wl_mods (wl_mods) wrote in wizard_love, @ 2008-03-11 15:52:00 |
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Entry tags: | *fic, hermione, snape |
Special delivery for rayvyn2k
Title:The Gift of Memory
Author: melantha
Recipient's LJ name: rayvyn2k
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Snape/Hermione
Word Count: Approx. 9,650
Warnings (if any): None..all sex is pretty romantic, no overt squicks.
Authors notes: I think I may have missed the mark slightly on your preferences, and if so I apologize..but these two wouldn’t behave and I blame them completely! You asked for romantic, funny, sexy, with happy ending….I got everything but the funny, although they had their moments. Also, you didn’t want any sadness, but there is a little bit in dealing with the past. I had to deal with it, the snarky bastard wouldn’t move on. Hope you enjoy! And also, super thanks to my beta, R, who certainly knows when I’ve overused a word..!
If there was anyone Snape was expecting to deliver his memories, it certainly wasn’t her.
Hermione Granger stood, awkward but calm, in his entryway, where Snape had left her. His old home was a thing of the past, long since compromised, and this dilapidated house wasn’t much better, but it had a small hallway where he didn’t have to look at guests if he didn’t wish to. And this was someone he certainly didn’t wish to see.
To be bluntly honest, she was only the third person who had been to his new self-imposed prison, after Minerva and a healer who had since been Obliviated. That had been his insistence; he had earned this respite, damn it all. Especially from a boy-king who was now not only the toast of the wizarding world, but hell-bent on finding out the remainder of the secrets Snape held about his parents’ past. No, what he had given Harry was more than enough. So much more that he wanted some of it back.
Hence Miss Granger, standing coolly tall in his foyer.
“He’s not aware that you are alive,” she spoke, as if reading his mind. Had he not been extremely well-versed in what that felt like, Snape might have suspected she’d done just that. She cleared her throat, visibly taking some courage at his bland expression, and added, “He believes you might be, but….those were your instructions, and Professor McGonagall is trying to enforce them.”
Truthfully, Snape admitted to himself, it had worked better than he expected. Sighing, he turned back into the main room, gesturing half-heartedly for Granger to follow him. He missed the subtle movement of his cloak, but he’d left off wearing it in his new house, preferring to work with rolled up sleeves with his now endless time. For the first time in the three years since Voldemort’s death, Snape almost had the energy he’d once possessed, to keep up with unruly children and the demands of research. Three long years, two of them spent largely in extended comas, and one relearning how to use his fingers. A cloak had impeded him; he rarely wore it at all now. Three years that Minerva, Kingsley, and Doge had kept his existence a secret. Theoretically it was until he was well enough to face the notoriety of his actions. Potter had certainly done well in clearing his name, but even fame could be exhausting. Three years without another visitor outside their circle.
Excepting now Miss Granger.
“Then pray tell, if not to return what I lent to Potter, why are you here?” he asked as he heard her footsteps behind him. His tone lacked his former vitriol, but there was little point anyway. He’d all but forgotten how to properly needle her, or anyone else for that matter. It took effort, and that he had too little of to squander it needlessly. Effort to rediscover her irritants. Glancing over his shoulder as he moved aside an organized stack of journals from the sofa, he considered some possibilities and discarded them. She was far prettier now than she’d been as a teenager, and his image of her as a student was fading anyway. Commenting on her former awkwardness would be futile now. Perhaps he would think of something later.
Gingerly, she sank down into the spot he’d cleared for her, and licked her lips in preparation to speak. “Minerva said you needed more things than she could procure, what with school restarting and all,” Hermione murmured, as if she’d rehearsed her speech. She probably had, he reflected, taking the chair opposite her with a stifled yawn. It had been a long day already, a frustrating one, tiring him out. Since he did not interrupt, she continued, “Potions supplies and the like. She….said she trusted me to work as your…intermediary, as it were.”
Snape snorted derisively, hiding his faint surprise behind a dismissive expression. When he’d seen that Hermione was the one Minerva had chosen to send, he’d assumed his chosen exile was at an end, that it signaled they wanted him to be public again. Using her as a personal shopper hadn’t crossed his mind, but it was faintly ludicrous anyway. “I’m fairly sure I recall how to order supplies,” he answered, dryly, with a tinge of his old sarcasm. “I’m in seclusion. I’m not an invalid, you wretched girl.”
Unexpectedly, his tone made Hermione straighten up, her eyes blazing a moment, and Severus found himself blinking in arrested thought. So, conflict certainly brought her back to life. He hid a smile as she started in on him with renewed enthusiasm. “You’re still limited to ordering sight unseen,” she pointed out, “and you can’t always investigate new ingredients, or test for freshness, or-“
“Yes, yes, I see your point,” Snape cut her off with an irritated wave of his hand. It was all an argument he’d thought of before, but there was still no way around it, unless he wished to polyjuice himself to town on a regular basis. It certainly wasn’t beyond his scope, but there was no way he would take the chance of collapsing in public where he could be revealed. He’d made strides in overcoming the poison’s damage, but he wasn’t foolish. “Yet I daresay there is little you can do except bring me the catalogues in person. Are you offering to stand here and recite them for me, perhaps?” He eyed her, summing up her determination and dismissing it. No doubt she had some idiotically brave plan, a Gryffindor plan, whereas he’d get himself into even worse straits than he was now.
“I have thought of something,” Hermione retorted, narrowing her eyes at him. Snape had to hide his smile again; she certainly knew this time what he was thinking, mind reader or not. He wasn’t bothered by it. “And it doesn’t require you to leave the house if you don’t wish to.”
“I don’t wish to,” Snape answered instantly, forestalling her cheerleader tactics of cajoling him out. “So whatever your elaborate scheme may be, we can make that clear.”
“Alright,” Hermione agreed, then took a short breath. “I will lend you my memories.”
Snape let a heartbeat go by, unremarked, before he said, casually, “I beg your pardon?”
“My memories,” Hermione repeated, as if it wasn’t the strangest thing Snape had ever heard her say. “Specifically, my memory right after I walk through the potions shop in its entirety.” Taking his continued silence as encouragement, she added, “That way, you can see everything I see, firsthand, and then tell me what you need. It’s simple, really.”
Snape opened his mouth to dismiss it, then shut it again, opening and closing his fist on the arm of the chair as he thought. It was simplistic, but…effective. He could ‘visit’ the shop without risking personal injury or endangering his solitude. No one need know he had been there, and indeed, it would give him invaluable firsthand knowledge. He clenched his hand a moment as he made his decision, but that was all the outward sign he would give her for now.
“You would lend me your memories for the simple purpose of my procuring potions ingredients,” he finally stated, slowly, gauging her reaction. When she nodded, looking hopeful, he paused, then asked in a measured tone, “For what in return?”
It was subtle, the way she rolled her shoulders, like she was inwardly commanding them to relax. He recalled suddenly how she would coach herself verbally, bringing any traitorous emotions to bear under her considerable will. He’d forgotten that about her. Forgotten that in the face of this somewhat unfamiliar woman sitting across from him. But he knew his question had been correct; she wanted something in return. In three years, that certainly had not changed.
“There are a few restricted potions of master level that I want to learn,” Hermione answered, after a moment, although her voice did not hesitate. “I’ve not found a suitable teacher. You wouldn’t need to show me directly,” she added quickly. “I don’t want to compromise this place by staying too long. You could, in return, give me a memory of their preparation.”
It was a logical and well-thought out request, but Snape merely raised an eyebrow at her. “Any work of a master level is certainly not something you can follow the directions to, as out of a book,” he retorted, cuttingly.
“Then test me.”
“I don’t have the time.” It was a lie of course…he had all the time in the world right now, which is how he preferred it. And yet…he needed a first hand glimpse of those supplies. And this way, he wouldn’t even have to interact with Granger too much. She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. “I will concede something, in return for these memories you promise.” His tone had become supercilious; apparently he did recall more of his former ways than he thought. “If I deem that they are helpful enough, I will give over one preparation. If you can successfully brew it after that, we’ll discuss it.” His voice suggested that he highly doubted she’d make it past the first test, but that didn’t matter. He’d have enough information from one good visit to last him a while in ordering. Holding up a finger, he said, “Of course, it had better be a thorough shop. I’ll not bother watching you waste my time on frivolous nonsense.”
“Obviously,” Hermione answered, with a small toss of her head. Thrive on conflict, indeed, Snape thought again, amused despite himself. It was refreshing; Minerva and the others were overly solicitous. Irritating. “I’ll have the first memory ready tomorrow. You can prepare your list, and then I will purchase them.”
Snape rose to escort her out, the wheels in his mind turning furiously, both with possibilities and yet questions unanswered. They made it to the door itself before she turned suddenly, too close, and he forced himself not to flinch but to calmly give her room.
“He does want to know,” she ventured.
Potter. Ignoring the instant tumult that the words caused, Snape said, evenly, “I’ve no desire to be cast in that passion play.”
Hermione nodded, but said anyway, “He simply wants to know, for peace of mind.”
She was obliquely asking him for permission to reveal his secret, but he wasn’t going to oblige that. Yet. There was too much he hadn’t dealt with in Harry’s case; now was not the time. “He’ll survive,” Snape murmured, adding dryly, “he always has.”