Thanks to my beta Larilee. She's great!
Chapter Three
The next few days or so passed in an awkward fashion for the both of them. He tried his hardest, like Albus said, to woo and court her, but no one could ever accuse him of being romantic or knowledgeable about women. He bought her books and left them out for her; he asked Sprout to cut flowers that he placed on her bedside table, but either she didn't notice or she didn't care, because she hadn't said anything except to answer when he spoke directly to her.
"What am I doing wrong?" he complained to Minerva in the staff room before class. He had thought after a week of flowers and books that he would certainly have won her over by now, but she hardly recognized their presence.
"You're leaving them on the bedside table for her to find?" Minerva asked.
"Yes," he grunted.
"You need to give it to her, hand it to her, tell her why you are giving it to her. She's lost her memory, Severus, she doesn't know it's a new book or that flowers on the bedside table are unusual. For all she knows, you have instructed the house-elves to keep fresh flowers in the bedroom."
"She knows I would never do that. She hates it when I ask the house-elves to do anything."
"But that's my point, she doesn't know."
He clenched his fists. Why hadn't he thought of that? It all made sense now.
"Yes, I'll try that. Thank you, Minerva," he said before stalking off to class. He had only glanced at the files that he had brought home with him from the Ministry of Magic. Between teaching and planning ways to woo Hermione, he hadn't yet come across any file that seemed more malicious than the others or involved anyone with a name starting with 'M.' He felt torn between hunting down the person responsible for hurting his wife and winning her back. The more time he spent on one endeavor ultimately detracted from the other, and he didn't have a moment to lose in either case.
Hermione, for the most part, had been spending most of her time during the day with various Weasleys and Potter, and he wondered what they had been telling her about their marriage. Would they try to talk her out of loving him as they had done before? This time, they had the added advantage that she didn't remember ever loving him. It made winning back her affection that much more imperative. He needed a way to keep her from her friends, something to occupy her time other than listening to ways that he was an oversized bat. Perhaps there was a way to solve both of his problems at once…if she were to help him in looking through the files, then maybe he could make some headway in finding whoever had done this to her while spending some quality time with her as well. Working on just such a project had been what had brought them together in the first place.
"Let's start with what we know," she suggested, sitting in his favorite chair and making herself comfortable. He scowled and sat across from her. This chair was much more uncomfortable, for the express purpose of discouraging any visitors from staying long. With her in the comfortable seat, she might never leave.
"Someone has anonymously submitted evidence that shows that you were relaying classified information to You-Know-Who," she rattled on.
"I know all this, Miss Granger. I received a letter three days ago demanding that I surrender my wand for testing. They claim to have found evidence of an Envoyas charm on the night of March 29th."
"An Envoyas charm, where you send short bursts of information to another wand. It works over long distances, and the 'transmission' of information looks like a silver stream, almost like a ghost," she said, staring off into the distance.
"Yes, Miss Granger, I know how the charm works," he snapped.
"Sorry, I was reminding myself. But you say you didn't cast the charm?" she said, turning back to him, not looking very sorry at all.
"I didn't say that at all, but no, I didn't cast the charm. In fact, if memory serves me correctly, my wand had been damaged several days before in a skirmish between several Death Eaters and some Aurors. Moody thought it would 'help' in my cover if he were to throw a few nasty hexes at me. My arm ended up broken and I had to take my wand to Ollivanders to be repaired."
"Did anyone know that your wand had been broken?" she asked, sitting forward in her chair, suddenly excited.
"I'm sure if you ask Ollivander or some of the Order members. Moody knows, of course, and I think I made enough of fuss at the next meeting about how I expected to be treated when Order members came across me in my role as a spy that most everyone knew."
"Then, we'll start there," she declared.
The arrival of his first class, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw third years interrupted his reverie, and his face contorted in anger at the interruption.
"Come in, and close your mouths," he ordered. If he wasn't happy then none of his students would be. And so he started his day of teaching witless dunderheads, trying to keep at bay maudlin thoughts of his wife and her lost memories.
After lunch, he stood in the class later, lecturing on the properties of nightshade to a class of sixth years, when a curly-headed second year girl stuck her head in his door.
"Professor Snape?" she asked timidly.
"Yes, what is it?" he snarled.
"Madam Pomfrey asked me to tell you that you should come to the infirmary at once."
"Fine," he snapped. He glared at her, and then turned back to his class. "Two rolls of parchment on the uses and properties of nightshade on my desk by Wednesday."
There were only two reasons why Poppy would want him, either she needed potions brewed to restock her supplies—something she wouldn't interrupt a class to tell him about—or there was something wrong with Hermione. He hurried up the stairs from the dungeon. Maybe the school nurse had found a cure to Hermione's condition.
"Oh, Severus, there you are," Poppy said as he entered the hospital wing. Hermione sat on a nearby bed, fingering her robes and gazing at the floor. She didn't look up as he came in.
"What's so important that you felt the need to call me out of class?"
"Professor Flitwick found Hermione wandering the corridors. Apparently, she was having quite an involved conversation with the one-eyed witch statue on the second floor."
"Why would she do that?" he asked.
"The damage is worse than I first thought. When Filius approached her, she couldn't remember her name or how to get back to your rooms."
He clenched his fists at this new complication. He had had hope that he could convince her that he loved her, and that she loved him, but if he had to start from scratch every few days….
"Can anything be done?"
"I gave her a mild memory potion. She remembers everything that she did since we found her, but nothing more," Pomfrey explained. "I'll give you some to take with you in case she needs more of it later on."
"So you expect that this won't be the first time we'll find her talking to inanimate objects and forgetting her name?"
"I can't say for certain. I know how hard this is for you Severus," she said, placing her hand on his arm. "There are people who are specially trained to deal with cases like Hermione's. It might be better for both of you if you were to consider transferring her to St. Mungo's."
"No!" he protested, ripping his arm from her grasp. He had seen the people that lived there, people like Gilderoy Lockhart or the Longbottoms, cases so hopeless that there was nothing to do but to lock them away where they couldn't hurt themselves. Nurses in white robes cooed over them, while their relatives and loved ones only made the obligatory visits at Christmas and on birthdays. He would not condemn Hermione to that existence. He needed her here with him.
"I understand your reticence, but just remember that it is an option," Pomfrey told him. Turning, she motioned to Hermione. "Come along, dear. Severus is here to take you back to your rooms."
Hermione stood slowly and came towards them. "Professor," she said, looking at him shyly.
He nodded, ushering her out of the room.
"I'm sorry I interrupted your class," she said softly on their way back.
"It doesn't matter. I'd rather spend my time with you than with a group of witless dunderheads," he told her. She smiled slightly and looked up at him, but quickly turned away.
"Do you want some tea?" he asked when they finally reached the dungeons.
She nodded. "And maybe you could tell me more about us."
"Let me do the talking," Hermione said, placing her hand on his arm. Severus looked at it and scowled. He hardly thought she could conduct an interrogation better than he could, but he didn't mind watching her fail before he showed her how things were meant to be done.
"Fine," he grunted, removing his arm from her grasp roughly.
"Hello, Mr. Ollivander," she said cheerily as they entered—already a mistake. How did she expect to gather any information if she didn't first demand respect? He, on the other hand, entered in a swish of robes, a surly look firmly fixed on his face.
"Ah, Miss Granger, how nice to see you—Vine wood, dragon heart string, 13 inches, not giving you any trouble is it?"
"No, it works like a charm," she said, smiling like an idiot at her clever pun.
Severus scowled while Ollivander looked confused. "Yes, vine wood tends to be good for charms," Ollivander replied. "What can I do for you today?"
She smiled and continued, "I had a question actually. If something were to happen to my wand, could it be repaired?"
'What a stupid question,' he thought. 'Why ask it when she already knew the answer?'
"Of course, but it would depend on the extent of the damage."
"I'm sure you can fix almost anything," she simpered.
Severus watched transfixed for the next fifteen minutes as she wheedled information out of the ancient shopkeeper using her feminine wiles. She acted dumber than he knew her to really be, but by the end even he had been charmed. She was dangerous, more so, than even the Dark Lord with his considerable skills as a Legilimens had been. He would need to be careful in his dealings with her.
"Well, that proved useful, don't you think?" she asked as they walked back to the Leaky Cauldron.
"Did it?"
"Certainly! You claim your wand was damaged in the battle the night of March 24th. You took the wand to be repaired at Ollivanders. He just told us that he keeps all the wands to be repaired in a box behind the front desk and everyone knows he runs that store by himself. All it would take would be for someone to nick your wand from behind the desk while Ollivander was puttering around counting stock in the back room, cast the incriminating spells, and then return it before anyone noticed."
"That's quite convoluted and circumstantial at best," he argued.
"Yes, but it casts suspicion on their claims."
"Well?" she asked when he stopped to take a drink of his tea.
"Well what?"
"What happened? Who stole your wand? How did you convince the Wizengamot that you were innocent?"
He scowled at her many questions.
"You were innocent, weren't you?" she asked, seeing his expression.
"Yes," he hissed. "And you were my biggest defender."
She stared at him seriously. "I always was," she said.
"What?"
"I always was your biggest defender," she repeated.
"Even in school?" he asked
"That's the only time I remember," she reminded him.
He nodded. He had come across her berating her friends after they had joined the Order, admonishing them to show him the proper respect, especially since he performed such a dangerous job. But he had no idea that in her sixth year and possibly before she had done the same thing. It astounded him.
"So?" Hermione asked.
"So what?" he said, feigning ignorance.
"So, what happened?"
"I'm not telling."
"What! Why not?" she sputtered.
He didn't want to tell her everything all at once. What if she heard the story of how they came together, decided it was ridiculous and left him. If he could draw it out, court her, seduce her, perhaps by the end she would realize that it wasn't so unlikely.
"Because we have our own mystery to solve," he said standing. He walked over to his desk, picked up the pile of files, and handed her a stack. "The only lead I, or rather we, have at the moment is a note you scribbled in your calendar. 'M spotted in London.'"
"Who is M?" she asked.
"That's what we need to find out."
"I think that Malfoy is an obvious candidate. He hated me all throughout school," she said bitterly.
That was certainly true, Severus agreed. He hadn't liked the way the boy had insulted Miss Granger but he couldn't deduct points without having to later answer to Lucius as to why he was suddenly defending Mudbloods.
"Lucius Malfoy is dead. He died in the final fight. Draco, if I remember correctly, was listed as MIA. Your friend Potter"— he sneered at the name—"handled the case. We should talk to him."
"I can ask him about it this weekend. Maybe I was helping him on the case."
"I have no doubt. Potter can't do anything for himself. He only survived school because he had you next to him." He smirked as he watched the conflict of emotions play out on her face, torn between defending her friend and astonishment at his compliment of her. He didn't allow her to say anything though but continued on, "I'd like to be there as well. It will help to have someone who remembers what happened."
She nodded in agreement, but she bit her lip in consternation. He knew that her continued memory loss made her feel helpless.
"Until then we can take a look through these files."
She nodded and started in on a complicated sorting system, one pile for those still in Azkaban and thus proved useless, a pile for those who had since gotten out, another for impending cases, and then they could cross reference them with names starting with M, first and last name. He smiled slightly when she turned away; she sounded just like Hermione, past or present. Some things never changed. Hours later files lay strewn about the room while Hermione yawned like a lioness.
"You should go to bed," he told her.
"Are you always this bossy?" she asked indignantly even as she stood up.
"I'll never surpass you, if that's what you're asking."
She harrumphed.
"I'll make sure the house-elves don't disturb any of this," he said more seriously.
She frowned. "They are still enslaved aren't they?" she asked sadly.
He nodded. It bothered his Hermione as well, even if she had given up her more revolutionary demands. Recently, she had been campaigning to have owners submit to a review to make sure no abuse was taking place. It hadn't gotten very far except for a few nasty editorials in the Daily Prophet.
"Will I ever make a difference?"
"Is that so important to you?" he asked.
"Yes! When I was still in school I wanted to change the world. I wanted to change people's minds about Muggle-borns, I wanted to free the house-elves, and I wanted…I don't know, I just wanted to make a difference.
"You helped defeat the Dark Lord, you still campaign for elf rights, and you are the kindest, most generous person I know. What do you want, a medal that reads Hermione Snape, lifelong do-gooder?" He didn't know why he resorted to sarcasm, force of habit, he supposed. But this new Hermione was more sensitive than before. She wouldn't laugh and tell him to stop being a prat.
"No! You wouldn't understand," she protested, shaking her head. "Goodnight."
She headed for the bedroom while he poured himself a sorely needed drink. She had made a difference, maybe not in the lives of house-elves, but she had certainly affected him. Without her, he might be sitting in Azkaban, wrongly accused of betraying the Order of the Phoenix. Without her, he would be alone, the same bitter man he had been before the war. Sitting with his glass in his hand, he stared into the fire and wondered if she had meant to fall in love with him or if had been purely by accident. Had she taken on his case in pity? It hardly mattered now, but he remembered a time when it had bothered him greatly to think that he was just another one of Hermione Granger's charity cases.
"Am I just another one your projects, like S.P.E.W.?" he asked, derision dripping from his voice. She smiled up at him, despite his tone. Was there nothing that would persuade the girl to leave him alone?
"Do you mean do I have an acronym?" she asked innocently, but with a mischievous smile. "Maybe something like S.O.P.S.—Save Old Professor Snape?"
"I am not old," he hissed at her.
"And who says I'm doing this entirely for your benefit? Maybe I've got others in mind. I was thinking S.A.D.N.E.S.S. might be appropriate…Save Azkaban Dementors Needlessly Enduring Severus Snape."
He had been so angry with her that he had refused to speak to her for the rest of the day. She had left finally, after hours of going over the evidence they had again.
"I'm not apologizing for helping you, Snape," she said before she left. And then before he could stop her, before he knew what was happening, she leaned down where he sat sulking and pecked him on the cheek. He watched in wonder as she took the Floo from his rooms at Hogwarts, lifting a hand to where her lips had pressed against his skin.
He lifted a hand to his face at the memory of that first kiss and stared at the door that led to the bedroom where his wife lay sleeping. He wondered how long it would be before she would resume such small gestures. Maybe he should initiate it now. Would she turn away from him or would she be shocked and amazed that he would want to touch her in such a way, much the same way he had been when she had kissed him?
He finished his drink, and then inspiration hit. He would do just as Minerva had suggested. He would tell her how he felt. Searching their living room, he took a candlestick holder and transfigured it into a small necklace. He wrote a short note, and left it where Hermione would find it after he had left. Professor McGonagall had told him to hand it to her, but he didn't feel quite ready to do that yet. But with the note, there would be no misunderstanding.
After scribbling another note to the house elves, he went into the bedroom. Very quietly, he changed out of his robes and climbed into bed, trying hard not to disturb Hermione. He lay down, but then changed his mind. Propping himself up on his elbow, he peered down at her. Her mouth hung open slightly and her hair surrounded her. He brushed a lock away from her face and very slowly and gently pressed his lips to her forehead.
"Goodnight," he whispered before settling next to her, closer than he had since she had come back to him. She murmured in answer and rolled in his direction. Severus fell asleep, the first time in years happy to feel her right next to him.
A/N: Some of you have asked if we will see Hermione's POV. The answer is no. I know that makes it seem claustrophobic but I actually think that adds to the mood. Snape is a solitary man, and I hope to create a sense of that isolation by limiting the POV to only him. Also, changing the POV or writing in omniscient 3rd person is very tough. It works in my humor pieces but I haven't been able to get it to work in my more serious stories, (eg. An Arranged Marriage is completely from Hermione's POV.) Because I'm trying to balance angst, romance, mystery, (a genre that is completely new to me,) as well as the past and present, I decided that messing too much with POV would just throw me off track. So there you have it. I hope you are enjoying it. If you are, and even if you aren't, please leave a review. I really need the feedback on this one. Your questions, observations, and insights really shape the story and make me rethink plot points and characterizations. So, if you reached the end of these long notes, I congratulate you.
--Vanityfair