Dr. Hermione Granger, oblivious to the gloriously cool August day around her as she sat at a table at Florean Fortescue's, bent over the previous night's notes. The experimental potion she had been working on for the past seven weeks had culminated in a disappointing failure and a destroyed laboratory, and her mind raced over the possibilities. What mistake had she made? Where was the missing…or extraneous…ingredient? Had her equations been incorrect after all? She had been so sure, so certain that this most recent permutation of the Spiritus Insata spell that she had devoted the last two years to would be the success she and the Ministry badly needed.
Rubbing her temples, she realized that indeed, the whole morning – and part of the afternoon, by the look of the sun's rays – had fallen away while she studied her calculations in vain. She sank deeper into her chair, waving away Florean's polite admonition that she should come inside to get out of the rays, but gratefully accepting the tea and biscuits he surreptitiously placed on her table. He had quietly supervised her self-recriminations for well over a year, and his owl to Dumbledore this morning contained a simple request. Please convince the ministry to give her some time and space, Florean had written. This is so personal to her and her failures are becoming more and more difficult for her to bear. You know as well as I the importance of her work, but she feels the weight of the world today. Keep Diggory off her case till at least tomorrow, if you can. Yours, F.F.
Naturally, Hermione had no idea that Florean kept a silent vigil on her mental and physical health, but she noted with a wry sense of gratitude that the tea contained a soothing charm barely detectible by anyone but the most attuned Auror. "Perhaps I should return to that profession," she muttered to no one in particular. "Obviously I am a total failure at research…"
"Indulging in self-pity, Miss Granger? I hardly think that your name will ever be associated with failure. Impatience, yes, but failure…not likely." She looked up with her weary eyes into the face of her former Potions Professor. Although he was the last person she was in the mood to see right now (with the possible exception of Amos Diggory…gods know how she was going to stand before him and explain how she had failed again), she waved a hand in the direction of the unoccupied chair across the table to indicate that he should sit.
"If I didn't know better, Professor Snape, I'd think you said something flattering. Fortunately, I do know better. But, I am not in the mood to get into a sparring match with you; I'm not an equal partner as I haven't slept in 3 days. Join me for tea?"
Snape considered for a moment, and then sat down. "I take it that the latest incarnation did not produce desired results. These things take time, any spell this complex is going to take time."
"I am losing the heart to continue." As soon as she'd said the words, she wished she could take them back. The hooded, cold look in Snape's eyes revealed that her words had cut him. "We all bear our crosses, Miss Granger. Some heavier than others, of course."
"I didn't mean…I spoke foolishly, I know all too well of your…"
"It's all right, Miss Granger, nothing you say can possibly hurt me. Don't think of it." Unfortunately, the sudden iciness of his tone belied the fact that her words had bothered him. And smacked her in the face with the fury of angels scorned, as surely as if she'd been slapped. She had no right to wallow in despair given his continual sacrifices for the cause; after all, the spell she was working on was designed to give him retirement from his painful double agent role.
"I am sorry. Really – sometimes I am stupid and childish and I know it. I wasn't thinking. Actually, I would like a word with you about my stumbling blocks, anyway; if you have time before term starts?" She hoped the olive branch would be enough. She knew that the potion part of the spell that had her confounded was pretty likely not the cause of the problems. But she also knew that he was about the only professor at Hogwarts that she had not directly involved in the research; he was all too aware of this too, and she knew that it probably irked him no end that she was in charge of the project. He had certainly never volunteered assistance, at any rate, and she knew from Minerva's frequent letters that he sneered and found excuses to leave the room when the staff discussed the work she was doing.
"Hmmm…" Snape started to say, looking down the street for a moment. "I'm on my way to buy a few potions ingredients I cannot get in Hogsmeade. After that, the rest of my evening is free. I would be… available… then. Or you could come to Hogwarts…"
Was this Snape? Had he just said he would actually help?
"I would be grateful to have a fresh set of eyes. I need to rest for a while, also. Could you…would you be averse to coming to my flat later in Muggle London? I'd invite you back to the laboratory, but…I…the latest incarnation of my work was quite destructive."
Snape considered this carefully. While he made a huge show of disapproval and loathing around the other professors involved with assisting Granger with the research, he secretly wished to be involved. He just knew that it was a bad idea. Not only was she, he grudgingly admitted, more than capable of handling the potion work involved; she had graduated from "annoying brat" to "avoid at all costs because you foolishly care" in her seventh year. Her brilliance matured her before this, but the battle of the fall of her seventh year had given her a maddening exterior of steel coupled with a vulnerable soul. Only he could really understand her feelings; her need to remain forever composed and hard on the outside, with the boiling cauldron of hate and fear and loathing that remained buried under the surface. Some of that hate was directed incorrectly at herself, and certainly much more correctly at him, but he wasn't going to be the one to broach the topic. It was too painful for either of them to contemplate.
No, Hermione Granger should never have had the experiences she had. He felt as if he had made her what she was. He had forever cursed himself while trying to cut himself off from the worthlessness he felt, the rise of caring for her that he knew he could not afford. He had known what would happen…thought he could not afford to blow his cover…could have spared her. The worst part of it all was that she knew his role, and had forgiven. That forgiveness was undeserved on his part and made it all but impossible to just sit and speak to her in a setting like the deepening shadows of late afternoon in Diagon Alley. To go to her flat; he sighed, steepled his fingers, and summoned up the most hard mask of unfeeling he could muster under the circumstances.
"I find that most inconvenient. I can't be running around Muggle London till all hours. It's late as it is."
She found this an expected response, though she had noted the flicker of indecision that passed over his face before he said the words. "I would be most grateful, Professor, if perhaps I could simply copy the notes and give them to you. I hardly…" acid crept into her tone, "wish to burden you with my company when you could simply owl me your impressions from the sanctity of Hogwarts. To be quite frank, I am amazed at your interest at all, and I would be grateful for your time when you have so many other important things to do." She let the acid stay in her tone, but deep down she knew he would rise to the challenge.
Her words stung briefly, but he could see that she had regained enough of her fire to bait him…that was something positive he could accomplish for the day, at least. "I will be at your flat at 7pm, if that would be quite convenient."
She inclined her head in acknowledgement, and fiddled with her bag for a minute, coming up with a small, unremarkable and battered tin teacup. "This is a portkey; my home location is supposed to be a secret as you well know. Not that I can't trust you, of course, but Ministry regulations…"
"Yes, Miss Granger. I will use the portkey at 7. Good day, till then…" Snape stood up and walked away quickly.
Will wonders never cease, Hermione thought to herself. Years of studiously ignoring me, and he turns up when I need him. For a minute, she considered the possibilities, and then suddenly she knew. When I see Albus again, I'm going to throttle him. "Florean!"
"Yes, Dr. Granger?"
"Send any owls lately?"
Florean Fortescue only winked and whisked away, whistling cheerfully. Hermione suppressed a giggle and threw a few Knuts on the table as she apparated away.