Silence in the room threatened to suffocate the lot of them, had Astoria not dealt the blade's finishing chop a touch sooner.
"Unless you fall back in love."
Her lashes blinked in a stupid flutter; her words even more naïve than her otherwise intelligent demeanor let on. Working amongst books whose stories led one to believe in silly things like 'happily ever afters' , daring wizards and creative maidens who let themselves out of a tricky situation, Astoria would have had to keep but one light of hope within her heart for romance in the modern world. She gazed at Hermione and Snape, an invitation for one of them to jump in and affirm her words with a resounding 'of course, how could I have not thought of that!" So simple, so elegant a solution, so clean and pure in its intention. But still missing one important aspect.
To fall back in love, one would have to have been in love in the first place.
And Hermione did not love Snape.
She couldn't bear to meet his eyes after that clumsy mess of tongues that had occurred between them; that clashing of teeth and noses. She had been kissed poorly before, but not had her face nearly eaten off in some desperate attempt to prove himself. She was sure if she looked at him now, she wouldn't be able to muster up even a dignified shrug in his general direction; a 'well-we-tried' sort of gesture to make the both of them feel less pathetic.
A True Love's kiss was supposed to tender and young. True she had rushed him into it. What was she to do? Waste more time in this unending nightmare of being married to him? Him. Of all wizards.
He had not tasted bad; in fact he had a pleasant flavor to him. She hadn't completely disregarded that aspect. But the execution of the dish was enough to put Hermione off ever coming close to him again.
Not to mention the disappointment. Suddenly having them thrust together had peaked her curiosity about how it could be, married to him. And she'd be lying to saying she hadn't ever imagined kissing the man who tended to her all these years by her bedside at St Mungo's - a naughty little fantasy. A pleasant little distraction.
Now she hardly could move her focus away from his hands all tangled in her hair and his teeth biting her tongue. He had to be thinking he was the best kisser in the world, latching himself on her mouth like he did. And the confidence, the audacity. He must have thought himself a cad. Maybe in his younger days, but certainly not now.
Still , He was a brave and striking man, but not the kind a witch could fall in love with at first sight. Not the kind one would approach at a dark bar, while he held a glass of Firewhisky in his hand and mumbled half-slurring "good evening, Granger" in that deep baritone of his. The sleeve of his shirt rolled up to show the thin masculine hairs of his arm while he ran his calloused fingers through the black, tangled locks of greasy hair. That Snape would no doubt order her another of whatever she was having and Summon over an empty seat, slipping it naturally behind her thighs as he scooted closer to her.
"What's a witch like you doing in a place like this?" he'd mumble half amused, half teasing her as he eyed her up from the tip of her heel to the curve of her hip to the bulk of her breast spilling out of the front of her shirt. She'd of course laugh and murmur back an equally clever response and make him smirk. They'd spend the night tossing back quips and compliments with the ease of a seasoned tennis player before she excused herself to use the loo with a wink. He'd follow of course, picking up on her subtle cue, and then when some smoke-soaked witch would stumble out of the stall, he'd push her in, That Snape would grab her waist, pin her to the wall as he devoured her neck, her clavicle and that sensitive patch of skin behind her ear murmuring obscenities in her ear as his hand made its way up her skirt. And when he finally allowed himself to give in and kiss her-well, that would be the kind of kiss worthy of breaking even the most ancient of spells.
But her Snape didn't even come close. A schoolboy's clumsy scribble hung next to a master's piece.
Astoria's lips continued to move and Hermione only then realized she hadn't heard a single word she was saying to Draco.
"I meant, if they had done it once, they can do it again!"
"To make two people fall in love by choice?"
"Theoretically…isn't all love a choice?"
"In some measure, my heart, but-"
Hermione's mind pierced open. Snape was not following their back and forth either. He was staring at Hermione. Her throbbing head died down as she Occluded her mind from his invasion.
How did he do it? So sleek, she could hardly feel when he began his intrusion into her thoughts and when he ended. The pain was of course his way of warning her to stop her trail of thoughts. No man as clever as Severus Snape would allow himself to be caught unless he wanted to. His expression darkened, warning her with the raising of his brows, then instantly grew listless and disinterested.
Love each other again. He pursed his thin lips together, avoiding the obvious answer.
She remembered who she woke up to in that bedroom at Spinner's End. Laying in the same bed breathing in his morning smell, Hermione'd seen the intimate parts of him : the way his hair stuck to his forehead, that messy sprawl on the sheets and the tone of voice in which he spoke to her when he finally awoke.
In the course of a day, Hermione had lost her best friends, her job, her reputation as an Auror. Now in this future she'd slept with a man who knew her from the school bench-crooked teeth and bushy hair-and she'd lost her pride. The least she could have wanted was some common decency, a respectful silence. No. There Snape was, mocking her and having the nerve to Legillimens her and read her rampant thoughts when she was at her most vulnerable-standing naked in a stranger's home with nothing but his robes to cover her.
She could have grown to love a man who considered her feelings, who treated her with respect.
How far away this Snape was from the one who had tended to her wounds at St Mungo's. He had been so soft then, so gentle with her then. Their polite conversations, always reaching beyond the surface small talk. But this Snape was so jagged and rude, so distant from her schema.
She'd never allow herself to fall in love with a man like that.
Draco stayed silent, and for that Hermione was thankful. At least he wasn't making his usual taunts in her general direction. Turns out he didn't have to because Snape's expression said it all.
"I could not engage in such a disservice with her."
He said it with such a tone, as though engaging with her would tarnish him. Protesting of course would mean nothing. He was only saying his truth, but the truth from his mouth stung. Draco of course protested, interjecting comments of 'she is right there you know' and 'now, now, let's show some respect'. It was Draco's comment that made her sober up and stiffen in her resolve.
"You have made that much clear," she hissed through her teeth.
"Then I see no reason to continue this talk."
His opinion the final one, of course, he excused himself abruptly with a stiff 'good day'. With that, flew down the corridor, capes billowing behind him.
-xxx-
She had no other place to go where she wouldn't face the possibility of putting on false pretenses as 'future Hermione', so she made the difficult decision to return back to Snape's home.
It was nearing noon by the time Hermione Apparated back to Spinner's End and she realized she hadn't eaten a crumb since yesterday. Rather last year. Dodging the giant pile of boxes of socks by the front door, she charmed open the door with the first of three attempts at guessing the password (the correct answer being the surname of her first grade Muggle school teacher) and tossed her boots off in the entry way on the dusty rug. Rounding the corner of the living room into the kitchen, she tore open the door of the pantry and grabbed a packet of crisps, bacon flavored, her favorite. Next to the fridge where she dug up some apples and carrots-nature's toothbrushes. Laying out her off feast on the counter, Hermione munched, thankful future her had the mind to stock up on her favorite snacks and washing her lunch down with water, set herself up a pot of tea. Herbal of course, with a touch of peppermint.
Crooshanks purred, rubbing his giant orange head against her leg. Yes, he was here in the bizarre universe as well, looking a year older and moving slower. Age was catching up to him and the tips of fiery orange hair had now grown greyer and his whiskers drooped lower.
Running her hand through his fur, giving him a firm massage behind the ears, Hermione took her mug of tea and made her way up the stairs. This was the home of the Other Hermione, the one who had married Snape. The one who lost her best friends in the entire world. The one who had been made a fool to her own desires.
She still liked her apples and carrots and bacon crisps, and her hot herbal teas. And as she walked down the hallway, her feet brushing through the spars of the Persian carpet, the Other Hermione still held a love for landscape art and framed calligraphy on scrolls. And when she went into the upstairs study and flipped through the records collection, noticed Other Hermione still enjoyed her late father's love for whiskey blues.
The other rooms accessible from the narrow upstairs hallway were a small guest bedroom, a bathroom and the couple's bedroom in which Hermione had woken up in that morning. She wandered in cautiously, as though sneaking into the room of a relative at a family dinner party and greedily sleuthing through all their little trinkets. She wished to see what this Other Hermione lived like.
The bedroom was simple, a door adjoining to the bathroom, and a window looking over the dusty working-class neighborhood of Cokeworth. There was a four-poster bed of mahogany wood with rich grey curtains over the sides. A bedside table with the wedding photo on top of a short stack of novels. Hermione opened the little drawer, inside were a couple of half-finished hand creams, a silken hair cap, old receipts doubling no doubt as bookmarks, clippers, dental floss, and a few smaller vials of personal potions for intimate sessions. On his side of the bed, the one that was near the corner of the room leading to the bathroom door, the drawer contained another pack of dental floss, and reading glasses. In the lower shelf were loose papers with scribbled on notes: recipes of sorts perhaps or short written reminder she wished not to forget about upon waking up and going about his day.
A day planner was there too. Curious. She hadn't known Snape was the type of wizard to keep track of his appointments, thought it certainly made sense. He was a busy wizard. Flipping through the pages, she noticed dates like "dentist appointment' and 'dinner at 7' which were typical, but other dates were more specific.
Did he also do his laundry on Wednesdays? She did her laundry on Wednesdays. That made certain her weekends were free from housework. It also said "grocery story on Tuesday". He also liked to pick up the goods before the rush on Friday but not quite the desperate attempt of Sunday when the fridge was barren and the work week about to start? Very smart. He had the Other Hermione's appointments there too: gyn check, hair appointment, deliveries with her name on them, and even her staff meetings…dates when she'd be home late. Why-ever would he need to know when she was coming home late? Perhaps the Other Hermione had just as busy a schedule as her.
This was in one word, thoughtful of him.
But that Other Snape was not her Snape.
He was probably a thoughtful and considerate partner who clearly cared about this Other Hermione's life. Her Snape did not. She had no idea where he was now. Certainly not trying to break the curse. He fled from the scene and Hermione was not certain he'd be back soon. He didn't tell her where he was going. Not that she needed to know. She didn't care what sorts of things he did in his free time, but it struck a note with her that the only man in the world that could help save the two of them from this nightmare situation was just gone.
She would have to get herself out of this mess alone. As always.
Pacing by the foot of the bed, Hermione looked at the matching slippers, then kicked them aside. If Snape was not here, his slippers did not deserve to lie by hers. It was petty she admitted, but the closest she'd come to kicking his arse.
A knock from the door startled her. She crept down the stairs. Could she have Summoned her husband back in her rage?
Cautiously peeking through the door hole, then flinging it open, she saw Harry. The Other Harry.
"Bloody Merlin! I've been looking all over!" he cried, round glasses sweating up. "Kept Kingsley off your back for a day. Not a 'Thank you Harry' or 'bugger off'. Where have you be-"
Hermione flung her arms around his neck, digging her nose into the crook of his neck. He smelled like Her Harry, back home. His beard was just the same, his round glasses, that wild head of unruly hair and his voice. She didn't care that her socks were soaked through from the December snow. Hugging him tight, she melted into his arms and let herself sob into his robes. And to her relief, the Other Harry hugged her back just as tightly and dragged her inside with her in his embrace.
-xxx-
"So, you really can't tell me where you've been?" Harry rubbed her shoulder.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I wish I could tell you everything, but I can't. Believe me, I want to more than anything, but-"
"But?"
"It's complicated." She sighed. "I've had the most awful day imaginable and seeing you evens it out."
Harry laughed softly. "I'm glad. My day was a shit show." His voice grew grave. "Remember the case with the Love Spell. Stolen last year around the Yule event at Hogwarts."
Hermione's body stiffened. "Yes?"
"They hadn't found the culprit then. They had a lead, a few actually but they vanished into thin air."
"Oh?" So the Spell had managed to erase them from time completely and hide the tracks of their involvement. Harry didn't know about the meeting with Kingsley nor that he and her and Hermione had been involved. The entire affair seemed to vanish into thin air.
"Anyways, now Kingsley is receiving signals that traces of the enchantment are nearby."
Hermione swallowed. "Must have been an avalanche."
"You don't believe it!" Harry cried. "The entire Department of Magical Artifacts has flipped upside down. Everyone's looking for the responsible. They want us to head the operation, dispatch people straight away. I told them your cat was sick so you couldn't make it."
"Right."
"I mean, unless you're still not feeling well…"
"I'll be alright tomorrow." Hermione said, realizing returning to work would certainly be the absolute best outcome for her at the moment. She'd go mad if she was cooped up at home all day. Married or not, she was still an Auror.
"Because cats can be sick for at least one more day-"
Hermione laughed. "Thank you."
"Listen Hermione," Harry said sternly. "It isn't to do with … him?" Snape.
"No…and yes."
"Because if it is, you can tell me," Harry said. "You can tell me anything. And Ron."
"Ron won't talk to me," Hermione said. "I've tried to Floo him all morning."
Harry shook his head. "You've blocked him from Flooing you."
"Right." That made sense for Other Hermione. "I should probably…unblock him."
"No matter what he says, he cares for you."
"I know."
"I hope you do. This isn't about your….choices. You're our best friend. You're my partner. Forever. If there's anything you need to get off your chest….anything at all. Or if you need me to blast someone with my wand-"
Hermione's cheeks burned. "I'll let you know."
"You promise?"
"Sure."
"Promise."
Hermione sighed. "I promise Harry."
"Okay." Harry rose, giving her one last squeeze. As Hermione hugged him back, part of her wished he'd stay and sleep on the couch and they could spend the night talking and drinking hot cocoa like they did while studying in the Gryffindor Common Rooms many years ago. But she wasn't sure Other Hermione would have wanted that. "I'll check in on you later tonight."
"Thanks Harry. Love you."
"Love you too."
Harry sat back. "By the way, how's the Elf thing?"
-xxx-
She was hard, too hard for his love. Too cold hearted and cutting were her thoughts.
Him? Inept in his display of passion towards her? Not measuring up her standards, her expectations. The foolish witch knew nothing of the language of romance past the clumsy poems of Valentine's Day dwarves delivered at Hogwarts.
Of course, Severus hadn't expected the damned counter-curse to work. Cauldron have it, the idiot fable said it all wrong. This was a tragedy as old as the stupidity of the average romance reader: Romeo and Juliet in an English setting if you will. Only here Romeo was an ugly, old hunchback with no prospects or joy, and Juliet was a blind little village bride all too happy to accept any man with a minimally convincing position and seductive voice. Bah, two losers at the wrong place at the right time.
His Juliet would check twice, no, three times before accepting anything at face value.
Except when it came to Severus.
How could Granger honestly believe he was still enamored with Lily Potter? Enamored enough to steal from Gringotts for her? All that after viewing a vial of carefully curated memories given tactfully upon his death and a passing Legillimency cocktail session in his head last night. Severus would not be worth his salt as a spy had he allowed his emotions to take the best of him during his tryst in Death's bed-a lover whose cunt he dared look at, but never taste.
Yes, after all this time, he'd been in love with Lily Potter, pining after her like a devoted little bitch.
Always.
A tear shedding performance that validated his pilgrimage before the headmaster and softened the blow of the Dark Lord's whips now attracted the sympathies of his altruistic former student.
Devotion was rarely qualified.
Severus' days of appeasing to the whims of witches and their snowflake children were numbered.
So, Granger was a little fool. But until he figured out how to unlatch himself from her, she was his little fool. And every woman was allowed her vices.
Cauldron knew Severus' was his modest intellect.
He thought best when his hands were occupied, so to St. Mungo's it was. Though his sentence to work as a Healer was intended to be penal, brewing happened to be Severus' labor of love. He intended to have the last laugh in spite of his subordination.
In set the primal urge to grind and press, chop and julienne, fold in and simmer something dehydrated, dissected and dead. If he was lucky, he might be able to brew a potion strong enough to remove the idea of travelling back in time out of Granger's mind. If he was unlucky, he'd still be able to see the look on Medi-Witch Bell's face when he noticed her attempt to tarnish his reputation by handing over his private journals to the Ministry backfired.
Though at first the inconvenience of having Granger attached at his hip seemed like a daunting prospect in this brave new world, it was slowly becoming the least of his concerns. A temporary lapse in judgement it was to kiss her and break the curse.
If that Diddle boy with his sock delivery was correct and Severus Snape was a revered man in this time, there was no reason why he should ever go back to the way his life was before. He was curious to discover how far his popularity had taken him. Perhaps in this time, his parole had ended. He'd be able to quit St Mungo's after all, start his own practice, find himself a suitable witch. After all, the possibilities of what he could finally do with his new life were endless.
It had been midday when Severus walked through the all too familiar halls of Hogwarts back out to the courtyard. He knew all the secret passageways to leave the castle unspotted. The last people he wanted to run into were his old colleagues: the all-knowing Minerva and the talkative Pomona, but least of all the new and pompous Headmaster Blackwood who fancied himself late Dumbledore's fair rival. If he had known the real Albus Dumbledore, Aurelius Blackwood would realize they had as much in common as a counterfeit copy on a Knockturn Alley Chocolate Frog card to the real Honeydukes deal.
But this new knowledge of being a sex symbol on Wixxxen was something that tickled Severus' curiosity. So he had taken the time to add a passing stop to the Slytherin dorms on his route and procure himself a copy of said magazine. He counted on the previous owner of the stolen issue to blame the disappearance of the artifact on Professor Malfoy's thorough raids of their property.
With the goods in hand, Severus waited until he was well off the grounds of the castle and flying in the air en-route to St Mungo's to examine the evidence.
There in the air, he settled himself on a cloud, right leg crossed over left and flipped through the sticky, finger stamped pages until he saw what Coming of Age content Professor Malfoy had been so keen on depriving the fellow Slytherins from.
Yes, a photo of him, a pull-out page in fact, fully nude. He was emerging from a cauldron in his potion's classroom, like a maiden from a river. The purple glittering potion, the color of Unicorn's blood, dripped tactfully over his shoulders and down his torso-carefully concealing his manhood beneath the surface of the water. His pecs glistened by light of candles and a mysterious glow covered his entire body with glitter. His eyes sparkled and gave a wicked wink to his back through the page. Waving a hand over the front, Severus was surprised to see Wixxxen had charmed a voice-over feature to the shot that was specific to the reader. This Severus was saying in the unmistakable baritone "Rose petals must be stirred in counterclockwise, Mr Hornby to produce the desired effect of the Amorentia Potion."
Severus shivered. Any self-respecting potions student knew that Amorentia ingredients were not stirred, but rather carefully folded into the cauldron. Troll and remedial.
Yet it was a well-done photograph. He looked young here and more than palatable- a whole meal in fact. He was clearly charmed to looked younger than he was, but Severus was certain that even at twenty-five, his skin and hair did not glow so lusciously as it had in this editorial. Whoever edited it did a fine job. It was a fantasy, yet believable enough…Severus could see himself ogling at this young potions professor had he been a Slytherin student again. The tone, the atmosphere, the curve of his hips, the steam rolling off his body in droplets, the tussled black hair and the shining black eyes - were perfection. Rolling up the magazine, he slipped it into his robe pockets for later inspiration.
A deep warmth slipped down the length of his body as he thought of the image, rolled up and carefully concealed in his robes. He did look sensual, attractive even. Had he been a witch, he would have been honored to be taken by himself.
Granger could bite her own elbows for all he cared.
The warmth swirled in his imagination as the image of St Mungo's loomed below-arriving too soon. Severus itched to get to work. Strolling past the security checkpoint, robes flaring, he declared the password and waved his wand before the doors, only to slam face-first into the wood.
He checked once more, then filed his verbal complaint with the Medi Witch up front. A young girl of twenty and one by the name of Miss Babbins, who was recently hired in Severus' time through connections, widened her eyes and whispered, "Mr Snape sir, you no longer work here."
Cauldron he didn't. Severus rubbed his temples. "Medi-witch Bell." And when Miss Babbins did not comply, rumbled, "are you deaf, girl? Fetch me Medi-witch Bell. Make it quick."
"I-I'm sorry. Straight away." She mumbled something to herself as she sent out a quick Summoning spell into the hospital.
Severus was sure they changed the spells since he had last worked here a year ago. The routine was to change them twice a year, but since the end of the war, nobody really bothered with the updated security protocols. Besides, there was nothing more annoying to the overworked and underpaid Medi-witch or Healer than to arrive for their shift and be met with a closed door and another password they had to etch into their already dead , over caffeinated memory.
Chatter drew him from his toe-tapping impatience. Severus knew instinctively when someone was talking about it, but he didn't have to employ his Legillimency or listening skill to catch the symphony of hushed whispers of "Snape. Severus Snape?" beginning around him. A small tap on his shoulder and he was face to face with a witch with spectacles and robes over her sleepwear (clearly who had come from home) stretch out a quill and an old scrap of parchment towards him with the request of 'Signing and autograph for my daughter."
Medi-Witch Bell did not descend to save him, but two dressed Healers Severus did not recognize came over and began to point to him. It took Severus less than a second to discover their intentions and he raised his hands in compliance as they ran over wands out. This only excited the rest of the wizards in the waiting room and they began to point and squeal as the security personnel rushed over to him.
Severus was not about to leave without his journals nor truth about his apparent exclusion from St Mungo's. Enchanting the quill to sign off his name on the witch's parchment- a clever tip of the hat to future Snape- he deflected the spells of the security, flinging them to hit each other in the legs, and dove behind the desk of the startled secretary.
Hand behind her head, he snuck into her head and read out the passcode to the door, then leaving her in her seat, let himself into the hospital.
Blood pumped through his heart as he strode down the halls and into his old office. A familiar shiver up his spine and tingle in his head caught his attention, but he did not show it. He knew when he was being followed.
Rounding a corner, he slowed his step.
"Miss Bell."
She walked alongside him, an approving nod, and gestured for him to follow her into his office, the door of which she charmed open with the new passcode. There were new things here now, no more his stacks of potions and medical books, his old records and his favorite brown mug. Who was this mysterious new Healer who occupied his space? Clearly, they had already settled in a while ago, their items scattered around the space. An old cardigan lay draped over the back of his chair, kitten themed stationary on the desk beside piles of meticulously sorted notebooks and case files. Here were rose-gold potions bottled and vials in a white marble holder. How utterly feminine and orderly it all was. So, unlike his cozy, familiar space.
Severus felt a pang of distant sadness deep within. He'd never work here again. Despite its flaws, he enjoyed his job. And now he'd have to discover what his future self, this Other Snape, did to control the urges in his hands that yearned to handle something liquid and soft - to mold and mush and combine.
"I was wondering when you'd be back," Katie Bell said softly. "This space hasn't been the same since you left."
Severus released his breath. "I've been occupied otherwise."
"You always were a talented Healer."
Yes, yes he was. Her agreement came from her palm, warm and intentional, sliding over his shoulder. He jerked back, unsure of how to proceed. Had the Other Snape known about this? Miss Bell's eyes widened, her hand still lingering on the ghost shoulder before her. Yes, the Other Snape must have.
"Are you aware of your senses, Miss Bell?" he asked dryly as she licked her lips. He'd seen arousal in a woman before many times, but nonesuch directed towards his- not in a long time.
"Why shouldn't I be?"
"Because you are aware of the consequences of your actions."
She leaned back against the desk, knocking some of the stationary aside. Her thighs pooled against the wood, drooping open. "You don't remember your goodbye gift?"
No he did not. He would have remembered those thighs, that skirt lifting high enough to show a peak of her knickers beneath. Black with a white lace trimming.
"Go on," said the part of Severus most interested in handling various difficult substances, now yearning to reach over and run his hand over the exposed skin, so freely displayed for the taking.
"You made certain I'd remember you, before your marriage," she said softly, like an incantation. "Poor, poor Sevvy, so weak before his wife." She ran a finger up her leg, trailing alongside the lace of her knickers. "How unsure you were she'd have you. Of course, I'd always be here."
Severus cocked his head. "You despised my rule breaking."
"Only some rules." She quivered her pointer finger in a 'come hither gesture'. Severus needed nothing else. Slowly he prowled over.
"Where are my journals?"
"How should I know," Miss Bell said, pouting. "You took everything once you left."
"But not the journals." He melted downwards, hands alongside her thighs. "How might I convince your to give me this information?"
She leaned over, whispering in his ear. "I remember the night you removed the cursed necklace off my neck. The trail of your fingers alongside my neck, the unmistakable scent off your neck. I didn't know then what I know now…but I was interested in what a wizard like you could do with a woman."
Her eyes, hooded and dazed, her lips glistening, she muttered, "Show me again."
Severus knew the sorts of things that were wrong to do between colleagues, legally speaking, but he had a bad habit of doing the exact things he swore not to do, especially since the Ministry had fucked him over once before. That's exactly why his cock was nestled deep within Miss Bell's wet pussy, to prove entirely why institutional involvement in personal affairs had not taken personal desires into consideration.
It was the first time he'd had sex in a decade. And he enjoyed it.
And yes, he did get his journals back.
A/N
Thank you kindly for the reviews and your opinions :)
