Birthday Fic for Bluey (2/2): By the Book
Title: By the Book
Author: Mundungus42
Length/Word Count: 9,900 (part 2)
Pairing: SS/HG
Rating: PG-
Disclaimer: See Chapter One
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Despite Hermione's initial panic about the best way to approach Snape about Delphinia van Ij's theory, it was fairly simple. She already had her research proposal written up. She had an intriguing historical document and a staunch ally in Wilhemina, who would help her recover the manuscript if Snape refused to return it or tried to publish first.
She knew it would be wise to get the drop on Snape by making initial inquiries into Delphinia's history before sending him Haverkort's autobiography and her additional materials, so she spent the rest of the day in the library, digging through family histories and educational records. By the end of the day, she'd learnt that Delphinia Gardner had been the third of five children, a child prodigy who had started Hogwarts at seven and received an unprecedented eleven NEWTs. She had gone on to work for the Department of Mysteries and shortly thereafter became their public face, rather like Mistress Tearsheet was now, and at age thirty had married the man who had been her Charms Master at Hogwarts, one Otto van Ij. They'd had two children, both of whom went on to become noted academics. The family had mingled with numerous old magical families, including, to her surprise, the Princes.
Delphinia had submitted the manuscript to Folder and Stitch shortly after the birth of her second child, from which Hermione concluded that Delphinia had become interested in the budding field of chronocryptology while she was on sabbatical from the Department of Mysteries. She would have been only a few years younger than Haverkort. However, the details of Delphinia's professional life would not be accessible to her, being Mystified, so she would have to wait for Snape's response. After making painstaking notes on the van Ij family tree, Hermione returned to Haverkort's autobiography in search of anything that might explain his resistance to Delphinia's ideas.
Hermione started where she had left off, when Haverkort published a series of important articles while running his first lab at the Lyonesse Institute for Magical Theory, which meant more interminable parties, name-dropping, and innuendo-ridden intrigues. However, it was much less boring now that she was looking for something specific in Haverkort's life. Every mention of an unnamed Ministry official could be a clue.
She scanned the pages, waiting patiently for something to jump out at her, and finally Department of Mysteries jumped out of the letters that had been starting to swim in her vision.
It was a dull affair, despite the illustriousness of the host, attended largely by bureaucrats, politicians, and the rich. I was at my most deliberately gay and managed to have a delightful conversation with a colleague in the Department of Mysteries whose talent, I fear, is being wasted on twaddle of the worst sort. I shall ever admire the Department's work on such intangibles as life, death, the mind, and time, but it is disappointing that they do not support the notion that matters of the heart are best left to novelists, and that the work of men- and ladies- of science should be made of sterner stuff.
Hermione's heart leapt. If Haverkort was referring to Delphinia, then she now had an idea of what sort of work she did in the Department of Mysteries and an idea of why Haverkort might be less than receptive of her ideas. If she could find any additional references, Coggeshaw might accept them. She copied down the passage and put a coloured sticky flag on the page. There wasn't much time, so she jumped forward in the text, frantically scanning Haverkort's society outings for anything promising. By the time the head librarian began reshelving a few minutes before close, Hermione had located no less than four other references to a mystery woman. The final one, at a ball in Lampton, read:
The orchestra struck up a waltz, and I turned to the lady on my right, a Ministry official whom I knew to be something of a wallflower.
“May I have the honour, mademoiselle?” I asked.
“The honour shall remain mine,” she said, a mischievous spark in her brown eyes, “but you may have this dance.”
Now, dear reader, I'm sure you recall my occasional sorties on the dance floor with any number of beautiful ladies, and you know that I am not a fanciful man, but the moment I took her in my arms, she who was neither dainty nor in the bloom of youth, I felt as if my feet could make no misstep, and I danced as I have never danced before, enfolded in her arms, and feeling her soft curls against my cheek. Too soon the music was over, and she curtsied her thanks in so formal a manner that I found myself searching her face for some sign that she had been as transported by our dance as I.
I met her eye and whispered a couplet that would be familiar to both of us, but rather than respond, she gave me a winsome smile and went to fetch us both punch.
She continued to behave as gaily and delightfully as she ever had, but I was then aware of the great irony that one whose life was wrapped up in understanding the human heart didn't know what to do when one was presented to her. That incident led me to strengthen my resolve not to let such frivolities interfere with my work, that great science that with time will explain all things.
Hermione sat staring at the page, unmoving, until the head librarian gently touched her shoulder to let her know that the library would be closing.
~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~
The next day, Hermione had to get out of the house, otherwise, she would drive herself mad thinking about Haverkort, van Ij, Coggeshaw, and Snape, whose response she awaited with both terror and hope. On a whim, she invited Wilhemina Stitch to lunch at a new magical bistro in Sunbury-on-thames. She spent the morning tidying her flat, though she assiduously avoided the kitchen table, where her research notes lay in neat piles of parchment.
When she had polished the last of her picture frames, she threw on a nice set of robes, since she'd heard the pace was fairly posh, and Flooed to the restaurant. She found Wilhemina seated at a table next to a sunny window. She waved Hermione over enthusiastically.
“Hermione!” she said, rising to kiss Hermione's cheek. “How wonderful to see you again so soon! Have you made any progress with the manuscript?”
Hermione sat down with a sigh. "Short answer? Yes.”
“I see,” said Wilhemina. “Why don't we order food first, and then we'll talk shop.”
Hermione ordered at random, anxious to get Wilhemina's thoughts on the matter.
When their server had gone, Hermione let the whole story spill out- the spat in the library with Haverkort's autobiolgraphy and sharing it with Snape, her annoyances with Haverkort, which made Wilhemina smile, Coggeshaw's reluctance to support her, which made her frown, and finally, what she'd discovered about Haverkort and van Ij. Wilhemina was fascinated by the copied passages that Hermione had brought.
“What has Severus said about your proposal?” asked Wilhemnia.
“I haven't heard from him yet. I sent everything to him last night: copies of my notes, my research plan, and I left all my flags and markers in the autobiography. I wasn't sure whether to include the cost of Veritasaerum and someone to administer it in the plan, since he knows the market rate better than I do and he's qualified to administer it himself, but I didn't want to be presumptuous.”
Wilhemina clucked her tongue sympathetically. “You must be on pins and needles.”
“Very much so,” said Hermione. “I don't know what I'll do if he says yes.”
“I thought you'd be more concerned about his refusal.”
“Oh no, I'm certain I have enough evidence to sway Coggeshaw now, at least for some preliminary experiments. But if Snape agrees to help, I'm going to have to be twice as rigorous and three times as ambitious.”
“What makes you say that?”
“He's Department of Mysteries,” said Hermione. “Once I finish my apprenticeship with Coggeshaw next year, I'd really like to work there. If I can make a good impression now, I'd have a foot in the door for later.”
A pot of tea arrived, and Wilhemina poured them both cups. “What would you do there?”
“Honestly, I hadn't thought that far ahead. I could assist with just about anything, really.”
“But ideally?”
“I'd love to see this work through to completion. This could well be the missing piece of the puzzle.”
“Even if it's not, there's at least a book here about Haverkort's failed romance,” commented Wilhemina, sipping her tea. “I know you're in the middle of all this, but at some point I'd love for you to write this up. I'd be rather keen to publish it. There's a strong market for dirt on historical figures, if you'll pardon the déclassé term.”
“Really?” asked Hermione doubtfully. “I didn't think there was anything particularly juicy there. Slightly tragic, I suppose, from a learning perspective, but nothing more.”
“Even if van Ij's theories come to nothing, it's clear that treated her differently than everybody else because of his feelings for her. I don't think he's guilty of misconduct. If anything, he was unduly harsh to her scientifically because he didn't want to let his admiration affect his work.”
“But even if he had such lofty motives as you ascribe, the fact remains that his actions kept her out of the boys' club that was chronocyrptological research,” argued Hermione.
“And there you go,” said Wilhemina with satisfaction. “That's a good angle, don't you think? The patriarchal scientist who was also a poetry-spouting bibliographer. Coggeshaw will hate it, of course,” she added with relish.
“He would,” agreed Hermione, smiling. And then she paused, considering Wilhemina's odd choice of words. “Would you characterise Haverkort as a bibliographer?” asked Hermione. “I thought his great strength was his intuitive leaps of logic.”
“Oh, heavens,” laughed Wilhemina, “I meant bibliography in the Victorian sense, not in terms of historians or works cited. He recited couplets to his intended, after all.”
“Sorry, I don't know what you mean.”
Wilhemina began to recite:
“If the poem's too hot and the essay's too cool,
The play is the thing if you're seeking to woo,
Farce is for fun, but is lacking in weight.
Tragedy signals you might be too late.
A romance makes obvious what you desire
And history bookish intendeds inspire-”
She stopped reciting when Hermione began to giggle.
Wilhemina pretended to look offended. “I'm not making this up, you know. And it goes on for ages talking about what the different kinds of poems mean. They approximated the rhyme for 'metaphysics,' but I'm impressed someone tried, actually.”
“It's like 'rosemary for remembrance,'” quoted Hermione, “only with books.”
“Exactly,” said Wilhemina. “Except quoting from Hamlet would discourage me terribly if I were a young man bent on your affections. Though possibly not, if you quoted the right bit.”
“Mean you country matters?” asked Hermione, unable to contain her mirth.
This time Wilhemina began to laugh as well. “Shakespeare's bawdy puns were wasted on the Victorians,” she declared. “Thankfully, Wizards are a more sensible lot. When Benny was wooing me, he sent me Oscar Wilde. He thought he was being so terribly witty and modern. He wasn't quite sure how to respond to the quotes from Reading Gaol I sent in return.”
“You mean this was popular when you were courting?”
“Heavens yes. Some old-fashioned wizards and witches still do it today.”
“I don't recall anybody going down on one knee and reciting love poetry when I was at Hogwarts. Well, except once, and it was a hired Valentine's dwarf.”
“Was it a young man from an old family that did it?”
“A girl, but yes,” said Hermione, who felt a disturbing thought begin to stir at the edge of her mind. “You mean that any exchange of quotations between a witch and wizard could potentially have romantic overtones?”
“Potentially,” said Wilhemina. “but such an exchange would have to be highly personal. Ah, the food!”
The server put a steaming plate of mussels and frites that had been drizzled with truffle oil in front of Hermione, but she hardly noticed.
“Wilhemina, what would it mean if an exchange of thoughtful quotations were suddenly ended without comment?”
“Presumably a lack of romantic interest,” she said, beginning to look curious. “The best way to do that would be to provide some extremely dry work of nonfiction. That says, 'Thanks for your time, but let's keep this platonic'.”
At this moment, the server appeared bearing a letter on a silver salver. “Hermione Granger?”
“Yes?” she asked weakly, recognising the handwriting on the creamy envelope as Severus's.
He held out the letter to her, and she took it, her hand shaking slightly, and set it on the table next to her plate.
Wilhemina was looking at her meaningfully. “Aren't you going to open it?”
“I'm afraid to. I may have unwittingly shot myself in the foot.”
Wilhemina's grey eyes lit up as she connected the points of their conversation. “He didn't. YOU didn't!”
“I had no idea!” protested Hermione. “It all started with a bookmark that I accidentally left in the book. Most of our first exchanges consisted of trying to insult or irritate one another. But then the tone changed when he sent me the bit of sonnet that was more didactic than anything-”
“He sent you a sonnet? Hermione, that's as good as a declaration of romantic interest.”
“I'd been sort of complained about things being a muddle, and then he sent me a bit about sleeping on it. It was more avuncular than I expected of him, but certainly not romantic.”
“Which was it forty-three or twenty-seven? 'When most I wink' or 'Weary with toil'?”
“The latter,” said Hermione impressed but unsurprised that Wilhemina was so familiar with the sonnets.
“He sent you a sonnet that goes on to declare that the object of his affections 'makes black night beauteous and her old face new,' and you thought he was being avuncular?”
“I only remembered the first lines- I last read that sonnet when I was thirteen!” admitted Hermione, blushing. “But it doesn't matter how romantic the poem is because I sent him no quotes, just an extremely dry description of the research I'm brazenly suggesting that he fund. He must think I'm one of those women who uses, well, you know, to get what she wants. Merlin knows the poor man has had enough of that in his life.”
“Does it matter?” asked Wilhemina, daintily cutting a piece of chicken breast. “That his feelings may be hurt, or that he's interested in you?”
“Well, the former, certainly, but the latter? I- I hadn't really thought about it.”
“Well, then I suggest you enjoy your lunch, you allow me to lure you into a tentative agreement to write the Haverkort-van Ij story for me, decide how you feel about Severus Snape, and then read his letter. That way your opinion won't be coloured by his response.”
“It probably just says 'NO' in red ink,” said Hermione mournfully. “I'm lucky he didn't send a Howler.”
“No more of that talk,” ordered Wilhemina. “Now, did you know that Friedrich Rinbgeller is coming out with a new book on astronomical vibrations?”
The change of topic had the desired effect of ejecting all thoughts of Severus and her project from Hermione's mind. “That old fraud!” exclaimed Hermione.
“He offered it to us,” said Wilhemina, grinning. “We politely declined and suggested Thorndike. Ringbeller may write bestselling material, but we have a reputation for scholarly rigour that we prefer to remain intact.”
The rest of their afternoon was spent discussing books and academics, and Hermione couldn't remember the last time she'd had such a thoroughly enjoyable lunch. She was nearly to the fireplace to Floo home when the server who'd brought Severus's letter tapped her on the shoulder. She'd forgotten it on the table. She took the letter gratefully and Flooed home.
As she stepped on to her own familiar hearth, Hermione intensely regretted having done all the cleaning before lunch, because she had nothing to distract her from her roiling thoughts on the subject of Severus Snape. She'd never considered the man outside his various roles of teacher, spy, and now, Unspeakable. It took a moment for her to detach the man with whom she'd sparred in the library and who tweaked her mercilessly via quotation from her previous associations in order to be objective.
He'd never see fifty again, that much was certain, which made him much older than the men she'd previously considered to be relationship material. But that was hardly a deal-breaker, considering the length of a wizard's lifespan. It wasn't bad, it was just, well, different. He was well-read, obviously, somewhat old-fashioned if Wilhemina's characterisation were accurate. But if he found her, a bossy Muggle born who aspired to a research profession, attractive, then he couldn't be that terribly old-fashioned. Perhaps, because neither of them had been raised in a wholly magical family, Snape was simply doing things by the book out of respect for her. Possible, and if so, he would rise quite a few points in her estimation.
As far as suitability went, the pensions that all of them had received for their services to the Ministry in defeating Voldemort was more than generous, and yet he continued to work. That spoke well of his work ethic and also that he was doing something he enjoyed rather than something he needed to do. At least between them money and job stress would likely not be factors.
His reputation, despite his controversial actions during the war and terrifying reputation as a teacher, was excellent, so there was no objection there. Besides, there was the undeniable advantage that she was perfectly at ease under his intense scrutiny and sharp critique, which would serve her well in any and all future endeavours with him, be they romantic or collegial.
Hermione swallowed. The next aspect was one she wasn't looking forward to thinking about, but it wouldn't be fair to him or to herself if she didn't consider it, and that was the attraction factor. To be honest with herself, she had doubts, and they were not insubstantial. The majority of Hermione's previous boyfriends had been athletic, so even the rangiest of the lot had a lot of lean muscle. Severus was no longer as gaunt and sickly-looking as he'd been before, but he was still very skinny, even though his wardrobe went a long way toward disguising the fact.
In his favour, he was far from awkward; he moved with grace and economy, and he was perfectly at ease in his own skin, which was, perhaps an advantage of his age that she hadn't previously considered. Men her own age were simply more likely to be seeking reassurance of their own sexual prowess as well as their own gratification, and to be with someone who could check his ego at the door would be novel.
His face, well, there wasn't much to be done there. She was familiar enough with his features not to be repelled by them, but she was having a hard time imagining what it would be like to kiss those thin, pale lips or bumping against his substantial nose. It was going to be a challenge to get past. However, the fact that she was thinking of it as an obstacle to be overcome rather than an impasse led her to nod resolutely. She would consider him, even if he rejected her research proposal. Besides, she owed him an apology.
She steeled herself and opened Severus's letter.
Intriguing.
Tea at Milliway's tomorrow at ten.
I shall bring the book.
Hermione's heart swelled. If she hadn't already decided in his favour, this simple missive would have done it. The three lines were bursting with subtext. “Intriguing.” He found that her work had merit and held interest. An invitation to tea, that most neutral of gustatory ceremonies, at Milliway's, a nice-but-not-too-posh place in the heart of London that featured private booths and famous chocolate biscuits. “I shall bring the book.” I shan't bother you further romantically, and you needn't worry about any begging, or recrimination when I give you the book again. Severus had indeed risen many points in her estimation, and she was determined to let him know that. She began putting together her latest notes about Delphinia van Ij and wondering how best to grovel.
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Hermione was at Milliway's at nine-thirty the next day obsessively shuffling through her presentation, ensuring that her graphs and figures were in the proper order, and waiting for her tea to cool enough to drink. At bang on ten, the bell over the door rang merrily, and Severus Snape in his dour glory swept into the shop. Clearly, he came here often, because he was greeted warmly. He said something to them that was too quiet for Hermione to hear, but a moment later he was led to her table.
Hermione couldn't breathe at first as his eyes met hers, but to her surprise, her nervousness evaporated, and she found herself smiling broadly at him.
“Hello,” she said.
He blinked in surprise, but returned her smile with a brief quirk of the lips before sitting next to her in the booth.
“Have you ordered?” he asked, a bit too quickly, despite the fact that Hermione's tea had already arrived. Hermione nearly smiled again when she realised that he was as nervous as she was, but she didn't want him to think she was laughing at him.
“Yes, I have chocolate biscuits on the way and some sandwiches.”
“Good, good,” he said absently.
“Look,” she said, “before we get started, I wanted to apologise. In my excitement over van Ij's manuscript, I neglected to include a very important note in the proposal I sent you. So at your leisure-” she began, slipping a piece of paper that had been folded in half towards him.
He put his hand over hers, an action that startled her until she realised that he was preventing her from sliding the paper closer to him.
“Before you do something you may regret,” he said, “You should hear what I have to say first. Our meeting today has only to do with your research proposal. What may or may not have transpired in our correspondence is utterly irrelevant.”
“Agreed,” said Hermione. “But I really don't believe the contents of that paper contain anything I'd regret you seeing.”
“Regardless, it can wait,” he said. “We have more pressing things to discuss. I confess to finding myself in a position I never expected, regarding yourself.”
Hermione just managed to keep her eyebrow from popping up at the potential double entendre. Severus had made the terms of the discussion clear. It would be unfair to attempt to flirt. However, her restraint was for naught, since her silence made him clear his throat uncomfortably.
“I'm sorry, Severus,” she said. “You mean, of course, uncovering Delphinia van Ij's manuscript.”
He scowled at her, a familiar expression that made her want to smile. “What on earth made you think to check with the publisher?”
“It was an inspiration that you're lucky not to have,” she admitted ruefully.
His eyes narrowed. “Coggeshaw.”
“Got it in one,” she said. “My interest was piqued by the harsh words in Haverkort's autobiography about the intention-colour connection when it's represented nowhere in extant literature. However, Coggeshaw refused to let me look into it.”
“Because if Haverkort dismissed it, then there's nothing in it,” said Severus, in an uncanny impression of Coggeshaw's reedy brogue. “I take it you continued to look into this lost theory while telling Coggeshaw you were looking for something else,” he said, not at all disapprovingly.
“I told him I was looking through the submitted manuscripts to see if Haverkort's handwritten notes could provide any insight. And sure enough, they did. I was just luck that the publisher still had them.”
“But it wasn't just luck that you saw the connection between a manuscript by an unknown writer and the theory that had obviously got under Haverkort's skin.”
Hermione was inordinately pleased by his praise. “Anybody who'd read Haverkort's autobiography would have drawn the same conclusion,” she demurred.
“False modesty does not become you."
“All right, then, it was bloody clever,” she said, impatience to hear his thoughts outweighing her caution. “Now, what do I need to do to convince Coggeshaw to fund me?”
He pulled a sheaf of papers from his cloak and enlarged them before handing them to her. “Since you have been so unfailingly generous with your findings, I think it only fair to return the favour.”
Hermione gaped at the top piece of parchment, upon which was stamped in official letters, “MYSTIFIED DOCUMENT.” She skimmed the first page and nearly choked.
“Good Gaia, Severus!” she exclaimed, hushing herself nearly immediately. “Had you any idea that this is what she did?”
“Not before you provided me with her name,” he said.
“Haverkort can't have known,” she said. “It was Mystified. He couldn't have known that she was a senior Department of Mysteries researcher with numerous patents to her name. And she wouldn't have said anything. She wasn't the sort.”
“He ought to have known from the calibre of paper she wrote for his collection,” said Severus disapprovingly. “His wounded pride kept him from seeing her as she was.”
“What I don't understand is why she didn't follow up on this work, considering that she had more than sufficient resources to explore it fully,” said Hermione.
“Perhaps she had more trust in his expertise than he deserved.”
Hermione flipped through the pile of papers, which contained patent certifications, Mystified publications that had been released later under pseudonyms, numerous accolades, including an Order of Merlin First Class and a Sphinx Prize for contributions to the field of curse-breaking. “Or maybe she was trying not to upstage him, given that she'd so recently turned him down. This work- it's like the missing link for both Haverkort's work on Chronocryptology and van Ij's work that identifies the quantum components of magic. How on earth could she have allowed it to be lost? She had to have understood its importance.”
She finally tore her gaze from the extraordinary curriculum vitae that lay on the table and was surprised to see Severus's eyes shining at her in approval. It was such an unfamiliar expression that Hermione fancied she was looking at a completely different person from the man she'd known before.
“What if it wasn't lost?” asked Severus softly.
“How do you mean?”
“What if it's still in her old Gringott's vault?” asked Severus.
Hermione blinked in surprise. She never would have considered it. “Surely not.”
“You'd be surprised,” said Severus. “I certainly was when I found out how many dead vaults are at Gringott's. It's part of the reason getting to a vault is such an arduous undertaking. But as long as someone pays the few sickles a month to keep a vault whose contents are valued below Gringotts' minimum, the Goblins will continue expanding, never bothering to clean out Great Aunt Bathsheba's collection of frog-shaped tea kettles.”
“Do you think you could get the Goblins to let you into her old vault?” asked Hermione doubtfully. “I mean, she is an ancestor of yours, isn't she?”
“A third cousin thrice removed,” he said, with no small amount of satisfaction. “I put the same question to my solicitor this morning, and he's arranging it as we speak. If he's successful, as I suspect he will be, you and I are to be at Gringott's at half one.”
“We?” squeaked Hermione.
“Nobody else knows,” said Severus simply. “Besides, there's also the benefit of extra pairs of eyes and hands.”
Hermione slumped against the back of her seat. “I don't know what to say, Severus,” she said, eyes wide with amazement.
“Say you'll come with me,” he said, a trace of impatience in his voice.
Hermione glanced at the empty plate on the table and felt a mischievous grin coming on. “If the next order of sandwiches is on you, we have an agreement."
The folded-over piece of parchment remained on the table when they left.
~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~
Half one found Hermione, freshly changed into trainers and a warm, worn jumper. Severus, she noted with amusement, had done the same, though he hid his casual apparel under a particularly billowy cloak.
If the Goblins' ill temper were any indication, Severus's solicitor had been successful in proving their claim to the vault. They only put up a minor fuss when Hermione crossed the thresshold of the bank, a to-do to which she was accustomed, ever since she had successfully broken in all those years ago. The Goblin who drove their cart to the vault, Lumpkin, seemed to be hyper-aware that he was chauferring one of the bank's most notorious personae non gratae, and kept looking suspiciously at her over his shoulder, as if he expected to be clubbed over the head. Thankfully, the trip was short.
Lumpkin performed a few hand gestures before the door. “Standard protections,” he sniffed, clearly unimpressed by ancestors who didn't bother protecting their belongings with the best Gringott's had to offer. He produced an iron key from the ring around his neck and unlocked the door. Another wave of his hand illuminated a set of globes, which filled the vault with light. Van Ij's vault was far smaller than the Lestranges', about the size of a large pantry. It might have appeared larger when empty, but the entire left side of the vault was filled with a set of files that stretched the length of the vault. The other side contained shelves, each of them neatly labelled.
Lumpkin grunted disapprovingly. “I trust you'll be here for some time?”
“I think it likely,” said Severus, far too engrossed by the contents of the vault to summon the proper amount of impatience.
Lumpkin handed Severus a bell. “I have other customers to assist. Ring this when you're ready to leave.” He glared at Hermione. “And don't try anything funny- the neighbouring vaults have far more sophisticated protections than this old thing.”
“I'll try to control myself,” said Hermione drily, running her fingers gently over the surface of Delphinia van Ij's Order of Merlin.
Lumpkin harrumphed, leapt spryly into the car, and rattled away down the tunnel.
Hermione joined Severus, who was leafing through a drawer marked “Notebooks, 1895-1900.”
“There's so much here,” she exclaimed, scanning the spines of the books and boxes. “Reprints, laboratory notebooks, journals!”
Their hands met as they both reached for the same volume of journal- the one that covered the period in which she and Haverkort met at various society functions and he made his ill-fated advances.
Hermione withdrew immediately.
“Go ahead,” she said. “She's your ancestress.”
It was a sign of how badly Severus wanted to read it that he didn't bother with a token protest. He took the book and positioned himself under the nearest source of illumintion- one of the Goblin light globes- and began to read. Hermione chose the laboratory notebook that began shortly after Delphinia's second child was born, hoping for something on her brilliant insight into chronocyrptolgy. They stood back-to-back by a light-globe, each living in the world of Delphinia van Ij's words.
The research journals were well-organized and meticulous, so it was a matter of minutes before Hermione found the preliminary experiments that Van Ij had performed before writing the paper she had submitted to Haverkort's collection. To Hermione's slight disappointment, they contained only the experiment design, methods, a few simple arithmantic algorithms that had been used to correct for honesty, and the results, without any analysis or commentary.
Hermione continued reading, fascinated by the sheer variety of projects Van Ij had been working on, and the way the experiments in one area would suggest new approaches to seemingly unrelated problems. As dry as the writing was, the woman's enthusiasm for her work and keen intelligence leapt off the page. Not that Coggeshaw would accept any of that as evidence, of course. With the greatest reluctance, Hermione laid the notebook aside.
“I found her chronocryptology experiments,” she said. “Coggeshaw will want to see them.”
Severus grunted his approval, and continued to read her journals. Hermione was achingly curious about the contents that had so captivated Severus, but turned her attention to a stack of unmarked paperboard boxes that had yellowed with age. She opened the one on top, and Hermione caught a faint whiff of ancient roses. Inside the box were stacks of letters neatly bound with silk ribbon. Hermione glanced furtively at Severus before lifting a stack. A card identified the stack as containing letters from Otto van Ij from the last years of his life. They were not letters, really, so much as notes, some scribbled on lined cardstock.
Hermione swallowed hard and set the stack aside, even as a hope that she dared not put into words took hold. There were numerous stacks of letters from Otto, each painstakingly labelled with the dates of the correspondence, but there was also correspondence with family members and letters from the van Ij children at school before Hermione found what she suspected would be at the bottom of the box, tied with a pink ribbon.
No label graced the bundle, but on the top envelope, the name Delphinia Gardner was written in the decisive hand that had filled the margins of Folder and Stitch's chronocrpytology manuscripts. Seemingly of its own accord, Hermione's fingers untied the bow that held the letters together, the silk ribbon sliding against itself with a nearly inaudible whisper.
“Severus,” said Hermione quietly, “you ought to see these.”
He looked up from his reading with the expression that Hermione immediately recognised as disorientation having been suddenly plucked from a book into the rude world. He recovered almost immediately and peered at the bundle of letters.
“They're from Haverkort,” she explained. “Actually,” she said, flipping through the pile, “it's the entire correspondence, both his letters and hers.”
“He must have returned her letters,” said Severus. “When she chose Otto.”
“It was good of him to do that,” commented Hermione. “Of course, she might also have made things difficult for him if he hadn't."
“It was the expected thing,” said Severus with a shrug. “Are you going to read them?”
“We might read them together,” she suggested, transfiguring a decorative vase into a narrow sofa just wide enough for them to sit side-by-side.
In response, Severus slid into the seat, and they read in silence.
My Dear Miss Gardner,
I hope you will not think me impertinent for contacting you in this fashion, but I had to write to convey my sincere apologies for the rash words I spoke to you at the Baroness's party last Saturday. It was never my intention to belittle your work. Indeed, as our science and technology develop, I have every confidence that your hard work will prove that emotions, which are currently thought to be antithetical to science, have a great deal of actual, measurable bearing on magic. The point I attempted to make was poorly conceived and even more shabbily uttered, and I cannot think of it without embarrassment. I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive this impetuous young man for his attempt to sound knowledgeable of your field when in reality, he isn't in the least. I confess that he hoped only to impress you favourably, like Caesar in his ambition, but with all the honour of Brutus. I send you my warmest regards as both Roman and countryman, and one day, if I am fortunate above all men, perhaps one day as your friend.
Yours Sincerely,
F.H.
My Dear F.H.,
You do wrong your words too much. I value honesty too greatly to take offence at its righteous expression. I did not take your sentiments to heart, indeed if I were the sort to do so, I should never have joined the Department, though your honesty and excellent conversation were much appreciated. I hope that I shall see you at the Gullivers' ball next month. I have always preferred vigorous discussion to dancing, and you are a most stimulating partner.
Sincerely,
D.G.
My Dear Miss Gardener,
What fire is in mine eyes? Can this be true? You are to be at the Gullivers' ball but attend only for conversation? But nay, gentle one, we must have you dance!
I hope you do not take offence at my jesting. I am in high spirits, as I have just received word that my latest manuscript has been provisionally accepted by The Journal of Applied Alchemy. I shall not think about the required revisions until I have celebrated properly. If I may be so bold, I should love to hear your thoughts on the manuscript, which you will find enclosed.
Yours Sincerely,
F.H.
Dear F.H.,
I have read your manuscript, and I regret that I must concur with the reviewer who felt that the wavelength data comparing the so-called colourless potions was inconclusive. However, you needn't do all the suggested experiments. A colleague of mine by the name of Benson has invented a charm that plots all detectable reflection and diffraction of light data across a three dimensional graph, and he has generously agreed to teach it to you, should you so desire.
Regarding the Gullivers' ball, I am simply not shaped for sportive tricks.
Sincerely,
D.G.
My Dearest Miss Gardner,
A Daniel come to judgment! Yea, a Daniel! O wise young judge, how I do honour thee! Master Benson is known well to me, and I am indebted to you for your kindness in securing his assistance. I shall therefore cease in my efforts to tease you into agreeing to dance with me at the Gullivers' ball.
You have done me a valuable turn and wish with all my heart that I might return it in some meaningful way. In the unlikely event that my own narrow, shallow expertise should be of use or interest to you, know that it is completely available to you.
Yours Very Sincerely,
F.H.
Dear F.H.,
I was delighted to see your recent article in this month's Journal of Applied Alchemy and was sincerely touched that you mentioned me in the acknowledgements. Such a gesture was unnecessary, given the considerable pleasure I derived from the fact that you and Master Benson have been able to collaborate in such a significant way.
It is with regret that I declare myself unable to take you up on your extremely generous offer of assistance in the immediate future, only because I am somewhat punctilious about planning my research and have at least a year and a half of work before me before I could consider taking on something new. But, I too look forward to the day that I can call upon you professionally. I hope it will please you to know that you are very well thought of in the Department, should you ever desire to leave Lyonesse for pastures that are, if not greener, are at least likely to contain fewer rocks.
Incidentally, you needn't cease needling me about dancing out of fear of distressing me. If anything, it's refreshing to be reminded that if I should wish to dance, I could do so. Old maids do not generally have such an option, and it is kind of you to offer, even partly in jest. I look forward to the Gullivers' ball and hope that you will not be too cross with me if I refuse to dance. I assure you that it has nothing to do with your entreaties and everything to do with my dislike of dancing. It has always seemed to me a shame that something as sublime as music should be accompanied by the stomping of feet or should have to compete with dozens of young ladies who are determined to be the centre of attention. But alas, it is to be a ball and not an evening of concerts, so I must console myself with the company of friends.
Hand in hand with faerie grace shall we sing and bless this place.
D.G.
My Dear Miss Gardner,
How your letter has filled my heart with gladness and my mind with curiosity! I am pleased beyond telling that my teasing has not offended you. I shall be sure to continue , in hopes that when we brave hill and dale, brush and briar, to the Gullivers', that we might both sing and dance it trippingly.
I must also needle you on another account, and that is to press you to tell me more of your work. To have a year and a half of work planned out ahead of time is quite frankly astounding to me. To go back to my initial churlish efforts to favourably impress you, it had not occurred to me that matters that are at, if I may say, the heart of your work, could even be tested scientifically with current technology. This is not to my credit, I realise, but I do hope that you will forgive my former foolishness and tell me more about your current and planned work. I am sure that some of it must be shrouded in secrecy, given the nature of your employer, but I hope that you will be willing to toss your poor spaniel a bone.
I suspect the week and a half remaining until the ball will crawl by at a flobberworm's pace. I keenly anticipate your next letter and thank you for your frankness, and if I may be so bold, your friendship.
Very Sincerely Yours,
Franz Haverkort
Dear Master Haverkort,
I fear I have aroused your interest on false pretences, since I know with certainty that my work is something that would be anathema to you. I do not blame you for this, indeed, sometimes at the end of a difficult week I quite agree with your summation of our field. But the successes we have seen, thankfully, far outweigh the disappointments.
My work is firmly entrenched in what I'm sure a seasoned experimentalist like you would call guesswork and soft science, though naturally we fancy ourselves intuitive theoreticians. In reality, I think we have the most in common with astrologers, who also collect innumerable observation and use what they observe to create arithmantic formulae and algorithms to predict behaviour and form theories about how the universe works and how it affects us. This is what we do, only instead of observing the movements of heavenly bodies, we observe the behaviour of people. There is an anatomical component of our work, of course, since it is a known fact that some aspects of brain morphology directly affect the way people behave, but the majority of what I do is not this sort of work. Secrecy forbids me disclosing precisely what I do, but if you are at all familiar with the Department of Mysteries, I can say that my work occurs behind the only door that is locked at all times.
I do not mean to be coy about my work nor dismissive of your interest in it, but in your previous letter you expressed gratitude for my frankness, and I would like to return the thanks with assurance that you need not fawn over my work in order to keep my friendship. In fact, your willingness to express your views frankly is one of the many things I value in our correspondence. It does no-one good to be surrounded by people who agree with one on all things, and since our first conversation, I have sought ways to bring more rigorous experimental technique to my work. Indeed, the work that lies ahead of me has been strongly influenced by your comments, for all that I suspect you would still find it too full of immeasurable variables. But I would not have this age of so-called reason fade this work, nor criticism stale its infinite variety, and I owe you many thanks for giving me the impetus to modernise. When I have results worthy of being presented to a leading scientist of the day, rest assured, dear friend, you will be the first person I approach for comments.
Your remarks about song and dance are truer than perhaps you know, since tripping has been part of my repertoire since my first public dance. And if you continue in your ill-advised campaign to have me dance, I may have to flee, and my legs are longer still to run away.
Yours affectionately,
Delphinia Gardner
Dearest Miss Gardner,
I admire you more than I have words to express for the honest, insightful sentiments expressed in your previous letter. Please believe that I do not ask about your work to flatter you, but rather because I have developed something of a mania to know more about the subject that fascinates and frustrates one of the most scintillating minds I have ever had the pleasure of encountering. I understand that you are unable to go into details about your work, and I thank you for the eloquent explanation you provided. I fear that it has only served to make me all the more curious to know more. In fact, I have contacted your employer and have submitted paperwork to be allowed access to Mystified research pertaining to my own work. I know such requests weeks take time to evaluate, but I wanted you to know that perhaps one day we may speak freely with no forbidden subjects.
In the interim, we shall have to let our letters and perhaps even our light fantastic toes speak for us. Only thirty-six hours remain!
Most Sincerely Yours,
Franz Haverkort
My Dear Master Haverkort,
I cannot speak for all of the investigators, but I am delighted by your interest in our Department's work and hope that the powers that be will be able to satisfy you. I am afraid this letter will be on the terse side, since I have a number of tedious but necessary things to do in preparation for tomorrow night's festivities, but I hope that the final result will be pleasing to you. I confess that I have never looked forward to a ball with such excitement in the, let us be honest, many, many years since I first came into society. Of course, I never had much cause to, since most of my prior experience involved being mortified on the dance floor or being ignored by all the eligible men my own age. I bear no particular grudge against these men. They were looking for someone to file a role that I was uninterested in filling. Indeed, I sincerely doubt that being in a wholly domestic sphere would be enjoyable to me, nor would I be very good at it. I have long since given up hope of finding someone capable of appreciating me for my mind as well as my femininity, since I know that it will always be one or the other, but being a person who by profession must be adept at playing numerous roles and hiding certain aspects of self, this is neither a hardship nor a burden.
The hour grows short, but not short enough. Gallop apace, ye fiery footed steeds!
Yours in Impatience,
Delphinia Gardner
My Dear Miss Gardner,
Any man who is unable to see what is in front of him is unworthy of you. Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind. Until tonight, dear friend.
Yours in anticipation,
Franz Haverkort
At that dramatic juncture, Hermione realised that they were looking at the final letter in the stack. “Well,” she breathed. “I suppose that's it.”
Wordlessly, Severus folded the parchment and slid it back into its envelope. Hermione returned to the box and began to examine the stacks of letters she'd removed from the box. She knew in her heart that these were the only letters exchanged between van Ij and Haverkort that they would find. The last bundle, which Hermione had left in the bottom of the box in her excitement at finding Haverkort's letters, was labelled Otto's Letters, with no dates. These she retrieved and sat down next to Severus, who had stacked the bundle of letters neatly on his thigh, looked up at her.
“Well,” he said at last, I don't think even Coggeshaw could claim, after reading their correspondence, that Haverkort could have been objective in evaluating her work.”
“What do you suppose happened at the ball?” asked Hermione, setting the letters on the couch next to Severus and leaning back.
“We know that much from the autobiography,” said Severus. “They danced, Haverkort was moved, and the lady wasn't.”
“Yes, but the autobiography didn't give any reason why.”
“I think we can assume she was either taken aback by his ardour or she met someone else that night whose company she preferred.”
“I don't think she'd just throw him over for another bloke,” said Hermione. “Not after that exchange of letters.”
“I think you would be surprised, Miss Granger, how frequently men who are considered 'friends' are ignored in favour of men with more panache.”
Hermione looked at him sharply. There was a bit too much truth in Severus's statement, both in terms of his own experiences with Lily Potter and her own relationship with Ron Weasley, who had lost interest in maintaining a friendship with her many years ago when she had decided that spending her life with him was not what she wanted. “Haverkort was a rising star in a new field and the man she chose was a schoolteacher. Which of the two do you think had more panache? I think it's more likely that Haverkort had a bit too much panache for her taste.”
Severus shrugged, but a frown line still bisected his brows. “Even if that's so, to be perfectly fair, they made one another no promises. They were nothing at the end of this exchange but mutually interested acquaintances who could potentially become more.”
“But all of the romantic quotations-” began Hermione
“-were all from plays,” finished Severus. “Surely you know what that means.”
“The play's the thing,” quoted Hermione. “I'd never heard that before yesterday.”
Severus, whose dark look had brightened infinitesimally, raised an eyebrow at her. “You never read Hamlet?”
Hermione tutted but inwardly cheered that he'd given her a chance to explain herself. “The play is the thing if you're seeking to woo. The Victorian poem about bibliography. The only bibliography I knew before was the sort that goes at the end of a published work.”
Severus looked at her sceptically. “But surely you're familiar with the concept of exchanging quotations with a potential romantic partner.”
“I'm also familiar with the concept of having a philosophical argument through the use of quotations,” said Hermione.
Severus was quiet for a moment. “Are you going to look at those?” he asked, gesturing toward the pile of Otto's letters that sat on the couch between them.
“Strictly speaking, I don't need to. Their exchange is all I need to convince Coggeshaw to hold up his end of the bargain.”
“And the impending 'but?'”
“But I'd like to read them at some point, as well as her journals. You see, Wilhemina Stitch, of Folder and Stitch, expressed an interest in publishing their story in book form, such as it is. She was the one who gave me access to the rejected manuscripts.”
“I see,” said Severus, who had gone very still beside her, which Hermione interpreted to be a Bad Thing.
“You must realise at the time I spoke with her, I hadn't any clue the contents of this vault existed.”
“Of course not,” said Severus, somewhat acerbically. “But what happens next, Miss Granger, is entirely up to you.”
Hermione's cheeks burned. She couldn't in good conscience ask Severus, an intensely private man, to let her expose his family's private correspondence for the sake of a historical tell-all, and she couldn't, in good conscience renege on her agreement with Wilhemina, who had been so supportive and kind, especially when this would make the finished work that much more compelling. She opted for silence.
Severus cleared his throat. “Well, Coggeshaw would certainly be happier if these letters never came to light, especially before you publish what will undoubtedly be a successful set of experiments using Veritaserum that will pave the way for more testing. Anything that challenges the prevailing view of Saint Haverkort will be anathema to him.”
“He may be a stick-in-the-mud, but he's not a fossil,” protested Hermione. “He may not like the letters, but they are an undeniable part of who Haverkort was, and by the same token, who Delphinia van Ij was.” She took a deep breath and gently slid Otto's letters to his side of the couch. “I won't ask you now, Severus. I won't ask you to let me have access Delphinia's things to write the book Wilhemina wanted. But I would like you to consider it and give me an answer when at such a time as I ask.”
He was quiet for a moment, and took Otto's letters in his hands. He knelt before the box and laid the letters reverently in the bottom of the box before stacking the other bundles on top and replacing the lid.
“I will consider it,” he said at last. He gestured toward the stack that comprised the letters they had read. “Don't forget those,” he said. “Coggeshaw will need to see them.”
“When would you like them back?”
“There's no hurry, Hermione.”
He was still kneeling on the floor, looking at the box, then allowing his eyes to travel over the shelves. Hermione realised she was staring and edged around him to the couch, where she re-tied the stack of letters with the ancient ribbon.
“I ought to go,” said Hermione. “Coggeshaw will be in tomorrow at nine, and if I want to have a presentation that will knock his socks off, I should start right away.”
He seemed to come back to himself, and he rose from the floor, knees cracking. “Do try to get some sleep. You babble when you're ill-rested, and Coggeshaw is no more tolerant of babble than I am.”
Hermione didn't bother holding back her grin. “Would you like to meet for tea afterwards?”
He looked at her for an interminable moment. “That would be tolerable, I suppose,” he said at last, with more than enough doubt in his tone to maintain his dignity. “Now, run along. I have a great deal of cataloging to do, it seems. I'll see you at Miliways at eleven.”
He rang the bell that Lumpkin had left, and Hermione heard a far off cart rattling down the track.
She knew better than to push her luck, but she couldn't help herself. “Severus?”
He turned and gave her a mildly annoyed look.
“I shall bring the book,” she said, the intensity of her gaze belying the lightness of her words.
The far-off rattling grew louder, and within moments the cart had arrived, its driver looking at her peevishly. Hermione glanced over her shoulder and was surprised to see Severus standing in the mouth of the vault, watching her climb awkwardly over the side into the cart.
“The Blake was appreciated,” he said at last, and he spun on his heel and returned to the vault.
Even as her neck began to ache from the seemingly random sideways jerks of the cart, Hermione marvelled that she never actually saw him read or take the piece of paper that they'd left on the table at Miliway's. One precipitous hill made her feel as though she'd left her stomach at the top, but she couldn't contain the relieved grin that spread over her face at the realisation that he'd not shut the metaphorical door in her face. She'd have the chance to make amends, and that's what was important. The opportunity to do more, was merely the icing on the cake.
Hermione began to wonder if Lumpkin was deliberately taking her on the most violently circuitous track, and allowed her mind to drift from the parts of her body that were currently in distress to the words of William Blake, whose Tyger! Tyger! had started it all, and whose The Divine Image kept it from being snuffed out. It wasn't overt as apologies went, but it had been effective all the same.
To Mercy Pity Peace and Love
All pray in their distress
And for these virtues of delight
Return their faithfulness.
For Mercy has a human heart
Pity a Human Face
And love the human form divine,
And Peace the human dress.
Then every man, of every clime
That prays in his distress
Prays to the human form divine
Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace.
Hermione sincerely hoped that Severus, on reflection, wouldn't think that she thought his face was a pity.
~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~`
The End... for now
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A/N: Yes, that's the end for now, but I reserve the right to add additional adventures on future Bluey birthdays. In case you haven't read the book A.S. Byatt's wonderful "Possesssion" was a major influence on this story. All syntax and grammar and canon goofs are mine, since poor Mr. 42 didn't have the chance to look at this before I posted.
Author: Mundungus42
Length/Word Count: 9,900 (part 2)
Pairing: SS/HG
Rating: PG-
Disclaimer: See Chapter One
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Despite Hermione's initial panic about the best way to approach Snape about Delphinia van Ij's theory, it was fairly simple. She already had her research proposal written up. She had an intriguing historical document and a staunch ally in Wilhemina, who would help her recover the manuscript if Snape refused to return it or tried to publish first.
She knew it would be wise to get the drop on Snape by making initial inquiries into Delphinia's history before sending him Haverkort's autobiography and her additional materials, so she spent the rest of the day in the library, digging through family histories and educational records. By the end of the day, she'd learnt that Delphinia Gardner had been the third of five children, a child prodigy who had started Hogwarts at seven and received an unprecedented eleven NEWTs. She had gone on to work for the Department of Mysteries and shortly thereafter became their public face, rather like Mistress Tearsheet was now, and at age thirty had married the man who had been her Charms Master at Hogwarts, one Otto van Ij. They'd had two children, both of whom went on to become noted academics. The family had mingled with numerous old magical families, including, to her surprise, the Princes.
Delphinia had submitted the manuscript to Folder and Stitch shortly after the birth of her second child, from which Hermione concluded that Delphinia had become interested in the budding field of chronocryptology while she was on sabbatical from the Department of Mysteries. She would have been only a few years younger than Haverkort. However, the details of Delphinia's professional life would not be accessible to her, being Mystified, so she would have to wait for Snape's response. After making painstaking notes on the van Ij family tree, Hermione returned to Haverkort's autobiography in search of anything that might explain his resistance to Delphinia's ideas.
Hermione started where she had left off, when Haverkort published a series of important articles while running his first lab at the Lyonesse Institute for Magical Theory, which meant more interminable parties, name-dropping, and innuendo-ridden intrigues. However, it was much less boring now that she was looking for something specific in Haverkort's life. Every mention of an unnamed Ministry official could be a clue.
She scanned the pages, waiting patiently for something to jump out at her, and finally Department of Mysteries jumped out of the letters that had been starting to swim in her vision.
It was a dull affair, despite the illustriousness of the host, attended largely by bureaucrats, politicians, and the rich. I was at my most deliberately gay and managed to have a delightful conversation with a colleague in the Department of Mysteries whose talent, I fear, is being wasted on twaddle of the worst sort. I shall ever admire the Department's work on such intangibles as life, death, the mind, and time, but it is disappointing that they do not support the notion that matters of the heart are best left to novelists, and that the work of men- and ladies- of science should be made of sterner stuff.
Hermione's heart leapt. If Haverkort was referring to Delphinia, then she now had an idea of what sort of work she did in the Department of Mysteries and an idea of why Haverkort might be less than receptive of her ideas. If she could find any additional references, Coggeshaw might accept them. She copied down the passage and put a coloured sticky flag on the page. There wasn't much time, so she jumped forward in the text, frantically scanning Haverkort's society outings for anything promising. By the time the head librarian began reshelving a few minutes before close, Hermione had located no less than four other references to a mystery woman. The final one, at a ball in Lampton, read:
The orchestra struck up a waltz, and I turned to the lady on my right, a Ministry official whom I knew to be something of a wallflower.
“May I have the honour, mademoiselle?” I asked.
“The honour shall remain mine,” she said, a mischievous spark in her brown eyes, “but you may have this dance.”
Now, dear reader, I'm sure you recall my occasional sorties on the dance floor with any number of beautiful ladies, and you know that I am not a fanciful man, but the moment I took her in my arms, she who was neither dainty nor in the bloom of youth, I felt as if my feet could make no misstep, and I danced as I have never danced before, enfolded in her arms, and feeling her soft curls against my cheek. Too soon the music was over, and she curtsied her thanks in so formal a manner that I found myself searching her face for some sign that she had been as transported by our dance as I.
I met her eye and whispered a couplet that would be familiar to both of us, but rather than respond, she gave me a winsome smile and went to fetch us both punch.
She continued to behave as gaily and delightfully as she ever had, but I was then aware of the great irony that one whose life was wrapped up in understanding the human heart didn't know what to do when one was presented to her. That incident led me to strengthen my resolve not to let such frivolities interfere with my work, that great science that with time will explain all things.
Hermione sat staring at the page, unmoving, until the head librarian gently touched her shoulder to let her know that the library would be closing.
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The next day, Hermione had to get out of the house, otherwise, she would drive herself mad thinking about Haverkort, van Ij, Coggeshaw, and Snape, whose response she awaited with both terror and hope. On a whim, she invited Wilhemina Stitch to lunch at a new magical bistro in Sunbury-on-thames. She spent the morning tidying her flat, though she assiduously avoided the kitchen table, where her research notes lay in neat piles of parchment.
When she had polished the last of her picture frames, she threw on a nice set of robes, since she'd heard the pace was fairly posh, and Flooed to the restaurant. She found Wilhemina seated at a table next to a sunny window. She waved Hermione over enthusiastically.
“Hermione!” she said, rising to kiss Hermione's cheek. “How wonderful to see you again so soon! Have you made any progress with the manuscript?”
Hermione sat down with a sigh. "Short answer? Yes.”
“I see,” said Wilhemina. “Why don't we order food first, and then we'll talk shop.”
Hermione ordered at random, anxious to get Wilhemina's thoughts on the matter.
When their server had gone, Hermione let the whole story spill out- the spat in the library with Haverkort's autobiolgraphy and sharing it with Snape, her annoyances with Haverkort, which made Wilhemina smile, Coggeshaw's reluctance to support her, which made her frown, and finally, what she'd discovered about Haverkort and van Ij. Wilhemina was fascinated by the copied passages that Hermione had brought.
“What has Severus said about your proposal?” asked Wilhemnia.
“I haven't heard from him yet. I sent everything to him last night: copies of my notes, my research plan, and I left all my flags and markers in the autobiography. I wasn't sure whether to include the cost of Veritasaerum and someone to administer it in the plan, since he knows the market rate better than I do and he's qualified to administer it himself, but I didn't want to be presumptuous.”
Wilhemina clucked her tongue sympathetically. “You must be on pins and needles.”
“Very much so,” said Hermione. “I don't know what I'll do if he says yes.”
“I thought you'd be more concerned about his refusal.”
“Oh no, I'm certain I have enough evidence to sway Coggeshaw now, at least for some preliminary experiments. But if Snape agrees to help, I'm going to have to be twice as rigorous and three times as ambitious.”
“What makes you say that?”
“He's Department of Mysteries,” said Hermione. “Once I finish my apprenticeship with Coggeshaw next year, I'd really like to work there. If I can make a good impression now, I'd have a foot in the door for later.”
A pot of tea arrived, and Wilhemina poured them both cups. “What would you do there?”
“Honestly, I hadn't thought that far ahead. I could assist with just about anything, really.”
“But ideally?”
“I'd love to see this work through to completion. This could well be the missing piece of the puzzle.”
“Even if it's not, there's at least a book here about Haverkort's failed romance,” commented Wilhemina, sipping her tea. “I know you're in the middle of all this, but at some point I'd love for you to write this up. I'd be rather keen to publish it. There's a strong market for dirt on historical figures, if you'll pardon the déclassé term.”
“Really?” asked Hermione doubtfully. “I didn't think there was anything particularly juicy there. Slightly tragic, I suppose, from a learning perspective, but nothing more.”
“Even if van Ij's theories come to nothing, it's clear that treated her differently than everybody else because of his feelings for her. I don't think he's guilty of misconduct. If anything, he was unduly harsh to her scientifically because he didn't want to let his admiration affect his work.”
“But even if he had such lofty motives as you ascribe, the fact remains that his actions kept her out of the boys' club that was chronocyrptological research,” argued Hermione.
“And there you go,” said Wilhemina with satisfaction. “That's a good angle, don't you think? The patriarchal scientist who was also a poetry-spouting bibliographer. Coggeshaw will hate it, of course,” she added with relish.
“He would,” agreed Hermione, smiling. And then she paused, considering Wilhemina's odd choice of words. “Would you characterise Haverkort as a bibliographer?” asked Hermione. “I thought his great strength was his intuitive leaps of logic.”
“Oh, heavens,” laughed Wilhemina, “I meant bibliography in the Victorian sense, not in terms of historians or works cited. He recited couplets to his intended, after all.”
“Sorry, I don't know what you mean.”
Wilhemina began to recite:
“If the poem's too hot and the essay's too cool,
The play is the thing if you're seeking to woo,
Farce is for fun, but is lacking in weight.
Tragedy signals you might be too late.
A romance makes obvious what you desire
And history bookish intendeds inspire-”
She stopped reciting when Hermione began to giggle.
Wilhemina pretended to look offended. “I'm not making this up, you know. And it goes on for ages talking about what the different kinds of poems mean. They approximated the rhyme for 'metaphysics,' but I'm impressed someone tried, actually.”
“It's like 'rosemary for remembrance,'” quoted Hermione, “only with books.”
“Exactly,” said Wilhemina. “Except quoting from Hamlet would discourage me terribly if I were a young man bent on your affections. Though possibly not, if you quoted the right bit.”
“Mean you country matters?” asked Hermione, unable to contain her mirth.
This time Wilhemina began to laugh as well. “Shakespeare's bawdy puns were wasted on the Victorians,” she declared. “Thankfully, Wizards are a more sensible lot. When Benny was wooing me, he sent me Oscar Wilde. He thought he was being so terribly witty and modern. He wasn't quite sure how to respond to the quotes from Reading Gaol I sent in return.”
“You mean this was popular when you were courting?”
“Heavens yes. Some old-fashioned wizards and witches still do it today.”
“I don't recall anybody going down on one knee and reciting love poetry when I was at Hogwarts. Well, except once, and it was a hired Valentine's dwarf.”
“Was it a young man from an old family that did it?”
“A girl, but yes,” said Hermione, who felt a disturbing thought begin to stir at the edge of her mind. “You mean that any exchange of quotations between a witch and wizard could potentially have romantic overtones?”
“Potentially,” said Wilhemina. “but such an exchange would have to be highly personal. Ah, the food!”
The server put a steaming plate of mussels and frites that had been drizzled with truffle oil in front of Hermione, but she hardly noticed.
“Wilhemina, what would it mean if an exchange of thoughtful quotations were suddenly ended without comment?”
“Presumably a lack of romantic interest,” she said, beginning to look curious. “The best way to do that would be to provide some extremely dry work of nonfiction. That says, 'Thanks for your time, but let's keep this platonic'.”
At this moment, the server appeared bearing a letter on a silver salver. “Hermione Granger?”
“Yes?” she asked weakly, recognising the handwriting on the creamy envelope as Severus's.
He held out the letter to her, and she took it, her hand shaking slightly, and set it on the table next to her plate.
Wilhemina was looking at her meaningfully. “Aren't you going to open it?”
“I'm afraid to. I may have unwittingly shot myself in the foot.”
Wilhemina's grey eyes lit up as she connected the points of their conversation. “He didn't. YOU didn't!”
“I had no idea!” protested Hermione. “It all started with a bookmark that I accidentally left in the book. Most of our first exchanges consisted of trying to insult or irritate one another. But then the tone changed when he sent me the bit of sonnet that was more didactic than anything-”
“He sent you a sonnet? Hermione, that's as good as a declaration of romantic interest.”
“I'd been sort of complained about things being a muddle, and then he sent me a bit about sleeping on it. It was more avuncular than I expected of him, but certainly not romantic.”
“Which was it forty-three or twenty-seven? 'When most I wink' or 'Weary with toil'?”
“The latter,” said Hermione impressed but unsurprised that Wilhemina was so familiar with the sonnets.
“He sent you a sonnet that goes on to declare that the object of his affections 'makes black night beauteous and her old face new,' and you thought he was being avuncular?”
“I only remembered the first lines- I last read that sonnet when I was thirteen!” admitted Hermione, blushing. “But it doesn't matter how romantic the poem is because I sent him no quotes, just an extremely dry description of the research I'm brazenly suggesting that he fund. He must think I'm one of those women who uses, well, you know, to get what she wants. Merlin knows the poor man has had enough of that in his life.”
“Does it matter?” asked Wilhemina, daintily cutting a piece of chicken breast. “That his feelings may be hurt, or that he's interested in you?”
“Well, the former, certainly, but the latter? I- I hadn't really thought about it.”
“Well, then I suggest you enjoy your lunch, you allow me to lure you into a tentative agreement to write the Haverkort-van Ij story for me, decide how you feel about Severus Snape, and then read his letter. That way your opinion won't be coloured by his response.”
“It probably just says 'NO' in red ink,” said Hermione mournfully. “I'm lucky he didn't send a Howler.”
“No more of that talk,” ordered Wilhemina. “Now, did you know that Friedrich Rinbgeller is coming out with a new book on astronomical vibrations?”
The change of topic had the desired effect of ejecting all thoughts of Severus and her project from Hermione's mind. “That old fraud!” exclaimed Hermione.
“He offered it to us,” said Wilhemina, grinning. “We politely declined and suggested Thorndike. Ringbeller may write bestselling material, but we have a reputation for scholarly rigour that we prefer to remain intact.”
The rest of their afternoon was spent discussing books and academics, and Hermione couldn't remember the last time she'd had such a thoroughly enjoyable lunch. She was nearly to the fireplace to Floo home when the server who'd brought Severus's letter tapped her on the shoulder. She'd forgotten it on the table. She took the letter gratefully and Flooed home.
As she stepped on to her own familiar hearth, Hermione intensely regretted having done all the cleaning before lunch, because she had nothing to distract her from her roiling thoughts on the subject of Severus Snape. She'd never considered the man outside his various roles of teacher, spy, and now, Unspeakable. It took a moment for her to detach the man with whom she'd sparred in the library and who tweaked her mercilessly via quotation from her previous associations in order to be objective.
He'd never see fifty again, that much was certain, which made him much older than the men she'd previously considered to be relationship material. But that was hardly a deal-breaker, considering the length of a wizard's lifespan. It wasn't bad, it was just, well, different. He was well-read, obviously, somewhat old-fashioned if Wilhemina's characterisation were accurate. But if he found her, a bossy Muggle born who aspired to a research profession, attractive, then he couldn't be that terribly old-fashioned. Perhaps, because neither of them had been raised in a wholly magical family, Snape was simply doing things by the book out of respect for her. Possible, and if so, he would rise quite a few points in her estimation.
As far as suitability went, the pensions that all of them had received for their services to the Ministry in defeating Voldemort was more than generous, and yet he continued to work. That spoke well of his work ethic and also that he was doing something he enjoyed rather than something he needed to do. At least between them money and job stress would likely not be factors.
His reputation, despite his controversial actions during the war and terrifying reputation as a teacher, was excellent, so there was no objection there. Besides, there was the undeniable advantage that she was perfectly at ease under his intense scrutiny and sharp critique, which would serve her well in any and all future endeavours with him, be they romantic or collegial.
Hermione swallowed. The next aspect was one she wasn't looking forward to thinking about, but it wouldn't be fair to him or to herself if she didn't consider it, and that was the attraction factor. To be honest with herself, she had doubts, and they were not insubstantial. The majority of Hermione's previous boyfriends had been athletic, so even the rangiest of the lot had a lot of lean muscle. Severus was no longer as gaunt and sickly-looking as he'd been before, but he was still very skinny, even though his wardrobe went a long way toward disguising the fact.
In his favour, he was far from awkward; he moved with grace and economy, and he was perfectly at ease in his own skin, which was, perhaps an advantage of his age that she hadn't previously considered. Men her own age were simply more likely to be seeking reassurance of their own sexual prowess as well as their own gratification, and to be with someone who could check his ego at the door would be novel.
His face, well, there wasn't much to be done there. She was familiar enough with his features not to be repelled by them, but she was having a hard time imagining what it would be like to kiss those thin, pale lips or bumping against his substantial nose. It was going to be a challenge to get past. However, the fact that she was thinking of it as an obstacle to be overcome rather than an impasse led her to nod resolutely. She would consider him, even if he rejected her research proposal. Besides, she owed him an apology.
She steeled herself and opened Severus's letter.
Intriguing.
Tea at Milliway's tomorrow at ten.
I shall bring the book.
Hermione's heart swelled. If she hadn't already decided in his favour, this simple missive would have done it. The three lines were bursting with subtext. “Intriguing.” He found that her work had merit and held interest. An invitation to tea, that most neutral of gustatory ceremonies, at Milliway's, a nice-but-not-too-posh place in the heart of London that featured private booths and famous chocolate biscuits. “I shall bring the book.” I shan't bother you further romantically, and you needn't worry about any begging, or recrimination when I give you the book again. Severus had indeed risen many points in her estimation, and she was determined to let him know that. She began putting together her latest notes about Delphinia van Ij and wondering how best to grovel.
~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~
Hermione was at Milliway's at nine-thirty the next day obsessively shuffling through her presentation, ensuring that her graphs and figures were in the proper order, and waiting for her tea to cool enough to drink. At bang on ten, the bell over the door rang merrily, and Severus Snape in his dour glory swept into the shop. Clearly, he came here often, because he was greeted warmly. He said something to them that was too quiet for Hermione to hear, but a moment later he was led to her table.
Hermione couldn't breathe at first as his eyes met hers, but to her surprise, her nervousness evaporated, and she found herself smiling broadly at him.
“Hello,” she said.
He blinked in surprise, but returned her smile with a brief quirk of the lips before sitting next to her in the booth.
“Have you ordered?” he asked, a bit too quickly, despite the fact that Hermione's tea had already arrived. Hermione nearly smiled again when she realised that he was as nervous as she was, but she didn't want him to think she was laughing at him.
“Yes, I have chocolate biscuits on the way and some sandwiches.”
“Good, good,” he said absently.
“Look,” she said, “before we get started, I wanted to apologise. In my excitement over van Ij's manuscript, I neglected to include a very important note in the proposal I sent you. So at your leisure-” she began, slipping a piece of paper that had been folded in half towards him.
He put his hand over hers, an action that startled her until she realised that he was preventing her from sliding the paper closer to him.
“Before you do something you may regret,” he said, “You should hear what I have to say first. Our meeting today has only to do with your research proposal. What may or may not have transpired in our correspondence is utterly irrelevant.”
“Agreed,” said Hermione. “But I really don't believe the contents of that paper contain anything I'd regret you seeing.”
“Regardless, it can wait,” he said. “We have more pressing things to discuss. I confess to finding myself in a position I never expected, regarding yourself.”
Hermione just managed to keep her eyebrow from popping up at the potential double entendre. Severus had made the terms of the discussion clear. It would be unfair to attempt to flirt. However, her restraint was for naught, since her silence made him clear his throat uncomfortably.
“I'm sorry, Severus,” she said. “You mean, of course, uncovering Delphinia van Ij's manuscript.”
He scowled at her, a familiar expression that made her want to smile. “What on earth made you think to check with the publisher?”
“It was an inspiration that you're lucky not to have,” she admitted ruefully.
His eyes narrowed. “Coggeshaw.”
“Got it in one,” she said. “My interest was piqued by the harsh words in Haverkort's autobiography about the intention-colour connection when it's represented nowhere in extant literature. However, Coggeshaw refused to let me look into it.”
“Because if Haverkort dismissed it, then there's nothing in it,” said Severus, in an uncanny impression of Coggeshaw's reedy brogue. “I take it you continued to look into this lost theory while telling Coggeshaw you were looking for something else,” he said, not at all disapprovingly.
“I told him I was looking through the submitted manuscripts to see if Haverkort's handwritten notes could provide any insight. And sure enough, they did. I was just luck that the publisher still had them.”
“But it wasn't just luck that you saw the connection between a manuscript by an unknown writer and the theory that had obviously got under Haverkort's skin.”
Hermione was inordinately pleased by his praise. “Anybody who'd read Haverkort's autobiography would have drawn the same conclusion,” she demurred.
“False modesty does not become you."
“All right, then, it was bloody clever,” she said, impatience to hear his thoughts outweighing her caution. “Now, what do I need to do to convince Coggeshaw to fund me?”
He pulled a sheaf of papers from his cloak and enlarged them before handing them to her. “Since you have been so unfailingly generous with your findings, I think it only fair to return the favour.”
Hermione gaped at the top piece of parchment, upon which was stamped in official letters, “MYSTIFIED DOCUMENT.” She skimmed the first page and nearly choked.
“Good Gaia, Severus!” she exclaimed, hushing herself nearly immediately. “Had you any idea that this is what she did?”
“Not before you provided me with her name,” he said.
“Haverkort can't have known,” she said. “It was Mystified. He couldn't have known that she was a senior Department of Mysteries researcher with numerous patents to her name. And she wouldn't have said anything. She wasn't the sort.”
“He ought to have known from the calibre of paper she wrote for his collection,” said Severus disapprovingly. “His wounded pride kept him from seeing her as she was.”
“What I don't understand is why she didn't follow up on this work, considering that she had more than sufficient resources to explore it fully,” said Hermione.
“Perhaps she had more trust in his expertise than he deserved.”
Hermione flipped through the pile of papers, which contained patent certifications, Mystified publications that had been released later under pseudonyms, numerous accolades, including an Order of Merlin First Class and a Sphinx Prize for contributions to the field of curse-breaking. “Or maybe she was trying not to upstage him, given that she'd so recently turned him down. This work- it's like the missing link for both Haverkort's work on Chronocryptology and van Ij's work that identifies the quantum components of magic. How on earth could she have allowed it to be lost? She had to have understood its importance.”
She finally tore her gaze from the extraordinary curriculum vitae that lay on the table and was surprised to see Severus's eyes shining at her in approval. It was such an unfamiliar expression that Hermione fancied she was looking at a completely different person from the man she'd known before.
“What if it wasn't lost?” asked Severus softly.
“How do you mean?”
“What if it's still in her old Gringott's vault?” asked Severus.
Hermione blinked in surprise. She never would have considered it. “Surely not.”
“You'd be surprised,” said Severus. “I certainly was when I found out how many dead vaults are at Gringott's. It's part of the reason getting to a vault is such an arduous undertaking. But as long as someone pays the few sickles a month to keep a vault whose contents are valued below Gringotts' minimum, the Goblins will continue expanding, never bothering to clean out Great Aunt Bathsheba's collection of frog-shaped tea kettles.”
“Do you think you could get the Goblins to let you into her old vault?” asked Hermione doubtfully. “I mean, she is an ancestor of yours, isn't she?”
“A third cousin thrice removed,” he said, with no small amount of satisfaction. “I put the same question to my solicitor this morning, and he's arranging it as we speak. If he's successful, as I suspect he will be, you and I are to be at Gringott's at half one.”
“We?” squeaked Hermione.
“Nobody else knows,” said Severus simply. “Besides, there's also the benefit of extra pairs of eyes and hands.”
Hermione slumped against the back of her seat. “I don't know what to say, Severus,” she said, eyes wide with amazement.
“Say you'll come with me,” he said, a trace of impatience in his voice.
Hermione glanced at the empty plate on the table and felt a mischievous grin coming on. “If the next order of sandwiches is on you, we have an agreement."
The folded-over piece of parchment remained on the table when they left.
~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~8~
Half one found Hermione, freshly changed into trainers and a warm, worn jumper. Severus, she noted with amusement, had done the same, though he hid his casual apparel under a particularly billowy cloak.
If the Goblins' ill temper were any indication, Severus's solicitor had been successful in proving their claim to the vault. They only put up a minor fuss when Hermione crossed the thresshold of the bank, a to-do to which she was accustomed, ever since she had successfully broken in all those years ago. The Goblin who drove their cart to the vault, Lumpkin, seemed to be hyper-aware that he was chauferring one of the bank's most notorious personae non gratae, and kept looking suspiciously at her over his shoulder, as if he expected to be clubbed over the head. Thankfully, the trip was short.
Lumpkin performed a few hand gestures before the door. “Standard protections,” he sniffed, clearly unimpressed by ancestors who didn't bother protecting their belongings with the best Gringott's had to offer. He produced an iron key from the ring around his neck and unlocked the door. Another wave of his hand illuminated a set of globes, which filled the vault with light. Van Ij's vault was far smaller than the Lestranges', about the size of a large pantry. It might have appeared larger when empty, but the entire left side of the vault was filled with a set of files that stretched the length of the vault. The other side contained shelves, each of them neatly labelled.
Lumpkin grunted disapprovingly. “I trust you'll be here for some time?”
“I think it likely,” said Severus, far too engrossed by the contents of the vault to summon the proper amount of impatience.
Lumpkin handed Severus a bell. “I have other customers to assist. Ring this when you're ready to leave.” He glared at Hermione. “And don't try anything funny- the neighbouring vaults have far more sophisticated protections than this old thing.”
“I'll try to control myself,” said Hermione drily, running her fingers gently over the surface of Delphinia van Ij's Order of Merlin.
Lumpkin harrumphed, leapt spryly into the car, and rattled away down the tunnel.
Hermione joined Severus, who was leafing through a drawer marked “Notebooks, 1895-1900.”
“There's so much here,” she exclaimed, scanning the spines of the books and boxes. “Reprints, laboratory notebooks, journals!”
Their hands met as they both reached for the same volume of journal- the one that covered the period in which she and Haverkort met at various society functions and he made his ill-fated advances.
Hermione withdrew immediately.
“Go ahead,” she said. “She's your ancestress.”
It was a sign of how badly Severus wanted to read it that he didn't bother with a token protest. He took the book and positioned himself under the nearest source of illumintion- one of the Goblin light globes- and began to read. Hermione chose the laboratory notebook that began shortly after Delphinia's second child was born, hoping for something on her brilliant insight into chronocyrptolgy. They stood back-to-back by a light-globe, each living in the world of Delphinia van Ij's words.
The research journals were well-organized and meticulous, so it was a matter of minutes before Hermione found the preliminary experiments that Van Ij had performed before writing the paper she had submitted to Haverkort's collection. To Hermione's slight disappointment, they contained only the experiment design, methods, a few simple arithmantic algorithms that had been used to correct for honesty, and the results, without any analysis or commentary.
Hermione continued reading, fascinated by the sheer variety of projects Van Ij had been working on, and the way the experiments in one area would suggest new approaches to seemingly unrelated problems. As dry as the writing was, the woman's enthusiasm for her work and keen intelligence leapt off the page. Not that Coggeshaw would accept any of that as evidence, of course. With the greatest reluctance, Hermione laid the notebook aside.
“I found her chronocryptology experiments,” she said. “Coggeshaw will want to see them.”
Severus grunted his approval, and continued to read her journals. Hermione was achingly curious about the contents that had so captivated Severus, but turned her attention to a stack of unmarked paperboard boxes that had yellowed with age. She opened the one on top, and Hermione caught a faint whiff of ancient roses. Inside the box were stacks of letters neatly bound with silk ribbon. Hermione glanced furtively at Severus before lifting a stack. A card identified the stack as containing letters from Otto van Ij from the last years of his life. They were not letters, really, so much as notes, some scribbled on lined cardstock.
Hermione swallowed hard and set the stack aside, even as a hope that she dared not put into words took hold. There were numerous stacks of letters from Otto, each painstakingly labelled with the dates of the correspondence, but there was also correspondence with family members and letters from the van Ij children at school before Hermione found what she suspected would be at the bottom of the box, tied with a pink ribbon.
No label graced the bundle, but on the top envelope, the name Delphinia Gardner was written in the decisive hand that had filled the margins of Folder and Stitch's chronocrpytology manuscripts. Seemingly of its own accord, Hermione's fingers untied the bow that held the letters together, the silk ribbon sliding against itself with a nearly inaudible whisper.
“Severus,” said Hermione quietly, “you ought to see these.”
He looked up from his reading with the expression that Hermione immediately recognised as disorientation having been suddenly plucked from a book into the rude world. He recovered almost immediately and peered at the bundle of letters.
“They're from Haverkort,” she explained. “Actually,” she said, flipping through the pile, “it's the entire correspondence, both his letters and hers.”
“He must have returned her letters,” said Severus. “When she chose Otto.”
“It was good of him to do that,” commented Hermione. “Of course, she might also have made things difficult for him if he hadn't."
“It was the expected thing,” said Severus with a shrug. “Are you going to read them?”
“We might read them together,” she suggested, transfiguring a decorative vase into a narrow sofa just wide enough for them to sit side-by-side.
In response, Severus slid into the seat, and they read in silence.
My Dear Miss Gardner,
I hope you will not think me impertinent for contacting you in this fashion, but I had to write to convey my sincere apologies for the rash words I spoke to you at the Baroness's party last Saturday. It was never my intention to belittle your work. Indeed, as our science and technology develop, I have every confidence that your hard work will prove that emotions, which are currently thought to be antithetical to science, have a great deal of actual, measurable bearing on magic. The point I attempted to make was poorly conceived and even more shabbily uttered, and I cannot think of it without embarrassment. I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive this impetuous young man for his attempt to sound knowledgeable of your field when in reality, he isn't in the least. I confess that he hoped only to impress you favourably, like Caesar in his ambition, but with all the honour of Brutus. I send you my warmest regards as both Roman and countryman, and one day, if I am fortunate above all men, perhaps one day as your friend.
Yours Sincerely,
F.H.
My Dear F.H.,
You do wrong your words too much. I value honesty too greatly to take offence at its righteous expression. I did not take your sentiments to heart, indeed if I were the sort to do so, I should never have joined the Department, though your honesty and excellent conversation were much appreciated. I hope that I shall see you at the Gullivers' ball next month. I have always preferred vigorous discussion to dancing, and you are a most stimulating partner.
Sincerely,
D.G.
My Dear Miss Gardener,
What fire is in mine eyes? Can this be true? You are to be at the Gullivers' ball but attend only for conversation? But nay, gentle one, we must have you dance!
I hope you do not take offence at my jesting. I am in high spirits, as I have just received word that my latest manuscript has been provisionally accepted by The Journal of Applied Alchemy. I shall not think about the required revisions until I have celebrated properly. If I may be so bold, I should love to hear your thoughts on the manuscript, which you will find enclosed.
Yours Sincerely,
F.H.
Dear F.H.,
I have read your manuscript, and I regret that I must concur with the reviewer who felt that the wavelength data comparing the so-called colourless potions was inconclusive. However, you needn't do all the suggested experiments. A colleague of mine by the name of Benson has invented a charm that plots all detectable reflection and diffraction of light data across a three dimensional graph, and he has generously agreed to teach it to you, should you so desire.
Regarding the Gullivers' ball, I am simply not shaped for sportive tricks.
Sincerely,
D.G.
My Dearest Miss Gardner,
A Daniel come to judgment! Yea, a Daniel! O wise young judge, how I do honour thee! Master Benson is known well to me, and I am indebted to you for your kindness in securing his assistance. I shall therefore cease in my efforts to tease you into agreeing to dance with me at the Gullivers' ball.
You have done me a valuable turn and wish with all my heart that I might return it in some meaningful way. In the unlikely event that my own narrow, shallow expertise should be of use or interest to you, know that it is completely available to you.
Yours Very Sincerely,
F.H.
Dear F.H.,
I was delighted to see your recent article in this month's Journal of Applied Alchemy and was sincerely touched that you mentioned me in the acknowledgements. Such a gesture was unnecessary, given the considerable pleasure I derived from the fact that you and Master Benson have been able to collaborate in such a significant way.
It is with regret that I declare myself unable to take you up on your extremely generous offer of assistance in the immediate future, only because I am somewhat punctilious about planning my research and have at least a year and a half of work before me before I could consider taking on something new. But, I too look forward to the day that I can call upon you professionally. I hope it will please you to know that you are very well thought of in the Department, should you ever desire to leave Lyonesse for pastures that are, if not greener, are at least likely to contain fewer rocks.
Incidentally, you needn't cease needling me about dancing out of fear of distressing me. If anything, it's refreshing to be reminded that if I should wish to dance, I could do so. Old maids do not generally have such an option, and it is kind of you to offer, even partly in jest. I look forward to the Gullivers' ball and hope that you will not be too cross with me if I refuse to dance. I assure you that it has nothing to do with your entreaties and everything to do with my dislike of dancing. It has always seemed to me a shame that something as sublime as music should be accompanied by the stomping of feet or should have to compete with dozens of young ladies who are determined to be the centre of attention. But alas, it is to be a ball and not an evening of concerts, so I must console myself with the company of friends.
Hand in hand with faerie grace shall we sing and bless this place.
D.G.
My Dear Miss Gardner,
How your letter has filled my heart with gladness and my mind with curiosity! I am pleased beyond telling that my teasing has not offended you. I shall be sure to continue , in hopes that when we brave hill and dale, brush and briar, to the Gullivers', that we might both sing and dance it trippingly.
I must also needle you on another account, and that is to press you to tell me more of your work. To have a year and a half of work planned out ahead of time is quite frankly astounding to me. To go back to my initial churlish efforts to favourably impress you, it had not occurred to me that matters that are at, if I may say, the heart of your work, could even be tested scientifically with current technology. This is not to my credit, I realise, but I do hope that you will forgive my former foolishness and tell me more about your current and planned work. I am sure that some of it must be shrouded in secrecy, given the nature of your employer, but I hope that you will be willing to toss your poor spaniel a bone.
I suspect the week and a half remaining until the ball will crawl by at a flobberworm's pace. I keenly anticipate your next letter and thank you for your frankness, and if I may be so bold, your friendship.
Very Sincerely Yours,
Franz Haverkort
Dear Master Haverkort,
I fear I have aroused your interest on false pretences, since I know with certainty that my work is something that would be anathema to you. I do not blame you for this, indeed, sometimes at the end of a difficult week I quite agree with your summation of our field. But the successes we have seen, thankfully, far outweigh the disappointments.
My work is firmly entrenched in what I'm sure a seasoned experimentalist like you would call guesswork and soft science, though naturally we fancy ourselves intuitive theoreticians. In reality, I think we have the most in common with astrologers, who also collect innumerable observation and use what they observe to create arithmantic formulae and algorithms to predict behaviour and form theories about how the universe works and how it affects us. This is what we do, only instead of observing the movements of heavenly bodies, we observe the behaviour of people. There is an anatomical component of our work, of course, since it is a known fact that some aspects of brain morphology directly affect the way people behave, but the majority of what I do is not this sort of work. Secrecy forbids me disclosing precisely what I do, but if you are at all familiar with the Department of Mysteries, I can say that my work occurs behind the only door that is locked at all times.
I do not mean to be coy about my work nor dismissive of your interest in it, but in your previous letter you expressed gratitude for my frankness, and I would like to return the thanks with assurance that you need not fawn over my work in order to keep my friendship. In fact, your willingness to express your views frankly is one of the many things I value in our correspondence. It does no-one good to be surrounded by people who agree with one on all things, and since our first conversation, I have sought ways to bring more rigorous experimental technique to my work. Indeed, the work that lies ahead of me has been strongly influenced by your comments, for all that I suspect you would still find it too full of immeasurable variables. But I would not have this age of so-called reason fade this work, nor criticism stale its infinite variety, and I owe you many thanks for giving me the impetus to modernise. When I have results worthy of being presented to a leading scientist of the day, rest assured, dear friend, you will be the first person I approach for comments.
Your remarks about song and dance are truer than perhaps you know, since tripping has been part of my repertoire since my first public dance. And if you continue in your ill-advised campaign to have me dance, I may have to flee, and my legs are longer still to run away.
Yours affectionately,
Delphinia Gardner
Dearest Miss Gardner,
I admire you more than I have words to express for the honest, insightful sentiments expressed in your previous letter. Please believe that I do not ask about your work to flatter you, but rather because I have developed something of a mania to know more about the subject that fascinates and frustrates one of the most scintillating minds I have ever had the pleasure of encountering. I understand that you are unable to go into details about your work, and I thank you for the eloquent explanation you provided. I fear that it has only served to make me all the more curious to know more. In fact, I have contacted your employer and have submitted paperwork to be allowed access to Mystified research pertaining to my own work. I know such requests weeks take time to evaluate, but I wanted you to know that perhaps one day we may speak freely with no forbidden subjects.
In the interim, we shall have to let our letters and perhaps even our light fantastic toes speak for us. Only thirty-six hours remain!
Most Sincerely Yours,
Franz Haverkort
My Dear Master Haverkort,
I cannot speak for all of the investigators, but I am delighted by your interest in our Department's work and hope that the powers that be will be able to satisfy you. I am afraid this letter will be on the terse side, since I have a number of tedious but necessary things to do in preparation for tomorrow night's festivities, but I hope that the final result will be pleasing to you. I confess that I have never looked forward to a ball with such excitement in the, let us be honest, many, many years since I first came into society. Of course, I never had much cause to, since most of my prior experience involved being mortified on the dance floor or being ignored by all the eligible men my own age. I bear no particular grudge against these men. They were looking for someone to file a role that I was uninterested in filling. Indeed, I sincerely doubt that being in a wholly domestic sphere would be enjoyable to me, nor would I be very good at it. I have long since given up hope of finding someone capable of appreciating me for my mind as well as my femininity, since I know that it will always be one or the other, but being a person who by profession must be adept at playing numerous roles and hiding certain aspects of self, this is neither a hardship nor a burden.
The hour grows short, but not short enough. Gallop apace, ye fiery footed steeds!
Yours in Impatience,
Delphinia Gardner
My Dear Miss Gardner,
Any man who is unable to see what is in front of him is unworthy of you. Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind. Until tonight, dear friend.
Yours in anticipation,
Franz Haverkort
At that dramatic juncture, Hermione realised that they were looking at the final letter in the stack. “Well,” she breathed. “I suppose that's it.”
Wordlessly, Severus folded the parchment and slid it back into its envelope. Hermione returned to the box and began to examine the stacks of letters she'd removed from the box. She knew in her heart that these were the only letters exchanged between van Ij and Haverkort that they would find. The last bundle, which Hermione had left in the bottom of the box in her excitement at finding Haverkort's letters, was labelled Otto's Letters, with no dates. These she retrieved and sat down next to Severus, who had stacked the bundle of letters neatly on his thigh, looked up at her.
“Well,” he said at last, I don't think even Coggeshaw could claim, after reading their correspondence, that Haverkort could have been objective in evaluating her work.”
“What do you suppose happened at the ball?” asked Hermione, setting the letters on the couch next to Severus and leaning back.
“We know that much from the autobiography,” said Severus. “They danced, Haverkort was moved, and the lady wasn't.”
“Yes, but the autobiography didn't give any reason why.”
“I think we can assume she was either taken aback by his ardour or she met someone else that night whose company she preferred.”
“I don't think she'd just throw him over for another bloke,” said Hermione. “Not after that exchange of letters.”
“I think you would be surprised, Miss Granger, how frequently men who are considered 'friends' are ignored in favour of men with more panache.”
Hermione looked at him sharply. There was a bit too much truth in Severus's statement, both in terms of his own experiences with Lily Potter and her own relationship with Ron Weasley, who had lost interest in maintaining a friendship with her many years ago when she had decided that spending her life with him was not what she wanted. “Haverkort was a rising star in a new field and the man she chose was a schoolteacher. Which of the two do you think had more panache? I think it's more likely that Haverkort had a bit too much panache for her taste.”
Severus shrugged, but a frown line still bisected his brows. “Even if that's so, to be perfectly fair, they made one another no promises. They were nothing at the end of this exchange but mutually interested acquaintances who could potentially become more.”
“But all of the romantic quotations-” began Hermione
“-were all from plays,” finished Severus. “Surely you know what that means.”
“The play's the thing,” quoted Hermione. “I'd never heard that before yesterday.”
Severus, whose dark look had brightened infinitesimally, raised an eyebrow at her. “You never read Hamlet?”
Hermione tutted but inwardly cheered that he'd given her a chance to explain herself. “The play is the thing if you're seeking to woo. The Victorian poem about bibliography. The only bibliography I knew before was the sort that goes at the end of a published work.”
Severus looked at her sceptically. “But surely you're familiar with the concept of exchanging quotations with a potential romantic partner.”
“I'm also familiar with the concept of having a philosophical argument through the use of quotations,” said Hermione.
Severus was quiet for a moment. “Are you going to look at those?” he asked, gesturing toward the pile of Otto's letters that sat on the couch between them.
“Strictly speaking, I don't need to. Their exchange is all I need to convince Coggeshaw to hold up his end of the bargain.”
“And the impending 'but?'”
“But I'd like to read them at some point, as well as her journals. You see, Wilhemina Stitch, of Folder and Stitch, expressed an interest in publishing their story in book form, such as it is. She was the one who gave me access to the rejected manuscripts.”
“I see,” said Severus, who had gone very still beside her, which Hermione interpreted to be a Bad Thing.
“You must realise at the time I spoke with her, I hadn't any clue the contents of this vault existed.”
“Of course not,” said Severus, somewhat acerbically. “But what happens next, Miss Granger, is entirely up to you.”
Hermione's cheeks burned. She couldn't in good conscience ask Severus, an intensely private man, to let her expose his family's private correspondence for the sake of a historical tell-all, and she couldn't, in good conscience renege on her agreement with Wilhemina, who had been so supportive and kind, especially when this would make the finished work that much more compelling. She opted for silence.
Severus cleared his throat. “Well, Coggeshaw would certainly be happier if these letters never came to light, especially before you publish what will undoubtedly be a successful set of experiments using Veritaserum that will pave the way for more testing. Anything that challenges the prevailing view of Saint Haverkort will be anathema to him.”
“He may be a stick-in-the-mud, but he's not a fossil,” protested Hermione. “He may not like the letters, but they are an undeniable part of who Haverkort was, and by the same token, who Delphinia van Ij was.” She took a deep breath and gently slid Otto's letters to his side of the couch. “I won't ask you now, Severus. I won't ask you to let me have access Delphinia's things to write the book Wilhemina wanted. But I would like you to consider it and give me an answer when at such a time as I ask.”
He was quiet for a moment, and took Otto's letters in his hands. He knelt before the box and laid the letters reverently in the bottom of the box before stacking the other bundles on top and replacing the lid.
“I will consider it,” he said at last. He gestured toward the stack that comprised the letters they had read. “Don't forget those,” he said. “Coggeshaw will need to see them.”
“When would you like them back?”
“There's no hurry, Hermione.”
He was still kneeling on the floor, looking at the box, then allowing his eyes to travel over the shelves. Hermione realised she was staring and edged around him to the couch, where she re-tied the stack of letters with the ancient ribbon.
“I ought to go,” said Hermione. “Coggeshaw will be in tomorrow at nine, and if I want to have a presentation that will knock his socks off, I should start right away.”
He seemed to come back to himself, and he rose from the floor, knees cracking. “Do try to get some sleep. You babble when you're ill-rested, and Coggeshaw is no more tolerant of babble than I am.”
Hermione didn't bother holding back her grin. “Would you like to meet for tea afterwards?”
He looked at her for an interminable moment. “That would be tolerable, I suppose,” he said at last, with more than enough doubt in his tone to maintain his dignity. “Now, run along. I have a great deal of cataloging to do, it seems. I'll see you at Miliways at eleven.”
He rang the bell that Lumpkin had left, and Hermione heard a far off cart rattling down the track.
She knew better than to push her luck, but she couldn't help herself. “Severus?”
He turned and gave her a mildly annoyed look.
“I shall bring the book,” she said, the intensity of her gaze belying the lightness of her words.
The far-off rattling grew louder, and within moments the cart had arrived, its driver looking at her peevishly. Hermione glanced over her shoulder and was surprised to see Severus standing in the mouth of the vault, watching her climb awkwardly over the side into the cart.
“The Blake was appreciated,” he said at last, and he spun on his heel and returned to the vault.
Even as her neck began to ache from the seemingly random sideways jerks of the cart, Hermione marvelled that she never actually saw him read or take the piece of paper that they'd left on the table at Miliway's. One precipitous hill made her feel as though she'd left her stomach at the top, but she couldn't contain the relieved grin that spread over her face at the realisation that he'd not shut the metaphorical door in her face. She'd have the chance to make amends, and that's what was important. The opportunity to do more, was merely the icing on the cake.
Hermione began to wonder if Lumpkin was deliberately taking her on the most violently circuitous track, and allowed her mind to drift from the parts of her body that were currently in distress to the words of William Blake, whose Tyger! Tyger! had started it all, and whose The Divine Image kept it from being snuffed out. It wasn't overt as apologies went, but it had been effective all the same.
To Mercy Pity Peace and Love
All pray in their distress
And for these virtues of delight
Return their faithfulness.
For Mercy has a human heart
Pity a Human Face
And love the human form divine,
And Peace the human dress.
Then every man, of every clime
That prays in his distress
Prays to the human form divine
Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace.
Hermione sincerely hoped that Severus, on reflection, wouldn't think that she thought his face was a pity.
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The End... for now
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A/N: Yes, that's the end for now, but I reserve the right to add additional adventures on future Bluey birthdays. In case you haven't read the book A.S. Byatt's wonderful "Possesssion" was a major influence on this story. All syntax and grammar and canon goofs are mine, since poor Mr. 42 didn't have the chance to look at this before I posted.