Chapter Eight

Many thanks to exartemarte for the beta and Britpick.

When the world stopped spinning, Hermione opened her eyes and found herself standing in the center of a huge fireplace, arms about her professor. He looked at her for a moment to see if she was all right and she nodded. Hand in hand they stepped out of the fireplace into a spacious, elegant hall. She tried to remain unimpressed, or at least to act as if she were, but it was hard. If the rest of the house was like this hall . . . then the Princes had indeed been filthy rich. And from the look of it, Snape was having the same thought, because she heard him hiss under his breath, "Fucking arseholes."

A man in formal robes cleared his throat and approached them with his hand extended.

"How do you do, Mr Snape. Castor Robinson; I'm the Prince family solicitor. And I assume the young lady is your daughter?"

Severus and Hermione looked at each other, startled. His daughter? Did the man not have eyes in his head? They were about as alike as night and day. . . oh, of course. They were still holding hands. Severus released Hermione's hand, only to put an arm about her shoulders.

"Miss Granger is not my daughter," he said gravely, but without further clarification.

"Ah, yes, of course . . ." the man stammered, visibly embarrassed. "Naturally . . er, shall we have a look at the matters which have brought us together this morning, if you don't mind?"

They sat down at the table and the solicitor began bringing out papers followed by more papers, pouring forth a stream of legal jargon that in short order began to bore Hermione senseless. She soon realized that her attention had wandered to the furnishings of the hall, and that she was itching to get up and explore the house. Really, she had no interest whatsoever in how much money Snape was going to have; she was just here to help him and keep him company.

There were three cracks in rapid succession, and three house-elves appeared before them, breaking her from her reverie.

" . . . and these are Dixy, Mindy, and Daley," the man explained, as each elf responded to its name with a bow. "They are from this moment at your service and will show you around the house. Do you have any questions? No? Well then, Mr Snape, it's been a pleasure," he concluded, holding out his hand to Severus. "And it's been a pleasure meeting you as well, Miss Gregson."

"Granger," they both said in unison, although his was more of a growl.

"Granger," the man said apologetically, and disappeared into the fireplace, leaving them alone in the house in front of three frightened house-elves.

"Sir?" The male elf, Daley, approached, putting on a brave face for all of them. They'd always been told that the Snapes were the worst sort of vulgar trash, and now a Snape was their master.

"Is there anything Daley can do for Sir?"

Severus regarded him seriously and spoke in a low voice, almost to himself.

"Dixy, Mindy, and Daley. Here's a turn-up for the books...I've never had my own house-elves. Do your duty and I'll be fair with you. But a warning: I don't like busybodies of any kind, is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," responded the trembling creatures in chorus.

"And now Miss Granger and I would like to have our breakfast, please."

"And if you could please bring the wheelchair," added Hermione.

After eating their breakfast off the Princes'...now Snape's...fine china, they set out to explore the house, he in the wheelchair and she pushing it. It wasn't quite a mansion, but it was undoubtedly large and quite elegant. Daley volunteered to guide them and show them the bedrooms. Snape looked pleased to see that his things were already arranged in the master bedroom, but it soon became apparent that the elf was extremely nervous. He twisted a corner of the pillowcase in which he was clad, and seemed to be struggling with himself about whether to speak. Hermione could tell that Snape was growing increasingly irritated, and she gave him a pleading look and put a hand over his, silently asking him not to be too harsh. He looked at her and sighed inwardly. Was he incapable of refusing her anything?

"Very well, Daley, what is bothering you?"

"D-d-daley doesn't wish to be a busybody, sir, but, the young Miss...is we to put her things here or in another bedroom?"

Severus turned to look at Hermione, whose face had turned a deep crimson. His natural impulse was to explode in anger, but her hand on his shoulder changed his mind for him. Instead of terrifying the elf with a roar, he burst out laughing.

"Nosy little creature! No, Miss Granger is not my girlfriend, she is . . . " he almost said my nurse, but he realized suddenly that for some time she had been more than that to him. "She is . . . my friend," he concluded, savoring the feel of the word in his mouth. It wasn't one he used often, particularly with reference to himself, but it sounded good. Very good.

Hermione said nothing. Not even a sigh escaped her lips, but the sudden title left her slightly breathless. Friend? Who are his friends, then? They've all either died or abandoned him. I'm his only . . . friend.

"And I want one thing clear: even though she is neither my girlfriend nor my daughter..." here he made a face, remembering the solicitor "...I want you to treat her with the same respect and consideration, do you understand?"

"Yes, Master, Miss Granger is a like a member of the family; Daley will let the other elves know. If Master excuses him, Daley will go to prepare a room for Miss Granger," he said in his squeaky voice, then snapped his fingers and was gone.

Hermione went to the window and looked out at the landscape. The house was built on a precipice, which gave it a splendid view of the Cornish coastline. Feigning interest in the expanse of blue before her, she said:

"So . . . friends, is it?"

Snape passed a hand across his face in a gesture that was half desperation, half weariness.

"Miss Granger, you and I both know perfectly well that this hasn't been a nurse-patient relationship for some time now. I don't need a nurse, and you don't need more work experience hours. Why you remain by my side is beyond my comprehension, yet reason suggests that you must have some motivation. If I haven't forgotten what the word means...and make no mistake, I well could have done...I am forced to conclude that you are my friend."

"Of course I am. I consider it an honor."

Severus' eyelids drooped, and he said in a menacing tone:

"I wouldn't sound so pleased if I were you; I'm a wretched friend. And now that we've cleared this up, might we please forget about it?"

"No! No, I don't want to forget about it. What's more, if we're friends, we might stop being so formal with each other, don't you think? Friends don't call each..."

"Miss Granger, kindly don't make me regret saying what I did," he interrupted, and she realized it was better not to push. If she had to call him 'Professor Snape' until the end of time, well, that didn't matter so much.

The days passed peacefully during their first week in the now-Snape residence. The house-elves adapted readily to their undemanding new master and, surprised to be treated so considerately by a Snape, made an effort to please him, outdoing themselves to produce delicious meals, impeccably clean rooms, and irreproachable service.

Meanwhile, the Potions Master and the apprentice Mediwitch dedicated themselves to redoing the house according to his tastes. They reorganized the library and remodeled a basement room into a potions laboratory, in anticipation of the day when he would regain his magical powers (old habits die hard, and Severus felt more at his ease several meters below ground).

Each day, Severus spent less time in the wheelchair and more walking the halls with the aid of his cane. Sometimes Hermione would enter the library and find him seated in a chair, his gaze distant and lost, twirling his wand sadly between his fingers, as if pining for the days when he was able to do magic. At such times she would leave the room quietly before he noticed her, to save him the embarrassment of being discovered.

During her wanderings of the house on one of those awkward occasions, she came upon a locked room. She tried opening it with an Alohomora, but had no success and called one of the elves.

"Dixy?"

Crack

"Miss called?"

"Dixy, could you tell me what is inside this room and why it is locked?"

"Dixy had almost forgotten it, Miss Hermione. It is Miss Eileen's old bedroom." And then she added in a whisper, "The old Masters ordered that the room stay locked forever, but Dixy can open it for Miss Hermione."

"Yes, thank you, Dixy, I would like for you to open it," she said, mentally rubbing her hands in anticipation. It would appear that she had stumbled upon a treasure. She would clean and air the room and surprise Severus with it...it was certain to be filled with his mother's things. At that moment the door opened, and she saw that she had been correct on both counts: the room looked like a sort of time capsule, but covered in dust and cobwebs.

She rolled her sleeves up and set to work, opening the windows to let in light and air and allow the smell of mildew to dissipate. Drawing forth her wand, she began to cast a series of spells to remove the dust and cobwebs. Dixy offered to do it for her, but Hermione demurred; she wanted to do it with her own hands as a gift for Severus. Besides, she wanted to be alone to poke around to her heart's content, so she thanked the elf and sent her away.

It was without a doubt the room of a cosseted daughter. There were frames with moving pictures, showing a teenaged girl with raven's-wing hair laughing happily with her friends at the seaside, flying on a broom, in the Hogwarts great hall. There was a dresser scattered with beauty products, a Wizard Wireless receiver, posters on the walls . . .

She began going through the drawers and found a diary but did not read it. Remembering the story her professor had told her, she imagined how terrible it must have been for this pampered child to exchange all this for a life of poverty and deprivation. Perhaps it would be painful for Severus to have to see it, but she knew that he had the right to know what his mother had been like when she was young. At least she could spare him the sight of it in its initial condition, decayed by years of neglect.

It was then that she noticed the chest, identical to the one she herself had had at Hogwarts. It would certainly be filled with mementos of Eileen's student years. Smiling, she lifted the lid.

A piercing scream jerked Snape from his wandering thoughts, and without thinking about what he was doing he jumped up from the chair, wand in hand, and ran in the direction of the cries.

He was filled with fear, but not for himself.

When he entered the room, he found Hermione huddled in a corner, weeping with terror, held at wandpoint by Bellatrix Lestrange, who looked more demented than ever.

Severus felt the rage and fear rise from his stomach and spill with a sour taste into his mouth. Ready to die before he let anything happen to Hermione, he thrust himself in between her and the crazed Death-Eater.

Years later, when he remembered that moment, he wondered what god in the heavens had made him realize what was really happening, and at what point the light had come on in his brain. Because Bellatrix was dead, and there was simply no way she could be in his house, threatening Hermione with death . . .

"Avada... " she began, but Snape was quicker, and raising his wand, he cried:

"Riddikulus!"

A bold of light shot from Severus's wand, and in an instant the rabid Death-Eater was transformed into an exact replica of Pippi Longstocking, complete with red pigtails and mismatched socks. It was a hilarious image, but Severus hardly felt like laughing. With a wave of his wand, he shoved her into the chest and slammed the lid shut, turning immediately to fall to his knees beside the terrified Hermione, who clutched at him as if he were a life preserver.

Snape held her tight, murmuring comforting sounds, saying things like, "It's over, it's over, I'm here, I'll never let anything bad happen to you." She buried her face in his neck, seeking out his smell, his warmth, his aura of protection. At his side, no harm could come to her. In his arms she could find refuge and peace. He tilted her tear-streaked face up, anxious to reassure himself that she was all right. She looked up at him with admiration and gratitude, with trust, with . . . love? Unable to stop himself, he kissed her on the cheek, tasting the salt of her tears.

Something came over them at that moment, because Hermione felt as though she were surrendering to her destiny, helpless in the hands of this dark man, offering him her lips as if it were his right to claim them.

"Hermione..." he groaned, knowing himself incapable of resisting what she was offering.

"Severus," she said, giving in at last to the overwhelming force of her feelings.

His lips touched hers, hesitantly, but after a wary first kiss, he kissed her as if neither past nor future existed, only this sublime moment.