Four


Hermione was awakened the next morning by a loud knocking on her back door. A glance at her bedside clock told her it was too early for her visitor to be Professor Snape.

She slipped into her dressing gown, knotting it closed as she stepped into her carpet slippers.

“I’m coming!” she hollered.

She closed her eyes and concentrated. A quick look in the mirror over her dresser assured her that her glamour, one that mimicked her own appearance, was firmly in place.

With her wand held discreetly behind her back, Hermione threw open her back door.

“Happy Christmas!” shouted Harry and Ron.

“Harry … Ron,” she stammered. “What are you doing here?”

“At least she remembered our names,” Harry said to Ron.

“That’s a fine greeting for your best mates,” Ron said. “Can we come in?”

“Oh … well, of course you can come in,” Hermione said, stepping back and opening the door wider to allow them entry. “Happy Christmas to you as well. I didn’t mean to be rude; I wasn’t expecting you.”

“We got tired of your excuses,” Harry said. “We decided to just surprise you.”

“Aren’t you glad to see us?” Ron asked.

“I’m always glad to see you,” Hermione said. “I just wish you’d let me know you were coming. How did you know I’d be home?”

“Your mum told us,” Harry said.

“My mum? You talked to my mum?”

“I called her a couple of weeks ago. I know your parents go to France every year, so I called to ask her if you were going with them. She told me you hadn’t gone in years.”

“No, I haven’t,” Hermione admitted.

“I know my mum and dad invite you to the Burrow every year,” Ron said.

“And I appreciate it, Ron, really I do. It’s just …”

“Just what, Hermione?” Harry asked. “You’d rather be alone on Christmas?”

“You don’t understand.”

“No, we don’t,” Harry said. “That’s why we’re here; we want to understand.”

“It’d be one thing if it was just me,” Ron said. “I mean, I know I was a right prat about … well, about you and me …”

They’d tried the boyfriend/girlfriend thing, briefly, during seventh-year. It hadn’t worked out, and both had been glad to revert to being just friends.

“We weren’t suited, Ron, not really. I never held it against you that we couldn’t be more than friends.”

“But we haven’t even been friends lately, it seems,” Ron protested. “And Harry didn’t have anything to do with what happened between us. You shouldn’t hold it against him.”

“I’m not holding anything against him, or you, either. We’re still friends.”

“Every time we try to get together with you, you’re busy,” Harry said.

“I have to work, Harry,” Hermione said.

“Seven days a week?”

“I do research …”

“On what?”

“It’s … it’s personal,” Hermione said.

Before anyone could say anything more, there was another knock at the back door. Hermione swore softly under her breath. Although it was only a little after eight o’clock, she knew it had to be Professor Snape.

Resigning herself to the inevitable confrontation, she opened the door.

“Good morning, Professor Snape,” she said as she stepped back. “Happy Christmas.”

“Good morning, Miss Granger. I apologise for being early. I hoped to catch you before you put the coffee …”

His voice trailed off as he stepped into the kitchen and saw Harry and Ron. He turned to Hermione.

“You didn’t mention that you were expecting other guests.”

“Harry and Ron decided to surprise me,” Hermione said.

“Snape!” Harry exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“Unlike you, Mr. Potter,” Snape said in a frosty tone, “I was invited.”

Ron, whose mouth was hanging open, had yet to say a word.


Snape was quite pleased to realise that although he could sense the waves of hostility and dislike emanating from both the young wizards, there was no trace of a tingle to remind him of the promise he had made to Albus Dumbledore. Apparently, both Potter and Weasley were doing well and not in need of any help from him, thank Merlin.

“What were you saying about coffee, Professor?” Hermione jumped in.

“I’ve brought a coffee I thought you might enjoy,” Snape said. He handed her the packet he’d been holding, and then he took off his coat and hung it on the hook by the door.

“It’s called Ethiopian Yrgacheffe. It’s one of my favourites. Would you care to start it brewing while I prepare breakfast?”

Hermione took the packet and moved to the coffee maker.

Snape opened the refrigerator and pulled out eggs, milk, a package of sausages, and some cheese.

“What are you doing here, Snape?” Harry demanded.

“I’m cooking breakfast. What are you doing here?” Snape retorted.

“Why are you making Hermione breakfast?” Ron asked, having finally recovered the power of speech.

“Because she doesn’t like to cook,” Snape said, as if that explained everything.

Harry shook his head.

“Hermione, what’s going on?” he asked.

Hermione looked to Snape who merely arched a brow at her.

“Professor Snape and I are working together on some research,” she said.

“Over breakfast?”

“No, Potter, after breakfast,” Snape interjected.

“Is he the reason you’ve been too busy to see us?” Harry demanded. “He’s making you breakfast – what are you doing for him? Or to him?”

Hermione heard Snape’s sharp intake of breath and saw him reach for his wand. She quickly stepped between the two wizards. She put a hand on Snape’s arm.

“Please don’t,” she said in a pleading tone.

“He’s has impugned your honour and insulted me, as well,” Snape said.

“He just doesn’t understand.”

“You’re bloody well right, I don’t understand,” Harry said.

Hermione turned to Harry.

“First of all, Harry, Professor Snape is right – he was invited here today, and you weren’t. That doesn’t mean you aren’t welcome, however. You and Ron are my best friends. I love you both like brothers, but it would have been better if you had let me know you were coming.

“Secondly, even if there were something of a … a personal nature between Professor Snape and me, it would be none of your business. I don’t interfere in your relationships, and you have no right to interfere in mine.

“Professor Snape is helping me. What difference does it make to you if that help includes cooking breakfast?”

“I just don’t understand what you need his help for! Ron and I will help you. Right, Ron?” Harry said, turning to Ron.

“Course we will, Hermione,” Ron agreed.

“It’s not something you can help me with,” she insisted.

“How do you know that? How can we help if you won’t tell us what the problem is?” Harry asked.

“I just know. You’ll have to trust me on this one, Harry.”

“I trust you. It’s him …”

“Don’t you dare say it, Harry! Don’t you dare!” Hermione hissed. “You know the truth!”


Harry flushed. Hermione was right. He did know the truth and, as difficult as it was for him to admit it, he knew that Snape had never betrayed the trust that Dumbledore had placed in him.

Harry dropped his gaze and muttered, “Sorry.”

“I’m not the one you offended,” Hermione said, glaring at him.

Harry lifted his head. Both Hermione and Snape were looking at him expectantly.

“My apologies, sir,” he said at last.


Snape looked at Hermione. He could see that the acrimony between him and Potter was causing her distress. For her sake, he decided to try to put it behind him.

“Accepted,” Snape replied. “Now, perhaps, we’d all enjoy some breakfast?”

“I’ll put the coffee on,” Hermione said as she moved back to the counter where the abandoned packet of coffee rested in front of the coffee maker.

“I’m going to go get dressed now,” Hermione said, once the coffee started dripping. “I trust you three won’t kill each other while I’m gone?”

“I assure you, Miss Granger, I shall be on my best behaviour,” Snape said.

“I gave up killing once Voldemort was gone,” Harry said.


Thirty minutes later, the four of them sat around Hermione’s kitchen table eating scrambled eggs with cheese, sausages, and fried bread.

“This is good,” Ron mumbled around a mouthful of eggs.

“Please refrain from oral communication while you are masticating, Mr. Weasley,” Snape requested in a polite tone.

Ron coloured slightly. “I’m not mast … mast …”

Hermione giggled. “He means don’t talk with your mouth full, Ron.”

“Precisely,” Snape said.

“Oh. Yeah, all right. Sorry,” Ron muttered as he reached for another sausage.

“But, this is really good. I didn’t know you could cook.” He stopped talking and lowered his head over his plate.

“There is much about me you don’t know,” Snape replied. “Probably much more than you do know.”

“You got that right,” Harry mumbled.

There was an awkward silence.

“You were right about this coffee,” Hermione said a moment later, as she put her cup down. “It’s wonderful.”

“I was sure you would like it,” Snape replied as he picked up his own cup.

Harry pushed his empty plate away.

“That was very good.” He paused a moment and then sighed as he saw Hermione throwing him looks.

“Thank you, Professor Snape,” he said.

“You’re welcome, Mr. Potter,” Snape said as he stood up and began clearing the dishes.

Ron jumped to his feet to help.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Ron said. “I come from a big family. We all used to pitch in and help Mum with the clean-up.”

Snape cast the cleaning charms, and soon the kitchen was put to rights again.


Snape looked over at Hermione. He could see the strain on her face, and he could sense that her magical energy was already starting to flag. He wondered why Potter couldn’t sense that there was something wrong.

“Potter, Weasley, go into the parlour. I need to speak to Miss Granger for a moment regarding our research.”

Harry glared at Snape for a moment, but Ron grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the parlour. Snape could hear Potter muttering as the two younger wizards moved into the other room.


“Who does he think he is, giving us orders? It’s her house,” Harry said as he and Ron sat on Hermione’s sofa.

“Yeah, but she’s not contradicting him, is she?” Ron reasoned.

“What’s going on with them, Ron?”

“I dunno, mate, but like she said, it’s her business.”

“Don’t you care?”

“Course I care. I mean, me and Hermione didn’t work out as boyfriend and girlfriend, but she’s still my friend, and I care what happens to her. The thing is; she doesn’t seem unhappy about what Snape’s doing.”

“Maybe he’s got her under the Imperius,” Harry said.

Ron snorted. “Come on, Harry, you know he doesn’t.”

“I know, I know,” Harry said with a sigh. “I just don’t get it!”


“Miss Granger,” Snape said as soon as Harry and Ron were out of ear shot, “you must either tell them the truth or ask them to leave.”

“I can’t just throw them out,” Hermione said. “They’re my friends.”

“You will probably collapse in a matter of minutes. Your glamour will drop as soon as you lose consciousness. That will leave me with the unenviable task of having to explain your condition to Potter and Weasley.”

“I know. I’m exhausted already,” she admitted.

“They are your friends. For all their faults – and they are myriad – they care for you. They will not turn away from you in horror. Even I give them more credit than that.”

“I know you’re right, sir. I should have told them years ago. Now, I know they’ll be angry that I didn’t.”

“They won’t stay angry. They will want to help you. Though I admit it is difficult for me to understand what you see in them, I know you miss the closeness you once shared.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You can have that closeness again, Miss Granger. You deserve the support of your friends. If you let this opportunity pass, you are continuing to allow Bellatrix Lestrange to have control over your life. She tried to kill you. You survived and thwarted her plan. Don’t let her win now.”

Hermione bit her bottom lip thoughtfully.

“Will you help me explain things to them?” she asked at last.

“I’ll help in whatever way I can, though I suspect they will want to hear things from you rather than from me. It would probably be better if I left.”

“No! Please, sir, I want you to stay while I tell them. I need the moral support.”

“I’ll stay, but you must tell them immediately. I’ll not stand by and watch your magical energy dissipate even further.”

“I … I’ll tell them now,” she agreed.

She squared her shoulders and walked into the parlour, Snape right behind her.

Harry jumped to his feet when Hermione entered the room.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Actually, Harry, I’m not all right,” Hermione said.

“What’s the matter? He hasn’t done … anything, has he?”

“My problem has nothing to do with Professor Snape. As a matter of fact, he’s trying to help me with it. That’s what all the research is about.”

“What is it, Hermione?” Ron asked.

Hermione looked to Snape who nodded encouragingly. “Tell them, Miss Granger.”

“Tell us what?” Harry asked.

“Harry, Ron … I was … I was injured during the Final Battle.”

“Well, we know that,” Harry said. “One of the Death Eaters Stupefied you.”

Hermione shook her head. “I was never Stupefied,” she said. “I told Madam Pomfrey to tell you that because I didn’t want you to know what really happened.”

“What did happen, then?” Ron asked.

“Bellatrix Lestrange hit me with the Pulpa Adustum Curse,” she said in a quiet voice. “At least Professor Snape thinks that’s the curse she used.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Ron said. “What is it?”

“It’s a flesh burning curse,” Harry whispered.

“How do you know about it?” Ron asked.

“Remus mentioned it to me once. Back when he was giving me private Defence lessons. It used to be an Unforgivable.”

“Did Remus ever mention a counter-curse?” Hermione asked. She felt a brief glimmer of hope.

“No. He said it was always fatal.”

Hermione sighed, and the tiny flame of hope flickered out. Remus had not survived the Final Battle. Any information about the Pulpa Adustum Curse that he had possessed had died with him.

“It should have been fatal,” Snape broke in. “Apparently, the curse Mr. Longbottom aimed at Bellatrix deflected her arm. Miss Granger was hit with the nimbus of the curse, rather than the full force of it. That saved her life.”

“What happened to you, then?” Ron asked. “You look all right.”

“You’re using a glamour, aren’t you?” Harry said with sudden insight.

Hermione nodded. “I’ve used one every time I’ve seen you since it happened.”

“That’s why you’ve been avoiding us, isn’t it? The glamour uses a lot of energy.”

“Yes. It exhausts me, actually.”

“She needs to drop it now, as a matter of fact,” Snape said. “I can feel how weak she is.”

“I can feel it, too,” Harry said. Then he turned back to Hermione. “I never understood why your magical aura was so depleted. I thought you were just tired.”

“Every time you saw her?” Snape said in a derisive tone. “You’re even denser than I thought you were. I sensed that her magical energy was dangerously low immediately.”

Harry flushed. He knew Snape was right. He should have sensed that Hermione was in trouble.

“Please!” Hermione cried out. “I can’t bear to hear you two sniping at each other!”

She swayed slightly, and both Harry and Snape rushed to her side.

“Sit down, Miss Granger, before you fall down,” Snape said, guiding her to the sofa.

Harry sat on one side of her, and Ron sat on the other.

“Let the glamour drop, Hermione,” Harry said.

“I … I’m … it’s ugly. I’m ugly.”

Ron put an arm across Hermione’s shoulder.

“You’re our best friend, and we love you,” Ron said. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll always be here for you. Right, Harry?”

“Right.”

Hermione closed her eyes. In a few minutes it wouldn’t have mattered anyway; she’d been that close to passing out again.


Snape kept a surreptitious hand on his wand as he watched Hermione close her eyes and let her glamour drop.

He saw Potter draw a deep breath on her left. He saw Weasley swallow a gasp on her right. To their credit, neither of them pulled away from her.

He’d been fully prepared to hex them if they had. A quick Obliviate on all three of them and Potter and Weasley wouldn’t remember seeing their friend’s injury, and Hermione wouldn’t remember that her best friends had turned away from her in disgust.

Snape shook his head and wondered when he had stopped thinking of her as Miss Granger and started thinking of her as Hermione.


“It’s a good job Neville already took care of Bellatrix Lestrange,” Ron said with a catch in his voice. “I’d kill her myself for what she did to you.”

“Why didn’t you tell us, Hermione?” Harry wanted to know. He was patting her on the back awkwardly as she sobbed softly against his shoulder.

“I … I w … was ashamed,” Hermione hiccupped out.

“You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of!” Ron exclaimed.

“Ron is right,” Harry said. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I just don’t understand why you didn’t tell us.”

“Haranguing her will only serve to upset her more,” Snape interjected. “Now that you know the truth, you should be supportive of her, not critical.”

Harry raised his head and met Snape’s eyes. He wanted to lash out at Snape. He wanted to tell him to go away and leave the three of them alone. They’d been working and fighting together since they were eleven years old. They didn’t need him intruding and coming between them. But, in a moment of sudden clarity, he knew that Snape was right. The last thing Hermione needed was for him and Ron to lecture her for her failure to confide in them. And, in all fairness, it hadn’t been Snape who’d come between them; Bellatrix Lestrange and her ancient, horrible curse had.

“You’re right,” Harry said. Then he turned back to Hermione.

“I didn’t mean to get upset with you, Hermione,” he said. “Ron and I just want to help you. What can we do?”

Hermione sat up and rubbed her hand across her cheek, trying to wipe away the tears.

Snape walked over to the sofa and placed a clean handkerchief in her hand.

“Thank you,” she mumbled and then blew her nose.

“Harry’s right,” Ron said. “We just want to try to make things right for you. If we’d known, maybe we could’ve done something by now.”

“I’ve been searching at the Ministry library for more than four years; I haven’t found anything.”

“Is that the reason you asked me to get Scrimgeour to authorise your library privileges?” Harry asked.

“Yes, for all the good it’s done me,” she replied.

“As a former head of the Aurors, he knew she wouldn’t find anything,” Snape put in. “He was using her to get to you.”

Harry jumped to his feet.

“I know I said I’d given up killing once Voldemort was gone, but for Scrimgeour, I’ll make an exception.”

“Calm yourself, Mr. Potter. You won’t do Miss Granger any good if you’re rotting in a cell in Azkaban. Leave Scrimgeour to me. He and I have a history. If he has any information about the Pulpa Adustum Curse, I’ll get it from him.”

“He’s right,” Ron said. “You’ll get more out of Scrimgeour if you let him think you might help him in some way. Let Professor Snape apply the muscle – that’s what Scrimgeour expects from him. You use your charm.”

Hermione smiled a little at Ron’s words. “Harry, have you been taking Ron to the cinema?”

“He’s turned into a regular film-addict,” Harry said.

Ron grinned. “He’s corrupted me.”


Snape could see that Hermione had stopped crying completely. She was even smiling a bit at the exchange between Potter and Weasley. He recognised, however, that the physical and magical strain of maintaining her elaborate glamour for two hours and the emotional turmoil of revealing her injury to her friends had combined to exhaust her.

“Since it’s a holiday, we’ll accomplish nothing today,” Snape said. “I suggest that we meet again in a couple of days and try to work out a plan for searching for information. Two additional pairs of hands and eyes should help our efforts.”

“We should get going anyway,” Ron said. “My mum is making Christmas dinner and she’ll be waiting on us.”

“Ginny will wonder where I’ve gotten to,” Harry added.

“Come on, Hermione,” Ron said.

”I … I can’t go with you, Ron,” Hermione said.

“Why not? There’s no reason for you to hide any more. Not now that we’ve seen you. You belong with us.”

“She’s exhausted, Weasley,” Snape said with a glare. “She doesn’t have the strength to re-form her glamour. And, even if she did, she wouldn’t be able to maintain it.”

“She doesn’t need a glamour,” Ron replied. “She’ll be welcome no matter what she looks like.”

Snape saw Hermione flinch as Ron spoke those words.

“And here I thought you had outgrown being a dunderhead,” Snape snapped out. “She has hidden her injury for five-and-a-half years. In the past three days she has revealed it to three people. She is not ready to expose herself to the stares and whispers of a house full of people.”

“It’s just my mum and dad,” Ron protested. “They love her like she was their own daughter. They won’t mind.”

“It’s your mum and dad, Charlie and Tonks and their son, Bill and Fleur and their three sons, Fred and Padma and their two daughters, George and Parvati and their daughter, and Ginny. Have I forgotten anyone, Ron?” Hermione asked.

“I … I’m …” Ron stammered.

“I appreciate the invitation, honestly I do,” Hermione said. “But, even if I were ready for that – and I’m not – I wouldn’t be able to go.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve already made plans for the day,” she said.

“You can’t spend Christmas working on your computer,” Harry protested.

“I have no intention of working today. I have an invitation to Christmas dinner, and I’m quite looking forward to it.” She looked to Snape and smiled.

“Him?” Harry asked.

“He has a name, Harry,” Hermione said in a sharp tone. “When Professor Snape discovered that I would be spending Christmas alone, he kindly invited me to share Christmas dinner with him. I accepted.”

“But, that was before. Now that Ron and I know about … about your problem, you don’t have to settle for him. Ron and I will stay here with you,” Harry said.

He turned to Ron. “We’ll explain things to your mum; she’ll understand.”

Before Ron could say anything, Hermione turned to Harry.

“I’m not settling for Professor Snape, Harry. And how dare you presume to speak for me?”

“I haven’t begun preparing dinner, Miss Granger. If you would prefer to spend the day with your friends …”

“Are you withdrawing your invitation, Professor Snape,” Hermione asked spinning on her heel to face him.

“Not at all. I’m simply offering to relieve you of your social obligation to me.”

“I have no wish to be relieved of my ‘social obligation’. I never thought of it as an obligation at all; I was looking forward to it. I still am.”

“In that case, I should go and begin my preparations. I’ll return for you in three hours. I suggest you rest while I’m gone and try to replenish some of your energy.”

Snape turned to Harry and Ron. “If you are as concerned for Miss Granger’s welfare as you purport to be, you will end your visit and allow her to rest.”

Harry bristled, but Ron nodded. “We’ll be leaving in just a few minutes, Professor,” he said.

Snape nodded, and then he stepped back and Disapparated.


Harry turned and glared at Ron. “How can you take his side?”

“I’m not taking his side, Harry. I’m taking Hermione’s side. Even I can see how tired she is. When I invited her to the Burrow, I wasn’t thinking. At least I wasn’t thinking of her, and neither are you.”

Harry turned back to Hermione.

“Would you really rather spend the day with the greasy git?” he asked.

Hermione gave a tired sigh. “I know you and Professor Snape never got on, but he’s always been on our side, Harry. Why can’t you just let go of the past?”

Harry looked at Hermione – really looked at her – and he realised that Ron was right. She was exhausted, and the last thing she needed was a load of his shite.

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” he said. “I … I know that you’re right about Snape.”

“If you want to help with the research into my injury, you’re going to have to work with him, Harry. That means you’re going to have to treat him with respect. He wasn’t obligated to help me, you know. I’m grateful to him, and I won’t listen to you denigrating him.”

“I’ll try,” Harry conceded, “but you may have to remind me every once in a while.”

“Oh, I will,” she said with a smile.

“I’ll remind you, too,” Ron said. “My mum and dad have a lot of respect for Snape.”

“We should go, then, Ron, and let Hermione get some rest before he comes back for her.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione shared a long, mutual hug.

“I’ll call you in a couple of days,” Harry said. “Get some rest.”

“I will,” Hermione said as she sniffled a bit. “I’m really glad you know. It’s been horrible keeping it a secret.”

“We’re glad we know, too,” Ron said.

Harry just nodded.

“Tell your mum and dad I wished them a Happy Christmas,” Hermione said as Ron and Harry put on their coats and prepared to leave.

“I will.”

“Happy Christmas,” Hermione said with a little wave.

“Happy Christmas,” Harry and Ron said in unison.

Then they stepped back and Disapparated.

Hermione went to her bedroom, set her alarm for two hours, and climbed back into bed.


When her alarm buzzed, Hermione sat up in bed and stretched. She felt better than she had in some time. As she got up and walked into her bathroom, she realised that her sense of well-being had little to do with her physical condition. She was simply relieved that Harry and Ron were now aware of what had happened to her. She had missed them so much. Looking back over the past five-and-a-half years, she wondered why she had chosen not to confide in them. Her self-imposed isolation had served no purpose. She couldn’t even use Rufus Scrimgeour’s restrictions as an excuse. She had already isolated herself before she ever talked to him about doing research at the Ministry library. Now, if only she could summon the courage to tell her parents what had happened. She missed them even more than she had missed Harry and Ron. Perhaps she’d make it a New Year’s resolution to sit down with them and tell them.

Hermione was dressed and ready to go when Snape knocked at her back door. She had forgone the elaborate glamour and had used only the minor one that he had suggested on her hair.

“You look rested,” Snape said as he stepped into the kitchen.

“I slept for about two hours after Harry and Ron left.”

“Are you ready? I left the oven on and need to get back to it.”

“I’m ready,” Hermione replied. She stepped close to Snape, closed her eyes, and put her arms around his waist without hesitation.

When she opened her eyes, they were standing in Snape’s parlour. The first thing she noticed was that all the books had been put away. The second thing was that the low table that had been in front of the sofa was no longer there. There was, however, a small table off to one side of the room that had been set with snowy-white linens and what appeared to be genuine Limoges tableware.

“I’ve prepared some of my favourite French cuisine,” Snape said. “I hope you’ll enjoy it.”

“I love French food,” Hermione replied. “When I went to France with my parents, we always stayed at this rustic inn. The owner prepared incredible meals.”

“Would you care for an aperitif?” Snape asked.

“Only if you’re having one,” she said.

Snape went to the sideboard and poured. He dropped a twist of orange peel into each glass before he picked them up.

“This is Lillet,” he said as he handed Hermione a glass. “It’s made in a little town near Bordeaux.”

Hermione sipped. “Oh, this is lovely. I can taste the orange and a hint of mint.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“What are we having for dinner, or is it a surprise?” Hermione asked.

“Not at all,” he said. “We’ll begin with Mousse au Roquefort et Avocat. Next we will have a Velouté de Potiron et de cèpes. That will be followed by a Salade de Betterave et de Mâche. The main course is Veau à la Normande served with Pommes Tapées au Beurre Noisette and a Confit d’Oignons. L’entremets is a Clafouti aux Pommes avec Crème glacée. There is also some brioche, which I purchased at the same bakery where I bought the sponge cake.”

He paused to take a sip of his Lillet, and then he spoke again. “Do you need a translation?”

“Well, I understand some of it,” Hermione said with a smile. “The first course is a mousse or pudding of a blue cheese and avocados. I know velouté is some kind of soup.”

“Pumpkin and mushroom,” Snape supplied.

“Salade is obviously a salad, but I’m not sure of the ingredients.”

“Beet and mâche, which is also known as lamb’s lettuce.”

“The main course is veal, prepared in the style of the Normandy region, though I’m not sure what that is.”

“Veal medallions and mushrooms in a cream sauce.”

“It sounds delicious,” she said.

“What else?” Snape prompted.

“The side dishes are potatoes with butter and something with onions.”

“Flattened new potatoes with brown butter and onions in a wine sauce,” Snape said.

“L’entremets, what the English call pudding and the French call dessert, is something with apples and ice cream,” Hermione finished.

“I’m quite impressed, Miss Granger,” Snape said with a smile.

“So am I, actually. I haven’t been to France in years. I’m surprised I recognised as much as I did. Of course, it helped that you spoke impeccable French without a trace of an accent.”

She sipped her aperitif.

“I confess that my everyday French isn’t nearly as good,” he said. “I learned the language of food in order to be able to indulge my zeal for preparing French cuisine.”

“Will we be eating soon?” Hermione asked. “I’m afraid I was too nervous to eat very much breakfast.”

“I noticed that. Although a meal at this time of day should properly be called ‘lunch’, we’ll call it dinner and eat now.

“I hope you don’t mind eating in the parlour,” he continued. “This house lacks a proper dining room. I’ve transfigured the coffee table into a more suitable dining surface.”

“We could have eaten in the kitchen …” Hermione began.

“Peasant,” Snape said.

“Snob,” Hermione countered.

“Provincial.”

“Parvenu.”

“Bourgeois.”

“Arriviste.”

Snape chuckled. “Shall we call it a draw?”

“Only if it means we’ll eat instead of sparring.”

“It does, indeed,” Snape assured her.

“Then it’s a draw,” Hermione agreed.

“Sit, Miss Granger,” Snape said, leading her to the elegantly appointed table and pulling out her chair. “I’ll bring out the first course.”


The meal was even better than Hermione had anticipated. Professor Snape had paired each course with an appropriate wine.

“Would you like to wait a bit for L’entremets?” Snape asked when Hermione pushed the last dish away.

“Please,” Hermione replied. Although each serving had been small, she wasn’t used to eating four courses for dinner. “It was a lovely meal; everything was delicious. Thank you for inviting me. I appreciate it.”

“You’re very welcome. Now, go and sit while I finish cleaning up,” Snape said.

“I could help …”

“You are my guest today, Miss Granger. Besides, I cleaned up as I went along. There isn’t much to do.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

“Then I’ll sit and enjoy the fire while I wait for you.”

“Would you like an after-dinner cordial?” Snape asked as he watched Hermione settle into a corner of the old sofa.

“Oh, no, thank you, sir,” Hermione replied. “Between the aperitif before dinner and the wine with dinner, I’ve had more alcohol today than I usually have in a month. It’s starting to make me logy.”


When Snape entered the parlour a few minutes later, Hermione was sleeping. She had slid down a little into the corner of the sofa and, of course, her glamour had faded when she’d fallen asleep.

Snape went upstairs to his bedroom and got a blanket from the closet. He spread it out over her and eased her down a bit more so that her neck wasn’t bent at an awkward angle. She stirred a little, but didn’t awaken. He picked up his current issue of Potions Monthly and sat in one of the arm chairs that stood on the other side of the small fireplace. Every few minutes, he would look up from the magazine to see if Hermione was still sleeping.

An hour-and-a-half later, she began to stir. Snape got up and went into the kitchen to put the kettle on and to put the prepared clafouti into the oven to bake. When he returned to the parlour, Hermione was sitting up, and she had restored the glamour on her hair.

“The dreamer awakes,” Snape said.

“I can’t believe I fell asleep,” she said.

“I’ve put the kettle on,” Snape told her. “We’ll have tea with our Clafouti aux Pommes avec Crème glacée. You must be ready for pudding by now.”

“Oh, yes, but I need to use the loo first.”

“Do you remember where it is?” Snape asked.

“Upstairs, first door on the right.”

“I’ll go prepare the tea.”


“I thought you said baking wasn’t your forte,” Hermione said after she swallowed the last bite of apple.

“It isn’t. This dish would hardly be considered a pastry by a true French pâtissier. As a matter of fact, clafouti is oft times served as a breakfast dish, sans the crème glacée, of course.”

“Oh, yes. Now that you mention it, I recall being served a similar dish at the inn we always stayed at. I think it was made with cherries, though.”

“It can be made with almost any fruit, but I prefer apples.”

“I do, too,” Hermione said.

“Would you like to finish your tea in front of the fire?” Snape asked.

“Yes, and I promise not to fall asleep this time,” she replied.

They stood and carried their cups over to the sitting area in front of the fireplace.

Hermione settled back down into the corner of the sofa, and Snape took his place in the chair on the other side of the fireplace.

“I want to thank you again for inviting me to spend the day with you. Although, I wasn’t much company, I’m afraid,” Hermione said.

“In spite of the fact that you fell asleep, I found your presence … agreeable,” Snape admitted.

“This has been the nicest Christmas I’ve had in years,” she said. “I was so very tired of being alone.”

“If you had asked me a few days ago, I would have said that I preferred to be alone,” he said.

“And now?”

“Now? Well, at the risk of sounding maudlin, Miss Granger, I will say that today has been the nicest Christmas I’ve had in years, as well.”