Chapter 28
The brightness from the windows woke Severus early in the morning. The curtains had not been drawn, and cold white beams were pouring in from two sides of the room. The bedroom was bathed in a stark white light, a there was a cold chill that could only come with a morning that heralded a fresh snowfall. Sneaking a glance at the slumbering nymph beside him, he managed to ease himself out of bed without disturbing her; and padded across the Muggle bedroom to the nearest window. The novelty of 'padding' did not evade his notice. For so many years he had survived without carpeting; either on the stone floors of the castle, where the only defence against a cold floor was a centuries-old rug, or at his poor excuse for a home in Spinners End, where there had never been anything else apart from bare floorboards. The thick creamy carpet curled its way around his bare toes, and he wasn't sure he liked it.
Severus looked out over the gardens that had been in darkness when he'd arrived, only a mere few hours before, like a thief in the night, to steal the innocence from the young girl who lived here.
Snow had indeed fallen – a thick, white blanket that covered the gardens, fields and houses for as far as the eye could see, and the reflection bounced off his naked body, which was not dissimilar in colour. Miss Granger lived in a sparsely populated area, as far he could tell, for the rear of the house was backed by huge fields, and looking along the row of back gardens, they all seemed quite large, with a decent distance between each neighbour.
This was a girl who had clearly grown up in a relatively affluent manner. Severus knew both her parents were Muggle dentists; a proper, qualified career that would have enabled the family to live extremely comfortably, unlike his own unemployed but former mill worker, drunken bastard of a father, Tobias Snape. Hermione Granger's Muggle upbringing would have been vastly different to the poverty and abuse of his own childhood. He felt a stab of jealousy.
That, of course, was ridiculous. For he, of course, had known a mother who was a witch – he was a half-blood wizard, whereas Granger was a Muggle-born witch. She would have known nothing of the wizarding world until her Hogwarts letter arrived, living what may have been a miserable childhood trying to contain and control the strange powers that would have begun to manifest from a young age. Severus had no doubt that her developing magic and bouts of accidental magic, would have been quite powerful, too, since she was such an exceptionally talented young witch.
Who was he to say who of them had had the worst childhood? Granger might have been living in affluence, but she'd also lived with fear and confusion. In a different way to himself, certainly, but no less damaging. No wonder the girl had always felt the need to prove herself, to be the best, the fastest, the hardest-working. The Muggle-born talent had arrived at Hogwarts with something to prove; and had done just that, in a predominantly quite irritating manner.
He pondered that saving the magical world, alongside one Harry James Potter, had gone rather a long way in Hermione's quest to prove her worth as a witch.
The snow glared at him, white and untouched. For a moment, he imagined himself in the garden, wearing his usual attire, and grimaced at what an ugly black blot on the landscape he would make. Perhaps the making of snowmen should wait, he thought, ruefully.
He could draw the same parallels with Miss Granger. She was the pure snow, beautiful and untouched, and he was the dark, bad man who had sullied it. As much as he professed to have no guilt over what they were doing, the truth was that guilt followed Severus Snape around like a persistent stalker. Never in his miserable life had he ever been able to shake off the stench of self-loathing and self-recrimination that surrounded him. Not even the good deeds he had undertaken; those he had saved, those he had protected; could equate or nullify the evil ones – those he had not saved.
An exchange with Albus Dumbledore popped unbidden into his mind, to haunt him.
"How many men and women have you watched die, Severus?"
"Lately, only those who I could not save."
He shook his head, as if trying to shake a sandglass and dislodge the memory, taking a brief glance behind him to see if Miss Granger was still asleep, she was, but was visibly stirring. He turned back to the window, uncaring of his own nakedness. She had seen him before; she knew every inch of his pitiful body.
This little witch wanted him, oh yes, that much was clear, however deranged the idea was. But for how long, and in what capacity? Within the safety of the castle walls their roles were defined – they were finding their needs met in the other, and not solely physical either; he wasn't ignorant of emotion. The emotional comfort and solace that the girl had provided had surprised him even more than the sex.
Here? In this muggle dwelling that was soon to be sold, Severus felt distinctly uncomfortable, despite only having seen the bedroom, and rather too much of the staircase. He wanted to leave, to run from this place, despite the obvious draw of …
"You're not going to stay, are you?"
Interrupting his reverie, he swung around from his vantage point at the window to seek the source of the question, and she was sitting upright in bed, now fully awake with a crisp white sheet pulled around her nakedness. Her curly hair was bed-messy and glorious, and he watched a shiver of cold run through her. Only his guilt stopped him from re-entering the bed to warm her.
"I am … not. I apologise."
Severus did not look at her as he wandlessly summoned his discarded clothing into a pile on the nearest chair, and began to reclothe himself, hating every item that covered his body, each item that took him further away from her. He knew she was watching every moment he made, not uttering a word. Good. She talked far too many anyway, and Merlin knows, any kind whispers from Hermione Granger would soften his resolve to flee like a hot knife through butter. He had to get out of here, back to the castle, back to the familiar environment in which he hid from the world.
Once the last button had been fastened, he summoned his wand from the top of the chest drawers where she had placed it so carefully the night before, neatly next to her own; an exquisitely carved vinewood. Only then did he meet her eyes.
"Come and sit. Please, Sir?"
Sir. There she was again. Always with the Sir. He sat on the side of the bed, and she reached for his cold hand immediately, warming it between her two small ones.
"Why?"
"An economy of words, Miss Granger. Why? Why must I leave?"
She nodded, and her brown curls bounced gently on her naked shoulders. "Last night … you said you would stay. You said that you weren't going to be foolish anymore. What changed?"
"The good sense that comes with the dawn, I'm afraid. This is not the place for me."
She exhaled heavily, and her eyes darted about the room, to him, to his eyes, and away again. It was as if her mind was trying to deduce something.
"What happened with Mrs Longbottom?" she asked, finally.
He sighed, deeply, wishing he could find the rudeness to light a cigarette, but even a filthy Death Eater had some standards. Severus remembered the forest mindscape in which he had discovered Frank's wife, a woman driven to further insanity because of Snape's own attempts to help her. The jagged rocks, the shocking trees with the wickedly sharp branches, and the incongruous presence of broken and burnt-out Muggle motor cars – all in the abyss into which Alice Longbottom had chosen to launch herself, rather than to live in the prison of her own mind for a moment longer.
"She was strong," he replied, simply.
"Not strong enough, though?"
No.
He shook his head.
"She was strong, physically and mentally," he replied. "It was Frank's weaker nature that allowed him to follow me, to return from the living death he was in."
"But, didn't Neville's mother want to come back and meet him?" she pressed.
"Your friend Longbottom clearly takes after his father. His mother is altogether stronger of spirit. The witch I met was … a warrior. A woman who had taken control of the environment in which she found herself, even though it was created entirely by her own psyche."
"Then how did she die?"
Severus winced.
"I weakened her strength with the Forgetfulness Potion. By the time I entered her mind, she had reached a higher tier of insanity. She chose to end her own life rather than allow me to help her leave."
The shock on the girl's face was clear, and she seemed lost for any further comment.
"The Longbottoms have been told that her heart was not strong enough. I do not believe that knowing the full tale will bring them any peace; or assist with Frank's recovery."
"I understand, Sir. But doesn't that mean you are taking on emotional baggage that you have no outlet for?"
"That is the reality of my life, Miss Granger. I have a great many regrets that I carry around with me."
"Stay with me," she replied, in a firm tone of voice. "Stay with me; and allow me to provide you with the comfort you need. I don't think you should be alone."
"And you know what is best for me?" he asked, arching an eyebrow in the same fashion he would in the classroom, when posing a difficult question to a challenging student.
"I know enough about you to know that you need comfort, and touch, and …"
"I must return to the castle," he said, flatly.
"You'd rather hide yourself away in the dungeon than be here with me?"
The girl looked for all the world like she was about to cry, and he did not want that. Severus was finding it difficult to explain something that he did not fully understand himself.
"We are not in a relationship, Miss Granger," he began, easing his hand from the comforting envelope she had created. "Whatever we have ill-advisedly started at Hogwarts, it is not … it will never be, something … that translates to the world outside the castle."
"But …"
"No buts. What do you imagine? Us strolling arm-in-arm through Diagon Alley, shopping for Christmas gifts?" he sneered, instantly regretting his sour tone.
It stabbed him in the heart to say it. The exact thought had passed through his own head, providing an unfamiliar warm sensation, before the humiliation at how ridiculous they would look if they dared to do such a thing. Not to mention the small matter of it being rather frowned-upon for a professor to be having a relationship with their student, of-age or not.
"I suppose not," she conceded, her shoulders falling.
"You are a young witch, with a surfeit of friends. Please, enjoy your Christmas holiday. Enjoy this time where you do not have to hide who you are with. If, in January, you desire to continue to … spend time in my company, then you are most welcome to do so."
"What about you, Professor?"
"Myself?"
"Yes," she replied, lifting her hand to his face to tuck away some errant strands of his straggly black hair, before stroking his cold cheek with an insanely gentle touch. "You. What will you do, during the holidays?"
He twitched the corner of his mouth, in his best approximation of a smile, and reached up to take hold of the hand on his face, bringing it to his lap and holding it, thumbing her palm in an unconscious gesture.
"I will do what I always do, Granger. Stay out of the way, read, and enjoy my potioneering. At least year, I have the very great pleasure of not having the threat of imminent death hanging over me."
They stared at each other for a few moments, before his need to kiss her was too great. He leaned forwards and touched his lips to hers, as if his mouth could convey all the feeling that his words could not.
-xxx-
The loud banging on the front door jolted her out of the soft kiss that her professor was bestowing on her.
"Hermione!"
A loud, friendly voice, unmistakeably Harry's, shouted through the letterbox.
Snape was standing instantly; and opened the bedroom door so that they could better hear the disembodied voice from downstairs.
More knocking ensued.
"Hermione! Open up! You can't spend Christmas alone!"
"I believe that, Miss Granger, is my cue to leave," Snape said quietly, accio-ing his cloak from the coat stand in the hallway, where she had hung it the night before.
"You really don't have to …"
"HERRRMMMIIONNEEEEEE! Please open the door and come to the Burrow with me. I've got Ron with me; he's told me everything. He's been a real prat and he's very sorry!"
Standing at the bedroom doorway and peering down the stairs, Hermione could see the shadows through the frosted panes in the top half of the door. There was a scuffle between a red head and a brown head, and the next voice through the letter box was Ron's.
"He's right! I'm really sorry, Hermione! I'm an arse, I know!"
She couldn't help but smile as her two best friends fought over the thin letterbox and took turns in shouting apologies through it. Idiots.
"Go to your friends."
Snape stroked a single long finger slowly down her cheek.
"And please, before you leave, and after I leave, set anti-apparition wards around this house."
She nodded; and watched his black cloak swirl around him as he Apparated away.
"HERMIONE!"
"I'm coming," she shouted down the stairs, grabbing a dressing gown and tying the sash as she walked down the stairs. "Honestly you two really are …"
She yanked open the front door to see the familiar faces, both rather sheepish.
" … really are the absolute limit."
"I'm sorry, Hermione," Ron said, instantly, his face contorted with genuine regret.
"You are an arse, Ronald Weasley."
"I am. I really am."
"But you forgive him, Hermione, right?" Harry asked, anxiously.
She folded her arms and regarded the two of them, feeling for all the world as if they were twelve years old and back in Hogwarts, and she was berating them for their latest foolish behaviour.
"There's going to be turkey and trimmings at your house, yes, Ronald?"
His freckly face broke into a broad smile.
"And stuffing. AND Yorkshire pudding. And …"
"Stop. I'm coming. Come in and wait while I pack some things. And then we need to go to Diagon Alley so that I can do some Christmas shopping for a whole load of people I didn't think I was going to see."
"Right, ok …" Harry started, as she turned to walk back up the stairs.
"And while we're there, we can visit Florean's because I'm simply desperate for some ice-cream, and then you can both wait while I stop at Flourish and Blotts; I need a couple of new school books for next term."
"Was she always this bossy?" Hermione heard Ron ask Harry, in a poorly-concealed whisper.
Harry had the good sense to wait until she'd closed the bedroom door behind her, so Hermione did not hear his answer. She smiled; and shook her head with amused affection at the antics of her two dearest friends. She hoped Ron was genuinely contrite, and hadn't just been forced to apologise by Harry, or worse, by his mother. Well, she would find out the answer to that at The Burrow. If it was awful, she could always return here, she wasn't stranded there.
With real excitement, she threw what little stuff she'd brought home back into the weekend bag; and straightened the bed with a stroke of her wand. She would parcel up thoughts of Severus Snape, safe from prying eyes and ears, and open them only in the privacy of her dreams.
-xxx-
Severus landed at the tall gates of the castle, the snow-covered iron boars that adorned them glaring down as always with their unseeing eyes. He touched his wand to the lock, which swung open slowly at the recognition of his identity, and entered the school grounds, securing the gates behind him with an obnoxious flick of his wand over his right shoulder, not even bothering to look. There was already a narrow, trodden path through the snow to the main doors, either Hagrid had provided a service with his enormous boots, or it had been conjured by magic.
The fresh highland air both refreshed his chest and hurt his lungs at the same time. He lit a cigarette and reduced his pace to a slow traipse. Twenty-four hours previously, he had been leaving the castle, on his way to the Longbottom residence to effect the second part of his promise, and ended up killing the patient.
Well, he thought, dragging deeply on his cigarette, he hadn't exactly murdered her, but it was irrefutable that his actions had brought about the demise of Alice Longbottom. He had briefly described the truth of what had occurred, to Miss Granger, but even that paled into insignificance with the horror that had been Madam Longbottom's mindscape. He had seen some horrifying things, in his service of the Dark Lord and his servitude to Albus Dumbledore, but the previous day's experience was right up there in terms of disturbing memories.
It will pass, Severus told himself. This too, will pass, with the help of hard work in his private laboratory and copious amounts of good firewhisky. He would prepare his lessons; and mark the scrolls of parchments that were currently piled up in his baskets, students' essays awaiting the judgment of his red-inked marking quill. He would organise and restock his classroom store cupboard, and his own private stores at the same time. There was plenty to do.
Flicking the spent butt of the cigarette into the snow as he approached the main doors of the castle, Snape kicked the white powder that was clinging to his boots onto the top step. The door swung open, as it did when it sensed the presence of a witch or wizard who was authorised to enter, and he stalked through the entrance hall, safe in the knowledge that the semi-sentient doors would secure themselves behind him. He headed through the long, draughty corridors, picking up his pace in the hope that he would not encounter a single living soul on his walk back to his dungeon quarters.
He couldn't stop the relentless chatter of the portraits, however, although he chose to ignore their vacuous burbling, as he did most of time. Succeeding in his aim, he reached his office door and pushed it open, glancing at his desk to see a list of the students who were remaining in school over Christmas. It was mercifully short, for excepting Draco Malfoy, there were no other Slytherin names on the parchment.
Malfoy, at Hogwarts for Christmas? This was unprecedented. Then again, with both parents in Azkaban and no siblings, it was likely there was nothing left for Draco at home apart from an empty space. For all its pomp and grandeur, Malfoy Manor must be a lonely place, and perhaps Malfoy had tired of the freedom that having the run of the estate gave him. Good. He would seek out young Mr Malfoy at some point, and subject him to the grilling of his life regarding the little shit's knowledge of his own indiscretions with Miss Granger.
There was also a scroll with a Ministry seal, which Severus quickly ripped open, for wizarding justice was generally swift and severe. He was correct. The scroll contained a summons to appear before the Wizengamot to give evidence in the trial of one Richard Briner, date to be confirmed, against the charges of attempted rape, assault of a minor, and of conduct prohibited in the teachers' code.
Severus swallowed hard, feeling like he had a solidified flobberworm in his throat, and it hurt his damaged neck trying to dislodge it.
Attempted rape? Briner was as guilty as hell, and Severus would be happy to see him sent to Azkaban for that. Assault of a minor? Astoria Greengrass was fifteen years old, and from the bruising he had seen on the girl, Briner was also guilty of that charge. It was the last motion that gave him the most pause.
Conduct prohibited in the teachers' code.
A sexual relationship with a student in your care was prohibited, whether that student was consenting, of age, or any circumstance that might be used as an excuse. He and Miss Granger would not be the first student and teacher to flout the code, and nor were they likely to be the last, and if they kept it discreetly between themselves, as they had been, there really was not a great deal of risk. It was quite another story to stand before the Wizengamot and pronounce a fellow educator guilty of the same crime you were currently committing.
It seemed like his long-honed skills in Occulmency, deceit of a greater power, and downright good acting were about to be of use to him, again.
-xxx-
Harry, Ron and Hermione arrived at The Burrow, laden with her weekend bag, and rather more bags from their purchases in Diagon Alley that afternoon. Despite not being a keen shopper, Hermione had enjoyed choosing gifts with the boys, for each other and for the other guests and family who would be resident at The Burrow for Christmas. Harry was delighted that Andromeda Tonks would be visiting, with his godson Teddy Lupin, and Hermione had enjoyed watching Harry splash vast amounts of Galleons on gifts for the baby. She drew the line at a toy broomstick from Quality Quidditch Supplies, but Harry had been insistent that it was important that Teddy have one, even when Ron had pointed out that "the kid wasn't even walking yet." He'd even bought two, apparently to see which one Teddy preferred.
It was clear to see that Harry was relishing the chance to have a real family member to buy a gift for, and her heart broke for her friend, even more than it did for herself. Whatever her parents were doing now, they had given her a wonderful upbringing, with all the love she could ever have wanted or needed. Not for the first time, the three of them caught their breath at the tragedy of Teddy's parents; of quirky Tonks and gentle Lupin, who would have made wonderful parents to their blue-haired baby son. Such was the unfairness of life that they had not survived the final battle.
Ron had bought Hermione a huge butterbeer-flavoured ice-cream in Florean Fortescue's, topped with the Fizzing Whizzbees she loved so much. She'd dug in, eagerly, and told him seriously that this went only some way towards her forgiving him.
"You deserved that, mate," Harry had poked at him, shovelling treacle flavoured ice-cream into his own mouth at double the speed that she had been. "You stupid horny prat."
Mr and Mrs Weasley surrounded them all with hugs as they arrived, causing most of the bags and packages to drop to the floor, but no one really cared, and there were even a few tears, as Mrs Weasley exclaimed how wonderful it was to have the three of them all together again. Clearly, she had either forgiven Hermione for what Ron had told her, or, and this was more likely, since the red-headed matriarch was not the most forgiving of people, especially when it came to her children, that Ron had never actually told his mother anything in the first place. Come to think of it – Ginny had never mentioned it, which Hermione had been too distracted to notice. She opted for the latter.
"Am I in with Ginny, Mrs Weasley?" she asked, gathering up the bags from the floor.
"Not this time," Ginny cut in, moving next to Harry and tucking herself under his arm.
Hermione's face must have shown the surprise that she felt, since the Weasleys were notoriously strict about unmarried witches and wizards sleeping in the same bed.
Arthur Weasley came and put a strong, dependable arm around his wife.
"Since the horse has already bolted, so to speak, and since we intend to host their wedding here over Christmas, our house rules have been relaxed," he told her, with a broad smile.
"Horse has already bolted? Ginny are you …?"
Everyone was grinning. Harry and Ginny, Molly and Arthur, Ron, and George too, who had sauntered into the kitchen after sniffing out the drama, as well as some sausage rolls fresh out of the oven, of which he had purloined one and was casually munching at it.
"We're having a baby," Harry announced, the grin on his face a mile wide. "Its early, we know, Ginny hasn't finished school, but she will before the baby is born, and well, this is what we want."
Hermione knew her mouth was gaping open, and her heart was beating fast in shock and delight.
"Oh Harry!" she exclaimed, dropping the bags on the floor for a second time and embracing both him and Ginny at the same time. "But, when did you …?"
"It must have been right at the end of the summer," Ginny replied, "I'm about three and half, nearly four months now."
"Do you feel alright? How long have you known? I'm sorry for firing questions at you but I'm just so shocked."
"I only found out when I came home yesterday and Mum took one look at me," Ginny smiled, and her mother returned the smile indulgently. "I haven't felt sick, or tired, or unwell at all. I'll need to stop Quidditch for a while though, which is a real bummer."
"You are just like your mother, young Ginny," her father said. "Carried all our babies with no trouble, like it was nothing. An amazing woman, and you will be just the same."
Both Harry and Mr Weasley looked at their wives (or soon-to-be wives) with an identical expression of love and admiration. It was wonderful to see. If anyone could carry a pregnancy with little fuss, it would be a Weasley woman, for sure. And Harry! He would have a son or daughter, and a wife, to call his own. Yes, it was early, yes, they were very young. But they were all survivors. Who cared about was or wasn't proper anymore? She certainly didn't.
"Is this why the two of you were so insistent that I accompany you, when you were bellowing through my letterbox this morning?"
"You couldn't miss this, Hermione," Ron replied. "It's Harry's wedding!"
"Excuse me, Ron?" interjected Ginny, "Its your sister's wedding too. Thanks for your consideration."
"Yeah, yeah. A sister who nicked my racing broom and took it off to school for a whole term. Well, you can't use that for a while, can you, fatty?"
"Keep that up, and I'll insert it in your arse, handle first, Ron Weasley," Ginny threw back.
"Ginevra Weasley!"
"Sorry, Mum."
"I should think so. Right, sleeping arrangements. Ginny, your room is now for you and Harry, Percy will sleep in with George when he gets home from work; stop pulling that face George Weasley, I can see you, and Hermione dear, you have Percy's room. Ron is still in his old room at the top of the house, leaving Andromeda and baby Teddy to have Bill and Charlie's old room when they get here in a few days."
"Yes, sir!"
"George …" his mother warned.
"I'll just be taking these bags up. Can I help you, Hermione?" George offered, in a mock-unctuous fashion.
She nodded, and he picked them all up for her, swiping another sausage roll and heading up the stairs towards Percy's room. Ron tried to do the same - reaching out for the hot tray of sausage rolls and receiving a sharp slap across the hand from his mother for his efforts.
At Ron's howl of indignation, Hermione rolled her eyes. Really, nothing changed in this family, apart from the fact it was about to get a bit bigger. She smiled, and followed George up the stairs, her heart full, surprised, a little shocked, but happy.
-xxx-
Severus supposed he ought to see who was staying in the castle for the Christmas holidays, and this would make his decision as to whether he would take the remainder of his meals in his private chambers. His only Slytherin student in residence was Malfoy, who most certainly did not need babysitting by his Head of House. Therefore, he could quite easily absent himself from the Great Hall for the rest of the holiday. The idea certainly had merits.
He entered through the professors' door behind high table, and instantly regretted his decision. A great number of staff had remained, including to his disappointment and disgust, Andrea Masters, who looked rather too pleased to see him.
"Severus!" Minerva called, raising her goblet of wine in greeting. "I did not know whether you had returned home for the holidays."
He gave her nothing but a bob of his head in reply, before seating himself and watching as his dinner appeared. Sustenance, on a plate, nothing more exciting than that. Picking up his cutlery and beginning to eat, he cast his glare over the Great Hall, where the remaining students were gathered at a single table. There were maybe a dozen children of varying ages, and Draco Malfoy was not among them. Ah. Severus would find out later whether Mr Malfoy had closeted himself in his room, with Floo access to the kitchens, or if he had returned home, after all.
"I am pleased to see you here, Severus."
The words were low and quiet and in his right ear, where Andrea Masters had resumed her normal seat as his neighbour. He raised an eyebrow in her direction, and continued to chew his food, which had suddenly lost all its flavour and was now the consistency of a leather shoe.
"I missed you last night," she continued. "I had hoped to celebrate the first night of the Christmas holidays with you."
Was she mad, foolish, suicidal, or all three? He glared at the woman, at her cheek and her gall.
"I suppose you had to see little Astoria Greengrass home safe and sound? How grateful her parents must be to their daughter's caring Head of House …"
"You are disgusting," he hissed, wiping his mouth on a serviette and standing, pushing back his chair and leaving high table through the door he had only entered through a few moments before, with his dinner barely touched, and Minerva's entreaties to return, ringing in his selectively-deaf ears.