All my thanks to Tra8erse for good editing work and helpful suggestions, as usual. All remaining errors are entirely my own.


Hold your breath and count to ten

(Adele, Skyfall)


Harry had assured Snape that the Aurors would be discreet when they forwarded his Christmas mail and presents after the mandatory search of everything sent to him. Snape did not voice his thoughts, to avoid another emotional outburst from Harry, but he cynically believed that the search would not take too much of their time: apart from Minerva and probably four or five other people, he did not expect much for Christmas.

Yet, he woke up to the noise of crumpled paper and gliding things. His wand was drawn out before he even opened his eyes.

He blinked several times, incredulously taking in the pile of untidily rewrapped cards and boxes overflowing from the top of his desk. He could not remember ever seeing so many, even for his first Christmas with the Malfoys.

He sat stiffly against the headboard for a long time, at a loss about who could have sent them and why. He cast one detection spell after another, until he was satisfied at last that there was nothing dangerous in the pile. Of course, the Aurors were supposed to have tested everything, but the episode with the Foe-Glasses did nothing to ease his profound distrust in them.

He eventually Accioed the whole lot and began to read the names. Minerva, of course. Molly Weasley – and Arthur signed, too. His colleagues at Hogwarts – these, he had hoped for, after the friendly notes they all kept on sending via Minerva.

There was a group gift from the Slytherin students at Hogwarts: as a booklet containing personal wishes, thanks, assurances of support plus home-made bookmarks and beautifully ornate labels for his potions vials. It was, apparently, their own initiative, since Horace made no allusion to this in his own card, as he would be bound to if there was the smallest chance of taking some credit for himself.

People from the Order and Dumbledore's Army thought of him, too… All in all, practically the same people he had sent cards and presents to, although he never thought to see the day Aberforth Dumbledore would send him season's greetings and bottles of his home-brewed Christmas ale.

Madam Maxime had clearly written Hagrid's message for him but he had signed it with a great flourish and there were several big blotches that looked suspiciously like tearstains. There was a small note explaining that Hagrid had made the fruit leathers himself. As they were not supple at all but almost as hard as wood, Snape would have had no trouble to deduce it by himself, but it was good to see that the gatekeeper's health improved so much. The card even hinted that he might be back at Hogwarts by September the 1st and that they could go for a pint.

Had he been standing, Snape would have had to sit down at the sight of the next present. Elphias Doge had always looked down his nose at him and yet, he was sending his best wishes and the assurances of his support,as well as Dumbledore's original research notes about the twelve uses of dragon blood, "because I feel you will understand them better than I do and make sure that they are published and acclaimed as they should be. Albus always meant for you to have them but never found the time, with all his duties,to search through the shambles in his old trunks that were ultimately willed to me. There are many more notes of his that you may wish to sort through." There was an even more baffling postscript that read, "In spite of what some people may believe, I have never swung that way."

He must have gone senile, Snape thought, even as he tried to keep his hands from trembling while he laid reverent fingers over Albus's handwriting, unmistakable even as a very young man.

Albus always meant for you to have them.

No, it did not mean anything. He threw the notes away, trying to summon the usual resentment against the man who had manipulated him so thoroughly… Before Accioing them again and despising his own weakness, and the tears that pooled in his eyes at the mere sight of the notes.

Albus always meant for you to have them.

He spent a long time reading the notes, everything else forgotten. He immediately compared them to the final publication, since he had learned Dumbeldore's alchemical work by heart as an apprentice. The thought process and the experimentation methods were just as fascinating and innovative as he had expected.

He put Albus's notes carefully on his nightstand, unable to process how he could still admire and love the man so much, while hating him for what he had made him do. It was a pity he would not be able to publish the notes himself but he would find a way to bequeath them to Hermione. He doubted Doge would mind.

Almost reluctantly, he began to sort through the rest. Many cards came from the ex-NEWT students to whom he gave a leg up at one time or another. Slytherins, of course, but quite a few from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, too, and even the odd Gryffindor had thought it necessary to write to him. It was not surprising per se to receive cards from former students, but he had not taught Potions NEWT classes in four years and, statistically, grateful students tended to write for two years after graduation, before their professional circle expanded so much that writing to a former teacher – and one they had rarely been very fond of to begin with – seemed redundant and tedious.

He tilted his head, trying to fathom their motivation before giving up, still baffled. It could not be for his influence over the Board of Malfoy Industries, since everyone and their neighbour knew he was to be tried and found guilty by the War High Court in less than a month's time. Indeed, it could even be detrimental for them one day, since the DMLE may keep track of the people who showed support to the most notorious war criminals at one time or another.

He had, of course, expected wishes and gifts from his few friends like Alfred Constanz, Pius Thicknesse or Kingsley Shacklebolt. He was puzzled by some others. He had never been on more than nodding terms with Garrick Ollivander or Augusta Longbottom.

Rebecca Babbling's not very subtle Mother Santa card was not exactly a surprise, but the personal attention from several of her colleagues were, including a packet of homemade chocolate truffles from Healer Babbock and an invitation to dinner with Healer Pye "as soon as you are available" at an unpretentious curry house they both used to frequent during their respective apprenticeships.

And why would Xenophilius Lovegood, whom he had met maybe twice in his life and never on friendly terms, send him a free lifetime subscription to 'The Quibbler'? Clearly, he was as barmy as ever.

After reading one friendly or encouraging card after another, Snape almost welcomed the one piece of hate mail, inconspicuous enough that the Aurors obviously missed it.

The card, simply inserted into a book, was pure Muggle cliché, complete with reindeer, a benevolent Santa and a surfeit of green and red garlands all over. Under the golden We Wish You A Merry Christmas, there was a simple "I thought about you the minute I saw this book" written in nondescript block capitals and signed in an illegible scrawl. The book was Muggle, a French rarity – an original edition, too.

Somebody still had enough money to spend on expensive warnings to the traitor or, rather, traitors, since the choice of French indicated that Lucius was probably targeted, too. J'irai cracher sur vos tombes, by Vernon Sullivan – the mocking pseudonym of the eccentric writer and musician Boris Vian.

Snape knew of only one person amongst the Inner Circle who was cunning enough in his fear and hate of Muggles to actually learn as much as he could about them and to engage Severus, the resident expert on Muggles, in earnest discussions… And that person was still listed as 'missing' after the Battle of Hogwarts. He obviously counted on the fact that you could seldom find an Auror who spoke French and would understand the meaning of the title, while being sure that Snape did: I spit on your graves.

Suddenly, the incident with the Ministry's Foe-Glasses took another, even more sinister, meaning.

As he cautiously opened the book, there was something like a faint breath of air and Snape felt the tingling of the spell that recognised his magical signature. His shields were firmly in place but he could not help a small shiver as words appeared and shone on the front page, before slowly bleeding away from the paper, line after line.

It will be my pleasure

To make you pay.

The words disappeared swiftly but there was no mistaking the handwriting. Snape released his breath, only then realising he had been holding it.

Here was the concrete proof that he was not paranoid without reason, as every one hinted that he was. He had been right all along to never, ever let himself go soft and hope for the best, like all those who kept repeating that the war was over. It would never be over. Cut one head, others would always rear again.

He weighed the book in his hand, satisfied that it was straightforward personal revenge, after all. This was how things should be. This he knew how to deal with, he told himself before turning to the chaotic pile of "normal" mail and presents. That excessive display of warm support and feelings he had never asked for, and he refused to take most of it at face value. Too little, too late, he thought somewhat resentfully. A single wand move stashed the whole lot away.

He did not pause to consider how he would have Incendioed undesirable gifts or hypocritical messages in the past. He turned and swung his feet over the side, ready to get up.

Moppy had obviously been lying in wait, since she Apparated as soon as his toes touched the floor. Wound up as he was, he hardly had time to lower his wand before she threw herself at him, bursting into tears and repeating disjointed endearments, promises and thanks.

For a brief instant, he thought she knew about the 'anonymous' threat, but he realised almost immediately that she simply wanted to convey to him, in a very hormonal way, how much she enjoyed his gift. He had brought back from the attic his old cradle, covered in dust and cobwebs. The wood had been imbued with baby soothing draughts by his mother when he was born but they were still effective. He had carefully cleaned, downsized and painted the cradle in Moppy's favourite silver and green. He had renewed the protection spells and even added a clever alert charm that Hermione had learned in the maternity ward of St Mungo's. She had been only too happy to help when he asked for tips on what might be useful for new parents.

It had been no mean feat to be able to hide what he was doing from his inquisitive elf and he had even had to recruit Fuzzy's help to distract her.

Moppy clung on to her Master and hid her head in his lap for so long that Snape had time to grow annoyingly emotional himself. (The first time they had been so intimately close, he had been the one sobbing his heart out on her chest, while Moppy Apparated them from the Potters' house, in the nick of time before Hagrid arrived to collect baby Harry.)

As soon as she loosened her grip, he cast a drying spell on the wet patch she left on his nightdress and gruffly said, "I hope it's a boy, and an only child. I refuse to suffer another hormonal episode any time soon."

Moppy challenged him, "Or what? Will Master give Moppy clothes?"

"I'm quite sure even that wouldn't rid me of you," he answered in kind.

The elf grinned cheekily. "Master is right. Master knows that Moppy will follow him to the ends of the earth."

He could not help but grin back. "I know, Moppy."

She was already gone to prepare his breakfast but he could still hear the echo of her happy laughter. "I know," he repeated to himself, still smiling and suddenly forgetting that his trial was only a few weeks away. Or rather, it did not feel so important or so impossible to face right now.

His gaze focused on the old, tattered Oxford English Dictionary squeezed between his Encyclopedia Magica and the Muggle Encyclopedia Universalis his father had bought on credit when he had got his first job. He remembered how his mother used as a bookmark a card his father had sent her so very long ago, at the beginning of their marriage, when he was away longer than usual on a building site.

He flipped between the pages to find it. He ran his finger over the card and, for the first time since he was a child, he did not scoff at the gushing sentimentality of the printed words.

Home is where the heart is.

§§§

In the end, the grinning Lucius lookalike (ten years younger than the original, though, with short, light brown hair and none of the bitter lines left by Azkaban) parked the Belfoy Sat Service van in Spinner's End in the early Christmas morning.

Neville, also grinning, had already made sure no one was spying on them despite all the variations on the Invisibility and Notice-me-not charms he had cast on the van along with half a dozen Muggle-repelling spells, before carrying a cardboard box inside. Mark Belfoy brought a toolbox and a basket full of gift-wrapped presents.

Snape was waiting for them near the coat stand and welcomed them with a sharp, "You've been told this is totally illegal and could be dangerous, haven't you? I expected you to have the sense to park somewhere in Manchester and use a Floo."

Belfoy gave Neville a nudge, making the young wizard stage-whisper with a smug smile, "Told you so! Drinks on you."

Lucius's cousin chuckled. "And a happy Christmas to you too, Severus! Actually, it's my fault. I feel quite claustrophobic in Floos, and I didn't relish the idea of being blown in the dark and dirt again."

Snape grunted but took a step forward and shook hands with him.

"Merry Christmas, Mark," he said reluctantly, but his smile belied his apparent sourness. "Thank you for coming on such short notice... and on Christmas day, too."

"Bah! It won't be long... And you know it's always a pleasure to show you, mighty wizards, that you're helpless without us. Besides, you will be able to pass our Christmas presents to the rest of the family."

Snape endured a slap on the back then turned to Neville.

"Thank you, Neville, and a Happy Christmas to you, too."

"Merry Christmas, Severus, and it's my pleasure. It was the first time I rode in a van and Mark is great at explaining everything."

"Merry Christmas!" called Ron, coming out of the kitchen. Neville was surprised to see he was in uniform, until he remembered that Lucius Malfoy was expected. He grasped Ron's forearm, who did the same with a grin, they slapped each others' shoulders with the other hand and shared more Christmas wishes. Finally, Ron turned to Malfoy's cousin and said, "How d'you do?" taking in the family likeness at a glance. "I am Ronald Weasley."

Mark Belfoy answered in kind and offered his hand. Ron felt slightly guilty to be so relieved that he could indeed feel no magic in the man.

"I've never been in a real van," he said, in an effort to be friendly. "May I have a look? I'd like to be able to boast to my family. My father used to have a Ford Anglia and..."

"Weasley!" called Snape impatiently. "We may be doing all this for the sake of football, but do I really have to remind you that you're supposed to protect me, not to take rides in Muggle vans? Just as Mark is supposed to repair this TV set and return as swiftly as possible to his family."

"Spoilsport!" muttered Ron and Belfoy at the same time. They each gave a surprised side glance before spontaneously smiling at each other.

"Coming, Severus," the Muggle said more loudly with an exaggerated sigh. "But your bodyguard should inspect the van for safety." Neville huffed in mock outrage, which earned him an impish wink. "One can never be too cautious."

Snape snorted, his pointed look proving that he was by no means deceived. "Suit yourself, Weasley, but I don't think Mark would want his van to meet the same fate as your father's car," he uttered with disdain, before turning impatiently towards the TV.

"Hey! It wasn't my fault!" protested the Auror. "Besides, I just want to have a look. I would never leave you alone," he added virtuously.

The smirk Mark gave Ron was pure Malfoy, but the young wizard could not have cared less as he deftly caught the van's keys.

Neville, who could see Snape's face, watched him roll his eyes. He wondered, not for the first time, how different classes would have been at Hogwarts if they had known how much of Severus's intimidating manner was make-believe.

And if he had not been a spy… If he had not hadto watch out constantly for what Death Eaters's children would tell their parents. He sighed inwardly. Or if pigs could fly and he would just relax.

§§§

When Hermione and Harry arrived, Ron looked very satisfied with himself, even if he blinked frequently because of eye strain.

They missed Lucius Malfoy by mere minutes and Snape was already back in his lab. "They spent the time coming and going between the lab and Snape's room." He stretched his shoulders and happily patted his belly. "Don't ask me what I ate, there was a lot of open sandwiches and little thingummies I'd never tasted before… But they were good! Very good."

Hermione took in the red eyes, limb stiffness, then the crumbs all around the sofa and the empty plates, glasses and mugs on the coffee table alongside the remote control. Moppy was at Malfoy Manor with her significant other and Ron had obviously been too busy with the telly to bother with cleaning.

She sighed, "You'll have a hard time returning to normal. You've become a right couch potato."

Harry snickered. "Yes, you could easily become another Big D before he took to boxing."

Ron gave them a mock-hurt look. "It's Christmas, and all you can think of is insulting me? Even Snape wished me happy Christmas first thing in the morning! And I'll have you know Weasleys never grow fat or flabby."

"How lucky!"

Soft footfalls on the stairs interrupted them, heralding the arrival of the master of the house and making Harry shuffle his feet like a child.

He had asked Snape to wait for this very moment to share gifts with him, Ron and Hermione.

He had spent last night and the whole of Christmas day at the Burrow with the love of his life and their family, and it had been everything he could hope for. And yet, he was as full of anticipation as if he was still six, waking up to the sound of Aunt Petunia in the kitchen and expecting the kind of Christmas his schoolteacher had read to them about: goodwill, love, and even a special kind of magic, the magic of Christmas, that seemed to be acceptable, for once.

Of course, the Dursleys had swiftly killed his hopes in the bud… But the house in Spinner's End, so Muggle and now so familiar, and Severus's constant and increasingly less reluctant presence felt like the home Privet Drive should have been when he was a child.

He did not wish they could stay here longer than what was scheduled before the trial. He did not expect Snape to turn merry and fatherly just because it was Christmas. He simply knew that he was healing here and that it was like a rematch, to compensate for the past. Sharing Christmas gifts with Snape, Ron and Hermione who were the most important people in his life once he went to Hogwarts, and in Snape's house, too, felt like an important part of the process. He hoped it could be the same for Severus.

§§§

After Ron left, Harry went upstairs to change and take a shower. They had gone a little late and he had been too tired, anyway, to go to Grimmauld Place and back.

Had it been Ron, Snape would have been sure he was intentionally giving him and Hermione some alone time, but Harry was completely oblivious. Snape could not help telling himself that if Harry, who regarded Hermione as his sister, did not spot any partiality for him in her demeanour, it was because there was none… Even after she spontaneously threw her arms around his neck to kiss him thank you for the exquisite Chinese painting of a mountain garden and pond, with the mischievous Kneazle disturbing the carps – not to mention the fragrance bottle she had found at the Burrow, like everyone else.

Ronald Weasley had given him a knowing wink but Snape now thought that, just like his comments last night, it only proved that he felt guilty for pining for Lavender Brown even when he dated Hermione. He must be hoping that she would find someone – anyone, even Snape – before he found his missing first love.

The fact that Severus had been so eager to wish he could believe Weasley made him quite angry with himself. Inwardly sighing, he turned to the young woman, reminding himself that they were at least friends, if nothing more.

He took in his hands, one after the other and with proper respect, the two wine bottles Hermione had selected from her father's wine cellar and brought him. They were exceptional vintages, one white and one red wine, and difficult to come by. He raised his eyes and told her how much he appreciated her gift.

"And you must thank your father for me, too. Had it been me, I would have found it difficult to part with such wines as these. If there is anything I can do to show him my appreciation, you only have to ask."

He was surprised to see that she was blushing, but in a distressed manner. For a brief instant, he wondered if she had taken the bottles without warning and only just understood their value, only to dismiss the thought at once. Hermione would never act like that, of course.

He carefully put down the Alsace Vendanges Tardives Gewürztraminer1990. "Are you alright?" he asked.

She shook her head, more to clear her thoughts than to dismiss his concern.

He frowned. "Please. I can see something's wrong."

She blurted, "I miss my parents." She had carefully contained her feelings at the Burrow, even when it meant she had to force herself to be merry along with the others, but there was something about Severus that urged her to confide in him, now that she knew him so well.

Cautiously, Snape asked, "Surely, you know you should not let Molly Weasley or any of your friends interfere with your relationship with your parents? They would understand if you preferred to spend..."

He shut up as he watched Hermione hastily turn away, but not before he had time to notice with dismay her suddenly glistening eyes.

Inwardly calling himself names, he instinctively took a few steps forward. Hermione blinked her tears away and faced him, very much aware that she owed him an explanation, although she could not yet brace herself to meet his eyes.

"I love the Weasleys," she sighed mournfully, "but if I went to the Burrow, it's because there was nowhere else… Or, rather, no one else to go to." She finally looked up and he was struck by the look of self-loathing on her face.

"I… I Obliviated my parents before going on the Horcrux search with Harry and Ron."

He could not contain a surprised gasp.

"They forgotwho they used to be and my very existence.I sent them to Australia under a different name. I only meant to keep them safe," she explained almost pleadingly – as if he would judge her, Severus thought, utterly stunned. "I meant for it to last only until the end of the war… or to spare them the suffering if I was killed but… I… It's become irreversible," she said with a small sob. "They are different people now… and there is no place for me in their life."

She took deep breaths before she could add, "They think of me as a young friend they met by chance while I was touring Australia. We write or call occasionally, because they like me and I can't find it in myself to stay away but…" She bit her lips. "They are supervising a charity Christmas barbecue for their local Church. I know they would welcome me, but I would feel more miserable than the poor it was organised for if I had gone."

Her face crumpled, a prelude to tears. He led her to a seat. She followed blindly and, without thinking, he sat on his haunches to be level with her and took both her hands in his. "What you did was incredibly courageous, and a real proof of love," he said softly, and waited for her to choose whether to respond.

She took a deep breath, looked at the ceiling as if searching for some inspiration or courage. "The way you handled the bottles and read the labels," she confessed with some hesitation, "Almost reverentlyYou just reminded me of my dad... And it's stupid, because I chose these bottles precisely because I knew you were the only one who could appreciate them as he did but I… I..."

"Shhh!" he said, interrupting her nervous babbling. He gave a light squeeze to her hand to which she responded with a pained smile. "It's only natural for you to think of them todayParticularly if I remind you of your father," he said, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. Of course, she was bound to lump him together with the generation of her father and people like Black, Lupin… Maybe even like Flitwick or Argus Filch.

He probably did not succeed because she cut him off, "It's just that I have older parents… That is… I didn't mean…" Her voice trailed off. "I'm sorry. I'm digging myself into a hole, but right now, I feel unable to explain anything."

"Let's say," he drawled, "that the way I handle a bottle of wine reminds you of your father, because he is obviously another man of great taste and elegance."

He had hoped to make her smile and diffuse the tension but it did not work.

She whispered, "You're right," before closing her eyes and hiding her mouth in her hand to contain the choking sobs. Worry made him forget how awkward the situation really was, with him trying to console the woman he did not want to fall in love with, because whichever way you looked at his situation, he would soon be out of the picture, either dead or (hopefully) on the run.

"I know it's stupid..." she began, but found herself unable to go on. She looked self-consciously at her feet, willing the foolish, childish tears away.

"It isn't stupid," he said with conviction. "With my own parents, I never had the relationship you had with yours. I can safely say that I've hated my father for thirty years, even after his death and yet, this morning I found myself reading a love letter he sent to my mother when they were newlyweds. It helped me remember that there was a time we were happy," he revealed with a candidness that surprised even him.

Hermione nodded several times as he spoke, because this was exactly how she felt.

"Everything that reminds you of your parents in happier times is precious," he went on, "because they loved you and were good parents." He pressed her hand again. "Even now that they can't remember who you really are, they still want you in their life. It may not be what you would like, but it proves that, even if they lost the memories they shared with you, you are still your parents' daughter."

She nodded again, sniffing helplessly at the same time. With a tiny smile, she blew her nose and dabbed at her eyes. She was more peaceful now but he did not dare move.

"They did not care very much for Christmas," she told him, more cheerfully this time. "More often than not, they would travel abroad for holidays and as they were very fond of skiing and I'm not, I would stay with my grandmother… Or later, after she died, with one of our neighbours who used to look after me when I didn't go to school...But I never felt neglected or that they didn't love me enough."

She paused, shaking her head in wonder. "You know, I often heard painful stories about being magical in a Muggle family and feeling alone or rejected… And I am not just talking about Harry…" She shook her head sadly as he acquiesced, knowing exactly, as the son of Tobias Snape, and a Hogwarts teacher, what she meant. "It may be because they had waited a long time before deciding they were ready to have a child, but even when we did not understand why I was different or why strange things happened around me, they never freaked out or loved me less."

She smiled so tenderly at the memory that he felt something tear in his heart. He instinctively reached for her face and barely stopped himself, letting his hand fall back uselessly. He felt his cheeks heat when he noticed that she was staring at his hand with round, almost tragic eyes. She had seen his move.

Before he could stand up and retreat, she put her head on his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his waist. After a few thunderstruck seconds, he cautiously did the same. Hermione drew a breath – a soft sound of relief, as if she had been struggling to achieve some kind of goal and barely succeeded.

They closed their eyes at the same time, both unwilling or unable to grasp the significance of the moment.

Snape's knees were killing him but he did not care, as he felt her slowly relax against him. He quietly inhaled the soft perfume on her skin. For a while, he pretended the situation was perfectly normal and even dared to gently stroke her hair.

She sighed something which almost sounded like his name.

He kept his eyes closed, savouring the moment. As if they had a will of their own, his lips gently pressed on her head.

He almost startled when he felt her do the same to the base of his neck. Everything seemed to still, apart from the ghostly heat of her breath on his skin, as if they had reached the eye of the storm.

Of course, it was the moment Harry chose to come down.

They hastily stood up together at the sound of his feet joyously rebounding on the steps, as if they were caught committing a crime.

"I hope my eyes aren't red?" Hermione asked in an urgent whisper.

Snape shook his head, although he would have had a hard time telling if it was true or not.

He pursed his lips at Harry's definitely ill-timed arrival, although part of him felt relieved that he had no time to make a fool of himself. He had been so tempted to really kiss Hermione. He only had to bend a tiny bit… But it would have been taking advantage, even if he knew she would have welcomed him in the heat of the moment.

She had been distressed because of her parents, and it was so easy at her age to look for solace in small physical intimacies without giving them much importance. He only had to think how naturally she touched or hugged Harry or Ronald all the time.

Or to remember his own teenage years. He had thought nothing at the time of sleeping with Linda while longing for Lily, and Lily herself had eagerly used James Potter's willingness to be the shoulder to cry on, even when she did not like him.

He turned to greet Harry.

The young man's wide smile barely dimmed when Hermione almost immediately bid them good night. Severus could not help being a little resentful that Harry's attempt to stop her from leaving sounded half-hearted at best.

Hermione pleaded the late hour and an early shift, although she glanced a little nervously at Severus while saying this, before promptly disappearing through the Floo without a look back.

Snape watched her go with a sinking feeling, made even worse by the knowledge that there was absolutely nothing he could have said or done in front of Harry, and that it would be unbearably awkward, if not nearly impossible, for him to apologize later.

§§§

Harry mentally thanked Hermione for guessing that he needed to talk to Severus alone.

Snape had put on Harry's present, a beautiful antique signet ring, with no other comment than the socially expected thanks, but the way he kept staring at his hand and then at Harry with narrowed eyes or discreetly explored the beautiful intaglio representing the Slytherin crest with his fingertips was enough to prove that he had guessed what the ring really was.

In his turn, he had presented Harry with a small, unbreakable dropper bottle mounted as a pendant, along with an opaque, unmarked potion vial, but with such an imperious glare that Harry had not dared ask what it was or open it in front of the others.

Thankfully, Hermione's delight in her painting – an original silk scroll from an obscure period of Chinese history only she and Snape knew about, as well as Ron's enthusiasm for the Complete Monty Python box set spared him from the need to do more than thanking them in return.

Harry had discreetly opened the vial when they did not look and almost gone into cardiac arrest as the golden flecks made him realise that he was holding a full bottle of Felix Felicis – a quantity sufficient for a lifetime, even if he spent the next century hunted down by another megalomaniac wizard, and probably worth a king's ransom.

He managed to deflect Ron's curiosity for the time being by acting as if his gift was something he was embarrassed to discuss. He made a few oblique references to an exotic, non-addictive hallucinogen Sirius had rapturously described in one of his letters to Remus Lupin that they found at Grimmauld Place. As expected, Hermione swiftly changed the subject with a glare that meant "We'll discuss this later", while Ron waggled his eyebrows to let him know that, yes, they would discuss this later but that he expected to share.

Harry sat comfortably on the sofa, slightly surprised that the older wizard seemed to have his mind on something else, after all the attention he was giving the signet ring just before Harry left.

Harry crossed his arms to let Snape know that it was time for a frank conversation.

As expected, Snape's attention focused back on Harry almost instantly, if with a resigned sigh. "This is a rather intriguing gift," he said guardedly, "coming from an Auror."

Harry merely smiled. "But maybe not so unexpected… coming from a friend."

Snape did not bat an eyelid at the term, which cheered Harry up even more, although there may have been some provocation in his tone as he added, "One could almost wonder whether you're beginning to question your career choices, like Longbottom did."

"No. Merely being… cautious, I think you would say."

"Harry Potter, cautious? Stop the press."

"I am, for your sake."

Snape did not reply, but simply took the signet off. Presenting it to Harry between his thumb and forefinger, he asked, "How does it work?"

Harry chuckled. "I thought you knew, since you immediately guessed what it is."

"I merely recognised it," Snape answered, as they both gazed at Cygnus Black's Portkey ring. "After all, I've seen this heirloom, or rather its painted copy, often enough on Phineas's hand."

"According to Cygnus Black's notes from the time when he worked for the DMLE, it can take you through any kind of wards or magic dampening field," Harry announced proudly.

Snape gave him a swift, shrewd glance, but his gaze immediately returned almost greedily to the ring. "If I remember correctly, he used it to travel back and forth between the Ministry and the newly established Azkaban prison. I remember Phineas telling me that his grandfather refused to spend there one minute more than he had to when he supervised the place… Not that I blame him," he said bitterly.

This had an immediate effect on Harry who turned deadly serious. Matching his actions to his words, he explained, "You press the signet into your other palm, like this." He then handed the ring back to Snape, adding, "The keyword is elsewhere."

Snape's face and tone were carefully neutral as he asked, while putting the ring back on, "And where is elsewhere?"

Harry raised both hands apologetically. "Grimmauld Place." Snape made a dismissive gesture, to show that he did not care. "Right in front of the strongroom fireplace," Harry went on. "No doubt it was meant to give the wearer the time to look for valuables in case of an emergency. There are small matching crests on all sides of the mantel. You fit the signet to the top right crest, state the place you want to go, and it will take you there as long as it is in Britain. I went through the wards of the Minister's office." At Snape's grimace, he hastened to say, "Oh no, Kingsley doesn't know. And I checked later with Security, it did not register."

Snape smirked. "It may have to do with the fact that Cygnus was one of the founders of the Unspeakables."

Harry nodded. "I guess so. I also tried to cross the Channel and the Irish Sea," he said apologetically, "but it didn't work. The farthest I could go was Jersey and the Isle of Man. So, you're stuck in Britain but it's not that difficult to use another Portkey if need be." He chuckled wryly. "It seems the Blacks were not always this side of the law, or else they were as paranoid as some other people I could name."

Snape shrugged. "I'd say they always thought they were a law unto themselves, and when paranoia has a reason, it's merely caution."

Harry chuckled briefly before relapsing into silence, as did Snape. They sat for a while, both pondering when or why Snape might need to use the secret Portkey.

At long last, Harry produced the Felix Felicis out of his pocket. "You know, I'm not that careless that I'd need this amount of luck."

"You're an Auror, and you're Harry Potter. One never knows… Or rather, I suspect that trouble will find you anywhere you go."

Harry gave him a piercing look. "You seem to think you won't be around to protect me much longer, considering the quantity in this bottle."

Snape did not answer. He suddenly found fiddling with the signet ring around his finger endlessly fascinating.

Harry insisted, "Do you know what I think?"

"I'm not in the mood to play Little Legilimens," replied Snape with obvious reluctance.

"You've watched over me for as long as we have known each other. I believe you don't expect to be able to do this in the future."

"Since I don't plan on joining the Auror Corps, this is a safe assumption. Besides," snapped the older wizard almost petulantly, "I don't see why you think I would. I am not your father."

"I wish you were," Harry countered earnestly.

Snape shook his head with a sigh. "Did you have too much to drink?"

"I'm serious."

Snape growled lowly, "Oh, and your life would have been so much better in this hovel and with my nose and looks on your face!" His face contorted in disgust. "Have you seen what Spinner's End does to people? Can you imagine your mother as another Linda? Ha! We would do anything to leave this behindAnd we did!"

"But you would have loved me," Harry said in a challenging tone.

For a few seconds, Snape looked like a fish, trying to speak but unable to do so.

"You know I'm right," Harry insisted.

Snape sneered, "My father loved me when he wasn't drunk and when he had money, which didn't happen very often. I'm not sure he was the best role model, but he was the only one I had. Don't you know that abused children make the best abusers?" He was getting so angry that he had to stand up and take a few paces before he even could go on ranting. "What kind of a father do you imagine I would have been? Do you really believe the way I treated you when I was your teacher was all an act? It was not!" he spat venomously.

"Then that makes two of us," insisted Harry, standing up, too, to confront Snape. "What kind of father material do you think I am?"

"You're so protective it's ridiculous!" retorted Snape. "Of course, you're father material."

"Protective, eh? If it's all it takes," Harry countered hotly, "you've protected me, and the other students, too, for so long you can say the same about yourself. Hell, you let Voldemort attempt to kill you to protect Draco!"

He put his hand on the stopper of the Felix Felicis. "I wonder if I need to drink some to make you agree with me."

Snape took an urgent step towards Harry, ready to stop him. "Don't be silly, Potter!"

"Then," answered Harry, practically shouting, "don't pretend you don't care when it's obvious that you do!"

They glared at each other, until Snape turned and sat back with a huff. Harry did the same.

With a theatrical sigh, Harry put the vial on the coffee table.

"Why do I have the feeling that you haven't kept any for yourself?" he asked.

Snape looked at the vial, almost longingly, then caught Harry's gaze.

"Because I didn't," he said with raw honesty. "I've been told it would be close to suicidal with my history of addiction. A rather radical contraindication, I'd say."

Raising his hand to show his new signet ring, he swiftly changed the subject. "You don't seem to have great faith in the justice of this country, either."

"When dealing with inside foes, I don't," agreed Harry.

Snape smiled wryly. "At least I can now tell you who's behind this."

Harry sat bolt upright. "What?"

Snape retrieved the mysterious card and the French book. Harry had no more clue than his colleagues when he saw them, until Snape explained.

"It was very foolish of you to open it alone."

"On the contrary," Snape countered, "I am certain the message would not have activated if I hadn't been alone."

"Probably not," conceded Harry. "And, in the end, it was worth it, since we now know who we're looking for."

§§§

Hermione removed her make-up and brushed her teeth with extra care, willing herself to focus on the routine rather than on her foolish feelings and stupid behaviour. When she could not delay any longer and had to finally rinse her mouth and clean her toothbrush, she sighed tiredly.

Things would not get easier because she avoided her own gaze in the mirror. It would certainly not help with Severus Snape either when they met next.

She could hardly believe that she had thrown herself at him twice in half an hour. All right, the first time could hopefully be attributed to enthusiasm. It was Christmas, after all, and she had not expected another gift, and certainly not one so thoughtful as the silk painting, even after they discussed cats, Chinese paintings and the Song period extensively. But there was no excuse for the second occasion.

Severus was only trying to console her. It was obvious he was way out of his comfort zone when he tried to touch her cheek but found himself much too self-conscious to do it.

She had been so disappointed that she had practically grabbed him, leaving him no choice but to hug her back. And when he kissed her head – something you do to a child! – she could not resist kissing his neck, just at the spot where she knew his skin would be so soft and warm. She had felt him stiffen, almost like she used to do herself when she had one of her flashbacks. It was the only thing that stopped her from covering him with open-mouthed kisses, something which had never appealed to her before, even when reading a heated description in one of Ginny's racy novels.

In retrospect, she was aghast at her own shamelessness, and she did not even have the excuse of having had too much wine. Thankfully, Harry chose the right time to interrupt.

What was wrong with her that she went to pieces where Severus Snape was concerned?

She had spent months avoiding any situations that would imply personal or intimate interactions with anyone other than the friends she already had, mainly Harry, Ron, the Weasleys and her old mates from Dumbledore's Army.

She was steadily refusing to go on dates after her few attempts since her break-up with Ron all ended in a fiasco, citing her medical studies and her time-consuming, gruelling schedule as an excuse.

She schooled herself into feeling nothing but clinical interest and professional care when she was touching the patients. Several senior healers had even told her that she had been promoted so swiftly not only because of the rate at which she assimilated medical knowledge but because of the obvious maturity of her dealings with the patients. She had an instinctively good bedside manner, with just the right level of personal interaction – something which was much harder to learn than mere healing techniques.

"I'm not upset," she told her reflection in the mirror angrily. "I will never be upset because of a man. Any man."

Yet if daydreaming about Severus at the most random times was not upsetting, she did not know what was.

She could not help remembering the burn of his dark eyes as they searched hers, the way he kneeled before her and took her hands in his… But she also remembered how he pursed his lips as if he had just tasted acid and immediately turned to Harry, so that he did not have to face her any more.

And yet, she would not change anything even if she could. He had held her with such tenderness. He spoke so gently, finding the right words, as usual, and talking about his own experience to put her at ease. She always felt so close to him, with so many things in common between them... And there was also that secret, shameful part of her that he made feel and want, against her own will, and she did not like it.

Had Severus been handsome or charming, she would have instinctively protected herself against the lure of attraction. She would have maintained a proper, professional distance in all their dealings.

Instead, she had allowed herself to become fascinated by the mystique of the spy, the brilliance of his mind… By her own compassion and admiration at his courage in carrying out Dumbledore's cruellest orders and the unfairness of being treated as a war criminal. She had sought his advice, his opinions. They had discussed the elves' laws, music, potions, art, history, sociology, cooking, politics… Everything.

She snorted, angry with herself. It did not mean he felt more than friendship or benevolent indulgence. All right, she may be exaggerating a little: benevolence and indulgence were not the first things that came to mind in relation to Snape… But how many times did she listen to Minerva rave about what a good Head of house he had been? How he knew to coax their secrets out of abused students or to earn the trust and affection of his Slytherins? It showed that he was a very empathetic person, both by nature and because of his job, but nothing more. You could tell by the fact that he had immediately thought that she was equating him to her father, no doubt because he believed she was too young, and probably too foolish to be more than a friend.

But she was not Harry! She was not looking for some sort of substitute father. She was looking for…

No!

She was not looking for anyone or anything. It was high time she stopped listening to Dilys Derwent, who would talk Hermione into falling in love with Severus Snape if she let her. Dilys was a great friend, but she was just like Molly. She could not imagine that anyone could be content to stay single – but she did.

What she felt for Severus was nothing more than a crush. Yes, that's what it was. A crush. Nothing more.

It will pass swiftly enough, but right now I'm feeling and being a little foolish.

She was suddenly struck by a horrid thought. Maybe he noticed. Maybe this is why he looked disgusted. He did all he could to escape Rebecca Babbling, and now he finds he's stuck with me.

It was fortunate that she would not be able to spend more than twenty minutes at Spinner's End tomorrow, just for Severus's routine check up. And she could certainly manage it in a quarter of an hour. Yes, she would show him she could be cool and professional.

She clenched her teeth. She refused to be the silly girl with a crush on the dark hero. It was hardly serious and there was no way he would ever be interested in a former student, and a Muggleborn, too.

She could not help remembering how cruelly he had dismissed her when Draco disfigured her with the Densaugeo hex that made her teeth grow like those of a beaver. "I see no difference."

Severus had almost apologised when he explained that Crabbe and Goyle would have reported him to their fathers if he dared to be sympathetic toward a Muggleborn, but it hurt so much at the time... She was so self-conscious at the time about her horrid buck teeth that her parents refused to straighten up, because it could be done more efficiently if she waited until she was older. And the constant taunting about her blood status did not help.

Her hand automatically went to her Mudblood scar, but she aborted the gesture.

No. He was not like that. Severus may not return her feelings but he would never despise her for her blood status.

But how was she going to face him again?

Like you faced everything else. One step at a time.

She gazed purposefully in her own eyes in the mirror. I won't let anyone upset me, and certainly not a man. She nodded resolutely at herself.

Even if it's Severus, who's so different from all the other men and boys I've met.

She crossed her arms and made a face at her reflection. Bad thought. The sooner you stop thinking about him, the better.

She resolutely picked her books and notes and decided that taking on her next assignment for Healer Smethwyck would make her forget her worries – but even then, she could not escape Severus Snape as she found him to be one of her case studies.

Smethwyck could not resist since Snape had gone into cardiac arrest no less than six times before he could finally stop the haemorrhage with the antivenin and carry out the debridement of all the necrotic tissues around Nagini's bite. (Of course, all cases were supposed to remain anonymous, but really, how many people had been torn and bitten by a magically altered snake, or survived thanks to the revolutionary antivenin they brewed themselves and had the forethought to ingest beforehand?)

Reading the details of Snape's critical state when he was brought into Smethwyck's ward made her shudder in retrospective fright at the thought of how close they had been to losing him until Lucius Malfoy tricked the Aurors into bringing him to St Mungo's to deliver more antivenin.

Much later, after tossing and turning in her bed for a long time, she reflected bitterly on how traitorous one's mind can be. As soon as she closed her eyes, she kept feeling drawn and falling into the same unfathomable eyes or gasping at the ghost memory of his embrace. She felt all hot and bothered, almost like when she dreamed of Ron at Hogwarts and ended up touching herself, but she would not do it.

She had not done it since… Since.

Sadly, the first person that came to mind to help her sort out her feelings was Severus.

And there was just no one else. Ginny had already left, the Holiday Harpies having been scheduled for yet another tour. There was no way she could talk about Severus to Harry or with Ron. Draco was much too close to Severus to be objective, and he would probably tell his mother, if only to redirect her matchmaking towards Hermione. Molly would try to meddle. Dilys would understand, but she had decided that Severus was her perfect match and would not budge an inch. Phineas would flush and cough before calling Dilys to the rescue.

It left only Constanz.

No way. Alfred will just nod and smile or tell me that I need to let my emotions and physical needs flow their natural course.

Her friends were annoying, and it was just a crush.