The Unplanned, the Unintentional, the Unexpected

Disclaimer: Not mine.

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Chapter 6 – The Unplanned, the Unintentional, the Unexpected

“Hermione”

During the short walk to Snape’s apartment, I managed to construct a sincere, heartfelt apology illustrating why he was right and I was wrong. The moment I actually stepped into his domain, however, any semblance of said apology was completely lost.

I now find myself ogling Snape’s possessions in his small apartment in the hopes of regaining my thoughts. Snape doesn’t own much; his walls are bare, his shelves devoid of photos. There is one redeeming quality to Snape’s tiny apartment, however: the man has more books than I could ever dream of owning.

“Your apartment is very nice; you’ve got your own personal library here,” I say. My eyes and hands are itching to browse the titles on the shelves.

“Cease the pleasantries, Granger. What the hell are you doing here?” asks Snape, clearly irritated by the fact that I’m in his home. I notice that he has called me “Granger” every time he has addressed me thus far. I find myself unwilling to correct him.

“I came to apologize,” I say bluntly.

“Apologize for what? For insulting my appearance or for making me look like a fool in front of Ms. Schrienk?” asks Snape. He’s gripping the golf club so tightly that his knuckles are turning white.

“Well, both actually.”

Snape purses his lips as if contemplating something for a moment, then sighs and says, grudgingly, “It’s fine.”

Something tells me it’s not as “fine” as he’d like me to believe, and I once again attempt to convey my feelings of remorse. “I really am sorry… It’s just… I haven’t seen you since I was a tee—”

“It’s fine,” Snape says again, cutting me off.

“Oh, ok then.” We stand awkwardly for a moment; the feeling that I have overstayed my welcome has become nearly tangible. “I’ll just be going then.”

The moment my hand touches the doorknob, Snape asks a question both unexpected and unwelcome: “So you and Weasley were granted your ‘happily ever after’ then?”

For a moment I believe I’ve heard him wrong. “How did—?”

“You have a ring on your finger, Granger; I am quite capable of putting two and two together,” says Snape. His arms are crossed in front of him, yet he continues gripping the golf club defensively.

I stare down at the aforementioned ring and place my right hand over it in the hopes of concealing what has already been seen. “I wouldn’t call it a ‘happily ever after’,” I say sullenly.

Snape raises a questioning eyebrow. “Trouble in paradise?” he asks mockingly.

“If you make us both tea, I’ll tell you about it,” I say to him, initiating a challenge. Snape’s eyes bore into my own for a moment before he turns and walks toward the kitchen, presumably to make tea.

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“Severus”

I return from the kitchen with a steaming cup of tea in each hand, only to spot Granger on the sofa, apparently making herself quite at home. Her feet are propped up on the coffee table in front of her, and her eyes are glued to the book lying in her lap. I clear my throat and she looks up at me, a sheepish expression set on her face.

Granger sets the still opened book text down on the coffee table. “Sorry,” she says, blushing profusely. “The title made it sound interesting, and I couldn’t resist.”

I pick up the book and examine the title— Wizarding Philosophy: Delving Into the Minds of the Greats by Artemis Dinks. I close the work and hand it back to her. “Yes, well, appearances can be deceiving; sorry to inform you, but that particular tome is dry as dust.”

“Oh,” she says, clearly disappointed.

I sit down on the sofa next to her for a few awkward moments before I finally break the silence. “I was under the impression you were here to talk about Mr. Weasley,” I say condescendingly.

“Right, Ronald, right,” says Granger. “I don’t know where to start.”

I glare at her, beginning to lose my patience. “You were the one that suggested we have this conversation in the first place.”

“I know, I know, it’s just – it’s hard to explain,” she says. She’s fidgeting with her damn wedding ring again; I’m tempted to still her hands with one of my own.

“You were never one to back down from a challenge,” I say. I realize too late that I have just complimented her.

Granger looks up from her wedding ring and stares me directly in the eye after that statement. “I have three children, and the eldest child is a pain in my arse,” she says bluntly.

“Your eldest child is at the root of your and Weasley’s problems?” I don’t want to hear about any Weasley brats.

“Ronald is my eldest child,” says Granger. Bitterness radiates off her in waves.

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“Hermione”

“It wasn’t sudden,” I find myself saying, my hands gripping my teacup tightly. Snape looks at me questioningly. I take a deep breath and begin to explain. “Falling out of love with him, I mean. Over time I began to notice that the things I used to think were cute about him were driving me crazy. I began to hate how his obnoxious snores kept me up at night and how he finds it acceptable to expel gas in public. I found myself feeling embarrassed that he probably could, quite literally, eat a cow. I noticed more and more how uptight he is with money, even though we are quite well-off. I haven’t taken a vacation or gone anywhere exciting in six years. Six years, Snape! At first it felt like we simply weren’t compatible maturity-wise; eventually it started to feel like we weren’t physically compatible either. I felt like I was trying to have an intimate relationship with a fumbling 16-year-old boy trapped in a fumbling 30-year-old’s body. I still feel that way.” My eyes are downcast by the time I finish, my tone regretful.

Snape crosses one leg over the other and steeples his fingers under his chin. “How long has it been like this?”

“Seven years. Almost eight,” I say, my hands lifting to rub circles in my temples.

“And you haven’t talked to him about it?” asks Snape.

I scoff at this question. “I’ve tried, quite a few times actually. Ronald likes to convince himself that I’m ‘just PMSing’ and that ‘I’ll feel better next week’ before avoiding me like the plague.”

“You must corner him. You are clearly miserable; I suggest you either talk it out or you leave him.”

“You make it sound so simple, as if I could just drop everything—”

“‘Dropping’ is not always the equivalent of ‘shattering,’ Miss Granger. Coming from a man who has lived a lifetime full of regrets, I suggest you talk to Weasley.” Snape turns, his body language signifying that he is clearly done discussing the matter. I am studying my hands when Snape asks another unexpected question, this one quite a bit more appealing than the last: “Have you eaten?”

My stomach growls, and I realize I’m actually quite famished.

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When I first arrived at Snape’s apartment, I hadn’t planned on staying. I hadn’t planned on talking over tea or browsing through his books.

I hadn’t intended to tell him about Ronald. I hadn’t intended to ask for advice.

I hadn’t expected to eat Chinese leftovers. I surely hadn’t expected Snape to make a joke.

As I was leaving, Snape thrust a book into my arms. “I believe you’ll find the same information from a slightly superior source,” he said before swiftly shutting the door in my face.

I examined said work and immediately began to giggle; the title read Wizarding Philosophy for Dummies by Earnest Felt. I spent a great deal of the walk home with a smile on my face, not quite sure what it meant.

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Author’s Note: Yeah, it’s been awhile.