"The Muggle Fights were a real thing, weren't they?" Hermione's father asked her. Severus had been on his way to join them in the kitchen, but he stopped where he was, out of sight around the corner in the mudroom.
"Yes." She sounded surprised.
"I hoped that most of what was in the paper wasn't real."
Hermione sighed. Severus heard her set something down and realized she was making bread just like it was any other Sunday. She'd be wearing the dark, ochre-red apron she'd bought just before Bast was born. She'd be covered in flour up to her elbows.
She was wonderful to kiss when she was a mess like that. She'd kiss him back, and raise her hands up around their ears like she wanted to touch him but didn't want to get him messy. It was a goal of his to kiss her so thoroughly that she forgot to worry about getting flour all over him.
"I'm worried about you, Hermione," Granger said, his voice softer, gentler than it had been before.
"You don't need to worry about me yet, Dad."
"I always worry about you, Darling."
"I know." It was her turn to be the quiet one.
"You're the only daughter I have. And you live in such a different world than I do."
"We live in the same house."
"That you pay the bills on by making and selling magic potions."
"Do you want to see the lab?" Hermione asked, and Severus knew that she'd noticed him eavesdropping.
"Why?"
"To make it real."
"It is real, Hermione. I've been to Diagon Alley, I've received mail from an owl, and I watched you get well again last summer in the hospital after drinking your potions."
Good gods, it had just been the last summer for the Grangers. For the rest of the world. Just one summer. And the Dark Lord had only been back for two years.
Granger sighed. "You just want me to be trapped in a room with him, don't you."
"I don't understand why you're so reluctant to like him."
"He is too old for you. He was your teacher. He was a Death Eater."
"He's only six years older than me. He was my teacher decades ago. He's a spy," Hermione said. Severus could hear her kneading the dough and wondered if she normally pounded that hard on it or if she was taking her emotions out. "He's the father of my children, and I love him."
"I can see that, Darling. I know."
"He's a good man."
"He's a dangerous man."
"I know lots of dangerous men. Hell, I'm dangerous."
Uncomfortable silence descended, and Severus decided to make it worse by entering the room.
Granger cleared his throat. Hermione smiled at him. She was indeed covered in a liberal dusting of flour, her hands gunky with dough.
"Professor Snape," Granger said, nodding. His mother-in-law had been doing that to, referring to him by his title or surname. He couldn't tell if it was a dig or if they were trying to be polite while they got used to him.
"Dr. Granger," he replied, trying not to sound mocking, though he was mocking the man. The whole situation was absurd. Awkward, tense, never quite hostile. Absolutely absurd.
"Oh, for God's sake!" Hermione cried, throwing her messy hands up and spinning around to face them.
"Bast is a nosey little thing," Hermione said. She was sitting with her mother in the living room. The children were asleep. Severus was showing her dad the lab. "He's always getting into things. We actually had to ward him out of the library last year because he kept sneaking in to read when he was supposed to be sleeping."
"He sounds like you."
"Very much so, I suppose. He's with me in my stand against Quidditch, at least."
"I thought you liked Quidditch. You went to that World Cup thing."
"Yes. It's fine. It's fun. I'm not Quidditch-mad, though."
"Like your husband?" There was still that odd emphasis on 'husband,' and she couldn't decide if it was because her mum was uncomfortable with the idea of it, or if it was something else.
"I wouldn't say he's Quidditch-mad, but he is a fan. He has his referee's license."
"Oh, really?" That was polite interest if she'd ever heard it.
"Yes. He takes the twins to games whenever they ask him. Well—whenever Sofia asks him. She's the official spokestwin. Ellie is the quiet one."
"I can't tell them apart in any of these pictures." They'd pulled out all the photo albums, going through memories. Her mum had gotten suspiciously teary about not being around for the pregnancies and births. Hermione hadn't been able to think of a thing to say, since there wasn't anything to be done about it now.
"It's hard just by looking. And they like wearing the same thing just to confuse people. Yet they get annoyed when we make a mistake." Hermione rolled her eyes. "The moment they start talking, you know which is which."
"Sofia's the talkative one?"
"I wouldn't say Elaine isn't talkative; it's just that when you ask the both of them a question, Sofia is the one that answers it."
"And Bast doesn't like Quidditch."
"Not a jot. He and I stay home and play in the garden, or read books, or bake cookies when Severus takes the girls to a game."
"A proper mama's boy."
"Not at all, actually." Hermione had to laugh. "I can't get him to do anything without a fuss—bathtime, bedtime, even meals. He will eat beets for his father, though. Beets."
"I don't like beets, either."
"Well neither do I, but that's not the point."
They laughed together, and Hermione felt a bit of the tension between them ease away. She hoped it was going as well with Severus and her dad.
They turned the page. Balloons at birthdays, a daytrip to Sydney Harbor, their one semi-disastrous family hike, Bast's penchant to find the biggest spiders in the universe and chase his sisters with them. It was all there.
\\
"I want you to teach me to fly."
"I beg your pardon?" Severus looked up from the morning paper, eyebrows raised.
"I want you to teach me to fly," she repeated.
"You hate heights."
Her parents sat at the other end of the breakfast nook, watching them instead of eating breakfast.
"Maybe I'll hate them less if I know that I can't fall from them."
It will probably come in handy.
But you hate heights.
"Please?"
"If you really want to."
"Yes."
She flicked her wand, sending their plates and toast crumbs to the sink.
"What, now?"
"Why not?"
"Alright."
They went out through the mudroom, going to the far side of the garden. Her parents trailed after, setting aside the cups of tea they'd carried out after they'd cleared the Cooling Charms on the house. The kids hurried out, too, taking up position on the back steps to watch.
"Well?" She stood with her feet spread, her fingers clenched around her wand.
Severus shook his head ruefully, tying his hair back in its usual queue and rolling his shoulders. Flying came as easily to him on a broomstick as anything else.
"Ideally, we'd start on the roof."
Panic shot through her. It wasn't a rational fear. She knew a dozen spells that could slow or stop a fall, and she knew full well that Severus wouldn't let her get hurt. The idea of flying still set her blood pumping, her mind racing. Her skin crawled, remembering the cold air rushing past when she'd ridden Buckbeak and the thestral.
"Sit down, Hermione."
"I'm fine."
"Yes, of course you are."
She scowled at him, but let him guide her down to sit on the ground. He sat facing her.
"Keep your elbows in, and your hold onto your knees when you take off."
"What?"
"Volare," he said, pointing his wand at the ground. He shot three feet into the air holding his cross-legged position. He levitated for a moment, then settled back onto the grass in front of her.
Hermione cleared her throat, tucked in her elbows, pointed her wand at the ground, and said, "Volare."
Gravity vanished for the briefest of moments, and then she was flying across the lawn backwards. She entirely forgot about keeping her elbows in or holding onto her knees, flailing about for a moment until she caught a foot on the ground and began tumbling. She landed in a heap. She groaned, Severus laughed. Upon hearing him laughing, the kids knew it was okay to laugh and fell all over each other at her expense.
"Elbows in, remember?" he said, appearing in front of her. She'd felt his Cushioning Charm when she'd hit the ground, but that didn't mean she felt any less ridiculous.
"Bastard," she grumbled, letting him help her up.
"You're the one who wanted to learn how to fly."
"Right."
"Do it again, then."
Hermione returned to her original spot on the grass, crossed her legs, tucked her elbows, and looked up at her husband. "You catch me before I go arse over teakettle this time. You've made your point."
"Point?"
She glared at him.
"I'll catch you."
She took a deep breath, tucked her elbows in a little closer, and pointed her wand at the ground again. "Volare."
She jerked off the ground, sticking her legs out automatically for balance when she felt herself begin to go backwards. The kick overcompensated, and she tumbled forward. She would've landed on her face if Severus hadn't grabbed her.
"Stop laughing at me."
"I'm not laughing at you."
"Not out loud."
"Maybe you should pay attention to what's in your own head instead of mine. That might help you figure out flying."
The children continued to giggle uproariously. Her parents had settled in the lawn chairs, looking like they were caught somewhere between nervous and amused.
Hermioner harrumphed and sat on the ground again. She tried again with similar results.
"Why do you want to fly, anyway, Mum?" Bast asked.
"You hate heights," Sofia said. Ellie blinked owlishly, waiting for the response.
"Volare," Hermione said instead of answering. Severus had been watching the children instead of her, so she ended up off kilter again, blasting back from him before he could physically grab her.
"Let's try something," he said, urging her to sit again. Hermione's knees were quaking a bit, making it easy to crumple back down on the grass, cross her legs, and tuck her elbows. "Petrificus totalus."
Well, great, she thought. Now I'm going to break my nose.
"You're not going to break your nose."
I am.
"The spell works just as well nonverbally."
She would've glared if she could've moved her face. Instead, she Occluded off the panic, reminded herself that this ludicrous endeavor had been her idea, and cast the spell.
For a moment, she hovered. She wasn't able to flinch or overbalance herself.
"She's doing it!" Bast shouted.
"Finite incantatum," Severus murmuered, cancelling his spell holding her still. She clenched her wand tighter, tensing up. The more tense she was, the higher she rose in the air. The higher she rose in the air, the tenser she got.
"Cool!" Sofia said. Hermione glanced over and saw that her daughter had stood up and was watching her with avid interest. She also realized how high she'd floated up off the ground, and her heart thunked hollowly in her chest.
"Severus," she asked, aiming for calm but knowing she missed the mark. It was hard to sound calm through clenched teeth. "How do I come back down?"
"Just relax."
"Not happening."
"You're doing really well."
There were a slew of very impolite things she wanted to tell her husband just then. Words she didn't want her kids to repeat. Physically impractical actions she'd like to suggest he try out with various body parts.
"Okay…" she muttered. "Okay…"
"Lean a bit to your left," Severus suggested. He sounded a lot farther down than he had when he'd last spoken, but she didn't dare look.
Hermione tried to relax and it didn't work, so she tried the leaning idea. She edged ever so slightly over her left knee, and she began drifting in that direction. When she stopped leaning, she stopped drifting. She tried again, and it wasn't so bad… and then the wind picked up. A good gust from behind her, pushing her forward.
She flailed, limbs going every which way. Her flight path—or fall path, at least—seemed to follow her center of gravity. That knowledge didn't help much. She fell straight into another of Severus's Cushioning Charms, landing on her shoulder and turning it into a roll, ending on her feet. Her kids laughed and clapped.
"See—" Severus began, but she hit him with a nonverbal Levicorpus. The children roared with laughter all over again. Severus crossed his arms and glared at her, swinging slightly in the wind. "Very amusing."
I thought so.
She flicked her wand, lifting the ankle she had hold of through the spell higher into the air. When his head was dangling level with hers, she grabbed him by the ears and kissed him.
"Ack," Bast said, scowling at them. Ellie put her elbow in his ribs. Hermione ignored the byplay at let Severus loose.
"Come on," Severus said, leading her by the hand back to her original spot on the grass. "Again."
"You're a single-minded taskmaster."
"You wanted to learn how to fly."
I wanted to distract us all from the awkwardness of my grouchy parents.
And you succeeded wonderfully.
I hate heights.
He pecked her on the cheek, sat down in front of her, and demonstrated the spell again.
\\
By lunchtime, Hermione had mastered the spell well enough that she didn't go flying across the yard when she cast it without first having Petrificus totalus cast on her. She'd perfected hovering, and could manage a slow drift and even sometimes change directions.
Severus spent most of that time flying circles around her, sometimes literally. The children sat on his back like a magic carpet and he drifted around the yard with them while she acquired bruises from tumbling back down onto the grass.
Her parents made lunch. That was enough to call the afternoon a success.
Severus put the cork in the last vial and set it on the rack with the others. It was his last batch of potions to send in for the apothecary. It was a strange thought; the brewing schedule had become so routine.
The owl would be along in the morning to pick up the last of them, and that would be it. They were counting their days in Australia now, not weeks or months or years.
He'd woken six times the night before in a cold sweat. He hadn't woken Hermione; he hadn't had to. She hadn't slept a wink.
Severus pushed aside the thoughts, yearning for a cup of tea. He flicked his wand, setting his cauldron and other supplies to washing themselves, and closed the door behind him. It was a hot night, the sort with electricity in the air. There was a storm coming, ready to break over them with rain and thunder. That would almost be a nice change of pace, the weather matching their moods.
In the house, the close silence of the yard was broken by the quiet sound of the piano. That would be Bast, not Hermione. She'd taught him at his request, and he'd taken to it like a duck to water. The girls liked to listen to it, and Ellie had put a token effort into learning to play, but they were still young for it. (Bast was probably still young for it, too, but he'd almost taught himself to read by the time he was four and a half; once he decided he was going to figure something out, he did.)
When he reached the piano room—one of the smaller bedrooms upstairs—he saw that Bast was sitting at the bench with Elaine. Bast was showing her the simple pattern for one part of a duet, trying to get her to play it while he layed the other part. They giggled quietly together every time either of them made a mistake.
Severus watched for a long moment, not wanting to disturb them but not willing to walk away. He didn't want to get caught lingering, though. He walked down to the hall to the nursery—more of a playroom now, since all of them were out of nappies—and wasn't surprised to find Sofia with her nose in a book. An overlarge cardboard-bound easy reader with lots of pictures and words that rhymed; a hand-me-down from the Atkins girls.
Not wanting to disturb her, either, Severus went the rest of the way down the hall and into his bedroom. Hermione sat in the chair by the window, watching the rain on the glass.
Melancholy settled over him. The house smelled of the bread Hermione had baked that weekend. It was full of the soft sound of Bast and Elaine on the piano, and the patter of the rain on the roof. It was a big house, but it was comfortable, cozy, in their bedroom. Hermione sat there, skin tanned from years in the garden, wearing her cotton pajama bottoms and a soft t-shirt, smiling at him.
"It's going to be a big one," he said, because he had to say something.
"Good. We could use the rain."
When he turned around after putting his own pajamas on, she'd closed the curtains and was sitting on the end of the bed picking at a loose thread in the blanket they kept there. He sat next to her and held her hand until it was time to go put the kids to bed.
\\
The next morning, he went downstairs for breakfast and found the Grangers sitting at the breakfast nook with Elaine between them. They had the photo albums spread out on the table, and Ellie was telling them about every photo.
"This was when Bast was just born. I wasn't there, but I think he slept a lot." She pointed at the picture of Bast asleep on Severus's shoulder. There were many variations of that photo—neither of them had wanted to put him down, so they'd held him while he slept whenever they could. "And this—hi, Dad—was when me an' Sofia were born. Bast says we were loud."
Severus listened, putting his bread in the toaster and searching out the raspberry jam. He was glad the kids seemed to be getting along with their grandparents even if their grandparents were only polite to him.
"And this is Mum and Dad with me an' Sofia at the beach. It's crooked 'cause Bast took the picture."