Pull of the String

Chapter 1 – The Strength to Bear

The world was dark and hazy around Severus Snape as his life ebbed slowly away. His surroundings had long since become indiscernible, swimming around his eyes like blurry clouds. Shrieks of war echoed endlessly in his ears, eclipsing the faint sound of his ever fading heartbeat.

But while blood trickled down in crimson streams from the perforations in his neck, intermingling with the dark folds of his robe, he felt no pain. The agony that wracked his body during Nagini's attacks had all but vanished, his body shutting down under its incapacity to tolerate such torment. Now death was sure to come quickly, Snape thought.

And what a fitting way to die, for he was alone. He had spent most of his life in isolation, most of his true thoughts and feelings utterly concealed; it was only proper that his life end in the same manner.

His murderer Lord Voldemort had long since left his pathetic remains crumpled by the window, discarding him like a splintered old wand, useful in its day but now inconvenient and worthless. Potter and his friends had likewise come and gone – gone to the Pensieve to view the memories his tears would unlock, or so he wished to believe. The thought that someone would know the truth, even if it was the boy who had always elicited both grief and rage from Snape, was indeed comforting.

As he tried feebly to move his leg he realized that his body was no longer responding to his mind, the paralyzing venom spreading steadily through his veins. As soon as it reached his heart, he would be finished. It was only a matter of minutes now before he would be free; released from the war, the darkness, the arduous burden of playing Dumbledore's spy, released into the presence of Lily. Yes, he would finally be free.

But was that truly what Severus Snape desired? Even as he lay battered on the cold wooden floorboards, greasy black locks sticking to his sallow, sweaty skin, was there nothing that held him back? Nothing that called him away from the bright white light that was spreading gradually before his eyes?

"He's still alive!"

That voice.

A chorus of voices had exclaimed those words in tandem, bearing various tones and pitches, and yet there was only one voice that fell upon Snape's ears. One voice that still claimed power over him.

Struggling against his heavy eyelids to open his eyes, and not even recalling when they had fallen shut, he was met with a vista of dark, blurry greys. Several hues of brown and red managed to make themselves visible amongst the sea of shades, but no forms were discernable to the dying wizard. His blinking, if he considered the frequent fading of greys to be blinking, was languid and labored as he attempted to understand the situation. He had possessed an extraordinarily keen mind in his life, and even now it grappled tenaciously to comprehend the scene around him.

It was with tremendous resolve that Snape forced the image before him into better focus. While the figures were nowhere near clear, it soon became possible to distinguish one from another and make a fairly accurate conjecture at the identity of each feathered blob. Potter was kneeling before him with very uncomfortable proximity, but Snape no longer possessed the strength to reprimand the meddlesome boy. While he could not discern any features in the boy's pale blob of a face, he knew that Potter must be talking to him, for he detected faint echoes of fervent pleas.

"So you have forgiven me, Potter. How very typical." Through the increasing numbness and pervading dizziness that enwrapped his body, Snape found the strength to curl up the corner of his mouth in a signature sneer. This seemed to please Potter, for the boy soon withdrew from his face, taking his unpleasant body odor with him.

Weasley must have also been in the general area, for the vibrant orange hue that bobbed in and out of Snape's vision could belong to no other. An older, portly figure also stood amidst the haze, a silhouette he had seen enough times to recognize as Professor Slughorn. How the old Potions professor came to join Potter's valiant, foolhardy, and utterly futile attempt at saving his life, Snape would never know. Perhaps Slughorn had too learned the truth about Dumbledore's faithful spy and felt compassion for his former student.

However animated each figure was as they hovered around his crumpled form, none of these blurry silhouettes commanded the fading professor's attention. Through the foggy blanket draped over his eyes, it was a brown mess of curls that pierced through the obscurity and captivated Snape's intense interest. She hadn't drawn as near as Potter had, yet she crouched close by his legs, observing him silently.

If those deep brown eyes ceased blurring together with her pale skin, what would they look like? Would they hold tears?

As the paralysis continued to creep up his legs, Snape was seized with the sudden desire to behold that face. If he were to gaze upon her face one last time and perceive its fairness clearly, then he could let himself slip into the comforting shroud of death with one sweet memory to usher him into the unknown. It was with this resolution that he squeezed his weary eyes tightly shut, expending most of his energy in a formerly effortless muscle contraction before again opening his eyes. While the world that met him was still streaked and watery, he could observe it with decidedly more clarity than before.

With his newly improved vision came more audible sound, but Potter's frantic blabbering was deliberately tuned out as Snape trained his gaze on the girl before him. Miss Granger.

The sorrow that glistened in her large brown eyes could not have been described by the greatest Muggle poet. The tears that flowed softly down her cheeks were likewise indescribable, and in truth a might puzzling to Severus Snape. If the girl had indeed ever cared for him, as certain instances during her third to sixth years had evidenced, such foolish feelings had undoubtedly been quashed when he had withdrawn from her and commenced the final phase of Dumbledore's plan. While he had not seen her in nearly a year, he held no doubts that she strongly shared Potter's hatred of him. But even if a whisper of something else remained, was the Pensieve's reflection enough to absolve all the crimes he had committed in her eyes?

As these memories swirled through Snape's wearying mind, he found his lips parting in a futile attempt to speak. It was certainly a foolish endeavor, for the venom that overwhelmed his system was sapping too much energy to allow for such feat. And even if he could speak, what would he say? There were no words appropriate to speak to a student he cared deeply for in a strange, subconscious way; in a way that he hadn't even allowed himself to acknowledge until he lay dying. All he could do was gaze weakly at her and hope she finally understood.

While the faint sound that managed to escape his mouth was unintelligible, it seemed to elicit a reaction from the people around his proverbial deathbed. They all appeared slightly relieved, as if they were wholly invested in his survival. It was remarkable, really, what power a little insight wielded over one's prejudices. Those who had once grimaced at the mere sight of him were now attempting vigorously to save his life.

As Snape's gaze reluctantly left Miss Granger, he tuned his ear back to the dialogue around him. While everyone but Granger seemed to be speaking at that moment, it was Potter's voice that first reached his ears.

"We need to get him to Saint Mungo's!"

"I don't think there's time," Slughorn answered gravely, glancing at the crumpled up wizard in the corner.

"Isn't there any way to stop the venom?" Potter asked urgently. "Any potion? Any spell?"

"That snake is a very ancient breed and her venom has already spread too far. I'm afraid it's too late for common cures like blood-replenishing to work," Slughorn replied with something that sounded suspiciously like regret.

"Come on, you're a Potions professor! There's got to be something!" Weasley pressed, seeming almost as concerned as Potter for the dreaded professor's life.

Slughorn seemed to take a moment to ponder as Snape identified the irritating, lip smacking noise the old man occasionally made when contemplating. "There is an ancient potion, Fortaffectus, that is rumored to give one strength enough to endure any poison." The students immediately perked up, and even Granger turned her eyes hopefully to Slughorn, her hand cautiously resting upon Snape's numb leg for reasons unknown to the owner of the leg. "However," Slughorn quickly added in an effective attempt to quash their hopes. "It hasn't been successfully brewed for centuries, and there are only a few of us who even know of it. It may very well just be a myth. There is no guarantee that it will work."

The three students hesitated for a moment before Harry responded. "Well it's better than just watching him die!"

As Slughorn's gaze turned towards Snape, Severus' ashen and paralyzed condition reminded him of the urgency of the situation. Without another word he sprang into action, receiving a flask from Miss Granger before he could even utter his request. In a flash that dizzied Snape's failing senses, the four of them knelt on the floor by his feet, huddled around the flask as Harry transfigured a nearby cushion into a cauldron.

"According to the legends in which this potion has been made, the brewing time is nearly nothing," Slughorn stated after a quick "incendio" to light a small, contained fire beneath the cauldron.

"That's good then!" Weasley exclaimed hopefully. Then, with a quick glance at Professor Snape, he added, "That's what we need. He looks like he doesn't have much time left."

"That's just the problem; it's too good," Slughorn responded with a troubled expression, his rapid hand motions stilling. "It sounds too fantastic to work."

"That doesn't mean anything," Potter dismissed with a wave of his hand. "There are plenty of potions that don't take long to brew. We make them all the time in Potions class."

"Yes, but the Fortaffectus potion is listed in Farbanker's Index of Mythical Spells and Potions because – "

"There's no time to argue! We have to try!" It was Granger's frantic voice that pierced through their quibbling, effectively halting Slughorn in what promised to be an informative but dangerously lengthy explanation. The girl appeared particularly vexed as the eyes beneath her furrowed brow glowed with concern and impatience.

Upon seeing the resolve on Miss Granger's face, Slughorn's apprehensive features set into a similar expression, responding with a definitive nod. "Right," he agreed.

Immediately Potter flew up from his crouched position, nearly tripping over one of Snape's numb legs in the process. "I'll get the ingredients! What do we need?"

The overeager boy had almost disappeared through the doorway before Slughorn had a chance to respond. "I'm afraid this potion does not require simple ingredients," he called after Potter.

"Of course it doesn't," muttered Weasley in irritation. Visibly tired of crouching, he flopped down into a seated position on the floor.

Instantly returning to the group, Potter regarded his Potions master with confusion and impatience. "Then what?"

While Slughorn spoke at a slower pace than the anxious students, there was still a substantial amount of anxiety in his voice. "The Fortaffectus potion requires only one ingredient: memories of deep love for the victim…" Clearing his throat with palpable discomfort, he added, "So in this case, for Severus…"

As the scene unfolded before Snape, his confusion at their apparent concern continued to swell as his battle with the darkness grew increasingly arduous, death threatening to overtake him at any moment. It was with great exertion that he kept his gaze trained on Miss Granger, for his eyelids longed to fall shut under their tremendous weight. The difficulty of this task increased with the burden of focusing his hearing on the rapid words the students and old professor were spewing, but Snape was soon relieved from this duty when a heavy silence fell over the Shrieking Shack. Initially this relaxed Snape, for their hectic babbling and movements wearied his fading mind, but he soon sensed the unease that had settled upon them. Observing their expressions, he found varying degrees of contemplation, disappointment, and regret.

After the silence had almost grown deafening, Potter ultimately broke it with a sigh. "Well, I can't say I actually have any…" he admitted quietly. Having finally discovered the truth about Hogwarts' most hated professor, there was a discernable tone of regret in the boy's words.

"Blimey, who can blame us?" Weasley responded after a moment, his voice tinged with sadness. "He's not exactly the most loveable bloke. I doubt we could find anyone who has loving memories of him."

While those words elicited expressions of sorrowful resignation, Snape found strength within him to manage another caustic smirk. "You forget I am still here, Mr. Weasley," he thought. "And that remark would have earned you a considerable amount of detention if I wasn't currently dying…" But however detention-worthy Weasley's assessment was, Snape could not deny its validity.

The uncomfortable silence had been ushered back in with Weasley's words, except now it was colored with remorse. None of Snape's overeager saviors were willing to state the thoughts they shared, that their attempts were futile. It was simply impossible to create a Fortaffectus potion for Severus Snape.

Raising his gaze from the captivating floorboards, Harry looked to Slughorn. "And there is no other cure for Nagini's venom?" he asked crestfallenly, already certain of the answer.

"No."

The word fell heavily upon the musty air of the Shrieking Shack, its finality bearing a mournful timbre. All eyes again returned to the floorboards as the regret on their features intensified. Snape cautiously moved his gaze from each face in turn, careful not to jar his senses with rapid eye movement. It was really quite bizarre how keenly they regretted their negative estimation of the dreaded former Potions master. If Snape had been a more sentimental man, he would have contemplated how he had purposefully portrayed himself as an insufferable monster, creating fears and disdain within all his students. But even in his final moments, the wizard kept those thoughts firmly secured inside the deep recesses of his mind, for they did not bring him any regret.

Even Miss Granger, who had once refused to cower in fear or glare bitterly, had surely fallen prey to the influences of his odious behavior. He was certain that recent events had effectively quashed every ounce of respect she had held for him.

As his thoughts had again wandered towards the girl, his eyes followed suit, focusing the blurry blob of her head into focus. While the other faces he surveyed displayed remorse and hopelessness, there was something distinctly different about Granger's visage. The way she bit her lower lip in contemplation, the creases between her eyebrows, and the furrows on forehead all seemed to project a strange sort of hesitance. Intrigued, he continued to gaze fixedly at her until her brown eyes flickered up to his, locking onto him for a second before darting away. While there was no feeling left in his lower body, he seemed to detect a visible tightening of the hand on his leg as her eyes suddenly grew resolute.

"Sir, I believe I may have some memories that could be of use…" While starting out strong, Granger's voice seemed to falter slightly as all eyes focused on her.

Snape could sense the palpable shock in the air as Potter and Weasley gaped at the girl, clearly at a loss for words. Slughorn too appeared surprised, but his astonishment was nearly not as severe as the boys' bewilderment, for he was soon able to recover and speak. "Well, good," he said quickly, brandishing his wand. "Let's see if they're strong enough."

Granger's frame appeared to have tensed considerably as she removed her hand from Snape's leg and scooted closer to Slughorn. While the same look of determination glistened in her eyes, a faint blush was noticeable in the candlelight.

"I will only need to copy the memories," Slughorn explained. As he brought his wand level to Granger's head, the two boys watched silently behind him, still too bemused for words. After receiving a small nod from the girl, the old wizard muttered, "Memoria effingo!"

A brilliant stream of memories flowed from between the girl's eyes and into Slughorn's wand, a thousand little shards glistening like diamonds. The Shrieking Shack had become illuminated by the magic's glow, little specks of light dancing ethereally across the walls and the ceiling. If Snape had not been familiar with this spell, its effects may have convinced that him he had finally strayed into the afterlife.

As the memories flowed steadily into the wand, each was visible as a moving image for a fraction of a second. While it was extremely difficult to distinguish images from the stream of light, Severus was successful in discerning some of the memories, for he suddenly found himself considerably curious.

Warm smiles, furtive glances, shimmering brown eyes, gleeful laughter, and a wistful young face flashed before his eyes before disappearing into Slughorn's wand. Shards of snowy days, a green and silver scarf, mugs of butterbeer, bubbling cauldrons, a cup of tea, and a pale white hand gripping onto black cloth danced among images of the girl's maturation. While any glimpse of himself revealed an outwardly sullen professor, Miss Granger's eyes were always radiating life.

While Snape squinted his eyes tightly to perceive the images that were rapidly dissolving into blurs, it was not long before the stream of memories had ended, leaving the tip of Slughorn's wand glowing luminously.

Granger kept her eyes wholly fixated on Slughorn's wand as her friends continued to gawk silently at her. It was not entirely without pleasure that Snape noticed a deep red on Weasley's face that nearly rivaled his fiery locks. Shortly after this was noted, however, the dying professor's gaze was again captured by that aggravatingly intriguing girl as she cast him a sheepish smile. His lips attempted to curl up in response, but whatever the resulting expression appeared to be, Granger instantly flickered her gaze back to Slughorn, the blush deepening on her face.

Lowering the luminous wand, Slughorn bent over the cauldron that rested above small, azure flames. As he tilted the tip downward, the Potions master uttered "Memoria effundo." A thick, glossy substance began oozing from the wand, its silvery hues shimmering with magic as it collected in the shallow bottom of the cauldron. All three students watched intently, seemingly enraptured by the memories' transformation. Granger appeared on the verge of asking a question, but she promptly bit her lip, aware that time was of the essence.

And time was indeed running out. Even though an unaccountable warmth had pervaded his body, Snape could acutely feel the venom permeating through his veins and recognized that death had finally arrived at his doorstep. His eyelids fell shut as his strength failed him, suddenly finding deep serenity in the black canvas that stretched endlessly before him. As the life within him began to fade rapidly, a peaceful lethargy enveloped his mind like a warm blanket. Melting into the blanket's folds, Severus felt all tension leave his body as a weightless sensation encompassed him. Peace had come at last.

As Snape drifted aimlessly through the silent, black void, his abstraction nearly prevented him from reconnecting to his body when a cold, metal sensation touched his lips. A wave of confusion and urgency washed over his lethargic mind, his instincts propelling him to withdraw, but his paralyzed body refusing to comply. It wasn't until a warm, bitter-tasting liquid slid down his throat that he was able to force his lids open to meet a pair of anxious eyes.

Brown eyes.


Fourteen years later…

Thousands of glowing wax candles floated leisurely in the air, bathing the Great Hall in warm amber hues. The din of boisterous voices echoed off the ornate walls that stretched up to touch the star-speckled ceiling. Four long tables ran down the length of the large chamber, seating an excessive number of students on narrow wooden benches. No one seemed to mind the close quarters, however, as a pervading sense of excitement wafted through the air, depositing smiles upon every student's face.

At the end of the Great Hall, the High Table was crowded with every Hogwarts professor, displaying varying degrees of mirth or irritation at the lack of elbow room. The Sorting Ceremony and Start-of-Term Feast were among the only times that all professors chose to be present, considerably decreasing the comfort of the seating arrangements.

While it had been fourteen years since the Battle of Hogwarts, most of the original teachers continued in their positions. While the Wizarding School had lost some of its professors to retirement and had seen a number of new faces over the years, the lineup at the High Table was not glaringly different from the days of the great Harry Potter. It included, in fact, several close friends of the Boy Who Lived.

Professor Hermione Granger released a laugh as a knee collided with her own under the narrow wooden table. At thirty-three years of age, the girl had effectively blossomed into a woman, losing most of the childlike roundness in her face. Her eyebrows, once dark and bushy, had thinned out to give her face a more mature and sophisticated appearance. The eyes beneath the brows, however, had not changed.

Delight glistened in Hermione's large brown eyes as she watched her husband attempt to avoid the oversized elbow of a very effusive Hagrid. She could tell that Severus was attempting valiantly to retain his composure, but the half-giant's wide gestures were invading his uncommonly large personal bubble. While Snape's face remained mostly neutral, Hermione discerned his level of discomfort by his deepened scowl and slightly twitching left eye. Try as she might to look sympathetic, she could not suppress the laughter that his typical irritated expression was known to elicit.

"An' then they started eatin' each other's heads off!" Hagrid exclaimed with too much delight. As he continued to relay the fascinating details of his pet Skrewts, the jovial half-giant paid no mind to Snape's scowl, for he had long since grown accustomed to the man's sullenness and did not allow it to dampen his spirits.

"Ready for another year, Hermione?"

Turning from the humorous scene to the man on her other side, Hermione was met with Professor Neville Longbottom's genial grin. Having only served one full year as Hogwarts' Herbology teacher, the thirty-two year old wizard was still quite enthralled about sitting at the High Table. Hermione, having sat at the High Table for the past ten years as Charms professor, had grown quite accustomed to the novelty and found Neville's excitement amusing. "Of course," she replied. "I researched Containment Charms over the summer so I would be prepared to add them to the fourth years' curriculum. What about you?"

"Still kind of nervous," Neville admitted with a sheepish grin, casting a glance over the student-filled Hall. "I just want to do a good job, you know?"

"You were fine last year, Neville! My first year Gryffindors couldn't stop talking about your Mandrakes. I'm sure you'll do great," Hermione reassured him with a broad smile.

"Well of course you would say that, Professor Granger," Neville responded with a laugh. "Your students love you!"

While there was always the occasional hostile Slytherin or arrogant Ravenclaw, most of the students truly did enjoy being taught by Professor Granger. With a vast store of knowledge and a friendly disposition, Hermione had quickly become a favorite when she first took the Charms position upon Professor Flitwick's retirement. Every class that she had instructed since then had received her warmly, even after discovering that she was married to the ever-sullen Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Many students believed she had refrained from assuming her husband's surname because she did not wish to be affiliated with the terror that it still struck into students' hearts, but this rumor was far from the truth. Hermione simply did not prefer the wordiness of "Professor Granger-Snape" and decided to keep her maiden name.

Before Hermione had the chance to respond, Neville's eyes expanded in remembrance. "Oh, right, I almost forgot! You must be really excited about –"

The ruckus in the Great Hall was suddenly silenced, cutting Professor Longbottom off mid-sentence. Every gaze flew to the opposite end of the Hall as the tall, heavy doors opened to reveal Hogwarts' new batch of first years. Students from all across the Hall craned their necks to get a better view of the line of children being lead down the aisle by Deputy Headmistress Vector.

Near the end of the line, situated between a tall auburn-haired girl and a poor blond, freckled boy who looked on the verge of wetting himself, strode a short eleven-year-old girl. With jet black curls bouncing as she walked, her brown eyes exuded confidence as she met the gazes of many curious students and ghosts. While several other first years dropped their heads to hide their crimson faces, her head remained level as she soaked in the excitement with dignity. Having grown up in the halls of Hogwarts, she certainly had an unfair advantage over the rest of the incoming students.

As the line of first years fanned out at the end of the Great Hall, the young girl's gaze flashed up to the High Table and locked onto her parents. Her enthusiastic smile was rewarded with an equally ecstatic grin from her mother and a more subtle curled lip from her father. Accepting both smiles as encouragement, for one could not expect to earn a full-blown grin from Snape in front of the student body, she turned around to face the huge, crowded Hall.

Now that the children were facing all of the students, soft whispers began to fill the chamber as various comments were being made about Hogwarts' new first-years. From the countless eyes that locked onto the head of black, untamable curls, it was evident that some students found fascination in the strange offspring of the Defense and Charms teachers. A few of their faces flashed with recognition as they recalled glimpses of a young girl wandering the halls during previous years. The ghosts likewise found themselves caught up in speculation about the first years, debating with their in-house compatriots and sending signals to ghosts at the other tables.

While Professor Vector carefully placed the Sorting Hat on its stool, the buzzing of the crowd diminished as younger students waited eagerly and older students attempted to stifle yawns. Quite a number of glances were thrown up to Professor Snape at the High Table, curious to see what degree of contempt he would wear at his own daughter's sorting.

While fourteen years had passed since his life had nearly ended, Professor Severus Snape remained virtually unchanged in appearance. His greasy, shoulder-length hair was still black as night, its choppy strands framing the scowl that was almost engraved on his face. Only a perceptive gaze could detect the minute changes that had occurred, including the tired eyes and conspicuous gut that crowned Snape fifty-two years old.

Snape wasn't allowed the pleasure of returning the students' glances with a penetrating glare, for as the Sorting Hat began singing, the Headmistress caught his attention. "You know, Severus," she whispered from the other side of Hagrid, perfectly certain that the half-giant was engrossed in the Sorting Hat's song. "If you had only accepted my offer of Deputy Headmaster, you could be watching your daughter's sorting from much closer," she observed.

"The view is fine from up here," was Snape's only response as he ignored McGonagall's frown. As Minerva turned back to minding her own business, Snape could only tolerate the Sorting Hat's song for a few notes before leaning over to Hermione. "You do realize that my daughter will be sorted into Slytherin," he murmured with a smirk, the stiffness of his shoulders relaxing slightly.

Hermione, tuning out the jolly strains of the Sorting Hat's latest composition, turned to her husband. As her hand rested upon the arm that sat rigidly on the table, her lips formed a grin that was equal parts delight and mischief. He was revisiting that conversation again. "I believe you mean Gryffindor, Severus," she responded assuredly.

While Snape's features remained composed, there was a little twinkle in his eyes that Hermione had long since learned to recognize and love. "If I did, I would be forgetting all the resourceful ways she has tried to break curfew over the years," he responded simply. "Only a Slytherin would try mixing a Drowsiness Draught with Horklump juice to mask its taste in her father's tea."

Hermione's smile curved more into a Snape-worthy smirk as she formed her response. "But only a Gryffindor would have had the courage to take on Peeves at age two," she maintained.

"Yes, but she did not confront Peeves in a typical reckless Gryffindor fashion," Severus countered, placing particular emphasis on the word "reckless." "Luring him into a room and bombarding him from behind with bricks was quite clever for a toddler." His eyes and mouth were set in such a way that emanated great pride.

Hermione released an amused snort at the memory. "Oh, so she is more similar to you because she enjoyed throwing bricks?" she laughed, her voice rising slightly above a whisper. "So that is how the great Severus Snape spent his childhood, I suppose?" Crossing her arms over her maroon robes, she arched an eyebrow in a manner she could have learned from no other.

From the other side of Hermione, Neville couldn't help but eavesdrop on the odd couple's fascinating conversation. How those two loved to debate!

"Well it certainly wasn't how a two year-old Hermione Granger spent her time," he replied, only his black eyes relaying the pleasure he took in debating his wife. "Tell me dear, what over embellished Hogwarts history book were you reading at that age?" He raised an eyebrow loftily as the corner of his lips began to curl.

Hermione was on the verge of retorting when an echoing applause resounded, signaling the end of the Sorting Hat's song. Once the clapping had ceased, leaving only a few stray echoes in its wake, Hermione was able to add in one whispered "Gryffindor" to Severus before Professor Vector stepped forward.

"When I call your name, come up front and sit on the stool," she instructed, lifting up the Sorting Hat. At the gesture to the stool, the freckled boy appeared even closer to wetting himself. Meanwhile, other children exchanged giddy glances and bounced slightly on the balls of their feet. Several pairs of eyes dilated considerably when a roll of parchment appeared in Vector's hand, their awe betraying their unfamiliarity with magic. Others, however, appeared far less impressed, quite eager to have their next seven years determined.

Unrolling the parchment with her long fingernails, Vector cleared her voice and spoke. "Hugh Agnew."

As a lanky, nervous-looking boy approached the stool, Snape kept his eyes dispassionately fixed on the first-years as he muttered simply, "She will be a Slytherin."

"Gryffindor," was Hermione's instant response, her gaze likewise trained on the sorting.

"GRYFFINDOR!" the Sorting Hat suddenly shouted, signaling the first sorting of the year. A table located on the inner right half of the Hall exploded with cheers as a new wizard was added to their ranks.

"Caroline Collins!" Professor Vector called once Hugh had left the front. After a tall, flaxen haired girl took her place on the stool and donned the hat, it took the Sorting Hat only a few seconds before deciding.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

With his hand at his chin, Snape's contemplative gaze fell upon the head of black curls in the line of first years. "Slytherin," he annunciated in a soft but crisp tone.

"Felicity Earl!" Professor Vector called, moving down the list.

Hermione's eyes left the petite auburn-haired girl that took the stool, turning her gaze to Severus' composed face. "And I say she will be Gryffindor," she informed him, an expanding grin betraying the stiffness of her tone.

"GRYFFINDOR!" the Sorting House echoed as it sorted Felicity.

Through the resounding applause in which Hermione participated to support her house, Snape remarked, "It is very unfortunate that you believe so, my dear, because I know how much you detest being proven wrong. But in this case I'm afraid there is no way around it," he remarked with a nonchalant shrug. A smirk tugged at his lips as Hermione's fingers tensed slightly, pleased that after twelve years of marriage he still possessed the power to get under her skin.

"Chester Hornblower!" was the next student to perch upon the sorting stool.

Bristling at his condescending tone, Hermione raised her chin in a manner she had not yet forgotten from her adolescence. "I will choose to ignore that remark, Severus, only to spare your ego excess humiliation when I am proven right."

"RAVENCLAW!"

As Snape purposely took his time in granting his wife a response, Neville quickly turned his eyes back to the sorting lest he be caught eavesdropping. Try as he might to tune their out their whispers, he found their conversation quite curious, for he had hardly ever witnessed an interaction that exhibited so much stubbornness without animosity. What proved even more peculiar was the warmth that shined through Snape's snarky remarks.

"Charity Lewis!" called Professor Vector as a small, freckled boy vacated the stool and headed for the cheering table.

"She has all the qualities of a Slytherin," Snape finally responded, his eyes once again meeting the back of his daughter's head. "If you so prefer a Gryffindor, perhaps you should have married Weasley." These words were spoken with such irony that no one could deny the great humor Snape found in the notion.

"RAVENCLAW!"

As a curly-haired blonde left to join the ever-growing Ravenclaw table, Hermione simply rolled her eyes at Snape's remark and decided to let it slide at the moment. She could make no promises, however, that the topic would not later be revisited in the confines of their quarters.

"Aubrey Ludgate!"

As Hermione's eyes followed a dark-haired girl up to the stool, she found it difficult to keep her attention on the ceremony when the child within her hated allowing Severus the last word. There was something particularly irksome about the half-smirk he wore that had not lost its vexing quality over the years. After a few moments of lip pursing and biting, she finally succumbed to the urge and again whispered to Snape, "Gryffindor."

"SLYTHERIN!" the Sorting Hat announced as if in reply.

Snape joined in the applause of his house as he stoically celebrated the addition of another irksome student to his care. Once the clapping had ceased, he responded to her bait with a simple, "Slytherin."

"Alfie Marston!"

Hermione's wide brown eyes narrowed into determined slits as she turned her head to fully face Snape, abandoning all semblance of interest in the ceremony. "Gryffindor," she retorted firmly.

"SLYTHERIN!" was the next pronouncement to proceed from the Sorting Hat's fibrous lips.

As Snape's head turned slowly to meet Hermione's challenging glare, one eyebrow raised dangerously as he regarded her with his favorite "displeased professor" expression. "Slytherin," he uttered, his voice deep and his articulation precise.

"Arnold Pelse!"

"Gryffindor!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Slytherin!"

"Athena Snape!"

Silence immediately fell upon Severus and Hermione as they returned their eyes to the sorting, surprised to discover that their daughter had already arrived at the front of the line. Halting their dispute, both pairs of eyes locked keenly upon the eleven year-old girl, excitement and parental pride conquering their stubbornness. Not many parents were afforded the opportunity to witness their child's sorting at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

While her brow was set in determination, Athena Snape could not deny the anxiety that she felt as she climbed atop the sorting stool. Even after the countless sortings she had witnessed between a door crack or from under a table, and even after receiving details of her parents' respective sortings through persistence and nagging, Athena found herself ill prepared as she sat before the four houses of Hogwarts, on the cusp of irrevocably joining one. Having the Head of Slytherin for a father and the Head of Gryffindor for a mother, she was far from ignorant about her parents' conflicting preferences for her house. And because they had spent the entire summer educating her on the advantages of their own house, she herself was undecided about her preferences.

It all hardly mattered, however, because no matter how many times Snape insisted that the Gryffindor brand of courage was glorified recklessness, and no matter how emphatically Hermione maintained that good Slytherins were still very rare, the final decision rested in the nonexistent hands of the Sorting Hat.

As soon as Professor Vector placed the Sorting Hat upon Athena's mess of ebony curls, it opened its mouth and exclaimed, "Ah, a Snape! I never thought I'd sort one of these again!" The surprise in its tone caused its voice to carry across the hall, capturing many students' interest and eliciting a few giggles. The mere mention of Snape had the power to rouse the nodding students who had rested their heads upon their hands in boredom.

The Sorting Hat took a few moments to contemplate before the fabric above its eye-like folds raised in astonishment. "Oh, and a Granger as well?" it asked curiously. "By Merlin, what a peculiar mix! The Head of Gryffindor and the Head of Slytherin!"

Many younger students who had not recognized Athena upon sight were now whispering amongst themselves, undoubtedly echoing the Sorting Hat's sentiments. While becoming slightly uncomfortable under their scrutiny, Athena had grown too accustomed to remarks about her peculiar parentage to be particularly bothered by them. Their whispers were drowned out by her rapid heartbeat as she anxiously awaited the Sorting Hat's decree.

As the Sorting Hat began a series of contemplative hums, it lowered its voice to be heard only by Athena. "Hmm…plenty of your mother's courage…but very cunning, I see! Clever, calculating…but also incredibly determined. My, my, what will I do with you?"

From under the Sorting Hat's broad brim Athena could barely see her parents from the corner of her eye. Impatience was etched upon their features, sinking particularly deep into the crevices that surrounded her father's scowl. Returning her gaze to the Hall, she realized that the whispering had ceased in anticipation of the Sorting Hat's verdict.

"You would do well in either house…" the sentient hat mused. "But…there's a certain quality about you that makes me say…GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindor table instantly erupted in applause upon the pronouncement. While some were merely pleased to have kept another student from the ranks of Slytherin, others were genuinely delighted to have Professor Granger's offspring in their house. A few cheers were likewise emitted from the High Table as Professor Longbottom displayed his enthusiasm in a vocal manner some teachers considered unprofessional.

While a huge smile adorned Athena's features as she hopped off the stool, she turned back her gaze to the High Table to gauge her parents' reactions.

With an enormous grin stretched across her face, Professor Granger beamed with pride as she clapped furiously, thrilled to have her daughter sorted into her own house. Wholly preoccupied by enthusiasm as she watched Athena take her place at the Gryffindor table, Hermione hardly noticed her husband's sullenness as he half-heartedly joined in the applause. And while Athena realized that her father was far less excited than her mother, her attention was soon summoned by a few Gryffindors who began introducing themselves.

Once Athena had settled comfortably between two chatty Gryffindors, the Sorting Ceremony continued. Because only a few unsorted first years remained, it was not long before the ceremony was finished, concluding with the sorting of Fred Weasley II and his cousin Molly Weasley II ("GRYFFINDOR!")

With all the first years interspersed among the house tables, the low buzzing of voices again filled the Great Hall as the students' mouths watered in anticipation of the feast. Many teachers likewise displayed an eagerness to begin supping, particularly Hagrid as he informed his neighboring colleagues about the extent of his hunger.

The volume of the students' murmuring voices and grumbling stomachs required Professor McGonagall to clear her throat quite loudly as she approached the shining, gold podium. After a few seconds the din faded away into silence as all eyes fixed upon the Headmistress.

"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts, students," she greeted in an authoritative yet warm tone. "Before the feast begins, I must introduce to you two new additions to the faculty." The low rumbling instantly returned as hundreds of eyes flew to the High Table, searching for the two unfamiliar faces that many had somehow overlooked. Raising her voice to be heard over the students, McGonagall continued, "But before I do that, I have a few announcements."

As Professor McGonagall gazed over her glasses at the students, the Hall again became silent. As a number of hungry students fidgeted impatiently in their seats, the Headmistress produced a small scroll and began reading.

"Mr. Filch would like to remind you that Muggle communication devices are strictly prohibited from the school grounds," she announced firmly. "This includes the small, rectangular objects called Smarfones. Last year's incident will not be repeated." Eyes rising from the parchment, Professor McGonagall's penetrating gaze fixed sternly upon the Hufflepuff table. "In addition, students will no longer be asked to serve detention in the Forbidden Forest. As the forest is strictly off-limits, no student should ever need to set foot in it except during Care of Magical Creatures lessons. If any teacher requires this of you, come speak to me immediately."

Professor McGonagall's sober tone caused a number of students to exchange sidelong glances in varying degrees of confusion, curiosity, and disappointment. The serious atmosphere was soon dispelled, however, as the Headmistress' solemn features turned a little more pleasant. "Now to introduce our new teachers," she announced, a smile gracing her lips. Turning to the High Table, she gestured to a man seated between Professors Sinistra and Babbling. "First we have Professor Publius, our new Transfiguration teacher and Head of Hufflepuff."

The sea of students broke into another wave of applause, their motions growing languid as their red hands begged for reprieve. What their hands lacked in enthusiasm, however, was compensated for by many students' excited eyes, for new teachers were always a topic of interest at Hogwarts. Whispers issued from the Hufflepuff table as the yellow and black house scrutinized and theorized about their new Head of House.

As the applause diminished, Hermione leaned forward to see past Hagrid's enormous build and gain a better view of the new Transfiguration teacher. With a genial but slightly uncomfortable smile, Professor Gaylor Publius gave the students a small wave before leaning closer to Professor Sinistra. White chin-length hair framed his considerably aged features as he cupped his hand behind his ear, asking the Astronomy teacher to repeat her last comment.

No sooner had the applause for Professor Publius died away than Professor McGonagall proceeded to the next introduction. "And teaching Potions this year will be Professor Jareth," she announced.

At the other end of the High Table sat Professor Sydney Jareth, a middle-aged gentleman garbed in pea green robes. While not nearly as old as Professor Publius, his short brown hair and scanty beard were peppered with grey and his face bore a weathered quality. But kind blue eyes gave his hard features a genial air as he smiled widely at the wearily applauding students.

It was with great interest that Hermione joined the student body in observing the new Potions master. With Professor Slughorn having just retired, this Professor Jareth would certainly have some incredible shoes to fill, for Slughorn had been well liked among the students. While Snape would always hold the title of "best Potions master" in Hermione's estimation, she had been very fond of the old wizard and was saddened by his second and final retirement. Casting a glance at her husband, Hermione wondered how willingly he would accept this newcomer who professed to know Severus' craft, a field of study for which he had sustained a passion even after becoming the Defense teacher. All she received from Severus, however, was his customary scowl.

With both new teachers properly introduced and many stomachs audibly rumbling, Professor McGonagall deemed it the proper time to commence the Start-of-Term Feast. Raising her arms in a manner that was reminiscent of the late Albus Dumbledore, she declared, "Now let the feast begin!"

Hundreds of food-piled platters suddenly materialized on the tables, beckoning hungry children to begin hastily devouring every morsel within reach. As Hermione reached for a turkey leg, she turned her gaze to the Gryffindor table where Athena was spooning mashed potatoes onto her plate, excitement glistening in her eyes. The sight of her delighted daughter brought warmth to Hermione's heart as she placed her hand on top of Severus', eagerly anticipating the joys this new term was sure to bring.


Author's Note: And thus I have fallen deeper into the pit of Snanger by beginning my first SSHG fanfiction. Not that the pit of Snanger is an unhappy place, mind you. It is quite magnificent as you must know if you're here reading yet another Snanger fic.

Since this is an AU, there will be some slight differences from the books (besides the fact that our lovely Severus is alive and married to Hermione). You'll spot some in later chapters.

And worry not, the evolution of Snape and Hermione's relationship will be expounded. Such an anomaly as their marriage cannot occur without explanation.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. I own nothing and no one. (If I did own Snape and Hermione though, they'd be chained up in my basement right now…)