November 1997
"Master Headmaster has left the school, Professor," the high pitched voice of a school house elf -Winky? Blinky? Dinky? Merlin knows- interrupted Minerva's previous pensive state. "He's be saying you's to be in charge of school things until he's back."
"Is that all?" The elder witch inquired, not unkindly.
"Yes ma'am," bowed the creature.
"Thank you, then," her Scottish lilt dismissed, and, with a soft pop, the elf left her alone to her thoughts.
Of course, Minerve knew exactly where the Headmaster whisked himself away to on this occasion. Her mind's eye traveled from the drafty castle to a snow-covered domicile to the north, a red door greeting her musings. The most crucial meeting laid before Hermione. Words and letters, ancient magics and rituals, were all well and good, but the truest test of any couple laid in actually sharing the same air, the same space, and learning to tolerate those things which only time and company reveal.
Ardent words, though plainly spoken from such a normally eloquent and guarded man, still twirled in her mind. Never, in all her years of knowing him, did Minerva witness such a blunt, blatant explanation. No artifice emerged, only earnest emotion the likes she never thought Severus capable of displaying to others. So, she gave her daughter her blessing and prayed to any who would listen to protect the pair.
A soft chime echoed inside her head. Thoughts swirled together as fingers opened the soft leather of a familiar journal. Graceful, black lines curved into a single sentence.
He's here.
Thin lips pulled into a wistful smile. Leaning back into her wingback chair, a single thought emerged from the chaos of her mind. Good luck, lassie.
Pale hands clasped behind his back, hiding the tremor of anxiety and adrenaline. Here stood Severus, in a warm, inviting sitting room. Burgundies and creams adorned the walls and furnishings. Gold and bronze trimmings and metals glinted in the light, as small accent pieces of soft blue caught the eye. Large, comfortable sofas and chairs stood in front of a magnificent fireplace. Logs crackling from the flame's dance the only sound.
Severus hesitated to remember just how he arrived at such a sitting room. One moment, the velveteen bear hooked him through the navel and pulled him to what he could only imagine being from a fairytale. For a split moment, twinkling candlelights and warm, red door resembled an illustration from a fantastical childhood story. The howling gales of the Scottish north during November quickly reminded Severus of the reality. His current reality. He began the short trek up the gravel walkway only to be ushered by what he assumed to be the very pushy elves Hermione wrote.
'Follow me to the sitting room,' one said, as the other took his traveling cloak. 'Mistress will be right down,' another chimed in. Each crackle of the warm fire marked time. Both an infinity and no time at all, Severus could not quite figure out how to compose his mind. At that moment, the cowardly, flighty part of him itched to leave as soon as humanly possible. Yet, the truly magical part, fostered by years of dutiful service to the God and Goddess, felt the thrum of life and magic, her magic.
Everything stood still when the turn of the handle and a squeaky voice caught Severus' attention. He barely paid any mind to the small creature introducing his mistress, nor to her gentle request for a tea service to be brought. Dark eyes drank in the image of perfection, at least to him. Wild, bushy hair curled and framed her face, whiskey eyes twinkling with health and intelligence. One hand laid on her swollen stomach, larger than last he saw, while the other supported her back.
Like the gobsmacked idiot he was, Severus stood and watched as the elves fussed about. Just as comical to witness, he fought the twitch of a smile that threatened to break across his face. Her brows contracted as the elves imperiously instructed her to lay upon the sofa closest to the fire only to be swaddled up rather impressively. By the time he realized he stared at the whole proceedings with speaking, a rather satirical, arched brow greeted him.
"My apologies, Miss Granger," the formal words out of his lips before he consciously stopped their utterance.
"Very well, Headmaster," her response, grave as his own words with a sparkle of mischief. "I thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to meet with me."
"It was no trouble at all," Severus responded quickly, before taking a seat at her bidding. "I must thank you for allowing me the honor of your company."
"Come now," a tinkling laugh answered. "Are we going to speak like this the whole night? So stiff and formal, really."
"I'm afraid I'm not quite good at conversing more casually," admitted the dark haired man, a note of embarrassment coloring his normally silky tones. "I find most small talk to be remarkably mundane and uninteresting."
"You? I would never have guessed," Hermione quipped.
"Is that cheek?" He raised a single, black brow.
"And if it is?" Brown eyes drew Severus into their thrall. "Let us start again." She straightened up marginally, pulling her spine back and bestowed upon him a soft, sweet smile. "Hello, I am glad you made it safely. How have you been?"
"I-" he blinked for a moment, unable to put two and two together. Rare the person to accept him so quickly and unconditionally. Though, a voice in his mind mused, it had not been all that immediate. "To be quite frank, rather horrible." Hermione made to speak, but a pale hand stopped her. "However, that is not a subject I wish to broach at this time."
"Tell me, Headmaster, what do you wish to speak of?" Chocolate curls tumbled to the side, her head turned to listen.
"You know well what I wish to speak of, Hermione," her name a purr of velvet.
Eyes darkened and pulse skipped a beat. Male satisfaction welled up at the sight. He leaned back in the comfortable chair, and watched as the woman gathered herself. A slight furrow marked the observation. Even with what time he knew she turned in her third year -a decision Severus thoroughly chewed his previous employer on- Hermione, his Hermione, should not have been more than eighteen at the most. While appearing mature, he observed that no student reached physical maturity until several years out of Hogwarts. Before him sat a fully formed woman, no remnant of teenage youth clung to her frame.
"If you are done inspecting me, Severus," her sweet voice replied in kind, a shiver shooting up his spine, mouth drying at the sound of his name on her lips. "There is not a lack of subjects to discuss. Rather, where would you like to start?"
"I believe an explanation of how this happened would due," Severus murmured, watching her.
"Well, you see, when a man and a woman-" She began, the impish look in her eyes belying the serious expression upon her countenance.
"Not that," he scowled.
"You need to be a bit more specific," Hermione chuckled, leaning back once more on her sofa.
"You appear more physically mature," Severus carefully picked his words, hoping to not offend Hermione as he often did other women. "In comparison to your peers, even with what time you added in your third year."
"Ah, that," she sobered, hand reaching around her neck to a thin, golden chain. "What do you know about my third year?"
"According to the great poof himself, you only used a time turner, which Merlin knows how he got that approved, to attend every, single possible third year class," HIs dark eyes bored into Hermione, who returned a sheepish smile. A sudden flash of inspiration crashed through Severus' mind. "It never stopped with your third year, did it?"
"No, it did not," Hermione sighed, a faraway look in her eye.
"How old are you really?" Severus slowly inquired.
"Well, chronologically, I should be eighteen, being a September child and all," she began. "Adding in the initial ten months," Severus gaped. How did he never notice? "That would make me recently nineteen, moving my birthday back to November. Now, though," a slender finger tapped her chin, eyes calculating an invisible formula, "I am closer to twenty-four or twenty-five."
Severus thought himself observant. Within a single lesson, he learned all the tells of his students. In a single meeting, he could tell you just what people were thinking, and not from legilimency. A clench of the fingers, a minute twitch of a muscle, the jump of a pulse all told Severus just what the individual wanted to hide. Eyes can scan a room, remembering every detail.
For the majority of his life, Severus considered it a curse. Who would want to remember every whimper, scream, and plea from an abusive household? To this day, nightmares of his hellacious childhood woke up him in a cold sweat. Years taught him the difference between the vivid fabrication and hard reality, but that did not make the terror any less.
Hence, when Hermione added six years to her 'natural' age, Severus could do nothing but stare. How had he missed that?
"Pardon?" He blinked.
"Glamors, Severus," she sighed with a shake of her head. "It started so innocently, you know. 'You will watch out for Harry, won't you?' Of course, I would watch out for my bloody brother. After the whole fiasco with Professor Lupin," here, Severus winced at the terrifying memory of nearly dying to a werewolf. Again. "I wanted nothing to do with it. Gave Minerva her turner back and everything. Fourth year starts and it was normal until Crouch went and turned Harry's life arse over kettle. Again.
"Did you know, that night, Professor Dumbledore gave me my own?" she snorted, a derisive sound.
From the front of her turquoise robes, a small, golden pendant emerged. Delicate loops encircled a glittering hourglass, barely visible runes and patterns etched and engraved upon the surface. Never having seen one in person, Severus marveled at the contraption, so beautiful yet insidiously addictive. Dangerous. His God balked at the item, wanting nothing more than to rip it from his mate's pretty neck.
"Yeah, she wasn't too happy with it either," Hermione rolled her eyes, "However, it's safer with me."
Black hair fell forward. He thought about it, and realized, with the rest of the known time turners destroyed, the last remaining piece would cause quite the stir.
"I may have, kind of, tipped the shelf over. On purpose," She added. A raised brow aimed at the woman brought another sheepish blush to her face. "You can't tell me that allowing a ministry controlled by Him with time turners in his possession to be a good idea. I may be younger than you, but I am not completely inept or unobservant."
"I have never claimed anything to the contrary," Severus conceded, quickly turning his head when Hermione shot him an arched brow of her own.
"Infernal know-it-all does indicate the presence of intelligence, at the very least" her droll ripost.
Dark eyes glared, no heat behind the expression. A tinkling laugh filled the room, taking Severus' breath away. The whole experience, while pleasing, confounded him. Women did not find him witty, at least, he acknowledged, they did not understand his wit. Nor did they laugh so freely in his presence. Irritable moods, less than stellar appearances, and antisocial nature turned the fairer sex against him more often than not. Yet, here sat a woman who defied the odds. Miscalculated and misjudged, indeed.
"Like I said," Hermione sighed, gathering her thoughts, "Professor Dumbledore asked me to watch out for Harry, gave me a time turner, and said 'have at it.' Well, more or less." Curls bounced to the side at the tilt of her head. "I relived the day before the second trial quite more often than I'd like to admit, trying to find anything within Harry's skill range that would work. For the first and third tasks, it was more of a normal, relive twice sort of event. Added a year or so there, alone.
"Fifth year is when it truly started," a frown marred her face. "With Umbridge parading around the school, Professor gave me a hidden private quarters, off of Harry's map, and set me with an activatable portkey to a friend of his. Extra lessons, you see, to help Harry. Of course, I had to prod him out of his self-absorbed depression," whisky eyes rolled, and Severus snorted in return. "It worked out well, really. Distract the boys. Learn more about magic. Help Harry.
"By the end of that year, before Harry decided to not listen to reason -again, I had learned the basics of healing and some spell fusion, and, with OWLs done and out of the way, I was free to study more," Hermione shrugged, adjusting a woolen blanket around feet. "I relived sixth year, once as a normal student, once to study for my NEWTs, and twice more because Dumbledore wanted me to learn advanced arithmancy and potions.
"So, in total, six extra years of life," Hermione stated, matter-of-fact and open.
His mind whirled. The machinations of Albus Dumbledore were many and great, and stealing the childhood of a student was no new feat for the man. Yet, he never thought that his predecessor would play with time in such a way. Perhaps the most delicate, leaving the safety of the fabric of time to a mere child, albeit one more mature than the average student, risked more than just a war in Britain.
Graduated, echoed through his mind. Graduated, completed NEWTs, twenties. Repeated over and over through his head, Severus' body deflated in relief, in the simple joy of knowing that he did not bond to a student. Oh, he had accepted his mate in totality. Yet, the niggling morality and conscious still railed against the idea of being with a student. A weight lifted from his soul, one he never noticed before.
"Am I to understand that Albus Dumbledore encouraged you to use a time turner? Throughout your time at Hogwarts?" His voice, low and smooth, inquired.
"More like required," Hermione fiddled with the small, innocuous trinket. "He kept a log of how often I went and how long I turned. Towards the end of last year, in particular, he would send me back for the most inane of reasons."
"Dumbledore did become progressively less lucid," Severus murmured, thoughts racing.
"Ah, then that was not just my imagination," she leaned back, a thoughtful nibble on the lip catching his attention. "What he had Harry do, and planned, well, any rational, sane person would not assign an emotionally unstable teenager to do alone, hoping his two best friends actually go along on the grand quest."
"Yes, the man held his secrets close to the vest until the end," murmured the dark wizard. "I tried, multiple times, to wheedle information about what he wanted from you lot, but he remained firm."
"Of course he did," Hermione rolled her eyes once more, huffing an irritated sigh. "We can't possibly have someone well versed in dark magic and the dark arts as a resource while going on a scavenger hunt from hell. That would be too easy."
The bitter, hopeless note in her voice shocked Severus for a moment. Cynical, he believed in her. Yet, so despondent in one -well, perhaps not one so young, his mind supplied. Still, he knew Hermione Granger to be resilient, resourceful, and oddly opportunistic for a Gryffindor. Not that she would make a great Slytherin by any means, but, Severus allowed, she held more common sense and self control than many of her House. A frown etched upon his face once more, dark eyes regarding the woman. Just what could be so horrible to make her sound almost like him.
The idea to probe her mind flitted through his mind, but he brushed it off just as quickly. If she truly spent an extra six years learning from various masters and tutors, Dumbledore would see to her training in occlumency. Nevertheless, curiosity gnawed away at his mind. She mentioned the dark arts. Surely, with such a connection made, perhaps he could finally find out what the old poof schemed behind his back. Even halfway to the moon, Dumbledore's pragmatism impressed and scared Severus.
"And what, if I may ask, did he assign your little band of merry men to accomplish?" His silky voice curled around Hermione. A smirk tugged at the edge of his mouth at her delicate shiver.
"I see what you're about, Severus Snape," Hermione huffed, fighting to keep the desire that swirled in the room at bay. "Some subjects are best kept for the light of day, and I daresay this is one of them." The man conceded the point, with a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders, no longer hiding his smirk.
"And pray, madam, what do you wish to speak of if not the obvious?" Severus allowed himself to be distracted, if just for the time being.
Mischief sparkled in her eyes, twinkling in the warm light of the room. Damn Gryffindors and their twinkling eyes, a note of fondness coloring the observation. Dark eyes gravitated towards the pleasing curves of her neck, up the contour of her cheek to those impish, amber eyes. Pink lips tilted up in an answering smile, clearly pleased with his perusal.
"I don't know, what about something of a more personal nature," her voice caressed Severus' senses. "You have the advantage of knowing me for most of my life. Tell me about you."
A nervous gulp slipped down his throat, Adam's apple bobbing. True, their nightly visits and daily banter introduced one to the other, but the specifics… Logically, Severus expected this question, waiting for it with the dread of a secretive, private man. Yet, he owed this to the woman. Even if they were not bound by the Ancient Magics, Hermione deserved to know. His twisted morals could not allow the mother of his child to wonder if his nasty temper and unforgiving nature would be passed onto their son. A fortifying breath granted him the strength necessary to go on.
"I am, as I am sure Potter told you, a half-blood," and so he began.
Honey eyes took in the strained, far-away look of her mate as he spoke. Neither pretty nor pleasant, Hermione listened with rapt attention. Lank, raven locks swung forward, blocking her view of his face. An unconscious, defense mechanism, no doubt, her mind whirled. Expression and emotion, so prevalent in his normal form of speech, dwindled to a dull, almost monotonous account of his life. Perversely, the proper clipped tones of her professor gave way to blurred consonants of his childhood.
"My mother, Eileen Prince, was a pureblood from one of the lesser families," Severus sighed, looking into some distant memory. "She was intelligent but quiet and meek. A Slytherin, like the rest of the family. Too mousey to catch His attention, thankfully. A year after her graduation from Hogwarts, she attended one of the lesser festivals. There, she met a curious muggle by the name of Tobias Snape." He sneered, disgust written across his features.
"After the festival, they had one last roll in the hay, and hence I came to be," a pale hand rubbed his face, gripping the bridge of his prominent nose. "When she found out, she did the pureblood thing; went to him and begged him marriage. At that point, Tobias, my father, took her in, but he never trusted magic, swore it made him be with me mum.
"Needless to say, they weren't exactly a loving couple. Then, the mill workers started to go on strike, times were difficult, and my father turned to the drink," Severus sighed, the tired, lonely sound wrapping around Hermione's heart. "He blamed his witch of a wife, how dare they not have nice things? What use was magic if it couldn't give him anything he wanted? She bewitched him, saddled him with a freak of a child, and placed a curse on his job. So, he beat her. Raped her. Broke her. All in front of me, and, when he was done with her, turned to me. He blamed me for his misfortunes just as much as he did me mam.
"My home life, as such, was neither nice or pretty," hollow, black eyes stared into her amber pair.
No warmth or life flickered in his eyes, only desolate pain. A handkerchief dabbed at the corner of her eyes. Hermione viciously fought back the urge to cry, unfairly blaming her crazy hormones. She doubted that, without the dreams or the journals, a man as unreadable and secretive as Severus Snape would consider revealing any fraction of this to her. He pressed on, telling her of the downward spiral of his childhood.
"And then, one day, I met a girl in the park," he sighed. "Pretty as could be, and a witch. Imagine my surprise to meet someone like me in the middle of the most depressing muggle town imaginable. When some bullies tried to pick on her, I went and attempted to help. As with most things of that nature, I failed, but we became friends. I-I taught her about magic, what I knew, what my mother whispered to me when my father was otherwise occupied. We became friends, for a time.
"Who was she?" Hermione asked, delicate and careful of a blow-up.
"Lily," a heavy sigh answered. "Lily Evans Potter."
Hermione sat, stunned at the realization. Severus had been friends, and, if his narrative anything to go by, felt far more than that at one time, with Harry's mother. Puzzle pieces clicked into place. Whenever insulting Harry, he never mentioned the boy's mother. Always the arrogance of the father. The hatred that rolled off in waves since their first year. Especially if the rumors and stories she heard to be true. His childhood sweetheart in love and married to one of his primary tormentors. So lost in thought, Hermione almost missed as the dark wizard across from her spoke once more.
"Then, we went to Hogwarts," a mirthless laugh echoed in the quiet room.
For hours, he recounted the terror of his school days. Hermione could scarce comprehend how such malicious, dangerous bullying slipped past Dumbledore. Except, the nasty little voice in her head hissed, except that I can believe he never cared, or, more likely, encouraged the schism. How could someone, so omnipresent within the school, not know how much harm they were causing? I long suspected the philosopher's stone to be a test, a trap of some sort, to see how Harry would respond to a challenge.
A loud snort and huff answered the account of why Lily Evans ended her friendship with the man across from her. He noticed, dark brow arched in silent inquiry.
"She broke off a friendship that you two had for most of your life over a single word? How daft could she be?" Hermione rolled her eyes.
A look of confusion greeted those words, and Hermione silently thanked the God and Goddess. Going on a near-homicidal rage while pregnant ranked pretty high on the 'bad ideas' list.
"You said you apologize right after the incident, yes?" Raven hair swung in a nod. "More than once?" Another. "You slept outside the bloody portrait of the Fat Lady trying to beg for forgiveness? And she still said no?" A growl met the confirmation. "Lily Evans sounds like a vain, vindictive girl with no sense of loyalty or capacity for forgiveness."
"I beg your pardon?" Severus blinked, clearly confused by the outburst.
"Oh, come off it," Hermione scowled. "I've known the boys for half the time, and the things I've forgiven them for! Of course, you were hurting and embarrassed. If she were as compassionate or, hell, intelligent as everyone paints her to be, Lily would have figured out what the hell happened and forgiven you. It sounds like she wanted to be one of the popular girls by this time. You said she started abandoning your study sessions in favor of watching quidditch practice, yes?" He raised a brow, saying nothing more.
"And only went to them if she needed help, not to spend time with you?" The familiar scowl of her potions master spread upon his countenance with that question. "Don't give me that look, Severus. It's quite obvious, and I know you know it. You, at least, are intelligent enough to acknowledge it. If I can forgive Ronald for being an absolute prat and child, she could have forgiven a slip of the tongue you were groveling for."
"Be that as it may, she did not," his clipped tones answered.
"I never noticed," her tart retort began before a large yawn interrupted it.
"I have kept you up overlong," Severus frowned, studying her with his intense, dark gaze.
"Nonsense, I wanted to talk," she fought off another yawn, hand shooing away the notion. "Besides, Tilly would have fetched me by now otherwise."
Crack!
"Mistress must be going to bed, she must," the little elf in question commanded.
A mutinous glare glanced between the dark wizard and demanding creature. One appeared amused, the other earnestly firm. Arms in the air, she gave into the inevitable. She knew better than to expect Severus to help her. He told me as much, Hermione sighed.
"Come, we shall continue this tomorrow," Severus rose and offered her his arm. Momentarily caught off guard by the gallant gesture, he snorted. "I do have manners, Miss Gr- Hermione."
"I would never have guessed," her wry response. With a great sigh, Hermione stood slowly and accepted the proffered arm. "Merlin knows you never showed them in the Castle."
Warmth flooded Hermione, a knot untangling and relaxing in her stomach. Magic danced about, happy to find its mate once more. His dark gaze bore into her soul, soft, contemplative, with a spark of some undefinable emotion. She swallowed thickly, trying to regain her balance. How long they stood, simply looking at one another, Hermione did not know. The moment passed, fleeting and sweet before Tilly ushered the pair out of the parlor.
Companionable silence cocooned the pair as they meandered towards her wing. On occasion, Hermione pointed out rooms of interest. The music room and art studios, the library, a set of stairs that led up, and so on. Simple nods or sounds of understanding came from her mate. Soon, sooner than she wanted, they arrived at her door. Shyness, sudden and irrational, overflowed her.
A hand rested upon her swollen stomach, gently pressing where her restless son kicked. Lump in her throat, she gently, hesitantly, guided one of his larger ones. Dark eyes widened, darting down to the source of the sensation. Honey eyes observed her mate, his reaction, his reverence. Fire burned in the depths of his eyes when next they met her's. Taking her hand in one of his, he raised it to his lips and gave her knuckles a soft, fleeting kiss. Pleasure sparked through her body, reading the raw passion in those eyes. Leaning down, he placed an almost chaste kiss on her cheek.
"Good night, Hermione," his silky, smooth voice whispered into her ear, warm breath tickling her neck.
"Good night, Severus," her slightly breathy parting.
With an infuriating smirk, he turned and followed the bossy elf down the corridor into one of the guest rooms. In a daze, Hermione entered her own rooms and leaned against the door. If something as simple as kissing her knuckles and cheek, so tame comparatively, could heat her blood…
Bloody fucking hell, her mind supplied, as her nerves and excitement mixed together. When did he learn to do that?