Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters, but we did have a wonderful time together.
The story itself, misplaced commas and all, I take full responsibility for.

I wish to give lavish, and very well earned, praise to shuldham who has proved to be a superb beta. It’s been a true pleasure!

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The atmosphere at number twelve, Grimmauld Place was tense to borderline unbearable, or as Ginny had put it during last night’s subdued dinner, ‘Garrotting Gas would be infinitely better.’

Her earnest sentiment had triggered a weary, ‘Hear, hear,’ from the twins and shy nods from the rest of the assembly. Apart from these exclamations, dinner had been passed in nerve-tangling silence in an unanimous agreement to get the meal over and done with as quickly as possible.

The lack of conversation had made everyone’s thoughts dwell upon the presumed source of their unease: the Potions laboratory in the cellar of the house. No one had dared to question either of the two people who, undoubtedly, held first-hand knowledge of the reason for their suffocating situation. As a consequence, the emotional barometric forecast for tomorrow offered them no relief from their worries.

Hermione and Professor Snape had coexisted quite smoothly, or as close as it came to the equivalent of it when it came to Severus Snape, for the past five months. Only as recently as Saturday morning last week, the London house had been filled with all its usual buzz and liveliness. Order members and Weasleys had been milling about tending to their usual business. In fact, Molly Weasley had even commented on the unexpected effortlessness with which Professor Snape had accepted Harry’s offer to lodge at the former Headquarters, during the post-war rebuild of Hogwarts.

‘Indeed, I had expected at least two weeks of irksome negotiations topped with his predestined sulk,’ Minerva responded matter-of-factly, but not without fondness, as the inhabitants of Grimmauld Place diffused through Diagon Alley for their Saturday outing.

‘How come ’Mione didn’t come with us?’ Ron had asked, while making a not too graceful attack on his Florean Fortescue ice cream.

‘Oh, she still had gallons of solvent to evaporate when we left,’ Ginny provided knowledgably. ‘She said she would catch up with us later…but you know the drill…’

‘Yeah,’ Harry intervened quoting their friend, ‘“I will just… it won’t take a minute”.’

Speaking remarkably clearly for one simultaneously wolfing down mouthfuls of chocolate ice cream Ron agreed. ‘She could really use a Time-Turner,’ he said. Seeing the appalled looks on Ginny’s and Harry’s faces, he defended himself with an indignant shrug. ‘I wasn’t suggesting, I just said that she could have a use for one. All right?’

Upon re-entering Grimmauld Place their playful mood had been annihilated brutally. Once past the threshold, a wave of unease had washed over them and attached itself to every one of them as surely as a sticky, wet woollen blanket. Not even Sirius’ mother appeared unaffected judging by the morose way she had mumbled to herself. She was, apparently, oblivious to the excellent opportunity to abuse the befuddled wizards and witches in the hallway.

‘Wow!’ George had whispered in reluctant awe. ‘Who decided to keep a pet Dementor under their bed?’

Unfortunately, the Dementor notion was one of the best descriptions of the situation. Whoever entered the building became terse, brooding and subdued. After a week of emotional limbo, the unnatural hush of the premises seemed to congeal around them. The stocks of Pepper-up Potion, Sleeping Potion and Invigoration Draughts were running low. As no one knew the real reason behind the unexpected week of merciless frustration, speculation sprouted wildly. Had the house been cursed? Had a potion gone foul and poisoned the atmosphere? If so, why were not Snape and Hermione affected worse than the others? In fact, they seemed a bit better off than the rest of them. Had they, perhaps, fallen out over some or other Potion theory? They certainly had done so in the past, but that had always prompted them to argue openly with vigour and, at times, surprisingly amusing wit.

Questioning Hermione revealed nothing of any consequence. When Ginny had asked her whether she could assist her with cleaning the laboratory, Hermione had just shrugged dismissively and growled under her breath.

‘What did she say?’ Harry asked tentatively.

‘No idea,’ Ginny said with a flattened expression. ‘She might have muttered something about “need of an exorcist,” but I don’t know really.’

‘Great.’

‘No, it’s not!’ Ginny sternly ignored Harry’s irony and continued almost in a tearful note. ‘I can’t stand it any more. I don’t care if it will land you in a black spot. You must ask Professor Snape, Harry.’

‘No way, I’d rather go back and live with the Dursleys!’

Ron snorted with mirth for the first time in a week. However, before long the gloom had reasserted itself, and The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black was plunged into a yet uncharted shade of mental misery.

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The following Sunday morning, everyone save Hermione was assembled at the long kitchen table to “enjoy” breakfast. At the far end of the table sat Professor Snape, eating toast. He was utterly engrossed in a special edition of ‘Poised Potions and Magical Moulds.’ He was superbly indifferent to the sweltering atmospheric pressure. Despite his corporeal presence, the Potions master was as unapproachable as one of those treacherous magical islands out at sea that are situated on the horizon and so are unreachable. He was the only one not to flinch or fumble with his tea cup when the kitchen door shut, with a painfully sharp snap, behind Hermione. Moreover, he was the only one not to involuntarily fasten his eyes on the newly arrived woman. He was, however, the object on which said woman fixed her most resolute stare.

Sensing danger, all the breakfasters except the stoic wizard in black tried hard to melt into their chairs. Eyes ablaze with dauntless grit or, perhaps, anger Hermione cut into the paralysing silence with crisp words that penetrated every corner of the room. ‘Severus Snape.’

His Death Eater experience serving him well, Snape calmly raised his dark gaze from the journal in his hand and acknowledged the witch with a slow and measured nod. Unshakable and unabashed he surveyed the fierce Valkyrie with a look of bored indifference.

‘Severus Snape, you abysmally annoying person…’

Evidently, Hermione had discovered the pertinent phrase to chip his aloofness. The following clash of undiluted magic turned the air over the breakfast table, between the two antagonists, bright with fluorescence. Cutlery and toast racks shifted restlessly in the accompanying field of power as the stinging smell of ozone infused the scene. Not only the frozen witnesses of the event but the house itself held its breath as Snape’s eyes challenged Hermione with ice-black fire. Unperturbed, she carried on and finished her sentence in a tone of well-mannered civility.

‘…Will you marry me?’

Magical power failure ensued. One of the toast racks crashed onto the floor next to a marble-like Minerva. The fluorescence was quenched in a flash. The fire in the grate burned with caution eager not to be noticed. For several seconds complete stillness held the room. In a calm motion, Snape lowered his journal into his cup of tea while he, with lax features, surveyed the regal witch in command. It became apparent that Death Eater training did not include coping with public proposals. The piteous yelps from the increasingly waterlogged print in his hands did not attract his attention in the slightest.

‘Well?’ Hermione demanded. ‘I haven’t got all day to spend on idle conversations.’ Her Snapeish phrasing expelled the genuine blankness from Snape’s countenance and prodded him brusquely back to reality.

‘I…’ The voice was undoubtedly his, but the total lack of sarcasm rendered to it a human timbre as yet unheard by anyone except for, perhaps, Minerva and Hermione. ‘That is…’ Snape swallowed, and the wilting paper let out one last drenched sigh before succumbing to its ungracious destiny of drowning in Earl Grey. ‘I…yes.’

‘Excellent Severus. I am most pleased.’ Her answer was playful and as mild as a May day. Her accompanying smile made it apparent to everyone that an excellent match had just been accomplished. ‘Good morning to you too,’ she greeted the room in general.

Still frozen in the desperate act of pretending to be either pieces of furniture or bricks in the wall, her audience did not respond. Mission accomplished, Hermione smugly snatched a piece of toast from the table and turned on her heel. As the last tendril of her brown hair whisked out from the kitchen, Severus’ upturned chair hit the floor. A dark whirl of robes travelling by a speed far too great unless magically aided was all that could be seen of the newly engaged Potions master. Once again, silence claimed the kitchen for its own.

Eventually, Fred cleared his voice. ‘So that’s how he always seemed to be everywhere at once at Hogwarts.’

That broke the curse. Since no one held knowledge tantamount to Severus Snape’s, when it came to stealthy movements, there was a tremendous deal of scraping and shuffling as the whole assembly made for the stairs. They spilled out not knowing what sight awaited them: blood bath or…

He had caught up with her on the fourth step of the stairs. He had trapped her by the wall, engulfed her in his black robes and was necking her with a passion that made even Molly’s cheeks deepen in colour. The half eaten toast fell from Hermione’s limp hand. It tumbled down to the bottom stair, towards the incredulous spectators. As suddenly as the spectators had felt the need to evacuate the kitchen, they now found it equally pressing to get back inside. Perhaps such abstract notions as decency or privacy were behind their hasty retreat, but it could equally well be attributed to the fact that no one pined for a lengthy stay at one of the spell-damage wards at St Mungo’s. After all, Gilderoy Lockhart was best enjoyed from afar.

After a frantic retake of scraping and shuffling, Minerva closed the door behind the crowd. Then she re-seated herself at the breakfast table. After a sip of her tepid tea, she could not restrain herself from an unusual display of smugness.

‘I’d say Gryffindor beat Slytherin today.’ The twinkle in her eyes was of Dumbledorian brightness.

‘Blimey,’ Ron concluded to himself. ‘If they ever end up having children, they’d better be on the good side; otherwise, wizardkind will be doomed.’

‘I’d worry about my insurance coverage for this place should they stay here,’ Lupin quietly advised Harry. ‘The Gringotts Goblins are fierce when it comes to risk assessment.’

‘Wait!’ Ginny’s cry made them all look up at her. ‘It’s gone. Can’t you feel it? Everything is going back to normal! I can breathe again.’

They stared into nothing and felt the shift. Like an old, exhausted animal, Grimmauld Place came to rest with elated sighs issuing from every pipe section and ceiling joist. Brick by brick the tension gave way, and fresh air once again filled the rooms. They looked at each other and drew one collective breath of relief.

‘Hermione has excelled…’ Lupin’s praise was cut short by a sound that shocked them silent.

Laughter.

The unmistakable sound of laughter slipped through from the hallway. There were two parts; one was bubbly and feminine and one was deeper, secretive and masculine. The voices blended effortlessly and told of a covert universe spanning two hearts and minds. The pop of Disapparition cut the sound short, but there was no doubt that somewhere else those two voices continued to unite in mirth.

‘Hermione has excelled by achieving the impossible,’ Minerva finished.

Nothing further needed to be said for now. In awe, they finished their breakfast the laughter still ringing in their minds.

Out in the hallway, everything settled back towards normality. The air was faintly scented by mould, and the dim light reflected in the eyes of the handrail serpents.

‘Filth!’ Mrs Black exclaimed in an almost happy note. A neglected piece of toast was her only audience.



Finis