A/N: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling
Chapter Five
Things did not look better in the morning. If anything they appeared worse. Hermione awoke before Severus and tiptoed into the bathroom. Not two minutes later, a powerful knocking on the door startled her.
"Hurry up in there!" she heard him shout from the other side of the door.
"Just a minute," she shouted back, her words garbled because she had just started brushing her teeth.
"Its been several minutes already! What the hell are you doing in there?" Before she could answer he had charmed his way through the lock and was barging in. She dropped her toothbrush at his sheer audacity.
"I would have thought that by now you would have conceded defeat when it came to that rat's nest you call hair," he said maliciously.
"Just because you care nothing for personal hygiene doesn't mean the rest of us shouldn't," she countered, looking at his greasy hair and yellowed teeth.
"Get out," he spat.
"No," she said defiantly. He was much less intimidating without his billowing black robes. Seeing him in his dark green wrapper and slippers, she felt sure she could win this argument. She picked up her wand to further solidify her position.
"You're lucky I'm low-maintenance, I'll only be a few minutes more," she said. He just stood there glaring at her, trying to intimidate her into submission. But years of Potions classes left her immune to that particular tactic.
"That may work on your first years, Professor, but the longer you stand there, the longer you will have to wait for the bathroom." With an indignant grunt, he turned on his heels and stalked out of the room. Hermione was tempted to take her time in getting ready, but decided that in order to keep what little peace remained she should hurry up. Besides she had an early appointment with Professor McGonagall. She came out of the bathroom to find him standing there, tapping his foot and impatiently consulting his watch.
"All yours," she said sweetly and motioning him in.
"It was mine to begin with," he said spitefully as he stomped past her.
Hermione dressed quickly and left before he could leave the bathroom and harass her further.
Her first day with Professor McGonagall proved fascinating as they talked over what she would be expected to learn throughout the apprenticeship. Excitement bubbled up in her and she started to think that marrying Snape so she could have this apprenticeship was worth the trouble of putting up with his grumpiness in the morning. She returned to the dungeons late that evening, her arms loaded down with books she had checked out of the library. She wanted a head start on the curriculum Professor McGonagall had set. Severus sat on the couch in front of the fire, reading. He barely glanced up from his book as she entered.
She dropped the books on her small desk in the corner and then started working on organizing them according to specific topic and what order they should be read. She set aside Turtles to Teacups: The Theory of Transfiguration to read first. She had learned the basics at Hogwart's but had always wondered what sort of situation would call for transfiguring a turtle into a teacup or a hedgehog into a pincushion. She looked forward to learning the theory and useful purposes for transfiguration.
"I believe I told you I liked it quiet," she heard him snarl from across the room.
"Am I being loud?" she asked. She hadn't been doing anything other than arranging her books, certainly nothing too noisy.
"Quite," he said in a clipped voice.
"Would you prefer that I wait and do this later when you're not here?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Well, that's too bad. I'm not being noisy and will be finished in just a few moments." She turned back to his books, ignoring his indignant huff from behind her. To avoid being in the same room with him, she retreated to the bedroom to read.
The next morning Hermione woke after Severus was already in the bathroom. She lay in bed until he came out before scurrying in herself. She retreated to the bedroom again that night, letting him have the living room. They passed two more days in similar fashion, the tension building until it was more than she could stand. Someone had to make a move and it appeared it would have to be her. She remembered Professor Dumbledore's words to her, "it may start out with you bringing him a cup of tea at the end of the day." And so she decided to start with that.
After four days of marriage, Hermione tentatively approached her husband with a cup of tea. She felt rather like Esther in Xerxes' court, anticipating being snapped at and sent away.
"Would you like some tea?" she asked, holding out the steaming mug in his direction. He considered her for a moment, then took the proffered cup.
"You haven't poisoned it have you?" he asked suspiciously, sniffing the contents.
"No!" she cried, truly affronted that he would think she would do such a thing, and then wondered if that was his idea of a joke. She sat down in the chair opposite the couch.
"How was your day?" she asked. He ignored her question but took a sip of his tea.
"Trying to be domestic, are we?" he asked sarcastically.
"We can hardly continue in the manner of the last few days. I don't think it's too much to try and be civil to each other." He merely shrugged. This was going to be more difficult than she thought. She remembered reading in one of those self help books about making friends that one should ask lots of questions and be prepared to listen. Hermione thought it was worth a try.
"What do you do all day when the students aren't here?" she attempted. Actually she had been wondering. He disappeared in the morning until dinner in the Great Hall every day.
"I research and develop my own potions," he said dryly as if this was the last thing in the world he wanted to discuss.
"Really?" she was intrigued.
"Yes, really," he said irritably, "Are we done with this charade yet? I was enjoying my book." But Hermione's curiosity had been whet and she wanted to know more about his research. Nonplussed, she ploughed on.
"What sort of potions are you developing?" she asked despite the fact that he had opened his book back up.
"I'm working in conjunction with an expert on charms to develop a cure for certain kinds of mental ailments," he said sighing loudly. She ignored his not so subtle hints to be left alone.
"What sort of mental ailments?"
"Madness brought on by extreme distress." She wondered what had him interested in such a field of potions. Perhaps he knew someone...and then it dawned on her.
"The Longbottoms?" she gasped.
"Yes," he conceded.
"But you hate Neville."
"I have never once hinted at any such thing," he said. She looked at him incredulously.
"My personal feelings for the boy and my opinion of his abysmal Potions skills are two separate things. Besides it has nothing to do with him, and everything to do with his parents. They were good people who deserved better."
"Oh," she sat staring at him even as he turned back to his book. She was seeing a different side of him she had never expected to encounter. Feeling the matter was closed, she picked up her own book, but instead of retreating to the bedroom she stayed where she was.
The next month passed by in the sedate and slow manner that Hermione often associated with summer with the couple slowly adjusting to living with each other. She had her apprenticeship to occupy her and he had his potions. When she wasn't away on Order business, they spent the evenings reading in front of the fire. Sometimes she regaled him with the events of her day while he sat frowning but enduring her soliloquy quietly. It wasn't much different talking to Harry or Ron about classes, the same glazed stare. He rarely spoke himself, only occasionally breaking the silence to comment on something Albus had said at dinner or to berate her about her choice of books.
"That's utter rubbish you know," he told her one night, motioning to the book she was reading about the interdisciplinary study of Potions and Transfiguration.
"I think it's quite interesting actually," she remarked not glancing up from the page. She had perfected her technique of both reading and carrying on a conversation, or tuning out a conversation, whichever the situation called for, during her time in school. It proved a necessity as a friend of Ron and Harry's.
"The man knows nothing about Potions; he wrote a journal article last year that had three separate mistakes in it," he said, his contempt clear. She looked up from her page.
"He's not a Potions Master, his expertise is in Transfiguration. But the point of the book is discussing the possibilities of combining the two fields," she explained in much the same tone she used with Ron when explaining the importance of Arithmancy or doing one's own homework.
"He should stick to Transfiguration," he scoffed. She shook her head and returned to her reading.
"If you want a more balanced view, I would try Diego Compostela, a Spanish Potions Master who has also studied Transfiguration extensively," he offered before going back to his own book.
"Thank you, I will," she said looking up at him smiling slightly. They sat quietly reading for several minutes more before she heard him gasp and grab at his arm.
"Is it...?" she asked hesitantly.
"Yes," he snapped.
"Should I get someone? Professor Dumbledore?" She suddenly felt helpless.
"No, stay here," he ordered. She watched as he collected his cloak, checked to make sure he had his wand and then head to the door.
"Don't wait up," he said bitterly as he left, the painting slamming loudly into place behind him. Hermione sat staring after him, all at once feeling bereft and alone. How many times in the last month had she wished to be alone? Wished to be rid of his presence? And now that she was, she was overcome with the desire to have him back even if he was insulting her taste in books, because it would mean he was safe.