Archive of Our Own ^beta

 To be completely honest: After surviving in the wilderness for almost a year, infiltrating the Ministry, and escaping Gringotts' goblins on a dragon, she hadn't expected first a letter and now a door to unsettle her so much.

 But here she was. In the middle of the dungeon corridor. And didn't dare knock.

 “Granger! Here to discuss your wedding plans?”

 Ugh! “Shut up, Malfoy!”

 “Or else what? You aren’t inviting us?” His entourage of sixth-years laughed and jeered, even after they’d proceeded further down the corridor.

 Further—but not too far to sic a little curse on Malfoy. Or rather, on his feet; he stumbled and fell flat on his face.

 Ha! Laugh at that!

 But they didn't. Instead, they helped their new-crowned ruler and almighty god back to his feet, and it was left to her alone to appreciate her sense of humour.

 Alas, she choked on her laughter as well when the door she hadn't dared knock on was suddenly yanked open. She whirled around the moment Snape recoiled. His surprise didn't last long, however; within two seconds, it turned into jet-black fury. “Miss Granger …”

 Oh, boy …

 “What are you doing here?”

 “I wanted to talk to you. Sir.” Preferably not out here in the corridor. Ever since the Ministry—literally!—had decided they had to get married within a fortnight, they’d been talked about enough at Hogwarts.

 “How is the Ministry even going to enforce this? I mean … it's a building!”

 “I don't know, Harry. I also don't know how a building can send letters or how it can lock everyone out, even the Minister himself. I don't know what magic they wove into this building or why they thought it was a clever idea. But the Ministry sent out those letters, just like it sent out summonses to all fugitive Death Eaters, and we know what happened to those who didn't answer the summons.” They had been found dead, brutally murdered by a form of magic no one in the magical world seemed to fully understand. “I'm not going to risk defying mine.”

 A conclusion which convinced Harry—but not Snape. He’d decided that he did not survive Nagini's attack only to be forced into a marriage with a student—and, to be honest there as well, she couldn't blame him.

 It had just been in vain. The fact that the hand he was now using to hold the door open was thickly bandaged and would not be holding a wand any time soon was a testament to both his determination and his failure.

 “Talk. Now?! Isn't it enough that tomorrow—” He folded his mouth shut, waiting for another cluster of students to pass by. “That we have to get married tomorrow?”

 She looked after the students. “I don't think we need to be careful about who is listening at this point, Professor.” Everyone knew. For the last thirteen days, the whole of magical Britain had declared this story the latest and most intriguing soap opera and meticulously recorded everything about it in the Daily Prophet, from the announcement to the last of Snape's fruitless attempts this morning.

 Rita Skeeter, of course.

 “The fact that everyone knows doesn't mean I want to talk about it in front of everyone. Or with you. Get lost!” He wanted to slam the door shut again, but Hermione managed to put her foot in.

 Stupid idea.

 “Ouch!”

 “Miss Granger, I'm warning you …”

 “You can warn me all you want, I'm still going to be your … wife tomorrow.” Ugh, saying it out loud is so weird. “And considering what the castle has done to the other forced married couples …” Beds had disappeared from the dormitories, passwords changed, access denied.

 Instead, there were couples’ rooms on the third floor now. She had long since given up any hope of being able to enter the Gryffindor common room again tomorrow. Her trunk was packed, her part of the wardrobe in the dormitory was empty, the bed looked as if it hadn't been used at all this year. The castle was obviously in cahoots with the Ministry, and Merlin alone knew what the goal was.

 “Tomorrow is the keyword. Shouldn't you be spending your last night of freedom with Mr Weasley?”

 Ouch.

 “Ron's decided it's better for both of us if we don't see each other for the time being.”

 “Really?” For about three seconds, Snape seemed so surprised he even opened the door an inch wider. “How unexpectedly … reasonable.”

 Given that these forced marriages came with strings attached, one of which was fidelity, it indeed seemed sensible to keep their distance until this matter was resolved. Until someone had regained access to the Ministry and these ridiculous marriages had been annulled. But that didn't change the fact that she felt betrayed. She hadn't spent three years trying to get Ron interested and win him over only to go no contact after five months! Honestly, it wasn't as if she had chosen this marriage. Or was planning to stay married to Snape. It would … just be a phase they had to get through. And yes, seeing each other when they couldn't really be together would probably hurt more than radio silence, but it wouldn't feel as if Ron had run off a second time to leave her alone with Harry.

 And with Snape.

 Who was now tapping his foot impatiently.

 “Anyway,” she muttered, “I've got nothing else to do tonight but think about what's going to happen tomorrow and the weeks after and that we'll probably have to share accommodation and … a bed … and—”

 “Stop talking, Miss Granger.” His voice vibrated from something he was trying to control so hard that he even clenched his injured hand into a fist. “For Merlin's sake, shut up for once!”

 The last words of her sentence crumbled under Snape's gaze, as usually only did Neville's self-confidence. But she found new ones. “What good would that do? You've been trying to stop this for a fortnight, and it's led to nothing but that.” She pointed to his bandaged hand. “Don't you think it's time to accept this for now? Nobody knows how long it will take for the Ministry to reopen. And we'll have to get on with each other for that time, whether we like it or not. I think we should do it with as much dignity and respect for each other as possible.”

 “Dignity,” he sneered.

 A tone of voice that was already giving her a headache. So, this was how she would be spending her evenings soon? Either alone in the library or in the company of a man whose every other sentence would remind her what an imposition this state of things was for him? Great … Exactly what she’d imagined.

 But what else had she expected? It was Snape after all!

 “You know what? Forget it.” Holding her chin up a little higher than usual, she whirled around and stuffed the piece of paper she’d thought she would spend the evening with deeper into her pocket.

 She heard his sigh first.

 Then, “Wait!”

 “Why? You've made your point abundantly clear, sir!” She didn't even stop to look at him.

 “Miss Granger!”

 “What?”

 But before he could respond, the Bloody Baron floated through the wall. His ghostly glow bathed the corridor in a pale grey light, causing Snape in his dark robes to look like a black hole. “Far be it from me to interfere in your affairs, Professor, but I think it would be more appropriate if you would hold your first … marital feud somewhere else than in the corridor. At least if you don't want to be the topic of any more rumours.”

 Ha!

 Her little bout of smugness shattered against the wall that was Snape's face. “You really would do better to stay out of these … affairs, Baron.”

 The ghost scrutinised him for a long five seconds. Then he bowed his head. “As you wish, Professor!” He disappeared through the next wall.

 “And you …” Now that Snape's face was hidden by semi-darkness again, she couldn't tell the nature of his gaze; his tone, however …

 Uh-oh … 

 “In here! Now!”

 In case there had been anyone who hadn't noticed their dispute so far, the slamming of the door was undoubtedly informing them, loud enough to be heard up in Gryffindor Tower. Even the jars with all the preserved ingredients, animals and other curiosities on the shelves along the walls rattled.

 “What do you want from me, Miss Granger?”

 “I just want to talk!”

 “About what?”

 “About us.”

 “Excuse me?! There is no us!”

 “But tomorrow there will be!”

 “That won't be an us, that will be a farce! An imposition beyond imagination! Impertinence, that's what it will be!”

 “But it doesn't have to be!”

 “Don't be ridiculous. I refuse to put any more energy into this nonsense than absolutely necessary.”

 Nonsense? Okay, wow … “I see. Then why exactly did you stop me? You obviously don’t care one bit that you won't be the only one suffering from this nonsense!”

 “You invited half the castle to this discussion!”

 “Wrong! I knocked and asked to talk to you! You were the one who was too stubborn to let me in!”

 “I'll have to let you in soon enough!”

 Oh, you … you … “Know what? I've had enough! I'm leaving! This isn’t getting us anywhere! Not with a stubborn, misanthropic, obnoxious person like you! The Ministry should have married you off to Madam Pince!”

 “Oh, really? Well, the way you're behaving, you were already well off with Weasley!”

 “Yes, I was!” So loud that her voice was cracking, a sound that apparently startled Snape enough to slightly baulk at it. “I was perfectly off with Ron! I've waited three years for him to realise that only to lose him now because of this! Because of a farce, an imposition, impertinence, because of nonsense! And you're not even trying to make it any easier!” Something tickled on her cheek. Something that she only recognised as tears when she wiped them away. “Bugger …” She turned and gritted her teeth, forcing back her anger and searching for one last shred of dignity.

 She had to pull herself together. If she let Snape get to her like this even now, how was she going to get through the next few weeks and possibly months? She had to distance herself from it, from him and everything this marriage would be. If she allowed it to become personal, then—

 “I'm sorry.”

 … What?

 Had he really said those words or had she just imagined it? Perhaps wishful thinking, delirium or hallucinations? Slowly, like the murderer in every blockbuster she had ever seen, only without the psychopathic smile, she turned round. “Excuse me?”

 Snape was doing some strange things with his face, as if the words had slipped underneath his skin and he was trying to shove them back into his mouth. “I said I am sorry.”

 So no hallucination. No delirium, no wishful thinking.

 Or was it?

 “Are you serious?”

 “Don't push it, Miss Granger.”

 Huh.

 “Well …” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “What did you want to talk about?”

 Before she was able to follow him down this new path he'd suddenly—and suspiciously meekly—taken, she stared at him until the twitch of his eyebrow gave her a mental kick. “Erm …” What had she come here for? Oh, right. “I found something and thought it might help us to …”

 “To … what?”

 Oh, boy … When she'd found the list of questions in a magazine in the British Library, she'd thought it was a good idea. They'd both show a bit of themselves, nothing too intimate, just a bit of … small talk.

 Well, according to the article that had accompanied the questions, a study had found that a striking number of people who had answered these questions openly had fallen in love with each other … But that wouldn't happen to her and Snape! Those people had met from a neutral point and built on it. Snape and she were so far in the red with their relationship that they would achieve neutrality at best.

 At best!

 But she probably still shouldn't tell him where she'd found those questions. The way he was looking at her … The way their conversation had gone so far …

 No, definitely not.

 It would probably be best if she aborted the whole thing and retreated. Snape's mood was even worse than she’d expected. That vein on his forehead was swollen again, as thick as a baby's finger, and his lips were getting paler and paler as he pressed them together tightly. Ugh, and she was going to be living with him … 

 “Miss Granger!”

 “Yes!” What was she supposed to do? Carry on? Cancel? Cancel? Carry on?

 Help … 

 Which she unexpectedly found in the sound of his sharp intake of breath that was pushing the first domino and caused all the words that had been pent up behind her clenched teeth to tumble out at once. “Togettoknoweachotheralittleandtotreateachotherwithsomekindness.”

 There it was. She had said it.

 But the following silence was so all-encompassing and thick that she just had to hold her breath.

 What would he do now? Laugh at her? Throw her out? Yell at her? Give her detention?

 Oh-oh … He was pinching the bridge of his nose again. That didn't bode well.

 “That … was a stupid idea. I should go, I'm sorry I disturbed your evening. Sir! I'll um … see you tomorrow and—” Stop babbling! “Good night, sir!”

 “Wait …”

 It wasn't an order, not even a request, and yet she froze mid-motion, one hand hovering in front of the door handle, not daring to move. Like a stupid rabbit facing a fox, thinking not moving would save its life.

 Shit …

 “What did you find?”

 Huh? “Sir?”

 “You said you found something that could help us. What did you find, Miss Granger?”

 Oh! “Questions. Sir … A um … list of questions. Small talk, mostly. I um thought if we had a little chat, then … it wouldn't feel as much like I'm going to—”

 He mockingly raised an eyebrow. “Marry your teacher?”

 Oh, boy … “Yes.”

 An expression she knew only too well crept onto his pale, haggard face: He was about to deduct points from Gryffindor. Lots of points. And he would sheath the deduction in some insulting words, words that would cause Malfoy to laugh his arse off if he were here to hear them. Three … two … one—

 “Let me see.”

 “What?”

 “The questions, Miss Granger! Focus!” He held out his hand and made an expectant gesture with his fingers.

 “Oh! Of course!” The list nearly tore as she pulled it from her pocket. And after handing it to Snape, she had to fight the urge to bite her nails. She’d stopped doing that. Sometime between breaking into the Ministry and escaping on the dragon. Ugh, she should have got a calming potion from Madam Pomfrey before—

 Wait a minute.

 Why was she so nervous? She'd done worse than this! Hell, she'd been tortured! A few insults from Snape were a joke compared to that!

 By the time he had finished skimming the list, she’d straightened back up, arched her back and lifted her chin. If he refused now, she would leave with her head held high, knowing that she had tried her best to let the disaster that was looming tomorrow ruin both their lives as gently as possible. She would have nothing to blame herself for, and she would let him know how silly, childish and ridicul—

 “Fine.”

 Excuse me?

 “Sit down.”

 Oh. “Okay.” She walked to his desk, her legs feeling like they were made of rubber despite all hyping up only a moment ago. The almost empty, dark brown and mirror-smooth tabletop looked at her like she was a bad joke, and even the single quill on the left side, neatly aligned parallel to the edge of the desk, seemed to laugh at her.

 It wasn't until Snape's robe almost brushed against her shoe as he walked past her and took a seat on the other side that she snapped out of her thoughts. But then, as he looked at her, probably as painfully reminded of being her teacher as she had been about being his student, he called out, “Madry!”

 A house elf appeared beside them with a plop. “Master Snape, sir?”

 “Bring us a pot of tea and … a snack, please.”

 “Of course, sir!”

 The elf had almost disappeared again when he called her name again. “I'm serious! A snack! Not a five-course meal!”

 What … Was that … Was Madry smiling?

 It certainly looked like it, even though she tried to conceal it with a bow. “Tea and a snack, very well, Master Snape, sir!” Then she disappeared for good.

 And Hermione blinked so hard it made her dizzy before a slight cough drew her attention back to her future—

 Nope. She couldn't even think that word.

 Anyway, he pushed his chair back a little and crossed one leg over the other, a glint in his eye that was either amused or businesslike, she wasn't entirely sure. “Well, who's starting?”

 Businesslike, definitely. Or no, more like … 

 Like Ron, when he'd chosen the white pawn.

 Ugh, I hate chess … “You.”

 He seemed to like her answer—damn!—because a smile curled the corners of his mouth. Then he put the list of questions on the table and pushed it towards her.

 “What um …”

 “If you want me to start answering the questions, it's your job to ask them. Or has something about conducting a conversation changed during the last few months?”

 “No.” And nothing had changed about the way she reacted to Snape's questions either. If anything, it had got worse since she'd seen him bleed to death in the Shrieking Shack and knew why he'd been working for the Order: Her cheeks were getting as hot as if she had a sunburn. Great. She cleared her throat. “Um … Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?”

 She’d barely finished the last word when Madry's return startled her so much that she almost jumped from her chair.

 Which startled the elf so much that she nearly dropped the tray.

 Which startled Snape so much that he suddenly had his wand in hand. In his left. That obviously was no problem.

 Holy shit!

 She stared at him for a couple of seconds, her eyes probably as huge as saucers, then the wand disappeared again.

 “The t-tea, Master Sir,” Madry mumbled meekly, setting the tray down on the desk. Now the quill was askew.

 But when Snape noticed Hermione’s look, he straightened it before asking, “Didn't I say a snack?” Nothing in the way he asked it was indicating that he’d just acted as if Voldemort himself had Apparated along with Madry.

 “Sir didn't say whether a sweet or savoury snack, a cold or hot one, sir,” the elf piped. In addition to the pot of tea, milk and sugar, she’d also brought a bowl of scones and another one holding clotted cream, a plate of small sandwiches and an additional one with beans on toast that were steaming a little, one with some delicious-looking flapjacks, and, last but not least, a bowl of fruit.

 “Because I didn't think that would be necessary,” he said in a dark voice and the elf, relaxed and in a good mood as of yet and doubtlessly only daring to deliberately misinterpret Snape's order because of that, ducked her head and drooped her ears.

 “Sorry, Master Sir,” she breathed and disappeared.

 Snape clicked his tongue. “I hope you're hungry.”

 “Um …” Actually, her stomach felt like it was sewn shut right now, but that was probably another piece of information she was better keeping to herself. “Sure.” Uneasily, she reached for a flapjack and bit a tiny piece of the soft oat bar before realising that she didn't know where to put the bitten pastry now. On the smoothly polished desk surface? Absolutely not!

 Snape commented on her distress with an annoyed look and handed her one of the napkins Madry had hidden behind the plate of sandwiches.

 “Thank you.” He watched her, eyes narrowed as if she was trying to cheat on one of his tests, right under his nose. She began to sweat. “So, um … who would you like to have as a dinner guest?”

 His gaze jerked from her hands to her eyes.

 “Sir!”

 He exhaled sharply. “Save that. I would invite Gribkov Milomir Vadimovich.”

 She breathed a sigh of relief. “Who's that?”

 “One of the most successful Potions Masters of our time. No one has ever seen him, let alone talked to him. Every few years, he publishes a ground-breaking scientific paper, and I'd like to ask him a few questions about some of them.” The wrinkles on his forehead smoothed out a little as he spoke.

 And she would have loved to ask him what questions he would ask that man and where she could find the papers he was talking about. And why she had never heard of this man, who sounded so fascinating! But she didn't dare. Maybe later. “I can imagine,” was the only thing she said, forcing a non-committal smile.

 “And you?”

 Oh. Right, she had to answer the questions as well. “Um …” The person, or rather persons, who came to her mind first were her parents. Who no longer knew that they were her parents. She would love to simply spend an evening with them, chat and find out if they were all right. If they were happy. If it had been the right decision to send them off to—

 But she couldn't talk about them without crying. Even now, tears prickled at the corners of her eyes. She needed someone else. Someone harmless but credible, someone who—

 “Stephen Hawking.”

 Which was only marginally better than her parents, because in her mind, Stephen Hawking was inextricably linked to her dad. Her dad, who had been the only person who had shared her fascination with Stephen Hawking and had gladly listened to her talk about his work for more than five minutes. Her dad, who no longer knew that he was her dad and perhaps no longer knew that he had ever been fascinated by Stephen Hawking and—

 But that was something she didn't want to talk about either, not with Snape, not sixteen hours before they had to get married, and he knew it.

 He—knew—that!

 All the years she’d sat in his classes, she had wondered not only how he knew such things (Legilimency, that secret she’d unravelled more than two years ago), but also how she could tell that he knew something, and suddenly it was right there: the tiny twitch in the corner of his eye. That millisecond when his crow's feet wrinkles were a bit deeper than usual.

 Fascinating … 

 “Fascinating.”

 What?! “Um, excuse me?”

 “Your answer, Miss Granger. What's the next question?” This time, his eyebrows twitched.

 And yet she could hardly take her eyes off his face to look at the list of questions. What had just happened? Had he read the word in her mind and—

 But that wasn't how Legilimency worked, was it? It wasn't mind-reading, it was more—

 Snape groaned. “Will you go on anytime soon, or are you planning on sitting here all night?”

 “Sorry.” She lowered her eyes. “Would you like to be famous? And if so, in what way?”

 “No.”

 “No?”

 “No.”

 “Why not?”

 “In case you've missed it: I've got my fair share of unwanted fame in the last few months, and that was anything but entertaining. Or do you like seeing your face on the front page of the Daily Prophet every other day?”

 “No, but that's another kind of fame. We are famous because of our role in the war. But being famous because of achievements, academic achievements …” She shrugged her shoulders.

 “That's called success. I have nothing against being successful in my field, but I certainly don't want to be famous.”

 She smiled wryly. “So you'd do it like Vadimovich?”

 “If I still had the choice …” His gaze lingered on her face for a moment. Then he reached for the teapot, so suddenly that she winced yet again, only this time not as obviously. “I take it you have no objections to academic fame then?” he asked as he poured himself a cup and looked at her questioningly.

 “Thanks, please,” she murmured, hoping that his questioning look had really been about the tea and not the question he had asked her. “And um … yes, that's right. I'd like to be recognised for my academic achievements.” The current charade, on the other hand … She could only agree with him. Annoying as diarrhoea.

 “Well, your chances of achieving the kind of fame you crave would have been decidedly higher having Mr Weasley at your side.” He pushed the cup towards her and leaned back again. But now he no longer looked as if he was partaking in a good game of chess, but as if he’d been told that his victory would be one hundred per cent at her expense.

 And that was probably true.

 Without her wanting to, her brain envisioned what the next few years of her life would probably look like if the Ministry didn't reopen and this marriage wasn't annulled. For one thing, she would have to find a new career because her plan had been to work for the Ministry and climb up the greasy pole until she could do good in the magical world. For another thing, she would become a 'wife of' and that thought hurt even more than reorienting herself professionally.

 “No potion is drunk as hot as it is brewed,” Snape tore her from her thoughts and met her gaze.

 “No.” She cleared her throat and looked down at the questions. “Before making a—Oh, that refers to phone calls.”

  “So?”

  She smiled awkwardly. “Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say?”

 “No, never.”

 “Do you even do phone calls?”

 “No. I prefer face-to-face conversations. Still, I’d decide what to say on the spur of the moment.”

 I bet you do …

 “And you?”

 Hermione thought about it as she finally drank some of her tea. “I've never had to make any phone calls that I've had to prepare for. Mostly I've just—” … phoned my parents at the surgery. She cleared her throat. “Never mind. I think I’d probably be someone who would rehearse, yes. At least how I want to start the conversation.” Glancing down at her paper, she noticed a word behind the question she had just answered. “Oh, there's a second part to that question.”

 “Oh?”

 She nodded. “Why?”

 “Why I don't?”

 She nodded again.

 “Because I've learnt that preconceived words and plans make you inflexible. Life doesn't follow a plan, other people never say what you want them to say. If I don't have a plan, I don't have to let go of one before I can react.”

 “That … makes sense.”

 “Did you expect anything else?” Something smouldered in his eyes, something between challenge and amusement.

 “No, not really.”

 Snape ended the moment with a deep breath. “That you would go into a conversation with pre-formulated sentences was exactly what I expected as well.” He plucked a grape from the vine but only held it in his hand as he proceeded, “I bet you even had five different versions for every essay you had to write.” Then he finally popped it into his mouth.

 “Three,” she corrected him, piqued, “and what's wrong with that? I like to give the best possible performance, and that's never the first version.”

 “Because you're insecure.”

 “What?!”

 “Don't act so indignant, Miss Granger. We all had a good laugh about the boggart that cost you a perfect grade in your third year. The idea that someone could tell you that you're less than perfect is what’s keeping you awake at night.”

 Arsehole! “Actually, it's Bellatrix Lestrange's face that’s keeping me awake, hovering five centimetres above mine, but feel free to keep your illusions, sir.”

 Snape froze as she so lightly pulled the rug from under his mental feet, and the grape he was now trying to swallow seemed to stick in his throat.

 “What would constitute a ‘perfect’ day for you?”

 “Miss Granger—”

 “WHAT—would constitute a ‘perfect’ day for you?” She looked him firmly in the eye, unbothered if he could glance into her mind. Unbothered if she couldn't fool him into thinking she didn't care. She wouldn't let him apologise. Not this time. If she had to marry him, then he would make as much of an effort as she would—and taking a second to consider what the words you were about to say would trigger in the other person wasn't too much to ask.

 But the silence stretched uncomfortably, felt like several minutes, although it probably was only ten seconds or so. He held her gaze and could surely read goodness knew what in it before he looked away first. “There are no perfect days.”

 Hermione exhaled deeply. “I couldn't agree more. When did you last sing to yourself? And to someone else?” She laughed softly, took another bite of her flapjack and leaned back, curious to see what his answer to these questions would be for the first time since she'd sat down in that chair.

 Snape scowled at her. “I do not sing. Not ever. Not for me, not for anyone else.”

 “Not even in the shower?”

 “No. Does anyone ever do that? Do you do it?”

 “No. Not anymore, anyway. I used to sing when I was taking a bath as a child.” And her mum had sung along while she washed her hair.

 “Touching,” Snape commented, though it sounded anything but. “And when did you last do it? And for whom?” Now the same sardonic amusement she’d just felt curled the corners of his mouth.

 “I can't remember. Music is so absent from the magical world that I've completely lost touch with it.” She shrugged and took a sip of tea, mainly so she wouldn't have to look Snape in the eye. Because the truth was: she’d sung for her parents after she’d altered their memories. My Girl. They had been unconscious, drugged by a potion, and that song had been her farewell. But wild hippogriffs couldn’t drag her to tell that.

 She smoothed out the paper and read through the next question. “Mh, I need to adjust the ages here. If you were able to live to the age of … say 200 years, and retain either the mind or body of a 30-year-old for the last 100 years of your life, which would you want?”

 It was only when Snape remained silent for an unusually long time that Hermione raised her eyes—and felt almost physically struck by his. “Tell me, Miss Granger … why exactly are we doing this?”

 Bugger. “What do you mean, sir?”

 “Didn't you bring these questions so we could … get to know each other better?”

 “Um … yes?”

 “Then why are you lying to me? Repeatedly.”

 “I’m not lying!”

 “Lie.”

 What?! “Is this an interrogation or what? Why don't you get some Veritaserum if you want to hear the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?” The crackling of the list in her hands was like the murmur of a jury. She should tear it up! And leave! Actually, she should’ve done that earlier already! He could hardly expect her to bare her entire soul to him! As if he would do that! Arsehole!

 “Maybe I should get some Veritaserum …”

 “What?!” Nothing was keeping her in her chair. “You can't be serious!”

 Snape looked up at her, unaffected. “I’m not.” He narrowed his eyes slightly. “But I don't see the point of this … conversation if you're going to swap the truth for a more pleasant option or even outright lie to me on a whim.”

 “As if you answered every question truthfully!”

 “Oh, but I did.” The look on her face seemed so dumbfounded that he felt the necessity to emphasise his statement by raising his eyebrows. “I've lied so much that it's enough for more than one lifetime. Something like this—” He pointed to the crumpled list in her hand. “—isn't worth one more lie to me.”

 Oh.

 “The question is, why are you, Miss Granger, suddenly resorting to lies so recklessly? Especially about something that was your idea. Did you not read through the questions beforehand?”

 Her mouth was so dry that she had to rub her tongue against the roof of her mouth before she could, still hoarse, reply, “Yes, I did.”

 “But you didn't expect me to play along,” Snape concluded, “You thought you could turn up here with that list, pretend to be the more adult and sensible of the two of us, and then rest comfortably knowing that you did everything you could to put this unhappy marriage on a reasonably stable footing without having to make yourself vulnerable.”

 She didn't have to answer, her body did, pumping about three litres of blood into her cheeks.

 “I'd say I was sorry to disappoint your expectations, but that would be a li,e and as we've just established, I'm not keen on lying anymore.” He interlaced his fingers as far as his bandage would allow, smug as he was. “But I'm offering you to end this here. Take the last remnants of your dignity and respect for me and yourself and go back to Gryffindor Tower for this last night to lick your wounds.”

 She stood in front of Snape's desk for what felt like an eternity, feeling as if his words had let the air out of a balloon that all this time had been swelling her chest like rotten food you ate out of kindness and that refused to stay down. His words were the antacid for that heartburn, but when the turmoil subsided, a thought emerged that she hadn't expected: And then?

 Yes, she could leave now and forget this evening and its questions, never talk about it again and pretend it never happened. But she would still have to marry Snape tomorrow, and they would still have to live together afterwards, probably here in his rooms, and she would still see his desk every day and her failure and cowardice that would sit at it, comfortable like a distant aunt who was overstaying her welcome, and she would still know what had happened despite all pretending. She would know he was a better person than she was because he hadn't pretended to open up to her only to lie instead. And that would gnaw at her. She knew herself too well to have any illusions about that.

 “No.” Her legs buckled and she fell back into her chair. “No, I'm staying. And I … will be honest.”

 Snape nodded slowly, looking neither particularly disappointed nor particularly pleased with her decision. “Well, who was the last person you sang for, Miss Granger?”

 She looked down into her lap and smoothed the paper over her thigh as she let wilder hippogriffs drag her to say, “For my parents. After I … altered their memories.” And when the paper was as smooth as it would get after everything she'd done with it, after the words were spoken and she'd wiped another tear from her cheek, she raised her eyes. “So … the body or mind of a 30-year-old?”

 For a moment, there was something in Snape's eyes that she didn't know how to interpret, then a mild mockery returned. “Do I really have to answer that? That might be one of the few questions we both know we will answer identically for the same reasons.”

 “Touché.” She smiled a shaky smile and was surprised when he returned it briefly. Surprised and suddenly so uncomfortable she reached for the next question like Draco Malfoy for the most obvious insult. “Do you …” Oh, bugger … That question wasn't going to give her the emotional respite she craved. She cleared her throat again. “Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?”

 Snape took a deep breath and put his previously crossed leg back on the floor, moving closer to the table and taking a scone with pointed fingers as he said, “I had one. But to everyone's surprise, myself included, I survived.” He dissected the scone with the same care he used to cut up ingredients: so that no significant piece of it was destroyed and none went to waste. Hermione couldn't remember ever seeing anyone handle a scone like that. But Snape's next words distracted her. “Now I have no hunch anymore. Just the hope that it will be … more peaceful when it happens.”

 Holy shit … He’d really meant it when he said he was honest.

 Suddenly, the conversation felt like something Hermione had never consented to. Far too personal and exposing. And far too real after she’d seen Snape bleed to death. Or rather, had believed that he was. One of the most fatal mistakes of her life, and right now that—along with the unexpected intimacy—piled up to something that made her say, “Well, it probably won’t be an um … snake … again …” And the meaning reached her mind much later than the words left her mouth. Shit. “Sorry.”

 Again Snape scrutinised her with that look that was crawling under her skin and finding words and truths there that she wasn't even aware of herself. That look that made her want to pull her cloak up higher and cross her arms in front of it.

 “It probably won’t be a madwoman with a knife either.”

 Ouch.

 But she deserved that. “No, probably not … And since my grandmother on my mother's side had dementia in her old age, I might not even notice it, no matter what it ends up being.” She shrugged her shoulders, smiling fleetingly as if it had been a moderately funny joke.

 “I thought we'd just decided that we'd both keep the mind of a 30-year-old.”

 “Right, then um … I guess that's not going to happen.” Merlin, can we please change the subject? Next question, now! “Name three things you and um … me appear to have in common.” She and the office and probably a few of the preserved specimens in the jars on the shelves breathed a sigh of relief as if air had suddenly flowed back into these four walls that had been sucked out by a past coming too close to bear.

 “You and I are aware of the fact that we don't have much in common. You and I have received more publicity in the last two weeks than we ever wanted. And you and I want to see the Ministry burn.” He lifted up a piece of the scone as if he were raising a glass to her before popping it into his mouth.

 And despite this whole absolutely ridiculous and unreal situation, she had to laugh. Only briefly, because it would quickly become bitter and would turn into more tears if she didn't stop it in time, but she got her act together. She tilted her head and looked up into the right-hand corner of the room while she thought. “You and I … would prefer a good book over any party. You and I have been called a swot more times than we can count. You and I …” Should she? Why not? What did she have to lose? “You and I are trying to give as little satisfaction as possible to the Ministry and anyone watching this with glee.” She lifted her chin a little because that very thought had driven her to come here earlier. During the last two weeks, she hadn't been able to go anywhere without someone sniggering, pointing a finger at her, or mocking her outright; really, Malfoy's cut earlier had been on the harmless side of what she'd had to endure, from him and many others. Alone.

 And she begrudged them that satisfaction! She begrudged all those idiots the slightest bit of satisfaction! Leading this marriage, as unwelcome and unwanted as it was, with respect and with their heads held high for as long as it would last was the only thing they could do to own this situation. 

 Maybe her thoughts had been reflected in her eyes or all over her face because Snape stopped chewing, slightly raised his eyebrows and nodded once, very deliberately. As if this was an agreement, an oath they were only making between themselves and not in front of a building that had been given too much autonomy between the Middle Ages and today for reasons no one, not even Portrait Dumbledore, understood.

 Snape broke the moment by standing up abruptly. “Would you like a scotch as well?”

 “Um … Sure, why not?” Could only help, looking at the questions that were still to come. While Snape pulled the cork out of a bottle and poured them a drink, she pressed her cold hands against her heated cheeks. “Thank you,” she murmured as he set a glass down in front of her, getting so close that his smell hit her nose. A smell that, after six years of classes, was so deeply associated with a warning, a demerit or an embarrassment that she instinctively ducked her head.

 He didn't seem to notice, circled the table and sat back down. “I suppose we'll have to get used to the idea of calling each other by our first names because I refuse to call you Mrs Snape, and sticking with Miss Granger will no doubt lead to that kind of satisfaction you just spoke about. So, Hermione …” Her name rolled off his tongue and, to her horror, as goosebumps further down her spine. “To the pride!”

 Oh—my—god. She almost knocked the glass off the table. “To the pride,” she repeated, gathering her courage to add, “Severus.” She put the glass to her lips, intending to just sip the scotch because she'd never had anything stronger than elf-made wine, but for some reason, she opened her mouth too wide and it was a big gulp that suddenly washed over her tongue. And because she couldn't very well spit it back into the glass, she swallowed it and … fuck! She began to cough and half-blindly replaced the glass with her teacup. Ugh, that's disgusting!

 Snape's laughter didn't make it any better.

 “Not funny!”

 “From over here, it is. What's the next question?”

 Coughing, she wiped a few tears of a very different origin from the corners of her eyes before clearing her throat once more and looking down at the note again. “Um … For … what in your life do you feel most grateful?”

 It was the first time Snape took some seconds to answer a question. That crease reappeared between his eyebrows, and he stroked his thumb over the white bandage, lost in thought. “For my stubbornness,” he finally said. “Which is also the thing I hate the most, if that's one of the next questions.”

 “It's not.”

 “Pity.” He tipped his glass on its side and looked at the scotch climbing up the inside like liquid fire, leaving an oily film. “It's got me into a lot of trouble, but I wouldn't be here without it. I suppose that deserves some gratitude.”

 She gulped involuntarily, and maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was using his first name, maybe it was because some feelings wore thin when they persisted for too long, started to feel kind of hollow and pale, but that unusually open, honest answer already made her feel less uncomfortable than his previous ones. Instead, she felt privileged. Because she was allowed to witness that openness and had never expected it. She had the sudden urge to thank him for it, but pushed it away. That would be strange, wouldn't it? Yes. Maybe later. Maybe when they said goodbye.

 Snape's look confirmed her decision. As if he had become painfully aware of his own openness, he suddenly seemed warier than before. As if for the first time, he was reaching a limit with his own demand for honesty, as if he’d pulled up a few walls.

 Understandably, she thought and nodded, getting a mocking half-smile in response.

 While he finished his scotch, hers went straight to her head and made her legs hum while she thought about her own answer. What was she most grateful for? Well, mostly that everyone she loved had survived the war. They had lost some good people and she’d mourned many of them, still did; but everyone she truly loved had survived.

 But after Snape's answer just now, that seemed too … impersonal? It was an answer that was absolutely unassailable without her really having to open up about the question. It was an answer for a job interview. But Snape had set the bar much higher and it seemed unfair to worm her way out of this with such an answer.

 When she finally looked him in the eye again, however, she was so overwhelmed by their intensity that she briefly forgot what she’d wanted to say.

 Unbelievable … 

 “Um … I think I'm most grateful for my parents being Muggles. For learning to do things the Muggle way before I learnt to do them magically. For the fact that the Muggle world will always be a plan B for me because I'm just as familiar with that world as I am with the magical one. And for the fact that I had a good enough basic education in maths to understand Arithmancy easily.”

 “Is there anything you didn't understand easily?”

 “Divination.”

 “There's nothing to understand about Divination. It's a class for dreamers and hypochondriacs. You either have the gift or you don't.” He slipped his wand into his hand and summoned the scotch bottle, non-verbally, despite having to use his left hand, pouring himself a refill, just a little. “I take it you've had enough?”

 “More than.” Her face was burning and her whole body buzzing, just not in a pleasant way.

 “Then read out the next question.”

 “If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?”

 He groaned softly. “That's really on the list, yes?”

 “Um, yeah.” As if to prove it to him, she lifted it but didn't know if Snape could even read it at that distance.

 “How did I miss that this was going to turn into a bloody therapy session?”

 Although he didn't seem to expect an answer, running his hands over his eyes and speaking more to the tabletop than to her, she suggested, “We can skip the question.”

 “Or lie.”

 Ugh. “Yes, or that.” Sometimes, lying just was the better option. Friendlier. More gracious. Either to yourself or to others.

 Snape looked at her with an inscrutable expression.

 “Or we can end this,” she broke the silence when she couldn’t bear it any longer. “We should be able to treat each other with respect now and present a united front.”

 “No.”

 Huh? “What do you mean?”

 “I mean, we're not going to end this now. Not after you've wormed your way out of pretty much every question with some half-baked lie or Miss Perfect answer!”

 Excuse me?! “I did not!”

 He raised an eyebrow.

 “Well, I may not have always said the first thing that came to mind in the beginning—”

 “Ha!” 

 “—but that doesn't mean that I've always wormed my way out with some sugar-coated answer! My life just isn't that—”

 Chaotic. That was the word that was dancing on the tip of her tongue like a hippogriff ballet. She just managed to stop it.

 Not that Snape had missed it. “So … what?”

 “My life is boring, that's what I was going to say. Going to war with Harry is the most exciting thing I've done, and none of that matched the questions so far!”

 “Which brings us back to my point: We're not ending this now.”

 Arse! “Fine! It was just an offer!”

 “Of course,” he scoffed. Then he held out his hand.

 “What?”

 “The list! You will answer first now.”

 “What? Why?”

 “Because then I can decide how much candour you deserve. Objections?”

 Some! But no rational ones. After two seconds of pro forma eye-fighting, she huffed, “Fine!” She handed him the now hopelessly crumpled list and crossed her arms in front of her chest as if she'd also given up a protective shield.

 Which wasn't so far-fetched as she realised watching Snape study the list. She hadn't memorised the questions that were still to come. And the prospect of answering them before she knew what he would say felt … risky. She had to show her cards before he showed any of his.

 The bastard had been bluffing!

 When he'd looked so smug earlier after she'd decided he would answer first, he'd been stone-cold bluffing to rattle her!

 Arse!

 And he knew that too. “Well, If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?” There was malice in the little lines around his mouth, in his tone and in his eyes, even in the way he shoved another piece of his scone into his mouth.

 Ugh, he liked that far too much already!

 “It's probably a bit too late to bring this up now, but … This is just between us, right? I mean, nothing I tell you here will ever become ammunition for your verbal attacks in class.”

 “Verbal attacks?” he repeated pointedly.

 “You know what I mean.”

 “No, I haven't got a clue what you're talking about.”

 Ha! My arse … “I thought you weren’t lying anymore.”

 His calculating gaze lingered on her for three seconds while his tongue perhaps searched for remnants of the scone in his mouth. “Well, by the time we're done with this, we'll both have enough information on each other to get us on the front page of the Daily Prophet multiple times. If neither of us starts, neither of us has to respond.”

 So that's how it goes … But it seemed fair to her. “Deal.”

 He smiled. “Well, what did your parents screw up?”

 She exhaled deeply, trying to shake off the discomfort and anger of the last few minutes. This had been her idea, she owed Snape a bit of candour.

 Her parents … They’d messed up a lot, especially since she’d gone to Hogwarts. Had made little effort to understand how the world she now lived in worked. Had refused to realise that she’d matured greatly since the last time she’d spent more than six weeks at a time with them. Had treated her more than once as if she were still the barely twelve-year-old girl they’d brought to King's Cross. As if they’d stopped moving forward when she had waved goodbye to them.

 But none of that had anything to do with parenting. Since she’d gone to Hogwarts, there had been very little parenting at home at all. She had been parented by this school, by the war, by teachers and challenges.

 The twitch of Snape's eyebrows snapped her out of her musings. “You're going to dismiss this as another Miss Perfect answer, but … they failed to teach me that it was okay to ask for help. They were so focused on raising me to be independent, on proving to me that I could do anything with the right books and resources, that I only had to try hard enough to do it on my own, that it became a big no-no. Hermione Granger doesn't ask for help, Hermione Granger does everything on her own. I would … change that if I could.” She gulped as her throat suddenly tightened. Wow, that touched her more than she’d expected. And it felt like betraying her parents, who were presently in Australia with no memory of her and no chance to defend themselves.

 Just don't think about it … 

 “Imperfect enough?” she added, jutting her chin.

 But her little outburst of defiance was shattered by Snape's inscrutable expression. Those eyes … Even knowing about his Legilimency skills, they seemed to see much more than they should. She could hardly bear meeting his gaze, but she couldn't manage to look away either. Or perhaps she didn't dare. As if she was preventing something from happening if only she kept looking him in the eye.

 Merlin, I wish he would just blink! “What's wrong? Still not enough?”

 His lips curved into a barely perceptible smile. Scornful? Amused? It disappeared too quickly to judge.

 Instead, he took a deep breath and said, “In order to change anything about my upbringing, no matter what, I would have to change either my parents or myself, and I assume that's not what the question is asking.” He took another grape and did Hermione the favour of pretending not to notice her sigh of relief. Instead, he rolled the grape between his fingers and added, “A capable Head of House would have been a good start, though.” And while Hermione was still realising that he obviously had the same impression as her, namely that a crucial part of parenting was in the hands of this school (and that it didn't always do the best job), he popped the grape into his mouth and read the next question. “Mh, this next task is made for you.” He managed to make it sound like an insult. “Take four minutes and tell your partner your life story in as much detail as possible.” He rolled his eyes and threw the paper onto the desk, causing it to slide across the empty tabletop. “You should make the most of this opportunity, I'll never listen to you for four minutes straight again.”

 “Is there even anything I could tell you that you don't already know? And is there anything you would want to tell me that I don't already know?”

 “Are you trying to worm your way out of this again?”

 Ugh! “No! I just had the impression that I already knew more about your life than you ever wanted to share with me. And I'm convinced that I'd bore you to death with my life story. But if you insist: I was born on 19 September 1979 as the daughter of—”

 “Never mind!”

 Ha!

 He reached for the paper, a deep crease between his eyebrows. “If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be? … Really? The superpower question?”

 “I wanted to finish this long ago …” Not even his scowl stopped her from being amused. “And my answer is playing chess.”

 “You don't know how to play chess?”

 “I do know how to do it … in theory. Practically, however …”

 “Mhh, the old problem. Applying knowledge …” 

 “What is that supposed to mean?”

 “It means that you're good at memorising things—like the rules of chess—but absolutely incapable of applying them in real life. But the fact that an opponent not doing what you wanted them to do is enough to throw you off is disappointing. Just like the fact that you're wasting an opportunity like this for learning how to play chess!”

  Real life? Pah! Without her ability to apply knowledge, they wouldn't have survived the last few years! But why was she getting upset at all? He was just trying to provoke her. “It's just a scenario, not a chance!” she chose to ignore his point.

 “A matter of opinion …”

 “Well, what would you choose?”

 “To be able to enter the Ministry and put an end to this pother.”

 “And you accuse me of worming my way out of answering the questions …”

 There was a nonchalant look of smugness in his eyes as he shook out the paper and read, “If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future or anything else, what would you want to know? Crystal ball, how touching …”

 “It's a list of Muggle questions!”

 “Oh, really?” He raised an eyebrow in her direction. “So, what do you want your crystal ball to tell you, Hermione?”

 Don't! Under any circumstances! Let yourself be provoked!

 But then he let out a small snort.

 Bugger it!

 “I'd want to know exactly how much of my life I’ll have to sacrifice to being your wife!”

 “Not as much as you'll be sacrificing to being my ex-wife.”

 Argh! “Why? Why you? What gave the Ministry that idea? What have I done wrong?”

 “See, that would have all been good questions to ask that crystal ball. I think I'll ask them then, I'm trying hard as a husband after all.”

 She’d have loved nothing better than to throw his tea at him. Must have gone cold by now anyway. Instead, she stood up. “I need the loo. Where's your bathroom?”

 “Through this door, then to the right. Be careful you don't get lost.”

 Arse!

 Especially when she saw that there was only one door on the right. She threw it shut louder than necessary and turned on the water to cool her heated face and, hopefully, her heated mind before returning to the last man she ever wanted to marry!

 Although … Filch would have been worse.

 A little.

 How was she supposed to get through this? If she at least knew how long that marriage would take, then she could prepare herself, organise her energy, arm herself. But not knowing how long it would last … It was like last year when they’d been looking for Horcruxes. At some point, every day more in the forest had been unbearable, even with Mr Weasley's tent and all the comfort it offered.

 And then she’d come out of the forest into the Cruciatus …

 Don't.

 She couldn't dwell on that memory now. She needed to freshen up, pull herself together and go back to Snape, who seemed to be making a sport out of provoking her as if he were four years old and not twenty years her senior. It was unfortunate that he didn't care enough about her to put half as much effort into this as he had put into winning the war in recent years. Hell, even a hundredth of that would be enough! Just …

 Never mind.

 He was who he was. And the fact that they'd been drinking scotch earlier certainly didn't make it any better. Even her inhibitions were lower than usual; throwing drinks in other people's faces hadn't occurred to her for a few years.

 And she'd never thought about doing that with Snape!

 Finally, she turned the water off, dried her face and looked tiredly into her eyes in the mirror. Hermione Snape … The scotch almost travelled back up her throat, questions or not … 

 But when she returned to the office shortly afterwards, Snape looked more composed than he had a minute ago. He’d either finished or cleared away the remains of his scone, poured himself and her more tea and made the scotch disappear. Even the glasses were gone. Pity. She’d had a bit left in hers and seriously considered drinking it now. But it probably was for the best she didn’t.

 “So, did the crystal ball spit out any answers?” she couldn't help asking as she took off her cloak, threw it over the back of her chair and sat down again. She felt warm.

 “No. Just more questions. Ready to hear the next one?”

 Oh, look at you, suddenly meek as a lamb … “Sure.”

 “Is there something that you’ve dreamed of doing for a long time? Why haven’t you done it?”

 Oh, boy … All the opportunities this question gave her to vent some frustration … But if Snape's behaviour was really the olive branch she thought it was, she'd better not say any of that out loud. She didn't want to be the cause of this escalating. And she especially didn't want to give him a reason to put her on the front page of the Daily Prophet.

 With a deep breath, she said goodbye to each of the answers crossing her mind, even though it was difficult, and accepted the olive branch, approving it with sincerity. “Yes. I've been dreaming of getting some runes tattooed for a while now. You know, the kind of tattoo that interweaves with my magic and nobody knows exactly what effect it will have beforehand?”

 “I know what you're talking about.”

 “Of course you do. Anyway … I'd like one of those. But first, I wasn't of age, then I was on the run, and now I don't have enough money. But as soon as I start working, it'll be at the top of my to-do list.”

 He hummed softly and leaned back. “Be careful who you go to for that. There are some charlatans who either have no idea what they're doing or are deliberately manipulating it. Worst case, you won't gain more control and clarity over your magic but lose it completely.”

 She nodded slowly. “I'll ask you for a good rune artist when the time comes—assuming we haven't butted heads or had a headline war over the Daily Prophet by then.”

 “In that case, I should be the last person you ask for advice.”

 “Absolutely.” She held his gaze, daring him to smile first. She had taken enough steps towards him, now it was up to him to take the next one.

 And he did. For a second and a half, a smile curved the corners of his mouth.

 Hers lasted longer. A little. “And what are you dreaming about?”

 He took a deep breath but let it escape unused as if he was exhaling something he had to let go of in order to continue their conversation. “Publishing a book. A potions book with both improved recipes of old potions and some new developments. The reasons why I haven't done it yet are self-explanatory. But I'm working on it.”

 “Sounds good.” For him, anyway. For her, on the other hand … She would be such a 'wife of' when he published his book and they were still married that not even Rita Skeeter would remember her name, no matter how many times she’d dragged it through the mud. “Go on!” she urged him before he could read any of her thoughts in her eyes. After all, it wasn't as if he had chosen this.

 He looked down at the paper and snorted softly. “What is the greatest accomplishment of your life? On three! One—”

 “—Two—”

 “Voldemort's demise,” they said in unison and this time they weren't just smiling, they were laughing, both of them, and it was an honest laugh.

 “These questions are not meant for the likes of us,” Snape finally stated, taking a sip of tea.

 “No.”

 “Where did you get them anyway?”

 Uh-oh … “Um …”

 Like a dog that had picked up a scent, Snape raised his eyes. “Where?”

 She swallowed. This will be awkward … “Well, I was in the British Library and … stumbled across this science journal …”

 “And?” he followed up when her pause was getting too long.

 “And I found an article about an American study on …”

 He exhaled impatiently. “On what?”

 “On the experimental creation of interpersonal closeness.”

 He closed his eyes, his brow furrowed. “And what next?”

 Shit. She'd hoped he'd be satisfied with that. “And um … Well, the man behind the study, Arthur Arons, wanted to find out how—”

 “Get to the point!”

 “Okay!” Like a plaster, just pull it off! “The questions were labelled in the journal as '36 Questions to Fall in Love'.”

 When he opened his eyes again, he did so with the same aura of doom that had perhaps surrounded the basilisk five years ago. His gaze felt just as deadly, and this time she froze under it. “Come again?”

 The five seconds of shock erupted into a laugh that sounded almost hysterical. “As if that would work! We'll never fall in love with each other, S-Severus, no matter what questions we answer! Besides, the study results said that—”

 He silenced her by lifting just one finger. “Don't you think that would have been information you should have given me before we started this?”

 “I would have told you—if you hadn't been such an absolute git!”

 “Excuse me?!”

 “Oh, don't act so indignant! Even the Bloody Baron thought it inappropriate, the way we spoke to each other. I thought it would allow us to get to know each other well enough we could at least be civilised with each other. The only people believing that you could really fall in love by answering those are—what did you call them? Oh yes! Dreamers and hypochondriacs!”

 Nevertheless, the aura of doom that surrounded him refused to disappear. She couldn't remember him ever scowling at her like that before.

 “Or are you afraid that you might fall in love with an insufferable know-it-all like me?”

 “Right now, I'm thinking about how I can wring the neck of an insufferable know-it-all like you without ending up in Azkaban.”

 “You could pin it on Malfoy.”

 “No one will believe me, I've killed for him before.”

 She clicked her tongue. “Right, I almost forgot. I'm afraid, apart from him and you, no one in the castle wants me dead. So it's this or Azkaban.”

 He squinted his eyes a little, doing something with his nose that made him look like he'd just bitten into a lemon. “You seem to feel close enough to me to forget who you’re talking to—after fifteen questions already.”

 She couldn't help but be amused by all of this, his sour expression, his scowl, the things he was saying. Which was probably a confirmation of Snape's observation, but she was finding it hard to see the harm in it right now. She leaned forward a little and slipped her hands under her thighs. “So, do you dare take another step and wait to see what I forget after thirty-six questions?”

 He mimicked her movement, his bandaged hand on the desktop like a reminder that he was always going one step too far. “Never challenge a Slytherin.”

 “Too late.”

 Snape's glare became even more piercing and he didn't even avert it as he reached for the list. When he did have to in order to read out the next question, she smiled. Even more so because he then read it in a way that was reminiscent of a cross-examination. “What do you value most in a friendship?”

 Really, it sounded like, “Where did you hide the money?”

 But she controlled herself. If she started giggling now, he would probably deduct points from Gryffindor. “Being able to forgive each other.” And because she was so distracted by his tone of voice and the way he wanted to hate everything about this and yet carried on for reasons that were probably not even fully clear to him—as they weren’t for her either—she only belatedly realised what she’d said.

 Namely, when something in his eyes changed. The resentment faded for a moment … then it returned with a vengeance.

 Oh, fuck … 

 She was about to reassure him that she hadn't said that because of what she'd learnt about him and Lily Evans, but then … she didn't. He wanted honesty, she’d given him honesty. “And you?” she simply asked, acting as if nothing had been strange about the last ten seconds.

 For a moment, he hesitated to trust her, and she was convinced he was taking a peek into her mind because his gaze was getting uncomfortably intense and tingling on the back of her neck. But when all he found was sincerity, he exhaled deeply. “Loyalty. What is your most treasured memory?”

 She took a breath to think about it. Her most treasured memory … “The party at the end of our second year. After Harry rescued Ginny from the Chamber of Secrets. That was … just good. Everything about it. Everybody had got what they deserved, everyone was fine, we were just happy.”

 Snape looked at her thoughtfully, seeming to have finally let go of the resentment of the last few minutes. “No memory with your parents?”

 She shook her head. “No. When I was still able to just be a happy child with my parents, I didn't know I was a witch—and that's such an essential part of me that it … has to be there in my most treasured memory, you know?”

 He nodded slowly.

 “And after I learnt that I was a witch, things were different with my parents. They … never really understood what I was learning and doing here. They always supported me! But they were never really able to understand me again.” She blinked away a few tears, but this time she didn't try to hide them from Snape. He had seen it anyway.

 Instead, he very conspicuously inconspicuously averted his eyes when he realised that she’d finished answering the question. That the ball was now in his court. That he couldn't answer that question honestly without it becoming very personal—and that she would probably even notice if he decided to lie.

 Not that she would hold it against him. Not when they were talking about something like that. Not when it was about Harry's mum.

 But Snape had really been serious about not lying anymore. Even though his eyes were glued to the tabletop when he said it, even though his voice was so quiet that she could barely hear him, even though he said it quickly and his tone forbade any follow-up questions—he said it. “One of the first afternoons with Lily in a playground in Cokeworth.”

 Silence fell over them as if someone had turned down the volume on a television. The kind of silence that felt like you'd been robbed of something. Like covering your ears in a crowded café.

 And when she eventually reached for the list of questions, Snape flinched as if he'd forgotten she was even there while he'd been so painfully aware of her presence that he hadn't been able to look at her. Hermione coughed the moment away. “What is your … most terrible memory?”

 He snorted softly. “Bleeding out in the ruddy Shrieking Shack …”

 She nodded slowly. “Being tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange.”

 Their eyes met and … Wow. She felt strangely connected to him as the most terrifying moment of her life as of yet crawled up her neck and touched her scalp with its hairy legs. For the first time, she was not alone in reliving that moment, though, because unlike everyone else she’d told about those minutes, Snape didn't look away, stayed with her and endured how awful it had been.

 Until her vision blurred and her eyelids closed against her will to let two big tears fall. “’m sorry.”

 “Nonsense. Were you permanently injured?”

 “Just a scar.” She pointed at her neck where Bellatrix’s knife had hurt her. That and a recurring fear, peaking every time she was in pain, were the only remnants of that day in Malfoy Manor. Fear that any moment the pain would become unbearable, regardless of whether she just hadn't had enough to drink or had her period. She’d had to learn to consciously relax and hoped the fear would just go away eventually. “You?”

 At first, he didn't seem to know what she meant, then he realised. “Just a few scars either.”

 “Good.” She smiled, despite herself, and looked down at the list again. Ugh … “It's not getting any better … If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living? Why?”

 Snape nodded, slowly and with a furrowed brow. “Not necessarily questions I would ask on a first date.”

 “No,” she laughed, “but admittedly, a first date isn't about getting as close to each other as quickly as possible either.”

 “Touché.” A word flavoured with a look that caused her to shiver, but didn't last long enough to make her uncomfortable. “I would change a few things about my life if I knew I only had one year to live. Like probably all people who know they don't have four or five decades of existence left to cover. I would quit my job, sell most of my possessions, maybe travel the world for a while, get drunk on good wine too often and consume unhealthy but extremely interesting potions until I was able to accept that I survived the war and Nagini only to die a year later of whatever-it-is.”

 My, my, there's honest humour underneath all that prickly sarcasm. “Not a fan of 'live every day like it's your last'?”

 He raised an eyebrow. “Are you?”

 She tilted her head from left to right. “Partly, I'd say. On the one hand, you're right, I probably wouldn't spend my last day going to work, taking care of bills, or going grocery shopping. But I'm trying to be open to good things. I know, I know, you're going to label this as Gryffindor, but … We've spent so much time being scared of an insane psychopath, on the run or preparing for war that we deserve to enjoy the nice things in life, you know? I'm still pretty rubbish at it myself, but I try to find and appreciate the … chocolate bean amongst the earwax ones as often as I can. I owe that to myself.”

 He smiled, but only half mockingly. “Gryffindor …”

 Ha ha.

 “So you wouldn't have to change anything if you found out today that you were going to die in a year?”

 “Oh, I would absolutely change things! I wouldn't give a damn about graduating Hogwarts, grab Ron, and for the next 365 days I would—”

 “And for 365 days you would … what?”

 Oh, damn … “Enjoy life.” Yeah, that was better than what she'd almost said just because she might indeed be losing her respect for boundaries.

 “You should practise lying. That or …”

 Or? There is an or? “Or what?”

 “Never mind. What's next on your insufferable list?”

 Maybe she wasn't the only one who was losing her respect for some boundaries. Interesting. “What does friendship mean to you?”

 “Haven't we already answered that one?”

 “No. The other question was, what do you value most in a friendship?”

 He rolled his eyes so extensively that it became a whole head movement. “Why do you have the list again anyway?”

 “Because you haven't moved on and I assumed you wouldn't want to sit here all night.”

 Nevertheless, he pulled it out of her fingers and grabbed a sandwich, gesturing for her to start.

 Ugh! Fine … “For me, friendship means having someone I can rely on. Someone who might not always understand me completely, but who always tries. Someone who tells me their honest thoughts, but can also accept that I have my own. Someone who is there for me when I deserve it the least, but probably need it the most. And … Well, the usual … Having roughly the same attitude to life, the same values, harmonising well with each other … It has to match.”

 He scrutinised her as he chewed his sandwich, his brow furrowed. “How have you and Weasley lasted all these years without butting heads if that's your definition of friendship?”

 “Because of Harry.” She shrugged. “I think without Harry, Ron and I would never have become friends or drifted apart very quickly. It took a while for us to really grow together. But he's not as bad as you make him out to be either.”

 He obviously disagreed because the way he twitched his eyebrows said more clearly than words could, 'If you say so …'

 “What?”

 “Nothing.” He took another bite of his sandwich.

 “Rubbish! You've got so much opinion on that, it's almost spilling out of your ears. Spit it out already!”

 He snorted. “The hell I will interfere in your relationship any more than the Ministry wants me to.”

 “I thought you were so keen on honesty these days …”

 “I am, but not at any price.”

 “So you're just letting me know that you think some of what I've said is rubbish, but you're not giving me a chance to discuss it?”

 “Exactly.”

 What the … you arse! As if you'd know what friendship is … The thought had barely crossed her mind when she felt ashamed about it. Still … “Then enlighten me with your definition of friendship!”

 “I didn't say there was anything wrong with your definition.”

 “Stop deflecting!” She grabbed her bitten flapjack. Sugar was just what she needed right now.

 “Friendship to me,” he began, leaning forward to top up his tea, conspicuously busy, “means, as I said earlier, first and foremost loyalty. Standing by each other, ignoring the opinions of outsiders, standing up for each other, having each other's backs.” His gaze twitched to her briefly. “Helping each other to get on in life, of course. And respect.”

 She nodded slowly, the last crumbs of her flapjack still on her tongue.

 Snape raised his eyebrows. “Any objections?”

 “No, none.” Except that this was incredibly Slytherin, but what else did she expect when she was playing a game like that with the head of the snakes? “Go on!”

 For two more seconds, he held her gaze in the most passive-aggressive way she'd seen in a long time, a true satisfaction, then he shook out the now hopelessly crumpled list again and read, “What roles do love and affection play in your life? Oh, joy …”

 For once, she could only agree. Oh, joy … “Right now? Less than I'd like. And in yours?”

 “None. Alternate sharing something you consider a positive characteristic of your partner. Share a total of five items.” This time, he threw the list away with an almost theatrical groan and seemed personally offended because it no longer slid across the tabletop like before, but simply lay there, unmotivated and time-worn like Slughorn after the end of the war.

 “You're loyal,” she started. Better to just get it over with.

 “Wait a minute. Five items for each of us or in total?”

 “For each of us. Otherwise, it would be six times.”

 He groaned again.

 “Hey, it's not exactly an easy task for me either, okay? You wanted to keep going!”

 He closed his eyes for three seconds, then, “Fine. You're … reasonably intelligent.”

 “No hidden insults!”

 There was regret in his pursed lips and his eyes, maybe for having put the scotch away. “You're capable of learning.”

 Ha! Arse … “You're eloquent.”

 “Helpful.”

 Ugh, what's next? Nice?! “You have a good sense of humour.”

 “Oh, really?”

 “As long as I'm not the victim …”

 He snorted. “You're quick-witted.”

 “And you're brave.”

 “Did you just call me Gryffindor?”

 “Maybe …”

 “Just you wait …” He seemed to mentally run through the qualities his House was said to possess, but apparently none were negative and at the same time positive enough to satisfy his demands for a retort. He clicked his tongue. “You are ambitious.”

 “Thanks!” While he was still rolling his eyes, she said, “You're passionate.”

 “Excuse me?”

 “Your speech in our first Potions lesson? Your corrections in your old potions book? The way you talked about the Dark Arts? Passionate.” She nodded and was pretty sure he was using a bit of Occlumency to disguise his reaction. That's almost cute …

 He cleared his throat. “You're … courageous.”

 She pursed her lips, surprisingly flattered. “Well, as a Gryffindor …”

 “And as easy to manipulate as a five-year-old.”

 “Hey!”

 “Having read various insults in your eyes by now, I'm allowed that one at least.”

 “It isn’t my fault that you keep glancing into other people’s minds! What I think is none of your business!” Git! She thought it on purpose, as loud as she could, while looking him straight in the eye.

 “One more time and I'll deduct points from you.”

 “Ha! Professor McGonagall won't let you get away with that!”

 “Are you sure?” His voice sounded almost like a purr.

 And felt like a bloody head massage! Unfair … “Even if you did: Do you really need the points system to beat me?”

 Now he was smiling like a cat that had its prey so firmly in sight that the attack was a mere formality. “No. But I'd rather refrain from using my other options. They wouldn't sit well with you.”

 And yet she wondered what those other options were, interestingly more out of curiosity than fear. Hmm … “What's the next question?”

 He chalked it up to success, Slytherin that he was. But the next question put a damper on it. “How close and warm is your family? Do you feel your childhood was happier than most other people’s?” He pinched the bridge of his nose as if he had spontaneously developed a headache.

 And her temples began to tingle as well as she thought about those questions. Not exactly her favourite topic at the moment. Maybe never again. She sighed. “The relationship between my parents and I was affectionate—until Professor McGonagall turned up on our doorstep. After that … not so much anymore. And that’s as much family as I have. My parents were both only children and my grandparents are already dead. And now …” Ugh, don't cry. She squeezed her eyes shut until they stopped burning. “Well, you know. My childhood … Yes, I think it was happier than other people's. My parents went to great lengths to make it a happy time.”

 “And then came the magical world …”

 “Yes.” Even though her childhood hadn't become unhappy when she’d gone to Hogwarts, it had become … more difficult, she couldn't deny that.

 “And yet your favourite memory can only be one with magic?”

 She shrugged her shoulders. “I am no longer able to exist without magic. I don't think I ever really existed without magic. I didn't know what it was before Professor McGonagall explained it to us, but I always knew there was something in me that others didn't seem to have. I don't know how to put it into words, but I suppose you know what I mean.”

 He just nodded, slowly, thoughtfully, his forehead wrinkled and thoughts mirroring in his eyes that she—unlike him—unfortunately couldn't read. She wished he would share them with her, though.

 But of course, he didn't. However, he looked at her for so long that it became uncomfortable and she began to shift in her chair. “Well,” she finally ended the silence, “there's no such thing as perfection.”

 “No.”

 “What about you?” she murmured, nodding to the list before popping the last of her flapjack into her mouth.

 “No warm relationships between anyone in my family, as far as I know. And my childhood … I suppose there's always someone who had it worse. I still wouldn't describe it as happy.”

 No, judging by what she'd learnt about it, she wouldn't either. “I'm sorry,” she said before she could think better of it. Shit!

 “What?”

 “Um …” Her cheeks grew hot and she took a breath so frantically that she choked on a crumb. “Nothing!” she choked out against the urge to cough.

 Snape rolled his eyes and pulled out his wand. “Anapneo!”

 Just as she was about to start coughing, the urge vanished completely, and what her body had planned to be a medium-sized explosion crumbled to a pathetic rattle that she tried to hide under a little cough. “Thank you.”

 “Hm.” He picked up the list again. “How do you feel about your relationship with your mother?” He raised his eyes without lowering the piece of paper. “I take it we don't have one anymore?”

 “Nope.”

 “Then let’s go on. Make three true ‘we’ statements each. For instance, ‘We are both in this room feeling …’” He wrinkled his nose.

 “Taking turns again?” she suggested, plucking two grapes from the vine.

 “Fine by me.”

 “We're both fed up with the family questions.”

 “We're both fed up with all the questions.”

 She laughed. “And we're both still not ready to stop.”

 “Not until we've both emotionally stripped naked.”

 “As if we haven't already …” For her part, she’d already cried half a dozen times too many in front of him today.

 In front of Snape!

 It didn't seem to bother him enough to kick her out one last time, though. “Neither of us is the type of person to leave things unfinished.”

 “Touché. Still, at this point, we're both hoping to leave this room with at least a little bit of dignity left.”

 “And we both know that's probably not going to happen.”

 “What, why not? What other questions are there?”

 He raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you should have read through them first.”

 “I did! But I didn't memorise everything. Let me see!” She tried to pull the list out of his fingers, just as he had done earlier, but he held it away from her.

 “Too late, Granger. Now you're going into this exam blind.”

 “Pah! I have nothing left to hide anyway.” Still, bastard!

 “Five points from Gryffindor.”

 What the …

 “I warned you!” He pointed two fingers of his bandaged hand first at his eyes, then at hers.

 “Really? You sink that low? Because of my thoughts?”

 “You have no idea how low I'm ready to sink. Especially since I won't be able to as of tomorrow.”

 She narrowed her eyes. “You can't deduct any more points from me when we're married?”

 “Not without justifying every deduction.”

 “Huh!”

 “Oh, don't worry, I'll come up with reasons.”

 “Sure …” She rolled her eyes and did her best to do it as loudly as possible. “Next question!”

 He clicked his tongue before looking at the list of doom again. “Complete this sentence: ‘I wish I had someone with whom I could share …’ Well, now I'm curious! What is it that you haven't told anyone yet?”

 The way he said it, leaning a little on the table, was so absurd that she laughed briefly. Then she let herself sink back. What did she want to tell someone but never dared? While she was thinking, Snape's gaze was on her once again as if he was already looking for the slightest sign of a lie. Still a spy … Would he ever get rid of that?

 Before she could get lost in those thoughts, she said, “It's not really a secret, but I … have never said it out loud because I was always afraid I'd be laughed at. I know the boys would have.”

 “Of course …”

 “Shh! Well, I wish I had someone I could tell that I'm still afraid that someone will take my wand away and say I'm not good enough for the magical world.”

 She had barely stopped speaking when Snape opened his mouth, and she knew she would hate what he was about to say. She could tell just by the look in his eyes, maybe even his eyebrows. He thought it was ridiculous. Just as ridiculous as the boys would have found it. That's why she'd never said it out loud before—and yet she knew that anyone who looked at her a little more closely would see it. There was a reason why she put more effort into every exam than anyone else. She knew how ridiculous it was, of course. That she had no reason to fear that she’d be expelled from the magical world like an imposter after helping Harry to destroy Voldemort. But the feeling was still there and Snape would make fun of it.

 Only that he didn't.

 He shut his mouth again and nodded. Nothing more. Just a nod. But it was the greatest sign of acceptance that feeling she kept hiding deep down had ever experienced.

 She nodded back, because honestly, if she'd opened her mouth now, she would have started crying again. Bloody questions … 

 Snape's heavy sigh ended the moment. “I wish I had someone with whom I could share that … it doesn't feel like it's been enough.”

 “What?”

 He snorted, a small, bitter sound. “The war, what I did.”

 She took a deep breath. Wow … The sight of Snape in that moment was absolutely unbearable and so raw she couldn't look away. Now it was his turn to clear his throat, and he probably would have said something to end the moment, but she beat him to it. “I um … don't know if this will help you, but … Harry feels the same way.”

 “Does he now?” he snarled.

 She nodded. “He's convinced he didn't do anything except get himself killed and cast an Expelliarmus. Everything else just … happened to him.”

 As the crease between Snape's eyebrows deepened, she ducked her head. Stupid mistake! How could she even think about comparing him to Harry? To Harry! As if that had ever gone well … Stupid mistake … 

 But once again, he surprised her by closing his mouth, even if the angry expression remained. “If you were going to become a close friend with your partner, please share what would be important for him or her to know.”

 “Oh dear …” She pursed her lips and put her head down for a moment, both to let go of the moment she’d just experienced and to welcome the moment that would come now. She hated talking about her weaknesses. But when she thought about the last few years with the boys, it was indeed something he should know before committing to any kind of relationship with her. “It's probably not news to you anymore, but: I'm pragmatic. Extremely pragmatic. When people tell me about a problem, I look for a solution. When I see a problem, I look for a solution. If I have a problem—”

 “You’re looking for a solution?”

 “Yes,” she said with a nod. “I'm just not the type to drink tea and listen and hand out tissues. I look for solutions. And sometimes I look for solutions to problems and solve them without telling anyone.”

 “Like with Potter's broom back then?”

 “Exactly! That's probably the hardest thing about dealing with me: I look for solutions to my problems, on my own, and forget to tell my friends that I have a problem at all.”

 “Of course, since you're not allowed to ask for help,” he interjected nonchalantly.

 “No psychoanalysis, please!”

 He smirked.

 “Anyway, it's not unusual for someone to be angry with me because they could have helped me and I didn't say anything.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I just don't think about it. Unless I come to the conclusion that I need someone else to solve the problem.”

 Snape pursed his lips. “Coming from a position where solving other people's problems has been my main occupation, that doesn't sound like a bad quality.”

 “I guess it depends on what type of person you are. But what you should perhaps also know in view of our … special situation: I talk in my sleep. So if we're forced to share a bedroom, we'll probably have to come up with a magical solution.”

 “Oh, don't worry, I can cast excellent Silencios.”

 “No doubt …”

 “And equally good stunners.”

 “Don’t you dare!” she snorted, but smiled wryly when he did. “So, what do I need to know about you?”

 Snape tilted his head. Then he took a deep breath and glanced at the list as if he needed to read the question again. “You should know about me that I don't reach out to other people. Never. I'm comfortable when I'm alone and much like you, I forget to initiate social interaction.”

 “And I take it you don't respond favourably when others do?”

 “Rarely,” he admitted. “But I tend to be quiet when I'm asleep.”

 “Ha ha.”

 He chuckled.

 “What's the next question?”

 He frowned and scrutinised the list. “Tell your partner what you like about them; be very honest this time, saying things that you might not say to someone you’ve just met.”

 Oh, joy … She took a deep breath and exhaled it again without using it. Something had immediately come to her mind that she would normally have never told him. But this could be really embarrassing for both of them. Should I? Do I have to?

 “You look like this is going to be interesting.” There was a look of undisguised curiosity on Snape's face. Curiosity and challenge. Do it if you dare, his eyes seemed to say.

 And the Gryffindor in her naturally jumped at it. “Your hands.”

 He stumbled. “Excuse me?”

 “I like your hands. I like the way you move them. The way they look. The way you hold your wand. Everything about them is very elegant and precise. I like … your hands.”

 He looked at them, his left, still holding the list, and his right, wrapped with a thick bandage up to the centre of his slender fingers. “Well, that's definitely not something you say to someone you've just met.”

 “No,” she said, and now the amusement was on her side. “Like so much else tonight.” Normally, she would hardly have told him anything about what he’d learnt today.

 But what was normal about these circumstances? What was normal about a forced marriage? What was normal about this situation? About answering questions that were supposed to create a closeness that would not have existed otherwise?

 Nothing.

 Snape nodded slowly and cleared his throat. “I like your determination. Your ability to have a goal and take the shortest route to reach it, but don’t let yourself be corrupted in the process.”

 She huffed. “Who would corrupt me?” No one on the other side would have wanted her. Not with her lineage.

 “There are a number of things that can corrupt you. The easy way. Just one shortcut. And maybe a second one …” He slowly shook his head. “It's easier done than you think. But you're balancing on the fine line in the middle all the time, sometimes taking a step to the wrong side, but always finding your way back. For the sake of all of us, I hope it stays that way.”

 Involuntarily, as if her body was doing it without her consent, she swallowed thickly. “I'll um … keep that in mind.”

 He nodded again, just once, without taking his eyes off hers. Then he consulted the list again. There couldn’t be that many questions left. “Share with your partner an embarrassing moment in your life.”

 Ugh! “Haven't I already? You've witnessed my most embarrassing moment ever!”

 “I did?”

 “Erm … yes? Or weren't you the one who freed me from cattails and whiskers?”

 She had expected a lot of things, but not the rumbling laughter that burst out of nowhere—and fell silent disappointingly quickly. “Right, I remember. Well, I guess you'll have to share another embarrassing moment then.”

 “Ha! I don't have to do anything—except marry you. But I'll make you an offer: you tell me an embarrassing moment and then I'll think about whether it's worth another one of mine.”

 “So we're negotiating now …”

 Obviously.

 He snorted softly; no doubt her answer had reached him, even without having to say it out loud. Then he clicked his tongue. “I suppose the various lessons the headmaster had to substitute for me because I underestimated how long the potions I experimented with would affect me doesn't count as such a moment.”

 “No.”

 “Although they were embarrassing, all of them. The only reason you can't relate to that is because you never had to Floo Albus Dumbledore and confess with pupils the size of your palm that you won't be able to teach your first-year Slytherin-Ravenclaw class. And the fourth-year Gryffindor-Slytherin after that probably either.”

 She grinned.

 “Admittedly, I found it amusing myself the first time. Not anymore by the fifth.”

 “And I thought you were intelligent.”

 “Occasionally, I am. But never when it comes to testing potions.”

 Interesting. “Still, that's not enough for me to share a second embarrassing moment from my life with you, sorry.” She reached for her cup, surprised to find it still warm. Probably a charm. Luckily, she hadn't thrown his at Snape earlier …

 “Of course not,” he commented. “But I'll get my second moment. Your second year was apparently an awkward time for both of us because just after Easter, I let Gilderoy Lockhart get me into some sort of contest where we … Well, I guess there's no way to sugarcoat it, it was ultimately a pissing contest.”

 She snorted into her cup. “Come again?”

 He shrugged, oddly nonchalant given his choice of words. “He began—once again, I might add—to boast about his overwhelming achievements and accomplishments in the staff room. None of us could take it anymore. And since I’d been holding back my opinion of him ever since Dumbledore had presented him to us as a new colleague—and it had been eight months at that point!—I finally lost it. Not one of my finest moments, especially as I couldn't reveal half of my achievements and accomplishments because I had to fulfil a mission as a spy. It's unfortunate that he doesn't even know his own name anymore today …”

 Hermione, who had by now dabbed the tea from her chin and the tip of her nose, raised her eyebrows. “Why? I’m sure he would just have found a way to make it sound like he single-handedly destroyed Voldemort.”

 Snape sneered. “Probably. Well, is that story good enough?”

 She drew in a hissing breath. “Regrettably, it is.” So good, in fact, that she would have loved to see it. Perhaps she could coax the memory out of Professor McGonagall.

 “Then I've achieved my goal.” He leaned on the desktop. “So, spit it out! What else have you done that's embarrassing, apart from adding a hair to Polyjuice Potion that you should have checked for its origin first?”

 She pursed her lips. “All right, then. I made Hagrid cry in my third year.”

 “We all did at some point.”

 “When Professor Dumbledore was about to visit him.”

 “Mmh, it's always Dumbledore.”

 “Yeah,” she laughed, “I was so done because of all my classes and because Harry and Ron stopped talking to me and Parvati and Lavender were getting on my nerves with their Divination mania … I tried to help Hagrid with Buckbeak’s trial because that's what I do, I solve problems.”

 “And you're not asking for help.”

 “Shh! Anyway, Hagrid kept coming up with defences that wouldn't have stood up in any court in the world, while I worked my way through precedents and legal texts and tried to explain to him what he had to say when he appeared in court. But he was … well, just Hagrid. And that's when I lost it and spent so long lecturing him about how he should pull himself together and concentrate instead of talking this nonsense that he burst into tears. And then Dumbledore was at the door and I had to explain to him what had happened.”

 The corners of Snape's mouth twitched, perhaps because even after all these years, her cheeks still warmed as she told that story. “So you do have a rough idea of what it feels like to have to answer to Dumbledore.”

 “Oh yes.” She smiled, despite herself. The late headmaster had had that way of looking you in the eye … Like he was looking straight into your soul, but not with Legilimency. Or maybe he was using Legilimency, but in another way than Snape. Since she knew what it felt like when Snape used Legilimency, she was even less able to stick a name to what Dumbledore had done.

 But now it probably didn't matter anymore. He was dead and no longer looking into anyone's soul, Legilimency or otherwise.

 She nodded to the list. “Next question. You won't get any more embarrassing moments out of me.”

 “Wait and see … When did you last cry in front of another person? By yourself?”

 “Oh, that's easy. Today, here, in front of you. And last night in bed.”

 “Hm,” he said, his eyes so narrow that she wondered if he could see anything at all. Perhaps because that question was not as easy for him to answer as it was for her. Still, he made it seem easy when he said, “At St Mungo's, after I woke up following Nagini’s attack, in front of my healer. And at … 12 Grimmauld Place after I had to kill the headmaster.”

 She just nodded and would never have thought to ask him about it, but she couldn't help but wonder why Snape had cried at St Mungo's—because he had been grateful for his survival or because he had regretted it. But as many questions as they were answering that night, this wouldn't be one of them. The fact that he was even telling her that felt like … No, she couldn't think of a suitable comparison. It just felt far too close, more open than it should have ever been between them, and a new wave of hatred for the Ministry surged through her chest. Maybe she needed to find a new career anyway … “Go on!”

 Snape cleared his throat. “Tell your partner something that you like about them already.”

 Ugh … That again. There was an alarming amount of 'what I like about you' in those questions, so much so that by now it felt like those awful friendship books her classmates had filled out for each other back in the day, meticulously listing every last detail, even things like, ‘I like that you use hearts instead of I-dots!’

 Disgusting …

 She slumped back in her chair with a sigh. “Since I suppose your humour, your eloquence, your loyalty, your courage and your hands no longer count—even though I actually like and have always liked all of that …” She pursed her lips, once again torn between her Gryffindor courage and the need to walk away from this conversation with one last shred of dignity. Oh, screw it! It was too late for dignity anyway. “Your dedication. What you do, you do one hundred per cent, even if you hate it. Well … as soon as you get over your initial stubbornness. I like that.”

 “There would be quite a few people who would disagree with you and say that I always find a way to slither out of everything.”

 “Maybe, but from what I've heard, there were a few things you couldn't slither out of. And from my perception, you did all of those things one hundred per cent.” She lifted her shoulders and dropped them again, unwilling to change anything about her answer.

 “As soon as I got over my initial stubbornness.”

 “Of course.”

 Snape snorted softly. “And I suppose you expect me to tackle this marriage one hundred per cent as well, now that you've made me overcome my stubbornness?”

 “Erm …” Whoah, take it easy, Professor! “I think fifty is enough for me. We don't want to make it a ‘till death do us part’, do we?”

 “No!” he snorted. “Till the Minister of Magic do us part will have to do.”

 “Absolutely.”

 “As soon as he gets back into the Ministry.”

 “Right.”

 “Which, judging by the current state of affairs, can only be a matter of weeks to months.”

 “And therefore should happen well before we die.”

 “Hopefully.”

 “Yes …” They exchanged a look soaked in unease and embarrassment. Oh, Merlin … What if the Ministry didn't open back up in the next few weeks or months? What if they were to be married for years? Years in which they would live together and be forced to spend time together. Getting to know each other, finding a routine. What if they started to like each other?

 “Be that as it may,” Snape said so loudly that Hermione winced. “This probably won't surprise you at all anymore, but I like your loyalty. Potter and Weasley went to great lengths to mess things up with you, and yet you never stopped trying to save their lives.”

 She clicked her tongue. “What can I say? I love those idiots.”

 That elicited a small laugh from Snape. “I hope they appreciate it.”

 “They do. Besides … They often have a hard time with me, too. I don't think we have anything to hold against each other.”

 “So you deserve each other?”

 She took a moment to think about that. About the negative connotation of that word and the positive one. Then she nodded. “Yes, I think so. In the best and worst ways, I guess we deserve each other.”

 Snape nodded as if she’d handed him another puzzle piece of herself to turn and twist in his head until he found the right place for it in the picture he had of Hermione Granger.

 “Next question!” she finally demanded and grabbed a sandwich. She was starting to get hungry.

 “What, if anything, is too serious to be joked about?”

 Chewing, Hermione tilted her head to the side. Jokes … After swallowing, she said, “I think you can joke about anything, but it depends on who's joking and how. If you kick up—go ahead! If you kick down—not so much.”

 “Meaning?” Snape asked, but judging by the look on his face, not because he didn't understand what she meant, but because he wanted to know which example she would choose.

 She pursed her lips as she picked a piece of bread out of her teeth with her tongue. Oh, he wasn't going to like that … But that was probably true of a lot of things that night. “Meaning,” she said, “if Draco Malfoy jokes about Muggle-borns, he's an arse. If I joke about him having purchased his decency regarding Muggleborns in the sale, I'm not.”

 “What are you then?”

 “Funny,” she said, shrugging, “mostly I'm funny and that happens so rarely that I deserve a little credit for it.”

 “Ha ha,” he said dryly, but with a thoughtful crease between his eyebrows.

 She grinned anyway. “That's good enough for me.”

 “Really? Then maybe I should reconsider my previous assessment about you being ambitious.”

 “Don’t let me stop you, but since I don't want to be a stand-up comedienne, I honestly don't care about my lack of ambition in that field.”

 “That's unfortunate. When you already know so well what you can and can't joke about.”

 “Yes, but as we've just discovered, I'm just not funny most of the time.”

 “Hear, hear.”

 Jerk. But she thought it with a smile she'd rather not think about. Change of subject! “And you? What do you think I shouldn't joke about?”

 “About things you don't know enough about to form an opinion on. And about me, of course.”

 Oops. “And I take it my example just now falls into the first category?”

 “No,” he said, even emphasising it with a slow shake of his head, “the form of … coping with his trauma Draco has chosen doesn't exactly speak in his favour. But his decency—flawed as it is—has actually cost a lot of money.”

 Hermione, who had just taken a bite of her sandwich, put a hand over her mouth as she couldn't hold back a small laugh. “I should have guessed he wouldn't get anything from the sale …”

 “Indeed.” Snape smiled fleetingly as well, then went back to the list of questions, seeming so distracted that Hermione was pretty sure there was something about her answer that bothered him that he didn't want to share with her. The next question, however, brushed that thought aside. “If you were to die this evening with no opportunity to communicate with anyone, what would you most regret not having told someone? Why haven’t you told them yet?”

 The morsel in her mouth seemed to spontaneously double in size and resisted her attempt to be swallowed down. Eventually, she needed a sip of tea to wash it down. “Erm …” She cleared her throat as her heart gave a strange skip. “My parents,” she explained with a laboured smile, “I'd regret not telling them that … I'm sorry.”

 “Sorry for what? For saving their lives?”

 “No, but for doing it without their consent.”

 “Mhh,” Snape hummed, nodding slowly.

 “Yeah.” She pressed her lips together. Simply slipping her parents a sleeping potion and then hiding their memories was … well. But she just hadn’t been sure she could have done it if she'd had to convince them first. Her mother would have simply refused to leave her alone in England, her father would have immediately looked for ways to get her out of the country. She loved her parents, she really did! But they had no idea what kind of war Hermione had been involved in.

 “Why haven't you brought them back yet?”

 “I um—” She closed her mouth and brushed a strand of hair from her face. Over the past few months, she’d built up a wall of excuses around that question, brushing off every inquiry from Harry, Ron and even Ginny. It had become an automatism; she’d almost dismissed Snape's question in the same way. She looked up briefly. And again, because the expression in his eyes was so open and calm that she had to make sure she hadn't imagined it. But she hadn't. He was looking at her as if … For some reason, she was sure he was going to let her get away with a lie in response to that question, and it touched her so unexpectedly that this time her eyes were burning for other reasons. Wow … “I guess I'm just scared,” she finally said, and that was the plain truth. “That they won't forgive me.”

 Snape nodded slowly. “That is a possibility.”

 “Yes. Highly probable, actually.” And perhaps it was more merciful to spare herself and her parents the disappointment. Perhaps they would be happier if they never remembered they’d had a daughter who had simply cut them out of her life with powers they themselves would never fully understand.

 “But it’s not a certainty either,” Snape's voice broke through the haze that was weaving itself tighter and tighter around Hermione, threatening to suffocate her. “Maybe they'll surprise you.”

 “And what if they don't?” she whispered.

 “Then you can learn to let them go.”

 The lump in her throat grew so thick it felt like she had a bad cold, and as her vision blurred, she blinked. Oh, Merlin … She grabbed an unused napkin and dabbed at her eyes. “'m sorry.”

 “What for?” he asked, raising both his shoulders and his eyebrows. And when Hermione smiled shakily, he returned it fleetingly. Then he took a deep breath. “I'm afraid I don't have such a profound answer to that question. Since I've only recently come very close to dying, and in that moment I did indeed regret some things I said or couldn't say, I took my second chance and made up for it. If I were to die tonight, I would do so knowing that nothing was left unsaid.” Still, he frowned and looked down at the paper after he finished, leaving Hermione silent and waiting to see if he would add anything else. “I'd probably just be happy that the Ministry didn't get the satisfaction of marrying us off.”

 What the … “I thought you didn't have a profound answer,” Hermione muttered.

 “Is it?”

 “Well, yes! This forced marriage isn't something worth dying for! I'd rather be married to you for the rest of my life than see you die ever again.”

 The words stumbled out of her mouth before she’d consciously thought, considered or even understood them. And when her brain finally caught up with her mouth, she felt as if someone had charmed her clothes away. Oops …

 Slowly, Snape's left eyebrow climbed higher on his forehead, and Hermione braced herself for what he would say next as she forced herself to keep her mouth shut instead of giving in to the urge to start rambling, which would probably … No, most certainly only make it worse.

 But Snape said nothing.

 Instead, his eyebrow just slowly climbed back down, and she thought she could see him swallow his answer. The paper of questions trembled slightly as he lifted it up. “Your house, containing everything you own, catches fire. After saving your loved ones and pets, you have time to safely make a final dash to save any one item. What would it be? Why?” He put the paper down again. “I suppose we should add our wands.”

 Hermione nodded, her lips pursed. Her wand was indeed the first thing she had thought of, and she regretted the loss of that simple answer. After the last question, it would have been a welcome break.

 But even without her wand, an answer immediately came to her mind. Albeit one that at this point felt like a song that had been played too many times. She pursed her lips, rolled her thoughts around in her head for a moment and then made a decision. “The honest answer to that question is the box containing things of me that I had to remove from my parents' lives for reasons we've discussed ad nauseam tonight. Therefore, this time I would like to take the second item on my list, and that is the book 'The Tales of Beedle the Bard' that Professor Dumbledore left for me.” She swallowed involuntarily. “Not because I got it from Professor Dumbledore and not because it helped us to destroy Voldemort, but … because it helped me to not lose my mind. The copy is written in runes and whenever I had the feeling that everything was getting too much for me and we couldn't possibly destroy Voldemort, I read that book. Also—and especially—when Ron wasn't with us. I um … That's what I would save from a fire.”

 “Right after you saved your parents' things.”

 “Yeah.”

 “Which they may never need again, let alone miss.”

 “Yes.” They weren't her things, she was just taking care of them. She wouldn't be able to let them burn.

 Snape nodded slowly. And then abruptly changed the subject, “Why has Mr Weasley left you?”

 She grimaced. “It was because of a Horcrux. We all took turns wearing it and … the thing drove us all mad. Ron was just angry and ran off in the heat of the moment. Because of the spells I used to protect our camp, he didn't find us again for a few weeks.”

 Snape gave her his inscrutable gaze, and Hermione had the vague feeling that he was quietly drawing some conclusions for himself that she wouldn't have liked if he had said them out loud. The need to defend Ron and herself and their relationship crept up, but he didn't open a door for her to say all the words that were building up inside her. Had been building up, in fact, ever since—

 “I would also save a book,” Snape interrupted her thoughts. “An old edition of Advanced Potions Theory by Reed Gorgon. It's the only book from my mother's estate that I've never had to sell or pawn, and it has a great deal of sentimental as well as material value to me.”

 Oh! “Is it a good book?”

 Snape frowned.

 “I er … sorry. It's just … I considered buying that book the other day, and I wasn't sure if it was technically good. Whether it's worth spending money on it.”

 “It is good. In the right hands.” The addition ‘And I don't mean yours’ was clear, albeit unspoken.

 Hermione swallowed the small pang of annoyance. “Thank you for the assessment,” she said with emphasised politeness, thinking of what she could say to Snape's response to the question, but she could only think of indiscreet follow-up questions that he wouldn't answer anyway, so she nodded back to the list. “Next question.”

 “Of all the people in your family, whose death would you find most disturbing? Why?” He didn't even have to read it off.

 “My father's,” she answered without thinking.

 One corner of Snape's mouth lifted. “Daddy's girl?” It sounded a little mocking.

 “No, on the contrary. I'm … closer to my mum than my dad. But that's exactly why there wasn't much left unspoken between my mum and me.” Apart from anything magical, but that was true of everyone in her family. “If my father died now, there would be more for me to regret.”

 His gaze jerked to the tabletop, so fleetingly that she would have missed it if she hadn't looked him in the eye out of … well, probably pure stubbornness while she had elaborated on her answer.

 Ah, she thought, that wasn't about me at all. But that made perfect sense; Snape should know a thing or two about regrets and missed opportunities.

 “Well,” he ended the moment like a director calling cut, “since I have no family members left that I know of, there's no death to disturb me.”

 “No one?”

 “No.”

 “Oh.”

 “If that's supposed to be pity, it's entirely unnecessary. I haven't shed a tear for any of my family members. They all got what they deserved.”

 “That's—” She broke off abruptly, her lips pursed. This subject was probably more of a minefield than she realised; better she just kept her mouth shut. But then Snape raised an eyebrow, an unspoken challenge to finish the sentence she’d started. And the day she wouldn’t take on a challenge would probably be the day Easter and Christmas collided. So she cleared her throat and said, “That's not what I meant. I just didn't realise you didn't have a family anymore.”

 “I hope you're not one of those people who think family comes first.”

 “No! Definitely not …” 

 Snape let out a small hum. “Has Potter's fate opened your eyes?”

 Ugh … That question—insinuation, rather!—was so stupid that she just had to roll her eyes. “No, my father's fate has already done that, if you need to know. I never met my paternal grandparents and from what I know about them, I didn't miss out on anything. There are just some people who shouldn't have children.”

 “Hear, hear,” Snape muttered.

 “I'd rather hear the next question.”

 He furrowed his eyebrows, looking at the paper as if he needed reading glasses. Hermione squinted at the clock. It was past midnight. Huh …

 “We have reached the last question,” Snape stated. “Share a personal problem and ask your partner’s advice on how he or she might handle it. Also, ask your partner to reflect back to you how you seem to be feeling about the problem you have chosen.” He groaned and demonstratively crumpled up the list before throwing it—surprisingly accurately—across the office into the cold fireplace. “The only problem I, and presumably you, have to solve at the moment is this marriage. And the only solution we've come up with is this list of questions designed to do the opposite of what we actually want.” He ran his thumb and forefinger over his eyes as he exhaled deeply.

 “Maybe some problems can't be solved but only … mitigated.”

 He blinked, looking at her out of tired eyes. “Has the fact that we now know more about each other mitigated the problem?”

 “It has …” She shrugged her shoulders. “I find the thought of most likely having to move in with you here or somewhere else in the castle later today, because Hogwarts is going to ban me from my dormitory, less scary than it was a few hours ago. At least now we know we can talk to each other. And that maybe we don't completely loathe each other.”

 “Which is exactly what the Ministry wants.” He clicked his tongue.

 “Admittedly … But being able to talk to each other doesn't make two people a couple. I can talk to Professor Flitwick and my parents' old neighbour as well, and I still wouldn't have a good marriage with either of them.” She paused, giving him a chance to say something, but Snape remained silent. “This evening has only made one thing more likely: that we won't kill each other within twenty-four hours of getting married. And since we both seem to have plans for our lives beyond the next thirty-six hours, that's a good thing for now, isn't it?”

 He looked at her, and for the first time that evening, Hermione felt like she could read his eyes too. And what she read were all the 'what if's that she didn't dare think about. What if the Ministry wouldn't open up again in the next few years because it simply thought the humans had screwed up enough for now? What if they were forced to be a couple and live like a couple for so long that they ended up really being one? What if all the plans they had for their lives now could no longer be realised? What if this marriage were like a second Horcrux hunt and there was simply no end to it as they staggered from one day to the next, not having the chance to talk to anyone but each other about all the difficulties this marriage would bring?

 At that point, Hermione turned her gaze away because it was that last question that scared her the most. That no one knew how long it would take and that she had no one to talk to about it. Not Ron, for obvious reasons. Harry was lousy at such conversations and would probably just hug her out of embarrassment. And she wasn't close enough with Ginny to talk about something like that. Especially as nobody knew whether the three of them would become part of a forced marriage in the foreseeable future as well. After all, the Ministry was only just warming up …

 “It is what it is,” Snape now stated in a dark voice. “But to get back to a solvable problem: I can get a replacement here during the Christmas holidays and travel with you to Australia to restore your parents' memories.”

 She jerked her head round. “You would do that?”

 “Someone should do it. They deserve to know what their daughter has achieved. And you're going to need their support, no matter how this turns out.”

 She swallowed thickly. “And who will support you?”

 He took a deep breath. “Filius, I hope, and a glass or two of scotch.”

 She smiled wryly. And hoped that he would tolerate it better in future than he did today. “Thank you,” she said, “both for your candour tonight and for wanting to help me with my parents.”

 Snape nodded.

 “If I can help you in any way …”

 “That will probably happen all by itself,” he mused, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “To the same extent that I will pull you down in the public eye, you'll probably pull me up. Especially if we don't give them the scandal they're waiting for.”

 She hadn't even thought about that. But yes, Snape's reputation wasn't a particularly good one, despite his acquittal after the end of the war. Professor McGonagall had taken a lot of flak for reinstating him and the school council had looked for ways to sack him but had failed. Cowardly old sods … As if Snape hadn't been the one they had to thank the most for their victory. She looked him in the eye again. “Well, at least there's one good thing about this marriage, then. The public eye won't be smearing my husband's reputation any further without having to deal with me first.”

 Snape flinched almost imperceptibly at the word husband and at the end of her sentence, he scowled at her. “You're not going to stand up for me under any circumstances.”

 “Why not?”

 “Because this marriage will damage your reputation enough, you don't need to push it.”

 “Pah! I have more than my reputation to put in the field. I'll be completing my N.E.W.T. courses with all Os, provided my Potions professor doesn't put a spoke in my wheel—” He sneered. “—and I have contributed significantly to the positive end of this war. If anyone really dares not hire me just because we were forced to marry, I'll just pull my 'The Boy Who Lived' wild card.” Right after she started her own newspaper to give everyone a piece of her mind. “And honestly, even if everyone really does get cross just because I don't put you down at every opportunity … I'll just emigrate and never let Britain forget who they've pissed off. I'm sure my parents can recommend a nice place in Australia.”

 Interlacing his fingers in front of his mouth, Snape scrutinised her with narrow eyes. “I'm beginning to understand what you meant by 'I'm looking for solutions'.”

 She grinned. “You have been warned.”

 He snorted, nodding. “Well, before you mobilise the cavalry, perhaps we should both get some sleep first. This afternoon will be challenging enough.”

 “Yeah, you're right.” She stood up, smoothed her school skirt, grabbed her cloak and then held her hand out to him. “Thank you for that conversation, Professor Snape.”

 The corner of his mouth twitched. “I have to thank you, Miss Granger,” he replied in a dark voice and grabbed her hand with his bandaged one.

 She grinned. “See, not in love. I told you that was rubbish.”

 Snape smiled mockingly, holding both her hand and her gaze for longer than was necessary (and probably appropriate). Surprisingly, though, it wasn't an awkward moment. After everything she had learnt from him in the last few hours and he from her … Why shouldn't she look him openly in the eye?

 And the same applied to his handshake. What was she supposed to find unpleasant about it now? Despite the injury, it was firm and assertive and his bare fingers were warm against her palm. Unexpectedly soft and—

 Oh, no.

 At the same moment that her heart skipped a beat, his eyes widened a bit.

 Abruptly, they let go of each other, and something sucked the air out of Snape's office until she felt like she couldn't breathe.

 So, here she was, Hermione Granger, who couldn't ask for help and claimed to always look for solutions, and in this glorious attempt of hers, she had created an even bigger one for herself.

 “Damn …”