Twenty-Six

Disclaimer: They're not mine.

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Hermione had little time to dwell on the throbbing ache of her retreat from Snape's rooms, for Ginny allowed her barely a moment to compose herself before whisking her out the door. They strode briskly to the very edge of the castle grounds, where, pausing, Ginny began to twirl an arm around Hermione's waist.

Hermione realized belatedly that she must have jumped, as Ginny giggled suddenly. "Calm down. I'm just going to Disapparate us."

"Where are we going?" Hermione demanded for the umpteenth time. Her skin still tingled with the self-consciousness that marked recent contact with Snape, and she found herself feeling disinclined to wander at length in a populated area. She sincerely hoped Ginny hadn't got some crazy idea into her head about immersing the two of them in an environment filled with other boys; Hermione was far from ready for that.

Ginny adjusted her arm to fit more snugly around Hermione and closed her eyes to begin the process. "Somewhere Harry and Snape won't be able to make us miserable," she said determinedly, and Hermione surmised from the aggravation in voice that she, too, wasn't feeling especially charitable toward the male sex at the moment.

"Such a place doesn't exist," Hermione muttered darkly. But she duly pulled her hat more tightly over her head, clenched her fists, and allowed her friend to transport the two of them to Diagon Alley, whereupon she turned confused eyes on Ginny. Before them stood a nondescript brick building with a suspicious absence of Muggle passersby.

Assuming the building was unplottable, Hermione separated from Ginny and passed laboriously through the front gate. The lingering nausea made her steps somewhat stumbling and erratic. "What do you think?" Ginny asked, and Hermione turned slowly to see the other girl gesturing upward. The windows were covered in a light layer of grime, but everything else appeared to be relatively well-kept.

Hermione scuffed her shoe against the weeds growing across the lovely little stone path leading up to the door. "I think I'm confused," she replied at length, her brain racing dizzily. "Why are we here?"

Ginny grinned broadly, an infectious sight, and ushered her forward with an excited stride. "Have you thought about where you'll live while attending university?" Hermione saw her reach into the pocket of her cloak and withdraw her wand. At a murmured word, the front door slid open obligingly, and Ginny bounded up the steps, stopping just short of entering to graciously allow Hermione to precede her.

"I... Well, I assumed I'd return home for the summer and then move into a residence on campus..." Hermione narrowed her eyes suspiciously at Ginny's ever-increasing smile.

Ginny then shook her head forcefully, red hair flying. Hermione pursed her lips and opened her mouth to demand once and for all why she'd been dragged to London, but Ginny wouldn't have it. She placed small, warm hands on Hermione's shoulders and looked earnestly into her eyes. "What if you were to live with me?"

Hermione stared at her, scanning her expression for some sign of humor belying her sincerity. "I practically had to force you to move back into my room!" she exclaimed. "You tried to dissuade me from it!"

"I know..." Ginny was now practically bouncing in place, "...and I can't believe that you're willing! Look, Hermione," she wheedled, "I'm desperate. As soon as Harry and I split up, I knew I had to make some alternate arrangements. I want to be close to the Ministry: they're notorious for calling students into headquarters at all hours, day or night, for training drills, and I need to be nearby.

"I've positively fallen in love with this place, and I rather rashly put down the security deposit before I found out how little my living stipend is actually going to be. I was ready to give it up, but with someone else to share the rent... Well, please just humor me for ten minutes and see for yourself."

She stood aside, and Hermione tamped down her better judgment, convincing herself to lift a foot into the foyer. Immediately, she found herself gasping and brushing stray hairs from her eyes to take in a better view. The entrance was surprisingly opulent given the building's innocuous exterior, and like many magically enhanced buildings, it was far larger than she'd anticipated.

The marble-topped sideboard to her right caught her attention; it glistened richly, and she could envision it topped with keys and a welcoming vase of flowers. She poked her head curiously into the powder room farther along the wall and found it to be tastefully done in deep browns and creams. "Is this... Would we be renting the entire place?"

Without waiting for Ginny's response, Hermione allowed herself a single, tantalizing moment to imagine the possibilities of the house. The two girls would have plenty of space; the formal living area opened to the left and featured wide, bright windows with two comfortable sofas and a gorgeous fireplace. Before she became conscious of her movements, she'd slipped out of her shoes and was sinking her toes appreciatively into the plush carpet. The window seat was streaked with rays of sunlight whose warmth was almost palpable. The pillows and blankets heaped decadently across it beckoned her to recline into their depths with an enormous book.

Hermione forced her attention back to Ginny, who'd begun delivering the details at an astonishing pace. "That's the beauty of it!" she was insisting in a racing voice. "The old lady who's renting it out will only rent to girls...says she doesn't want kids in here to wreck anything valuable, which mostly restricts potential tenants to students, and she doesn't trust any of the young wizards who've applied. I found her through the academy; her husband was an Auror, and she still donates money and volunteers to put on social activities for the trainees. Apparently, she just took over managing it, and she's simply desperate to start getting some decent income from it." Ginny stood in the center of the living room and sighed expansively, crossing her arms in contemplation. "I just love it here. Don't you? It makes me imagine a life without Harry."

Hermione nodded in agreement; it was indeed enchanting. Happily wiggling her toes against the sensuous carpet one last time, she wandered through to the smaller, informal lounge that had been converted on three sides to the library. Gasping with delight at the wooden floor and truly impressive floors-to-ceiling bookshelves, she ran a hand across their glossy surfaces and bit her lip.

"I knew this would be your favorite." Ginny lounged against the doorframe, smiling. "Check out the kitchen. Even you and I may be able to get by without house-elves."

Thus Ginny followed her through the remaining rooms on the ground floor, seeming to radiate gratified happiness with each delighted gasp and cry Hermione emitted. When they finally made their way upstairs, trailing their fingers along the silky wood of the banister, Hermione was struck by the sudden change in atmosphere: whereas the ground floor had boasted tall ceilings and a multitude of space and light, the upper floor was intimate and shadowed.

At the head of the stairs, the hallway bifurcated. She stood in place and looked to Ginny for direction. "Try the right," Ginny said, and Hermione did as she was told, her bare feet padding with the softest thumps down the hallway. Ginny followed behind her, murmuring quietly, and the tapestries hung along the wall began to transition from drab blacks and browns to beautiful, deep jewel tones in red, green, and indigo.

Hermione shot Ginny a look, and the redhead smiled mischievously. "Just trying to give it some Hermione ambience," she insisted innocently. Hermione barked a laugh. She was already fully overtaken by the house...headily so, in fact. It didn't require any further modifications of its atmosphere to secure her approval.

If she'd had any doubts, they were dispelled when she entered the sumptuous bedroom and found an attached bathroom. "There's an identical set-up at the other end of the hall," Ginny explained. She hovered politely outside the door, allowing Hermione to enter it as though it were already her own domain. Hermione sensed that Ginny wanted her to truly gather a feel for the place and its limitless potential. "She's already had it converted for roommates," Ginny elaborated. "It would do for a family, I suppose, but she was pretty clear that she doesn't want any kids in here. She said she'd be a little more flexible about boyfriends," she added with a husky laugh.

Hermione ran a hand over the bed cover, relishing the caress of the soft fabric against her skin, and closed her eyes. Wordless magic had yet to become simple or second nature to her, but elementary Transfigurations of objects and décor were well within her capabilities. The coverlet changed instantly to suit her preferences. Satisfied, she turned to look across the bed toward the opposing wall and found a generously built armoire and beautiful, delicately molded vanity. They elicited a pleased gasp from her and warranted further exploration.

"I knew you'd go for the old-fashioned room," Ginny teased her from the hallway. "Check out your bathroom! We saved the best for last."

Hermione embarked happily on that task. As with those at Hogwarts, the bathroom was deceptively small considering the enormous bathing tub it contained. She was accustomed to large baths set into the floor, but the sunken tub before her sparkled in tones of rose-gold, its sheen making her shiver pleasantly. Everything was stunningly beautiful, but she couldn't help feeling the house was an unrealistic, unreachable fantasy.

"So?" Ginny asked softly. Solemnity had reentered her voice, along with a slight hesitation. Both girls were now invested in the dream of renting a home together, but Hermione genuinely dreaded to ask the price. "What is your financial situation going to be?" she continued, twining one hand nervously around her other wrist as she circled the tub to face Hermione.

At the time she'd received her acceptance letter to the university she'd so desired to attend, Hermione had found their offer of fully waived tuition and a living stipend to be indescribably generous. Now, however, she feared it would fall far short of the standard of living before her. Swallowing hard, she turned her eyes from the gleaming marble tub and named the figure to Ginny, who let out a delighted cry.

"I think I can convince the old lady to do it," she said breathlessly. "You'll have to come with me to meet her, but McGonagall will let us arrange that, I think. She'll probably be so happy to see us together again that she'll let us do anything."

Hermione passionately hoped that would be the case. As they reluctantly left the house, she found her spirits had lifted considerably. Judging by the spring in her companion's step, Ginny was beginning to find herself feeling similarly, her illusions of a life with Harry beginning slowly but inexorably to wane. Hermione knew that she would move past Harry...she had an indomitable spirit when it was put to the test, a fact she'd proved repeatedly and tirelessly over the course of their acquaintance.

Hermione wasn't yet certain that the same could be said for her own future. It wasn't only the mounting need she felt for human contact in the form of a large, warm, and welcoming male body; a life without regular glimpses of Severus Snape's face sounded to her like the very definition of hell. But Ginny's enthusiasm had sparked in her the kind of independence she hadn't felt in some time. If she had to try to move on, to move through the mundanity of daily life without his voice to thrill her, she would do it competently and comfortably.

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Once she'd begun to muster the slightest enthusiasm for her future, the weeks commenced passing at a pace that threatened to make Hermione's head spin. Though she deliberately strove not to dwell on what, if anything, Snape thought of her...and her appearance...each time she passed him in the hallway, she couldn't stomach the thought of leaving Hogwarts without proving to him, once and for all, the full breadth of her capabilities.

The last couple weeks of the term found Hermione studying for her N.E.W.T. exam in Advanced Potions with an intensity that even she, with her effulgent reputation, had never before managed. The library had ceased to offer her the sanctuary she required; the interminable buzz of other students' chattering had begun to make her itch to cast some curses. Frequently, she found herself throwing Ginny from their room with the threat of nasty and obscure hexes, desperate to achieve absolute tranquility as she revised her notes and recited formulas.

"Want to force me?" Ginny had shot back pugnaciously the first time Hermione had yelled at her. "I'm the future Auror! Let's see what you've got."

Hermione had rolled her eyes and feinted throwing her pillow at Ginny, who'd grinned and left anyhow. The relaxed post-war admission standards of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, coupled with her extraordinary combat record, ensured that Ginny had no further worries. Provided that she graduated, her future was secure. Hermione knew that Ginny reasonably expected her eligibility for entrance would be sealed by above-average, if not stellar, N.E.W.T. scores in at least five subjects, and that Ginny was confident her absence of several weeks would not destroy her chances of graduating. At the rigid insistence of the Headmistress, the other instructors had been most accommodating.

Hermione lacked such assurances. Nightly, she sweated through terrifying images and words of rejection. She was determined not only to keep her conditional acceptance to the university's prestigious honors program but, in the process, to shatter all previous Hogwarts records. It had been her goal since entering the school, and with O.W.L. scores that had caused more than a few instructors to shake their heads in astonishment and admiration, she had confidence that the possibility of leaving behind an unequaled academic achievement was well within her reach.

What she'd never before considered was how powerfully Snape's presence would affect her concentration. Through the crushing self-consciousness she felt in his presence, Hermione found herself managing desperately to derive pleasure in the barest glances. It was involuntarily done on her part; she would have liked nothing more than to keep her eyes glued on her work.

Unfortunately...or perhaps fortunately, depending upon how one viewed the situation... years of infatuation had finely honed her senses. Sitting in the Great Hall, she was aware of the most incremental turn of his head and fretted about whether he might be turning to observe her. Walking into the teachers' lounge to ask Professor Vector a question, she needed only the briefest glance through her peripheral vision to identify his outline. His silhouette had, in fact, become burned into her brain with arousing vividness. She knew the precise length of his arms, and, by virtue of the few times he'd stood before her in his shirtsleeves, the width of his chest and the leanness of his hips.

When the day of her Potions N.E.W.T. exam arrived, Hermione was at a loss for a coping mechanism. She knew that as long as her brain functioned, she would be drawn unwillingly to him, imagining exactly how his lips would feel tracing the contours of her neck and shoulders. Thus she found herself forced to ration her greedy glances, reserving them for the moments when he walked past her and stood at the front of the room, observing the progress of the other students.

As he paced restlessly past, obviously discomfited by the presence of the Ministry representatives in his personal domain, she would glance furtively at his back. The strength he'd gained was now obvious in the way he carried himself, and when he folded his arms across his chest in the classical gesture meant to dominate and intimidate, she saw only the tempting contour of the muscle in his arms. The glowers he shot at them no longer affected her. Hermione wondered if she'd become desensitized to his anger, having borne its greatest onslaught that night outside the Three Broomsticks.

And so while the other students cringed at his criticism and returned sheepish gazes to their cauldrons, she found herself captivated by the most innocuous of his gestures. He brushed a finger absently across his cheek, and the barely audible rasp of his fingertip against the afternoon's shadow of facial hair made her heart race. When he scrawled a note on his desk, the circumference of his wrist caught her breath. Compulsively, she glanced at her own, slender and white, and mentally whispered a fervent prayer to whatever deity resided above that someday, somehow, his hand would cover her own. She craved more than the simple brushes of contact afforded to her; she wanted his skin against hers, the heat of his body not just seeping but flooding into her.

Hermione bit her lip and shook her head, reeling in the risqué thoughts. Her cauldron demanded her attention. Beside her, Ginny stared sullenly ahead. Her absence from the last few weeks of class virtually guaranteed her inability to pass the Potions N.E.W.T. with an Exceeds Expectations, but Snape had, according to Ginny, preposterously refused to excuse her from sitting the exam. She was still convinced of her ability to obtain five Exceeds Expectations in other subjects, and Snape's demand that she attend had put her out of sorts. Every so often she jerkily stirred her cauldron and glared balefully at whatever was reluctantly congealing within.

By the time they'd finished and begun the considerable task of cleaning their equipment, the Ministry representatives were smugly packing up their sheaths of parchment and preparing to leave. As they opened the gigantic classroom door, Hermione heard the sound of a feminine voice carrying down the hall. Professor Vector hastened in a moment later, pausing to apologize to the Ministry employee whom she'd nearly bowled over in her haste.

"Hermione!" she exclaimed, her hands clasped together with evident pleasure. "I'm not interrupting your work, am I?"

Ginny, having waited to confirm that her presence was no longer needed, gave Snape one last withering glare and stalked from the room. For his part, the Potions master merely replied, "Miss Granger has finished with her exam," and returned to the vial of product he'd been examining with a condescending sneer. Hermione felt a wave of sympathy for the poor student who'd toiled for nearly six hours to hand in such a result.

"Good, good," Professor Vector said, clapping. "Hermione, I have the most wonderful news. I've submitted your final report about the progress with the healing potions to several prestigious journals, and one has agreed to publish it! The two of us will be listed as co-authors, and Severus, Poppy and Filius will of course be credited as contributors. It's a terrific achievement for someone your age, truly superb."

Hermione felt her cheeks flushing. "Thank you," she said, a lump growing in her throat. "That was very kind of you. You didn't have to..."

"I was happy to, my dear!" Professor Vector was bubbling over so thoroughly with excitement that she reached out a hand to squeeze Hermione's shoulder. "I'll let you know as soon as they reply to me with more details. There's always a dreadful lot of revision to be done when publishing studies like this, especially when they have portions ongoing. By the way, I assume you've given Severus the final dose?"

She looked curiously between the two of them, and as her eyes flicked from Hermione to Snape and back again, some of her enthusiasm seemed to melt under the force of the tension strung between them. It was now the inescapable side-effect of placing the two of them in the same room, and it was unbearable even to others.

Hermione, noticing Professor Vector's flagging spirits, recovered and began nodding vigorously. She felt as though her negativity and Snape's acerbity had suddenly sapped all pleasure from the room. "Yes, I did give it to him," she confirmed, and Professor Vector's smile returned.

"Excellent!" She turned her gaze to Snape, who was now placing the vial distastefully on his desk. "You'll contact her then, I assume, Severus, when you're ready to take it? If you haven't already, that is."

"I beg your pardon?" Snape replied silkily, and Hermione wanted to slap herself. She'd entirely forgotten, in her clumsy need to apologize to him for his inadvertent public humiliation at the hands of Ginny and herself, that she needed to tell him that the dose had yet to be activated.

"To activate it," Professor Vector clarified. "The potion requires spoken enchantments to be activated. I gather from Filius that Hermione has been thoroughly trained."

"I forgot," Hermione blurted, and Professor Vector's eyebrows creased in confusion. "To tell Professor Snape," Hermione clarified, stumbling over the words. "I...I forgot to tell Professor Snape, when I gave him the potion, that I need to activate it. That he needs to contact me." She clamped her lips shut, convinced that she'd just spoken simultaneously the most idiotic and least articulate words of her life.

"You will contact her, then, won't you, Severus?" Professor Vector was now halfway to the door, obviously growing impatient to move ahead with her busy daily schedule. Snape simply nodded, and seemingly satisfied, Professor Vector disappeared.

Hermione slung the strap of her book bag over her shoulder and turned toward the door, her body hunched, her cheeks still burning. She supposed it was theoretically possible for her to make a greater fool of herself in front of Snape, but after the totality of the past few weeks, it was beyond her to fathom just what that level of mortification would entail. Figuring that she had nothing else to lose, she turned at the door of the classroom and said, "Professor Snape, please do let me know... That is, give me a sign when you'd like me to activate the potion for you. I hope everything that's happened won't cause you to doubt its potency. Professor Flitwick was very confident that it would have the best results yet."

Snape released the quill he'd been holding and drew himself to his full height. His presence in the room felt magnetic to her, drawing her eyes to all the parts of his body that propriety demanded she overlook. Somehow, in blurring his features slightly, the distance between them as he looked up at her made his emotions more readable and accessible on his face.

Lingering on the slant of his eyebrows, Hermione could perceive in his eyes that despite the revelations Ginny had presented him, his opinion of her remained conflicted. She wondered with a dull ache just what it would take to prove to him that she could acknowledge the mistakes of young adulthood without losing sight of the admirable woman she knew she could become. She opened her mouth, floundering to express that need, but he interrupted her.

"I shall bear that in mind, Miss Granger," he said neutrally, his face impassive once more. As the fifth-years began pouring in to prepare for their O.W.L. exam, their nervous energy flowing past her with a sudden jolt, Hermione lowered her head and left the room.