Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is not mine.

"I don't know why I have to get dressed up for a simple donors' meeting. They know I'm a Potions mistress, don't they?"

Hermione flinched as Padma tugged on her hair. She had claimed that she was going to style Hermione's hair into something a bit more presentable than her usual frizzed-out mass, but it felt like she was just loosening her scalp.

"Stop moving!" Padma commanded, giving Hermione's mane a twist. "I've almost contained your hair, and if you squirm one more time, I'm going to stab you with a bobby pin. And yes, they know you're a Potions mistress, but that doesn't mean you have to show up with Bubotuber pus smeared down your robes."

Glaring at the empty space in front of her, Hermione argued, "It was just a small spot. They would have thought it was..."

"You really don't want to finish that sentence," Padma cut-in, her fingers combing through Hermione's wayward frizz. "Oh, Hermione, is this a lacewing fly? Do you just throw the ingredients up in the air and hope they fall in the cauldron?"

"Yes, I do, actually," she replied sarcastically. "And it's that technique which has won us three Golden Stirrers. And your contributions were...ouch!"

"Oops, was that your scalp?" Padma asked innocently. "Anyway, I'm done, so go ahead and take a look."

Hermione stood from the wooden stool at the center of their office and made her way to the cloudy mirror on the wall. Placed at eye level, it was obvious from the nearly opaque edges that the small square mirror was neither maintained nor used very much. However, for once, Hermione actually smiled when she saw her reflection.

"Wow. My hair actually looks good for once." With a few loose tendrils framing her face and running down the back of her neck, the rest of her hair was fastened into a loose bun of sorts, looking contained but not completely tamed. It was a comfortable compromise.

"Well, don't sound so surprised. Just because Parvati is considered the more fashionable twin, doesn't mean I don't know a thing or two."

"Yes, I know," Hermione said, turning to give her lab partner a hug. Noting that she was still clad in lime green, Hermione continued, "Now were you going to dress up or am I going to be the only idiot in a dress?"

"Yes, yes, I'm going to change. And at least I'm not wearing any of today's ingredients," Padma replied over her shoulder as she pulled a vinyl garment bag from their shared closet and made her way to the office door.

Hermione settled into her office chair, her mid-length red dress feeling slightly itchy and restrictive. It had been a while since she had dressed in anything other than lab robes or a suit. But Padma had insisted neither was appropriate for the dinner meeting they were attending. She couldn't fathom who these important donors could be or why all of her other preferred outfits were all either too formal or too informal for the occasion. In fact, Padma hadn't been very forthcoming with any of the details. But she couldn't think of any reason Padma would purposely keep something from her. What was there to hide?

Only fifteen minutes after she had left, Padma reappeared at the office door. Her long black hair was full and shiny, the top layer held back by an ornate clip. She also wore a satiny black dress with an A-line bodice cinched at her waist. It was simple, almost nun-like, but somehow Padma's beauty shone through. They were certainly going to be the best looking potioneers at the restaurant.

"Oh, Padma. You look..."

Padma left her little time to finish, Summoning her clutch purse and shrug while motioning for Hermione to approach the door with her free hand.

"No time! Our meeting is in five minutes."

And before Hermione could protest, Padma had already grabbed her hand, the familiar squeeze of Apparition taking hold.

Ron checked his watch reluctantly while standing a few feet from the maître d' podium. Two minutes. He paced a few steps, glanced at the entrance to the restaurant, and checked his watch again. Still two minutes.

"Get a grip," Ron muttered to himself.

After all, what was the worst that could happen? Snape and Hermione could hex each other into oblivion. The restaurant could suffer severe damage, collapsing in on itself and endangering hundreds of people. The Obliviators would be changing patrons' memories for weeks. And having explored that scenario, Ron, unsurprisingly, felt no better. Luckily, a distraction appeared none too soon.

Hermione and Padma stood at the door of the restaurant, both anxiously scanning the room. Ron swallowed involuntarily, unmoving as he watched Hermione. Her dress, red and sleeveless with a delicate lace overlay, only served to jog his memory, reminding him of how she looked at Bill's wedding. He could clearly remember how it had felt to hold her close as they danced that night, the light smell of berries intoxicating him as their cheeks touched. Even now he was mesmerized by her, though that might have had more to do with her now usual otherworldly glow.

It didn't take long for Hermione's eyes to meet his across the room, and even at that distance, he could immediately see the confusion and apprehension creeping into her expression. The look only intensified as her eyes moved past Ron to the man dressed in black seated at a table in plain view.

"Padma... " Hermione began, backing out of the restaurant slowly.

Padma, however, quickly grabbed her arm. "No bolting just yet. Sorry for lying, but I didn't know how else I would get you here."

Hermione's eyes moved from Padma to Ron to Snape in quick succession, her lips moving wordlessly.

"Did Severus organize this?" she finally managed.

"Not exactly," Padma replied.

Sensing this was his opening, Ron stepped closer to the pair, clearing his throat. "Erm... That would be me. I mean, I was the one who organized this."

Hermione's confusion quickly turned to anger as she too stepped closer.

"Why? Why are you doing this, Ron?" she questioned in a furious whisper. "Is this some kind of belated revenge? Are you still so immature that you have to embarrass me like this?"

Ron's posture stiffened. "I'm doing this for you, Hermione," he said coolly, a difficult task when the familiar smell of berries was detectable at this distance. "I know what happened between you two. And I know that you need to resolve it before it's too late."

"Too late for what?" Hermione asked testily.

Yeah, for what? Ron asked himself. It didn't seem like the right time to spring the whole soul destruction thing on her, given her level of anger and his current level of cowardice. Making a quick decision, he replied cryptically, "You know what."

To Ron's surprise, this statement did not elicit more ire, but calm. Hermione looked down at her feet briefly, seemingly admiring her shiny patent pumps, before meeting his gaze again. She looked determined.

"Maybe you're right. It's time."

"Great," Padma agreed hurriedly. "Should we find our table then?"

"Right, about that," Ron said, suddenly finding his own footwear rather captivating. "I thought we, you and I that is, would give them a little privacy. You can go ahead can go ahead and join Snape, Hermione."

Both women raised an eyebrow, but Hermione finally nodded and hesitantly entered the restaurant. With her departure, Ron turned to Padma sheepishly.

"Er, shall we?"

Though she still appeared perplexed, Padma nodded and followed Ron to the maître d's podium, and then to their seat, remaining pointedly silent the entire time. However, left alone with their menus and thoughts, Padma ventured a comment.

"So, are we just going to spend another evening sitting in silence while you stare at Hermione?"

"W-what?" Ron asked before another memory surfaced. "Oh, right. I never did apologize for that night."

"No worries," Padma said as she opened her menu, though her tone signaled that Ron should. "We were children then. Though I couldn't help noticing the way your eyes are still drawn to her."

Ron groaned internally. Who suggested that Hermione and Snape might need some privacy? Oh, yeah, Krishna, my bloody good luck charm. Deferring to the god's judgment completely, which honestly seemed like a good idea in any situation, had prevented him from remembering that he and Padma were not exactly best friends. Not even close.

He had of course told her about the ether that seemed to follow Hermione these days, but that didn't seem to blunt his obvious attraction, especially given their history. It only seemed to add insult to not-quite-healed injury.

"I'm considering the fish," she said in a bored tone, not bothering to glance up from her menu.

Instead of replying, Ron stared mutely at his unhappy date. Besides the color of her dress and perhaps an inch or two to her height, it was almost like he was fourteen again, sharing a meal with the same pouting Padma. This time, however, he saw something he had failed to see through his previous pubescent brooding.

Possibly feeling the weight of his stare, Padma tore her eyes from her menu to return Ron's glance.

"What?" she asked tiredly.

Shrugging slightly, Ron replied, "I just noticed how beautiful you look tonight." Responding to her quirked eyebrow, he added, "You looked beautiful the night of the Yule Ball, too. I guess I just had my head shoved too far up my arse that night to notice. Sorry about that. I was an idiot."

"Like I said, no worries," Padma said, though her lips did quirk into a small smile.

Relieved, and a bit pleased with himself, Ron turned to his own menu, smiling as well.

"So, how did you lure Snape here?" Padma inquired, still browsing her menu.

"I'm not entirely sure," Ron responded, turning a page. "I mean, I went to his house again, and he looked ready to murder me, but then something in his expression changed and he agreed."

"That's strange."

"Yeah, you're telling me. Actually, I think a blue friend of mine might have had something to do with it."

"Oh, that reminds me!" Padma suddenly exclaimed, putting aside her menu. "I did some research."

"And?" Ron asked hopefully.

Padma's pressed her lips together and then let out a breath. "I'm not really coming up with anything. Most magic related to attraction comes in the form of lust potions, but even then, none are so far reaching that they affect your soul. Perhaps your increased attraction to Hermione and the mission handed down by Krishna are completely separate issues."

Ron shook his head. "It's not just about Hermione. I've been feeling, well, all of these emotions. It's weird. I just haven't felt angry, or really anything in the longest time. And I don't know... it's hard to explain."

Padma considered this for a moment. "Does it feel like waking up from an enchantment? Like perhaps your decisions haven't been your own? How is your memory? Has anything happened that you don't remember doing?"

"Possibly all of the above?" Ron answered uncertainly. He honestly couldn't remember when this malaise had started, only when he had felt like he had finally woken up.

The day Krishna came into his life.

"Right, I suppose it's back to the books then," Padma said returning to her menu.

"Wait," Ron said softly. There was something about that day, something that happened. "I think I might have a clue... "

Before responding, Padma reached for her purse and pulled out a small notepad and self-inking quill.

"Well, we have more than a bit of time to hash this out. Start from the beginning."

And as he went over the details of the last couple of days, and even events that had occurred before that, Ron couldn't help reflecting for a moment that he might just have a thing for intelligent women.

Hermione had been completely wrong. Neither she nor Padma was the best-looking potioneer in the restaurant. He was in fact sitting across from her, casually leafing through the thick wine list. As discomfiting as it was to watch him flip the pages without so much as a glance her way, it did give her an opportunity to give him a good once over.

Severus Snape had aged, but only in small ways. His jet black hair had peeking strands of grey; his forehead was slightly lined, from aggressive scowling, no doubt. She almost self-consciously reached for her own forehead, halted only by the realization that no amount of smoothing or pulling would erase her own infant wrinkles. Padma always said she was mad when she bemoaned them, but Hermione knew all too well that few things escaped Severus' critical glare.

She couldn't help jiggling her leg under the table, her nerves quickening her pulse as she waited for acknowledgement. He had barely glanced at her since she had arrived at the table, remaining silent as she seated herself across from him.

I'm acting like an idiot, Hermione scolded herself, bunching the cloth napkin in her lap. She was an adult, not his swotty little apprentice. Just say something!

"Severus!" His name had popped out of her mouth before she could think to contain it. Mortified, she picked up her menu, zeroing on the words 'chicken piccata' and breathing deeply.

"Yes, Hermione?"

There was that familiar baritone rumble that had always given her an extra tingle up her spine. Although it didn't carry the warmth of those days, it still made her toes curl and, apparently, lower her guard. Well, her menu, at least.

"You look good," Hermione managed, meaning it sincerely. She wanted to grab his hand, cup his face, and kiss his nose. She wanted to be closer. Crawl into his lap, hang her arms around his shoulders, bury her face in his neck. Put simply, she was crazy, or at least that's how she felt.

"Glad to hear it," Severus replied sardonically. He began to reach for his menu again, his unspoken signal that he would not be aiding her attempt at conversation.

Okay, Hermione, time to form coherent thoughts and communicate them through speaking. Remember, you are an expert at this 'talking' thing. If tested, you would at least receive an 'E.'

"Congratulations on your recent award. Your use of belladonna was inspired." Well, that's a start. Grasping the thick stem of her glass, she brought it to her lips hastily, swallowing several mouthfuls of water.

"Thank you."

And with that succinct response, Hermione's heart fell a little further in her chest. What now?

"The chicken piccata looks good. I might order that. And you?"

"Hmph."

That was it. No words, just a noise. It was... well, infuriating.

"Did you see my article in Elixirs and Draughts?" Questions seemed to be the only weapon left in Hermione's arsenal.

"I don't subscribe to that particular periodical, I'm afraid." Cool as a cucumber, Snape took a roll from the lined wicker basket at the center of the table, delicately tearing it into pieces with his long fingers.

Hermione decided she too could play that game, snatching a roll from the basket and tearing it in half.

"That's too bad. You would've read about how Padma and I have managed to reduce both the number of doses and the average healing time required when administering Pepperup for the common cold."

Though she could sense an eye roll coming, Severus simply buttered the pieces of bread assembled on his plate.

Hermione stabbed her butter with the blunt blade of her butter knife.

"And to think," she said, working to keep her voice even, "you insisted all those years ago that increasing the amount of bicorn horn and alternating the heat would do nothing but cause a boil-over."

Severus placed down his knife with a bit of a clunk, quickly stuffing a piece of bread in his mouth.

Hermione held back her smirk.

"Of course, everyone knows the more bicorn horn, the better," she added. She might have been goading him. Maybe.

"I cannot fathom why you would continue to say that, even after all of these years of practical experience, two of which I spent crossing out every suggestion of it in your papers!"

Oh, hello, Severus. Welcome to the party.

"I remember," Hermione agreed, leisurely spreading the cold butter over every nook and cranny of the roll's exposed underbelly. "My assignments looked like a murder scene. Red ink everywhere."

"Besides, your article, if it could even be called that, left many questions unanswered. Just a bunch of shoddy research and grasping assumptions. The fact that it was even published confirms that Elixirs and Draughts has lost all of its standards." He had abandoned his bread to stare at her instead, his gaze irritated, but not cold.

Hermione nearly bit the insides of her cheeks to prevent a smile. "So you read the article?"

"I did."

Hermione's toes definitely curled. She had missed this. This exchange of ideas and the heat of the debate. She had missed the way he rapped the table with his fist when she refused to concede and pinched his temple when she gave a ridiculously detailed explanation. She even missed his derisive snort, his raised eyebrow. She had missed him terribly and had ever since he left her engagement party without a word.

"I'm sorry." The apology spilled out of her lips without a second thought or regret. "I didn't handle things properly that night. On many levels. I was horrible to you."

Pausing to gauge his reaction, Hermione found Severus watching her steadily, his dark eyes softer than they had been all evening.

"I'm not sure how or why I let things unravel the way they did. And then, after it was all said and done, I was just so hurt and confused by how you reacted." Biting her lip and then releasing it, she finally asked the question that had nagged at her all this time. "Why, Severus? Why did you leave my name off that paper?"

As silence settled over the table, Hermione began to think she would never get her answer, but then Severus spoke.

"Because you broke my heart."

It was as if he had knocked the breath out of her. "You never gave me a chance to explain. You left before I could say... "

Snape's eyes seemed to ask the question Hermione's brain did not want to acknowledge. Say what?

"Don't you understand? I told you that I loved you, Hermione. I came to you emotionally naked and you said nothing."

Hermione found her napkin in her lap again, twisting it into knots.

"It was hard for me too, Severus. I was breaking things off with one of my best friends. I couldn't possibly articulate how I felt right then. All I knew was that I was about to hurt almost everyone who meant anything to me."

"Can you say it now, then? How you feel?"

It wasn't a gentle question or a soft prodding. It was a challenge. Severus was asking her to prove to him that she wanted their friendship back, that she wanted him.

"I... I..." She should have been ready for this. After all, hadn't this been what she had been daydreaming about all along? A second chance?

"You can't say it," Severus said with disgust. Pushing out his chair, he stood, readying to leave.

Desperate to keep him there, Hermione managed to spit out, "I love you, Severus. But you hurt me."

"Well, I suppose we're even then."

Still unconsciously scrunching the cloth napkin in her lap, Hermione watched as Severus left the restaurant. She barely noticed when Ron appeared at her table minutes later, attempting to lead her out as well.

A/N: Written as a gift for bardsdaughter1 for the 2012 SSHG Exchange. Given the specificity of the prompt, I will wait until the last chapter to reveal it. Thank you to my awesome editing team, which included desigrl - the amazing alpha/beta/cheerleader combo - as well as ofankoma, quaffswinegaily, and wildmagelet, who all stepped in at various points in the project to help edit and Britpick.