Chapter Text
Three Years Earlier
“Papa! Papa!”
Sir John Granger dismounted from his horse with a wide grin on his face. His arms opened wide for Hermione to rush into his familiar embrace. He’d been gone for over a fortnight visiting court, and his daughter missed him dearly. The young girl had been waiting with excited energy, annoying their housekeeper first and foremost. For the past few days, Hermione had spent her time in the manor, hoping the rains wouldn’t slow his progress home. Now, the air was warm but light. His shadow trailed long behind him, and he was home.
“Hello, Princess! Happy to see me?”
“Of course. Tell me everything you did. Did you meet the princess—the real one? What did the queen say?”
“I’ll tell you everything in a moment. We need to make sure the horses are cared for, and we need to get dressed for dinner. What's the cook prepared for this evening? We’ve been traveling for hours.”
Hermione peered around him to see a younger soldier dismounting from his own horse. Once his feet were planted on the cobblestone path, he stood tall and still with a saber at his side.
“We?”
“Oh, yes,” John said, twisting toward the soldier. “This is Major Snape. He will be staying with us for a night. He’s our guest. Snape?”
“Sir?”
“This is my daughter, Lady Hermione.”
The younger man stepped forward and bowed slightly to Hermione. “Good evening, Lady Hermione.”
“Good evening,” she replied with a curtsey and a bland smile. A guest meant that the fourteen‑year‑old would have to share her father’s attention. Sir John was a knight and had quite a schedule to follow. He had unending duties on their lands and the surrounding villages. He had been honored by Queen Rowena for his outstanding gallantry in battle, saving one of the princes with his swift sword and quick thinking. Afterwards, he married Baroness Helen Louise Brightbury and, several years later, had a baby girl. Fourteen years later, Sir John was a widower, and Hermione was noble by blood, even if it was diluted in some respects. She was still called Lady.
“Where is… Jack! There you are! Take both horses and see that they’re ready for a long journey tomorrow.”
Hermione watched with a fallen mood upon hearing that her father would be traveling again in the morning. As he handed the reins to one of the stable hands, the young soldier stared ahead, and Hermione stared at him, wondering how a man so young was already called Major. The daughter of a knight was well educated in the rankings of military officers. Snape could not have been any older than nineteen in her estimation. When his unreadable eyes met hers, both blinked as they judged one another. Hermione crossed her eyes, and when she grew bored, she turned away, leaving the man behind. McGonagall could welcome him better than she could, in any case.
“Is there a reason why you stare at me so?”
“How old are you?”
Hermione had been called to the dining room for a family dinner, only to find him sitting there. Her father had been summoned to Harrimen, the nearest village, to settle a dispute between two families.
Snape opened the napkin and placed it on his lap.
“I am twenty‑five as of last winter. And you?”
“Fourteen. You’re quite young for a major.”
“As are you.”
Her forwardness was rarely rebutted with quick wit. Hermione was usually reprimanded quietly or sent out of the room. There was no one there to reprimand her this time. The maid who stood by the kitchen entrance stifled a very quiet giggle—ironically placed there to maintain propriety while making herself known.
“Why are you here?”
“Your father insisted I come. He is my superior, the colonel. I follow his orders.”
“Why are you here, sir?”
“He promised a fine meal prepared by your cook and a place to rest so I can finish my journey home.”
Her reply came quickly and imperiously. “Very well.”
“Pardon?”
“That will suffice.”
He cracked a smile then. The smell of dinner—thyme and rosemary—grew stronger as it was placed on the table before them both. Her father’s place was left bare purposefully. There was no need to set a place. He would not return for hours.
“You smile. Do you find contentment in your service, Major?”
“Contentment?”
“Yes.”
“It is what I was trained to do from boyhood. Your father trained me. Do you find contentment in being a young lady?”
“A curious question, sir.”
“It’s what you do, is it not?”
“I study, I paint, I write.”
“And you are still a lady? Your father introduced you as such. That is your title, Lady Hermione.”
“I am not ashamed of it,” she said. “I am content with what fortune has granted me.”
“As am I.”
“I miss my mother dearly. It is her blood that gives me the title. So, I like being a lady since she gave it to me. I’d rather give it back to her if I could.”
“The feeling is well understood.”
“Is it?”
“Quite. The death of a family member has left me with a small home. That is where I am traveling. I gained a home but lost an uncle. You have been bestowed a title but… may she rest in peace.”
“You have my deepest sympathies,” Hermione said softly.
The rest of the dinner was finished in silence, save for the clinking of cutlery on china and the faint sounds emanating from the kitchen.
Later on, tucked in her bed, Hermione listened for the moment her father returned to the manor. The house always felt too big when he left because she could never find him. She heard the crunch of hooves on pebbles beneath her window and the soft glow of a lantern wavering in the wind. She could finally allow herself a bit of rest. He was all she had left in the world, and until she married and had children of her own, the only family she knew of.
The glow disappeared, the manor exhaled with relief, and she slept.
By dusk, the manor smelled of thyme and rain, and the guest had departed.