A Matter of Honor
by Amy McWilliams (McAmy)

Book 1: The Honors Project

Chapter 15: Good News

She actually managed it, too. Hermione hadn't realized that she was so exhausted from the long hours she'd been working. She'd fallen asleep as soon as her eyes closed on Crookshanks, who had curled into a ball between her pillow and the edge of the bed, as always.

The next morning, she woke to the feeling of a cold, wet nose on her forehead, followed by a rough, wet lick. She slowly moved her hand out from under the pillow to poke his behind and grab his tail as he returned to his bath. He stood up, meow-ing his objection, and began to pace up and down the bed, rubbing against her whenever possible.

"You sound like Mr. Weasley's lawnmower," she mumbled, and the cat paused to purr even more loudly, pressing his head against her chin. "All right, all right, I'm getting up, you big nutty nut."

The thoughts of last night had passed, and Hermione managed to laugh at her panic in the light of morning. It was just stress, the long hours in the Potions classroom. It was--and she was quite sure of this--that she had found herself missing the nice things about having a boyfriend.

"But not the rest of it," she noted, raising an eyebrow at herself in the mirror. There were simply no boys her age she was interested in, and the only other males around were professors. "And I know Remus too well to have a crush on him, right ookie?" Crookshanks meow-ed his assent.

"It's nothing. Just me being silly because I'd like to think I'd have a date again before I'm twenty." She turned from the mirror and pulled on her robe, gathering her things for the bath.

"Besides," she added, "it's just a matter of geography. When I get to Mywoods, I'm sure there will be loads of cute, intelligent guys."

Having made it through a couple of weeks with no further sign of insanity, Hermione was convinced that she did not have a crush on Professor Snape. There had been that one time when she'd found herself wanting to brush a strand of hair out of his face as he was telling the class what he expected from their next essay, but she decided that was just a momentary lapse. She didn't even feel awkward at their meetings (after the first one), and they were so busy with their work that, by early April, she no longer had to reassure herself that she wasn't attracted to the Potions Master.

They had agreed to finish the trials on Imperius by the end of the month, so that Hermione would have the remaining weeks of the term to focus on completing her final report. They wouldn't have time to work on the third Curse, but she was going to include a section that pointed to work that might be done in the future. Professor Snape would read the report during the week she took her exams, and then, if he requested any revisions, she would have the following week to finish them before the end-of-year banquet.

There was no question that she would pass. She knew her work was good. She also knew that Snape thought her work was good, but was still surprised when he came into the classroom as she was working one Friday afternoon to see a smile on his face. The smile itself was surprising enough; ever since that night in the forest he had seemed exhausted. ("And it's not like he smiled often before that," she noted to herself.) Occasionally during their meetings she would look at him and think that there were more lines on his face than there had been previously. His eyes looked tired. Now, however, he looked a little like Crookshanks on the trail of some imaginary rodent beneath the bed.

"Miss Granger, how is your work going today?" he asked, coming up to stand on the opposite side of the desk.

"It's going well, Professor," she said, wondering what he was on about.

"I have good news," he said, taking his hand from behind his back to reveal a sheet of parchment. And this was the real surprise. "I wrote to a colleague of mine last month and described the work you were doing. His name is Martin Rochester, and he is…"

"…the managing editor of Ars Alchemica."

"Precisely," said Snape. "He was very interested in your project, and has suggested that, perhaps, if you were so inclined, you should submit something to him to consider for the journal."

Hermione was completely flummoxed. "For the journal? To be published? But it's…I mean…things are so preliminary, and I wouldn't be able…does he realize…"

Snape waved his hand to silence her. "He knows at what stage the work exists, and he makes no promises as to publication. But he would like to see something from you…perhaps by the end of the summer? I think that, once your report is finished, it wouldn't be too hard for you to reshape the pertinent sections into an article."

She looked at him, still in shock. "To publish?" she said faintly.

"Yes, Miss Granger, to publish." He waited, an amused look on his face.

Finally, she smiled up at him. "Thank you, Sir!"

"You are welcome, Miss Granger. But for now, I think you should attend to things in the present. Your cauldron looks to be about thirty seconds from boiling over."

He pointed at it, and, flustered, she lowered the heat and stirred the mixture.

Once it was under control again, she spoke again. He had gone into the storeroom. "Professor Snape?"

"Yes?"

"You know that I want to continue work on the Curses when I go to Mywoods."

"Yes?" he replied, coming back out.

"I was wondering…that is, I had hoped," she could not look at him, "that you wouldn't mind working on them with me…" she stopped. She couldn't believe that she had asked him.

There was silence for a moment, and then he came back to face her. "I have never found distance to be a great help in collaboration," he said slowly. "And I would not want my name to overshadow yours at any point…especially given the way most people react to my name," he added, matter-of-factly.

She looked up at him, a protest on her lips.

"But," he said, before she could speak, "I would be honored, Miss Granger, to work with you in the future." He held her gaze for a moment, and then moved back to the storeroom.

"Once you are at Mywoods," he continued, raising his voice so that she could hear him from the other room, "we will see where your work takes you. And along the way, should you ever need my help or want my opinion, I will gladly give it. Let us leave it at that, for now."

Coming back into the room, he said, and she glanced up in time to catch the gleam in his eye, "Though perhaps, Miss Granger, it will be the other way around, before too many years have passed."

One clear Tuesday morning in late April, the mail arrived. For the most part, it was the usual stuff: Hermione's copy of The Daily Prophet, a package for Ron containing Fred and George's latest concoction, and the newest Quidditch supplies catalog for Harry.

But there was also a letter for Hermione, and as she turned it over to open it, her eyes grew wide.

"What is it?" asked Ron, his mouth full of sausage.

"It's from Mywoods," answered Hermione, too nervous to scold him for his bad table manners. She stared at the Mywoods crest embossed in the wax.

"Well," prodded Harry, "go on then, open it!"

She ran her finger under the seal and pulled out the letter. As she skimmed it, she smiled broadly.

Seeing her reaction, Ron took it from her, glanced over it, and then stood up on the bench.

"Ron," Hermione hissed, "get down!" Harry just grinned.

"Excuse me! Excuse me everyone!"

Around the room people turned to look, some sniggering, others craning their necks to get a better view. Someone from the other end of the Gryffindor table called out, "Ron Weasley, you're an idiot!"

Ron was undaunted. "I have an announcement to make!"

"Mr. Weasley! What is the meaning of this?!" Professor McGonagall was headed down from the head table.

"Not to worry, Professor!" Ron called out to her. "It's good news!" Before she could reach him, he yelled, "Hermione's got into Mywoods!"

There were cheers all around (except from the Slytherins, who looked bored), most of Gryffindor got to their feet, and even the professors were applauding from the head table.

Professor McGonagall sighed. "Well, Mr. Weasley, at least it was good news. Five points from Gryffindor for disrupting breakfast."

As she returned to the head table, she smiled at Hermione, and Ron said, "Thanks Professor! It was worth it!"

As Harry pulled him down, Hermione just shook her head at him. But she was smiling.

At their meeting with Professor McGonagall that afternoon, Ralph grinned at her. "Congratulations, Hermione. You deserve it."

"Thanks," she smiled. They had remained friends after the ball, and had quickly gotten over their initial awkwardness.

"You certainly do," agreed McGonagall, as she came into the staff room. "I was almost glad Weasley did what he did, because he put us all out of our misery. We've been waiting to hear."

Hermione smiled. "I was worried…Professor, do you know if anybody else applied to Mywoods? Ron didn't think--I'm sure--that there might be somebody else in the room who didn't get accepted, or who hadn't heard yet."

Professor McGonagall put her hand on Hermione's shoulder before taking her seat. "You're sweet to think of it, dear. But no, you were the only applicant this year. I suspect that the current…" she hesitated, "troubles…may have kept some people from applying. But there are never more than two or three applicants from Hogwarts in any given year."

"Oh…I would think that more people would want to continue their education, in case they were needed."

"I think that they're probably going to go into Auror training, if anything…" added Ralph, somewhat shyly.

"Oh, Ralph!" Hermione realized what she must have sounded like. "I didn't mean…"

He smiled. "I know you didn't. But I just don't have an interest in university. It's why I did my project with Professor Lupin--so I'd get a head start on my training."

Hermione smiled at him. "I know you'll do well."

"As do I," said Professor McGonagall. "But now we need to get down to business before I have to leave to meet with Professor Dumbledore."

After the meeting, McGonagall had stopped Hermione for a word alone, and asked her to tea that Friday afternoon. Hermione was pleased to accept the invitation.

She had been in Professor McGonagall's office several times over the year, but usually only when she was in trouble, or in her official capacity as Head Girl. It was strange to be there as a guest. Although Hermione had been on good terms with all of her professors throughout her time at Hogwarts (except for Trelawny--and Snape, until this year, she thought to herself with a smile), in her final term she had felt like some of them were not only treating her like a grown-up, but as a friend.

Professor McGonagall brought the tea tray over to the fire, where Hermione sat in one of the two chintz-covered wing chairs placed before the grate. Though it was April, the castle was drafty, and the fire was welcome.

"So," McGonagall began, "I know that you have your term well in hand: honors project report coming along beautifully, finals a piece of cake…"

"Is that what our last Transfiguration will be?" Hermione grinned.

"I'll never tell," smiled McGonagall. "And on top of your acceptance to Mywoods--not a surprise, of course--I hear that you may be an author in the near future?"

Hermione nodded. "I'll be drafting the article over the summer--Professor Snape has agreed to take a look at it before I submit it."

"Well," beamed McGonagall, "who would have thought that the pretty girl with her hand in the air on the front row of my class seven years ago would turn out quite so well?" Hermione blushed. "I'm proud of you, my dear. And I do hope that you'll write every so often and let me know how you're doing."

"Of course I will," Hermione gladly promised. "I'm going to miss you all so very much--it'll be good to hear from you."

"It's hard to leave here," Professor McGonagall noted, and Hermione knew she spoke from experience. "I remember when I graduated…the only thing that comforted me was the thought that I could come back after two years away--to teach."

Hermione looked into the older woman's eyes. What she felt showed clearly on her face, and McGonagall smiled. "I had hoped that you would consider coming back to us after finishing your degree. I see now that I might just get my wish."

They sipped their tea in peace for a moment.

"Professor?" Hermione asked.

"Hmm?"

"I was wondering what sort of job there might be for me when I finished Mywoods. I mean, I know that it's much too soon to say, but I can't think of any professor that might be leaving in the next two years--and there are some that should never leave, in my opinion."

McGonagall smiled. "Well, it does seem like some of us will be here forever, doesn't it?" she chuckled. "No, I don't know what the next two years will bring…" she frowned, but only for a moment. "But we may have an opening in Muggle Studies about that time. Not really your specialty, though."

Hermione interrupted, "The thing is, Professor, that I'm planning to do work in more than one field--a double major in Potions and Arithmancy. I'm wondering if having a broader range of classes would hurt my chances of coming back to Hogwarts?"

"Not at all," said McGonagall. "I've told you before that diversity is for the best. Why, most of us weren't specialized at your age. It's just that we've been here so long, and you identify us completely with the subject we teach. As you know, Professor Snape is qualified to teach more than one subject." Hermione couldn't quite repress a smile. "Yes, well, perhaps the less said about that the better," McGonagall hurried on. "But I think that I can safely say that--if at all possible--there will be a place for you at Hogwarts, should you ever want to return."

Before they knew it, they were done. The day of the end-of-year banquet, the three friends walked the grounds together for hours, not headed anywhere. They just wanted to be together.

"I can't believe it," said Ron.

"You've said that about a hundred times this afternoon," Harry replied.

"I know, but I can't believe it."

"One-hundred-and-one," noted Hermione. Harry smiled.

"So…you promise you'll write from Romania, won't you?" Hermione asked Ron. "You won't be so busy with dragons that you forget your best friends?"

Ron grinned. "Of course not! And when I come home to visit, you'll both have to come out to the house too! Mum will love it. Besides, I'm not going to be the busy one. Both of you will still be in school." He stopped. "You're both daft, you know it?"

"We know," nodded Harry.

"Oh, Crikey!" Ron said, "I've just remembered…what time is it?"

Hermione looked at her watch. "Four thirty," she noted.

"I've got to meet Sarah! Bloody hell, she's going to kill me!" Ron exclaimed as he ran for the castle.

Hermione and Harry stood and watched him, then continued on towards the Quidditch field. "You know," Harry said, "I can't believe it either."

Hermione smiled. "Me either. You know what else I can't believe?"

He shook his head. "No, what?"

"You're going to be an Auror."

"Why can't you believe that?" he asked, a bit defensively.

"Just because…well, because to me you're just my friend Harry, and thinking of you…" she broke off as Harry laughed. "What's so funny?" she looked puzzled.

"Well, I was thinking of all the things we'd been through together. After all that, maybe being an Auror won't be scary after all."

She smiled. "Harry, are you scared?"

He shrugged. "Maybe," he said, "but it's something I need to do. You understand that," he said, pointedly.

"I do," she said.

A minute passed, and then he continued. "I mean, I've always been famous--even before I knew who my parents were, I was famous. And…well, I've never felt like I deserved it. Not really. I need to do something that…well, not that makes me famous, but something that means something. Something that's important. So no matter what people think of me, I'll know that I've done my best--and done something right, and good, and useful."

He stopped and smiled. "And besides, my being an Auror isn't half as weird as the thought that you might someday be a Hogwarts teacher."

She laughed, putting her arm around his waist; he put his around her shoulders, and they continued their walk together.

Gryffindor would have won the house cup regardless, but when Dumbledore announced that Hermione Granger had earned one hundred points for completing her honors project, the table let out a roar that would have made Godric himself proud.

That night in the common room, after the celebratory refreshments were cleared away and the others had gone off to bed, the seventh years--the Hogwarts graduates--couldn't seem to leave. There were hugs and tears, but there were even more jokes and stories. And in the end, they wound up sleeping in the common room, draped over chairs, curled up on the floor, talking until they dropped off, one by one…not wanting to say goodbye until they had to.

Colin Creevey had offered to take their picture, and Hermione's copy sat on her desk at her parents' home where she could see it as she worked on her article--all ten of them, waving and laughing together. Beside it was another. She had asked Colin if he would mind taking it for her, and he had been only too happy. She picked it up from her desk, looking at the faces on either side of hers--her best friends, smiling back at her.

Later that summer, Severus Snape sat in his office, sipping tea and thanking the Gods that there was still more than a month before school started again. There had been no further developments, since that night in March, but the strain of waiting was getting to him. He sat down his cup, rubbed his eyes, and turned to his mail. Along with the professional correspondence and the memo regarding the school's defenses for the upcoming year from Professor Sprout ("All that woman ever does is write memos," he grumbled), there were two parchment tubes. One he recognized as the facsimile scroll he'd requested from the Ministry's research library in London. The other…he picked it up from his desk and opened it. Inside was a roll of parchment, and a note. He opened the latter and read:

Dear Professor Snape,

Enclosed, please find the draft of my article--on time, as requested. Thanks for your help, and I look forward to your comments, as always.

Sincerely,
H.

He unrolled the scroll and began reading. As he finished the introduction and moved on to her discussion of the Cruciatus curse, he admitted to himself that he missed her.

A/N: A special acknowledgment for this chapter: Hermione's endearments for Crookshanks (as well as their behavior of a morning) are on loan from my cat, B; the phrase "big nutty nut" we stole a long time ago from Mad About You.

On to Book 2