Perfection

There's a whole lot of singing that's never gonna be heard

Disappearing every day without so much as a word somehow

Think I broke the wings off the little songbird

She's never gonna fly to the top of the world right now

I wished I'd a known you

Wished I'd a shown you

All of the things I was on the inside

I'd pretend to be sleeping

When you come in in the morning

To whisper good-bye

Go to work in the rain

I don't know why

Don't know why

~Top of the World, Dixie Chicks

Perfection

Chapter 8: Melting

Hermione carefully accepted the cup of tea from Severus' hand and sipped it slowly, taking in his inner sanctum. It wasn't what she would have expected, to say the least. He seemed the sort of man who would rather do without luxury, but the decor spoke otherwise. The armchair she was sitting in was large and plush, and although the wall hangings were rather dark, they spoke of elegance and a cushiony wealth. But what caught her attention most was the immense collection of books. Leather-bound volumes, thin and thick, worn with time and gleaming with newness lined the room. Her hands were positively itching to reach out and grab one, any one, and simply pour over it.

Severus settled on a chair opposite her, his own cup cradled in his elegant hand. Hermione forced her gaze onto the table, where a wizarding magazine had been tossed.

"I thought wand-waving was foolish," she teased, hoping to break the awkward silence.

"Dumbledore insists that I keep up with the modern wizarding world, rather than lock myself in the dungeons with a cauldron day and night," he replied in an elevated manner, making Hermione smile. "Just as he insisted I read The Secret Garden, convinced somehow that it might cure me of my lack of sociality."

"I loved that book," she commented softly.

He raised an eyebrow, snorting in disdain.

"Maybe it's a girl thing," she shrugged, "but reading it always made me feel better. When it got so..." she gulped slightly, and he set down his cup, silently inviting her to continue. "When it got so music couldn't even drown them out, no matter how loud it was, I would pick it up again, and it would be like an entrance into my own little world." A corner of her mouth twitched. "My secret garden."

She inhaled deeply and took another sip of tea.

"Corny, I know," she continued, barely aware of what tumbled out of her mouth. "But it was so true. All summer..."

She shook her head, and set the drink on the saucer.

"You have no idea what it's like. They went from my parents, to these monsters overnight, practically. It was so hard watching my mum. She would stay up until three in the morning, waiting for him to come home, and every time he didn't, she would get this look in her eyes, like some part of her had died." Her voice trembled at the next sentence. "And he didn't care. She did so much for him, but he didn't care."

She couldn't finish the story, couldn't say anything else. Something buried in her chest broke, and the pain of it was enough to send tears rolling down her cheeks.

*

He felt frozen. No one had ever broken down in front of him like this. Anger, he could deal with. He knew anger well enough. But this was something different, something raw, a part of her that had been kept hidden.

He felt totally and utterly useless.

"Miss Granger," he tried helplessly, but she didn't respond. "Hermione?" he tried again, and this time she met his gaze.

"I'm sorry," she said, grinning weakly. "I shouldn't have--"

"Don't apologize," he ordered. "I brought it upon myself."

She laughed, albeit a bit shakily, and fingered the teacup. "I can live with that. Very easily. Especially since it makes me feel better."

He felt entranced by her ability to rebound so easily from collapsing. In fact, ignoring the redness around her eyes, it was difficult to believe that she was the same young woman who, only moments ago, had been reliving her parents' arguments.

"Well," he commented, "nice to know I can do something more than frighten small children."

"You aren't all that terrifying," she protested as he chuckled dryly. "Just a bit intimidating... Until you add some pepper to your morning coffee," she added mischievously.

"I could have done anything to that tea you happen to be drinking," he pointed out.

"I did notice it had a funny taste..." she grinned, enjoying the look of protest on his face.

"We are not amused."

"Yeah, that smile on your face is pure disdain. Face it, Professor, you have a sense of humor."

"Only because you were so kind as to point it out to me before it could escape entirely."

"You're the one who told me I wasn't stupid."

"Why did I do that?" he asked no one in particular.

Her laugh echoed off of the stone walls like bells, beautiful and full of life.

*

Steve tapped his fingers on the dashboard impatiently and fiddled with the radio dial.

Gotta love accidents, he mused as he glared out at the long line of stopped cars in front of him.

Not that he was particularly looking forward to the hotel room, where he could watch television, go downstairs for a brief drink, then return upstairs to--would you know it?--watch more television before falling asleep.

His ecstasy was barely containable.

He admitted to himself that he deserved to be thrown out of the house, though he had still been relying on Agrippa's reluctance to split up to tide him over.

But still, he felt a sting at the loss, one that he wouldn't--couldn't--allow himself to acknowledge. To distract himself, he turned his attention to the radio, and to his annoyance he found it was country music. But something about the words caught his attention and stopped him from changing the station.

A car honking behind him startled him out of his reverie and made him realize that traffic was moving once again. Directing the most effective finger he owned at the car behind him, he pressed the gas pedal, still not completely focusing on the road ahead of him.

Think I broke the wings off the little songbird...

Every crushed look that Agrippa had sent his way, when he hadn't realized that he was looking was coming back to him.

She's never gonna fly to the top of the world right now...

Not if he had had anything to do with it, anyway.

Top of the world...

And neither was he, by the looks of it.

*

She didn't care. She didn't, really. She couldn't. It wasn't right.

At least, that was what Ginny kept telling herself, every time she passed him in the corridor, every time he failed to meet her eyes, didn't nod in her direction.

It had been a single moment of flirtation, a brief diversion. It meant nothing, to her or anyone else.

It was strange, the way no one seemed to notice any change in her. She had never felt more different, but it only seemed to be her that sensed it. It was as if someone had ripped out her insides and given her someone else's, complete with new emotions. Harry still ruffled her hair every once in a while and teased her about being rock-solid in an ever changing world, while Hermione smiled quietly and commented on her relief that something was familiar and Ron scowled and commented on her constant hard-headedness.

But whether they noticed it or not, she had changed.

Of course, not as much as Hermione. She had noticed it a while back, but held her peace, knowing how suddenly Hermione's temper would flare up when provoked. The older girl had always been a bookworm, but her recent obsession with work was, in a word, unhealthy. Since September, she had rarely cracked a smile and watching her hunched over a text book was almost painful.

It had been somewhat different in the week since Christmas holidays, but hers was almost a resigned air and Ginny wasn't sure if it was any better. Her grins were always tired, her eyes never shone, and although she did come into the Great Hall for meals now, she only ever picked at the food. It was as if some of the fight had drained out of her, leaving Ginny utterly bewildered. Come to think of it, the only time she had honestly laughed lately, was in the carriage the day she returned from London, and that had been at, or perhaps because of, Snape, a strange notion in itself.

Of course, nothing about life was ever simple.

She sighed and pushed her homework away from her. She had all weekend to complete it, and Hermione had lent her another book of Tennyson that her fingers were itching to open.

*

"You can stop over-dramatizing the situation, Mr. Malfoy," Madam Pomfrey snapped impatiently. "I have better things to be doing than caring for a silly boy who was deservedly knocked down after years of tormenting the school's population."

For a moment, Draco was taken aback. Adults rarely spoke to him that way, other than his father, and even that rarely struck a nerve like the nurse's sharp words. His lip curled into a sneer.

"Like what?" he challenged. "Some first year Hufflepuff that tried a hex too strong for them and ended up with rabbit ears?"

Poppy Pomfrey stared at him with something like extreme disgust. "Why don't you have a look in the next room over and decide how important it is?"

He strutted through the adjoining doors confidently, but as soon as he entered, wanted to run away and bury his head under a blanket.

People, everywhere, shrieking insanely, some from wounds, some from a memory, hidden deep within themselves. A stench met his nostrils, putrid, like death itself, and a woman he thought was old at first glance clutched his sleeve wildly, and he realized that there were no lines on her face.

He turned to face the nurse, horror scrawled across his face. "I- I- didn't..." he faltered. "I'm sorry..."

Her expression softened slightly. "We all have our crosses to bear," she told him, gently. "And bear them we must, for no one else will."

He fled from the sympathetic gaze, to the nearest toilet where he vomited repeatedly until he could no longer, then sat against the dirty wall, trembling and sweaty. Convulsively, he tore at his left forearm, but it sent a shock through his body, so sudden and painful, that he was stunned momentarily.

*

"Go fish," Severus replied idly, and Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"You're cheating," she accused.

"I am most certainly not!" he protested.

"You have to be," she snapped. "There's nothing left in the pile, and I don't have another two, so either you're lying or not playing with a full deck."

He sighed and flicked the card across the table, pretending not to notice her triumphant smile.

It was the fifth straight game that she had cleaned up on and he was becoming desperate. The idea of playing cards had been suggested by him, but Hermione had never learned them past 'Go Fish', and after several failed attempts at teaching poker, they slid into a steady round of the childhood card game.

Clearly, Hermione was far more adept than him, although he was frantically attempting to deny it.

"I win again," she said as they finished counting the pairs, and he narrowed his eyes. "Are you sure you don't want to play for something?" she added, laughing at his unimpressed expression.

"You were only lucky," came the miffed reply.

"Five times in a row," she teased. "But you're probably right. Should I deal again?"

"No," he growled, and she giggled.

There was a brief pause in the conversation, and she found herself studying his mouth. It was small, with faint lines fanning out around it, and a slight upward curve that made her realize that he was looking at her in something like amusement. She pictured him leaning forward, sliding his lips over hers...

She closed her eyes and tried to end the thought, but it didn't want to stop. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes, avoiding his gaze and blaming the sudden daydream on hormones.

To draw attention away from her thoughts, she reached across the table to begin shuffling the deck idly. The pause became long enough to be labeled as awkward, and she heard herself saying, "It's getting late. I should probably go."

He agreed, and she stood to go.

"Well," she said uncomfortably. "Thank you for the tea, and preventing the death of a fellow student. It certainly wouldn't have looked good on a job resume."

He nodded his head. "You are most welcome, and, although your poker skills are quite lacking, it was an interesting evening."

"Good interesting or bad interesting?" she asked, and he smiled slightly, less awkwardly than before.

She was stalling, and she realized it, but that knowledge didn't make her feet move, so she stood in the entranceway for another minute silently, then held out her hand to shake. He grasped it firmly, then they broke the contact and she left the room, practically skipping to Gryffindor Tower in order to prepare for dinner.

*

"Hermione, are you sure you don't want anything else?" Ron asked, understandable now, thanks to the fact that Hermione had eventually managed to cure him of his lack of table manners, aided by some useful hexes.

She nodded, and Harry watched her carefully as she pushed a half-eaten potato around her plate with a fork.

"You hardly ate anything," Harry pointed out. "It isn't good for you."

"I'm not hungry!" she snapped, surprised at the violence of her reply.

"You haven't been all week," Ron reminded her.

"Why do I have to be?" she interjected. "There's nothing wrong with not stuffing my face."

"You're diet is less than a pigeon's," Harry remarked dryly. "It can't be healthy."

"What's it to you? At least I am eating."

She turned so that they wouldn't see the tears gathering in her eyes, but it didn't stop Harry from noticing.

"Hermione," they both tried in unison, but she brushed them away and fled from the Great Hall.

"D'you reckon we should follow?" Ron asked, bewildered, as Harry scrambled to his feet to catch up.

They burst out of the doors just in time to see the front doors bang shut behind her and wasted no time in pursuing her across the grounds. When they finally caught up, all three of them were panting and doubled over.

"Would you care to explain the reason for this evening pursuit?"

Harry felt the hair at the nape of his neck rise at the familiar voice.

"Or shall we simply move to detention and deducting points?"

Snape's gaze traveled from Harry and Ron's confused expression's to Hermione, whose face was streaked with tears and eyes glaring at the three people who had followed her from the building. Something on his face softened, although Harry wasn't entirely sure what.

"Miss Granger, what is it?" His voice was still formidable, but there was an element in it that had never before been present.

She shook her head, as if to clear it. "Nothing."

"Well, obviously it's something," Ron snapped, flushing.

"Ten points, Weasley," Snape said without turning to face him.

Harry scowled as Ron's mouth worked furiously but no sound came from it. Snape reached out and tilted Hermione's chin up so that she was looking at him as the two boys watched, not comprehending. Her eyes remained averted from his face.

"Miss Granger, look at me."

She obeyed, shrinking away slightly.

"Now, you will tell me what happened."

She shook her head and stepped back. "It was nothing. I'm fine now."

"Well, to all appearances, you aren't."

"Who are you to judge? It's not like any of this has ever happened to you!"

"Stop being so ridiculous!"

The argument continued, and Harry looked back and forth with interest, memorizing the conversation so he could play it back and analyze later.

"Would someone tell me what in the bloody hell is going on?" Ron burst in, unable to contain himself a moment longer.

"Nothing!" they both yelled at once, loud enough to make him cower backwards.

"Do you get the feeling we're missing something?" Ron asked Harry in annoyance.

Harry only grimaced.

"Potter, Weasley, if you wouldn't mind leaving," Snape ordered in a tone leaving no room for argument, "Miss Granger and I have something to discuss."

Ron opened his mouth to protest, but Harry elbowed him and dragged him away.

"Why'd you do that?" he asked once they were out of earshot.

"It's no use arguing with him," Harry replied. "Stubborn bastard."

"Well, Hermione got away with it, didn't she?"

Harry nodded slowly. "Something funny about that. He treated her different in class today, too."

Ron glanced over his shoulder to look at them, but he couldn't see them. "Harry, they're gone."

The other boy turned around and scanned the grounds. "No they aren't, they're walking under that tree over there."

Ron suddenly went pale. "Harry, you don't think..."

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Hermione wouldn't..."

"But what if... You never know, she has been acting strange lately."

"Ron!" Harry winced, but couldn't deny that his friend had a point.

"We could always ask her," Ron continued thoughtfully.

"Yeah, that would be a great conversation. 'Hi, Hermione, tell us, what is the nature of your relationship with our dear Potions teacher?'"

"You're right," Ron agreed. "She'd probably kill us. Or worse."

*

Once Harry and Ron had gone, some of the tension had left, and she was able to explain what had set her off. Severus had listened carefully, then suggested that they return to the castle because snow was coming down. She had shrugged, and told him that she liked the cold.

"Feel free to go in," she had said. "I think I'll stay out for a while."

He had refused, and they had begun to walk to the lake, in silence.

"Why are you being nice suddenly?" she blurted out. "Well, not suddenly, but ever since the day in the café."

The question caught him off guard, and he had to pause for a moment.

You're the only person that's mattered for a long time.

As he thought the words, he knew that they were true. But he couldn't say that. He had devoted half of his life to a cause, to the destruction of Voldemort, only after the mistake of joining him. Since then, he had made it a rule not to care, to shut out anything that might touch him. And before, there had hardly been a need.

He had been raised to be cold, to use whatever means were necessary to achieve an end. If it hadn't been for Dumbledore believing in him after he had realized his mistake, he might still be living that life, or perhaps not living at all. Since then, he had focused on defeating the Death Eaters, brushing off comments about his well being, deciding that it didn't matter. Because to him, it didn't. He was simply a pawn, easily replaced.

"I'm afraid that I can't quite answer that," he replied finally. "But consider yourself among the privileged few."

"Oh, I do," she assured him with a smile.

A shiver ran through her, and she pulled her robes around her more tightly.

"It's too cold out to be wearing just that," he pointed out dryly.

"I know," she answered, teeth chattering. "With my luck, I'll end up in the Hospital Wing with pneumonia or something, too."

"Which is why you're still out in below freezing temperatures while it's snowing with nothing but your regular clothing."

"Of course," she grinned. As an afterthought, she added, "Maybe I should go in."

"Maybe," he agreed with a twist of the mouth.

*

After a sleepless night spent in the hotel, tossing and turning frantically, trying to avoid the guilt that his conscience had suddenly laid on him, Steve had made up his mind. Or at least, at intervals, he had.

At times, he had convinced himself of his own wrongdoing, felt certain that it was entirely his fault. It was at those times that he was within moments of picking up the telephone and dialing what had once been his own number.

But something seemed to stop him. A sick feeling at his own weakness, which started in the pit of his stomach and spread to encompass his entire body. She had no right to control him, just as he had no reason to be so affected.

Therefore, he would not allow himself to be. He was in control.

And as the tinny alarm began blaring, making him slowly rise out of the heavily starched sheets, Steve Granger firmly resolved to do nothing.

*

Draco did not attend breakfast that morning. There were too many images fresh in his mind, which had caused his stomach to rebel several times throughout the night.

He knew that he should go to the hospital wing for something to settle his stomach, but he couldn't bring himself to face Madam Pomfrey a second time. Her eyes were too piercing, too able to penetrate, that he knew without trying he would never be able to meet her gaze, never mind with assertion. Thank God--or whatever supreme being that was actually listening to him--for Saturdays.

Draco Malfoy, only heir to the Malfoy dynasty, bastard extraordinaire, had reached an all time low.

He glanced up at the doorway, to see something that made his gut wrench unpleasantly.

You spoke too soon, a tiny voice told him.

For into the room swept a stately owl, his owl. Which only meant one thing.

A letter from home, no doubt bearing further instructions on what was referred to, by his father, as his task.

*

Agrippa pulled out of the driveway and drove away like a bat out of hell to her office. For the millionth time in the last ten years that she had worked there, she wondered why it operated on weekends.

But today, for once, she didn't feel annoyed. One way or another she needed to escape from the house, the cold empty structure that swallowed whatever broke the silence. Music, television, none of it worked. The silence was still there.

The last week had been hell, and it was apparent in the way she walked, the way her hair hung limply around her face. Several times she had picked up the phone and nearly dialed the number of Steve's practice, begged him to come home. Yet every time, she forced herself to let go of it and walk away.

She had chosen. There was no going back.

*

Hermione yanked the text book out of her bag, ignoring the dust that sprang off of it as it thudded onto the library table. None of what had happened meant that she would stop working, would slack off for a minute. It wasn't her problem if her parents had spun out of control. She wouldn't let the same thing happen to her.

She forced her attention onto the History of Magic essay before her, and began to flip through the book.

An hour and three scrolls of parchment later, she was startled out of her thoughts by two voices, one defiant and angry, the other light and humorous. She glanced up, and was shocked to see Ginny striding across the room, Draco Malfoy in her wake. Resisting the urge to get up and strangle him--barely--she pretended to concentrate on her work.

"I told you to stay away from me!" Ginny cried out, clearly at her wit's end.

"That wasn't the attitude you took at Christmas," he replied, grinning flippantly.

"Yes, well, I've had time to think it over. And don't think for a moment that you were welcome."

He raised an eyebrow, and Hermione had to try not to giggle. This was Draco Malfoy?

Without warning, Ginny gasped and collapsed against the nearest table. Hermione nearly ran out from her hiding place, but caught herself in time. They wouldn't appreciate her eavesdropping, she knew, so it would be best to let them handle whatever it was themselves.

Ginny shrieked something which was incomprehensible, but her raw terror was clear as day. Draco lost his light-hearted air and frantically shook her by the shoulders, calling her name repeatedly. Finally, her eyes lost their wild look and returned to normal, filling with tears.

To Hermione's shock, the blonde boy helped her into a chair, comforting her quietly. Madam Pince took that opportunity to swoop in, breaking up the embrace.

"This is a library!" she snapped ushering them out. "Kindly save these things for private."

It was only as Draco turned to say something to the librarian that Hermione first noticed the ashen color his face had turned and the fear in his eyes. And then both of them were gone, leaving Hermione to wonder in confusion what that had been about.

It was perhaps lucky that they had been ousted when they had, because Harry and Ron strode in moments later, looking determined.

"Yes?" she asked patiently, setting aside her pen.

Ron glanced sideways at Harry and muttered, "You ask."

"It wasn't my idea!"

"Yeah, well... You agreed!"

Hermione sighed. "Look, whatever you have to say, just say it because I have Charms research to do and an essay to finish."

"See..." Ron began, "Harry was wondering--"

"No I wasn't!" the other boy protested.

"Yes you were!" Ron shot back

"Yeah, well, it was your idea to ask her."

"No, you cannot copy my potions homework," Hermione replied. She had answered that question fifty times a week since their first year.

"Not, it's not about that, although that would be nice," Ron replied slowly. "We were just wondering..."

"Ron wants to know whether you and Snape have something going," Harry blurted finally.

"That wasn't what I said!" he protested, face flushing.

"Close enough!"

Hermione stared at them for a moment, dumbfounded.

No! she thought. Of course not!

And then, But he looks good shirtless...with only a towel...

Her eyes widened in shock. I did not just think that!

"See, look at her!" Harry pointed out. "Would she look like that if they... if they were..."

He couldn't seem to get the words out.

"Shagging," Ron finished helpfully, although he had turned green at the thought.

Hermione wisely kept her mouth shut. She didn't know how her it might betray her if she opened it.

Finally, once she was sure her voice wouldn't give her away, she asked, "What gave you that idea?"

The two boys exchanged uncomfortable glances.

"Well, last night, it kind of looked like... you know... after supper... when you were walking... and stuff," Ron replied weakly.

"So you aren't?" Harry asked in relief.

Hermione shook her head firmly. It wasn't like that, she longed to tell them. He knows some things about me that you don't. Some things you don't want to know. Some things I don't want to know.

"Hermione?" Ron asked, something like release on his freckled features. "Would you like a chocolate frog?"

She felt herself stiffen against her will, but forced her voice to remain light, carefree. "Why not?"

He tossed it across the table and it slid onto her essay, then unwrapped his own and pretended to toast her with it.

"You just made my day."

She slowly bit into the milky chocolate, ignoring the sudden sinking felling which had filled her stomach.

*

Steve strolled out of the restaurant, vaguely wondering where he should go now. He slid into the car and turned the ignition, idling the motor and half-listening to the radio. It was a commercial. More than anything, Steve hated commercials.

He turned the radio off, and the song he had heard the day before drifted into his mind.

I think I broke the wings off the little songbird...

Agrippa's face, white and vulnerable, before it had hardened, appeared before him.

She's never gonna fly to the top of the world right now...

And if she didn't, it would be entirely his fault, he knew. If he had broken her, if he had stopped her from truly flying free, he knew deep down that he would be tied down with her. Remorse, sudden and painful, swamped him.

Before he could have more second thoughts, he moved the clutch and began to drive.

*

"Gillian!"

The third year turned from the group of players heading in from that night's practice, surprised to be called on by anyone. Ginny winced at her painful shyness, but outwardly decided to ignore it. There was something that had been bothering her every practice since their last game and she had finally worked up the nerve to approach the girl about it.

"Yeah?"

"Do you mind staying out an extra half hour?"

The brunette shrugged, trying in vain to appear nonchalant. "Sure. Why?"

"There's some stuff I want to show you that Harry's neglected. Get on your broom."

Once the two of them were flying slowly about fifty feet above the ground, Ginny unexpectedly lobbed the Quaffle and the younger girl snagged it out of the air inches before it slammed into her face.

"Why don't you do that in games?" the redhead asked, steering her broom so that it remained alongside the other girl's.

Gillian shrugged.

"Instinct. You've got it. Harry may be too stupid to notice it but your body knows what it should be doing, but as soon as you're in a game situation, you start second-guessing yourself and that's when mistakes happen."

She nodded, looking bewildered.

"Let's just work on your shooting for a bit. I'll play Keeper."

*

Severus stared at the lumpy mess before him, and winced. He had made that? Merlin, even Longbottom couldn't make something that mortifying.

"Professor?" a quiet voice asked from the doorway.

Oh, Lord, a student. Why hadn't he closed the door? Or locked the door? Or better yet, used his private workroom?

He turned, shifting so that they wouldn't see his putrid excuse for a potion, then exhaled. It was only Hermione.

Of course, it was all her fault that the potion had gone awry in the first place. If he hadn't been preoccupied with her problems while brewing it, he might have remembered...

He realized that she was staring at him.

"Is something wrong, sir?"

"Was there something you wanted?" he barked out, hoping, praying that she wouldn't enter the room.

Dammit.

"How long did you want our potions essay to be?" she asked, taking a few steps in and sitting on one of the chairs.

"I told you I would explain next class!" he snapped, wishing she would leave.

She cringed away. "No you didn't. I sort of... interrupted the class before you could, I think."

He was positive he had. Unless he had told that to the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. Not only had he botched the potion, but he was now losing his mind as well. Beautiful.

"Six rolls of parchment."

"Thank you, sir."

But she made no move to go. "You know," she said slowly, "Harry and Ron asked me if we were... you know..."

He studied her for a moment, making her blush.

"Sorry," she said. "Don't know where that came from."

He stared for a moment longer, before asking, somewhat icily, "And what did you tell them?"

She looked taken aback. "The truth, of course."

"Which is...?"

"No!"

"Good," he replied shortly. A thought crossed his mind briefly, but he winced inwardly and blocked it out. "Now if you don't mind, I have work to do."

"Oh, so that's what the smell is... Can I see it?"

Before he could so much as move, she was behind him, staring at the miss-made potion.

"I've never heard of..." Her voice trailed off in realization. "Oh." And then, more shocked, "Oh."

She glanced up what he assumed was a horrified expression and began to giggle.

"What," he thundered, "is so funny?"

"Nothing, sir," she replied, getting herself under control.

"That's what I thought."

But he felt his mouth twitch as she hurried from the room.

*

Steve pulled up in front of the office building and stared at it for a minute. The heat of the moment was over, and he found himself asking what exactly he was doing. Finally, he turned off the engine and opened the door, but still didn't stand. His pride was beginning to overtake his regret.

Forcing himself out of the vehicle, he locked the door and began to stride, not entirely surely, through the glass doors.

*

"Dr. Granger, you have a visitor."

She glanced up from her patient, wincing inwardly. She would have to do something about her last name.

"Give me..." she paused to check her watch "... five minutes."

The secretary turned to go, but before she could, something made her ask, "Who is it?"

"Your husband."

Agrippa let the metal instrument she was holding fall out of her grasp, and it slid into the boy's throat.

"Sorry," she apologized, extracting it.

He just glared at her.

"Go on, you're done," she informed him.

The dirty look was instantly replaced with relief, and Agrippa sank down into her new chair. It shot backwards, and she nearly fell off.

Standing up, she grimaced. She kept forgetting the damn thing had wheels.

She forced her thoughts away from the chair and to the situation at hand. She didn't want to face him, couldn't face him. It would be too much...

Tears filled her eyes, and she brushed them away angrily. The fury gave her enough strength to stalk out of the office and into the waiting room, where she saw him waiting, flipping through a men's magazine.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she shouted, causing him, and everyone near him to look up.

He flinched.

"Unless it's in a goddamn courthouse, I never want to see you again."

"Agrippa," he tried, swallowing. "I'm sorry. I never wanted to hurt you."

"Which, of course, completely justifies your actions!"

He shook his head, almost guiltily.

"Oh, I see, you feel bad now!" she snapped. "Now! Well, what about then! I'm sure you didn't think twice! Well, think twice now about coming here, because if you don't get your ass out of my sight in less than thirty seconds, I'm calling security!"

As he hurried from the room, another woman stood up and began clapping. Agrippa turned to face her, and saw it was the mother of the boy she had just finished working on.

"Congratulations," she said, walking across the room, as the rest of the people looked slightly shocked. "There's someone I've being wanting to say that to for a long time. Glad you had the nerve."

"Thank you," Agrippa replied, trying to mask her shock.

"I'm Anna Walker," the other woman said, holding out a hand to shake.

"Dr. Granger."

They shook firmly for a moment, and whatever shame Agrippa might have felt dissolved. Things were always seemed a bit better when there were other people in the same boat, even if it did seem to be floating aimlessly across the Arctic Ocean into the waiting jaws of a half-starved polar bear.

*

Ginny wiped the sweat off of her forehead and clapped Gillian on the shoulder.

"I am truly disgusting," she commented with a laugh. "Shoot like that next practice and you'll have the rest of us seeing the bench far more often," she advised mock sagely.

The other girl nodded, wide-eyed.

"And talk," Ginny continued. "No one will ever play you if they forget you're there."

"Okay." Gillian's voice came out in a half-whisper, as if she were afraid of the consequences of speaking.

"And whatever else, you better not waste my time," she added as afterthought. "Not that I really have anything better to do. We'll practice again on Saturday afternoon, if that's okay with you."

*

The next week spread by at a frightening rate, and the next thing Severus knew, the moon had completed its cycle and was once again full. He woke that morning with a feeling of foreboding, for he knew what was to come. Since meeting Hermione in London, he had curiously forgotten it, and now it all was coming back with terrifying clarity.

But when, by supper, he had not felt the burn, he began to hope that maybe the meeting had been called off, or at the very least postponed. Of course, it was not to be. Just as desert arrived, he felt it, and his fork fell clattering to the ground.

He whispered his farewell to Albus, then swept out of the room, blocking everything from his mind. He would not allow himself to betray those who had forgiven him. Silently, he read off potion's instructions to quiet his thoughts, and one of them sent an image into his mind which was frighteningly clear.

He closed his eyes in horror, trying to blot it out. If he gave it away...

Just as he reached the gate to the school, he managed to forget it, and as he apparated, all he could do was pray that it wouldn't resurface.

*

Hermione lay awake in bed, feeling sick. Only this time it was for a different reason.

She had watched him go.

She knew where he had gone.

She knew why.

And she knew that one day, perhaps one day soon, he might not return.

Somehow, the idea of losing him was more painful than the idea of losing her father. After all, her father was still alive, and something of a bastard. But him...

She hugged herself and closed her eyes tightly against the images flooding her mind, swallowing the lump that had risen in her throat.

He would be fine, she told herself over and over. But it didn't work.

With the light of dawn, she was out of bed and running down into the heart of the school, trying to push away the terror that gripped her.

*

He stumbled through his doors and sat down heavily on the sofa, trying to stop the shaking and the nagging little voice that was telling him he was running out of time. Never before had the desire to live been so strong as now.

With trembling hands he pushed his hair out of his eyes and leaned back, trying to relax. But it seemed impossible. Adrenaline coursed through him and the fear he had managed to keep at bay all night overtook him, paralyzing him momentarily.

*

And that was how she found him. Pale, shaking, and almost beyond reason.

"Get out," he ordered coldly.

It stung, but she told herself it was only because of pressure, not her. Without a word, she entered his storeroom and began shuffling through the vials on the shelves. Once she found what she was looking for, she handed it to him.

"Take some. You'll need it," she snapped briskly. "You have classes in half an hour and I don't think you want to be caught dead looking like that."

He straightened at her tone. "Might I remind you, Miss Granger, that I am still you teacher and you will address me as such."

"You don't have to, sir," she barked back, anger filling her, drowning out the relief that he was alive, "my memory isn't as poor as you seem to think it. As I only came to ensure that you were still alive, I may as well leave now."

"Yes, do," he replied, tone just as heated as hers. "I think you have been satisfied on that point."

"Regrettably," she hissed, slamming the door behind her before he could see the tears gathering in her eyes.

She didn't know what she had expected. Gratitude? Kindness? She had forgotten that as confusing as he sometimes was, he was still Severus Snape.

She caught up with Harry and Ron as they were headed to Transfiguration, and muttered a greeting.

"Were you crying?" Ron asked, tactful as ever.

"No," she snapped, brushing past them.

"We missed you at breakfast," Harry commented, trying to smooth it over.

"I was in the library."

Thankfully, they reached the classroom and from then on it was easy to avoid questions.

*

"Any news, Severus?" Albus asked, adjusting his glasses.

He jumped, registering where he was before replying, "The Hardys. Next week."

"You mentioned that already," the older wizard said, smiling.

Severus frowned.

"Is something wrong? You seem... preoccupied."

"I'm fine!" he snapped. "Why does everyone keep asking me that? Do they think I can't handle it?"

If it hadn't been for his respect of Albus Dumbledore, he would have stomped out of the room. As it was, he already felt like a first year throwing a tantrum.

"I wasn't referring to that," Albus twinkled.

Damn you, he thought, glaring viciously. Aloud, he said, "I have no idea what you are talking about."

A slow smile curved on Dumbledore's lips. Finally, annoyed beyond compare, Severus stood and strode out of the room. To say that he felt like a bastard was more than a slight understatement, but there didn't seem to be a way around it.

Ignoring the fact that it was dinnertime and the students were pouring down to the Great Hall, he headed towards the entrance, smashing headlong into a student. He looked down at the exact moment that she looked up and for a moment, their gazes held.

"Miss Granger," he said curtly.

"Sorry," she mumbled, pushing past him.

Tensely, he exited and headed towards the greenhouses.

*

Ginny stared blankly at the table, trying to keep her eyes open. Last night had not been pleasant. Dreams haunted her about being lost in a darkness, with only his voice, and she had awoken in the morning with the feeling of not sleeping at all. Usually the feeling wore off by lunchtime, but apparently not today.

Her eyes swept the room, and she noticed Draco, who was looking pale and wan. He noticed her stare and grinned flirtatiously, although there seemed to be something lacking from his usual energy. She rolled her eyes, but couldn't suppress a slight smile.

"What's so funny?" Ron asked, not bothering to swallow first.

She considered the truth, then decided against it. "Nothing."

But she didn't miss the way Hermione, who had previously been pushing brussel sprouts around her plate, glanced shrewdly from the blonde boy back to her.

*

Draco suppressed the urge to sigh. He was only making things harder for himself. He had his orders. All he had to do was carry them through and be rewarded.

With more work, something told him.

Truth was, he was a coward. More than anything, he didn't want to die. And that survival instinct was what had guaranteed his loyalty from the beginning. Listening to the banter around him, his head began to spin. For a moment, he could have sworn he was back in the room adjoining the hospital wing, looking around in horror. For a moment, he was frozen in terror before a voice broke into his thoughts.

"Draco! Have you been listening to a word I've said?" Pansy snapped.

"No, not really," he replied languidly, pulling himself back into the present.

She made an impatient noise before Blaise Zabini took over. "We're going to sneak into Hogsmeade again. Pansy reckons we can break into Honeydukes again. The owners are two old bats that wouldn't hear us if we smashed everything in sight."

Draco made a show of yawning. "You children run along and play. I've been feeling a bit off lately." Which wasn't precisely a lie.

His words had the desired effect. They looked both abashed and slightly relieved that he wouldn't be coming. None of them was quite sure what to make of him anymore.

He stood up, saying, "In fact, I think I'll go to the hospital wing now and get some headache potion. So long."

Once out of the room, he sprinted down the corridors until he reached the Slytherin common room and collapsed onto his bed in a heap.

*

After supper, Hermione grabbed Ginny by the elbow and led her to an empty corridor.

"There's something you need to know," she said, looking guilty.

"Yes?" Ginny prompted when she paused, looking confused.

"Iwasinthelibrarywhenyouandmalfoywerefighting," she said quickly, but Ginny caught the meaning.

"What? Listen, it's not what it looks like, honestly Hermione. You can't tell a soul! Ron would kill me and cut me up into little pieces or something... and Harry's been unbalanced enough lately..."

"He's seemed normal enough to me," Hermione commented.

Ginny sighed. "That's because you weren't here over Christmas. He blames himself for every little thing and he'd just sit there, staring into the fire for an entire day sometimes."

"I had no idea," Hermione whispered. She'd been too wrapped up in herself lately. Actually, since September, to tell the truth.

"Anyway," Ginny continued briskly, "about Draco. I don't know what's going on. He won't leave me alone, ever since--" She stopped, looking as if she had almost given something away.

"Since you danced with him?" Hermione asked.

Ginny shook her head. "Before that. Never mind. Was that all you wanted?"

Hermione nodded. "Don't worry, I won't tell."

"Thank goodness I can trust someone."

"So," Hermione said after an awkward pause. "I suppose we had better head back."

"Yeah, probably."

They returned to the common room, and Hermione climbed the stairs to her dormitory. When she opened the door, she was met with cooing from Lavender and Parvati.

"You'll never guess what you got!" Lavender exclaimed.

Hermione only looked at them through bleary eyes.

"A rose!" Parvati gushed. "Isn't it so sweet?"

She handed Hermione the token, while Lavender asked excitedly, "Who gave it to you? Do you know?"

Hermione studied it carefully. It was a Tudor rose with white and red petals and attached to the stem it bore a note--

My apologies.

It wasn't signed, but she recognized the writing. Something fluttered inside of her and she collapsed on the bed.

"Do you know who it's from?" Lavender repeated.

Hermione paused, before replying, "No idea."

Parvati looked disappointed, but Lavender only became more animated.

"A secret admirer! You're so lucky! And I always thought you were the boring one."

"Thanks," Hermione commented wryly.

As they continued on, Hermione's confusion only grew. Why the change of heart? And why a rose, of all things? A note would have sufficed.

"You don't seem very happy about it," Parvati accused. "Are you sure you don't know who sent it?"

Hermione forced herself to laugh. "I don't know! And I guess I'm just... a little surprised."

Finally, they stopped, and Hermione changed into her pajamas, then rolled into bed, but not before placing the rose beside her on the pillow. As she slid into sleep, she felt a curious warm glow that had nothing to do with the fireplace on the far side of the room.

*

Life was slowly becoming a ritual. Sleep. Go to work. A quick meal slipped in here and there. Occasional call from her lawyer updating the situation. The days couldn't pass swiftly enough for Agrippa.

She recalled the conversation she had heard in the coffee shop. It was the only thing that was clear in the mist she was living in. And she understood what the woman had meant when all she wanted was out.

But she forced herself to make demands. The house, custody of Hermione, regular payments. She would not lie on her back as she had for so long and let him take everything. She had made a mistake--she acknowledged that now--but she wasn't going to let the damn man ruin the rest of her life.

At least he had taken her seriously when she had said she never wanted to seem him again. Because she didn't. It was hard enough living in the house they had shared for nearly twenty years now, eating at the same table, sleeping in the same bed--although she had gone out and bought new sheets. She didn't want him calling her, showing up uninvited at random moments, attempting apologies. They didn't mean anything. She had given him all of the time in the world to apologize and he hadn't taken the opportunity. So why should now be any different?

These were the thoughts that rolled through her head whenever she allowed them, whenever she forgot to push them away. But no tears came with them. She was beyond them, beyond feeling. She had gone numb and the only thing driving her forward was the steady determination that she would not be weak.

He was below her now. She had grown stronger, higher, and she would not let him bring her down.

*

The next morning, the first thing she saw upon opening her eyes was the rose. It had not wilted, despite the fact that she had not put it in a vase, and she had the feeling that it would not. It rested beside her, a promise to understand and be understood, and all of a sudden the day seemed brighter, almost surreal in the clarity.

Her feet didn't quite touch the ground and all of her former anger had evaporated, along with the confusion which had followed. Before leaving the common room, she scrawled out a reply, then took it to the owlery.

It had been as brief as his, with no signature or anything to mark who it was from or what it was regarding. It only read, Forgiven.

With a faint smile touching her lips, she went down to breakfast.

The rest of the morning went smoothly, with no comments regarding her state yesterday from anyone. Ginny shot a few worried looks at her brother and his friend, but otherwise nothing was said that ought not, and nothing was done which shouldn't have been.

It could only last so long, in any case. At lunch, Madam Pomfrey summoned Hermione into the hospital wing for a "discussion." She didn't need three guesses to figure out what it was about.

"So, Miss Granger, how were the remainder of your holidays?" the nurse inquired a little too kindly, sitting down across from her.

"Fine," she replied automatically.

"And have you seen anyone about your condition?"

Hermione shook her head silently.

"Do your parents know?"

Again, a shake. "Don't tell them, please," she begged. "They have enough to deal with right now." They're undergoing a termination of marriage at the moment, and it would only provide new ammunition.

She studied the girl sharply before saying, "Very well. We will see."

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey."

"And have you any idea why this started? Sometimes there is an event that triggers it, or an emotion. Low self-esteem caused by stress, the desire to be appreciated or noticed, a need to rebel or comply with other people's wishes, perhaps?"

Hermione wondered for a moment whether or not to tell her, before surrendering her pride entirely and pouring it all out. How her parents were so wrapped up in their anger towards each other that she hadn't been noticed, except to be criticized. How she felt that being perfect would, in some bizarre way, solve all of the problems and they could go back to being a family. How ending up like this was the last thing she wanted, and the feeling that another burden on her mother's shoulders might well be the one to break her. It all came out in a jumbled mess, sobs interfering with the words which, once started couldn't seem to stop.

And once they were over, she was mutely handed a handkerchief, which she used to dry her face and blow her nose.

"Poppy, where on earth is the restorative draught?" a familiar voice from the corner asked.

Slowly, Hermione turned to face Severus Snape.

"This isn't the time for that!" Madam Pomfrey snapped. "Can't you see I'm busy? Go make your own!"

He left the room, and without thinking, Hermione ran to catch up.

Checking to make sure no one was in earshot, she demanded, "How much did you hear?"

He avoided her eyes. "Just the end."

"Tell me!"

"All of it," he sighed. "I'm sorry--"

"I don't want your pity!" she snarled and a piece of her, in that moment, wanted to hit him.

"I was going to apologize for being an arse," he commented mildly.

"Well, that you are," she agreed, feeling slightly sheepish as her anger dropped away almost immediately. "I suppose now that you know, you'll treat me like I'm made of glass."

"I'll try to remember not to," he said airily.

"I didn't mean to say everything that I did," she sighed. "Actually, I didn't intend to say anything at all."

"Yes, well, Poppy tends to have that affect on people."

"You don't think she'll act all... you know... pitying."

He shook his head. "Sometimes I think that she is the only one who won't."

"I don't know, you're passable too," Hermione commented dryly.

"Only because I don't care."

She flinched inwardly at that.

If he didn't care, why would he have apologized? she reasoned.

"What about me?" she asked in mock innocence, looking up at him and batting her eyelashes obviously.

For a moment both of them froze, and Hermione felt as if she was teetering on the edge of some strange revelation, before he stepped back.

"Especially not you," he teased.

"That's what I thought," she grinned.

They continued their conversation for another few minutes, before Hermione realized that classes had begun.

"What do you have?" he asked, startled.

"Potions," she replied, hiding a smile.

*

As the two of them hurried down the corridors, Hermione's giggle and Severus's deep laugh echoing behind them, Albus Dumbledore turned to Poppy Pomfrey.

"What do you think?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I thought he was permanently frozen," she replied wryly. "Excuse me while I undergo shock therapy."