Chapter Text
It was by no means a first date, not by any stretch of the imagination. But it was a first... something.
Hail hammered at the window in staccato bursts, then gave way to the drumming of rain. Hermione shivered, despite the warmth of the fire she had laid in the grate of the shelter. It was the darkness more than the cold that made her feel chilled. She debated whether casting a Lumos would make her feel better, or whether its tiny brightness would make the dark seem darker.
The door of the hut banged open. Hermione was on her feet in an instant, wand out, pointing towards the door. A looming black figure stood on the threshold, barely visible against the darkness of the storm.
"Stupefy!" Hermione cried.
The figure slumped to the floor.
"Incarcerous!" Hermione said. Ropes flew out of her wand and wrapped themselves around the intruder. Another wave of her wand closed the door against the night. Then she looked down at the man on the floor. The firelight was enough to see his features; the unmistakeable nose, the long straight hair plastered to his head, the harsh lines on his face, the soaking wet black frock coat dripping on the floor.
Hermione had just stupefied Severus Snape.
"Oops," she said.
She dithered a moment as to whether she should keep him tied up, just in case he hexed first and asked questions afterwards. A furious Severus Snape was not something she wanted to face. Then again, being tied up would probably make him more furious. And he'd still probably hex her even if he was tied up. The war had not taught her to underestimate the Potions Master. She cancelled the Incarcerous, but didn't revive him just yet. Wand, where was his wand? She found the wand holstered in his sleeve... and then another wand up his other sleeve. He wouldn't take kindly to being disarmed, either. But she couldn't just let him hex her without getting a word in, which is what she was pretty certain would happen if she left his wands where they were. If she didn't exactly disarm him, though... She took both wands and shoved them into his left boot.
She stepped back, hesitated, then cast drying and warming charms on him. They wouldn't make his cold heart any warmer, but they might make him slightly, very slightly, less angry at her. Besides, dripping icy water onto the floor wasn't making the hut any more comfortable for her either.
Then she sat back by the fire, composed her face into a semblance of calm, and cast Renervate on him.
He sat up abruptly, dark eyes glittering like malevolent obsidian. He folded his arms, and froze, as he discovered the loss of his wands.
"Miss Granger," he said, his voice more wintry than the air outside. "Would you care to explain your unprovoked attack upon my person?"
"You startled me." And I thought you were a fugitive Death Eater, she didn't add. "Sorry."
"Miss Granger, the war has been over for four years."
"Which of course explains why you still carry two wands," she said dryly.
"Which I insist that you return to me," he growled.
"I don't have them," she said. Let's see how long it takes for him to figure it out.
He twitched, and then slowly, he put one hand down to his boot and pulled out the wands. "I see," he said, never taking his eyes from her.
The fire popped and crackled in the grate.
"Why are you here, Miss Granger?"
"For the same reason as you, I expect: gathering Moonflowers."
"I see no Moonflowers," he said as if she were a student who hadn't handed in her homework.
"Moonflowers must be gathered under the light of a full moon, or else they lose their virtue. They are most potent on the first full moon after the spring equinox --"
"You needn't quote your Herbal's entry on Malva Luna at me."
"-- and as you can see - or not see - the moon is currently hidden behind storm-clouds, and has been all evening. I am waiting for the storm to break."
"Which you could do elsewhere, in more comfort," he said.
If I were elsewhere, I wouldn't know when the storm broke. Which you well know. It's not my comfort you're looking out for, but your own Moonflowers. "Don't let me keep you from your warm bed, Professor." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized it could be taken more than one way, and she hoped that the ruddiness of the firelight would conceal her blush.
Lighting bleached the interior of the hut. Hermione blinked, momentarily blinded by the flash.
"There are other patches of Moon Mallow in the British Isles," Snape said.
Hermione gestured to the door. "They await you eagerly, I'm sure."
A crack of thunder rumbled outside.
"I am harvesting this one." He glared at her.
"In the rain, yes, I noticed."
He didn't dignify that with an answer. His glare intensified.
Hermione stared back, trying not to blink. That was an old, old game; whoever blinked first lost. There was something very Zen about it, just concentrating on not-blinking, thinking of nothing else.
Snape appeared not to be playing though, because he blinked and continued to glare. Hermione blinked in reflex. I won round one!
"Round one of what?" Snape said.
"You read my mind!"
"Your Occlumency would have been adequate," he sneered, "if you had not projected your thoughts at me."
But she hadn't learned Occlumency. Oh. Clear your mind. Be Zen. She concentrated on his eyes again, on not-blinking. But she found it harder to concentrate, being more aware of the random thoughts crossing her mind. He has rather nice eyelashes. She snapped her eyes away, to the safe stone walls of the hut, blushing. "So what did you think of Master Herringbone's article on freeze-drying ingredients?"
"What?"
"In this month's Potions Monthly," Hermione said. "Unless you haven't received yours yet? Does Hogwarts have a subscription? I know Madame Pince is sometimes a bit slow with cataloguing the periodicals-"
"I have my own subscription, and I have received my copy," Snape said.
"So? What did you think?" Hermione asked. "Obviously his findings are just preliminary, but alternative preservation methods could be beneficial for those potions which require the freshest ingredients."
"But not worth the added expense-"
"Of using the Muggle process?" Hermione interrupted. "I've been thinking about that; you could do it with a series of freezing and containment charms."
"Thus increasing the processing required and increasing the expense."
"I would have thought that you of all people would be interested in potions innovation, considering your-"
Snape raised an eyebrow. "Considering my what? My childhood experiments?"
"Considering your passion for the subject," Hermione said. "I think the technique has a lot of potential."
"Potential," Snape drawled. "Oh yes, it has potential, but not in the way you are thinking."
"What sort of potential does it have, then?"
"Consider the process," he said. "Its rapidity. Its - shall we say - violence. It has great potential... for dark potions."
"What?" Hermione said. "That's ridiculous. Surely the fact that freeze-drying preserves more of the cellular structure of the item indicates that it is not a violent process?"
Snape sneered. "By that logic, the Avada Kedavra isn't violent because it doesn't leave a mark."
"Humph," Hermione said. "Obviously theory isn't enough. We'll have to experiment."
"We?"
"Well, you clearly wouldn't believe me if I did it by myself," Hermione returned. "Besides, there would need to be at least two of us if we're to perform a double-blind test."
"I'm to brew blindfolded, am I?"
"No of course not, it's a Mug-" Then she noticed his smirk. "You already knew what a double-blind test was."
"Indeed." He was still smirking.
"Humph," Hermione said. "Well if you aren't going to take this seriously..."
"I am all attention," Snape said. "By all means carry on. Given that the characteristics of a freeze-dried item are distinctive and easily recognised, how would one ensure that one did not know which version of the test ingredient one was brewing with?"
Hermione was pretty sure that he was mocking her, but she took a deep breath and carried on. "Well, it would have to be, um, something that looks the same, like, a powder, or a, a liquid, like a base that's used in more than one kind of potion. Though I suppose it would be difficult to find both a light potion and a dark potion that use the same base."
"On the contrary," Snape said. "There is a certain class of dark potions which are deliberate perversions of light potions. The same in almost every way, apart from some vital aspects which are inverted or distorted, whether that be a process, an ingredient, a time, or a method of ingredient preparation. The potion which the Dark Lord used to re-embody himself was such a potion, a perversion of a powerful healing potion. The original healing potion included the blood of a friend, freely given."
"The blood of an enemy, forcibly taken," Hermione quoted.
"Precisely. An inv-"
A blinding flash interrupted him. CRACK!
They leapt to their feet, Hermione pointing her wand towards the door, Snape pointing his towards the window. Somehow they ended up back to back like comrades in battle. A battle that Hermione realized wasn't happening; it had just been a lightning strike, not an attack. Hermione took a deep breath, trying to slow her pounding heart. She could feel Snape at her back, tall, solid, warm, there.
He stepped away from her. "Lightning strike."
She turned to face him, putting her wand back in her sleeve. "Thank you."
Snape frowned. "For what?"
"For having my back."
"It was a false alarm," he said.
"But it might not have been," she said. "Thank you."
His face stilled to blankness. "Well, as I was saying..." He gestured to her to resume her seat by the fire.
Good heavens, he's embarrassed. Has nobody ever thanked him before? Perhaps not. Hermione sat. Not thanked him and meant it, at least.
"In the Dark Lord's potion, the ingredient itself was basically the same - blood," Snape continued, "but the relationship and collection were inverted. Not only inverted, but darkened, made violent."
Hermione pondered what Snape had said. "So does that mean," Hermione said slowly, "that if freeze-drying is a violent and thus a dark process, just by using that method of preparation, one could accidentally turn a light potion into a dark one?"
"Not by accident, no," Snape said. "Just because one doesn't use a wand in brewing, doesn't mean that magic is not involved. And as with all magic, there is the matter of intent. I doubt that such a potion would turn dark. However, it might become less effective at what it is supposed to do."
"Not quite so dangerous," Hermione said, "but still undesirable."
Snape sneered. "Are you still naive enough to assume that nobody would want to brew dark potions on purpose?"
"No, but even you have to admit that there are probably more well-meaning dunderheads out there than there are potential Dark Lords."
"Touché."
Thunder rumbled in the distance.
"So, for a proper experiment," Hermione began, "we would need to figure out a working magical method of freeze-drying, find a matching pair of potions and choose an ingredient which could be harvested under controlled conditions. You're the obvious person to research the appropriate potions, and I would be glad to research the charms involved. As for the ingredient... would it be better to choose the potion first, and then the ingredient, or the other way around? What do you think?"
She paused, waiting for his answer, then she noticed the room was getting lighter. She gasped and turned her head to the window and saw a bright full moon break free of the clouds. It was beautiful; pearl and silver and gossamer. She stood and stepped towards the window to get a closer look. Snape stepped up behind her.
"Might I suggest..." he said quietly, "...Moonflowers?"
For their seventh wedding anniversary, Severus commissioned a necklace to commemorate that night, the first time they had interacted as equals.