CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO—Homey
.
Hermione lay on her stomach, feet swinging in the cool dungeon air. The couch beneath her was comfy enough, but she noticed it was rather old.
I don't think he's ever bought new furniture for himself, she of Potions Weekly rifled beneath her fingertips.
Mrs Snape tossed the magazine away. Her husband was not present. It was quiet down here.
The witch sat on her knees and pulled her untamable hair up into a ponytail. For once, she didn't feel the urge to look through all of Severus's books—she had already glanced at all the titles. He had said he wouldn't mind, as long as she put them back. And he said, sneering, that he knew she would treat them properly.
She sniffed. No one, not even Professor Snape, can claim that I don't take care of my books.
Next to the fireplace, Crookshanks wrestled with a dust bunny. Hermione Summoned one of his chew toys from the bedroom and floated it to the hearth. Crookshanks dropped the repulsive fluff of dust to play with the fake mouse. Hermione Banished all the dust on the mantel and hearth before deciding she would play housewife.
"This place needs a good once-over anyway," she told her cat. Crookshanks ignored her. As he batted the cloth mouse between his paws, his mistress levitated a set of books off the top shelf to dust underneath. She coughed.
"Dear me, when was the last time he cleaned this place?" She blinked dust out of her eyes.
As if he has time to clean, Hermione, she scolded.
She remembered last night, the most recent in a string of similar nights, when Severus ambled to the washroom at one in the morning. The drumming of water against the claw-foot tub lulled Hermione back to sleep. Light from the bathroom billowed out with the steam an hour later.
She frowned at the other ten bookshelves she had to clean. He always looks so tired. He had yet to let her help with anything he brewed for Voldemort; she was only allowed to take care of whatever Madam Pomfrey and the Order needed.
"I should probably not clean his office," she mumbled as dust siphoned off of the shelves and into her wand. Who knows what kind of jinxes he had rigged up in there?
Crookshanks hopped up on the bureau next to the bedroom door. He mewled as he rubbed his body against the silver candelabra.
"Aren't you helpful?" Hermione cooed to her familiar. One hand rubbing his ears, the other holding her wand aloft, she said, "I would be lost without you."
The books strewn about the quarters rose into the air and hovered over to empty spaces in the shelves. They wiggled in. Hermione hoped they were in the right places. Nothing was sorted alphabetically, nor by subject-matter.
Hermione tapped her foot. She snapped her fingers. There was a broom and a mop and bucket in the private lab. She Summoned all three items. Once she filled the bucket with water, she set them both to work—the broom first, then the mop.
"That is going to be very slippery," she muttered.
Hermione left the mop and broom to it. In the bedroom, she made the bed and Banished the cobwebs. The witch paused to assess the room. Severus had a closed armoire on the right side, near the door. There was a long dresser next to it. Hermione thought a mirror would be a nice addition above the dresser.
She could not recall a time Severus had used the drawers on the left, closest to Hermione's bedroom. She pulled a few open. The top two were empty.
"Oh. More books." She left them in the bottom drawer.
Hermione moved all of her night things into the empty top drawer. She shoved a few jumpers in the other drawer. It got cold, down here.
Hermione poked her head back into the main room—the mop and broom were fine. She tackled the washroom next. She only ever came in here when it was midnight and the walk to the Prefect's loo was too much work.
With all the lamps on, she could now see the room was the least done-up washroom in the UK. One towel for hands. One for Severus. One bathmat before the tub. A clear shower curtain.
Hermione sighed. She turned one-eighty degrees and exited their quarters via her bedroom. Harry told her about the Room of Requirement being absolutely stuffed with furniture. She was on the hunt for another shower curtain, a way bigger bathmat, and a mirror for that dresser.
Harry and Ron were on the other side of her common room door about to knock.
"You pick up Divination again?" Ron joked.
"Never. What's up?"
Harry pulled the locket by the chain from his pocket. "Want to tell you guys what this is."
"I was on my way to the Room of Requirement."
"What for?" he asked. They headed that way.
"Redecorating."
"And uh, your husband's cool with that?" Harry did not meet her eyes.
"Didn't ask."
"Yeah, that sounds about right," Ron snorted. "So, lay it on us. What's the big deal?"
Harry checked all around before he started. "This one's a fake Horcrux, obviously. But I feel like I should know where the real one is," Harry said. Harry held the locket in his open palms. "Voldemort hid this locket in a cave. Inside a bowl full of some liquid that—broke Professor Dumbledore.
"If we had come back when those Death Eaters were here…" Harry shoved the necklace back into his pocket. "I don't think he would've lived."
Hermione asked, "And what about the others? I'm assuming they aren't all lockets, right?"
Harry shook his head. "No. There was a ring, from Voldemort's father. And the journal Ginny had. Each with a piece of Voldemort's…soul in them, I guess."
"None of these things have anything in common," Ron said, puzzled.
Harry shrugged. "Dumbledore thinks there're three other items. We just have to figure out what they are, and destroy them."
"Oh, so, nothing difficult," Ron said.
Of any of them, Severus knew Voldemort the best. She wished she could ask him, but putting this information in his head would be disastrous. Then again, what could she ask without sounding like a complete nutter? Hey, what would your boss put a bit of his soul into to safeguard it, any ideas?
No. They would figure this out on their own.
"So what would he use?" Hermione wondered aloud. "A diary is personal, but it was also pretty innocuous. That ring meant something to him."
"Yeah," Harry snorted. "It meant so much to him he killed his dad to get it."
Hermione stroked her chin. "That locket looks familiar, but I can't place it."
"Yeah," Ron said. "Drivin' me a bit mad."
"We have to find them all, then destroy them all," Harry said. They entered the corridor with the Room. "Then, we can finish Voldemort."
It was hard for Harry to say kill Voldemort.
Hermione admired that about him.
"What are we lookin' for in here?" Ron asked as the door appeared.
She rattled off the list.
"He doesn't have a mirror?" Ron made a face at Harry.
Both of them snickered. Hermione rolled her eyes. No, Severus did not fret over his appearance, aside from the strict adherence to his black colour scheme. It's not like Ron did either!
But that was the extent of their jokes. They helped her find the items and shrink them to fit in her pockets.
Two hours later, Hermione washed the grime out of her hair in the Prefects washroom. Mrs Snape allowed a pleased grin to slide across her face as water shimmied over her back.
I may not live in a house, but I can be a good housewife.
The washroom in Severus's dungeon sparkled—the marble wash basin, the white tub, the mirror all glimmered like Gilderoy Lockhart. She had even found an entirely new shower liner and a dark green shower curtain as well. With the extra towels she had snagged, the room was entirely transformed.
Water sluiced off her legs as she turned off the taps. Her hair lay straight and heavy about her neck. She wrapped her hair in a towel.
As she wrapped her torso with a towel, she noticed a few pairs of feet constantly walking past her stall. Hermione weighed the pros and cons of showering in Severus's quarters. While there would be less people around, Hermione thought it would be way weirder.
Hermione used a fifth-year Drying Charm on her hair to get it started. The feet out there loitered for a few minutes at a time. Hermione didn't know who it was.
She redressed and even though her feet weren't dry, she put her socks and shoes back on.
When she had everything packed and her wand out, she slid the curtain open.
It was a pair of fifth-year Ravenclaws. Both of them insisted the other could go first.
Hermione put her wand away, a bit embarrassed at her paranoia.
At the row of sinks, she considered moving her toothbrush to Severus's washroom.
She sighed as she layered the toothpaste on her brush. This situation was weird. Being married, sleeping in the dungeons, sleeping next to a "husband."
She scoffed at that. Maybe wizards did it differently, but husbands nowadays were actually supposed to like their wives—and wives were allowed to pick a husband without the threat of torture over their heads.
Severus entered his office after his patrol. A total of twenty-five points from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Filius and Pomona had it too easy—their students were generally well-behaved. Taking points from a Hufflepuff or a Ravenclaw was a rare occurrence, and Severus relished it. The Potions Master had never said it out loud, but he envied Filius's luck—he wished he had a house comprised of children who knew the value of knowledge.
He slid his teaching robes off his shoulders as he entered his sitting room. As he hung them on the coat rack, he noticed something was…different. Dark eyes darted all around until he realized that no books were piled next to the couches. Dust motes didn't dance in the candlelight. In fact, all of the candles looked like they had been recently replaced—and the silver candlesticks had been polished.
Severus touched the bureau; had it always been this shiny?
His fingertips ran over the gleaming wood, to the bookcase, and stopped on the doorframe. Anger pricked like flames in his lungs. How dare Hermione come in here and rearrange everything? Was she implying he couldn't take care of himself?
He calmed as he grasped the door handle. Are you going to go in there and yell at her for doing something nice? Are you a bloody imbecile? He let go, and backed away.
Much more rational, he entered what had previously been his bedroom but was now their bedroom. Granger's door was open. Moonlight slanted in from her window and crossed her legs. She was curled on her side with her back to him. The hideously orange cat lay sprawled against her curved spine.
He had to admit he was surprised the washroom was clean as well.
Perhaps she needs more work to occupy her time.
Severus took a quick shower, eager to fall to sleep at a reasonable time for once this week. When he exited the shower, he noticed his floor mat had been replaced. Peering over the hem of the towel, he found it was now green and oddly fluffy.
Was there anything she didn't touch? he wondered.
He huffed and ran his fingers through his soaked hair. He was quite used to walking from the shower to his dresser to retrieve clothes and always forgot he had no such liberty with his dear wife in the room. Towel around his waist, he Summoned whatever shirt and trousers were at the top of the drawer and waited, tips of his wet hair forcing gooseflesh along his neck.
The drop in temperature between the washroom and his bedroom caused an all-out shiver to ripple through his body. He quietly pulled back the covers and climbed into the bed, making sure he stayed well away from the dividing line. Hermione did not stir.
He flicked his hand at her bedroom door to close it. The room became pitch black.
Ever since Hermione had relocated to his rooms, he noticed the slightest scent of coffee around. He didn't dwell on it, and finally slept.