BANKED AND TURNED

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.

A/N: Thanks to all my reviewers and especially to my previewers, Bellegeste, Cecelle and Lady Memory.

The story so far: After Professor Snape reveals his true feelings to a newly graduated Hermione, an unexpected friendship slowly develops. Her other friends say she "can't fix him", and she knows they're right. Because no one can fix him but himself.

Last chapter, Harry interrupted Xmas dinner (lunch) at Hogwarts to confront Snape, and got some answers he wasn't expecting...

"I'm sorry about yesterday. Was it really bad?" she asked as they left the castle behind.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that? Weren't you lecturing the Weasleys about minding their own business?"

"Not all of them. Fred and George only tease, and Ron knows I don't need a minder." She took his hand and Apparated them both to the fell. "Don't let's talk about me. Are you all right? If I'd known it would send Harry off like that, I'd have kept my mouth shut."

His hand curled around hers and he lifted his face to the thin wintry sun, letting the wind blow through him. A smile tugged at his mouth. "You should have known," he said lightly. "He's always been a bit of a Weasleys' Whiz-banger."

She didn't let go. In the silence, he followed her gaze to a distant peregrine that banked and turned, and hurtled groundwards.

"But never without a reason," she said slowly. "I didn't know he was so eager to know you."

"He isn't." But the boy hadn't asked about Hermione, nor about his parents.

"He must be," she said. "Or he'd have finished lunch first."

The same bird or another rose and streaked past, still climbing.

"He has friends and well-wishers," she said. "Ron's like family; Sirius was too. It's not enough. It never was."

He swallowed hard. "The Weasleys are fond enough of him."

"They love him," she said. "But not like he's their own. He's always 'Harry dear' to Molly, he's always welcomed, but she never yells at him when he's being an idiot. It's like she doesn't dare, like he's a baby-Dumbledore, famous and powerful and with eccentricities to be humoured." She laughed unhappily. "I never noticed that before," she said. "I wish I hadn't noticed it now."

Her other hand slipped into his and he held tight. He supposed she felt cold.

"Lupin?" he said desperately.

"When did he ever take responsibility for anything? I liked him, but I'm glad I never needed him."

"Dumbledore, then," he said. "Minerva. Anybody."

The sky was a pale clear grey. The colour of Draco's eyes. Eye. Hermione's eyes were warm and brown, like bracken in autumn. But it was winter now.

"You. Only you. Even when you acted like you hated him, you cared what he did. You always cared."

"It was the least I could do. I orphaned him."

"It was the most you could do," she said, and something in his chest unfroze. "You're the closest thing to a father he has."

Of course the boy would be playing Quidditch now. Severus stood with the Burrow at his back, and watched and waited till the boy noticed him and swooped down.

"What is it? I told you I needed time to think about things," he said.

Severus scowled up at four accusing Weasley faces rather than return that hard green glare. "There's more to say."

"What? Right now?"

He gritted his teeth. "At your convenience," he said.