Fic: Combinatorics part 2
Combinatorics, part 2. Cont from here.
A variable that may assume complex values.
They settled into a routine over the next few weeks. They four shared a quiet breakfast each morning, taking turns at cooking. Harry always made a full hot breakfast, saying that at least the Dursleys had taught him something useful. He never said that where Sirius could hear, though. Ron managed a new mish-mash every time, somehow combining his mother's domesticity with the twins' ingenuity. His meals were usually edible and often good, though there had been notable and memorable exceptions-the egg scramble with olives and pineapple never should have seen the light of day. Hermione herself usually forced them to subsist on whatever looked good at the bakery the night before and some fresh fruit. Sirius had cooked a few times, bland food like porridge that filled them up and didn't actually taste bad.
Usually they shared quick goodbyes and then three of them split off to their daily tasks; Harry and Ron to work and Hermione to her assistantship. She didn't know what Sirius did during the day. She had assumed he tinkered with the monstrous bike that took up most of their garage, but when she had looked in the other day it still had been covered by a dusty tarp. Maybe he read books and took walks. She was starting to think she should worry.
Today she was enjoying a late morning at home since the university was on holiday. Harry and Ron had sped off just moments ago, hurried and disorganized as usual. Sirius was puttering around in the kitchen while she skimmed the Daily Prophet over the remains of her tea. She had never been able to give up the habit, despite the paper's tendency towards gossip and hatefulness. Occasionally an informative tidbit snuck through, so it was a habit she didn't bother to fight.
She was on the last pages when the doorbell buzzed. Whoever was ringing was rude enough to leave his finger on for a good thirty seconds. She sighed and rose, thinking dark thoughts about door to door salesmen that would probably get her sent to Azkaban if she acted them out.
She jerked the door open, ‘we don't want any' ready on her lips. Instead, she was shocked to silence. Severus Snape stood in her entryway, black robes and glowering look in full force. It took her a moment to remember that he had no authority over her.
"Yes?" she asked, disregarding conventions of politeness because she could.
He raised an eyebrow at her tone. "May I come in, or would you prefer to conduct our business in full view of your neighbors?"
Hermione wrinkled her nose but stepped back to let him walk through the door.
"I wasn't aware we had business," she said after closing the door behind her.
Snape towered in the middle of their living room, peering at its nooks and crannies like they might have been harboring gremlins. Or possibly Neville Longbottom. That puzzled her a little, since he had been here recently, and frankly the room wasn't that interesting. But before she could ask, he turned to her, producing a stack of parchment scrolls from somewhere in his robes.
"The Headmaster requested that I bring these to you. As always, I find myself at his bidding."
That quirked a smile out of her. They were all subject to Dumbledore's whims, even as proud a man as Snape. Snape more than any of them actually, considering his history and convenient proximity.
Hermione took the scrolls. They must have been from the Headmaster's personal collection. She had requested a peek for her current research, but she hadn't expected him to actually send them to her.
"Why didn't he just owl?" she asked, but before he could reply there was a loud thump. She looked behind her to find Sirius looming over a fallen dining chair, a dangerous look on his face.
"What's the greasy git doing here?"
She closed her eyes for a half second.
"I fail to see how that is any of your business, Black," Snape snapped out.
"Please, Sirius, he's just bringing me some-"
"It's very much my business when you're standing in my living room!" Sirius rode over her plea. Loudly.
"Your living room, is it? So you have actually taken to paying rent now? And here I thought you were the same lazy roustabout as at Grimmauld Place."
Hermione knew that Snape had gone too far. She stepped forward into the line between them just as Sirius got his wand up. His face was flushed an unhealthy dusk rose, and his normally pale eyes were dark little pinpoints.
"Sirius! For God's sake, put down your wand!"
His eyes flicked to her face and then past again. She chanced a glance back at Snape. He had his own wand out, but it wasn't leveled in threat. Instead he seemed to be studying Sirius, eyes moving as if cataloguing traits for later recitation. She turned back to Sirius. His wand was still out but no longer tensed to attack.
"Sirius," she said again, her voice thin and pleading.
Without a word he turned and stormed to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
Hermione sighed in relief and annoyance. "I'm sorry about that," she told Snape. "He's still a bit on edge these days."
"As if that miserable excuse for a Wizard was ever less than unhinged," he replied softly. His eyes, dark and unreadable, were locked on the door where Sirius had retreated.
She sighed again, drawing his eyes back to her. He started to say something, then paused as if changing his mind. Hermione raised her own eyebrow at this unusual behavior.
"I hope you find the scrolls useful, as Professor Dumbledore saw fit to make me his pack animal for your pleasure. Good day, Miss Granger."
Then he turned and stormed out her front door, not giving her the chance to usher him out or to thank him. Still, the whole encounter had been rather tactful. On Snape's end of things, at least.
She turned towards Sirius' door, intent on giving him a piece of her mind. She burst in without knocking. He was staring morosely at the floor, a faded Quidditch pennant in hand.
"Why do you do that?" she asked, softer than she originally had intended.
"Do what?" He didn't look up.
"Always goad Snape, treat him that way," she clarified.
"‘Cause he's a nasty git, that's why," he said flatly. He was much calmer than she expected, almost as if the fight was just habitual action with no fire behind it.
"He might not be perfect, but he is a human being, and you should treat him with respect," Hermione chided.
That made him look up. "He was a Death Eater, for Merlin's sake! You can't trust him, the smelly, oily git."
"Was a deatheater, was! He's a hero of the war, just as much as me or Ron, almost as much as Harry." She pinked a little as she realized she had raised her voice. "And he's not smelly," she added, more softly.
Sirius laughed, low and rueful.
"Not smelly, huh? Well, I suppose I've never been close enough to find out, thank goodness." He tossed the pennant aside. "Ah, Hermione. You're such a good soul."
She wasn't sure if she had made her point, but he was looking at her with a half smile and soft eyes, and that made her all warm inside. She shrugged.
"I just think, whatever it is between you two is in the past, and it should be left in the past. It won't kill you to be civil."
"It might," he muttered.
"Sirius! Don't even joke about that."
He didn't say anything, just stood and gathered her into a hug. It surprised her a little, because while Sirius and Harry frequently shared such affection, he'd been a little distant from her and Ron. She accepted his warmth gladly, once again realizing that he was really back from the dead. He let go eventually and smiled at her.
"So what're the plans for today?"
Triad: A set with three elements.
It was the three of them that evening, Ron and Harry watching the footy match on the telly while she curled up with her latest research journals. Sirius had locked himself up in his room after being silent and sullen at dinner. Through experience she had learned to leave men alone when they got in that mood. Something about Mars and caves that she vaguely remembered, something that had sounded like a load of Trelawney's drivel the first time she had heard it.
The match was apparently a dull one, the boys' team having gained a large lead early on. Their usual jumping and shouting was muted to occasional mutters and good-natured ribbing. She judged it safe to uncurl and plopped her feet in Ron's lap without a by-your-leave. After a minute of continued watching, Ron finally noticed.
"Oi Hermione! Get your stinky toes out of my face!"
She smiled sweetly and waved one foot closer to his nose in threat. He batted at it, but then returned to watching the game. After a while his hands came to rest on her feet. He started to rub without thinking, just as she had known he would. That had been their habit for years, one that had outlasted the war and countless skirmishes of their own making.
She was deep into her article, contentedly relaxed by the attention to her feet, when Harry's face appeared in front of hers. Her eyes crossed from his proximity.
"Harry!" she shrieked as she struggled to sit up. Ron still had her feet in his grip, so it was a losing battle.
"Hermione," he sing-songed back with a grin. "Match's over. We're bored."
"Well get out of my face, you big lout," she said, pushing him back to the best of her ability. He collapsed across her legs, though he was careful not to overextend her knees. Hermione was well and truly trapped by the two of them.
"Let me up," she panted after she tried to squirm free. It was all but impossible to even breathe, let alone free herself. Harry giggled like a little boy and she heard one or two of Ron's deeper chuckles. Finally she stilled, nearly exhausted.
"See Ron, told you I could get her nose out of her stupid book," Harry taunted.
That did it. She bucked wildly, catching them by surprise. Harry tumbled onto the floor while Ron hastily guarded his family jewels from stray kicks. She stood quickly, then took a pose with her hand on her hip.
"What was that, Mr. Potter?"
Ron snickered while Harry looked rather sheepish. His glasses were skewed and his hair was even crazier than usual, full of static.
"Uh, nothing, Hermione. You feel like playing a game? We're bored," he added with a pout.
Ron stuck his face down next to Harry's, looking up at her with sad eyes and a matching pout. She huffed, but gave in. Such was her life with the two of them.
"Fine. But no exploding snap."
Harry climbed to his feet and headed for the stash of cards in the entertainment center, pulling out one of the Muggle packs. She had just never got used to having cards explode in her face. The boys were good about conceding to her whim. She played with Wizard cards on occasion to share the compromise.
"Should we ask Sirius?" she asked.
Ron looked at the closed door behind them. He shrugged uneasily.
"Uh," Harry stumbled. He had been so happy to have Sirius back, but Hermione thought the honeymoon glow was starting to fade. The other two were noticing that Sirius was not the perfect example of humanity that they had made him into after his disappearance. That didn't lessen their love for Sirius, of course. Now they were starting to think about how to handle his moods, rather than simply glossing over them.
"I'm sure he'd prefer a Wizarding game," Harry finally said. "We'll play with him some other time."
Hermione smiled at him, hoping he knew that he wasn't alone. Harry was used to taking on the problems of the world; sometimes he forgot that others were willing to help shoulder his burdens.
"Sounds good," she agreed. "So, poker?"
A hypothesis is a proposition that is consistent with known data, but has been neither verified nor shown to be false.
The owl had taken her by surprise, the letter more so, though after his visit not as much as it once would have. The contents were short and expressed his personality so well that she had looked for a charm hidden in the ink.
"Miss Granger," it read, and how did one convey a sneering drawl just through penmanship? "We have items of mutual interest to discuss. Meet me tomorrow at sunset, your choice of location. S. Snape." There was an addendum, so slashing in style she could barely read it, but she finally puzzled out the word "Please". It had made her laugh, that irritated condescension to civility. She had sobered when she realized it must be a serious matter for him to make it a request rather than a demand. So she had owled back right away, a simple address all the note had contained. Out of spite she had chosen a Muggle café, sure to be crowded at the appointed time of day.
She hadn't a reply, so here she was, waiting nervously for him to show. Half of her was certain he would stand her up, the other half sure that he would show despite her fervent wishes. She was settled into a comfortable chair in the far corner of the shop, where she could theoretically watch the door. Unfortunately there was so much traffic from the wait staff and customers that she could only see across the room about fifty percent of the time.
And so she was yet again taken by surprise when he appeared in front of her. He was not quite so imposing as usual; it must have been his normal billowing robes that made him so much larger than life. Now he was wearing black trousers and a black button-up shirt with long sleeves. The top button was missing, showing a bit of pale throat, and she caught sight of greying at the elbows. She wondered if he had got the set from a thrift shop.
He just stood there, looking at her, looking around at the store, so she pushed a chair out with her foot and waved at it with her cup of tea. He raised an eyebrow, but sat. Still he didn't speak, so she huffed and rolled her eyes.
"Honestly. You were the one who wanted to meet. You can at least say hello."
Snape nodded in acknowledgment. She wondered if he had been testing her in some way.
"Hello, Miss Granger. I trust you are well?"
"As well as I can be, considering the mysterious nature of your owl. What's going on?" She almost called him Severus, but she didn't quite have the spine. Damn her authority issues, anyway.
He ignored her question and signaled the waiter with a sharp wave. Looking all the world like he did it every day, he ordered a pot of tea and a sandwich. So much for hoping to discomfort him with Muggle surroundings. He turned back after the waiter left, fussing with his napkin and silverware, and then leaning his elbows on the table so he could steeple his fingers. Perhaps he was uncomfortable after all.
"I wish to discuss that man living in your house."
As there were three such individuals, it took Hermione a bit to decide which he was talking about. She discarded Ron right away, because although Snape disliked him, Ron had never rated that particularly enthusiastic level of hatred which infused Snape's words. Harry used to generate that much heat, but since the war Snape's attitude toward him had mellowed to active dislike. Besides, she doubted that Severus Snape would ever refer to a former student by any term other than boy.
"Sirius," she ventured after a moment.
"Yes, Black," he spat.
She almost bit back at him but then decided that mutual provocation did little to progress a conversation. She took a deep breath, wishing she had thought to bring a pack of cigarettes.
"All right, then. What do you want to talk about?"
Snape let out a slow breath, too measured and soft to really qualify as a sigh. "Has he been behaving out of the ordinary? Is he healthy? What does he do with his time?"
The questions puzzled her, concerned her. She got a little knot in her belly at the thought that something might be wrong with Sirius.
"He's fine as far as I know, but I'm not sure what he does with himself. Why? Do you know something? Is he in danger?"
Snape snorted. "I should be so fortunate. No, I am merely trying to assess his well being. Does he ever mention Lupin?"
"Prof-I mean Remus? No, not really, but he rarely talks about anyone. He hasn't had much interest in socializing-not that I blame him. And Remus hasn't bothered to show up for a simple hello, glad you're not dead, so I hardly think Sirius would dwell on him."
Snape gave her a cold look, enough to make her want to cower in her seat like a first year.
"Obviously I was mistaken about your intelligence, Miss Granger. Perhaps I should forget this whole venture." He tossed his napkin on the table, obviously preparing to leave.
"Wait! What do you mean? Is there something going on with Remus and Sirius? I didn't mean to be flip, but it irritates me that he hasn't even asked about Sirius."
Snape settled back in his chair, holding her eyes for a long measuring moment before breaking away to reach for his teacup.
"Remus Lupin," he drawled in that gravelly voice, "has gone on a bender."
She felt her eyes widen and her jaw loosen, and she knew she must have looked a fool. Surely not! Not Remus, one of the most controlled, calm people she had ever met. She was forming a protest when Snape continued.
"Oh, yes." There was a light in his eyes, but it was not glee. He took no pleasure from Lupin's state. "When I looked in before I came here, he was in the process of remedying a hangover by the simple expedient of imbibing most of a bottle of Old Ogden's. All because that imbecile Black didn't have the decency to stay dead!"
He had leaned forward in his tirade, staring deep into her eyes, and Hermione found herself unable to respond. Responses flew about her brain like crazed pixies. Anger at his disregard for Sirius. Anger at his presence in her personal space. Surprise that his eyes were a dark brown rather than the demonic black they had always assumed them to be. Concern for Remus.
Poor, poor Remus.
"Oh," she breathed finally, and found that said it all.
"Oh," he agreed, and then slumped back into his chair, one large hand coming up to cover his eyes.
"I don't understand," she said finally. "What's happened? Why isn't he happy to have Sirius back?"
Snape pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger, rubbing like he had a headache.
"I am far from an expert in matters of emotion," and Hermione was slapping a hand over her mouth and nose, but the snort had already escaped. He merely glared while he continued. "As I was saying, I believe that he never really allowed himself to grieve. He simply buried himself in work for the Order and concern for you three."
Hermione nodded along with his words, his ideas echoing her own from the night of the party.
"And now it's all hitting him," she said, guessing at his conclusions. "He's going through the stages of grief, even though the reason is gone."
She looked up into dark eyes, eyes that almost seemed to soften in shared sympathy. But then they looked away and she was pulled back to the problem.
"I understand more of what is going on now, but why did you tell me this? What do you want from me?"
Snape took a sip from his tea, and then stared into the cup as he replied.
"I don't know. I thought you might have some...insight into the problem. After all you are living with the root cause," he finished with a curled lip. The way he had said ‘insight', as if it were a dirty word, made it clear that he had a very difficult time admitting to his own shortcomings.
She sighed. This was not an area she was good at. Emotions were too volatile, too illogical, and even the psychology books she had studied had little in the way of practical application.
"Not particularly," she confessed, expecting him to find great satisfaction in that. When he just continued staring at his cup she decided to say more. "I'll think on it. Maybe I'll manage to pull something out of Sirius one of these days."
Finally he looked up.
"Very well. Anything you can think of should be reported to me as soon as you can." He paused with a little frown, as if realizing she was no longer his student. "It will be appreciated."
She smiled. "Perhaps we could meet again and discuss some strategy." For some reason she felt like they were gearing up for another war, back to the days of gathering intelligence and waiting for the opposition to make their move. Her body thrummed with the same anticipation as in the old days, even as she told herself she was being ridiculous.
"That would be acceptable. Good day." He was standing to leave when a thought occurred to her.
"Professor, if I may ask, why is this so important to you? I thought you didn't like Remus."
He was silent long enough that she thought he wasn't going to answer.
"I have found Lupin's company tolerable since sometime before the end of the war."
Then he spun and headed towards the door, the effect slightly spoiled by the lack of robes. She was so flummoxed by that declaration of friendship that it took her a moment to realize he had stuck her with the bill.
A group of four elements, also called a quadruplet or tetrad.
Another lazy Sunday found them at home, Harry and Ron enjoying their day by comparing the merits of football to Quidditch. Ron, surprisingly enough, one was the one who had the love affair with the Muggle sport. It was hard to draw him away from the television set sometimes. Harry enjoyed them both, but Quidditch had given him his first sense of identity, so it would always reign supreme in his heart. She wasn't sure if he understood that himself, but Hermione's favorite sport had always been Harry and Ron watching. In it, she was a master. She knew more about her boys than they knew about themselves. Ron, for instance, pulled on his left ear whenever he was trying to work out the best way to spring a new idea on her or Harry. He always ordered pepperoni on his pizza and then picked most of it off, and his driving ambition to be wealthy and famous had faded away with the losses of the war. He still worked hard, but his heart was no longer focused on riches. Rather, like Harry, he was happy with the little things in life.
Hermione uncurled her legs and shifted around in the big stuffed arm chair, rearranging the text book so it didn't dig into her leg. It was another psychology book, this one focused on mental illnesses. She had given up on the ones on grief. They were too general for her needs, and she still had no idea how to help Remus. So instead she focused on Sirius. She was worried that the veil might have had some effect on him, that it might have scrambled his brains, as Ron would say. Luckily Sirius hadn't exhibited any of the signs of the scarier ones, like dissociation or sociopathic personalities.
"Oi! Hermione, are you ever going to relax?"
That was Ron, of course. Even after all those years together, he and Harry still didn't quite understand how much she loved books. The idea was anathema to them. Strangely enough, Sirius shared her passion. She wondered if he was always that way, or whether the years of deprivation had increased his appreciation.
"It's a lost cause, Ron. You know she'll be buried in that thing till it's done," Harry said.
"Yeah, and then tomorrow she'll be complaining that we never do anything together anymore. Women. Can't live with them, can't hex them."
"Hey," she yelled, and then tossed a cushion at his head. He barely deflected it, and then grabbed for it as it fell.
With a shriek she was out of her chair, running for the opposite side of the couch where she thought she could get another weapon. Unfortunately she was ambushed by Harry, the little turncoat, tossing his own cushion straight at her head. It hit the floor and she grabbed it, just as Ron thumped her in the arse with his pillow. The fight was on in earnest, Ron and Harry briefly ganging up on her before deciding to make it a free for all.
There was a reason she didn't keep bric-a-brac in the living room.
Hermione retreated for a breather as Harry and Ron escalated the attacks on each other. She was panting in the corner when an arm snuck around her waist. She wondered what Sirius was up to.
"Boys! You're missing out over here!"
The betrayal hit hard. She squirmed and aimed her pillow at whatever she could reach. Sirius was laughing just a little, something new, so she didn't try too hard to get away. Then Harry and Ron were there, beating both her and Sirius with the fluffy pillows. She got her pillow up over her face. Finally she couldn't take anymore.
"Truce! Truce!" she yelled, and eventually they settled down, all of them laughing. Sirius still had her pinned against him, and it felt nice. Warm and safe and loving.
"That was bloody brilliant, Sirius," Ron said with a big grin.
"We don't get her cornered very often," Harry agreed.
"You two ought to be ashamed of yourselves, picking on a girl like that," Sirius replied.
She opened her mouth to defend her feminist perspective when suddenly Sirius dropped her like a log. While Harry and Ron were busy laughing, Sirius scooped up two of the cushions. She grabbed the third, next to her foot, and together they evened the score on the boys.
Conjecture: A proposition which is consistent with known data, but has neither been verified nor shown to be false.
They met at the same café, though today she was running late from class and he was the one waiting for her. Hermione fully expected him to strip skin off her back for being late, but he simply pushed out a chair with a subtle wave of his hand. She was impressed despite herself; wandless magic was a tricky thing.
"Good afternoon," she greeted.
Snape glanced pointedly at the bay window behind her, where the setting sun was sparking an artist's pallette of orange and purple-pink.
"Good evening," he replied after a moment. Well, it was a far more pleasant rebuke than what she had expected.
A waiter wove through the filled tables to take her order. Despite her best intentions, she ordered a sweet scone and a pot of tea. It would spoil dinner, but it had been a hard day. The clink of silver and the hum of conversation all around was nearly overwhelming; she really should have chosen their meeting place more carefully.
"Well?" he prompted without further polite chatter.
She rubbed her temples, wishing for a Pepper Up Potion. Or even aspirin. One should never have to deal with Severus Snape whilst in the throes of caffeine and sleep depravation. She tried to gather her thoughts to present her deep cunning and sparkling insight, but found that all she had to give were meaningless book reports.
"I've been studying Muggle psychology texts, but nothing really leaps out at me. Nothing terribly disturbing, anyway. We studied practically everything known about the veil after the incident, but I found nothing when I reviewed my notes on itl. Perhaps if we had access to an Unspeakable..." She trailed off, knowing that was an impossibility.
"Bloody waste of gold," Severus muttered.
She kept her opinion to herself, though she suspected it matched his own. Fudge might no longer be Minister of Magic, but the bumbling bureaucracy he was so well known for lived on in his stead. Her tea and scone arrived during their mutual contemplation of idiots the world over. She took a minute to pour and to sample the cinnamony treat, feeling her headache lift at just the scent of caffeine. He passed her the pitcher of milk, apparently remembering her preference from their last meeting.
"And Black? How does he fit in with all of your newfound knowledge?"
She took a moment to savor the hot liquid, barely cool enough to drink without scalding her throat. Through the steamy haze she noticed that an empty plate rested by his elbow. A stray crumb was brave enough to muss his shirtfront; the white speck a fleck of snow against the black night of his cotton shirt.
"I don't know, Severus," she paused to gage his reaction, but he simply raised an eyebrow and waited for her to continue. "I think he's just depressed. He doesn't do anything during the day, as far as I can tell, and he doesn't seem to have any drive to make anything of his life. He interacts with us well, but sometimes he gets quiet, or acts tired too soon. But who knows what effect the veil had on him? It just spit him out, and he claims not to remember any of it."
Severus had his left hand up, thumb stroking his lips. She didn't remember the gesture from her youth. Perhaps he was more given to expressiveness now that he wasn't being watched every hour of the day. For the thousandth time she wondered how he did it, how he had borne the pressure of being a spy against the most feared wizard of the century.
"It's entirely possible, of course. But I would think it would have had more effect than a bad mood."
"Depression is more than a bad mood, Severus."
He waved his hand sharply, as if dismissing class.
"Yes, I know that, Hermione." He drew her name out in a long sneer. She took it as permission to continue using his given name. "But it can be dealt with, over time at least. He's not suicidal, is he?"
"I don't believe so, though it's hard to gage his moods. I've tried to talk to him, but he's very good at turning the subject."
"Perhaps you should try harder," he said quietly.
"Perhaps I will." It somehow felt like a dare, a challenge to her own abilities rather than concern for someone she cared about. She pushed down the unworthy impulse and concentrated on being a good friend. "How is Remus doing?"
He sighed. "Better, actually. He's stopped drinking quite so much, though he's still angry and depressed. He worries about Black whenever he's not cursing his existence. I had hoped that bastard you live with might actually have shown some concern about Lupin."
"Well, Sirius hasn't talked about him, but that doesn't mean he's not concerned," she defended.
"Wrapped up in his own little world, you mean."
She rolled her eyes. "You know, I get really sick of hearing this childish squabbling between the two of you. Why can't you leave it in the past? You're both grown men, you should act like it."
Predictably, Severus drew himself up, folding his arms across his middle in a gesture that would have more meaning with a volume of black cloth.
"You know nothing of what is between us," he said in a cold voice.
She knew she had pushed him to his limits of civility, but the feud annoyed her like little else these days. "Oh really? I know that this probably started because of a snub or a prank by one of you, just like little boys do, especially when they've been taught to behave badly by their parents. And instead of rolling with it, the other returned the favor, over and over in pointless escalation. You both got your feelings hurt, and neither of you were willing to forgive."
Snape just looked back at her, eyes black and reflective, his whole posture as still as a Petrificus Totalis.
"I suppose you probably got picked on a lot when you were younger, for stupid reasons, like wealth and family and looks and intelligence, and it made you sad and bitter. Maybe that's even why you became a Death Eater. Well, I'm sorry that you had to go through that, but get over it! Make a different life for yourself. You're not eleven anymore."
She was almost panting by the end, and amazement was setting in that she'd had the balls to actually say that to his face. Amazement, and a little fear. He was still cold and controlled, and she wondered what was to come.
"Are you through?"
She nodded, because there was a nervous lump in her throat that she couldn't vocalize around.
"I am very impressed, Miss Granger. You have obviously been doing your reading, because that is the largest bunch of Muggle psychotripe I have ever heard in one sitting. If you applied your talents to something worthwhile, such as reading the Quibbler, perhaps you might have a future as a first-class charlatan of Trelawney's ilk."
Snape stood, walked around the table to lean over her. He was much taller than she when they were both standing, and now he made her feel like a mouse. He leaned forward, bracing his hands against the table. His breath seared against her ear, and a length of his hair whipped against her cheek.
"Never presume, Miss Granger, to analyze my motivations. Not about Black, and certainly not about the Death Eaters."
Then he spun away and left the restaurant, trademark exit perfection.
Hermione blinked away the dampness in her eyes, proud that she didn't cry but frustrated that she had come close. It made her mad that his opinion of her had any weight on her self-image. She sipped her cold tea, thinking that yet again he had stuck her with the bill. Stupid git.
Then she smiled. Even Trelawney had moments of insight. Hermione thought her own was pretty close to the mark. Severus would have laughed at her otherwise.
On to part 3.
A variable that may assume complex values.
They settled into a routine over the next few weeks. They four shared a quiet breakfast each morning, taking turns at cooking. Harry always made a full hot breakfast, saying that at least the Dursleys had taught him something useful. He never said that where Sirius could hear, though. Ron managed a new mish-mash every time, somehow combining his mother's domesticity with the twins' ingenuity. His meals were usually edible and often good, though there had been notable and memorable exceptions-the egg scramble with olives and pineapple never should have seen the light of day. Hermione herself usually forced them to subsist on whatever looked good at the bakery the night before and some fresh fruit. Sirius had cooked a few times, bland food like porridge that filled them up and didn't actually taste bad.
Usually they shared quick goodbyes and then three of them split off to their daily tasks; Harry and Ron to work and Hermione to her assistantship. She didn't know what Sirius did during the day. She had assumed he tinkered with the monstrous bike that took up most of their garage, but when she had looked in the other day it still had been covered by a dusty tarp. Maybe he read books and took walks. She was starting to think she should worry.
Today she was enjoying a late morning at home since the university was on holiday. Harry and Ron had sped off just moments ago, hurried and disorganized as usual. Sirius was puttering around in the kitchen while she skimmed the Daily Prophet over the remains of her tea. She had never been able to give up the habit, despite the paper's tendency towards gossip and hatefulness. Occasionally an informative tidbit snuck through, so it was a habit she didn't bother to fight.
She was on the last pages when the doorbell buzzed. Whoever was ringing was rude enough to leave his finger on for a good thirty seconds. She sighed and rose, thinking dark thoughts about door to door salesmen that would probably get her sent to Azkaban if she acted them out.
She jerked the door open, ‘we don't want any' ready on her lips. Instead, she was shocked to silence. Severus Snape stood in her entryway, black robes and glowering look in full force. It took her a moment to remember that he had no authority over her.
"Yes?" she asked, disregarding conventions of politeness because she could.
He raised an eyebrow at her tone. "May I come in, or would you prefer to conduct our business in full view of your neighbors?"
Hermione wrinkled her nose but stepped back to let him walk through the door.
"I wasn't aware we had business," she said after closing the door behind her.
Snape towered in the middle of their living room, peering at its nooks and crannies like they might have been harboring gremlins. Or possibly Neville Longbottom. That puzzled her a little, since he had been here recently, and frankly the room wasn't that interesting. But before she could ask, he turned to her, producing a stack of parchment scrolls from somewhere in his robes.
"The Headmaster requested that I bring these to you. As always, I find myself at his bidding."
That quirked a smile out of her. They were all subject to Dumbledore's whims, even as proud a man as Snape. Snape more than any of them actually, considering his history and convenient proximity.
Hermione took the scrolls. They must have been from the Headmaster's personal collection. She had requested a peek for her current research, but she hadn't expected him to actually send them to her.
"Why didn't he just owl?" she asked, but before he could reply there was a loud thump. She looked behind her to find Sirius looming over a fallen dining chair, a dangerous look on his face.
"What's the greasy git doing here?"
She closed her eyes for a half second.
"I fail to see how that is any of your business, Black," Snape snapped out.
"Please, Sirius, he's just bringing me some-"
"It's very much my business when you're standing in my living room!" Sirius rode over her plea. Loudly.
"Your living room, is it? So you have actually taken to paying rent now? And here I thought you were the same lazy roustabout as at Grimmauld Place."
Hermione knew that Snape had gone too far. She stepped forward into the line between them just as Sirius got his wand up. His face was flushed an unhealthy dusk rose, and his normally pale eyes were dark little pinpoints.
"Sirius! For God's sake, put down your wand!"
His eyes flicked to her face and then past again. She chanced a glance back at Snape. He had his own wand out, but it wasn't leveled in threat. Instead he seemed to be studying Sirius, eyes moving as if cataloguing traits for later recitation. She turned back to Sirius. His wand was still out but no longer tensed to attack.
"Sirius," she said again, her voice thin and pleading.
Without a word he turned and stormed to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
Hermione sighed in relief and annoyance. "I'm sorry about that," she told Snape. "He's still a bit on edge these days."
"As if that miserable excuse for a Wizard was ever less than unhinged," he replied softly. His eyes, dark and unreadable, were locked on the door where Sirius had retreated.
She sighed again, drawing his eyes back to her. He started to say something, then paused as if changing his mind. Hermione raised her own eyebrow at this unusual behavior.
"I hope you find the scrolls useful, as Professor Dumbledore saw fit to make me his pack animal for your pleasure. Good day, Miss Granger."
Then he turned and stormed out her front door, not giving her the chance to usher him out or to thank him. Still, the whole encounter had been rather tactful. On Snape's end of things, at least.
She turned towards Sirius' door, intent on giving him a piece of her mind. She burst in without knocking. He was staring morosely at the floor, a faded Quidditch pennant in hand.
"Why do you do that?" she asked, softer than she originally had intended.
"Do what?" He didn't look up.
"Always goad Snape, treat him that way," she clarified.
"‘Cause he's a nasty git, that's why," he said flatly. He was much calmer than she expected, almost as if the fight was just habitual action with no fire behind it.
"He might not be perfect, but he is a human being, and you should treat him with respect," Hermione chided.
That made him look up. "He was a Death Eater, for Merlin's sake! You can't trust him, the smelly, oily git."
"Was a deatheater, was! He's a hero of the war, just as much as me or Ron, almost as much as Harry." She pinked a little as she realized she had raised her voice. "And he's not smelly," she added, more softly.
Sirius laughed, low and rueful.
"Not smelly, huh? Well, I suppose I've never been close enough to find out, thank goodness." He tossed the pennant aside. "Ah, Hermione. You're such a good soul."
She wasn't sure if she had made her point, but he was looking at her with a half smile and soft eyes, and that made her all warm inside. She shrugged.
"I just think, whatever it is between you two is in the past, and it should be left in the past. It won't kill you to be civil."
"It might," he muttered.
"Sirius! Don't even joke about that."
He didn't say anything, just stood and gathered her into a hug. It surprised her a little, because while Sirius and Harry frequently shared such affection, he'd been a little distant from her and Ron. She accepted his warmth gladly, once again realizing that he was really back from the dead. He let go eventually and smiled at her.
"So what're the plans for today?"
Triad: A set with three elements.
It was the three of them that evening, Ron and Harry watching the footy match on the telly while she curled up with her latest research journals. Sirius had locked himself up in his room after being silent and sullen at dinner. Through experience she had learned to leave men alone when they got in that mood. Something about Mars and caves that she vaguely remembered, something that had sounded like a load of Trelawney's drivel the first time she had heard it.
The match was apparently a dull one, the boys' team having gained a large lead early on. Their usual jumping and shouting was muted to occasional mutters and good-natured ribbing. She judged it safe to uncurl and plopped her feet in Ron's lap without a by-your-leave. After a minute of continued watching, Ron finally noticed.
"Oi Hermione! Get your stinky toes out of my face!"
She smiled sweetly and waved one foot closer to his nose in threat. He batted at it, but then returned to watching the game. After a while his hands came to rest on her feet. He started to rub without thinking, just as she had known he would. That had been their habit for years, one that had outlasted the war and countless skirmishes of their own making.
She was deep into her article, contentedly relaxed by the attention to her feet, when Harry's face appeared in front of hers. Her eyes crossed from his proximity.
"Harry!" she shrieked as she struggled to sit up. Ron still had her feet in his grip, so it was a losing battle.
"Hermione," he sing-songed back with a grin. "Match's over. We're bored."
"Well get out of my face, you big lout," she said, pushing him back to the best of her ability. He collapsed across her legs, though he was careful not to overextend her knees. Hermione was well and truly trapped by the two of them.
"Let me up," she panted after she tried to squirm free. It was all but impossible to even breathe, let alone free herself. Harry giggled like a little boy and she heard one or two of Ron's deeper chuckles. Finally she stilled, nearly exhausted.
"See Ron, told you I could get her nose out of her stupid book," Harry taunted.
That did it. She bucked wildly, catching them by surprise. Harry tumbled onto the floor while Ron hastily guarded his family jewels from stray kicks. She stood quickly, then took a pose with her hand on her hip.
"What was that, Mr. Potter?"
Ron snickered while Harry looked rather sheepish. His glasses were skewed and his hair was even crazier than usual, full of static.
"Uh, nothing, Hermione. You feel like playing a game? We're bored," he added with a pout.
Ron stuck his face down next to Harry's, looking up at her with sad eyes and a matching pout. She huffed, but gave in. Such was her life with the two of them.
"Fine. But no exploding snap."
Harry climbed to his feet and headed for the stash of cards in the entertainment center, pulling out one of the Muggle packs. She had just never got used to having cards explode in her face. The boys were good about conceding to her whim. She played with Wizard cards on occasion to share the compromise.
"Should we ask Sirius?" she asked.
Ron looked at the closed door behind them. He shrugged uneasily.
"Uh," Harry stumbled. He had been so happy to have Sirius back, but Hermione thought the honeymoon glow was starting to fade. The other two were noticing that Sirius was not the perfect example of humanity that they had made him into after his disappearance. That didn't lessen their love for Sirius, of course. Now they were starting to think about how to handle his moods, rather than simply glossing over them.
"I'm sure he'd prefer a Wizarding game," Harry finally said. "We'll play with him some other time."
Hermione smiled at him, hoping he knew that he wasn't alone. Harry was used to taking on the problems of the world; sometimes he forgot that others were willing to help shoulder his burdens.
"Sounds good," she agreed. "So, poker?"
A hypothesis is a proposition that is consistent with known data, but has been neither verified nor shown to be false.
The owl had taken her by surprise, the letter more so, though after his visit not as much as it once would have. The contents were short and expressed his personality so well that she had looked for a charm hidden in the ink.
"Miss Granger," it read, and how did one convey a sneering drawl just through penmanship? "We have items of mutual interest to discuss. Meet me tomorrow at sunset, your choice of location. S. Snape." There was an addendum, so slashing in style she could barely read it, but she finally puzzled out the word "Please". It had made her laugh, that irritated condescension to civility. She had sobered when she realized it must be a serious matter for him to make it a request rather than a demand. So she had owled back right away, a simple address all the note had contained. Out of spite she had chosen a Muggle café, sure to be crowded at the appointed time of day.
She hadn't a reply, so here she was, waiting nervously for him to show. Half of her was certain he would stand her up, the other half sure that he would show despite her fervent wishes. She was settled into a comfortable chair in the far corner of the shop, where she could theoretically watch the door. Unfortunately there was so much traffic from the wait staff and customers that she could only see across the room about fifty percent of the time.
And so she was yet again taken by surprise when he appeared in front of her. He was not quite so imposing as usual; it must have been his normal billowing robes that made him so much larger than life. Now he was wearing black trousers and a black button-up shirt with long sleeves. The top button was missing, showing a bit of pale throat, and she caught sight of greying at the elbows. She wondered if he had got the set from a thrift shop.
He just stood there, looking at her, looking around at the store, so she pushed a chair out with her foot and waved at it with her cup of tea. He raised an eyebrow, but sat. Still he didn't speak, so she huffed and rolled her eyes.
"Honestly. You were the one who wanted to meet. You can at least say hello."
Snape nodded in acknowledgment. She wondered if he had been testing her in some way.
"Hello, Miss Granger. I trust you are well?"
"As well as I can be, considering the mysterious nature of your owl. What's going on?" She almost called him Severus, but she didn't quite have the spine. Damn her authority issues, anyway.
He ignored her question and signaled the waiter with a sharp wave. Looking all the world like he did it every day, he ordered a pot of tea and a sandwich. So much for hoping to discomfort him with Muggle surroundings. He turned back after the waiter left, fussing with his napkin and silverware, and then leaning his elbows on the table so he could steeple his fingers. Perhaps he was uncomfortable after all.
"I wish to discuss that man living in your house."
As there were three such individuals, it took Hermione a bit to decide which he was talking about. She discarded Ron right away, because although Snape disliked him, Ron had never rated that particularly enthusiastic level of hatred which infused Snape's words. Harry used to generate that much heat, but since the war Snape's attitude toward him had mellowed to active dislike. Besides, she doubted that Severus Snape would ever refer to a former student by any term other than boy.
"Sirius," she ventured after a moment.
"Yes, Black," he spat.
She almost bit back at him but then decided that mutual provocation did little to progress a conversation. She took a deep breath, wishing she had thought to bring a pack of cigarettes.
"All right, then. What do you want to talk about?"
Snape let out a slow breath, too measured and soft to really qualify as a sigh. "Has he been behaving out of the ordinary? Is he healthy? What does he do with his time?"
The questions puzzled her, concerned her. She got a little knot in her belly at the thought that something might be wrong with Sirius.
"He's fine as far as I know, but I'm not sure what he does with himself. Why? Do you know something? Is he in danger?"
Snape snorted. "I should be so fortunate. No, I am merely trying to assess his well being. Does he ever mention Lupin?"
"Prof-I mean Remus? No, not really, but he rarely talks about anyone. He hasn't had much interest in socializing-not that I blame him. And Remus hasn't bothered to show up for a simple hello, glad you're not dead, so I hardly think Sirius would dwell on him."
Snape gave her a cold look, enough to make her want to cower in her seat like a first year.
"Obviously I was mistaken about your intelligence, Miss Granger. Perhaps I should forget this whole venture." He tossed his napkin on the table, obviously preparing to leave.
"Wait! What do you mean? Is there something going on with Remus and Sirius? I didn't mean to be flip, but it irritates me that he hasn't even asked about Sirius."
Snape settled back in his chair, holding her eyes for a long measuring moment before breaking away to reach for his teacup.
"Remus Lupin," he drawled in that gravelly voice, "has gone on a bender."
She felt her eyes widen and her jaw loosen, and she knew she must have looked a fool. Surely not! Not Remus, one of the most controlled, calm people she had ever met. She was forming a protest when Snape continued.
"Oh, yes." There was a light in his eyes, but it was not glee. He took no pleasure from Lupin's state. "When I looked in before I came here, he was in the process of remedying a hangover by the simple expedient of imbibing most of a bottle of Old Ogden's. All because that imbecile Black didn't have the decency to stay dead!"
He had leaned forward in his tirade, staring deep into her eyes, and Hermione found herself unable to respond. Responses flew about her brain like crazed pixies. Anger at his disregard for Sirius. Anger at his presence in her personal space. Surprise that his eyes were a dark brown rather than the demonic black they had always assumed them to be. Concern for Remus.
Poor, poor Remus.
"Oh," she breathed finally, and found that said it all.
"Oh," he agreed, and then slumped back into his chair, one large hand coming up to cover his eyes.
"I don't understand," she said finally. "What's happened? Why isn't he happy to have Sirius back?"
Snape pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger, rubbing like he had a headache.
"I am far from an expert in matters of emotion," and Hermione was slapping a hand over her mouth and nose, but the snort had already escaped. He merely glared while he continued. "As I was saying, I believe that he never really allowed himself to grieve. He simply buried himself in work for the Order and concern for you three."
Hermione nodded along with his words, his ideas echoing her own from the night of the party.
"And now it's all hitting him," she said, guessing at his conclusions. "He's going through the stages of grief, even though the reason is gone."
She looked up into dark eyes, eyes that almost seemed to soften in shared sympathy. But then they looked away and she was pulled back to the problem.
"I understand more of what is going on now, but why did you tell me this? What do you want from me?"
Snape took a sip from his tea, and then stared into the cup as he replied.
"I don't know. I thought you might have some...insight into the problem. After all you are living with the root cause," he finished with a curled lip. The way he had said ‘insight', as if it were a dirty word, made it clear that he had a very difficult time admitting to his own shortcomings.
She sighed. This was not an area she was good at. Emotions were too volatile, too illogical, and even the psychology books she had studied had little in the way of practical application.
"Not particularly," she confessed, expecting him to find great satisfaction in that. When he just continued staring at his cup she decided to say more. "I'll think on it. Maybe I'll manage to pull something out of Sirius one of these days."
Finally he looked up.
"Very well. Anything you can think of should be reported to me as soon as you can." He paused with a little frown, as if realizing she was no longer his student. "It will be appreciated."
She smiled. "Perhaps we could meet again and discuss some strategy." For some reason she felt like they were gearing up for another war, back to the days of gathering intelligence and waiting for the opposition to make their move. Her body thrummed with the same anticipation as in the old days, even as she told herself she was being ridiculous.
"That would be acceptable. Good day." He was standing to leave when a thought occurred to her.
"Professor, if I may ask, why is this so important to you? I thought you didn't like Remus."
He was silent long enough that she thought he wasn't going to answer.
"I have found Lupin's company tolerable since sometime before the end of the war."
Then he spun and headed towards the door, the effect slightly spoiled by the lack of robes. She was so flummoxed by that declaration of friendship that it took her a moment to realize he had stuck her with the bill.
A group of four elements, also called a quadruplet or tetrad.
Another lazy Sunday found them at home, Harry and Ron enjoying their day by comparing the merits of football to Quidditch. Ron, surprisingly enough, one was the one who had the love affair with the Muggle sport. It was hard to draw him away from the television set sometimes. Harry enjoyed them both, but Quidditch had given him his first sense of identity, so it would always reign supreme in his heart. She wasn't sure if he understood that himself, but Hermione's favorite sport had always been Harry and Ron watching. In it, she was a master. She knew more about her boys than they knew about themselves. Ron, for instance, pulled on his left ear whenever he was trying to work out the best way to spring a new idea on her or Harry. He always ordered pepperoni on his pizza and then picked most of it off, and his driving ambition to be wealthy and famous had faded away with the losses of the war. He still worked hard, but his heart was no longer focused on riches. Rather, like Harry, he was happy with the little things in life.
Hermione uncurled her legs and shifted around in the big stuffed arm chair, rearranging the text book so it didn't dig into her leg. It was another psychology book, this one focused on mental illnesses. She had given up on the ones on grief. They were too general for her needs, and she still had no idea how to help Remus. So instead she focused on Sirius. She was worried that the veil might have had some effect on him, that it might have scrambled his brains, as Ron would say. Luckily Sirius hadn't exhibited any of the signs of the scarier ones, like dissociation or sociopathic personalities.
"Oi! Hermione, are you ever going to relax?"
That was Ron, of course. Even after all those years together, he and Harry still didn't quite understand how much she loved books. The idea was anathema to them. Strangely enough, Sirius shared her passion. She wondered if he was always that way, or whether the years of deprivation had increased his appreciation.
"It's a lost cause, Ron. You know she'll be buried in that thing till it's done," Harry said.
"Yeah, and then tomorrow she'll be complaining that we never do anything together anymore. Women. Can't live with them, can't hex them."
"Hey," she yelled, and then tossed a cushion at his head. He barely deflected it, and then grabbed for it as it fell.
With a shriek she was out of her chair, running for the opposite side of the couch where she thought she could get another weapon. Unfortunately she was ambushed by Harry, the little turncoat, tossing his own cushion straight at her head. It hit the floor and she grabbed it, just as Ron thumped her in the arse with his pillow. The fight was on in earnest, Ron and Harry briefly ganging up on her before deciding to make it a free for all.
There was a reason she didn't keep bric-a-brac in the living room.
Hermione retreated for a breather as Harry and Ron escalated the attacks on each other. She was panting in the corner when an arm snuck around her waist. She wondered what Sirius was up to.
"Boys! You're missing out over here!"
The betrayal hit hard. She squirmed and aimed her pillow at whatever she could reach. Sirius was laughing just a little, something new, so she didn't try too hard to get away. Then Harry and Ron were there, beating both her and Sirius with the fluffy pillows. She got her pillow up over her face. Finally she couldn't take anymore.
"Truce! Truce!" she yelled, and eventually they settled down, all of them laughing. Sirius still had her pinned against him, and it felt nice. Warm and safe and loving.
"That was bloody brilliant, Sirius," Ron said with a big grin.
"We don't get her cornered very often," Harry agreed.
"You two ought to be ashamed of yourselves, picking on a girl like that," Sirius replied.
She opened her mouth to defend her feminist perspective when suddenly Sirius dropped her like a log. While Harry and Ron were busy laughing, Sirius scooped up two of the cushions. She grabbed the third, next to her foot, and together they evened the score on the boys.
Conjecture: A proposition which is consistent with known data, but has neither been verified nor shown to be false.
They met at the same café, though today she was running late from class and he was the one waiting for her. Hermione fully expected him to strip skin off her back for being late, but he simply pushed out a chair with a subtle wave of his hand. She was impressed despite herself; wandless magic was a tricky thing.
"Good afternoon," she greeted.
Snape glanced pointedly at the bay window behind her, where the setting sun was sparking an artist's pallette of orange and purple-pink.
"Good evening," he replied after a moment. Well, it was a far more pleasant rebuke than what she had expected.
A waiter wove through the filled tables to take her order. Despite her best intentions, she ordered a sweet scone and a pot of tea. It would spoil dinner, but it had been a hard day. The clink of silver and the hum of conversation all around was nearly overwhelming; she really should have chosen their meeting place more carefully.
"Well?" he prompted without further polite chatter.
She rubbed her temples, wishing for a Pepper Up Potion. Or even aspirin. One should never have to deal with Severus Snape whilst in the throes of caffeine and sleep depravation. She tried to gather her thoughts to present her deep cunning and sparkling insight, but found that all she had to give were meaningless book reports.
"I've been studying Muggle psychology texts, but nothing really leaps out at me. Nothing terribly disturbing, anyway. We studied practically everything known about the veil after the incident, but I found nothing when I reviewed my notes on itl. Perhaps if we had access to an Unspeakable..." She trailed off, knowing that was an impossibility.
"Bloody waste of gold," Severus muttered.
She kept her opinion to herself, though she suspected it matched his own. Fudge might no longer be Minister of Magic, but the bumbling bureaucracy he was so well known for lived on in his stead. Her tea and scone arrived during their mutual contemplation of idiots the world over. She took a minute to pour and to sample the cinnamony treat, feeling her headache lift at just the scent of caffeine. He passed her the pitcher of milk, apparently remembering her preference from their last meeting.
"And Black? How does he fit in with all of your newfound knowledge?"
She took a moment to savor the hot liquid, barely cool enough to drink without scalding her throat. Through the steamy haze she noticed that an empty plate rested by his elbow. A stray crumb was brave enough to muss his shirtfront; the white speck a fleck of snow against the black night of his cotton shirt.
"I don't know, Severus," she paused to gage his reaction, but he simply raised an eyebrow and waited for her to continue. "I think he's just depressed. He doesn't do anything during the day, as far as I can tell, and he doesn't seem to have any drive to make anything of his life. He interacts with us well, but sometimes he gets quiet, or acts tired too soon. But who knows what effect the veil had on him? It just spit him out, and he claims not to remember any of it."
Severus had his left hand up, thumb stroking his lips. She didn't remember the gesture from her youth. Perhaps he was more given to expressiveness now that he wasn't being watched every hour of the day. For the thousandth time she wondered how he did it, how he had borne the pressure of being a spy against the most feared wizard of the century.
"It's entirely possible, of course. But I would think it would have had more effect than a bad mood."
"Depression is more than a bad mood, Severus."
He waved his hand sharply, as if dismissing class.
"Yes, I know that, Hermione." He drew her name out in a long sneer. She took it as permission to continue using his given name. "But it can be dealt with, over time at least. He's not suicidal, is he?"
"I don't believe so, though it's hard to gage his moods. I've tried to talk to him, but he's very good at turning the subject."
"Perhaps you should try harder," he said quietly.
"Perhaps I will." It somehow felt like a dare, a challenge to her own abilities rather than concern for someone she cared about. She pushed down the unworthy impulse and concentrated on being a good friend. "How is Remus doing?"
He sighed. "Better, actually. He's stopped drinking quite so much, though he's still angry and depressed. He worries about Black whenever he's not cursing his existence. I had hoped that bastard you live with might actually have shown some concern about Lupin."
"Well, Sirius hasn't talked about him, but that doesn't mean he's not concerned," she defended.
"Wrapped up in his own little world, you mean."
She rolled her eyes. "You know, I get really sick of hearing this childish squabbling between the two of you. Why can't you leave it in the past? You're both grown men, you should act like it."
Predictably, Severus drew himself up, folding his arms across his middle in a gesture that would have more meaning with a volume of black cloth.
"You know nothing of what is between us," he said in a cold voice.
She knew she had pushed him to his limits of civility, but the feud annoyed her like little else these days. "Oh really? I know that this probably started because of a snub or a prank by one of you, just like little boys do, especially when they've been taught to behave badly by their parents. And instead of rolling with it, the other returned the favor, over and over in pointless escalation. You both got your feelings hurt, and neither of you were willing to forgive."
Snape just looked back at her, eyes black and reflective, his whole posture as still as a Petrificus Totalis.
"I suppose you probably got picked on a lot when you were younger, for stupid reasons, like wealth and family and looks and intelligence, and it made you sad and bitter. Maybe that's even why you became a Death Eater. Well, I'm sorry that you had to go through that, but get over it! Make a different life for yourself. You're not eleven anymore."
She was almost panting by the end, and amazement was setting in that she'd had the balls to actually say that to his face. Amazement, and a little fear. He was still cold and controlled, and she wondered what was to come.
"Are you through?"
She nodded, because there was a nervous lump in her throat that she couldn't vocalize around.
"I am very impressed, Miss Granger. You have obviously been doing your reading, because that is the largest bunch of Muggle psychotripe I have ever heard in one sitting. If you applied your talents to something worthwhile, such as reading the Quibbler, perhaps you might have a future as a first-class charlatan of Trelawney's ilk."
Snape stood, walked around the table to lean over her. He was much taller than she when they were both standing, and now he made her feel like a mouse. He leaned forward, bracing his hands against the table. His breath seared against her ear, and a length of his hair whipped against her cheek.
"Never presume, Miss Granger, to analyze my motivations. Not about Black, and certainly not about the Death Eaters."
Then he spun away and left the restaurant, trademark exit perfection.
Hermione blinked away the dampness in her eyes, proud that she didn't cry but frustrated that she had come close. It made her mad that his opinion of her had any weight on her self-image. She sipped her cold tea, thinking that yet again he had stuck her with the bill. Stupid git.
Then she smiled. Even Trelawney had moments of insight. Hermione thought her own was pretty close to the mark. Severus would have laughed at her otherwise.
On to part 3.