Picking Up the Pieces

Picking Up the Pieces

~*~

"Oh, Ron..."

The voice was soft, trembling, at first.

The next words were louder, pain-filled.

"Why...WHY...?"

The sound could have been mistaken for the keening of an injured animal. The moan reverberated off of the old stone battlements that circled the astronomy tower, its echoes sounding faintly across the Quidditch pitch and finally settling among the dense thicket of the Forbidden Forest.

In that moment, it seemed as if the very stones of Hogwarts were waiting, in awe and expectation, for an explanation of that haunting noise, for the next verse of the sad soliloquy sounding from the tower room.

After a few moments the line came. Unlike those that preceded, however, this cry was primal, raging, and shattered what might have been read into those first, anguished sounds.

"Ronald Weasley, you BASTARD!"

Waves of fury rolled from the tightly wound form of Hermione Granger, Head Girl, war heroine, one of the youngest recipients of the Order of Merlin, First Class, cover girl, and arguably the smartest witch to pass through Hogwarts' halls in over a century. Many, however, would not have recognized the school girl--nay, even the warrior from the great battle--in the impressive figure she now made. Hair snaking wilding about her head in the strong winds, hands fisted and white-knuckled at the end of her ramrod straight arms, school robes fluttering open like wings of a great eagle unfurled for flight, she was the image of a woman of strength, a Fury, an ancient Druidic deity, a Valkyrie readied for battle, her only munitions for combat the wand in one hand, the crushed parchment in the other.

Of course, the fact that her robes had flapped open to reveal a rather daring cream and black negligee and matching mules would suggest to any observer that this warrior-goddess had been prepared for an altogether different kind of battle than the type one might have originally imagined.

For what she was, at that moment, was a woman scorned. Her cries having now faded into the breathless night, a small bit of her wrath seemed to abate--at least enough to loosen her grip on the crumpled parchment. The offending scrap soon found passage on a stiff breeze and could be seen bobbing as erratically as an unbalanced snitch, veering around the Quidditch pitch. Taking the same path as its previous captor's howls, the wadded ball nestled into a clutch of barberry.

It would have remained there, happily ignored and fated to a slow, natural return to the dust of the earth, had it not been for the swift, exacting fingers that soon plucked it from its nest.

~*~

The figure that had appeared from the forest now crouched low in the clearing on the edge of the school grounds. Pale hands laid the parchment on the fresh spring grass, methodically smoothing out the wrinkles to reveal the somewhat messy scrawl that sprawled across its width and down its rather meager length.

The message was short, fumbling, falsely earnest, and wholly insincere. It was an insult, really, at least as judged by the coal black eyes that poured over the missive. "How utterly inadequate...how completely predictable!" His dark tones, unlike the banshee-like screams from the parchment's original recipient, traveled no farther than the space between his long arms as he considered the pale paper captured below his hands.

The commanding gaze moved from parchment to castle and back again. Sensual lips pursed scornfully.

"Silly little girl."

The phrase, had she heard it, would be one which Hermione Granger would have grimaced at--and clearly recognized as an appellation all too often directed at her in that mellifluous, dangerous voice. However, she might not have found familiar the strange softness with which the words were uttered, nor would the sad shake of a dark head in regret as those words were spoken been something she could have expected or perhaps even recognized.

Pausing once more to glance overhead, the tall, inky shadow swiftly folded and pocketed the recently-discarded note. Hefting over his shoulder once again the large, black canvas bag he'd been carrying, he set off with long, purposeful strides towards the massive edifice that was Hogwarts castle.

~*~

She couldn't believe it.

Well, no, that wasn't quite it.

The fact was she could believe almost anything that had to do with insensitivity and oafish thoughtlessness when it came to Ron; it was just the sheer pervasiveness of those qualities in this case that had shocked her so thoroughly. She'd had many moments of frustration with him since that first meeting on the train, but in the last months, each poorly-chosen remark or inconsiderate act of his pierced the deepest chambers of her heart with painful accuracy.

Folding her arms tightly around her middle, grabbing her elbows reflexively, she shook a few stray strands of hair from her face and stared into the mostly black sky, a few faint stars shimmering in the glaze forming over her eyes. She refused to give into the tears welling in them, instead choosing to curse herself silently and soundly.

This was what she got for opening her heart to him in the first place. After years of arguing, teasing, and flirting with each other, the two erstwhile best friends had finally come together in a passionate embrace on the battlefield two months earlier, quickly afterward becoming quite the "item" on campus and quite the romantic tale for those still celebrating the minutiae surrounding the self-proclaimed Dark Lord's defeat.

In retrospect, it was one moment from the battle she wished she could do over.

~*~

The "Golden Trio" had stood together, Ron and Hermione providing backup for their best friend and prophesied instrument of Voldemort's downfall. The Ministry, as usual, remained a few steps behind the truth where the rising threat was concerned. Also predictably, Voldemort had taken the battle to Hogwarts itself in April, mere months before his young nemesis was to leave its historical halls.

However while the siege and its location seemed predictable to most, there were surprises. The most significant had come in the startling realization of just how Slytherin in his wiles the Order's spy, Professor Severus Snape, had been. In fact, rumors had been spreading through the school for the last few months that Dumbledore and Snape were increasingly at odds with one another. More than a few students and faculty had seen the two in low-voiced, heated conversations and noted the Slytherin's slow separation from the daily operations of the school. Aside from running his Potions' classes, Snape had been conspicuously absent, seen about the campus only rarely and then only in close company with a tight group seventh year students--mostly from his own house.

When the battle broke out, most who knew of his double life initially blamed Snape for the breach in the wards. They had been right, of course. However, what they didn't know was that Snape and Dumbledore had planned it all well. Snape had employed carefully his occlumency and some deft manipulation to regain his place in the high graces of Voldemort's court. He'd provided information about the Order that had Voldemort believing unquestioningly in Snape's loyalty.

Through it all, Snape and Dumbledore had quietly kept in contact, even hiding their efforts from other professors and the Order at large. Keeping it from other Order members was especially important since recent events had suggested traitorous elements in Dumbledore's elite group. In fact, Dumbledore had let the suspicion of guilt shift finally to Snape himself, turning most of the Order against him and ending with a rather explosive (staged) argument at Order headquarters that saw Snape leaving, never to return.

Meanwhile, Voldemort had been anxious to strike at the Order since, in recent months, many of his most loyal Death Eaters had been either arrested or destroyed by Dumbledore's group. After a few strategic attacks against the headmaster's army, resulting in some deaths and the destruction of the Order's 12 Grimmauld Place headquarters, Voldemort had been more than pleased to take Snape into his closest confidence. He even insisted that the Potions Master take charge of recruiting new Death Eaters. Snape readily agreed and threw himself into the task with a single-minded focus.

It wasn't until the day of the battle that Snape's actions became clear. When the charge began, all of those new Death Eaters recruited by Snape turned quickly and showed their loyalty to the light. It came out later that Snape had hand-picked these men and women, boys and girls, had trained them in occlumency, and drafted them into lives of espionage in anticipation of the final battle. He had even turned a few of the long-time ranks, leaving far fewer supporters on his side than Voldemort had planned on. Had it not been for the spy's strategies and skills, many more lives would have been forfeit that day.

As it was, there had been plenty of fighting to handle. As expected, Voldemort had enlisted--aside from his band of Death Eaters--Dementors, giants, trolls, and even some goblins to his ranks. Patroni, some wispy and others strong, shot from numerous wands as students from the unofficial "Dumbledore's Army," and Order members attempted to keep the Dementors at bay. The ground beneath them thundered to the stomping and howling of the hulking creatures storming towards the school in the early morning mist.

Harry had faced off against Voldemort at the entrance to the school, just inside the main gates. Casting shield charms around Harry and covering his back and sides from rolling attacks, his two best friends stayed beside him, fighting stroke for stroke against his aggressors as he dueled ferociously with a near-mad Voldemort.

The fighting raged through the day, each side giving little as one tried to advance and the other attempted to hold its ground. While Harry showed surprising strength, he was tiring noticeably by late afternoon. At one, horrible moment, it seemed that Voldemort had finally gained the upper hand. Harry had fallen to the Dark Lord's well-placed and vicious Cruciatus, his wand clattering to the stone beneath him.

"Harry! NO!" The cries came from either side of him as his best friends saw him fall. Neither could get to him, however, since there were attacking forces still approaching on either side. Instead, they fought bravely on, trying to shut out the wailing of their fallen comrade, each hoping the other could break away from the defensive battle long enough to draw Voldemort's attention away from Harry.

When they thought it was surely over--Harry was bound to die at the hand of his nemesis--they heard the pop of apparition and then Voldemort's angry hiss. "Severus! Betrayer! See what you have given yourself for, you fool! The boy will die, I will reign. And now," the voice lowered, menacingly," Before you die...you will suffer. Crucio!"

Having ruthlessly hexed the last of her imminent opponents, Hermione had whipped her head around in time to see her stoic Potions Master collapse to the ground, an inhuman howl of pain ripped from his throat as he fell. The hatred that Voldemort had leveled at Harry in the same curse a few minutes earlier seemed increased ten-fold as the Dark Lord focused all of his anger on his betrayer.

Horrified at the sight before her, Hermione didn't notice Harry reaching for his wand. Instead, overcome with an anger she never knew she had--anger for Harry's pain, for the dead classmates around her feet, for her lost youth, and now even for her most hated teacher writhing in pain--she directed her wand at the repulsive figure of Voldemort and shouted, "Avada Kedavra!"

As she spoke, she heard the curse echoed from below her in Harry's voice. A rumble sounded and the earth quaked for a moment at their feet as the twin bands of green light shot from her wand and Harry's toward the evil wizard. He incinerated before their eyes, a look of surprise crossing his serpentine features before he crumbled into a pile of ash in front of Hogwarts' entrance.

At Voldemort's fall, it seemed that all of his forces lost the will to fight. Those that could tried to escape -- only to be caught by Order members or Aurors. The giants and trolls thundered back into the Forbidden Forest, the Dementors fell to the suddenly powerful Patronus spells that--in the jubilation of the moment--everyone seemed able to cast, and the goblins slipped stealthily from sight.

The three friends stared at one another for a few seconds before throwing themselves into a tearful and powerful group hug. There were cries and shouts and kisses as they clung to each other. It was only a moment or two before Ron and Hermione realized that one of those kisses had been pretty passionate and that Harry was no longer in the embrace. The two looked at him quizzically, still clutched in each other's arms. He was standing back a bit from them, very pale but grinning slightly as he remarked, "If I'd only known it would take killing Voldemort to get you two together, I'd have done it years ago." Of course, he'd dropped into a dead faint after that, breaking the duo's hug as they moved toward him.

The pair's intimate moment might have been forgotten later--or at least laughed off--had it not been for the click of a shutter.

Colin Creevey had just made his way to the triumphant group as they came together in their embrace, so the pair's clinch and kiss had been captured. Two months later, it was as familiar an image to the wizarding world as Albus Dumbledore's Chocolate Frog cards. Because of that photo, Ron and Hermione became the 'it' couple of the moment, the picture finding its way into all manner of publications and postings. Thanks to that photo, it would have been impossible for them to ignore the kiss.

What the camera didn't catch--but Hermione would always remember--was what happened after that kiss. She and Ron had leapt forward to get Harry. As they did so, Hermione's gaze traveled over to the slumped form of Professor Snape a few feet away. While Ron pulled Harry to his feet, wrapping an arm around his waist, Hermione's eyes met Snape's and--for an instant--she saw something there she'd never seen before. Pain. Of course, the man had just undergone a severe Cruciatus curse, but the pain seemed somehow deeper than physical. And it made him seem surprisingly human.

A heartbeat later, his eyes had gone hard and his voice, while rasping, carried a cruel mocking tone. "If you and Mr. Weasley have finished groping each other, you might want to consider helping the injured."

Clamping down on her anger, she took a step towards him, intending to help him up despite his nasty demeanor. He waved her away angrily. "Focus your attentions on those who require and need them, Miss Granger."

"But you're injured..."

He stood, albeit shakily, and glowered at her. "Apparently not." When she moved still closer to him, he held up a hand as if to ward off her progress, nodding his head stiffly towards the expanse of ground below them. "They need assistance. Leave me alone, you silly little girl!" His dark eyes narrowed slightly before he turned from her, making his way slowly but with dignity towards the castle.

Her eyes glazed with hurt and anger as she glared at his slowly retreating figure.

"'Mione? Love?" Ron's warm, faltering voice broke through her trance, and she turned to see him and a half-conscious Harry staring at her. Her eyes softened as she looked at her friends, her lips suddenly recalling the tenderness and vitality they had felt under Ron's, feelings that had been sapped from her temporarily under the cold regard of her teacher. Moving to enfold her arm around Harry as well, she shivered as she noticed Ron's arm pressed reassuringly against her own. Wrapped in the love of her friends, facing a world without Voldemort and a burgeoning romance, Hermione firmly pushed all thoughts of her Potions Master from her head.

~*~

Recollecting the turmoil, loss, joy, and grief of that day once again, Hermione found that she could hold her tears no longer. They fell now more in remembrance of that day--of what they had all lost--than in regret over Ron's betrayal.

After all, this was supposed to be a marvelous night--a night to remember. For a scholar like Hermione, these final days were a time of great import. Her N.E.W.T.S. had gone well, she was sure; while scores wouldn't be available until mid-July, she had perfect confidence that the numbers would pave her way to any career path she chose. And today, she and her fellow seventh years at Hogwarts were finished with their classes and final exams. They would be graduating tomorrow. She'd received the results of almost every class and had been thrilled--if not really surprised--that she'd earned full marks in them all. Of course, her Potions grades were conspicuously absent from her tally sheet; leave it to Snape to leave her the smallest measure of doubt about her accomplishments, even at the end.

Taken all in all, she should be happy. She deserved to be happy.

Setting her lips in a firm line, she growled in her throat. He'd done it to her again, ruined another potentially perfect moment.

Reason tugging at her emotion, Hermione considered their relationship again. Sure, they had known each other long enough--maybe too long? No, that wasn't true. 'Shouldn't longevity make good relationships better? At least,' she thought to herself, 'good relationships should strive toward the long term, right? Else, why bother with them?'

'Why bother, indeed?' her emotional voice answered gruffly. 'Look where bothering gets you? Standing alone and jilted in the astronomy tower on the night before graduation!'

"Damn." This time, she spoke softly, regretfully, in better control of her outbursts than she'd been when she received the parchment half an hour earlier, but no closer to resolving her tumultuous feelings.

~*~

Even with all of the media attention--and snickers and pointing from classmates--Ron and Hermione had enjoyed their first month together as a couple. Playful, fun, joyful even, the pair were riding high on the post-war spirit, living with hope and a sense of possibility.

While both had dated others sporadically, neither had let those relationships progress very far. They soon discovered that lots of the little things which take up time in the beginning of romantic relationships were completely unnecessary for the two of them. Ron already knew Hermione's favorite color, her birthday, her ambitions, her quirks; Hermione knew all about Ron's family, his passions for Quidditch and chess, his sense of humor, and his insecurities. At first, this seemed a good thing; there was no pretense or posturing. They knew the other and knew what to expect, right?

That was true...to a point.

The intimacy of the relationship progressed smoothly; at least until Ron had begun hinting that they should sleep together. Hermione was not a prude, but she didn't think that a quick nip into the boys' dormitory and a silencing spell around Ron's curtained bed was the most romantic way to experience her 'first time.' Making the issue even harder was a seemingly unnatural interest in their relationship's progression on the part of the student body. Hermione had even caught wind of a betting pool regarding the when and how the two would finally 'do it.' For all that her friendship with Harry--and everything it had entailed--had pushed her into the limelight; Hermione was primarily a private person and found the speculation and whispering highly embarrassing.

For the last three weeks--in between Hermione's Herculean study efforts, independent study projects, Head Girl duties, and attempts to avoid reporters from Witch Weekly--Ron had been steadily attempting to wear down her defenses. He'd attempted a variety of approaches:

*We'll never be as free as we are right now, 'Mione. I want to explore that freedom with you!*

*I love you so much! I can't stand not being able to touch you!*

*I'm yours forever, 'Mione. Are you going to make me wait that long?*

*Don't you love me at all? I'm aching for you!*

*You aren't frigid, are you? I mean, I love you anyway, but...*

It didn't help that her female classmates felt the need to chime in. Lavender and Parvati, who it seemed had suddenly discovered that Ron was quite a 'stud,' felt the need to add their own voices to the argument:

*Why wouldn't you want to, Hermione? He's hot, and he's hot for you! Go for it, girl!*

*Right, Lav. He's so fiery, a redhead and all! I can only imagine what he'd be like in bed. Rwrrr!*

*You don't want to leave here a virgin, do you? How embarrassing!*

*It's better with someone who loves you, believe me. I still can't believe I let Seamus...*

*Ginny says he's pretty well endowed, and...What? She's his sister! I'm sure she's seen them all...remind me to ask her about that oldest brother of hers, Parvati; he's yummy!*

Bringing her hands up to rub her tired eyes, she shook off the voices replaying in her head. 'Besides, they've already done the job, haven't they?' she mused ruefully, her hands running absently over the soft silk and lace of her nightgown.

"You're such a fool, Hermione!" Her voice, still quiet, was laced with bitterness.

And fool she was, she concluded, to have been talked into this farce. For Ron had succeeded, finally: he had, in the end, convinced her to sleep with him. And she had been ready to. Really.

Until that parchment.

At the thought of the offending page, she looked down, suddenly realizing it was no longer in her hands. She rummaged frantically though the pockets of her school robe, finding only her wand. Looking around wildly, she searched the dark recesses of the tower for any evidence of it. It was gone.

"Damn," she swore softly.

A slight rustle behind her caused her to start. She swung around quickly in the direction of the noise, robe flapping, and came nose to print with the missing note.

"Lose something, Miss Granger?"

~*~

He'd argued with himself for the entire trek back to the castle. He did not need anymore complications right now. In fact, he had just come to a point where his overly complicated existence was finally straightening itself out.

That evening, he had been gathering some fresh, night-blooming star lilies that would need to be dried and then infused in droxy venom. He would need to have the ingredient prepared soon in order to refresh Madame Pomfrey's pain relieving poultices in time for the next year's batch of dunderheads and incompetents. It seemed the foolish rabble couldn't even wait for a properly bloody Quidditch match to injure themselves these days; surely one would fall down a moving staircase, walk too close to the Whomping Willow, or some such nonsense on the first day. He knew from experience that advance preparation would keep Poppy satisfied--and relieve him from the more frequent self-dosing with headache potions he would require should he leave the demanding mediwitch short of medical potions and balms.

As he set to this rather mundane task, he found that he actually enjoyed the peaceful journey through the forest. Peace had long been a stranger to him. It was something he had hoped--no, expected--to gain once Voldemort had been dispatched.

The last few months had been a whirlwind of activity and, as far as he was concerned, too much of it had focused its unwanted attention on him. He'd done what he could to help the old man and to repay a long overdue debt, not for some foolish dreams of glory and recognition. At the end of the battle, all he had wanted was to crawl back to his dungeons, lick his wounds, toss back some special vintage Old Ogden's in quiet celebration of a job competently done, and then return to his teaching duties, finally free to treat all of the students as they merited. As he had expected, he mused with a wry smile, such freedom manifested itself in his ability to vent his spleen on the Slytherins as much as he had on the other three houses.

That would have been--if not satisfying--adequate compensation.

Instead, he'd been dodging owls daily: notes of apology from one-time allies who'd assumed or believed the worst of him, congratulations from sly politicians looking for endorsements, countless requests for 'exclusive' interviews, and--gods save him--even fan mail! He had begun to recall--with something akin to fondness--his days as a double-agent. At least he'd been mostly left alone, save for his two masters. Now, it seemed, that all in the ever-fickle wizarding world wanted him.

Well, that was almost true.

A few others had suffered through the barrage of press. The headmaster, as usual, handled it with aplomb. It was one of the few talents that Snape actually envied the old wizard. Potter's popularity, if possible, had risen even higher. Oddly enough, Snape now found a measure of sympathy for the boy since he had tasted a few months of the media's 'love.' Of course, he'd never admit to it.

And--ah, yes--the lovers. It had been horrifying enough to witness Weasley pawing Granger in person; having to see that image reproduced everywhere and even blown up and hovering over the Quidditch pitch during the victory celebration had nearly sent him to his chambers with severe indigestion.

Oh, he'd witnessed more than his share of amorous clutches; it was one of the pitfalls of late-night patrols at Hogwarts. As embraces go, theirs had actually been quite tame and proper.

It was the combination of participants that so sickened him.

Perhaps he shouldn't have been so surprised. After all, the red-head had been an accessory practically hanging around the girl's neck since her jaw-dropping appearance at the Yule Ball in their fourth year. If the boy had been interested before, he was decidedly smitten afterwards.

But that she should return his affection...

"Silly little girl," he muttered to himself darkly.

He spoke, knowing full well that none of those words applied any longer to Hermione Granger. Silly? Well, aside from her choice of friends and the apparent temporary insanity evidenced by her romantic entanglement, she was far wiser than all of her peers--and many of his own. She had also shot up from the diminutive 5' sprite that had pestered him mercilessly with her waving little hand to a 5'6" scholar with a self-deprecating smile and flashing, confident eyes. Her hand still waved, but its efforts were controlled and appropriate.

And Hermione Granger was definitely no longer just a 'girl.'

His teeth clenched tightly as he let the thought form. He had been aware of her transformation to womanhood since the start of the school year and had staunchly avoided its disturbing implications. However, denial of this new vision of her had become nearly impossible since seeing her on the field of battle that April morning: hair wild, eyes fierce, concentration firm, aim true. She was magnificent. She was, at the very least, a woman. As he'd observed her through the haze of Voldemort's curse, she'd seemed Artemis reincarnated: a warrior goddess of stunning strength and incomparable form.

Unfortunately for him, the image of the Gryffindor heroine's womanhood--potent and beguiling--was a firmly-entrenched truth, one he'd been unable to dig out of his mind. Oh, he believed he had hidden it well enough. Hadn't his comments remained just as sharp? His sneer just as foreboding? His dismissals of her truly excellent work just as demeaning? During all of his interactions with her, the bastard he'd created remained firmly in charge.

No one need know what had cracked beneath the surface.

Coming to his senses in a moment of self-loathing, Snape realized that his treacherous feet had following the bidding of his equally-traitorous mind. Instead of heading to his dungeons to lay aside the star lilies, he'd somehow found himself winding up the spiral steps to the astronomy tower.

'No fool like an old fool,' he reminded himself nastily even as each, silent footfall brought him closer to the tower room.

He didn't even allow himself to consider the reasons why he came in this direction. Instead, he allowed the anger at himself to mutate into anger at the girl...no, woman...no, STUDENT...whose late night assignations--or planned evidence of them--had disturbed his rare, peaceful night.

He arrived in the doorway as she was scuttling around the room, hands grasping into the dark edges of the walls, searching. He knew, suddenly, what she sought. The wind masking the sound, he drew the parchment out of his robes carefully.

"Damn." Her voice was frustrated and self mocking.

Taking his opportunity, he swept into the room, stepping into the dim glow of starlight with the paper in front of him.

She stiffened and turned, her face level with the paper he held out.

His voice even and dark, he intoned, "Lose something, Miss Granger?"

~*~

She realized then that the note was in the grip of pale, slender fingers. The deep voice of her Potions teacher washed over her as she hesitantly glanced up from the page.

"I'd say that was fifty points from Gryffindor, wouldn't you?"

Startled at first, she quickly came back with the argument, "But as Head Girl, I am allowed to be out after curfew, Sir..."

"Really?" He drawled, his eyes traveling down her body as he added, "I believe that permission is given so that you may patrol the building for security reasons. Your...attire...and this note suggest a wholly different purpose to your wanderings this evening..."

Blushing deeply, she nonetheless held her chin firm and, refusing her impulse to clutch her robes about her, she said evenly, "I also happen to be of age and will be graduating tomorrow, sir, so I don't see how my personal business..."

"Your personal business," he cut in, his voice dangerously soft, "seems to be headline news these days, so you cannot blame me if I've been made all too aware of it." Glaring briefly at the note before returning his gaze to her, he added, "and it certainly became my business when this," he shook the parchment briefly, "landed at my feet."

Waving the offending note in front of her once more, he quirked an eyebrow as he asked, "Care to explain, Miss Granger?"

Hermione opened her mouth, at first preparing to mumble some sort of apology. Then she stopped.

"No, sir, not really."

A pause, and then, "Excuse me?"

"I said that I would not care to explain, sir." Her voice took on a decidedly bitter tone as she opened her hands at her sides as if inviting him to look at her. "Actually, I would think the note itself--which, it seems, you have already read--and my 'attire,' as you so diplomatically put it, would provide explanation enough."

His eyes traveled briefly over her lithe form as she drew his attention to it. Schooling his features to a mask of cold distain, he couldn't help but notice how the rounded curves of bust and hip were on fine display. While sensual, the negligee was classically cut, providing enticement without being vulgar. The cream and black played nicely off of her pale skin and dark hair.

His brief observation over, his mouth twitched as he tightened his lips at her response. "I am not trying to be polite and engage you in idle conversation, young woman; as a professor at this school, I have asked you--a student--to explain yourself, and I expect an answer!"

At this, Hermione's chin shot up defiantly, her eyes glinting with anger. "And I expect, Professor," she lightly emphasized his title, "that you can wait until hell freezes over to get such an answer from me!" At this, she swung away from him, snatching the note from his hands as she did so, and took a few quick strides towards the door.

"Oww!" She yipped in surprise and pain as strong fingers dug into her shoulder and spun her around, shoving her unceremoniously into the doorjamb.

Her vision was obscured suddenly by a swath of black fabric as her Potions Master stood over her menacingly. Lowering his face to hers, his eyes wide and slightly unfocused, he hissed angrily, "How dare you! Until you walk across that platform tomorrow to receive your diploma, you are most certainly still a Hogwarts student, and you will behave as one." His grip tightened on her shoulder painfully as he added, "I don't care how many reporters talk to you, how often your picture is flashed across the paper, or how many love letters you receive: you are NOT above the rules."

Much to his surprise, the chit didn't tremble in fear, she didn't cry or babble; she didn't even lash out in anger.

No, she laughed.

Granted, it wasn't a happy laugh, but the sound was so unexpected that he released his grip, stepping back to stare at her as if she were some newly-discovered, potentially dangerous, magical creature pacing in Hagrid's pen.

Hermione considered her professor for a moment as her laughter quickly died off. A rueful smile caught at her lips under very sad eyes as she offered a meager explanation for her unexpected response. Lifting the parchment towards him as if in evidence, she muttered, "Love letters, Professor? If that's what you think, you didn't read this very carefully." Her hands gripped the note angrily before she stuffed it deep into her pocket.

Running a hand over her face, she shook her head lightly, trying to reclaim some sense of normalcy. Turning resolute brown eyes back to her teacher, she noted, "I apologize for my outburst, Professor. It's late, I'm tired. I did not mean to question your authority. And I really don't think I can offer any clearer explanation than what you've already seen."

She noticed a slight softening of his frown although he showed no other reaction to her words. He didn't seem interested in pushing the question again, she was relieved to note as a few silent moments passed.

With a small sigh, she asked, "May I go back to my dorm now, sir?"

"No."

"OK, Goodni...excuse me?"

"I said no, Miss Granger, I do not give you permission to leave." He had angled himself so that he was now only a shadow against the slightly lighter black sky. She couldn't see his face, read his eyes. But his voice was unmistakably firm.

"Please, sir, it's been a long night, and..."

"Stop your wheedling, girl!" He snapped quickly. Adding almost as an afterthought, "I simply believe that now would not be the time to return to your tower. Unless I am mistaken, there is a party in progress?" he let his voice drift off suggestively.

"That's ri...Oh, bugger! Sorry, sir," she colored lightly at her outburst.

"Indeed."

She regarded her professor quizzically as she took in his comments. Before she could edit them, the words of her gut-level response came out. "But, why do you care, Professor? I would think you'd find it amusing if I were to head back in there, dressed like this, knowing that everyone else knows..."

His voice was devoid of any discernable emotion when he responded a moment later. "Whether or not you choose to believe it, even I am not that cruel, Miss Granger."

"No, sir. Of course you aren't. I...I just...thank you, sir."

Shaking his head lightly and letting out a small snort of disbelief, "I do not think taking fifty points from your house, slighting your romantic entanglements, and bodily restraining you merit thanks."

"No, Professor, but your compassion does." She spoke quietly, not quite looking at him as did.

At first he thought she might be mocking him. One look at her face, lightly illuminated by starlight, told him otherwise.

His own voice matching her soft tones, he replied, "I have been accused of many questionable motives, child, but never that one."

At this, she turned back to him, her eyes glinting with a modicum of heat, as she stated firmly, "I am a child no longer, sir. I daresay there are few 'children' left at Hogwarts these days." Her voice drifted for a moment at those words before continuing, "And I do know true compassion when I see it."

She moved so that his face came into half light, startling slightly at the warmth she caught in his unguarded eyes, as she whispered, "You can deny it to anyone else, sir. But I was there. I saw you. No one but a man with a caring heart would have done what you did, especially to save a boy whom you have long despised."

He stared at her again, shocked once more at the girl's startling pronouncements. Frozen in his contemplation of her, he nearly jumped when he felt her warm hand reach tentatively for his.

Dropping his gaze as if to prove to himself that her touch was real, he spoke with an uncharacteristically husky voice. "You see more than there is, Miss Granger. I am a hard and cold man, no more than the cruel 'git' you've known for seven years. Do not," he swallowed in a nearly nervous gesture, "presume a heart when none is to be found."

She had stepped closer, and he could feel the heat that radiated from her despite the cool air in the tower. "Everyone has a heart, Professor." Like the bold Gryffindor she was, she placed her other hand, trembling, lightly against his chest, her fingertips sensing the strong pulsing beat from his chest. With a soft smile on her face, she glanced back up at him. "I knew I was right. I can feel it now. It's right here."

Taking his free hand, he gripped the hand against his chest firmly but not painfully. He seemed to press it against him for a moment before dragging her hand from him and--in the unguarded moment--saying, "If there's anything left in there, it's but a remnant, a small piece. The price paid for too many years of deception. What's left is certainly not worth mentioning."

Her eyes grew dark as she stared into his. She shook her head slowly as she responded, "I disagree, sir. You have one of the strongest, bravest hearts I've ever known."

Stepping back from her abruptly and pulling his hand from her grasp, he spoke stiffly. "I must return to my lab soon." At this, he nodded to the bag of night lilies he'd settled outside the doorway. Pulling his wand quickly, he cast a series of charms, transforming the tower into a small sitting room, complete with crackling fire, chaise lounge, lamp, tea service, and a small selection of muggle poetry and prose. "The charms should last for another few hours. By then, your Head of House will have reached her limit and ended the shenanigans in your common room. It should be...a good time to consider returning then."

He turned to leave, stopping only when he heard her soft laughter once more.

Without turning, he spoke to her. "I have never been lauded for my comedic talents. Pray tell, what has prompted your laughter for a second time in my presence this evening?"

"Well, sir," she started slowly, "for a man without a heart, you do a remarkable job of convincing me otherwise."

He spun around at her response. "Then you are easily deceived in such matters, Miss Granger." His voice was harsher than he'd intended. He watched as her face crumpled.

"Yes. Of course. You are right there, sir. I am undoubtedly gullible." She unconsciously wrapped her school robes about herself, covering her enticing body for the first time since he'd come into her presence. For reasons he could not explain--or would not explore--the action both saddened and excited him.

He watched as she dropped dejectedly onto the chaise, her determined face falling into sadness as she turned towards the incongruously merry fire.

Without thought, he was back across the room in an instant, lowered on one knee in front of her, his index finger and his thumb cradling her chin as he turned her face toward his own.

His eyes were bright as they considered hers, and his voice was deep and earnest. "No, Hermione," he said, not realizing he'd spoken her given name until he saw her eyes widen at the sound, "you are not gullible. You are simply what you accused me of being. You are a wholly compassionate creature." He added in a small murmur, "You must be, to see something so...hopeful...in me."

'Get a grip, Snape,' he warned himself internally, cursing his slip into maudlin self-pity.

His fingers lightly stroked her face as he spoke with her, hoping that he could say what needed to be said and no more, "tonight's...events...are no poor reflection on you."

At this, she pulled her face from his hands, shaking her head vehemently. "How could it not be? Why else would he..." she dropped off, unwilling to put voice to the words in her head.

"Because he is young and he's a fool."

"No, no. He's not...not really...he's just..."

"Do not seek to excuse him and his behavior so easily, H...Miss Granger." The hand that had bruised her shoulder minutes before now lay softly on her back, making small circles over the coarse material of her school robes, soothing her almost as effectively as his baritone-rich words. "Besides, I seem to recall a much more vengeful take on his actions less than an hour ago."

She dropped her head into her hands at that. "Guess I was a little loud, huh?" She shrugged a bit as she spoke.

Her head popped up quickly as she heard soft laughter from her professor. It was lovely and deep. As she looked at him in amazement, he chuckled once more, adding in confirmation, "Well, I was in the Forbidden Forest when you spoke your...words of endearment, shall we say?"

Mesmerized by the light the laughter had brought to his dark eyes, she couldn't hold down the giddy lightness in her chest, the giggles bubbling up uncontrollably. "I g...guess I...p...pretty much...screamed...it, Professor..." she laughed.

"And, I must say, for such an exacting student, I was appalled at the banal and completely inaccurate appellation. Really, Miss Granger, he's number six of a seven-child family. I know that Dumbledore bound Molly and Arthur at least a year before Bill arrived--'bastard' doesn't quite fit, does it?"

"No...you're right." Her giggles had died down, and she eyed him now with cautious humor in her eyes. "How about 'selfish lout?'"

"Better, but still a bit too kind, don't you think?"

"'Sneaky cheat?'"

"Again, more accurate, but still lacking the appropriate venom."

"'Oafish cretin?'"

"Now you're underplaying his sins."

"'Self-serving traitor?'"

"No, no, you're completely off track now."

She huffed at him good-humoredly, inwardly in awe of this light banter with Hogwarts' most feared professor. "Well, if I'm doing such a lousy job, why don't you come up with something better?"

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully before answering her challenge. "Considering your age, his transgressions, and the appropriate ire in response to his overall stupidity, might I suggest, 'Lying, brainless, two-timing fuck-up?'"

She gawked at him before bursting into peals of laughter. "That's it, Professor! Perfect! You should have been here an hour ago! That would have been so much better."

"Well, yes," he coughed as he tried to hide his own swelling chuckle. "Remember, Hermione, if you plan on shouting from the rooftops, choose to shout something memorable."

She wiped the tears, this time sprung from laughter, off of her face as she noted, "Thanks, again, Professor. I should have known you'd be teaching me up to the end."

His face sobered as she spoke. Her brow furrowed at his change in demeanor. She wanted the joking Potions Professor back. "I'm sorry, sir. Did I say something to offend you?"

He shook his head once, stiffly, standing as he spoke. "No, Miss Granger. You have just reminded me that I am still your teacher. As such, I should not be advising you on your love life. I apologize for overstepping my bounds."

Before he could walk away, she grabbed at his hand once more, her grip bolder and surer than her last attempt. "Please, Professor Snape, don't apologize. You..." she fumbled for the words, "You saved me tonight."

His eyes narrowed at her words. 'Saved her? Surely she didn't mean...?'

Aloud, he addressed her. "Miss Granger, you must be honest with me now." His voice was firm, tense. "If you are harboring any...feelings, doubts...do not let this awkward, stupid boy's insensitive and truly idiotic choice drive you to...perhaps it would be best if I called Professor McGonag..."

"NO, sir." She cut into his uncharacteristically rambling speech as she realized what he was hinting at, "When I said that you 'saved' me, I meant that you turned a night that had been quickly becoming horrible to one that I can now remember as mostly...enjoyable."

He stared at her again. Who would have thought she could leave him nearly speechless so many times in one evening?

Before he could think up a retort, she stood next to him, her gaze searching his face as she whispered, "How could I have known that I'd be sharing my heart with you this evening, or that doing so would make me feel so... wonderful?"

Her liquid brown eyes caught his own, inviting him. They stood, caught in the moment, transfixed by one another. As she licked her lips nervously and her eyes darkened, her look became more intense; he could feel where the moment was heading. 'No, this cannot happen,' he warned himself sternly, even as he bent his head toward her upturned face.

~*~

As she stood before him, professing how he had made her feel, Hermione's head raced over the evening's events.

As Ron had requested, she had prepared to meet him at the Room of Requirement at eleven that evening. As Head Girl, she could walk the halls unquestioned; he was to borrow Harry's invisibility cloak.

He had seemed so earnest, so needy...He said he'd wanted his 'first time' to be special.

The idea seemed ridiculous as she considered his words now.

Always the planner, Hermione had arrived at the room half an hour early, thinking she could give herself time to think clearly and conjure an appropriate space for them. She had been surprised to see the door visible when she arrived. Stepping in quietly, she had been shaken to her core by what she saw.

The room was certainly set for seduction, and was, apparently, to Ron's tastes. She surmised that quite quickly as she stared, gaping, at Ron enthusiastically shagging Hannah Abbott. It was horrifying enough without hearing what they said to one another.

"Hurry...up...Ron...she'll...be here...soon." Hannah had panted out her words as Ron drove into her.

"Don't...uh...rush....me...I'm...nearly...nearly...ahhh!"

After a beat, Hannah drawled, "Well, you lasted longer tonight than you did last week. Hope you still have the stamina for your task later tonight," she added nastily, "If she actually shows, that is..."

Frozen in the doorway, tears in her eyes, the final blow came as she heard Ron say, "She'd better show; I have 10 galleons riding on this!"

Neither had seen her as she backed out of the doorway. Sobbing quietly, she'd run through the halls blindly. At first heading towards her room, she stopped, realizing that returning now she'd be too easy to find; the last thing she wanted was to talk with anyone right now.

She hadn't noticed Harry anywhere, but apparently he'd seen her.

Thus, the parchment.

Hedwig had fluttered in front of her as she sat in the empty top room of the astronomy tower. Most late night "meetings" took place on the level below--where there was heat and some furniture and still a great view--so she had been sure she could remain in her current spot undisturbed.

When she read Harry's brief missive, she wasn't sure whether she should kiss him or curse him the next time she saw him. But her heart had been near to breaking when she realized that the trio--the band of friends who'd withstood all challenges, including Voldemort--had been pulled apart, finally, by greed and celebrity.

His words had been short but clear:

Hermione,

Ron's a stupid prat! I just heard about what he's been doing from Colin. He sold rights to the story of your 'first time' to that rag, "Charms!" He tried to get Colin to take pictures, but he refused. The whole fame and riches thing went to his head, I guess; you know how obsessed he is with money.

He came back to the party about ten minutes ago looking for you. Since then, he's been ranting in the common room to anyone who'll listen that you led him on and then jilted him. While some people are ignoring him, too many believe him. You might want to steer clear for now.

I know what bad press is like, 'Mione, but it won't last. Let me know if you want to talk.

Love,

Harry

At first, she'd been hurt, insulted, and embarrassed by what Harry's letter revealed. Not only did Ron try to use her, but now he was making her the butt of Gryffindors'--hell, the wizarding world's--gossip!

The hurt had quickly given way to anger. How dare he?! Her emotions had run the gamut once and then again with Snape's arrival.

Snape. Who would have thought, given the punch to her ego and self-worth earlier, she'd find herself completely in the thrall of her most ominous professor now? Sure, she had always been impressed by his keen mind--even if it was expressed via an equally sharp tongue--and had grown to admire him as a spy for the Order.

Hermione had also been one of the few who had maintained his innocence as all seemed ready to count him as a traitor. She'd had an opportunity while at Grimmauld Place last summer to see what toll the meetings with Voldemort regularly exacted of the man and the quiet, stoic strength with which he bore it. Knowing that he'd been walking this tightrope so cautiously for so many years, she found it highly suspect that he'd chuck it all now. She also gave him more credit for his wiles, pointing out to her friends how unlikely it was that Snape would choose even semi-public stages to argue with the Headmaster.

If she allowed herself to admit it, she would also have to say that, since the battle, she'd been viewing him quite differently. Having seen him broken by Voldemort's curse, there had been that brief instant when his eyes were so--intense--with emotion that she realized, startlingly, he was more than a spy, a teacher, a hero: he was a man. The concept had drawn her to observing him more closely. While delighting--along with the rest of the school--that the Slytherins were finally being reigned in by their acerbic Head of House, she had noticed that his movements and words were still carefully chosen. He seemed shut off from the rest of them, even in this time of celebration, unwilling to let a chink show in his unassailable "greasy git" persona.

Why would he do that? It was almost as if he were...afraid: afraid of taking for himself more than he'd been allowed in the last twenty years. The thought evoked both compassion and curiosity from her.

Now that she stood this close, she could see his soft, fine hair lifting lightly in the breeze. His skin, pale, was luminous in the wan light of evening, making his dark eyes seem all the more compelling. He was a man, indeed, and an intriguing one at that. Her breath hitched as she felt him step closer.

At the moment, it was his lips that commanded her attention. They hadn't sneered at her in the last fifteen minutes, she was sure, and she could now appreciate the slight swoop and curve of his thin upper lip contrasting provocatively with the generous bow of his lower.

Licking her own lips nervously, she sighed softly as he leaned forward and she felt his sensual mouth brush lightly against her own.

~*~

His hands wove through her dark tresses as he pulled her closer, angling her head beneath his own to search her lips more thoroughly. He felt high, dazed, at her taste. The small sigh she let loose against his lips found a growling answer from his own. A gentle but insistent prodding of his tongue against her lips soon met with welcome, and he swept through her mouth like a conquering general on a battlefield, taking every advantage and leaving no space unconquered.

Pulling back from her abruptly to catch his breath, he shuddered as she moaned in displeasure. Had he hurt her? Gods, he was attacking a student! What was wrong with him?

Casting a wary gaze on her upturned face, he let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd sucked in and held. Her eyes were shining, lustful, and focused on him intently.

"Miss..."

"Hermione," she corrected him softly.

"Hermione," he whispered, "I shouldn't have...this is not..."

She placed her index finger gently across his lips, a small smile tugging at her own as she did so.

"No, Severus," his given name slipped easily from her tongue, and he loved the way it sounded coming from her mouth. "We should and it is." Her voice became even quieter and she reached up for him again, her hands clasping behind his neck, her thumbs twirling in the fine hairs there. "Please, do not pull away from me. Do not deny me this...with you..."

"You deserve..."

"...to be with the man I want," she finished firmly, punctuating her words with soft kisses along his jaw. Interspersing each word with a nip or a lick trailing up his throat towards his mouth, she added resolutely, "And...I...want...you."

He pulled her against him roughly, crushing her lips against his as an answer. His hands roamed over her, reveling in the soft warmth of her skin, the taut need of her breasts under his fingers, the growing warmth of her sex as she pressed against him, needy and demanding.

Casting aside all thoughts of propriety and decorum, he pulled off her school robes and then helped her fumble through his many buttons, stealing kisses and tastes as they worked. When he'd been divested of all but his unbuttoned shirt and his gaping trousers, he summoned his wand from his castaway cloak. Pausing only to cast wards and silencing charms, he led her to the chaise, promising himself and her silently that, if he could have this only once, he would make it a moment to cherish forever.

Had anyone been able to discern them above the silencing charms, the cries that originated from the tower soon after would have put to end any doubts that, first, Hermione Granger was a woman loved, and second, that Severus Snape had a heart.

~*~

Hermione Granger stood proudly as the Headmaster called her forward. Ignoring the few hisses and boos coming from her one-time friends and the snapping of camera shutters and shouts of reporters' questions--these were thankfully hushed with a simple wave of Dumbledore's hand--Hogwarts stepped forward to receive her diploma. As she had expected, she'd received top marks in all classes, even beating Harry in DADA. Each teacher greeted her as she walked past them. Minerva McGonagall, her face usually stern, had broken into a wide, watery smile as her prize student walked by, grabbing her in a quick hug. A few others shook her hands or smiled warmly. 'Well,' she thought to herself, 'at least I have some supporters.'

Her own smile brightened just a touch as she came in front of the Potions Master. His gaze still stern and foreboding, he nodded to her shortly before extending his hand in a formal gesture of congratulations.

None noticed the slip of parchment that passed from his hand to hers in that handshake.

~*~

Standing in her now bare room, Hermione stroked Crookshanks' head distractedly. Three years had passed since her graduation from Hogwarts, and now she was leaving university, her newly-signed Master of Arithmancy degree and teaching certificate already framed and packed in her trunk.

The ceremony had been small--just department members and the few students graduating. She found herself comparing that ceremony with the one at Hogwarts. She paused, remembering that day once more.

She and Harry had spoken briefly after the ceremony, and then he'd helped her escape unnoticed through the crowds. The combination of disillusionment and distracting charms had let her move smoothly past the clutch of Weasleys, her old roommates turned detractors, and the myriad of press representatives. Ron's story of jilted love have been headline news of the mid-day edition. Anyone who hadn't heard last night now "knew" how she'd broken his heart.

It was amazing how little the whole thing bothered her now; even more amazing at how little it bothered her then.

She and Harry had kept in touch. While Harry and Ron had been able to mend their friendship somewhat, Ron still maintained that Hermione dumped him. Hermione had begged Harry not to fight with his friend anymore about the particulars. She herself had never let Harry know just what she'd seen or what had happened afterwards.

A credit to him; if he had suspected anything, he'd remained resolutely quiet about it.

Her thoughts had her reaching once more for the crumpled, worn paper she'd carried with her since that day. Pulling the small scrap from her robes, she smiled serenely as she read the tight, tidy script of her onetime teacher, then lover. No longer than the note Harry had sent her the previous evening, this one was a balm to any pains Ron's hateful behavior might have left her and a promise of what she could find again if she only sought it out.

H.,

Whatever lessons you credit me for teaching you, know that you are a master, too. From you, I have learned that the broken can be made whole, that shattered souls can heal, that a heart in pieces can be rebuilt, even one that I would have sworn no longer existed.

You thanked me for pulling you together last night; I thank you--now and always--for picking up the pieces of my heart and showing me how to fit them together again. Thank you for showing me that the only piece truly was missing was you.

Forever,

S.

She knew he expected no more from her; he'd told her as much when they'd parted in the pre-dawn hours graduation morning.

While she'd been hurt, at first, by his comment, she soon realized that it was said selflessly. She knew he feared her too young, too eager to know the world, to tie herself down to him.

She wondered what changes three years had wrought.

Pausing only briefly, she opened her nearest case and pulled out a small piece of parchment and a quill. Scribbling a quick note, she sent it off with a sly grin on her face. Her smile stayed with her long after she had apparated from the space, her thoughts set on her next, and most promising, adventure.

~*~

He'd just returned from another evening in the Forbidden Forest. End of term had come and gone, and here he was again, making every attempt to keep that Harpy of a mediwitch happy.

Still, he'd discovered a certain fondness for night blooming star lilies in the past few years.

Coming through the clearing, he paused, glancing briefly up at the astronomy tower shadowed darkly above him. A sad, wry smile played about his lips as he stood, remembering.

Shaking off any old, lingering regret--why should there be any?--he strode directly to his quarters, using the secret passage he and Dumbledore had created nearly twenty years ago to allow the spy easy and unobserved transit to and from the castle.

It took him the better part of an hour to strip the lilies, pulling stamen and piston gently from each before removing the petals. The sex of the flower was a powerful ingredient for emotional healing; he placed the tender stalks into a blackened mason jar, casting a stasis spell over the seal to keep the contents fresh.

Once he'd set the petals in the droxy venom on a very low flame, he set his magical timer for eighteen hours.

Entering his rooms, finally, he dropped his now empty bag and his heavy cloak at the doorway coat-stand. Pulling off his boots next, he padded quietly across the small room to his leather chair, wanting only a glass of whiskey and a small fire.

Pulling his wand to poke the embers into flame, he let himself reminisce. The last years had seen him--finally--settling into something of normal life. The owls pestering him for forgiveness or autographs or interviews had waned and then stopped about six months after the battle. Making a strong effort to guide them, he'd worked hard with his students and had begun to reclaim the glory that had once belonged to Slytherin house. His students were still wily, still sly, but there was a pride and an honor now that drew from the strengths and loyalties of the house members, not on any prejudicial propaganda or self-aggrandizement. As a result, what would have been unthinkable three years ago was now unquestionable truth: Slytherins were respected at Hogwarts.

He allowed himself a small smile as he considered the end-of-year celebration. It had done wonders for him to see not only his house cheering at the green and silver decorations but to hear the supportive and enthusiastic applause from the other houses in recognition of a job well done.

His smile grew wider when he thought about what those houses--and his fellow teachers--might say if they knew the changes in Slytherin had found their start from the attentions of one, compassionate ('and stubborn and cheeky,' he added to himself wryly) Gryffindor.

It wasn't until he'd filled his glass that he noticed the sharp tapping sound coming from his bed chamber. It was a familiar noise, and he found himself automatically cursing whoever sent the owl, particularly at such an indecent hour.

Crossing the dark room, he flung open the window and none-too-gently snatched the small owl that had been waiting for him. It was a school owl, he could see now, and his brow furrowed as he tried to figure who in the castle would attempt to contact him this way.

Unfurling it impatiently, he found himself staring at, perhaps, the shortest parchment note he'd ever received. By the meager light from his window, he glanced at the paper. In a familiar hand, he saw only two words:

Turn around.

Swinging wildly, his eyes scanned the space, still unfocused in the dark room. In his confusion, he dropped the parchment. He barely heard the whispered command, "Accio Parchment," before he found said paper suddenly pressed against his nose.

A thrillingly-familiar voice queried from the dark in front of him, "Lose something, Professor Snape?"

A quick grin, shot across his face as he gathered Hermione--no, Professor Granger, the new Arithmancy teacher for Hogwarts--into his arms, staring into her glistening brown eyes. Before kissing her with the restrained passions of three long years, he managed a classically silky response.

"No, my dear, I would say that I have found something."

The End.