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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.

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“And They Didn't Live Happily Ever After”

Chapter Fifty-Nine: “Dolor Hic Tibi Proderit Olim” (Someday this pain will be useful to you)

Disclaimer:
There once was a writer named J.K. Rowling. She came up with the concept of Harry Potter and wrote a bunch of books from which we borrow her characters, concepts, and ideas. Then came along a scary fanfic writer named Betz who disclaimed ownership of any of the HP universe. After disclaiming, Betz slunk back into her writing hole to write more fanfic, while Rowling turned a forgiving blind eye. And the scary fanfic author didn't make a single dime from this fanfic, though she spent good money on fan art commissions to go along with it. The End.

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While his Wednesday night client, Molly Weasley, rambled on, Severus found his mind drifting back to his weekend with Hermione.

There was the tender hand reaching to seek him out in the dark of night, followed by Hermione snuggling up alongside of him once more, closing the space between them. He remembered the strange sensation of waking up next to a warm body, an experience long forgotten but welcomed. The quiet rustle of the Sunday Daily Prophet in the kitchen as they both read in silence while eating a simple breakfast Severus had prepared, then a lazy morning tussle in the bed before Hermione left to meet Ginny for some dress shopping, and the strangeness of parting by the light of day instead of saying their farewells in the dark of night.

“Eduardo?”

“Qué?” Severus shook his head, acknowledging that his mind was elsewhere, and he was rousing himself from his reverie. “A thousand pardons, Señora. Your description reminded me of my family back home in España. I was lost in remembrance,” he lied convincingly, since Molly did drone on about domestic issues quite a lot.

“Oh, I am so sorry you miss your family back in Spain,” Molly assumed with sympathy. “Maybe you should visit them. Nothing that a good visit with family doesn't fix.”

The masked wizard was unsure if the senior Mrs. Weasley had no idea that Miss Brown only employed former Death Eaters in her gigolo enterprise or if she was unaware of the travel restrictions of the Death Eater Decree. Either way, Severus just hummed in agreement with her and dropped the subject.

As the evening plodded along, Severus did his best to concentrate on the conversation, lest he slip and speak without his accent, which he nearly did before.

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

Reinvigorated, Severus was back to researching an edible body paint, much to his employer's delight. The weekend together with Hermione, in addition to their bi-weekly meetings of research and sex, had metaphorically and literally put the pink back in Severus' cheeks.

Draco had given his post-test analysis of the libido enhancing potions, as well as Ginny's own notes, remarking that the potion enhanced feelings that already existed and seemed to remove a lot of inhibition regarding declaration of emotions and physical expression of desire. Indeed, Severus could attest to that, having had Hermione come on to him rather unabashedly in a manner that was not like her usual slightly reserved self. Though even before the development of the potion, Severus was doing a fine job of breaking down those reservations himself.

Hermione and he had agreed that nothing said during their experiments should be taken seriously, but the feedback from Draco confirmed his fears that the things he had exclaimed to Hermione were more than just some potion-induced hysteria. He had not declared his love to Hermione, but he had been rather effusive in his praise of aspects of her he found alluring, and not just of the physical kind, during his short periods under the influence of the elixir.

Miss Brown had given her own feedback, giving a potent dose to some unknown male, exclaiming that it was the most mind-blowing love-making she had experienced. She wanted Severus to put all his efforts into finishing finding the right dosage of the Caprese mother of pearl so he could begin testing length of effectiveness without taking an antidote and its shelf-life potency, when he wasn't working on the edible body paint.

This aspect was somewhat daunting to Severus. Miss Brown wanted him to test what the effects would be if he took the libido- and the male-enhancing potions together. Could a wizard handle such a combination of both, and would there be any side effects? She also wanted to have him and Hermione both take the libido-enhancing potion to see what happens when both partners take a full dose. The final test would be for Severus to take the male-enhancing potion and, concurrently, he and Hermione would both take the libido-enhancing potion.

So far, he and Hermione had taken the antidote rather quickly after ingesting the test potion in turns. He began to personally understand why so many Potions masters would up marrying their female apprentices, and why married Potions masters rarely took female apprentices on, which explained the dearth of females in his profession – love potions were par for the course to master during an apprenticeship. He knew this beforehand, but only in abstract. It was just the experience of experimentation that opened his eyes to more aspects of the master/apprentice relationship.

Severus didn't worry about Dobmeir making any amorous moves on Hermione after Severus left, knowing that the age difference would be too great and that the aged master had great-grandchildren who were about Hermione's age. Besides, Dobmeir was still very much in love with his recently deceased wife and would probably be mourning her for the next ten years.

Before Severus would have to face such a potent combination of amorous theriacs, he and Hermione would still have to find the right dosage of the enigmatic Italian ingredient.

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

Every morning Hermione did her best to rouse herself early and get to work before Trevor, presuming that there would eventually be a shipment of fluxweed picked during a full moon. There was a box of fluxweed picked during a new moon that arrived the week before, so that gave her hope that one would be arriving the next week, if there had been a harvest on September 10th. Fluxweed picked during a new moon was in far less demand than picked during a full moon, so that led to her assumption that at least a couple boxes would be coming in soon.

Hunched over her bench, instinctively clutching a hot cup of tea in between sips, the weary Mrs. Weasley rubbed the crust away from the corners of her eyes. Hermione had fled the flat when she heard Ron waking up and wanted to get out of there as fast as possible, trying to ignore her husband as best as she could. She had left her still steeping cup of tea on the kitchen counter back at her flat untouched and was in need of her ritual caffeine fix.

On Tuesday, Hermione and Ron both informed James that they would no longer be seeing him for marriage counseling. After the nasty blow-ups over the succeeding weeks, it seemed like a natural progression. Both had given up on the marriage but were going through the motions, with Ron occasionally trying to claim some of his husbandly rights in the bedroom, which she mostly parried with claims of headaches, the Old Crone, or some gynecological malady of inconvenience she still needed to treat. Hermione, exhausted from her current schedule of work plus her moonlighting as a young Potions apprentice-cum-Severus' lover, was beginning to wear out. If it was just sex, it was nothing she couldn't handle, but it was the potion-testing sessions that were exhausting on the body, followed by the equally taxing antidote reaction. Such drastic changes in the emotional and physical state were tiring, and to do so multiple times in one evening was an even greater stress on her.

She could have rested up on the two days she wasn't seeing Severus, but she was either at work or hiding out at Flourish and Blotts, reading to kill time until closing, before going home when she was certain that Ron was asleep in bed and wouldn't jump her bones yet again. Then there were the occasional times where Hermione just continued to pretend to be asleep while Ron did his business. If anything, their relationship had devolved into a situation of roommates with fringe benefits who avoided each other, though the “benefits” seemed to be strictly for Ron's sake.

It was times like this that Hermione wondered if Invigoration Draughts were as addictive to witches and wizards as conventional drug-based stimulants were to Muggles. She was unaware of such abuse cases in her world, but then again, the wizarding community was prone to dismiss a lot of problems that Muggles were far more likely admit.

It was Friday and Hermione was secretly hoping to not be invited to lunch with Harry, per their recent ritual. If anything, a nap on the couch in her office was more welcomed than a hot meal in her stomach. She had been stocking the cupboard at home to the gills with all sorts of healthy foods, as Ron requested, so there was plenty for her to eat. She made sure to bring some of that fresh fruit to keep on her desk for a quick snack, in addition to her packing a daily sandwich. Still, if Harry showed up, she would go happily, trying to make no show of a change in her routine that might signal something was amiss. There was no reason to give Harry any more cause into poking into her life, given her current extracurricular activities. Thankfully, he never came around that day.

As the day drew to a close, Hermione dreaded the coming weekend. She and her husband agreed that she would continue to attend Quidditch matches when played within the British Isles to give no rise to suspicion within their families, the team, or the gossip magazines. Ron was a rising star; photographs of the star Chudley Cannons Keeper at the recent Italian broom convention were already circulating, touting him as some international hopping sports star. Fortunately, the gossip magazines had left her alone, since touting the wife seemed to put the kibosh on the sex appeal of a player and hence magazine sales from young adoring female fans. Hermione didn't mind the idea of gaggles of young witches lusting after her husband since she didn't. She ignored the thought of young wizards lusting after Ron, and him taking them up on their offers.

Hermione dragged her arse home, having stayed late again at work again, to find Ron at home, dressed and waiting for her.

“Um, hi.” Ron shuffled his feet a bit and grimaced at the discomfort of it all.

Blinking vacantly, Hermione had to rouse herself from the slight shock of running into her husband before she finally replied. “Hello.”

They stared at each other for a moment before Hermione marched in, closing the door and heading off to the bathroom to disrobe and wash the day's stench from her person.

“Um, I was thinking maybe we could go to dinner tonight,” Ron called out from the bedroom. “That way you don't have to cook.”

Standing under the pounding stream of hot water as it washed over her aching shoulders and back, Mrs. Weasley contemplated just how disastrous this dinner out might be compared with the last few times – the dinner party, their anniversary dinner, and that time with the over-priced rubbery chicken. Still, Ron wasn't much of a cook and Hermione actually welcomed the idea of not having to step into the kitchen. Besides, it wasn’t like their meals at home were that much more pleasant, as it usually involved silence and awkwardness when they would occasionally eat together. Still, the risk was that this would be in a public setting and therefore something a snooping photographer could catch should they have a blow-up.

“Sure, I'd love to,” Hermione called out over the sounds of the water running. It would mean getting dressed instead of throwing on a frumpy yet oh-so-much-more comfortable nightshirt and robe, but it was a sacrifice she was willing to make that night to avoid cooking.

The restaurant was a better class than they usually frequented, on the rare occasion they did go out, barring the Grand Royal Supper Club. Instead of the usual dingy dust-covered iron sconces dripping old wax, and smoke-darkened oil lamps, the place was lit with cream-coloured candles, some back-lit with mirrors to amplify the light that was diffused by frosted glass sconces. It almost looked Muggle in influence, if it weren't for the complete lack of electricity. The linens were crisp and the décor almost Zen-like in its minimalism. Hermione was glad she at least pulled out something decent to wear or she would have felt under-dressed for the occasion.

As they walked to their table, Hermione noticed a few pairs of eyes flash in recognition of her husband, giving him fleeting smiles before focusing their attention back on their own dining companions. It did not escape Hermione's attention that they were seated at a choice table partially screened from the other diners, not in some forgotten corner near the kitchen door.

Husband and wife avoided conversation for a little while longer while glancing at their menus. Once food was ordered and menus collected, there was no more pretense to avoid talking to one another.

Hermione broke the ice to get the talk flowing, since she could see the dismay in Ron's knit brow as he tried to think of something to say. “How are your workouts coming along?” There was little enthusiasm in her question, and it was said more to be polite than out of any real interest in the topic.

“Fine. I've progressed faster than anticipated, so they'll be cutting back on my muscle-gaining potions and we'll start working on sculpting fat away next.” Ron gave a half-shrug as if trying to converse with his wife was as equally exhausting as Hermione found the act herself.

'Thank God,' she internally sighed, hoping that the glassware and dishes would no longer be the victims of Ron's periodic outbursts.

“That's good news, Ron.”

He nodded, a look of disquiet stealing over his face causing his brow to temporarily knit. Neither had anything else to say in response to the other.

There was a lengthy pause before she plodded on. “And any update on your contract negotiation? What does your agent say?”

“Oh!” Ron's face changed quickly from troubled to relieved. “That's going really well. The agent that Viktor recommended is in final negotiations with the Cannons and Bascom Nettleton. We were going to sign in early November when the season ends after the last game, November 1^st, but with the big Ministry masked ball on Halloween, we'll be doing it in late October so we can make the announcement during the event when all the press is already there.”

“I saw a photo of you and Bascom in Italy in one of the rags floating around the Ministry staff room while I was making tea. How was that trip?” she prodded him, hoping to avoid talking and happy to let Ron ramble on.

“Rome is just as pigeon-infested as ever, the pasta still as delicious, and the people just as 'friendly' as well,” he quipped. He was making reference to the way that the complete strangers they encountered during their honeymoon, all local Italians, were rather affectionate in greetings and farewells, compared to Ron’s and Hermione's more subdued British dispositions.

Ron's wife laughed in remembrance of seemingly better times.

Hermione wanted to ask about the hotel he stayed at, but was interrupted when the food arrived. Before the waiter excused himself, she asked him, “What is this on my food?”

“It is a cucumber and basil foam on top of your leek and salmon ravioli,” the young wizard replied with the same attitude one would use to placate a small child in order to prevent an impending temper tantrum.

Hermione thought it looked an awful lot like the frog spawn she had tested earlier in the day, but held her tongue. She had decided to scrape it to the side instead of protesting about the incorporation of the Muggle fad of molecular gastronomy, which she had previously heard about from her mother.

Considering how the restaurant looked more at home in Muggle London than wizarding London, it shouldn't have surprised Hermione that some of the culinary fads might have been incorporated into the menu as well.

Ron was dining on some overly dressed plate of offal. The kidneys and heart of some unknown animal were sliced and presented with a variety of sauces used more for decoration than to flavor, topped with a dollop of caviar. Hermione thought it was a bit pretentious when it would probably taste a whole lot better served up in a pie with a good stock gravy.

Both of them began to relax as they dined. It was the most pleasant time spent in each other’s company in a long time.

As they neared finishing up with their entrées, Ron tried to keep his voice in the same light tone, but failed when he asked, “So you mentioned you might be starting a Potions apprenticeship sometime in the future. Any update on when that might happen?”

Hermione nearly dropped her fork, but kept her grip on it before gathering her wits. After taking a sip of wine, she stared at her plate when she answered, “There are some… contingencies that have to be resolved before that can progress any further.”

She tried to make it sound final, hoping Ron would pursue another topic, but he pressed on. “What sort of contingencies? What has to happen?”

Mrs. Weasley had to craft her wording very carefully so that she would belie nothing she didn't intend to.

“There are some legal matters to resolve and other things I am not privy to,” she lied. The legal matters had been long settled by Lavender's lawyers and, on everything else, she was in the know.

“Well, this current job is just wearing you out. You're there late nearly every night, plus I don't know how you have the energy to go out dancing on Thursday nights.”

Hermione choked on her last bite of ravioli and almost spilled water down her front trying to wash it down.

Ron continued, “I was just wondering how soon you'd be moving out of this job into your position. You did mention that you'd have a chance to earn money while doing your apprenticeship.”

Hermione realized she hadn't worked out with Lavender how much her wages would be. She knew it wasn't going to be much, but certainly hopefully at least as much as what she was earning working at the lab at the Department of Standards & Regulations. There really was no point in negotiating monies until the last ingredient for the Polyjuice Potion had been procured.

“I still have to negotiate how much I'll earn, but as for timing, if things go well I may be starting before the end of the year,” she said, trying to keep from digging herself into hole she'd later regret.

'If anything, this marriage will be ending by the end of this year,' she thought with resignation.

Hermione wasn't about to start volunteering that she was going to get royalties on two potions she helped develop so far, considering she wasn't even technically working for Lavender yet. How could she explain that? Besides, she was not counting on anything until those Galleons were in her hot little hands, or safely in her and Ron's vault at Gringotts, or – if they divorced – in her own vault.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Ron offered.

'Smuggle some fluxweed picked during the full moon back into England without getting caught, for starters.'

“Thanks for the offer, but there's nothing to be done but wait.” That at least was true.

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

Back at their flat, Hermione went into the kitchen to make a cup of relaxing herbal tea before bed and noticed something amiss.

“Roooooon?” she called out of the kitchen, the pitch of her voice rising at the end.

“Yeah?” Ron was getting undressed in the bedroom.

“Where did the lemons go?”

Ron came into the kitchen dressed only in his underpants. “You mean those dried up leathery old things? I threw them out. I tried juicing one and there was nothing to juice, just dried pulp.”

Hermione put her hands on her hips and huffed in annoyance.

“What? Don't tell me you wanted to keep rotting fruit? I thought you'd be thankful that I helped cleaned up around here,” Ron began to yell. “You complain I don't do enough around here. Well, I've been helping with trash and cleaning the kitchen a lot more. And since you're at work late, I’ve been making my own dinners more often and cleaning up after myself. I thought you'd at least appreciate that.”

Standing in the kitchen with her head down, Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose and shut her eyes tightly trying to keep her temper, and not encourage Ron to blow up once again since it took little to provoke him into screaming at her.

“I was drying them out because I was going to experiment on them in that state,” she ground out, trying to be patient. To end the confrontation she conceded and gave up. “It doesn't matter, I can get some more at the Hogwarts Cemetery.”

“The cemetery?” Ron shrieked as if confronted with a spider.

“Yes, Ron, the cemetery. Those came from the lemon tree growing from Dumbledore's graveside,” she explained, understanding Ron's fear regarding things taken from graveyards and their usual association with dark and forbidden magic. “Headmistress Sprout gave them to me since it is so unusual for a citrus tree to grow at such a northern latitude, and the fruit it bears is strange as well. I was going to experiment on them to see if there was something magical to the fruit, but you threw them away before I got a chance.”

“Maybe if you weren't at work so late, you'd have the time to get around to it. But I don't think it would have mattered; they were dry as paper, so I chucked the lot. Maybe if you told me I wouldn't have thrown them out.” Ron folded his arms petulantly, which made him appear twice as wide with his muscles budging from his shoulders and arms.

Ron was pouting and Hermione was made to feel the bad guy. The jutting of his lower lip hinted at the ghost of a boy Hermione used to know, but seemed to have faded away since they married. She knew she shouldn't have expected Ron to read her mind, but she wished he would have mentioned something before tossing them. Given how she was avoiding her husband, it's not like there were many chances to ask her, though.

Hermione just wanted to go to bed and get a good night's sleep before having to face another Saturday – playing the dutiful wife in the Quidditch stands, while wondering if Ron was buggering his teammates in the locker room after the game. She had put out of her mind that she caught her husband leaving Blaise Zabini's flat after a boisterous shag, but the vision of her husband in the showers naked with a bunch of other well-built Quidditch players brought that memory fresh into her mind while she waited for him after the games ended.

As she attempted to leave the kitchen, Hermione was faced with a wall of muscle. Ron was standing in the door way blocking her exit, his arms still crossed. She looked up at him blankly, wondering why he wouldn't move, until he gave her a smile that insinuated that he was in the mood to claim some of his husbandly rights again.

It didn't surprise Hermione that he was in the mood for a shag. Dinner wasn't a painful experience for once, and any night that didn't end in a fight gave Ron the impression that his wife would be in the mood for fucking as well.

Hermione smiled up at Ron coyly. “How about I give you a massage before we begin,” she said, trying to imply that her attitude had thawed somewhat.

He gave her a big, eager grin which was as sincere as the erection now plainly pressing against his underpants.

“Just let me get some oil,” Hermione explained. “Go lie down, I'll be in soon.”

Thankfully Hermione had gone out and purchased some almond oil, lavender oil, and essence of sopophorous bean recently. Remembering Severus' directions, she made a mixture to help her husband fall asleep, instead of facing another round of sex with him.

“How is it that you can use your hands to spread it on the skin and it wouldn't cause you to fall asleep, yet it works on the person you're applying it to?” Hermione remembered asking Severus.

“That's because the palms of the hands and soles of the feet have a special layer of skin called stratum lucidum that slows the absorption rate of the oil, in addition to calluses. The oil, spread over a large portion of the skin, such as the back, allows for quicker absorption. You may feel a slight relaxation, but as soon as your husband falls asleep and you wash your hands, you should not succumb to the sleeping agent.”

Hermione found her husband lying nude, on his stomach with his chin propped up on his overlapped hands, grinning like some gingered Cheshire cat. Ignoring the knowing smile he gave her, she poured a small amount of the unctuous elixir into her hand, before setting the bottle down on the table next to the bed and straddling Ron's hips.

“You know, 'Mione, this would be a whole lot sexier if you were undressed, too,” he insinuated.

“Patience,” she cooed.

For good measure, he bucked his hips up underneath her to hint at his eagerness and Hermione nearly lost her balance and almost fell off of him and the bed. To keep the mood playful, and to avoid it devolving into a fight if she let her true emotions come forth, she slapped his arse with the hand not cupping the oil and insisted he be good or he wouldn't get any massage.

“I know what I need you to massage after my back,” Ron insinuated with a lustful drawl and a look from the corner of his eye.

“Shhhh. Patience,” she kept insisting, trying not to let her upper lip curl with a sneer.

Finally having a chance to begin, she spread the oil across his back in broad strokes. His back was much wider than the last time she gave him a massage, and she was having trouble recalling the last time she gave him one.

With the heel of her hand, Hermione dug into Ron's longissumus thoracis, beginning from his lower back and moving up before applying pressure to his trapezius, mentally naming the muscles. With Ron's current physique, it was much easier to see where each muscle was.

Ron gave out a long appreciative sigh and dreamily announced, “That feels fucking amazing.” He stifled a yawn as he muttered something about massaging her breasts before quickly dropping off, and he began snoring in his usual fashion, signaling deep sleep.

Hermione went to wash up and hide the massage oil, lest Ron think it was appropriate for applying to his face for moisturizer – and lest he figure out she put something in the oil after falling asleep face-first on the bathroom tiles. Anything in her arsenal to keep Ron off her was a weapon she was going to keep to herself.

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

A/N: Let's welcome my new beta, Cytherea, and give a round of thanks to her and my other beta, JuneW, for their hard work on this chapter.
The stratum lucidum (Latin for "clear layer") is a thin, clear layer of dead skin cells in the epidermis named for its translucent appearance under a microscope. It is readily visible by light microscopy only in areas of thick skin, which are found on the palms of the hands and the soles of the feet. Located between the stratum granulosum and stratum corneum layers, it is composed of three to five layers of dead, flattened keratinocytes. The keratinocytes of the stratum lucidum do not feature distinct boundaries and are filled with eleidin, an intermediate form of keratin.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stratum_lucidum
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And They Didn\'t Live Happily Ever After