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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
- 38
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"And They Didn't Live Happily Ever After"

Chapter Thirty-Nine
“Forced Exuberance and Pointless Sentimentality”

Disclaimer:
Rowling owns Potter, it's true.
I've stated this ‘til I’ve turned blue.
This disclaimer is lame,
I'm solely to blame,
But this, you already knew.

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

Hermione spent the rest of the weekend in a dazed fog. Harry had wanted a sleepover as part of his birthday celebration, so she had slept Friday night in the heated tipi. As Hermione fell asleep on the ground, curled up in a bedroll next to Ron, she still tried to convince herself that Snape could not be Calleo. By the time she awoke the next morning, to the smell of blueberry pancakes, ham steak, scrambled eggs, and coffee as a finish to Harry's Western-style camp-out party, Hermione realized that she could not refute the facts any longer. Snape had been posing as Calleo, while working as a gigolo for Lavender Brown.

Once her denial had evaporated, it was quickly replaced by anger. With her stomach twisted into knots due to the seething fury she held in check while everyone else enjoyed a hearty breakfast, Hermione drank cup after cup of hot coffee. The acid from the coffee did not help her stomach. She feigned a hangover in order to explain her grim mood and lack of appetite.

When breakfast was nearly over and all the non-Weasley guests had Flooed home, news arrived via owl of Fleur's easy delivery of a beautiful baby boy weighing eight pounds, four ounces. All the other Weasley wives started chattering amongst themselves, reliving stories of each of their own children's births, the complications they endured during delivery, hours they spent in labor, and other such nauseating details which Hermione filed under the category ‘too much information.’

Hermione, not wishing to listen to the horrors of childbirth again for the umpteenth time, ushered Bill and Fleur's children inside and upstairs to change out of their pyjamas and into the day clothes they would be wearing to their Uncle Ron's Quidditch match. Hermione Flooed to her flat in order to change into regular clothes before wrangling the children to the stadium with Harry and Ginny's assistance. By the time she returned to the Potters', Ron had already left for prepare for the game.

During the match, Hermione was unable to concentrate on the game at all. There was no time to meditate on her anger either, as the young children required constant attention. Thankful that Ginny and Harry were there to help, the adults went in rotation when taking each child to the stadium's toilets. When they weren't busy taking children to the loo, Harry was answering the children's questions about the game, or the two witches were busy saying no to their repeated requests for candy floss, chocolate frogs, bags of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, team souvenirs, game programmes, and Lacerating Lollies.

Hermione had to stop the Lacerating Lolly vendor from giving Michael one out of kindness, as Hermione did not feel like taking her nephew to St. Mungo's for a bleeding tongue, nor did she feel like repeatedly healing his tongue and spelling away the blood stains.

It didn't help that Harry, remembering the denial of sweets and mementos during outings as a child with the Dursleys, tried to countermand her orders by sneaking off and buying them sweets anyway. At least he didn't bother buying the souvenirs, as Ron had promised his niece and nephews as many Chudley Cannons hats, shirts, jackets, scarves, pennants, posters, programmes, brollies, and quills as Harry, Ginny, and Hermione could carry.

Once the Snitch was caught, Hermione and the Potters began ushering the children down to the VIP area adjacent to the locker room area. Just outside the locker room, Hermione caught sight of her husband being mobbed by fans asking for his autograph, holding out copies of Quidditch Weekly featuring him on the cover. Ron seemed to glow from the attention of his admirers, and gladly began scrawling his name with a squiggly flourish for each fan who beamed an adoring star-struck smile at him.

Hermione spent the rest of Saturday at the Potters’ helping them mind the children, thus keeping her mind preoccupied so that she could not think about Snape. Ron had a last-minute engagement, as his temporary agent had lined up a long string of meetings for the rest of the day with wizards who wanted the Chudley Cannons' star Keeper to be their new company spokesperson.

Finally, on Saturday night, Hermione found privacy in the solitude of her flat. Ron was being wined and dined by some broom manufacturer, and would not be back until late.

In the dark quiet of the night, she sat on the couch with her knees drawn up as her mind raced. Hermione was becoming increasingly agitated. She felt betrayed. How exactly Snape had betrayed her, she could not pinpoint, but she felt it regardless. For each instance she would try to drag up some point in which to be outraged, only to have her mind bring up some other fact that countered it.

'He lied to me.'

'What was he supposed to do? Say 'Hey, I'm your old Potions professor, remember me?' Not likely. He said he never really lied to you, but merely downplayed his knowledge and what he knew in order to hide his identity.'

'And you're gong to believe a man who was a successful spy and fooled Voldemort all those years?'

'Now you're beginning to sound like Moody.'

'He made me fall for him.'

'He did no such thing. You did that all by yourself. You were the one who approached him about taking things further.'

'It didn't help that he kept kissing my hand every time I'd leave. And Snape tried to seduce me last Thursday.'

'Yes, after you nuzzled him and teased him. And don’t forget the time you made the first move and sucked his fingers. Then you let him hump you in the kitchen, and then you just had to hump him on the settee, exactly like you had fantasized.'

'Yeah, but he didn't stop me.'

'But would you have wanted him to stop? Or would you have felt rejected that he rebuffed your crude advances?'

Hermione cringed at that thought. She wasn't particularly suave or subtle in the way she let her feelings be known, but she had certainly enjoyed how things had unfolded at the time.

'What game is he up to? Snape is definitely not attracted to me. He's toying with me in order to humiliate me.'

'Yes, and he's humiliating himself with that erection he ground into your arse. If he's planning on turning you into a fool, then he's making one of himself, as well.'

'There must be some angle that he's playing in order for him to continue this charade.'

'But he's not really playing it anymore, as he gave a rather large hint that he was a Potions master. Then there was that question about whether you would still be his friend if you found out who he was.'

'That was just so he could throw that back in my face when I did learn who he really was.'

'And what a two-faced hypocrite you will be if you do rescind your friendship with the knowledge of who he really is.'

Hermione buried her hands in her face. No matter how incensed she became, she could find no justifiable reason behind her resentment. She wanted to be angry because it felt good – though the intensity of the emotion made her physically sick.

'And Lavender! She set you up with him! How could she?'

Now having a valid target on which to focus her vexation, Hermione began to rail against her old dorm mate from school.

'She must be having a good laugh. She probably thinks it's funny that I could be shagging Snape.'

“Urgh!” Hermione groaned in disgust at herself.

She could not deny the fact that Snape's gigolo persona had aroused her in a way that bordered on a mentally-induced orgasm of the soul. Hermione could not comprehend how Snape could stir her into such a state of frenzy. She had two mental images in her head that seemed completely diametrical. One image was an attractive man with a sense of mystery and sensuality, the other was a grotesque vision of asexuality and everything non-alluring about men. How they could be one and the same was beyond her understanding.

Hermione's mind kept running through the same cyclical argument all night long. She would be infuriated with thoughts of betrayal and of being a victim of Snape's cruel sense of humor, only to be rebuffed with memories of how he had been a patient friend to her during the past several weeks. Her mind would then wander into a mental fit of curses wished upon Lavender for her part in this, before wondering what the whole point was of Lavender's recommendation that Hermione spill her soul out to Snape.

It all came down to one issue. It was only when she learned of Calleo's identity that Hermione regretted any of it. Before she realized that it was Snape all along, Hermione had been thankful for the pleasure of that man's company. Between their long conversations and the way he had made her feel stimulated mentally, emotionally, and physically, Mrs. Weasley had felt she had finally awakened from some long and unpleasant slumber involving dreams of languishing in mediocrity. Now it seemed she had entered some nightmare where the man she had fallen for was openly mocking her.

The last and clearest memory Hermione had of Snape was from the night before her wedding to Ron. She had been sitting in the kitchen at the Burrow, while going over some of the last-minute details of the reception.
Professor Snape had arrived earlier in the day to talk over some business regarding the Order and the last of the rogue Death Eaters, spending most of the day in the study with Arthur.

Just as Hermione rose to make a cup of tea, Professor Snape swept into the kitchen on his way out to the Apparition point in the Burrow’s back garden.

“Congratulations on your upcoming recognition for all the hard work you did for the Order, Professor,” Hermione said.

The black-clad wizard stopped and turned to regard the young witch standing by the cooker. “I'll believe it when it actually happens,” he grumbled with ominous derision.

To counter the awkwardness Hermione felt in his presence, she had said brightly, "I'm so sorry you won't be able to make it to the wedding, Professor."

Snape gave a derisive snort before replying in a cool and contemptuous voice, “I can make it to the wedding. I just choose not to go and suffer under the unbearable barrage of forced exuberance and pointless sentimentality."

Not surprised by her old professor’s cynical statement, and by the fact that he had never shown up to any of the other Weasley weddings, Hermione replied, "Then I guess the next time you'll see me, I'll be a married woman."

His eyes had narrowed like a hawk's before the Potions master snarled acidly, “If you expect me to give you my congratulations, you are mistaken. However, I will offer you my deepest condolences for the fact that you will be chained by matrimony to a petty, vapid, and foolish boy of Mr. Weasley's caliber. My deepest regrets that you have chosen a poor candidate for a husband, but then, as they say, 'love is blind.' May you awaken to the great impending mistake you are about to undertake and leave tonight before it's too late. Good night, Miss Granger."

Before Hermione could close her mouth that had been hanging open in shock, Professor Snape had exited the kitchen in great haste. Hermione was left to contemplate the full implication of her old professor's statement as her tears began to fall. It was bad enough that she had been having second thoughts about marrying Ron; she didn't need a verbal beating like that to add to her sense of cold feet.
Now that the long-suppressed memory had resurfaced like some old forgotten night terror, Hermione began to cry. She wondered if Snape had sat in his flat many a night, laughing over the fact that he was so right in his analysis over the way her marriage had turned sour, and in his frighteningly concise appraisal of Ron. All those times she had cried to “Calleo” about how miserable she was, and Snape had known ages ago it would turn out like this. Four years ago, the only one who did not congratulate her and wish her happiness was the same man now providing her escape from the dysfunctional marriage she was currently stuck in.

The anger over Snape's cruel but accurate assessment of her marriage would not come. Hermione was too drained to hate Snape, and the fact was that he had been right. Instead, a weighty resignation settled in her chest once more that her life was shit, and there was nothing she could do about it for now. Anger was exhausting business, and she had spent the better part of the day keeping it bottled up. Once she was alone at home, it further sapped her strength to fixate upon the cause of her outrage. There was nothing left to fuel the fire of her fury.

Hermione took a scalding shower, the hot water making her feel even more fatigued. After getting into bed, she fell asleep quickly, but still found no respite. Snape was there haunting her in her dream world. If her old Potions professor was not making her scrub cauldrons for detention while rubbing his erection along her backside, he was taunting her with more cruel remarks about her marriage as he sucked her toes, making disparaging comments about her dancing ability as they tangoed, or sneering at her while dining together. Every dream seemed to consist of some combination of humiliating her while bringing her a form of physical pleasure at the same time.

When she had woken up for the fourth time that night after another disturbing dream, Hermione noticed Ron had finally come home and was in bed next to her. She scrunched up her nose at the disgusting smell wafting from her husband.

Unable to go back to sleep next to a man who was snoring soundly and stinking of cigar smoke and alcohol, Hermione got up and went to the kitchen. Even her habitual cup of tea in a time of crisis could provide her no comfort. Hermione felt as if she was cast adrift in a sea of confusion.

'Why? Why do I have to be attracted to Snape?'

She couldn't deny it any longer. Hermione wasn't even sure if Snape was pulling some sick and twisted joke, or if his attraction to her was sincere. Tired. She was so tired, and confused, and depressed.

Hermione opened up the large window. Crawling up onto the wide window ledge, she sat on the ledge with her back braced against the window frame as she gazed out over the London sky. Tilting her head back, she began banging it lightly against the sill repeatedly until she felt like her brains had been jostled quite enough for one night. She felt numb all over. With her arms wrapped around her knees, Hermione continued to stare at the night sky that glowed a sickly orange. She tried to view the stars dimmed by the city lights, but could only spot a few.

Spying the summer triangle, Hermione found it difficult to remember which stars were Deneb, Vega, and Altair. Her mind refused to function under such stress. Instead, it persistently wandered back to the ever present topic at hand.

'How is it that I could have ever been attracted to Snape at all?'

'He is just a man. Not some ghoul, vampire, or bat. Ron has called you a sexless bookworm, and he was wrong about you.'

'Ron has been wrong about a lot of things.'

'So have you.'

In the past six short weeks, Hermione's life had been turned upside down. Her life, which had been organized very neatly like a drawer, now seemed to have been overturned and dumped haphazardly onto the floor. Not only had she discovered that Ginny was cheating on Harry with Draco Malfoy but, somehow in that process, she had fallen for Severus Snape. Of all the people that Ginny and Hermione could be romantically linked with, they were the two people in the world Harry and Ron hated the most. It seemed like some bad plot out of a cheesy romance novel Molly might have read while hanging laundry at the Burrow, charming the book to hover near her as she put up row after row of clothing and sheets.

“Oh, God!” she whimpered piteously in the dead quiet of the night.

At three in the morning, the only things stirring were other tormented souls like Hermione, the odd ambulance far off in the distance now and then, and the wind. There was no breeze to fill the ringing silence in her ears tonight. Left with only the sound of her own breathing, the thoughts in her head sounded louder than usual, as if shouting out each point and counterpoint.

'Are you going to see him Monday night?'

'I don't think I could face him.'

'Why not? It's not as if he knows that you know. Why can't you continue on as before?'

'Because I couldn't face him knowing it's him.'

The memory of Snape's hard, sweaty body pressed firmly up against her as they had danced the tango invaded her mind without invitation. No matter how hard she tried to evict the thought, her senses revolted. Hermione could recall with perfect clarity the rumble of his voice vibrating against her cheek, the scent of his body and cologne, the lingering touch of his lips against her palm, and the feel of his face beneath her touch when she had mapped his face with her hands. When she forced out those memories, her mind was taken over by the remembrance of her straddling across his lap, grinding against him as he thrust his hips up to meet her. She had loved running her fingers through his hair, and had found thrill in his pleasurable growl when she raked her nails across his scalp – more thrill than anything Ron had ever done to her in bed.

Hermione winced as the images kept coming back into her mind: snippets of long conversations that seemed so earnest and sincere; stolen touches from him that seemed to arouse her with their apparent innocence; surging feelings and emotions that left her feeling heady by the end of the night; her mind taxed to pleasurable exhaustion from intellectual debates; her body roused with tension. All these things added to her confusion, making her wonder at Snape's sincerity of it all, not to mention her own when Hermione had vowed that she would still be his friend if she learned his identity.

The unbearable part of depression was that it made one so utterly fatigued, that all a person wanted to do was sleep, but Hermione could not sleep. Beyond Morpheus' veil, Snape was waiting for her, further confusing, angering, arousing, and taunting her. But Hermione desperately needed sleep.

Rummaging through the cabinet above the bathroom sink, Hermione found the last bottle of Nightmare-No-More. The potion was commonly sold at apothecaries, who did a brisk business in selling the potion during and shortly after the war. Hermione had taken it herself for a few weeks immediately after the end of the war, but quickly stopped using it. She had kept a bottle in reserve for emergencies, and now seemed the time that she would need it.

Once on the couch, as Hermione refused to sleep next to her husband, she drained the vial of the wretched tasting elixir. Leaning back, Hermione slipped into unconsciousness just as her head touched the pillow.

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

Cracking one eye open, Hermione noticed the living room window was open. She remembered opening the kitchen window, but not the one in the living room.

The tea kettle whistling in the kitchen told her that her husband was already up.

Hermione sat up and remembered why she hated taking Nightmare-No-More. Though her body felt rested, her mind felt as if she had stayed awake the rest of the night after being denied a chance to dream. She pondered if it was better to let her subconscious deal with the confusion of her contradictory repulsion-attraction to Snape, and let the dreams come, than to walk around in a state of mental limbo.

She ambled into the kitchen scrubbing her face, and spied Ron looking quite elated as he made tea. Standing next to him to make a cup for herself, Hermione noticed that he still stank like an old ashtray in a bar.

“You're in a pleasant mood. Have a good time last night?” Instead of sounding conversational, she sounded grumpy.

“You're looking at the new spokesperson for the Mercury Broom Company!” Ron crowed gleefully.

“Really?” Hermione stood there and tried to think of something a little more supportive and joyous. Finally, her mind came up with, “I'm thrilled for you, Ron.” She paused a bit before adding, “It's about time that you got some recognition.” It came across as stilted and forced.

Ron pursed his lips.

Realizing that any further remarks by her were likely to be misconstrued, Hermione sank down into a chair and gave a weary sigh. “I'm sorry, Ron. I really am excited for you. I'm just very tired this morning, that's all.”

“Yeah, enough so that you slept the rest of the night on the couch,” Ron bit out.

Lifting her head to regard her husband, she slowly and calmly retorted, “Maybe if you didn't smell of old cigars and Firewhisky, the stench wouldn't have chased me out of our bed.”

Ron lifted his arm to his face and gave a deep whiff. He scrunched his nose up in disgust. “I guess I smell a bit ripe.” In response to Hermione's raised eyebrows, he conceded, “Okay. Really ripe. I'll take a shower, then let's go out to breakfast this morning to celebrate.”

The idea of not cooking that morning sounded too good to pass up.

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

Breakfast was easy enough to suffer through. Hermione kept nodding her head while Ron went on and on about his new contract as the Mercury Broom Company's spokesperson for 2004. As she prodded her Eggs Benedict listlessly, Ron rambled on, not noticing her lack of appetite. He was too busy going on about the endorsement deal that included him as the Quidditch pin-up boy for the company's calendars they handed out as a promotional item, the press tour pumping him up as the newest Quidditch star on the circuit, the image makeover he was going to be getting, international conventions he'd be attending to promote Mercury Brooms, and so on. When he finally came to the part about money, Hermione finally perked up.

Money was tangible. It paid for rent, food, and clothing.

“My agent thinks with this deal, we can negotiate a higher salary than originally estimated when my contract with the Cannons is renewed this November,” Ron said, puffing out his chest a little bit.

“What sort of numbers are we talking about?” Hermione said, speaking for the first time in more than half an hour.

“Twenty-eight thousand for my contract with the Cannons, and another fourteen thousand for the endorsement,” Ron announced with a bit of self-satisfied smugness.

Hermione quickly did the conversion from Galleons to English pounds in her head, and realized Ron's salary would be close to what her parents usually earned. Though Mrs. Weasley was not stunned by the amount of money, she was stunned by the fact that Ron was able to earn that much based on a career that required little academic excellence.

Knowing that most Quidditch stars had an average run of ten good years before sustaining a severe injury or being replaced by someone younger, faster, and cockier, Hermione began calculating for their financial future. Most Quidditch stars retired to become self-made businessmen, drones in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, or coaches of a Quidditch team. Hermione hoped Ron could earn a decent wage in one of those occupations when he finally got too long in the tooth to play professionally.

Hermione was roused out of her mental math calculations when Ron said, “Maybe now we can get that nice house we've always dreamed about, you can quit that job, and we can start thinking about children.”

Before she could stop her mouth, Hermione yelled, “Wait a minute!” Ron looked at her, puzzled by her sudden outburst. 'Think fast!' Hermione did not want to go into why the thought of spending the rest of her life with him terrified and depressed her at the same time; she felt that would be more appropriate for their next counseling session. To prevent another impending argument, she said, “Let's not count our chickens before they hatch. Let's wait until you get the contract signed, we get some money saved in the vault, and then we can start thinking about such things. For now, let's just not jump ahead and start making plans. There's plenty of time to talk about these things later.”

Ron shrugged and spouted, “I guess you're right. Why plan for a little house when maybe my agent can get me more money. Then we can get the nice big house with the proper garden and all. Maybe even get a house-elf.”

Hermione wanted to bury her face in her hands and shake her head, but refrained.

Ron did tend to get a little carried away when things were on the upswing, be it with money, his ego, or with his newfound celebrity. Having a conservative nature meant that Hermione tended to be a bit more cautious when it came to spending money or planning for the big things in life. She certainly was hedging her bets that she didn't want to stay married to Ron, especially since she knew of the mortal nature of a true wizarding divorce when children were involved. Her Muggle upbringing always gave her the idea that a marriage was a contract that could be legally broken if both parties were unhappy, not a binding lifetime agreement. Maybe if she was actually in love with her husband, being stuck with him for the rest of her life would not seem such a grim prospect.

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

Even when lunch rolled around, Hermione still had no appetite. She spent her time doing housework, every so often asking her husband to help out. Ron would respond that he would get around to it after he was finished answering his fan mail that had been delivered to their flat while they were away at breakfast. It was a small pile of letters, but Ron seemed to be making a big deal about the fact that he had a responsibility to his fans, asking Hermione if she had any of her good parchment lying about, along with her good writing quill and her good ink, in order to send a proper response to each and every one of his fans.

Hermione found it quite humorous, in an irritating sort of way, that this was the same wizard who would fob off sending thank-you notes to his uncles and aunts for birthday and Christmas presents until under threat from his mother. She didn't even want to remember how he used to delay doing his homework until the last minute; sometimes he wouldn't do his homework at all.

By the time Ron did get around to finishing his fan mail responses, he suggested that they might swing by St. Mungo's to see the newest addition to the burgeoning Weasley clan. Then they would make a stopover to Harry and Ginny's before the kids were shepherded over to their grandparents that night to spend the rest of the week.

Instead of fighting it, and insisting that they stick around until the housework was done and that Ron actually help for once, Hermione gave in. She had no energy to fight or try to make her point that the housework was not going to take care of itself, despite Ron repeatedly talking about getting a house-elf in the near future. Hermione went with the flow today, and she felt as if she had been beaten into submission.

When they arrived at St. Mungo's, Hermione and Ron had just missed most of the other Weasleys who had been there to visit and ogle over little Eric. Hermione held the newborn for a while before passing him back to his father, who beamed with pride at the little bundle in his arms. Suffocated by the overwhelming love and affection in the small hospital room, Hermione stepped out to get a breath of fresh air.

It wasn't until Hermione sat down on an empty bench in the hallway that she realized she was having a panic attack. The weekend was becoming too much for Hermione to take. Seeing Fleur and Bill together, she knew they would be together for the rest of their lives. It seemed like a happy and joyous prospect, but when Hermione had a flash of herself sitting in that same hospital bed nursing Ron's child, she felt sick to her stomach with terror. She knew right there and then that children with Ron would never be a possibility, not unless there were some drastic changes between her and her husband.

'Maybe I should just run off with Snape.' For some strange reason, that unbidden thought provided Hermione with a much more pleasant outlook than becoming another one of the amazing breeding Weasleys.

“I've gone mad,” she muttered to herself, just as a witch and her child passed by. They quickly began walking away from her, the mother casting a nervous look at Hermione after overhearing her ramblings.

After a few more minutes, Ron came out of Fleur's room. “You all right?”

“Yes, just needed some air,” Hermione assured him, unable to look Ron in the eye. Averting her gaze, she watched him shift from one foot to another in front of her.

Ron said, “Well, Fleur and the baby are going to get some rest now, but Bill said we could swing by tomorrow evening if you are up for it.”

“I have dance lessons tomorrow night,” Hermione automatically responded, then felt her heart stop when she realized what she had said. Hermione didn't think she could ever set foot in Snape's flat again, but the prospect of seeing all those shining, beaming Weasley faces, and then being assaulted with more images of herself saddled with Ron's children, frightened her more than an evening with Snape.

“Oh. We can always swing by on Wednesday night, then,” Ron stated matter-of-factly.

Hermione wanted to run down the hallway as far and as fast as possible, just to get away from the scene. Instead, she didn't fight it and went with the flow of it once more. She nodded mutely in some vague gesture of agreement.

“How about we go over to Ginny and Harry's now? Go spend some time with them and the kids?” Ron reminded her.

Hermione didn't know how Ginny did it – all the pretending and believable false smiles when all she wanted to do was be with Malfoy. Even the idea of going over to her friends' house and continuing to pretend that everything was all peachy and perfect was too much for Hermione to handle. She was just too damn tired.

“I really need to get back to the flat and finish the housework, Ron.” Hermione purposefully left out the inclusion of Ron, knowing that it would be easier to get Alastor Moody to drink an unknown substance than to get her husband to help around the house today. “You go on. Give my best to Harry and Ginny.”

Ron left Hermione sitting in the hallway by herself.

A few minutes later, Bill came out of Fleur's room. “Hermione? You looked a bit peaked when you left the room. You okay?”

Hermione looked into the tired but elated face of Bill Weasley, and found that she could not speak. How in the world could she ever tell Bill that when she married his youngest brother, she didn't think it literally meant, “til death do you part.”

“Just a bit tired,” was her reply.

Bill sat down next to Hermione and sighed. “Don't worry. I'm not about to start bugging you about when you're about to start having kids,” Bill said, as a non sequitur.

“Huh?” Hermione could not understand what she had done to make Bill say that.

“I saw the way you and Ron avoided each other at Harry's party. I can tell things aren't so great between you two, especially now. You two have never acted like two people deeply in love.” Bill bit down on his lip, looking like a man weighing the option of saying more, before adding, “Don't let our mum push you into doing anything you don't want to do. She doesn't have to live with the consequences; you do. She tries to do what she thinks is best for her children, but she forgets that what she thinks is best is not exactly what we think is best.”

Bill went back into Fleur's room, leaving Hermione to ponder over his rather candid remarks.

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

The flat was spotless. Hermione came home to find the place had been cleaned while she and Ron were gone. A little note from Ginny explained that she had sent Dobby over to help; it was the only sign that the house-elf had been there, besides the cleanliness of the place.

Left with nothing to do, Hermione sat on the couch and let her mind wander once more. She thought about Snape's considerate gestures of loaning her Potions journals to read and then discussing them with her at great length; and his admittance that he had never been friends with any of his clients, except with her.

'Could it be that he is lonely like me and needs some companionship?' He had mentioned that he enjoyed her company, and that if she decided to not become more intimate with him, he was willing to accept the fact.

Realizing that she was on a couch once more brought back memories of her straddling him. Her body shivered, though the revulsion was not so apparent at this recollection versus previous times. Her mind was slowly beginning to accept the concept that Snape aroused her.

Hermione went to the kitchen and found some juice to quench her parched throat. Sipping her drink, she remembered how Snape had mentioned that he had learned the recipe for lemonade from “a friend.”

'Ginny. Does Ginny know Snape? Did she lie to me? Of course she did. She's very good at lying. Why? Why did she lie?'

'Oh yes, and admit to you from the beginning that she knows exactly where Snape is? And what sort of questions would you have been asking then? He's obviously been hiding his identity from you for a while. He probably told Ginny not to tell you if you ever asked. But why is he giving you hints to his identity now?'

'Because you want to fuck him.'

'Wanted. It's past tense now.'

'You think so? Snape knows it's you, and he obviously has made it known that he wants you. Why can't you want him too? He's a man, a sexual creature with needs and desires.'

'But I can't.'

'Why not?'

'Because I'm not going back there. I can't.'

'Why not? Has he come right out and said who he is? Unmasked himself? As long as he's willing to continue with this game, why not enjoy this? Do you really want to give up your Monday and Thursday nights out? What will you do? Sit at home with Ron and wish you were anywhere but stuck at home with a husband who doesn't talk with you, except to brag about how much money he's going to make, how famous he's going to be because of Quidditch? Wouldn't you rather be over there having a nice meal that you didn't have to cook for once, enjoying decent conversation, and maybe a nice massage if you can win the next bet?'

Hermione wondered if she truly had gone around the bend. How her subconscious could come up with such arguments for her to continue seeing Snape was beyond her comprehension. They were very persuasive and logical arguments, but she still fought against the idea of still going to Snape's flat now that she knew who he was.

'If you don't go, Snape will have been right to question the steadfastness of your friendship if you discovered who he really was.'

That thought made her stop dead in her mental tracks.

'I have to go back.'

She had never really gotten to know Remus, Albus, and Minerva while they were still her professors. It was only in that year after school, before they died, that she got to know them as people beyond a student-teacher relationship. Only after her N.E.W.T.s did she learn what a wickedly sharp wit Minerva had, or that Albus had a rather annoying habit of offering sweets when trying to misdirect a person or change the topic.

Hermione realized that she had never known Snape as a person, only as a professor and a spy for the Order. The person she had gotten to know as Calleo was a completely different man than the professor she remembered from years ago. There was a patience there that she didn't know Snape was capable of. Where Snape would bark orders at the students, his persona of Calleo would discuss things with her.

Suddenly, more pieces of the puzzle began fitting together. Hermione remembered the discussion they once had regarding erotic body paint, and George's mention of a silent partner providing potions for the twins' new business venture. If Snape couldn't brew potions due to the Death Eater Decree – and she doubted the twins would ever take Snape on as a partner, even a silent one – who would be the silent partner?

It came to her. 'Lavender.'

'But if Snape isn't brewing potions, then why was he asking me all those questions?'

Her gut clenched when she remembered that Moody had asked Kingsley to start making surprise visits to Death Eaters' places of work. Hermione's mind began working furiously once more, trying to figure out if Snape was doing more than being a gigolo. Was he secretly brewing potions for Lavender? If so, how was he getting around the decree? If there was a surprise visit, would Kingsley catch Snape in the act and have to send him to Azkaban?

Hermione wanted to leave her flat that minute and go warn Snape that he was in danger of being discovered, if he was indeed brewing potions on the sly. But if Hermione warned him, that would mean this charade would end and she could no longer see “Calleo.”

Remembering the rest of the Aurors’ conversation that she’d overheard just on the other side of the tipi wall, Hermione knew who she should talk to instead.

Dashing off to the kitchen, she found that Ron had thankfully left her one good piece of parchment. After penning her letter, she sent it of with Pigwidgeon, telling the little bird it was imperative to deliver the message as soon as possible.

Once the owl took wing, Hermione went to the bedroom and fetched her good blue cloak. She Flooed directly to the Three Broomsticks and got a private room in order to wait for her guest.

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A/N: A huge round of applause to my fabulous team of betas: Horserider, JuneW, and GinnyW. And a special round of thanks to JuneW for coming up with a chapter title.
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And They Didn\'t Live Happily Ever After