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Severus worked on the school budget at his desk. Profesor Diaz argued that building a formal Quidditch field and buying top of the range brooms would help build a greater connection with the wizarding world among the students. However, given that magic was dispersed enough near school grounds to permit electricity, two dozen computers might be the more practical investment. What side to foster? Magical or muggle?
He glanced up at the creak of the door to see Profesora Julia Santiago, her smile flashing white teeth in vivid contrast against her tanned skin, as she ushered in the Head Boy, Manuel Ruiz, his soon-to-be first graduate from what his ragtag students called San Pedro Academy.
When Severus had first seen Manuel, the boy had been no older than eleven. Wearing a frayed shirt two sizes too large, he was so filthy gillyweed could have grown on him.
Severus had been practicing flying with his newly fashioned homemade wand and had managed to rise ten feet when he'd spied the boy in the foliage and had come down—hard. He'd started cursing, and when the boy had approached, he'd been considering cursing of a different kind—at least a Memory Charm, even with his chancy wand—when the boy had spoken.
"I know what you are." The boy had licked his lips. "You're a brujo." And he had closed his eyes and had risen six inches himself before crashing down, but unlike Severus, with a whoop and a look of fierce joy on his face.
Seven years later and the boy looked far less gangly, and his white shirt was so starched it could stand up by itself, even in the humid tropical air. Severus tapped the rattan desk with his pen whilst looking the young man up and down. "You'd do best seeking a position at Gringotts wearing a proper robe and with longer hair."
Manuel shook his head sharply. "And look like a girl?"
"You want to escape that corrugated tin hovel you call home? Be taken seriously as a wizard? It takes more than top NEWTs." Merlin knows Severus had learned the hard way the importance of appearances.
Glancing away, the boy ran a hand through is unruly black hair. "But, sir, what you know is years—"
"Things change slowly there …. If they didn't, I could hardly send you to the embassy to take the tests and expect you to get a high pass."
Manuel's jaw jutted forward in a way that reminded Severus of the Weasley clan: too much pride with too little money. Severus himself had a hard time in his seventh year seeking a position with shabby clothes and shabbier connections, despite stellar NEWTs. The Death Eaters had seemed all the more attractive given those difficulties. Manuel might simply not want to admit he had no money to spend on suitable robes. Another need of their students Severus had to take into account in the future. He scribbled a note about funding clothing fit for interviews to discuss with the staff later.
"Nine Outstandings," said Profesora Santiago, head tilted back and chest out as if she were about to crow. "I can't imagine any student of yours matched that at Hogwarts."
He snorted. "I know at least one who exceeded it. By now she's either the next Mistress of the Dark or the worst do-gooder busybody in the British Wizarding Ministry."
Manuel thrust his hands into his trouser pockets and swallowed hard. "Sir … I'd like to thank …."
"I'd thank you for no maudlin displays, Mister Ruiz," Severus said, his voice a little rough from a sudden tightness in his throat. "It was teach the lot of you or have you sniffing about like Crups, uprooting everything of value in my back garden. Who knows what Father Rosario would have done when he saw your little gang slain by my mandrake roots? Have me burned at the stake?"
Given that the local priest made the sign of the cross whenever he saw Severus, and preached against attendance at his school, Severus' comment wasn't quite a joke. Rosario couldn't bring in the Office of the Inquisition in this day and age, but he had brought in the Muggle authorities, such as they were. Their impromptu visit caused Severus's small staff, Santiago, Diaz, Torres and Milan, to scramble to get Muggle texts and enough donations to bring the primitive schoolhouse up to scratch—and still, they had resorted to using a few improvised Confundus Hexes on the inspectors to make up for certain gaps in documentation and certifications.
Severus dismissed Manuel with a sharp, "Go," when he realised he was just prolonging their parting.
Profesora Santiago spoke softly to Manuel at the door, then turned back and sat down in front of Severus with arms crossed. "You will write back to him—when you get his inevitable owl?"
"I see no reason for that. It's not as if I need a fan club. I shall be grateful if Ruiz forgets my name if he's going to live in Britain."
"You shouldn't have trained him to Gringotts' standard if you'd wanted to avoid that."
"He was a menace. I had no choice."
Fiddling with her ring as she was, Severus could tell Profesora Santiago was worried about something. He went back to working on the budget, giving her time to gather her thoughts.
The truth was that, from now on, the life he had built for himself would be more and more in danger with each graduate, and Santiago had to know that too. When two Aurors had dumped him at the little store which acted as a front to settle exiles, with no wand and an anti-apparition anklet, he was sure they hadn't expected Voldemort's own handpicked headmaster would make this niche for himself, founding and running a school with enough unorthodox practices to make the sort of Ministry bureaucrat who regulated the thicknesses of cauldron bottoms blanch. What Hogwarts put into the Restricted Section, Severus had written into the texts. And his students' learning of and use of magic did not stop at the school gates.
Profesora Santiago's own grandparents had been exiled from wizarding Argentina for possession of forbidden texts, after the purges that followed the war with Grindelwald. That hadn't stopped her and her husband from opening their home to Severus as soon as he'd settled in San Pedro, or helping him establish the school. Like him, they believed stripping a wizarding education bare only benefited the established pureblood families, with their grimoires passed down from generation-to-generation, and just kept the dark practices underground.
"Severus, Carmen told me there was an Englishwoman asking about you at the store. By name. Do you think Manuel taking the NEWTs alerted the Ministry?"
He shook his head. "Too soon."
"She claims to have been one of your students. A Miss Granger."
~o~
Something about Father Rosario made Hermione want to grin. He sat across from her at the small round lace-covered table on the porch of the rectory, listening intently as she asked where Snape could be found. With as much flourish as if he were casting magic, he offered her hot chocolate. When he smiled, there was a crinkle at corners of his eyes, a twinkle in their brown depths, a young expression in the wizened face. Several friendly dogs with pricked ears and curled tails milled about the priest's small cottage. A medium-sized, brown dog with dark markings around its eyes even settled at her feet, curling up like a familiar.
"Are you sure, my child, I can't convince you to let me go with you? Uncanny … things happen when Snape's around …. and there's something about him, about the eyes …. I'm sure the man is dangerous. He has scars … around his neck. As if he's been in a knife fight. A strange outline of a tattoo—here." He tapped on his forearm. "Former gang member or ex-convict is what I suspect."
She smiled reassuringly. "Something rather more prosaic. He was my chemistry teacher. There's news from home … and I promised I'd deliver it."
Rather, she and Ron had worked hard on Harry, who believed it was his place, to let her deal with Snape. She supposed Harry believed that the way her attitude had changed towards Snape was perverse. During their school days, when Harry had maintained that Snape was the source of all evil, she'd defended Snape, told Harry that Dumbledore's trust of Snape was good enough for her. But now that Snape had graduated to the pantheon of Harry's surrogate father figures, she had worked hard to remind him that Snape was still the man who had made children sick at the thought of facing his classes, who had presided over torture as a headmaster, let alone having been a wizard who had practised the Dark Arts.
She'd recoiled when she'd heard what Harry—and Ginny—were planning to name their expected son. Albus Severus? Uniting the names of murdered and murderer in one boy. Considering wizards had a tendency to live up to their names—Remus Lupin came to mind—Hermione couldn't believe Harry was going to inflict that name on his own son. Harry had become as blind to Snape's past failings as he'd been to those of Sirius. A "dead" Snape made that easy to do. With him seemingly alive … Well, she wanted to judge for herself if he was truly reformed.
"So." Rosario's lips twisted into a grimace. "He actually did work as a teacher in a real subject. His school here … I suppose you're a modern girl who'd scoff if I told you I feared for those children's souls. Ever since he's opened that school … " He gave an elaborate shudder.
At the mention of souls, Hermione felt a shiver go through her, even in the tropical heat. After her experiences with Horcruxes, damage to the soul wasn't something she took lightly. "What worries you?"
"People are reverting to old superstitions," he said, leaning forwards in his chair, his fists on his knees. A hard glint came into his eyes. "Strange little chants are being muttered by many of the children here. Potions and amulets are showing up, and I fear are being used in lieu of medicines. About thirty years ago, an asylum in the nearby mountains was closed down. Those who ran it kept to themselves, and there were rumours of strange practices, although inmates were sent there from all over Europe and the Americas. When the place was closed down, many of those inmates settled on the island, and they brought their customs with them. Villagers around here would see lights at night and fear witchcraft." He peered at her intently, as if measuring the effect of his words on her.
"Has anyone been hurt? Harassed?"
"There was this little girl, Carmen Mendez, the daughter of the sugar plantation owner nearby. She had strange fits where she'd knock objects about, and her nana claimed they were beyond the girl's reach. Also, she was supposed to have risen inches above the bed." The priest threw Hermione a rueful smile, as if knowing she wouldn't believe him. "After flying her to the States to be seen by physicians and psychiatrists with no relief, her father was desperate enough to ask me to try an exorcism." He spread his hands in a gesture, as if asking what else he was supposed to do. "When I went to their home, Snape was already there, with her playmate, one of his students. Senor Mendez told me my services would not be needed. The curse was seemingly lifted. And after that, Snape's school found itself endowed with all the funding it would ever need. Carmen goes there now."
Hermione sipped at the chocolate, not sure how to respond. Snape was likely violating several Ministry restrictions—certainly flirting with the Statute of Secrecy—if not gathering his own coven of Dark followers.
She fingered the medal box in her pocket containing Severus Snape's Order of Merlin, First Class, the fruit of the campaign to rehabilitate Snape's reputation. Hermione had discovered Snape's file during her internship at the Ministry, not long after the Battle of Hogwarts. Had it been up to Harry, he'd have come haring out here to break the Apparition Charm on Snape and bring him out. Hermione had asked Harry if he wanted Snape to have to live like Sirius, cooped up in Grimmauld Place or always on the run. She had told Harry they couldn't invite Snape to return to Britain unless he was free under the law, and they had a sign he'd be accepted back into wizarding society. Harry wasn't one to do things by halves, though, and not just Snape's freedom, but his honour became Harry's cause. All things considered, Hermione was certain she wouldn't have convinced Harry to stay at home if Ginny weren't about to give birth any day now.
Now she was here, on this tropical island, where the cold of England's winter, which had seeped into her bone marrow, melted in the sun, and the white and grey landscape she'd left behind was seared from her eyes by the vibrant Slytherin green that grew all around her. From the porch she could see down to an ocean of such an unlikely azure it looked painted.
Such a beautiful setting seemed an unfitting place for a Dark Lord to rise. Nevertheless, given the brilliance displayed by the "Prince" of that potions book, which had been inscribed with a self-appointed title not unlike Riddle's, Hermione wasn't about to underestimate Snape. Her assessment of him had gyrated widely over the years, and it seemed every time she'd decided he belonged to one side, he'd give reason for her to see him as really on the other. When he had killed Dumbledore, Snape had done so in a way that fulfilled the will and needs of both sides: Dumbledore's orders, and Voldemort's expressed desires. The memories Snape had given Harry had seemed, at the time, a dying declaration. Hermione's opinion changed when she had learned she was wrong yet again, that Snape was a survivor. With him alive, she couldn't help but wonder if Snape had planned things that way and tailored the memories to bring him to this—freedom. As a bonus he would even get an Order of Merlin. Things he'd live to enjoy whilst Dumbledore, Sirius, Remus, Tonks and many of his Death Eater cohorts, even Voldemort himself, mouldered in their graves.
~o~
Hearing a scratch and whine at the door to the staff room, Severus nodded to Profesor Diaz. The squat elderly man rose out of a wing chair with a gusty sigh and opened the door. Santiago transformed back from the brown dog with black markings as soon as she crossed the threshold.
"Show off," Diaz muttered. "Do you have to have an audience? Next time transform outside and open the door yourself."
Santiago patted Diaz's belly. "Walk across the room getting too much for you?"
"Well, Julia?" Severus asked. "Any news?"
"As you might expect, Rosario presented you to Miss Granger as the Prince of Darkness. Good thing we got you out of all those black robes." Smirking, she crossed to a chair next to Severus' desk and sat down, giving him an amused glance. "You look less the part now. Just from her questions though, she seems very willing to cast you for the role."
Severus huffed. "I'm a Slytherin."
"So?"
"She was well-trained. Were I a Hufflepuff she'd be convinced I had settled in to build a place of my own. Gryffindor? Obviously social justice would be my inspiration. The ickle tykes my only concern. Ravenclaw? Love of learning. But since I was the Head of Slytherin, obviously I'm here to create an army of the dark from a bunch of country urchins."
"You mean you're not?" Still looking bright-eyed and bushy-haired after seven years, Hermione Granger stood at the door.
Snape rose from the desk and strode towards the intruder. Crossing his arms, he leaned back against the book case. "I'd think you know that already as you didn't bring Aurors and don't have your wand pointed in my general region," he said, keeping his voice level. He shook his head slightly as he saw Diaz reach for his wand and at Santiago when she began to rise from her chair. Both stilled.
Hermione smiled at Santiago. "I'm afraid you were a little obvious in following me, and those black bands around your eyes really look so much like spectacles, not natural markings."
She sat on a chair across from where Severus stood and crossed one long leg over another. "I used your own Animagus Potion, you know. One I found in your grimoire after it was confiscated by the Ministry. I've just been spending some time as a dog myself in the school courtyard. Given that I didn't see any students practicing Cruciatus on each other, I'm not willing to call the Aurors on you … immediately. Which doesn't mean I don't have plenty of questions, or that I don't expect a guided tour." Her eyes narrowed and her voice was icy. "Now would be fine."
~o~
Feeling as if she was being pulled by an invisible lead, Hermione struggled to keep up with Snape, who had tersely told her they'd be going to the greenhouse next. The school consisted of four small buildings around a central yard, with the greenhouse behind. Snape had loomed over the children she'd tried to speak with, and she itched to get one of them alone. Although she had to admit, the children didn't seem intimidated by him. Oh, the minute he strode into a classroom there was silence and braced postures, but it had been at the sight of her that eyes narrowed and lips compressed.
Hermione had spotted one little boy who could be no more than four. And when he hid behind Snape (and there wasn't as much to hide behind as there used to be—no voluminous, flaring teaching robes, just a charcoal gabardine suit), she'd realised what had struck her about his students' behaviour.
The students acted like his Slytherins once had, taking their cue from Snape. Acting like they felt sure he'd protect them—even if back at Hogwarts that had often meant he protected them from the consequences of their bullying. She wasn't sure if she should feel reassured or not.
Hermione had counted thirty-one students so far, wearing starched white shirts, black trousers and skirts, and green ties—which Snape insisted were for the green of the island nation's flag, not Slytherin House.
They were just outside the greenhouse now. Through the glass walls, Hermione could see a class being taught inside. "Just how many students do you have at this school?"
"Seventy-four." His face had tightened at each of her questions, and as he snapped out the answers, often swallowing the vowels, his expression had soured as if he wished he could swallow the consonants too.
The number of students seemed incredibly large for the size of the island, but considering how she'd discovered records at the Ministry indicating the island had been used as a kind of magical leper colony for centuries, not very improbable. "All magical?"
"Yes."
"You know, you could try answering with more than a word or two. Just a suggestion."
"Why?"
"You haven't asked why I sought you out in the first place."
"Miss Granger, in all the time I've known you, I've never found it necessary to ask a question of you to eventually get all the answers I never wanted to hear."
She removed the medal case from her skirt pocket. "I came to give you this." She saw his eyes widen when she flipped the case open, but he quickly shuttered his expression and put his hands behind his back, as if trying to keep himself from reaching towards the medal.
His voice, still retaining the smoky quality she remembered, roughened slightly. "If it's even real. If that's meant to impress … you're years too late."
"You have a place back in Britain. If you want it. I also have the spell which is the key to that anklet you must still be wearing. And I also brought your old wand."
"Yes, because I so want to go back to a place where I can be swallowed back into Azkaban with an arrest in the middle of the night. Where people will delight in spitting at me as I cross their path."
"They wouldn't. Couldn't—"
"They did. How do you think I got here? How the staff and the parents or grandparents of most of the students got here? Secret trials and suddenly we're dumped on this wizarding Botany Bay with—"
"Harry went through a lot of trouble to—"
"Quite." Snape's eyes narrowed to slits. "You knew I was here how long—?"
"A lot of trouble to not just get your sentence reversed but make sure you'd be welcome back among us. To use his reputation to burnish yours and sacrificing his privacy. He made a deal with Rita Skeeter. An exclusive on his biography. In return she wrote yours—his way. You're quite the … celebrity." She couldn't help a rather mean, ironic smile at the last, remembering all the times Snape had spat that word at Harry.
"I shan't go back."
She smoothed her skirt and gave him a measured look. "I can still help you. Be your liaison with the Ministry. Legitimize what you've created here. But for that I need your cooperation."
A sneer curled Snape's lips. "And for me to trust you."
"Have I ever given you reason not to?"
He leaned towards her, glaring at her fiercely. "Yes. When you stepped over my dying body with nary a look back."
~o~
Severus watched his words hit his target. For a moment the insufferable know-it-all stood utterly still, her eyes wide. Severus was disappointed not to feel his usual satisfaction at her reaction. Maybe it was just that the truth of the words hit in both directions, like shrapnel. Maybe it was that he knew really antagonising her was as stupid as it was petty, if she were to be as good as her word about helping the school. But there had never been any liking between them. Too many times he'd put his life between her and hers, only to hear her friends scornfully hope he'd be sacked or hurt or killed. The bloody unholy trinity had done their best, at times, to get him killed, knocking him out cold in their third year.
Or maybe it was just that she looked and smelled and sounded like home, and that caused a sharper ache than Severus had expected. And she'd grown up with long legs that—he forced his glance upwards. He would have been warded against noticing any of that had she done her growing up around him. He could still have kept in mind the picture of the buck-toothed, frizzy-haired eleven-year-old with the flapping mouth and hands.
He sank upon the cedar bench outside the greenhouse. Bending down, he removed his right shoe and rolled up his trouser leg. Raising his ankle to the opposite knee, he tapped the exposed iron anklet. "Trust. Right. Let's start with this, shall we."
When she raised her wand towards him, he flinched. "I don't intend to hurt you," she said, and he thought he heard some apology as much as reassurance in her tone.
He didn't hear any incantation; she was able to work non verbally. She was good—and by Merlin, some of his teaching had something to do with that. The anklet fell apart with a faint clink into her hands, and he rubbed the revealed skin, not quite believing the absence of the iron which had been clamped upon him for years now. The device hadn't just kept him from Apparating. It had kept him from even walking further than a five kilometre radius from the small house he had been assigned by the resettlement officer. Severus felt dizzy, and nearly shot off the bench at the thought of all the places he could go: Las Pierdras, Kingston, San Juan, Miami, London, Halifax, Hogwarts.
"Breathe. Or breathe slower and deeper anyway." She slipped her hand into his for a moment and squeezed, startling him enough to look into those brown eyes of hers, before he could remember that might not be a good idea, only to see a huge grin splitting her face. Why not? He remembered the talk of SPEW in the staff lounge. Maybe she hadn't yet liberated the house-elves or enfranchised the werewolves and vampires, but she could say she'd struck off the shackles of one notorious—no—"celebrity" ex-Death Eater schoolmaster.
Her hand moved then to the small brass plaque on the bench, tracing the letters. "Mendez." She frowned. "Your benefactor?"
"You're well-informed. Or, considering the likely source, ill-informed."
"How would you describe Mendez, then?"
"Reason to believe Salazar Slytherin was right."
"Sorry?"
He sighed. "Carmen Mendez is a Muggle-born. When we kept things to a few families, the old bloodlines exiled here, there was a chance, however faint, word of the school and what we teach wouldn't spread far." Thinking of Manuel, he knew in all fairness, the chances had never been good. The whole point of the school was to give his students a chance at the world. He always knew that would give the world a chance to shoot back. "Her father owns the nearby sugar plantation, which makes him the neighbourhood Malfoy."
"A bully?"
"Ambitious." Severus had sensed the hunger, the greed behind the man's questions about magic. Mendez reminded Severus of his father that way, except more capable and thus more dangerous.
"The embodiment of Slytherin ideals."
Severus snorted. "Tsk, Tsk. Such hypocrisy. You, naturally, have no ambitions to remake the wizarding world? The students in this school are ambitious, or their parents are for them. They work hard enough to put Helga Hufflepuff to shame. I'm sure you've seen how many of the people live around here. 'Hovel' really is too kind a word for many of the shacks they live in. Trying to better oneself is not a crime."
And magic was making a difference in those homes, even the commonest, most minor of the household spells done by underage witches and wizards made the difference often between squalor and comfort, between starched linens and dingy trousers. Or hunger and chicken in the pot.
Hermione worried her lower lip with her teeth. "The Ministry might not see it your way. A lot of how and what you teach here violates their rules. And after two wars they have reasons to fear ambition."
~o~
Over the next week, Hermione spent time poring over accounts and textbooks, observing classes, and questioning the staff. At first, they'd treated her with the barest of civility and briefest of answers, but as they saw Severus tolerating her presence, their manner become more friendly. Profesora Santiago had even invited Hermione to her home for dinner. The profesora and her husband had barraged Hermione with questions about exactly what her position was and what the school could expect from the Ministry. The truth was that, in terms of position, she was very junior without much official power. But she had the ear of the Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, had an open Floo to Harry "The Chosen One" Potter, and somehow had settled into a disturbingly symbiotic relationship with Rita Skeeter. Hermione felt sure the British Ministry would recognise San Pedro Academy—and if they did, the other wizarding governments would follow.
Hermione stretched her arms and arched her back, trying to ease muscles cramped from squatting so long in front of the hearth in the headmaster's office. She started at the sound of Severus clearing his throat.
"Well, Hermione?" He had started calling her that in retribution for her sarcastic use of his own first name, and sometime during the week, it had lost its bite.
"I've done all that's necessary from this end. Now I just have to send a Patronus to have the Floo office link your hearth up to the network, and you'll be connected to the world."
"Oh joy."
"You're still worried?"
"How could I be with the heroine of the wizarding world, She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed, on my side?"
She sat cross-legged on the floor and grinned up at him. He looked more professorial than swooping bat in a taupe poplin suit and with spectacles perched on his nose. She had yet to see him smile, so she wasn't sure his improvements in grooming extended to modern dentistry these days. If not, she might try to bully him into an appointment with her parents. Well, cajole. These days she and her parents were even on speaking terms again.
A working Floo opened so many possibilities. And if she could get the school certified … .
"Have you thought what it could mean? Opening to the world here. I always thought there should be some institution of higher learning in the wizarding world. In a lot of ways this island is perfect given its established wizarding population and isolation. The old asylum—"
"Is no longer taking patients so I'd hold that thought." His lips twitched upwards, and his voice held a purring, amused tone. "Ah, I'd forgotten what Gryffindors were like. Not a week ago you thought I was the next Dark Lord, and now you're making even more grandiose plans for me to rule the wizarding world. If only Tom Riddle had you on his side."
"But then after a week of being exposed to your snuggling with Kneazles, bunny slippers, and love of reciting Byron … "
"Bah. You have a gift for fiction."
She flicked her wand, and with a rush, her Otter sprang out the window.
"Still the same … ." His glance flicked away and back. "I heard you and Mr Weasley … ."
"Considering that relationship lasted about two days, in which you were reputedly in a coma, I'm amazed you heard any such thing. You're not spouting that old Otter equals Ottery St Catchpole canard? Have you been taking the Daily Prophet somehow all those years?" She pointed at herself. "My Patronus comes from in here. What makes me happy."
"And you're not a romantic to believe that happiness resides in another person."
She hugged her knees and peered over at him. "I think other people can help you grow and flourish, and I wouldn't choose to be alone. But too close, too needy, you're like two plants strangling each other and stealing each other's sun."
"You seem to have thought a lot about it."
"And you haven't?"
He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "No need. Not in any curriculum in my purview."
~o~
Two weeks passed as quickly for Severus as one of the tropical showers. A number of the conversations held after the Floo had been connected were awkward. Particularly the one between him and Minerva. The last word she had ever said to him had been "coward."
Severus and Minerva had exchanged a terse greeting through the Floo followed by a long drawn silence, until she muttered something under her breath, then said, "Stand aside, Severus, I'm coming through."
Minerva looked fragile to him, sporting a cane that, unlike the one Lucius used to swing about, was not a prop for vanity. She laid a hand, spidery with ropey veins, on his arm, patting him as if making sure he was real. He took her arm and led her to a chair.
"You look better than you used to. Sunshine agrees with you."
"Not having to be five things at once agrees with me. Not having to deal with a bunch of spoiled brats who don't appreciate the privilege of a magical education agrees with me. Not having to constantly practice Occlumency to keep myself from being pulled apart by Voldemort agrees with me." Sitting down in a chair beside Minerva, he stared past her, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "And above all, not being surrounded by people who hate me."
"We didn't hate you."
"Except that last year," he said, his throat so tight he found it hard to get the words out.
"Except that last year, yes." Minerva blinked hard, then removed her glasses and wiped them. "I'd never thought to see you teaching after getting out from under us."
He shrugged. "After fifteen years, learning at Albus' knee, what else am I fit for?"
"Don't you mean under his heel? That year … taking orders from a portrait."
"Advice."
Minerva huffed. "Yes, he tried that on me too. Unsuccessfully."
"He had the advantage with me of crucial knowledge he had kept to himself about everything from Horcruxes to elder wands coveted by mad snake-wielding Dark Lords. As to your other question, to be honest, I didn't plan this." He twisted in his chair and stretched out his arms. "The school crept up around me like Devil's Snare."
After that, the visits and Floo calls started to come together without cease, until he put his foot down when Flitwick, forgetting the time difference, turned up for a tour at three a.m. Nor would Severus entertain Hermione's suggestion that he meet with Skeeter, considering it would soon get out he was alive.
"If you don't speak for yourself, she'll just make something up."
He gave her a long baleful glare. "And this is different from what she'll do anyway how?"
"In how flattering to you the things she'll make up will be."
One call Severus avoided as long as possible was with Harry—or so Severus tried thinking of Lily's son instead of "Potter." He'd asked the boy to look into his eyes when he'd thought he was dying, to make his peace, to try to see Lily in her son. He had needed reassurance there was more of her in there than James to make the sacrifices worthwhile, even if giving Lily's son the memories meant the last part of her would be extinguished. That was probably the shortest of the calls. Both of them, he imagined, were out of practice with hating each other, but the memory of it was still like ashes in his mouth.
Hermione had seemed to sense his disquiet afterwards. Later that evening, she swung in the hammock on his porch. She wore a shirt, knotted just below her breasts, and a wrap-around skirt. Her brown hair was swept up with tendrils framing her face. He was far more aware than he would like of that leg hanging over the mesh; the red lacquered nails of her toes and a small dragon tattoo at her ankle drawing his gaze.
"You actually have a scary amount in common." Her gaze locked with his. "You and Harry. You'd learn that if you dared get to know each other. Which may be why you're so afraid to."
"I'm not afraid," he said, averting his gaze.
"Hmmm." Hermione's voice held scepticism, but the teasing tone promised a reprieve. Not that he believed he'd heard the last on the subject from her.
Severus' glance kept moving back and forth with every sway of the hammock, and given her crooked grin, he was beginning to believe she could tell how … absorbed he was.
He liked watching her: at motion even whilst resting. He didn't dare picture her in his bed, hair fanned out, a leg between his as they slept. He didn't get to keep good things.
"You know, I thought that once I removed the anklet, you'd be blinking in and out visiting the seven continents. You haven't been anywhere, have you?"
"You've kept me busy. And single Apparition isn't possible over large stretches of water."
"You could have used the Floo."
"Minerva had to rest the entire day afterwards before returning to Scotland. Nor can I afford the price of flitting about by Portkey."
She looked at him with hooded eyes. "There's a beach Julia was telling me about … not ten miles west …. She said the sand is as fine and soft as sugar." She wriggled her toes at him.
"Hmmm."
"And that there's this waterfall in the rain forest on the other side of the island." She pushed his chest with her foot to set the hammock back in motion.
"Hmmm."
"And tomorrow is the last day of my vacation. Of course, Manuel offered to take me—"
"He's half your age!" His outraged bellow only drew a wide grin from Hermione.
"Hardly. And, really, given the wizarding life span, what's ten years? Or even twenty? I'd expect you to take the long view."
The next time her foot swung towards him he stilled it with a hand. Her skin felt hot to the touch, so smooth and …. "Given, as you said, you're leaving after tomorrow, the long view doesn't really come into things." He gasped as she ran her foot down his chest.
She climbed out of the hammock and onto his lap, taking his face between her hands before kissing him. Part of Severus told him this was a terrible, terrible idea. That this had the potential to be much worse than Lily.
Or much, much better.
~o~
The way Severus stiffened as soon as her lips had touched down had given Hermione pause for a moment. Just how many lovers had he known since Lily? Had there even been any? But then he put his arms around her, and he deepened their kiss. The way he slowly and skilfully explored her mouth as he caressed the small of her back with his hand told her he had engaged in plenty of practice somewhere. She fleetingly ran her mind down the list of women she'd met in the last two weeks. No, she didn't like the thought it was anyone nearby at all.
Tightening his hold on her, he slowly slid his hand up her bare thigh. He broke the kiss, and she was left gasping against his shoulder.
She felt boneless. "I don't think I can move."
Brushing his lips against her neck, he pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "I'm afraid I'm too old to risk my back by carrying you inside," he said softly into her ear. "Although, perhaps, a Mobilicorpus? Or flung over my shoulder … like a sack of potatoes."
"You really know how to melt a girl. We could move this to the hammock?" She was finding it hard to think about the logistics of it all as he had unknotted her shirt and was kissing his way down as his hands moved up.
"I want you in my bed." He pulled her up and on to the porch with insulting ease, then tugged at her hand, guiding her inside and through the main room to his bedroom.
Hermione's shirt never made it that far.
The skirt she managed to fling off as soon as she was across the bedroom threshold, then she helped make not-so-short work of his shirt and trousers. It might have been quicker if she hadn't been determined to kiss every inch of exposed skin as she worked his shirt off his torso.
He hissed as she licked at the two puckered scars at his neck, as she ran her hand down the thin white scars on his chest, the sparse dusting of hair.
Something coiled in Hermione's belly at the way he looked at her.
He curled her hair around his fingers, playing with the strands as he gently removed her hairpins. With deft hands, he threaded his fingers through the unconfined tangle, shaking her hair out, and then he pushed her down on the bed.
As Severus positioned himself above her, she touched him, helping, guiding. Then he began to move into her, and she bit back a moan as he filled her. Her hands ran across his back. She could feel additional scars there, and wondered how many more he carried inside. Then he was saying her name, with enough urgency and sweetness she found it hard to fear the spectre of Lily Potter.
Hermione raised her mouth to his.
Severus' hand caressed her hip, her thigh, his fingers finding the most sensitive places to stroke, making her lose control and convulse against and around him.
Viktor had been her first. And after Ron she'd found several lovers outside the wizarding world. Men not looking to screw her Order of Merlin. None had left her shaking in the aftermath. No lover had expressed or evoked this much passion, making her feel as if she faced something momentous. That made her fear he wanted her too much. Or that she did. Dangerous the priest had called Severus. She suppressed an urge to giggle. Severus might not take it well. Oh, Father, you have no idea.
Severus stroked her cheek with the tips of his fingers. "Stay. For the night at least. Given that you'll be fleeing tomorrow … "
Hermione nodded slowly against his hand. She'd find a way to make it all work. She had a fleeting thought that what they'd done tonight had shot her objectivity to pieces. But then all hope of that had gone when she'd taken that shackle off his ankle and seen the vulnerability and joy on his face. "I shall be back."
"Yes, like a migratory bird, no doubt."
"Well, at least you're not thinking of me as a bad penny."
He buried his face in her hair, nuzzled her neck with his nose. "More like a galleon. Inflation, you know."
Yes, dangerous.
~o~
Severus felt his lips spread into a rather silly smile as he read Hermione's owl. They'd been lovers for three months, spending every weekend together, and even some nights during the week, especially when he had to visit Britain to defend his curriculum and student rules to the Ministry. Severus could never get enough of Hermione. He didn't think he ever could, even if they lived together. But he couldn't just walk away from San Pedro's Academy and accept the offer to return to Hogwarts. He didn't like the person he had been in Britain, the memories had too strong a hold there. And his school, the people here had become part of him. But so had Hermione. She had written that she was coming to visit this afternoon with good news. He didn't really care what the news was as long as she brought herself.
Hearing soft laughter, he quickly smoothed his expression.
"You smile a lot more these days," Santiago said.
"Thanks for that observation. I'll try not to do it in front of the students."
"She makes you happy."
"Miss Granger would disagree. She believes no person makes another happy."
Santiago moved to the window overlooking the courtyard. "Dios," she said in the same tone she'd used when Mister Cortez transfigured Miss Arios into a tree frog. Severus rushed to the window, and, when he saw Hermione with Father Rosario in tow, wondered if Mister Cortez could manage that trick a second time—on them both. All Rosario needed to do was peek into one classroom, and, at the least, Severus would have to cast a Memory Charm. He quickly stepped out the door to intercept them, Santiago not far behind him.
"My dear Father Rosario, you're a little early for the Black Mass. Perhaps—"
"You see? The man is impossible."
"Severus," Hermione said, her voice sharp. "I brought—"
"Trouble."
Moving closer to Severus, Hermione gripped his arm and shook it gently. "He knows, Severus. What the children are. He has before you ever came here."
"I've been here my entire life, which is nearly double yours. There's hardly a family here that isn't from a wizarding family or hasn't married into one."
"I found him in the Registry—of people who are exempt from the Statute of Secrecy because of close relationships," Hermione said. "It's never been that you're a wizard. It's that he feared you were a Dark wizard."
Severus eyed Rosario warily, glanced back at Santiago to see her fierce scowl.
"Priests and witches haven't the happiest of histories," Santiago said.
The priest heaved a deep sigh. "Dark sorcery is one thing. Using one's skills, one's talents given by God on the other hand … You're welcome in my church, Julia. You always have been."
"I'm not going to church," Severus said. He hated how sulky his own voice sounded.
Severus hated even more the smug grin that tugged the lips of the priest's face. "That is terribly disappointing. Perhaps we can just start with discussing how you might expand the school to take in some Squibs and Muggle brethren. As I said, many of us are in on the secret here. And I, for one, would like to see more of the children have an opportunity for an excellent education, rather than just be fodder as future field hands."
"That wouldn't make Mendez happy." Severus' grin was fierce.
"No." Rosario's grin was even wider.
~o~
Hermione's smile died when Severus violently slammed the door to his office. He had seemed pleased by the outcome of his meeting with the priest, but the way he stood stiffly with his back turned to her told her she wasn't going to gain instant forgiveness for her presumption in bringing Rosario.
She tentatively put a hand on his back and he spun around.
Taking her by the shoulders, he punctuated each of his words with a gentle shake. "If you ever spring that kind of surprise on me again, you interfering, meddling daughter-of-a-Dumbledore—"
"I admit I was a bit high-handed. But when I saw Rosario's name on the registry … Severus, the news of the certification had just come through. That was the news I came to tell you. After these months of me coming back and forth, you still haven't visited Britain except as strictly necessary. I've accepted you don't want to return to live there. Well, fine, but if this is home then we—"
"We?" His breath caught. Slowly his eyes locked on hers, and she caught a glimmer in those dark eyes of something she dared believe was hope.
She took a shuddering breath. "Yes, you bloody git. We. Home. As in place we settle. That is—"
"And I thought you weren't a romantic." He curled a strand of her hair around his finger.
"I said I didn't believe love should be like a clinging vine. That doesn't mean I don't want roots. I've been floating the idea ever since my first visit here for a wizarding university, and even if you don't have"—she grinned—"ambitions that way …. Honestly, I don't think there's anything that would suit me more. Or anyone … " She swallowed. "That is, if you feel anywhere the same—"
"Yes!" He laughed. "Oh, yes." He touched his forehead to hers. "That would be acceptable."