The paper bird note was already on Hermione's pillow by the time she made it to her rooms. She smiled broadly, thinking it was a note from her assigned house elf, Tippy. She sat down at the edge of her bed and opened the note.
Yes. That was all it read in a meticulous spidery stroke.
She furrowed her brow, but it did not take her very long to figure out whose hand had penned it, or what the yes was referring to. She knew which questions it was answering. She wasn't sure how to reply to this or send the message on the parchment through the fireplace.
Already dead on her feet, this was one of the few times in Hermione Granger's life that she did not search for the proper book to consult with. Instead, she called out, "Tippy? Are you awake?"
There was a tiny pop and her house elf appeared, grinning up at her, her large aquamarine eyes shining brightly. "Tippy is here for whatever Miss Hermione needs!" Tippy squeaked, clasping her hands and letting them hang in her front, swinging them from side to side.
"Tippy, how do I send a message through the fireplace like this?" She showed the house elf her parchment.
Tippy bounced on her feet. She tugged excitedly at the ends of her floral patterned pillowcase that had been fashioned into a dress. "Tippy knows how to answer Miss Hermione's question! Miss Professor must walk up to the fireplace and think of who miss wishes to send her bird message to!"
"Thank you!" Hermione was pleased and scrambled up from her bed and headed towards the unlit fireplace. She hesitated, "Oh, but, Tippy…"
"Yes, miss?"
"How do I Transfigure the paper into a bird?"
"It is easy, miss! Miss Professor just must tap her wand and tell the parchment to make a bird! Chartam Avis!" But Tippy already snapped her fingers and the paper turned itself into a bird.
"Thank you, Tippy!" Hermione murmured a finite counter-spell to return it back to its original parchment state so that she could write a reply. "Tippy, I appreciate you taking the time from resting to come help me."
Tippy shook her head. "Miss Hermione should not worry about Tippy. Tippy wishes to serve Miss Hermione whenever."
"Tippy, I would like you to think of me as your friend instead of your…boss, or something similar."
Tippy tilted her head to the side. "Miss?"
"I can clean and do a lot of things for myself. You do not need to come here every day or every night."
"But Miss Tippy is needing work to do!" Tippy frowned. "Does Miss Hermione wish to have another elf in place of Tippy?"
"No! It is nothing you have done, Tippy. You have been absolutely wonderful. I just don't wish to make you work any harder than you need to."
Tippy was shaking her head. "No, miss. Miss is Tippy's only witch or wizard that Tippy works for! Tippy does not even work in the kitchens! Mister Dumbledore is a most generous master. He is making sure that house elves assigned to the school's professors has one apiece only. Us house elfs works are split equally. Tippy is not even having to work in Gryffindor or Slytherin or Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw! Just Miss Hermione!"
Hermione's heart softened. She had no idea. She thought there were not many house elves in the entire school and that they were in charge of doing everything. Perhaps in her day, in the future, the house elves were much shorter staffed.
"Thank you for telling me this, Tippy. But since I called you here so late, please feel free to take the day off tomorrow. Or, if you really must do something for me, please take a half day."
"Tippy will do whatever miss wishes," she curtsied and went away with another tiny pop after she and Hermione said goodnight to one another.
Hermione went back to her note from Snape and wrote beneath his words:
My office. Tomorrow night. Same time.
She muttered the spell that Tippy told her, thought about Snape's office and sent the bird message into the unlit fireplace.
She finally lay down in bed, still dressed, and didn't realize she had fallen asleep until she woke up in the morning.
For whatever reason, Hermione struggled with her lesson plans for Defense Against the Dark Arts. She knew that had she been appointed Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, or Muggle Studies that she would be able to have lesson plans written out for the next four or five academic years. She spent a good amount of time relying upon the texts that she knew Harry considered whenever he thought up lessons for their D.A. meetings. It wasn't that Defense was her worst subject or that she was even poor at it in a practical manner. She just had a massive ball of anxiety in the pit of her stomach whenever she thought about the position, how it was cursed, and about how much Snape wanted the appointment. Perhaps she could say something to him about it later that evening.
The day lasted entirely too long, Hermione decided, while she waited for the fourth years to file out of her classroom. She was looking the most forward to her meeting with Snape later into the evening, past midnight. But that wasn't the only meeting she was curious about.
She'd received a less than discreet note from Sirius Black during breakfast in the Great Hall that morning. The owl delivering it was an absolute disaster, completely wrecking the table's organization before landing upon Sibyll Trelawney's head, causing the Seer to shriek and flail her way out of the room. Sirius's note indicated when the next Order meaning was: this coming Sunday at seven in the evening. So, she had a few days to come up with something should they quiz her about anything she may know.
She noticed that Snape eyed the message that the barn owl brought her. She wondered if he perhaps knew what was included in her mail that morning, as she never received anything other than her morning issue of the Daily Prophet.
He knew she received nothing but the newspaper everyday, as he asked her for it (while scanning her spot at the table for anything out of the ordinary) when she was finished so that he could work on the crossword puzzle. Sometimes, if the staff table was particularly empty in the mornings as it was wont to be, he would read the puzzles to her in his drawling voice (four seats away) and she would give him missing answers in crisp and clipped tones. Sometimes, this was all the conversation she would have with him for extended hours at a time. Any other time she saw him, he acted as though she weren't there at all.
Mulling over Sirius's note, she pushed herself away from the table to drop the latest Daily Prophet in front of Snape without having read. He looked up at her, slightly hunched over his plate holding two pieces of untouched toast, and over his coffee. She looked back, trying to hold her face as unreadable as his. Their eyes locked and the anxious ball she usually carried in the pit of her stomach unfurled and warmed. She stepped away before her coming blush crept upon her cheeks. He knew that she received some disconcerting information because he closely watched her countenance and noticed how her eyebrows furrowed. He stared at the crease that dug its way into her flawless forehead.
Hermione knew, in turn, that he had been watching her before she ever stood, as they sat so near. He also thought that he was sly and discreet in the moments that he was anything but. She chalked it up to his youth.
But then that thought saddened her. He must not have honed most of his spy-worthy skills of stealth and absolute frigidity yet, for the worst in his life was still to come. Not only that, but he hadn't eaten a bite all morning and instead sipped thoughtfully at his coffee as he shifted his seating position so that he more easily faced her direction of the staff table.
Hermione went back to her own dry toast and pumpkin juice. She pulled a Defense book out and read over it some more, preparing more than necessary for the first class of the day.
Snape looked down at the crossword puzzle, not really reading any of the clues. He fetched a quill from his bag hanging off the back of his chair and began writing his own words in the blocks. He worked thoughtfully before finishing his second mug of coffee before standing, pushing his chair in, and shouldering his bag.
He walked smoothly over to where she sat, towering over her, standing almost too closely before laying the paper back in front of her.
"Miss Granger." He said, his voice deep in his chest, but coming out soft and low. "I am now finished with this. I daresay you haven't had a chance with it yet. Perhaps you can figure out the puzzles in the back that I cannot comprehend." He smirked at her when she gave him an incredulous look at that admission. "Good day."
He swept away from her, his black robes billowing behind him, looking like an adolescent bat more than anything else.
By now, Hermione was the only professor left at the staff table. Flitwick had been at her right, but he had told her good morning and went on his way before Snape ever stood. She looked at the students at their proper House tables. They were clearing out, as well. It seemed as though no one noticed she and the Potions professor's exchange.
She filled her goblet a second time with pumpkin juice, not intending to drink it, but to spend more time at the table to open the Prophet up to the crossword page.
Instead of reading the clues, she looked at the answer boxes:
Y
G O T
U K
E
E
P
[]
F
L
O
So, there Hermione was, waiting for her fourth years to leave the classroom while she looked at her copy of the newspaper for the umpteenth time that day. She had not taken a lunch period and instead went to her office for a quick sandwich while she responded to Sirius's note, accepting his invitation, and then taking it to the Owlery to send it off. She thought the Auror office was the best bet. Were they already using Grimmauld Place as Order Headquarters? She never asked any of them in her time if that had been the case for the first Wizarding War.
Once the fourth years were gone, she turned the lights off in the room and headed back to her office. She did not plan on leaving her office or rooms for the rest of the day. She was still exhausted from the previous late night and planned to reward herself with a nap on her couch after grading essays and other homework and classwork assignments.
"Just a quick nap," she told herself firmly, curling up on the couch in front of the fireplace, pulling a thick throw blanket over herself. It was now past nine. Just a lie down for half an hour or so and then more grading…
"Miss Granger," Snape said, after stepping from her office's fireplace, brushing the front of his trousers off.
He walked over to where she lay on the couch. This was the most at peace he'd seen her. He felt, had he been blessed with a sense of pure kindness, he would leave her undisturbed. That he should write her a note, rescheduling. But, no. He had enough of late nights and hoped to not count on anymore anytime soon.
He reached down and gently grabbed her shoulder. He did not shake her. Instead, he squeezed tenderly. She was full of sleep warmth, almost feverish. Probably from the so heavy blanket she was under. He pulled it back, hoping the cool air would aid in waking her. She was wearing a plain Muggle t-shirt and pajama bottoms. He noticed that her arms broke out into gooseflesh at contact with the cool air.
"Miss Granger. Get up, or I shall make you get up," he growled. He squeezed her again, harder but with the tenderness still. He allowed his thumb to stroke the fabric of her shirt, as though this silken caress was an apology for his crassness.
Hermione gasped loudly and sat bolt upright in one swift movement. "Professor, sir!" She cried quite coherently for someone who was just in a heavy sleep. She pulled the blanket around her like a cloak.
He pulled his hand back as though burned, then slipped both of them into his trouser pockets. He was dressed similarly to last night, except his shirtsleeves were still buttoned at the wrist. His hair was clean. He looked tired and wary at her sudden and loud exclamation.
She asked him to sit on the other end of the couch and he did.
He sat with a sigh, slumped low into the seat's cushion, and rested his head into the backrest. "Miss Granger, it would be remiss of me if I did not request that we meet during earlier hours." He was frowning, but she heard mirth—as well as exhaustion—in his tone.
Hermione pulled her legs up into her cushion and sat cross-legged, her back against the armrest on her end of the couch. He saw her little socked feet poking out from her blanket cloak—their colors didn't match and he gave the slightest, most miniscule of smiles at the corner of his mouth.
She answered while watching him use his long, slender fingers to brush away the hair that fell into his face. "I agree." Her mouth went dry and she waited for him to say something.
He did, but not before warding her door with silencing charms and the like. "Tell me what you know about Horcruxes." His voice had turned slightly dark and demanding. "Insufferable little know-it-all such as yourself must know everything, isn't that right?"
She studied his face. It was guarded, but waiting almost patiently. There was a longing in his black eyes—a longing that betrayed his previous jagged snarky question, in those dark eyes that had softened in her office's dim light.
Hermione swallowed hard and rooted around inside for the bravery that possessed her the previous night in pushing his door open. She launched into a fast, but detailed answer including everything she learned about Horcruxes in the last year and specifically Voldemort's. She described Tom Riddle's diary and the ring in vivid detail. Snape kicked off his shoes and shifted in his seat as she continued to speak. He drew his long legs onto the couch, pressing his back into the armrest on his side of the couch, mirroring the position she hadn't moved out of this entire time. He drew his right leg up, his knee almost pressed into his chest. He stretched his left out, his own socked foot so close to hers.
"That means he has three." Snape said quietly. He was staring at her mismatched socks once more and noticed that his foot moved closer in the time of his listening. They were almost touching, but he did not move. "Including the locket that dear Regulus showed me. I think it was Slytherin's locket."
"It would make sense. I'm thinking of the importance he ascribed to the ring. Dumbledore told me that—" And there was the sinking feeling in her stomach as the ball of anxiety returned. Damn.
"Dumbledore what?" Snape's eyes blazed. "Dumbledore's known about this all along."
"No, he hasn't, honestly. Well, at least this Dumbledore hasn't."
He could hear the panic in her voice and he knew that she was onto telling him something she shouldn't be. "What do you mean 'this' Dumbledore?"
Hermione didn't know what to say or what to do. She was sure she was going to be able to keep her secret a lot longer than this. Maybe she could Obliviate him, or rush to where she hid her Time Turner and go back to before she ever took her nap so that she would know better than to let this slip. She remembered the documents that Dumbledore gave to her before she went back in time. Didn't one of them indicate that she could tell whomever about her situation if it were necessary? Or was it not telling someone, but doing something to change events if it was necessary? Well, technically, telling Snape about this would change events…
Snape watched her closely, very aware of the internal war going on within her mind. "Well?"
She finally looked into his dark eyes. The longing and softness were long gone. "I am not from here."
He raised an eyebrow.
"I am not from this time, I mean. I'm from almost twenty years into the future."
Snape stood up, his fists clenched at his side. All the warmth he felt from being on her couch was gone. All the hope he had for this meeting, all the hope he was given from her knowledge about Horcruxes was gone. He felt sick, sure that the unspoken potential to help or save he and Regulus was now shot.
"He's sent you back to spy on me because he doesn't trust me. I should have known."
Hermione expected him to say a lot of this, but this was not it. He so easily accepted her claim of being from the future.
"It isn't that!" She was pleading at this point. She stood and looked up at him in earnest, to show him the honesty shining in her amber-brown eyes.
"Don't. Lie. To. Me." He set his jaw hard and stern, all but sneering down at her.
"If you think I'm lying, then look inside my mind!" Anger was surging through her now. "Go on!"
That reckless courage returned. She grabbed his face in her small hands and pulled him down to her level. If anyone else had been watching, it would have looked as though she were about to pull him into a fierce kiss.
He grabbed her face in turn, moving her to him, steeling his gaze and muttering the needed incantation.
He saw everything.
Her meetings with Dumbledore. The detailed documents the headmaster had given her. Harry and Ron, her old life. Her parents. He saw himself, older, terrorizing her. He pulled back. He was still holding her face; she was not holding his. He looked toward her bookshelves, still holding her.
"Harry is James and Lily's son." Hermione didn't know what possessed her to say that.
His gaze found hers once more and he dropped his hands and spat, "I know that! I know that they're married and that they're going to have the boy! I heard the Prophecy. Whatever else do you think made me come over to work for Dumbledore, you silly girl?" his face was twisted into that old, familiar fury that she was used to since she was a younger girl.
She did not apologize. She steeled her jaw and looked up at him defiantly.
"I have not told Dumbledore I overheard the Prophecy," he said this hatefully, but also delicately. "That is what I most wanted to tell you tonight."
"It has everything to do with the Horcruxes," Hermione breathed, calming down.
His shoulders relaxed; he was less rigid. When he spoke, the slight softness returned to his velvet voice, "I figured as such. After speaking with Regulus and thinking more about them, of course." He paused for a beat. "I told Dumbledore that the Dark Lord was targeting certain families and that I knew Lily Evans would fall onto his list. I went to Dumbledore immediately and begged to have a hand in the Order. I would give him all the information the Dark Lord fed to me. I am now under Dumbledore's command and service at all times. All for her protection. We have helped her escape the Dark Lord three times." He rubbed at his temples, violently and groaned. "I know not why I am telling these things to you."
"People tell the truth at night, when we're tired, " Hermione blurted out, recalling old Muggle psychology articles she used to read about in social science magazines during her summer holidays. "It is in our wiring to do so."
And, as though he hadn't heard her at all, he said, "I must go. It is late." He slipped his shoes back on and headed for her fireplace.
"I can still help you, Severus," she said, looking at his back. "Please." Please. It would help me, too. "I need you." She realized how this sounded and sputtered, "I mean, I-I need your help."
Something about her calling after him by his first name froze him.
"No, Hermione." The way her name winded its way out of his lungs and swirled around his tongue and teeth left his lips flushed with an intoxicating something left behind.
He turned to face her once more and noticed she had moved closer. He cleared his throat and snapped at her, "You cannot. I knew a long time ago I chose the wrong lot to lay down with and now I must deal with it."
"You made the right decision, coming to Dumbledore," she said, sternly and hotly. "You are not hopeless and you are not as stuck as you are forcing yourself to believe. Stop being so damn melodramatic."
He shook his head at her before going to grab a pinch of Floo Powder. He stepped into the grate and looked at her sadly. "Pity…when we realize we no longer want the things and situations we have gotten ourselves into. When we no longer want the individuals we surround ourselves with."
