25th of December 2018

10. 25th of December 2018

She Flooed into Minerva's office, carrying the big unwieldy package with her.

The office was dimly lit and had a vague, abandoned air to it, and in a way it was, since Minerva had been with her and the Weasleys for New Year's Eve. Most of the portraits seemed to be asleep in their frames. She could hear the even breathing from the sleeping Headmasters and Headmistresses, and every now and then, a muffled snore.

She turned to the crate she'd just left, and with a flick of her wand and a whispered Incendio, she lit a fire. She used the flame to light a candle and wandered around lighting more until the room was filled with flickering flames.

This was it, then. She was going to get her head ripped off her neck, but she would do this. He deserved it, even if he was a portrait and not alive any more. She went to stand in front of his empty portrait and took two deep breaths.

"Headmaster Snape?"

Nothing.

She tried again, louder this time.

"Headmaster Snape? Please? I would appreciate it if you could give me a moment."

She could hear something from within the painting. A rustling sound, and then the door in the back of the painting opened and Severus Snape stepped out, wearing slippers and with a pair of reading glasses hanging low on his nose.

He could change clothes? Like a cut-out doll?

She discovered her jaw had dropped and put it back where it belonged with a snap. Snape, now standing so close that she could only see his face and upper body because of the frame, sneered at her.

"Does Minerva know that you have broken into her office?"

"Yes. I mean no. I asked her permission before I came. I—I wanted to speak to you."

He crossed his arms over his chest and cocked an annoyed eyebrow at her.

"I can't see what you would want. So, would you please get it over with so that I can go back to doing things I actually want to do?"

So far it wasn't as bad as she'd imagined. She would do it, now.

"I wanted to say thank you." She blurted out the words, but never mind. At least she'd got them out.

Snape froze. He stood there in his frame, unmoving and as straight-backed as Minerva.

"For everything. For saving us, for giving Harry your memories, for giving your life for us ... and helping me out. I never said thank you then. I never ... but I want to now. You were right about the kids too, by the way. They are much better off here." She started to pull the paper off the gift she'd brought, the rough brown wrapping paper difficult to rip. And she didn't seem able to stop babbling. "I talked to Dean, and he said this will work and—"

"Dean?" Snape was staring at her, and her fight with the wrapping paper, with a look on his face she would have termed confused if it had been sitting on any other face than his.

"Dean Thomas. You must remember him. He was in my year, and he was really good at drawing. He was at the Malfoy Manor when ..."

She shouldn't have mentioned that. Snape's face went expressionless in an instant.

"Anyway, he is an artist now." She pressed on. "He paints portraits, both Muggle and Wizard ones. He's really good, and he said that this will work, that he's got it to work before, and I wanted to say thanks, and this was the only thing I could come up with." Her stomach knotted and her skin was heating, and perspiration was making her clothes stick to her body. She didn't dare to look at him and ripped at the bloody paper that might as well be made of armour plate for all the progress she was making.

Then finally, with a last vicious rip, she managed to remove it.

She put it against the wall, stepped back and waved her wand. The Wingardium Leviosa lifted it from the floor. She floated it upwards until it was next to Snape's painting. A quick glance told her that he was at least following the movement of the painting with some interest. She turned her concentration back to the painting she had brought, since she felt the spell starting to slip.

She flicked her wand once again and spelled the painting onto the wall.

"I didn't really know if you had access to a library here, but ... I hope you'll find something you'll want to read. Something interesting." She stepped back and watched as Snape strode over to the side of his portrait that was closest to the painting she had given him. He opened what looked like a door and then stepped into the picture she'd brought for him.

She watched him as he surveyed the room, how he walked to one of the bookshelves and touched the books.

"He has painted the Bodleian Library for you. We thought—I mean we figured, he and I— that since it is a Muggle library, there was bound to be something in it you haven't read before."

Snape looked up at her with a vacant look on his face.

"You gave me a library?" he asked, incredulity written in his face. And Hermione smiled, while pushing her lips together to stop her mouth from trembling.

"I didn't know how to thank you," she said.

He nodded without looking at her. His attention rested on the books alone now. One of the aisles seemed to grab his attention, and he disappeared into it and out of sight, forgetting her.

She'd made it. She and Dean had succeeded. And she felt almost happy for the first time since Ron's death.