DISCLAIMER in Chapter 1.
NOTES: Thanks to everyone who reviewed; I appreciate every single one. And once again, thanks to Patricia Wilson, who is a goddess!
***
The call from Paris came almost as soon as Snape had hung up- Hermione had gotten the contract, although how she answered the questions, made the arrangements, she was not later able to remember. Her face was still deathly pale, her hands shaking, when she took the elevator down to Harry Potter's office.
He was on the phone, barely glancing at her as she came in. A lean but short man, kind and generous of heart, Harry was still every bit the wonderful person and friend Hermione remembered from their youth. The only difference was that now he had removed himself from the wizarding world, disgusted with their actions in the final war against Voldemortia. So different from Severus Snape, who had become even more involved in the affairs of the wizarding world as the years of war dragged on.
Harry had taken over a large and thriving chain of magazines right after leaving. He had to do something with all of his money, after all. Under Harry, the rechristined Potter Press had expanded and become very powerful. As head of advertising for the whole chain, Hermione knew his worth both as a man and as head of the firm.
Many times he had asked her to marry him, but her constant refusals had marred neither their happy working relationship nor their deep friendship.
"All right, you didn't get the advertising contract with Paris, so I don't have to get a straw hat to eat," he remarked in amusement as he turned from the phone. "I know you've not got it or you'd have been bouncing about with impatience while I was phoning instead of standing there quietly like."
His voice faded away as he saw her face and he was beside her quickly.
"Hermione! What's wrong?"
"I got the contract," she assured him in a small faraway voice, "the details are here, but somebody else will have to do it. I've got to have leave." She raised stricken eyes to his and then burst out, "Oh, Harry! Minerva McGonagall was killed! She's dead! And Snape said.Snape said." She burst into tears and he folded her against the hard warmth of his chest.
"Hush! Hush!" he said quietly. "You'll have all the leave you need. And exactly what did that git of a professor say?" he added on a rising note of anger.
Hermione told him later, over an early drink in a nearby cocktail bar, and his face darkened with anger. Harry had never made peace with Snape, and he still hated him far too much to feel any sympathy for the irritable man.
"Why the hell can't they find someone else?" he grated. "There's got to be someone else!"
"Who?" she asked simply. "Who else can they find on such short notice who has as thorough a knowledge of Potions as I do? Anyway," she added almost absently, "Snape would never let anyone use his precious laboratory unless he knew that they knew what they were doing. The position is sacred to him, and I'm the only one he'll trust with it."
"That man and his bloody potions lab!" Harry rasped. "Snape likes his lab more than he likes people! Man's like a glass bottle!"
No, she thought tiredly, looking at Harry but seeing a different face, a proud, angular face with eyes like jet in the candlelight, a perfect physique that was power, grace, and endurance. A body that could rise at dawn and swelter over a blazing cauldron until nightfall with no sign of weariness. Not a glass bottle, a bronze statue, amazing to behold but cold, cold and cruelly hard.
She didn't speak her thoughts, though; instead, she said quietly, "He believes in duty."
"As far as I know," Harry said in disgust, "he hasn't a kindly thought in his head. Of course, you'll have to go, darling, but watch your step. There's no need to take any insults or lordly behavior from Snape. You don't rely on him at all. You're a success in your own right and I'm always here, you know that, Hermione."
She knew that. She smiled up at him tremulously as his hand covered hers, nodding her agreement, too full of emotion at the moment to say more. Over the years, he had pieced together some of her relationship with Snape, but there was much that she had never spoken of, would never speak of- even to her best friend. Harry Potter thought Snape cruel, but he didn't know him as a person. Hermione often thought that she was the only one who knew him that way, who knew the different expressions that crossed that remote, arresting face. Only she knew that the stern and unbending face of British aristocracy could suddenly melt into surprisingly ready laughter. Only she knew that the gulf between them was too painful and too deep for any bridge ever to cross.
Hermione was a success. From a painfully insecure, know-it-all child, she had grown into a woman with a ready charm that was attractive and persuasive. She had learned the hard way to hide her feelings and talk easily. Hermione could charm birds from trees, according to Harry, and she had charmed plenty of advertising business their way. Already bilingual in English and French, she had learned Spanish and German as well and had used her language skills to draw business from the Continent, and she had climbed fast in the firm.
It was ironic that at the peak of her success, when she had everything she wanted, Snape should have the power to call her back. No doubt he was no more looking forward to this than she was, but he had ordered her "home" and she had no alternative but to obey. Once, Hermione had not wanted a career or success, she had only wanted Snape. Harry did not know that, only she knew- and Snape, although he would probably not even remember. Six years was a long time ago, a lifetime ago, it seemed. She had pushed the thought of him away with all the other hurts that she had suffered, and she had thought him too distant to hurt her ever again.
She had been wrong.
*** A/N: Once again, thanks to my reviewers. I'm sorry for the short length of this chapter, and I will get the next one up ASAP.
NOTES: Thanks to everyone who reviewed; I appreciate every single one. And once again, thanks to Patricia Wilson, who is a goddess!
***
The call from Paris came almost as soon as Snape had hung up- Hermione had gotten the contract, although how she answered the questions, made the arrangements, she was not later able to remember. Her face was still deathly pale, her hands shaking, when she took the elevator down to Harry Potter's office.
He was on the phone, barely glancing at her as she came in. A lean but short man, kind and generous of heart, Harry was still every bit the wonderful person and friend Hermione remembered from their youth. The only difference was that now he had removed himself from the wizarding world, disgusted with their actions in the final war against Voldemortia. So different from Severus Snape, who had become even more involved in the affairs of the wizarding world as the years of war dragged on.
Harry had taken over a large and thriving chain of magazines right after leaving. He had to do something with all of his money, after all. Under Harry, the rechristined Potter Press had expanded and become very powerful. As head of advertising for the whole chain, Hermione knew his worth both as a man and as head of the firm.
Many times he had asked her to marry him, but her constant refusals had marred neither their happy working relationship nor their deep friendship.
"All right, you didn't get the advertising contract with Paris, so I don't have to get a straw hat to eat," he remarked in amusement as he turned from the phone. "I know you've not got it or you'd have been bouncing about with impatience while I was phoning instead of standing there quietly like."
His voice faded away as he saw her face and he was beside her quickly.
"Hermione! What's wrong?"
"I got the contract," she assured him in a small faraway voice, "the details are here, but somebody else will have to do it. I've got to have leave." She raised stricken eyes to his and then burst out, "Oh, Harry! Minerva McGonagall was killed! She's dead! And Snape said.Snape said." She burst into tears and he folded her against the hard warmth of his chest.
"Hush! Hush!" he said quietly. "You'll have all the leave you need. And exactly what did that git of a professor say?" he added on a rising note of anger.
Hermione told him later, over an early drink in a nearby cocktail bar, and his face darkened with anger. Harry had never made peace with Snape, and he still hated him far too much to feel any sympathy for the irritable man.
"Why the hell can't they find someone else?" he grated. "There's got to be someone else!"
"Who?" she asked simply. "Who else can they find on such short notice who has as thorough a knowledge of Potions as I do? Anyway," she added almost absently, "Snape would never let anyone use his precious laboratory unless he knew that they knew what they were doing. The position is sacred to him, and I'm the only one he'll trust with it."
"That man and his bloody potions lab!" Harry rasped. "Snape likes his lab more than he likes people! Man's like a glass bottle!"
No, she thought tiredly, looking at Harry but seeing a different face, a proud, angular face with eyes like jet in the candlelight, a perfect physique that was power, grace, and endurance. A body that could rise at dawn and swelter over a blazing cauldron until nightfall with no sign of weariness. Not a glass bottle, a bronze statue, amazing to behold but cold, cold and cruelly hard.
She didn't speak her thoughts, though; instead, she said quietly, "He believes in duty."
"As far as I know," Harry said in disgust, "he hasn't a kindly thought in his head. Of course, you'll have to go, darling, but watch your step. There's no need to take any insults or lordly behavior from Snape. You don't rely on him at all. You're a success in your own right and I'm always here, you know that, Hermione."
She knew that. She smiled up at him tremulously as his hand covered hers, nodding her agreement, too full of emotion at the moment to say more. Over the years, he had pieced together some of her relationship with Snape, but there was much that she had never spoken of, would never speak of- even to her best friend. Harry Potter thought Snape cruel, but he didn't know him as a person. Hermione often thought that she was the only one who knew him that way, who knew the different expressions that crossed that remote, arresting face. Only she knew that the stern and unbending face of British aristocracy could suddenly melt into surprisingly ready laughter. Only she knew that the gulf between them was too painful and too deep for any bridge ever to cross.
Hermione was a success. From a painfully insecure, know-it-all child, she had grown into a woman with a ready charm that was attractive and persuasive. She had learned the hard way to hide her feelings and talk easily. Hermione could charm birds from trees, according to Harry, and she had charmed plenty of advertising business their way. Already bilingual in English and French, she had learned Spanish and German as well and had used her language skills to draw business from the Continent, and she had climbed fast in the firm.
It was ironic that at the peak of her success, when she had everything she wanted, Snape should have the power to call her back. No doubt he was no more looking forward to this than she was, but he had ordered her "home" and she had no alternative but to obey. Once, Hermione had not wanted a career or success, she had only wanted Snape. Harry did not know that, only she knew- and Snape, although he would probably not even remember. Six years was a long time ago, a lifetime ago, it seemed. She had pushed the thought of him away with all the other hurts that she had suffered, and she had thought him too distant to hurt her ever again.
She had been wrong.
*** A/N: Once again, thanks to my reviewers. I'm sorry for the short length of this chapter, and I will get the next one up ASAP.