Chapter Four – How they met.

It all belongs to Rowling, except what you don't recognize.

A/N:  I forgot that FF.net does not allow URLs, so the references I gave in the last chapters, including the Regency jokes, did not show up.  So sorry, and if anyone is dying for those references, please feel free to e-mail me.

He hadn't even had time to say goodbye to Hermione.  Strangely, it was because of his last mission that had met his wife…

November 1813:

The cough that had started as a tickle in his throat had taken on a life of it's own.  It was a creature now, heavy and dark, constricting his chest and mocking him with every breath.  Snape waited, hidden amid boxes of shipping on the dock, for the small rowboat that would take him to the ship returning him to England.  Snape smiled in spite of the pain and the wheezing.  He hadn't thought that he would have made it this far.

Two weeks ago he'd been in Leipzig with Lord Voldemort's forces.  The French were hopelessly outnumbered and began to exit from the town via the bridge over the river Elster.  He made it out by only a few seconds.  Even so the blast, coming from the bridge being prematurely blown up, had thrown him into the shallow, freezing waters of the river.

Soaking wet, he quickly scrambled up the bank and removed the letters of introduction and safe passage written to the Swedish Prince Bernadotte who was in charge of the British forces.  The letters were ruined and with them were ruined his chances of passing onto the Allies' side.  Fortunately, the other papers he had, the ones that would protect him from being killed by the French and the other paper giving the name of his valet and his home address in London-- should he wind up dead anyway, had been put into a special water proofed envelope and sewn into the lining of his cloak before he had even begun the mission.

Because of the loss of the free passage letters, he spent two weeks traveling quietly and carefully through Allied occupied territory.  Finally, he arrived at the small coastal town where his contact to the free trader vessel could be found.  After two days, he left his hidey-hole in an old, rotting, storage building and set off to his homeland.  He hoped he'd live long enough to die on England's sweet soil.  That's all he needed to do now that his job was over.  Napoleon and his strongest supporter, Voldemort, would never survive their losses at Leipzig.

He had no memory of the Channel crossing or retrieving his horse from the Rose and Fife's stable where it had been for the past few months.  In fact, the old nag he was given wasn't even the horse he'd boarded there. The pub's owner, Dedalus Diggle, realizing that he was dealing with a soon-to-be dead man, had decided to give himself a bit of profit by switching horses.  To give the man credit, he only decided to do so after Snape had stubbornly refused all offers of help or medical treatment.  

However, this little bamboozle probably saved Snape's life.

When the inevitable did happen and Snape passed out, Crookshanks took his rider directly to the home where he'd spent his productive years, the stables of Baronet Charles Granger.

Hermione went over to the lace curtained window to see what had the dogs so upset and gaped at the horse with a man slumped over it.  "Papa?"  It had been raining all day and the skies had only cleared as the sun was setting.  The beauty of the sunset was an odd contrast to the strange vision of a man lying half dead on the horse.

"I see him, Hermione." Granger was already at the door.  "Don't worry, dear.  Longbottom! Eh, Neville where have you got to?" Granger, a rather portly man, called to and was greeted by the gentle giant coming in from the pantry.

Together they brought in the unconscious man.

"Maggie love, d'you want him upstairs or down?" he asked his wife. 

"Downstairs guest room would be best, I think," replied Lady Margaret Granger.  "I imagine we shall be doing a bit of running about.  He doesn't sound good at all."

"Right then." He and Longbottom continued along a narrow hallway and put the wheezing man down on a small pallet in a back room.  It had originally been a storage room, but had been adapted as a sort of hospice for the sick or dying indigent who was sometimes sent there by the parish.

Hermione followed her mother, intrigued by the stranger and trying to get a better glimpse of him.  He was well dressed and probably a gentleman, but it looked like he'd been traveling for quite a few days.

"What should I do, Mama?" Hermione asked.  This was all so exciting; like in one of the lending library romances she often borrowed.  The dark stranger taken ill…

"Go have Cook boil water.  Neville, you need to strip him down and we'll get him cleaned up.  It sounds like a bad chest infection; I'll start making a sinapism.  We will need fresh willow bark, so ask Lavender to head down to the creek.  Ah, there you are girl; so go get a lantern if you're scared of falling in.  Oh, very well, Neville go with her as soon as you are done here!

"Hmm.  Do we still have sauerkraut juice?  And then some elderberry wine-- He looks liverish, so do we have milk thistle?  I think I have some in the pantry…" Lady Granger was talking out loud to herself now as the household gathered round and took marching orders. 

If Nappy had Lady Granger on his side, we might all be speaking French, thought her devoted husband.  He cleared his throat.  "Shall I go get Dr. Black?" Asked the Baronet nervously.

"Why, so the poor man can be bled to death? You know my feelings about modern medicine.  No, we take care of him the way my grandmother showed me.  Now go along Hermione, plenty of time to gawk at him later."

The entire household scurried away, except Granger.  "Well, Maggie, and what shall I be doing then?"

"I'd like a large glass of port and some bread and cheese.  I need to keep up my strength for this.  I truly fear the man is too far gone."  Granger gave his wife a brief hug, a kiss on the forehead and went off to get her some food.  Lady Granger began ripping up old cotton sheets to make the sinapism for his chest. 

Hermione returned with a pail of hot water, soap, clean flannels and rags.  Her first knowledge of her one-day husband, Snape, was physiological.  She began at his toes and worked her way up his legs with the soap and water.  Then she did the same with his arms.  She stopped for a few seconds at an unusual tattoo on the inside of his left arm.  She thought it strange that a gentleman, as she supposed he was, would have something on him only worn by circus freaks and Indians!

Hermione turned round to ask her mother what to clean next, having finished with his extremities.  Unfortunately, her mother had already gone to the kitchen and was heating the flour and mustard for the sinapism.

She kept his privates covered while she cleaned his upper torso.  She wasn't sure how completely clean he needed to be.  This was the first time her mother had put her in charge of clean up.  She supposed it was because she was now seventeen and an adult. 

She tried not to look at his face, as then she'd have to admit that she was alone with a naked man.  And then she'd be too embarrassed to continue.  She wanted to simply wash his feet or shoulders, and just think of him as a collection of body parts and nothing more.  But as much as she wanted to deny it, he was, quite undeniably, a man.  She touched the black hairs on his chest and shivered.

And he was burning up with fever!  The heat was radiating off of him. She needed to take care of him quickly now.  She knew her mother's belief about illness-- that cleanliness was next to Godliness and so a clean body was the first step to coming closer to God's love and a cure for any ill.  And, even though it was a heretical notion, most people sent for her mother instead of Dr. Black when ill.  Hermione tried not to get involved and didn't want to learn the old ways from her.  She always felt a bit embarrassed that people considered her mother the local witch!  But she wasn't, was she?  Her mother was an herbalist that was all.  No witchcraft at all involved…

Snape started coughing, bringing up brown clumps of mucous.  She gently held his head to the side so he couldn't choke on it.  Hermione wanted to be able to handle taking care of him.  But her hand was trembling as she wiped his mouth.  And she also wanted to go running to her mother and bury her face in her skirts.  She could hear her off in the kitchen, haranguing Cook for having misplaced the sauerkraut.  She pulled his torso toward her and, swallowing her fear, she quickly swiped at his bottom with a soapy rag.  She threw that one away.  Then, picking up another clean rag, she again steeled herself and washed his privates under the sheet.  Not daring to look, she cleaned by touch alone.  Hermione's eyes grew large as the area beneath her hands began to harden and swell.  She finished quickly, trying not to notice that the sheet was tented.  She hoped it would go down before her mother came back, although she knew her mother, having taken care of so many people, was quite inured to any and all peculiarities of the human body. 

Hermione was shaking all over by the time she'd finished.  She finally looked at his face.  It was drawn and pinched.  The skin seemed like parchment under several days' growth of beard.  He had a thin, aquiline nose and thick dark eyebrows.  His cheekbones were high and, putting all his facial characteristics together, she thought he resembled some wondrous and sublime bird, perhaps an eagle or even a phoenix!  She cleaned him off again after another fit of coughing had brought up more brownish sputum.  Tentatively, she put her hand out to touch his face and brush away a lock of hair.  She felt like she'd never really looked at a human face before and she was awestruck by the fierce nobility she saw therein. 

Even before Hermione had ever spoken to Snape, she had given her heart to him, as only a seventeen year old could!

Lady Granger came back in the room with a large tray.  "Now girl, first we get him to drink the sauerkraut juice, then we put on the plaster.  I'll then go prepare the willow bark and you will have to check to make sure his chest does not get too red from the mustard."

Hermione gladly and gratefully surrendered herself to her mother's instructions.  For the first time in her life, she felt proud of her mother's talents.  If anyone could help the mysterious stranger, it was she!

&&&

Snape was listening to someone reading.  Normally, he didn't like to be read to.  But the person's voice was soft and gentle and he liked the topic.  It was an "Ode to Britannia."  He felt tired, and his body hurt, but it was soothing to just lie back and listen.  For a moment his eyes flickered open and he saw what must have been an angel.  She had a halo of hair and light surrounding her.  Snape sighed and went back to the darkness.  He was rather glad that angels didn't read from the Bible. 

Hermione stood up and thought back to how lucky they had been to locate Snape's address last week.  Longbottom had been on the verge of burning Snape's clothes, as they were irreparably soiled, when Hermione did one last check on them and had discovered the waterproofed envelope sewn into the lining of his cloak.  It had been three weeks since the mysterious gentleman had appeared.  Address in hand, her father had immediately left for London.  Hermione hadn't read the papers in French, but instead had quickly hidden them because of an intuition that they could in someway be damaging to the man. 

Hermione stood at the kitchen door and looked out at the young man who seemed so dedicated to Lord Snape.

"Mr. Potter?"

"Please, I'm just Harry.  Do you have some news?" Harry's green eyes were bloodshot and shadowed.  His face had thick, black stubble from his untended beard, having left London without taking a shaving kit or even a change of clothes.  He hadn't been able to sleep at all, even when it was someone else's turn to be with Snape.  The fever had been as stubborn as its owner and refused to break.  Potter wondered from moment to moment if he'd ever hear his master hurl abuse at him again.

Harry breathed in deeply the fresh early December air and tried to clear his head after spending the night by Snape's side.  He had felt a little silly when Miss Granger had found him this morning holding the older man's hand; however, as long as Snape didn't know, what did it matter?  He still thought that he should send to London for a physician, but he was a bit intimidated by Lady Granger and didn't want to offend her.

"Yes, Harry.  I think he came round for a few minutes.  I was reading to him and--" Hermione stopped when the young man dashed past her and into the house.

"Your Lordship?"  Harry was on his knees holding Snape's hand. "Lord Snape, it's Potter, sir."  Tears were forming in Harry's eyes.  "Oh do wake up, you, you stubborn old, big-nosed scoundrel."  He put his hand on Snape's forehead to see how bad the fever was.

Without opening his eyes, Snape said in a voice that sounded like it was from beyond the grave, "Just when I thought I'd made it to Heaven, you show up.  Now I know I'm in Hell."

"Neither sir.  You're still with us, praise God." Potter whispered.

"Wonderful," and he managed a small, but quite deliberate sneer.

&&&

Under normal circumstances, Snape and Hermione would have never gotten together.  It was simply Snape's good fortune to have his horse stolen from him and to have nearly died of a lung infection.  It also helped that he was literally, for most of his stay at the Grangers, too weak to be able to string together more than a sentence or two at a time.  Thus, the sneering, sardonic, nasty, sarcastic side of him was almost completely absent from his persona. 

"Read that poem to me again, Miss Granger." He was half sitting up bolstered with numerous pillows and attempting to drink some beef tea.  He was bored out of his mind and that one poem on Britannia was the only one out of the collection that he actually liked.  Still weak from the illness, he had to choke back tears whenever she read it.

Hermione was thrilled.  The thin book of poems had been a vanity printing of her own work, suggested by William Hazlitt himself.  She hadn't met Hazlitt in person but was delighted that the essayist had contacted her through the publisher of The Examiner, a publication where Hermione had already sold and seen printed two poems!  Hermione, who had taught herself to read at the astonishing age of three and taken quill in hand less than a year later, had in the past four years often sent off her verse in hopes of publication.  However, it was only in the last six months had she started to be taken seriously.  Her "Ode to Britannia" was her second poem to be published and had attracted the attentionsof several personages of note.  No one knew, except the publisher, that Portia Stone the writer and Hermione Granger were one and the same.  And, if Hermione could help it, no one ever would.  It was her secret and she hugged it to her like a hidden lover.  Of course, her parents probably would not have minded her being a writer, they indulged her in everything, but it was best to stay on the safe side and not let people know.

Snape watched Hermione reading with distinct pleasure.  However, he was aware that any amount of pleasure taken in Miss Granger's presence was too much.  One didn't dangle after your host's daughter unless one was planning to make an offer.  And he knew that if he did so the best he could hope for would be pity, and the worse ridicule, from the young lady.  So Snape behaved himself in order to get well quickly and make his escape from her all too loving ministrations.  Within a week of the fever breaking, Filch arrived with a large rented coach, guaranteeing the optimum amount of warmth and comfort, and a fur-covered Lord Snape made his departure.  Everyone, except Hermione, was most relieved to see the man depart.

Hermione sat at her window and watched his coach leave.  Normally she would have then gone and written some correspondence, had dinner, read a bit, and gone to bed.  Instead she continued to sit there.  The sun set, the fire died in her fireplace and still she sat.  Eventually a large tear ran down her face, which she neglected to even brush away.  She had thought that when he left she would start her first novel.  It would be about a mysterious stranger who arrived in a young lady's life.  He would be a nobleman with a castle somewhere, she hadn't decided exactly where.  And he'd fall in love with her. That didn't happen though. And, when Snape left part of Hermione went with him.  For the first time in her life, she didn't want to write.  She didn't want to read.  She didn't want make-believe anymore—she wanted him.

tbc

A/N:  Well, I am doing less and less cant.

Glossary:

Bamboozle = Trick

Sinapism = mustard plaster, time proven remedy for chest infections and sore muscles

Willow Bark = natural occurring salicylic acid to reduce fever, inflammation and pain

Sauerkraut Juice = Detoxifier, provider of enzymes, lactic acid, vitamins, being fermented it has many of the benefits of yogurt in that it supports healthy intestinal flora.  Was in use during Regency!

Elderberry Wine = There is a naturally occurring anti-viral property in the elderberry, and high levels of vitamins, and antitoxins.

Milk Thistle = Aids Liver detox

Nappy = Nickname for Napoleon

Dangle after = Hang about, be enamored of

Make an Offer = Ask for hand in marriage

Many thanks to Tracy3, Lana Riddle, MadAboutHarry, Manaliabird and Queenie

I've now decided on a literary device to bring this story back into the HP universe.  I'll include that as an epilogue.  You don't need to read it though, as I intend for this piece to stand alone.