Seven

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 7

The strategy over the next week was in fact very simple: do nothing. Professor Snape was to behave as usual, with the exception of 'forgetting' his teaching robes from time to time when not actually on duty. Hermione was to keep a sharp eye on any reactions to his improved appearance. They met to assess the situation the following Saturday evening.

"Sorry I'm late, sir," she said when he admitted her to his living room. "I had to mop up a couple of first years who'd had their pictures of Neville confiscated."

"First years?"

"Eleven can be a very hormonal age," she said, a little defensively.

"Apparently, so can fifty-six," he responded. She sniggered when he told her about the portfolio of photographs which was building up in the staff room.

Snape made tea while Hermione cleared a space for herself on the sofa and dropped her bag down next to it.

"So – have I made any progress amongst Hogwarts' women-folk?" he inquired, sitting down with her.

"Well, I've definitely seen a few glances going your way – puzzled expressions, as though there's something different, but no-one can work out what – that sort of thing."

"Who?" he demanded.

"A few of the older girls, and probably Madam Hooch."

He shuddered.

"I suppose it is what I'm after. What's the next stage?"

"Well, I've been giving it a bit of thought, and it seems to me that what we really ought to be doing is emphasising the contrasts between you and Neville."

"That shouldn't be too hard," he interjected.

"Quite," she said, a little impatiently. "Look – Neville's basically Mr Nice Guy, young, innocent-looking, fresh-faced..."

"Don't go out of your way to make me feel good about myself, Miss Granger."

"...whereas you do Tall, Dark and Dangerous without even trying."

His expression went cold at what he felt was too close a reference to why everyone hated him in the first place.

"No, sir, don't take offence – it's really something that many women find devastatingly attractive. Think Heathcliff, Mr Rochester, James Bond and so on. You just have to convince them it's what they've been seeing all along."

"And how, exactly, am I to take the next step along what I have to say is a most unclear path?"

"Well, you know how everyone got even more hysterical about Neville after he cursed those stupid girls? Neville showed them that he had something more to him than just niceness, gave them a pleasant little frisson of fear. You've got to do the same thing in reverse!"

"What – Severus Snape, teddy bear extraordinaire?"

He could add new savagery to sarcasm before waking up in the morning, thought Hermione before bravely suggesting the next step she had planned.

"I thought you might try a well-chosen smile on occasion..."

"I do not smile, Miss Granger."

"Precisely. Just think of the effect it would have."

"Heart-attacks all round and an immediate call to St Mungo's to have me carted off to the bed next to Lockhart's, probably. Do be realistic, girl."

She bristled.

"I'm not talking about a great big cheesy grin! And don't call me 'girl' or we can forget about this straight away. I will not be dismissed or treated with contempt!" Hermione was suddenly very, very angry. She stood up and turned to leave, but Snape's voice stopped her. He was surprised that his prickly attitude had got under her skin to such an extent – as indeed was she.

"Miss Granger, excuse me. I am not accustomed to being treated with the kind of... informality... this situation has produced between us. Nor is it easy for me to accept your help graciously. Sit down," he added with asperity.

She sat, mollified by what amounted to a lavish apology.

"You must understand, though," he continued, "that a smile from me would stop the whole school in its tracks. As a next step in a subtle campaign, it leaves a lot to be desired – you are too Gryffindor in your approach." He didn't add that he had probably forgotten how, in any case. "If you want us to continue keeping any costume changes in our hand for the moment, then I will concede a little softening of my manner very occasionally. Will that do?"

"Just don't make it so subtle that no-one can detect it," she groused into her mug of tea.

They were quiet for a little while. Snape was unused to having company in his quarters – Dumbledore had been an occasional visitor, but there had always been an element of coercion in their relationship which had kept his visits to the business in hand; any socialising had been a veneer, unwanted on Snape's part at least. But here he was having tea with someone who had come not to use him but to help him and, moreover, whose presence was neither a burden to him nor a reminder of past mistakes. He felt the urge to reciprocate her interest.

"Why have you brought your book bag, Miss Granger? Something you wanted help with?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." She was glad he had broken the silence. "There's something in this book about the mechanisms involved in the maturation of Veritaserum which I couldn't quite get my head round."

"I'm not surprised – this is a Master level text! Where did you get this?"

"Harry gave it to me for my birthday this week. He knew I was interested in having it." She sighed a little.

"Why so gloomy?"

"Oh, it's not gloom, really. It's just that it would be nice once in a while to get something other than books and such like as presents, something pretty. Even Ron sometimes forgets that I'm a girl as well as a brain. Never mind. Tell me what it is I'm not understanding here."

Snape filed away that interesting piece of information. Weasley, her boyfriend, forgot she was a girl? Well, then.

During the next few weeks, the Headmistress became aware that two of her charges, perhaps the two who concerned her most in all the school, were behaving atypically. It wasn't anything very serious, but it was sufficient to cause her some disquiet.

Firstly, there was Severus Snape. He had returned to the school at her behest, only to have to don a carapace as tough as the one he'd used to protect himself during the war. She had hoped that the revelation of the true story of his activities would soften people's attitude towards him, but in this she had been sorely mistaken. For the first part of the term, she found herself fearing that she would go down to breakfast one day to find the school without a Potions master. Lately, however, he had seemed more relaxed. He had not gone so far as to be friendly with anyone, exactly, but from time to time he was to be seen without the intimidating bat-wing robes, and in the staff room, at least, he had unbent enough to exchange a little civilised conversation with the other teachers. Accustomed to being treated with disdain at the very least, they were bowled over by such neutral pleasantries as "Good morning". At staff meetings he refrained from ridiculing every single proposition put forward, and McGonagall herself had been witness to one occasion when he had not taken house points from a group of silly girls giggling over one of Creevey's photographs. It was all very odd. She felt it would be nice to be able to take Severus' efforts at face value, but on the other hand she couldn't help feeling he was either ill or working to a hidden agenda. Why else would he wash his hair?

And secondly, there was Hermione Granger. Her behaviour was of less concern since she was young and finally taking the opportunity to behave according to her age. Nevertheless, it was out of character for Hermione to turn in essays not three times the required length, and not to spend every waking moment with her nose in a book. Her work was never to be faulted; indeed, her essays gained focus from restraint and her practical spell work was flawless, but still... Professor McGonagall knew she should be glad that Hermione could find it in herself to spend an hour just sitting by the lake, or playing cards with her friends, or even taking her courage in both hands and learning to fly (now that was a real eye-opener), but she wondered whether Hermione was not being too deliberate about enjoying freedom and her final year as a schoolgirl. This was a war veteran and a hero, a young woman, not a child, and there were things, the Headmistress sensed, that Hermione was refusing to face. She resolved to keep a sharp eye out for her favourite pupil.

She was unaware of what she might well have considered the unholy pact between the two objects of her concern.

Snape and Hermione began by meeting once a week to assess his progress in seducing the school away from Neville-worship. They soon progressed to twice-weekly meetings where the ostensible reason for their conversations was generally swiftly dealt with and then they passed on to other, more interesting topics. Hermione grew to think of Snape's living room as a haven of quiet and good company; he just looked forward to the time spent with her. Neither chose to analyse it any further. It was a gift they both simply accepted. When she returned white and shaky from a flying lesson, she knew she would find a cup of tea and a good discussion with her professor to bring her back down to earth; he enjoyed being the one she turned to for intellectual stimulation or even, sometimes, silent companionship over books in front of the fire. One end of the sofa rapidly became her own.

Of course, there were milestones in the fresh start each had undertaken. Such as the day that Professor Vector offered Snape a cup of coffee in the staff room (at Hermione's suggestion, he refused all initial approaches – why seem eager?). Or the day that Hermione Granger made history.

Two weeks before Halloween, on the Wednesday morning, the seventh years had Potions. They were working on individual projects involving moonstone, all appropriately complex at their level of alleged (Snape would say) expertise. Just before the end of the lesson, the unthinkable happened. Hermione's potion, which should have been a clear green with silver tones, suddenly turned into an ugly, congealed grey mass. Several last bubbles forced their way grudgingly to the surface with a loud farting sound before, with a prolonged sigh, the entire cauldron collapsed. The mess was incredible. Hermione's face sank into her hands and her shoulders began to shake convulsively. Everybody went absolutely still and the room was silent but for the muffled choking noises coming from Hermione. Snape shook himself.

"So finally the Gryffindor know-it-all proves that she doesn't," he remembered to sneer. "Miss Granger! Control yourself and then clear up your mess. You will stay behind and account to me for this negligence. Everyone else – stop gawking. Place your cauldrons under stasis and get out. Now!"

Hermione, her face still covered, used one hand to wave her wand feebly in the direction of her cauldron.

"Ev... evane... eva...," she gulped in a muffled voice, trying to Vanish her work. Harry and Ron were worried sick for her, she was so evidently beside herself, and they lingered, unwilling to entrust her to Snape.

"OUT!" he bellowed again. He too was concerned. "Come, Miss Granger," he said impatiently, "one failure in all your career at Hogwarts cannot justify such a loss of control. For Merlin's sake, pull yourself together!"

This produced no reaction apart from another vague wave of the wand, which he ducked. He grabbed her wand arm and then took her other wrist, gently pulling her hand away from her face. There were tears streaming down her face – tears of....

Hermione Granger was incoherent with laughter.

Snape was completely taken aback, which made Hermione laugh so hard she could barely stand. It took another ten minutes and a dose of Calming Draught before she could even begin to speak.

"I have always, always, always wanted to do that!" she gasped. "Oh, your face! Oh God, oh it's priceless! Oh, oh, and all of them...! It's too rich! Sorry! Sorry! Oh, God! I actually melted a cauldron!" And she was off again.

In fact, Hermione Granger made history twice that day. Those who lingered outside the heavy dungeon door, hoping to overhear what happened inside, could have sworn they heard Professor Snape, of all people, bellow with mirth.

The school gossiped, of course, but as Snape showed no further signs of behaving out of character and Hermione complained long and bitterly about having to serve a double detention with him in order to get her Potions project back on track, thus missing half a day of the next Hogsmeade visit, the talk died a natural death. Neville resumed centre stage, much against his will, and the school turned its attention to the upcoming Halloween festivities. The older girls were particularly anxious to secure fantastic gowns for the ball, all eager to persuade Neville into a dance. The Potions master and his accomplice kept a close eye on the situation. Both were a little surprised that Neville had so far resisted all attacks on his virtue, but they put it down to natural diffidence. Hermione insisted on pushing forward Snape's campaign a little faster, and was able to report with satisfaction that the sixth-year girls had been discussing his hands and arms very favourably after seeing him rolling his sleeves down when they entered the Potions classroom; one had gone as far as to wonder what it would be like to be touched by those dexterous fingers. Granted, the general reaction had been "Ew!" but, as Hermione hastened to reassure him, "It shows that people are starting to think of you in that way – the next bit is simple: turn opinion around!"

"Very simple, Miss Granger," was the sardonic response.

But two days later, she spent a happy half hour in the dormitory with Lavender and Parvati speculating whether Professor Snape planned to dance at the Halloween ball – half an hour during which Neville didn't get a mention.

"You do know how to dance, don't you sir?"

"Believe me, Miss Granger, one cannot spend years associating with Lucius Malfoy and the rest of the so-called elite without acquiring at least a few social graces."