Chapter 4

Disclaimer: The characters in this fan fiction are copyright by J K Rowling, but this specific story is entirely mine. It has been written for fun only, and I do not make any money out of it. Nevertheless, the story should not be reproduced without seeking my permission first.

Many thanks to my beta, Suzanne, who helped me with punctuation and other crucial details of the English grammar.

The next evening found Hermione in the dungeons again. As agreed upon, she and Professor Snape were meeting to prepare another batch of strengthening potion.

Although last time he had treated her as if he thought she was quite capable at potion making, tonight she felt a bit like she were back in school again. Unsure whether to make any conversation, she stayed silent while she gathered the ingredients he had indicated at the shelves and placed them on the worktable. She was startled when Snape suddenly spoke.

"I couldn't help noticing this morning at breakfast that the other professors were pestering you again with queries about an apprenticeship."

She rolled her eyes whilst she began to chop the arnica. "Yes, they still think I should start one as soon as possible."

"But you don't want to." His voice, floating over from the shelves behind her, sounded slightly incredulous.

"Of course, I want to." She shuddered at the thought of not furthering her education.

"But?" he asked and stepped beside her to cut the angelica archangelica.

She stared at his nimble fingers as they chopped the herbs with a precision honed from many years of potion making. She couldn't help admiring his dexterity.

Looking back at the chopping board in front of her and slicing the rest of the arnica, she searched for the best way to express her feelings. "I very much want to apprentice with someone," she finally said. "Actually I can't imagine not apprenticing. But everything is different now. First, we prepared for the battle, then we fought it, and when it was over, Harry fell into a coma. My whole life has changed in the past six months. I know that I have to get on with my life despite the fact that some good friends died in the battle, whether Harry regains consciousness or not. I really want to move on. But, I just didn't want to be pressured."

She had stopped chopping and looked up at Snape. No longer chopping either, he returned her look, and she thought she detected some sympathy in his eyes.

"Didn't?" he asked softly. "Does that mean you're no longer in doubt you'd like to become a Transfiguration mistress?"

She shook her head. "I've wanted to do that for a long time, but now I've changed my mind. I've decided on something else. I've already got an offer from St Mungo's a few days ago that I intend to accept."

"Do you want to become a Healer?"

Hermione hesitated. She could almost hear his condescending remark when she told him what she planned to do. Seeing him raise his brow in question, she plunged on. "No, not a Healer. I'm going to apprentice at the Potion and Plant Poisoning Ward as a researcher. I'm starting on the first of October."

To her utter surprise, Snape nodded. "Yes, that will suit you very well."

She was stunned. This was the closest Professor Snape had ever come to paying her a compliment. "Do you really think so?" she finally managed to say.

"Yes, Miss Granger, I do. You have a great talent for Potions," he said, looking her straight in the eyes.

As impossible as it seemed to be, she knew that he was serious. She could see it in his eyes. His expression was earnest but kind. The room seemed to suddenly get warmer. She felt her cheeks begin to flush and turned back to the chopping board in front of her to slice the St John's wort.

They went on preparing the potion, and soon the greenish liquid simmered in a cauldron. As when they had brewed it the first time, it would have to simmer two hours until it would be ready.

Staring at the potion, Hermione wondered whether she should leave. Snape hadn't dismissed her yet, and she would rather stay with him for a while than return to her solitary room. In an effort to come up with something intelligent to say, she finally blurted out, "What about you, sir?"

"Me?" he asked as he put the herbs back on the shelf. It was impossible to miss the tone of incomprehension in his voice; and his eyebrow was cocked when he turned around to her.

"Yes. What are you going to do now that the Dark Lord is dead and you don't have to spy anymore?"

His face turned into a mask. "I don't usually discuss my private life with my students, Miss Granger."

Hermione flinched at his harsh words but was determined to not be put off by his attempt to intimidate her. "But I am no longer your student," she reminded him.

He gave her an odd look and hesitated for a second before he said apologetically, "You're right." He paused, running his hand along the top of the worktable. His eyes bored into hers when he added, "Nevertheless, I don't tend to talk about my personal affairs with other people."

She cast her look down at his hand, which was still caressing the scrubbed tabletop. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to pry. It just occurred to me that you are free now to do what you like. I know that you've been applying for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post for many years, and I thought that..." She broke off, realising that this might be a sore point for him.

"I haven't actually thought about my future lately," he answered with a wry smile. "Like you, I was a bit preoccupied with defeating the Dark Lord. Since then I've been doing what I've done for the past 16 summers: preparing myself for the next school year. We also had to repair the damage Hogwarts acquired during the battle."

She nodded in understanding. "Yes, of course. I had almost forgotten there are only two and a half weeks until the students arrive to begin the term."

"Did you intend to annoy me by reminding me of this, Miss Granger?" he snarled, but his eyes remained placid. She was quite sure that he was only mocking her.

"No, I didn't." She laughed and, feeling quite bold now, went on, "But I was right, wasn't I? You're finally free to do whatever you want to."

"I think so, yes."

"Would you still like to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts?"

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps?" Hermione frowned as she glanced at the strengthening potion, making sure that it was still simmering. "The entire school knows that you've always wanted that post. Have you changed your mind?"

"Not really."

She picked up a wooden spoon. "Well, I always understood that you didn't like teaching Potions very much. But if you no longer want to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts either, what do you want to do instead?"

"I don't know."

"Hmm, do you have any friends outside of Hogwarts who could help you with finding an interesting job?" she asked whilst giving the potion a thorough stir.

"No."

"Family?"

"No."

Eventually noticing that his answers had become monosyllabic, she stopped stirring the potion and looked at her former teacher. He was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed above his chest. His face was dispassionate and his eyes dull.

Hermione silently chastised herself for not realising sooner how uncomfortable her questions seemed to have made him feel.

With an abrupt motion, he approached her. "Miss Granger, I've been meaning to ask you about that book that you read to Mr Potter some days ago. The one with the butler."

Taken aback by this unexpected change of topic, Hermione was momentarily lost. "Oh, you're talking about 'The Remains of the Day.'"

"Yes, I think that's the one," he said, both his voice and his eyes no longer as expressionless as they had been only moments before.

She bit back a sigh of relief. "What would you like to know about it?"

"The other day you told me what you cherish about some authors' works, and because I assume that you also appreciate this book, I thought you might explain to me what you like about it. From what I remember you telling Madam Pomfrey, it sounded quite depressing."

"Yes, it's not a very uplifting book. Sometimes it's almost heartbreaking, but I like it nonetheless." She inhaled deeply before rattling on, "It always amazes me to see how artfully the author managed to depict such believable characters, especially the butler of course."

"I see," Snape said, walking over to the table that was pushed up against a wall and pulling the single chair from under it. After clearing the chair of some Potions books, he turned back to her and asked, "Why don't you have a seat, Miss Granger?"

She stared at him and when he gave her a nod, went over to the chair to sit down. "Thank you very much, sir."

"You're welcome," he said in a soft voice, and she felt her pulse accelerate. He leant against the worktable, on which the strengthening potion was still simmering. "Am I right in understanding that the book had a deep impact on you?"

Still a bit flustered, she chewed on her lower lip, contemplating how to answer him. "There are people who think that books can change the way people view the world, but I've never believed that," she finally said. "But there are books that make me think, and this is one of them. It's not the kind of book you enjoy reading but forget about immediately after you've finished it."

He nodded, clearing his throat. "I wonder whether you wouldn't mind lending it to me."

Speechless, she stared at his dark figure. No one would ever believe her if she told them that Professor Snape asked to borrow a book of her. Suddenly, a giggle escaped her lips, which caused him to raise his eyebrow at her. She swallowed. "I'm sorry, sir, I just remembered watching the film adaptation a few years back. The butler was always dressed in impeccable black."

Scowling at her for another moment, Professor Snape gave his robe a quick glance. "Do you mean to say that I remind you of a depressing butler, Miss Granger?" He sounded dangerous. "Please be assured that outer appearances can be quite deceiving. Contrary to common belief," he added in a voice laced with irony, "I actually do know how to laugh." As if to prove that he wasn't lying, he smirked at her.

"That's not a real laugh, Professor," she retorted, and immediately clapped her hands over her mouth. "I'm sorry," she muttered between her fingers when she saw his eyes widen.

He gleamed at her. "Out, Miss Granger. Get out. It's late, and I'm no longer willing to put up with your impertinence."

She glanced at him and came to the conclusion that he wasn't really angry with her. Feeling somewhat light-headed, she got up and walked towards the door. "What about the potion?" she asked as she reached for the doorknob.

He snorted. "I'll deliver it to the hospital wing tomorrow after lunch so that you can give Mr Potter another dose of it." He pointed at the door. "Now out with you, Miss Granger."

"Thank you, sir, for allowing me to help you with the potion again. I'll give you the book tomorrow morning at breakfast," she said, her heart skipping slightly as she left his private workroom.

***

Later in the week, Hermione was sitting by Harry's bedside. Three days ago, she had given him the first dose of the second batch of the strengthening potion. Tomorrow, he would receive another one. He had slightly recovered and regained some strength, but so far there was no reason to assume that he would wake up soon.

Running out of ideas how to entertain Harry whilst she was keeping him company, she had brought along the chess set again. She started playing in silence, temporarily at a loss as to what to say to her friend.

Feeling rather dispirited, she first put forward Harry's rook and then moved her own queen. With a grin on her little carved face, the queen speared one of Harry's pawns with her sceptre. Hermione shuddered. Although she had seen Ron playing wizard's chess many times, she'd never got used to its brutality.

She went on moving forward Harry's and her pieces until Harry's knight kicked one of her pawns. The little black piece not only fell from the chess set but down to the floor.

"Oh no," she said and sighed, following the wooden figure with her eyes until it vanished under the bed beside Harry's. With another sigh, she dived down to pick it up.

While looking around, hindered by the shadow under the bed, she heard someone enter the hospital wing. The footfalls were quick but measured, and she recognised them as Professor Snape's.

"Hello, Professor," she greeted him, almost blindly feeling around for the piece.

"I've come to return the book you lent me," he said without preamble.

"Have you finished it already? Did you like it?" Her voice was slightly muffled as she searched for her pawn.

"It certainly was quite interesting," he said, emphasising the last word.

Finally retrieving the piece, she came up again, put it on the chessboard and then looked at Snape, contemplating his choice of words. "Interesting?"

His eyes flashed at her. "I'm sure you realise that it hit quite close to home."

Hermione cringed and mumbled, "Oh, sorry, sir."

"Don't spare my feelings, Miss Granger," he said tensely, sitting down on the bed beside Harry's. "It's a book about a man who represses all his feelings and common sense and ends up serving a wrong cause." His lips curled into a twisted smile. "Doesn't that sound familiar?"

Hermione was mortified and wished she'd never let him read the book. Of course, she had seen that there were certain similarities between the butler and her former Potions professor, but if she was honest to herself, she had not taken into account how much the book might affect Snape's feelings. Actually, she had rarely thought about his feelings so far. "Only to someone who doesn't know you well," she answered eventually.

He cocked an eyebrow. "And you think that you know me well?"

"No, not that well, but well enough to know that you are different from Stevens, the butler. He only saw his errors and regretted them when it was much too late. You, instead, made a mistake when you were very young. Since then you've helped the Order, and your help was crucial in defeating the Dark Lord."

"You're very noble, Miss Granger, but you know as much as I do that many people think differently."

"Yes, but it's only a few weeks ago that you were able to show your true colours. For twenty years people have thought that you were still a follower of Vol... the Dark Lord. Give them some time, I'm sure they'll come around. You'll see." She smiled at him encouragingly and as an afterthought added, "And you're still young, sir. Your life is far from over."

She eyed him, unsure how he would react to her words, expecting the worst. But what she saw was probably the strangest thing she'd ever witnessed.

Professor Snape began to laugh. He laughed loud and uninhibited.

Transfixed, she gazed at his face, which for once was marked by lines of laughter and not by ones of anger or ill will.

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger. I didn't laugh at you," he finally managed to say, still chuckling. "But I think no one has ever said anything like that to me. Your optimism is very refreshing if absolutely unrealistic."

"Do you really think so?"

He quickly sobered. "Yes. People won't forgive what I've done so easily, and I can't blame them."

"You're wrong," Hermione said, not sure whether she was trying to convince herself or Snape. "They might not forget, but they will forgive."

He gave her a sad little smile. "Thank you, Miss Granger. That's very kind of you. Perhaps you're right, and there are..." He paused. "... is someone who'll forgive me."

She began to nod at him in assurance, but his eyes pierced into hers and brought her to a halt. They blazed with an intensity that caused her cheeks to flush, but she couldn't turn away from his burning stare.

While she had still been at school, Professor Snape had always exuded a certain air of frostiness that had made many pupils shudder in his presence. Now however, he often seemed to radiate warmth instead, which made her feel strangely heated.

When he stopped gazing at her at last, she exhaled in relief and snatched one of the pawns from the chessboard, fidgeting with it.

They remained silent for a while, avoiding looking at each other, until Snape spoke again. "I owe you an apology, Miss Granger."

"Oh yes? Why?" Hermione asked.

"I think I told you the other day that the few Muggle books I've read always dealt with things that had nothing to do with my life and me. I'm afraid I wasn't quite honest with you when I said that."

She quirked her eyebrows at him.

"There's one book that has meant something to me for many years. It's called 'Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead.' It's a play by someone called Tom Stoppard."

Again, his eyes had bored into hers, but he went on in a passionless voice. "For a long time, I often felt like the two main characters in the book, who are like pawns in a game of chess." He nodded at the little black piece in her hand. "They live in a world they don't understand and don't have the power to change because this world doesn't offer any certainty or reliability. They resemble puppets, confused about what they are doing and what's happening to them."

He took a deep breath, and before she could say anything plunged on, a bitter smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "In contrast to them, I didn't die in the end, although there were quite a few moments when I wouldn't have minded dying."

Hermione opened her mouth but, at a loss for words, shut it again, and stared at him while he gazed at her.

He cleared his throat. "But recently I came to think that life has much more to offer than I ever thought possible. With the Dark Lord being dead and..." He swallowed audibly, and as a few days before, she felt a rush of warmth towards him. "And also with..." He began anew, only to trail off again.

Averting his gaze from her, he started fumbling with his robe instead, pulled a thin paperback out of his inner pocket and thrust it into her hands so that she dropped the pawn. "Here. I thought that perhaps you'd be willing to read it," he said in a hoarse voice.

"Thank you." Hermione dazedly looked down at the dog-eared book in her hands, as she tried to grasp what she had just learnt.

Glancing up again, she saw that he had turned and was on his way out of the hospital wing. His pace was even more rapid than usual, as if he was fleeing.

***

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione dropped the Daily Prophet, from which she had been reading to Harry, and turned around when she heard Madam Pomfrey's voice. "Yes?"

The nurse had come to stand beside Harry's bed. "Have you seen Professor Snape this afternoon? I'm quite sure that he wanted to bring me some wound-cleaning potion today."

Hermione shook her head. "No, he hasn't been here. I haven't seen him since..." She broke off, remembering her last encounter with the Potions master, and her eyes became unfocused for a moment. "Since a couple of days ago," she added in a low voice.

Madam Pomfrey cocked her head. "Is everything alright, Miss Granger?"

"Oh yes, thank you. I'm fine." Hermione smiled at the nurse, who nodded and returned to her office.

Indeed, she had not seen Professor Snape since he had fled from the hospital wing. She had neither encountered him there again, nor at the library, nor any other place at the school; and he had not appeared at any meals.

She had begun to miss him. She shook her head. Missing Professor Snape? How could it be? But yet, as strange as this thought would have appeared to her only a few weeks ago, it was nevertheless true.

While the other professors had virtually suffocated her with their never-ending concern about her future, Professor Snape had remained his usual self. Snarling, sneering and mocking. No, that was not quite correct. Although still a complicated and inscrutable man, he had become more pleasant towards her. Sometimes he almost treated her as an equal. In contrast to her other former teachers, he listened to her and seemed to understand her without dismissing her reasoning from the start.

Her thoughts wandered back to when she had last seen him three days ago. She didn't think there were many people who Snape had ever told such personal issues to about his time as a spy. She had read the play he had given her and could only try to imagine how he must have felt all these years.

Still preoccupied, she picked up the newspaper again.

***

Later that day, Hermione was just leaving the library when she almost ran into Professor Snape, and her heart leapt.

"Hello," she said, smiling at him. "Are you also on your way to lunch?"

But he only greeted her with a curt nod as he strode off in the opposite direction.

Hanging her head in sudden disappointment, she started towards the Great Hall.

"Miss Granger."

She stopped and turned around to see that he had paused as well.

"In two days, I'm going to brew another batch of Mr Potter's potion. After dinner," he said before he swept off towards the dungeons.

He hadn't explicitly invited her, but she was sure that this was his way of asking her to help him again.

Almost skipping, she resumed her way to the Great Hall.

***

The next day, Hermione sat at Harry's bed and read aloud a letter Ron had sent. About a week ago, their friend had travelled to Romania to visit his brother Charlie.

She was laughing at one of Ron's antics when she heard the door to the hospital wing open. She looked up and saw Professor Snape approaching her. He came to a halt in the middle of the room, a few yards away from her.

His eyes swept around the room and then settled on her. He didn't say anything but stood without moving, his arms at his side. His unfathomable features didn't betray any emotion, but Hermione saw that his left hand clenched repeatedly. Her own hand had tightened around Ron's letter and crumbled it.

Their eyes met for a second, before her glance returned to his hand, and he hid it behind his back.

Tension began to fill the room.

She gave him a questioning look when he still wouldn't say anything. "Prof...?" she began but trailed off, unnerved by his unblinking gaze. She dropped Ron's letter on Harry's bed and wiped her hands on her robes.

Snape still hadn't moved. He stood as rigid as if he had been hit by a Petrificus Totalus – as usual clad in black from head to toe, with his eyes fixed on her.

Every first year student would feel a cold shiver running down their back at the Potions master's dark presence. Instead, Hermione once more felt the heat that radiated from him.

Without a sound, he came forward only to stop after one step.

She felt the heat colour her cheeks, and her throat went dry.

Again seeking her eyes, he made some more slow steps, his robe billowing gently around his frame.

Hermione's heart began to pound faster in her chest when he stopped in front of her. The stillness in the room started to roar in her ears. Slowly, she looked up into his eyes, which seemed to burn brightly, luring her. She rose from her chair.

His voice sounded husky when he finally spoke; their eyes still locked.

"Hermione."

The End