Much thanks to my editor, Gwen McCormick, and to my dear friend DUJ. All mistakes are mine. Obviously, I am not JKR and am making nothing from this.

The Course of True Love

Chapter 22

June 1999

"Hermione," Minerva called out, "are you busy?"

Hermione stood up from the teacher's desk in the front of the transfiguration classroom. "Not really," she called back. "I've just finished clearing out your desk? By the way, where do you want these things?" She held up three reduced boxes of items.

"Give them here," she said with a sigh. "I suppose I can find an empty corner somewhere in my rooms." She shook her head. "I can't move any of my things into the Headmaster's office until Albus moves out, and my chambers are packed like sardines in a tin."

"Just tell me what you need done," Hermione replied. "I'm more than happy to help."

"Well," Minerva said, handing her a scroll of parchment, "this is a list of potions Poppy needs for the coming year. She gave them to Horace in April. He tossed them on Albus' desk in May. Albus just gave them to me."

"Do you want me to brew them?"

"You might have to help," Minerva said, "but I need you to deliver the list to Severus. You'll probably need to calm him down, too. He'll hit the roof when he realizes he has less than two months to brew them all."

"I don't blame him," she said. "I'll take this down to him and help him if he needs it."

SHSHSHSHSH

Hermione stopped and stared, opened mouth, at the sight before her. There stood Severus Snape, hands fisted around a long handled paddle stirring rhythmically into a huge, black cauldron. The flames under the kettle were high, heating his private lab up to nearly unbearable proportions. He'd removed his frock coat and folded it neatly across a chair. His linen shirt was stuck to his back with sweat, and his sleeves were rolled up. He looked so human, so vulnerable that she froze in shock!

Upon hearing her footsteps, Severus wheeled around, cast a stasis charm on the potion, and snatching up his coat. He held it in front of him like a shield, and Hermione, her face flushed, merely held out the scroll.

"Madam Pomfrey's list," she said. "For the infirmary. The potions she'll need."

"Put it there." He jerked his head sharply towards the table. "I've already begun the sleeping draught."

When she turned back from the table, he was tugging down the shirt sleeve of his left arm. He struggled with the sweaty material, and Hermione noticed the trembling of his hands as he sought to button the cuffs of his left sleeve.

"Oh," she said softly, as realization dawned. He was embarrassed about her seeing his Dark Mark. A moment of sadness swept over her, and without thinking, she reached out and caught his hand.

Severus jerked back and stared.

"It's all right, Severus," she said softly. "It's just another battle scar."

He looked at her in disbelief. How could she not cringe at the mere thought of that mark. "One does not willingly accept a battle scar," he hissed. "I chose to bare my arm and receive it."

"It doesn't matter whether the battle was fought on the outside or the inside," Hermione persisted. Gently, she pushed up the sleeve to view the Dark Mark. She smiled sadly. "It's still a battle wound." The moment passed, and realizing the liberties she'd taken, she quickly withdrew her hand.

Pulling his arm away, Severus busied himself with re-dressing himself. He'd never known someone who seemed to understand him like she did. "Know me so well, do you?" he scoffed.

"I know you're smarter than to fall for all that pure blood rubbish," Hermione replied softly. "Look," she added, lifting her right arm and pushing back the long sleeve of her T-shirt. There carved into the pink flesh of her forearm was the word 'mudblood.' She huffed a little breath. "A memento from Bellatrix LeStrange."

The word hit him like a brick, and he stood still, gazing at her scarred arm. Gingerly, he touched to the letters. "Does it cause you pain?" he asked, his hair swinging forward to cover his face.

"Not anymore," she told him. "It's just an ugly reminder of the war. A battle scar. Like yours."

He lifted his head and looked into her warm brown eyes, fighting the urge to use legilimency. Did she really understand? He wondered. Did she really understand how the Dark Mark hurt his spirit, his heart, soul?

"Still, I'll can brew you a salve," he told her. "It might fade the scar." He cleared his throat. "Now, if you'll go pester someone else, I can get on with the brewing."

She smiled at him, understanding in her doe brown eyes. "I'll save you a seat at dinner."

He noticed every detail of her as she turned to leave – the tiny, fuzzy tendrils of brown hair that had escaped her loose braid and clung to her neck, and those warm doe brown eyes – Doe! Like his patronus! The thought sent a sharp tingle of adrenalin through him.

SHSHSHSHSH

Ron pulled Hermione close for the side-along apparation. They landed inside a walled garden in a Muggle neighborhood. The bricks were new, freshly mortared, and there was a small potting shed out back. A newly sodded lawn was in the center, and around the edges nearest the wall were several herbs just beginning to sprout. Red English roses bloomed in the far corner.

Then with a moment of blinding realization, she knew where they were. "Ron, when did you- How did you -"

"This is it, Hermione! Spinner's End!" he exclaimed. "I found the perfect house just this morning!" He picked her up and spun her around.

"Put me down! You're making me dizzy!" she shouted, holding her head until the spinning stopped. Taking a deep breath, she said, "Ron, I think you ought to know that-"

"Don't you just love it?" Ron asked. He marched across the yard, pointing out its features. "Look at the size of this yard! Perfect for a family. That herb garden will come in handy for cooking and potions. Of course, I'll get rid of the roses-"

"What's wrong with the roses?" she demanded.

"Although," he said slowly, "we could leave them for a bit. Hey! I just got the greatest idea! We could get married here in our own backyard. The roses would make a great backdrop, then we could rip them up later. Of course, we'd have to get married while they were still blooming."

"Don't start, Ron," she warned him. "We're not getting married this summer."

"Okay, okay, can't blame a guy for trying," he said, pulling her into a giant hug. "Oh, hold on a minute, 'mione," he told her, letting go to fish around in his pockets. He pulled out a set of keys, and quickly unlocking the door, he pulled her into the kitchen.

"Okay, this is the kitchen," he explained. "Because the house is in a Muggle neighborhood, it's wired for ek-let-trikity. There's a washer for dishes and clothes and a dryer, too. There's even a frigerador to keep food cold!" He eagerly pulled her through another door. "And over here," he added joyfully, "is a formal dining room. See how the chandelier catches the light!"

I nearly went blind trying to mirror that entire wall, especially with that crystal chandelier with those fake flame light bulbs. I'd rather have a cozy breakfast nook in a bow window, she thought. "Ron, it's very-"

"Fantastic! Yeah, I know," he gushed. "Oh, check out the living area." He propelled her forward into the front of the house. "See, how open the space is?"

"I see it." Merlin! How I hated taking out the walls to the sitting area and pulling out those bookcases!

"The clean, open lines give it a modern feel, you know?" He pointed her in another direction. "The fireplace has been newly painted – I love the white paint! And it's connected to the floo network."

Parkinson said to use white, so I did. White? In a fireplace? She shook her head. "Ron, I need to tell you-"

He turned her the opposite direction. "And look at the view from that picture window? Just imagine putting a Christmas tree there!"

What a lovely view of the house across the road.

"Now, let's check out the upstairs," he insisted as he dragged her up the staircase. "There are two bedrooms up here, and they both have their own bath. And here-" He paused to fling open a door. "is the master bedroom. Isn't it huge?"

Yep, at the expense of the third bedroom. Severus' old room is not much more than a closet now!

"I plan to put the girls up here, and the boys in the basement," Ron explained. "Oh! I haven't shown you the basement!" Turning, he rushed back down the stairs, shouting back over his shoulder, "Come on! You've got to see-"

Before he finished his sentence, there was a resounding pop, and they looked up to see Pansy Parkinson. She was wearing a very fashionable Muggle skirt and top with matching heels. The green blouse highlighted her hazel eyes. "Mr. Weasley," she said pleasantly, "and Miss Granger. Please forgive my tardiness."

"Pansy?" Ron was confused. "What are you doing here? I was supposed to meet a Mr. Parkinson."

Pansy smiled. "Yes, that's my Father. He sent me instead. I hope that's acceptable." Her smile faltered when she saw their iron hard faces. "Look, just to set the record straight. My father and I never joined the Death Eaters. Never. We're guilty of nothing but extreme poor judgement." She gave a rueful laugh. "But people can change, you know, and I've turned over a new leaf."

"All right," Ron said with a nod. "I'll give you a chance. So, you're working for your dad?"

"I am. As a matter of fact," Pansy said with a smile, "I've just passed my muggle exams, and, as a qualified agent, I'm now a full partner in the Parkinson Real Estate Company." Her eyes glowed with pride as she pulled out her newly acquired license to show them.

"That's really wonderful, Pansy," Hermione said, "but, Ron, I think you should-"

"Speaking of wonderful," Ron cut her off, his blue eyes dancing, "Pansy, do you have the paperwork?"

"I do," she replied with a giant smile. "It's in the kitchen." She turned around and headed back through the dining room. "Love the formal dining room," Pansy murmured. "It turned out well. It was my suggestion, you know."

Ron's eyes widened. "You did the renovations?"

"Oh, no," she told him, "I'm more of a designer." She shrugged. "Hammering and painting are more of a man's job. A woman should create a home not build the house."

"That's exactly what I think, too," he said in surprise. "And I love this formal dining room. It's so elegant. All it needs is a-"

"Long black laminate table," Pansy finished his sentence. "With a lot of chairs filled with family and friends." She turned red. "I'm sorry. Just thinking aloud."

"No," Ron said, "you're absolutely right. That's exactly what this room needs. In fact, the only problem with the place is the size. It needs to be larger because I know I want a large family."

"Unless," Pansy said thoughtfully. "The adjacent home has just gone on the market. The structure is quite sound, but it needs some cosmetic work. If you were to buy it, then you -"

"Can remove some walls and double the size of this place," Ron picked up her line of thought. "What a great idea!"

"Exactly!" Pansy echoed, her face alight with excitement. "And it will double your investment as well."

"Could you make arrangements for me to purchase the unit next door, too?" he asked. "And help with the design, too? So, both halves will match up?"

"Absolutely," Pansy said with a huge grin. "I can get all the information later today. Maybe we can meet for lunch to complete the deal. I'll send you an owl." She held out a self-inking quill.

With the final papers signed, Pansy departed leaving Ron and Hermione alone in the kitchen. He smiled from ear to ear, his blue eyes blazing with enthusiasm. "Well, Hermione, what do you think?"

"Oh, so now you're asking me?" she flared at him. "Now that Pansy's gone, you want my opinion?"

Ron frowned, confusion written across his face. "Of course, I want to know what you think."

"Oh, I don't think you do! You really don't want to know what I think," she told him.

"Oh, oh, I get it," Ron said with a short laugh. "Look, you've got nothing to be jealous about. Pansy Parkinson is-"

She growled. "Ron! You went and bought a house without consulting me? Really?"

His mouth dropped open. "Without consulting you? Hermione, you were right here with me! We looked through the whole place together! Not once did you say you didn't like it!"

"You didn't give me a chance!" she shouted back. "You didn't give me time to think about it because if you had, I would have-

"Yeah, Hermione," he shot back at her, "I know." He nodded angrily. "I didn't give you a lot of time because I knew what would happen. I knew you'd put me off again. But you know what? I'm tired of waiting on you." He held up a finger. "First, you insist that we compromise, but it seems to me that I'm the only one having to give in."

"What?" She shouted the question.

"I'm supposed to give up my dream of a big family. I'm supposed to give up my dream of a great, grand wedding."

"Well, what about my dreams, Ronald?" Her voice was shrill and loud. "Am I supposed to give up my dream of a fine education? A career?"

"You can have both, you know!" he yelled. "You can have an education, and a career, and a family! All I'm asking for is a loving wife, a big wedding, and a family of my own! But do I get any of my dreams? No! You keep putting me off, making me wait for this, wait for that! Just how much longer am I supposed to wait?"

Hermione was so angry, she was shaking. "Until hell freezes over for all I care!" Wheeling around, she stormed out into the back yard and apparated away.