Chapter 14:

Arcanum

A blast of cold air saluted Hermione's arrival. She maintained the iron grip on her wand and quickly orientated herself to the new surroundings, breathing a sigh of relief on perceiving that she was quite alone. A circle of ivy-clad oaks surrounded her, their shadows allowing little light to penetrate from the fading sun above. She heard the distant sound of traffic over the relentless chirrup of a blackbird hiding somewhere in the boughs, and guessed that she had found the right spot. She stowed away her wand and took out the piece of parchment received two hours ago from Severus Snape's owl, giving her instructions for apparating to a small copse in the midst of a dense woodland area. The wood stretched out frontier-like – a watchful regiment keeping guard over the remote pub which Hermione now made her way towards. She carefully picked her way across a tree-lined soggy meadow, following the steady hum of car engines as they threaded their way over the hills, guiding her towards some semblance of civilisation.

The pub stood alone on the pinnacle of a hill, a paint-peeled sign swung from its eaves and announced its name to be The Pilgrim's Rest. The sign's faded macabre image of a hooded figure standing next to a gallows, however, was a less welcoming sight to would-be pilgrims whose rest, it seemed to suggest, was to be absolute. Despite the ghoulish pub sign, the establishment itself had the look of a very ordinary Muggle pub with a good-sized car park off to one side and a beer garden attached to the other, scattered with tables, chairs and striped umbrellas, none of which were in use owing to the chilly late March air. Hermione approached tentatively, pushed open the front door and was greeted by a tumult of activity emanating from the large and raucous bar area. This room, too, was filled with tables and chairs, almost all of which were occupied by families enjoying Sunday lunch and looking distinctly non-magical. Hermione felt rather conspicuous in her mud-splattered travelling cloak which she had expected to be conventional attire for a meeting place organised by Severus Snape, but as she looked around her she realised that if she felt awkward, he would stand out like a fanged geranium in a bunch of carnations. The Muggle families, however, were too busy chasing after toddlers, studying menus, and filling up their plates with fare from the all-you-can-eat carvery to notice a lone figure making her way to the bar and studying the instructions written in scrawling handwriting on a piece of parchment.

'I'm looking for Reg?' Hermione enquired of the harassed young Muggle woman expertly pulling a pint of bitter whilst listening to the rest of the order. The woman didn't even raise an eye to her questioner but yelled for Reg in the direction of a door behind the bar.

Reg appeared moments later carrying a tray of drinks which he placed on the bar before spotting Hermione and making his way over to her. He was a thick-set middle-aged man with thinning hair, a greyish beard and a friendly smile. His white shirt and tie was worn without the discomfort of a wizard attempting non-magical disguise. She was beginning to think that there had been some terrible mistake – this couldn't possibly be the place which Snape deemed an appropriate venue for a witch and a wizard to meet – unless, of course, anonymity was his objective – in which case, he had chosen well, there could be no exposure of their meeting to anyone from the wizarding world in here. She wondered what kind of Muggle establishment provided a clandestine meeting service for witches and wizards.

'Hermione Granger?' Reg asked, glancing furtively towards the barmaid to his right. She was clearly expected.

'Er…yes. I'm supposed to meet…'

'Follow me,' he interrupted, lifting up a section of the counter between them so that he could vacate the bar area and lead Hermione through the busy room into another one beyond it which was just as lively as the first. The second room gave way to a passageway which in turn led to a heavy oak door, oddly incongruous with the modern bistro-style décor of the rest of the pub. 'In here,' he said, beckoning her through. She glanced behind her along the corridor where they had just walked and saw people milling about in the room beyond. 'They can't see this entrance,' Reg explained, as if he had read her trepidation. 'Muggle repellent charm.'

The oak door served as a checkpoint halfway down the passage. On one side spot-lights dotted the stark white ceiling and a vibrant fuchsia runner carpeted the floor. Hermione waited as her guide closed the door on the Muggle world behind them. The contrast was blatant – like stepping through time into another era. Flickering wall lamps hung from dark, heavily-panelled walls, and underfoot the wooden floorboards moved and creaked with every step. There were several open doors on each side of the corridor, each one leading to rooms filled with wooden benches, open fires, and huddles of witches, wizards, goblins, and all manner of magical creatures. Reg walked past them all until he reached the end of the hallway. A final door gaped open revealing a larger room which reminded Hermione of the Leaky Cauldron – smoke-filled and ancient – this room was as alienated from the fabricated Muggle hole she had just passed through as a Nordic spruce from a tinsel tree. The smell of pipe-smoke filled her nostrils as she entered, and the obscure murmur of simultaneous conversations continued without pause as she looked around the room for a recognisable dark figure amidst the cloaked forms hunched in corners, reclining on wooden benches, and seated by the fireside. Reg pointed to a distant small alcove which partly concealed a table hemmed by a couple of long wooden benches, and occupied by Severus Snape who appeared to be in deep conversation with the hooded wizard sitting opposite him. Hermione thanked her escort for his services and made her way through the room. A dubious-looking old witch flashed her a toothless grin as she passed, and Hermione did her best to maintain an air of cool detachment in a bid to trick her mind into believing herself composed.

Snape looked up as she approached and Hermione's feigned composure wavered as she wondered whether to grab a seat and join him and his shady-looking associate or wait to be asked. She was relieved when he saved her from the dilemma.

'Marius was just leaving,' he said, giving his companion a look which Hermione recognised as an absolute dismissal. The wizard grunted, picked up his tankard and downed the contents in one swift movement. He nodded to Snape, ignored Hermione, and shuffled off towards the exit door.

'I've never heard of this place,' said Hermione, making a meal of unfastening her cloak to mask her apprehension. 'A Muggle pub with a magical annexe? Brilliant idea, but who on earth is qualified to run it? A Muggle wouldn't know about magic and a wizard wouldn't care about Muggles.'

'But a Squib can do both,' replied Reg, who had been waiting to take her order. Hermione turned to look at him and smiled apologetically as she took the seat opposite Snape's.

'Of course,' she said. 'I should have realised. You're the owner then?'

'Guilty as charged,' he replied with a broad grin. 'Now, what can I get you to drink?'

'I don't suppose you have butterbeer, do you?'

'Finest in the county,' he replied.

'Competition is hardly fierce,' Snape snorted. 'This is the only magical establishment in Shropshire.'

'And long may it remain so,' said Reg, giving Hermione a wink. 'Usual for you, Severus?' he asked as he picked up the empty tankard and gave the table a quick wipe.

'I thought I knew all the magical places in Britain,' said Hermione once the landlord had left. 'And there aren't that many.'

'The Pilgrim's Rest is unique,' Snape replied. 'A secret even among the magical population.'

'You make it sound like a private members' club.'

'It is a useful retreat and a convenient meeting place.'

Hermione was beginning to wonder if her presence here was something of a privilege and one that Snape had thought her worthy of.

'Does Harry know about this place?'

'He most certainly does not,' said Snape darkly.

'Why not? Wouldn't it be useful for Auror-related stuff?'

'I spend enough time with Potter as it is doing Auror-related stuff. I'll be damned if I give up my fleeting moments away from work only to find him sitting at my favourite table.'

Hermione smiled despite his slight on Harry; she lowered her gaze from his and concentrated on anything but the intimacy of their seating arrangement. His face bore witness to the life he had led – fine lines crossed his brow and deepened his eyes, and the shadows cast by the glow of the candle's bare yellow light would not all fade when the flame expired. His eyes had always possessed a penetrating quality about them, usually a demonstration of reproof, but lately Hermione had found the way he looked at her to contain something beyond hostility and even beyond mere resignation of her presence. No one had forced him to invite her to his cherished retreat.

'And what about Dumbledore? Did he know of it?'

'There is not much that Dumbledore did not know about. No doubt he was aware of it. However, he was not one of the elite.'

Not one of the elite. He seemed to be telling her that she was one of the elite. Was her invitation here truly the compliment it seemed to be, or did he intend to slip her a potion to make her forget it? Or worse, Obliviate her again? She refused to allow such self-destructive thoughts to mar her afternoon with Snape. What did it matter that receiving his note had been nothing short of exhilarating, that it had sent her into paroxysms of anxiety that had more to do with anticipation than dread? It didn't matter that she had spent two hours on her hair and outfit in a fruitless bid to look effortlessly alluring, or that recently she had been running over everything he had ever said to her in her head and now found it to be more insightful than caustic and more amusing than disdainful. She was determined not to analyse these feelings because to contemplate their meaning was almost unthinkable.

'How long has this place existed?' she asked. 'Surely it can only have been here as long as Reg has been able to manage it? It can't be more that say…twenty years?'

'Reg has indeed been the only owner; it is his creation.'

Reg had not yet returned with their drinks – that useful distraction of a glass of something liquid which would provide occupation for shaking hands and a means to moisten an increasingly dry mouth. As usual, Snape was not making conversation easy. She pressed on with the only topic for discussion that came to mind.

'Why the Muggle segment?'

'I suppose it increases secrecy. Who is going to pay attention to a Muggle pub?' His eyes did not stray from the witch in front of him, though she hardly dared to look up from her study of the scratches and dents which mapped out the table's vibrant history.

'Yes I suppose that makes sense,' she mused. 'And security has never been breached?'

'Once, I believe. Steps were taken to ensure it wouldn't happen again.'

'Secrecy charms? I presume it began life as a Muggle pub then?'

Snape ignored her self-conscious quest for information though his gaze continued to rest lingeringly on her face. Hermione traced a finger along a deep groove in the table top, following its rigid path as she waited for him to break the silence. The sounds of background chatter and laughter drifted off into barely a whisper over the thud of her own heartbeat and the awareness of his slow and steady respirations. He was in no hurry to relieve the pressure and just when the tension of his arresting stare and the continuing silence grew to the point of unbearable and would only end when she dared to breathe, blink or speak again, he seemed to recover from his tormenting reverie.

'We are not here to discuss the fascinating history of The Pilgrim's Rest, Granger,' he replied, tapping his fingers with rhythmic impatience on the table top. 'We are here to lay to rest any misconceptions you may have had concerning your memories.'

Hermione had obsessed over the missing memory for so long now that she had almost pieced it back together from just the sheer force of her will and imagination. Speculation and invention had become intermingled with the fragments of memory deemed permissible by Snape. She had constructed a scenario based on nothing more than remembered scraps: her awareness of his weight on the bed as he lay next to her, their unsettling closeness – she had remembered the rise and fall of his chest and the sound of his quiet breaths in the stifling night air. She had recalled word for word their hesitant conversation, the fragrant concoction of sweat blended with the spicy smells of potions still clinging to his robes, and finally the feel of his warm breath on her cheek – each of these actions were heightened and intensified by a mind desperate to recall the truth, so that she was almost unable to distinguish between reality and fantasy. Yet he brought up the subject which was both sacred and shameful to her with unexpected composure – she had expected a degree of unease from Snape as he was forced to confront both his original action in performing the spell and his subsequent cover-up. There was no embarrassment, just resignation and the usual attitude of implied reproach.

'Misconceptions?' she repeated.

'Indeed. Your famed intellect has failed you again. You seem to have put two and two together and come up with anything but four.'

'I just want to know why you decided not to return all of my memories?'

This time, Snape's scrutiny of her face seemed to have a different purpose, it was as if he searched for something he knew should be there: a trace of understanding or a flicker of awareness. Apparently his search was fruitless and he leaned back against the high wooden seat and closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them she saw his impatience written into the darkening shade of his brow.

'I did,' he said assuredly.

At that moment, Reg reappeared with a large tray of drinks: a tankard of butterbeer for Hermione and a glass of firewhisky for Snape. He set down their drinks with customary joviality and bustled on to the next table to offload his heavy burden. Hermione took a hasty sip of comfortingly warm butterbeer and gave him a questioning look.

'What is it that you are having trouble with?' he asked. 'I'm beginning to think that you have got it into your head that we actually performed the spell.'

'Are you saying we didn't?' Hermione replied, trying to make sense of his assertion.

Snape frowned. 'You can't actually believe that the reason you don't remember performing the spell is that I deliberately concealed the memory from you?' Hermione merely nodded a reply; she didn't trust herself to speak. He seemed so utterly convinced of his explanation that it was difficult to retaliate with what she had convinced herself must be true. His features were so full of righteous indignation that it was becoming impossible to think straight. 'You believe we performed it and I consequently formed feelings of regret,' he continued, his words more of a statement that required no confirmation than a question.

'I see no alternative explanation considering the end result,' Hermione murmured, staring fixedly into her butterbeer.

'Have you ever considered the possibility…' he went on, ignoring her comment. '…that the memory ends exactly where it ends? You don't remember it because there is nothing to remember.'

'I don't see how that is possible,' she asserted, staring at his shoulder in confusion, but still not daring to meet his eye.

'You really think me capable of stooping to the violation of one of my students for my own selfish ends?' Snape's eyes flashed ominously and he leaned forward onto his elbows, his chin resting lightly on folded hands.

'I…well…I didn't see it like that,' she replied, mortified that he should view their act as anything other than necessary. 'I was the one who was ready to perform the spell. I persuaded you. It wasn't as if we were at Hogwarts and you were still my teacher – the circumstances were extraordinary.'

'I never had you down as a seductress, Granger, but I have to hand it to you, you were persuasive,' he replied with his customary sneer.

'It wasn't like that either,' she objected, feeling the colour rise to her cheeks. 'I only wanted to…'

'Help?' he interrupted, shaking his head as if he was exasperated by her relentless philanthropy. 'Always the need to save the day.'

'That's rich coming from you.' She fixed him with a defiant stare to match his own.

'If we really had performed that spell do you think I would be sitting here before you calmly discussing the finer points over a butterbeer?'

'Why not?'

'Because I would not be able to face you,' Snape sighed, knocking back a good measure of firewhisky.

They fell into another long silence both staring into their respective glasses, Hermione pondering on Snape's testimony and comparing it to the body of evidence which she still had not lain before him.

'You seemed to have changed your mind,' she ventured at last. 'You lay down next to me, you spoke as if you were ready to go through with it. You were very convincing.'

'It was a ruse, Granger. Obviously.' He paused and stared intently into his tumbler. 'You have seen me being convincing before, have you not?'

Hermione recalled Snape's intimate tête-à-tête with Hortensia Rookwood in the restaurant and conceded his point begrudgingly.

'I was about to Obliviate you as agreed,' he went on, 'but I could see the tension in your face – you were ready for it. A memory spell is always most effective when the recipient is not expecting it. It is quite possible to resist if prepared. You were not only prepared, you were resolved.' He looked at her with the ghost of a smile. 'You had that look you used to have in potions class when you were determined to answer a question and I was trying to ignore you.' Hermione recalled her desperation to be noticed by him even at the tender age of twelve – it seemed that little had changed. She waited for him to continue. 'I knew the spell would be weak at best and I needed it to be fool proof for all our sakes. You would be vulnerable to interrogation otherwise. I made a decision – to appear to go along with your ridiculous plan to execute the Impetus Perpetus spell. I knew it would unsettle you enough to take your mind off the Obliviate.'

'So when you told me to turn around and face the other way…' She stared at him unblinking.

'I modified your memory and I left.'

Hermione's mind reeled at this new information. Everything she had heard in the last few minutes shook her understanding of that evening – in her belief in this thing they had done. His explanation was unequivocal, he showed no signs of duplicity – he was aggrieved that she considered him able to go ahead with the spell, surprised at her interpretation of the event, or non-event as it seemed now to be. Yet he had admitted his ability to dupe and deceive, she knew he was capable of that. She only had her own instincts to guide her in this – her instincts and her capacity for logical thought. If he was telling the truth, then he had every right to feel angry at her assumption. She had always relied on her analytical mind, her ability to reason and make clear-sighted logical decisions based on facts and evidence, and the evidence which presented itself to her now seemed flawed: the missing piece of memory was the crucial piece of information, and Snape's assertion that it had never existed was a powerful argument. His actions had been honourable in his version of events, and she knew him to be a man of impeccable honour. His reasons for appearing to go through with the spell were also plausible – Hermione wondered why the idea had never occurred to her before; she was sure she would have done the same in his position. There was a reason, however, why she had been so convinced that the spell had been performed and why she could not allow herself to believe his avowal.

'You're very persuasive,' she replied. 'But there's just one thing you seem to have forgotten.'

'And what would that be?' he sneered, folding his arms across his chest.

'It worked,' she maintained. 'The spell worked. Why did I feel compelled to defend you every time Harry and Ron said something abusive or insulting about you during our hunt for horcruxes? We heard you had been made headmaster and they reacted with outrage like I should have done, but instead I felt only pity for your plight. I tried to argue with them, make them see a sense that wasn't there. It ended in an almighty row, and I soon learned to keep my thoughts to myself. But my certainty in you was so strong at times that I felt angry with the boys for their understandable hatred of you. So explain to me how that was possible if we hadn't performed the spell?'

Snape took a few moments before answering, appearing to be considering his reply carefully.

'I have wondered that too,' he replied softly. 'You must remember that you informed me of that fact when I visited you at your home to return your memories?' Hermione nodded. 'I believe you said you had known of my real loyalties well before Potter had revealed them; it was the reason you gave for not owing me a life-debt: you quite rightly informed me that a life-debt is only evoked in the case of an enemy.'

'Yes.'

'Then I believe it was your own determination to bear the burden of truth,' he stated.

Hermione opened her mouth to reply but thought better of it – she needed to hear his opinion now he was ready share it. He paused for a moment before continuing.

'And though you could not withstand the memory spell, something remained with you beyond the evidence of memory: your belief, your faith…'

He stopped short from adding "your faith in me" but the implied words were as clear to her as if they had been spoken aloud, and she knew without doubt that he was sincere. He recognised her loyalty to him, and it was only at this moment that she fully understood the true extent of it herself. Her devotion, it seemed, was immeasurable. She had been so moved by his plight that she was desperate to prove her allegiance even if they were never to meet again. She had even been prepared to give him her virginity if that's what it took to retain the boundless feelings of compassion he had awoken in her. But it had not been necessary – the magic required to hold on to her feelings of kinship was already within her – no spell was needed, just her own ferociously tender heart resolved to be custodian of Severus Snape's honour. There had never been the remotest possibility that he could have actually performed that spell, or that he would have found it within himself to carry out a deed of such profound depravity – he would never see it as anything other than that, it didn't matter what her own perceptions of the act were – either then or now – to him it would only be further corruption to add to an already lengthy list. Everything he was trying to achieve – the years of protecting Harry and putting himself at risk had been for the sole purpose of wiping the slate clean. How could she have imagined a scenario in which he was capable of abusing her trust in him and defiling her innocence just because she asked. To her it would have been a noble sacrifice, to him it would have been abuse. She had been appalled that Dumbledore had made a killer of him, but had her entreaties been any different? She had attempted to undermine everything he was trying to achieve – she had fallen into the trap of believing that if a dark deed needs doing, Severus Snape is your man.

'I'm sorry,' she said.

'For what? Your tenacity and faith in the truth?'

'For thinking even for one moment that you would have done that stupid spell. And for asking you to do it,' she murmured, keeping her eyes fixed on the table and feeling his unflinchingly secured in her direction.

'You may be surprised to know,' he replied after a moment of silence. 'Your willingness. No. Insistence, had the effect I believe you were looking for.'

'What do you mean?' Hermione replied, meeting his eye for the first time in many minutes.

'It gave me a degree of sustenance.' He paused to swallow the last dregs of his glass and signalled to the witch who was collecting empties that he was ready for a refill. She flicked her wand at his glass as she passed and it was instantly filled with another measure. Hermione waited for the witch to move on and for Snape to continue. 'It was some comfort to know that I had an ally, even if that ally didn't know it. You had shown me that had you been in possession of the facts you would vouch for me. It was enough. More than enough.'

Severus Snape had never allowed her a modicum of credit for either classroom achievement or magical prowess, despite the perseverance and effort she had put in for a word of praise or anything beyond criticism and indifference. His harshness had undoubtedly pushed her harder to achieve, though she doubted that had been his design in making her potion's classes so challenging – he simply resented the bounteous approval she received from all her other teachers and felt it his duty to redress the balance whatever the outcome. Hermione did not care; she would have gladly borne his severe strictures tenfold as his student if she had known that her adult self was to receive a tribute of such glowing distinction. He had acknowledged her compassion as something so powerful and meaningful to him that he had found himself equal to the task before him.

'So you see,' he said. 'You saved me twice.'

Hermione felt unequal to any reply beyond 'oh!' and it seemed that the two of them were fated to spend half their afternoon lulling into mutual silence, each pause becoming less uncomfortable and more valued for the contemplation of each other it allowed them. She tried to concentrate her gaze on anything but the man in front of her and soon became acutely aware that her hand, which lay flat upon the table in front of her, was inches away from Snape's. Her senses were conscious that with only a slight movement to the right there would be contact. She imagined his reaction if she dared to cross those two inches. There was every possibility that he would scoff at her gesture with some sarcastic remark to make her feel foolish and small, and she knew she could never recover from that. But perhaps he would respond in kind and welcome her intimacy; he may even gently take her hand in his and press it to his lips as he did once before in Grimmauld Place. More likely, he would neither accept nor dismiss her action but allow her to make it nevertheless – uninvited and unwanted, and perhaps it would be worth the risk, because one of the three possibilities would be as sustaining for her as he claimed she had been for him throughout his tenure as headmaster. Those two inconsequential inches may as well have been a chasm for Hermione – she knew she was incapable of taking that leap into the unknown – she stared at his hand on the table and took in every detail: his long tapered fingers rested lightly beside her own, the black cuff of his sleeve reaching beyond his wrist, the slightly frayed edges and the severe contrast of the unforgiving black cloth against his pale bloodless skin. His oval-shaped fingernails were short and neat, and she felt a wave of reassurance as she contemplated the hand that handled a wand so skilfully, sliced potion's ingredients so deftly and could wield a quill with such devastating cruelty. She noticed a callus on his thumb, a faded ink-stain ingrained on the edge of his long middle finger, and across his knuckles the lattice of faint scars from cuts and burns chronicled the hazards of the potioneer. It was the hand of a man for whom life had been gruelling.

'Same again for you too, love? Butterbeer, was it?'

Hermione was startled out of her reverie by the glass-collecting witch who had returned to their table. She pulled back her hand in surprise and answered with much less composure than ordering a drink usually required. She did, however, manage to change her order from butterbeer to firewhisky, which she felt would give her far more reinforcement under the circumstances.

Snape seemed to have recovered from his own pensive moment as she gave her order. His mouth twitched in his customary way. 'Am I driving you to drink?'

'Yes,' she replied. 'You're a bad influence.'

'I'm glad to hear it.' His almost smile was a little self-conscious but she was beginning to savour the momentary glimpses of good-humour it betrayed – it was good to know that there was something else beyond displeasure and reserve.

'Aberforth once said that butterbeer was for children and house-elves,' she remarked.

'He always was the more discerning of the Dumbledores.'

'Butterbeer is comforting and pleasant,' she admitted. 'But one is enough – it's far too sweet. I'm finding that firewhisky is an acquired taste – intense at first and it has a powerful bite – it takes some getting used to, but I think it's worth the effort.'

He swilled the contents of his own glass around and watched it swirl before taking another swig. 'I would advise caution, Granger. There is always danger with anything so potent; its pleasures are brief and soon become pernicious. Don't enjoy it too much, you may come to regret the effort you gave to something so toxic.'

'I think I can handle it,' she replied. 'I'm more capable than you give me credit for.'

'I'm well aware of your capabilities, why do you doubt it?'

Hermione shrugged. 'You've always been my biggest critic. At school you were quick to take points away but not to give them, I had to work twice as hard to get half the recognition in your class.'

'So I made you work twice as hard… I won't apologise for that. Tell me, did you gain an Outstanding in your potion's NEWT?'

'Well… yes, but I achieved Outstanding in Charms too, and Professor Flitwick was very encouraging.'

'You would have achieved an Outstanding in Charms either way. You did not need encouragement in potions, you needed to understand that success in that subject could only be gained through determination and hard work.'

'You are accusing me of not working hard enough?'

He smiled wryly. 'Very well, have it your way – My methods hindered your confidence.'

'They did not,' she huffed. 'As you know perfectly well. I just wanted recognition from you more than anyone.'

'Why would you care about my recognition?'

'Because you never gave it.'

'I never gave it to anyone.'

'Draco Malfoy might disagree,'

'That was strategic,' he insisted. 'As you well know. My position depended upon me being known as a Gryffindor-despising, Slytherin-favouring fiend.'

Hermione laughed. 'And it helped enormously that you did despise Gryffindors and liked to favour Slytherins.'

He grinned. 'Every cloud…'

'Still, it's never too late,' Hermione replied, feeling a growing sense of playfulness which may have had something to do with the empty glass of firewhisky in front of her. 'You don't need to worry about my lack of diligence in the potion's classroom, you may freely say what you really thought of my abilities.' She rested her chin determinedly on her clasped hands and met his eye with an expectant smile.

Snape beckoned the waitress over for two more refills, in order, Hermione surmised, to force her to wait for his response. 'What do you want to hear? That you were more than adequate? That you showed more skill and grit than most of your classmates who were born to wizadry? That I could see, even then, that your potential was boundless?'

Hermione's heart was beating so hard that she though it may leap from her chest and land on the table in front of her. 'More than adequate?' she repeated softly, not even caring about the pink flush that must surely have risen to her cheeks.

Snape's eyes darkened in response to her obvious joy. 'But don't let that go to your head, you still have a great deal more potential to aspire to, and I hope your department will benefit from it.'

She narrowed her eyes and realised that with every compliment must come a condemnation. 'And there was I thinking you'd gone soft on me. You always find something to undermine me.'

'Don't be disheartened,' he asserted, 'I expect you are more than up to the challenge of fixing your mistakes.'

'I have NOT made a mistake. The new procedures are fair as I have told you a thousand times. I do see that working as an Auror could be made easier though, and I intend to make sure that…' she stopped when she saw the gleam in his eyes and knew that he had deliberately provoked her. 'No wonder I'm developing a taste for the hard stuff,' she said, scowling at him before taking a small sip from her glass.

'Ah! But as you said yourself, you can handle it,' he said with a devilish grin.

'If it doesn't kill me first.'

'We are still talking about firewhisky, aren't we?'

She leaned forward and tucked a stray lock behind her ear, she saw that his own hair had fallen forward obscuring some of his face and she had the oddest urge to reach out a hand and brush it back. 'I'm not entirely sure,' she admitted.

Snape raised his eyebrows and returned her bold stare for a moment before smiling and fixing his eyes on the table instead. 'Do you think you would make use of this place?' he asked.

'The Pilgrim's Rest? I have a choice?'

Snape leaned back and looked around him at the array of magical beings enjoying the warmth and hospitality of the pub. 'Of course,' he said. 'You will be given the choice of signing one of two documents when you leave. The first will renounce your privileges here; it is magically binding and your renunciation will lead to forgetting the existence of this place. You will remember our meeting to some extent, but assume it was held somewhere you are already familiar with.'

'And the second?'

'Your signature on the second document is also magically binding, it will compel you to secrecy and will prevent you from speaking about it to anyone.'

'A variation on the Fidelius Charm?'

'Precisely.'

Hermione followed his gaze around the room and took in her surroundings. The place was rustic and unsophisticated but it felt safe and familiar nevertheless: the large fireplace crackled with heat as the flames licked at the cauldron floating in their midst. Thick dripping candles congealed to the table tops in shapeless waxy effigies, Reg could be seen sharing a joke with a wizard in a purple cloak who looked vaguely familiar, and the rhythmical murmur of conversation and laughter felt intimate and innocuous.

'I wouldn't want to forget any of it,' she said.

Hermione thought she saw something of relief in Snape's eyes, though she may have imagined it. He called the proprietor over to the table.

'Take Hermione over procedure, Reg,' he said. 'She wants to sign the Arcanum.'

Hermione could think of nothing beyond his intimate use of her name; it was the first time she had ever heard him use it.