Chapter 8

Whatever reaction Hermione had been expecting, it wasn't for Snape to throw back his head and laugh.

His baritone was dark and pleasing, cascading down the scale. Hermione sat, stunned. This was not the Severus Snape she knew and remembered.

"Sir?" she ventured.

He sobered.

"Yes, well, Miss Granger, thank you very much for your concern and . . . unique solution," he said, wiping tears from his eyes. "By far, that is the most creative suggestion I have heard in a long time – even including some of the idiocy those dunderheads in your House used to perpetrate."

"But . . ." Hermione started to protest when Snape held up his hand.

"Having had my merriment, Miss Granger, please permit me to disabuse you of several notions:

"Firstly, your assumption that I would be willing, under any circumstances, magical or otherwise, to engage in any sexual activity with you is absurd.

"Secondly, what makes you assume that I even want my magic back?"

"Well, sir, Severus, I . . ." Hermione paused, how could he not want his magic back? The pensive look on his face as he watched her perform her magic, the wistful expression when he touched her wand, the way his eyes had fluttered closed as he touched her cheek as she cast the spell sending his sitting room into darkness, all spoke of a deep longing for what he had lost.

"It's part of what makes you you," she finally said, "I can't imagine a living Severus Snape without his magic."

"And so you volunteered to help me restore it. Forced this upon me, I might add."

"It's who you are, Severus!" Hermione exclaimed.

"It's who I was. Not anymore. I have a life, Miss Granger. I don't wish to sacrifice it for a project that would satisfy your curiosity."

"It's not my curiosity! It's your life!"

"Not anymore."

"Severus!"

"Miss Granger, be so kind as to face the facts of the matter: if my magic is restored by this inane process, I will be indebted to you for the rest of my days. Did you neglect to realize that I would be bound to you? As your mate? For the rest of our days?

"Furthermore, did you not realize that the moment my magic is restored, and you return to your life, the Aurors will be upon me in moments, hauling me off to trial and imprisonment?"

"I'd protect you!" Hermione cried. "And nobody believes you're a criminal! All the wizarding world believes you a hero! The man whose love for the mother of the Boy-Who-Lived saved the, er, Boy-Who-Lived," she trailed off lamely.

"Potter never could keep his mouth shut," muttered Snape.

"No," Hermione agreed, "but what you sacrificed for Lily and Harry was . . . well, it made everyone realize just what a hero you were! And are!"

"So you had this all planned out," said Snape, watching her over his tented fingers.

"N– no, not as such. I had it planned out to the announcement. And . . . I guess . . . I didn't think that . . . "

"That I could refuse?"

"Yes."

"Foolish girl."

Hermione's head snapped up. How dare Severus bloody Snape call her foolish?, The man who was hiding his sorry arse in Long Higgleton, Northants, living off of the royalties from a ridiculous (yet surprisingly effective) line of beauty products!

Her temper snapped.

"I'm not the fool, Severus Snape!" she cried. "You can spend your days living off of Mrs Longbottom's charity, hiding from the world, or you can go back to being the wizard that you are and rejoin the wizarding world, where you belong!"

Snape rose from his chair, dressing gown flapping.

"This conversation is over, Miss Granger!" he bellowed. "You will leave this instant, or I will not be responsible for my actions!"

"Fine." Hermione shot up from her chair and flounced to the door. "But you don't know what you're missing!"

"Leave! Now!"

Hermione slammed the door behind her.

The next week, she Apparated onto his doorstep with a basket of bread, cheese, meats, wine, and a chocolate cake. Her baking skills had improved greatly since her days of lodging at Grimmauld Place with Harry and Ron after the War.

"Go away," he said.

"Reconsider my offer," she countered, thrusting the basket into his hands.

"No."

"Then at least enjoy the wine," she said, turning away and Disapparating away with a pop.

She did not miss the tightening of his fingers around the basket and the tightening of his lips as she disappeared.

On Easter Sunday, she appeared again with a Dutch oven wrapped in a heating charmed blanket with a stewed lamb, fluffy fresh bread, a salad and another bottle of wine.

"Go away."

"Happy Easter, Severus! I brought you Easter lunch."

"Leave."

"Not a chance."

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You're going to camp out again, aren't you?" he accused her.

"That was the plan, yes," Hermione admitted.

"Fine; come in," he said.

"Thank you."

After two glasses of very fine wine, Snape had mellowed to the extent that he twitched a corner of his mouth at her description of the row between Ron and his latest ex-girlfriend, and actually laughed out loud when she told him about Blaise and Draco, or Blaco, as she had taken to calling them.

He had even mellowed enough to tell Hermione a little about his life:

"It's a modest life, but it is my life," he said, glaring at her as if defying her to argue.

"I don't doubt it."

"Mornings are spent reading – the paper mostly – and catching up on the world." He gestured to the laptop in the sitting room. David was curled up beside it, tail flicking the top.

"I have made . . . investments from the largess that Mrs Longbottom has provided from the royalties. I also research Mug- traditional herbal remedies. I hope to publish a book in the near future."

Hermione listened: Potions had been a strong subject for her at school but not an obsession. Severus' interest not only in magical Potions but also the properties of various plants found in the Muggle world was fascinating.

By the end of the meal, she discovered that she had learned quite a bit.

As she was taking her leave, several hours later, he said, "This was . . . a pleasant evening, Hermione."

"Thank you, Severus." Hermione smiled sweetly. "Does this mean that I can return and not have the door slammed in my face?"

"Perhaps," he said.

Hermione took it as acquiescence, and she left.

April showers brought Hermione back to Severus' cottage with a pile of books on flowers and herbs and gardening.

Severus raised an eyebrow as she Re-enlarged her gifts and placed them on his coffee table.

"I thought you might enjoy these," she said.

"Thank you."

"They're a mix of Muggle and magical," she continued, watching his lips and eyes carefully.

"Are they?"

"Indeed, and I thought, perhaps, I could help you in your garden now that the weather has improved."

Severus' lips twitched.

"Did you indeed?" he asked.

"Yes. I've found that I enjoy . . . spending time with you." The words came out in a rush.

"Well, Miss Granger, I shall expect you next Saturday. We can begin by cleaning out the flower beds. I am two weeks behind schedule already."

Hermione grinned all the way home.

"Granger, you've been acting like the kitten that's got the cream. What happened to you?" Draco asked the next evening.

"Nothing," Hermione airily replied, settling into their booth.

"Nothing."

"Nothing!"

"Granger, you're a terrible liar."

"Nothing that's any of your business," Hermione glared at him.

"Whom are you shagging?" asked Blaise with the careful pronunciation of a true inebriate.

"Nobody."

"Nobody."

"Nobody!"

"Granger . . ."

"Nobody at all."

Hermione had the comfort of that at least being the truth. She ignored the niggling feeling that she'd much prefer it if she was shagging Severus. Once was all it would take, after all.

But he had remained adamant: insisting that he would not be beholden to her for the rest of his days and that he did not, under any circumstances, want his magic back.

"Granger," Draco whispered in her ear, "come back, you're miles away."

No, just Northants.

"Sorry, I'm just . . . distracted."

Draco snorted. "Apparently."

"Sorry, what were you saying?"

"Nothing of any importance to you, love," said Blaise. "Just that we're afraid you're going to die single and alone. With twenty-three cats."

"I don't have any cats!"

"Oh, sorry," Blaise amended, "Just single and alone."

"Bugger off," Hermione grumbled into her pint.

Blaise's look brought the word "lascivious" whole new worlds of awful meaning.

"Don't mind if I do," he said, leering at Draco.

Hermione did her best not react.

Saturdays in April and then May were spent toiling in Severus' garden. He insisted that no magic be used, but Hermione cheated as often as she was able.

"Miss Granger! I distinctly forbade you to use magic!" he bellowed from across the vegetable patch.

"Sorry, Severus," she said innocently. "It just slipped out!"

"You're a terrible liar, Granger!"

Hermione smirked into the mulch. She had noticed that every time she used her magic, Severus looked, good Merlin, the man looked as if he were fighting arousal.

Matters came to a head one June afternoon when the sun was shining weakly through the clouds. Hermione was Levitating a huge pile of compost from one end of the garden to the other when Severus threw down his spade and cried, "If I agree to this, will this torment end?"

Hermione dropped the pile.

"What?"

"Damn it, woman! Every afternoon you come here," he said, striding across the garden the grab her by the shoulders, "and flaunt your magic, sending it washing through me, every moment a torment."

"Severus, I –"

"Don't play innocent with me, you . . . you . . . temptress!"

"Temptress?"

Hermione opened her mouth to protest that she was merely trying to show him what he was missing, how magic made their lives more complete as wizards, how magic was the very core of what they were and how dare he call her a temptress, when he brought his mouth swiftly to hers, claiming her lips in a bruising kiss.

When he finally drew back, eyes flashing as he battled fury, frustration, desire, and uncertainty, Hermione was gasping, thankful his hands remained firmly on her, else she would have sunk helpless to the dirt.

He cupped her jaw, just as he had so many months ago and in a voice raw with emotion he said, "Against my better judgment, I have changed my mind. You may proceed with your attempt to restore my magic. But be warned, I will not place myself in your power."

And he released her, turned on his heel and stalked to the cottage door where he paused.

"Are you coming, or would you prefer to demonstrate to my neighbors just how powerful a witch you really are?"

AN: Not mine, no money; and thanks and praise to Subversa for making this readable English and Lulabelle72 for the prompting. They're simply fabulous!