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It was so faint, so delicate, Severus had scarcely noticed the plain, rose gold wedding band latched onto Hermione's left ring finger. From afar, it could be described as plain. Yet, up close, its simplistic beauty was intriguing and, indeed, resembled something intangible about the young woman wearing it. Her finger, he noticed, also lacked the traditional engagement ring, so many Muggle women wore along with their wedding ring. Certainly they'd had a Magic ceremony, Severus deduced. Studying her sleeping face, Severus found it difficult to picture Hermione in traditional wedding robes, or even in a Muggle wedding gown. He found it harder still, to picture a glowing smile across the now sad and worn bone structure. The quilt rustled; Severus pulled away from his musings, angry with himself that he would indulge in such intimate inquiries.
An old alarm clock, which Severus had had since his teenage years, revealed the hour to be seven and a quarter in the morning. Quietly, he rose and slunk out of his room, leaving the pseudo-stranger in his bed, alone. Once again in the kitchen, he allowed himself to indulge in brewing Turkish coffee; boiling the grounds and water in a pot, Severus neglected to add sugar. He'd never been drawn to sweet foods or drinks; he did not like the idea of enjoying his food through the veil of seductive sugars. After pouring his coffee into a large, gnarled mug, he explored his breast pocket, and extracted his flask of daily potion. Swallowing as quickly as possible, Severus then took a cautious sip of his coffee. Then, perusing his icebox (another modern-technology-neglect of his past family members, though Severus did not mind) he sought eggs, milk, asparagus, intending to make a scramble. Whilst cooking, his narrowed his eyes at the scramble; certainly this breakfast was to his liking, but he had no idea, no guess as to what Granger would want, or even be hungry for. He continued with the scramble, adding to the plate dry bread, a jar of jam, a dish of butter, a banana, a glass of orange juice, a glass of milk, a cup of coffee (watered down, there's no need to get Granger too excitable), as well as a cup of Earl Grey. Once satisfied that he'd covered his basis with breakfast foods, he cast a simple, yet effective, culinary-protection charm, so the scramble would not cool nor the milk or juice warm. Fingering his replacement wand, it felt somewhat unnatural in his hand. He'd neglected to use magic for so long, preferring to keep active and busy, a rush of nostalgia came over him. He shook past it. Pocketing the wand, and mug in hand, Severus dressed himself in the accoutrements of winter, and sought to begin his first walk of the day.
.
Hermione awoke to the sound of a door, far in the distance, closing softly, and the sound of habitual stomping off of excess snow. Sitting up, she could not reconcile reality from what was dreamt; she remembered being directed into this room, fighting the feeling of desperate exhaustion, falling asleep. Yet, she could not distinguish if she had felt gentle hands comforting her in her semi- and unconscious states. Looking around the dimly lit room, she observed heavy, dark green curtains shutting out the light from what seemed to be a substantial window. At the foot of the surprisingly comfortable four-poster bed sat a regal-looking, black-stained trunk, locked with a thick, heavy pewter clasp. A wingback, velvet or velveteen, chair, browned with age, seemed dragged forward from the far corner of the room, closer toward the bed. On the arm of the chair, The Divine Comedy was delicately draped. Ah, she'd not dreamt that, then; she remembered the deep, hushed, calming voice reading passages to her. Atop the ragged but polished wood floor laid a traditional fur rug, yet it lacked a head. The quilt she laid under was made up of numerous, small black and green diamonds, making up a faded calligraphy-style "S." The end table to her right held a generous glass of water, which she happily snatched. It also held an alarm clock, as well as a dusty, worn, framed picture. Looking closer, Hermione could see two young, bright faces, smiling into the sun. They were in front of a generic brick, suburban house. Such a youthful picture, Hermione would not have recognized the teenaged, if not younger, Severus, if it wasn't for his shock of black hair. Behind him, piggyback style, the other smiling face was framed in a bright red mane; Lily? The sound of footsteps at the threshold of the bedroom shook her from her quiet observations. "How are you feeling, Ms. Granger?" Severus asked, setting a tray laden with food next to her. "More rested, perhaps," Hermione responded gingerly, making quick and shy eye contact. "There's no need to blush, Gra-"
"Snape, please. I haven't been your pupil in years. Please, just use my first name," Hermione stated wearily, still nervously looking away from the tall figure standing at her side. Severus sighed, seeming to collect his thoughts; "if you insist on first names, then welcome yourself to use mine."
"Alright, Severus," his name felt choking to Hermione; how odd and uncomfortable it was to know and interact with someone for so long, and start calling them by a new name.
"Hermione," Severus said, as rigidly and uncomfortably as Hermione had, "breakfast is served."
Looking to her side, and scrutinizing the intricately produced meal, Hermione felt plagued with guilt. "I really should leave; I appreciate your help, but I'm sure you're aching to get rid of this unwanted guest," Hermione said hurriedly, pushing the quilt away. "The company is not all unwelcome," Severus responded, with a raised brow, "and I will not permit you to leave until you've put something in your empty system." Glancing at the food, which admittedly looked delicious, and back at Severus, she frowned. "Why do you," she sighed, "why are you caring for me? Why care at all?" At this, Severus nearly chuckled, though he did not allow himself to be that unreserved. "Ms.—Hermione, we are all fated to die. I will not be responsible for another's death," he stopped there, not wanting to explain deeper reasons for his taking her in. He would not let himself divulge the tender spot he'd always had for her, tenderly respecting her headstrong character, and insatiable thirst to be right. He could not unveil the protective streak that took him by surprise, when he saw the long-lost face in front of him. He could not reveal that, really, he did not wish to see her go. Hermione nodded, quietly, considering his words. Reluctantly, she picked up the fork on the tray, and slowly consumed her breakfast.
.
"Come," Severus said, reentering the bedroom, with Hermione's heavy coat and scarf draped over his arm. "Where are we going?" Hermione inquired, through her last bite of scramble, washing it down with milk.
"You," he said, extending his arm to her, allowing Hermione to pull on her winter trappings, "have scarcely moved in two days. We are going on a walk."
"We-"
"We."
"I don't need to be babysat, Severus," Hermione mumbled through her scarf.
"Certainly you don't," Severus agreed, "however, experience shows that you have an unfortunate knack of falling unconscious in the elements, and I refuse to let you out alone-"
"How chivalrous," Hermione snorted in playful contempt.
The fresh air, Hermione admitted, was a treat to her lungs and face. At the end of the block of brick houses, she repeated her new mantra, "I must go home." Severus nodded, "of course. But permit me a suggestion, Ms.-"
"Hermione-"
"Hermione," Severus mulled over his words, "allow me to see you home, lest you feel ill again." Hermione listened his suggestion, and attempted to suppress her impatience. A small, deep, dark part of her wanted to remain in the quiet suburb, in the dark old house, with the strange man who felt so different and yet remained the same as he was years ago. "Won't you worry about being recognized? You're a hero-" Hero, Severus scoffed internally. Certainly a villain, never a hero; that just couldn't be possible. "There's a portrait of you hanging in the Hogwarts halls," Hermione continued. Something hushed inside Severus, surely Hermione felt well enough to use sarcasm. "Don't mock my death," Severus bit, quietly. Hermione stopped walking. "I'm not mocking you. Sn—Severus, you were awarded status as one of the bravest wizards history has known." That was too much for Severus, and he turned away from Hermione, red boiling up in his face. A cold slap hit him in his back. "Turn around," Hermione demanded, childishly. "Did you throw a snowball at me," Severus responded, in a biting, measured tone.
"I'm not lying to you. Your impact in the Wizarding World was enormous, S-Severus," Hermione said frustrated and earnestly. Considering her words, Severus responded shortly, "very well, we'll apparate."
"I—I'm not sure I can right now," Hermione mumbled, embarrassed. Severus raised his brow at her. Of course. Weakened health greatly rises the risk of being splinched. "Allow me," Severus responded, casually.
"You wouldn't be able to picture my-"
"An address, Ms.- Hermione"
"Right," Hermione nodded.
.
At her doorstep to she and Ron's flat cradled in London near Diagon Alley, stretched tall grey brick, and a shining red door. Swiftly, Hermione turned the key and pushed into the house, not desiring to be seen by any neighbors or concerned friends. As she walked in, she stepped on a pool of letters; she sighed. Walking farther into her entry hall, after collecting the thick mound of letters, she turned. "Are you coming in?" she called to the man whose back was toward her. He turned abruptly. "Are we not parting ways, here?" he questioned with a shy grimace. "I can make you tea before you go. It's the least I could do-"
Silently, Severus turned into the hall, closing the door behind him.
Harry, Ginny, Molly, Harry, Harry, bills, Harry… Most of her letters were delivered by hand, not by post; a pang of guilt shot through her heart. She knew Harry and the Weasleys, her dutiful extended family, were perhaps worried, considering she left without notice, and had not returned in a while. However, another feeling crept up in her, anger? She felt smothered; she did not need to be babysat. No matter how much company she had with the Weasleys and Harry, it would not bring Ron back. She set the mail on the edge of the kitchen counter. "Please, sit," she motioned Severus toward a sitting room off the kitchen; bookshelves lined the walls, while the remaining walls held towering, old windows. Her house was bright, not overwhelmingly so. As she put the kettle on, Severus paced the walls stacked high with books, old books, new books, fiction, nonfiction, magic, muggle, cooking… "Ron wasn't much for reading," Hermione stated, shyly smiling. She set a quaint mug in front of Severus. "I would've thought you'd be closer to his home," Severus said, casually. "No," Hermione said through a gulp of tea, "His work at the ministry-" Severus nodded, breaking off the conversation. "Please, excuse me," Hermione said, relatively pleasantly.
As she entered their, her, bedroom, she felt drowned in memory; their many nights under that colorful quilt, the many muggle pictures on the walls, their times in love, their times spent arguing over Ron's drinking, Hermione's concern for him.
Severus tentatively wandered toward the back of the flat, finding a door ajar, and Hermione sitting quietly on the edge of a large, plush bed.
"Why couldn't I help him?" Hermione whispered at her hands.
"Hermione?" Severus asked, tentatively.
"How—how could he abandon me?" Hermione choked quietly.
"Abandon you?" Severus asked again, tentatively. "May I," Severus motioned toward a section of the bed next to Hermione; she nodded.
Severus calmly cleared his throat, "I am confident he did not mean to abandon you-"
"Then why am I alone" Hermione pressed, her measured tone concealing the urge to weep.
"You're not alone, Hermione," Severus said quietly, seriously, not daring to look at her. She looked up at him, studying his profile. What once she thought was greasy hair, angrily pale skin, and harsh eyes, there was something much more tender; guarded, but tender. His hair was glossy, not greasy. His skin pale from years spent in the dungeons and in libraries; his eyes, dark but not as harsh as they were. Though something was still closed in them, Hermione did not feel scrutinized when they turned to look at her; looking closer, she found shocks of grey against the dark, dark brown.
"I don't think," Hermione inhaled, calming herself and keeping tears at bay, "I don't think I can stay here," a tear trickled out and down her cheek, to her great dismay. Severus observed her flushed and dismayed features, considering what his next words would possibly mean for he, for her. "You're welcome to stay with me. Your company would not be unwelcome," Severus said, steadily, calmly. Hermione nodded in consideration, tears spilling out, beyond her control. Her face became more flushed with embarrassment, she sat across from Severus, with no barrier of stoicism to hide behind. She closed her eyes, attempting, without success, to calm herself. As she did, she felt a tender grip on her cheek, and a soft cloth methodically running across her face. She opened her eyes when most of her tears had subsided. Something in Severus' grey, dark eyes seemed to open and release. I know, they seemed to say to her. She let her back relax, leaning into his chest. At first, Severus stiffened, not knowing quite how to handle her physical reaction. After a moment of consideration, he gently enclosed his arms around her, and let her calm herself before they left.