Chapter 9
Neville Longbottom was in excellent spirits. The holiday season could not have gone more swimmingly, in his opinion: his first invitation to the exclusive New Year's Ball; dinner with Augustus Snape; a box of perfectly-cut quills from dear Ginny, now sitting most invitingly on his desk. He rubbed his finger along the virgin tip of one before dipping it into his favorite ink, thinking not for the first time that anyone who believes all black hues are the same is clearly a fool.
He had to admit to a certain relief that his holiday houseguest had returned to Hogwarts. As fond as he was of Hermione, her mercurial moods jarred his sensibilities. First she had stormed out of the Minister's house. Then she abruptly decided not to attend the New Year's Ball. He hoped she had not reflected poorly on his own steadiness of character.
He looked forward to the evening, when he and Ginny might return to the delightful routines of their marriage. Perhaps a foot massage, he thought, thinking longingly of Ginny's soft instep and the way her tiniest toe tucked itself against its neighbor. He sighed. He did not deserve her.
But Neville Longbottom's routine was not destined to be restored that night. When he emerged from the Floo that evening, he found Ginny sitting rigidly in a chair, a giant of a man pacing behind her.
He stepped toward them, confused. "Hagrid? Whatever are you doing here?" asked Neville in surprise.
When the man turned to face him, he realized it wasn't Hagrid. He looked back at Ginny and saw that her eyes were wide with terror. Without thinking, he went for his wand – a second too late.
"Expelliarmus," said a rough voice from behind him. Neville's wand flew from his hand. He spun around. Sitting on a stool, squatting like a gargoyle, was a small, gnarled wizard. Or was he a goblin? He eyed Neville, fingering the newly acquired wand.
"Now," he said. "Your wife hasn't been especially cooperative. But you, Mr. Longbottom, have a reputation for cooperation. Our request is simple, really." He uncurled the long fingers of one hand, stretching them in a foreboding, if inscrutable gesture. "We need to locate Harry Potter, and you are going to help us."
Neville glanced at Ginny, his heart pounding in his ears. "I do not know where Harry is," he managed. "No one does. And even if I knew, I would not tell you."
"I am offended by your tone, Mr. Longbottom. It suggests we seek to commit some wrong against your friend, when in truth, we only seek what is due our clients. Mr. Potter has borrowed some rather large sums of money. In our clients' generosity, they are willing to forgive your friend his debts if he performs a simple service for them. Do you want your friend to be forever a fugitive, or to wind up in Azkaban?" He looked at Neville and Ginny, and, as if seeing confirmation of his point in their blank expressions, continued on, his tone triumphant. "The boy flees from us as if we mean to break his kneecaps like a couple of Muggle thugs, when we merely wish to relay a message."
"What kind of service? What kind of service do you want him to perform?" Neville said at last.
"I am delighted by your concern. You are a true friend. All will be revealed. Now, if I may enlist your services in taking a bit of dictation? You do like taking dictation, don't you, Mr. Longbottom?"
pp
"Ah, Severus. I see you could not wait until the staff meeting to pay your holiday respects. I am touched." Minerva smiled, but her voice was like ice.
Snape regarded his headmistress with caution. This was already not going well, and he had not even opened his mouth. Some day, he would match her acerbic tones, but not today. "Minerva. I trust you enjoyed the holiday."
"And small talk as well. Perhaps you are enacting a list of resolutions for the New Year. I commend you. You know I believe strongly in self improvement." Snape sighed heavily. "Or could it be you want something?"
"I am here to request a leave of absence."
"I have already given you leave to attend Augustus' wedding in March."
"I find I need to – amend my plans, Minerva. I have been in touch with Master Bertrand. I must return to Haiti immediately. I'm afraid I will be unable to teach this term."
"I see. So you are not here to pay your holiday respects. Pity." She eyed the dark man sitting in her office for a moment, enjoying his discomfort. "I'm sorry, Severus. I must deny your request."
It was not unexpected, but he seethed nonetheless. "How difficult can it be to find a temporary replacement to teach a collection of imbeciles the art of potionry for a few months? I must go back to Haiti, Minerva. I assure you it's an absolute necessity. It will only be until April."
Minerva rose from her chair. Severus remained completely still, watching her warily. She could at times be as formidable as he – perhaps even more so, for she used her talent but rarely. "Severus," she said, her voice low and cold. "You will remain at Hogwarts. You have signed a contract. You are mine." At the word "mine," he felt a clutch in his stomach. Yes, she could even frighten him sometimes. "Do not engage me in a battle of wills. You will not win. Albus Dumbledore may have had a soft spot for you. I do not. I know who you are and I want you here."
He eyed her coolly. "I had supposed you would be delighted to be rid of me, Minerva."
"Some day, Severus. But not today."
"Very well." He stood. Looking down at her, he added, "I assure you, though I cannot disclose them, that my intentions are honorable."
"I'm sure." She gestured at the door.
pp
Snape walked down the long corridor to his chambers. He tried to focus on the stones beneath his feet, their solidity, their permanence. It was a nice counterpoint to his feeling that the rest of the world was crumbling around him.
He had never been Minerva's favorite. That was sure. In general, they cut a wide berth round each other. But he had not sensed such hostility from her in years. Had Hermione told her? He had believed she would be discreet. She was a Gryffindor, after all. They had an overly developed sense of charity.
He tried not to think of Hermione Granger, and then could think of nothing else. What had possessed him to declare himself to her? He should have left after he had apologized at that Muggle library; any respecting pureblood would have fled. But he had stayed, and felt that feeling of absolute calm descend on him as he stood by her side. She had laughed. Admiring her as he had for months, he had felt something unhinge when she had smiled up at him.
Despite his lack of personal charms, Severus Snape had been pursued as a marriage match by many of the old wizarding families. He despised the whole thing, despised being a tool, a means to an end. Let Augustus be the dutiful son. He holed up in his dungeon, ignored his obligations to the Snape family line, long and proud though it was. Obligations to Dumbledore aside, Hogwarts provided a sanctuary from Caroline Fudge and her ilk. He resigned himself to a life of celibacy and estrangement from the world that had raised him. He had convinced himself that that life suited him.
It never had occurred to him that, in the unlikely event he some day developed a romantic interest, the woman might refuse him.
"You, Severus," he said to himself as he pushed his way into his chambers, "are a fool."
And now that McGonnagal had turned down his request, it appeared there was no preventing his path from crossing Miss Granger's again. He wasn't sure he could bear it, though he had borne much worse.
pp
"He what?"
"Confessed his love for me, and asked my permission to, I believe the phrase was, 'pay court' to me."
"I don't believe it. You are talking about Professor Snape?"
"I hardly believe it myself, and I was there."
They sat in Hermione's room on the thick wool rug. Though the fire's radiant heat warmed their faces, a persistent draft chilled their backs. Parvati pulled an afghan off the sofa and tucked it around them both.
"Maybe it was a joke. Maybe Ron took some Polyjuice and –"
"It was him," Hermione said. "Anyway, you must reserve your shock for the next part of my tale. I've only just begun." She told her about Snape's version of the events in Tom Riddle's cottage.
For a long moment, Parvati sat in silence. Then – "Do you believe him?"
"I do. Oh, I didn't at first. But – well, I admit I've read his letter enough times to have almost memorized it. The more I weighed the stories against each other, the more I believed Snape. And I do I trust Augustus. I just don't know why Harry told me anything at all. Why didn't he keep it a secret? Why lie when he didn't have to?"
"He probably had a very good reason. Maybe he thought he was protecting you," Parvati said.
Hermione laughed weakly. "Parvati. I don't think you're going to succeed in making everyone honorable in this situation."
Hermione watched Parvati's delicate hands repeatedly comb the fringes of her afghan. "How did – how did Professor Snape take it? Your refusal, I mean."
"I hardly remember. I was so stunned. I suppose he seemed pretty shaken. Don't look at me like that. You're not going to tell me you feel sorry for him?"
"It's just, what it must have taken for him to declare himself like that to you."
"It took arrogance, that's all. I understand these old wizarding families better now. They're used to getting what they want. Anyway, don't feel too distressed on his behalf. I'm sure his feelings will pass quickly enough. If they haven't already."
"Somehow, I doubt that," Parvati said, seizing her hand. "And I must admit, it reflects some good taste on his part." Hermione felt a surge of affection for her friend, and simultaneously realized which "intimate scene" Snape claimed in his letter to have witnessed: Parvati had kissed her on the cheek on the Hogwarts grounds the night after the healing. Perhaps, in the archaic world of Severus Snape, a kiss on the cheek was a sexual overture. She turned to look at Parvati, and their eyes met for a long moment. Hermione had fully intended to disclose the rest of the letter's contents, to tell her Snape's role in convincing Bill to leave, but the evening passed, and she did not.
pp
"Ah, my dear. Recovered from the staff meeting, I see." Minerva rose from her desk and grabbed both Hermione's hands. "Recovered" was an apt description. Sharing a room with Snape had been trying – even though she detected nary a glance in her direction. Hadn't his letter promised he would attempt to prevent their "paths from crossing again"? Apparently even a wizard powerful enough to destroy Voldemort could not stay the inevitability of staff meetings.
"Come, sit," Minerva was saying. "I've just put on a kettle. Tell me about your holiday."
Hermione took a deep breath. "There's not much to tell. Ginny and Neville are irritatingly happy."
Minerva chuckled. "So I've heard. I hope they looked up from time to time to notice they had a guest?"
"Oh, they did – especially to drag me to Ministry events. Honestly, I've had enough Ministry pomp to last me the rest of my days." So far, truth all. Hermione did not lie, but she was not above sins of omission. "I did meet Professor Snape's brother."
"Ah, Augustus. A lovely boy, if I recall. Do you not wonder how one family could produce such different sons?"
Hermione stood up. "I believe the water is done. Allow me." The room was filled with only the sounds of tea preparation for a while.
"I haven't seen Augustus in many years. Did he mention his upcoming nuptials?"
"He did. He is – gracefully resigned to his fate, I think," Hermione said. She stirred her tea thoughtfully. "I confess, Minerva, I don't understand that world. I know more about it now, of course, but the more I know, the more foreign it becomes. I doubt I could ever be a part of it."
"Whatever shall I tell all the wizards proffering their suits for your hand?"
Hermione looked up at Minerva sharply, only to find her eyes twinkling in benign amusement. She forced a laugh. Minerva studied her. "Anything else of note to tell me about your holiday?"
"Not unless you would like me to describe the latest Ministry fashions."
"Goodness, no. As if they've changed in the past century. Well, it happens I have something to tell you. Poppy is returning this evening."
Hermione struggled to swallow her tea. "But I thought she was taking the year –"
"Yes, so did she. But she's come back early."
Hermione felt a wave of possessiveness seize her, the strange events of her holiday temporarily forgotten. She knew she shouldn't, but she had begun to think of the infirmary as hers alone, her ordered little world. She thought of the newly organized books, the painstakingly cross-referenced log she had been keeping.
She looked up to see Minerva watching her intently, her expression amused, if a bit sad.
"You must think me horrible," Hermione said, knowing her alarm had been evident.
"Of course not. All will be fine, my dear. You'll see." She stood, signaling the end of their interview. "You have been such a bright spot these last few years, Hermione. I hope you know that." To her surprise, Hermione saw tears in the headmistress's eyes.
pp
Madame Pomfrey toured the infirmary that night with Hermione, saying little as she inspected the stores and records. She ran her fingers across the books on the shelf and sniffed. "Well," she said finally. "It appears everything is in order."
"Yes, Poppy," Hermione managed.
The older woman looked at her then, her brow creased. When she spoke, her voice, as usual, was clipped and efficient. "I know you have put a lot of your heart into this infirmary, and that you are used to controlling this space as your own. Believe me, most Healers are very territorial."
"Let's just say I understand now how difficult it must be to take on an apprentice."
"I haven't had an apprentice in twenty-one years."
"I had no idea. Thank you."
Poppy held up her hand. "No, thank you. I hadn't had a sabbatical since I began working at Hogwarts. And I desperately needed one."
"But you returned early – "
"Three months was enough – enough to remind me that I am ill equipped to deal with that modern concept called leisure." She gave gruff laugh. "Now. I have something for you." She reached into her robes and pulled out a small glass box. Hermione took it gingerly. The glass was opaque, absorbing the light of the room such that it seemed to glow.
"Poppy, what –"
"Open it, child."
As she opened it Hermione suddenly knew what it was. But that was impossible! It was a silver pendant in the shape of a staff with a serpent twisted round it – the symbol of Asclēpius, and the mark of the Order of Healers. Poppy wore one around her own neck.
"But I'm not – I won't be finished until April!"
"Minerva and I took the liberty of submitting an application for early completion to the Order of Healers. With your impressive accomplishments here and your aptitude with the Hands of Healing, it was almost a fait accompli. Merlin's beard, I hope those are tears of joy, child!"
To her surprise, Hermione found Poppy's strong arms around her, and her hair being stroked by her mentor's thick, sure fingers. "Shhh!" Poppy commanded. "There is a world outside of Hogwarts. You are only too ready. And do you not think that eight months in Haiti will be better than a mere summer?"
Hermione looked at her through her tears. "Is there anything you don't know?"
"In fact, yes. I do not know whether you've been accepted into Muggle medical school yet."
Hermione looked at her with amazement. "I should find out within the month," she said in an embarrassed voice.
"There, there. I know about as much of the Muggle world as Professor Snape, but I'm not fool enough to believe that it has nothing to offer us." She gave Hermione's shoulder one final squeeze. "After all, it brought us the most powerful young witch we've had in years. Now, explain to me what you've done to my books!"
pp
One key to Hermione's success had always been an ability to compartmentalize. As the girl within mourned the imminent loss of her childhood home, the eager scholar quickly dispatched a letter to Master Bertrand, and meticulously prepared for her departure.
The news had to be broken to Parvati, who took it a little too quietly. Other goodbyes had to be made. The infirmary had to be left in good order. Hermione worked with Poppy into the night, explaining some of the systems she had instituted (most of which would no doubt be dismantled, but one had to try). Hermione wished she had more time to research Haitian magic. Asking Professor Snape about his time there was impossible. She wondered whether he knew she was leaving. He would be relieved, she was sure. It would spare them the series of awkward, if infrequent, encounters that had certainly awaited them.
And in the midst of this flurry of feelings and activity, Harry Potter appeared suddenly at her door late one night as if he had never left.
For a long moment, Hermione only stared. But she was not one to toss aside easily the feelings of affection and duty that had defined her childhood. After a moment of hesitation, she flew into his arms.
"Don't you ever run off like that again," she cried.
He chuckled in her ear, and held her close before pulling her to arms' length. He looked at her eyes, then her mouth. Hermione chose that moment to study a very interesting mark on the floor. He released her gently. "I hear you're headed to Haiti," he said softly.
"I am." She raised her eyes to look at him. Unlike Snape's unreadable mask, Harry's face conveyed every emotion at once. She could not begin to parse his expression – nor, she realized, did she want to. "I take it you've resolved your problem?"
"In a fashion. Or I will soon." He glanced around her room. "Done packing?"
"Harry Potter! How can you show up at my door after months of absence, in which you were pursued, I might add – don't deny it, I know it's true – and try to – to chat with me? Yes, I've bloody well done my packing. Some things don't change, you know."
He said nothing, but he grabbed her hand. She let him keep it, though it hung rather limp in his grasp.
"I missed you," he said finally.
That was the last straw. "What do you want from me?"
"Friendship?"
"Friendship," she repeated. "Friends don't disappear with no explanation." She paused. "Friends don't lie about matters of importance."
He dropped her hand and said, very quietly, "Who have you been talking to?"
"It doesn't matter."
"You've been talking to Snape." When she didn't say anything, he turned from her and walked to the window. "And you believe him." His voice was resigned.
"Why did you lie to me, Harry? You didn't need to."
His back was still to her. She could tell by the rigidity of his stance that something was about to break. Finally the words came, distant, as if directed to the world outside the window instead of to her. "Keeping silent was already a lie." He turned to face her, tears in his eyes. "And now I'm going to pay for that lie, Hermione."
She felt a lurch of panic. Perhaps, in spite of all, she was still compelled to protect and serve Harry Potter. "What do you mean? What are you going to do?"
He gave her a wry smile. "It seems that my services as the most powerful wizard of the century are in demand." He sat down heavily on the side of her bed.
Hermione sat down beside him, careful to leave space between them. "Go on."
"You know the goblins have come into possession of Machu Picchu."
"Yes, of course. Bill Weasley is there."
Harry looked surprised for a second, but continued on. "Well, the goblins believe there's an ancient Inca storehouse of gold right on site, and they want a powerful wizard to break through the curses."
"Why not Bill? Isn't that what they hired him for?"
"This is elemental magic. Dates back to the goblin wars. There aren't many wizards left alive who are touched by elemental magic and can break through the curses. And fewer still that would consider stooping so low as to help the goblins." He toed the fringe of her rug.
"But you will," Hermione supplied in a monotone.
"I have no choice. Or, rather, I have choices, but they aren't too pleasant. I'm afraid I make a rather poor fugitive. And I'd rather not go to Azkaban."
Hermione shook her head, disbelievingly. "I don't understand."
"Nor will you." He looked at her intently. "I owe Gringott's money, Hermione. Let's just say I – I haven't been myself since the war."
"You left the country because you're in debt?" Hermione squeaked. She had spent hours worrying that he had succumbed to dark magic, worrying that he had been lured into the wizarding underworld by the promise of power. That he had squandered his fortune like some profligate had not occurred to her.
"You asked me what I'd done since the war. I've been – celebrating. At first, it was on everyone else, of course. And then, slowly, people expected me to move on, do something else. But what could I do? I'm a casualty of destiny. There's nothing in me, Hermione. The minute I tried to do something, everyone would know."
"Know what?"
"That I'm an impostor. That I didn't really kill Voldemort."
"You did kill him, Harry," Hermione said weakly. Anything, anything to erase the despair from his eyes.
"I suppose. Technically. Well, no matter. I just hope the goblins will still forgive my debts when they realize I'm not what they thought. Though I suppose it may not matter."
Hermione kept her voice steady in spite of her pounding heart. "What do you mean? Just what are you walking into?"
When he finally spoke, his voice was bitter. "Does it matter?" He reached for her hand, and this time she held his tightly, trying to hold back her tears. Harry gave an empty laugh. "When we were at Hogwarts, whenever I thought of my future, I always assumed I would either be the savior of the world or dead. Or both. I never thought I'd be –" He seemed to be searching for the right words; eventually she realized he had merely abandoned the sentence.
pp
Hermione and Parvati stood facing each other in the chill air, halfway between the gate to the Hogwarts grounds and the castle. It was the point at which they had agreed to say goodbye. "Don't you dare cry. I am achieving the appearance of calm resolve only at great cost."
"I'll write you every day?"
Hermione took a deep breath. Just say it. "Wiser to send your letters to Bill Weasley, I think."
Parvati dropped her gaze, and considered the snowy ground. When she looked back at Hermione, her eyes were shining with tears. "I'll write you both." She stepped forward and Hermione conceded the embrace, albeit stiffly. Parvati pulled back slightly and looked at Hermione for a long moment, as tears began to roll down her cheeks. At last, she whispered, "I'm sorry."
Hermione hugged her tightly then. "I'm sorry." She felt Parvati's cheek cold and wet against hers. "I do love you."
"I know you do," Parvati said sadly.
"God, I'll miss you. Visit me?"
"I may." Parvati disengaged herself from their embrace. "I'm going to go back to the castle now. I am glad I won't have to watch you Disapparate. I would hate it." She smiled weakly. "Good-bye, Hermione."
"Good-bye."
They began to walk their separate ways. Hermione turned back several steps later to look at the castle, and at the retreating form of her friend. She sighed loudly just before her eyes lit upon a silhouetted figure standing at a window – the same window from which she and Parvati had first viewed Bill and Snape many months ago. A sharp pang shot through her stomach, vanishing just as the figure retreated into the shadows. She walked toward the gate, her body tingling in the wake of the strange pang until all sensation was drowned in the whirl of Disapparating.
pp