Hermione was familiar with the disorienting spinning involved with Floo
travel and had apprehensively nerved herself to endure it. If anything,
Apparating was worse. Instead of her body moving, she felt her feet remain
firmly on the ground as the world around her swooped and turned, things
rushing past her too quickly to see but leaving an lurid, multi-colored
blur. She gulped and closed her eyes, willing her stomach to behave itself
as she really did not think Severus Snape would appreciate her being sick
all over him.
With her eyes closed, she was left with only the whizzing noises in her ears and the warm, firm grip of Snape's hands on hers. She concentrated on that, hoping it would be over before she lost all feeling in her fingers.
"You look positively green, Miss Granger. Are you all right?" Snape's voice sounded concerned, and she cautiously opened one eye to see his dark eyes peering at her with concern. Over his shoulder she could see Tom, the wizened barkeep of the Leaky Cauldron, putting a large plate of breakfast and a pint glass in front of a wizard who looked as though he'd been crawling through ditches all night. The heavy timber construction of the Leaky Cauldron surrounded her on all sides.
"I'm fine, really," she assured him, swallowing carefully and slowly opening both eyes. "But you should be very, very glad I haven't eaten much breakfast."
"I see," he commented, the corner of his mouth quirking up, and she found herself smiling back. He looked much younger without his habitual scowl, and even better when his eyes danced with the understanding that she'd nearly decorated his front. As if he'd just remembered he was holding her hands, he dropped them and nodded towards the entrance to Diagon Alley.
The gate was open to morning traffic and the main alley lay before them, only sparsely populated with older witches and wizards, none of whom seemed to be in any great hurry. Here and there a younger witch shepherded two or three very young children. One was scolding a dirty-faced little boy in a freshly torn cloak, and Hermione looked at them with a growing sense of realization that she might very well be doing that same thing in a few years.
Snape took her elbow, and she allowed him to steer her towards the center of the shopping district where various stores displayed robes in their front windows. He towed her past Madame Malkin's without a second thought and down a narrow side street to a smaller shop. A bright brass plaque on the front, embellished with more curlicues than strictly necessary, proclaimed it as Seignior Vesperatus's Robes for the Genteel Witch or Wizard. The bell above the door chimed richly as he opened it for her.
"Yes, sir?" murmured a breathy voice which reminded Hermione uncomfortably of Professor Trelawney. "What service may we perform for you today?"
The saleswitch who gracefully stepped out of the shadows was tall and painfully thin, but there was a polished hardness around the woman's smile that made Hermione uneasy. The woman's robes had to have cost more than Hermione's entire budget for the last school year.
Snape barely met the woman's eye, instead looking around as if he could see nothing that might possibly meet his standards. At last he gave the saleswitch a glance. "This young lady is expecting. She requires a new set of robes to see her through the next few months, ones that will allow for..." His hand made a vague gesture towards Hermione's middle section. "Expansion."
"Of course," agreed the woman, just barely this side of gushing. "If you'll follow me, madam. We have a lovely selection of spring items just in."
With a desperate glance towards Snape, Hermione trailed after the elaborately gesturing witch. Several robes were soon presented, some of which she rejected as plainly silly, but she could not help but admire a few choices that were exquisite. When she'd gone through the entire display, the saleswitch suddenly remembered another piece that she declared Hermione would be devastated to have missed and disappeared into the back room. Snape walked up behind her as Hermione was looking at another.
"Are you finding anything suitable?" he asked in a low voice, for once not startling her as she fondled one of the garments draped over a gilt chair.
"Finding things that are incredibly beautiful, yes. I'm not so sure about suitable. After all, I'm going to be wearing my school robes most of the time, so I really don't need much. And look at these!" she insisted, holding up one robe. A lovely deep rose color, it featured an empire waist, where contrasting rosettes hid discreet gathers of additional material and gave it a graceful appearance.
"It's quite attractive, and would go well with your coloring. You should get it," he told her.
Hermione made an impatient noise. "There are no price tags on these, Professor. I haven't any idea how much they cost, but I'll wager it's a great deal more than ten Galleons!"
Snape merely gave her the same look that quelled her in class, but she did not budge. "There's no reason for me to buy anything this expensive!" she insisted in an undertone.
"I was under the impression that I was footing the bill this morning, Hermione. She'll take the pink, and the black one," he stated in a louder voice, looking over her shoulder to the saleswitch who had returned with another set of robes over her arm. "Do you like that one as well, Miss Granger?"
He took her agonized silence as assent, and picked up two more from the small chair. "These are all excellent choices. We'll take the lot," he ordered, and the woman started slightly before taking the fabric from Snape's hands. She gave him a simpering smile, but her gaze returned to Hermione, flickering back and forth between her waistline and her hand.
"Miss Granger," she drawled, questioningly, and an ugly sneer appeared before sliding into a condescending smirk. "If there is nothing else Miss wishes to see?"
The unusual emphasis on the Miss caused Hermione to pause, until she realized the saleswitch was pointed looking at her bare left hand.
"No, thank you," she replied with as much dignity as she could. Deliberately she pulled her cloak off the hook where she'd hung it earlier and swung it around her shoulders. "I believe we've wasted enough money here today," she added, and the older woman sniffed with disdain.
Drawn from the contemplation of a finely embroidered vest worn by a man- shaped wire birdcage, Severus gave Hermione a glance for her uncharacteristic comment but said nothing as he followed the saleswitch to the front of the store. The garments were swiftly and roughly folded and stuffed into a fancy box with the boutique's name on it. He frowned at the untidy package, but signed the sales slip and ran the tip of his wand across it, authorizing the withdrawal from his Gringotts account.
His frown grew as the witch behind the counter ignored Hermione's perfunctory thank-you as she took the package. It was not until the woman sniffed once more and suggested that another establishment further down the Alley might better meet the young miss's future needs that he understood the woman's attitude. The disapproval in her voice was palatable.
Only Neville Longbottom had ever been priviledged to see the storm of outrage that came over his features as the situation became clear to him.
"Don't," Hermione said quietly, laying her hand on his arm as he opened his mouth, and she nearly flinched as his anger focused on her. "It's not worth it, really. Madame Pomfrey mentioned that something like this might happen."
"How dare she!" he thundered, shooting a deadly glare at the stiff-backed woman pointedly ignoring them behind the counter.
"There's no point," Hermione stressed. "Are you going to tell her how I got this way? The best assumption she can make is that I'm your mistress, and it goes rapidly downhill from there."
"The point, Miss Granger," he outlined in scathing tones, "is that I have spent countless Galleons in this establishment, a trend which shall forthwith come to a screeching halt. How dare that overblown sow look down on you?"
"How dare she disapprove of my having an illegitimate baby?" Hermione asked, resigned. "It's not easily accepted, even in the Muggle world. I still haven't figured out a way to tell my parents about this, and I'm fast running out of time."
Refusing to say another word, Snape took the large box from Hermione and escorted her back to the main thoroughfare. Several stops later, he had apparently dismissed the rude treatment from his thoughts and concentrated on the task at hand. In true male fashion, he had them in and out of the shops before Hermione had a chance to see what was what, but the purchases were quick.
When she slipped on a patch of ice, he took exception to the scuffed condition of Hermione's boots and backtracked to a cobbler's shop. In only a few moments he'd picked out a new pair and had them on her feet, paid for them over her objections and had them both back out on the street without giving her the time to properly appreciate the other shoes offered for sale.
At the establishment showing a variety of rather racy undergarments in their window, Snape had hesitated before telling her to get whatever she fancied, and to let him know when to come in to sign the receipt. For a moment she had the impression that he was about to hand her his wand, but that was as unlikely as his coming in to help her select new brassieres.
As school uniforms were something of a necessity, they did end up at Madame Malkin's. When Hermione picked up several larger school sweaters, Madame Malkin herself noticed Hermione's impending motherhood and mentioned, rather discretely, a pattern she had available for sleeveless dresses. The dressmaker quickly whipped up a set, each with a proper uniform skirt but without a waistband to constrict. With a sweater over the top they were perfectly within regulations.
"You're not the first young lady in her last year of school to be in your situation," Madame Malkin confided in an undertone. "Word does get 'round, and most of them owl me."
After declaring more than once that she'd bought everything she could possibly need and then some, Hermione finally convinced Snape she was finished. He insisted on carrying most of her packages, although he drew the line at the pink bag from the lingerie store. He also turned a deaf ear to her suggestion that he buy himself something - anything - as long as it wasn't either black or white.
"You needn't take too deep a plunge," Hermione assured him. "Maybe try a shirt like that." She pointed at a window display featuring a shirt in a light oatmeal shade. "Too much color at once could put you in shock."
"Ha. I have a green and silver scarf to wear to Quidditch games. That should be sufficient. Besides, my cloak is gray."
"Gray doesn't count. I dare you to buy a green neck-cloth."
"Miss Granger," he growled, and got a smile in return.
"Double dare you."
Snape ignored her and led the way through Diagon Alley with his aloof dignity intact despite the stack of packages he carried. Outside one rather dreary looking shop he paused, then looked at Hermione.
"If I might beg your indulgence, Miss Granger, I'd like to stop here. We shouldn't be too long."
Having seen the mortar and pestle symbol on the sign-board above the door, Hermione agreed readily. Inside the walls were covered in jars and bins of every size, and she breathed deeply the varied exotic smells of a full alchemist's supply house. Snape left their packages in a heap on a chair by the window where they'd be out of the way, and began to browse the shelves.
Hermone tagged along behind Snape, listening to his comments, asking the occasional question, until he came to the end of the row and the last shelf.
"Too bad, really," he commented blandly. "This is a new shop, but they don't appear to have anything beyond the usual."
"Did you ask?"
Snape lowered his eyelids at her, an expression that used to make her quiver with fear, but now earned him a look of speculative challenge before she turned with a deliberate flounce and sought out the attendant.
"Excuse me," she commented to the gangly youth stocking a shelf. "The Potions Master was wondering if you had any more selection than what you've got out on the shelves."
"Potions Master." repeated the youth, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed heavily as he took in Severus' long, dark and imposing figure. "Just one moment, please."
The young man disappeared into the back of the shop, and Snape gave Hermione another repressive look. It lifted, however, as the youth returned with another man, this one much older and wearing spectacles to go with his white hair.
"You are the Master asking to see the rest of my wares?" the old man asked sharply. At Severus' nod, he plunged a hand into the pocket of his apron. "This way, then."
The key and an accompanying charm unlocked the heavy door at the back wall of the shop. Stepping inside, Hermione knew this was something special when Severus drew a sharp breath and the fine lines around his eyes creased like a predator scenting blood.
"Do not touch anything you do not recognize," was the only admonishment he gave her, and led the way further in. Labyrinthine rows lit by small oil lamps offered a selection of things Hermione had never seen and only read about, or in some cases never even heard of. Snape kept up a rapid interrogation of the shopkeeper, who revealed he was an alchemist. He hovered at Snape's elbow, whispering about this ingredient or that's abilities and the methods used to harvest and preserve others.
Hermione lost track of time completely as she listened intently to the two men discussing the potions they'd brewed and the experiments they'd fiddled with. They had Hermione's complete, formidible attention as they talked, and she was aware of the honor as the two men answered her questions and either agreeing with or correcting her rapid conjecture on combinations, side effects, and brewing techniques. Snape occasionally requested the bagging of certain items, and at other times merely showed her the contents of the bins and racks, enumerating the various uses and potions of each substance.
When at last they were through, Snape settled his bill with the old man, then offered his hand and thanks for achieving such an extraordinary establishment. Hermione hid a smile as she moved to retrieve her forgotten packages, thinking he was a bit like a third-year at his maiden visit to Honeydukes. She bent over to pick up the bags on the floor and swayed as a sudden dizziness swept over her.
"Hermione!" Snape's voice was sharp with concern, and the packages tumbled to the floor as he caught her and half-carried her to the nearby bench.
Hermione gasped softly as the world dipped alarmingly a red haze obscuring her vision. She was aware of a strong arm was around her, holding her tightly, and distantly heard Snape issue a curt demand. A tangy, pungent aroma burned her nose and reached her spinning mind, bringing her back to awareness. The movement of Snape's free hand as it discarded the crushed herb was the first thing she focused on. The second was the realization that she was slumped against his body, his arm tightly around her.
"Is your lady going to be alright, sir?" inquired the alchemist.
"She'll be fine, I believe," Snape responded absently, studying Hermione's eyes critically. "I fear I've kept her on her feet far too long." His hand stroked the side of her face gently. "You even told me you'd neglected to eat anything substantial for breakfast, and it's after one o'clock already. No doubt a meal will help you immensely."
She nodded in agreement, still feeling bemused and unsteady. The alchemist swiftly volunteered to have their packages sent to their home, but Hermione only vaguely paid attention as Snape directing them to be delivered to Hogwarts and Madame Pomfrey's attention. Her entire awareness seemed to be centered on the muscular arm holding her shoulders and the warm hand that had descended onto her curved stomach, protectively cupping the swell of her belly. She wanted nothing more than to bury her face in his shoulder and remain in this safe harbor.
With careful solicitude, Snape helped her to her feet and kept a supporting hand under her elbow as he walked her towards the Leaky Cauldron. Within minutes, a cup of tea with more sugar than she actually preferred was pressed on her. Fortunately he did not insist on ordering for her, but he did give her a stern look until she accepted a cup of beefy soup along with her sandwich and chips. A large glass of water appeared as well, and she drank it without complaint.
Snape spoke only a few monotone words to her as they ate. He appeared preoccupied, and she felt too embarrassed at having actually fainted to feel comfortable starting a conversation. A scowl came and went on his features, and the few times his gaze fell on her she felt distinctly uneasy. She ate her lunch and watched the other customers, trying not to irritate him.
"Miss Granger?"
Hermione drew back her wandering wits and noticed that he had finished his meal. She swallowed hard and pushed the remains of her sandwich away. "I'm ready if you are, sir."
"Hermione." He reached out and stilled her hand as she made to leave the table. He seemed fascinated with their two hands on the heavy wooden table surface, and stared at them for several long moments.
"Will you marry me?"
With her eyes closed, she was left with only the whizzing noises in her ears and the warm, firm grip of Snape's hands on hers. She concentrated on that, hoping it would be over before she lost all feeling in her fingers.
"You look positively green, Miss Granger. Are you all right?" Snape's voice sounded concerned, and she cautiously opened one eye to see his dark eyes peering at her with concern. Over his shoulder she could see Tom, the wizened barkeep of the Leaky Cauldron, putting a large plate of breakfast and a pint glass in front of a wizard who looked as though he'd been crawling through ditches all night. The heavy timber construction of the Leaky Cauldron surrounded her on all sides.
"I'm fine, really," she assured him, swallowing carefully and slowly opening both eyes. "But you should be very, very glad I haven't eaten much breakfast."
"I see," he commented, the corner of his mouth quirking up, and she found herself smiling back. He looked much younger without his habitual scowl, and even better when his eyes danced with the understanding that she'd nearly decorated his front. As if he'd just remembered he was holding her hands, he dropped them and nodded towards the entrance to Diagon Alley.
The gate was open to morning traffic and the main alley lay before them, only sparsely populated with older witches and wizards, none of whom seemed to be in any great hurry. Here and there a younger witch shepherded two or three very young children. One was scolding a dirty-faced little boy in a freshly torn cloak, and Hermione looked at them with a growing sense of realization that she might very well be doing that same thing in a few years.
Snape took her elbow, and she allowed him to steer her towards the center of the shopping district where various stores displayed robes in their front windows. He towed her past Madame Malkin's without a second thought and down a narrow side street to a smaller shop. A bright brass plaque on the front, embellished with more curlicues than strictly necessary, proclaimed it as Seignior Vesperatus's Robes for the Genteel Witch or Wizard. The bell above the door chimed richly as he opened it for her.
"Yes, sir?" murmured a breathy voice which reminded Hermione uncomfortably of Professor Trelawney. "What service may we perform for you today?"
The saleswitch who gracefully stepped out of the shadows was tall and painfully thin, but there was a polished hardness around the woman's smile that made Hermione uneasy. The woman's robes had to have cost more than Hermione's entire budget for the last school year.
Snape barely met the woman's eye, instead looking around as if he could see nothing that might possibly meet his standards. At last he gave the saleswitch a glance. "This young lady is expecting. She requires a new set of robes to see her through the next few months, ones that will allow for..." His hand made a vague gesture towards Hermione's middle section. "Expansion."
"Of course," agreed the woman, just barely this side of gushing. "If you'll follow me, madam. We have a lovely selection of spring items just in."
With a desperate glance towards Snape, Hermione trailed after the elaborately gesturing witch. Several robes were soon presented, some of which she rejected as plainly silly, but she could not help but admire a few choices that were exquisite. When she'd gone through the entire display, the saleswitch suddenly remembered another piece that she declared Hermione would be devastated to have missed and disappeared into the back room. Snape walked up behind her as Hermione was looking at another.
"Are you finding anything suitable?" he asked in a low voice, for once not startling her as she fondled one of the garments draped over a gilt chair.
"Finding things that are incredibly beautiful, yes. I'm not so sure about suitable. After all, I'm going to be wearing my school robes most of the time, so I really don't need much. And look at these!" she insisted, holding up one robe. A lovely deep rose color, it featured an empire waist, where contrasting rosettes hid discreet gathers of additional material and gave it a graceful appearance.
"It's quite attractive, and would go well with your coloring. You should get it," he told her.
Hermione made an impatient noise. "There are no price tags on these, Professor. I haven't any idea how much they cost, but I'll wager it's a great deal more than ten Galleons!"
Snape merely gave her the same look that quelled her in class, but she did not budge. "There's no reason for me to buy anything this expensive!" she insisted in an undertone.
"I was under the impression that I was footing the bill this morning, Hermione. She'll take the pink, and the black one," he stated in a louder voice, looking over her shoulder to the saleswitch who had returned with another set of robes over her arm. "Do you like that one as well, Miss Granger?"
He took her agonized silence as assent, and picked up two more from the small chair. "These are all excellent choices. We'll take the lot," he ordered, and the woman started slightly before taking the fabric from Snape's hands. She gave him a simpering smile, but her gaze returned to Hermione, flickering back and forth between her waistline and her hand.
"Miss Granger," she drawled, questioningly, and an ugly sneer appeared before sliding into a condescending smirk. "If there is nothing else Miss wishes to see?"
The unusual emphasis on the Miss caused Hermione to pause, until she realized the saleswitch was pointed looking at her bare left hand.
"No, thank you," she replied with as much dignity as she could. Deliberately she pulled her cloak off the hook where she'd hung it earlier and swung it around her shoulders. "I believe we've wasted enough money here today," she added, and the older woman sniffed with disdain.
Drawn from the contemplation of a finely embroidered vest worn by a man- shaped wire birdcage, Severus gave Hermione a glance for her uncharacteristic comment but said nothing as he followed the saleswitch to the front of the store. The garments were swiftly and roughly folded and stuffed into a fancy box with the boutique's name on it. He frowned at the untidy package, but signed the sales slip and ran the tip of his wand across it, authorizing the withdrawal from his Gringotts account.
His frown grew as the witch behind the counter ignored Hermione's perfunctory thank-you as she took the package. It was not until the woman sniffed once more and suggested that another establishment further down the Alley might better meet the young miss's future needs that he understood the woman's attitude. The disapproval in her voice was palatable.
Only Neville Longbottom had ever been priviledged to see the storm of outrage that came over his features as the situation became clear to him.
"Don't," Hermione said quietly, laying her hand on his arm as he opened his mouth, and she nearly flinched as his anger focused on her. "It's not worth it, really. Madame Pomfrey mentioned that something like this might happen."
"How dare she!" he thundered, shooting a deadly glare at the stiff-backed woman pointedly ignoring them behind the counter.
"There's no point," Hermione stressed. "Are you going to tell her how I got this way? The best assumption she can make is that I'm your mistress, and it goes rapidly downhill from there."
"The point, Miss Granger," he outlined in scathing tones, "is that I have spent countless Galleons in this establishment, a trend which shall forthwith come to a screeching halt. How dare that overblown sow look down on you?"
"How dare she disapprove of my having an illegitimate baby?" Hermione asked, resigned. "It's not easily accepted, even in the Muggle world. I still haven't figured out a way to tell my parents about this, and I'm fast running out of time."
Refusing to say another word, Snape took the large box from Hermione and escorted her back to the main thoroughfare. Several stops later, he had apparently dismissed the rude treatment from his thoughts and concentrated on the task at hand. In true male fashion, he had them in and out of the shops before Hermione had a chance to see what was what, but the purchases were quick.
When she slipped on a patch of ice, he took exception to the scuffed condition of Hermione's boots and backtracked to a cobbler's shop. In only a few moments he'd picked out a new pair and had them on her feet, paid for them over her objections and had them both back out on the street without giving her the time to properly appreciate the other shoes offered for sale.
At the establishment showing a variety of rather racy undergarments in their window, Snape had hesitated before telling her to get whatever she fancied, and to let him know when to come in to sign the receipt. For a moment she had the impression that he was about to hand her his wand, but that was as unlikely as his coming in to help her select new brassieres.
As school uniforms were something of a necessity, they did end up at Madame Malkin's. When Hermione picked up several larger school sweaters, Madame Malkin herself noticed Hermione's impending motherhood and mentioned, rather discretely, a pattern she had available for sleeveless dresses. The dressmaker quickly whipped up a set, each with a proper uniform skirt but without a waistband to constrict. With a sweater over the top they were perfectly within regulations.
"You're not the first young lady in her last year of school to be in your situation," Madame Malkin confided in an undertone. "Word does get 'round, and most of them owl me."
After declaring more than once that she'd bought everything she could possibly need and then some, Hermione finally convinced Snape she was finished. He insisted on carrying most of her packages, although he drew the line at the pink bag from the lingerie store. He also turned a deaf ear to her suggestion that he buy himself something - anything - as long as it wasn't either black or white.
"You needn't take too deep a plunge," Hermione assured him. "Maybe try a shirt like that." She pointed at a window display featuring a shirt in a light oatmeal shade. "Too much color at once could put you in shock."
"Ha. I have a green and silver scarf to wear to Quidditch games. That should be sufficient. Besides, my cloak is gray."
"Gray doesn't count. I dare you to buy a green neck-cloth."
"Miss Granger," he growled, and got a smile in return.
"Double dare you."
Snape ignored her and led the way through Diagon Alley with his aloof dignity intact despite the stack of packages he carried. Outside one rather dreary looking shop he paused, then looked at Hermione.
"If I might beg your indulgence, Miss Granger, I'd like to stop here. We shouldn't be too long."
Having seen the mortar and pestle symbol on the sign-board above the door, Hermione agreed readily. Inside the walls were covered in jars and bins of every size, and she breathed deeply the varied exotic smells of a full alchemist's supply house. Snape left their packages in a heap on a chair by the window where they'd be out of the way, and began to browse the shelves.
Hermone tagged along behind Snape, listening to his comments, asking the occasional question, until he came to the end of the row and the last shelf.
"Too bad, really," he commented blandly. "This is a new shop, but they don't appear to have anything beyond the usual."
"Did you ask?"
Snape lowered his eyelids at her, an expression that used to make her quiver with fear, but now earned him a look of speculative challenge before she turned with a deliberate flounce and sought out the attendant.
"Excuse me," she commented to the gangly youth stocking a shelf. "The Potions Master was wondering if you had any more selection than what you've got out on the shelves."
"Potions Master." repeated the youth, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed heavily as he took in Severus' long, dark and imposing figure. "Just one moment, please."
The young man disappeared into the back of the shop, and Snape gave Hermione another repressive look. It lifted, however, as the youth returned with another man, this one much older and wearing spectacles to go with his white hair.
"You are the Master asking to see the rest of my wares?" the old man asked sharply. At Severus' nod, he plunged a hand into the pocket of his apron. "This way, then."
The key and an accompanying charm unlocked the heavy door at the back wall of the shop. Stepping inside, Hermione knew this was something special when Severus drew a sharp breath and the fine lines around his eyes creased like a predator scenting blood.
"Do not touch anything you do not recognize," was the only admonishment he gave her, and led the way further in. Labyrinthine rows lit by small oil lamps offered a selection of things Hermione had never seen and only read about, or in some cases never even heard of. Snape kept up a rapid interrogation of the shopkeeper, who revealed he was an alchemist. He hovered at Snape's elbow, whispering about this ingredient or that's abilities and the methods used to harvest and preserve others.
Hermione lost track of time completely as she listened intently to the two men discussing the potions they'd brewed and the experiments they'd fiddled with. They had Hermione's complete, formidible attention as they talked, and she was aware of the honor as the two men answered her questions and either agreeing with or correcting her rapid conjecture on combinations, side effects, and brewing techniques. Snape occasionally requested the bagging of certain items, and at other times merely showed her the contents of the bins and racks, enumerating the various uses and potions of each substance.
When at last they were through, Snape settled his bill with the old man, then offered his hand and thanks for achieving such an extraordinary establishment. Hermione hid a smile as she moved to retrieve her forgotten packages, thinking he was a bit like a third-year at his maiden visit to Honeydukes. She bent over to pick up the bags on the floor and swayed as a sudden dizziness swept over her.
"Hermione!" Snape's voice was sharp with concern, and the packages tumbled to the floor as he caught her and half-carried her to the nearby bench.
Hermione gasped softly as the world dipped alarmingly a red haze obscuring her vision. She was aware of a strong arm was around her, holding her tightly, and distantly heard Snape issue a curt demand. A tangy, pungent aroma burned her nose and reached her spinning mind, bringing her back to awareness. The movement of Snape's free hand as it discarded the crushed herb was the first thing she focused on. The second was the realization that she was slumped against his body, his arm tightly around her.
"Is your lady going to be alright, sir?" inquired the alchemist.
"She'll be fine, I believe," Snape responded absently, studying Hermione's eyes critically. "I fear I've kept her on her feet far too long." His hand stroked the side of her face gently. "You even told me you'd neglected to eat anything substantial for breakfast, and it's after one o'clock already. No doubt a meal will help you immensely."
She nodded in agreement, still feeling bemused and unsteady. The alchemist swiftly volunteered to have their packages sent to their home, but Hermione only vaguely paid attention as Snape directing them to be delivered to Hogwarts and Madame Pomfrey's attention. Her entire awareness seemed to be centered on the muscular arm holding her shoulders and the warm hand that had descended onto her curved stomach, protectively cupping the swell of her belly. She wanted nothing more than to bury her face in his shoulder and remain in this safe harbor.
With careful solicitude, Snape helped her to her feet and kept a supporting hand under her elbow as he walked her towards the Leaky Cauldron. Within minutes, a cup of tea with more sugar than she actually preferred was pressed on her. Fortunately he did not insist on ordering for her, but he did give her a stern look until she accepted a cup of beefy soup along with her sandwich and chips. A large glass of water appeared as well, and she drank it without complaint.
Snape spoke only a few monotone words to her as they ate. He appeared preoccupied, and she felt too embarrassed at having actually fainted to feel comfortable starting a conversation. A scowl came and went on his features, and the few times his gaze fell on her she felt distinctly uneasy. She ate her lunch and watched the other customers, trying not to irritate him.
"Miss Granger?"
Hermione drew back her wandering wits and noticed that he had finished his meal. She swallowed hard and pushed the remains of her sandwich away. "I'm ready if you are, sir."
"Hermione." He reached out and stilled her hand as she made to leave the table. He seemed fascinated with their two hands on the heavy wooden table surface, and stared at them for several long moments.
"Will you marry me?"