Atonement
A/N: I
started this a few months ago but never posted it. The muses have been nagging me to continue
it, so I decided to see if anyone fancied reading it.
Disclaimer:
JKR is the goddess of the wizarding world and all
that we hold dear about it. I am only
worthy of cowering at her feet and offering my meager, uninformed ramblings of
what might be for the two characters that possess my thoughts most ... in
short, I only pretend it is mine when I am dreaming about it ... though I do
lay claim to this particular plot. It
may have been done before, but this comes from experience, not fancy.
Leave me a
review if you have a chance! *mwah* ~lizzie
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It was an
hour of the night in which no well-meaning witch or wizard would have chosen to
roam the streets of Diagon Alley, or fly o’er places unplottable to the muggle
eye. But, despite all that, Hermione
Granger Weasley was wandering from one darkened shop
window to the next; not really seeing what was there, but reliving memories of
times past. The bookstore she used to
spend hours in. Her
favorite table at Fortiscue’s. The park where she
transformed from “girlfriend” into “fiancé.”
It was then
that she stopped moving for the first time in hours; collapsing onto the cold,
soft grass, dropping her broom beside her.
She was exhausted after the day’s events. It had started out peaceably enough: the usual Saturday morning lie-in, a casual
brunch with her little family, and then she opted to work on some research that
was really reaching an exciting stage.
It was then that things began to turn – just as she was about to add the
next experimental catalyst to the antidote she’d been working on, Ron had burst
into her lab, eyes as fiery as his hair ...
“What are you doing in here?”
“That’s rather silly of you,” Hermione
attempted to lighten the mood, knowing she would fail as assuredly as she had
before. “What else would I be
doing? I think I’m about to have a
breakthrough with this research for the Order.
Why,
what’s the matter?”
“Are you joking? My Auror robes are
all dirty, I have an important meeting I’m trying to prepare for and
She wanted to shout that he was
perfectly capable of charming his clothes clean, or flooing
them to the wizarding dry cleaners. As for their daughter, working from home left
Hermione with meager scraps of time to work in her lab. It was far too
dangerous to have a little witch underfoot when brewing experimental
concoctions, so she had to take every opportunity to exercise the more
practical aspects of her duties, meaning that, yes, she often left Ron to care
for their child, but she was alone with Aurora all day, everyday! What did he expect of her?! As for dinner, she wanted to tell him to go
eat some of the bullshit that was spewing from him. All these retorts flashed through her mind in
an instant, as they had before, and would again.
But Mrs. Hermione Weasley
knew better than that. She knew that her
husband’s temper and special variety of logic was a force to be reckoned with,
and she was better off keeping him happy.
Bludgers were more predictable than angry!Ron.
“Sorry dear, the time must have slipped
away from me. How about we just get floo-out from that Chinese place you like so much,
love? I was just about finished here
anyway. Rory & I can take a walk
afterwards so you can work.” Oh, how she
hoped that she had masked the fear in her voice.
The not-quite-visible steam was still
puffing from his ears, but Ron was sufficiently subdued by his wife’s
apology. For now. He was beginning to wonder if she really
cared about their home, their life together.
Bottling up his uncertainties, he nodded and let out a gruff “’right
then” before stomping off to immerse himself in the most recent edition of Quidditch Quarterly.
Hermione put a stasis charm on her
cauldrons, tucked away her notes, and warded the door for safety’s sake, before
searching out her one source of true joy.
She didn’t have to look long, as soon as she rounded the corner the
dark-haired bundle of 3-year-old enthusiasm nearly knocked the witch down as
she enveloped her legs in a tight embrace.
Bending down, Hermione rescued herself from her daughter and the two
went to the kitchen to see to the domestic affairs of the evening.
Hermione’s
sigh took visible form in the cool night air, her condensated
despair backlit by a nearby street lantern.
After dinner that evening, she had slipped some dreamless sleep (her own
special variety - completely tasteless and highly potent) into Ron’s coffee
before leaving with
It wasn’t
that she didn’t love Ron. He had given
her everything. He (along with Harry,
she conceded) were the only real friends she had for many years in the non-muggle realm. He had
fought for her honor, been blinded with jealousy over innocent relationships (hmmm, she thought, maybe that wasn’t such a good thing … endearing in retrospect, but
bloody annoying at the time), he had nearly died trying to protect her
during the Final Battle, and he had swept her off her feet in a whirlwind romance. A seeming fairytale, to the
casual observer.
But Hermione
Granger Weasley could in no context be referred to as
a casual observer. She was known for her
ability to analyze and figure things out.
It just wasn’t as comfortable when you were the subject of your own
scrutiny. She didn’t know whether to
follow her heart, or listen to her head.
Did she want to stay with Ron, after all he had
done for her, or leave him and regain
her blessed independence, because of all that he had done to her?
“Damn
introspection! Why in Merlin’s name is
life so bloody complicated?!?” she shouted into the darkness. Then, more controlled and somewhat bitter,
“I’d take solving the unsolvable antidote over determining what I really want
in life …”
“An
interesting sentiment from one such as yourself, Mrs. Weasley,” a silky voice interrupted from the shadows. “What could possibly have Hogwart’s
most intelligent graduate – since myself, of course – wallowing in a puddle of
self pity?”
The Voice
stepped into the light. Snape. Dark, brooding, snarky, brilliant, obnoxious Professor Severus
L. Snape.
Reaching out to the Gryffindor know-it-all? Had Hermione been her usual self she would
have realized that something was wrong with this picture, but as it was she
could only shout at him through her tears.
“What the
hell do you know about me? About relationships?
About anything! You never cared
about anyone but yourself.”
“Your
evaluation of myself is wholly inaccurate, madam, I
can assure you. Though I can see how you
may have come to acquire that impression.
Nevertheless, you seem in great need of someone that can listen, and
apparently,” he continued with slight hesitation, “a … shoulder … to cry on. Come.
This is no place for you - not at this time of night anyway."
He extended
his hand downward to aid her rise, then offered the
same arm to her in a courtly gesture.
She placed her hand in the crook of his elbow with only a slight
timidity, then quickly regained her composure.
"If
this is no place to be, why, pray tell, are you
here?"
"Why, I
supposed that you would have been able to deduce that. The moon is just beginning to wax, and I have
some important potions to brew. And some
of the ingredients are rather difficult to obtain." Hermione's eyes moved back and forth as she
put the pieces together. Her unlikely
companion smiled inwardly, proud that he had so easily
averted her mind from its worries.
"Oh! The Wolfsbane
Potion! But – but the standard
ingredients are all readily available the chemist’s in Hogsmeade. Why should you be lurking about
“My dear
Mrs. Weasley, you have far too little confidence in
yourself and your research.”
“You don’t
mean that you …”
“Yes, I am
familiar with your theories and experiments in potions making. Honestly, you are one of the few published
Potions Mistresses – or Masters – worth paying any heed to.” Hermione blushed at the undisguised
compliment and looked at him with gratitude.
“Thank you,
Professor. I needed that, as much as I
doubt the validity of your assessment.”
Once Hermione delivered her humble thanks, Snape
paused to look her over, as if sizing up if she really was being humble, or
giving her honest opinion of herself.
“Indeed,”
was the man’s only utterance before continuing down the path towards his
residence in wizarding
~*~
A/N: Quidditch Quarterly was something I pulled off the top of
my head, but have been informed that it’s popped up elsewhere, so I’m just
going to consider it as fanon.