Homecoming

By Kalina

The earth was like iron beneath his feet, and the cold stung his face and stole his breath, despite the protection of his woolen cloak. Grey clouds hung just overhead, heavy with snow that wouldn't fall. He stood a little distant from the rest of the group and watched as Minerva McGonagall scattered ashes into a biting January wind. Even in the half-light of the dreary day, Snape could see that her cheeks sparkled with frozen teardrops, and he thought it strange that there would be any beauty in her grief.

Albus's mind had started to go soon after his powers, bits and pieces of reality trickling away with every passing day, and the last time Snape had seen him, he had plucked irritably at his violet robes and demanded to know if there had been any progress in the fight against Grindelwald. Minerva's grief that day had not been sparkling, had not been beautiful; it had been a clutching, grasping, desperate thing that lurked behind soothing noises and pots of tea and plumped pillows and a hundred other attempts to make life worth living for one who had clearly lived too long.

He had died in his sleep, and Snape wondered if Minerva had had a hand in it. He wouldn't blame her if she had - if she had finally let the desperation triumph and had helped Albus out of the world with whatever had been left of his dignity. He would not have wanted to be just another barmy old codger; the world would always have those in sufficient quantity.

There were others crying now - not wailing, thank fortune, but Snape became aware of the muffled sounds of choked-back tears and gruffly cleared throats as the dust of Albus Dumbledore returned to the frozen earth. It was ironic that a man for whom hospitality had been both a tool and a trademark should find his final resting place so wholly unwelcoming, but the grounds of Hogwarts seemed not to want to receive Albus Dumbledore this day.

Snape sought her out through the crowd and was not surprised to see that she had shed no tears. If she had any tears left - and he wasn't sure - they would never be allowed to fall in this setting. She stood with Ron Weasley, and despite the fact that Weasley towered over her, it was clear that she was sustaining him, rather than the other way around. Her right arm was tight around his waist, and he leaned into her, borrowing her strength. His eyes were vague, as if he couldn't quite make out what he was doing there. Standing together, Weasley and Granger had the look of a puzzle with a missing piece. It was distracting; one almost couldn't see them for noticing the empty space. The crowd around them had even left them room for the missing third.

The empty space was distracting, but Snape was no more tempted to grieve for Harry Potter than he was for Albus Dumbledore. He didn't know any more than any other living soul about what lay on the other side of the veil, but on the whole he thought that it had to be a great deal better than what they'd left behind. Having learned more about Potter - the Potter whom Granger had known - he thought this was probably doubly true in his case. The boy hadn't had much of a life, but perhaps if he had - if he'd had anything much to lose - he wouldn't have been willing to take the risks he had taken in the end. It had certainly been true in Snape's case, even if it hadn't worked out as he'd expected it to. Nothing had ever surprised Snape quite as much as his own survival.

Granger lifted her eyes to his and her mouth quirked the least bit in acknowledgement. She would find her way to him later, he knew, when she'd done her duty by her friends, by Minerva, by the acquaintances gathered there. It was what she did - comforting people, organizing things, setting things to rights. It was what was expected of her now, the role she'd carved out for herself during her months of trying to rebuild Hogwarts virtually single-handedly.

But night would find her in his rooms, in his bed, seeking her own comfort in what was surely the most unlikely place on earth. Somehow, he had become a lodestone to a swotty Gryffindor heroine. It didn't make much sense, but it made as much as anything else had in the last two years, and it satisfied some obscure part of him that she needed him when she didn't appear to need anyone else. He had taught her to take what she needed from him. He had held her whilst she cried and screamed and raged until the fury that had threatened to consume her seemed finally to burn itself out.

And when it had, he had sent her off to find a life away from Hogwarts, away from him. He had told her to grow up, to live, to love. By his current reckoning, she'd done some of the first, very little of the second, and none of the third, but she was young and there was time.

She came back to him occasionally, when the world outside of Hogwarts got to be too much for her. He would return to his rooms and find her there, curled up with a book in her favorite spot on the sofa. She didn't cry anymore, didn't rage, didn't say much of anything. She seemed to need the quiet most of all, and that was one thing he was able to provide in large quantity. She would look up as he came in, give him an absent sort of smile, and then say, "Hi," as if they'd just seen one another at dinner instead of a month ago or more. He would return her greeting, find his own book, and they would talk for a few minutes and then read together quietly until she rose and took his hand and led him to bed.

He knew when she'd been with another lover - knew it with as much certainty as if the man had left his fingerprints on her. He didn't ask, though - just marked the subtle difference in the way she moved with him in the darkness, and when the daylight came and she went away again, he reminded himself that she was only doing what he had told her to do.

§ § § §

They gathered in the Great Hall afterwards, and he watched in hidden amusement as Granger moved from one cluster of people to another, all the while making sure that the House-Elves kept the food replenished, that the room was sufficiently warm and well-lit, and that Minerva was kept busy enough to keep grief at bay. After all this time, she was nothing if not predictable.

"Minerva couldn't have gotten through this day without Hermione," Poppy Pomfrey said to him in a low voice, noticing the direction of his gaze. "It's wonderful to have her back with us, isn't it?"

"Oh, quite. We'd have all fallen to pieces had not Granger been here to hold us together."

"Don't be snide, Severus. Anyway, before she left, I'd got the impression you and Hermione had made your peace with one another."

"Making peace with the chit and commissioning a statue of her are two entirely different things. Granger is barely twenty years old. She should not be required to hold Hogwarts together every time it seems in danger of falling apart - either literally or figuratively. You all rely on her too much."

"Well, she does rather invite it, doesn't she?" Poppy nodded in Hermione's direction. She was pressing a cup of tea into Minerva McGonagall's hand and subtly moving her away from a small group of reporters.

He couldn't very well refute the point, so he settled for saying, "Minerva looks like hell. Have you a draught for her tonight?"

"Yes - if I can get her to take it. She's completely wrung out, poor thing, but afraid to stop for fear of things catching up with her. You know how it is."

He did, rather, having watched Hermione Granger exhibit the same behaviour for months, but he didn't say so. "Perhaps Granger can get her to take it. She's doing everything else - might as well do your job too."

Poppy sighed. "You're being snide again."

§ § § §

He left the gathering whilst she was still fussing over McGonagall, and he was already in his dressing gown when she let herself into his rooms. The reassuring smile that had been pasted on her face in the Great Hall was gone, replaced by a look of fatigue that pinched a crease between her eyes. He took one look at her and went to his bathroom, returning with a small vial.

"Drink," he ordered, thrusting the potion into her hand.

"Thank you," she said, tipping it into her mouth without argument and then wrinkling her nose at the taste.

"Sit before you fall," he said, gesturing to the sofa.

She shook her head. "I'm going to change first. I can't spend another minute in these robes. I'll be back in a minute."

He had returned to his place in front of the fire when she emerged from his bedroom wearing one of his shirts and clutching a spare blanket for warmth. The shirt hung nearly to her knees, and she'd rolled the sleeves at least three times.

"Did you forget to pack?" he asked, raising his eyebrows at her.

"No, but the Elves took my trunk to the guest quarters, and with one thing and another, I hated to trouble them about moving it. I didn't think you'd mind."

"No," he admitted. It wasn't as if he had to bother with his own laundry, after all. "How's your head?"

"Better, thanks," she said, sinking onto the sofa with a sigh. She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes and dug in hard.

"Stop that," he chided. "You'll make your head ache again, and I've better things to do than make up draughts for foolish Gryffindors."

She laughed at that, as he'd intended her to - a short sharp sound that held more relief than mirth - as she pulled her hands from her eyes and arranged the blanket more carefully over her bare legs.

"Come here, girl, and drink this." He pulled her closer and pressed a glass of wine into her hand.

"Thank God," she said, taking a sip and then leaning against his shoulder. "If you'd offered me tea I would have hexed you on the spot. One more drop of the stuff would have finished me. Professor McGonagall hates to drink alone, apparently, and just kept refilling my cup." She frowned into her glass. "I felt badly about leaving her tonight."

"Don't. Pomfrey is going to give her a sleeping draught. And it's not like she hasn't had time to prepare for this. He's been gone three weeks and was going by degrees long before that."

"It doesn't make it easy though." She shifted a little. "How long had they…?"

"No idea. As long as I've known them, probably. I didn't know for sure until several years after I started teaching."

"And yet they never married. I wonder why?"

He shrugged. "I presume she'd tell you if you asked."

"I'd feel awkward asking about something so personal. I mean, she was my teacher."

He snorted at that. "I was your teacher, too - or have you repressed those particular memories?"

"Well, no, but it's not for lack of trying," she said dryly. "But you're different."

"Hmm. Off the pedestal, am I?"

"More that you were never on one."

"Good. The thought of my students idolizing me is revolting."

She laughed. "I don't think you need to worry."

He smiled at that - at the familiar patter of their teasing and at the fact that she wasn't thinking about McGonagall's icy tears or Weasley's vague eyes or Potter's empty space. And neither was he.

A knock at the door disturbed the light moment, and he swore in frustration.

"Ignore it," Hermione begged. She tucked her feet beneath her, appearing to further entrench herself in his sofa as if daring anyone to ask her to move.

He used his magical eye to look through the door and sighed. "It's Minerva."

"Oh." She made the one word sound utterly desolate. "Better let her in then."

"Stay here," he said. "I'll see what she needs and send her on her way. She should be sleeping now anyway."

He opened the door and Minerva entered, holding a small box with a phoenix chick inside. "I'm sorry to bother you, Severus," she said, her voice raspy with fatigue. "It's just…I wanted…rather, Albus wanted you to have him." She handed him the box. "He started failing the day Albus died and then finally burned this morning…I really think he wanted to go with him, poor thing." Her voice broke. "But of course he couldn't, any more than…anyway, he rose from his ashes as usual. And Albus always said that after he was gone, he wanted you to have Fawkes, so…"

"That's…er…" Snape looked at the hideous little creature with undisguised alarm. "Surely he'd be happier staying with you."

"No," she said. "We've never gotten on particularly well. I think it's to do with the cat thing, though goodness knows I'd never be foolish enough to threaten Fawkes in either form."

"I really think…" he started, but Hermione approached and interrupted him.

"Snape will be happy to take him, Professor." She carefully took the box from McGonagall's shaking hands. "It was very sweet of Professor Dumbledore. I know how much Fawkes meant to him." She threw Snape a look as she set the box to one side, daring him to disagree.

"Yes, fine. Thank you," Snape ground out, shooting Granger a glare and wishing he could point out that Dumbledore hadn't been sweet when he'd made this bequest; he'd been completely dotty. Did Severus Snape look like a pet person? Let alone like someone who wanted a pet like Fawkes, whose appearance virtually screamed 'Gryffindor'? But it would be too cruel, even by Snape's standards, to remind Minerva that by the time he died, Albus's mind was about as sound as Swiss cheese, so Snape contented himself with the glare and resigned himself to adopting an orphaned phoenix. He supposed he should be grateful it wasn't a lion.

"Professor," Hermione said, ignoring the glare and going to McGonagall again. "I really think you should lie down. Snape said Madam Pomfrey was going to give you something to help you sleep. Did she? Or do you need one of us to get you something?"

"No, no, dear. She did. I just haven't taken it yet - wanted to clear up a few loose ends before I went to bed." She pressed Hermione's hand, and suddenly a queer look came over her. She glanced from Hermione to Severus and her face softened. "I'll go now. I'm sorry to have interrupted."

"You didn't interrupt anything," Hermione said soothingly. "And you're welcome to join us if you'd like, though I think you'd do better to get some sleep. You look all in."

"I am, child," McGonagall agreed heavily. "Thank you for all you did today - and for all both of you have done since the final battle. As hard as this trip has been, it's been a joy seeing the castle once again intact - seeing children in the halls again. I wish Albus could have seen it. I've wondered so many times if I did the wrong thing in taking him away. At the time, of course, it seemed the only possible way, but so much of him was tied to this place. It was as if he began disappearing the minute we left."

"He would not have survived the first winter had you not," Snape said.

She nodded, the corners of her mouth curving up into a slight smile. "True. As I said, I wonder if I did the right thing."

There was no possible answer to that, and she seemed not to expect one. She pressed a dry kiss to Hermione's cheek and then surprised Severus by doing the same to him. "Goodnight, children."

"I wonder if I should have gone with her," Hermione fretted as the door closed behind her. "I'm afraid she isn't going to sleep."

"Stand down, Granger. She's a grown woman who doesn't need a slip of a girl telling her what to do."

She shrugged. "Everyone needs someone to tell them what to do sometimes."

"Very well, then, I'm telling you: go to bed. You can get up tomorrow and sally forth to save the world, but right now sleep."

"Are you coming?"

He nodded and let her take his hand and lead him to the bedroom. She untied the knot of his dressing gown and slid her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder, her warm breath caressing his neck. He reached for the clip in her hair and released it, dropping it on the bedside table, and then he threaded his hands gently through her curls before burrowing beneath them to massage the tension from her neck. She moaned her appreciation, turning slightly to give him better access. He indulged her for a few more minutes before gently pushing her away and turning down the bed. She climbed in, looking ridiculously small sitting alone in the bed in the too-large shirt, and there was nothing for it but to climb in after her and pull her close. He wrapped his long form around her smaller one, tucking her head just beneath his chin. Her feet were like ice - the more fool her for wandering around the dungeons barefoot - and he winced as they brushed his shins.

"You're freezing," he said.

"I've been cold all day," she said with a sigh. "You're warm though."

"I've the sense to wear slippers." Whatever bite there was to the words was softened as he twined his legs with hers, trying to warm her.

"It was beastly today, wasn't it? Outside, I mean."

"Everything about today was beastly."

"Yes." She was quiet for so long that he thought she'd fallen asleep, when suddenly she said, "Forgot about Fawkes…should we do something for him?"

"He's fine for tonight," he murmured. "Go to sleep, idiot girl, or I'll fetch you a potion that will knock you out for a week."

She laughed softly. "Only you could make the word 'idiot' sound like an endearment."

"Ugh. I'll have to work on my inflection."

She laughed again, and then finally drifted off to sleep in his arms. He held her close and watched her as she slept, knowing that tomorrow he would have to send her away again - knowing that one of these times, she wouldn't come back.

§ § § §

"You awake?" she asked.

"Mmm," he answered from someplace between waking and sleeping.

They had moved to their own sides of the bed during the night, but she scooted over and cuddled up to his side. "It's morning."

"Sunday. Go back to sleep."

"Can't," she said, stretching. "I need to check on Professor McGonagall. But first I suppose I'll have to round up a House-Elf and have my trunk brought down here."

He groaned a little and rubbed his eyes. "Have it bring a pot of coffee."

"Him, Snape, or her. Not it."

"Oh, stuff it," he mumbled, burrowing back into his pillow as she moved away from him again.

"Prat." She swung her legs over the side of the bed. "Yikes! It's freezing in here."

He fumbled across the bedside table for his wand and pointed it in the direction of the fireplace, causing the previous night's embers to burst into flames.

"You might look when you do that," she said mildly. "You nearly set fire to your wardrobe."

"I've been lighting that fire for nearly twenty years now without your help." He sat up in bed then, sweeping his hair out of his face and glaring at her.

"Yes, you do seem to do well enough without me."

There wasn't much in her tone, but he felt a prickle of unease nonetheless. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Her mouth turned up in a small smile. "Nothing. I'm going to get a shower. I'll have some coffee sent in."

She left the room then, and he heard the low murmur of her voice as she summoned the House-Elf and then, as the coffee appeared on his bedside table, he heard the sound of the shower starting. He considered joining her - was sorely tempted, in fact - but discarded the idea when he recalled the ambiguity of their previous exchange. This business of her running back to him had to stop, and as much as he might enjoy a quick shag in the shower, initiating such activities wasn't exactly conducive to pushing her away.

Somehow, he was just strong enough to tell her to leave, but not quite strong enough not to welcome her when she returned. It was too easy to slide back into the familiar patterns.

But it had to stop.

§ § § §

"Aren't you coming up to breakfast?" she asked, as she twisted her hair and clamped it into a messy arrangement at the back of her head.

"I'll come a few minutes behind you," he said. He hadn't yet gotten out of bed, but she was already fully dressed.

"Still ashamed of me I see." This time, there was no mistaking the bitterness in her voice. "Of us."

"I thought we established that there was no 'us' when you moved away to write your book," he said calmly, climbing out of bed and reaching for his dressing gown. "As such, I see no sense in inviting pointless gossip."

"I moved away to write my book because you told me to," she snapped. "There's no reason I couldn't have written it right here."

"There's a list of reasons, and we've been through them already," he said. "But if you want to force me to say it, then yes, I am the Assistant Headmaster of Hogwarts and the Head of one of its Houses, and I think that going before the entire school and flaunting the fact that a teen-aged girl spent the night in my rooms would serve no good purpose, particularly as whatever passed for a relationship between us has already ended by mutual agreement."

"I think you might want to look up the word 'mutual'. We seem to define that word differently. And I'm twenty, which is not a teen-aged girl, and you and I both know that I was older at seventeen than most people are at fifty."

"That is unfortunately true, but the fact is that you are still very young and should be making some effort to enjoy this time in your life - to do whatever it is that normal witches your age do. I don't pretend to know what those things are, but I think sequestering yourself in my dungeons can hardly qualify."

"Normal witches!" she repeated. "Do you think shoving me out into the world will somehow make my life normal? There is no normal for me, Snape. Unless I leave the magical world altogether, all I'll ever be out there is Harry Potter's friend. The one who saw him die. The one who saw Voldemort die. And everywhere I go there are questions and pointed fingers and even requests for autographs. All because I didn't die when by all rights and common sense I bloody well should have." She gave a bark of bitter laughter. "Oh, fuck. I just realized what I am - I'm The Girl Who Lived. I'm like that poor bird of Dumbledore's - always getting up from the ashes of my life and starting over, whether I want to or not. And you know what? Compared to all that, the fact that I'm sleeping with my former Potions professor doesn't even rate as interesting. You're the most normal thing in my life."

"And that is precisely what needs to change," he said coldly. "You've hardly given your life a chance, and every time it gets difficult, you sneak back here and hide from it."

She made a growling sound of frustration. "You can’t really be so thick as to believe that’s why I came back."

"Obviously, this time you came back because of Dumbledore," he said with exaggerated patience. "I was referring to the other times."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Remember last year - the day I charmed the ceiling?"

He nodded. Valentine's Day. He'd never forget it.

"I told you I figured out why I'd stayed at Hogwarts. That it was because of you."

"You needed…"

"No," she said sharply. "I mean, yes - obviously I needed you. But I didn't just need you. I wanted…still want…damn it!" She clenched her fists. "I don't come back because life gets too difficult. I come back when I miss you so much that I don't think I can stand being away from you another day. Yes, my life is total crap, but I'm not running away from it - I'm running to you, you bastard. And then you send me away again, and I realize that while I'm obviously acceptable as an occasional shag, you don't care two straws whether I'm here with you or not - wouldn't come after me if I'd been gone a hundred years - and then that hurts ten times as much as the missing you did. It's been great fun, Snape, and humiliating myself by telling you all this is just the icing on the cake. So here I am - acting like a normal young witch - telling my professor that I've got an silly, unrequited, schoolgirl crush, when he refuses to even be seen walking into breakfast with me."

He winced slightly. "It's not…damn it, Hermione, you're…"

"Oh, so it's 'Hermione' now," she interrupted bitterly. "That's supposed to help when you're letting me down easily, I suppose. Never mind, Snape.  I think I'd rather not be on a first name basis, if it's all the same to you. I'm going up to breakfast. And don't worry - I promise not to embarrass you."

"Now you're being childish," he snapped.

"You're treating me like a child," she returned. "I'm entitled."

"I have not treated you like a child in the last two years, a fact that even you would acknowledge if you weren't so busy acting like one. I do not take children into my bed, Granger, nor do I let them into my life. But as absurd and offensive as that accusation is, it pales beside the suggestion that I've treated you as nothing more than an occasional shag. How dare you?"

"You're right," she said quietly. "That was unfair. I realize that if that was all you wanted you could have gotten it elsewhere and with less inconvenience. But I'm not wrong about the fact that you've treated me like a child. You may not think you have, but you have. I've been a project for you, haven't I? You've been putting little Miss Granger back together again, just like you've been putting Hogwarts back together again, and last September you decided that the Granger project was finished, and you checked me off your list, patted me on the head, and sent me on my way."

"You needed to…"

"I needed you," she cried fiercely, "but I don't need you to patronize me - to decide what's best for me and to tell me what to do and where to live. I don't need a father and I don't need a teacher, and I might have needed a healer once, but I don't anymore. I just need you to be here, and I need to think you give a damn whether I'm here or not."

"As a matter of fact I do," he bit out, "but while it is your prerogative to ruin your life over a man, it is for me to decide whether I am willing to be the man in question. I am no longer capable of happily ever after - if indeed I ever was."

"And you think that's what I want from you? A fairy tale? Believe it or not, Snape, I've actually noticed that you're not Prince Charming, and if you think I'm princess material, then you're the first man on earth who has ever thought so."

"And yet because I didn't write you poetry and bring you flowers, I was just accused of treating you like a whore."

"Oh, don't be obtuse! You were accused of treating me like a whore because you keep shagging me and then chucking me out of your life. But I've apologized for saying that, haven't I, and…" She broke off suddenly and squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her fingers to her temples. "This conversation is going in circles, isn't it?"

"Yes, and it's past time it ended," he snapped. "Go to breakfast."

Her eyes narrowed. "Sure you don't want to pat me on the head when you say that?"

His jaw clenched. "Get out."

Just the day before, he would have sworn she had no tears left to cry, but he saw her eyes spill over as she turned and made her way out of his chambers.

§ § § §

They had resorted to using a pensieve, finally, when he hadn't the heart to press her any further for her story. He had watched as she drew the delicate web of memories from her temple and marveled, not for the first time, that something so apparently fragile could wield such terrible power. They'd gone together into the swirling silver, and he had stood beside her as they relived the final part of the day that had laid waste to Hogwarts and seen so many lives destroyed.

He had his own memories of what had gone on outside, but he saw again through her eyes the mayhem that had reigned after the Death Eaters had swarmed the grounds during a Quidditch match. It was a blur of silver masks and green curses and red blood, all under the shadow of the vile mark that hung low in the sky. It was shrieks of pain and shouts of rage and the low roar as death rushed to claim each new victim. For a brief moment, he saw himself, desperately flinging curse after curse, fighting side by side with the children he was supposed to be protecting. They had all lost the luxury of childhood that day; those who had survived would never be children again.

The mental barriers between Potter and the Dark Lord had eroded to virtually nothing by then, and Snape doubted that all the Occlumency in the world could have prevented it. So Potter had known just where to find his enemy, and Voldemort, having done with Dumbledore by then, claimed the castle and simply waited, knowing Potter would come. Granger and Weasley had both helped, covering Potter and deflecting curses so that their friend could fulfill his terrible destiny.

The only time Snape saw Granger falter was when Weasley was felled by a curse; for a split second she looked torn, but then he saw her jaw clench and her fist tighten on her wand, and she and Potter continued to make their way towards the castle without stopping to help their friend. Snape heard Granger - the real Granger standing next to him in the memory - suck in a sharp breath at the sight.

"We had to leave him," she whispered. "There wasn't time to…we had to..."

Potter hadn't even looked back.

It was stunning, walking into the deserted castle and shutting out the cacophony of the battle raging outside. Their ears rang in the sudden silence, but in the memory, Potter and Granger seemed not to mark the change as they strode with fierce purpose into the Great Hall. Once, Snape would have made a comment about the foolishness of Gryffindors rushing headlong into danger, but he remembered Granger's words to him the day he'd met her in the wreckage, when she was looking for Potter's glasses: I helped my best friend commit suicide a week ago, Professor…Theirs had not been a naive rush into danger but a disturbingly stoic acceptance of their own likely fate.

Even knowing they were safe, that these were only memories, it was impossible not to be terrified as they watched Harry Potter face Tom Riddle for the last time. Granger had stood slightly to one side, her wand held tightly but her hand shaking. She had no business there, Snape thought, watching her. For all that she was brilliant and occasionally quite cunning, all she could possibly have been to Potter in that situation was a liability. She had done her part as his friend in bringing him safely to the door; once inside, the fight was his alone. In fact, as their last encounter played out, neither wizard seemed even to notice Granger's presence, so intent was each on the other's destruction. Snape was used to seeing the light of insanity in the Dark Lord's inhuman eyes, but in Granger's memory he could see one of the things she had never been able to bring herself to say - that in his final moments, something of the same madness had been in Potter's eyes as well.

Potter had met Voldemort on equal ground that day, the hatred between the two building to a crescendo during their battle and finally igniting a cataclysmic explosion of magic that had killed them both and sent shockwaves rumbling through the ancient castle. It had been nothing short of a miracle that Granger had survived, but Snape watched in awe as she crawled through the detritus and knelt at Potter's side. She bit her lip and wiped her dusty hands on her robes before reaching forward and gently closing her friend's eyes. A shaft of sunlight shot through the hole in the east wall, and she looked almost angelic, kneeling in a halo of sparkling dust motes, tenderly stroking Potter's unruly hair.

§ § § §

She had cried again when they had come out, when the eerie quiet of the ruptured Great Hall had been exchanged for the comfortable familiarity of his quarters. For nearly a fortnight after they went into the pensieve, they kept to his rooms as grief and pain and guilt were leeched out of her like poison.

After the pensieve, she had offered to let him into her mind, and while he appreciated the trust the offer had represented, he also recognized it for what it was - an attempt to avoid having to put words to her feelings. Allowing him to use his skill as a Legilimens to harvest her memories of Potter would serve no real purpose, particularly now that his own curiosity about the final battle had been sated. So while he refused to use Legilimency, he had used every other tool in his arsenal, following instincts he hadn't known he possessed. He lanced her with his sharp tongue and then soothed the hurt away, holding her as she cried. He bullied her until her eyes blazed and she stormed around the dungeons and threw things at him, and then he took her to bed and pleasured her, patiently teaching her the nuances of her body. When the worst seemed to have passed, he gave her his silence, often just sitting and holding her for hours in front of the dying fire, listening as she told him seemingly random, disconnected stories about a boy whom he had once loathed and she had once loved.

Had she been just a project?

When they finally emerged from the dungeons, they had both gone back to the work that had driven them for more than a year - the work of rebuilding Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Granger was still working off her survivor's guilt - albeit less frenetically than before - and had a natural bent toward hard work and problem solving that made the restoration of Hogwarts an irresistible task for her. He simply didn't have anything else to do. It was laughable, really, that Severus Snape of all people would be moving heaven and earth to bring the children back to Hogwarts, but he'd been bound to Hogwarts for so many years that starting over somewhere else seemed unthinkable. As much as he disliked most of his students, there was little point to being a teacher without them.

Gradually, Snape found himself in the odd position of being the de facto Headmaster of the school. He quickly determined that the members of the Ministry-appointed search committee wouldn't be able to find their own arses if he drew them a map, and given the number of good men who had either been lost or had simply lost heart during the final battle, the number of qualified applicants was pitifully small anyway. Snape didn't particularly want the position, but even if he had, he knew the mark on his arm would disqualify him from consideration. The Ministry might let him do the work, might even have given him an Order of Merlin for his war service, but it would never put a former Death Eater in the Headmaster's office.

It didn't matter. Even those of the staff who didn't like him seemed to acknowledge him as Hogwarts' leader during those busy months, and when the doors finally opened in September, it was Snape who welcomed the students back, reminded them of the rules, and admonished them in his usual forbidding way as to the consequences of misbehavior. It was Snape to whom the staff members brought their scheduling conflicts, supply shortages, and squabbles, and it was Snape who answered thirty-odd owls from worried first-year parents, telling them that their little dunderheads were settling in just fine.

He had never been busier, but just after the start of term, Granger had looked up and realized that for the first time since the final battle, there really wasn't much for her to do at Hogwarts. The school was fully operational again, and she was too old to be a student and too young to be a staff member. She began spending most of her daytime hours in the library, and he was too busy with his myriad duties even to notice at first that she had undertaken a new project. Eventually he did, of course. Though they maintained the polite fiction of separate quarters, it was an unusual evening that didn't find her in his chambers. She occasionally helped him with his marking, but he noticed that she was working on something of her own, too, and asked her what it was.

"I'm writing a book," she said, sounding a bit shy about it. "You told me once that I should tell my side of the story. Now that I've told you, I think I might be ready to tell everyone else, but I want to do it my way."

Hearing the simple words, he had felt the ridiculous impulse to grab her hands and dance around the room, and it had been far more than just the successful conclusion of a project, by God, no matter what she might think. That year's Sorting had represented the completion of a project, but it hadn't fueled the first burst of pure joy he'd felt in more than a decade. But Hermione Granger being strong enough, well enough, to tell her story and move on - that was something worth celebrating.

Of course, he hadn't danced, but he had smiled when he said, "That's hardly surprising, Granger. You want to do everything your way." Then he had taken her into his arms and kissed her breathless, and he had told her that he was proud of her, something he couldn't recall ever saying as sincerely to anyone else.

The next day, he had broached the subject of her moving on. It was true that in his position and with the students back in the castle, it would have been awkward for him to be discovered with such a young lover, especially a former student who was known to every man, woman, and House-elf in the wizarding world, but that wasn't why he had convinced her to go. Leaving Hogwarts had seemed like the next logical step in her healing, and he refused to be the reason she failed to take it. It was true that their agreement on this point was not quite 'mutual', but neither had she fought him. She had allowed herself to be sent away, and he had taken that as a sign that she was well on the road to seeing things his way.

§ § § §

He did not go up for breakfast after their row, instead going to his laboratory and working mindlessly on simple potions for Pomfrey's stores. When he finally ventured back to his chambers in the early afternoon, he saw immediately that her trunk was gone, and over the course of the day he noticed that several other things were gone, too - little personal items that had accumulated in his rooms over the past eleven months. He hadn't questioned why she hadn't taken them before, but now they took on new significance and were more conspicuous in their absence than they ever had been in their presence. She wasn't coming back this time, and the fact that her favorite Muggle fountain pen had disappeared from his desk seemed to resonate with as much finality as Dumbledore's ashes had the day before.

She hadn't been entirely thorough, however, and that more than anything told him that she had been upset when she had left. On the bedside table, he found the clip he'd pulled from her hair the night before. It was silver, and heavier than the cheap tortoiseshell ones she used for every day. Her parents had given it to her, she had told him, but she only wore it when she had occasion to dress up because the weight of it pulled her hair and gave her a headache. He had asked impatiently why she wore it at all, then, but she had just rolled her eyes and told him that it was a girl thing and he wouldn't understand. Then she had asked for a headache potion.

Foolish girl.

He took the clip into the bathroom and dropped it into her drawer, noticing as he did so that her comb and brush and few other personal items - including her contraceptive potion -  were gone. So not her drawer any more, really - just an empty drawer in his bathroom - but he left the silver clip there all the same, not knowing what else to do with it. On impulse, he opened the cabinet and saw that her toothbrush still hung there. He doubted she had forgotten it; she likely had so many of them that she simply didn't need it.

He had never ascribed any particular significance to the fact that she kept a toothbrush there. She was so obsessive on the subject of dental care that it wouldn't surprise him if she had toothbrushes stashed all over Hogwarts castle as well as in every library in Great Britain and any other place she frequented on a regular basis. This particular toothbrush was red, with the name of her parents' dental practice stamped in gold on the handle, but he'd seen a rainbow of other colours over the months they'd spent together; she replaced them on a rigid schedule and had taken to replacing his, as well, once she had determined that he didn't do it frequently enough. It appeared, in fact, that she had done so before their row that morning. A new yellow toothbrush still wrapped in clear Muggle plastic hung on his side of the cabinet, compliments of the Drs Granger.

Next to her toothbrush was the Muggle toothpaste she favored. He had objected to it at first - Muggle toothbrushes were one thing, but Muggle potions another entirely - and offered to make her a proper teeth-cleaning potion, but she had declined with a smirk that eloquently expressed her opinion of his teeth. He maintained his distrust of Muggle products in general, but he had come to like the pure, minty taste of her just after she had cleaned her teeth. It had taken a bit of getting used to, but now that sharp taste of mint had woven its way into a number of exceedingly pleasant memories. He quite enjoyed morning sex, for instance, but had learned early in the relationship that she wouldn't let him near her in the morning until they had both cleaned their teeth. She didn't require that he use her Muggle toothpaste, but clean teeth and fresh breath were firm prerequisites for any intimate contact.

"That whole first thing in the morning, roll-over-and-start-snogging business might work in the romance novels," she had said the first time it had come up, handing him his toothbrush, "but there's nothing the least bit sexy about morning breath."

"Only you would view teeth-cleaning as foreplay," he had grumbled, but he had used the toothbrush, rinsed his mouth, and then pointed out that if she found hygiene sexy, his bathtub was nearby and might offer possibilities as well. It turned out that hygiene could be very sexy indeed, and now just the sight of the Muggle toothpaste was enough to bring back that memory and a landslide of others.

"Idiot," he chastised himself. "She's only been gone a few hours, and you're getting maudlin over toothpaste." He shut the cabinet with a resolute bang, but it never occurred to him to toss either the toothpaste or the red toothbrush into the bin.

§ § § §

"How do I look?" Dumbledore asked, attempting to peer out of the frame of his portrait.

"Just a bit to the right, I think," Minerva answered, using her wand to make the slight adjustment. "What do you think, Severus?"

"I think those robes constitute the greatest fashion mistake of the last two centuries. The artist is probably still suffering retina burn."

Dumbledore chuckled delightedly. "Minerva tried to talk me out of them, but I'm glad I didn't let her. This place needs a little livening up."

"I can't imagine why," Snape said. "No one works here anymore, nor is anyone likely to. The Ministry committee seems content to leave this office as a shrine to the great Albus Dumbledore."

"Nonsense, nonsense," Dumbledore said. "I won't have it. Why don't you take the position?"

Snape raised his eyebrows. "You mean aside from this?" He tapped his left forearm.

"That might be gotten around," Minerva said, but she didn't sound very confident.

"Or not," he said dryly. "Anyway, I don't want it. I have enough headaches."

"Well then, my dear, it'll just have to be you," Dumbledore said, smiling down at Minerva. "You promised me, you know, before…well, you remember."

Minerva's eyes filled with tears and she reached for her handkerchief to dab at them. "I didn't…I didn't think that you'd remember…that you really understood what we were talking about."

"I'm not surprised," he said gently. "And I won't hold you to a promise made at such a time if you'd really rather not, but I do think you would make a magnificent Headmistress. I will be here to help you along, of course, as would all of the others here." He gestured to the other portraits, whose subjects appeared to be sleeping soundly. Snape didn't believe it for a minute, of course. The nosy bastards were listening to every word.

"I'll…consider it," she said. "What do you think, Severus?"

"Hmm. Continue running the school with little recognition and no additional pay, or hand the whole business over to you." He pretended to be deep in thought. "I don't know, Minerva - I shall have to think on it."

"Cheeky," she said. "And you wouldn't be handing the whole business over to me, young man. If I do this, I fully intend that you would remain Assistant Headmaster."

"I suppose I could agree to that," he said grudgingly, though the truth was that he was nothing short of elated at the thought of placing many of his current responsibilities in Minerva McGonagall's capable hands.

She smiled at him, not the least bit fooled by his tone. "Let's discuss it over a cup of tea. Albus, we'll leave you to catch up with the other portraits for now."

"Very well," Dumbledore agreed. He looked around the office with satisfaction. "Thank you both for situating me so comfortably. It is good to be home."

Minerva dabbed at her eyes again at that, and Snape cleared his throat. "Headmaster," he said, giving Dumbledore's portrait a respectful nod before ushering Minerva out the door.

§ § § §

They settled in neutral territory - at a corner of the Ravenclaw table in the deserted Great Hall - and Minerva poured them each a cup of tea.

"I didn't think he'd remember," she said, shaking her head. "He was so far gone by that time - it was the rare day when he even remembered who I was. But he did know me that day, and he said…he made me promise to bring him back here, when it was all over…made me promise to come back here myself. He said he wanted to remember me at Hogwarts, where we'd spent so many happy years - and some unhappy ones, too, I suppose, but I don't seem to think of those, looking back. Odd how that works…" She paused for a moment, lost in her memories, before coming back to the present. "Anyway, he rambled a bit then, but he did say that he wanted me to continue our work here, and he made me promise that I would."

"And will you keep your promise?"

"Will the committee have me, do you think? I doubt they've had a witch in mind, after all. You know how narrow-minded that lot can be."

"I have some idea, yes," he said dryly. "I don't think they've been very happy about having an ex-Death Eater running the school - which is to say that I think I can present your application to them in such a way as to make it eminently acceptable."

"A rather Slytherin approach, but as it benefits me, I suppose I shouldn't complain. But truly, Severus - you've done a marvelous job here this last year or more. If you have even the slightest desire to be Headmaster, you need only say the word and I'll be every bit as vocal on your behalf as you could be on mine."

"No," he said sincerely. "Having had a taste of it, I think I'd rather it go to you. I'd certainly rather have you than some unknown quantity procured by the committee."

"Better the devil you know, in other words."

His eyes glinted with amusement. "Something like that."

"Well, then. I suppose we'll try it." She took a deep breath. "Oh, my. I can't quite believe I just said that. When will you go to the committee?"

They talked logistics for a few minutes, hammering out their approach to the Ministry's search committee. They both felt confident that their combined efforts would be sufficient to overcome any resistance the committee might have, and as far as Severus was concerned, Minerva McGonagall would be Headmistress of Hogwarts, if not before the month of January was out, then very shortly afterwards. Their discussion then turned to the future of Hogwarts, and though they weren't in total accord on this subject, he thought they would be able to work together. They had before, after all, and under far more trying circumstances.

At a lull in the conversation, Minerva looked around the Great Hall. "What a change this is from the last time I was here. Poppy told me that Hermione Granger restored the ceiling charm."

He nodded. "I saw her do it. It was impressive…for a Gryffindor."

She snorted. "For anyone, I should say." She studied the ceiling, watching heavy grey clouds scuttle by overhead. "What a shame Filius couldn't have seen it. He'd have been so proud of her."

"I suppose he would. In truth, she had a hand in virtually every aspect of the castle's repairs. Her way of dealing with things, perhaps."

She gave him a shrewd look. "Perhaps?"

"Almost certainly, then."

She nodded. "I realize I was nearly delirious last weekend after Albus's memorial, but I do recall getting the impression that you two were a good bit closer than anyone had any idea of. How is she now?"

"She is…better, I believe. She's writing a book about Potter…the Order…all of it."

"She told me. I can't say that I'm particularly anxious to read it, but I can see that it will serve a purpose."

He nodded. "Several, in fact."

"Yes." Minerva looked as if she were going to say something further and then stopped herself. "Where is she working? She told me on Sunday that she was leaving for London."

"I believe she spends a good bit of time doing research in the Ministry library," he answered stiffly. "Beyond that I couldn't say."

Minerva raised her eyebrows at him. "I see. Well, when you hear from her, tell her I'd love to get in a proper visit, now things have settled down a bit. I'd like to hear more about the charm she used on the ceiling, among other things."

He took care to school his features into an impassive mask before replying. "I think it very unlikely that I'll be hearing from Miss Granger in future."

"Oh. I'm sorry, Severus."

He was sorry, too, he realized. Saying the words aloud had been like speaking a eulogy. He put down his tea, certain that he would gag on the next sip.

He forced himself to answer Minerva: "It's of no importance. It was time for her to go." He shrugged slightly and then added, "It's time for me to go as well. I've a potion I need to check on. Good day, Minerva."

She gave him a sad smile, and he knew that while he might be able to deceive most people, he had not deceived her. He was grateful when she merely wished him a good day and let him leave.

§ § § §

Already, Fawkes was nearly full-grown again, his plumage a riot of crimson and gold. Snape offered him back to Minerva, who had just been named the school's new Headmistress, thinking the bird would be happier in the office where he had spent so many years, but Minerva said no, that Albus had wanted Snape to have him. And indeed, Fawkes seemed content to remain with Snape, following him to his classroom during the day and resting on the arm of his chair at night, letting Snape stroke his soft feathers as he soothed his new human with a hero's song.

§ § § §

"Come to order, please," Minerva McGonagall said, rapping her knuckles against the long table. "We haven't got all day."

The chattering of the staff members gradually quieted as everyone found their seats and looked to McGonagall expectantly.

"I realize that many of you are new here and don't know me well," she began, "and the others of you probably know me better than you wish to." Laughter. "You all know, however, that I am Minerva McGonagall, and as of three days ago, I was named the new Headmistress of Hogwarts. The first thing I'd like to do is to commend our Assistant Headmaster, Severus Snape, for the fine work he's done here over the past two years. I would like to give a full accounting of the many things he's done to make it possible for Hogwarts to be operational again, but that would take more time than we have and would infuriate him besides." More laughter, and a reproving look from Snape. McGonagall's lips turned up in a knowing smile. "Very well, Professor Snape, I'll desist. But thank you."

There was a murmur of agreement, and Snape gave a brief nod of acknowledgement. Minerva went on then, giving a little speech about standards for excellence and her goals for the future, and he let it wash over him, paying little attention to the specifics but taking a surprising degree of comfort in the familiarity of it all. He and Minerva had certainly had their differences - and would continue to have them - but she had been a fixture at Hogwarts since he was a little boy, and having her back felt right.

Once Minerva had finished the pep-talk portion of the meeting, she smoothly segued into specifics, addressing staff concerns and making several alterations to the calendar for the spring term.

"Headmistress," ventured mousy little Professor Snick, the new Transfigurations instructor and Head of Ravenclaw, "Valentine's Day is coming up next week, and several of the students have asked about the possibility of having a ball. Do you think…?"

McGonagall pursed her lips and then shook her head. "I'm sorry, Professor, but I doubt we could plan a proper ball on such short notice. A special feast though, perhaps…what do you think Professor Snape?"

"I think that Valentine's Day is a nauseating, insipid holiday and should not be observed at all, particularly here, where it is nothing more than an excuse for a bunch of overly-hormonal adolescents to engage in the very activities we spend the rest of the year trying to discourage."

"Well don't be shy, Severus," Irma Pince teased. "Tell us how you really feel."

"Sounds like someone didn't get any Valentines last year," Vector added nastily.

Snape's face went livid with rage, and McGonagall looked only slightly less furious. "If you recall," she said, her voice glacial, "Professor Snape was overseeing the rebuilding of Hogwarts at this time last year whilst you, Professor Vector, were enjoying an extended holiday. I, for one, am grateful that he had something on his mind besides Valentines, else we likely wouldn't be here at all."

Vector flushed at the reprimand and murmured an apology.

"As a matter of fact," McGonagall went on, "I happen to concur with Professor Snape's opinion of Valentine's Day. It's a lot of rot, if you ask me. However, the fact that we have more serious concerns should not preclude the students from having a bit of harmless fun. I will speak to the House-Elves about a feast on the fourteenth. Professor Snape, if you would prefer not to be involved, you are welcome to take the evening off. You've certainly earned it."

He nodded but didn't thank her, still too angry to trust himself to speak. He tuned out the rest of the meeting, most of which didn't concern him now that he was no longer in charge, and let his mind return to the previous Valentine's Day - the day Hermione Granger had returned to Hogwarts…and to him. She had told him as much and then she had given herself over to him completely -  her body first and then her mind and heart - showing more faith in him than anyone else ever had, even Dumbledore. He had thrown those gifts back in her face, he realized, when he had sent her away. It was no wonder she thought he was the world's biggest bastard.

He became aware of the meeting breaking up around him and rose, gathering his quill and parchment.

"A word please, Professor Snape," McGonagall said, checking him.

He nodded once and resumed his seat, scowling down at the scarred conference table, even when the door had closed behind the last person and left them alone. 

"Vector is a fool," she said, breaking the silence.

"Of course," he agreed calmly. "Surely you didn't keep me here to tell me something we've both known for years." 

"No. I just felt…badly. I'm sorry." 

He was irked by the pity he heard in her voice. "Don't bother about it, Minerva. In the first place, you're not responsible for all the fools in the world, and in the second place, it didn't matter. It was an idle remark."

"It was an idle remark, but it doesn't follow that it didn't matter. At a guess, I'd say it was nothing less than spectacularly cruel." She saw his eyes narrow and held up a placating hand. "No, I'm not going to pry, Severus. You've taught me not to, frankly, and even if you hadn't, I'm afraid I'm still a bit too caught up in my own loss to get involved in yours at the moment. I realize I'm luckier than most - I have his portrait, after all - but it's not the same as if he were still here."

"No," he agreed. He didn't want a portrait either. He wanted a living, breathing woman who was obsessed with books and teeth and House-Elves and fixing things and…well, just obsessive in general, he supposed, but somehow it didn't bother him. It never had, actually, and it certainly didn't now that he knew how empty his rooms were without her, how cold his bed was when she wasn't in it, and how bleak each day seemed when it didn't hold any hope of her arrival.

He cleared his throat. "I believe I will accept your offer to take the evening of the fourteenth off."

She looked a little surprised. "I'm glad to hear it. I hope you enjoy yourself."

"Thank you," he murmured. "It's…possible."

§ § § §

Back in his office, he sat immediately at his desk and penned his note without giving himself a chance to change his mind.

Granger,

The fourteenth of February is once again approaching, and I recall that you prefer not to eat alone on that particular day. As it's become something of a tradition for us to share that meal together, I would welcome your company for dinner next Thursday night. We could go out or eat in my chambers, whichever you prefer.

I realize that my company cannot be so tempting now as it was when there was none other to be had, but I offer it to you all the same.

Let me know if I can expect you.

S.S.

He rolled the parchment and looked at Fawkes, who was perched nearby. "Less than three weeks," he told the phoenix, holding up the scroll. "She said it would take me a hundred years, and here I am - going after her in less than three weeks. What must you think of me?"

Fawkes soared gracefully onto his desk and offered his leg.

"Nonsense," Snape said, stroking the bird's head. "I'll not treat you like a common barn owl. One of us must maintain his dignity, and it certainly doesn't look like it's going to be me."

Had he not known it to be impossible, Snape would have sworn that Fawkes rolled his eyes before offering up his leg again. Snape sighed. "Very well then," he said, fastening the scroll to Fawkes' leg. "At least I know I can trust you. Try the Ministry library first, I suppose, and if she's not there, I've no idea what to try. You'll find her."

Fawkes soared out of the open door and disappeared down the corridor. Snape had to admit that he'd grown rather fond of the creature; after all, Fawkes couldn't help that nature had given him Gryffindor colors, and it appeared that Snape's aversion to all things Gryffindor had abated a bit anyway.

He was at dinner that night when Fawkes returned with a tiny scrap of parchment attached to his leg. He unrolled it and, taking care to keep it hidden under the table, read it quickly.

Snape,

If I come at all, I'm coming to stay. It's your call.

H. Granger

He smiled to himself. Good girl, Granger. He didn't blame her for making him work for it a bit, but he wasn't about to prostrate himself and beg her to return - and he was sure she had too much sense to expect anything of the kind. He couldn't pen his reply in the middle of the Great Hall, so he excused himself at the first possible moment and swept off in the direction of his quarters, scattering an alarmed gaggle of Hufflepuffs without even seeing them.

Not ten minutes after arriving in his rooms, he was fastening his reply to Fawkes' waiting leg.

Granger,

Of course I want you to come, foolish girl. I wouldn't have invited you otherwise.

Are we eating out or in my chambers? I am a capable chef, as you know, but I shouldn't be expected to provide a meal without having some time to plan. Do try to remember that I'm a Potions Master, not a House-Elf.

S.S.

He moved restlessly about his rooms after that and was grateful that he had used Fawkes rather than an owl when the phoenix returned in half the usual amount of time, calmly offering up Hermione's response.

Snape,

As I recall, you cooked for me on very short notice last year and managed just fine. Can we have the chocolate mousse again?

We can go out another time. At the moment, I just want to be home.

H. Granger

Home. The one word was his undoing.

He closed his eyes and pictured her standing in the Great Hall, wand upraised and quivering as she charmed the ancient ceiling. She had been a part of the castle that day - had brought it back to life with that maddening mixture of brains and talent and sheer bloody-minded determination that irked and enchanted him in equal measure - and six months later he had dismissed her from the place - and from his life - as if she were a guest who had outstayed her welcome.

He had told himself that it was for her own good, and he might even have believed it. But the truth was that since that day, the only times the castle had felt like home to him had been those evenings when he would return to his rooms to find her curled in a chair, waiting for him. And after the first time it had happened, he'd never approached his door again without feeling a spark of hope that he might find her there…might find her home.

Perhaps it would be best if she sought a life away from Hogwarts - away from him - but he wasn't unselfish enough to keep telling her so, nor could he continue in the staggering presumption that he had the right.

He reached for his quill and a small piece of parchment, and his hand was slightly unsteady as he wrote:

Hermione,