Livejournal scrap. All the usual disclaimer statements apply. None of that 'Stasis Charm' malarky here, either.

Apple Sauce

One evening in November, Hermione Granger Apparated into her house with a gentle pop. She made a cup of tea and let her workplace thoughts of court dates and case files and scheduled visiting hours at Azkaban slide away. They were replaced with thoughts of pork chops and roast potatoes and mmmm… apple sauce. This was a favourite meal in Hermione’s household and she thought it would make a nice surprise for Severus – before she mentioned any of the many household tasks he had yet to perform.

Severus Snape was unusually late home, and the dinner that Hermione had cooked was getting to the point of no return. She was annoyed with herself. She knew it was a bit of a risk, cooking things in the expectation that the intended recipient would appear with a smirk and a kiss at just the right time. It was just a tiny thing – a bit of a shame after the thought and effort – but never mind, not to worry. She wasn’t sure why, on this particular day, she was so pissed off.

Just as the meat had got to the dried-up, tasteless stage, the potatoes to the carbon stage, and the vegetables to the mushy stage, Severus came home. He found Hermione in the kitchen, gazing absently at the charmed washing up bowl, as magic swirled water and bubbles and levitated mugs and plates. He could see, just by the way her chin was held slightly higher than usual and her ears shifted slightly as she clenched and relaxed her jaw, that she was upset. The kitchen clock said he was half an hour later than usual. It didn’t seem an adequate length of time to cause worry, or annoyance. But she hadn’t turned around to greet him, or made her usual noises about cups of tea and dinner.

Tread carefully, old man, thought Severus, as he debated whether to act dumb, or whether to start quietly doing all the things he should have done in the last couple of days (take the rubbish out, hang the new Muggle mirror that didn’t talk, clean all the dirty potion phials that littered the surfaces in his office-cum-lab, put his books away…).

After a moment or two, Hermione turned to face Severus and shrugged at him; half apologetic, half frustrated.

‘I cooked dinner – I thought you’d be back a bit earlier… I’m sorry, but it’s not very nice now.’

Severus nodded. He felt an unwelcome stab of guilt. He hadn’t asked for her to cook. He hadn’t said that he’d be home at such-and-such a time. But she’d made an effort, which had ended in failure. What was the best approach to damage limitation?

‘Oh darling, I am sorry,’ he said, moving forward and gently placing his hands on her shoulders.

‘How can I make it up to you?’ he sighed.

‘I don’t know. For some reason I feel completely furious with you, and even I’m not sure why!’

He knew why. It was the third week of The Month. That was why. Severus Snape might be prone to saying the wrong thing at the wrong time – especially to women – but he had learned quite a lot in the last two years. He thought it best not share his insight with his companion, however.

‘Would you like to eat what you’ve cooked? Would you like me to cook something else for us? Shall I go and get something? Would you like to go out for dinner?’

Hermione sighed. Choices, choices, and none of them quite right at that particular moment in time.

Severus gently turned his girlfriend into his arms and rested his chin on the top of her head.

‘I am putty in your hands. If you feel like a fight, I’ll do my best, but I was honestly looking forward to seeing you. Try not to faint but I don’t feel like sarcasm tonight,’ he murmured.

A snuffle of laughter against his chest told him that this battle was half won. When he listened to other men complain about the volatile tempers of their wives and girlfriends, he always wondered if they realised that the offer of an apologetic cuddle was relatively effortless, and powerfully disarming.

‘In thirty years’ time, I would feel incredibly lucky if I were to come home late from work and find you irritated with me,’ whispered Severus.

The woman in his arms wormed herself a little bit more tightly against him. The trumpets were signalling the general advance. Severus prepared his troops for the final charge of the battle.

‘Didn’t you used to have a Galleon with a Protean Charm on it?’

‘Yes. Why?’

‘Well why don’t you make a pair just for us? When we’re about to leave work, we can signal. Then if one of us is late, we’ve got a proper excuse for an argument!’

‘I lost my Galleon. I think I spent it in Scrivenshafts by mistake.’

‘Perhaps we should use something different, then. Something more easy to distinguish, that’ll carry a short message and we’ll be able to feel warm up when the charm activates.’

Hermione’s fingers were beginning to edge their way between two of the buttons on his robe, just below his collarbones.

‘What do you suggest?’

‘Well, we could wear pendants. But despite the hairy chest, I don’t see myself as a medallion man.’

Hermione snorted indecorously and tugged gently at the hair in question.

‘I’d rather leave the earrings to Kingsley, and they’d be a bugger to read anyway.’

‘Mmmmmm.’

‘Perhaps a pair of rings would work. Platinum takes the charm nicely, and flat-sided bands would be easy to read.’

They went out for dinner and had Thai. The crick in Hermione’s neck from jerking her head up sharply resisted all attempts at healing and took ten days to stop hurting. Not that she minded all that much.