The Match and the Spark
21. Calm Like You
It did not happen immediately. It was some hours following the administering of Snape's potions that Ron had finally awoken. Or, at least, his eyes had flickered open, but Hermione was more than happy to class that as waking up after months of nothing. It had taken him several days to become fully conscious for any extended length of time, as the Healers had assured them would be the case. But as those several days had elapsed, he was now sat up in bed, quiet and still rather disorientated. He listened intently to all the news he had missed during his incapacitation.
For some reason, Hermione found it difficult not to break into tears each time she clapped eyes on him. He'd been dumbfounded at the story of Selwyn's capture (as had the others when they'd learned more of the details, which hitherto, she had kept to herself). He regularly asked her to clarify certain facts; the most popular clarification focusing on Snape's role in helping her. Ron, of course, had never learnt that the man had even survived the war, so that in itself had been shock enough.
'Why?' was his perpetual refrain when they talked of it. 'Why would he agree to help me?'
Hermione rather thought she understood far better the impetus behind Snape's participation than she had at the beginning. But it was not something she wanted, or felt she could, explain to Ron.
'I suppose he agreed simply because I asked,' she'd said instead.
'What will we have to do in return?' Ron replied. 'Scrub cauldrons for all time?'
She'd managed a weak smile in response—nothing more. Every time she heard Snape spoken about she was caught in two minds about whether to call on him. For one thing, though she expected he would brush it off, she felt she should thank him again. She wasn't the only one with such desires. Molly had been asking her for his address so that she might go and thank him herself, but Hermione had prevaricated about giving it, and had eventually managed to convince Mrs Weasley that he would not be enthused by an entourage of Weasleys turning up on his doorstep. An Owl he would likely appreciate more.
Hermione had not forgotten his reaction to her own attempt at gratitude. She didn't know why she'd been stupid enough to try and hug him, but that was her instinctive way of showing how grateful she was, and for a moment, she'd forgotten it was not his style. Or maybe she'd secretly hoped he'd become more receptive towards her.
In any case, her cheeks still burned with embarrassment every time she recalled the moment. She certainly wouldn't be repeating the incident any time soon.
She felt that she knew he would not want to hear any more thanks off her, or off anyone, and Hermione hoped to find a better reason for her to impose herself upon him in the near future.
But for the time being, she was preoccupied with helping Ron to adjust to the world around him. There was so much for him to take in and assimilate that she wasn't sure he would manage it without driving himself crazy. However, in the main, he seemed to be coping well. Either that, or he just didn't have enough time to take it all in while dealing with the raptures of his family. For there were quieter moments when she caught a more serious expression on her friend's face—troubled, even. She was afraid to ask what it meant. And he looked at her sometimes in a way that was entirely surveying and ponderous. It made her feel sick with confusion and apprehension.
There would come a time once the euphoria had died down, when they would have time to be alone, and Hermione found she feared it. At the same time, she hated herself for it. What kind of a person was she? What kind of person lets her feelings for a person change when that person was seriously ill?
A cold-hearted bitch, perhaps?
As she contemplated the reality of her feelings for Ron, she was forced to find credence to a theory she'd not considered before.
Had guilt driven her on her quest for Selwyn, after all?
By going to the lengths she had, had she been trying to compensate for her conflicting emotions? For all her talk about justice and doing the right thing, had she only been feeling guilt at the reality that her feelings for Ron might have moved on? Whatever there had been between them had barely got off its feet—did that excuse her for letting go, or did it incriminate her further as a complete cow?
Absorbed in her misery, Hermione failed to hear Ginny enter the kitchen at Grimmauld Place. Hermione sat at the table and swiped at her eyes, but luck was on her side; Ginny failed to notice anything was amiss.
What would Ginny think when she found out about it all?
Would all the Weasleys think her fickle and flighty?
Only time would tell.
Hermione needn't have bothered herself over whether she could pluck up the courage to go and see Snape of her own accord. Fate had other ideas in mind, and a week after Ron had been given his potions, she encountered the man himself in Flourish and Blotts in Diagon Alley. She could tell that he seemed momentarily startled to see her, especially as she was not there as a fellow customer, but rather as an assistant. She did not fail to note the hesitancy in his posture and she wondered if he was internally kicking himself for running into her.
'I was unaware you worked here, Miss Granger,' he said by way of greeting.
Hermione glanced between the pile of books she held and the shelf in front of her, before plucking up the courage speak. 'I don't do many shifts,' she explained. 'I only come in to cover illness and so on. I did not want to take on a full-time job while Ron was ill, but I needed to make a bit money to get by on.' She'd never mentioned it to him before, because, well, he'd never allowed an opportunity for it.
'I see… And how is Mr Weasley?'
'He's doing quite well; he is not really back to himself, but the Healers say that he will be back on an even keel soon. And, um, by the way, we would all like to say thank you, again, for—' She couldn't help it; it just came spilling out.
He interrupted her with a sigh and placed the book he had in his hand back on the shelf. 'Miss Granger, I did not do it for thanks. I did it because it was within my power to do so and it was the right thing to do.'
'Of course, I mean, I'm not suggesting your motives were selfish or… anything…' Hermione trailed off, feeling awkward.
He seemed not to be taking much notice of her anyway. He was looking at the array of spines in front of him.
'What are you doing with yourself now?' she asked, fully aware that it was small talk and likely distasteful to him, but she could not deny she was interested. 'Have you any plans?'
But if she thought he might dismiss her with a shrug or comment crisply that it was none of her business, as he had done in the past, then she was wrong. His answer surprised her greatly.
'I am looking to the future, Miss Granger,' he replied, looking at her only once, before inclining his head a fraction and then turning and taking his leave.
She had to stop herself from shouting, 'What does that mean exactly?' after him. He was looking to the future was he? Hermione sighed down at her pile of books, wishing she could dump them and just walk away.
She'd not failed to notice how he'd looked—a lot better than he had in recent times. It appeared that he seemed to be making an effort for himself and she was glad. Yet, it was all the more reason for her to wonder at just what his 'looking to the future' meant.
She moved into the next aisle and re-shelved the rest of the books, her mind distracted with the prospect of what her own future might hold.
'Harry tells me the Ministry are having a hard time of it dealing with the fallout from Selwyn hoodwinking them to cleverly.'
Hermione nodded. 'Since Oakshott's part has come out, there has been rather a furore over it all.'
'Do you think it's true that the Muggles have been recruiting Squibs to work in their government? Are they really spying on us?'
Hermione smiled at Ron's obvious admiration of the intrigue the whole situation commanded. 'It's within the realms of possibility.'
Ron nodded his agreement, and then silence fell between them. Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat. He was looking significantly brighter than he had ever since waking up. Each time they were alone, she told herself to speak to him about what was bothering her. But she just didn't know where to find the words.
'Hermione,' said Ron suddenly, and in such a grave voice, that her thoughts dissolved and she looked at him in surprise. 'Do you feel different now that it's all over?'
She bit her bottom lip. 'Ron, I…'
'I feel different,' he said quietly. 'Sometimes, all I can think of is those days in the forest and all that came after, and I wonder if I will ever be happy again.'
Hermione blinked against the sudden sting in her eyes. 'Oh, Ron, it gets better with time, I promise.'
'I have lain here for months and yet it feels like nothing. Everything is still so vivid…'
He really hadn't been conscious in any way of the past months, she realised. She couldn't imagine what it must be like.
He was looking at the bed sheets. 'I've been thinking a lot… I, ah, remember that you kissed me…'
Hermione made an involuntary movement and Ron looked at her quickly. His expression was sombre, but she thought she saw a certain level of comprehension in his eyes. 'You know, we'll always be friends, Hermione, no matter what… So, if there is something you want to say, please just say it.'
The corner of his mouth lifted encouragingly. She almost broke down there and then, wailing about how confused she was. Instead, she took guidance from him and reasoned that if Ron could be earnest about it, then so could she. She took several deep breaths, and with as much eloquence as she could find, she began to explain what had happened to her in the last several months.
To his credit, he listened without interrupting, even when she thought she saw a flicker of protest flash over his face.
She wished she could have told him that she would like for them to start again, but Hermione knew her heart would not be in it. But she knew at that moment in time she felt like she didn't have it in her to begin a relationship with anyone. She hoped it wasn't selfish of her, but she needed to work out what she wanted from life, before anything else.
In an oddly grave manner, Ron said he understood.
She struggled to determine if he were merely humouring her, and she left the hospital that day with no small amount of regret.
Hermione passed a few uneasy days following her talk with Ron, hating the uncertainty of just where she stood with him. The fact that whenever she went to see him, he always smiled to see her and never did she see a hurt or resentful expression on his face, did not make her feel easier within herself. Ron had never been afraid to show his displeasure with her in the past, so it either meant he'd truly meant his words to her, or he was at great pains not to show that she had hurt him.
But it was while she was sitting with Ron that she was required to consider the prospect of visiting Spinner's End again. Ron's Healer came into the room brandishing two glass phials, asking if she would mind returning them to Snape. Hermione took them, wondering deep down about whether she should take them.
Regardless, the next day, there she was, again—at his door.
Her hand hovered in front of the door for several moments before knocking. What the hesitation signified, she did not care to examine. She brought her hand down and rapped shortly on the door and then clasped her hands together to wait for an answer.
When he opened the door, his frowning countenance unconsciously elicited within her a certain element of fondness. He, however, gave a sigh of dismay and Hermione felt a stab of hurt. It dissipated when he spoke.
'If you have come here again to thank me, you can just turn around and go,' said he, in a long-suffering voice.
'Oh,' she replied with a weak laugh. 'Thank you? For what…?'
'Ah, you're learning, I see.' He let her in with an air of impatience, but she took no heed of it. When she got into his living room, though, she was shocked to see that it was rather a mess. Two travelling chests sat at one end, and it looked like…
'Are you going somewhere?' she asked, hoping the dismay in her voice was not audible to him.
Merlin, was that what "looking to the future meant?" Was he off to some foreign land in the hopes of 'finding himself?' Not him, as well!
'No… Just sorting some things out,' he answered vaguely, sitting down. 'What can I do for you, then? Got another fugitive you want help in tracking down, have you? Well, before you say anything, the answer is an emphatic no.'
'No, nothing like that, so do not worry.' Hermione took out the phials that had contained Ron's potions. 'We thought we should return these. They have your initials engraved upon them; I thought they might be important to you….'
She held them out to him and he took them with a deep sigh, looking at them intently. Hermione perched herself down on the edge of the other armchair in the room, watching him.
He rolled the phials in his palm for a moment, before, to Hermione's complete astonishment, flinging them with all his might into the fireplace.
She flinched at the sound of the glass smashing and goggled between him and the fire. He only sat back in his chair and folded his arms casually.
'The Dark Lord gave them to me,' he explained languidly.
Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth, more to press away a smile than anything, and looked into the flames of the fire. Voldemort had given them to him?
'I thought this might be a bit of irony we could finally appreciate.'
There was a small smirk around his mouth and Hermione folded her hands into her lap, smiling freely. It certainly was ironic. Briefly, she wondered under what circumstances Voldemort gave out presents, and she was fairly sure she would be better served not to go there. She let the thought go.
'Ron was allowed home from hospital yesterday; it seems very strange not having to go to St. Mungo's every day.' She wasn't sure he was interested, but she didn't know what else to say now that she'd exhausted her original purpose.
He nodded slowly. 'Good.'
Hermione looked at her hands in her lap. 'He's, um, going to spend some weeks away when he's better—going to stay with his brother in Romania.'
'I see… Shall you travel with him?'
She looked up sharply, shaking her head. 'Oh, no, certainly not.'
Hermione smiled a small smile to herself. Ron was looking to get his life back on track, as, apparently, was the man opposite her, but what about her own life? She hadn't had time to stop and to think about where her own life was headed, and now that Ron, her focus for so long, was well again, she was suddenly confronted with her own complete lack of direction.
'Something wrong?'
Hermione tucked her hair behind her ear. 'No, er, I'm just…' She shrugged her shoulders inelegantly. She didn't want to talk to him about the state of her life when he struggled so much with his own. 'I suppose… There are just times when I can't stop thinking about Abbott and Oakshott.' It was true—they featured in her thoughts frequently. 'Apparently, Oakshott had a young child and…' She trailed off self-consciously, recalling the moment only a few weeks ago when he'd lambasted her attitude toward certain things. Would her sentimentality sicken him now?
He didn't say anything, however, and Hermione decided to continue unhindered. Why should she censure herself for him? She would say how she really felt and if he did not like it, then, what did it matter?
'The worst thing, is that there does not seem to be a lot of sympathy for the man. No one seems to regret his death; they only regret the complete crime that he was a Squib and was working for the Muggle government!' She bit her lip and frowned. 'But what is there for Squibs in this world? Is it any wonder he should have felt more accepted in the Muggle world? And why shouldn't Muggles take action to protect themselves from us? It's not as if we haven't given them enough reason to!'
Aware that her voice was becoming raised, she stopped talking and sighed down at her hands. Still he said nothing, and she did not want to look to determine his expression. She didn't know why she was telling him these things—it wasn't him who was writing these stupid articles in the newspapers! Her next words were forced from her by the creeping discomfort she felt at his silence.
'I think it all boils down to the fact that I believed that once Ron was better, everything would be fine, but it's not.'
His expression was not hostile when she looked at him.
'Indeed; you are right,' he said finally. 'But… It doesn't mean it never will be.'
She tensed in surprise that his response to her grumbles had been so equable. 'Why… I think that might have sounded suspiciously like optimism, sir.'
Hermione resisted the urge to kick herself. What was wrong with her? It was only a name! His jaw tightened, but he seemed prepared to let it slide for he made no mention of her slip when next he spoke.
'Optimism might be going a little far.'
She heard an element of jest in his voice that she appreciated.
'But I am learning to be considerate of all the options, not merely the ones that suit my mood best.'
She smiled a little. 'I am happy to hear it.' This would have been the opportunity for her to tell him that she thought she could already see a difference in him—that he looked far well than he had before—but she shied away from it, feeling that he might think her overstepping the mark.
'I believe you once told me to "deal with it," so I am.'
Hermione flushed automatically. 'Oh, I—'
He interrupted her, saving her blushes further over the sometime blunt way she had spoken to him in the past.
'I suppose…' he continued, getting to his feet and, perhaps unnecessarily, stoking the fire. 'I suppose I must be grateful to you, Miss Granger. I am not sure where I would be now had you not accosted me that day in Diagon Alley.'
He paused by the fire, looking into the flames quite pensively while Hermione sought to say something, but found her voice would not co-operate. She felt rather inexplicably touched.
She managed to get out something eventually, though in only a small voice. 'But it is only you who managed the hard part, I am sure.'
With a curt, 'Perhaps,' he acknowledged her recognition of the fact that, really, her part was only small in relation to the strides he had had to make in regard to coming to terms with himself.
But she was warmed by the fact that she could have been of help in any way and it gave her the courage for her next words.
'May I ask what it is you are planning to do next?' She'd been so curious about this ever since she'd seen him in Flourish and Blotts. And only now did she feel she could ask him such a thing and not get her head bitten off for it. Despite that, she still held her breath for an answer.
He frowned to himself and did not answer immediately. 'There is much left for me still to decide, but… what I have decided is to leave this house. I am going to sell it, or at least try to sell it, and I shall move elsewhere.'
He sat back down in his chair and his expression challenged her to pass judgement on his decision. Inwardly, Hermione had to confess surprise that he was prepared to take such a big step, and yet….
'I think it is an excellent idea.' She meant it. She could see that it wasn't a case of him running away from his past here, it was now a case of him moving on from it.
'Actually…' he began slowly. 'Perhaps I could prevail upon you to assist me in such matters of Muggle property, because I know there is much work to be done, and—'
Hermione nearly jumped with excitement. 'Oh, I would love to help!' Too late did she wish she'd sounded a little less enthusiastic.
He nodded. 'Well… good. I need to contact certain establishments about getting about getting the house reconnected, and—'
'Reconnected?' Hermione interrupted before she could stop herself. She looked to the light switch she had noticed before and stood up to press it. Nothing happened.
He looked mildly put out by her.
'I expect you have no gas, either, do you?'
'Or water.'
'No water?'
'I never used it so what was the point in me paying for it?'
She sat back down heavily, unable to hide her disapproval. 'Fine; I can easily get all that sorted out as soon as possible.'
Already she felt a bubbling up of anticipation. How she loved a project! Hundreds of questions shot through her mind. Where did he want to move to? What sort of house did he want? Did he need help sprucing up his house for sale? Did he want her to find an estate agent?
She noticed that he was suddenly looking rather wary and she smiled. 'Don't worry, I won't bombard you with questions yet. But, certainly, I am willing to help you in any way I can.' She was quickly beginning to realise that she found great enjoyment in being of use to him. And fearing he would realise this, she hurriedly added, 'I mean, it's the least I can do, after everything.'
His countenance darkened almost immediately. 'Miss Granger, I am not interested in appeasing your sense of gratitude or obligation. In fact, I want nothing to do with it.'
He flew to his feet, and Hermione instinctively followed, afraid that he was going to suddenly ask her to leave.
'It's not gratitude—I don't feel any obligation,' she said hurriedly. 'I just… I just thought you would prefer it to be that than anything else… At least, from me, anyway…'
They both stood rather still at what she had revealed. And Hermione wasn't even sure what it was that she had revealed, but she felt it rather went along the lines that she considered him as a person whom she did things for because she wanted to, and because it gave her pleasure to do so, and she supposed that equated to believing him to be a friend.
He did not look at her, but shook his head in minute denial of her assumption. 'No… I do not prefer it.'
Hermione swallowed, trying to clear the sudden dryness in her throat. She almost felt dizzy from the tension that had developed. She glanced around the room and frantically thought of something to say.
'Um, you know, they say it helps to have a neutral colour on the walls when selling a house. Your walls, however…'
'Are covered in books, I know. I'm two steps ahead of you, though; I've already begun shrinking them down.'
He nodded his head in the direction of the chests she had seen earlier on.
So, they were full of books… She resolved there and then to have had her nosey head in those chests before the week was out.
And over the next few weeks, whenever she was not visiting Ron at the Burrow, or working a shift in Flourish and Blotts, she went to Spinner's End to make good on her declaration to help prepare the house to go on the market. Snape did not let her have free reign, of course. In fact, she never went upstairs—he would sort that out, he said, and Hermione did not dare disagree. He did allow her to work on the living room and kitchen, however, and she enjoyed very much getting to test out the many decorative charms she had researched. She couldn't go too overboard with the charming, unfortunately, as she knew it would most certainly only be Muggles who would consider buying the house.
They packed away anything that could be construed as odd to Muggles, and admittedly, there seemed to be very little left once that was done, but the house looked remarkably different once they'd finished. Hermione wasn't sure Snape liked it. He seemed to wince every time he entered his living room, which was now significantly brighter than it had possibly ever been. Still, he saw the necessity of it, and she felt he really did appreciate her assistance. The closest he came to admitting such was when he commented that he'd expected it to take far longer than it had.
Despite her undeniable triumph at what they'd managed together, Hermione was beginning to see that she was rather good at helping along everyone else's life at the expense of her own. Always in the back of her mind, never mind the constant poking from her parents, was the fact that she should start thinking about finding a proper occupation for herself.
Ron had left for Romania and Hermione was beginning to think that they really had parted on good terms, and that gave her great relief. She would never really know until he returned, however.
Things were slowly beginning to right themselves once more and that was more than acceptable to her. Above all, she took inspiration from the change she had witnessed in Snape since that first meeting they'd had some months ago, and she was determined to that the first big change he was making would not prove a disaster. She would try her hardest to get his house sold, and she wanted to be the one to find a new one for him.
It emerged that she wasn't any good at finding houses, though. Personally, she rather blamed it on the indifferent brief he had given her. He wasn't, however, so indifferent when presented with her finds. He found fault with each of the selections she presented to him.
"It's too big.'
"I am not going to live in a house that looks like it should be pictured on a tin of clotted-cream biscuits."
"What on earth does one do with a conservatory?"
"Do I look like I need a double-garage?"
At the end of her tether, she had purposefully thrown down a brochure on tents and caravans and told him to find his own bloody house.
Unfortunately, to her chagrin, he managed just that.
And she could not have known what it would set in motion for the both of them.