Surprise

A/N: Only three chapters left! Thanks to all of you who have stuck by me for so long, and thanks as well as to those just discovering this singular journey. This very long chapter is your present. Certain readers might recognize a subtle insertion from another fandom that involves a dark, ambiguous and disfigured man.

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Chapter 15

Surprise

--11:00–11:30pm, September 16, 1998--

"How, in Circe's name, did Muggles manage to fill several thousand pages with this... drivel?"

Hermione looked up, blinking with red-rimmed eyes. She was exhausted and close to a word coma. And unlike him, she didn't even remember a single excruciating detail of the past ten hours they had spent poring over the thick tomes from the British Library.

The books had been exhaustively technical. Thus far, they had gleaned some useful theories for the composition of the potion. They learned that the chemicals responsible for making a Polaroid photo bleed to life were encased in a capsule. The capsule was broken when it was squeezed through rollers and absorbed by the film.

Most of the chemicals involved were useless to their purpose. Halides ensured uniform saturation, and compounds were injected into the photo paper to prevent the colors from running. But they needed the actual chemical used to produce the time-delayed image... that also would not react violently with the other potions ingredients, particularly the unicorn blood...

"Quicksilver," Hermione said.

"What?" Snape said, standing up suddenly. The book in his lap fell to the floor with a brick-like thunk.

"Mercury. It's a key ingredient for film development. Toxic as well, but surely we can find a workaround. It's liquid at room temperature, but it is still solid metal at its elemental level. So with the right procedure, it can act as a 'container' for the restorative."

"Not to mention that it was frequently used to coat Muggle food containers to prevent spoilage," Snape added.

"How did you...?"

"My mother died of mercury poisoning," he said simply.

"I'm... I'm sorry."

He shrugged. "Don't be. She can finally fulfill her eternal desire to make her worthless, pathetic life have some meaning. Quicksilver is not a standard potions ingredient, but I still have some connections I can use to get us a good supply. I'll send Alvin."

"Is that his name?" Hermione inquired, as his black familiar flew down from the top of a bookshelf to land on Snape's shoulder. The raven cocked its head at her in a dead-on imitation of Snape-ish condescension.

"I have certainly told you so before," Snape said, frowning.

"Well, it seems that I forgot," Hermione snapped, suddenly angry. She turned back to the table and began picking up the heavy books from the floor. Somewhere behind her, she heard the flutter of wings as Alvin flew off on his errand.

Her skin tingled beneath the bracelet. Muttering a soft curse, Hermione removed the quill and began to write. Every word that she wrote seemed to mock her.

Choose us carefully, they jeered. In two minutes, we will be all you have.

Hermione made sure to write down the name of the stupid raven.

Thirty seconds before 11:30pm, she felt a soft tap on her shoulder.

"Miss Granger, I apologize. What I said was callous and unthinking."

She whirled to face him, disbelief etched into her face.

Snape smirked. "Surprised, Miss Granger?"

She nodded. Then she narrowed her eyes. "You don't intend to let me remember this, do you?"

"I do have a reputation to maintain, after all. And as it appears safe to do so at the moment, I will also admit that I was callous to make that remark about your teeth in your fourth year."

Hermione nearly smiled. "Then I also apologize... for setting your cloak on fire in first year."

His eyes went wide. "That was..."

A few seconds later, Hermione found herself laughing uproariously for reasons she could not remember. But she imagined that she would remember Snape's uncharacteristically warm smile forever.

--2:00–2:30pm, September 19, 1998--

"Miss Granger, what do you want?"

"Your volume of John Donne. I can't quite reach it."

Snape reached up to the top shelf and easily lifted it down before he continued, "I was referring to... your birthday, actually."

Hermione had to prevent her jaw from falling open. "How do you know that today's my birthday?" A dozen different explanations ran through her head, each more unlikely than the last.

"It was the date of the attack on Hogsmeade last year. You, Potter and Weasley appeared at the head of Dumbledore's army that night. You had a... tiara on your head proclaiming you to be the birthday princess. Needless to say, it was a memorable sight."

Ron had just placed that tiara on her head in the middle of her celebration in the common room. Hermione felt an ache in her chest as she remembered. Then the alarm had been raised. And Snape had been...

"I did not cause any deaths that night, Miss Granger," Snape said, once again appearing to read her thoughts. "But neither was I able to directly prevent any. I ask you to understand that."

"I do," she said softly. "I also understand now that it was you that distracted the Death Eaters by blowing up Quality Quidditch Supplies and giving our forces a chance to regroup. Not to mention incinerating most of the Inferi."

"I never liked that store anyway," he muttered.

"Neither did I."

Both of them smiled rather shakily at the other. Hermione fidgeted in the sudden silence in the living room. "You were asking what I wanted. Well, it wouldn't be something you could buy, it's something you could do. But I don't want to presume..."

Snape raised a brow. "Yes?"

In truth, she had intended to ask him this for days but had never found the right moment.

She felt the bracelet tingle against her skin.

At least, if she totally messed it up, she could ask again after 2:30pm. By then, she would have forgotten how embarrassed she was.

She cleared her throat. "Do you remember how I told you that I would have loved to be an opera singer?"

"You mean to say that you actually recorded that idiotic conversation?"

"Yes," she said. "The Paris Opera House happens to be hosting a production of Carmen tonight. My cross-country Apparition isn't too strong, and I was wondering if you could help me with that and maybe even perhaps... attend the performance with me?"

There, she had said it. She felt slightly queasy. She also felt odd that her plans for the night had not instinctively included Harry or Ron.

"I would be happy to."

"That's okay, I didn't..." Hermione stopped talking as her brain finally caught up with her babbling mouth. "You would?" she asked quietly.

He nodded, his gaze free of guile. "Miss Granger, it should not surprise you anymore to hear me say that I enjoy your company."

She smiled weakly. "It does surprise me. But I'm glad that you do. Be assured that the feeling is entirely mutual."

"What time shall I retrieve you from your flat?"

"The performance starts at 9, so 8:30?"

"I will be there," Snape said.

"Let me write that down." Hermione's smile expanded into a flat-out grin as she reached for her quill. She was so happy that she didn't even notice when the front door swung open into the sitting room.

"Severus? I must speak with you. I... oh. Oh dear."

For an eternal moment, Snape and Hermione froze in shocked terror as the tall figure of Lucius Malfoy appeared in the front doorway.

Hermione knew that she was not wearing her Glamour.

Then all three of them were on their feet, and both men had drawn their wands with a speed that made Hermione gasp. Before she could react, Snape's hand closed around her arm and jerked her roughly behind him, placing himself between her and Malfoy's wand.

Hermione felt light-headed. As the fear bubbled to the forefront of her mind, everything went black.

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--6:00–6:30pm, September 19, 1998--

Hermione observed Severus... Well, she might as well call him Severus now, surreptitiously. Had we become that close at some point, close enough to be considered colleagues?

She stabbed the rat spleen that she was currently draining perhaps a bit harder than necessary.

What could I know of becoming close anyway?

What was closeness other than a compendium of memories that, when examined, reminded you that there was much in common and much of value in another?

"Am I keeping you from something, Miss Granger?"

Hermione sheepishly looked away from the clock that she had been sneaking glances at for the past half hour.

"Well, Miss Granger?"

"It's my birthday today."

"I see. Well, I can confidently say that it will still be your birthday in one hour when you go home, whereupon you can celebrate to your silly heart's content."

"Actually," Hermione said, annoyed and nervous at the same time, "my silly heart was very much interested in the newest production of Carmen at the Paris Opera House. My cross-country Apparition isn't too strong, and I was wondering if you could help me with that and maybe even perhaps... attend the performance with me?"

She saw him pause, his glass stirring rod dangling loosely from his fingers. He actually seemed to consider it.

"Surely you jest," he said.

Hermione shrugged lightly. "It was just a thought," she said and turned away quickly before the tears could escape her eyes. She turned back to the asphodel root that she was grinding into powder. She picked up the pestle and put it down again.

"Is something the matter, Miss Granger?" Snape's said. She could almost feel his disembodied sneer smacking into her back.

"Yes," she snapped. "I've been here for too long. Have a good evening, Professor. I'm sure that you won't miss me until tomorrow."

Hermione grabbed her wand and was out the door before he could offer any protest. Her bracelet tingled against her wrist as she was stomping loudly down the stairs. She removed her quill from behind her ear without breaking her stride and proceeded to slash the air with the feather's tip. She made sure that "insufferable," "idiot," and "heartless" appeared in her account several times.

A sweep of her wand replaced her Glamour as she strode outside. The door slammed behind her, and, as she prepared to Apparate, she felt a prickling sensation on the back of her neck. Turning, she looked up and saw a gap in the curtains of the potions lab. Nothing was visible in the sliver of darkness, but she glared up at it for a few seconds before Disapparating.

--6:30–7:00pm, September 19, 1998--

Thirty seconds after reappearing in Cambridge, she reoriented herself as she was walking past Pembroke College.

Memories of the events of the past half hour saw her anger return. She turned and pushed open the door to Fitzbillies. She had a serious need for sugar, and the Chelsea buns in the window were too tempting not to resist.

Fifteen minutes later when she returned to her flat, Hermione's hands had stopped twitching, but the silly, sugary grin would not leave her face. The grin grew wider when she opened her door to find two owls perched outside on her window ledge. She recognized one of them as Hedwig.

Later, she realized that she shouldn't have torn open the letters with such excitement. There could have been only on reason they had sent owls and not come in person.

The letters had been short, albeit overflowing with excitement and well-wishes. They nevertheless were not addressed explicitly to her... There was too much risk that the owls might be intercepted.

They both conveyed regret that neither Harry nor Ron could be there for her birthday. Harry was in South America on a mysterious assignment that he was forbidden to discuss. Ron was a bit more talkative; his assignment had placed him in Romania, and he was spending his free time working with dragons with his fiancée and Charlie.

And everyone else believed Hermione Granger to be gone forever.

She had a good long cry, pausing only to record – forcing herself not to write unkind words about her friends – and reorient.

--7:00–7:30pm, September 19, 1998--

Which left her furious at Snape once more.

This was ridiculous. She certainly was not the first person to celebrate her 19th birthday alone. Her 18th birthday had provided enough excitement to last the rest of her life. That had been the day that Death Eaters had attacked Hogsmeade.

Tonight she would do something completely different. She was a girl after all, not just a witch, or a know-it-all, or a mental cripple limping through a suddenly much more dangerous world.

She waved her wand over her robes, replacing them with an outfit much more suitable to her intentions. She let down her hair as she strolled out the door. Her landlady did a double take as she walked past, and Hermione allowed herself a smile.

The club was called Ballare, but it was known to its clientele – made up almost exclusively of Cambridge students – as Cindy's. They played cheese: light-hearted tunes from the school days, boy band-heavy. The music put her at ease, as did the rich and ceaseless flow of Guinness from the tap.

When the first inebriated university boy stumbled into her, she grinned and danced close, not missing the way that his eyes rolled downwards to her chest appreciatively. His breath reeked of cheap wine, and his hands were clumsy. But it was a touch from a warm body, and it was a pleasant sensation to feel wanted.

The guy planted a slobbery kiss on her bare shoulder as the song came to an end. Hermione blew him a shameless kiss goodbye as she crossed to the other end of the floor.

She no longer needed to concern herself with her reputation. She would forget him in a few minutes.

--8:00–8:30pm, September 19, 1998--

Her mind didn't know how long she stayed there, but her body did. Slowly, she felt weariness in her limbs. The comforting neon fluorescents and the pulsing strobe lights began to grate her eyes. The female population of the club began to give her sidelong glares; she laughed heartily when she first noticed.

No one from her old world could have found her here. No one from her old world would have believed it if they had.

The next boy who approached her had apparently had much more to drink than she had consumed in her entire life. He was big, beefy and grinned a gap-toothed grin. Hermione's stomach twisted, and she fought the urge to retch.

He encircled her waist with only his forearms. "Oh, you're a fit bird for sure," he slurred.

She tried to pull away, but the world swam so much that she fell slack against the beefy arms. The fluorescent lights had darkened to night-drenched purples and blues, and the music was no longer light. Her heartbeat pounded in rhythm with the bass, and she felt the intruder's lips humming against her pulse as he kissed her neck. Hermione shuddered. The ogre misinterpreted her reaction.

She gasped as she felt his hips grind against hers, and her skin crawled as his hands wandered over her body.

"Stop..." she mumbled.

"Can't hear you, pet," he said lightly. "These are incredible knockers, by the way." He had one hand on the top curve of each breast, his thumbs brushing against the edge of her silk top that barely allowed her a modicum of modesty.

"The 'knockers,' as you so eloquently put it, belong to the lady, and I'm sure she would appreciate you keeping your filthy paws off of them."

Snape. Hermione was too relieved to feel mortified.

His intervention could not have been more perfect if he had planned everything in advance.

"Hey, this is a student club, old man."

Hermione groaned and waited for the explosion. It never came. Instead, after a few seconds, she felt the ogre's grip on her suddenly relax. She saw him stare straight ahead and then walk dazedly towards another group of girls.

She didn't even flinch when Snape's hand came to rest lightly on her shoulder. Instead, she muttered, "Imperio is an Unforgivable Curse, you know."

"I will be sure to keep that in mind next time," he clipped.

Hermione let herself be steered out of the club, groaning when she felt the bracelet tingle against her wrist. She fell against the rough stone of the side of the building as she reached for and missed the quill behind her ear.

"Let me..." Snape said, his hand moving forward.

Instinctively, white-hot panic cut through her inebriated haze like a sizzle of lightning. Her hand came up faster than she thought possible and seized Snape's wrist, squeezing hard enough to bruise.

"Don't. Ever. Touch. My. Quill."

She didn't realize that Snape had not wrenched his arm from her grip until her fingers began to ache. She released him at once and glanced nervously up at his face. With her shifting and sliding vision, she couldn't make out how furious he was.

Why did I react like that? It's not like he's ever attempted to take my quill before.

"I'm sor..."

"You're cold," he interrupted. "I will bring you your cloak and then return; I trust you will have reoriented yourself by then." Before Hermione could blink, he was gone. Without his presence, she realized just how cold the night had become. Her teeth chattered as she fumbled with her quill, transcribing what little she could remember of the past...she looked at her Muggle wristwatch...hour and a half.

--8:30–9:00pm, September 19, 1998--

She had just tucked the quill back behind her ear when she heard the crack of Snape's return. He handed her the promised cloak, and she took it from his hands with an acute sense of embarrassment. The cloak was made from thick black wool, and she felt warmer immediately. She was also reasonably sure that the garment belonged to him and not her.

Hermione looked up to see that Snape was handing her something else. It was a vial containing glowing sea foam-green liquid. "To bring you to your senses," he said shortly.

"Thank you," she muttered as she uncapped the vial and swallowed the contents. It tasted like iced peppermint. Almost immediately the heavy woolen feeling in her head lifted, and the nausea disappeared.

She handed the vial back to him, and silence fell. She heard the dull throb of music through the wall of Cindy's.

"How did you find me?" she asked.

He seemed to hesitate slightly. "I was passing through the area, and I heard several teenagers outside talking about a girl who had been working the entire club. They said she seemed to forget everyone after she met them. I figured that it could be no one else."

Hermione bit her lip. "Of course," she said. She wondered if she was sober enough now to Apparate back home with her last shred of dignity.

"I apologize," Snape said. "I should not have put it so crudely."

Snape... apologizing?

"I was, in fact, already looking for you, as I wanted to know if your invitation to the Opera still stood."

Hermione blinked. She was hearing things. "Are you certain that the Sober-Up Potion worked properly?"

She waited for his sneer and sarcastic retort. It never came; rather, he looked indulgently and...could it be?...expectantly, back at her.

"The offer still stands," she said at last, slowly, "if you truly wish to take it."

"I would be honored," Snape said. And then he held out his arm. After hesitating only a moment, she took it, managing not to flinch when he placed his other hand around her waist and drew her close. "Hold on," he said.

There was a split second of nothingness, then blackness exerting great pressure and colors rushing past her so fast that her eyes burned. Then the colors resolved themselves until only bronze and gold remained, and Hermione looked up at the majestic façade of the Opera Garnier bathed in the glow of the evening. Snape's hesitant voice snapped her out of her awed reverie.

"Ah... Miss Granger, you might want to transfigure something more, ah... appropriate."

Hermione looked down and blushed. With a wave of her wand, the leather mini-skirt and low-cut silken top were replaced with an elegant flowing burgundy dress. She took Snape's arm again and somehow managed not to die of embarrassment.

She also noticed that he was dressed in a well-cut suit and was, for once, without robes. Had he been wearing that when he had found her? Unsurprisingly, she didn't remember.

"Hmm," Snape said.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He lifted his wand. "May I?"

Hermione nodded hesitantly, and he waved his wand over her dress, garnishing the fabric with a scattering of tiny diamonds that twinkled and caught the light at various angles. It looked good.

"Er, thanks," she said. If this wasn't a date before, it sure as hell is now.

--9:00–9:30pm, September 19, 1998--

They passed through one of the front entrances, and people were milling about in the foyer before the Grand Staircase. Every man and woman was dressed to the nines, and she was glad for the jewels that Snape had added to her gown.

Distracted by the beauty of the building, she tripped at the top of the staircase. Snape's arm tightened around her waist to steady her. When had his arm moved there?

"Now, I believe that we are highly overdue in our box."

"B-box?"

He smirked again. "It is your birthday, after all." With that, they went up another flight of stairs and then all the way over to the left side of the auditorium. They finally reached a brown door with a circular window set into the very top. The box number appeared in gold-plated lettering right below.

Snape opened the door for her. "After you, my dear."

"Really, Severus, box 5? Take care, you might fool people into thinking that you're a romantic at heart."

"I'm shocked at your insinuation. This box was the most out-of-way place I could find that still afforded a comfortable view of the stage. The history was an added bonus. But if the Phantom of the Opera knows what's good for him, he'll stay out tonight."

They took their seats just as the lights began to dim.

"The opera lasts over two hours," Snape said. "Would you like me to fetch a copy of the libretto so that you remember what's happening?"

Hermione shook her head. "I know the whole thing by heart." She looked at him with bird-bright eyes, their slightly moist gleam visible in the rapidly fading light. "Thank you, Severus."

The next few hours were a whirl of sound and color. She did not record during the performance. That way, every half hour she felt once again the childlike glee of suddenly finding herself in a magical world of beauty.

She gave a rather unladylike growl when she realized that she had blanked out in the middle of the Toreador Song. She heard Snape chuckle next to her and was shocked to feel his hand settle over hers. It was not unpleasant, and she did not pull away.

Later, she came back to herself and was surprised to discover her hand resting in Severus', his thumb tracing circles upon the back of her palm.

He must have felt her stiffen because he moved his hand away. She reached for him and interlaced her fingers with his. They watched the rest of the performance in pleasant silence: Snape for the first time and Hermione for once out of many, immersed in the story of Carmen, the fiery gypsy whom men flocked to like flies and whom she unwittingly dragged down to their doom.

--11:30pm–12:00am, September 19, 1998--

Afterwards, Snape placed the cloak back over her shoulders, and they walked out of the Opera House, engaged in a lively debate over the opera.

"But I thought this was your favorite show."

"It is. That doesn't mean that I am enamored with the characters, though. Carmen in particular really needed to grow up."

Snape scoffed. "You put too much responsibility on her shoulders. It was Don José who chose to degenerate into an obsessed lunatic."

They were outside now. Hermione could see the congealed mist of her breath upon the air. There was silence between them, and she fought not to squirm in discomfort. He had not taken her hand again.

They turned into the alley where they had appeared after their cross-country Apparition and stopped.

"Well, thank you once again." Hermione stuck out her hand. Brilliant move, Hermione. Nostalgic for junior school dates?

Her breath caught as Snape stepped forward to take her hand and then folded her arm in his once again. "Nonsense," he said. "I will see you safely home first."

"Oh... okay. Thank you."

She saw him concentrate and then after a familiar gut-twisting sensation, they were standing on the path before her building. She slipped her arm from his and stepped back awkwardly.

"Well... thank you." Thank you, thank you. Now you're a broken record as well as an idiot. "I had a wonderful time, and I really appreciate..."

"May I kiss you, Hermione?"

"Hnnrh..." she eloquently replied.

He offered her no reprieve, continuing to look at her expectantly as she wrestled with her tongue that seemed to have ceased functioning.

There wasn't merely expectance in his gaze. His black eyes held something else that she was sure she had never seen before. She had hoped, of course... but had never earnestly believed in its possibility.

She still had not answered when he reached forward to touch her cheek. The feather-light pressure from his callused fingers raised goosebumps along her jawline.

"Yes," she whispered.

His hand slid further up her face, his fingers caressing the outer edge of her ear before burying themselves in her Glamour's straight black hair. She felt the breath of his sigh against her cheek as he bent his head and gently touched his lips to hers. His lips were thin and warm as they brushed against hers once, twice... chastely... maddeningly.

He pulled away slightly after the second kiss but kept his head close, his warm breath fanning her cheeks, tinged with the sharp, aromatic scent of Firewhiskey.

Had he been drinking before he found me in Cindy's?

Hermione shivered uncontrollably and then opened her eyes, only to find him looking back at her.

Severus' hand was touching her cheek, his face moving towards hers, her wide eyes and diamond-dusted dress reflected in his pupils...

His head was so close that his eyes had merged into one. To her brain, which was currently running at a hundred miles per second, this seemed like the funniest thing in the world. She began to giggle. As the sounds escaped through her nose, Snape raised his eyebrows, making his giant Cyclops-eye bounce up and down, and she almost lost it. Instead of bursting out laughing, she lifted her hands to the back of his neck and pulled him into a harder kiss.

His other hand came down to cup her other cheek as he tilted her head backwards and returned her kiss. Hermione felt his chest bow inwards as he inhaled like the bellows of a great instrument. She opened her mouth instinctively under his to catch his breath upon his exhale.

She allowed herself to despair for a moment that this was happening to her Glamour, not her. There was something about this that felt so right, so familiar.

The bellows of his chest rumbled in its lower register against her breast, and his tongue darted out briefly to touch hers. Then she felt cold air hit her face as he drew back, pausing to brush a strand of her hair from her face.

"Oh, Hermione," he murmured. "I wish that you could see yourself right now. You look as if the stars themselves were shining from your eyes."

Her mouth opened and closed. Her hand crept forward, hesitated, and then laid itself against his cheek. Who would have ever believed that such a harsh, forbidding man could have skin so warm?

"What is this? Severus Snape does not wax romantic." Her voice trembled.

The aforementioned unromantic man turned his face into her hand, sending tingles up her spine as he kissed her palm. Her hand crept further along his face until it reached the hinge of his jaw. The joint bulged under her fingers as he clenched his teeth together.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, her tongue oddly heavy in her mouth. "Severus..."

Frustratingly, blessedly, the bracelet sent a jolt through her skin then, and she flinched. The panic of time running out descended upon her, effectively suffocating the moment, and she dropped her hand. With a sigh, she reached up to her ear for her quill.

She gasped when his hand shot out and closed around her wrist. Her eyes narrowed as she tugged ineffectively against his hand. She looked up; his gaze was hard and unyielding and, she noted with some shock, filled with something akin to despair.

They stared at each other for an eternal moment. Then Snape released her wrist, and she felt a blast of chilly air where his fingers had once been. She saw him take a step back, and then another.

"Write what you must," he said. "Happy birthday, Hermione."

And then he Disapparated, leaving a very confused Hermione behind.

She waffled over what she would record for half of her remaining seconds.

Severus took me to the Opera and kissed me good night. And I liked it. A lot. Then he buggered off like he had a werewolf after him. I swear I will never understand that man.

---

A/N: This is it! The storylines have finally converged to the same day. Egads, what did Hermione forget between 2:30 and 6:00pm? Please don't kill me for the cliffhanger in the first half. Yet. And just to clarify, this Lucius encounter happens chronologically before Hermione's meeting of him in chapter 13... but she had her Glamour on in the Magical Menagerie.

For your reference, the major mysteries remaining to be solved are:

1) Why did Snape seem so adamant and/or act like he was forced to die in the "beginning"?

2) What the hell happened to make Hermione lose her memories and how was Snape involved?

3) Who is Snape's potions supplier?

4) Why, in the second half, does Snape always seem reluctant or disgusted with himself as he and Hermione grow closer?

Next chapter: What did Lucius want? The longest half hour of Hermione's life begins.