Chapter 27: ...The More They Stay The Same

"Snape is evil. Evil," Ron moaned, dropping his head to the table with a quiet thunk. "Essays now. The man's a sadist. Doesn't he think we have enough to worry about with N.E.W.T.s? They're next week! He has to know that!"

"And this is his way of forcing us to study something he knows is going to be on the exam." Harry sighed, laying down his quill and flexing his cramped fingers. It was a lot more pleasant studying all together in the Gryffindor common room, the way they'd used to, but after three hours the warm fuzzy feelings had definitely faded. "You know, I think I'm starting to finally get the hang of Snape. He manages to be a total bastard while at the same time making sure we learn exactly what we need to. It's clever. A pain in the arse, but clever."

"I could live with him being a bit less clever and a bit more helpful," Ron grumbled. "He could have just said 'this'll be on the exam, learn it'. He doesn't need a two-foot essay on the subject."

"That's where the total bastard part comes in, yeah." Harry shook his head. Since he'd stopped writing Snape off in his head as 'mostly evil, should be watched', he'd actually started seeing the sense in the way the man behaved. He didn't like all of it, but he could see the logic now. "Hey, Hermione?"

"Yes, Harry, what is it?" Harry could only see the top of her head, as she was sitting behind the inevitable stacks of books and notes. Her voice had a high-pitched note in it that set off alarm-bells in Harry's head, though. That was Hermione's about-to-crack voice. "Just give me a minute, I'm almost finished with this."

Harry stood up so he could see over the books. Hermione had dark circles under her eyes, and her quill was scrabbling frantically across the page. No, now was not a good time to ask her to check his essay. "I think we could all use some fresh air," he said instead. "Especially you. Between Martin and studying, you've hardly been outside in the last two months."

"I don't have time for fresh air!" Hermione scrawled her signature on the bottom of the parchment and flipped it aside, reaching for a huge book on Ancient Runes. "I've gotten so behind on my studying, I can't believe it..."

"Hermione, you don't need to get so worked up," Ron said, moving some of her books so he could see her face. She made a cross little hissing noise and pulled them back within reach. "Look, you could fail absolutely everything and it'd still be okay. You're a heroine with an Order of Merlin First Class, you won't have any trouble finding a job or anything."

Hermione looked aghast. "If I fail everything... Ron, don't even say it! I could, I've gotten so far behind, and if I don't get my N.E.W.T.s I'll spend the rest of my life brewing second-rate love-potions in some hole of a laboratory for Fred and George and... no, no, I have to keep working! You go get some fresh air, if you want it, but..." She trailed off into incoherent mumbles, stuffing her parchment into her bag and almost running out of the room, with her stacks of books floating along behind her like angular, obedient sheep.

"Oh, that was clever." Harry gave Ron a disgusted look.

"What? I was trying to make her feel better!" While his face was down on the table, Ron had acquired a splotch of ink on one cheek that added a certain something to his bewildered-idiot expression. "She really doesn't have to worry about it."

"Ron, this is Hermione. To her, doing well on exams is more important than getting a job... or at least about the same." Harry shook his head. "I'll tell Dilly to keep an eye on her. You want to get the broomsticks out and fly for an hour to clear our heads before we get back to it?"

"Sounds good. You find Dilly, I'll get the brooms. Meet you on the Quidditch pitch in fifteen."

"Professor Snape?"

That chirpy little voice was not the voice he was anticipating. He had suggested skipping their last chess-game before her exams, knowing that she had to study, and had been privately elated when she'd refused, claiming that the game would help her to steady herself and order her thoughts before plunging back into studying. He'd planned to discuss past N.E.W.T. examinations, to give her as much help as he could without compromising his conscience or hers. And she was late, and now Dilly the house-elf had appeared in his office in her stead. "What is it, Dilly? Is Miss Granger unable to attend our meeting?"

"Miss Granger is very upset, Professor Snape," Dilly said, wringing her hands anxiously. "That Weasley boy is saying something to upset her, and now she is working herself up about her N.E.W.T.s. I is worried she will make herself sick if she doesn't calm down soon, and she is upsetting the baby. She is asking me only to tell you she is too busy, but I is hoping you will go up and calm her down, Professor sir, she is always listening to you."

That Weasley boy never knew when to keep his mouth shut. "I will be there momentarily, Dilly. Bring a tea tray to Miss Granger's room."

"Yes, Professor!" Dilly vanished with a bang, and a moment later there was a second bang as Severus slammed the door behind him.

Minerva was right, damn it. Hermione would never stint Martin of care, he was certain of that, but she would work herself to frayed nerve and bone to care for him and achieve every other goal she'd set herself as well. He'd seen the signs of short sleep and lost appetite on himself often enough to recognise them on her, and lately he'd watched her forcing herself to eat, choosing mild foods that wouldn't upset her stomach. She probably only ate at all for her son's sake, she would be living on coffee and toast if she wasn't feeding him as well...

Pausing outside Hermione's door, he could hear Martin wailing thinly even through four solid inches of oak. It wasn't until he opened the door that he heard Hermione sobbing as well. She was clutching her son, trying vainly to comfort him even as she cried hysterically herself. Her own sobs and the baby's shrieks rendered whatever she was trying to say unintelligible, and Severus had closed the door behind him and advanced into the room before she realised he was there. "I... I'm sorry..." she managed, struggling to stifle her sobs. "I... I've..."

"You have worked yourself into a state," Severus said, sitting down beside her on the bed and firmly removing the baby from her arms. He remembered how to hold the child properly, and surely being removed from his weeping mother could only serve to calm Martin down. "What's the matter?" He managed to settle Martin comfortably in one arm, and the other wrapped itself without permission around Hermione's slender shoulders.

She uttered a little wail and leaned against him. "I'm g-going to fail everything, I j-just know it... I'm g-going to let everyone d-down and I'm going to h-have to go work for F-Fred and George and I won't be a-able to provide for Martin properly and I'm going to b-be a bad m-mother!"

Severus blanched. "Work for Fred and George Weasley?" What an appalling waste of a brilliant mind - not to mention the horror of having to spend all day, every day, with one or both of those two menaces. "Hermione Granger, if you do such an idiotic thing...!"

She gulped, burrowing her face into his robes. "But nobody e-else will have me, with n-no N.E.W.T.s and a b-baby..."

"Don't be ridiculous." He jiggled Martin awkwardly. It made no appreciable difference. "You could have passed all your N.E.W.T.s before the war. If you wish to excel rather than merely passing, of course, you will have to work at it."

Hermione sniffled, but her sobbing eased a little. "Do you really think so?"

"I am not in the habit of giving empty compliments." Martin let out a particularly loud yell, and his father gave him an exasperated look. "Hermione, what on earth does one do to him to make that infernal noise stop?"

"He's frightened because I've b-been crying." Hermione's hand located Martin more or less by feel, since her face was still buried in Severus's chest, and cupped his fuzzy head gently. "Comfort him a bit and he sh-should stop."

Martin was too young for peppermints and advice, and Severus had never mastered any other form of comfort. Still, Hermione's hand on the boy's head seemed to be helping, and Severus attempted to assist her by tucking Martin more securely against his chest and saying "There, there," rather uncertainly.

Hermione giggled weakly. "You sound just like Professor McGonagall... except she won't even pick him up. I think she's afraid she'll break him or something." She wriggled around, somehow managing things so that she was holding Martin and Severus found himself with arms around them both. "Shhh... I'm sorry I frightened you, darling, I won't do it any more..."

Martin began to quiet, and Severus reluctantly drew away. He would have liked nothing more than to hold them both for the rest of the evening, and didn't dare indulge in even a few minutes. Fortunately, Dilly had obeyed his instructions, and a tray sat on the small table with steam rising from the teapot. "Would you like a cup of tea, Hermione?"

"Yes, please." He heard a rustle, and Martin's wails stopped abruptly. "Bottomless pit," Hermione said tenderly. "You've got hollow legs, just like your Uncle Ron."

Severus took his time making the tea, careful to keep his back to Hermione. Her eyes were on the baby, and she didn't notice the imperfect reflection in the window that Severus watched eagerly. The image was dim and a little blurred, but he saw her cradling his son, murmuring tender nonsense as he suckled, his small fist waving in apparent contentment. She captured that waving fist when it bumped her collarbone, kissing it lightly and smiling down at her son. Their son.

Seeking comfort more than food, Martin only nursed for a few moments before turning his head away. Hermione buttoned her robes again, and Severus turned to offer her a cup of tea. "Here."

"Thank you." She accepted the cup, turning a little away from the baby to drink from it. "I'm sorry, I've been such an idiot..."

"You've been overdoing it, as usual." He sipped his own tea, looking her over critically. "You look dreadful." She did, too. Her eyes were red, with dark smudges beneath them, her hair was a mess, her nose was bright pink and her whole face blotchy from crying. He wanted nothing more than to gather her into his arms and kiss her senseless.

She laughed a little. "I always go all pink and blotchy when I cry. So does Martin."

"He looked like a distressed tomato when he was crying," Severus said, pleased to note this resemblance between mother and son. "Other than that, he is improving remarkably in appearance." At birth Martin had looked like a scrawny, wrinkled little pink monkey. At nearly two months old he was significantly larger, with a shock of dark hair and bright dark eyes. He was, Severus thought, a rather handsome specimen of babyhood.

"He's beautiful," said the doting mother proudly, stroking Martin's cheek. "And so alert, for his age. He always pays attention to what's going on around him. Some of them don't - they just lie there like little drugged blancmanges."

She smiled at him, acknowledging her use of his words, and he couldn't help returning the smile just a little. "He looks healthy, certainly."

"He is. Poppy checks him over every week, and she says he's just perfect." Hermione smiled hopefully at Severus. "Would you like to hold him?"

He would. He wanted very much to hold him. To hold his son and talk to Hermione, to have a pleasant and domestic little chat over tea and biscuits with his son in his arms. "No. Thank you." He finished his tea and set the cup down, rising just a shade too quickly. "I should be going. Now that you are calmer, it would be... inappropriate for me to remain."

Hermione's face fell, but she nodded. "Of course. I'm sorry." She couldn't know, of course, that Minerva McGonagall would have actively encouraged him to remain, and she was still true to her assertion in the beginning that she didn't want to make any trouble for him.

"Take better care of yourself. Your N.E.W.T.s are far more likely to suffer from being overtired than being under-prepared." She nodded, and he left before the regretful sadness in her lovely eyes could destroy his resolve. She wanted him to stay, but only for the sake of his son.

It couldn't possibly be because she wanted him to stay with her. His longing for her to return his love was warping his judgement, making him think he saw that which logic told him could not be there.

"I have one request, Griselda, regarding Hermione Granger."

Severus turned his head just slightly, the better to eavesdrop on Minerva's conversation with the decrepit old Examiner. Marchbanks had overseen his own O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, and had not looked appreciably younger even then.

"Oh, really?" Professor Marchbanks skewered a slice of roast beef and chewed on it with obvious relish. "Fudge insisted you were going to ask for special treatment for the girl. Didn't expect it."

Minerva snorted. "Cornelius Fudge is an unmitigated ass, Griselda, as well you know. I simply wanted to ask that Miss Granger be allowed to leave her written examinations early if she finishes early, and that she be called in the first group for the practical examinations. While I have no intention of in some way trying to make the N.E.W.T.s easier, I would like to minimize the time she must spend away from her son." She gave Griselda Marchbanks a meaningful look. "New babies... er... must eat often, you know."

Severus nearly choked on his own roast beef, his brief splutter fortunately covered by the wheezing laughter of Professor Marchbanks. "Very true, Minerva, very true... it's been a long time, but I do recall. Well, I don't see anything wrong with letting the girl go first. Won't change the nature of the examinations at all."

"Good. Thank you, Griselda." Minerva looked relieved. "Miss Granger has, so far, made a great effort to attend all her classes and keep up with all her work quite as usual, but I understand that babies have an extremely limited capacity and must be refilled frequently."

Only years of rigid self-control kept Severus from laughing as loudly as Griselda Marchbanks at the childless Headmistress's apparent belief that infants worked to the same basic principles as inkwells.

"Just breathe, Hermione, you're going to have some kind of attack if you don't relax." Harry patted her back gently. "Look, it'll be fine. It's Potions, it's one of your best things."

"Yes, but..." Hermione twisted her fingers together nervously. "What if I make a mistake? I'd never be able to look Professor Snape in the eye again if I didn't get this N.E.W.T, after all the extra time he's spent helping me to catch up. And it's so easy to make mistakes in Potions - what if I lose count of my stirs or I cube my dried wartcap instead of dicing it?"

"You can always find something to worry about, can't you?" Ron put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed gently. "Don't fret about it. At least you don't have to wait all afternoon for your turn."

Hermione nodded. "That was nice of Professor McGonagall," she agreed. While she was fairly sure Martin could have held out until the G's were called, it was a relief to be able to get it over at once. "Oh, I'm so nervous..."

"Well, it'll be over soon," Harry said cheerfully, as Professor Tofty approached. "Off you go."

Hermione followed the tiny, elderly wizard, her nervousness only slightly relieved by a brief smile from Draco. "Once again, Miss Granger, you lead us all off." Professor Tofty sounded quite cheerful about it, at least. "Doing your N.E.W.T.s with a new baby must be challenging!"

"That's a polite word for it." Hermione smiled shyly at him. "But Professor McGonagall has been very kind. One of the house-elves is helping me to take care of Martin, so I've been able to go to classes and everything just as usual."

"Commendable, commendable," Professor Tofty said brightly. "Now, Professor Snape has informed us that the two of you have discussed a rather daring little variation on the traditional ingredients for the Greater Restorative Draught. You may prepare it in the traditional fashion, or use your variation for an extra point."

Hermione felt her face go cold. "The... the variation? But we haven't tested it yet!"

"Ability to innovate is vital in N.E.W.T. level potions." Professor Tofty twinkled at her. "Besides, something has to offset your advantage in already knowing precisely how the Greater Restorative Draught is made, and thus not being tripped up by the slight inaccuracy in the provided instructions."

Hermione returned his smile, a lot of her nervousness draining away. She could have recited from memory all twenty-seven complex and precisely timed steps for the traditional Greater Restorative Draught, as well as the twenty-five steps required for the variation she and Severus had theorized. "Then I suppose I should begin, shouldn't I?" Approaching the designated bench, she reached for a handful of dried scarabs and a mortar and pestle.

For this year, the Defence N.E.W.T. had been set on the last day. It had come as a relief to more than half of the seventh-years, and as an exercise in terror to the others. Even Hermione hadn't been able to muster much in the way of nerves for the Defence practical - after crouching behind a bit of broken stone trading hexes with Macnair and Crabbe Senior who were lurching around knee deep in blood and mud, there was nothing even the slightest bit scary about trading a few hexes with a nice examiner in a clean, airy room. Lavender had staggered out of the room sobbing, and Hermione had to admit she'd smirked at the sight.

Finally Ron ambled out, deliberately casual. "That was a doddle," he was telling an impressed-looking Hufflepuff with curly black hair. "Nothing like real fighting, really." Then he spotted Harry and Hermione, and waved. "'Scuse me. Harry! Hermione! This is it! We're done!"

"Yeah." Harry rested a hand on the stone wall beside him. "I'm going to miss it. Hogwarts, I mean. It was my first real home."

Ron nodded, patting Harry on the shoulder. "But we'll make another one. Did you talk to her yet?"

"No, not yet." Harry glanced at Hermione. "I was waiting for you."

"Talk to me about what?" Hermione narrowed her eyes. If Harry was waiting for Ron, then they'd cooked something up together. That usually wasn't a good sign.

Harry looked around at the crowded entrance hall. "Not in here. Come on, let's go take advantage of the sunshine." He led them out into the grounds, Hermione automatically cupping a hand over Martin's face to shield his eyes from the sunlight. She'd wanted to be there when Harry and Ron finished their final N.E.W.T., so she'd nipped up to her room and fed Martin while C through N were tested, then tucked him into his sling and headed back down to wait for the boys.

Harry found them a shady spot under the big tree by the lake, and sat down on the grass. "Listen, Hermione, Ron and I have been talking..."

"A phrase to give any sensible woman pause," Hermione said, smiling as Martin looked up at the leaves dappling the sky with apparent fascination. "What have you been talking about, and how long is it going to take me to repair the damage?"

Ron lolled on the grass, his hands behind his head, and grinned up at her. "No damage this time. We're being all mature and that."

"We're going to live at Grimmauld Place," Harry explained. "It'll take a while to get it all fixed up, but it'll be handy for Auror training, and it's... well, it's mine. I don't want to let Sirius's inheritance just crumble away."

"Good." Hermione smiled at him. She knew going back to Grimmauld Place would be hard for Harry, but it was probably best for him to face his grief and exorcise it, rather than letting it drive him away from what might become a home. "That's a good idea, Harry."

"And we were wondering... uhm... if you'd like to live with us." Harry gave her a hopeful look. "There's loads of room, and you and Martin could have a whole floor to yourselves if you wanted. We could make him a proper nursery and everything."

"We'd really like it if you did," Ron said, rolling on his stomach and gazing at her hopefully. "The three of us still together, even if you don't want to be an Auror. It'd feel weird if you weren't around, you know?"

Hermione found herself tearing up. They obviously meant it - they weren't making the offer because she needed a place to live, or because they didn't think she could take care of herself and Martin. They'd all been together for so long that she didn't really want to make the break all at once, either. "Oh, Ron... Harry..." She sniffled and hugged Harry, since Ron was currently out of reach. "I'd love to."

"Good." Harry beamed and hugged her back. "We're family, really. It'll be nice to live together for a bit."

Draco hadn't visited his rooms since the night when Severus had compared him to his father. When Severus retreated there after his last class of the day, however, he found Draco sitting in his accustomed chair. No tea, this time - instead, a dull green bottle sat on the small table. Scotch, single malt, very old - brandy might be the traditional tipple for the wealthy and pure of blood, but Lucius had had a taste for scotch and had squared it with his aristocratic conscience by drinking only the very finest. Draco must have procured this bottle from the Malfoy family cellars.

One glass, decorously half-filled, sat beside the bottle. The other was in Draco's hand, and he lifted it in a half-salute to his godfather. "The last of my exams are over, and I am a free man," he said gravely. "Have a drink with me?"

"Of course." Severus nodded, pleased to be included in the ritual, and took the glass, sitting in the chair opposite Draco. "To what shall we drink?"

Draco looked down at his glass. He looked tired, which the N.E.W.T.s would account for, and sad, which they would not. "To friendship," he said after a long moment of silence, meeting his godfather's gaze steadily. "Alliance, partnership, call it what you will - whatever it is we have, let's drink to it."

Severus nodded and lifted his glass silently, draining it in one as Draco did the same. He wasn't sure what to call it, either, although 'kinship' was close. Whatever it was, he valued it.

Draco silently filled the glasses again, and resumed his seat, turning his glass slowly and watching the firelight gleam in the golden depths of the scotch. Twice he opened his mouth, and twice he closed it again. Eventually Severus tired of watching him fidget. "Draco, whatever you want to say, say it and be done."

Draco nodded, his glass stilling as he looked up to meet his godfather's eyes. "Forgive me," he said quietly. "But... I'm not the only person in this room who's in love with Hermione Granger, am I?"

Severus looked away. "I've told you before, Draco-"

"That there was too much mead and a lapse in judgement, I know. But I've got eyes, Severus. You've been shorting yourself on sleep for months so you can spend time with her, you've invited her into your rooms and spent hours playing chess with her and talking. Since Martin was born, you've even abandoned your own research to help her catch up and pass her N.E.W.T. I doubt anyone else has noticed, but I know you too well. You've been desperate to sieze every moment you can with her before she leaves."

"I..." He hadn't wanted to burden Draco with this. On the other hand, who else could possibly understand the anguish of loving her and being offered only friendship? "I told you the truth. At the time of Martin's conception, there was nothing between us. Since then..."

"Since then." Draco nodded, his lips tightening as he nodded. "I learned to care for her since then, too."

"I hoped she would return your love," Severus said quietly. "I truly did, Draco. You could take care of her and Martin far better than I could."

"And you would have given her to me without a moment's hesitation?" Draco was watching the twirling glass again.

"She has never been mine to give. But I would have surrendered any claim on my son, and gone away until my own emotions were... under control." And a bleak prospect it would have been, but at least he would have had the comfort of seeing the two persons he loved best in the world happy.

Draco sighed. "You're a better man than I am, Severus," he said quietly. "I am not my father, but in some ways I am like him. What I want and cannot have, I cannot easily surrender to someone else." Severus frowned, and Draco smiled sadly. "When I looked into Hermione's thoughts, I was immediately and justly punished for my intrusion. I wanted to know if she could ever love me - and saw that her heart had already been given, and to the one person who is more important to me even than Hermione. She loves you. She loved you when Martin was conceived and she loves you now."

Severus was vaguely aware of the glass slipping through suddenly lax fingers, of the thud as it hit the thick rug and the splash of scotch across his boots. It was unimportant. The only important thing was the face of the young man across from him, sad and a little guilty but honest. "She... what?"

"She loves you. I should have told you earlier, and I'm sorry." Draco rubbed a hand wearily over his face. "The last gasp of my Malfoy training, perhaps. If I couldn't have her, then we'd suffer together. But..." He smiled lopsidedly. "You've risked your life to save mine more than once. You've fought for me and stood by me and smacked me across the ear when I'm being an idiot. You're more important to me than she is. I'm sorry it took so long for me to work that out."

"I..." Severus closed his eyes for a moment, drawing in a deep breath. "You must be mistaken. She can't... It's impossible that she should care for me." He must not for an instant let himself believe the wonderful delusion that she could love him. When it proved to be untrue, the pain would be too much. "We are friends, I think, and I hope that she has come to -"

"Severus." A clink of a glass being set down, and warm fingers resting lightly on his hand. "Please believe me. She loves you. Go to her and say... I don't know. Something. Recite some romantic poetry. Ask her to marry you. Something."

Severus opened his eyes at that. "Recite poetry? Me? She'd laugh."

"Severus, I don't think she'd laugh if you showed up naked with a rose in your teeth, reciting Arithmantic calculations." Draco grinned a little. "But... no, romantic poetry isn't really your style, is it?"

"Romance in general isn't my style." It was simply impossible. She was an attractive, intelligent young woman who could have any number of younger, handsomer men. "Even if she were to be... fond of me, she and Martin would only suffer for being associated with me. Surely it would be better for them to say nothing."

Draco snorted. "Severus, don't be ridiculous. Her status as a heroine far outweighs yours as a traitor; Hermione Granger could shack up with a troll and everyone would still think she was marvellous." He slid out of his chair, kneeling beside Severus and looking up at him earnestly. "And believe me, because I know better than anyone else how true this is - you would be a good father. Better than mine. Better than most that I know. Martin would be lucky to have you."

Severus looked down at the pale face lifted to his, and rested his hand lightly on Draco's shoulder. "I am afraid," he said with painful honesty. "If I let myself hope, and you were mistaken..."

"I'm not." Draco sighed. "I'm trying to do the right thing, Severus, but you're not making it easy. Didn't you two actually talk while you were creating a new life?"

Severus winced. "I don't know," he muttered.

"You don't know? How can you not know?" Draco's eyes widened. "You don't remember?" Severus shook his head mutely, and Draco covered his eyes with one hand. "Oh Merlin... I knew you were drunk at the victory celebrations, but I didn't know you were that drunk."

Severus frowned. "Did you see me?"

"I dragged you upstairs and put you to bed at around two. I found you curled up in the library with your head on a book." Draco rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "So you don't remember anything at all about the time with Hermione?"

"Nothing."

"Did you try using a Pensieve?"

"Yes. After about nine in the evening, it's all gone."

Draco grinned suddenly. "You still have the Pensieve?"

"Yes. Dumbledore left his to me." At least after giving Severus several truly agonizing memories to live with, the old man had had the decency to provide a way to deal with them.

"Good." Draco smirked. "Then trot upstairs, tell her you can't live with the uncertainty any longer, and demand to see her memory of what happened."

"Draco, I cannot demand to see someone else's memory!" Severus was shocked by the very idea - but tempted, too. Surely it couldn't be worse than the meaningless, humiliating encounters his imagination had conjured to torture him with.

"Why not? You're only asking for the part you're in. It's nothing you didn't see the first time around." Draco shrugged. "Besides, if you're planning to pine for her for the rest of your life instead of being sensible and proposing to her before she gets away, you might as well get a good look so you'll get the fantasies right."

"Draco!" Severus shot to his feet, scowling furiously.

"I'm sorry. I know that it's more important than that." Draco rose as well, smiling lopsidedly. "But I had to get you out of that chair somehow."

Severus relaxed slightly. "The idea is... not without merit."

"Good. Go now, before the scotch wears off and you lose your nerve."