Severus, Severus, quite incongruous, how do your feelings grow?

Shall we say a one-shot to the 300th reviewer? Yes? Good.

Chapter 8

Though you may disappear,

you're not forgotten here.

And I will say to you,

I will do what I can do.

Peter Gabriel

It was awkward; there really was no other way to describe their situation.

They stood in the living room of the cottage at the far end of one of the village's last lanes, and looked about. Severus tried not to wince at the barely concealed dismay on Hermione's face. It was tempting to leave her to it and return to his comfortable quarters in the dungeons, but he hadn't spent years under Albus Dumbledore's deranged rule for nothing. Not that he had survived out of a determination that would've cleaned the cottage like a creature unto itself; despite some of his more memorable outbursts, he was at heart a calm, methodical man. Serving under the old Headmaster was the right (for even though it was unpleasant, it was still preferable to the other nutter) thing to do, and so he did it and directed his complaints to the bottom of a bottle of Ogden's once in a while.

He still couldn't quite answer just why he had blurted out the idea that they live together here; he wasn't a masochist, despite the evidence to the contrary, and he wasn't keen on torturing himself with staying for long enough to form an attachment to his wife. But she was counting on him, and he did not wish to fail her. Not after everything that she had been through. Besides, it wasn't as if he had other women beating down his door, begging to share his living spaces and frown at them over morning coffees. Not that that was truly a reason to decline… he would be being dishonest if he allowed himself to even think that that was really why. Even if he couldn't quite put his finger on what truly made him stay, he knew that it was because of that.

Linking his hands behind his back, Severus cleared his throat. "It isn't much, but-"

"Not much?" Hermione echoed, and for the first time she turned to him with a smile that seemed out of place in the dusty sitting room just out of the entryway. There was no furniture, and the windowsills were filled with caked on dust. Poppy had eclectic tastes, and he really should have taken down the Frida Kahlo curtains before even letting his wife put one dainty foot over the threshold. He almost shuddered when he remembered that the main bedroom had a burnt orange shag rug covering most of the floor. That and the lime green bathroom upstairs that they'd have to share, considering it had the only shower, was a recipe for a disaster of a house. Bloody Poppy bloody Pomfrey. Thank you, Poppy.

"Why, Severus," she breathed, pausing to cover her mouth and cough from the dust in the air, shooting him an apologetic grimace in the process, "it's positively wonderful!"

"Positively wonderful?" he repeated disbelievingly.

Gods, I've missed her unnatural optimism. The thought struck him like a bludger to the head and before he could rein it in, he was staring at her with an uncharacteristic look of surprise on his face. She seemed new to him somehow – the shoulder length sprawling hair was the same of course, if only shorter, and those bright eyes had lit many a dark night in his last year before becoming Headmaster, but surely this welcoming, shy smile was not all for him? She was almost criminally lovely, so soft and gentle looking. Not typically pretty, but striking – the sort of beauty that a blind, dunderheaded fool might not appreciate, but Severus, with his discerning, attentive eye, most definitely could. And he knew that in the coming months, she would become even more comely when the fleshier curves returned to her birdlike body.

In that moment, he wanted her to hold his head to her naked chest and stroke his hair as if he were her lover. His mind was a cruel mistress, and taunted him with how her skin might taste if he were to turn his head while she cradled his head of black ink, and run his tongue along the undersides of her breasts. Would she carry the tang of salt and sweat, or the sweet, sharp note of perfume that had been daringly dabbed there? That frangipani oil, the one she always used – would the scent of it cling to areolas coloured like the roses in his Potioneer's garden? Not that he even knew what shade of colour the sensitive peaks would be…

The idea created a bitter, sour taste in his mouth; why couldn't he have someone like her? He had her on paper, yes, but why couldn't there have been no law, and instead just a woman coming to him because she wanted to? He wanted her to comfort him, as he had comforted her. Yet he didn't want such things because of gratitude, as would undoubtedly be the case. Severus had absolutely no desire to accept pity, even if it was doled out with misguided affection.

Such is life, he mused, then returned his concentration back to Hermione who was moving through the room, gesturing with her hands as she spoke excitedly.

"It really is! Look, we can fit all of our…" Ours? When did they become ours? "…bookcases, and I'm sure I can transfigure more shelves above the fireplace. Your reading chair can go here, and the couch can go right about here. And if you really think we need one, maybe we can sacrifice that lovely rosewood buffet hutch you have for your Muggle first editions, and put in a dining t- no, no. That look says it all. Thank god. We can eat on our laps anyway. Can I see the kitchen?"

Speech was impossible. He waved a stunned hand back to the entryway and led her down the short hallway to a small, pokey kitchen at the back of the house. The cupboards were reminiscent of Spinner's End, what with half of them falling off at the hinges, and missing handles with the odd bit of water damage here and there. If there ever was anything that gave evidence for teachers not being on the million galleon salaries that some of the public assumed they had, it was this. Hogwarts was opulent, yes, but the extravagance was used as an incentive. Trust the Ministry to believe that those responsible for crafting the minds of young witches and wizards didn't need a salary to match such a responsibility. Still, it was a stable position, and came with house elves. It could have been worse.

French style doors led out from the kitchen into a small courtyard, and he could still see hints of when Poppy had tried to get a garden started around the borders of it. Hermione seemed even more enthusiastic at seeing the dry old thorny bushes, so there was that, he supposed. She had more ideas about remodeling, and when they looked into the tiny almost-cupboard that was the downstairs loo, she only shrugged and grinned again.

Silently, he trailed after her as she bounded up the stairs and let out a peal of laughter at the gods awful main bedroom, then made an "Oh!" of sympathy when they discovered the size of the second bedroom. Severus had to hunch his shoulders just to walk around the room without bashing his head on the ceiling.

"No matter," he said simply. "I'm sure a spell or two can sort it."

"I doubt it, given the age of the place…" Hermione gestured towards the main bedroom, an unspoken question present with the way she raised one tentative eyebrow.

"No, no," he said immediately, gruffly. "I would prefer… this." There was a small part of him that was intrigued at the idea of properly sharing a bedroom with a woman for the first time in his life, but he shoved that firmly underneath his shields. No; let her have her space. If anyone needed time to heal after the disastrous time of the last three years, it was his wife.

She might've looked disappointed, but then she turned to explore the rest of the second level, and he thought it seemed more like a trick of the light shining in from the newly curtain-less room.

…

He was loath to leave her, but what else was he supposed to do? Poppy had taken over his first class by lecturing on healing potions to the third years, and Longbottom –

"I can't believe you let Neville take one of your second year classes! And to speak about rare ingredients, to boot! There's so much that we have to talk about, Severus. I want to hear about all of it."

"I'll only say this once, but he has an outstanding talent for Herbology."

"Good heavens. And… and how are his parents? I feel awful for not asking while we were still at the hospital."

"We have more work to do in their case, I'm afraid. They have improved with the treatment, though they are now as you were. A drastic change, to be sure, but there is much more to look into. And do not think on it. He, of all people, understands."

"And you'll assist with the research for the new treatment?"

"Of course. It was his help that led to your cure. How could I not?"

"Indeed. You're a good man, Severus. The best."

"If you say so, wife."

…

"Are you sure?" he asked for the third time, crossing his arms and scowling, attempting to convey that he was ruddy well worried about her, not that he knew how to actually say such a thing. "I can call… I can call…" Who? Who is there to even ask? "I'll get Poppy to come 'round," he decided eventually. "She can tell you what work has actually been done, and what jobs we should start with first. I can get started when I come back from the castle this evening. The plumbing is functional at least, but there isn't any hot water. I'll bring Argus over tonight to sort that out, and I'll set up an account under your name with the stores in the village if you need anything today."

"An account? Have you received a raise, Severus?" Hermione asked sharply, cocking an eyebrow with that look he pretended was effective but had always found enticing.

"I have enough-"

She cut him off with a softly spoken, "Turns out an Order of Merlin pays out a fair bit, as I'm sure you know. I can pay my way until we work out what I can do…"

Right, of course it does. He'd forgotten that those with a First Class were treated to a substantial amount in a special Gringotts account. Not that he would ever mention that his Second Class had only given him a pouch of galleons that were all spent on fitting out her hospital room. He stayed silent and only turned his head to the side. Taking the hint, Hermione spoke again.

"Do you think Poppy'll mind? I can owl – oh, we don't have an owl yet, do we? Never mind, I can walk into the village and get a message to Ron and Harry to pop over?"

Willing his face to stay blank, Severus shrugged. "If you'd like, but… Poppy won't mind. She's been wanting to see you, anyway. She'll make the time." And if he saw the red haired Weasley idiot even close to the property, he knew he wouldn't be able to trust his wand not to take aim. There would be no calming older brothers or a bustling Molly to keep the boy in line, and how could he trust Potter when he had turned a blind eye to the freckled wanker's actions in the first place? Gits, the both of them. Potter less so, which seemed quite a traitorous thought, but it was true nonetheless. Still – he had no wish to see either of them.

"Poppy will come," he repeated. "And if you feel like a walk, it might be a good idea to find an owl for the house. And a… familiar for you, if you'd like. Something that can stay until your beast of a cat clears customs, and survive living with him afterwards." He left Hermione standing in the main bedroom, nodding her approval with a dazed smile, and descended the stairs to the kitchen. He really didn't exactly need privacy to send the message to Poppy, but if he got it wrong again then-

"Bugger it all," he swore, slashing an angry stroke of his wand through the failed Patronus. For the life of him, he could not work out why on earth the doe wouldn't form. Yet again, a silvery mist emerged from his wand. It seemed to have a life of its own, and the strands looked like they would form something for a moment, but then it dissipated as soon as he narrowed his eyes to examine what it could've been. Frustrated, he scuffed his boot on the ground and huffed. The memory that had served him for literally over twenty years was now not good enough? Not bloody likely. He could ask around, of course… but until Minerva came to her senses, he had no desire to publicise a chink in his armour. He'd leave the cottage immediately, and speak to Poppy just before the NEWT classes that he needed to return for.

"I'll send Poppy, she'll bring lunch for you," he called up the stairs, staying at the foot of them long enough to hear a reply floating down.

"All right! That'd be nice. Are you… Do you think…" He thought he heard a tiny, "Bloody hell, Hermione, get it out!" and he chuckled quietly. Finally she said, "Are you going to be home for dinner or do you have to eat at the castle?"

"I… ah…" Surprised, he thought quickly, trying to remember what Albus had said about such things… That was it! "I am able to return here. Two meals out of three should be spent at the castle; I was already excused from breakfast and I'll be back there in time to sit in for the last few minutes of lunch. But wife, we haven't even got anything to cook with-"

"I'll sort it! Don't worry about anything. See you when you come home."

"Home…" he said faintly, staring at the staircase. Home… Had he ever had one? And now she thought that this was it? With her? A home with Hermione, his very own wife and he her husband to return home to her after work? Good lord. He couldn't even chase the racing thoughts down in his mind to work out just how he felt about that. But comfort was there.

Yes. Comfort was very much there.

"Yes… well… right," he offered in way of unskilled confirmation, and quickly made his way to the door.