Seasons Change

Like the Muggles Do

Chapter 7

Seasons Change

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I do not own, nor do I claim to own, any part of the Harry Potter Universe or anything else cooked up in the mind of J. K. Rowling. And the bits that I did come up with, well I can only hope they fit in seamlessly and offend nobody.

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Like the Muggles Do

Chapter 7

Seasons Change

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Hermione sighed as she lowered herself into the tub. Every muscle in her body began to relax as it was submerged in the hot, clear water, and she could feel the sweat and grime and oven cleaner melt off her skin. She took a deep breath of warm, humid air, and then dunked her head under the water. Her hair lifted itself from the greasy mess that it had been and began floating around her head, spanning in all directions. She shook her head a bit, feeling the strands swish back and forth around and in front of her face. The bathtub was large enough that she could lay flat in it and deep enough that the water would completely cover than her body.

When she needed oxygen again, she broke the surface of her bath slowly, pushing upward until the water was leveled below her collarbone. Her wet hair clung to every bit of skin it could reach, covering her neck and shoulders. She impatiently brushed it away from her face so she could breathe properly and open her eyes. The room was steamy and the air was warm, but her exposed flesh longed to resubmerge in the bathwater that engulfed her and made her skin tingle with its heat.

She lay back again, tilting her head back so that the only part of her above water was her face, from chin to eyebrows. She brought her left hand up and gripped the edge of the white bathtub to keep herself steady, as her breathing caused an almost undetectable tide in the still water. Her right foot also came up to keep her body's natural buoyancy from taking over and forcing her to the surface. She tilted her foot until the inside arch rested against the shining silver water faucet, droplets of water dripping from her calf back into the bathwater.

The rest of her muscles relaxed, her body finally submerged in the hot, cleansing water after the grueling night she had gone through. Contented and perfectly comfortable, Hermione's mind drifted from the natural urge to situate herself, moving on to naturally do what she did best – think. The outstanding mind that she used to research, debate, and learn turned to contemplate the same thing she had the night before. Questions about Severus and her mother had repeated themselves as she tossed and turned for hours.

As she had lain in bed, longing to bathe but too eager to let her body rest, her mind had refused all attempts at a calming night's sleep and trepidation about the day's activities had firmly taken hold. Her mum had frustrated the hell out of her, asking constant questions about potential 'gentlemen suitors' and bragging about Persephone's long-time boyfriend. Her teenaged sister was showing signs of becoming the kind of woman that never wanted for anyone's adoration and company. Hermione was only in her early twenties and already her mother worried she'd become a spinster.

Harry and Ron had once been Hermione's salvation, but once Maia Granger realized that neither was likely to be a future son-in-law, their existence had become a burden rather than a blessing. The fact that Hermione's best friends had always been boys did not reassure the pestering woman; rather she managed to become quite concerned. Hermione couldn't begin to remember all of the times her mum has fussed over her eldest daughter's hair, nails, makeup or clothing, in an attempt to make her 'not look like one of the boys.'

Hermione forced her muscles to move, bringing her free hand to her head, rustling the long strands that were surrounding her face and pointing in all directions. Despite the amount of time and effort required to tame her frizzy bush of a mane, Hermione had been pleased with the outcome of her long, grueling beauty session the day before. Her mother had beamed, saying that Hermione could be a 'complete knock-out' if only she would 'make a little effort' with her appearance instead of 'hiding behind that wild hair.'

Hermione's parents had always been proud of their eldest daughter for all her achievements. In her life she had never lacked praise or encouragement from both her mother and her father. Her mum simply argued that all of Hermione's positives could be augmented with a change of attitude about professedly more shallow concerns, specifically her looks.

She thought of Severus, who had told her that many of her actions did not turn him on. For the first time since his proclamation, she wondered if that meant that some of her actions did turn him on. Such thoughts made her want to dunk herself completely underwater again and scream until she was hoarse. Did she want to turn Severus on? Could she? She knew that he hadn't had a chance to notice her well-coiffed appearance the night before. Perhaps if she had gone to pat his arm while her hair was still perfect, she wouldn't have stopped herself. Perhaps he even would have welcomed her touch. If she was still herself, but beautiful, would anyone want her then?

But how could a plain girl with big teeth and bushy hair ever become classically beautiful? She would never look like Persephone, who made men fall for her in an instant. Persy was born beautiful, Hermione had been born plain. The beauty her sister possessed always left Hermione envious. Even at Hogwarts, her schoolmates wouldn't have held a candle to Persy. Yet those girls had never wanted for suitors. Perhaps if she spent as much time as her sister or her old roommates did on their makeup and hair, or if she dressed in shorter skirts or low-cut tops...

Hermione didn't want to spend hours on her appearance. She had always scoffed at those girls, fretting over their looks and what everyone else thought of them. She had never been more worried about her exterior than her brain and her soul. While other girls obsessed over their appearances, Hermione would much rather spend her time reading, or working on a project, or discussing something with Severus.

Severus, who she knew respected her mind and her thirst for knowledge. Severus, who deigned to converse with her when he felt that the majority of the human race was not worth it. Severus had always chosen his friends with certain standards, ones that she met. The man was a right bastard and most people never made an effort to befriend him. Even of those that had made such an effort, most were discouraged by his ire and disrespect. She considered it an honor that a man of his intellect and countenance would actively engage in friendship with her.

But what of romance?

She thought of the night in Paris, of his lips against her own while they embraced in front of the Eiffel Tower. He had held her close, one hand at the small of her back and the other roaming over her shoulder blades and down her arms. His body had been warm as it pressed against hers, and his lips were soft and inquisitive. He had tasted of the wine they'd had with dinner and the ice cream bought from a street vendor. The passion that he had elicited left her feeling, for once in her life, truly desirable.

None of the few men she had kissed or been intimate with had made her feel so wanted. His hands flat against her back, the pressure of his lips and his mouth exploring her own... she had never felt anything like that before. It felt so clichéd that there had been something special about Severus that night, that he had stirred emotions within her. Emotions of which she had never considered herself capable. Their surroundings could have had an exaggerated effect on their emotions and their actions. They had been in the most romantic city in the world; the Eiffel Tower and the Seine had surely inspired much more than one remarkable snogging session throughout all of the city's existence. They had both been drinking excellent wine that night as well, after having traveled for several long days. Could these things have effected her friend and partner to the point of doing something not just unexpected but also undesired?

Had the Potions Master acted solely on impulse, the sporadic moment born of opportunity and circumstance rather than sincere wanting? Might he have been unpredictable and affectionate not because he wanted to, but because of influences outside his control? Did Severus Snape act on impulse with her, doing something that he didn't truly want to do, going against his natural tendencies? Was that the sort of thing that one could expect from the man?

She rolled her eyes at the questions she was asking about Severus Snape.

Did he act in brash and romantic ways with little thought?

Not bloody likely.

The knowledge that the passionate embrace they had shared had not likely been an accident did nothing to quell her anxiety. It simply brought her back to her original, and most troublesome, conundrum -- what did Severus Snape feel for her?

That question led back to thoughts of the night before, and what he was feeling when he looked at her after she stopped herself from touching him. She alternately congratulated and berated herself for the decision to stay her hand so close to coming in contact with him. Her questions of herself, and her reasoning behind refusing the physical contact, were only overshadowed by his reaction. His face had conveyed an emotion, a break in his carefully crafted façade of uncaring. When she closed her eyes, she could remember exactly how his expression had looked. He was either disgusted by her almost-contact, or hurt by her hesitation.

Thinking of his eyes, the way they shone as he looked at her, she could feel a pain in her heart. The way he had regarded her, she didn't know if it was rejecting or rejected. It was upsetting but even worse it was confusing. She had grown comfortable enough with the man that she could often read his signals and brace herself for expected reactions, but, in this case, she was utterly lost. It was unfortunate that in the dark man's eyes, disdain and passion seemed so indistinguishable from one another.

Her mind continued to question and answer until she could feel her fingers starting to wrinkle. How long she lay in the bath like that she couldn't be sure, but when she moved to a sitting position, she could see that the water around her was no longer crystal clear. Her hair must have deposited at least a half-dozen styling products in the water, and the effects of her kitchen clean-up the night before had also helped turned her bathwater a foggy grey. Hermione wanted nothing more than to never leave her still warm, still comforting bath, but it couldn't possibly still be suitable for bathing.

She pulled the plug from the drain and dropped it over the side of the bathtub, knowing that the chain attaching it to the faucet would keep it from being lost. She turned the water back on, this time having much less trouble finding the desired temperature using the two "H" and "C" labeled knobs. A quick adjustment of another knob and the water sprayed down onto her from the high showerhead, which was tall enough for Severus to not have to stoop. She hauled herself to her feet, wondering where she could find soap, hoping that at least one issue would wash down the drain with the bathwater.

==

"Wastebasket."

"Right. And what do we use it for?"

"Waste."

She rolled her eyes and let a sigh escape. She couldn't exactly call his answer wrong.

"And what is this?"

"I know what a sink is, Hermione. I also understand anti-bacterial soap, dish towels, spatulas, and that temperature business."

"Fine, fine. Go ahead and start. But I'm watching you closely," she pushed herself onto the counter separating the kitchen and living room, "and if I see one drop hit the floor or counter, we're going out for breakfast."

Severus began adding ingredients into a bowl, mixing them thoroughly before pouring the batter into the pan and sliding it into the pristine oven. Hermione watched as he added butter to the pans on the stove. The links went into one shallow pan, and she listened hungrily as they sizzled and popped. Severus pulled out a knife and began to dice onions, tomatoes, mushrooms, and several other vegetables. After the second pile had been formed, Hermione had to choke back laughter. She contemplated how to explain to Severus that the cubes did not all need to be the same exact size. She left it alone as he seemed to be comfortable and happy with his methods. Plus, he was being neat. He mixed the eggs, cheese, vegetables, and other pinches and dabbles of things and set them in the second pan on the stove. Hermione was impressed as she watched him flip and fold with ease.

The scents Severus was creating made her mouth water and stomach growl in hunger. It was much better, she decided, than the odor the day before, which made her eyes water and her stomach scream in horror.

When he pulled the fresh muffins from the oven, using his ever-so-helpful baking mitts, she hopped down from the counter. She knew exactly where to find all of the necessary tableware, as she had washed and organized the majority of it the night before. She silently collected silverware and dishes and set the table.

==

All of the pans and utensils were soaking in hot, soapy water in the sink, Hermione noted. The counters were spotless, all of the ingredients had been put away, and there were only a couple splashes and smears on Severus' now discarded apron.

That the apron had been black was the only positive thing about it. It had, in white, across the chest, "Kiss the Cook" with a little baker's hat cocked to the side on top of the C. There was a distinct frilliness to the two front pockets, and Severus had been reluctant to let her tie it behind him in a bow. Hermione had had to storm into his bedroom and bring out his shirt from the day before. The – now probably ruined – shirt had made her point and he donned the apron with a quietly simmering discomfort. He drew the line, however, at wearing it while dining.

She sat across the table from Severus, eating her omelette. Her fresh blueberry muffin was sliced down the middle, the butter melting its way through. Her sausages were greasy and slightly burnt, the way she liked them. And her freshly squeezed orange juice had just the right amount of pulp.

The only thing Severus hadn't prepared was the coffee. She had been happy to run down to the corner café while Severus took his own shower, earlier that morning. Neither had yet used the coffee maker and the thought of attempting to do so without its sweet caffeine coursing through their systems already was a deeply disturbing idea.

She smiled as she bit into a sausage, happily watching Severus take a long, satisfying sip of his coffee.

She finished her meal and groaned, almost too full and contented to move. After a few digesting breaths she stood up and took her plate into the kitchen. Severus stopped her before she began cleaning up after herself, standing between her and the sink. Despite her attempts, he refused all her offers to do the dishes. He pointed her out of the kitchen and towards the bookcase, knowing that she would not be able to resist the lure of the mainly unexplored bookshelves.

==

Hermione took a last, satisfying sip of coffee. Her muscles had stopped aching once she had gotten that first bit of caffeine into her system, but, shortly thereafter, she had eaten just a bit too much, leaving her with that highly satisfied, almost queasy feeling. The water had stopped running a few minutes prior and she knew that Severus had washed his last dish of the morning. She stood up, relishing in the painless movement. She walked into the kitchen and threw her empty coffee cup away.

Severus stood at the sink, drying glasses with a tea towel. He looked dashingly domestic with his apron on and yellow rubber gloves covering half his forearms, his sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows. He turned as she began walking toward him.

His eyes widened slightly in surprise, but otherwise he didn't react as she brought her arms around his neck. She stood on her tiptoes, bringing her face level with his. Before he could question why she was invading his personal space, she leaned further forward, pressing her mouth onto his.

She ended the kiss as quickly as she had initiated it, stepping backwards until she was at a respectable distance from him. Severus was too shocked to move, and she was glad for it. She wasn't sure whether he'd push her away with disgust or pull her to him with passion, and she didn't particularly want to find out.

Of its own volition, her hand reached out to trace the words on his chest. She smiled at the bewildered man and then changed her focus to the movements of her hand, until he looked down to watch her fingers glide over the letters K-I-S-S. He looked back to her face and his eyes locked with hers.

"Thank you for breakfast. It was delicious."

The doorbell rang as she finished the word 'delicious,' and she quickly retreated. She left the room and did not look back, as she proceeded to the front door to answer it.

As she chatted politely with the postman, she didn't hear the sound of glass shattering on the tile of the kitchen floor.

==

Severus gracefully flopped into his high-backed chair. When Hermione bade the postman goodbye, she shut the door and crossed the room to sit in her chair, beside his. She held up a rectangular white Muggle envelope with their names and address on it. Severus nodded to her in an okay to open it.

Hermione slipped her finger into the top corner, sliding it across the envelope, the triangular flap springing up from the body as the glue was separated. Hermione removed a sheet of white paper and unfolded it. She smiled at the letter, entirely typed save the signature of Albus Dumbledore at the bottom

"It's from Albus."

Severus did not know the Muggle teenager word 'dur. But had he been familiar with it, the look he shot her would have been meant to convey that particular sentiment exactly. She glowered back at him, knowing that her pronouncement had been rather obvious but still insulted by his implied snark.

She did not continue telling him about the letter, nor did she refocus her attention on it. She rustled the papers in her lap a bit, her eyes darting from the text before her to the man beside her to a mid-distant spot that wasn't really anywhere in particular. After a few moments of mutually expectant silence, Severus sighed and lifted his hand in a small wave.

"Well, go ahead and read it, Hermione. You were always so anxious to hear the sound of your own voice during my classes. I can see no reason that you should feel hesitant to read aloud to me now."

A defensive look crossed her face and he knew that he had struck a particularly sensitive nerve. Her mouth opened to form a response to his accusations and supercilious demand. She began to turn slightly pink, and he knew what she would tell him; that he never knew her intentions as a student and had treated her unfairly; that she was now a grown woman and his partner and deserved to be spoken to with at least a modicum of respect. Despite the fact that she would be insulting and upset, he looked forward to the verbal retaliation she would provide. He was feeling more confident this morning than he had since the game started. He had been scolded, ordered around, and manipulated throughout the game, and he knew he had deserved it all. Cooking a delicious breakfast, however, had raised his confidence level and given him the needed oomph to reassume his usual role of Snarky Bastard.

She was about to form a very indignant retaliation, but a word on the piece of paper caught her eye and she stopped in the middle of declaring him a 'Bastard'. Her eyes burnt into the page as she re-read the sentence with said word in it a few times, with both disbelief and amusement apparent. She continued reading the letter to herself until a clearing of the throat to her right reminded her that Severus had ordered her to read it aloud.

She cleared her throat a bit and began.

==

"Hermione, Severus, Arthur, Neville, George, Fred, Luna, Remus, Molly, Ron, Draco, & Harry –

Yes I know I did not need to say all of the names. But you wanted me to read it verbatim, did you not?

We are down to six teams now. Team ChameLion -

Really, Albus and his sweets... I can't imagine the amount of sugar he must have consumed to come up with all of those ridiculous team names. Anyway... Team ChameLion has dropped out of the game. Ginevra and Nymphadora discovered a game called football while in the city. There was a 'match' on the 'telly' in a Muggle 'pub' that they stopped by in. As avid sports fans, Tonks and Ginny became quite interested in the game.

The good news is that the Arsenal, the team they were rooting for, won the 'plate' or the 'fork' or something along those lines.

He means the Cup. Football is played for a Cup, I'm almost positive. Um, Ahem,

The bad news is that Tonks celebrated said victory by changing her hair to the team colors, red and white.

Everyone is doing a splendid job!

It's signed Albus Dumbledore, Game Master.

...

That man is so odd."

She put the paper down on her lap and slowly shook her head, a faint smile crossing her lips and belying her attempt to convey annoyance. She had mastered both the urge to laugh hysterically and the urge to scream in frustration before she raised her eyes to regard the man sitting in the chair next to her.

==

When her gaze rested on him he realized that she was waiting for his input. Quiet contemplation came easily to both of them, but she had come to enjoy receiving his opinion on matters. He also had learned that sharing his thoughts did not always lead to confusion or contempt, and he now generally offered his assessment with much less prodding than she had been forced to use during the establishment of their rapport.

"Quite."

He knew that his one-word agreement would not be enough to satisfy her, but was trying to put his thoughts in order so as to not sound like a complete dunderhead when he gave her his view on the letter and its implications. As expected, the exasperating witch kept her eyes locked firmly on him. Severus was rather certain that she had willed her eyes to keep from even blinking as she waited for him to break from his silent reverie and grudgingly speak his thoughts aloud.

"It has been two days since the Headmaster exiled us for his most recent punishment, ahem, I mean his most recent competition, for us all."

"Yes..." she supplied, hoping to encourage him to continue his disclosure. He knew that she must be truly interested in where he was headed as she made no comment on his accidental verbal slip and display of pessimism and spite.

"Only two days have passed, and already two teams have been disqualified." She nodded at the known information, eyes shining with interest as she tried to determine the conclusion he had reached. "I knew that it would be easy to outlast the other teams. I had not expected, however, that the other teams would fall this quickly." His smugness was conveyed clearly, a stirring of disappointment possibly warring with his relief in the more traitorous parts of his mind.

"Well they had severe obstacles to overcome. By an accident of birth, members of those teams could not fulfill this mission satisfactorily."

"Because they were born to wizarding families? Need I remind you that I am a pureblood myself, and do not appreciate the implication that said parentage makes me inferior to anyone? Or that I take offense to the suggestion that I am less qualified or worthy than people that I consider my equals? Nor do I agree with the allegation that I am unable to conquer the necessary obstacles to emerge from this game victorious."

She sputtered in righteous indignation at his accusation that she was a bigot. He smiled, knowing that she couldn't really see his expression through her blinding rage, and twisted the knife.

"Really, Hermione. I expected better of you. I'm very disappointed to learn that you, of all people, would judge – or worse, degrade – someone based solely on their blood-status."

He was sure she was about to choke on her own tongue. Words were leaving her mouth incoherently, as she simultaneously tried to defend herself and explain things calmly. She was offended and not thinking clearly. When her eyes focused on his face, she caught sight of his firmly-established hint of a smirk. He was either unwilling or unable to sustain the guise of antipathy in the face of her predictable reaction.

The flush that had begun at her neck and concurrently traveled up to her face and down to her chest faded in a moment. She turned pale for a split-second and examined his face for reassurance. Apparently finding it, she smiled.

"Did you just tease me, Severus?"

"I suppose I did."

"I've known you to insult me, and to ignore me, but you've never quite mastered your teasing technique."

"I appear to be improving."

"Yes. That was definitely teasing. How'd it feel?"

"Satisfying, yet lacking in the malicious glee I'm usually able to achieve with true nastiness and sincere dislike."

"And that is a good feeling, or a bad feeling?"

"I prefer not to answer that question, as I've never been one to show a preference." He paused and she snorted, preparing to bring up house rivalries and teachers' pets. He spoke again before she was able to make a statement, continuing as though she had interrupted him after the word preference, as opposed to him halting his statement to raise her ire, "A preference for one insulting method over another, of course."

"You are so..."

"You needn't praise my candor. I believe you were going to explain to me our advantage over teams ChameLion and Cat's Eye? If I'm not mistaken, you were going to outline the reasons they were destined to lose this competition by accident of personal nature, rather than coming to the natural conclusion that I – I mean We - are simply superior in self-restraint, knowledge, skill, and other resources necessary to play this game to the end."

She groaned at his words, but inwardly grinned at what appeared to be Severus Snape in a playful mood.

"It's what we don't have that will help us. I'm not a Metamorphmagus, and you're neither paranoid to the point of partial insanity nor are you missing an eye. And neither of us is prone to automatically hexing unknown innocents for the evil of being not in our immediate line of sight."

"Indeed. Just the same, however, you ought to avoid sneaking up on me or, essentially, progressing on me in any way that could be misconstrued as aggressive. And this 'football' monstrosity is definitely a wretched Muggle obsession that we should avoid at all costs."

"Right. I agree. Though at the rate everyone's going, this game will be over in a week."

It would be eleven days before Severus and Hermione were visited again by the postman, carrying another note from the Game Master.

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Author's Notes

Because if I'm going to admit to being an author, I'll damn well insist that I've no idea what I'm doing, and admit that I'm scared as hell.