Eleven

Summary: Neville, Snape and Hermione return to Hogwarts after the summer. Some things have changed in the post-Voldemort world – how do they cope? (Response to prompt 12 on the Potter Place Fall Challenge Prompt List.)

A/N: Huge, enormous, massive thanks and homage to Subversa for her tireless encouragement and meticulous beta-reading.

Chapter 11

School broke up for Christmas. Hermione left for the Burrow with Ron, Harry and Ginny. Every single Weasley would be there, so the house was going to be stuffed to the rafters, heaving with activity, noise and all the emotions usually evoked by family gatherings. Arthur had even managed to persuade the Headmistress to let them borrow Fred's portrait on a long loan. Hermione's increasing nervousness as the holiday approached was put down to her anticipation of being teased about being responsible for Ron's newfound orientation. In the flurry of preparation and excitement about the big day, however, no-one paid her much mind. One of the advantages of a large family, she thought.

Severus woke fairly late on Christmas morning. He didn't see much point in leaping out of bed like a child, as the only presents waiting for him would be courtesy gifts from colleagues, and the only one of those that interested him was the single malt Minerva usually sent, which was in any case a little inappropriate for the morning. He lay in bed, contemplating the ceiling and sensing the silence of the huge castle, until the twin urges for a pee and some coffee drove him upright. Crossing his living room from the bedroom to the small kitchen, he registered something strange but wasn't sure what until he had his coffee ready in his hand and a plan for distracting himself with work ready in his head. He made for the sofa, where he had left the latest journals at some late hour the previous evening. His presents were on the low table, one large and unexpected parcel taking pride of place.

Who had sent it? Was it dangerous? There were still some fairly nasty pieces of mail getting through to him (don't think about Hermione's outrage...) from time to time. He approached it gingerly and, holding his breath, turned over the label with the end of a quill. Ten seconds later, holding the contents of the parcel in one hand, he chucked some Floo powder in the fire and stuck his head into the green flames.

"Minerva!" he roared.

Professor McGonagall, resplendent in a green tartan dressing gown, nearly fell out of her armchair with shock.

"Severus!" she shrieked, "What on earth is the matter? Is someone dead?"

"Where is Hermione Granger?" he demanded wildly.

"At the Burrow, I should think. But why...?"

He was gone.

The Weasley Christmas morning was utter chaos, and one of the best representations of what Christmas ought to be that could be imagined. Molly was in her element, marshalling troops in the kitchen and pretending exasperation at having too many people underfoot; Arthur was the calm eye of the storm. Everyone was bullied and babied impartially, and excitement levels were high as they all gathered by the tree to open their presents. With much exclaiming, kissing, thanks and hugs, the gifts were exchanged and the piles of discarded paper grew. Hermione professed herself most content with the usual thoughtful choices of books and nice stationery, and even with Fleur's parcel of hair care products, which she felt was more of a reproach than a gift, if truth be told. Amid all the activity, no-one really noticed that she was getting more and more agitated, her hands clenching on the knees of her trousers, her teeth worrying at her lower lip.

Everyone started at a great banging on the door. Wands were raised, people jumped out of their seats; Fleur grabbed her baby and ran for the stairs. In the sudden hush, Arthur went to answer.

"Severus! What an unexpected pleasure..." he exclaimed.

The Weasleys looked at each other in consternation as the Potions master slowly entered the room. He was dressed, most uncharacteristically, in black denim jeans, a red shirt and a large, black, badly-knitted jumper.

The silence was broken by a whimper from Hermione. Her eyes wide and shining with unshed tears, she charged forward, stumbling over feet and furniture on her way, until she was close enough to throw herself bodily at Severus. He staggered back under her onslaught, wrapping his arms round her automatically, and without further ado they disappeared outside. A hubbub ensued. What the hell was going on? Did Hermione just attack Snape? Shouldn't someone go and rescue him? Or her? Did anyone need rescuing? What was Snape doing here in the first place? Had they seen what he was wearing? The family crowded at the windows, trying to see what was going on in the garden. The uproar got worse as Arthur and, surprisingly, Molly placed themselves in the doorway to stop everyone from pouring outside.

Hermione and Severus sought some privacy among the bare fruit trees at the bottom of the garden. He practically had to carry her there, clinging to him like a limpet, apparently unable – certainly unwilling – to let go for a heartbeat, laughing and sobbing all at the same time as the stored-up emotions of the past weeks and months surged through her and found expression in the kisses and tears she rained on every part of him she could reach. Though far from averse to receiving such proofs of affection from her, Severus eventually managed to peel her away and look into her face.

"Stop, Hermione – stop! Talk to me!" he said, breathless from her attentions and his own desperate need to respond in kind. She gulped and calmed herself a little.

"You're here! You're wearing it – you understood me! You believe me, don't you?"

"I think you're probably insane, Hermione. But if you have spent as much time in reflection as in knitting this regrettable garment, then yes, I suppose I must believe you have some regard for me." His tone was dry. "Though I don't think you could possibly be sufficiently demented as to believe me to be – what was it? – 'the apogee of male perfection'."

Hermione was taken aback at his apparent coolness.

"Not objectively, perhaps..." He drew back a few paces from her. Had he misread her? Had this been just another friendly attempt to boost his ego? That far at least, he had understood her impulse to help him gain popularity at the school. She raised a hand towards him.

"But for me, you are," she continued. Wondering if she was going too far, she added, "There is no-one I would rather be with, nowhere I would rather be than by your side. I miss you every moment I'm not with you." He didn't reply. She drew a shaky breath. "Unless you don't want me there; unless you don't feel the same way..."

"What have I done to deserve you?" he asked.

"You let me get close enough to know you," she replied simply. "But I don't know yet what you want of me, if anything. Tell me, Severus. Tell me, please."

For a long moment, they were still. Then he drew his wand and conjured a paper dove. Into its claws he placed a small box and sent it fluttering to where she stood, where it flamed and disappeared, leaving the box in her hands.

"Open it."

Inside, nestled on a cushion of black velvet, was a delicate pair of earrings and a gold locket on a chain. The earrings were in the form of little apples, one of silver, one gold. The locket was finely engraved with a sun and a moon, the moon inlaid with silver. Hermione's eyes widened and her mouth fell open a little.

"That poem..." she breathed.

"Indeed. I had these made for you after Halloween, when I realised how I... Hermione, I never knew if I would ever be in a position to give them to you. Put them on. Please."

Her hands trembled as she put on the earrings, and as she fumbled with the clasp of the chain, he finally came to her and put his hands over hers, brushing his fingers against the smooth skin of her neck as she released the necklace to him and lifted her hair out of the way.

"'Something pretty' for a beautiful woman," he said, cupping her face in his palms and lowering his head to kiss her gently, then more deeply, and at last with a passion that left them both shaking and clinging together. They found their way to a bench beneath a gnarled old apple tree, where they sat, Severus' arms wrapped tightly around Hermione, her head resting on his shoulder. It felt peaceful, and right.

"What's inside the locket?" whispered Hermione. "Can I look?"

"It will only open if the circumstances are right," he warned. "I charmed it so that..."

But it was already open between her fingers. There was more engraving inside: H and S, entwined.

"You're turning blue," he commented some time later.

"So are you – let's get in out of the cold."

"Ah, there you are," said Arthur, a touch too casually, while the rest of the clan tried to look as if they had been doing what they were doing all along. "Dinner's nearly ready. I assume you're staying, Severus?"

"Am I welcome?" he replied, his expression closed, though Hermione had assured him he would be.

"Not everyone refused to accept Albus' and Harry's testimonies," Molly said. "Oh, you're freezing, the pair of you! Severus, go and get warm by the fire. Hermione, come and get some posset – there's time before we eat." She detached Hermione and bustled her into the kitchen, where she took the younger woman by the shoulders and looked at her seriously. "Are you sure this is what you want? Absolutely sure?" But she couldn't deny the joy that suffused Hermione's features. "And does he love you?"

"Yes, Molly, he does. He may never say it directly – I don't know – but he really does love me."

"Then he is as welcome here as you always will be."

"Thank you, Molly," said Hermione, sniffling a little. "You don't know how much that means to me. I thought, after Ron and I..."

"Don't be silly, dear. Now, take these mugs and – "

"Miss Granger!" called an imperious voice, "Stop gossiping and come here immediately."

She rolled her eyes, calling back, "You'll have to do better than that if you want to intimidate me, sir."

Over dinner, the family gradually came to terms with Severus' presence and the extraordinary state of affairs between him and their friend. As Molly's magnificent cooking and the abundance of wine worked their mundane magic, those who had been taught by Severus overcame their awe of him, and everyone started to appreciate his sarcastic wit and talent for vituperation. After the meal, the family broke up into groups variously chatting idly, playing board games, or, for the more energetic, a bout of Quidditch in the fading light and raw air of the winter day. As the lamps were being lit, Ron and the others came back in, this time with Neville Longbottom in tow.

"What are you doing here, Mr Longbottom?" queried Severus, before noticing that the young man had his fingers laced through Ronald Weasley's. After a moment, he started to laugh, bringing the whole room to a standstill. When he could be brought to explain that he wasn't laughing at the pair of them, they all wanted to be let in on the joke. Together, he and Hermione were pressured into revealing the irony of the whole 'Transformation of Severus Snape', which had been prompted by Neville's sudden popularity amongst the females of Hogwarts. "They are going to be so mortified," crowed the jubilant Potions master, laughing again out of pure Schadenfreude.

"Severus – have you been at Arthur's homebrew?" enquired Molly sternly.

"I'll tell you what's even more ironic," said Hermione, over the top of her lover's guffaws. "I actually prefer all the buttons and layers of black wool." Severus mastered himself sufficiently to raise his eyebrows. "So much more scope for imagination," she explained, worming her way into his arms and setting them all off.

Severus and Hermione were taking their turn supervising the washing up when they broached the subject of what would happen for the rest of the school year.

"Must we wait? Or will we just continue to sneak around?" she asked him.

"Are you capable of such discretion? You shine like a beacon."

She smirked.

"I'm not sure I'm capable of waiting, that's for sure."

"Nor I, so perhaps we should consult the Headmistress – "

"She knows?"

"She may not be as omniscient as Albus was, but she's far from stupid, Hermione. However, she may be able to find a way for us to marry and live together discreetly – "

Hermione dropped a plate. With a quick Reparo the damage was put to rights, and he took her hands.

"Will you marry me? Hermione, I just assumed... You are mine, and I'm not about to let you go, but I shall not force you into anything you don't want..."

"Don't be an idiot, Severus," she said into the front of the awful sweater, "I'm not ever leaving your side. Never again." She pulled a piece of folded parchment from her pocket and showed it to him. It was a list. A very short list. And it had obviously been living in one pocket or another for quite a long time. Under the heading "What I want" were the words: "Severus Snape".

Bill and Percy were quizzing their younger siblings and friends about their career choices after NEWTs.

"Auror," said Ron.

"More research, and my own business growing magical and other herbs," answered Neville.

"Professional Quidditch and then dunno what," Harry said lazily.

"Healing, probably," said Ginny, "but I haven't quite abandoned the idea of training as Hagrid's apprentice." She watched her mother choke.

"And you, Hermione?"

"I don't know. I haven't made any plans."

Everyone was astonished. Hermione Granger didn't have everything mapped out and organised, categorised to the nth degree on a colour-coded chart?

"No – I really don't know," she said. "I want to take time to enjoy life," she glanced at Severus, "maybe travel, decide from one day to the next where I want to be, just as the mood takes me. Be young for a change." And then, eventually, I'll take him to live in Ireland, she added privately to herself, where there are no snakes, and where he can put off the mask he's worn for so long.

Hermione's friends watched as she turned her face up to say something to Severus, who was leaning over the back of her chair, pointing out something in the book that was lying open on her knees. She looked happy. They couldn't really see why she felt as she did about their hook-nosed, sallow, viper-tongued professor, but maybe it would come to them in time. In the heat of the crowded house, Severus had discarded the sweater on the banisters and now Ginny picked it up.

"You know, it must have taken Hermione ages to make something this bad," she said contemplatively. "She's really quite good at knitting these days. She must really love him."

They looked over at the couple again, outlined in the warm firelight. They still didn't fully understand it, but as Neville, Ron and Ginny agreed together later, Hermione Granger was a lucky girl: in jeans, Severus Snape, contrary to all possible speculation, did prove to have a Very Nice Arse indeed.

THE END

A/N: "Schadenfreude" is pleasure at someone else's misfortune; we all do it, but the Germans, bless 'em, have a word for it!