Chapter 19: Conscience

The expulsion and arrest of Marietta Edgecombe caused almost more excitement among the students than Hermione Granger's pregnancy had. It was quite late before Severus had managed to frighten the last of his Slytherins into their beds, and Draco had put up as much resistance as any overexcited first-year. Only the threat that he was in danger of exposing his fondness for the girl and thus making her a target for vengeance against him had made Draco stop fussing and go to bed.

When all was finally quiet, he cast a couple of surreptitious sleeping charms on the first-year dormitories and slipped out. Although nothing had been said, he was almost certain that someone was waiting to speak to him.

Minerva McGonagall was still at her desk, her hat discarded and her face weary. The lines around her eyes and the silver threads in her hair still startled him at times - she had for so long remained exactly the same that the change still came as a bit of a shock. "Hello, Severus," she said, giving him a slight, lopsided smile. "I thought I might be seeing you."

"Under the circumstances." He nodded, habit moving him to take up the position by the fireplace that he had favoured when reporting to Albus Dumbledore. He glanced up at Dumbledore's portrait - disorienting to have both portrait and ghost wandering about - and raised an eyebrow. "It seems our new Headmistress has a different approach to yours, Albus."

Minerva winced, and the portrait frowned a little. "I still think that Minerva was rather harsh," the portrait said thoughtfully. "Still, I do not think that I would have acted so very differently myself, under the circumstances."

"Of course you wouldn't. A member of an unimportant house attacked one of your beloved Gryffindors." Severus was in no mood to coddle Dumbledore's self-indulgence. Hermione and his child could have died, and the thought still made his blood run cold.

"Severus, that is unfair," Dumbledore protested gently. "While I cannot deny that I have at times showed some slight bias towards my own old house -"

"'Slight' and 'at times' aren't the words I would use for it, Albus." Both man and portrait looked around in surprise at Minerva. To Severus's knowledge, she had never used such a tone to Dumbledore before. "You blatantly favoured them and always have. I won't deny that I did as well, of course, but all the heads favour their own houses to some extent. You, however, were the Headmaster, and should have been impartial."

Dumbledore blinked. "At what time did I blatantly-"

"When the attempted murder of a Slytherin student was punished by a week's worth of detention, because the perpetrators were Gryffindors?" Severus asked silkily.

Dumbledore stared at him for a long moment, and then his eyes lowered. "Severus, at the time -"

"At the time you were far more concerned with James and Sirius than with Severus, who would have been far more use in the early war than the two of them combined," Minerva said harshly. "I know you were fond of them, Albus, so was I, but their behaviour was inexcusable and yet you excused it."

Severus wasn't sure whether to be insulted or pleased by Minerva's assertion that he would be more useful, as if that were the only consideration that mattered, but the stunned look on Albus Dumbledore's smug face was decidedly enjoyable. It was so much easier to resent the man now that he was dead and could no longer use his charm and fatherly demeanour to dull Severus's anger. "I quite agree," he said coolly. "Particularly since I knew even then that you would show no such leniency to a Slytherin who attempted the murder of a Gryffindor."

"That is unfair, Severus," Minerva said, giving him a reproving look. "Draco did try to kill him, after all, and he was quite lenient in that case, even though he might not have been in yours."

"But -"

"That is enough, Albus," Minerva said, giving the portrait an identical reproving look. "Neither of us wishes to speak to you just now. Please go away while we have our discussion."

The portraits were all magically bound to obey the current Head of the school, and thus Albus was forced to take himself off, still frowning. "That's better," Minerva said with some relief. "He and I never agreed over that, you know. I always favoured much harsher punishment of wrongdoing than Albus - he was always inclined to forgive and forget even when it was clearly foolish to do so."

"It was always his way." A way from which Severus had benefited, but it was still annoying. "You always were... firmer."

"In more ways than one." Minerva grinned rather impishly at him, and then laughed at his startled expression. "Did you know I was once lectured severely for smuggling a gentleman friend into the school shortly after I begain teaching? I was most incensed at being treated like a wayward student."

"I... did not know that." The change of subject had been abrupt enough to be disorienting even without the rather shocking nature of the new subject, and Severus found himself somewhat at a loss.

"No, you didn't. I was always rather saddened that you didn't follow in my disgraceful footsteps," Minerva said, looking at him over the top of her glasses. "You were so young when you began teaching... it would have done you good to misbehave a little now and then."

"The opportunity did not present itself," he said, looking away. He would have liked to... misbehave, now and then. But although there had been a few women, none had been of the sort he'd want knowing where he slept. For safety's sake, if not for the sake of decency.

"No, I suppose not. But it is a pity." Minerva nodded. "Still... I believe that Albus mishandled the situation between you and Sirius. And I, at least, would have expelled any student who attempted the murder of another, no matter what house either might be in."

"And granted enormous numbers of points to any student who prevented it, regardless of house." Severus did smile a little at that. "Malcolm Baddock was strutting about like a peacock, and Millicent Bulstrode has never been so enthusiastically congratulated by her house-mates. I believe they are all much more inclined to accept you as an impartial authority now than they were before."

"Good. I intend to be an impartial authority, as much as possible. Which includes putting our erstwhile rivalry behind us. You are not longer the head of a house opposed to my own." She smiled suddenly. "No longer are you an extremely vexing student who persists in asking awkward questions instead of merely doing what he is told. Miss Granger may have been difficult as a child, but you were an absolute nightmare."

Severus tried not to look too pleased. It was a compliment, although many wouldn't see it that way. "Miss Granger, on the other hand, does not question enough... although she is beginning to learn."

"She is." Minerva nodded. "A sign of maturity, perhaps."

"Perhaps." Severus looked away, not quite trusting his own expression. Hermione was an adult, although she still had her adolescent moments, and that knowledge was not... comfortable.

"I think it is." Minerva rose from behind her desk, wincing and putting a hand to her back. "Anyway. I have no intention of permitting attacks on students by other students, Severus, no matter what house they are in. I do, however, have every intention of seeking my bed, as it's been a bloody long day and I want my hot-water bottle. You should get some sleep yourself... you look awful."

"Perhaps I should." The near-loss of his child, a cessation of rivalry with Minerva and sixty points to Slytherin all on the same day had made it a long and wearing one. If he hurried, he might get to sleep before the next major shift in his personal universe.

"That was a particularly apalling performance."

Hermione nodded, leaning back in her chair and rubbing her face tiredly. "I know, and I'm sorry. I just can't concentrate tonight."

Snape nodded, rising from the chessboard to pour more tea for both of them. "I would have thought you would be inured to attempts on your life, by now," he said dryly.

"You don't ever get used to that, I think... at least, I don't. Thank you." She accepted the utilitarian cup and saucer that he handed her and sipped the tea. Plain and strong - she'd been surprised to discover that his taste in tea coincided with hers. "But it's not that, so much. It was all over so fast, and it was a fairly inept attempt."

"Inept murderers succeed every day." He sat down opposite her again, examining the chessboard. Her pieces had almost all been removed and set on the edge of the table. "What is important enough to distract you from learning the rudiments of tactical thinking?"

She gnawed on her lip. "Guilt," she admitted. "For putting that curse on Marietta. Well, on the parchment, but I knew that someone might trip it. I should have done more research."

"You didn't need to do more research. You needed to do more thinking," he said, setting up the chess-pieces ready for another game. "You knew the nature of the curse, you simply didn't think through all the possible consequences of using it."

"No, I didn't. Which is the same problem I keep having with the chess, isn't it? I know all the moves, but I can't anticipate all the possible consequences of each one." Hermione sipped her tea again, frowning. It was irritating, finding such a lack within what she had thought was a well ordered mind. On the other hand, it was very pleasant to be able to sit down and reason things out with Severus Snape, having a real adult conversation...

"It is, although I wasn't sure you'd grasped the nature of the problem." His tone was offhand, usually a sign that she'd gotten something right and he didn't want to seem pleased.

"I don't like it, but I've grasped it." Hermione reached over to set the two pieces she'd managed to capture - through sheer luck, probably - on the board. "I don't like chaos, and I don't like the unpredictable. I like things to be tidy."

"A failing of the overly organised mind." He leaned back in his chair, watching her thoughtfully. "Should you wish to be a scholar, then you need change nothing. Working with magic, however, requires constant adaption, as even the slightest change at the beginning of a process can produce wildly different results at the end."

"Like Potions." She nodded. "And I still feel guilty over Marietta's curse, even though she tried to kill me. Am I being hopelessly Gryffindor again?"

He actually smiled for a fleeting instant. "Actually, no. A true Gryffindor in the perjorative sense would have stopped feeling guilty the moment the victim of the curse did something that retroactively justified being cursed."

Hermione winced. "On behalf of my house... ouch." That was entirely too accurate for comfort. "But you can't retroactively justify cursing someone. It's not as if I knew she was going to try to throw me down the stairs."

"Of course not. Her actions in no way excuse yours. You feel guilty because you know quite well that you did wrong."

"I did. And I do." Hermione rested her teacup on the convenient ledge of her stomach. If she was sitting at the right angle, she could rest a bread and butter plate on it now. "I'm finding within myself an irritating tendency to hold myself accountable for my own actions," she said, feeling a bit whimsical. "I suspect I've come down with a bad case of maturity. I thought being a Gryffindor was supposed to make me immune."

"Generally it does, in my experience. Perhaps your extensive contact with members of other Houses during the war weakened your immunity."

"That could be it." Hermione's cup jostled slightly in its saucer, and she pressed her hand gently to the side of her bulge. "Stop that. He occasionally gets the urge to use my liver for a football," she explained, as Snape looked at her curiously. "And... ow... to use my bladder for a drum. May I?"

"Of course." He didn't get up, this time, merely waving her towards the door. "State your name - I have reset the wards to admit you, since I have no intention of walking you to the loo every ten minutes."

"Really?" He frowned, and she turned hastily towards the door. "Of course. Thank you."

He had reset the wards to his private rooms to allow her access. Unsupervised access. She could have rummaged in his drawers or ogled his private book collection without let or hinderance. Not that she would, but just for him to put her in a position where she could... Hermione went as quickly as she could, determined not to let him think she'd been hanging around in his rooms gawking, and her hands were still damp when she got back to his office. "Thank you again," she said, smiling at him a bit shyly. "I honestly don't think I could make it up to the girls' loo on the first floor anymore."

"You do seem to have slowed to a stately waddle," he agreed, and smirked at her when she made an offended noise. "What were we discussing before you left?"

"My inability to predict the consequences of my actions and the mitigating factor of at least being mature enough to feel guilty for doing someone permanent harm." Hermione eased into her chair with a relieved sigh. "To which my waddling applies, really." It was like poking at a sore tooth. As much as she never wanted to discuss it with anyone again, she couldn't help referring to her pregnancy when they talked. "Another example of my failing to consider the consequences of my actions, and hurting someone else."

"That particular... event was not without consequence for you as well," he pointed out, his expression going still and closed. "Unlike the curse on Miss Edgecombe."

"That's true." She smiled ruefully. "You know, books go on and on about the miracle of life and the wonder of motherhood and all that, but you know what they don't mention? Heartburn. I've been living on Acidium Antidote since I stopped throwing up every morning."

"I wondered why Madam Pomfrey kept requesting more." He tapped a thin finger thoughtfully on the chessboard. "You could make it yourself, you know. It's a fairly simple potion, but it would help you to keep your hand in, and none of the ingredients are harmful in your condition."

"Could I?" Hermione tried not to sound too enthusiastic. She missed Potions, and all the written work with none of the practical was getting a little dull. "I'd have to use the laboratory... you wouldn't mind?"

"Certainly not. I have better things to do with my time than brew a third-year potion over and over." He shrugged. "I would, of course, have to supervise, but it would at least minimise the time I must spend on restocking the hospital wing."

"That would be wonderful!" He raised an eyebrow, and Hermione blushed at her own enthusiasm. "I miss it. Potions, I mean. It's so..." She gestured vaguely. "Such a deep subject. I like Charms and Transfiguration, but there are only so many levels to even the most complex spells in those subjects. But Potions... especially with all the new research I've been doing... it's so complicated. There are so many variables, and yet they can all be qualified if you just get hold of them."

Snape nodded slowly. "It does, in fact, have a great deal in common with chess. Yet you see the same qualities as a challenge when making a potion, and a threat when playing a game."

Hermione had never thought about it in quite those terms, and she thought it over for a moment. "I suppose I do, really. Brewing is... creating something, and I like that. Chess is a sort of attack on me personally, and that makes it feel more threatening and less exciting."

"I see." He tapped his finger on the chessboard again. "I think we will have our Saturday meeting in the laboratory. Maybe the theories I've been trying to teach you will come more easily there."

Severus was smiling slightly when he let himself back into his quarters. The evenings he spent with Hermione were often frustrating, when he saw her struggling with things that should have been easy for someone so bright, but tonight had been productive. She was beginning to understand her own blind spots, and even to be able to work around them a little. Her admission that she felt guilty for hurting Miss Edgecombe had surprised and pleased him... responsibility wasn't a common Gryffindor trait, but it seemed she'd picked it up somewhere.

The smile slid off his face when he realised that his small sitting-room was occupied by a pale figure. Not the usual one-handed figure, either, but a translucent ghost with a long silvery beard. "What do you want, Albus?" he asked a little shortly. Talking with the former Headmaster was always painful, and he could feel his pleasure in Hermione's progress - and her company - slipping away.

"You and Minerva rather upset my portrait last night," the ghost of Albus Dumbledore said mildly. "Wouldn't even let him complete a sentence, as I understand it."

"Neither of us were there to talk to him." Severus folded his arms. "And I meant every word of what I said."

"Yes, I imagine you did." The ghost steepled thin fingers and looked at Snape meditatively. "And you were right... I always was rather biased. Not that my portrait would agree. He was, after all, created to mimic me in life. I, being dead and aware of the fact, have a rather better perspective on my own life."

"'Rather' is an understatement. You pandered shamelessly to Gryffindor and ignored the other three houses as much as possible." Severus moved over to the cabinet and poured himself a glass of brandy. If he was going to have to cope with the ghost of Albus Dumbledore, tea would not be enough. "Even the Gryffindors noticed it."

"Oh, dear. It was worse than I thought, then." Dumbledore sighed an insubstantial sigh, drifting over to the nearest bookcase to look at the books. "And I thought I was doing so well at the time."

"You always did." Dumbledore had never, to Severus's knowledge, admitted to being wrong. Mistaken, occasionally, or ill-informed, but never wrong.

"Yes, I suppose I did." Dumbledore examined the spine of a tome on twelfth-century alchemy. "Miss Granger came through here a short while ago. I stepped into the wall until she was gone, not wanting to alarm her."

Damn and blast it, Severus knew that innocent tone well enough. That was Dumbledore's I'm-giving-you-a-chance-to-explain-before-I-start-asking-awkward-questions tone. "Not that it is any of your concern," Severus said, gritting his teeth. "But I have been giving Miss Granger lessons in elementary tactics, since Lupin is pitifully incompetent when it comes to teaching anything more complex than two persons throwing hexes at one another across a flat surface. She came in here to use my bathroom, since it is a long walk to the girls' facility on the first floor."

"And you have reset your wards so that she may enter without your presence." Even as a ghost, Dumbledore could still twinkle irritatingly. "A privilege even I was never accorded."

"It is one you never merited," Severus said, meeting silver twinkle with black glare. He was in no mood to be teased tonight, all the more because he had been happy until Dumbledore appeared. "You had no innocent reason to be in my rooms without my presence, being quite limber enough to reach the nearest facility and not in a position to have someone hit you in the bladder on a regular basis."

Dumbledore winced. "Good heavens. I had no idea babies could do that."

"Neither did I. Apparently pregnancy is far more uncomfortable than fiction would have us believe." Hermione was becoming more forthcoming with the details of her pregnancy. He'd tried to hide his fascination with the complex process of building an entire working human being from scratch, but he wasn't sure he'd succeeded.

"Apparently so. Miss Granger seems to be bearing up remarkably well under the strain." The twinkle softened a bit, and Albus nodded approvingly. "She seemed quite cheerful when she passed through, and I've heard only good reports from her teachers."

"She is... coping." Severus had to resist the urge to soften himself at the thought of her. "She is working hard, and seems to anticipate her N.E.W.T.s with more excitement than dread."

"Good." Dumbledore nodded. "She is a unique young woman, who will doubtless achieve great things."

"Burdened with an infant when leaving school, it's unlikely she'll have the time or opportunity for greatness." That thought soured Snape's mood even further. It was entirely her own fault, of course, but he didn't like to see her promise blighted by his child.

"She may yet surprise you, Severus." The twinkle was back, and more irritating than ever.

"I doubt it. If that is all, Albus, it has been a long day and I have marking to do." Severus glared at the ghost, who drooped slightly, losing some of his twinkle.

"Of course, Severus. Goodnight." Dumbledore drifted out through the door, and Severus took a minute to strengthen the wards and add a layer against ghosts. He did not like having anyone able to just wander into his rooms - even Draco couldn't open the bedroom door.

He really did have marking to do, but he ignored it to read over Hermione's latest research. She had delved enthusiastically into the more complex Healing potions, and he wondered if perhaps she might have potential as a Healer. She might be able to arrange the training around the baby, if she went to one of the small facilities in Wales or Scotland instead of St Mungo's... they had much more trouble finding trainees, so would be willing to make allowances, and they probably had some sort of child-care facility for the married Healers.

He spent a soothing hour scrawling comments all over the parchment - only some of them critical - and then went to bed. Staring up into the darkness, he allowed himself to construct a pleasant mental image of a pretty, green-robed Healer with a slender neck and delicate hands, who was happy in her work and who finished her afternoon by collecting a curly-haired toddler from a sunny roomful of children. He fell asleep while constructing and furnishing their cottage, and trying to decide how many bookcases might be necessary.

"Hey, Hermione!"

Hermione looked up from her breakfast as Colin Creevey plopped down on the other side of the table. "Hi, Colin."

"Hi!" Colin beamed at her. War, privation, and the early demise of his favourite camera at Death Eater hands hadn't lessened his cheer at all. "Listen, Hermione, could you do me a big favour?"

"What is it?" Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Is this going to involve you taking pictures of something?"

"Well, yeah. Doesn't everything?" Colin grinned and tapped the camera hanging around his neck. "Look, I need to start building up a portfolio. I could leave it 'til next year, but let's face it, you're an opportunity that isn't likely to happen again. Working at school I'm pretty limited age-wise. Everyone's under eighteen or over forty... or eighty. At least if I can manage the pregnant lady and the guy with one arm I'd have some variety, you know?"

"Draco's agreed to this?" Hermione gave him a startled look.

"No. That's the other part of the favour, I need you to help me convince him." Colin glanced over at the Slytherin table with a positively hungry expression. "He's got great bone structure. If I can just get him in the right lighting and a better outfit..."

"Okay, if you want me to convince him you're going to have to stop doing that," Hermione said firmly, trying not to snicker. "You're looking at him like a starving man at a lamb chop. He'd probably find it just a bit off-putting."

"Non-photographers never understand the importance of bone-structure," Colin said, sighing deeply. "So will you help?"

Hermione couldn't help smiling at his obvious enthusiasm. "Well... I suppose. If you give me a couple of copies of the pictures for my parents."

"Deal!" Colin beamed, bouncing to his feet again. "Try to hold the baby in for another week or two, okay? Professor Flitwick says he'll have the Charms Club do the scenery, but I really need to get some costumes worked out."

"Costumes?" Colin was already accelerating away. "Hey, Colin, wait, what costumes?"