Hilltop Cottage

Hermione rubbed at her shoulders slightly and cricked her neck. She had worked for hours, strimming back the overgrown jungle behind the house, but it had been well worth it. Now all she needed to do was to mow the grass and get rid of the rubbish, but that was tomorrow’s job. Right now, she had an appointment with her slobby clothes and her television.

Not many people were aware of Hermione’s weakness for watching TV. It was something she had to fight hard against, and oh, how easy it would be to spend the whole day curled up on the sofa, watching with mind-numbing habit. But she was strong-willed. She limited her viewing, and only her favourite programmes were allowed to catch her attention, and only then when she felt she had earned it. Tonight was one of those nights, and Hermione smiled to herself as she pushed the round, black button on the front of her TV set, grabbed her Sky remote and flicked to the right channel automatically.

She was just about to flop down onto the pale green sofa cushion when there was a knock at the door, and she froze. The only people who knew that she was here were Mike the creepy taxi driver. And Snape. She cast her gaze downwards as she walked slowly to the door. Her grey jogging bottoms had seen better days and had a large chocolate stain on one leg. Her slippers were the pink, fluffy ones her grandmother had bought for her (‘It’s so draughty in that old house, Hermione.’) But worst of all, she was wearing a thin, strappy vest top and no bra. Her breasts were ample and swung freely beneath the fabric, and she quite enjoyed the way the vest brushed her nipples on occasion. Nipples that were, right at that moment, annoyingly pert and visible. There was no denying that whoever was behind the door, she didn’t want them seeing her in all of her glory, and whoever it was, they were impatient, because now they were knocking again.

‘Alright!’ Hermione shouted. Honestly, it was bad enough that she was only half-dressed, but her programme was just starting, and she would probably end up missing it.

She walked to the door and opened it a fraction. Her stomach dropped as she saw Snape standing there, clutching a bottle of wine and looking like he would rather be elsewhere.

‘Hello,’ she said quietly, ‘sir.’ ‘Nice one, Hermione, very articulate,’ her inner voice grumbled at her.

Snape found his voice after a brief pause. ‘Miss Granger,’ he nodded. ‘May I come in?’

‘Em, well… Yes, of course.’ Hermione took a deep breath and opened the door just wide enough for him to step through while hiding herself behind it carefully.

Snape ducked inside and turned to look at her. ‘If this is a bad time, please say. I will leave,’ he said, his voice slightly stilted. He looked uncomfortable, and Hermione realised that he would have received her letter by now and that the wine was probably a peace offering of sorts. She didn’t want to blow it now, so she smiled brightly at him.

‘No, it’s fine. I just feel a little underdressed, to be honest. Make yourself comfortable, sir. I’ll be down shortly.’ Hermione waved her hand airily towards the sofa, then turned and hopped up the stairs two at a time before he had the chance to catch sight of her properly.

She took a stupidly long time deciding what to wear. It wasn’t like it was a date or anything, and yet everything she chose made her feel too young, too frumpy or too sluttish. Eventually, she pulled on her green zip-up fleece and black joggers and replaced her slippers for a pair of woollen socks. By the time she returned, Snape had opened the wine, found her glasses, and had set them on a small table in front of the sofa. He didn’t look at her when she sat tentatively beside him, however. The glowing box in the corner of the room took his attention; his eyes were wide and his mouth was open slightly.

‘Who on gods’ earth is that?’ he asked her, sarcasm dripping from him.

Hermione laughed out loud. ‘That,’ she said happily, ‘is Ty Pennington. He’s an American.’

‘So I gathered.’ Snape curled his upper lip slightly. ‘He is incredibly loud, isn’t he?’

Hermione nodded and grinned. ‘I love his enthusiasm. I get the impression he doesn’t really care what people think of him, as long as the job is done. I envy that.’

‘Indeed.’ Snape turned his head slightly and glanced at Hermione. ‘Would you care for wine?’

‘That would be very nice. Thank you,’ Hermione said sincerely.

Snape poured the wine deftly and handed the first glass to Hermione, who kept her eyes fixed to the screen and only nodded her thanks to him. They sat in silence as the home of some needy family was destroyed by Muggle machinery on the television, and as the wine warmed them, they both relaxed back against the sofa. By the time the programme had finished, Snape’s bottle was empty and Hermione had opened one of her own, which was now only half-full. Hermione was rubbing her damp eyes with one of his tissues yet again, and she laughed out loud.

‘You must think I spend my life crying,’ she slurred. ‘I don’t, actually. You just happened to be here, that’s all.’

She emphasised her words by pointing at him and almost poking him in the chest, and Snape realised the wine had affected her a great deal more than it had him, probably due to her age and lack of drinking experience. He was about to take his leave and allow her to sleep it off, but she hadn’t finished talking, apparently.

‘I find it very emotional,’ she said, pointing at the television with the remote control and turning the screen black. ‘The way they make peoples lives better, the amazing things they do. It restores my faith in people.’

Snape assumed she was talking about the programme they had watched.

‘Indeed,’ he replied. He had no idea where the conversation was headed, and he hoped he could slip away sometime soon. Sleep was creeping up on him, and he stifled a yawn as Hermione twisted to face him.

‘Did you get my letter, Professor?’ she asked him, her gaze staring earnestly at him as she leant forward slightly. She was swaying, and Snape fought the urge to laugh. Her hair had started to free itself from the ponytail she had caught it in, and her cheeks were flushed pink

‘I did get your letter. That was the reason for my visit, Miss Granger.’ He looked at her in amusement. She really was quite entertaining.

‘Oh, just call me Hermione, will you?’ She grinned lopsidedly at him and laughed loudly before covering her mouth. ‘Although I can’t see myself calling you Severus any time soon….’

At this, she collapsed into a fit of giggles and fell face forwards, her head landing halfway between his chest and crotch. She hit him with such force that he recoiled forwards with an ‘oomph,’ making her laugh even harder, her curls shaking madly. Under her breath she was mumbling half formed sentences, and he grabbed her shoulders, pushing her upright as she continued to laugh.

‘Make me some tea, Severus,’ she sputtered through her laughter. ‘Severus…’ she said again, her voice raising an octave as her giggles overcame her totally this time, and she slid haphazardly from the sofa and onto the floor, kicking the table leg and tossing the half-full wine bottle.

‘I think that’s enough,’ Snape muttered. With the grace that his leg did not usually allow, he bent to lift the bottle before all of the contents spilled onto the rug, set it upright on the table, and then stood quickly. He glanced down at Hermione, and his lip curled a little. She had fallen asleep with her head against the side of the sofa, and her hair covering her face like a long, curly curtain. She had even started to snore slightly. He was tempted to leave her like that, but thought better of it, deciding to find an eiderdown or blanket to cover her.

Snape made his way up the stairs and ducked his head into the first room. There was a metal-framed single bed against one wall, complete with an old mattress but no bedding. The next room was more promising, and he realised this must be Hermione’s room when he saw a pair of trainers under the bedside locker and a pile of books on top of the chest of drawers. He lifted the patchwork quilt from the bed and turned to leave when a pile of old copies of the Daily Prophet, sticking out from under the bed, caught his eye.

Flicking on the lamp by the bed, he lifted the pile and saw that they were all marked in various places with small Muggle stickers in bright yellow. The first article, published almost two months after Voldemort’s demise, was the news that he, Severus Snape, had survived the war. The paper had been well thumbed, it seemed. The next newspaper was marked in three places, and on each marked page, a large, red circle had been drawn around the articles that Hermione had paid particular interest in. They all centred on him. What Snape would do now, if he couldn’t return to Hogwarts? And more laughably, the last passage stated he had been paying clandestine visits to the wife of Lucius Malfoy behind her husband’s back. Not true. He was in fact bringing necessary potions for the man himself, but then the Prophet nearly always got it wrong.

Snape couldn’t fathom why Granger would keep articles about him, or why she would have them with her now, when she had wanted to break away from the magical world for a while. He realised with a pang that he was glad that someone had noticed his survival and had wanted to be reminded of him, whatever reason she might have. With a start, he remembered that he had left her sitting on the floor downstairs, and she was probably freezing by now. The cottage really wasn’t very warm at all. He put the old newspapers back where he had found them and hurried back downstairs with the quilt in his arms.

Hermione had slipped fully onto the floor, her mouth open like a hungry fish and her legs akimbo. Snape snorted, wishing he had a camera, and then placed the quilt on the sofa before bending to lift her carefully. Hermione roused slightly and wrapped her arms around his neck as he placed her on the sofa. Extracting himself slowly, he frowned as he realised she was actually inhaling the front of his shirt with a small smile on her lips. He shook his head. She really was a strange girl. Covering her with the quilt, Snape checked the back door was locked and then left quietly through the front.


***

When Hermione awoke the next day, her head was pounding, and she felt decidedly strange. Her bed felt lumpy, and for some reason, she was still wearing her clothes. Protecting her eyes with her hand, she squinted an eyelid open gingerly and peered through a gap in her fingers. It took a few seconds for Hermione to realise she was lying on the sofa, but as the reality hit, so did the events of the previous night. Initially horrified, she closed her eyes and moaned into the top of her duvet. Her shock turned into a snort of laughter as she remembered watching “Extreme Makeover: Home Edition” with her former professor. It was all the more surreal because at the time, it had felt completely normal. Her thoughts continued to follow the course of the evening, and she blushed furiously as she remembered her fit of giggles and falling on top of him.

‘Oh, god,’ she mumbled, shifting herself until she was sitting upright, the duvet wrapped around her waist. She glanced at the clock and saw that it was already ten o’clock. Her mouth felt very dry, and she was seriously in need of tea. Shoving the duvet off, Hermione slowly stood and padded to the kitchen, flicking on the kettle and trying not to wince as sunlight flooded through the gaps in the Venetian blind at the window.

As usual, her thoughts went back to Snape. They hadn’t really spoken much, and it occurred to her that she hadn’t even asked him why he had called around. They had just slipped into a night of wine drinking and TV watching as if they were, well, friends. It seemed so commonplace that Hermione wasn’t one bit surprised to find him on her doorstep yet again ten minutes later.

‘I brought you this; I thought you might appreciate it,’ Snape said, his mouth twitching slightly. He handed her a hangover potion, which she took from him eagerly while poking out her tongue playfully.

Hermione’s hair was all over the place and full of tangles that would take an age to sort out. Her face was pale, her clothes crumpled, and yet for some reason, Snape felt very glad he had decided to come back this morning.

If he was a moth, then Hermione Granger was, for some strange and unknown reason, his flame.

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A/N: Just a thank you to people who have reviewed. I am always happy to get a nice comment.

In response to the question about ff.net - I have posted some stories there, but I find the process isn't simple and gets quite complex, so I have given up. But you can read everything here, so Yay!