Chapter 6

24 December 2007

Whitby, North England

"Are they out there smoking cigars?" Hermione's mum exclaimed with an exasperated huff, peering out the garden window to the two men clustered by the back shed. "Honestly, the nerve of them!"

Hermione turned her head to gaze out the window and held back a smirk as another billow of blue smoke drifted skyward. "It certainly appears so."

Jean shook out the embroidered holiday tablecloth with a loud crack. "And here I can't even blame that particular bad habit on Severus' influence. I'm sure it's all your father's doing. The things he has taken up recently!"

"Actually, in this case, you might be able to blame Severus. We have a new potions apprentice in the lab hailing from Cuba. Ten to one, the contraband cigars came from him."

"It's a nasty habit, and I've told George how much I dislike it." Her mother carefully laid the tablecloth out and Hermione obligingly pulled at the other end to straighten it. "We were dentists, after all, and well know the dangers that arise from smoking. The rates of oral cancers alone ought to dissuade him, nevermind the foul odours and stains!"

Seeing that her mother was working herself into a real snit, Hermione attempted to lighten the mood. "Well, he's had some choice words lately about your affection for shoes, so I'd say you are both about equal in irritating habits."

Jean glanced reflexively down at her newest pair of kitten heels and smiled. "Hardly. My shoe collection isn't going to kill anyone."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Hermione retorted dryly. "Dad damn near sent himself hurling down the stairs to his doom after he tripped on your pair of wellies that were left on the landing."

"I don't know why he stumbled over them. Given that they are green with bright orange stripes, it's not as if they are hard to miss."

"Alas, that's not what he said."

Jean let out another huff, rolling her eyes. "I can't help it if he's getting increasingly clumsy in his dotage. Your father has never been particularly stealthy, but lately, he's sounded like a bull in a china shop as he moves about the house. I swear, some days I wonder if he's doing it on purpose just to let me know that he's around. A bell tied around his neck might be easier on the nerves."

"Subtle he is not," Hermione murmured, still watching the two men in the garden fondly. They stood facing each other, almost identically clad in heavy woollen jackets and flat caps, the brief flare of red from the cigars their only illumination on their faces. Watching their hands, she thought they might be debating something, but it was hard to tell at a distance.

Her father and Severus' friendship was an endless source of amusement and joy to her; she had been utterly shocked by how quickly the two had become chummy following her parent's return. Hermione reckoned that it was good for the both of them. Severus had a very narrow circle of people who he trusted; likewise, her father had never really regained his old group of friends and spent most days in solitary pursuits. They certainly seem to bring out the naughty lad in each other, however...

"…and it seems pointless to deny it at this late stage, darling."

Hermione snapped her wandering attention back to her mother. "What?"

"That you are sweet on Severus. Why neither one of you will make a move, I'll never understand."

Oh, cock... Mum's not exactly one for subtly either. Still, it's a shock that it's taken her this long to come out and say something about Severus and I… Fleetingly, Hermione considered playing dumb about her feelings for Severus but figured that her mother would only delight in bringing it up later—preferably in front of him and thus ensuring that the situation went completely pear-shaped. No, best lay things out properly so Mum understands what a minefield the situation really is.

Hermione took a deep breath for courage and said, "I'm not sweet on Severus."

Jean glanced up fully prepared to argue and then registered the intensity in her daughter's expression.

Mouth gone dry with nerves, Hermione continued, "I love him. I have done for several years now. He's brilliant and brave and snarky, and when he focuses all of his attention on me it's all I can do to not burst into flame."

"Oh." Jean sat down abruptly, deflating. "I'm not going to like this explanation, am I?"

"Probably not." Hermione sat down next to her mother, and Jean put a comforting hand out in response. "It's… complicated."

"Start with the basics, my dear."

"He's nineteen years older than me, was my teacher from age eleven to seventeen, and is nominally my supervisor now."

Her mum's mouth quirked into a smile. "That is a decent trifecta, but not insurmountable."

"Let's see… what else?" Hermione began ticking off reasons with her fingers. "He despised me for years until I guilted and shamed him into helping me find a way to restore your memories. Trust me when I say, it wasn't a good look on either of us."

"He's certainly fond enough of you now."

Hermione nodded in agreement. "He is. And that speaks more to his character than mine." She sighed. "How much have I told you about Harry's mum?"

Jean tilted her head, thinking. "She was killed by Lord-whatsit face when Harry was a baby, correct?"

Hermione snorted at the pithy description. "That's the short of it, yes. But the long of it is far more complex. For one thing, Severus and Lily—that's Harry's mum—grew up together and were best friends. As they grew older, he fell in love with her, but she never returned his feelings and it was all an ugly mess. I'm simplifying things enormously, but they parted acrimoniously and went very, very separate ways. She married Harry's father—"

"One would hope," her mother interrupted sotto-voce.

"…and Severus, unfortunately, joined the Death Eaters and became a fascist."

Jean blinked and looked out to the garden again. "Right. Not so funny, then."

"No."

"And then what happened?"

"Severus overheard something that he ought not to have, and repeated back to Tom Riddle- that would be Lord-whatsit face- as a way of currying favour. Riddle ended up killing both James and Lily over it, and nearly Harry."

"I do recall you telling us some of this. It certainly is grim history. Just when I start to think your magical world has some charm, you remind me of events like that."

Thinking of all the wars and conflicts currently brewing across the world, Hermione sighed again. "Alas, the wizarding side of things doesn't own the market on homicidal maniacs, Mum."

Her mother patted her hand, dismissing the comment. "Of course it doesn't. What did Severus do next?"

"The main reason he became a double agent was to protect Harry's mother; when she was murdered, he vowed to protect Harry and bring down Tom Riddle in her memory. It took almost twenty years, but you remember that he nearly died doing that, right?"

"Yes," Jean answered acidly. "Him and everyone else at your ruddy school."

"When Severus thought he was dying, he gave Harry a set of memories that granted him the last bits of information that he needed to know to kill Riddle. I've seen them." Hermione stopped, recalling the sheer sentimental punch of those remembrances. "I don't think that Severus knows that I've seen them. He'd not be pleased to know that I have."

"Naturally. The man abhors acknowledging anything to do with emotions."

"Mmm, precisely… anyway, my point is, the memories also let the cat out of the bag concerning Severus' feelings for Harry's mum. She glowed in them. Like... a Madonna. Like someone found in an illuminated manuscript. You could literally see his love for her. And then you could see how much it shattered him when she was murdered."

Jean was quiet for a minute. "That was what, almost thirty years ago? No matter how strong the love, most people move on. And it doesn't sound like Harry's mum cared much for him, besides."

"Severus isn't most people, and you know it." Hermione shook her head. "In all of the time I've known him—and this includes when I was a student—I've never heard about him being romantically attached to another person. As his friend, I've never seen or heard him indicate any romantic or sexual interest in anyone, period. And when someone has made a move on him, he's shot it down, swiftly."

"Well," Jean agreed bracingly. "That is certainly a barrier."

"That's one way to put it. Mummy, he's my friend. My best friend, if I'm being perfectly honest. And he's never looked at me as anything other than a friend. He's made his boundaries very clear over the years, and I don't ever want to risk losing his regard just to make a goose of myself."

"But if you told him that you loved him…"

"At best, it would turn quite awkward between us, and you know how painful that would be given what social misfits we both are. At worst… well, he has the lamentable tendency to lash out when he's not comfortable with something, and let me tell you, when he does, it cuts to the bone."

"I see. Any other reasons I should know about?"

"Simply this: Severus doesn't have many friends and no living relations. He hasn't said as much, but this is the closest thing to a normal family life he has ever had. He lets us tease and fuss over him because he genuinely enjoys being part of our family. This is one of the few places that he lets his guard down. Moreover, without him…" Hermione's voice caught in her throat, and she took several deep breaths to stave off tears. "Without him, we wouldn't be a family anymore. Yes, I'm in love with him. But I love him as a friend as well. I would never take this place of shelter from him, or disrespect his boundaries like that. Never."

Jean sat back in her chair, eyeing her daughter. "Well, you've certainly shot me down."

"Mum, I love you dearly, but if you ever try to play matchmaker between us, I'll hex your right foot so ferociously that it will grow two sizes larger and ensure that you never own a properly fitting pair of shoes again," Hermione said firmly, holding her mum's gaze for emphasis.

"Fine, fine, you've made your point." She huffed a final time, looking away. "I'm fond of the man as well, you know. I wouldn't want to hurt him any more than you do."

Hermione laid her head on her mother's shoulder, and Jean drew a comforting arm around her. "I know… and as much I wish I could have a relationship like you and dad's, it's just not in the books for me. And that's alright. I am deeply grateful for what I do have."

At that, the garden door creaked open and the men in question entered the room, still smelling faintly of smoke.

George Granger frowned when he saw them curled up together. "Is something the matter, lovies?"

"Just that you continue to smoke those horrid cancer-causing cigars despite my objections," Jean answered challengingly.

"What's a life without some pleasure, wife of mine?" he shot back, removing his hat and hanging it on a hook.

Jean rose, giving Hermione a last pat as she did so. "As your wife, I thought administering to your pleasure was my job. As far as you've indicated to me, there have been no complaints on that score."

"Oh, I've not had a one," George said with an affable leer. "I merely wanted to put a cherry on top of a perfectly fine—"

"Spare me my blushes," Hermione interrupted loudly, holding up a hand. "I know that we are supposedly a modern family, but that doesn't mean that I'm ready to hear all the gory details about your sex life."

Her parents laughed, and her father dropped a kiss onto her mother's cheek. Hermione turned to Snape for some support, but he only raised a mocking black brow.

"I hate to burst your bubble, Granger, but older people do have sexual relations. As a matter of fact, one of the fastest-growing segments of the population to test positive for STIs are the 55 and overs—"

"Severus," Jean interjected sweetly, "just who exactly in this room are you calling old?"

Severus stilled. "Your husband, of course."

Jean smiled, showing off her perfectly white teeth. "He's six months younger than I."

"Whoops." He remained deadpan as George chuckled darkly at the verbal misstep. Hermione stuck her tongue out at him, and Severus crossed his arms in front of his chest with mock irritation.

"Don't make me hex you."

"Try it," she teased back. "And when I get done wiping the floor with you, I'll tell my mummy and she'll have a go."

At that repost, George roared with laughter, "She's got you firmly pinned to the board there, Snape," he finally gasped.

Severus threw up his hands. "I concede."

Jean smiled again, this time with all her warmth "And isn't that just a Christmas miracle? Speaking of such, we need to get moving or we will miss the Carol Service at St. Hilda's. Severus, are you staying the night, or will you pop back down to Manchester afterwards?"

Severus hesitated before answering. "I'll stay here tonight if you don't mind. There's no point in going home to a cold house."

"Excellent. I made up the guest room for you just to be on the safe side. Shall we?"

Hermione was half-drowsing in the comfort of the back seat as they made their way home from the carol singing. It was a bitterly cold night outside the vehicle, and with everything shut on account of Christmas, the streets were darkly deserted. Despite that, the Volvo was a little bubble of warmth and happiness. She was perfectly content.

Her father and Severus were speaking quietly in the front seat, voices a complimentary rumble, and her mother was staring abstractedly out the window to the other side of her. Sleepily, Hermione stretched out and took her mum's hand, squeezing it. Jean squeezed back with a smile.

"Do you believe in god, Severus?" Hermione heard her father ask, and she listened interestedly for his answer.

"In the Judeo-Christian sense? No. Not at all. Any of the major religious texts—the Torah, the Bible, the Quran- despite any passionate claims to the contrary, were assembled and created as socio-political tools and weapons of their time. Take the Bible—most people don't realise that over the centuries, certain chapters have been pruned from it to fit the whims of the prevailing political powers. Indeed, many don't know how just partisan and weaponised the various translations of the Bible have been. Mind you, I don't throw the baby out with the bathwater; I do find beauty and truth in some of it. But I also cannot take the book as the literal word or proof of god, nor as an absolute set of instructions for living."

"So what do you believe in? It certainly sounds like you are no atheist. Are you a pagan, then?"

"I'm not a pagan for the same reason I'm not a Jew or a Christian. As I said, organised, codified, and politicised religion does nothing for me." Severus paused, and in the reflection of oncoming headlights, Hermione could see he was carefully considering his next words. "I believe in a certain spark of interconnectedness that unites us all—a soul, I suppose you might call it—and can be found not just in humans, but in other things as well… a beloved familiar, for example, or the sheer, stunning austerity of the natural world. As to the issue of that spark being God, or proof thereof, or even how our world was created, I don't have the faintest clue."

Jean spoke after a moment. "Do you believe in heaven and hell?"

Severus snorted. "I'm not counting on being granted a pair of wings and harp to sit on a cloud for all of eternity when I die, no. As for hell… given the depths of depravity that we humans can create all on our own, I am highly suspicious that any heated subterranean void could hold a candle to it. No, to me, hell is complete non-existence. You live, and then you die, and everything you were or did disappears in the veil of time. There are no second chances. And heaven- I suppose heaven to me is the good that you leave behind, the positive impact you have on other generations even if it becomes disassociated with your personal identity."

"That's a very Buddhist approach to living," Hermione noted, and Severus shrugged.

"Perhaps. What do you believe in, George?"

"I am a Christian, and while I do share some of your same reservations about the historical veracity of certain aspects of the narrative, I do firmly believe in the power and sacrifice of Jesus. Likewise, I take comfort and guidance from the Bible. While I can't explain everything—or really, most things—I have faith that all will come right in the end with His support. After all the Good Book reminds us that, 'For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.'"

"That's from Corinthians, is it not?"

"Yes. Chapter one, verse thirteen. Now, had you asked me the same question a decade ago, my answer would have been different. Given all that we have been through as a family, however…" Her father trailed off for a moment and then sighed. "Well, either you can believe that our coming back together was nothing but a sheer coincidence, or you can believe that it was part of a plan. I chose the latter, not the former. Life isn't fair, but it is demonstratively precious, and it is being given to us as a gift. It's up to us to do the rest."

"Hear, hear," Jean said. "Thankfully, this is one of the few areas that we are in complete agreement as a couple."

"One of the few?" George teased.

"Oh, you know what I mean."

"I do." Her father looked at Hermione in the rear-view mirror. "What about you, poppet?"

"Well, the whole, 'thou shalt not suffer a witch to live' was a bit of a turn off when I found out that I was one at age eleven," Hermione answered dryly.

"In the spirit of fairness," Severus drawled sardonically, "the linguistical twists and turns of how that particular part of Exodus has been translated first through ancient Hebrew, then Greek, followed by Latin and finally English means that we can't be sure if the original authors mean poisoners, herbalists, or merely people who use magic with evil intent when they speak of needing to kill mekashaph. It very well might have nothing to do with witches."

Jean chortled. "Darling, I do believe that you've found someone who might be a bigger swot than you."

"Perhaps," she replied, matching Severus' earlier tone. "Regardless, as both a woman and a witch, the tent of Judeo-Christian beliefs is not one that I feel entirely welcome in. Honestly, the lot of it has always felt like a set of rules explicitly designed to keep me quiet, compliant, and out of the way."

Fiddling with her knitted scarf for a moment, she continued. "I wish that I had your faith, Daddy, and I rather like Severus' notion of an essential, shared spark cut clear from any liturgical exegesis. I want to believe in something like that… but I struggle to do so mightily. There have just been too many times that I have felt utterly abandoned in the wilderness-sometimes quite literally- to see a plan or goodness in any of it. I suppose my faith lies in people around me, and in the redemptive power of love. I try to do the right thing not because it is demanded of me, but because it's the only way I can see a path forward. In the end, I live by the golden rule, not just my Healer's credo."

George looked sad at her response, but not shocked. "Keep an open heart, Hermione, and it will come."

"I don't think that I know any religious witches or wizards," she ventured eventually, addressing Severus.

"They are few and far between, at least here in Britain. The ones I know who are religious are either pagan or somewhat ironically, Buddhist. I think that most of us are blithely agnostic and leave it at that."

"It is quite a lot to reconcile," Hermione murmured. "You know, as a Muggle-born witch, I've always felt like learning to live in the magical world is comparable to the tension of converting to another religion. I've seen things, learned things… felt things, that I can't ignore. Those experiences have changed me in a fundamental way, and I couldn't go back to being a Muggle even if I wanted to. At the same time, not being a pureblood, or at least not being born into a magical family, I can't completely assimilate, either. There are certain Muggle sensibilities that I am unwilling to shed, and there are plenty of wizarding notions that I still find completely ridiculous even after almost twenty years. Oh, some people manage it—Harry, for example, but that's because he's gone all-in. Other than his relationship with Dudley, he's almost entirely divorced himself from the non-magical world. I can't do that."

Severus made a sound of assent. "You are caught betwixt and between two worlds… as a half-blood myself, it's a sentiment I can understand."

"Do you think—" her father began, and then suddenly cursed loudly, slamming the brakes. "Oh, fuck!"

Hermione threw a protective arm up with a gasp, seeing a deer standing in the middle of the road through the front windscreen. With a screech, the car spun dizzyingly at speed in a full circle, and she could hear the crunch of metal as they scraped against the barrier. Her mother screamed shrilly. With one last pop, they ground to a halt. No one said anything for several jittery seconds as they all looked at each other in shock.

Hermione contemplated making a comment concerning the infelicity of getting into a collision so shortly after having a robust conversation about God—was this accident part of some grand plan, or was someone merely being shown the error of their beliefs?—but decided that discretion being the better part of valour, it was not the time to be a smartarse.

"Is everyone alright?" she asked instead, unlatching her seatbelt with shaking hands.

"Yes, I think so," George affirmed, and everyone began the process of getting out of the Volvo.

Thankfully, the damage was far less than it could have been. Her father had missed the deer entirely- the creature had bounded off into the woods completely unharmed- and the body damage was limited to a long scrape down the driver's side of the car. The only thing that kept them from driving off into the night was a blown tyre.

Pulling out her wand, Hermione stepped forward to repair it, but her father placed a quelling hand on her arm.

"Don't," he said, a whiff of irritation turning his words into an order. "I'm going to have to take the car in to the shop anyway to get it checked out, and I don't want to explain why the tyre is in perfect condition and the rest of it not."

"Daddy, I can mend all of it—"

"I know you can. But I don't want to risk your Ministry suddenly deciding that my brand-new car has been turned magical and taking it away from me. It'll only take ten minutes to change the tyre."

Hermione stepped back, stung.

"May I lend a second set of hands?" Severus asked calmly.

"No," George sighed apologetically. "It's better if I have a good grumble all by my lonesome. If I had been paying better attention in the first place, we wouldn't have taken the spin."

"Go easy on yourself, my dear," Jean fussed, walking over to George and zipping up his jacket. "It's quite dark tonight without a moon to illuminate the road, and that deer appeared to be offering itself up for venison rather willingly."

George popped the boot latch. "Severus, will you take the girls up a little bit onto the slip road where it will be safer?"

"Of course."

Silently, the three of them trudged up the tarmac to higher ground. The wintery air felt like sharp pinpricks in Hermione's lungs, but the stars were particularly bright, sparkling with rare crystalline visibility that was utterly stunning.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" her mum observed softly.

"Yeah, it is." Exhaling, Hermione put her head on Jean's shoulder, seeking maternal comfort. A ripple of warming magic slid over her skin, and she looked at Severus questioningly. His wand was out and pointing at them.

"No point in freezing if we don't have to," he remarked diffidently, stepping closer to them.

Hermione smiled. "No, there isn't."

It took closer to fifteen minutes for her father to change the tyre; Hermione was watching George rise after tightening the last lug nut when another horrible crunching noise broke the silence of the night.

With a confused spin, Hermione searched for the source of the deafening tyre screech, seeing nothing coming at them on the empty motorway.

"Behind you!" George shouted hoarsely, arms outstretched in supplication.

Hermione whirled again. A tall lorry was jack-knifing as if in slow-motion, barring down on them from the slip road uncontrollably. In an instant, the headlights blinded her and she could perceive nothing but white light.

I bet this is exactly how that deer felt, she thought with dark, fleeting amusement, and instinctively threw up a wall of protective magic. Dimly, she registered a similar rush of power coming from Severus.

The landscape exploded around them.

Noise and pain swirled together.

Darkness.

Nothing.

A.N.~ Thoughts, lovely readers?

As ever, stay safe, stay well, and happy reading!