Many, many thanks to my very excellent beta, amylouise, who applied her skills to this piece to make it even better.
What power is it, which mounts my love so high;
That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye?
The mightiest space in fortune nature brings
To join like likes, and kiss like native things.
William Shakespeare, All's Well That Ends Well, act 1
Chapter 1: Moving In
"I haven't changed my mind, Harry," Hermione called from the other side of the door. "You and Ron should take Ginny. You know I don't enjoy Quidditch that much," she finished as she yanked the door open, then stood gaping stupidly in the doorway.
"Miss Granger," Snape greeted somewhat cordially. "I apologize for calling unannounced." He waited uncertainly, regretting his impetuous decision to approach the girl. Perhaps this wasn't his best idea ever. He remembered how abominably he had treated her when she visited him at St. Mungo's after the war. He half-expected her to retaliate for that event, if not for the six years of mistreatment while he'd taught her. Well, no matter, he told himself; it wasn't the first time he'd groveled.
Hermione, for her part, felt considerably flustered as she realized she was standing in front of her former professor in her bathrobe. "No, no," she waved her hands dismissively when she finally found her voice again, "please come in." She stepped back to allow him entry, then led him to the settee in the sitting room in front of the hearth. "Please make yourself comfortable while I go put something on," she said, hastily escaping the room. He heard her footsteps ascending the staircase they'd passed in the entryway.
Snape glanced around at the eclectic collection of Muggle and wizarding paraphernalia displayed in Granger's sitting room. She had Arithmancy charts spread out on her coffee table, Runes and Charms books stacked on the floor near the armchair she obviously favored, Muggle and wizarding photographs were lined up on the mantle, and Muggle fountain pens and pencils strewn about the room. He was just perusing her book on ancient runes when she returned.
He took in her appearance, from her muggle jeans and long-sleeved t-shirt to the canvas slip-on shoes. She'd managed to mostly restrain her wild hair in a messy knot at the back of her head.
"Would you care for tea, sir?" She stood there awkwardly, clasping her hands nervously in front of her. "I've already got a pot on," she extended her arm, presumably toward the kitchen.
"Very well," he acknowledged, "if it's no trouble." Depending on how this conversation went, however, he may not be staying long enough to actually finish it.
As Hermione went to retrieve the tea service, Snape reseated himself on the settee, warily observing the monstrous ball of orange hair that sauntered into the room and sniffed at his trousers before jumping up onto his lap without invitation and making himself comfortable.
"Crookshanks!" she squealed as she entered the room, setting the tray down in front of Snape. "Get down from there, you pest," she scolded.
"He's all right, Miss Granger." He thought it best if he could stay agreeable as long as possible. He knew the charm to banish lint and hair from his clothes, so he wasn't overly concerned. He patted the ginger ball squirming on his lap absently. "You had him at school, did you not? I seem to recall seeing him during patrols."
Hermione nodded. "Yes, sir. I got him right before my second year. The clerk at the Magical Menagerie suspects he's part Kneazle. So does Hagrid, for that matter." She poured them each a cup of tea – he took it black, she noted with private amusement – then turned to sit in her favorite arm chair. "He's a great judge of character."
He glanced fleetingly at her face, deriving from her guileless expression she was entirely in earnest. "I suppose you are wondering why I'm here," Snape began, sipping his tea. He took some seconds to settle on his words as he stared into his tea cup. "Minerva mentioned you possibly had a room to let. As it happens, I find myself temporarily in need of lodging."
If there were any words she was expecting to hear, they certainly weren't those words. Professor Snape, living here – with her? For the second time in a quarter hour, she found herself unable to speak for several seconds. She cleared her throat, twice, when the silence became awkward.
"Forgive me, Professor, but don't you have a house?" She was very confused; she was sure Harry said Snape had a house somewhere.
With great effort, Snape managed to repress the sneer Hermione expected. Instead, he sighed. It was a sigh of resignation, as though he was being forced to tell Longbottom, again, not to slice his Valerian root at right angles, and Hermione recognized it as such from six years of hearing it. It was obvious he dreaded answering the question, fully aware it would bring up about a dozen more.
"I'm sorry, sir. It's none of my business. You just surprised me, is all," she apologized.
"No, you have the right to know if I am to stay here," he allowed, frowning. "It's my father's house, not mine." He clamped his mouth shut at that point, suppressing the rest of his explanation. It was completely against his nature to discuss his personal business with anyone. The last person he willingly divulged information to was Albus. Minerva managed from time to time to wheedle a little out of him, but it was rare. He would need to explain eventually, but he wasn't... ready… yet.
"Oh, right," Hermione answered, not understanding at all. She was even more confused, but wilfully beat down the desire to ask more personal questions. Forcing her mind back to the topic at hand, she stood up, setting her tea cup aside. "Well then, let me show you around."
Startled at Hermione's easy acceptance, Snape made to rise also, forgetting the Kneazle-beast on his lap – until the claws sinking into his thighs gently reminded him, and he sank back into his chair. Hermione recognized his predicament and reached into his lap to extricate the animal without so much as flinching at such close proximity to him. She tutted at the fur decorating his trousers, reaching down as though to wipe it away with her hands. Snape instantly grasped her wrists to stop her, earning a gasp and a blush as Hermione realized what she'd almost done.
"Sorry, habit," she mumbled, avoiding his gaze. Snape nodded curtly, whipped out his wand and vanished the hair with a quick, efficient flick.
"Lead the way, if you please," he reminded her. Hermione led him through her house, pointing out with a bit of pride the library/study, her makeshift lab in the basement, and the backyard garden (though frosted over now), laden with some rare magical plants she'd acquired over the years. If he was impressed, it didn't show. Neither did he show any sign of intimidation at the exercise equipment and gaming tables in the recreation room or the plethora of Muggle electronic gadgets all throughout the house.
"I don't imagine you'll spend a lot of time in here," Hermione said as she opened the door to the entertainment room, "but I'll show you how everything works if you wish. I've actually Charmed nearly everything to respond to Ron's wand. I could do the same for you if you'd like," she offered. .
"I assume this is your parents' house?" Snape questioned, although he already knew, from being in the Order, that it was. "Why aren't they here?"
Apparently, no one had filled him in on the strained relationship she now had with her parents. "It was their house," she admitted. "They sold it to me for a large portion of my savings. They decided they preferred to stay in Australia. They've sold off their dental practice here and started a new one there." He noted her tense posture and concluded she had a story to tell as well.
In an obvious effort to change the subject, she steered the conversation to the rent and The Rules.
"I don't need much in the way of rent, let's say fifteen pounds a week, but the added expense of a second person will be your responsibility. I will subtract the additional costs from the utility bills for you and you will be expected to buy the groceries every other week. You will not bring Dark objects into my home. No quills, as Crookshanks has developed a bad habit of eating them and then vomiting all over the place. And no entertaining females." This last was said with a blush, but with such finality as to leave debate out of the question.
"Poppy and Minerva will be very disappointed," he said dryly.
Her eyes flashed angrily at him, and he had to wonder what behavior she had been subjected to in the past. "You know what I mean, sir. Don't pretend that you don't," she snapped, pinching her lips in annoyance. "My home will not be turned into a bordello."
Snape relented, saying, "I've never made a habit of bringing witches home before; I can't imagine I would start now."
"Good. Now, as to household chores– I can cook, unless you'd like to sometimes. I expect you to help with kitchen clean-up. We can divide up the dusting, vacuuming, bathroom scrubbing, and so on. I insist on doing the laundry myself. I've had too many bad experiences with other people ruining my clothes."
"Who?" he asked before he thought to stop himself.
Hermione clenched her teeth momentarily before answering. "My mother washed a load of darks once without checking the pockets. There was an ink pen in one of my dad's pockets. The entire load was ruined. My father shrank my wool jumpers more than once. Ron destroyed my underthings by adding too much bleach. Harry mixed the whites and colors and made everything come out dingy. Neither of the boys ever got the hang of getting the clothes out of the dryer before they wrinkled."
Hermione had wrapped her arms about herself, frowning petulantly, as though reliving an unpleasant memory. Perhaps she was. She noticed his calculating stare and deliberately forced herself to unbend.
"I know I sound obsessive, but it's just so exasperating! If people would just show a little concern, respect other people's things..." she huffed, shaking her head.
Professor Snape concurred with an inclination of his head. "I can't say I disagree with you. During the war, the Dark Lord forced Pettigrew on me for a time. I had to place jinxes on the bottles and pitchers in the refrigerator to prevent him from drinking directly from the containers without using a glass."
"Ron does that, too!" she exclaimed, then shuddered. "Disgusting habit. Well, this way then. I'll show you the upstairs."
He was surprised to see the bedrooms were appointed unpretentiously, and she gave him the choice between the guest room or the master bedroom with its ensuite bath. Deducing she felt uncomfortable using her parents' former bedroom, he chose the guest room.
At the weekend, Severus Snape moved in.
Minerva had sent four Hogwarts house-elves to help, and Snape took great pleasure in tormenting Hermione by pointing out that they were free elves who had volunteered, so no amount of grandstanding for their rights would make a bit of difference. As he was a former headmaster, they were honored to have been asked.
The most time-consuming part of the entire endeavor was sorting through his books, since there were hundreds of them. The ones devoted to Dark magic Hermione insisted on storing in the loft above the detached garage – her concession to the No Dark Objects rule she had made; technically, they weren't in the house. He was permitted to set up a reading area up there for the times he needed to consult them. She left the organizing of those books to him. They sorted through the remaining books, pulling the duplicates she already had in her library and added those to the loft library. Even after the culling, there remained over a hundred books to somehow fit onto the shelves in the study.
"Perhaps I should just move all of my books to the loft," Severus offered.
"No, no," Hermione rejected quickly. "I've got books in here I should have got rid of a long time ago." She reached out and pulled a battered copy of Hogwarts: A History off the shelf. "I have two copies of this. I'll donate one to the Ministry's Wee Wizards Day Care for the children." She set it on the desk and turned back to him. "I'm sure I can find plenty of room," she assured him.
Severus suspected she didn't want to lose the opportunity to read his collection but refrained from mentioning it.
Hermione ordered Chinese take-out for supper when the afternoon got away from them. "I'll just run down to pick it up, unless you'd like to come along?" She reached up to the key rack hanging at the back door and pulled off the set for the Volvo.
"You're going to drive?" he asked incredulously.
"Of course. This is a Muggle neighborhood. I can't just Apparate back and forth everywhere. The neighbors would notice if the car never left, and we were never seen outside."
"What I meant was – can you drive?"
Hermione decided not to take offense. "Certainly. For the past two years, actually. Can you?" she challenged.
Snape looked a curious mixture of skeptical and affronted. Debating with himself for a moment, he answered truthfully. "It's been a number of years since I operated a vehicle. I can't say for certain that I could do it anymore without some...study."
Hermione grinned. "Come along, then. I'm sure it hasn't changed that much."
As they buckled into the Volvo, Hermione noticed Snape eyeing up her father's Lotus. "Your inner Muggle is showing, Professor. Like that one, do you?" she teased.
"It's much fancier than this one," he commented. "Why do you choose to drive this one?"
"I don't know how to operate a clutch," she admitted, suppressing a pout. "The Lotus was my father's. This one was my mum's. Mum taught me to drive in this one, so I never had the opportunity to learn to drive a manual shift transmission."
Snape smirked. "I learnt on a clutch." There was a gleam in his eye when he added, "If you'll give me a refresher course on driving, I'll teach you to drive it."
"Mmmm. We'll see." She smothered a giggle when he scowled at her. It was nice to have an extra bargaining chip. He was obviously very interested in getting his backside behind the wheel of the shiny blue convertible. She was reluctant to just give it up too easily. He was a Slytherin, after all.
She waved to several neighbors they passed, both going to and returning from the restaurant, proving her earlier declaration. As they exited the garage, Snape wandlessly unlocked the back door of the house and turned on the lights, earning an impressed gasp from Hermione. He resisted the urge to preen at her expression.
"You could teach me how to do that in exchange for a refresher in driving," Hermione suggested as Severus unpacked the food containers from the paper bag, and she retrieved plates and utensils from the kitchen cupboards.
"Perhaps," he conceded, "though I think wandless magical ability is a more valuable skill." He knew what she was doing. Bargaining, however, was a distinctly Slytherin trait, practically ingrained at birth. He wasn't the head of Slytherin for seventeen years if he could let her come out the better in this deal.
The desire to learn how to perform wandless magic was something he knew she wouldn't be able to resist, and he could practically feel the hand-tooled leather of the expensive sports car under his hands. He'd wait her out.
They ate silently, Hermione's aggravation eating away at her. Frustrated, she noisily placed her dirty dishes in the sink and turned back toward him, her arms crossed belligerently.
"Fine. What do you want besides the driving lessons?" she huffed. He could practically see her force herself not to tap her foot impatiently.
Biting back a triumphant smirk, he pretended to consider the question. "A driving licence," he said, then added, "and the right to drive the Lotus."
She had been considering selling the Lotus anyhow, since she couldn't drive it. His obvious interest in it only sweetened the deal. "You may drive the Lotus once you have managed to pass a Muggle driving test, unless you do something really horrible to piss me off."
Severus balked. "Have you met me? Of course I'm going to do or say something to piss you off. I'm actually surprised I haven't yet."
Hermione snorted. He was right. "Oh, very well," she relented. "The Lotus is yours to use exclusively as long as you live here. You're responsible for the petrol, repairs and insurance." She hoped she hadn't made a mistake by caving so easily.
"Gamp's law specifically addresses food as one of the things that cannot be conjured," he disputed a few days later, obviously exasperated with her. "You got an Outstanding in your NEWTs for Transfiguration as I recall. Has your memory failed you so soon after graduating, Miss Granger?" He reached into the drain board to retrieve the dish Hermione had just set in it and started drying it. Their discussion had continued long after they had finished their meal, veering from the dangers of Dreamless Sleep potion, the ineffectiveness of the Ministry, and now onto Gamp's Laws of Transfiguration.
"Of course not, Professor! I only question the validity of that particular law because we can produce water from our wands, so what prevents us from producing edibles as well? Just because Gamp says it can't be done doesn't mean we shouldn't try to disprove it," she said, blowing ineffectually at a wisp of hair that had fallen into her face. The curl lifted off her forehead momentarily before falling again across her eyes. She was elbows-deep in sudsy dishwater, so she did her best to ignore it. "In fact, if you think about it, in Transfiguration we learned to change a pin cushion into a hedgehog and back again. I realize it's transfiguring something, not conjuring it from thin air, but who's to say it can't be done? I've conjured canaries from thin air. Why not a chicken? Or a rabbit?"
He'd discovered more and more that their conversations usually became very serious discussions, or debates, and even an occasional argument. He frequently found himself unable to dispute her logic, and it was fascinating how quickly she grasped any new concepts he threw at her.
And the most remarkable thing was, no matter how much he sneered, criticized, or disparaged her points of view, she never took offense. It was rather like talking with Filius Flitwick, with the exception that she wasn't afraid to disagree with him. Other than Minerva, who would often grow annoyed with him and refused to continue their discussion, few people ever debated with him willingly. Oh, he could antagonize Hooch enough to argue, but the Flying instructor wasn't learned enough in intellectual topics to make it interesting. Albus had been a good opponent before...well, before. And of course Lucius Malfoy was a great conversationalist, but he was unavailable for tea, at least he had been, until the Ministry decided to release him from Azkaban a few weeks previously.
As the days passed, Hermione found Snape to be a remarkably conscientious housemate. There were no dirty clothes or empty food containers left around. The toilet seat was kept lowered as per her request. He rinsed out his dirty dishes. He even took the rubbish out to the bins without being told. If she had any complaints at all, it was that he was too complacent; not at all like the Snape she thought she knew, and after having shared a tent with Harry and Ron, and a dorm with Lavender and Parvati, she knew it was unusual for someone to go very long without a single problem or complaint. As they sat eating their lunch at the table one afternoon, she decided to address it.
"All right, out with it," she began without preamble. Snape looked momentarily startled before forcing an indifferent expression onto his face. Hermione sighed. "You cannot possibly have no objections or requests after all this time. I'd appreciate it if you'd just tell me what you'd like before becoming resentful at not having it."
Giving it some lengthy consideration, he pushed his empty plate away and leaned forward on his elbows. "Very well. When I moved in, you offered to show me how to operate the computer and to charm my wand to work the gadgets in the entertainment room. If you have the time," he said, sneering, "I'd appreciate having those things done." Now that was more like the Snape she recognized.
Hermione grinned. "Certainly. I'll be happy to do that right away," she said, getting up. "Follow me." She waved her wand to clear their dishes and set them to washing themselves for a change, as they pushed in their chairs and made their way downstairs. They spent the rest of the day sitting side by side at the computer as Hermione taught him the basics of operating the device and set him up with his own e-mail account.
Hours later, as she prepared for bed, she heard him start the shower. She tried desperately not to think of him naked and soapy, with little success. How could a few hours of close contact have affected her so much? She put her pillow over her head to block out the noise of the water running and finally fell into a restless sleep, only to be rudely awakened a very short time later.
Snape's angry bellow from the hallway outside her bedroom door penetrated her pillow covered ear, forcing her to wakefulness immediately.
"Granger! Get out here this instant," he yelled in a tone reminiscent of Potions classes at the height of his career.
Hermione jumped out of bed, yanking open her door to see Snape standing there, dripping on the carpet, wrapped in a towel. Her eyes were wide, ogling the nearly naked man in front of her. Pulling her eyes away from his torso, she forced her gaze to remain on his face.
"Imagine my surprise to find myself being accosted by your showerhead," he growled. "Explain yourself!" he demanded.
Her deep embarrassment couldn't have been more obvious if she were wearing a sign. "Er, I might have charmed it...t-to...um, sense, or...or respond...t-to my, um, tension?" she grimaced, her face so red Snape began to think she might pass out.
"I see," he relented. "Kindly warn me of other such modifications in the future, if you please." He wondered what else she might have in store for him. He turned around and disappeared back into the bathroom.
Hermione was bewildered; he hadn't asked her to remove the charm. Why hadn't he? Suddenly, she could no longer hear the shower running – he had put up a silencing charm. Was it possible he was just as aroused as she was? Did he misunderstand her, thinking that the shower was charmed to respond to whoever was using it? Or was he taking advantage of her excitement? Whatever the reason, she determined to adjust the charm for his use as well. And to add a built-in silencing charm while she was at it.
Once settled back in bed, she realized sleep was not in the offing. When she closed her eyes, all she could see was a thoroughly wet Severus Snape, eyes intense and glittering. He was right now, at this very moment, pleasuring himself right across the hall from her.
She groaned into her pillow. Her body completely turned against her, tingling with the imagined brush of warm, sensuous hands grazing against her breasts, her hips, the insides of her thighs. Her traitorous fingers stroked their way down her chest to her breasts, tweaking the already hard and aching peaks. She gasped at the sharp, exquisite sensation it brought. She rolled the tightly furled flesh between the fingers of one hand, arching her back and thrusting her hips, while her right hand dove beneath the waistband of her knickers, seeking the center of her pleasure.
Snape removed his towel after setting his silencing spell and climbed back into the shower. Leave it to Hermione Granger, student extraordinaire, to come up with a self-pleasuring showerhead spell to satisfy normal human urges in such a perfunctory way. He almost wished he could award her House points for her ingenuity as he grunted out his release a few moments later.
Shutting off the water and releasing the silencing spell, he could hear Hermione keening her own climax across the hall, which made him pause to reconsider her earlier words. Was it possibly only her arousal which elicited the charmed response of the shower? Surely not. But what if it was? And what would have caused her sexual excitement in the first place? Probably a book, he decided. The girl always had her nose in a book.
Hermione heard him exit the bathroom and walk down the hall to his room as she came down from her crest. She wondered if he had heard her cry out her climax, chastising herself for not applying a silencing spell to her own room. It never occurred to her that he would finish in the bathroom so fast. Idiot girl, she thought. Now she had even more reason to be embarrassed.
Tomorrow's breakfast was going to be exceedingly awkward.