A Tale of Two Grangers

Hermione shivered on the old sofa, her seething rage doing more to warm her than the threadbare blanket Severus had reluctantly provided. She glared at the tiny pile of gold and glass fragments on the coffee table before her. A low fire in the hearth provided just enough light to see the broken time turner, as it was well past midnight.

She was convinced that he had unclasped the chain of the turner somehow. She was sure that it was securely closed before, or it would have fallen off when she landed in his backyard or when he manhandled her into the house. Severus was furious, of course, at the accusation. She knew his argument that he had no reason to want her to stay, or be there in the first place, was correct, but she was enraged. Their shouting match ended with her in tears, panicking about how she would get home and horrified that she was stuck in time with someone so hateful. He merely sneered and stalked out of the room, only returning when she banged furiously on his study door and demanded a blanket. He threw it at her and slammed his door in her face.

Fine place to have landed, with the most unhelpful bastard on the planet, she thought angrily. But how had she come to be here? A person using a time turner usually stood still while time passed backward, but she had suddenly blinked into existence in the air over Spinner's End. And of all places to appear, why so coincidentally on a known ally's (she snorted) property? The odds against it were astronomically high. It seemed almost like fate.

That thought jolted Hermione. Logically, her circumstances were next to impossible. Destiny or manipulation were the only alternatives to chance. Years ago she might have scoffed at the idea of destiny, but Harry's defeat of Voldemort had taught her to be a bit more open-minded about such things. Manipulation was next to impossible, unless Bellatrix Lestrange had somehow known that someone would find her illegal time turner and use it. Hermione's appearance was different than any wizarding method of travel she knew of, and no one else knew she had found the turner, much less that she planned to use it. But how could Bellatrix enchant the turner to transport its user to Severus's yard? And why? She always was one to enjoy torture, Hermione thought with a frown.

Tentatively deciding that destiny was the only viable option at the moment, she resolved to fall back on her only reliable savior and friend the next morning—research. With a decision and plan made, she was asleep before the nearby church bell chimed the next hour.

*******

Hermione was awakened by the delicious smell of coffee and fried bacon. She knew but a moment of peace before opening her eyes and remembering where she was. She scowled for a moment, then remembered her plan. If she was going to get any research done, she needed a good library. And luckily for her, a man with access to one of the best libraries she knew was in the next room cooking breakfast. She meditated for a moment before rising from the sofa, smiling as genially as possible, and strolling through the swinging wooden door into the kitchen.

Her resolve was sorely tested when she found Severus sitting at a table with the last of the bacon on his plate. He ignored her from behind a Daily Prophet as she sat across from him. She noted with a cringe the date on the paper: July 20, 1983.

"Good morning, Professor."

His paper didn't move. "I hope you don't expect any breakfast from me, witch."

Her smile wavered, but she stayed strong. "I wouldn't dream of it. I wanted to apologize for last night. I was horribly unfair to you, and I do appreciate you letting me stay here." I could make a career in theater when I get out of here, she thought.

"I'll hex your hands off if you touch my bacon."

She knitted her brows for a moment in thought, then walked into the living room. When she returned, she carried her small, beaded bag and her wand. He continued to ignore her. She walked to the coffee pot on the stove and sniffed. It smelled atrocious, probably because he bought the absolute cheapest brew he could find. She shook her head and began the pot and the pan from the bacon cleaning themselves with her wand. She searched the cabinets for more cookware, finally discovering perhaps the world's most ancient baking pan. She set it to wash as well, grimacing at the amount of dust and old grime.

With that thought, she looked around the kitchen and began to work. Molly Weasley was nothing if not an enthusiastic advocate of traditional home spells. She'd taught her daughter Ginny and Hermione, her son's future wife, everything they needed to become admirably skilled housewives like herself. Hermione had never planned to follow in Molly's footsteps, preferring a career outside the home, but she was eternally grateful now for the training. Anyone could wash a dish or scrub a floor, but the ability to magically clean an entire kitchen well in but a few minutes was a rare skill in Hermione's generation.

With a few waves of her wand and some impressive nonverbal incantations, the kitchen was already gleaming. Dust vanished, grease disappeared, and musty cabinets began to air. Cobwebs along the ceiling and in the light fixture floated into a trash bin, and one by one, every dish took a turn in the sink. Hermione opened a tiny window to let the summer morning breeze in. A mop dodged around her, swiftly scrubbing years of grit and stickiness from the floor. She held in a giggle as Severus's empty mug floated past his head toward the sink, but he seemed intent on continuing to ignore her despite the amazing transformation around him.

In only fifteen minutes, the formerly dismal kitchen looked like it belonged in a different house. There were numerous repairs and updates to be made, of course, but the gleaming surfaces and the clean smell were a world away from what it had been. Proud of herself, Hermione reached into her bag and retrieved a package of round patty sausages, a can of biscuits, and a small tin of coffee that probably cost ten times what Severus's did. She would have preferred to cook something from scratch, but her pre-time turning preparations called for easily transportable food.

She neatly sliced the sausage with her wand and set it to fry in the cast iron pan. The biscuits were next, and when they were in the oven, she set the coffee to brew. She'd never used a coffee pot so old-fashioned, but she remembered Mr. Weasley using one when they made breakfast on the morning of the World Cup. She watched the back of Severus's head while the food cooked and was amused to see that he hadn't moved an inch in all the while, even to turn a page.

The food and coffee were timed perfectly and all finished together (a feat for which Molly would have been proud). Hermione arranged everything on top of the stove for serving and made herself a plate. She found sugar for her coffee and took as long as possible to set a delicious-looking place at the table for herself. Upon sitting, she sipped her coffee and moaned softly with her eyes closed in ecstasy.

Severus reached from behind his paper to find his last piece of cold bacon. It looked a bit miserable next to her feast. He chewed noisily as if in response to her show.

"Mmmmh, this sausage is magnificent. I didn't know how well it would keep with just a cooling charm. There's plenty left if you're still hungry, sir."

He grunted behind the paper.

She groaned loudly. "Ohhh, these biscuits are heaven. Just the right flakiness—"

He slammed the paper down on the table, rattling his plate. "If it will keep you from making such a racket, I'll eat the whole blasted pan of them!"

She stifled a grin as he stormed to the stove and served himself, his glower turned up to full power. He sniffed the inside of a mug before pouring himself a cup of coffee, seemingly unsure of her cleaning methods. When he finally sat down again, he spelled the newspaper to hold itself up while he devoured his meal. She rolled her eyes while she finished her own, then rose and set her dishes to wash in the sink. She began to put away the remaining food, but his voice stopped her.

"I suppose I can clean your mess."

I just bet you will, and with the patented Ronald Weasley method, she thought to herself with a grin.

Just before she walked out to clean and dress for the day, she heard him mumble after her, "The bathroom is on the left. There are towels in the upper cabinet."

---

Yes, I know that breakfast terms and items in Britain are very different. However, I couldn't quite conjure the feeling of a delicious breakfast without my native cuisine. :) Please forgive me. If you want to experience biscuit bliss and you don't know what they are, go to http://www.pillsbury.com/products/biscuits/refrigerated/Grands-Biscuits.htm for a picture. Homemade biscuits are better of course, but any port in a storm.

And, I have no idea if coffee was included in the World Cup morning breakfast, as my book is currently out of the house. Please suspend your disbelief. ;)