The Leaky Granger

Disclaimer: As you're no doubt certain, I've no claim to the Harry Potter universe, nor am I profiting financially from writing this story.

As always, thanks to my betas kittylefish (comma and plot Goddess) and persevero (fantastic Brit-picker).

Chapter Five - The Leaky Granger

Severus drummed his fingers on the table and glanced up from his Potions journal for the umpteenth time since he'd settled into their traditional booth at the Leaky Cauldron. After a long weekend of finally discussing the war with various colleagues, especially Minerva and at last Albus's portrait, he was exhausted and short-tempered, and the tenuous hold he had managed to keep on his composure was beginning to slip. Where was that cursed witch? Granted, it wasn't official that they’d meet up at the Leaky before every book club meeting, but he liked to think it had become something of a standing, well, date. As the time until seven o'clock grew shorter and shorter, so did his temper. What began as mild irritation towards the witch bubbled slowly towards seething anger until boiling over with utter disgust for both her and himself.

Had he somehow offended the witch after the previous week's chip shop outing? He could barely recall anything they'd discussed, and he hoped he'd not ruined their friendly outing. Had she been insulted by his choice of venue? Had she been annoyed when he left so abruptly after they ate? Wait, why the fuck was he so concerned about Hermione Granger's opinion, anyway? Certainly he could enjoy a Firewhisky without her company. It wasn't as if he were unaccustomed to drinking by himself in a pub: he'd savoured many a drink at a table for one. Grumbling, Severus caught Tom's eye and signalled for another round.

Severus stomped off to Flourish and Blotts five minutes before the start of the meeting – late enough that the charm had grown uncomfortable. Upon entering, he cast several glances around the room, angrily searching out Hermione. He was astonished not to see her. Admittedly, he found himself impressed that she'd managed to skirt the requirements of the charm, but he swore under his breath when he realized she'd left him to fend for himself.

With a scant fifteen seconds until this week's dunderheads kicked off the meeting, Hermione popped into place in her usual seat. Severus grinned smugly that she'd not managed to outwit the charm's pull, but that grin quickly slid from his face as he took in Hermione's blotchy eyes, tear-streaked face, and rumpled black robes. Before he could ask her whatever was the matter, the discussion began. Fearing that he would, as usual, fail to find the proper words, Severus simply laid his hand upon hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. For a moment, this seemed to lift her spirits; the corner of her mouth betrayed the slightest upwards twitch.

The meeting began with its usual inane discourse, and Severus noted that Hermione seemed to have recovered somewhat from her upset. He observed her acutely throughout the meeting. Every once in a while, she seemed to struggle with her emotions, barely managing to contain them. Given how distraught she seemed to be, Severus thought she really was holding it together rather well. It wasn't until Eustace Abbott began talking about the Widow Coursely that Hermione's composure began to falter and the light of comprehension began to dawn in Severus's mind. As Eustace Abbott continued to ramble about how lonely the Widow must be and how kind it was of Nigel Reese to spend time consoling the Widow, Hermione's composure continued to deteriorate and she began to sniffle audibly. Several witches had turned to look at Hermione by the time Severus was finally able to catch Matilda Broomshanks' eye. With a suspicious look, Matilda granted them permission to leave early for the second week in a row.

With his hand on her back, Severus calmly ushered Hermione towards the door and outside to Diagon Alley. Still not understanding precisely what was causing Hermione to be this upset, but figuring that it somehow related to Ronald Weasley's death, Severus gathered Hermione into his arms as he prepared to Apparate. Hermione immediately dissolved in a flood of tears and clung to the front of his robes. Holding her tightly against his chest, Severus Apparated to the hallway outside her flat. She continued sobbing while they stood in the hallway, and he stroked her back lightly as he struggled to retrieve his wand without disturbing her. Thankfully, she'd not changed her pitiful wards since they'd gone to her flat the previous week, and he was able to dismantle them with relative ease. Severus opened the door, and Hermione was immediately snatched from his arms and engulfed by a bawling Molly Weasley. Apparently her wards didn't extend to preventing Floo access, either. Seeing that the rest of the adult Weasley clan was crammed into Hermione's living room with their attention riveted on the poor witch, Severus quietly ducked out of the door. It seemed Hermione would be well-tended in her grief without his attentions.

Severus Apparated to Hogsmeade and slowly began the trek to Hogwarts. He had a great deal on his mind this evening and found that the walk was helping to clear his head. For a man who, until recently, normally isolated himself from all but professional interactions, tonight had been a whirlwind of emotions. In the course of just two hours, he'd been anxious, irate, concerned, and entirely overwhelmed. That this shit-storm of feelings was all the fault of one bushy-headed, big-brained, attractive former student was perhaps the most vexing aspect of it all.

Finally making his way into the castle and down to the dungeons, he paused briefly to hang his cloak in his quarters. While the pleasant buzz of Firewhisky was generally welcome, he needed a clear head to sort out his thoughts regarding Hermione Granger. Gods, am I really doing something as ludicrous as analysing my feelings? Severus wondered as he poured himself two fingers of Sobering Draught. After downing the potion, Severus walked to his personal Potions laboratory, gathered the necessary tools, and settled in for a night of inventorying his personal stock of ingredients, materials, and completed potions. Managing the inventory of his personal storeroom and laboratory was one of the few tasks that he'd not delegated to his newfound fleet of student minions. It wasn't that he didn't trust his best and brightest. He just honestly enjoyed the task and was loath to relinquish it. It was exceedingly relaxing, and he found that some of his best ideas sprang to mind during his time arranging, counting, and dusting.

Severus conjured a small, wheeled cart to support any bottles that would need to be emptied and cleaned. While he enjoyed arranging the cupboard, he was more than happy to assign a detention crew to clean and scrub out bottles with mouldy or desiccated ingredients. Pushing his sleeves up to his elbows, he set to work reviewing the expiry dates on his potions.

He had admitted to himself in previous weeks that Hermione, with her witty banter and fascinating mind, was slowly working her way under his skin. This week, though, had been entirely different. Where before he had felt camaraderie, curiosity, and a growing respect for her, this week he had felt something far more substantial. He had truly been discomfited at her obvious distress. He'd felt powerless during the meeting at not being able to console the witch and was enormously relieved when he was finally able to escort her from the room. As he noted that his supply of Honking Daffodil stamens was severely depleted, Severus paused to recall just how good she had felt in his arms. His stomach lurched at the thought of how she'd clung to him in return.

Momentarily distracted from his thoughts by the task at hand, Severus snorted with disgust. Gods, did I really last brew Contraceptive Potion for my personal stores in 1992? It's still within its shelf-life, but I could certainly do without a concrete reminder of my long-standing celibacy. Severus walked to the sink to empty and clean the bottle himself. It wouldn't do to have his students catch a whiff of the easily identifiable brew. As he rinsed out the bottle, he found himself idly wondering whether Hermione preferred Contraceptive Potion or Charm. Nearly dropping the bottle as his conscious mind registered the thought, Severus groaned aloud. Fuck, he thought as he leaned against the sink. I think I've gone and fucking fallen in love with Hermione Granger. And what's worse, her heart still clearly belongs to Ronald Weasley.

Hermione cracked one eye open and looked cautiously around the room. Why did it feel like someone had scrubbed out her brain and replaced it with very loud, very pointy candy floss? She reached up to rub her bleary eyes and felt how swollen they were. Ah, it was the hours of crying that had made her head feel as if she'd imbibed a decade's worth of alcohol in one night. Thanking the gods that at least a crying hangover didn't leave one feeling nauseous, Hermione lumbered out of bed and clumsily walked to the loo for a Headache Potion and to scrub the mossy feeling from her teeth. Feeling vaguely human again, Hermione wandered to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee.

Excellent! Molly had stocked the refrigerator and cupboards full of all her favourite foods. "I think she's done my cooking for three months," Hermione mumbled, groaning when she realized that Molly must have examined the contents of her kitchen prior to stocking it. She'd been in between trips to the supermarket, and her supplies had dwindled considerably. Molly had probably thought Hermione was in danger of starvation. Taking out a serving of fried tomatoes, mash, and a small slice of cake, Hermione grabbed yesterday's post off the table and wandered into the living room to eat in front of the fireplace. If she was eating cake as part of breakfast, she could surely break the rules and eat in front of the fireplace, too. Although, with the exception of when Severus and I ate here, when do I ever eat at the table? Hermione mused. The table was one of many things that reminded her too vividly of Ron and was generally to be avoided at all costs. Every evening at that table, she had nagged him to eat with manners, watched him shovel down even her most horribly prepared meals, and bored him with the details of her latest project. Meanwhile, he would update her on the latest crazy incident at the Auror office, ignore her nagging, and greedily wolf down his meal, reaching for seconds and thirds, if possible.

Hermione occasionally regretted that they'd married rather impulsively so soon after the war had ended. In fact, it had been so soon after the war's end that the wizarding press had speculated that their rushed nuptials were a direct by-product of loose morals and general naughtiness from their year on the run. The press had dogged them constantly until it became apparent that there was no proof of their theory. Ron had taken great joy in privately ridiculing the press, finding it particularly humorous given that Hermione had entirely refused him entry to her knickers until their wedding night. She had often wondered over the years whether they would have got married at all had they waited. Their spats were notorious even before they were wed, and residing in close quarters certainly didn't reduce the intensity or frequency of their conflagrations. Yet, while their relationship hadn't been the easiest to manage, they had both quickly learned how and when to put aside their differences. In addition, Hermione had learned that sometimes it was actually best to pick a small argument with her husband. After Ron had vented his frustration on something minor, he was much better equipped to discuss an issue with the rational mind he normally possessed. But Hermione had cottoned on very quickly to Ron's penchant for lusty make-up sex and had immediately disabused him of the notion that purposefully picking a fight would lead to a steamy romp in the bedroom.

Their marriage had been no walk in the park, but they had loved each other dearly and had worked very hard at building a strong and loving marriage. Early on, they'd had one too many tearful fights in which Ron had accused Hermione of preferring the library to him and Hermione had retorted that Ron clearly would divorce her for Quidditch if given the chance. Afterwards, they'd mutually agreed to a rule that, unless a work emergency demanded their attention, they would spend three evenings a week in each other's company cultivating mutual interests. Honestly, it had surprised her to find that they even had mutual interests. Their favourite had been travelling, which had grown out of Hermione's extensive travels with her parents as a child and Ron's isolation at the Burrow, to which his family trip to Egypt the summer before their third year at Hogwarts had been the only exception. She smiled fondly as she recalled how, together, they had found great joy in researching Muggle and wizarding locations alike and had taken frequent trips to those places that fascinated them both.

Their last trip to Rio de Janeiro had been particularly enjoyable, and it had marked the first time they'd finally mastered the art of vacationing together peacefully. They'd each taken one day to themselves, with Hermione naturally attending several wizarding and Muggle museums while Ron took in a Quidditch match. As they had dined together that evening, they had taken turns exuberantly sharing the details of their day. With a quiver in her belly, Hermione could still recall the intense look that Ron had given her as he silently watched her talking excitedly with the waiter about a special installation at one of the Muggle museums. Ron had quickly paid the bill and rushed her back to the hotel, where he'd both told her and demonstrated quite thoroughly how arousing he found his brainy little witch. Hermione closed her eyes and smiled, feeling oddly at peace with such a memory for the first time since Ron's death. Perhaps the anniversary the day before had been more cathartic than she had realized.

Having polished off the last of her breakfast, Hermione summoned the coffee pot from the kitchen and reclined on the sofa to savour her last cup of the morning. The Weasley gathering in Ron's remembrance yesterday had been truly exhausting. Given the nature of her work, she was accustomed to spending most days in isolation, and she'd felt smothered by the presence of his entire family and his close friends. That it fell on the same day as the book club meeting had made it even more tiresome. Hermione had tried to leave discreetly without mentioning the reason, but Molly had spotted her grabbing her cloak and wouldn't hear of her departure. She could only imagine the matriarch's reaction when Hermione suddenly Disapparated from the Burrow, overriding its Anti-Disapparation wards. The Compulsion Charms, it seemed, were even more powerful than Molly Weasley's demanding presence. She chuckled as she wondered how Molly had reacted upon learning that it was her own Christmas gift that had caused Hermione's abrupt disappearance.

Reflecting on the meeting itself, she was rather surprised by Severus's behaviour. It was true that, two months into their book club sentence, she considered him a friend, but she'd not expected the attention or affection that he'd so freely given the night before. Even in her distress, she'd felt his close scrutiny throughout the entire meeting. She'd been a bit startled when he squeezed her hand in a gesture of comfort, and if she hadn't been crying her eyes out at the time, she might have verified whether he was someone else Polyjuiced when he had escorted her from the meeting and into his arms for Apparition. While Severus had become an attentive friend, always thoughtfully asking after the success of meetings or proposals that she'd mentioned, he was the last wizard whose company she would have sought for physical comfort. His prickly nature seemed to suggest that his cloak might literally be equipped with self-defence mechanisms against anyone who ventured too close to his person.

She really had grown to treasure her weekly meetings with Severus. He seemed to enjoy his time away from Hogwarts, and they never ran out of fascinating discussion topics. Frankly, it was a challenge to chat with someone who actually read some of the same research journals that she followed. Neville was her only friend who kept current with academic research, but, try as she might, she just couldn't maintain anything more than a superficial interest in Herbology. No, Severus was well-read on many subjects, including Arithmancy and Charms as they related to Potions applications. She found herself extending her usual reading habits just to keep up with the man. She was accustomed to friends playing different roles and satisfying different aspects of her personality, but she'd never had a friend with whom she could share this part of her life. Perhaps if she'd had more friends in Ravenclaw during school, she might have filled that niche earlier. But the Ravenclaws in her year had always seemed to be put off by her abrupt and loud demeanour, and really, between keeping Ron and Harry in line, helping to foil the inevitable annual plot by Voldemort, and maintaining her studies, when would she have had time to form close friendships in other houses?

Hermione sighed as she thought of her friendship with Harry. They had lent each other a great deal of support directly following Ron’s death, but since the immediate aftermath, it physically hurt to see Harry, and their friendship had become exceedingly strained. Yes, they were still friends and exchanged frequent owls, but it was impossible for the two of them to get together and not be constantly reminded that the third member of their Trio was forever absent. Harry had been at the Burrow yesterday, and that was the first time she'd seen him since Christmas. Blinking back the burgeoning tears, Hermione recalled how Harry used to stop by two or three times a week when Ron was alive. In particular, he had always made it a point to visit when Ron was out of town to distract her inevitable nerves that accompanied his Auror missions. Perhaps that tradition was why he never came round any more. Harry had last visited Hermione alone when Ron was on the mission from which he had never returned. In fact, he'd still been at the flat with her when Auror Dawlish had come to deliver the horrible news that she was needed at St Mungo's.

She was eager to abandon her current path of reminiscing. Really, I've cried enough for one week, Hermione thought as she stood up from the sofa and carried her dishes to the kitchen. Her mind quickly returned to Severus Snape. He had done her a great favour by escorting her home last evening; she'd been in no condition to Apparate. With her kitchen fully stocked with prepared meals, it was only right that she invite him over to repay him for his kindness. Grabbing a quill and a scrap of parchment out of her desk, Hermione dashed off a quick invitation for Friday night.

Severus arrived via Floo promptly at seven, bottle of wine in hand, just as Hermione was pulling the reheated roast chicken from the oven. Severus poured the wine as she carved the chicken, and the two sat down at the table to begin their meal.

"I know you'll be heartbroken, but please forgive me if I'm not as chatty as usual. I skipped lunch today, and now I'm ravenous," Hermione apologized.

"Oh, and I so hoped that you would update me on the status of the Weasleys and all their kin," Severus responded with a smirk as he placed a generous portion of chicken onto his plate.

Although the dinner was punctuated with the occasional short conversation, for the most part the two ate in comfortable silence. Hermione finished and placed her napkin on her plate, saying with a grin, "Molly may have many faults, being meddling and melodramatic to name a couple, but this chicken very nearly makes up for all of them. There's still some wine left. Would you like to adjourn to the sitting room to enjoy the rest of the bottle?"

Severus agreed and carried his glass to the sofa after refilling it. He stretched his right arm across the back of the sofa as he sipped his wine and gazed at the fire.

Hermione tucked her feet underneath her and leaned against the opposite end of the sofa. "Thanks for helping me get home the other night. I was in no shape to Apparate."

"You're welcome. If you don't mind my asking, what was the occasion for your distress?"

"The Weasleys had a gathering to commemorate the second anniversary of Ron's death. I'd have much rather stayed at home with a pint of ice cream, but Molly wouldn't hear of it."

"Indeed. I take it she was rather shocked by your sudden departure?"

Hermione sniggered. "Quite. She was horribly offended when I said I needed to leave the gathering early, and I do believe she was mortified when Ginny told her how and why I'd managed to Disapparate despite the Burrow's wards. Molly actually apologized for giving me the gift."

Severus replied with a look of abject horror, "You're not leaving the club, are you?"

Hermione smirked at Severus's desperate-sounding query. "Alas, even Molly's guilt can't undo the Compulsion Charms now that they’ve been cast." Hermione took a sip of her wine and commented, "Pardon me for saying so, but you seem much more relaxed than you did last week, and I don't think it's just the wine."

Severus rubbed his brow with his right hand before responding. "It was a rather challenging week, actually. After nearly imploding, I finally talked to Minerva about the war several times over tea. Eventually, I spoke with other members of the staff as well. To say it was difficult would be an enormous understatement, but, as you said last week, it was therapeutic to a degree."

She looked up at him with teary eyes and asked, “Does it ever get better, Severus? How on earth have you managed to live all these years with the pain of losing Lily and Albus?”

Severus closed his eyes and swallowed before speaking, his voice wavering, “According to Minerva, I managed by becoming an unholy terror. I'm not sure you should be looking to me for advice. But I can tell you that the pain does fade somewhat, though it's certainly always present, waiting to be remembered. It's a bit like an old injury that flares up on rainy days. There used to be weeks when I wouldn't think of Lily at all, and then suddenly something would remind me of her. Of course, when Potter was at Hogwarts, his presence chafed daily.”

Hermione scooted closer and reached out to touch his hand. He grasped hers tightly in response. He opened his eyes and gazed down at her, meeting her eyes, before he swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. Gods, she was so close to him; it was nearly unbearable. She broke the delicate silence, asking, “But how do you make it easier? How do you keep it from crippling you on the worst days? It's getting better, but there are still days when I feel victorious for managing to get out of bed before noon.”

He reached out with his free hand and brushed away the stray hairs that were plastered to her cheeks. “Apparently, I walled myself off entirely. I built the strongest shields imaginable for Occlumency, shoved memories into a Pensieve, and moved forward without ever glancing back. I gave myself no choice but to soldier on with an almost untenable schedule of duties. In short, I stayed so busy that I didn't have time to reflect. It wasn't until we talked last week that I realized that I'd not even begun to decompress from the war. I suppose I still haven't completely processed Lily's death, though it did help to think I was working to avenge her every time I answered Voldemort's call. I certainly don't think I'll ever recover from killing Albus.” He startled Hermione as he began chuckling before he continued, "Apparently, Minerva was absolutely furious with Albus when she found out the truth of my situation. I've heard tales recently that they could hear her from as far away as Hogsmeade yelling at his portrait."

Smiling, Hermione looked at Severus and suddenly realized just how closely they were sitting. With unexpected insight, Hermione wondered if perhaps Severus's growing affection towards her signalled that his intentions extended beyond their current platonic arrangement. He had accepted and offered increasingly intimate gestures all evening. Her nipples tightened involuntarily as she realized that she could lean over just a bit and kiss him. She stopped herself, struggling to keep her hormones in check. No matter how strong my feelings for this man might be, she thought, tabling the idea of him for future rumination, I will not kiss him when we've just been discussing dead lovers and friends. Summoning the last vestiges of her self-control while deciding to push the bounds of their familiarity even further, Hermione compromised and settled herself between Severus's open arms, resting her head against his chest.

Looking down with awe at the witch nestled in his arms, Severus tried to recall if he'd ever in his life shared such an intimate moment with a witch. Oh, he'd shagged witches before, but it had always been about instant gratification and divorced from any sort of emotional connection. He wondered distractedly if any of them had ever stayed the night; he rather thought not. Surely he'd remember if they had. Shaking off the haze of days gone by, he wondered again about the witch in his arms. Since he'd opened the floodgates on his memories and unresolved issues from the war, he desperately wanted to ask her about the night Nagini had nearly killed him. Why had she saved him? She couldn't have known at that point of his relative innocence. And why had he been forced to suffer Potter's presence in the hospital but not hers? Staring at the mantel above her fireplace, he began slowly rubbing her back with his right hand. He decided to abandon that possible line of conversation; she was already upset enough and surely didn't need him to dredge up his own issues. Perhaps it didn't really matter anyway. It would be far more satisfying simply to continue enjoying her company than to satisfy his morbid curiosity. He looked again at Hermione as she fidgeted and put her arm around his waist. Thank Merlin he had learned not to flinch at the occasional gestures that Hermione inadvertently made during their meetings at the Leaky Cauldron, briefly touching his hand or elbow to emphasize a point. This exquisite torture certainly made his initial discomfort well worthwhile.

It wasn't until he heard a soft, barely audible snore that Severus realized Hermione had fallen asleep. There was no way to extract himself from her embrace without awakening her. He was loath to move her, and Severus supposed that there were far worse ways to be tortured to the brink of insanity than having a beautiful witch fall asleep in your arms. After he carefully shifted himself into a more comfortable position, Severus grabbed the knitted throw off the back of the sofa and covered the two of them. Knowing that he would pay dearly if his neck were not better situated, Severus transfigured the end of the sofa to better suit his needs and slowly drifted off to sleep.