Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to JK Rowling and associates. No copyright infringement intended.
Warnings: A smattering of profanity throughout, as well as references to amorous affairs. I should probably also toss in a caveat about sensitivity here, as this story plays with some well-worn clichés, but also tries to call out any attempts to oversimplify the incredibly complex spectrum of human sexuality.
Pride, or What Goeth Before a Fall
(M)
Part the Second
Hermione felt she owed it to Snape to confirm her suspicions, so she began paying much closer attention to the man.
She noticed all sorts of things. For one, the man's wardrobe fit him like a glove. Not just any glove, but like one of those latex gloves that doctors and healers snapped onto their hands before inserting their fingers in unmentionable places.
o O o
FACT: SEVERUS SNAPE WORE IMMACULATELY TAILORED CLOTHES THAT SHOWED OFF HIS RATHER WELL-TONED ARSE.
o O o
Hermione compared this to what she knew of her straight male friends. Ron and Neville, both straighter than wands, could barely dress themselves. Hermione wasn't fashionable herself, but even she knew that her straight pals were sartorial disasters. Ron wore reds and maroons that clashed hideously with his hair, with trouser hems that only approximately hit the tops of his shoes. Neville was, if anything, even worse. He was fit now in ways Hermione could never have predicted, but his clothing hung off him, crusted over in spots with colourful stuff that she hoped was plant based. If she needed any additional proof, she had Arthur Weasley. The man's brood was evidence of his virility; he had fathered more children than anyone she knew, and yet he always looked as though a closet from the 1970s had thrown up on him.
Not so with Snape. His color choice was fairly mundane and monochromatic, awash in blacks and greys, but his clothes were well made and well cared for.
For that matter, his body was well cared for. Once she had started looking at Snape, she found it hard to stop. In her tamer daydreams, she'd catch herself thinking about leaning over Harry's breakfast table, unbuttoning Snape's shirt at the wrists, and rolling his sleeves up to his elbows to reveal lightly muscled forearms and the faint outline of the Dark Mark.
Then she'd add, 'Find a man for myself, preferably straight,' at the bottom of her list of things to do.
Of course, the body and the clothes didn't necessarily confirm everything about Snape's sexuality, but more odds and ends kept popping up.
There was that time one Saturday morning when Narcissa had been badgering the poor man about accompanying her on some trip abroad. The exchange had been brief, but memorable: Narcissa dangled the offer of opera tickets in an attempt to entice him to join her in Paris, and he refused, saying that brunching with her and her emotionally stunted son a few times a month was all he could handle.
o O o
FACT: SEVERUS SNAPE LISTENED TO OPERA.
FACT: SEVERUS SNAPE USED THE WORD 'BRUNCH' AS A VERB.
o O o
Those were both promising.
Hermione consulted the copy of Homosexuality: A History she had picked up following the Breakfast Incident. She flipped to the alphabetized index. 'Opera' had its own listing, as did 'brunch.'
She considered her options. Was there a way to get Snape to open up about his personal life?
Preoccupied with her own life, she'd never really considered before just how lonely the man must be. She never saw him with anyone besides the Malfoys. He was rarely out in public, save for a few war-related memorials and holiday fêtes that Narcissa dragged him to.
Had he dated since the war ended? For that matter, Hermione had never heard of Snape ever holding a relationship, even when Snape was a younger man. Had he ever even been on a date or kissed a woman?
Hermione began to entertain the possibility that Snape had never really loved Lily Evans romantically. Obviously, he had cherished her as his friend. Maybe his anger towards James could be chalked up to simple jealousy rather than what was perceived as some great thwarted love affair.
Maybe Snape had never even considered Lily—or any woman—sexually.
Maybe he'd used his devotion to a woman who didn't want him as shield to keep him from acknowledging some deeper truth about himself.
Maybe Snape didn't even know he was gay.
Hermione needed some facts about Snape confirmed before she made her next move, so she devised a Clever Plan. She would set it in motion the next time she saw him, which would inevitably be at Harry and Draco's dining room on another Saturday morning gathering.
Snape didn't show up the following week, so Hermione needed to wait another seven days. The anticipation was killing her, but finally, the time was right. She waited until Severus was seated with a full cup of tea and a slice of Draco's tomato tarte tatin.
'You know,' she declared a little too loudly and to nobody in particular, 'it's been a long time since I've been taken out on a date.'
Narcissa and Severus were down at the far end of the table, the former daintily sipping her tea and staring out the window to the little patch of greenery behind the house, the latter scribbling something in a notepad as he flipped through a potions journal.
'Three years,' Hermione added. Using her peripheral vision to aid her in this subterfuge, she watched Snape to see if he would acknowledge her in any way.
He didn't.
Harry cast a meaningful glance at Draco, who was busy cleaning under his fingernails with a series of silent spells. Then Harry elbowed him in the side and tilted his head towards Hermione.
'Oh,' the blond said, trying to pick up on what his lover was drawing his attention towards. He smirked. 'Do you want a new vibrator for Christmas, Granger?'
Harry nearly spat out his eggs. Eyes watering, he glared at Draco and shook his head, gulping down a glass of the poncy pomegranate juice Kreacher kept stocked for Young Master Malfoy.
Hermione rolled her eyes. Even if she (mostly) liked the idiot now, Draco was still an unmitigated arse.
'I'm sure we can find something for you to scratch that itch,' he continued. He occupied himself with an elaborate display of selecting a muffin, splitting it open, and loading it with half a jar of sweet orange marmalade before handing it over to his partner. Harry always did have a sweet tooth. 'It'll be top of the line. Nothing but the best for our girl, right, Harry? If we search for one without batteries—'
A loud clatter in the other room signaled the arrival of Andromeda and Teddy, effectively cutting Draco off mid-sentence. The older woman walked into the dining room with her grandson.
'Three years without a date,' Hermione stated, 'is not that bad.' She passed the tarte to Andromeda as the woman sat down on her left. 'Andromeda, when was the last time you went out with a man?'
Teddy's eyes opened wide. He grabbed an orange and a croissant, mumbling out a quick goodbye before fleeing the scene.
'Eight and a half years ago,' Andromeda answered, her voice quiet. She patted Hermione's hand absentmindedly. 'Ted was the love of my life. He used to take me dancing every Friday night, even through that last terrible year.'
Hermione nodded sympathetically.
'If Teddy counts,' Andromeda added with a smile, 'a young gentleman escorted me to the London Zoo a month ago.' The woman set about fixing herself a plate of food and accepted a cup of tea from her sister.
'I can't believe you went without me,' Harry muttered, scrunching up the linen napkin beside his plate. Draco had replaced all the linens in Grimmauld Place earlier in the month, and even Hermione had to admit that it was a welcome change from the worn, embroidered things left over from the reign of Sirius's mum.
Andromeda sighed. 'You were working a double shift.'
Harry frowned. 'Still.'
'You can take him back there next month,' Andromeda promised him.
Harry grinned. 'Deal.'
Hermione admired her friend for his dedication to his godson, knowing that he would make an excellent father one day. Draco still needed to develop some tact and sensitivity before he'd be ready for that kind of responsibility, but Hermione trusted that there was more substance hiding under the manicures and that perfect hair. Of course, Hermione still had to figure out how to get them to go public. Anyone could hide a relationship from the press, but hiding an entire family would be next to impossible.
Before anyone had the chance to change the subject, Hermione spoke up again. 'How about you, Narcissa? Are you still seeing that gentleman from Italy?'
Narcissa wrinkled her nose. 'I only agreed to see Umberto as a favour to Sophia Zabini. She needed someone to get him off her hands, and I had a free evening.'
'Is that a no, then, Mother?' Draco asked.
'The man was a bore,' she stated. 'I'm already on my third since him.'
Draco winced, clearly wanting to avoid talk of his mother's rather active love life. Following the traditional yearlong period of mourning after Lucius's untimely passing, Narcissa had been photographed on the arms of powerful wizards from Paris to Palau. Hermione threw Draco a bone, redirecting the conversation. 'How about you, Draco?'
'When did a man last take me out?' He drummed his fingertips on his pointy chin. 'Harry whisked me off to Greece last month. We had a long weekend of beaches and souvlaki on Santorini.'
'Harry's not that smooth,' Hermione replied, a note of doubt in her voice. She eyed her friend across the table, waiting for his reply.
'Technically, he was the one doing the whisking,' Harry conceded. He slid the last piece of his partner's tomato tarte onto the plate before him, cutting it into pieces with the edge of his fork. 'I'm not allowed to plan any trips for the two of us anymore.'
Hermione raised her eyebrows at Draco, who shuddered in response. 'He suffers from the delusion that it's acceptable to sleep outdoors and walk along paths of nothingness for hours on end.'
'Is this why you asked Teddy to go camping with you?' Andromeda asked Harry.
He nodded. 'Nobody else will go.'
Hermione held up both hands defensively. 'Don't look at me. One year in a tent was more than enough for a lifetime.'
'Why the sudden interest in everyone's love life, Granger?' Draco asked.
'It's not… I'm not… I…' Hermione stuttered, then recollected herself, and smiled. 'Just making small talk.' She looked askance at Snape. Now was the time to go for the kill. She began peeling an apple with a paring knife in order to avoid making eye contact with anyone. 'How about you, Snape?'
The room fell silent.
She could sense the man's dark gaze on her as she steadily sliced her apple.
Draco sniggered. 'Are you seriously asking Severus the last time someone took him out on a date?'
Snape sent a minor hex his way, a silent, wandless spell that made Draco jump in his seat. 'Sod off, boy.'
Narcissa stood abruptly. 'Hermione, dear, there's a volume I've been meaning to show you from the Black collection.' She charmed her teacup and saucer to levitate behind her, then pulled Hermione into the hallway, nearly ripping her arm out of its socket, and led her up one flight of stairs with the teacup bobbing along behind. When both women entered the room, Narcissa closed and locked the door, casting a Silencing Charm over the space.
Her voice was cold and direct. 'My dear girl, what on earth do you think you're doing?'
Hermione shifted her weight from one foot to another, feeling accosted by the woman. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'
'Your technique is woefully lacking, darling,' Narcissa replied. She plucked her teacup and saucer out of the air and took a sip. 'I appreciate the intention, really, I do, but that man will never divulge his deepest desires or his past paramours over a plate of scones and some scrambled eggs. Not to you. Do restrain yourself.'
Hermione held her head high in defiance, fighting the blush creeping up her neck. She knew the Malfoys knew Snape better than she did, but she wasn't a child. Turning her back on Draco's mother, she walked a little further into the room and settled into one of the leather armchairs clustered under the central chandelier.
Narcissa took a few steps towards her and continued speaking. 'If you are merely fishing for information because you find yourself bored on a crisp winter morning, I assure you that you I love that man as though he were my own family, and I won't allow you to play any games with him for your own amusement.'
'Family?' Hermione asked. Maybe the rumours were true. 'Is he Draco's godfather?'
'No!' Narcissa protested. She shook her head. 'Why is everyone under that impression? Severus is a good man, but he isn't exactly Malfoy material. He's certainly not Black material. In those circles, he would be a third cousin that nobody ever speaks to at family reunions.'
Hermione pulled back in her seat, annoyed on behalf of the man who she felt deserved more respect than any of Narcissa's society relations, most of whom were crazy or dead or both. 'That's not very kind.'
'Pish, posh!' Narcissa retorted, crossing over to Hermione. She loomed over the younger woman. 'He'd prefer it that way. After what that man's survived, I doubt he could tolerate any social niceties for more than a few minutes.'
'Funny. I wasn't aware that any of you were nice,' Hermione said, her voice laced with sarcasm.
'We're not,' Narcissa replied. She sighed. 'I see I need to repeat myself. What are you after with Severus?' Narcissa took the seat across from Hermione, brushing nonexistent lint off her silk dress as she made herself at home, perched on the very edge of the chair. Then, relaxing just a bit, she revealed a rare display of genuine warmth. 'I don't want to see him hurt.'
Touched by the woman's words, Hermione reached out and touched her hand. 'I don't, either. I just wanted to know if Severus had moved on since… Well, since…' Hermione left the words unspoken.
'Since Miss Evans?'
'Frankly, yes.'
'There have been a few. Nothing permanent.' Narcissa's voice was hesitant, but her words were direct and to the point. 'He's a confirmed bachelor now, my dear.'
Hermione looked at her quizzically.
'Just so we're clear,' Narcissa added, 'you are not, as they say, Severus's type.'
Hermione nodded. 'Not his type'? That was one way of putting it. 'A confirmed bachelor'? There were a thousand euphemisms for homosexuality these days, but those were hard to misunderstand. Hermione spoke slowly. 'Yes. Yes, I suspected as much.'
Narcissa sat back in her chair, clearly evaluating her.
Refusing to be intimidated, Hermione spoke up again. 'I just want him to be happy. Doesn't he deserve a little bit of happiness?'
'Really? That's it, is it? His happiness?' Narcissa set her teacup down on an end table and leaned in towards Hermione, a predator closing in on her prey. 'You think you—you, Miss Granger—will be the person securing his happiness?'
Hermione considered this. She'd never had much (or any) success as a matchmaker, but she knew a few eligible men who might suit Snape. She thought about a happy Severus Snape, a man who had gone underappreciated for all of his adult life, suddenly finding himself deeply and genuinely loved, and she smiled. 'Yes. Well, maybe. I hope so, at least. I want to try.'
'You certainly have faith in your own abilities.'
Hermione shook her head. 'I don't think there's any sort of magic behind this or anything special about me. I just think that perhaps we don't consciously attend to the happiness of others. I want to do this for him.'
Narcissa leaned back, holding herself impossibly erect. She raised a single perfectly groomed eyebrow. 'You do know that the man is congenitally predisposed to misery, don't you?
Hermione swallowed. This might be harder than she'd thought.
It had been a strange morning all around, but Hermione took Narcissa's words as her seal of approval. Oddly enough, the blonde seemed to be giving her blessing to Hermione's interference into Snape's love life (or lack thereof).
Next, Hermione had to select a gentleman caller for her erstwhile professor. She ran over the list of available men she had initially come up with for Harry, putting them through her Snape filter. Could any of them be a passable companion to someone as powerful, as brilliant, and as adversarial as Severus Snape? He was a proud man, and he wouldn't take kindly to her intervention in his life unless she found someone who could match him well.
o O o
PROSPECT #1: Charlie Weasley, dragon wrangler extraordinaire.
Younger than Snape, yes, but confidence oozing out his pores. Headstrong enough to keep up. Both outsiders to traditional English wizarding society. Charlie would be visiting home in two weeks' time.
PROSPECT #2: Tim Tambling-Goggin, her thoughtful coworker.
A steady, warm (but admittedly milquetoast) man who needed someone to care for. So kind and gentle that Snape would eat him for breakfast. Come to think of it, Snape would probably terrify the man into complete silence.
PROSPECT #3: Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic.
The history between the two could either work in their favour or work against them—unclear. Physically, exact opposites, but the power between the two men would be electric. Would Snape reject Shacklebolt because of his role in the Ministry?
o O o
Hermione took a gander over her notes and scratched dear, sweet Tim off the list. Left with two fairly decent options, she weighed Charlie against Kingsley and decided that the former was a safer bet for good chemistry.
In the best case scenario Hermione could dream up, Snape and Charlie would hit it off, settle down somewhere in the wilds of Not England, and live a long and happy life together. Hermione tried to envision Christmas gatherings with the whole Weasley clan with Snape in a black knitted Weasley jumper, perched on Charlie's muscular lap. Would Molly go for a traditional 'S' on the front, or would she work a serpent into the pattern with a grey or green yarn?
Worst case scenario? Snape and Charlie wouldn't be able to move past the teacher-student dynamic they'd established at Hogwarts. Snape would retreat to wherever he happened to live in England, while Charlie could return to Romania. They could both forget all about it and move on with zero chance of ever seeing each other again.
In a sort of middling scenario, Hermione thought they could just establish a sort of friends-with-benefits type of fling. They could both get some pleasure out of one another in a safe, adult relationship.
A safe, pleasurable, adult relationship shouldn't be that difficult, Hermione thought.
She sighed. For all her talk about 'three years' being bearable without a significant other, she missed having someone special in her life. A small part of her missed having someone to look after her and care for her, someone to take her out to a new restaurant opening and listen to her after a long day of work at the Ministry. Viktor had even rubbed her feet for her when they had reconnected. However, a bigger part of her missed having someone to look after and care for. She knew she could be overbearing at times, even if most people thought she was oblivious to her own bossiness. She'd mothered Harry and Ron through years of schooling, and she continued to look after them even now. While the independence of the single life was satisfying in its own way, Hermione longed for someone to care for.
Maybe karma would be on her side if she helped Snape find the love of his life.
'I've set up a lunch meeting for you with Charlie Weasley,' Hermione announced to Snape one morning at Grimmauld Place. What she didn't announce was how it had taken four separate letters and one Howler—the proverbial nail in the coffin, so to speak—to convince Charlie to add an hour with Snape to his itinerary. She hadn't exactly told him that this was a blind date, either, since that might have scared him off. Instead, she simply assured him that a chat with his professor would be good for them both.
'Bully for you,' Snape stated. He didn't look up from his plate, reaching across the table for some marmalade to spread on his toast, all of which he did with sharp, controlled movements. 'He'll enjoy an empty table and I'll enjoy my own cookery in the quiet of my house.'
'It's just an hour.'
'No.'
'Please?'
'Have you taken leave of your senses?' He looked at her with suspicion.
'You might enjoy yourself.'
Snape now stared at her as though she had grown a second head. 'I have never enjoyed a Weasley.'
Harry and the Malfoy-Blacks all watched this unfold as though they were spectators at Wimbledon.
Hermione felt their eyes on her. She waited a moment or two, giving Snape time to say something else. He didn't bite, so she spoke up again. 'It's at the Three Broomsticks for tomorrow at noon.'
'Have you recently suffered some sort of cranial injury? What makes you think I want you filling my calendar with lunch meetings with near strangers?' Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head with disdain. 'No, Miss Granger.'
'Why not?'
'The last time I spoke with Charles, I was putting him in detention for compromising a fellow student's brewing. I believe it was a salamander that he had thrown into Cecilia Lewis's Shrinking Solution.' Snape poured himself another cup of tea. 'Why in Merlin's name do you think either of us is interested in your little plans?'
Because sometimes opposites attract, Hermione thought to herself. 'Because…' Because you don't have to like someone's personality to enjoy a much-needed shag. 'Because I think you will both find this to be mutually beneficial?' She plastered an overly optimistic grin on her face and reached across the table, laying her hand on his arm with a boldness she'd never had before. 'Please, Snape?'
When Snape finally looked up, he snorted at seeing her expression. 'Gods, that's terrifying.'
Draco glanced over at her. 'Stop it, Granger! You'll frighten the children!'
Hermione glared at Draco, but bit the inside of her cheek to keep from saying something she knew she'd regret.
The blond spoke again. 'If you want Severus to meet with a Weasley, you'll need to pay him.'
'She can't afford my price.'
Hermione crossed her arms across her chest and glared at Snape. 'I'm trying to help here.'
'Ooh! Resort to blackmail, Granger,' Draco offered, egging her on in an incredibly unhelpful manner. 'Do you have any dirt on him?'
'Don't be daft.' She frowned, wrinkling her nose in distaste. 'I would never do that to Snape. Who do you think I am?'
Draco grinned. 'Two words: Rita Skeeter.'
Hermione felt herself smiling in response. She couldn't help it. 'She deserved it.'
Snape gazed into her eyes. 'I sense a story here.'
When Hermione felt the subtle nudge into her mental barriers, she snapped her eyes shut and clapped her hands over them. 'Damnit, Snape! Get out of my mind!' She huffed in indignation. 'If you want to know something, you could just try asking. I'm more than happy to tell you what you want to know.'
'Honestly, Severus,' Narcissa said, a hint of chastisement in her haughty voice. 'That's simply unacceptable outside of war. You really should apologize to the girl.'
Snape rolled his eyes.
Hermione brightened at that. 'In lieu of an apology, you can make it up to me by meeting with Charlie tomorrow. Noon sharp!' She threw on her jacket, picked up her bag, and ran out of the room before the man had the chance to object.
UP NEXT:
Severus Snape was well and truly fucked. Not literally, of course. It had been ages since a real live woman had wanted him anywhere near her naked body. No, he was fucked because the effervescent and ever present Miss Granger had gone and fallen madly and hopelessly in love with him. Granger! What the hell was she even thinking?
