Assisted Living

by Mothboss

Hermione Granger was unfazed by accusations that she was wasting her potential as a social worker, attending to the magical elderly. She'd been underestimated before. As it happened, those who thought that big bad Dark Wizards like Voldemort and Grindelwald were the only type of threat to the Wizarding World simply weren't thinking broadly enough. Eventual HG/SS. COMPLETE

17. Chapter 17

A/N: I told you there were no lemons in this story, and it's true: there aren't. But near the very end of this chapter, there's like... I don't know what you might call it. Lemonade. I think I'd say it's PG-13 by Hollywood standards.

"She sits alone waiting for suggestions

He's so nervous avoiding all the questions

His lips are dry, her heart is gently pounding

Don't you just know exactly what they're thinking,"

"Da Ya Think I'm Sexy" – Rod Stewart

As Monday morning dawned, Hermione felt herself grateful that she had chosen to order her day as she had.

It was early yet, only six, but she was preparing to head off already to meet at the Weasley's for Christmas morning, anticipating with a certain amount of glee that there would be bacon butties and other greasy delights to help perk her up as she exchanged gifts with the red-headed clan, plus Harry Potter and other assorted spouses.

She made sure to feed Crookshanks, adding a small scoop of salmon roe to his steak in deference to the special day, and she poured him out an especially large and rich bowl of cream to enjoy while she planned to be gone. After all, she wasn't sure when she'd be back, and, given the next two stops in her day, she wasn't sure what kind of mood she'd be in the next time she set foot in her apartment.

Curiously, it wasn't her final stop of the night—her planned visit to join Eileen and Severus for their Christmas dinner—that had her feeling quite so on edge, rather the luncheon she'd arranged between herself and her parents. Luckily, at some point, her French grandmother was meant to join them, though she didn't know if she'd make it early enough to save her from whichever special torment her mother had devised as punishment for her rapid departure from the Granger Orthodontics Christmas party the week earlier.

Finally managing to load all of the shiny square boxes into her crochet market bag, Hermione departed for Ottery St. Catchpole.

The warmth of the Weasley family's enclave enveloped her almost immediately from when she managed to step in the door and catch James up in her arms. The small boy had run at her, full tilt, as soon as it was apparent who was at the door, and when she'd managed to hand her over-full bag off to one of James' uncles, she'd covered him in pecks and kisses all over the squirming toddler's freckled face.

From the moment she'd been mobbed by redheads to the moment she was forced to depart, Hermione had been caught up in a symphony of impressions. There were the sweet and savoury smells that seemed to make the air itself flavourful, and the riot of colour and sound that all seemed to move and clash so quickly that one may have been forgiven for having a hard time getting one's bearings. Though not Hermione. So used to the Weasley gatherings was she that she managed to swim like a fish amongst the school, entirely in her element, even if she didn't generally surround herself with so many people.

Though she left the gathering exhausted, there was also the sense of energy she always felt after being surrounded by twenty or more people whom she knew loved her and that she loved fervently in return. Aunt Hermione was the favourite amongst the younger children, which had her almost piled upon by her godchildren. As the youngest unmarried family member (even if not by blood) she had apparently moved into the position of 'cool aunt,' though Hermione, knowing the content of her actual days, wondered at this attitude. She didn't feel she was particularly cool.

Hell, somehow she had earned this designation over even Charlie, who spent his days tending to Dragons and who tended to give more expensive and more exciting gifts. Hermione had a habit of providing magical pop-up books: though she did admit, that had she had access to them as a child, she'd have preferred them to just about anything else that she'd seen of magical toys. Then again, she was a born bibliophile.

She had stuffed herself with pastries provided by Ron and Hannah, had traded funny stories with George, caught up with Ginny about the red-headed woman's success with her team (even though she understood very little about the tactics Mrs. Potter was deploying on the pitch), and had basically schmoozed, chewed, and boozed for the better part of three hours—not having said no once to a single offer of Arthur's home brewed mead.

She had a feeling she'd need it, even early as it was.

Around one, she finally managed to extricate herself from the warm bosom of her found family to depart for London, and the rather colder, more staid company of her actual parents.

She managed the apparition with no difficulty, having stopped drinking early enough that she felt only mildly tipsy—though hopefully inebriated enough that she'd manage to not react to her mother's commentary—and landed in her parent's well-groomed back garden.

Taking not but a moment to compose herself properly, Hermione forced herself to march through the snow up to the back door and let herself into the kitchen at the back. There was no one to greet her, much less a retinue of enthusiastic toddlers and friendly freckled faces, and she herself was tasked with calling out into the seemingly empty house to seek the company of her family.

"Mum? Dad? Anyone home?"

A stifled scrape could be heard coming from another room—likely a chair against the hardwood floor before her call was answered.

"In the dining room, sweet pea!" It was her father's voice, and Hermione was sure she heard the muffled sound of her mother speaking to him in a low voice after his greeting.

In the end, she detoured into the front hall to slip off her damp shoes and to untangle the scarf from around her neck, adding them to the hooks on the ornate hat rack.

"Hermione," her mother called, her voice coming off ever so slightly miffed, "really—it's rude to dawdle,"

"Sorry, Mum," she murmured as she finally rounded the corner into the formal dining room. "I didn't think you'd want me tracking mud on your rug." Hermione swept one hand out to indicate the pristine wool that was trapped underneath the legs of the dining room table.

"Even so, you know we start Christmas brunch promptly at one,"

"I lost track of time," the witch said with a mild shrug, taking a seat near the middle of the oblong table, between her parents who were seated at either end. It made for something of a depressing contrast to the overfull Weasley kitchen table, packed shoulder to shoulder with three generations of redheads and most of them with a lap full of child. "I get a couple new godchildren each year, it seems, Christmas morning is taking longer and longer. Is it possible that next year we might agree to meet a bit later?"

"Our family meets at one. As it has ever been," Margaret responded, her voice crisp.

Robert, for his part, had cast his eyes elsewhere and busied himself with removing cling wrap from the dishes it seemed that they had ordered for brunch. Neither of the Grangers were particularly adept cooks, and as such, they made a habit of giving their business to various elaborate eateries and caterers each year, both for their parties and for more private family meals. This year, there were mince pies from an upscale bakery somewhere near their practice, a tray of salmon gravlax—complete with an assorted plate of breads, crostinis, and other vegetative accessories—and some very fresh egg nog, accompanied by a snifter of her father's preferred brandy.

Hermione helped herself to the egg nog (and a shot of the brandy) as soon as she sat down.

The choices for Christmas brunch weren't always strictly speaking traditional in the Granger family home, which was why Hermione was grateful to have filled up on Molly's fare, though she did pick at a mince pie's flaky crust and took advantage of the cured fish—a rare delight indeed. They tended to eat light, as her parents were often invited out for dinner later in the evening. Years ago, Hermione was usually supposed to attend with them, though it was now understood that she had her own life. Or perhaps it was because of the brief interruption in routine where Hermione had sent her parents off to Australia and had then rejoined them there for several years while finishing school... either way, upon the Granger's return, Hermione was no longer expected at the grander Christmas events. She was perfectly happy with that arrangement.

"When is Mémère coming?" she asked, having swallowed near half of her egg nog.

Margaret gave a put-upon sigh at the question. "She's not. She elected to stay local this year."

"She's not been feeling her best lately." Robert added by way of explanation, probably feeling compelled to defend his aging mother.

Hermione felt her heart sinking at the news. Spending all one's time with the elderly as she did, she knew quite a few possibilities for what might have kept her grandmother that year, and as was her wont, she had dredged up the least favourable ones in her mind all at once.

"I'll have to call, I suppose. I don't suspect she'd welcome an owl..."

Margaret's fork clinked sharply against the china of her plate as she dropped her hand, the movement abrupt. "Definitely not!"

Had Hermione not been drinking she might have been tempted to sneer back at her mother. As it was, she couldn't stop herself from responding with a snide "I said I didn't expect she'd welcome an owl. I do know better." She barely managed to not roll her eyes.

"Be sure to call, sweet pea—I think she'd like to hear from you." Her father interceded, his voice kept carefully mild. "In any case, it's been years since anyone from that side of the family's heard from you, I'm sure they'd all want to know how you're doing."

And with that, the tension over the room broke for some time. Robert managing, in his normal capacity as family referee, to direct the conversation between his wife and his daughter between benign banalities such as the Orthodontics practice and Hermione's own work—though he couldn't keep his wife from making displeased faces whenever the Wizarding Outreach to the Elderly Department was brought up.

There was near enough an hour of peaceable conversation between them before Hermione decided to gather her presents for her parents from her enchanted bag. She'd waited until she was quite certain that all three were finished with their meal before rising and darting back to the hat rack, coming back with a small number of wrapped gifts cradled in her arms.

Regaining her seat, she managed to slide them along the polished table-top like table hockey pucks, much to her mother's evident displeasure (though the woman did have the good grace to say nothing about it as she deftly caught the couple of presents that her daughter sent careening her way).

"I thought we could exchange now—I've got to see to a client this evening in a bit," Hermione lied. She, in fact, wasn't expected at the Snapes' until far later in the evening, but she anticipated that even the company of the habitually dour mother and son would be comparatively brighter and more joyous than it was with the Doctors Granger.

Her mother sniffed loudly, "They can't even let you have Christmas?"

"Oh, I volunteered." Hermione's voice was even but her eyes held a certain flintiness. Thankfully, nothing more was said about her choice to leave early for the sake of a job supposedly so beneath her capabilities.

"Oh, thank you, sweet pea!" her father crowed from his chair at the foot of the table, "I'll be the envy of the office in these," he held the pair of cognac-toned, soft, leather loafers aloft in the air, before he set them aside to tear into his second gift, brandishing the pair of colourful woolen socks in one hand as he slid them loose of the packaging. "And these are lovely—your own make, I imagine?"

"Of course!" Hermione grinned back at him, her smile broad enough to reach her eyes. "I just managed to finish them in time."

"I thought you could knit faster with magic," her mother commented, though not unkindly. She was carefully working a finger under the sellotape and trying to unwrap her gift without tearing the wrapping.

"I could have done, but I prefer knitting without magic."

To this her mother actually gave an approving nod as she finally managed to work the box out from its festive trappings. She made the appropriate oohing noises as she unwrapped the fully fashioned stockings Hermione had picked up special from her preferred atelier and seemed genuinely pleased with the fair-isle mittens Hermione had taken the time to knit for her, then, having opened her own gifts, she sat back in her chair, and regarded her daughter with a considering gaze.

"I'm afraid our own gift to you isn't wrapped this year, Hermione."

"Oh?" Hermione's gaze darted to her father to try and gauge his expression. He was looking away, seemingly lost in the pattern of the wallpaper. Not a promising sign.

"No, your father and I were doing some talking recently."

At this Robert's face seemed to grimace which led his daughter to believe that it had likely been a rather one-sided conversation.

"And we were thinking that in lieu of something material, we were inclined to offer you an opportunity instead."

Hermione swallowed, and with some degree of difficulty, managed to school her features into polite interest. Unfortunately, she couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't come off as snide or defensive, so she opted to keep her mouth shut.

"Well, I took the liberty of reaching out to some of our contacts at a number of Universities, and we furnished some samples of your work—and though you'd likely have to apply like anyone else, we were reasonably assured that you'd have a place at any of them. St. Andrews seemed particularly interested if I remember correctly, wasn't that right, Robert?"

Mr. Granger grunted and gave a rather ambiguous nod.

"I can't imagine your expenses for school fees would be too high—but your father and I are prepared to pay any fees and your living expenses. All of them: for a flat, for professional wear, food, even entertainment, you name it—you'd just have to enroll..."

By this point, Hermione felt as if the whole conversation were beginning to be obscured by one of Snape's Muffliato charms. It would have had to have been, nothing else could have accounted for the distant ringing in her ears... though, then again, Muffliato didn't cause one to feel flushed all over, hot under the collar...

"Gerontology is such a... a dead end, sweetheart. With your credentials you could do anything, we believe you will do anything—anything you choose—"

"I chose to work in Waldweirness," Hermione deadpanned, her voice distant to her own ears, and feeling as if she were seeing and hearing through a fishbowl.

"Where your kind don't seem to take any notice of you!" Her mother insisted, indignant on her behalf. "You should be well on your way to Minister by now! Why, I imagine with half the time, and some of our connexions, you could have been... you could be elected an MP—in our world there are no limits, sweetheart—"

Finally the world seemed to sharpen into focus around the witch, and her eyes turned on her mother, her face finally catching up in a snarl. "There aren't limits for me in my world, Mum! I like what I do every day—"

"Sweet pea, I think what your mother is trying to say is that she'd like to see you get what you deserve—we all know how smart you are, no one questions it... we're only curious why you don't seem to think so yourself."

"I don't need a big paycheque or a list of what other people consider accomplishments a mile long to know that I'm smart, Dad. I don't need a fancy title to prove my worth, or more degrees with my name on them, nor do I want any—"

"Think of who you could meet, dear," her mother interrupted, "I know other things are perhaps important to you, or you imagine they are right now... but you hardly have very good prospects doing what you're doing at the moment... just think if you became a solicitor? What if you yourself earned a medical degree? I imagine you could find someone quite suitable if that's how you feel yourself orientated."

It was a swing and a miss. Admittedly, a close swing, but a miss nonetheless. And all the more insulting when Hermione considered the snide condescension contained in every word. For that alone, she felt petty enough to bait the woman further with a few mistruths.

"What if I have found someone, hmm? What if he's—I don't know, a lorry driver?" she asked, entirely facetiously.

Her mother had blanched, and for all it looked like she didn't believe her, she clearly feared that it might have been true. "For God's sake— be reasonable, Hermione Jean!"

Not able to take a moment more, Hermione stood abruptly, her hands braced against the oak. "That's what I thought! That's EXACTLY what I thought! You don't care for me to choose AT ALL! It doesn't matter what I want, it wouldn't matter if I wanted to move to... to... I don't bloody know—move to Inverness and live in a cottage out on the moors and raise my own damn herd of sheep! Because, apparently, only lowly, indolent losers would aspire to anything except for a fattened bank account, a respectable," Hermione sneered as she made air quotes with her fingers around the word, "job title, and well-connected friends—"

"... Is there a lorry driver?" Her mother finally asked in a rather faint voice.

"It'd serve you right if there were!" Hermione snarled ambiguously before she stalked back to the hall and grabbed her belongings. She didn't bother to exit the house or make any formal goodbyes before she spun on her heel and willed her parent's house to dissolve around her into the empty snow-swept street outside the residential district of Waldweirness.

She stood stock still for several moments in order to catch her breath: it was coming in ragged gasps. An old brick wall outside of the gates caught her weight as Hermione leaned against the red clay and rubbed furiously at her eyes, pressing at them to try and stifle the urge to cry.

She wasn't sad, as such. This was too close to other arguments they'd already had to be any sort of surprise. Rather she was feeling an acute and consuming rage.

It wasn't only that Margaret Cavendish-Granger didn't care about her daughter's desires for her own life—it was that she was now trying to actively undermine them. She all but insisted on her daughter engaging in a life that Hermione could never afford to live on her own, without being supported by her parents' bank cards. A life that she could only hope to achieve without them by becoming an incredible success in her career or at least by marrying well.

Hermione didn't hate the idea of living a nice life for any particular reason. If it were to be that she managed to find that kind of success for herself, or lucked into it by some trick of fortune, so be it. She would be damned, however, if she was going to accustom herself to living that way and expect that that was the only acceptable outcome. There was likely no more sure-fire way of achieving unprecedented levels of personal misery than having so many blessings in her life that she despaired over what to do with them, or that she felt that they were somehow her appropriate remit—that anything less was an insult.

She had been half joking about the sheep farm in Scotland... but given even a moment's thought it held far more appeal than endless dinners on her best behaviour, a new dress for each occasion, write-ups by people who supposedly should be important to her based on their own dubious successes, and the kind of endless kowtowing that seemed to be part and parcel of chasing the, seemingly addictive, accolades and achievements her parents imagined she should want.

What would she do as Minister? What would she do as an MP—even Prime Minister if she managed it?

Well... she could admittedly think of a few policies here or there, whether Wizarding or Muggle... but the lack of personal freedom in such a life seemed utterly incongruent with what she wanted. Fighting society was an uphill, thankless, battle. So often what could be considered advancement paid dividends in pain and resentment years after the fact. Nothing was perfect or great as it was, this was certainly true, but sometimes, things were cumbersome and seemed backwards only because the alternative was so idealistic as to be downright destructive in practise.

Aethelfromm's seemingly benevolent form of mild tyranny seemed to be emblematic of that: it was easy enough to say that the purebloods should have to pay for the second great wizarding war, or the first, or for the excesses under Grindelwald... it made a certain level of sense to sentence anyone with a Dark Mark to immediate execution. A certain level: but not an absolute. There were Death Eaters like Snape who deserved absolution. Whose identity she would never reveal for fear that he would be sent to slaughter... likewise, there were families like the Weasleys (and dozens of others) that were purebloods and had found the thought of joining up against Muggleborns to be despicable and inhumane.

There were hundreds of jobless, homeless house elves that now populated the streets of Diagon Alley, offering their services, or their undying love, for just about anything, all under the table, because of the strictures he had placed on keeping, or rather, employing, the magical creatures without pay. Many of the families that had lived alongside their elves for generations were, in actuality, quite poor: having lost their fortunes generations earlier through debt, or gambling, or by mere misfortune. They couldn't afford the wage Aethelfromm demanded be paid to their elves, and the elves, having only known that family for sometimes hundreds of years, had no conception of how to go about living in the outside world without setting themselves up to be further exploited by those who were unscrupulous enough to operate underneath or outside of the law.

And for every werewolf like Remus Lupin—those who tried to manage their conditions and were willing to take the medication that was now free through St. Mungos (a rather good measure, Hermione thought. One long overdue), there were perhaps 3-5 who couldn't find it in themselves to fight the instincts or the bloodlust that seemed to come with the curse, and who went off to find themselves an alpha to follow that sometimes made Greyback look tame by comparison.

The easing of restrictions had led to a handful of well-adjusted werewolves finding jobs, and for an unprecedented seven werewolf children to be admitted to Hogwarts in recent years: both of which were achievements that Hermione celebrated. Yet the number of maulings and successful transmissions of the curse were similarly rising at what seemed like catastrophic rates.

Hermione only ever heard of the new cases through Harry, who was often called out in the aftermath to either take statements from the survivors or to clean up the resulting crime scene. The Daily Prophet, curiously, seemed to take little interest in the attacks, and she hadn't seen a report on one since the year 2000 or so. Six years of under-reporting, when Hermione knew quite well that there were more every few months.

Harry estimated there had gone from two or three major packs, back when Remus had been tasked with courting the werewolves for the Order, to some three or four roaming around England, perhaps two more in Scotland, and at least one in Wales.

When measured against the ten new Ministry employees and seven new students... well... it was a difficult equation to balance.

Finally, she felt she had calmed enough to move from her post pressed against the rough brick. She was shivering a bit now with the cold, and she knew her nose and cheeks must have pinked-up a bit in the biting air. It was telling that it had taken her this long to feel it.

She finally got to walking a leisurely path through the neighbourhood, not immediately heading for Eileen's house, but instead zigging and zagging hither and yon to finish emptying out her over-full head.

It had been years of disappointments and failing illusions before she had come to understand where she thought she could make the best and biggest impact on the world: the kind she knew she always had wanted to make.

Years ago it would have been driving the policy advancements that were being pushed through, quite capably, by Aethelfromm's administration—though she doubted she would have signed off on the pureblood audits, nor would she have stopped fighting to clear Snape's name, even posthumously (for that matter, sentencing anyone with a Dark Mark to immediate execution was something she knew, without a doubt, she'd not have done).

Now? She improved things when and where she could in individual people's lives, and hopefully, someday, that would be carried forward into the future by raising whatever family fate saw fit to bestow upon her. It was, in itself, a sizable and consequential responsibility. Life or death in its own way, though not in quite the same way her parents understood the concept.

For indeed, she could have been a surgeon, magical or otherwise. Could have been a politician. She could have been some kind of prosecutor. Perhaps, in another life, that was the place for her—and always, in her own time, she'd conduct her own research, that was a given, swot that she was—but here and now none of it was what she wanted, or needed, or felt that she was best suited for.

Eileen Snape's house loomed up from her left and she didn't bother to wait after her knock to open the door, knowing she'd be expected, even if it would be a little later on. However, she hadn't expected that upon entering she'd be immediately shushed and dragged into a seat on the couch by an incredibly excited Eileen.

The older woman had her eyes fixated on the television, and each time Hermione thought to try and ask what she was expecting to happen, she was rebuffed again. Eventually, she gave up and stared over her shoulder as she unwrapped herself from her winter-wear and began laying them out over the back of the settee. Snape was busy at the stove in the kitchen and was stirring a large pot of something that smelled heavenly and fragrant. When she managed to catch his eye, he darted a glance at his mother and rolled his eyes expressively, giving Hermione a shrug.

That certainly didn't shed any light on what was happening—though only moments later, the national anthem playing as the clock on the mantel struck three finally gave her some hint.

Eileen was almost buzzing in her seat with anticipation.

Over the back of the sofa, Snape had approached the pair and attempted to hand his mother her favourite mug—the coronation one—but she wasn't paying enough attention to accept it. Taking pity on them both, Hermione took one cup each in both hands and nodded at him in thanks.

She sniffed at the contents of her own: fruity and a bit spicy...

"What is it?" she whispered at him, though her tone was for naught. Eileen still shushed her.

For his part, Snape ignored his mother's demands for silence entirely: "Wassail." And then he retreated to the kitchen before he could be similarly reprimanded.

Glancing back at the television, Hermione was treated to a short montage of architecture, a brief splash screen that introduced the Queen, and a clip of bellringers making a chorus of heavenly sounds to commemorate the day.

Moments later, the Queen began her address:

"I have lived long enough to know that things never remain quite the same for very long. One of the things that has not changed all that much for me is the celebration of Christmas. It remains a time when I try to put aside the anxieties of the moment and remember that Christ was born to bring peace and tolerance to a troubled world."

Images flashed across the screen to accompany Her Majesty's words: groups of uniformed school children decorating what appeared to be a nativity art installation with the Queen herself overseeing their efforts and joking with them every so often. Eileen seemed to be vibrating in her seat next to Hermione on the sofa.

"The birth of Jesus naturally turns our thoughts to all new-born children and what the future holds for them. The birth of a baby brings great happiness - but then the business of growing up begins. It is a process that starts within the protection and care of parents and other members of the family - including the older generation. As with any team, there is strength in combination: what grandparent has not wished for the best possible upbringing for their grandchildren or felt an enormous sense of pride at their achievements?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione was quite sure she saw Eileen nodding along and shooting reproving looks back at her son who had firmly distanced himself from the address in the kitchen. Hermione had been treated to enough wistful speeches about Severus as a young child to know that his mother missed that part of her life, and his, with a kind of deep desperation that bordered on bereavement.

Though she couldn't claim to understand, she had seen similar stirrings from Molly Weasley before the first of her grandchildren had been announced, though, with six surviving children, the angst the Weasley matriarch seemed to feel over whether or not she'd live to see the next generation didn't quite touch on the level that Hermione thought she might be witnessing with Eileen.

She'd first seen it when the older witch had tearfully passed on Severus' baby sweater to go to Albus Potter, and every so often, in moments like these, she was offered another small glimpse into the woman's most private pain.

"But the pressures of modern life sometimes seem to be weakening the links which have traditionally kept us together as families and communities. As children grow up and develop their own sense of confidence and independence in the ever-changing technological environment, there is always the danger of a real divide opening up between young and old, based on unfamiliarity, ignorance or misunderstanding..."

Hermione shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, her mouth twisting a bit. Sometimes it felt like these sorts of things hit a bit too close to home for comfort.

It had never been a tradition in her family to sit and watch the Christmas address, elsewise she might have hoped that Margaret and Robert were sitting together and tuning in at that very moment: even so, she imagined that they'd place the fault with her rather than seeing the ways in which they themselves had contributed to the growing divide.

It was too much to consider now whether she was in the right or in the wrong... whether her parents were in the right or in the wrong. The perspectives were too divergent, their values too diametrically opposed, for her to think that either party had a hope of coming to a common understanding. It was a somewhat heartbreaking thought...

Abruptly, she sat up off of her perch and patted Eileen on the shoulder, mumbling something about helping in the kitchen—though she doubted that at this point the older woman had heard her as she was now far too engrossed in the pageantry and significance of what must have been quite an important Christmas tradition to her—and joined Snape in the crowded space.

He didn't appear to need any help at all, having pulled out the rack in the oven in order to baste a succulent looking ham, and multi-tasking as well as he ever had in the potions classroom with the sides of veg he had at various states of completion on the range.

Seeing she wasn't needed, and knowing Snape, that she was probably unwanted, she instead sat heavily in her chair at the table and all but inhaled the mulled drink that Snape had bestowed upon her when she'd entered the house.

"I believe the traditional greeting is 'Happy Christmas,' Granger,"

She raised her cup to him in a half-hearted salute, though he didn't see it given that his back was turned. "Happy Christmas, Severus."

At this, he did turn to sneer back at her, though there wasn't much power behind it. "I'd give you an A for effort, but your execution is more deserving of a P. Even a T: I've heard trolls grunt more happily than you did just now."

She merely shrugged at him, though she didn't bother to argue, instead opting to question him over his mother's seeming possession by the current television programming. "What's with your mum?"

He gave an amused snort. "She tunes in every year."

"I noticed she didn't try and force you to join her on the sofa—"

"She knows better by now. Just because she's in love with the Queen doesn't mean I am." He gave a short shrug. "I'm a wizard. Even now, living in the muggle world primarily, I don't put much stock in the trappings of the muggle establishments. My mother, pureblooded though she is, turned her back on the wizarding world when she married my father almost sixty years ago."

"You think she's in love with the Queen?" Hermione asked, her voice filled with a small amount of jocularity that she hadn't felt since she'd left for her parents'. She handed her cup back for a refill, which Snape obliged her in before he grasped his own cup of wassail between his spindly fingers and sipped at the hot drink with care.

"Some women that I knew growing up prayed to the Virgin Mary. My mother prays for intercessions from Her Majesty." He gave a small twist of the lips, though his eyes crinkled in amusement.

"What nature of intercession?"

Snape shrugged, seeming to be genuinely bewildered. "The hell if I know. If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say that she thought that our esteemed muggle monarch is the patron saint of what it is to be the most upstanding, unobjectionable, non-magical British woman. I guess in a way she's not entirely wrong about that. She's been obsessed since before I was born, which I think you could guess from the single piece of china she's ever given a damn about.

"As I said before: the Catholics in Cokeworth would pray to Mother Mary to be the best Christian women they could be. My mother 'prayed' (if you could call it that) to the Queen to be the most mundane and inoffensive muggle lady she could turn herself into. Whether for her own sake or perhaps to please my father I could never be sure.

"I used to always think it was to keep him off her back, but if that were the case—she ought to have given it up as a lost cause. Given that it's been thirty years and she's still at it, I think it's rather more personal to her."

Hermione met his gaze thoughtfully. "She said she'd run away to Birmingham a while before she met and married your father. I don't think her divorce from the magical world was as concerned with him as it was with other things."

"Perhaps not."

It was at that moment that the telly in the living room shut off, and Eileen joined them in the kitchen, finally having found the cup her son had brought her (and that Hermione had summarily deposited on the side table for her when she'd departed).

"You missed a good one this year, Severus." She said pointedly as she puffed out a breath over the cup which was already probably cool enough to drink.

Her son gave a non-committal grunt in response and turned about to tend to the pot of potatoes. "I'm sure it was much of the same."

"How can you say such a thing? I bet you've not given it a listen since the last time we spent Christmas together in your sixth year—"

"You're quite right, Mother, and I'm still sure I didn't miss anything important."

"Well, I thought it was important: she was talking about family and—"

"Mam," Snape spoke from his position turned away, though he suddenly appeared quite put-upon and tired. "This is our first Christmas together in thirty years, you said as much yourself a moment ago. I think that's something of a success in my book. I'm sure she had many good things to say about family, but Hogwarts wasn't enchanted in a day: neither will we be able to compare ourselves to a normal family after a month of being reunited."

"What are you saying?" Eileen pressed, her eyes grief stricken, though she did seem a bit reassured all the same.

Hermione cleared her throat when it seemed that Snape didn't know what to say next, "I think Severus is trying to say that these things are best done a step at a time, Eileen. That's all."

The older witch sniffed, somewhat melodramatically. "Oh."

After a beat, Snape caught her eye, the movement of his head turning quite subtle, and gave her a small nod in thanks. Hermione returned it with a grim smile.

In all, Christmas with the Snapes was a comfortable and calm experience. It seemed somewhat novel to all involved.

In their shared past Christmases, Hermione knew that Eileen and Severus must have had to endure Tobias and his drinking, and that given their level of poverty, likely hadn't done much to celebrate at all, excepting Eileen listening into the Queen's address on the radio.

Neither of them mentioned what past Christmases had been like, but they both seemed to be surprised at the ease with which they were able to settle into a comparatively safe and mutually supportive holiday. Both of them acted somewhat skittish around one another, particularly in the early hour of Hermione's arrival, but soon, they seemed to realize that this was really nothing more than an extended version of the family dinners they had all been practicing at (and enjoying) for the preceding two weeks.

Likely, the two of them had ascribed a level of meaning to this one day that far outstripped what was liable to actually happen. Perhaps it was an expectation for joyous cheer, or even of unprecedented vulnerability and sharing (though if anyone expected that and was sure to be disappointed it would most likely have been Eileen). It was probably why Snape was in the kitchen working on what was turning into a five-course meal for their supper. Yet the reality was that Christmas was a day like any other—and to ascribe too much to it, or to be disappointed when it failed to live up to one's expectations, wasn't entirely reasonable, even if it was understandable.

With Hermione there as a mediating force, the two Snapes were settling back into their normal roles, and she almost felt the shift in the air as they finally relaxed around one another and allowed each other the space to be themselves again.

Dinner was still several hours away, and by joint consensus, they had put off exchanging gifts until afterward, though Eileen did insist on bringing out a package of gaily wrapped muggle Christmas crackers, and she required that they go through the whole box of them.

In all, they ended up telling the same jokes at least two times each or so, Snape himself sneering at each telling, and Eileen had convinced both of her younger companions to don at least one paper party hat.

It took quite some cajoling on her part, but by the end, Severus had begrudgingly accepted a green hat, and Hermione herself nestled a red one in her curls like a crown.

Eileen ended up with the rest, nesting them inside one another and wearing a festive mix of gold, white, and another red hat.

After the crackers, she'd excused herself back to the living room to knit while watching telly, and while he waited on the ham, Severus sat down at his laptop to write more for his game.

It was a novel experience for Hermione to see so much downtime during Christmas, where each person was seemingly left to his or her own devices, but she was glad of it anyhow, and she pulled out of her satchel one of the new books she'd received that morning from one of the Weasley clan on stories of aging Sorcerers.

They spent a few hours engaged thus, until she finally finished her chapter, lowered the book to the table to stretch and noticed that Snape was glowering at his screen as though it was mocking him, his fingers speared through his lank hair.

She moved her chair around to the side nearest him and peered over his shoulder, seeing a confusing mess of Excel spreadsheets and tables, not in any particular order.

The snippets of names and dialogue she read didn't make all too much sense to her, but the content was fascinating in and of itself.

She almost couldn't help herself as she reached out for the mousepad.

"You know, it might be nice—easier to read, that is—if you colour-coded some of the cells—"

Snape gave her a look full of affront and a strangled growl, all while swatting at her hands on the keyboard. "Hands off my spreadsheets, woman!"

"I'm just saying—"

"I don't want my work to look like it was vomited on by a fwooper!"

"Fwoopers don't vomit in colour, they just have every shade of feather—" she had reached out again for the colour bar at the top of the document.

"You know what I meant, Granger!" He snarled again, trapping her hand under his against the table. "Don't. Touch."

"Fine," Hermione huffed, this time in defeat. "You just looked frustrated is all. I thought I could help."

"You don't know the first thing about the Vale," Snape smirked, though not entirely unkindly. "What could you possibly hope to help with?"

She shrugged helplessly. "I just don't like seeing you look so defeated."

Snape seemed to take pity on her for that, though he seemed bewildered at the sentiment. "Writer's block is part of the process. It's coming along quite well, all things considered." For some reason, admitting this made the man blush—his ears going pink at the tips where they poked through the curtain of hair—though Hermione couldn't fathom why.

"What about you, anyway?"

Hermione was taken aback for a moment. "What about me?" she asked, completely confused.

"When you walked in here this afternoon you seemed a tad more defeated than I imagine I'm feeling at the moment. What was that about?"

It was Hermione's turn to blush. She frowned at the table. "Nothing new, really."

"Weasley making an arse of himself as usual?"

To this, Hermione chuckled. "Weasley has been married for years and is now Hannah Abbot's problem." She gave a wry smile. It felt a bit bad to mock Ronald when he wasn't there. "And besides, he's grown up a lot. Running a business and being a father was a lot of responsibility to take on at once—he's not quite so pig-headed as he used to be."

"A business?"

"He and Hannah opened a bakery, it's really quite good."

Snape gave a mighty snort, "Why am I not surprised that Hogwart's greatest glutton opened up a pâtisserie?"

"Hey," she nudged him with an elbow and a bit of a censorious look, "say what you will: they're doing quite well for themselves. They just opened up a second location in Diagon Alley, and between you and me, I think they might just put an end to Madam Puddifoot's for good. Their décor involves far fewer doilies."

Snape, in spite of himself, looked begrudgingly impressed. "Far be it for me to discourage him then. Anything to spare the men of Hogwarts from entering into that emasculatory hell."

Hermione giggled, "Don't tell me you've actually been in there?"

"Once."

"Oh come on! You've got to tell me about that—don't leave a girl hanging," she pleaded, her eyes dancing in laughter. "What the hell possessed the great granite gargoyle Severus Snape to lower himself to enter into that den of pink fripperies?"

Snape regarded her slyly as he continued to type (he'd not once stopped, and Hermione wasn't entirely sure how he was managing to write during their conversation). "I'll tell you if you tell me what upset you this morning."

"That's not fair!"

He laughed, "Actually, I think that may be the fairest deal I've ever brokered with anyone. My stupid story for yours."

She looked down at the wood grain of the table, her mouth twisted, half in amusement and half in a grimace of reticence. "I guess that's fine. You go first though."

"There really isn't much to tell. Lily wanted to meet there in fourth year."

She looked up, examining his face for signs of distress. He was displaying none. Rather, he was still intensely focused on his laptop screen, his fingers flying over the keys. Even his voice in delivering the information hadn't seemed bothered in the least.

"For a date?"

"Ha. As if. No, I was to meet her there, and when I did, I was outnumbered by four of her best girl friends from Gryffindor and one from Hufflepuff. If I needed any sort of reality check to tell me that she thought of me no more than she thought of Mary Macdonald, well—I understood quite well after that day." He shifted back in his chair to cross his arms over his chest and regarded her with his full attention. She was hoping he would choose to tell her more, but instead he gave her a level look that made her feel pinned down. "Now you."

Hermione shrugged evasively, though she knew she now owed him an explanation. Her fingernail scratched at a speck of nothing on the table. "It seems rather stupid to complain to you about troubles with my parents, really."

Severus shrugged, still watching her with a hawk's gaze. "I asked." He thought for a moment and began again. "You were in a state after you'd attended their Christmas party as well. Seems a bit more consequential than your average, run-of-the-mill row."

"I guess so. Like I said, it's nothing new." She swallowed and scrubbed at her face with her hands. "You don't think I'm wasting my time here, do you?"

"Where? At my mother's house?" He seemed taken aback. If Hermione had been watching his face instead of looking down she might have detected the brief flash of panic in the man's eyes.

"In Waldweirness. Working for the Department."

Snape gave a slow and careful shrug. "It's not what I might have expected of you when you were my student, but... I believe I told you when you cannoned into me months ago that there was no shame in being normal."

She was silent for several moments. Enough time for Snape to evidently decide that he needed to press his advantage.

"I don't know what N.E.W.T. scores you ended up with, Granger. I imagine you took them at some point after the war."

She nodded at the table.

"I'm sure whatever you scored gave my own scores a run for their money—I was the third student in the twentieth century to secure all Outstandings. Whether you accomplished that or not—and I'd be surprised if you didn't— do you think anyone would have expected that I'd have ended up writing stories for a muggle gaming company?"

Finally she looked at him. He was smiling that wry quarter smile, though his black eyes were glittering a bit. "Not precisely, but then again, you've told me you've been quite successful at it. I don't know what you're doing with all of the servers either, but it seems like you have your own plans—"

"Precisely, Hermione." She was momentarily taken aback that he used her given name again, he did it so sparingly. "I have my own plans. I got out of that fucking war, where for twenty years I didn't get to do what I wanted, and I decided that henceforth: I. Do. What. I. Want.

"Not what anyone expects of me. Not what anyone thinks I'll be best suited for. Not what anyone has determined I hold some sort of duty to do based on my skillset or personality.

"There was no telling that Galdrvale would have been successful. It had failed before. I had no money when I left hospital, I was lucky to have Spinner's End to hide out in. I was fortunate enough to have given thought years before to cultivating enough edible food in my back garden that I didn't have to buy anything much from the store for a while. But I didn't know that doing what I was doing with Declan would begin something so financially lucrative. I was just tired of doing what two old arseholes wanted at every turn."

He chuckled softly. "I wanted to have some fun. For once. And lose myself in my own fantasies. And determine what I thought was important. And later on, that became important enough to yield the normal responsibilities that come with gainful employment, yes, but... I can guarantee you that anyone I've ever known, or who thought they knew me, would have thought I was thoroughly wasting my time.

"You know I didn't even want a Potions Mastery? Oh, I enjoyed potions well enough, obviously I was gifted with them. But if I'd been able to choose at seventeen I'd have done something inventive. I far preferred spell creation. The Dark Lord arranged for my Mastery because it was of benefit to him. Bugger what I thought of it. The Dark Lord needed a Potions Master, so it was: 'Severus, you'll be getting your Mastery.'" He said, his dry voice doing little to mask the bitterness that he still obviously felt.

Hermione was now turned toward him, slouched back in her own chair. "I mean, I can't exactly take a job that doesn't guarantee a paycheque because it's what I'd want, but I think I know what you mean. And you've no doubt earned it—"

"No doubt." He returned wryly.

"But I do want to be here, and I do find... find meaning in what I'm doing—and I always thought that was satisfying enough... at least for me." She said, though sounding unsure of herself.

"Then why did you ask if I thought you were wasting your time?" he prodded gently, though Hermione was sure he already knew why.

She shrugged weakly. "It seems everyone else thinks so. I was never supposed to be the member of the 'Golden Trio' that ended up in some low-level back-room position of an adjunct office, if you get my drift. Or even the Hogwarts alumnus that ended up there. My parents don't understand, in their words: 'what happened.'"

Now he looked openly curious. "What did happen?"

Hermione smiled to herself, somewhat self-deprecatingly. "I grew up. I... I saw that idealism couldn't save the world. I'm not entrepreneurial like Ron is, and I can't necessarily take orders without questioning them like Harry is required to do. But I wanted to help. I just... I just thought that I'd help where I could: a more granular approach—rather than firebombing the area like I used to do.

"Money doesn't mean anything to me, and it seems like the more you make, the more you feel the need to spend, at least in most cases." She shrugged. "I don't mind my studio flat. I don't mind my old clothes. I don't mind my cups of yoghurt in the mornings, or the instant noodles at night—"

"And you critiqued my eating—"

"Hey, at least when I shop for myself it isn't nothing but sweets!" she laughed, shoving at him with her palm.

"Might as well be. All carbohydrates are nutritionally the same, Granger."

"Yes well, child of dentists here—my carbs aren't primarily sugar."

"Did I mention that I do what I want now?" Snape asked, his voice haughty, though there was a glint of amusement in his eyes.

"You did. Though since I've seen you, I have noticed more meat and veggies. I guess for both of us. That's hardly a bad thing."

"Granted." There was a beat of silence. "Speaking of your orally orientated progenitors: what did they say to upset you so? If it was, as you asserted, 'nothing new' then I think it unlikely for you to be so disturbed by it."

"Orally orientated?"

"Don't ignore the question."

"Well," she drew it out, no longer miserable now that she had found the humour in the situation at last, "my originators of orthodontic occupation decided that the best Christmas gift for me this year was to try and lure me away from my comfortable dead end with promises of a fully funded trip to University."

"Last I checked tuition wasn't that expensive."

"It's not." She agreed with a sigh. "They offered to pay for my cost of living to quit my job. Three or four years of money for an apartment, clothes, entertainment, food, and what have you. I don't know that I ever mentioned it to you—and it doesn't really matter—but I did earn a muggle degree while in Australia after the war." She shrugged, though only half a shrug, not realizing that she had likely picked the gesture up from the Snapes. "I... I honestly consider that to have been the greatest waste of my time.

"I could have done the same research and written the same papers without being enrolled. I mostly used the time to learn how to slack off for once—"

"You? Slacking off? Perhaps you did learn something worth knowing—"

"Shut up, Severus!" She snorted with laughter, shoving at him again. "My job here doesn't require it. All of my research on Luenfeldters was... was authentic I guess. I wanted to do it. And whenever I've wanted to do research, nothing has ever stopped me before—I'm not sure why I had to prove myself with some pretentious stamped piece of parchment in order to show that I'd spent my time productively." She stared at where the ceiling met the wall pensively. "I guess I wouldn't have done now. I guess that was where I learned my limits on the importance of external affirmation."

Snape breathed harshly through his large nose. "Well, it certainly took you long enough."

"I know... it feels rather daft to sit here explaining that concept to you. No one ever thanked you, and even now you're only not a wanted criminal because they think you've already died..."

He nodded to her, his eyes oddly soft and his mouth in a grim line. "There's a reason why I don't accept credit for the work I do on Galdrvale. Even under a muggle pseudonym. And no, it's not for fear of being caught."

"It doesn't matter to you. What people think of what you did, or whether they recognize it. It's the work and doing it that matters."

"Yes."

"Anyway," she said, switching gears yet again, "I was... I was insulted that they'd decided they could intervene that way in my life. And to try and manipulate me with money... I don't want a life I could only afford by making two hundred thousand pounds a year..." She warmed to the topic, "I... I don't want a man who only wants me or respects me because of what I've done on paper!"

"What—? Who said anything—?" he began, stuttering uncharacteristically over the apparent shift into talk of relationships.

"That was part of it. That then I'd be able to find a proper match. Someone deserving of me and my talents..." she shrugged, looking dejectedly at her knees. "They think that because I'm not focused on my career, it must be because I'd like... because I'd like a family. And it's worse, because they're actually not completely off-base, but that was really hurtful. That they think that by that token I ought to be... that I ought to be concerned principally with marrying well.

"It was perhaps more insulting than my mother all but pimping me out to her associates at the Christmas party—oh don't give me that look! Not sexually. She was trying to arrange for a more suitable job for me with... well... just about anyone, actually.

"Today, when I stormed out, I was so angry that I might have told them that I had taken up with a lorry driver..."

Snape looked at her, for once in all of her time of knowing him appearing speechless. "You did?"

"I hinted rather heavily."

Curiously, Snape seemed almost flustered before he dipped his head down to where she could no longer see his expression clearly. "But did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Take up with a lorry driver?"

Hermione barked out a laugh, the sound jarring and clearly not borne out of any real mirth. "My mum asked almost the same thing—no. No, I'm not seeing anyone, in the transportation sector or otherwise." She winced. "I just didn't want them to act like it would have been the end of the world if I was."

Snape nodded, having again raised his head, before he stood abruptly and made his way back to the cooker, checking the dishes he had under stasis charms and checking the ham for a final time. Evidently, he'd had enough of the conversation. That was well enough. Hermione had too.

Severus finally determined that the ham had finished and he sent Hermione out to collect his mother from the sitting room. It was eight. He wasn't sure where the interceding hours had gone. Spending five hours in the company of others had never been quite so easy before, he reflected.

Once he'd settled the roasting pan with the ham on what remained of the meagre counter space, he enchanted a knife to carve it while he levitated the Christmas pudding out of the ad hoc double-boiler he'd constructed.

Dinner went as well as he could have hoped. If he were being honest, perhaps even better than he might have hoped—though he didn't care to invite fate's sense of irony to intervene and ruin things by acknowledging that fact. The three had tucked into full plates, both himself and Hermione all but finishing every last morsel, and even his mother, a notoriously dainty eater, finishing a whole half portion.

The pudding had gone over well, his mother remarking that she'd always wanted a proper Christmas pudding "like the Queen serves," which he had to smirk at, as that was precisely why he'd bothered with the finnicky confection. Though again, if he was he being honest with himself, he knew he couldn't pass up a rum-infused sponge replete with enough dried fruit to send him into a short sugar-induced coma.

They were all feeling rather sleepy and satisfied afterwards, though it was only nine, and after settling the dishware in the sink to wash up later, they gathered in the sitting room, the ladies on the sofa and Severus settled cross-legged on the floor.

He was feeling uncharacteristically nervous, the small package he had for Hermione was sitting in the pile between them all, and for the amount of anxiety he was feeling it might as well have been a horcrux or some other such cursed object. It felt like it was nagging at him. Just as well it was one of the last opened.

Before Hermione got to his present, they'd both insisted on Eileen opening her gifts first. Afterall, they were there at her behest, and he was somewhat sure that he wasn't the only one that felt a genuine sense of affection for the old witch. Naturally, he knew what he felt was the true love that a son felt for his mother, though he couldn't speak to what Granger felt. She did seem to care an awful lot, however.

Hermione's gift earned appreciative cooing from his mother: a gradated set of foot-long nickel knitting needles, double pointed.

"It's so you can knit in the round, see?" Hermione nattered, with excitement. "There are five in each size—"

"I know what they're for, girl!" Eileen chuckled, her voice warm. "I'd been making do, but I did miss having a full range of options,"

"I thought as much. There's a knitting belt in there too... though I did consider a set of circulars—"

"Pahh. I don't dabble with that dross, too much ado." Finally, Eileen seemed to realize that she was missing something, for she coloured slightly, her pale face going a very soft pink. "Thank you, Hermione."

From Severus, she opened her rather large box with a degree of perplexity, turning the unfamiliar plastic around in her hands. "Dare I ask—?"

"That's a router, Mam. The other one's a modem. I'm setting it up for you this week, along with your own computer."

"Like that box in there you clack at?"

"Just so." He nodded, not perturbed in the least by her reticence. "In truth I already had the router and modem set up from my place, but this will be yours. You can get on the internet that way—I know you have at least some idea what that is,"

"Every ad now has an electronic mail address," she griped with ill-concealed displeasure.

"Yes, and it's just going to keep ramping up over the next few years." Severus returned, his voice even and patient.

"What on earth do I need it for, Severus?" She was almost pleading with him, as if asking permission to not have to engage with what she clearly was somewhat discomfited by.

"Well, you don't need to use it, per se, but it can be useful." He thought for a moment, trying to remember the number of reasons he'd come up with in his head in order to justify this to the older, pureblooded witch. "For one, you could connect with people you used to know,"

"Like whom?"

"Ladies from Cokeworth, or Birmingham. Anyone you lost touch with, really."

Eileen appeared uncertain. "I wouldn't even know where to start—"

"I know, Mam, I'd help you." He said, not wanting to oversell his present. He knew it had been a risk, though he hadn't felt anxious about it. Eileen Snape would always have a foot, and considerably more of her weight, in the muggle world, particularly if she refused to ever use her magic again, which seemed likely. And given his plans... Yes. It would be best to get her acquainted with the computer. As a final sell for the evening he tossed out something he knew would intrigue his mother: "I can install card games on it."

At this Eileen's eyes did grow a bit large and excited. His mother was a naturally competitive gamer, though not the type who would ever engage in his own game. Ever since she had been gifted her first set of Gobstones she'd been hooked on competitive play, and though she found Exploding Snap to be dull, she'd always had a predilection for muggle card games like Bridge and Euchre.

Next, Severus and Hermione decided to open their gifts from Eileen at the same time. They were both products of her knitting needles, which was just as well, because his mother didn't have the ability to shop nor the money to afford to spend too much. Even so, he immediately slipped on the chocolate-coloured ribbed cardigan and he noticed Granger wrapping an outrageously hideous, pink, cabled scarf around her shoulders and face.

"This is from that yarn I gave you!" She shrieked in laughter, his mother, surprisingly, joining in with her own tittering.

"I didn't know what else to do with it, did I? It was abominable!"

"I think you put it to good use, actually," Hermione sighed into the stitches, her nose burying in the warmth of the wool, which was curiously woven throughout with other strands of colours and even sequins. "Your turn next, Severus." Hermione turned to him, her smile somewhat tight. "I really wasn't sure..."

He held up a hand as he began tearing the wrapping. "I'm sure I'll be most happy with anything you've chosen for me, Hermione."

She nodded back, her expression looking a bit lighter.

The package was quite small. Not unlike the one he'd gifted to her, and he found upon removing the wrapping a small rectangular box with no distinguishing features. Lifting the lid he almost choked.

"Y-you? How did you get this? I wasn't able to get one and I know people—"

She shrugged, the hint of a mischievous smile about her lips. "I know different people."

"I... but... they just finished up the English leg of the tour—" He'd tried for months to find a ticket to any of the locations in the UK, even succeeding once. Then, given that the tour overlapped with his promise to his mother, he'd sold the ticket to one of the Galdrvale developers from another team. It had been something of a crushing loss, but not so much as it would have been to have turned down his shot at reconciling with his estranged mother.

"Yeah, they did, but they're playing one last show in London in June after they finish up the European leg. The last one."

He was aware that he was gaping quite unattractively at the small scrap of paper but he couldn't find it in himself to care. This was far too monumental.

"What are you two on about?" Eileen asked, clearly affronted at being left out of the discussion.

Severus had to swallow before he answered. "Iron Maiden, Mam. She got me a ticket to go see Iron Maiden." His lips quirked almost enough to show his helter skelter teeth. A true grin, if a small one. "I... Thank you." He almost couldn't speak another word, but the maddening girl seemed to understand, her lips quirking in a shy smile as she nodded back self-consciously.

He could feel the heat in his face and ears still as he pushed the final present her way. She received it with a clear level of curiosity, and seemingly, a bit of trepidation. Once the paper was removed her eyes widened like two saucers.

"Talk about overkill! You didn't have to get me this!" In spite of her words, she was grinning like a loon and already removing the packaging.

"You're one to talk," he smirked. "Those tickets are impossible to find. And expensive. If anyone spent too much, it was you. I can afford it,"

She stuck her tongue out at him a bit, but was then biting back a smile. The ticket had been a bit pricey, but he wasn't aware that she had family well connected enough to get it at a steep discount, otherwise she wouldn't have managed.

This though...

She turned it over in her hand.

This felt like a lot. She certainly couldn't have afforded an iPod on her salary.

"It's already charged up, you can turn it on," Snape informed her.

She did just that, watching the little white apple logo come and go, before she began scrolling experimentally with her thumb, the way she'd watched people do in the ads.

"First of all, thank you—" she said, a bit breathlessly. "Second of all... I don't want you to think I'm being rude, but even you still listen to cassettes—"

Snape gave a lazy shrug, clearly unconcerned. "I like my cassettes. And my CDs. And my records. Someday I'll enjoy digital music too, no doubt, but it's a bit of a hassle to change everything up now. I have all the stereo equipment I feel like I need or want. Besides, I didn't load it up with music for you."

"You didn't?"

"No," he remarked, his voice dry. "Much as I'm impressed that you know my favourite band, I didn't expect that we necessarily enjoyed the same music. Anyway, I did put some things on there for you, as I don't imagine you have a computer."

Hermione shook her head in a sheepish acknowledgement.

"Give it here for a moment,"

She did so and watched as he expertly navigated the interface, scrolling through menus before he found what he was looking for. After a moment, he rose and approached her, crouching down to her side beside the settee.

"Books!" She gasped, her face lighting up with joy.

"Not Hogwarts' Library's typical fare, mind you—"

"No! This is better!" She began to scroll through the titles of the audiobooks, acquainting herself with the tiny library that would fit in her pocket, no Undetectable Extension Charm required. "I love Agatha Christie! How did you know?"

Severus smirked at her. "I had a suspicion given your interest in Midsomer Murders and the fact that you enjoyed books like Silence of the Lambs."

"Poirot is a far better detective than Barnaby,"

"Agreed."

After another hour of them all finicking with their respective gifts, excepting Severus, who could only tinker so much with a cardigan and a delicate ticket (that he'd taken care to charm with an Impervious charm and to stuff into his wallet), Eileen excused herself to bed and Severus and Hermione made their way back to the kitchen where they began to put to rights all that the three had left in their wake after dinner.

Hermione charmed a sponge and a bit of steel wool to scrub off the worst of the cooked on messes, a trick she'd learned from Molly, and Severus took over the bulk of the dishes themselves, blasting away bits of stuck on food with the curly-Q wand he'd inherited from his mother.

They worked together in companionable silence for a long while. There was no discomfort in it, both were too excited over the way the day had ended, though for each their own reasons were too nervous to say it aloud to the other.

Finally, Severus was the first to speak as they were close to finishing.

"I always wanted this, you know," he said to her, long after Eileen had made her way off to bed.

He was standing at the sink, tapping mugs with his wand to scour them and setting them aside on the counter one by one. His gaze was far away from the task his hands and magic were performing—somewhere out the dark window.

"Just me and her—and not in that hovel... somewhere warm. Somewhere safe."

Hermione didn't know what to say, but she knew she wanted him to continue. In the end she decided her best bet was to say nothing and to let him speak if he were so inclined.

"But it's not the same—not quite—I can't go back to being a teenager around her and I wouldn't want to if I could. I'm nearer to fifty..." his words tapered off as he seemed to consider his life trajectory. "Some of the men at work are my age, perhaps ten years younger, and they still live with their mothers, and that's not something I'd like for myself."

"You don't live with her," Hermione said, her voice gentle. "We're just here for two weeks. It's a visit. Maybe you'll visit with her every Christmas—and hopefully more often than that—but you're not moving in with her."

Snape, seemingly still miles away, nodded his head. He wouldn't look at her, and while normally that wouldn't irk her, Hermione now found herself unaccountably jealous of whatever it was that held his attention captive.

Was she? Jealous, that was? No—just... she wished he'd acknowledge her with anything approaching the same level of focus. That was it. That was all.

It couldn't be that the snow outside was so interesting. Something was playing out before his mind's eye, and she felt she'd give anything to be a party to his observation of it, if only to be able to talk it over with him.

The alternative would be to bring him down to earth. To jerk his tether and seat him firmly back in the present moment once more. His back was tensing as each moment wore on, and she couldn't bear to see it...

She chuckled aloud, hoping it would be enough to pique his interest. Indeed, he turned about and gave her a somewhat curious glance.

"This is no way to spend the remainder of Christmas day, even if it is approaching midnight." She rifled around in her bag, pulling out a number of the gifts she'd received that very morning from the Weasleys and Potters. Finally, she withdrew a crate of six bottles from the very bottom, where she'd stored them in the understanding that they'd likely go unused.

"Schnapps?" He asked, his brow raised, but a smirk of amusement alighting his navy-black eyes.

"PeppermintSchnapps—oh, well I suppose half of them are gingerbread," she amended when she'd lifted one to inspect it. "In the interest of the season." She waggled her eyebrows at him. "Care to join me?"

He grabbed a bottle of the gingerbread and twisted off the topper before taking a swig, his eyes on the witch, calculating. "Tell me, Hermione,is there anything you don't keep inside that magic bag of wonders? I doubt Father Christmas himself is equipped with a whole liquor store in his sack."

She felt herself blushing, knowing that it likely reflected badly on her to have an entire crate of alcohol on her person without cause. "It was from Ron, I only got it this morning. I don't usually drink all that much, but I figured if I were going to—I'd rather share it with you."

She didn't mention the drinking she'd done at the Christmas party the week earlier, nor the ciders she'd shared with him that same evening, and she certainly didn't mention the fact that she'd consumed a rather large amount of mead and brandy just that very morning in preparation for meeting with her parents. Luckily for her, he declined to mention anything of her recent habits either.

"Mmm. Well, cheers," he announced, holding the bottle aloft. "To being a corrupting influence on a perfect angel, I suppose." He ended his toast with a note of bitter irony, though she was unsure whether he meant the designation as an insult or in sincerity.

She rose, her own bottle of peppermint gripped in her small hand, and tapped the neck of her bottle to his, causing the glass to make a soft 'clink.'

"Cheers to companionship on Christmas." She said it with as much earnestness as she could manage, locking eyes with him, even though he looked desperately uncomfortable with her scrutiny. "Cheers to a pleasant evening, spent with two people whose company I very much enjoy."

He looked away quickly, but tapped his bottleneck against hers again in agreement. "Yes, cheers."

At that, they both took a mouthful apiece and tossed their heads back, feeling the sweet liquor burn paths down their throats.

It wasn't long before they had relocated to the settee and were joyously belting out Christmas carols in increasingly outrageous voices.

At the second verse of Deck the Halls, Eileen had poked her frazzled head out of her bedroom and demanded Severus cast a Silencing spell, to which he very clumsily complied, after what seemed to be an inexhaustible number of inelegant snorts and guffaws.

They continued on, becoming more and more absurd as the hour grew later: Hermione, practicing in a faulty and shrill operatic soprano, and Severus, amusingly, attempting the well-loved verses in the style of Ozzy Osbourne, Robert Plant, and Dio. The first of which he actually accomplished quite well, in spite of his inebriation.

It was near two before they collapsed in an exhausted heap on the sofa, arms pressed against one another. Hermione dropped her head to rest against his shoulder, rubbing her cheek against the soft wool of his new cardigan, her eyes closed in sheer hedonistic enjoyment. Snape was grumbling something, far too quiet for her to make out what it might have been, and had upended the throw-pillows on the settee in search of the clicker. When he'd finally found it, he switched on the telly. Having accomplished this, he felt around by their feet for their abandoned bottles and handed one back to her.

She pressed it to her lips and almost blanched when the bitter notes of ginger met her palate, "Whoopsss, this, um... yours, I think?"

He laughed, the sound deep and reverberating, so that she could feel it where her cheek was pressed against his shoulder. "'S'all mixed up, here—" he took her arm with the bottle and crossed it over his own, lifting the bottle in his own hand to her and tipping the bottle she was holding by the bottom so he could take another gulp himself. "How's that?" He blinked down at her, his dark eyes bleary.

"Thas' much better," Hermione smacked her lips at the flavour.

The sound of some unnamed and disinteresting programming floated across them, providing enough background sound as to cure the unnerving stillness, without drawing their focus. Snape shifted his back against the arm of the sofa so he was half reclining. He regarded her with a frown—as if she were a specimen that he didn't know whether to flay or bleed or chop, and finally, after she'd giggled at his continuing perusal of her person, he settled both hands under her armpits and pulled her over, halfway on top of himself, so they were laying chest to chest. "No, thisis better," he rumbled, his hand working its way into her hair all the way to the base of her scalp.

Hermione sighed in pleasure, melting against him and letting her hands claw in the material of his shirt, near his waist. "Yes, this's niiiiice." It came out in a soft hiss.

He continued to pet her head for an interminable amount of time, his eyes half lidded and observing the way the soft warm light shone off of the subtle notes of nutmeg, cinnamon, and clove in her hair. For plain brown hair, she sure had a lot of different colours at play. He buried his nose amongst the strands, imagining that she'd perhaps smell like the spices he'd named. He wasn't far off.

She wasn't sure when her hands twisting in the worn fabric of his shirt had begun to caress the soft skin she'd revealed by bunching it up, but after a few moments, it became apparent to both of them that she was no longer holding the flannel and was instead running her fingertips over the smooth skin of his hips.

Snape gave them a small shake, not to dislodge her, but in order to arrange them more comfortably, with her resting between his legs and their abdomens flush together. He felt the witch gasp against him, and this time it was her turn to wiggle herself against him. 'Was she...?'

She was. She really was... she was pressing herself against the rapidly firming piece of himself dangling twixt his legs... it seemed impossible, and Severus felt himself freeze, his mind clearing enough to realize for the first time what position he'd brought them to, and then he felt Hermione's breath puffing out against the disfigured skin of his neck, and he was lost once more, this time to the soft sensation of her lips caressing the rarely touched scar tissue below his jaw, nuzzling his earlobe with the tip of her pert nose.

Severus found himself growling low in his throat, his arms coming up to wrap around her shoulder and waist. When she raised her head to meet his gaze, he brought his face to hers, slowly, too slowly... but she must have felt the same way, as she went the final thirty percent of the way, pressing her own lips against his, washing him out to sea on a raft of peppermint and peace.

There was no telling how long they remained awake, though by four they were most assuredly pressed chest to chest, snoring lightly together.

The room had become cluttered around them. The floor by the sofa was now home to four bottles of schnapps and a bevy of assorted clothing. A Weasley jumper here, a pair of men's jeans there. His new cardigan was draped over the back of the sofa along with Hermione's jeans. His pants had ended up hanging off the bottleneck of one of the flasks of liquor, and her own knickers were balled up along the seam of the cushions, but by then both of them were too oblivious to the world to care or notice. There was a dearth of blankets in the sitting room, so as they slept, they had maneuvered his flannel shirt to shield them, from Hermione's upper back to cover most of her bum and upper thighs.

Between that and their shared body heat it was enough to sustain them throughout the cold winter night.

"If you want my body and you think I'm sexy

Come on honey tell me so

If you really need me just reach out and touch me

Come on sugar let me know,"
"Da Ya Think I'm Sexy" – Rod Stewart (reprise)

A/N: OH MY GOD I felt like the Christmas chapters would never end. With this one in particular, there was just nothing I felt like I could cut out, it all felt too important plot-wise. Consequently, this is the longest chapter so far. In the future, I imagine most of the next few chapters will be considerably shorter.

Now, given that I'm writing this A/N at the time that I wrote this chapter (which is the first week of January 2022 for reference: now you know, even if I get around to posting this story at some distant point in the future) I can tell you, or simply make note for my own sense of time-keeping, that I felt I couldn't write these three chapters until it was actually the Christmas season. I'm not sure if I'll have the same problem with other fics set around Christmas time where perhaps the plot doesn't hinge so singularly on character development during the month of December. *shrug*

Also, though I don't often do long Author's Notes, I felt like I should here because I'm not sure if I'll write another chapter before I give birth to our (mine and my husband's) daughter. :) Our first baby! I'm absolutely terrified. Wish me luck! (And because you'll all be reading this way after the fact, wish me luck with the toddler I may very well be raising at that point lol).

Follow up A/N at time of posting: This is, in fact, the longest chapter in the entire story, and Wendy is nearing seven months now, so I'm grateful that I managed to finish before she reached toddlerhood!

There is a piece of art that goes along with this chapter that will be going up on my Deviant Art (username: mothboss) under the title of "Peppermint and Peace ."

And the Queen's speech is taken directly from her 2006 address which can be found here: .uk (backslash) christmas-broadcast-2006

Thanks for reading, following, and, of course, reviewing! *love*