CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR – To the Ministry

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Severus rolled over in bed and stared into the blackness. A candle flicked on at precisely 7:05. The marbled grey stone of the ceiling flickered into view. The students had a few more weeks, and then exams, and then they'd be gone.

Though he did not enjoy the warm weather of summer holiday, it was his favourite time of year. No children to watch, the only things left to grade were exams. The last week, the interim between exams and good byes tried his patience, though. Most of the children would not commit a single thing more to memory or even parchment now that had exams had past. Classes were a waste of their, and his, time.

He sat up and wondered what he ought to do today. Everything had been graded. What did he do in his free time before the Dark Lord's rebirth?

He had no idea but got up anyway. He entered the washroom, and took note that he didn't do it so sleepily as usual. The dust Albus had accidentally distributed to his staff was amazing, he would admit that.

Severus rubbed one eye and squinted at his reflection with the other.

He dropped his hand.

He was thirty-nine. No scars had returned, no pains. The only thing left was the Dark Mark, as the Dark Lord had intended. He swallowed, throat as dry as when he woke from his post-war coma.

His stomach still felt cold.

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Minerva stretched her back and yawned. Hair tumbled over her shoulders. Minerva grabbed at the split ends, eyes dull from sleep. She rubbed her eyes, digging in with her knuckles. It wasn't a film in her eyes; her hair had returned to grey.

She grabbed both breasts then pulled up her baggy sleeves to find wrinkles on her arms.

"I'm old!" She sprang cat-like from the bed. She bent forward and side to side, the pain in her back gone.

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An intense, annoying ringing woke Hermione up after a restless night.

Today, she had to go to the ministry to formally meet the other members of the Defence party. Harry would be waiting for her in the ministry atrium at nine o'clock.

Hermione slammed her hand down on the Muggle alarm. "You can do this." Sunlight rushed in, between the crack in the curtains. "You just have to get out of bed." Dust swirled in the yellow light. "Get out of bed."

The young woman tried to smother herself with a pillow. "I can't do this! What am I supposed to say? 'Pick me for the running because I'm a know-it-all and, oh yeah, I helped kill Voldemort—I'm obviously qualified!' How ludicrous!"

The pillow flew across the room. "Get out of bed right now!" A pressed Muggle suit and a pair of black high heels were set near the washroom door. The suit, Kingsley said, would make it obvious the Muggle-born will be valuable contributors to the administration from now on. Hermione wondered how much her heritage would factor in the election, and if the other members of the Defence party were pro-Muggleborn. She figured Kingsley would've sacked all of those in favor of Umbridge's Muggle registry campaign, but you can never be too sure. She heard the water pour out of the bathtub faucets.

Birds chirped in the window.

"I can do this."

Steam billowed out of the washroom.

"I know I can do this—I am a Gryffindor. I have good ideas—great ideas. You can do this. I can do this."

She rolled over in bed. The pillow had knocked over her beaded blue bag. That purse had been through so many fights…had been beaten up, ripped, caught on twigs or in a Catcher's claws—perhaps it would give her the confidence to walk into a board room full of politicians.

"Hermione Jane Granger, you are not going to chicken out!" She raged to her feet, adrenaline and conviction surging through her veins. "Now you get in that shower, and you fix your hair, and you go to that ministry!"

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Professor Sinistra buttoned her cloak over her hastily thrown-together outfit. Her own clothes felt right, but like she had loaned them out and missed them for too long.

Running down the halls, she kept touching her face, feeling her neck and arms—they were hers again. She hopped over the trick step on the third floor and rounded the corner, colliding with Minerva.

"Aurora—"

"You're old!" She exclaimed, gripping her former professor's upper arms.

"Well, thank you for that!" Minerva snipped as she smoothed down her dress. The top button was undone and she hadn't put on her teaching robes. Her hat covered up the haphazard styling of her grey hair.

"What are you doing down here?" Aurora asked, catching her breath.

"I'm going to see if Severus is normal again—and if he is, I'm going to tell him to tell Hermione first." Minnie took off down the hall, heels clicking like claws on the stone.

"Hermione is going to the Ministry today—if they take her, she might not come back." Aurora, though half Minerva's age, struggled to keep up. She slammed into Minerva's back as the head of Gryffindor halted.

Minerva clenched her fist. "Then Severus must get up right now and tell her."

Aurora pulled her cloak around her waist, the dungeon air cool. "It might be quite a shock, seeing us back to normal first thing in the morning."

Knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock.

"Goodness, Minnie, I think he heard you."

"Nonsense. Severus never wakes up this early and he is a heavy slee—"

The door creaked open. Before them stood Severus Snape, aged thirty-nine—and he had never looked healthier. The three were silent, Aurora and Minerva now realizing how haggard the war had made him. Minerva snapped out of it first.

She pointed up to the Great Hall. "You get up there and you show Hermione this instant. And then you apologize for being a—a ninny."

Severus rolled his eyes and retreated into his office.

"Severus Snape, you are a blind fool!" Minerva chided as she followed him. "Don't you realize that Hermione likes you?"

"You would think a spy would be able to see that sort of thing," Aurora muttered snidely.

"Whatever your little tiff was about, you can move past it," Minerva continued.

Severus stood in the centre of his office, facing the jars of pickled dead things. "I was a Death Eater before she was even born."

That made the other two finally shut up.

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Water pummeled the back of Hermione's head. The weight of the water soaking in her hair felt good—like she should just stay hunched in the shower forever, instead of face probable, likely, inevitable rejection. A groan bubbled up out of her throat.

"I can't do this."

A motor pool of soap suds went down the drain. "I don't want to go by myself."

Hermione pulled up her head, letting the water drill into her chest, onto her scar. "Crookshanks…I need a hug."

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"If you let her get away," Minerva said, "you will regret it. For the rest of your very long life."

Severus knew she was right. How long had he pined over losing Lily to Potter? How long had he tortured himself for letting her die?

"She's…" He wanted to say she was too young, too innocent, that she would only love the young him—but what if none of that were true? What if, even for one month, one year, Hermione Granger would be in love with him?

"Aurora, when did you say Hermione had to be at the ministry?" Minerva was checking the clock on the wall.

"Nine."

8:47.

Severus hung his head. A deep part of him wished he no longer felt this way for Hermione, no longer wanted to see her in the beginning and ending of each day, to speak with her like—like two normal people, and not a spy and a heroine. Apparently the deeper wish had won out.

Minerva shoved him. "What are you waiting for, fool? Catch her before she bloody well leaves!"

"And do what? Wish her good luck and good bye?" he snapped.

"If that's all you have to say." Minerva put her hands on her hips, glad her bones didn't creak anymore. "Don't let her leave—when she's probably already nervous—without saying something to her. Did you even know she was going today?"

He nodded. Of course he knew.

"No matter—go," Aurora urged, opening the door. "And hurry," she scolded. Severus had been Aurora's head of house during her school time, but they had not really become close friends when she joined the staff. They traded theories and discussed how the Slytherin Quidditch team could be improved, but she would never have bounded into his office and then ordered him out of it before their stint as children.

Severus crossed his arms and sullenly made his way upstairs.

If he could catch Hermione in time—and then, by some miracle, have something to say—he should play the lotto, with those astronomical odds lining up in his favor. He pulled his hands through his hair. Saying something would be better than nothing. The witch had watched him totter about the place and didn't let him totter right off a cliff. He had been a berk. She didn't have to forgive him, especially not if she was leaving.

Well, Severus was no stranger to women not forgiving him, so he'd likely live through the affair.

As Severus entered the Entrance Hall, he heard footsteps clattering down the marble staircase. Hermione, her hair pulled up into a French twist, wearing impressive black heels, dug in a bag on her way to the front doors. She didn't notice any of the ghosts, or people, or Severus, around her. Severus could see her lips moving.

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Hermione was less than three hippogriffs away from the front doors.

"Hermione."

That deep voice belonged to the most frightening teacher in Hogwarts. Her heart didn't jump with fear, though. She turned. "Yes?" Her lips parted—he was his proper age again.

Professor Snape had his arms crossed over his frock coat. The dark patches under his eyes were gone. The planes of his face weren't falling into a scowl, but into some consternated frown. The early morning sun strummed through the high windows above the tall doors.

Finally, he asked, "You're going by yourself?"

"Yes. Everyone else is busy." No one wanted to sit at the Ministry on a Saturday, though Hermione thought Ron could use the study time. (Ron did not feel the same.)

A pause. "You'll be fine."

Ouch.

Hermione watched him walk away, to the Great Hall. His lowered head was really the only evidence he felt ashamed about kissing her then giving a quick "you'll be fine," or maybe he was ashamed for having kissed her at all.

She sighed and rooked up her purse; she knew she'd be fine, she didn't need him saying it.

Minerva and Aurora's gesturing at the entryway to the dungeons caught Hermione's eye. Aurora slapped a hand to her forehead and Minerva made a shooing motion then hooked her arm and nodded toward the front lawn.

Hermione set her weight on one foot, holding her purse with both hands. Why should she do anything to get his attention?

Minerva clasped her hands to beg. Aurora looked exasperated and a little exhausted by the whole thing.

Oh bugger all. Might as well. "Would you be able to go with me?" she asked.

Severus paused with his hand on the door. He looked back at her with narrowed eyes. "Yes."

Minerva and Aurora struggled to eavesdrop from the other side of the cavernous hall.

"Would you come with me?" she specified.

Severus was wary as he pulled his hand from the door. "Yes."

Side by side they each heaved open one of the front doors. Severus threw a scowl at Minerva and Aurora over his shoulder. Aurora tried to hide but Minnie ushered him on, hands like flapping fish in the air.

"How do you feel?" Hermione asked. Her heels did not work very well on the cobblestone path.

"Fine." It wasn't snippy, just honest and short.

"That's good." She looked up at him and grinned.

He didn't look her direction, nor grin in return. "How are you feeling?" he asked. "About today."

"Nervous," she exhaled. "But, if they don't want me, it's not the end of the world."

"Certainly not," he agreed.

Nobody else was up this early on a Saturday so there weren't any people to buffer the silence. The sun was shining even though the pair had not spoken for two weeks and a bit of grey sky might suit them better.

"If you go into the Ministry like that, the reporters won't leave you alone," she warned.

He turned a slight grin on her. "Yes."

She cocked her head. "You've never wanted their attention before."

"Before, you weren't on your way to be approved."

"Aren't you a sweetheart."

"Not particularly." He was looking at her, solemn.

"As your baby sitter, I happen to know that's not true."

The right corner of his lips pinched and he resumed the straight-ahead scowl.

Hermione hitched her bag on her shoulder. "Are all the others back to their regular age?"

"I didn't check."

"You rushed to find me instead?" she teased, wishing it were the truth.

Severus didn't say anything.

She cleared her throat. "Thanks."

"You may not be here for much longer."

"I could find time to hang out." God, 'hang out'? A right adult she was.

"As could I," he remarked.

Hermione peeked up at him, regrettably not fluent in Slytherin. "Should I plan for monthly or weekly tea times?"

He met her eye. "Far more often than that, I would hope."

She stopped to face him fully and he mirrored her. "That would severely hinder my ability to go on dates."

"Then don't date anyone else," he replied.

Her heart arched like her smirking lips. "I'll consider it. If you ask me properly." She walked a few more paces then swung open the gate.

As he stepped through the gates, he murmured, "I'll consider it."

Hermione grinned at him as she Disapparated.

A scant amount of flashbulbs went off as Hermione appeared in the globular Ministry of Magic atrium. She glanced about to find Harry, mid-conversation with some reporters, before the marble chamber lit up with Severus's arrival. Harry's face registered momentary shock, seeing Professor Snape with Hermione. He broke away from Xenophilius Lovegood.

"'Mione. Professor. I see you're back to normal, then." The space between the three fluctuated from closer than normal and too close in most circumstances, the paparazzi crowding in for answers.

Severus, scowl- and emotion-free said, "Mostly."

Harry looked perplexed that Snape was not sneering at him. Photographers swarmed the Apparition point, begging for a Splinching, their echoes bouncing from the curved walls.

Harry jerked his head towards the lift. "Follow me."

Half the paparazzi surrounded Severus, while the other half all attempted to squeeze into the golden lift with Potter and Hermione. When the two were on their way up, the photographers and reporters turned undivided attention onto the professor

"Snape! Snape! Why are you here?"

"Did the Ministry test that age spell on you?"

"No," he replied, keeping his temper until Hermione was far enough into the Ministry to not be found.

"Who did?"

"None of your business," he sneered, as if the question was beneath him.

"What do you think of the Defence party?"

"I'll have to do more research," he drawled.

"What do your Death Eater buddies think?"

He remained aloof. "I haven't asked." If he had seen who had asked that impertinent question he very well might have regressed into some Death Eater tendencies. A Stinging Hex might teach him a lesson.

"Think Granger is qualified for the Wizengamot?"

Severus leveled his dark eyes on the reporter in front of him. "If the Wizengamot was made up of only Grangers, the world would be a very different place."

Before anyone could demand he explain, Arthur Weasley had arrived.

"Let's go up to my office, eh?" He nearly grabbed Severus' elbow but changed his mind. The gingery bureaucrat had trouble parting the crowd so Severus took the lead.

They slammed the grail to the lift shut, Severus seemingly unperturbed at the amount of cameras and DictoQuills in his face, Arthur a bit more awkward.

No one else was in the lift as it ascended.

"You look a sight healthier than when I last saw you this age," Arthur ventured.

"I don't think I've ever been healthier in my life," Severus said, idly rubbing where the snake bite had been.

"Couldn't spare some of that magic powder for me, eh?" he chuckled.

"I have replicated the mixture," Severus explained as they exited the elevator, "but I am not sure of any other spells involved to actually make it work."

"Ah, well…" Arthur shrugged. "I can imagine many witches and wizards using a little too much of it, if you know what I mean."

"Indeed."

Arthur indicated Severus should sit in his crowded office. It was by no means small, like it had been in the past. Yet it was crammed so full of knick knacks they had taken up two-thirds of the room.

"I'll be working," Arthur said, face apologetic, "but Hermione and Harry said you were being hounded in the lobby."

"You will hardly notice I am here," Severus assured him.

The professor crossed his legs and peered at the Muggle artifacts. Bikes equipped with unicorn horns instead of headlamps, a glass case full of levitating bouncy balls, and a twitching book had been tampered with by bored wizards. The innocuous items like mirrors and thermometers piqued Severus' curiosity.

His eyes roved over to a photograph of the Weasley Wizard Wheezes storefront with the twins in front of it. They were punching each other in the arms and winking at the camera.

Severus felt his head tilt. George Weasley had been excellent at brewing (if not writing about) potions. Fred had done well too. And they lived a life surrounded by mundane Muggle artifacts and books.

"Intravenous?" Neville asked.

"Doesn't that mean you get hooked up to a straw?" Ron asked Hermione.

"It's a Muggle thing," Hermione said slowly. "It's odd that a wizard would know it."

He huffed. Bloody Weasleys. They would somehow find a way to make trouble even when they were no longer enrolled in the school, apparently.

Well, now that he knew who had cursed him, he knew he would not mention it. George was brilliant but Severus wasn't going to stoke that dangerous fire; no one could know George had such an invention. Not only for the ways it would be abused, but for George's own safety.

Severus settled back in his chair, reluctantly impressed, sheepishly thankful for George. Thanks to him, Severus had more interesting things to ponder; like asking Hermione 'properly.'