Hermione had to force bites of battered fish past the lump in her throat, grateful that the fierce wind gave her an alibi for the tears that kept spilling over her eyelashes. She wasn't sure whether she was crying because he'd hurt her, or because she'd hurt him, or because of the growing, shameful suspicion that he'd been right.

I will not be the pitiable subject of your charity project.

But wasn't that, in a way, exactly what she'd made him? Cajoling everyone into treating Severus Snape as a friend, despite Ron and Neville's well-justified reluctance; coaxing him along to Brighton every week despite his resistance and his barely-concealed contempt for the entire idea, telling herself that she knew what was best for him; telling herself that his cutting tongue and savage sarcasm had softened into dry humour, at least where Hermione herself was concerned.

He's still the same man he always was. The same man who'd looked at her grotesquely enlarged front teeth and sneered I see no difference. The fact that he was also, as he'd always been, the man who had put himself in mortal peril for them all might change how she regarded him, but she'd been an idiot to let herself imagine it changed who he was.

A fool. A dunderhead.

It's what he's like. It's what he's always been like, Ron was right. You only have yourself to blame, for letting your guard down.

They finished their fish and chips in an utter silence that Hermione had no desire to break. Finally, she Vanished the wrapping with a discreet flick of her wand, and cleared her throat. "We should get back."

Snape inclined his head silently.

Hermione headed back toward the promenade, veering aside at the stairs and stepping under them, out of sight. As always, she Disapparated first, Apparating just off the path by the main gate. Snape followed her almost immediately, so close behind her that the sound of his Apparition blended with hers, having taken just enough time to put Harry's Invisibility Cloak on.

She opened the gate, waited until she'd heard Snape's quiet footsteps crunch over the gravel and past her, and closed it again. "Goodnight," she said firmly to the empty air.

"Professor Granger," Snape's voice said quietly, closer than she had imagined him to be. "I will visit the Library, to establish the progress — or lack thereof — of your Troublesome Trio." He paused. "If you wish for an update, your office would be a suitable place."

Hermione didn't particularly wish for an update. What I really want is to go to bed and pull the covers over my head and stop thinking about what an idiot I've been, on just about every front. But she'd dragged him into helping her with her mental plan, after all. "Thank you," she said, her voice sounding stiff and formal to herself. "I'll wait for you there."

In her office, she asked Tilney to bring her hot chocolate, and, on reflection, chocolate cake as well. Tilney outdid herself: the tray she brought had black forest cake, chocolate mud cake, flourless almond chocolate cake, and an assortment of Honeyduke's finest chocolate confectioneries. Crookshanks turned up a few moments later, although in the evenings he usually preferred to hang around the kitchens intimidating the house elves into feeding him. When she'd Incendioed the fire into full roaring life and seated herself at her desk to decide which of the treats would be entree, which main, and which desert, Crookshanks leapt into her lap. He circled twice, claws prickling her legs through her jeans, and then settled down sprawled along one thigh, all four legs dangling.

Hermione ate the chocolate mud cake, and then the black forest cake. By the time her office door opened, apparently of its own accord, and then closed and locked itself, she was feeling decidedly more cheerful. "Cake? I've got plenty."

Snape removed the Invisibility Cloak and eyed the tray in front of her with deep suspicion. "Are those Weasley products?"

Hermione shook her head. "Honeydukes, quite safe."

He sat down opposite her, studied the assortment, and selected one. "I believe Wilkins et al may be making progress. From their conversation, they have identified the phrase 'the tear does creak' as key, although they do not seem very advanced in deciphering it." He put the chocolate in his mouth, and then grimaced. Hermione had the distinct impression that if he'd been alone, he would have spat it out again immediately. She raised her eyebrows, and Snape swallowed and said sourly, "Nougat."

Hermione turned the plate a little, and pointed. "That one's strawberry. So we've got until after Christmas before we need to worry about them facing the final part of the quest?"

Snape nodded, making no move to attempt another chocolate. "At least. Although it seems all three of them will be remaining at Hogwarts for the holidays, so it would be as well to keep an eye on them."

Hermione frowned. "All three of them? That's surprising."

"It's unsurprising that her parents wish Wilkins to remain." Snape shrugged slightly. "You may be aware that one of her relatives was publicly identified as one who supported the Dark Lord, although she never took the Dark Mark. I daresay the Wilkins family have not had a pleasant time over the past years. The girl is safest here." He pursed his lips. "As for the other two, it appears the lure of the Quidditch Key is more powerful than the saccharine sentimentality of a family Christmas. Surprisingly mature of them — if the Quidditch Key in fact existed."

"Says the man who'll be spending his Christmas in the bosom of the Lovegood family."

Snape's face took on an expression that made his reaction to unexpected nougat seem positively mild. "I feel a bout of Dragon Pox coming on."

Hermione shook her head. "You know Luna will just relocate Christmas to your sickbed, if you use that excuse."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "You could persuade her otherwise." He paused. "As I'm sure you wish to." When Hermione frowned, he gave a disdainful sniff. "You made your feelings abundantly clear. I'm sure you can imagine a more pleasant way to celebrate the season than in my company."

Hermione winced. "What I said … about you being … well, I was angry. You hurt my feelings. And I … it's just … " She took a deep breath. "It's just that I allowed myself to think we might be becoming friends."

There was a silence, the only sound in the room the crackle of the fire in the hearth. Hermione found she was holding her breath and she had the odd impression that Snape was holding his. Certainly, he was utterly still, thin face expressionless, dark gaze holding hers.

And then his lips curled in a sneer. "Professor Granger, as you very well know, I don't have friends."

Hermione chose a chocolate at random and stuffed it in her mouth before she could either say something unwise or start crying again. Neither of which will help the situation. She took her time letting it dissolve in her mouth before slowly crunching the hazelnut inside between her teeth. "Well, I have friends," she said at last. Snape opened his mouth to no doubt tell her she should spend Christmas with them, instead, but Hermione didn't give him the chance. "And sometimes I row with them, and occasionally we say some fairly stupid things when we're angry, but that's not what's important, when you get down to it."

"Do enlighten me, Professor Granger," Snape said acidly.

"My friends are people who are there when I need their help. Harry, for example, even though he thinks I'm completely mental, is trying to teach ethics in his D.A.D.A classes." At least, he claims to be. "Ginny, whatever she thinks of our quest, made sure to turn her back long enough for Maisie Wilkins to sneak a broom after Quidditch coaching. I mean, they're just small things, but they go along with big things like all of us going with Harry to the Department of Mysteries, when we couldn't talk him out of it, or Harry and Ron going into the Chamber of Secrets because Ginny had been taken there." She held his dark gaze. "Or like someone thinking to notice something wasn't quite right with me, and taking the time and trouble to find out what, and find a way to mend it."

Snape looked away, shifting a little in his seat. "Hardly a good example. Any witch or wizard with the appropriate expertise would have done the same."

Hermione sighed. "What I'm trying to say is that you were wrong, today. It's not guilt. I'm not pretending I haven't felt, I don't still feel guilty over what I did, and what I didn't do, that night." Snape's gaze flicked back to hers. He opened his mouth and Hermione held up her hand. "And for your information, I do know that's not particularly healthy, and it's only one of the several different kinds of inappropriate responses caused by an over-inflated view of my own abilities that I've been wrestling with over the past five years. But when you're not being deliberately unpleasant, you're good company. You know more about Potions than I ever will, and I value your insight into teaching even if I disagree with a lot of what you say. I'm grateful for your help, and I've had fun steering the Tenacious Trio through the Quest for the Quidditch Key with you." Snape was looking at her as if she was speaking in tongues, and Hermione smiled. "And I don't say any of this, usually, because you'd look at me the way you're looking at me now. The point is, Severus, you can say all you like that you don't have friends, and perhaps you don't — perhaps I'm not, perhaps I can't be, your friend. But we're colleagues, at the least. Aren't we?"

There was another long silence, and then Snape inclined his head slightly. "Although technically, that is untrue."

Hermione chuckled, more with relief than amusement. "You do do my marking."

"Under protest," he sneered.

"And quite well lately," Hermione said with her best attempt at patronising kindness.

He scowled. "I'm delighted to hear I meet your standards for inane comments of 'encouragement' for the dunderheads."

"I wouldn't go that far," Hermione shot back.

The corner of his mouth twitched. "There are further depths of humiliation I have yet to plumb?"

"I haven't even got you started on drawing smiley faces on the good ones."

Snape looked down at his hands, and Hermione was almost certain it was to hide a smile. "If you insist, but I will in turn insist on drawing screaming faces on the Trolls."

"Frowning," Hermione countered.

"Screaming," Snape said firmly. "Screaming, and on fire." He paused, eyes narrowed in thought. "And falling to their deaths, with a note: 'This will be you if you fail your Potions O.W.L. examination'."

Hermione snorted. "If you can get all that in the margin, I'd like to see it."

"And can I also actually set them on fire if they fail?" Snape asked. "Or is incinerating innocent parties a pleasure you reserve for yourself?"

"Of course it is," Hermione said blithely. "Privileges of having my name on the door."

"If only I'd known that when I had you, Weasley, and Potter in my classes," Snape said dryly.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Are you admitting now we were innocent?"

"Indeed not," Snape said, with a theatrical shudder. "I was speaking of Longbottom's toad."

Hermione snorted. "You would not have set Trevor on fire. Neville, maybe, on one of his bad days, but not poor Trevor."

"Given that the amount of effort and energy I expended preventing Longbottom from setting himself on fire, it would have been self-defeating to do so myself."

"Oh, of course, that's the only explanation you might possibly restrain yourself from immolating a student."

"That, and the paperwork." He raised an eyebrow. "Come now, Professor Granger, if you believe otherwise you are admitting that even I have yet to achieve your own reckless disregard for others' safety."

"I didn't say I actually would set fire to a student!"

"You set fire to me," he shot back silkily.

Hermione laughed. "I walked into that, didn't I?"

"You did," Snape said with satisfaction. He rose to his feet. "And I will take my leave while I'm ahead … and not in immediate need of extinguishing."

Hermione smiled. "Good night, Severus."

He swung the Invisibility Cloak on, and disappeared from view. "Good night, Hermione."