[Usual disclaimers apply - the characters aren't mine, the story is]

"Man and woman, who in natural fashion incarnate the two poles of the alchemical work - sulphur and quicksilver - can by their mutual love, when this is spiritually heightened and interiorized, develop that cosmic power, or power of the soul, which operates the alchemical dissolution and coagulation." Buckhardt

Chapter 4

Silver

Silver - the Moon - is the culmination of the 'lesser work', and completes the white process. The potentialities of the soul are fully developed and united. The spiritualization of the body is complete, and the purity of the soul regained. This is the outermost limit of 'solution', to be followed in the 'greater work' by coagulation. At this stage, sublimated quicksilver is so white that it looks like snow. It has a fine crystalline lustre and a perfume so sweet that it resembles nothing on earth.

Snape almost fell into his quarters with relief; Hermione had been shown to a set of guest quarters in the East Tower, away from house affiliations and curious stares. He had left her restoring her belongings from their travelling size and putting them away in the press and tallboy that furnished the dressing room.

Snape was tired again, the early morning wakefulness having worn off in the long walk up the school drive from the gates. The various pains that were the inevitable after-effect of Crucio were finally returning, despite his earlier hopes that he had avoided them, and his joints cracked and ached with a vengeance. He was out of practice, he thought drily, for Pinale to have managed to inflict this much damage.

Remembering Pinale, he suddenly recalled that the man had had some connection with the Malfoys. Lucius Malfoy had, perhaps unsurprisingly, escaped all attempts to convict him of supporting Voldemort. Voldemort himself had not been required to testify; no attempts had been made to extract information from him after capture, as not even the Ministry were na•ve enough to believe that they would hear the truth from Voldemort. So nothing had connected Malfoy with the Death Eaters; the man's arrogance was breath-taking but apparently not entirely misplaced. Snape had a - very - grudging admiration for his ability to twist his way out of the most apparently impossible corners.

Now, that ability was finally useful, thought Snape. Malfoy was still around, at a point where he might know something helpful for once. Whether he chose to recall Pinale was another matter altogether; Malfoy was entirely capable of 'forgetting' entire branches, or even trunks, of his family tree if it suited him.

Checking the window, gauging the time, Snape threw a handful of powder into the fireplace and requested 'Malfoy Manor'. The aches and pains of Crucio would have to wait; it was just before lunch and the time most likely for Malfoy to be at home.

The green lurch of the Floo network tore him from Hogwarts to step into the ornately over-furnished hall at the Manor. Narcissa's taste had not improved over the years, thought Snape, looking around with a jaundiced eye. Overstuffed chairs with spindly legs, completely impractical as seats and far too hideous to be ornamental, lined the hall. Mahogany tables, carved with animals and flowers, stood in each corner and a vase of gaudy flowers stood on each one.

A moment after he arrived, a house-elf tumbled from one of the doors breathlessly.

"Master Snape, sir, Master Malfoy is not being here today," the elf said hurriedly. Snape didn't recognise this particular elf, but Malfoy was not renowned for the longevity of his staff. He thought for a moment, wondering whether to talk to Narcissa in Lucius' absence; he couldn't remember whether Pinale was family or merely an acquaintance. If he was only an acquaintance of Lucius', it was more than likely that she would know little - if anything of him.

Snape was about to ask the elf when his master was expected home, when another door into the Hall opened. A tall, blond man entered the room, striding rapidly but with a paradoxically lazy gait. He stopped abruptly when he saw Snape.

"Professor!"

It was Draco; Snape hadn't seen the boy for several years now - he had avoided contact with the Malfoys generally after the fall of Voldemort, although he had hardly sought out their company before that, and, if memory served correctly, Draco had been largely estranged from his parents as well. Snape didn't know the detail of that estrangement and had had neither the opportunity nor the inclination to pursue the matter. McGonagall might choose to maintain contact with all and sundry, but Snape preferred to deal with the current set of students without the distraction of graduates as far as possible.

"Can I help at all?" Draco asked, as the house-elf gibbered something about his master and mistress being away. "My parents are on holiday - I believe Mother mentioned something about the South of France - so I've taken the chance to relive some childhood memories." The young man's face twisted with bitterness at the last comment, and Snape wondered - not for the first time - just what he had had to deal with. Being Lucius Malfoy's son was not a fate to be aspired to.

"I had intended to speak with your father," said Snape. "I need some information about one of his circle," he added. There was little chance that Draco would know anything but, if he did, it would not have been an entirely wasted journey.

"Who?" asked Draco.

"Pinale," replied Snape. "I don't know whether -" He didn't get the chance to finish. Draco clearly knew the name, and thought little of the man.

"My darling godfather," he said, drily. "What has he been up to this time? And lets find somewhere more comfortable. If I need to discuss the family lunatic, I would prefer not to do it standing in this hall. The draughts get colder each year."

He turned to the elf, still standing and fidgeting by the door.

"Corney, please light the fire in the green drawing room and get me some whisky. Do you want anything?" The last question was directed at Snape, who shook his head. It was rather early for whisky, and he looked again at Draco, more closely this time.

Whilst Hermione had matured over the past seven years, Draco Malfoy seemed to have been preserved - he looked little different now to the way he had done at school. His eyes were perhaps duller, and he had lost weight which he could ill afford to do. The biggest difference was the air of studied arrogance - once natural, it now seemed forced.

Snape followed him through one of the hall doors into a small, rather dark, room. A fire was lit - the house-elves had been busy - and a bottle of whisky stood on a small table beside one of the armchairs before the fire. Draco waved Snape towards one of the chairs as he poured himself a glass of whisky.

They settled into their chairs and finally Draco spoke again, staring into the amber of the whisky rather than meeting Snape's eyes.

"So, tell me, what has my insane godfather done this time?"

"When did you last see him?" asked Snape, unwilling to give much detail before knowing whether Draco would be able to help.

"Last summer; he came to stay for a week. Mother does rather like to keep her family close." Snape nodded, finally remembering that Pinale was a second cousin of Narcissa's, rather than a blood relative of Lucius.

"How did he seem then?"

Draco laughed. "Insane. Much as usual. Obsessed with money and power; I can't say I go out of my way to talk to him," he drawled, "but I can't avoid it when Mother insists. It was the last time I was here - he may have visited since then but this is my first visit since last summer."

Snape avoided the implicit invitation to ask why Draco felt it necessary to leave home and concentrated instead on Pinale.

"What did you talk to him about?"

Draco's curiosty piqued him. "You seem awfully interested in my godfather, Severus. Just what has he been up to?" His curiosity was short-lived, an he didn't wait for an answer to his question before launching straight into a reply to Snape's question. "The only time I spoke to him, he was babbling on about the Philosopher's Stone."

Snape hoped he didn't show the elation he felt; at last, some useful information. The situation with Voldemort might be difficult to prove, but this now seemed to have concrete links and perhaps - dare he hope for it - evidence of Pinale's intentions. He nodded, encouraging Draco to continue.

Sipping the whisky, Draco took the hint. "It's a new obsession with him - he changes obsession every few years. The one before this was something to do with Muggle politics, and the one before that was curse-duelling - he was rather taken with that one, I think. It certainly lasted longer than most. I never quite followed either - and he will insist on learning about each of his obsessions as far as possible. He seems to believe the Stone is a panacea for all his ills - money and eternal life. As much as you want of both. He has some financial problems, I think. A little too fond of bad predictions over Quidditch. I heard some rumours that he's been involved with wagers on Muggle horse races as well, when the Quidditch season is closed." Draco swallowed the last of the glass of whisky and rested his head against the back of his chair.

"He was getting profoundly boring about it all; I told him the Stone had been destroyed when I was in my first year, just to get rid of him. The wrong thing to say - seriously the wrong thing to say. Of course," he shrugged, "he then wanted to know all about the Stone - so I told him about Potter and Weasley, and the Granger girl, naturally. He didn't quite seem to believe me when I told him that Flamel and Dumbledore managed to destroy it. I suppose he can't cope with the idea of someone voluntarily giving up eternal life - never mind the never-ending bank account."

Snape nodded silently. This was, then, all the explanation needed - Draco's prattling, a misguided attempt to dissuade his godfather from a tedious topic of conversation, had led to Pinale's attacks on Hermione. The convoluted logic of a madman took discrete elements and made a collage from them that made sense to no-one else.

"Do you know where Pinale is now?" asked Snape quietly.

Draco looked sharply at him. "Why are you so keen to know?" he asked, then gestured absently. "Not that it matters, I'm just curious. Tell me or not, its your choice. I don't know where he is; not sure I ever did - I think he moves around a lot, paranoid that 'they' are out to get him. I don't think even he knows who 'they' are nowadays. He talks about London a lot, so he may live there."

The young man lapsed into silence for a while, and Snape debated telling him something of what was going on. In the end, he thought perhaps he should say something - if only to ensure that any curiosity Draco might summon up would be quashed before he could say something to his father, or Pinale himself. He selected a half-truth.

"He been making a nuisance of himself - I ran into him using some of Voldemort's old tricks on a Muggleborn. Not particularly safe, at the best of times. I thought I might pay him a visit and suggest some discretion."

Draco snorted. "Good luck to you. I can't say I've ever heard him listen to anyone; what's he doing, shaking them down for money?"

"Something like that," murmured Snape, and then changed the subject, easing into tedious small talk to distract Draco from thinking more closely about his visit. "Are your parents away for long?"

"Not long enough," replied Draco, looking round to summon the house-elf again. "I'll have to find somewhere to go before they come back. Father doesn't approve of me idling around the house all day - of course, he doesn't approve if I try to find some work to do either. Ah, Corney, thank you. Another whisky."

He held out his glass to the house-elf, and Snape took this as an opportune moment to leave; Draco seemed disinclined to continue the conversation or to pursue any thought as to why Snape was involving himself with Pinale's attacks. The young man made no particular attempt to dissuade him from going, merely muttering "goodbye" as Snape levered himself from the chair. Muscles recovering from a curse and a twitching nervous system made it difficult to do this with any real dignity, but Draco seemed not to notice. He was, once more, absorbed in the liquid amber of his whisky.

Another trip through the Floo network led Snape back to his rooms; the blur of passing fireplaces made him feel slightly ill, which he blamed on his balance still being affected slightly from the remnants of crucio and the efforts of trying not to show that he was affected. When he returned to his rooms he was somehow surprised to still find it morning - it had already been a long day. He fell into bed, still fully clothed, hoping not to be disturbed before he had had a chance to sleep off the last of the aches and pains.

****

Hermione settled into the window seat of the tower room - far above everything in the world, quiet and peaceful. The grounds of Hogwarts spread out below her in a dappled green canvas, tinged with red as the few deciduous trees in the Forbidden Forest marked the coming of autumn. The gaudy tents of the Quidditch pitch were rippled with the morning breeze that left its trail in small waves that chased across the lake.

Her notes were spread out across the cushion in front of her; Hermione sat tucked into the corner, her back against the stone wall, and looked at the file without seeing it. Yesterday afternoon replayed in her mind; the cold fear and the dragging time as the hex grazed her and deflected away from the glass. Her arm had been mildly sore this morning, although that could have been the result of sleeping on the sofa. A Numbing Charm had dealt with the soreness, and Hermione doubted whether Snape had even noticed - although she would have been surprised if he had; his own encounter with Crucio almost certainly centred his attention elsewhere. She had been surprised by how quickly he had recovered - although he had seemed uncomfortable this morning. Staring out of the window once more, Hermione hoped he had had the sense to go back to his rooms and sleep off the rest of the residual aching.

In the grounds below, she spotted Hagrid making his way across the lawns towards his hut. Fang - or, more probably these days, Fang's son - was at his side. Some things never changed; Hagrid was one of them. Hermione debated heading down to meet him but, after turning the idea over in her mind, decided against it. The hut held pleasant memories from her schooldays, and she preferred not to pollute them with present-day reality.

A knock on the door startled her and she looked back sharply. Surely it couldn't be Snape? He had barely left - Hermione checked her watch and suddenly realised she had spent an hour doing nothing. She shook her head as she asked whoever was at the door to come in.

The door creaked open and Hermione had a moment of blind panic, abruptly convinced that Pinale had found some way to get into Hogwarts. She had her hand on her wand and was about to raise it when Dumbledore's white head appeared around the door. She sighed with relief, easing her hand from the wand and willing her heart rate to slow as she stood.

"Hermione - it is good to see you; I wish it were under better circumstances but you are, of course, always welcome here."

Hermione smiled. "Thank you, Headmaster. Would you like some tea?"

Dumbledore smiled, his eyes alight. "I believe I will take some of the hot chocolate which the house-elves make so admirably; I find it suits me better than tea."

There was something in his smile that made Hermione suspect that descriptions of her tea-making ability had preceded her. She smiled more widely; a house-elf appeared without warning, presumably summoned by Dumbledore in some way. An order of hot chocolate and coffee appeared moments later, before they had had a chance to begin any conversation.

Dumbledore seated himself in an armchair facing the window where Hermione had settled again, each cradling a mug in their hands.

"I understand you had another incident with one of Voldemort's devotees?" said the Headmaster, the statement both truth and question. Hermione nodded.

"Severus recognised him; has he spoken to you about it?" Hermione wondered whether Snape had detoured via the Headmaster's office on the way to his rooms. A shake of Dumbledore's head dispatched that idea - Snape had to have been in a hurry to not even see the Headmaster. She wondered where he had gone; then wondered whether he had been more hurt than he had told her, and whether that was the reason for the hurry. She was about to ask Dumbledore to excuse her, and go and check on Snape, when the Headmaster spoke up.

"I believe Severus is well; if my understanding is correct, the man who attacked you is godfather to one of our former students. I suspect Severus has gone to see if he can shed any light on the motives and whereabouts of the man in question."

Hermione stared at Dumbledore, torn between admiration at his apparent omniscience and pity for those who had to live with it on a daily basis. Useful but, on the whole, unsettling to know yourself to be so transparent to another.

The Headmaster chuckled, confirming her thoughts.

"Tell me about the progress you are making with the Stone," he asked, drawing her to another subject. "Nicolas was always most reticent to talk about the work - even to another alchemist such as myself. What stage had you reached?"

Hermione seized the distraction willingly, and launched into a description of the stages the work had passed through - at present, the stone was a spectacular orange-white. A pure white silver would be the culmination of the sublimation work, and should not take too much longer to achieve - the final addition of material to the sublimation would be needed in a week or so.

Dumbledore let her speak, only occasionally asking questions to clarify - or to seek information, although Hermione was not always entirely certain what it was that he was trying to clarify.

Eventually, the Headmaster stood. "Thank you, Hermione. That was delightful." He seemed to spot her notes in front of her for the first time. "Studying for your viva?" he asked. Hermione nodded. "You have nothing to worry about, Hermione. Your thesis is excellent."

Hermione frowned, then relaxed. "Thank you, Headmaster. When did Severus show it to you?"

Dumbledore smiled again. "He had no need to show me, Hermione. I have my own copy - perhaps it would be fair to tell you that I will be one of the examiners at your viva voce examination; I was flattered and honoured to be asked."

Hermione wasn't entirely certain whether to be pleased or horrified by the news; Dumbledore was, after all, one of the most accomplished alchemists of his age - and had worked with most of the earlier alchemists at one time or another. He had certainly worked with Flamel. Whilst her thesis was in a rather newly-found, and unexplored, area of alchemy it was certain that Dumbledore would know more than she could ever hope to about the subject. However, he could be relied upon to be fair and give her a chance to prove her knowledge of the area.

On the whole, Hermione thought it was probably a good thing; even if it did double the butterflies in her stomach at the reminder of her viva. Dumbledore's suggestion that she accompany him down to the Hall for lunch did not improve things either. Nonetheless, Hermione agreed. The distraction of the Hall, and the students, would probably be better than sitting here worrying about things she could not change.

Hall was noisy - Hermione had forgotten how much noise students could make; or perhaps it was amplified here at High Table. She sat in Snape's chair - Dumbledore had been convinced that Snape would not make it down to lunch and so far that conviction seemed well-founded. Her presence was the source of some curiosity on the part of the students; none of them had been here in her time, the oldest would have started the year after she left. It was possible that some would know who she was - on the whole, though, she was a stranger to them and as she well remembered, strangers were perfect material for gossip. Her seat, in Snape's place, would only add fuel to the rumours and speculation that fed the school.

After lunch, her ears still ringing from the noise, Hermione made her way to the dungeons. If nothing else, she could check on the progress of the Stone they were creating here. She summoned her notes from her room - she was rather tired, both from the barrage of noise over lunch and the disturbed night's sleep, and was not particularly inclined to climb up to her rooms in the East Tower. In the dimly-lit corridors of the dungeons she found peace and quiet, leaving behind even the Slytherin common-room's bustle.

****

Snape woke around mid-afternoon; the aching had subsided, but he had a blinding headache from too much sleep and too little to drink. Sitting on the edge of the bed he poured a glass of water from the jug which the house-elves kept filled on side table and drank it slowly, bringing his mind back into focus as he did so. His clothes were creased and rather uncomfortable - they were not designed to be slept in - and, once he had finished the water, he changed into his usual teaching robes, even though it was Sunday.

Once dressed, Snape debated checking on Hermione; he decided that she was undoubtedly still studying and, in any case, was well able to look after herself. He would see her at dinner, and that would be soon enough - for her, at least. In the meantime, he should record the progress of the work on the Stone that occupied a corner of his private laboratory.

In the laboratory he found not only the work but also Hermione. She jumped, clearly startled, when he swept into the room - he had not been expecting anyone to be there, and so had not particularly announced his presence. Given how nervous Hermione was likely to be after yesterday's incident, Snape thought that it might be wiser to ensure that she knew it was him next time he tried to enter a room where she was. He was in no particular hurry to deal with a curse again.

"Good afternoon," he said, offering a greeting in lieu of an apology for startling her. "I take it that all is as it should be?" Hermione had been scribbling notes, and he wondered whether she was recording the state of the work or whether she was studying.

Hermione had closed her file and stood up. "It's fine - looks to be at the same stage as Oxford, and there's nothing unexpected. Did you ..." She paused, and Snape waited for her to finish.

"Did you manage to get some rest?" she asked finally. Snape thought she had planned to ask something else, but decided to answer the question actually spoken.

"Some, yes, thank you. I paid a visit to Mr Malfoy first, though. He was very illuminating on the subject of Pinale." Hermione looked puzzled, and Snape continued. "Pinale is Draco's godfather - it was Draco I spoke to, although I had intended to see his father. It was, however, probably more useful to talk with Draco. At least with him I don't need to contend with his father's insufferable preening and arrogance." Snape thought that Hermione raised an eyebrow at the last description of Malfoy, but chose to ignore the implied insult - particularly because he rather thought she was doing it deliberately to provoke him. "It would appear that Pinale is likely to be based in London at present, and that you may thank Malfoy junior for inspiring Pinale's current fascination with you."

"How charming of him," drawled Hermione. "And what did I do to deserve that particular entertainment?" Snape wanted desperately to smile at her ironic query but, with some effort, kept a straight face as he described Malfoy's conversation with Pinale. He suspected Draco Malfoy could come to regret having used that particular story to distract his godfather.

Their conversation was interrupted by an owl that swept into the room from one of the accesses hidden high in the roof; it wheeled across the room and dropped an envelope into Hermione's lap. Snape watched her go slightly pale at the sight of the crest on the back of the parchment and stepped forward.

"What is it? Pinale -?"

His question was cut short by a shake of Hermione's head. She swallowed and looked up.

"It's from Amergin. It's my viva date." Snape said nothing as she broke the seal and spread the parchment open. "The day after tomorrow," she added. "I need to go back to Oxford. You may come with me, or not, as you choose. And yes," she said with a touch of exasperation as he automatically began to tell her that she could not go alone, "I know how dangerous it is. But I also know that I need to study, and for that I need access to the Bodleian. I am not going to allow Pinale to disrupt everything I've worked for over the years."

She faced him now, mouth set firmly and obstinately and seemingly daring him to disagree. Snape shrugged, to her apparent surprise; he had thought she would know him better by now. He was hardly likely to protest her desire to do well on her viva, no matter whether he thought her safer at Hogwarts.

Hermione was looking curiously at him, and Snape almost smiled. "I will arrange with the Headmaster to come with you; it would not be the first time he has had to cover my classes - although it has been some time since he last had that particular pleasure," he said, and then did smile at the clear consternation on Hermione's face. "I'll arrange for a set of rooms at Amergin - we can set the wards so that I am alerted if Pinale does attempt to gain access."

In the end, Hermione simply nodded. Snape was fairly sure he had left her no option and, in any case, she was certainly no longer the child who had flouted all the rules put in place for her protection so many years ago.

The Headmaster was rather more enthusiastic about the plan than even Snape had anticipated - perhaps he should go away more often during termtime. Then again, perhaps not; he would like to retain his job, although there was little danger of the Headmaster finding the time to take over on a permanent basis.

They left that afternoon, apparating to the dark alleyway that Hermione had taken him to the first time that he had accompanied her to Oxford. This time, instead of ducking through the colonnades and alleyways that led to Amergin, she headed off towards the Bodleian library. Snape followed her past the University Church and the Radcliffe Camera through an archway and into the inner courtyard of the library. Hermione seemed to have forgotten he was there, focussed as she was on gaining access to the reading rooms. When she reached the entrance door, though, she paused and turned.

"I suppose you will need to meet me here later - the rooms close at 7 o'clock, could you meet me then?" she asked.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "I had planned to come in with you - it is not often that I get the opportunity to do some research with this sort of a collection."

Hermione frowned and looked worried. "But you need a reader's card to get in - they won't simply let you in, and it's not a straightforward process to get a card."

Snape simply looked at her. "Hermione, I'm a wizard. If I don't want them to see me, they won't. And besides," he added silkily, "I believe this will ensure that I have access to the library - without resorting to magic." Saying this, he produced a small plastic brown and white card with a truly appalling photograph imprinted on it.

Hermione blinked and stared at him, before being pushed aside by someone leaving the library. When she had regained her balance she looked up at him again. "How did you get that?" she asked, finally.

"The same way that you did - you are not the first Hogwarts student to have attended Oxford, Hermione," he said with a touch of acid.

"No, no of course not," she replied, apparently slightly flustered. "I just never realised ..." Her voice trailed off, but Snape decided not to tease her further. She would probably find out soon enough. Hermione turned and led the way through the librarians' desks and up to his favourite of the Bodleian's sections - Duke Humphrey's library. It was oddly comforting, and somehow entirely unchanged even though it had been almost twenty years since he had last studied in these rooms. He had kept up his reader's card more from nostalgia and hope than because of any real opportunity to use it. The library itself was a quiet haven in dark wood and unending shelving, up above the Divinity School - he had never quite been able to look at the Divinity School without thinking of the Hogwarts Infirmary, for some reason, but the library had been one of his favourite places whilst he was at college.

****

Hermione settled herself into one of the free desk spaces, surreptitiously watching Snape wander quietly about the shelves apparently looking for something to read. She signed and spread her notes out about her before heading for the librarian's desk to retrieve the volumes she had requested before leaving Hogwarts - the school's information system linked across into the Muggle Internet, where she had placed the request via the library website. More efficient even than owls, the books were now waiting for her. She collected them and walked back to her desk, still thinking about her reaction to Snape's revelation that he had been to Oxford.

She had no idea why she was so startled - perhaps because she had so compartmentalised her life, so that he belonged always to that part labelled 'Hogwarts'. To suddenly make him belong in Oxford required a shift of thought, an awareness of him as something other than her former teacher and current lab partner, and an interesting conversationalist. The wrench threw him not only outside her mental compartments but also into a strange, new, awareness of him as an individual. As a man, with a history and a childhood. His history as a Death Eater she had long known about and understood; this though was more mundane and more startling - that he had been a student here, cycling from college to tutorials, working in the dark hours before an essay was due to overcome too much socialising. Running through corridors and relaxing on lawn quadrangles, watching a game of croquet in the height of summer.

Hermione snorted softly to herself, though still earning a look of rebuke from the elderly gentleman sitting next to her. She had been ascribing her own experiences to Snape, and most likely his had been very different; all the same, the principle held. She got up from the desk again, abruptly, and headed for the far end of the long room. Her footsteps echoed in the rafters that formed the high ceiling until she reached what she sought - a set of shelves that yielded to a muttered password and led her into the Restricted Section of the Bodleian, a collection of books that would startle any Muggle, if any had been allowed to enter. Hermione found the Amergin yearbooks without difficulty, and ran her finger along the slightly dusty books until she reached 1981; that would have been his last year as an undergraduate, she thought.

It had indeed been his last year; a small black and white photograph scowled at her, with his yearbook quote etched below it. "The past is another country; they do things differently there." Hermione recalled her thoughts - months ago now - as she walked up to Hogwarts. It felt strange to see the same phrase written here, now. She studied the photograph; he had filled out, perhaps, but little else seemed different. The youth in the picture was rather more skinny than slender, but perhaps he had had the same problems remembering to eat that she had. There was so much to do ... Hermione turned her attention back to the text and read on.

"Severus Snape (Hogwarts). First class joint honours degree (Alchemy and Chemistry, Christchurch). Chairman: Paracelsus Society. Awarded the deWitt scholarship for achievement in Alchemy Preliminary Examinations."

She closed the book slowly, replacing it on its shelf and leaning back against the shelving. How ... strange. He had taken a double First as well - only he had studied both Alchemy and Chemistry. At Christchurch, of all places. Still, she supposed it made some sense - the college had a reputation for taking those of old families, and Snape was certainly that. She couldn't remember the details, but at some point in her school days she vaguely recalled Malfoy taking great delight in explaining to her just how inferior he thought her - and making some comment to the effect that there were few in school whose families were not inferior to his. Snape, she believed, had been one of those few.

Her mental image of Snape now adjusted to include a picture of the pale boy in the photograph running across the quad in the shadow of Old Tom, the Christchurch tower, and avoiding Mercury, the pond in the middle of the quad. Taking classes to the sound of the cathedral bells tolling nearby.

She laughed abruptly, shaking herself from the ideas. She had work to do, and a viva to take tomorrow. Besides, Snape had read Chemistry at Christchurch - chances were that he had spent most of his time at the Science departments near the Parks and had hardly been near the college, apart from perhaps needing to keep up appearances of being there, in much the same way that she had done at Oriel.

There was little value in painting a romantic picture of Snape at college - she needed to concentrate on other things now, and the integration of this new information into her expanding awareness and knowledge of him could wait until the viva was over.

With this thought in mind, Hermione returned to her desk and began work. She barely noticed Snape's occasional forays from the shelves to check on her progress.

The desklamps of the library kept her closeted in a small pool of light, the rest of the world shut out as she reviewed the work she had done, trying to second guess the examiners - and trying to block out the knowledge that she would be facing Dumbledore tomorrow. A stray thought chased through her mind as she wondered who would teach Potions with both Dumbledore and Snape away - although it was not beyond possibility that Dumbledore would use a timeturner to be in both places at once. Hermione caught herself and forced her attention back to her theories, checking facts with the series of books in front of her.

In the end, it was the library closing that forced her to abandon work for the evening, startled by Snape's gentle touch on her shoulder to attract her attention as the librarians dismissed the other readers. Leaving her books and notes, carefully marked for her to return to the following morning, she followed Snape into the darkness of the Oxford night.

"Dinner?" he asked. Hermione tried to decide whether she was even hungry yet, and eventually shook her head.

"Not just yet - I'd like to check on the Stone first. We can find something later," she added.

"Just as long as it's not a kebab," muttered Snape darkly, "I'm too old to risk botulism from a van at midnight." Hermione burst out laughing, caught unaware by the suddenly apparent humour in much of what he said. At some point in the late afternoon, surrounded by the knowledge of four hundred years, she had come to terms with her new - and newly understood - knowledge of this man. She was profoundly aware of him now, without needing to look at him; she could feel his presence next to her and was aware of the layers of his personality. He had broken out of the box in which she had placed him - had never really been enclosed by it, certainly not since he had appeared at her door in late December - and she would never be able to consider him in the same way again.

She shivered suddenly; he noticed, of course. She found his coat settled around her shoulders a moment later. It still held his heat, comforting her, and carried his unique scent - dry, with a tinge of some spice - and Hermione had to resist the temptation to wrap herself completely in the thick warmth.

The laboratory held a surprise, which Hermione noticed as soon as they entered. The glass vessel had cleared; in place of the black and blue clouds and the orange-white powder there was nothing but a residue of shimmering silver-white powder in a small pile at the bottom of the glass. It looked like the purest crystals of snow, harvested from a mountain top and untouched by humanity. Once they had opened the glass the room was filled with its scent; a sweet perfume, a complete contrast to the poison that had been produced until now, and unlike anything Hermione had smelt before - even Snape seemed as stunned by it as she was.

The lesser work was complete; they had now the means to make silver if they so chose - and Snape decided to test it. He took a ringpull from a can of Diet Coke, looking at it oddly, and dipped it into the powder; they waited for a tense minute and then he lifted it out carefully with a glass stirrer. It had become silver; a more polished refinement of the dull aluminium it had been just a moment before.

"What is this?" asked Snape eventually. Hermione laughed.

"It's a ringpull, Severus. From a can of drink - not something wizards seem to have, but I've never quite got over a childhood addiction. It helps keep me awake and it's a bit more convenient than coffee." She wasn't sure that she had explained particularly clearly, but Snape seemed to accept it - he just frowned at the ringpull and presented it to her. Hermione tucked it away into a pocket; perhaps he had meant her to throw it away, but she had other intentions.

She was well aware that she could say nothing to Snape about her recent shift in perception of him, and increasing awareness of him. To do so would be to guarantee pity, at best, and avoidance at worst. She had been his student - and no doubt he still thought of her that way, even if he had accepted her as an equal now. She could not bear to lose his friendship - and it was certainly that, despite the differences between them - and tried very hard to think about what would happen once they had finished the work, with no more excuse for their Friday evening conversations.

Hermione curled her fingers around the ringpull; it would remind her, of both Snape and this moment.

Somewhere in her musings, Snape had spotted a letter near the fireplace and had picked it up. She was surprised to see him open it, but when he read the contents she understood.

"Dear Hermione and Severus," he read, "I thought you would wish to know as soon as possible that the lesser work has been completed here at Hogwarts. I trust that you have had equal success at Oxford. Regards, Albus Dumbledore."

Hermione smiled - it was not unexpected, but it was still a relief to know that the two processes continued in tandem. They had left the Headmaster with a request that he check the work this evening and tomorrow morning, in lieu of Snape's own inspections.

Dinner passed in a tangle of conversation that ranged from a debate of the respective merits of Muggle and wizard photography to a soliloquy from Snape on the art of potions via a discussion of one of Hermione's favourite lines from High Season, a movie she otherwise found a waste of time. "All artists are exhibitionists, but only photographers are voyeurs." The food was forgotten, eaten without noticing, in the midst of the ideas released and developed in the midst of their words.

Wrapped still in their conversation they walked back to Amergin through the never-still streets, alternately shadowed and lit by the streetlights that shone high above them. Hermione wished she had had a compelling reason to forget her coat again, but firmly rejected that thought - she needed to get her mind back into something resembling order; she could not risk either his noticing or her becoming distracted tomorrow. She promised herself that, as soon as all this was over, she would go away somewhere - take a holiday - and lose herself in daydreams of impossible what-ifs. Until then, everything she had learnt about self-discipline would need to be exploited.

To her surprise, Hermione slept well; broken nights, near misses from curses, quelled panic over an exam and unrequited love clearly formed a recipe for exhaustion. Breakfast was unthinkable, though, and she headed back to the library as soon as she could, with Snape once more accompanying her.

The morning passed in study until, just before lunch, Hermione shut her books without any prompting. She turned to look for Snape and found him standing behind her, waiting for her to notice him.

"Lunch?"

She nodded and collected her notes together. "If I don't know it by now ..." she said, shrugging off the nervous tension that coursed through her.

They lunched in the Covered Market, at one of the myriad small sandwich bars there - Snape's appetite had clearly not deserted him, but Hermione could do nothing more than sip at a Diet Coke and watch him dispatch an avocado and bacon sandwich. Watching his mouth was an effective distraction though, and she found herself calming down as the edge of her panic over the upcoming examination was muted by a more interesting tension.

Back at college once again, Hermione changed in her rooms. Amergin followed Oxford tradition, and all examinations required the student to wear subfusc - in Hermione's case, a short black skirt, white blouse, black string tie, black stockings and shoes, and her academic gown, white fur lined hood and mortarboard. In a pocket of her skirt was tucked her keyring, with the silver ringpull that Snape had given her now added to the ring. Snape knocked on her door shortly after she was ready; he had asked her whether she would mind if he attended the viva. Hermione had agreed, although she was now questioning the wisdom of that decision.

She opened the door and thought that an odd look flashed across Snape's face - it was gone too fast for her to be sure. He offered her his arm, an old-fashioned courtesy that she found charming. He had found academic gowns from somewhere - or, more likely, summoned his from Hogwarts via Floo. They fit too well to be borrowed, after all. The scarlet DPhil gown was so different to the eternal black in which she saw him clothed that she was taken aback by it for a moment, before nodding in approval. She thought she saw his lips quirk in a swift smile at her appraisal of him as they set off to the formal room in the Senior Common Room in which her viva examination would take place.

****

Snape settled into a chair in a corner of the room; the chestnut panelled walls and rich tapestries darkened the space, centring attention on the table in the middle at which sat three men. Dumbledore, Lishcka - the Amergin Professor of Alchemy, and a third man; Snape thought that he was Lucier, one of the professors of Alchemy at the University of Santiago.

Hermione sat at a chair in front of the table, looking pale but resolute. He had been concerned about her, particularly as she had barely eaten that day, but on the whole she seemed to be coping well with the process. Perhaps examinations suited her, despite the last-minute studying. She had handled the questions easily and confidently, as the examiners tested her on the central topics of her thesis - Snape was rather impressed by the examiners, in fact, as they examined her on a subject which he was rather inclined to believe none of them knew anything about.

Quantum alchemy was far beyond anything that alchemists generally dealt with; few wizards studied Muggle science to any great degree, despite its close application to magic - the quantum physics on which Hermione had based her theories and exploration had relevance not just to alchemy but also to transfiguration and apparating.

Suddenly the room fell silent, and Snape realised that Lucier had just asked Hermione whether she had in fact made the Philosopher's Stone - he believed that her thesis held information which suggested that she had done so. Snape watched Hermione nod after a moment's thought, not confirming that she had made the Stone but simply agreeing that her thesis could be read that way.

"I have not made the Stone, Professor Lucier. I have, as you have discovered for yourself, found what appears to be the key to the process that Nicolas Flamel used but I do not believe that it is essential for the purposes of the work that I have done in this area that I make the Stone itself."

Lucier nodded and moved onto another question, and Snape released the breath he had not been aware of holding.

The examination went on, in the end, for over two hours - Hermione drew the three examiners into a discussion of additional areas of research which lay to be explored from the opening she had created with her thesis. Finally, Lischka stood and formally thanked her for attending the viva. Hermione was asked to return in half an hour, to allow them time to complete their deliberations. Snape rose and left with her.

Outside, Hermione paced around the courtyard. Snape debated whether or not to follow her and, in the end, did so. As he drew level with her, Hermione suddenly looked up at him.

"How many other people will realise that I know how to make the Stone?" she asked. "I have to publish my thesis, it's one of the requirements. How many more people are going to come after me now - in person or by letter, wanting instructions, wanting money ... wanting more." Her voice trailed off.

Snape wanted to comfort her; it was an unusual feeling, but he had been suppressing unusual feelings ever since he collected her from her room and found her dressed in a rather short skirt - she had worn trousers every time they had met, and he had not seen her in a skirt since she was in school uniform; but she had not looked like this when she was in school uniform. Snape was aware enough to realise that, quite apart from anything else, he saw now Hermione in her own right and not as a student. It made rather a difference.

He suspected that comforting would not be well received; he was out of practice at giving it, and he wasn't prepared to risk their friendship over a misunderstanding this way. He settled instead for practical advice.

"You don't need to publish it in exactly the same form - only the copy that you need to deposit with the Bodleian needs to be exactly the same. You can edit it for publication; tell them that your editor wants it to appeal to a wider audience. You can take out some of the elements that point to your knowledge of the Stone whilst making it more accessible - not that I suggest you embark on a career to rival Lockhart's," he added drily.

The comment had the intended effect - Hermione laughed. Snape wondered whether she had been one of the students who had developed a crush on Gilderoy Lockhart's rather dubious charms during the man's ill-fated tenure as teacher at Hogwarts; he hoped she had had more sense - he knew that she would have more sense now.

They strolled through the colonnades of the college, around the quadrangles, watching the students lazing in the sunshine. Some were playing croquet, a game which Snape had never entirely understood - Dumbledore was a vicious croquet player, and had occasionally tried to interest Snape in the game but, so far, he had resisted.

As they neared the Senior Common Room again, for the third time around that particular area, the door opened and Dumbledore looked out. Seeing them, he called to Hermione.

"Hermione, Severus - we are ready for you, Hermione, if you would like to come back in."

They re-entered the room and Snape went back to the chair in the corner. He aimed to be inconspicuous - as inconspicuous as it was possible to be in scarlet doctoral robes. Oxford DPhils were not generally hard to distinguish in a crowd of academics.

Dumbledore had sat back down with the other two examiners, and Lischka rose to face Hermione, who had remained standing.

"It is my very great pleasure, Doctor Granger, to confirm that we have accepted your thesis and would like to take this opportunity to commend you on an exceptional piece of work - we look forward to seeing you research this area further."

Snape wasn't entirely convinced that Hermione had heard anything beyond the words "Doctor Granger"; she certainly looked dazed as she went through the motions of shaking hands with the examiners and receiving their personal congratulations.

Finally, as Hermione looked slightly lost once the examiners had each had a chance to talk to her, he stood and swept off his robe and walked across to her.

"Doctor Granger," he said, seeking her attention. She looked at him, startled, and then looked confused as he offered the gown to her. "I believe this might be more appropriate that the gown you're wearing at the moment?" he added, a smile on his face.

Hermione blinked and clearly understood - finally - what it was that he was doing. She shrugged off her own gown and hood and took the bundle of scarlet from him.

"Thank you," she said as she draped it over her shoulders, and then laughed. It trailed along the ground behind her, made for his height and not hers. No matter, it was the symbolism that he had intended.

Dumbledore was smiling at them both with a twinkle in his eye; Snape wondered just what the old man was up to now. That particular look usually spelt trouble - not that Dumbledore would ever see it as such.

"A lovely gesture, Severus," he said now. "I presume you will be taking Doctor Granger off for some suitable celebration?"

Snape had planned precisely that, in fact. He supposed he should be annoyed with the Headmaster for apparently forcing his hand but, in the end, all he could feel was relief that he had not had to muster the courage to ask Hermione without warning. He turned to her and bowed formally, maintaining eye contact just enough to try to convey that he was teasing; the smile on her face suggested that she understood.

"I should be honoured if you would allow me to take you somewhere more ... festive," he said as he straightened. Hermione laughed again and nodded - Snape suspected she was already euphoric as the realisation that she had passed sank in; she had to have known that she had passed, as no tutor would have allowed her to submit a thesis that was not of the appropriate standard, but it was still a relief to have it confirmed. He remembered that particular feeling with some clarity, even though it was mixed with the recollection of horror as Voldemort promptly summoned him once he had heard the news. He dismissed that memory; Voldemort would not be summoning Hermione later today.

Finally, once all the congratulations had been said and repeated, Snape walked Hermione back to her rooms in a companiable silence; when they reached her door, she handed him his gown.

"Thank you, Severus," she said. "That was ... I liked it very much. Thank you. Um ... do you want to meet me back here in ten minutes?"

"Very well - I had planned that we might go to London; there's somewhere I think would be appropriate."

Hermione nodded.

"Good, that'll mean I can go home to change properly first - I don't really have anything other than jeans and academic dress here. Shall I meet you at the flat in an hour, instead?"

"I would prefer to accompany you - we have no idea where Pinale is, after all," Snape reminded her. He didn't want to flatly refuse and spoil the afternoon, but he hoped she would pick up on the point. She didn't.

"He won't know, and I won't be there long - it's not as though I planned to go back to the flat so, wherever he's getting his information from, he won't be able to tell I'm going."

Snape clenched his jaw, stopping himself from pointing out just how foolish she was being; at the back of his mind, fear nagged at him to warn her. Instead, he nodded curtly.

"Very well, I'll collect you in an hour at your flat."

Hermione smiled and gave him a small wave as she disappeared into her rooms.

Snape spent the following hour checking the reservations he had made and sending his academic robes back to Hogwarts - the room he had borrowed at Amergin had, usefully, a fireplace connected to the Floo network.

An hour later he presented himself at Hermione's flat, feeling as though he was about to go on a first date. He quelled the sarcastic comments that came to mind, hauling himself back to the present reality. Dreaming was best reserved for the dead of night, when there was no-one around.

He knocked, and the door swung slowly open. Recollections of a laboratory in Oxford flashed through his mind, and he took out his wand as he pushed the door further open. The room was in darkness.