Chapter 14: An Ordinary Life
Dear Mr. Lawford,
I'm sure you remember me, Hermione Granger, from your last visit to the cabin where Sebastian Snow is staying. I believe that Mr. Snow indicated to you that I was having difficulties in dealing with events in my past, and that I found the time spent at your cabin to be quite beneficial.
I'm writing to you because I would like to ask your permission to reside at the cabin with Sebastian. As the owner, it is certainly your prerogative to refuse, if you so desire. If the arrangement is not to your liking, please let me know.
Sincerely,
Hermione Granger
Hermione moved into the cabin in September, giving up her apartment and her job in one fell swoop. She had taken great delight in handing over her resignation to Madam Hobbs, giving the required two weeks notice. Hobbs, who was fairly accustomed to her employees deserting her for greener pastures, accepted it with equanimity until she asked the usual question about Hermione's future plans. Hermione admitted frankly that she had no new job on the horizon, and furthermore, was relocating to the woods for reasons of emotional health. Madam Hobbs' jaw had dropped precipitously, finally giving Hermione the pleasure of seeing her supervisor rendered speechless.
For a man treading in an unknown land, Severus thought he had adjusted quite well. Still, he was not without his misgivings.
He had to relearn how to share – not just on weekends, but every day. No longer could Severus use the bathroom whenever he wanted, and his daily routine suddenly became their daily routine. Mealtimes weren't an issue, as they'd already worked out that protocol. Less clear was their joint use of the cellar lab; Hermione had expressed a desire to start a few potions projects of her own, and Snape was still trying to figure out how to magically expand the small room. On the other hand, he decided, it was a small price to pay for the warmth of her body next to him each night, as well as the stray hair fanning across her pillow to tickle his cheek.
There was also the nagging fear that Hermione would adopt some sort of silly endearment for him, or spend her free time wound around him like a female version of Devil's Snare. Severus was not a romantic, never had been, and never would be. He considered himself to be completely clueless when it came to women, having never managed a successful relationship with one. At Hogwarts, he'd witnessed lovesick adolescents openly displaying their adulation in the hallways on a daily basis, and although he had never noticed Hermione Granger behaving in such a manner, it didn't mean that the potential didn't exist. If she thought that she could drape herself all over him and call him 'Sevvy-Poo', she was seriously mistaken.
To Snape's immense relief, Hermione's usual shows of affection during the course of a day amounted to nothing more than a gentle hand on his shoulder when passing behind him in the lab, or smiling in the way that Snape knew was meant for him and him alone. These were loving gestures with which he felt comfortable, and as a result, decided that he could manage to respond in kind. But was that the way she wanted him to respond?
Severus finally brought up the subject. Autumn was in full swing: the deciduous trees had turned, the glassy lake quietly reflecting their riot of color, while the water birds began their southward migrations. There was a frost every night, and soon the first snows would come. But for now, the crisp autumn days ruled. Down on the dock, Hermione was a living embodiment of fall: clothed in a weathered green jumper and denim jeans, her brown hair almost gleaming in the afternoon sun. She was making her usual futile attempts at fishing, Snape noted, and he smiled. He poured two cups of hot tea and went to join her.
If there was one thing he'd learned for certain about Hermione Granger, it was that she preferred activities which involved mental prowess and predictable outcomes. It was that combination which made a specialty like Potions so appealing to her, and caused Muggle fishing to be so bloody frustrating. Severus had watched her try her hand at fishing on several occasions, and each time the result was the same – no fish on the line, and a disgruntled Hermione. This time, apparently, was no different. As he approached, Hermione reeled in the line, put down her pole, and sank to a sitting position on the dock. He could hear her hmpf of indignation.
"Fish not biting?" he asked solicitously, handing a tea cup to Hermione before sitting down next to her with his own cup.
Hermione scrutinized Snape's expression, apparently trying to decide if he was teasing, or just making a simple inquiry. "There aren't any more fish because you and Brady Lawford have already caught them all," she grumbled. "Either that, or they're just not cooperating."
"Why should they cooperate? You're trying to catch them and eat them."
"Oh. So my motive's the problem," Hermione said wryly. "I don't suppose my technique has anything to do with it…"
Severus took a sip of tea. "Giving the fish a list of ten reasons why they should surrender and then expecting them to leap onto your hook isn't technique, Hermione."
"You see, that's what's wrong with fish. They just don't respond to logic."
"Imagine that," Severus teased, reaching out to tuck a windblown lock of her hair behind her ear and studying her profile as he did so. "Are you happy here?" he asked softly.
"Except for the fishing," she joked, then turned to him, eyes curious. "Very happy. Why do you ask?"
"I just wondered."
"I suppose the question is, are you happy? It's your home that I've invaded."
"For an invasion, it's certainly been tolerable so far." Severus gazed out across the lake. Finally, he said, "I suppose what I'm really asking is whether you're satisfied with the amount of affection I've been displaying toward you."
Hermione frowned. "I don't understand. Are you talking about when we're in bed?"
"No," Snape said quickly, his face heating up at once. This topic of conversation was completely foreign to him, and he was eager to end it as soon as possible. "I meant only the usual affection which - people who love each other - tend to display."
"You'll have to spell it out for me, Severus," she said, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, I'm just not following you."
He groaned inwardly, beginning to wish he'd never begun this. "I saw many of the students at Hogwarts participate in rather revolting public displays of affection over the years. I've always shied away from that, and -"
"So have I." Hermione nodded vigorously, catching his drift. "I was quite hurt by people putting their hormones on display, and I swore I'd never do that."
Snape grimaced. "There's more to this than mere bad manners, Hermione. My parents were poor role models when it came to showing love. The only things they displayed to each other were anger, and derision, and scorn. I don't remember a single time when they showed affection to one another. You've not behaved like an infatuated teen, and I appreciate that."
Hermione reached out to take his hand. "I haven't made you uncomfortable, have I?"
"No," he admitted. "You've been – quite restrained, compared to what I might have expected."
"And is that satisfactory to you?"
"Quite so. Is that – is that how you wish me to respond? I don't want to hurt you simply because I'm unaware of the appropriate behavior."
Hermione smiled and leaned closer so that she could kiss Severus on the cheek. "If you're comfortable with how I treat you, then I would be comfortable being treated in the same way. Does that make sense to you?"
"It does, actually," Severus said, relieved.
"You're not going to scare me off, dear heart."
Snape glanced at her sharply, a bolt of mild panic striking at once. Was 'dear heart' a reasonable term? It was the first time she'd ever called him anything of the sort. But if Hermione used the phrase – and he did recall now that she'd always seemed much more practical-minded than the rest of the hormone-infested herd of females at Hogwarts – then perhaps 'dear heart' was acceptable. Really, he thought, it was ridiculous to be fifty-four years old and totally oblivious to what was tasteful in the realm of romance…
"And," Hermione went on, "I really am happy here, Severus. And I'm perfectly capable of letting you know if I'm not."
Snape nodded at that. "It may not surprise you that to learn that I've never felt like this before. I think that this surely must qualify as happiness."
She sat bolt upright. "Severus!"
"What?"
"I just remembered – next Monday's Thanksgiving!"
"Thanksgiving?" he repeated blankly.
"We could have a special Thanksgiving dinner, couldn't we? Turkey, dressing, the works. We do have something for which to be thankful, you know."
From the way Hermione's eyes had lit up, Severus suspected that there was no retreat. Of course, if only a meal was involved, it shouldn't be too bad. "I've never celebrated it," he told her.
"I went to a Thanksgiving dinner last year. It was delightful." Hermione was looking thoughtful. "Perhaps we could invite Mr. Lawford and his wife. If the weather's good, they could fly up and join us. Do you know if they celebrate with family?"
"I honestly don't know, Hermione." It was the truth. Lawford had never mentioned Thanksgiving that Snape could recall.
"Perhaps I could call them from Trapper's Bay tomorrow. What do you think?"
Severus knew he was in trouble when Hermione hung a wreath on the front door of the cabin and put out some scented candles. The Thanksgiving turkey was cooking nicely in the oven, filling the spotless cabin with delicious odors. It was the very picture of domesticity, he thought. But it wasn't until Lawford and his wife arrived shortly after noon that Snape fully understood what was happening. As he watched Hermione greet the couple and welcome them warmly (albeit to their own home), he realized that this was more than having the landlord over for dinner. He and Hermione were a couple now, a twosome who were entertaining and 'having friends over'. It was a startling insight for the man whose primary social interactions had been faculty staff meetings and Death Eater gatherings.
Severus had met Marita Lawford only twice in the thirteen years that he'd lived at the cabin; the woman preferred city life, and he had often wondered why she hadn't convinced her husband to sell the cabin outright, given her predilection for the comforts of civilization. Marita was a tall, handsome woman whose shiny black hair – explained by Brady as resulting from her Eastern European heritage - was perpetually pulled back into a bun. She also had perfect posture, elegant cheekbones, and could appear either patronizing or regal, depending on whether Brady was in her good graces. Today, Snape decided, she was in her regal mode.
Brady Lawford had taken one look around the cabin and whistled appreciatively.
"Definitely has a woman's touch around here now," he muttered to Severus while poking him knowingly in the ribs with an elbow. Snape could only nod helplessly.
The dinner itself was a success, and Brady swore he didn't know which he liked more – Hermione's pumpkin pie or Sebastian's dressing and gravy. Marita pronounced it all delicious. After the meal, the four retired to the living room for coffee and general complaints about how too much food was consumed. At one point, Hermione was out of the room and Brady was on the dock checking something on the plane; it gave Marita Lawford the opportunity to study Severus curiously.
"Are you a wizard, Mr. Snow?" she asked.
Severus had years of experience in carefully schooling his expressions while responding to interrogations. This question, however, came out of the blue.
"Excuse me?" he asked faintly.
"I wondered if you were a wizard."
"Why would you wonder something like that?" Snape tried to feign ignorance. It wasn't easy; he was out of practice.
"Because of those owls sitting on the tree limb." Marita waved her arm toward the window, in the direction of a birch tree growing close to the cabin's deck. "I assume wizards still communicate by means of owl, do they not? My grandfather was a wizard. The only one in the family, as far as I know."
Severus saw where she was pointing and immediately spotted Minerva and Manitou perched side by side on a branch of the tree. There was also a third owl there, an unfamiliar bird which sat patiently, a message attached to its leg. The first words to cross Snape's mind were 'memory charm', and he thought, Why not? Hermione and Brady are out of the room. It would be easy enough.
In the end, he decided to hell with the Statutes of Secrecy. If the woman already knew about wizards - even had one in the family, for Merlin's sake - there was no point in playing coy.
"Yes," he said. "I am a wizard."
Marita beamed. "How lovely! I loved listening to Grandfather's stories about the world of magic. Your chemistry experiments – are they magical potions, then?"
Severus nodded wordlessly.
"Well, this certainly explains it."
"Explains what, Mrs. Lawford?"
"Your low utility bills, of course. We always wondered how you could live here and use so little power."
Snape blinked. "Mrs. Lawford -"
"Please… Marita, if you don't mind."
"Marita, is your husband aware that your grandfather was a wizard?"
The woman shook her head immediately. "No, no, not at all. We kept it secret, of course."
"As do I. I'd prefer that Brady not know. As I'm sure you can appreciate, the fewer people who know, the better."
"Of course." Marita nodded in earnest agreement, then her eyes lit up. "Does that mean that your Hermione is a witch?"
"Yes." Severus would rather that Hermione make her own admissions, but she was out of the room. There was no point in denying it. And, he thought, he rather liked the term 'your Hermione'… "One of the owls has a message. Will you excuse me?"
Snape rose from his chair and opened the sliding glass door. The fresh air smelled wonderful after the increasingly heavy aromas of turkey and scented candles. It was also good to be away from Marita Lawford, lest she start wanting details about his past. It was a stroke of luck that she was kindly disposed toward wizards, considering that two of them were living under her roof.
The foreign owl flapped its wings and glided from the tree branch to the deck railing, where it stuck out its leg. Snape unfastened the parchment and noted that it was addressed to Hermione.
"If you're patient, you may have a piece of leftover turkey," he told the bird.
As if it understood perfectly, the third owl flew back to rejoin the others.
It was late afternoon when Brady and Marita flew home. Hermione waved goodbye from the deck until the plane was a speck in the distance, then rejoined Severus in the living room.
"Tired?" she asked, finding him stretched out on the sofa.
"Exhausted," he muttered. "I'm glad they're gone. It reminds me why I prefer to live away from civilization."
Hermione sank into a chair, kicking her shoes off as she did so. "I'm beyond tired, I think. But everything was quite lovely, wasn't it?"
Severus grunted in response, then said, "Marita Lawford's grandfather was a wizard."
"He was? How did you discover that?" She stared at him blankly.
"She told me."
"I see," Hermione said, amused by the news. "What happened? Was there a lull in the conversation, and she tossed that tidbit out for a change of subject?"
Severus ignored the sarcasm. "She noticed the owls sitting outside and put two and two together. By the way, there's a letter for you on the kitchen counter."
Hermione sighed. Too tired to go searching for it, she brandished her wand and muttered "Accio letter!"
The parchment soared into her outstretched hand. She unfolded it and scanned the page.
And gasped aloud.
"What is it?" Severus opened his eyes again.
Hermione sat stock still, an expression of horror on her face. She opened her mouth once, twice, but her voice seemed to fail her.
"It's Ron," she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. "He's dead!"
A/N: Before a thousand people point out that Thanksgiving is always on a Thursday, I want to thank reader Viviana for supplying me with information about the Canadian Thanksgiving, which takes place on the second Monday in October.