PAPER AND PAUSE

Disclaimer: This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who created and, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and settings elaborated herein.

Thanks to my reviewers and to my previewers, Cecelle and Lady Memory. Sorry for the long delay, but you can thank Potter Place that you're getting this update today and, now that I'm within half a chapter of finishing "Ether", the next shouldn't take so long. ("Lies" fans will have to practise patience, I'm afraid.)

The story till now: After Professor Snape reveals his true feelings to a newly graduated Hermione, an unexpected friendship slowly develops, furthered by exchanges of letters and occasional meetings, most recently to the ballet. But his past keeps butting in, and Harry's and Ron's objections make a little too much sense...

The note arrived as she was balling up another failed attempt to write to him.

I am here. Are you well?

In just six words he'd offered to return them to acquaintances, and if she didn't write back by return owl it would be impossible to convince him she wasn't accepting the offer. It had been eleven days since their ill-starred outing to the ballet. He'd have needed reassurance that he hadn't scared her off, and all she'd given him was silence. But she certainly wasn't going to go back to "only a Gryffindor" and his turned back and "You can owl me once a month."

The dratted bird turned up its beak at tomatoes, lettuce, bananas, bread and even a muesli bar, but grudgingly accepted her last slice of bacon. Plain scrambled egg for breakfast tomorrow, then. She sat down again and took another sheet of paper.

My dear friend,

There's nothing wrong, it's just I've been wrestling with demons. The boys finally turned up in my Floo last week and they managed to shake me. Not my belief in you (that would be impossible), but my trust in myself. I don't know if I'm as strong as you need me to be.

How do you do it? How have you managed to keep forcing your way through rock with no one at your side to pull out your pick when it gets stuck? Just thinking about it, I'm in awe.

She pushed it aside and took another. Too gushing.

I need to talk to you.

Too peremptory.

I've been meaning to write, but –

No! He'd imagine she thought him an unpleasant duty to apologise for shirking. She took another paper and paused. The owl hooted and flew past her shoulder to the fridge.

"Yes, yes, all right!" she muttered. "I'm trying." It hooted again, derisively, and looked meaningly at the window. With a sigh, she gave it the chicken fillet she'd set aside for dinner and cast her mind back through four months of letters.

It's taken me more than seventeen separate attempts to decide what to say –

That was the worst yet. How dare she steal his words as if her childish indecision paralleled his life's defining tragedy? She crumpled it up. Honesty, simple honesty.

I've seen Harry and Ron. They said they're not going to interfere, but trying to fix you would break my heart. And like an idiot, I've been brooding ever since because I know they're kind of right and I know they're kind of wrong, and you'd be worth it anyhow, but it all gets tangled up in my head and I can't get the words out. When can we talk? I miss you a lot. (And Percy's offered me a job in his department. And I've told Ginny to butt out, but I'm not sure she'll listen.)

It was only after the owl left that she remembered she hadn't said she was well. She hoped that was all he minded about.