Never Give Up, It's A Wonderful Life

Chapter song: Indigo Girls - "Closer to Fine"

Chapter 6

Hermione spent the rest of the day up in the owlery, waiting for answers to the queries she'd sent out. She discovered that another distinct disadvantage of living below ground was that it was impossible for owls to make deliveries directly to her room. She used the time reading, both in preparation for the upcoming school year, and in some books on magical portraiture and Spectrology she'd borrowed from the library.

The first response was from Harry, inviting her to dinner at Grimmauld that night. Ron and Ginny would be there, too. Hermione felt a bit uncomfortable about the whole 'double-date' setup, but in the end decided it was more important for the three of them -- herself, Harry, and Ron -- to go back over what had happened that night at the Shrieking Shack.

The next message was from Kingsley, who wrote that Snape's offical status was 'missing, presumed dead', but that they would need either a body or his wand to declare him legally deceased. Only then could the Hogwarts Governors approve the placement of a headstone in the Hogwarts Headmasters' cemetery, or any other appropriate memorial gesture. This made Hermione feel a bit better: the lack of final resting place for Snape wasn't necessarily an oversight or a deliberate slight, but a bureaucratic delay. Annoying, but not intentional.

The last owl was the longest in coming. She was close to giving up for the day and going down to get ready for her visit when a small, completely black owl swooped in and emitted a sharp-pitched screech, unsettling all of the other birds perched up above. Hermione slipped on the leather gauntlet that hung on the wall and held out her hand for the bird to land on. Really, the Malfoys never did things halfway, she thought, admiring the rare owl's glossy, sable plumage as she took the note that was tied to its leg.

'To the most worthy Miss Granger,

I am indeed gratified you have taken an interest in the rehabilitation of our good Professor Snape's legacy. As it happens, I will be visiting Hogwarts castle tomorrow in my capacity as a Hogwarts Governor to oversee the progress of the repairs. I would be well inclined to meet with you to discuss our mutual friend.

I beg your indulgence in one point, however: as I am certain you are aware by now, the news having been widely reported in all the most respected media, I spent the greater part of the last year under the Imperius Curse, and thus have only a very spotty memory of many pertinent events. I beg your understanding and remain nevertheless,

Your most humble,

Lucius Malfoy'

The old snake, Hermione thought, noticing that he had neglected her academic title in his salutation. Still, he was agreeing to see her, and on her own turf. That was something.

She rolled the note up and stashed it in her pocket, then hurried downstairs to change before going to Harry's. She didn't think he'd really mind if she were late, but if she shook a leg, she could still make it before seven.

As she rushed through the living room, passing the window-picture with its pale pink-and-orange sunset, she lifted her teaching robes off and tossed them over the couch on her way to the bedroom. She already had her shirt over her head and was calling out the command to turn on the lights when she heard him.

"Professor Granger." His dark, rich voice sounded both amused and anxious. Hermione froze, her face still covered by her shirt, but her body most unfortunately not.

"Tell me that's not you. Please, tell me that's not you," Hermione moaned. "All right, you know what? It doesn't matter." She whipped the shirt off the rest of the way and stomped over to the wardrobe wearing only her bra. Snape was standing on the other side of the bed, his eyes wide. "You're a ghost. Or a portrait," she went on. "You're not really here. I'm terribly sorry to have to subject you to ... this," she said as she flipped through the items of clothing, "but this is actually my bedroom. What are you doing here anyway?" she asked, irritated.

"I beg to differ as to whose bedroom this 'actually' is," Snape sniffed, "but as we have already established, I have no control over where or when I appear. It so happens I found myself standing in the dark here moments before you came crashing in and exposed yourself so brazenly. What happened to knocking before entering?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Hermione muttered, trying to decide between a tight, sleeveless red blouse and a loose, frilly peasant top. "What do you think?" she asked, holding the two shirts up, then groaned. "What am I doing? I'm asking Snape for clothing advice. Right." She turned to the mirror and held up first one top, then the other.

"They are both vulgar and inappropriate, unless you are planning on wearing your teaching robes over them, in which case it hardly matters."

"The red one it is." Hermione pulled it over her head and fluffed her hair out. "I found out something this afternoon that might interest you," she said over her shoulder on the way to the bathroom. "Kingsley said you haven't actually been declared dead yet." She stopped in the doorway and leveled a hard look at Snape. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back. And you are not following me in here," she said, closing the door firmly, then locking it for good measure.

"Locking the door is futile and childish, Professor," Snape called to her. "We have established I can move through walls within these quarters. However, rest assured I have no desire to accompany you to the toilet."

"Ha!" came Hermione's muffled voice through the door.

She returned several minutes later, her hair piled up loosely with damp tendrils escaping down her neck, and one long, kinked strand hanging down from her left temple. She was disheartened at first to find the bedroom empty, but located Snape a moment later standing in the living room, once again perusing her bookshelves.

"There you are," she said, pausing to put her hands on her hips. "I thought you weren't going to come back, after that scene you made earlier."

Snape turned to stare at Hermione, his dark eyes raking her from head to foot. "As I've said, I don't seem to have any control over my appearances. Unlike you. Scandalous."

"What I'm wearing is perfectly proper, and I'd thank you to mind your own business regarding my attire."

"You've missed a piece. Of your hair," Snape expanded, pointing at his own temple.

Hermione reached up to feel the loose tendril. "I left it like that on purpose."

Snape frowned. "Why ever in Merlin's name would you do that?"

"I thought it looked fetching," Hermione said, trying not to pout.

"It looks slovenly."

"Then it's a good thing you won't have to look at me anymore this evening," she retorted. "I am dining out, and I am already quite late. I just wanted to let you know what Kingsley said, and that I'll be seeing Malfoy tomorrow. He's already hedged his bets by pleading the Imperius, but I'm hoping he'll still be able to give me some clues as to what happened to you at the end of the Battle."

"Malfoy? Lucius?"

"Yes, he's coming to the castle tomorrow. Would you like to see him? I could invite him down," Hermione offered.

"I have no great regard for Lucius Malfoy. I certainly don't need to expose myself to tiresome inquiries and taunts from him. I get quite my fill from you."

"No visitors, then," Hermione agreed. "Although I don't think you mind my inquiries too much, do you?" she asked with a smirk. "You could refuse to answer."

"As I said at the start," he said coolly, "I've decided cooperation with you is the shortest path to finally having my peace."

"Understood. I'm going to be off then. Would you like me to open a book for you? I could even set up a quick charm to turn the pages at regular intervals."

"I am quite certain I will be able to entertain myself. I am not a three-year-old," he growled.

Hermione shrugged. "Up to you. Oh," she added as she slipped into a pair of sandals by the door, "I know you said I should give Harry the box with your things, but I'm going to leave it here for the time being. Until we get you settled for good, anyway. It wouldn't feel right, somehow."

Snape grunted.

"I'm at Harry's if anyone calls," Hermione said, grabbing a handful of Floo powder from the mantel.

"I am not your secretary!" Snape shouted after her, but she was already spinning out of sight in a flare of green flames.

======

When Hermione returned, hours later, she was unsurprised to find Snape gone. Still, the rooms felt empty without him, and she made a point of leaving on all the lights as she set about getting ready for bed.

The evening had been something of a bust. None of the others were much interested in discussing Snape, despite it being Hermione's main reason for going. Harry and Ginny only had eyes for each other -- although they never indulged in uncomfortable displays of affection -- and Ron was so excited about beginning Auror training he couldn't talk of anything else. In the end, Hermione resigned herself to being a supportive friend and tried to put the thoughts and theories regarding Snape out of her head. However, Hermione being Hermione, when she got her teeth into a new project, it wouldn't let her go.

And so between listening to the boys quizzing each other on the thirteen and a half irregular regulations in the Auror Code of Practice, and Ginny waxing eloquent on the plans she had to redecorate Grimmauld, Hermione's mind drifted among the various discarded and imperfect theories she'd come up with to account for Snape's presence.

He wasn't a ghost, that much was clear. Or at least, not the typical embodiment of a dead person. The Spectrology text she'd read that afternoon catalogued a plethora of spiritual phenomena, most of which clearly did not apply to Snape's case. One of the sections, however, dealt with astral projections -- specifically, how to communicate with the deceased by means of such. Hermione wondered if this were a reverse case, in which Snape was somehow managing to astrally project his spirit from the afterlife back to the mortal plane of existence. It might explain his seeming to 'flicker' in and out, and possibly also his apparent lack of continuous memory. The text said that some people were prone to episodes of unconscious astral projection which showed up as gaps in their memory. She would have to do more reading on the subject before discussing it with Snape.

Discussing it with Snape. There was a phrase she never thought she'd utter. She chuckled now, back in her bathroom, as she brushed her teeth. Since his visits to her quarters, she'd found herself completely revising her former opinions of him. Well, nearly so. She still thought he'd been a complete arse for no good reason a lot of the time -- needing to show favoritism to Slytherin or not, he hadn't needed to intimidate and bully the students quite as much as he had. She suspected he had been letting out his frustrations at being stuck in a job he disliked, and later, after Voldemort arose again, his perhaps very real fears of being discovered and killed, on the nearest, easiest targets. As Minerva had said, though, she was finding that he was a good sort, deep down. He did have a conscience, and he had acted in the way he felt would protect the largest number of people.

He was interesting. She found herself wanting to know more, had the feeling that he could teach her things-- not classroom things, but mysteries of life, alchemical secrets, keys to human nature. She hadn't come across that in a male of the species in... well, ever, really. Viktor had intrigued her at first in that way, as soon as she'd noticed the dichotomy between his ungainly appearance and his physical skill bordering on the savant, if one could apply that term to a physical gift. Then she'd discovered that he had a brain, too, and that had opened up new depths of exploration. But the novelty had worn off when she'd discovered that his interests didn't go much beyond those of other boys his age, aside from his profound grasp of mathematical abstractions which, to be quite honest, were of little interest to Hermione.

Now, Hermione wanted to find out where Snape really stood on subjects like the blood purity question. Even if he did turn out to be a blood purist, his views were certain to be more unique (and well-reasoned) than those usually cited. She wanted to know if he had been pursuing any personal research in his private lab. What he would have done with his life, had Voldemort not thrown a spanner in the works. And so on. And she had the feeling he was warming up to her, despite his derisive comments and gruff manner. In a way, he was almost acting protective toward her, she mused, re-considering his disdainful remarks regarding her hair and clothes in a different light.

Or maybe he was just still being an arse.

Hermione changed into her nightclothes -- the baggy ones -- in the bathroom, not wanting to offend Snape's sensiblities if he should pop up unexpectedly. Strangely, it didn't really bother her that he had seen her half-undressed earlier. She wore less than that to the beach.

Hermione got into bed and extinguished the bedroom light, then lay in the dark for a while, straining her ears and imagining she heard Snape moving about in the other room.

"Professor?" she called out softly. "Are you there?" She waited, but there was no answer.

Author's note: Completely black owls, referred to as 'melanistic' (the opposite of albino) are extremely rare. Most melanistic owls are not actually fully black, but merely evince an overall darker coloring, or may have mostly black feathers interspersed with brown or white.