Current mood:	busy
Entry tags:	2009_fic, ewe, fic4:eeyore9990, snape/hermione

fic for eeyore9990 'Out of This World' (Snape/Hermione)

Fic for: eeyore9990
Title: Out of This World
Author: leni_jess


Pairing: Snape/Hermione
Rating: PG
Warnings/Content Info: highlight between brackets if you prefer story warnings:
[Severus Snape/Hermione Granger (in potential; pre-het, you might say). AU in that Snape's alive, and EWE, in part. One Epilogue birth date moved earlier.]
Summary: Severus Snape has found a refuge from the wizarding world. Then Granger intrudes, accompanied by Malfoy, followed by Malfoy, Malfoy, and Malfoy, bringing with them Malfoy, Malfoy and Malfoy. What next? The Ministry? Or merely trouble and endless vexation?
Disclaimer: The world of HP and its characters belongs to Rowling. The author of this fic has borrowed them for the purposes of storytelling. No profit was or will be made.
Word count: ~8,630
Author Notes: eeyore9990, I hope this pleases you, even if I am clean out of kink this holiday season! Thanks so much to my beta readers, K and J, who helped me improve the fic; and to the mods for their saintly patience.

Out of This World

1997-98

Severus had expected being Headmaster would be unpleasant, running a school which was in practice a concentration camp. Most of the guards were resentful former colleagues, with two ignorant sadists thrown in, useless in every possible way. Almost all the students were hostile, practising non-violent non-cooperation at the very best. He feared for those students who were not; they were more beyond his help than those who knew they were prisoners, for whom resistance was a duty.

He had not known how painful it would be. He had anticipated Minerva's scorn, was only a little surprised by Filius's sorrow, and found Horace's puzzlement almost as strange as his disappointment. There had been few, ever, to spare him a kind word, but they had transacted the daily business of teaching neutrally, and even comfortably, once. He had thought it enough. There was nothing of that now. He braced himself to endure that unanticipated loneliness, he who had always preferred to keep himself to himself, shrugging off any courtesies his colleagues might have offered, and in this time of war concentrated on keeping them all alive and as free of injury as possible.

It was dreadful to see Horace changing: the disappointment moderating, and the puzzlement transforming to interest. How was it that Horace, of all people, that self-interested snob, could observe what Severus was doing, rather than what he appeared to do, and ignore altogether what he said? In his gratitude that someone could see him still, Severus left it late to meet Horace's eye one day when they had privacy, shake his head, tighten his lips, and hold up one hand in a forbidding gesture. Whatever faults he had, Horace wasn't stupid.

With his customary politeness that meant nothing, he said, "As you require, Headmaster," and set down the proposed amendment to the Potions syllabus he had been arguing.

After that Horace didn't look curious, but he didn't argue, either, and some of the younger Slytherins, at least, became more the slippery, sly little snakes they were supposed to be, and avoided the Carrows' malevolent attention more successfully.

Almost as bad, though not quite as surprising, was the realisation that Luna Lovegood was observing him with the same interest that had brightened Horace's eyes.

To her he said fiercely, "Concentrate on your studies, Miss Lovegood. You have dreamed away five years; don't waste this year on impossible imaginings."

After Christmas he didn't have to worry about her talent for observation; he simply hoped her talent for survival was adequate. Luckily Draco proved amenable to pressure to ensure the prisoners in the basement of Malfoy Manor didn't actually starve to death. He was heartened at how little it took, just the suggestion that prisoners and hostages had a continuing use, and how Draco looked less pale and sick thereafter. Less fortunate was the thoughtful look on Draco's face, soon enough blanked out: the last year had at least taught the boy - no, the young man - discretion and concern for others besides himself. Severus could see he would need to depend on that, and hope the additional burden would not prove too much for Draco's fortitude.

How appalling that being known was an even worse experience than being as opaque as he had planned to be. It was probably a blessing that Miss Granger was not at school this year; he didn't need her watching him like a hawk, almost as protective of him as she was of her gormless companions. On their success all now depended, and he hoped Merlin ensured she could keep them to their task.

In self-defence he found something else to think about, the nights he could not sleep, the hours during the day when disciplinary problems didn't bear down so hard on him.

He had never imagined wanting to leave the wizarding world, though he had sometimes fantasised about getting away from all who knew him or knew of him in wizarding Britain. His focus for so many years had been on his duty to Lily, to her son, to his last and only real master.

Now he developed another fantasy: that Potter should be successful, that both of them (instead of neither) should outlive the Dark Lord, and that he, at least, could run away, free at last, to concentrate on nothing but mere existence. Potter could become responsible for himself, make his own decisions, and evade the life Dumbledore had wished on him by whatever means he could contrive.

Life among the Muggles he had left so readily at sixteen acquired a glow, a clear, welcoming light, it had never had in real life.

Where could he run? What might he want, if he was free? That at least he could begin to answer. Peace, simplicity, independence of action, with some friendly contact (this year had taught him something more of his needs), perhaps in a formal setting that would protect both him and the Muggles around him. He would need something to do, something he could value, something that would please him and might profit others. But first, perhaps, recovery time, to get past the effort, exhaustion and grief of the last twenty and more years. No responsibility for anyone save himself. No children to protect. No one to answer to. A place of his own, that he knew, that he was known in, recognition, and consideration. All the things he had never had.

After all, it was just a fantasy. He started to fiddle with its edges, to make it more real, so that his duties did not grind his dreams away. One thing looking out for the needs of his few Muggleborn Slytherins had taught him, was that with convincing papers and a cool front a wizard could make himself accepted without question among the Muggles he had sprung from.

By the end of the year his fantasy was fully rounded, fully supported. However, all of that vanished when Nagini uncoiled from her cage of stars and struck. Then reality, and the need to give Potter what he had to have, for them to win the war even if they lost the battle, overcame everything.

oooOOOooo

June 2008

Hermione thought Draco was less nervous today. This spring, the first Malfoy family outing into the Muggle world had had some awkward moments, but everyone's anxieties had eased on realising that Muggles, on the whole, were too busy to be consciously malicious as wizards with time on their hands could be. Draco was getting used to the Muggles his parents had raised him to fear quite as much as to despise.

How lucky that Draco's wife Asteria instead felt only mild curiosity, but mostly a concern that her children should be able to swim confidently through this larger sea instead of the tiny pond of the wizarding world, now that the Ministry's attitudes to Muggles had been wrenched around by Shacklebolt, Potter, the Bones clan, and of course Hermione herself.

In the last ten years Draco had become a better friend than Ron, or even Harry, and a much kinder and more decent person than he had been as a schoolboy. She wanted him to be as comfortable in both worlds as his children could be, if only the stresses he still felt didn't affect them. It wasn't just his upbringing and those last two years of Voldemort's rule that had taught Draco that caution was always necessary. If the Ministry and the wizarding world at large were now more accepting of Muggles, and the Muggleborn, they were still suspicious of adult Slytherins. Thank Merlin they didn't often take those suspicions out on the younger children!

Hermione no longer thought it strange that she enjoyed the friendship of Slytherin purebloods. She found their children were much like most of her friends' - if quieter and more old-fashioned in their manners. Much like herself, in fact, an only child raised by parents who valued consideration for others as well as education. The Malfoy children were easier to stand, and therefore to be fond of, she reflected, thinking back to some family gatherings she had been invited to.

Lucius, as ever, was unobtrusively watchful, though Hermione saw he was deliberately relaxing, rather than truly at ease. He seemed willing to give Muggles the benefit of the doubt, at least, these days. A Lucius who was at ease with non-magical people would be much less dangerous to them than one who believed he had every reason to fear what they might do to the wizarding world.

Narcissa was much more tranquil, but her focus was on her long-delayed second child, the much desired daughter whom they could at last protect as she deserved. That meant that she was concerned with little beyond her family, alert though she was for danger and for strange starts by her menfolk.

The children were confident of their parents' care even in this foreign environment. Hermione had been careful, always, that the Muggle world should be as interesting, as congenial, and certainly as non-threatening as possible. She had no doubt that four wands would be out, modified Statute of Secrecy be damned, should any real problem arise. If it came to that, it would be Muggles, not Malfoys, who would need her help.

They had driven to Winchester in the car Lucius had purchased for these educational trips, with a highly competent Muggleborn at the wheel, who both mastered the car's quiet magic and understood and did not fear the Muggle world the vehicle glided through, touching only where it was necessary to fit. The chauffeur had even found a parking spot close to the gatehouse of the ancient Hospital of St Cross, an achievement in which Hermione suspected magic played a large part. She didn't ask. The last ten years had taught her a great deal, not least when it was only polite to keep her mouth shut.

Once out of the car, they fell into the formation dictated by Lucius on the very first expedition: Hermione as guide in the lead, Lucius at her side, and Draco bringing up the rear, with Asteria and Narcissa and the three children in the protected place at the centre of the column. Maybe one day the children would be allowed to run about heedlessly like Muggle children, but certainly not today, and not likely this summer, either. Once the party was inside the walls, that order of march might be relaxed.

Hermione had brought them here this early in the morning because she wanted the children to see the procession of the brothers of the Hospital of St Cross, in their black or red robes, into the church for the brief daily prayers. They should see that Muggles had dignity and ritual, just as wizards did. It wouldn't hurt that the old men would look almost like wizards, to Lucius and Draco: it might ease their tension in a new place.

She had already entertained the adults with the history of the Hospital of St Cross and the associated Order of Noble Poverty and the church, St Cross itself - including the six hundred odd years of scandal in misappropriation of its funds, a story Lucius both appreciated and deprecated. Asteria had been more impressed by the determination many Muggles had shown, even having far less power than the Masters of the Hospital, to ensure that the original founders' charitable intentions were fulfilled. If they could fight power for six hundred years, they were worthy of respect.

After the family went through the stone Norman arch of the gate, Scorpius began skipping down the path ahead of the adults, as well as looking about. Once they came to the Porter's Lodge, Asteria spoke crisply to him as he peered into the narrow doorways set into the sides of its arched entryway.

"Do not be so impudent as to ask for beer and bread, even if Hermione has told you they still give it out! You are not old enough, besides not being a traveller." When Scorpius looked momentarily rebellious she added, "You are certainly not poor! You have your own bread at home, and butterbeer too."

That appeal to Malfoy pride was more successful, though Scorpius covered himself by saying, "If they don't have pumpkin juice, I don't want any of it."

A drably dressed woman abruptly emerged from the last open door, saying flatly, "Adults £3, children £1. Do you want the guidebook?"

Not very hospitable, perhaps, but to the point, and the children would encounter similar brusqueness in the wizarding world sometimes. Hermione saw Asteria smile at her mother-in-law as Scorpius retreated to her side, to take her hand.

Draco stepped forward and counted out the unfamiliar Muggle notes and fat coins, then put a hand on his daughter's shoulder to keep her back from the racks of second-hand books they could now see in a small side room.

"No, Evadne," he said firmly. "Remember what Hermione told you about the floor tiles and the carved pew ends in the church? You'll like them better."

His little sister Irene spoke up. "Those books look dusty, Evadne; ours at home are better. Let's see how many different floor tiles we can find."

That would indeed be a lure for Evadne; alone of the children she had an interest in the arts, even in the designs on humble floor tiles, possibly an inheritance from her Greengrass side. Irene would be happy to enumerate, to compare, to devise childish but not incompetent Arithmantic fantasies based on what she and her nephew and niece discovered in the old church.

Draco had bought the guidebook automatically, but handed it over to his son. Scorpius liked to be in charge, for all he was a year younger than Evadne, and it kept him out of mischief. Once they emerged onto the grass, and found the courtyard before the church empty, the children gathered around the guidebook, absorbing information with practised speed, then arguing about what to see first.

Irene looked up to demand, above the sound of the church bells which had begun to ring for Matins, "Why is it called a Hospital? This says the brothers are old men, not sick people. Or are they sick too?"

Her father answered, "Here it means a place that offers hospitality - food, shelter. The word almshouse means much the same, though alms is an old word for a gift of money to a poor person." Lucius turned to Hermione. "Those are the brothers' rooms, that two-story building with the tall chimneys and all the doorways?"

"Yes," she agreed, having looked it up on the internet before she suggested this visit. "They have flats, ground floor or first, and gardens behind, if they want."

"So they'll come out from there, to go to their funny rites in the church?" Scorpius asked.

"Anyone would think you didn't go to church, at least on the high holy days," his mother said tartly. "They have a Matins service at ten, just as we do at St Felec's. These brothers go every day to pray, remember? Hermione said it's their only duty to the Hospital - or the Order of Noble Poverty, if they belong to that."

"I don't suppose the rector speaks to the cats and kneazles, though," Draco warned. "Muggles think St Felec just a legend, or some mix up with another saint."

"If they don't have magic, of course they can't," his sister said. "Our rector can only speak to cats because St Felec gives him the power."

Draco smiled at Hermione, who closed her mouth again, deciding that she'd enquire about that later. The adults could give her better information than Irene, though the child might tell her some stories the grown-ups wouldn't think to share with her. Even after seventeen years, there was still so much she had to learn about the wizarding world! Sometimes she thought that instead of reading Hogwarts: a History to rags, she should have read as many children's books as she could get her hands on.

Narcissa murmured, "Here they come, now."

The children sprang to eager attention, as from the series of doors men in black robes, and a few in claret red, began to move across the lawns towards the low-set portico of the church. Some were visibly old, moving slowly, and the other men matched their pace as they formed into line and entered the church. Most seemed men not long past their prime; a few were still commendably hale and active. All had poise, wearing with the ease of use the long robes, the large silver Cross of Jerusalem for the men in black or the silver Cardinal's badge for the men in red, and the flat Tudor trencher hats.

Hermione looked at the twenty-five old and middle-aged men conducting their peaceful ritual, celebrating the oldest place of communal care in England, then frowned and looked again. She glanced furtively at Lucius, who had the ghost of surprise in his face. So he had seen it too. Luckily Draco and Narcissa were more interested in the children's reactions than in a group of Muggles, however dignified.

As the last man entered the bells fell silent.

Narcissa remarked, "We can see the church later. Do you want to visit the Brethren's Hall, and see where they hold special gatherings, or the Hundred Men's Hall, where they fed poor visitors? Or would you like to walk through the cloisters to the garden? That is what that is, over there, Hermione, the open walkway with lath and plaster on the walls above?"

Still absorbed in what she could not believe she had seen, Hermione replied absently, "Yes, though I think perhaps they don't call them cloisters, as this isn't a monastery, but a secular foundation."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Granger the talking book strikes again."

As one set of old buildings had a great deal in common with another, and none of the wizard-born adults was interested in medieval architecture, they were happy to accept the children's choice of the walled garden. They would run around in what should be a safe place, where Narcissa and Asteria might enjoy the flowers, which should be at their best now, at the start of summer, while keeping on eye on their children. Lucius would undoubtedly use the time to pick Hermione's brains for her knowledge of political developments that the Minister was keeping close to his chest, and Draco would pay dutiful attention to whatever she was prepared to reveal. They were all aware that Hermione would say little that would not have had Shacklebolt's authorisation, and the Malfoy family would discuss the news with the seriousness it deserved, later.

Once five witches and wizards had rapidly evaluated the garden's safety and security, the two girls and the boy were freed from Lucius's discipline. Irene made at once for the far end of the pond and the view of the east end of the church, beginning her usual methodical survey, whereas Scorpius and Evadne dived straight into a discussion of the herbs providing ground cover in the nearest flower bed.

Asteria turned slowly about, smiling, her head back in the sunshine, enjoying the open space, its freedom and sanctuary, able to relax fully at last, with no Muggles in sight. Narcissa smiled at Hermione, and moved to smell the roses climbing the mossy stone walls that enclosed the garden. Draco went to where he could see all three children, as he always did, but bent to pluck a sage leaf from a bush covered already with purple flowers, crushing it in his fingers and inhaling the scent. So he too was confident the family was safe.

Hermione glanced at Lucius. He was already looking at her.

She sighed. This wasn't going to be easy.

"If it was him -" she began.

"It was Severus Snape," Lucius said.

He was confident, and she saw he could tell she was quite sure too, hard though it was to accept after having mourned Snape as dead. Even if, technically, the former Headmaster had been merely "missing in action", since there had been no body to bury. She, like Harry, had seen that vibrant body still, the clever hands fall limp to the floor, those piercing eyes glaze, and that deathly river of blood slowing, even before they turned and left him, to fight for the living.

Lucius hadn't seen that, though a few years ago she had shown him, then Narcissa and Draco, at their request, her Pensieved memories of those few minutes while she helped Harry gather up Snape's gift of memory before they left the Shack and the quiet body behind. Harry had even let her see what he witnessed, since he had seen Snape butchered by Nagini, which she had not; she had shared those second-hand memories too. Not a happy experience for any of them, but she knew that Lucius, in particular, had played his acquired memories over and over in his Pensieve, analysing, looking for clues, hoping, though in vain. Just as she had done so often, in that first year after the Battle had been won, before she had decided to move on, move forward into the new world Snape had helped to make, had made possible.

So had mere chance brought them to his refuge? And if it had, did they have the right to disturb whatever peace he had found, among Muggles of all people?

"That service doesn't last long, does it?" Lucius didn't wait for a reply. "We should be ready, outside the church. He won't risk Disapparating, not in front of all those Muggles. Unless you'd rather stay here?"

Hermione sniffed in automatic rejection of any "leave the women and children in safety" attitude, though she knew he hadn't expected her to accept the suggestion. Lucius signalled Draco, who nodded, though he looked surprised. They started walking side by side through the garden, down the covered walkway, across the open lawn, ignoring now both flowers and architecture, eyes on the church porch, waiting for one man.

Lucius might no longer be quite so haughty a pureblood, but also he was no longer the broken man the end of the war had left depending on his wife's strength, able to act only where her safety or his son's demanded it. Hermione and Draco had become cautiously friendly when they returned to take their final year at Hogwarts, and she had decided it might help him to be seen to be his friend afterwards. She had even admitted to herself that she had been lonely, and that she relished a companion who could share so many of her interests. (Harry and Ron hadn't thought well of that, in so far as they thought rather than reacted. Now however, even they were reasonable facsimiles of adults, if still not entirely reasonable, and were capable of being polite to Draco and any Slytherin willing to be the same.) In consequence she had seen quite a bit of Lucius Malfoy, and he of her, whatever either had initially thought about it.

From a shared understanding of political necessity, of the appearance of right behaviour and association, they had worn gradually into acceptance and a degree of personal understanding. When Lucius was released from house arrest, and Draco married Asteria, Hermione and Lucius had each decided that a very good understanding indeed of the other might be advisable.

Draco's wife had proved to be bright and congenial, willing to examine the pureblood prejudices she had absorbed from her family and all her family's associates. She was already irritated at being tarred unfairly with the brush of Slytherin communal guilt, which she had been too young to share. Lucius had been openly pleased by Hermione's offer of friendship to his son's new wife, so Hermione had relaxed still further. It did help that the ground floor of Malfoy Manor had been extensively remodelled; Draco had said once that she was not the only one to have nightmares of the drawing room.

Nearly ten years of acquaintance, observation, and debate told Hermione that Lucius had no intention of leaving Severus Snape undisturbed in his safe harbour. Perhaps Snape was as competent as he once would have been to resist even Malfoy pressure, but in case he wasn't, in case Nagini had permanently disabled him, in body or in mind or will, Hermione would be there with whatever protection or support he might need that she could give. She had failed, as a child and later as a woman almost grown, to offer him the help he had deserved, not just for protecting the three of them; she would not fail again. She would not now be dissuaded by his words, either, however bitter and cutting.

She wondered what ten years of peace had done for Snape. She was suddenly eager to know, eager to speak with him, even if she intended to try to dissuade Lucius from forcing him into whatever Lucius wanted. Since he lived, who knew what dreams might revive for her?

oooOOOooo

Severus nodded farewell, as he did each morning, to the three of the Brethren with whom he generally socialised, when he felt a need, and the one with whom he discussed their gardens, who was even more asocial than himself, and turned towards the door and the stair to his upper level flat. Today he would go in to the Farmers' Market in central Winchester, taking some rare herbs for sale through one of the stall-holders. They always sold, even though the market closed a bare hour later than he arrived, thanks to his unavoidable attendance at Matins. Perhaps then he would visit the crystals shop for another enjoyable dispute with its owner, who had such foolish beliefs, but who argued like an early Churchman, with the same passion and logic and occasional impressive flights of fancy. There was a lunchtime concert in the Cathedral, too.

Then he forgot all about simple Muggle pleasures, as his eye was caught by long blond hair tied back with a velvet bow, falling down a straight back clad in black linen. No. He stopped, and the man, and the woman he had been speaking to, turned slowly, deliberately, and met his gaze. Severus could feel his back muscles tightening, and clenched his hands, unconsciously lifting his chin in challenge. That was Lucius.

And that was Granger with him, though she had the mass of hair under control, and she was .... He blinked. She was damned handsome, and becomingly, quite expensively, dressed. He would have expected neither of those things of the carelessly-robed schoolgirl who had scowled at him in Potions and then in Defence. She had demanded his recognition, and been furious at his denying it, even as she absorbed everything he said and showed, with an attention few students awarded him. Not that he had ever acknowledged the pleasure that gave him. She had shown little interest in anything but mental maturity, however. She never recognised that an adult would have tried to control or at least conceal her neediness, and she had paid little attention to creating the best possible impression. At the time he had been thankful to have only one intellectually-inclined Gryffindor on his hands. Now it looked as if she had grown up in all the ways he had despaired of, then.

He dragged his eyes back to Lucius, who was dangerous as even a mature Gryffindor could not be, and clearly in much better form, physical and mental, than when Severus had last seen him.

Lucius smiled at him. That was worrying. His peripheral vision told him Granger was smiling too, though differently, pleased and hopeful and worried together. Like her to be an over-achiever still, doing too many things at once.

It did not occur to him to Disapparate. Years of discipline in not doing magic before Muggles would have ensured that, but in any case there was seldom any point in trying to evade Lucius. Far better to say "No" at once, and stick to it for as long as necessary. At least nowadays Lucius had no lever to use on him.

What in Merlin's name was Granger doing with Lucius, though? What he read of her in the Daily Prophet, in the years since he had started watching the wizarding world again, didn't suggest she had become the type to be a wizard's petite amie, even if one was mad enough to take to bed the political whirling Dervish the Prophet claimed she was. Surely she was not deceived by Lucius's new Reconciliation "ideals", or by his charities, clearly selected to provide him with influence among young Slytherins and Muggleborns. Perhaps she thought she could use him, even as he surely anticipated using her. Severus let himself grin wryly at the thought. That might be something to see, from a sufficient distance. He didn't play with fire these days.

They were waiting for him to make a move, to acknowledge them. The longer he left it, the more sure Lucius would be that Severus felt uncertain in his company. That wouldn't do.

He nodded austerely. Let them come to him.

Granger started forward at once, though Lucius belatedly tried to hold her back. Then he smiled, a trifle wryly himself, and followed her.

She came close, but didn't intrude on his personal space.

"Sir, I am so pleased to see you - and to see you well." She spoke softly, the childish shrillness transmuted to a deeper, womanly tone that roused an alarm in his belly. He ignored it, trying to estimate her sincerity.

Since he did not respond she continued, undeterred. "We owe you so much. Not least, thanks, for all you did, and apologies, for all we did, and all we didn't do. Harry would never have succeeded, without your help."

A chance to put her in her place, though it was gratifying to be thanked so promptly, and indeed generously. "You were a child, and children are prone to folly," he said mildly.

She examined that only for a second, then wisely declined the gambit. He would always be twenty years her elder, after all. "And to insufficiently careful observation," she responded, as mildly as he.

More caustically he asked, "Do you now take a body's pulse, Miss Granger, before deciding it's a corpse?"

She didn't take offence. "I am a lawyer, and an amateur historian, not a Healer. Though if I ever have the misfortune to find another body, yes, I will take its pulse, and get out the dittany I carry, too, if I find a pulse and it's wounded."

"You are a politician," he corrected, and realised that in ten years he had become careless, unnecessarily betraying to her not only that he kept in touch with the wizarding world, but that he tracked her, and therefore Potter. She would guess that he probably watched the whole boiling of Muggleborns beginning to move into positions of growing influence, with the Minister's blessing, as well as people like Lucius Malfoy, whom any sane wizard would keep an eye on.

"I see, however," he went on, "that you are also an adult, as your reported activities have long suggested."

She smiled again, and he was astonished to see that there was unalloyed happiness in it. Did it mean so much to her, that he should accept her as mature - and by extension intelligent and thoughtful? As he did, suspecting he could have a better conversation with Granger than with many of his present Muggle associates. Not because they lacked intelligence. It must be because he and she shared a world, even though he had left it; she would know so much more about him than the best of these Muggles ever would. It wouldn't be wise for someone like Severus Snape to infringe the bloody Statute of Secrecy, however much it had been watered down, however much he was pardoned, commended, bemedalled and all. Posthumously, of course, and therefore safely.

Suddenly she seemed even more attractive. But that must be simply a matter of looking upon an adult and, yes, handsome witch, whereas looking at pretty Muggles in the street, from the shelter of a coffee shop, was an aesthetic pleasure, no more. And with her he would have the chance of conversation.

Merlin, he must be wandering in his wits after ten years away. Far better to talk to Lucius; he knew by heart the dangers there.

However, he wasn't going to invite them onto his territory, into his privacy.

"You wanted something, Lucius?" Sometimes one could disconcert Lucius by getting crudely to the point.

"Your company, my dear Severus."

Whatever that meant. Severus let a raised eyebrow speak for him.

Lucius stopped smiling. "I too owe you apologies, for past actions and inactions. You know of what I speak. But perhaps most especially for doing V... his last errand to you, leading you to your death - as I thought."

So Lucius still couldn't say "Voldemort". Probably neither could Severus, but he'd had no occasion to try, and at least he let himself think it, little though he bothered to, these days. These ten years of quiet security had done that for him, though probably giving all those raw memories to Potter had eased him more.

Unwontedly charitably inclined, Severus shook his head. "I needed to speak to Potter, and chance brought him to me then, in circumstances where he would listen to me." He smiled wintrily, a faint grimace. "I doubt if the boy would have done anything but turn on his heel, if he hadn't seen Voldemort -" there, he had managed it, let Lucius think on that "- set the snake on me. Put it behind you, Lucius. I'm sure your conscience is sufficiently well-regulated for that."

He surprised a mischievous smile on Granger's face, but didn't acknowledge it. Lucius wasn't looking at her, after all.

Lucius recovered his blasé air. "Your portrait's had a piece of me for it, often enough," he observed.

"What, they let you in to Hogwarts to chat with my facsimile, since Potter made so much fuss that the portrait was painted after all?"

"Was hung," Granger put in. "The castle produced the portrait a few days after you - after the Battle. That was when we decided you must be dead. But the Wizengamot wouldn't allow it to be hung in the Headmistress's office, not then. Minerva kept it in her rooms for three years, until Kingsley (and Harry too, of course, jumping up and down) wore them down. Kingsley and Harry got your pardon, your Order of Merlin - first class, in case you didn't know - and a scholarship fund for poor Slytherins in your name. After that the Wizengamot could hardly go on refusing to acknowledge that you had, indeed, been Headmaster of Hogwarts, and served it well."

Severus reflected that, no, more likely the castle created - or revealed - the portrait after Fawkes had brought him from the shelter of Dumbledore's tomb to the door of the Master's lodging, half-healed, thanks to bezoars and phoenix tears and Blood-Replenishing Potion, but still half-dead, too. He had certainly then looked the sixty years of age admission to the Hospital of St Cross required, not the under forty he was. He had been Muggle-dressed, wand concealed and Muggle papers in his pockets, with the acceptance letter that had come a month before. He had already half crumbled the paper by looking it at so often, never believing he would use it. Finding himself alive in reality, Severus had taken the road he had marked out for himself in fantasy, and slowly healed in truth, among kindly Muggles who respected his reserve.

So when Severus had left the wizarding world, Hogwarts had acknowledged the part he had played. It was truly consoling, to know that it wasn't just Potter's stubborn insistence, and the Wizengamot's indulgence of everyone's hero, that led to the portrait joining its fellows. He hoped it wasn't where his likeness could see Dumbledore's portrait, though; so soon, that would have been hard to take. Three years had not lessened his own revulsion, and would not have done much for the tranquillity of a portrait made at that moment, either.

It was good to know about the scholarship fund, too; the Daily Prophet had not reported that, as far as he could recall. Very appropriate.

When he looked up again, Lucius, who had courteously stayed silent while he thought, said, "No, I imagine it may be some time yet before Minerva McGonagall allows me into her office. I had a portrait painted, Severus, very true to life - and the Severus there is as crotchety and rude as ever you were. If not worse."

"So, how soon did you move it to the attic?"

"It's in my study," Lucius answered calmly. "Crotchety and rude he may be, but good sense can be had of him, if I'm patient. He's given me good advice, over the years, as well as someone to talk things over with, where I would not trouble Cissy or Draco."

Past events, Lucius doubtless meant, about which there would be few alive now to share reminiscences with. Severus would leave that to his portrait.

Lucius went on, "You have ten years experience on that Severus, and peace and comfort and, by the look of it, some company you find acceptable. I'm glad of it."

Neither of them asked how he had survived, how he had escaped; perhaps they thought that would be too intrusive, though they would undoubtedly both be interested. Severus alone, after all, shared with Potter the distinction of being someone Voldemort had not succeeded in murdering.

It was much easier than he would have expected, talking with Lucius, with all that history and all those betrayals between them. Perhaps Lucius and his portrait had talked that all out already.

And perhaps Granger's presence helped. He looked at her and enjoyed, again, the sight of her shining eyes, her clear skin and soft pink lips - and the delicate breasts outlined by her light silk jacket and the thinner silk camisole beneath it. She was slimmer than that schoolgirl had been, he thought, though with robes it could be difficult to judge, and he had never taken an interest in his students except as minds. Certainly her posture was better, and that faint air of anxiety no longer hung about her - so she too had found her place, where she was acknowledged. She wasn't any taller, though, and beside Lucius's height, and even his own, looked slight indeed.

It might be courteous to offer her a seat, if they were to continue talking, and he supposed they were. Lucius wanted more than a chat with an old friend, if he had gone to the trouble of commissioning a portrait, and still spoke with it frequently. She too would want something, no doubt, but her asking would be polite.

Still, he wouldn't have them in his flat. Not yet. Later, perhaps.

He looked about, momentarily uncertain. They couldn't have a confidential conversation at the tables where the café staff served visitors morning tea. Nor would there be privacy in the halls, or the church.

"Come into the garden; we may be private there, and comfortable."

Severus led off, but as they approached the entrance to the Master's garden he noticed Granger looking doubtfully at Lucius, and stopped. He cocked that useful eyebrow at Lucius again.

"We are not alone here. Don't think we have been hunting you, Severus; our coming was a family expedition, one of several Hermione has suggested. Just chance that we came here, however excellent a chance. Would you like to see Cissy, or Draco?"

After a moment Severus told the truth. "Yes, but later."

Granger scowled at Lucius minatorily. She hadn't changed completely, then, though she had perhaps learned some tact.

Lucius shrugged, and went on, "There are also Asteria - Draco's wife, the younger Greengrass girl - and the children. Three of them."

Severus managed not to flinch. They would not have grown to monsterhood yet, and they had parents whose duty it was to protect them; they need be no concern of his. "Draco has been busy."

"As have Cissy and I. The eldest, by a month or two, is our daughter. Irene."

"Which means peace," Severus said softly, noticing that Lucius gave it the original three syllables, emphasising its Greek origins.

While Lucius was never less than a political animal, perhaps the choice of name was a more trustworthy indicator of his current attitudes than his nominal Reconciliation political agenda.

Lucius seemed to be waiting for a criticism, but Severus said only, "What are Draco's children?"

Lucius relaxed. "The boy, Scorpius, is younger by a year; Evadne is their elder child."

Draco seemed to have chosen an even more outré name for his son, in the Blacks' star naming tradition, than Lucius had. He wouldn't comment on that; the child would just have to put up with the inevitable mockery, later. "Evadne is Greek also - but the Greengrass girls both have Greek names, so I suppose Asteria had the privilege of naming that one."

Lucius nodded.

Severus swung on Hermione Granger. "And you, any children with Weasley yet?"

She looked surprised for a moment. "Ron and I broke up years ago - though it's true we almost married."

"You showed more sense than I would have expected; he wasn't at all suited to you, but you clung obstinately."

"Nor was I a good match for him. I worked it out in the end. I'm not married; I've been in no hurry, since then. A witch has plenty of time to have children, longer than a Muggle has. I'll find a suitable partner to have them with some day, I expect."

So she did want children, not just think of them as the inevitable result of marriage. "While most witches have their children before going on to a career, or public service, a dedicated politician might start on the career first. Just don't harangue me, Miss Granger. I am not - a member of your constituency."

"You could be, if you wished. When I do in fact turn to politics. But I have no right to discuss such matters with you, unless you want to. Any public service I do will never approach yours."

Lucius struck at that. "There's nothing to stop you returning, Severus. You know you were pardoned, even applauded?"

"That was when they thought I was dead," he said shortly, moving into the garden and heading to the quadrant not occupied by Malfoys.

"You'd be welcomed back," Lucius persisted, as they reached a garden seat in front of a bed of pink and white hollyhocks and deep pink peonies, with white daisies at their feet.

Lucius automatically gestured to Granger to be seated. Severus sat so that she would be between him and Lucius. He couldn't help noticing that her silk suit matched the pink hollyhocks, lighter in colour than the peonies. Perhaps she was dressing so well to fit in with the Malfoys - or maybe it was automatic, for someone who was now consciously political and aware of how she looked at all times.

"No, I would not. I'd be an embarrassment to Minerva, a handicap to Shacklebolt, and no doubt an object of dislike to Potter. I don't need any of that."

"Potter has defended you assiduously for ten tears," Lucius remarked, "whenever some fool can't get past Dumbledore's end."

How delicately expressed.

"His murder, you mean," Severus corrected, deliberately blunt.

Granger put in, "I'm sure you know Muggles have a concept they call euthanasia - mercy killing. It's not a legal defence yet, but it will be, surely, some day. The wizarding world has accepted that that's what you did. Professor Dumbledore asked you for that, didn't he? The Wizengamot exonerated you from the charge of murder. The Headmaster was dying anyway. It never got into the papers, but I learned later that Kingsley asked a couple of senior Healers to examine his body, very privately. Either Dark magic or poison would have killed him, and soon, if you hadn't intervened, to make sure the mastery of that appalling wand went to someone who opposed Voldemort."

"Enough of ancient history," Lucius said briskly, which suggested he noticed more of Severus's discomfort that Severus would have liked.

Granger touched his hand briefly. "You served him, and us, against your own best interests. Let it go." So probably she had seen into him too.

Severus decided to take his stand on a flat refusal. "There is nothing I want in the wizarding world now."

"No?" Lucius, from his position behind Granger, made a gesture which said, explicitly, "You could have her."

Severus was both taken aback by the directness of the suggestion, and ambushed by a great light which seemed to spring up around the woman, illuminating for him that whether he could have her or not, he could want her, easily. He did want her. Fool. As if someone like her, young and attractive and with her mind on changing the world, would ever want him.

He let his astonishment show, just for a second or two, but she saw it, and swung round on Lucius in time to see him folding his hands placidly on his knee. Not for Lucius to betray guilt by haste or furtiveness.

"Lucius -" he began, his voice scraping over the rocks in his throat.

Lucius repeated, "You'd be welcome. To me, to my family, to the families of Slytherins who understand, now, what you saved them from; for that matter, to the Ministry. They might be glad to have a rational hero to refer people to, as a change from Potter."

"No!"

Granger said cheerfully, "I doubt if the Ministry's welcome would entice anyone back, never mind a man who values his privacy. Please, think about it, sir. Severus. Don't you miss magic? People to discuss it with, its charms and complexities, potions developments, the changes we're trying to make in education and law?"

Grittily he replied, "I am accustomed to little in the way of social intercourse or intellectual discourse. I have made myself content."

Then he heard what he had given away. Merlin, he was vulnerable in this woman's presence! It surely wasn't just that he hadn't spoken with a witch or wizard for ten years.

"But you could have both, and draw back when you wanted peace. People do harass Harry, even now, though not as they used to. I doubt many would have the boldness to tread where you didn't want them."

"Kind of you to compare my tongue to a thorn bush."

She had the hardihood to laugh at him, a little, before she resumed her gentle persuasions. "You could live as retired as you wished. We have few masters with your scholarship in Potions and the Dark Arts. You would grace those fields, or you could follow new interests."

Lucius put in, "You do know there's a stipend that goes with the Order of Merlin? Besides the Muggle funds that keep you comfortable here?" He added, "Miss Granger has explained to us that the pensioners of this almshouse are expected to support themselves, if not to contribute to the institution itself."

"Surely they spent that on the fund for needy Slytherin students, in the absence of a live body?"

"No," Granger answered. She smiled. "I don't know whether Kingsley was more optimistic than the rest of us, or better informed -" she tilted an eyebrow at him in something of his own manner, but he shook his head. "No? He suggested to the Wizengamot that the stipend be paid into a fund and allowed to accumulate for a natural wizard's lifespan, then used to fund the better teaching of History of Magic. They agreed."

He answered dryly, "Perhaps he, and they, thought such better teaching might be acceptable, a hundred years or so from now. Or they thought someone would find something better to do with the money."

"Yes, well." She shrugged. "I don't know if they'd make over the back pay, but if you returned I am reasonably confident you would get the stipend for your own use, hereafter."

"Or you and Potter would make a fuss until they gave in?"

"A clearly righteous cause will be much simpler than some I have taken up."

Lucius laughed. "You're quite right, Severus; she wears them down, and she has Potter well trained to campaign on demand. Not every time, you understand. Sometimes Potter is Shacklebolt's stalking horse."

He put a hand on Granger's shoulder and pressed her against the seat back so that he could meet Severus's eyes. "Come back, Severus," he said softly. "I have missed you, and would be happy to have your friendship again, not just the advice and conversation of your portrait."

That was surprisingly hard to resist, and when Severus looked towards the pond and saw Draco watching him secretly, the desire to know his protégé as a man grown was strong, too. And there was Granger herself. Whom he might, perhaps, begin to think of as Hermione. He could, at the very least, talk with her, which would please both of them; that Weasley never could was probably the main reason she wasn't married to him now. Lucius wasn't a fool, and didn't make impractical suggestions; he knew better than to rouse false expectations or the resentment they led to.

"I will think about it," he said, keeping his voice non-committal. "Lucius, call Draco over, if he's not totally occupied keeping the children out of the water. Someone should; it's deep enough for a small child to drown in."

Lucius rose. "I'll explain to Cissy and Asteria, too."

His glance at Severus suggested he thought Severus could find more useful matters to discuss with Hermione Granger than education and law, even here in public. And it was certainly possible, now Severus considered it further, that Hermione would value a good mind far above a pretty face or even a young and handsome body. In the last ten years he had tried not to limit his expectations as once he had done, and found Muggles surprisingly accommodating, even if sexual intimacy had never been among his aims. His body still seemed to work well enough, and the thought of being with a woman like this one was ripe with pleasant possibilities.

No doubt there would be vexations. She was undoubtedly as persistent as Lucius, and possibly even more convinced that she was right. She would talk endlessly, but so could he. Her sense of indebtedness could be used to keep her off balance, if that became necessary; just as he could be discreet and patient, if she showed any sign of being ready to accept him. There was, as she had said, plenty of time. Time to discover what she thought and what she might feel. Time in which social intercourse, ha, might become courtship, and more.

He looked at her, and she smiled at him again, warmly, encouragingly, and put her small hand lightly over his, just for a moment, as if to hearten him. Was it possible that she was already thinking what Lucius had induced him to think? She stood ready to protect him from Lucius and his outrageous demands. A sign of a completely new life, perhaps. Not that he couldn't handle Lucius, but to have Hermione's support and protection sometimes, instead of always offering it, might be satisfying.

He decided that it would be foolish indeed not to pursue everything possible, now he was a free man, with the possibility of a place in the real world as well as in this fantasy one that belonged to the Muggles.

ooo The Beginning ooo

End notes St Cross in Winchester, both church and 'hospital' (retirement home, in modern English), is real. (The hospital or refuge was dedicated to the Holy Cross; "St Cross" is a misunderstanding.) Real also is the depressing financial history of the Hospital (but I wouldn't recommend trying to wade through that, at the British History Online website). St Felec may or may not have been real, but you can look him and his talent up in Wikipedia. One for the wizarding world, I thought.

The phrase "Out of this world" normally means remarkable (or fantastic, in the slang sense) in modern English. "This world" is of course the wizarding world to Severus, whereas the Muggle world is the fantasy one.





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