What had been an empty shell at her last visit now looked like someone's home. A sofa faced the fireplace and partially-filled bookcases lined the walls. Hermione's gaze was riveted to the small table, draped in ivory linen and arrayed with fine tableware, which had been butted up against the living room side of the counter. There was even a vase of spray carnations.

Hermione glanced uncertainly at her former professor. "Is this a date?"

"If this were a date, Hermione, the wine would be better, the flowers would be roses and you'd be eating filet mignon, not stir fry."

Thanks to years of practice he came up with a credible response, but he found it difficult to completely disregard her question. Had he, on some subconscious level, contemplated something more than friendship? He had come to enjoy their conversations, admittedly. The girl was prettier than most and, when she chose to, she could elevate that to stunning... but she was half his age and a former pupil. It was preposterous to think even if he were interested — and he wasn't — that she might reciprocate. Nevertheless, she hadn't shown any sign of repulsion... Hesitancy, yes, but no distaste.

'God, that was so damn stupid! Could anything more idiotic have come spewing from your mouth? It's a wonder he's still talking to you. He's your teacher— was your teacher. He probably still looks at you and sees a buck-toothed, mop-headed twelve-year-old. You know he wouldn't even be friends — if you are friends — if it wasn't for the fact that all the people he actually likes are after his blood... And what would you have done if his answer had been yes?'

Her heart began racing as if it might explode. She told herself it was from mortification.

"I took out subscriptions to some Potions periodicals... For the look of things. Once people have seen me reading them, I thought I might bring them here and we'd both be able to refer to them. I guess from all the books, you can visit Flourish & Blotts using Polyjuice..." She stopped as he shook his head.

"Replacing the more specialised volumes would have aroused suspicion, disguised or not. Those books come from Hogwarts. Apparently, Minerva wasted no time in purging my quarters and so my library was entrusted to the one person who would see it returned to me."

Snape cleared his throat. "My... well-wisher has been advised that I have relocated and that you are acting as my Secret-Keeper. Should a member of the Hogwarts staff approach you using the name Prometheus as a password, you may tell them my new address."

Hermione felt more horrified than ever as the pieces came together. Friendship didn't explain it. Even Minerva had believed the worst of him. That depth of knowledge and loyalty despite overwhelming evidence could come only from love. Whoever had been impersonating him had been his lover... and potentially they still were.

"Hermione, are you alright?"

"I'm— Fine. I guess I was just a little shocked you'd tell anyone," she lied, all the time mentally sorting through the female Hogwarts staff.

"I assure you that they will act upon the information only if they are in great need or they fear for my safety."

Pomfrey, Pince and Sprout were all too old. No way was it Trelawney, but Vector or Sinistra... She sieved her memories for any indications of intimacy that she might have overlooked at the time. Who had he turned to? Her eyes widened as she recalled Harry recounting a scene from first year.

'Sweet fucking Jesus! It's Filch. He always says they, not she. Filch was the one he went to when Fluffy bit him. He should have gone to Madam Pomfrey but he chose Filch. And no doubt as soon as Minerva made sure his books weren't dangerous she'd left Filch to box them up and dump them in the Room of Requirement.

It's not as if Filch would always have looked so old. When Severus started teaching he might have been just past his prime.

You all but accused your gay ex-teacher of hitting on you. Could today get any worse?'

The girl would never learn to hide her emotions. You just had to watch to know that incredible brain of hers was ticking over, worrying away at the problem.

Then, there was that gut-wrenching moment when he knew that she'd worked it out... and it was all his fault. He should never have told her about the books.

"Hermione, I can tell I've said too much," he began. "All I can ask is that you be as discreet with what you have found out here today as you have been with the secrets that were mine alone to tell you."

He looked so desperate... and he had good reason to. If the Order or the Ministry realised that he had a lover hidden away in Hogwarts, the consequences didn't bear thinking about, especially now that that lover knew about her. As for what Voldemort would do if he found out that Severus was having a homosexual affair with a Squib...

"Severus, you wouldn't have let it slip if you didn't trust me. I'd be a poor friend if I let you both down. I'm just glad that all this time there was at least one person you could turn to."

Much later, as she lay, looking up at the muslin canopy of her bed, she finally admitted to a twinge of disappointment. It wasn't that she was attracted to Severus — and she could call him that now without feeling uncomfortable — more that she was aware of certain things, his hands, the graceful way he moved, his rare smiles, his sarcasm, his fierce intelligence, and given time and opportunity that awareness might have developed into attraction.

Filch must have hidden depths... and a killer library. Or maybe it was what they got up to with those whips and manacles?