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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
- 8
- 9
- 10
"And They Didn't Live Happily Ever After"
Chapter Nine
"Morning Has Broken"
Disclaimer: Rowling owns it all.
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Severus woke shortly after sunrise. Friday was the one day of the week he needed to rise so early. After a languid stretch, he rose and donned a summer silk dressing robe and headed into his study.
The house-elf had his tea ready and waiting for him on his desk as he sat down to go over a few correspondences.
Letters addressed to Sebastian Delgado laid waiting for his response. Since Severus Snape was a Death Eater, his nom de guerre gave him liberty to pursue research and books otherwise forbidden to him. It was a simple combination of his middle name and his mother's maiden name. It was one hidden clue to his identity that he doubted even Moody would put together, as his father had brought Severus’ mother back from Spain already wedded to her. After penning his replies, he sent them off with an owl.
Dressing quickly, he noted the time. It would not do him good to keep his parole officer waiting for him. Once his outer robe had been clasped and the hood pulled up to conceal his face, he headed out.
Draco was ready when Severus rapped on his door, the younger wizard covered in a similar cloak. While the older man preferred the color of bottomless black, his companion preferred the subtleties of a dark flecked gray for his cloak.
Severus preferred the winter for his weekly errand, as the right ascension and declination of the sun in this northern climate allowed him to walk to the Ministry under the cover of pre-dawn darkness.
As the disgraced pair walked through the bright, clear morning in Diagon Alley, their booted feet made light noises against the dew-covered cobblestones. Neither of them spoke; it was routine. Not until they stopped by the baker for a roll before going to the Ministry would they exchange a solitary word.
Once Draco has his habitual croissant and Severus his brioche, they were on their way. (Lavender had a weekly bill sent to her from the Twenty-Four Blackbird Bakery.)
Draco was the first to speak this week. "Did you enjoy having a free evening? Or were you lonely?"
Severus always thought Draco's sense of humor needed a bit more refinement. At least his jibes were better than his father's, however.
"Unfortunately no. Our dear employer saw fit to saddle me with a new client last night," he said, not bothering to hide his irritation.
"Anyone I know?"
Severus wasn't eating his roll. He picked at it and tossed the crumbs away for the morning bird population to eat, as he had suddenly lost his appetite.
Draco leaned forward a bit and peered into Severus' hood to gauge his mood.
"Hermione Weasley," he bit out.
Draco stopped walking and started laughing. He had the pure gall to laugh out loud. The sounds echoed down the deserted thoroughfare. Even the street sweeper, a fellow Death Eater whose name they couldn't recall, wasn't up yet to bear witness to Draco bent over, one arm clutched to his side, his free arm braced against a wall.
"So," he asked between gasping chortles, "does she have a lovely pair of coconuts?"
Had Hermione been the same unbearably annoying witch he knew four years ago, he would have joined Draco with a snicker of his own. Instead, he frowned and walked faster.
The gray-cloaked wizard ran to catch up and peered into Severus' hood again.
"Don't tell me you're upset with my little joke over that Gryffindor pain-in-the-arse!"
"I wouldn't be laughing if I were you. She knows about you and Mrs. Potter."
He was amazed at the speed in which Draco's complexion went from pink to gray.
"It seems," Severus over enunciated, "that Potter has been suspicious of his wife and enlisted the help of Hermione and his Invisibility Cloak to follow Ginny. She traced your paramour to our building and saw you two together. While she didn’t give details or names during her confession last night, she knows enough to tell Potter the truth."
"Hermione? On a first name basis now are we?" Draco said with raised eyebrows.
"There are six other women I could be referring to with that last name," he answered shortly. "No, all she did was soil a clean handkerchief and confide in me her dilemma. Tell Potter everything and have your death on her noble conscience, or tell him nothing and try to play counselor to fix their marriage."
"What's there to fix? It's broken beyond repair. She doesn't love him, she loves me!" Draco pouted angrily.
"Perhaps if you had at least let her know you were still alive instead of playing the heartbroken fool who lost everything except his woman, she wouldn’t have married him. Instead, your pride demanded that you have something to give her besides yourself," Severus lectured him through clenched teeth. "It took you losing everything – including her – to realize she loved you regardless of your money. So stop playing the petulant lovesick boy and pray that my 'guidance' and consoling last night was enough to convince her not to tell Potter anything. I just hope she's become a better liar since leaving school or I will be looking at florist shops for graveside arrangements for your funeral."
Their usual Friday morning banter was overshadowed by Severus' revelation of Draco's predicament. Both men were lost in their own thoughts as they glided through the streets on the way to the Ministry.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Severus knocked on the door and was invited to enter.
"Severus. Draco," Kingsley Shacklebolt greeted them perfunctorily. The Auror hated to do this, but at least as their parole officer, he could word questions carefully and not pry into any activities they may be up to in order to leave the country. It was the least he could do for his fellow Order members.
The two ex-Death Eaters sat down in the straight-back wooden chairs, Draco attempting to slouch down and hook a leg over the arm of the chair. He quickly gave up that position, as the government issued chairs were designed to be as uncomfortable as possible. In fact, they were charmed so that the more comfortable you tried to become while sitting in them, they became even more uncomfy.
Shacklebolt pulled out a sheaf of parchment and a Quick-Quotes Quill, setting the quill to take dictation.
"Let the record show that it is six-thirty in the morning, Friday, June twenty-seventh, two thousand and three. Death Eaters Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape are here for their weekly parole meeting with me, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Auror First Class," he recited in a monotonous fashion, having done it every week for almost four years.
The quill scribbled down every word, attributing the words to the black wizard.
"Have you, Severus Snape, brewed any potions, hexed or cursed anyone, or performed any prohibited charms, spells, or transfigurations under the law, according to the Death Eater decree?"
"No." Severus sat there, sullenly answering in a monotonous voice.
There was a pause while the quill caught up to the proceedings, its scratching noise filling the silence of the room.
"Are you still employed as a prostitute under the supervision of a Miss Lavender Brown?"
This was the part he hated most. As part of his weekly probation meeting, he had to admit that he made a living by rendering sexual services. To do the act was one thing, but to admit it on record battered his dignity. At least the sex he had was consensual, unlike what Lucius had done over the years, especially during the war.
"Yes." After all this time, he still couldn’t look Kingsley in the eye when he admitted it. He always averted his gaze when answering.
Shacklebolt did not want to know about Severus or Draco's other jobs with Miss Brown in her cosmetic business. The Auror had explained that he didn’t want to know what they did beyond the required information. Even he did not want to have Moody slip him a dose of Veritaserum, asking him questions to see if he was hiding knowledge about the activities of two certain Death Eaters.
Kingsley made it known when the law came out that Moody had gone too far. And with the threat of losing his job and being labeled a Death Eater sympathizer, he kept his mouth shut and did what he could do for his war comrades. As he was their parole officer, he never checked up on them like he did his other charges, or used a Prior Incantato on their wands, and never interrogated them under the influence of the truth elixir. But voicing his opposition to Moody had made him a man under surveillance where Draco and Severus were concerned. Thusly, he was extremely careful how he conducted himself during these meetings, keeping everything above the board, dotting every "i" and crossing every "t."
The Auror, satisfied with conducting the bare minimum required, nodded his head.
"Have you, Draco Malfoy, brewed any potions, hexed or cursed anyone, or performed any prohibited charms, spells or transfigurations under the law, according to the Death Eater decree?"
"No," Draco answered with bored irritation.
"Are you still employed as a prostitute under the supervision of a Miss Lavender Brown?"
Draco lifted his head defiantly and replied, "Yes." He wanted to add, 'But not for very much longer, if the Fates see it that way,’ but held his tongue.
"Very well," concluded their parole officer. "Let the record show that Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy are in good standing with the law. End of meeting."
The quill finished its transcription and set itself down. The bass voiced wizard picked up the quill and parchment and put them away. After a sweep with his wand for extendable ears, eyes, hidden Quick-Quote Quills or any other methods in which someone may eavesdrop, he cast a sound sealing spell on the door and ventilation grate to prevent anyone from listening in on their conversation.
Letting out a sigh, now that it was over, Kingsley asked rhetorically, "Am I correct to assume that both of you will not be gracing us with your presence at the fountain dedication ceremony on Monday?"
Severus glared at the man's jest while Draco rolled his eyes.
Kingsley nodded his head. "I know, I know. But I've been talking with my boss, Amelia. I think I've convinced her to run for Minister in the election next year. She's open to the idea of a fully accounted exoneration and public apology to you both. I haven’t talked to her directly about it, but she would do it based on my recommendation alone."
Severus shook his head. "And wait another year? What happens if she doesn’t get elected? We're back to square one. If it weren't for the Dementors, the things I would do to Moody and Fudge would make the Dark Lord look like a first year Hufflepuff," he growled.
"Well, don’t tell me any particulars. I don’t want a 'surprise' visit from Moody again. The last time he showed up with tea, I had to spill it on my lap in order to get out of the room. He's getting suspicious that I'm not making your life hellish enough and he keeps asking what you two do for food and lodging. Fortunately, I can keep your files from him under privacy protection laws that he can’t overturn without the Wizengamot ruling of at least eighty percent. He wanted me to change our weekly appointment to noon so you two would have to walk in here for the whole Ministry to see as they were leaving for lunch. I told him to go shove a Blast-Ended Skrewt up his arse."
Severus gave him a lopsided grin. He would have to ask Kingsley to put that one in a pensive for his personal viewing.
Running a large hand over his bald pate, he said, "There's less of them out there. Last night we found young Goyle in the back corner of Knockturn Alley." He glanced at Draco with a look of sympathy. "I'm sorry. I know you were classmates."
"How?" asked Draco in an emotionally detached manner.
"Far as we could tell, poison. There was a vial in his hand, but it was completely drained of its contents."
Severus turned his head to watch the blond wizard. He could see the younger man’s mind working, wondering if Potter would make it look like an accident or just kill him in the street where he stood. It was distressing to him as well. All his old classmates and students from his house who had followed the Dark Lord were dying off one by one or giving up and asking for a soulless sentence in Azkaban.
"If there is anything I can do for you, legally, just ask. You both seem to be doing well. If your employment with Miss Brown ends, let me know. You're more than welcome to stay in my home until we can find a way to ensure that this law no longer applies to you both."
The two men nodded in thanks to the Auror's offer.
The friends they had were few and far between. They had cut off all contact with everyone in the Weasley clan except Ginny and beyond her, Miss Brown, and Kingsley, there was no one else they socialized with. They were persona non grata in the eyes of the wizarding world. Severus, as a service to Arthur Weasley, had not talked nor owled him, as the man could not afford to lose his good standing in the Ministry. It was the least he could do for the patriarch who always had faith in him, though they rarely talked beyond business concerning the Order.
Their meeting was over and it was time to leave before Ministry employees began arriving for work.
As they walked through the main lobby, Severus glanced over at the tented sculpture and wondered what it looked like under the yards of canvas charmed with a Repelling Spell to prevent prying eyes from spoiling the surprise.
Their boots heels clacked on the granite floor as they strode through the atrium, a companionable silence settled between them. Neither of them spoke until they arrived at the Lovely Lavender headquarters located on Dorian Loop in the manufacturing sector of Diagon Alley.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Hermione woke with the sun glaring in her eyes. After prying her tear-crusted eyelids apart, she glanced around. She couldn't comprehend why she was on the couch instead of in her warm, soft bed. Then her memory returned and the events of yesterday came slamming back into her mind like the Hogwarts Express. Shutting her eyes again, she threw her arms up over her face to shield her eyes from the overly bright sun and her guilty conscience from further recollection.
After Ron had fallen asleep, she’d cried as quietly as she could without alerting her husband to her distress, refraining from making any sounds and controlling her breathing so her body would not shake. Once again, she sought the isolation of a shower. Instead of feeling the usual post-coital bitterness and dissatisfaction, she had felt filthy and unfaithful.
Not content with the shower, she then filled the bath in order to scrub every square inch of her skin raw as a form of self-flagellation. She sat in the unbearably hot water sweating, feeling the sting of her abraded skin protesting the water's temperature.
Now that her skin felt slightly less contaminated, she began to ponder her own actions of that night. Why did she feel so guilty over talking with some random person? Granted she had paid for the time, but she had struck up conversations with strangers before, engaging in lengthy discussions before bidding farewell, never to see them again. What was different about her masked man that made her feel as if she betrayed Ron?
It was the same quality Ginny described when she was with Malfoy. That kiss on her hand had felt like fire and velvet. One simple act aroused her more than Ron ever had in their entire courtship.
Hermione and Ron had fallen into their romance through a simple kiss. He had aimed for her cheek, but she turned her head unexpectedly and their lips met. Out of curiosity, she kissed back and he took it as a sign that she was interested. They both viewed that kiss as a sign to take their friendship beyond the platonic stage. Though Hermione never fell madly in love with Ron, like her other schoolmates did when they finally started dating someone they knew for a while, her rational mind dismissed the absence of this phase as a sign she was too mature to get all silly and sentimental. She had always wondered why girls got all moony-eyed over their boyfriends, gushing and walking about as if under a Levitation Charm. She thought she was too sensible to engage in that sort of behavior.
It seemed that perhaps she had missed out on a part of life others took for granted. Still, she and Ron had a strong friendship and that was more than some other married couples had, marrying out of love with no friendship to strengthen their bond. Now she wondered if friendship was enough to keep them together for the rest of their lives. She felt no passion with Ron. It wasn't a loveless marriage, but it lacked certain quality when a witch and wizard look adoringly at each other after being together for a century or more, still seeing the beautiful young person they fell in love with decades ago.
When Hermione looked at Ron, she never saw a man she wanted to lounge in bed all day with, talking about nothing and everything. She saw her old school friend who she shared an amicable companionship with. She never felt the yearning hunger for his body when they were apart. She’d never really wanted him as a lover, but had let the tide carry her into that relationship without ever examining it, to see if it was what she really wanted.
Her mother had told her many times it would be best if she found a husband while still in school, as dating and relationships, once out in the real world, were much harder to come by. By Hermione’s seventh year, no other boys had come into her life after Viktor. She’d contained a certain amount of dread that she would grow old and never marry like Professor McGonagall, so she was relieved when she discovered Ron's romantic interest in her. The pressure to find a future husband had been lifted and it was one item on her list of life goals that she could check off as completed.
She wondered what she would be doing right now if she hadn’t married Ron. The choices seemed limitless, yet nonexistent at the same time. What could she do, get a Time-Turner and relive her life without Ron? And do what? She found the door to apprenticeship closed to her, discovering that even with the war won, unspoken prejudices against Muggle-borns still prevailed. Her career options would have been the same, a job as a library apprentice to Madam Pince or a job at the Ministry. And the infamous photo of her in the Daily Prophet didn't help either, but nor did it hurt her career.
It seemed a tradition that at least one student would do something interesting enough in an act of post N.E.W.T. stress relief that it made the paper most every year. Even Harry's father and godfather were among the long list of headline grabbing 'victims.' Interestingly enough, streaking was not only a popular fad for Muggles in the seventies, it was for wizards, as well. Professor McGonagall still had the news clipping to prove it, which made Hermione blush. It seemed that Harry had grown up to look exactly like his father, but she never saw as much of Harry as she did in the photo of James and Sirius running down the high road of Hogsmeade with only their shoes on. The same black censoring bars covering their bobbing bits. What she later found out was that her Head of House had neglected to mention she had her own alcohol induced post N.E.W.T.s stress buster, involving the transfiguration of armor throughout the castle into rather randy nude life-sized chess pieces. It gave new meaning to the term 'jump the queen.'
Hermione missed her old Transfiguration professor. If McGonagall were still alive, she would have given her an apprenticeship. She would have continued to be her mentor and provide Hermione with the strength that she now seemed to lack in life.
Her mind wandered back to the gigolo. The whole experience was refreshing, to say the least. She wanted someone to discuss and debate with. She wondered if he was of at least average intelligence, and could engage in a profound or enlightened conversation.
Unfortunately, Ginny, though bright, was not the sort of friend she could have the sort of intellectual discussion that the redheaded witch could have with Malfoy. For some reason, their talks could never be like that. To try would be to force the flow of their friendship.
In some twisted form of logic, Hermione tried her best to convince herself that she really hadn’t done anything wrong that evening. And if she were in need of a sympathetic ear, she would go to him again, but only if she was really desperate. When or if she ever did see him again, she would inquire to his ability to discuss things of an academic and theoretical nature. Perhaps if she found an outlet for her pent up intellectual frustration from her marriage, she would appreciate Ron more and resent him less.
Glancing in the bedroom, she saw that Ron was still asleep, and hoped he didn’t notice her gone from the bed last night. Her late-night ablutions had removed the need for a morning shower. She dressed herself quietly, hoping to not wake Ron. A peek at the clock told her she'd get into work by seven if she left soon.
She normally didn’t get to work so early, as she preferred to arrive when everyone else did during the morning hours, and stay late instead.
Diagon Alley had a different feel about it at that time of the morning. Owls began swooping about carrying today's Daily Prophet and delivering post while a few shopkeepers were sweeping the thresholds of their establishments preparing them for the morning flux of witches and wizards on their way to work to buy a quick breakfast with a cup of tea or coffee.
The smell reached her nose before she even came around the curve of the street. Fresh bread and rolls were ready for purchase and the heady, homey scent drew her into the bakery. The Twenty-Four Blackbird Bakery was known to have the best baked goods in Diagon Alley and Hermione was glad to not have to wait in a long line for her usual scone. She hoped they still hadn’t sold out of the ones with sultanas this early.
Stepping up to the empty counter, she spied the tray of scones fresh from the oven. After paying and heading over to the service counter to dab some strawberry jam on it before continuing her morning stroll to work, she caught the flash of two dark cloaked figures out of the corner of her eye. They walked in tandem, their long legs carrying them forward with purposeful strides.
With a dab of strawberry jam still stuck at the corner of her mouth, Hermione ran out the door to watch the two wizards walk away. She wasn't sure if she was imagining things or if it was the mentioning of Snape's name yesterday, but she swore she recognized that walk. The wizard on the right walked with a stalking grace, as if he did not want to be seen. Before she could get a good look, they had rounded the curve in the street and she could only remember the shape of his cloak and the sound of his boots.
Hermione's tongue swiped away the offending bit of jam away while she continued to stare at the empty expanse of narrow street in front of her.
"No. Couldn’t be," she muttered to her self.

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A/N: Delgado is a common Spanish last name; it's origin meaning "The Thin", so he would be Sebastian the Thin. Appropriate, no? I still hold the personal theory that Snape is a fine example of the Black Irish (Black Irish a mix of Spanish, stranded after the sinking of the Spanish Armada in 1588 off the coast of Ireland, with the native population). I think he has Spanish blood. Some of the Spanish actors I can recall have pale skin and dark hair and eyes. Look at an El Greco painting sometime and I swear you'll exclaim, "Oh my God, it's Snape!"
Oops. Okay, Kingsley and Ginny are the TWO other people who know what Severus does. I forgot to add the Weaselette. Okay, so four people know what he does. No more so far.
Dorian Loop is named after Dorian Grey, the vanity driven character who hid his true age and physical flaws. I think that's appropriate for a beauty supply company, don’t you?
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And They Didn\'t Live Happily Ever After