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Hermione grinned, leaning back against the door with a wide grin on her face. The scent of autumn filled the mansion, spicy and woodsy and wonderful, and her busy mind went quiet for one glorious moment.
“And to what,” drawled the owner of the mansion, “do I owe the…pleasure?”
Once, the condescension in his voice would have made her blush and stammer like a silly little schoolgirl, which was understandable, since that’s exactly what she’d been. Now that she was no longer silly nor a schoolgirl (and not so little anymore, either, somewhat to her dismay), it simply brought a fond grin to her face.
“Hello, Severus,” she said, taking in the view of him slowly descending the main staircase. As always, he cut an imposing figure: tall, lean, and dark, a stark contrast to the rich woods and deep colours of his home.
“I don’t remember inviting you in, witch.”
“I don’t remember asking to be invited in.”
He huffed, as he always did. “And I suppose you are here for the usual.”
“Oh, of course.”
Severus glanced her up and down, and for one horrible moment she thought he was going to make a nasty comment. She had broken into his home after all, and not for the first time, and the fact that she’d put on some curves since the war was an obvious and easy target.
His small smirk and murmur of “You’re looking…well” could possibly be taken as a jab in that direction, but if so, it was a far softer one than she’d come to expect even from her friends. Well. Her other friends.
No matter how much he huffed and grumped, Hermione did consider Severus Snape a friend.
She’d saved his life in the Shrieking Shack during the awful Battle of Hogwarts, as it had come to be called. Patching him together with a combination of potions and Muggle first aid had not been easy, and she’d needed Madam Pomfrey’s help to finish the job, but the crucial intervention had been hers.
The funny thing? She apparently hadn’t owed him anything at that point. They were on opposite sides of the war, despite his secret allegiances. They had no ties of friendship or camaraderie. They hadn’t even been teacher and student at the time. As it happened, deciding on a whim to save a likely traitor in the face of every piece of logic and evidence under those circumstances incurred a life debt.
She hadn’t wanted anything from him - she’d actually felt quite sorry for him, after hearing Harry talk about the man’s memories - but she’d learned long ago not to waste a favour. So she’d simply…said nothing.
He, on the other hand, had not been nearly so ambivalent. He showed up on her parents’ doorstep two weeks after the three of them returned from Australia, demanding that she name the price of his freedom. She’d refused to give him an answer, then. He’d refused the cup of tea she’d offered him, storming away like a thundercloud.
He showed up again a few weeks later, offering her knowledge. He had an extensive library, he’d said, and was willing to let her…peruse it to her liking. Perhaps, he hinted, he could even be convinced to part with a few tomes, if it would relieve the debt. She had to decline this offer: she would be at Hogwarts again soon and would have access to the even more impressive library there. He, for his part, declined both the tea and the biscuits her mother tried to foist on him.
His third visit was several months later, during the Christmas hols. Money, he’d offered rather desperately. A tidy sum, too. He’d been acquitted of his crimes during the war and somehow found himself heir to the old Prince fortune in the same breath, and had more than enough galleons to fund every wistful research daydream he’d ever had during his long years at Hogwarts. He was willing to part with a significant chunk of this treasure to purchase his freedom.
Something about his plea twisted her heart, and she knew she couldn’t accept…but neither could she continue to string him along. Something had to give. She arranged to meet him at his new home over the Easter break, before she was due to take her N.E.W.T.s.
He, in a show of good faith, accepted her tea…and her mother’s scone as well.
That visit to his mansion became the first of many over the years. They had a long discussion about what she wanted out of life, which bled into what he wanted out of life now that he’d been thrust into pseudo-nobility. She’d discovered an appreciation for his dry wit. He’d discovered that she was no longer as irritating as he’d feared.
Hermione read up on life debts and found that discharging them was never an easy thing. In saving Severus Snape’s life, she had effectively tied them together until such a time as he could repay her in some suitably impressive way. As no such opportunity had presented itself, they simply…waited.
In the years since her graduation, they had become friends. Well…she considered herself friendly enough to invite herself into his home on occasion, and he didn’t throw her out on her nose.
Severus led her into a small, comfortable study and held out a chair for her at a little table in the corner. As he seated himself across from her, a tea service appeared…along with two small dishes.
Hermione could feel her mouth watering.
“After you,” Severus said, smirking as he gestured to the tray.
Slowly - mindful of her curves - Hermione took one of the dishes and the small spoon beside it.
She didn’t know the name of the delightful confection the Prince Manor house elves made for her. Both they and their master refused to tell her, no matter how much she tried to wheedle it out of them. All she knew was that it was every ounce as rich and dark as the master of the house, chocolatey and divine.
Not, of course, that she would ever compare Severus Snape to a pudding.
Even if…
She would never compare Severus Snape to a pudding, she reminded herself firmly.
Hermione opened her eyes to find him watching her. He wasn’t smirking, exactly, but there was a…relaxation to his features, an absence of the frown lines around his mouth and the tension around his eyes, that made her reach out a hand towards him.
“Thank you,” she said, enjoying the soft wool of his sleeve under her fingers. Even years after he’d come into his fortune, the man still enjoyed his buttons and his coats. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything too important.”
“Nothing vital,” he said, eyes following the path of her fingers. “I was going to go foraging for potions ingredients in the forest, but that can be delayed a few hours…or a few days.”
Perhaps it was the delicious unnamed dessert. Perhaps it was the beautiful autumn weather, cool without being cold, cloudy enough for shade without being gloomy. Perhaps it was the visceral realness of him, the little thrill she always got when she spent time with him, the twinkle of magic she knew she would miss when she inevitably went home.
Whatever the reason, Hermione Granger - known avoider of forests - found herself asking with a little grin, “May I join you?”
And to her surprise, a little quirk tickled the edges of his lips as well. He turned his hand over, letting her fingers rest in his. “Anytime,” he murmured.
The words held a weight she didn’t expect, and she tilted her head to the side. His eyes flicked to hers, warm and sure and every bit as dark as the pudding he’d offered her, and she smiled.
As they bundled up to leave, a thought crossed her mind: marriage bonds were one of the few things they’d found that could dissolve a life debt. Glancing up at her tall companion, watching his face contort into a heavy scowl against the chill in the air, she wondered if he would be amenable to such a thing, if he remembered that little loophole. He was an honourable and loyal man, but she was confident that he wouldn’t marry her over a life debt. Not exclusively, anyways. Severus had become a true friend - a dear one, at that - and one she wouldn’t terribly mind spending the rest of her life with.
He tucked her arm into his with a deft move, as if it was as natural as picking up his foraging basket and tools, and she had to look away to hide her smile.
It appeared that he had plans of his own.