The Fine Line Between

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters, plots, or places affiliated with him. They are the sole creation of J.K. Rowling and no copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter Two: In Which Life as We Know It Will Never Be the Same

"I can't believe you fainted," Jules declared incredulously as she pushed a cup of tea into Hermione's still trembling hands and took a seat beside her on the lounge sofa. Accepting the mug, Hermione scowled briefly at her friend, but offered no response as she wrapped her fingers around the warm ceramic and inhaled the comforting scent of ginger and mint. "Seriously, you're usually solid as a rock. What happened?"

Hermione took a fortifying sip of the liquid and released a breath. "I didn't faint," she denied, toying with the mug's handle. At Julia's "oh, sure, you didn't-" expression, the curly-haired woman relented and flopped back against the couch cushions. She didn't particularly care that she likely resembled a petulant child at that moment: She knew only that her mind still reeled from the absolute shock of seeing a man come back from the grave.

"Okay, fine," she groused. "I fainted. I guess the stress of work is finally getting to me." Hermione's answer was complete nonsense, and both she and Jules knew it.

"Yeah, right," said Jules, arching a slim brow. "Pull the other one, Granger. You and I both know that you thrive on stress and any mention of the contrary is total bull." She fixed Hermione with such a piercing look that the other woman shifted uncomfortably in her seat and then, at last, spilled.

"I know him, alright?" snapped Hermione before lowering her voice to say more calmly, "From...back then." Jules appeared momentarily perplexed until Hermione dropped her eyes to examine the cup in her hands and murmured, "From the war."

"Jesus, Hermione!" exclaimed Jules, immediately reaching over to lay a hand on her friend's forearm. "Why didn't you say anything? I doubt Erin would have sprung him on you like that if she'd known."

"I didn't know I knew him," replied Hermione defensively. "Besides, he's supposed to be dead! We-Harry, Ron, and I-we saw him die!"

"What?" asked Jules in surprised confusion. She rallied quickly, but found herself shaking her head in disbelief. "Sorry, Hun, but I'm pretty sure that dead men don't walk or talk, let alone wander into the Hollinworth." She paused thoughtfully for a moment and then amended, "Well, outside of the occasional vampire, that is."

Finally recovering from her shocked state, Hermione sighed and, leaning forward on her elbows, pinched the bridge of her nose. "One would think," she grumbled. Then she chuckled softly as a long forgotten memory surfaced. "You know, there was once a rumor around Hogwarts claiming he was a vampire."

"That's how you knew him, then?" inquired Jules. "He was your teacher?"

"Yes, he was my Potions professor," answered Hermione. Her brow furrowed faintly. "He's changed his name, though. It was Severus Snape then."

The thoughtful expression returned to Jules' face. "Well, if he's supposed to be dead, I can kind of see why," she commented before her eyes widened and she sat forward abruptly. "Hey, wait a sec! I know that name." Excitedly, she shifted to face Hermione on the sofa. "You remember when we had that mess with the new tagging system a couple of months back?"

Hermione nodded in response. Oh, she remembered alright; or, rather, she plainly recalled all the complaining Jules engaged in upon returning home after a day spent sorting through innumerable texts, articles, and the like. Jules continued, "Caroline and I were re-cataloguing some of the older periodicals-ones from back in the nineties-and I remember catching Erin's name on the cover of one of them. It was a feature article; something about the regenerative properties of amethyst in nerve tonics, I think. Apparently, she was part of a collaborative study with a British Master by the name of Severus Snape."

"Yes, and he hated every second of it."

Both younger women startled at the sound of Erin's voice coming from the open doorway. She had an uncanny way of popping up at the most unexpected times, and Hermione wondered fleetingly if "sneaking about" was a characteristic shared by all Potions Masters. Snape, for instance, had been an expert in the art of skulking, though Hermione had always attributed the ability to his years spent in espionage. To discover that her currently employer also possessed the trait was not only unnerving, but somewhat annoying because Hermione herself had yet to acquire the skill.

Erin stepped fully into the room. "He thought I was just some young American upstart drabbling in the 'subtle science and exact art that is potions making.' Never mind the fact that I was a fully qualified Potions Mistress and barely three years his junior at the time." She shook her head. "Such a way with people, that man."

Approaching the couch where Hermione and Julia sat, she gave the former a quick once over and asked, "You feeling alright, Granger? You scared us half to death."

"I'm fine," assured Hermione, flushing at her superior's concern.

For her part, Erin didn't look entirely convinced, but she accepted Hermione's answer and, instead, said, "Good." Then, with a wave of her hand, the door to the staff lounge shut and locked, and Erin met them both with as serious an expression as either had ever seen on the older woman's face.

"I don't suppose I need to ask what the two of you were just discussing, or that the topic is one that should remain between yourselves?" she queried, and so thrown by Erin's grave tone were they that both younger women immediately nodded. "Good because that's all I'll say on the matter." Another wave of her hand unlocked and opened the door. "Blackridge, one of the collections specialists-Martine, I think-was looking for you. Something about a glitch in the cataloguing system."

Jules heaved a sigh and stood. "That's my cue, I guess," she said. "I'll see you later, Hermione, Madam Montgomery-Reed, ma'am." Then, giving Hermione's shoulder one last comforting squeeze, she turned and left the lounge.

"Yes, I suppose I need to get to the lab," said Hermione as she, too, began to rise.

"Hold up a minute, Granger. I want to talk to you." said Erin, lifting a hand to halt Hermione's progress.

The younger woman sank back into her seat. "Yes?"

"Are you sure you're alright?" Erin pressed. "You've had quite a shock, I believe."

"I'm fine, ma'am," assured Hermione.

Peering critically into Hermione's face for a few long moments, Erin, seemingly satisfied at last, nodded once before saying, "I hope so, Granger. I need you in top shape for here on." She crossed her arms as she studied her employee. "I have to ask, though. Will working with Master Prince pose a problem?"

"I..." Hermione hesitated. Honestly, she had no idea. She had been little more than a child the last time she had spoken to Severus Snape-Prince, or whatever he was calling himself these days-and that had been only briefly as he raced by her on his way to the Astronomy Tower the night Dumbledore had died. Even without knowing his part in that particular disaster, though, Hermione had to admit that she'd cared very little for him back in those days. Now, however, she was an adult and she had long since realized that the eyes of maturity view the world in a dramatically different manner.

"I don't know," she replied at length. "I mean, I was a kid the last time I saw him. I didn't like him then, but I suppose I didn't really know him either."

Erin pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Well, then, we'll just have to see how it goes," she said after a moment. "If he hasn't run for the hills yet."

"What'd you mean?" questioned Hermione, though she suspected that she already knew the answer.

Erin looked vaguely pained. "Well, he wasn't exactly thrilled with the prospect of working with you," she admitted. "It took a bit of convincing on my part."

Hermione released a short, wry laugh. "A lot, you mean. Especially if he's anything like he once was."

"Don't trouble yourself over it, Granger. He'll survive," replied Erin. "Now, I have to get back to my office. I have a meeting with the board at eleven and I still need to finish up some paperwork. I'll see you later." With that, she made her way across the room and out the open door.

Hermione remained seated for several moments after Erin vanished down the hall. Her mostly full tea cup sat on the coffee table in front of her, though she had since lost any interest in it. At last, after steeling herself for what was to come, she stood, dumped the remaining tea into the kitchenette sink, and set off towards her office.

She ignored the curious glances of her co-workers as she passed them in the hall. By that point in the day, the news of her swoon had, no doubt, traveled all over the building and, while the gawking irritated her, she chose to ignore it. As it was, she had much bigger things to worry about-such as what awaited her when she stepped into her office.

Although what she found when she entered the room probably shouldn't have surprised her, she still started horribly when the charmed lights switched on and threw the dark figure standing at the window into the stark relief.

"Christ!" she yelped, seizing the doorframe in panic. "What the hell-"

"Calm yourself, Miss Granger." The words were reminiscent of something he might have said in class and Hermione found herself momentarily transported back in time to the dank confines of the Hogwarts Potions classroom. "You needn't descend into hysterics on my account."

Filled with the man's signature sarcasm, the comment rankled and Hermione scowled. "You do realize that it is generally considered bad form to enter someone's office without permission, Snape," she began haughtily to cover her discomfiture. "Those chairs outside are there for a reason."

"Ah, but I did have permission, Miss Granger. Madam Montgomery-Reed escorted me here herself," he answered smoothly as he arched a brow.

Hermione returned the look with narrowed eyes, but thought better of replying. Crossing the room, she dropped the file containing the parameters for the Greythorne Project onto her already cluttered desk and asked shortly, "What do you want, Snape?"

"My, my, Miss Granger, I see the intervening years have done little to improve your disposition," he continued smoothly. "Or your regard for authority, for that matter."

Hermione didn't bother to restrain the derisive snort resulting from that last remark, but she didn't rise to the bait. Instead, she sank into the nice leather office chair she'd received upon moving into this particular office and asked, "Was there something specific you needed, Sir?"

Proffered in a saccharine, sycophantic tone, the question revealed precisely how Hermione felt about Snape's presumed authority. "Oh, where are my manners?" she went on in the same sugary sweet voice as she gestured to the pair of armchairs in front of her desk. "Please, have a seat. Perhaps you'd care for a cup of tea?"

There was a moment of silence that reminded Hermione vaguely of the calm just before the storm and she half-expected Snape to revert to type and divvy out a tongue-lashing of titanic proportions. Thus, it came as an abject surprise when he merely smirked at her response. Stepping away from the window, he fairly glided over to a chair and sat, crossing his ankles and leaning back, looking all the while as if he owned the place. Hermione, for her part, tried not the grit her teeth as she watched him make himself comfortable.

"No tea, thank you," he said. "Though an espresso would not go amiss." His smirk widened, and Hermione knew that her sarcasm had been duly noted and would likely come back to haunt her.

"On your own time, Snape," she snapped as her agitation rose. She sorely suspected Snape knew that he was getting to her.

"Why, Miss Granger, one would think that you're not terribly pleased to see me," her former professor observed sardonically.

"One would think that I would not be seeing you at all, considering that I attended your funeral over a decade ago," replied Hermione. "Which, of course, begs the question of your extraordinary return from the dead?"

"I must say that I'm surprised, Miss Granger," he admitted, though it was apparent that he wasn't surprised at all, "that the so-called 'cleverest witch of her age' has not yet discovered the secrets of something as simple as resurrection."

Off-balanced and weary of this game of wits, Hermione drew a deep breath to calm her simmering temper and leaned forward to rest both hands on the desktop. "I didn't give myself that particular appellation, Snape, and I'd thank you not to use it," she said tartly.

"Then I'm afraid that I must ask the same of you, Miss Granger," the man replied. "I no longer use the name of Snape." His voice was smooth, but there was something in his dulcet tones that made Hermione's heart ache in the strangest way. "You may call me Master Prince, or Sullivan, if you must. I trust you realize why."

Certainly, Hermione did, but she still wondered. "Your name was cleared, you know." She paused. "Harry made sure of it."

Snape-Prince, Hermione reminded herself sharply-snorted. "Indeed? And how is the vaunted St. Potter these days?" The question recalled something that the Potions Master of her youth might say and was asked in so much the same acerbic manner that Hermione very nearly smiled. Or she would have had she not been so affronted on her old friend's behalf.

Thus, she answered pleasantly, "Happily married and the father of three. Two boys and a little girl: James, Albus, and Lily, respectively."

Having caught the almost imperceptible tightening of his features in response to the final name, Hermione sat back in her chair and indulged in a smirk of her own. It seemed that some things still had the power to wound, however faintly. Even so, she had never been a particularly vindictive person (well, perhaps that was not entirely true-Marietta Edgecombe, for example, might say otherwise) but she had never been one to revel in another's pain. Therefore, she decided to soften the blow a bit by continuing, "Somehow, though, I doubt you came here to discuss the personal lives of your former students. So, I ask again, what do you want?"

"Personal lives, no," he agreed. "Professional, on the other hand... Tell me, Miss Granger, why is it that you chose to make a career of a subject for which you had neither true aptitude nor passion?"

Hermione reeled back in outrage. Then, placing both hands on her desk, she pushed herself to standing and leaned forward, fixing the man across from her with such a glower as to melt stone. "You have a lot of nerve, coming here and speaking of things you know absolutely nothing about," she hissed. "I had plenty of aptitude-more than enough, in fact. You, however, could never see beyond your hatred of Harry and all things Gryffindor to notice it."

In response to this statement, Hermione, again, saw stirrings of the old Potions Master. "Parroting the textbook does not a Potioneer make, Miss Granger," he snapped in reply.

"Oh, come off it, Snape!" she retorted. "You just can't stand the fact that I-" Here she cut herself short because the smirk on Snape's face had returned and grown to an unprecedented magnitude. With a mental curse, she realized that she had not only risen to, but completely swallowed the bait.

Schooling her features into her best "I don't like you, but I'll endure your presence because I must-" expression that she used when dealing with the overly pretentious, draconian masters she often encountered as a young woman in the Potions field, she said, "You'll have to forgive me, Master Prince, but I'm afraid that I must cut our meeting short. I have a great deal to do today and must prepare my lab. If you'll allow me to escort you back to Madam Montgomery-Reed's office?"

Perhaps he recognized the fact that she was approximately two and a half seconds away from hexing him into next week, or maybe he simply tired of the game, Snape inclined his head briefly before rising from his chair.

"Don't trouble yourself, Miss Granger," he said calmly. "I'll see myself out." Then, without so much as a backwards glance, he sauntered out of Hermione's office.

For a long moment, Hermione simply gaped, bewildered, at the doorway through which he'd disappeared before she sank slowly back into her chair. Her mind whirled with unanswered questions-namely those concerning Severus Snape's miraculous return to the land of living.

She'd spoken truly when she said she had attended Snape's funeral some ten years ago. In fact, she still plainly recalled that day: Damp and chilly, it was a fitting day for a memorial service. She and Ron were together at the time, their relationship fledgling and new, and she'd clutched at him as if she feared letting him go would mean he would vanish as well. Ron himself was stony and silent, his older brother Fred having been laid to rest earlier that day. He hadn't wanted to attend Snape's service, but Hermione had insisted and, at that point, Ron had yet been willing to compromise.

Together, they'd watched the plain ebony coffin lowered into the ground as Kingsley Shacklebolt performed the burial rites as he had for all fallen members of the Order of the Phoenix. Now, of course, Ron no longer stood at her side, but, sometimes in the deep of night, Hermione imagined that she could hear the Minister's sonorous voice in her ears as he spoke about "a brave man who, in the end, surrendered everything in the battle against the Dark."

Lost in thought, she still stared blankly into space some twenty minutes later when Julia poked her head into Hermione's office and said, "Hey, Jason and I wanted to know if...whoa, you okay, Hermione?"

The sound of her friend's concerned voice snapped Hermione back to attention. "What? Yes," she replied as Jules lifted a questioning brow. "Sorry, was there something you wanted?"

Her response was a bit too swift, even to her own ears, but Jules seemed to accept it without qualm as she continued with her previous query, "Tolly and I wanted to know if you wanted to join us for lunch. We're going to hit that new Thai place down the street."

Happy for the distraction, Hermione nodded. "That sounds wonderful."

Jules grinned. "Hurry up then. I can practically hear the yellow curry chicken calling my name."

Hermione didn't need to be told twice. A quick transfiguration saw her outer robe changed into a modish, charcoal-gray trench coat, which she proceeded to don before seizing her wallet from her desk drawer. Turning to Jules, she shook off the last of her troubling thoughts and asked, "Shall we?"

Julia nodded happily while taking hold of Hermione's arm. "Let's go. I'm starving." Hermione merely laughed at her friend's enthusiasm as she allowed herself to be dragged out of her office and into a world that had suddenly flipped completely and utterly upside down.

A/N: Well, chapter two is up and running. This story is so much fun to write, even if the concept is not terribly original. It does appear as if everyone enjoyed the first chapter, and I hope that this one was up to snuff. Remember, if you catch anything (spelling/grammar issues or gaping plot holes, for example) let me know. I'll happily take any suggestions into account.

Cheers,

Wake