Mist and Vapors

Hannah stood in front of the floor-length mirror in her sitting room, angrily brushing her hair. Gad, she had made such a fool of herself. All week long, every time she had seen Severus, she had played ostrich - avoiding eye contact, and, well, any kind of contact, really. It had worked just fine - after all, it was basically the same technique that he had employed towards her since the beginning of the term. She didn't really know what else to do. You couldn't exactly walk up to someone and go 'Oh, by the way, I'm so sorry that my father treated you like an animal', could you?

And then she had heard a flock of students whispering something about an attack down in the Potions dungeon and had run down there like an idiot. It had been such a relief to see that he was fine, even though the classroom looked a lot the worse for the wear.

And then she had gone back to talk to him, and he had looked so angry and so tired, and all she had wanted to do was just - oh, everything. Ask for forgiveness, tell him she was sorry, see if he was alright - but most of all, she had just wanted to put her arms around him and hold him, for a long, long time. The urge had been quite overwhelming, and yet she had known that any attempt to actually act on it would be most ill-advised. So she had just stood there - like an idiot. Fool. Imbecile. Nitwit. Each word was followed by an exasperated stroke of the brush.

And now she would have to go down to dinner, and then be cooped up in the same room with him for hours. Mercy.

She took a hairpin out of her pocket, and put it in her mouth while twisting her hair around her fingers into a bun. Sticking the pin through the knot to secure it, she gave her reflection one more look.

"You know, powder blue is really not your color," the mirror said in a languid voice. "As a matter of fact, begging your pardon, any kind of blue is really not your color. And you might want to try a more fitted kind of robe? No offense, but this cut does nothing for your figure."

"Just this once, could you shut up?" Hannah asked irritably. Normally, the opinionated thing didn't manage to get under her skin, but today... This was one thing in the wizarding world she could do without - at least at her last place of employment, the mirror had not fancied itself a fashion critic. Still, she went back into the bedroom, and came out in a dark-green robe not quite as wide-cut as the one she had been wearing.

"Better?" she asked.

"Somewhat, I suppose." The mirror did not sound entirely convinced. "Now if you would just..."

"Oh, stuff it," Hannah replied with exasperation. Turning her back to the offending object, she stood in front of the door, straightened up, and squared her shoulders. Time to face the music.

.-.-.-

Dinner passed in a blur, and it wasn't too long before Hannah found herself outside his office door, tightly clutching her voluminous bag.

The door swung open in answer to her knock. He was standing by the desk, wand in hand.

"Well, here I am," she said nervously.

He closed the door with another wave of his wand, and she could hear the heavy cast-iron bolt move into place.

"You may sit there." He pointed to a surprisingly comfortable-looking chair on the far side of the desk. "I have already started; those scrolls are ready to go." He indicated a small pile of parchments on the desk in front of her seat.

Sitting down, she pulled her student records ledger and a quill out of the bag. After looking at the first parchment, liberally covered in red comments, she added a bottle of green ink. Severus was already bent over his marking again. About fifteen minutes went by where the only noise was the scratching of quill tips on parchment. Then Hannah shivered and looked at the empty fireplace.

"Is it kind of cold in here? Would you mind terribly if I asked you to light the fire?"

"Suit yourself," he answered tersely, not taking his eyes off the parchment in front of him.

"I am sorry," Hannah said. "I don't mean to impose."

With an exasperated look, he pointed his wand at the fireplace. Immediately, it sprang to life. "Are you satisfied?" he asked sardonically. "Anything else I can do for you?"

"Thank you," she said apologetically. "I really don't mean to be any trouble."

About fifteen more minutes, and Hannah let out a giggle.

"What is it now?" Snape snapped in an ill-temper.

"'One should only cut caper spurge plants with gloves'," she quoted from the parchment in front of her. "I am trying to decide if the mental image of a caper spurge wearing tiny white gloves or of someone trying to cut through the plant with a glove instead of a knife is more amusing."

He only glowered at her.

"Right, then. I'll be quiet now," she said briskly.

Another hour and a half of occasional giggles, immediately stifled by a black look cast in her direction. Finally, she put down her quill. "I'm sorry, Severus, I need to take a break for a few minutes." She stood up, and stretched. "I can't sit that long."

He patently ignored her, and kept scratching away at the parchment in front of him.

.-.-.-

When he heard no noise coming from her direction after a few minutes, he raised his head. She was still standing, leaning against the supply cupboard, her eyes looking intently at him. There was the same look in her eyes that had been there earlier that day.

"Anything I can do for you?" he asked, a bite to his voice. Next time, he would just give her the infernal essays and hand them back a day or two late. The delay would be infinitely preferable to this.

She seemed to deliberate for a moment. "I..."

"Yes?"

She turned, and walked around the office. Touching a tall wooden carving, she said, "This is beautiful. Where is it from?"

He didn't answer. If she wanted to make small talk, she could make it by herself.

Finally, she turned. "Look, Severus..."

"Yes?" more sharply.

Her face turned first white, then red, then white again. She swallowed. Finally, the words came out in a rush. "Look, McGonagall told me. About what happened. Between my father and you, over the last twenty years. And I just wanted to say how very s..."

"Spare me." He was out of his chair, pushing it back so hard that it almost tipped over. "I am not interested in anything you might have to say."

If she hadn't known before, she knew now. She knew that he was - had been - a Death Eater. He didn't know why that bothered him so much. Maybe because it had been nice to think that there was actually a single person who knew him who was unaware of that fact. Where he had just been 'Severus' - neither a villain nor some sort of sacrificial lamb. Couldn't Minerva just have minded her own business?

"Severus, please..." She held out her hands towards him in a helpless gesture. "Just let me..."

"Let's get this straight." He moved over close to her and looked down on her with narrowed eyes. His voice dropped to a low hiss. "I don't want to discuss this. I especially do not want to discuss this with you. I am not interested in any explanations; I am not interested in any apologies; I am not interested in anything you might have to say on the matter. Is that clear?"

She nodded. The look in her eyes grew soft. "I understand. But please, let me at least say thank you." He turned away and walked back towards his desk. She continued talking at his retreating back. "Without you, without everything you have done, the world might look very different right now. I was thinking about that last night. You really are a remarkable man, Severus Snape. I'm glad I got to spend time with you before...well, our histories caught up with us..." her voice trailed off in embarrassment.

With a snort, he sharply turned back to look at her. "Let's for a moment assume that our meeting was indeed accidental," he said with a sneer. "In that case, I am sure that your reason for agreeing to spend time with me was exactly the same as my reason for agreeing to spend time with you, which is that there simply weren't a lot of other... choices. You would most certainly have never wasted another thought on your 'time' with me if we hadn't unfortunately been thrown back together like this. So please, spare me your sentimental drivel." He sat back down. "Now, if we could get back to work? I would like to get done sometime tonight."

"I'm sorry, but you are wrong, Severus," she said quietly as she walked back over to her chair. "I'm really comfortable enough with my own company that I don't spend time with someone unless I like being with that person." She sat down, and looked at him with a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "And, I would have guessed, so are you. But apparently, I was wrong."

He didn't respond. No further words were spoken.

It was almost ten before they were done. Since he had started early, he finished nearly twenty minutes before her. She had offered to take the rest of the parchment rolls to her quarters and return them before his first class, but he had told her impatiently to just get on with it.

While she was correcting the last of the second-years' homework, he got up, walked over to a cupboard in the back of the room, and poured himself a drink. Standing off to the side behind her, he could look her over without being observed. Her head was bent over her work; a strand of hair had escaped from the knot and was hanging over her face. As he watched, she impatiently pushed it back behind her right ear. Running her finger down the record ledger to locate the name of a student, she recorded the mark, rolled up the parchment, put it in the 'finished' pile, and unrolled the next one.

He really couldn't see much of her father in her. Neither her build nor the lines of her face recalled much of Frank Hannigan's. Her face was in half profile, backlit by the lamp that glowed on his desk. She took after her mother, he supposed. Somehow, she must have felt his scrutiny, because she turned around and smiled up at him before continuing with her work. Suddenly, a memory pushed its way to the surface.

"You could pick me up - number 18, High Street," she had said. "It's a big, boxy house. My flat is on the second floor. Around seven?"

So here he was. She opened, eyes shining, cheeks pink, and flung her arms around his neck. "I just got the best piece of news." When she noticed his expression at being thus assaulted, she quickly let go. He retreated a couple of steps to a safe distance.

She was still grinning. "So sorry about that, Severus. But gosh, I'm so happy!" She pulled on a cardigan over a simple cotton dress. "Let's go celebrate. Fish and chips on the quay? My treat."

"What happened, if I may ask?" Severus said as they headed down the stairs.

"Just some news about a job I really wanted. I got it." She was grinning ear to ear again. "I just can't believe it."

"Congratulations," he offered stiffly.

"Thank you."

There was a short but firm discussion about who would actually pay once they got to the fish-and-chips stand. He had won.

After the walrus-mustachioed vendor had handed Hannah the paper wrapped packages, they walked past the white-washed houses out to the quay. Red and blue fishing boats rocked gently, tied to their mooring. Nets and lobster creels set out to dry, and gulls wheeled overhead, white wings bright against a blue sky.

She took off her shoes and sat down on the edge of the quay, her feet dangling over the water. He had opted for a rough wooden bench right behind her, overlooking the sea. After handing him one of the parcels, she gingerly opened hers, trying not to burn her fingers on the steaming contents. The aroma of hot fish filled the air.

"I think having fish and chips by the ocean is one of those things everyone should do at least once in his life," she said solemnly, as she broke off a piece of the golden-crusted cod. "I don't think it tastes the same anywhere else."

Privately, he thought that he could live quite well without every having food this greasy again. And that the stench coming off the fishing boats really didn't add a lot to the dining experience. The gulls were landing all around them, looking for their share of the food - he could not say that he appreciated the noisy, dirty things staring vulture-like at every bite he brought to his mouth.

"This isn't really your cup of tea, is it?" she said.

"It's alright." He sounded less than enthusiastic, even to his own ears.

"Liar. But thank you for doing this with me."

She had turned back, looked up at him, and smiled. It must have been the repetition of the motion that had brought back the memory...

Forcing himself back to attention, he found that she had gotten up and was packing supplies into her bag. It seemed she had finished the last of the essays. She stopped at the door. "Thank you. I think that was quite productive - and I now know more about the properties of caper spurge than I ever wanted to," she added with a grin. "Good night."

After she left, he stood leaning against the wall for a while longer, nursing his drink. So this had been what she had been so happy about. He wondered what she thought about her position now. Even though he hated to admit it, she was doing a good job. Even after only a month, he could see the quality of the students' work improving. Most of them at least managed to have a distinctive beginning, middle, and end to their assignments by now. With a shrug, he cleaned the glass and put it back, then dimmed the lamp on his way out. One more thing to do before going to bed. He shuddered.

As he walked through the deserted corridors, he had ample time to reflect on the daftness that pervaded Hogwarts. Generations of headmasters seemed to have shared Albus Dumbledore's rather juvenile sense of humor. The humiliations an adult wizard had to contend with... He sighed. Walking up to the painting that covered the entry, he steeled himself, squared his shoulders - and tickled the pear.