Ch. 4— Of Records, Virtues, and the Ballet

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"Good morning, madam wife."

Hermione smiled at the low growl in her ear that made chill bumps raise on the back of her neck.

"Good morning… husband," she said softly, and heard his sharp breath. This was the first time she called him that, and it had obviously had an effect on him.

A beat later he gruffed, "Are you ready to face the day?"

"Only if you make me." Hermione burrowed further into his embrace, covering her head with a pillow.

Feeling his hands move to her sides, her professor was almost but not quite tickling her. "And what happened to that girl who was always up and in the breakfast hall before dawn, that determined girl driven to succeed, hmm?"

"It's Saturday, and I'm not a morning person, Snape," she groused.

"That's Professor Snape to you, wife," he corrected.

She snorted and peeking one gimlet eye up at him said, "Really? You want to keep this so formal between us?"

"I never want you to forget your place, madam wife. During the day, I am your instructor. Here in our chambers, and if you feel comfortable, you may call me 'husband' or 'Severus'.

"And at night…" she led, giving a small grin to the pillow.

"I am your instructor of a different sort."

His serious words set her laughing, and blushing, she turned to face him. "And when I graduate, be it from Hogwarts or… ahem 'night school'? What should I call you then?"

He looked down at her wryly, "Then you may call me as you please be it 'husband', by my given name, or as you so put it 'Snape'." His eyes met hers, and desire flashed in their depths, "or if you want to keep learning from me… 'professor'."

She quirked an impish grin, boldly stating, "It sounds a bit kinky… professor." She bit her lip, not knowing if he would meet her boldness with frankness of his own.

He moved them so he was looking down at her, his hair swinging forward to brush her cheek. "Such wicked bluntness in one who can be so painfully shy at times. It's a heady combination, witch. As to our present dynamic, I see no need in changing the substance upon which our relationship was founded, even years from now, Hermione. You will learn from me, and I will happily teach you. And in doing so, I will learn from you as well."

She shook her head, mystified. "What could you possibly learn from me?"

He gave an enigmatic smile. "Oh, trust me wife, every day with you I learn a lesson, and unbeknownst to you, you are a fine teacher." So saying, he rose from the bed, and reaching for her arms, drew her up as well. "Now, dress casually for the day. I have plans for us."

Hermione did as bid, deciding to wear jeans, her nicest jumper, and her black leather boots. She didn't know what constituted weekend wear for Professor Snape, having never really noticed before. Truth be told, before their marriage, she half-way believed he lived in his billowing robes. But that was far from the truth, especially when she opened the door to their bedroom and saw he was wearing black jeans, a black jumper, and underneath a white button-down shirt. He still wore his dragonhide boots, but the more casual outfit lent him an academic air without appearing his normal staid and buttoned-up self.

"Would you like to dine with me or with your friends in the great hall? Instead of my plans, I will give you time to reconnect with those closest you if that's what you wish today?" Even as she watched, he donned a muggle coat and grabbed his scarf.

Hermione was touched by his thoughtfulness, but she was too curious about his plans for them to think about taking him up on the offer. "Perhaps I can meet with them another time?" she asked.

He bowed his head, "Of course. Now, would you like to know what we'll be doing?"

Smiling, she said, "Absolutely."

"We are going shopping in Knockturn Alley for some more… unusual ingredients to fill my potions stores, but first, we will go to muggle London where a surprise awaits."

She looked at him wryly, "A surprise? Is it a good surprise? Will I enjoy it? Or is it drudgery?"

"Such cynicism," he tsk'd approvingly.

"Only because you've taught me for seven years." She stuck out her tongue.

"Watch it, brat. For your disrespect, I might just bite off that tongue of yours."

Hermione had to bite back the words, I wish you would. Now, where had that thought come from?

"Well, ahem… how will we be traveling?"

"By portkey." He reached to the side table, and grabbing a statuary of a serpent, tapped 'portus' with his wand and bid she touch it. Hermione had used portkeys only rarely, and it had the unfortunate side effect of making her nauseous, but not wanting to be a bother, she said nothing and touched the thing.

The tug at her naval sent bile rising to her throat, but she choked it back, stumbling once they reached their destination. She would have fallen if not for steadying arms bracing her, "Easy. Easy," he said as she tried to gain her bearings.

After he let her catch her breath, he tilted her chin back, "Your skin is clammy, your pallor green. Traveling by portkey makes you ill does it not? Why didn't you say something, you silly girl?"

She breathed in through her nose, trying to settle her roiling stomach. "I didn't want to be a pest."

He frowned down at her. "Having you vomit on my boots with sick as you've almost done, would've been the behavior of a pest. You've got to be honest with me in all things, madam wife. If something we do bothers you, then you must tell me so I may learn and will not suggest the experience a second time."

Drawing another cleansing breath, she nodded, "Alright. Then you should know I get motion-sick. I hate to travel by broomstick and flying on a thestral is positively terrifying."

"And apparition?" he asked doubtfully, taking her arm and leading her towards the street.

"Is good for short distances but requires a bit of a lie down if I have to do it too long or too often."

He nodded. "Very well, it's the Hogwarts Express for us later tonight. Now, I was going to take us to luncheon, but I think some hot tea would be better for you right now. We'll attempt to eat in an hour or so."

So saying, he bought them both steaming cups of tea from a street vendor, doctoring hers exactly as he had observed she liked it, and then with her firmly tucked to his side, wove their way through the crowded city streets of the West End.

Hermione marveled he seemed as comfortable in Muggle London as he did the Wizarding World and thought to ask him about it when next they stopped. They ducked into a record store, and she looked at him curiously.

"Music soothes the soul, or so I'm told," he said lowly to her, gesturing she browse with him through the racks.

"If music be the food of love, play on," she countered, quoting Shakespeare, her smile bright.

"Music produces a kind of pleasure which human nature cannot do without," he said quoting Confucius, his eyes glinted at her dangerously.

"Where words fail, music speaks," she countered with a quote from Hans Christian Anderson as she crossed her arms. She could do this all day.

"Music is the movement of sound to reach the soul for the education of its virtue," he lectured, quoting Plato. "Now come, I wish to impart another lesson." Her breath hitched, and she blushed, remembering the last lesson in the Potions classroom he had given her.

He gave her a knowing smile. "Why madam, whatever do you think I mean?"

She drew breath to answer, but thought better of it, shaking her head.

He ushered her in. "Come. I want you to pick out some records we can listen to in the castle. I will as well, and in this way, we will learn each others' musical tastes."

As they began thumbing through the stacks, she decided to ask her questions. "Why muggle music, sir? For that matter, why muggle London? And how are you seemingly so at home here?"

"That's simple. I'm half-blooded," he said not looking up from his perusal of the stacks.

Her eyebrows rose to her hairline. "Really?"

"Yes. How do you like Van Morrison, madam?" he purred, showing her the album.

Well, she could take a hint… if that was apparently all she was going to learn of his past. She shrugged. "I wouldn't know. He's way before my time, Professor."

He snorted, "Yes. You are a young thing, aren't you? Well, this is yet another aspect of your education I will happily impart. Now go, pick out some music for us. Go on." He shoo'd her away, and Hermione grinned.

Who knew he would be so… affable? Even if he didn't want to discuss his past.

Well, maybe someday…

Deciding to go with music she enjoyed, which is exactly as he said do, rather than music she thought would please him, she went with the muggle music of her generation, having never taken a liking to Wizarding music in general, Celestina Warbeck in particular.

There was Celine Dion, Madonna, Rod Stewart, Aerosmith, 10,000 Maniacs, Alice in Chains, Nirvana, Heart, The Artist formally known as Prince, Michael Jackson, Bryan Adams, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Richard Marx...

She bit her lip; her choices vast.

Finally deciding on three, she made her way back over to him to see his stack had grown substantially.

"Is that all you could find?" he asked incredulous, looking at her three selections.

"Well, no, but…"

"But nothing, madam. Go, get what you need," he shoo'd her off once more.

Not want. Need. As in music being necessary.

Essential.

She heard, "Remember madam wife, music be the food of love, and I do not want you starving while you're with me."

Grinning like a loon at his words as well as his thoughtfulness, she returned to the stacks and made good on his word, making a pile to rival his own.

At the end of their transaction, the records seller had a smile a mile wide on his face, and her husband had an entire wooden crate filled with their selections.

She was surprised when she had seen they'd had some of the same albums in common, including some stuff she liked that her parents had listened to. Though there was much of it he bought of which she was unfamiliar.

Watching as he shrunk down the crate and pocketed it once they exited the shop, her husband asked, "Now, do you think you can stomach some lunch?"

Eagerly, and still with that silly grin on her face, she nodded, and together with her arm tucked securely in his, they strolled down the street. Hermione window shopped, and occasionally, she pointed out muggle machinery to him explaining what it did to mimic magic's use.

On one such occurrence, they, in fact, had a rousing conversation in which she declared, "It's true. One day, probably not in my lifetime but sooner than one might think, muggles will be able to outlive wizards due to technological advancement." She leaned in close to whisper to him, "They might even be able to attain immortality."

"Surely not, madam wife!" he declared.

"Surely so, husband," she countered and pointed at a display of computers in a shopfront. They made to go into the shop, but as soon as they stepped foot inside, the machinery around them started to blip and blur; the one nearest them in fact starting to smoke.

Hermione grinned, apologized to the shopkeep, and the two of them left, Hermione advising, "That proves my point right there. Magic is intrinsic, but technology will advance. Magical practitioners will be unable to take advantage of technological advancement, which will, in the end be our downfall. Meanwhile, should the human race continue on—which is statistically unlikely— those able to take advantage of such things will possibly never die. You know, I could recommend a few science fiction novels as well as work by Stephen Hawking and Carl Sagan if you're interested?"

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"Very much so, witch," Severus murmured, watching the way her eyes shone when she spoke of a subject for which she was passionate. The weak winter sunshine was no match for her inner light, and Severus soaked it up.

"By the way, I wanted to tell you I liked my surprise very much!" she stated once they were seated in the muggle restaurant he had chosen. The menus were in French, and although he imagined she knew some, he was prepared to order for them both. That was until she advised the maître d she wanted the squab with pommes frites in perfectly accented French.

"French fries, madam?" Severus asked skeptically once the man had gone.

She nodded, "They are cooked in truffle butter with garlic herb seasoning, and c'mon! How could I say 'no' to that?"

Severus muttered, "Easily, one would think."

"Oh, you! You'll try one, and we'll see what you think."

Severus crossed his arms, enjoying her gentle ribbing. "Oh, and you're going to force-feed me, are you, tough, little lioness you are?"

She shook her head, "No, but I would ask you to please—pretty please—try one." She looked at him with pleading, mooncalf eyes, and he knew he could not resist.

Shaking his head, Severus groused, "The things I am willing to do…" for you, he did not say. Although, he did not think she understood just yet the implied words or how much power she could exert over him should she wish it.

Although any Slytherin worth her salt would've heard it, and taken advantage of it but not his Gryffindor.

No, she wouldn't.

"And what makes you think that was the surprise?" he stated enigmatically referring to her earlier comment.

Her brow furrowed, "Oh, but… it was so thoughtful and generous of you, sir. All that music… It was a lovely gift and…"

"As I said in the shop, it was necessary," he interrupted gently. "Many muggleborns feel they must choose one world or the other in which to dwell. I want to ensure for you this is not the case."

His words sent a beautiful blush radiating from her, and his wife's eyes shown at him once more. God's, she was breathtaking!

He cleared his throat. "Now, will you tell me something of this muggle upbringing of yours, madam wife?"

It was a bittersweet smile that graced her face as she said, "My mother and father were the best of people living on this Earth, and despite my being in school three-fourths of the year, up until they died, we remained a very tight-knit family."

"Yes, I remember the news of their passing. I am sorry," Severus stated, watching the play of emotions grace her features, grief the most prevalent.

She gave a sad smile, "Yes, it was unfortunate. Just bad timing and poor weather on the roads. They… well, I'm told it was quick and for that I'm thankful." She swallowed, "That being said, my summers were spent at their dental practice where I served as their receptionist, and on the weekends, my parents and I would take trips to visit art museums, fairs, botanical gardens, anywhere that caught our fancy, really. And as I grew older, they began taking me to symposiums and debates. You see, they wanted me to be very conscientious and concerned for the well-being of my fellow man as well as being well-rounded in muggle issues of the day."

Far from being surprised, Severus only nodded, urging her to continue.

"One of the last was a lecture on the obesity epidemic, and its continuing trend upwards." She laughed, "My father, a bit round in the middle, called the lecturer's projections, 'Stuff and nonsense!' and took us out for ice-cream after. But I heard from my mum in a letter he did end up cutting back on his red meat and scotch, and had lost .7 stone, so… there's that." She again smiled sadly.

"Hmm, there's a lesson in there, Hermione," he said pointedly, wondering if she would move past her grief to see the humor beyond.

"Drink the scotch and eat the steak anyway?" she ventured with a grin.

"Yes, witch. 'Eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we—"

"Die'," she ended, saluting him with her wine glass and taking a healthy swallow.

Severus decided to share a bit of himself, "I have found since the fall of the Dark Lord, I have acquired a taste for living. If not for merry-making with my fellow man, then definitely for doing what pleases me in the time I have remaining on this Earth."

"And what pleases you?" she dimpled, and he was certain she was expecting he would give her a list of pursuits he enjoyed.

Instead, he said, "Beauty pleases me greatly, madam wife, and charm. Grace and wit. Intelligence and gentleness of spirit. Qualities such as these please me." This time, it was he who saluted her and took a drink.

"And where do you find such virtues?" she asked unknowingly.

"You really do not know, do you?" Severus smiled, and his eyes gentled when he looked at her. "I will make it my life's work to show you if you'll allow it."

"I look forward to it," she once more dimpled at him, and his heart was utterly and irretrievably lost.

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"This, madam wife, is your surprise." Gesturing, he held the door open for her and then led them to their seats in one of the balcony boxes of a muggle theatre. Hermione was glad they were attending a matinee, feeling entirely at ease in the casual outfit she was wearing, the two of them blending right in with the muggles surrounding them.

She looked at the program he handed her. "The Nutcracker," she said, looking at him wonderingly. "It's been years since I've seen this!"

He nodded, "I thought as much. I have not seen it, myself, so it should be… informative."

She squinted, "Informative really, sir? Do you even enjoy ballet?" she asked skeptically.

He looked at her. "I told you, madam. I enjoy beauty in all its forms. Now hush, it's starting."

The orchestra began to tune, and the curtain rose to find the toymaker busy in his workshop. Hermione tried to lose herself in the enchanted story of Clara and her toy, but she was too aware of the man at her side. She would occasionally look towards him to catch his expression as he watched the performance, but he was wearing a mask of 'polite interest', and she couldn't gauge his thoughts.

Moving on impulse, and not really daring to think of what she was about to do, Hermione traversed the inches separating them and timidly reached for his hand.

He didn't move, didn't acknowledge her, but as she moved to pull away, his hand flipped upward and captured hers, enveloping it.

She drew a deep breath and again looked up at him. His expression was unchanged save for his thumb that was now making circles in her palm.

From then on, it was an exercise in awareness for her.

It took her a minute, but then she recognized he was drawing sigils onto her skin, and her heart thudded. Even with his attention seemingly on the performance in front of them, he was using his magic to protect, strengthen, and give her peace.

The story, having now lost all her attention, continued on as she focused instead on the enigmatic man at her side. Hermione felt the low thrum of his magical signature as it merged with hers. This was something she ordinarily would never have felt had she not recognized his hand movements for what they were and went searching for its origin. Focusing on the thread of his magic, she applied precision focus and magnification to her thoughts so she could familiarize herself with the feel of her husband's magic embracing her own.

It was… heady stuff for an eighteen-year-old Hermione Granger who had never experienced or attempted anything like this before, and she almost lost herself in the depths of him. In magical terms, if she was a stream, then Professor Snape was an ocean, and he was holding her in the palm of his hand.

The applause resounded, and Hermione returned to herself with a snap as the lights came up and people began making their way toward the exits.

What had she just experienced…? What had she just seen? She felt completely out of her depth and overwhelmed, and so… young. She felt so incredibly young and inexperienced next to the man at her side.

"Where were you?" her professor asked, looking at her with concern.

"An ocean away," she murmured, rising and turning from him.

Once they were out on the sidewalk, he turned her to face him and forced her to look up. "Hermione, you look ill again. Talk to me, girl!" he ordered.

She stepped back, not having the words; how did she convey the breadth and depth of what she saw? Some of his magic was so dark, vilely so, inky-black pools that clung and stretched with a hungry maw wanting to devour. And yet, some of his magic sparkled like quicksilver wanting to dance and play.

When she'd been… wherever she had been, she'd focused on where the sigils he was producing had originated, seeing them in silver threads traveling from his magic to hers. Her own magic was practically virgin next to his, and she saw how little strands of hers reached out to dance with his own, entwining and stretching to encompass one another… bonding so he could transfer the low-level spell to her.

The remembered sight of it, and it was a beautiful sight, brought tears to her eyes.

"Dammit, witch! Legilimens."

Before she could draw her next breath, her husband was in her thoughts, tearing through them like tissue paper on Christmas morning. And neither having the tools, nor being able to shield herself, Hermione had to watch once more as her discovery was brought to light for them both.

Once the memories were finished, he gently extricated himself from her mind and looked at her with awe. "How on Merlin's Earth you stumbled upon Kindare magic I will never know," he said mystified, pronouncing the word 'kin-dar-ee'. "There are those that have gone mad with what you've witnessed; those who have spent decades to glimpse just a tenth of what you saw, and you did it as natural as breathing. Come on, you need nourishment."

"I'm not really hungry," she said, suddenly feeling very dizzy, almost drunk.

"I'm not giving you a choice. Now move or I will pick you up and carry you myself."

His hand ushering her on, Hermione found she really didn't have a choice as he steered them to a muggle pub and into a tattered booth. Putting her head between her hands, Hermione groaned. It was the migraine to end all migrains! Dear gods! What the hell had she done to herself?

Distantly, she heard Professor Snape order her a bowl of soup and a glass of orange juice. The juice arrived first, and she watched as he poured sugar into it and stirred. "Drink!" he ordered, "Every drop."

Knowing better than to question his tone, she did so, getting the grit of the undissolved sugar by the mouthful towards the end and grimacing at the taste. Putting down the glass, she was grateful when he gestured she should drink his water as well to cleanse her palate.

Within moments, she felt significantly better and was able to look at him clear-headed once more, her headache still present but fading.

Professor Snape looked at her assessing, stating finally, "Was this your first time doing such a thing?"

She nodded, "I… I felt the sigils you were forming on my hand, and I… guess I focused on your magic as it was intermingling with mine…"

"As low-thrumming as my spell was, I am shocked you noticed, witch."

She couldn't meet his gaze as she blushed, "I errm, might have been hyper-aware of you at the time, and well, I followed the rabbit trail…"

"And like the proverbial Alice, you found a wealth of knowledge for which you have no idea what to make."

She nodded and whispered, "That about sums it up."

"It seems, my dear, you have a natural affinity for this type of magic; have you ever considered becoming a healer?"

She looked up at him, her eyes mystified, not seeing the correlation. "Is this an advising session, then Professor Snape?" she smiled wanly.

He rolled his eyes at her small jest, and she continued, "Yes, I have, but I… I thought I'd focus more on research than an actual practice with patients."

Nodding, Professor Snape said, "Well, now my girl, you are going to get your wish. That career is tailor-made for one such as yourself, and incidentally, once you get better at honing your talent, you will be able to help in our experimentation exponentially."

Hermione, feeling bewildered, asked, "What is it I just saw, Professor?"

He gave a small, wry grin. "Quite simply, you saw the building blocks of my magic, and you saw yours as well, as well as the two of ours combining together to form something new between us."

She reached for his hand across the table, feeling adrift and needing the contact to ground her. Unhesitating, he gave it, rubbing his thumb once more in circles around her palm.

"Am I…" she licked her lips. "Is this normal?"

Her husband shook his head and smirked, "Not even remotely, witch. Your gift is very rare. Which is why we shall begin nurturing it as soon as possible for the wizarding world needs you."

"The wizarding world is having me perform other duties at present." She could tell her tone of bitterness stung him, and he removed his hand from her grasp. If she could call back what she said, she would've done.

He smiled sadly. "It is your choice, madam wife, whether you choose to nurture this gift or let it fallow. I will not choose for you." in this matter, she let the implied words stand between them.

Feeling so tired of a sudden, Hermione dutifully ate her soup, and once the bill was paid, did not protest as her professor drew her from the booth and walked them to Kings' Cross Station. "But what about your potions' stores?" she asked, barely able to hide a yawn.

"The errand will keep for another outing, wife. I need to get you home and abed. The magical expenditure you've experienced has taxed your system. As it is, I will need you to ingest several restorative draughts and let you sleep in so your body may heal. And you will not be doing any work tomorrow," he warned.

"Oh, but I'm so behind already!" she protested.

"And if you remember, wife, I have taken care of it. Now, rest against me." Professor Snape drew them down to a bench as they waited for the train to arrive, and he offered his chest, wrapping his arms about her shoulders as he did so.

With a tired sigh, Hermione complied, almost immediately falling asleep.

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Severus watched the dear bit of baggage at his side as she slept, this time her repose deep and restful as they lay in bed together.

Kindare magic.

His wife was capable of it, and it was such an unbelievably useful skill, especially in his field.

She was so precious. In every respect she was, and Severus had to make her see what she meant to him. Tomorrow was another day, another chance for him to push his suit, and he would make the best of it for they had two more nights before they must complete the ritual.

He could not let her go from his grasp, he could not. He pulled her closer, nuzzling her as he did so, holding her possessively while they slept.

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Reviews are the food of love for this little authoress. Don't let this artist starve! Feed me, Seymore!

;0)

Another update soon,

-k