At an uncharacteristic loss for words, Snape led the Headmistress and their son down to his chambers. Hermione seemed lost in thought, so Severus sat with James next to him on the sofa, and began to read a book that the two of them had been working on together, The Little Prince. James yawned a few times, and before the next paragraph was read, his head drooped against his father's shoulder. Feeling that unfamiliar surge of fatherly affection again (who ever would have guessed? It was truly the shock of his life), Severus picked the boy up and carried him into the spare room he had set up with a bed for just this occasion. He untangled the boy's arms from his neck, brushed back the hair that was so much like his own, and smiled..another unfamiliar sensation that would take some getting used to. The small wonder that was James brought out pieces of Severus Snape that even he did not realize were possible, much less actually there in the first place yearning to be released.
He returned to his sitting room, where she had opened a bottle of his wine and conjured a couple of glasses. Pouring each of them a rather full glass, she lifted the glass in a toast. Her voice was clear, unwavering, and bright as she toasted simply, "To the one who helped me find my voice again. Thank you."
For the second time that night, it was all he could do to keep from gawking at her. "I did no such thing; what are you on about?"
"I am no longer afraid, Severus, and I intend to live my life in spite of my handicaps rather than hiding behind them as I've done for years. I stopped teaching, stopped talking, kept leaning on others rather than listening. I thought I couldn't hear, you see, but I was quite mistaken. I can. Not in the conventional sense, of course, but I've realized that what I've lost is rather minor and easily overcome. I made it into a large obstacle. When Dumbledore damn near forced me to take this job, I was irked at his meddling and felt duty-bound rather than any real sense of challenge or joy. Now, I have to admit that he had my best interests at heart."
Snape said nothing, trying to squash his familiar and uncomfortable feelings for her, but finding it harder by the minute to do so.
"It took me a while to finally see the grand picture in all this, but when I saw that young version of Tom Riddle with that ludicrous hat on his head tonight waiting to fulfill his destiny as a pawn in the Game, I could view the whole thing with more clarity than at any point in the last few years. We can't run from the past. I need to charge forward into the future, as I did when I was younger. I've been hiding. I dug my heels in when I became disabled. I withdrew from nearly everyone but a child, a ghost, a house-elf, and a handful of geographically distant friends. I'm through with feeling sorry for myself and I won't be mute, ever again. I *could* speak, I was simply afraid. I *could* hear, by virtue of the ability to read lips and facial expressions and body language - something most hearing people won't ever master as well as I. If you hadn't brought me out of my shell by your actions in the last few days, I wouldn't have been able to speak tonight in front of everyone. But thanks to you, it wasn't even an effort; I knew you were there supporting me.
These are extraordinary times; we're facing He Who Will Not Be Defeated and his ill-begotten progeny, and yet we have such strength on our side that I know we will prevail. I won't be a weak link in needless anguish, and I feel I have you to thank."
This was ludicrous, of course. He had nothing to do with her sudden turn around; they'd been professional and courteous to one another after the first weekend she was back, but there hadn't been anything special about their conversations, which had almost exclusively centered around Thomas Riddle, Voldemort, and the mundane tasks for back-to-school. Nothing special, really, other than the fact that she watched him carefully so as not to miss a nuance, and she spoke to him when no one else had heard her voice for years.
"We've been given an opportunity tonight, Severus, with the hat's unusual decision. Voldemort's plans are already going awry, you can bet on it, and he will now be around people for perhaps the first time in his life that are not looking for anything from him other than honesty, bravery, and friendship. It's our job to guide these children, not force the issue. And we can start by setting an appropriate example at all levels of the faculty and staff." She was all business again, which made him feel a twinge of regret. The tables had truly turned; he could remember when this woman was his wide-eyed young student, and now she was the one in charge. Somehow, this didn't make him feel at all put-upon as he had expected it might.
"Hermione," he began, unsure of himself, "I am flattered. I..."
She waved a hand dismissively. "I'm not spouting platitudes. You know me, I was never one for that."
His Inner Bastard had gone strangely silent.
"You're a good man; I never realized how good until I saw you with our son. I had cursed you many a time, and you probably deserved it. But I am confident that with you here, James will become a good man as well. I am proud he is your son, Severus, and I thank you." She took another swig of wine, feeling it in her toes, and smiled. "Don't worry, I won't throw myself at you. The past is the past and I'm looking forward, now. I don't know where that path leads, but finding myself again and learning to live with what life has handed me is an evolving process in which I've only had the first of many epiphanies, I assure you. I think I'm happy, for the first time since I moved to New York, and I just wanted to give you some credit because I know you have been engaging in your peculiar self-loathing ritual. Let it go. You were an unbelievable bastard, but I had culpability in the past too. It's time for a fresh start."
She clearly had no idea that the words she delivered so blithely were having such an impact on Severus, other than his inability to form a coherent sentence. He simply closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, trying to process what she was attempting to tell him, and failing.
She smiled, seeing his consternation. "There's nothing to figure out, Severus. No hidden agenda. I'm not Dumbledore, but I know how we need to play the Game and whatever happens in our personal lives, so be it. As long as our son remains safe, and Voldemort's son is not a threat, our lives will have come full circle. And no, the Spirit isn't speaking through me today. I haven't heard a whisper from her in the last few weeks...I've come to understand that I don't hear from her when she thinks things are going right. I have to believe, then, that we're on the right track."
Severus finally found himself. "So then, the insufferable know-it-all Hermione Granger blesses the rest of us with her vocalizations...oh, how I relish this moment..."
She laughed, a genuine, infectious, damn-it-all-but-she-was-sexy-and-this-wasn't-supposed-to-happen-again laugh. "There's the Severus Snape I know and love. We'll be all right, all of us, as long as you're a son of a bitch. It lends normalcy to an otherwise very strange situation."
She stood up then, and he quickly stood as well. "I suppose I could carry James back up to his room, then, now, if there's nothing else on your mind...?"
"Oh!" he exclaimed, startling her. "The Riddle Diary. There is something in there that I think we overlooked; it was cryptic, but the more I read it, the more I began to understand. It's about her obsession with a cure for her deafness; I think she was on the right track when she died, and I do believe her grandson is the key. But asking what is required of Voldemort...well, it could never come to pass."
Hermione's eyebrows raised. "But Voldemort isn't the only Tom Riddle, anymore, and...?"
"Very perceptive, Hermione. I think that our young reluctant Gryffindor could play a part in restoring your hearing, if Madam Riddle's research was as accurate as it seems to be."
"Assuming I'm even interested in pursuing that route, you mean." Hermione had suddenly turned hard. Snape realized that after her epiphany, coming to terms with her deafness, that she might suddenly feel reluctant about a cure. It was a fairly common reaction, surely; the devil you know, rather than the devil you don't.
"If you'll grant me leave to conduct some research...you may not be interested, but this could be a significant contribution to healing others with magical maladies that affect the senses. I believe the old woman was on to something." He knew appealing to her pragmatic, all-in-the-cause-of-science self would allow him to proceed. The effort paid off when she nodded, once, and sank back down in the chair, her legs suddenly failing her.
"Are you all right?" He sank to his knees next to her.
She closed her eyes for a second. When she opened them again, she put her hands on each side of his face, hovering near to her chair.
"You always know the right way to appeal to me, don't you? You won't let me run from anything and you're going to make me stick with the reinvented brave Gryffindor Headmistress, aren't you?"
He smiled for the first time that evening, and took her hands in his. "I owe you that much, as insufferable as Gryffindor Headmasters are. I have an enormous amount of catching up to do. But I confess that my reluctance to consort with Gryffindors is sorely tested by you, Hermione Granger. I even made my peace with Black yesterday."
Her eyes opened wider. "Really? Will miracles never cease?" Her lips parted again to speak, and then she hesitated, obviously pondering something, but not wishing to share it. He waited, stroking her palm absently with his thumb; marveling that after all he had done to be stupid, that she was sharing his wine and his company again. It was something too precious to let go this time. He'd been given a second lease on life, and Sirius Black, Spirit, and Ghosts be damned, he wasn't going to push her away again.
She stood, abruptly releasing his hands. "I should be getting back. I'll just go and collect James, shall I?"
"Stay." There was a note of desperation in his tone that she would never hear.
The brave Gryffindor cradled his cheek with her hand, knowing how much they both needed what he was offering. There wasn't a hesitation for her, really, other than the gnawing guilt over Sirius Black in the back of her mind. Sirius had been there for her so many times, and while she was now putting the past behind her to walk on into the future, he deserved a clean break. But one night, before she talked to him...what would it hurt...
She'd been devastated by this man in front of her before...didn't that deserve a second look?
Not right now, she thought, as she walked into his arms.
~*~
Sirius Black sat in the shadows near the door to the Headmistress's suite of rooms, waiting for her to come back from her meeting with Snape. He'd watched her walk out of the Great Hall with narrowed eyes; despite his assurances to all and sundry that he was giving her space, jealousy was eating at him. He knew the "space" was something that Snape wouldn't give, especially with the all-too-convenient excuse of a child to bring them together.
He was aware it was a losing battle going in, but he'd be damned if he'd let Snape win so easily.
Much later, he started awake from uneasy slumber. He'd fallen asleep at some late hour, and was not sure if she had slipped past him into her chambers. She never would have seen him from his vantage point in the shadows in the hall beyond her door.
Did he dare knock? Had she ever returned? Surely...
Perhaps it was best not to know. He could make his move tomorrow; let her know how much he cared for her, and do his best to try and wrest control of her personal time from that infernal Slytherin in the dungeons. He'd allowed the man to make peace with him, but was under no illusion that they'd ever be actual friends.
Damn her for even considering going back to that bastard. He'd known her heart belonged to Snape when he allowed himself to get too close. It was stupid that he had even gone there. She'd gone back in time to save him as a child, but times had changed.
Sirius, you'd go to the ends of the earth to defend her, but you'll never have her love while he's around. It's time to move on and let her live in peace.
He stalked down the corridor to his own rooms, unaware that he was being followed.
~*~
Thomas had been given clear instructions, and sullen as he was, he realized the power of the dark man who had lent his DNA to Thomas' heretofore miserable existence. He was nothing to look at, of course, but over his short eleven years Thomas had easily seen that looks weren't everything. The Headmistress was a young woman who was nothing special, until you saw the aura around her and heard her voice. He'd felt an eerie pull towards the woman, which felt warming and calm rather than repulsive as he thought it might be. His "mother", the woman who had adopted and then abused him as a child, was a cold woman with no particular redeeming qualities. It really didn't cause him any pain to think of her and her death; he'd felt nothing at all when they died, not even a hint of remorse at their passing. Once he'd been given to understand why his life had been so deliberately miserable, in preparation for his role as some kind of twisted anti-Christ in a war between the ubiquitous forces of Good and Evil, he didn't feel any compulsion to reach out to the man who had saved him. There was plenty of hate in his heart, and where any other feelings might dwell, a curious emptiness had reigned.
His attraction towards the warmth the Headmistress radiated was the first real positive emotion he could ever remember having. It startled and disquieted the normally dispassionate boy. Much of the tattered remains of his soul yearned for more of her presence, a word with her, her soothing demeanor washing over him and curing the deep wounds left by the absence of love in his young life. For an instant, she made him lose his steely resolve to see his father's plans through, sacrificing himself on the altar to assist the Dark Lord, such as he was in his current state, to rise again.
It would have been easy to follow the old man, he realized very early, for despite Thomas' insistence that power didn't matter, the bald fact was that it was seductive and dangerous. The more Voldemort told him about the Death Eaters and his grand plans for the world, the more Thomas resigned himself to the cause, if for no other reason than he couldn't see obvious alternatives. It wasn't until the Sorting Hat showed Thomas the first chink in Voldemort's armor, and he saw the subsequent brilliant and welcoming smile on the Headmistresses face -- a smile clearly meant for him, possibly the first genuine smile he'd seen in his life -- that he could grasp other possibilities.
His mind was that of a very intelligent but twisted eleven year old, to be sure - but even he could see the grand play, the dance that had existed since the dawn of time between the Bad Guys and the Good Guys. Half his obsession with the Beatles had been the irony of the Force-Of-Good Lennon's death at the hands of an evil, twisted man; the untimely death of the peaceful saint George Harrison to the insidious disease of cancer. He had, from an early age, found the devil's triumph over the angels seductive, subversive, and intensely disturbing. Now he was being asked to play the largest role in the final triumph of the worst Devil in an age. Up until that incident in the Great Hall, it all seemed worthy and the natural culmination of a life-long obsession with death and destruction.
Until the Gryffindors got him. The Headmistress, Professor Lupin, and that boy George Weasley. There was a triumph and an air of superiority in all of them, but a genuine interest in him and a trust he had never felt.
Deeply disturbing as all this was to Thomas, at the moment he immersed himself in the role of Voldemort's spy, tailing Professor Black. Voldemort's sources had revealed the little love triangle within the ranks at Hogwarts; Thomas was to ingratiate himself with Black, sowing discord and discontent as a wedge to create a rift in the power structure. Voldemort knew that Snape and the Headmistress were lost causes, but Black's interest in Granger could easily be exploited. He'd been in Azkaban, and was rumored to be quite unstable. And, being Potter's godfather and Lupin's best friend, he was in a position to deliver all the goods to Voldemort that he so craved. Black was the key.
Black had waited for hours outside the Headmistress's door, and then gone home. Not much to report, but it was a start, Thomas thought as he stole back to the Gryffindor dormitories, used the illegally obtained Time Turner to get back to a decent hour, and shed the even more illegally obtained Invisibility Cloak to calmly give the password to the Fat Lady. No one was the wiser, but he couldn't help but feel a tiny stab of conscience at the back of his head. These people had been nothing but kind, so far.
No, he thought. This is your destiny, you idiot. Don't falter now.
He squashed that last bit of thought, and retired to his new bed alongside George Weasley, who was already peacefully snoring with an arm thrown over a pillow, without a care in the world.
~*~
Hermione lay beside Severus, their bodies intertwined in a lovers' caress that was as unbearably tender as any they'd experienced. The years had fallen away for both of them as they reacquainted themselves. Any misgivings were erased within their lovemaking, which was remarkably unhurried after so much time apart.
He was holding her as if he didn't deserve this kind of reconciliation, but she kissed his worries away. Things were definitely looking up.