DISCLAIMER: All characters seen here are the exclusive property of JK Rowling. She's the genius, I'm the fangirl who can't resist playing with her creations.

Chapter 59: Oftener Than Not

Hermione, her heart racing, let herself into her small dungeon study room and closed the door behind herself, locking it carefully. That done, she leaned against the door frame, her hands and knees shaking. Her stomach was unsettled from the adrenaline that flooded her body. In love with Professor Snape? Where had that come from? How long had it been true?

She closed her eyes, lifting her hands to her cheeks. Her fingers were freezing, but her face felt hot and uncomfortable, and her stomach was churning more and more.

As soon as she could walk without her knees buckling, she crossed the room and sat down in front of the mirror. After a few more seconds of hesitation, she tucked her hair behind her ears and, with a deep breath, she looked into it.

At first, she saw nothing but her own reflection. Then, dimly, she began to see other things--eyes. Perhaps a dozen pairs of eyes blinked at her from the mirror, all of them at least vaguely familiar. She squinted, trying to see more clearly. Yes, some of them definitely looked familiar. Those emerald-green ones were surely Harry's.

And, as she thought of Harry, the other pairs of eyes seemed to melt away, and around the green eyes, a face materialized, and then a body, and Harry was grinning at her from the mirror.

"No, no," she muttered. She didn't need to see Harry. She needed to see Professor Snape.

As she thought more clearly of Professor Snape, Harry faded from sight, and a new face appeared. His face appeared, looking out at her from the mirror.

As before, he seemed, at least in the reflection, to be standing just behind her; when she turned around, however, he wasn't there. He didn't move. He merely looked at her. In fact, he didn't look anywhere but at her, and for the first time, she realized that the real Professor Snape had never really looked at her before--not the way that the mirror-Snape was looking at her now.

Oh, he'd looked at her, of course. All of her professors had looked at her at one time or another. It would be far more remarkable if they hadn't. But he'd never looked at her like this. This was intense--so intense that it almost frightened her with the force of it, as if he were trying to see every last thought in her heart. And, now that she saw it and thought about it, she realized that he'd never looked into her eyes for more than a few accidental seconds before.

Not that he was doing it now, either. Not really.

She wondered why he avoided it. Was it possible that the real Professor Snape felt as the mirror-Snape seemed to? It was an odd, almost an amusing comparison, but he looked to her as he had when speaking of Potions, or of Defense Against the Dark Arts. He looked like a man with a great love for the subject of his thoughts.

And the subject of the mirror-Snape's thoughts was certainly Hermione. There was no way for her to doubt that.

Was it possible? Had he, perhaps, avoided her so assiduously because he was afraid that she might see something he wished to hide? That was certainly very likely to be the truth, of course. The real question was what he was hiding. It had never occurred to her before now that it might be something like love.

She shook her head and turned away from the mirror. She knew about magic mirrors, and most of what she knew wasn't encouraging. Harry and Ron had told her all about the Mirror of Erised, and she'd gone to the library and read still more. She couldn't trust this mirror to show the truth--not when she knew so little about it. The House-Elves might have an idea of what it showed, but even they might have been misled.

Could it be possible that he loved her?

When she looked again, he was still watching her, with the same intense, passionate expression on his face. Then, as if to answer her questions, he smiled and turned his head, whispering something in mirror-Hermione's ear. But the real Hermione couldn't hear what it was, although she could imagine the sensation of his breath on her ear when he said whatever he was saying to her.

She frowned and shook her head, wishing she could shake those thoughts out of her mind as easily as she could shake her hair away from her face. That mirror was dangerous, and she knew already that she could while away far too many hours looking at it and imagining things that she was sure could never happen. Enchantment or no enchantment, she was still Hermione Jean Granger, bushy-haired know-it-all and general annoyance. He'd got over some of that, of course, or he'd never have let her become his apprentice in the first place, but that didn't mean that he could see her as anything other than a schoolgirl.

The mirror was seductive, and it was unwise to think of it as anything but treacherous. She backed away from it until she couldn't see him anymore. If she watched the false Snape for too long, she didn't think she'd be able to go near the real one without thinking of it, without wishing and dreaming. She was no spy. He'd find her out, and what would she do then? She couldn't run and hide from him. The enchantment saw to that. She would have to keep facing him every day, knowing that he knew what had suddenly, and against all of her expectations, become her deepest and most intimate secret.

She suddenly wanted to leave the room, peaceful and quiet though it was. Neville was outside, somewhere, probably telling everyone the very secret that she herself had just discovered, and she didn't want to be out there at all while it was happening. But her eyes kept straying to the mirror, no matter how hard she tried not to look. She couldn't help it. The way that he looked at her...

She hadto leave the room. Steeling herself, she opened the door and walked back into the corridor.

When she finally returned to the Common Room, there were no mutters, no dirty looks to suggest that Neville had said anything to the other members of Gryffindor House. In fact, the opposite was true. Harry and Ron elbowed their way through a crowd that seemed to contain every Gryffindor in the school, along with several Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, and both hugged her tightly.

"Hermione!" shouted Harry above the din. "Where've you been?"

"Downstairs," said Hermione vaguely, looking around with some confusion. "What's going on?"

"Combination wedding reception and welcome back party," said Ron. He grinned and elbowed Harry in the ribs.

"Welcome back party?"

"The Ministry declared Dudley innocent of any involvement with Aunt Petunia and the Death Eaters," said Harry, "and Professor McGonagall let him come back here to stay for as long as he likes."

"Oh, Harry, that's wonderful! Where is he?" She scanned the crowd, looking for the hulking form of Harry's only worthwhile relative. "And what about your aunt?"

Harry shrugged indifferently, looking away.

Ron produced a pumpkin pasty from somewhere and bit into it with relish, not bothering to swallow before he started to talk. "Apparently, it's not such a great idea to make a full confession of your crimes in front of the Minister for Magic and a crowd of Aurors. They didn't even bother calling witnesses."

Hermione reached out to touch Harry's arm. "What happened?"

"Life in Azkaban," said Harry, shrugging again and attempting a smile that turned out rather sickly.

"Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry."

"Well, you needn't be. Dudley and I will get by, and... well, it isn't as if we loved each other much."

"Right," she said, not really believing him.

"I'll be fine," he said. "Really. I've got my own family now." He glanced over at Ginny, who stood laughing in a circle of their friends.

The sight left Hermione feeling oddly isolated and sad. She was outside of that circle, and would be outside of it always. Not for her, the laughter and congratulations. Not for her, the happy ending. She was in love with a man she would never be able to win. She sighed. Time to begin reconciling herself to the idea of being the odd one out. Again.

"I'm really happy for you, Harry," she said brightly. "Although, I do think you might have waited until after you were both done with your NEWTs."

He grinned. "Probably, but where's the fun in that? Besides, as long as we're both still living in the castle, we can't get up to much. It's practically as if we aren't married yet at all, still."

"True." She looked around again. "Harry, is Dudley even here?"

"Er, no. Not at the moment. He got called away."

Ron wiped the last crumbs of the now-demolished pumpkin pasty from his lips. "Yeah. McGonagall wanted to talk to him."

They chatted about incidentals for a few more minutes and then split apart, Ron breaking off to make the rounds, proclaiming his blessing of the union, and Harry to continue accepting congratulations. Hermione, for her part, retreated to a window seat with a book and a bottle of butterbeer. The press of bodies in the room had heated it up almost unbearably, and she felt hot and uncomfortable.

She opened the window just a crack, leaning her head on the pane to better take advantage of the cool breeze it let in, and opened her book. It wasn't studying per se, she reasoned, as she wasn't making any effort to remember any of it. She was just interested. He hadn't told her that she couldn't be interested in things.

She read, relatively undisturbed, for about half an hour, at which point Dudley interrupted her. He settled his massive bulk on the edge of the window seat, just beside her feet, and looked over at her.

"Hey," he said, leaning against the window and swigging from his own bottle of butterbeer with apparent relish. "Not joining in the party?"

She looked up. "I'm right here, aren't I?"

He grinned. "That's how you have fun at parties? Reading books?"

She smiled in spite of herself. "Yeah. You know me. Nothing but excitement, all the time."

Dudley nodded and re-corked his bottle. "Don't blame you, really. A bit of a party's fun, but I like it a little quieter."

"Mm." She waited through a short, awkward silence before saying, "I heard Professor McGonagall wanted to talk to you. Is everything all right?"

"Oh, yeah! More than all right, actually. She wanted to offer me a job."

"A job? At Hogwarts?"

"Yeah. She said Hagrid needs an assistant, and I'm big enough and strong enough to take on the job, even though I don't measure up to him by half."

"Wow, Dudley! Are you going to do it?"

He grinned shyly and nodded.

"I didn't know that you liked animals."

He patted his trouser pocket awkwardly. "Oh, yeah. I love 'em. Only, mum would never let me closer to one than what you could see behind glass or bars at the zoo, and even then I had to make a fuss to get there."

"Why, do you think?"

He shrugged. "You met my mum."

Something appeared to be wrong with his pocket, and he began to shift around uncomfortably, cupping his hand over it. Hermione leaned forward, trying to see better. "What on earth is in your pocket?" she said, frowning.

"Oh." He grinned, looking embarrassed. "It's a cat--kneazle, I mean. Or half-kneazle, maybe. A wild one just had a litter of kittens, and Hagrid gave me this one." He fished it out of his pocket. It was tiny, especially in his massive hand, and it clung to him with its miniscule claws, mewing.

"Oh, isn't she a darling?" cooed Hermione, reaching her hands out for it. Dudley passed it over to her, and she cupped it in her hands, stroking its head with her fingertip.

"Always wanted a cat," said Dudley, making an obvious effort to look less delighted with it than he really was. "Mum wouldn't let one within fifty meters of the house, if it was up to her. She hated cats. Piers Polkiss' mum had one, though, and it loved me. If mum ever found out about that, she'd've been furious."

"Of course." She brought the kitten up to her face, rubbing its warm fur against her cheek. It made her miss Crookshanks painfully, and she wondered fleetingly if she ought to go down and ask Hagrid to let her pick a kitten out for herself, as well. "Squibs and cats. They've got an affinity, and it's natural your mum would want to keep as far away from them as possible, given how she felt about magic. But they say that squibs can even talk to their cats."

"Wow, really?" He held his hand out for the kitten again, and Hermione handed it back to him reluctantly. "That makes sense. I always did say that Piers' mum's cat was just about the smartest animal I ever met."

She looked at him curiously, watching the kitten begin to lick his thumb. "Did you talk to it?"

"Nah. Wouldn't have thought of it. I'll talk to this one,though. I bet she'll be a right little chatterbox."

"Did you name her yet?"

"Er, yeah. Yeah, I did." His cheeks went ever-so-slightly pink. "I named her Claudia."

"Claudia?"

"After this girl from school that I sort of--y'know. I liked her, I guess. It's been a while, though. Being in hiding and on the run and stuff makes it a bit hard to keep up with Muggle girls."

"Of course it does. So, does Harry know about the job?"

"Not yet. Don't want to steal the spotlight from him. I mean--married. Wow. You know?"

Hermione nodded, and they both fell silent again, both watching Harry and Ginny. The newlyweds were standing together now, Harry apparently telling the story of their already-infamous elopement, while the entire crowd of their friends listened enthusiastically.

"Ginny's great, though," said Dudley after a while, transferring Claudia to his shoulder, where she dug her claws in and laid down. "I like her."

"Harry's going to be really happy. The Weasleys are a wonderful family, and Harry's always wanted a family of his own." She looked at him and blushed. "Not to say that you aren't--I mean--"

"No, you're right. He's never had that," said Dudley simply. "Not until this year, anyway, and it didn't last long."

The portrait hole opened and Neville walked in. He looked as surprised to see the party as Hermione had been, and he made a beeline for Harry and Ginny as soon as he understood what was going on. Even as he was congratulating them, though, his eyes were moving, scanning each face in turn. When he saw Hermione, their eyes met briefly, and then, abruptly, he turned his back on her.

The guilt that she'd managed to avoid thus far suddenly arrived with a vengeance and a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She stood up abruptly, giving Dudley an apologetic smile. "Sorry, but I've just realized the time," she said, her heart racing as she spouted the first excuse that came to her. "I've got to start getting ready for bed. It was an awfully long day, you know, and Professor Snape will want to see me quite early tomorrow morning."

"Oh, right," said Dudley, pausing in his efforts to get Claudia to remove her claws from his shoulder. "Hey--are you all right, Hermione?"

She froze. "I'm fine," she said, with no pretense of sincerity. "Really brilliant, actually. Just tired. I'm so happy you've got a job. That's really lovely."

"Thanks. Get some sleep, okay? You look terrible."

"I will." She smiled weakly, tempted to look at Neville again, but fearing that she might vomit if she did.

"Don't forget to say something nice to Harry before you go, too, if you don't mind. He's really happy, but I think he's afraid you all secretly disapprove."

"Why would we disapprove? I mean--I know why people in general would, but he's Harry. Besides, we all knew it was coming eventually."

Dudley finally succeeded in getting Claudia off his shoulder, and he transferred her back into his pocket, leaving only her tail sticking out. "He's pretty broken up about my mum. I guess he thought they were finally starting to patch things up, and then she had to go mad and spoil things."

"I thought he might be. Thanks for letting me know, Dudley." She smiled brightly at him, gave him a friendly squeeze on the arm, and made her way towards Harry and Ginny.

0 0 0

Severus, contrary to all of Poppy's expectations, had actually requested tea, without even a word of prompting on her part.

"Longbottom," he said, doing what he could to keep any hint of self-pity from his voice. "She's taken up with Longbottom."

"Taken up with?" asked Poppy mildly, stirring her tea. "Have another biscuit, Severus."

He took another biscuit, without argument. "I caught them... in flagrante delicto. In the dungeon, of all places."

"In flagrante--Severus, surely that's an exaggeration."

He scowled, biting viciously into the biscuit and indulging in the pleasing fantasy that it was actually Longbottom's heart he was eating. "Things had not progressed very far," he admitted.

"Mm."

"That is beside the point. I am highly disappointed, both in her choice of... companion... and her choice of location for such a display."

"Oh, I don't know, Severus," sad Poppy calmly. "The dungeons seem like a perfect spot to me, especially at a time of day when no other students are likely to be present. Quite discreet, really."

"I am not amused."

"I think you forfeit any right to complain about this when you insist that there is no possibility of any level of relationship deeper than master and apprentice developing between you. By all means, leave things as they are, but do not also act as if you have any right to criticize her choice of lover, if Longbottom actually is her lover--which," she added meditatively, "I find unlikely. Your behavior at the moment is childish, Severus. It smacks of the dog in the manger."

"Dog in the...?" He frowned.

"Dog in the manger, Severus. A dog sits in a manger full of straw. He won't eat the straw himself, but he barks at any of the other animals that try. It's childish."

"I have every right to be interested in my apprentice's choice of--"

"Yes, Severus, if you have given her any sort of explicit directions or orders about her abstention or lack thereof. Have you?"

He growled into his tea.

"I thought not. If you feel so strongly about it, court her yourself. This self-torture is useless."

"I cannot, Poppy."

"Nonsense."

He set his tea down, working his tongue over his teeth as he attempted to rein in his emotions and decide what to say. "It is not so simple. She is a student. An apprentice. And, for Merlin's sake, the enchantment, Poppy--it would be taking advantage. Nor is that the only objection that can be raised. I am far older than her. My... history... my past, is hardly conducive to carrying on a healthy relationship with a girl so young."

"And I will repeat what I have said before, Severus. All of that is nonsense."

"I cannot believe that you are advocating I pursue a relationship with a student."

"Of course you can't, because I would not do so. However, she is going to be a student for only two more weeks, Severus, and at that point you are free to do as you please. As to the enchantment, you give her no credit at all if you assume that her emotions are any less genuine than your own, when you are both in such completely identical situations."

He swallowed, the sweetness of the tea suddenly turning bitter on his tongue. "Even if I did make such an ill-conceived attempt to embarrass myself, it doesn't matter. It is... too late."

"Because she kissed Neville Longbottom?"

"Because she has chosen to devote her... personal time... to somebody else, yes." His lip twisted bitterly. "To say nothing of the fact that, in taking up with Weasley first and then with Longbottom, she has demonstrated that her taste in men hardly runs towards ex-Death Eaters and Potions Masters."

"Has it occurred to you, Severus, that perhaps she has simply never had a chance to consider another option and is settling for the best that she feels to be available?"

The thought had, in fact, notoccurred to him, but he did his best to keep from conveying this to her. "Poppy, don't be nonsensical."

"I thought it hadn't," she said, looking pleased with herself. "You ought to think about it, you know. You might find that she's simply waiting for someone to offer her something new and different, my dear."

"And you think she would accept me merely on the basis of my being 'new' and 'different,' I suppose?" He sneered at her, willing away the faint spark of hope that insisted on making itself heard in the depths of his mind.

"Hardly," she said mildly. "You might turn out to be her type, that's all. Nothing ventured, nothing gained."

"How very Gryffindor of you."

She snorted derisively from behind her teacup. "I am not a Gryffindor, Severus, and neither are you, as I have had opportunity to tell you before.

"I call things as I see them."

"She will never choose you if she doesn't know that the choice is open to her."

"She would never choose me even if it were."

"Have you any evidence whatsoever on which to base that conclusion?"

He hesitated, touching his fingertips to the scars on his neck. "I... gave her a gift. It changed nothing."

Poppy's eyebrows went up. "You gave her a gift? Do tell, Severus."

He made a face, looking into his tea--aware, even before he spoke, of what her response would be. "Apprentice's robes."

"I see." A telltale tightening in her mouth betrayed her desire to smile. "You gave her apprentice's robes--as you are required to do, because she is your apprentice. I am shocked that she didn't declare her love for you on the spot."

"They were quite expensive."

"Ah. That makes all the difference, then."

Had he not been so miserable, he might have laughed at himself. "I have never bought such robes for any other student."

"And she, of course, is in a position to know that."

Severus made a restless gesture, looking away from her. "It's immaterial, Poppy. A hundred such gifts would do no more for me in her eyes than the first one did--nor should they."

"Severus, it's late. Go back to your rooms. Get some sleep. I don't mind being dragged out of my bed occasionally in the name of love, but in return I expect that you might at least attempt to listen to reason. As you aren't inclined to do so, let me go back to bed."

He set his teacup down and bowed his head. "If you wish, Poppy. I have no desire to inflict myself upon you if I am unwelcome."

"Severus," she said reproachfully.

He was already at the door, and he glanced at her over his shoulder. "Good night, Poppy."

"Think about what I've said, my dear. Try and get some sleep. Things will look brighter in the morning."

He frowned. "I might have believed such platitudes when I was twelve."

"Believe them now. There's wisdom in them."

He looked away. "Good night, Poppy."

He heard her muffled 'good night' through the door as it clicked closed, but only just barely.

0 0 0

Hermione prevaricated for several minutes, hovering around the edges of the circle that surrounded Harry and Ginny. Neville and Ron both were at their sides, and she couldn't bring herself to get any closer. Had Neville already told them? At any second, they'd all turn and look at her, disgusted...

But they didn't.

Only Neville noticed that she'd come near. He looked at her for a long moment before glancing at Harry and Ginny and then back to her again. Then he shook his head, conveying silently (she could only hope that she understood him correctly) that he wouldn't tell--or at least, that he hadn't yet.

She swallowed against her renewed nausea, putting her hand on her stomach and wondering if she'd ever feel like eating again.

"Harry," she said, pushing through the crowd to his side, "and Ginny--I've got to get to bed, but I'm so happy for both of you. I just wanted to tell you again. Make sure you tell Mrs. Weasley soon though, won't you? She's going to have a fit, you know."

Ginny's grin was even bigger than Harry's. "Yeah, we know. We're looking forward to it."

Hermione, feeling as if she might be in a dream, actually managed to laugh with them as she walked towards the stairs, although it was a miracle to her that it fooled anyone at all.

0 0 0

He didn't even think about following Poppy's last instructions and going to bed. He went outside instead. It was too stuffy inside the castle, and even the cool dungeon corridors felt hot and close, as if they were filled with invisible people who jostled him at every turn. The more he paced them, the less comfortable he felt, until he was nauseated as well as restless and overheated.

It was cool and pleasant outside, just cold enough to make him appreciate the magically-enhanced warmth of his robes. The bite in the air was refreshing after the stuffiness of the castle.

But his restlessness didn't diminish, and he found himself walking along the edge of the lake, listening to the splashing of the giant squid far out in the water, and to the faint, faint murmur of the merfolk singing in the depths. Poppy's advice was foolish. It was ridiculous. It was inappropriate and unprofessional... but it was infinitely attractive.

He stopped, kicking a clod of dirt into the water and looking over his shoulder at the brightly-lit windows of Gryffindor tower. She was in there now, most likely--in there with Longbottom, laughing and being happy. He swallowed. Never before, even in the most ardent days of his unrequited love for Lily, had he felt so isolated and shut out. He was doomed to be left on the outside of her life forever.

Ironic, he thought, that he should be so shut out from her heart, when he was the one in the position to know her the best of all. Certainly he could know her far better, far more intimately than any of the worthless fools who surrounded her up in that tower.

He closed his eyes, blocking the tower from his sight. She was surely awake, probably engaging in more of the same wanton display that he'd witnessed in the dungeons. He should have accosted them and taken hundreds of points from both of them. He should have said something. He should have done something--anything, rather than simply retreating to his own rooms and weeping like a lovesick little boy.

Except that he was lovesick. That knowledge made him want to weep again.

He threw himself moodily onto the wet grass, stretching out face down and smelling the scent of spring that rose from the soil. Instead of calming him, it made him more restless than ever. Poppy's advice had been foolish. Ridiculous. Inappropriate. It was mad, to suggest that Hermione would see anything in him beyond (if he indulged his wildest dreams) perhaps a friend, some day.

It was insane to even imagine the idea of Severus Snape courting Hermione Granger, however subtly. He could not countenance even the fantasy of it.

0 0 0

Only once she was locked in her bedroom did Hermione notice that she wasn't tired in the least. On the contrary, she felt anxious and restless. The day had gone on for so long. She ought to be tired. Instead, she was only miserable.

She paced back and forth, the events of the day slowly beginning to percolate through her mind. The trial was over. She'd made it through alive. Tomorrow--but no, not tomorrow; later on in the day that had already begun, the full account of it would be in the Prophet. She shuddered.

She stopped by the window and looked out at the lake. For a moment, she thought she saw someone moving along the shoreline, but the moon was only a thin crescent, and it was too dark to see anything but the rippling of the water in the dim moonlight.

Neville knew that she was in love with Professor Snape. She, Hermione Granger, was in love with Professor Snape.

"Oh, no," she moaned, throwing herself face down on her bed and burying her head in her arms. She was in love with Professor Snape, of all people, and Neville knew it, and Professor Snape could all but read her mind. How long before he found out? And oh, how he would laugh at her.

She'd be lucky if he only laughed. Mockery was bad enough, but cruelty... she curled up into a fetal position, hugging her knees to her chest and keeping her eyes tightly closed. What would he do? What would he say, if he found out? He would never welcome it, and he wasn't a man to tolerate unwelcome things with good grace. She groaned. What had she got herself into?

For the first time in weeks, she thought of the dream that she'd had, that dream of kissing him. Her cheeks grew hot at the memory. Had she loved him for so long, and simply not realized it? Had it been love? She was, at least, reasonably sure that he hadn't seen it, in spite of her fears at the time that he had. Surely if he had, he'd have given some indication, said something. As he hadn't, she felt more or less safe.

But there would be other dreams, and eventually, he would see one of them. What would she do then?

It took her a very long time indeed to fall asleep.

0 0 0

He didn't feel the passing of time as he lay on the ground. The nearly nonexistent moon traveled across the sky and set. Eventually, the Eastern horizon began to glow faintly pink, and the new spring grass in which he lay began to appear as individual blades.

He stood up. He was wet with dew, and there was mud on his robes and his hands. It occurred to him, somewhat belatedly, that he might like a shave and a shower before he had to face Hermione again.

As he walked back to the castle in the slowly growing light, he gritted his teeth, preparing himself to live with the choice that he'd made while lying there in the darkness.

0 0 0

Hermione arrived in the Potions lab before Professor Snape did. She'd been awakened early by a dream that she forgot as soon as she realized that it hadn't been real, and had been unable to get to sleep again. In spite of having slept fitfully all night, she felt rested and alert,and there hadn't seemed to be any point in lying abed so close to the morning.

So, as the first dawn light had begun to steal across the Eastern sky, she'd risen from her bed and started to prepare for what she fully expected to be the worst day of her life.

After a moment of uncertainty in the hallway, she let herself into the laboratory, reasoning that he wouldn't have keyed the wards to her if he hadn't wished her to be able to enter at will. Once there, she looked around uncertainly. It was just as clean as it had been the previous morning, without so much as a stirring rod out of place.

She'd been waiting for ten minutes when he arrived; it was enough time for her to lose her resolve and become thoroughly nervous about seeing him, and then to regain it again. He, thankfully, barely seemed to notice her at all, except to nod curtly as he entered and walked straight for the supply closet.

Unsure of what to do, and having been given no instructions, she stayed where she was. He was gone for only a moment, and when he returned, he held a large jar full of flobberworms.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," he said, looking at her for the first time that morning as he placed the jar on the work table.

"Good morning, sir." She hoped desperately that she wasn't blushing. She could smell him. How had she never noticed before that he wore scent? It was subtle, and she liked it immensely, although she couldn't immediately identify what it was. She sniffed the air several times before she realized what she was doing and switched to holding her breath.

"You see here a jar full of a mundane but useful Potions ingredient, Miss Granger. Flobberworms are used in a variety of potions, and are generally thought of as easy to prepare. You know, I assume, the method?"

He paused and looked at her again, and she realized that it was an invitation to speak. "Slice the flobberworm lengthwise first, then lay each half, flat side down, on the table and cut into thin slices of equal size." Her voice sounded ridiculous and overeager in her ears. Who in their right mind could sound so eager to discuss dissecting flobberworms? She winced inwardly. So much for subtlety.

"Indeed," he said dryly. He produced a silver knife from somewhere and placed it beside the jar. "This jar contains one hundred flobberworms. You will dissect them--all of them. When you are finished, I will inspect them for consistency. I expect not to see a single slice thicker or thinner than one millimeter. If I do, you will start again, with a second jar full. We will continue this exercise until I feel that you perform the procedure perfectly, every time, without exception. Then we will move on to another ingredient, and so forth."

She blinked, her intellectual and emotional ardor somewhat dampened by the pronouncement. "Sir? Have I--" she clenched her fists nervously behind her back, praying that he hadn't picked up on her newly-discovered infatuation already "--have I done something wrong?"

"Miss Granger, any fool can brew a potion. Even--" his lip curled disdainfully "--Longbottom can perform the fundamentals of brewing. It is precision and accuracy which separate the great from the good. Ninety-nine percent of my students will never reach the level of study you have now attained, and therefore I have no reason to waste my time and energy in training them to that level of precision. You, on the other hand, will return to the beginning, to the most rudimentary, first-year skill sets, and re-learn all of them, to my specifications." He removed a pocket watch from inside of his robes and glanced at it. "And you will begin... now."

And so she began, slicing each flobberworm with as much care as she could divert from her thoughts of Professor Snape and her fears for the upcoming day.

0 0 0

Severus turned his back on her as she took up the knife and began to slice flobberworms with an attitude that, if it was not enthusiastic, was at least not sullen. He pretended to check on his one brewing potion, but it was nearly ready, and there was nothing left to be done with it except to pause for a moment and appreciate the loveliness of the soft, shimmering vapor that hovered above the bubbling surface of the liquid.

The rhythmic sound of the knife on the table was soothing and pleasant. She had grace, and she had talent, and he would work her to the bone, if he had to. She might never be his lover or his wife, but, by God, she would be the best Potions Mistress in Britain, if Severus Snape had anything to say about it.

It had pained him less than he'd feared it would to see her that morning. Poppy was a madwoman, and he was equally mad for even thinking about listening to her, but it felt good to have at least a shred of hope. There was a lifetime in which to woo her, if one could call it wooing for a man to dedicate himself to educating and bettering a woman who he doubted would ever be his, solely because he imagined it would make her happy. She thrived on learning and knowledge. Had he ever seriously imagined withholding the apprenticeship from her?

It took her perhaps twenty minutes to slice all the flobberworms, and he immediately went to her work table to inspect them. They were nearly perfect--nearly. She'd got sloppy towards the end, probably due to fatigue, and sliced a few of them unevenly. He set these aside.

"Miss Granger," he said, as sternly as he could, "are you incapable of following simple instructions?"

When she raised her eyes to his face, he noticed how tired she looked. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her shoulders sagged just slightly--so slightly that he doubted he would have noticed, were she wearing her bulky school robes.

"I'm sorry, Professor," she said, a note of despondency in her voice. "Did I do it wrong?"

For the first time in his life, he wanted to wince at being called 'Professor' by a student. "These here," he said, reminding himself that there was no other name by which she could appropriately call him, "were very poorly done." He pushed the ill-cut flobberworms toward her with the blade of the silver knife. "Look at them, and tell me what is wrong."

She picked one up with a look of distaste, and looked at it closely. "It's ragged," she finally said, "and too thick."

"Correct. What is the reason?"

"My hands got tired, and--and I got distracted."

He blinked, taken off-guard. "Distracted? You find this lesson unworthy of your full attention, Miss Granger?" he said, more coldly even than he felt.

"I--I'm sorry, sir," she murmured, biting her lip and looking thoroughly wretched. "It's--I was thinking about breakfast."

"I see," said Severus, feeling that he didn't see at all. He frowned irritably. "If you are too hungry to continue with your lessons, Miss Granger, by all means..."

"No," she said quickly, "I'm not hungry at all."

"Five points from Gryffindor for lying." As soon as he said it, he regretted it. It had, apparently, been too long since he'd attempted in any serious way to ingratiate himself with a woman.

"I didn't lie! I'm not hungry. I--the Daily Prophet arrives at breakfast," she whispered miserably, and when he looked at her, he saw that her eyelashes were wet with unshed tears.

"Miss Granger," he said, suddenly helpless in the face of those tears. She looked at him expectantly, but he didn't know what else to say. What was there to say? She was right. The papers would arrive. She would be exposed, as he had been so infuriated to realize the day before.

"You--" he continued at last, and then paused again, uncertain "--while this laboratory is, in general, strictly reserved for the study and pursuit of Potions-making, I... am willing to make an exception for the next few days, should you need a... private place to retire."

She looked around the room. "I don't want to intrude," she said softly, her voice unsteady.

He longed, not for the first time, to hold her close to himself and comfort her in his arms. "I did what I could to intercede with the Minister on your behalf, Miss Granger. I am... sorry that you are to be subjected to this kind of public scrutiny. It is the least I can do to offer you a sanctuary. I will order breakfast for you, and you have my permission to take your meals in the study until such time as you are comfortable dining in the Great Hall again."

She met his eyes and gave him a small, watery smile. "Thank you, sir."

He drew his wand and pointed it at the congealing mass of sliced flobberworms. "Evanesco," he said, in as neutral a voice as he could manage with his heart in utter turmoil. "Fetch another jar of flobberworms from the storeroom, Miss Granger, and begin again."

Thanks to RenitaLeandra, without whom you would all be reading a pile of unmitigated crap, because I would have nobody telling me when my ideas are crap and won't work.

This chapter is especially dedicated to my friend madamsnape78, with love.