Chapter 3

A/N: Please forgive Severus's language in this chapter. The silver doe is a rather touchy subject. ;)

Chapter Three

Hermione stared with unseeing eyes at the copy of the Daily Prophet that was spread across the kitchen table in her little flat. It was Saturday morning, and she was, quite simply, bored senseless.

Harry and Ginny were on holiday; her parents had gone to visit her Auntie Nora in Scotland; and although she'd become rather good chums with Susan Bones since they'd both started work at the Department of Mysteries, she knew Susan was more than likely curled up beneath a quilt with her fiancé.

Hermione had risen quickly through the ranks during her time as an Unspeakable, but her success had come with a hefty personal price-tag attached, and she was at a loss at the weekends.

A month had passed since she'd begun collecting memories from Severus Snape, and she'd spent two hours each weekday in his company. He fascinated her more every time she visited his cell. At the outset, she'd been certain he'd refuse to cooperate, and despite the fact that they had engaged in more than one screaming match over the weeks, she'd found him much more forthcoming than she would ever have believed possible.

When she'd first found out the Lily Evans memories were fake, she'd felt a kind of mixture of betrayal and humiliation. He'd fooled them all into believing he was a dashing, romantic hero, and, at first, she'd hated him for his duplicity. But as that first week had passed, she'd changed her mind. Severus Snape was, when all was said and done, still a hero; a spy who'd risked death many times to save the wizarding world. Yes, he was still an unpleasant, hook-nosed bastard. But a brave man, nonetheless. In the end, she'd decided it was entirely more noble to have acted out of a sense of justice, goodness even, than to have done it all for the memory of a dead woman.

But what pleased her most of all was that he had tolerated her presence on an almost daily basis without throttling her. Yes, he'd snarled, and sneered, and scowled, and glared, but not once had he ordered her evicted from the room, and she suspected that the veneer of animosity was nothing but an act. He'd submitted to questioning; he'd provided her with almost every memory she had requested; and she was certain that behind the frowns, and the sighs, and the drama, he actually enjoyed her company. She knew, deep down, that it was nothing personal, that all she offered was a break in the monotony of his prison routine, but the thought still sent a thrill up her spine.

And here she was, on a Saturday morning, missing him. She was actually missing Severus Snape, the man who had shouted at her, had ridiculed and embarrassed her at school, and had never said a kind word to her in her life. But what kindness had he ever been shown?

Knowing that she was overstepping the boundaries of professionalism, and already feeling foolish, she grabbed her jacket and handbag and fled from her apartment. After a brief stop at Waterstone's, she Apparated straight to the gates of Azkaban prison.

Albert looked up from his magazine as she approached cell 157 and peered at her over his little round glasses.

"Miss Granger!" he said. "What are you doing here of a weekend?"

She shrugged and tried to look casual. "I've a few extra questions for Professor Snape." She held up the paper bag in her hand. "I've brought him some puzzles in return ... you know ... to make up for the inconvenience."

Albert glanced at the door of the cell and dropped his voice to a whisper. "You know, lassie, he might frown a lot, but I reckon he'll be glad to see ye. He's been in much better form during the week, but at weekends, well, he's been bloody difficult." He rose from his seat and fumbled for his keys.

Hermione might have laughed out loud at the expression of surprise on Severus Snape's face if she hadn't been so busy trying to stop her hands from shaking. He was sitting at his table, a length of parchment before him and a quill in his hand. Albert closed the door behind her, and she smiled nervously as Severus quickly changed his expression from one of surprise to one of annoyance.

"What the devil are you doing here on a Saturday?" he hissed, dropping his quill.

She rolled her eyes, her nerves evaporating. "Charming as always. I've brought you a gift, and if you indulge me by answering two questions, it's yours."

His eyes flickered to the bag in her hand as she took her seat. "I've been answering your accursed questions for weeks, silly girl. Why couldn't it wait until Monday?"

"Why? Am I interrupting something important?"

He smirked. "Yes, I've just seen off an entire busload of visitors, and I'm taking this rare moment of solitude to answer some fan mail before I have tea with the Minister for Magic."

She laughed. "The two questions are not connected with my work, so I wanted to approach you in my own free time, and not when I'm being paid by the Ministry of Magic."

He crossed his arms. "Why do you want to ask these questions if they're not connected to your work?"

Hermione shrugged. "Mere curiosity."

After a moment, he sighed. "Do your worst," he muttered.

"Thank you," she said, lacing her fingers. "One of the real memories you gave to Harry refers to me, albeit in a very small and insignificant way. On the night you travelled to the Forest of Dean to pass the sword of Godric Gryffindor on to us, Phineas Nigellus called me a ... a ... Mudblood. You stopped him. Why?"

"It's an offensive term," he said simply.

"Yet one you used yourself while a student, and one I'm sure you heard used time and time again by your Slytherin students."

"I don't think I'm alone in having behaved immaturely in my adolescence, Miss Granger, and it would hardly have aided my cause if I'd been found admonishing the likes of Draco Malfoy for use of one of the Dark Lord's favourite words, would it? It's one thing for such term to be heard on the lips of an ignorant youth; it's another thing entirely for such a word to be used between two Hogwarts headmasters."

She regarded him. "I'm grateful you did it; I was touched."

"Yes, I'm quite the knight in shining armour. What's your second question?"

She smiled. "It's in connection with the events of that same night. I've wondered, this past week, about the silver doe, Professor. If you didn't have feelings for Lily Evans, it can't have been yours, so to whom did that Patronus belong?"

He rose rapidly from his seat, knocking over his stool. "The only memory that concerned the silver doe was among those that were false. It will have nothing to do with my trial, so why question it?"

She frowned. "My first question had nothing to do with your trial, but you answered that one."

"Yes, well, I refuse to answer this one," he snapped, turning his back to her to gaze through the bars of his window.

Realising she'd touched a nerve, she took a deep breath and continued. "I'm just curious, Professor Snape. If the doe Patronus was not yours, to whom did it belong? Did you have a helper? An accomplice?"

"Of course I didn't have an accomplice, you silly girl. Don't you think that after all the details and memories we've gone through you would have discovered before now if I'd had help?"

"But who Conjured the doe?" she asked, confused.

He turned to her, his brow creased in anger. "I Conjured the bloody doe," he spat.

"You created a fake Patronus?"

"It's impossible to create a fake Patronus, as well you know, Miss Granger."

She gaped at him. "So it was yours ... Your Patronus really is a doe ... But if the Lily Evans memories are all untrue, why is it a doe?"

"I have no idea," he said through gritted teeth. "It's always been a fucking doe. A doe! Can you fucking believe it? Quite the source of hilarity in my NEWT Defence Against the Dark Arts class, let me tell you."

She stared in disbelief. "Are you pulling my leg? It's just a doe, and that's all there is to it?"

"Would you like me to prove it?"

She nodded.

"Then I'll need your wand."

Her eyes widened, and she glanced towards the door. "I ... I can't ..."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," he snapped. "I'm not going to take you hostage! They've let you take your wand in before, when you had to siphon memories; I presume you have it on you today."

She reached beneath her robes, but stopped and looked at him once more.

"Don't you trust me, Miss Granger?" he asked silkily, a challenge in his eyes.

She extracted the wand and handed it to him with a flourish. "Yes, I trust you."

He snatched the wand from her grasp and pointed it immediately at her chest. "How very naive of you."

She shook her head. "Spare me your theatrics, Professor Snape; I know you've no intention of harming me. Just cast the bloody Patronus."

He arched both eyebrows. "You think me incapable of causing you harm?"

"I'm sure you are perfectly capable of causing me harm, but I believe you are unwilling."

"Oh, really?" he asked, annoyed. "And why would I be unwilling?"

"Because I provide you with witty and scintillating conversation, and I'm the only woman you've seen for years. Now, cast the Patronus."

He glared at her for a moment, and then suddenly flung his arm to the left and cried, "Expecto Patronum!"

She watched as the silver doe she'd seen in the Pensieve bounded twice around the tiny room before jumping through the bars of his cell window.

"Damn it!" he said, his hands on his hips. "I'd hoped it might have changed by now." He looked at her. "Pathetic, isn't it?"

She couldn't help it: she began to laugh.

"You find this funny?" he snarled.

"Yes," she said, her voice choked. She lowered her head to the table and thumped the wooden surface with her fist. This was priceless. She couldn't believe his Patronus was a doe. "So let me get this straight: your Patronus is a doe, and James Potter's Patronus was a stag? And you were in the same NEWT class, so everybody knew?"

He scowled at her for a moment and then nodded.

She started laughing again. "Oh, my sides hurt."

He took his seat at the table. "I'm thrilled to be such a source of hilarity. What's your Patronus?"

"An otter," she said proudly.

He snorted. "How apt."

"Apt because otters are clever and adaptable?" she asked, grinning.

"No, because they're insufferably nosey and have a large set of teeth."

She giggled. "I thought as much. Why on earth is your Patronus a doe?"

"How the hell should I know?"

"I would have expected a snake, or a raven, or a panther, or something," she said, still smiling. "Maybe because you're all ... you know ... dark and mysterious and nasty ... your softer, feminine side just expresses itself in your Patronus."

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Dark and mysterious and nasty?"

"Yes, and maybe if you tried to be a little bit nicer, your Patronus would become something a little more ..."

"Yes?"

"Rugged," she finished, grinning.

He sighed and looked towards the window. "Fucking doe," he muttered under his breath.

"Incidentally," she continued, "what was Lily Evans's Patronus. Do you know?"

He smirked. "A Rottweiler."

She started giggling again and covered her face with her hands. When she lowered them, she found him watching her, an amused expression on his face.

"Your wand," he said, handing it to her.

She reached for it, noticing the hungry look in his eyes as she took it from his hand. She felt a stab of pity for him: how awful it must have been to live without magic for so many years.

"Your gift," she countered, pushing the paper bag across the table.

He lifted the edge of the bag and extracted the four books. "Sudoku and crosswords?"

Hermione shrugged. "I thought they might keep you busy." She watched as he turned the first book over in his hands.

"'Better than sex', according to the reviewer from The Times." He raised his eyes to hers. "Would you agree, Miss Granger?"

She blushed. "Maybe it depends on the partner," she replied, reaching for the book.

He held it out of her reach. "Oh, dear," he muttered. "You make it sound as though Mr Weasley was hopelessly insufficient in the bedroom."

Her colour deepened, and she snatched the book from his grasp. "Maybe he was, maybe he wasn't." She opened the first volume of puzzles, extracted a quill from her handbag and pointed to the second volume. "I'll give you a race. First one to finish an expert level puzzle wins."

He picked up his quill and opened the second volume. "Challenge accepted, but I'd rather hear more about your inadequate ex-boyfriends."

She met his teasing gaze. "If you beat me, perhaps I'll tell you."

"Deal," he said, frantically beginning to scribble numbers into the grid.

Hermione smiled as she lowered her gaze to the puzzle. This was definitely the most entertaining Saturday she'd had for quite some time.