Chapter 5

A/N: Written for Bluestocking79 for the Winter 2007/8 round of the SSHG_Exchange on LiveJournal. Huge thanks to my beta, ubiquirk, and my Brit-picker, Saracen77. Any remaining errors are mine.

Disclaimer: Does anyone actually think these characters are mine? Didn't think so.

Chapter 5

It was nice to no longer require assistance to continue the work he needed to do on his right arm. He could almost grip a quill with it, though the Healers said he should not expect it to progress much further than that.

Dedalus was, therefore, no longer coming round, and that was something of a relief. Miss Granger, however, still fancied herself necessary to his continued recovery and continued to show up every other day. He thought it likely that she missed having her erstwhile companions to nag over their homework and fervently hoped she would soon settle on some other means of making herself feel useful, even if he had grown rather accustomed to her visits.

As he awaited her arrival, he prepared a pot of tea – rather more carefully than in the past, keeping his right arm well away from the heat despite its return to full sensation if not use.

The problem was that she was quite right to look askance at many of the offers that had been made for her. While she should certainly expect to start out at a very beginning level, she would be utterly wasted training Security Trolls, had insufficient interest in Potions to undertake being an apprentice, and would quickly be stifled working for almost any department of the Ministry of Magic save one, and the Department of Mysteries was apparently every bit as inclined to offer for someone who had helped destroy their Hall of Prophecy as she was to return to the site of that ill-conceived "rescue mission" in her fifth year.

While the interdisciplinary requirements of Curse-Breaking did intrigue her, she, in her own words, "didn't much fancy banking," and even if she did, it seemed that Gringotts was not offering to train her either. Small wonder, considering that rather bizarre escapade of merely a few months past. The goblins would have to be mad to take on someone who had been willing to participate in a break-in such as that.

In short, what few fields would be appropriate to a witch of her talents seemed to be cut off from her by her own foolish Gryffindor behavior.

He poured his tea and set out an empty cup. She should arrive at any minute.

Had she been one of his Slytherins, then she would, by now, have a network of contacts who would owe her various favors that she could selectively call in rather than a lot of wizards, witches, and goblins who might be grateful for her contributions to the war in the abstract but wanted little to do with her in reality. He supposed they had that rather in common. The difference was that he did have a solid reputation as a Potions Master upon which to fall back, and he had some hope of turning to research once he regained access to his funds.

He did not even bother to rise for her perfunctory knock. She no longer waited but rather came right in these days. It was not worth the effort to be annoyed by her growing familiarity. He expended enough effort to refrain from recalling any of the persistent dreams in her presence.

"Hello," she called out as she entered. He heard a rustle of parchment as she separated her latest stack of employment offers from her other belongings that he knew she was arranging neatly on the small table by the door.

"What, pray tell, are you doing out there?" he called out when more than enough time had passed for her to collect herself and come in to join him.

Her footsteps drew nearer, and she bounced into the kitchen and set her parchments down on the table. "I just had to check your chart again."

"And what could you have possibly learned from it?" he asked. "It has not changed substantially since you looked at it the other day."

"It hasn't," she agreed, sitting down and pouring herself a cup of tea. "But that isn't what I was looking for."

He raised an eyebrow at her, something that had long since ceased to intimidate her but still elicited the desired explanation.

"I was comparing your progress with left-handed wand-work against your progress before with your right hand."

"Surely you did not require a chart to tell you that it would, of course, be easier to learn wand movements with a non-injured limb," he said, wondering where she was going with this.

"Of course not. But it made me think of something else while I was over there."

Considering the labyrinthine tangents of which her mind was capable, it was only safe to assume that whatever that something was, it would not be anything he might guess.

"Do you remember that shelf I fixed for you?"

"You mean the shelf you knocked loose?" he asked, amused rather than dismayed at the brief look of irritation that crossed her features.

"The shelf that was already loose," she said. "Anyway, one of the books that fell was a photo album."

Now, he noticed, she began to look somewhat nervous. A knot began to form in his stomach. He didn't like the idea of her seeing any of the pictures of forced normalcy his mother had insisted upon staging and collecting. He should probably have destroyed them long ago.

"And there was this picture that must have been you with your father," she continued hurriedly. "He was getting ready to throw a dart. And you were copying him."

He had no memory of any such thing, but then he preferred to think as little as possible about those days and certainly did not pore over old photographs.

"Yes, well, I suppose many children copy the things they see their parents do. In fact, I would venture to say that would explain much of the classroom behavior I have seen repeat itself in the children of people with whom I attended Hogwarts."

She let out a disgusted huff. "Harry didn't even know..."

He saw the moment she realized she had been baited and got herself back on track. Taking a sip of tea, he hid both the smile that tugged at his lips at her animation and the twinge of anxiety he felt at where he feared she was going.

"You were both using your left hands."

He set down his teacup and gave her a look that had, in years past, reduced many a student to tears, Hermione included. It was no longer effective, but at least it allowed him to slip behind a familiar mask, behind which he found himself focusing intently on her cheek. Whoever had treated her at St. Mungo's had done well. There was no trace of a scar except the one projected by his own memory, in which he could still see the glass protruding from her skin. It seemed she was aware of his scrutiny, as her hand rose to touch that spot briefly before returning to her cup.

"And I suppose you have combined this observation with whatever Potter has told you about my youth."

She looked startled. "Harry knows things about your youth? I mean, he told everyone about you being friends with his mum and all."

The way she shifted uncomfortably in her chair reinforced just how much "and all" encompassed. A brief flash from last night's dream made him wonder just how uncomfortable she would be if she knew of that as well. Still, it seemed she was not, after all, aware of the things Potter had seen during his futile Occlumency lessons.

"That is not the matter to which I was referring. However," he added, deciding to take advantage of the situation, "so long as the subject has arisen, I will thank you to dismiss any romantic schoolgirl tales that may have been spun by his interpretation of the memories I chose to share with him."

"Then ... you're not still in love with her?"

Merlin help him, that question had actually sounded hopeful.

"I still regret the loss of her friendship, and I shall always deeply regret the role I played in her death. But no, I am not still pining after her nearly two decades later."

"Erm, that's good then." She wrinkled her brow. "How did we get onto this subject? Oh, right." She set her jaw slightly. "Actually, I combined that observation with what you said to me at St. Mungo's. At the time I thought you meant V-Voldemort."

He flinched inwardly at the name.

"But you really meant ... Well, I don't think you're like either one of them, if you meant what I think you meant."

"I have never hurt a woman deliberately. Not even Bellatrix." His stomach churned again at the memory, not only of how his uncontrolled magic had hurt her, but why. He might not have intended to harm her, but his anger had most certainly been directed at her. Was that why he had become so involved in helping her find her way into the adult wizarding world? Must he always spend his life atoning for impulsive mistakes?

"I think she might have deserved it," she replied with a shudder.

His eyes narrowed as he was suddenly certain that Hermione was not shuddering merely at the woman's reputation. Instinctively, he caught her gaze, and the memory that was at the forefront of her mind all but leapt out to him. Gritting his teeth, he silently agreed that the deranged witch would have deserved any pain he could have given her, then cursed himself for his own hypocrisy.

"Yes, well, now that the conversation has become decidedly unpleasant, shall we look at the offers you brought, or would you prefer to spend the remainder of the day dwelling upon and comparing the horrors of our respective pasts?"

She quickly agreed with him and spread out the latest installment of pathetic career "opportunities" on his table.

~o0o~

When the owl arrived to let him know that his Gringotts vault had been released from seizure and he now had access to his own money, it was actually a bit anticlimactic. He could now purchase whatever he wished, no longer restricted to the generous but still controlled allowance upon which he'd been dependent until now. There would still be hearings and other unpleasantness to face, but as Kinglsey was deliberately holding off his own case until after all the other Death Eaters had been tried, it would be some time yet before he had to concern himself with any of that.

In the meantime, he could utilize some of the money he'd accumulated over the years. Though not much in comparison to what there might have been, had he not been constrained to working at Hogwarts, it was enough to purchase the ingredients to begin some of the Potions research he had yearned to do for some time now. While he could hardly publish the results until his name was cleared - and he almost dared hope it would be, given the amount of strategic planning Kingsley had expended toward that end – it would be quite awhile before he would be ready to do so in any case.

He briefly considered whether he had enough to hire an assistant – possibly an assistant who could focus on some of the non-Potions aspects of his research, such as Arithmantic projections and possibly the occasional relevant charm. Annoyed at himself, he dismissed the notion as self-indulgent foolishness. He was supposed to be looking forward to ridding himself of the young woman, not seeking out ways to keep her coming by. It was pathetic enough that he had been dragging his feet with the more advanced wand-work for the past week or so, and he did not particularly care to examine his reasons for that.

Summoning a fresh sheet of parchment, he began to make lists of ingredients he would need for various projects and the order in which he thought he would like to begin working on them. While it was probably still inadvisable for him to go out yet to obtain the items, there was no reason he could not order them by owl.

~o0o~

"I don't understand what the difficulty is with this one," she said, a frown creasing her brow. "Imperturbable Charms must have been second nature to you before."

They certainly had been. However, there was something about the last jab and twist that did not seem to quite work. It was infuriating because he could not safely begin his research until he had mastered this. There were far too many volatile compounds that he would need to keep completely isolated.

A tap at his kitchen window interrupted the frustrating session. He turned and flicked his wand in the direction of said window, nonverbally opening it and permitting the delivery owl to enter, and excused himself to see to it.

Though she stepped back to let him by, he still had to pass rather close to her. There was a protracted instant during which he was tempted to linger near her, a temptation he firmly ignored along with the curious look in her eyes.

He fed the owl a biscuit and sent it on its way before examining and unpacking the armadillo bile, capsicum oil, lacewings, and monkshood. It was as well that Hermione had remained in his sitting room, for all he could have used her assistance. While he had another use entirely for the lacewings, their arrival led to some uncomfortable associations he would prefer not to arise in her presence.

Once all was secured – and fortunately none of these items needed to be Imperturbed – he returned to find Hermione looking over a shelf of his books. The rapt expression on her face intrigued him, and he stepped closer to see what esoteric tomes had entranced her so.

"You have such a wonderful collection of Muggle literature," she said, a wistful note in her voice.

He realized she must have left her own such collection behind when she'd packed her parents off to wherever they'd gone. While he'd often expected to lose this house and all it contained, he knew the loss of his books would have been the thing to trouble him the most.

"You may borrow some if you'd like," he offered.

She turned and looked up at him, and a shudder ran through him.

"Even the Yeats?"

It was a first edition, but he trusted she would treat it with the respect it deserved.

"Of course," he replied, reaching over her shoulder to take the book from its spot and hand it to her.

Her fingertips caressed the book's spine, sending another shudder down his own.

"Thank you," she said, her voice nearly too soft to hear.

"You are welcome," he replied stiffly, taking a step back and turning to gesture towards their work area. "Now, shall we get back to work?"

~o0o~

"I got it!" she shouted as she bounded into his kitchen. When had she abandoned the formality of knocking entirely?

"Are you planning to elaborate upon that?" he asked as he pushed his chair back a bit from the table and rose to greet her. "Or shall I have to use Legilimency to determine what you are talking about?"

He actually knew precisely what she was on about, but it was enjoyable to watch her sputter indignantly for a moment, hands on hips and sparks in her eyes.

"The Arithmancy apprenticeship at the Summer River Research Institute, you great prat!"

While he was pleased she had not returned to addressing him formally since St. Mungo's, he thought that might be going a bit far. Before he could compose a sufficiently scathing reply, however, she had barreled onward.

"They want me to start next week! The letter says there will be plenty of interdisciplinary work, though I'll be expected to focus on pure Arithmancy for the first few months. And the stipend's small, but it'll be enough for a flat if I'm careful with it."

So soon. Well, what had he been helping her for, if not for this? And it was, certainly, the most suitable offer she had received, even if it had required his, Septima's, and Minerva's combined recommendations to bring her to their attention. For such a forward-thinking Institute, they had been rather lax in recognizing that not all the students who had taken their N.E.W.T.s off-schedule this year were lazy dunderheads who simply didn't want to repeat their seventh year. At least they seemed finally to have got the message. In triplicate, as it were.

"Though I might just stay at Grimmauld place through the Christmas hols and save up a bit first. This is going to be wonderful!" She was practically glowing. "Thank you so much. I never even knew such a place existed, but it's just perfect!"

And with that, she took a step closer, stood on her toes, and in what he could only assume was a moment of impulsive exuberance, kissed him on the cheek.

When she pulled back, he was relieved to see only shock, not horror, written on her features, and perhaps a bit of fear. However, she didn't retreat. She was still far closer to him than she ought to be. The silence between them was deafening.

"You are welcome," he replied in a voice that came out far more gruff than he had expected. Seemingly of its own volition, his still somewhat clumsy right hand lifted and touched the invisible line on her cheek.

He'd experienced precious few of these moments, but there had been enough to enable him to recognize this one for what it was. It would be self-indulgent in the extreme to take advantage of it. Self-indulgent and foolish as she would most likely not darken his doorstep again once she began her apprenticeship.

However, when she leaned towards him again and pulled him down so that she could brush her soft lips against his, it would have been far more foolish to refuse. As she became surer of herself and her tongue darted across his lower lip, he let his arms surround her, reveling in her softness as he opened to her explorations. She tasted of tea and mint, and if her kiss lacked anything in expertise, she seemed determined to make up for it in enthusiasm, leading him to wonder whether this was just an exceptionally vivid if somewhat tamer than usual dream.

When they separated, he knew a moment of panic. What was he supposed to say or do now? This was most certainly not a dream, and thus simply sweeping her into his arms and carrying her upstairs to his bed was out of the question, even if the way she was looking at him suggested she might not actually mind.

"So ... it'd be all right, then, if I were to stop by to visit at the weekends now and again?" she asked breathily.

"I believe that would be ... acceptable," he murmured.

"I should ... um ... I should probably go home and revise a bit," she said. "Make sure I'm fresh for Monday."

"That would probably be wise," he agreed and leaned forward to kiss her again.

She grinned and stretched up to meet him. "Perhaps wisdom is overrated."

Fin