Author's note: I wrote this in one morning after hearing the song, Found Out About You by the Gin Blossoms...most of my fics start that way...thanks for reading and let me know what you think. This is a stand alone fic.
The door slammed somewhere downstairs, but she wasn't ready to confront him yet so she pretended to sleep, curling up on her side of the bed and hoping he didn't notice that her breathing was too timed, too calculated. Steps thudding, up and up, and suddenly the door creaked out, the high-pitched screech of the hinges made her wince; he was supposed to fix those weeks ago and yet, here they were still as rusty and stiff as the anger in her heart. It felt like she was being too still, purposely still and obvious, so she rolled her feet under the covers, the duvet bunching slightly as her toes curled around a seam, getting oddly stuck between two buttons and catching her nail…'great idea, Hermione', she thought to herself, knowing it would be another half hour before she could really extricate or incriminate herself, proving she wasn't really sleeping. But she needn't have worried, because he deposited himself swiftly in the bed, the mixture of his cologne and something sickeningly sweet, nothing like the soft lemon and lavender scents she often wore, further damning him and cementing the knowledge she'd gained only hours before that he was most certainly having an affair. Twitching involuntarily as his arm came around her waist, Hermione pretended to waken slightly and turn to him, seeing his eyes staring into hers like some lost puppy, desperate for a new home...it was guilt or something akin to it, she knew that face in him though she had only seen it a few times.
Gingerly, he pushed a tendril from her forehead, the dampness of his sweaty palm obvious against the coolness of her skin, providing her another clear and obvious example of his guilt; sweaty palms were his guilty-conscious calling card, the first indication that he'd done something he regretted or fretted telling her, as much as he could fret or feel guilt. Instead of rolling away, which she was wont to do, she turned fully towards him and rather than snipping or confronting him, she took his face in her hands and kissed him, one final kiss marking the turning point in their marriage, one she'd fought for so many years and now found herself quite destroyed, fearing the 'I told you so's' of her friends who'd warned her that he was dangerous, selfish, in love with a ghost. But, she'd persevered and fallen headfirst in love with him, his mind, the odd way he spoke with his hands, the heat of his mouth against her neck, forgetting the years he'd been remarkably cruel to her in a way she believed, as an adult, he'd had to be to survive. Yet now, in his arms, hurried hands and desperate lips, she knew him completely, she knew his heart or lack thereof, she knew he was that cruel man, the one who kissed her goodbye that morning, went to his office and extinguished the last simmering coals of her love, cooling them so completely she knew that when she was finished with him, there would be nothing left and everything lost. It seemed a strange conundrum to know that another woman had kissed him, touched him, felt him move within and beneath her, and she was doing the same, choosing the exact movements she'd seen from the window of his office. Perhaps she would remind him, as he kissed her jaw, that warded doors do not create obscured glass...but she decided not to, instead she shoved him on his back, holding his arms steady against the headboard and scrutinized him, the heat in his normally pallid cheeks, the stench of the perfume hanging between them like a tether, connecting them in a silent dance, and finally those eyes, the ones she'd always believed regarded her with esteem, were drowning in wickedness. It took all of her strength not to cry, not to let tears she's been holding flow over her barricades, when she met his gaze, pulse for pulse, and forcing her to close her eyes because the thought of him with another woman so consumed her the tears fell despite her best efforts. Luckily, he held her so tightly to him, he didn't notice her tears or muffled cries were of misery and not pleasure.
He cried out against her chest, her arms circling him like the snake she should've let kill him, constricting his breathing only momentarily until she pushed him away abruptly and left the bed, going immediately to the loo and starting a shower, her tears indistinguishable from the water, disgust rising in her as she thought about what she'd just done. It surprised her when the glass door opened and he slinked in, stepping through as though possessive of the water hitting her skin, immediately lathering her hair, the pressure of his fingertips on her scalp making her knees weak, forcing her to shiver against him, her body betraying her further. Her battling emotions erupted, faith and love, anger and betrayal, she shoved him away and rinsed her hair, and jumping from the shower, knowing that her plan to confront him in the morning had been childish and far too optimistic. Though he rarely joined her for a post shag shower, when he did it normally meant more, but this time she simply could not pretend.
Rummaging through her closet, she found her flannel pajamas and yanked them on, her skin fiery to touch from the shower and damp, the fabric sticking to her oddly as she walked from their bedroom to the guest room, she couldn't face him. Her courage had failed her, her misery had won. Warding the door, she wept on the bed, thinking of their life together, the one she'd believed was something of value and worth, but she'd obviously been wrong. Bile rose in her throat as she thought about the woman she'd seen with him, someone she didn't recognize but would immediately if she saw her again. Dark hair, almost black, like his, and tanned skin, as though she lived on the Riviera, a privileged life of excess, cocktails and fancy tapas. In no time, she'd created a narrative of their encounter, or perhaps encounters, and it dawned on her that it wasn't perhaps the first time her husband had been unfaithful, perhaps he'd made it a habit. Perhaps, he had come home to her more often with the remnants of another woman's scent, touch, taste on his body and she simply hadn't suspected him because loyalty had always been something she admired most about him, that and his devotion to her which she felt entirely foolish believing.
A knock at the door broke her train of thought, but she ignored him and instead cast a silencing spell, refusing to give him a second more thought. Swallowing her dreamless sleep, Hermione enveloped herself in the covers and finally fell asleep ten excruciating minutes, waking only when Severus broke her wards five hours later, finding her silently weeping in her sleep. Her eyes opened only briefly to warn him from joining her, so he left the room and her alone.
The tea kettle screamed and woke her again two hours after he'd been silently hexed from the guest room, forcing Hermione awake for good. Pulling her hair into a bun, she descended the stairs prepared to confront him, but found that he was not making the noise, it was their thirteen year old daughter, Alice, who'd made tea. Alice's long, dark hair billowed like her father's robes behind her as she moved through the kitchen, handing Hermione a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits, the orange and cranberry kind they always had on Christmas morning. It dawned on Hermione that it was, indeed, Christmas morning and she hadn't put the presents out for their children, but as she glanced through the kitchen to the lounge, she saw them under the tree and found, if only for a moment, that he'd enough wherewithal to put the presents out.
Samuel, their twelve year old son, ran down the stairs ten minutes later, followed only a moment more by his father, who looked as surly as Hermione felt, so indignant she could barely keep her teacup from falling from her hands. Ruffling Samuel's curly mop, she ushered them into the lounge to open presents, to save the morning if possible, but she found her heart just wasn't in it. She didn't care if Alice and Samuel like the things she and Severus had picked out for them, new scales or cauldrons, a new telescope for Alice and a new broom for Samuel, none of it mattered as images of her husband, in his matching flannel pajamas, ones they wore each Christmas morning, and the woman he'd been with the day before played over and over in her mind. His hands on her neck, the hushed whispers of admiration and lust, and most devastating to Hermione, the removed wedding band he never took off, gone.
Wrapping paper divested, the kids ran their presents upstairs, leaving Hermione and Severus alone with the aftermath, the room looking quite destroyed.
"I will be taking the children to the Burrow: Alone." Her own voice scared her; who was this brazen woman she'd become?
"Are you going to tell me why you're in a snit?" She met his gaze, the same guilty eyes from the night before met and challenged her as they sat in an awkward silence.
"When I drop the kids off at the Burrow, we can talk, but I will not ruin their Christmas." It had been ages since they'd fought, there had been no reason to. They worked together so well, anticipating each other's needs without effort, and though their marriage hadn't started off with such ease, they'd found a comfortable rhythm. Hermione felt it all a facade, a ruse now.
"What could've possibly happened between your efforts to bruise my arms against the headboard and the shower that upset you?"
"I am not talking about this now." She snapped, as Samuel came back down the stairs, Alice following him taking the stairs several at a time, practically flying. They put on their Weasley sweaters and waited for Hermione to change into hers in the downstairs loo, meeting them at the fireplace to floo to the Burrow. Grabbing the presents for her nieces and nephews, Hermione scowled at him, finding it too difficult to hide how she felt for one minute longer. And though he normally accompanied them, she just couldn't stomach feigned jubilation, so she left him at their flat in Hogsmeade without a second thought.
After lugubrious amount of sweets and a mug of butterbeer, Hermione returned to their home and found him changed into his normal clothing and sipping tea by the fire, the one she came through and wished, desperately, it was under better circumstances. Dropping the sweets she'd brought him on the table, she breathed deeply several times before joining him in the lounge.
"Finally ready to be an adult?"
"That's rich." She seethed, her eyes rolled and she wondered how he could even pretend that he wasn't in the wrong.
"When one acts like a spoilt child instead of a wife, a partner, it is only the acceptable recourse to assume that something childish is about to happen...so, what is it, wife?" His words conveyed anger, but his tone and facial expressions clearly showed his shame. Thinking deeply and breathing the same, Hermione formed her words.
"When did you decide to go into work yesterday?" She asked, wondering why he suddenly had to work on Christmas Eve, when their shop was always closed on Christmas.
"We had three shipments delayed by those storms in Lyme, otherwise I would've been here as normal." He sighed, looking almost content that Hermione seemed to be angry about him working and not the fact that he'd had sex with another woman in their business, on the desk where they both often worked, where he'd taken her the first time they made love years before.
"Curious." Folding the letter he'd given her the day they married, the words he'd written her about winning her love and finding himself so completely enamored with her; words she'd never expected from a man who talked so little of love and yet they were tangible in her hands, like a chivalric poet professing his love.
"Curious? Can you get to you damn point?"
"A month ago when Alice broke that saucer that was from our first tea set, you made this face...I didn't think anything about it at the time because you're always making faces when they do silly things, clearly my genetics, but this was different. I started to wonder, were you that unhappy with our life and yesterday, I got my answer, or at least I found out about you...and her." He stilled immediately, his eyes turned away from hers so suddenly it was as though a spell had been cast. "And now, it's all I can think about, seeing you with her. In your arms, on your desk, moaning your name. You warded the bloody door get didn't cast a silencing spell or concealment charm. What have I done to warrant such an obvious display of your hatred of me?" Tears fell, she couldn't stop them and honestly didn't want to, he needed to see how hurt she was and how destroyed their life together had become.
"Hermione, I could never hate you. I…" In an instant, he was at her feet, kneeling before her life a beggar, trying to take her hands in his but she folded them for a moment before her tears made it impossible to keep them tucked away. Wiping her eyes, she stood and pushed away from him, unsure what the next course of action should be. Could she stay in the same home with him, work with him? Could they co-parent their children without bitter sniping, and the worst thought of all, did she really want him to leave at all? He was the love of her life, truly the one she'd always wanted after the war, and now, looking at him, it broke her heart to think another woman had taken her place so easily.
"Would anything I say make you feel as small and unimportant as I feel right now?" It occurred to Hermione that hurting him wouldn't feel as vindicating as she wanted, but she wanted him to know exactly what he'd done to her so there was no gray area; she wanted him to admit everything.
"Tell me about her, Severus, how did you meet? What is she like, is she good with children, for example?" Still facing away from him, Hermione felt his hand touch her shoulder, but she winced again, finding no comfort in the touch of her husband.
"Hermione, please, I've made such a grave mistake."
"No, you don't, Severus Tobias Snape, you do not get to skirt my questions or try and make me feel sorry for you. I've denied you nothing, our sex life has remained as active and fulfilling as it was eighteen years ago, all the typical male responses do not apply to you, so what is it? Is she a bloody goddess, a vela? Did she charm your bollocks, make you tear her shirt off? Tell me, tell me everything!" Ripping away from him she finally realized her full anger, her wand hand so tempted to pull and curse him, she folded her arms again and tried to regain her calm.
"She's no one, a mistake; and I have no excuse, it was simply foolish, I am clearly a fool." But he still wasn't answering her questions.
"Do you really think so little of me, after all this time?" Hermione sunk into her favorite chair, a hideous royal blue chair given to them by Luna and Rolf when they'd married, but so cozy she rarely liked to sit anywhere else.
"You're my lovely wife, I think more highly of you than anyone else alive…"
"Yet you still fucked another woman in our store, on our desk." As though he'd cast an unforgivable, Hermione's sat still, barely breathing, shocked because he was denying yet offering nothing. She worked up her courage and asked, "Have you done this before?" Blinking her eyes slowly and trying to read him, though he was still the consummate spy, Hermione waited as he finally sat across from her and folded his own arms across his chest.
"No, and I will prove it if need be. I've only known Carrie…" Her name made Hermione's pulse quicken, her eyes producing tears she couldn't fathom could still be falling.
"Why?" Barely above a whisper, Hermione's palm moved across her cheek as she spoke and wiped away another tear.
"I succumbed to desire, I gave into exotic advances, there's no other excuse." The tether had returned, she felt so connected to him every breath he took was hers.
"And you expected never to be caught, did you? Would you have seen her again? Would you have ever told me?"
"No."An answer to all three. He was being honest, at least but it didn't make her feel any better, not even in the slightest.
"What would you do in my place? If I had done this, if you'd seen me rutting against another man, could you simply tuck it away and hope that eventually, you could trust me again?" She paused only briefly and added, "Did it feel like goodbye to you last night? It did to me, like it was the last time I'd know you so intimately. I never wanted this, I never thought I would be sitting across from you in our house unable to erase the memories of you with another woman while our children could floo through at any moment. All I wanted for the rest of my life is you and me, Alice and Samuel, our potions, this house...it may seem simple, but it was our dream, or at least I thought it was." Hermione's rubbed the sleeves of her sweater, knowing how much time Molly had put into it and wondered just how she'd get through the rest of the day, she could barely see straight little alone care for her children.
"If there was anything I could do to change your mind, to undo the damage I've caused, I would do anything, I swear. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone in my life. " He was back at her legs, pleading with her as he had never had to do before. When she closed her eyes for a moment, he took the opportunity to kiss her lips, to wipe her tears, and pull her close and without hesitation, without a moment's pause he said, "Obliviate!" And modified her memory, taking her visions of he and the junior barmaid from the Three Broomsticks, whom he'd already obliviated, and tried to replace them with images of an earlier sickness to account for her tears and puffy face. When he pulled away, she was smiling, looking down at his black shirt and her own sweater, and his guilt was multiplied.
"Can you fetch me some tea, love, my throat is still sore." Hermione asked, kissing his soft lips.
"I told you to stay in bed today, the kids won't be back for hours, why not? I'll join you." Severus called out from the kitchen, wondering if she'd said anything to the Weasleys, the only extenuating group, but knowing his wife as he did, she'd want the entire truth before she reacted or told another soul. Coming through with tea, he saw her going up the stairs, her pert bum teasing him with each step. He followed her cautiously, each step could be his last if he'd somehow miscast the spell or muddled the memories, but he found her completely agreeable when they reached their room, she stripping her sweater and pants for a tank and knickers, their bedroom always so warm.
"I can't believe this is our eighteenth Christmas together...come here." She patted the bed, loving the charming smell of his aftershave wafting on the air towards her, the clean shaven look he carried during the holidays reminded her of her youth, a time when he was forced to live a certain way.
"Did the shipment from Lyme come? I have to make sure the Stellans get their fluxweed before Tuesday." He folded her into his arms, her body pressed against his as they rested against the headboard, one of her arms around her waist and one leg tucked under his.
"Yes, it came in yesterday, remember, when we got back from the Potters." He played with the hem of her tank, resting his hand on the soft stomach and let her hold him as tightly as she wanted.
"Thank you for my Christmas snuggles and snogs, you always come through on Christmas, even when my nose is runny and my hayfever is bad." Her laugh filled him with remorse, but he tried not to let it show, instead he leaned into her, edging them both down on the bed and kissed her again, wanting to erase the guilt he felt, the knowledge that he'd hurt her so incredibly, even if she didn't remember it. He vowed, in that exact moment, to make it up to her, to prove for the rest of their lives together that she was worth more than all the galleons in Gringotts and if he died trying, she would know his devotion.
Hours later when the floo burned green and the children returned, Hermione let Severus greet them, moving slowly towards the sitting room where they were talking about their Uncle Ron and his new baby, Hugo. She stopped short of the door and smiled at them, their happiness was all she wanted for Christmas and even though she wanted to tell him his dismal attempt at obliviation had failed; he should've known better after years of honing her skills against attacks. But, pretending to forget meant she still got to love him, to cherish him, and above all, to know that he was hers without having to fight or pretend she didn't love him. In reality she knew she was foolish for even contemplating letting him stay, but she didn't want another life, she loved him too much to let him go. So, she walked over to her little family, kissed her husband and wrapped her arms around her children, forcing a smile and her stomach to calm the bile that wanted to rise again. She wondered how long it would take before they both slipped and admitted that her memory had not truly been erased and that he had succumbed to desire and taken another woman, but she hoped it would never happen, leaving them in blissful ignorance.