A/N: You should probably know that I created this with the following AU in mind: Snape lives. Haven't thought about how, but that's how this goes for me. Maybe Hermione felt the need to tend to him after his release from St. Mungos. Maybe she was the only one who would. I'm sure there were snarky, smart-arse comments and protests from Snape abound. However it went down, she is now popping in to his home at Spinners End daily to care for him.
Hermione Granger had never been one to allow any bit of knowledge slide from her mind, uninspected and taken at face-value. She had learned, as of late, that her former potions professor was just as snarky and spiteful as he had been during her school years. She shook her head, smiling to herself as she bustled around her flat in London, gathering the necessary items to care for said former potions professor. After Harry had revealed the truth of Severus Snape's double life, she had childishly assumed the spy would lighten up a bit and enjoy a life free from masters and obedience. How oh-so-very-wrong she had been.
With a soft *pop* she apparated to a small park a few blocks away from his Spinners End home. She walked quickly, once again shaking her head. It seemed a bit over kill to her - Snape's refusal to remove the wards that allowed her to apparate directly into his home. The war was over, after all. As she approached his home, she stopped on the step and took a deep breath. Before she could fully raise her hand to knock, the door was flung open rather violently, startling her.
Severus Snape stood in the threshold, his customary glare firmly in place. After a beat, wherein Hermione did not move, he arched one eyebrow dramatically. She caught herself then, schooling her face into a frustrated glare and dropping her hand. She waited for him to stand aside and invite her in, and when it became clear he would not, she didn't bother to hide the exaggerated roll of her eyes as she walked forward. He stepped aside at the last minute, a dark scowl on his pale features.
Severus stalked after her through his entry hall. He certainly would never admit it, but he needed her help to care for the wound on his neck. He had cursed and thrown things at the healers in St. Mungos upon waking up, and as a result they had done the bare minimum required to get him out of the magical creatures treatment ward. He knew he would need help upon leaving, but snarled at the dunderheaded nurse asking kindly if he had anyone at home. St. Mungos had sent a Healer apprentice to his home after his refusal to answer their inquiries by owl post, and to his great surprise his former student was the appointed choice.
"Hmph. You can stop skulking along behind me, you know. This would be so much easier if you'd just accept that I am here to help because you need it, and let me do my job."
A quiet snort behind her told Hermione that he had most definitely heard her, and would continue to be rude at best. Oh well. It was worth a shot.
She had learned to speak frankly with him within a few days of coming to care for him for the first time. Her third day had led her to the knowledge that he enjoyed watching her jump when he growled, or her eyes widening in surprise as he stiffened and snarled at her while she changed the dressings on his wound. It still felt a bit weird, speaking so frankly to Professor Snape. Each time she reprimanded him she would hold her breath for a beat, waiting to be hexed or verbally degraded. He very rarely did either, and she took great pride in being (slightly) less afraid of the still (slightly) terrifying potions master.
As they entered the living room, she quickly transfigured a tall, stiff-backed chair into one resembling a dental chair. She turned to him expectantly, not voicing her question of, "Are you going to sit down?" He waited a second, debating with himself, then said snarkily, "I wish to eat first."
She stared him down for another moment, then sighed and removed her hands from her hips. "If you had answered me truthfully yesterday about the pain, I could have brought food with me. You knew I would be here at precisely 5:00 p.m. today. Why didn't you eat before I got here?
He shrugged petulantly. He wasn't going to admit that it was too painful to eat after she changed his dressings. He gruffly commented - surely "the brightest witch of her age" could cook something. He watched her down his nose and waited. She flushed slightly at at his backhanded compliment, and spun on her heel to head for the kitchen.
Shit. She thought as she stood in his immaculately clean kitchen. She had never learned to cook being away at Hogwarts for the later half of her adolescence. She grimaced as she remembered her rather pitiful attempts while on the run the last year with Ron and Harry. After the proverbial dust had settled, she had decided to become a Healer. Madam Pomfry was most pleased to give her a glowing letter of recommendation to St. Mungos, and she had been given a Healer apprentice position. As she settled into life after chaos, and spent long hours at the magical hospital soaking up every bit of knowledge she could, she was rather embarrassed to acknowledge her ridiculous (almost exclusive) take-out diet. Now what? She certainly wasn't going to go back out there and admit her less than existent cooking skills to him. A sudden epiphany came to her - Spaghetti! Surely she could manage that. She had seen her mum do it countless times. She never had managed to perfect cooking and cleaning charms as Mrs. Weasley had, but how hard could it be?
Severus waited until Hermione had disappeared through the kitchen door before promptly transfiguring his favorite chair back to normal. He hated when she messed with his furniture like that. He sat down and waited with his thoughts. It ought to be interesting to see what the witch came up with. He loathed not being able to cook or brew at the moment. The steam agitated his wound, and the strain of standing up for more than 10 minutes left him weak and tired. He had been surviving on cold sandwiches for weeks now, and he was sick of it. It wouldn't kill her to whip something up. She had insisted on caring for him, after all.
Hermione tentatively began searching through cabinets and the pantry. She at least knew the ingredients by heart, having been so desperate for reading material at the age of 10 that she turned to her mother's cookbooks. Spaghetti noodles - check. Tomato sauce - check. Tomato paste - check. She opened the refrigerator to search for some sort of meat, and was happy to find some relatively fresh ground beef. So he can go grocery shopping, but won't cook? Hmph.
She found some spices after a few cabinets, and set aside oregano, thyme, rosemary, and some dried garlic. There. Ingredients gathered? Check. So... she supposed she should set some water boiling. She wasn't that daft. She could cook noodles. Upon finding a pot, she wasn't sure if she should add noodles first, then bring the water to a boil? Or maybe it was the other way around. No, she thought back to watching her mother in the kitchen. Hermione had always been reading while her mother cooked. Perhaps she ought to have paid more attention to what seemed trivial then. She deliberated for a few minutes, then unceremoniously dumped the package of dry noodles into a large pot, and filled it with water. Setting it on the stove and flicking her wrist to light the gas burner, she smiled to herself. This was easier than she'd hoped. She could totally do this.
Half an hour later, Severus couldn't help but to overhear her stage whispered, "Shit!" in the kitchen. He almost cracked a grin at that. Imagine, the female part of the Golden bloody trio was having trouble cooking! He decided to get a front row seat for this failure. As he walked slowly and silently towards the kitchen, he could smell something akin to tomato sauce, but Hermione had apparently burned that. Oh dear. This wouldn't do at all. He pushed the door open a crack, to see several pots in disarray on the stove. Hermione had pulled her curly, copper brown hair back and conjured an apron from somewhere. She was standing with her back to him, hands on her head, and appeared to be frantically studying the mess on the stove.
The sight made his breath hitch. For a very brief time in his long life, he had wanted a woman to call his own. That dream had died the night Harry Potter had become an orphan. He had since simply not thought about the prospect of another woman in his life. Until now. Standing there, with her hands on her head, his kitchen with bits of what was tomato sauce and water spills on every flat surface - he realized that the picture before him was what could have happened. What might have been. In that space of half a breath, he realized that he wanted a wife. Someone to share ridiculous failures with. Someone to argue with. Someone to simply sit quietly and read with. A strange pressure was building in his chest. He was startled, and his head was buzzing with foreign concepts of marriage and life after war as she slowly turned around.
Her eyes were wide and fearful. There was a slight tremble in her arms as she brought them to her sides. Her eyes widened a fraction more upon seeing his face. He did not know if he had let his mask of contempt drop, if he had shown her what was on his mind inadvertently, or if she thought the mess would send him into a rage, but in that moment she looked terrified. He quickly snapped his mask into place. He sneered at her and said, "I suppose this means you will know at the very least which restaurant to order from, Miss Granger?"
She nodded her head meekly and moved to begin clearing up her mess. "Go!" he snapped. She froze, and mumbled something about being back soon, before fleeing out of the back door. Standing alone in his now very messy kitchen, Severus sat down at at the table and began pointing his wand at the pots while he thought. Since when did he want marriage? Oh dear gods. Merlin save him - if he had dropped his mask of anger ... and she had misinterpreted his unspoken thoughts to mean he wanted her ... Severus dropped his head into his hands and winced at the pull of skin on his neck.