Dear readers who are still reading this and haven't given up on me
altogether,
Thank you for your patience. I have now finished the dreaded thesis and, as you can see, have more time to dedicate to SGH. If it gives you any comfort, the sacrifice of time to SGH resulted in me getting a First. So ner.
I will try to post again over the Christmas period, but as I am going to be in England for the next few weeks (yay!) there might be some difficulty in doing this. In any case, happy generic holidays to you all.
c.
Disclaimer: Billy Jean is not my lover.
Chapter Fourty One - Espionage 101
It was when the pair, an unheeding Hermione followed by a stealthy Snape, entered the corridor in which Hermione's rooms resided that the latter wondered what he was going to do about the former. The tone of voice Hermione had used when she spoke to him indicated that she really did not want to talk at the present time, and he sensed that any further pushing on his part would do him no good whatsoever. However, he did want to ease his mind about her, and what he had seen so far was not giving him much to go on. As Hermione pushed open the door to her rooms, Snape could see only one course of action, to follow her. He could only hope she wouldn't sense him as he brushed invisibly past her.
Once inside her rooms, Snape had time to wince at his decision. Certainly, he was worried about Hermione, but this was a breach of privacy that she would surely find unforgivable. There was, of course, only one option. He would just have to make sure he wouldn't be caught.
This resolve was almost immediately ruined when he unthinkingly followed Hermione through to her bedroom and she began to undress. If he had had the warning that conventional undressing provided, things would have been fine, but apparently his speech on the uselessness of wand-waving had had little effect on at least one of his students, because this one removed all her clothing with a simple swish-and-flick. Luckily the sound of her movements covered his almost-choke. As Hermione walked casually into the bathroom, Snape had to lean against the wall for a moment. Even though it had been less than twenty-four hours since he'd been much more than looking at that body, the shock of it suddenly appearing before him, in a flash, as it were, was a lot to cope with. And, well... it had been rather dark last night. It was quite bright in the late afternoon sun.
The sound of running water and the smell of steam soon emanated from the bathroom, and Snape had time to recover. He stood unmoving as he waited for Hermione to finish her shower, reminding himself that he was in the room only to ascertain that Hermione was in a suitable state to be left alone. These inward rantings almost kept his mind occupied away from images of water and steam... almost.
Something on the bedroom's mantlepiece caught his eye. Two pieces of scrap paper, written out in an unfamiliar ink, though one bore handwriting that certainly could have been Hermione's. Snape's eyes narrowed. They looked like lists. In fact, as he moved closer, he discovered that they were indeed lists, which, if he was not mistaken, were debating the amourous potential of one Severus Snape. This wasn't any amazing piece of detection, as Hermione, methodical as always, had very neatly written, 'Reasons I Should Not Participate In A Relationship With Severus Snape.' The other list, written in slightly more flowery, cursory script, was evidently Reasons She Should, unless Hermione had suddenly developed an aversion to intelligence and - Snape raised an eyebrow - what he would now be forced to think of as No. 28.
Remembering that Hermione was unlikely to remain in the shower indefinitely, Snape swiftly pointed his wand at the documents, whispered a replicating spell and, ensuring that the room looked exactly as it had been when Hermione had left it, silently exited her rooms.
He had some thinking to do.
***
The next week passed in somewhat frustrating calm and normality. The calm came from the ease with which routine smoothed over any potential difficulties of situation, the necessity of work mowing over any discomfort as Severus and Hermione continued their researches with increasing aid from Dumbledore. Normality came from the rather reserved and professionally curteous way in which the two researchers conducted their work, neither avoiding nor seeking each other in any obvious way.
The frustration came from the small group of observers watching all this with intense and calculating, if somewhat disappointed, interest.
'Are you *certain* you can't do that thingy you always do and tell us what is really going on, Albus?' Minerva asked for perhaps the fifth time since the surreptitious meeting began. Her cup of tea sat forgotten on the small table beside her, rapidly becoming invaded with ants, but she failed to notice. The small group had been sitting in the sunny garden on Dumbledore's balcony discussing Severus and Hermione for a good twenty minutes with no new information.
'Minerva, my dear, I am quite certain that the two of them will notify us if anything of importance should occur,' Dumbledore replied, risking a small twinkle for effect. His deputy headmistress was rapidly getting the look about her usually only seen when confronting certain troublesome students, but he rather enjoyed the pink shade rising in her cheeks.
'Albus, if you do not desist in twinkling at me like that I will ensure that you become the first frog ever to headmaster Hogwarts,' she threatened.
'Actually, Minerva, I think you will find that in 1462, for a period of three weeks-' Filius Flitwick's interruption was cut off by a swift glare sent his way, intended to convey the idea that impending frogdom was not a fate reserved solely for twinklers.
'Now, now, Minerva, don't be that way,' Poppy Pomfrey consoled. Flitwick had been taken into their confidence about the Severus-Hermione situation after Hermione's birthday party, and was proving quite helpful in the way of suggestions.
'She does have a point, Pops,' said Freya Hooch, biting down on a biscuit. 'It's damned infuriating to have to sit and wonder about it all when one of us has the gift of second sight.' She raised her eyebrows at Dumbledore.
The headmaster shook his head sadly. 'That, I am afraid I do not have,' he said.
'Oh, don't go all Yen on us Albus, we all know perfectly well that you have some sort of thingy that allows you to know everything that goes on in this place, whatever you call it,' Freya replied.
'You know, we could just try talking to them,' Sirius suggested, lying on the grass beside Hooch. 'I think Hermione would Reveal All if I sat her down for a good long chat.'
Hooch rolled her eyes, while Poppy diplomatically raised her eyebrows.
'I fear that may not be the best plan, Sirius,' Filius suggested. 'If young Hermione had wanted someone to talk to, she surely would have sought one of us out by now.'
'Besides, who would be able to weasel it out of Severus?' Minerva argued. 'Albus here is the only person he really talks to, and he's being about as cooperative as a wet badger.'
'Decided that a frog is too difficult for you, my dear?' Dumbledore teased, adding a twinkle for good measure. He observed with pleasure the swift reddening of his transfiguration teacher's cheeks.
'FRANCE, Albus! I'll frog you and then send you to France!' McGonagall had to be physically restrained by Poppy and Hooch, as Dumbledore quietly chuckled and Flitwick fell off his chair laughing. Sirius, with a disappointed look at the group, stretched in the sun. A moment later, he trotted away in dog form, sniffing his way around the garden with more interest than he had participated in the conversation.
'The whole of the matter is,' said Flitwick once he had regained his chair,
trying to ignore the mutters of, 'In a box marked "has nice legs"' coming from Minerva's direction. 'The thing is, we don't want to *force* confessions from the poor young things.'
'Couldn't hurt,' muttered Hooch into her cup of tea. Poppy sent her a disapproving look.
'I agree with Filius,' she said primly. 'Besides, last time we tried to force information out of Hermione, it was a disaster.' There was a sound suspiciously like a chuckle from the headmaster's direction, but he hid his smile in his tea cup as Minerva looked his way. Flitwick looked to the ladies with interest.
'We took her out drinking, but she was... less than forthcoming with information,' Poppy explained diplomatically.
'Didn't tell us squat,' said Hooch.
'No,' agreed Poppy. 'However, that *was* the evening Minera caught Severus sneaking out of Hermione's rooms.'
'Not that anything happened,' grumbled Hooch.
'And neither of them would have told us if it had,' added McGonagall.
The group shared a collective sigh.
'Well,' said Poppy, 'perhaps we should all think on it, for a while.' The others nodded. Hooch stood, and went to fetch Sirius from the small copse of trees where he was chasing butterflies. McGonagall reached for her cup of tea and downed the remains in one gulp, which was quite startling for her but not quite as startling as it was for the large troupe of ants who had been happily migrating into the cup since the conversation had started. Dumbledore, who had been watching in anticipation of the moment for some time, quickly composed his face into an expression of concerned intrest in case the spluttering transfigurations teacher looked his way. She had never actually turned him into a frog before, but the last time he had seriously annoyed her he had spent the week with a distressing inclination to throw himself in ponds and craving flies.
The others exited, and Dumbledore offered his Deputy Headmistress his arm as they strolled out of the garden.
'"In a box marked 'has nice legs.'" Really, my dear,' he said as they walked through the door. McGonagall blushed. 'I never knew you liked my legs.'
***
The interested members of staff kept their collective watch on the pair in question, individually pinning their hopes on some remote event in the future that would draw the two together. A devious mind might have despaired less at the way the pair almost completely ignored each other when their professional duties didn't require them to interact. A deeper reason than interest in his food might have kept Snape from looking at Hermione's side of the room at mealtimes, and Hermione's usual cheerfulness might have been a little more brittle and preoccupied. However, whatever the interested parties saw gave them no hope, and nothing of interest to them occurred over the remainder of the week apart from an interesting flutter of owls for Hermione at breakfast time.
If the staff could have possibly contrived to see the messages Hermione then read with an expression of apparently no more than polite interest, they might have become more devious.
Herm, (the first message read)
Was it my splendid imagination or did we discuss the possibility of your seducing our ex-Potions professor the other weekend? You've had a week now - spill! Don't need details, just tell me whether you can still pet unicorns, yea or nay.
Hermione read this without so much as a quirk of the lips, and calmly pulled out a clean piece of parchment in reply.
Gin,
Yes, I can still pet unicorns, but then again so can you. You really should have payed more attention in Care of Magical Creatures, or Charms for that matter. The idea that only female virgins can approach a unicorn is a myth. There are several charms, and potions, for that matter, which calm the aura of the person approaching the unicorn enough for the unicorn to trust them. After all, Hagrid was able to look after them, and he's about as far from being a female virgin as you can get.
I can provide you with a list of texts with information on the subject, if you wish to investigate further.
H.
Bright and early the next morning, a very streamlined owl zoomed in to the great hall and dropped a note in Hermione's tea cup, which promptly spilt all over the table. Without so much as blinking an eye, Hermione cleaned up the mess with a swish of her wand. The owl, which had begun pecking through the food on the table, was given a glare by Minerva, sitting only two seats away, but Hermione ignored it.
Dear She Who Must Be A Smart Arse,
I can see why Harry and Ron wanted to throttle you for most of their time at school. Stop messing around and give me a straight answer. Did you go through with our plan, or not?
G.
PS. I hope the owl widdles in your breakfast. I picked him out specially.
Hermione pondered on this note for a few minutes, then pulled out a new piece of parchment and a quill. Ginny wanted a straightforward, simple answer to her questions, did she? she reflected. With a slight smirk showing on her features, she penned two simple letters in the middle of the parchment, folded it, grabbed the wandering owl by the scruff of the neck, and sent it off. Ginny wanted a straight yes or no answer, and she had got it. It wasn't Hermione's fault if Ginny had asked more than one question.
The next morning, Hermione was not at breakfast. If she knew the Weasley temper (and after nine years, she did), her next letter from Ginny was probably going to either be a Howler or one of Fred and George's exploding letter surprises.
She sat at her table near the window and chewed thoughtfully on a piece of toast. Though annoying a Weasley was always fun, she had her own reasons for avoiding answering Ginny's questions. She still didn't know what she wanted to do about the whole situation. Her original intention had been to just sleep with Snape, get it out of both of their systems, have a little fun and then be done with it. It had seemed quite logical.
That, she supposed, had been her big mistake.
***
Snape stared at the papers sitting on his desk again. He had managed to concentrate on his work for almost two hours this time. The papers were slightly crumpled from the numerous times he had picked them up over the past week, only to glance at them and put them down again.
The papers loomed. He hadn't known that papers could do that. Gallows, yes; terrifyingly evil magical overlords, yes; but two pieces of cream-coloured parchment that were slightly the worse for wear, no, they weren't supposed to loom. If anything, he would have expected them to lurk, but apparently not. They were sitting over there and definitely looming at him.
Snape paused briefly to consider whether 'looming' was even a verb, decided it was, and went back to ponder the papers.
His damnable memory had every point noted on each list embedded in his brain anyway. Sometimes a habit that had come in so handy in his career as a spy was a real bitch. A couple of glances at Hermione's quite thorough list of his bad qualities, and it was impressed on his mind as indelibly as a incredibly indelible thing.
Snape gave up on puzzling about it and got down to some serious Brooding.
***
Hermione decided quitely to herself that she was, frankly, sick of dreams. This year had been plagued with them. The dream that had started it all hadn't been too bad, in retrospect, and some of the more... *complete* dreams since then had been quite nice. But when it got to the stage that her subconscious, of its own free will, was subjecting her to a conversation with her snotty-nosed eleven-year-old self, it was a bit ridiculuous.
Perhaps it was because of the famous maturity with which Hermione had been graced from an early age, but she despised being reminded of younger versions of herself. It was amazing how the advantage of a couple of years, or months even, could reveal her former self's behaviour as embarrassingly childish. When faced with such a recollection, it had been Hermione's habit to blush brightly and silently assure herself she was now a much more sensible person and need not be ashamed of such growing pains.
Now she was stuck in a room with such a recollection, she was sorely tempted, when she woke up, to find a time turner, travel back nine years and slap some sense into her eleven-year-old self. Or at least gag her.
Since the moment she had found herself back in the Gryffindor common room of her earlier years, a young Ron and Harry busily playing chess before the fire, her ears had been assaulted by the high-pitched, smug- sounding voice of Young Hermione, who demanded to know everything while simultaneously announcing that she already Knew.
The conversation thus far had consisted of Hermione revealing to her younger self that the thing troubling her was Snape, and her indecision of pursuing a relationship with him, to which Young Hermione had announced, Yuck, that was Gross, and giggled for ten minutes over the fact that Hermione had Seen Him Naked.
Hermione was now at the point of simply joining Harry and Ron, who had remained insensible of the conversation, for their game of chess, when Young Hermione sobered up.
'It's not going to be easy if you do decide to be with him, you know,' she said. Hermione looked at her thoughtfully.
'I know that,' she said. 'Of course I've thought of that. There's the Death Eaters, and the fact that we're teaching at the same school, and-'
'Not just that,' Young Hermione said in a tone that suggested the Older Hermione had lost a few brain cells along the way. 'What about Ron and Harry? You know they won't like it.'
'Oh, I don't know. Ron and Harry are my friends, and-' Holding up a hand to halt her, the younger Hermione snapped her fingers. Instantly the two boys by the fire turned incredulously to Hermione.
''Mione, are you kidding?' yelled Ron. 'You've gone mad! Snape hates us, he always has!'
'You've got to be off your rocker, Hermione,' Harry said, shaking his head.
'He must have drugged her, Harry,' Ron said, turning to his friend. 'He's given her a potion. We'll have to-'
Young Hermione clicked her fingers again, and the two boys stopped their noise and returned calmly to their chess game, once more unaware of the two girls.
'Do you think they won't act that way?' she asked.
Hermione had to admit that the reactions from the older boys wouldn't be much different from their younger selves, although perhaps quiter. But perhaps not.
'But they would come around eventually,' she insisted. 'They know Snape's not the monster we thought he was in school. Ron even defends him sometimes, now. And Ginny would back me up.'
Young Hermione narrowed her eyes at her older self, a smug smile forming on her lips. 'Sounds like you've already decided.'
Hermione sent herself a glare. Obviously her subconscious had it in for her, because she couldn't remember being this annoying when she was younger.
'Well of course I'm leaning that way. If I wasn't incredibly attracted to him I wouldn't have been in this mess in the first place.'
'Then you have to decide whether this attraction to him is more important than all the other considerations,' the younger Hermione said, folding her arms.
'And how exactly am I supposed to do that?'
'Do what you always do,' the younger girl said. 'Research and experiment. Duh.'
Hermione frowned. 'I never said 'duh.' I've always thought it was a stupid expression.'
Young Hermione rolled her eyes. 'I'm just a dream. I can't be expected to get everything right.'
***
The inmates of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were subjected to ghosts, ghouls, elves, changing stairways and walls dripping yellow-green goo on a daily basis, and so were used to a little strangeness in their lives. Still, the strange behaviour of at least one of their associates was enough to cause remark.
On Tuesday morning, Hermione cornered Snape at the breakfast table, firing questions the rest of the staff were unable to hear until he got up and exasperatedly walked away. She then calmly took a small notebook from her robes and appeared to be taking notes.
Another event was witnessed by Filch. He saw Snape walking down a corridor and was about to greet the potions master when a child's giggle sounded through the air. Snape immediately whipped around, an annoyed look on his face, trying to source out the noise. The giggle sounded again and Snape proceeded to take out his wand and walk up and down the corridor for the next ten minutes, apparently on the lookout for the offending child. Filch told the others that when the professor finally gave up and went on his way, Hermione appeared out of thin air, notebook in hand and a thoughtful expression on her face.
Several more incidents were observed by various members of the staff. Professor Flitwick observed Hermione in conversation with Dobby one afternoon shortly before dinner. The dinner served that evening was such as one never seen before, even at Hogwarts; the house elves appeared to have explored the full possibilities of their kitchen, serving dishes of pate fois gras alongside such things as trout in marshmallow sauce, boeuf bourginon next to tripe curry. Of all the staff observing the incredible feast only Hermione appeared unsurprised (and also Dumbledore, who dug right into Duck a la Banana). Only Minerva noticed the appearance of Hermione's little notebook.
'There was a grid,' she explained to the others as they met in the library's restricted section. They were spying on Snape, who was reading a book and trying to ignore them.
'A grid?' asked Flitwick, peering through the shelves at Snape. He accidentally caught the man's eye, and quickly developed an intense interest in a book on fleas.
'Yes,' Minerva answered. 'She had a little grid mapped out and every time he ate something, she would put a tick on it.' She folded her arms.
'A tick,' mused Poppy.
'Yes, a tick, you nitwit.' Minerva glared at her colleague. 'This meeting isn't going to get far if all everyone else does is repeat what I say.' Poppy looked slightly ashamed.
'I wonder why she was taking notes at dinner?' Flitwick asked, looking around the group. No-one seemed to know, although, as expected, Dumbledore was twinkling madly.
'I wonder why she's been taking notes full stop,' said Sirius in a disgruntled tone of voice. 'It's really weird.' By this time Dumbledore's knowing smile and twinkling eyes were really getting to McGonagall, who put her hands on her hips and turned to confront him.
'Okay, Albus, let's get this over with.' She cleared her throat and adopted an innocent expression. 'Oh, dear, whatever can we do, now we shall never know the great mystery of Hermione's Notebook! If only there were some wise, knowing, and slightly annoying old coot who could help us?'
Dumbledore's twinkling diminished slightly as he looked at his colleague. 'Sarcasm doesn't become you, Minerva. However-'
He was cut off by Freya Hooch, who had been observing the scene with interest. 'I think it's rather obvious, really.' The rest of the group stared at her.
'She's testing him,' she continued. The others continued to stare at her and she sighed dramatically, conveying an attitude of angelic forbearance in the face of ultimate ignorance. 'She's doing little tests to see if he's suitable for her. What he eats, what he likes to do, whether he's good with children-' She was cut short at this point by a loud snort from Poppy's direction. The mediwitch looked embarrassed and muttered an apology.
'Whether he's healthy,' Hooch continued. 'You know, general stuff.'
'How very odd,' said Flitwick. 'Sensible, but odd.'
'Hermione does like to research,' Minerva said thoughtfully.
They were unable to ponder further as the library door opened, revealing the other subject of their conversation. She looked around the library, settled her gaze on Snape, and strode over to him. Snape barely had time to look up before hermione grabbed him and fastened her lips to his. The onlookers watched in open-mouthed amazementas their surly potions master was thoroughly kissed. A few minutes later a somewhat flushed Hermione stood, nodded to herself and walked out of the library.
'Well, that category's certainly going to get a big tick,' Hooch said loudly. Snape turned to look at the group, scowled, and got up to leave. The group watched until he was gone.
'She certainly is thorough,' said Flitwick.
'I really, really, really, really, really,' said Sirius, 'really don;t want to see that ever again.'
'Come now, Sirius, you seemed eager for the two of them to be together before,' Dumbledore chided.
'I was eager for Hagrid and Elsa to get together, too, but that doesn't mean I wanted to hang around and watch them at it,' replied Sirius. The group gave a collective shudder.
'Yes, well, I'm sure we all regret that incident in the Great Hall,' Dumbledore said with a reflective look. 'Nevertheless, it is good to see them making progress.'
'If you can call this progress,' muttered Hooch darkly.
End notes:
'Pas sans mon poulet' means 'not without my chicken.' I don't know much French, but I ensure that what I do know is incredibly surreal, just to freak les Francais qui peu out.
Thank you for your patience. I have now finished the dreaded thesis and, as you can see, have more time to dedicate to SGH. If it gives you any comfort, the sacrifice of time to SGH resulted in me getting a First. So ner.
I will try to post again over the Christmas period, but as I am going to be in England for the next few weeks (yay!) there might be some difficulty in doing this. In any case, happy generic holidays to you all.
c.
Disclaimer: Billy Jean is not my lover.
Chapter Fourty One - Espionage 101
It was when the pair, an unheeding Hermione followed by a stealthy Snape, entered the corridor in which Hermione's rooms resided that the latter wondered what he was going to do about the former. The tone of voice Hermione had used when she spoke to him indicated that she really did not want to talk at the present time, and he sensed that any further pushing on his part would do him no good whatsoever. However, he did want to ease his mind about her, and what he had seen so far was not giving him much to go on. As Hermione pushed open the door to her rooms, Snape could see only one course of action, to follow her. He could only hope she wouldn't sense him as he brushed invisibly past her.
Once inside her rooms, Snape had time to wince at his decision. Certainly, he was worried about Hermione, but this was a breach of privacy that she would surely find unforgivable. There was, of course, only one option. He would just have to make sure he wouldn't be caught.
This resolve was almost immediately ruined when he unthinkingly followed Hermione through to her bedroom and she began to undress. If he had had the warning that conventional undressing provided, things would have been fine, but apparently his speech on the uselessness of wand-waving had had little effect on at least one of his students, because this one removed all her clothing with a simple swish-and-flick. Luckily the sound of her movements covered his almost-choke. As Hermione walked casually into the bathroom, Snape had to lean against the wall for a moment. Even though it had been less than twenty-four hours since he'd been much more than looking at that body, the shock of it suddenly appearing before him, in a flash, as it were, was a lot to cope with. And, well... it had been rather dark last night. It was quite bright in the late afternoon sun.
The sound of running water and the smell of steam soon emanated from the bathroom, and Snape had time to recover. He stood unmoving as he waited for Hermione to finish her shower, reminding himself that he was in the room only to ascertain that Hermione was in a suitable state to be left alone. These inward rantings almost kept his mind occupied away from images of water and steam... almost.
Something on the bedroom's mantlepiece caught his eye. Two pieces of scrap paper, written out in an unfamiliar ink, though one bore handwriting that certainly could have been Hermione's. Snape's eyes narrowed. They looked like lists. In fact, as he moved closer, he discovered that they were indeed lists, which, if he was not mistaken, were debating the amourous potential of one Severus Snape. This wasn't any amazing piece of detection, as Hermione, methodical as always, had very neatly written, 'Reasons I Should Not Participate In A Relationship With Severus Snape.' The other list, written in slightly more flowery, cursory script, was evidently Reasons She Should, unless Hermione had suddenly developed an aversion to intelligence and - Snape raised an eyebrow - what he would now be forced to think of as No. 28.
Remembering that Hermione was unlikely to remain in the shower indefinitely, Snape swiftly pointed his wand at the documents, whispered a replicating spell and, ensuring that the room looked exactly as it had been when Hermione had left it, silently exited her rooms.
He had some thinking to do.
***
The next week passed in somewhat frustrating calm and normality. The calm came from the ease with which routine smoothed over any potential difficulties of situation, the necessity of work mowing over any discomfort as Severus and Hermione continued their researches with increasing aid from Dumbledore. Normality came from the rather reserved and professionally curteous way in which the two researchers conducted their work, neither avoiding nor seeking each other in any obvious way.
The frustration came from the small group of observers watching all this with intense and calculating, if somewhat disappointed, interest.
'Are you *certain* you can't do that thingy you always do and tell us what is really going on, Albus?' Minerva asked for perhaps the fifth time since the surreptitious meeting began. Her cup of tea sat forgotten on the small table beside her, rapidly becoming invaded with ants, but she failed to notice. The small group had been sitting in the sunny garden on Dumbledore's balcony discussing Severus and Hermione for a good twenty minutes with no new information.
'Minerva, my dear, I am quite certain that the two of them will notify us if anything of importance should occur,' Dumbledore replied, risking a small twinkle for effect. His deputy headmistress was rapidly getting the look about her usually only seen when confronting certain troublesome students, but he rather enjoyed the pink shade rising in her cheeks.
'Albus, if you do not desist in twinkling at me like that I will ensure that you become the first frog ever to headmaster Hogwarts,' she threatened.
'Actually, Minerva, I think you will find that in 1462, for a period of three weeks-' Filius Flitwick's interruption was cut off by a swift glare sent his way, intended to convey the idea that impending frogdom was not a fate reserved solely for twinklers.
'Now, now, Minerva, don't be that way,' Poppy Pomfrey consoled. Flitwick had been taken into their confidence about the Severus-Hermione situation after Hermione's birthday party, and was proving quite helpful in the way of suggestions.
'She does have a point, Pops,' said Freya Hooch, biting down on a biscuit. 'It's damned infuriating to have to sit and wonder about it all when one of us has the gift of second sight.' She raised her eyebrows at Dumbledore.
The headmaster shook his head sadly. 'That, I am afraid I do not have,' he said.
'Oh, don't go all Yen on us Albus, we all know perfectly well that you have some sort of thingy that allows you to know everything that goes on in this place, whatever you call it,' Freya replied.
'You know, we could just try talking to them,' Sirius suggested, lying on the grass beside Hooch. 'I think Hermione would Reveal All if I sat her down for a good long chat.'
Hooch rolled her eyes, while Poppy diplomatically raised her eyebrows.
'I fear that may not be the best plan, Sirius,' Filius suggested. 'If young Hermione had wanted someone to talk to, she surely would have sought one of us out by now.'
'Besides, who would be able to weasel it out of Severus?' Minerva argued. 'Albus here is the only person he really talks to, and he's being about as cooperative as a wet badger.'
'Decided that a frog is too difficult for you, my dear?' Dumbledore teased, adding a twinkle for good measure. He observed with pleasure the swift reddening of his transfiguration teacher's cheeks.
'FRANCE, Albus! I'll frog you and then send you to France!' McGonagall had to be physically restrained by Poppy and Hooch, as Dumbledore quietly chuckled and Flitwick fell off his chair laughing. Sirius, with a disappointed look at the group, stretched in the sun. A moment later, he trotted away in dog form, sniffing his way around the garden with more interest than he had participated in the conversation.
'The whole of the matter is,' said Flitwick once he had regained his chair,
trying to ignore the mutters of, 'In a box marked "has nice legs"' coming from Minerva's direction. 'The thing is, we don't want to *force* confessions from the poor young things.'
'Couldn't hurt,' muttered Hooch into her cup of tea. Poppy sent her a disapproving look.
'I agree with Filius,' she said primly. 'Besides, last time we tried to force information out of Hermione, it was a disaster.' There was a sound suspiciously like a chuckle from the headmaster's direction, but he hid his smile in his tea cup as Minerva looked his way. Flitwick looked to the ladies with interest.
'We took her out drinking, but she was... less than forthcoming with information,' Poppy explained diplomatically.
'Didn't tell us squat,' said Hooch.
'No,' agreed Poppy. 'However, that *was* the evening Minera caught Severus sneaking out of Hermione's rooms.'
'Not that anything happened,' grumbled Hooch.
'And neither of them would have told us if it had,' added McGonagall.
The group shared a collective sigh.
'Well,' said Poppy, 'perhaps we should all think on it, for a while.' The others nodded. Hooch stood, and went to fetch Sirius from the small copse of trees where he was chasing butterflies. McGonagall reached for her cup of tea and downed the remains in one gulp, which was quite startling for her but not quite as startling as it was for the large troupe of ants who had been happily migrating into the cup since the conversation had started. Dumbledore, who had been watching in anticipation of the moment for some time, quickly composed his face into an expression of concerned intrest in case the spluttering transfigurations teacher looked his way. She had never actually turned him into a frog before, but the last time he had seriously annoyed her he had spent the week with a distressing inclination to throw himself in ponds and craving flies.
The others exited, and Dumbledore offered his Deputy Headmistress his arm as they strolled out of the garden.
'"In a box marked 'has nice legs.'" Really, my dear,' he said as they walked through the door. McGonagall blushed. 'I never knew you liked my legs.'
***
The interested members of staff kept their collective watch on the pair in question, individually pinning their hopes on some remote event in the future that would draw the two together. A devious mind might have despaired less at the way the pair almost completely ignored each other when their professional duties didn't require them to interact. A deeper reason than interest in his food might have kept Snape from looking at Hermione's side of the room at mealtimes, and Hermione's usual cheerfulness might have been a little more brittle and preoccupied. However, whatever the interested parties saw gave them no hope, and nothing of interest to them occurred over the remainder of the week apart from an interesting flutter of owls for Hermione at breakfast time.
If the staff could have possibly contrived to see the messages Hermione then read with an expression of apparently no more than polite interest, they might have become more devious.
Herm, (the first message read)
Was it my splendid imagination or did we discuss the possibility of your seducing our ex-Potions professor the other weekend? You've had a week now - spill! Don't need details, just tell me whether you can still pet unicorns, yea or nay.
Hermione read this without so much as a quirk of the lips, and calmly pulled out a clean piece of parchment in reply.
Gin,
Yes, I can still pet unicorns, but then again so can you. You really should have payed more attention in Care of Magical Creatures, or Charms for that matter. The idea that only female virgins can approach a unicorn is a myth. There are several charms, and potions, for that matter, which calm the aura of the person approaching the unicorn enough for the unicorn to trust them. After all, Hagrid was able to look after them, and he's about as far from being a female virgin as you can get.
I can provide you with a list of texts with information on the subject, if you wish to investigate further.
H.
Bright and early the next morning, a very streamlined owl zoomed in to the great hall and dropped a note in Hermione's tea cup, which promptly spilt all over the table. Without so much as blinking an eye, Hermione cleaned up the mess with a swish of her wand. The owl, which had begun pecking through the food on the table, was given a glare by Minerva, sitting only two seats away, but Hermione ignored it.
Dear She Who Must Be A Smart Arse,
I can see why Harry and Ron wanted to throttle you for most of their time at school. Stop messing around and give me a straight answer. Did you go through with our plan, or not?
G.
PS. I hope the owl widdles in your breakfast. I picked him out specially.
Hermione pondered on this note for a few minutes, then pulled out a new piece of parchment and a quill. Ginny wanted a straightforward, simple answer to her questions, did she? she reflected. With a slight smirk showing on her features, she penned two simple letters in the middle of the parchment, folded it, grabbed the wandering owl by the scruff of the neck, and sent it off. Ginny wanted a straight yes or no answer, and she had got it. It wasn't Hermione's fault if Ginny had asked more than one question.
The next morning, Hermione was not at breakfast. If she knew the Weasley temper (and after nine years, she did), her next letter from Ginny was probably going to either be a Howler or one of Fred and George's exploding letter surprises.
She sat at her table near the window and chewed thoughtfully on a piece of toast. Though annoying a Weasley was always fun, she had her own reasons for avoiding answering Ginny's questions. She still didn't know what she wanted to do about the whole situation. Her original intention had been to just sleep with Snape, get it out of both of their systems, have a little fun and then be done with it. It had seemed quite logical.
That, she supposed, had been her big mistake.
***
Snape stared at the papers sitting on his desk again. He had managed to concentrate on his work for almost two hours this time. The papers were slightly crumpled from the numerous times he had picked them up over the past week, only to glance at them and put them down again.
The papers loomed. He hadn't known that papers could do that. Gallows, yes; terrifyingly evil magical overlords, yes; but two pieces of cream-coloured parchment that were slightly the worse for wear, no, they weren't supposed to loom. If anything, he would have expected them to lurk, but apparently not. They were sitting over there and definitely looming at him.
Snape paused briefly to consider whether 'looming' was even a verb, decided it was, and went back to ponder the papers.
His damnable memory had every point noted on each list embedded in his brain anyway. Sometimes a habit that had come in so handy in his career as a spy was a real bitch. A couple of glances at Hermione's quite thorough list of his bad qualities, and it was impressed on his mind as indelibly as a incredibly indelible thing.
Snape gave up on puzzling about it and got down to some serious Brooding.
***
Hermione decided quitely to herself that she was, frankly, sick of dreams. This year had been plagued with them. The dream that had started it all hadn't been too bad, in retrospect, and some of the more... *complete* dreams since then had been quite nice. But when it got to the stage that her subconscious, of its own free will, was subjecting her to a conversation with her snotty-nosed eleven-year-old self, it was a bit ridiculuous.
Perhaps it was because of the famous maturity with which Hermione had been graced from an early age, but she despised being reminded of younger versions of herself. It was amazing how the advantage of a couple of years, or months even, could reveal her former self's behaviour as embarrassingly childish. When faced with such a recollection, it had been Hermione's habit to blush brightly and silently assure herself she was now a much more sensible person and need not be ashamed of such growing pains.
Now she was stuck in a room with such a recollection, she was sorely tempted, when she woke up, to find a time turner, travel back nine years and slap some sense into her eleven-year-old self. Or at least gag her.
Since the moment she had found herself back in the Gryffindor common room of her earlier years, a young Ron and Harry busily playing chess before the fire, her ears had been assaulted by the high-pitched, smug- sounding voice of Young Hermione, who demanded to know everything while simultaneously announcing that she already Knew.
The conversation thus far had consisted of Hermione revealing to her younger self that the thing troubling her was Snape, and her indecision of pursuing a relationship with him, to which Young Hermione had announced, Yuck, that was Gross, and giggled for ten minutes over the fact that Hermione had Seen Him Naked.
Hermione was now at the point of simply joining Harry and Ron, who had remained insensible of the conversation, for their game of chess, when Young Hermione sobered up.
'It's not going to be easy if you do decide to be with him, you know,' she said. Hermione looked at her thoughtfully.
'I know that,' she said. 'Of course I've thought of that. There's the Death Eaters, and the fact that we're teaching at the same school, and-'
'Not just that,' Young Hermione said in a tone that suggested the Older Hermione had lost a few brain cells along the way. 'What about Ron and Harry? You know they won't like it.'
'Oh, I don't know. Ron and Harry are my friends, and-' Holding up a hand to halt her, the younger Hermione snapped her fingers. Instantly the two boys by the fire turned incredulously to Hermione.
''Mione, are you kidding?' yelled Ron. 'You've gone mad! Snape hates us, he always has!'
'You've got to be off your rocker, Hermione,' Harry said, shaking his head.
'He must have drugged her, Harry,' Ron said, turning to his friend. 'He's given her a potion. We'll have to-'
Young Hermione clicked her fingers again, and the two boys stopped their noise and returned calmly to their chess game, once more unaware of the two girls.
'Do you think they won't act that way?' she asked.
Hermione had to admit that the reactions from the older boys wouldn't be much different from their younger selves, although perhaps quiter. But perhaps not.
'But they would come around eventually,' she insisted. 'They know Snape's not the monster we thought he was in school. Ron even defends him sometimes, now. And Ginny would back me up.'
Young Hermione narrowed her eyes at her older self, a smug smile forming on her lips. 'Sounds like you've already decided.'
Hermione sent herself a glare. Obviously her subconscious had it in for her, because she couldn't remember being this annoying when she was younger.
'Well of course I'm leaning that way. If I wasn't incredibly attracted to him I wouldn't have been in this mess in the first place.'
'Then you have to decide whether this attraction to him is more important than all the other considerations,' the younger Hermione said, folding her arms.
'And how exactly am I supposed to do that?'
'Do what you always do,' the younger girl said. 'Research and experiment. Duh.'
Hermione frowned. 'I never said 'duh.' I've always thought it was a stupid expression.'
Young Hermione rolled her eyes. 'I'm just a dream. I can't be expected to get everything right.'
***
The inmates of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were subjected to ghosts, ghouls, elves, changing stairways and walls dripping yellow-green goo on a daily basis, and so were used to a little strangeness in their lives. Still, the strange behaviour of at least one of their associates was enough to cause remark.
On Tuesday morning, Hermione cornered Snape at the breakfast table, firing questions the rest of the staff were unable to hear until he got up and exasperatedly walked away. She then calmly took a small notebook from her robes and appeared to be taking notes.
Another event was witnessed by Filch. He saw Snape walking down a corridor and was about to greet the potions master when a child's giggle sounded through the air. Snape immediately whipped around, an annoyed look on his face, trying to source out the noise. The giggle sounded again and Snape proceeded to take out his wand and walk up and down the corridor for the next ten minutes, apparently on the lookout for the offending child. Filch told the others that when the professor finally gave up and went on his way, Hermione appeared out of thin air, notebook in hand and a thoughtful expression on her face.
Several more incidents were observed by various members of the staff. Professor Flitwick observed Hermione in conversation with Dobby one afternoon shortly before dinner. The dinner served that evening was such as one never seen before, even at Hogwarts; the house elves appeared to have explored the full possibilities of their kitchen, serving dishes of pate fois gras alongside such things as trout in marshmallow sauce, boeuf bourginon next to tripe curry. Of all the staff observing the incredible feast only Hermione appeared unsurprised (and also Dumbledore, who dug right into Duck a la Banana). Only Minerva noticed the appearance of Hermione's little notebook.
'There was a grid,' she explained to the others as they met in the library's restricted section. They were spying on Snape, who was reading a book and trying to ignore them.
'A grid?' asked Flitwick, peering through the shelves at Snape. He accidentally caught the man's eye, and quickly developed an intense interest in a book on fleas.
'Yes,' Minerva answered. 'She had a little grid mapped out and every time he ate something, she would put a tick on it.' She folded her arms.
'A tick,' mused Poppy.
'Yes, a tick, you nitwit.' Minerva glared at her colleague. 'This meeting isn't going to get far if all everyone else does is repeat what I say.' Poppy looked slightly ashamed.
'I wonder why she was taking notes at dinner?' Flitwick asked, looking around the group. No-one seemed to know, although, as expected, Dumbledore was twinkling madly.
'I wonder why she's been taking notes full stop,' said Sirius in a disgruntled tone of voice. 'It's really weird.' By this time Dumbledore's knowing smile and twinkling eyes were really getting to McGonagall, who put her hands on her hips and turned to confront him.
'Okay, Albus, let's get this over with.' She cleared her throat and adopted an innocent expression. 'Oh, dear, whatever can we do, now we shall never know the great mystery of Hermione's Notebook! If only there were some wise, knowing, and slightly annoying old coot who could help us?'
Dumbledore's twinkling diminished slightly as he looked at his colleague. 'Sarcasm doesn't become you, Minerva. However-'
He was cut off by Freya Hooch, who had been observing the scene with interest. 'I think it's rather obvious, really.' The rest of the group stared at her.
'She's testing him,' she continued. The others continued to stare at her and she sighed dramatically, conveying an attitude of angelic forbearance in the face of ultimate ignorance. 'She's doing little tests to see if he's suitable for her. What he eats, what he likes to do, whether he's good with children-' She was cut short at this point by a loud snort from Poppy's direction. The mediwitch looked embarrassed and muttered an apology.
'Whether he's healthy,' Hooch continued. 'You know, general stuff.'
'How very odd,' said Flitwick. 'Sensible, but odd.'
'Hermione does like to research,' Minerva said thoughtfully.
They were unable to ponder further as the library door opened, revealing the other subject of their conversation. She looked around the library, settled her gaze on Snape, and strode over to him. Snape barely had time to look up before hermione grabbed him and fastened her lips to his. The onlookers watched in open-mouthed amazementas their surly potions master was thoroughly kissed. A few minutes later a somewhat flushed Hermione stood, nodded to herself and walked out of the library.
'Well, that category's certainly going to get a big tick,' Hooch said loudly. Snape turned to look at the group, scowled, and got up to leave. The group watched until he was gone.
'She certainly is thorough,' said Flitwick.
'I really, really, really, really, really,' said Sirius, 'really don;t want to see that ever again.'
'Come now, Sirius, you seemed eager for the two of them to be together before,' Dumbledore chided.
'I was eager for Hagrid and Elsa to get together, too, but that doesn't mean I wanted to hang around and watch them at it,' replied Sirius. The group gave a collective shudder.
'Yes, well, I'm sure we all regret that incident in the Great Hall,' Dumbledore said with a reflective look. 'Nevertheless, it is good to see them making progress.'
'If you can call this progress,' muttered Hooch darkly.
End notes:
'Pas sans mon poulet' means 'not without my chicken.' I don't know much French, but I ensure that what I do know is incredibly surreal, just to freak les Francais qui peu out.