A/N: Ah, finally! Just managed to sneak in one more update before the new year! I hope you all had a wonderful holiday season even though I kept you in suspense. Finals week was chaos, culminating in my writing an entire 12-page research article in one night (only to have my thesis professor email the class the next morning extending the deadline by 3 days), but I am graduated!
So, after all of that, my brain was pretty much on life support which meant that the whole word-writey thingy was on hold. But I've managed to steal enough time away from the family (generally in the dead of night) to provide you with hopefully just enough of a hit to tide you over until I can start writing again after my advisory exams on Friday. And because my mother does not believe in wireless internet, and I somehow managed not to bring any of my twelve jump drives, I have had to get rather creative with the Internet-ing. I am seriously sitting halfway in the closet of my brother's basement bedroom with an ethernet cable suspended over the wall of his closet, listening to the rat-a-tat-tat of his videogame while trying to discourage my inquisitive black cat, Briscoe, from yanking the cord out of my laptop or drinking my tea. Thankfully there's a lady bug and a half-demolished (from one of her earlier visits) paper bag to hold her attention at the moment.
This is how much I love you all. Merry (belated) Christmas to everyone, and a happy New Year!
Bound to Him
Chapter 45
"Oh, my baby!" Jean Granger exclaimed, throwing her arms around the girl as she crashed into her. Tears formed in her eyes as she stepped back slightly to peer into her daughter's face. Cupping the girl's cheek with one hand, she tucked a strand of the girl's hair behind her ear with the other. "My darling! I cannot believe you're here!"
"I've missed you so much," Hermione sniffled, wiping the tears from her cheeks with the back of her gloved hand.
"Oh, baby, I've missed you," the woman responded, pulling her into another crushing embrace. "And your father has, too. I cannot even begin to fathom how much he's missed you, what with suffering through my constant worrying."
As the girl tearfully laughed into her mother's neck, the woman stepped them backwards across the threshold of the cottage and shouted over her shoulder. "Sam! Samuel, come quick!"
A few seconds later, the wooden door at the other end of the small sitting room creaked open to reveal a middle-aged man with a dish towel in his hand. "What? What is it?"
Smiling, the witch wrenched out of her mother's grasp. "Dad!"
"Hermione?" he murmured in disbelief. When she rushed towards him, he held out his arms and caught her about the waist. A joyous grin dominated his face as he gently swung her around in a circle. "My little pumpkin bear is home!"
Overcome with emotion, Hermione was unable to do anything but cry into his chest as he rocked her. After a minute or two, he chuckled and placed a kiss on the top of her head. He then patted her on the shoulder and pulled away from her. "I think you better go fetch your mum. I don't think the professor can breathe."
"What?" she whispered, spinning around to see that her mother had been unable to keep her gratitude in check. The girl covered her mouth with her hand as she witnessed the look of sheer discomfort on Snape's face as the shorter woman had wrapped her arms around his neck. Giggling softly, she hurried toward them and did what she could to release the strangle-hold her mother had on the wizard.
"Mum. Mum, let go," she stated quietly, pulling on the woman's elbow. "Professor Snape hasn't even made it inside yet."
"Oh, oh! I'm so sorry!" Jean stammered, slowly releasing him and stepping out of the doorway. "Please, please come in."
Hermione bit her lip in amusement as she watched Severus uncomfortably eye her weeping mother as he strode past them and propped his broom and her bag against the wall. She then patted her mother's arm and grabbed hold of her hand as she waited for the woman to close the door and get control of her emotions.
With a smirk, Samuel Granger stepped forward and extended his hand to the taller man. As they shook hands, he used his head to gesture to his wife. "Sorry about that, Professor. She doesn't always use her words."
Severus snorted and allowed his gaze to settle on Hermione. "I suppose I should have expected that."
The girl locked eyes with him for a second before sheepishly ducking her head. She stared at the wooden floor for a moment and then glanced about the room. The furniture was somewhat worn and looked to be at least a few decades old, save for the sizeable red velvet Chesterfield sofa that had to be considerably older than that. A cheery little fire was crackling in the small, stone fireplace, and there were a few split logs stacked beside it. Beyond the fireplace was a small writing desk built into a wall of cherry wood shelves that were half-filled with her parents' book collection and framed family photographs. In the corner between what she assumed was the kitchen door and the descending wooden staircase was a card table covered in puzzle pieces, and across from the base of the stairs sat her grandmother's rocking chair with a stack of folded quilts piled on the seat.
As she surveyed her surroundings, she was all but oblivious to the verbal exchange between Severus and her parents. She was only pulled back to the discussion when her mother tugged on her hand and pointed her toward the antique sofa.
"Are you hungry?" Jean asked, glancing between the two newcomers. "I was just about to set soup on the stove, but I can throw something more together if you want."
Hermione shook her head and Snape cleared his throat as he took a seat in one of the two armchairs. "Soup would be fine."
The woman nodded and made a move in the direction of the kitchen only to have her husband hold up his hand.
"I'll get it," he smiled, steering her around the edge of the sofa. "You stay here with Hermione."
Jean let out a hesitant breath as she watched him leave but smiled as she faced her daughter. "Well, take your coat off if you're staying. You are staying, correct?"
"I think so," the witch responded, glancing at Snape for confirmation.
The man rolled his eyes and unfastened his cloak. "I did not haul you across the country just for soup, Granger."
As she smirked and began removing her winter wear, her mother glanced over her shoulder to the professor. "How long do we get to keep her?"
Severus sucked in a breath and rubbed his chin pensively. "I should think a week would be manageable."
"A week!" The woman's eyes lit up and she spun her attention back to her equally astonished daughter. After gently touching the side of the girl's face, she quickly pulled her into another embrace. "I get you for an entire week!"
Snickering softly, Hermione patted her mother's back. "Mum, you can let go now."
"Just let me have a minute," came the response.
"You have a whole week!"
"Hush it," Jean mumbled, squeezing the girl tighter. "Thirty more seconds."
At the sound of an amused snort, the Gryffindor witch glanced in Snape's direction. Realizing that he was observing them, she blushed and dropped her gaze to the sofa.
"The resemblance is uncanny," Severus muttered, setting his elbow on the armrest of his chair.
"Hmm?" the greying brunette hummed, glancing back at him upon releasing her daughter. With a smile, she turned back to Hermione and grasped her by the arms. "Well, let's have a look at you. I think you've grown a bit – lucky you – but you're positively wasting away. Have you eaten anything since I last fed you?"
The girl grimaced and tried to avoid both her mother's and Snape's critical gazes. She took in a deep breath and shrugged her shoulders. "I haven't been hungry."
"Not been hungry?" Jean frowned and tilted her daughter's chin so she could meet her eyes. "Young lady, you must have lost at least a stone. I know you've been stressed, love, but you cannot stop eating. You need to take better care of yourself. Do you hear me?"
"Yes, Mum," Hermione mumbled.
"Don't 'yes, mum' me," she replied, letting go of the girl's chin. "You know perfectly well that I suffered an eating disorder while in dental school and it took me years with your father's help to overcome it. I don't want to see that happen to you."
"I know," the witch sighed, wincing as she felt the weight of Severus's eyes upon her. "But you really don't have to worry about that, I promise."
Her mother smiled and patted her cheek. "Nevertheless, you're getting a sandwich with your soup. There's some leftover roast beef from last night's supper. Come along into the kitchen and I'll fix one for you. Professor, you're welcome to join us. Samuel shouldn't be much longer with the stew."
Hermione could hear the wizard rise from his chair and fall into step behind her as she followed her mother into the other room. She paused a moment to glance about the small kitchen and dining nook before Jean ushered her into one of the four chairs at the wooden table. As she watched her parents move about the space, pulling dishes from the overhead cabinets and food from the old stove and refrigerator, she was grateful that while Snape had chosen the seat across from her, he had opted to look out the window instead.
She was also grateful several minutes later when her mother set a plated sandwich in front of him as well as a bowl of soup. She had not wanted to be the only one eating more than the rest, and she was relatively sure that he had skipped lunch since she had not seen him anywhere near the Great Hall over the noon hour.
The witch was in the process of picking up her spoon when she caught sight of her parents bowing their heads. With her mouth open in surprise, she dropped the instrument to the table with a small clatter and then quickly folded her hands in mimicry of them. As her father softly began offering his thanks to the Lord, she surreptitiously glanced between him and her mother. After stumbling over the chorused 'Amen,' she dropped her hands to her lap and stared at the man beside her in disbelief.
"Sweetheart, eat," Jean instructed.
Hermione immediately swung her wide-eyed gaze in her direction. "When did you ever convince Dad to say grace?"
The woman chuckled softly and shared a glance with her husband briefly. "He suggested it actually."
"I can't believe that!" she cried, shifting her eyes to her father. "You've never said it unless we were at Granmum's and she threatened to get out her cane!"
"He even goes to Sunday services with me," Mrs. Granger added, pointing her spoon. "There's a lovely little stone chapel in the village."
"What?" the girl stammered.
Samuel shrugged and blew on a spoonful of soup. "I figured it couldn't hurt to ask for whatever type of protection I can grant you. If that means letting your mother drag my sorry bum into church regularly, then so be it."
With a shy smile, the witch flicked her gaze to the man quietly eating across from her and then to each of her parents once more before finally tucking in on her supper. As she ate, she was aware of her parents making small talk with the professor, but again she was not truly sure of what was being said. Instead, she was too preoccupied by the strange reality of sitting between the two people who were the most important to her, seeing firsthand that they were alive and well. Along with the warmness of the soup spreading along her digestive system, there was warmth in her heart at knowing that this was the best possible Christmas gift anyone could have given her, and the heat quickly spread to her cheeks when she momentarily met the eyes of the man responsible for it all.
Unbidden, a smile exploded upon her face and she dropped her eyes to her nearly empty bowl of soup. For the rest of the meal, she kept her attention focused only on her parents for fear that she would be unable to control her facial expressions. Whatever it was that Snape had explained to her parents regarding her situation, it was extremely unlikely that he had included the little tidbit about required sexual relations, and she did not wish to broach the subject with them…ever. And with the thoughts that were currently swirling about in her head, it would not do well to tempt fate, for both of her parents were rather perceptive and prone to interrogations.
"Well, I think that since you're home for Christmas, we might as well do something traditional for the holiday," Samuel stated, setting down his napkin. "There's a small line of evergreens just past the cottage that I've had my eye on, and –"
When a loud sigh interrupted him, the man glanced across the table to his wife, who shook her head in amusement. "Any excuse for him to play lumberjack these days."
"A man's gotta have a hobby, doesn't he?"
Jean rolled her eyes and squeezed her daughter's hand as she looked toward their dark-haired visitor. "It's contingent upon what you have to say about it, however, Professor. They are your trees after all."
The man in question leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest as he avoided Hermione's surprised gaze. Clearing his throat, he nodded shortly. "You may do with them as you wish."
The witch opened her mouth to ask a question, but was cut off by her father's excited tone. "Excellent. Then I'll wash up the dishes, and when Hermione's finished eating, the three of us can go and find a decent tree."
"Unless you would like to join us, Professor," his wife added with a smile. When the man politely refused, she nodded and glanced at her daughter's plate. "Three more bites, dear."
"Mum," Hermione sighed, grimacing in embarrassment as she picked up the remainder of her sandwich.
XxxxxxxxXxxxxxxxX
"Darling, are you coming?" Jean asked, adjusting her scarf as she turned about in the mudroom that lay just beyond the kitchen oven. Her husband stood just past her with one hand on the doorknob of the back door.
Hermione bit her lip, realizing that she had paused halfway through putting on her coat as she debated herself within her head. Letting out a small breath, she nodded and finished buttoning her coat. A second later, as she slipped on one of her gloves, she made up her mind regarding the matter and immediately stepped back into the kitchen, shouting over her shoulder. "I'll be back in just a second, Mum. I think I dropped one of my gloves in the sitting room."
Rushing past the stove and rack of drying dishes, she slowed only upon crossing the threshold into the living room. Upon witnessing Severus casually glancing about the feet of the furniture, she knew that he was silently scanning for her missing article of winter clothing. With a soft giggle, she tossed a glance over her shoulder to ascertain that her parents were still waiting for her at the back door.
She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment as she gathered her courage. Blowing out a deep breath, she then strode purposefully to the middle of the room and paused momentarily until he swung his head in her direction.
"Granger, your glove is not –"
The rest of his statement died away as the young witch stood upon her tiptoes, slid her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, and pulled his head closer to hers. Before he could say anything further, she pressed her lips against his and let her eyes flutter closed. At hearing his sharp intake of breath, she pulled her lips back from him and smiled up at him.
"Thank you," she whispered, letting her hands slide down his chest before she rocked back on her heels and turned for the door. A faint blush graced her cheeks as she cleared her throat and slipped her hand in her pocket.
A stunned Severus Snape stared after her, wide-eyed, as she pulled out her second glove and disappeared from sight.
XxxxxxxxXxxxxxxxX
Sighing gently, Severus ran a hand through his hair and then pinched the bridge of his nose as he peered out the front window onto the stillness of the yard. The light snowfall of earlier had intensified somewhat, giving the night sky a hazy appearance, and reducing the evidence of their trek from the woods to mere indents in the snow.
Sensing that all was as it should be, the wizard pulled the curtains snugly shut once more and moved onto the front door. Upon checking that it was securely bolted, he strode through the darkened sitting room and kitchen to the mudroom where he tested the security of the back door. Stepping into the bathroom he had installed himself, he glanced through the small window into the back of the property before pulling the curtains shut.
With a long exhale, the man checked the few remaining windows in the kitchen and sitting room, and then cautiously approached the staircase. He took great care in avoiding the spots prone to creaking as he mounted the stairs to the second floor. Seeing that the door to the storage closet was left open, he slowly and silently closed it and then peered briefly into the open doorway to the small bedroom.
Snape narrowed his eyes and found himself frowning at the emptiness of the room. The single brass bed housed no sleeping form, and the bedclothes were neatly arranged atop the mattress. Curiosity peaked, the man steered himself to the other end of the short hallway where the door to the main bedroom stood slightly ajar.
Holding his breath, he nudged the door open slightly further with his foot. At the sight before him, he relaxed noticeably and let out a small sigh. Three bodies were huddled close together beneath the stack of quilts atop the double bed. On the side nearest him, Hermione lay tucked in her mother's embrace, while her father occupied the side nearest the window with his right arm draped protectively across his wife and child.
For nearly five minutes, the professor stood rooted to that spot, watching the three Grangers cling to each other in undisturbed slumber. When he realized how long he had been there, he swallowed apprehensively and spun back to the staircase. Stealthily, he crept back to the main floor and peered out the front window once more. When he was satisfied that everything was still secure, he ambled over to the Chesterfield sofa and sank into its velvet cushions.
Wiping his face in fatigue, he took in a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly at the sweet scent of pine that invaded his nostrils. As he rubbed the back of his neck, he let his gaze drift to the squatty tree propped up a few yards away. The dark boughs were punctuated sparsely with a number of ancient glass ornaments that twinkled in the low light of the fireplace. Compared to the frosted wonders of Hogwarts, this tree looked absolute rubbish, but it was enough to be declared perfect by Hermione and her parents.
Noticing that one of the ornaments was hanging crooked upon its bough, Severus frowned and pushed off of the couch. Plucking the metal hook from the evergreen finger, he held the delicate glass ball in his hand for a moment as he observed it. On the face of the silver bulb was daintily painted a winter scene that seemed eerily reminiscent of the view of the cottage they had had when he and Hermione had arrived several hours prior. Turning it over in his palm, he squinted in the low light to read what words had been painted.
Bakersfield Cottage, December 1919
Helen Elizabeth Bakersfield, 19
The man let out a faint grunt and carefully placed the hook upon a different bough so that it was able to dangle unobstructed. With one last glance to the ornament that his grandmother had apparently painted five years before dying in childbirth, he returned to and collapsed upon the sofa.
When Jean Granger had mentioned seeing the box of Christmas decorations in the storage closet, he had not been at all surprised. He had seen it himself fifteen years prior when he had first started clearing through the neglected residence. Upon noticing that it was filled with ornaments, he had immediately closed the box up again and shoved it to the back of the closet. He had not known then – or perhaps he had not actually cared – that the box held personal memories of his grandmother's family. They had long been gone anyway, so he had not bothered to investigate them further.
Even at present, he was uncertain as to what the majority of the decorations actually were. He knew from the exclamations of Hermione and her mother as they dug through the box that a number of them had been hand-painted by Helen Bakersfield through her teenaged years – as had the landscapes that were hanging upon the walls of the two bedrooms – but he had not chosen to inspect them any closer. Instead, he had sat awkwardly in one of the armchairs, silently watching as the small family worked together to bring the homely tree to life.
It had been strange for him to witness as never before had he seen anyone decorate a tree by hand. In years past, he had been pushed into assisting Flitwick with decorating the Great Hall, but it had all been done with charms. He had never really considered how Muggles would accomplish the task. There had never been a tree in his home that he could recall. Perhaps there had been one in the few weeks leading up to his birth, but if it were so, he was sure that it had been left entirely up to Eileen, who had been approximately twenty-seven weeks pregnant at the time, to decorate it.
Christmas in his household was hardly anything special in the traditional sense of the holiday. Growing up, he had never understood why anyone would be so excited over it. He vaguely remembered receiving an iced biscuit or two from his mother when he could not yet see over the kitchen counter. The last few years before he attended primary school, though, she would sit him at the kitchen table with his biscuit, motion him to keep silent, and then she would stand next to the kitchen door, patiently peeking out into the living room every so often.
When Tobias had finally taken to snoring on the davenport, the witch would beckon her son to her side. With absolute caution and silence, she had grabbed hold of her boy's hand and led him quickly up the stairs, making sure to lift him over the squeaky fourth step. She would hustle the young boy into his tiny bedroom – which he was quite certain was originally a sizeable closet – and then gesture to Severus to stand behind her as she swished her wand about. It was not until much later that he understood she had been magically securing his door – not only against unwanted intrusion, but to warn her if any drunk husbands were to stumble up the stairs.
"You will speak of this to no one. Is that understood?"
That was the only phrase to leave her mouth the first time they had stood together in the cramped, little bedroom. When he nodded to her, she stood on the bed, wincing slightly at the sound of the springs, and then reached up to the ceiling where the latch to the attic was located. After pulling down the small step ladder, she grabbed hold of her son about his waist and lifted him into the cold, dark expanse above them. She had then hoisted herself into the small attic and began crawling to the farthest corner of the house.
There, amidst the cobwebs, dust, and frosty boards, sat her school trunk. And it was there that Eileen would spend a number of hours telling her son about the Wizarding World, the wonders of Hogwarts, and the extraordinariness of his special gift. They were the same stories that he would later tell Lily when they would lie on their backs in the grass of the park and stare up at the clouds.
The stories were never meant to leave the attic, but he had trusted Lily with them. Since his mother's stories ended by the time he had turned six – as had the iced biscuits – Severus had just wanted to share his secrets with someone. His mother had instructed him never to talk to Muggles about it, and he never did for fear that they would treat him as his father did. His clothes, financial standing, and poor genetics had already made him an outcast, and so he was determined to avoid further targeting.
And then he had seen Lily perform magic in the park, and he had known that he would not be alone any longer. He had given her all of his insight into the magical realm, and she had, in exchange, made it explicitly clear how lacking his own existence was. Never was it more clear to him than during the yuletide. She had always invited him into her family's home and had excitedly shown him the tree she had helped decorate and the shiny presents she had helped wrap. One of which had always bore his name. It was never anything more than a bag of sweets, but he had always felt miserable about not having anything more than newsprint to wrap her mediocre gift. Of course, the only one who had ever pointed it out had been that horse-faced sister of hers.
Snape blew out a deep breath and shook his head as he glanced at the tree once more. The way Lily had always spoken of it, the tree-decorating had always seemed to him like some private family ceremony, and in watching the Grangers methodically complete the task, it had certainly appeared to be so. He had felt out of place, as though he were intruding upon their family time. The Christmas holiday was a time for family, and he had none.
Swinging his gaze from the tree to the bookshelves, he ran a hand through his hair. The cottage was legally his – a shocking discovery following his father's death – but everything was theirs now. He was a guest in his own home, but oddly enough, he found that he did not mind all that much. As long as Hermione was safe and happy – and eating – he could live with the consequences to his person.
With that in mind – and the memory of the girl kissing him deeply suppressed within his conscience – the wizard swung his long legs onto the sofa and laid his head against one of the blankets he had bunched up into a makeshift pillow.
XxxxxxxxXxxxxxxxX
The sound of a tea kettle whistling yanked Severus suddenly from his slumber. Grimacing at the stiffness in his back, he blinked several times to clear the fog from his mind before he attempted sitting. With a yawn, he wiped his eyes with the palm of his hand and then looked down in surprise at the quilt that had been draped over his body.
No light yet spilled in the windows, but a glance at the antique clock clicking from its place amongst the books informed him that it would not be long. Frowning slightly, the man rose from the sofa, haphazardly folded up the blanket, and then made his way toward the kitchen door.
"Oh, good morning, Professor," Samuel said quietly from his seat at the table. "I apologize for waking you."
"No, erm, it's alright," the wizard cleared his throat, glancing about the otherwise empty kitchen in mild surprise. "I am quite often awake at this hour."
"Yes, I would imagine teaching would require a number of early mornings," the older man nodded, rising from his chair. "Can I get you a cup of tea? I was about to start on breakfast anyway."
Severus raised one eyebrow, but gave a nod of assent as he stepped over to the table.
"Oh, and in case you were wondering," Sam stated over his shoulder as he pulled a teacup down from the cupboard, "I wasn't the one who tucked you in. That was Jean when she came down to use the loo about an hour ago. She's snuck back in bed to watch Hermione sleep for now, though I suspect it's only a matter of minutes before the urge to chat becomes unbearable."
The Potions Master quirked his lips at the statement and offered a polite word of gratitude when a steaming cup of Earl Grey was set in front of him. He then watched in curiosity as the other man moved about the small kitchen, pulling pans and dishes out of the cupboards and containers from the small refrigerator. He took a long sip of tea and leaned back in his chair. "Do you cook often?"
Mr. Granger briefly looked up from the mixing bowl and shrugged. "Jean usually does the cooking, but I like being able to grant her a reprieve every now and then. Mostly I'm good at re-heating things. Breakfast I can do, though."
"I see." As the other man focused all of his attention on his food preparations, Snape periodically sipped his tea as he watched him with interest. It was foreign to him – a husband volunteering to work over a stove so his wife could do something more preferable. There was absolutely nothing that he found wrong with the idea; he had just never seen it. Nor had he ever thought about it before.
He had cooked for himself, though, whenever he was not living in the Hogwarts castle – many times on the very stove in the room – and he had attempted helping his mother when he was young, until his father had started shouting about his son becoming a fairy on top of a wizard.
The only times his father stepped foot into the kitchen in the house on Spinner's End was when he was still sober enough to sit at the dinner table or whenever he felt the need to further terrorize his wife. The idea of him stirring a pot of stew while Eileen put her feet up was laughable.
But Tobias Snape and Samuel Granger were two very different men. It did not even take two seconds to discern that fact. The late Mr. Snape had never once in his life lovingly embraced his wife or child, nor would he have ever chucked away his pride long enough to listen to another man instruct him on the best method for protecting his family. Had the young Severus been in a situation even remotely similar to the one in which Hermione was, Tobias would have muttered a cold 'Good riddance,' slammed the door in the professor's face, and shut he and Eileen up in the house, condemning them both to a drawn out death.
And there were no 'Pumpkin Bear's or 'Sweetheart's or 'Darling's ever uttered in the Snape household. The pet names his father did have for him should never be repeated in polite company, and certainly would never leave Severus's mouth in reference to a child.
Especially not towards my own.
The wizard choked slightly on his tea as the thought drifted through his mind. Setting the cup on the table, he wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand and then closed his eyes.
Where the bloody hell did that come from? He frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was uncomfortable enough to exchange civilities with the Grangers when he knew perfectly well what he had done – and would continue to do – to their only daughter. He did not need to picture himself impregnating her on top of it all.
He had never really considered being a father when he was young and after teaching for a number of years had outright ruled it out. Ever since the beginning of November when he had had the nightmare in which he had held his infant in his arms, however, he could not forget the feelings it had induced within him.
And when Filius and Pomona had teased him about having his own little urchins underfoot, he could not keep the idea out of his head. It had been why he stormed away from the table. He could not sit there with Hermione in direct line of sight – with the knowledge that any of his children would be hers – and not be haunted by the weeping chocolate eyes of his imagined son.
Eyes that were remarkably similar to the ones currently staring at him over a pair of wire-rimmed glasses.
"Headache, Professor?" Samuel asked, pouring pancake batter into a frying pan.
The wizard sighed and wiped his hand across his face. "It appears rather chronic."
When the older man grunted in response, Severus willed away his most recent thoughts and folded his arms. A few minutes later, he cleared his throat and focused on a topic that was easier to consider. "How are the finances holding?"
Mr. Granger shrugged lightly as he removed a cake from the griddle and set it in a pan in the oven to keep warm. "We're making due, cutting expenses wherever we can."
"The original sum I gave you?"
"Is approximately sixty percent gone," he sighed as he began cracking eggshells. "But I think we can make the rest stretch a bit longer. Since you're taking care of the utilities, it's only the food, supplies, and petrol that we have to purchase regularly. The repairs to the car took quite a bit of it before as did that small leak in the roof I mentioned to you, but it hopefully should all be settled now."
Snape frowned and scratched his forehead. "I have another two thousand pounds to leave with you now, but if you believe that you will require more before long, I can deliver it upon my return next week."
"Your return next week?" Jean Granger repeated as she held open the kitchen door for her daughter. "You're leaving, Professor?"
"There are things that require my attention elsewhere," he responded, shifting his eyes to avoid Hermione's suddenly concerned expression. "I shall need to return before tomorrow. Christmas Eve tends to be a day filled with obligations."
"He's offering to bring us more money when he comes to collect Hermione," Sam explained quietly to his wife, who had crept up beside him to examine his progress.
The woman's eyes snapped up to his, and then she spun to face the table. "No. Please. You've spent entirely too much on us already! I cannot in good conscience accept more from you…not when we have no ability to pay you back. There was so much in our accounts! If only we could have accessed it before –"
"Hush," her husband whispered, wrapping an arm about her chest and kissing her temple. "Stop thinking about that."
"But it was everything we had," she protested. "We could be supporting ourselves on it for years, Samuel. And now that we're legally dead, it should have gone to Hermione, not my stupid sister and her parasitic husband."
"Jean, stop it," he stated more forcefully. "It was not everything –"
"That isn't what I meant!" she hissed. "It's just, what was the bloody point of working so hard to make the money if our daughter will never see to inherit it?"
"I know." He held up his hands in an effort to calm her down. "But we've discussed this before. We will do what we can to repay him, but until we are able to do so, we cannot fret over it, right? Believe me, darling, it hurts my ego ten times more than it does yours, but we cannot live on pride."
"You're right," she sighed a moment later, leaning her head against his chest. "But we will repay him?"
"Of course."
"With interest?" she asked, pulling her head back to view his face. When he nodded, she smiled and gave him a quick peck on the lips. "You've burned the eggs."
"Damn."
As her parents dealt with the blackened pan, Hermione turned to look at the man sitting silently at the table. Her gaze was demanding as she rubbed her arm. "You're paying for all of this?"
Severus sighed and let his eyes drift closed. When he offered no verbal response, the girl pulled out the chair next to him and continued staring at him. "The Order isn't helping? Dumbledore isn't helping?"
"No," he snapped, folding his hands onto the table, opting to look to the wall.
"But why –"
"Because if Dumbledore or the Order were footing any portion of the bill, he would demand to know their location," he hissed beneath his breath.
"You really don't trust him that much?" she whispered. "You think he would –"
"I don't think he would do anything," he interrupted. "However, he had his chance to prove himself incapable at keeping people safe. I am not allowing him another one."
"You mean with Lil –erm, Harry, don't you?"
Snape's eyes snapped to her panicked face instantaneously, but he was prevented from responding to her by the sudden presence of her mother at the table.
"I wish you would let us contribute to some of our own expenses," Jean mumbled as she set the platter of pancakes down in the center of the table. "I realize that it's quite impossible to earn a decent living whilst being declared dead, but we could do something at least. I mean the nice old gentleman who runs the little village bookshop is looking for some help with the store, and I know there are a few ladies at the church who need some work done around their houses. It wouldn't be much, but it would be enough to cover the groceries."
"Mum," Hermione cautioned.
"What?" she shrugged, glancing up at her husband as he sat down with a stack of plates and cutlery briefly before returning her eyes to her daughter. "We aren't going to do anything without his approval. Your father and I just don't feel right about sitting here twiddling our thumbs while you're out doing Lord only knows what."
"But –"
"If that is what you wish to do," Severus interrupted, accepting a plate from Mr. Granger, "I do not see an issue with that, as long as you follow the guidelines we discussed previously."
"Wonderful!" the woman smiled, clasping her hands. "Thank you."
"No, not wonderful!" Hermione countered, slamming her fork down on the table. She ignored her parents' shocked expressions and turned to her professor. "They're supposed to be hiding and you're allowing them to wander about in the village unprotected?"
The wizard sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Granger, they will be fine."
"How do you know?" she demanded, snatching her hand away from her mother's comforting grasp. "How do you know that they'll be fine? I know there aren't any wards on the house because I didn't feel any when we walked here. They go into the village for supplies and church? How is that hiding? You said that you were the only one that knew where they were, but clearly the ladies at the church and the man in the bookshop know. How the hell are you protecting them?"
"Hermione, that is enough!" her father shouted.
Jean sighed and grabbed hold of her daughter's arm. "Sweetheart, I know that you're worried about us, but we are fine. We haven't exactly been running around the village telling everyone our real names and our entire life history. No one knows that we're the Grangers from Oxford or that we were dentists or even that we have a daughter. We've been careful about everything we've done or said around anyone."
"Think about it logically," Sam instructed. "You can't expect him to come all the way here every time we run out of milk, can you? And if we just go into the village for food and speak to no one, I think that would set the tongues wagging a bit more."
"But what about the wards?" she whispered with a slight squeak.
Severus grimaced at her pleading gaze and flexed his hands before speaking. "Granger, if any of the Dark Lord's followers were to suspect that your parents are indeed still alive, where might they think to look?"
Hermione frowned as she attempted to follow his line of thought. "With the Order?"
He nodded, leaning back in his chair. "And how might they have protected your parents?"
"Magically," she muttered beneath her breath.
"Indeed." He eyed the two elder Grangers for a moment before glancing at the silent girl beside him. "In your research into the trace on underaged wizardry, did you happen to read up on the other happenings of the Department of Magical Tracings?"
At her nod, he snorted softly. "Of course you did, which means that you are now aware that they monitor the country for unusual levels of active magic. The type of warding required to safe-guard anyone demands an excessive amount of magical energy, which is why Order safehouses and Death Eater meetings alike are located within or near large wizarding populations. With the Dark Lord now infiltrating the Ministry, there is no chance that an occurrence not attributed to his own actions would go unnoticed and uninvestigated."
The witch wiped a stray tear from her eye and blinked the rest of them away as she stared at the table. "So you're saying that there isn't any way to actually protect them."
Snape sighed and rested his elbows on the table. "There isn't a wizarding village anywhere near here, which is why I kept this place. In fact, the Weasleys are the closest wizarding family and they're a two hour broom ride away. This property can only be linked to my name if one were to go digging through Muggle property records, because I made damn sure fifteen years ago that the Ministry of Magic never caught wind of it. I can guarantee that there is not another Death Eater who would think to look for people the Muggle way, nor would most of the Order."
"You're hiding them in plain sight," she stammered in disbelief. "Just hoping to fly them under the radar?"
"Five points to Gryffindor," he sneered. "And now you know why I chose to portkey into the vicinity of Ottery St. Catchpole – because even though the portkey itself was unregistered, it does not mean the arrival goes undetected. Brooms, on the other hand, are virtually untraceable. That's why the Order used them when they moved Potter last year. The Ministry could not be trusted then, and they cannot be trusted now.
"And that is why, while you are here, there will be no magic used. Is that understood?"
Hermione nodded quietly and briefly flicked a glance into his eyes. "I'm sorry that I shouted at you, sir. It's just that…I just can't lose them again."
"Oh, baby girl," Jean cooed, slipping off of her chair and kneeling in front of her daughter. With a sad smile, she brushed the girl's hair behind her ear and wiped away a few tears that fell. "We're not going anywhere, you hear me?"
The woman pressed her forehead against her daughter's for a handful of seconds before placing a kiss at her temple and leaning back on her haunches. "It's been four months, and your father and I are both still here. I would say that it's been working rather well, wouldn't you?"
The young witch sniffled through a nod and glanced in embarrassment towards Severus, who was feigning disinterest as he stared at the table top.
"Darling, look at me," Jean stated softly, waiting until the girl had done so to continue speaking. "If I for one moment thought venturing into the village would put you or your father at risk, I would gladly glue myself to the sofa out there. I just don't wish to bankrupt your professor – especially not when he's promised to keep you safe."
"And besides," she muttered, lifting herself back into her chair, "if your father and I are to remain cooped up in here for who knows how long with nothing to do, one of us is bound to strangle the other. And that wouldn't be very good at all, now would it?"
"No," Hermione snorted, wiping the last evidence of her tears away.
Samuel tossed his daughter a reassuring smile and then glanced good-naturedly at the food in front of him. "Well, the pancakes were warm."
"Hush it, darling," Jean smirked at her husband, while Hermione caught Snape's eyes and mouthed a silent apology.
XxxxxxxxXxxxxxxxX
"Are you absolutely certain that you have to go?"
Severus sighed and glanced over his shoulder at the young witch who was holding his cloak. He nodded slowly and then held his hand out for the article of clothing.
"But there's hardly anyone left at Hogwarts," she mumbled, handing it to him. "Can't they manage without you?"
"I do not doubt that they can manage," he answered as he shrugged on the cloak. "The Dark Lord, on the other hand, generally cannot."
Hermione shivered slightly and wrapped her arms around her waist. "But you were just summoned!"
"I've told you before, Granger, the Dark Lord keeps his own timetable. And Christmas Eve provides him with all the good cheer and togetherness that he likes to ruin."
The girl swallowed nervously and glanced behind her as her parents emerged from the kitchen. "But what if…what if something happens to you?"
"I can assure you that I will be fine," he muttered as he fastened the cloak.
"And if something happens here while you're gone?"
Snape let out an impatient breath and pushed past her as he strode over toward the shelves nearest the fireplace. He picked up a book that had been lying upon its side and held it up for the girl to see. "This is a portkey – and, no, it is not legal – but it is to be used in the event of an emergency. Your parents have been instructed as to its use, and should the need arise, it will transport you to my home in Cokeworth, which is warded against anyone possessing a magical signature who is not you, Minerva, or myself."
"It won't activate by accident?" she asked, watching him plop it none too gently back upon the shelf.
"No," he responded, digging in the large pocket of his cloak. "It requires a password."
"Which is?" she pressed, trailing behind him as he stepped toward her parents who were now standing at the base of the stairs.
"It's the name of your cat, darling," Jean answered quietly, wrapping her arm around the girl's shoulders. "We have to be touching the book, say his name, and then hope we don't lose our lunch as we travel more than two hundred miles in two seconds."
Hermione glanced at her smiling face and then back at Snape, who was currently handing a fat manila envelope to her father. He then slipped another bag out of his pocket and handed it to her.
"Remember, Granger," he cautioned, fixing her with a stare. "No magic unless you absolutely have to and then only enough to make it to the portkey. If you believe yourself to be in danger at my residence, you may attempt to apparate your parents to our usual location in the Forbidden Forest. If you are not confident enough to do that, summon Dobby. I've given him instructions to aid you wherever you may be. Do not waste the time trying to contact me unless you know that you have enough time and security to do so. If I find it necessary, I will contact you. Do you comprehend everything I have just said?"
She nodded and then watched as he grabbed hold of his broom and reached for the door.
"I plan to return by midday on the first," he stated matter-of-factly, facing the two elder Grangers. "She is not to leave the property."
"We understand," Sam replied. "Thank you again, Professor."
As Severus made to leave, Hermione tugged out of her mother's grasp and shouted, "Wait!"
He turned with one eyebrow raised quizzically, and she threw her arms about him without warning. When he shrugged out of her embrace a few seconds later, she offered him a shy word of gratitude and then returned to her mother's side.
"Merry Christmas, Professor," Jean called brightly as the man headed silently out into the freshly fallen snow.
XxxxxxxxXxxxxxxxX
Several hours later, Hermione stood in her warmest pair of pajamas, staring out the frost-covered window of the second bedroom. She glanced down at the satchel Snape had given her, which was filled with a few Headache Relief potions, a small tin of the orange salve that calmed the burning should it be accidently set off, a flask of the Essence of Dittany, three doses of Blood-Replenishing Potion, and half a dozen vials of her milder sleeping draught.
It was the latter item that she was currently debating with herself about using. She wished to be aware enough while sleeping to respond to any danger that could possibly arise during the night, but at the same time, she did not wish to alert her parents to the content and frequency of her nightmares. As she had experienced with Ginny and Mathina earlier that month, she could not trust herself to keep from screaming in her sleep.
With a sigh, she began untying the drawstring. When she heard a knock on the door, however, she quickly stuffed the bag in the nightstand drawer and returned to the window.
"I had a feeling you weren't asleep yet," Jean smiled as she opened the door and stepped into the room. "Your father doesn't quite believe me, but I can tell when you're still up. It doesn't matter if you're next door or across the country."
Her daughter smiled as she watched the woman turn down the bed covers and then gesture for her to climb under them.
"It's time for bed, young lady," she smirked. "Your father's been snoring for the past hour or so. If I have any hope of joining him in dreamland, you need to go to bed."
Hermione snickered and did as she was told.
"You've used the loo, yes?"
"Yes, mum," she rolled her eyes, but when the woman moved to turn out the light, she bit her lip. "Would you stay with me for a few minutes?"
The greying brunette nodded and perched on the edge of the bed. "Is something the matter?"
"I just miss you."
"Well, if you really wanted, I could shove your father over and you could sleep in our bed again."
The witch hesitated momentarily, but then shook her head. She had been fortunate enough to make it through one night without nightmares; she was not sure she could go for two. "I'm okay in here."
"If you're sure," her mother responded, leaning her back against the brass rails of the headboard. "Is there something else troubling you?"
Hermione sighed softly and then pulled herself into a seated position. "I feel terrible about shouting at Se—Professor Snape this morning. He's done everything he possibly can, and I basically implied that he hasn't done enough."
The woman eyed her cautiously for a few seconds before letting out a deep breath and slipping her arm around the girl's shoulders. "Well, I think he understood. He didn't appear to be too upset by it."
"But he hardly ever appears upset about things with me anymore," she muttered. Except when I ask about Lily. Oh God, I mentioned her!
At seeing her wince, Jean frowned briefly, but stroked her daughter's arm gently. "I think that you are worrying entirely too much about everything. You take after me far too much for your own good."
"Maybe," the girl whispered, resting her head on her mother's shoulder.
"Now, how about you let me see that lovely ring of yours again?"
With a soft snort, Hermione slipped the sapphire ring from her right hand and held it out to her mother. "I really love it, Mum. I wear it all of the time because it makes me think of you and Dad."
"Oh, you're welcome, darling," Jean sniffled, blinking back tears that were forming in her eyes. She examined the piece of jewelry for a minute under the lamplight and then handed it back to her daughter. "Your professor made a brilliant choice, I think. It's far prettier than any of the ones I had looked at."
The witch glanced down at the object in surprise. "What do you mean? He told me that you had placed an order for it."
"With him, perhaps," she answered. "But no, we personally never found one that was right for you. That one, though, is almost perfect."
Hermione could feel her bottom lip trembling as she slid the ring back on her finger. "I never knew that he picked it out."
"We gave him your ring size and as detailed specifications as we could when he asked, but when it came to the actual purchasing, he was on his own." The woman shook her head and sighed. "Another blow to the ego to know that he could find a better match in a few hours than we could in months of perusing jewelers' displays. We even tried online shopping with that new computer of your father's, but nothing we managed to find was good enough for our baby girl."
As hot tears began trickling down her cheeks, the girl wrapped her arms about her mother's waist and buried her face against her neck. "I love you."
"I love you, too, darling," Jean responded, returning the tearful embrace. They sat together silently for several minutes before she patted her daughter on the arm and slipped away from her. "Now it is quite late, and your father will be up early again. You know how excited the man gets about Christmas Eve, don't you? I don't expect it shall be any different this year."
The Gryffindor nodded and giggled quietly. Her expression sobered, however, upon remembering Snape's earlier description of Voldemort, but she willed that thought away as her mother set to tucking her more securely into the bed.
"Good night, sweetheart," she smiled before placing a kiss to the girl's forehead. "We can chat more tomorrow."
"Okay," Hermione whispered. After the woman had clicked off the lamp and pulled the door closed behind her, she waited more than a minute before leaning over to pull open the drawer of the bedside table. Quickly, she unstoppered one of the sleeping potions and tossed back half the vial.
Upon returning the flask to the drawer, she curled up under the blankets and stared appreciatively at her ring until her eyelids became too heavy to keep open.
XxxxxxxxXxxxxxxxX
A few hundred miles away, Severus sat in his leather armchair with his feet propped up on the ottoman and half a tumbler of firewhiskey in his right hand. He had returned to the castle a few hours prior and, after plying Dumbledore with a number of cryptic answers and side-stepping a friendly interrogation from Minerva, he had retired to the solace of his own quarters to brood.
His desire to be alone, however, was in direct conflict with a ginger cat's desire to be loved.
With a sigh, the wizard set the glass down on the nearby end table and instead began scratching the beast behind his ears. Crookshanks was loudly purring his appreciation and, in return, began kneading the man's thighs.
"She kissed me," he muttered blandly. While the feline blinked at him knowingly, the wizard groaned and tossed back the remainder of his alcohol.
As thrilling as the idea was that a woman had kissed him of her own volition, a wary voice at the back of his conscience was cautioning him that it would not bode well for them in the coming weeks if he could not keep control of both his body and mind.
His original plan had been to allow Hermione a week with her parents, but after watching her blushing cheeks as she rushed back to her parents' side and catching each and every one of her dewy-eyed glances during the tree decorating, he had mentally completed a threat assessment of sorts. Keeping his distance from the girl seemed necessary to deter any progression of her daring gratitude or his inappropriate thoughts. As such, he had opted to extend her visit as long as it could possibly be without interfering with his schedule for brewing the next batch of Wolfsbane.
Grumbling beneath his breath, Severus poured himself another tumbler of firewhiskey and leaned back in his chair. He now had ten days to work on burying his growing attraction for the witch as deep within the confines of his mind as he could achieve.