Perfection

Perfection:

Chapter 10: Shield of Gold

When Hermione entered Potions on Monday morning, she felt a faint sense of apprehension as well as curiosity towards what his reaction would be. Surprise was guaranteed, but otherwise, she given a choice between what his additional thoughts would be, she had no idea. She had quickly learned that the only thing Severus Snape could be counted on to be was unpredictable.

Class started, and as everyone else frantically flipped through pages frantically, trying to keep from being noticed, she leisurely opened one of the many books she had checked out about arcane potions.

Once Snape was assured that no one was not working, he stalked over to her seat.

"Miss Granger, I trust that you have made your decision," he said curtly.

She smiled and nodded. "I'm actually quite interested in The Golden Shield."

His eyebrow arched and she felt something funny shoot through her chest.

"The Golden Shield?" he repeated, looking stunned.

"Yes, sir."

"There have been only two successful recorded brewings of it in the known history of the world." Skepticism was okay. She could deal with that.

"Yes, but that was out of three attempts," she reminded him. "The one who failed was not particularly competent, and as it can only be made properly during a time of need, it has been nearly forgotten for nine centuries, except by scholars and masters of the trade."

He sighed. "And should it fail, do you have a back-up?"

"The Polyjuice Potion," she replied promptly. "I've done it before, and I'm perfectly certain that I could again."

"Before?" he repeated, eyes widening, nearly to the point of bulging. "When?"

She bit her lip and glanced surreptitiously at Malfoy. "Er... It was an experiment."

Out of the corner of her eyes, she noticed the terrified expression on Ron's face, but looked back in time to see Snape nod.

"All right, I want a full write-up on it by Thursday evening, including details on those who have made it and why each ingredient is used. Get to work."

*

As he walked away, he exhaled sharply. He had been expecting something advanced, but certainly not that advanced. Not that he doubted her ability, but if it could only be brewed in times of need...

And what do you call right now? he asked himself, thinking back to the last meeting. If this isn't a time of need, what is?

He sank into his chair, ignoring the blatant stares being shot at him and Hermione, shock overtaking him as he realized that she might have more than one reason for making it. Truth was, someone would have to make a stand sooner or later, and it wouldn't be possible unaided.

*

Ginny had never been so confused. Harry--her brother's best friend, international hero, possibly one of the nicest people she had ever met--had struck her. She might have been in turmoil, if there had been an element of surprise, but a part of her seemed to have expected it for whatever reasons, so she could only feel fury. Her anger was enough to fuel her through the remainder of the weekend and on to Monday. Sometimes it would be cool and collected, remembering clearly all of the events, how she had provoked him, how he wouldn't have otherwise. But everything that she had said was true--he was self-centered and believed himself to be the cause of everything, good and bad. He never did seem to notice others' trials, and when he did it was always with surprise at the fact that there were other people in the world.

And slowly the coldness turned into a blinding fury, until all she wanted was to strike him back.

A part of her mind reasoned that he was going through a lot, he felt pressured, but she knew that it still gave him no right to be such a bastard.

And then there was Draco. Draco, the Slytherin, the boy who had made life miserable for nearly everyone outside of his elite group, and, contrarily, the charmer. She didn't dare flatter herself that he was serious, and yet she couldn't quite forget what it was like to be held by him...

She ended that thought before it could go farther. There was no use thinking about it. Perhaps he found her diverting, but nothing more and she would only end up hurting herself.

"Um, Ginny?"

Gillian was staring at her, tossing the quaffle from hand to hand.

The redhead smiled guiltily. "Sorry, I was thinking..."

She pulled her mind back towards coaching and mounted her broom.

"So I was thinking about starting with the passing drill we did last week... Do you need me to go over it again?"

The other girl shook her head.

"Good. Let's go then."

They took off and Ginny allowed herself a brief reprieve, enjoying the fact that, for once, she was feeling useful.

*

By Tuesday evening, Hermione had completely ransacked the library for any mentions of the Golden Shield, however brief and her report was nearly finished. It was utterly fascinating the way that something could combine the powers to heal and hurt in such a way to create an impenetrable wall, the way that poisons could be combined with antidotes. It was almost like combining black with white.

Harry and Ron seemed surprised at the fact that she planned on hurrying straight from dinner down to the dungeons--why she would want to spend more time than necessary with Snape was beyond them--but she laughed it off.

"He isn't really as bad as you make him out to be, Ron," she said before shoving a forkful of lettuce in her mouth.

"And haggis isn't as disgusting as it sounds," Ron muttered.

"Have you actually eaten that?" Harry asked, apparently hoping to end the argument before it took off.

"At some distant relatives wedding when I was five. Fred and George told me that it was sausage..." He paused before adding, "You're really bad at being subtle, y'know. And I would bet my life that Snape isn't on our side at all, it's all just an act."

"You shouldn't talk about what you don't know," Hermione told him icily, trying to fight off the urge to hit her friend.

"Relax, 'Mione, he was kidding," Harry said. "Want some more chicken?"

A wave of repulsion swept over her as he dangled the drumstick over her plate. She pushed it away and tried to fight the sick feeling that threatened to overtake her, without much in the way of success.

"Are you all right?" Ron asked, furrowing his brow.

Hermione was saved from having to answer by Ginny's sudden but very welcome appearance.

"That was a brilliant question," she snapped, kneeling by the older girl.

"Is she choking?" Harry asked, leaning over to peer curiously at Hermione.

"Go deal with your own problems," Ginny said, the coldness of her tone enough to make Hermione snap out of it.

"Pardon my asking!"

Barely restrained fury crackled between them, causing both Ron and Hermione to shift uncomfortably in their seats.

"You've been self-centered this long, no reason to change now," Ginny commented, as if discussing the weather.

"I'm not!"

"You are! You think everything's your fault, until someone else blames you, and then suddenly you're the victim. It certainly doesn't earn you any sympathy, from me, anyway!"

"I'm not trying to earn sympathy!"

Their conversation had caught the attention of several nearby people and Hermione was painfully aware of the hush spreading across the Great Hall.

"Just shut up!" she hissed at them. "People are listening. You can yell all you want in private, but some of the staff look pissed off and Dumbledore heard every word."

Flushing, Harry stopped arguing, and Ginny turned and fled.

"Bitch," Harry muttered, sitting down, still fuming.

"Watch what you say about my sister!" Ron barked, ears turning tomato-colored as he spun off the seat and headed out of the room.

Harry appealed to Hermione, who was sitting two seats away, expressionless.

"I don't know what you expected, Potter, but I would say that you deserved that," she said icily, standing to leave.

She stalked off, wondering what had possessed her to call him that. He had never been anything but Harry to her.

"Hermione?" he called out weakly, but if she heard, she made no sign of it.

"Very smooth," another voice said from behind him.

"Fuck off, Malfoy."

"I will, and gladly. The little damsel in distress will be needing someone to comfort her," he replied, smirking.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry challenged half-heartedly, but Draco was already gone.

*

When Severus entered the dungeons, he was greeted by the sight of Hermione already bent over her parchment and an ancient book with text that was nearly impossible to read, scribbling frantically.

"Hi," she said without looking up.

"I have the complete schedule for the conference. It will take place in Leipzig, Germany during the final week of July."

She paused, holding her quill slightly above the paper. "And..." she prompted.

"The first two days are for setting up and looking around, the next three days are to be spent displaying what has been created. On the fifth night there is a mandatory formal dinner, with entertainment and dancing."

"And the last two days?" Hermione asked.

"I think that they're trying to promote either magical tourism in Leipzig or not apparating with a hangover."

"So the last two days are free?" she asked.

He nodded. "There are optional tours, but from my experience, the guides are self-important and uninformed imbeciles."

Much to his surprise, she replied, "I quite agree. Especially 'bilingual' ones."

"So no tours," he confirmed, as she nodded. "Then we have two days with nothing to do."

"There is always museums and..." She trailed off, realizing that he would probably rather throw himself off of the Tower of London.

"And..."

She winced as his gaze turned piercing.

"Shopping?" she suggested weakly. "You know, souvenirs and gifts and stuff?"

He sighed heavily, knowing perfectly well that he would be manipulated into it sooner or later. "Very well, so long as 'and stuff' doesn't include lingerie."

She giggled. "Damn, I really wanted a second opinion."

He looked at her with half-closed eyelids, apparently not amused.

"Don't worry--I wouldn't subject you to that much torture. Anyway, I was meaning to ask, did you want a journal of this project, as there will only be one write up in the entire five months of working on it?"

"Naturally. I will be reading it every few weeks, so make sure it is up to date."

"Thank you. Do you mind if I keep working now?"

"Not at all."

He settled into his chair and began idly marking his first year's assignments, a comfortable silence descending over the room. In testimony of his good mood, not a single one of the students failed, a fact that he knew would shock everyone, including himself once they were returned. Every so often, he would pause to look at the girl working furiously across from him, and was reminded of a detention that had taken place months ago, only to find, much to his amazement, how much he had changed--no, how much she had changed him.

*

19 Feb.

Have finished essay on Golden Shield. Might go back and rewrite it later, haven't decided. Depends on how much other information I find.

Prof. Snape and I are going to Hogsmeade this weekend to buy supplies. Not entirely sure why I'm going, he knows the ingredients better than I do. He smiled when I asked. I like it when he smiles, he doesn't seem as forbidding... He has nice eyes, too. Think I'll have to rewrite this as well... Not to mention, enroll myself in therapy. Not that he's a bad person, it's just that... I don't know... Why am I making excuses to myself anyway?

Anyway, very little to say on the topic of the potion, as I haven't started other than I think I'm allergic to the dust on the books that I went through, as I've been sneezing constantly for the last week. Harry thinks that we should record someone saying "Bless you" and play it every few minutes, otherwise him and Ron will lose their voices. No loss there, I say.

Wrote to parents about project. Mum says OK, Dad is silent. Wondering if he really cares... Probably to busy worrying about the fucking legal stuff. Definitely going to have to edit this... Maybe even start over... On second thought, no, I'll just make a nice copy of the entire journal when I'm all done with nothing but the project details, otherwise I'll constantly be starting over... Journals are supposed to organize your mind, anyway... Why haven't I ever tried before?

Appetite is gone... (not good) Stared at sausage this morning and thought I was going to puke. (not good at all...) Thought I was getting better... apparently, I was in remission.

Thinking like that won't do me any good. Must think positive. I can do this. I will eat something. Right now. Hope the house-elves have forgiven me...

Hermione sighed and looked down at the parchment she had been writing on, wishing fervently that she hadn't said anything but what she was supposed to. Once she had started, it was addictive. The words came out almost unwillingly, as if they were aching to be told.

Setting down the quill, she shoved the paper into one of her books, where no one would be looking, then left for the kitchen, keeping her mind focused on something to eat.

*

Severus shut the door to his classroom behind him, then left for one of his prowls around the castle, even though it wasn't quite curfew yet. He wanted to think, and walking always seemed to help that. He needed to think about the Golden Shield, particularly, and the shopping expedition regarding it tomorrow.

To say that he was shocked that this was actually turning into something other than an idle thought was being a minimalist, he decided, although parts of him were still convinced that it wouldn't work. Miss Granger was clever--there was no doubt in anyone's mind about that--but he had a nagging feeling that this would require sheer genius.

Unbidden, an image of her hunched over translations of ingredients sprang to mind and he remembered what she had told him only a few days before.

Working out what language it's in is half the battle.

With that mental picture came a hardening below his waist that he--unsuccessfully--tried to convinced himself wasn't related.

Sixteen, he thought, more grateful than ever for his billowy robes.. She's sixteen. You're... well... a good deal older.

Somehow, it wasn't working.

*

Hello, Miss Weasley.

Ginny nearly fell out of her chair as the familiar voice filled her thoughts.

Thought I was gone, did you? Thought that I had decided to leave you alone?

Trying to keep her face neutral, she stood to leave the common room.

"Is something wrong?"

She couldn't tell who was talking to her. The faces had gone blurry, and were being replaced with images from her past, images she had tried so hard to forget.

She gave an answer, her own voice foreign to her ears. What she said, she didn't know, only that she had to leave before anyone noticed anything.

Out in the corridor, the voice continued.

You can't keep running, Ginny. Someday, no matter how well you hide, I will find you. And perhaps then, I won't be so willing to forgive.

She didn't want, didn't need his forgiveness. She didn't want that from a monster.

You forget, Ginny, that you helped me. And Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers.

She shuddered to think just what sort of reward awaited her.

"Ginny?"

Her heart stopped as she turned, to find that it was only Draco. Blackness rushed into her vision, and she swayed before fainting.

*

Hermione left the kitchen with a hastily made sandwich in one hand and a mug of tea in the other. Head in the clouds, she nibbled at the food, not tasting.

"You were missed in the Great Hall today."

She jumped, sloshing burning tea over her hand. "Was I?" she asked, wincing at the heat as well as the fact that he had taken notice of her weakness. Then, quietly, "At least I'm trying."

She turned to see him nod briskly, brow furrowed.

"Sir?" she ventured timidly. "Can I ask you something?"

"Didn't you just, Miss Granger?"

"Am I... Did I... Do you think that if I tried harder, this would be any easier?" As she asked the question haltingly, she lifted the hand bearing the pathetically made sandwich.

"You would be better to ask Pomfrey," he told her, betraying nothing.

"She would give me some sort of not-answer and tell me everything will be fine," Hermione replied bluntly, catching his wince at her words.

Reluctantly, he said, "Personally, I happen to believe that things are as difficult as we make them."

"That's what I thought," she sighed, trying to hold off the tears that threatened to overflow.

"However," he continued, and she looked away, not sure she wanted to hear it, "if I know anything about you, it would be that you will do something or die trying, so therefore, it would be a difficult question to answer."

She gave a disheartened half-smile.

As if to compensate, he added dryly, "I am more inclined to trust you, than what is most likely an ill-formed, cynical notion."

"I'm glad you think so," she replied in a brave stab at vivacity, facing him once again and pausing in mid-step.

They were less than half a metre apart now, and there was an intensity in his gaze that made her inhale sharply. He took a step towards her, and her hand trembled so much that she nearly dropped the cup, although she did succeed in spilling more than a little bit more of the drink.

"Severus! Miss Granger! Just the people I wanted to see!"

The jovial voice made them leap apart as the wizened wizard approached. Brief satisfaction flashed across his features as he took in their ragged breathing and the tea splashed across Hermione's clothing.

Hermione, however, only felt cheated. She had been on the brink of some sort of revelation, only to have it snatched from her hands.

"About the hotel in Leipzig, Severus," Dumbledore announced, looking faintly amused. "I'm afraid that you waited too long, All of the wizarding accommodations will have no vacancy that week. I'm afraid that you will be sharing a muggle hotel room, unless you want to be on opposite sides of the city."

Severus and Hermione exchanged an ironic glance.

"Of course, as Madam Pomfrey informed me of the events this Christmas holidays, so I trust you will be able to withstand it quite easily," he continued, oblivious.

"Please tell me that there are two beds," Hermione blurted out, then clamped her mouth shut in horror.

Severus had to stifle a laugh with a cough at her mortified expression.

"Well, it's really more of a flat than a hotel room," Dumbledore assured her. "There's two bedrooms and flippinette."

"A flippinette?" Hermione repeated in confusion. "Don't you mean 'kitchenette'?"

"Of course," the older man said. "I'm not young anymore... Memory isn't what it used to be."

"And I'm assuming you know how to cook?" Severus asked Hermione dubiously.

"Only if you like your pancakes crispy and the pasta very soft," she replied brightly. "Don't worry; I'm sure we'll manage."

The headmaster continued on down the hall merrily, leaving them to their former conversation, but it was no good. Their moment of intimacy had disappeared, and Hermione knew that if she tried to regain it, she would only be pushed away.

He began to speak of ingredients, and she listened intently, trying to ignore the disappointment that had risen up from the pit of her stomach.

*

She came to, aware of someone slapping her cheek lightly.

"Ginny?"

She tried to reply, but it didn't sound like what it should have. It was garbled and nonsensical--a stranger's voice.

"Can you sit up?"

She nodded. Well, at least she still had her basic motor functions. That was something.

Draco helped her sit, and she leaned against him weakly. "What happened?" he asked, surprisingly concerned.

"Not sure," she whispered.

Her ability to form sentences, on the other hand, seemed to have been lost.

"Do you want to see Madam Pomfrey?" he inquired. "She could give you something."

"Like a lot of questions," Ginny replied tartly, regaining her power of speech.

"She's not too bad," Draco replied carefully.

Ginny twisted slightly so that she could look at him properly. Inches away from her was a faint scar that stretched from the corner of his eye to his earlobe.

"What's that from?" she asked feebly, tracing it with her finger.

"A long time ago," he replied, somewhat stiffer than usual.

"That wasn't my question," she told him, smiling slightly.

"It doesn't matter, anyway," he told her firmly, leaving no room for argument.

He turned his head and met her wide-eyed gaze. Slowly, teasingly, almost, he lowered his mouth to hers. Ginny was surprised at the contact, even more surprised at the fact that she liked it. His arms surrounded her gently, almost as if he touched her any more forcefully, she would break.

"Miss Weasley," a deep voice rang out. "Mr. Malfoy."

Draco pulled away as a sudden jolt of fear shot through Ginny.

"Sir?" they both replied, cringing slightly.

Ginny saw Hermione hovering in the background, pretending not to notice.

"I'm sure that you both know you are out after hours," he began, "so I will spare you the lecture. However, that is no excuse--"

"It was my fault, sir," Draco interrupted hastily.

Ginny glanced sideways at him, startled.

"I convinced her to go on a walk with me. I didn't realize how late it was, until now."

It was a weak story, and they both knew that it wouldn't satisfy Snape. Unless, of course, one of his Slytherins was telling it.

"Anyway," he continued confidently, "if Granger's out, I don't see why it should matter if we are too."

"Miss Granger and I were having a discussion," he enunciated carefully, as if speaking to a simpleton. "Now if you will kindly go to bed this instant, I may choose not to deduct points."

"Yes, sir," they replied in unison, Ginny hurrying back through the portrait hole, Hermione following her closely.

*

It was a bit odd, but Draco wasn't quite sure what the feeling was rising up slowly from his abdomen as he made his way through the halls. It reminded him a bit of glee, but this was missing the malice that tended to accompany it. He was fairly sure that he wasn't angry either, and he found that he was rarely sad. This, this was something new. Something glorious.

It occurred to him that he might be happy.

Draco's good mood lasted until halfway to the Slytherin room, when he suddenly realized what this meant. Soon, he would be able to complete his task. A sickening jolt shot through him as he realized just what he was sacrificing.

*

"Ginny that was practically pornographic!" Hermione hissed at her.

"It was a bloody kiss," Ginny retorted. "It didn't mean anything. You're starting to sound like Ron."

"Sorry, I guess I'm just..."

"Surprised that I would sink so low?" Ginny finished sarcastically.

"No!"

Hermione couldn't help thinking that there was another certain Slytherin that she would like to do that to. She trampled it quickly, however.

I have to get over this... this... attraction... she thought desperately.

The fact that they would be sharing a hotel in a few months didn't help her case much though.

"Hermione?" Ginny asked, squinting at her.

"Hmm?"

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she replied hazily.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say that you were in love," Ginny teased.

"I'm not!" Hermione protested, flushing.

Ginny only looked at her knowingly.

"I'm going to bed," Hermione announced before flouncing away.

*

The day was perfect for a visit to Hogsmeade. It was warm for February, the air betraying a hint of spring. Hermione kept a few paces behind her teacher, not quite dawdling but not quite rushing either as she relished the feel of being outside.

Since their meeting in the front entrance half an hour ago, they had barely spoken beyond the common civilities, but Hermione didn't mind. Quite frankly, she couldn't think of a word to say, even in the event that he had been in the least interested in conversing with her and she didn't want to make a fool of herself by making a comment which would do nothing to highlight her intelligence.

She could tell from the corners of her eyes that other students taking advantage of the Hogsmeade weekend were eyeing them curiously, so she did her best to look as though she didn't notice their piercing stares. So distracted by her determination to ignore them was she that she managed to completely miss the sign announcing the store of ingredients and Snape had to grab her by the arm to get her attention.

"Miss Granger, if you would care to remove your head from the clouds and prepare to work it would be appreciated," he hissed at her, dragging her through the door.

It was only then that she noticed the tense lines in his face.

Knowing better than to argue with that tone, she replied, "Yes, sir."

He seemed to regain some composure as he rattled off the list to the shopkeeper, and Hermione dared to glance around the room. This was one of the stores off-limits to students, much to her disappointment, although she was beginning to see why.

Jars with putrid-looking liquid in them decorated the walls, rows divided the shop with containers of ingredients reminiscent of the bulk section of a supermarket, and painted on the ceiling were grotesque images depicting various transformations. Swallowing bile that rose up in her throat, Hermione concentrated on Professor Snape's dealings with whom she presumed was the owner.

"Strange ingredients to request, Severus," the man commented in a nasal voice, brushing dirty locks of hair from his pasty face. "What potion, pray, is this for?"

"I don't believe that I requested an interrogation, Briggs," the other man snapped, "just the ingredients. Of course, if that's too much trouble I can always go to London."

Muttering that none of the retailers in London were half as good as him, the hunched form of Briggs scampered into the back room, reappearing moments later with several vials which were packed into a box and packaged as Snape paid. Just as he was about to usher Hermione out of the store, the other man stopped them.

"Students aren't allowed," he half-whispered hoarsely, staring at her in a manner which chilled her to the bone.

"She's with me," Snape announced, standing next to her and nudging her towards the door.

Once they were outside, he handed her the package and muttered, barely moving his lips, "Take this and don't lose it. The Dark Lord isn't stupid. He knows that these ingredients combined can only be used for one thing."

"But if it's such an arcane potion..." she said, attempting to imitate his discrete way of speaking.

"It has the potential to enable someone to destroy him," came the careful reply. "He knows."

She was about to reply, when his hand suddenly seized her arm, ending their conference. A moment later, they were standing next to the entrance of Hogwarts.

"What was that for?" she snapped, gathering her bearings.

His mouth tightened. "Death Eaters."

*

It had been a stupid thing to do, he knew. If they had seen him, which he doubted but was still possible, he would be marked down for suspicion. Not good, considering he was already being watched a more closely than he would like.

The move had been too fast, too uncalculated. It wasn't as if they would try anything in broad daylight in the middle of Hogsmeade. But the fear that had hit him had been unlike anything that he had been expecting or used to. He had panicked and, in one swift, protective movement had made the one sure-shot move to safety.

"You mean they were there?" Hermione asked, eyes widening in horror.

"I hate to tell you this," he replied sarcastically, "but I'm one of them. And they don't live in little hidey-holes. They have lives. They're like normal people."

"Then you can't be one of them," she replied practically, a glint of humour in her eyes.

"And why would that be?" he asked impatiently, waiting for the attempt at justification.

"You don't have a life."

"Pardon me..." He trailed off seeing the wicked grin on her face.

"You shouldn't take everything so personally," she teased. "And maybe get a hobby. Then you can say that you're a Death Eater."

He attempted his normal cold look at her, but it didn't work. Even if his mouth didn't smile, his eyes were no longer the pitiless black tunnels they had once been.

"Miss Granger," he began.

"Professor Snape?" she replied, batting her eyelashes almost flirtatiously.

He laughed before continuing, "You should begin working on the potion."

"That would be the reasonable course of action. Would you care to escort me to the dungeons, good sir?"

He offered his arm and bowed mockingly. "Why certainly, fair lady."

In perfect imitation of posh accents, they carried on their pompous conversation as they strolled across the lawn and through the castle. To the casual observer who was too distant to hear the words spoken, it might have seemed like something else was taking place, and though both of them would deny it in earnest, the casual observer might be closer to the truth than either of them realised.

*

"Are you sure you like the green hat better?" Ginny asked wistfully, looking longingly at the pink one on the stand.

"Green doesn't clash with your hair," Draco replied frankly.

"I know, but pink is so much more--"

"Girly?" he cut in, making her laugh.

"Fine, I'll get the green one," she sighed, making a move towards the cash register.

"Here, let me pay," he said, offering her a few galleons.

She stiffened abruptly. "I have enough money for this."

"I know, and if you were rich, I would be doing the same thing."

Shaking her head and smiling, she accepted the money and went to pay.

Draco lounged by the magazine stand, waiting for her, and relishing the shocked stares that they were receiving. Across the room, Parvati was whispering to Lavender and looking scandalized, as someone else dropped whatever they were holding with a resounding thud.

Actually, the fact that Ginny had accepted his proposal to spend the day in Hogsmeade with him had almost caused him to drop something as well. Yes, they had exchanged saliva--once--but that didn't mean much. He had a feeling that she'd done a little bit more with some of the other boys she had dated.

"Do you want something to eat?" he asked once she had returned.

"Sure. But I'm paying this time."

"No, I will. Really."

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Fred and George send me lots of money. I'm not really that bad off."

"I believe you, but I'm still paying."

She laughed and relented. "If you insist..."

"I do," he replied.

*

Hermione stared at her plate, pushing the food around, unwilling to touch it. She glanced up at the High Table and met Professor Snape's gaze.

"Eat something," he mouthed at her.

She rolled her eyes, but began obediently sawing off a bite-sized piece of steak, trying not to wince at the scent that drifted into her nostrils and focussing on the conversation around her rather than the texture of the meat in her mouth.

Next to her, Harry and Ron, the latter having forgiven the former to all appearances, were arguing with Ginny, once again, about Draco.

"Ginny, everybody saw you!" Ron exclaimed. "Apparently, you were all over him."

"I don't care about everybody," Ginny replied snarkily.

"You do realise that this is Draco Malfoy we're talking about here?" Harry barked out. "Blonde, pale, son of a Death Eater, evil..."

"Since when is a person's character defined by their parents?" she challenged. "You heard what Sirius said that one time two summers ago. You saw the painting of his mother."

"Don't talk about him," Harry hissed with barely controlled anger.

"Why not?"

Hermione closed her eyes and waited for the minor explosion. Despite her own frequent irritation towards Harry, she knew that the loss of Sirius had hit him hard and it was part of the reason for his frequent outbursts.

"Maybe you should stop arguing," Hermione tried, knowing that her intervention would be to no avail. "It's Ginny's life, not..."

She trailed off at the sound of familiar laughter and turned her head to the High Table slowly. Severus's head was thrown back, and the rest of the staff clearly thought that he had gone mad.

The rest of the Hall had frozen too, and was looking around, stunned as for the first time in living memory, their Potions Master not only cracked a smile, but outright laughed.

"No," he sputtered at the mystified face of Minerva McGonagall, "you were definitely mistaken."

*

Later that night, Hermione found herself knocking at the door to Professor Snape's private rooms. She wasn't entirely sure what had brought her there, only that the conversation had run dry in the Gryffindor common room and she was curious.

The door opened, and he peered out before sighing, "I might have known."

The words didn't hold any real hostility towards her, only a faint irritation at being disturbed.

"Did you want something?"

The door opened the rest of the way, inviting her inside.

"Only the answer to the question that I, along with the rest of the school, am wondering about."

A faint smile played across his face as he took a seat in one of the armchairs and gestured for her to do the same.

"I'll never forget the look on Minerva's face," he said, chuckling softly.

"It certainly came as a surprise to most," Hermione replied. "But why did you do it?"

"She has a particularly well-hid fondness for gossip and happened to see--but not hear--the events of today," he related, relishing the mix of amusement and horror that dawned on her face. "She chose to confront me about it over dinner."

Hermione giggled. "She didn't!"

"With the entire staff listening in," he added, feigning an expression of displeasure.

He didn't add that part of the laugh had been forced, that it had not been completely honest. Because the truth was slowly dawning on him.

He cared. But neither she, nor anyone else, could ever know.

She interrupted his thoughts by saying, "What about a toast, then?"

"A toast?" he repeated startled. But then again, there were many things that startled him when it came to Hermione Granger.

"Not with alcohol," she assured him. "Unless you want to of course."

"But why?"

"To putting mindless gossips in their place. And," she added, conjuring up a deck of cards, "I'm willing to attempt poker again, if you are. Just no stakes."

"If I were you, I wouldn't gamble either," he commented dryly before ordering butterbeer into the fire.

She flicked the Queen of Hearts at him, replying in mock sorrow, "Have you no faith in me?"

"In cards, no."

"I wasn't that bad at Go Fish," she protested. "And I know for a fact that I'm going to win this game."

"I suppose it's time you were taught that being a know-it-all doesn't make you all-knowing," he answered with a smirk as he began to shuffle the deck.

Their banter continued through several games, all of which Hermione lost miserably, time completely forgotten.

Some time, a few hours later, when the card game had ceased, Hermione blurted out, "Are you ever scared?"

He gave her one of his unfathomable stares before replying quietly, "Yes."

"Good."

"How is that a good thing?" he asked, bewildered.

"It means that you're human."

She looked so alone, curled up on the oversized chair, hair falling around her face in dark waves, hiding her expression. She raised her head, and despite the fact that the only light cast was from the fading embers in the fireplace, he could see that unshed tears glittering in her eyes.

Mutely, he reached across the coffee table and handed her his handkerchief.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, blowing her nose and dabbing at her eyes. "I didn't mean to..."

"It's all right." His voice was hoarse with emotion, and he longed to reach across and touch her, but he didn't dare.

She solved the problem by taking his hand in hers and pressing it in a silent thank you.