Chapter 24- Brightbrook's Balls and Broken Plates

Hermione spent the next two days in planning meetings; Minerva had agreed to allow the apprentice Healers to come and perform their mock interview drills in the various classrooms of the school as long as it was done prior to the start of term. St. Mungo's had also offered up the use of their coterie of 'actors'- witches and wizards that had sufficient medical knowledge to serve as proxy patients- and so she, Poppy, Severus, Richard Brightbrook, and two other Healers worked furiously to create the schedule and write the scripts for the actors to follow.

Each apprentice Healer was to go through six interviews- two easy scenarios, two moderately difficult, and two wherein the 'patient' was highly emotional or otherwise difficult. They would be assessed and debriefed after each successive attempt, and once everyone had completed the course, the entire group would get together and discuss improvements. Hermione was looking forward to seeing how much the Healer's had learned from their seminar; if it went well, she felt that it would bode highly for the overall project.

It was almost seven by the time they finalized plans for the two-day event, and Hermione was feeling beyond peckish. She turned to Richard, who was reading through the day's notes a last time, and asked, "Would you like to stay for supper?"

"I'd love to, but I really need to get back to St. Mungo's." He shook his head with more than a tinge of resentment. "I've got a full ward, three Healers out sick, and an ocean of paperwork from being gone for three weeks." Giving her a regretful smile, he said, "That'll teach me to dare take a vacation. How about a raincheck for sometime next week, though?"

"You're on." Hermione responded. "I'll settle for walking you to the gates."

The silence between them was surprisingly awkward as they walked down the halls. Deciding to go with the easy conversational gambit, she inquired about his holiday. "How was Canada?"

She was rewarded by his full smile. "Wonderful. My younger sister got married, so I had a chance to see the entire clan. We sat around and ate too much food, gossiped endlessly, and spent several days hiking on the Coast. It was really nice to spend that much time back home."

"You miss it quite a bit, don't you?" she asked.

"Everyday." He turned his warm smile on her, and touched her arm briefly. "But I keep finding these reasons to stay in England."

"Is that so?" she retorted, feeling a faint blush cover her cheeks. "That explains why you've been eyeing me all afternoon like I'm some sort of rabid cerberus posed to take off a limb off. I would like to think I'm not that frightening in a dress."

The man looked chagrined. "It isn't that, believe me. I just got a bit of an earful from several colleagues when I mentioned that I've been working with you." He opened one of the wooden doors for her, and gestured her ahead. "I knew that you were involved rather heavily with the... Voldemort matter, but I didn't realize the full extent of things. I mean, the news of the civil war was covered in Canada, but I was in my final years of schooling before my apprenticeship, and not really paying attention to much other than that."

Hermione didn't know what to say to that, other than the banal and obvious. "Oh. So... someone clued you in, did they?"

He sighed. "Yeah, more than I would have liked, truth be told."

She felt her stomach cramp in a combination of nerves and anger; she had not realized how little he knew about her past given how liberally it had always been splashed about. "And what did they tell you?"

"Do you really want to discuss this right now?"

"No, but you clearly have questions, and I can only imagine what half-truths they were spouting. Best get the interrogation over with."

"Did you really first battle Voldemort when you were eleven?"

"I was twelve, actually. Voldemort had possessed the body of our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and was trying to get the Philosopher's Stone. But yes, I was a first-year."

"Right." Richard clearly wasn't sure how to respond to her blasé recitation. "And you fought off several hundred Dementors in your a third year."

"That was more of Harry's doing, not mine. I couldn't cast a Patronus Charm until Fifth Year."

"That would be the same Fifth Year when you faced down the Death Eaters at the Ministry of Magic because they were trying to retrieve the prophecy about Harry Potter?"

"Yes." She could feel the start of a headache, and took a deep breath of summer air as they exited the Castle. "It was trap. I got hurt fairly badly, as did Ron, and Harry's godfather was killed."

"You were there when Dumbledore was killed."

"Yes."

"You helped to find the pieces of Voldemort's soul that allowed Harry Potter to kill him."

"Some of them, yes."

"You not only broke into Gringotts, but managed to steal something, and escaped unharmed?"

"That was one of the bits of Voldemort's soul, properly called a Horcrux. And there was a... dragon that assisted our exit from Gringotts."

"You fought in both the First and Second Battles of Hogwarts, and during the second one..."

"Killed many Death Eaters, yes."

"You were tortured."

"Several times."

"Your parents?"

"Despite reports, were not murdered by the Death Eaters. I Obliviated them and sent them to Australia. They were killed by wildfires a couple of months later."

Richard's alternately fascinated and horrified expression was slowly submerged under his persona of Healer as he questioned her. Her response concerning her parents briefly stopped the stream of questions, and he gazed at her unspeaking for a long second. His voice held a note of grim determination when he went on. "One of the mediwitches had quite a lot to say about your dating escapades."

"Wherein I play the role of the Whore of Babylon?"

"Ah, yes. Something like that."

She smiled at Richard, aiming for a reassuring look, but had feeling her grin sported too many teeth to display anything more than repressed anger. "Go on, then. What's the list? It gets longer every time I hear it."

"Potter, Ron Weasley. Also several of his brothers... ummm, some fellow named Longbottom. That Bulgarian Seeker. And..." His voice broke off, and he suddenly appeared rather uncomfortable.

"And?" she queried, not able to keep the sharp note from her reply.

"Professor Snape."

Hermione glanced down at the flower-lined path, the picture from the Daily Prophet suddenly fresh in her mind. "Yes, he's a rather new addition to the list. God... I always forget what a small, incestuous, world this is." She laughed bitterly. "I was with Ron for two years, and only went out on a couple of dates with Victor Krum during my fourth year. Harry has always been like a brother to me, and as much I love the Weasleys, dating one of them was more than enough for me. Neville- Neville Longbottom- is a friend and colleague, nothing more. Had I ever approached Professor Snape as student..." she shivered, thinking of the few times she'd seen him lose his temper, and then mentally multiplied it times ten. "He would have taken my head off bare-handed, and then gladly used my organs for potions ingredients. He hated me a student, or at least felt a near enough emotion to make no matter."

"And now?" His expression was careful.

"And now we are friends, of a sort, and I'm his apprentice. If you wish to learn any more about his current feelings on the subject, you'll have to ask him." She wondered if he had noticed how evasive her answer had been; however, it wasn't as if she could properly answer his question about her... current feelings in relation to Severus. He was a friend, without a doubt, but she also had a sneaking suspicion that if she stopped to examine her thoughts on the man, she'd find something rather more complicated than mere friendship.

Brightbrook's voice interrupted her internal monologue. "Discretion being the better part of valour... I think I'll decline."

"Smart man."

"There was a bright spot in today's rehashing of old gossip; you had a rather... unexpected champion."

She looked at him, nonplussed. "And who might that be?"

"Lucius Malfoy. Emily- that's the mediwitch that loves the tabloids- was trying to get me to read some special edition tripe in the Daily Prophet, and he incinerated the paper. Nearly took half my desk with it too." He grinned.

"Burning copies of the Daily Prophet can hardly be construed as an act of support; an act of common sense, certainly, but that hardly makes Lucius Malfoy my champion."

"He said- and I quote- that he was 'relieved that vacuous and inane natterings of the general public have not deterred Doctor Granger from coming back and performing vital research'. He also told Emily that once she had received ten 'Exceptional' O.W.L.s as you had, she was free to read whatever she pleased, but until that point she would be better served by studying something more substantial."

"He did not!" Hermione realized that her mouth was hanging open, and she shut it with a snap.

"He did. He appeared to be sucking on a very bitter lemon the entire time he said it, but I assure you, those words passed his lips."

She rubbed her forehead. "Talk about strange bedfellows... did Draco have anything to say to all that?"

The amusement that had begun to lighten Richard's expression dispersed. "No." He looked down and away before speaking again. "He was unconscious most of the day. I think that Lucius was rather happy to have something to strike out at, truthfully."

"Oh."

Richard exhaled. "Draco signed the consent forms yesterday to take part in the project; you should get a copy of his files this sometime week. He also volunteered to be guinea pig for our first group of interviewers."

"I am surprised that he agreed to take part."

"He doesn't want to die."

"Is it that bad?"

"Honestly, yes." He tapped his fingers on his trouser leg in open frustration. "None of his issues- the seizures, muscle weakness, or vascular concerns- are enough to kill him. But together? And the frequency of incidents increases every month... he can't go on like this indefinitely."

"Oh," Hermione said, at a loss. She certainly didn't like Draco Malfoy... but it gave her a queer feeling to think of him lying in a hospital bed, dying.

"Have you had any further issues since I've been gone?" he asked, clearly keen to change the subject.

"Not of that sort..." she stopped, really wishing that they could have had this particular conversation over dinner, or at least drinks. "There have been... complications of another sort. I rather enjoyed our other dates, but... I can't do this right now. For one thing, I'm not willing to subject you to the inevitable round of scrutiny that going out with me would involve."

"I don't really give a damn about any of that, Hermione." He sounded so earnest, and she wanted to smile at his naïvety.

"You can say that now, but trust me when I say that it's a whole different beast when you are staring it down headlong." She took another deep breath, trying to curb her anger. "In a way, I'm glad that your colleague blabbed; I don't need to explain why I need to spend the next couple of months, or however long it takes, dealing with the various issues of my past. I'm sorry."

"Don't be." His reply was quick, and he reached over to take her hand. "I'm a Healer, Hermione. I've dealt with enough trauma in my own life not to understand why you need the space." He gave an anaemic chuckle. "I've always had atrocious timing, anyways."

"I wasn't trying to lead you on," she said, feeling miserable in the face of his sincere words and manner. "Had I known how quickly things were going to change in my life, I wouldn't have accepted in the first place, believe me."

Richard's smile was disappointed, but came easily. "I would never think that of you... I just hope that we can stay friends. I like you, not just... like-like, you." He groaned at his own awkward delivery. "Right... let me if I can rephrase that in a way that doesn't make me sound like a teenager. I like you, Hermione, not just fancy you. And if nothing ever comes of us but friendship... then I will still count myself a lucky man."

"I would like that as well." Touched, she gave him a self-deprecating smile in return. "I don't have enough good friends to reject a quality request like that."

"I'm still buying dinner next week, though." the Healer stated firmly.

"No you won't." Her grin turned brash. "I told you earlier, it's dutch or nothing."

What little amusement she found in their parting comments quickly evaporated on the walk from the Hogwarts' gates back to her rooms. She was angry- angrier than she'd been in a long time- and she could feel her hair begin to twist and curl around her head as her temper grew. She had not wanted to talk about her past, and doing so, even concisely, had unearthed feelings of fear and rage-inducing impotence concerning both her past, and the present situation. She'd also genuinely liked Richard Brightbrook, and hadn't wanted to turn him down in such a manner. Still, she knew that it was not a good time to start a relationship. As overwhelmed as she already felt, she knew that matters would only get more complicated as she settled back in Hogwarts. And then was the little issue of Severus...

The picture flashed in her mind again. She'd known that coming back to the wizarding world would mean a return to life back in the fishbowl of public scrutiny... but she thought she'd have more than three days back before the hounds started circling. Recalling Brightbrook's comments about there being a special edition of the Daily Prophet, she felt her mood snap from temper to outright ire, and took a great satisfaction in slamming the door to her quarters shut.

"I've told you, Poppy: I don't understand what happened any more than you or Minerva do. And quite frankly, I don't give a damn, either." Standing up from his spot on the sofa, Snape strode over the the windows and looked into the dark. "All I can tell that there are no compulsions beyond that of a normal apprenticeship acting on either of us, and no magical prohibitions in effect that could cause harm."

"And you aren't the least bit curious why the binding manifested so differently?" Poppy shot back sharply.

"For the fifth time, no." He whirled and glared at her. "And do you know why I'm not curious? Because we can't go back and change what happened. We did it, Hermione and I have spoken about matters to my satisfaction, and I am content to let things lie until there is a reason for me to think otherwise!"

Poppy sat back on the sofa, lips pursed in such a way that he was forcibly reminded of Minerva. "Severus... I am concerned, that's all."

"It's a little late for second thoughts." Aware that he was nearly yelling, he reined in his temper and tried for a more conciliatory tone. "If it makes you feel any better, I wouldn't go back and change things even if I could."

Her gaze sharpened at his statement, and he could tell the moment that she figured out that he hadn't told her the entire story. Conveniently, he had omitted telling her about the tiny, little, inconsequential detail of their momentary telepathic bond. He could only think of two other types of bindings that would bring that specific element to into play, and neither of them were of the temporary, or of the apprenticeship variety. Given Poppy's apparent... concern, he thought it had been prudent choice on his part. Moreover, he found himself loathe to tell her something that had been be a rather private moment between himself and Hermione.

The Healer looked down for a beat, and when she made eye contact with him again, the only emotion he could see in her gaze was worry. "It's just if something should happen..."

"I am not going to hurt the woman, Poppy. Not if I can at all help it. Surely you've figured out that part." He couldn't help the sarcasm that leached into his reply.

She got up and walked over to him swiftly. Placing her hand on his, she spoke. "I am not worried about you hurting her, you foolish man. It's the other way around that has me losing sleep."

He blinked down at her, surprised. "This is Hermione Granger we are discussing, Poppy. Have you ever known her to be deliberately cruel to her friends? Hell, mean to strangers, house-elves, or even vegetables for that matter?"

Sighing, she tightened her grip on his hand briefly before stepping back. "There is a first time for everything, Severus, and I don't want you to be that exception."

"Might I remind you who it was that gave me particular encouragement to take her on as apprentice?"

"Just because it's too late for second thoughts doesn't mean that I don't have them," she groused.

"Poppy, I am not altogether comfortable with what happened either. But I do trust Hermione; I was sure of her when I agreed to apprentice her, and nothing during or after the ceremony has changed my mind."

Snape winced as he felt his wards flicker and then flare to life. "Speak of the devil..." The sound of Hermione's door slamming was clear, even though the stone walls.

"Was that Hermione?" Poppy looked startled.

"Yes." He smiled, albeit wryly. "It seems like she didn't have a very nice walk."

"Wasn't she taking Richard back to the gates?"

"I believe so, yes."

He kept his expression blank under her sudden and increased interest. They both grimaced, however, when another wave of fury hit his wards.

"Ouch." Poppy rubbed her head. "If she keeps that up much longer, she'll have Minerva in here investigating."

"I know. I can handle her."

Poppy raised an eyebrow at his calm statement. "Hah. Good luck with that. Are you really sure you don't want backup?"

He smirked. "No. I figured that Granger was going to lose her temper sooner rather than later, and have a plan to deal with it. However, should you find either of our broken and bloody corpses in morning, I beg of you to remember that whilst I am magically prohibited from doing her serious bodily harm, she is not likewise bound."

After eating a perfunctory dinner, she had decided that she might as well finish unpacking and put some of her fury to good use. Accordingly, she was shelving books by hand while using magic to unpack her kitchen goods, when Hagrid's stupid book bit her. Of course, she had forgotten that The Monster Book of Monsters was in the bottom of the box. And, naturally, some time during transport, the belt used to hold the ruddy thing closed had loosened enough that it was able to take a good chop on two of her fingers. Her scream was almost, but not quite, drowned out by the sound of dishes breaking as her charms faltered. Incinerating the book with a quick blast, she stalked over to the kitchenette to examine the damage. About half of the box was broken, but it was nothing a quick reparo wouldn't fix. Picking up one of the unbroken plates, she looked at it consideringly. Hefting the solid, ceramic weight in her hand, she came to an abrupt decision.

Hermione threw the plate. The sound and impact of it shattering on the stone wall was strangely, intensely satisfying. Taking a second plate out of the box, she took aim.

He was standing outside of her door when he heard her scream, followed by the sound of plates breaking. Bending down, he knotted the laces of trainers more securely. He smiled in anticipation when he heard the a second crash, and then a third. I do believe that's my cue.

Severus knocked loudly. All noises from within stopped, and then Hermione flung the door open. Her navy blue, sleeveless dress was the only thing prim and proper about her; her hair fairly crackled, and was surrounding her flushed face in a riotous nimbus. Blood dripped from her left hand on to the floor.

Snagging the offended digits, he examined the bites with avuncular curiosity. "I should have known you for a woman who likes to break the dishes in anger." His comment brought a feral grimace of temper and promise to her expression, and he felt his own darker urges flicker to life in response before he firmly checked the notion.

"Do I need to hex Brightbrook's balls off for being mean to you?"

"No. He was a perfect gentlemen." Her eyes flashed again.

"Do I need to hex Brightbrook's balls off for being a perfect gentleman to you?" He tapped his wand gently on her fingers, healing the wounds with a easy expenditure of minty magic.

"No. If he- or anyone else's balls -requires hexing, I will do so myself."

"So, pray tell, why are you destroying crockery?"

"I am in a mood."

"Yes, you most certainly are," he drawled with supreme condescension, and she jerked her hand from his.

"Did you need something, or were you just coming to gawk at the angry female?" She matched his tone with equal scorn.

"You've been setting off my wards for the last twenty minutes, Granger. If you lose your cool any further, it'll be the Headmistress at your door because you've set off the Castle's warnings."

"Duly noted."

"Go get on your running kit."

"What makes you think I am a runner?"

"Your London Marathon t-shirt and that pile of trainers," he pointed "...over there were my first clues. Now, don't make me repeat myself: go change."

"I don't want to go running."

"I'm not giving you a choice, Apprentice. We are going running. What remains to be seen is if you can keep up with me."

"You better be bloody fast then!" she snarled, and strode into her bedroom.

He leaned against the door-jam and smirked. Oh, this going to be so much fun!

Calling out to her again, he spoke tauntingly, "Don't faff about now, Granger. I've things to do later."

Author's Postscript: Oh, you all are killing it with your comments and PMs. All of the scrotal, excrement and marijuana jokes from the last two days have been cracking me up (and don't that just sound all sorts of dirty?). So thank you, lovely readers! It's nice to know that I am not alone in my juvenile sense of humour. In particular, props to Arya Ruh, JainaAngel, Smithback, KG-613, KEZZ 1, a Guest, viola1701e, Brightki, LoveInTheBattleField, and Amber611 who all left comments. Merci beaucoup!

So... to recap. Severus has friend-zoned Hermione (as noted by viola1701e, Hermione might not have gotten that memo. Maybe if he sent it by owl post?) and Hermione has now put the kibosh on Brightbrook's err, dreams. Somehow I doubt the confluence of these events means that Severus and Brightbrook are now destined to find sweet happiness in each others' arms (although, now that I think about it...). I once again ask, dear readers, if you would like to take bets on how long this house of cards will last. And yes, KEZZ 1, taking bets on my own story is not fair. As it is mine, however... ;)

As always, my thanks go to my beta extraordinaire, Muggle Jane.

Next Up: A can of whoop-ass is opened, and I throw my readers a bone. Or is it someone gets a boner?