The alarm wards on his door were activated, letting the reluctant Associate Headmaster know that his guest had arrived somewhat early. He opened the door, but did not see the person he was expecting.

"Snape," the visitor said with more than a hint of snarl.

"Black. To what do I owe this dubious honor? I'm afraid I have no bones to offer right at the moment…"

"I didn't come here to exchange the usual pleasantries, I assure you. It's about our Headmistress."

The look in Black's eye gave him away. Just like a canine, you could always read their emotions immediately; no pretense or coyness about them at all.

"I see. Do come in then."

How had Snape missed the signs before? He'd spent interminable hours with this idiot and his wolfish pal over the years. Was this a recent development?

"Damn you, Snape. I have spent the greater part of ten years trying to force Hermione to see reason and come back to you. I've spent the rest of it trying to get you to wake up and talk to her, and forcing myself not to reveal her secrets to you. I'm bloody tired of it."

Snape crossed his arms, and said nothing, waiting for the plot to develop further.

"I've come here to ask you to do one thing, and one thing only, Snape. Yes, yes, I'm aware there is a child involved here. I've been far more of a father to him than you would have had a prayer of being. You can play the father now, but you'll have plenty of catching up to do in that regard."

The heat of anger was rising in Snape's soul, and for a change he wasn't feeling much like holding his emotions in check. How dare this bastard tell him what kind of a father he might be when he hadn't even had a chance yet?

"Black, if you have a point, come to it. I am expecting the Headmistress any minute."

"Let her go."

Snape snorted derisively. "What gives you the right to tell me how to live my life?"

"I've fallen in love with her, you idiot, and I won't see you hurt her again. I've had to hold her while she fell apart enough times, and I'm done with that. If I hold her again, it is because she is with me and not because she is sobbing over what you, in your arrogance, have done to her."

Snape wouldn't admit that Sirius had poured salt on a fresh wound. He'd be damned if he'd let this idiotic Gryffindor tirade go unchecked, however. "I suspect that is for her to decide, and not you. And for your information, Black, you're not the only man who loves her."

"You've shown it so well over the years," Sirius snarled, sounding dangerously close to a man on the edge.

"I regret foolish choices I've made. The past is past, immutable."

"Let her go, then."

"So you can have her? Sorry, Black, I'll not participate in a pissing match over a girl with a Gryffindor again. This path is up to her, now, and no amount of meddling by you will make it otherwise."

"It will if you simply tell her you can't go back there." Black was sounding rather desperate. It was past time to end the conversation.

"It is none of your business, Black." Severus opened the door. "Good evening."

Sirius considered him for a minute, and then strode out the door without saying another word.

Well, Snape mused, if I was on the fence about letting Hermione back in, I think I've leapt over. As if I'd let Black have her.

He had to shake that train of thought off, and remind himself that as he had told Sirius, she wasn't just some prize to fight over.

Cocky son of a bitch, though. He wondered if Hermione knew how deep this ran.

~*~

Harry had shown up unexpectedly at her door, but Hermione suspected Sirius was in on the plot.

Harry, you know I adore Sirius, she scribbled. I have to figure this out with Severus first. Nothing else will satisfy the Spirit in this matter.

She was late, and started to suspect there were delaying tactics going on, because Harry kept covering the same ground with her about "moving on". I hate to be rude, but I'm late for dinner. You can stay here if you want. See you later.

Truth be told, the Spirit was irritating the hell out of her right now. She felt as if she had only minor control over her destiny, which was more than a little frustrating. As she mused, she ran headfirst into Sirius Black coming up from the dungeons. She had been right about Harry stalling her so that Sirius could go and confront Severus. How irksome.

"Uh…Hermione…" he began.

She took out her notepad. Save it. And stop trying to interfere. It's upsetting me.

He looked down at his feet, then back at her. "I'm sorry."

She nodded once at him, and then swept past. He watched her go and cursed himself, Snape, God or whatever part of it was in Hermione, and the whole ridiculous situation.

Time to collect Harry and go get deep into a bottle of whiskey down in Hogsmeade.

*~*

Hermione found Severus seated in his favorite armchair, staring at the small fire he kept lit to ward off the damp. The door had been ajar; he didn't seem to notice her approach. "Severus?" she said uncertainly, once again shy about her voice.

He turned, and looked at her with a bit of amusement. "I thought you were more of a cat person as a rule given your Animagus form, but perhaps I have been mistaken."

Her eyes rolled. "Clever. So you find you have competition, eh?"

"Is he?"

"Competition? Well, that remains to be seen, doesn't it?" She wasn't going to give her feelings away now. And to be quite honest, she still didn't know the answer.

"Would you like a glass of wine?" he said, trying to muster up the Congenial Host personality before the Jealous Prat personality took over. Really. What business did he have being upset that Black wanted her? It's not as if Snape owned her. He'd given up all rights to her seven years ago, and didn't want her back. Did he?

"Certainly, thank you." She settled into the opposite armchair, and for a moment allowed herself to revel in the familiarity of the scene. She'd spent many evenings curled up in this chair reading or talking. She remembered the crackle of the fire, the pages rustling, and the way his voice sounded. She brushed a tear away quickly before he could return.

After some good wine and a lovely dinner, they returned to the chairs for a nightcap. She was definitely starting to get a bit on the tipsy side, but was putting up a good front. As usual, he was completely unreadable.

"It was a nice dinner, almost like old times. Thank you for inviting me down, even though I suppose I was actually the one who suggested this." She betrayed none of the emotions that had been held in check all evening long, but the more wine she had the harder it was to ignore the insistent voice of the Spirit that was goading her to break through his barrier and go after him.

He was having a battle of his own. The more time he spent in her company, the worse things seemed to get. She had seemed to forgive him too readily, to slip back into old habits too quickly. Here she was sitting in his armchair in front of the fire as if time hadn't passed at all. He'd been the cause of a fair amount of misery in her life and yet in that Gryffindor way, she looked past it in favor of working with him, and voluntarily spending time in his company. Appalling, really, that she could be so forgiving.

There was a certain amount of self-preservation involved, he supposed, given the news of Voldemort's young clone coming to Hogwarts. She needed him to protect their child. That really must be the linchpin that was overriding her common sense to stay away from him. Surely she had such tight control over her Spirit that she wouldn't find herself longing for the renewal of old, more familiar, acquaintances with him.

Suddenly, however, he had to know.

"So, back to a previous subject," he said, "Sirius Black."

Was he jealous? "Yes?"

"What is he to you?"

"Let's see. My best friend's godfather. A professor at this school. James' favorite uncle – can you imagine, having an uncle who can change into a dog if you are a six-year-old boy? A steady presence in James' life, he has been around a lot the last few years." He cringed a little bit, but it was something he couldn't help right at the moment.

"Now answer my question. What is he to you?"


"Kind of a personal question, don't you think? What business is it of yours?" She wasn't angry at all, but it might serve her well to needle him a bit.

"You're my son's mother. I'd like to know more about what…alliances…you've formed."

"Really? That's all? No jealousy?"

He tried to put on the Mask of Disgust, snorted, and rolled his eyes. "I'm merely curious. We were once lovers, Hermione, haven't you wondered about my life? I'm curious about yours."

"Of course I've wondered. Every single dreadful day that I wasn't with you, I thought of you. Sirius helped me through some tough, weak times when I missed you desperately and was shattered by your rejection of my correspondence. He is important to me."

"Then he is your lover?"

"I fail to see what business that is of yours. You cut me off, remember?" Now, she was starting to get a little angry, and could feel a heat rising in her cheeks.

"It is my concern," he said carefully, "because I need to understand any romantic entanglements I might be getting myself into if I ever decide to act on the waves of desire your Spirit is sending out."

It wasn't like him to play his cards so early in the game. Now, to decide whether to call the bluff.

"I haven't decided where my relationship with Sirius is going. I have unfinished business with someone else. After that, well. It's certainly a possibility."

"What could you possibly see in that nitwit?"

"What do I see in you?"

The Spirit piped up. Oh, for the love of Mike. Just kiss him. You can sort out the rest later.

Shut up, you bitch, was Hermione's reply. He'll have to make the first move.

Suddenly, he did just that. She found herself in his arms, his lips seeking hers in a mad rush of seven years' broken dreams and pure, unadulterated lust. Their tongues were intertwined, her hands in his hair and his on her waist. The heat generated was nothing short of explosive. There was an urge, nearly irresistible, to simply shed their clothes and go right at it on his sofa, and both of them were clearly contemplating it.

Whoa, a tiny little voice said in a far corner of her brain. What in the hell was going on?

Is this really us, or the Spirit manipulating us? It was the age-old question in their relationship, but suddenly it began nagging at her.

However, she might get laid for the first time in seven years. Time to stop overanalyzing?

They broke away at the same time, and stared at one another. He murmured something.

"I didn't see what you said."

"I said…oh, forget it. Your goddamned ghost again."

"Perhaps you're right, Severus."

He remained impassive.

She sighed. "Will you ever be ready to be with me? Ever? You weren't ready for it ten years ago, and I spent 3 years in a daydream only to be rudely awakened."

"Go running to Black, then," suddenly cold. All he wanted to do was take her off to his bedroom right here and now and end this doubt, these ghosts of the past.

"You insufferable lunatic. Is that really what you want?"

"What do you want, Hermione?" It wasn't a trick question.

She sank back into her chair. "I don't know. Let's spend some more time together, with James, all right?"

"So you can grade me on my performance as a father?"

Now she was really angry. "No, damn you. So I can have some time to sort out…I don't have to explain myself to you. Good night."

Suddenly, he had a fear that letting her go would prove to be a terrible mistake.

*~*

She ran out of the castle and into the night, down the path that would lead her to Hogsmeade. All that ran through her mind on the way down were thoughts of packing back up and taking James to New York. She'd been crazy to think that this would be home, that Severus would welcome her with open arms, that the last seven years could vanish like so much smoke.

Her Spirit chided her, letting her know it would take time.

Hermione screamed inwardly, I'm not interested. Let me go on with my life. Sirius would make a loyal Companion. Choose him.

And the one she'd sputtered a number of times over the last few years, I hate you and wish you'd go away.

The Spirit tutted. He's not the one. He doesn't make your blood boil, and he is not your son's father. A good man, to be sure, but there is only one man that is right for us. Don't make Narcissa's mistake. And I have news for you, sweetheart, you are stuck with me.

I'm going to find Sirius and take him back to my room and take him to bed tonight. What do you think about that?

You can sleep with him, but it won't change the facts.

Hermione had reached the outskirts of Hogsmeade in her blind raging at her inner Goddess, and stumbled the rest of the way to the Three Broomsticks. Sure enough, Harry and Sirius were at a table, into a bottle of Old Ogden's Firewhisky.

Harry saw her first and moved over to make room, calling for another glass from Rosmerta. "Didn't go well?"

She shook her head, unwilling to speak again. It was odd that speaking aloud only seemed comfortable in Severus' presence. She pulled out her pad of paper and wrote, Unfinished business, still.

Sirius didn't say anything at all. He was too happy to see her, and cursing himself at the same time because she was clearly in agony.

After downing a couple of shots in silence, she looked at Sirius. Take me home.

Harry cleared his throat. "I'll just…go on ahead…few things to do…getting late…" and made a quick exit.

Sirius looked at her and the words she'd written on her notepad, not sure what to believe or trust. Normally his instinct would be to take her home, do whatever she wanted, and ask questions later. He was a man, after all, and the object of his affection was looking at him rather hungrily asking him to come home with her. But he hesitated.

What was holding him up? She was wondering the same thing as she watched the war going on in his eyes. Had she suddenly sprouted a set of newt eyes? She was working on two rejections in one evening.

Standing and tossing enough gold on the table to cover the bill, he grabbed Hermione's hand and said, "I am taking you home."

Finally.

Sirius had probably had too much to drink, but Hermione was in worse shape. He had to hold her up while they stumbled back towards Hogwarts. As they made their way through the night, a lone dark figure leaned over the railing at the top of the Astronomy Tower in silence. He had, indeed, driven her to Black. How revolting, though he wasn't sure if he was upset more with her or with himself. He was angry with her for running off to the man who presented less of a challenge, but was curiously smug with the realization that she wasn't completely Spirit-driven. She had free will; perhaps he could put that one fear out of his mind, now.

*~*

She leaned against her doorframe, looking at Sirius, wondering what she had gotten herself into. She was determined to see it through, of course, if only to spite Snape and the damnable Spirit who was more of a curse than a blessing.

"Hermione," he said, tilting her chin up to look at him, and knowing this was going to simply kill him as he kissed her forehead. "You're home. I'm going to say good night. You need rest. We'll talk tomorrow, okay?"

Come in Sirius, she wrote. Don't be a prat. I don't bite.

"No. This isn't right. I want you to want me for me, not because you were rejected by that great Slytherin Idiot. It's costing me a lot, but let me tell you, a Gryffindor doesn't settle for scraps even if he is a dog at heart. You need time and space and I will be there no matter what happens. Alohamora, and good night." Her door opened at his command. Defeated, she backed in, eyes never leaving his, willing him to follow her.

His entire soul crying out otherwise, he turned and walked away.

She closed the door and turned around into arms of darkness standing outstretched. Startled, she looked up into Severus' face.

"I am sorry, Hermione. I…"

He never had a chance to finish his sentence. She stormed away into her bedroom and slammed the door with a finality that made him shudder.

She was sobbing and probably totally unaware that her crying was loud enough for him to hear outside the door. He hesitated, unsure if he should simply leave her to it or dare to enter her bedroom.

There was an owl tapping the glass outside her window that caught his eye. An owl, at this hour? He walked over to the window and let the creature in. It flew around his head and dropped a letter addressed to him.

Dear Professor Snape,

I received your message a day ago and wasn't sure how to advise, but I know that my time on this earth grows short so I'll do my best.

Please stop worrying about whether or not the Spirit is controlling her actions. It isn't. She controls her own destiny, but the Spirit guides her towards wise choices. It's up to her to accept or reject them.

Whether you like it or not, you are her Protector and Companion. It's not a title that can be disinherited, no matter how much you both may wish it at times.

I advise you to simply work in James' and Hermione's best interest; only in doing that will you find your own path in this. I know you hate to think of being manipulated, as you put it, but you ran away seven years ago and yet still find your feelings this confusing. That should tell you something.

I'm not sure what I can say that will illuminate you further, but it is imperative that James and Hermione stay strong in their power. Everything points to a large Evil Event on the horizon soon. I won't be alive to witness it. This is all I know. You have all the free will in the world, but know that unless you fulfill your destiny, there is much potential for things to go awry not only in your world, but mine as well.

Be well, my son.

The Mother Superior

He made a decision. He strode to her doorway, pushing it open and handing her the letter. He turned and began to walk out, but she caught him.

"Finish what you start, Severus Snape."