So Happy I Could Melt

Disclaimer: The Potterverse and [most] characters belong to the famed J.K. Rowling.

WARNING: Seriously, Draco/Hermione snogging and feel-uppage.

Chapter Twenty-Five: So Happy I Could Melt

-=+=-

The rest of March was a flurry of hectic but happy times; a vast improvement from the trend Hermione's year had been taking so far. She and Draco continued to work diligently under the watch of the Potions master, who thankfully was not a complete arsehole but still made it very painful for Draco to make light-hearted passes at Hermione while they went through their Dreamless Sleep trials. Anyway, Draco had learned his lesson second trial in when he had brushed his hand over hers, unnecessarily causing her to drop the ginger root in at the wrong time and thus botching the potion.

He hadn't been able to wipe the glare off her face until two days later when he'd treated her to some ice cream... along with Ron and Tommi of course, who were making themselves permanent fixtures in her life. Tommi was proving to be a great girlfriend and confidante, who had grown up as a half-blood in London and had shared many of the same experiences with Hermione, having attended public school for her elementary education. Tommi, Ron told them on a Saturday as they sat by the lake and ate lunch (Draco sulked a bit that the two had tagged along, but got over it as soon as he'd had a Butterbeer) was actually named Margaret Tomme Vance. Yes, Tomme... as in the cheese that her mother, Camille LeDucq, had won Roger Vance's heart with. Her father was absolutely obsessed with Muggle cheeses, and had insisted on naming his daughter after the food.

Hermione and Draco couldn't stop laughing because they had been wondering for a long while and had now solved the mystery of why Ron always affectionately called Tommi 'his little cheese puff.' Draco, of course, didn't know what a cheese puff was, which made it that much more hilarious.

Between wedding plans...fittings and tastings and planning in general, Hermione grew close again with her Gryffindors and a few new friends, too, like Tommi, and Hannah Abbott (who Neville was now officially dating). Although, she was still... wary... about Ron. The hurt he had caused ran deep.

But, all in all, it was shaping up to end as the best month Hermione had ever had on Hogwarts grounds.

Though Draco was confusing. He'd taken to carrying her books around and occasionally holding her hand and calling her things like ''Mione' and 'luv' (which only Harry and Ron had ever called her), which was lovely and sweet and so extremely un-Draco that she had to wonder what the hell was going on in his brain that was making him so loopy. Neville's words would sometimes jangle around in her head, a reminder that others had noticed the change in Draco's behaviour, too.

"I think he likes you..."

Did she like him, too?

"Ugh," she muttered into her hands as she asked herself that question one morning before their final trial. Draco was preparing the ingredients beside her and paused to look at her as she rubbed her eyes and stood, lighting the fire under the cauldron and putting one hand on her hip. He caught her eye as she tucked a curl behind her ear...his eyes were surprisingly green, like a slate colour, very subtle but still visible in the right light; she'd never noticed that before. He winked at her and then pulled his dragon hide gloves on.

Nope. Neeeeeewh. Don't like him at all.

"What's up?" he asked once she'd been staring for too long.

Hermione blinked. "Ohh, tired. That's all."

"Well, you look stunning, so no worries." He smirked charmingly as he ruffled her hair.

"Augh! Draco! You just had your hands in the ingredients!" Her shriek couldn't cover the blush on her face.

Doing a brilliant job of convincing yourself, Granger.

"Oops! Sorry, luv." He didn't look sorry at all. "You still look gor..."

"Mister Malfoy, could you please save your pathetic lines for after the trials when I am no longer in your presence?" Snape's voice cut Draco off, startling them both as he stormed from his office. Draco looked away and busied himself with the data, an obvious pink tinge on his cheeks as he bent forward, his nose to the parchment. "... Getting positively vomitous," Snape muttered to himself as he sat and arranged his papers for grading.

Hermione snorted rather loudly and tried to cover it up with a cough, but Snape noticed, and their eyes met over the cauldron. A tiny ghost of a smile turned up the corners of his mouth and it seemed like a colony of butterflies erupted in her stomach. She noticed the bags under his eyes, then. It was subtle, but having studied his face so meticulously this year, these sorts of things could not pass unnoticed. Was he not sleeping well? Well, he could have all the Dreamless Sleep he was brewing her because she hadn't needed to use it since mid-February. Despite the tired eyes, he still looked better than he ever had before the war, which meant he was still happy. Erm, happier. Which was what mattered. She only remembered to breathe when he blinked and looked down at his parchments, still smirking.

"'Vomitous' is not a word, Professor," she said. Draco looked up at her out of the corner of his eye, his nostrils flaring with either amusement or annoyance, she couldn't tell.

Snape sighed dramatically. "Of course, Miss Granger, I should have guessed. When they called you a bookworm, I'd no idea that meant you've read everything. Including the dictionary."

It was Draco's turn to snort.

"Of course, I am able to use my creative licence, aren't I, Miss Granger?"

"Why, of course, Professor," she said not a little condescendingly. That little bookworm jab had hurt!

"Good." With that he flicked his wand and several words appeared on the blackboard behind him in his familiar spidery script.

Vomitous [vom – it – uh s] (adj.)

1. Causing sickness of the hearing; aurally irritating.

2. Such as to provoke contempt, loathing, genuine revulsion.

3. Nauseating.

4. DSM's pick-up lines.

Hermione found she couldn't breathe for all the giggling. Draco stared incredulously at her and then turned to Snape, muttering something about not knowing whom the professor was actually teasing. Snape seemed pleased with himself.

"Surely, you must realise I am taking great pleasure from making a jab at both of you at the same time, Mister Malfoy. It is really quite fun." He cleared his throat, bent over his desk and murmured, "Too easy."

It was not uncommon for the professor to exchange idle banter with his best pupils, but today had reached a familiarity that they'd not seen before. Hermione imagined her lab partner had only ever seen Snape act this way in the presence of Draco's father, but that had probably been ages ago before Draco had been sent to Hogwarts and before he'd been recruited to follow in their footsteps as a servant to the Dark Lord.

"Queen or pawn, today, mademoiselle?" he asked, as had become the tradition.

"I think I'll be queen today; you're too much of a queen anyway, I'd not want your head to explode with all the authority-inspired ego that's floating around in there."

His eyes narrowed playfully, and he turned to pick up their first ingredient. She turned over the large hourglass, but not before he'd squeezed her hand beneath the table as he poured the pomegranate seeds into the boiling water.

"Good luck," she whispered, and they began.

--

Severus swore he'd never felt so miserable about someone else's happiness since...well, it was probably not so long ago, but he liked being dramatic, so...since a very long time ago. Although, it helped that every now and then that he could be the reason for that someone's happiness. Hermione seemed to glow with her new and renewed and repaired friendships; it was lovely. She had filled out thanks to a proper diet and sleep and genuine care by her peers. Her hair was back to its golden lustre and her eyes were bright, as of now, with an excitement fit more for a five-year-old receiving a birthday present than a twenty-something woman who was spending her extra-curricular time with an eighteen-year-old Slytherin and his Potions set.

It made Severus feel a little sick. Fulfilled. But still sick.

His eyes drifted every now and then to the pair who were diligently brewing their final trial for Dreamless Sleep. He wondered briefly who they would test it on.

But as the hour drew on, his thoughts drifted back to his Grandmère, who was now writing him letters every day, and he was writing back, of course. She wanted to settle her will and all that entailed before she 'snuffed it,' as she had carelessly written the other day. It made him angrier each time she mentioned it as if they had both known she had cancer for years. Which, of course, she had and had failed to tell him each time he went to visit her and take care of her. She was stubborn in that regard. Just like her darling Severus, she always reminded him.

He felt smaller and smaller each time she wrote to him of her failing health and the stupid chit Julie, who had stolen the crystal, and the property that would be all his and his alone, once she was gone. His alone. Alone.

He felt like he was sixteen and had suddenly become an orphan again. His mother dead, his father gone, Spinner's End just a painful reminder. He hoped Ansouis wouldn't become that sort of place. Bad memories, all around.

He didn't want to go see her. Because, then... it would be a goodbye. And Grandmère was immortal, invincible, wise and always there for him.

Best not to dwell on theses things.

He returned to his sixth years' essays on gurdiroot, slashing them up with his red quill. Somehow, he could always find enough anger to channel through his lovely eagle owl feather. It gave him great satisfaction for the next twenty minutes until Malfoy hissed sharply (apparently having nicked his finger through his glove) and Hermione murmured a counter spell, singing a bit in Latin so the boy could continue to do whatever it was he was doing. They were just about to reach the boiling stage.

"Mister Malfoy, both eyes on your work, or else it might be a limb, next." Severus could tell that no one in the room knew if that was a threat or a caution. He shrugged and decided not to clarify. Fear was always a good moderator of behaviour.

Hermione's eyes narrowed at him, however, and he shook his head minutely. Well, he didn't want to come off as a complete tosser...at least around her. She could know.

As her eyes drifted back to the cauldron, Severus allowed himself another look. She was nibbling on her lip again, tracing patterns into the desk as she walked around the table, finally turning her back to him and leaning over the cauldron. Her blue robe (not a school robe, thank Merlin) was tightly fitted over her torso and slim arms, only flaring out a small amount over her lovely hips. A thin, iron-coloured rope rested over her hips, holding a sleeve for her wand and accentuating her form as she leant further over.

Get. A. Hold of yourself, man.

Suddenly, he remembered the incident with the ice-cream on Valentine's Day, and he spent the next thirty minutes trying to force the blood back into his brain, imagining all sorts of horrid things like taxes and dead puppies, although the words floating through his conscious were more comical than he'd meant them to be.

Dead puppies. Hah.

Well, it worked anyhow, and soon Malfoy and Granger were packing up the ingredients and organizing their trial notes for him to look over. Malfoy looked positively thrilled, but apologized, saying he had to go to his dormitory quickly and would be back later; could she meet him in the library at half-four?

"Sure," Hermione said, smiling and dimming the fire under the cauldron to low heat, starting the twenty-four hour simmer time needed for the potion to be ready. The ponce virtually bounded out of the room, saying a quick thank you to Severus just before the door slammed. "Okay, Professor. We're finished."

"Oh, really?" Severus deadpanned.

"Yes, sir."

"Well, let's see your notes, and you can come back tomorrow at this time to distribute the potion into phials." He stood and walked around his desk to meet her at the table.

"Here." She handed him their many parchments, and he rolled them up to look over later.

"Who do you plan testing the final product on?"

"Whoever needs it. I don't need the Dreamless Sleep anymore, by the way. It was very helpful, though; thank you, Professor."

"... So, Mister Malfoy will not be testing it either?"

"No, he doesn't like taking potions unless they are absolutely necessary, apparently."

Severus hummed thoughtfully.

"Would you like to try it, Professor? After all, it would allow you to fully assess it if you know from experience how it works."

Severus hummed again.

"Unless you don't need it, of course, although you don't look like you've been getting much sleep."

Severus' eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Sorry. It is true, though, Professor. I must admit, especially if you have all this time to brew potions for me, that you could probably use them for yourself, too." She was concerned for him! Concerned!

Severus sighed and leant against the table, covering his face with his hands briefly. "It's not nightmares."

"Insomnia?"

"No, but there's always a fair amount of that, as well."

"What's wrong then? I mean, oh, you don't have to answer that."

"It's my grandmother."

"You... have a grandmother?"

Severus looked at her incredulously. "No, Granger, my good-for-nothing father just popped out of the ground."

"I didn't mean it that way, I just never realized that you had living relatives."

"Well, soon enough I wont." Why was he telling her this?

Because you want to, you berk. You want to spill your heart out so she'll take pity on you, and maybe she'll want to take care of you like you did her, like Lily did when your mum died.

He'd probably been silent for a while, but only just realized there was a small hand on his forearm. "What's happened?" she asked quietly.

"She's had leukaemia for several years and didn't tell me until just recently. She'll die within the year. Fucking stubborn old woman."

He felt her hand squeeze him lightly. "I'm sorry."

"Thank you, Miss Granger," he said stiffly.

"I know this sounds silly, but if you want to tal..."

"No, I do not want to talk, Miss Granger. I've told you enough as it is."

"Well, you've listened to all the drama that's happened to me this past year; the least I could do is listen..."

"This is not some sort of exchange, Granger! Don't feel you have to talk to me just because I put up with you for much longer than I should have!"

"Severus, you know I didn't mean it like that."

"Out!"

Hermione frowned at him, and Severus could see the concern still lurking behind her dark eyes. How had he become so furious, so quickly? "Yes, sir," she murmured and headed for the door. He looked up when he heard her footsteps cease to find her looking back at him. "You should visit her," she said, and then she left.

He stormed out of the room, never having noticed that she'd called him Severus.

Maybe he did need the Dreamless Sleep.

--

"Oh, there you are!" Draco smiled widely when he found Hermione in the library, her nose in a novel and her legs curled under her. She was wearing a different outfit, comfy jeans and a purple tee and her favourite trainers.

She looked up and smiled at him. "Hey, you."

"Ready?" he asked.

Hermione frowned. Had they planned something? She only remembered wanting to meet at four-thirty. "For what, Draco? Have you planned something and failed to tell me about it, again?"

"More or less. C'mon, let's go outside." He was still grinning.

"Each time I see you, Draco, you become less and less Malfoy-like. You've completely lost all your Slytherin tendencies."

"Oh, the dreadful symptoms of overexposure to Gryffindors, I expect. You should be proud I could even stand breathing the same air as Weasley. He even smells Gryffindor." He dragged her by the hand out of the library and into the sunlit hallway, turning this way and that until they reached the grounds, the horizon spanning out for miles over a crystal lake. It was a gorgeous afternoon.

"And what, exactly, do Gryffindors smell like, Mister Malfoy?" Hermione asked, mock offended.

He made a face. "Yeck. Sweaty socks."

"That is not funny! I do not smell like socks!" Now, she was getting offended.

"No!" he laughed. "No, you smell pretty. Like sunshine and..." He pulled her closer. Hermione blushed uncontrollably as he stuck a nose in her curls. "...and good things. Happy things. Girl."

"You are so weird!" She squealed when he blew in her ear, sprinting away from him as fast as she could, running toward the lake and the tree that she and her friends always lay under during the warm months. It was an old weeping willow that only opened up toward the lake, providing a bit of privacy for Hermione and her famous friends.

"Hermione! You can't outrun me, you little..." Soon he was at her heels and had caught her hand again. They collapsed on the ground under the willow, giggling for no apparent reason other than the fact that they could, and no one was watching, and no one could call them crazy for breaking House loyalties.

Hermione rolled toward him and punched him in the stomach. "Hey! What was that for?" He yelled, still smiling despite himself.

"Don't do that!"

"Do what?" Draco leaned into Hermione again. "This?" He blew in her ear again. She squeaked and curled into a ball, covering her ears and squeezing her eyes shut.

"Hey, hey," Hermione heard him say through a laugh. "I won't do it again."

"Promise?" she murmured, looking up at him with narrowed eyes.

"Cross my heart and all that rubbish." He smirked, pulling her hands away from her ears.

"Fine," she sighed, and sat up, looking up at the canopy of the willow, dappled light floating through the green down on them. "So, why did you bring me out here?"

"For a celebration, of course!" she heard him say, his lightweight boots crushing the grass as he stood up. Hermione looked up at Draco, he in his fine white button-down, rolled up his forearms, and his denims.

"Oh, my Lord, you're wearing denims!" Hermione exclaimed.

He grinned. "Why, yes, Granger! I am. Stunning observation."

"Who are you and what have you done with Draco Malfoy?"

"I swear you ask that about twice a day. Maybe you just never knew me well enough to form a accurate image of the true Draco Malfoy."

"Maybe, but Draco Malfoy does not wear Muggle clothing. Especially denims."

"What? They make my arse look spectacular!" He turned away from her, looking at her over his shoulder. "Wouldn't you agree, Hermione?" he said in a low voice.

"Mmm," Hermione said noncommittally. Though, he did look spectacular.

"Watch it or you'll hurt my feelings," he growled, his lips forming a pouty frown as he turned around again and put his hand in a pocket, pulling out what looked like a tiny basket. "Get up, Granger."

"Why?"

"Get up or you'll be smushed under a picnic blanket for the next couple of hours, and I'll have to enjoy the food all by myself."

"You put together a picnic?" Hermione asked as she scrambled to stand. He steadied her with one hand and then took his wand out, tapping the tiny basket, which seemed to jump to the ground itself and grew larger and larger, unfolding into a red and white chequered blanket and dining set (without the table of course).

"Yep."

"Wow!" Hermione smiled, sitting down immediately and looking in awe at the veritable feast in front of her. Draco sat opposite, grinning from ear to ear. "How did I not realize I was starving?" Hermione asked, looking up at him. "Draco, you shouldn't have."

"Why not?"

Hermione couldn't give him a proper answer so she tucked in as she was told.

-o-

Thirty minutes later, they lay facing the lake on their full stomachs, drinking a bit of wine as Hermione read to Draco from her novel, her now bare feet swaying in the air as she propped herself up on her elbows and read dramatically when she found a particularly interesting part. They'd found an easy silence eventually when she'd grown bored of her book (who'd have thought?) and when Draco had finished off the rosé. Hermione pillowed her head on her arms and turned her head toward Draco as he turned his whole body to her, vanishing the glasses and leaning up on an elbow.

"I am so... happy." He closed his eyes briefly as a breeze went by, sighing contentedly. "Is that a weird thing to say?" he added as an afterthought, scrunching his nose.

"Draco?" Hermione murmured, turning over on her back to look up at the canopy again.

"Yeah?" He asked, his eyes opening slowly, his mouth quirking into a smile.

"Is this a date?"

He paused a moment, before answering. "Only if you want it to be, Hermione."

Hermione looked at him sharply, her eyes softening when she saw the vulnerable look in his eye. "Do you want it to be, Draco?"

He looked away, toward the lake. "Yes," he muttered.

Hermione shimmied slowly toward him until her left side met his stomach. He looked down at her, startled. Why not give this a try? He'd already exceeded all of her expectations when it came to their friendship. Hermione pushed away the niggling sense of betrayal she somehow felt and met his eyes.

"It wouldn't be a proper date without a kiss, then, would it?" she asked rather boldly.

There was a moment where they both just stared at one another; his eyes wide, hers inquisitive and slightly amused, and then his lips were on hers, a lovely pressure against her mouth, sweet from wine and soft from youth. He pulled away, smiling triumphantly.

"You've been doing a lot of smiling lately, haven't you?" Hermione giggled softly.

"It's all you, luv." And then he was kissing her again, his left hand grazing over her stomach, a warm, comforting pressure that made her feel wanted, cherished, loved. She hadn't felt this way since... since Ron. Hermione snaked an arm around his neck, running her fingers through the fine blond hair at the nape of his neck, making him shiver and deepen the kiss, tracing his tongue over her lower lip, his hand smoothing over her ribs, his thumb grazing the underside of her breast. God, she didn't want it to stop.

She hummed approvingly against his lips, pushing her tongue into his mouth and twining it with his. Suddenly he had both her wrists above her head, his hips resting between her legs, and was kissing down her jaw, neck, travelling up to her ear and nipping lightly at the sensitive spot right behind it. Then he found the place that always made her squeal when Ron had kissed it, the place in the crook of her neck that made her knees all wobbly. He nuzzled her there, making her whimper, murmuring how much he'd wanted to do this and for how long and how he never wanted to stop.

She laughed, her voice coming out all gravelly when she muttered "so dramatic" before he bit down, causing a bit of a shriek to rip from her throat. She ground into him, then, feeling wanton and reckless and loving it. He moaned throatily into her mouth and ground back into her, only breaking contact when he found it necessary to breath. "Mmm, my Hermione," he said as he brushed his lips against her ear.

"By all means," she whispered, "please continue."

His hand wound up under her tee, rubbing the soft skin of her stomach, to cup a breast, squeezing the grey cotton playfully, but getting down to business as he pushed the fabric away to reveal her peachy skin to him.

"Draco!" Hermione whined. "Someone might see!"

Without a thought he flicked his wand and then kissed his way down her neck again, lifting her shirt over her head and pushing her bra over her shoulders. "Merlin, you're bloody gorgeous," he groaned. And all conscious thought left her as his mouth travelled down to meet his questing fingers.

--

The next day, Severus found himself at the airport in Nice, toting an overnight bag and wearing khaki pants and a white button-down. He headed out into the Southern French sun, feeling a difference in air...the breeze lighter and drier...and loving it. He'd forgotten how much he absolutely loved Provence. He found his silver rental Volvo in the parking lot and had the windows down before one could say "Quidditch." Driving to Ansouis was nice and pleasant, the air light and bright and making Severus' hair whip playfully around his neck as he moved along the highway. Briefly he wondered why he never drove in England, and then he remembered that they drove on the opposite side of the road, there. He chuckled, recalling he'd never learned to drive in England. It had been unnecessary. But, being with his Muggle grandmother required it.

As he pulled into the dirt driveway of the humble Snape estate, watching the silvery leaves of the olive trees rustle in the breeze*, he let himself breath in the French air, feeling at home.

Yes, he'd have to move here after he retired.

"Bonjour, Grandmère!" he called out into the bright house as he dropped his bag.

His little grandmother, old and withered, waddled out from the kitchen in her green dress, her hair pulled into a bun of white tufty hair, wiping her floury hands on the apron around her round waist. Severus embraced her tightly, bending over so she could hug him properly. She kissed him on both cheeks, holding his face in her gnarled hands and looking up at him with her pale blue eyes. He practically melted into her loving embrace, her small, wrinkly hands giving off a special kind of magic that only grandmothers could give.

Despite how angry and lost he felt, he was happy.

"Welcome 'ome, mon petit chou."

A/N: Thanks to ladyinthecloak for her magnificent beta-work!

*Here is the view in the Snape driveway:

http://av-co-bu-325.deviantart.com/art/Orchard-127205834