I gathered intel of this time period from a multitude of smutty historical books and a few light google searches.
I have in mind that this story will be short (around 20/30) chapters or so and am in half a mind to create a little series since I keep mentioned prior events. (Would anyone be interested in a Ginny x Tom Riddle story?)
I haven't gotten around to answering any questions about whys and hows of Snape's unfortunate state of being yet.
Hermione is a bit OC since this time period is old and the restraints of her canon thirst for knowledge aren't really showcased here, but all will be explained away in gradual progression.
THE TINY SMILE curving one side of Sir Severus's lips startled Hermione. It drew attention to a mouth both wide and firm, supple and masculine. The smile revealed him as not the gargoyle, but a man. It was gone at once, of course, as soon as he caught her looking at him. In an instant, his expression turned stony and faintly cynical.
"You'll continue to get wet until you come in, madam."
"Thank you." She swallowed and stepped into the dim hall.
"You're most kind, I'm sure, Sir Severus." He shrugged and turned away. "If you say so."
Beastly man!
He hadn't even offered to carry their bags. Of course, most gentlemen didn't carry the belongings of their housekeepers. Even so, it would've been nice to at least offer. Hermione grasped a bag in each hand. "Come, children." They had to walk quickly, almost jogging, to keep up with Sir Severus and what appeared to be the only light in the castle—his candle.
The gigantic dog padded along at his side, lean, dark, and tall. In fact, she was very like her master. They passed out of a great hall and into a dim passage. The candlelight bobbed ahead, casting eerie shadows on grimy walls and high, cobwebbed ceilings. Hugo and Scorpius trailed on either side of her. Hugo was so tired that he merely trudged along, but Scorpius was looking curiously from side to side as she hurried.
"It's terribly dirty, isn't it?" Scorpius whispered. Sir Severus turned as she spoke, and at first, Hermione thought he'd heard. "Have you eaten?" He'd halted so suddenly, Hermione nearly trod on his toes. As it was, she ended up standing much too close to him. She had to crane her neck to look him in the eye, and he held the candle near his chest, casting the light diabolically over his face.
"We had tea at the inn, but—" she began breathlessly.
"Good," he said and turned away. He called back over his shoulder as he disappeared around a corner, "You can stay the night in one of the guest rooms. I'll hire a carriage to send you back to London in the morning." Hermione gripped the bags higher and hurried to catch up. "But I really don't—" He'd already started up a narrow stone stair. "You needn't worry about the expense." For a second, Hermione paused at the bottom of the stair, glaring at the firm backside steadily receding above them. Unfortunately, the light was receding as well.
"Hurry, Mummy," Scorpius urged her. She'd taken her brother's hand like a good older sister and had already mounted the steps with Hugo. The horrid man stopped at the landing. "Coming, Mrs. Granger?"
"Yes, Sir Severus," Hermione said through gritted teeth.
"I just think that if you'll only try Lady Riddle's idea of having a—" "I don't want a housekeeper," he rasped and resumed climbing the stairs. "I find that hard to believe," Hermione panted behind him, "considering the state of the castle I've seen so far." "And yet, I enjoy my home the way it is."
Hermione narrowed her eyes. She refused to believe anyone, even this beast of a man, actually enjoyed dirt. "Lady Riddle specifically instructed me—" "Lady Riddle is mistaken in her belief that I desire a housekeeper."
They'd finally reached the top of the stairs, and he paused to open a narrow door. He entered the room and lit a candle. Hermione stopped and watched him from the hall. When he came back out, she met his gaze determinedly. "You may not want a housekeeper, but it is patently obvious that you need a housekeeper." The corner of his mouth quirked again.
"You may argue all you want, madam, but the fact remains that I neither need you nor wish to have you here." He gestured to the room with one hand. The children ran in ahead. He hadn't bothered moving from the doorway, so Hermione was forced to sidle in sideways, her bosom nearly brushing his chest. She looked up at him as she passed. "I warn you, I shall make it my purpose to change your mind, Sir Severus."
He inclined his head, his one good eye glittering in the light of the candle.
"Good night, Mrs. Granger." He shut the door gently behind him. Hermione stared at the closed door a moment, then glanced about her. The room Sir Severus had led them to was large and cluttered. Hideous long drapes covered one wall, and a huge bed with thick carved posts dominated the room. A single, small fireplace sat in a corner. Shadows masked the other end of the room, but the outlines of furniture crowded together made her suspect that it was being used as storage space. Scorpius and Hugo had collapsed on the huge bed. Two weeks ago, Hermione wouldn't have let them even touch something that dusty. But then two weeks ago, she'd still been the Duke of Malfoy's mistress.
It was dark. Very, very dark.
Scorpius lay in the big bed and listened to the darkness in the castle. Beside her, Hugo was snoring in his sleep. He was right up against her, squishing himself as close as possible, his head shoved into her shoulder, his hot breath blowing on her neck. She was nearly at the edge of the bed. Mummy breathed softly on her side of the bed. The rain had stopped, but she could hear a steady drip from the eaves. It sounded like a little man walking up the wall, each measured step growing closer.
Scorpius shivered. She had to pee. Perhaps if she lay still, she'd go back to sleep. But then there was the fear of waking to a wet bed. It'd been a very long while since she'd wet the bed, but she still remembered the shame the last time it had happened. Miss Cummings, their nurse, had made her tell Mummy what she'd done. Scorpius had nearly thrown up her breakfast before she could make her confession.
In the end, Mummy hadn't been cross, but she'd looked at her with worry and pity, and that had almost been worse. Scorpius hated to disappoint Mummy. Sometimes Mummy looked at her with a sad expression, and Scorpius knew: She wasn't quite right. She didn't laugh like other girls, didn't play with dolls and have lots of friends. She liked to be by herself. Liked to think about things. And sometimes she worried about the things she thought about; she simply couldn't help herself. No matter how much it disappointed Mummy.
She sighed now. There was no use for it. She'd have to use the commode. She shifted quietly and peered over the edge of the great bed, but it was too dark to see the floor. Poking out a foot from the covers, she slowly slid until she could touch the floor with just one toe. Nothing happened.
The wood floor was cold, but there were no mice or spiders or other horrible insects. At least, not nearby. Scorpius took a breath and slid fully from the bed. Her night rail caught and hiked up, baring her legs to the cold. Above, Hugo mumbled and rolled toward Mummy. She stood and shook down her night rail, then crouched and pulled the commode out from under the bed. She scooped up her skirts and squatted over the commode. The sound of her water hitting the commode was loud in the room, drowning out the dripping footsteps from the eaves.
She sighed in relief. Something creaked outside the bedroom door. Scorpius froze, her stream still trickling into the tin commode. Flickering light crept under the door. Someone stood in the hallway. She remembered Sir Severus's horribly scarred face. He'd been so tall—taller, even, than the duke. What if he'd decided to toss them from his castle? Or worse?
Scorpius held her breath, waiting, her thighs burning from crouching over the commode, her bottom growing cold in the night air. Outside the door, someone hawked—along, scratching, liquid gurgle that turned Scorpius's stomach—and spat. Then boots scraped against the floor as he moved away. She waited until she could no longer hear the footsteps, and then she leaped up from the commode. She shoved it away and scrambled into the bed, yanking the covers over her and Hugo's head.
"Wassit?" Hugo muttered, slumping against her again. "Shh!" Scorpius hissed. She held her breath, but all she heard was the sucking sounds Hugo made as he jammed his thumb into his mouth. He wasn't supposed to do that anymore, but Miss Cummings wasn't here to scold him. Scorpius wrapped her arms tightly around her little brother. Mummy had said that they'd had to leave London. That they could no longer stay in their tall townhouse with Miss Cummings and the other servants she'd known all her life. That they had to leave pretty dresses and picture books and a lovely sponge cake with lemon curd behind. Leave everything Scorpius knew, in fact. But surely Mummy hadn't realized how awful this castle would be? How dark and dirty the halls or how scary the master? And if the duke knew how terrible this place was, wouldn't he let them come home? Wouldn't he? Scorpius lay in the dark listening to the little man climbing the walls and wished she were safe at home in London.
Hermione woke the next morning to the sun shining dimly through the window.
She'd made sure to pull the curtains the night before so they wouldn't sleep past the first light. If one could call a single feeble ray struggling through a grimy windowpane first light. Hermione sighed and scrubbed at the pane with a corner of the curtain, but she only managed to make the dust swirl greasily on the glass.
"This is the dirtiest place I've ever seen," Scorpius observed critically as she watched her brother. There were several stuffed chairs crowded into the far end of the room as if a long-ago chatelaine had stored them there and then forgotten them. Hugo was leaping from chair to chair. Each time he landed, a small cloud of dust puffed from the cushion. Already a film of dirt covered his little face.
Oh, God, how was she to do this?
The castle was filthy, it's master a nasty, rude beast of a man, and she hadn't a clue what to do first. But then, it wasn't as if she had any choice. Hermione had known what kind of man the Duke of Malfy was when she left him. The kind who didn't let go of anything that belonged to him. He may not have lain with her for years, and he may've taken other mistresses at that time, but Malfoy still considered her his mistress.
His possession.
And the children were his possessions as well. He had fathered them. Never mind that he'd hardly said two words to the children over the years or that he'd never formally acknowledged kept what was his. Had he any suspicion that she was going to flee with Scorpius and Hugo, he would've taken them from her; she had no doubt at all. Once, nearly eight years ago, when Scorpius was only an infant, Hermione had talked about leaving him. She'd returned to her townhouse from an afternoon's shopping expedition to find Scorpius gone and the nursemaid in tears. Malfoy had kept the baby until the next morning—a night that still haunted Hermione in her dreams. By the time he'd come to her door in the morning, Hermione had been nearly ill with worry.
And Malfoy?
He'd sauntered in, the baby on his arm, and explained quite clearly that if she hoped to keep her daughter by her side, she must resign herself to their relationship. She was his, and nothing and no one could alter that. So when she had made the decision to leave Malfoy, she'd known that she would be burning her bridges behind her. Malfoy must never find her if the children were to be kept safe. With the help of Lady Riddle, she'd escaped London in a borrowed carriage. She'd changed that carriage at the first inn on the road north and had continued renting different carriages as often as possible. She'd kept to the less-traveled roads and tried to attract as little attention as possible. It'd been Lady Riddle's idea for Hermione to present herself as Sir Severus's new housekeeper.
Castle Spinner's Ends was well away from society, and Lady Riddle had been sure Malfoy would never think to look for her here. In that respect, Sir Severus's domain was the perfect hideaway. But Hermione wondered if Lady Riddle had any notion of just how wretched the castle was. Or how stubborn it's master.
One step at a time. It wasn't as if she had anywhere else to go. This was the path she'd decided on, and she must make it work. The consequences of failure were simply too unthinkable to contemplate. Hugo landed awkwardly and slid off a chair in an avalanche of dust.
"Stop that, please," Hermione snapped. Both children looked at her. She didn't often raise her voice. But then, until a week or so ago, she'd had a nursemaid to take care of the children. She'd seen them when she'd wanted to—at bedtime, for tea in the afternoon, and for walks in the park. Times when both she and they had been in pleasant frames of mind. If Scorpius or Hugo became tired or angry or out of sorts, she'd always had the option of sending them back to Miss Cummings. Unfortunately, Miss Cummings had been left behind in London.
Hermione inhaled, trying to calm himself. "It's time we were at work." "What work?" Hugo asked. He got up and started kicking a cushion that had slid to the floor with him. "Sir Severus said we were to go away again this morning," Scorpius stated. "Yes, but we'll convince him otherwise, won't we?" "I want to go home." "We can't, darling. I've already told you so." Hermione smiled persuasively. She hadn't told them what Malfoy would do if he caught them. She hadn't wanted to frighten the children.
"Sir Severus does need someone to clean his castle and put it back in order, don't you think?" "Ye-es," Scorpius said. "But he said he liked his castle all dirty." "Nonsense. I think he's just too retiring to ask for help. Besides, it's our Christian duty to help those in need, and it seems to me that Sir Severus has a very large need indeed." Scorpius looked doubtful.
Hermione clapped her hands together before her too-perceptive daughter could make any more objections. "Let's go down and order a splendid breakfast for Sir Severus and something for ourselves. After that, I'll consult with the cook and maids on how best to set about cleaning and managing the castle." Even Hugo perked up at the thought of breakfast. Hermione opened the door, and they crowded into the narrow corridor outside. "I think we came this way last night," Hermione said and set off to the right. As it turned out, that wasn't the direction Sir Severus had led them, but after a few more wrong turns, they found themselves on the ground floor of the castle. Hermione noticed Scorpius dragging her heels as they tramped to the back of the castle and the presumed direction of the kitchens.
Scorpius suddenly halted. "Do I have to greet him?" "Who, dear?" Hermione asked although she knew perfectly well. "Sir Severus." "Scorpius's afraid of Sir Severus!" Hugo sang. "Am not," Scorpius said fiercely. "At least, not very. It's just…" "He startled you and you screamed," Hermione said. She looked about the dingy walls of the hallway, searching for how to reply to her daughter. Scorpius could be so sensitive. The slightest criticism sent her brooding for days. "I know you feel awkward, sweetheart, but you must think of Sir Severus's feelings as well. It can't be very nice to have a young lady scream at the sight of you."
"He must hate me," Scorpius whispered.
And Hermione's heart squeezed painfully. It was so difficult being a mother sometimes. Wanting to shield one's children from the world and their own weaknesses, and at the same time needing to instill honor and proper behavior. "I doubt he feels anything as harsh as hate," Hermione said gently. "But I think you shall have to apologize to him, don't you?" Scorpius didn't say anything, but she gave a single jerky nod, her thin face looking pale and sighed and continued in the direction of the kitchens.
Breakfast, in her opinion, generally made things better. But as it turned out, there was very little to eat in Spinner's End.
The kitchen was a vast, terribly ancient room. The plastered walls and groined ceiling had once been whitewashed, but the color was a dingy gray now. A cavernous fireplace, much in need of sweeping out, took up one whole wall. Judging from the dust on the pots piled in the cupboards, not much actual cooking was done here. Hermione looked about the room in dismay. A single dirty plate lay on one of the tables, evidence that someone had eaten a meal here recently. Surely there must be a pantry with food somewhere?
She began opening cupboards and drawers in a state of near panic. Fifteen minutes later, she examined her booty: a single sack of mealy flour, some oats, tea, sugar, and a handful of salt. She'd also found a small dried up piece of streaky bacon hanging in the larder. Hermione was staring at the supplies, wondering what could possibly be made for breakfast out of them, when the full horror of her situation finally dawned on her.
There was no cook. Indeed, she hadn't seen any servants this morning. Not a scullery maid or footman. Not a bootblack boy or a parlor maid. Had Sir Severus any servants at all? "I'm hungry, Mummy," Hugo moaned.
Hermione gazed blindly at him a moment, still dazed by the magnitude of the job ahead of her. A small voice was screaming at the back of her mind, I can't do this! I can't do this! But she had no choice. She must do this. She swallowed, threw a blanket over the screaming voice in her mind, and rolled up her sleeves. "We'd better set to work, then, hadn't we?"