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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
- 41
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"And They Didn't Live Happily Ever After"

Chapter Forty-Two
"Psychiatric Help 5 Knuts — The Doctor Is In"
Disclaimer: God bless our dear Miss Rowling. She lets us use her characters and concepts in a way that would make Anne Rice and her bevy of litigious lawyers roll over in their fake coffins. I will do my duty and disclaim that any of the characters or concepts from the Harry Potter world are not mine. They belong to the goddess of our universe, J.K. Rowling. Any original spells, potions, locations or characters I have come up with are purely inspired by Miss Rowling's work.

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Hermione sat on the poorly-designed replica of a Bauhaus style couch. The modern furniture in the waiting room was supposed to create a sophisticated and tranquil Zen-like atmosphere; instead, it made the place look cheap and dated. To add injury to insult, the couch felt worse under her bum than it looked.

Ignoring her soreness caused by the inadequately padded couch, Hermione shifted while turning a page in her newly purchased copy of The Magical Contracts of Marriage and Children. True to character, Ron did not even feign interest in her reading material; for all he cared she could have been reading How To Shag Your Ex-Potions Professor Without Getting Caught. If it wasn’t related to Quidditch, he didn’t notice or care.

Hermione did her best to concentrate on the text in front of her and not on the overwhelming heat. If she kept her eyes focused just right, she would also avoid the sight of Ron picking his nose, as if he was mining for something far up his nasal passages.

'A little farther up, Ron,' Hermione thought sarcastically. 'I don't think you have quite reached your frontal lobe yet.'

Just when Hermione was ready to whip out her wand and hermetically seal Ron's finger while it was buried in his snout, the door creaked open.

Both husband and wife looked up. Ron quickly pulled his finger from his nose while trying not to look guilty; Hermione closed her book, placing a marker where she had stopped reading.

The pair were greeted by a tall Muggle with short, dark brown hair. He was wearing a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, as if prepared for hard work. “Ron, Hermione, I'm ready for you. You can come in now.”

As they walked into James Hoover's office, the marriage counselor apologized. “I'm sorry, but I don't have any air conditioning, just an open window for a bit of fresh air.”

Hermione could see the sweat on James' brow as he picked up a magazine and began fanning himself.

“Would you mind terribly if I cast a Cooling Charm?” Hermione offered.

“There are spells that act like air conditioning?” James queried.

“Hair conditioning?” Ron asked, looking a bit perplexed.

“No, Ron,” Hermione said, trying to not lose her patience. “Air conditioning, it's a Muggle thing – never mind.”

Ron had never grasped the concept of electricity, despite visits to the Grangers’ home, and she didn't feel like furthering his knowledge of Muggle technology at the moment. She just rolled her eyes and cast the charm.

“Thank you,” said the counselor.

The couple sat on either end of a long couch; Hermione closest to James' chair, and Ron slouched at the far end with his arms crossed.

“Your wands, please.” James held out his hand, expecting both parties to willingly surrender them.

Hermione handed hers over without protest.

Ron pouted glumly before whinging, “I don't know why I have to give up mine. I'm not the one who cast the first hex last week. I'm not the dangerous one.”

The Muggle marriage counselor was unmoved by Ron's protestations, keeping his hand outstretched. “This is a new policy that all couples must abide by now. You and Hermione are not the only ones now who must give them up during counseling. Had I known how dangerous such spells could be, I would have made it my policy from day one. If it's any consolation, I don't let my Muggle patients bring weapons into their sessions, either.”

Ron seemed to find offense at James' statement, retorting, “I'm no Dark wizard! Witches and wizards do not just go around casting Unforgivables and hexes left and right like we're some uncivilized bunch of heathens or ruddy Death—”

“I meant no offense, Ron,” James interrupted, stopping Ron in mid-rant. “What I meant to say is that it seems that not only can your wand be used for many positive things, it can also, if the person feels threatened, be used as a tool that could harm another patient while in my office. I just can't allow that. Now, your wand, please.”

Ron seemed placated by James' statement, but still grumbled under his breath when handing over his wand.

James placed them in a drawer for safekeeping until the session was over. Hermione noticed that James did not lock the drawer. She made a mental note to discreetly inform James about the Accio spell, and would recommend locking the drawer in the future to discourage summoning it in the heat of the moment.

“Now, when we last left off last week, we were going into your grievances,” James began. “But since that session ended so disastrously, I thought we'd take a different route this week. I would like you both to move a bit closer to each other, turn so you are face-to-face, hold hands, and take turns telling each other something that attracted you to each other when you first started dating or at the beginning of your relationship. You can sit on the couch or use two chairs facing each other; whatever is most relaxing for you both.”

Hermione nodded to the pair of chairs across from the couch, and Ron shrugged his shoulders in indifference to her suggestion.

Once husband and wife were seated in the chairs and holding hands, James said, “Who would like to go first?”

“I'll start,” Hermione said.

“Hermione, look Ron in the eye and tell him something that attracted you to him when you were dating,” James instructed the witch.

After clearing her throat, she said, “I thought you were very brave.”

“Thought? What? You don't think I'm brave now?” Ron retorted.

“What?” Hermione was perplexed as to what her husband was going on about.

“You said 'thought.' As in 'past tense.' You didn't say you 'think' I'm brave.”

“Of course I think you are brave now. James asked what I thought back then,” she said defensively.

James scrubbed his face in frustration. There were times he had thought about getting out of the counseling profession, and the Weasleys were certainly one reason for him to strongly consider it at times.

“All right. Ron, I don't think Hermione meant any slight by her inadvertent choice of tense. What I think you should be concentrating on is the sincerity of her words. I don't want you to nit-pick this apart, looking for any reason to cause another fight. I just want you to listen when it's Hermione's turn. Do you want Hermione to attack every little choice of word when it's your turn?”

“No,” Ron mumbled morosely.

“Okay, Ron. Now I want you to look Hermione in the eye and tell her something that attracted you to her when you were dating.”

Ron rolled his eyes up to the ceiling for a moment to think before looking Hermione in the eye once more. “I think you are really smart.”

“What?” Hermione shrieked and yanked her hands away. Standing up, she stormed to the other side of the office to get as physically far away from her husband without leaving the office. “This from the man who called me an intellectual snob?!?”

“Well, it wasn't so annoying when you were younger!”

“That's because I could be of use to you – helping you with your homework. You always kept on begging me for my notes and to copy my schoolwork. And when I did offer to help, you called me 'a nightmare!' You were making fun of me because you couldn't cast a simple Wingardium Leviosa the first time and I could!”

“That's 'cause you were being your usual bossy self. Snape was right! You're just an insufferable know-it-all!” Ron exclaimed with a sense of satisfaction that he had gone for the vitals, and his aim was true.

Hermione looked at Ron with shock. All the things she wanted to shout back at her husband about what Snape thought about her now, but couldn't reveal, added to her sense of growing frustration and hurt. Snape’s words came back to her, telling her he was tired of letting Ron verbally abuse her.

Squelching the budding tears, Hermione instead began focusing on the seething rage building within her. Normally she would have resorted to verbally attacking Ron by this point, but she was unable to form the words that would give her emotions justice.

James’ eyes bounced back and forth between the pair as if he was watching an intense rally at Wimbledon. None of this was going the way that it was supposed to. Both of these people had already destroyed so many bridges in their relationship that he wondered if there were any left to salvage – and he wondered if either of them truly wanted to salvage anything.

He did not normally tolerate name-calling in his sessions, however he knew that this was a major source of contention for the pair. He thought that rather than forbid the insults it would benefit them both if they discussed how they affected one another. “Ron,” he said, trying to bring the level of conversation back under control, “why did you call Hermione that? Are you aware that you are hurting her feelings?”

All Hermione could see was red. She had never understood the term before, but an intense red fog moved into her field of vision and clouded everything she saw. She could not focus on the words now coming out of James’ mouth. All she could hear were the vast array of insults playing through her head from her beloved husband.

'She is such a nightmare... Well, maybe if you weren't so fucking frigid, you'd actually enjoy a good fuck. But I guess that's too much to ask from such a controlling bitch like you!… Intellectual snob... You are a royal cunt with as much warmth as an iceberg... Snape was right! You're just an insufferable know-it-all!...'

Before James could get an answer from Ron, Hermione screamed while launching herself across the room. Ron leapt out of his chair and began backing up against a wall in retreat, fear growing in his eyes. Hermione drew her fist back and unleashed years of frustration with a single punch. James felt as if he was watching a train wreck in slow motion.

Ron felt the world reel beneath his feet, compounded when his head snapped back and banged against the wall. Somehow, Ron suddenly found himself looking up at his enraged wife from the floor.

“HERMIONE!” James yelled and went to restrain the witch, pinning her hands behind her back.

“The bitch decked me,” Ron said plainly, looking literally gobsmacked while holding his aching jaw.

“Hermione! I will not allow physical violence in this office. Physical abuse is never allowed,” James yelled, trying to regain some control over the situation.

The tears started falling as Hermione bawled, “But you allow this bloody arse to verbally abuse me at every turn! 'Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me?!?' Fucking lie!” she wailed. “It hurts, Ron. It hurts so much! Just as much as if you hit me yourself, you inconsiderate, selfish prick!!!”

James wrangled Hermione over to the other side of the room and sat her down in a chair. He moved his hands off her person only after she promised to not attack Ron again.

“One more bout of violence, by fist or wand by either of you, and I will no longer agree to be your counselor!” James thundered, losing control of his own temper momentarily. He took a moment to collect his cool before continuing. “You are both here of your own free will. You made it clear you are trying to repair your marriage. Either you are both serious enough to make an effort to work together, or you are not. Now, do you want to work on improving what is obviously a seriously damaged relationship, or do you want to walk away? If you stay, you must abide by my rules of no violence of any kind ever!”

James ran his hand nervously through his short locks, dreading the amount of work it would take to repair the Weasleys' marriage, if it was salvageable at all.

“It was her idea to come here!” Ron shouted, as he hauled himself up off the ground and into a nearby chair.

James shot him a quelling glance. “Do you want to work on this marriage or not? It is a simple question requiring a yes-or-no answer, not snide commentary,” James snapped irritably, knowing he was approaching the bounds of unprofessional behavior again by losing his temper. “Well?”

Ron looked at Hermione with a murderous glare. “Only if she won't attack me anymore. Spider-Bogey Hex last week, a sucker punch—”

“We have made it clear there will be no more violence. Answer yes or no!” James said forcefully.

“Yes,” Ron growled between clenched teeth, still clutching his jaw that was beginning to swell nicely.

“Hermione?” James asked, turning to look at the witch who was silently crying in the corner.

Now was her chance: to give up, or make one last effort to save what seemed to be an unrecoverable marriage. 'I am not a quitter. If Ron is willing to try, then I am as well. I will not be labeled as the one who walked away from this marriage, though it feels like Ron has given up and is practically driving me away.'

“Yes.”

“Good,” James sighed with relief. “Before we can start addressing your problems, I think both of you need to learn some anger management.”

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

Severus excused himself from his present company with the explanation that he was going to make a pot of tea for his Tuesday night guest, Mrs. Waters. In the kitchen, a very tired Severus leaned against the counter. He massaged his right arm, which felt a little sore from overuse the night before. It had been years since he had engaged in a marathon wank session, this one driven by the need to fully test the strength of the male enhancement potion.

Not only had his arm strength waned over time, but recently so had his stamina for listening to women cry and bemoan the state of their awful marriages, as well.

That wasn't entirely true. He had no problem listening to Hermione tell of her troubles, as he was very concerned over her, but she didn't spend the whole time at his flat wailing and complaining, like Mrs. Waters was doing tonight. It was not that he particularly cared about the witch still sitting in the other room, but he felt obligated to listen to her sob and squawk every Tuesday about her miserable life, and it was beginning to wear on his nerves. Truth be told, Severus was beginning to feel that his account in the cosmic ledger of life was close to zero, despite all the years Albus had listened to Severus piss and moan.

Mrs. Waters was consistently morose and despondent. No amount of advice, sympathy, encouragement, or bolstering from Severus could get the witch to take any action to improve her situation with her husband or children. Currently, Mrs. Waters put up with a Lothario husband who drank frequently, and she suffered from her lazy and ungrateful grown children who constantly took financial and emotional advantage of her.

After listening to her for many months, Severus was beginning to suspect that Mrs. Waters enjoyed wallowing in depression. Likely finding some odd enjoyment from the heavy blanket of emotional weight upon her shoulders, possibly correlating herself to some tragic feminine heroine or martyr.

The teakettle whistled and Severus poured the hot water into the pot, along with some loose tea leaves and two vials of different potions he'd had Marf procure without Miss Brown's knowledge. Of the two vials, one was Aqueous Intrepidity, also know in more common circles as Liquid Courage, and the other was Humour of Humor. Though it was not exactly illegal to purchase or use them, it certainly was skirting close to the edge of legality to give them to someone unknowingly. Severus' altruistic intention was to improve her emotional state to the point where she would take some course of action to confront her family about the status quo. If anything, perhaps with a little spot of tea, Mrs. Waters would finally cut her children off from the family vault, and stand up to her husband's philandering and drinking.

Returning to his company, Severus offered his client a cup of tea. He also poured one for himself, though he had no intention of drinking it.

With a weepy sigh, the forlorn witch said, “Thank you so much. I'll take any bit of kindness, as it seems you are the only one to give me any.”

Severus watched as she took a sip, then another. Sitting back, he asked in his usual sympathetic voice, “How are you feeling now?”

The gray that seemed to color her cheek lifted, and her eyes brightened. “Better. Much better.”

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

Hermione doubted any amount of counting to ten, breathing deeply, visualizing her “happy” place, or chanting to herself to relax was going to dissipate the growing animosity she harbored towards Ron. But still, she tried because she had promised she would.

“Now that we have our anger management tools, let's go back to what you said earlier, Ron. Why did you call Hermione that name?” James asked, feeling as if he had made some progress for once where these two were concerned.

Ron looked at the counselor blankly. “What name?” He had already forgotten what he had called his wife.

“You called her an 'insufferable know-it-all,'” James reminded him.

Hermione closed her eyes, gritted her teeth and began muttering under her breath, “Relax, relax, relax,” while trying to listen to Ron's response.

“I called her that because that's what she is,” Ron replied, as if it was obvious. “She does nothing but sit with her nose in a book during all her free time; and when we talk, all she wants to do is talk about bloody Charms theory, or the most recent advancements in Potions research, or other such nonsense. She even brought a book with her to read while we were in your waiting room. I swear, the witch has never taken her nose out of a book for as long as I've known her. She was always bugging me to study when we were at school together; and now that I'm out of school, I don't want to bother with that stuff, since I really don't need to anymore. It just doesn't interest me.”

“And what does interest you, Ron?” James asked.

“Quidditch, of course!”

James was familiar with the concept of Quidditch, as described by his nephew, a wizard. It was because of his nephew that he had been encouraged to join the Muggle Alliance Network. Up to this point, he had found that many witches and wizards had the same problems as regular folks, or “Muggles,” as his nephew had informed him. James had been very successful getting a few “pure-blood” witches and wizards to get over the stigma associated with psychological counseling, and he felt a certain amount of satisfaction from bringing help to a segment of the population unfamiliar with this particular area of mental health.

The Weasleys had a problem with their marriage that he was familiar with. The husband was a sports fanatic, and the wife was an academic enthusiast. He had helped couples like this come to some middle ground, and he hoped he would be able to help these people as well.

“Hermione,” James said, turning to the witch who was trying to keep control of herself on the opposite side of the room. “Do you enjoy talking about Quidditch with Ron?”

“No, she doesn't,” Ron answered for his wife.

“He asked me, not you, Ron!” Hermione snapped back.

“Hermione is right, I did ask her,” James informed Ron. Turning back to Mrs. Weasley, he said once more, “Do you enjoy talking about Quidditch with Ron?”

“Not particularly. I don't mind the game, but to be inundated with Quidditch talk and nothing else gets to be rather boring,” Hermione explained. “I did one time try to ask Ron about the Charm on a new model of broom that some of the Quidditch teams were using, but he cut me off by saying he didn't know or care. He 'just flew the damn things.'”

Hermione had a glint of triumph in her eye that she had at least made an effort in trying to find some middle ground, and that Ron was the one who was not trying at all.

“There she goes again, trying to be all superior-like!” Ron exclaimed.

Hermione felt slighted once more, and the tears began welling up in her eyes.

James needed to address Ron's belittling of his wife, as it seemed to be one of the key things that set Hermione off, helping fuel the anger between the couple.

“Ron, do you know that all your name-calling hurts Hermione? Are you aware of it?” the counselor asked

“Of course I am! Why do think I say it? To be nice?” Ron retorted, thinking James was pretty thick to be asking such an obvious question.

“But why are you trying to hurt Hermione with name-calling?” James queried.

“Because... because...” Ron could not finish his statement. He sat there dumbfounded, unable to come up with any reason behind his actions.

“How do you feel when Hermione wants to talk about things that interest her?” James prompted Ron.

“Like she's trying to make me look like a bloody idiot!”

“I do not!” Hermione shouted across the room.

“You do too!”

“Hermione, please,” James requested. “Right now we are trying to figure out why Ron calls you certain names. We will address how you feel in a moment. Now Ron, why do you feel she is trying to make you look like an 'idiot?'”

“Because she asks me things she knows I don't have the answer to, trying to show off just how bloody brilliant she is. And then she gets this look on her face; that condescending one she used to get when we were at school, when she would ask me if I had done my homework and I hadn't gotten around to it yet,” Ron ranted angrily.

Turning to Hermione, James asked, “Hermione? Are you aware that Ron feels like this?”

“All he's ever said is that he doesn't want to talk about things that interest me, and that he doesn't care! He's only ever rolled his eyes and insulted me instead of saying anything like that,” Hermione retorted. “And I do not think you are stupid! If you were an idiot, you wouldn't be so good at chess!”

It was a ping-pong match, mediated by James, of how each felt and if the other was aware of the feelings the other caused by their words and actions. Hermione found it to be rather exhausting, having to deconstruct each little remark: the reason behind each remark, how such a remark made the other feel, and finally the response to each remark. Then the process would be repeated again. They spent the rest of the hour going through Ron's insult to Hermione and how that made Hermione feel.

Ron, once again, brought up the fact that Hermione had brought a book with her that evening.

“You want to know what I'm reading?!?” Hermione shrieked. “HERE!” She reached into her cloak and pulled out a book. Stomping over to Ron, still seated on the other side of the room, she commanded him, “Read it!”

“The Magical Contracts of Marriage and Children." Ron looked up at his wife with bewilderment. “So you do want to have kids?”

“NO!” Hermione shouted. “What I'm doing is reading up on what your mother obviously did NOT tell me before we got married. She never told me about what would happen if we were to divorce after we had children! She had said she would tell me everything involved with a wizarding marriage, but she never told me that if I had your children and then left you that I would die!”

“WHAT?!?” James yelled in astonishment, suddenly forgetting his role as mediator.

Hermione turned to face her marriage counselor. “It looks like you need this book as much as I do,” she said dryly.

Mrs. Weasley gave James Hoover a brief overview on the differences between a Muggle and a wizarding marriage.

When she finished, Ron said, “You're lying. My mother told you everything. She had to have told you everything. Why would she not tell you about such a thing? You must have known. You always read up on everything before doing anything,” Ron snidely commented.

“I didn't exactly have time, what with the attack on Hogwarts; the end of the war; the death of Albus, Minerva, Remus and Hagrid; the reconstruction; rounding up the last of the Death Eaters; trying to find a job; and looking for an apprenticeship,” Hermione explained hotly. “For the fact that I trusted your mother to inform me about everything, I was thankful that I did not have one more thing on my plate! And then there was planning the wedding, you leaving Auror school, and all that! Researching the mortal nature of a magically binding marriage when children are involved was the last thing I had time to do, though if I had known...”

Hermione stopped herself short of saying the obvious, but Ron finished Hermione's sentence for her.

“What then? Go on, say it! You never would have married me in the first place!” Ron screamed.

“I didn't say that!”

“But you almost did!”

Ron was right, Hermione almost did say that. She had even wished it.

The timer went off, and James announced that their time was now up. ‘And not a moment too soon,’ James added to himself.

“Now Ron,” James began wrapping up their session, “I want you to remember that Hermione is a Muggle-born, and as such, she initially grew up as a Muggle. Divorce is pretty common in the Muggle world, with no death resulting from such a legal action, even if there are children. Hermione comes from a culture where divorce is not looked upon adversely. And Hermione, I want you to remember that Ron comes from a culture that has a different attitude about marriage than Muggles. For the next week, I want you both to work on your anger management and on listening to each other. Okay?”

Ron folded his arms and looked away, nodding reluctantly. Hermione agreed tersely.

They collected their wands and exited James' office back into the special waiting room built for wizarding clients.

“I'd better go to St. Mungo's; make sure you didn't do any permanent damage,” Ron said brusquely, rubbing his still-aching jaw despite the use of James' ice pack.

Hermione did feel a bit guilty for hitting Ron. She knew she didn't have to resort to physical violence, but when he had called her that name, and made mention that Snape had called her that too, she went blind with rage. She barely registered what she had done until after the deed was accomplished.

“Is it still throbbing?” Hermione asked, truly concerned.

“Why should you care? You're the one who did this to me!”

“I'm sorry, Ron. I really am. I was just very angry at what you said. It hurt... a lot,” Hermione admitted, folding her arms across her chest, looking at her husband sullenly.

“Whatever,” Ron replied dismissively.

Grabbing a handful of Floo powder, Ron called out for St. Mungo's and disappeared in a green flash.

Hermione sighed and slumped against the wall, gathering her thoughts before using the Floo to go home.

Just as she was about to grab for the Floo powder, James came into the waiting room. “Hermione? Do you have a moment?”

“Yes. What is it?”

“Well, I was wondering if you could tell me how I can obtain a copy of that book you have,” James asked.

“It's available at Flourish and Blotts, a bookshop in Diagon Alley. Actually, I bought two. The other one is on wizarding marriage and divorce in the modern age.” Hermione dropped her head a little and delicately requested, “Could you please not mention the other book to Ron just yet? If he saw it, then he would get the idea that I want to divorce him.”

“Could you arrange for me to get both books, then?” James asked. “I will gladly reimburse you for them both.”

“Yes, I could do that.”

“I feel rather silly that I didn't know something as fundamental as that, about wizarding marriages,” the counselor admitted.

“Don't be. I've been a member of this community since I was almost twelve, married to a pure-blood wizard for almost four years, and even I didn't know that until last weekend. That's why I bought these books,” Hermione replied.

“Certainly takes the phrase 'till death do you part' to a new level,” he remarked lightly.

“Yes, it does.” Hermione could find no humor in James' tone, as she was faced with that particular decision.

“Do you want to divorce Ron?”

Hermione snapped her head up and looked at James with fright. “If I tell you, do you promise not to bring it up with Ron? Not just yet.”

James could see Hermione's apprehension in replying to his question. “Of course,” he assured her. “You have my confidentiality.”

“I have certainly entertained the idea as of late, thinking that maybe I married too young. Maybe if I had dated around more instead of marrying the first wizard that came along who proposed... I don't know. I'm just very confused right now. There are a lot of things at work right now making me question everything,” Hermione confessed openly.

“If you want to come to me for personal counseling, I have several openings available.”

She shook her head. “No, but thanks. I have a friend right now who is helping me to get through some personal things. He understands me.”

“A male friend?”

Hermione understood the implication of James' question. “He's just a friend, nothing more.” 'For now, that is.'

“Just concerned,” James said. “In my experience, it's a special friend that sometimes becomes something more, and then the marriage begins to unravel from there. Sometimes we find comfort elsewhere when it seems to be lacking at home with our spouses.”

Hermione was thinking that her marriage had been unraveling for a long time, and she only recently noticed it, but she held her tongue. She had said enough to James for now. After promising to purchase the two books for James, along with obtaining a list of other books Flourish and Blotts had regarding wizarding family life, Hermione used the Floo to go home.

Once home, Hermione went to the bedroom to get ready to go to sleep. After pulling her blouse off, she looked at the bed.

She wondered when Ron would be home. Mrs. Weasley did not really want to be home when her husband returned, nor did she feel like sleeping in the same bed with him.

Putting her blouse back on, she went to the bathroom and grabbed her toothbrush, hairbrush, shampoo, conditioner, and deodorant. After picking out some clean clothes to wear the next day, and leaving a quick note for Ron telling of her whereabouts, she used the Floo to go over to the Potters’.

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

The next morning, Hermione trudged into the kitchen, hoping that Dobby was around to fix her breakfast. She had finally come to terms with the fact that house-elves found fulfillment by being useful; however, she still continued to wish that all house-elves were free to pick and choose who they served, with pay, and without suffering abuse from their employers-cum-masters.

To Hermione's relief, Dobby had anticipated cooking for the extra guest in the Potter household, and had already gotten breakfast ready for her.

Sitting down, Hermione began eating immediately, knowing she could not dawdle. Since the lab had been unusable for part of Friday and all of Monday, she knew there would be a backlog of ingredients waiting to be tested, though most of what was in the lab Friday went up in flames, and Hermione had already completed the paperwork notifying suppliers of the loss.

Hermione heard Harry before he opened the kitchen door. He was whistling, “I've Got a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts.” She was beginning to regret telling Harry and Ginny about her momentary lapse of common sense and modesty.

Harry opened the door and stopped dead in his tracks. At least he had the decency to look sheepish when he apologized: “I'm sorry. It's just that since last night I can't get that song out of my head.”

She could have made a sarcastic reply involving a Pensieve, a wand, and his arse, but she didn't. Harry was just a convenient person upon which to focus her peevish attitude, and he didn't deserve to be her whipping boy. Instead, Hermione shook her head and gave a dismissive wave of her hand, signaling that she didn't want to discuss the matter any further.

Requesting to see Hermione's hand, Harry said, “Hmm, looks like Gin did a good job of fixing it. I'm surprised when you showed up last night your hand wasn't throbbing. I'm even more surprised you didn't break it.” He shook his head sadly.

“I really don't want to discuss this anymore, Harry. I already feel awful that I hit him.”

“Hermione,” Harry said, “I know you are in counseling now, but for Ron to piss you off to the point of laying him flat on his arse... the only other person I know to push you to that point is Malfoy. And I know how much you loathed him.”

Hermione hid her face behind her hands while trying to keep her thoughts as quiet as possible. If Harry caught a glimmer of the thoughts raging in her mind at the moment, the game would be up for both her and Ginny.

As if reading her thoughts, Ginny came into the kitchen.

“Morning, Hermione, Harry.” Ginny walked over and gave her husband a quick peck on the cheek.

Hermione watched the friendly exchange between husband and wife, as Harry gave her a quick squeeze of her hand in a return of affection.

Ginny sat down next to Hermione, opposite of her husband, and began nibbling on some toast.

After a moment of silence, as she studied the bottom of her mug of tea, Hermione said, “Thank you for letting me stay over. After that session, I don't think I could have slept in the same flat as Ron. I just get so angry at him sometimes. One minute he's being a complete wanker to me, the next he's actually showing a bit of the old Ron I used to know.” She sighed before continuing. “After he brought me home from The Listing Broom on Monday night, he was really sweet. He got me to bed, got me dressed in a nightgown, put a bucket by the bedside just in case, and had a vial of Hangover Relief on the bedside table for when I woke up. He never even made mention of the fact that Rogina called him to take me home. I'm just thankful Rogina never made mention of what I did at the bar.”

Ginny and Harry both started snickering behind their hands.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione groaned, “All right. Get it out of your system. Laugh!”

The Potters started laughing while singing the chorus to the song that Hermione was making rather infamous.

“All right! Enough!” Hermione demanded. “And please, really, don't tell Ron what I did,” she pleaded.

Ginny grinned at her friend in amusement. “Don't worry, Hermione. We won't.” The younger witch's face became more somber when she added, “We don't want to see Ron and you find another reason to have another fight.”

“I don't know, Ginny. It seems that no matter what happens, we're always finding some reason to fight. And when we aren't fighting, well...”

How could Hermione tell them that Ron, best friend and brother to them, was unbearable company as of late? Just last night, during dinner, Hermione couldn't help but wish she was having dinner with Snape instead. Even dining alone seemed preferable than suffering her husband's presence, as Ron had recently started going on and on about his workout routine he had started that week to put on a little muscle. It was all part of his image makeover to prepare him to be the Mercury Broom Company's spokesperson, and for the upcoming calendar photo shoot. It was a topic other than Quidditch, but the way Ron droned on about “reps,” “crunches,” and “squats” was tiresome.

Harry patted Hermione's hand in sympathy. “I know things seem bad, but once you and Ron get some things ironed out in counseling, I'm sure it'll be better,” the wizard assured her.

Hermione could not help but glance at Ginny to measure her reaction. She didn't know what to expect from the redheaded witch. Sympathy? Empathy? Understanding?

“You have your anniversary coming up,” Harry mentioned brightly. “A little dinner, dancing, and romance should help some, too.”

“Oh, that reminds me.” Hermione turned to Ginny. “Can you take me dress shopping? I need something really nice to wear for my anniversary.”

“Sure,” Ginny replied. “How about this Saturday?”

“As long as it's before Ron's game, which starts at one.”

“Come over right after breakfast. I know just the place!” Ginny said with excitement. “And maybe the following weekend we can go to the spa again, and get you ready the weekend before your anniversary. My treat again.”

Hermione hesitated, but then agreed. She could do with another full body massage and day of pampering. It had been a very stressful month for her, but she could not allow Harry and Ginny to pay for her again. “Ron will be playing in Sweden that Saturday, so that works out perfectly! But on one condition: I pay for myself,” Hermione insisted.

“Fair enough.” Ginny finished the last bite of her toast and rose from the table. “I must get going now,” she announced and walked over to Harry. “Sorry I can't stay and chat, but I have a few errands to run before the St. Mungo's charity committee meets this morning at nine.” Leaning over, she gave Harry a light kiss on the lips. “Will I see you for lunch today, Hermione?”

“Sure. What time?”

“How about noon at that little restaurant we went to in Wiltshire a few weeks ago?”

“All right.”

Hermione watched Ginny leave the kitchen with a bright smile on her face.

Once Hermione had heard Ginny leave by Floo, she looked up from her breakfast to regard her friend. “Harry?”

“Hmm,” he replied, while looking over the Daily Prophet.

“You and Ginny seem quite a bit chummier this morning. How are things going between you two? Better by the look of it,” she remarked.

Harry folded up his paper and set it down. There was a look of hesitation on his face before he answered, “Ginny and I have been doing a lot of talking lately. And while I couldn't say that things are perfect between us, we have certainly cleared up a lot of misunderstandings that our relationship was built upon. So, now that there is no longer this constant level of tension between us, it's been a lot easier for both of us.”

Hermione wondered just how much Ginny had disclosed to Harry. She doubted Ginny would ever mention Malfoy to Harry. She was aware of Molly's false assumptions regarding Tom Riddle and what she thought he did to Ginny, but Hermione wondered what else they may have talked about to bring back an air of friendly companionship between them once more. She also wondered if she and Ron would ever get back to that level of civility again.

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

Severus double-checked the list in front of him. He wanted to make sure there was nothing he had forgotten before sending Marf off to the market today. It was only Wednesday, and Hermione would not be coming until Thursday night, but Severus could not stop the anticipation building inside of him.

It seemed his life now revolved around Monday and Thursday nights. He eagerly looked forward to those evenings with Hermione; and while Hermione was there, it seemed that life was tolerable for a short while. Once Hermione was gone and the night over, Severus counted the days, sometimes the hours, until she would return. Had Severus scrutinized his behavior, he would have been disgusted with himself. So to prevent a bout of self-loathing over his foolishness, he put it out of his mind; he attempted concentrating on his work, while all the while his mind was preoccupied with thoughts of Hermione.

He had barely touched his breakfast, as he had been lost in thought that morning, wondering what would happen with Hermione tomorrow night. Realizing the time, Severus took one last sip of tea before heading out. Severus was so preoccupied, he almost left his flat without his cloak.

'What is it with me today?' he scolded himself, as he put his cloak on, fastening the clasp at his neck.

'Could it be that you can actually see an end to your semi-imprisonment, what with Hermione coming around? That you'll actually get those Polyjuice ingredients and be free?'

“That must be it,” he told himself aloud.

'Or could it be that you are falling in love with Hermione?'

The thought make him freeze in his tracks.

Severus had given himself, through the mental image of Albus, permission to fall in love. But to actually acknowledge that maybe he really was doing so seemed preposterous. He had never been in love before. How could he know this was the real thing and not some bizarre flashback to adolescence, mooning over some witch like some hormone-addled teenager whose brain resided solely between his legs?

“How could I be in love with her? She doesn't even know if she likes me,” Severus berated himself, disgusted with the idea that he might be suffering from unrequited love.

'She likes you, of course; it is just that she needs to accept the fact that she does, just like you need to accept the fact that you love her.'

Normally, this was the sort of conversation Severus would be having with the ghostly images of Albus and Minerva, not with himself inside of his own head. He had been worrying about his persona of Calleo and how that part of him would survive. Perhaps it was some way for this newly uncovered part to assert itself. Or it could be a trick by his mental version of Albus. It was getting late, and Severus did not want to go into the whole self-psychological analysis of love, denial, Albus and Calleo, all of them colliding in his mind.

Just as Severus was descending the stairs from his floor, Draco's door opened and two figures emerged. Severus recognized Draco's companion.

“Ginny, what brings you here this early?” Severus asked.

Ginny spun around to face the cloaked man on the stairs. “Just a brief morning visit, Severus.”

Severus thought about making a remark that that was an interesting euphemism for a quick shag, but held his tongue. It would only provoke Draco, so that the blond wizard would start making some rather pointed comments himself about Hermione's tenuous relationship with Severus. And Severus was in no mood to deal with those sorts of comments where Hermione was concerned.

“Will you be able to join Draco and me for Saturday dinner sometime soon?” the older wizard asked.

“Not this Saturday, but the following one. I've arranged to go to the spa that Saturday, so I'll be able to join you afterwards for dinner.” Ginny cast a smirking glance at Draco, knowing that they would have another lovers’ encounter that day in the secret grotto. Turning back to face Severus, she not-too-casually mentioned, “Hermione will be joining me that day at the spa, as well.”

“And what relevance does that bit of information have to me?” Severus replied rhetorically, putting on his mask of indifference.

“Nothing. Since we know how valuable Hermione is to our cause, I thought I'd just mention it. Nothing more,” Ginny said.

The witch turned and gave Draco a goodbye kiss before sweeping down the stairs and out of the building. Draco leaned over the railing to watch his lover leave the building, his gaze never leaving her form until she was gone from his sight.

The two wizards said nothing. They both walked in companionable silence down the stairs and into the morning air. The morning had started out muggy and too warm for cloaks, but Severus and Draco kept theirs on in order to keep straying eyes from noticing them as they traversed the narrow streets and alleys. If one wanted to keep from getting hit with an unwanted Confundus Charm or a temporary blinding curse, it was best not to scrutinize too carefully a fully-cloaked witch or wizard, no matter how hot it was.

Once the pair turned down the alley named Dorian Loop, Draco spoke.

“So, I take it from your sarcastic reply to Ginny that you still have not revealed yourself to Hermione.”

“If you are wondering if she knows, yes, she does,” Severus replied.

Draco almost stumbled over his own feet. “What? You never told me. When did this happen? Monday night? What did she say? Will she help us?!?” Draco asked, his voice rising in pitch to match his anxiousness.

Severus kept walking as he calmly said, “I never said that I revealed myself to her, only that she has figured out that it is me behind the mask.”

“So you took your mask off, right?”

Severus didn't answer, he just keep walking.

“Severus? Just what is going on?” Draco demanded to know.

“Patience.”

“PATIENCE?!?” Draco's voice echoed down the alley.

“A little louder. I don't think the rest of Diagon Alley has heard you,” Severus quietly rebuked the younger wizard.

As they approached the building located at the end of the alley, a stubby house-elf opened the doors that lead into a sumptuous lobby. The two wizards walked into the building, past the house-elf receptionist who was busy scribbling away on a piece of parchment, and straight to the lift.

Once the lift started moving, Draco dropped his hood and confronted Severus. “All right. Nobody else can overhear us now. What do you mean she knows it's you, yet you have not revealed yourself? What sort of nonsense is this? More delays?” Draco asked tersely.

Severus kept his hood up, preferring to keep up his implacable facade of cool disdain. “Hermione needs time to adjust to the knowledge that it is me. She has already agreed to come to dinner as usual Thursday night. Once I feel confident that she will stay and help us, then I shall remove my mask. Until then, she would prefer to keep up the pretense of this little charade.”

The lift lurched to a halt at their floor.

Just as Severus was going to reach out and push aside the gate, Draco placed his arm in front of Severus, his hand placed on the wall next to the older wizard, blocking him from exiting the lift. “You mean you'll keep your mask on until you are done with this little charade.”

Severus did not bother to hide his harsh glare as he eyed the arm blocking him. He knew just how to break an arm in two with just the use of his hands and one knee. A clean snap, and Draco would not be able to wield his wand until he made the trip to St. Mungo's to have it healed.

“I would think that you, of all people, would understand the need for subtlety in this rather delicate situation,” Severus hissed, not bothering to hide his growing anger at being questioned about his tactics.

“I understand, all right,” Draco retorted with equal enmity. “Each day that we sit here in England is another day that one of us could be discovered. Then it's goodbye freedom and hello Azkaban. But I suppose if you want to wait until you can bed your annoying little Gryffindor, that's your call.”

Severus grabbed Draco by the wrist and twisted him around quicker than the blond wizard could have anticipated. Draco was pinned up against the wall with his arm being painfully wrenched behind his back. Leaning close to Draco's ear so as to make his point clear, Severus snarled, “I would think that someone who is bedding an Auror's wife would be the last person to talk about taking risks and being sent off to Azkaban.”

With his cheek pressed against the wall of the lift, Draco said with defiance, “I love Ginny. I'd die without her; I would die for her. What's your excuse?”

Severus was so taken aback by Draco's remark, he let go.

Draco twisted himself free as Severus' grip slackened. The younger wizard stepped out of the lift and faced Severus, who still stood in there. “If you love her, that would be one thing. But if you don't, end this game and get the damn ingredients.”

Severus continued to stand in the lift. When the lift started to descend, he didn't bother to try and stop it, instead allowing the lift to descend and ascend once more before going to his office. He needed that time alone just to collect himself and put aside all thoughts of Hermione. If he bothered to analyze how much Draco's comment had unsettled him, he would have realized that he loved Hermione; then he would not have gotten any work done that day.

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

A/N: A big round of thanks to Mollie Smith and Gill, who gave me professional feedback for the marriage counseling session part of this chapter. Their invaluable feedback help me keep the session somewhat realistic.
For Humour of Humor, I am using the British spelling of “humour” for the bodily fluid.
And please be sure to spare a little bit of your review for my wonderful betas who help me in so many ways (listed in alphabetical order this time): GinnyW, Horserider, and JuneW.
An extra round of applause to okonchristy (cocoachristy) for being my sounding board this chapter, and GinnyW for clarifying a few things during the counseling session and coming up with the "Peanuts" inspired chapter title.

B/N: Awww...thanks, bud! I love how you give us all these little goodies so we can see what is going on... good research to help develop your visualizations! ~Horserider
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And They Didn\'t Live Happily Ever After