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To have loved, and lost (was Missed Chances)	By : professorflo Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 10677 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters within. I make no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Remebrance
- 2-2.
- 3-3.
- 4-4.
- 5-5.
- 6-6.
- 7-7.
- 8-8.
- 9-9.
- 10-10.
- 11-11.
- 12-12.
- 13-13.
- 14-14.
- 15-15.
- 16-16.
- 17-17.
- 18-18.
- 19-19.
- 20-20.
- 21-21.
- 22-22.
- 23-23.
- 16
- 17
- 18
“The normal reaction when a witch shows her interest in you is to woo her and then bed her. And if you’re not interested in anything further you then get rid of her. You managed to do that with the long line of witches whose beds you graced, yet not with her. And you can’t tell me why?”

“I was talking about intelligent witches, not the imbeciles with more breasts than brain. Good for a quick fuck, but not to keep around for any length of time. Some of them were so idiotic I had to cut dinner short and shag them before they talked my cock out of it.”

“Whereas your witch, as we are unfortunately aware, is still considered the brightest witch of her generation.” Here Lucius sneered. For all that he seemed to have reformed, to a point at least, it still seriously rankled him that Draco had been so easily outshone academically by a muggleborn witch.

“Hermione is different, of course. She’s actually worth taking to. I’m not saying that she’s always right, mind you, but at least she has the brains to have a decent discussion.”

“So you’ve spent hours ‘discussing’ academics for the past months, and have fallen out so badly that she was desperate to divorce you, despite being madly in love with you for years.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. We both might have strong views, but that’s half the fun of it. What’s the point having an academic discussion if you both agree on everything? We’ve never fallen out over academics, in fact…” he trailed off, suddenly ashamed to divulge any more.

A shared interest in academics is no reason for binding yourself to the girl. We both know why you chose her out of all the witches you could have had. You’ll remember what I told you about caring for your wife? It’s just not seemly. You should have found a pureblood witch to marry, and taken Granger as a mistress.”

“Oh, fuck off, Lucius, you’re a fine one to talk. We both know you were originally betrothed to Bellatrix, before you managed to convince both your and her parents to let you marry Narcissa instead.”

“Ah, but I’d had good reason. Dearest Bella was horribly mad, even then. Certainly not the type of wife suitable for a Malfoy.” He shuddered. “Can you even imagine sleeping next to that crazy bint…?”

“Admit it, you fell in love with Narcissa, and begged your parents to let you marry her.”

“Malfoys never beg. And she had far better breeding than her sister.”

Severus scoffed. “Their breeding was the same…”

“But there’s where you’re wrong. Cissa is elegant and refine, she has impeccable manners and taste. She did agree to marry me after all,” he added with an affected toss of his ridiculous blonde mane. “Bella, however, was a bitch from the moment she was born. Cissa was easily the sensible choice of bride.

“Severus snorted into his tumbler as he took another sip. “Insist all you want, Lucius. We both know better. I know full well everything you accepted and endured from the Dark Lord, just to keep her safe.”

Lucius considered his words silently as he took a sip of his own drink. “Fine, I’ll admit to a certain fondness for her. She is, after all, the mother of my son and heir. It’s not unseemly to care for a wife for having provided me with such.”

“Which explains why you’ve never taken a mistress yourself, of course,” Severus muttered.

Lucius ignored him. “Besides, she’d the perfect example of what a witch ought to be. Any wizard worth his wand would be proud to have her on his arm, as exquisite a witch as she is. Unlike your Ms Granger, who is, you must admit, rather plain.”

Severus growled – a warning that Lucius chose to ignore.

“I’d long wondered what was beneath those baggy robes of hers, whether she was hiding the body of a goddess, whether that was what had caught your eye. Her wedding robes were a big disappointment, I must say. It wouldn’t be hard for many witches to have more brain than those small handfuls of breasts, as you supposedly find important. And she’s not quite slender enough to pull off her height, is she? Needs a good few inches more, or a diet.”

“You shouldn’t…”

Lucius continued to ignore him, seemingly transfixed by his own voice. “Of course, that’s just the physical aspects that let her down. I’ve never met a witch that is such a harridan as her. I might not spend as much time as I used to at the Ministry, but every time I’m there she’s always rushing about, the very opposite of elegance, sticking her nose into other people’s business. It’s no wonder that that awful law was repealed. I would have said and done anything just to get her off my back! Oh, and that frightful hair… I’m surprised you’ve not woken up choking on it. She could give Medusa a run for her money, I’m sure. I wonder that you’re not overjoyed to be rid of her…”

“How dare…” Severus began.

“…irritating little mudbl…”

Lucius never finished, for Severus had launched himself across the intervening space, knocking the wand that Lucius had been reaching for clean across the room. In the ensuing scuffle, Severus managed to land a couple of blows before Lucius managed to knock him back with a punch to the shoulder. Despite a lifetime of relying on his wand protection, as opposed to Severus who had grown up on the streets of Manchester, Lucius was able to give as good as he got. Severus’ experience with physical fighting was evenly matched by Lucius’ stockier build.

(1 month, 3 weeks earlier)

Sometime during his internal struggle she’d disappeared. He’d not even heard the back door close.

The sudden hope that she’d not left, that she’d returned to the sitting room, flashed through him, and he swept through in a hurry to find her.

The sitting room was deserted too. All hope fled. There was no chance that she’d gone back upstairs, as there was no way to avoid the nasty squeal of the warped wooden saris. There was no way he would have missed that.

Severus slumped down in his favourite chair, thumping his head back against the rest in frustration. How could he have been so stupid as to let the first truly good thing to happen to him go?

You didn’t just let her go though, did you? His conscience reminded him irritatingly. You had to treat her so badly you’d ensure she’d never come back.

Perhaps he should go after her, beg her to give him another chance. He could change, treat her differently. It surely wouldn’t be all that hard to show her some measure of affection, enough to keep her from leaving him again. He knew such things didn’t come to him naturally. He’d had little experience, what with parents such as they were, and neither his schooling or adult life had taught him any better. Perhaps he could seek some advice, from Narcissa perhaps, on how to go about it. But then again, her ideas of what affection should look like probably cost more than his whole house was worth. Expensive jewellery, luxury holidays, all the money she wanted to redecorate a favourite room that had only been done over a year or two ago.

He looked around at his living room, the furnishings that Hermione had brought in to replace the worn, outdated pieces that had been second hand when his mother had bought them thirty years previously. He had taken some convincing to allow her to do anything, but when she’d offered to pay out of her own wages he’d eventually relented. Even so, she’d only bought new curtains, thankfully plain, and a traditional, though stylish suite, its clean lines pleasing even his simple tastes. The walls, the few areas that weren’t covered in bookshelves at least, were the same cream they had originally been, only freshened with new paint.

She’d decorated for him, he realised. Her choices had only been to please him, rather than herself. There was not a touch of her own personality in the room. Even the few ornaments that stood in various places were his, or at least his parents’. He’d never really paid them any attention until now. It had never crossed his mind to get rid of them, despite the way their shabbiness and cheap materials advertised the poverty he had grown up in. She certainly hadn’t dare to even move them from where they’d sat since the last time his mother had rearranged them.

She’d certainly made the room more comfortable though, he thought, as he remembered the battered old armchair with the broken springs that had been the best chair in the room before she redecorated. The new furniture was a testament to her good taste, as well as being far more pleasant to sit in, but nothing about the room would give the impression that anyone but himself lived there. Even the chair that she preferred had nothing about it except a slight dimple in the seat cushion to suggest that it was hers. She had never even dared to leave a book behind on the gleaming wooden table that sat by one arm.

She must have been the one to take the polish to it too, despite their agreement that he would keep their room clean. He looked round, noticing for the first time the way the bookshelves had been polished so they shone. She must have given them a decent waxing at some point, as they’d never looked so good since he’d first had them put in, and perhaps not even then.

She’d really done everything for him, without complaint, without ever asking for thanks. She’d fed him, cleaned his house, his clothes, put up with his surly attitude and appalling temper, as well as his pathetic rutting once a week, and had never once protested at his treatment of her. And all for a man who had treated her love with such distain. Had she been any other woman, one could have assumed her character to be weak, letting him walk all over her feelings without a word. But he knew better. It was only a testament to her strength that she had put up with so much.

He was the biggest bastard in the world, he realised. It was no wonder she had fought so hard to get the law repealed, she must have put all her energies and frustration into achieving her goal. The question was, of course, after everything he had put her through, would she accept his apology and return home with him instead of annulling the marriage.

Thinking of which, he needed to get a move on if he was to catch her before it was too late. First though, he needed to do something about his appearance. His clothes were wrinkled and stained from a night spent in his chair, and his hair was lank and musty. A Tergeo wouldn’t be enough. He needed a shower and a change of clothes. He’d have to be quick, he thought, as he took the stairs two at a time. He reached the landing, and as he went to open the door to the bathroom a stray glance down the hall made him stop.

A crack of light shone out from her bedroom door. Strange, he thought, as he abandoned the idea of a quick shower to investigate. In all the time she’d lived with him she’d never left the door open, and he’d not had to ask for it to be clear that it was the one space in the house that was hers, and that he wasn’t welcome in it. The last time he’d seen inside was the night after their wedding, when he’d been surprised and irritated to find that she’d moved into his old bedroom. He’d wondered, more than a few times, what he would find if he peeked in, but he’d never worked up the nerve to do so.

But if she’d left it open now, well that was as good as an invitation to look, especially as there was little chance that she’d be back soon to catch him at it. Even so, he crept silently along the passage, as if there was someone who might hear his soft footsteps. The door was only open an inch, not allowing him to see properly inside, so he gently nudged it further open, and peered inside.
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To have loved, and lost (was Missed Chances)