Two

A Fresh Start

by richardgloucester

Summary:Neville, Snape and Hermione return to Hogwarts after the summer. Some things have changed in the post-Voldemort world – how do they cope? (Response to prompt 12 on the Potter Place Fall Challenge Prompt List.)

A/N: Huge, enormous, massive thanks and homage to Subversa for her tireless encouragement and meticulous beta-reading.

Chapter 2

The Gryffindor common room was crowded and noisy. Sunday breakfast was over, and many students had drifted back before deciding what to do with the day, and who with. Hermione climbed in through the portrait hole behind the two boys, and took note of who was there. Ginny had leapt up and thrown herself into Harry's arms as though she hadn't seen him only a couple of days previously; Ron had drifted over to Seamus and Dean. Everything seemed refreshingly normal, right down to the worn old carpets and squashy armchairs, except for the unusual concentration of girls of all ages over at one side, beyond the fireplace. They shifted a little as what seemed to be a minor deity rose from their midst and hurried towards Hermione; she blinked and experienced a paradigm shift – the demigod was, of all people, Neville Longbottom. She gaped at him, then recovered when she saw that his expression, a little desperate and certainly desperately relieved to see her, revealed the same warm, shy Neville soul.

"Hermione!" he gasped, "it's wonderful to see you! How was your summer?" He dragged her over to a window seat – a two-person window seat – and sat down, placing her between the rest of the room and himself. She, being a normal girl in many ways, preened at the looks she was getting from various quarters. From the corner of her eye, she saw that Ron appeared to be bristling at Neville's move. Certainly he had gone red in the face and then very pale, seeing them together, but then it might buck up his ideas a bit if he saw her being propositioned by what was surely the most beautiful young man in creation.

She shrugged and turned her attention to Neville, who was asking her about her summer. She had been to see her parents in Australia, discovered they were happier than they had ever been in England, and had travelled around with them before returning to England with a clean conscience about uprooting their lives. She was just describing a boat trip to the Great Barrier Reef when Neville, who was clearly not listening, interrupted her.

"Hermione, you're a girl," (here we go again, she thought), "can you tell me why all the girls are acting so strangely towards me? They won't leave me alone, and most of them keep giggling." He sounded rather panicked. True, this would be a novel situation for a boy who had always been the dumpy tag-along, but she could see he was going to have to learn to deal with it, and fast.

"Well," she began carefully, "you seem to have changed a little bit lately, Neville."

"I know I'm taller," he butted in, "but..."

"It's not just that. You've become..." she wondered how to put it without embarrassing him: drop dead gorgeous? Utterly droolworthy? Sex on a stick? "Er – rather attractive," she said, weakly.

Neville looked doubtful.

"Aren't I pretty much the same as always?"

"I'm sure you're just as nice as you ever were, Neville, but you have to remember that you've been through a war: you've been a hero, and it shows." She paused again. "You're going to have to learn to deal with a certain amount of fandom." Better he should think he was being pursued because of what he'd done rather than for his physique; he'd find out the truth eventually, but this way might be easier. Some of the girls were beginning to drift closer, and Neville started to fidget.

"I'm going to the greenhouses," he whispered to her, and bolted.

Parvati was just climbing in through the portrait hole with a note for Hermione from the Headmistress in her hand. She managed to brush against Neville as he left and looked extraordinarily smug about it as she handed over the letter. Patil: one; rest of the House: nil, thought Hermione, signalling to Ron when she read that McGonagall wanted them.

Professor McGonagall had clearly gone to some effort to make the Head's office her own, despite the twinkling presence of Albus Dumbledore in the large portrait behind the desk. The furnishings were austere but comfortable, the colours soft and warm. A fine china tea service took pride of place on a rosewood table near the large window overlooking the grounds. The Headmistress rose from behind her desk when they knocked and went in.

"Ah, there you are," she observed. "And how do you find the school on your first day back?" She seemed ill-at-ease as she led them towards the tea table and motioned them to sit. "Tea?"

They made small talk about the ongoing repairs and the opportunity they provided to improve some of the amenities, but soon enough McGonagall got down to business.

"I wanted to talk to you about your position as prefects," she began.

"Oh, we're quite prepared to resume our duties, Professor," said Hermione. "Aren't we, Ron?"

Ron looked non-committal.

"Yes, well," said the Headmistress, "that's just it, you see. I felt that, given your prolonged absence from the school, and your slightly special status as war heroes and not least as fully adult witch and wizard..." She seemed to lose courage but then continued, looking apologetically at Hermione, "I felt that it would be better to give the duties to other students, those who could do with a taste of responsibility now they are approaching the end of their schooling."

There was a short silence and then, unusually, Ron spoke for both of them.

"That's fine, Professor. We understand." He was evidently quite pleased.

Minerva turned concerned eyes on Hermione, who hadn't reacted at all.

"And I'm afraid we've offered Susan Bones the position of Head Girl. We thought that after all you have been through, you might appreciate a little more freedom to enjoy your final year."

"Hermione?" said Ron, when she still didn't show any response to the news.

She blinked.

"It's just – not what I was expecting, that's all." A deep breath. "Susan will make an excellent Head Girl, I'm sure. And I think – I think I may actually enjoy stepping off the path I had mapped out for myself. No – really!" She suddenly smiled brightly. "It's like beginning all over again! It's okay, Professor, in fact it's perfectly okay. I'm going to enjoy this year!"

Professor McGonagall was filled with a sudden presentiment that she might not have done the right thing.

Hermione could have sworn that the portrait of Dumbledore winked at her as they left the office, but she was rather too preoccupied to care. Ron shot her a couple of concerned glances, troubled by her unusual silence, but waited until they had passed the gargoyle again before broaching the subject.

"Are you sure you're okay about all this? I know you were expecting to be Head Girl and all...." He tailed off. He didn't really know how to express sympathy for her disappointment since his mind was filled with relief that he was no longer expected to act the responsible adult all the time.

"It's fine, Ron, honestly." Hermione's mind was turning over the words she had exchanged with Professor Snape that very morning: a fresh start. Here was her perfect opportunity to change a lot of things that needed changing. She looked up at Ron and experienced a sort of epiphany. "Ron, why don't you just come out and admit that you're gay? No one's going to mind," she blurted.

Ron choked, turned red and stopped in his tracks.

"Gay...?" he gasped once he had partially recovered the power of speech. He dragged her into an alcove. "What do you mean?" He sounded panicked. Then, at the knowing look in her sympathetic brown eyes, he deflated. "How did you know?"

Hermione smiled reassuringly.

"It's obvious now I come to think about it. I should have realised ages ago. But this morning, when you looked at me and Neville like that, it wasn't me that made you go all red, was it? The way Neville looks now just kind of hit you smack in the face, didn't it? And it's not just that," she continued, silencing him, "it's all sorts of little things, really. You don't touch me very much – never have, really – and you've never been all that pushy about wanting to sleep with me. You don't really look at girls in general, now I think about it. Lavender was something of an experiment for you, and I'm just camouflage."

"When you put it like that, I feel ashamed," he admitted, not meeting her eyes. "I'm sorry..."

"Don't be, Ron. We're too much friends for that kind of rubbish. And I know how hard it must be under the weight of your mother's expectations. But just think about it, Ron!" Her eyes sparkled. "Now really is the time to make a fresh start – so much has changed; we've been through so much, it would be a shame to go on living with the same old issues and pretences. Go for it, I say."

"What will Harry think?" said Ron, miserably.

"Harry's a big boy – he'll cope. After all, you've shared sleeping quarters for the past seven years and you haven't ripped his clothes off him yet, so why should you start now? Just because you're gay doesn't mean you fancy every man who crosses your path. I don't, so why should you? Cheer up, Ron. Go and find someone to play Quidditch with – I've got some thinking to do."

"Find you in the library later, then?"

"No, I don't think so. I rather believe I'm going to find some time in my life for other things than just books."

Whereas the first week of term passed rather quickly for the Golden Trio, getting into the swing of a simple, protected and stress-free existence, time crawled by for Severus Snape. He functioned on autopilot, teaching the same lessons he'd taught for years, making the same cutting remarks, docking points unnecessarily – but none of it had much savour. True, he was employed, housed, safe, but he was also bored, bored, bored. He had no one to talk to and couldn't conjure much enthusiasm for any new research projects that might distract him. When he looked around him in class or in the Great Hall at meal times, those eyes that met his were filled with anything ranging from fear through to distrust and dislike; only Minerva was friendly towards him, but she had little time available for him outside her duties. There was only one other face that seemed to hold any warmth – that of Hermione Granger, but he had had no opportunity to speak to her outside classes, and she didn't seek him out. She wasn't in the places where he might have expected to find her (not that he was desperate enough to go looking, oh no), such as the library, and he didn't know where else she would be except in the Gryffindor tower. "A fresh start" was much easier said than done under these circumstances. In all, he reflected, he had felt less miserable, less alone, and considerably more entertained in the middle of an Irish bog.

However, as the second week of term wore on, Snape came out of his shell sufficiently to notice that something unusual was happening amongst the students. From time to time, he would come across young females rushing in herds down corridors, giggling, and evidently in pursuit of something, though as he himself was generally on the way to somewhere else when this happened, he didn't have the opportunity to investigate and wasn't sufficiently interested to do more than snarl a few choice comments about blocking the passageways. Then at mealtimes, he noticed a great deal of whispering and giggling, again among the female contingent, and seemingly directed towards the place at the Gryffindor table where most of the seventh-years sat. To his consternation, even some of his colleagues seemed to be mesmerised by the final year students. For the life of him, he couldn't see why, though the mildly speculative look directed at him by Miss Granger made him wonder whether there was some sort of plot hatching. By the look of it, it could be mischief on a Weasley scale. But then, towards the end of the week, when he was forced to break up a fist-fight between two second-year girls, he had his first precise indication of the root of the trouble. The source of the dispute was a photograph of Neville Longbottom, stripped to the waist, digging in the school vegetable garden.

Neville Longbottom?! Admittedly, the boy had improved in looks and address, but to set half Hogwarts by the ears? Snape confiscated the picture, docked twenty points each from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, and went in search of Dennis Creevey, who had apparently stepped into his older brother's shoes and was making a fortune from paparazzi-style photos of the unfortunate Longbottom.

It was short work to extract Creevey from the Charms classroom and question him about the extent of the hormonal madness gripping the school. Apparently, original photos were going for as much as a Galleon each (for the half-naked, sweaty shots), and Dennis didn't know the re-sale value. He didn't much care, as he had already sold upwards of two hundred, and the market was still expanding. Snape made some rather pointed remarks on the subject of invasions of privacy, took some points, awarded a week's worth of detentions, and ordered Dennis to cease his activities, though he hadn't much hope of being obeyed, given that the boy had obviously discovered a vocation. Longbottom, thought Snape. Why on earth had the world gone mad for Longbottom? It beggared belief.

The following day, Saturday, his question went some way towards finding an answer.