Chapter Fifteen

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JKR. This is all for personal fun and enjoyment.

A/N: My thanks to Shug for her excellent work on this chapter and to MollysSister for giving it a once-over to help calm my nerves. The two of you are angels!

*

November 30, 2002

Hermione was at Severus' flat for the first time in ages. He'd been sleeping for nearly a day straight after this last trip. It had taken a lot out of him, and he hadn't had the energy to go to the cottage. They were spending the weekend together in Paris. A change. It certainly broke the monotony... if there could be monotony in a relationship where one partner was consistently torn away for weeks at a time.

She had been mulling around the flat, reading, checking in on him while he slept, ordering in Chinese as he had yet to teach her anything in a kitchen, and had gone looking for a book she'd lost in his study when she'd found... it.

A very disturbing piece of paper that listed bloody terrifying potions.

Is there such a thing as happiness in a bottle? she had asked herself while reading.

Hermione had never had an ethical issue with potions work, which at a base level was similar to Muggle chemistry and pharmacy. But some of these potions...

How can you bottle emotion? Lust potions were the most obvious offender, and other potions could calm you... well, so could green tea, she supposed. But when did the importance of potions' medicinal properties become outstripped by human addiction and need for unnatural mental and emotional relief and suppression – when was it unethical to start blocking emotions, mental pain, and thus real personal development? Potions to suppress heartache, relieve guilt... Such potions were not well known or easily made... but they were mere child's play for masters.

Severus was a master. And from the looks of this list, he was making them.

Hermione usually did not question Severus' business decisions, but this was troublesome. This list was composed of potions that blocked pain or created patience... were they merely ideas or were they in the trial stages or were they in production – being sold?

This was entirely unethical. It created – faked – emotion.

It was undeniably a slippery slope.

"There you are," a voice said behind her.

Hermione whipped around. "Severus. You're awake," she said, surprised, and attempted to hide the paper behind her.

He looked at her quizzically and reached behind her back, taking the paper from her hand.

His lips tightened as he read.

"You've been in my papers," he said, his voice level. Hermione met his eyes. They were blank. That was never good.

"I was looking for one of the books you said I could borrow, and that was on your desk. It was out in the open."

"So my personal papers are only private if they're locked away?"

"I'm sorry," she said. "But it was right there, and I couldn't help but notice –"

"This is private information that is to do with my business," he said fiercely.

"It's unethical!" she blurted out, unable to hold her tongue in check any longer. "Do these potions actually do what you say they do?" She pointed at the paper.

"They're meant to, yes. And I fail to see how creating potions that help people is unethical," he said, sardonic and dismissive at the same time.

"They create false emotions," Hermione insisted. "I don't see how creating a lust potion is any different."

"They help people – oh, sweet Merlin, woman, would you let it go?" He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"No."

"They help people become better versions of themselves," he said at last, staring directly at her, clearly amused by his words.

"That's what personal growth is for!" she exclaimed, frustrated beyond belief.

"Not everyone shares your idealism."

She inhaled sharply. "Basic growth is not an ideal. It's how we –"

"Become better able to handle situations? Tell me, Hermione," he said conversationally, leaning against the table, "how will a patience potion not help a mother of young children and make the situation better for everyone involved?"

"It's habit forming."

"Are endurance potions any different?"

"Those are like Muggle caffeine," Hermione responded automatically. "They assist the body –"

"So do these."

"But emotions are different! There's an entirely different physiology –"

"Do not lecture me on physiology. I am a Potions master, lest you forget," Severus said lowly, his tone threatening. A moment passed, and the look in his eyes cleared away. He relaxed again, clearly enjoying baiting her. "What would you make of a Calming Draught then, my dear?" he asked, and the tone he took with 'my dear' was so disdainful that she wanted to throw up.

"It's a sedative," she said slowly. "Also, they can only legally be administered by health professionals, and you know it. Just because you work outside the boundaries of propriety –"

"Are you calling me unethical?" There was that tone again. His entire demeanor looked fierce and ready to pounce.

Hermione gulped. "No. But I do think that you have your own standard that you adhere to, which sometimes lies outside the norm." That was fair – and ambiguous – enough.

He was ethical, in his own way – this she knew. But one did not serve as a double agent for over twenty years and maintain a strict moral code...

His morals were... flexible. Yes, that was the word. The Big Sins – murder, robbery, assault, and so on – he opposed. But when it came to manipulating the human condition...

Well, he was a Potions master. Moreover, he was a master who researched every corner of his field, leaving no stone unturned, finding every dark and disturbing nook and cranny, if only to further complete his own knowledge.

He was consistent, though. She gave him that.

He sighed and broke the tension. "I'm only researching these potions, Hermione. But I will sell those that can be made successfully made without overly addictive ingredients, I can assure you."

"Such potions can still be habit-forming. People can still become addicted."

"That's their prerogative."

"Severus!"

"Personal responsibility, Hermione – have you ever heard of it?" he asked tersely, looking ready to pounce again. "You can't save the whole fucking world through your own example of a Fine Moral Code."

Her fists balled at her sides in anger. "Are you making fun of me?"

"I do believe I am," he said as he sat down. "Who stole from my stores? Who led Dolores Umbridge to the centaurs?"

"I thought we decided we weren't bringing up the past."

He was silent.

"I only did what was necessary!" she insisted.

"So did I."

They both looked away from the other.

"I think I'll leave," she said at last.

"That would be best."

"And don't Floo me," she called as she stalked out of his kitchen.

"Come to bed later," he called to her.

Merlin, he was infuriating.

And she felt guilty.

Oh, so guilty.

She Apparated back to her flat, fury and shame coursing through her.

*

He left on another blasted trip two days later.

*

December 19, 2002

Hermione arrived at her office, coffee in hand, a stain already firmly soaked in her white pantsuit. She was just sitting down at her desk when a whirl of black sped into her office.

"Cosette!" she exclaimed as her friend's body launched against her.

"Hermione, ma chere, it has been too long!" Cosette exclaimed, releasing Hermione from her crushing embrace.

"It's only been forty-eight hours," Hermione said, grinning as Cosette pulled up a chair next to her.

"The office is so dull without you, darling, painfully dull."

Hermione snorted. "You're usually not so melodramatic. And I would think that you are the vivacious one in this relationship."

"I missed you," Cosette insisted. "How was the wedding?" Her eyes were bright with curiosity.

Hermione waved a hand, and the door slammed shut. Pierre wouldn't mind. He'd be in the office within a half hour to ask her the same thing, anyway.

"Oh, it was beautiful, Cosette," Hermione said, turning back to her friend, her face lit with joy. "Outdoors, in the snow – I love magic!" she exclaimed. "And we were all warm and everything!"

Cosette laughed. "Winter weddings are truly magical things."

"Oh, shut it," Hermione said playfully. "Harry was... so happy. So happy. I don't think I've ever been hugged longer in my life. And the look on his face when Ginny walked up the aisle..." Tears came to her eyes. "Beautiful. And Ginny was just radiant. Her dress was stunning. She looked like something out of a fairy tale, I tell you. Her hair was curled and the dress was glistening, just radiating off the decorative snow and the sunlight, and she was wearing this beautiful pearl drop necklace. The vows were lovely and very funny and honest and everyone was laughing and crying at the same time. Kingsley officiated, and Luna stood up for Ginny and Ron was Best Man..." She trailed off.

"This is the one you were engaged to?" Cosette prompted.

Hermione nodded. "He looked good. He was smiling, but he was the only person there whose mind was completely elsewhere."

"You know this?" Cosette looked slightly incredulous.

"I know him."

"Ah."

Silence.

"Did Harry or Ginny speak of him to you?"

"No," Hermione said softly. She looked down in her lap only to see the coffee stain glaring back at her angrily. She Banished it.

"And what did you wear?" Cosette asked.

"An invisibility cloak."

"You still dressed up."

"You only know that because you helped me pick an outfit!"

"As if Hermione Granger would attend a wedding in casual attire! Please," Cosette said, playfully exasperated. "Also, I helped you picked out three outfits. Which did you wear?"

"The black one." Hermione smiled.

Cosette snorted. "An ode to your mate."

Hermione's eyes darkened. "He's not –"

"Have you seen him yet? When did you get back? Last night?"

"He's been on a trip for two weeks. I don't know when he'll be back," Hermione said, barely able to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

Cosette sighed patiently. "We've discussed this."

"I know, I know!" Hermione exclaimed, frustrated. "He's respectful of my work situation, and I can't help but be frustrated when his is secret. I know that's a blatant double standard. I know."

"At last, you acknowledge it."

"At least he tells me he's going somewhere. He didn't that one time in October." Hermione put her forehead in her hands. "Oh, that man drives me crazy. Like I wouldn't care that he had gone for a week and didn't know where he was!"

"He can't talk about it, Hermione. That is something you need to let go of."

"I know, I know. It's just so bloody infuriating! I think it's because I got used to hearing about his work –"

"You still hear about the apothecary, just not about the trips."

"Do you know how many weeks he's been gone in the last six months? Eight," Hermione said flatly. "That's eight weeks we haven't been together in six months. That's two months unexplained –"

"If I were Muggle I'd say you sound like a military wife..."

Hermione sighed and leaned back in her chair. "Don't give me that, Cosette. I don't need that from you, of all people. Your significant other and our precious boss have done more than their share of attempting to assuage my concern." She paused. "And don't joke about that word, either."

"What, the Muggle military?"

"You know what I mean."

"The word 'wife?'"

"Cosette..."

"You were just at a wedding, Hermione –"

"Theirs, not ours."

Cosette was silent for a moment. "Do you want to marry him?"

"No. Yes. Maybe. No. I don't know. Let's not talk about it."

Cosette's face remained blank. "Of course. What are your plans for New Year's?"

"We don't have any and probably won't. I don't even know if he'll be back by then."

"Well, would you and Severus – or just you, if you prefer – be interested in having a wonderful midnight meal in the Eiffel Tower with Henri and me?"

Hermione arched an eyebrow. "How tourist of you, darling."

Cosette shrugged, nonplussed. "We've never been to the Eiffel, and Henri is rather fond of romantic clichés. What do you say, though? Are you up for a double date?"

"Or third wheeling," Hermione said dryly.

"You'll come, then! Excellent."

"You know, this is one of the things I love most about your friendship, Cosette – the choices you give me. Such a thoughtful friend."

"You love me for it." Cosette grinned, and Hermione wanted to shake her because she was right. Cosette rose from her chair and started towards the door. "I'll send Pierre in now. He's dying to hear about it. He's worse than the old gossips down at the fish market."

Hermione cringed. "Do I have to tell him?"

"He's our boss. He controls the paychecks."

Hermione groaned. "Send him in. The old ninny."

As she waited for Pierre, she wondered why it was that she hadn't told Cosette that she had stood next to Kingsley in between Harry and Ginny – standing up for both bride and groom – for the entire ceremony. That Luna had kept casting strange looks in her direction. That she'd been a foot away from Ron and could have sworn he felt her there.

That she was relatively certain that Harry had told Kingsley she would be standing there.

That her secret might be out of the bag.

*

Hermione entered the Capois cottage that evening with trepidation. She was anxious, and the spell she'd just cast revealed that he had indeed returned from his trip.

"Severus?" she called, shutting the door tightly behind her, relieved to be warm again. She unzipped her parka and hung it on the coat rack. She hadn't had the heart to use the Floo and had thus Apparated to the village and walked. And Lord, was it frigid.

The atmosphere in the house was similar. The only light was coming from the sitting room. She walked in to find him relaxing in a chair with a glass of brandy in hand. The amber color reflected brilliantly in the firelight. It was all rather picturesque, damn him.

What's more, it was a familiar sight that should make her comfortable. But it didn't. She was on edge.

"Hello, you," he said casually. His lips twitched at the edges – almost a smile.

She put her hands on her hips, still annoyed. "Your trip was productive?"

"Mm. Come here." He set his glass of brandy on the table and reached for her.

"Severus?" she asked, halting just short of his arm's reach. "What's going on?"

He arched an eyebrow. "In case you haven't been counting, which I know you have – the huge tally marks on the kitchen calendar are quite noticeable, by the way – I have been gone for the last three weeks. And I have missed you –" She rolled her eyes, still annoyed as hell, and he leaned forward and grasped her hand. "Yes, I have missed you, and I should like to hold you now."

"On your terms." She tried to jerk her hand away from him, but he pulled her into his lap. Damn him and his strength. "Always on your fucking terms." He rubbed her back, and she tried to stay mad at him. Tried. Very hard.

He was damn difficult to be away from.

"I do miss you when I'm gone, you know," he said in her ear.

She leaned her head back against the chair. "No, Severus, I don't know. 'Hermione, I'm tired; Hermione, I need rest; Hermione, I can't see you tonight, it's important,'" she mimicked. "Even when you are here, you are flooded with work. I'm not on your priority list."

He sighed and circled his arm around her waist. "I won't be taking a trip for at least another month or two. Satisfied?"

"Not nearly," she muttered.

He let his arm drop. "I know my absence has... taken a toll. We are both easily wrapped up in our work. I admit that."

She ignored the dull feeling in the pit of her stomach. He was more important to her than her work. Had she not told him she loved him a thousand times? How could he say that about her?

He pulled her tightly against him and kissed her head. "Are you still angry?"

"Yes," she said through gritted teeth.

He merely laughed.

*

The next day

"So you've made up," Cosette said, looking at Hermione from across the table. She bit into the pizza they were sharing for lunch.

Hermione grunted. "He thinks we have. I'm still annoyed." She sighed. "But it will pass."

"Well, now that you're on better terms, do you want to go Christmas shopping? What are you doing for Christmas?" Cosette asked her. "Your parents?"

Hermione shook her head. "They're on a holiday cruise with their neighbors. It's me and Severus," she said slowly. "Our first Christmas." She shivered. "That sounds intimidating."

Cosette laughed. "I remember Henri's and my first Christmas together. Everything went wrong. It was fantastic."

Hermione groaned. "Don't tell me that! Things can go wrong with you and Henri, and it's funny. Something going wrong between Severus and I lands us in the middle of a fucking minefield of emotion."

"Right." Cosette leaned her elbows on the table. "So what are you doing for gifts?"

"Somehow he got me to agree to one gift each and a nice dinner," Hermione said slowly.

"Somehow?" Cosette arched an eyebrow. "He told you in bed, didn't he?"

"Well, I shanghaied him into spending Christmas with me, so I suppose fair's fair..."

"Watching the two of you try to have a relationship is better than watching a Muggle soap opera," Cosette quipped.

Hermione threw her napkin at her.

Both women laughed.

The waiter came over. "Can I get you refills on your drinks? Are you ready for the bill?"

"No, and yes, two checks please." Hermione smiled.

He walked away. Hermione checked her watch. "We're late getting back to the office. Again."

Cosette snorted. "Who cares? Oh, and we're going shopping tonight. I have to pick up some stocking stuffers for Henri, and we need to find that one perfect gift for Severus." She waggled her eyebrows at Hermione.

"Sod off."

"I'm not the one who agreed to the one-gift rule in the aftermath of orgasm."

"Cosette!"

"It must have been good – why on earth would you agree to one gift? Especially on the first Christmas. Multiple gifts mean that you have many opportunities to get something right. With one gift..."

"Could you possibly make me feel worse?" Hermione asked.

The waiter returned with the checks, money was thrown on the table, and the two women quickly exited the bistro.

Cosette hooked an arm through Hermione's. "It'll be okay, you'll see. How difficult can he possibly be to buy for?" She looked at Hermione, who glared back. "Right. Well, this will be fun! An experiment – I love experiments!"

Hermione did not share her enthusiasm.

*

December 24, 2002, 8:30 PM

The snow was falling slowly. Its icy sweetness had spread across the ground and exquisitely, ever so exquisitely, woven around the Capois landscape like a river. A riveting pastiche.

Which was rather how Hermione imagined she'd looked earlier that evening in her backless halter blue satin gown. She and Severus had spent most of Christmas Eve day reading by the fire, but at five o'clock he'd pulled her up from her chair and told her to get ready and wear the gown he'd purchased for her on his latest trip. They were going out for dinner, he'd said. She'd suggested that Buckingham Palace might be a suitable location, given her dress.

He'd snorted and given her a gentle shove towards the bedroom.

She'd emerged twenty minutes later with her hair wound up in a chignon and a crystal brooch adorning the V of the dress. He had been in his black three-piece suit with his hair pulled back in a queue.

Both had been rendered quite speechless.

They'd Apparated to Paris where Severus had hailed a cab to take them to Taillevent. Hermione had been shocked. The Taillevent was one of the finest restaurants in Paris – three stars, perhaps?

Their reservations had been for six, and they had been seated quite promptly. The surroundings had been stunning – hardwood, old wood... the place screamed of old wealth and refinement.

Her jaw had dropped upon viewing the menu, which was both incredibly impressive and ungodly expensive.

"When did you make these reservations, Severus?" she'd asked.

"A month ago," he'd replied without looking up.

She had been touched. Still was.

It didn't change the fact that she felt rather like a fish out of water in such an environment. It was a change – the gifts, the expensive restaurants.

It was a bit uncomfortable.

She'd changed into her comfortable sweatpants and a t-shirt upon their return to the cottage only ten minutes ago. The dress was still lying in a heap on the bedroom floor. She didn't want to touch it for a while.

She sighed and looked away from the window. There were two gift bags – one large, one small – sitting by the fireplace. Only a candle and some twisted holly and ivy adorned the mantle. That was as much as Severus would permit.

Best get it done with.

The suspense was honestly killing her. Thank goodness she hadn't chosen his gift earlier; she couldn't imagine how she'd feel if she'd been sitting on that surprise for a month.

"Severus? Would you like to open gifts?"

"On Christmas Eve?" he called from the kitchen, surprised.

"Oh," Hermione said. They'd never discussed it. "We always opened gifts on Christmas Eve in my family."

He walked into the sitting room with two mugs of eggnog. "I'm flexible."

She snorted and accepted the mug gratefully.

He smiled and sat down next to her. He picked up his gift for her – the large red gift bag – and set it in front of her.

She smiled up at him. "Thank you." She grinned.

He arched an eyebrow. "You haven't even opened it."

"Well, I'm thanking you in advance," she said and pulled out a small black box from the white tissue paper.

Her heart skipped a beat. She fought to keep her face blank and opened the box quickly.

Her breath hitched.

Earrings.

Relief.

They were beautiful.

Pearl earrings, probably to compliment the necklace he'd bought her for her birthday.

She looked over at him, a wide smile on her face, ashamed that she'd even thought it could be –

"They're stunning, Severus. Thank you."

He nodded. "There's more."

She whipped her head around and glared at him. "You said one gift!"

He shrugged. "I can change the rules."

"Without telling me?"

"I see no reason why not."

She groaned and pulled out the rest of the tissue paper before coming to a very solid, wrapped, square item at the bottom of the bag.

She lifted it up. "Is this a book?" she asked, smiling widely.

He said nothing.

She tore the wrapping paper off and found that she held –

The faerie tale book.

In her hands.

The faerie tale book.

Her stomach dropped as her heart soared.

Did he...?

"How did you –" she started.

"You talk in your sleep." His lips twitched.

"You're not upset that I saw it in the attic?"

"Why should I be?"

Thank God! She was immensely relieved.

"Don't you..." She was at a loss for words. It was all hitting her. This was a – a family heirloom –

"It's..." He paused. "You should have it. I've little use for it."

"You shouldn't have."

"I loathe people who say that," he said dryly and proceeded to wink most suggestively at her. Hermione laughed. She couldn't remember the last time he'd winked.

She relished the feel of the book's weight, of its cover and binding. She opened the cover, eagerly anticipating the familiar engraving, and found –

Faerie Tales

A Collection

Compiled by Brigit Prince

For her daughter Rose

Given to Hermione Granger by Severus Snape

Christmas 2002

May your idealism never fade.

"Severus –" she choked, fighting tears, and ran her hand across the page. I love you, she thought.

She looked up at him, her expression full of gratitude and love, and he put his hand over hers. She knew it was to avoid having to say anything, but she didn't care.

"Thank you."

"Finally, coherence!" he exclaimed, withdrawing his hand.

She wiped at her tears. "It means so much to me."

He snorted. "Well, you've sung enough Disney songs in the shower to last us both a lifetime. This should keep you better occupied."

They laughed.

She set the book down reverently and reached for the glossy black gift bag.

"And this is for you."

He took it in his hands and stared at it for a long moment.

"The bag isn't the gift," Hermione said.

He looked up at her, his expression balancing on the precipice between amusement and annoyance. She thought she heard him mutter, "Impossible chit," while he removed the plethora of tissue paper.

The elegant champagne saber emerged in his hand.

"Ah," he said, clearly pleased. "A very fine champagne saber, indeed."

"Are you kidding me?" she exclaimed. "You knew what that was called?"

He smirked. "Of course. I know everything."

"No one knows what that's called!" Hermione said, completely shocked, not caring that her partner was enjoying her reaction far too much. "I went to four different employees in the store before I could get one who could tell me its official name!"

Severus grinned. He truly was an impossible man.

"It's a very fine gift, Hermione," he said, setting it aside.

"There's more," she said. "You think that's all I got you?"

"It's an expensive gift, my dear."

"It was on sale – you could hardly expect me to be so cheap!"

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Hermione, if something looks to be expensive, do not disabuse the recipient of that notion. Not that I'm offended in the least, but that is an easy way to placate and impress people you are obliged to buy for but do not care for. Do you not know this?"

She ignored the question. "I care about you. The second gift..."

"I told you one gift, Hermione."

"Both of us can benefit," she said, grinning at him.

"How unlike you, to think of something that could actually benefit yourself. I'm impressed," he said as he pulled an envelope out of the bag. He opened it.

"A one-day tour of Champagne for two," he said, clearly surprised.

"Twelve hours of wine tasting and sight-seeing in the region," Hermione intoned.

"This pleases me," he murmured and reached for her hand. He kissed it. "Thank you."

"We get to go to Champagne!" she exclaimed, scuttling across the floor to climb up on his lap.

"We get to taste some of the best wine in the world," he murmured, examining the brochure. He looked down at her and smiled, so pleased he was almost feral.

It made her inordinately happy.

"It will be a lovely time. Thank you." He kissed her head. "You still broke the rules."

"But you got me two gifts as well, and neither benefited you," she insisted.

He lay down on the floor in front of the roaring fire. "Hopefully you won't sing anymore bloody Disney in the shower. That would benefit me greatly."

"You're an impossible man," she muttered for the umpteenth time.

"Yes," he said, "and you love me for it." He pulled her down to lie next to him.

"Happy Christmas, Severus," she whispered against him.

"Happy Christmas, Hermione."

*

Present

"And that was our first Christmas together," Hermione finished, her eyes bright. "I've not thought of it in a long while." She looked down at her plate, the pasta long gone cold. She Banished it.

They sat, silent.

"Do you still have the fairy book, Mum?" Rose asked. Her mind was whirling. There was an image flickering on the edge of her conscious mind – something that just felt familiar –

"Have I ever seen it?" she blurted out.

"Something in you clearly remembers," Hermione said, folding her hands together on the table. "Yes, you've seen it, though not since you were... oh, you must have been younger than two years old. I read it to you when I was pregnant with you, and then I read to you from it when you were a baby. I stopped once I thought you'd be old enough to actually ask for it."

"Why?" Rose asked, incredulous. "Oh – because of the inscription – does it say something like 'To Hermione from Severus?'"

The look on her mother's face told her that choice details had been omitted from the story.

"The book says 'Given to Hermione Granger by Severus Snape, Christmas 2002, may your idealism never fade.'"

Rose sat back, stunned. "Wow, Mum."

"There's that detail, but it's also a priceless book. Ebony and ivory, onyx, pearl, and garnet – it's a stunning antique. Your father could never afford such things. I didn't want or ask for them," Hermione qualified, "but you can see how such a valuable gift from another man would hurt your father's ego – especially since that other man was Severus Snape."

"Hmm." Rose tilted her head thoughtfully. "But you said there was a beautiful engraving before... when you told the story about first discovering it in the attic."

Her mother looked caught between a rock and a hard place.

Rose knew she wasn't getting every detail of every scene, but how much was her mother withholding?

Does it matter? You're being nosy as it is, sounded the little voice in her head.

"Did I ask a difficult question again?" Rose asked, regretful. She bit her lip.

"The engraving above Severus' inscription," Hermione started slowly, "says 'Faerie Tales: A Collection, compiled by Brigit Prince for her daughter Rose."

Rose's mind went blank. "I'm – I'm –" she stuttered " – I'm named for a book? For Severus'... relation?" Bloody Merlin!

"His grandmother," Hermione informed, her tone now matter-of-fact. "The one who the cottage had belonged to in the first place. Brigit was her mother, Severus' great-grandmother. Rose's daughter was Eileen, and the tradition of bookbinding ended with her, partly because the women bound the books, and she only had a son. Another break from tradition – Princes always had a son and then a daughter. Severus was an only child."

Rose's mind was reeling.

"Have you never noticed that you are the only grandchild not named for a friend or relative?" Hermione pressed. "Your brother is named for both of his grandfathers, your middle name is for your aunt, but I for one have never met a Rose in wizarding Britain. Although I like the name," she said, suddenly wistful. "I always have." She sighed. "When we were pregnant – well, when I was pregnant, but your father was there, of course – we bantered names around every day for months. We cast the gender diagnostic immediately." Hermione smiled. "It was too suspenseful otherwise. Neither of us does very well with suspense, your father especially."

Rose noticed her mother's slip – speaking for her and her father as if they were still a couple, both still living...

She bit her lip again.

"Your dad and I just couldn't figure out for the life of us what the name should be. Everyone was naming children after – well, everyone. Harry and Ginny and Bill and Fleur had already established that tradition, and you know how your father loved traditions. Also, neither of us had ever thought about the subject." Hermione sipped her wine. "Ginny forbade everyone from passing her name down directly – she said we could use it as a middle name if we absolutely must. Luna –" Hermione chuckled. "I'm still surprised Ginny gave Lily that middle name. Luna is one of a kind. It seemed a crime to name someone after her. We seriously considered Jean for a while, after your Nana, or Jane, as it's my middle name, but I never liked it much." She sighed. "Quite honestly, everyone expected us to name you Molly. But she'd just passed. We couldn't."

"You never considered Cosette?" Rose asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Touché," Hermione said. "I couldn't, mainly for the reason that, much like Luna, Cosette is one of a kind – in a very different way, of course."

"And the other reason?"

"Your father."

"He didn't like Cosette?"

"He didn't know her."

"He never met her?"

"Meeting someone and knowing them are two very different things."

"You thought it would be painful for him, to have me named after your friend in France?" Rose asked, sensing the issue at hand. "But it wasn't too painful to name me for one of Severus' relatives?"

"Like I said," Hermione said tersely, "I didn't read you the book once you could ask for it. I kept it hidden. He never saw it."

"I can't believe that." Rose sat back, frustrated.

"So you choose this subject to fight me on?" Hermione asked, frustrated. "Merlin, Rose. That wasn't the only reason I gave you your name, you know."

"Do tell," Rose said sharply.

Her mother glared at her, and she was immediately remorseful.

"Sorry. Continue."

Hermione nodded. "I read you the fairy book when I was pregnant. One day I was reading you Beauty and the Beast –"

Rose smiled. "My favorite."

"Yes, well it was your favorite then, too. You always moved around like a little gymnast when I read it. But one day when I was, I don't know, five or six months along, I was reading the part where Beauty's father plucks the rose from the Beast's garden, and you kicked." Hermione smiled, tears glistening in her eyes. "I must have read that sentence a dozen times. And then, of course, I remembered that the book was written for a Rose in the first place, and when your father got home I told him I'd had an epiphany, and he liked it, so that was that. It... suited you." She wiped a tear from her eye.

Rose reached across the table and took her mother's hand. "I love my name," she said sincerely. "It's good to know where it comes from. It's lucky I've never really thought about it."

"Oh, my Rose." Hermione squeezed her daughter's hand and let it go. "Now, where were we?" she asked, getting back down to business. "Ah, yes. Entering 2003." The storyteller voice resumed. "We had a New Year's Eve midnight meal at the Eiffel with Henri and Cosette – you must do it sometime, my dear, it's just an incredible experience. And you must be sure to go with the right people, of course, so it's raucous and fun, but... we had such a wonderful time." Hermione sighed happily, her face once again lost in remembrance.

Rose hesitated. "The way you've been describing your... fights with him... well, it sounds like it's the beginning of the end, almost."

Hermione sighed, not so happily this time. "In a way, it was. The thing is, though, our relationship wasn't inevitably going to lead up to a blow-out fight and then that would be that." She gesticulated wildly. "We did have quite the showstopper, but... the relationship... broke apart, I suppose, in little ways. It didn't die. It failed to grow. The secrecy, the inability to compromise, our combined hard-headedness and lack of patience, the lack of communication – it's all the little things that grow and grow. They're like weeds in a garden. Weeds don't kill right away – they choke the life out of something." Hermione clenched and unclenched her fist in demonstration.

"I see," Rose said softly. "So... what happens next?"

Hermione paused. "An engagement."

*

A/N: For those who missed one of my previous entries, I never meant for the issue of Rose's parentage to be a mystery. There are those who have extrapolated that Severus is Rose's father -- he's not. Rose has been described as having red hair throughout the story. I thought I had been clearer on timeline issues, but going back into chapters one and two, I realize I wasn't, for which I apologize. I never meant to cast doubt on the issue. Hermione does not marry Ron immediately upon returning to Britain, and Rose is born after the 9 month mark into the marriage, so there is no plausible way for her to be Severus' child. Y'all are certainly a creative bunch! I am sorry to disappoint any pro-Severus theorists. :-)

I have, however, always known that Rose's name came from the fairy book, which was one of the first details I added to my first outline back in August 2007.

Thank you for reading! I would love to hear your thoughts -- feel free to leave a review. :-)