Hi Everybody! A whole new set of apologies is in order, this time. However, in this event the issue was more tech-support related, by and large. Regardless, we are VERY, VERY, VERY sorry again for missing last week. We have, assuredly, already set up for this coming weekend so you won't have to wait two weeks again ? But thank you to everyone who commented and checked in. We really, really appreciate it!
Another titanic thanks to our beta Marilynn aka hizqueen4life! As always, we couldn't have done it without you!
Cover art, as always, by the lovely OpalChalice - Enjoy!
And also, as always, comments, thoughts, joys, sorrows you may have for the piece are always encouraged and welcomed! Much love to you all!
~ Kristina & Abby
The Ties That Bind
No cord or cable can draw so forcibly, or bind so fast, as love can do with a single thread. – Robert Burton
Chapter XII: The Homecoming, Part II – Mother Knows Best
You can cut the ties that bind but not without losing a part of yourself. You can walk away and hide from the people who made you, but you'll always hear them calling your name." – Lisa Unge
~•~
Friday, 28th November, 2003 – Evening
"Severus Tobias Snape, you best not be fornicating on my roof!"
"Fuck me sideways with Athena's strap-on, Mother's portrait has been…awakened…."
Hermione blinked herself out of what was, ostensibly, an ardent haze. The words took several seconds after their vocalisation to register properly, and even once they had, she wasn't quite sure which sentiment to express: amusement, or concern? And, to challenge her detective skills even further, Severus' visage wasn't typically avowed for serving as the greatest of indicators at the best of times – much less, albeit perhaps wisely, the worst . Therefore, she was abandoned to rely on pure, primal reaction alone. The knee-jerk response she found herself leaning towards was the former – his colourful choice of curses notwithstanding. And so, hedging her bets for the sake of propriety, the young woman let out a provisorily, confused chuckle that was quickly – and perhaps, luckily – hijacked by a serendipitous gust of wind that sped it off into the night.
"...Come again?" she pressed, as innocuously as she could manage, her brows furrowing in demonstrative curiosity. For, though she had comprehended his words, they certainly could use a bit of contexture, and then some .
In an endeavour to establish some herself, Hermione employed the small section of her brain that still retained adequate blood flow, attempting to recall what she knew about the man's mother and conjoin it to the voice she'd just heard echoing from below. (Unfortunately for Mrs Granger-Snape, what information she had reserved for the witch that just, arbitrarily, became her mother-in-law, was, over all, not very much, aside from the year of her birth, the unfortunate state of her marriage, and her penchant for Gobstones). Though, perhaps, her faulty powers of recall weren't the consequence of unrefined study, but instead simply the corollary of their most recent, high-flying kiss? After all, the height they were currently residing could readily have collaborated with the oral mechanics in a contumacious effort to make her inconveniently light-headed. Bollocks.
"I… Er, one moment, Miss Granger. These are not precisely the most advantageous conditions to explain that – Her – within…" Severus muttered as his mouth instituted itself adjacent to her ear, lest the suddenly brawny tempo of wind convey his words farther to the north – or more detrimentally, they, themselves. However, once that feasibility had had a moment to peregrinate his mind, he realised that such a macabre demise would provide an infallible extrication from ever having to deal with (or introduce his wife to) his mother – portrait rendition or not.
And so with nimble, yet vacillating ease 'Severus Tobias Snape' drifted them back down to the earth's crust. He did, however, keep a mind to return their feet to the opposing side of the street in a rather despondent assiduity to grant them each a juncture of time in which to garner themselves, strategise, and, finally, execute their plan of attack. Er, their return to the 'in-of-doors', rather.
"Right… Um, firstly, are you alright? No nausea, I pray? I sprung that on you and that was gormless of me. I apologise. Also, my sincerest 'mea culpas' for claiming your face, yet again . I was simply affording us with a bit of 'end-of-scene' insurance, if you will….. On the off-chance that might have glanced backwards…. Or, bloody hell, had whipped out a Polaroid camera from his arse…" Snape stammered spasmodically though with a lacing of amusement as his pupils hastened to the 'gateway' of his Spinner's End abode in isochronal glances.
Coaxing her unyielding grip around his person to ease as her toes found the sturdiness of terra firma once more, Hermione watched his scrambling excuses with a smirk of cheeky incredulity, her brows climbing, as she waited for her opportunity to respond. She was not about to allow him to retract all of that without a substantial serving of 'protest'.
"Never better, and absolutely no apologies required. A wise safeguarding move, to be sure," Hermione assured him almost sternly whilst delicately pressing her forefinger against the cupid's bow of his lips. He did have a, seemingly newly resourced, habit of overextending himself when it came to excusing any behaviour he might deem the slightest bit imprudent or unsolicited, by presumption of her protest. A very silly presumption if she were any judge, given all they'd traversed through together thus far.
After she'd gotten that point across, she let her hand and weight drop languidly from where they'd been settled up against him, her heels hitting the ground with a resolute tap against the pavement.
"Now then, what were you going to say about your mum?"
Noting her reception to his austere concern for her physical and emotional being, Severus wondered if he didn't detect a seasoning of….flustered concupiscence within her being, and chewed back a complacent simper. Though he swiftly abjured even having birthed the crass riposte, as inducing her to a state of physical passion was hardly the ultimate goal here, if at all, if ever….? At least, until the date of consummation, when it, likely, would be advantageous to evoke such a response – only in order to execute and complete the required requisites for the fateful night, of course. But why the bloody hell was he musing on that now? And why was he even considering that the ability to inspire her into a state of carnal desire over him was a concept that he very much favoured…?
Halt, Man!
"Right. Good. I'm pleased to learn that all of your faculties are, to the extent of your knowledge, in order," he finally clipped out. Then, swallowing what felt like a satchel of sand, Severus cleared his throat as if to help its narrow path before regarding her latter remark with an obvious disinclination to answer, "It seems….that the charmed curtains I so cardinally issued her whilst I was gone, to maintain an atmosphere of…. desertion and… vacancy, have come undone…. "
"I see," Hermione followed, her brow still raised effectively, as she scribed his features as unerringly as she could within the glare of the street lamp, nerves and all, before continuing, "And might I presume, by your response, some re-charming is needed?"
It was an educated guess, not intended with any ill will or judgement, merely observation. He apparently had had no intention of his late mother's becoming involved with the evening's events, and as amusing an interlude as her chosen greeting had been, the witch could easily comprehend why he seemed to believe her company, and commentary, might be…. intrusive ?
If Severus hadn't been so bloody discomposed about this new development, he might have chuckled at her wryly cunning observation. However, he was inordinately distressed and far beyond the precipice of assimilating such a mirthful abstraction.
"Correct . The sooner we get her…. succoured the better. Now then, shall we?" the man who had not played the part of 'son' in some time queried his wife as he held out his hand in indication that she might proceed first, out of cowardice or propriety, who could say?
"Yes, I suppose we shall," Hermione concurred with a dollop of her own unease woven through the words as she paced cautiously ahead of him and back towards the house. She crossed her arms around her front to guard against the chill that was finally gnawing at her nerves now that their bodies had been divorced.
A clamorous inner voice informed her that this might not be the ideal circumstances under which to hold a first introduction, especially depending on how long the maternal figure had been 'awake' for, and what state of affairs she might have borne witness to via either her 'ears' or her 'eyes'. Though, with that harrowing thought in mind, Hermione suddenly paused in her tracks, halting them in the middle of the street.
"Shite, nearly forgot," she remarked quietly, dodging over to where the camera had last been seen, and which was, thankfully, still abandoned. She bent to fetch it up victoriously. "Might want to hold onto this."
"Oh, do you now, Miss Granger? Fancy it for personal use? Or are you suddenly wanting to exploit us for your own measly profit on the side?" Severus questioned with rather inquisitive drollness, though obviously an air of impish flirtation was about, as he opened up his stride to catch up with her absconded figure and hastily step in front of it.
For, he had come to the shrewd acknowledgement that sending her into the 'parental battlefield' on the frontline, unarmed was neither the most gentlemanly course of action, nor the most appropriate – not to mention kind . Though, it should be known, that he had loved his mother during her mortal life – and did so posthumously, as well. In spite of, or, possibly even, because of, their Gordian, yet rich, and oftentimes, disavowing relationship. The negatives of which, were specifically held in relation to his ornery father and his irascible temper, and the lack of any substantial dutiful shielding on his mother's part for his adolescent person. Whether out of guilt, shame, or a newfound sense of secured safety , her portrait had adopted quite the proclivity for the 'over-protective mother, revered son' dynamic. And as such, he hardly wanted Hermione to enter that cross-fire at all, let alone without a morsel of prepared andragogy.
"Well, it certainly sounds like a better idea than leaving it on the doorstep," Hermione agreed with jesting correction, inspecting the battered device for a brief moment. Though her interest was more a diversion from their intended route rather than any real fascination, for she was hopeful he might conclude it suitable to take the lead at this point in her stead. She felt woefully unprepared, truth be told, to meet anyone's mother at present, much less her new Mother-In-Law . Juggling the cumbersome camera under her arm, she attempted to domesticate the back of her hair which, she had little doubt, was a chaotic mess after… well, all of that .
"Seems a bit tousled but likely could be repaired if one wanted to apply the time and effort. Something which Neil only could have done, had he gotten to it," she smirked triumphantly.
"Yes, well, we'll have to destroy it accordingly. I believe I can leave that up to you, yes? You have some experience in destroying cursed objects, if I'm not mistaken?" Severus drawled, though hushed his tone, as they finally stepped into the doorway as his mother's portrait hung just down the hallway on the side of the rigid staircase that was couched immediately against the left side of the house.
"Right… Could you – would you – Er, may I prevail upon you , to please walk yourself with a healthy amount of briskness to the sitting room and deafen your ears either mechanically or magically for good measure?" I'll need to take a moment to have a quick word with my mother before I try and sort the bloody curtains out. Can you promise me to keep yourself from snooping, Miss Granger?" he asked with earnest care, though he did glower down at her in a rather threatening manner as he did want to instil in her the weight of the risk that disobeying him might bear. For he'd have no control whatsoever on what she may, or may not, be so unfortunate enough to hear.
Hermione looked waggishly reluctant to appease his request, as likely expected given her history with meddling, but did manage to propel herself to raise a hand of genuine surrender (however steadfast) before he could voice any further concern. Her greedy curiosity notwithstanding, she was content with her honesty in stating that she would not intentionally surveil on his familial dialogue. (Though, she wasn't about to sew her ears shut, either — that seemed a bit superfluous, as much as he, credibly, would have preferred her to do so).
"I promise I won't try to eavesdrop. Go, do what you must," she replied in quiet encouragement, shifting away from him and dodging into the sitting room post-haste.
Stalking trepidatiously down the hallway as he did his utmost to get the cacophonous ringing of the word 'try' in his wife's rather noncommittal tone out of his skull, Severus finally found himself stood at the foot of his sallow-faced, perturbed, defiantly-sat mother, pictured in the very armchair they had, earlier, gone to such great lengths to appear to have defiled. Given that he hadn't had a proper chat with her since before he'd been forced to decamp to London for his pre-trial hearings, Severus was apprehensive, to say the least, to engage with the woman now. At the time of that brief conference, he made it known to her that he was still alive, had meat on his bones (huzzah for older age and the retaining of body fat), and, that he'd let her know if it was to be Azkaban or 'Muggledom', in the event that he was spared imprisonment but stripped of his wand. Never did he think it would be sans his bachelorhood… And with a wife.
"Fuck; let's get this over with," he muttered to himself before inhaling slowly as his eyes met their twin pair in acrylic form as he gifted his mother with a tight-liped smile of 'greeting' before it fell abruptly to proceed to the business end of matters.
"Firstly, Mother, keep your bloody voice down, please . With respect, of course. Secondly, I shall give you a small window of time, right now, to ask a few, select questions as I do realise this was once your home. Then, I do apologise, but you will have to be silenced again until the weekend is at an end. We can have a proper…. chat then. I swear to it."
"And then I'll be put out again like a misbehaving dog, I'm aware, " the portrayed visage of Eileen Snape, née, Prince reproached in an acrimoniously 'quieted' tone, with some respect to his behest. However, the words were not as stark as they could have been, though her lips were twisted into an impatient frown, as she was, by all appearances, presently more in a stew about being out of the loop than about her son's tendency to silence her when it was 'inconvenient'.
"Last I heard, you were facing Azkaban and now you've shown up making an exhibition of yourself with some girl, and threatening people on the stoop. So, I think I might have missed a few things, Dear."
Severus extinguished a compunctious sigh, which was certainly pregnant with all of its affiliations, as well as the outlier of exasperation, that had been amassing in his thorax with quite a leaden feel to it. Still, the prodigal son had found that, when handling his mother's portrait whilst under the tempests of such malcontent moods of feeling slighted, deceived, or beguiled, sighing was a far better tactic – if he had to employ one, to dispel his temperamental frustrations – than his usual modus operandi of fervently rolling his eyes. Yes, she was not an aficionado of that particular convention of his. Especially at his age. And towards her person.
"She isn't a 'girl', Mother. I do promise you I haven't fallen that low in the ranks of 'The Depraved'. She's in her mid-twenties and has the mind of someone in their late-thirties – most of the time. And as you can see by my habit, I've not just escaped on a maniacal flight from the aforementioned Azkaban. Actually, I didn't get anywhere near it, either in prospect or in proximity. Very much, you should note, in thanks to that 'girl'. So, an ounce of respect towards her would be appreciated, wouldn't you say, Mumsey?"
"Well, she's certainly 'girl enough'. But, I suppose I can allot her some… moving on though, dear, I can't help but notice that you still have your wand intact. Huzzah. Well done. Though your other hand is what is of far more interest to me, or rather it's adornment. How long did you have me asleep for ?" Eileen prattled with efficiency, given her apparently limited opportunity to do so. Her heavy brows descended with her eyes as she tried to 'peek' out of her frame towards his left hand.
"You'd think an audience might be in order before snatching my only son? You seem to have managed to have had an entire trial, a courtship, and a marriage before informing me?"
"Mother, please, for my heart's sake, quit any and all attempts at innuendos. And I don't have time to give you the bloody minutes of my trial transcript now, but just know that the acquisition of a wife was required for my freedom. As such, there wasn't an opportunity for you to give your approval, nor had I even known about it when I'd left for London. But honestly, I'm entertaining her currently so I can't explain everything at the moment, so…. Please . Be a darling , and try not to put up too much of a fuss when I ask you to be sequestered again?" Severus jawed off wearily, though did borrow his most charming smile and plea of filial-guilt as he finished. His left hand tightened in fortified hope, its ring finger pumping with heat suddenly.
"Required? " the elder woman pried with dogged inquisitiveness, her dark eyes narrowing in concern, uncertain if it was for the motivations of her son, the woman in question, or for whatever governing body had such a backwards method of deliberation. Regardless, however, the result was the same. Although, as her son appeared to have no interest in explaining the uninhibited specifics, even after her invocation, she settled back into her seat.
"Well it didn't look very forced to me, but fine…do what you must, Carissimus. But I would like to know something about her eventually. And I would also like to remind you that no matter how many enchantments you have on this house, the neighbours can see some things…."
"Please, Mumsey, don't call me that aloud. She very likely could hear, if she's not actively listening… She always was a bloody Nancy Drew …" he ground out through married teeth, his eyes glancing to the right as if he could pay vigil to her person through the wall. If only. Or perhaps, it was better that he couldn't. Nevertheless, he was spending far too much time with his mother as it was.
"Right. I'm going to leave now, Mother. I'm pleading with you… behave ?" Severus blinked once and only once before awkwardly pressing a kiss to his fingers which he then planted to her left cheek in a minute gesture of affection. He stooped down to retrieve the dust-matted, mustard-yellow curtains that had fallen to the floor from her frame some time prior, before hurriedly finishing his journey to the cellar door. Where, much to his gratuitous satisfaction, he was going to fetch, and charm, a novel bit of black , velvet cloth which he was certain no soul, save his own, would be able to tamper with. Thank fuck.
" Behaving… " Eileen responded with moracious reluctance, pressing on the inherent irony of such a role reversal, her eyes shifting to watch his figure depart until her limited view tampered out.
After having had a brief 'talk' with her bandy-legged feline about his overprotective tendencies as she tackled a bit of magically-induced grooming on her debauched appearance, Hermione finally reverted to perusing the numerous bookshelves in an effort to occupy her attention, fullstop. The specific shelf she happened to select, however, incidentally hadn't prevented her from overhearing a few bits and pieces of the familial exchange, being as it was stationed in close proximity to the entryway. A complete and utter happenstance, to be sure.
It was an intriguing thing to witness – or would have been, had she dared to watch outright. There were parts of her mind – residual, no doubt, from her time spent as his pupil – which still held fast to her adolescent hypothesis that the man really did have eyes in the back of his head. So, it was only after hearing Severus stalk off, and trot down the stone, cellar stairs, that Hermione risked poking her head out of the sitting room to chance the achievement of a decent view of his mother's portrait.
"Oh, just come out proper, poppet. You look like a bloody ostrich with your head poking out like that. And besides, you're not even viewing my good angle. I'm teasing, of course. I'm not sure Merlin graced me with one," the portrait of Eileen called out in a hushed, yet compelling enough manner to instil the notion that to cease to heed her word likely would be an unwise course of action. Her son was, arguably, quite a foreboding figure. Why should his damned, bastard of a father get the credit for all of his ominous attributes? For though she had surely been subservient to him, for reasons and attributes that not even her son was fully privy to, she certainly wasn't such when it came to other magic-folk. Especially fellow witches who may or may not be shagging her son and playing with his heart.
Hermione winced at having been so quickly spotted, feeling an overwhelming sense of guilty incertitude given how inherently her husband had urged her to refrain from 'snooping'. Though being summoned was hardly the same thing as investigating of her own volition…right? Right .
And so, with that 'firmly' ruled upon, the young woman edged herself fully into the hallway as she sought to appear as confident, comfortable, and winsome as possible. As she neared the golden-gilded frame, however, she realised with much agitation that the face of the raven-haired woman was, by all appearances, already canvassing her person. Lovely .
"Oh, er, my apologies, Mrs. Snape, he didn't seem very…. pleased at the thought of my talking to you at the moment. I'm Hermione."
"Does Severus ever seem pleased, dear? Or, were you just a sacrificial lamb chosen from the masses and have never had the privilege of being under either his tutelage or his headmastership? If so, let me tell you, the ever-present 'morose' look of that defined crevice between his brows, he got from his father, thank you very much," Eileen stated with grand conviction, crossing her arms over her chest and elevating her nose to a promenading height as she waited for the young witch to give her rebuttal.
"Oh, no. I'm very familiar with it, I assure you," the younger witch found herself answering with a present, if fond, rolling of her eyes. Though it abruptly struck her that he very likely would not want his mother to be 'aware' of the status of their former 'academic relationship'. However, on second thought, she also estimated that it probably wasn't a difficult leap to come to simply based on the length of his teaching tenure at Hogwarts, alone. As such, she concluded it savviest to tread the line of familiar obliquity.
"And I am very much here by choice, please know. Well, choice, and a handsome amount of manoeuvring, truth be told. But there was no 'sacrificing' involved, I can assure you."
"Hmm, well, that only remains to be said, not seen, so I shall put a placeholder on that sentiment for now, Ms…? Or are you now the new Mrs. Snape?" she queried with a disparaging tone towards the man behind the surname. The man, who had proven, mind one, to have served as the inception of her nightmarish life, and her dashed, deferred dreams. To say nothing of the trauma and adversity he had thrust upon their only child, his only son, and her only babe.
"Hermione Granger -Snape, at your service," she greeted more formally, with a petite curtsey of charisma as she flashed an ironic smile to indicate that her sense of humour was both equivocal, and in-line, with the sardonic one clearly established in the Snape family household. She could easily sense the inherent bitterness in the woman's tone with regards to her married name. And it was no small wonder given what she could perceive about Tobias. However, in the spirit of feminist comradery, the younger witch hoped that the older one might recognise, and therefore, appreciate, the duality of her choice to retain her maiden name whilst still taking on the 'Snape' metronym. For the sake of her son's bearing of it, if nothing else.
"I didn't expect to be meeting you, Ma'am, or I would've introduced myself sooner."
"Well that makes two of us, Mrs. Granger-Snape, as your husband was rather remiss with remembering to inform me about you – and vice versa, as it seems. Let alone about his bloody having returned home….," she paused for a moment as her digits adjusted the brooch that rested on the right side of her satin, forest-green blouse, having gone askew when she had crossed her arms so insolently moments before. The brooch was of a crow and made of solid, shiny silver with onyx-gemmed eyes that sparkled even through the paint, it's visage was startling in its detail.
Hermione's focus shifted to the adornment with acute curiosity, though she did not permit her attention to wander for too long. She had a strong supposition that the woman was just as impartial to any forlorn attention from others, if not more so, than was her offspring – likely assuming any such interest to be some form of scrutiny rather than any specimen of respect.
"I only arrived about half an hour ago, I believe? And Severus only had a twenty-four hour lead on me, if that, so I assure you – you really didn't miss much," she attempted to allay before slyly refocusing the conversation to that of the woman's ornament lest it alter to a mortifying one. "That's a lovely brooch, Mrs. Snape. Do both you and Severus have a fondness for corvids, or is there a deeper significance?"
Eileen Snape locked her jaw tightly – a very familiar habit that her son had, without doubt, inherited – as she cast her black pupils south to pin in question. Her small, bony left hand fingered the beak of the worn metal with a fond sigh of remembrance.
"Yes, as a matter of fact we do. This is an 'emblem', if you will, to honour my own familiar, and Nyx's father, Chaos . A bit of poetic irony there, as that's exactly what my life turned out to be… However, I am pleased that he managed to only sire her, and was spared the misfortune of a male offspring. If only since the brother of her namesake, Erebus, at least by title, could have had the potential for a far more detrimental influence, don't you think? I'd rather my son clothed himself in black all his life, endorse the costume habits of any century's male attire that still holds 'the cravat' in fashion, and have a familiar bestowed with a denomination that stands for 'The Night' rather than 'Darkness' incarnate...* As a family fraught with copious mental duels with depression, I really don't think the material formation of such a concept, especially in the form of a companion, need have been gifted to him. Thankfully, that thread of human fate was cut by one of those three blasted sisters… And only our lovely Nyx was born. But, I'm probably boring you…"
"Actually, not in the slightest," Hermione responded with zealous curiosity, nearing the portrait with less hesitation now that they had been in congress for a time. It was not the most intimate of details, but it was still quite revealing – another small puzzle piece to add to her collection and aid her in a more established image of the mysterious figure she had so recently bound herself to. "He is, as I'm sure you're aware, not the most… forthcoming of people when it concerns particulars, even with regards to his avian companion. Though I can see where he gets his fondness for classical allusions," she chuckled with gentle fondness.
"Mm, yes, quite so," Eileen began with a smirk of converting persuasions for the girl, "He keeps his cards very close to his chest, as do most of our family. You'll find that speckled histories often breed the most mysteries. My son's affinity for them is certainly no disclusion. And it seems that you , dear, have become one of those cards so snugly tucked against his chest. At least to the best of my knowledge of him," Eileen grunted though there was more personal offence, pang, in the utterance than true ire. Clearly the woman wanted a preponderant relationship with her son after so many years of such a capricious, yet faithful bond towards one another.
"However, don't you dare, for an instant, fool yourself into thinking that my petulance towards Severus now will erode my maternal aegis of him. Therefore, kindly state the following: Age? Breeding? Family Size? School House? And Familiar? Though, I do believe that's already been answered… Oh, and lastly, and most vitally, are you in love with my Cass, or are you not? And if your answer is not the former you may leave this house before he returns. And when I said, 'may', dear, I meant 'must' ," the older witch narrowed her eyes and blinked once 'politely'.
Looking rather taken aback at the abrupt interrogation, Hermione frowned and glanced down the hall to watch for any signs of Severus' return in the hopes that she might be spared. Alas, not a deft footstep, brooding scowl, or angry muttering of, "Ten points from Gryffindor", in range.
"Well, just the essentials then," she snarked lightly, before clearing her throat and attempting to run down the list. "I'm twenty-four, an only-child of two muggle parents, of English and French origin. My house is Gryffindor, though I was nearly a hatstall for Ravenclaw and your son seems to believe I should've been a Slytherin. My familiar is a half-kneazle feline with a protective streak. And as for your last question," she paused to take a pregnant breath, "I haven't decided yet. Is there anything else? Astrological sign, blood type?"
"Haven't decided on what , yet? Miss Granger?" Severus purred in a deceptively low tone, though its exoskeleton was surely lined with an armoured outer layer of riveted vacillation, as he mounted the final stair to the cellar and closed the door behind him. He then rounded the bend into the hallway only to stop short and gawk at the 'pair' with simmering nuisance.
Hermione tempered the start of adrenaline that erupted at the ill-timed appearance of her husband, directing a jesting look of impatience toward the visibly contemplative façade of the older witch – whose neck also craned in her son's direction with a frown – for the inconvenience of getting her into 'trouble'.
"Oh, uh, nothing ," she found herself quickly responding, circumventing his initial question as well as she could. Of course, he had to enter at that moment exactly. She held up her hands as she stepped back from the portrait a pace or two. Distance, perhaps, equating itself to lesser guilt, if she were lucky. Though she was then faced with the issue of the inevitable inquiry as to who was to 'blame' for the supposed indiscretion. She could, of course, point out that she was called over, but that was probably precisely what the woman was expecting her to do. She clearly had negative expectations of her, and she had every intent to defy them.
"Apologies, husband. Just trying to be polite."
Eileen gave Hermione a contemplative look of startled appreciation, before turning to Severus. Though respecting that the young witch had given her a choice in the matter, innocence was far from her intended projection. If anything her dark eyes shown with visible defiance at her offspring's disconcertion with their exchange.
"Oh leave her be. Someone didn't introduce us. So I was inclined to enquire after certain things for myself. Is that a problem?"
This time Severus did retreat his pupils to the heavens, and for a protracted length of time at that, before he returned them to earth where they landed firmly on his mother's haughty constitution.
" Mother – and you as well, Miss Granger – did I or did I not ask each of you to refrain from consociating with each other for the bloody time being? Can no one on this godsforsaken earth heed my requests or respect my fucking personal life? Considering I am in the privacy of my own bloody home – and before you snip, Mater carissima, the deed has been in my name since your departure from this realm."
"Actually ," Eileen jumped to correct with speedy precision, a rare but valuable opportunity she was not about to miss, "I don't recall your making that specific request at all. All you said was to behave – hilarious as that is, coming from you, my darling boy. You said nothing, to me, about remaining antisocial."
Hermione glanced between the mother and son duo with stifled amusement, holding her hands high in apologetic surrender should her person, or name, be drafted into either of their armouries. Inserting herself into the middle of this particular melee would be a suicide mission, to be sure. However, much like the picnicking spectators of the mid-19th century she'd once read about, who happily watched various battles between the North and the South of the American Civil War as they consumed their finger sandwiches, Hermione was more than content to stand before them, enthralled by the fascinating sight.
"Very sorry, Husband, however, I rather thought that blatantly ignoring your mother would be a faux paus I might not return from. I do promise I didn't pry, though" she offered lightly, demonstratively extending her distance from the painting even more so.
"As you say, Miss Granger…." he growled with a heavy leerieness to his gaze. "I beg you, please, go into the kitchen and I'll meet you there momentarially. And don't tarry! " His tone took on a desperate quality by the end of his petition to her as their eyes locked and he pleadingly ordered her to exit. And to exit now.
"As you wish," Hermione responded, giving Eileen one final moment of consideration, as well as a small smirk of 'sisterhood' before she turned to make her way towards the kitchen. Whilst she was exceptionally curious as to comments that the portrait of Eileen might bestow upon her name, Hermione knew that any sort of devilry from this point forward would extend past the realms of 'polite defiance' and into outright rudeness. Both to her husband, and with respect, to his painted mother. Hermione's thirst for knowledge, therefore, would just have to suffer.
Severus watched the receding figure of his spouse with exquisite concern, needing to ensure her safe 'docking' in the 'harbour' of the kitchen before he turned his exasperated focus onto the only true likeness of his mother he possessed.
"Well, Mater, just as you are unable to reject any game of Gobstones, no matter how unworthy the opponent to your skill is, so too, were you unable to turn down the maternal opportunity to appraise the first 'paramour' that I've ever brought home. Like a bloody farmer assessing a fucking heifer for her bull.… Proud of yourself?" He narrowed his eyes at her mordantly before a wave of compassion muted their ferocity. He exhaled slowly, amending his scolding of her with a voice thick with stilted remorse.
"Though, I suppose, I can't blame you. What with Miss Granger's being the actual first and all… Especially after, well, 'You-Know-Who' – the real one… Just looking out for me, yes?" Severus asked her in rhetorical curiosity as his right molars bit the side of his tongue until it tasted copper. The action, irrefutably, prompted by the mention of their mutually-established, borrowed sobriquet for the woman named after a flower that had so violently abetted him in the breaking of his own heart.
For the true name was one which was not to be spoken in their house, especially around his mother. No, indeed, for Eileen Snape was not an enthusiast of that particular herbaceous flowering plant – nor was she fond of her son's anaphylactic reaction to 'it'. And as much as her odium for the woman had distressed Severus in the past, he'd be a liar if he refused to admit that the unwritten rule she had imposed, surreptitiously, swelled his heart for her. She may have trespassed against him in life on numerous fronts that could be deemed as miscalculated – or even abhorrent, by some – however, this was one battle she had always fought him on with dogged conviction.
'Mother knows best', as the proverb says…
"So, what score does she get? Does she impress or does she distress ? Hm?"
"I…am quite interested in getting to know her more," Eileen voiced with curious simplicity, letting the stubborn delivery of the words resonate as she tightened her jaw before finally permitting herself to elaborate on her thoughts. Particularly given the unfortunate reference he had been inclined to make. She may not have been 'Mother-of-the-Year' in all categories, but she knew fickleness when she saw it, and insincerity – two things that the Evans girl had always exuded in spades. Yes, she had been pretty, and smart, and polite – but that, as far as Eileen was concerned, was the beginning and the end of her qualifications. She had also been, as most young, pretty girls were, self-centred and manipulative. And Severus had either been entirely blind to it or, worse , too enamoured to mind. And that was not a fate she wished for her only child to be condemned to for a second time, much less the first.
So, it was with titanic care that she offered even the potentiality of approval. For there was, indeed, a difference between 'smartness' and 'cleverness' as well as between 'honestness' and 'appeasement'.
"Now, I'm not entirely certain I've ever understood your penchant for lions, truth be told, but…she's a competent one, at least. And a brunette, this time, blessedly. And, lastly, she seems to actually like you back. "
"Hmm, would we say 'brunette'?" he began with ease, utterly disregarding her emphatic insinuation before continuing dynamically, "I think I'd classify her 'mane' within the darker hues of the 'dishwater-blonde' family…. Not that I've dedicated much research to the issue…" he speedily adjusted his comment lest it come off, well, precisely how it sounded – overly observant .
"Regardless, I find it somewhat fascinating and horrifying that you've taken an interest in her. However, I do think the time has come for you to retire for the evening, don't you?"
"Hmm. Sable, at best, Darling. Though, I suppose it is time for my 'curtain call'," the likeness of the witch responded sans any noticeable enthusiasm, her lips pursing in disdain in a manner not unlike one his own often adopted, as she resettled herself into her perpetual 'position' in the chair.
"'Behave', won't you? We will be speaking about this 'later' – and that is not an invitation to let me collect dust for another year."
"Yes, yes, to all that and more, Mother," Severus appeased before giving her a loving nod and a tight-lipped grin of goodbye. He then grabbed the heavy piece of black, velvet fabric that had been slung over his shoulder and charmed it securely over the edges of her frame. Right, sorted. Thank fuck. Now to deal with the other, far more alive woman in his life. Bugger all.
He wondered what in Merlin's beard Hermione must be thinking of this all . Of his childhood home, now transformed into his adult one – after many years of meagre, half-arsed attempts to mould it's bones and belongings to fit his person over those of his late parents. Of his wearing 'civvies' other than his orthadox, buttoned-up teaching-robes. Of seeing him in such clothes, in such a relaxed and personally private setting versus that of the public domain of Hogwarts. Of experiencing the unanticipated ordeal of 'meeting' his bloody-fucking mother. And in such a strikingly deviant way. Well, that was putting it decorously, though he should have foreseen that something of such magnitude was bound to go pear-shaped. It always bloody did.
Though, most his agitated perturbation was fixated on what the bloody fuck she thought about his consecutive flirtations marred by his ever hasty retreats.
Mixed signals – that was for damn sure.
Hermione, meanwhile, had been 'holed up' in the kitchen, just as he'd instructed. Of which, it should be noted, was filled with the divine aroma of her husband's cooking. A meal, which, apparently, he'd been prepping the entire afternoon. Beef Wellington. Proper. Bloody hell did it smell good. She honestly couldn't rightly recall the last time she'd had the delightful English delicacy of puff-pastry and filleted meat. She was beginning to think that every button that existed on his school-robe sleeves must represent some hidden talent that no one knew but he.
Well, that thought was very hastily eclipsed by the entrance of the, apparent, other 'Man of the House', or so Crooks carried himself as he entered the space where his witch was currently holding court.
Indeed, for Le Petit Prince had thus decided to take that moment to announce he was tragically not, for once, the centre of attention now that the premises were seemingly free of intrusion. In an attempt to remedy the situation, he fervently began to mew at her feet.
"I suppose you're probably hungry now, aren't you?" she remarked with mild accusation at the feline, though a fond raise of her brow was still immediate. "You would be expecting a reward for your turn as a vigilante…"
Grateful for the momentary separation from their proximity coupled with the melodious silence emitting from his mother's portrait, Severus made the advantageous action to take a moment to recollect himself. Desiring to overcome his bout of irritation due to the women's assembly, the Half-Blood Prince shut his eyes and inhaled slowly, and stoutly, through his falcate nose before blossoming his eyes open after his lungs had been filled, and then emptied, in the same manner.
Right, the temper had been quelled. He needed to remind himself that it, technically, hadn't been Hermione's incitement to speak with his mother. She wasn't really to blame. Well, not much . Besides, the entire maternal interaction had prospered a bright side in that his unremitting libido seemed to have been completely censored. Yes, leave it to 'ole Mumsey to assassinate any chance of unbidden arousal with sublime accuracy. And thank fuck, too, for the past hour had piloted both his resolve and his self-continence with a far more tenacity than, perhaps, ever before.
And so, having transubstantiated his surly mood back into that of the congenial host, Severus strode spritely down the rest of the corridor and into the redolence of the kitchen.
"Right well, I don't know about you, but I could certainly use a bloody stiff drink after that."
Hermione looked up from her pestering companion with an agreement already on her tongue, though she had the good grace to look apologetic once again for her part in instigating any trouble. She had, apparently, accomplished little in the short time she'd been there save incurring upset and bother to the otherwise tranquil little house, intentionally or not. She would strive to exercise better dinner-guest decorum from here on out, she vowed. After all It was only an hour into the weekend. Things could only get better, right?
"Oh, I definitely wouldn't say no. Though I'm sorry if I've made anything more… complicated," she voiced with a small wince, scratching the large, orange cat behind the ears a final time before shifting him backwards so she could stand once again. "She's quite an efficient interrogator."
"Try not to self-flagellate too much, Miss Granger. I'm sure it was bound to happen at some point…." Severus commented with droll humour as he crossed to an overhead, end cabinet to acquire a well-loved bottle of firewhiskey and two crystal glasses.
"Shall I get a third, or is Crooks on the waggon?"
"I'll try to resist the urge. As for the attack-cat, he's had enough excitement for one evening, methinks," Hermione quipped back without delay, watching the so-accused circle around the kitchen curiously before he sat himself down, with hopeful expectation, in front of the oven. Typical.
"Seems we're going to need to keep an eye on the co-conspirators from now on. Didn't expect that alliance, I must admit."
"Nature would indicate anything but, now wouldn't it?" the Potions Master commented as he poured them each a hearty glassful at the counter before turning round to bring one to her graciously.
"Speaking of his accomplice, however, have you seen the dark devil since she came indoors? I'm suddenly feeling quite cagey towards her after all she's gotten up to today…." he added with playful distrust in his eyes they darted behind her shorter stature for any indication of the bird's presence.
After taking the glass with a murmur of gratitude, the witch hummed in consideration of his enquiry, glancing back towards the sitting room to visually assess its contents for herself. Knowing she had ensured Nyx's return indoors after their earlier, communal escapade, Hermione was certain that the creature must be within the four walls somewhere – as long as all windows were latched, of course. However, she realised with bridled concern that she couldn't recall seeing the crow anywhere since that time. Granted, she'd only been formally 'introduced' to a few parts of the house… the bird's vacancy was still notable.
"Now that you mention it, no, though I doubt she could be too far…" the young woman remarked with intended comfort. Though just as she had done so, the unmistakable fury of wings flapping haphazardly in the air somewhere within range of the kitchen resounded around them illustratively. Hermione took a small sip of her glass. "'Speak of the devil…' Being particularly feisty prior to her escape, was she?"
Severus stared at her in befuddled congress, internally fighting with himself as to how to address her innocuous-sounding question. For the true answer would be quite damning. And it would also bring into focus the subject of their sexually charged missives– a subject which he had industriously been dodging since the moment she'd arrived.
He stalled, instead, tossing back his drink rather forcefully, washing it round his palette to better enjoy the sapidity of the beverage as well as the burn as he formulated a verbal rejoinder.
"Er, something like that. Let's just say she's been wretchedly naughty today. I'm beginning to theorise that you might be a dreadful influence on her, Miss Granger…." he taunted roughly only to rapidly berating himself for having, potentially, initiated a novel flirtation with the witch.
Right you idiot, old man, just what you need, an invitation to your cock and his insatiable salacity.
Hermione chuckled with – and perhaps, in spite of – an effort to feign affrontation. She mirrored his intake of beverage, though stopped short of emptying her glass completely as he had. Getting utterly pissed seemed inadvisable, however tempting it was. Indeed, things seemed to be settling, prior occurrences notwithstanding, and that was a phenomenon that she wanted to foster.
"Oh, it's my fault, is it, Husband, hm? How curious. Perhaps, she's simply excited to be getting out more. Crows are quite sociable creatures, generally, you know…"
" Disobedience and 'social outings' are two very separate things, Miss Granger. She certainly will be receiving 'detention' as soon as we locate her, rest assured…" he issued cooly, his eyebrows raising as he noticed the paltry amount of whiskey in her glass and scoffed.
"Oh, just finish it, will you, please? For my sake, if not your own. Perhaps it will fog your memory enough to blind you to the two events that have transpired thus far that were, incontestably harrowing for you, I'm sure. Though, which of the two was worse could comfortably be up for debate…. Performing the pretension of mounting me carnally, or meeting my charming 'mother' who is mounted to a bloody wall, you tell me."
Attempting to damper her grin with an egregious roll of her eyes, Hermione downed the dregs of her glass as suggested and cleared her throat, both of the characteristic 'fire' and also of the lingering urge to laugh. He had witnessed her adolescence, hadn't he? In comparison, the evening so far could be considered charmingly 'placid'.
"Not a correlation I would've made, but … I wouldn't throw around the word 'harrowing' in this particular instance. Eventful , perhaps, but your mother is far from the least pleasant portrait I've encountered, and I've 'mounted' far worse things than you, Severus Snape," she offered with puckish honesty, lowering her empty glass before adding some context to the deliberately lingering innuendo. "... a dragon immediately comes to mind."
Clearing his throat from the vestigial sting of the alcohol, and not at her bawdy assertion – the implication of which she, thankfully, had briskly noted and amended – Severus, nevertheless, hummed in disdained disapproval at the modification and bleated his opinion with aslant ire.
"Ah yes, the 'Gringotts' Incident'... All that bloody destruction and subsequent repairs that, even with the assistance of magic, took ages to complete, so extirpative they were, and yet I was the one that was so vehemently asked to stand trial for 'damages' – of both the 'emotional' and ' physical…' variety"
Hermione laughed lightly, the delayed expression of amusement short-lived but nevertheless self-indulgent as she breathed in his reaction. She was unresolved in her assessment of his stance, irresolute if he was exhibiting more concern, or less , with her choice to compare him to a giant, fire-breathing lizard rather than the libidinous, human examination that had come before it. And despite how comical she'd found her additive, a probing, lingering part of her was intrigued to know what his response would have been had she not evolved it into a quip.
"Well, not to bring my work home, but they were violating quite a few international codes just having the bloody thing chained up down there. Much less the ethical concerns…. One could say I did them a favour, really," she protested, half-seriously, before a smirk broke through and she shook her head. "But no , I'm convinced that every goblin in Gringotts loathes me. As most of them tried to 'Avada' me once already, I try not to go anywhere within fifty metres of the place, if I can help it."
Severus grunted in roguish 'approbation' at her self-prescribed punishment for their recklessness at the bank, essential as it had been, and cocked his head as if to silently convey his ratification for her 'penitence'. He was even about to cheekily orate on the benefits of the 'Atonement Lifestyle', being an ambassador for it, himself, when his focus on the topic of conversation suddenly – quizzically – came to a termination. Well, more like a retrogration, as his attention was referred back to her malapropos comparison. And he did not mean the bloody dragon.
He stepped towards her, perhaps closer than he had intended, or more disconcerting, perhaps precisely as he had slated, casting down an impenetrably, mesmerising gaze of inferno. His ring, and as-ever, his anatomy, appreciably kindled as her eyes quivered in his.
"Better beasts and ex-professors than unqualified, undeserving, boys …. At least the first has its controversial place in the kink universe, and the second its patented popularity amongst the role-playing scenarios….."
The chalk lines marking the quantity of times he'd continued to make offences in his prison cell of 'Verbal Regrets' must near be in the teens, if not higher by this juncture – despite the modest number of days he'd been so 'confined'. His most recent utterance possibly being the most egregious. And the one of which his hand was, currently, recording as it trailed down the cracked, cemented wall, shakily clutching the now-decrepit nugget of chalk as it scribed yet another line amongst the many behind it. The ever-ready remorse, however, was strikingly delayed. Though, only just .
Hermione's own brow lifted to mirror that of his in goading provocation as she attempted to feign some inkling of protest or disagreement with his underlying sentiment. And yet, for all the 'politeness' in the world, she was unable to engineer it. She also failed to manifest any hint of remorse for her condemnatory retort, detrimental as it might be to her subtlety, let alone its red-headed motif.
"You know, I'm going to have to agree with you, Husband…" she returned as her left hand twitched at the, now-commonplace, flash of heat that overtook its banded digit, her lips echoing their muscular tick antsily. Otherwise, she stood stoic as he surged forward.
"Certainly nothing nearly as mundane about either option… Not big on the claws, though, so I suppose I'll stick to the latter."
"Says the woman with a bloody feline…. However, I must commend your selection, Miss Granger," he paused to wrap his vast digits around the side of the glass nearest him and in so doing landed them over her miniature ones with domineering gusto, "after all, you did seem quite eager to be my 'teacher's pet' back in the day…"
An entirely original wave of vehemence washed over her form at the seemingly minute contact, its source, of which Hermione was finding difficult to place. Was it her ring? Or his? Or, their overlapping fingers? Or, perhaps, his challenging stare? Nevertheless, it was all-encompassing, and absurdly abstracting.
"Well, what can I say, Professor , I am a natural overachiever…." she started with heavy-handed innuendo, unintended or not, she could not state. Her feet seemed to have an unnecessary incentive of their own as she inched forward to meet the tip of his shoe with her own, pressing the glass further into his clutch, and by default, herself as well.
"Though, you never did give me the opportunity to obtain any form of 'extra credit….' "
Severus' head went askance as his left brow raised in bemused inquisition, his pupils darted to the sliver of a space that now effectively served as the only barrier preventing their bodies from congregating. He swallowed as he watched her bosom rise and fall, heavy with unnamed anticipation before he blinked them away and anchored them in her own orbs once more.
"No, Miss Granger, I did not, and for good reason, too. However, pray tell, why do you mention it? Hoping to be offered some opportunity for it… now? " he bombilated as his fingertips pressed into the back of her palm.
"Have I not earned the opportunity by this point, still?" she questioned with barren incredulousness, her eyes feigning chasteness as they reached up to lock with those of his, though all thoughts behind them were anything but, and progressively getting 'worse' the longer she stared. Meanwhile, her scalding left hand knotted into the fabric of her skirt lest it too, behave of its own accord.
"Ever difficult to impress…."
"'Professor' ," he rectified lowly as his eyes flashed in mocking play of the respect he was so vigorously demanding, "Ever difficult to obey …."
"Apologies, Professor," Hermione began with exaggerated compunction, nearly to the point of being tongue-in-cheek, though retaining just enough inherent decorum to evade edging into mockery. Her digits shifted against his own where he had them trapped around the empty glass before tracing the nail bed of one along the throbbing, inner side of his wedding band. Her own gave a return 'mating call' of longing pang, it seemed.
"Though, one could argue that that depends on the incentives for obedience…" she attempted, for some gods-awful reason, to elaborate on her retort. Before she could dig that particular hole any deeper, or back pedal out of the sentiment entirely, there was an audible jarring 'BEEP' that startled her, blessedly, into sagacious silence. Fuck.
His steely gaze broke with hers to dart to the south west corner of his eyes before returning to hers as if an elastic band that was stretched between them had gone past its level of qualified tautness, and had propelled itself to its conditioned state. He swallowed, again, as his ring emitted another flash of white-hot heat once their pupils re-consummated. He then tightened his fingers against hers briefly before endorsing the glass out of her palm in full, his eyes never departing from hers, and barely blinked so greatly did he want to remain faithful in their ocular union.
He did, however, realise with chagrin that their saturated eyes would have to disengage, eventually. And in an effort to trade one sensorial engagement for another, Severus broke away from her stare to step fully into her person's space, his free hand clutching hers at her side as his torso leant down far enough to give his face access to her left profile. First pushing a stray strand of her 'dishwater blonde' hair to the side with the tip of his falcate nose, Severus then nuzzled it's length along the helix of her ear, inhaling the smell of such a sensitive, and so unattended to, part of the human anatomy, the result of which offered his beak a potpourri composed of only two, solitary scents. Aromas, which, somehow, eruditely neither clashed, clamoured, nor battled for dominance or creed. Indeed, if anything, his hebologist's nose assessed, they balanced each other in an arrestingly perfect, yet unassuming, congruent harmony of complementation.
Her warm, pearlish skin smelt of the more feminine amber, though still based firmly in and of the earthly realm of the living trees that created it, and of the insects that often adored and, therefore, adorned it. He appreciated that, more than she'd ever know. For this was no damsel before him, preferring to douse herself in fragrances of the rich and the romantic. This was a woman who was of the salt of the earth, just like him. Rich and sweet with a golden, warm centre, but a shell of resin armour that could withstand any horror of war or combat.
He found himself pressing his nose against the curvature with more force as he indulgently inhaled once again for a second helping, though this time, due to a shift beneath him of her own volition, he more readily ingested the second fragrance, that of her hair. Her shampoo, no doubt. Though, it was more perplexing in its origin. Or rather, bemusing in its existence , for it was the unmistakable scent of the cypress juniper berry. Fresh, strong, and a tad bitter, all the wonderful elements of a good gin cocktail infiltrated his appreciative nose and he noticed his lips smirking fondly as they now fell against the tragus of her ear.
How fascinating…the witch, with all of her insecure lamenting over perpetual frizziness of her hair, resorted to the ironic use of men's shampoo….. Hm. A salute of sentiment to be sure. But for whom? Well, that was yet to be determined, however, it would surely be discovered before long.
And as heavenly and fascinating as her personal perfume had become to the Potion's Master, Severus' objective here had been to be the betwitcher rather than the bewitched. It was time to remedy that, he concluded. And so, upon swallowing down his former musings, he pursed his bowed lips, dampened with ready speech, against her ear's notch to finally rumble his report.
"Saved. By. The. Bell, Miss. Granger. See me after 'class'…."
He then stood to his full height, shot her a glower of a glare before gifting her a salacious wink, and turned staunchly on his heel to address the timer. Leaving the poor, young witch, with intended hope, quivering in her knickers.
*A/N: Nyx is named for the the Greek goddess of the Night, whose father was Chaos and whose brother, Erebus was the God of Darkness.