The Test, Part 2

Chapter 19: The Test, Part II

In the end, no one ate dinner.

Hermione phoned with the news that Julia would require rather delicate surgery to repair several tendons and ligaments. Lawrence drove to the Emergency Clinic at once, and Severus Apparated home.

The telephone woke Hermione the next morning. She opened her eyes and made the distressing discovery that her pounding head was not part of a dream. Hermione stumbled toward the ringing phone, one hand pressed on her forehead and the other, shielding her eyes from the early morning sun streaming in the window.

"Hello?"

"Hello, dear," Julia Granger said.

"Mum, how are you?" Hermione clutched the receiver and made her way back to bed, wondering for the millionth time why she never thought to Accio the phone instead of physically crossing the room to retrieve it.

"Fine. Just a twinge of pain from the stitches. The reason I called is that I wanted to apologize for the way things turned out last night."

"It's not your fault, Mum. It just...happened."

"I know, but still... Have you spoken to Severus this morning?"

"No, not yet," Hermione answered, wondering if Julia had expected to overhear Snape rustling about in her daughter's bed.

"I hope he's not too distressed by last evening," her mother went on.

Hermione was quite certain that of all the things that might have distressed Severus Snape over the years, a failed dinner with the Grangers was not among them.

"I doubt it. Look, Mum, I woke up with a wicked headache, and I need to take something for it. Can I call you back later?"

Julia agreed, and moments later, Hermione was standing at the bathroom sink, downing a measure of Soothing Potion.

It was, she decided as she stared at her reflection in the mirror, a tension headache born of sheer frustration. Hermione had wanted last evening to go well, simply because there was so much that could go wrong. She knew that she could count on her parents to provide Severus with a gracious and courteous reception – at least until they realized that he was fast becoming more than a friend to their daughter. Snape was in no way cut from the same mold as Ron Weasley, and Hermione couldn't imagine that Julia and Lawrence would exactly welcome him with open arms. The best-case scenario was one in which her parents assured her that they trusted her good judgment, then quietly accepted whatever path she chose – even if that path included Severus Snape.

On the other hand, Hermione had been on pins and needles, wondering just how Snape would react to them. It was entirely possible, she had reasoned, that he might put up one of his defensive walls and spend the evening behaving in an icy, unapproachable manner. Severus understood the reason for becoming acquainted with Lawrence and Julia; it was a necessary step if this fledgling relationship was to move forward. But depending on his mood, it was not out of the question that he could easily have sabotaged the entire dinner.

And then, just as it looked as if things were progressing smoothly, disaster had struck. At least her mother wasn't badly hurt.

Hermione returned to bed and stretched out to stare at the ceiling. Of all the men in the world, why was she attracted to Severus Snape? She wondered idly if a long-term relationship with the man was even remotely possible, given the fact that not a soul she knew would approve her choice. Hermione could only imagine what it would be like to throw a dinner party some day, an unfortunate event in which Snapes, Potters and Weasleys all spent the evening glaring at each other with thinly-disguised hatred.

She had just begun to drift back to sleep when there was a repeated tapping at her window. Hermione groaned inwardly. The insistent tapping meant that the post owl intended to wait for a reply to some part of the mail, instead of merely dropping it off for her to read at her leisure. And why did the bloody mail have to be delivered so early on a Saturday morning? She crawled out of bed once more and discovered, to her dismay, that the headache was still there.

There were several pieces of mail – mostly the ubiquitous junk mail that was no less of a problem in the wizarding world than the Muggle realm. Hermione found an envelope addressed to her in Snape's now-familiar script, and it was while holding this letter that the owl repeatedly prodded her hand. This, then, was the piece of mail needing the immediate reply, and she put aside the rest of the post to read it.

Severus was asking her to meet him at the Plaid Pony for lunch, as there was something he wished to discuss with her. On the surface, it appeared to be a benign request, yet for some reason, Hermione sensed something disquieting about it. It was almost, she thought, as though she could detect a note of coldness in Snape's voice as he put quill to parchment. Had last evening been that bad?

She scribbled an answer and sent it back with the same owl before examining the remainder of her mail. At the very back of the junk mail, Hermione found an official-looking envelope from the Ministry of Magic, Division of Deeds and Records, and at once her spirits sank.

It was her decree absolute.

She sat on the side of her bed, stared at the parchment that legally dissolved the marriage of Hermione Jane Granger and Ronald Bilius Weasley, and allowed the tears to flow.

I'm a divorcée, she thought miserably, and the dated terminology did little to improve her mood. Hermione swiped at her wet cheeks, surprised at finding herself so distressed at this moment. She and Ron had divorced by mutual agreement; it wasn't as if either of them was embittered or disillusioned. And she'd been expecting the final decree for weeks now, so it could hardly be said to have arrived out of the blue.

Still, there was something about it that proclaimed her to be a failure – possibly the only thing at which she'd ever truly failed, Hermione thought without a trace of conceit. Perhaps she and Severus were alike in that respect: he'd had no success in romantic relations, and now Hermione could say the same of herself. A niggling little voice of common sense prodded her heavily at that point, reminding her that she done perfectly well with Ron for many years, and that she was currently being overly dramatic and self-absorbed. It was true, but it was still difficult to shake the gloom that now descended upon her.

Hermione threw the decree aside and crawled back into bed for a while before showering and Apparating to the Plaid Pony.

* * *

It took only one look at Snape's face to confirm that something was wrong. At once, Hermione began to sort through last night's events, trying to hunt down whatever might be responsible for his displeasure.

"Hello," she said brightly, pulling out the chair next to Snape's and hoping against hope that a happy greeting might take care of everything. "How are you today? I'm so sorry about the way things turned out last night."

"How is your mother?" Severus asked, calmly deflecting both question and apology.

"Quite well, thanks. She'll be unable to work at the dental clinic for a month, unfortunately – that's the bad part. And she'll have to work one-handed with her plants for now. But there's always a chance that she can find a new hobby. That's how Dad became interested in cooking, you know."

"Your father and I had a very pleasant conversation," Snape said coolly before taking a sip of his ale. "He and I talked as we finished preparing the meal. I think it would have turned out to be rather tasty."

"What did you and Dad talk about?"

A shrug. "Various things."

Hermione waited, alarm bells beginning to clang throughout her head.

"I was quite interested to hear the truth of how your magazine contract fell through," Severus continued.

She grimaced, massaging the bridge of her nose; the remains of her headache had taken up residence there.

"Oh. That. I just couldn't bring myself to tell you the truth."

"Really?" The word was framed in icicles.

He's actually angry about this, Hermione realized. In her mind, it had been the tiniest lie of omission when she led Snape to believe that the luncheon meeting with the publishers ended in wrangling over money and editing rights.

"It was – I just –"

"You lied to me."

The flat-out accusation caused Hermione to laugh. Theoretically, the results of her meeting with the publishers were none of his business. "That's a bit of over-exaggeration, isn't it?"

Snape said nothing, merely met her with an icy stare. Hermione's smile wavered and vanished.

"Look, they wanted to hang you out to dry. I simply couldn't tell you that."

"Why? Did you think that my feelings might be hurt? Do you honestly believe, after all I've been through, that two upstart magazine editors would actually frighten me?"

It was a rather laughable idea, but Hermione didn't find it humorous in the least. "I didn't intend to lie to you. I just couldn't..."

"...tell me the truth?"

She felt her face suffuse a deep crimson. "Severus, that's not fair! If it had been any other day..."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" he demanded darkly.

"Look, we planned to meet here for dinner that evening to celebrate the contract, remember? What was I supposed to say? That I nobly sacrificed my dream in order to protect your image?"

"You could have simply said that you refused to supply the information they wanted."

"Right. And then you would have called me a foolish, overly-sentimental Gryffindor," Hermione snapped.

Severus studied her above the rim of his glass. "I see. This is about you, then. You chose to avoid the truth because you were afraid that I would call you names."

She wanted to toss the glass of ale in his face – except that that sort of thing only worked well in the movies. Hermione gritted her teeth and clenched her fists.

"Not only was I not concerned that you would call me names, I am not a foolish, overly sentimental Gryffindor. If anything, I would expect you to compliment me on my decision to lie – that being a rather Slytherin trait."

"Actually, you're wrong about that. Slytherins find lying to be self-serving. I'm afraid that your lofty motives on my behalf cancel it out."

Hermione stared at Snape, scarcely able to believe that he was so incensed about the whole thing. "Are you saying that I should have agreed to provide them with all the incriminating, filthy details that you shared with me in strictest confidence?"

"No, I'm saying that for someone who purports to care for me, you display it in odd ways."

"Damn it, Severus!"

Her voice was louder than usual, and heads turned to look. Hermione was infuriated with herself – she never cursed, and he'd provoked her to this point – and it seemed that regardless of what she did, she couldn't please the man. She willed herself to take a deep breath and calm down.

"I wouldn't cooperate with Darius Billingsley and Barry Vance because what they wanted and what I wanted were two different things. My goal was always to provide recognition for everyone who fought so hard in the war. Their goal was to make money by carving you into a hundred different pieces for all the world to see, and I wouldn't do it!"

"Thereby deliberately forfeiting your one chance to make it into print."

"Yes. Fine. I deliberately gave it up. It was my bloody Gryffindor sense of honor!"

"Whereas Slytherins have no sense of honor?"

Hermione thought to remind Snape that he'd personally denounced such House stereotypes right here in this very pub, but at the moment she wanted badly to revert to her twelve-year-old self and proclaim Slytherins as cold, calculating, and ready to turn over their own mothers if it was to their advantage.

"What is it that really bothers you about this, Severus? That I tried to protect you, and it hurt your big male ego? That some people are still after your hide twelve years after the war? Or is it because you trusted me, and now you're not so sure if I'm trustworthy after all?"

Snape's expression changed just enough for Hermione to recognize that she'd hit the nail on the head. "I believe," he said, his voice dangerously quiet, "that I've had enough of this conversation."

He slapped a few Muggle coins on the table and climbed to his feet while Hermione watched in disbelief. Without saying good-bye, he wove through the lunchtime crowd and departed.

By the time Hermione had pushed through the crowded pub to follow him outside, Severus was gone.

* * *

Hermione spent Sunday replaying Saturday's argument over and over in her head. For a man who was so well-acquainted with the many shades of gray in life, she thought that Snape was being utterly unreasonable.

It was true that by editing her account of the failed magazine deal, she had been protecting him. When Billingsley and Vance insisted that a detailed account of Severus Snape's malfeasance be part of the publishing deal, there'd been no choice but to turn down the offer. Hermione cared about Snape; she would no more write damning things about him for public consumption than she would have written a sidebar on the darker side of Harry Potter. If that was being a foolish, overly-sentimental Gryffindor, then so be it.

And it wasn't as though she had deliberately chosen to lie maliciously. It was one of those convenient little white lies, the type that made it possible for humankind to exist with a minimum of upheaval – except that Severus had seen it as a major betrayal. Didn't he know by now that she was on his side?

Or did he even want her on his side?

There was no immediate answer for that, and by the time Monday morning rolled around, Hermione was in foul spirits. She spent the morning closeted in her office, barely looking up from her stack of papers until she heard a knocking at the door. For a brief, shining moment she wondered if perhaps it was Severus; that moment was quickly replaced by reality when she found Harry standing there.

"Hi, Harry. What's up?"

"Not much. Just thought I'd drop in to say hello." He dropped into the chair next to her desk.

Hermione watched Harry glance briefly around her office, and smiled inwardly. It was one of life's little injustices that she, Hermione Granger, had a real office while the Savior of the Wizarding World rated only a cubicle. She was certain that Harry didn't care beans about that fact, although she always found it mildly amusing.

She saw then that Harry had That Look in his eyes, the one that said what came out of his mouth was in no way related to the reason he was here. Hermione raised an eyebrow – a Snapeism she had picked up – and waited.

"I hear that your divorce is final now," Harry said finally, looking as though he hated pronouncing every word of the sentence.

"That's right."

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I really am. I'd hoped that maybe, at the last minute, something might happen to change your mind."

"My mind?" Hermione echoed.

"Or Ron's," Harry amended quickly. "It just doesn't seem right."

She sighed. The divorce was final, the deed was done, and she was tired of people pining for the past. "Life doesn't work that way, Harry."

"You'd think I would know that by now, wouldn't you?" Harry muttered, grimacing.

Hermione gave a half-hearted laugh. Harry was a good friend, even if he did want to rearrange the world to suit him. "It's all right, Harry. Really."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Ready to go on with the rest of my life. Thanks for asking, though."

"That's what friends are for," Harry smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

"I take it that you heard from Ron. How's he doing?"

"Okay. He was a little upset when the papers came through. Called from the fireplace Saturday night. I think he just wanted to chat a bit, make sure he wasn't a complete failure at things," Harry said.

Hermione felt somewhat reassured by that. "Did he? I was a bit of a wreck myself on Saturday. I suppose it's inevitable. It's as if someone's validated the fact that you've made a mess of your marriage and you're holding the evidence right there in your hands."

"That's what Ron said, basically."

"Is he still – I mean, does he still have – his girlfriend?"

"Celeste? Yes." Harry looked at Hermione appraisingly. "You still seeing Snape?"

She tried to look nonchalant, but it took an extreme amount of effort. "To be honest, I don't know. I'm afraid I've messed up there as well. We had a big row on Saturday"

Harry shot her a dark glance. "I'm sure that if there is any 'messing up' in a relationship with Severus Snape, Hermione, you didn't do it."

"You'd be surprised."

"I don't need the details, okay?" he said, a pained expression on his face.

Hermione laughed. "Okay," she agreed, just as a letter shot from a slot in the ceiling into her In Box, causing a brief flurry of papers. She sighed. As much as she loved the Wizarding World, she couldn't help but envy her parents' Muggle computer with its quietly efficient e-mail.

"I'll let you get back to work," Harry told her, climbing to his feet. "I just wanted to check up on you."

"Thanks, Harry. I appreciate it." Hermione waved her friend from the office, but not before promising to call him at once if she needed a shoulder upon which to cry. She then turned her attention to the latest letter to fall into the In Box, and saw that it was addressed to her in Snape's tidy, slanted scrawl, just as Saturday's note had been.

Could you meet me outside at the Muggle entrance at noon? Please let me know if this is convenient for you.

Severus

Hermione read the message two, three times. It wasn't convenient, frankly. She had a twelve-thirty meeting scheduled, which meant that lunch would have to be done in a hurry. She glanced at her watch and saw that it was now ten-fifteen.

She jotted a reply and dropped it in her Out Box. Immediately, the parchment flew up through the ceiling slot and out of sight.

* * *

For the remainder of the morning, Hermione speculated on the reason for Snape's note. If he was planning to end their friendship, which she had convinced herself was the likely scenario, the street seemed an odd venue. Why not simply break up in a letter? Or come to her office, if he was making the trip to London? As with all things Snape, Hermione realized that his motives were shrouded in mystery, and there was nothing to do but wait until twelve.

At one minute before noon, she stepped into the Muggle phone booth elevator. This earned her a few odd looks from her fellow Ministry employees; it was rare for any of them to leave by way of the elevator, since everyone routinely used the Floo grates for travel. As soon as the booth deposited her at street level, Hermione discovered another reason for the puzzled glances.

A cold, steady rain was falling. Only an idiot would choose to be out in it.

She spotted Snape across the street immediately, a figure dressed in black and watching from beneath an umbrella. Hermione pulled her cloak closer around her hurried over.

"You couldn't have picked a drier day for this, could you?" she commented, trying to sound much cheerier than she felt.

"I don't control the weather," Severus reminded her, shifting the umbrella to cover both of them.

"Why didn't you just come to my office?"

"Because I refuse to set foot inside that bloody building."

"It's only a dreary bureaucratic maze," Hermione pointed out reasonably.

"Not if you'd been jailed and tried before the Wizengamot there. I assure you, you would think twice before setting foot inside it again."

"I see your point." Hermione's breath hung as a white puff in the chilly air. She hugged herself tightly to ward off the piercing cold.

Snape inhaled deeply. "How are you?"

"Well. You?"

"Fine. How is your day?"

"Perfectly boring. Did you really come all the way to London to ask me that?"

He scowled at her, then stared off towards the Ministry building. "If I have learned one thing in my life, it is that allowing disagreements to fester benefits no one. I behaved abominably on Saturday. You did not lie to me because of any malicious intent. I reacted badly, and I apologize."

Only the sound of the rain hitting the umbrella punctuated the silence that followed. An immediate, outright apology from Severus Snape? He wasn't here to end their relationship? Hermione fumbled for words. "Thank you, Severus. I know that I should have explained the real circumstances to you, but I simply couldn't bring myself to tell you. I'm sorry as well."

Snape nodded, finally risking a glance back in her direction. "I fear that past experience has taught me to assume the worst when someone lies. I cannot recall a time when someone was concerned about sparing my feelings."

"Well, someone is concerned about you now," Hermione said simply. Within, an ember of hope and happiness reignited.

A faint smile quirked the corner of Snape's mouth. "At any rate, I am responsible for the death of your writing career, and I apologize for that as well."

"The time just wasn't right. I'll try again in the future."

"Do you really believe that, or are you merely spouting platitudes?"

"Do I normally spout platitudes?"

"Not at all."

"Then there's your answer. At any rate, I'm finding your good favor more desirable than fame and fortune just now." Hermione couldn't help the broad smile that had spread over her face. Her day, her week, her world, had just re-righted themselves.

"I thought you weren't writing for the fame and fortune," Severus pointed out, his tone light.

"Then it's a very good thing, don't you think?"

Snape looked at Hermione, an unreadable combination of expressions on his face. "Would you care to have lunch with me?"

Her happiness vanished at once. "I can't. I have a meeting coming up at twelve-thirty."

"I see." Severus merely nodded, but Hermione could see the obvious disappointment in his eyes.

"Would you like to have dinner with me?" she ventured. "I'm not a very good cook, and it certainly wouldn't be as good as Dad's, but it might not be too terrible."

"Tonight would be fine," he said at once, and the look of relief on his face spoke volumes. Could Snape have come here, expecting that she would refuse his apology? Hermoine's breath caught in her throat.

"Say, seven o'clock, then?" she said.

He nodded.

On impulse, Hermione rose on tiptoe to kiss him. The kiss began as gentle, assuring, tender. Moments later, as each of them gave up all illusions of mere friendship, it erupted into much, much more.