And he was twenty-one. She was twenty-one. It was young but not overly young. And they had been together for, well, almost a year. Christmas was approaching and why not marry her? He loved her.
He took a deep breath and slid down the couch, down on one knee on the floor, holding both her hands in one of his and, with his other, waving his wand at an empty can of coke. He would have to do this the right way, and soon, but for now, it would have to do. He focused and instantly, the empty can of coke was transfigured into a plain, boring, if pretty ring.
"I don't want to marry you because I want to get in your knickers," he said solemnly, looking deeply into her beautiful pale green eyes. "I think I want to marry you because I love you. And because you're...already my family. You and your grandmother and Severus. You're my family. Not my father or my mother or anyone. I want to get married because...I want to be officially, a part of your family. And I'm not saying we have to get married tomorrow or even this year. I just want you...no, I want to promise you that I will marry you. Just because I love you."
Aideen stared at him — dumbstruck.
.
"So," Harry said, his face in a confused frown. "You and Snape really snog."
"We do," Hermione said dreamily, awfully tiredly, staring at a point somewhere above Harry's head. She knew she was smiling stupidly but she couldn't help herself. His kiss had made her toes curl and she had to fling her arms around his neck and hold him to her and twist her fingers in his hair and kiss him more and he kissed her back and it had been...amazing. She hadn't been able to stop and it seemed neither had he. He hadn't stopped either. No idea how long they had stood there, and no idea how much Harry had seen. Possibly anything. Not that she cared. She was happy. Exorbitantly happy. Nothing more, nothing less.
"What's it then?" he asked curiously, but his face was drawn and there were dark circles around his eyes. Hermione's eyes hurt and she wanted to do nothing but fall into bed and sleep but something about him worried her. The way his eyes kept darting to Ted and then to her, the way he rubbed his scar. And the way he seemed to desperately want to know how she was doing, and how her night had gone.
"What do you mean?" she asked back, sitting heavily down on the chair and, knees locked, put her feet up on another chair.
"You and Snape?"
"We...sort of see anther. We haven't really talked about it but I think..." she smiled happily. "I like him, Harry. I more than like him and he seemed to be genuinely interested in getting to know me. How was your night?"
"Getting to know you?" he asked back. "Snogging you is getting to know you?"
"We talked. Before we snogged. And yes, he wants to get to know me. Can you now tell me how your night way?"
Harry put his face in his hand and shook his head and even though she really wanted to sleep and dream and think and email Snape, she got up and sat next to him. Her friend worried her. He wasn't acting like he normally would. He hadn't berated her for kissing Snape (no, Severus. Severus. He was Severus), hadn't been angry, or had made fun of her. Nothing. Just quiet curiosity and now this face-in-hand-putting.
"What's going on?" she asked, her arm wrapped around his shoulder.
.
He had shrunk the car and apparated in smaller steps back to Manchester. Smaller even than the ones he had made to get to London. He was too tired to try to get back home in one step and he only wanted a shower and his bed — happy that it was Saturday and that he could take the entire day to sleep.
A brief visit to Eleanor to tell her that her car was standing, full-sized, in front of her house again, to tell her that he was back and that there was no need to worry about him and to dodge, without a doubt, all her questions about where he had spent the night and what he had done.
What had he done? He had talked to Hermione, all night long, and he hadn't been bored for one second. He had seen a part of her that he had missed, or half-missed before. She, Hermione, was a woman. Fully-grown, mature, insightful, smart and witty, curious, lovely.
Again, she had kissed him like this, like he deserved it. Like she wanted it. She wanted it. That much was clear. She had wanted to kiss him back, that time and the first time and her fingers had curled in his hair, her fingernails scraped against his scalp and stroked the back of his neck.
He smiled stupidly. He couldn't remember ever, in his entire life, to have felt so glad to be in his own skin. For possibly the first time in his life, he was happy to be Severus Tobias Snape. To have gone the way he had gone. To be the person he was, to have the experience and to be exactly who he was. To have someone who kissed him like this, despite knowing who he was and what he had been capable of. Hermione Granger knew, he knew, who he was, what he had done, what had been the darkest hour of his life, his biggest regret (even though he hadn't specifically said so) and she nevertheless enjoyed, apparently, to touch him. This wasn't some woman he had picked up on the street and this wasn't about sex or physical intimacy. She knew him. Him. Not every secret and certainly not every dark deed he had done but she knew him. She was going into this with open eyes and he had to admit that he liked that particular fact. She wasn't rushing into something with a stranger of whom she knew nothing about — and the same was true vice versa.
Hell, he had known her since she was eleven years old and even though he knew she should feel like a dirty old man, he didn't. Maybe because his life in Hogwarts seemed so far, too far, away, because it had been another life, or maybe because she seemed to be much older than her years or he, when it came to inter-human relationships, much younger than his years. Maybe he just felt comfortable with her. They could skip all the biographical minutiae during their getting-to-know-stage, and could skip straight to the deeper thoughts and the wishes and hopes and dreams.
He didn't know — but he knew he felt happy to be himself. Happy, for maybe the first time. With what would be a spring in anyone else's step, he opened his front door, then closed it again, and went right around his house to Eleanor.
Eleanor — so far the most important woman in his life and he did not want to throw her over for Hermione. Not at all. He wanted, uncharacteristically, tell her about his night. Not all of it and he would certainly skip the toe-curling, parts-of-his-body-stiffening aspect of his — well — date but the rest, the sheer magnitude of what he felt, what he was going through, he wanted to let her know about. She deserved that and he deserved to be talking about it.
He deserved something. Maybe not Hermione. Maybe not the way she had touched him and kissed him but he should be allowed to talk about it. Eleanor's fault. Eleanor's fault that he wanted, had to, tell someone about it. Eleanor had done the main work. She had prepared him for this. For this...whatever it was going to turn into. She had been the one who had needled things out of him. Who had bugged him hard and long enough so he had told her even about his darkest days and nights. About his past. Without her...he doubted that he would have been able to kiss Granger like this.
He rang the doorbell and Eleanor answered and smiled at him.
"You didn't come home last night," she said, slightly mockingly.
He only shook his head and he had the feeling that the smile wasn't entirely gone from his face.
.
"I met someone last night," said Harry slowly.
"Really? Oh that's wonderful!" she gushed and tried to hide her yawn — again.
"Yeah," he said, and it didn't sound like he was particularly happy about the fact.
"She's not married, is she?" asked Hermione, stroking his shoulder with her thumb.
He shook his head and Ted was unsteadily wobbling over towards them, looking quizzically at his godfather and her.
"What then?" asked Hermione gently.
"It's not a she," he replied with great care and trepidation.
"A bloke then!" Hermione exclaimed and it sounded a lot more excited than she knew she should sound. He was obviously distressed about the fact and she was doing nothing but showing her excitement about having a gay best friend. But seriously — he had told her to take her stockings and shoes off and it had obviously worked. He had been telling her to keep the skirt on and it had worked. He had...didn't matter. She wanted him to be happy and at that moment, she could see, that he wasn't. "Why are you so unhappy about that?" she asked softly.
"Because it was a bloke, Hermione! A guy. Another male. A man! I kissed a man and I liked it!"
"Yeah, and? What's your point?" she knew that was the wrong answer the moment it had left her mouth.
"It's a bloke! Not someone I can have children with, not someone I can show my face in the wizarding world. He's a Muggle. HE! Not SHE! HE!" he shouted and Ted looked utterly scared.
"You're scaring your godson," she said immediately. "Look, I don't know if you noticed but plenty of wizards are homosexual. Dumbledore. Grindelwald, that potions-person...what was his name? Granger-something."
"How can you not know his name?"
"Granger-Dagworth then," she shook her head irritably. "They said Merlin had tendencies."
"He didn't!" Harry cried out.
"Maybe he did, maybe he didn't but it doesn't matter," she shrugged again. "Why are you making such a big deal out of it? I kissed Snape for heaven's sake. I don't think it can get anymore bizarre than that."
"I kissed a man!"
"As long as that man isn't Snape," she said flippantly. "Seriously, Harry. What is your problem...we're all..."
"On your side," she heard Ron's voice from the door and as she looked up, her former boyfriend, or almost boyfriend and best friend (one of the two she had) and flatmate looked at them intently. "Seriously, mate. As long as you don't make a pass at me, nobody will care. Not me and not Hermione and not my parents or my siblings — except Ginny but you'd have to understand that — and Skeeter can go to hell."
"What Ron said," added Hermione quietly. "It doesn't matter who you like or not like. Or love. Or snog. As long as you do whatever makes you happy."
"She's exactly right," Ron said. "But don't sleep next to me in the next few months, will you?"
Harry had a look of utter surprise on his face and his gaze fell from Hermione to Ron and back again.
"When did you grow up like this?" he asked voicelessly.
"I was always this grown-up," huffed Hermione.
"I think he means me," said Ron. "I grew up like this some time between...I don't know. Between camping and coming out of the Chamber of Secrets with Hermione. Or maybe after that. I'm not sure. But keep your fingers off me, right? You don't have a thing for me, do you? I mean that would be just weird. And I don't think I'm into blokes. No offence, mate but..."
Harry cracked a little smile. "You're not my type, it seems."
.
"The children are in the living room," Eleanor said. "So I'm keeping to the kitchen." She smiled a knowing, albeit slightly worried smile and for once, didn't press her hand to her back. "Whatever they're up to, I don't think I want to know," she whispered. "I give up on keeping them apart."
"They're not children anymore," said Severus pensively.
"Aideen will always be a child in my eyes. And so will you. And Draco, even though I met him when he was a young man already," she smiled. "Tea?"
He nodded and stifled a yawn.
"Long night then?" smirked Eleanor.
"We're trying to find out if tears have magical properties."
"We're?" she arched her eyebrows and gestured towards a chair for him to sit down.
"Yes, we," he smiled and shook his head slightly. "Hermione and me."
"Hermione?" she laughed.
"Hermione. I can't keep on calling her Granger. I kissed her for heaven's sake."
"I know you did. Again then? That's where you spent the night?" her face fell. "You didn't."
"I didn't. Of course I didn't," he growled. "As I said, we were talking and then researching magical property of tears."
"Tears?"
"You cried on me when..."
"Yes, yes," she waved it off. "I remember. Even though I do believe that that had more to do...well. Hermione, eh? So if that's not going on, what else is going on then?"
Severus sat down and still smiled stupidly. He hadn't ever — ever! — smiled so stupidly and so much in all his life. "I don't know."
"Relationship? Wedding? Marriage? Children?"
He shrugged. "Maybe. All of it. One day. Not yet. But I like her."
"You like her. Well. That's a big step, innit?"
He nodded and gestured for her to sit down as well and wanted to wave his wand around to get the tea ready but she just rolled her eyes.
"I'll make the tea. You tell me what you're planning to do."
"I, erm, I think I want to continue seeing her regularly. See what happens from there," he replied honestly.
"Hm...just don't...string her along, will you? I don't think that would be okay for either her or you," she replied quietly.
"I don't intend to. She's...she knows me, Eleanor. And I find that I like that she knows me. Even the..."
"Dark things," she nodded. "I understand that."
They fell silent and the older woman, the old woman really, was busy preparing the tea and when she finally sat down, two mugs and a pot of steaming tea on the table, she grasped his hands.
"Are you happy, Severus?" she asked softly.
Happy. Just minutes ago, he had admitted to himself that he was happy about being himself. But happy — as a general way of feeling? Happy? He had been happy with her. Happy to be sitting hunched over a book with her and feeling her head inch closer to his shoulder and her upper arm brushing against his. Hearing her breathing and the soft sighs she made while reading.
He was happy here in that kitchen, talking to Eleanor. He was indeed...
"I am, Eleanor, I am happy," he almost whispered.
"That's good, love. That is good," she smiled and her eyes seemed to be a little, ever so slightly, wet.
.
"What is your type then?" Hermione asked, stifling a yawn.
"And why does Hermione still wear that kind of clothing?" asked Ron, eyeing her suspiciously.
"I found them sitting over books this morning. Looked like they..."
"Who, they? She and Snape?"
"She and Snape, yeah, looked like they were researching things but her head was almost on his shoulder and you've never seen his nose farther away from a book. I mean his nose wasn't in the book but almost in Hermione's hair," Harry grinned, obviously about the change of topic.
"Oi!" Hermione complained loudly. "We were talking about you and your choice of...whatever you want to call that bloke. What's he liked?"
