SANCTUARY, Post 1
Title: SANCTUARY
Subtitled: Second Installment in the Man of Property series.
Author: Josan
Posted: December, 2004
Rating: NC-17, for psychological scarring.
Pairing: SS/HG
Warning: HET
Feedback: leave a comment or jmann@pobox.mondenet.com
Disclaimer: the usual one about me not owning and therefore not financially profiting. If only!
Beta: Bounced this one off several people, including kaiz, the Ottawa Slashers and my flist.
~~~~~~~~~~
The small brown cat made her way cautiously through the hedge, her belly to the ground, her ears flickering, her nostrils flaring, alert to any sound or scent of potential danger. At one point, her whiskers stiffened and twitched as she passed through the protective yet unseen barrier which, after some effort on her part, reluctantly allowed her to continue on her way. Other than that, she came out on the other side unscathed.
Still, she wasn’t taking any chances. With an eye on the house, she kept to the protection of the hedge - and not just because of the rain - as she made her way into the small orchard that stood to the right of the house. There she found enough shelter under the leaves and branches of a laden apple tree to take the time to groom herself. First appearances, she had been firmly taught by her mother, were important.
Finally satisfied that she would pass muster, she sat on her haunches and took a good look at the property she had invaded.
The house was, to say the least, interesting. After a few minutes, she determined that it was the kind of house that would appeal to her. Mind, she did wonder what he had seen in it. It was irregular enough to upset those who preferred the balanced symmetry of Georgian architecture - like Harry and Ginny’s so-called ‘cottage’ - or the sprawling, one-level, ultramodern, based-on-an-American design - like Ron and Eloise’s antiseptic monstrosity.
Yes, at least this one had personality.
The grounds were carefully but not fanatically kept. Things had been allowed to grow in places that best suited them, not their keepers. The orchard had several different kinds of fruit trees; she recognised pippins and russets among the apples. And further, she could see plum, pear and crabapple varieties as well.
From her vantage point - not the best, admittedly, but the safest for the moment - she noted some of the groupings that spotted the terraced slope of the house on this side. There were definite herbs and plants that were of practical use, as well as the last stubborn roses of the season climbing up the front end of the house. Even from here and in this grey light, she could see different plants growing in the security of the greenhouse.
Yes, he might have been drawn to the house just for that structure. Though, she herself felt more drawn to the light that glowed in the section before it, through the bank of windows that formed the length of one wall and the part which jutted beyond the greenhouse. Strange to think that he would choose a building with so many windows.
She glanced up at the sky. The rain showed no sign of stopping or even diminishing. She had better make her move or she might find herself failing the renown code of Gryffindor conduct.
With a flick of her head, she Transfigured into her human self. In her nervousness, she’d forgotten where she was and that her feline form was much shorter; her head hit the branches and cold rain trickled down her neck. Shivering, she ducked out from under the tree and went to stand, pulling her hood over her head.
So much for appearance. She reached for her wand and then changed her mind. This might be a way of penetrating the next line of defense.
Taking a deep breath, she anchored her satchel more securely over her shoulder. Then, with a nod, she braced herself and began walking briskly towards the front of the house, still keeping to the security of the hedges as she did so. Her brown cloak was blending in rather well; at least, no one charged out of the house, threatening to spell her away from the place.
By the time she did find herself standing within reach of her target, what appeared to be the main door, even with her hood up, she was rather wet. She ran through the puddles on the walkway to the door and hoped that someone would take pity on her and let her in out of the sudden downpour, because, of course, as with everything else these days, Mother Nature had decided that this very moment was the perfect time to dump the contents of her clouds.
She lifted the knocker, a brass snake entwined around a beaker - she smiled at the appropriateness - and rapped it hard against the wood of the door. There were a couple of narrow windows in the door but she couldn’t see inside. No doubt spelled to allow only one-way viewing.
She waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited yet some more until a sneeze made her take the knocker up to strike it against the door as hard as she could. She had no intention of going away so whoever was on the other side, waiting for her to leave, had better understand that she was not. And preferably before she caught a cold.
She sneezed again and was reaching for the knocker when she heard an unlocking sound and the door opened but a sliver.
“Go away,” said a voice. “We want no visitors.”
Faster than the door could be shut, she jammed her shoulder against the edge, using all of her weight to keep it from closing.
“Dobby? Is that you?”
The pressure against the door stopped and she was certain she heard a sigh.
“Dobby, please. It’s raining and I’m sopping wet.” And she conveniently sneezed to make her point.
The door opened a smidgen, enough to allow a long-nosed elfin face to peer around the heavy door.
“Hermione Granger? Oh, it is Miss Hermione!”
But the door didn’t open immediately. It was as if Dobby had to consider the cost of letting her in. She didn’t blame him, not after the incident with Harry and Ron.
“It’s all right, Dobby. I’ve not come to argue with him. I just need to see him for a minute. I promise. My word as a Gryffindor.”
Mind, that didn’t mean she wasn’t hoping that he would invite her to stay longer.
Finally, the door opened, but just enough for Hermione to slip in.
The foyer was nothing special. Just an entry into a wide hallway. There was a winding staircase to the right, leading to the upper storeys, a closed door at its foot. To the left, she could see another door, open and providing the only light into the entry.
Dobby stood shifting nervously, clasping his hands as though to stop them from reaching for her sodden cloak. She smiled at him, her most understanding, encouraging smile. “It’s all right,” she said again, her tone conciliatory. “I only need a minute, two at the most.”
Dobby sighed loudly, resigned. “Come this way, Miss Hermione.”
He headed down the hallway, past the open door of what, after a quick glance, Hermione determined was a large study/library. She didn’t lag behind but followed Dobby out of the dark, main house and into the brighter, warmer second section.
What she had seen as a solarium from the outside was in fact a large breakfast room. There was a fireplace happily balancing out the grey, cold light from the outside. The walls were painted a soft yellow colour which picked up the warmth of the flames. The furniture, oak she guessed, old and heavily polished, added to the inviting warmth of the room.
Which was a good thing as the man watching her from over the top of some journal, cup in hand, was anything but warm and inviting.
He glared at Dobby, who hopped nervously again.
“It’s not his fault,” Hermione said quickly. She didn’t want the house elf to be held responsible for her presence.
“Of course not,” said the man, getting to his feet in a manner that indicated anything but courtesy. “Remembering you, I can quite believe that. Dobby, I suppose that Custom indicates you should offer Miss Granger a cup of tea.”
Hermione smiled. She had depended on Custom to get this far; she might as well continue doing so. She carefully slipped her satchel and cloak off and, wand in hand, spelled them and herself dry before handing them to the waiting elf. “Actually, Dobby, if it’s not a bother, I really would prefer coffee. Black, please.”
Then, turning back to her unwelcoming host, she pulled out a chair at the table and sat down, ignoring the stepped up glare as she did so. She smiled though, under the table, she crossed the fingers of her left hand. “You’re looking well, Professor.”
And he was, so much more compared to the last time she had seen him, lying at death’s door in a bed at St. Mungo’s.
His expression was as forbidding as it had ever been but on a face that looked as though it hadn’t bothered with that visage in some time. He’d put on some weight. Not that he would ever be fat, but his face had filled out somewhat, looking less spectral. The mouth was less pinched, making the thin lips seem fuller. The nose still commanded attention. His hair, pulled back in a plait, was now a dark grey, with only a few strands of its original black. Strangely enough, it made him look less severe. Mind, those eyes hadn’t lost anything in the intervening years. Hermione forced herself to meet them and consciously resisted the urge to wriggle.
Face grimacing with his displeasure, her host sat, rather reluctantly accepting her presence at his table. “What do you want, Miss Granger?”
Hermione nodded her head slightly; she might have known that there were limits to what Custom would grant her. “Well, Professor, I’ve come to beg Sanctuary from you.”
There was the sound of breaking crockery behind her as the man’s mouth dropped open and his eyes blinked. Well, what did you know; she had actually managed to take him by surprise!
In the silence that followed, Hermione used her wand to deal with the mess behind her. Fortunately, the pot of coffee had only spilled a little. Thanking Dobby with a nod and a smile, she poured herself some in the repaired cup and watched as Severus Snape worked his way through her request.
ssSSss
They’d moved into what Hermione had indeed guessed was a large library. Not only were there shelves of books on all the walls from floor to ceiling, but there were also three library-sized free-standing stacks that filled the far half of the room. At this end, a large fire, the source of the light she’d seen on entering the house, was dispelling the coldness and humidity of the late September storm.
Hermione sat in the deep leather armchair that was to one side of the large, almost black desk that backed into the corner nearest the fire. She squinted at it, finally recognising it as the one she and her old partners in crime had faced far too often in her student days. Mind, in those days, it hadn’t been anywhere this polished.
The light from a window fell onto a desktop that was relatively neat. Her own was usually a mess of reference tomes, paperwork and scraps of calculations. She waited, her hands folded on her lap, as Snape stood staring out of the window, his hands clasped behind his back which was to her.
Apart from asking her to follow him when she’d finished her coffee, he’d said not a word. Now he sighed loudly and went to sit behind the desk. His face expressionless, he rested his elbows on the desktop, steepled his fingers and rested the end of his chin on them.
“Sanctuary, Miss Granger?”
She nodded. “Sanctuary, Professor.”
He said nothing for endless seconds. If he hoped his examination of her was going to bother her, he was wrong. More determined than ever on this course of action, Hermione forced herself to sit quietly, waiting patiently, her eyes meeting his.
He blinked first.
“Does this have anything to do with the upcoming celebrations?”
Hermione nodded.
“I would have thought that you would enjoy being in the midst of them.”
Hermione grimaced at the sarcastic tone. “The First Anniversary Celebration wasn’t bad. We all enjoyed that.”
“I wouldn’t know,” said Snape.
Hermione nodded again. “Yes, your absence was commented upon. At that time.”
The eyebrow incredulously rising hadn’t lost any of its disdain.
“It was,” she insisted gently then shrugged. “It’s not often that a living recipient of the Order of Merlin, First Class, does not appear in order to be so honoured.”
Snape lowered his hands and sat back in his chair, his face now in the shadows, offering no comment of any kind.
She made no mention of the fact that, to the best of her knowledge, he had never been invited to any such celebration. Even if he’d been physically able to attend. “I was studying in Florence for the Fifth. By the time the Tenth came around, I didn’t much see the point of it. But because Harry and Ron insisted, I did attend. And, frankly, I was bored out of my mind.”
Hermione sat back in her chair, making herself comfortable. She crossed one foot over the other and stared at a wall of books. “I must admit that I’ve never quite understood this fascination with war anniversaries. All those old men and women pulling their medals out of some drawer and wearing them one day a year. I’ve come to the conclusion it’s because that war was the most interesting thing that ever happened to them. And that day is a way of asserting that their lives were once not as boring, as tedious, as uninteresting as they have now become. I think it gives them a reason to remember that they once experienced a true adventure, horribly though it was when it happened. That once they lived life to the fullest, not crawled their way through it.”
“What does any of this have to do with Sanctuary, Miss Granger?”
But she noticed that his voice was less harsh than it had been.
“Well, it has to do with the fact that my life is still being lived to its fullest. I have work which occupies my life pleasurably. I have a book that I need to research and complete in time to satisfy my editor, which must be before the next International Arithmancy Convention. I really don’t have the time to waste an entire month with all the so-called festivities surrounding this, the Twenty-Fifth Anniversary.”
“So?”
“So, I need a place in which to hide out from Harry and Ron. They’ve been after me every year since the Tenth to attend and, this year, they are proving to be particularly headstrong about it. They’ve involved my editor, who has now offered to postpone my deadline. They have even approached my colleague in Florence and insisted that he refuse to work with me for the month!” She shook her head, bewildered by it all. “I’m certain that, if they’d thought of it, they would have approached the Arithmancer’s organization to have the convention postponed.”
Hermione stood up. Her irritation at these incursions into her life was still far too fresh. She paced the floor in front of the desk, trying to control her anger, but not doing particularly well.
“Just because that war was the highlight of their lives, they seem to think that no one else ever moved on. I’m certain that even you would admit that Harry had the potential of being one of our most powerful wizards...”
Snape made a small moue with his mouth but, other than that, didn’t disagree with her.
No, not even Snape could deny that.
“But, no,” she went on, “he preferred to play Quidditch. And he did. For twelve years. He participated in three Quidditch Cups, and they won two. He even went on to coach a win. Now he dines off those experiences as a representative of the Ministry and its sports program.” She sighed, unable to hide her disappointment. “I wonder if he’s at all aware that he’s become our generation’s Ludo Bagman.”
Snape snorted softly. She thought he did that to prevent a laugh from spilling out.
“Sans the gambling problem, of course,” she hurried to add. Well, in a way, it wasn’t all that bad; Harry was indeed doing a lot with the sports sub-ministry. But he really should have been Minister for Magic by now. Once, he’d had that potential. Just not the ambition.
Snape said nothing so she went on.
“And I’m sorry that Ron never advanced any higher in the Ministry than Assistant to the Deputy Head of the Department of Aurors.”
More of a glorified secretary, really. And still riding on Harry’s coat-tails.
“He spent years laughing and mocking Percy, only to end up working under his brother. Far under.”
She stopped in front of Snape.
“But this does not mean that I...” she threw up her hands in frustration. “That I’m stuck in the same rut as they are. They just can’t accept that my life is...is more...” She began pacing again.
“More occupied; in blunt terms, more meaningful than theirs.” Snape’s voice was coolly understanding.
With a sigh and a nod of agreement, Hermione dropped into her chair. “It’s been twenty-five years, Professor. Twenty-five. I’m sorry that, for them, that time was the best it will ever be, Professor, but I have no nostalgia for those events. I’ve moved on and I don’t want to go back to that time. Not even to make them happy.”
“But why me, Miss Granger? Surely you’ve friends with whom...”
Hermione sighed even louder. “Yes, I do.” Then she shrugged, “Well, a couple. And they’ll expect me to go to them. Harry and Ron are determined that I shall participate at any cost. For some reason, they feel that my presence will validate...” she gestured wildly, “something.” She slouched back in the chair, legs stretched out, totally discouraged. “I just can’t seem to get through to them. And those of my acquaintances with whom I’ve spoken seem to think that it’s not such a big deal. That I should be honoured to participate. They don’t get the fact that I don’t see it that way.”
Snape leaned forward, his face coming into the faint light falling from the window. “Again, why me?”
She looked up at him. “Because they’ve already dealt with you.”
Snape’s sneer was heartfelt. Damn the boys.
“I’m surprised that you are aware of that encounter. I don’t believe it was ever mentioned in any publication.”
Hermione stared haplessly at her hands now clenched on her lap. Not that she doubted that annual visits just before dawn would be of great interest to the Daily Prophet.
“They came to brag about it to me.” She looked up, aware that this knowledge might be her ticket out the door. “I’m sorry, Professor. They had no right to attack you that way. You were only minding your own business. You had as much right to be in Diagon Alley as they had. That they dared to challenge you after all that you’ve done for us...for the Light. What you suffered...”
Snape held his hand up, stopping her from continuing.
“‘Challenge’,” he sneered, “tends towards understatement, Miss Granger.” Then he changed his tone to a slightly calmer one. “If you know that, you must also know the manner of their dispersal?”
“Yes.” Hermione suddenly smiled. “Not from them, of course.”
Snape growled, “Of course not.”
“But from the apothecary who witnessed the...attack. I went to question him after their visit.” He’d fired the clerk who had given out the information of Snape’s visits to Ron. The man had been livid at the prospect of losing Snape’s business. She cocked her head as she dared, “Did you really threaten them with Imperio if they didn’t leave you alone?”
Snape nodded slowly.
“Would you really have used an Unforgivable to get rid of them?”
Snape nodded even more slowly this time.
“Why?”
Snape’s shoulder rose in a small shrug. “It seemed that was what it took for them to understand that, like you, I have no urge to celebrate what for me is the demise of so many people I once knew as colleagues, friends and students, no matter which side they were on.” He stood up. “That last particularly seemed to arouse some very negative responses from Misters Potter and Weasley.”
Hermione nodded; over the years, the distinction between the two sides had only grown stronger, not faded away, in the minds of her once-close friends.
“I’m in agreement with you, Miss Granger. They seem to think that all our lives are stuck in some war that has long since interested only historians. As you say, it has been twenty-five years. Like yours, my life has moved on. They seemed to be...quite offended that it had.”
He rested his hip on the side of the desk. His face grew colder. “And the fact that I have yet to claim my Order of Merlin seemed to be a particular irritant to Mr. Weasley. That,” and here Hermione could hear Ron in Snape’s voice, “a former Death Eater, such as myself,” he sneered; Hermione winced, “should consider himself fortunate even to have been considered for such an honour.”
Snape’s smile was absolutely frigid. “I assume that Mr. Weasley still feels slighted that his Order of Merlin was Second Class. I could understand your offense at a mere Second Class...”
Hermione raised her own eyebrow at that; when was strategy ever properly acknowledged? She had long ago dealt with that little slight. Now she ignored it to snort, “To hear Ron tell it, he cornered Voldemort on his own and held him at bay until Harry arrived to finish him off.”
Snape said nothing but Hermione suddenly remembered what it had been like to find him that horrible day, broken and bleeding from having Voldemort’s attention centred on himself until Harry had indeed arrived to deal with the Dark Lord.
“They won’t try anything again,” she spoke softly, using the view from the window to overlay the one from her memories. “I’ve left a note with my neighbour, telling her that I’m off to do some research. It will never cross their minds to come looking here for me. Not that they could get in?”
Snape merely looked at her. “Meow,” he finally said, with certainty.
Hermione felt the grin on her face. Yes, she needn’t explain to him how she had managed. He would remember her working with Minerva McGonagall all those years ago. Not that she’d ever registered as an animagus; officially, her ability to transfigure herself had never gone that far. Unofficially, it was how she had managed to slip into Malfoy Manor and open the wards which had allowed Harry, Ron and the Aurors to enter. It wasn’t something she did often now, only once in a while, just to keep her skills from rusting. She doubted that her being able to do so would even cross Harry’s, or Ron’s, mind.
Serious once more, she stood and faced him. “Please, Professor. I promise I won’t get in your way. I just need some time to finish researching my latest book and have it published in time for the next conference. I’ve barely got eighteen months to do so. You’ll never know I’m here.”
Snape scowled. “I seriously doubt that, Miss Granger. But since you’ve claimed Sanctuary, I cannot, in good conscience, deny you.” He scoffed. “As you say, Misters Weasley and Potter will never think of your coming here to me. Do you need much time to gather your belongings?”
Hermione shook her head. “They’re in my satchel.”
Snape’s face froze. “Of course.”
Hermione shook her head. “If you hadn’t agreed, Professor, I would have headed for Oxford and hidden there as a Muggle doing research. I didn’t know if you would accept me and I certainly didn’t depend on it.” She slipped her hands into her sleeves and made him a formal bow. “But I thank you, Professor. I thank you very much for your generosity. And I promise I will not abuse it.”
ssSSss
on to the next part
Subtitled: Second Installment in the Man of Property series.
Author: Josan
Posted: December, 2004
Rating: NC-17, for psychological scarring.
Pairing: SS/HG
Warning: HET
Feedback: leave a comment or jmann@pobox.mondenet.com
Disclaimer: the usual one about me not owning and therefore not financially profiting. If only!
Beta: Bounced this one off several people, including kaiz, the Ottawa Slashers and my flist.
~~~~~~~~~~
The small brown cat made her way cautiously through the hedge, her belly to the ground, her ears flickering, her nostrils flaring, alert to any sound or scent of potential danger. At one point, her whiskers stiffened and twitched as she passed through the protective yet unseen barrier which, after some effort on her part, reluctantly allowed her to continue on her way. Other than that, she came out on the other side unscathed.
Still, she wasn’t taking any chances. With an eye on the house, she kept to the protection of the hedge - and not just because of the rain - as she made her way into the small orchard that stood to the right of the house. There she found enough shelter under the leaves and branches of a laden apple tree to take the time to groom herself. First appearances, she had been firmly taught by her mother, were important.
Finally satisfied that she would pass muster, she sat on her haunches and took a good look at the property she had invaded.
The house was, to say the least, interesting. After a few minutes, she determined that it was the kind of house that would appeal to her. Mind, she did wonder what he had seen in it. It was irregular enough to upset those who preferred the balanced symmetry of Georgian architecture - like Harry and Ginny’s so-called ‘cottage’ - or the sprawling, one-level, ultramodern, based-on-an-American design - like Ron and Eloise’s antiseptic monstrosity.
Yes, at least this one had personality.
The grounds were carefully but not fanatically kept. Things had been allowed to grow in places that best suited them, not their keepers. The orchard had several different kinds of fruit trees; she recognised pippins and russets among the apples. And further, she could see plum, pear and crabapple varieties as well.
From her vantage point - not the best, admittedly, but the safest for the moment - she noted some of the groupings that spotted the terraced slope of the house on this side. There were definite herbs and plants that were of practical use, as well as the last stubborn roses of the season climbing up the front end of the house. Even from here and in this grey light, she could see different plants growing in the security of the greenhouse.
Yes, he might have been drawn to the house just for that structure. Though, she herself felt more drawn to the light that glowed in the section before it, through the bank of windows that formed the length of one wall and the part which jutted beyond the greenhouse. Strange to think that he would choose a building with so many windows.
She glanced up at the sky. The rain showed no sign of stopping or even diminishing. She had better make her move or she might find herself failing the renown code of Gryffindor conduct.
With a flick of her head, she Transfigured into her human self. In her nervousness, she’d forgotten where she was and that her feline form was much shorter; her head hit the branches and cold rain trickled down her neck. Shivering, she ducked out from under the tree and went to stand, pulling her hood over her head.
So much for appearance. She reached for her wand and then changed her mind. This might be a way of penetrating the next line of defense.
Taking a deep breath, she anchored her satchel more securely over her shoulder. Then, with a nod, she braced herself and began walking briskly towards the front of the house, still keeping to the security of the hedges as she did so. Her brown cloak was blending in rather well; at least, no one charged out of the house, threatening to spell her away from the place.
By the time she did find herself standing within reach of her target, what appeared to be the main door, even with her hood up, she was rather wet. She ran through the puddles on the walkway to the door and hoped that someone would take pity on her and let her in out of the sudden downpour, because, of course, as with everything else these days, Mother Nature had decided that this very moment was the perfect time to dump the contents of her clouds.
She lifted the knocker, a brass snake entwined around a beaker - she smiled at the appropriateness - and rapped it hard against the wood of the door. There were a couple of narrow windows in the door but she couldn’t see inside. No doubt spelled to allow only one-way viewing.
She waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited yet some more until a sneeze made her take the knocker up to strike it against the door as hard as she could. She had no intention of going away so whoever was on the other side, waiting for her to leave, had better understand that she was not. And preferably before she caught a cold.
She sneezed again and was reaching for the knocker when she heard an unlocking sound and the door opened but a sliver.
“Go away,” said a voice. “We want no visitors.”
Faster than the door could be shut, she jammed her shoulder against the edge, using all of her weight to keep it from closing.
“Dobby? Is that you?”
The pressure against the door stopped and she was certain she heard a sigh.
“Dobby, please. It’s raining and I’m sopping wet.” And she conveniently sneezed to make her point.
The door opened a smidgen, enough to allow a long-nosed elfin face to peer around the heavy door.
“Hermione Granger? Oh, it is Miss Hermione!”
But the door didn’t open immediately. It was as if Dobby had to consider the cost of letting her in. She didn’t blame him, not after the incident with Harry and Ron.
“It’s all right, Dobby. I’ve not come to argue with him. I just need to see him for a minute. I promise. My word as a Gryffindor.”
Mind, that didn’t mean she wasn’t hoping that he would invite her to stay longer.
Finally, the door opened, but just enough for Hermione to slip in.
The foyer was nothing special. Just an entry into a wide hallway. There was a winding staircase to the right, leading to the upper storeys, a closed door at its foot. To the left, she could see another door, open and providing the only light into the entry.
Dobby stood shifting nervously, clasping his hands as though to stop them from reaching for her sodden cloak. She smiled at him, her most understanding, encouraging smile. “It’s all right,” she said again, her tone conciliatory. “I only need a minute, two at the most.”
Dobby sighed loudly, resigned. “Come this way, Miss Hermione.”
He headed down the hallway, past the open door of what, after a quick glance, Hermione determined was a large study/library. She didn’t lag behind but followed Dobby out of the dark, main house and into the brighter, warmer second section.
What she had seen as a solarium from the outside was in fact a large breakfast room. There was a fireplace happily balancing out the grey, cold light from the outside. The walls were painted a soft yellow colour which picked up the warmth of the flames. The furniture, oak she guessed, old and heavily polished, added to the inviting warmth of the room.
Which was a good thing as the man watching her from over the top of some journal, cup in hand, was anything but warm and inviting.
He glared at Dobby, who hopped nervously again.
“It’s not his fault,” Hermione said quickly. She didn’t want the house elf to be held responsible for her presence.
“Of course not,” said the man, getting to his feet in a manner that indicated anything but courtesy. “Remembering you, I can quite believe that. Dobby, I suppose that Custom indicates you should offer Miss Granger a cup of tea.”
Hermione smiled. She had depended on Custom to get this far; she might as well continue doing so. She carefully slipped her satchel and cloak off and, wand in hand, spelled them and herself dry before handing them to the waiting elf. “Actually, Dobby, if it’s not a bother, I really would prefer coffee. Black, please.”
Then, turning back to her unwelcoming host, she pulled out a chair at the table and sat down, ignoring the stepped up glare as she did so. She smiled though, under the table, she crossed the fingers of her left hand. “You’re looking well, Professor.”
And he was, so much more compared to the last time she had seen him, lying at death’s door in a bed at St. Mungo’s.
His expression was as forbidding as it had ever been but on a face that looked as though it hadn’t bothered with that visage in some time. He’d put on some weight. Not that he would ever be fat, but his face had filled out somewhat, looking less spectral. The mouth was less pinched, making the thin lips seem fuller. The nose still commanded attention. His hair, pulled back in a plait, was now a dark grey, with only a few strands of its original black. Strangely enough, it made him look less severe. Mind, those eyes hadn’t lost anything in the intervening years. Hermione forced herself to meet them and consciously resisted the urge to wriggle.
Face grimacing with his displeasure, her host sat, rather reluctantly accepting her presence at his table. “What do you want, Miss Granger?”
Hermione nodded her head slightly; she might have known that there were limits to what Custom would grant her. “Well, Professor, I’ve come to beg Sanctuary from you.”
There was the sound of breaking crockery behind her as the man’s mouth dropped open and his eyes blinked. Well, what did you know; she had actually managed to take him by surprise!
In the silence that followed, Hermione used her wand to deal with the mess behind her. Fortunately, the pot of coffee had only spilled a little. Thanking Dobby with a nod and a smile, she poured herself some in the repaired cup and watched as Severus Snape worked his way through her request.
ssSSss
They’d moved into what Hermione had indeed guessed was a large library. Not only were there shelves of books on all the walls from floor to ceiling, but there were also three library-sized free-standing stacks that filled the far half of the room. At this end, a large fire, the source of the light she’d seen on entering the house, was dispelling the coldness and humidity of the late September storm.
Hermione sat in the deep leather armchair that was to one side of the large, almost black desk that backed into the corner nearest the fire. She squinted at it, finally recognising it as the one she and her old partners in crime had faced far too often in her student days. Mind, in those days, it hadn’t been anywhere this polished.
The light from a window fell onto a desktop that was relatively neat. Her own was usually a mess of reference tomes, paperwork and scraps of calculations. She waited, her hands folded on her lap, as Snape stood staring out of the window, his hands clasped behind his back which was to her.
Apart from asking her to follow him when she’d finished her coffee, he’d said not a word. Now he sighed loudly and went to sit behind the desk. His face expressionless, he rested his elbows on the desktop, steepled his fingers and rested the end of his chin on them.
“Sanctuary, Miss Granger?”
She nodded. “Sanctuary, Professor.”
He said nothing for endless seconds. If he hoped his examination of her was going to bother her, he was wrong. More determined than ever on this course of action, Hermione forced herself to sit quietly, waiting patiently, her eyes meeting his.
He blinked first.
“Does this have anything to do with the upcoming celebrations?”
Hermione nodded.
“I would have thought that you would enjoy being in the midst of them.”
Hermione grimaced at the sarcastic tone. “The First Anniversary Celebration wasn’t bad. We all enjoyed that.”
“I wouldn’t know,” said Snape.
Hermione nodded again. “Yes, your absence was commented upon. At that time.”
The eyebrow incredulously rising hadn’t lost any of its disdain.
“It was,” she insisted gently then shrugged. “It’s not often that a living recipient of the Order of Merlin, First Class, does not appear in order to be so honoured.”
Snape lowered his hands and sat back in his chair, his face now in the shadows, offering no comment of any kind.
She made no mention of the fact that, to the best of her knowledge, he had never been invited to any such celebration. Even if he’d been physically able to attend. “I was studying in Florence for the Fifth. By the time the Tenth came around, I didn’t much see the point of it. But because Harry and Ron insisted, I did attend. And, frankly, I was bored out of my mind.”
Hermione sat back in her chair, making herself comfortable. She crossed one foot over the other and stared at a wall of books. “I must admit that I’ve never quite understood this fascination with war anniversaries. All those old men and women pulling their medals out of some drawer and wearing them one day a year. I’ve come to the conclusion it’s because that war was the most interesting thing that ever happened to them. And that day is a way of asserting that their lives were once not as boring, as tedious, as uninteresting as they have now become. I think it gives them a reason to remember that they once experienced a true adventure, horribly though it was when it happened. That once they lived life to the fullest, not crawled their way through it.”
“What does any of this have to do with Sanctuary, Miss Granger?”
But she noticed that his voice was less harsh than it had been.
“Well, it has to do with the fact that my life is still being lived to its fullest. I have work which occupies my life pleasurably. I have a book that I need to research and complete in time to satisfy my editor, which must be before the next International Arithmancy Convention. I really don’t have the time to waste an entire month with all the so-called festivities surrounding this, the Twenty-Fifth Anniversary.”
“So?”
“So, I need a place in which to hide out from Harry and Ron. They’ve been after me every year since the Tenth to attend and, this year, they are proving to be particularly headstrong about it. They’ve involved my editor, who has now offered to postpone my deadline. They have even approached my colleague in Florence and insisted that he refuse to work with me for the month!” She shook her head, bewildered by it all. “I’m certain that, if they’d thought of it, they would have approached the Arithmancer’s organization to have the convention postponed.”
Hermione stood up. Her irritation at these incursions into her life was still far too fresh. She paced the floor in front of the desk, trying to control her anger, but not doing particularly well.
“Just because that war was the highlight of their lives, they seem to think that no one else ever moved on. I’m certain that even you would admit that Harry had the potential of being one of our most powerful wizards...”
Snape made a small moue with his mouth but, other than that, didn’t disagree with her.
No, not even Snape could deny that.
“But, no,” she went on, “he preferred to play Quidditch. And he did. For twelve years. He participated in three Quidditch Cups, and they won two. He even went on to coach a win. Now he dines off those experiences as a representative of the Ministry and its sports program.” She sighed, unable to hide her disappointment. “I wonder if he’s at all aware that he’s become our generation’s Ludo Bagman.”
Snape snorted softly. She thought he did that to prevent a laugh from spilling out.
“Sans the gambling problem, of course,” she hurried to add. Well, in a way, it wasn’t all that bad; Harry was indeed doing a lot with the sports sub-ministry. But he really should have been Minister for Magic by now. Once, he’d had that potential. Just not the ambition.
Snape said nothing so she went on.
“And I’m sorry that Ron never advanced any higher in the Ministry than Assistant to the Deputy Head of the Department of Aurors.”
More of a glorified secretary, really. And still riding on Harry’s coat-tails.
“He spent years laughing and mocking Percy, only to end up working under his brother. Far under.”
She stopped in front of Snape.
“But this does not mean that I...” she threw up her hands in frustration. “That I’m stuck in the same rut as they are. They just can’t accept that my life is...is more...” She began pacing again.
“More occupied; in blunt terms, more meaningful than theirs.” Snape’s voice was coolly understanding.
With a sigh and a nod of agreement, Hermione dropped into her chair. “It’s been twenty-five years, Professor. Twenty-five. I’m sorry that, for them, that time was the best it will ever be, Professor, but I have no nostalgia for those events. I’ve moved on and I don’t want to go back to that time. Not even to make them happy.”
“But why me, Miss Granger? Surely you’ve friends with whom...”
Hermione sighed even louder. “Yes, I do.” Then she shrugged, “Well, a couple. And they’ll expect me to go to them. Harry and Ron are determined that I shall participate at any cost. For some reason, they feel that my presence will validate...” she gestured wildly, “something.” She slouched back in the chair, legs stretched out, totally discouraged. “I just can’t seem to get through to them. And those of my acquaintances with whom I’ve spoken seem to think that it’s not such a big deal. That I should be honoured to participate. They don’t get the fact that I don’t see it that way.”
Snape leaned forward, his face coming into the faint light falling from the window. “Again, why me?”
She looked up at him. “Because they’ve already dealt with you.”
Snape’s sneer was heartfelt. Damn the boys.
“I’m surprised that you are aware of that encounter. I don’t believe it was ever mentioned in any publication.”
Hermione stared haplessly at her hands now clenched on her lap. Not that she doubted that annual visits just before dawn would be of great interest to the Daily Prophet.
“They came to brag about it to me.” She looked up, aware that this knowledge might be her ticket out the door. “I’m sorry, Professor. They had no right to attack you that way. You were only minding your own business. You had as much right to be in Diagon Alley as they had. That they dared to challenge you after all that you’ve done for us...for the Light. What you suffered...”
Snape held his hand up, stopping her from continuing.
“‘Challenge’,” he sneered, “tends towards understatement, Miss Granger.” Then he changed his tone to a slightly calmer one. “If you know that, you must also know the manner of their dispersal?”
“Yes.” Hermione suddenly smiled. “Not from them, of course.”
Snape growled, “Of course not.”
“But from the apothecary who witnessed the...attack. I went to question him after their visit.” He’d fired the clerk who had given out the information of Snape’s visits to Ron. The man had been livid at the prospect of losing Snape’s business. She cocked her head as she dared, “Did you really threaten them with Imperio if they didn’t leave you alone?”
Snape nodded slowly.
“Would you really have used an Unforgivable to get rid of them?”
Snape nodded even more slowly this time.
“Why?”
Snape’s shoulder rose in a small shrug. “It seemed that was what it took for them to understand that, like you, I have no urge to celebrate what for me is the demise of so many people I once knew as colleagues, friends and students, no matter which side they were on.” He stood up. “That last particularly seemed to arouse some very negative responses from Misters Potter and Weasley.”
Hermione nodded; over the years, the distinction between the two sides had only grown stronger, not faded away, in the minds of her once-close friends.
“I’m in agreement with you, Miss Granger. They seem to think that all our lives are stuck in some war that has long since interested only historians. As you say, it has been twenty-five years. Like yours, my life has moved on. They seemed to be...quite offended that it had.”
He rested his hip on the side of the desk. His face grew colder. “And the fact that I have yet to claim my Order of Merlin seemed to be a particular irritant to Mr. Weasley. That,” and here Hermione could hear Ron in Snape’s voice, “a former Death Eater, such as myself,” he sneered; Hermione winced, “should consider himself fortunate even to have been considered for such an honour.”
Snape’s smile was absolutely frigid. “I assume that Mr. Weasley still feels slighted that his Order of Merlin was Second Class. I could understand your offense at a mere Second Class...”
Hermione raised her own eyebrow at that; when was strategy ever properly acknowledged? She had long ago dealt with that little slight. Now she ignored it to snort, “To hear Ron tell it, he cornered Voldemort on his own and held him at bay until Harry arrived to finish him off.”
Snape said nothing but Hermione suddenly remembered what it had been like to find him that horrible day, broken and bleeding from having Voldemort’s attention centred on himself until Harry had indeed arrived to deal with the Dark Lord.
“They won’t try anything again,” she spoke softly, using the view from the window to overlay the one from her memories. “I’ve left a note with my neighbour, telling her that I’m off to do some research. It will never cross their minds to come looking here for me. Not that they could get in?”
Snape merely looked at her. “Meow,” he finally said, with certainty.
Hermione felt the grin on her face. Yes, she needn’t explain to him how she had managed. He would remember her working with Minerva McGonagall all those years ago. Not that she’d ever registered as an animagus; officially, her ability to transfigure herself had never gone that far. Unofficially, it was how she had managed to slip into Malfoy Manor and open the wards which had allowed Harry, Ron and the Aurors to enter. It wasn’t something she did often now, only once in a while, just to keep her skills from rusting. She doubted that her being able to do so would even cross Harry’s, or Ron’s, mind.
Serious once more, she stood and faced him. “Please, Professor. I promise I won’t get in your way. I just need some time to finish researching my latest book and have it published in time for the next conference. I’ve barely got eighteen months to do so. You’ll never know I’m here.”
Snape scowled. “I seriously doubt that, Miss Granger. But since you’ve claimed Sanctuary, I cannot, in good conscience, deny you.” He scoffed. “As you say, Misters Weasley and Potter will never think of your coming here to me. Do you need much time to gather your belongings?”
Hermione shook her head. “They’re in my satchel.”
Snape’s face froze. “Of course.”
Hermione shook her head. “If you hadn’t agreed, Professor, I would have headed for Oxford and hidden there as a Muggle doing research. I didn’t know if you would accept me and I certainly didn’t depend on it.” She slipped her hands into her sleeves and made him a formal bow. “But I thank you, Professor. I thank you very much for your generosity. And I promise I will not abuse it.”
ssSSss
on to the next part