Undisclosed Desires

Two

When it was Severus's turn, he deliberated over where they could go. The fact he had to deliberate over it irritated him, exponentially. He was not normally an indecisive thinker. It had been a long time since he had had to spend time second-guessing or anticipating how his actions might be construed by others. He should not care—he did not care. The decision should be a simple one.

His chosen venue should allow him some element of familiarity, because anything else was absolutely unchartered territory. If he disliked anything, he disliked feeling uncomfortable and out of place. His life nowadays was mundane and it was lived to his own tune—that was how he preferred it. So he settled on one of his few haunts, and one which he could afford to reveal to a practical stranger.

It was irrelevant what she might read into it. She was not unpleasant, of course, and there was entertainment to be had in her susceptibility to being wound up. But there was nothing else to be gained. Her knack for turning up in his life at inopportune moments was not something he desired to encourage.

When this was all done, she could be discharged from his life forever.

In defiance to his indecision, he absolutely did not waste any time deliberating over his appearance. It was only when he was waiting for her that he allowed himself an acknowledgement that he might have felt more comfortable sticking with his wizarding garb, rather than the Muggle attire he had to wear.

A Portkey to the destination had been sent to her, courtesy of Ministry extravagance, of course. This was decidedly where the extravagance ended, however, and Severus did allow himself a small smirk as he waited for his guest to arrive in the secluded alley.

In a moment, Hermione Granger materialised before him. It was subtle, but he was quite sure she looked him up and down. What, had she never seen a Muggle jumper before?

'Good morning,' she greeted, 'and what an early one, at that.'

Severus shrugged his shoulders minutely. 'There was no specification as to the time of these tete-a-tetes. I have much to occupy myself with on a Saturday afternoon.'

'I don't doubt it.' She gestured with her arm for him to proceed. 'Let us get it out of the way, then.'

He nodded his agreement and moved out onto the pavement, walking past only a few shop fronts, before stopping in front of his favourite breakfast haunt.

'After you,' he said smoothly, taking account of her faintly interested expression.

The place was rather busy and they were forced to sit at the only table that appeared available, despite still being littered with plates and mugs. Severus had to bite his tongue when he saw her cautiously survey the plastic chair, before warily sinking down into it.

'It's a Muggle greasy spoon,' Hermione observed, redundantly.

'I congratulate your powers of observation.'

Suddenly, a woman appeared and began piling up the plates, loudly clattering them together. 'Morning babs,' she greeted loudly, reaching out with her free hand to wipe down the table surface. 'What can I fetch ya?'

'A brew and a bacon cob, ta,' replied Severus.

The woman made no move to write anything down, but simply pinned Hermione with an expectant look. 'And you, duck?'

There was no menu present and she looked momentarily flustered. 'Oh, er, I'll have the same, thank you.'

'Righto.'

Severus watched her glance around the hubbub. 'Where are we?' she asked, eventually.

'Cokeworth.'

'Oh,' she replied.

A vague reply, but Severus instinctively knew it was actually loaded with meaning. 'Not posh enough for you, Granger? Do you get a nose-bleed if you venture north of the Watford Gap?'

She blinked, suddenly outraged. 'I'm not posh,' she argued firmly, her face flushing.
'Really?'

'My parents are working people—'

'Doing what?'

'Well, dentistry, but—'

He interrupted her with a snort. 'In the Home Counties, no doubt?'

'Sussex,' she replied, eyes narrowing. 'Anyway, you are a fine one to talk.'

'Excuse me?'

'Out of everything that came out about you during the war, the fact you were not landed pureblood gentry was perhaps the most shocking thing of all. You did a good job of presenting otherwise!'

Severus curtailed his immediate response when two plates and mugs were deposited down onto the table. 'Cheers, duck,' he acknowledged.

'Can I get yer owt else?'

He shook his head. 'Tha's aww.'

He took a sip of his tea and caught sight of Hermione Granger staring wide-eyed at him.

'See!' she hissed. 'I am quite sure you never called anyone 'duck' at Hogwarts.'

'I never claimed to be anything other than I was. I am merely adaptable to my surroundings.' He lifted the top off his roll and doused the inside with brown sauce, making no comment when she took the bottle from him and proceeded to do the same.

She bit into the roll rather daintily and chewed thoughtfully, staring somewhat pensively at her rather strongly brewed mug of tea. Dropping a sugar cube into the tea next, she stirred it excessively, before speaking again.

'You were bullied for your accent, I expect,' she stated, in a low voice, watching the movement of her spoon.

Somewhere deep inside, he was grateful for her perspicacity, but, nevertheless, he was not on the hunt for pity.

'No more than most,' he said with a breath. 'Hogwarts is somewhat of a melting pot in that regard, I suppose.'

'Hmm…'

They managed only a few more moments of silence before she piped back up. 'Do you still live in Cokeworth?'

'I'm not sure you need to know where I live, Granger, but whilst I do not still live in my childhood home, I have not quite left the Midlands.'

'Still practising intrigue, eh? I have no interest in stalking you, by the way.' Instead of dainty, this time she rather tore into her bacon roll, and then, shortly thereafter—

'You do not require my permission to address me as Hermione, you know.' As soon as the words left her, she tilted her head to one side and scowled. 'And don't tell me how posh my name is. How many Severus's have you met around the streets of Cokeworth?'

Severus hummed low in his throat. 'My, I did touch a nerve.'

'Anyway, you're the editor of an academic journal—isn't that quite posh?'

'Not really; there is absolutely nothing posh about potioneering, and our circulation is rather modest.'

'I subscribe.'

Severus allowed his eyebrow to rise only marginally.

'My interest is mainly in medicinal potions, of course,' she added, pulling out a serviette and delicately wiping her mouth.

'A Mediwitch surely does not brew her own potions when there is a St. Mungos apothecary at her disposal?'

'For personal use, yes. Between you and I, though, the research and development at St Mungos is woeful. They won't countenance any opinion from me until I reach Healer status, however.'

'And when will that be?' He could well sympathise with them resisting the great Hermione Granger sticking her oar in at every opportunity.

'Another two years, at least. The Ministry is funding my training, hence why I do not wish to rock the boat when it comes to this.' She flicked her hand between them. 'Mind you, clearly they would value my contribution to population growth more than anything I could contribute in my career.' A wry smile curved around her mouth.

Severus said nothing, feeling the inevitable unease at any mention of the reason why they were sitting there together. 'Yes, well, this is merely a blip.'

'Until the next big idea,' she muttered grimly.

Was this a change in attitude? She sounded far more down-trodden than she had done at any point thus far. Already regretting her decision to participate, Severus thought.

'I have sent Howlers to every member of the Wizengamot,' she admitted. 'There were some sympathetic replies, but…' She shrugged, turning to her tea.

He could well imagine there were sympathetic replies. Who wouldn't feel sorry for her when they heard of her predicament?

'I didn't mention you in any of them, mind,' she added, as if she had read his thoughts. 'Feel free to send your own if you wish.'

He made a non-committal noise and slugged down the last of his tea. She really was a do-gooder, he thought uncharitably. She couldn't even give him the satisfaction of thinking she resented being associated with him. Well, he absolutely did resent the situation, but he would send no Howlers—the fewer people aware of his humiliation the better.

It was with no little relief that he felt his watch vibrate in his pocket.

'Oh, time's up, is it?' She quipped facetiously.

'Yes, see you, Granger.'


When the next instruction from the Ministry arrived, Hermione read through it and felt her stomach clench nervously. The next meeting would be required to last longer than an hour. Either the Ministry had sneakily changed the terms or she had missed something at the outset. The letter instructed her to invite her companion to a three-course meal at a place of her choosing, and they would be required to spend three hours together. Failure to fill the allotted time would require them to repeat the task until satisfactorily completed.

He must be fuming, Hermione thought dismally.

Not only that, what on earth was it all building to? Was the tenth meeting an appointment for an elopement at Gretna Green? What could the Ministry really hope to achieve with this? Or was this, as Snape seemed to imply, a gateway to more draconian legislation?

More than ever, she was determined that the Ministry should be stopped. She had ideas, but they were quickly becoming exhausted.

She was working a shift at St Mungo's on Saturday and so it would fall on Sunday for their next meeting. A Sunday lunch seemed an obvious choice, then, but she was determined after the greasy spoon that it should not look overly fancy. After toiling over the venue, somewhat, in the end, she chose a pub that was once a favourite location of her parents.

Hermione was waiting, somehow more anxiously than their previous two appointments, when Severus Snape Portkeyed into the car park, behind the pub. Immediately, she was faced with a look of irritation.
'Three hours?' he hissed.

'I know! I was as surprised as you!'

He clenched his jaw and evidently swallowed down any further rancour. It was still a little disconcerting to see him in Muggle clothing and she had to remind herself not to study him too obtrusively. But she was fascinated by the fact that, in some intangible way, he was still able to create a presence that, hitherto, Hermione might solely have attributed to his billowing black teaching robes.

Far from being conventionally attractive, the indefinable nature of his presence meant one often needed to take a second look—a second surreptitious glance in his direction. It was something she was increasingly more aware of.

He followed her inside and after collecting two drinks from the bar, they found a table.

At his continuing scowl, Hermione folded her arms haughtily. 'I made some more enquiries this week, about this situation, but it seems no one else has reached this stage, so I have no idea what else is in store.'

He said nothing, but his fingers drummed a little on the tabletop. Eventually, he roused himself. 'Surely, there can be nothing too, ah…'

'Salacious?'

She was teasing, of course, and it delighted her to see it hit the mark when his eyes nearly popped from his face.

'Relax,' she assured. 'The Wizarding World is strangely puritanical, hence this ridiculously quaint attempt at fostering a courtship.' Hermione took a large sip of her wine. 'I am surprised they haven't insisted on providing us with a chaperone.'

He said nothing to indicate his thoughts, so she continued on:

'I expect we will have to partake of all the usual courtship rituals… Oh, I hope we do not have to attend a Quidditch match. Maybe a moonlit broom ride?' Hermione broke off, chuckling to herself.

'Are you drunk?' he asked bluntly.

'Oh, Severus, if we cannot laugh at ourselves, what can we do?'

'We will see if you are still laughing when this is all over.'

'When this is all over, we shall consider it a job well done and then you may choose never to see me again, if you so wish.'

Possibly to avoid hearing his answer to that, she suddenly snatched up the menu. 'Right, then; let's see what we have…'

'How do they know we have successfully completed each task?'

She snapped her head up at his quietly posed question.

'Some sort of Tracking Charm?' he prompted.

'I suppose,' she agreed, but feeling unsure. They knew there was some mechanism to alert the Ministry that they had completed their instruction, but the extent of it was unclear.

'Tell me more about the Apothecary at St. Mungo's,' he asked, after their order had been taken.

Hermione had noted he was not a bad conversationalist, when he got going, but in their previous meetings it had struck her that he was reluctant to initiate. So this was a surprise, him referencing a discussion from their greasy spoon breakfast.

'Oh, well, did you know that when I did my time there, they were still referring to Libatius Borage's texts?'

'Not Advanced Potion-making?'

'Yes!' Hermione shook her head with vigour. 'I couldn't believe it. I think by that point your revised text was already published by twelve months or so. They are very stuck in their ways, but eventually, they saw it would be much to their advantage to update their reference materials.'

'They also did not want to pay me any royalties.'

'What?' Hermione questioned with a tone of dismay.

'Minerva commissioned me to provide new textbooks for Hogwarts. The Ministry reluctantly agreed to licence them from me whilst they are still under copyright. But, of course, that is rather more modest compared to paying for the rights to replicate recipes on an expanded scale, some of which are sold for profit.'

'I had no idea…'

'They did eventually relent on some, but in other cases they still persist with Borage.'

'But surely that does not prove to make economic sense, let alone benefit the witch or wizard that would prefer the best efficacy?'

'I think if I had published under a pseudonym the problem might not exist.'

'That is… disappointing.'

'I only mention it because you talked about your frustrations last time, and sometimes there is more than meets the eye at first glance.'

Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed. 'Ministry politics… You are right, of course. Thank you, I shall not go wading in with my size nines.' She gave him a small smile.

He leaned back in his chair and glanced away briefly. 'You did say that I owed you.'

Immediately, she frowned. 'That so-called debt was repaid when you agreed to partake in this charade.'

'That is not really how it works, but, if you say so...'

'Please, all obligations as you see them are discharged.'

She was grateful when they were interrupted by the arrival of their starter. Preventing her mind from rehashing the events of that night, years ago, was never easy. And the chill of it had still yet to fade.

As she might with any new puzzle, she continued to pay attention to the little details, the little mundanities, that were becoming more clear to her as she built her picture of him. She surreptitiously observed him pick his way through his plate. She was more accustomed to men who attacked their plates with gusto—inhaling rather than partaking. Evidently, he was not a gourmand. It left her feeling a little self-aware and she sought to measure her own enthusiasm for her soup.

And then later, when the steaming plate of dry-aged rump and vegetables was set down, a wry smirk tugged at his mouth. 'My, I haven't eaten this well since leaving Hogwarts.'

She was sure he couldn't have known the direction of her thoughts.

'You do not enjoy cooking?'

He shook his head vehemently.

'I thought you might have; it is not so very far removed from potion-making, after all.'

It was several moments before she looked up and realised he was glaring at her. Hermione nearly laughed aloud. 'What? Preparing ingredients and following a recipe? Cauldron or saucepan? It's the same!'

His brow furrowed in disgust and he made to dismiss her by turning his attention back to his plate.

Hermione bit her lip in amusement. 'I expect you would be good at it, despite your protestations. Is there anything you aren't good at?'

He scoffed. 'Really? Have you forgotten to whom you are speaking?'

'Academically, I mean,' she countered, a little quietly, discomfited by his ability to turn lightness back to heaviness.

He thought for a moment. 'I never enjoyed Arithmancy.'

'Ah, a favourite of mine.'

'Weren't they all your favourite?'

'Not all of them, no; I just had an irrepressible need to be good at everything, unfortunately.' The only way she knew to try and fit in—to be accepted. 'I know now, of course, that success does not make you happy.'

'What does?' he asked, and she was momentarily startled by his intensity. His look of grave interest told her only one thing, that this was a man at odds with the very notion of happiness, let alone the routes to it.

She began to answer, but she stumbled mentally at where to start, and all that issued was a breathy huff. She could not tell him that she longed to share her life with another. She could not tell him that a companion, one who saw her for her, would make her happy. She could not tell him yet; maybe she never would.

The arrival of dessert gave her a moment to collect herself.

She picked up her spoon. 'Pie and custard always makes me happy,' she muttered resignedly.

There was a small scowl on his face as he reached for his own spoon.

'You do not have a penchant for sweet things?' she asked, innocently.

He hesitated a little, which amused her. 'A penchant? No,' he replied. 'I find one can get a little too easily…addicted to such things.'

The look he gave her, brief though it was, both chilled and warmed her. There it was again, in the most mundane of settings, his indefinable knack of being mysterious, his complicated nature, all of which permeated out of him. For the first time, she felt a little intimidated and wary, even. She knew so much about this man, and yet she also knew so very little.

'Do you have any addictions, Hermione?'

She had taken notice that he preferred to refer to her by her surname. And so when he did use her given name, it was for targeted impact. His subtlety might be overlooked by some, she thought, but not her. She noticed things—she was trained to.

'A fine Mediwitch I would be if I did not have a handle on myself, hmm?'

'What will you specialise in when you become a Healer?'

'Mind healing,' she replied.

His eyes narrowed a little.

'There is a place for magic in all forms of Healing, including the mind, but in my view there is much to be gained from the Muggle practices of—'

He cut her off with a soft snort. 'Talking?' He shook his head. 'You're a cliche, Granger.'

'A cliche? How?'

'Talking resolves nothing—'

'You're wrong.'

'It's an exercise in narcissism.'

'That's ridiculous.' Hermione set her glass down with a thump. 'What do you know about talking therapy anyway? I bet you've never tried it.'

He grimaced. 'You'd love that, wouldn't you, to hear that I'd spill my guts out for someone to pat me on the head and say there there.'

Hermione bit her lip to swallow down her immediate retort. It was obviously a sensitive subject and she had no desire to argue with him.

'It is a lot to keep bottled up, is all, Severus,' she murmured quietly. 'The damage lingers all around us, and within us. It is ultimately why we are sitting here today.'

There was an almost mutinous glint in his eye as he stared at her, but he did not try to deny that she was right, though. The Wizarding World was damaged; whether it was irrevocable remained to be seen.

And Hermione knew there were a lot of people interested in Severus Snape's story, particularly. He must know it, too. He likely had no one to trust it with, though. In that moment, Hermione felt her thoughts drift to an imagining of what it would be like to be granted his confidence. Fanciful of her, and she mentally shook herself.

'I won't put you down on my waiting list for a consultation then, hmm?' She gave him a wry look.

He glared at her disdainfully. 'Pay for the expertise of a charlatan? I think not.'

Hermione closed her eyes and laughed despite herself. 'Maybe I can offer my services for free in exchange for good publicity?'

She was quite sure she nearly succeeded in making him laugh, but suddenly, the buzz of his pocket-watch took them both by surprise. He snatched it from his pocket and set it down with a noticeable thud. She wondered if it signified annoyance.

Nevertheless, he took his leave, after a moment.

But Hermione remained a little while longer, deep in contemplation.


AN: Thanks for reading.