Soul Searching

Soul Searching Soul Searching By Quillusion     Chapter 27   "The Department of Mysteries?" Severus repeats, sounding as surprised as I feel. "I didn't realize you had anything to do with them."   "Ah, that's the beauty of the DoM," says Albus with a smile. "You never know who's in it, until you are. Except the Unspeakables, of course. They do the public work for the Ministry. There has to be someone in the establishment whom the outside world can recognize." He gestures for us to follow him, and starts off down the long corridor ahead of us. Several of the hovering candles streak ahead of us to light our way; it is rather dim here. A glance at the first door as we pass it reveals only a drab gray six-paneled door with no knob of any kind whatsoever. The second, third, and fourth doors all look exactly the same.   Dumbledore reaches into his pocket and withdraws an old-fashioned pocketwatch, which he considers for a moment before speaking again.   "I thought the DoM would be the best way to approach the matter of the henge. Certainly Cornelius lacks the insight- and the foresight- to develop such a thing quietly and not announce it for political gain. The Department of Mysteries does not answer to the Minister of Magic, however- and so I thought it would be safe to ask for their advice. As it happens, however, the Minister of Mysteries knows about your work already."   The small crease is back in place between Severus's eyebrows as he studies the Headmaster for a long moment. His tone is cautious when he speaks.   "You really do have a finger in every pie, don't you, Albus?"   The Headmaster laughs. "No," he says. "I just have friends from the war with Grindelwald who have advanced in their own fields. As have I, in mine. Relax, Severus. The DoM has been watching Hermione's work for some time now. They watch all the work done by graduate students in the wizarding world; it's their best source of new minds and new ideas. The faculty of the graduate institutions are required to give a brief summary of ongoing work, and the Department investigates further those projects which they feel warrant further watching."   The logical explanation reassures us somewhat. The omnipotence that Albus Dumbledore so frequently displays is unnerving at the best of times. Which is not to say that I'm comfortable with the existence of a 'Big Brother' outfit such as the one Albus is describing, either.   The hallway is still going on, and Albus is not even pausing to look at the doors as we pass them.   "How do we know when we're there?" I ask hesitantly. "It all looks the same."   "That, Miss Granger, is how you know. Something will look different. Ah, here we are."   And sure enough, the door now to our left is different. A lovely spiral topiary is growing outside the door, whose red surface is interrupted by an ornate brass latch and a thick acorn-shaped doorknocker. The nameplate on the door reads Who Wants To Know?   Albus knocks on the door, and a moment later it swings inward to let us into a delightfully airy penthouse office. It looks exactly like a Muggle banker's office, with a glass-topped desk and leather blotter, a large bookshelf, plants, and a small conference table.   A man is seated on the couch before the fireplace on the far wall, and he rises to greet us.   "Albus," he says cordially, and the Headmaster shakes his hand.   "Good to see you, Cael," he says, and then beckons me forward.   "Miss Granger," says Cael, and takes my hand. He studies me for a moment, then leans forward and salutes my hand in the old-fashioned manner. "A pleasure to meet you at last. I'm Cael Wexton, the Minister of Mysteries."   "Pleased to meet you, Minister," I say, suddenly aware that the Minister has not yet released my hand. But he is not looking at me any longer. He is looking at Severus.   After a deliberate moment, he releases my hand and offers his own to Severus.   "Professor Snape," he says pleasantly. "I have wanted to meet you for the better part of twenty years."   Severus takes the offered hand, but does not comment. His eyes are firmly locked on the Minister's, and he is considering something. After a long moment, he relaxes a notch.   "A pleasure," he says neutrally.   The Minister waves us all toward the seats by the fire. Albus settles in one armchair, and the Minister seats me on the couch at Albus's side. He then turns and, again with that odd deliberateness, seats Severus beside me before taking a seat in the other armchair. The couch is small, and my hip is up against Severus's; tarm arm contact is soothing in this eerily normal room. I keep expecting something surprising to happen, just to prove that this is the office of a wizard and not a Muggle. Then again, perhaps it's so ordinary because glamours don't work here- and the real thing is expensive, be it purchased in a Muggle shop or a wizarding boutique. I'm fairly sure now that the décor at the Ministry is, indeed, the work of a Transfiguror.   Cael smiles at me again.   "Miss Granger, I understand that you and Professor Snape seem to have made friends with a henge."   What an interesting- and yet accurate- way to phrase the opening to this conversation. Cael Wexton is clearly not the average Minister. Although, with only Cornelius Fudge for comparison, that might not be an entirely accurate assessment.   "So it would seem," I agree. "Though I'm not sure I quite understand the nature of that friendship. Thehinghings can be complicated."   "Naturally. Albus has told me what happened that night at Voldemort's little chateau. Would you mind giving us a brief recap of things, from your point of view?"   Hesitantly, I recount everything I saw that night, including the brightness of Severus's soul and the light show as our friends donated their own soul energies to save Albus.   Throughout the recitation, I am keenly aware of Severus beside me. He is utterly still, eyes resting on the flicker of the fire, jaw slightly tense. He does not speak; he simply listens, again. He must be as tired of hearing this as I am of telling it. And while I want the Minister to know the relevant details pertaining to this particular episode, I most emphatically do not want him to know anything of my feelings for Severus, or his for me- even if it does have something to do with the power of the stones. That revelation can wait until we've had a chance to work it out for ourselves and get some understanding of what's going on. This bond, whatever else it is, is too fragile to expose to curiously probing fingers just yet.   Severus must be thinking exactly what I'm thinking, because when I finish my story with no mention of exactly what our theory is with regard to why the Cleve potion works- or how the henge seems to sense emotions- he relaxes a notch and sits back into the couch a little more. His face does not change, but both Albus and I cast a glance in his direction. Neither of us needs to be told he's relieved about something- but I'm pretty sure I know what it is, whereas Albus is only guessing.   If he ever really has to guess, about anything. He really does seem to know it all.   But if I don't keep my mind on what's happening right now, I might give any of those secrets away. I'm a terrible poker player, and all the impenetrability in the world on Albus's and Severus's parts won't do us any good if the perceptive man before us can read everything in my expression. I carefully school my features to pleasant blankness, and face the Minister again.   He is examining me shrewdly, and I know I caught myself not a moment too soon.   "Miss Granger," he says slowly. "Do you think you could repeat that performance?"   I start, and Severus catches my eye.   Dangerous question, that. I'm not sure I like where it's headed.   "I have no earthly idea," I say at last. "I was, as I have said, in extremis at the time. I'm not sure whether one could even recreate those conditions- and I know I would not willingly enter them again. And to be honest, Minister, the stones had as much to do with what happened as I did. I made a few specific requests, but the stones did most of their work after we were gone. Given my experiences, it is my belief that the stones are not a force to be controlled, but a power to be petitioned, as one might ask an oracle or a great ruler for help. Had Voldemort asked them properly, I suppose they might even have helped him. Their rules are not like ours."   "Rules?"   I sigh. "Minister," I say tiredly. "This is a long and complicated subject, and I hardly came prepared to give a dissertation. There is much work still to be done on the matter, and I cannot give you any accurate information at present. If I might be permitted to return to my work, and if I could be permitted to continue working with Professor Snape, I can assure you that you will be the first to hear of my results, after my thesis committee, of course."   Minister Wexton looks honestly chagrined. "Forgive me, my dear. I should know better than to ask such questions. It's just that in this department, breakthroughs like this are incredibly rare. We deal with things that have frustrated other departments; consequently, our successes are both more spectacular and more infrequent than theirs. Additionally, we are the only branch to dabble in Dark magic." Here he shoots a glance at Severus. "You see now why I would have liked to meet you long ago. I would still like to talk to you, when things have settled a bit.   "Your henge work," he says, looking back and forth between the two of us again, "given its apparent lack of moral stricture, might well fall under the classification of Dark magic as the rest of the Mtry try sees it. However, I think I can safely say that all of us here are well aware that it is the intent, not the spell, that makes Dark magic what it is. It is impossible to control intent, so the Ministry has settled for controlling the spells. Which is ridiculous, and has led us to our current virtual ignorance of the spells and potions that might so benefit us despite their potential ill use. As you have already shown with your use of the henge for the purpose of producing the Cleve Potion."   None of this is new material I haven't thought to myself a hundred times before. Still, it's unnerving to hear those same opinions from a person who is so clearly in a position to live by those rules. Especially considering that they may well be able to let me explore them myself. Shifting uncomfortably, I tentatively ask,   "Am I to understand from what you're saying that I will be permitted to continue my studies?"   Cael smiat mat me. "Yes," he says simply. "But there will need to be a few arrangements made. Professor Dumbledore has intimated that you wish this information to remain, as the Muggles say, classified. Here in the wizarding world, we refer to such data as 'mystified'. As in, restricted to the Department of Mysteries." He gets up and retrieves a file from his desk. He hands it to me, and I see my name on the front label. It seems so small there. I can't help but notice that the edgesthe the file are dented and creased, the layers of the heavy card stock splitting at the edge from the friction of many thumbs opening and closing the file. And yet, despite that, it's a rather thin stack of papers.   "Miss Granger," he says quietly. "If you wish it, you may accept your degree from SCAI tomorrow. Your advisor has confirmed that the amount and quality of work you have done is sufficient to fulfill the requirements for your degree. All it needs is your acceptance."   "And what else?" I ask, feeling as if there is a catch.   "Nothing else," he says simply. "You have earned the degree. If you wish to keep working on the project despite having completed your academic program, nothing could please me more."   "I had intended to continue after getting my degree," I affirm.   "Then perhaps you would consider an offer from my Department."   I raise my eyebrows in question.   "I would like to offer both you and Professor Snape the position of Unspeakable."   Severus and I both blink, and the sound carries in the silent room.   "Unspeakable?" I echo.   "I don't doubt you've heard of Unspeakables," says Cael with a chuckle. "Everyone knows what they are, but no one knows what they do. That's because they all do different things. Albus here is an Unspeakable, though his primary assignment ended years ago and he's been between jobs for a while. Not many folks remember him as one of ours.   "If you accept the position, you will be free to continue your work wherever and however you see fit. The Ministry will provide you with whatever materials you need, as well as any help you might require. We will also help with any security issues that might arise. In return, your data will be stored here at the Department of Mysteries, and we will retain access to it at all times." He pauses. "I need not add that the Ministry of Magic does not have access to these files without special permission. Your position as an Unspeakable would also free you from any need to divulge information to anyone other than myself."   Severus casts an eye over the file in my lap. "I can't help but notice that my name is most definitely not on that file, Minister," he says blandly.   Cael laughs softly. "Ah, Professor", he says fondly. "Your file, my dear fellow, has its very own closet. This file contains the details of Miss Granger's association with Harry Potter, and the information we received at SCAI. If you two accept this offer, there will be a separate file opened up for your project."   Severus and I look at one another for a long moment. One dark eyebrow arches at me in question, but there is no sign of displeasure on his face. It's the most eloquent wordless 'Shall we?' I've ever seen. This is a risk, yes- but working on the henge at all is a risk. We'll never get such a good offer from the Ministry- and if we opt not to investigate further, one of the Dark wizards of the future might pick up where we left off, with devastating results. Nothing else needs saying. We stand and offer Cael Wexton our hands.   "Done."       The pavement is crowded as we leave the building at last, several hours and a few hundred signatures later. Our wands were inspected and registered, our backgrounds cleared- that was interesting for Severus, as they knew everything he'd ever done, and no one seemed to think there was anything the slightest bit odd about it- and our security clearances established. We also got handed a small book full of Things To Know. I haven't opened it yet, simply out of fear I'll never be able to put it down. It took all afternoon to get all of these things done, and now it's nearly dusk. But there are enchanted scrolls tucked into our pockets to prove our new status, and the sudden feeling of freedom from prying eyes is a marvelous thing. We're Unspeakables now, and we don't even have to tell anyone; we can go right back to our regularly scheduled lives.   I can't help but notice that we blend right into the d; Md; Minerva's transfiguration job was right off the racks. We're back in our Muggle togs, as the lift restored our previously removed transfigurations as soon as we entered it. Considerate, that. I suppose the Department can't be too careful when it comes to consistency. I glance at my companions again; I'm definitely going to get a peek at the label of Severus's suit before he turns it back into robes.   We press onward with the crowd, planning on taking the Tube to Diagon Alley and possibly getting dinner at the Leaky Cauldron before Apparating home. We could just Apparate straight there, but as Albus pointed out to us, this is one of the few walks we'll be able to take for a long time without being mobbed by crowds of witches and wizards full of thanks, curiosity, and hero-worship. Neither Severus nor I thought we should pass up this last chance. I've seen Harry deal with it too many times to think it'll be any better for me.   It's nearing holiday time, and Muggles armed with bags and boxes are shuffling along the pavement, headed home after work and a spot of shopping. We shuffle down the stairs into the Tube station with everyone else, pay the fare, and move out onto the platform to wait for a train.   Waiting for trains is perhaps the activity- or lack thereof- most conducive to people-watching. I cross my arms and settle my weight on one leg, aimlessly casting my gaze about, when I notice them. A group of young women, about my age, standing in a knot nearby. They're wearing rather short skirts, still ostensibly in the style of office wear, but definitely creeping into the realm of what might be called 'bait'. The boots they're wearing come up to cover most of what the skirt doesn't. They're tipping their glasses down their noses, whispering to one another, dropping their aloof act- and their jaws- for a brief moment, to stare.   At Severus.   Without any warning whatsoever, my hormones flare to life in the most incredible display of jealousy I've ever felt. It's all I can do to rein it in. Good gods, I've no right to feel this possessive- and yet I want to charge the lot of them, hex them all with a good case of boils apiece, and scream at the top of my lungs that he's all mine, and they'd better not forget it.   "Hermione?" Severus's voice breaks through the red haze, and I manage to get hold of myself. "Are you all right? You're shaking."   "I'm all right," I reply, pleased at how normal my voice sounds. "I was just noticing. You've got an audience." I nod subtly at the women, who start giggling the second he looks their way. I feel my lip curl just a little at that- I can't blame them for wanting to look, but I can blame them for being silly.   He looks toward them self-consciously. "Is there something wrong with me?" he asks hesitantly, glancing down as if he expects to see a tear in his trousers, or his fly open, or something equally out of place.   "No, far from it," I say gently, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. He honestly doesn't realize how attractiv loo looks, despite his earlier remarks about his clothing. "They're admiring the view, Severus."   That gets his attention. His eyebrows arch up for a moment as he looks at me in surprise. He flicks a glance in the direction of the pack of women then, his expression a curious mixture of revulsion, dismay, and fascination. "Good gods," he mutters under his breath.   Then, a moment later, I hear a soft swear word from his direction.   "What?" I prompt, turning to look at him. In answer, he jerks his head toward the flock of women. The tallest one- whom I instantly christen Lips, because she has more of them than my entire House together, and they're frosted bright pink- is heading toward us, hips swinging purposefully, eyes fastened on my tall, dark, and handsome companion.   "I didn't do anything," Severus says worriedly.   "Yes, you did," I counter.   "What?" he asks, and there is an edge of desperation in his tone.   "You stood in her field of view," I reply dryly.   "This isn't funny, Hermione! She's coming over here!" He sounds panicked now, and I can't help disagreeing with him- it is funny. Severus Snape, being stalked by a fearsome pink-frosted Muggle woman intent on a date.   Egads. Come to think of it, it isn't funny. But I can't let him off the hook yet.   "What, don't you want to get her name and number?"   "Hermione!" he snarls softly in frustration. "How do I get rid of her?"   "Would you prefer the easy way, or the awkward way?"   "Easy!" he snaps. "I've had enough fun causing someone else pain today, thank you very much."   For one blissful fraction of a second, I think of the most convincing way on earth to deter another woman's advances, and consider actually doing it. My mind plays it out in Technicolor glory in the time it takes to form a single thought.   "Then come here," I suggest, and before he can move to obey, I slide my fingers up into the hair at his nape and draw his mouth down to mine.   There's that soft whimper again, the one I love so much. He pauses for an instant in utter shock, but then his arms slide around me with intent. He slants his mouth on mine a little, tracing my lips with his tongue. A heartbeat later and he's touching my tongue with his own in secret mimicry of the ultimate intimmindmindful always of the crowd, of Albus Dumbledore standing beside us with a sunny determination to ignore what we are doing. His mouth is hot, and soft, and I can't think of anything I'd rather do than Apparate from here to Hogwarts, and damn all the Muggles who'd need Obliviating.   With a sigh, I push such lovely images to the back of my head and instead reach out to take Severus's hand in mine. Moving with the sort of slow ease that suggests long attachment, I snuggle up against him and tuck my head into the hollow of his shoulder. To my surprise, this intensely private man does not flinch at the sudden invasion of his personal space. Quite the opposite, in fact.   He catches on quickly. He lowers his head a little to look into my face, the dark curtain of his hair shielding me from Lips's view but leaving no room for her to doubt that we are, in fact, together. Severus's arm slips protectively around my waist, holding me close in a gesture meant to convey possession. That it broadcasts my possession of him as much as his of me is ironic, but effective. I shiver with delight at the sensation of his palm pressing so warmly against the small of my back, unable to suppress the ancient female response to an equally ancient male assertion. The independent female part of my brain is screaming with indignation at this traitorous reaction- but its primal female counterpart is drowning it rather effectively with a flood of hormones. I'm almost ashamed to admit how good it feels to be the subject of such possessiveness, even if it's only pretend.   Isn't it?   The train roars into the station at that moment, and we pull apart as the gust of hot wind pushes us back from the platform's edge. The train's doors open and streams of Muggles pour out, slipping agilely around us like otters in a sea of humanity. The crowd surges forward, taking us with it, and we hustle onto the train with Albus close behind us. I note with satisfaction that Lips has apparently been successfully warded off, and is nowhere in sight; Severus doesn't seem to even remember that she existed in the first place.   The car is nearly full, and so we move to one end, standing close together. We are packed in like the proverbial sardines, and I'm pinned between Severus and the very end of the car, with no rail or post to grasp- just the wall. The train jerks suddenly into motion, and the movement catches me slightly off balance and pushes me up against Severus's chest. I stammer an agy, gy, but before I can move away, Severus's arm has come round me to pull me back against him.   The train plunges into a tunnel, and in the dim electric lighting I can barely make out his face. His eyes are glittering, bright with something I can't name as he looks down at me. One finger curls beneath my chin to lift my gaze to his, then draws me slightly to the side as he leans in close.   "Thank you," he says huskily beside my ear- and it seems to me that he means more than just the banishing of Lips and Company.   "Think nothing of it." My reply is thinned by nervousness.   He shakes his head slightly. "I couldn’t possibly," he counters, and this time there's an unmistakable note of tenderness in his voice. The train rounds a corner then, and our bodies shift one against the other; the friction is delicious, and I know I'm in danger of saying or doing something that I've never thought one should say or do on the Tube. The vibration of the wheels skipping along the tracks is sensual and insistent, and it sends my awareness of his body through the roof, but I swallow and bravely try to keep hold of myself.   But then the car lurches rather vigorously to the left as we round a corner, and I'm holding on to Severus to stay upright.   He takes the opportunity to reel me in closer, and then he shifts us slightly so that my back is mostly pressed against the wall of the car, my front largely pressed up against him. It's both more secure and more suggestive than our previous position, and I can feel my heart rate speed up as a result. He must know it, too- my breasts are pressed up against his chest, and the rhythmic hammering of my pulse is all but audible, competing with the wheels of the subway car for aural supremacy.   "All right?" he murmurs silkily into my ear, and I nod, too breathless to speak. When I've got my balance again, he lets me away from the wall. I start to move back, but he tightens his grip on me.   "Stay," he says, and it's half plea, half command.   When I relax against him again, his hand slides a little deeper into the small of my back and he draws me closer, tucking my head under his chin. His free hand smoothes my hair away from both of our faces, and I shiver at his touch.   I wish this train circled the earth. No matter how long it lasts, this trip will end too soon for me.   The train slows, and we separate to the more socially appropriate 100-Angstrom standard distance between subway car passengers. The train stops at the station, and the hubbub of unloading and loading goes on around us without our really noticing.   The next stop is ours, and we move with the herd off the train, up the stairs, and out into the street. A few blocks' walk takes us to the Leaky Cauldron, and we step in from the cold gratefully. Much to my regret, the second the door of the pub closes behind us, Severus draws his wand and returns his robes to their usual state. I hadn't noticed before, but he's not wearing his usual teaching robes. These are dark, dark green, and there's velvet facing on the sleeves and chest. It suits him. I follow Albus toward the bar, and Severus comes behind me.   "Hello, Tom," Albus calls, and despite Albus's Muggle appearance, everyone knows him immediately. Almost instantly we are the center of attention.   The entire population of the pub is crowding close, asking questions and pumping our hands, and Severus sighs wearily as he does his best to be patient. However, after about fifteen minutes and a complete retelling, I can see the corner of one of his eyes twitching, and I know he's had all he can stand.   "Headmaster," I say quietly. "I fear Severus is needed back at the school. Perhaps you would permit us to return ahead of you?"   "Of course, my dear," says Albus kindly. "I shall see you two in the morning. I imagine I'll be here for a bit, should anyone need me."   We Apparate on the spot, and a breath later we are standing, alone, on the grass in front of the school gates. The sky is dark, the stars sparkling clearly, and it's incredibly quiet. It's lovely.   "Home again," Severus says, blowing o lon long breath of relief. He braces his hands on the small of his back and stretches, several vertebrae clicking back into place with a string of audible pops. I cringe in reaction.   "I think that's the longest day I've had in who knows how long," I say with feeling. "Oh, wait. The longest day in a week. Silly me. I've been out of the loop for a few days, you must forgive me."   Severus chuckles, and I take a deep breath to steady myself. Taking out my own wand, I quickly return my robes to their original state. That done, I turn to study my former Potions teacher.   "I haven't had a chance to really talk to you since we got back," I say hesitantly. "I would like it if we could sit down and get caught up, if you don't mind." I feel awkward, dropped so suddenly back into familiar surroundings with the strange electricity of that Tube trip still singing down my nerve endings. I'm not sure how to integrate all of this, but Severus doesn't seem ill at ease. I wonder what he's thinking about what happened?   "I wouldn't mind at all," he says, apparently unaware of my inner uncertainty. If he's having any such feelings himself, he doe sho show it. He offers me his arm for the walk back to the castle, as a recent storm has left the ground dotted with puddles and the road full of mud. I take the offered assistance, and we slowly make our way up the drive, watching our feet as we pick our way, our wands held up before us with the soft light of Lumos to guide our footsteps.   We are nearly to the castle steps before Severus breaks the comfortable silence that has drifted softly between us for the last few minutes.   "Hermione, would you perhaps care to join me for dinner?" He pauses, and then as if to ward off a negative response, he hurriedly adds, "I fear we've missed our chance to dine with the students. What a shame." His voice drips with insincerity, and the sarcasm of it refreshes me as nothing else could.   "So much for the new and improved Severus Snape," I tease.   "I didn't like him. I saved the receipt and sent him back."   This, from Snape, is enough to startle me into laughter. "I never knew you had such a sense of humor," I manage around my mirth.   "I never would have guessed you'd be able to appreciate it," he replies dryly. A year ago that would have sounded like an insult; now, I know he means it just as he said it.   The castle doors swing open at his murmured command, and we enter Hogwarts once again.   "Have you ever gone in again the way you did when you were a first year?" I ask companionably as I wipe my feet carefully, knowing that Filch will be murderously angry if we leave tracks. Never mind that he can't give me detention any longer.   "Absolutely not," says Severus rather acidly. "I didn't enjoy it the first time, and I see no need to relive the event. There was an incredible storm that night, and all but three of the boats capsized. And because I know you're about to ask, yes- Potter, Black, and Lupin went into the drink along with the rest of us. Most of my classmates- including myself- were thrown up on the beach by the giant squid. It was annoyed at having so many floundering children disturbing its lake, and consequently it was not what one could call 'gentle' with us. Potter got a broken arm, and Sirius was unconscious for two days. The Sorting Hat had to sort him when he woke up. Lupin hauled two of his classmates out besides himself, and got two hundred points for Gryffindor as soon as he was Sorted. At any rate, it should come as no surprise that none of us felt nostalgic enough ever to go back to the harbor."   "Not particularly," I agree. I've never heard that story, and no wonder. Sirius must have been mortified; I make a mental note to tease him about it later. Especially as the tale puts Lupin in rather a good light.   We're nearly all the way down to the dungeons, and it still amazes me that after all that's happened in the last week, these halls are still here, unchanged, impervious to the shrieks and pounding feet of the students whose energy they contain, and the tumult of the world they keep out.   Severus leads me down the hall past the Potions classroom, toward his private rooms. Little has changed since I was last here, except for the evidence of House Elf maintenance. He transfigures the couch upon which I slept that night before the battle into a small round table, and with another wave of his wand, two chairs appear to slide beneath it. The kitchen is quickly applied to for dinner for two, and the tea kettle soon produces two cups of steaming brew to soothe our overstimulated nerves.   Curling my fingers around the cup with delight at warmwarmth, I inhale and give an 'mmmm!' of appreciation. I'm looking forward to dinner- Severus requested that it be cooked the regular way rather than with magic, as it tastes ever so much better that way- even if it takes three times as . We. We'll make do with tea and conversation for now; I'd rather not have to talk around mouthfuls of risotto, anyway.   "I've missed most of the last week," I remark casually. "What's been happening?"   "Oh," he says with a wave of dismissal. "The usual. Wild speculation, groundless rumors, intense discussion. Albus wasn't well when we got him back, despite what you might think to see him today. Minerva and I split his duties and ordered him to bed. I'm sure Poppy told you that much."   I nod.   "Fawkes appeared as soon as we laid him down, and that phoenix cried a full Puccini opera's worth of tears on him to get him stable. Then we fed him the usual horrible-tasting potions to keep him that way- and a week later, he looks as if he's spent a week at an exclusive spa. Which, I suppose, he has- in a way," the Potions master adds thoughtfully.   Severus thinks a moment longer, idly rolling his full teacup between his palms as I have seen Trelawney do when reading tea leaves. "How that man gets everything done in a day is beyond me. I've spent most of the past week fending off intrusive requests for information from everyone from the Ministry down to the Daily Prophet, and even a few requests from parents. Icellcelled Potions for the first two days, just so I could handle all the requests. I'm sure that wasn't a problem for the students. But I still have three days' worth of essays to grade, and an exam to write for the fourth years for Monday."   My mouth must be hanging open slightly. "Severus, have you been carrying on as if nothing has changed?"   "I've been trying to," he replies calmly. "Why is that strange to you?"   "Because everything has changed. Surely you've let yourself have a little time off to recognize the fact? To process it?"   He stares at me for a very long moment, and suddenly I understand.   "Oh."   "Oh, what?" he prompts, his expression closed.   "This is nothing new for you."   "What isn't new?"   "Coming home after experiences like the one we had a week ago, and going right back to Things As They Were. You've had to do it so many times before that even now, when you don't have to keep up the charade any longer, the natural thing for you to do is still just to get on with things.   He narrows his eyes at me. "Don't even say how sad you think that is," he says in a voice brittle with ice. "I can imagine it well enough on my own."   I shake my head sharply, understanding the coldness well enough not to let it faze me. "No, that's not it. You're hardly a man to pity, after all. I just never realized that this is really your way of responding to such things. After all, you said it quite well last night; this is a role you've played, and played well. I think, honestly, that it was rather silly of me to expect that your simple acknowledgment of that fact meant that you could then cast the role aside as easily as you could a costume. And it was equally, and paradoxically, silly of me to assume that, when you did not drop everything to celebrate with everyone else, it was still part of the act. Why shouldn't you react the way you always do? It's not necessarily part of the role."   I see the flicker of self-doubt in his eyes at my words, and insight flashes in my mind. It's not necessarily part of the role. But if it isn't- then what, exactly, is? I would be willing to bet that that's the crux of the matter for him, and I would be willing to stake everything I own on the bet that he'd rather die than make another emotionally revealing speech like the one he made last night. Which means that if I can't pull lbuslbus Dumbledore and address his unspoken fears, he'll stew over them. For a really, really long time.   "Severus," I say quietly. "There's never a 'right' or 'normal' way to deal with this sort of thing. Everyone does something different to help them adjust. Harry will probably play Quidditch, Ron will go home for a week to see his family, Neville will start psychotherapy. Sirius and Lupin will probably run through the Forbidden Forest until they're exhausted, and then howl for a while. I'm planning on a pint of Ben & Jerry's ice cream, myself. So if you want to grade Potions essays to get your life back to normal, then by all means, grade away. I'd offer to help, but I've long suspected that your commentary on the margins of essays is a form of therapy in itself to you."   He laughs then, almost apologetically, but there's a wicked glitter in his eyes when he looks my way. "Took you eno enough to figure that one out," he says, and then the glitter falls away as he shakes his head, leaving dark shadows behind. "I suspect that's a pleasure I will have to give up, now that I can no longer use the excuse of needing to make the students hate me." He considers what he's just said for a moment, and with a troubled expression he quietly adds, "And as horrible as it sounds, I have to admit that I'll miss it."   I smile inwardly. For someone who seems to hate being revealing, this man is telling me quite a lot about himself right now, even though he hasn't even said four sentences. Perhaps that's because I'm one of two people who understand him well enough to read between the invisible lines that make up Severus Snape. And because I can do it, I will do it. But it has to be done delicately, so he doesn't feel like he's being lectured. I've come far too close to doing just that already tonight; I'm amazed he hasn't snapped at me yet.   "You don’t have to give it up entirely," I say offhandedly. "Heaven knows that some of your students deserve twenty lashes with an inked quill." He snorts with amusement, and I go on. "And remember- everyone has good days and bad days. If you spread it out a little, no one will notice." Tongue firmly in cheek, I wait for his response.   To my surprise, he takes the half-teasing remark entirely seriously.   "I would be happier if I didn't have to worry about anyone noticing anything", he says with some asperity. "I've spent the last week thinking about all the things over which I ended up whining last night." He shudders. "For which maudlin and self-pitying display I must apologize. everever else is true about my real self, I can state with certainty that I do not care for public displays of emotional incontinence." He pauses for a long moment, fingers idly tracing the delicate rim of his teacup as he weighs his next words.   "Even so," he says hesitantly,realreally could use a second opinion from someone I trust." He looks up at me then, and I know his statement is really a question, wrapped up in a compliment of incredible magnitude. Reaching for the teapot to pour both of us a second cup, I nod in acquiescence. I have a feeling that saying anything aloud right now might disturb his inner rhythm- and I won't chance that.   He sips his refreshed tea for a moment, as if gathering his courage, and when he speaks again, his voice is calm and a little detached, as if he is discussing someone else's situation.   "I'm fairly certain that I would not have the personality I have today if I had not spent twenty years pretending to be someone else. I'm also fairly certain that I was a great deal less unpleasant before this all began. Saying I was 'nice' would probably be going a bit too far." He smiles dryly at me. "I don't really remember whether or not this was true back then, but now, I like having the freedom to be unpleasant, to speak my mind without worrying about what others think. I also often enjoy irritating peoplartiarticularly Gryffindors, as you have no doubt noticed. I've come to the conclusion that, whether or not I was cruel and callous and unpleasant and unfair at the beginning, I certainly am all of those things now. I don't think there's much use in wondering who I might have been; that man is lost to me forever." His eyes flick to mine briefly, then fall back to his teacup.   "But the last six months or so have shown me a side of myself I'm not sure I've ever seen before. And I rather like that side of me, to be honest. It's a reminder that the human psyche is not immutable, but that it can change. This is not something that came from being Snape the spy, or Snape the Bastard- I know perfectly well what the students say in the Great Hall. I have excellent hearing." He sends me a twisted smile. "Somewhere in the last six months, Hermione, I think you became the first friend I've had in almost a lifetime. And it made me realize just how isolated I've been. It’s one thing to like being alone most of the time- which I do. But it's another matter entirely toentientionally wall oneself off from the world, to keep anyone from seeing through you or from getting close enough to get hurt. I think I've had enough of being alone.   "Which brings me to my problem. How to change that? I've realized that Potter and Weasley are marginally less annoying as adults than they were as children, but I really don't know how I'm supposed to relate to them now." He sighs softly, sips his tea again- as if easing the bitter taste that realization must have left in his mouth after it went down.   "I know that developing any sort of positive relationships with other people will require me to give up some of those same freedoms I have enjoyed- such as the ability to tell Sybill Trelawney off for being the fraud that she is."   "Oh, I don’t know," I say lightly. "Minerva makes a professional sport of that particular pastime."   He smiles at that, and shrugs. "Be that as it may, I don't know whether or not I can give those things up. I don't even know how hard I'll have to try, or how I'll know when it just isn't going to work. I know there's no formula for self-improvement, but… ah,l. Il. It would be nice," he says wistfully.   I smile warmly at him. "You asked for my opinion," I say softly.   He nods, eyes wary.   "You've done a lot of soul searching in the last week, Severus. And it sounds like you've found the things you'll need to make your way again. I can't tell you exactly how to get everyone to change their opinion of you, and I can't tell you what in your makeup you should change, or leave the same, or anything like that. I can only tell you that I've seen a few changes in you over the last twelve months, not just the last six- and they prove to me that you're not the Severus Snape I thought I knew when I was still a sixth year.   "There's an old Muggle prayer that might interest you, Severus. It says, 'God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.'" I take one of his hands in mine, gently stroke the back of his knuckles with my thumb. They're a little bruised from punching the reporter this morning, and I smile gently at him.   "You've always had courage, Severus Snape. It's time to dig out the serenity and the wisdom to go with it."   He's staring at me as if I've said exactly what he needed to hear- even if I have no idea what it was. And then I remember the one other thing I thought that he ought to know.   "And in case it helps you to know it, remember, Severus. I like you just fine as you are, snark and all."   The slow, warm smile that curves his mouth then makes the lecture worth all the risk I ran of setting off his temper. He doesn't seem to know what to say, but the silence that falls over us as dinner arrives is a comfortable one.   We eat in companionable quietness, exchanging only simple comments about the meal and the wine. To say more now would somehow break the peace of the moment.   It is only when we've leaned back, finally sated, that Severus speaks again.   "Today," he remarks, "has been rather eventful." He really is the master of understatement.   "Rather," I agree, matching him stride for stride. Then, feeling thll fll force of my British sense of irony, I raise my wineglass to him. "A toast," I say.   One dark eyebrow arches questioningly as he raises his own glass.   "To Unspeakables," I say with a smile, and he nods with a quirky grin of his own.   "And other things left unspoken," he says, his baritone voice warm with subtle meaning.   I drink deeply, my eyes locked on his.   Time for The Talk, I think, and my pulse skips a beat in anticipation.   A soft hissing noise interrupts our quiet moment, however, and Severus sighs as he gets tiredly to his feet.   With swift strides he moves over to the desk beneath the window, where he digs out the crystal ball through which I watched the early stages of the last battle. He carries it over to the dining table, where there is better light, and sits down before it. "Fruit bat," he snaps, then stares intently into it until the mist forms.   "Serpens Tower," he bites out then, and the fog swirls violently as it resolves into the image he wants to see.   He swears rather inventively and gets to his feet again.   "Bloody idiots," he mutters as he shrugs into his professor's robes once again. "You'd think they could make it through one night without an assassination plot breaking out… I wonder if it's this difficult being head of Hufflepuff?…."   I laugh, knowing he is going to have to leave to settle something in Slytherin House, and rise to my feet. There's no sense trying to have The Talk when he's just been aggravated by a group of his own select dunderheads.   "I'll walk you partway there," I offer, moving to the door ahead of him, and he laughs ruefully.   "You'd never be able to keep up," he says, and I'm delighted to hear the faintest traces of his old snarl in his voice. "I find that, the shorter my trip to the common room, the more irritable I am when I arrive. Which is directly related to how effective a deterrent my appearance is to the development of further problems on the spot, and further machinations in the future. It takes a great deal of yelling and intimidation to keep Slytherins in line- and I haven't let them have it in far too long." He smiles thinly. "And after the day I've had, I don't think I feel like reining my temper in any longer."   He takes my hand, kisses it formally, and with a gleam in his eye says,   "We'll have to finish this some other time, Hermione- and we will, have no doubt about that. But for now, please excuse me. I believe I have an appointment with Snape the Bastard."   And then he is gone, robes snapping in the wind of his passage, his stride as confidend grd graceful as I remember from my school days.   I follow in his wake, thoughtfully turning the day's events over in my mind as I climb the steps to the main level. I plan to Apparate back to SCAI tonight to get my degree and pack tomorrow, and then I'm coming straight back here. Albus has already approved my taking the guest rooms I used last night as temporary quarters, and I'm anxious to move in. Working out of Hogwarts will mean daily Apparition to the various sites with stone circles, but it also means good meals and the nearness of friends. Besides, the stone circles are so scattered around the globe that I'd be Apparating every other day anyway.   Movement catches my eye as I approach the main doors of the castle and move to open them. Mrs. Norris, staring balefully at me with yellow resentful eyes.   "Stuff it," I tell her. "I'm not a student any more." And with that, I slam the door in her face.