Flashing Lights

by apckrfan

Hermione Granger is a wildly popular author who sprang onto the scene with a YA series about a teenage witch who works with magical creatures. Her books won't stay on the shelf, and girls around the world want to be like Serena. ... Back at Hogwarts, the headmaster has done more than notice once or twice the author of said books is no longer a student.

1. Chapter 1

TITLE: Flashing Lights

AUTHOR: Susan / apckrfan

E-MAIL

DISTRIBUTION: My site, AO3, FFnet, LJ. Anyone else, please just tell me where it's at.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any characters. They are owned by JK Rowling Scholastic, Warner Brothers, etc. No profit is made from this fic.

RATING: FRT

SPOILERS: General spoilers, this is set post Deathly Hallows and is AU

SUMMARY: Hermione Granger is a wildly popular author who sprang onto the scene with a YA series about a teenage witch who works with magical creatures. Her books won't stay on the shelf, and girls around the world want to be like Serena. Little is known about Hermione Granger as she lives rather reclusively. An address known to be associated with her is usually devoid of activity. So, anytime they can catch a glimpse of the author, the paparazzi are on the scene.

Back at Hogwarts, the headmaster has done more than notice once or twice the author of said books is no longer a student. He contents himself to admire the witch from afar, until the present-day Mrs. Potter sets things in motion to give him an in to extend himself to … something.

CHARACTERS/PAIRING: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape

DATE STARTED: December 2021

STATUS: Complete

WORD COUNT: 49,700 +/-

FEEDBACK: Please, I can't write better without it.

NOTES: This is complete in 10 chapters. I will post Sunday and Wednesday until it's all posted.

***Chapter One***

May 2003

"And you really think we can get this published by Christmas?" Hermione asked.

"I do," Glenn said. He sounded confident, but she knew he also wanted the boon in sales that should come if it came before the holidays.

She wished she was as confident as he was. That meant the book had to be ready to go in five months, more or less.

"If it's fast tracked."

He already said he thought that could be arranged.

Benefits of the YA books about Serena being a huge success. She'd originally thought waiting until Serena's current story was finished would be a good time to branch out. Glenn disagreed, thinking starting now on the children's series while there was a frenzy was best. It would pave the way to the YA series being popular for years to come, as the children learning about Serena's childhood exploits now would age into the current YA series that she was four books into now.

He had a point. If she was going the opposite way, and doing an adult Serena maybe she wouldn't agree with him.

She scrambled to choose an illustrator so that a release before Christmas could even be possible. Scrambled but not rushed. The art would be important. She remembered the books from her childhood that had crappy artwork. She didn't want that. She was particular about the details.

A knock at the door interrupted her conversation with her agent. They were just about done anyway, really. The Christmastime availability was her last question, so the interruption came at the perfect time. Today's meeting was brief, which wouldn't help disburse the reporters that had gathered hoping to get the shot of her.

"Security is done with that reporter. Did you want to press charges, Miss Granger?"

Hermione shook her head slightly in the direction of her agent's assistant. Her friend. Glenn knew they were friends, but they didn't flaunt around the agency that they were. Glenn didn't think he or Connie could get in trouble. It wasn't as if they were in a relationship or anything. Connie also didn't want to risk saying something she shouldn't to someone knowing they were friendly and asking her questions in an underhanded way. Hermione appreciated that. Of course, she didn't confide anything in Connie that she could tell anyone to begin with.

"No, that won't stop him from doing it again anyway, and would probably only make him try even harder."

She knew how it worked.

If they got angry at her, they'd just look under pebbles under rocks under boulders trying to find something because she made them angry. For anything. Never mind they were incredibly invasive. Of course they hadn't found anything yet. There was nothing for muggles to find, but that's why they kept at it.

Sadly, Hermione did have something to hide, but she couldn't act as if she did. And it wouldn't do to make anyone angry to the point they'd follow her twenty-four hours a day. Not that they'd find anything then either, but the fact they didn't find her doing anything would be suspicious. There were already rumors about her never actually being seen in her house. (Neither Harry, Kingsley, or Ronald had liked that the first time they read it.)

"All right. I'm really very sorry this happened."

"It's all right Connie, I'm shockingly used to it anymore," she said.

These reporters were nothing like Rita Skeeter. Connie, of course, had no idea that Hermione had been dealing with reporters and gossip since she was thirteen years old.

"I appreciate your help. Have a good weekend. I'll call you next week. Maybe we can have tea."

"I'd like that, it's been a while, and you have a good weekend, too," she said brightly.

Hermione's friendship with her agent's assistant consisted mostly of meeting Connie once every four to six weeks for tea (or something stiffer) after work. They'd shared the occasional lunch and even gone to a couple of movies both wanted to see, but it was very surface stuff. She was a little older than Hermione, but they got along well enough. It was nice to have a muggle friend she could meet up with once in a while. It also gave the reporters something to report about occasionally.

Glenn was silent as Hermione regarded the bruise that was quickly forming on her wrist, thanks to the reporter Connie mentioned security being done with. She hadn't seen who it was either. She'd have to remember to hide it this evening if she chose not to wear gloves.

He'd refused to let go.

She was amongst muggles so couldn't do anything crazy, but had cast a wandless hex that felt like a sharp jolt of static electricity. A little more intense than the shocks one usually got from touching someone, but not crazily so. He'd let go as a result and, by then, a building security guard was on the scene to stop him from putting a hand on her again.

For a moment with his hands steepled under his chin and a look of … amusement in his eyes Glenn reminded her of Albus Dumbledore. Granted a much younger, beardless, non-magical Albus Dumbledore. For some reason that gesture, hands clasped under his chin, would always make her think of her former headmaster.

Eventually, he dropped his hands to the arms of his leather desk chair, rocking slightly. He had something to say that she doubted she'd like. He, no doubt, thought she wouldn't either. He knew her well enough by now.

"You know if you gave them," he said, gesturing to the window. The reporters on the street was the implication behind the 'them', "something, they'd leave you alone."

Hermione sighed with a shake of her head. They absolutely would not leave her alone. Her agent was a muggle, so didn't understand that there was nothing she could give them. She wasn't harboring any of the crazy things that had been tossed about.

She wasn't a dominatrix.

She didn't have bastard children.

She wasn't really a man.

She wasn't a satanist.

These (and others) were all things she'd read about herself. At times they were worse than Skeeter had been, but being non-magical, it was something she could deal with. She had faith that one day they'd give up and she'd be forgotten about, or at least not so sought after. That seemed to be the way of things for muggles with people that capture their attention. There was a feeding frenzy for a while and then it died down.

Usually.

Not always.

She wasn't like Christina Aguilera or Elijah Wood or anything. Thank Morgana!

For that matter, she could always stop writing books if she wanted to. Every book she'd written so far, she had in her mind how the next book could tie things up if she had to end the series. Honestly, she hoped that wouldn't happen for a while.

Glenn meant well, and his company came recommended by a friend of her parents who published non-fiction books. Hermione's were fiction, so it was a different division of the corporation than her parents' friends were used to. Thus far, though, their relationship had been profitable.

For both of them.

In fact, Glenn was fully on board for the children's book series Hermione had just dropped off the first manuscript of. It told of Serena's childhood, and how she realized she had these … special powers that no one else that she knew did.

That was why she was here today in person. She was turning in her final draft. Usually, they were able to take care of business via email or phone, but she was old-fashioned, preferring to turn in her manuscripts in person.

As her popularity climbed to new heights, after it was announced there would be a second book in her Serena series. Well, Hermione just didn't trust that someone wouldn't hack her email. The internet was great, but there were some bad people out there (as anywhere) who would enjoy derailing her efforts.

She had nightmares of Book Two being hacked and edited to become something pornographic, leading to her being dismissed by the company since Serena was still a minor. So, she'd gone the old-fashioned way and delivered it in person. That habit continued today.

It went with her rather traditional, old-fashioned image, so it worked.

Glenn liked to see her once in a while, too, to ensure she hadn't died in her sleep or something and no one told him. He liked her, sure, but he was more worried about his lucrative paydays ending she was pretty sure. (Harry and Ronald both had instructions on how to contact Glenn were something to suddenly happen to her.)

Or worse, that no one had found her, because she was pretty sure her agent was of the mind, as everyone else who read the paparazzi articles about her, that she never left her house and had no friends. The amount of stories was really quite humorous. The four she just thought of were by far her favorites.

A dominatrix?

Really?

What had anyone ever seen that suggested she was that in her personal time. Then she realized it was an attempt to get parents' to not want their kids to read her books.

"She dresses so conservatively because she doesn't want anyone to find out what she's really like." No, that wasn't it at all. She liked the way she dressed. Her mum had a blast going with her the first time she'd gone to a seamstress to get an actual wardrobe made.

She worshiped the devil.

Her house was haunted.

She had a clowder of black cats.

She was an escaped patient from an asylum.

The last was the funniest to her. A haunted house or a clowder of cats (regardless of color) would not bother her.

"It would help, too," he said, taking her silence evidently as her listening, "if you dressed as a twenty-four year old woman from the twenty-first century does, instead of looking like you stepped straight out of films like A Streetcar Named Desire or Guys and Dolls anytime you are seen."

She had to admit she was kind of surprised Glenn knew of either movie. Then maybe he was secretly a Marlon Brando fan.

She hadn't gotten to know much about him personally to know.

For a beat she felt bad about that.

This was a man she had a relationship with. A business relationship, but it was still a relationship. Four books published, with a fifth in the YA series, and now the first for the children's series, turned in. Well, it was apparently a relationship she would be in for a while. She knew virtually nothing about him.

He was a fairly attractive man and seemed to have a decent mind on him. He was not much older than she was, if he was older at all. Was he married? (No wedding ring wasn't proof he was single.) Did he have children? Did he play polo in his spare time?

She had no idea, and needed to get home and get ready for her evening, so didn't have time to start down the path of settling her sudden curiosities about him today.

"And how is that, Glenn?" she asked. "You'd rather I be seen in midriff halter tops with a pierced belly button and tramp stamp with the name of an ex-boyfriend on my lower back on display and torn jeans that barely contain my arse while we're trying to branch Serena out into children's book territory?"

She gathered her hat from the open chair next to her, settling it on her lap. That was her queue to him that it was time to go. He knew it well by now. The hat wasn't something she was overly fond of wearing, but Filius had helped her charm it after she picked it out. She told the Charms professor what she wanted and why. He'd helped her find the perfect set of charms to do exactly that.

It was charmed to stay on her head and to keep her face covered. No bobby pins or anything else required to keep it in place. A more … enhanced sticking charm. The brim was wide enough that she could see and be seen without actually being seen. The bit of veil just added that extra bit of protection.

And mystery.

She had other hats that she wore. It was part of her image. Hats and gloves. Clothes that the grandmothers of the girls currently reading Serena likely wore when they were Hermione's age. This one, though, was the hat she wore out for everyday use.

Rarely did a photographer get a full-on headshot of Hermione Granger. From the nose down was about as good as they got. The photo on the back flap or cover of her books was from 1998. A very thin, and younger, Hermione Granger. She'd done that intentionally. Most anyone would have a hard time seeing her today and matching her to what she looked like then.

Rise from the ashes as they say. The ashes of stress, torture, starvation, and war.

"Are we done here then, Glenn?"

"Of course. I will email you as soon as I hear a final decision. You and I both know it's just a formality."

She smiled with a slight shrug, bowing her head politely at her agent's compliment. She never aspired to be a writer, but here she was. Not only apparently good at it, but making more money then she knew what to do with while doing it.

Her plan was to write until she had enough saved up so that she could open a coffee shop of her own in Hogsmeade. Madam Puddifoots needed competition for those who just wanted a cup of tea or coffee in a more … professional atmosphere. She wouldn't do it until she had enough to survive on for a while.

She loved the fan mail most days. Some of the letters brought tears to her eyes that she touched someone's life, however small. She could certainly do without the reporters wanting to know about her and where she came up with her ideas. She wasn't too keen on the hate mail either, and there had been plenty of that to the point she wished muggles had howlers. It'd be a lot easier to identify the mean-spirited letters that way.

She had one last bit of business to tend to with him.

A reminder, nothing she hadn't already told him, but he had a habit of freaking out if he didn't hear back from her immediately. Even if she relayed the information she was about to give him to Connie, too. She wasn't his only client, but she was the most lucrative one at the moment as he was relatively new to the firm.

Referred by the Winstons or not, the company didn't know her or how well she wrote, so they'd assigned the newbie to their newbie. She imagined there were a few in on that decision who regretted it now because it was Glenn who got the kickbacks from her books' success.

"As I said when we scheduled today's appointment last week, I will be incommunicado this weekend, but will check correspondence on Monday. So it may be Tuesday at the latest when you hear from me."

In truth, she could probably check her mail and messages Sunday, but she wasn't going to. She was going to take the whole weekend off.

"I remember," he said with a grimace.

He didn't like when she said she'd be away. She knew that. It didn't happen often, but occasionally she had wizarding things to tend to that prevented her from being seen in the muggle world.

And, God forbid, she traveled occasionally.

Nothing usually happened on the weekends anyway. Glenn and his coworkers were all part of the 9-to-5 crowd. Occasionally, though, he'd get details on something for her to do or someone would have a question she needed to respond to, and if she didn't reply immediately he got twitchy. He probably thought she was attending wild orgies or something, and his sudden goldmine would grind to a sudden halt. Her success was a reflection on him. Her failure would be, too, if there was a scandal involved.

Her hat in place, she slid her gloves on. Those on, she grabbed her handbag and stood from the chair. She slid her gloved hands along her hips and waist, straightening the pencil-skirt of her suit. Honestly, she liked the way she dressed, and was glad she'd found a seamstress who was willing to indulge her preferred vintage-like style.

She offered Glenn her hand, which he shook politely. She hated shaking hands like this. Her father would be so disappointed, but Hermione Granger, creator of Serena and author, was apparently one of those limp-wristed hand shakers. It helped her image that she wasn't quite from this era, though.

Wholesome.

Traditional.

A lady.

Prim and proper.

Certainly not a witch like her Serena was.

They'd for sure think she was insane!

She sighed, adjusting the hat just a touch before she braved the outdoors. If only she could tell Glenn the truth and have somewhere in the building that she could apparate to and from. Ah well, maybe with time. She liked to think, too, that one day they'd get tired of getting nothing from her. It was a nice thought. It wasn't her fault that her books had taken not just England, but the world, by storm.

She had no idea that would happen. It had started out as a rather cathartic, therapeutic exercise. A friend of her mom's had read some pages and told her she had a knack for writing.

And here she was.

She wasn't on the same level as Stephen King or Dean Koontz with people staking out her house at all hours of the night and day. Local people, though, were curious. To put it mildly. It didn't help that her past was so sketchy-seeming.

The drive home was uneventful. At least one reporter followed her, which always made her chuckle.

Her home from a (muggle) bird's eye view appeared to be a rather small, one story, single-family home with an attached two and a half car garage. She lived a little out of the way, surrounded by trees and a decent amount of property that allowed her peace. She preferred the solitude and privacy the space offered her these days. She'd blame living in Hogwarts for six years, but she thought even before attending the school that she was destined to live a life like this. She'd always been a loner.

The best thing, if she wanted the hustle and bustle of London she knew how to find it.

Wizarding or muggle.

Pulling into her garage and putting the car in Park, she closed the automatic door behind her. Once out of her car, she walked to an empty corner of her garage. There, she opened a door only she and a select few could see that led to where she actually lived. Anyone magical who was not among those select few would only be able to get to the house everyone saw.

The Minister for Magic, for example, could get into her guest foyer via floo. The same with Draco Malfoy. Someone like Blaise Zabini, like him as she did, could not get into the house at all without being let in. He would only get as far as the outdoor fireplace in her backyard, just the other side of her property line in the woods.

Harry, Ginny, Neville, Luna, and Ronald were the only ones who could get into her house.

The house wasn't overly gaudy or pretentious, but it was more than sufficiently spacious for a single witch and protected by a Fidelius Charm. (Anyone coming out of that fireplace located in the backyard would only see her muggle residence). It was the only thing she'd told Kingsley Shacklebolt that he owed her for her part in the war. She didn't throw that word around casually. She hadn't stayed and helped Harry to get anything out of it. However, she did not think that her privacy and safety were out of this world to request

Yes, she'd been given an Order of Merlin First Class, and the annual stipend that accompanied it, but she hadn't requested that. She hadn't done what she'd done for an award. Protection, though, from any stray followers of Voldemort, she did think she was owed, and earned, that much.

From her garage, no one ever saw her go anywhere in her house. What they assumed she did wasn't her concern. Lights were set on timers in portions of the house that were visible, so that it at least appeared throughout the evenings that someone lived there.

She set her hat, gloves, and handbag on the table near the door to the garage. She crossed to the door across from the garage that led to the backyard, her dogs running to join her. She made her way to the small structure that any owls used for correspondence with her could stay. It wasn't a full-fledged owlery, but she had a handful who regularly sent letters, so it was handy for them to have a place to stay and rest. And get treats, of course.

No owls this afternoon. That meant no change in plans. Because of course there wouldn't be, she mused before heading back indoors.

She'd sort of hoped that Kingsley would decide to cancel.

Of course he hadn't.

Celebrating five years of no Voldemort was too big a thing for even the low-keyed, and down to earth-seeming, Minister for Magic to pass up.

She understood.

There were so many years of … bleakness and uncertainty. It was good to celebrate that those days were over.

She just hated feeling as if she, Harry, Ron, and Severus were paraded around like good little soldiers to bolster naysayers' opinions of him. (There were fewer of those now five years later, but they still existed.) She couldn't speak for Severus, but she knew she and her two best friends found it difficult to move on when they were constantly being reminded of their experiences.

Healing was hard enough without having the events regularly brought up and/or being asked to rehash them.

She couldn't imagine Severus found it any easier. He had years of experiences; they had seven.

No doubt Severus Snape hated it more than she did.

He'd lived as someone's puppet for years. Likely, he thought he'd survived just to continue having to act as a puppet. Not that she'd deign to speak for him, but it just seemed as if it would be something he'd feel. She'd observed the wizard since the end of the war. She listened to a lot of testimony about him. Some of it not very pleasant, but she'd expected that. None of the first war events were brought up, but anything post-1981 was fair game, it seemed, even if it was prior to Voldemort's attempts at returning.

She, like Harry and a few others, was able to compartmentalize and separate the Professor Snape they knew as students and the Headmaster Snape that was among them today. Was he still rather unapproachable? Yes, but he wasn't as physically guarded-off as he had been while she was a student. At least he didn't seem to be to her. She didn't have much reason to approach him, though, (as much as she might like to have a reason) so she couldn't say whether she was right or not.

She always liked the brief conversations they had at things like tonight's.

Ginny told her at the last one that he was watching Hermione. Hermione thought her friend was delusional, but she hadn't missed the flip in her stomach at the idea that he might be doing just that.

Would he be there tonight, she wondered? She was fully aware every year he had thus far attended, but always said it would be his last. She assumed at some point he'd actually follow through with the threat and stop showing up. Hermione couldn't deny she'd miss seeing him if he did. There was something … reassuring about him being at these events. About seeing him, and that he was truly well.

She found his presence safe.

And intriguing.

Along with him.

And, yes, she could admit to hoping one of these days that she would get up the nerve to speak to him more than their casual hellos and brief catching up. Five years of these things and she still couldn't get much past 'Hello, Headmaster, it's always nice to see you again'. Oh, it usually extended to something professional: an article they'd both read or something, but it was never anything deeper than that.

She just didn't know how to cross that bridge to let him know she was interested.

Part of it.

Well, there was a sliver of apprehension as to how he'd treat her if she initiated a conversation beyond those surface topics. She could just imagine what he'd say about her chosen career path.

So, she said nothing to him that would give him any clue that she thought that she would rather enjoy speaking with him about any number of subjects. The war was not among them, interestingly enough. (Though not surprisingly.)

Tonight was just a cocktail party and dinner. The guest list was rather intimate and exclusive, only those who'd received an Order of Merlin First Class were invited. Dates were frowned upon as a general rule.

No reporters allowed.

Not that she really had anyone to bring even if dates weren't frowned upon.

Ginny was welcome, of course. She was the wife of The Boy Who Lived. It was kind of hard to exclude her.

Ronald's choice in partners, no, because she hadn't been involved in the war in any capacity.

Neville didn't have a partner at the moment.

Luna was traveling, as per usual. She was rarely local these days. Hermione found she missed the witch, and looked forward to her (always) entertaining and interesting letters.

So that meant Neville and Ronald would be there stag as well. At least she wouldn't be the only single one there. She took heart in that. She'd been to other events where she (or she and Neville) was the only one, and it made for a long night. She loved spending time with Neville. That wasn't the problem. It was just that neither had romantic feelings for the other, and, other than these dinners the night before, reporters were always around waiting for the two of them to do something to suggest they were more than just friends. Years now, well, it was as old for Neville as it was for her.

She slid out of the afternoon's pair of heels, sighing softly as she bent down to grab them. She grabbed her hat from the side table. She wouldn't need this one tonight or for the weekend, so it would go back into her closet. Today's handbag would, too.

Once in her room and her shoes, hat, and handbag were put back in the closet where they belonged she shed the skirt and jacket that made up her suit as well as her blouse and undergarments, removing her garter belt and rolling her stockings down and off last.

Naked she walked to the bathroom, waving her hand to start the shower running while she made her way back to her closet. There she hung up the suit and tossed the blouse into the laundry bag she had for things that needed drycleaning. She could probably wear it again, but she had never quite gotten over living on the run and not having the ability to wear fresh clothes at any given moment. So she was rather hyper aware of it now.

Her slip, bra, garter belt, and stockings would do again for the night. Knickers went into the clothes hamper. She scrunched her nose a bit at the stockings. They weren't soaked but they were damp at the bottoms of the feet. She shook her head a bit and set them aside into a pile of other delicate items she hand washed.

"Fresh pair it is then," she murmured.

A little over an hour after getting home she was showered, dressed, and made up for an evening in the wizarding world.

She thought she looked pretty nice.

A far cry from five years ago.

She still closed her eyes sometimes and saw the grounds and halls of Hogwarts from that day. She still woke, more than just sometimes, thinking that she was back in that tent, wearing that stupid locket. She still remembered how unhealthily thin she was. What her hair and nails looked and felt like after months on the run and eating like shit. Sometimes she still saw that witch looking back at her in the mirror. She had no magical mirrors in her house, so it was just her imagination. Her mind playing tricks on her. Reminding her that she wasn't as far removed from the war as she'd like to tell herself.

All those things that drove her crazy about Lavender, Parvati, and the other Gryffindor witches back during her student days at Hogwarts that Hermione couldn't identify with when she was twelve. Well, she was guilty of most all of them these days.

She'd worked hard, physically and mentally, to get where she was today. What she'd seen then as pointless, frivolous attempts at impressing everyone else, she now embraced as confirmation that she accepted herself.

Liked herself.

Had survived.

She was meticulous about her appearance for her not for anyone else. She liked looking her best.

She knew why the muggle reporters were interested in her. They wondered where this attractive, twenty-something woman had come from. No university education. No childhood spent entering writing contests or getting published in various magazines.

She ran her hands along the sides of her Gryffindor red velvet bodycon dress as she regarded her reflection in the mirror one last time before grabbing the gold silk wrap that would go over her shoulders since the dress left them bare. If one looked closely they could see the faint mark from the curse she'd been on the receiving end of the night Sirius died. It had faded pretty drastically over the past eight years, almost to the point she forgot it was there.

Sometimes.

She'd say it was more often she didn't notice it these days than did.

For an evening in the magical world, she wore a small pillbox hat the same red velvet as her dress with a veil a little smaller than what she wore to go out among muggle London. The veil on this one she charmed to be gold like her wrap for the night. Normally it was black. Shoes were charmed to be gold like the wrap, too. She thought she made an appealing picture.

Fetching even.

Too bad the wizard she wanted to find her fetching would likely not notice she wasn't twelve anymore. She never felt as if he did. Another reason she was hesitant to attempt an actual conversation with him.

"All right, Maynord," she said to her Mastiff. "You and Glinda are in charge."

The best thing about Mother and Son was that they were protective without being crazy about it. They rarely barked. If they did, she knew it was because someone was on the property that shouldn't be. They were excellent watchdogs, doing exactly what she wanted a dog to do. She hadn't wanted attack dogs.

Maynord was the last of the litter from Glinda's pups.

She'd been assured Glinda had been spayed when she got her. Obviously, by her having a litter of eight puppies she'd been told wrong, or she never would have adopted her. She wasn't heartless, but a litter of puppies was a bit more responsibility (and expense) than she'd wanted!

She had managed to find homes for seven of them. (Harry had two.) She loved them and the comfort they offered her, even if they were eating her out of house and home. Glinda was spayed now. As adorable (and surprisingly fulfilling) as the puppies were, she wasn't going through that again!

Crookshanks was out prowling, no doubt. He hated Glinda at first, but Hermione wanted the extra protection that only dogs could provide. The half kneazle seemed to come around and accept her apology, and the added strength the dogs added to her security measures, eventually.

When the puppies had come, she thought she would have a mutiny on her hands, but he'd been surprisingly … paternal and protective over the puppies until they were ready to be homed.

She made her way to the back of her house and her secure apparition area. No one but Harry, Ronald, and Ginny could get out of this room without her opening the door for them. Not even Luna or Neville.

Paranoid?

Probably so.

She didn't lie to people about that fact, though. She was justified in her paranoia, and likely would be for years to come.

If it would ever go away.

It was something she'd like to ask Severus about, if she ever got brave enough to actually speak to him. She wanted to at every one of these things she'd gone to, but lost her nerve every time. There was something very … intriguing - and intimidating - about her former professor.

"Here goes," she murmured as she focused on the entryway to Kingsley's home.

XvXvX

"There she is," Kingsley said upon her arrival.

Tonight's festivities were here at his home. The evening before the annual ball was always a more private affair. She had to admit she liked coming here. He had a nice home, and not everyone was invited to the Minister for Magic's home.

"I'm not late," she said without glancing at her watch.

She knew she wasn't. She'd checked the time before getting in the shower and knew exactly how much time she had to work with.

"No, of course not," he said with a low laugh. He laughed, no doubt, because Hermione Granger was never late. "That doesn't mean I wasn't concerned that you wouldn't show."

She huffed. Sadly, unlike Severus Snape, if she didn't show, the Minister would send people to look for her.

"I'm here, Kingsley," she said, tilting her head quite a bit so she could bus his cheek with a kiss despite their height difference and her hat's veil. Her gloves were removed and placed in her handbag, which was handed off to an elf for safekeeping until she left later.

"And looking lovely as usual. No robes?"

"No, maybe tomorrow," she said with a roll of her eyes and a shrug of her shoulders. She hated wearing robes to these things.

"Well, I always do enjoy seeing what you're going to show up in."

"Yes, well, I'm glad I can amuse you."

He shook his head.

He wasn't amused by her, she knew that. He truly did enjoy the fact that she continued to push the pureblood buttons to this day. She didn't do it to be mean necessarily. She was a muggleborn witch, though, who'd lived as a muggle until she was twelve years old. She went home for holidays and such. So, she chose to dress as a muggle to these things most of the time.

And really dress robes were so boring! Why did they all want to look like everyone else in the room? To her that was the fun part of formal events, to see what everyone came in.

He offered her his arm, which she took.

"Am I really the last to arrive?"

"Not the last, no, but the one I was waiting for."

"You are such a sweet-talker, Kingsley," she said, blushing.

The flirtation they engaged in was innocent. She suspected he enjoyed seeing if he could fluster her. He usually did, because she was not used to such attention being aimed at her. For a while, after she and Ron broke up, she'd been asked out a lot. Once Ron had broadcast that they'd broken up because she was waiting for marriage to have sex, those offers of dates had stopped coming.

Not so shocking of a development. Men their age didn't want to wait, or so it seemed anyway. It didn't seem to be limited to just sex either. Instant gratification seemed hugely popular to many these days.

That was fine with her. She wasn't out to become one of several notches to anyone. (Little did anyone but Harry and Ron know, but Hermione had begged Ron to say something to get the wizards to stop approaching her as if they were after a female dog in heat. She approved of Ron saying what he had in that interview.)

Kingsley escorted her into the formal dining room his home offered where most everyone was, in fact, already there. She wasn't the last to arrive just as Kingsley said, but Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Neville were already here. So her tardiness compared to them would be noted. She sighed with a roll of her eyes. She wouldn't hear the end of that any time soon, she was sure.

Harry's eyes widened ever so slightly when he spotted her. He got a look in them that was just meant for her. It wasn't romantic affection, there had never been that between them. Affection, though, nonetheless. She was pretty sure he saw the same thing in her eyes aimed at him.

She loved this wizard, probably more than anything. Her parents did, too, and treated him as the son they never had. Something he loved. It was different from the Weasleys doting on him.

He was the only one who seemed to understand why she was living the way she was. Why she wasn't married and on her way to Weasley offspring number two or (God forbid, she thought with a visible shudder) three by this point.

She felt several pairs of eyes on her as Kingsley led her in the direction of her friends. She wasn't sure if she'd ever get used to the glances, the attention, knowing that she was turning heads in her everyday life.

"Enjoy your evening," Kingsley said with a polite bow and kiss to the back of her hand before releasing her. His eyes widened a fraction of an inch, and he grazed the side of her wrist with the pad of his thumb.

"You are hurt?"

Damn it! Of all the things to forget!

"Just a muggle reporter getting handsy. I'm fine," she said.

He scowled but nodded, seeming to accept her answer. He clearly didn't like the answer, though. She was truly fine. The reporter hadn't really hurt her or done anything permanent. He slid his thumb over the bruise again. She saw Harry frown, getting a hard look in his eyes, so that meant he'd seen it, too. No sense glamouring it now.

Kingsley didn't treat every witch this way, it was part of their fun flirtation. She took it that he just enjoyed letting the other wizards in the room know he could do these things.

And they couldn't.

There certainly wasn't anyone else she'd let touch her like this. They all knew it, too.

Well, there was maybe one. She'd have to get up the courage to talk to him, and since that hadn't happened yet. Well, no one but Kingsley remained true.

"I'm fine," she repeated. "And thank you, Kingsley. The exquisite escort is appreciated as always."

"It is always my pleasure," he said with a wink.

"He likes you," Ronald said, sounding put out at the idea. Not upset or jealous, but he wasn't in favor of the idea.

"He does not, Ronald. He's a friend."

"You don't see the way he looks at you."

She shook her head. Ron would never understand. Yes, she had wondered very early on herself, but she knew Kingsley wasn't truly interested in her that way. He just liked being one of the wizards not named Harry Potter who got away with giving off the impression they were friendly.

She grabbed a flute of champagne, bidding Larkey a hello. The elf beamed at her, blinking her eyes rapidly as her ears flopped. She always seemed astounded that Hermione remembered her. It wasn't as if she was a frequent guest of Kingsley's.

"You are on a first name basis with his elf?" Ron asked.

"No, but I remember her from the last time we were here." And the time before that and so on.

"Hmm," Ron said.

Hermione kissed all three of the wizards and hugged Ginny, who was in fact pregnant with Potter (so Weasley) number two. Molly and Arthur Weasley were here tonight as well, so Hermione could only assume that young James Potter was with Percy, which was a little scary. They had mended their estrangement, but Percy was still a bit full of himself these days. Being that he hadn't believed Voldemort was back until it was far too late, he was not on tonight's guest list.

And never would be.

Not scary as in she thought Percy would do anything to James or allow anything to happen to his nephew. Just Percy was so … uptight and full of himself. Children liked to have fun with their babysitters, and she had no doubt Percy Weasley was a stick in the mud. (And, yes, she could appreciate that many likely thought the same about her.)

"How did your meeting go?" Harry asked once everyone had said their hellos.

"It went well, thank you. Young Serena should be on the shelves in time for Christmas, assuming no hiccoughs occur between now and when it needs to be on the shelves to make it under trees."

"That is so cool," he said.

"Thank you," she said, ducking her head politely. She had to admit she thought it was pretty cool, too.

"Didn't you just turn in a book?" Neville asked.

"I did, but that was the fifth book in the Young Adult series. This is the first book of a new series. The first book about the witch as a child. I'm branching out, and was able to find an amazing illustrator who captured Serena and her world very well."

"Come on, Neville, when have you ever known her not to have two or three things going?" Ron asked.

"I suppose, yeah," he said.

"How's Hogwarts, Neville?" she asked.

She hadn't seen him since Christmas, she supposed. Gone were the days they saw one another daily in their common room. She missed those days in some ways, but for the most part did not. She didn't miss school. The learning, yes.

The conversation continued from there, the five of them filling one another in since the last time they'd seen one another. Owls were nice, but it wasn't the same. The four of them saw more of one another than Hermione did. Ron and Harry were together at the Ministry.

It was close to dinner time when Harry leaned in toward her, handing her another flute of champagne even though hers was barely half gone yet.

"You're being stared at," he whispered. "And not in that friendly banter way Kingsley does that Ron seems to think is real interest, that you and I both know is the minister just being the minister."

Her eyes darted up to meet his.

"Just thought you'd like to know."

Ginny leaned in then while Ron and Neville were talking about something Viktor had done in a quidditch match they read about.

"Are you talking about Professor Snape giving her very appreciative looks?"

"Gin!" Harry said.

"Well, he is. He's trying to be subtle about it, but I've got interest radar. This isn't the first time either, just by the way."

Hermione laughed with a shake of her head. She found the conversation so preposterous she didn't even correct Ginny's use of the title professor instead of headmaster. "There is no such thing, Gin."

"Of course there is. It's called intuition. He is looking, and I assure you he's not looking in this direction to steal glances of Neville or Ron."

"Maybe you…"

"Oh stop. Just accept the fact that he's looking at you." Ginny glanced in the direction Hermione presumed Headmaster Snape was standing. "He seems to really like your dress."

"You stop! He wouldn't look at me if I was the last person on the planet."

"He is," Harry agreed. "So maybe the world has ended and the rest of us are just ghosts. I mean, it's possible!"

"What are you three talking about?" Ron asked.

"Nothing," Hermione offered quickly. "I was trying to tell Harry that I'd already had two glasses of champagne, and I'm pretty sure he has had more than me."

"I haven't," Ginny said, patting her obviously pregnant abdomen. "I haven't touched a drop for months."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

Ron shook his head, returning his attention to Neville as he evidently wasn't interested in what they truly might have been talking about.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Nothing," Harry said.

"Don't listen to my husband. I want you to finally go talk to him," Ginny said.

"I think not."

"Why not?"

"You are delusional if you think he has anything to say to me that isn't insultingly critical, down to my shoes being impractical."

"Mm," said Ginny with a shake of her head. She eyed Hermione's feet, with a flick of her wand Hermione was able to see Ginny's shoes. "They're sexy, not impractical like mine are, and I wager he'd say the same thing." There was a reason her shoes were practical. She was nearly eight months pregnant.

She winked at Harry, Hermione saw it, though Ginny tried to be discreet. Sadly, her redheaded friend seemed to have missed the day of class where they taught what discretion actually meant.

A bludger was more subtle than Ginny Potter at times.

"He'd be more apt to look at you than me."

"You don't really buy into that he was in love with Harry's mum for twenty years, do you?"

"Well…"

She tried not to listen to rumors and certainly knew Rita Skeeter couldn't be trusted to publish the truth. However, it did seem as though there was some truth to the story about his love for Lily Potter.

Ginny rolled her eyes, draping an arm around Hermione's shoulders to draw her away from the three wizards who were with their, to this point, small group.

"Are you the most intelligent witch of her age or not?"

"I'm not sure what you mean. He did, in fact spy for years…"

"Oh good Lord, she was his friend. His only friend from what we can gather, and he betrayed her, resulting in her only son being left an orphan. Of course he spent almost twenty years trying to make up for that. It doesn't mean he's been mooning over her for that entire time. Come on. He's a smart man. Even if he was in love with her at one point, he's smart enough to have realized a long time ago it wasn't reciprocated, no matter what he thought."

"And you're an expert on Severus Snape's mindset how?"

"I don't pretend to be, but Harry and I have talked. He wishes he'd kept it to himself about those memories for a while."

"Really?"

That surprised Hermione. Harry had never mentioned that to her. Then they didn't talk in depth about that final night of the war either. They'd talked enough about it at trials and such.

"Yes, he realizes, now, that he probably misconstrued things. That those memories were accidentally shared with the other memories he was supposed to get from the headmaster. They weren't all of the memories he had of his mum, we're sure."

"I'd think not if they'd known one another since before Hogwarts."

"Right. So?"

"Gin, it doesn't matter. He wouldn't go from thinking he's in love with someone who looks, well, like you …"

"Hermione, if you could see the way he's - still - looking at you…"

"So, he likes my dress. So does every other wizard in this room, Ginny. It means nothing."

"Honestly, Hermione," the witch said with a shake of her head. "You are so clueless. Ron's right. If you took your nose out of a book, whether one you're reading or writing, you'd be a lot better off."

Hermione rolled her eyes with a huff, holding a finger up to signal a house elf she wanted another glass of champagne as she downed the one currently in her hand in one long gulp. It was going to be one of those kinds of nights.

Again.

She was surprised it had taken to the end of the cocktail hour to get to this topic. The headmaster probably wasn't really even looking at her. It was Ginny's way of getting her to attempt something. Why of all the wizards in the room she'd pick the headmaster, Hermione wasn't sure.

"The dress does feel as nice as it looks," Ginny said, grazing Hermione's hip with the back of her hand.

"It does," Hermione agreed.

She knew it sounded conceited or vain, but the velvet did feel nice. She'd debated about finding a different dress for tonight, there was no saying it wouldn't be too warm for velvet. She felt pretty comfortable that she wouldn't be sweltering in it at the beginning of May.

"I bet he'd like to know what it feels like, too."

"Ginny," she said with a shake of her head.

She downed the new glass of champagne, setting it on a passing elf's tray. She grabbed another one and breathed in deeply.

"You could ask him. Maybe after dinner," her friend said with a wink.

"I think not," Hermione said as she took a sip of her champagne.

She turned then, subtly scanning the room. She found Professor Flitwick, nodding politely in her former Charms professor's direction. He smiled, a sparkle in his eye that she found sweet. Minerva was here, as were several other members of the Order. No surprise, since the guest list consisted of all Order members. And there, standing by himself, holding a tumbler of Ogden's no doubt, was Headmaster Snape.

He nodded his head ever so slightly, so he knew she was looking at him.

Of course he would.

She nodded in return, scanning the rest of the room.

There weren't many she knew more than by face. Turning eighteen while they were hunting the horcruxes, she hadn't gotten to formally meet many of the Order members. She'd met them at things like this over the years, but she didn't know them.

He looked good, she realized. Then, this wasn't the first time she'd thought that.

He wore his hair a little longer these days than she remembered it being while she was a student. To hide the effects of Nagini's handiwork? It didn't really matter. She … liked it. He had a beard now, too. The last time she saw him he had a goatee. Tonight, though, while still closely trimmed it was a full beard to his hairline. She found she liked that, too, which was interesting because it wasn't something she'd found … attractive on a man until now. His robes were still black and fastened with several black buttons as high as they could go to his neck.

"You're looking," Harry whispered from his spot beside her.

"I'm looking at the room, Harry, seeing who's here and who elected not to show up."

"Right," he said.

She looked at him then, the latest champagne flute just short of her lips.

"Why do you even care?"

"I see the way he's looking at you. And I've seen the way you look at him."

"It's no different than anyone else who likes the way I look in the dress, Harry."

"It is. This isn't about intuition either. Not entirely anyway. I'm a man, if you haven't stopped to notice. I know the different looks. There are appreciative glances. That's not what he's giving you. Others are, for certain. There are seductive glances, wanting to know what's underneath the dress."

"Harry!"

"That's not what he's giving you either, though, I think that's there, too."

"Please."

"He is intrigued. He wants to know the whole package."

"You and Ginny are delusional."

"Are not."

"Are, too! He hates me!"

"He does not. I'm not sure that he ever did. Ron and me, yes. You," he said with a shrug. "I'm not so sure you just didn't drive him nuts because you did more work than he assigned."

She grimaced at that.

At Harry cutting to the quick on one of the primary reasons she could never actually approach the wizard in question.

She'd thought of that fact more than once over the years, and it was part of the reason she shied away from initiating any sort of real conversation with him at these things. She certainly wanted to. Did Harry and Ginny know that? She thought she'd hidden it well. Who would think she'd be attracted to him anyway? He was night and day different from Ronald. She was intrigued by him, and did find herself attracted to him. The first time she'd realized that had been a bit of a shock.

There he was working as a double spy, getting tortured, likely teaching classes while still feeling the residual (or full-on) effects of that torture, doing what he could to protect them, and she was turning in inches and inches more than he requested on assignments. She'd believed in him, too.

Until the headmaster's death.

She should have stuck with what she'd known instead of listening to everyone's knee-jerk, emotional reactions. Her gut, instinct. She'd known, but she bought into the hate and finger pointing just like everyone else. Unlike others, she hadn't wanted his head on a platter or anything, but she had stopped believing in him for a while. Even today she felt as if she betrayed him by believing that.

How embarrassing! She was supposed to be so clever, yet couldn't see the truth.

"Why do you care?"

"I want to see you happy," he held up his hand as if warding off the argument he knew was going to come with him saying that. "I do not think that a man, a relationship, equates to happiness. You know that I don't, Hermione. At least not for you, but I do think you could use that. I love being your best friend, you know that, but you deserve more." His eyes drifted to Ginny, first her face and then her pregnant belly. "I want you to experience it all."

She scoffed, glaring at him then. "In what planet do you think he would be happiness?"

He shrugged.

"Come on, Hermione, now you're just being obtuse. You were the only one who understood any of the stuff we had to sort through before his trial. The headmaster, both of them, would only talk to you. That tells me he knew you were the only one who could understand the stuff."

"So?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Fine, never mind. A man is showing interest in you. A man I think you're attracted to. Maybe you do want to be single for the rest of your life! Not that there would be anything wrong with it if you did, but I don't think that you do. Not really. I think you want it all just like I do, but with the right person. He's not just any man. He's an exceptionally intelligent and powerful wizard. You can't tell me that wouldn't turn your crank, Hermione, if it was someone Gin and I were trying to introduce you to versus Severus Snape we were talking about."

She opened her mouth to argue with him. She really did, but closed it immediately because he had a point. She glanced in the headmaster's direction again. Was he looking at her? Was he actually interested? And why did that thought make a spot in her stomach clench, but not in the sour 'I'm going to be sick' way.

True, he wasn't going to win any GQ awards or anything, but once one got past the tough exterior, that Hermione was convinced was designed to keep people from even trying to get to know him. Well, he was intelligent, not bad looking in a more distinguished way, and Harry was right. He was one of the most powerful wizards in the magical world.

Some could argue he was the most powerful, certainly in Britain, given that Tom Riddle assigned him a task he himself couldn't do: kill Headmaster Dumbledore.

Others could argue that Dumbledore was dying when Severus Snape was tasked with taking his life.

The assignment, though, had been given to him without Voldemort knowing of the late headmaster's physical ailment.

He could have been setting Severus up to fail, giving him a task he knew he wouldn't be able to complete. Hermione didn't think that was the case. From the various testimonies at the trials, and the conversation the three of them had overheard between Voldemort and Severus, Voldemort seemed to truly believe until the end that Severus was his man. He tried to kill him to gain the power of the Elder wand, not because of his duplicity or betrayal.

So that pointed to Voldemort asking Snape to kill Dumbledore because he believed Severus could carry out the assignment.

With the intelligence, there was wit and a sense of humor that escaped most.

There was also a sense of honor and loyalty that, looking around this room at other members of the Order, Hermione thought that less than a dozen here could come close to having, let alone understand. And she'd consider it less than a dozen really, because she, Harry, Neville, and Ron would be four of them. Not to say the others weren't loyal. They were, but she couldn't imagine any of them going through what Severus had gone through.

She downed the remainder of this glass of champagne, grabbed another and Harry shook his head. She didn't normally drink to excess, but champagne was her weakness she discovered at the first of these events. It could have been the event leading to her liking the champagne. Who knew?

"Fine," she said, sipping from the most recent flute. Not Larkey this time and not an elf that she was familiar with. She thanked the elf nonetheless and walked in the direction of Headmaster Severus Snape.

Hmm, she mused to herself at the brief look of panic she saw in his eyes when he evidently caught onto the fact that she was walking in his direction. As fleeting as it was, she saw it.

Had he actually been looking at her? In that way?

It was an intriguing thought now that Harry and Ginny had planted the seed.

She'd always assumed he was somewhat above those things, but really he wasn't even forty-five years old.

"Good evening, Headmaster Snape," she said when she finally got to the corner he was standing in.

He wasn't actually in the corner, but close enough that it was clear he didn't want to be here and preferred not to be bothered. She wondered how many were staring at her, thinking she had a death wish approaching him. He didn't look as though he wanted to kill her, though. The look of panic was gone. Was that intrigue now? She'd certainly never sought him out before. Not like this.

"Miss Granger," he said.

Her stomach did a little flippy thing she'd never felt it do before tonight when she realized there was no condescension or, even better, disinterest in those two words. She knew what her name sounded like being said by him with quite a few feelings behind them. Usually the connotation behind it was bad.

Annoyance.

Impatience.

This time, though, he sounded … dare she think it … seductive? If not that, certainly interested.

Hmm.

She held her still full flute of champagne up toward his tumbler and he took the hint.

"What are we toasting to?" he asked as he raised his tumbler.

She met his gaze. His eyes were so dark and she saw something she'd never seen before.

He smiled.

It was slight, little more than a twitch of his lips. The little crow's feet he got around his eyes was what clued her into him doing it at all; it was that subtle.

"I'm not sure yet," she said after a moment's pause.

He nodded, touching the rim of his tumbler against her flute.

"To a Hermione Granger uncertain of which words to use then," he said.

It would have been easy to take that as an insult, but his tone didn't sound cruel. In fact, if she didn't know better, she'd think that he was joking.

Teasing.

She'd never heard him joke or tease toward her or her friends, but from his tone she knew he was doing it to her now.

"Well, there is a first time for everything they say," she said, pulling her glass away from his and taking a sip of her champagne.

Kingsley's really was delicious. Too delicious.

She tried to think of just how many glasses she'd had already. She decided it didn't really matter. She had nothing to do tomorrow, except the dinner and ball in the evening. She'd turned in her manuscript, early even, so she had no immediate deadlines to wake up for.

"Ogden's?" she asked.

"Mm, the Minister always brings out a good year for this dinner."

"I was just thinking that about the champagne."

"Have you tried it?"

"Mm. I've sampled far too many already this evening."

He held up his tumbler. "The Ogden's?"

"Oh, no," she said.

"Would you like to?"

Her eyes darted up to meet his, surprised that he was making such an offer. There were those crow's feet again. She didn't get the impression he was laughing at her though.

"Sure," she said, handing him her flute as she took the offered tumbler.

Her eyes never left his as she took the barest of sips. She'd seen enough people try whisky for the first time to know not to take a huge gulp.

It … wasn't bad. Burned her throat a bit, but not in a distasteful way.

"That's actually quite good," she said, licking her lips to get the residuals from the whisky off of them.

He nodded.

"It's not all that great, though?" She wasn't afraid to ask such a question to this man. She'd already admitted she hadn't tried it before.

"No," he drawled.

"I thought not. My dad likes Jameson and Bushmills when he wants to treat himself."

"Those are both quality choices. Your father obviously has good taste," he said.

"I think so," she agreed.

"He didn't break it out when you sold your first book?"

"I'm sure that he would have, but he would tell me that he always knew I could do anything I put my mind to. So wouldn't have seen the need to celebrate what he felt was inevitable," she said, surprised somewhat that he was aware of that. Well, not that he'd know. Of course he knew. That he'd talk about it so freely. More pointing to Harry being right that he was interested?

He rolled his eyes.

"Your books are quite popular at Hogwarts I'm told," he said, as if he knew what she was thinking. "Mostly witches but some wizards, too, who are curious and interested to see what you're writing."

"Ah," she said. "I'm sorry if I've caused you to have to confiscate many copies."

"I've personally only had to confiscate a few, but more than those few have ended up in my office from other professors."

"And that doesn't bother you?"

There was that hint of a smile again.

"They are reading, Miss Granger. Willingly. What type of educator would I be if I got upset over them picking up a book? And one written by someone I know won't fill the pages with drivel and complete nonsense. Do I wish they would do it in their free time and not discuss your latest installment when they should be listening to their lectures? Of course, but as it's not my class being disrupted, I let the staff sort it out."

She was certain she was staring at him. He'd just paid her a compliment. Hadn't he?

"I'm not a monster. Contrary to the precedent my first year as headmaster may have set, I want the students to …"

She set her fingertips against his forearm. "I know," she said quickly.

He thought she was questioning his desire for his students, all of them, to succeed.

How embarrassing.

She'd never doubted that about him for a second. Even after he'd killed Headmaster Dumbledore, in the back of her mind, she'd known. How? She wasn't sure. Things just hadn't added up.

Albus Dumbledore wasn't a foolish man. He had trusted Professor Snape, and never shied away from claiming he was the Order's man. It hadn't seemed to matter who doubted their potions professor.

While they were away hunting horcruxes, she'd had time to think when she wasn't studying for her NEWTs. She hadn't known that the headmaster was slowly dying from putting one of the horcruxes on, but she'd known there had been more to the events on the Astronomy Tower than Harry had seen and heard.

While she'd suspected, it wasn't until after the final battle of the war that she found out the truth.

She'd been so relieved, because she really thought she was a pretty good judge of character overall.

Gilderoy Lockhart aside.

"I never doubted that you did then or now. I wasn't there that first year, but I knew. It just surprises me you're so nonchalant about my books being the cause of any class disruption."

"I'd much rather they be distracted by Serena's latest adventure and antics than the stories in Witch Weekly."

"Point taken," she said, surprised that he knew the name of the protagonist from her series. Severus Snape wasn't really her target audience.

She took another sip of his whisky since he hadn't asked for the glass back. This one was a little more than the first. She nodded a bit as she handed the tumbler back to him, retrieving her champagne flute.

"It's not something I'm going to take up, but I can see the appeal," she said.

"I'm glad it passes your stringent taste tests."

He was teasing. She wasn't a huge drinker. Tonight's imbibing potentially saying otherwise. She guessed, somehow, he knew that.

"Yes, well," she said. "I'll stick with the bubbly."

"Kingsley seemed certain you weren't going to make it tonight."

"Did he?" she asked, eyes finding the Minister for Magic in the room. Did that mean Severus had asked about her? There was an exciting thought. "I told him I had an appointment with my agent, and that I might be late. I never said I wasn't planning on being here, as much as I'd prefer to be home."

"Same. I think he likes requiring it."

"He does," she said with a light laugh. He certainly wasn't wrong. Kingsley wasn't an evil tyrant. He wasn't meddling. He did, though, enjoy using those things as an excuse to require attendance to things like this weekend.

"What was the appointment regarding?"

"A children's book, Serena's childhood."

"Ah. I'm sure it will be just as well received."

"I hope so. I wanted to wait until after the current series was done, but my agent convinced me that starting it now would be most beneficial. Children would read them and then grow into the current series, meaning continued steady book sales. We found an illustrator who captured the spirit of Serena I was after. I'm not sure I could have gone along with it if the illustrations didn't work for me."

"Nor should you have."

"Thank you." She really wasn't sure what else to say. "I suppose I should get back to…"

"You know, if you wanted to come by Hogwarts and sign some copies of your books, arrangements could be made."

"Would I have to bring my own books to give away?"

"Well, yes, I don't have the resources to provide them. That would be difficult to get the Board of Governors to sign off on. I would think your first book would be good to have on hand to give to those who haven't taken up reading them. You wouldn't want them to start on a later book. I'm not sure I could offer you compensation for any books you give away, but perhaps we could come up with something you'd find more amenable than galleons or pounds."

"I'm certainly willing to hear what you had in mind, Headmaster."

"Dinner and theater tickets."

"I'm not …"

What in the world would she do with theater tickets? Ginny could go, she supposed. She doubted Harry would. Maybe. She had no more friends than he knew of when she was a student, and she wasn't swimming in muggle friends either.

"With me."

"Oh," she said, not having meant to say that aloud. "Yes," she said quickly before he could take her surprised utterance to mean she was offended or, worse, amused.

"Really?" he asked, one eyebrow darted up.

"You offered thinking that I'd say no? Do you not really want me to come sign books?"

"I do, I think it would be nice for the students to see a hero of the war is not just functioning but succeeding."

"Well, Harry…"

"I do not wish to go to dinner or a theatrical production with Harry Potter."

That meant he did want to go with her?

Hmm.

"Let me know what date will work then, and I will be sure to make room in my schedule," she offered.

"Is that for the book signing, or for the payment?"

She smiled, shaking her head slightly. Was Severus Snape flirting with her? "Both, of course. I am a busy woman, you know."

"Well, you pick any weekend for the book signing between next weekend and the end of June. You can send me an owl with your choice, along with anything you might require beyond a table and chair. I will let you know about the other."

"Am I to assume it will be in July or August?"

"Most likely."

"Good," she said with a nod.

"Good?" He looked both amused and curious.

She bit her lower lip, glancing in the direction of her friends. She was certain they were all watching her. Neville wasn't being at all subtle about doing it. She knew why she'd said good. Did she dare tell him?

Perhaps she'd already had one too many glasses of champagne, because she thought she should tell him.

"I don't want to have dinner and see a show with the headmaster of Hogwarts," she said finally.

"Then Severus Snape will let you know those details. Will that mean that your weekend at Hogwarts will be personal?"

"I'm spending an entire weekend?"

"Of course."

She narrowed her eyes at him for a second. She had to admit she kind of missed the castle, and it would be fun to spend a weekend catching up with Minerva, Filius, and Septima.

"I look forward to it."

"As do I," he said.

She nodded toward her friends, and he likely knew what she was going to say without her having to. She was brazen enough to come here and talk to him, thinking Ginny and Harry had been not right in their heads for thinking he was looking at her.

Maybe they were just fine in the head after all.

"If there's a spot next to you at dinner…" he said.

"You'd be welcome to claim it."

He nodded then. The last thing she saw before turning to make her way back to where her friends were gathered. That smile of his.

"So, that wasn't just a 'how are you, Professor.'," Ginny said.

"It's Headmaster now, Ginny, and has been for six years."

"Deflecting. She's deflecting," Ginny said to Harry.

"I'm not sure why we care what she and Snape talked about," Ron said.

His opinion of the headmaster had changed quite drastically the past few years. Initially, he'd had a tough time accepting that there was anything good about the man. Now, even though he still called him Snape, there was a modicum of respect behind the name that hadn't been there even five years ago let alone seven. There were times that old suspicion presented itself. This was one of those times.

"Because he had been looking at her since she came in."

"Oh," Ron said with a soft huff. "You do look very nice, 'mione," he said.

"Thank you, Ron. We didn't talk that long!" She wasn't gone for more than maybe ten or fifteen minutes. "He has invited me to do a book signing at Hogwarts one weekend before school lets out this year."

"Really?" Harry asked. "He's going to spend money on books to allow you to do that?"

"Why would he have to buy books?" Neville asked.

"Well, depending on the type of signing, my books might already be there for people to purchase, and I'd sign those purchased copies. Sometimes, if I'm giving a lecture or something I'll bring copies with me to sign, which is included in their fee for the event. He suggested I bring copies of the first book to give away, so those who haven't started reading the series would have that book to start with. I have copies of all four, so I'll bring some of the other three, too. Sometimes, too, a place will guarantee me that I'll be able to sign and sell a certain number of books to make it worth my while and they pay me for any difference."

"That could be like hundreds of books, though," Ron said.

"Well, he did say that while he can't reimburse me, he would treat me to a night of dinner and a theater production."

"Did he now," Ginny said.

"Yes," Hermione said, flushing at the realization that she likely had just committed to a date with Severus Snape.

"And you accepted this form of reimbursement?"

"I did."

Ginny giggled then with a squeal that wasn't at all quiet or subtle, throwing her arms around Hermione. Loud enough most conversation in the room stopped, and the flush Hermione felt a moment ago was now a full-blown blush.

"Ginny," Hermione hissed.

"Pregnancy hormones," the younger witch called out, causing Hermione and Harry both to shake their heads. She shifted a bit to look in the headmaster's direction since her back was still to him.

He didn't look angry at least. In fact, if she didn't know better, he looked amused and not at all fooled by Ginny's claim of pregnancy hormones for her outburst.

"Oh my God, Hermione, you have a date with Professor Snape," Ginny said.

"I don't know…"

"It absolutely is a date!"

Hermione tended to agree with her. It was why she asked if it was going to be during the summer months. The school year could have been a business thing. During the summer, not as likely.

"And he's walking this way."

"Oh my God, Ginny, I swear to you if you embarrass me anymore to the point he says forget it."

"Oh, I won't say a word," she said.

Hermione rolled her eyes as she turned to see that, sure enough, he was walking toward them. How he could make those black robes look both menacing and intriguing was beyond her.

He stopped next to her, glancing at the four others with a nod.

"Hello Headmaster," all but Harry said.

Harry called him Severus.

Harry was one of the aurors who worked at Hogwarts frequently, so their paths crossed with regularity. Hermione wouldn't say they were friends, but she knew their conversations were friendly in nature these days. Three years ago, Severus would answer Harry's questions and pawn him off on Minerva. That wasn't the case recently it seemed, based on Harry's dropping tidbits of what Severus said about this or that.

"Could I escort you to dinner?" he asked.

"Um," she said, meeting his gaze, swallowing.

Was he really doing this? Was she really on the verge of accepting? Neville was the only one of her friends who remained intimidated by the headmaster. He was looking a little green at the idea of his boss sitting with him at dinner.

"I've rendered you incapable of responding?"

"She'd love for you to escort her to dinner, Sir," Ron said.

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley," he said, offering Hermione his arm. She slid her hand along the crook of his arm.

"Thank you," she said finally.

"I figured how better to ensure there is an empty seat next to you for me to procure."

"You're going to scare them away with those stern looks you're so proficient at giving?"

"No, I'm going to claim it as mine from the get go."

"I see."

"Is that acceptable?"

She nibbled at her lower lip. Here goes nothing. "I think that it is."

XvXvX

Severus gave a subtle shiver as Hermione rested the tips of her fingers against the back of his forearm once she accepted his offered arm. She'd touched him earlier but he'd been convinced it was … inadvertent, an instinctual reaction. Something she would do if she'd been speaking to Potter or Weasley. This, though, she was accepting his offer of claiming a seat next to her.

The feel of her fingers, warm against his forearm even through his dress robe's sleeve, assured him that he was in fact awake.

He had no intention of … approaching her this evening.

Or any evening, for that matter.

He'd contented himself a while ago, when he realized that he was attracted to her, to admire her from afar. There were a plethora of reasons as to why.

With the realization - and eventual acceptance - of his attraction to this witch came other things.

First and foremost.

This was immensely different from what his feelings for Lily had been. That had been … unhealthy. Obsession. Even prior to their arrival at Hogwarts. He wasn't entirely to blame for that. She'd played a role, and Albus had as well. He didn't blame her, but she knew he cared deeply for her and never told him she didn't reciprocate. The fault, though, was his, for never realizing the witch didn't like him far too late into things. For all his intellect and his ability to observe, he hadn't known.

He wasn't the first person who'd been incapable of seeing the obvious. The truth. He wouldn't be the last either.

He thought Hermine could like him, if given the chance to. He wasn't sure he wanted to pursue that path. What could he offer her exactly? She seemed to like living her life with her feet firmly entrenched in both the muggle and wizarding worlds. She was famous, for the right reasons.

He just presumed she'd find a wizard (or witch he supposed). One he couldn't compete with. Closer to her in age. One raised in a similar socioeconomic background. One not jaded. One who hadn't insulted and berated her. One who didn't bear evidence of his life altering mistake on his arm and neck for all to see. And be reminded of who he'd been.

And then she walked up to him.

Of all the wizards in the large room, she'd chosen to come talk to him. He'd been certain it was a trick at first, some sort of prank her friends had thought up. They were beyond that, though. He and Weasley didn't talk often, but they were polite to one another when they did. Potter was a common fixture at Hogwarts post-war, and they were cordial to one another. Severus wouldn't call them friends, but they were definitely more that than not these days. Mrs. Potter and Mr. Longbottom. Well, no, neither would prank him.

She'd come here tonight, looking every bit the Gryffindor lioness she was, red and gold from head to toe. He hadn't been the only one who enjoyed the view as Kingsley Shacklebolt escorted her across the room to her friends. The Minister knew it, too, and made the most of it.

Lucky bastard, even got a kiss to the cheek.

The thing of it was, she truly didn't seem to have any clue how sought after she was. As far as he knew, she hadn't dated anyone since she and Weasley called it quits within a few months of the war's end. The breakup had not been pretty, but within a few months, they were back to being the good friends they had been at Hogwarts.

He wasn't fool enough to believe that she hadn't dated since Ronald Weasley. He expected she had. She just preferred to keep her personal life … private. (It was one of the reasons he found himself attracted to her initially.) The years old picture she used as her author headshot was no doubt deliberate, wanting to limit the amount of crazy people who looked her up.

It didn't stop people from being curious about her evidently. Evidently because he did not read gossip pages, but Minerva and others on the staff did. He heard ad nauseum every time a reporter, or someone else, reported on her comings and goings.

Normally, he'd hate that Ginevra Weasley seemed to assist him in breaking the ice. (Especially considering he wasn't totally sure he wanted the ice broken.) It was at her insistence that Miss Granger came to speak to him at all. He was certain of it. Oh, she never shied away from him and was nothing but polite, but he could tell that he made her uncomfortable.

What he hadn't been able to figure out was … why.

Why did he make her feel that way?

It seemed … different from the way others were around him. He hadn't done anything, not since the end of the war anyway. She didn't seem as if she felt guilty. He saw guilt even today, when he looked in the eyes of Minerva or Filius. That wasn't there when he looked at her.

So, if not guilt then what? Had he done something so awful at some point that his mere presence bothered her? His lack of an answer to that question was the primary reason he … stayed away.

Tonight, he watched as Mrs. Potter set her hand against Miss Granger's hip. He'd felt a moment of … jealousy. For a multitude of reasons. No one would dare touch him in such a manner. Ever. (Except Miss Granger tonight anyway.) So, yes, he could admit to being envious of the five of them, and the few that had been added to their group, and their closeness. That they had a connection and enough comfortableness with one another to … touch.

Too, he wanted it to be his hand to feel how soft her dress was. To draw her to him. He had no doubt she smelled magnificent to go with looking that way. Not that he thought she was drowning in perfume.

No, she was too subtle to do that.

He wondered if she realized how lovely she was, how much she commanded a room just by being present in it. He was used to commanding a room, but he had learned to do that. Intentionally. There was nothing deliberate about it on her part. Likely, she would scoff realizing she got attention. Eyes just followed, were drawn to, her.

And then she was standing there, talking to him. He wasn't sure why the idea of her coming there to talk to students and sign books hadn't occurred to him before now. As Headmaster Snape, he would not have been able to make the deal he had with her. Yes, of course, he was Headmaster Snape tonight. The position went with him wherever he went, but they were talking as … contemporaries, peers, not as a boss to an employee or anything like that.

And she'd said yes. Not only had she said yes, but she made it clear that she preferred the summer months so that she would not be accompanying Headmaster Snape.

She'd returned to her friends, of course. He knew that she would. If their date actually went well, and turned into a second, he would thank the two Gryffindors who no doubt were the reason she'd come to talk to him. She hadn't said anything to indicate why she'd sought him out. So he could only presume someone else had suggested it.

And then Ginevra had squealed. He knew that sound, knew what it meant. Knew that Hermione had told them of his offered compensation for her coming to sign books at Hogwarts.

For the first time in his life, he felt eyes on him as he crossed the room toward her, knowing they were eyeing him with interest and in some instances jealousy at the thought that Miss Granger had come to talk to him of all the wizards in this room outside of her friend group. She didn't normally do that. She was polite and gracious, but always reserved.

He suspected her reservation came from being unsure how the magical world felt about her making her money in the muggle world. And very obviously and publicly keeping a foot in it. That wasn't commonly done. Usually it was one or the other, not embracing both.

He could see Kingsley, or worse George Weasley, claiming the seat next to hers just to be difficult.

Well, George would do it because he actually liked the witch.

Kingsley just liked to do it because he could. He'd contemplated for a few years now if the minister had some interest in the witch, but he had come to the conclusion that wasn't so. For some reason he'd been one of the ones she let in.

He'd danced with the witch from Severus' understanding. More than once. The Minister loved to do just that at the Ministry balls. No doubt he would tomorrow night as well. If it wasn't Kingsley, Hermione didn't stray outside of her group for dance partners very often.

He wondered if she would break from that tradition tomorrow night if he asked. Wizards asked every year, and she always said no. Potter, Longbottom, and all of the surviving Weasley men (married and single) made up her dance card at every ball. Occasionally, former classmates such as Draco Malfoy or Blaise Zabini would catch her in a generous moment and get to claim a dance.

He had to say as the night drew to a close that this had been one of the most … pleasant of these things he could remember. He couldn't say specifically that it was Hermione's company beside him and their conversation, but it was the primary difference from previous dinners. So he could only assume.

She included Harry and the others in conversations when she could, but didn't seem afraid to engage in a conversation about a subject clearly only the two of them would be interested in.

He made his way back to Hogwarts and his quarters there, going over the last bit of their conversation as he readied himself for bed.

"If you'd like to come to Hogwarts ahead of committing to a particular weekend, I could show you where I had in mind your event being."

"It's an event now?" She was teasing him, he knew it. How? Her eyes. They didn't twinkle as Albus' had, but her mirth was no less apparent. She bumped her hip against his, too.

"Mm," he said.

"Did you have a time in mind?"

"What is convenient for you?" he asked.

"Well, you're the one with a stricter schedule."

"How about I look at my calendar and let you know tomorrow."

"That would be fine." And she sounded sincere.

"Would I be able to claim a dance since I have to approach you?"

"Well, I'm not making you approach me, but I'm sure a dance could be arranged, Headmaster."

"I'm not asking you for a dance as the headmaster."

"That is exceedingly good to know."

"Is it?"

"I prefer that you would like to ask for a dance as Severus."

"I would."

"I hope you have a good night, Severus," she said, eyes darting to meet his. Nerves for addressing him informally when he hadn't truly granted her permission to do so.

"You as well, Hermione," he said, bowing his head over the back of her hand politely. He didn't dare kiss it. Not tonight. Tomorrow perhaps.

He watched as she said good night to her friends.

"You sure you don't need me to get you home, 'mione?" the youngest Weasley wizard asked.

"I'm fine. You know that Maynord doesn't care much for you," she said.

Weasley had grimaced at that but nodded. "Well, I can get you outside."

"I'll be fine, Ronald, thank you for the offer. I appreciate it," she said, kissing his cheek.

Ready for bed, he moved to the desk in his private office to check his calendar to see what days and times he had meetings that would conflict with her visiting Hogwarts. Not that she couldn't see Minerva, or any number of professors, if he was busy. They'd all be thrilled to see her.

"Who is Maynord? And why doesn't he care for Ronald Weasley?"

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NOTE: Happy Wednesday! Here's the next story I'll be posting. It's complete in 10 chapters. Have a great rest of your week. See you Sunday!