After The War

That happiness brew brought her sense back in a short time. She had spent most of the day tearing up every now and again as she went about the cooking and cleaning. Severus kept to himself, in his study going over remedies for depression and heartache. He'd have to ask her to do some shopping soon, he was running low on a few necessary ingrediants of she was to continue needing his potions. He thought fondly of the girl and sought to keep that a secret for as long as he could. The romantics of wooing a woman were not something that Severus Snape knew much about nor was it soemthing that intrigued him enough to learn. Recoiling at his own ideas, the thoughts of romanticisizing Hermione Granger, he would turn back to his texts and study harder.

He cursed the fact that their bedchambers were so close and the walls so thin. Rolling over and pulling a pillow over his face he sighed, she was sobbing again. She hadn't slept well in the past two weeks he would wager and neither had he with her going on like that in the next room. He considered blasting a hole through the wall momentarily but then his weakness crept in. His own frailty toward her was enough to keep him awake at night, he despised the idea that he could fall to pieces over the sound of her weeping. Instead of lying sleepless in bed he took to walking around the house, much like he had walked the halls of Hogwarts when he felt the need.

****

"It's rather late," she said when she entered the kitchen and found him craddled over a cup of tea. "What are you doing up?" She had tired of sitting in bed sobbing and her idea were much the same as his. It was nothing that a strong cup of tea wouldn't cure. She was certain she looked dreadful, her hair up in bunches, eyes pink and puffy and a long robe covering her dressing gown.

"There seems to be a banshee in my guest room that keeps me up all night," he said into his teacup rather than look at her. Typical Severus, make a snarky remark instead of simply being polite. The truth was that he had wanted to go into her room and sooth away all the pain that she felt. Perhaps he just wanted to be held too. Did she really think that he hadn't witnessed just as many crimes against humanity as she did? His lip curled at the thought. Just like Potter, she thought she'd seen it all and her plight was so much more greivious than his own. "Do you require a sleeping potion?"

She snarled in his general direction and wiped her hands across her eyes again. It did nothing other than make her eyes look more irritated. "Why don't you take one yourself if that banshee is keeping you up at odd hours?" Her tone was short and full of disregard. She could never understand this man, he had seen so many dark deeds yet he felt no compassion for the victims. He may have been pale at the funeral procession for Harry but she doubted he'd been mourning the loss of the boy. No, he was mourning the loss of the battle, the fight was over. What a bastard, she thought to herself as she poured a shot of firewhiskey into her tea.

"All I have in stock at the moment is a vial of the Draught of Living Death and I dare say you need a few years worth of sleep much more than myself." He was a sickly bastard, that was for certain. As he stared at her sitting there, sipping at her tea he felt a spot in his heart warm for her. Grudgingly, he pushed it aside. She looked disheveled as could be. He admired the curly brown strands that hung on either side of her reddened face. Her chocolate eyes were full of despair and the urge to hold her grabbed at his heartstrings once again. "i apologize," he said setting his teacup down on the counter. "I see now that you would be better suited for a Draft of Peace, which I do have." With that he left the room. He had to tear himself from that situation before he reached out and took hold of her. The poor thing, just as tormented as he.

****

It seemed that his Draft of Peace did it's job and the both of them found some much needed sleep. Breakfast was beyond compare, Hermione had woken bright and happier than the days passed. Even Severus was impressed as the smell of pancakes and sausages waded through the house and seduced him out of his study. For the first time since she'd arrived he took his meal with her. She was in better spirits than he'd yet seen her.

"How do you like your eggs?" She asked as he walked into the kitchen, following the smells. She stood over the stove, frying pan in one hand and egg in the other. He admired her for a moment and let his lip curl into a sneer.

"Hard boiled."

She huffed like an old housewife and tutted at him. "Fine, you'll get scrambled like I'm having." She felt far too happy to go in circles with him at the moment. Whatever that draft was had given her a good nights sleep and a peace of mind that she hoped would last a long while.

As he made his way toward the counter he reached out to a pile of dripping bacon that she'd just cooked. She slapped his hand more commandingly than he would have thought her capable. It seemed she had done it out of instinct and her eyes went wide just after. He too was caught off guard by her sudden movement and the sting it had left in his hand. She muttered something about waiting until breakfast was served and turned back to her eggs. Severus rubbed the spot on his hand and looked at her as though she had been far too daring before sitting himself down at the table.

The smell was enough to remind him of days at the castle when food was good and people were cheerful. He had of course despised the cheery attitude but now that it was a thing of the past he missed it. His evening passing of Filch's bloody cat who never missed a chance to hiss at him even seemed like something he might welcome back. "How'd you learn to cook I wonder? I should wonder where you found time with all your studies and such, or were you given a time turner the whole seven years that you attended Hogwarts?"

Why was he always so damn cross? "You know very well I only had a time turner my third year Professor Snape," she said setting a plate down in front of him and returning to fix her own. She was smiling, he hadn't seen her smile since she had come to his home. With the smell of the breakfast and her tutting around in an apron he almost felt like he had a normal married life. He laughed despite himslef, the last life he'd ever lead was one in which he was married to sobbing Hermione Granger.

Did he just laugh? She stopped at the counter with her plate, almost scared to turn around. He laughed, the act alone was shocking enough. She'd known Severus Snape since she was 11 years old and she'd never seen him so much as smile a real smile. Now he was laughing in the kitchen while she made his breakfast, the world truly had turned upside down. "And what is so funny?" she said regaining her composure and joining him at the kitchen table.

He speared a sausage and looked up at her. "I am no more you professor than you are mine," he said seethingly. "Yet you still refer to me as such, I found it amusing." He shoved the sausage in his mouth as though he hadn't had a proper meal in years.

"Yes well," she spoke with uncertainty. "I'm not quite sure what to call you sir." She felt as though she were back at school again, serving some odd detention with her professor in which she was forced to serve breakfast. An ulternate universe perhaps, where Snape was laughing and carrying on. "And you call me Ms. Granger still," she said as an afterthought.

He swallowed rather loudly and took up his glass of pumpkin juice and swirled the contents a bit. "Would you prefer, the great hero Hermione Granger? I doubt I could get all of that out in one swallow." He sneered at her with all his might, since when had it become work to sneer?

Her doughy eyes got larger and seemed to fill with a mock frustration that was surely covering up the anger within. He managed to concentrate on his plate instead of maintaining her gaze. She might cry again and he'd have to eat much more quickly anyway, quick enough to get out of the way when the water works turned on. "No, I would not prefer that sir. Hermione is fine," she retorted. Her eyes were alight with danger and her nostrils flared with anger. "And what I shall I call you? Severus the grumpy bastard Snape?" She was daring and bold today. Though she was repremanding him, he found that he liked her like this. She wasn't being sour for no reason, nor was she being the cowering school dear so intent on pleasing. It was almost a welcoming charm that she had so much as told him to fuck off without truly saying it.

"Mind your tongue," he hissed up at her. "This is still my home and I still have every right to toss you out on your ear." He speared another sausage link and shoved it into his mouth with more force than was necessary. "I shall call you Hermione and you shall call me Severus, we are both adults now and I am not a professor any longer."

She nodded in agreement and they finished their meal in silence. She made it a point to not forget herself anymore. He was right, she was in his home and needed to keep her mouth at discretion. Still, she found herself more the frail schoolgirl in his presence, not the Hermione Granger that had warded off all evil and saved the wizarding world. It was an odd sense of humbling that she craved and he delivered it in heaps. For so long she'd been asked for autographs when she went into Diagon Alley, or people had plagued her with questions she didn't want to answer. She could have easily gone to any wizarding home in England and would have been welcomed with open arms and treated like a queen. When Hermione made the decision that landed her on Severus Snapes doorstep it was because she didn't want to be fawned over, she wanted to be kept for her own worth, she wanted to be useful.

Snape muttered a thank you when he put his dishes in the sink and stalked back to his study. He could remove himself from the world there, and remove himself from her. He found that she was more than useful but less than the conversationalist he had hoped. Perhaps it was his own doing that made her fearful, or too daring, for a good conversation. Many occassions had passed when he had hoped to have a chat about potions with her, he knew her aptitude for them was a great waste. Though he had few contacts left in the wizarding world he did know a few reputable shop keepers in Diagon Alley that would love to have a permanent potions master on board. Still, he couldn't get past the snarky attitude that had become his second nature. Truth be told, he still saw her as one of his pupils and the notion of her referring to him by his given name was certainly not something he had planned on.

****

As the days went on he began to see that she was indeed a woman and she had grown into herself rather gracefully. He hated the thoughts that crept into his mind, he hated the frailty that men had when a female crept along their path. His own body lurched and leaped when she'd come around the corner, or when he'd catch a glimpse of her coming from the shower in only her robes and a towel on her head. He'd caught himself in many fantasies that involved him removing that robe with much delight. He despised the feelings much the way he despised the fantasies. Signs of his own weakness were not to be taken lightly. even as a child his father had taken great measures to stomp out the weknesses of human nature and instill the power of magic. He'd taken two purification potions in the last three weeks, much more than he'd needed through an entire year at Hogwarts. He had a faint memory of brewing an entire batch when Gilderoy Lockhart was on staff. Madame Pomfrey had to administer more than a dozen viles to a few giggling girls who couldn't keep their hormones at bay. He never needed such things until now.

If their was one rumor that made it's way through the halls of the castle every year it was the ones that involved Snapes personal affairs. First it had been rumored that he despised women so much that he had turned queer. That had left a door open for a few curious boys to try and weazel their way into his bed. Though he'd never had a fondness for males in his life, he found it entertaining to torment those sorry few with the ideas of how dreadful their thoughts were. A few girls had tried to entice him with their pleasures but he knew his place in the halls of Hogwarts. He was in a position of authority and women seemed to love powerful men, he knew where he stood and he held the strength very close to him. Here, in the halls of his own home he had no reason to hold back. He had, for the first time since his own teen years, felt the insaciable fear of rejection. He would rather sulk in his study than go to her and warm her heart with his hands.