Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

In Search of a Wand	By : devsgma Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 4860 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Harry Potter Universe, nor am I making any money from my efforts.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
AN: In case I missed saying it before, thank you so very much, Lariope, for all your hard work.

“I don’t understand why you won’t consider staying here,” Harry said. “You’d only have to pay for your share of food. I wouldn’t charge you rent, Hermione. It’s not like I have a mortgage to worry about or anything, and there’s lots of room.”

“Doesn’t Ron still live here?” she asked worriedly. Harry’d invited her for lunch, and after they’d eaten, the paper she’d purchased to look at rental listings had been spread out. Hermione had only returned to England the previous day, and had once again checked into the little B&B she’d stayed at before. She had planned on starting to look for an appropriate flat the following day, a Sunday.

“Well, yes and no,” Harry replied.

“Exactly what does that mean?”

“Mostly he stays in the apartment over the store, so when he works there he doesn’t have far to go,” he explained. “George moved in with Angelina, so there’s no problem there. He shows up for dinner here maybe once or twice a week. His mum insists he go to The Burrow on Sundays.”

It wasn’t going to be easy, and Hermione felt a guilty twinge when she realized she hadn’t talked it over with Snape yet, but it was time to start letting her friends know about Andrew.

“Harry,” she started softly while pulling another shrunken album out of her pocket and setting it on the kitchen table between them, “it’s not that I don’t want to. I have a son, so I don’t think it would be a good idea.”

“Wha… Huh?”

Hermione enlarged the album and pushed it in Harry’s direction. “His name is Andrew Matthew Granger, and he’s a little over a year old.”

Harry’s face blanched as his hand covered the top of the album. “But that means… When we were living in the tent, that you…”

“I was pregnant, yes,” Hermione advised with a small smile. “It’s nice to know for sure you can do simple math, Harry.”

“It’s not funny, Hermione. Have you told Ron?” he asked as he flipped open the cover and saw the first picture of Andrew in Hermione’s arms.

“Andrew isn’t Ron’s, Harry.”

“Oh, fucking hell,” Harry whispered as he continued to flip the pages. “He has black hair, like mine.”

“You and I both know you’re not the father, Harry.”

He looked up, and Hermione saw he was really worried. “You don’t understand, Hermione. It doesn’t matter that I’m not his father. Ron will never believe that I’m not. I mean, who else were you around then? No one. Just me.”

Harry then proceeded to tell Hermione exactly what had occurred when they’d opened the locket – the figures that had sprung into being and what they’d said to Ron before he’d found the strength to finally destroy the Horcrux.

“Snape is Andrew’s father, Harry,” Hermione said bluntly. She was tired of Harry always being concerned how Ron would take things. How Ron would feel about something. How Ron would see him. “I would appreciate your keeping it quiet for the time being as I haven’t talked to him about it becoming common knowledge yet.”

“Snape?” Harry asked in disbelief and then frowned. “When in the hell did you and he… There was nothing going on at school was there? I’ll kill the bastard after all!” he declared angrily.

Once again, Hermione gave the sanitized version of how and where they’d met and further explained that Snape had been ignorant of Andrew’s very existence until a short time ago. Suddenly, she could see herself repeating the same story, over and over to each of her friends. “I take it back. Tell anyone and everyone you like. If Snape doesn’t like it, tough.”

“Damn, Hermione. When you do something ‘outside the box’ you really do it, don’t you?” Harry said with a slight smile. “How did Snape take being told he was a father?”

Hermione was trying to find a way to phrase what she’d done when another voice spoke up.

“Kreacher is thinking he would be pleased to clean the old nursery and help care for the young master,” Kreacher advised solemnly in his bull-frog like voice as he put away the last of the dishes from their lunch.

“That’s very sweet, Kreacher, but–” Hermione started to say before Harry jumped in.

“That’s two votes for your staying here and only one against,” he said. “Come on, Hermione. Ron’s going to be upset, and positive I’m the father, no matter where you stay. It might as well be here.”

“I think you should be more worried about what Ginny’s going to think, myself,” Hermione advised with a smirk and watched the worried expression return to Harry’s face.

“I don’t suppose you’d visit her at Hogwarts and tell her in person would you?” Harry asked with a pleading expression on his face.

Hermione was tempted to tease him for a little while by arguing that Ginny was his fiancé, and he should do it himself, but couldn’t. “I’ve already made arrangements with McGonagall for a quick visit this afternoon,” she advised him. The visible relief reflected on his face made her add, “But you have to tell Ron if you want him informed.”

A slightly crafty look came over Harry’s face as he nodded, but he also said, “I’ll do that, if you promise you’ll quit talking nonsense about finding another place to live.” The crafty look disappeared as Harry squirmed lightly in his chair and admitted, “It gets lonely here, Hermione. Especially in the evenings.” He glanced over at the elf and added, “You’d be doing Kreacher a favor too, you know. He doesn’t complain, but I know I don’t make enough work for him.”

Ron was no longer an issue as far as Hermione was concerned, and staying at Harry’s home would solve a lot of problems for her. “Lets see how Ginny feels about it first, all right?”

“That would be a good idea, huh?” Harry said with a sheepish grin on his face. Looking at one particularly adorable picture of Andrew, Harry added, “You’re a lucky witch, Hermione. Ginny and I want at least four.” Closing the album and pushing it back in her direction, he grinned and said, “Show her the pictures, and she’ll be putty in your hands.”

Ginny hadn’t ended up being putty in Hermione’s hands; she’d been something much more valuable. She’d proved herself, yet again, to be a true friend with surprising insights. When she found out Hermione was moving back to England, Ginny immediately suggested she ask Harry if she could live at Grimmauld Place while cooing and ahhing over the pictures of Andrew.

She, surprisingly enough, hadn’t batted an eye when Hermione confessed who Andrew’s father was. There had been no exclamations of horror or disbelief on her part, but Hermione had been slightly disturbed by the sly, knowing smile Ginny had sent in her direction. What? had been the response Hermione had wanted to give that worldly smirk, but had again managed to hold her tongue. She wasn’t at all sure she wanted to know the reason for it. Now – or ever for that matter.

After leaving Hogwarts, Hermione had considered stopping by Snape’s apothecary, but was still somewhat hung-over from adjusting to the time difference. Instead, she returned to Grimmauld Place and breathed in the delightful scent of Kreacher’s wonderful French onion soup. She glanced toward the wall where the Black matriarch’s portrait hung and did a double take when her eyes encountered nothing but a hole.

“Whoa,” she exclaimed in soft surprise. “I never would have thought of doing that. Good job, Harry.”

Walking down into the kitchen, she saw Harry seated at the table. Hermione paused as she took in the odd sight of his head being tilted back and Kreacher putting a white cloth on his left side of his face.

“What did you do, poke yourself while you were cutting the portrait off the wall?” she asked, concerned that he’d really hurt himself.

“What? Oh, hi,” Harry said sheepishly while sitting up and holding the cloth himself.

Kreacher turned away and muttered, “Master Ronald is being difficult, Miss Hermione. Waking the elder Mistress and causing dissent in the house of Potter.”

“Ron is here?” Hermione asked, glancing around. I am not nervous.

“Was here,” Harry stated and dropped the cloth long enough for Hermione to see the reddened skin on his left cheekbone.

“Oh, Harry, I’m so sorry,” Hermione said softly. She moved over and pried the chilled cloth from his fingers. “Let me see,” she chided while gently touching it.

“Ow! That hurts!”

“I suppose it does,” she said sadly before giving the cold compress back to him. “What happened?”

“Exactly what I thought would happen,” Harry advised grumpily. “Ron accused me of being Andrew’s father.” He sent Hermione a sad smile and added, “At least there’s nothing holding you back from moving in here any longer. Apparently, he’ll never be caught dead in this house again, took what few things he had here, and made a grand, furious exit.” Harry stood, walked over to the counter, picked up a small sheet of parchment, and handed it to her. “I just got this from Ginny. She must have sent it right after you left.”

Taking it, Hermione’s eyes widened before she looked up at Harry. “She really wouldn’t do that to you, would she?”

Harry snickered before sitting back down. “I don’t feel like taking the chance, so it’s settled, right? You’re moving in.”

Now that all the problems had been sorted, Hermione should have been happy about being able to stay at Grimmauld. Shouldn’t she?

Why aren’t I?

Ron had done what Harry had told her he was worried about. He’d basically called Harry a liar and turned his back on him. Hermione wasn’t all that broken-hearted about his newest defection, but Harry – ever the optimist where his friends were concerned – probably was. What Hermione was feeling, however, was guilt.

I shouldn’t. It’s not my fault that Ron’s a spoiled brat who’s never grown up.

“If I do,” Hermione started out saying, holding up a hand when Harry opened his mouth. “If I do, you have to understand that it’ll only be temporary.”

“But, Hermione–”

“Harry, listen. Please,” she begged him. Finding the way to express the need inside her without hurting him wasn’t easy. She glanced down at her hands before meeting his steady gaze. “I want my own home. I want a place where I can decide how to decorate or not if I don’t want to. I want to be able to put down roots and make a real home for Andrew. When you and Ginny get married you’ll need that nursery upstairs for those four children you want. I know it won’t be right away, but… Am I making a mess of this? Do you understand?”

Using his free hand, Harry reached across and squeezed her shoulder. “You’re making perfect sense, Hermione.”

“Oh, thank Merlin,” she said in relief. “I’m so sorry Ron’s being an idiot, Harry. He’ll come around in time. He always does.”

It was Harry’s turn to sigh, and his eyes dropped, as did his hand. “I don’t know that I care any longer, Hermione. I’ve been the best friend to him that I possibly could, from that first day on the train, and this is the third time he’s basically told me I’m not worth knowing. What does it take for one bloke to know another?” He asked, raising pain-filled eyes to hers. “He’s going to be my brother-in-law one day, but I don’t think he’ll ever really be my friend. I’m tired of… having to prove myself to him.”

“Oh, my,” Hermione said sadly. “I’m so, so sorry, Harry.”

Harry shrugged his shoulders and smiled in a resigned way. “In a way, it’s a relief. I can live my own life without worrying that I’ll overshadow him. I don’t have to hold back in Auror classes any longer so I won’t leave him behind.”

“You’ve been doing that? Harry, that’s just plain stupid!” Hermione exclaimed without thinking. She clapped her hand over her mouth for a moment wondering what took over her tongue sometimes. She sent a half-arsed smile in his direction and said, “Sorry?”

Harry grinned and nodded his head. “It was, wasn’t it?”

“Master Harry and Miss Hermione need to prepare for dinner, please,” Kreacher said as he ladled the delicious smelling soup into a tureen. “Kreacher is thinking it will be a shame to toss such lovely soup away over the likes of Mister Ronald.”

A real smile bloomed on Harry’s face before he hastily put the charmed cloth back on the red cheek. “That smarts! He’s right, Hermione. Ron may be Ron, and an idiot, but it doesn’t have to ruin everything. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Hermione stated softly before she stood and kissed Harry on the forehead. “Now, go wash those filthy mitts of yours before Kreacher tosses the soup.”

********

Instead of being used to hunt for a flat, Sunday had been spent helping Kreacher ready the rooms she and Andrew were going to use. It hadn’t taken very long, and Hermione was amazed at what a difference there was in the house. Apparently, while they’d been living in the tent, Kreacher had finished cleaning it from top to bottom in preparation for his Master’s return.

He had also successfully defended “the house of Potter” from the few Death Eaters that had managed to gain entry when Hermione’d accidentally brought one back to the stoop when they’d fled from the Ministry. She’d found a strange cloak in one of the bedroom wardrobes and asked Kreacher whose it was. “That is belonging to one of the dark wizards who wished to lay in wait for my Master. It will be returned.”

She’d winced when Kreacher told her they’d tried to gain information from him on their whereabouts, afraid that they’d hurt him, but was slightly shocked when he basically smirked in her direction. “Kreacher knows where they be, Miss Hermione, and the cloak will join its owner. Kreacher led them to the places the elder Mistress had prepared for the enemies of the house of Black.”

And doesn’t that sound rather ominous.

“Could… Andrew find these places?” Hermione asked worriedly as Kreacher started to leave the room with the cloak.

“Is possible if taken there,” Kreacher advised and then added, “but not possible because Kreacher is the only one knowing where they be and would only lead enemies of the house of Potter there.”

“But he’s a child, Kreacher, and children go where they’re not supposed to. Could he find them accidentally while exploring in the house?” she asked as she followed him out of the room.

Kreacher turned and shook his large head. “The elder Mistress is not wanting the bones of her enemies to lie in her home, Miss Hermione. Is improper.”

“Thank you, Kreacher.” I think.

The elf turned back toward the stairs and made his way down, the cloak flopping along behind. She was tempted to ask how many “bones” lay in these places, but wisely decided to inform Harry of what she’d learned instead.

It wouldn’t do at all for Kreacher to decide that Ron was now an “enemy” of the house of Potter.

Leaving Harry to sort out Kreacher – and the places Mrs Black had “prepared” – Hermione spent the remainder of the day familiarizing herself with the neighborhood. It was something she’d never been able to do before and was delighted with the park directly across the street. It was close, fenced and nicely maintained. A number of people had their children out playing, bundled up against the cooling temperatures.

It will be quite lovely in the spring, Hermione decided before taking herself off to explore the shops in the area. At the end of the day, she was tired, but quite satisfied with her excursion.

Tomorrow, I’ll visit the apothecary, find out when I’m to report to work, go home and pack up, Hermione decided before going to sleep.

Monday morning dawned clear, very crisp and quite wonderful in Hermione’s eyes. Although she missed Andrew dreadfully, she knew she’d be seeing him in a day or two instead of a few weeks. After she skipped onto the stoop of number 12 Grimmauld Place – breath fogging up just a little – Hermione smiled, turned on her heel and Apparated to the alley beside The Leaky Cauldron. Slipping past the few customers inside the pub, Hermione noted a few of them appeared to be hung over, while others were busy filling their faces with breakfast.

The same lovely tone sounded when she opened the door to Snape’s apothecary, but the witch sitting behind the counter wasn’t Gertrude. She was younger, busy labeling bottles and only raised her head when Hermione approached. “May I help you, Miss?”

“Are you…” Hermione closed her eyes for a moment trying to remember the name Gertrude had mentioned the first time she’d visited this shop and failed. “I’m sorry. Gertrude told me your name, but it’s been a while since I was here. Would you tell Mister Snape that Hermione Granger would like a few minutes of his time, please?”

The other witch put down the bottle, tilted her head and gave Hermione a once over. “I could, but if you’re going to put him in another snit like the last time you were here, I don’t know that I want to. You’re much shorter than I thought you’d be,” she commented coolly with a smug smile before rising and looking down on Hermione. She turned to move through the door behind the counter. “Wait here. And the name is Ester. Ester Spellworthy.”

As the door closed behind Ester, Hermione stuck her tongue out at the door. It was a very childish action, but one that kept her from tossing a bottle at the woman’s head.

I am not short! She’s… just abnormally tall!

Rocking back and forth on her feet, her purse banging into her knees, Hermione gazed around the shop a little more than she’d done during her first visit. She vaguely remembered entering it with her parents during one of their shopping trips – when they’d all been a bit agog with the novelty of magic – but nothing struck her as being any different. It was the same boring row upon row of bottles or the single dose phials in their wooden stands.

She frowned slightly, wondering why the magical version of the Muggle drugstore had never expanded their side products. Whenever Hermione went to the local pharmacy for her mother, she always ended up buying something else because it snagged her fancy.

“To what do I owe the honor of your visit today, Hermione? I was expecting an owl advising me when you’d be arriving,” Snape stated from the doorway Esther had disappeared behind. He was wiping his hands on a soft looking cloth, and while he didn’t appear upset, he wasn’t exactly smiling.

“I had a few questions and thought, maybe, that you might show me around?”

Esther had slipped back onto Gertrude’s stool and was quite openly watching the exchange with a slight scowl on her face. Hermione didn’t know – and didn’t care – if Esther was privy to everything that had occurred before, but something about the other witch rubbed her the wrong way.

“A reasonable request and one that I am – fortunately – able to accommodate at the moment,” he advised before moving out of the doorway and gesturing with one hand for her to proceed him. “After you.”

The setup he had wasn’t anything extraordinary, but she followed along dutifully and made mental notes about where he kept the supplies as well as the stirrers and ladles. There was a large storage room where various sizes of cauldrons were kept on ancient looking wooden shelves, along with a cupboard that had a door that wouldn’t open when she tried.

“Precious ingredients?” she asked after trying the door of the cupboard once.

“Among other things,” he replied with a smirk. “Come now, Hermione. I’d expected to be bombarded with your questions by now. Are you suddenly as omnipotent as Dumbledore was, or has the unthinkable happened and you’ve run out?”

Instead of being upset over an old insult that kept resurfacing, Hermione chose to believe that he was teasing. It’s possible. What other way could a sarcastic bastard tease?

“No such luck,” she replied with a cheeky grin. “I’ve merely been biding my time, waiting for you to drop your guard.”

“Consider it dropped,” he replied easily while taking a seat on a stool and implying with a hand that she should feel free to sit on the other one near his workbenches.

Why couldn’t he have been this approachable at Hogwarts?

“I’d planned on sending you an owl asking when you wanted me to report to work, but it didn’t take long to find a place to live, so I thought I’d come in person and hope that you’d show me where I’ll be working,” Hermione advised while trying to make herself comfortable on the stool. It was too high; obviously, it had been designed for his much longer legs, so she compromised by hooking her feet over the rungs. “Most of the questions I might have had… you’ve answered by showing me around.”

“This is a red letter day, indeed,” Snape commented dryly. “Not only are you out of questions, you’ve managed to find a decent flat in London on short notice. You didn’t use a Confundus Charm on a previous occupant, now did you?”

Hermione’s mouth gaped open for all of two seconds. “No! Of course not!” she sputtered indignantly.

Snape sent her a smirk and said, “It’s been known to happen.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly as her head tilted. “You knew I hadn’t done that, so that was merely to ruffle my feathers, wasn’t it?”

Snape’s smirk grew larger. “I wasn’t aware you were an Animagi with an avian form, Hermione, so it’s unlikely that was my goal.”

It took Hermione a moment to translate that sentence, and she rolled her eyes. “I’m not, and it’s a figure of speech, which you know very well.”

“It’s hard not to use what one knows will work, Hermione,” Snape told her with a half-smile on his face.

“Try,” she said dryly and crossed her arms.

“I shall endeavor to remember your preferences,” Snape remarked before asking, “Where did you find lodgings so quickly?”

“Grimmauld Place. Harry offered, Ginny seconded and…” Hermione’s words trailed off as she watched Snape’s face freeze right in front of her. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

She was on the receiving end of one of “those” glares he’d been infamous for. The cold, nasty tones that followed fitted her memory exactly. “Do you intend to deny me total access to Andrew?”

“What? No!” Hermione stated in total bewilderment.

“So you say,” he said almost bitterly, before rising and walking around to the other side of the workbench. “Isn’t it odd, then, that you would choose to live under Potter’s roof?”

“Oh, for pity’s sake!” Hermione said as she jumped off the stool and glared at him across the bench. “There you go, jumping to conclusions when you haven’t heard all the facts!”

“What other facts?” he asked with a sneer.

“Number one: It’s not permanent. It’s only until I can find a place of my own. Number two: It’ll keep Andrew out of a crèche until I find someone trustworthy to tend him while I’m at work.” Hermione’s tone had started out angry. She paused and waited until Snape met her eyes. Her voice was calm and quite controlled when she added, “Number three: Harry would welcome you into his home. If you don’t believe me, I’ll ask him and let you see it in a Pensieve, shall I? He knows you’re Andrew’s father, and it doesn’t matter. He still offered.”

“Potter would tend him? What happened to his Auror training?” Snape asked in a neutral tone.

“He’s still in training,” Hermione replied. “Kreacher wants to watch him for me.”

“That insane elf?” Snape asked in astonishment.

“He’s not insane! Well, not really,” Hermione hedged, thinking of the places Kreacher’d mentioned just the day before. “Harry’s been kind to him, and he’s completely different now.”

“Perhaps I should see this elf for myself,” Snape sniffed and raised a brow in her direction.

“Is that a subtle, Slytherin way of asking yourself for dinner?” Hermione asked, risking a small smile.

“It is not,” Snape retorted dryly.

“Seven o’clock – and don’t be late!” Hermione admonished as she started walking toward the door.”

“I don’t close until nine,” he protested, following her for a short distance.

“Gertrude is quite capable of closing the shop on her own,” she shot back, “because, as she told me the first time I was here, you don’t ever consent to see the customers, now do you?”

“Gertrude needs to learn when to keep her mouth closed,” Snape replied with a slightly sour look on his face. “There was a time when all good employees would have been burned at the stake rather than betray their employers.”

Rolling her eyes as she opened the door into the display side of the shop, Hermione wondered how Kreacher, and more importantly Harry, would take the news they were having company for dinner.

I may end up getting myself kicked to the curb in record time!

There had been no kicking to the curb, but Harry had been totally gobsmacked when she told him about her impromptu dinner invitation as soon as he’d returned from training. Then, to his credit, the first thing that occurred to him were the spells Moody had put in place against Snape. It had been a very long time since she’d been bothered by either, and Hermione had completely forgotten about them. Between Harry and Kreacher, they were completely nullified.

“There wasn’t much left,” Harry remarked rather sadly when he joined Hermione in the kitchen. He looked around and frowned. “Do you suppose we should use the dining room instead of the kitchen? It might remind him too much of Order meetings.”

“No,” Hermione said while shaking her head. She arranged the napkins the way she liked them and hoped Kreacher wouldn’t object. “Unless you want him to think you’re playing master of all you survey.”

“Huh? Hell, no! I just… don’t want him uncomfortable is all,” Harry explained, running a hand through his hair. “This will be the first time I’ve seen him since he was in St. Mungo’s. Not that he was all that happy to see me there either, but…”

Hermione took pity on him. “You’re nervous, Harry. It’s understandable, and I’d be willing to bet my last Sickle that he’s just as nervous, so he’ll probably overcompensate and be the sarcastic bastard we both remember.”

“Snape? Nervous? Never!” Harry said firmly.

“Yes, and it’s Severus, remember?”

“It might be Severus to you, but he hasn’t exactly given me permission to use his given name, so I’ll be calling him Pro – Mister Snape until he indicates otherwise,” Harry said while lifting the lid on one of the steaming pots on the stove.

“Master Harry is risking curdling the lemon glaze for the bread pudding,” Kreacher warned while taking the lid from Harry and replacing it.

“Bread pudding?” Harry questioned while making a face. “I don’t like bread pudding, Kreacher.”

“Kreacher is making treacle tart for Master Harry and Miss Hermione. Bread pudding is for Mister Severus,” Kreacher explained and then opened the oven to show them a perfect offering. “Missus Molly made it, and Kreacher saw Mister Severus remove the last piece from the larder while Missus Molly is elsewhere.”

“I remember that!” Hermione exclaimed. “Ron went looking for it later, and I always wondered why Severus had that smug little smile on his face.”

Harry was looking at Hermione with a slightly amazed expression on his face.

“What?” she asked in exasperation. “I do remember that. Is that so hard to believe?”

“No, I believe you,” Harry said with a smile. “It’s… His name. You say it so effortlessly.”

“Practice makes perfect, Harry,” she advised, “and it would probably help if you asked him to call you Harry.”

“It’ll be a cold day – you-know-where – before he does that!” he said while leading the way into the lounge and tossing a few more logs on the fire.

“Oh, I don’t know. He calls me Hermione, even though he did tell it didn’t exactly roll pleasantly off the tongue.”

“You’re joking,” Harry stated.

“No, I’m not,” Hermione said with as much sincerity as she could. “And I told him Severus wasn’t exactly a picnic to say.”

“You… said that to Snape… and lived?”

“He’s not as bad as you remember, Harry.”

“Yeah, he is!”

“No, he’s not.”

“We could go round all day about this, Hermione. I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt, but if I die tonight, I expect you to help Ginny with my funeral,” Harry demanded while opening the cupboard that Sirius had always kept his spirits in. He picked up a bottle and squinted to read the label. “What should I offer him to drink?”

“Unless you’re planning a drunken evening, I would advise against that particular bottle, Mister Potter,” Snape stated from the doorway and watched while the bottle shattered on the floor. “Just as well. That was a particularly nasty blend.”

“Mister Snape is arrived,” Kreacher said belatedly.

“Thanks, Kreacher. We noticed,” Harry said before he pulled his wand and cleaned up the mess he’d made.

Kreacher ambled over to Harry and shook his finger at him. “Master Harry is not to be doing Kreacher’s work,” he grumbled before he turned and headed toward the kitchen. “Dinner is being ready.”

Raising a brow at Hermione, Severus asked, “And this is the elf you said was no longer insane?”

“I said mostly, if you recall,” Hermione reminded him as she started after the elf.

“No, you said he wasn’t really, and that he was completely different,” Snape said while walking beside her.

Harry watched amazed as they left the room.

“Hey, remember me? I’m the host,” he said to their backs. Tossing his hands in the air, he trudged along behind.

“You’re rather difficult to forget even at the best of times,” Snape remarked drolly, turning to look at him. “I’ve attempted it more times than I care to remember.”

“I told you so,” Harry said while meeting Hermione’s eyes.

“Remember what I told you,” she stated with her arms crossed.

“Before you two come to blows, perhaps you could relate this conversation to me so I’ll know how to play referee,” Snape stated snidely while glancing from one to the other. “I was under the impression I had been invited for dinner, not a free-for-all.”

“See!” Harry said while pointing a finger at Snape.

“Exactly!” Hermione said before throwing her hands wide. “I told Harry that you were probably just as nervous as he was about your coming to dinner tonight and that you’d be the sarcastic… professor we both remembered. Thank you for proving me right, by the way, but I also told him you weren’t as bad as he remembered.”

“I see,” Snape said to Hermione while his chin lifted and his body stiffened. “I’m to be the butt of the joke, as usual. I have seen the elf, so I’ll bid you goodnight.”

“No!”

Snape’s head whipped around in Harry’s direction. “No, Mister Potter? I don’t recall asking your permission,” he stated icily.

“I mean, no, you’re not the butt of any joke, Sir! I was… am very nervous, and Hermione was trying to help calm me down. Welcome to my home,” Harry said while holding out his hand. “Please, stay for dinner. Kreacher made bread pudding especially for you.”

Hermione held her breath and watched while Snape’s dark eyes studied the hand and the man it was attached to for a few moments before slowly extending his own.

“Your invitation, although gracious, is somewhat out of date,” Snape said after reclaiming his hand. “It appears Hermione hasn’t informed Kreacher what dessert I now favor.”

Harry looked at Hermione and then back at Snape. “I could ask him to whip up something else, if you like?” he asked hesitantly.

“Never mind, Harry,” Hermione said, and she could feel the blood rush to her face. She turned and headed down the steps to the kitchen calling over her shoulder, “Kreacher said dinner is ready now, and you know how he frets if we don’t sit down and eat right away.”

“It’s not necessary, Mister Potter,” Snape advised with a small smirk on his face as he moved to follow. “Bread pudding is more than adequate.”

“Sir?”

Snape stopped on the stairs and turned to look at his host. One of his eyebrows rose when Harry didn’t immediately say anything.

“Do you think it’s possible… Could you… call me Harry instead of Mister Potter?” he asked quietly.

Harry shifted slightly under the steady gaze of the other man. “Albus led me to understand that all things are possible… in time,” was the response he got as Snape continued on down the stairs.

********

“Mum?” Hermione hollered from her room on the second floor a week later.

“Yes, dear?”

“If I shrink all the Mug… books I don’t want to take and pack them up in a carton, would it be all right if I put them in the attic?”

“What? I can’t hear you,” her mother said while climbing the stairs. When she reached the door of Hermione’s room her eyes widened. “You can’t possibly want to take all those books. Why don’t you do that shrinking thing and store them in the attic for now?”

Hermione laughed before giving her mother a smile. “Thanks, Mum. I think I’ll do just that.”

Monica sat down on Hermione’s bed, picked up a blouse and started folding it. “Your father and I came to a decision while you were gone this last time.”

“Oh, what’s that?” Hermione asked while shrinking the mountain of books and levitating them into a carton.

“When we visit, over the holidays, we’re going to try and find a house. Would you mind terribly if we moved back?” her mother asked with a worried look on her face.

“Mind? Why would I mind?” Hermione asked in astonishment. “I think it would be wonderful, but what about your life here?”

Her mother smiled sadly and put one hand out to touch her daughter’s hair. “It wouldn’t be much of a life without you and Andrew. It’s nice here, don’t misunderstand, but… It’s not home. We’re at the point where we’re missing our old friends, having a reason other than golf to get out of bed in the mornings, and – of all things – we miss being the Grangers. Silly isn’t it?”

“Not at all, Mum,” Hermione said while sitting down on the bed beside her mother. “It’s not silly at all.”

Later that same week, Hermione stood in the empty room that had been her bedroom and smiled. She and Andrew, who was currently riding on her hip, were leaving in a few minutes via Portkey to start their life in England. She still didn’t know what vocation she would eventually be seeking an apprenticeship in, but it would happen. For the first time in a very long while, Hermione was as eager for the next step as she’d been the day she’d first seen Hogwarts. She gave her son a quick kiss, closed the door behind her and said, “As your daddy would say, ‘All things are possible… in time.’”

The End
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In Search of a Wand