About A Potions Master

Chapter 12

By Pigwidgeon37

Hand outstretched, Severus walked towards his mother, pulled her to her feet—maybe with a little more force than was necessary—and gallantly guided her back to the gravel-strewn garden path.

“May I inquire why you are sneaking around, jumping at people from behind their backs?” she asked while they crunched their way towards the entrance door, in a not-quite-successful attempt at getting the upper hand.

“Interesting you should ask, mother. Because I was going to ask you more or less the same. Without the part concerning the jumping, of course, given that you seemed rather stationary. What was so interesting about that window, by the way?”

She shot him a wistful look. “You know exactly what was so interesting, Severus, and your ill-disguised attempt at tormenting me is not at all compatible with filial respect . Where is Miss Granger?”

“Miss Granger has returned to Canterbury…”

Mrs. Snape stopped dead in her tracks. “She has… Severus, you let her go?”

“Thee was little I could do to hold her back.”

“Severus…” Her eyes were blazing with fury, and her much-prized self-control seemed to be rapidly waning.

He watched her calmly, arms crossed, head slightly tilted, relishing the lingering aftertaste of the kisses he had shared with Hermione earlier, waiting for the entertainment to come. “Yes, mother?”

“Severus, how could you… how could you let her go? What did you do to her? And why are you looking so smug? This is nothing to be proud of.”

“As I told you, mother, she simply left, and short of casting a body bind on her, there was nothing I could do to prevent her from leaving.”

“Yes, Severus, I think I understood as much. There is no need to repeat that to me. What I want you to tell me is the reason why she left this house.”

Severus studied his fingernails with intense interest. “You seem quite upset, mother.”

“Upset? I am outraged, just in case that is of any interest to you.”

“You are my mother, how could it not be of interest to me? Only I am afraid I don't quite get your point. She left, and of her own free will. Your wish has been fulfilled.”

“I…” She bit her lip. It was useless. If Hermione had left, there was simply no point in arguing anymore. “Just leave it be, Severus. Do you think you could manage to stay out of my sight today?”

She turned round, rather brusquely, and stalked towards the entrance door. Severus, stifling a wild grin, went swiftly after her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Mother…”

She whipped round. “No, Severus. I am angry. So kindly let me deal with my anger on my own.”

“Mother, don't you think it is time to end this charade?”

“I am sure I do not know what you are talking about,” she said harshly.

He sighed. “Mother, please. This is childish, and you know it. I admit that pretending to dislike Hermione was a very cunning strategy, and it might even have been helpful. But I suggest that you drop the mask. Hermione has left—”

She grabbed his wrist. “But why, Severus? Why? How could you let her go?”

“If you only let me finish my sentence. Hermione has left for Canterbury, to fetch some items she is going to need for her prolonged stay here.”

Her face lit up. “Prolonged stay? How delightful! How long will she remain here?”

“Mother,” he said, shaking his head in exasperation, “correct me if I’m wrong. But you have no conscience whatsoever, do you?”

“No, why should I? To develop one at my age might even be dangerous. Now tell me, how long?”

“Three weeks. Does that have your approval?”

“What a piteous attempt at sarcasm, dear boy. Of course I approve. Should I excogitate a pretext for moving her into the rooms next to yours?”

Severus rolled his eyes. “Mother, please! I am capable of finding the way to her rooms, should the necessity arise. Don’t give me that doubtful look. I can handle this, and I will not tolerate any meddling.”

“She might need some encouragement, though,” Mrs. Snape said pensively, “For she seems terribly shy…”

Not sure whether to laugh or cry, he retorted, “I think I know perfectly well how to encourage her. But I have no intention to rush things. She is very young—”

“Have you already talked about children?” she interrupted him.

Severus raised his palms and looked upwards, into the perfectly blue sky. “Oh you deities, what have I done to deserve this?”

“There is absolutely no need for a second-class histrionic performance, Severus. I merely asked you a question, and an important one, at that.”

He let his arms drop. “Did I inadvertently switch to Japanese, or are you simply not listening? I said I do not want to goad her into anything she might not want, or not yet want. Breeding discussions seem to be just the kind of issue that could bear some waiting until the time is ripe. Be warned, mother: if you go on like this, I’m telling father.”

“You would never… Oh,” she said, throwing him a very guilty look. “Did Hermione…”

“No, Hermione didn’t. Neither about your vicious-mother-in-law act nor about the portrait. I found that out on my own. And I think that some serious talking is in order between the two of us, do you agree?”

“Severus, if this is what Hermione brings out in you, I might return to the role of the vicious mother-in-law. I am not sure whether I am up to—”

“But that is what you have been wanting, isn’t it?” he asked, gently putting an arm round her shoulders. “You wanted to know, didn't you? I know you have forgiven me, and I believe that you truly did so, but wouldn't it be better to clarify things once and for all? Especially,” he continued on a lighter note, giving her shoulders a squeeze, “as Hermione will return with a rather temperamental half-Kneazle, so that we might be too busy brewing calming draughts for cats to have much time for anything else.”

**°°**°°**

Africa wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, Ron thought, casting a nonchalant stunning spell on a lion who seemed intent on putting English Redhead on today's menu. He reclined on the mattress he had conjured up in the shadow of a large umbrella thorn and looked at the Serengeti over the rim of his glass of iced lemonade.

Granted, it was quite spectacular. First of all, there were lots of nature. But he had grown up at Ottery St. Catchpole, where the only thing you could get in large amounts was nature. Hogwarts was surrounded by nature. He really had had his fair share of nature, and didn’t need much more of it. Especially not of the sneakily dangerous kind. For somebody who had confronted vicious, three-headed dogs, giant spiders and blast-ended skrewts, live elephants were only so much fun. The people were okay. Really nice, really hospitable, they didn't have problems with magic, whether they were wizards or Muggles. But then, he knew a lot of really nice people back in England, and those were enough, as far as he was concerned. Of course, they had a completely different approach to magic here, only very few of them used a wand at all. Only this would have been of more interest to Hermione, who always went analysing and turning things this way and that… he wasn’t that kind of person. He looked at things, acknowledged they were there, formed an opinion about them, and that was that. Not that he had anything against Hermione's way of handling things, on the contrary…

His mind drifted towards his wild-haired friend. There wasn't much he could offer her. He was going to start working at the Ministry in a few weeks’ time, and he was pretty sure that he would stay there. The payment was average, the work might even be interesting, and a career was the last thing he wanted. There were more important things to life than a career. Moreover, Hermione had enough ambition for both of them. And, most importantly, she would be glad to have someone in her life. Him, to be exact. He was, of course, going to marry her. No living-together nonsense, no sir, not with Ron Weasley. They would marry, maybe have children… all in all, he quite liked the perspective. He wasn't madly in love with Hermione, but honestly, who could be? Hermione wasn't the kind of girl, well, woman rather, that inspired passion. Too prosaic, too matter-of-fact, and too prudish. He honestly didn't mind, though. Since his graduation, he had gathered lots and lots of experience—after all, he was quite the good-looking guy, what with being well over six feet tall and proud owner of the most charming smile between the Andes and Mount Fujiyama (not the Pacific route, the other way round). He'd had enough sex to last him a lifetime, and if she didn't need much of it, he wasn't going to hold it against her. The only flaw she had was a pronounced dislike of cooking. Hermione was a horrible cook, she said so herself. Well, maybe his mother might take her under her wing…

Speaking of flaws and of cooking… The food here—and in most other parts of the world he had travelled to these last months—was something he'd never get used to. Never. He got beans and a piece of gazelle, and before his mental eye appeared a steak-and-kidney pie, Hogwarts brand. They served him fish and vegetables, and he could almost smell his mother's very own Irish Stew.

His stomach was rumbling. Ron sighed and got up. Time to get something to eat. But his mind was made up: he had seen enough of the world and would return home very soon, earlier than he had thought. What a nice surprise it would be for his family. And for Hermione…

**°°**°°**

Right after his graduation, Harry had vowed to do three things before his twentieth birthday: to marry Ginny Weasley, to rebuild the house at Godric's Hollow, and to try out for the British National Quidditch Team. Making these dreams become reality required, of course, that Voldemort join his maker down in hell. His determination and teeth-gritting courage during the war had astonished even Dumbledore, but when the war was over and the Evil One gone forever, everybody had nodded in smiling understanding. For only two months later, his parents’ house shone in renewed splendour, he was Seeker for the National Team, and Dumbledore, eyes a-twinkle with happiness, performed the wedding ceremony, where the Dursleys were the only ones that didn't smile.

The Potters’ house was more often than not occupied by various friends, including Sirius, and Harry thoroughly enjoyed the feeling of having a home and a family. Right now, he and Ginny were snuggled together on one end of the couch, listening to Hermione, silently wondering at just how much a person could change simply by falling in love. She had popped over to fetch Crookshanks, and they had persuaded her to stay for an early afternoon tea.

“So eager to go back?” Harry asked with a wicked grin.

“Well, I… it's only for three weeks, and I don't want to waste any of it,” she said.

“So you’re wasting your time while staying with us, because you want to fly back into Severus Snape's arms?” Ginny said in mock-offence. “What has the world come to, eh, Harry?”

“You know exactly that this is not what I meant!” Hermione said.

Ginny smiled at her. “I know, darling, I know. And you have no idea how good it is to see you like this. Not to mention that you seem to have dropped that annoying habit of apologizing all the time.”

“I suppose that’s because I’m feeling too insanely happy to do anything but grin idiotically. Come to think of it, it is insane: he just kissed me, nothing else.”

“Don’t forget the Polyjuice trap,” Harry said, “If that doesn’t say it all…”

“Yes, I think it's a good sign. And I’m glad his mother seems to like me.”

“This,” Harry said, sitting up and pushing his glassed back up his nose, “is what surprises me most in this whole strange business.”

Hermione bristled. “What is so surprising about the fact that his mother likes me?”

“No, no,” Harry said, “you misunderstood me. What strikes me as really strange is that Snape actually has a mother. I always thought he was the unfortunate result of a drunken tryst between a bat and a scarecrow, hatched in a cauldron. A bit like Norbert, come to think of it. Oh,” he said, grinning guiltily, “It seems… why aren’t you laughing?”

Ginny glared at her husband. “Harry, why don't you go say hello to Mum? You promised, remember? And she would be delighted to see you.”

“I… er…” He was looking rather sheepish.

“Now would be the ideal time,” Ginny said pointedly.

“I… um, yes, I suppose that might be a good idea,” he said, getting up from the sofa. “Well then, I guess I’m… uh, going, er, bye, Hermione, and good luck.”

He Disapparated with a ‘plop’ and the two young women grinned at each other conspiratorially.

“Bit slow on the uptake sometimes,” Ginny observed, “But I love him all the same. So, is he a good kisser?”

Hermione sighed, and her eyes went a little out of focus. “He's… well, wonderful. Much better than anybody I ever kissed before.”

Ginny slapped her head. “I knew I wanted to tell you something important. Sorry, we’ll continue the kissing discussion immediately, but I just wanted to bring this up, or else I might forget it. There might be a bit of trouble ahead.”

“Trouble?” Hermione echoed, “With… Severus?”

“No, with my dear brother Ron. It seems that the pigheaded git fancies himself in love with you. And you know how he is. Once he gets something into his head, it's very difficult to dissuade him.”

“Oh, no!” Hermione groaned. “That's the last thing I need. Who told you? Your mother?”

“Nope. Harry told me. He isn't wildly enthusiastic either, because he doesn’t think you’d make a good couple. But he was positive about Ron having more than just a crush on you.”

Hermione buried her face in her hands. “Why, oh God, why? I wouldn't have wanted him before Severus became… well, important, and I certainly don't want him now. That way, I mean,” she added apologetically. “On the other hand,” she said, and her face brightened a little, “he’s been away for… how long? Three months?”

“Four and a half.”

“Right. Four and a half. Maybe the whole thing simply… evaporated, don't you think that might be possible?”

Ginny wagged her head. “I doubt it. I’ve known him longer than you have, and Ron's obsessions don't simply evaporate. And it won’t have escaped your notice that he has changed a lot during the war, more than the rest of us. And, much as I hate to say such a thing about my own brother, not in a good way.”

“Well,” Hermione said pensively, “Charlie was his favourite brother after all. Sometimes I think the loss was harder on him than even on your parents. And Percy… I suppose he feels guilty of having treated him liked he always used to, now that he’s dead. It's irrational, but understandable, in a way.”

“I didn’t say I don’t understand him, I said he’s going to be trouble. But maybe you’re right. Maybe he needed that prolonged holiday to get it all out of his system. And now, my dear, we’re going to have a last cuppa, you tell me about Snape’s kissing skills, and then you may return to him with my benediction.”