Chapter 9: Housesitting

Seated in the winged armchair, Severus leaned further back, sinking deeper. To say he was uninterested in the conversation unfolding ahead of him would be an understatement.

'And, Mr. Snape—'

'Professor Snape,' he interjected sharply, and on impulse, in his all too familiar acerbic tone. He chose to ignore the glare Minerva directed at him.

'I didn't mean any disrespect, Professor,' the young Auror replied, with an obvious American accent. She was dressed in navy robes, the clasp holding it all in place at the collarbone, her blonde hair was poker-straight, and pulled back into a low bun at the base of her neck. She scooped the escaping tendrils behind her ear.

'Henry Grant was a mere critic. What he does, and did in his spare time is of no consequence to me.'

'Had you ever met with him—' she adjusted her notebook, 'in person, that is.'

'No.'

'What was the level of your communication with Mr. Grant?' her voice wobbly.

The knowledge he was able to make her nervous was satisfying. He had never met the young woman before, and to know that he had not lost his touch brought him joy.

'Little.'

'Oh, Severus!' Minerva eyed him sharply, 'This is not the time to be petulant.'

Severus exhaled heavily for effect, 'Mr. Grant was a Junior Editor at the Potions Quarterly. He was not a fan of me, that much was clear. Now whether it was my work or—,' Severus paused briefly, adjusting his sleeves, 'my allegiance and my history— I am not a kind man. It is not uncommon for people to take a disliking to me.'

'I'm sorry to hear that—'

'I do not have any need for sympathy. It is merely fact. If you do not have any more questions for me, I do have much to get to today.'

'Really, Severus,' Minerva quipped.

'No, Professor, that's alright' the Auror eyed her notebook, 'I think I have everything for now. Thank you for taking the time.'

'It was requested,' Severus was smug as he stood to leave.

#

Dropping her bag and keys on the corner table by the door, she shrugged out of her coat and cardigan. Reaching for the tightly wound bun atop her, she removed the pins, letting her hair cascade down her back.

'Argh,' came the organic exclamation from Hermione, as she moved into the foyer. The noise travelling through the empty house. Her coat was drenched. As was she. Her dash from the muggle automobile to the house had been quick, but the downpour was penetrating.

Crookshanks and Pluto, the Granger's young tabby, looked up from their spot on the blue armchair in the living room.

Wand pointed at the fireplace, Hermione set the wood alight and headed upstairs for a warm bath and a change of clothes. She had just returned from Heathrow Airport, where Adam and Jane Granger had departed safely, with three bags in hand.

It wasn't until much later that Hermione emerged from the second landing. Dressed warmly, she came down with a stack of parchments clutched to her chest.

#

It rained. It rained all Friday evening and continued through Saturday morning. Looking out the bedroom window Hermione was disappointed. She had hoped for a sunnier day - one which would allow her to tend to the overgrown garden. She had been too hopefully. By the time Hermione had dressed and prepared for the day, the downpour had only gotten worse.

Monsoon season; That's what it was like. It rained continuously. And for the most part, it rained heavily and loudly.

Even though her plans were sidetracked, Hermione took joy in the rain, she always had enjoyed rainy days. They allowed for her to wrap up warmly, often hiding out in the family study, deep in a book. It was not uncommon for all the Grangers to be absorbed in books during such days.

This weekend, however, Hermione was left on her own. Her parents were away at Denti-Con, the much anticipated annual conference for the men and women of dentistry. She suspected that whilst some of it was networking, a lot of it was drinking a little too much and almost always it was about getting away for a break.

The music on the radio floated through the house as Hermione continued to work through the many Ministry documents she had brought with her. As the day went on, her mind wandered.

She thought of Ron; Yes, she had loved him. Maybe a small part of her always would, but they had grown apart. They had tried. They had tried very hard to make it work. They had even been engaged.

The wedding was pencilled for the eighth of April. Even now, years later, Hermione could not get through the eighth of April without reminiscing about her first love. The engagement had been very short lived. After the engagement had fallen apart, Hermione had readily accepted an offer for work experience at the Bulgarian Magic of Ministry. The escape allowed her to the time she needed.

Soon upon her return to England, Ron and Hermione had rekindled a physical relationship. It had been painful for both of them. Yet they had not been able to stop, nor did they at the time truly want to. It was the significant anniversary for Adam and Jane Granger that prompt Hermione to recognise that what Ron and she had become could not last. She had to move on.

Ian Finley had helped with that. Ian worked in the Department for Muggle Liaisons. Hermione and Ian had met when she had been tasked to deal with the fall out of Muggle sightings of Gorpe swimming in the lake.

Ian had pursued Hermione, and at first, she had hesitated. However, it was not long before he had won her over and the two had become involved. The man was intelligent, witty and she thought highly of him and his character. That was until Hermione met Miranda Finley, Ian's wife.

Luna had come to the rescue, with a mini bonfire in hand. Hermione had given in, and the two had enjoyed a small bonfire in her fireplace. Marshmallows even made an appearance.

Since Ian Finley, Hermione had dated a little. It had been hard going, before she had decided to throw in the towel, at least temporarily, and focus on other things in her life.

And then, some eight months previous Severus had found her cradling a bottle of Scheletters and Ministry parchments during a party at the Burrow. Really that's when it had started. Since then it seemed that she was unable to keep her hands off the man. Not a sentence she thought would ever apply to her feelings for Severus Snape.

It was the sharp knock at the door that snapped Hermione out of her train of thought.

'Freck,' she said aloud to herself.

The knock came again.

As Hermione moved towards the door she noticed that from what she could see out of the windows in the rain there was no car parked in either the driveway or out on the road. Brushing her hands over her shirt and jeans, and then her hair, she looked in the mirror by the coat rack. That would have to do, she was not exactly dressed for company.

The knock came again just as she opened the door. The sight caught her by surprise: Standing at the doorstep, hand raised for the knock was Severus Snape.

'Took your sweet time.'

He did not look furious. Nervous, if Hermione had to put money on it.

'Severus, what are you doing here?'

'Obviously, standing in the pouring rain.'

'I meant -'

'I know what you meant.'

He looked at her, and then over her shoulder into the house before continuing, 'It is raining, Hermione.'

'Oh, gosh, come in.'

She felt like an idiot as she moved out of the way to let him into the house. In two steps he was inside and standing before her. In about as many seconds he was kissing her.

Just as quickly as he had captured her lips, he moved away.

'The door.'

This time his characteristic smirk was well in place. Hermione smiled back at him. Once she had closed the door she turned to him and gave him a gentle shove.

Brushing the arm she had pushed at, he feigned injury, 'That is no way to treat a guest.'

'Not that I am not pleased, but how did you know where my parents live?'

'I was a spy, Hermione,' He said matter of factly.

Then he continued, a twinkle in his eyes, 'I found a few extra minutes of personal time, so I thought I'd come.'

'Oh did you?'

That night Severus Snape slept curled up against Hermione on her small bed. His limbs obviously not suited to such a small bed, and definitely not one designed for two very naked adults.

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