A/N: It's been a little while, but my health has been up and down, and I had a few other fics I was focusing on as well. So I'm sorry for the delay, but I hope this chapter brings joy to your holidays. Light on the angst this time (or as light as we can be for a story like this; I do refer to Hermione's parents being gone), a bit more of where they're at now. There are still lots of questions to be answered and we'll see them dig into their past more, but for now, a bit of breath.
per usual my photographic inspiration (and the push I needed to write this chapter) from my friend TheFrenchPress
Things became a little easier after that.
He still arrived unannounced and watched her work, but instead of leaving straight away, she'd often find him sitting up in her kitchen or library with a book.
It was a bit funny, though she wouldn't laugh at him lest she permanently put him off the habit, but it was a little funny that he chose to show up and sit in his old kitchen to read. He didn't seem to miss the house itself, but there was a comfort there that there hadn't been when they'd first reconnected. An ease just existing in the same place. It felt familiar. Good.
She started stocking tea she knew he liked. He commented on her fresh cut flowers.
"A beautiful gift," he said.
She smiled at him knowingly. "I picked them myself. My mother always said flowers livened up a house."
He nodded, considering this. "A smart woman."
Hermione sighed, the ache in her chest dull compared to years past, but never gone. "Yes, she was."
There was no need to explain. He knew what had happened to her parents after the war. He had found her crying in his lab one day. It was the only time he showed her how to make a potion not strictly on the apprentice schedule. An elixir to induce euphoria. He'd let her get drunk off it for one night and then she understood why she never would again.
The urge to kiss him that night had been almost overwhelming, but she knew if she'd made her move then, he wouldn't allow it. Wouldn't take her seriously. So she refrained.
Not that it went terribly well when it did happen, either.
Hermione shook her head, redirecting her thoughts to the present.
She sat their cups on the table, a plate of colorful homemade party rings between them. This had become their routine several days a week now. He would find her working, wait for her upstairs, and at teatime they would share a plate of biscuits between them while reading and sipping warm beverages. It gave her a companionship and stability she hadn't realized would be lacking when she chose to move alone to a small town in a secluded part of the world. And she was grateful for his presence.
Most importantly, she never asked why. She knew you never asked Severus Snape too many questions at once or else he was bound to disappear.
But that didn't bother Hermione. Though many, many unanswered questions danced through her mind—why had he sold the house, what happened in his lab, why was he suddenly being friendly to her, what were his plans—she let the warm team coat her throat and stem the tide of inquiries her younger self would be too eager to hold back.
She could be patient.