One more chapter to go after this. My apologies for taking a while to upload each chapter - I've been having a bit of trouble with this site for a few days now!
Chapter 3
The request came suddenly. He was unprepared, but floored.
"Severus?" Rosie had said, the night she'd come with Hermione for the first time to his home. All three of them were in the library, the fire going with freshly made cups of tea held in every pair of hands. He was sitting on the couch, his long limbs stretched out as he pondered how small Hermione was, sitting beside him. Surely she would only just fit under his chin. Rosie was alternating between folding her body up into one of the comfortable armchairs by the fire and inspecting his books. He was enjoying it; she looked natural here, and he liked it.
"Yes?" Severus felt Hermione's eyes on him, though he did not meet her gaze. He was more concerned with memorising the curve of her delicate ankles; her boots had long been discarded near the front door and her stockinged feet seemed tiny next to his. He thought about how it might feel to run his fingers down her legs; cup her ankle; tease each toe.
Rosie drew breath and asked firmly, "Would you teach me potions?"
What?
Hermione's mouth clicked open. Her hand flew to her lips. "Rosie…"
"What?" demanded the daring girl, slotting a book back between its neighbours. "Can't I ask—"
"Rose!" Hermione turned to him; he hadn't organised his thoughts and she grimaced, noting the surprised arch of his brow. "I'm sorry, Severus. I haven't – we haven't… It's not… What I mean to say is," she mumbled, "is that we didn't organise this. I didn't intend to…to…"
He felt awkward in the face of her discomfort. I would ruin it. Teaching her would ruin it. They'd never come back here again. But then the witch flushed, and he saw a flash of hope in her eyes. And yet… if, perchance I did not ruin it, then… He looked around the room, allowing tantalising images to fill his mind: Hermione leaning against the door, her lips shining from his kisses; Hermione again, curled up on the couch under his arm, tucked into his side; Rosie, sprawled on the carpet in front of the fire, a heavy tome open before her.
The desires warred within him – to decline and ergo save them from how he'd destroy the fledgling connection that he was already clinging to, or to do it. To teach Rosie, to give her something priceless, something indescribable.
He cleared his throat and said gently, "I'll think about it, Rose. I'd like to think about it," he added quickly, carefully. The girl's face lit up and his chest swelled. Hermione let out a little quiet huff of laughter. He turned to her and shrugged in the face of her apologetic smile. "It's all right," he said. "I will think about it."
The wild-haired woman shook her head, that disarming smile of happiness back on her mouth. Her lips were the colour of the roses in his garden. "You don't need to, you know. I don't want you to feel obligated."
"Hrrmm," he dismissed, patting the soft material of the couch. "I don't feel obligated." Then, needing to change the subject, he said, "Did you know that I'm a retired teacher?"
"Oh?" she teased, her eyes gleaming. "Are you? Of what?"
"Chemistry," said he, crossing his arms. "And the odd relief class of Biology."
"Mmmm," she hummed, smirking. "No foolish dabbling in the arts, then?"
Severus could only grin.
.
.
Hermione was still chastising herself a week later. She'd left Severus' home not long after Rosie had asked him about teaching her, and the witch knew damn well that the man had seen through her smiles. She was disappointed; not with her daughter, there was no point in that, but just with…
She sighed. Rosie was in bed, and she herself should've gone to sleep an hour ago. But here she was, staring at the ceiling, snug within the blankets.
He'll think I only wanted to see him because of this. That's what he'll think. That I wanted something from him, and that I went to him only so I could take it. It—his potions knowledge, his teaching career. He knows that I respected him then, that I learnt more from him than anyone. He'll be thinking that I jumped at the chance to weasel my way in, to get something out of meeting him that day in Durham.
Hermione groaned, rubbing at her eyes. Try as she might, she couldn't forget how surprised he'd been, how wrong-footed he must've felt. And fair enough! Rosie did nothing by halves and her daughter had turned her hopeful eyes on the older man – even her mother had been affected, daring to hope for a fraction of a second that perhaps, just perhaps, he might say yes.
Her mum would've handled it. Hermione snorted, thinking of how Jean would've commanded the conversation so seamlessly that neither man nor child would've understood why the former felt in control, and the latter felt brave. Mum will think I'm daft. Thirty six, and I've been cowering here for a week!
It was Friday. Rosie was due at Ron's for the weekend, she'd take her in the morning. And after that… after that… Hermione swallowed, turning over in bed. The streetlamps were a dull yellow; their soft light illuminated her fingers, which were flexing into the covers. After that, she'd either write to Severus, or she'd… she'd…
.
.
"Oh for shit's sake!" She'd Apparated into mud. "Fuck! Double, triple fuck! Fuckity fuck fuck – bugger!" It was charmed mud. "Severus!" Her aim was so off that she'd arrived outside of the main wards, near the side of the house that butted onto the street. There was a telephone box on the other side of the road but, knowing herself to be unheard and unobserved, she risked grabbing her wand. The otter shot out playfully but she batted it away, jerking it into the cottage with a growl. That's it. I'm done for. Am destined to stay on the shores of singledom, covered in mud.
She heard, rather than saw him, approach. It was all she could do not to laugh, though a few giggles escaped anyway.
"Bloody fucking village idiots – making me charm the damn mud and then she goes and gets bloody well stuck in the bloody thing! Of all the things – now she'll never – bollocks. Bollocks!" Severus rounded the corner and caught sight of her, knee-deep in mud so thick that she couldn't move. She stuffed a fist in her mouth, apparently succeeding in looking vexed instead of fighting the urge to cackle. "Blimey," he breathed, coughing awkwardly. "Morning."
She cleared her throat. "Good morning."
"I, uhm… I was not expecting visitors. You. I wasn't expecting you." He winced.
"No," she agreed.
Severus waved a hand at the mud. "It's charmed, you see," he said, adjusting his glasses. "When I first moved here years ago, a group of gormless little shites from a few towns over tried to break in. Must've seen the advertisements when it was for sale and thought they'd still be able to get the nice equipment that the other owners had." He pointed at the mud again. "It's a deterrent."
"Oh. Well it's quite nice, compared to what I'd expect from you…"
He barked out a laugh and tapped his nose. "It's like a moat. I've always wanted a moat." Shrugging, Severus waved his hand and the mud began to liquefy again. "Out you get now, and clean your wellies. You're a right mess."
Hermione curled her lip, for show rather than anything else, and waded out of the evidence that the fifty something man she was head over heels for was still just a boy at heart. "Cast the charm, would you? It's always more effective from someone else, and these boots are new."
"Are they?" he asked, a teasing note to his rumble of a voice. His eyes were warm, the skin surrounding them crinkling as his lips turned up. She tried to look away, but it was hopeless. "They're very nice."
"They do the job." Ha! He likes them, he likes them! Oh, I wonder if he likes them better than the ones from last week? Don't be bloody stupid you twit - as if he was paying attention to your footwear! "Would you cast the charm?"
"Right." His cheeks coloured as his wand slid out of his back pocket. She trained her eyes on the pale skin of his wrist that emerged from under his jacket as his hand moved. One economical swish of his wand was aimed at her boots, and she smiled at the tingle she felt right down to her toes.
"Thank you," she murmured, nodding when he gestured for her to walk through the gate before him. And it was a good thing, too, because her heart was racing and her lips formed a blissful beam; his magic was beautiful. It was gentle, but power simmered under the surface. She wanted more of it, and she wanted more of him.
He dithered at the front door. "Would you prefer..."
"Oh," she said, catching his drift. "The garden? Yes."
He led the way to a small set of table and chairs; it was on an elevated part of the garden, and as she sat, Hermione released a satisfied sigh. "It's beautiful. Did you do it all?" It was full of spring bulbs, roses, shrubs and borders. The fence was low enough to see sections of the vast valley behind it. It was clever, she realised, this idea of buying a house with a small pocket of land that was right against sweeping farmlands. It gave the views, but lacked the tiresome maintenance.
"Some," he allowed, settling into one of the chairs before he stood up quickly again. "Tea?"
Hermione gathered her hair back, content beyond measure with this taciturn yet friendly man and his garden. "Please."
She fancied that he watched her fingers combing through her hair for a moment, though when she looked up he was already heading into the house, whistling under his breath. When he returned, it was to find her with her face tipped up to catch the sun. Hermione was exceedingly pleased to note that he stood behind her for a while, watching who or what she knew not, but she hoped beyond measure that he was watching her.
Recalling easily how she took her tea, Severus poured, added and stirred. "Here," he said, leaning over the table to hand her the cup. He took a seat as she sipped it.
"Lovely," she said, a reflex more than anything else. "Thank you."
He hummed and added more sugar into his own cup than she thought he usually had. She bit back a grin and considered whether she might begin the conversation, but the sun was too beguiling, too entrancing, and soon Hermione was basking in it again. Between sips of tea, she drank in the clear light and clean, fresh air.
"This is beautiful," she said eventually, returning to earth with a dazed, sated smile. Severus looked resplendent to her, in a nondescript navy jumper with a pair of grubby jeans. At her comment, he met her gaze; his eyes crinkled at the corners.
"It is. It is everything I wanted." Despite the meaning of the words, his eyes flicked to the roof, assessing, before they shot back to her. He shrugged. "I am fortunate."
"You certainly are. Though I must ask…" She flushed when he chuckled, delighting in the sound.
"I was wondering when the questions would begin," he explained.
"Oh. Well, they're here."
"I have been suitably prepared." He held up his cup. "Begin."
Granting him one pleased, sideways smile, Hermione said, "Tell me why you chose Yorkshire. I thought you were from Manchester."
"Not Manchester. Cokeworth – closer to Huddersfield. But close enough, in terms of dull Mill towns."
"So, why?"
He mulled it over for a moment, using one finger to push a stray hair from his eyes. His eyes were sharp and clear when they connected with hers. "When I left the castle, England wasn't how I'd remembered it. I'd been back and forth for summer holidays and the like, but hadn't left home much. When I returned for good, it wasn't … It wasn't the same." Severus screwed his lips up, then flattened them. "Shopping centres are everywhere – monstrosities, the lot of them. Everything is loud, everything is… chaotic. I wanted to be somewhere in the North, couldn't imagine going South." This wrought an exaggerated shudder from Severus, and a burst of laughter from Hermione. He grinned and continued with, "I visited the Dales, and they were perfect. The house became available not long after. And here I am."
"Here you are," she said, nodding. "That is lovely. It's fate."
"If you say so."
"I do, I do. When did you buy the place? I didn't hear a thing about it."
He fixed her with his uncompromising stare. "Of course you didn't. There are ways of avoiding such things, and I wanted to avoid it. I've been here for seventeen years."
"Seventeen years!" she exclaimed, putting a hand to her chest. "How'd you manage to afford it so soon after the war? Oh." Hermione clapped her other hand over her mouth. "Bugger. Sorry."
He clicked his tongue, though there was something in his eyes that made her think he was amused. "Mustn't pry, Granger."
"Of course, of course. Sorry again."
Severus rolled his eyes. "If you must know—"
"No, I really mustn't! It's fine, really, god I've really put my foot in it haven't I."
"—I sued the Ministry."
Hermione blinked. "You what?"
Chuckling, Severus purred, "I sued. The. Ministry."
"No!"
"Yes."
"You didn't!"
"I did."
"Christ on a cracker!" It all fell into place. "That was you! That—that unidentified bloke who received the first lot of damages! You!"
"Me," he said, obviously chuffed. "One of my finer ideas."
"That's very American of you."
"Eh?"
"Nothing, nothing." She waved a hand. "Still, I must thank you – did you know that I managed to slip in a requirement for the Ministry to foot the bill for war pensions?" He shook his head, and she finished the last of her tea. "I did. About a year after you – Ron mentioned that he was thinking of taking the Ministry to task, too, and so we did it."
"You did it," he said pointedly.
Hermione tilted her head. "In a way. But it was his idea."
"That's very generous of you."
"Is it? It doesn't feel generous. Isn't it normal to acknowledge everyone's input?" She thought it might've felt strange to talk about Ron with Severus of all people, but it didn't. Good.
"I don't know," he replied, pouring them both another cup.
"Well, he's not stupid. Not that I'm saying that that's what you're implying," she hurried to add, noting his frown. "He's a tactical person – thinks things through, which would surprise many I suppose."
Severus hunched his shoulders and grumbled, "Doesn't really think everything through though, does he?"
Unsure, Hermione could only scratch her cheek absentmindedly. "True."
Her pensiveness seemed to kick-start something in him, for he stood quickly and extended a hand to her. "I'd like to show you something."
"Oh?" She beamed when their skin connected. "What?"
"The lab," he said simply. "I've expanded it inside. To teach Rosie."
.
.
When she left, he stood on the doorstep for half an hour, wondering why he hadn't kissed her. She'd dithered about, mumbling shyly about nice times and making more plans, but he hadn't kissed her.
Why?
He ran a hand over his mouth and trudged back inside. He felt a fool to suspect that it was too soon, yet there was no other explanation. He was attracted to her—intensely so—and the way that his skin tingled at her nearness was not something to ignore. He enjoyed talking to her; enjoyed her intelligence. He had felt a deep, satisfactory pleasure when she'd gasped and walked away for a moment to compose herself after he'd announced his plans about Rosie.
In fact, Severus considered, perchance the real root of the problem—not that it was a problem in the end—was that he had fallen far too hard, much too soon. It might have been ridiculous and quite possibly stupid, but he wanted to draw it out even further. He wanted her more than shy – he wanted her flushed, lips parted, heart pounding. He wanted her mad with desire; wanted her to want him more than anything, the way he'd been every night this week.
There was a niggling thought in his mind that she might already be there, but…he had to know. It had to be real; had to be solid; raw; undoubtable. He scoffed at the idea that he was saving himself for some declaration from her – a better explanation would be that allowing whatever was between them to come to fruition in its own time was such a delectable option that he couldn't dismiss it.
.
.
At five to nine in the morning on the following Saturday, Severus stared at himself in the mirror with a critical eye. Loath to wear his teaching robes again, he had donned his frock coat, trousers and dragon-hide boots. When brewing alone, his preference was for a shirt and a garish looking apron and gloves, but he would be lying to himself if he didn't admit that he was playing up for the part just a tad. His grey head of hair was certain to soften his appearance in his austere garb, but he found that he didn't quite dislike it. He turned this way and that, and hummed to himself.
The clock on his bedroom wall ticked over. He flicked a tiny speck of lint away from his sleeve. It ticked again; a soft chime filled the air. Three minutes.
At two, Severus drew in a fortifying breath and strode out of the room, down the stairs and out through the hallway. At one, he stopped outside of the door to the shed that housed not only his private laboratory, but also the Granger girls.
At nine, he waved his hand. The door flew open with a bang.
.
.
Hermione squeaked as he came striding into the room. From the very back corner of the lab, where she was perched on a stool near the wall, she watched Professor Snape come to a halt at his desk. There was only room enough inside the lab for one long table—where Rosie was currently situated—and a desk in front of it. The walls were lined with cabinets and two sinks were in the opposite corner. Her body felt warm; her chest felt tight. All of this, she thought with a breathless smile, is for us. Oh, Severus. Where have you been hiding all of these years?
She could recall with almost perfect clarity how she'd felt at the end of her first Potions lesson. At twelve, Hermione had still believed that teachers were somehow separate from regular adults, and so she hadn't thought to take his veiled insults and purred, condescending remarks, to heart. In truth, it hadn't been until the incident with her teeth that she'd wondered about him, wondered about why he was so awful.
By the time she'd benefitted under his instruction in DADA, Hermione was mature enough to wish that he'd always had the chance to teach the way he wanted to. He was magnificent to her – commanding, beguiling, powerful. And if she were to be removed from her skin, her organs, her senses and perceptions, if she were to be stripped down to her very bones, then she knew that this is what she'd mourned. She wanted this for Rosie – this true, electrifying magic that didn't come from a wand.
And from her understanding, Rosie could do this – she could attend to a potion, doctor it to suit her needs, create meaning from a variety of ingredients. Severus had assured her that Argus had spent two mornings a month making his own personal stock of Sober-Up!, with the only drawback being that it was less potent. There'd been more there, too, in his eyes – some history, some story, as to why he knew that her daughter, who would never see a light at the end of her wand, could brew. But Hermione hadn't asked. It had been left unspoken that she would, though, and that he would tell her, in time.
She stole a look at her daughter, and grinned with pride and happiness. Rosie was transfixed. Her eyes were wide, her fingers were gripping onto a quill with a focus that was so achingly familiar that for a moment, if her hair were wild and brown, Hermione thought she could have been looking at herself.
Severus opened his mouth to speak, and the witch held a hand to her chest, drawn into his spell.
"You are here," he began, his voice of silk reaching out and entrapping the two enraptured females, "to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making." Hermione held her breath; blood was roaring in her ears.
With his eyes fixed on Rosie, he continued. "As there will be no foolish wand-waving here, you may not believe this is magic. But I do expect that you will understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death." He paused, tilting his head. His black eyes softened as Rosie all but melted before him, completely taken in as she was. "You are," Severus said quietly, sneaking a quick, appreciative glance at Hermione in the corner before he returned his full attention back to Rose, "far more capable than other dunderheads that I have had to teach over the years. And now," he added, raising his voice as a blackboard appeared on the wall behind him, "we shall begin. Rose!" he barked, "Tell me the six P's of Potions making!"
Hermione winced – she herself had absolutely no idea what on earth he was talking about, and it was clear that because of his bewitching entrance, Rosie had been caught off guard. For a moment, the woman had a stomach of ice as she considered whether or not Severus had truly relaxed enough over the years to be able to teach her daughter… Was he still the man that smarted at the smallest thing? Would words like 'idiot' or 'foolish girl' slip from his lips?
She was wrong.
Severus cleared his throat and linked his hands behind his back. "The six P's of Potion-making," he said sternly, "are as follows. Proper Planning Prevents Piss-Poor Performance. Well? Why aren't you writing that down?"
But he cracked a smile then, as Hermione threw her head back and let out a peal of laughter that joined Rosie's joyous giggles.
.
.
The morning flew by in a haze of notes, ingredients and stirring techniques. Instead of Hogwarts, where the too-large syllabus had meant brewing began on the first day, Severus was free to sit down with Rosie and talk her through the basic process of potion-making. Hermione sat in the back, listening to his every word. It was tiresome and strange to be teaching again, but the girl was a sponge and for all that he huffed and frowned, he discovered that he really was enjoying himself.
They stopped for lunch, Severus changing his clothes and opting to Apparate them all into the village where the usual stodge was had as he fended off the locals, who were intent on discovering who his companions were, and just why they'd shown up with him of all men.
"It doesn't bother you?" Hermione asked, leaning forward in her chair. "I'd heard of this, you know."
"About Yorkshire? The endearing trait of uncovering all one's shortcomings, and telling you them?"
"Exactly that."
Severus grinned. "And you don't think that I, for one, might enjoy that?"
"Insults?"
"No," he said patiently, "honesty. No veils, no deceiving comments. Bluntness is refreshing."
"Ah," said Hermione, spooning up the last of her mashed potato. "You mean, it's good to be around people that speak using the same politeness as… you?"
The mock scowl painted onto his features. Rosie gave a little titter of laughter as she focused on spearing her peas one by one with her fork. "Finding the North a little difficult are you, love?" he purred, arching an eyebrow. "A bit too… rugged?"
Her cheeks coloured then, and she looked away. Interesting, he thought, watching the blush as it stained her neck and chest. She wore her usual cardigan and jeans, and her breasts heaved just once as she struggled with whatever on earth it was that was running through her mind.
"No," she said in the end, clearing her throat. "I like it."
Rosie looked up at him, smiling. "We live in the North, Professor. I think you've got the wrong impression of us."
"Do you now?" he asked, surprised. "Where? Close-by?" He would've known if they were anywhere near him, he knew suddenly. The witch and her lass would've been under his roof if he had even the tiniest inkling of their proximity.
"No, no." Hermione dabbed the corner of her mouth with a serviette then used it to hide her smile when he dragged his roughly over his lips. "Actually," she declared, "we're in Lancaster. So not too far from here at all."
"Lancaster?" he echoed, puzzled. "Bollocks." Then, awkwardly, he tipped his head to the younger girl and said gruffly, "Sorry." He was relieved when Hermione only rolled her eyes.
"It's true!" Rosie cried, twirling along beside them as they walked out of the pub. "We live on Prospect Street, near the chippy, and near Mrs Wei's takeout shop. You can't miss our house. It's got a green door and—"
"Rose."
"Oh. Right." The two women shared a look. "What I mean to say is," Rosie said importantly, "that you should come over one day and see our house!"
Severus eyed them both from under his lashes and considered that he might just be at a disadvantage with these two conniving creatures. "I might just do that," he allowed, leading the way across the road, intending to take advantage of the lack of rain and take the walk to the Rose Cottage. "If you'd have me," he added.
Hermione laughed. Under her breath, she murmured, "Oh, I think we would."
Smirking slightly, he inclined his head. "It sounds like I am due for a visit, then."
They made their way away from the main cluster of homes in the village, and he snuck a glance at Hermione, who was looking over her shoulder every now and then, seemingly not used to walking around without watching for cars. She was relaxed as she strolled along, one hand reaching out every now and then to touch Rosie's hair or shoulder, and her eyes darting to his over her daughter's head.
It would be easy to get used to; a steady, thrumming ache in his chest hinted that he already had.
Rosie piped up then, distracting him with an earnest, "Professor Severus, sir?"
He snorted, amused. "Just Severus."
"I have to call you something," the girl said matter-of-factly. "You're my teacher!"
Hermione let out a little gurgle of laughter, and Severus chuckled. "Professor, then. If you absolutely must."
"Oh, I must! I simply must."
"On with it then, duck," he said, smiling down at her. "What is it?"
"Well," she said, allowing him to guide her over a fallen log, "I was just wondering…"
"Yes?"
She stopped and crossed her arms, frowning at the witch and wizard before her. "Can you teach me every Saturday? The ones that I'm not at Dad's."
Hermione sighed fondly. "I don't think that we can ask Severus to make that sort of commitment, darling. He's already said that he'll teach you – let's wait for him to tell us when he's available."
Rosie was crestfallen; he found then that the decision was easy. Besides, what else did he do on Saturdays apart from sleeping off a light hangover from visiting the pub each Friday evening? Severus tapped his nose and waved them on. As they continued to amble along, he said, "I am available, if your mother agrees."
"Oh, Mum, please!" The girl jumped up and down and clapped her hands. "Please, please! Pretty please with sugar on top!"
Severus guffawed, his lips twitching from the effort not to smirk proudly. "You're making a good case." He turned to Hermione, who was looking at him with wide, clear eyes. "What say you?"
The wild-haired witch shook her head; there was a faint smile on her lips, and it widened the longer they waited. Finally, she took one step closer to him and touched his cheek. "Where have you been hiding?" she whispered, pressing onto his skin as if to convince herself that he was a living, breathing man.
Severus let out a long breath. He glanced at Rosie, who had moved away to study an insect by the side of the road. Returning his gaze to Hermione, he could only shrug awkwardly, unaccustomed to such blatant admiration. "Here?" he offered, spreading his hands. "The Dales."
Without any further preamble, she darted forward and kissed his cheek, her lips warm and sweet. Stunned, he blinked. "What was that for?"
"Oh," she murmured, touching a finger to her mouth, blushing furiously. "I just… Well… I…"
"I…?" he prompted, wondering how he could get her to kiss him again. "What is it?"
It spurred her on, and she stood before him and trembled just once before blurting, "I like you, Severus. Very much. And I'm rather terrified that you might not like me in return."
For a moment, he could only stare at her. His mind was spinning and for the life of him, he couldn't reach out and grasp one single strand, one single way of responding to her confession. It floored him, left him without breath, without conscious thought.
"Severus?" she was whispering, mortified. "Bugger it all... I've done it now, haven't I?"
"No!" he managed to exclaim, grabbing her hands. "You haven't—you're not—I haven't… Gods' fuck," he swore, delighting in the way her brown eyes gleamed at his ineptness. "I'm not…" he tried again, wincing. "I'm not good at this. I've never… that is to say, this is new to me, and what I want to say is that you shouldn't…" Severus huffed. "You shouldn't be terrified, witch."
"Not ever?" she repeated, grinning brightly.
He smirked, relieved. "No."
"Right. All right, then."
"Right," he echoed, feeling his mouth tingle as he considered whether or not he could get away with kissing her then and there. Rosie made an interested 'coo' then, and Severus turned to watch her heading in the opposite direction, entranced by a chirping bird in a nearby tree. "Time to go, duck," he called, waving a hand. "If you dawdle, you'll only take time off your lesson."
Rosie squeaked and came running back, passing them both, her hair of fire streaming out behind her.
"We'll never catch her now," mused Hermione, squeezing his hand. "Shall we?"
He nodded, sparing a glance for their linked fingers. This is new, he thought, smiling at his pale fingers that were wrapped around her golden hand.
.
.
Three days later, a silver doe appeared in her living room, answering her otter's earlier request. Hermione sighed at the beautiful creature and gathered her coat and bag before Apparating away, concentrating on one of York's quiet side-streets. It was early evening, and she was due in Exeter to pick up Rosie in just over an hour, but she was bursting at the seams to see him, to hear his voice, feel the touch of his hand.
She saw him standing beneath one of the overhanging buildings on The Shambles, his long figure hunched as he leant against the stone. When he caught sight of her, he straightened and shoved his hands into his pockets.
"Hello," she said, eyeing him shyly. She considered kissing him, but he seemed content with giving her a flash of a serious, crooked grin before turning slowly and allowing her to walk along the historic street with him.
"Good evening," he returned simply.
"Is this all right?" she asked, nervous now that he seemed reticent. They walked together slowly, until she took hold of her courage and curled her fingers around his bicep, leaning into his body. He stiffened, but gathered her in, his arm around her shoulders.
"I wouldn't have come if it wasn't," he said, looking down at her. "Pub?"
She nodded and smiled, letting him lead her away from the street to a newer pub within a restored Tudor building. When they were settled with a pint each on the table, Severus finally sighed and gave her a look that spoke of stories. "I think I should tell you about my mother," he said, drawing deeply from the beer. She could only nod, terribly curious that she was.
"Go on."
Severus stared down into his drink. Hermione watched him, aware all of a sudden that he felt awkward with the intimacy of the conversation. She reached a hand across the table and touched his arm. "You don't have to tell me, you know. There's no rule that says we have to talk about anything and everything."
He plucked her hand from his sleeve and linked their fingers together, now staring at his long pale fingers wrapped around hers instead of his drink. "She was no more than a squib, by the end," he muttered, his grasp tightening on her hand. "She'd long stopped using magic by the time I went to Hogwarts – early on my father had her using the odd warming charm, or anything to alleviate the cost of keeping us. But one of the men noticed how comfortable it always was inside, and even that stopped. In the end, the only thing she could do was brew."
"What did she brew?"
He shrugged. "The odd sobering potion – only when she could get it into him unnoticed. Sleeping draughts." His cheeks coloured and he raised the glass, speaking behind it before he took another mouthful, "Acne solutions."
Hermione was amused enough to laugh, though she soon dropped her head and sighed. She could hardly understand the environment Severus grew up in; the house, yes, she could grasp how one would end up there. But the years spent wasting away inside of it, holding court in a kingdom of dismay… It wasn't her place to wonder why Eileen had never left, but she did wonder, and she did grimace when he prodded her hand, waiting for her to meet his eyes.
"Sorry," she mumbled. "Wool-gathering."
He looked at her directly. "He was older than her when they married; despite the drink, she was content with it, in her own way. By the time it worsened, she was simply… waiting for him to die."
The breath left her in a huff. "And what of you?"
Severus turned his head away. "He died when I was in my second year. I had Mam to myself until the middle of seventh year. She couldn't do any magic then – only weak attempts at strengthening solutions. I had a point with this, Hermione."
"Oh?"
"Rosie's magic isn't so much not-present, as it is unavailable. It's there, in her blood, but there's something missing, some reason why A doesn't connect with B. I've never studied it further to know more about it, but—"
"Yes. That's what the test was all about. One day I'll bring over what I've managed to find," she offered.
"Please." Severus nodded, thoughtful. "Mam lost her magic, but there were still things she could do. Rosie won't be able to do everything—certainly not charmed potions—but there'll be brews from every year in Hogwarts that'll work by her hand. Less effective, but they'll work."
Hermione smiled at his honest, quiet attempt to do what he could for her daughter. When he caught her smile, he returned it, his own threaded with a slight note of triumph. "See," he remarked, setting down his empty glass. "It'll work."
"I really can't thank you enough."
"I think you can, love," he said easily, the endearment sliding into her heart with the same gentleness that it appeared at the end of his sentence. Her eyes must have widened, for he gave a self-conscious roll of his shoulders and cleared his throat. "Have another pint. That's thanks enough."
"A cider," she allowed, beaming at him. "Thank you, Severus. You're quite amazing, you know."
She could only chortle merrily as the sharp looking man scoffed disbelievingly, and made his way back to the bar.
.
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Disclaimer: Severus' speech is, of course, slightly altered from the original canon version in 'The Philosopher's Stone', JKR.