Wars of our Fathers
A fan fiction by labrt2004
Chapter Two
Written for debjunk in the Autumn 2011 SS/HG Exchange
Disclaimer: None of it is mine.
Author's Notes: Thank you to my betas, la_syren and snarkyroxy, for your tremendous help. And thank you,debjunk, for the great prompt. And thank you mods, for another wonderful exchange! This story is shamelessly AU. I've basically just taken whatever bits of canon are convenient and tossed out whatever bits aren't. :) Hope you enjoy it.
Dejunk's prompt: Severus Snape's heart has been sealed against women ever since the fiasco with Lily. He finds himself paired with Hermione Granger in some sort of working atmosphere and is not pleased. Things warm up to amiable at some point and during a discussion Severus comments icily that women are heartless users and are not to be trusted. Our resident know-it-all sets out to prove him wrong, and eventually succeeds.
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The next afternoon, a sweltering August Sunday, Hermione was sprawled on her sofa, trying to keep her mind occupied by flipping through yet another flawed biography of Albus Dumbledore, this one called, Dumbledore: The Man Behind the Wizard. Really, were all books about Dumbledore written by blasted tabloid journalists? Exasperated, Hermione tossed the book aside. She knew that it wasn't the biographer's mediocre scholarship that had her in such an ill humor. It was the fact that after driving aimlessly around the city for hours, she had come sneaking into her own flat like a common criminal at two AM, praying Harry would be gone. And finding her teacups washed and her tabletop wiped down, with a note pinned accusingly on the refrigerator:
HG,
Didn't mean to make you upset. Let's forget about all this and go have a drink next weekend at the pub.
HP
Sorry couldn't even begin to express how she felt. She sighed, pulling out a parchment and quill, and contemplated how to reply.
A loud knock on the door caused her to sit up with a start. She wasn't expecting any visitors. Looking down at her pajamas, she shrugged. It was probably just Harry again. Flicking her wand toward the door, she cast an Identity Charm just to be sure. When the words, Severus Snape scrawled their way across her wall, she yelped.
Snape? What in Merlin's name was he doing here?
"Just a moment, please!" She cast her eyes around frantically. "Accio hairbrush!"
Severus stared at the wooden surface of Granger's door, impatiently listening to the shuffling and rustling sounds emanating from within. He'd spent all evening studying her vitae. Her credentials were, as expected, outstanding in every way imaginable. A law degree from Oxford University, first honors. A collection of prestigious internships in London. Glowing references. Admittance to Nottingham Law School and Lincoln's Inn. Clearly not the record of a low-ranking government bureaucrat, Severus thought. He found the idea of Granger willingly choosing such a life so inconceivable that he had made the unusual choice of paying a social call.
The door opened, and at last, Severus beheld the great Hermione Granger, a vision in slippers, striped pajamas, and a knee-length housecoat. Her hair, as untamed as he remembered, was knotted loosely in a bun behind her head. Suspicious brown eyes peered at him, then grew larger behind glasses perched on her nose.
"Hello, Professor Snape." She wondered if there was something more appropriate to say to a man she hadn't seen in ten years.
Severus paused. Although he could hardly expect her to still be in school robes, he suddenly felt inadequately prepared for dealing with a Granger who was no longer a student. "Ms. Granger, good afternoon. I beg your pardon for disturbing you."
Hermione barely stopped herself from ogling. Some part of her, the sex-starved, divorced, male-deprived part, responded with a light fluttering sensation in her stomach. "Um, not at all. Please come in."
Stepping aside, she opened the door wider, and with a nod, Severus entered. He swept his gaze around the room and noted a clean, well-kept space, airy and eminently organized. Not the typical home of someone suffering a mental crisis, professional or otherwise, he thought with a wry twinge of disappointment.
"Tea? Or... butterbeer?" she asked carefully as he settled himself into a seat.
Snape glared. "Butterbeer? Really, Granger?"
Hermione bristled, then turned for the kitchen, muttering. "Well, sorry. I can never tell with you men. Tea it is then. Hello, Professor Snape, wonderful to see you again, too."
Severus listened to her incoherent rambling and frowned. Perhaps he wouldn't rule out mental incapacity just yet. As she exited the room, he saw the flare of her hips, and suddenly, he was noticing a lot of other things, as well. She was nothing like the gangly, awkward youth he'd known. Even beneath shapeless sleepwear, there was evidence of lithe, graceful curves, and an intrusive new awareness coursed disturbingly through him.
In the kitchen, Hermione's hands shook as she poured hot water into teacups and placed some biscuits onto a plate. She looked briefly at the spread, then switched out the mismatched tablespoons for proper teaspoons. Quickly, she removed her beloved but utterly unpresentable tin teapot, a gift from her mother when she was twelve. Nothing but the best ceramic for his Royal Starchiness, she thought grimly.
She returned to the sitting room, nerves jangling, and placed the tray on the coffee table. Snape was so much more... physical than she remembered. He still favored black after all these years, and his tall, darkly clad frame made the room shrink. He stared at her with inscrutable flint-colored eyes, giving her the urge to squirm. Or perhaps lean closer to him.
Granger blew steam off her tea, pursing her lips in a way that gave Severus heartburn. He cleared his throat. "No war trophies on display, Granger? I must say, I'm surprised."
She scowled. "This is about the Potions opening at Hogwarts, isn't it? I'm sorry you went through all the trouble of coming here, but I already told Harry, I'm not interested."
"You prefer being an undistinguished public servant and political lackey?"
"Yes," she said flatly.
He didn't have to be the accomplished Legilimens he was to know she was lying. Poorly. But it wasn't what she said so much as the brief flicker of unnamable emotion across her features that caught Severus' attention.
When he didn't say anything, merely staring at her in silent judgment, Hermione felt the familiar burn of shame and self-loathing, which was very quickly overpowered by irritation. "Try again, Professor. My record has hardly been undistinguished. Not everyone needs an Order of Merlin to feel important!"
One corner of Snape's mouth twitched at her unsubtle barb.
"And there is nothing wrong with working for the Ministry," she continued angrily. "First Harry, then you! What is the problem with the lot of you?"
"Perhaps a shared conviction that despite your much-vaunted intelligence, you've fallen quite short of expectations," he said in mocking tones. "You cannot convince me that you of all people derive pleasure from servicing ideological agendas."
Was that a compliment?Hermione decided it probably wasn't. "There are no agendas," she said through gritted teeth. "Voldemort's dead, remember? No one at the Ministry is plotting any coups—only research to support improvement of public welfare. Like fertility treatments to help women conceive."
"Quite convenient for a Minister who promises to disincentivize working mothers with tax breaks for homemakers."
"It helps scores of women suffering from infertility," she said crisply. In private, Hermione agreed with Snape's criticism, but she'd grown long accustomed to ignoring any personal misgivings about her work. "Not to mention homemakers deserve tax breaks for their unpaid contributions to the economy. I sleep perfectly well at night, thank you!"
"So touching, this display of full-throated support for your employer," said Snape.
Her expression turned brittle. "It's a perfectly good paycheck."
Severus sat in frustrated silence, studying her. Ignoring the strident voice of instinct, he demanded, "Why did you abandon your law degree, Granger?"
"Not that it's anyof your business, but I didn't walk away. I simply became interested in something else, instead. Potions. I was a dab hand at it, remember?" she drawled.
"And law?" he continued unrelentingly. He leaned forward, eyes boring straight into hers.
Unconsciously, Hermione drew back.
"What was wrong with that?" he pushed.
"Nothing!" she shouted, her nonchalant demeanor disintegrating. "What's it matter to you, anyway?"
Since Severus actually did not know the answer, he remained silent, waiting for her response.
She turned away from him, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze. It had a hypnotic, searching quality that threatened to unearth all her secrets. She felt heat rise up her neck.
The quick flash of emotion appeared again, same as the one he'd seen when he first questioned her about her job.
Suddenly, Severus understood. "You're frightened."
"What are you talking about?" she answered coldly, expression shuttered.
"You left law because something frightened you," he stated. "And you won't take the Potions job for the same reason." He lightly pressed some Legilimency upon her, but unlike the days of her youth, she now had Occlumency well in hand.
"You're completely out of your mind," she said, even as her heart raced in her chest.
Snape leaned forward, his features hard. "Prove me wrong, then. Accept the Hogwarts position." He hid his surprise at his own impetuousness.
Hermione strove to keep her breathing steady. "Are you actually offering me the job?"
"Is that relevant, if you have no intention of accepting it?" he goaded.
She stared at him mutinously, refusing to rise to his bait. She would not be misled by the appearance of softer edges around his eyes, the sprinkling of grey hair, and the worry lines on the bridge of his nose.
He let the silence stretch out for a few moments before rising to his feet. "It was not my intention to disturb your Sunday, Ms. Granger. I will not impose on your hospitality any longer." She looked dully at him as he dipped his head in farewell and made for the door.
She followed him to the entrance, squinting as he retreated down the corridor. Being left alone was what she wanted, wasn't it? Yet, she had a distinct sensation of the world falling away from her as she watched him round the corner and disappear from view. An oppressive numbness filled her along with an irrational feeling of foreboding. Passing up Snape's offer felt terrifyingly final. It stoked something frantic inside her.
She stumbled blindly forward. By the time she caught up with him, he was out on the sidewalk already, about to Apparate. "Professor Snape! Wait!"
He turned, expressionless.
Her eyes were wet, a luminous honey color in the afternoon light.
"I—I'll do it."
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