Disclaimer: Rowlings. Not Mine. I'm Nuri. Ingrid, Gabi, Jeremiah, Primrose, Ellen and the Slyths are mine.

"All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for enough good men to do nothing." - commonly attributed to Edmund Burke

Dinner Conversations

The under-thirty crowd escaped to Hogsmeade, to a small restaurant named Primrose. Each table was traced with flowers that grew as a patron watched them. Draco dragged Ingrid in a little later than when everyone else arrived. He had taken one look at the cheerful décor and rolled his eyes, "Oh you have got to be kidding me."

Ingrid had taken the seat next to a soft-spoken Harry Potter, and his shaky smile.

"Ingrid, the famous, Boy-Who-Lived-and Then-Almost-Nearly-Died, Harry Potter. Harry, meet Ingrid Olsson, Divination Professor," Draco announced, mockingly.

"Pleasure to meet you, Ingrid." Harry said, looking straight at her. The rest of the pleasantries followed smoothly and quickly, before Ingrid took the empty seat beside Harry.

"What did Albus say?" Hermione asked the blushing couple nonchalantly, hiding her face behind her menu.

Gabrielles' face brightened enormously, "He zaid he would gladly welcome me to the Hogwarts family!"

More congratulations around from the table. Ron looked down to the table, investigating the flowers on the table. "He was more asking about our own plans. We're thinking about having the wedding sometime next year, so that hopefully everyone will be back from wherever they went," Ron moved his head upward, "I…we…will have our friends and family around us, even if we have to wait a year."

"Hopefully not a full year," Gabi interrupted, eyeing Ron protectively.

"Well that's true too," Ron laughed, "There's nothing more that I want than to be with Gabi forever. At this point, I think we all just need a little stability in our life."

The waiter came by, and they ordered. Pasta, as usual, was high on the list for Hermione. A healthy food, able to keep her filled for a long period of time. She never really ate much to begin with. Not out of any diet plan or pickiness, but the food just didn't interest her to eat. Here, however, she'd eat her fill, and enjoy it for once.

"Do they actually have a real cook?" Draco mentioned loudly, interrupting a conversation between Ingrid and Hermione. They gave him a very nasty look, a double threat in two pairs of eyes.

"I believe so. One of the few that do," Hermione casually rhymed before adding, "Many people enjoy making food without using magic, or even house elves, dear Malfoy."

"I don't understand why." Draco waved his hands, "It's easier this way. Faster."

"Is it satisfying?" Hermione quipped back, "There is nothing more potent than completing something by yourself, knowing you did it without the aid of a magical stick of wood..."

"No wonder you teach Muggle Studies and Arithmancy. Who needs real magic there?" Draco grinned.

Hermione rolled her eyes suppressing a laugh, "There's magic in numbers. They always will add up, in the past, present, and future."

This was incredibly different than just a few years ago. Draco Malfoy laughing with her, not insulting her? Not throwing insults and curses at Harry? Not insulting the Weasley family? Rather amazing. Why did things have to change so quickly?
Time really does change everything.

Dinner at Hogwarts was always a splendid affair. Good food, good company, although tonight the conversation was leaning towards reasoning why there were three Professors missing from their table.

"Of course, you realize it must be about Ingrid. She must have seen something coming," Carla noted.

"Divination is a sham," Ian countered.

"It is not!" Carla yelled back.

"Oh quiet you two." Ellen said in a whisper, "It's likely nothing…actually, weren't some people talking about how Ron Weasley was on the school grounds." They nodded back to her, "They are old friends, honestly, don't you think Professor Granger would go to dinner or something."

The two sat for a second until Ian sighed, "Ellen, do you have to take the fun out of things?"

"Well it's either that or Professor Snape chopped them up to make potions out of, and judging by what we were making today, I wouldn't put it past him."

Their Head of House had not seemed to be in a good mood that day, that was for sure. The students, even her fellow first years had picked up on that. She went for a visit afterwards, but was only met with silence at his door from him, however, she could hear the scratching of a quill on parchment pacing back and forth at a frantic pace. She had slipped a note underneath the door, bearing her name, and only the words "Whatever it is, it can't be that bad."

It was something she just couldn't explain. She looked up at him as Ian and Carla continued to fight over what exactly the three teachers were doing.

Professor Snape found his food unappetizing, but apparently interesting. His head turned downwards, avoiding the conversations about the appearance of the conquering hero Harry Potter that the rest of the staff pattered on about. Having never been fond of the boy, but not wanting to disrupt, he kept his comments mostly to himself.

After all, Auror Potter had saved the entire European Wizard community, and so deserved a little respect. Harry's little escapade nearly cost his own life, having spent nearly the past year cooped up, flitting in and out of a dire state of consciousness.

And for all that trouble, his scar was there.

For that matter, so was Severus' own Dark Mark. Despite the complete death of Voldemort, each of the surviving former death eaters' marks remained. A constant and occasionally painful reminder of what he used to be, and always capable of doing. He looked up quickly to see his little charge, Ellen, looking at him. He did not want to see her today, even if it meant a slight drop in her trust. He had seven years to win this dare, and he didn't have to complete in her first year.

There was work to be done. Always there is work to be done. After classes were over, Professor Granger had made her way into his office and sweet-talked him into taking her as his pupil.

She obviously had no idea what she was getting into. The Potions Masters program was highly regarded as the toughest, longest and most rigorous program available. Most others were either practical or purely relied on memorization. Potions required the use of a persons mind. The innate power in the combination of ingredients could never be forgotten. Each different way of preparing the components was analyzed, for each changed its potency. The order of preparation, how you stirred, how quickly you added each individual item.

Then, there was the power play. Why she had come to him wasn't a mystery. Even Snape could admit he was the closest possibility for training purposes. And true, when she had come to teach, she had shed her past at the school. Hermione never treated him as though she was still a student, from the very first moment she had entered the grounds.

Now she would have to, yet again. She willingly gave up the power she had as a Professor, and laid it in his hands.

"Severus, the food may be well-prepared," Minerva snapped in his face, "but it is hardly a masterpiece to look at."

"It is however, far more interesting than whatever you were droning on about."

Minerva, used to such short answers from the Potions Master, turned her back to him, shaking her head, muttering about how politeness could get you anywhere.

She did not notice that Severus had slipped out of his seat and was currently walking out of the Great Hall. In fact, the only person who had seen him leave was Ellen, her eyes following his dark figure out the door. Excusing herself, she left the Slytherin table, and walked out in the same fashion. Once outside, she set off at full speed to speak with her Professor.

At the Hufflepuff table, the steel-eyed fourth year Jeremiah spoke quietly among his peers. He carefully eyed the first year Knightford leaving the Great Hall, and after a cursory glance at the Professors table, connected the dots. Frowning slightly, he made a note in his head, all the while chatting amicably about the Transfiguration homework that his housemates where having trouble writing.

If that little chit of a girl decided to follow in better footsteps, plans would be ruined. Why Professor Snape had decided to take an interest in the eleven-year-old, he couldn't grasp. As far as Jeremiah knew, he had no Lolita tendencies, and he never took any real interest in a student other than insulting them…his mind reeled over such a subject. What was his motive, was there something he was hiding? If things were going to succeed, he had to break down the relationship between the Professor and Ellen.

Things may not be so simple after all.

Authors Notes: I'm extremely sorry that this part is even later than the last. I swear, I gave it to my beta weeks ago. She still hasn't returned it. I gave it to someone else, who wrote all over it, and then I disregarded half his statements. But still, let us give props to Emily, who tried (and I don't blame her…too much) but especially to Mike, who I believe is the very first (public, and not by marriage) male ss/hg beta reader. He has this undying love of cliches, but I love him anyways.

Primrose is the restaurant I used in an entirely different story that starred an entirely different anti-hero. It served much the same purpose: give the characters a bonding place.

There is an obvious nod to Resmiranda's "Like Shadows on a Winter Sky" in the conversation. I trust people can find it.

And just so you know, the next part "Not Designed to Fade" is already written, nearly done with my proofing and will be posted sometime next week, giving me some time to write the part that goes after it.

Next time on Miserere: FLASHBACK. "We walked alone, together, but alone", Mike tries to re-write Snape, and Ingrid starts something actually useful.