Chapter Two
Severus apparated to the Rose and Crown a full ten minutes before 3pm. If Hermione's habits proved unchanged, she would arrive precisely on time. He wished to be seated by then so he could observe her arrival.
She'd chosen this place, he suspected, for his benefit. It was not the light, airy teahouse that she frequented, but rather a somber and discrete establishment. Its clientele was entirely muggle, rendering it a perfect location to avoid any magical recognition. The staff were efficient and attentive, and he was shortly seated at a table with a good view of the front door.
She entered, dressed entirely in black. Even in her widow's weeds, she was, he thought, a handsome woman. As the flush of her youth had faded, her features had become more prominent, lending her an aristocratic air. It was enough to make one wonder what pureblood dalliance had lent material to her genetic pool.
He noted with satisfaction that unlike most women her age, she did not employ any glamours to appear younger. Her fatigue, her grief, her tension were visible on her face, but so was her pride and fortitude. It made her visage riveting. He was unsurprised to note that many of the men in the room had noticed her arrival. She was a woman of consequence, and it showed.
Hermione saw him the moment she walked in the door. He was unchanged. Same bold features. Same long lean body. Same air of quiet intensity. Though he'd dressed appropriately in muggle slacks and jumper, to her eyes he stood out like a raven among peacocks. She squared her shoulders and approached the table.
"Mrs. Weasley," he intoned, rising from his chair.
Hermione rolled her eyes even as she reached for his hand. "Please, Severus. We've been beyond that for years now. I am Hermione, have been since my birth."
He tilted his head. "As you wish… Hermione. You look well."
Hermione laughed, and took her place at the table. "It's all relative, isn't it? I wouldn't say I feel well, but I am certainly better."
Severus Snape sat down as well. "Tell me." He said.
So she did.
Perhaps it was her resolution. Perhaps it was the way he truly listened to what she said. Either way, she found herself talking of her last few months with far more honesty than with anyone else. About how each morning was a swim through molasses just to make her front door. About the aching hole inside her chest, and the sharp guilt in the moments when the aching faded away. About her determination, no matter what the cost, to heal herself and have a life, a real life, without Ron.
He made no gestures, offered no platitudes. He didn't attempt to console her in any way. He simply sat there, his full attention upon her, his spy's eyes dark and unreadable.
At length, when she'd finished, she blew out a sigh of release. "Wow. You're better than veritaserum, do you know that Severus?"
Snape arched an eyebrow. "An intriguing compliment. You do realize, of course, that the feelings which you described to me during that lengthy monologue fall within the normal spectrum of the human grief process?"
Absurdly touched, Hermione chuckled. "Severus! Did you research the grief process for me?"
For a moment Severus looked a little like a boy with his hand in the cookie jar. But the moment faded when he shrugged an indolent shoulder. "When you proposed this meeting it seemed…prudent."
Hermione's smile softened. "Nonetheless, I'm honored."
At that moment, the waitstaff arrived with tea service for two. Snape gave a contemptuous snort. "I took the liberty of ordering your usual pot of flowers."
Hermione lifted the lid and inhaled the aroma. "Chamomile and lavender. You remembered."
Severus huffed. "You may think me an old man, but I am not so antiquated that I've lost my faculties. I assure you my memory is as sharp as it has ever been."
"I'm relieved to hear that. Then you will remember the letter you sent me after Ronald died."
He nodded. "I do indeed. I offered you my services should they be of use. I trust this meeting is because you find yourself in need of them?"
Hermione, mother of 3, wife of 25 years, was surprised to find herself blushing like a schoolgirl. She had no hopes that he'd fail to notice her flush; the man missed nothing. Even now, his vast intellect was probably piecing together her request, deducing what it was she was seeking from him. Perhaps he was clearing a path to that very conclusion even now. That thought cheered her somewhat, so she forged ahead.
Eyes firmly on her tea, she whispered, "I do." Knowing she must meet his eyes for what was to come next, she wrenched her gaze up to his. Unfortunately, she could not keep the agitation from her voice; she practically croaked as she said "Will you take me to your bed, Severus?"
She wasn't sure what she was expecting in that moment. Perhaps shock, possibly even revulsion. Certainly a demand for explanation and a request for the thought process that had brought her to her request. But he appeared coolly unruffled to her eyes. He seemed to consider her question for a moment, as he took a sip of his Darjeeling, and calmly replaced the cup onto its saucer. Then, his unfathomable eyes boring into hers, he nodded.
"Yes, Mrs. Weasley. If that is your wish, I will."
End, Chapter Two.
AN: Ha! When you're dealing with Severus Snape it's always best to expect the unexpected.
Thank you to those who reviewed the first chapter. I have some ideas of how I'd like this story to unfurl, but I am always open to your input. Special requests, anyone?