Harry Potter One Shots

All In the Family

All rights belong to the author, RosariaMarie

Hermione Granger Potter was busy at work on supper in the kitchen when she heard the sound of a wheelchair pulling up behind her. With eight years of practice, Severus Snape was getting accustomed to moving about the house in his chair. Although he had taken partial paralysis very hard in the aftermath of the snake attack, and spent copious amounts of time feeling sorry for himself, he was doing much better with time.

"What intriguing concoction are you conjuring up this Valentine's Day?" he queried with raised eyebrow.

"It always comes down to potions for you, doesn't it, Professor?" she twitted, lifting the lid of a steaming pot to stir the contents.

"Life itself boils down to elements mixed in such and such a fashion. A witch of your training should know that well enough."

"I know," she relented. "And now you're going to lecture me on overcooking vegetables, correct?"

"More specifically carrots," he clarified. "They turn to mush quite easily if not handled with professional care."

Hermione rested one hand on her hip. "Remember the last time you complained about my food?"

"Vividly," he concurred. "It had to do with some very lumpy mashed potatoes."

"And what happened to said potatoes?"

"They...were flung in my general vicinity." His eyes sparkled knowingly over her outbursts of temper.

"Well...I did help you clean them off afterwards," she noted.

"Yes, but still gave me the silent treatment for the whole weekend."

"Until you read me that book." She looked tickled by the memory. "You came into the kitchen while I was cooking, and said –" she cleared her throat and assumed a Snape-like monotone – "Mrs. Potter, I believe I have come upon a book which you may find edifying; would you be disturbed if I were to read you some of it while you cooked?"

"It's the only voice I've got, Mrs. Potter, don't wear it out," he grumbled.

Hermione giggled. "Well, I did like your book, in spite of myself. Harry is a literature teacher, and he doesn't read me poetry like that. Makes me think you're a far more sentimental man than you want to believe. Comes out when you read, especially John Keats."

"I...I was trying to...set things to rest between us," he explained.

"I knew that." She smiled over her shoulder. "You seemed to think I was going to kick you out of the house or something."

"No one would have blamed you if you wanted me out of your home, the way I was acting."

"You just can't help yourself. But I think we've grown rather used to each other, don't you think?"

He looked at her softly. "I...I know I haven't always been particularly fair to you. But...you've proven yourself to be a capable, independent-minded woman who excels at both her pharmaceutical career and as a wife to the heroically incompetent wonder-boy and mother to his hyperactive brood."

Hermione made a snort-laugh. "Well, nice that you managed to compliment me and insult my whole family in the same breath."

"Still," he continued, "you do a good job with them. Potter needed someone like you to keep his head on straight, no two ways about it. And...you've shown yourself to be a far better soul than I, putting up with...this manic-depressant, oft-times ungrateful, cynical bastard pinned into a mechanical contraception for the rest of his days."