Trois

Oh no.

Oh no, oh no oh no.

I am going to kill Minerva McGonagall.

All of this, this infernal mess I now find myself in, started very nicely, of course. I came back with the portraits, Snape and I sneered at each other for a while, Minerva and I had a lovely tea, and I actually had two lemon sherbets while we talked about my trip and Neville and all that. I swear, Dumbledore must spiked those infernal yellow sweets with Cheering Charms back in his day, and she must be keeping up with that tradition because nothing she was telling me seemed to have registered.

Well, until now.

This very neat manipulation began when Minerva casually asked me how my work was going. She was tying one of the portraits to a rather large owl, which gave her a macho, Rambo sort of look before setting off. I didn't know owls could do that, but I suppose that's wizarding technology for you.

So, being the right ruddy dolt I am, I told her that I felt that being at the Ministry and working on this potion at the same time were just too distracting. Either it was the job, I told her, or the cure.

I vaguely remember being very good at multitasking once upon a time. Except back then I had a Time Turner, and with Time Turners you can steal some hours of sleep, too. But right now, apart from those blissful weeks in Paris, I was juggling a nine-to-five ...well, actually, more like a five-to-nine... job developing potions, and then the rest of my twenty four hours in a day researching another potion.

What's really frustrating about all of this is that I can't even lump them together and work on the Wolfsbane as part of my job. Oh no, because the Ministry has a broomstick, a wand and a Pygmy Puff its arse, and won't allow anything that might help werewolves.

'Too small clientele,' they told me, 'an' it won' make a profit after you've cured all them werewolves. Stupid idea, really, innit?'

Stupid idea my arse.

I've half a mind to sic all the werewolves of Britain on the Ministry and make them bite all those stuck-up officials. Then we'll see about that 'too small clientele'.

Whoops, I'm getting off-topic.

So there I was, pouring out all of my troubles to Minerva, surreptitiously aiming a wordless Silencing Charm at Snape's portrait under the desk, when she suddenly comes up with this seemingly brilliant idea.

'Well, Hermione dear, you know I've got that lovely little riverside apartment in Paris. Why not take a few weeks' leave and sort it out there? God knows you deserve it, too, and I'm sure you've amassed weeks and weeks of possible holiday time. Plus, you'd be close to Neville, close to that Rousseau fellow too, and the view is really quite wonderful.'

That really wasn't fair. Now that I think about it, she stole my persuasive tactics. Start with the idea, tack on some very desirable aspects, emphasise the need for it, then add something they can't resist. I was a goner right from the start.

And the more I sat there, thinking about it, in the cosy little Headmistress' office with all the previous Headmasters chattering about what a good idea that was and nodding their heads sagely (Professor Dumbledore seemed to think that the mere force of twinkling would convince me to go, there were literally stars in his eyes), the more I thought, why not. It was Paris, after all, not Timbuktu. I had a lead, too, a real one, and I really felt like this Edelweiss was going to answer at least some of my questions, if not all of them; I'm not that naïve, after all. If I could do it without the pressures of a job and people constantly wandering in and out of my apartment with various propositions... well, maybe I could do it!

And Minerva was right; I could visit Neville anytime I wanted to, instead of having to arrange times to see him. And I did have several months' worth of holiday leave because I really am just a sad workaholic, despite being a war hero which apparently equates to having a social life.

Well, it does for Ron, anyway, who seems to enjoy dividing his time between being an Auror and shagging supermodels.

Harry, of course, couldn't be bothered, and mostly spends his time arguing with Ginny over what their first child's name will be, even though she's not even pregnant yet. (Harry insists that it will be a boy and therefore must be called Sebastian, but Ginny figures it will be a girl and will therefore be named Eva. Personally, I'm just glad they weren't going to call them Lily and James...or worse still, Albus. That would have been terribly cliché.)

So, in what I still suspect was a Cheering Charm-induced euphoria, I said yes.

Bad, bad idea.

But I'm getting to that.

Everything seems to have happened in a bit of a blur, this last week. I have vague recollections of requesting for holiday leave for two months and actually getting it, which is strange enough as it is. Then I asked Ron if he'd be willing to stay in my apartment during that time because he divides his time between the Burrow and whichever new girlfriend's apartment he's shacking up at, and after explaining the situation at length, he agreed. I think that was more because I live in a fairly green part of London and I'm right next to High Street, which means two things: good food and pretty girls.

I love Ron, but sometimes his one-track mind surpasses belief.

Remus sort of agrees with the decision, but he's been telling me all along that I should have dropped it in favour of my job because he was worried that it was too much. Now that I've dropped my job in favour of the potion, he's secretly very pleased, but he's hiding it behind lots of parental 'are you sure this is the right decision' concern.

'Oh, drop it, Remus,' I told him, annoyed, because he'd asked me for the fifth time if I was really sure of what I was doing. 'Haven't you ever heard the saying, 'never look a gift horse in the mouth'? Can't you ever accept that someone is doing something for you because they want to?' I said it like I was angry, but I'm too fond of him and his shabby robes and his greying hair, so I reached over and hugged him tightly. 'I'm doing this for you, Remus, because I care and because I think it's worth it. So shut up and accept it.'

Although I only brought one (admittedly large) suitcase worth of clothes, amenities, potions equipment and notes, I felt like I was leaving my apartment quite bare. I'm twenty two, after all, and I've been living in that flat since I was eighteen. Four years is a long time to get attached to a place. It's not like I actually removed any of the furniture or anything, but the fact that I would be staying there for a while did seem a bit alien.

So, after handing over the keys to Ron and sending a silent prayer to the heavens to please, please let me come back to my flat in one piece, I gripped onto my suitcase and Disapparated.

International Apparition can be a bit fuzzy at the best of times, so when I first saw him, I was quite sure that I was just suffering from some side effects. But no, I was in the right flat: a penthouse apartment on the Rue de la Seine, with a brilliant view of the river, and practically all windows.

So why was Professor Snape attached to the wall?

'You!'

Oh no, I thought. Please don't tell me that this is what I think it looks like. Please, please don't tell me that Minerva decided to put Snape's other portrait in this place. Of all the possible places she could have picked, why, why did it have to be the one that she'd sent me to?

So here I am, staring at this portrait of my dreaded Potions master, which is hanging on the wall of the study. The room itself is nice enough: an ornately carved desk and a comfortable looking chair, with several bookcases filled with books. I probably would have dropped everything and inspected the books, but the portrait is currently consuming all conscious thought. I think my mouth is moving, but I've either lost all control over speech or simply can't find the words to describe this situation.

Fortunately, Portrait-Snape appears to have no words to describe the clearly catastrophic fate that has befallen him, so I haven't had to listen to anything from his end yet. I don't imagine this will last, though.

There are a few moments of blessed silence, but then I remember the fireplace next to one of the sofas and make a mad scramble for the Floo powder.

'Minerva McGonagall!' I cry desperately, tossing the green powder into the fire as the flames and watching as they erupt into bright green. Then, after a few moments of tense waiting, her head appears in the fire.

'Hermione! Oh, how lovely, you're already here! I hope everything is fi...my dear, you look as though you've just seen a Dementor. Whatever is the matter?'

'You might have mentioned that he'd be here!' I hiss, jabbing a finger in the direction of Snape's portrait, which has remained ominously silent so far.

She looks puzzled for a moment, but then it changes to a look of recognition. 'Oh, you mean Severus? Didn't I mention that I'd put it in the Paris flat?'

'You might have forgotten that one,' I reply weakly.

If I strain my ears hard enough, I could swear that I can hear chuckling that sounds suspiciously like Dumbledore. The satisfying idea of turpentine pops into my head before I mentally slap myself and turn my attention back to the floating head in the fire.

'Well, Severus knows quite a lot about the Wolfsbane, and he was doing much the same thing as you by trying to find a cure for Remus before... well, before.'

Wait a minute. I didn't know that. If Snape was working on a cure... well, maybe he found one!

I'm half-listening now, but Minerva seems intent on escaping in case I let the full extent of my Granger fury out on her or something. 'Anyway, hope everything is fine, must run along now dear, terribly busy, and there are lots of important things I need to get done. Goodbye!' she says and hurriedly fades out of sight.

'Was that true?' I ask Snape, moving away from the fireplace and standing behind one of the chairs. He still doesn't deign to speak to me, but he lifts an eyebrow questioningly, so I take this as a vaguely encouraging sign and continue.

'Were you really developing a cure for lycanthropy?'

'Maybe,' he answers unwillingly, eyeing me suspiciously. 'Why?'

I find it frustrating that even after all this time, Snape gets to be taller than me. Even when he's a portrait, he gets stuck just above the desk, so even when I'm standing, he's at least a head taller than me.

Life is really not fair.

'Well,' I say, sort of excited now because this might not be as bad as I thought, after all. 'I'm working on one, too. It's for Remus because the Ministry has tightened its so-called 'half-breed' laws, so if Remus was disadvantaged before, he's practically the dirt on the bottom of their shoes now.'

He rolls his eyes and sits down in the chair in his portrait, so I do the same. 'Typical. Those idiots always were out to get anyone who they thought beneath them, even after everything.'

I'm almost afraid of saying it because some small part of me is still Hermione Granger, First Year, Know-It-All Gryffindor, and is afraid of losing house points and getting detention. Then I berate myself for being stupid enough for being scared of a portrait and ask anyway. 'Sir, I'm using the Silver Star, the Edelweiss, in combination with aconite and fluxweed. Because...'

'Because the Edelweiss is pure, the aconite is needed in the reaction, and the fluxweed is the catalyst for change,' he says, finishing my sentence. I'm waiting for the comment to come about whether I took a Babbling Beverage this morning, or which textbook I memorised to come to this conclusion.

But no, he just sits there, actually looking sort of interested. And I'm having a civil conversation with him.

Okay, granted, he's a portrait. He's also probably come to terms with the fact that I'm going to be living here for a while, and he's stuck in that rectangular frame, so either he can bugger off to his other portrait at Hogwarts, or stick around listening to me. Since the other option is being surrounded by generations of Headmasters, Professor Dumbledore included, he's clearly decided to stick around here.

I'm sort of flattered, in a way.

'I did consider this, but I never had the means of procuring the Edelweiss. I was forced to try other, less successful methods,' he tells me. Then, as though he's just discovered that he's got ammo to throw at me, he sneers. 'You do realise, of course, that to make this happen, you need to have at least one of those elusive flowers?'

He looks triumphant, but I smile slyly and open the box, letting the light loose on the room for a second. It hasn't dimmed at all since that day, which is surprising, but I'm glad. The flower is still perfect with no sign of wilting or discolouration, and it will stay that way indefinitely, according to Christian.

Strangely, when my eyes have adjusted again, the lines on Snape's mouth seem to have disappeared; his nose seems smaller, his face more pleasant, his hair less greasy, his general appearance less forbidding. In short, he actually looks sort of... handsome.

Even he seems to be looking at me in a different light, but I catch him looking and he scowls at me, and I laugh at myself for even thinking of it. Snape? Handsome? Was that a pig that just flew by the window?

'Know-it-all,' he says with feeling, and I smile back.

'Bastard.' Then I think about it and tack on a mockingly polite 'sir.'

It's going to be a long two months.

A/N. Teehee. I hope you like that little note I snuck in which tells you exactly how I feel about Albus Severus 'I'm-Going-To-Be-Teased-At-School' Potter. I found myself giggling throughout writing this chapter, so I hope it meets expectations in the humour department. I'm sorry for the delay, I had to go to a wedding, and I had no hopes of getting access to a computer, so I sat in the plane and wrote out most of this chapter, and the person sitting next to me couldn't quite fathom why I was giggling so much!