"Severus, could I have a word?"
Snape turned in a swirl of robes to see McGonagall standing in the door to her office. His face was blank and unreadable as he retraced his steps. She gestured him inside and closed the door.
"It's about Hermione Granger." Snape stared at her, one eyebrow twitched as though inviting her to continue. "Something is not right with her. I would like to know what passed between you on the night of the start of term feast."
"Is the standard of Miss Granger's work no longer satisfactory?" Snape asked, an amused note creeping into his voice.
"That's not it as you know perfectly well. As always Miss Granger produces work of the highest standard."
"Then what is it that seemed to be amiss?"
McGonagall sighed in exasperation and picked up a roll of parchment.
"Look at this."
Snape took the essay from McGonagall and unrolled it. It was covered in the neat lettering that he recognised as Hermione's. He scanned the essay.
"It would appear to be an essay relating to the subject of trans-gender transfiguration for the purpose of infiltration and disguise. It would appear to be approximately two feet in length."
"It is precisely two feet in length."
"And what was the assignment?"
"For those wishing to achieve top marks in their Transfiguration NEWT as an extra credit assignment to write two feet on the subject of trans-gender transfiguration for the purpose of infiltration and disguise."
The corner of Snape's mouth quirked in amusement. He knew why McGonagall was concerned but he loved winding her up.
"Yes?" he queried and she shot him a look that told him she knew exactly what his game was.
"When has Miss Granger ever given you less than double the length of parchment you asked for? No, something is bothering her. I would like to know what happened after I left the room that night so that I can talk to her about it."
Snape looked straight into McGonagall's eyes and read the old witch's concern.
"Minerva," he said in a neutral voice, "things were said in that room that I highly doubt Miss Granger would like me to repeat to anyone. I regret to say I cannot help you."
"Fine," McGonagall snapped, her patience wearing thin, "you speak to her then. And mind you don't upset her. But someone needs to find out what is wrong."
Snape inclined his head. "As you wish, Headmistress." He turned and strode away.
Snape waited until it was nearing the end of double potions, the NEWT student's last class on Friday afternoon, before he approached Hermione. Sweeping round the class he glanced into Potter's cauldron and sneered at the purple sludge frantically trying to form itself into a homunculus and climb into the fire while Potter beat it back with a stirring rod, before turning to read Hermione's scribbled notes. Navigating his way through the many crossing outs and corrections he finally began to discern that the girl was one of the few that managed to concoct the correct formula for her antidote, based only on the symptoms he had given them at the start of the lesson.
He picked up Hermione's ink spattered quill and added a footnote to her scribbles to the effect that while her potion would indeed cure the individual effected, it would not be marketable due to the volatile nature of many of the ingredients. He rose and swept back to the front of the class. Hermione bent over her parchment. As she began to read the footnote re-arranged itself. Raising her eyebrows, she read the note.
'Miss Granger, I require you to stay after class that I may have a private discussion with you. I ask you in this way so that you may tell your friends anything you think appropriate to enable you not to rouse their curiosity.
Prof. S. Snape'
As soon as Hermione had finished reading the footnote returned to the original postscript concerning the potion. Hermione bit her lip. She did not particularly want to stay behind and talk to Snape, and she guessed that he would not particularly want to talk to her. However, since he had not thrown the task to some other teacher, Hermione could only assume that he had not told anyone else what had happened on the night of the start of term feast, and for that she was tremendously grateful.
When the time came to pack up their bags at the end of the lesson Hermione lagged behind, telling Harry and Ron that she wanted to discuss a problem that had occurred in the brewing of her potion with Professor Snape. Harry and Ron rolled their eyes, but left the dungeon classroom without her. As he last of the students left the room, Hermione nervously approached Snape's desk. He had his back to her, wordlessly cleaning the blackboard with a few twitches of his wand. He knew she was there, but felt unaccountably nervous, so did not turn round immediately. Hermione rested her hand on the edge of the scarred teacher's desk.
"Umm, Professor Snape? You wanted to see me?" she asked.
Snape turned round and looked at her appraisingly. "Ah, Miss Granger. Please, take a seat."
He gestured her to pull up a chair on the other side of his desk. Hermione did as she was bid, frowning slightly. Why was he being so nice to her?
Snape picked up a quill and began to read through a sixth year assignment on the side-effects of over indulgence on felix felicis. Hermione watched him in confusion. Snape sighed and scored out a large section of the scrawling handwriting before adding a terse note in the margin. He underlined a section near the conclusion, annotating it with a question mark. He pushed the paper aside and picked up the second one. Hermione continued to watch him, not wanting to interrupt his thought process. But as he finished the third paper and was reaching for a fourth she could no longer help herself.
"Umm, Sir?"
Snape raised his eyes and looked at her, his quill poised.
"Miss Granger?"
"It's just that, I thought you wanted to speak to me about something."
Snape put down his quill. "Then you were mistaken."
Hermione looked at him in confusion. "But..."
"I think you'll find that it is you who want to talk to me about something."
"Oh."
Snape picked up his quill and returned to the essay. Hermione stared at the dungeon wall, her hands knotting in her lap as her brain worked over-time. After about ten minutes Snape put down his quill once more.
"I want some coffee," he announced. "Would you like some?"
"Oh, umm. Thanks sir," Hermione stuttered, nodding her head. She had been caught off guard by his offer and wondered where the usual snark was. Snape rose and left the room leaving the door ajar. Hermione rose too, but then did not know what to do with herself. She glanced round the classroom, her eyes lighting on the weird slimy objects in their glass jars that stood on some of the shelves round the edge of the room. Intrigued, she stepped closer, scanning along the shelf.
"Does that interest you?"
Hermione jumped, not having heard Snape return to the classroom. He set down the tray with coffee on his desk and joined her looking into the jar.
"Do you know what it is?" Hermione shook her head. "It's a foetus. That of a grindylow."
Hermione stared at the tiny shape, curled into a ball with its long fingers already visible. Apart from that it looked remarkably human.
"Why..."
"Do I have it? It's a reminder." Hermione looked confused. "Everything is vulnerable. Everything is defenceless. It's who you grow up to be that matters."
"Oh." Hermione went and sat back down thinking about this. Snape followed, leaning over the desk to pour coffee into the two mugs he had brought.
"Milk?"
Hermione nodded, taking the mug from him and raising it to her lips. It was very hot.
"So what happens sir, if you've grown up one way and then everything changes?" she glanced at Snape and looked away quickly. "I mean, how do you adapt?"
"For the brave, peace is hardest to cope with."
Hermione stared at her hands. "I'm not sure I understand sir."
"You've known nothing but war. You fought your whole wizarding life. You endured things no person should ever have to endure. But now it's finished. No war. A world at peace but you can't enjoy it. It's left a gap in your life and you don't know how to fill it."
It was a statement, not a question but Hermione answered it anyway.
"Yes," she said. There was silence for a few moments before she suddenly raised her head. "That must make me a horrible person, missing the war..."
Snape shook his head. "You're not a horrible person. You are just scared. Am I right?" Hermione looked down at her hands again before nodding her head. "And can you tell Miss Granger, what it is that you are scared of?"
Hermione bit her lip, not sure what to say. Should she tell him what had been on her mind in the past few weeks? She felt silly and immature.
"Miss Granger I think I have proven over many years that I am capable of holding my tongue. You need not fear that anything you tell me will find its way into the hands of any other person."
Hermione smiled slightly, making up her mind. She just didn't know how to phrase it, although she suspected that Snape already knew what was on her mind.
"It's just that people are supposed to enjoy sex," she blurted out and then turned a deep red. Snape raised an eyebrow. "That didn't come out right," she muttered.
"Tell me," said Snape, leaning back in his chair.
"Well...it's just...Harry and Ron...oh I don't know. Since the end of the war Harry and Ron have distanced themselves from what happened by finding escapism in relationships. Harry is pouring all his energy into his relationship with Ginny and Ron is screwing as many people as he can in as short a time possible."
"And you don't feel able to find that escape?"
"So many people died."
"That was not your fault."
"I know. I think I'm finally starting to accept that. But I can't seem to move on to the next stage of my life."
Snape looked at Hermione intently. "And why do you think that is?"
Hermione stared at the wall. "I can't think about the future because I see myself married. And that means a relationship. And that...and that scares me."
"It is true that your previous encounters of intimate contact have been less than could have been desired."
Hermione felt tears rise in her eyes. "There must be something wrong with me," she whispered. "People are supposed to enjoy...penetration."
Snape looked at the vulnerable young woman before him and was surprised to feel a wave of protectiveness rise up in him. "Nobody enjoys enforced penetration," he said quietly.
Hermione looked up at him quickly and was surprised to see that his expression had changed. She thought she saw something different in his eyes, something like compassion, or empathy.
"I don't think I have enough bravery left anymore," Hermione whispered, as the tears began to fall. And then Snape did something that surprised them both. He rose and swept round his desk, dropping to his knees and enveloping Hermione in his arms. He felt Hermione stiffen and was about to pull away when she wrapped her arms round his shoulders and buried her face in his neck, sobbing as he gently began to rock her. He stroked her back and her hair, inhaling the peachy scent of her shampoo, marvelling at her slimness beneath his hands. She shifted against him and he was suddenly aware of her breasts pressing against his chest, their softness causing his breath to catch in his throat as she clung to him harder. The blood in his head surged south and he suddenly felt a little dizzy. He tried to pull away but brushed against Hermione's knee. She froze.
"Sir..." she began but he cut her off.
"I'm sorry," he said. "It is just a reaction." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and disengaged himself from her arms, sweeping back to his chair and arranging his robes so that nothing could be seen. "I think it might be best if you left now," he said.
Hermione wiped her eyes on the back of her hand and offered a watery smile. "Yes sir," she agreed.
She picked up her bag and crossed to the door, Snape's eyes following her all the way. As the door clicked shut behind her Snape let his head fall to the desk and swore quietly. He looked down at his groin.
"You sir," he reprimanded, "have a bad habit of interrupting when you are not wanted. And don't give any of that rubbish about it having been a long time. It's no excuse."
Snape grabbed his mug of cold coffee and downed it before rising, heading off in the direction of his quarters and a very cold shower.