Round Midnight

Usual disclaimers apply - the characters aren't mine, the story is - my imagination wouldn't let this one go, so here's the pre-story to go with the thoughts of the Prologue.

"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 5

Copper

Copper - or Venus - the first stage of the 'greater work', the descent from the pole of the Moon when the body and soul are reunited following the purification of both. At the beginning of this stage, the female aspects are dominant over the male; by the end, the male is dominant over the female - the fixative sulphur prevails over the more volatile quicksilver to create a new active crystallization. Copper reveals the goal of the 'greater work', reflecting gold in itself but as yet not sufficiently purified to be gold itself.

Hermione heard the door open and winced as she tried to move; her wand was on the floor, inches away from her hand, and she ignored the pain shooting through her as she tried to reach it. A tall figure was silhouetted against the light from the doorway, and she almost blacked out with panic until she realised that it was Snape. Then she did faint, from relief.

When she came to, she was cradled in Snape's arms as he hurried through darkness; the lights of Hogwarts ahead gave her rather confused mind some idea of where they were. She stirred, and was interrupted by a harsh voice.

"Stay still, do you want to fall?"

The words were bitten out, harsh. Hermione stiffened at the tone and tried to move again; Snape's response was to tighten his arms around her. Hermione wondered why he hadn't simply used the Mobilicorpus spell to move her; surely it would have been easier.

She asked him, too tired and aching too much from the curses to use any tact.

"Do you seriously think I would try any spell on you until Madam Pomfrey has had a chance to examine you? I have no idea what that idiot used on you, and I have no intention of making anything worse."

Snape's voice was still harsh, and Hermione blinked away tears. They would not help the situation - even if he was likely to attribute them to the curses. He had, of course, been right in suggesting that she should not go home alone.

She had arrived home to a cold, empty flat. She had barely had time to open the door, though, when she was pushed roughly from behind to fall through the doorway to the floor. A boot had kicked her, catching a couple of ribs; she had thought then that she was dealing with ordinary London muggers - not a difficult thing to deal with. That thought vanished when she tried to reach her wand and heard a now familiar voice grate "Expelliarmus". She felt her wand vanish from her grasp, and knew for certain that she would not come through this episode in any better shape than Snape had only a few days earlier.

The beating had been swift and hard; all that saved her, she suspected, was that Pinale had not found the Stone in her apartment - and he had certainly tried hard enough. Her books had been scattered across the floor, her computer flung against the wall to shatter it - just in case it was harbouring the stone - and the contents of cupboards strewn around the place. She had no idea what state her bedroom and bathroom were in, but she doubted that they had been any less thorough there.

Eventually they had left - firing additional curses just for good measure. She had curled up into a small ball, holding to the recollection of Snape's promise to meet her - he would be there soon, he had to be there soon ...

Brought back from her memories by a sharp jostling as Snape almost stumbled on the path, Hermione winced.

"Hold still," he muttered, bracing himself as he continued.

They reached the school doors minutes later, Hermione clinging to consciousness with some hard-won tenacity. The doors opened as they approached to reveal Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey waiting for them.

Half an hour later, Hermione was much more awake and in much less pain, thanks to the application of various potions and some charms; she was lying on a bed in the Infirmary with Snape sitting on the bed next to her. He had just been allowed back into the room, having been banned by Madam Pomfrey earlier when he had been pacing as she tried to work.

"You can't go back just now - not to Oxford nor to London. This would be a good time to go and do that research in Santiago, Hermione."

The biting tone had tempered with time, and he now sounded simply concerned. Hermione watched him, noting his hands clasped tightly together, the knuckles white. She wondered whether he had simply been scared as he had brought her up to the school - it was an intriguing notion, but she suspected it was only wishful thinking on her part.

She nodded, agreeing. Perhaps it was best to get away now - and she did need to do some research to confirm some of her calculations for the greater work. The ability to create silver was very useful, but they needed to complete the work.

Snape sighed with relief at her acquiescence. Pinale was getting more desperate - and Hermione was clearly his primary obstacle to what he wanted. In the half an hour or so in which Madam Pomfrey had barred him from the Infirmary, he had talked with Dumbledore; the conversation was part confession and part strategy planning. Nothing had been confessed in so many words, but Snape was well aware that Dumbledore understood - probably better than Snape himself did - what was driving him to ensure Hermione's safety.

Only a few days remained until the end of term; the exams had already been dealt with and marked. All that was left was effectively crowd control, rather than teaching as such. Dumbledore had agreed to extend his cover of Snape's classes - and that would undoubtedly fuel rumours as to Snape's demise or other similar gruesome situation. That would simply make things more interesting next autumn, when he returned to the school.

Pinale was more of a problem - they had no idea where he was, or when he would strike. Snape was reasonably confident that they would be safe in Santiago - apart from anything else, Hermione would not be alone. After this evening, he also had a suspicion that Pinale had cast wards on Hermione's flat and laboratory to alert him whenever she returned to them. As she had said, no-one had known of her intention to return to the flat this evening. It was possible that Pinale had simply lain in wait for her but Snape thought it more likely that he had provided himself with some sort of warning system that would allow him to wait in more comfort.

Dumbledore had offered to co-ordinate a search for Pinale - the Ministry Aurors were always in need of practice now, with the Death Eaters dispersed and Voldemort in prison. Whilst the problem of Voldemort remained, it was an abstract problem recognised by few - certainly nothing that the Aurors could deal with, with their rather more physical approach to solutions. Hunting Pinale, on the other hand, was definitely within their remit.

The Headmaster promised to get the search underway; he had enough influence with the Ministry that he could almost certainly do so without raising much - if any - suspicion amongst the wizarding community. Those who knew Pinale would probably not be surprised, in any case. Draco Malfoy definitely would not be, for example.

Snape looked up from his clasped hands and nodded to Hermione.

"Thank you. I thought we should leave tomorrow morning; there is little point in delaying. The Headmaster is making arrangements to cover both my classes and the search for Pinale - I would suggest that we leave tonight, but Madam Pomfrey will not hear of it." The last was said with a scowl and glower in the direction of the nurse; she appeared not to notice. "I will send an owl to Professor Lucier - he has already returned to Santiago, and will undoubtedly be able to assist us with access to the library at least."

Hermione nodded again, still silent. Snape got to his feet.

"Goodnight, Hermione."

That brought a quiet response; the potions were taking effect and she was almost asleep.

"Goodnight, Severus."

He watched her eyes drift shut and then gave in to impulse, dropping a soft kiss on her forehead before he turned swiftly on one heel and strode out of the Infirmary, followed by the curious gaze of Madam Pomfrey. He didn't care.

The dungeons were cold and dark; a fire in the stove on the hearth of his bedroom began to dispel some of the clinging damp that crept back into the rooms whenever he was away overnight. Lamps were lit with a single word, and Snape seated himself at his desk to write the necessary letters. Some went by Floo, others by owl, and an hour later he finally stretched and went to bed. It had been more eventful a day than he preferred to have to suffer through.

Early morning came swiftly, awakening him at dawn as the sun tinged the world with gold, dispelling the pale blues and violets of the shadows cast by the hills. Snape got up without much thought, following his usual routine. Packing was simple - he had a limited range of clothing, and five minutes was all that he needed to pack and reduce a case. With the case now tucked in his pocket he checked that he had all the papers they were likely to need and left, heading for the Infirmary.

Hermione was already awake when he arrived; he suspected she had been woken by curse pain and aches several times during the night, but she seemed much better this morning.

"Severus!" she exclaimed as he entered the room. "Can you convince Madam Pomfrey that I am perfectly alright to leave? She doesn't seem to want to believe me." Hermione's voice was almost, but not quite, a whine and Snape grinned - her answering smile confirmed that she was exaggerating the tone. That alone did more to reassure him of her recovery than anything else.

Madam Pomfrey was staring disapprovingly, shaking her head.

"I only patched you up last night," she was saying. "You're hardly in a fit state to go gallivanting off all over the place," she sniffed. "Two cracked ribs, more bruises than skin, and curses and hexes embedded everywhere. You should be here for at least a week," she added. Her voice slipped to resignation, though, as she watched Hermione climb carefully out of bed.

"I thought we would leave immediately," said Snape. "We can get you anything you need in Santiago - you really don't want to return to your flat just now." Hermione winced.

"How bad was it?" she asked.

"At least as bad as you remember," said Snape. "Some of the house-elves have been dispatched to clear up. You'll be re-filing your books for days, but at least you won't have to pick them all up off the floor. I'm certain that Dobby has no particular sense of the alphabet, but it is better than nothing," he added acerbically.

The dry comment earned him another smile and he held out his hand to her.

"Lucier replied this morning - he's recommended a corner of the university for us to apparate to. I know where it is, so I'll lead the way. The Headmaster will lower the wards in a moment, to allow us to leave without having to drag you all the way down to the gates. You'd better take my hand, to avoid getting splinched."

Hermione's hand was cool and strong in his, clasping his fingers lightly as they waiting for the signal that the wards were lowered. The flash of blue light in the grate of the Infirmary fireplace was all that Snape needed; a moment later, they stood in the cool shadows of a hot summer day in Santiago.

Lucier was waiting for them; Dumbledore had presumably told him when to expect them, and he greeted them effusively.

"Professor Snape, Doctor Granger, how good to see you again so soon - although I am sorry about the circumstances. How are you feeling, Doctor?"

Hermione nodded her thanks. "I am ... better than I expected to be feeling, thank you."

In the short silence that followed, as each sought something to say, all that could be heard was the distant rumble of traffic and the chatter of students nearby. Finally, Snape spoke.

"We need to make some purchases first - and to find some accommodation, if the college has no spare rooms?" The last comment was a question for Lucier who nodded.

"That will be no problem - the students have already left for the summer, and we have plenty of space. I have allocated you two sets of rooms overlooking the cathedral - will that be appropriate?"

Snape nodded in appreciation.

"Very appropriate - thank you." Turning to Hermione he explained. "The rooms overlooking the cathedral form part of the Hotel de los Reyes Catolicos - the Muggles pay well for some of the rooms, but the Wizarding University here has a number for students. They need to be allocated by ballot - I wasn't lucky enough to get one in my year here."

Lucier chuckled. "I remembered, so I thought you might appreciate it this time. Now, I will leave you to your purchases - you remember the town, do you not, Professor? Some things have changed, but the roads remain in the same place. Unlike your staircases at Hogwarts," he added, with the feeling of one who had been caught by a recalcitrant staircase at some time.

Snape and Hermione nodded their thanks and made their way out through the cool shade of the courtyard to the sunlit streets beyond; making their way through the maze of sunny and shaded streets, Snape brought them to a plaza with a number of clothes shops. He produced a wallet of Euros and handed it to Hermione.

"Call it an advance on your publishing royalties or something - you will need some clothes. Shall I meet you back here in an hour?"

To his surprise, Hermione seemed hesitant. She stared at the floor, swallowed and then looked up at him again.

"I would rather not be on my own again just now - even in this crowd. Would you mind accompanying me?"

"No, not at all. Lead on."

Hermione was, thankfully, a quick and decisive clothes shopper - she had a defined style and stuck to it. The only disconcerting moment, for Snape, was when she insisted on buying him a pair of black denim trousers - jeans. She refused to take no for an answer, so he found himself the owner of a pair of jeans for the first time in his life, having flatly refused to follow the Muggles trends when he was at university. He wore them now, his suit trousers in one of Hermione's bags. Her state of health had a lot to answer for - if she had not been so fragile, he would have been rather more able to refuse. He watched her carefully, noting the purpling circles under her eyes as she grew more tired. They would need to return to their rooms soon.

He also turned discreetly away as she purchased underwear - it brought images to mind that he was sure were inappropriate, because his reaction to the images would almost certainly destroy their friendship. Jeans were, he found, surprisingly tight.

Walking back from the clothes shops towards their rooms, Hermione stopped abruptly, turning to stare into the window of one of the shops that they had just passed. Snape took a couple more paces before he realised that she was no longer keeping pace with him and looked round to see what it was that she was looking at.

"Hunting for some souvenirs already?" he asked. "You can do better than those, anyway," he added as he saw the mass-produced rubbish in the window; Muggle plastic and plaster.

Hermione looked livid and Snape stepped back; his comment had been curt, certainly, but surely nothing to make her angry with him? He realised a moment later that her anger was directed at whatever it was that had attracted her attention in the window.

"Insulting ... hopeless superstition ... how dare they?!" Hermione was spluttering incoherently and with some venom.

"What exactly are you objecting to, Doctor Granger?" drawled Snape, anticipating that the formality would make her realise what she was doing and where she was doing it. Already a few people had looked oddly at her as they passed; he thought she would not be particularly pleased to draw a crowd.

"Those!" Hermione was pointing into the window; Snape peered a little closer, then realised she was indicating a group of small dolls. 'Brujas de sorte', he read on the notice on front of them. Only an instinct for self-preservation stopped him from laughing at that moment. 'Lucky witches'.

"And what, precisely, is the problem? I would have thought you would be flattered," he said quietly, trying not to be heard by the passing tourists. "They seem to believe witches bring luck here. Certainly more enlightened than the British Muggles, surely?"

"It's not that!" snapped Hermione. "Look at them - the worst sort of stereotype, old women with warts and straw for hair! Not exactly flattering or representative, is it?"

"Oh, I don't know," drawled Snape. "They rather resemble some distant relatives of mine - very distant relatives," he added hastily as he saw a rather dangerous glint in Hermione's eyes. She narrowed her gaze at him but let the comment pass. As they turned away from the window to head on towards their rooms Snape spotted one particular doll; he wondered whether he could get away from Hermione later to come back to buy it. It was almost irresistible; a witch buried in books, described as the 'bruja del estudio'. The studious witch.

The rooms were all that he remembered them being from his student days - and the reason he had wanted one then. White walls, high ceilings, and ornate heavy furniture scaled to suit the room - Snape worried for a moment that Hermione would find the bed too high up for comfort, if she had the same furnishings that he did, and then dismissed the concern. She would find a way to deal with it if necessary, without aggravating her injuries.

They met again for lunch in one of the small cafes that dotted the town, near to the university buildings. After toasted sandwiches and reassuringly lethal coffee, Snape led the way to the library close by. A dark green door set into a white wall and surrounded with a stone frame, the only clue as to the purposes of the building was in a series of metal letters set against the wall. Biblioteca Xeral. General Library.

Inside, the heat of the day was a distant memory; Hermione pulled out the sweater he had advised her to bring and slipped it on. They made their way through the ranks of shelves to the back of the library, passing through into the Restricted, wizarding, section with the password that Lucier had supplied.

Days passed in the library - Hermione was ecstatic with the books she found there, most of them uncatalogued and probably unread in centuries. As promised, an original of the Rosarium was brought out for her to pour over. The nights were spent in quiet luxury in the rooms that Lucier had provided - and Hermione gradually recovered from Pinale's latest attack.

A few days after they had arrived, Snape surprised Hermione by insisting that they took a break. Given that she was rapidly coming to the conclusion that he was at least as much of a workaholic as she, his determination to make her take a break was confusing.

At least, it was confusing until she saw the beach for which he had dragged her from the library.

They soon sat at a cafe table at the edge of the esplanade, the art nouveau pillars on the colonnade casting shadows behind them. The sand before them was a pale tawny and lay almost undisturbed; it was too soon in the year for there to be many sunbathers, despite the heat of the sun. Summer was early this year. The wind still drove in from the ocean and only the rocks at the water's edge offered much in the way of shelter. A few, more hardy the rest - or perhaps they were tourists, for whom this was more summer than they ever saw at home - lay in the embrace of those rocks, hidden from the wind in the face of the sun.

Snape's only concession to the day was to discard his jacket on the back of his chair and push the sleeves of his sweater up to his elbows. His forearms were a startling white against the black of his clothes and the blistering steel of the table at which they sat.

Hermione had also draped her sweater over the back of her chair, her arms also bared to the sun in a short sleeved sweater. She noted, critically, that her arms were almost as pale as Snape's as she opened the notebook that she carried everywhere with her, flattening the pages against the breeze that curled through the esplanade and carried with it the characteristic tang of warm sand.

Hermione stared out at the advancing waves, only half hearing Snape order coffee and mineral water for both of them. The sun caught each wave as it rose and curled in on itself, sparkling with a shot silver as pure as that which they had created only days before. Hermione still found herself in awe of the purity of that metal; it had been as though she held a shard of pure light, all angles and almost unbearably beautiful. It had held her in such thrall that she had been nearly heartbroken to pull away from it, to submit that intensity once more to the fire and heat of the greater work.

The fisherman's quay at the edge of the water before them caught the edge of each wave as it sought the shore; spray was flung upwards, seeking and catching the sun in innumerable moments of light before falling to the flagstones below and, to Hermione's amusement, soaking the teenagers determinedly fishing for god alone knew what.

From the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Snape watch her as she watched the boys; she turned to him and smiled. He returned the smile, and Hermione hoped that the pleasure that shot through her was not entirely obvious.

"They must be after something particularly good, to withstand that soaking," she said, gesturing towards the quay. Snape followed her gesture, then looked around. A wry smile crossed his face.

"Or perhaps they have other quarry in mind." Hermione looked puzzled and he nodded in her direction. "Maybe they just want to impress that collection behind you," he drawled.

Hermione twisted round in her seat to look behind her, then laughed softly as she turned back to Snape.

"More than likely."

At a table someway behind her sat a half dozen girls, in the mid-teens she thought, all animatedly talking and stealing glances at the boys on the quay.

"Would that impress you?" Snape's tone was that of idle conversation, soft over the clink of china and glass as the waitress delivered two small cups of coffee and a couple of bottles of water. Hermione glanced back at the quay.

"No," she said, amused. "Not now, and I don't think it would have impressed me ten years ago either - now it's amusing, then I think I would just have thought them silly." She paused to stir her coffee with the cinnamon stick provided in lieu of a spoon, then added "actually, I don't think it would have occurred to me that they might be doing it for my benefit. I was rather blind to that sort of display."

Snape sipped at his water, having already dispatched his coffee with one swallow; Hermione would never understand how he could toss back that inch of intense darkness and tan cream, let alone how he managed it without sugar.

"And are you less blind to such displays now?" he asked.

Hermione looked out to the waves and smiled. "Probably not, although I don't think anyone's put on that sort of display for me since school."

"Mr Weasley, I presume," came the amused comment.

Hermione buried her face in her hands, laughing. "Please don't tell me you noticed that as well?" At Snape's nod she groaned. "I think I was the only person in the entire school who didn't notice. Harry had to tell me," she said, shaking her head.

"Weasley was prone to stupid antics, Hermione. I would have though that, after several years of extracting him from such things, it was unlikely to occur to you that he was finally doing it to impress you."

Hermione laughed again. "True," she acknowledged.

"You mentioned, when we met in December, that you were no longer in contact with Weasley. Was it because of that particular incident?"

"Not entirely," mused Hermione as she thought back. "It was a bit embarrassing for a while but, in the end, we drifted apart simply because we had nothing but school in common - it was the same with Harry," she added. "Once we left school it became clearer. There are only so many conversations I can tolerate about schooldays and, as I don't talk Quidditch and they have never shared my - um - enthusiasm for learning -"

"Their loss," commented Snape.

"Thank you," said Hermione, slightly surprised but raising her glass to him in a mock salute. "Anyway, I get the occasional plea from Harry when he wants a female point of view about something that's happened with his latest girlfriend, and the usual birthday cards but nothing more."

"As I said, their loss."

They were silent for a while then; Hermione finished her coffee, washing down the syrupy dregs with a sip of water. She played idly with the cinnamon stick, drawing patters in the crema that clung to the sides of the cup, random thoughts chasing through her mind as she relaxed in the sun.

"Odd," she said eventually, "how things change. Empires rose and fell for this," she held up the cinnamon stick, " and now it's used once to stir coffee and then discarded." Snape nodded, his eyes dark as he looked in her direction. They lapsed back into a comfortable silence.

The wind had dropped slightly and Hermione could now feel the sun hot on her arms. The warmth reminded her to mutter a quiet contra sol charm under her breath; she preferred not to have to spend the evening struggling with sunburn. Healing spells, she had discovered the hard way, did not entirely deal with the itching and they had no appropriate potions to ease it.

Snape looked round as he heard the whisper of her spell and raised an eyebrow in query; he had been watching the sea and, presumably, had only heard that she had spoken and not what she had said.

"A contra sol charm," she explained quietly. "The sun's strong, should you use one as well?" For a moment Hermione the thought of a Muggle sun lotion appealed, particularly with the unusual sight of Snape's bare forearms; she couldn't remember having seen anything but his hands and face before today and it was ... distracting. She pushed the thought away before she blushed too intensely to blame it on the sun; at last she understood why the Victorians had been so affected by the sight of an ankle. Without familiarity to dampen and suppress arousal, even something as prosaic as an arm revealed was enough to have heat wash through her if she allowed herself to think about it.

Snape shook his head, and gave an unexpected explanation. "I tan easily; a legacy of my mother's family."

Hermione blinked in surprise; both at the idea that Snape, eternally pale, would tan at all and at the mention of his family. She had grown used to the fact that, unlike almost everyone else she knew, he never spoke of anything personal. She said nothing, wondering whether he would continue.

Another comfortable silence fell between them and Snape shifted slightly, relaxing further into the cafe chair. He had almost forgotten the pleasure he found in the touch of the sun; everyone who knew him assumed him to be ascetic, spurning comfort, and never saw - not that he allowed them to see - the hedonism that lay within him, albeit a rarely indulged hedonism that delighted in the warmth of the sun and fire and a few exquisite tastes and sensations. The last time he could remember simply sitting and enjoying the day like this was ... probably thirty years or more ago, when he was still a teenager.

The thought reminded him of the boys on the quay - he would have been about their age. He looked over to see the boys descending the steps of the quay now; their soaking seemed not to have been in vain, as two of the girls had left their table and were sauntering across the sand towards them.

He watched their progress, one hand above his eyes to shield the sun's glare, and wondered whether Hermione would be as impressed if he went to get soaked on the quay. He snorted with amusement at the idea; most likely she wouldn't anything other than that he had lost his mind. He needed a distraction - and her comments about avoiding sunburn were not helping. It was as well that he hadn't brought many potions with him; somewhere in his stores he had one that prevented sunburn. Unlike most potions it was applied, not ingested. The thought of ... assisting Hermione in applying it ... Snape stopped the thought in its tracks. It would, no doubt, resurface in his dreams that night but better than embarrassing him now. He needed to think about something else. Rapidly.

He started to speak, to provide himself with a distraction, and surprised himself - and Hermione, who was already obviously curious after that sound of amusement - by following his comment about his mother's family with a description of the farm where he had spent summers as a child. His grandmother had been the village witch; the back country, away from the cities, still followed the old ways and incorporated them with a fierce Catholicism that proved itself flexible in these matters.

He spoke of endless summers below a densely blue sky; of the shade found under vine leaves and in the sun-warmed waters of a stone tank - filled each night from the bone-chilling cold streams that fell from the mountain above and warmed during the day before being released to irrigate the crops at dusk, when the sun could no longer burn the water from the land before it was absorbed.

He spoke of afternoons spent picking unripened grapes and tossing them idly at leaves floating in the water of the tank; days spent exploring forests of pine and eucalyptus. The scent of a handful of eucalyptus leaves tossed into a fire would, even now, relax him faster than almost anything else he knew. The untainted memories of childhood spilled out, released by the warmth of the sun and Hermione's company. He found himself free now to talk about the child he had been, without regretting the man he had become.

Hermione listened to his memories in a companionable silence, her chin propped on her hand as she watched him speak; Snape lost himself in a haze of memories and the pleasure of her attention. Eventually the words fell away and they simply looked at each other for a long moment.

Snape leaned forwards slowly, not sure what it was that he was about to do but reassured as Hermione held his gaze; she bit her lower lip quickly and Snape inhaled sharply as it slipped from her teeth and glistened damply in the sun.

The endless moment was broken by the bustling of a waiter behind them, clearing a table. Snape released the breath he'd taken; Hermione smiled softly, a little ruefully, he thought. For a moment, Snape allowed himself to entertain the belief that perhaps she had wanted him to kiss her; that was, however, undoubtedly his unruly imagination at work. Snape turned to the waiter with a scowl, caught himself and simply asked for a coffee. He glanced at Hermione.

"Just water, thank you," she said. He ordered that as well and they lapsed back into silence again, watching the tide drawing in now, sluicing over the rocks at the water's edge. This silence seemed to Snape more charged than before, as though they were both waiting for something to happen. He sat up a little straighter in his chair and Hermione looked round at him. She started to say something but, before completing even the first syllable seemed to change what she wanted to say.

"Di - look at the kite over there; it's a day for that."

Snape took the diversion gracefully and looked over to the right; above the beach some distance a way a kite, an almost luminous red, wheeled and darted in the sky. It plummeted now towards the sand; Hermione gasped just as it was pulled from the dive to skim neatly across the beach.

"Lucky," remarked Snape drily, although he rather thought it was more likely to be skill, given the stunts the kite was now being put through. Hermione looked sideways at him and smiled crookedly before taking up the challenge.

"Hardly luck, Severus," she retorted. "He seems to have it well under control," she added, obviously choosing to ignore that her gasp had suggested otherwise.

As he had intended, a gentle sparring discussion developed from that initial thrust and parry and they were soon immersed in a comparison of the best types of glass for alembics.

Hermione had shifted her chair closer to Snape's so that she could move away from the encroaching shade, and to draw some diagrams in the notebook that lay between them, illustrating something she was describing. Snape indulged himself and remained where he was, enjoying her closeness and the soft scent of her sun-warmed skin.

The sun had sunk considerably lower by the time Hermione stretched lazily in her chair, easing her back straight as she sat up. Her arm brushed Snape', an electric touch of skin. She thought he shivered, but dismissed that as her imagination just as she had dismissed the idea earlier that he was going to kiss her. Wishful thinking, or perhaps a touch of sun. Hermione closed her eyes, sighing softly at her thoughts and enjoying the warmth of the evening sun on her face.

When she opened her eyes a moment later, blinking a couple of times against the shadow of the sun, she saw Snape staring at her. She noticed, without really taking it in, that he did indeed tan; his face was tinged with gold, not all of it from the sun just now setting before them and setting the ocean alight in a blaze of fire.

Snape still looked at her, as though he could not bring himself to look away; Hermione almost dared not breathe, not wanting to disturb the awareness that spread through her. If she moved, if she spoke, he would look away - and she had never wanted anything less. Here, now, she could indulge in the illusion that he was as much in love with her as she with him.

The sun touched the ocean, a brilliant red that bathed everything before them; Snape's skin became a deeper gold, his eyes a glittering black that Hermione found herself immersed in. Arousal and awareness tightened with her until she was barely able to stop herself from gasping from breath. Still she dared not move.

Time raced, then slowed, and Hermione finally relaxed; Snape too seemed to relax, sighing and looking back out to sea as Hermione felt the taut awareness slacken into something familiar and comfortable. The edge remained, a subtle pull that no longer dominated her thoughts. She wondered again whether she was the only one who felt it. Sometimes Snape seemed to be sharing the same moment but she valued his friendship too much to risk losing it over something that, in the end, she could learn to live without.

The sun was now no more than a sliver of gold at the very edge of the world then, in an instant, even that was gone and darkness gathered from the west, bringing the night with it.

Snape sat up again, stretching lightly, unaccustomed to doing nothing. "Dinner?" he asked, turning back to her with the question. She suddenly realised that it was half past eight and became aware of an insistent hunger - this time for food. She nodded and they rose together to stroll back to the copse into which they had apparated.

Snape lay awake hours later, trying to think through the research that they had done that morning but able only to think of that afternoon at the beach. He was tantalized by the idea that Hermione had seemed as aware of him as he was of her; common sense told him to discard the thought. He was twenty years older than her, and had been her teacher. Neither issue bothered him; Hermione was more adult in some ways than women four times her age and he certainly did not think of her as a student - even in her last year at Hogwarts she had been nothing more than another annoying presence in a classroom, forgotten once through the doors. Other than members of his own house - whom he had to know for pastoral reasons, Snape found it easiest to ignore the individuals in the mass of students that flowed through his classroom. The woman he knew now shared little more than a name with that student, in terms of his knowledge and understanding of her, no matter how slight that understanding might sometimes be.

He fell asleep still trying to suppress the wishful thinking, but his dreams still ran free with ideas.

Next morning he was first to breakfast; Hermione followed a few minutes later - from the look on her face, her dreams had been more productive than his.

"I had an idea," she announced. "Santiago - he was an alchemist, wasn't he? And his acolytes were also alchemists?"

Snape nodded, wondering where Hermione was taking this.

"I couldn't sleep very well last night," she said, "so I started reading the tourist information in the room."

"You must not have been able to sleep at all," said Snape drily. The tourist information provided for the hotel guests in other rooms was turgid and uninspired.

Hermione laughed. "Something like that - anyway, I saw a picture of something that looks useful." Snape nodded for her to continue. "Santiago's remains are in the cathedral, in a silver casket - there was a picture of it. I'm pretty sure the designs in the silver are alchemical symbols," she said in a rushed whisper. "I want to go and look at it today."

That last demand, or request, depending on whose point of view was being consulted, meant that Snape found himself later that day kneeling in apparent prayer in the crypt of the cathedral of Santiago, with Hermione kneeling next to him. At her suggestion they had set a magnification charm to be able to read the symbols on the casket - they were indeed alchemical, rather than the abstract images that they appeared to be at a distance. Hermione was muttering under her breath, trying to memories the images. Snape, instead, worked to identify the pattern rather than the individual elements.

His knees ached after a while, and he eased up slightly. It was then that he noticed the priest staring at them from the doorway into the crypt. Snape nudged Hermione at that point, nodding subtly in the direction of the priest. She looked startled, presumably caught in mid-recitation.

They looked at each other for a moment, then decided that discretion was valuable in this case and got up to leave. As they turned, the priest spoke to them.

"Senor, senora. Thank you," he said. They looked at him, surprised. "It is rare to see a young couple so respectful and mindful of Santiago. May your marriage be long, happy and fruitful." Snape saw Hermione's eyes widen and she started to speak. He hurried to speak over her.

"Thank you, Father." He turned and left, almost dragging Hermione with him before she could say anything else.

They slowed down as they headed for the exit and the library. Snape braced himself for a barrage of questions which never came. Instead, Hermione laughed.

"Thank you," she said. "I would have made a complete fool of myself just then."

"I doubt that very much," was his only answer.

The casket had, after all, given them the answers they needed - Hermione almost danced with joy when she realised that it confirmed her own thoughts and interpretation of the process needed for the Stone. She wanted to rush back to Oxford and Hogwarts to start the greater work, impatient to continue with it.

Snape was less inclined to go hurrying back; he enjoyed Hermione's company and was selfish enough not to want to share it with the rest of the faculty at Hogwarts - she had, at least, accepted that she needed to live at Hogwarts for now. His wishes, however, were not his to indulge and so they returned soon after to the school.

Hermione was adamant that they continue both processes - at Hogwarts and at Oxford. She wanted to confirm the reactions of both works. Snape could find no reason to disagree - it was still the summer holidays, and he had little to do other than his own projects; these had been put aside to allow him to concentrate on finding a way to defeat what he believed Voldemort's plans to be and, just now, he had no reason to resuscitate them.

The greater work began on a clear hot August day, with the addition of mercury to the white powder; the reaction immediately turned a bright violet before shading into a blue that mirrored the sky outside.