Professor Snape scowled at Harry Potter. Nothing unusual there in and of itself. Today was different though. Usually it was due to some trouble Potter had gotten into, or narrowly avoided. Today it had been his apparent academic prowess, something not usually attributed to young Potter until now. This fact had disappointed Severus somewhat considering he knew how smart Potter's mother had been. He wasn't an imbecile by any means, but sadly being raised by Lily's sister as a muggle had not done him any favors.

If he had to listen to Slughorn brag about Potter's potion abilities in the staff room again he was likely to vomit. Of the three of the Golden Trio, Potter's name would capture Slughorn's attention for certain because of the notoriety. Snape had assumed it would be Granger to earn the older professor's favor, though. While not completely incompetent, Harry Potter was no potioner. This Snape knew after teaching the boy the previous five years.

Miss Granger, on the other hand, while annoying (though less so as her years at Hogwarts progressed he could begrudgingly admit) was quite brilliant. Were the present circumstances different he would be tempted to offer her an apprenticeship, something Severus Snape had never done. Sadly the current … political climate … ensured he could not offer a muggleborn witch an apprenticeship, brilliant or not.

The sixth years were looking to him for direction he realized after a moment. His mind was not all here today. He'd been summoned last evening and while he'd managed to return unharmed the night had been long and tedious. He wondered briefly if Albus realized his request was what set the recent most unusual events of Snape's life into motion. Of course he wouldn't, because no one knew about Snape's recent travels. Not even the one who was the focus of those excursions, but he was ready to change that.

"Switch partners and do it again," he said simply.

The only one who seemed to notice his preoccupation was Granger. Of course she did, he mused. He watched her discreetly, wanting to find fault with her form. He wasn't able to. She still had a propensity to spout from books verbatim, but he could acknowledge she now seemed to realize that books didn't hold all of the answers. It was what led to him believing she'd be the one to impress Slughorn. If she finally realized that experience and instinct at times usurped a text book's instructions she would be a formidable not just potioner but witch.

He scratched at his left ring finger absentmindedly. It was an unconscious reminder of when it was he'd begun to notice that change in her: the battle at the Department of Mysteries. Until that night she hadn't seemed to realize there were things not in books that needed to be taken into account. He understood that, as books had always provided him with answers as well. He just learned well before Hogwarts that books didn't have all of the answers.

He sat at his desk, opening his bottom desk drawer after ensuring everyone was still working on today's lesson. His hand clutched the book there as he had done several times over the past few weeks. The book held the charm that would make his recent travels recalled by one other. And only one other. To anyone else it would be just a book.

He was a fool.

It had to be a joke.

Even if it wasn't a joke. Why now?

Why her?

His lips curled up into a sneer instinctively at the last question in particular. He'd asked himself those questions, and more, countless times over the past couple of months. Even now he still pondered them. No answers came, which Severus Snape found to be the norm in his life rather than the exception of late. There was no book or instruction manual for this.

He scratched his left ring finger again, glancing briefly at the mark there as the thoughts flew through his mind.

He'd spent weeks trying to prove that it was false, a fluke. He'd been unable to do that. He'd known as soon as she was in the castle six years ago that she was here. He just hadn't known which witch it was.

Deep down he knew.

There were certain things that couldn't be faked or forced. Of course, that didn't mean he had to do anything about what he discovered. For the most part, he wasn't going to do anything about it. Not really. Not what he was entitled to at any rate. That would be unacceptable, for a multitude of reasons.

So, was it wrong of him to use what Fate had given him to his advantage?

One person who would know? Could possibly trust him?

He had come to the conclusion while listening to Slughorn sing Potter's praises before this class that it was not. He deserved it! Everyone did. He truly believed that.

He was only human after all, and a far from perfect one as everyone could attest to.

That didn't mean he didn't want those things, though.

"That will be all for today," he said, allowing them to gather their things. "I said class dismissed," he said when no one seemed to make a move to leave. "Miss Granger, please remain."

He watched covertly as Potter and Weasley looked at her in question. She shrugged, gathering her things as she said goodbye to the two boys that made up their trio.

"Save a spot for me at the table," she said to her two partners in crime as they left the room. She stayed at her desk until everyone left before approaching him. She paused at the chair next to his desk but did not sit. She seemed to know that she wasn't in trouble for anything.

She brought her lower lip in between her teeth as she stood in front of him. It was the only thing he found she did consistently to betray nervousness.

"Yes, Professor?" she asked shyly.

"Did you have questions about today's lesson?"

"Questions?" Her eyebrows shot up to accentuate her question and her puzzlement over what he'd asked her. He'd certainly never asked her anything like it before this moment.

"Yes, I'm quite sure I annunciated clearly enough for you to understand me."

"Of course you did, Sir. I just wasn't expecting," she said and stopped with a frown, nipping at her lower lip a little harder than a moment ago. She shook her head as if willing herself to not say what she'd intended to. "No, no questions," she said simply, eyes glancing at the book under his right hand. He kept his left hand out of view. He wasn't sure how it all worked, how close they'd have to be now that recognition had occurred. There was no documentation or really even folk lore to use as a guide.

"Good," he said simply. "And your recovery is going well?"

"Yes," she said, her hand smoothing down the front of her robes where he knew the scar would be. He wasn't sure she was even aware she was doing it.

"Good," he said again.

She eyed him cautiously. "Is everything all right, Sir?"

He muttered under his breath. It was now or never.

"Miss Granger," he said, sounding anguished to his own ears. He wondered what she heard. "I think you dropped your copy of The Crucible." he said. He handed her the copy of Arthur Miller's play meant solely for her with his right hand.

"Oh," she said appreciatively, taking the book without question.

Foolish girl.

Of course he'd counted on that. He knew even if she'd never seen the book before she'd be curious as to why he thought it belonged to her. (As if anyone else at Hogwarts would read The Crucible .)

Her eyes widened briefly, no doubt a response to his magic contained on the book. She'd feel anyone's magic, obviously. He knew that. His, though, would make her feel differently, though she wouldn't know that. Subconsciously, hers would recognize his and vice versa even at this stage.

He'd known since her first year that she was here. He'd felt it immediately. Until aiding in healing her over the summer he hadn't realized who it was. Growing up amongst muggles and without magic until coming to Hogwarts she likely wouldn't recognize any difference in how her magic felt and acted. She'd been around him for the most part the entire time she'd been learning about and practicing magic.

He did, though. Thirty-one years without her being around, when she finally arrived he'd felt it in the very core of his magic. As she gained knowledge in, and became more proficient in, things like Arithmancy which he was acceptable at but never off-the-charts, he'd grown better, too.

"Thank you, Sir," she said, her brow furrowing in confusion.

"Miss Granger," he whispered, sounding almost apologetic.

The charmwork wasn't subtle in the least so she probably felt the mental equivalent of being hit by a bludger. He hadn't wanted it to be subtle or deniable, not knowing the circumstances under which he'd present her with the play. And with the play, the memories.

Story ©Susan Matthews/APCKRFAN/PhantomRoses.com