Chapter 11: Cusp
Things returned to semi-normal after a bit of shouting and insulting and hexing.
And when they patched each other up, they even reached a truce of sorts.
"And…" Hermione's eyes shone a bit wetly as her cheeks warmed and she looked away. "Er, sorry. For hexing you."
Severus snorted. "You could have at least done a better job of it. You were taught better than that," he scoffed, more insulted than anything.
When she tilted her head at him and looked puzzled, he considered his words more carefully.
Then sighed and felt his shoulders droop. "Apologies, I forgot myself," he muttered stiffly. It was a wonder she had learned any defensive (or offensive) dark magic at all, given Hogwarts' track record with a certain class's teaching staff.
And when Hermione grinned softly, if wryly, to herself and shook her head, then snorted at him in return, he knew they were on the road to forgiveness.
They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes; wordlessly he summoned tea and they served themselves as they let themselves just simply be.
"Severus?" she asked after a length, looking up at him. Neither knew how much time had passed, but it had not felt uncomfortable or awkward in the least. It was almost… peaceful, in a way. And it was then that Severus realised how much he had missed just having her company over the past days.
So when she spoke, he looked at her directly, sitting just on the other side of the couch.
"Mm?"
Their eyes met.
For the first time in close to a fortnight, her smile was warm and reached her eyes, and he felt his heart hit his ribcage with far more force than he thought was strictly necessary at the sight of it. His spirits rose and his emotions with it. For a second his breath caught in his throat.
This was her, this was his Hermione returned to him again. She was back, he almost smiled back in pure relief.
"Thank you," she said, so sincerely heartfelt, but just loud enough for him to hear.
And when he just looked at her, confused and uncertain as to how to reply, her smile quirked a bit higher and she leaned forward and gave him a peck on the cheek before standing and heading to the kitchen to make them something to eat.
And for a second Severus thought his heart was going to leap right out of his chest. The notion should have been distressing.
It was more distressing that it was not.
It was a few days later that Hermione was sitting on the sofa again with a box of random items in front of her on a small side table she had conjured. She had not holed herself up since their truce, and Severus for one was much more content with the return to their usual routine—with the exception of a certain visitor's regular interruptions.
"Spring cleaning?"
She looked up at Severus as he entered, and arched an eyebrow.
"Not exactly. More… evaluating."
"Well you know where the garbage is," he said politely, and turned towards his room.
"Severus?" she called uncertainly, and he looked at her over his shoulder.
She looked down at the box, her brow furrowed, before looking up at him again, and he noticed then that it contained the gifts from Draco.
"Could you… I… I don't know what to do," she admitted, painfully unsure.
"Are there any expensive potions ingredients?" he asked after a time.
"Yes."
"Keep those, they're useful," he said, and when he turned back to his room he heard her sigh with exasperation—and more than a hint of irritation.
"I want to see her."
"I'm sure you have a fine memory, and a pensieve at your disposal," drawled Severus, unmoved.
The blond man scowled at him, and Severus was hard-pressed not to smirk in accomplishment.
"I want to see with my own eyes that she's…"
As his voice trailed off, the older man watched him levelly.
Draco's brows drew together and dipped further as he re-thought his options. His shoulders straightened as he reviewed what he knew about Severus and Hermione.
"Is there anything she needs at the moment? Clothing? Books?" he asked. "I know she can't get things like that herself at the moment. All she does is read, sleep, and brew with you, if the rumours are to be believed."
Severus would have conceded the point if not for the fact that he was providing for Hermione, and had been for some months now, and it had not been particularly arduous…
… but then his mind whirred into gear and his expression changed to one of controlled tolerance, masking his true intentions.
In coolly dispassionate tones, he drawled, "She has mentioned recently that she would like some…"
Hermione knocked on Severus' door and when he called for her to enter she dropped a medium-sized box on the end of his bed.
"Here. I think you could make more use of these than I could," she sighed, and he stood from his desk to approach and investigate.
"Honestly, these are far too expensive and advanced ingredients for me to use right now," she remarked mostly to herself. "It would take me years to be confident enough to make potions dangerous or complicated enough to employ them," she admitted. "At least, on my own. I'll keep an eye out for potions that could make use of them, but in the meantime, I wondered if you would like to call dibs?"
"Nonsense. With guidance, your skills are sufficiently adequate to neither ruin nor waste them entirely," he admonished, but there was none of his renowned venom behind it. "But let's see what you've been saddled with."
Still bemused, Hermione shrugged and poked around the box further as Severus came to stand beside her, doing the same. As they stood shoulder to shoulder, their hands occasionally brushing as they perused the contents, she sighed.
"I just don't know where he got the idea that I needed these—they would have cost a small fortune to acquire. And I can tell he didn't skimp on quality. His pride wouldn't dare."
"Hmm, indeed…" he agreed. "One can never underestimate the extent a man, especially a Pureblood, would go to to prove himself," he murmured, half to himself.
Severus did not miss the glance Hermione shot his way, but committed to ignore it.
He kept his thoughts to himself, but resolved to keep a longer shopping list at the ready for Draco's future visits.
In the storeroom for his finished potions, almost the size of a warehouse now that he had Hermione's assistance and, to be frank, enthusiasm, Severus noted that it would soon be time again to add more extendable shelves, or perhaps re-arrange the stores to organize them more efficiently. The sheer variety and volume of tonics, mixtures, solvents and salves was enormous, and if anyone outside of himself and the Dark Lord had realised, probably even more of an incentive for others to locate and attack them. They were better stocked than the Ministry and St Mungo's, combined.
It was only when one really took the time to look at their scrupulously written labels that they would realise that there were two potion-brewers – and that the contents of a good portion of the stores were actually healing-related instead of the presumed toxins everyone assumed he spent his free time preparing. In fact, there truly was not much need to brew poisons as such when so many Death Eaters, and the Dark Lord, preferred to attack their opponents directly. If a more subtle tactic was requested, he was usually approached by the individual and the matter was discussed to the most exact specifications before he prepared the appropriate draught. Poisons were just as fatal to their administrators as they were to their intended victims, after all, which was why a certain amount of education and care were required before he released them into another's possession. The bulk of the Dark Lord's trust in Snape was based on the fact that the Potions Master was so meticulous and diligent in all aspects of his life; Voldemort trusted Snape not to behave recklessly.
Which was one of the only reasons he had been allowed to keep the Granger girl under his custody, especially for so long, Severus knew.
Because he was careful, not hasty, wishful, or irresponsible. He was methodical, not taken to flights of fancy or carelessness. He was a logical, cold, calculating person who never did anything without thinking five, ten, or fifteen steps ahead.
So he was alternately relieved, confused and frustrated that he could not remember why he had gone to the storeroom; why he had randomly been looking around and picked up an unremarkable, elegantly labelled potion from one of the many shelves; why his thumb continued absently tracing the feminine scripting on that label while he was lost in thought. Bottles and jars and canisters, some labelled by his hand, others by hers, all were lined up neatly on the shelf one alongside another. For so long, his had been the only writing to adorn any concoction found in the storerooms. Now hers fit in neatly nearly everywhere the shelves reached.
It was not obvious until one looked closely, though, to see the difference, how insidiously her potions had infiltrated the Dark Lord's own potions stores.
Severus had not changed anything he did, for the Dark Lord; but for some reason, he felt something fundamental in himself had changed, and he could not figure out what.
With a quiet scoff he replaced the potion back on the shelf, and with a billow of his robes he turned on his heel and exited the storeroom.
Perhaps Hermione would like a project; she may re-arrange this room while he was away for the next several weeks. A change of scenery would hopefully help her cope.
To be continued
AN: I have an Ask Me Anything box on my tumblr now! (beyondthemoor) If there's anything you'd like to ask, and remain anonymous, please have at. Enjoy yourselves this month, darlings, and to my Canadian readers, happy early Thanksgiving! See you in November!
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excessivelyperky: Hahahah, I love that imagery! And thank you for reviewing!
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