Tea

Chapter 3: Tea

Hermione woke up mid-morning. Snape had been at work for hours.

There was no use putting it off. She padded barefoot out of the bedroom and stood in front of the guest room door. Taking a deep breath, she laid her right cheek against it and closed her eyes.

Nothing happened. It was just a door. She opened her eyes, sighed, and turned the handle.

There were all his things, just where she had stacked them when she'd taken a break from the plasma study. Ron's clothes. His school things. His Quidditch equipment. The shelves of books from Auror training. His Order of Merlin, hung on a doorknob.

She started with the pile closest to her. Clothes. She ignored the pang she felt and Vanished them. No one would want them; this was a time to be ruthless.

His toys from childhood, the boxes of comic books, the chocolate frog card collection with his own card in a commemorative frame. Nobody would want these, right? Oh, maybe one of the nieces or nephews. The framed one she could give to Molly. She started a pile for Molly and another for the children.

His old prefect badge. His Chudley Cannons uniform, hideous thing. Hermione smiled. They had actually come in the middle of the league the year he played Keeper for them. Would they want his uniform for their archives? Probably not. Oh, who knew. Maybe she should ask. She would ask.

His wand.

Shit.

Oh, Ron.

There was nothing for it. Hermione just sat down and cried. There wasn't anything to do about this pain. There wasn't ever going to be a bottom to it.

Molly had said she would help.

It was okay to ask for help once in a while.

Hermione picked up Ron's wand and waved all his earthly possessions into a pile, cast a shrinking spell, bagged the lot, and tucked the wand inside the bag with an apologetic note to Molly. She sent the bag away, threw a haphazard series of cleaning spells at the now-empty room, stumbled back to her bedroom and slept again. She'd make up a bed for Snape in the empty room before he got home.

She woke up to the sound of his footsteps in the house, long before she expected him. She checked the time; it was barely past noon.

"You're home early, love. Did something –"

Snape walked into the bedroom, levitating a horribly familiar orange duffel bag.

"Would you happen to know anything about this object that showed up in my office?" he asked, eyebrow raised.

"How did you get that?" she asked, confused.

"Did Madam Junior Minister of Magical Law Enforcement, perchance, use a next-of-kin spell to Vanish this extraordinarily heavy package?"

"Yes."

"Hermione, estates pass to the head of household of the legal next of kin."

The silence lasted a good three seconds before Hermione muttered, "Those putrescent shitbags. Unbelievable. Fucking patriarchal wizarding law." She stormed out of bed, hollering, "I'm going in to the office. I'll see you later. Head of household. Where are my fucking Ministry robes? Accio Ministry robes!"

Snape snickered softly and spared a thought for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as his wife hurled herself into the Floo. He opened the door to the emptied guest room, levitated the duffel bag back inside and closed the door, quietly, with a flick of his wand.

~~sshg~~sshg~~

Anytime Hermione Granger failed repeatedly at something, her hair tended to frizz. Judging by the state of her coif, she'd been failing to raise a golden dome in her bedroom for quite some time.

"Hermione, I've put dinner on the table... What are you doing?"

"I'd have thought that would be obvious," she retorted, her lip curling with such scorn that Snape privately marveled. "I'm trying to reproduce conditions of emotional safety so I can conduct trauma research and figure out how to get my husband back. Protego Totalum... Salvio Hexia... argh! Shit!"

Snape laughed. That was not, perhaps, the wisest move.

"Don't just stand there laughing! Help me cast these protections! Or figure out something yourself if you've got a better idea!"

"I can't help you with that, Hermione."

That did it; she actually screeched. "Don't tell me this is one of those stupid 'You've got to figure it out on your own or the magic won't work' deals."

"No. I mean I really can't help you. Not while this accursed Occlumency still keeps me locked down. I can't cast reciprocal love magic while this is happening. It isn't working." Snape demonstrated with a series of incantations to turn his magic visible. It shone bright good silver, the soft shimmer of thoughts and Patronuses; it did not connect with Hermione's magic to glow gold.

"You could if you really wanted to," said Hermione, petulant and scornful. "Maybe you're just not trying."

Snape was silent for so long after that comment that Hermione feared she'd gone too far.

"Sometimes I wonder if that is the case," he said. "I wonder if I am blocking you subconsciously out of resentment. I don't believe that I am. I cannot be certain."

"You can do anything, love," she said pleadingly. "You're Severus Snape. You could figure out a way to save anything, if you wanted it badly enough."

"I know how to operate alone, Hermione. Working together is new to me. You're the one who knows how to work with others."

"Oh, you think so?" she said witheringly. "Ron left me, once. During the war. He left me alone in the woods with Undesirable Number One and a Horcrux, and I didn't think he'd ever come back. You didn't know about that. That was worse than him dying on me."

"Weasley left you. Alone," said Snape, aghast. "With Death Eaters and Snatchers on the hunt."

"He came back," said Hermione. "Obviously. But there was a time when I thought he didn't love me enough to stay, yes."

"I do love you, Hermione," said Snape quietly. "I love you more than anything I've ever known in my life."

"Can't you hold me?" she asked desperately. "Just touch my hand. Don't shut me out. I can't stand this. This isn't much better than leaving me. It feels like... It makes me want to die again."

"Stop that," he spat. "Histrionics won't help matters."

Hermione stopped short, stunned. Snape winced, wretchedly ashamed.

"I can't touch you right now, Hermione," he whispered apologetically. "Please. Do not ask that of me. To do so would only make things worse. Don't you see what that would do to me?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Think!" he snarled impatiently. "Hermione, why can't you have children?"

"What?"

"Think what was done to you," he urged, angry. "Think what it requires for one person to violate another so."

Hermione shook her head again, not understanding.

"I cannot force myself to touch you when I feel so detached," he said, impassioned. "When you beg it of me, I feel anger. It would be poison. What is it to touch someone intimately when feeling disconnected from them? What would I become? I could hurt you. Think. I never did any of those things. But I've seen it happen to others. I've seen too much. No."

Hermione nodded slowly, tears in her eyes.

"You would never be that, love," she whispered. "Could you just... try? Just let me touch your hand? Maybe it wouldn't be as bad as you think."

With visible reluctance, he consented and let her take his hand. He closed his eyes; his face darkened, glowering. Hermione removed her hand. He opened his eyes and shook his head. She recognized that this attempt had only made the barriers between them more impenetrable.

"I'm sorry, love," said Hermione, remorseful. "You were right. Thank you for trying."

"Yes," he said. "I'm sorry, too. I will keep thinking. I will do what I can."

They ate dinner at the same table, each thinking hard. Hermione went to sleep in the bedroom, and Snape bedded down on the couch.

~~sshg~~sshg~~

It was too early in the morning even for coffee, but it sounded like there was someone in their sitting room. Hermione finished brushing her teeth and emerged from her bedroom to the sight of Snape's trouser-clad arse sticking out of the sitting room fireplace.

"She's up," sounded Snape's muffled voice. "I'll stand back – come on through."

Snape stood up and backed away. In a small shower of dust, Harry Potter whirled through the flames, then stepped out of the fireplace, gazing steadily at his oldest friend.

"I hear you need to do some research," he said. "Come on, Hermione – we're going on a day trip. Hogwarts library. Professor McGonagall has already told Madam Pince to expect us."

Hermione shot a look at her husband, who said uncomfortably, "Potter has kindly agreed to assist you."

Harry grinned, watching excitement dawn on Hermione's face at the thought of the library.

"It would be lovely... Oh, but Harry, I don't know if I'm up to facing everyone."

A fluid, silvery fabric hit Hermione in the face.

"McGonagall will take us directly from her office to the Restricted Section," Harry reassured her. "You can read under this. It'll be like old times."

Tears filled Hermione's eyes – again – as she thought about the person who wouldn't be with them.

"Thanks, Harry," she said quietly.

"I figured I owe you one. Or several," he said. "You went with me to Godric's Hollow. This trip can't possibly be as rubbish as that turned out to be."

It worked; Hermione laughed. Cautiously, she turned to Snape. "I'm going to kiss you goodbye, then. Is that all right, love?"

"Yes. Please." Snape stood still with his eyes closed as his wife dropped one tender kiss on his right cheek, then followed Harry into a blaze of emerald green.

~~sshg~~sshg~~

Madam Pince was so pleased to see Hermione that she permitted coffee and toast in the Restricted Section and performed the spill-proof charms herself. Harry busied himself with stacking research items around his friend in the exact patterns she preferred: obscure specialty books directly in front of her, general magical reference just within reach and in chronological order, parchment and three kinds of ink at her elbow, a cart to the side to hold rejects.

"Love potions, Harry? Really?" asked Hermione skeptically, looking over one volume after another.

"Snape's suggestion," he said firmly, and that was all Hermione needed to hear.

Forty-five short minutes later, Hermione spelled a potion recipe onto a piece of parchment and waved the books back onto their shelves. Harry looked surprised; he had evidently expected to be there for much longer.

"Are you sure that's the one?" he asked.

"Pretty sure," she said drily, "considering that every volume I read fell open to this recipe first."

"That's a short list," he said, reading over her shoulder. "Rosehips and roses. Fresh berries and dried. Water from the river Styx? Mint from the land of death?"

"At least it sounds like it won't taste vile," she said. "Well, except for the river Styx. Who knows what's in that water."

"It'll be brewed, anyway," said Harry, still reading. "So whatever revolting microbes are in there will be good and dead."

"I wonder if microbes die when they cross the Styx, too," said Hermione musingly. She poured Harry more coffee and buttered his toast, exactly as she had done when they were students.

"We can go test the instructions when we're finished with breakfast," said Harry. "Don't worry, not in the potions lab. Hagrid's set up cauldrons in his hut for us."

Oh. Hagrid. Hermione looked away quickly from Harry and busied herself with clearing up. Her friend had never been comfortable with tears.

~~sshg~~sshg~~

Fang nearly knocked them over, licking their faces. Hagrid hugged them so hard that Hermione cast a hurried charm over her ribcage and Harry's, as well. Hagrid sobbed once more over Ron's death, and Harry and Hermione were too busy comforting him to be sad about Ron themselves.

"So, Severus Snape, eh?" said Hagrid eventually, attempting a wan smile. "Allus decent to me, Snape was. Even that year. He'll make yeh a good husband, Hermione. Whatever's between you right now, yeh'll figure it out. Yeh'll see."

They tested out the potion instructions in Hagrid's soup cauldron with supplies he had on hand. The procedure seemed straightforward enough, and the ingredients could not have been simpler. They tasted it cautiously when it was done. It made a very good tea.

"So, water from the river Styx," said Harry, putting down his mug. "Do we get that from Slug and Jiggers?"

"Nah, they don't carry it," said Hagrid. "Too dangerous. But yeh can get to the Styx yerself. The thestrals go there to drink the water." He laughed at their stunned expressions and scraped his chair back. "Perfessor Hagrid's still got a thing or two to teach you upstarts, eh?"

Three thestrals came when Hagrid called from outside his hut. Two started eating the meat he set out, but one stepped forward and nosed Hermione, who fought the urge to flinch.

"She remembers yeh, Hermione," said Hagrid. "Look at that. Dead clever, thestrals."

Hermione tentatively ran her hand over the creature's skeletal neck. It was warmer than it looked.

"Do you need me to come with you?" asked Harry.

Hermione shook her head. It seemed like it had been a different lifetime, that night of terror when she'd flown to safety on this thestral, wrapped securely in Kingsley Shacklebolt's arms as Death Eaters swarmed them in the dark air.

"I think this is the part where I leave my friends and go alone," she said, smiling wanly. "Oh, Harry, thank you. Hagrid, thank you so much."

"She'll know where to go," said Hagrid. "Oh, and take these along. I jes' made 'em this morning."

He bustled back into the hut and emerged with a pouch full of rock cakes. Hermione opened her mouth to decline politely when Hagrid said mysteriously, "Yeh might need 'em."

Hagrid swung her up easily onto the thestral, whispered into the creature's ear, and stepped back as it lifted gracefully into flight. Graceful, hideous, skeletal, dark – Hermione smiled, reminded of her husband. "Love after death," she whispered, hugging the thestral's neck. Hagrid's and Harry's waving figures grew smaller as the thestral ascended. She embraced the creature's neck for warmth, although this mattered little once they entered the clouds. Hermione did as well as she could with warming and drying charms, but there was only so much she could do against the cold.

It was cold even on the ground when they landed. The thestral settled gently and Hermione, groaning, struggled off the creature's back. They had flown across the river before landing. Hermione looked around curiously at the bleakness of the landscape, the black water that the thestral was now drinking, the thin daylight, the craggy rocks along the banks. She approached the river, knelt next to the thestral, conjured a flask, and dipped it into the water, watching the liquid stream into the glass. She was just about to cork the vial when she cried out in surprise. The thestral had taken off, heading back the way they'd come, so swiftly that Hermione lost sight of her almost immediately.

Hermione whipped out her wand, but the thestral was out of the range of any summoning. Quickly, she cut a long, shallow incision into her arm by wandtip and shook the blood onto the ground, hoping the thestral would scent it and return. No such thing happened; she was quite alone. She capped the flask, closed the cut with her wand and tried to Disapparate, but the air resisted her magic, queerly heavy.

Clearly, she was meant to walk.

"Point me," she whispered to her wand and followed its confident tug.

It took her through a barren countryside that had clearly known only winter for years, the trees twisted and bare, the bushes blasted as though someone had attacked them. She crested a low hill and gasped when she saw what lay below her.

What was that doing here? The stone archway that she knew from the Ministry, the one leading to death, stood ancient and crumbling with suspended tatters of black cloth fluttering in the breeze – the real breeze that she felt against her real skin, not the uncanny sacred breeze she remembered from the Department of Mysteries. Was this the real arch, the one in the Ministry only a replica? Or was it in both places at once? Was this one, too, the same from both sides? Did this one have voices? Was this one as dangerous?

She approached cautiously, wand out, until she laughed grimly at herself and put her wand away. She wouldn't need it here. She listened carefully. Was she expecting to hear Ron's voice? She was. She listened for murmurs, but there were none. She edged around to look at the archway from the other side.

A tumultuous barking nearly blasted her back – oh, this archway was definitely not the same on both sides. When Hermione looked through the archway from this side, she gazed upon the lushness of a velvety green landscape that stretched to the horizon, and then – with a scream – she saw the source of the cacophonous din. Three terrifying enormous beasts with curved fangs in slavering mouths roared toward her...

... And Hermione started laughing.

"Fluffy!" she gasped. "Oh, honestly, Hagrid could have told me."

She chanted a basic protective spell in case the dog – dogs? – got ideas, but it seemed to recognize the scent of Hagrid's hut, of Fang, and of... Oh. The rock cakes. Shaking her head, Hermione Summoned them out of their pouch and tossed them to Fluffy: one, two, three. Fluffy's enormous forked tail thumped the ground, raising an intense fragrance of mint.

Mint. Moving swiftly, Hermione harvested a fistful of sprigs and shoved them into the empty pouch. She shot a last nervous look at the distracted dog and, hoping with all her might that her instincts were correct, sprinted past it through the archway where the scent of mint was even stronger.

She was through. She was intact. She was alive.

She was in an office.

And there, sitting at his desk in the locked room of the Department of Mysteries, was Severus Snape.

"You found me," he said, voice breaking. "You've traced the steps I took to get here. Hermione. You did it."

Hermione stared at him in confusion.

"I thought going through the archway would bring me to Hades," she said.

"It did," he replied cryptically. He stepped toward her and held her face in both of his hands, opening his gaze to her, clear and not Occluded. Hungrily, he took in the sight of her whole disarrayed self: hair wild from the thestral flight, robes splashed with river water, hands smudged with blood and dirt and crushed mint. He sat back in his chair, drew her into his lap and kissed her. With a shaky sigh, she settled her head in the crook of his shoulder.

"I didn't know there was another way to get into this room," she said.

"There are many ways," he said. "Nobody knows them all. This way is my favorite, though. This was the way I first found this room."

"I don't understand this at all," said Hermione. "I had this notion I would have to speak to the king and queen of death. It seems silly of me now."

"Well, here we are," said Snape, indicating his Ministry-issued office chair. "On our throne. Perhaps you are tired. You must have come a long way."

"I am tired," she said, burrowing further into his lap. "I could sleep for ages."

"We can Apparate home," he promised. "Just a short walk to the site. I'll take you back along the path I use. You'll understand." He Summoned a vial of Pepper-Up potion, and she drank it down gratefully. She took his arm and they walked out of his office together, back into the verdant landscape, passing by the archway. She knelt by the path to gather more mint.

"I got us water from the river Styx," she said. "For this potion that's supposed to help."

Snape laughed, a rich sound. "Only you, Hermione. I didn't even know the Styx was real."

"I didn't, either! But I can show you. If you walk over that hill for a bit, beyond the archway –"

Hermione pointed past the archway toward the wintry landscape on the other side with its clumps of blasted-looking, leafless twigs.

She stared at the bushes suddenly. She gasped and started rushing toward them, dragging Snape along by the hand.

"I get it! I get it!" she cried, beaming. "Oh, that is a good joke. The best. Oh. I understand. I understand."

Snape drew in his breath sharply. "What do you understand?"

"Rosehips and roses. Fresh berries and dried. I didn't see before. Things that you can only see after you've survived a loved one's death. Things that look dead, but change to bear fruit again. I didn't even see these on my way here, even though they were right there. Oh, love. This has been your landscape all along."

"You found me," he said again, shaking his head with wonder.

"We don't really need the potion, do we?" she said.

"No," he confirmed.

They reached the leafless bushes. Reaching out eager hands, she harvested rosehip after rosehip, rotund with tart promise, and added them to the pouch from Hagrid. When the pouch overflowed with rosehips and mint, Snape spelled the fabric shut and tucked it into his robes. He folded his beloved into his arms, and they Apparated home.

The tea they brewed at home that night tasted better than the sample brew she'd drunk at Hagrid's. There were a multitude of possible reasons for this. They would isolate each variable and test their hypotheses. Later.

In years to come, they never were able to make love in the daylight without triggering Snape's involuntary Occlumency. On occasion, the shutdown occurred at night, as well. But they were never afraid of it again; it was an inconvenience, nothing more, and the episodes grew less severe in time. And the few times Snape couldn't break through them on his own, Hermione would travel back to the land of the dead to find him. They would walk back home together, gathering rosehips along the way.