Even Minerva commented on the change in Severus's attitude over the next few days. He started to greet the staff with a "good morning", and was heard to offer useful suggestions to Madam Hooch on the best ingredients for a long-lasting polish suitable for the first-year practice brooms. But the person who was most surprised was Hermione, who received a note a few days after the Legilimens incident asking her to join him for supper in his rooms.
This invitation threw her mightily, and her dreams for the next two nights were disturbing. The first night they were of her and Severus dancing under the stars on a frozen lake, each dressed for a Victorian-era ball. The music came from below the ice, and in the manner of dreams they glided and turned until the moonlight lifted them up and they were floating. On waking Hermione shook her head at the range of her imagination, and yet smiled through the day and walked as if her feet still moved high in the air.
Severus looked curiously at her that evening, but he left dinner early with Neville to discuss the supplies of gillyweed for the advanced classes. Hermione wasn't on duty, but she drifted back to her room hearing the Viennese Waltz echoing in her head, and wished that Ron had danced. Viktor's dancing at the Christmas Ball was the sweetest memory she had of him (although their brief, unskilled kisses behind the Owlery came a very close second), and she went to bed that Monday night wishing for more dreams like the ones of the night before.
The dreams that came to her this night though were rich and dark and wild with a dark and handsome virile man leading her on a private dance of passion. There was touch and feel and taste, and Hermione woke in the middle of the night with a moan of disappointment, one hand on her breast and the other between her legs. She tried to quieten her breathing and get back to sleep, but after half an hour she gave into the desire that still pulsed through her, and let her fingers and imagination drive her to gasping, muffled screams as the most powerful orgasm she had had for years drove through her body. As she drifted back to sleep, she wondered and hoped desperately that it wasn't a sign of oncoming hormonal changes and things that happen to women of a certain age.
The next morning Hermione felt drained yet more relaxed than she had since leaving the Ministry. Breakfast was delicious, but for some reason Severus only grunted a greeting and would not look at her. She talked instead to Orla Quirke, who had been three years in the Muggle Studies job and who adored comparing Wizarding labour saving devices with their Muggle equivalents.
That evening after dinner Hermione pressed her robes especially, and wore an elegant blue dress underneath instead of her usual sturdy but nondescript grey flannels and tweeds. For once she allowed herself a touch of lipstick, although she wasn't sure why. It was only supper with a colleague after all. With some trepidation she walked the dim corridors to Severus's rooms and knocked on his door.
The figure opening the heavy oaken door was quite different to that which had snarled at her earlier in the year. Severus was dressed in a dark velvet jacket that would not have been out of place in an Edwardian study. He looked somewhat uncomfortable, but his long hair was neatly tied in a queue, and he gestured for Hermione to come in and make herself comfortable. A pot of tea stood on a small side table, and a selection of petits-fours were arranged on the plate beside.
Hermione settled herself into a winged armchair and smiled up at Severus, determined not to be disconcerted by the situation. He seated himself on another chair and gestured to her to help herself, each obviously waiting for the other to speak. Finally, Hermione broke the silence.
"It must have taken you ages to cook those, Severus. They look delicious."
He started, and passed her the plate; she took one and as she looked up their eyes met. He was finally smiling a little.
"Hours, probably. But not by me." She took a bite as he continued. "Apparently one of the house-elves has had some training in French cuisine, and is teaching the others new skills."
"That would be Daisy", Hermione commented. "She spent her last holiday in France, insisting on learning things that would make me happy – and all I wanted her to do was relax for a while." She sighed at the impossibility of the task, and popped the rest of the tiny cake in her mouth.
Severus raised one eyebrow in a manner usually seen on Lucius Malfoy. "I am surprised, Hermione, that you of all people keep a house-elf. Whatever happened to your campaign to free them?"
"I don't keep her – I employ her. Quite a different matter." Hermione helped herself to a second cake, and soon found herself describing her life as a single woman and her previous position in the Ministry of Magic to Severus. To her surprise, the hour and a half passed very pleasantly and it was with genuine reluctance that she rose at ten to head to bed. She brushed the crumbs off the front of her robes, then held out her hand to Severus.
"Thank you. I had a lovely evening." She took his hand to shake it, but he held hers for a moment and looked down at it, then into her eyes.
"It is my intention, Hermione, to try to mend the rift I caused with my unfounded suspicions."
"Not unfounded, Severus. If I'd thought I could, I would have gone back to save you."
"Then would you consider this your regular invitation to supper with me on Tuesdays?"
"Gladly."
And she squeezed his hand and walked out.
Her evenings were rather busy from then on. Tuesdays with Severus. She had corridor duty on Wednesdays, Arithmancy coaching on Thursdays and Fridays, and Hannah started inviting her to dinner at the Leaky Cauldron on Sunday nights, so that Hermione and Neville would return to Hogwarts together. Between those and her marking and class preparations she barely had time to scratch. Most afternoons there was tea in the staffroom and for some reason she seemed to draw Hogsmeade duty on a far-too-frequent basis, something she blamed on the age-old tendency in both Muggle and Wizarding worlds to give the least-wished-for tasks to the newest recruit.
Most frustrating, though, was the recent but necessary check of the Owlery after reports of unwanted mail coming through. For a short while the appearance of an American Screech Owl raised suspicions, but it seemed to be a legitimate delivery owl. What was not legitimate was the introduction of what was called in the Muggle world "junk mail". Obviously some wizards with a lack of principles felt the need to emulate the attributes of the unscrupulous Muggles, and even Hermione started receiving unsolicited mail advertising "cheap cauldrons", "genuine certified crushed emeralds" and "the date of your dreams". This last made her laugh, and she asked Neville about it.
"Oh yes, they're very popular." He opened the brochure and showed her the requirements for the "dream date". "You have to obtain a hair from your heart-throb, but they provide the polyjuice, and for an hour you can sleep with the person you've always wanted. I hear some enterprising members of the Chudleigh Cannons are selling their hairs to groupies for exactly that purpose." And Hermione went off to her next class, laughing at the idea of her ex-husband flogging off ginger hairs through a dodgy escort agency. Unfortunately, patrolling the Owlery didn't cut down the amount of rubbish coming in, so she and the other inhabitants of Hogwarts resigned themselves to two or three extra pieces of parchment each per week.
Even with all the other pleasant things happening, her Tuesday evenings were a bright spot in her week. The conversations with Severus started innocuously, with discussions on the best way to handle the smart aleck Finch-Fletchley girl to what could be done to head off the incipient crush she felt young Ivan might be developing on her.
"There was a reason, Hermione, why I kept the gruff exterior for so long. When I first started teaching, I wasn't much older than the seventh years, and my heart was still in tatters from Lily's death. And while I would have dearly loved to make friends with some of the students, I know that would make them a target for the Dark Lord when the time came for his return."
He fell silent, and stared into the fireplace for a while, and she sat companionably with him and felt no need to fill in the quiet. A log popped, the slight noise bringing Severus's attention back to the room, and he turned to Hermione with an apologetic smile.
"And then, once I was back here, I felt as if the whole world had died and been reborn, and only I was left from before. It's a strange feeling, that disassociation. Almost as if I'd been transported to somewhere that looked the same but was ever-so-slightly different."
Hermione felt secure enough now in their friendship to ask something she had wondered about for a long time. "What do you remember about that night?"
He turned back to the fire and made a few unnecessary adjustments to the pile of logs that glowed gently on that dark autumn night. His voice trembled, but he spoke clearly.
"There was pain, of course. When Nagini bit me, my whole body was on fire. I barely remember pulling out my memories for Potter. That took all my strength, and I could feel my breathing and heart rate slowing, and a great peace coming onto me."
Severus sat back in his chair, the wings shading his face from the firelight. His voice steadied, and seemed to lose some of its rasp as he talked, and Hermione found herself taken back to that night and the pain and sorrow that had come to them all.
"The venom was what saved me though. I would have bled out if it hadn't acted like a hibernation spell. Then some time after – a long time after – someone came. Someone fully grown, so not one of the younger Hogwarts students. They were dressed in robes or dark flowing clothing, and they were crying. Whoever it was, they knew what had happened. I felt a sting in my arm that woke me from my stupor, but my eyes weren't working very well. All I can remember is the sting flooding over my body like an icy-cold wave, driving out the searing heat from the venom. And I was lifted away from the hut – but that small movement was too much, and I don't know anything from then until I woke in St Mungo's, too weak to move."
"And you thought it was me?"
"They told me later that someone had used a hypodermic needle on me, and a very specific anti venom. The anti venom I developed years before, when Arthur Weasley was bitten." Severus leaned forward and looked fully at her. "I know the anti venom stock was exhausted. And I only know of one witch bright enough to make more of it and versed enough in Muggle techniques to use a Muggle needle to save me." He leaned back again, his voice almost wistful. "And I'm sure there was no-one else who would have taken the trouble."
Hermione sat near him, his breathing – still stertorous – filling the space between them. The clock at the side struck ten, and she stood, walked over to him and put her hand on his.
"I wish it had been me too. Even before we knew, I'd realised there was something else going on, that you weren't the villain you had carefully painted yourself to be. I would have tried, if I'd thought I could. But I'm glad someone did."
She squeezed his hand gently, then let herself out, his "Goodnight, Hermione" following her as she closed his door and headed down the corridor to her own room.