Disclaimer: If you really believe that I am J.K. Rowling...well that's your perogative. For all the sane people, I'm just playing.

A/N: This is my second attempt at writing, and my first attept at SS/HG. However, I have been a long time reader so if you see anything familiar, I will try to give credit where credit is due. With that said, this story was in part inspired by the story 'Crimson and Gold' by Witch Lisa. Most of this chapter and the original plot were conceived pre-HBP. As such this story will be considered AU to that.

One look at the Great Hall and one would think all is normal; the children ate, laughed, talked, some about quidditch or homework or this and that. If one looked, all seemed normal. That is, until one looked more closely. On closer inspection one would see solemn faces, children that were forced to grow up too quickly, people wincing in pain from an old curse scar or from a recent training session, training for a war not of their making.

If one looked more closely, they would see empty spots left that way in memory of classmates: dead, missing or taken away by their parents in some foolish attempt to protect them. Perhaps the most profound of these empty seats would be the one halfway down the Gryffindor table, in between Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. A month. It had been a month since that seat had been empty. It had been a month since Hermione Granger, know-it-all, brightest witch of her age and, unbeknownst to her, a hope to many others, had gone missing.

Severus Snape looked away from the Gryffindor table as the Great Hall began to fill with hundreds of owls delivering the morning post. The owl delivering his morning paper landed in front of his plate. He untied the paper, paid for it and then gave the owl a bit of his toast. He looked at the front page, where it detailed the latest Death Eater attack. He riffled through the pages in search of something less depressing to read over his morning coffee.

"Ahem." At the indiscreet cough given to him by the witch beside him, he looked over. Minerva McGonagall looked at him, then gave a pointed look at something hidden by the newspaper held in his hands. When Severus lowered the paper, he was pleasantly surprised to see a familiar Grey Owl waiting patiently to take the post from her leg. "Hello, Metis," he intoned under his breathe, "I didn't expect to see you back so soon."

It was true, he didn't expect to see Metis back so soon. Over the past two years, he had been corresponding with a potions colleague from New York. A young woman by the name of Diana Martin, whose theories and ideas were always meticulously thought out and detailed.

If Severus were honest with himself, he would admit to being very apprehensive about Diana in the beginning. Why would she be writing him? Even in the potions world, where his opinion was respected, very few people tried to contact him. With that in mind, he decided to ignore her letters, but she was persistent and at the start of every week, there would be a new one. He finally gave in and it was the tentative start to something much more meaningful. Through their exchange, they became acquainted with one another. This, as time wore on, became a friendship(well as much as one can be friends without actually having met, he thought with a snort). He knew that it could be dangerous, but he opened up to her in their letters. What started as strictly down-to-business potions related missives, grew to include thoughts about such and such book or this and that charm, until it reached the level they were now, any and everything under the sun.

If she ever noticed that the bits and pieces he told her about his childhood were few and far between, and even then cold and dispassionate, she never made mention of it. With that, Severus turned to the matter at hand. He took the letter from Metis and then offered her a bit of toast. He promptly turned to the letter in his hand. I just sent a letter to her two days ago, he thought, surely she can't have received it already. Severus quickly broke the seal and read the familiar writing.

Minerva, having recognized the owl, gently nudged Albus Dumbledore, who sat on her other side. Albus looked over to Severus, then quickly to the letter in his hands and finally to the owl nibbling on a piece of toast. "Ah! And how is Miss Martin?" he asked teasingly to the dark-haired man. At receiving nothing closely resembling acknowledgement at his question, Albus took a closer look at Severus. To the untrained eye, nothing seemed amiss. But to Albus, who would like to believe that he had a fairly good understanding of the man he considered to be son, he saw the tenseness of his jaw and the, subtle, but present quickening of his breathe.

Albus shared a glance with Minerva, assessing whether if she had noticed Severus' change in demeanour. She had. She reached out her hand and gently placed it on Severus' arm. "Severus, is everything all right?" Shaken out of his stupor, whether by her physical contact or the worry laced in her voice, he turned to see two pairs of eyes looking at him.

"She's in London," was all he said before he stood abruptly and left, letter clutched tightly in his hand.

Dear Severus,

I know you weren't expecting to hear back from me so soon, but I wanted you to know that I just arrived in London. Master Orion and I shall be here for an indefinite amount of time.

Over our correspondence, I feel that we have gotten to know each other. I hope that, perhaps, this 'vacation' will give me the chance to actually meet the man behind the sarcasm that keeps me amused for hours on end.

On another matter, I feel that I may be in great need of your assistance. However I feel it would be more prudent to speak about this in private.

As it is, I would like you to know that I will be at The Three Broomsticks this Thursday evening. I would not be amiss in saying that your presence would be entirely welcomed, that is if you can find time in between teaching dunderheads and giving them detentions. Let me just say that I will understand if you are not able to come for whatever reason.

Anyway, I'm beginning to ramble, so I'll just say this,

I hope to see you soon,

Diana

P.S. I'm staying in Muggle London, I hope it's all right for Metis to stay at the castle for a couple of days.

P.P.S. Have you read Jonathan Ridley's latest article in Ars Alchemica? If not, I suggest you do, but only if you're in the mood for a good laugh.

Ronald Weasley looked over to see his best mate solemnly pushing his food around his plate. "Alright, Harry?" he asked quietly, his voice carrying easily across the empty space that separated the two.

"It's a month today," replied Harry.

"I know mate, I know," Ron said sadly, "but you should eat something. You know what Hermione always says 'A good breakfast is conducive to better learning.'"

Harry let out a snort at that, but a small smile graced is lips. "Too bad she couldn't be bothered to take her nose out of a book long enough to regularly follow her own advice."

Both boys chuckled for a minute before resuming their sombre expressions. "You're not eating either," Harry said softly.

Ron looked down at his plate, which was unusually full this late into the meal before pushing it away entirely. "I suppose I ate enough at dinner last night." After a few moments of silence, it became clear that neither boy was going to eat anymore. "Come on," Ron said, "We have potions first. And I'd rather not find out how foul a mood Snape would be in if we decided to be late."

"That's Professor Snape, Ronald" Harry said in perfect imitation of their missing friend. With that, they left the Great Hall, each with a wistful expression on their face.

Severus was greatly unnerved by Diana's letter. He knew that they had become something akin to friends, but that did little to allay his worries. There was still much he didn't know about her, and there was a whole lot she didn't know about him. How much should he tell her? He knew he couldn't lie to her, but what would he say? Hi I'm Severus Snape, Potion Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In my spare time I like reading a good Dark Arts book by the fire and spying on a delusional half-blood megalomaniac determined to purify the world of Muggles and Muggleborns. And you? Oh yes, I'm sure that will go over quite well.

To make matters worse, Severus wasn't sure why it mattered so much how he appeared. He wasn't supposed to care what people thought of him. He was the 'nasty git,' the 'big, greasy bat of the dungeons.' He sneered and scowled. He struck fear into the hearts of first years everywhere. And yet he was still nervous about meeting her.

Looking down at the essaying he was trying to grade before that bout of introspection, Severus sneered has he gave up anything constructive as a lost cause. It's probably for the best, he thought, I have a bloody order meeting to get to in 20 minutes anyway.

Gathering up his papers, he made his way to his chambers, locking and warding his office on his way out. Once safely ensconced in his private domain, he unceremoniously dropped the papers on his desk. Severus strode to the fireplace and grabbed a pinch of floo. With one last look around, and one weary sigh, he stepped into the fire place, calling out "Number 12 Grimmauld Place," as he threw the powder down.

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