A PUNISHMENT DESERVED

This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.

A/N: Spoilers. Thanks to all my reviewers.

Hermione stood in the glade, eyes wide and wondering. After three months of fortnightly breakfasts at the café, they'd returned to Malfoy Forest to catch the height of the bluebell season and before her lay a fragrant, knee-deep carpet of blue under the trees, extending as far as her eye could see. It was a deeper, gayer blue than the sky. Pale and bright flashes of butterflies darted in and out of sight and there was a heavy drone of bees.

"If I'd known this was the way to silence you I'd have brought you earlier," Snape said, smirking at her speechlessness. "Haven't you ever seen a bluebell forest in spring before?"

A pair of orange-tip butterflies chased each other through the dappled sunlight to land on her motionless arm, their speckled wings still. She waited till they flew away before she spoke.

"My parents never thought of it. They've always been more interested in culture than nature and I suppose I followed their example."

"Next year, we'll start in early April and you can track its blooming," he promised, hoping she wouldn't instantly deny it. "Shall we walk or have you lost the use of your limbs as well as your voice?"

She grimaced at him, but took a few steps forward. Then she stopped.

"Won't we spoil them?"

"There's a path." He led her to the left. "Here. Narcissa had this made. This was her favourite spot in the spring, I believe." His eyes were sombre behind the curtain of limp black hair.

"Do you miss them?" Hermione ventured before they'd walked ten steps along the path.

His face closed.

"It's long since I counted them as friends," he said shortly.

She remembered asking him that once before, at the first Anniversary Commemoration. He'd replied by asking her to define friends and his subsequent disclaimer of trust and loyalty had hinted that he felt he'd forfeited friendship as soon as he turned spy. She bit her lip. He broke the uneasy silence first.

"So there are still some areas of knowledge Little Miss Know-it-all hasn't explored." He smirked at her glare and continued without a pause, "Perhaps next time I'll bring you to the best-kept secret of this forest, the greenhouse coppice. That's where I'd taken Amory that day we met you here. Every plant there flowers all year round."

From plants to her favourite plant-loving friend was a short step in her thoughts.

"Neville would love a place like that!" she exclaimed.

"If you had any thoughts of inviting him along, I'd recommend you discard them instantly. Though I doubt even his devotion to plant-life could persuade him to brave myself as a tour guide." Black eyes turned towards her with a malicious gleam.

Hermione was torn between a laugh and a scowl.

"He's my friend," she reminded him sternly. I won't let you make fun of him – or of any of them.

"I assure you that my memory is as sharp as ever. I'm in no danger of forgetting how often you disobeyed me in order to prop up his inadequate preparation and incompetence in the classroom. Did it never occur to you that your help would have been better placed in preparing him beforehand?"

She gave a little jump and her brow furrowed.

"No. It never did." She shrugged and her brow cleared. "But it wouldn't have helped anyhow. He was so terrified of you, he couldn't concentrate on anything when you were there."

"I don't tolerate carelessness. I keep a strict rein on the classroom to prevent it," he explained.

The path followed the gentle curve of the slope. He paused as it rounded a particularly large tree to allow her to pass first.

"You frightened him so much, he made more mistakes instead of less," she told him.

It was his turn to shrug.

"He needed to toughen up. He's a Gryffindor, isn't he? He should have shown some of the backbone that got him sorted there."

She took a quick, angry breath.

"He did that every time he turned up to your class!" she shot back.

He wasn't fazed.

"I did him a service then. Pity he's not properly grateful."

Hermione glanced sideways at him under frowning brows, asking herself what she was doing with him. It was three months since she'd reached out for his hand to stop him leaving and he'd held it like a lifeline. Had they made any progress since then? He hadn't touched her since and they still hadn't called each other anything less formal than "Professor" and "Miss Granger".

He was still sour and silent by turns, still quick to anger and be angry. Did he even like her? He must, else why give her so much of his time, yet she could hardly tell from his manner. The question was, did she like him. Was that funny jump-twist of her heart as the corners of his mouth lifted when their eyes met, a sign of anything deeper than friendship? Or was she just flattered that the teacher she'd always wanted to impress now wanted to impress her?

Chewing on her lip, she bent down to examine an individual plant, touching the tip of a long narrow leaf and running her finger along a row of soft blue-violet bells. Did she want this? Did she want him? Enough to disregard her friends' certain dismay and disapproval, even perhaps horror from Neville who feared him and Ron who still hated him? Enough to ignore his equal dislike of them?

He seemed to catch her thoughts through the thick silence.

"That was unnecessary," he conceded. "I'll try to remember in future that your friends must have some redeeming qualities that endear them to you." His mouth twisted wryly. "However unsuccessful I've been in discerning them."

She snorted, still bending over the flower so he couldn't see her face. That was about as close to an apology as she was likely to get, but she didn't think she should accept it. A miss is as good as a mile.

"It isn't one of your many talents," she said with edged civility. "Perhaps the fault lies in your unwillingness to look."

Tight-faced, he looked down at her bent, brown head. He didn't need to see her face to know her mind. After a moment, he sighed agreement.

"Perhaps you'd like to assist me by enumerating all the sterling qualities I'm too blind to see." There was a sarcastic bite to his voice, but she chose to ignore it for the nonce. She straightened up and gave him a long, cool look.

"Perhaps I would."

"Play teacher then and tell me," he invited.

She started further down the path, with a challenging toss of her curls as he followed.

"I've a better idea." The sweetness of her tone warned him and he set his teeth as she continued. "I'll follow your teaching example and make you tell me. Then I can threaten you with detentions and house points if you fail."

He gave her a speculative look. She couldn't see it, but she heard the teasing in his voice.

"Detentions with yourself?"

Was he flirting with her? Her heart gave another funny twisty jump.

"No, with Harry, or better yet, Ron. He'd just love to turn the tables on you after all the times you gave him detentions – scrubbing out the infirmary bedpans, wasn't it, and pickling rats' brains?"

"Insufferable know-it-all," he muttered. "Don't you ever forget a detail?" Yet there was a gleam of affectionate amusement in the complaint.

She smiled to herself.

"Go on then," she challenged. "Tell me what you like about Harry."

"Nothing," he muttered, then held up his hand as she whirled on him. "He's not as obnoxious as his father, I suppose," he added reluctantly.

"Hmm."

He scowled at the expectant tone of her response.

"Anyone who bested Voldemort in a fight can't be a complete dunderhead," he huffed.

She stooped slightly to let her hand trail along the heads of fragrant blue flowers as she walked. This was heaven.

"Go on."

"Perhaps his arrogance turned out to be not entirely unjustified," he mused, glowering at her back. "At any rate his talents did eventually catch up with his impulsive habit of rushing blindly into danger. And he did always have an enviable ability to slide out of trouble." Due largely to the unjustified bias of certain headmasters and house-mistresses, he thought but knew better than to say.

She cocked her head. He knew she was smiling triumphantly.

"Anything else?" she prompted, exacting her pound of flesh with annoying but exemplary thoroughness.

There was a long silence.

"His taste in friends is not entirely abysmal," he said grudgingly.

"That goes for all of them, but good enough. Now Ginny."

His lips twitched, despite himself. Wicked, vengeful girl. She was going to make him think up compliments for every one of her annoying, silly friends. He should have apologised properly. It would have been less painful. No, it was too early to admit defeat.

"Not as much of a nuisance as most of her brothers," he sniped. "Her performance in class was adequate."

"Make another crack about her brothers and I'll include the twins," she threatened.

He closed his eyes and gulped.

"I suppose it's useless to ask for mercy," he gloomed.

Ahead of him, she gave a little unconscious skip that set her abundant hair flying. His eyes, opened again, noted it with an appreciative gleam.

"Oh, let me think," she drew out the words. "How many times did you ever miss an opportunity to call me a know-it-all for being too smart?"

His eyes widened and his mouth twitched again. She'd walked into that one.

"Almost every lesson," he said. "When you consider how many times I could have said it, compared to the infinitesimally small number of times I did -"

She swung around and glared at him. He smirked back.

"You! You! I'll make you sorry you ever said that," she spluttered. "Neville then! You have to come up with ten good things to say about him or I won't let you off."

That wiped off his smirk almost as quickly as she could have desired. It would have had to disappear yesterday to be any quicker.

"I think I'd rather have the punishment," he offered.

"I don't think so," she carolled, her brown eyes glowing with jubilant laughter. "Punishment is to say them to his face."

He swallowed hard.

"One," he bargained.

"Not enough."

"Two, three? Five?"

She shook her head.

"Did you ever let any of us off a punishment you thought we deserved?" she pointed out. "For any reason?"

He scowled at her, but deep inside was a little unacknowledged bloom of happiness. He'd made her smile, he'd made her laugh with joy, and every inch of her indignant, glowing, triumphant self was glorious.

"Longbottom," he grumbled. Heart thumping at his daring, he swept forward and took her hand in his, placing it on his arm to continue their stroll. Would she repulse him?

"Neville Longbottom," she agreed, looking up at him from under demure lashes as they walked. "I'm waiting."

"His taste in friends -"

"You've said that one," she cut him off.

"Just making sure you don't forget to count it."

Her hand was warm on his arm. He wondered if there was any chance that she'd move closer and put her head on his shoulder by the time they'd finished.

"He has a notable affinity for green, growing things – perhaps a fellow-feeling for life forms as silent and unenterprising as himself."

She glanced at him sideways through narrowed eyes.

"Don't push your luck," she warned, giving each word its due separate emphasis.

Their eyes met and duelled. He raised his eyebrow and she pinched his arm just hard enough to sting. His eyes narrowed. He ignored her advice and deliberately pushed harder.

"He had enough sense to know who was both clever and foolish enough to give him the answers."

She took a deep breath, preparatory to blowing him up. He got his next point in quickly. Sometimes timing is everything.

"He never deliberately blew up a cauldron." He wasn't smart enough to know how.

"He did you a service then. Pity you've never been properly grateful," she seized the opportunity to throw his own words back at him. He ignored them magnificently.

"He turned out better than I expected," he allowed,his voice dripping with fake magnanimity.

"Glad you admit it," she snorted. "But then your expectations were so low."

"That's five," he counted, letting a note of hopefulness slide into his voice.

"Keep going."

He stared into the distance and the past with slitted eyes. After a long silence, he thought of another.

"He never talked back."

"Six." She raised an expectant eyebrow, but he thought he heard a weakening of resolve in her voice.

"Split the difference?"

Eyebrows raised and lips pursed, she looked him over. He didn't look repentant, but if friendship with Ron had taught her one thing, it was that sometimes it was better to compromise.

"Oh, all right."

Black eyes held a victory gleam.

"He isn't a Potter or a Weasley." He smirked and added, "That's two points."

Tipping up her chin, she glared at him. He thought he was clever, did he? Well, she'd warned him.

"Now the Weasleys," she gave a thin smile, "starting with their parents. And if you dare argue I'll make you do Remus too."

Twenty years of spying had taught him when to fight and when to submit gracefully – or as gracefully as one could while screaming under Crucio. He took a deep breath and began.

A/N To any reader who might have been traumatised by "Fates and Fortunes", I promise I have no intention of ever making Snape say "Yes dear." So why is he a tad hesitant? In any relationship where one loves and one doesn't yet, the balance of power tends to favour the latter.