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 19: A Proposal

Brigit McDiarmaidh and Dame Angharad stood together, leaning on the ledge of the balcony of Ravenclaw Tower, enjoying the cool, soft night breeze.

"Such a moon," remarked the red-haired druid.  "'Tis a lovers' moon, so round and full."  She stretched out her hand towards the glowing orb.  Moonbeams and little morsels of light darted around her fingers.

 "Stubborn is that Severus to the end!" she fumed.  "For all the effort we've put into that man, 'twas evidently not enough; his spirit is not healed."

"I think not, Brigit," said the Green Lady.  "He has come far indeed, but 'twas too soon for him to bear all the circumstances.  I did not foresee that Hermione would be called away.  He is heart-broken; he fears the worst."

"Fear clouds the mind's eye," remarked Brigit.  "Have ye seen him – skinny and wretched, no sleep has he had either?" 

"He is afraid of the dreams," said the Green Lady.  "They have returned.  He is like a little child; we must remind him to nourish himself, to sleep – and, perhaps, to comfort him."

Brigit compressed her lips.  "Ye spoil him, Angharad," said she.

'Would ye box his ears yet again?"

"Worked the first time," Brigit said stoutly.

An hour and a half earlier, Harry and Hermione had knocked on Professor McGonagall's door.  She opened it for them, and led them into her tiny, cluttered sitting room.  McGonagall herself wore a tatty old plaid housecoat, incongruous backless high-heeled pink satin mules on her feet, and her head was tied up in a kerchief.  Hermione thought she saw traces of something pale green on the Professor's forehead and jaw.

"Come in, come in," said Minerva McGonagall.  "I don't think anyone's going to get much sleep until this situation is resolved.  Hermione, first of all – " she patted the girl's hand – "Severus isn't going to kill himself.  He is, however, sinking himself into a particularly self-indulgent morass of fright and anxiety."

Harry sat down on the settee, pulling Hermione with him.  He put his shoulder firmly against hers.  "Professor McGonagall, what can I do to help?"

The Professor looked at him with an appraising eye.  "Be a friend to both," she said simply.  "You can't help either Hermione or Severus to solve their problems, but you can be a good support when you're needed."

Harry twisted the hem of his robe in his hands.  That was not enough for him.  I've got to help her – I did what I could with him, but who knows what he'll do, if anything..  Something has to be done.

"I should go to him, Professor," Hermione said.  "He has to know that I won't leave him."

"Then you've made your decision?"

Hermione hung her head.  "No," she said, almost inaudibly.  Tears rolled down her face.  Harry handed her his handkerchief.  Abruptly, he sat up straight and looked at her. 

"What if he came with you?"

"What?"  Hermione and Professor McGonagall said it at the same time.  "Come with her/me?  How?"

Harry raised his chin.  "Headmaster Dumbledore says, 'Where there's a will, there's a way,' he said.  "It's a big research project, isn't it, Professor?  Experts from all over the worlds will be working on it."

Minerva's eyebrows rose until they almost touched the edge of her kerchief.  "Mr. Potter," she said warningly,  "If you are intimating what I think you are…"

Harry shrank away from her.  "Professor, please, I don't mean to speak out of turn, but …" He sat up and took a breath. "Somebody's got to try." 

"Well," said Minerva, "that somebody had better be me, not you, Harry.  You should stay with Hermione, that is—"

"It's certainly worth a try," said Hermione.  She leaned her head on Harry's shoulder.  "But Severus has to want it.  I'll talk to him."  She sank her head down on her knees.  When she raised her face, it was drawn and pale.  "Oh, gods.  I'm scared," she said, and wept again.

"You'll talk to no-one tonight," stated Minerva.  "You'll stay right here, child.  You can sleep on the settee; it's roomy enough, and I want to keep an eye on you.  Accio Crookshanks," she said, and an orange bundle of fluff landed on Hermione's lap, hissed to express his annoyance with the transportation arrangement, circled twice and settled himself into a neat coil, purring.

"I'll – I'm not sure what I'm going to do, but I'm going to do it," said Harry.  He kissed the top of Hermione's head.  Then, tentatively, he put out his arms to Professor McGonagall, and got a tight hug and three knocks on the back.  He was reluctant to tell anyone what he had already done, that he had bearded Snape in his den, and that he had no idea if it had done any good at all.

"The gods speed you," the witch called after him.

*~*

The morning sun shot a golden beam through Severus Snape's bedchamber window.  The Potions Master was still sitting in his desk chair, his head in his hands.  Imagine, a midnight social call from Mr Harry Potter…Not only had it not been a social call, but Potter, unbelievably, had come up with a practical course of action.  Severus rose and stretched his cramped back.  In another hour, the wizarding community would be stirring, rising, getting ready to face another day.  He opened a folder on his desk and took out a sheet of parchment, an envelope, and a blotter.  He selected a quill, opened his inkwell, and began to write in his precise, crabbed hand:

Monsieur Henri Leboeuf-Schramm

Ecole Beauxbatons

Paris, France

Dammit, Leboeuf spoke English as well as he did; no need to struggle along in the miserable language.  Snape sighed.  Aside from handling a menu with a fair degree of competence, the furthest extent of his French was, "Ou est la toilette?" and "Donnez-moi l'addition, s'il vous plait." He took up his quill again, mentally reviewing the roster in the Owlery.

*~*

Hermione sat up on Professor McGonagall's settee.  The sun, peeping through large, fluffy clouds, streamed in through the mullioned windows.  Crookshanks sat on a windowsill, washing himself industriously.  Hermione noticed two small dishes on the floor next to a table: Leave it to Professor McGonagall to remember to feed the cat.

She rose and went into the Professor's small, tidy bathroom.  In half an hour she emerged, clean and dressed, her unruly hair bound back at her nape with a black ribbon. 

She went over to the window.  Crookshanks bumped his head against hers, and gave her The Tooth, the marking with special glands at the side of the mouth that cats only give to those they love.  She patted him, and then went over to her own room to collect her books.

The thought of breakfast made her slightly queasy.  I've got to see him before I do another thing, she said.  Resolutely, she set off for the dungeons.  Hopefully, Snape had released the wards.

She turned the corner towards the long staircase that led down into the dungeons, and found herself face to face with Severus Snape.  He looked terrible.  Her heart constricted with pity and fear.  To her surprise, he held out his arms to her, and she rushed into them.  She could do no more than whisper his name.

He stroked her hair and rested his chin on top of her head.  Then he put her back and looked at her intently.  "Come," he said.  He took her hand and put it on his arm, in the old style.  She looked at him curiously.  They turned around and headed for Dumbledore's office.  "Tootsie Rolls," said Severus, and the gryphon obligingly revolved.  They started up the spiral staircase.

"Does the Headmaster expect us?" Hermione asked.

"He does," said Severus gravely.  They were greeted by the sight of Albus Dumbledore rummaging amongst the scrolls and books in an overflowing bookcase.

"Sit down, sit down," he said, waving them towards chairs.  "Ah, Severus."  The old man sat down behind his desk, leaned forward and clasped his hands.  "Have you heard anything yet?"

"What?  Heard what?" Hermione questioned.  She looked at the Headmaster. Gods, he can be irritating, she thought.  He looked just like Crookshanks when he caught a field mouse.

The Headmaster settled his cap firmly on his white hair.  "Hermione, I realise you don't have the latest information," he said, his eyes twinkling.  "Severus, you must tell her."

"Tell me what?"  Hermione felt like screaming, like banging their heads together, then banging her own head against the nearest wall.  "What's happening here?"  Tears rose in her throat.  She was so sick of crying.  She appealed to Severus:  "Tell me!  Tell me whatever you have to say, anything is better than not knowing!" She steeled herself for the worst.

Severus took her hand, opened his mouth, and at that exact moment, there was a loud thump on the Headmaster's window.  They looked over to see a large white and grey owl perched on the windowsill.  Dumbledore opened the window.

The bird flew directly to Severus and dropped an envelope into his hand.  Then it pecked him sharply on the arm. "Ouch!" the Potions Master grated.  "Have you naught to feed the damned thing?"

The Headmaster chuckled.  "I don't think he'll accept anything less than foie gras," he said.   He waved his hand in the air, and a small bowl with neat slices of paté de foie gras appeared. The owl hopped over to it and began to feed.

Hermione was at the end of her patience.  She leaned over Snape's arm.  "Please, Severus, open it!" she cried.  He put his hand gently on her cheek.  Then he opened the envelope and withdrew the thick, creamy parchment.  He began to read:

 "Mon cher Professor Snape," it began.  Severus passed his hand over it, translating the text of the letter into English.  Hermione was practically in his lap; he put his arm around her, and together they read, "… Will be honoured greatly by your participation in this most worthy of efforts.  As you know, we have recently elevated Master Gaston Lachaise to the position of Potions Master, and he will be most pleased with the opportunity to serve at Hogwarts until your return, depending of course upon your approval."

Hermione thought she would faint.  She leaned back against Snape's shoulder. "What did you do?" she whispered.

Snape pushed an errant curl off her forehead.  "I owled a letter to an old colleague at Beauxbatons who heads the research project," he said.  "I reminded him that I had worked with him on a similar project quite a number of years ago, and I've  volunteered to work on this effort if he could find a temporary professor of Potions for Hogwarts during my absence."

Dumbledore beamed.  He took up a silver bowl shaped like a platypus:  "Lemon drop, anyone?"   He popped one into his mouth. 

"So you're going to France?"  Hermione asked.  She felt stupid and thick: what wasn't she understanding?

"Yes," said Severus.  "I am going to France.  With you.  We are going to France together, to work at the Sorbonne.  How is your French?"

Hermione's eyes rolled upwards in her head.  For the first time in her life, she swooned, in the arms of her love, no less.  Dumbledore hastened around his desk, looking frantically for smelling salts.  Severus wrapped her in his arms and held her to his heart.  Little by little, a smile touched his lips, and he closed his eyes.

*~*

It was only with great difficulty that Albus Dumbledore, that most well meaning of busybodies, restrained himself from bellowing, "And how is our loving couple this evening?" when Hermione and Severus sat down at the Masters' Table.  Hermione, although a graduate student, was not yet a Mistress, and so she sat in a guest's chair, with a low back.  Chatter went back and forth as usual as the dinner appeared on the tables.  Headmaster Dumbledore noticed that the lovers sat side by side, with great dignity, talking to others around them as well as between themselves. 

"Good manners will out," remarked Minerva.  "They look so sweet together, don't you think?"

"I hardly think 'sweet' is the right description for Severus, but I've never seen him look this relaxed," answered Dumbledore.  "It's about time."

Hermione served herself a small whole trout, nicely grilled.  She cut it open and prepared to pick out the bones.

"Allow me," said Severus. He passed his hand over the trout, his long fingers curling gracefully, and the skeleton of the fish rose entire out of the flesh and 'swam' through the air over to an empty bowl. There was applause from the other diners at the Masters' Table.

Hermione's eyes sparkled.  "That was lovely!" she exclaimed.  "Please try some of this trout," and she took a piece on her fork and offered it to him.  Severus opened his mouth, accepted the fish and chewed it thoughtfully. 

"Excellent," he said.  "You are ever thoughtful of me.  I suppose I shall become used to it."

"I hope so," said Hermione.  "I expect to spoil you rotten. If French cuisine is what it's rumoured to be, I'll get a little more flesh on your bones, while I'm at it."

He smirked.  "Rotten I am anyway, my dear, it will take little effort. Doubtless Dame Angharad will be pleased at your determination to feed me until I burst my buttons."  He looked at her.  "Hermione, I must discuss something with you, seriously."

"Very well, I'm listening," she responded.

"Hogwarts has been my home for most of my life, and Albus Dumbledore has been more than a father to me.  This is my family, even the worst of them, and they deserve my respect.  Albus, Minerva, Poppy, Filius, of course Hagrid – as I say, even Filch– have told me repeatedly that they want only to see me happy.  They've all suffered along with me, despaired as I despaired, and brought me back from the dead countless times.  Why, they've put up with my awful temper and meanness of spirit, and even-"

Hermione put her hand over his.  "Yes, Severus, I know.  It's not like you to blather on.  I think you're trying to say something.  What is it?"

He harrumphed into his napkin and took a long swallow of pumpkin juice.  Then he drew himself up and took her hand.  He leaned close, so only she could hear him.

"Trust you to cut to the heart of the matter, Hermione.  I believe that I am, erm, ready to make a commitment to lead a happy life."  He paused, watching her face.

"Well said," she replied.  "They're my family now, and they want to see me happy as well." She looked him directly in the eyes.  "I believe that we are ready to leave our sadness and our pasts behind us."

"Yes," said Severus.  "And since we will be travelling to Paris, I believe that new beginnings are appropriate before we commence work at the Sorbonne."

Severus stood, and carefully pushed back his chair.  He took Hermione's hand, and she rose, her heart in her mouth.  What now?

He led her around the table until they stood in front of it.  Then, in full view of the entire student body of Hogwarts, all of the masters, the kitchen elves, Mrs Susan Dowd and the castle ghosts (there was a loud whooshing, as the ghosts assembled on the ceiling), Severus Snape knelt on one knee in front of Hermione Granger.  He kissed her hand and looked up at her.  "Hermione Granger, will you marry me?"

Hermione knelt in front of him, holding tight to his hand.  In a clear, ringing voice, she said, "Yes, I will.   The more important question, Severus Snape, is, will you marry me?"

"Yes, I will," he answered loudly.

The students rose as one to their feet, cheering riotously.  "There's going to be a wedding!" shrieked Ginny Weasley.  "A wedding!  With bridesmaids, and fancy dress gowns, and dancing, and a chocolate cake, and—"

"Silence!" Headmaster Dumbledore held his wand to his throat, and his voice belled out over the enormous Hall.  "You'll have time enough to make all the noise you want soon enough!" The racket was ear-splitting, and shook the rafters as Severus kissed Hermione's brow.  They returned to their seats, shaking hands and accepting hugs from the Masters as they passed them. 

:"Albus, I don't think you're going to be able to establish order just now," cautioned Minerva.  Her eyes sparkled.  She rose from her seat, shook Severus' hand and hugged Hermione.  "Congratulations," she said. "I shall dance a reel at your wedding, if I can get this old codger out of his seat."

"Old codger indeed!" fumed Dumbledore. "Minerva, if your bunions will cooperate, we'll have ourselves a dance!"