The Front Door

Ron Weasley sat in the library bored to tears. He had tried to read Hogwarts: A History and really couldn't see what attracted Hermione to it. It was written in a monotonous style that reminded him eerily of Professor Binns.

He'd been waiting around for about an hour now, and the only thing that had kept him from throwing chairs around was the fact that Alexander was sitting in the library as well, writing frantically. So he knew Hermione wasn't with him.

But where could she be?

Ron wondered if he should forget about his pride for a minute and ask Alexander if he knew anything?

He looked up at the burly summer librarian, feeling pangs of jealousy. He wished he could be as handsome and built as Alexander. It was fair. Some people had it, and some people didn't. Ron would probably always be skinny. No matter how hard he tried to get some noticeable muscles . . . it just wasn't going to happen.

Ron looked at his watch again. She was supposed to meet him at 3:30. It was now 4:12. Hermione Granger was never late. It was a strict rule for her.

Just then she walked into the library looking flushed.

"Oh, Ron, I'm so sorry! I completely lost track of time . . ." her voice trailed off, Ron noticed, as she caught sight of Alexander. Her eyes strayed on his face for a moment before they flicked back to his own.

Ron felt like he was losing control. For one instant he felt like everything sturdy in his life had suddenly tilted dangerously--like all the shelves with his constant memories had been pushed over, all the contents spilling to the hard floor below. So he did what every jealous idiot would do.

"That's okay, Mione!" he said using so much enthusiasm that he nearly sounded like he had sung her name, and putting his arm around her shoulder.

She gave him a look of pure disgust. She saw right through his corny attempt to show Alexander what a happy couple they were.

Ron steered her out of the library and down the corridor before stopping and asking- "So, where were you?"

"Oh. Yes. Now that we're away from the 'threat' you can start asking me the questions that make it appear our relationship isn't stable."

"No, no. Hermione, you've got it all wrong," he said lying. "I'm just curious, that's all."

She didn't believe him, he could tell.

"It so happens I was at Snape Manor."

Ron stared at her for a second, not knowing if he should laugh or be mad. That is, if it was a joke . . .

"Are you serious?"

Hermione smiled. "Yes, Ron. I spent the afternoon with Severus."

"SEVERUS!" Ron yelled tersely. "What, you're on first name basis with the creep?"

Hermione stuck her arm through his. "Let's walk to Hogsmeade. I'll explain everything to you on the way. It's a rather interesting story."

Hermione lay in bed that night thinking about Ron. Why in the world did she put up with him? He was far too immature and suspicious at this point to be in a trusting relationship. And to be honest, it was really getting on her nerves. All the questions. Where were you? Who were you with? It was as if they were married.

Maybe this date tomorrow night with Alex will do you some good, was her drowsy conclusion. Maybe dating someone else other than Ron for a change will clear your mind a bit.

Her thoughts somehow made their way over to the potion ingredients--wasn't there three ounces of Unicorn blood on there somewhere? Had... Severus slain an Unicorn for ...

"So she told me she had spent the afternoon with Snape! But, actually, she said 'I spent the afternoon with Severus.' SEVERUS! She's calling that . . . creature by its first name. She said she might become FRIENDS with him. Can you believe that?"

Harry couldn't, so he shook his head.

"I mean, this is Snape we're talking about. That man who used to pick on us. All. The. Time. He can't have changed that much. We've only been out of Hogwarts for six years. Six years. For him to have become as affable as Hermione claims he is . . . that would be a miracle! Isn't there a potion out there that completely changes your personality? Like if you were really nasty you become really nice?"

Harry grinned. "I think you're getting the real world confused with the Sims."

Ron paused. "Oh right. That one computer game we played a long time ago. Anyway . . . where was I?"

"You were in the middle of another jealous rant about Hermione."

Ron chuckled reluctantly. "You're right, Harry. You're always right. I guess I should trust her, right? I shouldn't care that she has male friends. It's not like I don't have female friends . . . I mean, I have a ton of female friends. I have . . . Er . . . Ginny. She's one . . ."

Harry shook his head. Ron always got himself worked up over nothing. And he always sat down and listened to him. It was what a friend should do, he figured. So once a week or so he got to hear the same speech about Hermione. And it always ended with Ron making a new goal. Looked like this goal was to make some female friends.

"How many female friends do you have Harry? No . . . wait, don't tell me. I'll just get depressed." Ron said pessimistically.

Harry responded to this glumly- "Well, at least you have a girlfriend, kind of. All I have are secret admirers and women who treat me as if I were gay."

"Not true Harry. I can name off at least ten women who are interested in dating you . . . But I'm not going to."

Harry looked up at Ron. "You know what we should do tonight? Go out for supper. Just us guys. Talk about the old days."

Ron nodded slowly. "You know what Harry? That sounds very appealing right now. It'll be a stress free dinner. I haven't had one of those in ages. All my dinner dates have been with Hermione, and on those I have to constantly remind myself that Hermione is very delicate, and that I should watch what I say. She takes everything the wrong way . . ."

"Let's go to Hogsmeade. We can go to all the shops that we frequented when we were kids, and then go to supper at . . . er . . . what's that fancy place?"

"The Shimmering Cauldron?"

"Yes! So, how about it?"

Ron nodded. "No stress. Sounds fabulous."

"You look very beautiful," Alexander told Hermione.

She blushed. Ron had told her the same thing last night, but it hadn't had the same effect on her as this had.

"Thank you, Alexander... I mean Alex," she replied--having trouble titling him with such a trite name as Alex when he had the romantic birth-name of Alexander.

Alexander offered his arm out to her.

"Where to?" She asked him, carefully placing her feet so she wouldn't trip over her brand new gown. It had been very expensive, and it would be a shame to tear on its first outing.

"I was thinking about The Shimmering Cauldron." Alexander said softly. "All though if you went there . . . they would have to change it to The Shimmering Hermione. That dress is spectacular on you. I think the designer had you in mind while working on this one."

Hermione smiled. "I don't know about that . . . but it's a nice thing to say, in any case. The Shimmering Cauldron sounds wonderful."

"How was your date with Ron last night?"

Hermione paused. Should she tell him the truth?

"It was all right."

Alexander smiled warmly at her. "Well tonight's going to be better than all right."

"I hope so."

Hermione laughed. Alexander was a very humorous and intelligent person. It was a refreshing change from Ron's mindless babble about Quidditch and such. Alexander was interested in what SHE was interested in. Ron seemed bored to tears when she started to talk about work. And Alexander, well, he worked where she worked. The very same occupation, almost.

And not only did he read books that witches or wizards wrote, he also read Muggle literature. And he adored Muggle movies.

"After all, I am half Muggle. It's not unusual, you know," he had said.

Their conversation had been going well, until she saw two very familiar faces walk in the door, one a very suave black-haired man, and the other a cumbersome red head who had already crashed into three waiters on his way to a table--the table that was right next to hers.

Something in her face must have changed drastically, because Alexander had asked--"What's wrong?"

"Ron . . ." Hermione said quietly, bending her head slightly so her hair would cover her face.

"I presume he doesn't know you're on a date tonight?" Alexander asked, in a neutral voice that made it impossible for Hermione to decipher what he was thinking.

"I didn't want to tell him. He's extremely sensitive about these kind of things . . . his self esteem isn't very high."

"Do you want to leave?" Alexander asked, in an understanding voice.

She looked at him, and then saw that Ron's back was facing towards her. Hermione didn't think Ron's feelings should control her life. After all, it wasn't like they were committed to each other. She was going to have fun.

"No. No, that's okay. I'm having a great time. Why ruin it?"

Because you know he's going to see you.

"I'm having a wonderful time too. Now, which book were we discussing?"

But you want him to see you.

Hermione engaged herself in the conversation, but not wholeheartedly. She kept glancing over at Ron and Harry's table, wondering when one of them was going to turn around and see her. Harry was seated across from Ron, and she could catch his eye if he looked her way . . . but she noticed he was too busy checking out the pretty blond waitress. She giggled.

"What's so funny?" Alexander asked, a bemused smile on his face.

"Oh! Sorry. It's just that Harry's been staring at this blond waitress walking around the room for the last five minutes." Hermione giggled some more, wishing she could regain composure.

Of course the blond waitress had to come to their table at that exact moment. And so Harry finally caught sight of her . . . and stared. Hermione tried to give him a sharp look, but she started to giggle again.

"Did you want Mystical dressing or Garlic-Warlock? I forgot, sorry," the waitress was asking her apologetically.

"Well . . ." she tried to speak, but laughter erupted. And everyone turned to look at her. Everyone. She caught Ron's eyes, and saw them widened in confusion. And pain. Ron stood up, and walked quickly out of the restaurant. And suddenly nothing was funny anymore.

Hermione spontaneously followed him, calling out his name- "Ron, wait!"

She heard the door slam, and upgraded her pace to a run.

Ron Weasley was furious. How could she! Why? What was so special about that snooty Alexander?

He could hear her footsteps behind him. He didn't want her to tell him that she wanted to date other people, and to not take it personally. He didn't want her to say that he was a terrific guy, but she didn't know if she wanted to start a serious relationship with him.

"Ron, wait . . ."

Ron stopped.

"I'm sorry," was what she said.

"For what? You have every right to be out on a date with that bastard." Ron replied icily.

"You're right. I'm just sorry I didn't leave when you came in. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before hand that I was going to go out on a date with him. I guess I thought that what you didn't know wouldn't hurt you. Well now it has. And I feel ashamed."

"You feel ashamed? I feel ashamed. I see the way you look at him. You haven't looked at me like that for years. You don't want me anymore. You're bored with me. You need someone smarter. You need someone who you can have intellectual conversations with. Me--I'm just your domestic best friend. Someone without class, but who is fun to hang out with." Ron shrugged. "It's the truth. And I know it. So go on, date people like Alexander who have read the things you've read and think the things you think. I'll leave you alone now."

And he walked away.

And she didn't follow.

Harry Potter wondered how long this altercation was going to last.

Ron had told him everything he'd told Hermione, and had also told Harry he wasn't ever going to talk to Hermione again . . . unless she made the first move.

Hermione had told him basically the same thing, except she modified hers--"I'm so embarrassed Harry. I must come off like a gigantic pig. I don't even want to see Ron; I'd just feel embarrassed some more. Tell him if he wants to forgive . . . I really want to be his friend again."

"I'm not going to tell him anything, Herm. I hate being a mediator."

So now he had two best friends who he could never invite to go anywhere together. But surely they would make up, they always did . . .

Severus Snape was waiting patiently outside of Snape Manor. Hermione should have been here by now, but he was enjoying the peace. Snape Manor was covered by gigantic Sycamore trees, and birds were swapping songs with each other, and flying from branch to branch. Wildflowers were growing everywhere, and the shade was well received.

"I'm sorry," Hermione called to him, her voice stuffy as if she had a cold.

She was walking up the stairs towards the door he was leaning against. He noticed her eyes were red as well.

"Don't make it a habit," he remarked, than let her in the house. "I thought we should explore the west wing today."

"Why?"

"It was the least used area of the house. I don't remember going back there more than three times, and two of those times were after both of my parents had died. And there's another reason, but I'll let you figure that one out for yourself. Be warned, though, it's kind of creepy."

She looked startled for a moment, than smiled. "Okay."

"What's this smile for?"

"Well, you know, I was there when Sirius and Dumbledore burnt Voldemort. I don't think anything could be more creepy than that."

"You'd be surprised." Severus responded tersely. Images flooded his head, but he tried to ignore them.

The girl wisely decided not to comment--she'd become more and more cautious and knowledgeable about when to say something and what to say as they'd been exploring the Manor for almost two weeks now.

Severus stopped at the door that led into the West Wing corridor. "Here we are."

He opened the door, and led her in.

As the light penetrated the dark hallway, he could see the spiders scrambling away. Spiders loved the West Wing. So did Snakes for that matter. Which wasn't surprising considering. . .

"What's so creepy about this?" Hermione demanded. "There are just a few spiders, and gobs of cobwebs. Just because I'm a girl, it doesn't mean that the sight of spiders makes me want to run off."

Severus chuckled. "Calm down. This is just the hallway."

"Oh." She replied meekly.

The hallway stretched down a couple hundred feet, and was covered with black carpet and decorated with pictures of Salazar Slytherin and his mistress Lady Serpienta. There were thirty-two doors that led into thirty-two rooms, and a few extra doors that lead into other areas of the house--like a portkey.

Severus didn't know much about the West Wing, because, as he had said earlier, this was not an area he'd been in much. But when he had inherited the house (which was very surprising to him, as his step-father had disowned him after his mother had died) he'd checked the place out (And those damned doors that brought you all the way to the other side of the house . . . he'd cursed up a storm about that) looking for anything valuable before locking it up and never returning.

But now he'd returned.

This had been Salazar's corridor. Inside some of these rooms were very disturbing pictures of Muggles being tortured and killed--Salazar's favorite method seemed to be one where a Muggle was chained to the floor and bitten to death by all sorts of poisonous snakes. Pictures featuring that technique were very recurring.

In some of these rooms were books on Dark Arts--most of them in languages he couldn't read, not that he'd want to. But Salazar had hundreds of them! Books that could only be found in Knockturn Alley--some that were one of a kind, and some that couldn't be sold anywhere without immediate execution of the seller. There had been ingredients and such, but his parents had gotten rid of them before he was alive. They didn't want anything to discriminate them.

In Salazar's very own bedroom were chains on the wall, no doubt used for locking up people who had gotten on his nerves. He even had a torture room, with all sorts of goodies such as racks of different sized axes (most with dull blades) probably for beheading, a gigantic cauldron with chains at the bottom used to boil people to death, and iron beds that could be heated to high temperatures. Salazar had walls with spikes, razor-edged pendulums, arrows, cages, and nooses. Severus also knew from some book or another that Salazar was also very fond of the water torture--in which a person was forced to drink water to their death. Despite its monstrosity, it was all rather fascinating.

But he didn't plan on taking Hermione to that room. The unavoidable paintings were harsh enough. Especially since Hermione was a Muggle born.

"I suggest we start with the first room."

Hermione nodded. "That's reasonable."

Severus opened the door slowly, looking around quickly. He lit the candles with a wave of his wand, and let his former student in.

She gasped.

Hung on the wall, under a gigantic stuff snake, was a detailed portrait of a starving (Muggle) person chained to a wall.

"That's kind of creepy, don't you think?" Severus attempted to be humorous but the joke died before it even caught on fire.

"Oh my." Hermione said suddenly, looking as if she were going to kneel over. Severus hastily led her towards a chair (which had the words 'Salazar Slytherin' on them in gold print.).

"Are you going to be able to handle this? I can always do this section by myself . . ."

"No. No, I can do this. I mean, I'm going to have to get used to this sort of stuff sooner or later."

"The average, lucky, human being- Wizard or Muggle- normally doesn't have to see any of this during their whole life."

"I've never been that lucky. I mean, every time I enter a contest or try to win the lottery--I never win. I've never even won one of those Coke contests . . ."

Severus decided not to ask what Coke was.

He watched her nervously look around the room. "What kind of a bastard would have a picture like that in his house? I mean . . ."

Severus saw her shoot him an embarrassed glance and realized that she didn't know if these items belonged to him or not. After all, this was his house.

"Haven't you figured it out?" he said hurriedly. "This whole wing was Salazar Slytherin's living quarters."

She smiled weakly. "I was hoping it was something like that. Wouldn't have wanted to be so foolish to get myself trapped in a room with a person who was obsessed with the Dark Arts . . . I mean, I know about your history . . . but . . . well . . ."

"I understand. So. Where shall we begin?"

The room they were in looked like a typical office or study--it was equipped with a desk, bookshelves, and comfortable furniture.

"I think, even though I doubt he would put it in something as obvious as that, we should look through his desk." Hermione said diffidently, as if she was expecting him to lash out at her.

Severus nodded. "We might find something else of use."

"Is there anywhere else we can look?"

"Under the carpet, it looks like it could have been lifted up at one point in time. We could bang on the walls some, feel for some loose boards. All the old tricks. Check the cushion on the couches . . . maybe they have zippers. Look in all the books. Behind the books shelves. We've got a lot of work to do."

It was doing their search of this room, that Severus heard a bunch of quiet sniffles coming from the direction of Hermione Granger. Maybe she just has a cold, he told himself.

Severus sighed. She didn't have a cold. She was crying. What was he supposed to do? Comfort her? No, but he could at least ask what was wrong.

He got to his feet, walking away from his bookshelf towards hers. "Are you okay?"

Hermione didn't look at him, and spoke in a muffled voice- "Yes. I'm fine."

There. She told you she's fine. Go back to looking through those dusty, old books. But he didn't believe her, and he felt he should at least tell her.

"Listen. I know I'm at the bottom of the list of people you'd tell your problems too . . ." he started, wondering what he was getting himself into. "But, if you need to talk--I'm right over here by this bookshelf . . ."

Hermione looked over at him, her face blotchy. "It's just . . . I don't know why I'm telling you this stuff, but I can't talk to Harry, because he's too close to Ron. You don't even like Ron, so perhaps you can make me feel better."

"Are we bashing Ron Weasley?"

"I never thought I'd be talking to you about my love life, but . . . Do you know the summer librarian?"

Severus thought a moment. "I've never met him, but I know about him. Andrew? Is that his name?"

"Alexander. Well, Alex. Ron thought he and I were a--couple. But I don't even think I feel romantically about Ron, you know? So when Alexander . . ."

Severus listened patiently while she told him the whole story. It wasn't exactly a fun time, but he felt obliged to help her out, if he could. And it was surprising--Hermione and Ron had always seemed like such a loving couple. He remembered quite clearly how they were always making eyes at each in his class. He'd tantalized them about that one, for sure.

"So now Ron's not talking to me. I lost a good friend. And he's so opinionated . . . He'll never want to be just friends with me. I don't know what's so special about me anyway."

Severus smirked. "You're not serious? You can't name any good qualities about yourself?"

"Well, I'm intelligent. And I try to be nice. But, other than that . . . Most men want flirtatious, curvaceous women who spend hours getting ready for a date. "

"You're interesting. That's important. No man wants to be with someone who talks about makeup all day. They want to be with someone they can have a good time with. Can you have a good time with someone who worries about getting her shoes wet? No, you can't." Severus responded.

"Is this from personal experience?" Hermione blurted out.

Severus laughed. "Believe it or not, it is."

Hermione blushed. "Sorry. Sometimes things just come out of my mouth. I guess you could say I have a big mouth."

"I've known that since 1991, when you first came to Hogwarts. But anyway, do you have any more complaints? Questions? Or can we go back to work?"

"Well, do you think I did the right thing?"

"I can't judge. I don't know this Alexander person. But then again, Ron always seemed a little closed-minded and simple--probably those aren't characteristics you treasure?"

Hermione nodded. "True enough."

They had gone back to work, and Hermione was sitting thinking about Severus Snape. He could become a good friend.

She remembered that ominous day--during her seventh year. It was during March--March 5^th she thought. They'd all been in the Great Hall, chatting about something or another. And Dumbledore wasn't there--rumors were floating around that he'd gone off in search of Voldemort. Harry was worried--he didn't think the Headmaster was strong enough to defeat the dark lord. Harry wanted to go and find him.

Hermione had been yelling at him, Ron had been shaking his head--and then the doors had burst open. And Death Eaters filed in. And Lord Voldemort. She had never been more scared than she had in that moment. She closed her eyes and prayed--to the God she'd never believed in. She knew her life was in mortal danger--that Ron's was, and most of all Harry's.

And when Voldemort had headed towards their table, towards Harry--all she could do was stare. She couldn't move. She couldn't scream. She couldn't cry. She couldn't even lift up her wand. Hermione admired Harry--his ability to think fast in times of peril. He had his wand up, and ready.

Hermione's heart had been beating ferociously. She thought if she wasn't killed, she would die of a heart attack.

"Mr. Potter--care to join me in another room?" Voldemort had said, his own wand outstretched.

Then they had heard a resounding call from out in the hallway--"Avada Kedavra!" and they heard it again. "Avada Kedavra". Two bodies had fallen to the floor, apparently, and the Headmaster came through the door.

Voldemort had turned around then, and looked at Dumbledore.

Hermione felt a hand enclose her own and squeeze it tightly. She turned to see who it was, and it was Ron. She burst into tears, silent tears, and she watched Dumbledore through her blurred vision.

"Hello. Nice to see you again, my good friend. It's been so long. Too long."

Dumbledore had looked simply furious--every inch of his face was raging with anger. He was actually scarier than Voldemort himself.

"Put your wand down, you fool. I'm immortal. I can't be destroyed."

Later, she'd realized that Voldemort was a bit of an idiot, maybe just too arrogant. The boy who had caused his first downfall was standing behind him, wand in his hand, and maybe a bit bored. Well, no not bored. That was stretching it. But certainly unoccupied. Dumbledore had realized this much sooner than Harry had, and stalled by saying- "And how did you become immortal?"

Hermione had glanced at Ron, who gave her a puzzled look. This just wasn't like Dumbledore.

And Voldemort, being as egocentric as always, started on about how he'd used his father's bone, Wormtail's hand, and Harry's blood. Then, for some reason, the topic switched to Draco Malfoy--who'd told him that Dumbledore was going away. And when Voldemort was praising Malfoy, and looking over at the Slytherin table proudly, Dumbledore had looked straight at Harry. For just a split second, but that was all he needed.

Under Dumbledore's casual commands, the Minister of Magic (Fudge, who was pretty scared when he found out Voldemort was really back) had allowed several selected seventh years to be taught the Unforgivable Curses by the most efficient Aurors. Hermione had been one. And so had Harry. They had practiced on spiders, rats, mice, snakes. It hadn't been fun, but it had been necessary. But here she was, stunned, her wand somewhere on the ground she suspected.

Of course, Harry could never use Avada Kedavra. He had looked around nervously at all the Death Eaters (about forty of them.), knowing that they were all outnumbered. The tally of Death Eaters had been higher, according to Harry, when Voldemort had first risen, but so many had been killed since.

Hermione felt a surge of power in her left leg, and lightly kicked Harry, giving him a sharp glance. And then Harry had lifted his wand, and yelled (she could still hear him in her head) "Imperio!"

Albus Dumbledore had reacted quickly to this, and shouted out the incantation for the 'Deep Sleep' charm.

The 'Deep Sleep' charm was one she'd studied in her sixth year, and had never seen it put to work. It was also a very difficult, potent charm, and only the most powerful wizards or witches could use it successfully on a large group. Basically what it did was put everyone in the room to sleep, except for the caster. So frankly she hadn't really seen the charm in action, but she'd been part of it.

She'd later learnt, both from Harry and the Daily Prophet, that Dumbledore had awoken Harry immediately. Dumbledore had told Harry that Voldemort would eventually wake up on his own, because of his immense vigor and strength.

Dumbledore told Harry he had to be leaving soon, very important business very far away, and he asked Harry if he would mind so much as to finish off Voldemort.

"But . . . Voldemort is immortal," Harry protested.

"Not as much as he would think. Any human being with blood flowing through his body is mortal. Voldemort may not even be one percent mortal--but he is still mortal. And Avada Kedavra kills any mortal."

"But professor, how am I supposed to go about this? Do I just wake him up and kill him immediately? That feels . . . wrong. Isn't that like cheating?"

"Well, if you think it would work I suppose you could wake him up, tell him you are about to end his life and then kill him." Albus Dumbledore smiled grimly. "It makes no difference to me."

"It can't be this easy. Surely Voldemort wouldn't have overlooked something as simple as having blood in your body enabling the Killing Curse. That's . . ."

"That's what happens when your ego and confidence become too big for your brain and outlook, Harry."

They sat in silence for a few seconds.

"Do you really have business? Can't you kill him?"

"No, Harry. I really think you should be the one to do it. And I have faith in your abilities; I know you can do it. And I know you will do it. I don't have business, but I do know that if you don't end this feud yourself, you'll regret it for the rest of your life. I'll be going now. See you tomorrow Harry."

Harry stared at the retreating figure of his mentor, and shook his head. What was he suppose to do now? This is really going to be too effortless. He had at least expected to have to duel.

In the end, Harry told them he had sat on a table behind the collapsed body of Voldemort, and waited for him to wake up. And when he did, Harry watched him for a moment before killing him.

"Severus?" Hermione asked, flipping through the pages in a book labeled- Ysheias Ieyash. She'd decided it was a secret code.

"Hmm?"

Hermione noticed abruptly how much different his voice was. In class, or anytime she'd heard him speak at Hogwarts, he used this low, hushed tone. But here, in this room, in this house he was talking naturally. Or, she assumed it was natural. His spoke his words much more casually, perhaps because he had no audience to practice dramatics with. And his words were audible and not so annunciated. He sounded very easy going, and lighthearted. This wasn't the Potions Master, was it? Could it possibly be?

"This is a kind of personal question, and I don't mind if you don't answer me--"

He arched his head so his eyes faced hers.

"What were you thinking when Voldemort came in the door? During supper. . ."

Severus looked amused. "Dark thoughts occupying your mind, Miss Granger?"

"Yes."

"Well. I was thinking, 'Oh great, here we go again.'" Severus responded, but Hermione wasn't satisfied.

"That's all you were thinking?"

"Maybe."

"Oh. So you're not going to tell me anymore?"

"No. Let's drop that subject." Severus seemed on the borderline between friendly and cool at the moment, so she quietly returned to her shuffling through books. This job was utterly tedious. Luckily she had something to look forward to--a dinner with Alexander. At the school, nothing romantic, but she would be able to get to know him better.