Becoming
by snarkypants
Chapter Ten
If Hermione had entertained romantic notions of waking up cradled in Severus' arms in a room limned with lemony sunlight, she would have been disappointed.
As it was, she awoke to the torrent of an adult male pissing into a toilet. It was preferable to awakening to the sound of that adult male sneaking from her room, however, so she was inclined to benevolence.
The toilet flushed, and Severus emerged from the en-suite, looking as cross as ever; his hair had gone quite limp and greasy overnight. He idly scratched his bare arse as he padded back to the bed, lit only by the grey Scottish dawn.
"Morning," she said, her voice husky with sleep. She received a sour grunt in reply, but he appeased her with a kiss to the back of her neck. He curled behind her, pulling her close, and promptly stuck his ice-cold feet between her calves.
"Do you have to scream like that?" he asked resentfully.
"Yes, I do," she growled.
"'m cold," he said, and nuzzled her neck with his freezing nose.
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Severus, if you want to wake me up, be civilized about it," she hissed.
"You're warm," he said, and pulled her closer. "Smell nice." His hand slipped under the covers, seeking her breast and finding it; he plucked at her nipple, seemingly content.
She wasn't aware that she had fallen asleep again until she awoke to find herself sprawled on her back, with a curious weight on and between her spread thighs, and the tickle of fur – no, wait, hair – on her bare belly. There was a Severus-sized lump beneath the covers, and she smiled to herself.
"Good morning," she said, reaching down to give the lump a companionable pat.
"She lives," he said, the irony in his voice somehow penetrating the thick coverlet.
"What're you doing?"
"I would say 'getting the lay of the land,' but I got that last night."
"Ooh, cheeky." She nudged him in the ribs with her knee. "You're in a better mood than you were earlier."
He pulled the covers back, revealing his face; he squinted in the light. "I wanted to see you."
"Seen one, seen them all, I'd think," she said.
"Ah, but I can't afford to take such things for granted; I might never see another." He nipped at her belly.
"Fatalistic, are we?"
"Realistic, more like."
"This is an odd conversation. How can you see anything under the covers?"
"Ever heard of a bit of third-year magic, called Lumos?"
"Smartarse. I'll leave you to it, then, shall I?"
"Won't be a moment." He flung the covers back over his head
"Hmph. That's what you think," she said, holding him firmly in place with her knees.
He chuckled and went about his business.
"We should go to breakfast," he said much later.
She stretched beneath the sheet, writhing in a manner certain to draw his attention to the curves of her breasts. "I'd rather have a nice, lazy breakfast in bed. With you," she emphasized as he stepped into his pants, her writhing unnoticed.
"Simultaneous absences would be noted, and commented upon, by Pomona."
Her face fell. "Oh, damn."
"Out of respect for Minerva's wishes, we should keep it discreet."
"Keep what discreet?"
"This," he said, pulling his trousers on.
"This? You told Minerva about this?"
"I didn't tell her; she guessed. And not about this precisely, just that there was something between us."
"Oh, God."
"She was generally approving."
Hermione whimpered and vaulted out of the bed.
"Said it would be a good thing for me to get some regular totty. Top totty, too, I might add."
"Minerva never said that," Hermione said, her hair whipping around as she scrambled into her knickers.
"No, but it would have been amusing. I should put her under Imperius to say just that; it'd almost be worth the stay in Azkaban." He fastened his robes with quick fingers.
"Oh, God, don't even try at being funny. She'll think I'm the Whore of Babylon."
"Minerva doesn't think in those terms. Sprout, on the other hand…"
"You are not helping me right now." She poked her head through the neck of her robes, grimacing as static electricity crackled through her hair.
Severus' eyes widened in alarm as her naturally bushy hair stood out from her head in an aureole. She took her wand from the bedside table and performed a static-discharging charm on herself.
"Where's the problem?" he asked, finger-combing his own hair; he was going to need a good shampooing, and soon. "We're both adults, both unmarried."
"You're an adult. I'm the 'Sainted Widow Weasley Whose Husband is Barely Cold'."
"If it's any comfort to you, I assure you he's quite cold."
She scowled at him.
Unmoved, he continued. "Hasn't it been more than a year?"
"Ten months," she said.
"Hardly the Whore of Babylon, then. Not even the Page Three Girl of Babylon."
"It's not a year."
"You loved your husband, mourned him well, remember him fondly and care for his children. Unless I am much mistaken, you were faithful to him throughout your marriage, and for ten months after his death. That's better than most men get," he added in a low voice, brushing minute flecks from the front of his robes.
She looked up at him from her seat at the edge of the bed. "Severus."
"Mm?" he asked, inspecting his teeth in the dressing mirror.
"I don't regret this at all, you know. This… us."
His gaze met hers in the mirror and flicked away. "Good."
"My chief concern is that there are people—people who I love—who would be hurt by learning about it in the wrong way."
"Why must they learn about it at all?"
"Well. If it's a one-time thing, it would be easy to keep secret." She wove the fabric of her robes through her fingers. "Is—is that what you want?" She couldn't look at him.
He didn't move, didn't stir so much as an eyelash; he was so still that she would have been able to hear it. "No," he said.
"Me neither."
He still hadn't moved, and she risked looking up at him. He was watching her intently, and winced in a smile-like way when their gazes met.
"They might be upset when I tell them, but if they find out by accident—"
"They won't. I am very good at concealment."
"But I'm not. I can't just lie to them, Severus."
"It's not lying; it's withholding information."
"Oh, really." She restrained herself, just barely, from rolling her eyes.
"Information that is none of their bloody business, I might add."
"This is my family that we're talking about. They do have a right to know that—"
"—That you've moved on? You're no longer yearning for your dead husband? You're getting a bit on the side? Measurements, positions, who came first?"
"Don't be crude. They have a right to know that I'm… seeing someone."
"I disagree."
"I'll make note of it in my memoirs."
He sighed, low and grumbling. "On your own head be it, then. I do wish you'd keep me out of it; I'm not looking forward to the inevitable bombardment of howlers."
"I don't think it would come to that."
He snorted.
"Severus, ah, I probably won't ever stop yearning for my husband."
"The possibility had occurred to me. Particularly after you called me 'Ron'."
She froze. "What? Oh, God. Not during—"
"No. Not during. When you were asleep."
"I'm so sorry."
"I get the better end of the deal than he does. If the price for that is that you call me by his name in your sleep…" He made a dismissive gesture.
She didn't know quite what to make of that. "Well, thank you, I suppose."
"Oh, no, thank you," he said, leering at her. Before she could open her mouth to respond to that, he tugged her to her feet. "And now, to breakfast."
"Oi, Fraser, isn't that the bint that gave you the brush-off?"
Blithe hunched her shoulders, trying to disappear inside of her robes.
Alec Fraser, the rat, gave her a mocking once-over. "I wouldn't call her a bint, Hawley. Jumped-up, stuck-up cow, more like."
"Lucky escape you got, though. I heard any bloke she touches, dies," Hawley said, laughing. "Dad, grandfather, you could've been next."
Blithe's face was brilliantly red, attesting to her Weasley heritage even more clearly than her russet hair. She tucked her head down even further.
"But what a way to go, eh?" Hawley said. He hopped down from the half wall where he had been lounging, and sauntered in front of Blithe. He held his hands ostentatiously out and away from her, as if afraid to touch her.
Fraser began to look uncomfortable. "Let's leave her alone, Reg. She looks like she's about to cry."
"Aw, I'm not doing anything, am I, Red?" he asked. "Not even touching her."
Blithe glared up at Hawley; he had to have been left back in school. He was easily a foot taller than all the other fourth-years.
"Would you like me to touch you, Red? My family's got rules against dating social-climbing arse-kissers like the Weasleys, but a quick grab isn't out of the question." He loomed over her, using nothing more than height and menace to alter her path, backing her against a wall.
"Leave me alone," she said, low and meaning it.
"Reg…" Fraser said nervously. Blithe couldn't see him; Hawley's frame blocked him from view.
"How 'bout a little kiss, Red?" Hawley crooned, pushing out his lips obscenely, making disgusting kissing noises at her.
Blithe pulled her wand from her sleeve, made an odd movement with it, and chanted: "Akhy Engleezy, ilhaas teezy."
A quickly spreading circle of wet appeared on the front of his trousers; Hawley froze and yelped. He goggled at Blithe before pressing his knees together and wrapping his robes tightly around him. Urine dripped from his trouser legs and shoes, and he ran, knock-kneed, away from her, to the jeers and shouts of the other students.
Alec Fraser edged away from her, heading in the opposite direction to that in which Hawley had gone.
From the courtyard, Jim-James grinned at his cousin, giving her a proud thumbs-up.
Hermione's booted heels made a no-nonsense sort of clacking as she stalked down the corridor. She didn't meet with many students on her way, and those few she did meet saw her fearsome expression and ducked out of her path.
For her part, she was so intent on her internal dialogue that she didn't notice people scrambling out of her way.
He's gone too far, she thought. She might be new to all of this, but she was fairly sure that he was taking advantage of her.
She rounded the corner to the Defence classroom. This late in the day there would be no students present; she would be able to speak her mind without worrying about who might overhear. The great door creaked open, and she slipped through, pushing it closed behind her.
Severus' office door was slightly ajar, which boded well for him being there. She stomped up the short flight of stairs, boot heels echoing through the cavernous room, and rapped smartly on the door.
He opened the door, scowling in surprise to see her there. "Professor Weasley… to what do I owe this pleasure?"
"I've a bone to pick; will you let me in?"
His mouth became pinched. "Of course." He opened the door more widely, and gestured toward a chair in front of his desk. "Please be seated," he said, closing the door behind them.
She was far too keyed-up to sit, and instead paced back and forth in front of his desk.
He sat heavily in his desk chair, and watched her over the tips of his steepled fingers. "What seems to be the problem?"
"Cherrington. How do you deal with him?"
The lines between his eyes relaxed slightly, and he leaned back in his chair. "I try not to."
"When you must deal with him, how do you?"
"I tell him what Minerva wants of him, and he does it."
"No, he doesn't; he delegates it to me."
A look of unholy amusement crossed his face. "Indeed? I'd never have thought Perkin had it in him; well done."
She shot him a sour look. "I don't want to be house disciplinarian, but whenever there's some sort of kerfuffle, he drags me into it and dumps it in my lap."
"By 'kerfuffle,' I presume you mean a Gryffindor cursing another with an incontinence spell."
"I mean my daughter defending herself against a bully with a spell that did no permanent damage."
"No permanent damage? Have you seen the carpets in Gryffindor Tower? More to the point, have you smelled them?" Severus, damn him, actually smirked.
"He's told me to discipline her for it, when I think she did exactly the right thing. And the boy involved has 'suffered enough'." She made an inarticulate sound of rage. "He knows the position he's putting me in, and he doesn't give a damn."
His eyes narrowed. "You want me to take care of him for you, then, is that what you're asking?"
"No, I—"
"A mere three days after our… liaison and you suddenly expect me to fight your battles for you."
"I never said that—" she began, sputtering.
"Really, madam? Before Saturday, you hadn't so much as darkened the door to my office, and yet today here you are, demanding that I do something about a troublesome colleague."
"Demanding? I asked for advice—"
"—No doubt expecting that I would rush to your defence and take care of it myself—"
"That is completely unfair!" Pacing forgotten, she stood stock-still in front of the desk.
"I call it honest."
She made an exasperated noise. "I don't know what's expected of me, Severus. I teach my classes and I'm learning my additional duties, but Cherrington keeps implying that I'm letting down the side if I baulk at doing his head-of-house-type duties. Am I? That's all I want to know, and then I'll leave you in peace." She gave him a hard look. "And I'll deal with it myself."
"Damned right, you will. Why didn't you go to Minerva about this?"
"I'm trying to figure out how I should handle it; I thought that I could trust you to give me good advice without making a big production of it."
He leaned back in his chair, watching her. Undaunted, she met his gaze, her chin thrust forward pugnaciously.
After several minutes, he rocked forward. "Right. Sit down, Hermione."
She did, plumping gracelessly down and folding her arms across her chest.
"You are letting down the side, but only because Cherrington lets down the side much worse than you would. He doesn't want the head of house job; he was rather put out that you didn't take it on when you joined the staff."
"But I told Minerva—" Hermione began, only to be silenced as Severus waved her comment away with an abrupt gesture.
"I know that, and so does he. You have valid reasons for not wanting to take on the duty. But it doesn't change the fact that the head of Gryffindor doesn't want to do it, and will avoid the attendant unpleasantness at any cost." He snorted. "Disciplinary action doesn't work; as far as he's concerned, being head of house is the worst punishment we could mete out. If we remove him from the duty in a punitive way, we would, in fact, be rewarding him, and that, my dear, sticks in my throat.
"So, what should you do? You have two choices before you, and they are equally unappealing. You can tell Cherrington to get knotted, and be left in relative peace as Gryffindors run amok and the head of house entombs himself in his office. Or you can become the de facto head of house in everything but title and pay, copping the blame when things go pear-shaped, and letting Cherrington get the glory when they go well." He smiled nastily. "Having fun yet?"
"If he's so awful, why hasn't he been sacked?"
Severus shrugged. "He's a decent Potions master, and those are rather thin on the ground. And Minerva has her… reasons, which, of course, must remain unknown to the staff at large. It is, after all, not without precedent to keep incompetents and frauds at Hogwarts, if doing so benefits the Greater Good."
"What about bloody-minded Potions masters?" she asked in an arch voice.
"Those, too; don't forget the even-more-bloody-minded Defence teachers."
She snorted. "As if I could."
"I rejoice to hear it. Incidentally, what does that couplet mean, the 'Engleezy' bit?"
"It's Arabic, a schoolyard chant the twins learnt in Egypt. It means 'I speak English, lick my arse'. It has nothing to do with the incontinence spell; it just sounds impressive."
His mouth twitched. "Please understand me: I would never recommend that a member of staff offer to demonstrate such a curse for another member of staff, particularly as that other member of staff is already morbidly fascinated with his bladder's level of dysfunction. I could not possibly advocate such behaviour."
"That sounds like fighting dirty to me," she said, looking at him as if she had never seen him before, a slow smile spreading across her face.
"I never said anything about actually using a curse, did I?" He leaned back in his chair. "Was there anything else, Professor Weasley?" he asked.
She grinned at him. "No, I think you've answered my questions, Professor Snape."
"Excellent." He rose to his feet, heading to the door. "Should you require another tête-à-tête at some point, say Friday evening, don't hesitate to call on me."
She hesitated, giving him a coy look. "Friday? I was going to wash my hair that night."
"What an odd coincidence; so was I," he said, his eyes wide with feigned surprise.
She laughed and stood on tiptoe to kiss his mouth. He didn't make any move to embrace her, but he didn't dodge the kiss, either.
"Be gone, woman," he said sotto voce.
"I can't believe Blithe had the guts to use that curse," Fabian said a week later. He was ostensibly doing his homework in her office, although he seemed more interested in playing with her abacus and her runic tiles than in completing his assignments. "Worked a treat, though, didn't it?"
Privately, Hermione thought the spell had worked a treat. Reggie Hawley had only stopped wearing nappies to class a day ago, and Cherrington still eyed her skittishly whenever they were within fifty meters of each other.
"I wouldn't advise using it on anyone, dear," she said blandly. "It's on the list of prohibited spells now, and would cause you a lot of trouble."
"You could get me out of it, though, right?" he asked, and laughed when she bristled. "Just a joke, Mum. But if Blithe doesn't leave off soon, perhaps I'll use it at Christmas."
"Fabian, I'm a bit curious; what is with all the 'poofter' talk from your sister?" Hermione asked.
Fabian rolled his eyes, sighing in annoyance. "Just Blithe being Blithe. She heard me and Jim-James having a fight, and came in at the end of it, and now the nosey parker thinks she knows something."
"You and Jim-James were fighting? When was this?"
"Couple weeks ago." He crossed his arms over his chest, no further information forthcoming.
"What were you fighting about?"
He sighed. "He likes this girl."
"… And?"
"And I don't." He thought a moment. "I don't dislike her. I just don't think she's 'the most beautiful girl, ever'."
"Why should he have a problem with that?"
"Isn't it obvious? If I don't think she's wankab—" He made a horrible noise in his throat, blushing furiously. "Jim-James couldn't stand it. If I wasn't jealous of him I must be a fairy, because she's gorgeous; end of story."
"Do you want me to tell Blithe to leave off?"
"God no," Fabian said. "Then she'll think there's something to it." He shrugged. "It gets annoying after a while. I like girls. I just haven't liked one enough to make an idiot of myself yet."
"Sweetheart, you're only thirteen; you've got plenty of time to make an idiot of yourself. Your father was nearly seventeen before he did," she added with asperity.
His face brightened. "Really? I guess I always thought you were practically married as first-years."
"Oh, heavens, no, and I wasn't the girl he made an idiot of himself for."
"No way! Dad wasn't at all smooth, was he?" Fabian gave her a wry smile that reminded her so forcibly of Ron that her throat tightened.
"Not particularly. That's one of the things I loved about him."
Fabian looked away and rubbed his knuckles against his chin. "You and Uncle Harry didn't … you know… date, or anything, did you?"
"No," she said, not without some sadness. "We never… we were never really curious about each other that way, I suppose; I don't know why."
"You wouldn't ever… I don't know… get together with him, would you?"
"Your Aunt Ginny might object to that," she said, laughing.
"I don't know," Fabian said, doubt clouding his expression. "They fight a lot. A lot more than you and Dad did."
"They're under a lot more pressure than your dad and I were. If either of them says or does something the wrong way, or wears the wrong thing, it ends up in the papers; people dissect their every gesture, so they have to be on guard at every moment. It's wearing."
Fabian shrugged. "You know, Mum, I've never envied Jim-James before, not ever. I'd see their houses and their money and their things and how they hobnob with Quidditch stars and everything, but I knew that Uncle Harry was gone so much of the time, and when he was home he and Aunt Ginny argued, and there was always somebody Floo'ing or dropping by, or even forcing an entry into their house like they did that one time." He scowled at a memory. "Remember when Blithe and I went to visit them a few years ago, and it was all over the papers that they had adopted 'impoverished Egyptian twins'?"
Hermione nodded; it had caused Ron no end of anger to see his children labelled, however inaccurately, as 'impoverished'. "Your dad was furious."
Fabian's expression darkened. "Jim-James, he acts as though Uncle Harry was this big annoyance and he can't wait to be rid of him. He just pisses me off sometimes."
"He doesn't really want to be rid of him, Fabian. He just wants people to see him as himself, not 'Harry Potter's son'."
Fabian snorted. "If it was me, I wouldn't care. At least I'd have my dad."
Hermione tactfully refrained from reminding him about the many squabbles that Ron and he had got into as Fabian grew older. She settled instead for rubbing his back between his shoulder blades. "It's all right to miss him, Fabian."
"D'you think he misses me?"
"Of course he does."
"I thought, at first, that he might come back as a ghost. I was really pissed off at you when you gave up the house in Egypt. But he wasn't there, and he's not at the Burrow. And he's not here at Hogwarts."
"I wouldn't want him to be a ghost, Fabian. He lived a full, courageous life, and he wasn't afraid to take the next step, even though he knew it would take him further away from us for a while."
"But if he was a ghost, I'd get to talk to him. I'd get to tell him—" Fabian's face creased and split, despite his manful attempt at keeping back tears.
"Oh, baby," she said, and put her arms around him. Patently not a baby, he was taller than she was now, and he had to stoop awkwardly to put his head on her shoulder. "He knows. He knows you love him. He knows you didn't mean that fight last Christmas. He knows, Fabian. Wherever he is, he knows."
She staggered a little under his weight, but managed to hold him as he cried out his frustration and loss.
"Severus?" she asked, looking up from an exam she was marking.
"Mm?" He didn't look up from his book.
"Do you remember me telling you about the wedding?"
"No."
"I told you when we were walking back from Hogsmeade that night. I said that I'd love to dance with you."
"Ah, that. I rarely pay attention to drunken ramblings."
"I wasn't that drunk."
He shrugged.
"I wasn't." She cleared her throat. "At any rate. I've, ah, thought about it a bit since then, and I've really begun to think that I should go alone; it would create such a sensation and I'm just not ready to stand the racket yet. Not least because the bride would be furious with me."
"Very well," he said, and returned his attention to his book.
"Have I offended you?"
"Not at all."
"Are you certain?"
He shot her a dark look from under his brows. "Actually, I'm dying inside. I was gagging to spend an evening in the company of your appalled in-laws. How will I ever content myself?" He licked the tip of his finger and turned the page.
She pressed her lips tightly together. "I suppose it's a good thing that I'm going alone, then."
He mumbled something into his book.
"I beg your pardon?" she asked.
"If it would have pleased you, I could have endured it."
"W-what?" she asked, her nose wrinkling; surely she had misheard him.
"You heard me," he said.
"I'm not certain I did," she said, a delighted smile spreading over her face.
"Stop it," he said, scowling so resolutely at his book that his chin met his chest. "You heard what I said, and I won't repeat myself."
"It's just the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
"Mmphmm. It's not carte blanche to make me miserable. The statement applies to this situation only."
"Would you do something for me?"
He looked at her through narrowed eyes. "What?"
"Would you hold me?"
His expression didn't grow any less suspicious. "Why?"
She laughed; it had a weary and bitter sound. "Because I had a very difficult talk with my son this afternoon, and I'm exhausted and near to tears, and if you don't I'm going to ask you to leave and I'm going to go cry into my pillow."
He paused a moment before setting his book aside and opening his arms.
She curled up next to him on the settee and buried her face in his neck, breathing deeply.
"You had only to ask, you know," he said, wrapping his arms around her and stroking her hair.
She groaned and thumped him in the chest with her forehead.
As always, my most sincere thanks to selened, my beta.
The 'spell' Blithe uses to subdue Hawley is an actual bit of Arabic doggerel; it's a schoolyard chant that means exactly what Hermione says it does. I just turned it into a Weasley-designed humiliation spell. I got it from Steve's blog, . Funny stuff.
You may have noticed that I've updated this rather quickly over the past week or two. This is actually a story that I've been working on for a year now, and my account here at is up to date with the current publication of the story. I'm working on Chapter 11, and hope to have it up both here and at Sycophant Hex by the week after Christmas. Thanks for reading and reviewing!