Chapter Four
Their second kiss was better than the first; Hermione preferred slow, passionate, and lingering to bruising pressure. The third was better still; confident he was not about to disappear on her, she released her death grip on his collar and allowed her hands to roam freely along his back, arms and chest. Their fourth, however, quickly took pride of place as her favorite, as he moved one hand to cradle her bum while the other brushed along her left breast.
The fifth she did not care for. He had taken advantage of her moaning his name to bring number four to a close. Number five was barely a peck on the lips. Her hands firmly curled into his thick woolen cloak, she stared up at him. He was staring back down at her with a queer expression she did not know how to read.
"Severus?" she said, sliding her right hand up his chest to cup his cheek. He turned his head ever so slightly, kissing her open palm.
"It's late," he said. His voice sounded thicker, huskier than usual.
"It is," she agreed. She made no move to release him. "Stay the night? No one should be alone on Christmas."
He lifted his hand from her chest to stroke her cheek with his thumb. "It's only Christmas for another two and a half hours," he replied.
"I know," she said. "Don't make me spend it alone."
To her surprise and delight, he took her up on her offer to stay the night.
They took a break from snogging for a cup of spiced cocoa, and to open their Christmas gifts. He had gotten her a book on the Italian opera masters – it was the book he had purchased at Camden Market – and a pair of lovely navy leather gloves.
"You never seem to have gloves," he said, taking her hands in his and kissing each of them in turn. "One would think you lived in the tropics, instead of London. I thought the navy would pair well with your brown jacket."
"They're beautiful," she said sincerely. "Thank you for everything."
He, in turn, raved about her gift. "It's perfect," he said, running his hand over the soft cashmere. "I don't think anyone has ever bought me such a thoughtful, expensive gift before." He kissed her forehead. "I'll wear it on our next evening out." It was hard to say whether she was more pleased by his fondness for the sweater or his use of "our next evening."
At some point, they moved from her sitting room floor to the bedroom. They did not have sex; "heavy petting," Hermione believed was the phrase she had heard her grandmother Elaine bandy about before.
She still had a dozen questions she wished to ask him. Falling asleep cradled in his arms, she decided that answers could wait for another time.
The next morning she woke up alone.
"Severus?" she mumbled sleepily. She padded into the sitting room. It was empty, except for Crookshanks. Had he left? Had she imagined that he had ever been there? The vase of roses assured her she had not. She went into the kitchen and spotted a piece of parchment.
Good morning beautiful, his note began. She smiled. Not a bad start. "Ten points to Slytherin, Professor," she said aloud. She leaned against the counter to read his note.
Good morning beautiful,
Please forgive me for leaving before you wake. You look so at peace when you are slumbering; I could not bear to wake you.
I had planned to make you breakfast, but your fridge and cupboards seem to be bare. I know you eat – why don't you keep any food in your house? Is this simply your custom, or is it a failing of your generation?
I will be back within the hour. There is coffee under a stasis charm in the pot.
~ Severus
Hermione laughed aloud. Trust him to wrap a romantic gesture like making her breakfast in a gentle rebuke on her failings as a housekeeper. She fetched her favorite mug from the drain rack and poured herself a cup of hot coffee before heading back into the sitting room.
If he had breakfast in hand, then she would allow herself the luxury of relaxing. She settled onto the sofa, tucked a furry throw around her legs, and turned on the telly. As expected, it was all Christmas movies. She selected White Christmas, a Granger family favorite, and snuggled into the couch to watch Rosemary Clooney and Vera-Ellen perform their floor act. By the time the sisters were evicted from the hotel, she could hear him whisper alohamora and unlock her front door.
"Sweet Circe," he murmured, shutting the door behind him. "It's freezing out there."
"That's what warming charms are for," she replied loftily. She sat up and reached for him. He barely had enough time to banish his packages to the kitchen before she pulled him down on top of her. "Good morning," she said, carding her fingers through his inky black hair. She kissed his cheeks, nose, forehead, the corner of his lips.
Deftly, he flipped them over. He kissed her soundly on the lips before replying. "It's afternoon. We slept in."
Hermione strained her neck to glimpse the oven clock. It was nearly one in the afternoon. She had been up for maybe half an hour. "When did you get up?" she asked.
"Around eleven, eleven-thirty." He brushed her bushy hair back out of his face. "I haven't slept that well in a while."
"I do have an extremely comfortable mattress," she teased.
He snickered. "Yes, I'm sure it's that, and not at all the witch I had curled against for the entire night." He kissed her again, before cautiously sliding out from under her.
"Where are you going?" she protested.
"To make breakfast," he replied. "Or would it be considered lunch, given the hour?"
"Brunch?" she suggested.
His nostrils flared. "Certainly not," he replied. "Severus Snape does not do brunch." He spun on his heel and headed toward the kitchen. Her laughter followed him.
He remerged forty-five minutes later, levitating a heavily laden silver serving tray she knew she did not own. He set it down on the coffee table and lifted her legs, settling down beside her. "I hope you don't mind," he said, leaning forward to make her a plate. "I transfigured one of your plastic trays into something more serviceable."
"Not at all," she replied. She admired his handiwork. "You will need to teach me that spell, though."
"With pleasure." He spread a napkin across her lap. "I hope you like paella and plantain chips," he said, handing her a plate.
"Very much so," she said. She took a bite. "Severus!" she said, crying out in surprise.
He glanced at her. "Yes, Hermione?"
"This is amazing," she said wonderingly. She spooned a bit more of the creamy paella into her mouth. "You're an incredible cook."
He raised his brow. "I should hope so. I've been a potions master for the better part of twenty-something years."
"What has one to do with the other?"
"Think, Miss Granger," he teased. He patted her leg, softening the bite of his words. "Cooking is potions, just meant for consumption."
They spent the rest of the afternoon curled up on her sofa, lazily drinking wine and talking, with liberal snogging breaks. Around nine in the evening, he stood up and announced it was time for him to go.
"Really?" she asked him. "I can't entice you to stay?"
He gazed at her prone form, lust visible in his eyes. "You definitely entice me," he replied thickly. "Which is all the more reason I must go. I have a previous engagement that takes me out of town for the next few days."
"Days?" she repeated.
"Yes," he replied with a crisp nod. "I return around noon on January 1st."
She was sure her disappointment was evident on her face. He knelt and cupped her chin. "Will you spend New Year's Day with me, Hermione? We can do whatever you wish. Simply pick a destination and my trusty guidebook and I shall be there at your side by one in the afternoon."
She nodded. He gave her one last kiss and departed, warning her to put stronger wards up on her doors. "Muggle locks are for amateurs," was his parting remark. "Constant vigilance."
Hermione Granger was not, despite rumors to the contrary, a wallflower. She missed Severus while he was gone, but she kept busy.
Having spent the past twenty-four hours more or less wrapped in his arms gave her the confidence to believe that he was coming to care for her as she did for him. Therefore, she felt free to throw herself into the whirlwind of Christmas activities planned by her friends and family. First, to her mother's sister in Ireland for St. Stephen's day; Aunt Carol's husband Patrick was Irish, so they always made a big to-do, taking part in the local festivals. Upon returning to London, there were numerous holiday parties, including Hannah's post-Christmas celebration at the Leaky Cauldron, Seamus Finnegan's annual gathering of Gryffindor alums, and Anthony Goldstein's Hanukkah party. It all culminated with the Ministry for Magic's New Year's Ball, an annual fundraiser started by Kingsley Shacklebolt's wife Nimue to help provide funds for orphans and needy families still struggling from the after-effects of the Second Wizarding War. Hermione was to attend with Charlie Weasley; he had asked her at Christmas.
"Seeing as we're both unattached, why not?" He had said. Why not indeed? She had planned to go alone, anyway. Of course, if she had her choice, she would have had Severus on her arm, but as a rule, dead men do not attend annual fundraisers. Well, aside from a handful of ghosts.
The night before New Year's Eve, Harry and Ginny hosted a small party at their home in Grimmauld Place – inviting just Hermione, Ron, Neville and Luna. The six of them stayed up late, talking, laughing, reminiscing, and drinking. It was a perfect end to her year.
Hermione slept over – Harry had insisted that they all stay, scared that one of his nearest and dearest might splinch themselves apparating home after consuming so many bottles of the elf-made wine Ginny had found in the recently discovered Black family wine cellar. In the morning, Hermione made a quick trip home to pick up her dress robes, before returning to prepare for the ball. Ginny was better than her at hair and makeup charms, and Hermione was grateful for her help.
Charlie showed up about twenty minutes before they planned to leave. He joined Harry in the sitting room for a Firewhiskey while Hermione and Ginny finished putting the final touches on their ensembles. When they entered the living room, Charlie let out a low wolf-whistle – sometimes, he and Ron were so alike – and Hermione saw a hopeful glint in Ginny's eye. Hermione and Harry traded glances; they both were quite sure Charlie played for the other team. Besides, Hermione had confided to Harry the previous evening that it looked like things were back on track between her and her mystery man.
The Ministry Ball had become such a big event that this year it was to be held at the Hogwarts Castle. Hermione was excited to attend; she had not had the occasion to visit the school in some years.
Hogwarts did not disappoint. The headmistress had taken her hostess duties very seriously. The castle had been thoroughly decorated with fairy lights, with hundreds of trees and ice sculptures placed throughout. It looked every inch the enchanted castle of any little girl's fantasy. Taking in the grandeur of the Entrance Hall, Hermione whispered as much to Ginny, who readily concurred.
Harry and Charlie went off in search of their place cards, while Hermione and Ginny greeted Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick. Upon regrouping, Charlie took Hermione's arm in his and suggested they do a lap among the crowd before finding their table. Hermione agreed, and off they went.
It seemed everyone Hermione knew from Wizarding Britain had attended, save him, of course. With every step, they were greeted gaily by friends, former classmates, colleagues and Hogwarts professors. Even the Malfoys were in attendance, she thought, spotting Draco and his wife out of the corner of her eye. She could not help but wonder if Draco knew that he was still alive.
Could Draco and his parents have been the ones to save his life? It seemed unlikely. Wandless, they had remained until the very end of the Battle of Hogwarts in a tight little group, awaiting their fate at the hands of the Aurors. It seemed impossible that they would have had enough time to retrieve his body and bring him back to the land of the living.
No, it could not have been the Malfoys, she decided. It had to have been someone else… but who? As Charlie escorted her across the crowded Great Hall to their table, she scanned the crowd, searching for potential suspects.
Her gaze landed on Marcus Belby. Marcus was a Healer at St. Mungo's, working in the Creature-Induced Bites department. Could Marcus have pursued that line of work because he had already saved Severus with success? No, she thought, with a small shake of her head. It could not have been Marcus. She had forgotten he had been a year ahead of her. He had not been at Hogwarts at the time of the battle.
Next, she spotted Cassius Warrington and Adrian Pucey. Despite having finished Hogwarts ahead of her, they had been present at the battle; she distinctly remembered them charging into the fray behind Professor Slughorn when he had returned from Hogsmeade with a large group of residents. Warrington and Pucey had both been members of the Slytherin Quidditch team in their youth and were particularly fond of their Head of House. Could they have saved him? It seemed unlikely, if only because she remembered that they had been assisting with the removal of the dead from the Great Hall following the battle.
"Good evening, Miss Granger!" Professor Sinistra called to her as she passed by on the arm of a distinguished-looking older gentleman Hermione was not acquainted with. Hmmm… Professor Sinistra? Aurora, Severus had called her when they visited the Royal Gallery. She had been his friend. Could she have gone looking for him and saved his life? Perhaps.
By the time they reached their table, Hermione must have considered more than a dozen wizards and witches. It was turning into a frustrating and rather macabre game.
Shortly after the first course, the band started playing. Charlie grabbed her hand. "Let's dance," he said, whirling her around. She put thoughts of Severus' savior temporarily out of her mind, allowing herself to be twirled around the dance floor, first by Charlie, then by Bill, Oliver Wood, Terry Boot, Dean Thomas, Ernie Macmillan, Ron, and then finally, the Minister for Magic himself. As she finished her dance with Kingsley, she excused herself and made a beeline for the restroom.
"Hey girl," Angelina Weasley, née Johnson, greeted her as she reached the first-floor lavatory. "Having fun out there?"
"It's mad," Hermione replied. "My poor feet have been stepped on more times than I can count."
Angelina laughed, rubbing her very pregnant belly. "I've told you before Hermione – cushioning charms are your best friends when you're dancing with drunken wizards." She gestured to the restroom door. "It's not too crowded in there, go find yourself a couch and take a much-needed break."
Angelina was right; the bathroom was fairly empty, considering the size of the ball. Only a handful of stalls looked occupied. Three women were seated on the various sofas conjured for the occasion, two of them rubbing their aching feet.
A single woman stood at the row of sinks, reapplying her lipstick. Impossibly tall, blonde and thin in that way that so many purebloods witches seemed to be, Hermione recognized her at once. It was Daphne Greengrass, a Slytherin from her year. The Slytherin Ice Princess, Ron used to call her. Hermione reprimand him when he did. She liked Daphne – she was very smart. They had often collaborated in their Arithmancy and Ancient Runes classes, two courses that always seemed to be light on Gryffindor and Slytherin students.
Daphne caught sight of her in the mirror and smiled warmly. "Granger," she greeted her. She finished applying her lipstick and smacked her lips together twice before turning toward Hermione. "How are you?"
Hermione collapsed onto a nearby sofa and smiled back. "I'm well, Greengrass, how have you been?" She pulled off her shoes and stared at her aching feet.
"Can't complain," she said, crossing the small distance between them. "It's been a good holiday season." She sat beside Hermione. "Forgot your cushioning charms?" she asked sympathetically.
Hermione nodded. "I remembered the one to make my shoes more comfortable but forgot that half the wizards in attendance learned to dance from their heads of house before their Yule balls. I'm in agony."
"I've got just the spell. May I?" Hermione nodded, and Daphne pulled out her wand. She whipped it around in loose-wristed motion. The pain ceased immediately.
"Thank you. You've got to teach me that one sometime," Hermione said, wiggling her grateful toes.
"I'll do it now," Daphne agreed. "It's one of those spells a 'proper' young lady is taught by her mother before she begins courting." She repeated the wand movements. Ever the eager student, Hermione got it by the second try.
"Very good," Daphne said encouragingly. She replaced her wand in her holster. As she did, Hermione caught sight of the massive diamond on Daphne's left ring finger.
"Daphne!" Hermione gasped. "That's quite a ring!"
Daphne flushed prettily. "Isn't it? Adrian finally proposed over Christmas."
"It's about time," Hermione replied. Adrian Pucey and Daphne had been a couple since shortly after attending the Yule Ball together back in Hermione's fourth year. "Congratulations. It's stunning."
"Isn't it though?" Daphne said, admiring it fondly. "My sister Theia claims that it's probably valued somewhat above the GDP of a few smaller countries." Daphne had three sisters, each one prettier and smarter than the next. Theia, the second eldest had been in Percy Weasley's class. She was married to a friend of Victor Krum's and was a high-ranking official in the Department for Magical Cooperation.
"It wouldn't surprise me." Daphne jingled her wrist and a flash of silver caught Hermione's eye. Daphne was wearing a silver bangle bracelet. A familiar silver bangle bracelet. Without thinking, her hand shot out to still Daphne's arm.
"Where did you get this from?" Hermione asked, running her thumb over the bangle's delicate fleur-de-lis pattern.
"It's pretty, no?" Daphne replied. "It was a Christmas gift from a friend."
Hermione released Daphne's arm. Her mind began to whirl a mile a minute. "Must be a close friend," she heard herself reply. Her voice sounded funny.
Daphne must have thought so, too, because she looked at her strangely. "He's a dear friend, yes," she replied evenly. "I helped him out a terrible jam once, some years ago. Every year, he treats me to a little trinket around the holidays to thank me for my assistance."
Hermione's eyes met Daphne's, and suddenly, everything clicked into place. She knew.
"It was you," she breathed.
Daphne's eyes darkened as her expression turned guarded. "What was me?" she asked lamely. Hermione knew it was an act. This was not the first time Hermione had witnessed Daphne playing dumb.
"You're the one who saved him," Hermione whispered insistently. "How did you do it?"
Daphne looked uncomfortable. She gave a little, hollow laugh. "Granger, I think you might have had too much to drink."
"I haven't had a drink yet."
It made sense. Daphne had been there when the battle began. When the Slytherins were evacuated from the castle, Daphne had accompanied them. She and her friend Tracy Davis, by all accounts collected from the residents of Hogsmeade in the aftermath, had taken it upon themselves to see that the younger students – from all four houses – made it to the village and escaped to safety via the floo network. This put Daphne near the Shrieking Shack after Hermione, Harry, and Ron had returned to the castle. The timeline fit.
They stared at one another. Finally, Daphne stood and smoothed out her silvery dress robes. "It was lovely seeing you again, Granger." She started for the exit, her heels clicking against the stone floor. She paused about halfway and gave Hermione a sad sort of smile. "Happy New Year."
Hermione left the ball shortly after her confrontation with Daphne. She claimed that she had taken ill with a terrible migraine.
"Too much merriment," she explained as she begged off. The truth was she no longer felt like celebrating.