November 1999

On the third week of the month, it began to rain and showed no signs of stopping. The trip to Hogsmeade left everyone cold and damp, and Hermione and Lavender grabbed a table at the Three Broomsticks to recover. While students were not closely monitored on the weekend trips, several professors usually went along to keep an eye on things. Since they both needed to go shopping for the upcoming Millennium Ball, they had volunteered. Hermione also privately thought that it would be a good opportunity to get Lavender out of the castle. She wasn't sure that Lavender had stepped off the grounds since August.

The rain had driven most of the shoppers inside the pub, leaving the cozy space cramped and loud. Hermione and Lavender's small table was out of the way, but unfortunately not far from a larger table full of men loudly exchanging dirty jokes.

As per usual, Lavender's presence drew some attention from both students and other patrons of the Three Broomsticks. Lavender sighed when she felt eyes on her.

"I foresaw that this would happen," Lavender said sagely to her. Hermione gave a half-hearted attempt at appearing impressed, but inwardly groaned. Lavender vacillated between a sullenness that rivaled Severus', and an annoyingness that rivaled Trelawney's. Hermione preferred the Snape-like sullenness.

"She looks like she got chewed up and spit out," one of the men at the table said loudly. There was uproarious laughter from the table. Lavender stiffened.

"It's too bad. She would have been beautiful otherwise," another added.

"Don't listen to them," Hermione whispered fiercely, grabbing Lavender's hand. Lavender jerked back, but the men had already seen it.

"Aw, don't stop on our account!" One of them protested, throwing his arms out drunkenly.

Madam Rosmerta came over and said something quietly to the men, who only laughed harder at whatever she had said. They stopped laughing when she rolled up her sleeves and single handedly removed all of them from the room, tossing them into the muddy street. She brought two drinks over to Hermione and Lavender's table.

"On the house," she said, setting them down with a clunk, before returning to the bar.

They sat in an awkward silence. Lavender ground her teeth, causing the muscle in her jaw to jump.

Hermione sipped her butterbeer, and then began, "Those men-"

"Save it, Granger," Lavender said. "They were just saying whatever else is thinking."

They left a short time later and met Ginny at the boutique as planned. While Ginny might have been a professional athlete, she was certainly not inept when it came to fashion, a trait that was enough for Lavender to tolerate the addition to their group. The second they stepped into the shop, Hermione felt herself begin to shut down. It wasn't that she didn't want to look nice. The rows and rows of dress robes were just overwhelming.

"Why don't I help the two of you find something first?" She offered.

Ginny gave her a look that made it clear that she knew what Hermione was doing, but she did not say anything about it.

Ginny, lithe and perfect, was the first to find hers.

"I suppose this'll do," she said, looking in the mirror. The dark green velvet hugged her slim figure, and brought out the vibrance of her trademark hair.

"Absolutely! Oh Ginny, you look amazing!" Hermione cried.

Lavender "hmm"d her agreement before returning to the rack she was looking through. After Ginny's quick success, Lavender's frustration seemed to slowly balloon. Her cheeks turned pink and her eyebrows became more furrowed as she flipped through dress after dress. She had yet to try on a single one.

"Why don't we ask for some help?" Hermione suggested, looking around for the attendant.

"No." Lavender said. "I can do this myself."

"What about this one?" Hermione said. "It has a higher neckline."

"It's like a decade out of fashion, Hermione," Lavender snapped. "And it's not like the neckline matters. My face is more than enough to keep people preoccupied."

Hermione returned the dress to the rack and kept looking.

In the end, it was Ginny who found Lavender's final choice, a deep blue number with intricate lace detail. Hermione smugly noted that it did, in fact, have a high neckline. Any feeling of indignation or superiority was immediately removed when both Lavender and Ginny looked expectantly at her.

She blinked.

Ginny sighed. "Go on to the changing room. We'll bring you things to try on."

"If I could make fifteen year old you look presentable, I'm sure I can do the same now," Lavender said, sizing Hermione up. Hermione trudged to the dressing room, hoping that this would not be a long process. Her hopes were dashed the second she saw how many robes were dumped into her dressing room.

A dozen or so attempts later, Hermione finally reached one that no one immediately vetoed.

"Oh, Hermione," Ginny said. "Definitely that one."

"I look like I'm going to a wedding," Hermione plucked at the skirt of the gown. "As the bride."

"Well then maybe someone will take the hint," Lavender said, assessing the garment. Hermione rolled her eyes."It really does fit you perfectly, you know. I think you should get it."

"White is fairly common in formal Wizarding events in any case," Ginny added.

"I don't think so," Hermione began, but Lavender waved her off. "You haven't even seen yourself yet. She gestured to the mirror, "Go look."

Despite her protests, when Hermione saw herself in the mirror, she had to admit the dress looked good. It was an ivory ball gown with off the shoulder sleeves that offered a strong contrast to her dark skin. There was little embellishment, just simple folds along the sleeves, and Hermione thought the plain expanse of skirt rather suited her. But still.

"I don't think so. It would be too odd," Hermione said. She spun around. "It's too bad, though. It really is beautiful."

"It's a good thing that it's not your decision then," Ginny said, crossing her arms. "Because we are making you get it."

Severus' new research project had utterly consumed him. He often stayed up into the early morning hours, working from dinner to dawn if he didn't have other obligations. Even when he did, his mind was occupied, mentally turning the problem this way and that, examining each facet and the accompanying challenge.

Teaching made his fingers twitch, as he longed to be working over a cauldron himself instead of teaching dunces how to brew a basic Forgetfulness Potion for the upteenth time. Severus quietly observed Lupin during meals and staff meetings, cataloguing each physical trait and behavior that he could distinguish.

Like any proper Slytherin, Severus' determination to find the cure for lycanthropy was not borne out of a single reason. Of course the appropriate answer was that it was the "right thing to do." Caring for others and such. It was more of a fortunate side effect than his reason for attempting it. In truth, his quest provided him with a fresh start. Severus Snape was well aware that erasing the past was impossible, but all the same moving forward required attention to the future. A permanent Wolfsbane meant positive notoriety, clearing his name once and for all. Despite the endorsement of both the Ministry and Harry Potter himself, there were those who still questioned his allegiance during the war. The accompanying income for discovering such a cure would not be unappreciated either. Teaching wasn't entirely bereft of benefits, but having the option to leave would be welcome.

Lastly, it was an olive branch to Remus Lupin. In fairness, Severus was well prepared to use Lupin as his guinea pig, and he would not have an iota of sympathy if Lupin suffered some ill effects of his experimental work. All the same, Minerva's words to him at the beginning of the year had struck a chord in him. He would never admit it to her, but her opinion counted for a lot. Perhaps it was time that school year rivalries were put aside.

That particular November evening, Severus sat at his desk frowning as he read. He crossed out a sentence in the book in front of him.

"Ridiculous," he muttered. He should have been grading the essays that he had assigned his NEWT level class, but instead of tearing gaping holes in students' papers, he was eviscerating a long dead scholar. Apparently not even a good one.

He set the useless book aside and evaluated his options. It was late. Probably later than he actually wanted to know. His neck and shoulders were stiff as they often were when the weather grew colder. Severus had received enough punishments from the Dark Lord that his nervous system would never recover. Nagini's attack on his neck had certainly not helped matters. He rubbed his temples, moving down to the side of his head and then his neck.

He would have to go to his storeroom to retrieve a balm to alleviate the frayed, sharp pain that radiated through his skull. There was bound to be something that would be of some use. Now more than ever, he was grateful for his familiarity with potions. Few other subjects provided as many opportunities to both harm and heal individuals. While he had always found there to be an … attractive quality in both the dark arts and the defense against them, the art of potions simultaneously relaxing and engaging. As he often informed his students during their very first lesson, potions had the unique capability of capturing both the mind and the senses, enhancing and arresting the body.

It also provided him with a way to distance himself from the impossible or irritable, if only for a few hours. Anger could dim to a simmer along with a brewing potion, fear could be husked away like the shell of a moonseed. Problems might be complex, but solutions were often simple. In other situations, he often found the reverse to be true.

Most glorious of all was his storeroom, which he guarded with all of the possessiveness of a dragon. It was a subtle, yet vibrant room filled with bottles of various shapes and sizes. Smells, some more delightful than others, quietly permeated the room. The front shelves were neatly labeled with ingredients often used in class, and those further back contained more sinister and tantalizing substances, both ingredients and potions. Individual shelves were temperature controlled to ensure that nothing would spoil, which provided a unique sensory experience if one were to run their hand along the length.

It was this room that he had used to structure his mind when he first began to study in Occlumency. There was a certain amount of order required for the subject, and compartmentalization could be aided by a strong visual, such as a familiar room. The ability to bring order to the chaos that was thoughts, opinions, emotions, observations and the like was not owned by everyone, and even those with a natural talent had to hone their craft.

This brought to mind Hermione Granger's strange request from the previous month. He thought it highly unlikely that her motivation was purely academic, and he had told her as much at the time. While a quick use of Legilimency could present the answer, he had never used it outside of strict necessity, and he saw no reason to change that stance now. Besides, her uncharacteristically vague response made it clear to Severus that she was unprepared to share whatever demon she was wrestling. He had learned the hard way that lessons would be futile in such a situation.

Severus moved to a cabinet located towards the back of the room, moving with practised ease around the shelves and wards that jutted out in odd spaces. The cabinet itself was small, no larger than a medicine cabinet commonly found in Muggle bathrooms, but it contained everything from tinctures to oils to more obscure potions. There were some things that he liked to have on hand even if Poppy did not have an immediate need or use for them. He breathed deeply as he opened the cabinet and the combined scent of tea tree oil and peppermint hit his nose.

Over the years, he had tried various balms, spells, and potions, but it was only recently that he had found a combination with any notable effects. A tension relief potion was always handy, especially when combined with penetrating sting of peppermint oil. Typically he kept some in his rooms, but he needed to restock. Considering how little time Severus spent in his rooms, he was surprised that it had not taken him longer to notice.

He brought the potion and oil to his quarters, placing them on the edge of one of his bookshelves where it would be in easy reach and out of the way. No one would notice the small brown bottles perched on one of the lower shelves. Well, except Granger, but Severus was not expecting her to visit anytime soon. He paused for a second. She did have a habit of showing up in his domains unannounced. On second thought, he moved the bottles to the bathroom. It simply would not do for her to begin to poke around in his personal affairs and not just his personal library.

She dreamed that she was walking through Diagon Alley. It was dark and late in the day. Few shoppers remained on the street. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione thought she saw a shadow following her. She quickened her pace, looking for the exit. Even though she had been certain that she was headed in the opposite direction, she found herself in Knockturn Alley, where the street was narrower and poorly lit. Here, there was no one else.

Then she heard thump, thump. Thump. She spun around, looking frantically for the source of the noise. An enormous black cat, nearly as tall as the buildings, peered out at her and gave her a wicked grin. It blinked, and for a moment it seemed to disappear completely into the shadows, before it leaped out at her. Tripping over herself, she ran away from the beast. It bounded after her, keeping up easily. It gave her a playful bat that sent her flying through the air. She landed on the cobblestones in a heap.

Hermione tried to scream, but no sound came out.

"Cat got your tongue?" A taunting voice whispered into her ear. Hermione shot up, backing away from the noise, and looked around her. She was alone again. Her breath came heavy and fast as her eyes flicked across rooftops and storefronts, searching.

A low chuckle rang out, reverberating down the empty street. Hermione stood, frozen. Bellatrix slipped into sight mid-transformation with a delighted smile on her face.

"Well, well. The little Gryffindor Princess has finally left her tower," Bellatrix cackled. "Oh this is a special occasion."

Hermione reached for her wand, but it was not in her pocket. Why hadn't she reached for it before?

"Looking for this?" Bellatrix waggled it in front of her. "Let's see how it works for me. CRUCIO!" As it often happens in dreams, the pain was delayed and incomparable to the real experience. Hermione flinched all the same, jarring herself awake. Sweating, shaking, she sat up in bed, knees curled against her chest.

"It was only a dream," she whispered, more to remind herself that she could speak than to reassure herself. She put her head on her knees.

Get it together, Granger.

If Harry -Harry- could function after everything he had been through. If the Weasleys could keep going after losing Fred. If Lavender and Severus and all of her students that were there for the Battle of Hogwarts could continue on, then she would have to learn to do it too. They had all lost someone, most more than one person. They had all suffered. Who was she to be the one to fall apart now?

The second Quidditch match of the year between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw was reasonably well attended, considering the torrential rain that continued to fall. Students stood huddled together under the protection of drying and warming charms, cheering on their fellow classmates. Hermione sat stiffly in the stands, her hair becoming frizzier with each passing moment, and silently cursed Minerva's apparent devotion to the sport.

At least she was in good company. Most of the other professors were in attendance as well. Vector and Pomona were enthusiastic but kind to each other as they bragged about their respective house teams. Minerva, Severus, and Aurora, the taller professors sat in the row behind Hermione. Her hair had become a bit of an obstacle for Filius and even some of the others.

"Granger, if your hair expands anymore, only a giant would be able to see over it," Severus said from behind her.

Tonks, who sat to Hermione's right, grew a large magenta mohawk that cut directly through Severus' line of sight. When she cheekily turned her head to look at him, his entire view of the Quidditch pitch was was a low chuckle from the group, and even though Hermione did not turn around to look, she could practically feel Severus' scowl burning into her.

"There's no need to be antagonistic," Remus said mildly from Tonk's other side. It was unclear whether this was addressed to Tonks or Severus, but neither of them took the comment well, giving off almost simultaneous growls.

"Snape's right though. You're starting to look like a bushy, oversized pygmy puff," Lavender said with a loud sniff.

She sat on Hermione's left, bundled up with only her bright red nose visible. Ironically enough, Lavender's cold prediction seemed to have missed the mark slightly. Poppy had a record breaking low number of colds and flus for the fall. The only one who seemed to have run into a particularly nasty head cold was Lavender herself. Hermione had made sure to take a preventative dose of Pepper-Up before interacting with her. The last thing she needed so close to Christmas break was a case of the sniffles.

Hermione brushed off the comment with an impatient wave of her hand. Criticism from Lavender was almost as familiar as criticism from Severus, although his comments were rarely hair related, whereas Lavender's comments consisted of little else. The few hair-unrelated complaints were fueled by Hermione's ( lack of) fashion sense. In her defense, jeans and jumpers were comfortable and weather appropriate almost year round. So what if they made her look "lumpy"?

"Believe me," she said grimly, giving her hair a ginger pat. "It is of a greater inconvenience to me than it is to you."

"Perhaps you should take your own advice and pull it back," Severus said. The words bordered on harsh, but he seemed genuine.

Both Hermione and Lavender laughed at that.

"If you want to be the one to help her untangle hair ties and bobby pins, be my guest," Lavender said.

Hooch's whistle blew, and they turned their attention back to the game. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff games were not always boring, but they certainly were the least exciting. The rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin reached such epic proportions that the stadium was packed, and the game was usually tense and high energy. In comparison, the crowd drawn to Ravenclaw vs. Hufflepuff games was practically placid.

Hermione wished that the current game was as short as the last one. Two hours in, and no one had even spotted the snitch yet. The rain was interfering with the Seekers' ability to spot the brief gold flicker that indicated that the snitch was flitting by. The rain was interfering with Hermione's ability to see as well. She couldn't even make out the numbers emblazoned on the back of the Quidditch robes.

Arncliffe was once again announcing the game, but her boredom was apparent even across the sonorous. Despite the strong and frequent drying charms, an uncomfortable dampness had permeated the seats and clothes of the onlookers. Hermione shivered, but before she could cast another warming charm, she felt a rush of warmth spread along her body.

"Thank you!" Hermione said, smiling. She didn't receive a response, but perhaps Minerva, who surely had been the one to cast it, hadn't heard her.

Hermione stood outside the Lupins' front door, shivering and knocking loudly. It was the 22nd- the night before the full moon. Remus had left the school before taking his potion. When Hermione had realized this, she tried to Floo call him. Unsuccessful, she brought it to the Lupin residence. It was unlike him to be so forgetful, and now no one was coming to the door. She was getting worried. Finally, after a third series of knocks, she tested the wards. Luckily, she was able to get inside and out of the miserable weather outside. As she stepped out of the pouring rain and into the toasty entryway, she realized why no one had heard her knocking.

"If you don't want to be here, just leave!"

"Oh, like you don't already have one foot out of the door!"

"I'm bored, Remus. We're either teaching or at home. I want excitement and- and adventure!"

"You've made that abundantly clear. If you didn't want to come here, you could have just told me!"

Tonks laughed sharply. "Told you? It was your dream to come back and teach. What was I supposed to say?"

"Still! It was your choice to stay with me."

"And it was yours to be with me, even if you regret it now."

Silence, and then: "I never said that," Remus said quietly.

"You never had to," Tonks said.

They were quiet again. Hermione stood there, horrified, wondering whether she should just put the Wolfsbane Potion on the floor in the entryway and just leave. Before she could decide, she heard footsteps in her direction.

"Hermione will probably be here soon. In fact, I'm surprised that she-" Remus stopped when he rounded the corner and saw Hermione.

"-Isn't here already," he finished.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, handing him the goblet, and turning to go. Remus made an aborted movement, like he planned on stopping her, but he let her go with a sigh.

Hermione burst out of the house in a flurry, wanting to put as much distance between herself and the uncomfortable scene as possible.

A little known fact was that the Slytherin common room had a view of the lake and all of the life teaming inside of it. The rest of the dungeons felt more confined. Years ago, Severus had frequently found himself going up the Astronomy Tower where there was the same level of isolation, only with the added benefit of being able to see the expanse of the Highlands. The year leading up to Dumbledore's death, Severus had spent hours at a time, just staring out across the grounds, and occasionally, up at the sky.

He should have predicted that the spot in which he found solace would be the same place that he would ultimately kill Dumbledore himself. Severus Snape often found himself in the position where his admiration, affection, or even attention would lead to tragedy. It was as if he were a distorted King Midas where instead of gold, everything he touched was simply destroyed.

If he were a better man, perhaps, he never would have returned to the tower again. He never would have wanted to see the place where his master, his mentor, had died. Yet within the first week that Severus had been named headmaster, he had visited the tower. He had gone again every week for the entire school year. The night of the Battle of Hogwarts, he had stood there, looking out over the Hogwarts grounds. The Whomping Willow had shivered as though in preparation. He had stood with his arms crossed, unblinking, until the Potter had entered the castle.

Since his return to Hogwarts, he had not ventured up to the tower until now. It was one of the more impressive and frequently used aspects of Hogwarts. On clear nights when Aurora held class, the roof of the tower would retract, leaving the night sky above completely visible. Tonight, however, the steepled ceiling remained in place. There was an opening in the side of wall that allowed for telescope access. It was wide enough that two skilled flyers would have managed to nudge their brooms into the tower with only a little difficulty.

As he climbed the stairs of the tower, the rain finally stopped. Severus stood in front of the access point, arms crossed, standing as still as he had over a year ago when he had waited for inevitable fight to begin. The sudden stillness of the night seemed tentative and fragile like the sky itself was unsure whether it would release another torrential rain.

In the distance, he could see someone Apparate to the Hogwarts gates. As the person slipped through and walked towards the school, he realized that it was Hermione Granger. Severus had not recognized her at first. She was drenched, and her normally gravity-defying hair was plastered to her head and neck. Even with the distance between them, his dark eyes could pick out the impatience with which she wrung out her hair.

Torn between curiosity and amusement at the sight, he headed back downstairs. His resolve to keep his distance from Granger kept wavering. Half of the time, she forced her presence upon him, and the other half she was doing something so intriguing or infuriating that he sought her out. This water-soaked apparition probably did not deserve consideration at all. She was hardly capable of any sort of malevolent intentions, and he was hardly the sort to be caught unawares.