There must be fifty ways to leave your lover
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,009
Reviews:
9
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,009
Reviews:
9
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I don't own Harry Potter, and regrettably I don't get paid to write fan fiction.
There must be fifty ways to leave your lover
There must be fifty ways to leave your lover
Chapter One
Hermione Granger caught a glimpse of her reflection while exiting the ladies’ room and sighed. Her reflection was something she had hoped to avoid on her last day. Her last day before turning thirty. Since it could not be undone, she stared at herself hard, feeling disappointed. She remembered the little girl she had been; her big dreams, her hopes. How disappointed that little girl would be if she could meet her present-day self.
Now she was thirty, unhappy, and unattractive. Or that was how she felt. Of course, the situation at home didn’t help much. Ronald kept pointing out that if she were to have children, they’d best get started. She reminded him tactfully and patiently each time that witches could have children much later in life than Muggles, and even Muggles no longer felt the need to crank out all their offspring before they were in their mid or even late thirties. Reason seemed to fall on deaf ears. But even if Hermione had been willing, it’s not as though Ronald was always up to the task. He blamed her, naturally.
Not that she was a fit mother, anyway. Not like she was even married, as any witch-about-town would happily remind her. Ronald maintained she “wasn’t ready for marriage.” Hermione frequently suspected it was Ronald who wasn’t ready for marriage. He was really bleeding immature, anyway. She was starting to lose hope that he would ever grow up. Lately he seemed more like he belonged in Never, Never Land than anywhere else.
‘You’re working too hard, ‘Mione, you’ve let yourself go,’ he said in that nasal, whiney voice and oh, she could just hit him sometimes! It was ridiculous to suggest that she was doing anything over her job that she had not done over her school work. Maybe he’d just forgotten how things were. Hermione the Organized was still making planners a year in advance, Hermione the Neurotic was still checking everything three times. She’d been this way since she was a girl—it was Ronald who had changed.
At the end of the work day, Hermione decided that if she was going to be accused of changing, she might as well do just that. Leaning in toward the mirror, she twirled an undefined, frizzy curl around her finger, and narrowing her eyes to glare at it, she declared, “And you’re the first to go.”
When five o’clock rolled around, Hermione bounded out of the Ministry feeling ten years younger and completely unburdened. She never left work this early; it was exhilarating. She went straight to London and stopped in the first “full service” beauty parlor she passed. She patiently waited her turn, and when it came, she flopped in the beautician’s chair and told her to do whatever she could. The beautician did a double-take.
“This is what it always looks like?”
“What?”
“Your hair. Is it always like this?” she asked incredulously.
“Yes,” Hermione snapped, “now are you going to do something with it or not?”
The beautician sighed, “Of course I can,” thinking she deserved an Order of Merlin, First Class if she managed to make a difference at all.
“So, what did you have in mind?” Hermione asked in a much more civil tone.
“Well, it seems to have grown out to all one length…”
“It never had layers,” Hermione interjected.
“Oh,” the beautician looked positively horrified, “and it’s obvious you color your hair at home…”
“No, the sun did that. I don’t put chemicals on my head,” Hermione said, growing irritated again.
“Oh,” the beautician was growing ever paler, “I see. So anyway, I thought two or three layers, it’ll help… er… define and release the curl.”
“Whatever you think,” Hermione said breezily, before closing her eyes and ending the conversation.
Two hours later, Hermione emerged, trimmed, styled, waxed, and painted, feeling like a new woman (and walking like a woman who is new to waxing). She was in such a good mood she thought tonight might just be the night to surprise Ronald with a curry.
As she strolled down the street toward her favorite place, she did not notice the proud, puffed up beautician admiring her work in the sunlight. Order of Merlin, indeed.
When she arrived at home, laden with work paraphernalia and several bags of take-away, Ronald was sitting at the table, staring at her.
“So,” she smiled coyly, “Do you like—”
Ron cut her off, “Merlin, ‘Mione, I’m starving here. Surely you’ve known me long enough to realize that there isn’t food I don’t like.” He snatched the bags from her hands and hastily emptied them on the table.
Well, there was her answer. All this time, he’d been accusing her of changing when she hadn’t, and now that she had changed, he didn’t notice.
“Whazmine?” Ron asked with a mouthful of something.
“You can have it, I’m not hungry anymore,” she said, dejectedly, heading to bed. She really, really didn’t know why she bothered some days. It wasn’t that she was being irrationally upset over one episode, it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Over a decade of this kind of carrying on would get to any sane person, right? There, curled up in what she now knew would never be her marriage bed, she decided it was time to let Ronald go. And she didn’t want him to come back.
***
“It’s another bloke, isn’t it?” Ronald screeched. “Tell the truth!”
“No Ronald,” she said quietly, “it’s nothing like that. I just feel like… I’m just tired of… taking second place to a curry.”
“So you’re going to throw away twelve years for last night? I’m really bleeding sorry I didn’t notice you decided that you should start looking like every other primped and pampered slag in London already!”
“That isn’t what it’s about Ronald. It’s always something. Quidditch, your work, my work… it’s obvious it would never work out. If it was going to work out, you would’ve married me by now, you know… made me an honest woman and not just some convenient, live in sex partner you don’t really have to talk to or look at.”
Ron looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time in years, “So that’s it, then?” he asked in an atypically quiet, sober voice.
“That’s it. I’m all packed up and I’ve got my own little flat. Good-bye Ronald.”
She laid her key on the counter and shut the door behind her; no more words, and no looking back.
“Definitely another bloke,” she heard Ronald say before she left the porch.
That night as she lay in her bed, Hermione realized that she did desire companionship, if not a relationship, and thought about the possibility of taking a lover. He would have to be the opposite of Ronald—observant, reciprocal, understanding of her needs—but then she really wasn’t in any place to just go out and pick up a wizard (or a Muggle) in a bar. Suddenly, Hermione smiled. She pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill and began listing all the available men she knew.
Before midnight, she had her answer. If she was going to do this thing, she was going to do it right. Hermione Granger was going to seduce Professor Severus Snape. Not only was it a decent revenge play, since Ron was certainly no fan of his, but Hermione had always had a “thing” for the Professor. She didn’t really know what it was at the time, but looking back, she could see that her perpetual defense of his character was not always entirely based in logic. Oh, Merlin, this was going to be fun!
***
At work the next day, Hermione made it known that she was going to be taking two weeks’ vacation—she had never taken a vacation before, or even a sick day, and had accumulated quite a lot of time. In truth, her superiors were a little relieved. They were always concerned she was working herself into burnout or break down. Some even whispered about her coming into the office one day and firing off a ton of Unforgivables before she took herself out, too. But Hermione wasn’t unstable. She was just happier when she was working. At least the old Hermione was. New Hermione had some other ideas to try out as she apparated to the gates of Hogwarts.
A/N: Mistakes are mine. Tell me what you think! By the way, Hermione's convo with the beautician is a little scene from my life dropped right in there. Part of me was just like, "For real?" but she did a good job with my hair, so whatever. LOL.
Chapter One
Hermione Granger caught a glimpse of her reflection while exiting the ladies’ room and sighed. Her reflection was something she had hoped to avoid on her last day. Her last day before turning thirty. Since it could not be undone, she stared at herself hard, feeling disappointed. She remembered the little girl she had been; her big dreams, her hopes. How disappointed that little girl would be if she could meet her present-day self.
Now she was thirty, unhappy, and unattractive. Or that was how she felt. Of course, the situation at home didn’t help much. Ronald kept pointing out that if she were to have children, they’d best get started. She reminded him tactfully and patiently each time that witches could have children much later in life than Muggles, and even Muggles no longer felt the need to crank out all their offspring before they were in their mid or even late thirties. Reason seemed to fall on deaf ears. But even if Hermione had been willing, it’s not as though Ronald was always up to the task. He blamed her, naturally.
Not that she was a fit mother, anyway. Not like she was even married, as any witch-about-town would happily remind her. Ronald maintained she “wasn’t ready for marriage.” Hermione frequently suspected it was Ronald who wasn’t ready for marriage. He was really bleeding immature, anyway. She was starting to lose hope that he would ever grow up. Lately he seemed more like he belonged in Never, Never Land than anywhere else.
‘You’re working too hard, ‘Mione, you’ve let yourself go,’ he said in that nasal, whiney voice and oh, she could just hit him sometimes! It was ridiculous to suggest that she was doing anything over her job that she had not done over her school work. Maybe he’d just forgotten how things were. Hermione the Organized was still making planners a year in advance, Hermione the Neurotic was still checking everything three times. She’d been this way since she was a girl—it was Ronald who had changed.
At the end of the work day, Hermione decided that if she was going to be accused of changing, she might as well do just that. Leaning in toward the mirror, she twirled an undefined, frizzy curl around her finger, and narrowing her eyes to glare at it, she declared, “And you’re the first to go.”
When five o’clock rolled around, Hermione bounded out of the Ministry feeling ten years younger and completely unburdened. She never left work this early; it was exhilarating. She went straight to London and stopped in the first “full service” beauty parlor she passed. She patiently waited her turn, and when it came, she flopped in the beautician’s chair and told her to do whatever she could. The beautician did a double-take.
“This is what it always looks like?”
“What?”
“Your hair. Is it always like this?” she asked incredulously.
“Yes,” Hermione snapped, “now are you going to do something with it or not?”
The beautician sighed, “Of course I can,” thinking she deserved an Order of Merlin, First Class if she managed to make a difference at all.
“So, what did you have in mind?” Hermione asked in a much more civil tone.
“Well, it seems to have grown out to all one length…”
“It never had layers,” Hermione interjected.
“Oh,” the beautician looked positively horrified, “and it’s obvious you color your hair at home…”
“No, the sun did that. I don’t put chemicals on my head,” Hermione said, growing irritated again.
“Oh,” the beautician was growing ever paler, “I see. So anyway, I thought two or three layers, it’ll help… er… define and release the curl.”
“Whatever you think,” Hermione said breezily, before closing her eyes and ending the conversation.
Two hours later, Hermione emerged, trimmed, styled, waxed, and painted, feeling like a new woman (and walking like a woman who is new to waxing). She was in such a good mood she thought tonight might just be the night to surprise Ronald with a curry.
As she strolled down the street toward her favorite place, she did not notice the proud, puffed up beautician admiring her work in the sunlight. Order of Merlin, indeed.
When she arrived at home, laden with work paraphernalia and several bags of take-away, Ronald was sitting at the table, staring at her.
“So,” she smiled coyly, “Do you like—”
Ron cut her off, “Merlin, ‘Mione, I’m starving here. Surely you’ve known me long enough to realize that there isn’t food I don’t like.” He snatched the bags from her hands and hastily emptied them on the table.
Well, there was her answer. All this time, he’d been accusing her of changing when she hadn’t, and now that she had changed, he didn’t notice.
“Whazmine?” Ron asked with a mouthful of something.
“You can have it, I’m not hungry anymore,” she said, dejectedly, heading to bed. She really, really didn’t know why she bothered some days. It wasn’t that she was being irrationally upset over one episode, it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Over a decade of this kind of carrying on would get to any sane person, right? There, curled up in what she now knew would never be her marriage bed, she decided it was time to let Ronald go. And she didn’t want him to come back.
***
“It’s another bloke, isn’t it?” Ronald screeched. “Tell the truth!”
“No Ronald,” she said quietly, “it’s nothing like that. I just feel like… I’m just tired of… taking second place to a curry.”
“So you’re going to throw away twelve years for last night? I’m really bleeding sorry I didn’t notice you decided that you should start looking like every other primped and pampered slag in London already!”
“That isn’t what it’s about Ronald. It’s always something. Quidditch, your work, my work… it’s obvious it would never work out. If it was going to work out, you would’ve married me by now, you know… made me an honest woman and not just some convenient, live in sex partner you don’t really have to talk to or look at.”
Ron looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time in years, “So that’s it, then?” he asked in an atypically quiet, sober voice.
“That’s it. I’m all packed up and I’ve got my own little flat. Good-bye Ronald.”
She laid her key on the counter and shut the door behind her; no more words, and no looking back.
“Definitely another bloke,” she heard Ronald say before she left the porch.
That night as she lay in her bed, Hermione realized that she did desire companionship, if not a relationship, and thought about the possibility of taking a lover. He would have to be the opposite of Ronald—observant, reciprocal, understanding of her needs—but then she really wasn’t in any place to just go out and pick up a wizard (or a Muggle) in a bar. Suddenly, Hermione smiled. She pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill and began listing all the available men she knew.
Before midnight, she had her answer. If she was going to do this thing, she was going to do it right. Hermione Granger was going to seduce Professor Severus Snape. Not only was it a decent revenge play, since Ron was certainly no fan of his, but Hermione had always had a “thing” for the Professor. She didn’t really know what it was at the time, but looking back, she could see that her perpetual defense of his character was not always entirely based in logic. Oh, Merlin, this was going to be fun!
***
At work the next day, Hermione made it known that she was going to be taking two weeks’ vacation—she had never taken a vacation before, or even a sick day, and had accumulated quite a lot of time. In truth, her superiors were a little relieved. They were always concerned she was working herself into burnout or break down. Some even whispered about her coming into the office one day and firing off a ton of Unforgivables before she took herself out, too. But Hermione wasn’t unstable. She was just happier when she was working. At least the old Hermione was. New Hermione had some other ideas to try out as she apparated to the gates of Hogwarts.
A/N: Mistakes are mine. Tell me what you think! By the way, Hermione's convo with the beautician is a little scene from my life dropped right in there. Part of me was just like, "For real?" but she did a good job with my hair, so whatever. LOL.