A Likely Story

A Likely Story

Prologue

By Daintress

"Miss Granger? A moment please." Snape's clipped tone left no room for argument, and Hermione shrugged at her friends as they gathered their books. Any relief she'd felt about the end of her last potions lesson at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was instantly overshadowed by the dark man behind the desk. Yes, he'd been far less biased of late, but his classroom standards had remained high. The only difference she'd seen was that Crabbe and Goyle now lost their house as many points as Neville lost for Gryffindor. A small victory, but a victory nevertheless.

When the door closed behind Harry and Ron, she swung her bag over her shoulder and approached Professor Snape's desk. He was unhurriedly grading a paper, and after an uncomfortable minute of silence, she realized that it was her own. She watched his lips curl up into a sneer as he finished the final paragraph, which was nearly a foot long all by itself. He scrawled a messy 98% on the top, and she couldn't stop her face from registering annoyance. Unfortunately it was at that moment that he chose to look up.

"Even now you force me to spend twice as much time reading your work as anyone else's," he commented by way of explanation. His tone was a bit less acidic than she expected. In fact, what she'd thought was his trademark sneer looked suspiciously less cruel than she recalled. He handed her the paper.

Knowing better than to question his grade, she stashed it in her bag without comment. "Thank you, Professor," she said tightly. She was about to make her way to the door when he stood, effectively recapturing her attention.

"You are aware, Miss Granger, that my time playing spy is at an end?" he asked quietly. She tilted her head in question. When she'd last been to Order Headquarters for Easter holiday that had not been the case.

"No, Sir, I wasn't." When he didn't speak, she continued. "Though we did wonder why you were suddenly so - " she stopped abruptly, realizing that to finish the sentence she would have to say something offensive.

"Fair?" he suggested, his dark eyes narrowing. Hermione looked to the floor, unwilling to admit that he'd correctly guessed her thought. She missed the humorless smile that crossed his lips briefly before he continued. "It is no longer necessary for me to coddle the progeny of my former associates. Nor is the Dark Lord any longer in control of with whom I spend my time." She looked up again, confusion in her eyes, to see a calculating expression on his face. She recognized that look. It was the one he'd worn as he grilled Harry on the very first day of classes when they were 11 years old. It was the look that said, 'I know something you don't know, and you won't figure it out unless I tell you.' And without any input from her brain, her face took on the look it had had that long ago day as well: Disapproval.

In response an unidentifiable something flickered behind his eyes. It looked almost like defeat. But whatever it was, she saw it for only an instant and it was gone again. Still, it was enough to make her rethink her expression.

"How did they find you out?" she asked quietly. It wasn't the sort of question she would normally have felt comfortable asking him. He'd always been distinctly unapproachable. At least until today.

Professor Snape chose not to respond at first, raising an eyebrow at her audacity. A moment before, he'd been sure that she was disinclined to even hear him out. Now she appeared to be engaging him in conversation. He looked away from her eyes, tidying the stack of parchments on his desk. Finally he said, "That was the last of your papers that I needed to grade," then, so softly that she couldn't be sure she was meant to hear, "You are no longer my student."

When he met her eyes again, she was still gazing at him blankly. Minerva had warned him that that might be the case. Pansy Parkinson (not that it mattered) would have known when he graded her paper why she was being detained. Even Millicent Bulstrode would probably have figured it out after that last comment. He suppressed a weary sigh. Gryffindors were notoriously lacking in subtlety.

"Professor I - " she began, but stopped abruptly when she realized he was already speaking.

"What are your plans after tomorrow's graduation ceremony?" he asked, disregarding her words entirely.

Hermione forced a blush away before it could begin. It wasn't that she failed to understand his implications, only that they were patently unbelievable. "Harry, Ron and I have taken a flat in London for the summer. I'll stay there until I begin University in the fall," she answered.

"Geneva, I assume?" Of course, he knew she'd be attending there. It was the best Magical University in Europe, and he'd written the glowing recommendation (suitable backhanded compliments aside) to their Potions Master himself. Thankfully Warrington was an old Slytherin alumni, and had easily recognized the truth in spite of the derogatory way in which it had been presented.

Hermione nodded, her mind racing backward in time, looking for the warnings of this event that she knew she must have overlooked. Snatches of conversations at Grimmauld Place rushed through her head, nearly audible:

"...went to set the wards on her parents' house himself..."

"Severus offered to tail them in Diagon Alley, just in case..."

"I have already written it, Headmaster," this last accompanied by a smirk at Professor McGonagall, and a dismissive wave of his hand. "Warrington will not mistake my meaning."

Hermione remembered how her Transfiguration Professor had bristled at this comment. Indeed, Hermione herself had stood in the kitchen doorway, irate, at the thought that Professor Snape had sent a poor recommendation of her to the University she so wished to attend. She'd been nothing short of shocked when her acceptance letter had arrived, accompanied by a full scholarship. She'd even sent him an owl to thank him for whatever he'd written.

"Professor Warrington will be lecturing at the Geneva Potions Masters' Convention next Tuesday," Severus said, breaking into her thoughts. His voice still held a standoffish quality. He, too, was thinking back to the last holiday at Grimmauld Place, even as he studied her expression:

"If the house is still standing, there are some things I would like to collect." That had been her first reaction to her parents' deaths, and he still felt pride at the restraint she'd shown. So unexpectedly mature. Certainly she'd cried later, he wouldn't begrudge her that. But she'd thought first of what was necessary. And so to his long hidden respect for her intelligence he was forced to add a somewhat less grudging respect for her self-control as well.

"Harry, will you come off it! Yes, he set the wards, and no, he couldn't prevent it. That doesn't mean he's a traitor. It only means he isn't infallible. Surely he's risked his own life for ours enough times to have earned your trust by now!" This he'd overheard returning from his very last Death Eater gathering. He'd been surprised to learn that she didn't blame him for her recent losses. Certainly he blamed himself. His guilt had led him to try and help the Grangers. It was that failed attempt that had given him away. He'd only just made it back to Headquarters with his life.

"I was wondering if you might accompany me?" He had watched her expression carefully, and chose to speak only after it had shifted into a look of cautious acceptance. The years of studying students' faces for dishonesty were finally paying off. Her Gryffindor expressiveness didn't hurt either. As a hint of a smile began on her lips he added, "The lecture begins at eight, but I understand there are several excellent restaurants in the area. Perhaps we can meet at six o'clock?"

Finally Hermione answered. "I think I would like that, Professor." This statement was answered swiftly by the dismissive gesture she'd grown to expect from him when he was impatient.

"Severus. I am no longer your professor."

Hermione allowed herself a smile, then. She doubted very much that Harry and Ron would receive a similar concession. A sudden thought struck her, however, that wiped away her grin. What would Professor Dumbledore think of all this? In a very unexpected moment of clarity, she realized that she didn't want to do anything that would cause her now former Potions Master difficulty. For an even briefer moment, she wondered what her sudden caring meant.

"Albus suggested you might enjoy Le Restaurant Alain Lavergnat?" Severus asked smoothly, anticipating her concern. She saw the look of triumph in his eyes and was tempted for just a moment to pretend that hadn't answered all her concerns.

"That would be wonderful," she answered finally, smiling again. She held his eyes for a moment, matching his pleased expression. Then he resumed his chair abruptly.

"Until Tuesday, then?" She recognized his tone of dismissal, but there was a warm undertone to it that she'd never heard before.

"Until Tuesday," she agreed. She didn't look back as she left the dungeons to join Harry and Ron for lunch, unwilling to show him the wide grin that now graced her face.