From below stairs, Hermione heard the grandfather clock in the foyer strike six. Dawn would soon break, but still, she could not sleep. Her mind was so full of the memories “ and her heart was so full of the emotions those memories evoked “ that she could not have slept if she had tried. And though she knew it would break her heart anew, she could not resist the temptation to dwell in those memories again. Her eyes stared out the window, but her mind played over the happenings of times gone by.
Snape put the empty goblet from him, knowing it would be foolish to drink any more. Inebriation would not bring about sleep, not when he was permitting himself to wallow so foolishly in his remembrance of events which had brought him to this place in his life. Brooding, he glared out the window into the dark before dawn.
October, 1997 through June, 1998
Part 1
Hermione had returned to Hogwarts from her kidnapping to the joyous relief of Harry and Ron, and to the serious displeasure of Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore. She had to endure the lecturing of her Head of House, and the disappointment of her Headmaster. Also, her Hogsmeade trips were suspended for the remainder of the term. In view of her infraction, she felt she got off with a light punishment.
She had shared with the boys the details of her kidnapping and escape, followed by hiding out all night in the woods. They were torn between horror at her near escape and envy at her participation in what they considered to be “real action.” They were now also fairly disgusted that they had reason to be indebted to Snape for his rescue of Hermione.
“Perhaps you would have preferred if he had left me there for that ghastly Interrogator person to torture me?” she had demanded in some exasperation after they lamented and reproached her for what seemed to be the umpteenth time.
“No!” they fairly shouted in unison.
“Then get over it,” she snapped at them, and retreated to her room.
The first time she was set to see Professor Snape alone after their night in the woods was for her weekly report on her Independent Study project. She was nervous all that day and changed clothes and rearranged her hair four times before anxiously making her way down to the dungeons. With butterflies in her stomach, she pushed open his office door “ only to find herself confronted with Professor Dumbledore, as well as an expressionless Potions master.
“Professor Snape tells me that your Sleeve Potion performed admirably in your unscheduled test, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said cheerfully. “He has awarded your project an Outstanding mark, and you will not be required to spend your Tuesday evenings with him any longer.” The headmaster smiled at her as if she had just been rewarded with a rare treat.
Hermione turned reproachful eyes on Snape, but he was writing on the parchment before him on his desk. “You may leave your notes with me, Miss Granger, and I will add them to your report.”
Professor Dumbledore stood and waited while Hermione placed her notes carefully on Snape’s desk, then he gestured toward the door. “I’ll walk you back to Gryffindor Tower, shall I? I need to have a word with Minerva.”
Hermione waited for Snape to look up, but he continued to scratch away on the parchment; at last she turned and preceded Dumbledore out of the office, trying desperately to ignore the painful lump in her throat.
As October wore into November, and began its inevitable march towards the Christmas holidays, Hermione spent more time alone than she had ever done before. Sitting alone in her room at night, looking out the windows of Gryffindor Tower at the grounds, she could perfectly recall the sensation of being held to Snape’s side as if he would never let her go. Closing her eyes, she could feel again the texture of the linen upon which her cheek had rested “ and oh, so vividly, she could feel the toned muscles of his chest. Her arms had been wrapped about his lean waist; he was whipcord thin, but possessed of a wiry strength and well-toned musculature, evident to her small hands as she held onto him. The emotions her reminiscences conjured within her were almost overwhelming in their strength. It was a feeling that began low in her stomach and billowed upwards, into her chest, until her heartbeat quickened “ then descended, bringing an ache that seemed to be impervious to all efforts to dispel it.
Thus far, her efforts to push thoughts of him out of her mind so that she could concentrate on preparing for the war and on studying for her N.E.W.T.s were failing miserably.
Snape never thought of her “ or so he told himself.
He pushed all thoughts of their night in the woods from him, storming through his days in much the same way as he had always done “ only more so. If he had been a terror in the classroom before, he now reached new levels of acidic nastiness. His daily progress from one end of the castle corridors to the other was attended by an orgy of point deduction unparalleled in the history of Hogwarts.
It was only in the darkest hours of the night watches that he was unable to defend himself from the memory of holding her in his arms while she slept. Such innocence, cradled in the arms of such depravity, would have amused him in earlier times. The trusting way she turned her well-being over to him disarmed him in a way he was unable to qualify. The way his traitorous body responded to the mere memory of her body pressed to his infuriated him in a way he was unable to quantify.
In spite of his repeated failures to do so, he continued to promise himself, on a daily basis, that he would put her completely out of his mind, so that he could concentrate on the final confrontation to come with the Dark Lord “ and on getting through the rest of this school year so that the issue could be resolved.
The Order gathered in Grimmauld Place after the final battle. In small groups, they straggled in over a period of several days, craving the company of their comrades as they began to process what they had seen, and done, over the three day battle at the Riddle estate. The battle had occurred at the beginning of the Christmas holidays; the students were not required to be in classes, the teachers were not needed at the school, and the holiday was easily passed at headquarters. Christmas Day came, and went, and still the Order lingered in Grimmauld Place, eating meals together and sitting up late into the night, deep in conversation.
The report was that Snape had spent one day in the hospital wing at Hogwarts, recovering from an injury to his shoulder, before disappearing. He was not at the school, and he was not at headquarters. Hermione looked for him, starting up each time the bell chimed, but the Potions master did not appear.
Near the end of the week following New Year’s Day, Dumbledore came into the sitting room one evening as Sirius and Remus sat over a chessboard and the Weasley siblings were engaged with Tonks in a game of Exploding Snap. Hermione was in the corner with a book open on her knees; Harry sat near Sirius, adding yet another unnecessary coat of varnish to his Firebolt.
“It is time for us to begin to return to our normal lives,” the headmaster said, as all faces in the room turned to him. “To that end, we will have an official celebration here on Saturday night. On Sunday night, the students will return to Hogwarts. Classes will begin on Monday.”
Whispered conversations broke out amongst the inhabitants of the room, but Hermione simply gazed with unseeing eyes at her book. Would he attend?
Saturday night arrived and the bell chimed all night as people came in and out. Hermione stopped looking up hopefully at each arrival. As in the case of the watched cauldron which never boiled, it was when she had given up on him that he appeared. She was standing with Luna and Ginny, talking about going back to school, when she heard the unmistakeably silky baritone in the hallway outside the sitting room.
Her heart leapt, and her stomach swooped and she lost track of the conversation. Keeping her place between the girls, she pivoted and looked into the hallway, craning her neck for a glance of him.
When her eyes found him, she was looking directly into his impassive face. For a matter of seconds, he looked at her and she looked at him; then he turned to speak to Arthur Weasley. No matter how many times she glanced at him, she did not catch his eyes again.
The hour was growing late, and the boys had become quite silly under the influence of the punch, which the twins had spiked within minutes of Molly having placed it on the refreshment table. Those who had not become exceedingly silly had instead become depressingly morose. Hermione, slipping away from her friends, came upon her Potions master as he leant against the wall behind the punch bowl. She could not prevent the hectic colour which rushed into her cheeks, but she was quite proud of the unremarkable timbre of her voice as she said, “May I serve you some punch, sir?”
Unspeaking, Snape extended his empty punch cup to her. Hermione took it from him, bravely keeping her composure as their fingers touched “ first when he handed the cup to her, then when he took it from her again. The second time, she looked up into his face. As if compelled by her gaze, Snape looked up from her hand, which stubbornly held onto his cup, and he allowed her to look her fill.
“You are well,” she said stupidly, stating the obvious. Oh, well done, Hermione, she thought.
“As you see,” he replied evenly.
She took a hesitant step towards him, without taking her eyes from his face. Snape continued to trade stares with her, apparently unmindful of the fact that they both held resolutely to the glass of punch. She absorbed the planes and angles of his face and the impenetrable depths of his eyes, and he permitted her to do so, rather than speaking a harsh word and turning from her, as he had done so many times since the night in the woods. Taking a deep breath, she spoke at last.
“Professor …”
One eyebrow rose.
“… no exceptions?”
The contact was broken as he took the cup from her and half turned away, allowing the curtain of his hair to swing into his face, obscuring his expression.
“Thank you for the punch, Miss Granger,” he said, then purposefully strode from the room.
Feeling very foolish, Hermione watched him leave. Replacing the ladle in the punch bowl, she headed upstairs to bed.
It was in February that there began to be rumours regarding the Family Preservation and Marriage Law Act. The Hogwarts students, isolated as they were from the rest of the world, obtained their information first from the Daily Prophet; later, as the rumblings grew louder, they began to hear more of it in letters from home.
Public sentiment was sharply divided. There were those who opposed the legislation as a violation of free will, and those who approved it as the most reasonable possible solution to an otherwise insoluble problem.
Albus Dumbledore, for whom the fall of Lord Voldemort had not signalled the end of his intense interest in the destiny of the wizarding world, followed the news carefully. He also continued to work his network of informants with the same avidity as he had ever done.
… which is how Snape found himself now spending stupid, pointless evenings at social gatherings amongst the movers and shakers of the new government, much as he had once spent stupid, pointless evenings at social gatherings amongst the Death Eaters.
The only difference he could find between them was that while the government food was superior, the Death Eaters’ wine had them beaten “ no contest.
Well, there was one other “ barely significant “ difference. The ugly, greasy Potions master had become the striking, enigmatic War Hero. Ever since he had been awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class, he had become an object of interest to females. Putting aside the occasional, highly inappropriate letters he had received from strangers, he now found himself socially pursued by witches from all over Britain. His suspicious nature prevented him from letting the attention go to his head. He had seen Sirius Black making an arse of himself all over London; he had no intention of making the same error. The women now flocking to him “ flattering him, passing him notes “ were after the War Hero, not the man. Not a one of them had shown him any attention before he became a celebrity “ a sharp contrast to Granger’s request to see him socially, and her audacious kiss to his cheek in the train station, acts performed before he had been featured on the front page of the newspaper for heroism.
Pushing such treacherous thoughts out of his mind, Snape approached yet another group of gossipers, and insinuated himself amongst them, to gather information for Dumbledore “ just as he had always done.
It was also in February that Hermione began seeing Snape plastered all over the society pages of the newspaper. It seemed as if she could scarcely open the paper without finding yet another picture of Snape in the company of beautiful witches, drinking wine and mingling with the crème of London society at all of the “A” list parties. From the number of times a week she saw his name listed amongst the attendees at the various events, she could not imagine when he found time to mark papers and prepare lesson plans.
She was so jealous it made her physically ill.
In the months since their time alone, she had known she would have to overcome Snape’s stubbornness before she could develop a relationship with him. What she had not banked on was the likelihood that she would encounter competition from other women. How stupid could she be? What had she been thinking? If she found him to be intoxicatingly attractive, why would not other women, who were not his students, find him doubly so?
In the spirit of she who could not forbear to rub salt in her own wounds, she collected the numerous photographs of Snape cavorting all over London with witches who were older and more sophisticated than she, and kept them hidden in her room. Each night, when she could not sleep, she leafed through them “ though whether her purpose was to gird herself for the fight ahead, or to wallow in the pain of his perceived disloyalty, she could not say.
Snape’s reports convinced Dumbledore that the passage of the law was inevitable. In close consultation with McGonagall, they decided to begin to prepare the older students for the task to come. If the Ministry was planning to sponsor a summer of social gatherings to pave the way to the required marriages, then Hogwarts would begin a crash course to teach the sixth and seventh year students how to function in such a societal environment.
A dancing master was brought in; each House had private lessons at first, then all the Houses were brought together so that students could practice their dancing skills en masse. Protocol attachés from the Ministry were invited to hold sessions with the students as well; the Heads of House prowled amongst their charges and stopped to assist in the instructions as the students learned how to bow and curtsey, as well as how to carry out and respond to formal introductions. There were special seminars conducted by wizarding solicitors, explaining how marriage contracts were constructed and enforced, as well as separate sessions for the girls and boys taught by healthcare professionals, for explicit instruction on the nature of the birds and the bees and for individual counselling for personal questions.
All in all, Snape considered the whole enterprise to be completely appalling and unseemly; he was torn between the indignity of having to assist in perpetrating these horrors upon his students, and his fierce determination to protect the students from the indignities being perpetrated upon them.
In the midst of all the time-consuming extra duties of preparing the students for life after Hogwarts, he found himself missing his own forays into society. Against his will, Snape found that he quite enjoyed being sought after by women. His initial suspicion of their motives had become allayed as the same behaviour was repeated, over and again. He knew he was going to have to marry when the law was passed; he had always considered that it would be his duty to do so at some point in the future, if he survived the war, for the sake of his family name. It had just never dawned on him until now that he might actually enjoy the process of choosing a woman to marry.
He carried his ambivalence to Malfoy Manor, where Lucius Malfoy was enduring the three months of house arrest imposed by the Wizengamot “ and making incarceration look good. Malfoy would pour Snape a goblet of the most expensive wine from the Malfoy cellars and while away a few hours in discussion of Snape’s wry reflections on society, before being decisively thrashed at chess. It was a satisfactory scheme for them both.
Hermione tackled her new subjects with the same single-minded fervour she had always shown with her studies. In the lectures, she took notes; in the practical lessons, she mimicked what she was shown until she could reproduce it flawlessly “ then she proceeded to make the new skills peculiarly her own, by adding personal touches.
Standing before the full-length mirror in her room as she practiced her curtsey, she rationalised that her reasons for seeking to excel were sound ones. If she was going to have to pursue her heart’s desire out into polite society, then she needed to have the same social skills the experienced, more urbane witches would have.
Moving back towards her bed, Hermione could not resist picking up the book of newspaper clippings from the table. Though spring was fully upon them, and Easter holidays only days away, there had been no lessening of “Snape sightings,” as she had come to think of the disturbing news reports. One recent exposé by Rita Skeeter had set her teeth particularly on edge.
Hermione snorted, glaring down at the picture beneath the absurd headline. Snape was seated on a settee in yet another drawing room, one elegantly clad leg crossed over the other, engaged in conversation with the attractive woman sitting by his side.
The photograph was made ridiculous by the three witches standing behind the settee, leaning over, in all their low-cut glory, to take part in the conversation, too.
Hermione prodded violently at the one in the middle and all three of the hangers-on glared up at her indignantly from the newsprint. The middle witch held her attention, for she had a name to go with that face. Why was Fleur Delacour party-hopping in London, rather than spreading inferiority complexes in Paris?
And how was she, Hermione, supposed to be able to put on a fair fight when she was locked up in school and Snape was out there in society, well, socialising?
Having worked herself into the same rage and around the same impossible twist to the destination she reached each night when she tried to think of a way to improve her chances, she shoved the scrapbook heedlessly onto the floor and threw herself onto her bed for another restless night of little sleep.
Snape placed himself in the shadows in the Great Hall, watching the sixth and seventh year students dancing. Minerva had caused this particular entertainment, the last one before the Easter holiday began, to be made more hideous than usual by having the children dress formally. The girls had dance cards and the boys had the chore of putting their names on the cards to claim the dances.
Across the room, well within his line of sight, stood Hermione Granger. She had made some sort of effort to tame the messy hair into a scraped-up bun. The formal robes were of a nice shade of blue. She looked appropriate, certainly well enough for a school function, and far better than the vast majority of the other girls, who wore too many cosmetics, or clothing that was too revealing to be proper for school children.
Having given her this cursory examination, to which he was entitled as one of her teachers, he turned his gaze to a different object and attempted to amuse himself with reflections regarding the other events which he had to look forward to before departing Hogwarts to spend the summer sorting out the tangled affairs of his stepmother and his half-sisters.
Yet his eyes continued, against his will and inclination, to seek out the Granger girl as she moved about the room. She certainly never seemed to lack for a partner and she appeared to be conducting herself with an oddly self-assured air, unlike her behaviour with him in the cabin on that October night.
No! He would not think about that. Stirring himself to action, he stormed up to three Slytherin boys, who were lounging against a wall and trading sniggering remarks behind their hands.
“The point of this exercise is not for you to gain experience at propping up the wall like so many ill-bred louts,” he snarled, appearing before them like the Giant Squid, as if from a cloud of inky blackness. “You, Goyle, go ask Miss Bulstrode to dance. Crabbe, ask Miss Parkinson. Stand up straight, Zabini! Go ask Miss Bones to dance; she has no partner.”
Only Zabini even dared to consider a protest of this high-handed behaviour; Crabbe and Goyle had already scuttled away like beetles fleeing the advent of light.
“…but she’s a Hufflepuff!”
Snape took one threatening step closer and Zabini moved obediently to ask Susan Bones to dance, managing the task so politely that he received a satisfied nod from Snape for his troubles.
With some small measure of his spleen thus vented, Snape turned to survey the room, only to find his eyes once again riveted upon Miss Granger as she left Longbottom and flowed into Potter’s arms for the next dance.
And so it proceeded for the rest of the night, as Granger continued to dance every dance without respite. In his quarters that night, discussing matters with his third goblet of brandy, Snape realised that a girl so young and so popular “ a girl in the first bloom of her womanhood “ would never be concerned with a man so gnarled, withered, and hell-blasted as he.
See her socially? The very idea was ludicrous. She would never notice his absence in the rush of amusements that would come upon her when she left school.
And why was he even wasting his time considering such a preposterous prospect? The words that were spoken between them were simply part of the insanity of that entire situation, and held no more importance than the passing comfort of this, his fourth and final goblet of brandy.
And thus, he excused himself again from ever keeping the appointment they had made to see one another at the end of school, and he passed into brandy-fogged oblivion before the dying embers of his sitting room fire.
Part 2
After spending a week at his family home with his stepmother and half-sisters, Snape permitted himself a rare week in London, for the second half of his Easter holiday. On the Saturday night before he would have to return to Hogwarts, there was a gala night at the Ministry. Dressed in smart new dress robes, with his Order of Merlin pinned to his chest, he mixed with the party attendees and made mental notes to pass on to Dumbledore.
In his many forays into society, he had found there were types of women whose admiration he enjoyed, and types of women whose admiration he abhorred. The first set of women gave an outward appearance of near-indifference to him, yet continued to seek out his company. The second set of women resembled nothing so much as groupies, and gave the impression that any Order of Merlin would do, providing it had a pulse and a pocketbook. Though he was exercising social skills that had lain dormant for years, he still was not adept at escaping the second set of admirers, without resorting to the tactics that kept his students at bay.
While his cold, insulting ways could clear a room of intelligent and perceptive people rather quickly, the groupie-women seemed nearly impervious to snubs and sneers. It had become his custom to surround himself, when possible, by women from the first set, in order to protect himself from those of the second.
On this particular evening, he had allowed himself to become distracted by a discussion of the plans for the dedication of the Unity Fountain, which was being constructed at Hogwarts. The ceremony was planned in June, on the six-month anniversary of the fall of Voldemort. Snape exchanged views with the Minister on the plans, then fell into a fit of abstraction as the Minister and his acolytes moved on to the next group discussion.
When next he became aware of his surroundings, he was indeed surrounded. No fewer than four of his least favourite witches were clustered about him, chatting with one another about him, of all things. With no outward sign of his inward panic, he glanced casually to his right, then his left, looking for a route of escape. He had his back to the wall, which had many tactical advantages, but in this case, it was a detriment; he would have to go through the chattering gaggle of women to go from them. Prior experience had taught him what a bad idea that could turn out to be, as the thoughtless witches had no scruples regarding grabbing his arm, or touching him in some other way. The simple truth of the matter was that Snape loathed to be touched and would rather endure endless prattling than subject himself to the indignity of an unsolicited touch.
On this night, providence made itself known in the form of an angel of mercy.
Fifteen minutes into his groupie incarceration, Fleur Delacour had swept into the middle of the chattering women as if she had every right to be there.
“Professor,” she said, in English much improved from what Snape remembered of her speech when she was a Triwizard Champion, “the Unity Fountain Committee Head is looking for you. Will you come?”
With a polite bow to his companions, he followed the vision of loveliness that was Fleur Delacour to the other side of the Ministry Atrium. When she paused beside one of the refreshment tables, Snape picked up a flute of champagne and slightly bowed as he placed it in her hand.
“Is there a Unity Fountain Committee?” he inquired, as he watched her place the crystal flute to her exquisitely formed mouth.
“Oh, no,” she replied with a tiny smile.
Snape raised one eyebrow.
“But you were looking so very uncomfortable,” Miss Delacour explained, bestowing another shining smile upon him.
Snape, fascinated almost against his will, continued undisturbed by her side for more than a quarter of an hour. The witches from the second set had migrated across the room and were hovering on the periphery of the crowd, like jackals hoping to isolate a gazelle from the herd. Something in the cool, taunting looks thrown at them by Miss Delacour, when Professor Snape’s eyes were not trained upon her face, kept them at a distance for the time being.
Snape found Miss Delacour’s company to be a curious mix of attraction and comfort. She did not try to stand too close to him or to touch him, nor did she chatter and babble as many women of her age group and social milieu tended to do. When she spoke, it was to utter sensible words, and when she listened to him, she did so with a respectful attention which he found striking.
He was, therefore, ready to strike in violence when Sirius Black sauntered up, placing himself between Snape and Miss Delacour. Black executed a perfect bow before smiling deeply into Fleur’s surprised blue eyes.
“Your prince is here to rescue you from … ugly tedium, ma’am.”
Black cast Snape a look of insolent amusement.
Snape, utterly immobilised by fury, presented his childhood enemy with a face of bland indifference.
Fleur stood between the two tall men, both black-haired, formally attired and decorated with Orders of Merlin; one smiling and beautiful, the other scowling and harsh-featured, and she registered far more than the casual insult flung by one at the other. It would have been beneficial to be able to research who the good-looking one was, but there was no time; she had to act. Rolling the dice, she turned to Black with a glittering smile.
“Merci, Monsieur,” she purred, holding her hand out to the handsome rake, who was now presenting Snape with a look of triumph. “Please do me the honour of ridding me of your peacock strutting and your donkey braying. Good night.”
Snape was overcome with a small coughing fit when Miss Delacour turned her back on the thunderstruck Sirius Black and graced him with another of her enchanting smiles. “What were you saying, Professor?” she inquired sweetly.
Black laughed incredulously and stepped to the side again, so that he faced the profiles of Snape and Fleur. “If I had a hat, I don’t know if I would tip it, or eat it,” he admitted, bowing again. “Honours to you tonight, Snape.”
Snape, in a rare show of gallantry, took Fleur’s hand and raised it to his lips, raising his eyebrows in tandem, as if to inquire for permission. At Fleur’s nod, he said, “No, Black “ the honours go to Mademoiselle.”
And he pressed his lips to her graceful hand.
The photographer from the Daily Prophet who stepped up and caught that moment on film actually earned a bonus in Galleons from the editor, who published the photograph on the front page with the caption:
As a result of the new flush of celebrity, Snape endured endless teasing from the Hogwarts staff, as well as increased interest from both sets of women on the social scene. The other men now began to regard him with some respect; Fleur Delacour was as sought-after as she was elusive, and she had demonstrated a decided preference for Snape’s company.
Hermione’s temperamental, if inadvertent, reaction to the photograph set fire to her entire collection of Snape-sighting clippings. She stared, unseeing, out the windows of Gryffindor Tower as the tormenting mementoes burned to ash.
The morning of the dedication of the Unity Fountain dawned warm and fair. Snape was out on the grounds early, checking that the wooden scaffolding which had been built to aid the workers during the construction of the fountain was still sound, and that the garlands which had been used to decorate it were still in place. The Minister, the headmaster, and the Heads of House would each have a few words to say before the dedication was complete; then the scaffolding would be Vanished and the water would commence to flow in the fountain. That evening there would be yet another dance at Hogwarts, though this one would be attended by guests and dignitaries, as well as the sixth and seventh year students.
Snape had been in London on the previous Wednesday night, attending the opening of an art exhibit at the National Wizarding Museum, featuring pieces inspired by the Final Battle. He was narrowly surveying a painting entitled Potter Fells the Dark Lord, thinking that it resembled nothing so much as dirty water swirling down the drain in one of the Potions’ classroom basins, when he heard Miss Delacour’s voice.
“Is that the way it looked?” she inquired.
Snape turned his head in her direction. “Not in the least,” he drawled.
“I understand that the Unity Fountain Committee has arranged the dedication ceremony for this Saturday,” the Frenchwoman commented, keeping her eyes carefully trained upon the dubious work of art before them.
Snape snorted.
Taking his reaction as encouragement, Fleur turned to look at him. “I should dearly love to see the dedication ceremony, and to be present at the dance afterward.”
Snape was startled into looking at her. “You would?”
Casting her eyes down, she neatly hooked him and reeled him in. “Yes, but if one did not fight in the Battle or go to school at Hogwarts, it requires an invitation to attend,” she confided to the top button of his coat.
Snape looked down at the shimmering silvery hair on the crown of her head and pictured himself entering the Great Hall with this dazzling beauty on his arm.
“Perhaps you would care to come as my guest,” he had said to her.
Stalking down the aisle between the folding chairs lined up in neat rows across the lawn before the Unity Fountain, he now felt a tinge of regret for the impulsive invitation he had extended. How could he see after the comfort of a guest while maintaining the duties of the Head of Slytherin House?
Knowing that it was a bit late for second thoughts, he headed back to the castle.
Hermione listlessly spooned cereal into her mouth, ignoring the chattering of the boys. The owls began streaming in, bringing the morning post, and she scowled at the newspaper as she slipped a Knut into the leather bag on the post-owl’s leg. She was distracted when a large, tawny owl dropped a fair-sized box into Ron’s lap before wheeling in mid-air and flying away again.
Ginny, who was sitting beside Hermione, said, “Well, hurry up and open it, then!”
Harry looked at the box and read the direction. “It’s from Fred and George,” Harry said. “Open it!”
Ron tore the paper away, revealing a plain brown box with an envelope attached. As Ron ripped the envelope open, Ginny picked up the box and looked at it, all around.
Harry was reading over Ron’s shoulder, and both of them began to laugh.
“The box is full of soap powder,” Ron managed, between laughs. “Fred and George reckon we should sprinkle the powder in the fountain so it will be filled with bubbles.”
Ginny had set the box back down and was now reading the letter. “Not just any soap bubbles “ ‘Enchanted, multi-coloured bubbles, which will grow to extraordinary sizes and assume fantastical shapes,’ is the way the advert reads.” Ginny folded the paper down and looked up at Hermione, Harry, and Ron, her face alight with mischief. “They want us to run their last big field test before they put the bubbles into mass production! They’d do it themselves, but they’ve got business in London today.”
Hermione had already resumed her lackadaisical ingestion of soggy, cold cereal, determinedly not opening the newspaper to the society page. “No,” she muttered, between bites.
Ginny threw her a pitying look, then turned her attention back to the boys. “It’ll be brilliant!”
Ron looked horrified. “Mum will kill me! I can’t do that, Gin, I’m a Prefect!”
Harry had picked up the box, and opened it, revealing numerous colourful packages, neatly slotted into the interior. “Look at these “ there must be forty different varieties, when you figure in all the scents, the colours, and the shapes. We have to do this “ it’s our duty to the rest of the students, and to the generations to come. We have to make the Commemorative Unity Fountain dedication memorable, to one and all.”
Harry’s tone on the last sentence had become bitingly sarcastic. Ginny nodded in understanding. None of the Houses were really keen on the reasoning behind the new fountain. It was meant to be “a new beginning” at “unity in the wizarding educational system.” The mascots of each House were represented in the fountain design; a lion, a badger, an eagle, and a serpent, all shown in cooperative harmony “ and shooting water from various body parts.
Ron spoke up, hoping to change the subject. “Don’t you have a guest coming for the dedication, Hermione?”
Hermione pushed the half-full bowl of cereal away from her. “Yes, Viktor is free today, so he’s going to come for the dedication and the dance.”
Ron began to speak to Hermione about Viktor Krum, while Harry and Ginny crept away from the table together, the box of magical soap powder and letter from the Weasley twins concealed within their robes.
Hermione strolled out onto the grounds some time later, contentedly soaking up the sun as she scanned the arriving guests for Viktor. Using her hand to shade her eyes from the bright sunlight, she saw Sirius and Remus coming down the drive, each of them speaking to the woman who walked between them.
What was Fleur Delacour doing at Hogwarts today? She was neither an alumna nor a veteran!
As if in answer to her question, Snape strode into her line of sight, neatly intersecting his path with that of Fleur and her escorts. Hermione could not hear their words, but she knew from the cheerful looks on the faces of Sirius and Remus that they were bantering; she also knew, from the smug smirk on Snape’s face, that he was feeling victorious as he adeptly separated Fleur from the other men and bore her away.
The emotion which struck Hermione as she watched Snape and Fleur walking together was envy of a degree so intense that she began to know why jealousy was referred to as the “green-eyed monster.”
Snape dutifully took his place on the platform built onto the scaffolding over the Unity Fountain. The folding chairs were filled and more had been conjured as guests continued to arrive. Snape contented himself with the notion that if so many of them showed up for this event, then fewer would feel compelled to be present in two weeks for the Alumni Day, featuring the Quidditch match of the Alumni Team versus the Hogwarts All-Stars. Though he could not permit himself to grimace, his nostrils flared in disgust. He would be quite pleased when this interminable term came to an end.
The Minister was droning on about the power of unity, but Snape’s eyes were searching the crowd for the thorn in his side. There, sitting next to the Bulgarian Quidditch player and in the middle of a cheerful mass of Gryffindors, was Hermione Granger. Had he actually considered seeing her socially when she left school? She was just a child! Immature, frivolous, thoughtless “ she would make a very poor match for a man of his age. He needed a witch with the maturity to bear herself as the wife of a professor; with the worldliness to be able to assist his stepmother with his half-sisters, and with the good sense not to expect more from him than he could promise to provide. Look at her! She obviously had a tendre for the Bulgarian. Just as he had predicted, she had found some spotty boy “ well, no one could call the strapping Quidditch player by that sobriquet “ but she had found someone more appropriate to her age, and she would never notice if he, Snape, failed to contact her for an assignation once she had left school.
His gaze then travelled to the front row, where he had ensconced Miss Delacour, between two elderly witches from the Ministry. The well-behaved young woman was attending to the speaker with every appearance of interest, which was much more than he could say for the Granger girl and her giggling friends. His enquiries into the character and reputation of the Delacour family, both in England and in France, had brought no negative reports. And one had to give credit where credit was due: the French were renowned for their arranged marriage customs. A girl reared in France, by an aristocratic French family, would understand the components of a marriage of convenience. One could not say the same for the girls reared in this country in the last thirty years; most of them expected to marry for love and they expected romance, as well.
Absurd!
The Minister had completed his remarks, which were receiving polite applause, and the headmaster had stepped to the podium. Snape’s sharp eyes could not help but mark the increasing agitation of the students, particularly the Gryffindors. He thought their jumpy inattention was extreme, even for that lot of dunderheads. They seemed to be uncommonly interested in what was going on beneath and behind the platform.
Dumbledore completed his comments and surrendered the podium to Minerva McGonagall, who began to speak of the glories of Gryffindor House. Snape surreptitiously stepped to the edge of the platform and peered around the garland-covered scaffolding to see what was exciting the student body.
“Filius!” he hissed. The smaller man looked over inquiringly. “Take Pomona off the platform “ the scaffolding is becoming unstable!”
Flitwick did not argue, but took Professor Sprout’s arm and began to lead her down the steps. Snape strode over to Minerva and spoke behind her back to Dumbledore.
“Headmaster, please move the Minister to the ground “ the scaffolding is going to come down any minute.”
Dumbledore took the Minister’s arm and hustled him down the steps.
McGonagall turned an acerbic look on Snape, saying, “Severus, must you interrupt me?” As the last words left her mouth, the platform shifted beneath her feet and Snape snatched her up and scrambled to the ground, halting beside Dumbledore and the Minister.
“Whatever is it, Severus?” Dumbledore asked, as the scaffolding folded in upon itself and the wood clattered to the ground, revealing the fountain in all its glory.
Snape watched as the bubbles in the fountain continued to mount, a fabulous mass of pink, coral, yellow, green, blue, lavender, and chartreuse bubbles, smelling of bubble gum and tangerines and lemons and limes and raspberries and grapes and butterbeer. When the topmost bubbles began to float free, assuming the fanciful shapes of swans and unicorns and dragons and mermaids and seahorses and Thestrals and Hippogriffs, Snape snapped out his answer to Dumbledore.
“Sabotage. It is sabotage, Headmaster.”
Snape’s proclamation was drowned out by the roar of approval from the delighted spectators. The Minister, oblivious to Snape’s angry disapproval, clapped Dumbledore upon the back and said, “Marvellous idea, Dumbledore! Instead of fireworks, you had bubble-works! Outstanding!”
Without another word, Snape turned and stormed back into the castle, his expression like a thundercloud.
With a calculating look upon her face, Fleur Delacour gave him a head start, then followed in his wake.
Hermione whirled on Harry and Ginny, who were laughing and hugging one another with tears rolling helplessly down their faces.
“I can’t believe you did that!” she cried.
Viktor took her by the hand and began to walk towards the fountain. “Now, this is something one does not see everyday,” he commented.
Hermione opened her mouth to tell him off, but he forestalled her by swinging her up into his arms. “I think you vill enjoy a bubble bath, no?”
Hermione’s scream of protest echoed across the lawn as Krum dumped her playfully into the fountain. The entire student body was silenced as they looked up to see who had screamed. There was a moment when no one moved, and no one spoke “ and then they surged toward the bubbly fountain as if they were small children and it was a magical playground.
The Commemorative Unity Fountain dedication was now fully in chaos; the students were in charge and the riot was on.
Professor Dumbledore watched with unconcealed glee as the students of the four Houses converged upon the bubble-filled fountain in a show of unrestrained unity. Noting the disconcerted looks up on the faces of the Ministry dignitaries and other guests who undoubtedly were unable to interpret the actions of the children as harmonious, the Headmaster cried out over the cacophony of joyful noise and said, “Refreshments for all who are not yet wet will be served in the Great Hall! As for the rest of you “ carry on.”
And he cheerfully led the parade of dry people into the castle.
Snape stood in the embrasure of the window, glaring down at the spectacle of the students frolicking in the fountain as if it were a giant paddling pool. He could not have said what about it made him so angry; other than the fact that it was rule-breaking and student-induced anarchy. The lot of them were drenched, splashing one another, chasing the creature-shaped bubbles across the lawn “ and right in the middle of it all was Granger, in the company of her Quidditch-playing cavalier. Though he was too far distant from the fountain to distinguish her voice, he was sure he could hear her peals of laughter as she was pushed once again beneath the serpent’s gout of spewed water and emerged looking even more like a drowned rat.
What kind of behaviour was this for Hogwarts’ Head Girl? What kind of example was she setting for the other students? Yet it could not be denied that Head Boy Draco Malfoy was in the middle of the crowd, and most of the Prefects from all four Houses were in it as well.
“How very disrespectfully they are behaving,” Fleur Delacour said quietly.
Snape glanced sharply behind himself and found her there. “I apologise for leaving you in that mayhem,” he said stiffly.
Fleur waved one hand. “I would have done the same, if I were in your place, and walked away from such a disgraceful display. It shows an extreme lack of restraint.”
Snape felt himself warming towards this woman, who was speaking his own thoughts out loud. She was gazing out the window at the romping young people, and in his estimation, she seemed infinitely above them. Her expensively tailored robes were uncreased, she had not a hair out of place “ she was calm and collected and utterly unruffled by it all.
“Shall we go down and partake of refreshments in the Great Hall?” he inquired.
Fleur felt a surge of elation when she saw that he was offering his arm to her. The untouchable spy was going to permit her physical contact.
She took his arm and rewarded him with a dazzling smile.
Hermione barged into the room shared by Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, and threw her hands up in exasperation.
“I can’t do anything with my hair!”
Parvati looked up from her mirror and nodded. “And I can’t wash off the smell,” she complained.
Lavender stepped into her shoes and said, “Well at least you smell like bubblegum, you know. I smell like limes!”
Hermione sniffed her shoulder. “Butterbeer. I smell like butterbeer!”
All three girls dissolved into giggles.
“Well,” Lavender said, when she could catch her breath, “at least the boys won’t smell any better, so we’re all in the same boat.”
“But my hair!” Hermione moaned, returning to her main complaint. “Sleekeazy isn’t touching it! I can’t control it!”
Lavender took her by the shoulders and sat her down. “Let us see what we can do with it,” she soothed.
The adult guests present for the Unity Fountain dedication joined the sixth and seventh year students for a Feast before the dance that night. Hermione sat with Viktor, but could not keep herself from glancing repeatedly to the High Table where Professor Snape sat with his guest, Fleur Delacour. Fleur was in an evening gown of muted green silk, her silvery hair her only ornament. Hermione looked down at her Gryffindor-red dress robes with the high, square neckline and the pretty gold embroidery. She had liked the robes so much when she had chosen them, but now she felt like such a child in comparison to the woman sitting next to Snape.
Viktor bent down to her ear. “Do you know you smell good enough to eat?”
Hermione gave him a sour look. “You mean, good enough to drink. I smell like a big bottle of butterbeer.”
With her eyes on the man she wanted and had sworn to win, she thought, It is virtually impossible to feel sexy when you smell like a beverage.
As she saw a rare smile cross Snape’s face, she had never felt so hopelessly outclassed.
Part 3
Snape was in his office, marking the sixth year students’ end-of-year exams, when a shadow fell across his desk. He could smell her before he raised his eyes from the parchment before him; the fragrance of strawberries and essence of almond flooded his olfactory senses, waking scent memories that were as deep as they were primal. Bracing himself, he raised an emotionless face to look into the brown eyes of Hermione Granger.
It had been ten days since the dedication of the Unity Fountain. It had seemed to him that she was once again following his movements with her eyes, as she had done when the happenings of their night in the woods had still been fresh. He was at a loss to explain why, when she so obviously had attracted the attention of every male in her class, as well as the admiration of an internationally famous Quidditch star.
Instinct reminded him that, when in the company of an unknown entity, it would behoof him to tread carefully.
“Yes, Miss Granger?”
From behind her back she produced a fine linen handkerchief, edged in a silvery green silk.
“I beg your pardon, sir, but I found this handkerchief, and I believe it belongs to Miss Delacour.”
Snape quirked an eyebrow at her. “Why do you think it belongs to Miss Delacour?”
Hermione extended the scrap of fabric towards him. “I am sure I saw her with it at the Unity Fountain dance, when you seemed to be having such a good time.”
Snape’s eyes sank back down to the parchment on the desk; with a hand that appeared steady, he dipped his quill into the inkstand. “I do not know if it is hers, but I will ask her when I see her. You may leave it on the desk.”
He could hear her somewhat uneven breathing and the moment stretched on, but still she did not leave. A spark of memory, the weight of her body pressed to him in sleep, brought an involuntary tremor to his hand, and he splotched the page with ink.
“Is there something else, Miss Granger?”
“No, Professor,” she answered.
Snape blotted the ink and set the essay aside, moving on to begin marking the one beneath it before he said, “Please be certain to pull the door completely shut behind you “ thank you.”
Snape was spared the sight of the violence with which she closed his classroom door, as his eyes were averted. He was reliant on his ears for information regarding her hasty retreat back down the dungeon corridor. When he was certain she was gone, he finally reached for the handkerchief. If it was Fleur’s possession, it had already surrendered to Hermione’s scent. He brought the fabric to his face and inhaled once, before thrusting it deeply into his pocket and resuming the marking of the papers.
He never asked Fleur if the handkerchief belonged to her.
Snape’s hopeful prediction that the large turn-out for the Unity Fountain dedication would reduce the size of the crowd present for Alumni Day was proven incorrect. It seemed that now the war was over, the Hogwarts alumni could not get enough of their alma mater.
Stiffly, but dutifully, Snape sat beneath the billowing green marquee with his seventh year Slytherins, speaking with their parents and with the Slytherin alumni who stopped by to greet him. It was abundantly obvious that far fewer Slytherin alumni were present this year than appeared for other Houses. It was not said aloud, but was understood that many of the former Slytherins were dead or in prison because of their alliance with Tom Riddle and the Death Eaters.
Snape watched the larger crowds beneath the red, yellow, and blue marquees. He was disgusted to see how many of the members of the Order of the Phoenix and the Auror office clustered beneath the red Gryffindor tent. Black and Lupin were carrying on so disgracefully with McGonagall that he expected her to hex them, but she simply blushed and scolded them.
It was with relief that he saw the crowds begin moving to the Quidditch pitch. He had resolutely refused to fly for the alumni team, or to referee the match. He had fulfilled both posts in past years, but he was damned if he would ever again put himself on a broomstick on the same pitch with Sirius Black. Dumbledore had left him in peace, and he saw that Madam Hooch was set to act as referee.
The Hogwarts All-Stars were the best players from each of the four Houses. The celebrity coach for the team was none other than Viktor Krum; Snape sneered when he saw Granger in the forefront of the Gryffindor spectators. If he remembered that all of her closest friends were playing on the student team, he chose not to admit it. This was just another demonstration of her partiality for the Bulgarian.
The Alumni Team had as their celebrity coach Oliver Wood, the Puddlemere United Keeper. The coach positions for this event were largely honorary; it was another opportunity to involve alumni or other interested parties in the festivities. Snape settled himself in the faculty box and prepared to be bored. He sincerely hoped Potter would catch the Snitch immediately so that the farcical waste of his time would be over.
The game began with Potter, as captain for the All-Stars, and Black, as captain for the Alumni, shook hands and the balls were released. Black, as a Chaser, could not resist the urge to show off, and he scored the first goal. Ginny Weasley put a neat stop to Black’s next attempt, stealing the Quaffle and pelting to the other end of the pitch to score the All-Stars’ first goal The scoring continued, fairly evenly matched. Charlie Weasley and Potter circled the pitch, high above the game below, eyes peeled for the Snitch.
Black had just scored another goal on Ronald Weasley, the All-Stars’ Keeper, when Charlie Weasley began a plummeting dive. Potter, slow on the uptake for once, hurtled after the other Seeker, looking desperately for the Snitch. The other players were unaware of the Seekers’ drama, intent as they were on playing their own positions. Ginny Weasley had just caught the Quaffle, passed to her by Vaisey, of Slytherin House, and she was flying purposefully toward the goal. The spectators who were fully aware of the Seekers’ race to catch the Snitch, watched in horror as Potter surpassed Charlie Weasley, only to collide with Ginny in midair. Miraculously, they both kept to their brooms. Madam Hooch blew her whistle to stop the game as she flew to check on the colliding team-mates. By the time she reached them, it was necessary to come between them. Charlie Weasley had hold of his sister, who was fighting in his arms and screaming at Potter.
Snape carefully suppressed his satisfaction when Hooch ordered Potter to be put out of the game. Draco Malfoy replaced Potter and play was resumed again. As if in a fury of righteous indignation, Ginny Weasley scored three more goals, one right after the other, after which Malfoy snagged the Snitch from the grasping hand of Charlie Weasley. The spectators came to their feet to cheer the victorious All-Star team, and another Alumni Day came to an end, not a moment too soon for the bored Professor Snape.
In the next moment, before Snape's incredulous eyes, Krum bounded up the stands to Granger, who was clapping and cheering amongst her Gryffindor friends. Krum plucked Granger up into his arms and kissed her flush on the lips. Snape’s mouth contracted into a terse white line and his eyes flashed dangerously. Without speaking a word, Snape brushed past the other teachers in the faculty box and strode away, taking care not to look again in Granger’s direction.
Hermione thrust the heels of her hands against Krum’s shoulders, startling him into letting her drop to her feet.
“Vat?” he demanded, rubbing his shoulder. “Ve von!”
“Just don’t do that, Viktor “ I told you that!”
Krum gave her a cheeky grin and winked. Hermione gave a snort of disgust and pushed past him, to go down to the crowd surrounding the victorious student team.
The next day, Snape instructed his family solicitor to begin the long process of drawing up a marriage contract for Fleur Delacour’s family.
August, 1998
Snape raised his face from his hands, which had been applying pressure to the area above his eyebrows, a stratagem which sometimes relieved the onset of a building headache. As he uncovered his eyes, he saw that the dawn had finally broken to end one of the longest nights of his life. He loathed reminiscing in this way; it was a weakness, and weakness was a luxury he could not afford. Decisions, once made, must be followed through. Commitments, once made, must be honoured. Dawdling amongst the memories of happenings no more clear in retrospect than they had been when they occurred was a sure road to madness.
The sun continued to rise, bringing definition, now, to the courtyard below his windows, where tastefully-arranged flowerbeds flanked a charmingly-placed gazebo. He allowed his gaze to travel over the small garden to the wall of the manor across the way. In the window directly opposite his, he spied movement. Curiously, he rose and went to stand fully in his window, straining his eyes to see. The light shifted yet again, relieving him of the glare impeding his line of sight, and he found himself staring across the courtyard into the bedroom window of Hermione Granger, who had obviously sat the night through at her window, just as he had done. Unbeknownst to them both, they had been staring at one another in the hours when their thoughts had kept them from sleeping.
Without realising he had done so, Snape lifted one hand and pressed his palm flat against the pane of glass, the courtyard distance, and the elements of time and space separating him from her of the strawberries and essence of almond.
After a heart-stopping moment, she stood and came to stand in the window as well. She was staring directly into his eyes. Hermione reached up her hand, and Snape had the insane impression that she would press her palm to his.
She gave a tug, and the heavy draperies began to fall, obscuring her from his view. He had the briefest glimpse of her turning her back on him just before the curtains closed in his face.