Work Text:
The sun rises slowly over Cokeworth. Over the last two years an upstart in urban development had taken on the small town as her personal project; funded by an anonymous benefactor, she was able to clean up the river, reclaim the public spaces, and even repurpose the old mill. The old store fronts received fresh coats of paint, and the local pub became a place of vibrant community rather than drunken consolation.
There was one spot in Cokeworth that remained untouched: the very last house on Spinner’s End.
A family by the name of Snape had lived there once. Tobias had worked in the mill with most of the older generation who would reflect on him with a shake of their heads; he’d had potential, they said, he just took a few hard knocks and never quite managed to get back up again. The problem was, he brought his wife and son down with him. Few people saw Eileen Snape nor the boy whose name no one quite knew. The rumors suggested he kept disappearing to stints at a detention center and everyone breathed a sigh of relief when they realized he’d stopped darkening Lily Evans’ door.
Someone still lived in the home. Someone kept the lights on. Yet no one ever got a glimpse of the elusive owner. No one imagined it was the boy—Samuel? Sebastian?—not after all that had transpired in that home. If it were him, however, it might explain the abundance of bottles that appeared in the bin throughout the week. One night with those memories would be enough for anyone to drink himself under.
oOo
There’s a sharp knock on the door.
“Severus?”
The man in the recliner grunts, rousing abruptly. A bottle of muggle beer falls to the floor and shatters.
“Sod off, Granger.”
His lock clicks. The door creaks open. What in merlin’s name has happened to his wards? He stares at the doorway with bleary eyes as his angel comes into view. Her riotous curls are pinned back from her face, and she’s dressed smartly in a Muggle pantsuit. It’s natural for his gaze to take her in, the one good thing in the sea of filth he’s drowning in.
Hermione doesn’t bat an eye at the sight before her. She doesn’t flinch as her feet kick debris out of the way. Her nose doesn’t wrinkle at the stench of old beer, molding food, and—sweet Salazar is that urine? She just walks straight towards him and makes to sit on the couch beside his armchair.
His wand flicks to siphon the scum from the seat. He knows from experience she won’t. She’ll just sit in his filth like it’s nothing to her. Like it doesn’t matter. Like she’s not disgusted by it. Why isn’t she disgusted by it?
“How are you?”
He grunts noncommittally. Why has it been so long, he wonders.
“Minerva asked me to pass on her gratitude for the potions.”
It’s a modest amount she overcompensates him for. It’s thinly veiled charity but his pride is long since lost to him.
He doesn’t respond.
She doesn’t expect it.
Instead, she starts busying about his space, vanishing bottles and scourgifying surfaces. You like a tidy space, Severus, you know that, she’d said the first time she started. When she threatened to bind him, he allowed her to carry on. Now it’s routine. The moldy food is vanished, and fresh food is summoned from her illegal handbag. As she works, she goes on about what she’s been up to in the time since she’s last seen him. She’d been away to Australia, there was a breakthrough with her parents. She asks him questions, sliding over his silence without a hint of discomfort.
Then she takes a deep breath and for the first time since he laid in a hospital bed, she touches him. Just a gentle press of her hand to his shoulder. He looks up with some semblance of surprise. The morning sun puts her face in shadow giving her an ethereal look. She says nothing, just holds her hand out expectantly.
He takes it, following her in some sort of stupor. The shower turns on and he finds himself being pushed under the frigid spray, fully clothed. He splutters and coughs.
“Bloody hell, Granger!”
She doesn’t acknowledge his raspy voice. Or that it’s the first time he’s spoken to her. Instead, she arches a brow, says “well, you hate the film from a cleansing spell,” and then closes the door so he can strip.
Freshly showered, he finds an outfit on the sink. She’s selected relaxed jeans and a homemade jumper. It smells of her. He looks at himself in the mirror and grimaces at the stubble. His hand shakes as he brings the razor to his cheek. Three knicks later, he slams his hand on the sink. Hermione opens the door. She takes one look, conjures a stool, and gestures for him to sit. Then she cradles his face carefully and shaves him. Her thumb strokes over his now smooth cheek, a tender expression on her face that he doesn’t deserve.
Then she extends her hand once more.
This time he pays more attention. He hesitates at the front door. He squeezes her hand, reminding himself he’s there, and he steps out into Cokeworth for the first time in years.
He blinks.
“Show me around, Severus.”
They walk the streets. She doesn’t drop his hand. When they come across the old mill, now bright shiny and suspiciously named Malfoy Enterprises, she meets his gaze evenly. They grab takeaway on the way back and it is only when they’re both seated with pints of Chinese food between them that he speaks.
“It’s different.”
“It’s revitalized.”
A pause.
“I almost believed you gave up.”
She smiles. “You know I’m not the type.”
oOo
The last house on Spinner’s End was worthy of being on a postage stamp. Its front garden was picturesque and the windows always gleamed. The Snape’s lived there. Severus was a professor at some boarding school in Scotland. His wife, Hermione, worked in the government, though she’d never say where. They had one boy, Cornelius, whom the whole neighborhood affectionately referred to as baby Neil, much to his father’s chagrin.