Author's Note: JKR owns the Harry Potter universe and the characters therein.  Anyone you don't recognise is from my imagination.

Thanks as always to my wonderful beta reader, OzRatBag2.  Please read "At Any Moment," her latest work, on Fanfiction.net.

Chapter 18:  Brotherly Concerns

Without realising what she was doing, Hermione wiped her eyes on Headmaster Dumbledore's robe.  She had torn into his office, shrieking, hysterical, and flung herself at the old man's feet, begging him to keep Severus Snape from ending his life.

Gradually, the story poured out:  Severus could not, would not keep her from accepting the offer from the Sorbonne.  Faced with losing Hermione to a brilliant career, he seemed to have abandoned his usually logical mind.  The pain was too much to bear.

"He – he said that if he were going, he could not ask me to wait for him.  But I will come back, I will come back to him!"  She buried her head in her hands.

"It's in the way of things," said Dumbledore gently, "that a long separation often sends people on separate paths.  Severus has lived a long life, he's travelled, and he's had several lifetimes' worth of experiences.  He knows that you've seen nothing of the world, and that this is your opportunity to learn about it.  He is ready to settle down and he thinks that you are not."  He patted her gently on the shoulder. "Come, child, sit on this chair."  He reached into the air and retrieved a tea tray with two cups and a pot shaped like a beehive.

Hermione rose from the floor and sat on the chair next to the Headmaster's desk.  "I want to settle down," she said dully.  "I want to go to France.  Oh, Headmaster, I want both.  More than anything, I want to be with Severus."  She accepted a cup of tea and held it in both trembling hands.

For a few moments she sat silently, sipping her tea.  Then, she set her cup down on the Headmaster's desk.  Tears welled up again, and she wiped them away with her sleeve.  "I'm used to being honest with myself," she said.  "I have no doubt that Severus cares for me, that he wants us to be together."  She bit her lip. "He hasn't asked me to marry him. It's the one concern I have, that if I stay, if I build my life around him, his work, his needs, that the commitment will be all on my side."

Headmaster Dumbledore stroked his long white beard.  "Dear child," he said softly, "Severus isn't going to kill himself.  If he hasn't done it until now after all he's endured, he will never do it.  He respects all life, including his own, and he won't take it."  Albus stood then and walked around his desk. He held out his hand, and Hermione rose from her chair to find herself enveloped in a comforting hug.  "He is terrified of losing you."

"I still have to figure out what I should do," she whispered into the tickly white beard.  Dumbledore put her back, and patted her cheek.  "You know what you have to do," he said.  "Give Severus some little time to sort out what he has to do.  You know, there are no such things as coincidences, and the gods always know what must be done.  Trust them."

Hermione kissed the old man's cheek and turned to go.  "Headmaster," she said, "thank you."  Fawkes darted his magnificent tail and called to her.  She walked over to his perch and stroked the soft feathers at his nape.  He put his head sideways and clucked at her.  Then, he rummaged on his back with his beak, straightened and offered her one of his tail-feathers.   "Oh, Fawkes," she whispered, a tear rolling down her cheek.  The phoenix collected up the tear with his curved beak, emitted a loud squawk and settled down again on his perch. 

Hermione paced along the corridor, head down.  She didn't see Harry until he was even with her, and had put his arm around her shoulders.  She leaned her head against him.  "Harry, please talk some sense into me," she said.  "I've lost all of mine."  They then turned into the corridor leading to Gryffindor Tower.

Two hours later they were still in the Common Room.  Harry had found some chocolate frogs and was sharing them with Hermione.  She was exhausted, and Harry rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.  "Hermione," he said, "you're the one with the – what is it called? Superior reasoning skills.  There's got to be a way to resolve this situation."   He rolled the foil covering from the last chocolate frog in his fingers.  Then he sat back abruptly, as if he had received a blow to the head.

He leaned forward and took Hermione's hands.  "It's a research program, isn't it?"

"Yes…"

"And it's Wizards and Muggles working together, right?"

"Yes, but…"

"If it wasn't crushingly important, they wouldn't.  We go our way and they generally go theirs."

Hermione thought.  "It's only recently that we've even acknowledged Muggle medicine.  Come to think of it, when Severus was sick with that awful 'flu two years ago, and he was allergic to porcupine quills, which are in almost all of our curative potions, I had to owl my Mum to get me the medicine that cured him."

"So," Harry replied, "They're going to need experts from both worlds.  And we –" he looked at her pointedly – know one of the wizarding world's acknowledged masters, don't we?"  Hermione's hands clenched around his, her eyes widened.

"Why didn't they send for him?"

Harry shrugged.  "If I were him, I'd be pissed," he said. He leaned forward again.  "I'll bet he is pissed.  He loves you, Hermione, and he's proud of you, but he probably isn't even aware that he's been passed over.  If he wasn't distracted by the threat of losing you, he'd be raging up and down the corridors, bellowing about the French and raising Hades because they didn't approach him."

Hermione felt a smile push at her lips.  The image of the Potions Master stalking back and forth, clenching his fists, roaring insults, turning mid-stride, his cloak billowing theatrically about him, was a familiar one.  "That's Severus Snape, spot on," she said. Her eyes narrowed.  "Why didn't they call him, indeed?" she said.  "I hope it isn't too late to see Professor McGonagall.  Come on," she said, and dragged Harry over to the fireplace.  She threw in a handful of Floo powder.  "Professor McGonagall," she said.

A moment later Minerva McGonagall's head appeared in the flames. "Children?" she said.  "It's late, why aren't you asleep?"

"Can we come to see you, Professor?  It's critical," stated Hermione.

"Very well," said the Transfigurations Professor.  "I will see you on Gryffindor Tower balcony; it's a warm night.  Fresh air always helps."

*`*

This was the one place he felt safe.  Severus Snape slouched in his desk chair.  That lump of ice that used to reside in his soul, the icy stone he thought had been melted by the light and warmth that was Hermione Granger, sat in his chest.  It was so cold that he could not get warm, and he had given up trying.  Even his fingertips looked pinched, as if suffering from hypothermia.

For hours he had tried to calm his mind, to use the precise and rational thought processes he relied upon to order his world.  For hours he had been unable to do so, returning again and again to the cramped, cold, lightless cell in which his spirit dwelt before the Mother had dragged him into the sunlight.

What was to be done?  Was there anything to be done?  He rejected out of hand asking Hermione to refuse the opportunity to participate in what was surely one of the greatest humanitarian efforts ever mounted.  He had been trying to work up the courage to ask her to be his wife, but there was still a remnant of his own self-loathing that crept up to his ear and hissed, 'Marry you, you loathsome reptile? Can you bear it when she responds to your proposal by laughing in your face?'  Better, indeed, had he – but then, it had started years ago, had it not, when she forced him to see her brilliance, her insight, her awesome mind, and her monumental Gryffindor compassion?  Hermione, the heart of his soul…

There was a tap on the door.  Snape looked up in surprise: he had warded not only his doors, but most of the corridor leading to them as well.

He rose and strode to the door, pulled it open.  There stood Harry Potter.  He held a Phoenix feather in his hand. So that's how he got through the wards…

"Potter!" he breathed.  "What the Devil are you doing here?" Potter, of all people – to knock on his door, to approach him voluntarily?  It had not happened in seven years; what could he possibly want now?

Potter looked up at him.  Damn, the prat still looked eleven years old.  "Well? What is it, Potter?  Can you speak, or are you determined to enrage me by standing there speechless all night?"

Potter drew a long breath.  "Professor Snape, I need to speak to you on a most important matter," he said.  "I promise I will be brief."

This was a surprise.  Potter, speaking as if he were an adult? He is an adult, Snape reminded himself.

"Well, what is it, then?  I have neither time nor patience to listen to your twaddle."

"May I come in?"  Snape stood aside, and Harry entered the Potions office.  This is the first time I've been here and it has nothing to do with detention, he thought.  I hope it has nothing to do with detention.  "May I sit down?"

Snape glowered at him.  "Dammit, Potter, this is not a social call," he grated.  "Sit." He pointed to a chair in front of his desk. "I give you thirty seconds to state your business and get out."  He slammed his hourglass upside down.

Harry had never seen the Potions Master look so awful, and he had seen him after brutal sessions with Voldemort, when he was close to death.  The man was a sickly shade of green, his greasy hair clung to his gaunt cheeks, and Harry noticed that his hands were shaking badly.  Hermione had not exaggerated; he did look as if he were preparing to end his miserable life.

Nevertheless, he was here on an errand, and discharge it he must.  He sat up straight and drew a deep breath.  "Professor Snape, Hermione has no brothers.  She thinks of me as family; she's got no-one left.  In lieu of a brother, I'm asking you what your intentions are towards her."

Snape gaped at him. "What – what—" he stammered.

Harry drew himself up.  "Hermione loves you.  She's said she would marry you, but you haven't asked her to.  If you're going to spend your lives together, you should marry.  Is that your intention, sir?"

"What—how—" Snape gasped like a beached fish.

 "Since I'm as much of a brother as she can ever have, Hermione confides in me.  I know about the invitation from the Sorbonne.  I know how much she cares about you.  I also know that they should have called you, the Wizarding world's top Potions Master.  And for all I know, they might just do that.  Or – " he paused, watching the puzzlement in Snape's eyes, "you might offer your services.

"If you're going to go to France, that would make a nice honeymoon."  Harry edged back in his chair.  Had he gone too far?  Snape was still staring at him, his mouth open.  He looked for all the world as if he had been hit upon the head by a bludger.

Harry leaned forward again, with concern.  Was the Professor all right?  What would Dumbledore do? Harry thought.  He had been of half a mind to bring the Headmaster along, but upon thinking it through, he decided that he had to do it himself.  It was about time that he got over his childhood terror of Severus Snape, Potions Master of Hogwarts.

Harry stood up.  He pulled his wand from his sleeve. Hot chocolate, he thought, visualising the rounded cups, the fragrant steam, and the puffs of whipped cream… A tray with a chocolate pot, two mugs and a plate of biscuits presented itself to his hand.

Carefully, Harry set the tray down on the Professor's desk.  He poured chocolate into the cups, and offered one to Snape.  "Chocolate helps, sir," he said.

Snape looked him up and down, and accepted the cup.  Then he sat back, and a long sigh escaped his lips.  "Potter," he said wearily.

The sand in the hourglass had run out.  "I know I'm out of time—" he started to say.  Snape waved his hand at him.  "Do shut up for a moment, Potter," he said. He sat back in his chair and tasted his chocolate.  His mouth turned down: "Desapparate whipped cream," he said, and the whipped cream obligingly vanished.

Snape fixed Harry with an obsidian stare.  "Said she'd marry me, did she?  Or is that what you think she should have said?"

Harry's chin jutted up and his brows drew down. Miserable git, he thought.  "I asked her, point blank: 'Do you want to marry him?' and she said, 'Yes, I do.' She's got a mind of her own, you know."

Snape took in a deep breath.  "Yes, I know, Potter. So you thought you'd come here and defend her honour."

Harry frowned.  "I'm asking about your honour, Professor. Do you want to marry her?" Harry noticed that the Potions Master's hands were shaking.  Quickly, he took the chocolate cup from Snape before it spilled all over the papers on the big oak desk.  Snape pushed back his desk chair, bent over, and buried his face in his hands.

Oh, gods, Snape, upset?   Harry quickly walked around the desk.  Without stopping to consider the effect of his actions, he put his hand on the Potions Master's shoulder.  Snape was trembling!  He sat up, and looked at Harry.  A universe of sorrow revolved in those black eyes.

"Want to marry her?  Yes, I want to marry her.  I want to spend whatever is left of my life with her, to never be away from her, and gods help me, if I have to have you for a brother-in-law, it could have been worse, I suppose; it could have been Weasley."

"You don't have to be away from her.  I'll bet the Sorbonne would be honoured to have you work on the project."   Harry walked around the desk and sat down again.  "Sir, I know that you've made a commitment to Headmaster Dumbledore to help to bring Voldemort down permanently.  You would always honour that commitment, no matter where you were."

Snape stood up and stretched with both hands at the small of his back.  Harry, never having seen the man exhibit any sign of vulnerability, was astonished.  Snape regarded him with his trademark serpentine glare:  "I have vertebrae like every other human, Potter, much to your evident surprise," he drawled. "And those vertebrae are aching, as is my head from having spent – what? A quarter of an hour with you, without levying detention or worse upon your unworthy Gryffindor head.  Get out of my sight, Potter, I have some thinking to do."

He pointed Harry towards the door.  Impulsively, Harry grasped Snape's hand in his.  "Thank you for taking the time to speak with me, Professor," he said.  "And, Professor Snape – if you want to practise proposing –"

"Get OUT!" Snape roared.