Undisclosed Desires
Four
Hermione took a deep breath before opening the next gambit from the Ministry. As she scanned the contents, she groaned out loud in frustration. It was getting progressively worse—a whole day out together, doing something of her choosing? She put her head in her hands. He was really going to kick off this time. Clearly, they were upping the ante and she worried as to where it, and they, would end up.
For the first time, she was beginning to really feel they were embroiled in something totally beyond their control. But whilst she raged at the idea of such interference in her personal life, at the moment this was nothing more than state-sponsored match-making. Surely, there could be nothing too dramatic in store? Or was she really that naive?
Perhaps she ought to do further research into the forsaken, but not forgotten, laws of the Wizarding World.
That day, on her lunch break, Hermione trudged over to the Ministry and tried to get an appointment in the Department of Births, Deaths, and Marriages. She was met with a wall of obfuscation. If it was really necessary, she was advised she could have an appointment in two weeks' time.
Thwarted, she set off back to work. As she passed through the Atrium, Hermione did spot a familiar face and she rushed over to her.
'Padma!'
'Oh, hello there, Hermione.'
'Padma, do you have a minute, please?'
'Sure.'
Hermione gestured her over to an alcove. 'I know it is not your department, but have you heard much about this ridiculous match-making program to encourage an increase in births?'
'A little,' she replied, 'mainly rumour, mind… You've not been chosen to participate, have you?'
'Er, well, yes—'
Padma blanched. 'Really? Wait, who did you get?'
Hermione blatantly ignored her question. 'Have you heard anything about the ten dates—the requirements for them? What happens after?'
Padma shook her head. 'All I know is that if you do not fulfil the requirements, you have to repeat them until you do. But, Hermione, I heard they struggled to find anyone to participate in the trial.'
'Trial? What do you mean?'
'This first round is a trial run, and the talk is most of those selected managed to wriggle out of it.'
'Wriggle?' Hermione questioned icily. 'How?'
'Word got out that if you claim your sexual proclivities are not the heterosexual kind, they have no option but to strike you off.'
'Even if it's a lie?'
Padma nodded. 'The Wizengamot refused to pass a decree allowing the use of Veritaserum; they are looking for a workaround for the future, mind. If you haven't yet signed, though, there might still be time for you to try it. Apparently, there is also a flaw with the selection process—some people picked were already in relationships.' Padma grimaced. 'Bit awkward really when you find out the person you're with isn't actually 'the one'. So, until they approve the use of a truth serum, there's nothing stopping you pretending you already have a commitment.'
'Right…' Hermione trailed off, staring dumbly into ether as Padma took her leave. Clenching her fists, she marched her way out of the Ministry, torn between wanting to laugh or scream out in frustration. Hermione only hoped that no word of that conversation would ever reach the ears of one Severus Snape.
Clearly, the implications of this fuck-up had not been entirely clear to her. She should not have capitulated so readily, but then, her judgement had been clouded from the very start, and now her self-interest was likely going to get them both into trouble.
And yet, in spite of it all, already her mind was running through the options for their next appointment. She had very much enjoyed their last one, and she looked forward to the next one.
Hermione shook herself. The circumstances were intolerable—that must be her focus.
Nothing else, for now.
Hermione stepped out from behind the trees and looked across the field that stretched out before her. It was all shades of green and filled with beautiful wild flowers. To the one side, there was a large bank of woodland and, on the other, a wide expanse of flat marshland that stretched out into an estuary and beyond. She smiled to herself, waiting a little nervously for her companion to appear at the edge of that same field.
In a moment, he was there, glancing around warily.
'Six hours, Granger?' He grumbled. 'A day out—what are we, twelve?'
She shrugged helplessly. 'I told you, the Ministry is very twee.'
Snape looked totally unconvinced. 'Indeed; I wonder if you'll still deem them twee when you are there registering the birth of your unwanted child.'
Hermione felt her hackles rise immediately, but the smooth tone of his voice told her that, once more, he was baiting her. 'Well, I'll let you know, because the way this debacle is going, you will be there signing on the dotted line, too.'
He blinked at that, but wisely, chose not to react. Instead, he turned stiffly to survey their surroundings. Hermione gave a small sigh, always irritated at any mention of the ultimate reason behind their being there.
With his attention diverted, she gave him the once-over. She noted he had listened to her advice as he sported a somewhat sturdy pair of boots. The rest of him was rather more casual than she was used to; an open-necked shirt under a light jacket, she observed, before deciding to turn her eyes away.
'I struggled with this one,' she began. 'I, ah, suppose I am rather a boring person when I think about it. I would like to say that I have fascinating hobbies, but I don't. I spend most of my time working, and any free time is used up with extra-curricular reading or fulfilling duties as an honorary aunt.'
He turned from scanning the horizon to look at her directly.
'I do enjoy a walk now and again,' she continued, 'to refocus the mind and, in this particular case, the sand dunes at the end here have an abundance of sea holly. I require some for my supplies.'
His eyebrows lifted a little.
'I brought snacks, too,' she added, nodding her head at the bag on her back.
'I must say, I expected far worse.'
Hermione felt a little bubble of amusement. 'What did you expect?'
'I'm not sure I should say,' he replied, and there was a brief crinkle in the corner of his eyes.
'Hmm, perhaps it's for the best that you don't, but I have no desire to cause you any further irritation and I thought even you must enjoy the odd expedition now and again?'
She set off along the path, pleased that for once the weather was onside. It was one of her more pleasant walks to take. The coastline was mostly flat, and with the tide low, the marsh stretched out for miles with twisty gouges carved out by the water.
'You must procure your own ingredients wherever possible?' she questioned again, when she sensed his step fall into line with hers, albeit there was somewhat of a wide berth between them.
'Of course,' he answered, 'but there are some suppliers I generally find reliable, Mulpepper's for instance.'
'Oh?'
'I would not be seen dead in Slug and Jigger's.'
Hermione sent him a look of consternation. 'Really? I thought—'
'Their perishable ingredients are crap, Granger; save your Galleons.'
'But St. Mungo's has a procurement contract with them!'
He simply shrugged dismissively. She looked away, feeling irritated with her employer once again.
'You could always go straight into private practice,' he suggested.
Hermione looked up sharply at that. 'I have thought about it,' she conceded.
To have more control, more input into what she could prescribe—what she could do to help. It was tempting.
'But?' he enquired, looking firmly ahead.
'But,' she smiled, 'it seems like taking the easy option.'
'Changing the world takes time, Granger, of which you have plenty so I wouldn't worry about it. You will have a chance to be both a very expensive medical practitioner and saviour to the masses at the hospital.'
Hermione listened for the disdain, and it was there, faintly. 'Money is not my motivation, mind you.'
'Indeed; you wish to help people even when most people won't help themselves. Do you not ever tire of that?'
'Not yet,' she answered in a small voice. Maybe she was wrong, but there was an edge of self recrimination in his tone. 'And not everyone is in a position to help themselves.'
'Some, maybe,' he acknowledged, his tone grim.
The path was beginning to become uneven underfoot and Hermione cast her eyes downwards. 'Ask me again in twenty years; maybe I'll be tired and resentful then.'
Wincing at her how her words could have been taken, she looked askance to see if he was offended. His hair hid his expression. They were silent for some time after that, but it was not totally uncomfortable. There was enough to occupy oneself with enjoying the landscape or taking care to keep one's footing. Nevertheless, Hermione felt her mood to be unusually low. Which, in turn, gave her frustration that she might end up wasting this opportunity they had—she had. If anything positive could be salvaged from this predicament, she would do her utmost to achieve it. What exactly it would look like was a little unclear, however.
They had walked for over an hour when they emerged at the bottom of a wooded valley, where coastal grassland dramatically stretched out into undulating dunes. Hermione took off her bag and reached inside it.
'Do you wish to collect? I have knives and jars.'
She handed him a small leather bag. He reached in and took out a knife and a secateurs, turning them about in his hands. When he looked up, she immediately saw the derision starting to form.
'Oh, now, there's nothing wrong with Potage's surely?' she exclaimed.
He made a non-committal noise in his throat. Hermione decided to ignore it and continued her progress onwards. 'The beach is this way,' she said. 'We shall head towards it and we can rejoin each other there.'
So saying, she quickly moved off, hoping he would choose to give her a wide berth. The last thing she needed was a stinging critique of her cultivating methods. Maybe one day she might welcome it, but on this day, she was afraid her patience might be in short supply.
Not only that, the sand was not always easy to negotiate, leaving her trudging and lurching to keep herself steady. The larger dunes also left her breathless as she climbed them. The wind was blustery, occasionally leaving her blasted with sand, both squinting and grimacing. All in all, hardly an exercise in poise and elegance and she feared that she would look a fright come the end of it.
The sea holly was in good form this year, though, and that was reward enough for her for her effort, or indeed, her discomposure. She crouched down and snipped carefully, collecting several sprigs that she would be able to crush and preserve for use during the months ahead.
Moving on, she also helped herself to some evening-primrose. She also spent time taking down reference notes in her pocket-book for future procurement expeditions. There was one last dune to traverse and Hermione hauled herself up onto the top of it with difficulty. Once there, she found herself looking down at the flat expanse of beach, with roiling waves breaking upon it. Turning to look for her companion, she saw him a little distance away, seemingly examining something in his hands. He stood out in stark contrast to the paleness of the sand, his dark hair fluttering at the ends. There was something appealing in the image, she realised. Hastily, she looked away, wiping her palms on her coat. There was an increasing amount of appeal in him. It wasn't an altogether new realisation, but today it roused in her a particular melancholy, and this was new.
She dropped her bag to the ground, with a thump, and reached down to pull out a thick cushioned blanket. When there was a lull in the breeze, she threw it out over the sand, before quickly settling down cross-legged. Folding her arms under her chest, she peered out over the waves and wondered, once more, how on earth she had ended up in this impossible situation.
A situation that was actually years in the making. When should she tell him the full story? That was the question that was repeatedly beginning to prick at her, making her uncomfortable as time went on. Would there ever be a right time?
No matter the right time, she had resolved long ago that she would tell him.
Hermione took out her flask and poured a cup of coffee, enjoying the warmth of it in hands that had become chilled and weather-beaten from the wind. A long shadow was suddenly cast across the sand and she twisted her head up, squinting.
He was there, looking down at her disdainfully.
'I don't bite,' she assured, turning back to face the horizon. No, she would not tell him yet, at least.
She heard him drop down beside her and, from the corner of her eye, could see his legs were stretched out before him, hands clasped together in his lap.
'You seem preoccupied,' he observed suddenly.
Hermione didn't answer straight away. The sound of his voice so close to her was quite disconcerting.
'I am simply fed up,' she acknowledged tiredly. 'I am not sure why I have given so much of myself to this world when the best it can give me in return is to try and decree that I must reproduce.'
'Indeed… And to imply that you should reproduce with your much older former teacher, well, I cannot blame you for your bitterness.'
Hermione stilled. She could not detect bitterness in his tone, but there was weariness and resignation. She made to prevaricate by pouring him a coffee. Her aim was for a carefully studious reply, but when it came out, her words were rather more careless.
'My issue is with the idea that the Ministry should have any interest in my decision to have children. What if I do not desire children? Is that not a good enough reason for them to butt out? Do you wish for children?' She wished she had bitten through her tongue before uttering that. Chancing a brief look at him, his head was turned away and he observed the waves. 'I'm sorry; I should not have asked such a personal question.'
Clenching her fists in her lap, she scowled at nothing. She thought to reach for the snacks, any excuse for a distraction, when a low, quiet chuckle emanated towards her.
'Imagine having to tell your child you were a Death Eater, and that's just for starters. If that isn't the last word on the matter, I don't know what is.'
Hermione blinked rapidly, maybe against the sharp breeze, maybe not. The tone of his voice sounded unaffected, but, somehow, she thought he had revealed something of himself in choosing that reply. He could easily have scoffed in disgust. That wouldn't have surprised her. She glanced surreptitiously at him, but he was still and calm, giving nothing else away.
Her breaths felt heavy in her chest, pained, perhaps.
Did the impenetrable Severus Snape entertain visions of what-might-have-been? Did he reflect often on the path not chosen? It seemed that might be true. And now the Ministry would seek to taunt him by putting him front and centre in this farce. As the swell of indignation on his behalf began to rise, she swiftly reminded herself that she had insisted on his participation—she had manipulated his decision.
'I'm, ah, sorry that I made you take part in this,' she admitted. 'I should have let you pay the fine.'
'It's a nice idea that you think you can make me do anything, Granger, but that's not how it works.'
His customary derision was back now.
'Right, my mistake,' she acknowledged, smiling to herself and taking the hint.
'Besides,' he said, after a moment, 'you were right; I could not have kept paying the fine.'
'Ah, then you are not so financially-blessed as you implied.'
'I get by… Not only that, Merlin only knows who else the wretched Ministry's crystal ball would have assigned me.'
Hermione smiled inwardly. 'Sybil Trelawney is still of child bearing age, isn't she?'
She bit down on the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from cackling aloud at the twist of his head to glare at her, horrified.
'The whole thing is a botched job, Granger. If it were accurate I would not feature in any outcome.'
He turned away, occupying himself with his drink. Hermione let her eyes drift back out to sea, her blood rather chilled by his matter of fact-ness. He must think there is no one out there suitable for him, she considered. And did he think that because he dislikes himself that much? Or was it because there was and will only ever be one person to whom he could ever dedicate himself?
Never mind that she was long dead.
Hermione wanted to ask him if he could ever see a way to let it all go. Uncharitably, she wondered if it suited him, if being absorbed in his own tragedy was what gave his life meaning. That he would be forever blind to his own potential, and the potential of others, because he could not step out beyond Lily Evans' long shadow.
She would not ask him, of course.
For the first time, Hermione really wished she had paid that fine.
AN: Thanks for reading : )
