Chapter 6
The week passed. In Ginny's company, which was lively as ever, Hermione toured London. She had not been there since the war; that the bustle and noise were unchanged unnerved her somehow. It was as if the war had never happened. She missed the quiet of Hogwarts and the singleness of mind that her work afforded her. Yet, for all that, the freedom of being on holiday pleased her.
On Tuesday, she received an owl from Augustus.
Dear Miss Granger,
I hope it still pleases you to spend Thursday in my company. I shall be awaiting you outside the Ministry Building at two o'clock.
Sincerely, Augustus Snape
When she arrived, he was standing at the top of the white marble steps, leaning against a pillar. He smiled as she ascended toward him. "Miss Granger. What a pleasure to see you! I hope you are in the mood for walking?"
"Always," Hermione replied.
"Well then," he said.
She had just taken his offered arm when a female voice called out, "Augustus Snape!" Hermione looked toward the voice. It belonged to a woman, attractive and vaguely familiar. She was making her way up the marble steps toward them.
"Caroline," said Augustus. Hermione felt his arm stiffen slightly in hers, but his voice betrayed nothing. Must be a family talent, thought Hermione. "This is Miss Hermione Granger. Miss Granger, this is Caroline Fudge." Hermione placed her then: Cornelius Fudge's daughter, the one Augustus had been talking with at the holiday party when he had raised his glass to Hermione from across the room.
Caroline Fudge looked at her with what might have been contempt if it weren't overshadowed by boredom. "A pleasure, I'm sure," she said, bestowing a brief nod on Hermione.
"The pleasure is mine," said Hermione, though she wasn't so sure.
"Do tell me, Augustus, whether your brother will be in town for the holidays."
"You toy with me, Caroline. You know quite well that Severus always spends a portion of his holiday in London."
Caroline blinked innocently. "Toy with you, Augustus? I'd far sooner toy with Tamarine."
"My familiar," Augustus said to Hermione. Then, "Miss Granger works with Severus at Hogwarts."
Caroline looked at Hermione again, obviously rethinking her initial impression. "How uncharacteristically rude of you, Augustus! You should call Professor Granger by her title."
"I am not a professor," Hermione explained. "I am an apprentice Healer."
"I see," said Caroline, decisively turning her attentions to Augustus. "Will I have the pleasure of seeing you and your brother at the New Year's Ball?"
"You have for the past ten years. I would be surprised if this year were any different. Except that Miss Granger will be joining us as well."
"How delightful that will be."
"Now we must take our leave, or we shall be late. I will tell Severus you inquired after him. Good day, Caroline."
"Good day, Augustus. Miss – Granger."
Augustus virtually pulled Hermione down the stairs away from Caroline Fudge. "I am sorry about that."
"Sorry about what?"
"Caroline's is a trying presence even for those she believes herself to like. And for those she dislikes –"
"Dislikes? She doesn't even know who I am."
"Of course not. But she believes she does." Augustus glanced at her. "Come, Miss Granger. You seem a pragmatic sort. Surely you don't believe that all prejudice died out with the war."
"How would she even know I am Muggleborn?"
"I doubt she does – but she knows you do not belong to any of the old wizarding families, and to her, being a Healer is virtually the same as being in trade. That's right, Miss Granger. A Healer is considered little more than a technician in certain circles. Consider for a moment that it is only barely acceptable for Severus to be a gentleman academic. Even that acceptance is highly strained. But there were – special circumstances in that case."
Hermione longed to ask what those circumstances were. But she did not. She had learned some restraint since her student days. Instead, she re-channeled her questioning urge into safer territory. "I wonder two things, Mr. Snape." He raised an eyebrow, betraying, for a moment, an uncanny resemblance to his brother. "Am I really attending the New Year's Ball?"
"I hope you will. I would be honoured to escort you, of course, but it would be improper. Severus will, I'm sure, be delighted to–"
To escort me off the edge of a cliff, thought Hermione, shuddering slightly. Now why would it be improper for the younger brother, and not the older?
"Miss Granger?"
"Yes?"
"I was asking you what your second question had been."
"Oh. Yes. What are we late for?"
Augustus laughed. "I can only wish that Caroline herself believed me half as well as you do. But she knows my ways better. It is no matter. I am not of real interest to her anyway."
"It didn't seem that way to me."
"Didn't it? If you do attend the ball on Severus' arm, I believe you will see quite clearly where her interests truly lie."
It took Hermione a moment to overcome her shock at the idea of Snape courting, or being courted. Then she wondered aloud, "Doesn't her father hate Sn – Professor Snape?"
"Fudge? The man does not think in terms of hate and love, only of useless and useful. It happens that Severus has a very large fortune. And Fudge's chief objections are largely moot now that Voldemort is dead."
Hermione took all this in, and considered the woman whom they had left in front of the Ministry. Deep inside, a part of herself – of which she was not proud – reveled in unbridled Schadenfreude. Caroline Fudge seemed as disagreeable as Snape. She wished the woman luck in her desired conquest; they would be quite miserable together indeed.
Augustus led her eventually to a nondescript side street not too far from the Ministry; he approached an equally nondescript wooden door and rapped twice, murmuring a few words. The door swung open to reveal the most beautiful garden Hermione had ever seen. She let out a gasp. "Am I to assume you have never been to Withershins Garden?" asked Augustus, his voice sounding profoundly pleased. Wordlessly, Hermione shook her head.
It was exquisite – acres of flowerbeds, enchanted fountains, hidden nooks and wild patches of brilliantly colored flowers worthy of serving as the bed of Titania herself. The garden was enchanted in more ways than one: it was far larger than the city block that contained it; the air was warm, as if they were in a greenhouse, but when Hermione looked up she saw nothing but blue skies. Herbology had always been a duty rather than a sincere interest for Hermione. Perhaps if she had visited Withershins as a student, she would have felt differently.
Their stroll was leisurely, and their conversation easy. Augustus spoke of the plants and flowers they encountered with the kind of detailed knowledge and simmering excitement with which his brother might have spoken of potion ingredients. He spied her looking at him with amusement. "Herbology was always my favorite, you know. Just ask Professor Sprout." They rounded a corner of the cobblestone path, the smell of creeping thyme wafting through the air as they crushed it underfoot.
Hermione suddenly heard the strains of music. "Ah. A wedding. Not unusual for Withershins, especially around the holidays. Just walk briskly by, that is the etiquette." The music grew louder. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw a small crowd gathered in a circle. Many were wearing wreaths of flowers and dressed in ornate robes. It was all she could do not to turn and stare: she had never been to a Magical wedding, after all. The closest she had come was receiving an invitation to Neville and Ginny's wedding, which she had been too lost in mourning to attend. As the music began to recede behind them, Augustus sighed next to her, jolting her from her thoughts. "My wedding will be here. It is not too many months away now."
Hermione attempted not to balk, and failed. "You are engaged?"
"I am thirty-two. I will be married on my thirtieth-third birthday, of course. A match was determined for me at my birth. You did know that many of the old wizarding families still arrange marriages for their children."
"No," said Hermione. "No, I didn't." She felt for a moment deflated, but it passed quickly. Besides, the idea of having Severus Snape as a brother-in-law was a formidable obstacle to romantic feelings toward Augustus, no matter how charming he was.
"My intended is French, from a family even older than ours. I have met her a few times. I trust she will make an adequate wife." There might be a twinge of regret beneath his voice, but overall, he seemed rather cheerfully resigned to his fate. How could someone seem so familiar one minute, and so utterly alien the next? Would Hermione ever understand this archaic world?
Something occurred to her then, and she opened her mouth, but then shut it again.
"Miss Granger, do you wonder why my brother never married?"
Did mind-reading run in the family, too? "Well, he is a bit older than thirty-three."
"He was betrothed at birth as well. But when he joined Voldemort, the woman's family rejected the match outright. Allegiance to Voldemort split up a lot of the old families in those days. Our parents died shortly after, so no other match was decided – not that there weren't many families clamoring for that honor for their daughters. I do wonder sometimes whether Severus joined Voldemort in part to escape his impending marriage – as well as other pressures. It is not easy to be the oldest son. But I do not know, and I do not discuss such things with him. You can imagine he is not very – forthcoming."
"Oh, I can indeed."
He paused to consider a fountain of crossing streams of water that shimmered blue, then gold, then blue again. "Miss Granger, I would not have you think ill of my brother for all that. I know he thinks highly of you. He is not one to do things by halves. He has always been the extreme one. I waffled when Voldemort was rising to power. I am not proud of it, but it is true. Those were difficult times. In some ways, I respect Severus more than myself for choosing, even if he chose wrong. And then, of course, when he realized his error, he was tireless in his attempts to rectify it. What he has gone through under the service of Dumbledore… Well, I am not capable of such heroism." Hermione was silent. For the first time, she was glad that so few knew the truth about Snape, if only to preserve this tender adoration for an older brother. "I did little during Voldemort's second rising to power, Miss Granger. Toward the end, I contributed some money to assist in the battle against him (I do handle the Snape estate), but mostly I ignored the writing on the wall. I guess you could say that my current efforts with the Ministry are my weak attempt at atonement for some grave sins."
"My father always said, 'Woe to the man who did nothing because he could only do a little.'"
"Precisely. I have experienced enough of that woe in my day." He paused at a fork in the path. "Do you like the garden, Miss Granger?"
"It is magnificent," she breathed.
"I am very glad." Too soon they neared a door under the arch of an immense hedge wall. "Should you like to come here again, the door will now recognize you. You need only knock twice and say 'Withershins.'"
All in all, it had been a very pleasant day.
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Dear Hermione,
I miss you.
Mum is still a wreck. I do wish she would at least try to put the pieces back together. But I am glad to be here with her. My sister does her best, but she had never been adept at handling emotions. Typical Ravenclaw.
Bill has written me two letters. I am glad he thinks of me sometimes. He is getting acclimated to the altitude in Peru, and studying ancient Inca lore. He had not yet actually explored the site, but will soon.
I confess that it is lonely here. I do not feel much like myself. I find I miss Hogwarts immensely, and our lovely walks on the grounds.
Please write soon.
Love, Parvati
She looked up at Ginny, who was reading a letter herself. Ginny met her glance. "Guess what I have here? An invitation to dinner from Augustus Snape – for this very evening. I may thank you, Hermione, for this offer. Augustus Snape has never invited us to dinner before."
Hermione blushed. "He is engaged, you know. Arranged since his birth."
"Oh, do they still bother with that? How archaic." Ginny sighed. "Well, so much for my theories. Do you still want to go?"
"Of course. I am satisfied to be his friend. His company is quite agreeable."
"Now, if I can only convince my husband to go."
"Why ever would Neville refuse? He seems to live for events these days."
"Yes, but you see, his former potions master will be there as well."
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Neville did come along, though with every step nearer the Snapes' door he seemed increasingly less the confident Assistant to the Assistant Minister, and more the shaky Hogwarts student cowering in Potions class.
The terrifying Potions Master himself said little during the meal, and the normally talkative Neville was equally silent. But Augustus' easy manners made dinner quite bearable. Ginny, irrepressible as always, entertained the table with tales of Transfiguration debacles. "It is difficult to imagine an area of study with more opportunity for mishap – disastrous and hilarious," she said.
"Mrs. Longbottom, I believe Potions may be a serious contender for that honor, as some at this table are only too aware." They were the first words, aside from a rather cold greeting, that Severus Snape had uttered since they had arrived.
It was all Neville could do not to spit out his soup. Thinking instantly of a certain Polyjuice incident, Hermione turned a bright shade of red.
Augustus glanced around the table. "Neville, what does the Minister think of Machu Picchu falling back into goblin hands? I have spoken to him of it, but you often have a better grasp on his position."
Neville swallowed his soup, and sat a little straighter, Assistant to the Assistant Minister once more. Hermione gave Augustus a grateful look. "Fudge is unconcerned. If anything, the Peruvian Ministry is often overly conservative in their decision-making."
"It is also in a bit of a financial crisis, if my sources are correct. I have warned the Minister that I am somewhat concerned their desperation for gold might have swayed their judgment."
"It was researched. Machu Picchu has been thoroughly explored for nearly one hundred years now by some of the best experts in the wizarding world. There is nothing left to discover. Fudge believes the goblins are merely sentimental; you know how they revel in the lore of the old days."
"Ah yes, sentimentality and goblins. How often those two ideas go together," said Snape.
Augustus rolled his eyes. "Really, Severus, have you no other mode of discourse besides sarcasm? It is so inefficient."
"Unlike the continuous employ of euphemism and tact for the sake of placating one's guests, you mean," said Snape.
"Dear Brother, remind me to cease encouraging you to come home more often."
"I believe I already do so in every letter."
Augustus looked at his guests apologetically. "Forgive us, my friends. We must compress into too few visits a year's worth of brotherly bickering. It is our little way of assuring each other that we still exist." Snape harrumphed. "At any rate, my brother and I are in accord on this issue, no matter how reluctant he may be to appear so in public. I am grateful, Severus, that Bill Weasley is in Peru; I know extracting him from Hogwarts took no undue convincing on your part."
Hermione stared at the potions master. So that's why Bill left Hogwarts even though he was in love with Parvati! Leave it to that miserable git to sabotage others' happiness. She stared at her soup, feeling a flush of anger rise to her cheeks; she noticed she was gripping her spoon with a fierce tightness. She felt Snape's eyes on her then and looked up to glare at him. He held her gaze, his face unreadable. That they had not even progressed past the first course of the meal suddenly seemed an oppressive fact.
Somehow Hermione made it through the dinner, but she spoke little. Snape himself relapsed back into silence. Ginny was completely at ease, and Neville, seemingly bolstered by Augustus' attentions, chatted amiably about Ministry politics. Augustus led the conversation with a deft touch. How was it that these two men could come from the same family?
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Ginny, despite being on holiday, did have work to do to prepare for the next term, and Hermione could not deny she welcomed some time alone to walk and think. As Augustus had promised, the door of Withershins opened easily in response to two taps and its name. Since her first visit, she had been longing to return.
The garden was stunning – and different from the other day, somehow. She wondered if it weren't like the castle of Hogwarts – an almost sentient entity that would suddenly alter itself for reasons unknown.
She had been walking for some time, barely heeding her direction, when she spied a familiar dark figure in the path ahead walking toward her. "Mr. Snape," she called out cheerfully, but as he neared, it became clear her eyes had deceived her. "Oh. I'm sorry, Professor. The resemblance is rather striking."
"So I have been told."
"I am sorry to have intruded on your solitude."
"Not at all. I might say the same thing." He was eying her warily. She took his hint, and began to step by him, continuing on her way. But even as he stepped to the side to give her room to pass, he said, rather stiffly, "Please do walk with me, Miss Granger."
He had to pick this moment to acquire some approximation of manners. "I would hate to –"
"Miss Granger, I insist. Do not worry. You may continue in your thoughts as before. Idle chatter is my brother's domain, not mine."
They walked in silence for some time. Finally, Hermione asked, "I've been wondering, Professor."
"A rarity, I'm sure."
She scowled at him, but continued on. "Is the garden always changing?"
"Yes. One might come here every day and never go on the same walk twice."
"Isn't it easy to get lost then?"
"Never. The garden knows when you want to leave."
Hermione thought about this. Odd that the door hadn't presented itself yet. Could it be that the potions master was not, in fact, desperate to escape her company? It was a puzzle. She certainly did not want to leave, no matter how irritating her companion. She felt she could walk in the garden forever.
They made their way down a stone path that wound along a brook. Eventually, the brook emptied into a small pond that was covered with blooming water lilies. Tiny blue dragonflies skimmed its surface. Before she thought to censor herself, Hermione cried out, "This is perfect! I do love water lilies. And dragonflies, too."
"That is obvious, Miss Granger. That is why they are here. The garden likes nothing better than to please its guests. Did my brother not explain that to you?"
Hermione suddenly blushed; it was like having someone eavesdrop on your thoughts, or worse, your fantasies. She realized it had been her favorite kind of brook, too: clear and quick, gliding over a mosaic of smooth stones. Did he find her preferences embarrassingly Romantic? Did he share them? Somehow, she found that very hard to believe. She supposed it was possible that he was experiencing a completely different garden.
"I would not have thought you partial to water lilies," said Hermione finally.
"You are right."
"You do see them, don't you?" He gave a nod. "How has the garden pleased you then? It hardly seems fair that it should only listen to my wishes."
"There are many kinds of wishes, Miss Granger," he said softly. But before she could ask his meaning, he stiffened and looked away. "I believe I see the door up ahead," he said. They exited in silence and parted ways.
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When Hermione returned back to the flat, a letter with Ron's familiar seal awaited her.
Dear Hermione,
I told you I would write if I found out any more news about Harry. Well, it turns out some news found me.
Yesterday, while Mum and Percy were out seeing the sights, I received a visit from two unwelcome guests: one looked almost half-goblin, the other could have been Hagrid's cousin – except he was a vicious bastard. They demanded to know Harry's whereabouts. When I said I didn't know, they forced me to drink Veritaserum, and even then seemed to doubt me.
Whatever they want from Harry, they want it badly.
If Dad were still alive, I could have him check any Ministry records on my visitors. Maybe Percy can still pull some strings there, but he claims to have "walked away from all that" (every bloody time I talk to him!). I wish you were here, Hermione. What has Harry gotten himself into? And why didn't he tell us?
I will let you know what I find out.
Ron
The unfairness of it struck her first. Harry Potter, orphaned at birth, living under the dark threat of Voldemort for his entire young life – couldn't the gods grant him peace? Didn't he deserve it? Hadn't he paid his dues?
Hermione closed her eyes and saw, with stunning clarity, a vision of Harry, pain and fear in his eyes, announcing his intention to leave the country. She had asked him to tell her his trouble; he had refused, had shrugged off her concern, and she had let him go. Guilt and concern flooded her, becoming a single emotion.
But her mind was not asleep, and a certain unassailable logic began to present itself. Why had he turned away from her help that night? He never had before. Why would Harry have to go into hiding? He was the saviour of the wizarding world, for Merlin's sake! He was The Boy Who Lived. All doors were open to him. Weren't they?
Her precise, academic mind – almost without her permission – began methodically to review the events since Harry had suddenly reentered her life. What had Harry been doing since the war? "Wearing out my hero's welcome," he had said. "Resting on my laurels." She hadn't pressed him – maybe because it had felt too good to have him listen to her for a change. Maybe because she wanted to believe he truly wanted to. And maybe he had, but now she wondered whether he had been more concerned with avoiding talking about himself.
Harry, in the wake of Voldemort's demise, was lost, floundering: she saw it now with such clarity that her earlier ignorance of it seemed unpardonable. His whole life had been consumed by a single occupation. And with that occupation removed, after the hero's luster had faded, what then? Hermione herself had fled to Hogwarts, to the familiar. She had cloistered herself away from the world outside to the point that even walking down a London city street overwhelmed her.
But what of Harry? Could he be blamed if, with Voldemort gone, he misstepped in some grave way? But in what way?
If only she had forced him to tell her his troubles that night! Had she just wanted to prove to herself (and to him) that she could let him go? She should have swallowed her pride, begged him to stay. But she hadn't. And now there was nothing she could do to help him.
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