Work Text:
Hermione couldn't believe it: after three years of pining over her coworker, she was days away from her third date with Severus Snape!
Five years ago, much to everyone's surprise, Severus Snape had shown up, whole, healthy and unwilling to talk about how he had survived the infamous Nagini attack in the Shrieking Shack. He was clouded in mystery and was as terse and intimidating as ever.
He had applied for a job at the Ministry, determined not to teach ever again. Shunted from department to department, he finally ended up in the same department as Hermione, a special research department focused on potion development and enhancement.
Hermione had gotten her mastery in Charms with some independent study on Herbology during a brief fling with Neville Longbottom. She used that knowledge to help develop new charms that could be combined with the brewing process, looking for the most favorable outcomes for efficiency and cost. Before Snape had arrived, their department had already developed a Jovius charm that could be used during the last five minutes of brewing Pepperup Potion to increase the shelf life from one month to three months.
Enter the one and only Severus Snape. The output of their department went up 300% nearly overnight. The workers of the department had free reign on what kinds of potions they wanted to explore as long as it was approved by their boss, Ringelton. And Snape wanted to explore everything. Hermione had been so nervous when his investigation into sleeping potions had first warranted the use of her skills. She should not have been worried though. Although abrupt and pointed in his communication, Snape had lost the needlessly caustic tone — much as Hermione had left her rambling at university, except for when she was really, really nervous.
Their brainstorming session had been ludicrously successful, yielding not only a test matrix for the current project, but also a plan of attack for 3 additional projects when this one was completed. He had given her a short congratulatory nod at the end of their workday, and Hermione had been overjoyed.
From that first day working together, they ambled into a rewarding and potion-prolific friendship. Up until that fateful day. The Day of the Cogitare Potion, a new memory potion Snape had concocted that relied heavily on several simultaneously held charms by the sous brewer. When Ringelton had peer reviewed the instructions, he had recommended two casters to hold the charms.
Hermione had been stubborn. She was confident in her simultaneous casting skills, and Snape affirmed her competency. On the day of the first trial brew, the charms were the only part that had gone as planned. The northwind switchgrass supply at the Ministry had been replaced with its indistinguishable twin, ravenna switchgrass. And the Amarta jumping beans had reacted violently with the ravenna.
Stir, counterclockwise stir — BOOM!
A flash of black robes covered her eyes and the smell of smoke invaded her nose. She had been knocked backwards, pressed against the wall and shielded with Snape’s torso; his arms holding his robes to cover her head. She stayed paralyzed in place and then took a hesitant breath — he hadn’t dared breathe yet. His scent was so consuming and sweet, she relaxed visibility on her exhale. He dared an inhale as well. Several breaths for each of them later, Snape stepped back, eyes roaming her body for injuries and, upon finding none, relaxed into his normal imposing posture.
That was the day it had changed. One chance encounter in his embrace, and she knew she wanted to spend the rest of her life there.
The crush went on for another three years. Many a night — often after a failed dating attempt — she lamented the death of her Gryffindor bravery. She tried to find the guts to ask him herself and always talked herself out of it. She simply kept up the subtle hints and their jovial friendship.
Finally, Snape had invited her to attend a Charms and Potions overlap lecture, which had ended in a lovely Italian dinner, granting her use of his first name, and him walking her to her door. That had been two weeks ago. Last week they had tried a new Indian joint in Muggle London before a walk in the gardens. For this next date, he had shyly invited her to his home, the Haven, so he could cook dinner for her.
A home-cooked meal? Just for her? She had agreed immediately. She had gotten home after working late that Thursday, a ghost of a smile still playing on her lips. Stepping into her apartment and doffing her stylish but practical lab robes she had been gifted from the Potter-Malfoy household last Christmas, Hermione had replayed his words in her mind: “Would you come over Sunday then? I would be honored to cook for you.” Could he be any more perfect of a suitor?
Then she had waved her hand to summon her planner to add the details of the date, even though she knew she wouldn’t forget her next chance to stare into those endless, warm eyes and see that slight smirk, and — Circe. Sunday was the first day of Hanukkah. Oh no.
Hermione’s parents had been Jewish. When she had gone off to Hogwarts, she had drifted away from religion, finding it difficult to meld the two into one cohesive understanding of the world. It had not bothered her until she and Harry had gone to retrieve her parents from Australia.
The two of them, armed with all the research Hermione could find, had cast spell upon spell for days. Nothing could restore her parents' memories. Her parents did not remember her and never would.
Harry finally coaxed a numb Hermione back to England with him. She was lost. No more school to study for, no more war to prepare for, and, now, no more family to come home to.
Desperate for some purpose, Hermione had turned to Judaism. She found comfort in the traditions that had been the same for thousands of years. She joined a synagogue and a community that helped her mourn her parents. She read ancient texts, finding sparks and hints of magic in their depths she had never noticed before. Little by little, she found herself again.
She regained her love for Charms and sought her mastery at university. Having made quite a name for herself in her academics at Hogwarts, she had no issues getting accepted to any university she pleased and specifically chose Aberdeen for its dual Muggle and Magical study options. Exposure to a myriad of backgrounds fueled Hermione’s personal philosophy of the marriage of Judaism and Magic, instead of the automatic exclusion of the other. Much like science and magic could co-exist and enhance each other, Jewish tradition and magic could as well.
So now, every year, she still lit a menorah. A minor holiday in the religion, but the one she had most cherished with her parents. It connected her to their memory and their current life, as the Jewish family across the world joined together for a common practice.
She didn’t want to cancel on Severus. Maybe she could go over for a little while and leave early so she could make it home in time for sundown and lighting the first candle? She thanked Merlin for near instantaneous travel. That’s what she would do. She nodded to herself. It would all work out.
Hermione held the address for the Haven that Severus had written for her tightly in her mind, turned on the spot, and Apparated. As soon as the world stopped spinning around her, she noticed it was darker than she had expected. Oh no, this was going to need to be cut much shorter than she wanted.
Tucking her hair behind her ears, she walked forward the few steps and knocked on his door. The door opened immediately — she must have tripped a ward which should have been expected for someone with his history — to a gorgeous view of a fitted gray shirt tucked into immaculate black trousers and a charming grin that she was seeing more and more with each subsequent date.
“Hello, Hermione,” Severus’s deep voice intoned. “You look beautiful.”
“Hullo, Severus. Thank you,” she blushed back. Her eyes drifted to the floor for a moment before running back to his.
“Please, come in.” He stepped back to let her through, opening her view to the short entryway.
Sitting on a small side table against the wall was a delicate silver Hannukkiah with nine, unlit candles. Hermione stayed frozen at the door.
“Hermione?”
“Are you Jewish?” she asked, amazed.
“No, but you are.”
“How did you know?”
He smirked. “I was a spy for many years. I still know a trick or two.” She laughed and stepped inside, so he could close the door. “I was hoping to celebrate the first night with you.” She stepped up to the small table, admiring the silver figure.
"I made the candles myself," he admitted, getting nervous at the silence from the generally verbose brunette.
She turned from admiring the menorah to look at him, uncommonly touched at his thoughtfulness. "Really?"
"Yes. I researched the traditional methods and ingredients and followed them exactly."
"I can't believe you did all this for me."
"Hermione," Severus began, reaching out and taking her hand, "I'm in this." He squeezed their joined hands. "I'm all in. I want you, Hermione. I know that means all of you. And I want to be a part of those traditions with you."
Hermione found her bravery again as she stepped forward and crushed her lips to his, putting all the words she couldn't find into that kiss. Her gratitude. Her awe of what he had done just for her. Her excitement for what's next.
Breathless, they broke apart a few minutes later.
"Severus —" Hermione started.
"I know," Severus said. "It's sundown, let's start, and then we can eat and talk later."
They settled in front of the menorah. Severus took down the eight candles and set them respectfully to the side before picking up the middle, attendant candle and lighting it wandlessly.
“Oh, is conjured fire acceptable?” he inquired nervously.
“Yes,” Hermione reassured, ”as long as the other candles are lit by the shamash candle, conjured fire is fine.”
He handed her one of his homemade candles with his left hand, and she placed it in the furthest right slot on the Hannukkiah. He looked at her; she smiled, inhaled, and recited into the cozy space:
“Blessed are You, Lord our G‑d, King of the universe, who has sanctified us with His commandments, and commanded us to kindle the Chanukah light.
Blessed are You, Lord our G‑d, King of the universe, who performed miracles for our forefathers in those days, at this time.
Blessed are You, Lord our G‑d, King of the universe, who has granted us life, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this occasion.”
Next, he passed her the shamash he had held through the prayer, and she lit the lone candle in the silver holder before placing the helper candle in the middle slot. They both stood there in a reflective silence for a moment.
Hermione turned to Severus. “Happy Hanukkah!”
"Happy Hanukkah, Hermione," Severus smiled. “What’s the next step?”
“My parents and I would sing this song, Maoz Tzur. I haven’t sung it in ages.”
Severus looked into her eyes and smiled warmly. “I would very much like to hear it.”
Hermione looked down at her hands nervously. “I dunno. It’s been a very long time, and I don’t sing much…”
Putting one finger under her chin and gently lifting, Severus entreated, “I like your speaking voice, and I am sure I will like your singing voice even more.” Hermione blushed, but didn’t look away.
“Okay”
She took a deep, centering breath as Severus settled back to listen. On her exhale, she began to sing. The words were unfamiliar to Severus, but the dulcet tones and her lilting voice were magic to his ears. He closed his eyes to swallow every sound.
After the last note faded away, Severus opened his eyes, beaming a smile at his lovely date.
“That was beautiful!” He paused and then started again, “Do you think I could join you? I read that celebrants generally sing together, and I would be honored to sing with you. Could you teach me?”
“Oh! Um, thank you. And sure!” Hermione immediately lit up at the chance to teach. She pulled out her wand and conjured a piece of parchment with lyrics. She handed it to him. “Here, this is the translation.”
Severus took the parchment and stepped closer to her. Hermione blushed again and tried to subtly angle her body closer to him. She grasped the other side of the parchment and tapped her finger to count them in. Tap, tap, tap.
Rock of Ages let our song,
Praise thy saving power;
Thou amidst the raging foes,
Wast our sheltering tower.
Furiously they assailed us,
But Thine arm availed us
And Thy word broke their sword,
When our own strength failed us.
And Thy word broke their sword,
When our own strength failed us.
His low bass and her gentle alto mingled and tangled in the air. There were a few extra pauses and a few times out of rhythm, but neither of them seemed to mind.
After a few more moments of silence, Severus offered, "I did intend to still cook for you; I made lentil soup and have the supplies for latkes."
"Oooooo!" Hermione exclaimed. "Then you better lead me to your kitchen!"
Severus gestured further into his home, and Hermione snatched up his hand before he could protest. He sat her at a stool on one of the counters and asked her opinion on the newest rubbish published in the Potions Monthly rag. She happily snacked on some pickles and chided him right back about his opinions of the latest Charms Quarterly, their practiced routine.
So they sliced and chopped their way to the sizzling sounds of potatoes frying, laughing and joking like they had been doing so together for years instead of the first time.
"Severus?"
"Hmm?"
"I'm all in too."