Chapter 30
Hermione lay in Percy Weasley's small bed on New Year's Eve, although in truth it was a few hours into New Years Day when the final stragglers from Harry and Ginny's wedding in the Burrow garden finally left or headed for bed. There were certainly a few Gryffindor boys on the sofas and armchairs downstairs, long adult legs hanging over the ends and the sure probability of stinking hangovers the following morning.
The newlyweds had headed for bed less than an hour after midnight, with Harry's tired and emotional bride showing her first run of pregnancy hormones. It was unsurprising though, for it had been a long day for all of them, not least a pregnant young witch just entering her second trimester, accompanied by all the upheaval of a hastily-arranged wedding day.
It had been wonderful, though. Harry had been a wound-up ball of emotion all day – lurching between overexcitement, yearning sorrow, and everything else in-between. What had been clear was the abundance of joy her best friend clearly felt at being officially welcomed into a loving family, and the promise of a son, his blood relative, arriving in a few months. Ginny was a strong and capable witch, despite her youth, and Hermione had no doubt that she would be back playing Quidditch as soon as she could after the birth of her child, possibly leaving a besotted Harry in charge of the nappies whilst she was gone.
Mr and Mrs Weasley had set up a huge marquee in the grounds of the Burrow, just as they had for Bill and Fleur's wedding, and with sheer delight everyone had celebrated, knowing that this time the reception would not be interrupted by Death Eaters and mortal peril. Hermione wondered if Fleur felt slightly robbed of this part of her own day, but then decided that a witch as tough as Fleur Weasley would not be crying over a few missed fripperies when they had all nearly died. Her and Bill seemed to be enjoying every moment of Harry's wedding, despite regular interruptions of Fleur's pregnancy sickness that caused her to lurch from the marquee, followed by a concerned Bill. Hermione had noted with amused interest that the more wizarding beer Bill consumed, the slower his reaction time was to Fleur's frequent exits.
Imagine, she thought, pulling the scratchy knitted blankets up to her chin, one of their trio – married, and at only eighteen. If she'd had to place a bet on whether she, Harry or Ron would marry first, not that her formidable mind would have ever posed such a banal question, it would definitely have been Harry. The boy without a family to call his own? It made absolute sense that as soon as he was an adult, he would secure his future. Not the mention the small fact of nearly being murdered several times before he'd even finished school. No, Harry James Potter deserved every bit of happiness, and she smiled to herself in genuine happiness for her friend.
The days to follow seemed unlikely to be as much fun. The funeral for Alice Longbottom was being held in the gardens of Neville's family home on the second of January, and all members of the DA had been invited to attend. Hermione expected to see many of them, for Neville was universally liked. Neville had told them at the wedding, for he and Hannah had attended together, that Professors McGonagall and Sprout were also invited to the funeral, but had not mentioned Professor Snape, which was somewhat odd, considering the huge role the Potions master had played in the treatment of Neville's parents. Unless he had been asked, and declined the invitation which, come to think of it, was far more likely than him being omitted from the guest list. The Longbottoms were a long-established and extremely proper wizarding family, they would not have made the oversight.
It was inevitable that her thoughts would now drift to the dark Professor, their interactions thus far, and how it had been left hence. From what she knew of Snape, to hide himself away from the world was entirely in character. It was understandable that he would feel deeply uncomfortable in a Muggle home, and outside of the safe space he had created for himself within Hogwarts castle. To be honest, Hermione felt a little uncomfortable in her childhood home too, although she was unsure whether this was because of the family she had lost, or because she was now so insinuated within the wizarding world that it now felt strange to be outside it, however temporarily.
Even so, she felt no great distress about selling her parents' home; and wanted to get the process completed faster than the rate it was currently going at. She had an inkling that once the house was no longer part of her, that she could begin the grieving process for her still-alive parents. What was it that Snape had said? "Your home was very high on the Death Eaters' list of targets." She had been right to do what she did, whatever the personal cost.
What a term it had been. Despite the tumultuous experience of her actual school years, the first term of this, her additional education, had quite surpassed any of it, albeit slightly less imminent danger. She had lost her virginity, not something she had ever given too much thought to in the past; and had taken another's in return. The journey of sexual discovery she had been on since then, quite transcended anything she had previously experienced in her life. Professor Snape had touched her in places that no other ever had; and had made her body explode with feelings that she had never thought it capable of. He had intimated that she had gifted him with the same, and the pleasure on the face and falling from the lips of such a stern, taciturn wizard had been a joy to behold, and if she was honest, bloody thrilling and arousing too.
But yet he had run from her, unable to countenance the thought of being together outside the secret cloisters of the castle. His reasoning, however hurtful and disappointing, had been sound. Could she herself really see them together, in real life, just casually stepping out as a couple? Hermione thought not. Did she want a boyfriend? Not really. Her life was just about to take off, her job at the Department of Mysteries within her grasp, for she had a preliminary interview due just before the next school term began the following week. If she did want a boyfriend, did she want him to be the fearsome Severus Snape? The idea was unlikely.
Was she obsessed by the aforementioned Severus Snape, with every piece of her soul? Absolutely.
Hermione pressed a pillow over her face, and not for the first time, cursed her penchant for overthinking.
-xxx-
Severus had slept through the entirety of New Years Day, for he was physically and magically exhausted, and the following morning, after dragging himself reluctantly to breakfast in the Great Hall, he received two letters in the owl post run, both equally unwelcome, but for differing reasons. Seated at the desk in his private chambers, upon returning from breakfast, he opened both. The first, he was expecting to receive, and it was the date of the Wizengamot court hearing for Richard Briner, just four days hence. Wizarding justice was indeed swift, or perhaps the holding cells in the Auror department were getting full and they needed to ship the next consignment of reprobates off to Azkaban.
The second was from St Mungo's Hospital potions patent department. They were following up their enquiry regarding the successful treatment of Frank Longbottom; and were pressing him for a date to attend their offices. No doubt they knew that once the next school term had begun, a busy professor would have no time spare and were therefore trying to secure a date almost immediately.
He was not ready. He was not sure he would ever be ready. The news regarding the death of Alice Longbottom had not yet broken, although this would be a different story at the end of the day, after the woman's funeral. A funeral which he had declined to attend citing lack of available time but in truth was because he believed that the death of Neville Longbottom's mother was yet another stain upon his soul. Another person who he could not save. He had replayed her final words and actions many times, both in lucid thought and in unconscious dreams that ran alongside his usual nightmares. Could he have played the situation differently? Could he have been quicker in reaching for her hand and yanking her forcibly from inside her own psyche? Severus knew not, and the not knowing was torturing him.
The nightmares had begun again as soon as Miss Granger had been taken from him. The feel of her soft body beside him in bed was so much more than sexual. The girl was a calm breeze, a soothing word, a safe house in an angry world. She looked at him not with disgust, but with passion. She did not touch him and recoil; but seemed to luxuriate in ensuring all parts of his neglected body were fully lavished with her attention. She understood what it meant to have the fire return to your eyes and your soul, sparked from the most unlikely of situations.
Severus sighed deeply, inking his quill, and responding to the Wizengamot summons in the affirmative. That was something he could not avoid, if only to prevent Astoria Greengrass from having to testify against her attacker before the court. He could and would spare his student the distress, since it was in his power to do so, however uncomfortable it made him. He could only pray to all the gods that Richard Briner had no idea of his own repeated indiscretions with Miss Granger to bring up in court to discredit him as a witness.
He was less sure how to address the letter from St Mungo's. They were offering him a ridiculously large sum of money, more Galleons than he could ever want for, upon completion of a successful set of trials, but money was not a motivator for Severus Snape. His Gringotts vault was healthily stocked, due to his frugal living, but the notion that the suffering of others could be alleviated due to his potion? This was something he could do.
Just not yet. He wanted to also trial the potion on himself, not in the same form as he'd given the Longbottoms, but in the form he had been working on before the issue of Frank and Alice had reared its head and demanded all his time and energy. The fact remained that he was tormented by his past, and whilst a large part of him still believed he deserved no better, he also needed to be able to function for the rest of his life. He could not do this with little sleep, constant flashbacks and nightmares.
Severus cobbled together a less-than-articulate letter to St Mungo's with an explanation that skirted any personal details about himself or his state of mental health. He hoped that would keep the wolves from the door for a while, to buy him time to experiment, and to think and work on himself and his own problems.
"All your problems cease to exist when Granger is near," an annoying voice in his head chirruped.
He snorted. What was he meant to do, chain Miss Granger in his chambers until the end of time? No. In a few short months the young witch would be gone, eager to start her new life and no longer stuck in a school that she was already too old for. Perhaps he should give some credence to Andrea Master's suggestion and find himself a wife. Not her, though. Definitely not her.
Annoyed with the whirring of his own brain, Severus slugged back a self-brewed Sleeping Draught, took himself to bed and waited for sweet oblivion, hoping to avoid all further thoughts of Alice Longbottom, Andrea Masters, the Wizengamot, St Mungo's, and the sweet unavailability of Miss Hermione Granger.
-xxx-
Hermione was seated in the Entrance Hall of the Department of Mysteries, feeling more than a little on edge. This was not just because this could be the most important interview of her life, but also because the last time she had been in this hall she had been marking the doors with a Flagrate charm to work out where the hell they were, when on a fool's errand to rescue Sirius Black, who had turned out not to need saving at all, but still ended up dead anyway.
The Department of Mysteries lay on the second-lowest level of the Ministry of Magic, Level Nine. She had come down here via the lifts from the Ministry Atrium. This level bore a striking difference to those above: the black-tiled walls were bare, with no windows and no doors, apart from a plain black one at the end of the corridor that led into the Department proper. The light was provided only by torches, which glowed with a blue-white light. A small flight of steps to the left led to Level Ten.
Behind that black door was the Entrance Chamber, where she was now seated, which was designed to disorient any unauthorised personnel who entered it, the Unspeakable who had left her here, explained. Hermione looked around. It was a circular room with a dark marble floor that looked almost like standing water, candles emitting a cool blue light, and twelve handle-less doors. Whenever a door closed, the walls rotated, making it impossible to determine which door was which. This chamber would respond to a verbal request for an exit by the opening of the correct door. Thus had been the need for the Flagrate charm she had used back then.
She was sure there would be none of that today. The department, although dark and spooky, was actually fairly busy, and Hermione had seen a fair bit of coming and going from various doors. Being herself, of course, she had tried her best to surreptitiously peek into the rooms as the doors opened, trying to be discreet as it was highly likely she was being watched.
After a time, a curious looking man who introduced himself as Carmine Shafiq, her interviewer, led her towards one of the mysterious doors. To Hermione's immense disappointment, the door led to nothing more exciting than a plain office room, with not even a picture or poster on the wall to give any clue as to what went on in there.
Shafiq. She knew the name. The Shafiqs were one of the Sacred 28 of pureblood wizarding families, and thus very important; in their own opinion at least. Hermione was determined not to be intimidated by him.
He bade her to be seated, and sat himself across the desk from her, regarding her intently over the top of his spectacles. He was rather old, with a long grey beard, brown wrinkled skin, and was wearing a rather dapper purple three-piece suit, complete with a pocket watch on a chain.
"Miss Hermione Granger."
"Yes Sir," she confirmed.
"I know many things about you, Miss Granger."
She opened her mouth to answer, but Carmine Shafiq held up his hand.
"The things I know about you, are not relevant to your securing employment within this department, Miss Granger."
Oh.
"To prove yourself worthy to be an Unspeakable, you will present with several Outstanding NEWT examination results, not the complementary certificates, which are not acceptable here in the Department of Mysteries. We only take candidates who have proved themselves to be the best."
"Oh yes, I know that," she replied, eagerly. "That is why I returned to Hogwarts after the war, to complete my NEWT exams for myself, and …"
Shafiq held up his hand once again.
"Enthusiasm is an asset," he told her. "The inability to control it, is not."
Well damn. Not for the first time, Hermione cursed her natural compulsion to talk at people, whether or not they wanted to listen. If she wanted this job, and she badly did, this needed urgent rectifying.
He smiled.
"Do not worry, Miss Granger. We are not as severe as you may think. It is simply our duty to ensure that the only most exceptional witches and wizards join our department."
Hermione gave him a small, relieved smile, resisting the urge to try and tell him how exceptional she could be. If she proved herself, he would find that out for himself.
"What subjects are you taking at NEWT level?"
"Herbology, Transfiguration, Potions, Defence, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes and Charms, Sir."
He scribbled with a purple quill into a notebook on the desk in front of him.
"An impressive skill set," he commented.
"Thank you, Sir."
"And what are your predicted grades in these subjects?"
"All Outstanding," she replied, and was gratified to see his grey eyebrows raise into his wrinkly forehead.
"All Outstanding? That is highly unusual. Do you have this in writing from the Headmistress?"
"I do, Sir," Hermione confirmed, and pulled the scroll from Professor McGonagall containing her official, magically-predicted grades from her bag and handed it to her interviewer, who perused it at length, even casting a charm over it which Hermione suspected would have revealed any attempt at forgery.
He handed it back to her, neatly rolled, and began to scribble in his notepad again.
"That is impressive, Miss Granger. Impressive, and I will admit, rather rare."
Hermione basked in his praise but attempted to keep her excitement from rushing to her face, merely nodding and risking a small smile of thanks.
"How many rooms are you aware of, that are contained within this department?"
She thought quickly.
"The Brain Room, and the Death Chamber, Sir. I also know that prophecies and Time Turners are stored here."
"Very good, very good," he nodded slowly. "Would it intrigue you to know that there are many more rooms than that?"
Not able to keep her eyes from widening, which seemed to make Carmine Shafiq smile a little, she responded. "It really would intrigue me, Mr Shafiq. I love learning, educating myself, and discovering new things."
He narrowed his eyes at her, not in an unpleasant way, but as if he were considering something.
"When do you intend to sit your NEWT examinations, Miss Granger?"
"I was intending to sit my exams at the end of the school year in July, Sir, as is usual, but I have recently found out that in certain circumstances it is possible to sit the exams early, and so I have applied to Professor McGonagall to take my NEWTs at the end of the Spring term, which will be late March into early April."
"I have a report from your Headmistress here," he advised, taking a scroll from the drawer. He did not unroll it, but Hermione could clearly see the cracked wax seal with the Hogwarts crest. "Minerva McGonagall appears to find you one of the most exceptional students she has ever had the pleasure to teach."
She could not help herself from letting out a gasp of pleasure and surprise, and then to her embarrassment felt her cheeks blush a hot red.
"The Minerva McGonagall that I know, would not make a statement like this lightly," he said, tapping the scroll on the desk. "Based on this, and on your April NEWT results matching your predicted grades, Miss Granger, I would like to offer you, with no small amount of pleasure, an interim position in the Department of Mysteries commencing late April."
Her hands flew to her mouth. "Really?"
Carmine Shafiq chuckled and leaned forwards with his hands together on the desk, and a warm smile on his old face.
"Yes, really. I believe you will be an asset to this department, and I have to advise you that I am rarely wrong."
"Oh goodness, thank you so …"
"I also do not require effusive gratitude."
He clicked his fingers and a gold scroll appeared in the air, which he plucked and handed to Hermione.
"Your contract, and terms of employment, Miss Granger. Take it home, read it thoroughly, and if you are in agreement, sign it. It will then magically take itself to the Ministry archives and your acceptance of the job will be confirmed. However, I should warn you," he continued, despite the fact that her curly head was bobbing up and down like a nodding dog, "that if you fail to achieve your predicted NEWT grades then the offer will be withdrawn."
"I understand that."
"See that you do."
Another click of his fingers and the Unspeakable who had first shown her into the Entrance Hall reappeared, and led her to the atrium lift. Rising upwards in the smooth lift, she stepped out into the huge atrium, dominated by the Fountain of Magical Brethren, which had been restored after the war, the ugly Magic is Might statue removed. Hermione stopped for a short while, running her hand in the cool water, wishing she could stick her hot head in it, as she was sure her cheeks were still burning with excitement.
"Miss Granger."
An unmistakable deep voice rumbled behind her.
-xxx-
He saw her at the fountain, recognising her distinctive hair from a distance, but not only that. Her body that he knew every inch of, drew him towards her like a moth to a flame, however ill-advised that was. Severus stepped as close to her as he dared in a public place, wishing to Merlin that he could press his chest against her back, removing any distance at all between their bodies.
She swung around, her eyes filled with excitement and happiness, her cheeks beautifully pink and dressed in formal work robes. Her expression turned quickly to confused surprise.
"Professor Snape? What are you doing here?"
"Good morning Miss Granger. I might ask you the same question."
"I've just had my interview," she replied, and he knew that she wanted to say at the Department of Mysteries, but this would be falling at the first hurdle of being an Unspeakable, and in the middle of the Ministry atrium, too.
"I see. I myself have just completed my testimony at the trial of Professor Briner in the court of the Wizengamot."
"Oh gosh."
"Indeed."
"Can I ask how it went?"
"Not here."
She looked at him with both hope and helplessness in her eyes. He did not want to part from her here, in the middle of the crowded atrium.
"Let us head for the Apparition foyer. Were you intending to travel from there?"
She nodded, and he resisted the urge to take hold of her arm and lead the girl he wished was his witch, to the black-tiled foyer where one could Apparate from the Ministry environs. They negotiated their way through the crowds, drawing many interested glances. This was unsurprising, she was Hermione-bloody-Granger, teenage war heroine, and he was Severus Snape – skanky Death Eater scum, or pathetic lovesick bastard, depending on which side of the fence your opinion was on.
Fortunately, they were not walking so close that it could be presumed they were together. Simply two well-known individuals heading through the Ministry atrium, where they both had a right to be, unchallenged. Once they reached the Apparition foyer, things were much more private, and he was able to take her arm to Side-Along. This at least, was an acceptable form of physical contact.
-xxx-
Landing on the secluded doorstep of her parents' house, Hermione saw that Snape risked staring at her properly for the first time, his eyes seeming to drink in the sight of her. Her stomach lurched with need and want.
"I'm not actually staying here," she smiled, "I'm still at the Weasleys, but I was planning to come over here today to try and work some literal magic with an immovable estate agent."
"Immovable?"
"I am trying to sell this house, as you know, and I had hoped that I would somehow be able to charm the paperwork to get it done before I returned to school, but Steve the agent is not very encouraging."
"Do you have any possessions inside this house that you wish to keep?"
"What? Um, yes, a few I suppose."
Snape gestured for her to open the door, which she did with a set of Muggle keys, and he looked at her crossly.
"You did not set wards on the house?"
"I did not. I went with Harry and Ron the day … that day you left, and I have not been back since."
"It is of no matter now. Collect anything that you wish to keep, including furniture. Do you need any assistance with this?"
Now it was her turn to roll her eyes.
"I carried half of Hogwarts library on the run last year. I think I can manage to shrink a few items, and I won't be needing any furniture. That can stay."
"Indeed you can," he replied. "My apologies."
"You have no need to apologise to me, Sir. But, why I am doing this?"
"If you can show me the Muggle estate agent where your house is being marketed, I can have it off your hands in approximately ten minutes," he told her, a little arrogantly.
"Really?"
To that, she received only a jet-black raised eyebrow in return. Not able to help herself, because the small gesture was, to her, so alluringly intimate, Hermione placed the flat of her hand on his chest. He looked down his long nose at her, and she felt him begin to breathe heavier under her palm. Uttering a swear word, he swooped his head down and took her lips with his, catching them lightly and dancing his own along them. Hermione opened her mouth to lick his lips, and was met by his eager tongue, flickering around hers before pushing gently into her mouth. Sighing, and hearing the professor do the same, she felt around with her hands, finding his and holding them.
They kissed in this manner for a while, not pushing anything further, before stopping, keeping their hands held together. There was no I missed you, or anything of the sort, for no doubt Snape would find this puerile. His kiss told her everything she needed to know.
Upon parting, he watched her gather up the few belongings that she wanted to keep, and used his wand to transfigure his cloak and long coat into something resembling a Muggle greatcoat – a large winter coat that was not out of place in the cold January chill. She looked him up and down, admiring the transition from wizard to Muggle with remarkably little difficulty.
"You're going to Confund the estate agent, aren't you?"
-xxx-
Thirty minutes, one Confundus charm, one Imperio, some nifty charmwork on the papers and one Oblivate later; Severus presented Miss Granger with the completion papers for the sale of her parents' home, proof of the cleared funds deposited in her Muggle bank account, and all keys for the property handed over. The ubiquitous Steve, the estate agent who would never know what hit him, may have a mild headache for the next couple of days, but the deed was done, and Granger was now free of the millstone that her family home had become.
"You're amazing," she breathed, flicking through the papers in disbelief.
"You will find, Granger, that you are the only one who thinks so."
"Oh well, I'm the only one that matters anyway," she retorted, smiling to show she was jesting.
"You are," he replied, a little too earnestly, for he watched the smile fall from her face.
"I am?"
He sighed, for he had opened this particular can of worms all by himself.
"You are," he whispered, leaning his mouth close to her ear, since they were in a Muggle street and therefore anonymous, "the only person who matters one jot to me, Hermione Granger."
Severus watched her flush in pleasure; and wanted nothing more than to steal her back to the castle, back to his private chambers, where they belonged. He placed a chaste kiss upon her lips; and took his good time in ending it.
"You need to return to the bosom of the Weasleys, do you not?" he asked, straightening up to his full height again, having leant down to kiss her.
"I do," she admitted, "but I have so much I want to talk to you about. I want to tell you about my interview today, and about Neville's mum's funeral. I also want to hear all about Professor Briner's trial – what happened, was he convicted?"
"He was," Severus replied, "but with not nearly a lengthy enough sentence in my opinion. You will no doubt read all about it in the Prophet tomorrow, as the case has now been tried and judged, it can now be reported on in all its glory. No doubt Skeeter's coverage will be sensationalist bilge, as always."
Granger nodded, reluctantly, and there was a pause as they walked down the pavement together, seeking a secluded place from which to Apparate to their respective destinations. A bushy copse at the side of a small park seemed ideal, but before either of them could depart, she grabbed his hands, and he was surprised at how cold they were, and he unconsciously began to rub them between his own, wanting to warm her.
"Tomorrow, Sir. Severus," she corrected herself. "I have one more flat to see. It's a Muggle basement flat, very close to the Ministry. Will you come with me?"
"Hermione, that is unwise."
"It's a Muggle flat. No one knows me, no one knows you. Please? I'd really like your opinion."
"We cannot."
Her face fell, and Severus hated that he was the cause of it. He leaned forwards and kissed her on the forehead, wanting to give her so much more, but pathetically incapable of it. She spun on her heel and Apparated away, and his heart thumped with regret and need. The pocket of his coat, still in the form of the Muggle attire that he had transfigured, suddenly twitched, so violently that he wondered whether a mouse or creature from the bushes in close proximity had dropped into it.
Reaching inside, he pulled out nothing but a scrap of parchment, clearly magical, for it was twitching merrily in his hand, and read the short note contained within, in familiar looped handwriting.
11am tomorrow. Basement Flat, 3 Willington Gardens, Whitehall, London.
He might have helped her with the mammoth task of selling a Muggle property in an afternoon, but there was no denying that Miss Granger was a most talented little witch. He might even go.