“Sirius, shut the fuck up.”
Sirius Black had the nerve to smirk at her when she finally responded to his antics.
He leaned back to chuckle loudly and then continue on with his needling of me.
“Snivellus, you’ve still got the muggle-borns jumping to your aid then?”
And that’s when the righteous fury of Hermione Granger dragged him up by his collar to stare at him menacingly while Black’s godson tried to talk her down half-heartedly.
They were all fucking exhausted by him. Years of showing off, and impolite acts of mischief as the man never quite grew out from Marauding.
“Hermione, come on. He’s not - He’s not going to listen.”
That turned Black’s head with astonishment, or would have if Granger hadn’t been clutching the fabric around his neck.
“What? Har..ry?”
The fabric tightened ever so slightly because the last letters in Potter’s name barely came out.
“Oh? Will you listen now?”
She hissed close to his face.
“It’s been how long since you’ve been a free man and you’ve done fuck all for the society you live in. We maintain your house, you lazy pureblood shite. Only for you to prance about acting indecent, rude, making your immature jokes to what? Make up for the lost time that your savior Dumbledore kept you rotting away in Azkaban? I think you’ve a great deal in common with that banshee glued to your walls, clamoring away with her archaic ideals because you too clamor away with your adorable old thinking.”
Sirius blinks away as he tries to recoil from her grip.
“Perhaps if you spent more time sober you would have more of a basis for all that pride you’ve got in yourself. You’re a bully, Sirius. A bully showing off to a bunch of fucking ghosts.”
She let him go after that.
There was really no more to be said.
I watched him sit there for a long time with that realization while the room went on about their lives around him. The Weasleys yelled about Quidditch in between yelling to their children to settle down.
Molly gripped Sirius’ shoulder while brandishing her wooden spoon to her eldest grandchild who was already a bloody menace at 8 years old. Minerva leaned in to speculate in my general direction on a few of the goings on at Hogwarts. Staff gossip being her favorite, a habit picked up from her too many years with Albus.
Hermione poured a cuppa for Black, pointed at it till he picked it up and took a sip. When she was mollified he was getting his head straight, she walked up the stairs to the library.
The small group of Order members had been meeting at Grimmauld place for bi-annual dinners to catch each other up on life, strange goings on in the world, and to maintain the threadbare friendships leftover in the aftermath of the war.
Harry Potter married Ginevra Weasley around a year after the war came to its end. The ‘Golden Trio’ were barely speaking to one another and that was even with Ronald Weasley shacking up with the ‘Golden Girl’ herself, Hermione Granger.
The loss of his brother made him float aimlessly through his days and Miss Granger fared no better as nightmares plagued her sleep.
She had tried to be there for him in spite of her own troubled mind and came out holding every problem of his in her hands like some harried packmule.
It all came to a point of critical mass the second Christmas at Grimmauld.
I had been out of the hospital 6 months on by then. Minerva ushered me into the fray and nervous smiles littered the many faces gathered there. I was still fairly weak, and angry at the loss of my voice.
Ronald greeted me by shouting his words.
“Ronald! Stop! He’s mute, not deaf! You just look like you’re showing off the use of your voice.”
The boy looked sheepish, the tips of his ears reddening. He replied to her in a none too quiet way that had me gripping the handle of my cane.
“Could say the same about you the way you’re bossing me about.”
I looked at her, saw her deflate in on herself, and really took in the tiredness around her eyes, her thin skin, and lifeless hair. She bit her lip, her eyes filled with unshed tears. She quietly excused herself. Minerva tutted loudly, her eyes following the girl’s path up the stairs as Molly tried to cheerfully direct everyone towards refreshments.
I noticed she hadn’t come down after half an hour or just abouts, so I slowly made my way up to the Black Library knowing that's where she’d likely be.
She wiped her eyes with her sleeve when she saw me and hurried me to a chair when she noticed my breathlessness.
I tried to wave her off.
“Professor, you’ve only just been well enough to stay out of that horrible hospital! What made you trek all the way up here?”
My hands moved slowly as I found my words and she watched patiently.
“I’m no longer your Professor.”
She huffed and waved me off.
“I thought you didn’t want me ‘acting too familiar’. I wasn’t about to assume and call you by your given name.”
She signed out my words with huge gestures to mock the argument I had with her more than a few times. I roll my eyes and continue speaking.
“I wanted to thank you for all the visits you made whether I was conscious of them or not. A few times I thought perhaps you were a dream until I noticed the herbal bouquets you left behind. The eryngium yuccifolium was cheeky.”
My mouth upturned into a rare smile and she returned it prettily while grabbing my hand.
“It was the least I could do, Severus.”
It was a small gesture of friendly affection that made me think of the Old Hermione visiting her friends in the infirmary after some ill-fated caper.
When she first graced me with it after I’d woken up in St. Mungo’s, I threw a fit. Writing a million abrasive words a minute to keep myself safe from what I thought was her pity.
We grew to understand each other in what turned out to be secret meetings so that she could gain reprieve from the near constant cooking and cleaning and sorting of bills that Ronald Weasley seemed to saddle her with.
Immature, irresponsible little shit that he was. She wasn’t a fucking house elf.
She was about to speak when there was a knock on the door.
“Mione? Mum needs you in the kitchen! Er…Can I come in?”
“Shit!” She hissed. “Shh don’t make any noise.”
At my unamused glare, she flicked her wand at me with an apologetic yet rushed look. The tell-tale feeling of a disillusionment charm fell down over me. I frowned though no one could see.
She opened the door and he followed her in.
“Mione, Mum sent me up to fetch you to help with the roast.”
Hermione folded her arms across her chest and glared at him.
“That's the only reason you came up here?”
He puffed up his cheeks and looked around the room dumbly.
“Well?... Yeah?”
She began pushing him back out.
“Wha? Hermione! Come on!”
“I’m sure she can handle it herself, Ronald.”
“Yeah, of course. But how else are you going to learn how to cook?”
I gripped the arms of the chair so hard, they creaked.
“Ronald, maybe you better go down there and learn how to make it then because I’m done.”
“Mione! What the fuck are you saying?”
“I’m saying..I think you need to live with your Mummy because ever since we got together I’ve been doing all the washing and cleaning. All the cooking - which you've only managed to complain about. I’ve paid the bills you’ve conveniently forgotten about. What kind of “man” complains about his girlfriend’s nightmares and only SEEMS TO FUCKING ADD TO THEM!?”
Ronald’s face got red, and he spluttered for words.
“Mione, you don’t mean this.”
She stood confidently in the doorway.
“I do. I think it was a mistake moving in with you before I got my shit sorted out. You’ve wasted enough of my time, Ronald Weasley. I want you moved out by the New Year.”
And with that, she slammed the door in his face.
I could only watch her gather herself, steadying her breathing by whispering a stream of numbers backwards. Then I felt the disillusionment charm dispel.
Her hands moved slowly as she spoke aloud.
“That felt good!”
My right eyebrow pulled up and I pulled a card from my inner coat pocket, pressing it into her hand before signing.
“I’m still a mess, but now I don’t piss myself when a documentary on snakes comes on the telly. She’s a good mind healer. Maybe you’ll get a handle on those dreams now?”
She nodded shakily and pulled me in for a hug.
Over the years, we’d orbit each other at the gatherings. Ronald spoke less to her as he began his great search for his next girlfriend -alarmingly ending up with one who bore a striking resemblance to Molly. Hermione sent me a side glance with one raised eyebrow and I simply nodded once with a faint grimace pulling at my mouth. She covered her mouth with her drink to laugh.
Each meeting, I’d find her in the library and we’d catch up on articles we read or wrote over the year. She’d tell me all about the new work she was doing managing a nursery with Neville Longbottom and his wife, Hannah and when I finally opened my own apothecary, she was asked to supply me with the herbal components.
Hermione grew into a lovely woman over the years- confident, business savvy, well connected as she threw aside the prejudice the others held onto and proceeded with diplomatic efforts with Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy whose international dealings helped her procure rare plants.
She showed up to the get togethers because Minerva pushed for it.
Harry spoke to her on a surface level, Ginny understood her and maintained a better friendship, Sirius Black either chastised her for her business dealings, or shamelessly flirted with her while putting me down. All of which bored her to tears.
Hermione eventually ignored him…choosing to focus her efforts to help the Potters with the upkeep of Grimmauld, or keep the attention of the children attending the gatherings as they shouted their elation that “Aunty Mione” was there. She was often seen holding the youngest of them as they walked through the Greenhouse she kept or singing muggle Christmas carols.
It was after the little ones had gone down for a nap that Sirius Black would start in on me. She’d finally had it this year. She was magnificent in her anger, so I made my way up the stairs - my body much more acclimated now for the climb.
I quietly turned the door, feeling the wash of her magic in the wards accepting my presence.
She turned to me, wiping a tear from her eye with a nervous laugh.
“I know. I know. I shouldn’t be crying.”
My hands move slow and smooth like my voice used to be once upon a time. Something she remarked on one time with a faint pinkening of her cheeks.
“No. He deserved every word of it and you know it. These are things Potter would never say to him for fear of losing a tie to his parents. He looked relieved while Black took tea. I wanted you to know.”
She dropped her shoulders with some amount of relief.
Moving her hand from her chin to give me her quiet gratitude.
I moved to take the seat next to her on the small, tatty couch that was all too comfortable for anyone to throw out. More than once they’d taken to snoozing on it when they meant to read quietly next to each other.
She laughed as my arm bumped her.
Her hands moved quickly as she laughed.
“This couch is calling for blood today. I almost fell asleep in it before you showed up.”
I huffed a quiet laugh and moved my hands slowly.
“Wouldn’t be the first time, would it? Just try not to drool on my arm.”
Her mouth drops open in feigned insult and she swats at my arm, I grab her hand tightly with a mock glare and sign with one hand, my eyes boring into hers.
“Miss Granger.”
She squeezes my hand and signs without speaking, a flirtatious look overtaking her face that pulls on a thread or two in my being.
“Oh, are we roleplaying now? Professor..”
I kiss the palm of her hand, moving the invisible boundary into new territory with a boldness that could only come from having such a close friendship with her already. She answers surprisingly by alighting her hand on my cheek, a feather soft touch of her thumb on my bottom lip.
I move my lips to catch the pad of her thumb with another light kiss.
The sun spreading its fingers through the large window beside our now slightly turned bodies, highlights the gold in her hair and her eyes.
She smiles with the warmth of it in my direction and I almost want to close my eyes to the brightness that courses through my blood at the sight.
Then she surprises me further by leaning forward, carefully so as not to startle me I suppose, and my breath quickens in a way it hasn’t in so long I’d almost assume this was the first time it had.
My heart is beating quick and strong in my chest as I lean forward towards her in answer, wondering if she really wants this.
Of course she does. I remind myself in internal dialogue
She never does anything anymore that she doesn’t want to do with her whole heart.
Her breath caresses my lips a moment before they touch. A spark of light spears through us as we touch so intimately on the ugly couch. My fingertips rest on the side of her neck as she clutches the dark overshirt I’m wearing with her delicate fingers.
Fingers that learned the only language I was capable of besides expressive facial configurations after that horrible maledictus tore open my throat. She was the only one capable of speaking with me so fluidly after all this time.
My lips pressed against hers to make her feel all of my gratitude and care for her. And she returned the feeling ten-fold with a sneaky flick of her tongue against the seam of my mouth.
I’m in for it now.
I think to myself as I gladly open my mouth to hers and deepen the kiss that has been on the precipice of happening for years now. My brave lioness, beating her paw in the ground against my abuser, giving voice to my rage, and comfort to my tender heart.