Chapter Text
May 2018
"Just ask, Severus." Hermione casts with her wand, banishing their plates to the kitchen, and settles on her sofa with her half-empty glass of wine.
Severus turns from the mantelpiece, where he's been perusing her collection of photographs, his long slender fingers toying with his firewhisky glass. "I wasn't-"
"-you were. I can tell."
"You can tell." Severus sips his drink. "I must be slacking in my old age. Such a misstep in my youth would've been a death sentence."
"Or I know you better than either of your previous masters."
He quirks an eyebrow. "Either of my masters?"
"Tell me I'm wrong."
"I suppose you don't let Potter hear you talking about our esteemed Headmaster in such terms."
"I suppose I don't," she smiles. "Now stop being evasive and spit it out."
Severus pauses, still rolling the glass between his fingers. He sits next to her on the sofa, his thigh warm and solid against hers, causing her cheeks to colour.
"I never understood why you married Weasley."
"He was-"
"-that wasn't a question," Severus interrupts, playfully digging his elbow into her side. "It was a statement. It didn't require an answer."
Hermione sits back, feigning annoyance. "Fine."
He looks amused. "I understood why you dated," he says, thoughtfully. "I was a professor for a long time and teenagers will be teenagers. But I was surprised you stayed together."
"After the flush of first romance, you mean?"
"I assumed it was because you'd been thrown together in terrible circumstances." Severus gives her a tight look. "But you married him." He lifts his glass and finishes his firewhisky. "Even after the horrors of war had worn away."
She mirrors his action with her wine. "Who says they've worn away?"
"Who indeed?" He points at her empty glass. "Another?"
She nods, watching as he strolls to the kitchen, admiring his lean form - before turning away, another blush creeping up her face.
When he returns, he gives her a long look - as if he caught her in the act - a slow smile on his lips, but he doesn't comment.
"Thank you," she says, taking the glass from him as he settles down next to her, his arm extending behind her across the top of the sofa.
"He wasn't a patch on you," he comments, casually. "Weasley." Severus' eyes meet hers. "You're brilliant, witch. Smart, competent," he lists, raising his fingers to illustrate each point, "and occasionally insightful."
"Occasionally?"
He smirks. "I thought we'd agreed that you weren't contesting statements?"
"You're such a bastard."
"Indeed I am," he laughs. "And yet you invite me around every weekend."
"After seven years working as a team, what can I say? You've grown on me." She offers him a gleeful smile. "Like mould."
"Is that what happened with Weasley? A mouldy familiarity after seven years sharing a common room?"
"Not quite." She pauses for effect. "We only had six years at school, remember?"
"Smart, competent, occasionally insightful, and utterly pedantic. It was still seven years, even if you weren't in the halls of Hogwarts."
"It wasn't as simple as just spending time together," she says, quietly. "After all, I never saw Harry that way."
Her eyes scan his thin face, his expression suddenly unreadable - and then he sits back, his smile seeming to lose its lustre, and he smoothly withdraws his arm.
"Or you, Severus," he prompts, his tone a little cooler. "You can say it."
"It isn't that," she says, quickly. "Ron was…" She takes a large swig from her glass. "There's things you don't know."
"I know you married him. Stayed with him a long time. No children." He considers her. "And nobody since."
"Nobody since," Hermione agrees, breaking eye contact with him and focusing on her drink.
"If time wasn't good enough for Potter-"
"-I was never interested in Harry-"
"-or for me…" He trails off, watching her face intently as she studies her wine. "So there's something significant about Weasley." His voice is coldly triumphant - and when she doesn't respond, he gently places two long fingers under her chin and raises her gaze to meet his. "That's what I don't understand. I taught him-"
"-you taught everyone my age-"
"-he's nothing special."
"Not to you, perhaps."
"If you divorced him," Severus reasons, "then not to you, either." He pauses. "Unless he was the instigator?"
"It was my decision." Her voice is barely above a whisper. "He agreed. But if I hadn't pushed for it…"
"You regret it."
"We were better as friends," she says, her tone brisk. "And now Ron's married to Katie Bell. Moved on."
"And have you?"
She looks away. "Have you ever wondered how the world can consider something so right, but it feels so wrong?"
"Granger, Molly Weasley is hardly the world-"
"-not Molly," Hermione interrupts, sharply. Her eyes meet Severus' and she stares at him intently. "Ron was my soulmate."
Severus scoffs. "I thought you didn't give credence to Divination and such nonsense."
"I don't. I took Animae Implexae."
At her revelation, the colour drains from his face. "You stupid girl. You stupid, stupid girl. That potion has been banned for centuries - and for damned good reason! Knowing your soulmate is a sickness, a disease that drives witches and-"
"-Severus, not to stop you from enjoying your tirade, but you don't need to tell me that now-"
"-wizards to madness," he continues, forcefully, "to the worst-"
"-and you're a couple of decades too late - not to mention being in completely the wrong job - to put me in detention."
He glowers, taking a long swig of his drink.
"Besides," she adds lightly, "we're all stupid at fifteen, aren't we?"
"Fifteen?" he splutters on his mouthful of firewhisky. "Fifteen? Which damn fool gave it to you at-"
"-I brewed it-"
"-BREWED IT?"
"Keep it down," she hisses, kicking him sharply in the shin and causing him to wince. "You'll have the neighbours complaining."
"If it has escaped your notice, Granger," he says, rubbing his shin, fury evident in his voice, "I taught you Potions, I was responsible for-"
"-you were responsible for what I did in your classroom," she cuts in. "Not what I was brewing in the second floor bathroom."
"The second floor bathroom," he quietly repeats, pinching the bridge of his nose. "The techniques in that potion are advanced; they should not be attempted by fifteen year olds."
"What can I say," she says, breezily. "I had a great professor."
"A great professor who spent an arduous summer removing textbooks from the Restricted Section to prevent this exact situation-"
"-you could hardly have known that I-"
"-obviously not you specifically, Granger. It was during my first year as a professor. I was determined to stop lovesick students stumbling across life-ruining potions. Never, in my wildest dreams, did I have you pegged as one of them, and yet…" He looks astounded. "I'm certain I confiscated-"
"-you did." She pulls her robes around her. "I didn't get it from the Restricted Section."
November 1994
Hermione sits on the stone floor outside the library, hot tears spilling down her cheeks, not caring who sees her. Even the distinctive clunk of Moody's footsteps doesn't cause her to lift her head, but unlike the indifferent students, he stops, his bulk towering over her.
"Give me back my note. I'll show Dumbledore-"
"-no! Please, no," she sniffles, "I don't want anyone to know."
Moody moves forward, irritation on his face. "I'm not having some jumped-up librarian overruling my-"
"-it's not Madam Pince's fault," Hermione clarifies, through gulping sobs. "It wasn't there."
Moody pauses, his magical eye spinning. "You couldn't find it?"
"I checked every shelf in case it had been misfiled. I even asked," she cries. "You said it would be there, but Madam Pince said she had no record of it!"
"A student brewed it," he says, choosing his words carefully, "back when I was at Hogwarts."
Hermione wipes her eyes. "Professor Moody, with all due respect, that was a very long time ago."
"Yes," Moody says, slowly, "it was. Right. I'll find Snape. He's responsible for the books held in the Potions collection."
"No!" Hermione scrambles to her feet, her face flushed. "He'll ask questions!"
Moody gives her a strange smile. "And I'll tell him what a capable student he has, wanting to attempt such a challenging potion."
"But it's Professor Snape, he's…" She trails off, suddenly unsure of voicing dissent of one professor to another.
"Not a fan of old Snape, eh?" Moody flashes her a dark smile. "I'm sure I can find a way to help you."
May 2018
Severus' face is like thunder. "Barty Crouch Junior. Whatever possessed you to go to that monster for advice?"
"I thought he was Mad-Eye!"
Severus huffs. "The real Moody would hardly have been a step up."
"Oh, honestly, Severus," she says, a little exasperated, "what was I supposed to do? I don't recall you being particularly welcoming to the woes of teenage girls."
He rubs his finger around the rim of his glass. "How little you know, Granger," he says, quietly. "I was the Head of Slytherin for a very long time. I listened to the woes of many students - boys and girls," he adds, pointedly.
"I could hardly have gone to you-"
"-you could've gone to Minerva," he interrupts.
"She was preoccupied with Harry-"
"-of course she was-"
"-it was during the Triwizard Tournament," Hermione says, more sharply. "Harry was just a boy! Cedric and Fleur were adults, whilst Viktor Krum was a national Quidditch-"
"-oh, I see," Severus interrupts, a sudden smirk on his face. "A strapping Quidditch champion caught your eye."
"You do not see!" Hermione slams her empty glass onto the coffee table. "That potion had nothing to do with Viktor."
October 1994
As Ron enthuses about Fleur for the sixth time that evening, Hermione slows her steps and deliberately falls behind. She waits as Ron and Harry turn a corner, and then she heads in the opposite direction.
It meant nothing to him.
When Hermione closes her eyes, she can still sense the warm air on her cheek as they'd knelt in the long, swaying grass, hidden away at the bottom of the garden. She and Ron had followed that first kiss with a second and a third - and she'd floated around during the rest of the holiday with such a bright heat in the centre of her chest, she was certain that the rest of the Weasleys could feel a warmth radiating from her when she passed them.
Until he'd lost interest.
Harry had joined them for the Quidditch World Cup, where the Veelas had entranced the boys, and since then, Hermione's extensive vocabulary had failed her; she couldn't find a way to express her feelings to Ron, and the situation had worsened dramatically with Fleur's arrival.
With leaden feet, Hermione makes her way to the Gryffindor common room. She glumly re-reads Professor McGonagall's note on the back of the door, explaining how busy she is with the Triwizard Tournament and suggesting they discuss routine problems with their housemates first.
Housemates? Harry always sides with Ron anyway.
She sinks into a chair, feeling completely abandoned, when she suddenly hears Neville's soft voice.
"Professor Moody was kind to me after our lesson on Unforgivables."
Which is how, a week later, Hermione finds herself dawdling after her Defence lesson, waiting for the classroom to empty before she approaches the professor's desk.
"Excuse me, Professor Moody - please could I ask for some advice?"
May 2018
"Nothing like jealousy to set a solid foundation for marriage."
"I don't know why I bother confiding in you," Hermione snaps. "Honestly, Severus, sometimes you're…" She stops, looking infuriated. "And then other times, you're a complete arse!"
He looks at her, intrigued. "Go on. Sometimes I'm what?"
Hermione toys with her glass, appraising him. "Barty was a Death Eater. You must've known him."
"It was hardly a social club, Granger."
"He knew you. He didn't like you."
"At that point, most Death Eaters didn't like me. I'd deserted the cause." Severus sighs, running his hand over his face. "But no, you're right - Barty and I were not close. He was friendly with the Blacks, the Lestranges. I favoured the Malfoys." He sips his drink. "Rich, inbred families at war."
Hermione nods, seeming satisfied with his answer. "It must've been hell for the professors when you were students."
"It was hardly fun during my tenure."
She gives him a wicked smile. "So, Professor Snape, which was worse - the war, or Fred and George's burgeoning business?"
"Merlin," he laughs, "what a choice! Those bloody skiving snackboxes! I sent half of Slytherin to the hospital wing and Pomfrey gave me an earful when she discovered the cause. I'm sure that's when my tinnitus started," he adds, touching his right ear, before giving her a wry smile. "I soothe myself by remembering Umbridge's breakdown over that Portable Swamp."
"Ingenious," Hermione agrees, with a laugh. "It's incredible really, what poorer, non-inbred students will do to make money on the side."
He freezes, watching her warily.
"Barty knew that potion existed because he knew someone who brewed it." Her eyes bore into his. "You said it yourself - those textbooks weren't removed until you were a professor."
He stares at her, his eyes filled with fury. "What are you suggesting, Granger?"
"I might've been a stupid girl, but you were a very stupid boy, weren't you, Severus?"
December 1977
"Get the bloody door, Russ!"
Severus clatters down the narrow stairs, muttering various curses - both magical and Muggle - under his breath, and swings the front door open. His eyes widen when - instead of their aged neighbour - he sees a graceful, elegant witch.
Shooting a glance over his shoulder, he awkwardly moves onto the doorstep, pulling the door shut behind him. "What are you doing here?"
"That's no way to greet a guest, Russ," Narcissa says, gleefully.
"Don't tell anyone," he pleads, his voice lowered. "It's Severus. I prefer Severus."
"Well, Severus," she enunciates, with a wide smile, "I've come to settle our debt." She reaches into her cloak and withdraws a small pouch, placing it in his hand. "Four galleons, three sickles, five knuts."
"Oh!" He gleefully pockets the pouch - but when Narcissa takes out a gaudily wrapped box, he frowns. "What's this?"
"It's Christmas. It'd be the height of poor manners to descend unannounced upon you without a present."
"I can't accept, I haven't got you-"
"-oh, how incredibly crass," she interrupts, wrinkling her nose. "We don't buy gifts to receive gifts."
He immediately colours.
"Now, Severus, don't pretend you don't like chocolate cauldrons; I know they're your favourite. And finally," Narcissa continues, before he can protest further, "something you did ask for."
Severus takes the envelope from her hand and gives her a look of wonder as he marvels at the Malfoy crest on the seal. "You got me into Lucius' New Year's party?"
"What else would you expect," Narcissa beams, with a sparkle in her eyes, "from the future Mrs Malfoy?"
He grins back. "It worked then?"
"Really, Severus - you didn't work that out when I paid you?"
"Well, you're so wonderfully mannered," he teases, "I can't imagine you not paying for services rendered."
"I want to speak to you about that," she says, seriously, eyeing the Muggle terraced house with disdain. "If you ever want to leave this…" She trails off. "Many don't share my scruples. You should take payment on delivery."
He flushes and crosses his arms defensively. "I haven't had any trouble so far."
"Lucius would tell you the same," she sniffs. "And if he had any idea that you'd brewed this sort of potion-"
"-Merlin, you're not going to tell him, are you?"
"-he'd tell you that you should be charging a lot more than four galleons, three sickles, and five knuts."
Severus sags with relief. "Right."
"How long did it take you to brew?"
"A couple of weeks," he says, casually.
Her eyes narrow. "I know Lucius says you're a prodigy, but not even Sluggy could've-"
"-well, nearer a month."
"Four weeks?" Her voice is laced with scepticism.
"Six and a half," he finally admits, colouring again.
"Then I have not paid you nearly enough. I want you to accept this," she says, taking a business card from her cloak and passing it to him.
He frowns at the card and glances down, self-consciously, at his Muggle clothes. "I know where Madam Malkins is, thanks," he says, sourly.
Narcissa turns the card over in his hands and taps the back with a manicured fingernail. "This will give you access to the Black account when you're there. I expect to see you at Lucius' party in the finest robes money can buy."
His mouth opens in astonishment. "But Narcissa, that'd cost-"
"-I insist, Severus," she says, flashing him another beaming smile. "Half of the girls in Slytherin would kill for that potion. And half the boys too, I dare say. Do you have any idea how stressful dating is?"
"I er…" He clears his throat awkwardly. "That… Well… I've heard-"
"-no more wasted time, Severus!" she continues brightly, as if he hasn't spoken. "No dreadful dates, no crying in the common room, and best of all, no fear of a forced marriage to some frightful bore! You just drink a simple little potion-"
"-well, it wasn't simple-"
"-close your eyes, and there it is! The name of your soulmate!" She clutches her hands before her chest. "Imagine it, Severus - seeing the name of your true partner, as etched upon your soul by the hand of destiny, scribed with the ink of fate."
He swallows hard.
"Mrs Narcissa Malfoy," she says, dreamily. "It has a ring to it, don't you think?"
May 2018
"It's a nice story, Severus, but it doesn't explain anything."
"You were right - it's how Barty knew the book was in the library. He knew I'd brewed it, although not who for."
Hermione looks thoughtful. "You still see them, don't you? The Malfoys?"
Severus gives a tight nod.
"Would you say that they're still in love?"
"Sickeningly so."
"Then I don't understand, Severus," she says, fixing him with a stare. "When I mentioned that potion, you reacted like I'd told you… I don't know, like I'd told you the Dark Lord was back! Or that Harry had won the House Cup for Gryffindor again."
Despite himself, his lip quirks. "I'm definitely slacking."
"Or maybe you let your guard down around me."
"Maybe I do," he says, his eyes finally meeting hers. "After all, you're the only person considerate enough to call him the Dark Lord when you're around me."
She laughs. "You jumped out of your skin when I used the V-word, and when I said Tom, you thought I was talking about the barman!"
"I couldn't believe I hadn't heard about his plot to take over the wizarding world."
Hermione eyes him critically. "But your guard isn't down enough to tell me the truth, is it?"
"I did!" he protests. "Merlin, do I have to spell it out? That potion was my entry into the Death Eaters! It got me into-"
"-don't do that." Hermione fixes him with a hard stare. "The Severus I know wouldn't blame becoming a Death Eater on something as trivial as a potion."
"No," he admits, his cheeks colouring.
"The potion obviously worked for Narcissa - and sure, I was a year or two younger than you were when I brewed it, but I doubt your ego was so terribly bruised by that." She flashes him a grin. "After all, I had a much better Potions professor than you did."
He gives a soft laugh. "Apparently so."
"Then why were you so angry?"
December 1977
Safely ensconced in his bedroom, Severus unthreads a security spell on his desk drawer, and - with one last triumphant look at Lucius' invitation - he stashes his hard-earned bounty inside.
Severus pushes the drawer shut, but it defiantly springs back open. Frowning, he hastily eats three chocolate cauldrons, allowing him to scrunch the box smaller - but when the drawer still won't close, he tugs it free and upends the contents.
Sorting through, he finds three ink bottles, his favourite quill that he'd been convinced Mulciber had swiped during Arithmancy, and a pouch of dented gobstones. He tidies his treasures and then reaches for a stack of loose parchment, wincing when his knuckles meet solid wood.
He brushes the parchment to one side and picks up a polished box, holding it up in the light - almost reverently - his fingertips running across the engraved brass plaque.
To my favourite potioneer. Remember me when you're famous. Love, Lily x
Severus stares at the box, dumbfounded, suddenly recalling how he'd jammed it into the desk drawer when he'd returned home last year, sick of it taunting him from the shelf above his bed.
He swallows hard and opens the box, gazing at the samples inside - each slim bottle holding just under a gill of liquid. He'd taken Slughorn's lecture to heart, about how all commissioned potioneers should brew - and keep - a little extra for themselves.
Severus places the box down, and drags his school trunk from under his bed, reaching inside for his scarf. He unfolds it, revealing samples of the potions he'd been paid to brew during the autumn term.
A lump grows in his throat as he stows them in the box - and then he pauses, holding the final potion in his hand. He watches it curiously, the contents vibrant: blue and silver strands swirling and gold flecks shimmering - somehow reminding him of the sparkle in Narcissa's eyes.
He hesitates, glancing uneasily at the box with its engraved plaque - and then he rips the cork from the bottle, downs the remainder of Narcissa's commissioned potion, and tightly closes his eyes.
May 2018
"I knew it! And you had the audacity to call me a stupid girl."
"I didn't say I wasn't a hypocrite," he sniffs, draining his glass.
"Well?" she demands. "Whose name did you see?"
He looks at her incredulously. "Isn't it obvious?" he sneers, standing to leave. "You're in turmoil because you think you broke your soulmate's heart, but I got mine killed."