One Plus One Equals Three

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OPOET



ONE PLUS ONE EQUALS THREE





Chapter One





She couldn\'t quite keep a smile from curling up the corners of her
lips as she stood there, leaning against the stone wall of Flourish and
Blotts and gazing out upon the crowd bustling around her.  After all
of the horror and uncertainty of the past year, it was infinitely comforting
to her to see how absolutely normal this mob of parents and students appeared
to be on the fine, late August day.



Of course, she admitted to herself, Diagon Alley had always been one
of her favorite places, and the busy day devoted to the collection of school
supplies for the upcoming school year had always been one that she looked
forward to with a great deal of happy anticipation.  



For a moment, her smile faded as she considered the fact that she had
always been different from the majority of her classmates. She had no doubt
that for most of them, it was the end of the school year that aroused their
keenest excitement.  For her, there had always been a slight let down
upon the completion of the final exams, a vague but undeniable anxiety over
the fact that for the long summer weeks there would be no assignments, tests
or essays.



Her unbounded enthusiasm for studying and thirst for knowledge were just
two of the many things that had always set her apart from the others, she
supposed.  She had been gratified to earn the affection and respect
of her parents and the vast majority of her teachers because of her scholarly
inclination, and had always been justifiably proud of her abilities.  But
it was clearer to her as she grew older that it was also something that made
most people feel quite uncomfortable in her presence.  The fact that
she was also a very powerful witch may have contributed to their uneasiness,
of course, as did the fact that she was Muggle-born. Despite the fact that
the vast majority of the wizarding world accepted her without question, she
still sometimes wondered if the fact that she wasn\'t associated with the
old ways and the established families sometimes put her to a disadvantage.
 



By now her expression had turned decidedly somber as she stared down
at the sidewalk and considered the matter.  She supposed that all children
wanted to stand out in some way, to be counted as special.  And yet,
in your fantasies your uniqueness always generated approbation as well
as notoriety.  The fact of the matter was that, most of the time,
talents that set one apart from others also tended to invoke feelings of
envy and hatred much more readily than they aroused appreciation and affection.



Trying to draw her mind away from this rather depressing train of thought,
she returned her attention to the crowd rushing past her.  She found
herself smiling again as she searched through the sea of faces and expertly
picked out which of the new students were Muggle-born.  They were all
doing their best to keep from appearing out of place, attempting not to look
too astonished at the extraordinary sights and sounds that surrounded them.
 But every few seconds their eyes would fall upon something so spectacular,
bewildering or wondrous that they would find themselves with their mouths
gaping open in surprise.  Their parents always gave themselves away
as well:  the shell-shocked look upon their faces and the way their brows
furrowed in concentration as they attempted to convert the price tags from
wizarding currency to pounds.  Judging by the scowls upon the faces of
the mothers and fathers, most of them were rapidly approaching the end of
their patience.



She felt her spirits lifting considerably as she contemplated the fact
that it had taken her only a very short time to become acclimated to this
world.  In fact, her visits to the ostensibly \'normal\' world was admittedly
becoming less and less real to her.



Who knew, she thought, shifting her feet slightly as she huddled back
against the wall as the mob bustled past her, perhaps in another seven years
one of these currently flabbergasted youngsters would find themselves in
the same position as she was today-returning to Diagon Alley as an adult.
 But this time, she grinned, the school supplies she was gathering
were those of her own choosing rather than items from a pre-ordained list.
 That was just one of the privileges that you earned when you were elevated
from the rank of student to that of teacher.



She dropped her eyes surreptitiously, unable to stop herself from peeking
just one more time at the elegant gold lettering embossed upon the top of
her briefcase.



\"Professor Hermione Granger-Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and  Wizardry.\"



The attaché, crafted of rich, soft and luxuriant leather, had been
her parents\' final gift to her as she prepared to leave the house this morning.
 It had definitely been a bittersweet parting, the knowledge that she
was truly \'leaving home\' this time making her departure especially significant
to all of them.  As much as a first job always seemed to be such an
important step in anyone\'s life, this distinctive milestone marking the end
of her childhood seemed decidedly momentous in her case.  Although she
intended to visit her parents regularly, she had gently declined her mother\'s
invitation to spend the next summer, as usual, on holiday with them.  From
now on, she had told her, she intended to spend her summer break traveling
by herself or doing research.  



It had been difficult to see the unshed tears gleaming in her mother\'s
eyes as she had bid her farewell.  Her parents had wholeheartedly declared
their support of her decision to pursue a teaching career within the magical
community rather than to attend a Muggle University.  She had been rather
surprised at their acceptance of her decision, but her father had admitted
to her privately that she had seemed happier at Hogwarts than she had ever
been at any of her previous schools, even with all the horror and uncertainty
of the past few years.  So they had decided not to try and change her
mind once she had announced her decision.



Of course, she mused, as her fingers brushed against the gold lettering
again, one reason that she had been so content at Hogwarts was because she
had for first time developed some real and lasting friendships.  It
was going to be exceedingly strange to roam the familiar hallways of the
castle without the two people who had been her constant companions.



Harry was off in seclusion somewhere, attending to his bruised body and
battered spirit, both of which had been taxed to the limit during his final
battle with Lord Voldemort.  He had decided to take a well-deserved
rest from his exertions and retire from the scrutiny of the public spotlight.
 He had allowed no one to accompany him and Hermione had no doubt that
it would be a while before he reappeared.



Ron, on the other hand, was basking in the glow of his new-found celebrity,
making quite a name for himself as an excellent Quidditch player for none
other than the Chudley Cannons.  Although he was still known in some
circles primarily for being \"Harry Potter\'s best friend,\" Hermione was hopeful
that he would continue to become known as his own man as well.



But as happy as she was for her friends, she had to admit that she was
selfishly wishing that they could be with her today.  It didn\'t seem
right somehow that she was not meeting them for a butterbeer in \"The Leaky
Cauldron\" or indulging in a delicious sundae on the patio of \"Florean Fortescue\'s
Ice Cream Parlor\'.  She felt her heart throb painfully for a moment as
she glanced at the tables filled with smiling students, jabbering away merrily. 
It had become a tradition for them to meet and do their shopping together,
sharing stories of their summer holidays as they threaded their way through
the shops.  Well at least, she allowed, shrugging her shoulders, this
year she wouldn\'t have to stand behind them, her eyes glazed over in boredom
as they endlessly debated the pros and cons of the latest, hideously expensive
broom on display in the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies.



But today she would even have gladly endured that, she had to admit.  It
was a strange feeling to suddenly feel so isolated while in the midst of
such a mob of people.  Besides the obviously new students, she had picked
out many familiar faces, of course, But while they had nodded and waved to
her in a friendly fashion, there was a certain reticence in their manner
that was even more pronounced than it had been during her tenure as \'Head
Girl\'.



She frowned and stared down at the tips of her shoes for a moment.  She
was immensely excited about becoming a teacher, but it was going to be strange
to deal with her former classmates as a superior.  On the other hand,
she had no doubt that there would also be a period of awkward transition
with her former professors who were now to be her colleagues.  She supposed
it would take a fair amount of time before she began to relax in their presence,
and they in hers.



Not that she had any reason to worry about that quite yet, she decided.
sp;Asp;As far as she could tell, she was the only teacher to be visiting
the Alley today.  Headmistress McGonagall had informed her that most
of the staff would be returning to Hogwarts the week before September 1,
a new tradition that she was quietly promoting.  Apparently, Minerva
was not going to continue Dumbledore\'s tradition that neither the students
nor the teachers were introduced to the new staff members until the welcoming
feast.



At that thought, she could not prevent a sly smile from appearing upon
her face.  That had been one of the very few things that she, Harry
and Ron had been able to depend upon during the uncertainty of the past tumultuous
years.  It had been rather comforting to know that, whoever the new
Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was, Professor Snape could be counted
upon to disapprove of the choice.  They had rather looked forward to
seeing how fiercely he could scowl and how high he could draw up his eyebrows
to signify his immense disapproval of the choice.  In fact, for the past
two years they had taken to laughing openly at his expressions, their giggles
hidden by the polite applause welcoming the new teacher.  Perhaps, she
thought, she had better perform an \'Uncheering Spell\' upon herself before
her first staff meeting to make sure she didn\'t chuckle out loud at Snape\'s
reaction.  But, on the other hand, it wouldn\'t do to make herself feel
too depressed.  He would probably not show any pleasure at her appointment
either, and it wouldn\'t do to depress herself to the point where she would
burst into tears in front of him.

 

She frowned suddenly as she recalled Minerva\'s response to her last letter.
 Hermione had admitted that, while the task of assuming the role of
Professor of Transfiguration was a challenge in itself, the thought of having
to assume the responsibility of being Head of the Gryffindor House was an
even more daunting task.  She had inquired, as cryptically as she could,
if any of the other houses would be undergoing staffing changes as well.  She
was sure that McGonagall would realize that while she expected to maintain
a cordial relationship with Flitwick and Sprout, the Gryffindor/Slytherin
relationship would undoubtedly be a markedly contentious one if Snape continued
to head the infamous house of Salazar.  The Headmistress\'  response,
delivered by owl just before she left her parents house this morning, had
been a brusque statement that \'no changes were anticipated at the present
time.\'



Although she had been somewhat disheartened by the reply, she had also
found herself strangely intrigued.  The events of the past year had
greatly increased Hermione\'s appreciation of the Potions Master\'s devotion
and loyalty to Dumbledore.  But she had certainly never seen any evidence
that Snape derived the sligh enj enjoyment or satisfaction from teaching-other
than the fact that it gave him the opportunity of deducting points from Gryffindor,
Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw.  With Voldemort defeated and Albus Dumbledore
laid to his well-deserved rest, she honestly could not think of any reason
for Snape to remain at the school.



Perhaps, she allowed, she did not know the \'greasy-haired git\' as well
as she thought she did.  She smiled again, the thought of that oft-repeated
insult again reminding her of how often she had listened to Ron and Harry
deride the man.  And yet, she reprimanded herself, it was paramount
that she adopt a more mature attitude.  She was a teacher now, and if
she wished for her colleagues to treat her with respect and common courtesy,
she had better be prepared to return the favor.



She glanced down at her watch and gasped in surprise as she realized what
time it was.  She had been standing there, daydreaming, for nearly half
an hour now, and had only fifteen minutes to get to Madame Malkins to pick
up her robes before they closed.  With a disgusted shake of her head,
she abruptly turned and prepared to propel herself through the crowd.  



Unfortunately, her hasty and unexpected movement meant had placed her
directly in the path of someone who was walking, quite briskly, in the opposite
direction.  Hermione found the time to utter a brief cry of surprise,
but both parties were moving so quickly that their momentum continued to
drive them forward, leaving them unable to avoid the collision.  A moment
later she found herself soundly deposited upon the pavement, rump-first.
 The man reeled backwards but managed, by a rather undignified flapping
motion of his arms, to remain upright.  The crowd around them was suddenly
stilled and silent, alth thh the expressions of the students were quickly
moving from shock to amusement at the sight of Professor Snape glaring down
at a shocked and embarrassed Hermione Granger.



\"I-I\'m sorry,\" she sputtered, awkwardly trying to stand while simultaneously
dusting the edges of her robes.  She supposed that there was a great
deal of dirt upon her backside as well, but decided it would be rather undignified
to brush it off in full view of the crowd.  \"I didn\'t see you.\"



\"That would appear to be obvious,\" replied Snape.  He flicked annoynnoyed glance at the onlookers.  \"Move on!\" he growled, waving his
hand angrily. Instantly, the grins on the onlookers faces disappeared and
within just a few seconds the crowd has dispersed.



\"I am sorry,\" she repeated, her discomfiture amplified by the guilt she
felt, given that she had just been thinking rather unkind thoughts about
the man in front of her.  



\"So you have already said, Miss Granger\" he noted, bending down suddenly
to retrieve something from the pavement.  



To her chagrin, she realized that she had dropped the briefcase, and that
his right eyebrow had shot skyward as he straightened up and made a show
of reading the inscription.



\"I beg your pardon, Professor Granger,\" he corrected himself, holding
the case out to her in his left hand as he idly brushed off the front of
his cloak with his right. His robe appeared to be pristinely clean as usual,
but there was something in his movements that suggested he considered himself
somewhat contaminated by their brief collision and wanted to ensure that
he had managed to erase any trace of their encounter.



She reached out for the case and her embarrassment suddenly evaporated,
and would have been replaced by anger at the distinctly disdainful tone
of his voice and the rudeness of his manner had she not instead been shocked
into silence.  For there, gleaming upon the third finger of his left
hand, was a ring.  A large gold band, to be precise, and its appearance
and location left no doubt what it signified.  She found herself staring
at it, unwilling to believe her eyes.



\"You appear to be surprised, Professor,\" he drawled.



She blinked and belatedly accepted the briefcase from his hand.  She
stood hugging the attaché with both hands, her mouth moving wordlessly
for a moment as Snape took a step backward and crossed his arms over his
chest.



\"I take it you had not heard the news of my marriage?\" he ch. &n.  Shaking
his head, he smiled nastily and continued, \"Dear me, I always thought you
prided yourself on knowing everything, Professor.\"



\"I\'ve been on holiday with my parents,\" she suddenly blurted out.  \"And
I decided not to subscribe to the Daily Prophet this summer.\" She stopped
abruptly, clamping her teeth down upon her lip.  She was humiliated
enough as it was, no need to continue to keep babbling on to him, telling
him that she had wanted to spend the last few weeks with her parents exclusively
in the Muggle world.



A strange expression had passed briefly over his face as he listened to
her.  \"Yes, that is obvious,\" he replied, his lip curling in derision.



She stared up at him, wondering what was so obvious about it.  But
before she could formulate a reply, he had nodded his head curtly and moved
past her.



\"Good day, Professor,\" he muttered as he hurried away.



\"Oh, yes, good day Professor Snape,\" she called after him.  \"And
congratulations!\" she added, hastily.  She stared at the sight of his
black-robed figure gliding through the crowed and rapidly retreating down
the street.  He gave no sign of having heard her.



She sighed and consulted her watch again.  If she wished to make
it to Madam Malkins in time, she would have to apparate there. She closed
her eyes and tried to concentrate on the spell.  But after just a moment
she opened her eyes and began to walk down the street instead.  She
would have plenty of time in the morning to get her robes, she reasoned.  Right
now, what she really wanted was a drink-something about the unexpected encounter
with Snape had left her feeling curiously unsettled.



She made her way to one of the back tables in the dark, smoky barroom,
suddenly blessing the fact that she was alone.  She had no doubt that
Ron and Harry would be as surprised as she was to find out that Snape was
married.  Though the initial shock would wear off soon and she could
just imagine the boys making rude comments and vulgar jokes about who would
be unlucky or unpleasant enough to agree to marry him.  If they
were here, she would have undoubtedly joined in the fun.  And yet, she
mused, chewing on her lip, there was something about the whole situation
that made her feel uneasy.



\"Good evening, Miss!\"



With a start, she realized that Tom the bartender had appeared beside
the table.



\"What can I get you?\" he asked, with his usual toothless grin.



\"A butterbeer,\" she answered, automatically.  



The man had nodded his head and turned away before she suddenly corrected
herself.



\"No, I\'ll have an Ogden\'s Firewhiskey instead,\" she .


He turned back and regarded her with some surprise.  \"Of course,
Miss.\"  For a moment he wavered, seeming suddenly concerned about her.
 \"Is there anything else I can get you?\"



\"No.  I mean yes.\"  She took in a deep breath.  \"Has the
\'Evening Prophet\' arrived yet?\"



He smiled again.  \"Why, yes, Miss, it\'s just been owled to us.  I\'ll
bring you a copy.\"



She nodded and found herself drumming her fingertips impatiently against
the table until he returned.



\"Here you are,\" he said, setting the glass and paper down on the table
before her.  \"Though there\'s not much news tonight,\" he murmured, in
an almost apologetic manner.  \" \'course there hasn\'t been much since
\'You-know-who\' was defeated.  Thanks to your friend,\" he added.



\"Yes,\" she replied, ractractedly.  As much as she loved Harry, she
was in no mood to discuss him at the moment.  \"Thank you,\" she said,
reaching out for the paper with both hands.  Tom took the hint graciously
and turned back to his duties without another word.



She scanned the front page and found herself uttering a cry of exasperation.
 Indeed there seemed to be a dearth of newsworthy items.  Though
of course, she amended, most of the wizarding world would have found the
Quidditch World Cup to be front page news no matter what else was happening.
 No doubt the continuation of the sport as usual signaled that, despite
the horror of the recent war, some things never changed.  One person\'s
Diagon Alley was another\'s World Cup, she supposed.



She took a sip of the whiskey and forced herself to skim through the articles,
looking to see if a certain Quidditch player named Ron Weasley was mentioned.
But it appeared that the Chudley Cannons had not made it to the final round,
for she saw no reference to either him or his team.  Taking another
swallow of her drink, she turned the page and found herself chuckling softly.
 Apparently she had been mistaken.  For there was a picture of
Ron waving back to her and grinning happily.  She bent down to read the
caption.



\"The Chudley Cannons keeper Ron Weasley bravely tries to hide his disappointment
that his supposed best friend, the celebrated Harry Potter, was too busy
brooding to make an appearance at the Quidditch World Cup\"



Hermione closed her eyes and, with a sigh, leaned back in her chair.  There
was only one reporter in the world who would dare write such a patently obvious
load of rubbish.



\"Rita Skeeter strikes again,\" she thought to her herself as she shook
her head.



Opening her eyes, she reached for her glass and took a hearty swallow,
steeling herself to read through the whole of the accompanying article.  Fortunately
for her, she had gulpedn thn the burning liquid before returning her attention
to the paper. Had her mouth been full, she would have ended up splattering
the page with the liquid as she read:



\"SEEKING A SEEKER-CANNONS CATASTROPHE BLAMED ON POTTER\'S ABSENCE\"



Exclusive to the Evening Prophet by Special Correspondent Rita Skeeter-Snape