Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

And They Didn\'t Live Happily Ever After	By : ElizabethStump Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 90306 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 34
- 35
- 36
"And They Didn't Live Happily Ever After"

Chapter Thirty-Five
“Inter Spem et Metum” (Between Hope and Fear)

Disclaimer: You know it, I know it. If you don't, go to a previous chapter for a better disclaimer.

A/N: For those of you who decided to skip chapter 34, I will provide a very brief recap of what you missed.

============

Severus was still shaking with anger, disgust and nervous energy after witnessing the Pensieve memory of Parvati Patil being hauled off by Macnair to be raped and subjected to Crucio. The memory was even more horrific with her screams from a nearby room still ringing in his head. His visual recollection of Miss Brown, rocking herself on the floor of the dirty cell like a lost child, added to the desperation of the tragedy.

Blaise Zabini had helped Miss Brown escape by dragging her away from the cell to a spot just outside the Rookwood manor walls. There he placed a Portkey he had originally saved for himself that would take her to the gates of Hogwarts. When the Portkey was activated, that memory ended abruptly.

Still in the Pensieve, Severus now found himself standing at the bedside of an unconscious Miss Brown in the familiar surrounding of Hogwarts' infirmary. He was unsure if Miss Brown was conscious when she arrived via Portkey to the gates of Hogwarts, or if she had passed out on the trip there. No matter, this was where the memory continued.

He was startled slightly when Miss Brown suddenly gasped, practically leaping up from the bed in a panic, her eyes wide and wild with fear. Watching her, he saw her look around, shaking violently, and appearing pale enough to confirm his suspicions that the girl was in shock. The young Gryffindor was obviously disoriented, for instead of gong back to bed, she began to wander aimlessly around the infirmary, her bare feet shuffling and stumbling along the cold flagstone floor. Clothed in a simple white cotton nightgown, her face still swollen and disfigured from Macnair's kick to her head, she walked by the rows of empty beds towards a curtained-off area Severus instantly recognized.

Looking about, he wondered where Poppy was. Normally, when patients so much as shifted or sat up in bed, the school nurse was by their bedside to demand they lie back down and get some rest. Here Miss Brown was, in shock, ambling about with no sign of Poppy anywhere.

The borderline catatonic girl walked up to the curtained-off area and entered, pushing aside the cloth barrier. Severus gasped as he looked down upon Miss Brown's memory of himself during her seventh year. His memory-self was stretched out on a bed in a coma, recovering from a slew of curses and slicing hexes Lucius had delivered to him immediately after the Dark Lord left at the end of a meeting, when Severus' back was turned. One hex had punctured his lung, and Severus had barely made it back to Hogwarts before almost drowning in his own blood.

Listening to the rasp of his own breath coming from the bed, Severus' hand unconsciously went to his chest and rubbed at the now faded scars that were still fresh on his chest in the Pensieve memory. Severus stared at his memory-self, dressed in only a pair of pyjama bottoms with one of the legs cut off above the knee, as he saw where a slicing hex had severed a couple of the tendons in his leg.

'Was I really that thin?'

Severus barely recognized himself. He had been painfully emaciated, his ribs clearly outlined by the bluish-white skin stretched taut across his frame. Recalling that time in his life, the wizard remembered that he had slept very little and eaten even less at the time. He’d had no appetite due in no small part to the Invigoration Draughts he was constantly taking to keep himself functioning and not collapsing out of exhaustion.

He was unable to recall the exact time line of events from almost six years ago. Before Severus could wonder how many days he had been lying there, his attention was drawn to Miss Brown once more. Memory-Lavender gasped audibly, both hands coming up to her mouth to stifle a scream. With a tentative hand, she reached out and traced the Dark Mark on the prone man's arm.

Watching Miss Brown, he saw the progression of emotions flash across her face, each one clear and unmistakable: fear, denial, anger, and desperation.

Her eyes looked to the wand that lay on the bedside table: Severus' wand.

Unable to do anything, Severus observed Lavender as she picked up his wand, then looked down at the comatose man on the bed before her.

After taking a few steadying breaths, he heard her whisper, “Avada Kedavra” The ex-Death Eater knew what she was doing. Lavender was getting used to the words coming across her lips, practicing so that when she cast the Unforgivable her tongue would not trip on the curse. She said it a few more times, getting a little louder with each repetition.

Severus knew it was a memory and that he was alive, but it couldn't stop the fear building in his gut that his memory-self was totally vulnerable, unaware that he was about to be exterminated. The Killing Curse needs hate, a deep and completely consuming hate, in order to make the curse effective. Seeing and knowing what the young witch had just gone through, he did not doubt Miss Brown had the power, will, and desire to cast it successfully.

Miss Brown raised her hand, wielding Severus' wand as she pointed it directly at his heart. Severus could not stop the uncontrollable shudder from stealing through him.

'And where the hell was Poppy when I needed her to stop this?!?'

Severus held his own breath, as Lavender took a deep breath of her own. In a voice laced with consuming fury, she began to cast the spell. “AVADA–”

The spell was stopped as Albus swept into the enclosure in a flurry of pale purple robes and quickly grabbed Lavender's hand, pointing the wand away from Severus' prone body and interrupting the fatal curse.

The former Potions professor began breathing again, relieved, but still shaken that he had come so close to death and not known it until now. Looking around, he found a chair conveniently by his bedside that he could sit in, in order to catch his breath while the rest of the memory played out.

Lavender collapsed against the Headmaster, crying hysterically.

“Shhhh, my child.” The elder wizard began stroking the witch's freshly washed hair.

“No!” she screamed defiantly. She wrenched herself from the Headmaster’s embrace and tried to grab at Severus' wand held in Albus' hand. “He deserves to die! He's one of them! How could he do this to us! It's his fault! He probably told them where to find us!” Lavender screamed, her face still swollen, her twisted visage making her look like some berserker.

Severus wondered how a man as old and frail as Albus was able to physically subdue Miss Brown by just holding on to her, but he did. Lavender clutched to him in desperation as she sobbed some more.

“He is no longer one of them, Miss Brown,” the Headmaster told the broken witch clinging to the voluminous folds of his robe. The young woman looked up at him in confusion, and he continued. “There is no way Professor Snape would ever endanger the life of a student. He left Voldemort's service almost twenty years ago, after he realized what a horrible mistake he had made as a young man. There is not a day that goes by that he doesn't regret that foolish choice he once made to follow that madman. He now works for the Order of the Phoenix as a spy. Professor Snape risks his life daily.”

“But he's one of them,” she whimpered, her voice thick with emotion.

“No, he is not, my child,” Dumbledore said calmly, his hand going back to stroking Lavender's hair. “Though he still bears Voldemort's mark, he fights for what is right and good.”

“Someone has to pay,” Miss Brown wailed angrily, in between her hitching breaths.

“Professor Snape has dealt with his own losses at the hands of Voldemort and his Death Eaters,” the Headmaster said, looking burdened with the whole weight of the world upon his sagging shoulders. “A far greater loss than what you and Miss Patil have suffered. I have just heard word that they are bringing Miss Patil up to the castle right now. She is alive. Those that Professor Snape has lost are not.”

Lavender lifted her head from the Headmaster's chest to regard the frail ex-Death Eater and his labored breathing, his chest rising and falling with regularity despite the rattling of his lungs.

“Did the Death Eaters do this to Professor Snape?” the young Gryffindor asked, eyes bloodshot, still clutching to the elderly wizard's robes.

“Yes.”

“Did they discover that he is a spy?” Miss Brown queried, a look of concern cast at the unconscious wizard on the bed.

“No, and hopefully they never will,” Albus sighed with a glint of hope returning to his tired blue eyes. “It is my hope that Professor Snape will live to see the end of this war, and end this self-endured penance he inflicts upon himself in atonement for the loved ones he lost years ago. I just hope to live long enough to see the end of this war, and see him happy and free of this guilt that burdens his soul. He has, in some ways, become the son I lost during the war with Grindelwald. And what father doesn't want to see his son happy?”

It was one thing for Severus' hallucinations of Albus to say these exact same sentiments, it was another to witness them in Miss Brown's memory. Before Severus could reflect on how close his recent memory of Albus’ words compared to that of the real Headmaster, a commotion just outside of the infirmary attracted his attention.

“That must be Madam Pomfrey and the Aurors with Miss Patil. Please, child. You need to go back to bed and rest,” Dumbledore said, trying to usher the overwrought witch back towards her bed. “If Madam Pomfrey sees you out of bed, she will be most displeased and lecture me on how I should not disturb her patients. Later on, the Aurors will want to talk with you about your ordeal.”

“No! Please. I can't tell them. They'll know I left Parvati to die. They'll think I was a coward, not worthy of being a Gryffindor. I don't think I could stand to have them look at me when they know what I've done!” Lavender pleaded.

“It is all right, Miss Brown,” Dumbledore consoled her. “Considering the circumstances you were in, you probably did all you could to help your friend. Even a seasoned Auror would probably have very little more they could do if they were in the same spot.”

The sound of footsteps got louder and echoed against the walls, amid the urgent whispers and hushed tones that Severus recognized as Madam Pomfrey, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Tonks, and Bill Weasley.

“Has she said anything since you found her?” the school nurse asked.

“None. She was found wearing torn robes, curled on her side just outside the gates of Hogwarts from where she and Miss Brown were reported to have disappeared a few days ago.” Though Severus could not see her, he knew Tonks was shaken by the telling quiver in her voice.

Kingsley's deep baritone could not be mistaken for anyone else's when he added, “Unfortunately, it was more than just a few bumps and scrapes. I fear the worst, Poppy.”

“Poor little lamb,” Poppy whispered reverently. “Place her here.”

“Where is Miss Brown?” Bill asked, his voice carrying over the cloth divider.

Miss Brown and the Headmaster emerged from Severus' closed-off private section.

Albus cleared his throat. “Miss Brown woke up and became disoriented. I was just escorting her back to her bed.”

“What are you doing up?” Madam Pomfrey clucked. “Back to bed! You need your rest,” she instructed Lavender, before lifting the blanket and turning her attentions back to the trembling lump of flesh that barely resembled Miss Patil.

Lavender gasped. Her friend looked like some neglected rag doll that had been denuded, dragged through the mud, and repeatedly trod upon. The only thing that told Severus that Miss Patil was indeed a living being was the pair of vacantly staring eyes that seemed to focus nowhere and everywhere at once.

A piercing scream issued forth from memory-Lavender's throat, like that of a Jobberknoll which had lived its whole life among banshees and was in the midst of its death throes.

The Pensieve memory ended abruptly when Miss Brown passed out.

Severus found himself suddenly back in the safe surroundings of Miss Brown's office. He quickly made his way to the loo, where he emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sitting on the floor next to the toilet, Severus reflected upon why he became so violently ill after viewing Miss Brown's Pensieve. He supposed his reaction could be attributed to many factors. First and foremost, he was not mentally prepared to deal with the gruesome events of Miss Patil's rape and torture, and the sight of her broken body. During his years as a spy, he was constantly on guard, aware that every time he went to a Death Eater meeting or along for an evening of thuggery, such horrors could be expected; but he could prepare his mind and dull his senses to such events. Having not had to face such visions for the past four years and being unprepared for what he saw in the Pensieve, he now found himself sick to his stomach.

There were other things that added to his physical reaction. The adrenaline was mostly to blame for his illness. The ex-Death Eater had learned just how close he had come to death at the hands of Miss Brown. It would have been quite ironic if Severus had died at the hands of a girl he had fought to protect from the Death Eaters with his work for the Order. As he reflected upon how Miss Brown had wielded his own wand with a cold and calculating fury, another shudder passed through his body.

Looking out the door of the loo to Miss Brown's office and at the clock on her mantle, he saw that it was almost eight o'clock. There was no way he would be able to eat anything for dinner before Hermione came to his flat. He doubted he could get anything stronger than tea into his stomach for the rest of the night.

Hauling himself up off the floor, he straightened his vestments. After rinsing out his mouth one last time to remove the taste of acid and vomit, the Potions master went to his office and grabbed his cloak.

Walking back home to his flat, Severus did his best to get control over his body. By the time he reached home, the tremors had stopped.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Exhausted, Hermione finally finished testing the last of the shrinking violets. She would have been done a few hours earlier, but Mr. Spawn had come back into the lab and tripped over the box of walking irises, setting them loose about the lab. In an effort to keep them from ambling off to the farthest corners of the Ministry, Hermione and Mr. Spawn spent the next couple hours wrangling all the errant plants back into a makeshift corral. Silently, she was thankful that it wasn't a box of Wandering Jew, or the rest of the day would have been wasted crouching under desks and looking in filing cabinets.

After she finished Flooing the last box of ingredients off to St. Mungo's and a very grateful Potions mistress, Hermione braced her hands along her back and stretched. Feeling several lumbar vertebrae crack, the tired witch sighed and slumped back onto her stool.

Looking at the clock, Hermione swore. “Oh, bugger!”

It was three minutes to nine. Looking about the lab, Hermione tossed her hand in a dismissive wave, ignoring the equipment that needed cleaning and putting away.

“I'll do it in the morning,” she promised herself, and bolted for the door.

Swinging by her office, she grabbed her cloak and began a hobbled run for the stairs. After being on her feet all day and up since the middle of the night scrubbing her kitchen clean, Hermione's muscles and knees were protesting against the exertion. Using the railing to help haul herself up the stairs, she finally reached the Apparition site in the main atrium, from which she would leave work.

Concentrating so that she would not splinch herself, Hermione Apparated to the alley where the Red Ginseng was located. Standing at the foot of the stairs, she contemplated if she had the energy to Apparate up four flights. Knowing she might be pushing her luck since she was pretty tired, Mrs. Weasley decided it would be safer if she walked.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was ten after nine, and Severus was pacing the floor.

'It's not like her to be late! Not like her at all.' Severus, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself, was worried. A terrible thought sprung to mind. 'Oh, please, not another Death Eater gone amok!'

He heard her knock, and in relief rushed to the door.

Opening the door, he let out his breath seeing that she was all right. She didn't look all right exactly, but she did not look to be harmed in anyway.

“I am so sorry, Calleo,” Hermione apologized profusely, looking as tired as she felt.

Forgoing the formalities of bowing, Severus helped usher her into his flat and guided her to the settee. “I was getting worried. It's not like you to be late.”

“I am so very, very sorry,” Hermione said regretfully. “It's been a really long day, and then there was this emergency at St. Mungo's and they needed some ingredients right away for an outbreak of Swamp Troll Flu. Then Trevor knocked over a box of walking irises and that ruined two whole hours while we rounded them up, and the shrinking violets needed testing. I only just finished Flooing over the last box at three minutes to nine, and then I saw the time and–”

“It's all right. You're here, and the day is over,” Severus interrupted her, tempted to take Hermione in his arms and soothe her. Instead, he patted her arm. He knew she had rushed over from work to see him. It pleased him that she was so eager to see him, or at least trying to be courteous and punctual.

Looking over her person, he noticed her frazzled looking hair with stray hairs escaping the sagging bun at the base of her neck. She smelled of earthy elements: soil, crushed flowers, and sweat.

“Oh,” she sighed. “Can I rest for a bit before we start?”

“You look rather tired.” Severus noted the bluish cast under her eyes.

“I should be, after waking up at three this morning,” Hermione commented offhandedly. Scrubbing her face with her hands, she tried to wipe away the weariness she felt.

“Why were you up so early?” 'No wonder she looks so drained.'

“I had a rather... vivid dream,” the blushing witch admitted, ducking her head down, unable to look Calleo in the face.

Intrigued by the sudden change in her demeanor, Severus felt inclined to ask her more on the matter. “What sort of dream was it that it kept you up the rest of the night?”

Hermione was in mid-yawn when Calleo asked his question. “Oh, pardon me,” she said.

Calleo dismissed it with a slight wave of his hand as if it was nothing and she was forgiven.

“Well, it started out as a nightmare. I was back at Hogwarts. There were all these dead bodies strewn throughout the corridors. I was trying to make it back to the Great Hall.” Calleo nodded, encouraging her to go on. “Then suddenly, you grabbed me and hauled me into an empty classroom, but it wasn't a classroom. It was your flat here,” Hermione said with a sweep of her arm to encompass the room.

Severus wanted to know if in her dream she had felt safe once in his flat, but held his tongue.

“Then it started getting really strange. I had a bucket of barley or wheat... some sort of grain,” Hermione said, keeping her descriptions brief, her vision focused on the pattern of the rug in front of her. “We dumped it into a cauldron in your bathroom where you were brewing some beer, and then...” She trailed off too late, realizing she stopped just before the sexual part of the dream began.

Knowing she had left her sentence incomplete, the brunette witch hoped Calleo would not prompt her to complete the retelling of her dream. Then again, perhaps telling him what happened next might be a way of letting Calleo know she was very attracted to him, though she thought he had some idea by now. She figured that women probably threw themselves at him all the time, and Calleo was probably relieved that at least one woman wasn't trying to bed him. Hermione still couldn't repress her desire for him.

“Then what?” the raven-haired man said, indicating she should go on. The deepening color on her cheek could not be dismissed.

The woman swallowed nervously twice before she looked up to Calleo, embarrassment or shame making it difficult to regard him. She couldn't decide which of the two emotions it was. Her breath quickened, and Hermione found that familiar warmth in her lower abdomen blooming as her memory of Calleo above her, seeking permission to enter her, returned. “Then we were on your bed... making love.” Hermione closed her eyes and turned her head farther away from Calleo, dreading how he might react to her revelation. She hoped that she had not ruined her friendship with him with the disclosure of her subconscious thoughts. “Or just about to,” she added. “My husband woke me up, thinking I was having a nightmare.”

Severus felt a smile creep across his face. Hermione was dreaming of him, dreaming of him in such a way that made her blush. He pondered why she should blush over a simple dream, though it did sound rather intimate.

Hermione wanted to sink into the cushions and disappear. Calleo's silence confirmed her suspicions that he could never find her beautiful or be even remotely interested in her that way. Her appearance tonight, freshly coated in the grime of her daily work, only solidified the fact she was indeed a silly, foolish woman for even having told him about her dream, and that he could never sincerely want her.

“Why are you embarrassed?” he asked tenderly. Severus would have tipped her chin up to look at him, but from her body language, he thought it best to wait before touching her.

She wanted to Apparate from the spot. Calleo had obviously noticed her embarrassment. Hermione found her throat had refused to work. She tried to swallow, but found that to be an impossible task. Finally, she found her voice. “I'm sure you have women throwing themselves at you all the time. Here I am, a friend with no ulterior motive to bed you, and now I tell you I'm having erotic dreams about you. You're probably sick of women like me, and would love nothing more than to not have to put up with any more advances.”

There. She had said it. She admitted that she understood if Calleo wanted nothing more than friendship. It still didn't quell the fear that her confession may have ruined her amicable relationship with him.

Severus wanted to laugh at the absurdity. Hermione feared he would not want her, want her like a man wants a woman! 'Oh, that she only knew.' This man wanted her so completely, that his bones ached for need of her.

Reaching out his hand, he gently grabbed her hand. His touch startled Hermione, who now looked at him with a mix of hesitation and hope. “You fear that I would not want you?”

Hermione nodded meekly, feeling her limbs starting to shake from anticipation of what Calleo might say. “I treasure our friendship. I would not want to jeopardize it for anything.”

Something warm lit within Severus' chest with her words. It was like a fire had spread throughout his lungs, though he was still able to breathe. To quell the fear plainly written in her eyes, he said, “I have restrained myself, as you have made it quite clear from the beginning that you wanted conversation only.” He saw confusion, comprehension, then understanding dawn on Hermione's face. “I have been made to understand that you are trying to save your marriage. If you were to make advances to me, they would not be rebuffed. If I did not welcome such intentions, I would clearly make it known that I was not interested. The question is, do you want to make such advances, and would you want them returned?”

'Oh, God. He wants me.' Hermione found it even harder to breathe. She felt herself hyperventilating with the prospect of Calleo wanting her as well, welcoming her touch. There would be no more stolen touches without him knowing her intent behind each caress now. But the question remained in her mind. Could she deal with the guilt of being unfaithful to Ron? She felt dizzy and flushed.

Hermione didn't know if she could envision herself as one of those women. A woman who cheats on her husband. Mrs. Ronald Weasley always considered herself morally superior to many of her contemporaries, avoiding the pitfalls of what she thought was a result of poor moral constitutions and bad choices. She thought girls who dated more than one boy at a time were “loose” and emotionally shallow, unable to consider the feelings of the other boy, making him vie for her attentions by competing against another male. Now she was faced with the dilemma of taking the next step and diving into the messy and confusing option of becoming involved with two men at once, or denying herself a chance to feel more alive than she had ever felt in her whole life.

The song blaring out over the radio at her parents’ home came back in her mind and taunted her – “Torn between two lovers...” It was mockingly poignant, but accurate. She was married to Ron, but Calleo made her feel things she thought herself incapable of experiencing a few months ago. Hermione now felt appreciated, mature, sensuous, passionate, desirable, and enlivened. How cruel indeed that she did not meet Calleo before she had married Ron. If she had formed a friendship with him when she was younger, perhaps she would have reconsidered marrying Ron, instead of becoming a resentful wife who dreaded the thought of having children, for fear of being stuck with her current husband for the rest of her life. She could have discovered who she might have been with Calleo by her side.

“I... I... I...” Hermione’s head began to swim. Exhaustion was pushing her to the edge.

'Is this what Ginny went through? Married to Harry, but in love with Draco?'

It struck her body like a curse; her body briefly twitched. The thought that maybe she loved Calleo made her heart thump loudly. She was sure Calleo could hear it beating its way out of her chest. What frightened her even more was the thought that she might just be in love with Calleo, feeling more love and passion for him than her own husband. Instead of reveling in the joys of first recognizing love in all its wondrous glory, the moment was marred with guilt that she had fallen in love with one man while being married to another. Ginny was blameless by comparison. Ginny was in love with Draco, and had never stopped loving him when her family had coerced her into dating and then marrying Harry. Hermione had sought solace and comfort with another man to ease the pain of her own failing marriage, and had fallen for this other man in the process.

'I'm a wicked, wicked woman.'

Severus saw her body falter, and thought she might pitch over and fall off the couch. He pulled her into his arms as she started crying.

“I... I don't know what I want,” she sobbed openly, clinging to Calleo. There was no place else she wanted to be than where she was, but she felt ashamed for wanting it so badly. “I want you, but...” She stopped to gulp air as her breath hitched. “But I'm married. I'm so confused.”

Severus rocked her, his chest tightening as he watched her struggle with her moral bind. He knew Hermione always bent the rules when it suited her tastes and end goals, but something as absolute as cheating on a spouse was a line to cross with no recanting.

“Shhhh,” he soothed her. “There's nothing that says we have to act on this now... or ever.” He did not want Hermione to flee for fear of breaking her marriage vows, never to return again to his flat. “Think on this,” he cooed. “If you decide that you cannot pursue this, I respect that.” Hermione lifted her head from his chest to regard him for a moment before setting her head back down against his chest. “However,” he said with solemnity, “if you do wish to take things further, I will not think less of you. I value our friendship as well. I do not want to coerce you into anything you will later regret.”

Hermione listened to Calleo's words of how any future course of action would be guided by her initiation. As her head rested against his chest, she listened to his heart beat, calmed by its steady rhythm. Calleo's assurances of his friendship, no matter what, chased away her fear that she would drive him away, disgusted with her yearning for him.

Her body was beyond drained. All the energy spent that day, plus lack of sleep, and the emotional roller coaster she just finished riding with the physical expenditure of crying and shaking, Hermione could barely hold on to consciousness. The warmth and security of Calleo's arms about her and the gentle stroking of her back, compounded with the lulling qualities of his heart beating in his chest, drove her to the sandy shores of sleep. Rest. The bliss of escape, lack of thought, and awareness of her tired limbs – they all dragged her deeper into those warm and calming gravid waters. Like a stone, she sank.

Deep and steady breaths told Severus that she had drifted off to sleep. There would be no dance lesson tonight, but it didn't matter. He was in no mood for dancing after the trying experience of Miss Brown's Pensieve. The wizard felt rather tired himself. The weight of Hermione against his chest and her warm body curling against him felt wonderful... natural.

He reclined back on the settee, feeling Hermione shift and settle against him once more, her head still resting on his chest. Fighting a yawn, he thought it wouldn't be such a bad idea to rest his eyes while Hermione got a little rest, before he woke her to go home for the night.

Sleep took Severus quickly.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Severus, let me go!” she squirmed against him trying to get free. “I mean it, I have to go to the loo!”

“But you just went,” the young man teased, using the one hand not restraining his wife to push his lank hair out of his face.

“You know how it is,” she insisted, grabbing at his hand firmly clamped around her waist.

“No, I don't. Men can't get pregnant.”

“Urgh! Let me go!” Gabrielle made a valiant effort to pry free his hand that was securely wrapped around her waist. “If you don't, I swear I'll wet the bed and make you clean it up.”

“Fine,” the raven-haired man acquiesced, releasing his hand and flopping back on the bed with a mock pout. “Leave your husband, go take care of your bodily needs while I'm left here all alone in this bed with no wife!”

The witch glanced back over her shoulder at Severus, who laid sprawled on the bed in just his pyjama bottoms. “I'll return to you. I promise,” she said, tossing back her long, light chestnut hair.

“You'd better,” he growled playfully.

Reclining back, he watched his wife walk to the bathroom. Severus wondered how long it would be before he could see the swell of his wife's belly carrying his child. He didn't particularly want children, but being married, he knew he was expected to produce a child, preferably a male heir. They had not been trying to have a child, but neither of them had tried to prevent conception. It was only a matter of time before they had children anyway, so they had both decided to let nature take her course.

All in all, Severus could not exactly complain about his circumstances anymore. Of course he was reluctant to be forced into an arranged marriage, and at the beginning he and Gabrielle had resented each other for the predicament they were forced into, saddled with each other “until death do they part.” But being married to a Ravenclaw meant that she could see the logic of a situation when he was too stubborn to face it. Realizing that they would have to face each other every day for the rest of their lives, they agreed to try and not be hostile towards each other. If they couldn't be in love, then at least they could be friends.

Once that had been agreed upon, the sex was definitely better. Instead of having a witch lying on her back while suffering through her wifely duty, she began instructing him on how to pleasure her. Having a willing and active partner in bed was much more satisfying then doing all the work with a woman glaring at him, asking when he would be done.

Severus didn't want to admit it, but he was starting to think of her as more than just a friend. Her company was becoming more than pleasant; it was becoming necessary to keep him in a good mood. It certainly helped his attitude that, after a long day working for a Potions master like Reginald Chuff, he had a wife who would rub away the aches in his back and remind him that he had less than a year left to his apprenticeship.

“Where are you, woman? What is taking so long?” Severus called out.

The young wizard rose from the bed and walked over to the bathroom. Pushing the door open, he froze.

Severus was no longer standing in his bedroom, but in the middle of a field. Clothed in long black robes and a silvery mask, he immediately fell to his knees before the Dark Lord. The fabric of his robes and trousers were immediately soaked through to the skin, as he knelt on the icy wet and spongy floor of the mossy moor.

He didn't dare glance up until he was instructed to. The young Death Eater knew what he saw before he fell in prostration before his master.

Gabrielle lay on the chilly damp ground. She was bound, her eyes wide with fright, her blouse inching up over her slightly swollen midsection.

“Choose!” the Dark Lord commanded.

Staring at the ground, Severus opened his mouth, but could not find his voice. He tried to speak, but fear paralyzed his mind. His wife and impending child – or his own life. Self-preservation is a very strong instinct. Facing his own death at the youthful age of twenty was not something Severus had thought he would have to face. All men in their green and vibrant years believe themselves immortal, and Severus was no different. Now faced with the prospect that he would no longer draw breath or have thought, he could not offer himself up in their place, his life as payment for his wife's activities.

“Choose, Severus, or I will let Lucius choose for you,” his master hissed with malicious glee.

He could not breathe to give his response. Something was pressing down on his chest, preventing him from gaining breath in order to respond. The fear-struck Death Eater tried to breathe so that he might beg for his wife’s and child's lives, while hopefully finding some way to spare his own, but the heaviness in his chest prevented that. He was suffocating under his mask, and under the pressure to choose between cowardice and the desire to live – or what those idiot Gryffindors called “noble self-sacrifice.”

Severus gasped. “Gabrielle.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione felt the warm body beneath her shift. It felt so good to close her eyes, but then she heard the labored breathing in the chest beneath her head.

Once her eyes opened, she realized that she had fallen asleep atop Calleo. Unsure if she was crushing him with her weight or if he was having a nightmare, the drowsy witch sat up straight and heard him take a deep breath.

“Gabrielle.” He said it in a half-panicked sigh.

“Calleo?” She gently stroked his arm, and he woke with a start, falling off the settee.

Severus woke to the feeling of disorientation. He was still wearing a mask that completely covered his face; it was stiflingly hot and he felt he couldn't breathe. Looking about in confusion, the ex-Death Eater tried to discern where he was. He almost ripped his mask off before he heard her voice.

“Calleo? It's okay. It was just a dream,” Hermione assured him, descending from the settee to stroke his arm, as he sat sprawled gracelessly across the floor.

“Excuse me,” Severus said a bit curtly, before rising and going to the bathroom in haste.

Once the door was shut, Severus ripped off his mask. His chest heaved as he braced his hands against the tile counter, trying to regain his breath. This was the second time today he had needed to run to the loo to collect himself. Too many painful memories for one day, much less a lifetime.

It had been years since Severus had dreamed of his wife.

Severus knew exactly why he had dreamt of her. Between a brief moment hoping that Hermione was not caught in another Death Eater attack, falling asleep with her in his arms, and his own growing attachment with her, it was only natural that memories of Gabrielle would resurface so long after he had repressed them. It did not help matters that when he awoke, he still had on his Bauta mask, adding to the confusion between his dream world and reality. It had felt as if he was still wearing his old Death Eater mask.

Looking at his Casanova mask, he strongly debated whether to emerge from the bathroom sans mask, or to put it back on and continue this charade. Hermione was not falling for Severus Snape; she was falling for someone he pretended to be. Was it all an act? Not entirely. Granted, he had needed to make himself be patient and “understanding” at the beginning, but he no longer had to try. It was as if this long-suppressed person of the man he could have been was being drawn out with each of Hermione's visits.

He decided he could no longer delay his own unmasking.

At their next meeting, Hermione would be wearing a blindfold. This would provide prime opportunities to reveal himself further. He vowed to wear a half-mask at their following meeting on Monday. If she did not recognize him as his true self, Hermione would be in complete denial, or she suddenly would have become completely thick in the head. Of course, not noticing all the similarities between his gigolo persona and that of Severus Snape told him that she was probably already in denial.

Turning on the taps, he splashed some water on his face to remove the sultry, sticky feeling still clinging to him. Feeling a little refreshed, but still no less unsettled, he put his mask back on and returned to the living area.

Hermione sat patiently on the settee waiting for him. She rose to greet him when he returned. “Are you all right?” she asked, looking very concerned. It touched him.

“I'm sorry to have left you so abruptly,” he apologized, his voice still a little stilted.

“I understand,” Hermione replied warmly, placing her hand on his forearm. “I always find myself a little disconcerted when waking up from the middle of a dream.” Her hand rubbed back and forth until it reached his upper arm. It was a surprisingly intimate touch that he found calming. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“You wish to listen to my troubles?” Severus asked, having never been offered comfort by a woman in his days as a gigolo.

“That's what friends are for,” she answered lightly, before moving away to sit back down.

He felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth for her kindness. “I appreciate the offer, but not this time.”

Hermione watched him stand stock still. He could have been a statue for the lack of movement of his body. With the exception of the imperceptible rise and fall of his chest, he was as still as midnight.

She wanted to ask him who Gabrielle was, but held her tongue. Aware of how her curiosity had ruined several moments between friends on other occasions in her life, she decided to not ask Calleo about the name he had called out in his sleep. Perhaps she would never ask.

To fill the silence, Hermione looked at the clock. “It's getting late. I suppose we won't get any dance lessons in tonight.” It almost sounded as if it were an apology.

“No. But I suppose it was for the best. You look refreshed. I think you were just too tired,” Severus rationalized.

“I'm sorry to have wasted your time, coming here tonight,” the penitent witch said.

Severus moved to the couch to sit down next to her. “It was not a waste of time.” Extending a hand out, he trailed a finger along the line of her jaw. “Time spent with you is never a waste.”

Hermione closed her eyes and suppressed a shiver. His voice was low and rumbling, like candy so sweet that it caused one’s teeth to ache. The simple touch of Calleo's finger tempted her to become foolish and start suckling on his finger again. But if she started doing that, where would it end?

“We still have three more weeks. That's six more meetings,” he reminded Hermione.

'Six more meetings? How will I be able to resist? I can't think on this now,' Hermione decided, knowing she would have to meditate on all she had learned tonight.

Severus rose and extended his hand to help Hermione up from the settee. Escorting her to the door, he was surprised when she embraced him in a brief hug.

“Thank you,” she breathed. She inhaled Calleo's scent one last time. It would have to sustain her until she could see him on Thursday night.

“For what?” He wrapped his arms about her, resisting the urge to bury his face in her curls.

“For being patient. For being understanding,” Mrs. Weasley replied. Before she released Calleo, she added, “For being my friend.”

“You're welcome.”

As she left his arms, she already missed his warmth, even as the heat of his body still lingered on her skin. Hermione could still feel the phantom sensation of his voice rumbling through his chest against her cheek.

Severus opened the door and watched as she hesitated at the threshold.

Turning to look at him one last time, she whispered, “Good night.”

“Good night, Hermione,” he responded in kind.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ron was already home when Hermione opened the door.

“Where were you?” he asked, a hint of worry in his voice.

“I had a late night at work.” Deciding to add a little truth to her deception, Hermione amended her statement with: “But fell asleep at my desk just as I was on my way home.”

“They're working you too hard, Hermione,” Ron commented. “You should find another job.”

The preoccupied witch merely nodded her head before going to the bedroom. As much as she wanted to think about what happened at Calleo's, Mrs. Weasley was too exhausted to even keep her mind focused on the idea.

She quickly disrobed and climbed into bed, not caring when Ron joined her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ginny showed up at her usual time. And, as was becoming the habit, Hermione shooed Mr. Spawn out of her lab and locked it.

As the two friends sat down to lunch amid the many patrons of the Three Broomsticks, Hermione let out a troubled sigh upon remembering the previous night.

“So tell me how your first counseling went last night,” Ginny prompted.

Hermione groaned and hid her face under her hand. “It was not pleasant.” Lifting her face up with a look of embarrassment and disgust, the older witch confessed, “Mr. Hoover has a new policy now, thanks to us. All couples are to relinquish their wands at the beginning of session.” Ginny's mouth dropped in confusion and surprise before Hermione clarified. “We hexed each other.”

“You didn't!” Ginny hoarsely refuted in disbelief.

“We did,” Mrs. Weasley mumbled morosely.

“Merlin! Whatever brought it to that?” Ginny asked, still looking appalled.

“It descended into name-calling rather quickly when James started the session with asking why we were in counseling. It got very nasty. I think I just lost it when Ron called me a royal cunt with as much warmth as an iceberg. Ron didn't care for my Spider-Bogey Hex any more than I cared for the Medusa Jinx he laid on me.”

Mrs. Potter just sat there with her mouth hanging open, aghast.

Hermione was about to continue her tale, but was interrupted when Madam Rosmerta swung by their table to take their order.

“My goodness. It's nice to see here you again so soon, Hermione.” Rosmerta looked to Ginny. “And it's good to see you too, Ginny. It's been a while.” Turning her attention back to the brunette witch, she said, “Sorry to run off on you like that the other night, but some punters in the corner were starting to burn effigies of the entire Falmouth Falcon's Quidditch team in the corner. Lucky I got to it in time, or we would have had a harder time getting the fire under control. What will it be today, ladies?”

“The onion soup, please,” Ginny answered.

Hermione gave her order. “The leek casserole, please, with a side of Scotch egg.”

“And two butterbeers,” Ginny added at the last minute before Madam Rosmerta swirled away in a swish of her ample peasant skirts.

Glancing towards the corner, Hermione caught sight of the faint scorch marks along the rafters. Shaking her head, she turned her attention back to the redhead who seemed lost in thought.

“How have your sessions been going, Ginny?”

With a little shake of her, Ginny muttered, “As good as it can be, I guess. We'll be skipping a session this week for Harry’s birthday, as nobody wants to spend their birthday rehashing unpleasant memories.”

Hermione realized that Ginny's marriage to Harry was no more salvageable than her own. She could now empathize with Ginny's desire to continue seeing Malfoy, although she did have trouble thinking of Malfoy as the attentive lover and friend. Remembering the look of tender longing he’d had for Ginny when they had parted that afternoon when Mrs. Weasley saw them together, Hermione realized that no matter how hard she would try, there was no way she could force Ginny to love Harry in the way that a wife should, any more than she could love Ron.

There were no words of encouragement for Ginny that it would get better, or that they were trying. Hermione's thoughts for the rest of her lunch were dominated by the resignation and bitterness that comes when realizing that Fate is cruel.

============

A/N: And you guys thought Madam Rosmerta was nervous, as if she knew something.
There really is a plant called “walking iris”. For more information on the plant, you can visit: http://www.emilycompost.com/walking_iris.htm I have a lovely clump in my backyard in a deep royal purple. Why do they call them walking irises? Because at the top of the stem where the flowers bloom, areal roots will grow. In time, the stem will bend, weighted down by the seed pods; and eventually touch the ground, the roots growing in a new location nearby. In essence, the plant “walks” by growing in a new spot where it can reach. I've also heard this referred to as “waltzing,” though I cannot find any garden dictionary using that term.
If you are not familiar with the term “wandering Jew”, here is a picture of this common houseplant.
http://www.desert-tropicals.com/Plants/Commelinaceae/Zebrina_pendula.html
- 34
- 35
- 36
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

And They Didn\'t Live Happily Ever After