Deduction

Chapter Two: Deduction

"So, wait, tell me again! Ginny said she'd bring what to dinner next month?" Harry asked, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

Hermione laughed, remembering Ginny's boast in the letter she'd received that morning about Giselle Fournier, the French pastry chef her friend had recently hooked up with. "She said she'd bring a gorgeous tart made by a gorgeous..."

"Oh, Merlin, Hermione, don't repeat it!" Ron interjected, giving his friends a long-suffering look. "I'm happy for Ginny, but I just can't take hearing details about her love life."

"Ron Weasley," Hermione teased, "who'd expect that you, of all people, would be squeamish about sex." Ron looked chagrined. "I won't say anything more. Just don't expect Ginny to be so reserved next month."

Ron's face grew redder, and he began spluttering.

"You know, Hermione, your new Muggle research position sounds really interesting," Luna said just a little too loudly, hoping to prevent Ron from getting even more worked up. "Tell me more about it, won't you?"

"Absolutely. I'd better spare these other three, though, and talk about it with you over the weekend. After all, we can't have Ron falling asleep at the table before pudding."

"Oi! I wouldn't fall asleep! I might... tune out a bit... but falling asleep would be just rude, and I wouldn't do that to one of my best friends... anymore."

Harry, Hermione, Neville, and Luna giggled into their food.

Harry stopped laughing long enough to say, "Then tell us about the snake research, Hermione. You said there were some articles you found."

"Erm, yeah. We'd better talk about it another time, though, Harry. Ron's never going to be able to eat his pasta if I start talking about snakes." This set off another round of giggles.

"Hey! Is this 'pick on Ron' night? Besides, I feel fine about snakes. Now, if Hermione's research was about worms..."

Ron's fake indignation did its work, setting the group to laughter again. Hermione had renounced talking about her work during group dinners, and Ron had agreed to be her co-conspirator. He eagerly took up the job of interrupting any work-related questions that came up. She appreciated his willingness to keep up the image of himself as an adolescent slacker. Of course, Ron obliged quite happily, eager as ever to avoid conversation on anything even remotely related to academia. Meanwhile, Hermione reveled in the light-hearted conversation while preserving her image as "the serious one."

"This is a great dinner, Harry."

"Thanks, Neville, but I can only take credit for the salad. The market just happened to have some great-looking escarole this morning, and a friend told me about a particularly good balsamic. Hermione made the Bolognese. I had to beg." He snickered.

"It's delicious, Hermione. So, it must be true, then, about Potions masters and cooking, huh?" Neville asked with a teasing smile.

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "You wouldn't say that if you'd tasted Professor Watson's roast. It's abominable, and she's brilliant. Besides, I can only make a few things really well. Aside from this, it's mostly toast and eggs." Hermione grinned broadly. "You should make the Bolognese with me some time, Neville."

Neville paled a little. "Cooking? Erm, you couldn't just give me the recipe, could you?"

"Oh no," Hermione drawled, "It's a traditional Italian recipe from my mum. You know: a pinch of this, a dash of that. It's always been one of my favorite meals."

"Traditional? Hermione, I didn't know your mum was Italian."

"You know she's not, Neville," said Hermione, giving her neighbor – who had a grin spreading across his face – a shove on his arm. "She learned it from the woman who kept the pensione where my parents stayed during trips to Italy early in their marriage. Mum and Dad went there a lot, actually. Said they had colleagues in Tuscany."

"Colleagues?" Harry dropped his fork. "You're saying they went to sunny, romantic Tuscany because they had colleagues there?"

Hermione grinned. "Yep. Colleagues."

"They went to see Tuscan dentists? So, um, at this pensione, Hermione, did they have a room with a view?" Harry asked, trying desperately to make sure that the food in his mouth stayed there.

Raising a single eyebrow, Hermione watched Harry trying to laugh, talk, and eat at the same time. "Harry Potter," she asked archly, trying to maintain a straight face, "are you saying that my parents, respectable, middle-class, English professionals, were closet hedonists with a fetish for all things Italian?"

"Well, if the boot fits..."

Out in the downstairs hallway, Kreacher quietly reassured Mrs. Black's portrait that the gathered youths making such an unholy ruckus were friends and defenders of Master Regulus. By now, the grouchy old house-elf knew that wasn't exactly the truth, but it was close enough, and it prevented her from shouting. He couldn't bear to hear his old mistress' howling insanity or to hear his new master called "blood traitor." Besides, he got to eat the leftovers when the meal was done, and he was rather fond of Bolognese.

When the group had regained its sense of composure, Luna spoke up. "Neville and I have some good news. We're getting a place together."

"Congratulations, Luna! How did you finally persuade your father that proper wizarding society wouldn't collapse if you lived together without getting married?" Harry asked.

"We didn't actually." Luna frowned.

Neville broke in. "That man is so frustrating! He's liberal about all kinds of things, but when it comes to Luna moving out and living with not just anyone, mind you, but the man she's been dating for, what, eight years, he becomes an insufferable prude!"

"Yesterday, he even claimed that mum's ghost agreed with him," Luna said quietly.

"Oh! But, Luna, your mum never came back as a ghost. Did she?" Hermione asked.

"No. She didn't. That's what finally did it for me. It's not as if this is a new issue. He's been quietly... talking me into... really bribing me to remain at home with him for quite a while. But now, he's blatantly lying to me about something like that to get what he wants. I never expected him to do something so underhanded to get his way."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sent discreet looks at each other, remembering their eye-opening encounter with a less-than-honest Xenophilius Lovegood while in search of the Deathly Hallows.

"I moved my things out of the, erm, his house today," Luna continued, "while he met with a field reporter. I'm staying at Neville's until we find a house of our own."

"Luna, what will do you about work?" Hermione asked gently.

"My father is a brilliant journalist,"...a statement that provoked shifty glances around the table..."and The Quibbler is important. But, my path is... leading me... elsewhere. I thought I might join the Unspeakables. I've heard they're working on twisting the space-time continuum," Luna replied earnestly.

"I think the Unspeakables would be lucky to get you," Hermione told her friend and grinned.

Ron looked around the table at the assembled friends. "It's official: none of us has taken the path everyone expected after the war. Harry is not the youngest-ever head of Magical Law Enforcement. I did not follow my dad into the Ministry. Hermione did not become a mere Ministry figurehead for intercultural relations. Neville... Neville did not making Witch Weekly's list of the hunkiest wizards despite the way he buffed up during seventh year. Ginny did not become Mrs. Harry Potter and start popping out sprogs. And now, Luna is leaving her father's side to do... well... something I really have no idea about. Still, good for her! Good for us all!"

"Hear, hear!" Harry shouted, holding up his glass of wine in salute.

Ron gave his best friend a mock-solemn nod and went on. "I know that I would hate to wake up ten or twelve years from now and realize that the most interesting things I've managed to do in all my life are... I don't know... learn to drive a Muggle car and send my kids off on the Hogwarts Express."

Looks of bewilderment traveled around the table.

"You kind of pulled that out of thin air, didn't you, Ron?" Harry asked.

"Um, yeah. I don't where that came from. Anyway, what I mean is, we're all doing what we want, rather than what other people think we should do. With all of the ups and downs of life and all we've been through together, we so-called 'heroes of the wizarding world' are generally doing great." Ron lifted his glass. "A toast! Here's to... exceeding expectations!"

Glasses were drained, and Harry silently Summoned another bottle of red wine from the sideboard.

"Listen, Luna, Neville," Ron continued after a satisfying gulp, "if you need any help or advice, you know that Lav and I are always willing to help. We've done the whole parental opposition thing already, you know."

"Thanks, Ron," said Neville gruffly.

Neville made himself scarce on Saturday when Hermione came over to talk with Luna and help with a bit of redecorating. While Transfiguring the old sitting-room furniture into something spiffier, Luna listened carefully to her friend's in-depth exposition of the research literature Hermione had read and the hypotheses she was considering testing in the Potions lab. Over tea and biscuits, she offered Hermione observations from Quibbler articles about some little-known magical snake species and promised to owl her with reprints. Hermione repaid the other witch's interest with rapt attention to what Luna had to say about the space-time continuum and what the Unspeakables may have learned about it.

"And the Unspeakables repaired the Time Room in the Ministry," Luna explained. "I don't know how else they would be able to test these things out."

"Do you really think they were able to save anything useful?" Hermione asked. "It was pretty well destroyed when... we... well, you know." She stilled.

"The battle at the Department of Mysteries, you mean? In '96?" Luna asked.

"Yes," Hermione answered quietly. Her thoughts drifted. Her eyes became unfocused.

"Time can't stand still, Hermione. They had to."

Hermione looked up suddenly, giving her friend a fierce look. She'd forgotten that Luna, who often seemed to occupy her own special plane of existence, could be quite blunt when necessary. "People died."

"That's true. But you didn't. I've noticed you've been thinking more about the war recently than any time I can remember since you went to Australia. Your heart hurts, Hermione."

Hermione looked up with a confused expression on her face. "No... I... Well, yes, I suppose. We... risked so much."

"Yes, we all did, but you're thinking of Professor Snape, aren't you?"

"What? Yes, I am. How did you know?"

"I'm right. Hermione, we all took risks because we knew that we were doing the right thing. Professor Snape risked the most, and I think he knew that, but only he could have done what he did, as a spy, and in school, too, with the Carrows there. I think Professor Snape thought he would die in this war, but that it would be worthwhile."

"But, he didn't have to die. It was so stupid!"

"Why?"

"I should have known what to do in the Shrieking Shack! I mean, I had just spent months keeping Harry and Ron alive. I should have known how to treat him; I should have had what was needed. I was supposed to be the 'brightest witch of my age.'" She snorted. "Real bright."

"Well, I was supposed to be 'Loony Luna,' remember?"

"Oh, I didn't think... I mean, I don't think of you that way."

Luna smiled. "I know. You did, then, but you grew out of it."

Hermione stared at her friend for a moment, blinked, and then said, "Oh. Erm, thanks." She felt strangely at ease.

Luna turned and straightened up the blanket hanging on the back of her armchair.

"I thought I'd made my peace with everything that happened, Luna, everything that I had to do, and what I couldn't do, but I think I just put dealing with some of it on hold until I felt a bit stronger."

"Do you want to talk more about it now?"

"No, I don't. Not right now, but soon. I promise. Right now, I just want to hear whatever you have to say about the Time Room." Luna gazed at Hermione for a moment, then nodded in agreement.

"I know that there are still Time Turners in use, Hermione, and the Unspeakables are doing some new research on them. I still don't know precisely what they're doing, but I know it has something to do with the shape of time and how far one can travel in it."

When Neville came home hours later, it took him Transfiguring the armchairs into live Shetland ponies for him to get their attention. Luna just blinked and smiled up at him. Hermione chuckled at the smug look on Neville's face, righted herself after slipping off her cranky pony/armchair, and suggested that going out for pizza and beer might be a good alternative to trying to cook something in the couple's sparsely stocked kitchen. Luna set the room to rights with a quick flick of her wand, and the three headed out.

On Sunday afternoon, Hermione descended on Hugo's, planted herself at her favorite table, and wrote up her analysis of Drake and Elapidae's king cobra articles. She only half-listened to the musicians who performed, and she ignored the other café customers entirely until she had finished.

When she placed the final period on the final sentence, she smiled in satisfaction. Her report was preliminary, and her brain was already churning over some of her findings, revising and questioning them, but it was enough for now. Tuesday's conversation with Professor Watson would be illuminating. And, maybe it was time to have that snake talk with Harry. She called Lola over and asked for a glass of red wine. Closing her eyes, she listened to the music and tried to relax.

Suddenly, her eyes flew open. I'm being watched again. Since she'd found the article pages on her table, Hermione had been working on heightening her extrasensory perception. She knew that learning this extra skill verged on overkill, but she always felt safer learning how to do something. She was no Legilimens, but she had learned to reach out with her mind to find the source of thoughts directed at her. She knew that a magical someone in the café was focusing on her. Where are you? Who are you? she thought. But, Hermione wasn't able to pinpoint who her watcher might be. Not many other witches or wizards come here.

She scanned the room. She waved to a group of her fellow biochem students she hadn't noticed before. They chuckled when they walked past her table, telling her that they'd given up trying to attract her notice a full hour before. Hermione noticed several other regulars and exchanged waves or nods with the few she knew.

She spotted a man at a corner table who she'd seen several times at the café. He was a regular, as well, but they had never spoken. He looked to be in his forties. He was of average height with non-descript brown hair, unremarkable brown eyes, glasses, and clean-cut clothing. She knew he wasn't a student. She'd never seen him talk with anyone there, except Lola. When he wasn't solemnly and silently scanning the room, he tended to focus on the journal that was his only companion. The few times she had made eye contact with him, he'd looked at her strangely.

Could he be the one who left me those pages? she thought. Is he the one watching me? Why?

Over at his table, Shea McIntosh looked up from his journal to see Hermione Granger staring straight at him. Not yet, Miss Granger, he thought. He raised an eyebrow at her and scowled, then turned back to his writing.

She looked away. What a look! I thought Professor Snape had trademarked that scowl.

As Hermione turned away, McIntosh looked up at her and murmured a Notice-Me-Not spell.

Hermione turned to look back at the man at the corner table, but her eyes passed right across that part of the room. Where is he? He's still here, she thought, I can sense it, but he's hidden himself. She concentrated on locating the source of his magic, but couldn't detect it. Where is he? she asked herself again. She stayed alert, albeit uncomfortable, knowing better than to panic. She couldn't sense any animus on his part. If he's my watcher, he's had plenty of opportunities to attack me – he's here as much as I am – but he never has. He wants something, though. I'm just not sure what it is.

Hermione returned her attention to the spread-out papers on her table. Swiftly, but methodically and with an outward calm, she packed up her work, settled her tab with Lola, and left Hugo's for her flat. She'd never been watched there, that she knew of...you will not let paranoia get the best of you, Hermione...so it seemed like a good idea to settle in for the evening with a good book, or a DVD, or both.

After working in the potions lab all Monday morning, Hermione looked forward to what she hoped would be a congenial afternoon. She left the college grounds and caught a bus to Charing Cross Road. Walking into the Leaky Cauldron, she paused to say a quick hello to Tom the barman (that name will never be ordinary again) and made her way through the pub, out onto Diagon Alley, and down half a block to Mervyn's Magical Menagerie.

One of Professor Grubbly-Plank's nephews had bought the magical pet shop a few years back and lent the store his name. The shop's oversized MMM sign flashed brightly across the street at the equally big WWW sign of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, much to George and Ron's delight. "Fred would have loved it!" Ron told her when the shop had first reopened. Harry was currently doing a consulting stint for Mervyn, and Hermione looked forward to talking with him while they treated themselves to a curry at Harry's latest favorite Indian restaurant.

Harry's consulting business suited him. After the war's last battle, he had spent a month indulging the wizarding world's craving for celebrity news. Just at the point when Rita Skeeter had begun pestering him for a more in-depth story about his personal life, however, the Chosen One had dropped from sight. Harry went away to, as Hermione explained to the rest of the Order of the Phoenix, "get his head together." Minerva had not been pleased. After six months, Harry came back calmer than anyone remembered seeing him. At an Order meeting, he explained his plans.

"I want to be an independent consultant," Harry had announced. Dozens of confused witches and wizards, who'd expected Harry Potter to become an Auror, received this news in silence. Harry had told them about ways he could help Magical Law Enforcement, but, he'd explained, he was really more interested in exploring the magical talents he had gained through his link to Voldemort, in particular the ability to speak in parseltongue.

"It was such an incredible feeling!" he said to them of his experience as an eleven-year-old talking to the python at the London Zoo before starting Hogwarts. "So few people have this ability," he continued, ignoring mutterings of Who would want it? and Inappropriate Dark gifts among the crowd. "I want to work with witches and wizards who handle snakes. We could learn so much more about all the different species than we know now."

And so an obsession was born. Harry's new profession didn't sit well with some Order members, but it made him very happy. And sought after. At the moment, he was working with Mervyn – for a nominal fee that he was donating to a new Care of Magical Creatures Fund at Hogwarts – to identify the reasons why some of the more exotic species Mervyn had recently got into the shop weren't thriving.

When Hermione entered the Magical Menagerie, Harry was sitting on the floor next to a crate of tiny, beautiful snakes and hissing at them quietly. She watched in fascination as they listened to Harry, turned and hissed amongst themselves, and then, in unison, hissed a single phrase back at him. She couldn't help but grin when Harry shut his eyes, furrowed his brow, and blew out a breath in frustration. "Sssmall ssserpentsss got you down, Harry?" she asked, repressing a giggle.

He threw Hermione a dirty look. "They're being so difficult. I'm making a simple request, but they don't trust me yet. And there are four other species I haven't even spoken with yet. It's a good thing Mervyn's so patient." Harry ran his hands through his already messy hair in exasperation. "So, are you ready for the best prawn curry in London?"

"The best? Really?"

"Well, according to Time Out. I haven't actually tried it yet. Last time we went it was all about the samosas. That was pretty much all we ate, with every kind of stuffing and every kind of sauce imaginable. I want to try other things this time."

"Wait a minute, did you say we, Harry? When are you going to tell me who you've been having all these lunches with? Hmmmm?"

Harry reached for his messy hair again and gave her a funny look. "Don't go there, Hermione. 'Cause you know, then I'd have to ask you just how serious you and Evan are."

Hermione smirked. "That would be were. Not serious at all, I think. There wasn't any chemistry."

"Should I be saying 'I'm sorry'?" Harry asked.

"No. It's all right. Honestly." She gave him a nod of reassurance.

"Ah, well... cough, cough... way too picky... cough cough. Other fish in the sea and all that. Ready to go?"

Hermione shook her head at him. "You're getting quite good at changing the subject, you know."

"Annoying, isn't it?"

"Very. I'm hungry. Let's go."

They Apparated into one of the restaurant's back rooms. Harry had learned during his last visit that the owner was a Squib, a relative of some sort to the Patils. Surprisingly, though, he was one of the restaurant's few non-Indian wizard customers. Hermione stared and laughed at her friend as he placed an order for them for more food than she thought the two of them could possibly consume.

Wrapped up as she was in the exchange between an eager Harry and an equally eager waiter, Hermione didn't notice when another wizard, heavily glamoured, was seated a few tables down. Shea McIntosh slipped a small, velvet pouch into the maitre d's hand and silently cast a spell to make the two friends' interactions audible to him.

After Harry placed the lunch order, he and Hermione caught each other up on their current work. Hermione told Harry about the articles she'd found, omitting the fact of their mysterious source, and Harry told her about one of his recent gigs. It had turned out that Ireland was not quite snake-free. A group of researchers from the Institute for Magical Zoology had discovered an unknown species, and Harry had spent a month cataloguing and studying it.

Although she listened, Hermione retroactively sympathized with the boys' boredom with her lecturing during their Hogwarts days. She really wanted to steer the conversation back around to the distinctly non-academic subject that had been bothering her.

"...and they eat just about anything around there, Hermione. It's amazing."

"Harry, the Irish snakes are...so...interesting, but, erm, you know those articles I read?"

"The ones you just told me about, Hermione? I have a pretty good memory of them, yes." Harry smirked. He'd caught onto her impatience earlier.

"Yes, those articles. When I was reading them, I couldn't stop thinking of Professor Snape and the way he died." Harry's smile faded.

At this, Shea McIntosh paused in his writing and looked up. If he were a man who smiled, he would have then. As it was, he simply looked very satisfied. It was the first time he'd heard her express these thoughts.

Hermione continued, "Nagini was a king cobra, you know, magically enhanced somehow, but she started off as pretty dangerous even without whatever Voldemort did to her."

"Yeah, Hermione," Harry replied. "I've seen other spelled snakes since, and Nagini was pretty extraordinary even among those. I... erm... have wondered if making her into a Horcrux involved more than just depositing a bit of Voldemort's soul in her."

"What? Really? I... huh..."

McIntosh started at Harry's speculation. Whoever would have guessed that Potter could be so thoughtful?

"Do you think there's any research on the effects of making a living creature into a Horcrux?" Just as Harry opened his mouth to answer, Hermione cut in, "I'll have to look into that. That's a very interesting suggestion, Harry." At this point, Hermione was looking down at the pocket notebook she kept with her rather than at her friend, who just shook his head silently at the way she zoned out when caught up with an interesting academic question.

"So, Harry," Hermione said, re-entering the present moment, "do you think that Professor Snape might have survived that attack?"

"Hermione," said Harry quietly, reaching out for his friend's hand, "you know as well as I do, probably better, that there's no way he could have survived. Nagini's venom was deadly, and she bit Professor Snape in the jugular. Even if the venom didn't kill him, how could he have survived the blood loss? We got to him just after he went down, and he'd already lost more than a dose of your average Blood Replenisher could have fixed."

"I know, I know. That's all very logical..." But, Mr. Weasley's wounds were just as severe. "Harry, his death has been haunting me since I began this research. It doesn't seem right that a Potions master of his stature would die of a snakebite, or that Professor Snape would die from the bite of a snake with which he was familiar. It makes me think that he could have lived, despite the logic of the situation."

"Hermione, aside from the physiological realities that make that impossible, if Professor Snape had lived, why wouldn't he have let anyone know? He didn't have anything to fear from the Order or the Ministry. Minerva and Kingsley both saw the memories he gave me. They knew that he had always been loyal to the Order. He would have received full immunity from any prosecution of crimes committed in the course of his work."

"I know, Harry. Wait... did you say he would have immunity?"

"Of course, he would! You know that. We were all there when Kingsley promised it."

"Yes, certainly. I know. He wouldn't be charged. He wouldn't be put on trial. He... immunity... he was immune."

"You're babbling, Hermione."

"Harry, what if Professor Snape built up an immunity to Nagini's venom?"

"Well... one can build up immunity to snake venom, over time, just like with arsenic. But if he did try to do that, he failed. It didn't work. He died."

"Right. If he had built up immunity to the venom, he wouldn't have gone down so quickly. Unless he was faking it, of course."

McIntosh nearly snickered aloud.

"Hermione..."

"What? He was a spy. He had to deceive people as part of his job. So... But, maybe an antivenin..."

"Hermione..."

"Damn it, he was a Potions master, Harry! And, he had access to Nagini. Nagini's milk went into the potion that gave Voldemort his new body. Perhaps he continued to need it even after he got it. Maybe he thought that Professor Snape could milk her more successfully because he was a Potions master. Of course, we know that Voldemort liked to taunt his followers. Maybe he wanted to see how Professor Snape would react if Nagini tried to bite him. Either way, he could've taken some of the venom when he milked her."

"You're rambling, Hermione!"

"No, I'm brainstorming, trying to work out possibilities."

"I think you're reaching."

McIntosh frowned. Hermione was reaching, but in the right direction. Don't listen to that idiot anymore, Hermione.

Harry stilled Hermione's scribbling by placing his hand on top of hers. "Stop. Your antivenin research is important, but this... this is just pure speculation. There's just no way Professor Snape could be alive, and we don't have a body or his notes, so we can't tell whether he was even trying to build up immunity or come up with an antivenin for Nagini."

Hermione stilled and let out a deep sigh.

"Hermione, why are you so... obsessed by this?" Harry asked.

She quieted, looking down at her notes. She, Harry, and Ron had talked quite a bit about what had happened in the Shrieking Shack. Well, she and Harry had. Ron found it too difficult to reconcile his personal animosity toward their former teacher with the reality of Snape's efforts for the Order. After a conversation about Snape's death during which Ron could only say "bloody hell," he spoke not a word about the man again.

Harry had mourned Snape's death and had done everything possible to make sure that he was always remembered among the honored dead. Hermione believed that Harry was sincere in his admiration of the professor's heroism, but she also thought that her friend sympathized with the man more for his seemingly undying love for Lily Evans Potter than for his struggles in life.

For Hermione, Snape's death had stung, not only because of her complicated feelings about him, but also because... I saw him die, and I didn't go back to help. Suddenly, she felt unable to share with Harry all the things she wanted to say. She wimped out.

"This has... just... brought up so many memories." Honest. Incomplete, but honest.

"I can see that. Professor Snape did so much for us, and we weren't always... very... nice to him."

"Speak for yourself, Harry Potter!" Hermione scolded. "You and Ron were horrid to him. I was never like that."

"You set him on fire!" he retorted with a mischievous grin.

"I did that for you!" she whined. "Besides, I was twelve, and I thought he was trying to hurt you, and I was... wrong. And... I would apologize to him... if he was still here."

"But, he's not, Hermione. And no amount of speculating about what he did or didn't do can bring him back. Don't get mired down in guilt."

Hermione frowned. Guilt. Yes, there is that, and plenty of it. But, there's more. "It's just..."

"Hermione, give this a rest. Please. You're chasing a shadow." He was pleading.

He doesn't want to talk about it.

He flashed his grin again. "What do you want to do, Hermione, go back in time? Just don't bring Buckbeak with you this time. I don't think Snape would take kindly to that at all."

Harry grinned at Hermione until she finally smiled back at him. She closed her eyes and shook her head at him.

"Harry, you're becoming entirely too fond of your own attempts at humor."

"Oh, you're mean, Hermione," said Harry as he stuck his tongue out as his friend.

"And you are distinctly not helpful today, Harry James Potter. Luckily, I still love you. Like a little brother."

"I'm at least half a foot taller than you, you know."

"And you always will be."

McIntosh watched Harry and Hermione discreetly while they settled their bill. Hermione retreats to humor with Potter the way a spy retreats to silence in the face of the object of his espionage, he thought. He tapped his quill impatiently against his journal. He wanted them to leave, but he wanted them to stay.

He quickly looked down and began scribbling in the journal when they looked in his direction. From under the hoods of his halfway lowered eyelids, he could see Hermione slightly frown in his direction. She was beginning to notice him, storing up the cumulative moments of recognition away in the back of her mind. As she should.

Author's Notes:

I do not own or make any money from the Potterverse.

Apparently, Hermione could have been absolutely serious about her parents' Tuscan colleagues. The website for some rather beautiful Tuscan dentists is: tuscanydentistDOTcom/index_enDOThtm. I don't know or do PR for them. But, if it brought me to Tuscany, I might just be convinced to do so. I'd like a house just like Diane Lane's in Under the Tuscan Sun (2003), please.

I am most grateful to littlelizzyann: friend, editor, and head cheerleader. Thanks, as well, to Angel Mischa for a very thorough read.