Acceptance

Acceptance

by Miss Tito

Chapter Seven: Role Reversals

A few days after her meeting with McGonagall, Hermione sat at her desk grading papers yet again when she spotted Hedwig perched on her windowsill, shivering in the frigid autumn night air. Like the sudden change in the weather, Hermione knew this letter was inevitable. Bill Weasley had said that he was taking a hiatus to care for his ailing father only yesterday at the faculty meeting. Hermione sighed, opening the letter.

Dear Hermione,

How're things in the land of marking papers? Having fun being on the giving end of corrections? Hope you're not overtaxing yourself with nitpicky details.

Thanks for your congratulations! We're very happy that we're getting married too. Mum wasn't too glad at first, she'd always dreamed of having all her children have seven children of their own, but then realized that there wouldn't be enough to properly divide amongst all of those kids!

Bad news, however. The wedding has been postponed. Dad is really ill - he's been having dizzy spells and bouts of nausea for quite a while now. He's been to the outpatient clinic at St Mungo's a few times now, and they aren't serious about it, they say it's just gradual buildup of negative magical energy in his brain, but they have yet to find a way to fix it. Tomorrow we're going to a Muggle clinic in Ottery St. Catchpole. Maybe they'll have some answers.

However, despite Dad's mystery illness, we just wanted to tell you that you're Maid of Honor for the wedding. Mum insisted. She even offered to make the dress herself, but Harry insisted that we had it made by the tailor who's making out robes. Since (much to my chagrin) we're using his money, we can afford it. Only the best for our favorite know-it-all! We'll set you up an appointment later, I guess. (I know you're thinking that we should do it now, because we always put things off to the last minute, but don't worry, we'll make sure you have it at least a few days before the wedding!)

And as an answer to your last letter (sorry we didn't get back to you earlier!): I think you're probably having tea with McGonagall. Or Sinistra. Although McGonagall is sort of obvious, don't you think? Harry thinks it's Trelawney. I told him that there's no way you'd ever have ANYTHING to do with that miserable old bat, and Harry just smiled at me. He's so cute when he smiles, isn't he?

Sorry to go all mushy on you there, won't happen again! Hope you're well. Give our love to all at Hogwarts. Especially old Snape. He could probably use it, the git!

Love,

Ron

The details of Mr. Weasley's Mystery Illness sparked Hermione's interest. After all, there was a point in her life when she wanted to be a doctor. Poor Mr. Weasley! To dedicate his entire life to working in the most underpaid, pointless department in the Ministry of Magic, live a life of poverty, and jeopardize his chances of ever reaching retirement because of an illness most likely caused by the work he so desperately loved! How cruel can life get? And Molly, what will she do if he dies? Sure, almost any one of her children could support her, but I don't think she'd ever be the same. And - I know I shouldn't be concerned with it, but - what about Ron and Harry's wedding? What if they have to wait years, just because they don't want to be celebrating when Ron's father is so ill?

Hermione sent Hedwig off with an owl treat and added "Reply to Ron's Letter" to her mental to-do list. Glancing at her luminous wall clock, she noticed it was eight - the time she usually joined Snape for tea. Well, if he's not going to invite me, I might as well invite him. Although I don't have anything interesting to show for my quarters, just a few sofas increasingly covered in Crookshanks hair and some bookcases crammed full of - what else? - books.

She grabbed a handful of Floo powder, tossed it into her fire, and called, "Severus Snape!" After a few moments, Snape's head appeared in the midst of the flames. He looked extremely tired - dark circles underlined his bloodshot eyes.

"What do you want?" he inquired none-too-politely.

"I was just wondering if you'd like to come up to my place for tea. You look like you need it."

He glared at her. "I'll be there in ten minutes." He immediately broke the connection.

My, he was short with me.

She looked down at her daytime teaching robes and noticed how filthy they were.

Someone really needs to invent a charm to get rid of cat hair. Banishing charms only end up getting rid of the clothes, and Severing charms, well, they don't work too well either. I suppose I'll just have to change.

Ten minutes later, she heard a knock on her door. Clad in a baggy navy blue jumper and blue jeans, she answered the door to find Professor Snape standing there, perfunctory glower plastered on his face.

"Severus, how glad you could come. Come, sit down. I'll be right out with the tea."

"I didn't know you had a kitchen. I was under the delusion that only I had that luxury in my quarters."

"One doesn't need a kitchen to make food. You must forget that I am a witch."

"You don't encourage the thought dressed in that outfit you have on. You look like a middle-aged Muggle woman doing the shopping of a Saturday afternoon."

"And you would know that because...?"

"I do venture out of the wizarding world on occasion, Miss Granger. After all, not all vices are catered to by magical folk," remarked Snape, lips curled up in a somewhat evil sneer.

"Come off it, you're probably just buying paint."

"How well you know me," he replied sarcastically.

"Do you want tea, or did you come for the lovely company?"

"I assure you, the only reason I came is for the tea. I have been deprived as of late."

"How so?"

"You must know that I brew potions for Minerva?"

"Naturally."

"And you remember how she had all the students who survived the war talk to Mind-Healers?"

"Vaguely. Go on."

"Well, you probably don't know that she spiked the pumpkin juice for the student populace with Revealing potion. That I made for her."

"I didn't know that, but it makes sense. After all, the worst thing you can do when you're traumatized is to keep your feelings to yourself."

"She had some surplus. She's been putting the dehydrated potion in my tea supply since the end of the war. I ran tests on it yesterday to make sure I was correct. I cannot believe that I didn't figure it out before. I think I shall resign just to deprive that old conniving hag of her Potions Master." He rested his forehead on his palms.

Poor sod must really be at wit's end. He seems to be talking to himself.

"Think of all the children who would have chronic colds because no one can brew the Pepper-Up Potion properly!"

"That's their own fault, now isn't it? Brats shouldn't be outside in the first place if it's cold," He groused.

Hermione continued on in the original vein. "And you rid yourself of the tea after you discovered it was spiked."

"Not quite. I had to rummage in my garbage in order to find it." The slightest bit of color arose in his cheeks.

My, that's an amusing image. Snape bent over that galvanized dust bin of his just to find some tea boxes. I won't ask how they got there.

"Shall we finish this conversation over tea?"

"Fine. Minerva probably hasn't tampered with yours," he added spitefully.

With a flourish of her wand, Hermione conjured the same sort of tea service that McGonagall did once for Harry and Ron after they crashed the Anglia.

"I noticed you weren't at dinner, and thought you might want some food."

"How thoughtful of you. Have you ever noticed that I'm not at dinner, save for once or twice a week?"

"Of course I have. You seem to be in no right state to cook anything either, though."

Snape sighed, not good-naturedly.

Well, if he's going to be unpleasant, I think I shall go along with it.

"Did you know that Harry and Ron are getting married, Severus? Aren't you happy?" she inquired brightly.

"I'm not surprised. With the way that Weasley idolized Potter, I can't see him ever wanting to spend his life with anyone else. Although I daresay for a while I thought that you were falling for him, and vice versa."

"I got over him eventually."

Severus smirked maliciously.

"And who is the object of your desires lately, Hermione?" he taunted. She blushed a little.

"I could ask you the same thing, Professor."

"Be careful, Miss Granger, or you may well end up as Sibyll Trelawney once said you would - a dried up, shriveled old maid."

Hermione scowled very deeply at the mention of Trelawney. "Not unlike yourself, really, Severus. You forget that I am yet young."

Her scowl was now matched by the one on her companion's face.

"Are you insinuating that I am an old maid? I'm perfectly fine as I am - no one sharing my quarters to distract me from work. I'm getting tired, Hermione, I really should return to my quarters now."

"Then I suppose I brewed this tea for nothing?"

"I suppose you did." She sighed in disgust. "Fine, I'll drink it." He half-heartedly stifled a mighty yawn.

They sat and talked for a while longer until Crookshanks approached the two and pounced on Hermione, mewling loudly and rubbing his head against her no longer hairless jumper.

"Fine, Crookshanks, I guess it's time for your dinner." She turned to Snape. "I'm sorry, but he gets very insistent when I don't feed him."

Scooping up the ginger-haired cat, Hermione trudged out of the room. However, upon returning, she was greeted with a most unusual sight.

Severus Snape was half sitting, half laying on her couch, head lolled to one side, snoring slightly.

Oh great, he must really have been tired. Too bad I invited him up here, now I've got to either wake him up so he'll go back to his rooms, or tuck him in. Fabulous. Looks like I've got to break out the blankets.

Exasperated, she carefully undid his shoes, put his feet up on her couch, and draped a burgundy wool throw over the sleeping Potions Master.

She laughed at the improbability of the situation as she pulled her own nightgown over her head and crawled under the covers of her replica Gryffindor dormitory bed.

Who would ever have thought, Severus Snape sleeping in my quarters, on my couch. It's almost too surreal to believe.

"Nox!"