15 November 2007
Wizengamot Family Court, Ministry of Magic
London

The antechamber that Hermione sought refuge in was a profoundly claustrophobic space, the walls lined with dark wood and the air stinking nauseatingly of cigars and mothballs. Clenching her jaw tightly enough to risk cracking a tooth, she glared the second hand of her watch as it crawled slowly around the dial.

Bugger, bugger, bugger! she fumed, I'm going to have to chance sneaking past the pack of jackals at the door or risk getting stuck in Britain another night. Maybe I could disillusion myself? No, I'd be found out for sure, and Merlin knows what would come out of my mouth at this point. Calling Ginny a 'petty, overindulgent cow,' under oath was bad enough…

It would be at least fifteen minutes before the Veritaserum coursing through her blood would wear off, but Hermione had only twenty-five minutes to return to Hogwarts before her Portkey back to France activated; to say that the current situation had put her in fine pickle was no exaggeration.

Her time under oath as part of Harry and Ginny's divorce petition had started off poorly- despite reports to the contrary, she was not pregnant with Harry's love child, thank you very much!- and the questioning had only gotten progressively more distasteful from there. Ginny's barrister had been a vicious, rat-faced fuckwit in a third-rate wig who'd clearly enjoyed trying to take Hermione down a peg, and for her part, she'd spent the majority of her time on the stand plotting her revenge in minute detail.

Naturally, she had faced endless questions about the exact nature of she and Harry's relationship, including a thorough accounting of their time on the run chasing Horcruxes. If that hadn't been delightful enough, the interrogation then moved onto her supposedly licentious youth at Hogwarts. After being asked about her sexual conquests of Viktor Krum, Remus Lupin, and finally Hagrid (and that particular set of questions was going to require a vat of brain bleach to forget) Hermione had demanded that she be put under Veritaserum to prove her innocence. Thankfully, the presiding judge had stepped in at that point and required Ginny's barrister to prepare a list of ten questions; as Hermione had voluntarily agreed to dose herself, it was not to be open season.

As horrible as the questioning had been, watching Harry's face as she'd been forced to answer the litany of humiliating personal questions had been the worst part of the day; by the end, he appeared utterly sick, and could hardly make eye contact with her.

I may not be able to strike back at Ginny because of the children, she vowed, but I will make that odious excuse for a barrister pay!

Reflecting fondly on the book of Parisian female poisoners of the eighteenth century that Severus had just lent her, Hermione was startled to hear the doorknob rattle. Fuck, she swore mentally, pulling her wand. That better not be Rita Skeeter…

It was not.

Lucius Malfoy swept in wearing sober navy robes devoid of both embellishment and pattern. The sheer overwhelming force of his personality hit her like a bucket of cold water, and Hermione was reminded uncomfortably of other Ministry meetings in the not so distant past. Fleetingly, she wondered if the man wore his more outré robes solely to irritate Severus.

"I am given to understand," he intoned with irritatingly precise diction, "that you are currently under the effects of Veritaserum. Accordingly, I will not ask you any questions. I have no doubt that we would both be annoyed by your answers in any case."

"I'll not argue with you on that," Hermione said, clamping her mouth shut as the Veritaserum urged her to expand her answer.

"A first, I would think." Shaking his head mockingly, he continued. "Shockingly, I have not come here to trade barbs. One of the lesser-known perks of sitting on the Wizengamot is the ability to Apparate directly from the courtrooms. As such, I can take you back to Hogwarts without running afoul of that putrid pack of reporters currently besmirching the entrance."

He can get me out of here? Oh, brilliant… but I wonder how steep the price will be? "Then we've hit upon another first- I'm quite happy to see you," Hermione quipped, feeling genuinely grateful, belatedly wondering what had prompted the gesture.

"Aren't we…" Malfoy began and then paused, realising that he was about to ask a question. "We find ourselves lucky," he modified, scowling faintly. "The Headmistress informs me that there are also reporters waiting at the Hogsmeade Gate. With your permission, I will take us to the back entrance."

Hermione was on the verge of asking what he wanted for the favour when something about his posture stopped her. The tension rolling off him in waves was clear enough, as was the defensiveness; he expected her not to trust the offer.

And a month ago I wouldn't have…

Malfoy had changed over the years, that much was obvious. The menacing figure of her youth would not have been able to keep the pretence of civility up for so long, nor ever consider apologising to her. During their drunken tête-à-têtes, she had lost a good deal of her burning anger towards him, and it had become impossible to view him as a complete monster. To her shock, she had actually enjoyed some of their arguments and had found herself agreeing with him on several key issues. Does this mean that I don't hate him anymore? That I've forgiven him? Christ but my world has gone all sorts of topsy-turvy!

Malfoy broke into her wondering thoughts with an irritated huff. "Granger now is not the time for an existential crisis. If we get caught together in this ruddy closet…" The blonde grimaced disdainfully. "well, 'shit storm' won't even began to cover it, and I have no wish to anger my wife in such a fashion. Stop dithering and give me your arm so we can depart."

With a jerk, she did as ordered. "The back gate, if you would."

"As you wish." Giving her a slight nod, he pulled her in closer. Hermione had only the briefest of moments to appreciate the luxurious fabric under her fingers before he plunged them into the compressive chaos of Apparition; in the space of three lurching heartbeats, they found themselves standing on the far shore of the Black Lake, the comforting bulk of Hogwarts looming off in the distance.

As she took the deep breaths needed to settle her stomach, Hermione couldn't help but notice the subtle lines bracketing Malfoy's eyes and mouth. The signs of age humanised him- reminded her of Severus, really- and she came to the uncomfortable realisation that she needed to decide how she was going to proceed; yet far, Malfoy had made all of the overtures and hard choices.

So… it comes down to whether or not I believe in change- or in redemption. There is no doubt that Lucius Malfoy did horrible things in the past, but does that make him an evil man, or a man who committed evil deeds? Moreover, what gives me the right to decide that? It's not as if I'm some sort lily-white innocent, either.

Malfoy hadn't moved a muscle, standing passively under her regard. There wasn't so much as a whiff of challenge in his gaze, nor any mockery. It was the fact that her opinion seemed to matter to him that finally solidified her thinking; still, one question remained.

"Would you have approached me had Severus and I not become friends?"

"Yes." Malfoy stepped back, clasping his hands behind his back. "If you remember, I have attempted to speak privately with you at the last three Governors' Balls."

"You damn near chased me all over the ballroom last year…" Hermione said, before clamping her mouth shut.

He graced her with an irksome smirk. "I did. By the end of the evening, I had decided to see how creative your escape strategies would become."

Hermione knew that he might be lying, or that his post-war actions had only been tempered by necessity, but she decided that it was time to move forward; to treat him as she wished to be treated. "Thank you. Not just for today, but for making an effort to speak about the past. Should you try to corner me in a ballroom in the future, I shall be more receptive."

"My life is now complete." He gave her another slight bow, but Hermione thought that she saw a touch of relief in his expression. Unexpectedly, his mien turned from sarcastic to serious. "For what it is worth, I am sorry. Not just for the violence that you experienced, but for the beliefs that I held for so long. It was... a slow descent into madness, and I let my pride and arrogance blind me to the truth of what I was supporting. That doesn't excuse it- any of it- but please understand, Professor Granger, my aim in life has always been to protect my family and those who I love. Whilst I will admit that I found you deeply irritating as a child and hated everything that you represented, never once did I wish you to be tortured and terrorised in my library."

"Not even in your dungeons?" she asked lightly.

His steel-eyed gaze did not waver. "No."

"Then we find ourselves in agreement once again." She chose her next words carefully. "I cannot apologise for how things began between us, but I can promise you that I will make an effort to learn more about the causes of the conflict and Pureblood culture. I will ask questions… and more importantly, I will listen to the answers."

He appeared amused by her reply. "Poor Severus. He thought you relentless enough as a student."

Hermione offered him a smirk of her own. "True, but he might find some of my current methods of persuasion more enjoyable."

Lucius Malfoy laughed then, the golden sound surprisingly infectious. "I almost pity the man." With a lazy wave, he summoned his Patronus and sent it flying towards the Castle; the bright sunlight made it impossible to determine the exact form, although Hermione caught a glimpse of a long, lean body and large paws.

"That was shockingly leonine for a Slytherin," Hermione remarked slyly.

"I will never understand why people persist in thinking that my Patronus must be either a snake or a peacock. "

"Really? You haven't the faintest idea of why people might favour those particular animals?"

A crack interrupted any reply, and Minerva suddenly appeared in a flurry of tartan and icy disapproval.

"Mr Malfoy," the older woman acknowledged, lips thinning as she took out her wand and began casting the spells to allow Hermione entry.

"Headmistress."

In a matter of seconds, a shimmering door appeared in the air and Minerva gestured her forward. "You've less than ten minutes until the Portkey activates, Hermione."

"Thank you again, Mr Malfoy," Hermione murmured as she crossed through the school wards.

"Thank you." His mouth twitched, and she saw a hint a mischief enter his gaze as he turned towards the Headmistress. "I feel the need to warn you, madam. Your Charms Professor is currently labouring under the effects of Veritaserum. Distressingly, any interrogation will have to wait."

Oh, that was neatly done! Hermione repressed a snicker at the vexed look that briefly flashed through Minerva's eyes. He's saved me from not just discussing today's events, but the changes occurring between Severus and me…

In the resulting silence, one of Minerva's eyebrows arched high enough to almost be comical. "Is that so? How… thoughtful of you to inform me."

"As a Governor, my duties extend to not just the protection of the students, but the staff as well." Lucius' retort was positively smarmy. Then his attention flipped back to her, and Hermione knew she was in for it. "Do take care of Severus, Professor Granger. He ranks only behind my wife and child in importance." Without waiting for her reply, the man spun in a ripple of expensive robes and was gone.

Bollocks! she thought, feeling a blush coming on. With that comment, Minerva's going to know something is up for sure…

Indeed, the older woman's hands had gone to her hips and she gave Hermione a rather peeved stare. "And so it appears that I am to be denied even the most basic of news…"

"I'm sure the evening paper will have a full accounting of the day's events."

Minerva snorted and thrust her arm out with ill grace. "You know that's not what I'm interested in hearing about."

"I'll write you," Hermione said dryly and braced herself against the disorientation of Apparition.


In the end, she'd had only a few minutes to compose herself before once again being flung into nothingness; landing in the dark of Madame Maxime's outer chamber she stumbled badly and nearly fell to her knees.

I am so ready for this day to be over…

Head aching abominably from the combined effects of Veritaserum and travel, Hermione made her way back to the train. Halfway through one of the innumerable ornamental gardens, she stumbled upon a young couple snogging passionately on a bench. The girl's flame-coloured locks seemed to draw in the last rays of the dying sun; with that reminder of the past, the emotions of the day finally caught up to her.

Fighting back a flood of weary tears, she turned down the path that would lead to the Express. Why? she mentally railed, why did it have to end like this? We were all supposed to be so happy… Taking several measured breaths, she worked to calm herself; it wouldn't do to lose it like some homesick firstie when nothing about the situation could be changed. A headache potion and then off to bed, I think. If I attempt any more than that, I'll end up a maudlin mess or screaming my rage out at the stars.

Reaching for the door handle of the private compartment, she almost jumped out of her skin when it swung open upon its own accord, revealing Severus.

He wore a satirical smile and toasted her with a flute of sparkling champagne. "To publicly and thoroughly skewering 'petty, overindulgent cows'," he intoned gravely. The sardonic recitation of her earlier statement was just outrageous enough that she laughed, although the sound came out a touch shaky.

"Were it that easy to vanquish my foes…" she muttered, wincing a bit as the full memory of what she'd said on the stand came flooding back to her; it wasn't until the Veritaserum had stripped her of all control over her words that Hermione had realized how much she'd grown to disliked Ginny.

He seemed to effortlessly read her mood, and his attitude altered accordingly. Putting the champagne down, Severus reached for a small blue phial of headache potion sitting on the table and offered it to her instead. "Did it go that terribly then? Lucius seemed to think that you acquitted yourself well."

She shrugged, taking the bottle and knocking it back in one swallow. "As well as could be expected, I suppose. I knew it was going to be a highly unpleasant experience. In some ways, it was nice to be able to vent my spleen at Ginny in such a way that I could not be blamed. Her barrister was the one asking the questions, after all."

Solicitously, Severus traded the empty potion bottle for the bubbly. Deciding that being lady-like was entirely overrated, Hermione quaffed the second drink in short order. The combined effects hit her promptly, and she let out a muted exhalation as the world seemed to blur around her. God, yes… she thought. A quiet evening lost in oblivion is precisely what I need.

Glancing up to Severus, she saw that his face had fallen into neutral lines. He was standing near enough that she could smell the traces of his woodsy cologne and feel the faint heat from his body. Swaying slightly, she noted that he was wearing the rich blue jumper that looked as soft as a cloud and she had long wished to stroke; in that instant, all she wanted to do was lean forward and wrap her arms around his lean waist.

I just want a bloody hug. Only one. That isn't too much to ask, is it?

If he had been Harry, she wouldn't have hesitated. But he wasn't Harry, and she wasn't sure where the boundaries of their ever-shifting relationship were. Does Severus even like to hug?

"Hermione?" Severus queried, and she became aware that she'd left off speaking too long. She felt herself growing absurdly sniffly and had to look down, lest he see how close she was crying.

"Can I have a hug?" Apparently, the Veritaserum wasn't quite finished with her; as soon as the question fell out of her mouth, she flushed hotly. Mortified with how needy she sounded, Hermione threw her hands up. "Sorry. Forget I said that."

But before she could do more than step back, Severus gently snagged her hand and drew her in. "For the record," he said softly, "I like being wanted."

And then he hugged her.

It was utter bliss. His arms came around her, pulling her to his chest with just the perfect amount of pressure, and Hermione discovered that his jumper was indeed as soft as it appeared. Giving a little sigh, she relaxed into his warm embrace, comforted by the reassuring sound of his heart beating solidly under her ear. He didn't fidget, or seem at all uncomfortable as they stood together; instead, one hand slowly stroked a soothing pattern across the small of her back.

Her world steadied. Rather than push the sentiment of the day away once again, Hermione let herself feel all of the grief and anger that had stewed under the surface, knowing that she was safe.

"You are a champion hugger, Severus," she told him after a minute, voice muffled by the jumper.

His chuckle, deep and rolling, both felt and heard, was a sensory revelation. "It's a two-person sport, you know."

"Still…"

Pulling back slightly, he cupped her chin with a callused hand. For a long moment he stared down at her, an unfamiliar tenderness playing across his features as he took in her restored composure. "C'est la vie, Hermione."

She smiled, letting her hand slide up until it covered his heart. "And Que sera, sera?"

"Precisely."

Then the air changed between them, no longer placid or soothing; Hermione became aware just how nice the firm chest under her fingers felt, and had the pleasure of seeing Severus' pupils dilate with a sentiment other than tenderness. A kiss seemed to hang in the air, and she found herself shivering slightly in anticipation.

How I want this man…

Unexpectedly, the delicate moment was broken; although he didn't step away, Hermione registered the change in Severus' demeanour, the neutral veneer returning.

Why did he stop? Surely he can't be uncertain of his welcome…

"Come eat," he said by way of explanation, dropping his hand. "It's been a long day, and you've just down two rather strong intoxicants."

Implicit in the statement was his reluctance to take advantage of her inebriated state; given the strength of her feelings, however, Hermione wondered if he shouldn't be more concerned with her taking advantage of him. Of all the times to turn the gentlemen… still, it's probably for the best. A month ago we were hardly speaking to each other.

"One would almost think you were trying to get me drunk," she teased, trying to let him know that she wasn't offended at his choice to back off.

"I am, but not for the obvious reasons." He gestured her towards the table, and for the first time, Hermione saw that it was set for supper. "I believe I have mentioned to you that I am a patient man, and patient I shall be."

A good answer, but it does raise an important point… "And if I don't wish to be patient?"

Her tart question elicited a smirk from him. "Then we have that discussion when neither of us has been drinking, nor operating in crisis mode for the better part of a week."

"If that's the criteria, that blessed day might be further off than either of us would like, you know."

Severus chivalrously pulled out a chair for her before taking a seat across the narrow table. "I am quite positive that is already the case."


As Severus picked up the carving knife, he worked to cover the flood of emotions swirling around him. The wonderfully irritating woman in front of him had thrown him for a loop any number of times over the last several weeks, and tonight was no exception.

His day had proved to be a useless one, with his attention wandering time and time again to how Hermione was fairing at the Wizengamot. It should have annoyed him, the constant worrying over another person and their problems, but it didn't. Truth be told, it felt nice. It felt… invested. And then she'd come back seeking not his protection or vengeance, but comfort. She hadn't wanted him to solve her problems; Hermione had merely wanted a hug.

A two-person sport, indeed…

Ten years ago, a similar situation would have thrown him into a discomforted lather. But now? Now he was just intensely grateful that he hadn't screwed matters up beyond fixing, that he had this chance to build something that wasn't contingent on spy craft and death.

I will not let this pass me by!

Looking at the beautiful woman sitting across from him- and he was rather enjoying the speculative approval in her gaze as she watched him slice the roast chicken- Severus vowed that he would not waste a second more of this trip. If he failed, it would not be from lack of trying.

"White, or dark?" he asked, deadpan.

Biting her lip, Hermione worked to cover her amusement. "Breast, please."

Obligingly, Severus let his regard wander south, and was rewarded with her blush. "Determined to torture me, hmmm?"

Recovering, she blinked coquettishly. "I have no idea what you mean. I just prefer breast meat."

"Don't we all…" He was incredibly tempted to lean across the narrow table and kiss her senseless, but Severus' inherent caution surfaced yet again; he wanted Hermione to choose him not in the heat of the moment, but in the cold calm of an ordinary morning.

Her gaze hadn't left him, and some of her humour shifted into understanding. "Ron and I…" she paused, clearly trying to pull her thoughts into coherency. "We just sort of fell together after the final battle. Things were incredibly chaotic, and we had lost so many friends… it was the textbook definition of seeking a shelter in the storm."

"Many expected that the two of you would end up together," Severus remarked, passing her a plate with the requested breast meat. And what an utter disaster and waste it would have been!

"So did we. And despite the differences, it worked for a while, at least until it became painfully clear that we wanted utterly separate things out of life. Quite honestly, had we not jumped into a relationship so quickly I'm not sure that we would have started dating in the first place. Merlin knows Ron certainly latched on Lavender without any hesitation."

"I have always maintained that the words 'daft' and 'pillock' don't even begin to describe the youngest Mr Weasley," he said with a disdainful sneer, recalling what a leech the boy had been in his classes.

"That may be true, but I prefer to think of the end of our relationship as a good thing. One could say that I not just dodged a hex, but a bloody barrage of them. Could you imagine the two of us married?" With a wry smile, she poured herself a glass of wine and took a sip. "What I'm trying to say, Severus is that I understand wanting to tread cautiously. I may whine a bit, but I can be patient as well."

How well she already knows me… "Thank you. It is not… lack of interest that holds me back. While I am not adverse to being a 'shelter in a storm' as you so aptly put it, I do have a healthy enough male ego to wish for that not to be my only inducement."

"From where I am sitting," Hermione told him saucily, "that particular concern should not be on your list of worries."

It was his turn to fight back a smile, and Severus knew he must look the part of a smug fool.

"Speaking of healthy male egos, was it your idea or Malfoy's to fetch me from the Wizengamot today?"

Spearing a potato, Severus shrugged. "Thank Lucius for the notion. He is occasionally able to think up a good idea without assistance from me."

"It was very kind of him."

"He has his moments."

"Yes, he does." Severus did not miss her meaning, and he wondered if Hermione's tacit acceptance of Lucius would change the way the rest of the Hogwarts staff treated his friend.

"He apologised properly today."

That did surprise him; Lucius could have let matters lie rather than take the harder path. "Poor man, having to abandon all cunning and guile."

"I wouldn't pity him too much were I you. I promised him that I would ask you plenty of questions about Pureblood politics and the war."

Her statement effectively punctured the euphoric bubble of the evening. Don't forget, old man, that your best might not be enough. Just by dint of being you, you may have lost this before it began. "Hermione…" he began, the food in his belly souring, "The answers to the questions you seek aren't pretty. Nor do the causes excuse all our crimes. Lucius and I… we were full of hate. Full of fire. We weren't merely misguided youths messing about. We knew what we were doing and we gloried in it…"

Hermione's expression firmed, lips pursing in a way reminiscent of Minerva. "You are not that man now, and you have actively fought against those beliefs. Moreover, Albus Dumbledore was hardly a flawless beacon of goodness and light, either. I want to listen, Severus. I want to learn. While I might not always agree with you, it is important to at least know the other side." She reached across the table and took his free hand, giving it gentle squeeze before linking their fingers together.

"Hearing my answers may change your mind." He could hardly get the words out and focused solely on the way their hands intertwined. Please…

"I doubt it."

The silence between them grew, and despite her confident words, Severus could feel his doubts- hell, his fears- grow by the minute. How can she accept my crimes when I still haven't?

"Severus," Hermione commanded, waiting until he glanced up to continue, "We don't need to get into it tonight, or even tomorrow. I too can be patient."

A bit of his black humour returned, pointing out how much their roles had reversed over the course of their conversation. "And Que, sera, sera?"

"Precisely." Her tone was warm, and he took as much comfort from it as he dared. "Now eat before your food goes cold…"


3 December 2007

Several weeks later, Hermione found herself dressed up and attending a yet another formal dinner in the Great Hall of Beauxbatons. Severus sat next to her, idly chatting with the Beauxbatons Arithmancy professor. A miracle of all miracles, he actually appeared to be enjoying himself, and Hermione wondered if she'd ever totally understand him.

For all that he had to be pushed onto the Hogwarts Express, the man had taken to their trip like a Bogart to a dark closet. Really, she thought, his motto should be 'go big or go home'!

Just in the past month alone, there had been a sea of changes in him, some small and some not. While Severus could still be a sarcastic bastard, he had also made a concerted effort to be available when the students had problems or issues. And while no one would ever accuse him of being a social butterfly- indeed, even an extrovert- he had ably picked up Hermione's slack in the realm of public gatherings.

In private, he had started to open up about his youth, even when her questions had obviously made him uncomfortable. However, Hermione had not pressed him for all the gory details as she might have done in the past; safe from the prying eyes of both Britain and Hogwarts, she was determined to tread carefully. And truthfully, as messy as her own private life currently was, it was nice not to rush things.

Not mention we are both hip deep in teaching and chaperoning duties; it's not as if we sit around all day eating bonbons and having heartbreakingly intense conversations while trying not to snog each other silly…

Watching his mouth quirk into what passed for a public smile, she took in most the apparent change- his wardrobe. Gone were the high-collared, many-buttoned, black frock coats and vests. Instead, he sported far more modern robes that could almost pass for Muggle or were actually Muggle items, like her favourite blue jumper. Odder still, at least to her, was the fact that his wardrobe was not all strictly black. Tonight, for example, his robes were of a rich charcoal. He even kept his hair pulled back the majority of the time, and much to her private amusement also continued the tradition of pink elastics.

And if you sometimes sneak glances at his bum… well, a girl has to have something nice to think about occasionally!

"…would you agree, Professor Granger?" the man in question drawled, clearly aware that she had not been paying the least bit of attention.

"It would be rather imprudent of me to say, Headmaster," she responded, hoping that he would let her off the hook with the reuse of one of his lines.

His dark gaze sparkled with sardonic humour, and he obligingly fed her the lines. "It's a pity that Master DuBois has never spent any time in a British boarding school; he might have a far different opinion of our pedagogical methods then."

"Then again," she noted dryly, "…he might not. I will admit, seeing the structure of French education has provoked some thought for me."

The Frenchman grinned good-naturedly, "Ahh, but of course it has! We have done away with so many of the medieval traditions that you all still cling to, and it has changed thinking for the better. The British mind is bright, but I can't see how your system of schooling and apprenticeships can really prepare the contemporary witch or wizard for the flexible nature of modern society…"

A pompous, nasally voice interrupted, and she inwardly winced. "I have been saying the same thing for ages. The English system- if you can even call it that- is very backwards. Why, I can't even remember the last time someone from the UK even competed in a duelling championship, more or less placed."

Hermione fought back a stab of irritation at the newcomer to the conversation. Fabrizio Buffone, the current world number one seeded duellist, had come to Beauxbatons several weeks earlier to ostensibly teach a short seminar on tactics for their upper years students. She rather thought it was all a prop to his considerable ego. The man had spent the entire evening pontificating on his own prowess, and Hermione was unpleasantly reminded of a more aggressive Gilderoy Lockhart.

"Given," she said coldly, "that the majority of British Duellists were killed due to the Voldemort Conflict, it is hardly surprising that they could not find time to nip out of the country for a bit of useless sport." Asshole!

"Likewise," Snape continued, his voice a perfect foil to hers, "it is rather difficult to make sweeping educational changes when you are in the midst of a twenty-year civil war."

"Bah," Buffone dismissed both of their statements with a poncey wave of a manicured hand "your duellists couldn't have been that good if they all got themselves killed in some sort of petty regional conflict, now can they? As for the rest, it only illustrates your uncivilised approach."

Hermione put her napkin down, seeing red. Next to her, Snape had gone completely still. He raised one elegant eyebrow, and she gave him a subtle nod; whatever he was planning, she would back whole-heartedly.

"Champion or no, I could thrash you, wandless." Snape intoned the words with icy precision, bringing all the conversation in the room to a rapid halt with the bold challenge. "Moreover, so could my Charms Professor. In a real fight, I doubt you would make it past the opening salvo."

The other man put down his wine glass with a thump, turning as red as the liquid splashing out. "You think so? Why I've fought in hundreds of matches against all manner of foe. If you had bothered to read anything about my history, you would not be so foolish to make such an idle boast."

Snape smiled then, a predators' flash of teeth and promise, and Hermione wasn't the only one fighting back a shiver. Does that daft pillock even know what the Death Eaters were? God, if Snape were looking at me like that, I'd wet myself as I tried to run for cover!

"You and your apprentice against myself and Professor Granger. Open Field Course. No Unforgivables, naturally."

The Italian leaned back in his chair, a grating chortle filling the air. "Oh, marvellous. I shall demand a public apology for your idiotic insinuations after I have won. Maxime," he called, "when can you ready your field?"


The dinner dissolved soon after.

"Forgive me," Snape said quietly as they walked back to the Express, "if I took your approbation a step too far."

"Better a formal challenge then me leaning across the table and decking him one over the pudding."

She could see his smirk in the moonlight. "Oh, I don't know about that. Draco whined for a solid week after you hit him. It took quite the glamour charm to hide that one, let me tell you."

"Poor little ferret." Her smile matched his. "Violence may not be the answer, but it does occasionally feel good. Anyway, I don't mind a bit of a distraction. I'll simply picture him wearing Rita Skeeter's face."

"Do remember, no Unforgivables, Professor Granger."

"I'll try to keep that in mind. Just how good is Buffone, anyway?"

"From the training sessions I've seen, he's decent enough. Plenty of finesse and glitzy moves. But he's been riding on his reputation for quite awhile now, and seems to be lacking much power behind his castings."

"So," she asked drolly, "what's the plan, boss?"

"Other than beat them into a bloody pulp?" With a dramatic flourish, he opened the door of the train and gestured her in.

"Other than that, yes."

"He's trained his apprentice to imitate his style almost exactly, which means they have the same strengths and weaknesses… whereas you and I have very different styles and are, I hope, far more balanced as a team." He smirked again, a cocksure, confident expression that was almost boyish. "My power and experience. Your finesse and shields. It'll be like taking candy from a baby."


"I hate you," Hermione hissed through clenched teeth, pacing wildly in the small confines of the pre-match tent. "Five-fucking-thousand people, Snape. The French, British and Italian Ministers of Magic. Over a hundred members of the press. A ruddy tent! And Minerva had the temerity to put a thousand galleon bet on us!"

"Of course she did. It would be highly illegal for either of us to do so." Snape sat slouched in a low chair, nonchalantly flipping his wand through his fingers and looking supremely unconcerned.

It had taken three days to get the match organised; because Buffone was a ranked duellist, the World Duelling Organization had to be involved, and they had required both a sport certified field and room for spectators before allowing the match to go forward. As a result, Maxime had adjusted the Beauxbatons Quidditch Pitch for the fight and had opened up the stands to the general public. Much to her horror, the entire event had taken on the air of a medieval fair, with hordes of bystanders flooding the grounds.

"Catch," Snape said laconically and tossed a small bag at her. Diving forward wildly, Hermione caught it barely in time. With cold, sweaty hands, she opened it up to find a half-dozen elastics, the bright pink colour seeming to mock her.

"Pull your hair back and calm down," Rising, he stretched languidly.

With an angry snap, she pulled at her hair and blinked back tears. At first, the duel had seemed like a lark, but as the attention and pressure grew, Hermione had become increasingly uncomfortable; she had never enjoyed fighting like the boys had. "You don't understand how much I hate this sort of thing."

A rustle of darkest wool heralded Snape's arrival. "You're right, I don't. I've loved a good rumble since I was a small child. It was the only way I was able to distinguish myself until I reached Hogwarts. And once at the Castle… well, I think you know enough of that story."

"But," he said, and placed a warm finger under her chin, forcing it up. "while you might hate this, necessity has ensured that you are also rather talented at it."

Mulishly, she stayed silent, shifting her gaze away from his.

"Hermione, how many times did you face the Dark Lord?"

Surprised at the question, she finally looked up at him. "Directly? Only twice."

"Only twice…" A wry eyebrow went up. "And how many of those times did you get killed?"

"I didn't-"

"No, you did not. Despite being a child, you bested the Dark Lord and his followers twice and lived to tell the tale. But you've fought far more than just him; do you remember how many Death Eaters you stunned during the Battle at the Ministry?"

"I… no, I don't." Hermione swallowed, feeling a blush race over her cheeks.

"Both Nott and Rabastan, and that occurred after tricking Umbridge into having a short holiday with the Centaurs."

His black gaze was hypnotic, a calm surety radiating from him. "This will be fun, I promise. Your life isn't on the line, and you have far more experience and skills now than you ever did. I have every faith that you will exceed all expectations tonight."

The tension within Hermione loosened, and she took a deep breath in. Belatedly, she realised that he was holding her hand, and her mouth went dry at the little intimacy; they had deliberately shied away from anything physical. He could bloody well sell coal to a miner in Newcastle… she thought dazedly as the heat of his hand warmed hers.

"Severus… do you really believe that?"

"Yes, Hermione, I do." There was no hesitation in his velvety voice.

A polite cough broke the tableau, and they both turned. It was the referee come to fetch them for the start.

"Are you ready?" Snape asked, his thumb lightly stroking the top of her hand.

She took another deep breath. "Yes, I am."

"Good." He gave her hand a final squeeze, and they walked out of the tent together.


A/N- Re-introducing plot is fun, isn't it?

Mad props to all the brilliant and lovely people who have continued to follow this story through my long revisions; I only hope that the quality of writing is worth it! Good news, however- new stuff should be coming much quicker because I'm a) writing again! and b) am only updating, rather than writing completely new chapters.

I am currently working my way through the comments from the last chapter, but I wanted to get this up before the end of the weekend. Squishy internet hugs to RhodaBush, drasticactions, mak5258, stexgirl2000, Brightki, Aedammair, pgoodrichboggs, viola1701e, Blue night fairy, NCIS248, frog8590, sevslave1, villafoo, Nachtwens, CathyM, christev, , Ariel, bookworm661, and GreyBunny for all leaving me fabulous comments; I especially enjoyed those who shared with me a few more euphemisms.

Finally, two shameless plugs. I've started posting another story (and this one is nearly finished, I promise!) that is a fun little PWP called "Of Closets, Cabins, and Conspiracies"; second, come join the fun over Live Journal! The 2016 Live Journal Snape Showcase is currently open and accepting entries. Some of the best fun I've had in this fandom has come from participating in the various LJ fests, and if you've been looking to dip your toes into writing, this is a great place to start. It's super supportive community, and entries don't have to be long- the minimum is 1000 words. There is also the option to produce art if that is your jam! The stories aren't due until 3 December, and you don't have to be a member of LJ to join. Check it out!