6. Spinners End
H.
As the weeks passed, Hermione spent less time with Severus, and more time at the Burrow. The fog of grief began to lift, as time healed the Weasleys, and life became more bearable. She relaxed into life with Ron, and accepted his proposal on the condition that he understood that she did not intend to get married any time soon and she didn't want to wear the ring. Essentially nothing would change, but he felt as though there was some promise of a future. She wanted to concentrate on her career first. Whereas Ron, who wanted a big family, like his own, was ready to settle down at eighteen, deciding the course of his life when he was hardly out of childhood. Severus had become something of a reluctant confidant for Hermione. One might even call them friends.
Hermione circled job vacancies in the Prophet as she sipped on a mug of lukewarm coffee. She could hardly consider it good luck that there were plenty of jobs, given that the reason the vacancies existed was that many good people had died in the battle. Hermione had already applied for five mid-level positions and had been rejected for each one. It seemed that not finishing school to take her NEWTs was more of an issue than she'd anticipated.
After a long search, and more rejection than her fragile ego could handle, Hermione had finally managed to snag a post in the Ministry under Arthur. It was well above an entry-level position, usually given to witches and wizards who'd completed years of training, but Arthur had managed to pull some strings to secure it for her. She had hoped that he might find her something a little more exciting. The job wasn't difficult, which was entirely the problem - she didn't feel challenged. As such she was bored, but she couldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Still, she continued to search for something a little more interesting.
She flicked through the pages of the Prophet, out of habit or boredom, she wasn't sure which, and settled on the fifth page. A short article underneath a small, grainy photograph of Snape. She skimmed the words, wondering if they'd found something new to write about. They hadn't. It was much of the same nonsense. At Hermione's insistence, Harry had approached the Ministry with news of Severus' innocence, and they had accepted it without question. Harry was well and truly the golden boy of the wizarding world in the wake of their victory. He could return to the wizarding world whenever he was ready, but when that would be remained to be seen.
:
S.
Severus stared at the clock, counting down the minutes until quarter past three, and cursed himself for waiting like an obedient dog at the doorstep. Hermione arrived at the same time every day, dropping in on her way home from work. Her job sounded horribly boring, truth be told, but she was pleased to be independent and contributing. Severus wanted to be independent and to contribute too, but he wasn't quite sure that he was ready to return home. Her house had become his refuge, and Spinner's End was entirely its opposite. It wasn't right, he knew, for a man his age, of his calibre, to eagerly await the return of a teenager, but Hermione was his only contact with the outside world, save for the letters to and from Narcissa in Azkaban.
His fondness for the girl had become a tad worrisome. He cared for her, no doubt, but there was something thick in the air between them from time to time, that made it difficult to catch his breath. Not that he could place his finger on what that 'something' was. He needed to get back to the world, and so he would have to return to Spinners End soon, he knew. He needed to learn to do things without her. After all, this charade could not continue forever. She had cared for him long enough. It was time to be Severus Snape, not this piteous creature that had crawled out of the Shrieking Shack wearing his skin.
Hermione flooed into the living room, brushing the soot off her clothes and she greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. It was something that she had begun to do in the last few weeks, and even though it felt somewhat unnatural at first, he had begun to revel in the affection. It had been so long since someone had kissed him; even in so platonic a fashion.
She thought that returning to Spinners End was a great idea, and she was happy to go with him, which left him without an excuse to stay. She dropped her hand into his and squeezed it as she led him to the fireplace. He hadn't mentioned his fear of returning home, but it was as though she had sensed it, or anticipated it. She knew him better than anyone, with the exception of Narcissa, although perhaps that wasn't true anymore. Narcissa didn't know the piteous creature - she knew Severus Snape. He was much the same in many ways, but he was a little softer around the edges.
Ridiculous.
Pulling on his trousers that morning, he came to the conclusion that he could shake off the piteous creature, and return to being Severus Snape, but he could stand to be a little more patient, and a little less sullen. It had been the reason that both Lily and Narcissa had swiftly moved on, after all. Lily needed someone lighter - someone good, and Narcissa needed someone 'happier', she said, although he still wondered if she had meant 'better looking' or 'more opulent' or 'with purer blood'. The common thread of both relationships, was that upon their severance, his 'attitude' had been quoted as the cause for his broken heart. He did not want it to be the same with Hermione. Not that he saw Hermione as a romantic interest.
Not that she would return my interest if I did. Which I do not!
Spinners End looked like it had been vacant for many years, even though it had been mere months since his last visit. It was neat, everything in its place, but it was cold and it smelled of damp.
Perhaps it was always like this.
The wall that surrounded the fireplace was filled from top to bottom with shelves stacked full of books of all kinds. Hermione's eyes lit up and he felt a tug in his chest that he swiftly dismissed. She ran her fingers across the spines, and he hoped that she didn't study her finger because he was hardly a stickler for cleanliness. On the coffee table sat the book that he had been part-way through before everything had happened. He tried to feel as he had then; a little lonely but content with his place in the world.
"You know, I think this is exactly what I pictured", she said.
"My house? You thought about it?"
It doesn't mean anything.
"Well, yeah. I just wondered what kind of place felt like home to someone like you. Although, I must admit that I could just as easily imagine you at home in a cave."
"Hanging from the roof with my wings tucked in?"
Her lips parted and split into a smile.
"Exactly."
She looks different... nice.
Deciding to stay the night at Spinners End was probably a little premature. He had made it through the evening without incident, and so he headed into his bedroom to try catch up on some sleep. But the darkness, which had always been his safe place, did not soothe him. Suddenly the shadows were full of secrets. What had once been mysterious, now only meant unknown. He had always been so comfortable with his own company, even at Hermione's house, he'd become accustomed to nights alone, but something about being back in the birthplace of his trauma, kicked up decades-old dust, and as he tried to navigate through the cloud, he choked.
Coward.
In the black of night, he grabbed a bag, filled it with books, moved into the fireplace and without a second glance, he flooed back to Hermione's house. He crawled into his tiny bed in the guest room, and the moment his head hit the pillow, he was out for the count.
:
H.
"Tell them to piss off!", Hermione shouted down the stairs of The Burrow, slamming Ron's bedroom door behind her.
Ron lay on the bed, propped up on a couple of cushions; a copy of The Prophet open in his lap. He flicked through it, but he wasn't reading.
"They won't bloody well leave me alone. Ever since Severus came out of hiding, they've been all over me to tell them what he's been up to."
Ron flipped another page.
"Shocking. Since you're the only person who has had contact with him for the last three months."
She sighed impatiently.
"Do you have something you'd like to say, Ronald?"
He shook his head and returned his eyes to the pages. She sat beside him on the bed and gently moved his arms so that the newspaper lay flat against his stomach.
"What's up?" she asked.
"This", he said, and thrust the paper into her hands.
She stared at the article in front of her.
SNAPE'S SORDID SECRET
Underneath the article was a photograph of Hermione. She watched herself step out of Spinners End, under the cover of darkness, as Snape closed the door behind her.
"Skeeter, I assume?"
Ron shrugged.
"Who else would it be? You had to piss her off, didn't you?"
Hermione tilted her head as though to tell him, kindly, that he was being ridiculous.
"You know it isn't true, so what does it matter?"
He sat upright and snatched the paper from her hands. He pointed at the picture and then traced a line underneath the headline.
"I have to go to work tomorrow with people who think that you're off shacking up with your old Potions professor."
"Oh, don't be silly. Who cares what they think?"
"I do! Bloody hell, I look like some loser whose girlfriend is off making a fool of him, Hermione. And you know what - you are making a fool of me!"
"Ron? Come on. I'm sorry. What do you want me to do?"
He gestured at the paper.
"Don't go into his house in the middle of the night, maybe? Jesus!"
"He'd had a bad turn. He needed me."
I like that he needs me.
Ron rolled his eyes and stepped off the bed.
"Rubbish! I need you, Hermione. Me, your boyfriend. No! Actually... your fiancé, need I remind you? Even if you don't wear the ring, which I am really trying not to take personally, by the way."
"I'm sorry, I-"
He held his hand out in protest, and paced around the bed.
"I need you here with me, not running off with Severus bloody Snape! I mean, for Christ's sake, it's ridiculous! He can look after himself. I don't care how fucking wonderful he turned out to be. And you know, I have to say it... I don't think that saving Harry's life because he had a boner for his Mum is good enough reason to hail him a hero. And yet they have! And here I am, the chump friend of Harry Potter, who lets his girl run off with another man every night."
"I had no idea it upset you this much. I'm sorry. But what do you expect me to do? End the friendship?"
She raised her eyebrows in defiance and crossed her arms as she waited for his reply.
"I don't want to tell you what to do..." he said.
Don't make me choose.
"... But, yes. If it was up to me, you'd never see him again."
:
S.
Hermione sat by the clock tower at exactly midday as she had promised. As he approached, he noted the smudged black lines under her eyes. She hadn't noticed him yet, and so he let himself linger by the bank and watch her a moment. She ran her forefinger across the tear-stains and shook off her sadness as she drew herself tall. He so admired the way in which she pulled herself together. She wasn't like this as a student - in such a hurry all the time, acting and speaking without thought - she'd grown into someone entirely different. She took command of the situation when it so required, but she also knew when to step back.
She probably learned that from being on the run with Potter and Weasley. I'd bet they tried her patience on more than one occasion.
As he moved towards her, and she caught sight of him, her whole face changed. Her eyes brightened, and her lips curved into a pretty little crescent, and all at once there was no sign of her misery.
It doesn't mean anything.
:
H.
She almost didn't notice him at first among the crowd of muggles. She felt her muscles unlock as she took in the sight of him. He radiated a calm that she so desperately wanted to emulate. He looked well; better than he had in a long time. He had dressed down, more suited to the August heatwave, handsome in a loose-fitting, black, button-down shirt tucked into charcoal pinstripe trousers; the trouser legs pinched together at the bottom, pushed neatly into his boots. As he moved towards her, he unfastened the top button of his shirt and needled his long fingers through his hair. He looked... good.
"Your letter said you wanted to talk?" he said, as he perched on the bench beside her. "Couldn't we talk at home?"
Home.
It was so odd, but utterly charming, that he considered her parents' house, his home; their home.
"That's actually what I wanted to speak with you about."
He began to tap his foot, and she ran soothing circles with her palms across her knee.
"You've seen the papers, I assume?" she said.
He scoffed.
"What a load of shit!"
"I know it is", Hermione said softly, "but Ron doesn't."
He paused for a moment, his cogs turning in their silence.
"He doesn't want us spending time together, does he?" Snape asked.
He's perceptive. And gorgeous. What's different? Why does he look so good?
"Sorry", she said, unable to find the words to say more.
"Right", he said, nodding his head with a jerk, "that makes sense. I understand. Well... thank you, Hermione, for everything."
Wait. No. What?
"This isn't goodbye. It's just 'see you later'", she said, but the words felt hollow as they fell from her mouth.
"Listen. You need to do what's best for you... and if what is best for you is keeping your... paramour... happy, then that's just fine."
Why does this feel like the end of something that never even got to begin?
"It's not that he doesn't trust me," she protested, realising as she did that he hadn't said anything to the contrary; that thought had come unprompted. "He just thinks it looks bad that we're spending time together alone?"
He smoothed his shirt collar and tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear. He knew as well as she did, that she was referring to the night of his panic attack. He had needed her; he didn't want to. It wasn't fair that they were to punish each other for it.
It's not fair that I have to walk away from you.
"I understand entirely", he said.
Why am I doing this?
"If you need me, please don't hesitate-"
I don't want to do this.
"I will be absolutely fine, Granger. Don't you worry about me."
Don't do that. Don't call me 'Granger'.
"If you ever need to get away from Spinners End, Mum and Dad won't be back from Australia for another few months when their lease is up. You're always welcome there..."
... In our home.
He patted her on the knee, then quickly drew his hand away. He stood and made a show of moving away from her, purposely creating a rift between them.
"Thank you", he said. "But I should be off. We don't want Weasley getting his knickers in a twist, now do we?"
"Don't be like that", she said.
"How did you expect me to be?" he asked, but before she had the chance to answer, he had stepped into a crowd of passing tourists, and disappeared into London's busy streets.
:
S.
I'm fine. I'm a man! I do not need to go running to Granger after three weeks of no contact, simply because there was a bloody snake on the television and I've spiralled into madness. It's just a snake, Severus. Grow a backbone, for God's sake!
Snape paced the floor of his living room, kicking aside anything that stood in his way so that he could move unobstructed, but also because it relieved some of the tension. It made him feel powerful; like he could take control of something, like a man should.
Except you are hardly a man, are you? Your heart is racing because you're scared of a snake! There was a child... a child, Severus... holding the fucking thing. And you want to go off crying to the girl because she makes you feel better? Well, she doesn't want you. She made her choice. She chose Weasley. She'll marry the little turd and they'll have a gaggle of snotty, freckled children. They'll be miserable, and end up divorced before they're thirty, but that will be their choice.
Snape threw himself onto the sofa and kicked his feet onto the coffee table.
Stop it! Stop that right now. You don't get to be bitter. She is nineteen. It's not right.
What does it matter whether it is right? he heard Lucius say from the back of his mind. It is what it is.
God, I miss her.
:
H.
"We can't stay here anymore, Ron, it's ridiculous. There are too many people under one roof! We don't have any privacy."
"Fine, then we'll stay at your Mum and Dad's."
Hermione considered it. She couldn't think of a single reason not to. Except the obvious, but she could never express it.
That's our place. Severus' and mine.
:
S.
Severus lay in his bed, with his sheets tucked up to his chin and breathed heavy sighs from his nostrils. His mouth was set in a hard line. He could hear his heartbeat, and he clenched his teeth harder while the beating quickened.
I stared pure evil in the face for years. Why the hell can't I get a handle on this? It was hours ago. And it was just a snake. If there was a snake here in this room, then your fear might be rational, but as it stands, it was a snake on the bloody television so pull it together, you ridiculous bastard.
There was only one place he wanted to go, but wanting to go there, to her home, was indicative of something he refused to accept.
She won't be there.
It doesn't matter, I can't.
You can. You should!
It's not right.
Aren't you sick of doing what's right?
Snape rubbed his face with his hands and let out an audible groan of irritation.
You need to sleep, you have to go find yourself a job in the morning.
Shut up!
He stared at the patterns in the textured ceiling, following their lines and circles, visible in the light from the hallway.
Might as well get yourself a fucking nightlight.
Shut the fuck up!
Just go to her house, you'll feel better. You'll get some sleep. You'll wake up refreshed and then, when you've gotten yourself a job and made some money, you can get rid of this dump indefinitely, and all your troubles will be over.
He kicked off his blanket and pulled himself out of bed.
Fine!
Snape flooed into Hermione's house and moved silently into the living room. He noticed the stillness in his core and the absence of static in his head almost immediately. There was something restorative and healing about returning to this place.
It's like coming home.
He walked through the house, enjoying the silence and avoided the creaky floorboards on the stairs, as Hermione had shown him, simply out of habit. As he moved onto the landing his attention snapped to Hermione's room. The door was ajar, and a channel of dim light peeped through the crack. He walked towards it, and gently pushed open the door just a fraction. He felt his breath hitch in his chest when he saw her.
She wasn't supposed to be here.
She pulled off her jeans, and she was all legs and arse and soft flesh.
Oh shit.
He couldn't help but look, even though he knew he shouldn't, as she folded her jeans and dropped them at the foot of the bed. As she took hold of her shirt and began to pull it over her head, he snapped back to his senses.
Go home, Severus.
He stepped backwards, in a bid to leave without being seen, but his foot caught and brushed on the carpet. It was such a small sound, but it splintered the silence, and she turned quickly on her heel to face him. She was the one undressed, but it was he who felt exposed.
I'm sorry, he thought, unable to bring himself to say the words; not daring to disturb the silence again.
She didn't speak either, nor did she move to cover herself. She just stood in front of him, meeting his gaze as though they were in a standoff. Whoever blinked first would die. The corners of her mouth twitched, into what was almost a smile and without thinking, his eyes dropped to her chest. Then he took in the rest of her. When his eyes drew back to hers, he saw something he hadn't seen in a long time.
Desire? Holy shit.
:
H.
Warmth flooded her as Severus' eyes flickered away from her face. His eyes were not greedy like Viktor's had been or desperate like Ron's; they were on fire, and she felt the flames flicker across the room and set every one of her nerve endings ablaze.
Nobody has ever looked at me like that.
She felt her heartbeat skipping like stones on the water, as his gaze moved carefully down her body as though he intended to commit it memory.
Don't look away. Why don't I want you to look away? Yes! Look at me.
:
S.
She broke her gaze and began to move around the bedroom as though he wasn't there. She dropped her shirt next to her jeans, and moved into the candlelight. She turned so that she did not face him, as though the sight of him would ruin whatever fantasy she had created. She swept her arms around her back as if she had practised and perfected the motion so that it toyed with his senses, and unhooked her bra. It came undone and she turned to meet his eyes as she dropped it to the floor.
Oh shit. She wants me to look at her?
He stared at her face, knowing that just inches below his gaze were her tits. His dick ached, begging him to take a look. And just as he decided that decency was highly overrated, he heard a rustling from the en suite bathroom, and Weasley's voice fractured through their secrecy.
"Ready for bed, 'Mione?"
What the fuck? He's here?!
The spell was broken, and Hermione hastily pulled her nightgown from the bed and tugged it over her head. He caught the undercurve of her breast and the peak of a nipple as she swung round to look at Weasley who broke into the room, unaware of the moment he had sullied.
What the hell is this? No. This isn't right. It's sick. Go home.
She pulled the nightdress down so that it covered her body and she simpered at Weasley with what he assumed were her bedroom eyes. Even as she prepared to share her body with someone else, she was beautiful.
Look at her. Fuck! She's beautiful. Leave, Severus.
There was no doubt she was beautiful. He'd never get the sight out of his mind as long as he lived but whatever it was - whatever semblance of friendship they'd had - was soiled with this crime. Whatever game they were playing, was over; the rules changed. And he was no match for Weasley, stupid and immature as he was, he was young and handsome, and sane.
Oh, you wretched fool. You thought you could compete for her affections? She's nineteen, you horny, old bastard. She should be with someone her age. You're done here. Go home.
He stared at her as she embraced Weasley, in an attempt to shield him from his view. He watched the boy run his hands down the cotton of her nightdress and as he slid his hands across her arse, the tightness in Snape's trousers eased. The pressure moved upwards from his crotch to his stomach that tied itself in knots, and then up it moved, further still, until he felt it in his chest that constricted and contracted, threatening to kill him.
I can't do this anymore. That's enough now.
He stepped backwards again and allowed Hermione to distract the boy, while he moved swiftly and silently down the stairs. As soon as his foot hit the bottom step, he pulled his wand from the pocket of his robes and with a crack of his wand, he disapparated.
Yeah. I'm done.