Chapter Four

It might not have been a "corker" of a day, as Hermione had predicted, but it wasn't the smoothest day in history either. Monica couldn't understand why her daughter still wouldn't tell them the name of Andrew's father. They were in the kitchen starting lunch when Hermione's mother buried her face in her hands and then looked to the ceiling before glaring at her daughter.

"If you tell me it's complicated one more time... I'm going to scream," her mother stated, in a frustrated tone. "What am I supposed to call him? 'Hey, you! Yes, you – the bloke who got my daughter pregnant – pass the salt, please.' It's not funny, Hermione," Monica added when Hermione snickered.

"I know it's not, Mum, honest," Hermione said, trying to keep the smile off her face. As hard as she tried, she couldn't get the mental image of a scowling Snape raising an eyebrow in her mother's direction out of her head. She raised her hands in a pleading motion and then lowered them. "I'm just – I know you'll know his name," Hermione admitted. "I've mentioned it in the past and rather than try to answer the questions I know you'll have now, I'd rather wait until he was gone and deal with any that might remain."

Her mother's eyes narrowed slightly before she nodded her head. "That at least makes sense in an 'avoiding the issue' sort of way. Why couldn't you have told us that much before? That we knew the boy?"

"Oh, Mum," Hermione said with a sigh and mentally kicked herself for not realizing the questions would still come even without a name. "For one thing: he's not a boy. For another: you've never met him."

"Not a boy?"

"No."

"Oh, dear," Monica stated before she bent over to check the contents of the oven. "Wizard or Muggle?"

"Wizard."

"Good, then your father will think twice about trying to hit him," was the satisfied answer.

"Mum!"

"What do you expect, Hermione? That he's going to greet this man like a long lost friend?" Monica asked throwing her hands in the air. "You're his baby. And mine, don't forget. From what you've told me – but mostly from what you haven't – I've gathered this was a one-night stand?"

"Mum!"

"If you're not mature enough to discuss the situation with your mother almost two years later, maybe you weren't mature enough to be in that type of situation in the first place," Monica said sternly, suddenly reminding Hermione of Professor McGonagall. "I'm trying to get as much information as I can ahead of time in order to know how to deal with your father. If you don't want this whole luncheon to come crashing down around all our ears, you'll quit keeping childish secrets and help."

Hermione blinked several times before she sat down and said, "You're right. I'm sorry, Mum." She took a large drink of water while her mother sat down opposite her. "His name is Snape," Hermione said and saw enlightenment dawn on her mother's face. She'd told them some of what had been brought to light after it was all over, and that name had been mentioned more than once, "Severus Snape. He used to be my Potions professor at Hogwarts. He was also a spy, for the Order, but mostly for Dumbledore – which you already know. One night, after I broke Harry's wand, I went to London to try to find him another one, but it was Boxing Day and all the shops were closed, and I ran into Sn – Severus at The Leaky Cauldron and... Well, we both had a bit much to drink," Hermione finished lamely, hoping that her mother would let it go there.

"Why didn't you contact him after you realized you were pregnant?" her mother asked gently. "You said he was willing to help support Andrew, so it sounds like he might have been reasonable."

"Oh, Mum," Hermione sighed. "It wasn't that easy. We weren't..." able to trust him. "He had..." killed Dumbledore. "It would have been dangerous, for us and for him," she finally stated softly.

Her mother frowned before asking, "He didn't bother giving you a way to contact him – later – in case there were repercussions?"

Hermione blushed and shook her head before saying, "I didn't give him the chance. I – I was a bit embarrassed and shocked about what had happened and Apparated."

Monica reached over and patted Hermione's hand. "Telling me the truth after all this time wasn't so awful, now was it?" She stood, took off her apron and headed toward the kitchen door.

"Mum? Where are you going?" Hermione asked as the timer on the oven started its strident ring.

"To talk to your father. Be a dear, baste the chickens and reset the timer for me, please."

"You're not going to tell him are you?" Hermione asked in horror after racing over to turn off the timer.

It was Monica's turn to chuckle as a small smile stretched across her face. "Of course, I am, Hermione. Selected phrases and parts of the truth so that he no longer feels it's necessary to try to 'kill the bastard' who left his baby high and dry." Monica had made quotation marks around certain words, and Hermione's eyes widened in surprise.

"Dad said that?" she questioned in almost a shrill tone.

"Hush, he'll hear you," Monica cautioned. "He's said it more than once, sweetheart. Earlier this morning as a matter of fact," she added before she left the room.

"At least one of you should have been a goose," Hermione muttered at the chickens she was basting a few minutes later when she heard her father's raised voice. "Mine would have blended right in, crispy skin and all."

********

Later, after a somewhat tense – but not disastrous – lunch, Hermione put Andrew down for his afternoon nap. She had noted the almost-glares her father sent in Snape's direction and had fully expected the other man to respond in the same manner. He hadn't. Snape had been gracious, polite and openly appreciative of her mother's cooking. Her father's resemblance to a grouchy bear had lessened gradually, and by the time they were enjoying her mother's special cake for dessert, he was again smiling at Andrew's antics.

It was during this time that Hermione finally noticed something else. Snape hadn't been able to keep his eyes from straying in Andrew's direction quite frequently. The glances were covert, quickly moving from the child to something else in the dining room. His position, across the table from Hermione and Andrew, had made it fairly easy to track once she'd realized what he was doing. It was almost as though he was afraid to look directly at Andrew, and it puzzled her greatly.

Her mother and father, luckily or unluckily depending on whose point of view you wanted to take, had a golf date with some of their friends and left almost immediately after lunch. Wendell had kept looking from his daughter to Snape and had almost glowered at his wife when she urged him to "hurry" so they wouldn't be late.

"Mister... Wilkins," Snape said, as he'd risen from the chair he'd taken in their lounge. He approached Hermione's father as he dithered near the front door. "Would it ease your mind and allow you to enjoy the afternoon in your gracious wife's company, if I advise you that nothing unpardonable will occur during your absence?"

Her father's continence hardened for a moment while he searched Snape's eyes. He didn't say anything, but his expression softened before he gave Snape a slight nod and put his arm around his wife, pulling her out the door. "Come along, Monica. We'll be frightfully late for our tee time if you don't quit procrastinating."

"Me?" Hermione's mother protested loudly as the door closed behind them.

As she went back down the stairs, Hermione's qualms about being alone in the house with Snape intensified. She stuck her head around the lounge door and asked, "Would you like to have a cup of tea in the kitchen while I do up our lunch things?" It would keep her hands and mind busy long enough to gather the courage to ask him what had occurred to her during her morning shower.

She hadn't reckoned on her back being toward him the whole time, however, and more than once she twisted in order to see what he was or wasn't doing. He seemed to be completely absorbed in reading the recipes her mother had left out on the kitchen table. The dishwasher was finally as full as it could be and quietly starting its cycle when she sat down with her own cup of tea.

He raised his head when she approached and accepted the fresh brew she'd offered. "Did you find any that struck your fancy?" she asked, referring to the ones he'd set to the side.

A small smirk graced the corner of his mouth and he replied, "As a matter of fact, I did. I shall endeavor to gain your mother's permission to copy a few. Especially this one," he added passing her a small card and studying Hermione's expression. "It's the one we had for lunch, was it not?"

Hermione knew, without looking, which one it was and flushed as she automatically read the damning title of the treat. Better than Sex Cake.

I should have begged her not to make that one. But it's so tasty.

"Although, sadly, it isn't," he added and chuckled when his comment caused her eyes, wide open and almost shocked, to meet his. "Is your expression of astonishment because I find the name of the cake amusing, or that I'm sharing it?"

"A little of both actually," Hermione said with a small smile. She had a hard time reconciling this Snape with the one that stalked the halls of Hogwarts, but it was enough to encourage her to ask what she wanted – needed – to ask while her parents were absent.

"I want you to know I didn't lie last night when I said I wanted nothing from you, but..." Her words trailed off and took a sip of tea before continuing, "I've decided to return to England – to the wizarding world – and I want to know if you'll allow me to become your apprentice."

Snape's eyes narrowed slightly while he studied the young witch across from him. "Why?"

His question bewildered her in its brevity. Was he asking why she was returning to England, the wizarding world or why she wanted to be his apprentice?

All of the above?

"Because it's necessary," she stated simply.

"Why Potions?"

"Why not?" she asked in return.

"To what end?"

"The obvious one, of course. To – eventually – become a Potions master or mistress," Hermione replied, slightly confused as to what other end there could be.

"Is this one of the decisions you reached while crying your eyes out on the swing?" Snape asked with one brow raised.

"No, not exactly," Hermione said honestly. "It occurred to me this morning actually. What difference does it make when I decided?"

"Have you planned where you would ply your trade?"

"Why do you keep answering my questions with questions?" she asked with no small amount of frustration.

"Because my final answer depends on your answers, Hermione."

"I really hadn't thought about it much beyond the apprenticeship. Do I have to have all my goals lined up neatly before you'll even consider it?"

"Not really, no," Snape said soberly and then did something that Hermione remembered him doing numerous times at Hogwarts. He pinched the bridge of his nose before dropping his hand and meeting her eyes.

"I do not wish you to misunderstand what I'm going to say," he began, and Hermione knew, in her gut, that he was going to refuse her request.

"Don't bother," she said before she stood and took her cup to the sink. "You're going to say no."

"Not as bluntly as all that," he admitted calmly. "Don't you want to know the reason?"

Turning around, Hermione leaned against the cabinet, crossed her arms, and glared at him. "Because I'm a bushy-haired know-it-all that you are shut of and can't stomach the idea of teaching me again."

Snape had the audacity to smirk before he drank the last of his tea. He rose and placed his cup in the sink beside hers. "Obviously, you're no longer a know-it-all if you think that's the answer."

"Then why not?" Hermione asked, throwing her hands in the air. "I had excellent grades at Hogwarts. Is it because they gave me my Newts instead of making me take them?"

"No," was the frustrating reply. "I surmised that your decision to return to the wizarding world, and England, wasn't your first choice. Am I correct?"

"You are. What of it?"

"What would you have done that you've decided you can't?" he asked.

"It doesn't matter, because it's impossible," she said wearily before she picked up the baby monitor, checked the volume setting, and headed toward the door. "The decision was made a long time ago when I started at Hogwarts and didn't continue my Muggle education. That's it in a nutshell. I need some fresh air, coming?" Hermione asked with her hand on the knob. When he moved to follow her, Hermione opened it and walked toward the patio. She flopped down into one of the cushioned chairs and waited for him to take a seat. "So tell me why."

One of his eyebrows rose while his fingers drummed the glass table top.

"That's really annoying, you know," Hermione stated.

"I was endeavoring to find a way to phrase this that wouldn't send you off in another bout of tears," Snape advised while placing both hands in his lap.

Hermione gave a delicate version of a snort and asked, "That bad, huh?"

"I don't believe your heart will be broken," he said with another small smirk. "When you follow the recipe to make that cake, do you ever feel the need to try something besides the fudge or the caramel inside it? To try a different topping or another flavor of cake itself?"

She knew exactly what he was heading toward, but she still had to be honest. "No. It's quite delicious as it is, and I wouldn't want to mess it up."

He nodded his head. "I never saw that desire in you, Hermione. To take one of the recipes you'd been given in class and try to improve it, make it better, make it more than it is. Am I mistaken?"

A small sigh escaped her lips, and she shook her head no.

"You would make an excellent brewer for any established firm, but to be a master... I fear you would end up being a mediocre one and the 'smartest witch of her generation' wouldn't be happy with that, now would she?" he asked almost gently.

"No, damn it, I wouldn't," she agreed grudgingly.

"I offer a compromise."

He'd puzzled her yet again. "How is a compromise possible? Either I apprentice with you or I don't."

"Hear me out, witch!" he demanded with a trace of his old ire returning. "And wipe that smirk off your face; this is serious."

"Yes, sir!" she said with an open handed salute while letting her smirk grow.

Sending her an irritated glance, Snape continued, "You have been absent from our world for an extended period of time. Rather than see you rush helter-skelter into an equally unfulfilling career, I propose that you become my assistant until such time as you actually find your calling."

It was her turn to ask, "Why?"

"Why not?"

"Why not?" she echoed before flinging her hands in the air again. "Because it's... it's not you, that's why!"

"What isn't me?" he asked, and for the first time since she'd visited his shop in England, Hermione heard a hardness in his tones.

She almost let her tongue run away with her, but had the presence of mind to hold it. Hold it and think about what she'd been about to say. That he wasn't the caring sort of teacher that would have thought of the future happiness of his students, like McGonagall, Sprout or Flitwick.

All the things he'd done, endured and suffered through, merely to try and give them a future at all ran through her mind, and she was ashamed of herself. Ashamed that, once again, she assumed the face he'd presented at Hogwarts reflected everything about him.

"Maybe it is," she admitted quietly. It would keep her and Andrew afloat while she found out what vocation she wanted to pursue. "I think I'd like to take you up on that offer, Severus."

********

Her parents, as Hermione knew they would, basically threw a fit later that evening when she explained what she'd done. Especially her father. She knew they were worried, and while it didn't upset her as much as it would have in the past, Hermione was still slightly perturbed.

"Mum," she had said with an exaggerated sigh, "you can't have it both ways. Either I stay here and try to find a Muggle way of earning a living, which will pretty much be impossible with no diploma or degree, or I go back to England and make a career there."

"Hermione, you can't!" her father exclaimed again when her mother had given up and left to put Andrew to bed.

It seemed to be his favorite sentence and Hermione's was becoming, "Why not?"

"This Snape fellow. How do you know you can trust him?" her father growled with his arms crossed.

"How can I not?" she asked her father softly. "He risked his life for us daily and almost died. He never asked for praise, medals or accolades. All he's asked is to be left in peace. I broke that quite neatly when I went there and told him about Andrew."

Her father had the grace to look askance at that, and Hermione knew she'd won when he said, "I still don't like the idea of you and Andrew traipsing all that distance away from us."

"I know, Dad. I know," Hermione said as she sat down on the arm of his easy chair and hugged him around the shoulders. "But you have to know I'll come back to visit and when we get settled you and Mum can come up for Christmas," Hermione promised.

Her father looked up at her, smiled a little sadly before wrapping one arm around her waist, and said, "Snow for the holidays would be a nice change."

"Yes, it would," Hermione agreed before she shook a finger at him. "Just don't go spoiling him rotten while I'm gone, hear? It shouldn't take more than a week or two to find us a decent place to live."

"Would I do anything like that?" her father asked with an innocent expression on his face, and Hermione smacked him lightly on the head before delivering a kiss in the same spot.

"You know darned well you'll try," she remarked dryly before rising and moving toward the stairs to finish dealing with her mother. His faint chuckles warmed her as climbed them, knowing that there'd probably be more than a few tears waiting for her at the top.

-~*~-