Five

Author's Notes: This was written for the HG/SS holiday exchange on Live Journal. This was the prompt I chose: #71. Fic: Post-war Hermione and Severus are both doomed to spend Xmas alone until they run into each other in Diagon Alley or London. How, why, and what happens next is up to you. Happy ending, please. Any rating. This prompt was submitted by GinnyWeasley31, and the story is dedicated to her.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognisable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Special thanks to my beta reader, JuJuJenn. And thanks to Illyria who did some Brit-picking for me. Any errors, however, are mine alone.

Five

During the week between Christmas and New Year's, Snape and Hermione fell into a routine. Snape would knock on Hermione's back door each morning at nine o'clock. They would eat the breakfast that he prepared, and then he would Apparate them back to the house at Spinner's End. They would spend the morning researching through the books most likely to contain information on the curse that Bellatrix Lestrange had used on Hermione. A couple of mornings, Harry and Ron joined them, but because they both worked in the Aurors' Office at the Ministry, it was difficult for them to get time off. They promised to help on the weekends, however. After their research, Snape would prepare a light lunch, and then they would either continue their research or go to Hogwarts to work on the potions that Madam Pomfrey needed replenished. They would either eat dinner at Hogwarts, or they would return to Hermione's, and Snape would prepare something there. After dinner, Hermione would sign on to her computer and work for a couple of hours. Most nights, Snape would remain watching her work and offering the occasional comment about a particular caller. They would talk between calls.

Snape was surprised to realise that he found the computer a quite fascinating piece of technology. He wondered if there was any way to channel some of Hogwarts' internal magic into powering such a device. It would certainly make recordkeeping a lot easier. He would mention the possibility to Minerva and Filius and see what could be done.

But that was a project for the future. For now, he needed to concentrate on exploring every possible means of helping Hermione.

At first, all of Snape's and Hermione's conversations were about their research, but after a few days, they began to branch off into other areas. They discovered that besides liking the same kinds of foods, they also had similar tastes in literature and music.

On New Year's Eve day, Snape and Harry arranged a visit to Scrimgeour. In a 'good cop/bad cop' pas de deux that would have made Ron proud had he been there to see it, the two of them alternately cajoled and threatened the Minister of Magic into revealing anything he knew about the Pulpa Adustum Curse. Unfortunately, Scrimgeour knew even less about it than they did.

"I might be able to make some inquiries, Harry," Scrimgeour said. "I could even introduce you to some friends of mine who might be able to help. I'm having a small gathering at my home this evening to welcome in the New Year. Perhaps you'd care to join us?" As he spoke, Scrimgeour sidled up to Harry and draped an arm across his shoulder.

Harry shrugged off Scrimgeour's arm and stepped away from him.

"Oh, I don't think so, Rufus," Harry said. "I'm not interested in meeting anyone who'd call you 'friend'."

Scrimgeour's ruddy face flushed an even deeper red.

"You'd better mind that mouth of yours, boy," Scrimgeour said, dropping all pretence of friendliness. "As the Minister of Magic, I can make things very difficult for you and for your friends. With the Dark Lord gone, I'm not sure the Ministry really needs the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects any longer. Wouldn't it be a shame if Arthur Weasley had to find another job? Or if the Aurors' Department were suddenly down-sized?"

Snape took a step toward Scrimgeour, but Harry held up a hand.

"Don't threaten me," Harry said in a deceptively quiet voice. "And don't threaten my friends. The only reason you're still the Minister of Magic is because I haven't spoken out against you."

"You overestimate your influence, Potter," Scrimgeour sneered.

"On the contrary," Snape said, "you underestimate it, Scrimgeour. I've no doubt that were Potter to speak out against you, it would be you looking for a job. It's always been my opinion that Arthur Weasley is wasted in his current position. He would make a very good Minister of Magic."

"An excellent suggestion, Professor Snape," Harry said.

"Now, Harry," Scrimgeour said in a conciliatory tone, "I was just ... thinking out loud. The Ministry wouldn't be able to function without Arthur as head of his department."

"Since Mr. Weasley is doing such a fine job, maybe it's time he had a raise?"

Scrimgeour sputtered, "But ... but ..."

"If I heard that Mr. Weasley had received a big raise, I'd be inclined to maintain my ... disinterest ... in politics."

"That's blackmail!"

"As opposed to extortion?" Snape asked with a snort. "Your hypocrisy astounds me."

"Shut up, Snape," Scrimgeour snarled. "I'm not worried about your influence in politics."

"You're quite right. Politics is not my area of expertise, but brewing potions is. I suggest you remember that the next time you eat or drink anything."

Scrimgeour took a step back. "Get out – both of you!"

"We're leaving," Snape said. "I suddenly find myself quite desirous of a shower."

"Yeah, me, too," Harry said.

On New Year's Day, Snape arrived to prepare breakfast at the usual time. He knocked on Hermione's back door.

"Good morning, Professor Snape," Hermione said as she opened the door. "Looks like you'll be my first-footer. Happy New Year to you."

"Good morning, Miss Granger," Snape said as he stood on the back step. "Happy New Year to you, as well. I'm not sure I'm qualified to be a first-footer, however."

"You're tall and dark-haired; I'll count myself lucky. Now, come in."

Snape stepped through the door. "I'm probably at least two stone too light, and I'm certainly not good-looking. I hope I won't bring you bad luck instead of good."

"I'm not really superstitious; I just mentioned it for fun. I think Ron was my first-footer last year, and you know it's never supposed to be a redhead," she said with a smile.

"I'm not sure I even had a first-footer last year," Snape said. "You may have been the only person, other than me, to cross my threshold the entire year."

"And the first-footer is never supposed to be a woman, either, so let's assume our bad luck indicators will cancel each other out."

"Agreed," Snape said.

They ate their breakfast and then went to Spinner's End.

The next few days passed in much the same manner. Then, two days before the new term was to start, there was a break in their routine.

When they were finished with breakfast and the cleaning up afterward, Hermione turned to Snape.

"Professor Snape, might I ask a favour of you?"

"What is it, Miss Granger?"

"My parents returned from France last night. They are going to come and visit me this afternoon."

"I'll excuse you for the day; I'm sure I can manage my potions-making without your assistance," Snape said dryly.

"I've no doubt of that, sir. I haven't done much more than chop roots and decant the potions," she replied. "I wasn't going to ask to be excused."

"What is it, then?"

"I ... I've decided to tell my parents about my ... my injury."

"I think that's a good decision."

"I was wondering ... that is ... I was hoping that you would agree to stay and help me explain things to them."

"I have no problem with staying, but I'm not sure what help I could be. This seems a rather personal moment between you and your parents. My presence would most likely be an unwelcome intrusion."

"I wouldn't consider it an intrusion at all – and neither will my parents," Hermione insisted.

Snape's first impulse was to refuse. The last thing he needed was to be embroiled in the emotional upheaval that was sure to accompany Hermione's revelation to her parents.

He was formulating a negative response when a tingle at the back of his mind reminded him of his promise to Albus.

He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose with a long finger.

"I will stay and offer what support I can," he said.

"Thank you, sir."

Several hours later, Hermione, with Snape standing next to her, bid her parents goodbye. It had been an emotionally exhausting afternoon. Her mother had spent most of the afternoon crying. Her father had been angry and upset.

Most of Richard Granger's questions – and anger – had been directed at Snape. He didn't seem to understand that there were some things that not even magic could fix.

"I'm sorry my father was so querulous."

"I understand his attitude. You were the victim of a brutal attack; he could hardly berate you. I, as the tangible representative of the wizarding world, became the object of his ire. Sometimes when one feels powerless to affect important events, one lashes out at the nearest available target."

"Does that explain your behaviour for most of my time at Hogwarts?" Hermione asked.

Snape arched his brow at her. "You may draw whatever conclusions you wish from my remarks, Miss Granger."

"At any rate, I truly appreciate your staying here with me today and helping me to get through it."

"Now that your parents know, you will receive the emotional support you need from them during this difficult time."

"It will be good to be able to spend some time with them without worrying about having to maintain an elaborate glamour. Though my mum did say she thinks I'm too thin, so I'm sure I'll have to listen to her nagging me about my eating habits."

"Perhaps it is a fortunate thing you didn't reveal yourself to them three weeks ago," Snape said.

"You've managed to fatten me up considerably since then," Hermione said with a smile. "I think I've gained more than half a stone."

"That means you're only underweight, instead of dangerously underweight."

"My stress levels have dropped considerably."

"And your magical energy has increased proportionally," Snape added.

"I can certainly feel the difference," Hermione agreed. "I've worried that my magical energy would be totally depleted."

"As long as you continue to eat properly and conserve your energy by limiting your use of an elaborate glamour, you should be able to maintain your current levels."

"I won't be using that glamour at all any more. Since I no longer need to go to the Ministry to do research, I'm finished with allowing Rufus Scrimgeour to dictate to me," she said with vehemence.

"Which brings us to the subject of your research," Snape said.

"Yes?"

"As you are aware, the new term starts the day after tomorrow. I will need to return to Hogwarts tomorrow to prepare."

"I know," she replied in a soft voice.

"In the past, I've had very little reason to return to London during term. I have my lab at Hogwarts for my private research, and the library there is extensive enough to satisfy my needs."

"I understand," Hermione said. "I ... I am very grateful for everything you've done for me. I knew it was highly unlikely that we'd uncover anything of any importance in so short a time, but I appreciate your allowing me to make the effort."

"You are ready to give up your research, then?" Snape asked.

"No! I don't want to give up."

"Then why are you talking like you do?"

"I thought ... I mean ... you said ..."

"I said that 'in the past' I had little reason to return to London during term. Now, I have a reason, and I will be returning to London as often as I can. Because of my duties as Head of Slytherin House, as well as my teaching duties, I doubt I'll be able to get back here more than one or two weekends a month, however."

"I would be happy with one or two hours a month," Hermione broke in. "Thank you, sir."

"If you would allow me to finish speaking?"

"Of course. My apologies for interrupting."

"As I was saying, I won't be able to return to London very often. There is no reason, however, why you cannot continue your research on your own."

"But ... but ... how? I mean ..." Hermione stammered.

"My library – and my home – is at your disposal, Miss Granger."

Snape reached into his pocket and pulled out a key. He held it out to Hermione, but when she showed no inclination to take it, he reached down and took her hand in his. He dropped the key into her hand and closed her fingers around it.

"You ... you will allow me to spend time in your home without you being there?"

"Are you going to steal the silver, Miss Granger?" Snape asked.

"What? Steal the silver? Of course I won't steal the silver!" she sputtered.

"Well, you do have a history of larceny of my possessions," he said.

Before Hermione could respond, Snape held up a hand.

"I'm joking, Miss Granger. If I didn't trust you, I wouldn't have given you the key. I've adjusted my wards to recognise your magical signature. You may come and go as it suits you, though I will know if you push yourself too hard. I would say that you should be able to manage four hours a day without exhausting yourself."

"I could probably manage six hours," she said, clutching the key tightly.

"Five and not a minute more," he said in a firm voice.

Hermione smiled. "Five."

"If I think you are strong enough during the Easter holidays, we will work on your Apparition skills. In the meantime, I'm afraid you'll have to take the Tube to get back and forth."

"I don't mind. I've become rather used to it over the last few years," she said.

"Apparition is faster and safer, as long as you don't splinch yourself."

"That's true," she agreed.

There was an awkward moment of silence as they stood looking at each other.

"I should be going," Snape said at last. "I need to finish my packing. I'll be leaving first thing in the morning."

"Are you taking the Hogwarts Express?" Hermione asked.

Snape gave a sharp snort. "Are you daft, woman? Six hours on a train full of rambunctious children? I'll be Apparating, just as I always do."

"How silly of me," she said.

"Indeed."

Another awkward moment ensued. This time it was Hermione who spoke first.

"May I write you?" she asked. "Harry lets me borrow Hedwig when I need her."

"I would be interested in knowing how your research is progressing," Snape replied.

"I will, then."

"I'll look forward to hearing from you."

"I guess I'll have to get used to making my own breakfast," Hermione said.

"Just be sure you eat," he said.

"I will. I promise I will."

Hermione was turning the key over and over in her hands.

"I really must go," Snape said.

Hermione raised her head and looked into Snape's eyes.

"Goodbye, Miss Granger," Snape said as he stepped back. "I'll let you know when I am coming to London."

"Goodbye, Professor Snape," Hermione said. She let her gaze drop to the floor. "I'm going to miss you," she added in a soft whisper.

She lifted her head, but Snape was already gone.

Snape heard Hermione's whispered words just as he Disapparated.

"I'm going to miss you, as well, Miss Granger," he said to the empty air of his small parlour.

The next several weeks went by quickly. Hermione took the Tube to the nearest stop and then walked to Snape's house every day. She spent the mornings looking through his vast collection of books. It was very slow-going, but she tried not to get discouraged. More than four years of fruitless searching in the Ministry library had given her patience, if not satisfaction.

She saw Ron and Harry at least once a week. They would come to her house, usually with pizza and beer. (Harry had introduced Ron to this Muggle combination, and Ron had quickly made it his favourite food.)

She saw her parents at least a couple of times a month. Her mum still cried every time she saw Hermione. In a strange reversal of roles, it was usually Hermione who ended up comforting her mother, instead of the other way around. Her father had insisted that she forward his written apology to Professor Snape. She had, and in an even stranger turn of events, the two had begun a correspondence.

Snape had tried sending messages to Draco, but none of his inquiries were answered. No one seemed to know where Draco Malfoy was.

Because Draco had turned against his father in the last year of the war, he and his mother had become targets. The Dark Lord had put a price on Draco's head, and Lucius himself had promised a reward to any Death Eater who could return his 'wayward' son to face the punishment he deserved.

When Harry killed Voldemort just a few days after Lucius died, it was thought that Draco and Narcissa would be able to come out of hiding. An attempt on his life by his former friend Goyle had prompted Draco to resume his secret life. There were rumours that he and Narcissa were living as Muggles somewhere in America. Although the 'last' Death Eater had been captured three years after the Final Battle, Draco and Narcissa did not return to England.

Several weeks after he'd sent his last message, Snape was in his quarters, looking over some essays, when his Floo activated.

"Professor Snape," called a voice he hadn't heard since the night he'd been forced to kill Albus Dumbledore.

"Draco!" Snape exclaimed, getting to his feet and moving to the fire.

"Come through, Draco," Snape invited.

Draco shook his head. "No, I can't."

"I understand."

"I received your messages. I've been ignoring them."

"I surmised as much since they weren't returned."

"If they had come from anyone else, I would have continued to ignore them, but since I am in your debt, I owe you the courtesy of a reply."

"You owe me nothing, Draco," Snape said.

Draco smiled. "I won't debate that issue with you, sir. I know exactly what I owe you."

"How is your mother?" Snape asked.

"She is well. She asked me to tell you that she is grateful for your help."

Snape just nodded.

"I wish I could help you with your problem," Draco said, bringing the conversation back to the subject of Snape's inquiries.

"I didn't really expect you to know anything. It was a matter of not overlooking any possibility, no matter how slight."

"I hope that you'll be able to help whoever the victim is. If my father or Aunt Bellatrix was behind it, however, you've got a hard road in front of you."

"Indeed," Snape replied.

"I hope you will understand when I ask you not to try to contact me again," Draco said.

"Of course," Snape replied.

"Thank you, sir."

"Goodbye, Draco. Stay well."

"Goodbye."

Draco's head disappeared from the fire, and the emerald flames returned to their normal colour as the Floo connection closed.

Snape had only managed to make it into London three times in the weeks between the beginning of term and the Easter holidays. They had crammed as much research into their limited time as they could.

The Easter holidays had passed much as the Christmas holidays had, with one major difference. Snape still went to Hermione's home each morning and prepared breakfast for the two of them. Then they went to Spinner's End and did more research. After lunch, however, instead of more research or trips to Snape's lab, they worked on refreshing Hermione's Apparition skills.

Late in the afternoon, on the last day of the Easter holidays, Hermione was able to Apparate to Spinner's End on her own.

"No more Tube rides for me!" she exclaimed as she popped into Snape's small parlour just a few seconds after he did, although with a lot more noise.

"You've done well, Miss Granger," Snape said. "By the time next term ends, you may be able to Apparate all the way to Hogwarts on your own."

"Do you think so?"

"I do. You've kept your promise to me and have managed to bring your weight up to an acceptable level. I can sense that your magical energy is nearly at the level it was before your injury. I can't see any reason why you won't be able to do long-distance Apparition very soon."

"I'm sleeping much better, as well," Hermione said. "I limit myself to one cup of coffee in the morning. I drink milk with my lunch everyday, and I drink the tea blend you make for me in the afternoon and evening. Not having the stress of trying to hide my condition from my parents and from Harry and Ron has made a difference, as well," she added.

Snape didn't relish the idea of bringing up an unpleasant subject, but reality had to be faced.

"We've been through nearly half the books in my library," he said.

"I know."

"There is a very real possibility that we won't find out anything about what was done to you. Are you prepared for that?"

"I knew there wasn't much hope when I started. Even when I was searching at the Ministry, I think I knew that I'd never find anything. The search itself kept me going, though. If we don't find a counter-curse, I'll just have to accept that I'm going to look like this for the rest of my life.

"My ... my mother mentioned the possibility of plastic surgery."

"You would entrust yourself to a Muggle doctor?"

Hermione almost laughed at the horrified expression on Professor Snape's face.

"Only as a last resort. I don't even know if a Muggle doctor would be able to do anything with a magical injury. And how would I explain it? I'm not seriously considering it at this point, although I've told my mum I'll think about it. She's taken this really hard."

"I know. Your father has expressed some concerns about it. I don't suppose there is any harm in allowing your mother to believe you are considering the possibility of going to a Muggle doctor for help."

"I haven't given up on finding a magical solution," Hermione said.

"Nor have I," Snape assured her.

"Are you leaving in the morning to go back to Hogwarts?"

"I was actually going to leave this afternoon," he replied. "I have some reports to finish for Minerva."

"Oh."

Hermione tried not to let her disappointment show. She'd been looking forward to their last dinner together.

Snape watched Hermione's face fall as he told her he would be leaving that afternoon. It appeared she was truly disappointed that he wouldn't be staying for dinner. He realised that he didn't really want to leave sooner than he absolutely had to.

"I hardly think a few hours will make a difference. I can go after dinner just as easily as before."

"I wouldn't want to be the cause of Professor McGonagall being angry at you for shirking your duties," Hermione said in a tone that convinced Snape it was a token protest at best.

"I'm usually the first teacher to hand in my reports. I doubt she'll be angry with me for being a few hours late for the first time in my career," he said with a small smile.

"In that case, I'm glad you'll stay until after dinner."

"Now, the problem is that I hadn't planned anything for dinner," Snape said.

"We could always order a pizza," Hermione said.

"You can eat that slop with Potter and Weasley, if you've a mind to. I have much more discriminating tastes, Miss Granger."

"Of course you do, sir. How silly of me."

"Do you have evening attire?" he asked, eyeing her jeans and jumper with a critical eye.

"You mean like a dress?"

"I mean exactly like a dress," Snape said in his driest tone.

"Well, I have a basic black dress that my mum insisted I buy. I haven't worn it in while, but I'm sure it will still fit me."

"Then get yourself home and put it on. I'll call for you in an hour."

"We're ... we're going to go out for dinner?" Hermione asked in a shaky voice.

"Are you embarrassed to be seen with me, Miss Granger?"

"Truly, I was thinking it would be the other way around, Professor Snape," she replied in a quiet tone.

"I suppose I can understand why you might feel that way, but be assured that I would not be in the least bit 'embarrassed' to be seen with you under any circumstances. I don't want to make you the subject of other people's stares and whispers, however. If you would be more comfortable with a full glamour, rather than just the light one you've been using, I will understand – and I will Apparate us back and forth so that you can conserve your energy."

"Actually, I haven't been to a nice restaurant in years. I'm much stronger than I was a few months ago. I'm sure I could manage a full glamour for a few hours without exhausting myself."

"I'll take you home now so you can get ready. I'll come back for you in an hour. Is that sufficient time for your primping?"

"An hour will be more than sufficient, Professor. I don't primp."

Snape dropped an arm across her shoulder, and she wrapped her arms around his waist and closed her eyes.

When she opened her eyes, they were standing in her kitchen.

Snape stepped away from her.

"I'll be back in an hour."

"I'll be ready."

"And, Miss Granger? All women primp!"

Before she could reply, he was gone.

An hour later, Hermione was ... well, she was primping as she waited for Snape's knock. To her surprise, he rang the front doorbell rather than knocked at her back door as he usually did.

Hermione opened the door and very nearly gasped as she took in Snape's appearance. He was wearing a Muggle suit in a dark grey. With it, he wore a white linen shirt and a silk tie in a dark, navy blue. He had tied his hair back in a queue. Hermione decided he looked very distinguished.

"Your mother has excellent taste," Snape said as he took in the elegant black dress she wore.

The dress had a high neckline, long sleeves, and ended an inch above her knees. Her black leather pumps had three inch heels which brought the top of her head level with his shoulder. She wore a plain gold chain around her neck and a matching gold bracelet.

Snape noted that she had used a full glamour, but not an elaborate one. She had tamed her hair into waves that fell from a side part to cascade on either side of her face, effectively covering most of the ruined flesh. The glamour she had used on the parts of her face that did show hid the redness and most of the folds of flesh. She'd made judicious use of cosmetics. The result was that if one didn't know the damage was there, it was barely noticeable. He could sense that her magical energy still remained quite high.

"You've done an excellent job with your glamour, Miss Granger," he said.

"Thank you. I've been practising it. I guess I'm preparing myself for the likelihood that we will never find a counter-curse."

"I don't believe we should abandon our search just yet. However, I think that your attitude is a mature and realistic one.

"Now, have you finished your primping? I took the liberty of making reservations at one of the few decent French restaurants in London."

"I'm ready to go," she said as she picked up her evening wrap.

Snape took it from her and held it for her. As he dropped the wrap across her shoulders, she wrapped her arms around his waist and closed her eyes.

When she opened her eyes, they were standing on a quiet, cobbled alley not far from Charterhouse Square. She dropped her arms from his waist, but took the arm he offered.

After a short walk, they arrived at Le Café du Marché.

When Snape gave his name to the maitre d', they were whisked immediately inside to a small, candlelit table. Off in a corner a three-piece ensemble played, and a few couples danced on the small dance floor.

There were no menus; a blackboard listed the evening's offerings. Snape ordered for both of them in his impeccable French.

The food was superb, and the wines that Snape and the sommelier chose complemented each course perfectly.

They talked quietly as they ate, but avoided the subject of their research and the dimming hope that they would find a counter-curse.

Snape excused himself just after they ordered their dessert. As he headed back toward the table, he noticed Hermione watching the dancers and swaying slightly in her chair, her foot tapping in time to the music.

"Would you care to dance, Miss Granger?" he asked holding out a hand to her.

Hermione placed her hand in his and let him draw her to her feet. They moved toward the small dance floor, and she slipped into his arms.

"At the risk of incurring your wrath, may I say that I didn't know you could dance, Professor Snape," Hermione said, looking up at him.

"Do you think your class is the only one that Minerva McGonagall gave dance lessons to, Miss Granger?" he replied.

Hermione smiled and leaned into him, letting the music carry her along.

Snape wasn't sure how it happened. One minute they were dancing quite formally, one of his hands on Hermione's waist and the other holding her hand out in the classic waltz position while her other hand rested on his shoulder. The next thing he realised, her head was on his shoulder, and their arms were wrapped around one another. He could feel her breasts pressed against his chest and the slight roundness of her belly rubbing against his groin.

He stifled a groan and tried to shift his lower body away from hers as he felt himself begin to harden. Thankfully, she seemed unaware of the effect she was having on him.

He was absurdly grateful when their waiter gave a discreet cough and informed them that their dessert was ready to be served.

Snape nodded his thanks to the waiter and led Hermione back to their table.

After they'd been served their dessert, Snape tried to hurry their departure along as much as he could without being blatantly rude. He ignored Hermione's longing glances at the dance floor as she toyed with her Blanc mange. There was no way he was putting himself in that position again.

They'd barely materialised in Hermione's kitchen when Snape stepped back.

"I really need to go now, Miss Granger," he said in a tone that came out rather more harshly than he'd intended.

"Of course," Hermione replied. "Thank you for dinner – and for the dance. It was lovely."

Snape looked at her sharply, trying to discern any hidden meaning behind her words. She met his gaze guilelessly, and he could see that she'd meant exactly what she'd said. She hadn't realised that he'd become aroused by her closeness, a fact for which he was extremely grateful.

He merely nodded at her and then Disapparated without a sound.

Two weeks after he returned to Hogwarts, Snape was sitting at the High Table eating breakfast when the Owl Post arrived.

When Hedwig set down in front of him and stuck out her leg, he assumed that the missive was from Hermione. They had resumed their regular correspondence, keeping each other apprised of their research.

His name was scrawled on the outside of the parchment, but not in Hermione's neat script. He recognised Potter's handwriting and had a momentary fear that something had happened to Hermione.

He slid a nail under the wax seal and unrolled the parchment.

I've found some books that Remus left at Grimmauld Place. Most are about the Dark Arts. I don't know if they are books that you may already have copies of, but I thought you should take a look at them in case they have any information that may help.

Let me know when it's convenient for me to bring them to you.

I've instructed Hedwig to wait for your reply.

Harry Potter

Snape doubted that Remus Lupin had owned any books that he did not already possess, but he acknowledged that Potter was right in that he would need to look at them.

He fed Hedwig a piece of bacon from his plate and stroked the top of her head softly.

"I'll be right back with my reply," he told the owl and then took the note to the staff room to compose a reply.

After dinner, any night this week except Friday, will be convenient for me.

S. Snape

That same evening, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley walked into the Great Hall at Hogwarts just as dinner was ending. There were a number of whispers, and a lot of fingers pointing as the two of them made their way to the High Table. A very large box filled with books floated between them.

"Still making grand entrances, I see, Potter," Snape drawled.

"I thought you could use some cachet with your students, Professor," Harry said with a grin.

"Are you trying to impress me with your vocabulary?"

"Well, I could never impress you with my potions-making," Harry replied.

"At last, we agree on something," Snape said as he got to his feet.

Even the other teachers were staring as Snape came around the High Table to stand in front of Harry and Ron. The rest of the staff knew that there had never been anything but enmity between Severus Snape and Harry Potter.

Minerva McGonagall nervously fingered her wand, prepared to intervene should it prove necessary.

"Would you gentlemen care to bring that to my quarters?"

"Lead on," Ron said, speaking for the first time.

Snape turned and headed toward the staff exit. Harry and Ron followed him, waving at the other professors as they passed.

Harry and Ron followed Snape out the staff exit, down a long corridor, and then down a long staircase. They emerged not far from the Potions classroom. When Harry turned back to look the way they had come, the staircase was no longer there.

"I didn't think I'd ever seen that staircase before," Harry muttered.

"And were you not with me, you wouldn't have seen it now," Snape said.

"No wonder the students used to think you could walk through walls," Ron said. "You could."

Snape just smirked.

"I don't suppose I have to warn you gentlemen not to touch anything, do I?"

"We're not twelve anymore, you know," Harry said.

Snape stopped in front of a blank wall. He touched his wand to one of the bricks at shoulder level, and a door appeared. A moment later the door swung open.

"Hold a moment while I reset my wards," he said.

Harry and Ron stopped, the box still floating between them, and watched as Snape moved his wand in a complicated pattern.

"I'll be changing that once you two are safely gone," Snape warned.

"Like we could ever remember that," Ron muttered to Harry.

"Well, come on," Snape chided. "I don't want any of the students to see this."

"As if any of them would have the guts to come anywhere near this place if they didn't have to," Harry said as he and Ron entered Snape's quarters.

Harry took a surreptitious look around, surprised by the ordinariness of the room. While he'd never believed the rumours that Snape was a vampire and slept hanging upside down from a branch, he would have expected a bit more fanciness.

Ron was frankly goggling. He edged over to the large fireplace and the sofa and chairs that were arranged in front of it.

"Oy, black's in a lot of trouble," he said as he peered at the chess board which rested on one of the small tables near the chairs.

Snape raised a brow. "Oh, really, Weasley?"

"Oh, yeah. Another three or four moves and it'll be goners for you."

Snape closed his eyes and swallowed hard.

"Actually, I'm white in this particular game. Albus was playing black. I warned him two days before ... before he died that his king was in jeopardy."

"You've kept the game set up since he died?" Harry asked.

"Yes, I have. Do you find that peculiar?"

Harry looked at Snape, really looked at him as he never had before. And saw, for the first time, the burden that Snape still carried.

"I find it enlightening, Professor Snape," Harry said with a measure of respect his voice had never before carried.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter," Snape said quietly.

Harry just nodded.

"I suppose I should look through these now," Snape said.

He picked up the first book in the box. As he'd suspected, it was a title he already owned – and one he'd already gone through meticulously without finding the slightest reference to the Pulpa Adustum Curse.

The next three books were also books he already owned.

The next book he picked up had a dark green leather binding. There was no title on the cover or on the spine. He opened it, looked at the title page, and gasped aloud.

"What is it, Professor?" Harry asked.

"Do you know where Lupin got these books?"

"I know he had some of them when he was teaching here, back in my third year," Harry said. "He sometimes referred to them when he was giving me private Defence lessons. He mentioned to me once that Sirius had given him some of the books that were in the library at Grimmauld Place. Back before he was sent to Azkaban.

"After Remus left Hogwarts, he went and stayed with Sirius at Grimmauld Place. I found all of his personal belongings there. I ... I hadn't been in their room since Sirius died."

"Do you recall ever seeing this particular book?" Snape asked.

Harry moved closer to get a better look. Ron trailed after him.

"I don't think so. Why? Is it important?"

"The Dark Lord was obsessed with obtaining this book. There were rumours that there were only two surviving copies. He wanted at least one, preferably both of them, and he offered a boon to any Death Eater who could bring a copy to him. I know that Lucius Malfoy and Thaddeus Nott both spent a great deal of money searching for them."

"Do you think there's information in there that will help Hermione?" Ron asked.

"I don't know. I will have to look through it very carefully. It's written in Greek, and though I recognise some of the words, Greek is not a language I am fluent in. I will try using a Translation Spell on it, but it may have to be translated without magic the old-fashioned way – word by word."

Snape continued to sort through the books in the box. There were several more books that were extremely rare, and at least two that he'd only heard spoken about. They were so old that their very existence had passed into legend.

"Do you recognise any of these, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked as he indicated the books he'd put aside.

"I don't think so, sir," Harry answered.

Snape shook his head. "Remus Lupin wore old and patched robes, and when he arrived here, it seemed that he hadn't eaten in weeks. Yet, he possessed a library that contains several priceless volumes. Selling just one of these books would have earned him more Galleons than he probably earned during his entire lifetime."

"But, he wouldn't have sold them for anything," Harry said. "He wouldn't have wanted them to fall into the wrong hands. Besides, if Sirius gave them to him, they would have been even more special to him."

"The entire wizarding world can be grateful that Remus Lupin was a man of honour," Snape said. "I can only imagine the use the Dark Lord would have made of these books."

"If these books came out of the Black library, wouldn't Bellatrix and Narcissa have had access to them? They were Blacks," Harry said.

"They were your godfather's cousins, not his siblings. Grimmauld Place – and its contents – passed to Sirius Black as the eldest son. They may have visited the library, however, which may explain how Bellatrix learned of the Pulpa Adustum Curse."

"You think it's in one of these books, don't you?" Harry asked.

"If it's anywhere, it's in one of these books."

"We have to tell Hermione!" Ron exclaimed.

"No!" Snape and Harry shouted, almost in unison.

"Why not?" Ron demanded.

"We can't say anything until we know for sure, Ron," Harry said.

"Miss Granger has begun to come to terms with what has happened to her. It would be cruel in the extreme to give rise to false hope, Mr. Weasley," Snape explained.

"I guess you're right," Ron conceded. "I just want to help her."

"As do we all," Snape said. "I will begin working on these immediately, but it will take weeks, perhaps months, to get through them."

"You'll let us know as soon as you find out anything?" Harry asked. "We have a Floo connection in our flat. You can contact us there."

"Your flat has a fireplace?" Snape asked.

"It has an electric fire, but I've charmed it to accept Floo calls and messages. I can even use it to travel in a pinch, though it's a tight squeeze. Ron's too tall to use it," Harry said with a grin at his best friend.

"I'd rather be tall," Ron insisted. "Witches like their wizards tall. Isn't that right, Professor Snape?"

"I'm sure you'd know better than I, Mr. Weasley. My social interactions are rather limited here. However, I would guess that your status as a war hero is more a contributing factor to your success with the fairer sex than is your height."

"You're probably right," Ron agreed with a sigh. "The whole world knows Harry is engaged to Ginny, and he still has to beat them off with sticks."

Harry blushed. "Ron ..."

"As fascinating as this discussion is, perhaps I should begin looking through these books? I will contact you if I discover anything of importance," Snape said.

"We'll let you get started, then," Ron said.

Snape just nodded absently. He was sorting the books into piles, trying to decide which volume he should look into first.

"Professor?" Harry said.

There was no reply.

"Sir?" Harry said, more loudly.

"What is it, Potter?" Snape said, looking up from the book in his hand.

"How do we get out of here?"

Once he had escorted Potter and Weasley out of his quarters, Snape sat on the edge of the sofa. He pulled on a pair of white cotton gloves and carefully opened one of books. It was well after midnight before he closed the book and went to bed.

Snape spent every free moment carefully searching the books that had belonged to Remus Lupin.

The book written in Greek had, much to Snape's surprise, yielded itself readily to a translation spell. Unfortunately, however, it contained no information about the Pulpa Adustum Curse. It did contain information on other curses that would have given the Dark Lord much power. Snape could only be thankful, once again, that Remus Lupin had never been seduced, as he himself had been, to the side of the Dark Lord.

Several weeks passed. He and Hermione continued to exchange frequent letters, but they tended to be more impersonal than they had been before their dinner out. Snape had encouraged Hermione to write to Minerva and tell the Headmistress about the curse that had been cast on her by Bellatrix Lestrange.

Although it hadn't been easy, Hermione had done so. Minerva had been sympathetic, of course, and had offered the resources of the school to aid in the quest for a cure.

Snape was pleased that he no longer had to keep his work secret from Minerva. He knew that if they ever did discover the curse, they would need the resources that Minerva promised. It would be much better to have her working with them from the beginning.

Snape didn't return to London. He told Hermione that he was busy preparing his fifth-years for their O.W.L.s and his seventh-years for their N.E.W.T.s – and that was true. His research into Remus Lupin's books took up the rest of his time, though he didn't tell her that.

Neither of those things was the real reason he didn't return to London, however.

The truth, he reluctantly admitted to himself, was that he had begun thinking about Hermione in a way that was totally inappropriate.

Sex, for him, had always been a merely physical act. The body built up an excess of hormones, and one did what one had to do to achieve release. Muggle bars were always good for finding a temporary partner during school breaks. During term, he could usually sublimate his libido or, failing that, he could indulge in the occasional instance of self-gratification. After a day of trying to instil knowledge into a bunch of unenthusiastic dunderheads, he was usually too tired to think about his nonexistent sex life, anyway.

That had changed on the night he'd returned to Hogwarts, the night he and Hermione had danced.

After he'd left Hermione's, he'd Apparated home. He'd finished his packing and gone to bed thinking he would get up early to go back to school. After tossing and turning for more than an hour, he'd given up on trying to sleep. He'd got out of bed, dressed, and Apparated to Hogwarts.

He'd unpacked, finished the reports for Minerva, and then Flooed them to her office. He worked on some lesson plans for another hour or so. Finally, sheer exhaustion had driven him to his bed.

He'd fallen into a fitful sleep. He'd come half-awake in the early hours of the morning with his cock hard and aching from the vague memory of an erotic dream. He'd taken a hand to himself and brought himself over with only a few quick tugs. He'd fallen back asleep before he even remembered to cast a cleansing charm.

It was only after he'd woken a few hours later to find the dried semen on his sheets that he remembered the dream that had so stimulated him. He was appalled and disgusted with himself when he realised that the woman in his dream, the woman who had fuelled his sexual fantasy, was Hermione.

He resolved to never again allow erotic thoughts of Hermione to invade his mind. He worked until he was exhausted, and then he worked some more. He fell into bed each night determined to be too tired to masturbate, too tired to dream.

For the most part, he succeeded. Every once in a while, however, he would wake up with an erection that no amount of determination could diminish. When that happened, he would purposely conjure a fantasy about another woman – any other woman. He thought about the first girl he'd ever had sex with. It had been during his sixth-year. She'd been a seventh-year Ravenclaw with grey-green eyes and a mouth that had swallowed him whole. He thought about the last woman he'd enjoyed. She'd been a Muggle he'd picked up in a bar in London. She'd been blonde and a bit on the plump side. She'd straddled him, her large breasts bobbing in his face, and her hips driving furiously, as she'd ridden him to a shuddering climax that had left him limp and breathless.

But, it seemed that no matter who he chose to fantasise about when he could no longer ignore his persistent erection, the face that floated to the surface of his mind as he arched into climax was always Hermione's.