Chapter Thirteen

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

A/N: My thanks to Shug for her thorough beta work amidst the chaotic demands of RL.

*

December 19

Christmas was coming, and that was a damned tense holiday if ever there was one. Namely, there was the one question that loomed in the distance and came closer and closer like a storm cloud: where to spend Christmas?

If one were single, the assumption was that the hols would be spent with one's parents, but Hermione had always spent at least part of the holiday with the Weasley family. Last Christmas, her first in France, had been spent with Pierre and the innumerable guests who crowded his country estate with raucous jokes and ungodly amounts of liquor. Her parents had chosen this year to beg her to come visit them in Australia – admittedly she hadn't been there since before her seventh year at Hogwarts... or what should have been her seventh year, she supposed. Her mother had added – a bit too cheerfully, in Hermione's opinion – that she could bring any 'guests' she wanted. Tactful, her mum.

Hermione had no idea what Severus was doing for Christmas. She doubted he spent it with anyone; he certainly hadn't mentioned it, and she was hesitant to raise the subject.

They were spending the weekend together at Capois – if the town was something to behold in the summer and even autumn, then it was truly a thing of glory in the winter. Hermione had read metaphors of snow blanketing the land and of it glistening so brightly it nearly blinded, but the snow actually looked like that here. It was beautiful.

Hermione returned her attention to her morning coffee and scone. She was sitting at the table, having just dressed for the day, and she had a stack of papers from work next to her. Just as she began to focus, she heard a noise.

She looked up to see Severus leaning against the doorway, half-naked and looking a bit worse for the wear, given last night. A hint of a smirk played at her lips as she noted a few scratches. I did that! She thought she might be a bit too pleased at having marked him. She had concealed a few love bites around her neck, after all.

"Good morning," she said brightly. "Coffee's on."

"That greeting is an oxymoron," he muttered, but there was no bite in his voice. He raked a hand through his hair. "I will take a cup of coffee." He crossed the floor almost without a sound, and he looked far too elegant to be half naked and in silky pajama pants. Hermione sneaked a glance over her shoulder and admired his strong back and tapered waist.

She hurriedly looked at her papers when he took a seat next to her at the table and pulled the newspaper across the table, dusting Floo powder off the papers as he did so. In the winter, French papers were delivered to the countryside via fireplace.

In all honesty, she was scrutinizing the company's annual report that Pierre had distributed yesterday. She was now aware of the projects and figures she didn't know about during the year, and she was absolutely delighted to see so many of her successes printed, even if they were in vague detail without her name attached.

"And that cheeky grin is for..." Severus prompted.

She looked up at him. "Work is going exceedingly well."

He nodded. "Good. Your work has been productive?"

"Very."

"Congratulations."

Hermione graced him with a smile and laid a hand on his arm. "Thank you."

He grunted and turned the page.

Given the discretion required by her employer, Hermione had belatedly realized that she could never imbue her work stories with the details she often pestered Severus for in daily conversation. Most thankfully, the man sitting next to her more than understood the need for secrecy and was always respectful of it. He never pried.

Ron would have pried.

Hermione shook that thought from her head. In her last letter, Ginny had said that the boys were nearly finished with the final stage of Auror training, the six month practicum. She had also reported that Ron was still helping George with Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes and that he was currently seeing Lavender Brown, who, surprisingly, was now a Healer for St. Mungo's.

Hermione wished them all the happiness. Lavender had grown up, and so had Ron – more or less.

"Something on your mind?"

"Why?" Hermione asked, caught a bit off guard.

"You haven't turned a page in almost five minutes."

She turned a page.

"I was merely inquiring," he said, a rather pleasant look on his face as he returned to his own paper.

Hermione looked at him for just a moment. Half naked in silky pajama trousers, drinking coffee, and reading a paper, completely at peace after a night of revelry –

How on earth could she ever want someone else?

"Christmas," she said abruptly. "I was thinking about Christmas."

"What of it?" he asked, his shoulders stiffening.

"My parents have invited me to spend the hols with them in Australia. They... said I could bring a guest," she said.

He sipped his coffee. "I'm afraid I must decline your invitation."

She gaped. "Just like that?"

He nodded.

She was far more offended than she thought she'd be. She'd thought he'd at least...

"Won't you even consider coming?"

"No." He looked up at her. "Thank you for the offer."

"Why thank me for an offer that was so easy for you to turn down?" She violently rose from the table, her chair creaking against the floor, and walked over to the sink, slamming her dishes into the basin and turning the faucet on full blast.

"Hermione –" she heard him say patiently.

She flung a wet hand in his direction, flinging water with it.

"Hermione," he said sharply, rising from his chair. "You asked, I declined. I cannot see why you are so attached to the idea."

"I am – involved – with you and would not mind sharing the holiday with you. I enjoy your company. I would love to have you in Australia." I want you to meet my parents was the thought she did not express.

"I would not object to spending the holidays with you," he said slowly, as if trying to control his temper, "but I do not care to spend it with your family."

She practically growled and turned back to the sink, but not before she saw him pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Hermione," he said, clearly annoyed, "we are – well, we are, but we only have been for..."

"Oh, five, six months," she said, her sarcasm not nearly as subtle as his could be.

"And sparing the fact that I prefer to spend my time alone, do you bring men home to your parents after five, six months?"

She kept washing dishes.

"Do you?" he asked, and he must have walked right up behind her because she felt his breath on her neck. A shiver ran down her spine. She put her slippery hands on the edge of the sink, bracing her body and willing herself to not press back against him.

"I want you to come," she said meekly.

"And don't think I don't appreciate the sentiment," he murmured against her neck, lifting her hair so he could brush his lips against her skin. "But do your parents know who your guest would be?"

She shook her head.

He sighed. "I thought as much. Don't you think that springing your greasy git of an ex-professor on them right before Christmas might be a bit... much for them to handle?"

She shook her head. "No, actually –"

"Well, I do." He released her and went back to sit in his chair.

"Severus –"

"Do not ask me again."

Tears sprung to her eyes. Damn it!

She knew he didn't mean it as an insult, but she couldn't help the hurt she felt.

She crossed the kitchen to head to the bathroom, where she could at least take a bath and cry in peace.

"I hate to even ask this, but to drive the point home," Severus muttered, and she halted in the doorway, "did you ever ask the boys home with you?"

More tears came to her eyes, and she resumed walking to the bath. She heard him say "I thought not" before slamming the door behind her.

*

The next day, 10 AM, Paris

Hermione traveled by Floo to the International Transportation Hall at the French Ministry of Magic, a surprisingly chic structure exclusively decorated in ebony and porcelain. Naturally, she thought as she looked around and saw Parisian witches and wizards bustling about, all with intense looks on their face, studiously avoiding those around them. Damned French, Hermione thought as she started walking. She felt for her shrunk suitcase, secured in her pocket, and clutched her tote extra tight. She walked silently through the masses already leaving for the holiday, relieved that she'd talked her parents out of buying her plane tickets. The airlines were hell at Christmas, and it would have been exceedingly difficult for her to change her flight plan this late in the month.

She made her way to the Sydney connection at the end of the corridor and waited in the relatively short queue before disappearing into the massive Floo.

*

6 PM, Sydney

Hermione arrived at the Australian Ministry of Magic not a moment later and stood in shock for a moment before making her way out of the fireplace. She situated herself out of the main flow of traffic and stared in awe. This Ministry could not be more different than the French Ministry if it had tried. It was made almost entirely of glass and was – sweet Merlin – underwater. Am I in Sydney Harbour? She thought she'd read that somewhere. She looked around, above, and below for a long while, watching the fish, the shimmering rays of sunlight that pierced the depths, and the smiling, relaxed Aussie witches and wizards, so different from those in Paris not a moment ago.

She checked her watch, which had automatically adjusted the time difference. 6 PM. Well, at least it was still the same day. She walked down the hall, uncertain of her direction but already feeling her internal clock slow – she could take her time; it was perfectly alright, and in all honesty, she had no idea how to navigate her way out of this submerged... tank?

She finally came across an information desk and waited patiently for the clerk's attention. When she had it, she smiled and asked "I'm sorry, but how do I –?"

"Get out of the Bay?" the older woman asked kindly. She pointed towards a corridor jutting out just to the left. "Those Floos will take you to a street in the city or in any of the suburbs."

"Thank you," Hermione said gratefully. Her parents lived in the Northern Beaches, near Manly. She found the Floo she needed and embarking on her last Floo trip of the day, shut her eyes tight and said "Belgrave Street, Manly!"

*

She arrived, surprisingly, in the open air. She stepped out of the fireplace, attached to a building in an alleyway, and watched it disappear behind her. Given her bad luck with alleyways, she quickly made her way onto Belgrave, hailed a taxi, and after checking the address she had written in her date book, headed to her parents' home on the beachfront.

*

Hermione got out of the taxi in front of the cottage not four minutes later – traffic had been relatively light, all things considered. She paid the driver and stood on the curb, looking at the house as she heard the cab drive away. The cottage was sun-bleached white and looked quite large from the outside. During what should have been her seventh year, she'd situated her parents in a flat in the city, but they'd since seen fit to move out to the suburbs on the shore. Not that she could blame them; it was positively idyllic.

She walked up the sidewalk to the door and after a quick look around the neighborhood, surreptitiously pulled her suitcase out of her pocket and cast a momentary Do Not Notice charm. She waved her hand, and it was full-size in the blink of an eye. She shrank her wand and secured it in her tote. She had no intention of using magic on this trip.

She knocked on the door hesitantly. She hadn't told her parents that she was coming early – stupid, stupid – and she supposed she could get in the house if they weren't home, but she would really rather not break and enter into her parents' home on the first day she'd seen them in almost two years. She'd been raised with better manners than that, after all, and to hell with what Harry and Ron thought was acceptable behavior.

Those thoughts fled as she heard footsteps come to the door. It opened, and there stood her mum, a look of utter shock on her face that was quickly replaced with –

"HERMIONE!"

Hermione was shocked as her mother threw her arms around her and pulled her in for a tight hug.

They let go of each other after a moment and looked at each other. Her mum had always been a petite woman, but she did not look her fifty years.

"Your hair is long!" Hermione blurted out. Her mum had always kept her sleek brown hair closely cropped to her head.

"I'm retired. I can grow it out now," Jean Granger said, grinning. She touched her daughter's hair. "You've grown so much, my darling," she said tenderly, her eyes glistening.

Hermione smiled, a bit embarrassed. "I've not grown in a while, Mum."

"You look like an adult. You look like you're living," Jean said definitively. "Oh, come in!" she exclaimed suddenly. "What a mother I am, keeping my only child out on the porch!"

She reached for Hermione's suitcase and ushered her daughter into the house. Hermione stood and stared agog, once again finding herself in a place of awe. The main level was almost entirely open, complete with vaulted ceilings, skylights, hardwood floors, and a fireplace directly in the center of the room. Furniture sectioned off the dining and sitting rooms and the diagonally situated kitchen had an island with bar stools and a hanging wine bar that jutted out into the dining area. There was an open closet directly to Hermione's left and what she thought was probably a bathroom on the other side of the entryway. A wooden staircase was right next to the entryway.

"The bedrooms and other baths are upstairs," Jean said, watching her daughter's eyes wander. "And there is a large patio right off the kitchen." Hermione's eyes shot to that direction and noticed the somewhat-visible patio furniture through the ceiling-to-floor windows that ran all along the beachfront side of the house. The sun was settled half-way up the horizon, and the view was...

"My God, Mum," Hermione said at last. "This is stunning."

"Thank you," Jean beamed. "I'll take you to the guest room."

"Where's Dad?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, he just went over to the Emersons – our neighbors – for the men's weekly neighborhood poker night. I'll call –"

"No, no, that's alright. It's good for it to be just us," Hermione said, suddenly realizing that it was. She put her hand over her heart and rubbed her chest, suddenly a bit melancholy.

"What's wrong?" Jean asked, putting a hand on Hermione's shoulder.

"I..."

"Would this perhaps be why you arrived so early?" she asked gently.

Hermione nodded.

"Right," Jean said. She took her daughter's hand and led her over to the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator and pulled out two pina coladas. "The sun will set soon, and it's absolutely beautiful. Let's go for a walk, and we'll talk about it," she said, her voice taking on that decisive tone Hermione remembered so well from her childhood.

She followed her mum out onto the patio, where both women took off their sandals and walked down the steps to the beach. The sand was hot under her feet and provided a stark contrast to the slippery smooth pina colada that went down her throat so coolly.

She looks so relaxed, Hermione thought as she followed Jean out onto the beach. The long hair, white capris, and surfing t-shirt were throwing her for a loop. Retirement clearly suited her previously wound-up parents well.

"So," Jean said once they were walking side by side, "who is he?"

Hermione sprayed her drink. "What?"

Jean patted her daughter on the back. "I cannot for the life of me think of any other problem that would have you running to us three days early. Besides, think of the last – what is it, almost two years now? You moved to France suddenly, left all your friends behind, and we proceeded to hardly hear from you at all. It was all very uncharacteristic of you."

Hermione sighed. She knew she was going to have to explain some things to her mother, but this was all coming rather soon. It was bound to come at some point, though. I may as well tell her.

So she did.

*

They talked a short while about Hermione's dissatisfaction with St. Mungo's and frustration with Ron. Hermione had omitted Viktor's letter and the obsession – some things were better left buried, and she doubted she would ever tell anyone what the driving force behind her relocation had been. Jean had been intrigued and skeptical of her daughter's decision to go to France as Hermione had sparingly described it but had thankfully refrained from commenting. Hermione then told her mother about the amazing job she had come to love – admittedly in sparse detail – and about Pierre and Henri and Cosette and trips to Florence and Amsterdam... omitting Severus' appearance, of course...

"And the man, Hermione," Jean interrupted a few minutes later. "Don't try to distract me from my initial question."

Hermione sighed and stuck her hands in her pockets. "The man is... older than I."

"How much?"

"Nineteen years."

Jean chortled and put an arm around her daughter's waist. "The same as your father and I. At least you're following some family tradition. Is he an authority figure?"

"He was my professor at Hogwarts."

Jean laughed again. "And I interned under your father during dentistry school. Were you afraid to tell me these things, dear? Why on earth would you be nervous? Those sorts of relationships are a bit unorthodox, of course..."

"Just a bit, Mum," Hermione said, relieved.

Jean snorted. "Your friends will come around, trust me. It's a hard road at first but a worthwhile one. Look at your father and I. Twenty-four years of marriage and still going strong. We outlived every betting pool that was placed at our wedding."

Hermione looked at her mother's face, utterly serene and joyful. I want that.

They walked in silence for a bit. "Which professor, Hermione?" Jean asked.

"Severus Snape."

Jean stopped walking. "I've heard that name before," she said. Hermione met her mother's eyes, which had gone from serene to furious in two seconds. "He killed your Headmaster. Dumbledore."

Hermione's stomach dropped. She had never regretted telling her parents the war details more. "On Dumbledore's orders, Mum," she stressed, feeling like she was repeating the conversation she'd had with her parents the summer after Voldemort's defeat. "He took a magical Vow. It's called an Unbreakable Vow because you die if you don't do it," she said matter-of-factly. Her mother winced. "Dumbledore was already dying and he..."

"The fact that he was capable of it scares me. Your father could be diagnosed with terminal cancer and beg me to put him out of his misery, but with all my might, Hermione, I couldn't do it."

Hermione took a deep breath. "Sometimes you have to love someone enough to give them what they want. Severus was a double agent for years, Mum. He'd been taking orders from Dumbledore for decades. At what point was he supposed to stop?" she asked, her voice broken.

She grabbed her mother's arm as Jean turned to walk away. "He saved us. He saved all of us. He has saved my life more times than I could count, most recently this last summer." Jean's eyes widened, but Hermione continued. "And in case you don't remember the conversation we had about the war a few years ago, Voldemort tried to kill him – we all thought Voldemort had killed him! I watched Severus die in front of me, Mum! I watched him die for his service." A tear spilled out. "He deserves another chance at life. He is brilliant and witty and he challenges me and he cares about me. He is a changed man and I..." She cut herself off abruptly.

Jean's face was a bit stunned. "Do you love him?"

"I don't love him," Hermione automatically responded. What? She started to walk again, a bit dazed.

Jean put a gentle hand on her daughter's shoulder. "All right, Hermione. All right. I just worry for you – I am bloody terrified for you, actually – being with a man like that. What mother wouldn't be?" She paused. "Has he ever..."

"He would never physically hurt me, Mum."

Jean sighed. "The fact that you specify abuse of the body but not of the mind and heart is alarming, my dear."

Hermione shut her eyes. "I care for him. I always have –"

Jean looked agog. "You fancied him..."

"No, no," Hermione said, frustrated. "I didn't fancy him at school. I've always cared in the platonic sense. I have always respected him, defended him..."

"You've clearly had practice."

"Mother."

"I do not mind the age difference or the authority issue, but I do mind that this is a man who – no matter how innocent his motives – found it in himself to deliberately kill."

"To which I ask, how different is that from a bodyguard of the Queen or the PM who shoots a would-be assassin, who deliberately attacks a threat to all they hold dear? How is it different?" Hermione asked, her voice small, arms crossed across her chest.

The women stood in silence for a long moment. "Well, the bodyguard doesn't shoot his boss –" Jean raised a hand "– but the point is taken."

"Stop pestering me?" Hermione put one hand on her hip and sipped her drink.

"One last question," Jean asked.

Hermione looked at her mother, exasperated.

"What did he do to upset you?"

Hermione winced. "I... invited him here. He wouldn't come."

Jean chuckled, none too amused. "A wise decision."

"Mum!"

"Look at this holiday as preparation for the future, darling," Jean said. "As readying your father and I for the next Christmas, alright?"

"Okay," Hermione said after a moment. Next Christmas. Us. Together. Here. On the beach. With my family. "Okay."

Jean returned her arm to around her daughter's waist and sipped her pina colada as they walked barefoot in the surf, turning to walk back to the cottage.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Is the sex good?" Jean asked, grinning at her daughter's stunned face.

"Mum!"

"Oh, it is good then."

"Since when do you talk about this sort of thing?"

"Since you grew up."

They walked the rest of the way in silence, sipping their drinks, watching the sun set over the glistening water, perfectly at ease with each other. Hermione could not recall ever feeling closer to her mother in her life.

*

Hugo Granger was equally thrilled to see Hermione, though she and her mother kept mum on the details behind the early arrival. It wasn't too difficult to distract her easily excited father with tales of France, her work, and her flamboyant co-workers. It was good to hear her father laugh. His joy was always so catching.

Hermione was interested to note that her father had also let his hair grow – what was left of it, anyway, given that he was nearing seventy. His blond curls had long since thinned out, but Hermione thought that her father still looked as robust as ever. He had wrapped his daughter up in a big bear hug, lifting her clear off her feet, big man that he was, and had set her on his lap in front of the telly after Jean went to bed. Hermione had rested her forehead on his chest and inhaled, smelling cigar smoke and his familiar cologne, smells that meant safety and home and comfort and love. Hugo had stroked his daughter's hair as she fell asleep, somehow knowing that that was exactly what she needed.

*

Present

"So I spent the rest of the holiday with my parents," Hermione concluded, watching the candles flicker absentmindedly. "We had a large barbecue out on the beach with the neighbors – there were quite a few retirees on that stretch of beach – and it was really lovely. It was my first hot Christmas." She chuckled.

Rose was looking at her mother, her face intense with interest. "What else did you do with Nana and Grandpa?"

"Well, they took me scuba diving, and we went to a few concerts in the park, and there were fireworks on Christmas, of course, and we did a bit of shopping. It was a very relaxed, wonderful holiday. It was the first time I got to know my parents as an adult, and in retrospect, it was good that Severus wasn't there. He was right, of course, and I was quite petulant with him." Hermione sighed and sipped her wine.

"I miss Grandpa," Rose said quietly, twining her fingers together in her lap. Hugo Granger had died two years ago at the ripe age of ninety-two.

Hermione nodded, a wistful smile coming to her face. "I haven't thought about that Christmas in years." She rested her chin on her palm thoughtfully. "I wonder if we could go visit Mum in Sydney." Jean Granger still lived in that home.

Rose's face lit up. "I would love to visit Nana in Sydney! We haven't been there in years!"

Hermione nodded again. "I'll write her tomorrow and ask if we can come for a visit. It would be lovely to get away..." She trailed off and inhaled.

Rose reached across the table and put a hand on her mother's arm. "It's all right, Mum."

Hermione put her head in her hands. "I just..." She breathed. "I have kept them entirely separate for my whole adult life. It's the only way I could manage," she said, her voice almost breaking.

"Mum..." Rose started.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, looking up. "It's just so... strange for me to talk about this with you."

A wave of guilt swept over Rose. "Mum, this is my fault; I'm sorry I asked. I pried..."

Hermione held a hand up. "It would have come up sooner or later. And even if it hadn't, well..." Rose saw a shadow pass over her mother's face. "Well, it would have come up. And it's only right that you know."

Rose couldn't quite make out the expression on her mother's face.

"Where was I?" Hermione asked, sighing. "Ah, yes. Christmas, 2001." She rubbed her forehead. "I was with my parents for a while. Ten days, I think. Something like that." She waved a hand, clearly tired. "Anyhow, I missed Severus terribly. I was desperate to get back to France."

*

December 30, 2001, Paris

Hermione arrived in her flat around ten o'clock Paris time, completely exhausted, despite the fact that she'd left in the afternoon in Sydney. She'd had a wonderful time with her parents – it had, in truth, been a far better trip than she'd expected – but she missed him. She needed him.

But first things first. She pulled her wand out, her arm twisting elegantly as she warmed the room, opened the windows, lifted the stasis charm from the refrigerator, and returned her suitcase to its normal size, flinging it towards her bedroom as clothes and toiletries shot out, returning to their rightful places.

Satisfied, she turned back to her fireplace and grabbed a fistful of powder.

"Severus Snape's flat!"

*

He had long since changed his wards to allow Hermione to come through his Floo, provided she give him notice that she was coming, and Hermione was relieved that he hadn't blocked her over the hols. She stepped into his flat, which had clearly endured a thorough cleaning since she'd been gone.

"Severus?" she called quietly, but she was not certain whether or not he was here, or perhaps he was asleep. He would surely have come right away had he heard the Floo start up. It was extremely curious that he was not here.

She walked quietly to his bedroom and opened the door quietly. She peered in and saw the empty bed. Her stomach dropped a bit, but she glanced around and was relieved to see him in his reading chair by the fire, slumped ever so slightly in the chair, his hands still framing the open book on his lap.

She leaned against the doorframe and admired his sleeping form. His face looked drawn and weary, even in sleep – had he been sleeping regularly? How exhausted must he be, that he did not awake at the sound of a visitor?

She tiptoed across the room and knelt in front of him, taking his hands in hers as she gently removed the book from his lap. His eyes fluttered open as her fingers stroked his palm.

"Hello," she said.

He swallowed and closed his eyes. "You're back."

She kept stroking his palm and silently willed him to look at her. "I needed to see you," she said, her voice small.

"Did you, now," he murmured. He opened his eyes and met hers.

"I missed you, Severus," she said quietly. "Merlin, I missed you so much." She crawled up onto his lap and put her arms around him as best she could. She sighed contentedly as she felt his arms wrap around her and couldn't suppress a small grin as she felt one of his hands rest on her bum. He gave it a brief squeeze, and she chuckled into his neck.

"So I see," he said, amused.

"My parents were wonderful, but it was too long without you," she said and pressed a kiss to his neck.

"It was long without you, too," he said quietly, and she smiled, pressing herself into him more. She squirmed, trying to settle into a comfortable position and quickly felt that it had been long for him, too.

She kissed his neck again, her lips lingering this time.

He inhaled, and Hermione felt his arms tighten around her. He quickly stood up with her in his arms, strode across the room, and deposited her on the bed, charming their clothes off in the process.

"Severus," she said, pulling him on top of her, incapable of patience. She moaned softly at the sudden feel of his skin against hers. She hadn't felt his comfortable weight on her, his lips on her, in far too long. His hands, however, stilled her impatience. She arched an eyebrow at him, and he gave her a smirk that was quickly replaced with what she thought was tenderness as he brushed a curl from her face. He kissed her, then, and cradled her head between his hands. She wrapped her legs around him and gave herself up to him, thoughts of deeper feeling lingering on the edge of consciousness.

*

A/N: I hope you're all still enjoying. As a note, my last day of school is in approx. 20 days, so you will probably not see an update from me before then - I'm hurtling towards the finish of the year, and it's already almost surreal.

Thank you for reading. Your support means so much to me.