Chapter 5 - Will Wonders Never Cease?

It was quite early in the day and the crystal blue June morning was nearly perfect. In another few weeks, the night would no longer be able to keep the muggy summer at bay and the combined heat and humidity would be stifling, making everyone and everything lethargic and quiet, even in the earliest part of the day. In the still-cool air of this morning, however, sparrows, starlings and finches chirped and squawked raucously as they jockeyed for the best branches in the mulberry trees.

An odd feeling of disembodiment came over Hermione. She was walking the same route she took nearly every day to her favorite coffee shop where she would no doubt order her usual breakfast of sausages, eggs and chips from the kindly lavender-haired woman who'd taken her order every summer since she could remember. At the same time, the last man she would have ever imagined including in this familiar routine was right beside her, looking for all the world as if he had done this at least as often as Hermione had.

This incredibly powerful wizard, a one-time sworn enemy of all things Muggle, now appeared to be as comfortable here, on a suburban pavement, as he looked at Hogwarts or in Hogsmeade. Actually, she realized with a start, he looked slightly more relaxed.

It occurred to Hermione that other than the few occasions she had seen him at 12 Grimmauld Place, she'd never seen Professor Snape away from students. The harried weeks after Voldemort's downfall didn't really count since those days had been spent dealing with ceremonies, Ministry debriefings and seemingly endless interviews with reporters from every reputable (and not- so-reputable) media outlet of the wizarding world. No one except the preternaturally unflappable Albus Dumbledore had looked relaxed during that period.

Sneaking a glance at his calm and relaxed expression now, she wondered briefly if she had gone insane. The past 24 hours had been unbelievably - well, unbelievable. From the Headmaster's unexpected floo appearance yesterday morning to the incongruous sight of Hogwarts' feared Potions Master strolling down a pavement in black twill slacks, linen shirt and polished loafers, the entire situation seemed as unlikely as Dobby telling someone to sod off. Only the awareness of hunger twisting her stomach assured Hermione that she was in possession of at least some of her mental faculties.

Snape noticed the shallow wrinkle on Hermione's forehead that had always indicated a combination of concentration and worry. Sure enough, she was soon biting her lower lip; for the first time since he'd rung her doorbell last night, he recognized the Hermione Granger he had taught. He silently counted to himself, 'three, two, one.' and right on schedule, Hermione reverted to type.

"Professor," she began, "may I ask you a question?"

"I have never yet found a means of stopping you, Miss Granger." His words were classic Snape snark but, like his demeanor this morning, his tone was relaxed. The combination was nearly as shocking as if he'd been genuinely nice.

Hermione shot him another quick look that confirmed the unexpected truth: he was teasing her. After taking a moment to digest this, she remembered what she was going to ask. "Why are you here? I mean, why did you choose my house, Professor? Surely there were other options."

Pleasantly relieved and somewhat surprised that she had taken his gentle mocking so well, he thought about her question and realized that he didn't really know why he was at her house. The month leading up to this little adventure had been a jumble of threats, harsh words and intimidation - and those had all been from Albus.

The threats to Snape's life from the few Death Eaters that had not yet been imprisoned had been increasing in frequency. The Headmaster had been genuinely distressed at Severus' cavalier attitude about what might happen if any of his former associates carried out the threatened actions; he had tried nearly everything he could think of to force Snape out of his morbid carelessness.

The truth was that Severus Snape hadn't expected to survive to see the final battle, much less to live after it. So many had died in the decades- long fight between Light and Dark - worthy, good people who deserved to live happily ever after, yet here he was, a man who had earned death many times over, able to enjoy the sun on his face and free to walk down a tree- lined street on his way to breakfast with an intelligent and attractive young witch.

Albus had had a name for Severus' despondency - something about traumatic stress and survivor guilt - but to the brooding younger man, the fact that he was still breathing had simply been one more example of God's perverse sense of justice: the punishment of living was worse than any death Snape could imagine.

So it was that Dumbledore insisted Snape go into hiding with someone who could teach him to survive as a Muggle. The details were, as usual, taken care of by the Headmaster.

He looked at Hermione and said, "I've no idea why I am here with you, other than that Albus decided it was where I would be safest. I take it you weren't consulted prior to yesterday?"

Hermione shook her head. "Much as I would love to, I can't take any credit for that brilliant idea." A shadow of a smile played about her lips. Her guest noticed and the skin around his eyes crinkled faintly in response.

"Sarcasm Miss Granger? There may be hope for you yet." He commented.

They arrived at the coffee shop; a rather tired looking café, really, with faded light blue dotted Swiss curtains covering the lower half of the windows. The furniture that was visible from over the top of the curtains had gone out of style, come back into fashion labeled "retro," gone back out of style, and was now on its way to being considered "classic."

He looked askance at Hermione who shrugged and said without the slightest trace of apology in her voice, "I've been coming here since I was a baby. It might not be anything to look at but they do serve a great breakfast. Unless, of course, you'd rather go back home and try the diet manicotti in the freezer." She grinned up at his horrified expression.

"You make a convincing argument, Miss Granger," he said as he opened the door for her and followed her in.

An older woman in a pink uniform with a white apron and orthopedic shoes waved at Hermione as they made their way to a booth in the front corner of the restaurant. There was nothing remarkable about her appearance except for the noticeably blue tint to her hair. Hermione caught Severus' gaze lingering there for just a moment longer than necessary and giggled.

"I used to wonder if Tonks was related to her," she whispered. "As Muggles get older, the lens of their eyes starts to yellow; they can't see the color blue as well as they once could. It's even worse if they have cataracts. If a Muggle woman dyes her hair, she tends to overcorrect the color. Rose thinks her hair is a lovely shade of pure silver."

He arched an eyebrow in response and picked up a menu. "What do you recommend, Miss Granger?"

"I recommend you call me Hermione. 'Miss Granger' sends me back to feeling like a first year and I've worked too hard growing up to want to go back and do it again." She said it lightly as she pretended to consider the menu, but he heard the meaning behind her comment. She was no longer in a subordinate role to him; they were equals in this venue. To say the truth, he realized, she was now the teacher and he was the student.

A small flutter of panic started in his belly; he hoped she wasn't planning to exact some form of revenge for any unfair treatment she thought - probably rightly so - she'd received from him.

As if she were reading his mind, Hermione said, "You needn't worry, though. Even if I'm supposed to be your teacher, I won't terrorize you as you did me. I personally don't believe intimidation is a valid or particularly effective educational method."

"Miss Granger," he began, but at her sharp look he bowed his head slightly and corrected himself: "Hermione, how many times did your classmates' interest wander off during Professor Sprout's, Professor Vector's or Professor Flitwick's lectures?"

"I never let my attention wander, Professor." Hermione was aghast at his implication.

"You may call me Severus and I asked about your classmates' concentration, not yours." The familiar smirk was back in place and she'd scored a coup in getting him to drop the formal titles; all was right with her world, at least for the moment.

"Oh, erm . I guess there was a good bit of note-passing during Arithmancy. Herbology - well, it's hard to tell since most of what we did was in the greenhouses but I seem to remember a lot of giggling. I know there was a lot of extra swishing and flicking in Charms class. Why do you ask?" Hermione had put her faded plastic covered menu down.

"How does one brew a boil cure potion?" He asked the question so casually that Hermione was instantly alerted to the dangerous turn the conversation was undoubtedly about to take.

"To a mixture of dried nettles, crushed snake fangs, and stewed horned slugs, you add porcupine quills," she responded carefully.

"When do you add the porcupine quills, Hermione?"

"After removing the cauldron from the fire, of course; what is your point?" He smiled in a not quite evil way; she may have 'worked too hard growing up' but she still had that famous Gryffindor impatience.

"What happens if you add the quills before you remove the cauldron from the fire?" He was nearly ready to drive his point home.

"The cauldron melts, of course, as does anything the mixture touches." She paused and looked at him, realization dawning over her face.

"That is one of the least dangerous mistakes that a careless Potions student could make. And how many serious accidents or fatalities did you hear of during your time as a student, Hermione?"

"None," she admitted.

"The art of brewing Potions is exacting and dangerous work. Many of the ingredients are poisonous, volatile or extremely rare. Having children work with these ingredients requires - borrowing a phrase from our late friend Mr. Moody - constant vigilance. Inattentive children are a risk no one can afford. As it is, enough damage is done as a result of an alarmingly high incidence of dunderheadedness." He had slipped back into the fearsome professor role; Rose, who had come over to the booth to take their order, scurried back to check the salt cellars she had just finished filling at the tone of his voice.

Hermione took a moment to consider her words and then said, "Surely, Severus, there are ways to ensure the safety and attention of your students outside of verbal abuse. I would imagine that if you'd just been nice, most if not all of Neville's accidents might have been avoided. He was terrified of you, you know."

He paused a moment, wondering whether he should be flattered or insulted at her statement.

"Hermione, can you think of even one instance where I have been 'nice'?" He asked so softly that she had to lean forward in order to hear him.

She was torn. In all honesty and in the best cases, she had never seen him be anything other than a sarcastic and demanding task master. Still, there had been a few glimpses of something close to sensitivity if not kindness in his manner since he'd arrived at her door. She so wanted to encourage that behavior.

"You've been nice to me," she said. He looked at her with an incredulous expression. "It's true," she protested.

"You never said anything mean about my appearance even though I looked like death warmed over this morning. You haven't made fun of way the house is decorated even though I'm certain it's not your taste. And your sarcastic commentary about my meal choices last night weren't nasty. Maybe that's not the textbook definition of nice but you certainly weren't mean or abusive. And you very easily could have been."

At this, the expression of disbelief on his face grew.

"You weren't nasty. Those frozen dinners were pretty pathetic, but instead of dressing me down, you simply made do - quite admirably, I might add, given what there was to work with." She finally stopped to take a breath and realized that she had been babbling, just as when she was a child.

Before she could berate herself, Snape said, "Hermione, you may have a point."

That sealed it; she was insane.

He continued: "I have never been nor will I ever be a patient man, nor am I ever going to be particularly gentle and soft-hearted. But perhaps there is a less . offensive middle ground I might find."

The smile that lit up her face nearly took his breath away.