Chapter Twenty-Six

It had to be perfect for her.

When he'd seen the house, Severus had known that she would love it for its steeply-sloped thatched roof and simple, whitewashed walls. The picket fence that surrounded it was idyllic and there was enough room for a traditional Potions garden to help defray the cost of their research. There was room to grow, with an extra bedroom with cheerful dormer windows perfect for a nursery. That is, if Hermione wanted to have a child. With him.

Severus was not averse to the idea of starting a family, but all he really wanted was her, and so because of that, the house had to be perfect for her arrival and he had almost four months to prepare.

Yes, the cottage was charming with its rustic wattled walls and numerous windows, but it had been unoccupied for a number of years and needed a significant amount of work.

The hardwood floors had to be sanded and resealed – he didn't want her picking up splinters in her little feet as she shuffled to the kitchen for her morning coffee. The interior walls needed to be repainted – Severus wanted Hermione to be surrounded by bright, cheerful colors. The outbuilding on the property was in decent shape but needed to be made bigger on the inside than the outside so that it could house their Potions laboratory. Their Potions laboratory. He liked that.

Humming, Severus Scourgified the interior of the outbuilding. Slowly, the grime and soot that covered the walls began to dissipate. He had to cast the spell repeatedly at every surface in the room, and by the time he was done (several hours later), he was drenched in sweat and felt magically depleted from the repetition of the simple cleaning spells. Smirking, he wondered if this was how Molly Weasley had such amazing stamina on the battlefield. The woman had been a surprise during the final battle. Although her spells were not as strong as some of the other combatants, they packed a punch long after the rest of the Order had been swaying on their feet from exhaustion. Severus couldn't attest to it himself – having been rendered unconscious from the Cruciatus Curse – but rumor had it that the dumpy but formidable woman had placed her hands on her hips when it was all over and demanded just who was going to clean up the battlefield, because it certainly wasn't going to be her. He hoped it was true. Arthur and Molly had always treated him with kindness and respect. They were so very real.

Puttering about in the outdated kitchen, he fixed himself a ham sandwich and allowed his tired muscles to relax. In the quiet room, Severus took his solitary meal and felt accosted by the silence. He shifted uncomfortably in the kitchen chair – a battered relic that had seen better days. When he'd found it in the attic of the house covered in dust and cobwebs, the Potions master had felt a sense of kinship with the abandoned furniture and decided to offer it a second chance just as Hermione had offered one to him. He'd wiped it down and recovered the seat and cast several Reparos on the stripped screws and scratched veneer. After Severus had completed it, the chair had gleamed and looked like it was worth something, and the man had felt an inexplicable upsurge of hope. Maybe, at least to her he was worth something, too.

It was a really stupid metaphor.

The chair was deuced uncomfortable, making his bum ache within moments of sitting. He'd also chosen a violent puce cloth to recover the seat in the spirit of surrounding his lover in bright colors. When he'd realized how hideous it was, he'd cast several charms to swap out the fabric for gentler tones, but it was as if the thrice-blasted chair was determined to be ugly.

Bloody metaphors.

He missed her.

Severus missed her so badly he ached. He wasn't a fucking piece of neglected furniture. He was a man in love that missed his companion. Once his dishes were resting in the sink, he went back to the Potions laboratory. This was all for her. But if he was honest, it was for him, too. He wanted to do something special that made Hermione sit up and say, he really must care for me.

He waved his wand and murmured under his breath. Two windows in the lab exploded in a shower of glass.

Hermione felt greyer after Severus left. She still smiled and laughed with her friends – a circle that had stretched to include Draco, to her surprise – and studied for the NEWTs with a fierce determination, but she felt drab because she wasn't living the life she was supposed to lead. For the next four months, she was stuck in a holding pattern, and she hated it.

She missed him.

But when she slept, she dreamt of him. She thought of him and smirked during Professor Binn's class when the man droned on about Slashfang the Upright. Harry and Ron couldn't understand why the library suddenly brought a flush to her cheeks, but Draco's mouth turned down at the corners and he looked unsettled.

It was a half life, but it was enough for her for it wouldn't last forever.

And of course, it helped that she received letters from him on a consistent basis. Severus had a sour barn owl that nipped at Harry and Ron, but was terribly gentle with its wicked beak when it took a rind of bacon from her hand. She would thank it gravely, and it would bob its head before taking flight, making sure to smack one of the boys in the head with a wing as it left.

"What'd you get today, 'Mione?" Ron said, his mouth full of eggs.

"I don't speak to disgusting boys." Her voice was prim as she flipped through her mail. Junk, junk, an advert asking if she wanted to increase her bust size for that special wizard in her life (she paused momentarily at that one before discarding it in the junk pile), a Victoire's Secrets Catalog for the Naughty Witch, and a letter from Severus.

Surreptitiously, she slipped the catalogue up her sleeve. It was too late however, and she felt a lightly muscled arm slip over her shoulders.

"Hermione," Draco began. "When you're done with that catalogue, can I-"

"No."

"What are you on about?" Harry asked.

"Hermione's got a lingerie magazine."

"Really? Hey, Hermione, when you're done with that, I'd love to see it!"

"Et tu, Harry? No, none of you can see my smutty clothing catalogue."

Ron sniffed disdainfully. "Fine. See if we ever rescue you from an insane psychopath again!"

Hermione's mouth tightened. "I don't see how that has anything to do with you wanking off to my magazine."

The three boys looked offended. "Never!" Ron said. "It's for purely aesthetic purposes for me and Harry. You might want to think twice about lending it to Draco, though. I think he likes to prance around in ladies underwear."

"First of all, Malfoys do not prance. Ever. Second, Malfoys do not cross dress. Usually. Lucius might have been an exception."

The three boys launched into a heated discussion about silk versus lace, and finally Hermione could no longer stand it.

"Oh, just shut up! Fine. If you will shut your mouths, I will loan you the sodding catalogue after I have finished with it. However, I noticed that none of you asked what I might be doing with this bit of fluff, so let me enlighten you. I'm buying naughty lingerie for Severus Snape. Yes, that's right! As you drool and touch yourself looking at the pictures of the models in their skimpy clothing, I want you to remember that I might be wearing that same exact outfit for your old Potions professor."

They wilted like cut flowers in the sun.

"Jeez, Hermione," Ron whined. Harry and Draco both looked woozy and leaned their shoulders together for support.

"She just ruined the entire month of February, Potter. Your friend is cruel. So cruel."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "If you boys will excuse me, I have a letter from Severus that I'd like to read in private."

She excused herself after Vanishing her junk mail, and went to the library for some privacy. Hermione sat on the ladder in the Great House Elf Cheese Revolt section and opened her letter.

Hermione,

I'm not an abandoned piece of furniture that you need to spit shine and polish up.

I learned today what made Molly Weasley such a powerful asset on the battlefield.

I'm tired of eating ham sandwiches even though I've bought the good kind of mustard with the grains in it.

I'm cleaning up our cottage and making it into a comfortable home for us.

I miss you and your atrocious hair.

Severus

PS – I've enclosed a copy of my research notes on the jenett potion. I'd be interested in hearing your thoughts on the matter.

She smiled and pulled out the thick packet of paper covered in his spidery scrawl. Gods, she loved that man.

When the time came for her to take her NEWTs, Hermione felt adequately prepared. She had decided to test for Potions, Arithmancy, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfigurations, Charms, Muggle Studies (why not?), and Ancient Runes. The first day, she took all of her written tests, struggling only in Muggle Studies.

She was a bit put out about that.

Hermione had been raised as a Muggle, but the problems she encountered on the written test stymied her. They were winding questions, curious and attenuated, that had more to do with a wizard's perception of the Muggle world than anything with which Hermione had familiarity.

For example:

Muggles use autocars to transport themselves and goods to different locations. What makes the car go?

A. The gas pedal

B. Horsepower

C. The catalytic converter

D. Cornish pixies

Or don't forget:

Muggles use various gadgets in the kitchen to compensate for their terrifying lack of magic. Name a gadget that does NOT belong in the kitchen.

A. Automatic bread slicer

B. Stovetop

C. Computer

D. Maytag

How could Hermione possibly explain that she'd never heard of an automatic bread slicer, or that computers had shrunk to the size of notebooks and could be kept in any room of the house? Even more confusing was the inclusion of a brand name that could mean one of any number of appliances.

Hermione felt she did reasonably well, but resolved that she would write a sharply worded letter to the Ministry about the quality of the Muggle Studies NEWT.

The next day, she took her practical exams. In Potions, she was asked to brew five potions in four hours. One potion took the full four hours to brew. The rest took between one and three hours each. She was only given three cauldrons, but was asked to complete all five. Hermione smirked. They were not only testing a Potioneer's ability to create the required potions, but their ability to use logic and synthesis between ingredients to brew in the most effective manner. She had a sneaking suspicion that completing three potions well meant an Acceptable, finishing four meant an Exceeds Expectations, and brewing all five meant an Outstanding.

Hermione, of course, completed all five beautifully.

In Transfigurations, she was given twelve rats and a single children's book. The rats were set loose in the room, and the examiners asked her to contain them. The Gryffindor spent just a moment flipping through the pages of The Wizard and his Waistcoat and noticed that there were eleven pages exactly. The examiners clearly expected her to make a cage out of each page and the cover in which to trap the vermin. Smirking, she transfigured the entire book into a bone flute and played a jaunty tune she'd discovered in the authorized biography of Friedrich Von Huffenpepper, the Pied Piper of Hamlin. The rats raced to the middle of the room and stood in four perfect rows of three. The examiner's mouth hung open, and the Gryffindor could hear Severus's voice snapping, Shut your gape before it attracts flies. She snickered.

She breezed through the practical Charms exam, and strolled to take her last NEWT – Defense Against the Dark Arts. Hermione felt well-prepared. It would, after all, be laughable if they gave her anything less than an 'O' since she had helped the Boy-Who-Lived cut a swathe through the Dark Lord's minions at the final battle.

Dueling briefly with the examiner, Hermione realized that despite her encyclopedic knowledge of spells and charms, the man facing her was much faster, and she was having trouble deflecting his attacks. Thinking critically, she allowed herself to take a Jelly-Legs Jinx (scoffing internally because what Dark wizard would cast such a laughable jinx?) so that she could catch him with a non-verbal Expelliarmus while he was overextended from casting. Once he was disarmed, she cast a Finite Incantatem on her legs. Hermione explained to the examiner her thought process even though she knew it sounded swotty. After all, this was for a grade! She couldn't allow him to think he'd gotten the drop on her.

Hermione was relieved to discover that facing a bogart (the normal end to every Dark Arts NEWT) had been purged from the exam because of the recent war. It was probably a wise decision. The examiners would have wet their pants when Harry stepped into the room and a Voldemort-bogart burst from the closet.

When it was all over, Hermione met her three friends in the Great Hall for dinner. Harry looked tired, Ron looked worried, and Draco looked smug.

About as expected.

The floors were done.

The Potions lab was sparkling and fully-stocked.

Severus had finished painting the walls.

By hand. Because Hermione had said that charming the walls caused the color to lack a depth and beauty that using paint lent.

So he'd fucking painted the walls by hand.

The house was furnished with the bare essentials – a bed, a kitchen table, pots and pans, and that god-awful chair. Severus hadn't wanted to buy any other furniture because this was going to be their house, so he wanted her to have a say in picking it out. Women seemed to like that, and besides, he'd proven that he had no sense of style when he'd reupholstered that ugly chair. He sneered at it.

All the house needed now was Hermione.

Graduation finally arrived and not a moment too soon. The letters that Aloysius the owl (named by Hermione) grumpily ferried back and forth between the two lovers were growing tenser with undisguised longing and sexual desire. It had been a difficult four months apart.

Even Hogsmeade weekends hadn't helped because Minerva McGonagall had volunteered to chaperone every one in order to keep her beady eyes on the Gryffindor girl. She couldn't stop Hermione from seeing and talking to Severus, but she certainly put the kibosh on touching. The Transfigurations professor wouldn't even allow them to hold hands, stating that since Hermione was a student under her care she was obligated to ensure appropriate behavior for a Hogwarts attendee. They would stare at each other with haunted eyes and make stilted conversation while their fingers would creep towards each other. It was such a terrible strain on them that the curly-haired girl had skipped the last two Hogsmeade weekends, preferring to wait until a time when they were free to act on their emotions.

Hermione looked at her reflection in the mirror and smoothed down her graduation robes. Her eyes were clear and her hair was pulled into a loose ponytail. She decided to keep her cosmetics light since whatever she put on would probably end up smeared on Severus's face by the end of the evening. She hoped anyway.

The graduation robes she wore were red and in the sea of students clothed in black, she stood out like a rose on tarmac. As the student at the top of her class, she wore her house colors proudly and was granted the privilege of being the first to receive her diploma and NEWTs scores.

Harry, Ron, and Draco escorted her out to the Quidditch pitch and they queued up with the other students.

There was a veritable sea of parents and well-wishers in the audience, as well as a fair amount of the press there to see the Boy-Who-Lived-Again graduate. She heard Harry muttering in aggravation behind her, but she did not pay attention. Hermione's eyes were too busy scanning the crowd for a tall, lean figure clothed in black.

She heard Draco mutter, "Oh, shut up Potter. Maybe with your picture in the paper you might actually be able to find a date for once. There's always a silver lining to media exposure. Make the best of it and cease your whining."

"You are so unsupportive, Malfoy. It's a wonder that we're friends." Harry's voice was sulky.

Hermione turned to look at the two in time to see Draco's face flush a brilliant red. He turned his shoulder to the black-haired Gryffindor and sniped, "Yes well, don't let being a Malfoy family friend go to your head. I still think you are gitty and ugly and…" He trailed off.

Harry patted him on the shoulder. "Me too, Draco. Me, too."

"Hermione Granger," the headmaster called.

The girl stepped forward and walked towards the row of all of her professors (minus one). As she shook each of their hands and thanked them earnestly for guiding her during such a difficult time in her life, Albus Dumbledore continued speaking.

"On behalf of the entire faculty, we want to wish our Head Girl the best of luck in the coming years. Not only was she an excellent student and a faithful friend to Harry Potter, Ms. Granger has received the highest marks on her NEWTs since our former Potions master Severus Snape was a student here at Hogwarts. Her scores were nearly perfect and earned her an Outstanding on six out of seven of her exams."

When she reached the headmaster, he handed her the diploma and a copy of her NEWTs. "My dear, I find it quite ironic that the only subject in which you did not receive an Outstanding was Muggle Studies." His eyes twinkled. "It would please me very much to shake the hand of the most brilliant witch of this generation."

Hermione stared into the face of the old man, amazed at his ability to maintain his mask of benevolent dottiness. His face was absolutely alight, and the bright sunshine on the pitch made his white hair and beard seem to glow. He was a great man – terrible, yes, but great.

"Headmaster Dumbledore," she replied. "I have great respect for you as an educator. You have created an atmosphere here at Hogwarts that has fostered many great minds. I respect the effort you put in during both Vold Wars, and the Grindelwald War before that." The elderly man in front of her smiled, his face softening marginally. "I'm afraid however, that I hold no respect for you as a human being. I cannot shake your hand."

Hermione turned and walked away from him, ignoring the collective gasp of the audience. In fact, she barely heard it as her heart started pounding in her chest, thudding against her sternum like the hollow boom of a lightning strike. Severus Snape was standing by the edge of the platform, waiting for her to descend.

His face was fierce, and almost as if he didn't realize what he was doing, he reached out for her hand.

She wanted to rush at him and throw her arms around his slender waist and sob into the lapels of his frock coat, but she refused to weaken her statement to the headmaster with a display that showed all the earmarks of childhood. And so instead, she allowed him to grasp her fingers and help her down the steps before stepping away from him. His black eyes glowed with approval and a small smile curled the edges of his mouth.

They didn't look back. They didn't wait to watch Ron, Draco, and Harry graduate. Severus Snape and Hermione Granger walked to the gates of Hogwarts and Apparated away.

Severus Apparated them to a street in Hogsmeade and then turned to Hermione with an expectant look upon his face.

"Guess which house it is."

She smiled at him, taking in the mingled hope and anxiety in his eyes before turning to look at the street in front of her. There were several lovely houses that she could see Severus choosing. They were well-built with fine, straight lines and modern construction. Hermione imagined they were the sort of homes that people bought in order to start families.

They were fine houses.

But they seemed rather soulless. They were as similar to each other as postage stamps, with little care put into their design.

Hermione bit her lip.

But there, at the end of the row of houses was a small, white cottage with a steeply-sloped thatched roof and roses growing up a trellis on the side. It wasn't nearly as spacious as the others, but it sat on a larger piece of land surrounded by a picket fence as straight and crisp as the line of her lover's frock coat.

She glanced at Severus out of the corner of her eye. Hermione wanted that to be their house.

Turning back to face the wattled cottage, she noticed a small outbuilding in the back yard that would be perfect for a Potions laboratory. Already, she could see them working side by side on their research and eating their lunch under the roses. They could start an ingredients garden.

Hermione craved the life that house seemed to offer, but her prolonged silence appeared to be increasing his anxiety.

"Severus, I would love any of these houses as long as you were there by my side. But, if I had to guess, I'd say that one." She pointed at the home her greedy heart was demanding.

The small smile that curled his lips was an affirmation.

"Is that it? Is that our house?"

He nodded, and she squealed, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him down to her lips so she could kiss him deeply. Hermione laughed and jumped up and down in the circle of his arms. Severus smiled.

"Your curls bounce when you do that… as do other interesting parts of your anatomy. You have my permission to continue."

"Later, later! Oh, I was so hoping I was right! Please, show me our new home."

Severus breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that he'd chosen wisely. Pressing a chaste kiss to her knuckles, he led her to the cottage and opened the gate for her. As they walked up the front path, he watched her eyes dart over the roses and the dormer windows that winked saucily in the morning light. Her cheeks had gorgeous color in them. She looked so pleased that he couldn't stop the foolish smile from bleeding into his expression.

"Hermione, I have to warn you," he said. "There is very little in the way of furnishings inside. I bought just the bare essentials since I thought you'd prefer helping me decorate it. It'd be more ours that way."

"I understand. And I do prefer it that way. There's nothing I'd like more than to help you make this homey. Please, take me to see the inside, Severus."

The way she said his name was both a tiny plea and a woman's demand to her lover, and the Potions master smirked, pleased. "What will you give me if I take you inside?"

"Absolutely nothing except this promise: If you do NOT take me inside this instant, you shall never see the naughty lingerie I purchased with you in mind."

He laughed, a deep and satisfied rumble in his chest. Leaning forward, he whispered into her ear. "Rest assured, I shall take you inside." He nibbled on her ear lobe and she swayed like a Quidditch post in high wind. Standing straight, he spoke in his normal tone of voice. "But for now, I shall also show you the interior of our house." Severus threw open the door and allowed her to enter.

She ran like a child through the house, exclaiming over the beauty and depth of the colors he chose for the walls, and the patina on the refinished hardwood floors. Hermione danced around the kitchen and opened cabinets, crying out in censure when she only found bread, ham, and the good kind of mustard – the one with the little grains in it.

"No wonder you look like you've lost some weight, Severus. This is not a healthy way to eat."

"Stop nitpicking, woman." His voice was absolutely serene, and he knew that he'd be disappointed if she actually listened. He'd long since discovered that nagging was one of Hermione's primary languages of love. "Now shut your mouth and come here."

Belying his curt words, he pulled her to his chest and cradled her like she was precious, tangling his fingers in her atrocious hair. Hermione sighed in contentment and rested her head on his chest.

Severus felt the exact moment when she froze.

He eased back from her and felt his heart plummet into his stomach when he realized her eyes were glued to the hated, thrice-blasted chair.

"That chair…" she whispered, pointing.

"Yes, I believe that's what they are called," he said in a long-suffering tone of voice. He pulled back from her completely and folded his arms across his chest.

"I love it. It's got such graceful lines."

"Well, we don't have to keep… What?"

"That chair is beautiful! Why wouldn't we keep it?"

"You love it?" She loves the ugly chair! "Of course you do. How could you not? It's perfect and graceful." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, suddenly concerned about allowing Hermione to decorate the rest of their house when it was clear that she had abominable taste. "I have just one more thing to show you, love."

Hermione cried when she saw the Potions lab.

It wasn't the immaculate countertops or the state-of-the-art equipment that touched her. It wasn't the amount of work he'd put into expanding the space, or the care he'd taken in repairing the roof.

No, what caused Hermione's tears were the cuts on his beautiful hands and what they meant.

Severus had separated the space into two identical halves. There were two workstations, two centrifuges, two desks. Everything about it proclaimed that he saw her as an equal partner. The only thing that differed between the two halves of the rooms was the windows.

The window above each of the desks had been replaced with richly-colored stained glass works of art. On one side, the green Slytherin crest hung resplendent. On the other, the proud Gryffindor lion reared.

And Severus had cuts on his hands.

Hermione picked them up gently and kissed each cut. "You made these windows, didn't you?" She gave a soft, hiccupping sigh.

His face showed a terrible softness as he wrapped her in his arms and pulled her against his chest. "Hush. Stop your blubbering. Did you expect me to do anything less for the woman I love?" He pressed a kiss to her temple.

He held her there, by the glowing green and red house crests, and for the first time in almost two decades, Severus Snape had hope for the future.