Chapter 7: In Interim

Disclaimer: I'm not making any money from this. Anything you recognise is not mine, but Jo's. Sadly.

A/N: Ah! Am basking in the reviews you have all showered me with. Thanks! And here I was afraid you were losing interest in the story. Shame on me for doubting you! *whip-crack* ;)

I know you're going to throw stones at me again, but I have decided to cut this chapter in half again. It was very long and... To be quite honest here, I have some trouble with the chapter after next, and I simply want to keep my self-imposed posting deadline for a chapter every two to three weeks. And I don't think I can manage it otherwise. :( This is also what you might call a transition chapter. But don't worry, the action – not to mention the fencing lessons – will start soon. :)

Thanks for being understanding and bribing me with reviews... Oh, no. You weren't. Although that would be a good way to ensure said self-imposed deadline and keep the fuzzy bunnies breeding in my head. What an image, huh? ;)

Thanks to Bi, the girls (and hubbies, lately ;)) from the Potter_Place chat and forum as well as the MoITWF forum, for your encouragement and endless patience re: frustrated rants. *hugs them all* I also want to thank my beta, SnarkyRoxy, for her great work, and to the new one on board, ladyinthecloak, for stepping in at such short notice.

And thanks to my big girl, for making her first little steps! Love ya! *smooch*

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Chapter 7: In Interim

She stared at the wall, pondering aimlessly the night's events until she shook herself out of her reverie. Absent-mindedly, she took one of the small, midnight-blue pills out of the pocket of her jeans, popped it into her mouth and swallowed it easily. Over the last few weeks, she had gotten used to taking a pill without having to drink something after it. A useful, but undeniably, somewhat alarming ability.

Then she turned away from the door, stuffed her hands into her pockets and began the trek down the stairs, brooding about another tea-party with Professor Snape. When she reached her room, she undressed quickly and slipped into a soft, old nightgown of her mother's with an old-fashioned floral print on it, only barely registering that she had put it on correctly.

Flopping down on her bed, already drowsy with impending sleep, she grappled with the sheets so they only covered the left side of her body, keeping her cool in the summer heat, and fumbled with her wand to extinguish the light as she laid it down on the bedside table. She jumped, already half-asleep, when something heavy plopped down on the mattress, cuddling against her side. One of her arms, which was heavy with approaching sleep, crept over her body, her hand lazily stroking Crookshanks' fur.

The half-Kneazle, having sorely been neglected that day, mewled once in complaint, butted his head a few times against her hand to get it to settle against some other part of his body to stroke and then began to purr contentedly.

And so she fell asleep to her cat's purring and dreamt of swimming in a tea cup filled to the brim with fragrant Darjeeling first flush, sweetened with sugar, under a watchful black-eyed gaze. The tea cup never so much as wavered, and she swam on, feeling content and safe.

********

In the meantime, while Hermione was blissfully unaware, she was cause for much discussion in another part of the house. In one of the sitting rooms a floor beneath her, to be exact.

Two people were arguing. About her.

"What in Merlin's name made you think mentioning Krum to her at that point was a good idea?"

This was certainly not Ron's day.

"I don't know. It just sort of... slipped out," Ron muttered and shrugged for good measure, clearly uncomfortable with this topic.

"Well, then you really shouldn't be surprised that her hand 'slipped' too, mate."

"What? Are you taking sides now, Harry?" Ron asked, starting to get angry.

"Of course I am! You're both my friends, and yet, I'm sitting here with you! What is that if not taking sides?" Harry exploded.

"Oh," Ron merely said, lamely.

"Yes! But you know what? I'm sick of it! Just because you are angry with her now, Hermione is supposed to be my mortal enemy as well, since you'd think me some sort of traitor to our friendship if I didn't side with you! Funny how Hermione managed just fine to be friends with both of us in fourth year. I'm sick of being stuck in the middle, Ron! I want to talk to her again. No offense, mate, but sometimes I want to talk about something other than Quidditch."

"Really?" Ron asked, actually astonished.

"Yes, really," Harry replied wearily, running a hand through his constantly tousled-looking hair.

"Well, then, what's stopping you? Talk to her, by all means," Ron said petulantly, looking at an ugly painting to the side of Harry.

"And you won't call me disloyal?"

Ron sighed.

"No. I won't. Look, you're right. Talk with her and maybe you could... put in a good word for me? To smooth the waves a bit? I'm not ready to try my luck just yet."

Harry grinned.

"Of course, mate. Don't expect any miracles, though. Remember what Malfoy did to tick her off enough to slap him?"

Ron nodded with a satisfied grin at the memory.

"Well, but Ron, she only slapped him once, you know?" Harry tried again when it didn't seem that Ron had gotten his point.

This time, Ron nodded a bit more slowly and winced. He rubbed the bruises on his cheek gingerly.

"Maybe this time I've really blown it with her. I've done some pretty stupid stuff..." He glared when Harry nodded vigorously. Wasn't a real mate supposed to deny things like that?

"...but this really tops everything so far. Not that I'm not still angry with her, mind."

"But why? What ticked you off in the first place, having a go at her like that? Sure, she's smarter than both of us combined, but I bet even she didn't see it coming that the time she used the Time-Turner would be added to her legal age by the Ministry."

Ron miserably ran a hand through his ginger hair.

"It's not really that she's allowed to do magic now. It's just... one more thing that we don't have in common, you know? She's already smarter than me. Reads all sorts of books and journals no-one in their right mind understands. Talks about things like how to improve Wolfsbane, which is not even on the seventh year curriculum – I checked! Now she's also older than me..."

"Ron, she's always been half a year older than you and almost eleven months older than me."

"Yes, but it was never so much that it made a real difference, you know? Blast! I just realised! She could've gone for her Apparition license last year!"

"But she hasn't! She's going to go for it this year right along with us. Doesn't that count for something?"

"And now she can do magic all through the summer, and I can't! I've fancied her for ages, but, hell, we don't have anything in common, do we?" Ron steam-rollered on, not having even heard a word Harry had said.

Now it was Harry's turn to sigh. Did Ron have to ask his opinion on that? It seemed to be a sure way to get him to stop talking with him, too.

"Why don't you just ask her out and see where it leads? She might not even want to, you know," Harry replied instead, evading the question.

"Of course she does," Ron responded moodily, but seemed confident of his assertion. "Maybe I haven't blown it totally this time, after all. You know her, she's always been a bit mental... maybe now she's only a bit more than usual."

It wasn't clear to Harry whether Ron had said that just to be contrary, not really believing a word of it, or if he truly believed what he had just said. The way Harry saw it, it could be either way. What he was sure of, however, was that Ron was clearly in denial. Hermione and Ron had nothing in common aside from their friendship. Sure, Hermione had fancied Ron at some point, but not anymore; Harry could tell.

If Ron didn't want to see... Well, that was his problem.

"Well, then get a move on and for God's sakes change tactics, for you certainly won't get her to go out with you if you continue to insult her! And I'm not keen to pick up the pieces when she's finished with you the next time you do that," Harry said, getting up from his chair.

"I suppose you're right. Although I'm not that bad at dueling!"

"Of course I am," Harry replied good-naturedly, wisely ignoring Ron's latter comment and smacking his mate's shoulder. With that, they left the sitting room, tempers pacified for now, and made their way to their beds, closing the door to their bedroom noisily behind them.

They never noticed one of the shadows at the end of the hall by the doorway to the sitting room moving, nor did they see how it made its way silently down the stairs and out of the front door.

********

Next morning, Hermione woke slowly to the sounds of birds chirping outside her window. Feeling content and relaxed, she lay there for a while, sleep-tousled hair fanned about her and listened to the sounds of the awakening house without opening her eyes. Then she stretched lazily as she tried to remember the last vague shreds of her dream.

Something about... tea? she thought, blinking drowsily. What confused her a bit was that she was feeling unaccountably very happy thinking about it. Tea wasn't usually something that made her happy. It was nice, sure, and tasted good, but that was all, really.

She stretched more languorously with an unconscious smile on her lips.

As sleep gradually left her, she began to remember the somewhat disconcerting events of the day before. The argument with Ron didn't count among them, for she was more or less used to them by now; nor did her actions throughout the rest of the day, including her breakdown, although those had been unusual enough... but her two encounters with Professor Snape did.

She sighed and rubbed sleep from her eyes.

As early in the day as it was, she could admit that her behaviour yesterday had been abominable. The only thing that reassured her a little was the fact that there had been mitigating circumstances. Yes, looking back, she knew she had good cause to be hysterical. And it wasn't as if she behaved like that every day.

Ron had deserved all he'd gotten, and Professor Snape...

He didn't seem to mind too much when she'd behaved like the Bandon Banshee, not even when she had insulted him. It was mortifying to remember how she'd behaved toward one of her teachers, and him, of all people, although he'd seemed to be more amused than disapproving of her mood swings.

If he finds those amusing, he should be present when my real PMS kicks in. I doubt he would find that very amusing at all, she thought with a snigger.

Ron and Harry very wisely never dared cross her when that time of the month approached.

The one thing she was really ashamed of was how she'd tried to convince herself of Snape's shady character, solely based on his behaviour at school and her friends' opinion of him, ignoring all her evidence to the contrary and thus abandoning her normally logical nature in favour of sensationalism.

Like... Oh God, like Rita Skeeter! she thought in horror.

That was despicable. She felt downright dirty.

It was unlike her, and he deserved better, much better for the sacrifices he made daily – of which there seemed to be even more than she'd realised, if the revelations about him yesterday were any indication.

She was disgusted with herself. Even hysterical, she should never have let her Inner Ron and Harry get the better of her.

She was the cool, calm thinker, who thrived on puzzles and everything logical and who didn't just judge by appearances. She was the best proof for that. There were many more layers to a person than merely the obvious. She was certainly not only the know-it-all bookworm the others perceived her to be, so why should he only be the mean Potions master?

She would do better from now on, she promised herself, and would try to live up to her epithet.

Not that she felt much like it at the moment.

The brightest witch of her age, she scoffed inwardly and more than a touch bitterly.

She wondered, not for the first time, what it was that people saw in her to inspire them to come to that conclusion. Sure, she was smart, good at studying and had more than once kept her wits about her in a dangerous situation, which had saved her and her friends' lives.

But was that enough to deserve such a weighty title? It was certainly hard to live up to such high expectations. What did exceptional marks in every subject count for in that respect? But what else did she have to offer, after all? Books and cleverness were all she had, weren't they?

And Professor Snape was turning out to be even more intriguing than she'd initially thought.

Fencing? How in the world does he, a confirmed Death Eater, know a Muggle sport? And well enough to teach it, no less? she wondered, rolling onto her side and wrestling her legs free of the sheets.

Yesterday evening had certainly been interesting.

Very... enlightening and revealing. Both because of the things he'd done as well as the things he hadn't done.

He had behaved in a manner totally contrary to the way she had expected him to behave, which had been designed to keep her off-balance. It made her focus on herself and her emotions instead of on him.

Manipulating bastard.

And although his, "Very good, Miss Granger," had ostensibly confirmed her speculations, she doubted Professor Snape had been entirely truthful in this matter. All he'd really done was praise her line of speculations. He hadn't explained what he'd meant by his remark. So he hadn't really confirmed anything. Professor Snape had taken great care not to reveal anything about himself – at least not intentionally. Even so, she had several more things to add to her list about the man.

One, his teaching persona was definitely only a facade – all the evidence of her last three encounters with him pointed to that fact. It would be foolish and illogical in the extreme to assume the personality he displayed to the world day after day did not differ considerably from the one of the real Severus Snape, though who this elusive man really was still remained a mystery to her. She wondered if anyone knew this man.

Sadly enough, a spy couldn't afford anyone knowing their real character. It would leave him too exposed, leaving both strengths and weaknesses on display for friend and foe alike.

So, the assumption that his real character was exactly the same as his teaching persona was illogical in so far that it served no purpose, and that it was actually very dangerous, leaving him completely exposed. No spy, especially not one who had been a double agent for close to twenty years, would be that stupid. And no one could accuse Severus Snape of being stupid.

That left only one option – that he'd created his teaching persona on purpose to protect himself. It was close enough to the truth to convince those who had known him at school, but shielded his self, including his real strengths and weaknesses, while projecting false ones.

Two, his Mr-Nice-Guy act was also most likely just that, an act, or rather a means to an end – to get what he wanted when his sarcasm and a sneer didn't frighten people into compliance.

And three, though his congenial behaviour was most probably an act, he truly seemed to want to help her. Why he would, and for what purpose, was one of the things still shrouded in mystery.

Of course, one 'didn't look a gift horse in the mouth', but she knew her Greek Mythology, and particularly that of the Trojan War, too well to put much store into that saying.

'Phobou tous Danaous kai dôra pherontas' or rather 'Beware of the Danaans, even bearing gifts' was a much more appropriate quote in her opinion when dealing with her teacher. She doubted that Professor Snape ever did something without a good reason and one which would work to his advantage.

So what did he have to gain by tutoring her in fencing?

She had no idea why the most unapproachable member of the Order of the Phoenix would offer to help her, but she was grateful. She just couldn't figure out why he would do this for her when the logical conclusion to draw from his offer was that he would thus be forced to spend time with her. A lot of time.

Surely, giving up three evenings a week of his precious student-free summer holidays for extra lessons with one of his most despised students could not be what he wanted? Not without a good reason, in any case.

Did he truly despise her, though?

He'd always appeared to dislike her before – almost as much as he did Harry – both for her association with Harry as well as for her propensity for broadcasting her knowledge in the secret hope it would impress him. Although he didn't know that.

Of course, those instances had always been in public in the company of others – the Densaugeo hex incident immediately came to mind, much to her chagrin. And before the night of his argument with Dumbledore, she had never been alone with him before. So who was she to judge what he really thought of her?

Maybe that was another reason why he had asked for her opinion of him last night. Maybe he had really wanted to know. Or perhaps he was curious if, despite yesterday's drama, she could read between the lines, if her intelligence was limited to memorising books, or if she was capable of independent thought as well.

If her suspicions – or even parts of them – proved to be correct, the conclusion that he despised her as much as Harry would be very questionable indeed. If she was correct.

That did not automatically mean he liked her, of course.

That possibility she found highly unlikely, no matter how much her wayward crush for him might like that. He was just not the type to 'fancy' anyone. Deep feelings of one type or another, maybe, but no crush. Although deep feelings were preferable anyway, that scenario was also a stretch of imagination.

She was glad he was not really who he appeared to be on more than one level, however. It made the crush she'd developed for him in her fourth year not as sick as she'd always thought it to be. Although she hadn't been able to help herself, Bad Boy syndrome was one thing, but to fall for a fully-fledged Death Eater stretched that a bit too much, even for her taste.

That would be like falling for Lucius Malfoy. Eww.

And anyway, she was so totally over him that the continued proximity of their lessons together wouldn't be a problem.

Hopefully not, she thought with a frown and worried her lower lip with her front teeth. She shook her head at her inner ramblings and came back to the topic at hand. Folding her arms behind her head, she stared at the ceiling.

Right.

But between 'despising' and 'liking' were various shades of grey, one of which might explain his willingness to help her.

It might account for several other things as well.

That he'd tolerated her abominable behaviour towards him since the start of the holidays, for one.

For another, his concern for her well-being. If what he'd said yesterday was any indication, his whole behaviour towards her since the start of the holidays and in some instances in the years before, could be seen as a form of well-meaning concern.

That he'd let her speculate about his character was also very telling. While he'd neither confirmed nor denied her suspicions, one thing was patently clear: he'd been curious.

Enough so to put aside his natural sense of authority and his almost pedantic desire for privacy; for he'd asked one of his students and her to boot.

Though she couldn't imagine even 'liking' her would make the prickly man put up with that.

The one question that remained, however, was why a man like Severus Snape would offer to help and tutor her?

No matter what he said, she didn't believe for one minute he would sacrifice his time and expertise for her, of all people, even if it was for something as eclectic a past-time as fencing. He would only do something for someone else if it either helped him gain something or if she had something he wanted. Now what did she have to offer that he could want?

Nothing. At least, nothing he didn't have or couldn't get in a much easier way. She tried to not think too hard on what that might imply.

So what can it be that he has to gain from these lessons? she wondered, as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and got ready for the new day.

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A/N:

'Phobou tous Danaous kai dôra pherontas' or Beware of the Danaans, even bearing gifts,' is from the Iliad, by Homer. The Danaans being the Greeks or Greek tribes in general. The Iliad is the tale of the Trojan War, which contrary to what the movie 'Troy' will have us believe, is not about Achillies, but a) about Troy, obviously, b) what terrible consequences our actions can have and c) what havoc the Gods could wreak on mere mortals out of jealousy.

An appropriate quote I think with regard to Snape's niceness and restraint even in the face of immense provocation. I can assure you there is a good reason for that. *evil grin*

Something to do with another saying, about catching flies with honey.

Wonder what you will make of that. Dum de dum dummmm... ;D

Up next: A talk between women, the twins are back and one of Hermione's runs end a little unexpectedly.