Over the past week, a certain routine had developed between Snape and Hermione. They began to spend more and more time together, working on different potions in the evenings. Hermione craved silence, so she sought a safe haven in his laboratory. Snape tried to collect his thoughts and outline his plan of action.
A little less than seven days remained till the Marriage Law, and Severus was just numb with fear of ruining everything with one careless movement, or an accidentally thrown word, or his usual venomous remarks. Therefore, he opted for the best, in his opinion, strategy: he chose to remain silent until Hermione herself would decide to start a conversation with him. So they worked, separated by a wide table, hidden from each other by cauldrons of various shapes and sizes, each immersed in their own thoughts.
Hermione was thinking about her future work, she was probably imagining herself a skillful destroyer of dark curses, a Mistress of Defense against the Dark Arts.
Snape waited. He continued to watch her and wait. His perception told him that sooner or later Hermione would not stand the silence and would begin the first conversation with him. Miss Granger was always too vivid and bright to allow herself to sink in her own indecision. Yes, she loved the seclusion of libraries, she admired bookstores filled with old books in shabby covers, she was fascinated by sorting different herbs or inventing potions theories, but all her ideas were always accompanied by lively comments and active gesticulation.
After the war, Hermione was mostly silent.
She regularly performed her apprenticeship, she brought Snape her perfectly brewed potions and tinctures, she kept her workplace in order, and remained silent.
Sometimes she froze over the slowly simmering cauldron, as if enchanted by the play of light on the surface of the potion, and muttered to herself, silently listing the aromas of her Amortentia: cherry, rain, juniper, bluebells.
And Snape closed his eyes, trying to suppress his memories.
It was sunny August, and the inhabitants of Hogwarts were delighted by its warmth and amber sunsets. Snape never understood what was special about the approaching autumn, but Hermione always found this season fascinating.
Hermione chirped incessantly as she continued to share her excitement about September. She was excited about the golden autumn. She was ready for apple pies that the house-elves would indulge in Hogwarts, and she shared plans for how she and Luna and Draco would decorate the Main Hall, and other things as such. Snape failed to understand her passion.
Hermione had already turned their dungeon chambers into something similar to the Tower of Gryffindor by painting the walls in sunny yellow and spreading dark brown carpets on the floor. She shone with energy, infecting everyone around her with efficiency. Minerva insisted with a grin that marriage definitely changed people and sometimes even for the better. Snape ignored her comments. What kind of family idyll could there be if he and Hermione fought three times a day, and, not getting to any conclusion, in the end, they went to sleep in separate bedrooms?
He certainly did not imagine his family life that way.
Moreover, it would be foolish to say that, in all his life, Snape ever thought about the happiness of a family man. The very idea went against his outlook on life, difficult fate, and general principles.
Perhaps, in the years of his naive youth, he still thought about getting married one day and getting an heir or heiress, but the subsequent service to Voldemort, war, espionage, and endless life debts, showed him how unreal his dreams were.
In addition, he and Hermione had not yet managed to get close enough for their union to be considered successful.
He was tired of constantly bickering with her. Sometimes Snape thought that this entire Ministry-imposed marriage was a huge mistake in his life, in its endless foolishness comparable only to his accepting the Dark Mark. He understood that he did not make his wife happy, and instead of taking her to a frank conversation, he preferred to remain silent and do nothing. Hermione for her part risked her life daily at work that was meaningless, in his opinion, and fought for the rights of those who did not need her help or her sympathy.
Hermione secretly dreamed of having a baby. She never voiced her wishes to Snape, but in those rare moments when they managed to make love, instead of making endless war, he heard her whisper: "If we ever have a daughter, we'll call her Eileen Astra. Eileen Astra Snape. I like that".
She was jealous of her new surname, not hesitating to prove to Kingsley himself that her name was now Hermione Snape, and the hackneyed "Miss Granger" became the annals of history.
Snape did not understand the surrealism of what was happening. An exemplary wife waiting for her husband to come home in the evenings, children calling him dad ... he refused to believe in the likelihood of such an outcome. And at the same time, Lupin was constantly looming before Snape's eyes, telling tales of Teddy's tricks all day long.
Severus didn't know how to treat the werewolf. It was not in his competence to condemn and seek justice, everyone paid for their sins in their own time, but looking at how Remus was babysitting his little son, Snape understood that Lupin, after all, snatched his chance for happiness from the very hands of fate.
Severus owed something to the werewolf. Not that he was going to acknowledge his merits, but still. It was Lupin who saved Minerva McGonagall during the Battle of Hogwarts, losing sight of his own wife for just a second. Snape recalled how he once succumbed to a sentimental impulse and arranged a drinking bout with the werewolf in the past: both made mistakes, sometimes fatal, both missed their chances in life, both tried to save, but could not.
Although, while Snape jumped from the frying pan and into the fire, trying to change his own unfortunate past, Lupin devoted his life to his son, leaving the chance for happiness in the past.
Even now, Severus recalled his not-too-happy past with Hermione and knew that he had to try. Even for the sake of those few joyful moments that they had. That autumn, the last autumn before the tragedy, was still lingering before Snape's inner gaze. It was a beautiful autumn. The aroma of apples was in the air, the jam was being cooked in the kitchen, and Hermione grabbed his hand and dragged him to the edge of the Forbidden Forest: to read, relax and enjoy life.
"I don't care that you are working on the theses and have to prepare lectures for the seventh-year students, life flies by while you pore over papers!" Hermione declared, her hands on her hips, and stood stubbornly in front of Snape.
"I never noticed such idleness in you before, Miss Granger," Snape grumbled without looking up.
"Your life is passing by, Mr. Snape," Hermione said in tune and summoned a picnic basket. "As for the theses, you know, they can be finished in the fresh air. Come on, Severus."
Snape thoughtfully watched his wife's excessive enthusiasm for a while, and having found no better solution, he decided to succumb to Hermione's provocation.
The autumn forest was full of bright colors, filled with aromas of herbs and a smell of approaching fog, which would surely come from the mountains in the evening. It was warm, the setting sun only intensified the bright range of yellowing leaves, giving a feeling of melancholy and admiration for the change of seasons, forgotten over the years.
Hermione stretched out on the checkered bedspread and patted next to her, inviting Snape to join her. He reluctantly settled under a nearby juniper and pretended to be passionate about working on his research. Hermione glared at him and moved closer, unceremoniously placing her head in his lap. He had to roll his eyes in indignation and move the folder aside so as not to hide the sun from her.
"Can you read to me? Pretty please…"
And how was there to refuse when she made him puppy eyes and smiled so touchingly?
"Are you sure you want to listen to a lecture on the application of the third law of Arithmancy to Potion Making?"
"I don't care, I love your intonations," Hermione replied boldly, making herself comfortable and closing her eyes.
So they spent several hours: Snape read, Hermione listened, occasionally inserting witty comments and making observations on the case.
Reluctantly, Snape admitted that he even enjoyed spending time with her. She was a worthy companion, equal to him in intelligence and level of education. Even though Hermione sometimes lacked his ability to see the essence of things and calculate future moves, either in life or in Potions, she more than compensated for her lack of ability to quickly grasp new information and notice details.
On the way back, when Snape carried a picnic basket like a gentleman and walked Hermione by the hand, preventing her from tripping over a snag, she bent over the bluebells that grew here, by the magic of the Forest preserved their freshness until the beginning of autumn.
"I love these flowers, my dad used to give them to my mom for the holidays," Hermione said, smiling sadly.
Snape knew that she had never been able to help her parents, but he didn't bother asking questions.
"Thank you for agreeing to spend this afternoon with me. My parents and I always celebrated the end of summer in the forest, at a picnic, and I wanted to have a dear person with me on this day of sad memories."
Did she consider him a close person? Did he hear right? How could he deserve her recognition, if the only thing they did was constant bickering and reproaching each other?
On the way to the castle, Hermione hugged Snape's arm and pressed her cheek to his shoulder.
"Please don't call me Miss Granger again, even if you want to annoy me. My name is Madame Snape."
The Marriage Act was due to be passed tomorrow night, and Snape was determined to give Miss Granger the name she so longed for.