I Grew To Love You
He loved to watch her work.
The way her hair frizzed around her fingers as she absentmindedly tugged her curls; the way her bottom lip found itself trapped between her teeth during a particularly difficult problem; the way her ink-stained fingers left smudges on her skin as she brushed away an itch or an unruly curl; the way she huffed when she read a bit of text that she would exclaim was "absolute codswallop!"
And the way she became so engrossed in her work, that he went unnoticed for long periods of time, free to observe as long as he liked. That was his favorite.
Today was no different. She was brewing when he found her, a large tome propped up on a stand in their private laboratory, the potion bubbling as she stirred the concoction. Her eyes travelled over her notes, comparing it to the tome, and her teeth worried at her bottom lip- a sure sign that she was consumed in her research. He leaned against the door frame, taken back to one of the first times he had watched her this way, many years ago. It had started with her, of course; her incessant demands and grandiose plans. Oh, but he was thankful for those plans…
Always in pursuit to further her education, Hermione Granger had approached him once again on his way to market. Often times he felt it a curse that he had unknowingly purchased a home so near her flat. On many occasions she had 'happened to run across him' with a question or two about a 'very exciting topic, sir, I'm sure you'll agree.' Usually he did; he almost never admitted it. There was one exception.
"You want to what, Miss Granger?"
"I've told you, Professor, it's Hermione-"
"I'm no longer your Professor, Miss Granger," he interrupted, pulling her out of the street and into a secluded doorway. The building had been condemned recently- the door was still barred and an obnoxious sign was plastered across the window. The shadow from the overhang cast them both in dim light, and townsfolk walked by unbeknownst to their quiet conversation.
"Well I don't know what to call you, then," she hissed. "You haven't given me any other options."
"Call me Master Snape," Severus glared. "That is my proper title."
"I was hoping we were beyond formalities."
"What on earth gave you that idea?" Before she could respond, he waved his hand. "Never mind that. Tell me again, what do you want to do?"
Her eyes glared into his and she huffed. "I want to lobby for the wellbeing of the House Elves and help them gain a higher rank in society as a whole." Her straightened back and tight shoulders dared him to argue with her pronouncement.
There was a moment of tense silence between the two before Severus nodded and turned. "Well, good luck with that, then," he said behind his shoulder as he raised a hand in a wave. "Let me know how that turns out. I'll look for news of your resignation in the Prophet."
Before he had reached the street corner, she had her hand on his elbow. "Please, Sir," she pleaded, her pace hurried to match his long stride. "Just hear me out. I know that I'll be met with opposition. I know that many old families will oppose me, and I know that the house elves themselves will be difficult to work with. But I'm willing to try, and in order to do so I need a firm foundation of how things work now. If I could just get your viewpoint, your opinion on what I'd be facing, it'd help me get an upper hand. Please."
"I'm afraid you'll have to find someone else," he replied, extricating his arm from hers and turning towards the market. "As you can see, I am a bit busy."
He could hear her footsteps as she ran after him. "I don't need to speak with you now, Sir," she huffed. "I am free tonight. I can meet you at your home, after dinner. It wouldn't take long."
When he stopped it was so abrupt that she nearly ran into him. "Miss Granger," he turned, "just how important is my participation in this?"
Slightly winded, she took a deep breath and answered, "I believe that your testimony will be crucial for my understanding of how traditional-" she stopped at his familiar stern look, the look that had once told her exactly how he felt about her long-winded explanations to his simple classroom questions. "Very important, Sir," she finished abruptly.
Severus sighed and rubbed his eyes. He knew Miss Granger. He knew that should he walk away from her today, he would surely see her tomorrow. And the next day, and the next-
"If I do this," he said quietly, "you must promise me a few things."
Her hopeful eyes glittered as they looked up at him. "Sure, yes, that's fine! Whatever you need, Pro- erm, Sir."
"Stop finding me on the streets," he snapped. "Owl me if you have questions, like a normal person. And please, limit it to once a month. As unfeasible as it may seem, I do have a life, one that doesn't always involve catering to your demands."
He was pleased to see that her energetic excitement had quelled a bit at his words. Despite this, her chin rose up a fraction, as if to say You can't hurt me anymore. "Is that all, Sir?" she asked, and even her tone of voice echoed her nerve.
"For now," he replied, turning towards the stands at last. "I'll see you at 8."
And he had. She had come promptly on time, sat in his living room in front of the fire, and rigorously demanded of him not only his opinion on House Elves, but the opinions of others- specifically Purebloods with a lineage of servants. Afterwards, she had requested to compile her notes before she left, and he had allowed it on the additional promise that she share with him her final presentation before submitting it for approval. A few hours later, as he came down from his study to order her away, he paused on the stairs as the glow from the dying fire illuminated the young woman on his couch, lip worried by her teeth and fierce determination reflected in her eyes. And what beautiful eyes they were…
He wouldn't at the time admit that it changed his way of viewing her, but he freely admitted to it now. He began to call her Hermione shortly afterwards.
She had yet to notice him. The box in his arm started to press into his side, and he shifted, his foot sliding across the floor. Hermione glanced up, and smiled.
"Good morning, Severus," she greeted. "Where did you run off to so early this morning?"
"I had an errand to run," he said coyly, stepping into the room at last and setting the box on a workbench. He glanced into the potion she was leaning over. "Try another mistletoe berry," he suggested. "Just one should bring your antidote to the clearer teal you're looking for."
Frowning not in disdain but in curiosity, Hermione quickly grabbed another of the white berries and plopped it into the mixture. Immediately, the blue and green balanced out until the potion was left a perfect teal. She sighed in satisfaction.
"Your natural ability to read a potion like a textbook will never cease to stun me," she grinned as she stepped around the table to embrace the taller man. "Thank you for your help. Have you eaten?"
"I have not," he replied, wrapping his arms around her slight frame, "and I assume by that question that you haven't, either. Shall I call Jeffey?"
"Hmm," she hummed, still in his arms, "yes, I think so. But not quite yet." He smiled into her hair. It wasn't often that she displayed her feelings for him- she was much like himself in that regard. But when she did, he enjoyed it immensely. Holding her like this, he slipped into another memory, one that had proven how wonderful his wife truly was, surpassing him in both humility and kindness.
Years ago, when they had first struck up a sort of friendship, she had attempted to cook for them both in an effort to have him over. It had not gone well. He had learned then that while Hermione could follow a potions recipe flawlessly, she lacked the very core ability of cooking.
"I never know when it's done," she frowned into a pan of blackened chicken chunks.
"Typically before it's charred," he said, poking at one of the stiff chunks of meat with a fork. "Shall I go get us some takeaway?"
She glared at the stove, as if blaming it for her failure, and muttered affirmation.
It had already been proven that Severus was only marginally more talented in the kitchen, his once-satisfactory skills a bit rusty after decades of Hogwarts meals. It wasn't much of an issue between the two until their friendship developed into a relationship- and shortly after, a marriage. Hermione, staring into the bathroom mirror, commented, "You know, one of us should really learn to cook properly. I don't think I've eaten well for years."
"We could always get a house elf," he suggested from the bedroom, anticipating a terse rebuttal. He was pleasantly surprised when she merely pursed her lips in consideration. After a few moments of contemplation- because Hermione never made a decision lightly she turned towards him.
"They would have to be free."
"Naturally."
"We would pay them."
"Of course."
"And we'd give them accommodations. Living quarters, clothes, anything they required."
"Hermione," he assured her, "we will scour the earth until we find the perfect house elf for this home- one that will embrace clothes, payment, and all that you wish to bestow upon them."
Three weeks later, they found Jeffey. Eager to please, he required only a closet as a bedroom (which Hermione fashioned with a proper mattress, a trunk, and lights), 3 knuts a week, and one new outfit a year. Jeffey immediately began to make their house a home, Hermione was ecstatic that her House Elf Liberation Front had allowed her this opportunity of employment, and Severus was eating home-cooked meals fit for a king. All in all, they couldn't be happier, their little family of three.
"What did you bring me?"
Severus arched his neck down and was able to see her eyes eyeing the nearby box, long and thin and wrapped in twine. "And how do you know it's for you?" he asked her, rubbing her back.
"Because I know what day it is," she smiled up at him.
"Ah." Slowly, he pulled away and held her at arm's length, his hands resting on her shoulders. "I shouldn't be surprised. You are the brightest witch of your age, after all."
Hermione snorted. It had been an inside joke between the two of them for many years, going back to their first year of friendship. He brought up the popular saying often, mocking in tone but never hurtful, and it always made her smile. "Can I open it?" she asked, reaching for the box.
"I suppose so," he replied with a grin, "but when the true owner of its contents find out, they might not be pleased."
"Har har." She tugged on the twine, lifted the lid, and her smile spread. "This is quite a lovely batch of Dittany you have procured for me, Potions Master," she said playfully, turning towards him with a smile. She placed a slight kiss on his cheek before adding, "I love it. Thank you, Severus."
Severus had learned early on that Hermione preferred practical gifts. If she was researching something particularly frustrating, a new book on the subject would brighten her day. If she was running low on an important ingredient, a restock was always appreciated. If her favorite quill had seen better days, he would replace it for her. He had become quite talented at procuring items for her just as she began to need them- it was a point of pride with him. "I'm very glad you like it," he responded, pulling her into another embrace.
"I have something for you, too!" she exclaimed, beaming.
As she ran from his arms in an excited flurry, Severus watched good-humoredly. The smallest things would excite her- her eyes would light up, her voice would gain an octave, her body would become tense in anticipation. He waited patiently, remembering the first time he had pulled from her this kind of response.
It was shortly after their relationship had begun to form. Slowly, over many projects that she had not-so-reluctantly dragged him into, the two discovered that they worked well together. In addition to Hermione's countless projects for the ministry, she also wormed her way into being a sort of potions assistant, aiding him in orders for Hogwarts, St Mungo's, and private shops around Britain. It was during one of these sessions that their efforts were interrupted by a glossy feathered owl at the window.
"What is the I.P.C?" Hermione asked as she retrieved a formal letter from the owl, which flew off immediately.
"International Potioneer's Convention," he answered offhandedly as he crushed a bezoar.
"Sounds fancy." She handed him the letter and he tossed it to the side. "You aren't going to open it?"
"No need- I know what it is." He carefully dumped the powdered bezoar into the steaming cauldron. He glanced up, noticed her pointed stare, and added, "It's an invitation to speak. They invite me every year."
Her awe was apparent in the way she glanced longingly at the letter and back to his uninterested face. "That's an honor! When is it?"
"Doesn't matter- I'm not going."
"What! Why not?"
The potion was stable- he lowered the heat and stepped back, brushing his hands. "Because," he explained, "I have no interest in wasting a weekend attempting to share my knowledge with a bunch of half-witted broth brewers. I have more important things I could be doing."
"What could be more important than sharing knowledge with others in your field?" She fingered the thick paper of the envelope, temptation written over her face. "I would jump at such an opportunity. Talking with others in my line of work, sharing notes- imagine what you could learn together!"
"By all means attend. It will be an undoubtable bore." He walked over to a shelf and pulled down some bottles. Uncorking the tops, he began to funnel the potion into the glass containers when Hermione caught him off guard.
"We should go together."
He froze. "Hermione," he sighed, "I have never once attended this convention. It is all politics run by old schmoozers patting each other on the back. It will not be fulfilling, and it will not be fun."
"So we make our own fun." She walked around the table towards him, a grin spreading and mischief in her eyes. "Think about it," she said, laughter leaking out of her words. "You and me, judging all the 'schmoozers' from the dark corners of the room, hitting up all the free food and drinks, maybe coming home with a few free samples..." her hand trailed down his arm and took his hand. "I promise you'll have fun. What do you say?"
He frowned down at their tangled fingers, considering her request as he rubbed his thumb over her palm. Finally, he sighed. "You really want to go to this thing?"
Her smug smile told him that she knew she had won him over. "I really, really do," she exclaimed.
He raised her hand, still held in his, and kissed her knuckles. "Then, my dear, for the first time in over a decade, the I.P.C will have their wish."
Despite all of his apprehension, the look on her face- her eyes lit up in excitement, her grin splitting her face in two- gave him peace. The squeal of joy she attempted to swallow as she wrapped her arms around his neck warmed his heart, and as he held her close, he failed to hold back a chuckle.
They had a fantastic time on that trip. Hermione was true to her word- their background commentary of the speakers entertained the two of them the entire weekend, she surprised him by sneaking free food and bottles of butterbeer into their room for an overnight review of the events, and the response he received from his panel led to a few publishings on the subject. It was the first weekend he was truly able to be comfortable with the budding feelings he was beginning to embrace for his bushy-haired companion.
He was grateful that she had convinced him to go.
Hermione returned to the lab at a run, a large, flat box in her arms. He raised an eyebrow, which held a mere shadow of the intimidation it used to for her, and the corner of his lips rose in a sly smile. "That box is nearly as big as you, Hermione," he remarked, easing the package out of her hands. "I do hope it isn't a blabbering portrait."
"No such luck," she grinned, her cheeks pink from her fast pace. "Go on then- open it!"
Slowly- very slowly, slow enough that he heard her huff in impatience and saw her hand twitch towards the box- he undid the ties and paper. When finally he lifted the lid, he was greeted with a pool of black fabric, practically gleaming with the newness of dye.
"Are these my robes?"
A few weeks prior, he and Hermione had gone to Diagon Alley to be fitted for new robes- her, a nice flowing sort in gold and green, and him, his usual flowing black outer robes, but in a higher quality wool.
Hermione nodded. "I picked them up early. Obviously. I wanted to add some special charms to them."
Severus ran his hand over the fabric, feeling the thickness that he so desired at this time of year, running his hands over the ornate silver clasps. "And what charms would those be, my love?"
Hermione's hands joined her husband's as they traced the intricate stitching. "Well," she explained, "I know how you get so focused on your potions, so I added stain-proof and burn-proof charms from top to bottom. And here-" she touched the clasps, her fingers tracing the serpents that were etched in the metal- "I made the clasps open with a simple push of magic. You can be free from them with the tiniest of touches."
Severus covered her hand in his, and met her eyes with desire. "You would like that, then?" he smiled. "You would like me free of my robes? In mere moments?"
He felt pleased that his words garnered a slow inhalation from his wife as her eyes drifted towards his soft smile. "The faster the better, my love," she whispered, leaning forward to plant a kiss on his lips.
He pushed into the kiss hungrily, wrapping his arms around her and digging his fingers into her robes. She mimicked the action to the front of his chest, pushing up onto her toes to return his passion. The two might be modest in many ways, but in their kisses, they burned red hot.
Tea with Hermione had grown to be a near-daily occurrence. He had noticed, with annoyance, that her visits to his home were quickly becoming the highlight of his day. When she failed to show, it was often with a heavy disappointment that he partook alone, glaring at the paper or into the fire.
He had long abandoned his home in Spinner's End, and was pleased to find immense comfort in his new place of residence, so it was with a less than pleased attitude that he admitted that on the days without Hermione pestering him, the house would stifle him with unbearable quiet. He fought the urge on numerous occasions to seek her out, instead opting to fill his time pacing in front of his shelves, pulling book after book from its place and tossing it aside once the pages failed to hold his attention. When at last it was time for him to return to his potions, it was with a sort of relief.
Sometime in June, Hermione failed to show for an entire week. It was all Severus could do to stay put, to not reach out to her. "It was about bloody time the woman realized the sort of company she kept," he muttered to himself as he set to do some housework. "Imagine what I can get done now without her many distractions. I might finally manage to have a thought to myself from time to time."
Despite his harsh words, the moment his floo was activated he hurried to the hall in hopes- no, just simple curiosity- that his visitor may be someone overdue for tea.
Surely enough, Hermione Granger stood in his living room, a smile on her face and a bag over her shoulder. "Miss me?" she asked cheekily.
Ignoring the pleasant bubble of emotions rising into his chest, Severus leaned against the doorframe and raised his eyebrows. "Were you gone? I haven't noticed."
"You're grinning," she laughed. "You did miss me!" Plopping down into her usual spot on the sofa, she waved him to his armchair. "I missed you, too. Shall we have tea?"
Annoyed, but only just, he summoned the tea things and began fussing over the pot. "And what, pray tell, has kept you from my company for so long?" he asked, eyes on the tea tray.
"I was sent overseas," she replied. "My advocacy for the House Elves has made me quite a popular woman these days, it seems. I've been involved in contracts and treaties all over the magical community. They wanted me in Egypt. Egypt! Have you been? It's so lovely. We should go! Though you might burn up in their sun," she added, leaning forward to see him better under his curtain of hair, "with that dungeon master complexion you still seem to favor."
The tea was brewing. He sat across from her, noticing for the first time how her skin had tanned to a nice warm amber, and how her hair seemed marginally lighter in color. "Did you just return?" he asked, motioning to the large bag she had set by her feet.
"Straight from Egypt to the Ministry, straight from the Ministry to you," she smiled. "I'm exhausted. International Wizard Travel is almost as tiring as Muggle travel."
Severus frowned. "And yet you haven't gone home? Why are you here, instead of in your bed?"
"I wanted to do something I have missed so dearly," she explained, and he noticed with curiosity that a blush formed as she met his gaze. "Have tea with my good friend."
He found himself at a loss for words.
The teapot whistled, and he made himself busy preparing the cups. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione fidget in her seat. He added a touch of cream, a sugar cube, a quick stir, and stood to hand her the cup. He jumped- she had stood to meet him.
Her hands joined his on the saucer. "I did miss you," she whispered, staring up at him. His heart skipped a beat, and he could feel his face flush. Her body was so close…
"I missed you, too," he returned, unsure why he said it but knew it to be the truth.
Her eyes lit up, and Severus was lost in the chocolatey orbs. She smiled, and his eyes drifted to her lips, seconds before she leaned in and kissed him.
Hermione pulled back from his embrace, pink cheeked and breathless. "Happy Valentine's day, Severus."
"Happy Valentine's Day, Hermione."
-End-