Arden's Refuge

"I will not take out the Granger girl!" Severus Snape snarled. "And please, leave me in peace, Albus!"

Albus shook his head. "I'm afraid you don't understand, Severus. We need you to take Miss Granger out."

"I assure you I do understand. Perhaps you think your increasing senility is indicative of a trend in the Order! I, for one, am perfectly sane."

The comatose body of Ronald Weasley was sprawled carelessly across the kitchen table at 12 Grimmauld Place, still lying where it had been hastily dropped when Remus Lupin had brought him in half an hour earlier. "Severus, if Ron doesn't show up for his date with Hermione, Draco's spies will know something has happened to Ron. And then our cover--your cover, specifically--is blown."

For the past three months, Ron Weasley had been using Polyjuice Potion to impersonate Severus Snape, posing as a member of Draco Malfoy's revived Death Eater group. Though still only a minor threat, Dumbledore had considered it immensely important to keep tabs on the group early on, hoping to put an end to it before Draco Malfoy made himself another Dark Lord. Now in his mid-twenties, Ron Weasley had been working part time, on break from his job as an Auror, for the Order, planting himself as a spy in Malfoy's inner circle.

It had cost Severus some pride to admit that Ron was the best person for the job. Severus had performed a similar service during the reign of Voldemort, and he would have gladly done it again, but he had to admit that he was relieved that Weasley was eager for the job. And, as much as he hated to admit it, Weasley's Auror training had enabled him to surpass Snape in combat skills. But the idea of Ron Weasley's voluntarily joining Draco Malfoy was implausible, if not utterly preposterous. The idea of Severus Snape, former Death Eater, joining Malfoy, however, was far less unbelievable. Even after Lucius's death, Severus had maintained the centuries-old friendship of the families of Snape and Malfoy--largely in order to keep an eye on his former pupil. Meanwhile, Severus had miraculously managed to make it through the Second War without having his allegiance to Dumbledore exposed--though the fact that he was one of only a handful of Death Eaters to survive the final battle should, perhaps, have given his loyalties away.

Ron, meanwhile, had performed admirably, and he was now the Order's main intelligence source on Malfoy's group. Early that morning, before sunrise, Remus Lupin and Nyphadora Tonks had led a raid against the Death Eaters, managing to incapacitate and arrest about half of the twenty-member group. Unfortunately, Ron had gotten in the way of a bad hex, and it appeared that he would be unconscious for the next few days. Severus Snape didn't mind this so much; after working together with Ron for the last few months in the Order, he had grown to respect the man. He had not, however, developed any tolerance for Ron's inane attempts at conversation, but he had learned to refrain from his usual sarcasm for the sake of peace. Severus Snape, had, in fact, softened up quite a bit in the last few years.

But what Albus Dumbledore was asking now was simply out of the question.

"Albus, I have never in my life taken a woman out. I will not begin now--and with Weasley's fiancée, no less! I do believe she would notice the difference!"

"Severus, we really have no other choice. I will be occupied tonight with business of my own, Remus is out of the country by now... There is no one else. You've sent enough time around Ron." Severus rolled his eyes. He could not argue that point. "You know how he behaves. I have faith that you can convincingly impersonate him."

"It would be easy enough. I shall talk of nothing but Quidditch and candy."

"Ah, so you will do it, then?" Dumbledore's eyes lit up, much to Severus's chagrin.

"I did not say that."

"I knew you would do it! You've never let the Order down yet, and I knew you weren't going to begin now, with such a small request!"

"But I--"

"You're going to have a lovely evening! Miss Granger will be expecting you--that is, Ron--around 8:00 at the Leaky Cauldron. I suggest you arrive early. Hermione will be coming there after a long day of working at Gringott's, and you don't want to make her angry right off. I should fill you in on what she's been doing the last few years--"

"I know all about it. Weasley talks about her incessantly. Apparently, on their last date, she wore a blue silk dress that showed the tiniest bit of cleavage," Severus said disdainfully. "I get the impression that little has changed--she's working on her doctorate at Oxford now, is she not?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Yes, yes. I am rather surprised that Ron's choice of details included any substantial information about Hermione's academic pursuits. Did he mention her field of study?"

"He did not, naturally. I suspect he does not know himself."

Dumbledore's eyebrows tightened. "I am afraid that it simply does not matter to him. You know, Severus, I'm concerned about them... They've had this on-again, off-again relationship for the last few years, and it seems that Ron's decision to finally settle down has come as a result of intense prodding from his family--his mother, to be specific. And Hermione... she seems often too busy to see him. I often fear," he added, "that they are settling, particularly Hermione. They do not seem so very much in love as I should like to see a newly-engaged couple."

Severus shook his head. "Honestly, Albus, I don't care. Spare me the details and speculations about their personal lives. All right, I will go on this... date... But I refuse to become further involved in the situation."

"Excellent, Severus. You do have Polyjuice handy?"

"Certainly."

-----

Obedient to Dumbledore's suggestions, Severus made certain to arrive ten minutes early at the Leaky Cauldron. He immediately seated himself on a bench in the foyer and pulled out his copy of The Collected Poems of W.B. Yeats to amuse himself until that little chit--Hermione, he corrected himself--arrived.

Thirty minutes later, after working his way through "The Stolen Child" and "The Wild Swans at Coole," he found himself rereading the closing lines of "Politics":

But O that I were young again

And held her in my arms.

He'd always found that poem particularly apt; he could readily converse on a variety of intellectual topics, and he was, no doubt, well-educated by Muggle or wizarding standards, but there were times when he almost... envied... someone like... Weasley, even.

The Granger girl charged in twenty minutes late, and Severus was not, he assured himself, disappointed that she wasn't wearing the blue silk dress... He stood up to meet her and surveyed her appearance, as, he reasoned, Ron would have done. It appeared that she had not been able to change from her gray business robes, and her hair was twisted back in a professional-looking bun. "Sorry I'm late!" she said, grimacing even as she wrapped an arm around him for a brief hug. Severus restrained his automatic wince. "I had to work overtime. The goblins, you know, slavedrivers." Even with the circles under her tired eyes, they still gleamed in a way that made Severus look away in a strangely pleasant... discomfort.

"It's all right."

"Ron!" Severus remarked to himself that the girl would do well to learn to speak without so much exclamation. "What is that you're reading? Yeats?"

"Yeats. Yes."

"I didn't think you were listening to me when I recommended him to you last week! How do you like it?"

Severus realized then that he had, perhaps, selected an uncharacteristic piece of reading material for Ron, but was secretly glad to be doing a poor enough job at imitation. It served Dumbledore right for forcing him into this. "Well, I liked... 'The Stolen Child' very much..."

Apparently, this was the answer Hermione was looking for. She squeezed his hand enthusiastically, "I knew you would like that! Come away, O human child! To the waters and the wild..."

"With a faery hand in hand," Severus finished automatically. "For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand."

Hermione grew increasingly excited at Ron's ability to recite Yeats. "Wow, Ron... just when I was beginning to... well, our table is ready..."

-----

Throughout the course of the meal, Severus chose to remain as silent as possible as he munched on his fish and chips. He expected that Hermione would continue chattering about her day at work, or something equally inane, but instead, he was surprised to find his silence reciprocated.

Observing Hermione's pensive expression, with her dark eyes drifting off into the distance, he couldn't help but reflect that this silence was, perhaps, a waste of potentially meaningful conversation. He tried not to be bothered by this, and then he tried, unsuccessfully, to convince himself that Granger's conversation couldn't possibly be very interesting, but he knew too much of her study habits and mental capacity to reasonably believe this. He finally took a stab at conversation. "So how is your dissertation coming?"

Hermione's eyes suddenly shifted to meet his, her expression confused. "My dissertation? You've never asked me before, Ron."

"Well, I'm asking now. Do you mind talking about it?"

Hermione smiled. "I would love to talk about it. Where should I start?"

Severus ignored the mild satisfaction he felt at the thought that he was doing a far better job talking to Hermione than Weasley. Perhaps he wasn't entirely socially inept...

"Well, the topic, for starters. I don't believe you've told me."

At that, she sighed. "More than once, Ron. You just weren't listening." She frowned a bit, then reached her hand across the table to grasp Severus's. "I'm sorry. Here you are now asking about my research, and all I can do is complain because you haven't asked before. Well, you won't find it interesting at all. It's about the involvement of early twentieth century poets in fascist movements, and the effects of their political ideas on their poetry. Like Ezra Pound in Italy..."

"And our man Yeats, if I'm not mistaken," Severus interjected.

"Yes!" Hermione peered at him. "You keep surprising me, Ron Weasley. Just when I think I know everything about you..."

Severus smiled, most uncharacteristically. Perhaps, he told himself, it was easier to smile when one had nice teeth like Weasley's... "I'm a man of many surprises," he remarked.

"Indeed." She began stroking his hand lightly with her thumb. Severus didn't move his hand, reasoning to himself that he had to at least put out a minimum amount of effort at the imitation job. That was the only reason for allowing that sort of contact... Hermione kept on talking, and he found himself inadvertently watching her lips. He had certainly never noticed their... softness... when she was his student.

And then the thought occurred to him for the first time: He might have to kiss her before the night was over. A measure of panic set in. Surely this was going beyond the call of duty to the Order... It wouldn't be his first kiss--not exactly. First in twenty years, yes... What if he proved incompetent? What if she expected him to use his tongue--well, he wouldn't think about that possibility. Dumbledore, he decided, owed him big time for this one. He gulped down some water to mask his temporary panic and turned back to Hermione, who continued gabbing about her dissertation research. He hated to admit it, but it was interesting. Hermione was interesting. "Did you know, Hermione, that Pablo Neruda was a wizard?"

Hermione's eyes lit up--not for the first time, Severus noted. "I knew he must be, but I could never confirm it! How did you know that?"

"I have a book in my library at home written by Neruda himself... He was a friend of my father... my father's favorite writer, MacDonald Bagshot, that is," he corrected.

Hermione started laughing.

"What is it?" Severus asked, strangely becoming newly aware of the fact that her hand was still softly squeezing his.

"I just think it's hilarious that you're referring to that little shelf of Quidditch books as a library."

Severus joined in her laughter, though she had no way of knowing exactly why.

-----

Hermione was confounded--though mostly in a pleasant way, she reflected. Just when she'd begun to convince herself that, no matter how hard it was to give up the security of their relationship, things weren't going to work out with her and Ron, Ron had showed up with a book of Yeats poems, a cache of interesting information, and even an impressive vocabulary. It was as if he were an entirely different person...

She couldn't help but be pleased. Tonight's date had actually fit her ideal. Intellectual conversation, genuine interest in her work... and he had even looked at her in a different way, a more pleasing way--less leering, more genuine affection. Perhaps Ron's deficiencies throughout the last few months had been a mere illusion, compounded by her stressful work schedule? She didn't know, but she liked this new Ron. A lot.

"Ron," she said, as they were leaving the Leaky Cauldron, "I've actually had a really good time tonight."

He laughed in a rather intriguing way... was that sarcasm in his laughter? "You seem surprised, dear."

"I suppose I shouldn't be. I apologize for implying..."

"No need for an apology. I'm sure whatever you thought about me in the past was entirely deserved. Your judgment in such matters appears to be impeccable."

"Well... Thank you, Ron," she slipped her hand into his as they walked along. He seemed automatically to intertwine their fingers, and she squeezed his hand. "I know it's late, Ron, but I'd really like to continue this... Would you like to go for a walk?"

"I would love to," he answered, with a vehemence that renewed the grin on Hermione's face. "Where to? A nice Caribbean beach, perhaps? It's still sunset in that part of world..."

Hermione looked back at him, bewildered, and allowed him to put his arm around her and apparate them across the Atlantic.

-----

The warm Caribbean sunshine felt good on Severus's skin--well, not his skin, exactly, as the freckles on the back of his arm reminded him--and even walking barefoot in the sand on the private Snape beach in Aruba (Hermione would never have to know it was Snape property, he reasoned) was, well, quite pleasant.

And he even had to admit that the warm little head tucked neatly between his shoulder and his neck--no, he reminded himself, Ron's shoulder and Ron's neck--was, too, quite pleasant. What had he been thinking? He would love to? Walks on the beach? Holding hands? He needed to sit down.

"Hermione, let's rest here a little while," he said, plopping himself down in the sand--the clothes, after all, were Ron's, and could afford to be soiled. She didn't help matters any, however, when she sat down beside him and snuggled even closer than before. It seemed the natural thing to put an arm around her.

"Thank you again, Ron, this is the best date I've ever been on in my life," she murmured, her fatigue becoming more apparent.

Severus caught himself softly stroking her head, then reminded himself that such an action was perfectly acceptable--he was just playing a role. His hand made its way to her shoulder. "You're terribly tense, dear. Do you need a shoulder massage?" Severus wanted to slap himself for that one. He was taking it a bit too far.

Hermione, however, responded with delightfully gushy gratitude. "Oh, Ron," she said, twisting her head up to gaze at him with her soft brown eyes, "Would you?" She turned her back toward him.

Severus knew, of course, that he was very, very good at shoulder massages. He realized, as he carefully worked the knots out of her shoulders, that he had, much to his surprise, one or two ways, at least, of pleasing a woman.

Just as he had settled into a rhythm, Hermione turned to face him. "Ron," she whispered, "I love you." She slipped her hand behind his neck. Severus realized with a jolt and a sudden knot in his stomach that this was the long-dreaded moment. Unable to resist her gentle pull, he leaned down quickly, before his nerves failed him, and brushed his lips--Ron's lips--across hers, slowly, lingering, but briefly. Her lips, indeed, were very soft...

She beamed at him and put her head back on his shoulder. "Thank you," she whispered. Severus was still stroking her back when he realized that she had fallen asleep.

"My pleasure," he answered the sleeping figure, then silently reproached himself for indulging such fruitless fantasies. But O that I were young again...

He shook his head. This was a one-time experience. How dare Albus have allowed him this? How dare he have put him in this position? Didn't Albus realize the possibility of his developing... feelings... for the girl? Of course not. He was Severus Snape. He, as everyone knew, had no feelings...

He looked down again at the sleeping young woman in his arms.

For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.