wl_mods (wl_mods) wrote in wizard_love, @ 2009-02-13 07:51:00 |
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Entry tags: | *fic, hermione, ron, snape |
Special Delivery For: psyfic, pt 1
Title: Lines in Shifting Sand, part 1
Author: tjwritter
Recipient: psyfic
Pairing: Ron/Hermione, Ron/Hermione/Snape
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 16,000
Summary: Ronald Weasley had done a lot of things for his wife that he thought he would never, ever do. Inviting Severus Snape into their bed had been the last in a long list of lines he’d crossed.
A/N: psyfic OMG! I was in love with your requests from the very moment I received them. Instantly, bunny after bunny jumped off the page. But eventually this one beat the rest of their asses and demanded to be told. I really hope you like it. I love that your kinks where actually about character building and plot and not just the p0rn! The ones I hopefully satisfied were: angst, virgin Snape, awkward first times, developing a friendship to a caring relationship, being cared for whilst ill or injured. As always, beta A rocks my world and forgives my comma sins! Which is why I worship her and sing her praises!
One does not just invite ill-healthed, aging, crotchety Potions Masters into ones marital bed on a sudden whim. Time is needed, measured in not hours and days but in weeks and months. The grit of sand needs gently pressure and slow shifts to break down the necessary barriers. All parties involved need first reach growth and maturity.
We, in our limited knowledge, might not be able to comprehend such a thing. We, who have the belief that we have heard the whole story on these people, their proclivities, alliances, mannerisms, their very being, might find this tale out of the realm of possibility For us to accept this, we must come to terms with the fact that the story we have heard is only half the story.
The story we know tells of a young hero leaning over a man thought a nemesis and villain and taking from him what the hero believed to be this man’s dying memories and going back to the battle victorious. That, of course, is the truth. But what hasn’t been told, and what seemed inconsequential to the story, was of the trusty side-kick and the love of his life returning to the place where the villain laid dying.
Would it surprise you to hear that the story we haven’t heard is just as rich in intrigue, personal tragedy, healing, and in the precise way that decisions are made affects everything? Well then, this story will be very shocking indeed.
Would it be so hard for us to believe, that while the hero occupied himself with swirling memories that told truths denied him for his entire existence, answering questions about himself and the world around him that he had only begun to ask, his two best mates returned to the place where life slowly leaked out of their misunderstood and much loathed Professor?
Many of you will ask the same question that Ron repeatedly asked as they returned.
“Why?”
“Because,” Hermione answered. “Didn’t you see his suffering? Didn’t you see his desperation to get those memories, whatever they were, to Harry? Don’t you want to know why?”
“I suppose Harry will tell us when he knows. What can we do now? Snape is dead; you saw it yourself.”
“I saw him very near death; I saw him pleading for death, but I didn’t see him actually die. Neither did you.”
Ron was about to argue, but then thinking of the new knowledge he had of how exactly someone looks when they are dead really, truly dead —the look he had seen on Fred’s face—he stopped. He hadn’t seen that in Snape. But surely, the man couldn’t have survived, could he?
A long ago statement that he had tried repeatedly to erase come to his mind: I can teach you to brew glory, bottle fame and even, put a stopper to death…
He didn’t argue about the mission any longer and even increased his pace to the Shrieking Shack. If anyone could survive this, it would be Professor Severus Snape. And Ron had to admit, he was curious as to what it all meant.
When they got to the place where Snape had been, all they saw was a large circle of blood and a trail of more blood. They followed it to a rickety sofa, where Snape lay, bottle of thick, creamy potion in his hand, the other hand smeared in blood. Rushing to him, they saw that he had actually applied the potion to his wound and that he was still breathing, if only barely.
“Professor? Professor?” Hermione whispered, hovering over the man’s body. “Can you hear me?”
The man’s eyes flickered underneath closed lids. There was a painful looking swallow as he tried to gather strength to speak.
Ron tried not to look at Snape’s bloodied Adam’s apple as it bobbed.
“’Bout…time…” Snape breathed slowly out.
“Professor, what can we do?” Hermione asked hurriedly.
They watched his eyes again flicker, and Ron absolutely knew that the man was rolling them under their lids. He could almost hear the man reply, must I give you all the answers Ms. Granger?
“We need to get him to the hospital wing,” Ron said.
“How?” Hermione asked. “He’s the last person anyone wants to see; everyone believes him a traitor. Bring him back to the castle and you might as well kill him all over again.”
“I’m not so convinced he’s not a traitor,” Ron said while he scanned the room. He found a ratty quilt over the mangled bed that had so long ago housed a werewolf. “But until then,” he removed the quilt and covered Snape’s body with it, “we will disguise him, take him to the hospital ward and see he gets treatment.” He levitated Snape’s body.
Hermione looked on with unabashed admiration. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
Ron smiled. “You’ve had a pretty rough couple of days. Cut yourself a break.”
As they walked out of the Shrieking Shack with a glamoured Snape floating before them, Ron had a sense of déjà vu as he thought of the last time they had left that place with Snape. He smiled at the memory, but unlike Sirius’ turn, he didn’t scrape his unconscious charge along the tunnel walls.
That would be the last humorous thought he would have for the rest of the long, drawn out night.
When they arrived at the hospital wing, they found that all of the beds were full and that there were auxiliary cots being levitated in by Madam Pomfrey and her medi-team. Pomfrey, herself, seemed about ready to collapse and barely looked at the unfamiliar face Ron and Hermione delivered to her.
“He had been bitten by a snake and is only alive now due to this,” Hermione said, handing the bottle she had retrieved from Snape’s hand.
Pomfrey sniffed the unlabeled bottle. “Clever.”
“Excuse me?” Hermione asked.
“This is a very strong congealant. Without this to stop the bleeding, he wouldn’t have survived.” The women sniffed the bottle again then looked at the man lying before her. Hermione had preformed the glamour and had really only changed a few things: facial structure, color of his hair. It was enough. “Tell me, who is this man?”
Hermione opened her mouth but seemed at a loss for an adequate lie—a first, surely.
“We don’t really know,” Ron answered instead. “We found him on the grounds, dead snake beside him and a handful of Death Eaters leaving. We assumed he is on our side and had fought valiantly against man and beast. The beast had died in the battle and the Death Eaters had obviously left the man for dead.”
He smiled, knowing that at least part of what he had said was true; Snape had been bitten by a snake and had been left for dead by evil incarnate. That the snake still roamed and that the Death Eaters really had been Voldemort himself didn’t need to be discussed.
Hermione once again looked at him with awed wonderment. He liked that look.
***
Maybe it was that look, maybe it was all the death and destruction Ron had to face after the victory was declared, whatever the reason, he soon found himself moving himself, his fiancée and their almost-dead Potions Master into a row house in an abandoned part of London called Spinner’s End.
That was the first in a long list of lines he would eventually cross. He’d like to say he did it all for love, but we will see soon enough, there were other reasons, just as noble, but harder to articulate for our Mr. Weasley. He had barely time to acclimate himself to this new existence before the wind picked up and the swirling sand shifted around him again in the form of news that while he was planning a life for he and Hermione, she was busy planning a life for herself.
“What do you mean you’re going back to school? We’re supposed to be getting married, remember? Remember that I asked and you agreed?” Ron said.
He was standing on one side of the guest bed, hand on the post to steady himself. Hermione was sitting on the edge of the other side, applying the salve to Snape’s wound, as they had to do four times a day.
It turned out, the potion he had concocted to survive Nagini’s bite had stopped the bleeding but had done immeasurable damage to the man’s nervous system and some pretty major organs of the body; the most important being his heart. He had remained at St. Mungo’s for two months. Hermione went daily to reinforce the glamour.
They didn’t know what charges Snape would have faced after Harry’s announcements of his true allegiance and the facts behind Dumbledore’s death, but they weren’t taking any chances until the man was healthy enough to defend himself. They were going to tell Harry, of course they were, but the first few weeks after the battle had been so crazy for all of them. After that, Harry and Ginny had unexpectedly and with no word, taken off. A week later, Ron and Hermione had received a postcard apologizing for leaving without a good bye, but that they just needed to get away from everything for a while. Ron’s parents were a bit hysterical with the idea of Ginny out there on her own with Harry, but Ron and Hermione understood. They would have done the same perhaps, if they didn’t have to make arrangements for the care of a half-dead professor.
“Of course I remember,” Hermione answered with a sigh. “I’m not going back for the whole year. I’m just going to get some brush up tutoring and then sit for the NEWTS.”
“Why?”
This sigh was a bit more exacerbated. “Ron, I want to marry you, of course I do. But there are a great many other things I want to do too; most of them require me to have NEWTS scores.”
“So, how long are we talking about? How long are you going to be gone?”
Hermione swallowed. “Just three months in the beginning of term and two weeks at the end.”
“What?” Ron boomed.
Hermione stopped what she was doing and looked at him with her finger to her lips. Then indicated the unconscious man on the bed.
“He can’t hear us,” he started, and then something dawned on him. “You started this conversation in here because you knew I couldn’t explode.”
“I did no such thing,” she said, but her eyes didn’t meet his.
“Fine. Go. But remember, next time you make plans that effect both of us, you might want to talk to me. Oh, and by the way, while making these plans to be gone for a good long part of this year, did you think about him,” he pointed to Snape. “What about him? If you think—”
“Of course not. I’ll ask Kreacher or one of the other house elves if they’d like the job.”
“Great, so a rickety house, just me, Snape and Kreacher. Life just gets better and better. Why don’t you see if Gwarp and Buckbeak want to shack up here too?”
She gave him that don’t be ridiculous look, but got up and came to his side of the bed and stroked his arm. “I’m sorry. You’re right. It was terribly unfair of me to do all of this without discussing it with you. I just didn’t want you to talk me out of it.”
Ron turned to her and the look in his eyes told her clearly that the soft apology and small affection wasn’t going to work to win back his favor. “First of all, I’m sad to see that you think so little of me that you think I would try to deny you anything—when have I ever talked you out of anything? Second, did you even think about me and what I might want at all?”
He gave her one more hurt look before walking to the door. He was just about to open it when he heard a voice he wasn’t expecting, and though it was small and weak, it was still the same derisive tone.
“Ah, young love.”
Hermione shrieked, and Ron spun around. Snape, who had been ignored while they had been discussing their future—or lack of one—had his head resting on his shoulder, like he had lost bones and couldn’t hold it up. But his eyes were open, and he looked slightly irritated and extremely confused.
“Professor, you’re conscious!” Hermione whispered through her fingers, covering her mouth in shock.
“I always knew you were quick like that,” Snape said with a painful wheeze.
“You shouldn’t talk too much,” Ron said, approaching the bed.
“Tell me what’s going on, and I won’t talk at all,” Snape answered.
Hermione and Ron told him about finding him, disguising him and taking care of him.
He listened and didn’t say anything until the end. “How did we wind up here?”
“In Spinner’s End?” Hermione asked.
Snape lowered his head slightly to indicate a nod.
“Well, we needed a place, a place where we could quietly move you, and while cleaning out your offices, we found the deed to this place, and since…well since…” Ron fumbled.
“You were declared dead,” Hermione took over for Ron. “We bought the place cheap. But it’s still your house.”
“Keep it.”
“No, of course not. We’ll only stay until you don’t need us anymore,” Hermione said.
Snape tried to move his head so that she could see him better. If he were still unconscious, Hermione and maybe even Ron wouldn’t even think twice before reaching out and assisting him, but awake, watching them, they remembered his past surliness and neither could move. After a moment, he gave up and bowed his head, closing his eyes, drifting back into unconsciousness.
Ron and Hermione looked at each other, Hermione with tears in her eyes and Ron solemn. Suddenly, their problems seemed rather piety.
“I’m sorry,” Hermione whispered soundlessly.
“I love you,” Ron whispered back.
***
For the next couple of weeks, before Hermione had to leave for Hogwarts, she spent a lot of time in Snape’s room, tending to him while he dipped in and out of consciousness. She had gotten over her fear of physically touching him while he was awake. He needed treatment, whether he wanted it or not, and he was no position to protest. But it was uncomfortable for both of them, so she usually waited until he was sleeping and very, very gently, applied the healing cream to his wound.
Ron spent a bit of time in the room too, watching what needed to be done, just in case he needed to tend to him while she was gone. No matter what he said to the contrary when angry, he wouldn’t leave the man to suffer just because he thought of the idea of touching the man repulsive. It was he who first discovered that while Snape was being tended, while he was being physically touched in anyway, his color seemed to return—what little he had to begin with—and his breathing started to even, the speeding tattoo of his heart slowing in his chest that was so concave due to lack of nourishment and movement.
They didn’t talk about him or about their relationship while in his presence anymore for they were never sure when he was paying attention and when he wasn’t. They did, however, spend a great deal of time talking about him while they were alone in other parts of the house. They spent most of their time in the library which was unsurprisingly the biggest, plushest, most comfortable part of Snape’s house.
“Why do you think it is that he seems to do so much better while being touched?” Ron asked a few days after Snape regain consciousness that first time. Hermione was in the library preparing for the NEWTs by perusing Snape’s extensive collection of potions books.
“I don’t know. Maybe it tickles.”
“Tickles?” Ron asked. She obviously wasn’t listening he reasoned. “Do you imagine Snape’s ever had sex?”
This got her attention from the books. “What?”
“You know, sexual intercourse with a female, or male; who knows, he might be into that.”
“Ew, no!”
“No, not with a man, or not at all?”
“I mean, Ronald, no, I’ve never imagined Snape having sex.”
“I didn’t mean have you thought about it— gods I hope not— but what I meant was, do you suppose he’s ever had sex?”
“I…well…” Hermione began but then stopped to consider. “I don’t know,” she finally said.
“Yeah, me neither. I mean think about what Harry said about Snape loving his mother and never recovering from her death. You think they ever? Or after?”
She looked perplexed, just like she always did when she didn’t know the answer to something.
Ron and Hermione had only begun sleeping together but he couldn’t even remember what it had been like to not be intimate with her. He laughed often about the fact that it had taken them seven years to have that first kiss, and about six hours after to have their first shag. Winning a war would do that to you, he reasoned. And though it had happened as they clung to each other exhausted and heart-sick from all that had taken place, it had been the best moments of his life, only topped by every other moment he’d had in bed with her since.
“What if he’s never…never…been loved?” Ron asked, horrified by the idea. But thinking of what little he knew of the man, even after Harry told all he had discovered, it reasoned that it might be entirely possible. A few months before, if he had thought these thoughts, he would have smiled wistfully and remarked, served the git right. Now though, it only caused him to ponder.
Hermione however, having found what she was looking for on the bookshelf, was on to other things.
“Oh, 101 Things You Never Need to Know About Asphodel. This is extremely rare,” she said excitedly, gently removing it from the shelf.
“Maybe they stopped making the book since it says right in the title you don’t need to know about it.”
“Mmmmhmm” was all she replied. One day he was going to ask for something extremely important when she was otherwise occupied and then hold her to that response.
***
On the morning of September 1, Ron found himself at the last place he imagined seeing himself for years and years, the platform beside the Hogwarts Express.
Hermione clung to him as if having serious second thoughts, and Ron tried really hard not to let her give into them. Nothing would please him more than for her to give up this crazy idea and come back home with him.
“Hey, what are you two doing here?” a voice from across the platform asked.
Ron and Hermione tore their eyes from each other to see Harry and Ginny walking toward them smiling widely.
They took turns hugging each other. It had only been about a month since they had last seen each other, but in the last seven years, that’s the longest they’d gone without so much as a post, after the last year, Ron had certainly never thought there would be a day that he didn’t see Harry..
“Hermione decided that she didn’t get enough education in the big, scary world last year and has decided to go back for a bit to sit for her NEWTs,” Ron said.
“No! Really?” Harry asked, but he was drowned out by Ginny’s ecstatic flailing and jumping up and down.
“Oh! That’s brilliant. I was so nervous that I would be there alone!”
The engines started and drowned out any other conversation. Hermione kissed Ron one more time, Harry kissed Ginny one last time, and then together they walked onto the train, turning back to wave at their fiancés one more time before leaving.
“Don’t you suddenly feel old?” Harry asked.
“Hey, I’m not the one dating a school girl.”
“Oh, sod off.” Harry laughed. “You wanna get a cuppa?”
Ron checked his watch. “Sure, I can stop for a spot of something before I have to be at work.”
“Work? Where are you working?”
“I’m starting today actually, working for George in the shop. Just until he…well…until he…”
“I understand,” Harry interrupted.
They made their way back out of the station.
“So, what are you going to do with yourself? Straight to Auror training?”
Harry ran his hand through his hair. “Actually, I was thinking of doing some more traveling. Being with Ginny was great, but, well, there are some places I’d like to see that she had no interest in.”
“Yeah? Like where?”
“Oh, you know, places without magic or indoor plumbing. I wish you could come with me,” he added as if an afterthought.
“I think I might have seen enough of the world last…” he stopped. Why couldn’t he find a single topic to discuss without bringing up the painful recent past?
“Yeah,” Harry said with an uneasy chuckle. “I understand, besides, you have work.”
Yes, thought Ron, and responsibilities you can’t even imagine..
He wondered if this was the right time to tell Harry about Snape. But as they sat down and Harry gave him an opening, he found himself stammering.
“So, where are you and Hermione living?”
“Oh…um…well…we…um…I mean…”
“Ron?”
“Sorry. We…uh…found a row house in North London. Spinner’s End.”
“Really? I think my mum grew up around there.”
“Hmmm,” Ron mumbled, scanning the shop looking for someone to take their order.
They talked through their tea though about nothing special: Harry telling Ron about his time traveling around Europe with Ginny. Ron didn’t do much talking of his own, but he noticed that there was something different about both of them. Their talk wasn’t as easy as it had been, and there were many subjects that they shied away from. Ron understood it; after all they’d seen and done, he understood Harry’s desire to get away from it all, even him, but it still hurt. He wondered if they’d ever get to where they used to be.
Tea was over faster then normal, but Ron checked his watch again as if he were running late, as if that were the reason he was rising from his chair.
“You leaving right away?” Ron asked.
“Yeah, but I’ll walk with you to Wheezes if you don’t mind. I’d like to say hi and goodbye to George before I go.”
“Of course.”
It wasn’t until right before they arrived at Diagon Alley that Harry asked what he seemed to want to know. “You ever think about any of them?”
“Them?” Ron asked.
“You know, Remus, Tonks, Dumbledore, Snape?”
Of course he didn’t mention Fred; that would have been a stupid question.
“I sometimes think about Remus and Tonks—you know, when I think of Teddy. You seen him lately?”
“No, I’m going over there after I leave here,” Harry answered.
Ron knew that he had ducked the Snape question again, and he could just let it go, but… “And Snape…well…” He turned and stopped Harry from walking. “Come by the house tonight before you leave, okay? There’s something you should know.”
“Know? About Snape? What do you know that I don’t?”
Ron winced. “Just come by my house tonight.”
Harry watched him for a moment, as if contemplating Legilimency. “Okay. Sure, I’ll come by tonight. Just give me the address.”
When Ron got off work, he Apparated right outside his house and quickly went through the place, straightening up before he went to check on Snape.
“How are you, professor?” Ron asked, entering the man’s room after lightly knocking and being bid “come in.”
“Just splendidly, Mr. Weasley,” Snape drawled, sarcasm dripping. He was sitting up against a mountain of pillows, as he preferred to spend his daytime hours. Kreacher was balled up in the corner snoring loudly.
“Looks like you’ve done in the poor house elf.”
“I don’t know how. He barely got me up before he took his first nap of the day.”
“I’m sorry,” Ron said. It was a surprise to him that he really meant it. The man had no use of his limbs and had been confined to his room with no stimulation, nothing to do or no one to talk to for a large part of the day. No wonder he was a bit snippy. Ron wondered if this were the best time to tell him of Harry’s visit, and again to ponder if perhaps the two one-time adversaries really needed to know about the current situation.
“Um…” he said, checking his watch yet again. It was already becoming an annoying habit.
“Spit it out, Mr. Weasley.”
“Well, it’s just that…I have a friend coming over, and…”
“You’re soon to be betrothed is gone for half a day and you already have a friend coming over?”
“What? No! Not that! It’s not that at all. It’s…it’s…Harry. Harry is coming over. And I haven’t told him…I mean we haven’t told him…about…about you…you know, being alive…being…being here…and I...I just wanted to know…to ask…”
He stopped and mentally kicked himself before taking a deep breath. He’d have to nip this stammering before it became another annoying habit, that, by the looks of Snape’s expression, would be mocked ruthlessly.
“I wanted to know if you wanted him to know that you were alive and here,” Ron finally got out coherently.
Snape studied him. Ron was actually becoming used to that look and liked to imagine that it was because Snape was constantly reevaluating his opinions and preconceived notions of his former student.
“You are coming and asking me? Considering my wants?”
“Well, yeah. It’s your secret. It is going to be hard enough healing your body if you are broken in other, unreachable places, you know? I don’t want to cause you anymore…um…discomfort. Not if I can avoid it.”
Snape bowed his head as well as he could and mumbled words that sounded very strongly to Ron like “Thank you.”
Ron nodded his head again and waited quietly.
“Perhaps, it would be more prudent to see what Mr. Potter’s feelings of me are first. I have no aversion to finally facing my past—and his opinions are of course very important to not only me, but the rest of the wizarding world that would like to label me a scoundrel—but, if he’s not ready to deal with such things, believe me I would be the first to understand. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir,” Ron caught himself saying.
Harry arrived about an hour later, just in time for Ron to start a bit of dinner for them. The first thing Harry did after being let in is laugh at Ron in his apron. “Look at you. You have a house, you have an apron, you just need the missus and a few babies bouncing around.”
“Watch your tongue! I have enough going on to add children.” Ron said, ushering Harry into the kitchen.
“But you’re really ready for the homemaker thing, aren’t you?” Harry asked, popping a freshly chopped carrot into his mouth.
“It’s more necessity than anything. You know how I like to eat, right? And you remember how dodgy Hermione’s cooking was out in the…wild. What was I going to do, starve? So, I had mum give me some recipes, and Fleur offered some and well, I find I enjoy it.”
Harry smiled at his friend.
“You’re not ready for the domestic life?” Ron asked rather surprised. He had thought that was all Harry had wanted.
Harry shrugged. “I will be. I just…just…” Ron laughed. Turned out this bumbling was catching. Harry laughed too and started again, in a low whisper. “I just need some time away from all that is expected of me, all that people want that I can’t give. You know?”
Ron did know. And he looked at the ceiling where two floors away lay a man who might possibly be one of those people. Could Harry give Snape what he needed?
“So, where did you find this house?” Harry asked, interrupting Ron’s thoughts and simultaneously giving him an opening to test the waters.
“During the Reconstruction of Hogwarts, Hermione and I were cleaning out Snape’s offices and we, well, we found a deed for this place. Free and clear. He had no descendants so the property went back to the Ministry, which was glad to sell it to us for an amazingly low price.”
“I bet,” spat Harry. Ron couldn’t read if the vehemence was for the Ministry or for Snape. “But Ron, you know you two could have had Grimmauld Place, especially while I was traveling.”
Ron smiled. “I know. But we didn’t know how long you’d be gone, or what your plans would be once returning. Heck, we didn’t even know if Ginny would be returning for her final year.”
“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered.
Ron waved away the apology and hated that they were still acting oddly around each other. The silence that followed didn’t help his misery.
Harry looked around appraisingly. “So, this was Snape’s home, huh?”
“Yeah,” Ron answered. “I think he grew up here.”
“Right,” Harry mumbled. “This must be where he lived when he was friends with my mum.”
There was another moment of uncomfortable silence before Harry started talking again. “You know, I went back to the Shrieking Shack after everything…that night, when the castle was quite and the sick and dead had been moved to places of honor. I went to find Snape’s body and bring it where the rest were…but…well…it was gone.”
Ron swallowed. He could neither lie nor tell the truth, so he said nothing.
Harry choked on a mirthless laugh. “Could you imagine if, after all of this, Snape survived?”
“What would you do if he had?” Ron asked, trying to sound only curious for curiosity’s sake.
Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, I’d like to thank him in person for all that he did to give me what I needed to finish this once and for all, and of course I have a million questions I’d like to ask him, but…”
“But?” Ron asked, after Harry didn’t go on for a minute.
“Well, it’s just that I’ve hated him for so long, and had to live with him loathing me and everything I stood for, and yes, all that he’d done absolves him for most of it, but… I don’t know. Maybe that’s one of the reasons I need to get away for a while. To sort this all out. Maybe.”
Ron nodded. That made sense, he reasoned. So, until then, he’d take the responsibility to keep Snape’s secret, for both Snape’s and Harry’s sakes.
Harry only stayed for a bit after dinner, proclaiming Ron the best cook since Hogwarts. That was saying something, Harry added, since he had been eating at the finest restaurants throughout Europe for the past few months.
“Keep in touch, please,” Ron said at the door as Harry was buttoning his traveling cloak.
“I will; I promise.”
“Where are you going first?”
Harry shrugged. “I think somewhere warm. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
Ron tried not to sound too wistful. He was happy for his friend, of course he was, but a part of him—a big part at that moment— really wanted to go with him, to put all his new-found adult responsibilities behind him and travel the world. The thought of doing it without Hermione, though, was incomprehensible to him.
After Harry left, Ron looked around the house and sighed. He was already bored.
That really had to be the only excuse for finding himself doing things that he thought he would never do.
Perusing Snape’s library shelves, he found a couple of novels that looked interesting on a bottom shelf. He scanned a few by a Muggle named Jules Verne and a set by a J.R.R. Tolkien and carried them to Snape’s room for his opinion.
“Excuse me, sir, are you awake?” Ron asked as he opened the door in the darkened room. There was loud snoring, but it didn’t seem to be coming from the bed.
“Yes.”
“Would you like some light?”
“Please.”
Ron went around the room lighting the oil lamps peppering the room. When he saw Snape’s face, looking so defeated, Ron swallowed. If I’m bored…
“Sir, I was going through your library.”
“Deciding to learn to read after all this time, Mr. Weasley?”
“Sure, I thought I’d give it a go,” Ron said, refusing to take the bait. After all, he was no longer a student and while he couldn’t imagine a time when he wouldn’t be intimidated by his old professor, he didn’t plan on letting himself be pushed around by him either. “I was just wondering if you’d read either of these and had any recommendations.”
He held out the two books he had brought up. Snape looked at the titles and laughed. Ron stared at the man as if he were watching Snape grow another head. It was the strangest sound Ron had ever heard, but it was the first time that Ron’s eyes didn’t travel to the man’s wounded throat, but instead his eyes, which were actually twinkling. Holy shite.
“Close your mouth, Mr. Weasley. You look like a fish.”
Ron did with a dry laugh. “I’m sorry. I just never heard you laugh.”
“It’s been a rough couple of…decades.”
“I bet. So, what about these books in particular made you giddy?”
“Well, it’s just…don’t you think you’ve had enough adventure and quests to last you a lifetime?”
“Well, which would you suggest?”
“Those are both good choices. I think you’ll find some intriguing characters and familiar situations in that one,” Snape said, casting his eyes on the Lord of the Rings.
“Would you like me to read it to you?” Ron asked, surprising himself almost as much as Snape.
“Excuse me?”
“Well, I just thought… I can’t imagine sitting alone in this room for all this time can be at all pleasant, and I’d like to keep you company when I can, but I can’t imagine us actually, you know, talking about things. So, I thought maybe I could read to you. It doesn’t have to be these books; it could be the newspaper, one of your many, many potions books.” He kept the part about himself being bored out of it.
“That might be pleasant,” Snape conceded. “As for the material, I will leave that up to you. Although I think fiction might be a bit of a nice relief these days, and for the news, I have no interest in the world and its rebuilding right now.”
Ron nodded and pulled a chair up to the bedside. “Why do you think it is that wizards and witches don’t have a lot of fiction? You’d think we’d have lots of great stories to tell.”
“True, but I guess because all our great stories are considered non-fiction.”
“I guess.”
He opened the book and began…
“All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost;
the old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken, a light from the shadows shall spring;
renenwed shall be blade that was broken, the crownless again shall be king.”
When Ron next emerged from Middle Earth, the sun was peaking over the far off horizon and he’d gotten half way through the book.
“I’m so sorry,” he said standing up.
“What? Why?” Snape asked, sounding surprised himself as if he, too, had lost track of time and place.
“You must be exhausted. I read all night.”
“Exhausted? I’ve been sleeping all day long.”
“Well let me get your medication and then I’ll leave you to get some sleep.”
“Fine,” Snape said. It sounded like he wanted to say something else, but he didn’t and when Ron came back to the bed, Kreacher was rising from his twelve-hour nap.
“You’re being a lot of help,” Ron growled at the yawning house elf.
“You don’t have to do that.” Snape said, indicating the cream with his eyes. “The elf can do it. It can’t be enjoyable.”
Ron shrugged. “It’s alright, I guess we might as well put Kreacher to work, you know, to work off his room and board.”
Kreacher approached, hunched and mumbling his apologies. Ron told him to forget about that, and after he had tended to Snape, he could find some food in the kitchen. The house elf looked at him with the watery eyes that Dobby had used when Harry did some small kindness to him.
“Thank you, sir.”
Ron picked up the book and said goodbye to Snape, telling him if he didn’t mind, he’d be back that night for another read. Snape nodded his answer. As Ron walked out, he saw Kreacher begin to apply the medicine and Snape flinched.
“Gentle, Kreacher,” Ron reminded.
That night, he came back to Snape’s room to continue the story and the night after and after and after. It was half way through the second edition of the book that he understood what Snape had meant about the characters.
“Have you figured it out yet?” Snape asked in a voice not at all condescending, which caused Ron to look up from the book.
“Well, I guess Frodo is a bit like Harry, right? A little, ordinary guy with a burden too big for him. Dumbledore is obviously like Gandalf. I guess I’d be that Sam guy—you know, minus the being short and having the hairy feet. Is there a you in here?”
Snape laughed painfully. “Who would create something like me?”
Ron smiled. “Yes, because that Gollum guy is so much more pleasant then you.”
“He has his moments,” Snape responded with a slight twitch of his lip.
“And this Sauron thing is this story’s He Who Must Not Be Named?”
Snape looked at Ron but seemed to be talking to himself when he said, “He Who Must Not Be Named. So innocent still. After it all.”
“I’m not so innocent.”
“No, don’t think that I am demeaning you, Mr. Weasley. I do not mean that as if it is a bad thing.”
“You know, sir, you could call me Ron.”
“And you could call me something other than sir.”
“Yeah, sure I could, as if the last seven years had never happened, professor?”
“Yes, I suppose we’ve been beaten and shaped into our roles, our titles, haven’t we?”
“I suppose.”
They didn’t talk to each other too much again until they had finished the series of books.
“Well, that was rubbish,” Ron said, shutting the back cover on the last page.
“You think so?”
“After all that Sam and Frodo had been through, after all that Sam did for him and Frodo just leaves like that?”
“Ah, but Sam has his Rosie.”
“I guess, but don’t you think it’s sad? Sam could pull his friend out of the fiery pits of Mordor, but he couldn’t pull him out of his depression.”
“Well, what would you do? Tie him down and make him see the world and all its glory?” Snape asked.
Ron swallowed and thought of Harry. How Harry was out there somewhere right now having adventures without him, having a life doing what he wanted while…he shook his head to clear it. “No, of course not. I’d let him go. But I wouldn’t let him stay away.”
“You are a true Weasley.”
“Bothersome?”
Snape laughed that laugh again. “That’s one way of saying it. I, of course, was going to say empathetically compassionate.”
Ron laughed too. “Sure you were.”
They shared a comfortable moment, and Ron felt the sand shift and the lines blur.
“Speaking of Sam’s Rosie, I’m going tomorrow to see Hermione on this first Hogsmeade weekend.” He couldn’t believe that he still had to think of things like Hogsmeade weekends. “Do you need anything in the village, at the school?”
Snape’s laugh turned bitter. “No, I think I’ve gotten all that belongs to me from that school.”
***
The next day, Ron Apparated to Hogsmeade station, arriving just as the sun was rising. Before the students even rose, he was there waiting. He had rented a room at the Hog’s Head and was planning on spending the day like no other outing ever conceived. He might stop to say hello to his sister, but it wasn’t high on his list of priorities.
Hermione was one of the first students out of the gate and their reunion happened right there with a gaggle of students laughing and trying to maneuver around them. One of them was Ginny apparently.
“You two have fun!” they heard her call as they ran to the Hog’s Head.
“I missed you so much,” Hermione said in between kisses, working her cloak off.
“Has it really only been seven weeks?” Ron asked.
“Seven in a half,” Hermione corrected. “I know. I’ve counted every minute of them, crossed them off my calendar.”
“Why are you doing this again?” Ron pulled away from her, murmured a charm to the fireplace to get a fire going and pulled down the covers of the bed they were dancing toward.
“I don’t remember.”
“Me either.”
Hermione began running her fingers up Ron’s abdomen and chest, then back down, grabbing his t-shirt roughly and pulling it over his head.
“Let’s get married.”
“We are getting married,” Ron answered, pushing his pants down around his knees.
“No, I mean like now. Right this second,” Hermione removed her bra, and Ron forgot what they were talking about.
“Okay.”
Their lovemaking was heated, rough and quick. And yet neither was disappointed.
“Let’s do that again,” Hermione said once she regained her normal breathing.
“Just give me a moment, love.”
“Okay, you can recoup while you tell me all that you’ve been doing while I’ve been here.”
“Oh, that should give me a minute and a half.”
“How’s George? The shop? The family? How is Snape? Is Kreacher helping?”
“George is doing good. He’s been spending a lot of time with Angelina.”
“Angelina? Really? What about Lee, has he seen a lot of Lee?”
“Sure, he’s helping at the shop too. I’d say George has more help then he’d ever need.”
“Nonsense, you can never have too much help.”
Hermione was propped up on one elbow, looking at Ron who lay on his back, her hand mindlessly caressing his long arms. Ron took her hand in his, his fingers intertwining hers, engulfing them and kissed each one, then her wrist and worked his lips up her arm until he brought her down and kissed her shoulder, neck and chin, along her jawbone until his tongue licked her earlobe, his mouth enveloping it and sucking.
“Ready?” Hermione breathed.
“Always,” Ron whispered heavy and warm in her ear.
He maneuvered so that he was hovering over her, kissing his way back down her jaw to her throat.
“Oh, I think you might have been right about Snape,” Hermione said, completely ruining the mood.
Ron stopped what he was doing and looked at her incredulously. “Can we maybe talk about Snape later?”
She smiled her apology and took his face in her hands, kissing him. “Of course.”
This time the lovemaking was slower and tender and they lay exhausted for a long time after.
“So, what were you saying before?” Ron asked, hands under his head, feeling completely satisfied and slightly smug, as getting Hermione to scream in that particular way did to him. “Something about me being right?”
“Shocking, I know,” Hermione smirked.
“Very funny. What was I right about?”
“About Snape responding to touch. I’ve been doing some reading—”
“Shocking I know,” Ron said this time.
Hermione smacked him playfully before continuing. “And there are some interesting findings in what, for a better name, is called, Healing Hands. What it really sounds like is what Dumbledore said about the power of love, this being the power to heal.”
“You think Snape loves you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Not that kind of love. There are many ways to love someone. Gratitude perhaps, maybe someday respect. But, maybe you’re right, too, when you wondered if Snape’s ever had sex. If he’d never had kindness applied to his physical being, then that could be healing as well.”
“Couldn’t we hire someone to come in and um…love him?”
“That’s not love.”
Close enough was right on the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back.
“Then what do you suggest?”
Hermione shrugged as if she hadn’t found the exact right piece to the puzzle to cure their half-dead potions master.
“Be nice?” she suggested finally.
“Nice? I am nice. I read to him every night. I cook for him, feed him, make sure Kreacher treats him gently and with respect. I’ve done everything but cuddle up to him and sing him lullabies.”
Hermione’s eyes filled with that look of admiration that Ron loved so much. “You know, I wasn’t just saying that lets get married now thing because I was horny and I needed you in me.”
“Really? You want to get married now?”
“Maybe we could do it when I get back? That would be a nice Christmas present to ourselves, wouldn’t it?”
“Don’t these things usually take time and planning?”
“Only if we want to invite everyone we know and hold it in a castle or something. I was thinking something more intimate, just your family and my family. Unless you’d like something more.”
“Not really. I’m sure Harry and Ginny will have an extravaganza when they get married; I can’t imagine them getting away with anything less, so we’ll see everyone then.”
“Have you seen Harry lately?” Hermione asked, worried.
“Not since the day you got on the train. He came over for dinner.”
“He came to the house? Did he see…does he know?”
“Don’t you think I would have told you if they had met?”
“Yes, in all of those many, many, letters that you send?” Hermione smirked.
“You know I’m no good at letters. I respond to yours don’t I?”
“Barely, obviously,” she sulked. “If I didn’t even know that Harry was at the house.”
He told her what had happened and then about Snape in general.
“He seems to be different, doesn’t he?” she said at the end.
“Maybe,” Ron conceded. Then he surprised himself again. “Or, perhaps he’s the same as he’s always been; we’ve just misunderstood him from the beginning.”
The third time they made love it was fierce and hot, starting from the moment Hermione pounced on him, working her way down, taking him in her mouth, and ended with her collapsing on top of him, breathing heavy and whispering sweetly in his ear.
They lay together for a bit, not talking, just caressing each other, as if attempting to memorize the feel of each other until the next month when Hermione would be back home. Ron loved the feel of her skin against his long, lazy fingertips. Stretching his fingers flush against the skin of her waist and squeezing gently, he watched the skin slip out of his grasp, seeing her skin go from pink to white and then blushing before returning to its regular hue.
This for the rest of my life, he thought with a contended sigh.
After they got dressed and Ron walked her back to the castle gates, kissing her again and again before watching her walk away, Ron Apparated to London, right outside of St. Mungo’s. They were running out of Snape’s medicine and he needed a refill. He also wanted to ask the mediwitch if there was anything else they could be doing for the man. He didn’t want to love Snape, but he would like to see the man get better. Seemed his life had been miserable enough without adding being an invalid to the list. As it was, saving him seemed sometimes like a cruelty if that was all that was left for him.
He returned home two hours later with the medicine and a list of exercises to do to ensure when Snape finally had the use of his limbs that they wouldn’t be a large blob of muscleless mass.
***
“You want to do what, Mr. Weasley?” Snape asked, looking apprehensive as Ron removed Snape’s covers.
“You need some exercise.”
“Yes, well I guess I’ll just hop up and nip out for a walk about, shall I?”
“Yeah, why don’t you do that?” Ron answered. “But, if that doesn’t work, how about you let me do some exercises for you?”
“What ever do you mean?”
“I mean,” Ron started as he gently lifted up one of Snape’s arms and, stretched it slightly at the shoulder then the elbow, “that I will help you with your exercises.”
“Why?” Snape asked, his horrified look being replaced by curiosity.
“What do you mean why? Why do you need exercise? You have to know what happens to muscles that aren’t regularly used.”
“Of course I do. What I meant was, why can’t you use magic? Why do you need to…need to…”
“Touch you?” Ron answered for him, sensing the man’s unease. For a moment, Ron bristled; it wasn’t like he was getting enjoyment from the experience. It wasn’t like this is where he saw himself winding up after all that he’d seen and done.
Then he saw the look in the older man’s eyes and knew it wasn’t about being touched by Ron. He recognized that look—it was the look he would give to Harry when, without even thinking about it, without even needing to think about it, Harry would pay for something, or give Ron something that he needed and couldn’t afford. He saw the dependency and how weak it made a person feel in Snape’s eyes.
“Yes, Mr. Weasley, why must I be touched? Surely you’re proficient enough in magic to do the work for you.”
“I could probably, but why take the risk? Besides, Hermione believes there is a healing aspect to the actual laying off hands.”
“She does, does she?”
“Yes, she believes in something called Love Therapy though, that isn’t the word I’d give it.”
“Love?” Snape asked, more than horror in his eyes now.
Ron chuckled. “Relax, it’s not that kind of exercises. Hermione believes that there are many types of love. We need not even like each other, but if there is a bit of respect, a modicum of care then a fusion of magic and well-beingness could transpire.”
“How very Albus of her. Tell me, does Ms. Granger believe in letting you think for yourself?”
Ron dropped the man’s arm and glared at him. He understood that tactic too, the abrasiveness to assuage your own feelings of weakness. But understanding it wasn’t the same as liking or even accepting it.
“I’m sure you don’t want to hear my beliefs on the subject,” Ron hissed through his teeth, despite himself. He was pretty sure he would regret it.
“Ohh, is that emotion I detect, Mr. Weasley?”
Ron lifted Snape’s leg at the ankle and then with the other hand under his knee, bent his leg and brought his knee to his chest slowly. He breathed through his nose and tried to tune Snape’s badgering out, focusing instead on what he was doing. He heard the cracks of long-forgotten joints waking up and heard moans and grunts from Snape when he’d pushed a muscle past its limited endurance. Those were the sounds he needed to be alert for. Not the needling.
Snape continued, “You’ve been such a good boy. You’d make your fiancée proud. You’d make your mother proud. Doing all these things, without a thought to yourself. Helping this poor, pathetic shriveled up man with nothing in it for yourself. What must your thoughts be? Surely you have things you’d much rather be doing? Places you’d imagined you’d be. People you imagined you’d be surrounded by, people that weren’t me.”
Ron just mumbled and went to the other side of the bed, working on Snape’s right side now.
“A life you imagined having…”
Ron pulled Snape’s arm a bit harder than he had the other side.
“Tell me, why are you doing this? Why are you here with me? And please don’t talk anymore of the many ways one loves another.”
Ron smiled wickedly. “Truthfully?”
Snape nodded.
He moved to Snape’s leg and continued the exercise with a shrug. “It is what it is. Do I believe in the magical power of touch? Maybe, maybe not. But the human body is a delicate thing, even yours, and to leave it to magic seems a reckless thing to do. Would a spell know that your leg can’t reach past this point?” He brought the knee up again until he felt the muscle stretch under Snape’s clothes and skin.
Snape didn’t say anything, just grunted.
“Do I believe in the power of love?” Ron asked, placing one hand on the pelvic bone of Snape’s hip and pushed as he leaned over him, clutching the opposite shoulder and pulling slightly so that he twisted Snape’s upper body. Snape groaned again, before Ron continued. “Maybe. I’ve seen what love can do. Both the good and the bad, as I’m sure you have as well.”
He watched Snape’s eyes and the flicker of fleeting understanding.
“You want to know what I believe?” Ron reached his arm under Snape’s upper legs and the other hand cradled Snape’s neck and pulled both slowly together slightly. “I believe that whether I wanted this responsibility or not, whether I like you or not, you are my charge until you are well enough to take care of yourself. So, while others talk of love and healing, why don’t we be honest with ourselves. Things aren’t going to change for us until we both make them change.”
Ron tried not to look at Snape with this confession. He didn’t want to see loathing or any other emotion. He couldn’t help it, though. The respectful nod and smile was something he was not expecting.
“There is some Slytherin inside of you after all.”
“Why? Because I have self-interest?”
“Everyone is self-interested to some extent,” answered Snape. “Slytherins just aren’t ashamed of it.”
“Maybe there’s a little Slytherin. Just keep it to yourself,” he said with a smile before calling for Kreacher.
“You need a warm bath and then a rub down to really feel the effects of the work out.”
“Thank you, Mr. Weasley.”
Ron nodded and then made his way down to the local pub for a drink…or twelve. It wasn’t that his life was miserable, or that he couldn’t see a way out, he just didn’t think he was capable of going on this way. Harry had travel, Hermione had school, where was his thing? It couldn’t be just this, could it?
Continue to part 2.