Renevatio

Chapter Three

Renevatio

Diagon Alley was not typically busy in the early evening, particularly on a weekday, but it was an unusually warm spring day, and more than a few families and shoppers were milling about. Some were enjoying dinner at a café's outside tables, and several families were heading to Florean Fortescue's for an after-dinner ice cream. It was a beautiful evening, perfect for window shopping and strolling down the winding cobbled street.

A loud crack disrupted the idyllic scene. Gasps and strangled screams were heard as Severus Snape, Death Eater-turned-spy, Apparated into the middle of Diagon Alley, his countenance positively livid. Customary sneer affixed to his mouth, he stalked toward his apothecary, his terrifying expression causing people to scurry out of his path as he approached. Inwardly, Severus smirked; it was good to know he could still intimidate the masses.

Severus was so angry he could barely think beyond going home and pouring himself a stiff drink. His long legs quickly took him to Renevatio Elixirs and Apothecary. Emblazoned on the wooden sign above the door was the shimmering symbol of a phoenix, which perpetually burned in a burst of blue flame, only to rise from the ashes again. He watched the magical logo, entranced by the movement, and allowed its symbolism to calm him. Renevatio. Truly, the shop was his renewal, his second chance at life. Feeling himself relax slightly, Severus removed his wand from his sleeve to check the wards he had placed prior to leaving for the meeting at number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

Satisfied that no one had attempted entry during his absence, he waved his wand at the blank wall next to the entrance to Renevatio. A door materialised, and after Severus determined that the ward on this door had also not been breached, he entered, climbing the narrow staircase to his flat above the shop.

As Severus crossed the threshold, he felt the tingle of magic indicating his wards recognised his magical signature. Home. Thank Merlin. Anger and resentment still coursed through his veins but were tempered somewhat now that he had arrived in his sanctuary.

A red blur sped out the doorway to his right, causing Severus to raise his arm to provide his feathered friend a place to land. "Hello, Fawkes," he said to the scarlet phoenix, running his left hand over the bird's plumage. Fawkes trilled a greeting as he rubbed his head against the Potions master's hand and then flew to his perch in the far corner of the sitting room.

Severus removed his light-weight robes, hanging them on the coat stand in the small hallway. His long fingers lingered a moment on the fine material. After so many years of wearing teaching robes, he had decided to continue the custom. In the beginning, it had been much like wearing a costume, but the billowing robes had become a part of him – a part of his teaching persona that he did not wish to forgo. He admitted to having a bit of a flair for the dramatic – he was a Slytherin, after all. These robes, unlike those he had worn as a professor, were of the finest quality he could afford. Severus had lived a sparse existence for much of his life, with very little in the way of creature comforts. One corner of his mouth lifted slightly; he certainly did not have to live in such a way any longer.

Leaving the hall, he stepped into the sitting room, stopping to take in the masculine elegance of the room. After his Spartan quarters at Hogwarts, these were lavish in comparison. The flat was not excessively large, but suited his needs. There was a small eat-in kitchen, a bedroom with an en-suite bath, and the large sitting room he was currently standing in.

The sitting room was his favourite room, and where evenings often found him reading before the fire whilst Fawkes rested on his perch in the corner. In front of the marble fireplace was a large, midnight blue sofa, which anchored an intricately woven Persian rug and was flanked by two saffron-coloured winged-back chairs edged in a deep blue. A mahogany table sat behind the sofa; on it was a rectangular sterling silver tray upon which sat three expensive crystal decanters, two matching crystal glasses, and a bottle of gin. The room was tastefully done – Severus had selected the furnishings himself – with warm walls in the same colour as the chairs, mahogany bookshelves, and curtains of midnight blue and gold. Having spent most of his life surrounded by Slytherin green, he had no desire to have that particular colour here. No, here he had been able to make a true home for himself – one outside of his family, outside of Hogwarts.

After twenty years of blood, sweat, and yes, even the occasional tears – not to mention six months in Azkaban – he had paid his debt to wizarding society for his foolish teenage mistakes. Severus nodded to himself. He might never be able to fully pay for his complicity in Albus' death – at least not to his satisfaction – but he had sacrificed much of his adult life for this world. He had no desire to punish himself further, especially if said punishment involved living in that ramshackle house in Spinner's End.

Content that everything was as he had left it, Severus began viciously rolling up his shirtsleeves, muttering under his breath about foolish, idiotic dunderhead Gryffindors who couldn't see beyond the tips of their own wands. It was definitely time for a drink.

Severus made his way to the table behind the sofa; he dismissed the port immediately and considered the brandy for a moment before reaching for the decanter of firewhisky. Picking up one of the heavy crystal glasses from the tray, he poured himself two fingers, then reconsidered and added another finger; he had a feeling he would need it before the night was out. After replacing the stopper, he walked around to the front of the sofa and waved a negligent hand toward the fireplace, igniting the fire with a nonverbal Incendio. He eased himself down into the plush brocade of the sofa, loosened the collar of his shirt, then stretched out his long legs and leant back to contemplate the evening's events.

Everyone who had been in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, save for himself and perhaps young Malfoy, were obviously dead from the neck up. Merlin's hairy toes! Did they honestly believe Charlie Weasley could be Hermione's soul mate? Then Potter had felt compelled to drag in Draco Malfoy's name. They were idiots, every single one of them. The identity of the other person mentioned in the prophecy was as obvious as the prodigious protuberance on his face. Even Hermione Granger, know-it-all above all know-it-alls, had not come to the correct conclusion – and worse, she had used him to show just how ridiculous she felt the prophecy truly was. That was what had angered him the most, he decided: her casual dismissal of even the idea of him being her soul mate. It was especially disconcerting given the identity of the soul mate in question. Oh yes, the other person in the prophecy was none other than Severus Snape himself.

It was readily apparent to him that no one in the room thought he was worthy enough to be considered for even a single moment. As for Severus, he had known the instant Miss Lovegood had spoken that it referred to him. In his mind, it was irrefutable – if the prophecy were to be believed, he and Hermione were soul mates. The only question in his mind was what to do now?

Staring at the fire, Severus raised the glass of firewhisky to his lips and allowed himself a swallow. Hermione Granger. The insufferable, know-it-all Gryffindor. He snorted, and then his lips quirked up into a small smile. She had been more than just an annoying former student for a long time. She was, for lack of a better term, his friend – one of only a few to have that privilege. Crossing his legs at the ankle and settling himself into a more comfortable position, Severus allowed himself to think back to how it all began.

The months immediately following Albus Dumbledore's death had been the loneliest of his life. He had thought he had known loneliness – he had spent twenty years living as a caricature of a man, avoiding relationships of any kind – but that had been nothing compared to the complete isolation he had experienced in those few months after he ... after Albus had died. No one had known his true loyalties, and he had found himself hunted by the Order and the Ministry, whilst at the same time reviled by the Death Eaters, who were angry about the half-blood who had managed to become second in rank to only the Dark Lord himself.

Following Albus' death, Fawkes had sung his final mourning song and then had left Hogwarts forever, flying to rendezvous with Severus, who had Draco with him, at a prearranged location. Two days of talking to the boy, helping him process through the happenings on the Astronomy Tower, had brought the desired result. Though it had been a wrench to lose the company of the only beings who knew his true agenda, Severus had sent Fawkes with Draco to the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix; Draco, for his protection, and Fawkes, to vouch for Draco's sincerity. Not even Potter would have been able to believe that Dumbledore's familiar would Apparate within headquarters with Draco Malfoy clinging to his glorious plumage unless the boy was innocent. Severus, then, had proceeded to the devil's lair.

He had struggled for weeks to stave off depression. His salvation had come in the unlikely forms of Hermione Granger and Luna Lovegood.

To this day, he was not certain of all the events that had led to him being contacted by the two young women. His understanding was that Draco had been providing as much information to the Order as he could, but his knowledge had been limited. Albus had left some sort of evidence of the vow he had forced Severus to take – a vow almost identical to the one Severus had made with Narcissa – and apparently the two young women had convinced the Order to attempt to contact him.

Hermione had believed that Fawkes would know where to find him, no matter how deeply he was hidden inside Voldemort's camp. She certainly was a clever girl, for Fawkes had indeed known of his whereabouts. The phoenix had appeared in a burst of flame one evening, dropping a golden feather into Severus' lap – an indication someone had a message for him. Soon thereafter, a meeting had been scheduled between himself, Hermione, and Miss Lovegood. The rest, as they say, is history.

After that first tense meeting, the odd trio had met as necessary – at least once a month, and never in the same place twice – to exchange information. His only contact with the Order had been through Hermione and Miss Lovegood. He had refused to meet with anyone else; each of the two young women had allowed him to use both Legilimency and Veritaserum to ascertain their trustworthiness. He had been pleased to discover that neither woman would allow his often biting words and infamous temper to faze them in the slightest. In fact, he had to admit that the exchange of sarcastic words between himself and Hermione that had invariably occurred at each of their meetings had been like a balm to his weary soul.

His lips twitched again into a brief smile as he recalled the meeting that had solidified his burgeoning friendship with Hermione Granger.

"What the bloody hell were you thinking, coming here alone, Miss Granger?" Severus ground out, his head throbbing in pain from the wound he had received during the brief skirmish that had occurred earlier in the evening.

Now it was her gaze that was narrowed at him. She placed her small hands on her hips, glared at him, and stated emphatically, "I am not leaving until I tend that wound. Sit down." She pointed to a wooden crate on the floor of the abandoned warehouse in which they were currently meeting.

"Don't you care for your own well-being? Or are you being hypocritical?" he asked, his tone snide.

Then she disappeared with a soft pop, leaving behind a thoroughly bewildered, yet strangely warmed, Severus Snape.

Severus took another sip of the fiery liquid, relishing the burn as it slid down his throat. After that night, he had insisted that she call him Severus, an honour Hermione had clearly understood as she had immediately reciprocated by granting him permission to use her given name, as well. It was then that their unlikely friendship had truly begun. He was still amazed by it, by just how much he had come to cherish her friendship. He could not deny it, especially after his reaction at the battle of the Dark Lord's defeat.

As the dust cleared on the battlefield at Hogwarts, there was an unexpected moment of silence as the remaining Death Eaters realised their master had fallen to the wand of Harry Potter. In an instant, the fighting resumed as some of the Dark Lord's followers decided they would rather die, taking as many Order members and ministry Aurors with them as they could, than surrender.

Severus ignored the tightening in his chest at the sight; the Dark Lord was dead, and Hermione was safe. He was content.

Severus had lost consciousness from blood loss almost immediately after the trio's little reunion. He had awakened in Azkaban; it had taken six months for the Order to convince the Wizengamot of his true loyalties and to win his release. As loath as he was to be indebted to anyone, Severus knew he owed his survival and his freedom to Hermione Granger and Luna Lovegood – without them, the Order might never have contacted him, regardless of Albus' evidence.

By the time the first anniversary of the Second Fall of Voldemort had passed, Severus had bought and renovated the apothecary in Diagon Alley, renaming it Renevatio and using the phoenix as his logo in commemoration of his new life. Fawkes had appeared in his flat one evening and refused to leave – the bird must be a glutton for punishment – and so, Severus had acquired his first familiar.

Hermione had begun her studies at the Magical University in London and had needed a part-time job – so he had hired her as a brewer. It was a mutually beneficial relationship, and she – much like the continuing Order meetings – had provided him with companionship and friendship.

It had been Hermione's idea, of course, for him to attend the monthly meetings of the Order of the Phoenix. Severus had balked at first, stating he had no desire to attend and that no one but her, and perhaps Miss Lovegood, would want him there. The two young witches had insisted, however, that his presence was requested, and so, after much discussion, he had attended the first meeting. What he had found there were people who trusted him. They knew him; they knew what he stood for, the terrible sacrifices he had made, and whilst everyone might not like him, they respected him. He now attended each meeting without fail. That ragtag group of people were more of a family to him than his parents had ever been, and although he would never publicly admit to it, he enjoyed the time spent catching up on each other's lives.

Overall, he was content with his life. There was only one small dark spot in the brightness of his days – Hermione's relationship with Ron Weasley.

Severus had not been surprised when, upon his release from prison, he had learnt that the two were seeing each other. He had been disappointed, certainly, but not surprised; the pair had been heading in that direction for years, after all. He had hoped Hermione would realise over time that she was completely incompatible with the young Auror, but obviously that had not happened. Instead, he had watched as the two argued their way through the next several years until this very evening when their engagement had been announced.

That had certainly caught him by surprise. When the announcement had been made, he had immediately left the table, afraid his shock and disapproval could be seen upon his face. Of all the stupid, ill-conceived ideas, this one had to take the Snitch. There was no way that Weasley could make Hermione happy, nor she him. The two had nothing in common but their friendship with Potter. They fought constantly over even the most trivial matters. A complete stranger could see that the two were merely very good friends, even if it was with "benefits." Severus scowled darkly at the thought of Weasley's hands caressing Hermione's unblemished skin ...

He looked into his now empty glass; he needed another drink. Standing to pour himself another firewhisky, he purposefully turned his thoughts to the other shocking event of the evening – Miss Lovegood's prophecy.

Settling himself back on the sofa with his drink, he considered the ramifications of the prophecy. So, he and Hermione were soul mates, their hearts, minds, and souls predestined to join together. His mouth tightened; he had never thought of her in those terms before, as more than a friend. He snorted into his glass. No sense in lying to yourself now, old man. Oh, you've noticed her. How could you not? Indeed. How could he not? He noticed her hands as they chopped ingredients whilst she was brewing. They were as meticulous as his own, and he had once suffered the insane thought that she had memorised the way he worked. He noticed the slender fingers as she gripped the chopping knife or the stirring rod. She had an adorable way of wrinkling her nose whilst chopping the more malodorous ingredients ... hell and damnation! Now the insufferable woman had him thinking words like adorable!

If he were to be completely honest with himself, Severus would have to admit that he noticed a lot of things about Hermione Granger. On more than one occasion, he had forced himself not to wonder what it would be like to have the dazzling smile she bestowed on the Weasley whelp focussed on him, to have those small hands held in his, her slim fingers entwined with his, to have those full lips kiss more than just his cheek, to have that petite body with its seductive curves melded to him rather than just the brushing of a friendly greeting.

Perhaps now he could ...

He shook his head, a lock of ebony hair falling into his eyes. No, it would not do to start thinking about that – not yet, anyway. Sex was one thing, but the fact that they were soul mates indicated compatibility on a much deeper level; together, there would be harmony where there was once discord. Yes, this was more than just a coming together of flesh – this prophecy spoke of love.

Love. That was one emotion with which Severus Snape was not familiar. Oh, he had loved his mother, he supposed, and he had loved Albus more than he had his own father – but this was different. Could he love her? Was he capable of feeling such an emotion? The prophecy had not said anything about how he would feel about her.

He raked the fingers of one hand through his hair, set his glass upon his knee, and leant his head on the back of the sofa. His eyes gazed, unseeing, at the ceiling. Severus didn't know if he was able to fall in love, but he did know that if there was one person in the world whom he could love, it would be Hermione Granger. How could he not? She was perfection wrapped up in one petite, bushy-haired package. He might not have consciously realised it before, but now that he had heard the prophecy, he could see it – she was his equal in every way. He enjoyed that she stood up to him, that she could give as good as she got. No one had ever been able to keep up with him verbally the way she could. Hermione understood him in a way that not even Albus ever had done. She knew him – well, at least as much of him as he had permitted her to know.

He considered that for a moment. The prophecy said he would enrapture her, that they would speak to each other "heart to heart" and "mind to mind." If that were true, and he believed it was, then she would come to love him for himself, not some carefully cultivated persona. Could he do that – open himself to someone in such a way?

He needed to determine how he wished to handle this. His face twisted in renewed consternation as he remembered Hermione's reaction to the prophecy – she wasn't happy and was most assuredly in denial, most likely due to the impact such a revelation would have on her relationship with Weasley.

Severus sighed and closed his eyes. What a bloody mess.

Perhaps he should just tell her that the prophecy referred to him. No. She would either run screaming from the room – and his life – or, assuming she even believed in the prophecy at all at this point, she would come to him resigned to her fate. Neither scenario was acceptable to him. He wanted her to love him, not feel a sense of duty toward him.

Severus groaned as he realised his only option was to woo her. He had never courted a witch before, but after this evening of reflection, he believed he could do it. Hermione had similar interests to his, and that would simplify matters.

He lifted his head and finished off the glass of firewhisky. He could do this. He would wait until Weasley stepped aside, as he most certainly would; then, he would be her friend as she recovered from the dissolution of her engagement, and after a sufficient period of time had passed, he would woo her. He would show her all of who he was, she would come to love him, and then, her heart would be his reward.

Severus stood, placed his empty glass on the drinks tray, waved his hand to douse the fire, and walked to his bedroom, unbuttoning his fine linen shirt as he went.

He pulled the shirttail free from the confines of his trousers; a wave of his hand lit the wall sconces, the candles casting a warm glow. The room was cosy and inviting, its dark blue walls, mahogany furniture, and gold-coloured bedding a perfect complement to the furnishings of the sitting room.

Deciding to take a shower, Severus toed off his dragon-hide boots before entering the marble bathroom. He tossed his shirt into the laundry basket; unfastening the first few buttons of his trousers, he walked over to the shower, leant in to test the temperature, and adjusted it to his satisfaction. He finished unbuttoning his trousers, hooked his thumbs into the waistband, and pulled off his remaining clothing in one go, allowing it to fall to the floor. He banished the small pile into the laundry basket and then stepped into the steaming hot shower.

He stood still for a moment, his arms braced against the shower wall, and his head bowed under the pulsing stream as he allowed the water to wash over his pale form. After a few moments, Severus grabbed the bar of sandalwood soap and began to wash himself, first his arms, then his chest and stomach, before washing his legs and feet.

As he rinsed the soap from his body, he wondered again if he could really do it. Could he, Severus Snape – the greasy git, bat of the dungeons – actually enrapture the heart of Gryffindor's golden girl? Only time would tell for certain, but the prophecy indicated that he could – indeed, that he would – win the love of Hermione Granger.

As the hot water beat upon his body, his mind full of the possibility of Hermione, his soap-slick hand went instinctively to his semi-erect penis. Severus closed his eyes, seeing her hands reaching for him – welcoming him – and gave himself over to the pleasure as he pumped into his fist, feeling instead the tight warmth of her body as it tightened in time to her cries, until his seed pulsed from him in a jerking stream, pouring over his fingers and onto the shower floor before swirling down the drain.

His body now both cleansed and sated, Severus stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel, briskly drying himself before wrapping the fluffy white fabric around his waist. He walked back into his bedroom and grabbed a pair of soft navy blue pyjama bottoms from his wardrobe, quickly pulling them on before sliding beneath the gold damask duvet.

"Nox," he said, extinguishing the candles as he pulled the bed covering up to his chest.

He closed his eyes and was drifting between sleep and wakefulness when a long-forgotten memory surfaced. It was of the year of the Triwizard Tournament, Hermione's fourth year, right after the incident with her teeth. Severus winced as he recalled his cruel words and her stricken face. He had been under a great deal of stress, his Mark had been darkening, indicating the Dark Lord was growing stronger, and he had lashed out at her reflexively. A few hours later, he had given his report to Albus.

As always, Albus had listened patiently as Severus relayed every detail of the episode between the Slytherin and Gryffindor students, including his own words to the female third of the Golden Trio. Rather than chiding him as he had expected, the headmaster had simply looked at him, his blue eyes serious as he had held Severus' gaze. The words he had spoken had seemed out of place at the time, but now Severus had to wonder if Albus had known something, even then.

"You should consider your words with the girl carefully, Severus," Albus had said, his tone thoughtful. "You will come to appreciate her, some day."

How could Albus have known that? Severus contemplated the memory for a moment before brushing it aside. The old man had always seemed to him to have some sort of omniscience; this was just another example.

Severus turned onto his side and burrowed into the warm bedding. For the first time in his life, he allowed himself the luxury of dreaming of a loving wife and a family he could call his own.

A:N: Up next ... Hermione and Ron. How are they dealing with the prophecy?

My continued thanks to the betas!