Chapter 7: The Odd Couple

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Chapter 7: The Odd Couple

Despite having reached an understanding the previous evening, an atmosphere of tension hung over Hermione and Snape on Sunday morning. Breakfast was a mostly silent affair, except for the sounds of rustling newspaper and food preparation – sizzling bacon, whistling teakettle, popping toaster. She set her meal upon the table and slid into her chair, all the while avoiding eye contact with her house-mate, not a difficult feat considering that he was hidden behind the Daily Prophet.

She took a dainty sip of hot tea, and the peaceful ambiance shattered as she loudly proclaimed, "Fuck a duck!"

He slapped the paper on the table and fixed her with a glare previously reserved for repeat cauldron-melting offenders. "Language, Miss Granger."

She responded with a dismissive "pffft" and a two-fingered salute. "Now, where did I put my...?" Her head twisted left to right, searching for her absent wand. She spied it sitting on the counter-top, next to a jar of boysenberry jam. She moved to retrieve it, but as she rose from her seat, his raised hand stilled her action.

"Allow me."

She responded with a questioning look and a nod of assent. Then her eyes grew wide as she watched Snape insert his pinky finger into her cuppa.

He smirked at the pleasant hissing noise made when his ghostly vapor mixed with the steamy liquid.

Hermione cautiously sipped the tepid tea. "Thank you, Professor," she replied with an earnest smile.

"And your tongue? Does that require my assistance, too?" he said, quelling the leer that tugged at his lips.

"Oh, it's fine, really," she whispered, spots of bright pink coloring her cheeks. For the next several minutes, she concentrated wholly on her plate, devouring her breakfast at a breakneck pace that would have rivaled her erstwhile boyfriend.

Snape resumed his reading, speaking from behind the safety of ink and newsprint. "Slow down, Miss Granger. In my current state, I'm unable to efficiently brew an indigestion-relief potion for you, and I haven't run across any whilst rummaging through your cupboards."

Having finished eating, she savored her perfectly temperate tea. "Of course. Speaking of your current state, Professor," she segued.

"Miss Granger, don't call me that. I'm no longer your teacher, or anyone else's, for that matter."

"May I call you Severus? After all, we are going to be living, no... cohabitating... no, erm... sharing space. Yes, we are going to be sharing space for the foreseeable future."

Her boldness shocked Snape, but he thought her argument valid, and he had just plunged his finger into her tea; it didn't get more forward than that.

"Well, I suppose that's permissible. And may I call you Hermione? After all, I've seen you naked... on several occasions." Now he allowed the smug smile free rein of his face.

She rolled her eyes and huffed, but managed to remain blush free. "Yeah, all right, but would you please stop mentioning that. Let's get back to your problem, shall we?"

"Which problem in particular are you referring to?" he droned, a prescient notion of annoyance creeping into his consciousness.

"Your unfinished business that keeps you here on earth, caught in the shadows between the living and the dead."

"Ah, yes, that problem."

"Do you have any idea of what it is?"

"Hmmm, let me think." He looked away, staring at nothing specific, trying to look pensive by tapping a pale, pearly-gray finger against an equally pale, pearly-gray lip.

She sat on the edge of her seat and stared at him, waiting for his profound response.

He snapped his fingers and turned to face her once more. "I've got it. I know what keeps me tethered to this world."

"Yes!" she cried.

"I left the cooker on at Spinner's End. Would you be a dear and go and shut it off?" he asked with treacle-coated smarminess.

She sprang back in the chair and glared at him. "I'm being serious, Severus."

"I know you're only trying to help, Hermione," he replied, a calm demeanor belying his innate snark. "But if I knew what my unfinished business was, what I was meant to accomplish, then I would have done so and been free of this place. Finito. Gone. But I have no clue as to what I'm supposed to do. I had a short, yet significant agenda that I completed before I died."

Elegant fingers shot in the air as he ticked off each point. "One: make a meaningful contribution to the Dark Lord's demise; I accomplished that by reporting false information to him and leaking his darkest secrets to the Order.

"Two: watch over Potter so he could keep his date with destiny; granted, he possessed some skill and more than his share of pure dumb luck, but it took more than that to keep him alive.

"Three: kill Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. The old bugger forced me into yet another Unbreakable Vow. How original.

"Four: protect the students of Hogwarts from the Carrows and other sadistic Death Eaters. Not an easy task considering the tenacity of certain student rebels, especially Longbottom," he snarled the young man's name and then continued. "I couldn't pass off punishments to Filch and Hagrid forever, you know.

"And that's all." He retracted his fingers as he crossed his arms over his chest. "If The Powers That Be think I've overlooked some bloody important task, then they should simply come out and tell me. I'm sick of mysteries, riddles, and fucking unsolved puzzles."

"Language, Severus," she warned in a cheeky tone. "And maybe it's not the task itself that's important, but how you achieve it. Rather like, you know, it's the journey that counts, not the destination."

"Pray tell, Hermione, did you enjoy your months' long camping excursion last year? Wouldn't you have preferred a bit more fact versus conjecture on Dumbledore's part?" He smiled with smug satisfaction.

"Point taken; however, that's not getting us any closer to solving your problem. Was there something you always wanted to do but never got the chance to?"

"To live a life unencumbered: no manipulative masters, evil or otherwise, to dictate my actions, and no obligations except to myself," he said wistfully, staring out the kitchen window to see the pastoral outskirts of Hogsmeade. "And I did indeed have a life's to-do list as long as Nagini." He turned his gaze back to Hermione, who appeared mesmerized, hanging on his every word. "I had always wanted to visit the Continent, walk along the Danube, watch the sunset from the Eiffel Tower, sip ouzo at an Athenian cafe, swim in the Mediterranean on a bright summer's day."

"Oh, now I know you're taking the piss out of me," she said, irritation oozing freely with every word. "There's no way buttoned-up Severus Snape would show that much skin in public, and you couldn't go swimming in a frock coat and trousers."

"There you go, making assumptions again. You know nothing about my life – former life – outside Hogwarts. I could have spent my holidays at a naturist community, for all you know."

She quirked a speculative eyebrow at him. "Did you?"

His stony silence and expressionless face offered no answer.

She forged ahead, her persistent, relentless Gryffindor attitude working overtime. "Perhaps you were meant to make some great academic contribution to the wizarding world."

"You are familiar with my teaching methods?" he asked drolly.

"Not in a pedagogical sense. Had you been working on a new potion or spell? Certainly, the man who as a teenager improved upon Borage's work would have been capable of formulating a spectacular original creation."

"I may be the least ambitious Slytherin you will ever meet. I definitely lost my mojo during the first war." Once he'd learned that Lily was a target, he lost all desire to further the Dark Lord's cause, especially through any new, ingenious concoction he would have invented.

"Maybe one of your colleagues, say Flitwick or McGonagall, could shed some light..."

"Absolutely not." He slammed his fist against the table, intending to emphasize his objection, but his ghostly hand merely passed through the knotty pine. "I forbid you to speak to anyone there, especially teachers and staff. I may be dead, but I'm still intensely private. I won't have my afterlife become the fodder for gossip and titillating entertainment throughout the wizarding world."

"I assure you I can be discreet," she pleaded. "I don't have to mention you're a ghost."

"No, and that's that," he said succinctly. He paused a beat, then continued. "Circe's tits, but you are like a Crup with a Hippogriff bone. Your tenacity is commendable – no doubt another contributing factor to Potter's longevity – yet, it's highly annoying.

"I'm resigned to the fact that I'm stuck here for ninety-eight years and seven months. I'm rather powerless to prevent you from taking on my cause, but have you nothing better to do with your free time? Whatever happened to the campaign to get Hermione laid?"

She hesitated a bit before responding, struggling to maintain her unfazed façade – her teeth barely grazed her lower lip rather than the usual full-on gnaw. "That is an ongoing endeavor, not that it's any of your business. And I'm more than capable of devoting time to multiple projects; my organizational skills are second to none."

"No doubt. And Weasley? What is your official stance on that matter?"

"Not my problem anymore. He's moved in with Lavender Brown. Apparently, she's less complicated compared to me. And there's no ghost living in her flat." Her steely, narrowed eyes held him fast, flickering briefly to her wand laying on the counter-top.

While Snape didn't mind a bit of flirty repartee with the toothsome witch, he knew better than to push her too far. He saw an opportunity for a graceful exit, and he jumped on it.

"Well, I'm done catching up with current events. Time for some pleasure reading, I think." He rose from his seat, a graceful and ethereal spirit. When he reached full height, however, his vaporous body appeared halved by the table, an absurd vision.

Hermione giggled. "You really do cut a dashing figure."

He might have blushed if he had any blood to spare. Instead, he smiled, a genuine grin. "Indeed." He reached into his robes, pulled out his copy of Handbook for the Recently Deceased and tossed the much-maligned tome to her. "For your quest. Maybe you can make some sense of it. I can guarantee it's a hell of a lot more interesting than the Daily Prophet, but that's not saying much."

He glided toward the lounge, hoping for some blessed alone time.

The following evening found Snape in his usual spot, on the sofa, reading. Hermione came home early, bounding into the sitting room, breathless, obviously fixated on something important; otherwise, she would have chastised Snape for resting his feet on the coffee table.

He eyed her warily. "You look like the Kneazle that ate the canary. What is it?"

She sat next to him on the sofa, shivering when she accidentally brushed against his leg for a moment. "I've wracked my brain for two days, trying to think of anything and everything that could be holding you here. I've even consulted Hogwarts' reference texts on spirits and the Handbook for the Recently Deceased, yet I've come up with nothing. So, I've enlisted some help."

He glared at her, his brows furrowed so tightly they almost touched. "You were forbidden to speak to anyone at Hogwarts."

"Yes, I'm aware of that, and I didn't violate your prohibition." She reached inside her book bag and retrieved her trusty beaded bag. "I didn't speak to any of the staff or teachers." She rummaged through it and, after a few moments, pulled out... "I enlisted the help of a portrait."

Bug-eyed and mouth agape, Snape gawked between the painting and Hermione. Oh, how he hated surprises, and she had certainly caught him unawares with this. His face quickly returned to its normal, unreadable state, but turbulent emotions churned just below the surface: the anger of betrayal, the embarrassment of his breached privacy, and a touch of bittersweet happiness to look upon the likeness of the man he had considered his friend and mentor.

"Hello, dear boy. I'm so thrilled to see you, even though it's under less than ideal circumstances. I had thought our first meeting after the final battle would take place in the headmaster's office." The familiar figure peered about the surroundings beyond his frame. "Yet, this is very pleasant. I really like what you've done with the place, Miss Granger. The Shrieking Shack was always so dreary, even when it was newly built."

"I thought we had an agreement, Miss Granger," Snape said, his words cold and clipped, his address formal. "We even shook hands on it. But it seems you never intended for us to peacefully coexist. Are you looking to exact revenge for my crimes against you? Are you trying to make me a laughing stock?" He stood and walked away to pace upon the hearth. "He appears to be an innocent portrait, made of canvas, gesso, and oil paint, but he is still the worst gossip to ever grace the halls and walls of Hogwarts. It's not a matter of if news of my spirited return spreads to the wizarding world but when."

Her irritated response held not a whit of remorse. "Well, I was only trying to help, and your restriction severely limited my resources."

"Severus, you know I can be the soul of discretion." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as much as the two-dimensional media would allow.

"Of course, you were very good at keeping secrets, disseminating bits and bobs of information on a "need to know" basis. Nobody but you could be trusted to know everything." Snape had spent far too many years as the patsy in the old wizard's schemes and didn't trust him as far as he could throw him, especially now that he was in portrait form and could be hurled a considerable distance.

"Severus, would you stop with the accusations," Hermione pleaded. "He knows."

"Well, of course he knows; he's omniscient," Snape said sarcastically. "Wait. What are we talking about?"

"He knows what your unfinished business is."

Snape threw up his hands in supplication. "Tell me, all-knowing one, what is it? What keeps me tethered to this bloody deplorable planet?"

"You were supposed to live, Severus." He was working that damnable twinkle again, much to Snape's annoyance.

"What? I was meant to live? Do you know that for a fact? Have you actually spoken to those in charge of the afterlife?" he asked skeptically. Dumbledore might have been the original know-it-all, but how could he know that bit of information?

"No, I don't need to speak to anyone to know you should have had a second chance... erm, third chance if we're being technically correct. Anyone who knew you well... Hmm, I guess that would only be me... Well, I saw your selflessness, your bravery, your devotion, and I knew if Voldemort were defeated and the Light won, you deserved a life on your own terms with no one to answer to but yourself."

Hermione sniffed and wiped at her teary eyes. "Oh, that's wonderful. It's exactly as you wanted, to live a life unencumbered..."

"I was being facetious," he snarled. "I don't want to live again. My life was awful the first time around. I had nothing to live for then, but even if I had, I would have been treated as a pariah, the scourge of society, forever known as Dumbledore's killer, a scheming double agent playing both sides to his benefit. I can't imagine my post-war life being very pleasant."

"Harry's working on clearing your name, a posthumous pardon, so to speak," she explained. "Then he wants to see that you get the recognition you so richly deserve, the Order of Merlin, first class."

"If that ever comes to pass, tell Potter to take that award and shove it..."

"Severus!" Dumbledore interrupted. "Come now. It's a great big world out there. Surely, you could find something, someone..."

"Perhaps," he said quickly, quietly, while indulging in a discreet glance at his pretty flat-mate. But the moment of reverie dissolved as promptly as it had appeared; Snape and optimism didn't have a very good working relationship. "Then again, I could choose to remain a spirit and bide my time," he replied, defiant to the end. It would be over his dead body that The Powers That Be forced him to live again.

"There are a lot of variables in that scenario," Hermione piped up. "I can't live here forever, and the next tenant may not be amenable to having a pet ghost."

Upon hearing that, Snape went nearly apoplectic, eyes bulging and mouth gaping. Yet before his scathing retort – Pet ghost! You dare to compare me to that frizzy-furred familiar! He more resembles a feline version of you. – could travel from his brain to his mouth, Hermione diffused the situation with a halfhearted apology.

"I meant that in the most sincere, flattering manner, of course. Oh, and what about the issue of your privacy? What's to stop your theoretical future room-mate from running to the Ministry or the Daily Prophet and informing them of your presence here?"

"Point taken," Snape said dejectedly. "But now I face the monumental task of resurrecting myself, no easy feat even with the assistance of the brightest witch of her age... and a painting." He waved a dismissive hand in Dumbledore's direction. "And yet, the Dark Lord managed it with two less than brilliant sycophants; however, he had the foresight to render himself practically soulless and immortal prior to his first death.

"You know, a bit of warning wouldn't have been remiss, Albus. If you had dropped a subtle hint, I might have been better prepared." He relished the opportunity to take the old man – or rather, his artful facsimile – to task. He imagined he might never get another chance to rail against Dumbledore to his face.

"I shan't take the blame for that, Severus. You knew how Voldemort operated, ordering others to do the dirty work, especially Nagini. It wasn't my responsibility to remind you to take antivenin or other precautions. You couldn't be arsed to save your own life because you didn't care."

He knew Dumbledore was right, but he wouldn't admit it. Snape sank into the arm chair by the fire and pouted... again.

Hermione didn't allow him to indulge in self-pity for very long. "Enough of the arguments, Severus. They won't bring you back to life; we have to find out what will."

"Well, we can't use the same restoring ritual that the Dark Lord performed. I have no minion who would willingly donate a portion of flesh, and my father was cremated, his ashes unceremoniously strewn upon the river of industrial waste that flowed through my hometown."

"You paint a rather dismal image of the place," she said, grimacing.

"Quite, yet it seemed a fitting end for the man. However, now is neither the time nor place to discuss my dreadful childhood. Perhaps you can psychoanalyze me later." Snape held up his hand as Hermione opened her mouth to speak. "Much later."

"What about the Deathly Hallows?" suggested Dumbledore. "Miss Granger could retrieve the items, and Severus could use them to bargain with Death. You would have to be very explicit with your request, Severus. You must insist that your body, mind, and soul be united as one, restored to your previous form prior to Nagini's attack. Death is a stickler for details, and I wouldn't put it past him to purposely toy with you."

Hermione fidgeted in her seat, pulling at the hem of her jumper. "Yeah, the Deathly Hallows... erm, about that... Well, Harry's never been very good at handling more than one thing at a time. He's taken excellent care of the Invisibility Cloak, but when the Elder Wand and the Resurrection Stone were added to the mix, things got a bit out of hand, and... he lost them."

"Oh, bollocks! Who appointed Potter the caretaker of some of the wizarding world's greatest artifacts?" Snape whinged. He grew frustrated as another possible solution to his dilemma seemed to slip away.

A wince of embarrassment quickly passed over Dumbledore's face before he assumed his all-purpose "stern, yet gentle headmaster" look. "I distinctly remember speaking to Harry about this," he said, pacing the confines of his frame, pausing between each step. "He intended to place the wand back in my tomb. Do you recall that, Miss Granger?" She nodded and he stopped pacing. "The stone he accidentally dropped in the Forbidden Forest; however, Harry claimed he had no plan to fetch it."

"Well, you know Harry," she said, giggling nervously. "Out of sight, out of mind. If he didn't recover the stone that day, he'll never remember where it is. And I highly doubt 'Accio Resurrection Stone' would yield any results."

"It wouldn't hurt to try, I suppose." Dumbledore sighed and shook his head. "Oh, Harry. How I wish that boy would be a bit more proactive." The boy had done nothing notable except save the wizarding world from a most heinous despot, and now the old man expected him to grow up and be responsible?

"And what of the coveted Elder Wand?" Snape inquired, hoping for a shred of good news, yet expecting nothing but bad luck.

"Misplaced might be the best I can offer," she said in a conciliatory tone. "He meant well, wanting to bury the wand with you, sir, but it wasn't a priority at the time, and now he can't find it. Probably gathering dust under his bed at Grimmauld Place. I tried to keep him on task, but you know he's so easily distracted."

Snape had always felt Harry's tendency toward laziness or his inattention to detail would bite someone in the arse someday; too bad it happened to be him. "The road to hell is paved with good intentions," he grumbled. "I'll mention that to Potter the next time our paths cross." Maybe in hell if I'm lucky, he thought.

"I don't suppose the Summoning Charm would work on something as important and powerful as the Elder Wand," she said, her voice filled with contrition.

"Not likely, but you should try, nevertheless," Dumbledore encouraged. He began to pace again, this time in a circuit around a chintz-covered arm chair covered with showy pink cabbage roses; even in death, his decorating sense left much to be desired. "Ah, I've got it. Severus, you should challenge Death to a game of chess. Once again, you must be meticulous in the art of negotiating the terms of your revival."

"Somebody's watched too many existential Swedish films," muttered Hermione.

"More likely the ill effects of turpentine fumes," Snape remarked under his breath.

He had finally heard enough of the portrait's inane recommendations and longed to be rid of it... forever. The hearth lay but a few feet from him. One well-aimed, accurate toss was all he needed...

"Thank you, Albus, for that suggestion. I will talk to my afterlife case manager and have him set up a meeting with the man in charge as soon as possible. I'll have to brush up on my chess skills and strategies. And I would love to sit and chat with you, but Hermione and I have a lot of research ahead of us. She can send you back to Minerva through the Floo. Ta."

Snape then disappeared in an irritated mist of ether, leaving Hermione to make excuses.

A/N: When the going gets tough, the ghost vanishes, leaving the living to clean up. He's probably not the only one who finds daffy Portrait!Albus hugely annoying.

Next up: Research! The hunt begins. With loads of time on his hands, Snape indulges in introspection and a new hobby.