Dabbing a rag at his pot of broom-handle polish, Harry Potter settled into
the old sofa in the Gryffindor common room and filled in the nasty scratch
from a wild bludger, gained during the Ravenclaw/Gryffindor match
yesterday. As captain of the team, he had to spend a lot more game time
near his other players to keep an eye on the action as well as searching
for the Snitch, and it put him in the line of fire for stray bludgers. His
Firebolt was getting battle scarred, but it still flew like a dream and he
took obsessive care of it.
At one of the tables near the fireplace, Ron Weasley was doing his best to hide a smirk while waiting for Dean Thomas to make a move. Even from across the room, Harry could tell Dean was in serious trouble, although the pile of white pieces at Ron's elbow was a dead giveaway as well. Dean chewed on his thumbnail for several long, agonizing moments before finally moving his bishop. He left his finger on it for a moment, double-checking his move, then at last let go of the piece, his hand inscribing a cross in the air over it as if consigning it to its fate.
Ron's move was swift and merciless; the bishop was quickly dispatched by a red knight. The vanquished bishop rolled off the chessboard and joined its fellows, muttering dire threats about excommunicating the horseman.
"Checkmate," Ron declared. "Good game, though."
"Right," Dean said with a shrug. "I think I'll take what little dignity I've got left and go to bed."
"Yeah, it is getting a bit late. See you."
Harry watched Ron put the chess pieces away, absently giving Dean a good night as the boy went up the staircase. The scratch on his broom was nearly mended but he had a charm he wanted to try on the polish to harden it.
"Ron," he asked quietly.
"Yeah, Harry?"
"When are you going to stop being such a complete prat about Hermione?"
Ron's ears went a bit red and he began picking at the worn arm of his chair. "Dunno what you mean."
"You know exactly what I mean. Every time you're in the same room as her, you act like you barely know her. I thought you two were going to stay friends."
"Come on, Harry. She broke up with me."
"You were the one who told me it was mutual."
"Well, if you call mutual her throwing a potion bottle at me in the middle of a flaming row," Ron protested.
"You two fought nearly every day the entire time you were together," Harry pointed out.
"So?"
"So maybe you weren't meant to be together," Harry told him. "Maybe Hermione isn't the right girl for you. She could care less about Quidditch and neither one of us understands half of what she says sometimes."
Ron heaved a sigh. It wasn't as if this were a new thought; Harry had said it more than a dozen times in the four months since the two had broken up. For once, thought, Ron was actually listening.
"Maybe. It's just hard, Harry."
"I know it is, mate," Harry told him sympathetically. "But it's hard for Hermione, too. And she's got things pretty hard for her right now anyway." Harry had no intention of revealing Hermione's secret, but he was sick of watching his two best friends be miserable.
"Well, she's Head Girl, and she's got top marks, what has she got to be miserable." Ron trailed off as the portrait hole opened and admitted a handful of students barely making it in before curfew. One of them was his sister, who plopped down beside Harry. "Honestly, Ginny! There's half a sofa left; you don't have to sit right next to Harry."
Ginny stuck her tongue out at her brother, and scooted even closer to her boyfriend. "You're just jealous."
"No, I'm revolted. At least you don't kiss him every moment you get a..URG!" he protested as Ginny did just that. "Harry! Do you mind not snogging my sister right in front of me?"
"Then turn 'round," Harry told him, pulling a giggly Ginny to him and repeating the kiss.
When Harry released her, she shifted and pulled the pot of broom wax out from under her leg. "I see you've been polishing your broomstick while I've been away," she commented outrageously.
Harry just grinned at her, while Ron made retching noises.
"So, what have you two been up to?" she asked, dragging Harry's arm around her waist.
"Nothing," Ron muttered, while Harry gave him a look.
"I was telling your idiot brother to lay off Hermione. She's having a rough patch right now."
"Oh, I know. Malfoy's been a complete pillock."
"What's Malfoy got to do with Hermione?" Ron demanded.
"Isn't that what you just said?" Ginny asked, confused.
"No, it isn't," Harry said. "What do you mean?"
"Well, if you two haven't noticed, Draco Malfoy's been hanging around this part of the castle for days now. I only just noticed it about a week or so ago. Hermione and I were walking back to Gryffindor and she just stopped and turned around, and I saw Draco standing in the hall just opposite the stairs. Hermione made up some rubbish about forgetting something, but he's been there every single day. Really creepy, if you ask me."
"He's dead," Ron vowed, grinding his fist into his other hand.
"Hang on a minute," Harry told him. "If he's not done anything to her, you'll just get in trouble."
"I don't care what he's done or not done," Ron retorted. "If he so much as lays one finger on her, I'll pound him one."
"Ron, stop it!" Ginny snapped. "You're not her boyfriend, so stop acting like a caveman."
"Ginny's right, Ron. Besides, we don't know what Malfoy's up to."
"It's a sure thing he's up to no good," Ron muttered.
"Perhaps. Malfoy's a nasty piece of work, but sometimes I wonder about him. I've watched him sometimes when he doesn't realize anyone's looking."
"Do you really?" Ginny murmured, incredulous, causing him to blush furiously.
"Not like that!" he protested, laughing. "What I mean is, sometimes I actually feel sorry for him. He doesn't have any real friends, not really. He's got those two great walking slabs of meat with him all the time, and he's gone through just about every girl who'll give him the time of day, but that's it."
"His dad's a real prize, too," Ginny added. "That last match against Slytherin, I left my scarf in the stands, and when I went back to get it, Malfoy was getting reamed out by his father for losing the game."
"Yeah, well I imagine Harry would have reamed us all out if we'd lost instead," Ron commented.
"He might have yelled, but I don't think he'd have back-handed you and knocked you down."
"Malfoy did that to his own kid?" Ron asked.
"With his fist," Ginny confirmed.
"Lovely," Harry said sarcastically. "My Uncle Vernon is a horrible person, but at least he's never hit me."
"Oh, come on, Harry! First you tell me Snape's not as bad as we've always thought him, and now you're going to make me feel sorry for Malfoy?! What next - You-Know-Who needs a hug?"
"Shut it, Ron," his sister told him. "I think that Draco may a crush on Hermione."
"You're joking!" exclaimed Ron. "Please, tell me you're joking!"
"Not really," Ginny explained. "The first day on the platform at King's Cross, he came right up to her and spoke to her. He used to just ignore her unless you two were around to irritate as well."
"And if he did fancy her, he'd never admit it. He'd just act like a complete git, which is exactly what he's doing now." Harry pushed his glasses up decisively. "Whatever his reasons, I think we need to watch out for Hermione and let her know we're all still her friends. Agreed?" He gave Ron a stern look.
Ron slumped in his chair. "All right, Harry. I'll give it a shot. I still love her, you know."
"I know, mate. So do I. But I was never IN love with her, and neither are you. You just haven't figured that out yet."
Ron gave Harry a sour look, but he didn't argue.
*****
A stack of medicinal chocolate in the shape of little hearts confronted Hermione as she dug into yet another one of Madame Pomfrey's cabinets. Valentine's day had been two weeks ago and in a frenzy of enthusiasm for the season the mediwitch had transfigured her supplies into romantic motifs. Unfortunately chocolate didn't take well to multiple transfiguration, and now the infirmary was stuck with the leftover hearts getting in the way every time you went looking for something.
"Lost something, Miss Granger?"
Hermione jumped, narrowly avoiding falling over, and let out a yelp. "You enjoy that, don't you?"
"Perhaps," Snape allowed, looking remarkably like Crookshanks at his most inscrutable. "What are you looking for?"
"I was hoping Madame Pomfrey had some clothing catalogs." Giving up, she straightened up and shut the cabinet.
"Why?" he drawled.
Hermione really wished he hadn't done that. She could blame the reaction on hormones, but the elemental connection she felt with Severus Snape thrummed with his voice and made her nerves jump in a way that was not in the least unpleasant.
"Well, I need some new clothes, and I can hardly dash down to Diagon Alley and go shopping, can I? And the last thing I want to do is go into Hogsmeade and start buying them. The one brochure I've found so far was only a few pages, and had nothing I could use."
"You are in need of a catalog for 'fat' clothes?" he queried.
"Yes. You see, in the vastly inferior Muggle world, companies that sell clothing, cooking gear, and all other variety of needs put out of a catalog. You mail them with a list of what you want and the money for it, and they mail you what you asked for." Her saccharine sarcasm was not lost on him, and he raised a mocking eyebrow in return.
"Assuming the order is the correct size, color, and the entire process has not been sabotaged by a postal system having a fit of the sulks," he added smoothly.
"That's the dust men, not the post."
"Either way, it is not entirely unheard of in the wizard world, Miss Granger."
"Good. Then I can get some more clothing before the ones I have are completely useless."
"Need some more clothing, do you, Hermione?" questioned Madame Pomfrey as she left her office. "I'm surprised you've made it this long, my dear. You're nearly halfway now."
"Yes," admitted Hermione. "My blouses are getting too tight and none of my uniform skirts fasten properly. Everything's being held shut with loops of string."
As a man trapped in the middle of women discussing clothes, Snape showed remarkably little discomfort over the subject matter, but did frown at her. "What possible role could string play in keeping your clothing intact?"
"You make a loop around the button hole and put the loop over the button," answered Madame Pomfrey briskly, as though the answer were obvious. "It gives you another couple of inches. I remember my first. He's older than you are now, Severus, but I remember I cried when I had to buy larger robes. My husband told me I was silly, and I never forgave him for that." Pomfrey sighed at the memory before giving Hermione a stern look. "I'll wager you'll also be needing new underclothes, if I don't miss my guess. I never minded the addition to my cleavage, but it was always uncomfortable until I switched to a larger size."
"You'll start to waddle soon, too," added Madame Pomfrey helpfully.
"I'll what!?" Hermione wasn't sure which was more appalling; the frank discussion of her undergarments with Severus Snape standing there, or the comments on Pomfrey's cleavage. As it happened she did need new clothing from the skin out, but that wasn't something she wanted to admit.
"You are top in your form in Transfigurations, Miss Granger. Surely you've mastered the basic Enlargement Charm."
Hermione narrowed her eyes at Snape, even though she was not offended by his comment. A sardonic glint reflected back from his dark gaze, and she was gratified he was comfortable enough to tease her. "I had thought of that, but the charm only lasts so long, and it tends to wear off at exactly the wrong time." He opened his mouth, and she interrupted him. "And I'm not handing over all my bras for someone else to charm, either."
"Perhaps a trip to Diagon Alley would be in order."
Hermione felt her cheeks redden, but she refused to give in. "I only have about ten Galleons to spend, sir. I cannot afford to go on a shopping spree. I only need a few casual clothes, and some modified school uniforms."
"I will pay for anything you might need, Miss Granger," Snape volunteered in a repressive voice. When she tried to protest, he insisted. "I have more money than I need or could possibly spend in a single afternoon. You could not bankrupt me with a year of such excursions."
"You've never seen me shop, Professor Snape. I assure you I could." A slight smile crossed his face, and she was ridiculously glad to see it.
"Please," he added in a low voice. "Allow me to do this for you."
"All right," she said softly. "Would this weekend be too soon?"
Madame Pomfrey answered the question, although her expression showed she was less than enthusiastic for the idea. "Actually, Miss Granger, it might be prudent to plan this expedition on a weekday morning. No students will be wandering the halls to see Severus and yourself leaving Hogwarts, and there will be fewer people in Diagon Alley to bear tales to those who were better left in the dark about his recovery."
"I agree," Snape added. "Will you be devastated to miss Potions class tomorrow morning?"
Hermione raised an eyebrow in surprise. Two of his droll comments in as many minutes, and the last one nearly an outright joke.
"I'm sure I shall bear the disappointment, Professor," she said stoutly. The corner of his mouth twitched.
The next morning Hermione dutifully picked at her breakfast and complained to her fellow Gryffindors about feeling ill until someone had suggested she go to the nurse, advice she had taken immediately. Madame Pomfrey had then sent a note to Professor Cluny, stating Hermione was unwell and would not be in class that morning. She'd left Hermione to make her way to the unused portrait gallery to wait for Snape to appear once the classes had begun.
At the end of the corridor outside the Hospital wing, a pokey flight of stairs led unevenly up and in the opposite direction of the wing, eventually opening into a long gallery at the corner of the castle. Snape had not exaggerated; the portraits in the hall featured stern-faced witches and wizards of indeterminate age, all of whom looked as though they'd just bit into a particularly vile flavored Bertie Botts Every Flavor Bean.
Shivering slightly, Hermione wrapped her cloak tightly around her and wandered down the length of the room. She had discarded the heavy scholastic robes with the distinctive Gryffindor emblem that would instantly let every person in Diagon Alley know she was skipping school. Instead she wore a set of plain robes in nondescript blue she'd bought for functions that were not dress but where her school uniform was inappropriate. They were tighter than they were last year, if more comfortable than her outgrown school uniform, as there was no waistband to constrict the undeniable swelling. It only stuck out a few inches, but was undeniably a pregnant belly.
The house elves had obviously neglected the place for some time; it was musty and stale and barely warmer than the late February winter outside. Cobwebs draped the frames and the cold iron chandeliers were caked with ancient wax drippings. The only signs of disturbance were the footprints of a man's heavy boots in the dust. Cold and just a bit nervous, she began to follow the trail in the path scuffed through the heavy dust on the floor as she waited for Snape to appear.
"Whatever has you so wound up so early in the morning, Miss Granger?" came a voice from behind her. When she turned, Snape stood in the stairway entrance, a heavy gray cloak over one arm.
"Would you believe I'm feeling guilty about not feeling guilty?"
"I beg your pardon?"
Hermione could not help but laugh. "I think I'm getting used to the travails of subterfuge, Professor. Before this, I would have been in hives at the thought of skiving off class for a shopping trip."
"I would have thought Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter would long ago have broken you of your nerves, Miss Granger. Surely they have dragged you into more exotic escapades before this. I seem to recall an episode regarding the Astronomy Tower and a baby dragon, if I'm not mistaken?"
She smiled, but kept her lips firmly sealed against either confirming or denying his jibe, and he bowed mockingly as her silence.
"Ah, well. Perhaps I was mistaken," he mused. "Evidently you were the voice of reason, and did your best to prevent those two from breaking every rule known to this establishment."
"Of course, Professor," she agreed blandly, and it was his turn to smile.
"Shall we, Miss Granger?"
He offered his arm, and after a moment's hesitation, she took it. He seemed to have second thoughts about his action, but as she did not refuse, slowly relaxed and led the way down the stairs, through a secondary corridor and out a little-used door, one she had never seen before. It opened onto a narrow lane between the castle proper and the tall stone walls that surrounded Hogwarts closely on this side. The overhanging trees on were bare, and leaves scuttled under their feet as they walked. Here and there patches of the last snowfall lay in drifts against the wall. In just a short while, they rounded the corner to see the broad lawn open before them, with the main gates just ahead.
Once outside the gate, Snape led her just a few yards further, then turned to her.
"Give me your hands," Snape requested, holding out his own. "I'll Apparate us to the taproom at the Leaky Cauldron."
"I thought we'd use a portkey," Hermoine said, confused and a little alarmed.
"I happen to be very good at Apparating, Miss Granger. You can trust me." His expression closed down, and Hermione had no trouble imagining to what use he'd put his skill in tandem Apparating while in Voldemort's service.
"I trust you," she told him simply, and put her cold bare fingers in his.
His dark eyes pinned her for a long moment, then his hands tightened on hers and he uttered the short spell that Apparated them to Diagon Alley.
*****
High above the rest of Hogwarts, Poppy Pomfrey accepted a cup of tea from Dumbledore and tutted fretfully as she watched two small figures walking out the main gates.
"I really don't know what you think you're doing, Albus. Severus is physically recovered, but he's not up to handling any serious trouble. What are you thinking of, letting him escort Ms. Granger this way? I could have taken her just as well. It's just plain cruel, having them spend time together."
"They spend time together in your laboratory, Poppy," Dumbledore answered blandly. "Surely this cannot be any worse."
Poppy eyed him suspiciously. "What are you up to, Albus?"
"Nothing, I assure you. Simply letting nature take its course."
"Nature has already taken its course, and Miss Granger is the worst for it. How ever will she provide for a child, on her own? Her family might take her in, but mark my words, unless Severus takes some responsibility for his actions, she'll have a hard road of it."
"Severus Snape has taken more responsibility for his actions than any wizard I have ever known, Poppy," Dumbledore commented quietly. "And he's paid a higher price for it. It is my fondest hope that this entire situation might lighten his load, not increase it."
Poppy Pomfrey gave a small, lady-like snort, but did not reply.
"Who was it bullied him out of his depression, Poppy? Nothing you or I did made one jot of difference. A few sharp words from Miss Granger and he had a new will to live, if only to once more take house points from her."
"Don't be melodramatic, Albus. Severus responded to the potion, not the brewer."
The headmaster nearly snorted in his tea as Poppy echoed his very own words back to him. "I'm sure you know best," he said simply, and offered her another biscuit.
At one of the tables near the fireplace, Ron Weasley was doing his best to hide a smirk while waiting for Dean Thomas to make a move. Even from across the room, Harry could tell Dean was in serious trouble, although the pile of white pieces at Ron's elbow was a dead giveaway as well. Dean chewed on his thumbnail for several long, agonizing moments before finally moving his bishop. He left his finger on it for a moment, double-checking his move, then at last let go of the piece, his hand inscribing a cross in the air over it as if consigning it to its fate.
Ron's move was swift and merciless; the bishop was quickly dispatched by a red knight. The vanquished bishop rolled off the chessboard and joined its fellows, muttering dire threats about excommunicating the horseman.
"Checkmate," Ron declared. "Good game, though."
"Right," Dean said with a shrug. "I think I'll take what little dignity I've got left and go to bed."
"Yeah, it is getting a bit late. See you."
Harry watched Ron put the chess pieces away, absently giving Dean a good night as the boy went up the staircase. The scratch on his broom was nearly mended but he had a charm he wanted to try on the polish to harden it.
"Ron," he asked quietly.
"Yeah, Harry?"
"When are you going to stop being such a complete prat about Hermione?"
Ron's ears went a bit red and he began picking at the worn arm of his chair. "Dunno what you mean."
"You know exactly what I mean. Every time you're in the same room as her, you act like you barely know her. I thought you two were going to stay friends."
"Come on, Harry. She broke up with me."
"You were the one who told me it was mutual."
"Well, if you call mutual her throwing a potion bottle at me in the middle of a flaming row," Ron protested.
"You two fought nearly every day the entire time you were together," Harry pointed out.
"So?"
"So maybe you weren't meant to be together," Harry told him. "Maybe Hermione isn't the right girl for you. She could care less about Quidditch and neither one of us understands half of what she says sometimes."
Ron heaved a sigh. It wasn't as if this were a new thought; Harry had said it more than a dozen times in the four months since the two had broken up. For once, thought, Ron was actually listening.
"Maybe. It's just hard, Harry."
"I know it is, mate," Harry told him sympathetically. "But it's hard for Hermione, too. And she's got things pretty hard for her right now anyway." Harry had no intention of revealing Hermione's secret, but he was sick of watching his two best friends be miserable.
"Well, she's Head Girl, and she's got top marks, what has she got to be miserable." Ron trailed off as the portrait hole opened and admitted a handful of students barely making it in before curfew. One of them was his sister, who plopped down beside Harry. "Honestly, Ginny! There's half a sofa left; you don't have to sit right next to Harry."
Ginny stuck her tongue out at her brother, and scooted even closer to her boyfriend. "You're just jealous."
"No, I'm revolted. At least you don't kiss him every moment you get a..URG!" he protested as Ginny did just that. "Harry! Do you mind not snogging my sister right in front of me?"
"Then turn 'round," Harry told him, pulling a giggly Ginny to him and repeating the kiss.
When Harry released her, she shifted and pulled the pot of broom wax out from under her leg. "I see you've been polishing your broomstick while I've been away," she commented outrageously.
Harry just grinned at her, while Ron made retching noises.
"So, what have you two been up to?" she asked, dragging Harry's arm around her waist.
"Nothing," Ron muttered, while Harry gave him a look.
"I was telling your idiot brother to lay off Hermione. She's having a rough patch right now."
"Oh, I know. Malfoy's been a complete pillock."
"What's Malfoy got to do with Hermione?" Ron demanded.
"Isn't that what you just said?" Ginny asked, confused.
"No, it isn't," Harry said. "What do you mean?"
"Well, if you two haven't noticed, Draco Malfoy's been hanging around this part of the castle for days now. I only just noticed it about a week or so ago. Hermione and I were walking back to Gryffindor and she just stopped and turned around, and I saw Draco standing in the hall just opposite the stairs. Hermione made up some rubbish about forgetting something, but he's been there every single day. Really creepy, if you ask me."
"He's dead," Ron vowed, grinding his fist into his other hand.
"Hang on a minute," Harry told him. "If he's not done anything to her, you'll just get in trouble."
"I don't care what he's done or not done," Ron retorted. "If he so much as lays one finger on her, I'll pound him one."
"Ron, stop it!" Ginny snapped. "You're not her boyfriend, so stop acting like a caveman."
"Ginny's right, Ron. Besides, we don't know what Malfoy's up to."
"It's a sure thing he's up to no good," Ron muttered.
"Perhaps. Malfoy's a nasty piece of work, but sometimes I wonder about him. I've watched him sometimes when he doesn't realize anyone's looking."
"Do you really?" Ginny murmured, incredulous, causing him to blush furiously.
"Not like that!" he protested, laughing. "What I mean is, sometimes I actually feel sorry for him. He doesn't have any real friends, not really. He's got those two great walking slabs of meat with him all the time, and he's gone through just about every girl who'll give him the time of day, but that's it."
"His dad's a real prize, too," Ginny added. "That last match against Slytherin, I left my scarf in the stands, and when I went back to get it, Malfoy was getting reamed out by his father for losing the game."
"Yeah, well I imagine Harry would have reamed us all out if we'd lost instead," Ron commented.
"He might have yelled, but I don't think he'd have back-handed you and knocked you down."
"Malfoy did that to his own kid?" Ron asked.
"With his fist," Ginny confirmed.
"Lovely," Harry said sarcastically. "My Uncle Vernon is a horrible person, but at least he's never hit me."
"Oh, come on, Harry! First you tell me Snape's not as bad as we've always thought him, and now you're going to make me feel sorry for Malfoy?! What next - You-Know-Who needs a hug?"
"Shut it, Ron," his sister told him. "I think that Draco may a crush on Hermione."
"You're joking!" exclaimed Ron. "Please, tell me you're joking!"
"Not really," Ginny explained. "The first day on the platform at King's Cross, he came right up to her and spoke to her. He used to just ignore her unless you two were around to irritate as well."
"And if he did fancy her, he'd never admit it. He'd just act like a complete git, which is exactly what he's doing now." Harry pushed his glasses up decisively. "Whatever his reasons, I think we need to watch out for Hermione and let her know we're all still her friends. Agreed?" He gave Ron a stern look.
Ron slumped in his chair. "All right, Harry. I'll give it a shot. I still love her, you know."
"I know, mate. So do I. But I was never IN love with her, and neither are you. You just haven't figured that out yet."
Ron gave Harry a sour look, but he didn't argue.
*****
A stack of medicinal chocolate in the shape of little hearts confronted Hermione as she dug into yet another one of Madame Pomfrey's cabinets. Valentine's day had been two weeks ago and in a frenzy of enthusiasm for the season the mediwitch had transfigured her supplies into romantic motifs. Unfortunately chocolate didn't take well to multiple transfiguration, and now the infirmary was stuck with the leftover hearts getting in the way every time you went looking for something.
"Lost something, Miss Granger?"
Hermione jumped, narrowly avoiding falling over, and let out a yelp. "You enjoy that, don't you?"
"Perhaps," Snape allowed, looking remarkably like Crookshanks at his most inscrutable. "What are you looking for?"
"I was hoping Madame Pomfrey had some clothing catalogs." Giving up, she straightened up and shut the cabinet.
"Why?" he drawled.
Hermione really wished he hadn't done that. She could blame the reaction on hormones, but the elemental connection she felt with Severus Snape thrummed with his voice and made her nerves jump in a way that was not in the least unpleasant.
"Well, I need some new clothes, and I can hardly dash down to Diagon Alley and go shopping, can I? And the last thing I want to do is go into Hogsmeade and start buying them. The one brochure I've found so far was only a few pages, and had nothing I could use."
"You are in need of a catalog for 'fat' clothes?" he queried.
"Yes. You see, in the vastly inferior Muggle world, companies that sell clothing, cooking gear, and all other variety of needs put out of a catalog. You mail them with a list of what you want and the money for it, and they mail you what you asked for." Her saccharine sarcasm was not lost on him, and he raised a mocking eyebrow in return.
"Assuming the order is the correct size, color, and the entire process has not been sabotaged by a postal system having a fit of the sulks," he added smoothly.
"That's the dust men, not the post."
"Either way, it is not entirely unheard of in the wizard world, Miss Granger."
"Good. Then I can get some more clothing before the ones I have are completely useless."
"Need some more clothing, do you, Hermione?" questioned Madame Pomfrey as she left her office. "I'm surprised you've made it this long, my dear. You're nearly halfway now."
"Yes," admitted Hermione. "My blouses are getting too tight and none of my uniform skirts fasten properly. Everything's being held shut with loops of string."
As a man trapped in the middle of women discussing clothes, Snape showed remarkably little discomfort over the subject matter, but did frown at her. "What possible role could string play in keeping your clothing intact?"
"You make a loop around the button hole and put the loop over the button," answered Madame Pomfrey briskly, as though the answer were obvious. "It gives you another couple of inches. I remember my first. He's older than you are now, Severus, but I remember I cried when I had to buy larger robes. My husband told me I was silly, and I never forgave him for that." Pomfrey sighed at the memory before giving Hermione a stern look. "I'll wager you'll also be needing new underclothes, if I don't miss my guess. I never minded the addition to my cleavage, but it was always uncomfortable until I switched to a larger size."
"You'll start to waddle soon, too," added Madame Pomfrey helpfully.
"I'll what!?" Hermione wasn't sure which was more appalling; the frank discussion of her undergarments with Severus Snape standing there, or the comments on Pomfrey's cleavage. As it happened she did need new clothing from the skin out, but that wasn't something she wanted to admit.
"You are top in your form in Transfigurations, Miss Granger. Surely you've mastered the basic Enlargement Charm."
Hermione narrowed her eyes at Snape, even though she was not offended by his comment. A sardonic glint reflected back from his dark gaze, and she was gratified he was comfortable enough to tease her. "I had thought of that, but the charm only lasts so long, and it tends to wear off at exactly the wrong time." He opened his mouth, and she interrupted him. "And I'm not handing over all my bras for someone else to charm, either."
"Perhaps a trip to Diagon Alley would be in order."
Hermione felt her cheeks redden, but she refused to give in. "I only have about ten Galleons to spend, sir. I cannot afford to go on a shopping spree. I only need a few casual clothes, and some modified school uniforms."
"I will pay for anything you might need, Miss Granger," Snape volunteered in a repressive voice. When she tried to protest, he insisted. "I have more money than I need or could possibly spend in a single afternoon. You could not bankrupt me with a year of such excursions."
"You've never seen me shop, Professor Snape. I assure you I could." A slight smile crossed his face, and she was ridiculously glad to see it.
"Please," he added in a low voice. "Allow me to do this for you."
"All right," she said softly. "Would this weekend be too soon?"
Madame Pomfrey answered the question, although her expression showed she was less than enthusiastic for the idea. "Actually, Miss Granger, it might be prudent to plan this expedition on a weekday morning. No students will be wandering the halls to see Severus and yourself leaving Hogwarts, and there will be fewer people in Diagon Alley to bear tales to those who were better left in the dark about his recovery."
"I agree," Snape added. "Will you be devastated to miss Potions class tomorrow morning?"
Hermione raised an eyebrow in surprise. Two of his droll comments in as many minutes, and the last one nearly an outright joke.
"I'm sure I shall bear the disappointment, Professor," she said stoutly. The corner of his mouth twitched.
The next morning Hermione dutifully picked at her breakfast and complained to her fellow Gryffindors about feeling ill until someone had suggested she go to the nurse, advice she had taken immediately. Madame Pomfrey had then sent a note to Professor Cluny, stating Hermione was unwell and would not be in class that morning. She'd left Hermione to make her way to the unused portrait gallery to wait for Snape to appear once the classes had begun.
At the end of the corridor outside the Hospital wing, a pokey flight of stairs led unevenly up and in the opposite direction of the wing, eventually opening into a long gallery at the corner of the castle. Snape had not exaggerated; the portraits in the hall featured stern-faced witches and wizards of indeterminate age, all of whom looked as though they'd just bit into a particularly vile flavored Bertie Botts Every Flavor Bean.
Shivering slightly, Hermione wrapped her cloak tightly around her and wandered down the length of the room. She had discarded the heavy scholastic robes with the distinctive Gryffindor emblem that would instantly let every person in Diagon Alley know she was skipping school. Instead she wore a set of plain robes in nondescript blue she'd bought for functions that were not dress but where her school uniform was inappropriate. They were tighter than they were last year, if more comfortable than her outgrown school uniform, as there was no waistband to constrict the undeniable swelling. It only stuck out a few inches, but was undeniably a pregnant belly.
The house elves had obviously neglected the place for some time; it was musty and stale and barely warmer than the late February winter outside. Cobwebs draped the frames and the cold iron chandeliers were caked with ancient wax drippings. The only signs of disturbance were the footprints of a man's heavy boots in the dust. Cold and just a bit nervous, she began to follow the trail in the path scuffed through the heavy dust on the floor as she waited for Snape to appear.
"Whatever has you so wound up so early in the morning, Miss Granger?" came a voice from behind her. When she turned, Snape stood in the stairway entrance, a heavy gray cloak over one arm.
"Would you believe I'm feeling guilty about not feeling guilty?"
"I beg your pardon?"
Hermione could not help but laugh. "I think I'm getting used to the travails of subterfuge, Professor. Before this, I would have been in hives at the thought of skiving off class for a shopping trip."
"I would have thought Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter would long ago have broken you of your nerves, Miss Granger. Surely they have dragged you into more exotic escapades before this. I seem to recall an episode regarding the Astronomy Tower and a baby dragon, if I'm not mistaken?"
She smiled, but kept her lips firmly sealed against either confirming or denying his jibe, and he bowed mockingly as her silence.
"Ah, well. Perhaps I was mistaken," he mused. "Evidently you were the voice of reason, and did your best to prevent those two from breaking every rule known to this establishment."
"Of course, Professor," she agreed blandly, and it was his turn to smile.
"Shall we, Miss Granger?"
He offered his arm, and after a moment's hesitation, she took it. He seemed to have second thoughts about his action, but as she did not refuse, slowly relaxed and led the way down the stairs, through a secondary corridor and out a little-used door, one she had never seen before. It opened onto a narrow lane between the castle proper and the tall stone walls that surrounded Hogwarts closely on this side. The overhanging trees on were bare, and leaves scuttled under their feet as they walked. Here and there patches of the last snowfall lay in drifts against the wall. In just a short while, they rounded the corner to see the broad lawn open before them, with the main gates just ahead.
Once outside the gate, Snape led her just a few yards further, then turned to her.
"Give me your hands," Snape requested, holding out his own. "I'll Apparate us to the taproom at the Leaky Cauldron."
"I thought we'd use a portkey," Hermoine said, confused and a little alarmed.
"I happen to be very good at Apparating, Miss Granger. You can trust me." His expression closed down, and Hermione had no trouble imagining to what use he'd put his skill in tandem Apparating while in Voldemort's service.
"I trust you," she told him simply, and put her cold bare fingers in his.
His dark eyes pinned her for a long moment, then his hands tightened on hers and he uttered the short spell that Apparated them to Diagon Alley.
*****
High above the rest of Hogwarts, Poppy Pomfrey accepted a cup of tea from Dumbledore and tutted fretfully as she watched two small figures walking out the main gates.
"I really don't know what you think you're doing, Albus. Severus is physically recovered, but he's not up to handling any serious trouble. What are you thinking of, letting him escort Ms. Granger this way? I could have taken her just as well. It's just plain cruel, having them spend time together."
"They spend time together in your laboratory, Poppy," Dumbledore answered blandly. "Surely this cannot be any worse."
Poppy eyed him suspiciously. "What are you up to, Albus?"
"Nothing, I assure you. Simply letting nature take its course."
"Nature has already taken its course, and Miss Granger is the worst for it. How ever will she provide for a child, on her own? Her family might take her in, but mark my words, unless Severus takes some responsibility for his actions, she'll have a hard road of it."
"Severus Snape has taken more responsibility for his actions than any wizard I have ever known, Poppy," Dumbledore commented quietly. "And he's paid a higher price for it. It is my fondest hope that this entire situation might lighten his load, not increase it."
Poppy Pomfrey gave a small, lady-like snort, but did not reply.
"Who was it bullied him out of his depression, Poppy? Nothing you or I did made one jot of difference. A few sharp words from Miss Granger and he had a new will to live, if only to once more take house points from her."
"Don't be melodramatic, Albus. Severus responded to the potion, not the brewer."
The headmaster nearly snorted in his tea as Poppy echoed his very own words back to him. "I'm sure you know best," he said simply, and offered her another biscuit.