Chapter 11: Routines
Life began to settle into a routine. Hermione would Apparate to the lake on Saturday morning and return home Saturday evening. Sundays were the same. She was always careful to ask permission to return, always certain to leave before suppertime. Severus decided that Hermione knew her use of the cabin was tenuous at best, that it was generous of him to allow her to spend her free time there, and that she didn't want him to think that she expected meals as part of the bargain.
As the weeks passed and the two became less wary of each other, it seemed that their relationship relaxed as well. In the morning, Severus would put on a pot of coffee, then head for the cellar to begin his day's work. Hermione would show up soon after, bearing a bag or two of groceries. She would call out a hello, pour a cup of coffee, and settle on the deck to read the morning paper. Eventually, she would walk down to the lake and take the canoe out for a while, often staying out for an hour or two at a stretch. The first time she did this, Hermione was gone for so long that Snape began to wonder if she'd drowned. Afternoons, she would sit on the dock or walk in the woods, eventually returning in time to Apparate home.
And somewhere along the way, Snape became Severus and Granger became Hermione.
One rainy Saturday morning, Severus was upstairs when Hermione arrived with her bags of groceries.
"What's all this?" he wanted to know, watching her put out baking supplies.
"I haven't had breakfast yet, and I thought I'd make some scones."
Snape nodded and turned to go. Then, after wrestling briefly with himself, he opened the refrigerator and pulled out a colander loaded with blueberries.
"Could you use any of these?"
"Could I!" Hermione's eyes widened with pleasure. "Did you pick these?"
He rolled his eyes. "No, Hermione, they fell from the sky."
By now, Hermione found the infamous Snape caustic wit neither unexpected nor disconcerting, and Severus wasn't sure if this was a good thing.
"Go away." She glared at him meaningfully and plucked the colander from his hands. "I'll let you know when they're ready."
It was a mark of how accustomed they were to one another, Severus thought, that she could tell him to go away without incurring his wrath. He left her to her own devices – she knew the kitchen as well as he did by now – and went back to the cellar, hoping that the scones wouldn't be as dreadfully sweet as some of the prepared baked good she had inflicted on him earlier. When his nose let him know that the scones were ready a full three minutes before Hermione's announcement, Snape made the pleasant discovery that the berries added enough tartness to appeal to his tastes. The blend of his hand-picked blueberries and Hermione Granger's recipe was a good match – especially when eaten warm, a rapidly melting dollop of butter on top.
"It's actually my mother's recipe," she told him after swallowing a bite. "The summer before seventh year, Mum was so worried about me – I was running off with Harry and Ron, instead of going back to Hogwarts. She decided to teach me to make scones. It was something that we could do together, you see. I think that we'd been growing apart for years, our worlds were so different. Of course, that was July, and they died in September…"
Her voice trailed off then. After an awkward silence, Severus cleared his throat.
"The scones are quite good," he said in a tone that too obviously showed that giving compliments didn't come naturally to him.
The success of the scones touched off a flurry of recipe experimentation. On her next visit, Hermione brought a cookbook and several recent issues of O, Canada Witch! magazine. Her Chicken Milan, Potatoes Bolognese, and Chocolate Mousse were a rousing success. The following week, Snape – succumbing to curiosity - scoured the cookbook and magazines for recipes, then managed to produce a delicious Saturday evening meal. As a result, dinners at the cabin, produced by one or the other or both, became an integral part of each weekend.
One evening after dark, Hermione spread a blanket on the dock and watched the canopy of stars overhead. When she returned to the cabin, she raved about the incredible celestial display, prompting Snape to inquire whether she'd completely forgotten taking astronomy at Hogwarts.
"I know, but this is different. I'm not doing it for a mark. I'm just admiring the sky. It's utterly fantastic, isn't it? There are so many stars, and you can see the Milky Way, and bits of the Northern Lights -" She broke off, flushing with embarrassment.
While Severus had been subject to the enthusiasms of Hermione Granger for six years, they were always directly related to the need for approval. This, however, was different; she was, quite simply, appreciating nature, and her glowing excitement was rather appealing.
"I'm glad you're enjoying it," he said simply, going back to an absorbing article in his latest Potions journal.
After Hermione Disapparated home, Severus began to wonder if her visits to the cabin were working their magic, or if they served only to chase away her demons temporarily. He wasn't sure which, yet he was discovering – to his immense surprise – that her weekend visits were not only far from being intrusive, they were actually quite enjoyable. He also realized that he'd put on a pound or two as a result of their excellent cooking experiments.
Was Hermione Granger his friend? Severus thought about this as he lay awake in bed that night, staring at the ceiling. Real friendships had been in scarce commodity in his life. True, she was much more appealing without Potter and Weasley hanging onto her. The woman's intellect was amazing, really; they had wide-ranging, intelligent conversations over their experimental dinners, and Snape couldn't recall the last time he'd enjoyed anyone's company so much. It was shocking, when you came right down to it, he decided; if anyone had told him that one day he'd be good friends with the bushy-haired Gryffindor know-it-all, he would have suspected an incurable case of insanity. And friendship was as far as their relationship would ever go, of course. Severus had long ago realized that romance was for the young and the foolish. Besides, Hermione Granger couldn't possibly see anything in him worth pursuing. A murderous, antisocial hermit living in the woods? No, some day she would get over the business with Weasley and move on with her life, and rightly so.
It was entirely accidental the first time Hermione spent the night at the cabin, and it all boiled down to sheer clumsiness. She was stirring some pasta sauce on the stove and somehow managed to drop the spoon. When it clattered onto the counter, tomato sauce inadvertently splashed on her face and splattered her hair. Severus, who had been on the verge of Apparating a few miles away to collect some Canada Anemone and Cow Vetch, suggested she take a shower while he was gone.
He was returning to the cabin – poised to climb the front steps, in fact - when he heard a muted shriek from inside. He raced up the steps and flung open the screen door to find Granger, her hair in wet strings about her face, standing frozen in the middle of the kitchen. Meanwhile, Brady Lawford, halfway out of his seat at the dining table, was staring at her in open-mouthed astonishment.
"Hello, Brady, how are you?" Severus broke the awkward silence with a pleasant greeting.
Lawford pushed his chair out of the way and stood all the way up. "I'm fine. You seem to be doing quite well," he quipped with a straight face.
Snape ignored the jibe. "Do you remember Miss Granger?"
"Of course. Looks as if you must have found yourself another pilot, Miss Granger."
The word that Severus had heard from scores of guilty Hogwarts students over the years – rumbled - rang through his mind. He started to scramble about for an excuse, but Hermione beat him to it.
"I did, actually. Would you believe that someone in the department next to mine is a pilot?" she said brightly, then gestured toward her sopping wet hair. "You'll have to excuse my appearance. I was helping Mr. Snow with one of his chemical compounds, and somehow it was far more reactive that we expected. I ended up with a goodly portion of it in my hair."
"Oh." Lawford looked mildly alarmed. "It's not dangerous, is it?"
"Not at all. Just rather sticky."
The sweet smile on Hermione's face disarmed Lawford completely. Severus marveled that the woman hadn't been sorted into Slytherin.
"If you'll excuse me," she continued, "I'll just sit out on the dock for a while so that my hair can dry."
Snape watched her go.
"So," said Brady, "she's actually here to help you with your chemistry experiments?"
"No," Severus admitted. "She's here looking for healing."
"Healing?"
"Healing. Emotional issues."
"Not unlike you, eh?" Lawford asked, smiling.
"Quite a bit like me, to be honest. Is it all right with you if she spends some time here?"
"Might as well. The more, the merrier. Where's she sleeping? Your room?"
Severus scowled. "Really, Brady, do you honestly believe that she and I would be involved?"
"Why not? You're a man, she's a woman. I don't believe there are a lot of requirements other than that. Well," Lawford said, looking about the cabin, "I suppose I could sleep on the sofa. She's sleeping in the loft, I take it?"
Snape started to retort that she wasn't sleeping anywhere in the vicinity, then realized their dilemma. Hermione had claimed that another pilot had flown her to the cabin, and short of another pilot's appearing out of nowhere to fly her home, she was stuck. Disapparating was not an option. "Yes," he mumbled, wondering what Hermione would say to all this. "She's sleeping in the loft."
It was another fifteen minutes before Severus could free himself from Brady's chatter and head for the dock. Hermione, it seemed, was already thinking along the same lines.
"Is Mr. Lawford staying?" She scrambled to her feet.
"I'm afraid so."
"For how long?"
"He didn't say, but if he comes up on Saturday, he usually flies back on Sunday." Snape took a deep breath. "You can't Disapparate, you know. You'll have to stay the night."
"But – where would I sleep?"
He shrugged. "There's a bed in the loft. There's no way around it, I'm afraid. It would be different if there were another way out of here, but there isn't."
Hermione's brow was furrowed in thought. "What if I said I had a ride picking me up in Trapper's Bay?"
"First an imaginary pilot and now an imaginary ride?" Severus shook his head. "No one in their right mind would walk ten miles to town to catch a lift. And the only people driving anywhere out of Trapper's Bay are the people who live there. I can't imagine that Brady would buy a story like that, even if you smiled and batted your eyelashes again."
"Batted my eyelashes again?" she echoed indignantly. "I did no such thing!"
"It's not dangerous, Mr. Lawford," Severus said in a simpering falsetto. "Just a little sticky. I had to wash my hair, you see -"
"Oh, shut up," Hermione grumbled. "I'm sorry. I was in the shower, and I didn't hear the plane land. Otherwise, I would have left the cabin before he even had a chance to kill the engine."
"It's only a temporary inconvenience," Snape said dismissively. "You can conjure the items you need?"
She nodded, then asked, "What if he stays longer than just one night?"
Severus, who had turned to go, hesitated. "Then I hope your Madam Hobbs is an understanding woman."
Hermione snorted in derision. "Alma? Not a chance. I -" She halted abruptly, her eyes huge. "Severus! The magazines!
The woman was beginning to babble, he thought in annoyance. "What magazines?"
"The O Canada Witch! magazines!" Hermione cried, the color draining from her face. "They're not Muggle-warded!"
"Oh, bloody hell!" Exasperated, Snape strode quickly back up the path to the cabin. "Where are they?" he bellowed over his shoulder.
"One was in the kitchen." She scuttled after him. "I don't know about the other one, -"
He waved her off, finally storming into the cabin and trying to look nonchalant.
Lawford, in the midst of sorting through his fishing rods, looked up.
"Hey. What's up?"
"Just looking for something I misplaced," Severus told him glibly, his eyes darting over the things scattered on the kitchen counters. He found the first magazine – thankfully lying face down – and rolled it up so that the cover was hidden, then strolled into the living room. The second copy of O Canada Witch! was nowhere in sight. Theoretically, Severus told himself, Lawrence probably hadn't been inside the place long enough to notice things like magazines thrown about; finding Hermione there had been the big surprise.
He located the second issue on his bedside table, where he'd left it. He'd been looking for recipes the night before, and Snape fervently hoped that Brady hadn't snooped around the bedroom yet. What his landlord would have to say about a tenant who read something called O Canada Witch! was truly beyond contemplating. He shoved the magazines between his mattress and box spring, then went in search of Hermione's cookery book. It turned out to be a Muggle cookery book, and Severus could only breathe a sigh of relief.
Outside in the blackness, the loons were calling. Inside the dark cabin, all was quiet, except for Brady Lawford's bone-rattling snores. They had kept Severus awake on more than one occasion, yet tonight's wakefulness was due more to the presence of the third person in the loft. Snape supposed that person was sleeping, although he wouldn't have been surprised if the noise were keeping Hermione just as wide awake as him. She had gamely maintained the ruse of spending the night, and he suspected that she'd never show up at the cabin again without a bag packed 'just in case'.
Another hard lesson learned – one that Snape couldn't completely blame on Hermione – was the necessity of disguising anything magic-related so as not to raise questions. His own Potions Journals were concealed in plain sight; Lawford had seen them lying about for years under the title Chemistry Equations Made Easy. He should have thought to insist that she Muggle-ward her magazines as soon as she brought them in the house. Years of living away from civilization had softened him, Severus decided. Had he been this lax during the war years, he would have been struck dead early on.
Snape swung his legs out of bed and reached for his dressing gown: a transfigured sweatshirt, his concession to convention whenever Lawford stayed the night. He owned only two pair of trousers and a handful of shirts; there was no need to spend more when he could easily transfigure what he had to suit the climate. It was a far cry from his days at Hogwarts, when he'd splurged on the finest robes that Eugenia Malkin could provide. Severus stood and pulled on the dressing gown, thinking that fine craftsmanship or not, he would sooner waltz naked through the fires of hell than wear wizard's robes again. They belonged to his past, and the past was long gone.
He opened the bedroom door, planning to head directly for the bathroom. Instead, a noise on the stairs directly ahead of him caught his attention, and Hermione Granger stopped short at the sight of him.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I disturb you?" She hugged her own dressing gown around her a bit tighter.
"Not at all." Severus's eyes adjusted to the dim light of the nearby nightlight. "Lawford does an adequate job of disturbing everyone."
Hermione chuckled quietly. "Is he always this noisy?"
"Sadly, yes. I suspect that his wife throws him out when she can't take it anymore."
"I can sympathize." Hermione gestured in the other direction. "I was just heading for the bathroom."
"As was I. You first." Severus nodded her forward.
"Thanks. I won't be long." She trotted down the rest of the steps.
"Is there anything you need upstairs?"
"No, I'm fine, I think."
"There are extra blankets in the chest up there if you become chilly."
"Great." Hermione smiled gratefully before heading around the corner to the bathroom.
Severus retreated to the bedroom, closing the door behind him. He sat on the edge of the bed, listening to the sounds of Hermione moving about in the bathroom and Lawford snoring loudly in the living room, and wondered what had happened to his peace and quiet. After a short time, he could hear Hermione's footsteps marching back up the stairs.
As predicted, Brady Lawford flew home to Thunder Bay late Sunday afternoon, but not before raving about the meal Severus and Hermione had put in front of him on Saturday night.
"That was outstanding," he exclaimed, stowing his overnight bag in the back seat of the plane. "Since when have you turned into such a good cook, Sebastian?"
Snape glanced sideways at Hermione. "We've been experimenting with some new recipes," he said simply.
"Well, you two make a good team in the kitchen. Say, what's the news about your patent on that insect repellant? Speaking of which, I'll be needing a fresh bottle fairly soon."
"The patent's been approved. A representative from a chemical company in Winnipeg is coming next week to meet with me," Severus told him.
"Excellent!" Brady seemed impressed. "Think it'll make you rich?"
"I doubt it. Chances are, the only change may be that I'll be able to pay cash for my groceries in the future." Severus caught a glimpse of the approving look that passed over Hermione's face and studiously ignored it.
"Well, if you make a fortune, I'll have to think about charging you rent." Lawford roared with laughter as he climbed from the float pod into the cockpit of the plane. "Take care, Sebastian. You too, Hermione."
The pair walked back to the cabin as Brady started the engine, then stood watching as he pulled the plane away from the dock. The sun was low in the sky, casting a golden glow across the lake, while the ripples of the plane's wake glistened in response. Neither Severus nor Hermione spoke while the plane taxied off into the distance, made a one hundred-eighty degree turn, then gathered speed. As it neared them, it pulled itself into the sky, trailing streams of water from its floats. Lawford dipped one wing in quick salute, then soared off into the distance.
Hermione sighed as she watched the airplane become a speck in the sky. "I suppose I'd better be leaving as well. It's growing late, and I have to be at work in the morning." She turned to go inside, but Snape's voice stopped her.
"Granger… Hermione… There's really little sense in your returning to your home each night you're here, unless you absolutely need to for some reason. If you wish to stay overnight in the future, you may."
Startled, Hermione nodded. "Thank you. I'll keep that in mind."
A/N: My wonderful beta, GraceHasVictory, tells me that 'rumbled' would be the British expression of choice in place of 'busted'. I have to trust her on this one, so if you're a Brit, I hope you get the point. If you're an American, 'busted' is where I was headed.
