'd begun to leaf through a stack of potions orders. Hermione had retrieved her cloak from a hook on the wall and had headed for the door.

"I apologise, Hermione," he'd said quietly.

She'd stopped just short of the door and had turned to him, surprised. "Apology accepted."

Crossing the room to his bench, she had sat on his stool while he'd filed away his contracts. "Does it still hurt, Severus? After all this time?" she'd asked, her voice gentle.

He had given a brief nod. "On some occasions more than others."

"Isn't there anything that can be done?"

"No. There's too much damage to the nerves."

"I'm sorry I didn't realise before," she'd said. "I never considered there might still be pain despite the fact there are no scars."

He'd met her gaze then, and she'd known instantly that there were scars, but that he kept them hidden. She'd felt an enormous rush of sympathy for him and had left the room before he could see the tears in her eyes.

And now, here she sat in the park, hours of leisure time before her, and all she could think about was Severus Snape. Most people looked forward to their weekends, but she dreaded hers. She just didn't know what to do with herself. Distraction was provided by Padma and the babies, and by Harry, Ginny and little James, but whenever she was with them, her mind was still on Severus.

She wondered how he spent his weekends. She knew that Cordelia spent a lot of time abroad or with friends, and although Severus seemed on friendly terms with the Malfoys and some of the Hogwarts staff, she suspected he had little to do on Saturdays and Sundays. Maybe he looked forward to Monday mornings just as much as she did.

But she couldn't go on like this. It had often occurred to her, over the years, that he may have been in indescribable pain while he lay on the floor of the Shrieking Shack on the night of the final battle. And perhaps it was even possible that had she acted sooner, he might have been saved the permanent nerve damage that caused him pain still. The thought was almost more than she could bear. Her guilt was beginning to feel like a stone around her neck, and she knew she could not continue much longer without confronting the issue. It would have to be dealt with sooner rather than later. Whether he liked it or not.

***

Severus anticipated Monday mornings with a certain amount of pleasure. He always had. He preferred honest toil to idle pursuits, so weekends did not suit him. And his taste for Monday mornings had increased twofold since the arrival of Hermione Granger in his laboratory. But he assured himself it was his work that evoked such fondness for the start of the working week, not the company.

More than a week had passed since he had begrudgingly admitted that his neck still troubled him, and he greatly regretted that some moment of weakness, some grimace, had unwittingly revealed one of his most closely guarded secrets. She knew about his neck, and he had no desire to be the recipient of pity. He had noticed the look of concern on Hermione's face since the day she'd given him the Pain Potion; her gaze had rested on his neck on more than one occasion.

She arrived a few minutes before eight, as she always did, and he admitted her to the laboratory with a flick of his wand.

"Good morning," she said, giving the hesitant smile he'd come to know.

"Good morning. I trust your weekend was agreeable?"

"Yes," she said, extracting her journal from beneath her robes. "And yours?"

"It was adequate."

She gave an unbecoming snort. "Adequate?"

"Yes, it was adequate. Is there something amiss?"

She shook her head, grinning. "I've just never heard anyone describe a weekend as adequate. Dinner, perhaps, or an essay, but never a weekend."

He watched as she continued to her workbench, where it soon became apparent that her mind was not on her work.

"Hermione," he said testily, "you do realise you're chopping those berries instead of crushing them? Have you discovered some technique of which I've remained completely ignorant?"

She looked down at her bench and gasped. "I ... I'm so sorry," she stammered. "I don't know what I was thinking!"

He looked on as she Vanished the now-useless berries and crossed to the shelves to retrieve some more. He could tell she was distracted, and he wondered if, perhaps, something had happened over the course of her weekend.

Once she'd crushed the berries to a paste, she made her way to the storeroom, and he listened as she rooted through the jars, concerned about her presence there while in such a state of distraction. She emerged moments later, and he watched surreptitiously from beneath his lank hair as she uncorked a small phial.

His eyes narrowing, he closed the space between them and grabbed her by the wrist before she could tip the contents into her simmering cauldron.

"Merlin's beard, girl! Have you lost your mind?" he hissed.

She gaped at him as he extracted the phial from her grasp.

"I assume you meant to add tincture of belladonna?"

"That's what I was about to add," she said, confused.

"This," he spat, holding up the clear fluid, "is the bile of a Basilisk. Probably the most dangerous, expensive and irreplaceable item in my entire laboratory. And you wonder why I do not permit you to use the Telenium cauldron?"

"It's ... Basilisk bile?"

To his horror, she put her head in her hands. Fearing a tearful outburst, he Conjured a handkerchief, but was relieved when this proved unnecessary: she lowered her hands, looking more embarrassed than upset.

With surprising composure, she turned and extinguished the flame beneath her cauldron, and with a whispered Evanesco, she Vanished the contents and turned to him.

"Severus. I need to talk you. I can't go on like this. I'm ... I'm too distracted."

"So I've noticed,' he barked, eyeing her. She wanted to talk? He was certain the topic of conversation would not be to his liking.

She took a deep breath and said, "I want to talk about ... about that night. In the Shrieking Shack."

"Really? Well, I don't," he snarled, returning to his workbench in a flurry of black. He picked up a small silver knife and pulled a bundle of Valerian roots across the bench. To his annoyance, she crossed to his side and reached out to still his hand before he could commence shredding the roots. He swivelled to face her with a furious grunt.

"Please, Severus," she begged. "I love my job; I'd dearly like to stay on when the three-month contract is up, but I can't continue to work for you without sorting this out."

"Without sorting what out, exactly?" he snapped. "We were both there; we both know what happened. What is there to sort out?"

She swallowed nervously. "I was haunted for a long time by the image of Nagi..."

"Do not mention that cursed creature's name in my presence!" he hissed, baring his teeth.

"I'm sorry," she replied, sighing. "I'm sorry. But the point is, Severus, I was there. I was there, and I didn't check to see if you were dead or alive. I left you for hours upon hours, and I've wondered, for almost seven years now, whether you were conscious for ... for all that time. And if you were ... if you were in pain."

He flinched. He could recall every single word she'd said to him while he lay there on the filthy floor of the shack; he knew she'd been filled with remorse for not having checked for a pulse before she and Potter had left with his memories.

"I would love you to tell me that you lost consciousness when your hand thumped to the floor, Severus. I would like nothing more than to hear you remember nothing from that night until you awoke in St. Mungo's. Can you tell me that?"

He remained silent.

"You can't tell me that?" she asked. "Does that mean you were conscious? Were you in great pain, Severus?"

"Questions," he muttered. "Always questions." He turned away from her.

"Severus, please! I have to know!"

He sighed deeply. "Have you never heard the expression 'ignorance is bliss', Hermione?"

She chewed at her bottom lip. "That means you were conscious, doesn't it?"

He regarded her for a moment and finally gave a curt nod. "The venom acted only on my motor nerves. My sensory nerves were unaffected."

She clapped a hand over her mouth. "Oh, my goodness!" she mumbled. "You were conscious and you could feel pain!"

"I lost consciousness for a short time before you arrived. Judging by the position of the rising sun as it shone through the slats of the shack, I estimate I was unconscious for approximately twenty minutes ... Due to loss of blood, no doubt."

Hermione looked horrified. "We left you alone for something like eight hours, and you were in pain all that time? Was it ... Was the pain unbearable?" she asked, her voice shaking.

He remained silent for a minute, considering his answer. "Is it true that you suffered by the wand of Bellatrix Lestrange?"

She nodded. "Yes. For a short time."

"I assume she used her very favourite curse?" he said, his lip curled in distaste.

She nodded again. "The Cruciatus Curse."

"I also assume that you will never, as long as you live, forget that pain?"

She lowered her gaze. "No. I'll never forget it."

"The burning sensation of the venom rivalled the pain of the Cruciatus Curse."

Hermione looked appalled. "You were in that much pain for eight hours?" she whispered. "How did you stand it, Severus? Neville's parents lost their minds after only an hour!"

"I'm a well-practised Occlumens; it was possible to block a certain amount of the pain from my mind. Furthermore, victims of the Cruciatus Curse experience pain in every nerve in the body. My pain was limited to my neck, and as a result, it was easier to bear."

"Did you wish for death?" she asked, her face stricken.

"For a time, towards the end," he replied honestly.

Her lower lip trembled. "Would you have preferred I hadn't returned?"

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I won't insult your intelligence by telling you an untruth, Hermione. Yes, at that time, I would have preferred to die."

"But you don't regret it now?"

He looked at her, at the sincerity and concern in her warm brown eyes, and even as he considered his answer, he wondered when the pale face and bushy hair that had once irked him so had become important to him. "I've found that there are many things worth living for."

Her shoulders sagged. "I'm glad to hear that," she said, a catch in her voice.

He turned from her in embarrassment, suddenly eager to return to his work.

But she was not yet finished. "Severus, if I'd returned sooner, would..."

"No, Hermione," he interrupted, guessing her question. "The pain with which I sometimes suffer now was caused by the initial wound and not by the length of time the venom was in my system."

She gave a sigh of relief and crossed to the storeroom to replace the Basilisk bile. He shook his head, hoping she would drop the subject now, but when she emerged, she crossed straight to his bench, her expression grave. "Can you ever forgive me, Severus, for taking so long to return that night?"

"There's nothing to forgive," he insisted, refusing to meet her gaze.

"There's much to forgive. I will always be sorry that we took so long to come back to you."

He sighed, put down his knife once again and looked her in the face. "You said exactly those words just before Poppy Pomfrey arrived, if my memory serves me correctly, and there's no need to repeat them. For what it is worth, you have both my forgiveness and my gratitude."

She gave him a timid smile. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now, might I suggest you return to your work and endeavour not to kill us both this time, silly girl?" He shook his head, but his tone was more playful than stern.

She nodded, and he watched as she returned to her bench, her long ponytail swinging behind her. He resolved to keep a subtle eye on her during the afternoon, but she appeared to have returned to her usual, competent self, and the expression of anxiety had left her face. The girl had obviously been fretting about the night she had saved his life. He was particularly glad to note she'd stopped glancing at his neck. If there was one thing he could not abide, it was pity.

***

The rest of that week passed without further mention of the Shrieking Shack. When she wasn't being unbearably nosey, Severus enjoyed watching Hermione work: she was not possessed of the innate flair of many skilled Potioneers, but she brewed with practised ease, and her knowledge of her subject compensated for her lack of instinct. There were only another five weeks to go until their three-month contract came to an end, and he was inclining towards offering her a permanent contract. Unless, of course, she resumed her infernal humming.

They had almost concluded their work for the week when Moe tapped on the laboratory door. Severus called for her to enter, and she shuffled into the room, two identical scrolls in her bony hands.

"You is receiving owls, Master Severus and Miss Hermione," she announced.

Hermione took them from her with muttered thanks and passed one to Severus.

He immediately recognised the Hogwarts seal and tore open the letter. Having quickly scanned the contents, he tossed the parchment onto his workbench with a dismissive grunt and returned his attention to his work. Hermione's squeal of delight made him scowl.

"It's an invitation to Pomona Sprout's retirement party!"

"Indeed," he muttered. "Thrilling."

She rolled her eyes. "Severus, you're such a killjoy."

"What joy could possibly be derived from Pomona Sprout's retirement party?"

"Professor Sprout is a lovely woman. You don't mean to tell me you'd consider refusing the invitation?"

"Of course I'd consider refusing the invitation." He muttered something under his breath, and she could clearly make out Minerva McGonagall's name.

"Did you just insult my Head of House?" she asked.

"No," he said. "Minerva McGonagall is no longer Head of Gryffindor."

She glared at him for a moment and then returned her scrutiny to her invitation.

Severus poured the last of his potion into a phial. He would probably have to attend the damnable party; Pomona Sprout had never been anything other than perfectly courteous to him. Hermione gave a deep sigh, and he looked across to her workbench.

"It seems I won't be going after all," she said with a disappointed pout. She put down the invitation and picked up her stirring rod once more.

"Might I ask why?"

She coloured and kept her gaze on her cauldron. "The invitation was for Hermione Granger Nott and spouse."

"And that's a problem why, exactly?" he asked.

"Well, I'm not going alone," she said. "Imagine the gossip!"

"Don't be ridiculous. You would be the subject of more gossip if you were conspicuous by your absence than you would if you were to attend without your spouse."

"I'd just feel ... silly," she said, her colour deepening.

"You're being childish, Hermione. I'm sure everyone at Hogwarts is well aware that you and Theo have separated. I presume you've told your friends?"

"Of course I've told my friends!"

"Then I'm sure the staff of Hogwarts are well aware of your situation. Minerva McGonagall has become as omniscient as ever Albus Dumbledore once was."

"If Professor McGonagall knows, why did she extend the invitation to my husband?" she asked, distressed.

He shook his head in exasperation. "Because you're still a married woman, Hermione. Wizarding etiquette demands that they extend the invitation to your husband. It would have been impolite for them not to do so; it would be impolite for you to refuse the invitation."

She pursed her lips. "Then why is it okay for you to refuse the invitation?"

"I said that I would consider refusing the invitation. In reality, I will have to attend. Poppy Pomfrey is one of our most important clients, and Pomona is her friend. We provide most of the potions for the infirmary. She'd be most displeased if we did not attend."

She tapped her fingernails on the bench, momentarily lost in thought. "Will Cordelia go, too?" she asked eventually.

Severus picked up the invitation and looked for the date. He shook his head. "It's next Saturday: she's visiting the Schneiderlidls that weekend."

Hermione looked suddenly hopeful. "So you'll be going on your own, too?"

"So it would seem," he said, tossing the invitation on the bench again.

"Well," she said nervously, "couldn't we go together?"

He arched both eyebrows. "I beg your pardon?"

"I don't mean go together, as such, I just ... I," she stammered. She took a deep breath. "I won't annoy you or anything...it's just that I'd really hate to arrive all on my own. If we could just, well, get there together, it wouldn't be so bad."

Severus opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, gathering her belongings, her cheeks flaming. "It was silly to ask. I just thought if we could go together, it wouldn't be so lonely. I wouldn't annoy you all night or anything...I'll just be a bit nervous about arriving on my own. But it's fine, I didn't mean to embarrass you or anything, and I..."

"Hermione?" he asked, amused.

"Yes?" she said, peering at him from beneath her curls.

"You're babbling."

"Sorry," she said, biting her lower lip.

"It would be a pleasure to escort you to Hogwarts," he said formally.

"Thank you so much," she said breathily. "I know it's silly, I'd just hate to make an entrance all by myself. I promise I won't bother you, or talk too much, or hum or anything. Once we get there, I'll just leave you alone. Honestly. And I'll..."

"You're babbling again," he said, giving her a frown.

"Okay, I'll just go," she said, flashing him a smile. "Thank you, Severus. Thank you very much."

He watched as she picked up her journal and practically bounced out the door, bushy curls bobbing behind her. He put his hands on his hips and glared at the scroll of parchment still sitting on his workbench.

He hated these returns to Hogwarts, and now, it seemed, he was to attend with Hermione Granger. He wondered what his wife would make of it. Quite frankly, he didn't really care what she thought. He was rather more worried about how Minerva McGonagall would interpret it, interfering old witch that she was.

***

Severus watched as Cordelia tapped her wand to her trunk, sending it ahead of her to Amsterdam. She turned to him with a brittle smile.

"Give my regrets to Pomona, Severus. I would have liked to be there, if I hadn't already arranged to visit Katarina."

Severus returned his attention to the Daily Prophet. "I'm sure you'll be greatly missed."

Cordelia frowned and retook her seat at the dining table. "Are you annoyed, Severus?"

He glanced at her over the top of his paper. "No, I'm not annoyed. I'm accustomed to your weekend jaunts."

She pouted and crossed her arms. "Would you prefer I stayed at home and played the dutiful wife?"

He folded his paper with a sigh. "No, Cordelia. Let us leave it at that; I've said I'm not annoyed."

She regarded him as he poured his tea. "I'm sure I would be surplus to requirements, anyway," she said, adopting a more genial tone. "I believe you've offered to accompany Hermione to Hogwarts."

"Indeed I have," he confessed. "She was reluctant to attend alone, given that your son has deserted her."

Cordelia smirked. "I never realised you had such an admirable sense of duty to your former pupils, Severus. First you offer her a job, now you're escorting her to parties. Whatever will it be next? A place in your bed, perhaps?"

He laid his cup delicately on its saucer and leaned across the table. "If you wish to cross wands, Cordelia, I suggest you do it with somebody else. You are no match for me, and I have far more mud to sling than you."

He rose with as much dignity as he could muster and flung his napkin onto the table. He could feel her gaze upon him as he stalked from the room.

***

Hermione paced the floor of her sitting room, waiting anxiously for the knock on the front door. She'd spent much of her afternoon having her hair styled at Padma's house. Padma had spent over an hour charming her hair into sleek, shiny waves while Hermione had bounced the twins on her knees. Once her hair had been curled to perfection, she had decided to have her makeup done in a Muggle beauty parlour and had finally returned home to dress.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror above the mantelpiece, and it occurred to her that she had put more effort into her appearance this evening than she had on the day of her wedding. Before she could dwell on the fact, the mirror spoke.

"Yes, very nice, dear. Very Slytherin," it drawled.

Hermione's gaze flew to the collar of her dark green dress robes. "Oh no! You think it looks very Slytherin?" She didn't want anyone to think that she had dressed to suit her escort for the evening. "Should I change into the blue robes?"

The mirror gave a disgruntled sniff. "I think you'll find Slytherin colours are infinitely preferable in this family, my dear."

She didn't have a chance to consider a change of clothes: a loud knock on the door and a glance at her watch told her it was time to leave.

She took a steadying breath before reaching to open the latch. The sight of Severus on the doorstep made her smile. He was, of course, dressed entirely in black.

He frowned and said, "I seem to be a constant source of hilarity, Hermione. Might I ask what you find so amusing?"

She gave him a grin. "It's just that you always wear black robes, and I'd wondered what you would wear tonight."

He glanced at his black attire. "Would you prefer I'd borrowed one of Lance's purple outfits?"

She sniggered. "Definitely not." She shut the door behind her. "I presume we Apparate straight to the Hogwarts gates?"

He gave a curt nod. "Shall we?"

They both turned on the spot and reappeared with a loud pop at the school. It was almost dark, but the huge, wrought-iron gates lay open, and the path to the castle was bordered by a long line of floating candles. Light blazed from the many windows of Hogwarts in the distance, and the silhouette of the castle was visible against the darkening sky.

Hermione felt that familiar rush of happiness at the sight of the place that had felt like home for so many years, and a small "Oh!" of pleasure escaped her lips. Severus glanced sideways at her as they began their stroll to the school.

"I take it you enjoy returning to Hogwarts?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yes, very much so. It's bittersweet, I suppose, but enjoyable, nonetheless."

"Were you happy here?"

"In many ways, yes," she said. "There was always the constant worry that Harry was going to get himself killed, and I was very lonely for the last few months of my final year here, but other than that, yes. I was very happy."

He looked at her through the dim light. "Why were you unhappy during your last months here?"

"The Marriage Act," she said. "Ron had assumed I'd marry him, but I refused. We barely spoke during seventh year...it put a strain on my relationship with Harry and Ginny, too. I was never close to the other girls in my year, so it was a bit of a friendless end to my time here. I think I would have been even lonelier if it hadn't been for Neville."

"I see," he said.

"What about you?" she said, suddenly shy. It was difficult to believe she was walking the grounds of Hogwarts with her former professor, conversing with relative ease.

"I don't like coming back here," he said curtly.

"Might I ask why?"

"There are many reasons. But primarily, one does not like to return to the scene of the crime, so to speak."

She presumed that by 'the scene of the crime' he spoke of the Shrieking Shack, and she watched him, expecting him to glance or gesture in that direction. But as she observed him, his gaze moved briefly to the Astronomy Tower, and she understood the crime of which he spoke: the night he had taken Dumbledore's life.

She stopped. "Severus, it was hardly a crime. We all know you acted under Dumbledore's orders."

He scowled. "I would much rather we did not discuss it." He strode away from her.

"But, Severus..."

"But nothing," he spat in an angry whisper, stopping and whirling to face her. "Damn it, girl! Do you think I require a therapist?"

"No, I was just curious. You don't have to..."

"First you insist we talk about that damned snake, and now this?"

She walked past him, feeling hurt. "Fine. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

He caught up with her in two lengthy strides. "I did not mean to react in anger. There are just certain things I would rather not talk about."

"It's okay." They walked in silence for a minute or two. "Are you still in contact with many of the staff?" Hermione asked in effort to regain civility.

"Minerva hounds me to take up the position of Potions master again on a regular basis, and I occasionally meet Filius for a drink in The Leaky Cauldron. Horace asks for advice from time to time."

"Really?" she asked, interested. "He's finally recognised your genius?"

He peered at her. "Are you teasing me, Hermione?"

She laughed. "Not really. Would you consider returning to teach?"

"I would rather hex both my arms off."

She smiled in response and glanced at the steps of the castle, increasingly nervous about entering without her spouse. When she looked up, Argus Filch was hobbling towards them, Mrs Norris in his arms.

"Evenin' Headmaster," he said to Severus before directing a glare at Hermione.

"Good evening, Argus. I think you'll find that I'm no longer the Headmaster," he said, amused.

Filch grunted. "You've just gone and left us with that Gryffindor woman," he said, still glowering at Hermione.

Hermione could tell Severus was trying not to smile. He turned to her.

"I trust you remember the former Head Girl?" he said to Filch. "Another Gryffindor woman."

Filch mumbled something under his breath and shuffled past them in the direction of the school gates.

"Charming as ever," Hermione said with a grimace.

"HERMIONE!"

She turned in surprise as her name was bellowed from the top of the steps, and she beamed as the unmistakable bulk of Hagrid hurtled towards her.

"Hagrid!" She ran to close the space between them and giggled as he lifted her up and spun her around.

"Hagrid!" she cried again when she'd caught her breath. "It's so good to see you!"

"Hermione Granger! It's great ter see yeh." He lowered her to the ground and turned to Severus.

"An' Professor Snape!" he cried. To Hermione's great delight, he pulled Severus into a hug.

When Hagrid finally released him after much back-patting, Severus looked as though he'd been Stunned, and Hermione doubled over with laughter. Hagrid left them to go and tend to an injured Hippogriff, and Severus busied himself with straightening his robes. Hermione was still giggling.

"You find this entertaining?" he asked, plucking feathers from his cloak.

"Highly entertaining. Your expression was priceless."

She looked up at the door of the castle, and the smile slid from her face. Severus, now feather-free, followed her gaze.

"Chin up, Hermione," he whispered. "I guarantee they will forget about your missing husband within minutes if you behave with confidence and dignity. I daresay the absence of my spouse will draw more comment than yours."

She looked at him and wondered what he meant by this remark. He offered her his arm. Touched by the gesture, she linked her arm through his and beamed at him.

"Thank you, Severus. Not just for tonight, but for everything you've done over the past two months."

He nodded, and they proceeded to the Great Hall, both of them wondering what the evening would bring.