III - Hermione's Meeting

AN: A million and two thanks to melusin for fab. beta-ing and Brit-picking! Mistakes belong to me.

Oh, and I don't get a single denarius for this.

Three days into her vigil, Hermione Weasley was bored. Her children had been thoughtful enough to provide her with reading material, but that had to be secreted away when devotees of the Cult of Ronald Bilius Weasley came to pay their respects. Unfortunately, the stream of mourners started early in the morning and did not usually end until after the sun had set. On the upside, once the visiting stopped, the cemetery was a quiet place for Hermione to catch up on her reading. This had lasted until the third evening when she finished her seventh book.

Stepping out of the mausoleum, Hermione stretched and looked about the cemetery. It was a pretty, peaceful place: the willows gently caressed some of the more modest gravestones, and the stream that wound through the property burbled merrily in the gloaming. The swish of the gardener's rake provided a counterpoint to the brook.

Hermione froze. Since when did the gardener do his work after dark? Sliding her wand down from her sleeve, she stepped off the little porch of the mausoleum and looked around. Upon the path, lighted by low lamps, stood a tall figure swinging a rake, gently moving the gravel around.

Unable to restrain her curiosity, Hermione stepped forward and onto a twig. The loud crack resounded through the graveyard, and the figure straightened up and looked towards her. Black hair surrounded a white face that seemed to glow in the dim light. Hermione brought her hand to her mouth and gasped.

"Professor Snape!" Suddenly, the world seemed to spin and go dark. The next thing she knew, she was on the ground leaning against the unsightly statue of Ron. At her side knelt the ghost Severus Snape.

"Not 'Professor Snape', Mrs. Weasley," growled the ghost.

"Wha...?" Hermione waved her hand in the general direction of the apparition. "Ghosts. I've been in this damned graveyard too long."

"Why would you assume I am a ghost?" inquired the shade. "I assure you, Mrs. Weasley, I am as real and as solid as you and that eyesore against which you are leaning. Surely it would take more than a serpent and a weasel to lay me low?"

"Wea - weasel?"

"Your departed beloved."

"Oh, gods. You're the groundskeeper? Ron told me you had a job, but I wasn't expecting..." she trailed off.

"Obviously not," Snape replied, shifting so his long legs were stretched out before him. "For your information, I am also the Executive Vice President for Excavation and Exhumation at this particular facility. I don't just sweep up."

"Executive Vice... Are you having me on?"

"Not at all, I assure you. Now, if you are feeling better, I have work to do, and you will no doubt want to return to your grieving. I should warn you, however, Mrs. Weasley, do not open the door to your mausoleum tonight unless," he said ghoulishly, "you do actually want to see a ghost." Snape made to rise, but Hermione grasped his sleeve.

"Wait. Why?" she asked. "And what makes you think I want to return to my grieving anyway?"

"Getting bored already, Mrs. Weasley? I'm surprised. I have been watching you these past three days, and you seem to be quite bereaved."

"Leave off, Snape. If you've been watching me these past three days, you've seen exactly what's been going on, and it hasn't been grieving." Annoyance, exhaustion, and lack of food other than fruit and water drove Hermione to bark at the irritant beside her. "I haven't had a decent meal in three days, a decent book in two hours, an intelligent conversation since I found out that the tosser who was my husband had died, or, most importantly, a bath in almost a week! I'm tired, I'm angry; I'm bored, and I stink!"

"I noticed. Cleansing charms not working for you?"

"You know they only go so far," Hermione snapped. "And anyway, you're the first intelligent creature apart from Harry," Snape snorted, "and my children who've actually come 'round. So keep your arse on that ground, Mr. Groundskeeper, and entertain me!"

"Well, since you put it so charmingly, how can I refuse? We should go inside, however; there are... well, things you shouldn't know about afoot tonight." Snape pulled a bottle from beneath his robes and, using the rake for leverage, rose. He offered his hand to Hermione, and together the two of them adjourned to the relative comforts of Ron's mausoleum, the pallet, and a bottle of Ogden's Worst.

Once they were settled, Hermione fired the first shot:

"Tell me, how does a Potions master, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Spy for the Order of the Phoenix, former Death Eater, and subject of several of my lascivious schoolgirl fantasies end up being an Executive Vice President for... whatever, a gravedigger and groundskeeper?"

Snape choked on his Ogden's and looked at her in wild surmise. When he could breathe again, he replied, "Well, since you asked . . ."