Chapter Seven
Severus thought that Christmas would be an opportunity to win Hermione over. But the day was not turning out how he had hoped, not at all. The whole holiday season felt slightly wrong. It was about tradition, and Hermione and Severus weren't following any of theirs. It hardly seemed like the Yuletide when they didn't decorate their tree together. Every year they had been together, she had insisted on his help. He always moaned and complained, but deep down inside he looked forward to it.
She bustled around the tree, fussing with his placement of things.
"You're putting them too close together, Severus," she said, moving two ornaments further apart. One was a small Nativity scene and the other featured the three kings. He had arranged them so it looked like they were nearly at their destination. The way she had placed them, they now had a lot farther to go.
"If you don't like the way I put them on the tree then perhaps I should leave the job to you," he snapped, reaching for his eggnog. He only hoped that the house-elves had added extra rum like he had asked. He felt a little silly that he was so irritated over Christmas ornaments.
"The whole point is to do it together," she argued, sidling up next to him and wrapping her arms around his waist. His arms followed suit, though he was careful not to spill his eggnog. She reached up and pecked him on the cheek.
"If you insist," he said, sounding more put out than he really felt. She beamed at him and handed him another ornament. This one appeared to be a bear holding wrapped presents. Most of their Christmas decorations were Muggle, scavenged from her childhood home.
"Here, take this. It used to be my favorite when I was a kid." He swigged his drink once more before taking it from her out stretched hand.
"How is this?" he asked after placing it on the tree. It looked good to him, proportionate to the surrounding baubles.
"A little higher," she said. He growled his frustration, but moved it up.
But they hadn't decorated the tree this year. It had been two days before Christmas Eve before the house-elves finally put something up. Christmas Day turned out different as well. Hermione usually woke him up with a kiss and they would breakfast in bed before opening their presents. This year he woke before she did, but he was hesitant to wake her. He worried about her. Professor Sprout had found Hermione in the greenhouses battling the Fanged Geranium a week before, all memory of who and where she was gone. Even after taking her potion, she seemed less like herself. He hoped their visit to the Burrow would lift her from the gloom she had descended into recently.
It was the only reason he was willing to go. They would do her good, but they would leave him with a twitch in his eye and a pounding headache. Leaning back, he sat against the headboard, mentally trying to prepare himself. They weren't expecting them until dinner, but he wondered if they had any Draught of Peace in stock or if he had enough time to brew some before they left.
He was in the middle of calculating the brewing time for only one dose, (though he contemplated whether or not he might need more once he arrived) when Hermione awoke with a yawn. She stretched her arms high above her head, and then rolled over to look at him.
"Good morning," she said sleepily.
"Happy Christmas." He reached down and smoothed her hair. He pulled his hand away when she moved to sit up, leaning against the headboard next to him.
"Yes, Merry Christmas."
"That didn't sound merry at all. In fact you've done nothing but mope around lately," he said. It was true. She had been withdrawn since she had returned to him, but she had seemed to sink into a new level of moroseness in the last week or two.
"I'm sorry. It's just that, well, I imagine this is always a hard time of year, isn't it? With mum and dad gone and so many friends."
"It's a time to remember the loved ones we have lost and celebrate with the ones we have left," he told her. She was silent for a moment, and Severus wondered if perhaps he has said the wrong thing.
"You're right," she said finally. He smirked, knowing he had quoted her own words from a toast she had given years ago at a Ministry dinner celebrating the end of the war.
"I have remembered, and now its time to celebrate. Where are the presents?" she asked with a smile. He moved to the end of the bed, scooping up their presents and handing them to her.
"Another Weasley sweater," she said a few minutes later, holding up a maroon and gold striped monstrosity.
"Yes, I have one too," he said, showing her a black sweater.
"And in your favorite color!" she exclaimed.
"Black is not my favorite color."
"It's not?"
"No, my favorite color is red, especially when you are wearing it." He handed her a package. Ripping into it, she pulled out a set of ruby dress robes.
"Oh, professor, they're lovely."
"And this should match," he said, handing her a small jewelry box. She opened it, cooing over the necklace inside. He had one other gift to give her, but he decided to wait until later. Maybe tonight, after they returned from the Weasley's, they would sit by the fire with some eggnog. He would give it to her then.
"This is for you," she said shyly, handing him two packages. In the first was a green and silver scarf obviously knitted by Hermione herself.
"It has a Warming Charm knitted into it, so it's very cozy," she explained. He smiled and thanked her, reminding himself to hide the one she had made him last year that was just like it.
"It will be perfect for watching Quidditch matches," he told her. She agreed happily, watching as he opened the second. It was a book entitled Barbs by the Bard, 101 Shakespearean Insults.
"I thought it might help when you're marking essays," she said with a mischievous grin. He smiled back.
"It will indeed, thought most of them are so poorly educated that they will fail to realize I've even insulted them," he said with a mock frown.
"Even better, your reputation can improve while you secretly laugh behind their backs," she said with a giggle. He leaned over and pecked her cheek. She blushed, but her smile didn't disappear.
"Thank you." And he truly meant it. Even without her memories, she had been able to find a gift that would amuse him. That had to mean something. He had never been a big believer in Fate, but he was starting to think that maybe they had always meant to be together. It was the only way to explain why Hermione was with him.
"Shall I wear these today?" she asked, jumping up from the bed, her new robes in hand. He nodded, but his smile turned into a slight frown when he realized she had gone into the bathroom to change. He supposed it was expecting too much even for Christmas to be allowed to watch her dress.
She came out half an hour later, her hair and makeup done, looking stunning in her new clothes. The red complemented her skin tone perfectly, and it picked up the brassy highlights in her hair.
"Allow me," he said, holding out the necklace. She turned and pulled her hair up, baring her neck to him. He drew the moment out as long as he possibly could, his fingers brushing against her skin as he fastened the clasp. The truth was that the necklace had a magical clasp that would fix itself, but he would tell her that later. Until then, he would be putting it on her. Spinning her around, he surveyed her.
"Lovely," he told her.
"It is pretty," she said, fingering the bauble.
"No, I meant you," he told her. Her cheeks reddened at the compliment, but her eyes sparkled. Even her sixteen-year-old self reveled in his attention in regards to her appearance. Most everyone else she knew gave her books for Christmas, but he had always abstained, presenting her instead with jewelry and clothes that she wouldn't buy for himself.
In the beginning, it had been because he realized that if people were to know he had a trophy wife, she would need to be more properly attired. He loved Hermione in her plain black robes with her hair pulled back and no make-up, but when they went out he wanted her to be stunning. Over time, he realized that while most people acknowledged her intelligence, they regularly overlooked her natural beauty. She didn't often hear that she was pretty. His gifts focused on the fact that he thought she was gorgeous. She knew that he thought she was intelligent as well; he brought home books and journal articles to discuss with her among other things. But he let Potter and Weasley shower her with book tokens while he gave her jewels. She might never say which she preferred, but he rather thought her two best friends didn't get the same thank yous he received. At least they better not!
"But you took so long at your toilette that I'm overcome with hunger," he said dramatically the next second. He wanted her to feel pleased and beautiful, but he didn't want her feeling too self-conscious. She shot him a mock frown, but followed him out of the room. Guiding her into the living room, he drew out her seat and summoned a house-elf to order breakfast.
"Happy Christmas, professor," she said after their food had arrived, holding her pumpkin juice aloft.
"You sounded almost happy that time."
"I very nearly am," she said with a smile.
&&&&
"I think part of my problem is that I'm bored. I don't do much during the day," she told him later as they ate breakfast. They were eating sticky rolls, and Severus watched as Hermione licked the icing from her fingers, desperately wishing that he could do the job himself. Not yet. She had responded well to his gift, but he needed to spend more time with her before she would consent to him sucking on her fingers or any other part of her anatomy. And then the perfect idea struck him.
"You could work as my assistant," he offered, hoping he sounded more nonchalant than eager.
"I thought you said I was an Auror?"
"You were an Auror, but you can't continue in your current condition. I think maybe stress causes you to relapse, and as an Auror you are under a lot of stress." She nodded her agreement.
"You can even start today," he added, taking a bite of his own sticky roll.
"Today? But it's Christmas!"
"Yes, and if I'm going to the Weasley's I'm going to need some Draught of Peace. It won't take long to brew some, and I would appreciate your help."
She stared at her coffee cup, considering the matter. Looking up, she smiled at him.
"Alright then. When do we start?" His heart leapt. She had agreed.
"As soon as you're finished eating breakfast."
&&&&
It was a good thing that Severus and Hermione had brewed the Draught of Peace. He had enjoyed the quiet time spent with her in the lab. It seemed that only her personal memories had been affected. She still retained much of the knowledge she had learned in school. He didn't teach the Draught of Peace until seventh year, something she wouldn't have remembered otherwise.
He had taken a big swig before stepping into the fireplace with Hermione. Unfortunately, they arrived mere seconds after Bill and his brood. Severus had landed on a small red-headed child who had started screaming immediately. The potion allowed him to bite back any retort he had for the little brat, and instead he took pleasure in the fact that his mere appearance could still make children cry. It was essential in his line of work.
The afternoon did not get better. There had been a long and loud dinner. And then there had been carol singing. Molly had insisted that they all sit around the radio and listen to some woman named Worneck sing. More like Warbler, Severus thought.
After three hours, he could stand it no longer, the incessant chatter about nothing, the children who screamed and scurried through the room at regular intervals, Potter. He stood and went to look for Hermione. They hadn't brewed enough potion to endure all this, and he hadn't thought to bring extra with him. Pushing his way through the never-ending sea of red hair, he entered the kitchen. He thought he heard her voice, but it sounded muffled. A door to one side was open just a crack and he moved in its direction. Placing his hand on the knob, readying himself to push open the door and begin telling her his reasons for wanting to leave early, he heard another voice and he stilled.
"Hermione, love," the voice said softly, pleading, "Don't you remember?"
"I told you, Percy, I don't remember anything," Hermione said.
"Then I'll tell you," the voice he now recognized as Percy Weasley's said.
"Tell me what?"
"You love me."
"What?" Hermione choked out. Severus reached for his wand, but then paused. He wanted to hear how this played out.
"You were planning on leaving that greasy bastard right before you lost your memories."
"Don't talk about him like that," Hermione said vehemently.
"There you are," he said, entering the room as if he hadn't been eavesdropping. Though from the startled looks on Percy and Hermione's faces he didn't think he had fooled either one. Percy jumped back. Hermione looked surprised and then relieved.
"I'm ready to go," he said sharply. She looked from him to Percy and then back again. "Are you coming with me?"
"Yes," she answered quietly. "Let me just go say thank you to Molly and Arthur."
He nodded, and moved to the side as she slipped by him. When she had left the room, he closed the door, trapping Percy in the small pantry with him and his temper. Advancing slowly, he pulled out his wand. Percy swallowed visibly, backing up until he rested against the wall.
"Let us come to an understanding, Mr. Weasley. You are an arrogant, insufferable, cowardly twit who would take advantage of a terrible situation for your own gain. I may not deserve her, but you deserve her even less. And if I ever see you near my wife again, be assured I will make the Killing Curse look appealing. Do you understand?" Percy's eyes widened and he whimpered.
"Stay away from my wife!" Severus finished. He pushed his wand a little further into the fleshy part of Percy's neck, then turned and stalked out of the room before he did something he regretted.
Hermione stood waiting for him in the kitchen. When she saw him, she quickly approached him, "Please Professor, I can explain…"
"Not here!" he barked. He had no wish to make a scene here, to be revealed as a cuckhold in front of an army of Weasleys and their wives, in addition to Potter. Stalking to the fireplace, he didn't wait for her before throwing in the Floo powder and disappearing. After a swirling ride, he stepped out of their fire. He glanced around the room—the couch and chairs grouped around the fire, his desk in the corner, the shelves with her books that lined the walls, the small table where they ate breakfast together. It was their home, and quite possibly, it had all been a joke.
Hermione stepped out of the fire a few moments later. She didn't wait before she began speaking.
"Professor, please let me explain."
"Severus!" he spat, turning around to face her, his robes swishing around him.
"W-what?"
"My name is Severus! I am your husband, not your professor, no matter how much that happens to pain you." His hands trembled as his voice grew louder. He hardly ever yelled. He hated losing control, and he fought to keep the anger down, along with the urge to hurt her or something else.
"S-Severus, I'm sorry," she said meekly. "What did you hear?"
"Enough to know Weasley thinks you were going to leave me. What's going on between you two?" he hissed.
"Nothing!" she exclaimed. "Nothing happened today, I promise. I was leaving when you stormed in."
"And before?" Her cheeks reddened and she looked away distressed.
"I…I don't remember."
"How very convenient," he said, turning from her and walking away. He knew it wasn't fair. She hadn't asked to be assaulted, to have her memories stolen, but it was equally unfair to him to have to second-guess her fidelity. It had occurred to him before that she might want to leave him, but he had desperately hoped that it would never actually happen. He watched as his worst nightmare came true.
"How dare you?" she sputtered from behind him. "How dare you? I didn't ask for this. I was just as surprised to hear that as you!"
He turned around to see that she had followed him around the couch.
"Do you really think so little of me? Percy Weasley?" she asked.
"Your past experience proves your poor taste," he spat.
"What is that supposed to mean?" She glared at him.
"You're friends with Potter and Weasley. You've dated both of them, Viktor Krum, and a thin, wiry, Muggle with glasses. It's not a far jump to Percy Weasley."
"I suppose that's true since I married you," she retorted.
"Exactly."
He didn't wait to hear her answer, but strode to the door connecting to his office and slammed the door. On the other side, he leaned back and closed his eyes. When they opened again, they came to rest on his Pensieve. He hadn't used it since the end of the war. But it was so tempting now. He could have his Hermione back, could relive happier moments when he held her in his arms and knew that in that instant at least she loved him. Yes, that was what he would do. She may not be able to remember, but he certainly could.
She was giggly from the wine. Normally her tittering would have irritated him, but he was much too excited about the rest of the evening to care. She looked lovely in her white robes, her hair pulled half back with flowers tucked in amongst the curls, the come-hither look that shone in her eyes.
"Did you see the look on their faces?" she asked.
"They were all wondering the same thing I was," he said with a smirk, stalking towards her.
"And what is that?"
"How the hell did I get so lucky?" She giggled again, and he kissed her to shut her up. No more wine in the future for her. If they were to live in marital bliss, he would have to be sure she didn't drink anything stronger than butterbeer.
"I'm the one that's lucky," she said breathless a few moments later.
"I would argue, but I have more pressing matters to attend to." He turned her around, his hands manipulating each of the tiny buttons down the back of her robes. He brushed against each inch of newly exposed skin, his lips dragging across the scars left over from the war.
"They really were surprised though. I would have thought the idea of us being together would have cemented in their minds after a year and a half. It's not as if we rushed into things. But Harry looked as though he might have a coronary. He accused me of being influenced by your sneaky Slytherin ways. Oh! That feels nice," she rattled on. Having finished with her buttons, he spun her back round, pulling down her robes.
"Do be quiet. I would rather not discuss Potter or any other of your friends tonight. I want nothing to distract me from you." He didn't let her respond but pressed his lips to hers in a bruising kiss.
"Hmmm, too right," she murmured in between his kisses, her hands now fumbling with his own buttons.
Severus looked away, his stomach lurching. He couldn't bear to watch that moment to its conclusion, the thought of someone else doing that with Hermione weighing too heavily on his mind. The contents of the Pensieve swirled and he looked in again.
She came through the door, threw down her suitcase, and flung her arms around his neck.
"I am so glad to be home!" she said before kissing him thoroughly.
"Need a holiday from your holiday," he quipped.
"No, no, it was relaxing, but I missed you."
"Then maybe next time you'll stay home with me," he said, kissing her nose. She frowned, pulling away.
"How many times are we going to have this argument, Severus?" She reached down for her suitcase and took it into the bedroom. He followed her. Wrapping his arms around her as she unpacked, he ignored how she stiffened.
"I brought you something," she said, holding out the conch shell. He took it while she explained how it worked. Placing it on the bedside table, he responded with a characteristically sarcastic remark. Her face fell.
"Right, well then, I'll just unpack." He watched as she waved her wand and piles of clothes leapt into the air and flew to the closet. Catching his eye, he reached out and grabbed at her swimsuit.
"Don't tell me that this is what you wore," he demanded. She wheeled around, her eyes flashing with anger.
"Yes it is."
"In front of Potter and Weasley? They saw you in this?" He held up the offending garment.
"Yes, Severus, they have seen me in my bathing suit. You would have seen me in it and less if you would have come with me on holiday. In fact you would have seen me in it and less tonight if you hadn't insisted on acting like such an ass." And with that, she snatched it from his hand and stormed from the room.
Severus looked away from the swirling Pensieve, surprised to see Albus standing next to him. He hadn't heard him come in.
"Anything interesting?" Dumbledore asked.
"It was all a joke. How could I have ever thought it was more than that?" Severus threw himself into his chair, summoning his bottle of firewhisky and a glass.
"Because it was more than that. You love her, and she loves you."
Severus didn't meet the headmaster's eye, staring instead at the alcohol in front of him. Irritating and meddlesome old man! Why couldn't he simply leave him in peace, let him wallow in his misery alone?
"How did you even know there was anything wrong?" he asked suddenly. Had someone at the Weasley's found out? Had Potter? The headmaster was known for being nearly omniscient but even this was beyond his normal scope. They had only argued an hour ago.
"Hermione burst in on Minerva and me toasting the Yuletide. She was quite upset, I must say. I left Minerva to calm her down. You have to work through this, Severus. You will be happier. Hermione will be happier. And Minerva and I will be happier."
"What did she say?"
"She was upset so it was hard to understand everything. But luckily, one of the many languages I speak is distressed woman. You wouldn't believe how handy it is working at a school with adolescent girls or with Minerva for that matter…"
"What did she say?" he ground out, frustrated with the headmaster's rambling.
"She kept saying that her marriage was over. She was quite upset by it really." Severus pondered that for a moment. She was worried that it was over. He would have thought she would have jumped at an excuse to leave him.
"She wants this to work too, Severus. Deep down inside she knows this is right," Dumbledore continued. "Go to her. Tell her how you feel. Tell her about your life together. She needs to hear it; she needs to see it." Severus nodded slowly. The old man was right. He was always right, and it irritated him. Couldn't he let him wallow in his self-pity just one night?
This hadn't been the first time they had fought, but they had always made up. He could make this work. He would make this work. But then an image of Percy Weasley floated before his mind's eye, and he replayed the overheard conversation in his head. The anger boiled anew.
"I know you'll do the right thing," Dumbledore said, patting him one last time on the back before he left. Severus sat, fiddling with his glass. He would go back in there in apologize, but not now. He knew himself too well, and he was much too angry and too drunk to do anything tonight. He would only succeed in making things worse. Instead, he refilled his glass and stirred through his Pensieve, looking for happy memories of Hermione.