Note: Happy new year and thank you all for following so faithfully despite hiatus over the years. I've just finished the first draft of the entire story but would love to hear your ideas and thoughts about what you think will happen :)


The Photograph

.

.

A rosewood box in the second bedroom caught her attention as she stumbled passed it while dragging old blankets and pillows out. It sat in the corner, haphazardly placed behind the door as though it had been once used as a doorstop. The well-oiled wood gleamed in the low light, beckoning her eye. But it was odd though, that an item which looked like well cared-for was used for such a lowly purpose.

She'd learned to be careful with the objects in the house, but curiosity got the better of her and she opened it. Inside was a single picture, corners worn down with age and handling.

The picture looped over and over as Hermione stared at it. A girl in it waved before entering a door and closing it behind her. Through the aging sepia tone, she could still make out the the bright light in her eyes as she smiled. Her wrists were angular and boney like they often were in children who had grown too much overnight. Flipping the picture over, Hermione looked for a description of its context. All that was written on the back was "L.E. 1975", faded and barely legible.

1975 was a long time ago. Hermione wrinkled her brow as she tried to decode what the initials meant. It occurred to her that this was Lily Evans, back when she and Snape must have been friends. The resemblance against Harry's photos of his mother was strong, her jaw slimmer but her face full of the same kindness. Her mind wandered, and she began to wish she could get the mirror photo from Lily's point of view, to see what a young Severus Snape had looked like.

Something was odd about the picture, though. Something that she couldn't place. The image was familiar in that hazy way that an old episode of television was, image recognizable but plot unknown.

"Granger!"

Hermione jumped at the harsh sound and automatically sat on her hand to hide the photo. She remained glued in the chair, his chair, like a deer caught in lights.

"You seem to be on the wrong side of the desk."

"I am— " she started, but shut her mouth to stem the strong impulse to say sorry. He rolled his eyes at her ridiculous reply.

Feeling panicked at being caught nosing through his things, Hermione quickly filled the silence and added, "The elves left the tray of tea on the other chair because your desk is full of parchment. I didn't know where to sit."

Snape scowled and turned around to close the office door. Taking the opportunity of his inattention, she quickly snuck the photograph back into the rosewood box on his desk corner and sat on her hands again. Her nervous heart thumped loudly, threatening to throw her guilty conscience into the open. When her professor turned back, he folded his arms and waited.

"Well?"

Giving him a confused look, she lingered for a moment before realizing she was still in his chair. She jump up with a surprised 'oh' and circled the desk to get out of his way as he strode to sit down. Trouble was, the tray of scones and tea was still occupying the chair across from his. Hermione lifted up the wooden tray and looked around for a place to put it. The desk was littered with various stacks of parchment, uncharacteristically messy for a customarily neat man.

"Where should I put this?" she asked, arms getting tired of holding the heavy load.

Snape held up a hand, gesturing for her to wait; he seemed to be inspecting his desk to verify that she had not touched anything. When he was satisfied that nothing was out of place, he moved a pile of essays onto another similarly disorganized pile to make room. Nervousness overtook Hermione as she leaned over the desk to set the tray down. The spot he'd cleared called for her to turn the tray 90 degrees. To do so forced her into his personal space, one hand inches from him. Her stomach fluttered irrationally from the proximity and she couldn't help her eyes flicking to the small box with the photograph.

Just ask, she thought. She wanted to know who it was. So badly.

When she moved to pour the tea, her mind was distracted and hot prince-of-wales spilled past the teacup onto the saucer below. Before she could set the heavy pot back down, his hand was on hers, cold and steady as his fingers wrapped around hers to gripped the handle and take the pot from her. When the heavy pot was fully in his control, Hermione pulled her hand back, stunned by the shock of his touch.

"Your inability to complete simple tasks is astounding," he berated her as he poured the tea for both of them.

Sitting down in her seat, she stayed silent, not knowing what to say. Absently, she picked a tarnished key from a bowl of random objects on the corner of his desk and played with it, running her thumb down the ridges of its teeth. But it only served to make her more nervous so she dropped it back where she found it. So out of sorts was Hermione that she almost failed to catch the saucer as he handed her the tea. Her hand trembled a bit, at once excited and unsettled by the possibility to brushing against his again.

"Thank you," she muttered, careful to not drop the cup of hot tea on his desk.

"You are quite preoccupied. What upsetting thoughts do you have now, Miss Granger?"

"None, sir," she replied a bit too quickly. Realizing how stupid that sounded, she offered a bit more, "I'm having a bit of trouble with my essay on petrification. I think you've given an unfair assignment."

He sipped his team and dug around his desk for something as he said, "That is because you lack imagination."

"I do not," Hermione protested with an offended tone. As she drank her tea, she tried to calm herself. Best to not be provoked so easily.

"Of course. You think just because you've spent a lot of time contemplating something that you must have the correct answers and exhausted all possible solutions. I'll prove it to you." He lifted a stack of papers and fished out a quill. Casually lifting the top page from his grading pile, he flipped it over and moved to write on its back.

"But that's someone's essay!"

Snape gave her a weary look and drawled, "I'm doubtful this dullard will notice."

She pressed her lips into a thin line and watched as he drew a series of dots which comprised a pyramid, a single dot at the top and four at the bottom. Unsure of what he was trying to show, she leaned forward to get a better look. He thrusted the parchment in from of her and gave her the quill.

"Turn this pyramid upside down by moving only three of the dots. You have one minute."

"What?"

A confused look cross her face as she furrowed her brow.

He glanced at the clock behind her, "It seems you now only have 58 seconds."

"But I don't know what this is for—"

"55 seconds."

Hermione huffed with displeasure and hastily grabbed the quill and began to draw alternative permutations to solve the puzzle, determined to beat his challenge. There were few things in life she relished as much as putting someone in their place by proving them wrong. But this time she wasn't having much luck. No matter what she tried, she couldn't remake the shape using only three moves. Scratching at the page, she focused on it with a twisted type of athleticism.

"Time is up," Snape said as he snatched the quill from her hand abruptly.

Still trying to mentally draw, she thought about it and unhappily concluded, "You're just testing me to be cruel. It's an impossible task."

He raised an eyebrow and sneered triumphantly, "You think it is impossible because you can't complete it?"

"Can you do it?" she returned, tone full of spite. Mad at herself that her answer had proved his point, Hermione grabbed her tea and drank it to hide her displeasure. This puzzle was silly; puzzles were for babies anyway. It had nothing to do with anything.

Reaching forward, he drew lines connecting the dots into a perimeter. "If you stopped to consider the mathematics of this, you would have noticed the sides of this triangle are all the same, that means the edges and vertices are interchangeable," he explained as he scrawled three more dots along the sides, "But that is hardly the point of this."

The simplicity of the solution made her mentally kick herself. It was so easy, so obvious, now that she'd seen it. Just a rotation of the three points. But he was right that the solution wasn't the lesson he was trying to teach her, the way she felt when she found her answer was wrong was the point. Annoyed, she replied bitterly, "Fine, I get it. I'm not always right. I should consider my own limitation. I guess no one can see what's wrong with themselves, and everyone else can see it right away."

"What is that piece of cryptic drivel supposed to mean?"

"You don't know what's wrong with you either," she lashed out, setting her teacup down with a clatter as if to emphasize her point.

"And do tell, what is wrong with me?" he pressed.

A cautioning voice in the back of head told her that it was childish of her to pick a fight with him, but she couldn't help herself. It wasn't fair of him to lecture her when his own shortcomings were so numerous. Who was he to lord things over her all the time? Hermione stared at him, matching his intense gaze with the determination of her own.

"I don't know—"

His dark eyes narrowed in interest.

"-where to begin."

Now he was really interested.

She steeled her spine to sit a bit taller and continued, "You don't know how to apologize because you think it's always someone else's fault."

A moment of silence passed as he regarded her with unreadable eyes. She'd hit on something perhaps too close to home. It was hard to tell if he was angry or not, and she felt the air grow tense as he tilted his head to study her face. Refusing to be rattled, Hermione sat still and stared back with equal resolve.

"I'm sorry you feel that way."

He placed extra emphasis on the word 'sorry' was a mock attempt to disprove her accusation. What struck her was not his voice though, it was the way he smirked as he said it. There was a lightness and charm to his words that was extraordinarily disarming, causing the seriousness of their exchange to instantly evaporate. The tension was suddenly gone and Hermione laughed, unable to help herself. He'd both proved her point and dismissed it with a single line.

In that moment, she'd forgotten all about what else she was trying to say. Later, in hindsight, she dwelled on how skillful he was at deflecting, how easily and cleverly he could derail any conversation that got too close. Perhaps he was bothered by what she'd said; he'd not let on at all. She found herself envious of such a skill, wishing that she too could hide her discomfort rather than wearing it on her face the moment she felt anything.

Restless, her fingers turned the photograph over and over, back to front, front to back. She regretted not having the nerve to bring it up. Now it was something she'd never know.

.

.

"Harry! Over here!"

Hermione waved at him from the counter and pointed down to a butter beer she'd already ordered for him. Her friend squinted at her and paused before going over. He gave her an all encompassing hug when he reached her that made her smile wide. It was good to see a familiar friendly face.

"How's Ron and the family?" she ventured.

Harry's face fell a bit. "They're getting through it. Ron's alright, but his mum—she still serves dinner with an extra plate as if he's going to show up any minute." He stopped, not waiting to continue. "They'd be better with you there."

"Oh Harry, you know I want to," she immediately said, "but it's weird for me. With what happened, I feel like I'm intruding on a very sensitive time."

"You're not, Hermione." he assured her. She thought he'd say more, but he only took a gulp of his butterbeer instead. His only other communication was a delighted 'hm' upon tasting the beverage.

"I'll try to visit soon."

Harry wiped some foam from his lips and gave her an encouraging smile. Picking up after tragedy was such exhausting labor. They sat in silence for a while, just enjoying the easiness of being with another person so familiar they did not have to explain themselves. It was like sitting in that tent again, but without the fear and cold. If they had a question, they need not ask. A look was sufficient.

"How's Grimmauld Place?" She finally broke the wordless spell.

"You know. Kreacher." They both nodded with a knowing gaze exchanged.

"Oh, I almost forgot what I wanted to show you!" Hermione burst out, almost spilling her drink. She hastily dug around in her purse for the tiny wooden box. Her hand knocked over a pile of books and a few cauldrons before finding it. The noise of heavy objects falling made Harry raise an eyebrow. "You never know what you need," she explained in all seriousness.

"Right," he replied sarcastically.

Hermione placed the small rosewood box in front of him. "I found this in the house and thought you'd like to have it."

"The house?" He stared at the smooth wood of the lid, perplexed.

"Yes, the house. Um—you know, his house."

"His house—" Still unclear, Harry made a face but opened the box anyway. His face froze and his breath hitched when he saw the photograph inside. Slowly, he reached in and picked it up by one corner, careful to hold it gently like it would fall apart from even the slightest of negligence. A finger gingerly traced the girl's smiling face.

"Wow, it's…" he trailed off, unsure of what words to use. "Thanks, Hermione. This means a lot to have."

Hermione smiled and didn't say anything. She didn't want to ruin the moment.

"Did you find anything else?"

Her brow instantly furrowed and she couldn't help biting her lip. Yes, there are lots of other things. What would she say? No concept could describe the oddity of the sudden sinking feeling in her stomach. It was a curiosity so complex that she felt compulsion to sample it over and over, terrified by still reveling in her lack of grasp on its character and origin.

"No," she lied.

Sensing something awry, Harry leaned in and asked earnestly, "Is something wrong, Hermione?"

Her eyes widened, not expecting him to pick up on the storm inside of her. Not wanting to lie again, she implored, "I feel like something happened to me last year. Do you remember if someone hit me with a charm?"

"A charm? You mean hit during a duel?"

"No, not like that," she struggled to explain it plainly. "I'm starting to remember things that I don't recall happening. I mean, they must have happened because I'm remembering. But it's different than forgetting and remembering, it's like there's this puzzle that I thought was finished and now I'm finding there are new pieces and they keep fitting in and changing the picture on the puzzle." Upon seeing Harry not quite following, she wrung her hands.

"Harry, did someone accidentally hit me with a memory charm?"

Harry Potter's mouth dropped open with shock.

"I don't think it was malicious!" she added immediately, "The memories are just of school, very ordinary things. I think it must have been an accident."

He didn't seem convinced. "When did this start?"

She held her glass and played with it to distract herself. "A few weeks ago. I think it may have happened sometime last year. I'm not remembering anything recent, it's all just school. Do you recall if anything happened?"

Her friend shook his head, to her disappointment.

"Oh," she murmured quietly, "Must just be that so much has happened and I'm finally decompressing…"

"You could go to see a shrink. I've heard it's useful."

Hermione took the suggestion with a rueful scowl. She was not sure of many things surrounding her odd condition, but she was certain she was not having a breakdown. Her face colored as she started to feel overly defensive. "I don't think so. I'm not overly fond of the idea that sitting in a cheap office somewhere listening an idiot drone on about how I fit into a predefined box of words and feelings. That's what sheep do when they feel cornered and need someone to close their eyes for them."

"I wasn't implying anything," Harry quickly supplied, unsure of how to respond to her sudden rant. "I just— just take care of yourself, Hermione."

The witch quieted down and looked at her drink. As she raised her glass to drink, she felt that nagging voice in the back of her head wag it's finger at her in glee.

She was beginning to sound like him.