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The house was loud. People crowded everywhere, shouting, dancing, cheering. Garlands draped over every available surface. Tinsel of all colours floated through the air. People pulled Christmas crackers and laughed uproariously at stupid jokes.
And though Hermione had thrown herself into the decoration and party planning with a fervour, in the moment, she’d found it all Too Much.
She’d just needed a minute to herself. Some quiet. Some peace. And there was only one place in her house where that was guaranteed.
It had been surprisingly easy to slip away, she mused as she eased closed the door to Severus’ office. She’d discreetly drained her wine into one of the numerous plants Neville kept sneaking into her house, then feigning shock, she’d excused herself from Arthur’s latest Muggle-related excitement to go refill her glass. A stroll through the room, a few nods at people she knew, a wave of her empty glass in apology, a quick dodge around an oversized Christmas tree the twins had conjured… She’d gotten away with no one the wiser.
She sighed, kicking off her shoes and collapsing against the back of the chair. It was deep, custom made for her husband’s tall frame, and it wrapped his scent around her like a wisp of a hug. Hermione snuggled further into the chair, letting it soothe her ruffled feathers. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy the company of every single Weasley and Potter and Lovegood downstairs. It was just…
Hermione felt a suspicious wobbling of her chin. Trying to ignore it, and the niggling irritation that she was in her thirties, for Merlin’s sake, she shouldn’t be crying , she tried to distract herself by looking around Severus’ office. She tried not to disturb him while he was working, so it had been a while since she'd studied the room. She was comforted by how little had changed.
The usual cauldrons in various sizes bubbled in their stands along one wall, cleverly hiding the hidden entrance to his lab where he brewed the more dangerous potions. Another wall was decorated with framed awards and articles, pictures in which Severus scowled furiously at the camera, and several shots from their life together. They were the only ones in which he smiled. Severus had complained about them, of course, but Hermione had threatened to plaster them to his face instead. He’d given in with a grumble and a good-natured roll of his eyes, the warmth in them belying his irritation. Hermione smiled at the memory–
Their wedding picture was slightly askew. Her rising good mood popped and she hauled herself to her feet with a sigh.
“Of course,” she muttered under her breath. “There’s always one more thing. No rest for the weary.”
She tapped the frame with a bit more force than necessary, rattling it against the wall and knocking something loose. She lunged as a piece of paper fluttered to the floor, but only succeeded in hitting her head against the frame she’d been trying to fix. It followed the same path and landed on the floor with a heavy thud, just barely missing her toes.
Hermione closed her eyes for a long moment, reminding herself to breathe slowly. In and out on a four count, like Severus had taught her years ago after a particularly bad Ministry meeting. Not that Anderson hadn’t deserved the hex she’d cast under the table, Severus had acknowledged, but there were better ways to handle frustration. She rolled her eyes, catching sight of a picture of one of their children throwing an epic tantrum in a field of grass. She rather wanted to climb into the picture and join the infant.
But Hermione released her held breath and bent to pick up the piece of paper that had fallen.
The first thing she noticed was that it was a piece of their wedding stationary. The second was that it was a letter. To her. From Severus.
“Oh,” Hermione said, lowering herself blindly into a chair. She read the letter again, the tears that had threatened earlier gathering at the corners of her eyes.
She remembered their wedding day, too. She’d been so nervous but her parents had been all smiles, constantly reassuring her that nothing had gone wrong. It wasn’t until Hermione had stood at the end of the aisle that she remembered to breathe properly. Severus’ eyes had been steady on hers, a safe and solid connection in a turbulent moment. She’d smiled and he’d smiled in return, and everything was right again.
Hermione folded the letter, pressing a kiss to its soft cream coloured paper. She picked up their wedding photo, studying the back where the page had been stored. There was a gap between the picture and the frame, just large enough for the folded paper, which she slid into place. She carefully set the frame back on its hook on the wall, nodding in satisfaction. Now that she knew about the letter, she could see how the frame leaned slightly away from the wall… As did the picture next to it.
That frame held a Daily Prophet article about her being hired as Head of a department in the Ministry, two years before they’d married. Many had been unhappy about her apparently undeserved position, Severus especially. He’d been acting as Head for several months before his predecessor had retired with a verbal agreement that he would be promoted officially. Hermione winced, remembering how he’d reacted when Kingsley had introduced her to the office.
Severus hadn’t worn the oversize teacher’s robes from her childhood, but she could almost see the snap as he turned on his heel and stormed out. He hadn’t acknowledged her for weeks, instead dropping off dozens of rolls of parchment, all covered in his spidery handwriting. He’d instructed her to study them, that if she insisted on fooling the Minister and everyone into thinking she was in any way capable, she’d better learn how to actually do the job.
She’d been frustrated with him but determined to make it work with the department, with the pressures that Kingsley was putting on her to turn the department around, and with her new employees. She worked harder than anyone, staying late and going in early, practically living at her desk. She was always available to anyone, which eventually earned her some allies. Severus had been the only true holdout.
She’d set up an office party as an early holiday celebration. She’d lifted her arm to cheer - and had caught Severus right in the elbow. His coffee had gone flying, leaving a brown streak across his crisp white shirt. Hermione had apologised, offered to clean his shirt, but he’d stomped away without a word.
Hermione shook her head ruefully. She’d handled the transition badly, she knew now. Severus could not be led to any conclusions, even those he would eventually find favourable. He had to be given time and space in order to see the best path.
She tapped the framed article, unsurprised when another paper fell out. But she was surprised to see that it was a letter on official MInistry stationary, addressed to Kingsley. About her.
Hermione laughed out loud. It would figure that she’d literally knocked sense into him, though he’d been prickly and off-putting for several weeks after that. She’d been startled when he’d asked her to coffee a few days before Christmas. She’d agreed out of shock, a bit wary that he was setting her up for a public fall. But he had been sincere and that coffee had melted her heart as much as the snow in her hair on that chilly December afternoon.
By New Years, they were dating. By May, and to everyone's shock, they were engaged. Hermione glanced at their engagement photo, one of the few where Severus smiled at the viewer. Her fingers itched to reach under the frame and retrieve the letter she suspected would be there, but her eyes caught on another picture instead.
Their son Ben stood shoulder to shoulder with his classmates, his straight brown hair falling into his face as he grinned mischievously. He waved at the camera but the motion was still, the picture as Muggle as the other students. Curious, Hermione pulled at the frame, her hand out to catch the letter.
Tears threatened to fall and Hermione swiped at them with a watery laugh. Did she remember that meeting? Every word. Every second. She remembered the low plastic chair that left imprints on her arse and made her knees scream. She remembered the smell of the play dough, itself bringing memories of primary school. She remembered rushing home from work, the first time she’d left on time, and she remembered fighting down the guilt that gnawed at her belly, Kingsley’s irritated words still ringing in her ears. Questioning her loyalty to her department, that she would choose a child over her work. “It had better not become a pattern.”
She remembered how grateful she’d been that the teacher had been willing to meet in the evening. She remembered looking at the carefully chosen outfit she’d laid out that morning in preparation for the meeting and wanting to cry. It looked so old. So stuffy. So… not who she thought she was. Hermione had reached into the far reaches of her wardrobe and pulled out jeans, her softest shirt, and the sole cardigan that didn’t carry toddler detritus. She remembered how Severus’ eyes had lit up when he saw her, already at the school with Ben and baby Sophia. He’d looked so proud of her.
Did she remember that meeting? Oh yes. She could never forget the moment she reclaimed herself, no longer viewing motherhood as a burden but rather an exciting new project. She still had no idea what she was doing half the time, but she was able to let go of her expectations and revel in her children. That meeting saved her from a very dull life.
Excited, she began to reach for her maternity picture, Sophia visibly moving under her skin, but Hermione stopped herself. She’d read that letter the next time the children were driving her up the wall and she questioned their sanity.
Instead, she locked eyes with a portrait she usually avoided. Albus Dumbledore had the audacity to wave at her, his countenance cheerful as though his picture form had no idea he’d condemned her husband to death. She’d threatened more than once to set fire to the picture but Severus had always chuckled and said that there was more to the picture and the man than she knew. And now as a letter fell into her hand, she understood what he meant.
The tears that had merely threatened earlier poured down her cheeks, barely missing the precious letters she held.
“Oh, Severus,” she whispered, pressing the letter to her heart. “You saved me, too.”
She finally allowed herself to cry, releasing weeks – months-– no, years of stress and frustration. Surrounded by her husband’s scent, his memories, his perceptions of shared experiences, Hermione was able to feel his love. He calmed her, soothed her even without being there. His quiet personality was everywhere around her, caressing her heart in the gentle way that he only showed his family. He always gave them the space to just be, and he did so now, despite his absence. Hermione quietly sobbed her gratitude, clutching to her chest the letter from a dead man who for once had given good advice and had changed the course of both their lives.
Eventually Hermione composed herself, wiping the last of the tears away with a handkerchief. Albus had disappeared from his frame and so she didn’t have an audience as she tucked the letter back into its frame.
She was reaching for the picture of Severus and Sophia sharing a cupcake when she heard a thud in the hallway. Alarmed, she flew to the door and threw it open. Severus leaned against the wall, a surprised and sheepish smile spreading across his face.
“Sorry,” he said, nodding to the two sleeping children in his arms. “I swear they gain a stone each when they fall asleep.”
“They do that,” Hermione chuckled. “May I help?”
Severus passed Sophia over, who tucked her face into Hermione’s neck, her curly black hair a wild tangle that tickled her mother’s nose. Hermione swayed with her younger child, letting herself drink in the feeling of a small body curled against hers. Sophia had reached an age where she valued her independence and refused to cuddle with either parent anymore, but in sleep she clutched Hermione’s collar and sighed happily.
“Are you all right?” Severus asked. He lifted Ben to rest more firmly on his shoulder, leaving a hand free to caress Hermione’s cheek. His fingers came away wet. “You’ve been crying.”
“Only happy tears,” Hermione reassured him, leading the way down the hall to the children’s rooms. “I found your letters.”
“Oh.” Severus settled a sleepy, grumbling Ben into his bed, tucking a soft blanket around him. Hermione went to Sophia’s room, tucked her into her bed, and ran a hand down her cheek. Sophia grabbed it and squeezed as she had nearly every night of her life. Hermione swallowed thickly against a rising lump in her throat.
“Love you too, sweetheart.”
“Love you three,” Sophia whispered.
Hermione gently worked her hand free, sneaking out of the toddler’s room in the practised way of parents. Her husband met her in the hallway.
“What did you think of the letters?”
“That you’re the sweetest man in the world and I can’t believe that you’re mine.” Hermione leaned up to twine her arms around his neck. “How could I have gotten so lucky?”
Severus pulled her close, pressing his forehead to hers. “I ask myself the same question every day.”
Hermione snickered. “Before or after the children start fighting?”
“Sometimes during,” Severus shrugged. “They keep life interesting.”
Chimes sounded suddenly, pealing joyfully through the house. A cheer rose from downstairs and glasses clinked together.
Severus snorted. “I’d forgotten they were still here. Shall I send them home?”
“In a moment.” Hermione flicked her wand, conjuring a small bundle of mistletoe. “Happy Christmas, my love.”
And in the ringing of the midnight bells, their lips met.
The End