Chapter 31
Just before 11am the following day, Hermione was tapping her feet impatiently outside the basement flat, awaiting the arrival of either the Whitehall estate agent, Professor Snape, or both. Already at the bottom of the short flight of stone steps, and looking up at the tall mews house above, Hermione was already feeling a strong but unexplainable pull towards the flat, despite the door not having been opened yet. She was quite capable of viewing it by herself, of course, but had so wanted to carve out some time with the professor before she returned to school the following day.
At five past the hour, a harassed looking man in an ill-fitting suit rushed down the steps, apologising for his tardiness and pushing past her to unlock the door of the flat. This must be the estate agent, although he had not introduced himself. He held the door open for her, and she stepped inside, instantly feeling a comfortable warmth, even stronger than the 'pull' she'd felt outside.
Looking around, she could see that it was not a large property, but there was a wonderful fireplace, small like the one in her Hogwarts guest room, perfect for hooking up to the Floo network. A few bits of furniture were dotted here and there – an ugly floral sofa, an iron table and two chairs that looked like they had been brought in from the garden, and the kitchenette was shabby but appeared sturdy. No matter. All of this could be worked on, and at the current asking price, that she'd had to ask the agent to repeat, the flat was a complete bargain.
Hermione ducked her head into the bathroom. Like the kitchen it was dated and tired, but nothing a bit of shopping and a little magic couldn't make good. The final room was the bedroom, small and currently without a bed, but cosy, with an undersized bay window looking out over the courtyard garden.
"Is the garden for the exclusive use of the basement flat?" she asked the estate agent, who was busy juggling a stack of papers.
"It is," he confirmed. "Needs a bit of work, mind."
She peeped outside the window to see what was, in her mind, the perfect small garden. It was walled, secluded and private, with lots of tumbling ivy and overgrown pot plants. The whole aura and feel of the flat was different to any of the others she had viewed. It sounded ridiculous, but it just seemed like the flat was jumping up and down in front of her face yelling, Pick Me! Pick Me!
"You said that the flat has been on the market for quite a while?"
"Yes, love."
"And why is that?"
"Honestly? No one seems to want it. The owner has rented it out a few times, but the tenants never stay. He's desperate to be rid of it. We've had the place fully inspected, everything is sound – no damp, no troubles …" his voice trailed off, and his eyes swung to the front window, the one that looked out over the steps that led down to the main door. Hermione distinctly heard a muttered fuck under his breath. "Well, no troubles, apart from this one."
The front door opened without anyone knocking, and a familiar looking woman wafted in, wearing a heliotrope coloured dress and a wide smile on her face. Hermione recognised her at once, for this was no Muggle woman, this was a witch, and also happened to be the very Ministry employee that Hermione had impersonated using Polyjuice potion, in order to steal the locket horcrux from Dolores Umbridge.
"Mafalda," the estate agent greeted, in a weary manner.
"Hello Graham!" she trilled. "Is this the new owner of the flat?"
Mafalda's gaze swept to Hermione and it was apparent that the Ministry worker's recognition was also instant. There was no anonymity for her, Harry or Ron in the wizarding world anymore.
"Hermione Granger, as I live and breathe. Welcome, my dear. Are you thinking of taking this flat?"
With a witch living upstairs, Hermione privately thought that might just swing the scale in that direction. She knew that she'd had a feeling about the house as soon as she neared it. The presence of Mafalda Hopkirk confirmed why – the house had known magic, and her own magical signature recognised it.
"Do you live upstairs, Ms Hopkirk?"
"Mafalda, please! And yes, I have the ground and first floor. Archie Aymslowe has the top floor, do you know of him?"
The name was familiar, but Hermione could not place it; and shook her head. She was reassured that because he had been specifically mentioned by Malfalda Hopkirk, that this was her way of informing Hermione, without the estate agent suspecting a thing, that Archie was a wizard, not a Muggle.
"Ah well, you'll meet him soon enough, I'm sure. Anyway, I must dash!"
And with that, Mafalda wafted out of the basement flat with the same speed as she had whirled in. Graham, the formerly-nameless estate agent, looked as guilty as hell.
"And there is our problem," he sighed. "The Hopkirk woman upstairs is known to be, how shall I put it, a bit of an eccentric. Her, and the old boy on the top floor, too. It puts people off the place, you know?"
Oh, she did know, and she nodded at Graham slowly, as if to demonstrate her understanding.
For Hermione, the flat was perfect. The entrance to the basement flat was partly concealed under the building, with plenty of trailing greenery to hide an Apparition, which meant she could cast secure wards. It was walking distance to the Ministry's street-level entrance, and with two other magical people sharing the building, she would not need to go to great lengths to conceal her powers within the privacy of her own home. A well-aimed Confundus charm, and she'd have the paperwork done, the monies transferred, and the property deeds in her name before the day was out, and she would certainly not be asking one Severus Snape for help this time.
-xxx-
Severus was brooding in his private laboratory, ostensibly brewing supplies for the infirmary in several bubbling cauldrons, but mostly kicking himself for being such a stupid bastard.
He had toyed for many hours with the idea of meeting Miss Granger at the property she wished to view, even liking the idea of surprising the girl, however inane that was, but after researching the house details in the public archives, he saw that the magical signatures of one Mafalda Hopkirk and one Archibald Aymslowe were both registered at the address, despite it officially being a Muggle dwelling. There was no way he could loiter outside that house with a witch and wizard living in it who would recognise him in an instant. Severus would have to explain to Granger when she returned to school the reasons for his absence, as he had a keen sense that she would be upset that he had not come.
And that was the other side of the sickle. Why should he give a single shit about the feelings of a teenage girl? The two of them were not in a relationship. They had made each other no promises. They were providing each other with mutual sexual satisfaction and yes, he conceded, that this was rather marvellous. His neglected cock, at least, was fucking delighted. But did this mean he needed to tiptoe around a young witch's sensibilities? He had seen lesser wizards run mad from trying to please or placate their witch. He would most certainly not be one of them.
Then the thought of Miss Granger, distressed and crying, entered his mind, and it made him want to sink his entire head into one of the bubbling cauldrons in shame. The truth was, if she were hurt, or sad, he would move heaven and earth to try and make it better for her. Severus knew not what love was, but he was an intelligent wizard, and his feelings for this young girl, if not love, were something huge and unfamiliar that he had no idea how to control.
Despite all the logic in the world about what an unlikely couple they would make, the fact remained that this child-woman was under his skin, twisted around his heart, and prodding at his blackened soul. The more he sought to keep her away, the closer he wanted her.
"You must not love me, Hermione, for I am a bad man, and I will hurt you."
That statement had never rung so true.
He gave one of the cauldrons a vicious prod in anger - and was rewarded with a yellow splurt of acne-relieving potion splattered across his pristine workbench. He cursed loudly, and drew his wand to deal with the mess.
-xxx-
Hermione was breathless from telling the Weasleys and Harry all about her new flat, during supper at the Burrow that night. As she'd predicted, she had been able to effect the transaction magically and the Whitehall basement flat was now hers. She had secured the building, but had not placed any belongings there, since most of them were either in her holiday bag or had been left at school. Mr Weasley had promised to visit and connect the fireplace to the Floo network once she officially moved in, but first, she had a final term of education to complete – the most important one of her school career, no less.
She and Ginny were making preparations for returning to school on the Hogwarts Express the following morning, although it was slightly discombobulating that Ginny Weasley was now Ginny Potter, both married and pregnant, but still returning to school. Her parents had secured the taking of Ginny's NEWT exams in March, at the end of the current term, and Hermione planned to apply for the same from Headmistress McGonagall just as soon as she returned to Hogwarts. She preferred to approach her respected professor personally, rather than by owl. She hoped that McGonagall would be impressed by the employment contract she had procured from the Department of Mysteries, rather than be disappointed that she was leaving due to pregnancy. That would feel like rather an underachievement.
The plan was for the Potters to move to number twelve, Grimmauld Place, once Ginny had taken her NEWTs, and to raise the baby there. Until then, both were resident at the Burrow, living together in Ginny's childhood bedroom. It seemed a sensible plan, and Hermione was looking forward to visiting them there, rather smugly eager to watch Harry attempt to cope with a newborn infant. Ron seemed rather disinterested in the whole thing, and since the wedding had been somewhat grumpy.
Since the two of them had made their peace at Christmas, Hermione fervently hoped that his sour mood had nothing to do with her.
-xxx-
The following morning, she was seated with Neville and Hannah on the Hogwarts Express, happy that Ginny Potter was not the emotional type, and there had been no tearful farewells at King's Cross. Ron had gleefully relieved his sister of his racing broom, rather happy to remind her that pregnant witches were not allowed to play Quidditch. For Ginny, this would surely mean the loss of the Gryffindor Quidditch team captaincy, a fact which was causing her far more distress that being separated from her new husband for three months.
She had separated from Hermione on the train and had gone to sit with some other classmates in a different carriage. Hermione, Neville and Hannah had the compartment to themselves, and it seemed a bit like old times, since people had tended to give her, Ron and Harry a wide berth in the past, too.
Her two friends seemed to be as loved-up as ever, although Neville looked tired, and dark around the eyes. The funeral of his mother had been a difficult day, for how does one begin to mourn a mother they had never really known? Her heart had bled for him, and his father, who had lost his wife so soon after regaining control of his own life and mind. Neville's grandmother appeared as unreadable as always, but stood tall, stoically supporting her son and grandson with her imposing presence.
As expected, Snape had not turned up for the funeral, but both Professors McGonagall and Sprout had been in attendance, and Neville had been the recipient of many earthy hugs from his Herbology mentor. The tufty little wizard who had presided over Dumbledore's funeral had also led the service for Alice Longbottom; and had spoken at length of her fortitude and bravery. Hermione could not help recalling the broken women whom Snape described that he had found in Mrs Longbottom's damaged mind. He had been right - it was better that Neville and Frank did not know the state in which Alice had been found. That would only torture them, fruitlessly, for there could be no resolution. She wondered if that is why the professor had declined the invitation, in case he had been pressed on the matter by other mourners.
Hermione pressed her nose against the cold window of the train, looking out at the landscape that rolled by as they chugged along, framed by the puffs of steam and a light frost around the edges of the glass.
"I don't know what's happening, Neville. Her mother said she wasn't coming back, that's all I know."
Hermione turned around, tuning in to what Hannah was saying.
"Who's not coming back?" she asked, concerned at the sad look that Hannah wore. "Susan?"
Hannah nodded. "I didn't know anything about it until last night. Her mother sent me an owl telling me that Susan wasn't returning to school; and would be taking the complimentary NEWT certificates instead."
Neville shook his head; and rubbed his chin with a large hand. "That just doesn't make sense, Hannah. Why would she not come back to Hogwarts? She wouldn't leave school just because you two were having a few problems, surely? And if it were that bad, you could have moved rooms, so you weren't sharing any longer."
Hannah shrugged, looking miserable.
"Could it have anything to do with Professor Briner, and what happened?" Hermione asked, tentatively. "She wouldn't have some kind of misguided loyalty to him?"
"I would hope she wouldn't be that stupid," Hannah scoffed, a disdainful look upon her face. "What could she do, anyway? That pervert is in Azkaban, for the foreseeable future, anyway."
"Five years, I read in the Prophet," Neville chimed in, shaking his head in disgust. "Five years for attempted rape of an underage girl, and one that as a teacher, he was responsible for."
Hermione remembered Snape saying that Richard Briner's sentence had been not nearly long enough. Five years, was that all he received? She would have expected more. Perhaps Azkaban was too full of Death Eaters these days to worry about an attempted rapist. At least the wizard prison was far more severe than a Muggle one – there certainly wouldn't be any family visits or delivered treats on a desolate rock in the North Sea.
-xxx-
Severus watched the thestral-drawn carriages bring the returning students back to school, bright-eyed and ready to start the next term of their peril-free education. His gaze, of course, panned the masses for her. He had little interest in any other.
His laughable expectation that this, this being whatever it was he was doing with Miss Granger, would be over by the time the new term began, had been proven quite spectacularly erroneous. Every nerve-ending in his body was on edge, wondering whether it would feel the soft touch of her hands again.
He had behaved rudely and without respect or care for the girl, as was his approach to most interactions in life. Even someone ignorant of the ways in which a relationship should be conducted, could see that she had fair reason to be annoyed with him. Would it be appropriate to try and recommence sexual contact now they were back in the castle? He suspected that it would be a spectacularly bad idea, as there was nothing appropriate about the times he'd spent with Miss Granger.
It had started with no good sense; and continued with their mutual avoidance of the reality of the situation. And what of now? Where in seventh hell were they now? In July, Granger would sit her NEWT examinations and be gone from Hogwarts forever, a year after she should have been. He would be better to leave the girl well alone.
-xxx-
Severus couldn't hear anything. The constant chatter of the Friday night staff room had been drowned out by the frantic pulsing of his own heartbeat, pushing his blood past his ears at an intense rate. Minerva had just made her announcement, a small matter for anyone but he.
The newly married Ginevra Potter (he spat out the last name, internally) was being prepared to take her NEWT examinations a term early due to her pregnancy. Well, that was nothing new. There had been many a seventh-year witch who had been pregnant and hastily married off. No, the reason for his current discomfort was that Mrs Potter would be joined by Miss Granger, who had secured a prestigious employment offer within the Department of Mysteries, the headmistress had proudly announced.
Three months. Granger would be gone from here in three months.
Severus had not initiated any contact with the girl during this first week of term, aside from teaching her in lessons, where she had acknowledged him as nothing more than her professor. Her brewing and classwork had been as exemplary as always. He had never felt so relieved, and so disappointed, at the same time. Was this to be the end of their … interactions? It would certainly be for the best if it was.
He barely heard Minerva announce that Susan Bones had left Hogwarts, as advised by her mother via owl post just a few days before term began. Miss Bones was of no consequence to him. Neither was Andrea Masters, who had once again taken the seat across from him, moving it with her wand to ensure she was within conversing distance.
"Do you always have to regard me as you would sour milk, Severus?" she asked, gaily, and was rewarded with nothing more than a narrowing of his black eyes.
Severus privately thought that sour milk would be preferable to a conversation with this fucking nightmare of a witch. "Are we done, Minerva?" he called across the room, his deep voice carrying smoothly over the twittering hubbub.
"Och, retiring so soon, Severus? Its Friday night, and you're not on patrol," the headmistress replied.
He stood up, glowering at her, for he believed that she may have been attempting to laugh at him.
"Goodnight, Minerva," he bid her, with a bow of his head, before leaving the staff room at a brisk pace, hearing nothing but a cackle of laughter from the witches at the fireplace, and a sonorous burp from Flitwick, already half pissed on oak-matured mead, through the open door that he had not been bothered enough to close behind him.
He regretted this decision a few seconds later; when he was halfway down the corridor. Quick footsteps caught him up, and her pale hand clutched his arm.
"Severus."
"I have nothing to say to you."
"Severus, stop. Stop walking. Please!"
He whirled around to face Andrea head on, arching an expectant eyebrow without a word.
"I am sorry, Severus."
He could have laughed in her face.
"Sorry for what, exactly, Professor Masters? There are so many reasons that you could have to apologise to me."
A flash of annoyance passed over her face, making her look rather ugly.
"I apologise, Severus, for accusing you of … interfering with Miss Greengrass. After the outcome of that night, with Richard's arrest, and subsequent trial … well, I can see I was wrong to make the allegation."
"None of this is news to me, Andrea," he replied, in an even, dry tone. "I told you repeatedly not to be so disgusting."
"I know, I know. And I am so sorry. What must you think of me?"
He could not help smirking.
"I doubt you would wish to hear my exact thoughts and opinions on your character, Madam."
She did not answer, and instead drew her wand.
"Hold out your hand, Severus," she instructed, and for some unfathomable reason, he complied.
Masters coiled her wand in a flourish, as if she were twirling a ribbon, and conjured a flutter of red fabric that dropped from the air, a short distance, into the palm of his hand. Merlin, were those … what he thought they were?
"Where did you get these?" he asked, his voice severe as he fought to keep his hand steady under the heavy weight of Hermione Granger's scarlet knickers.
"Its amazing what you can find when casting a Vanishment Reversal spell in the Potions classroom."
"How dare you enter my classroom when I am not present?"
"I would dare to do anything, to get what I want," she hissed, stepping closing to him.
Severus didn't say anything. He did not know how much she knew. Anything he said could incriminate himself, and land Miss Granger in deep trouble.
"You have no questions, Severus?" Andrea asked, sweetly. "You don't want to know whether I have cast a spell to ascertain the owner of this … delightfully Gryffindor piece of frippery, that is just teeming with identifying DNA?"
He kept his expression neutral. He had faced down the fucking Dark Lord himself and lived to tell the tale, he could deal with this bitch.
"It would be a terrible shame if this indiscretion of yours were to get out, Professor Snape. I doubt that you care much for your job, however, I care deeply that my husband is employed in a respectable position."
"Your husband? You are deranged, witch."
"However," she continued, clearly not finished yet. "It would be tragic if a promising young Unspeakable, a young witch who is a shining light in the wizarding world, were to have her reputation and morals tarnished by the public knowledge of her sexual liaisons, and I am presuming they are multiple, with a school professor. She would most certainly be expelled before she could sit her exams, and where would her precious new job be then?"
Fuck.
Fuck it all to hell.
"What … do you want?" he hissed, incensed that his stupidity and lack of care would jeopardise Miss Granger's future, one she so richly deserved.
She laughed. She fucking laughed. He wanted to Avada her right there and then.
"How things change, Severus Snape! I told you that you would come round to my way of thinking, in the end. What do I want? Why, the same as I ever did! The protection of your name. The chance of a respectable future. So, here is what I propose, and the timeline has been made even shorter with Minerva's announcement. The girl will complete school and sit her examinations in March. You will do whatever it takes to … get her out of your system, so to speak. I shall not interfere, nor reveal your indiscretions to a soul."
"And then?"
"And then, dearest, then we shall marry, and the live the life I planned! Every offer I made you, I intend to honour. I shall bear you a child, and we will live a respectable future as educators, here in the castle."
"We would never be happy," he spat.
"Happy?" she laughed. "What does happiness have to do with marriage? Although I shall be considerably happier knowing that you are not a complete sexual incompetent. I shall just have to educate you on how a woman makes love, rather than a teenage girl."
"Are you finished?"
"Oh yes. I don't believe I have anything further to say." Andrea whirled her wand again, and the red knickers vanished. No doubt the witch would keep those as leverage.
He turned on his heel and stalked away from her, wishing to all the world that he still possessed the ability to Apparate around the castle. If his head hadn't been exploding before, it certainly was now. How could he have been so fucking stupid as to effectively leave a trail that would expose them both? He'd been thinking with his bloody cock. He did not expect Andrea Masters to snoop around his classroom, but then again, one should never presume anything when it came to Death Eaters, or their spouses.
He really was one stupid, stupid bastard, who had just hung themselves for the sake of another. It was like Lily Potter all over again.
-xxx-
Hermione could not remember a time when the Hogwarts library had not been able to satisfy her, but today – today was the day. The first Saturday of term had dragged on relentlessly; her homework already done and no friends around to amuse herself with. Neville and Hannah were busy with each other, and Ginny had developed quite a following among her classmates, who were all cooing over her non-existent baby bump and her sparkling magical wedding ring.
She had found a quiet corner of the library, and settled down with a wizarding crime novel, but kept losing track of the plot – a sure sign that she was not concentrating. In truth, her jumbled feelings about Professor Snape were something she needed to deal with, lest she never be able to quieten her mind again.
He had not turned up to either Alice Longbottom's funeral, or to the viewing of her flat that she had so cheekily slipped him the details of, hoping that he would be charmed enough to attend. It was rather embarrassing. But still, her body and mind needed things that only the dark wizard who roamed the castle dungeons could provide. She never felt more alive than when they were intimately together. And she only had three months left …
Decision made, sensible logic mostly abandoned in hot fire, Hermione slammed the book shut and placed it back in the correct place on the library shelf, perhaps to return to another day when her mind was not so distracted. She headed through the corridors towards her room, seeing through the tall castle windows that night was rapidly falling, the grey light of dusk quickly turning darker.
She entered her room, and securely locked the door behind her, using an extra spell to stop it being magically unlocked from outside, and headed over to the fireplace. Testing the Floo, it was immediately apparent that the connection to the professor's quarters was no longer open. Hermione drew her wand and sent a green flare through the fire, as Snape had shown her, which would reach his room and alert him of her call, if he were there. She swallowed hard, in both fear and anticipation.
A hand, his hand, came through the fire and extended itself to her. Hermione took hold of it, and stepped into the grate, realising too late that she hadn't even bothered to brush her hair or check her clothing. Ah well, jeans and jumper it was then, she shrugged, as she spun through the Floo, landing securely on the hearth of Professor Snape's fireplace. He let go of her hand instantly, and took a visible step back, away from her.
His dark eyes stared at her, his mouth unsmiling. His black hair looked greasy; and fell forwards over his face. The only giveaway to his true feeling was the heave of his chest under his white shirt – Snape was breathing heavily, and exhaling long breaths from his nose. Hermione looked at the snake-given scars on his neck, that vicious attack that had nearly removed the professor's head from his shoulders, and the healed wounds moved with his throat as he swallowed hard.
"Hello, Sir," she whispered.
He did not answer.
She took a step towards him, hoping he would not back away.
"How are you?"
There was no response, but Hermione was sure that his eyes had darkened and that his breathing was becoming ragged. She took another step towards him, closing the distance to almost nothing.
"We have to stop this."
It was the first words he had spoken to her, and each one of them was potent. He did not mean what he had said, she was sure of it. The air between them was crackling with desire and she had never wanted to more to kiss this man – this oddity of a wizard that most others feared.
"Is that what you want?" she asked, a little fearful to hear the answer.
He stepped towards her, so close that their chests were touching, and she could feel every breath he took, knowing that he would feel hers also.
"No."
With that, and with no other warning, his hand was around the back of her neck, grabbing a rough handful of hair and tipping her head back. His eyes searched her face as they drunk in every inch of her.
"No," he repeated, before crashing his mouth down upon hers, forcing his tongue between her lips and deep into her mouth, swiping it around as if he meant to possess every inch of her.
Swallowing everything he was giving, Hermione tried to calm her breathing through her nose, since the professor had taken control of her mouth, tightening his grip on her hair with every small noise of pleasure that escaped her. Merlin, this wizard could kiss. Severus Snape was snogging her as if his life depended on it, and it was lighting a familiar fire in her stomach. His own groans and gasps sounded like desperation, of sheer frustration.
"You came to me," he slurred, pausing his kiss for only a second in order to say the words, before moving his lips on hers again, devouring them as if they were the most addictive taste in the world.
"I needed you," she replied, placing the flat of her hand on his heaving chest, drawing a long groan from him, and he shook his head in a frustrated and reluctant manner.
He released his tight hold on her hair; and slid his other hand up to hold her head between them.
"We cannot," he began, before letting out a short, heavy sigh and stealing her lips again, his kiss still hard and insistent, "and yet … we are."
"Yes, we are," she mumbled, reaching forward to hook her hands into his belt, eliciting a groan from him. "I have three months, Sir."
"I have heard of this," he muttered, littering kisses on her cheeks, catching the corner of her mouth in an urgent, careless manner.
"Do you want to discuss it?"
He pulled back, removing his hands from her face, and pushing her hands from his belt, moving them down to cup around the hard, desperate bulge at the front of his trousers.
"No."
Hermione moved her hands; and took hold of his.
"May I stay tonight?"
His face was such a curious mix of emotions that she couldn't even read it. Tugging on her hands, he walked backwards, leading her towards his bedchamber.