Severus apparated into the library not at all surprised to see Hermione there, reading. He suspected this would be a well-used room in their home over the years.

By all of them.

Severus didn't know Tom growing up, but he knew the man in the seventies. He liked knowledge. He liked learning. He liked knowing things others did not.

He knew they would have to go volume by volume to ensure there was nothing dark here. Anything inappropriate for Tom would be kept elsewhere. That was one of the things she was going to do in her spare time. She was going to start here with these texts to see if trying to organize and see if some sort of database system appropriate for 1926 could be established. If after doing that, here at their home, she hated it that would likely rule out being a librarian as an occupation.

Albus had assured him again today that whatever her CV needed to say, within reason given her age, it would say. Albus said he would think on it between now and a decision was made as to what to give her credit for. Knowing 1926 Albus well or not, Severus was confident the wizard was resourceful enough that Hermione would not be laughed out of the interview room about her obviously fake CV.

Things were a bit different today than they were in the future they'd come from when a degree for such a position was a requirement. Irma Pince held no such degree that Severus was aware of. In fact, Severus wasn't even certain what Irma's qualifications were beyond not liking people and seeming to tolerate the company of books best.

If Severus didn't believe Hermione was organized and intelligent enough to pull off such a position, he wouldn't suggest it. Clearly, any missteps would reflect on him as well as her, especially since she would be applying for the position at Hogwarts. Honestly, the only reason he even suggested it again once they arrived here was because he truly believed the position would suit her. In truth, he thought it would suit him if he had a choice, which he did not. At least not really.

He wasn't sure what he'd do if the library wasn't of interest to her. Being a secretary was so … beneath her capabilities even at this age. He and Albus would have to talk about that if university was the route she'd need to go for nursing or some such. The witch liked books and loved Hogwarts library, so he wasn't planning on her looking elsewhere.

As to what the witch was currently doing. He couldn't decipher from where he stood what she was reading. He truly wondered what happened, what the situation was that all of these … things were still here. None of his business, he supposed, but it was curious. The books alone. It didn't rival Hogwarts' library, by any means, but there was enough reading material here to keep either of them occupied for some time.

Why would Albus have left them? Unless he was truly so distracted by other events as to not even look in the house.

He smirked a bit because, of course, this was where she would be, and what she would be doing seventy years in the past. His thought wasn't mocking. If he had the time, he'd likely be here, too. Today was somewhat of a free day for her since he was at Hogwarts. Yes, he had texts for her to study for her OWLs, but he thought they both deserved a day or two before they got to work on that. (Not that he thought she needed that much work.)

The library was well-stocked with books from magical to muggle, fiction to nonfiction. So he had no idea what she might have chosen. There were books he knew he wanted to add to their collection. He already had a list of various titles that he knew were published between now and 1996 that he wanted to get his hands on.

He certainly was not worried this witch would get bored with what was here and what he'd brought with him anytime soon. She had a blanket around her to offset the light chill in the air, that he just noticed, from the fire on the verge of dying out.

In March! She didn't look cold, but the way the blanket was gathered around her suggested she wasn't particularly warm either.

He hadn't stopped to consider that she might not know how to tend to it. He'd take care of that this evening to ensure that she did. At Hogwarts, they were tended to by the elves in the student areas. So there was a very good possibility she didn't know. Stupid of him not to have thought of that before leaving her alone for hours. Then, she didn't look as if she was suffering or cursing his thoughtlessness. Was she so engrossed that she didn't tend to it? He imagined that was a possibility.

On this, they were similar he'd found over the past couple of days. He hadn't had much reason to observe her study habits until now. Nor did he have any reason to be curious about them, as her essays were enough to drive him to drink sometimes. (Though they had gotten better as her actual knowledge increased.).

There were many times Albus had come into his quarters over the years complaining of the cold because Severus had been too engrossed in what he was reading or grading to notice the fire had long ago gone out.

"Oh," she said, apparently only noticing him when he cleared his throat. He'd expected her to be practically waiting by the floo full of questions as to how his interview went and what Hogwarts was like when he returned. He wasn't sure what this meant.

Was she not concerned he'd get the job?

Or did she not care?

"Good book?"

"It's a diary," she said, holding it up so he could see it.

"Did you not learn your lesson…"

"I did, in fact, thank you. I checked it for spells, charms, dark magic, and portkeys. It's just a diary."

"The previous owners?"

"I think perhaps the owners before them based on the dates. I get the impression they were relatively new and young themselves. The people before us, I mean. I've only seen evidence of adults, no children in any of the belongings. And the clothes seem fashionable for a younger couple."

"Versus someone old like me?"

She chuckled, evidently realizing he was … teasing her. That was good. The episode with her hat made him uncertain as to how he came across. "I was thinking more like my grandparents actually."

He had noticed that, too, actually. Most of the items in the closet, even the furnishings, told him the couple who lived here had, perhaps, just been starting out themselves. He imagined it was why Albus thought of this house for them.

"I see," he said, removing his cravat and robes, draping them over a nearby chair. He walked to the sideboard, pouring himself a glass of whiskey and sighed none too softly.

"Bad day?"

He turned to face her, drink in hand. He knew he was glowering. He was still … angry wasn't quite the word.

"That was the most insulting thing I've had to do."

She arched a brow at him.

Cheeky thing.

Obviously she knew it wasn't overall. She kindly refrained from pointing out his exaggeration.

"In order to obtain a job," he clarified.

"Since you obtained your last job as part of your role with Albus and You Know Who from how I understand it, I'm not sure you can make a very objective comparison, Erik."

"I am aware," he ground out, lips tight. He did not need a reminder that he had, in fact, not earned his first - and only - job. "I was asked to make … potions."

"God forbid.," she replied dryly, causing him to scowl further.

"My mood is foul enough already, Madam, thank you! I have been a potions master for nearly twenty years, and I was being quizzed and tested as if I am an imbecile."

"Well, they don't know you. Erik Prins is nobody. I'm assuming Albus' CV was sufficient without being padded too much so as to appear fake."

"I know this!"

She stood then, crossing the room to him and set her hand over his wrist holding the glass. She did these things. Small touches, that he had no idea what to do with, nor did he have any idea what they meant. Until her, until these past few days, he could count on one hand how many people had willingly touched him. None had ever been … good. Oh, sure, he'd had dalliances, but not one of those women sought to touch him more than necessary.

She moved her hand to the edge of the glass opposite the side he was holding, tugging gently. He let her take the glass from his hand. She brought it to her nose and made a face after smelling it. This would have made him laugh under normal circumstances. He watched curiously as she took a small sip before setting the glass down. She set her hand back on his wrist.

"Did you convince them?"

Was she truly questioning his abilities? Did she doubt that he was capable?

And then she looked into his eyes.

There was no derision or doubt there. She … believed he did. How odd to have someone think he was capable on his own merit. And he felt as if he'd already broken the vow of not being an arse for thinking she thought otherwise.

"Of course I did," he said through gritted teeth.

"Did you get the job?"

"Yes, beginning next school year."

"Well then, mission accomplished. That's one less thing to worry about, isn't it? And we know that Hogwarts doesn't close during the upcoming … difficulties. So, gainful employment is a win," she asked, glancing at him with her eyes wide with … dare he think it, concern.

"I suppose you are right."

"You have the next, forever, to show them that Erik Prins is one of the best potion masters ever. Of course they're going to quiz you, Erik. That's part of the job application process."

"And you've had how many?"

"Now you're just being a stubborn arse, Erik. I haven't had any, you're right. Of course. I'm sixteen! How many jobs had you had at my age? My parents owned their dental practice, and had office staff, as well as hygienists, who worked for them. I listened to them talk about things at home. They, and I, knew I wasn't going to follow in their footsteps and be a dentist, but they thought it was important that I know what made someone more hireable than the other candidate with perhaps more experience, or the better CV."

She shrugged, looking uncertain. He was uncertain. Was she serious? Or was she telling a story to make him feel better?

"They would discuss those things with you?"

He found that concept so odd.

His parents barely said two words to one another in front of him, let alone had actual discussions about their days or anything they did. She was suggesting her parents included her in their conversations. How very foreign.

"Oh, yes. I mean as I got older, of course, but yes. I think most of the time they'd already made their decision, but they would tell me about person A and person B and we would discuss who would make a better fit for their practice."

"Interesting."

Was that how normal families functioned? He truly had no idea. Was it because they were muggle? Was that the difference?

"It was actually. There's more to consider sometimes than simply experience and education." She shrugged. "Anyway," she said, squeezing his wrist before releasing it. "I am glad that you got the job, Severus. That's huge. I mean an apothecary would be a good place for you, but we don't know how well that would work during difficult times. I'm afraid I don't have information on potion purchasing habits during the Depression and World War II. I also really believe that someone should be able to keep an eye on Tom at Hogwarts more than Albus can since we can't tell him what to be looking for."

Valid points, all of them. She was right. An apothecary, while perhaps, what he'd truly like to do. There were too many unknown variables in the economy to know that would not be wise. He knew in less than a year he would be responsible for one additional mouth to feed for certain. She had not balked at the idea of their own child. So there was the potential for more than the three of them.

One day. He was in no hurry for that.

"Agreed."

"You can be confident without appearing to be an arrogant prat, you know."

"Excuse me?"

Who the hell did she think she was, talking to him like that?

"Calm down. I'm not insulting you. I'm trying to help you so that you don't start out in September with people thinking you're a git before Tom is even here. I know your experience. I know some of your history. Not even the Albus here with us knows. They don't know all that you've accomplished. All that you've done. They don't know how very smart and capable you are. So you can be confident and self-assured in knowing what you can do without seeming to be a pompous arse to everyone else. The point of this, in part, is for the three of us to be accepted, to gain friends, so that we, and Tom, aren't alone. We're supposed to fit in. Believe me that's not going to be easy for me either."

He nodded simply. He hated to admit it, but she was right even if she could have been a little more polite about saying it. Part of the reason he'd been sucked in by the version of Tom Riddle he knew was that he was intelligent. Severus thought he'd finally met someone of equal intelligence. The idea that someone as intelligent as Tom could be a psychopath hadn't entered his mind until it was far too late. He maintained if Tom Riddle had been of just average intelligence, his past would have turned out very different.

Not that it mattered when all was said and done. He was here. He'd done what he'd done. Made the choices he'd made. Betrayed the only person who'd ever been kind to him. All that leading to where he was here and now.

"I'm glad you came home to me to express your frustration. I know. I mean, I don't, but I can imagine it's terribly frustrating for you. You're a proud man, as you should be for what you've accomplished. It must have felt demeaning. I'm sorry you felt that. Truly. You have months now to prepare your lessons because I know you're going to start your class with ‘I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death.' You have to prepare to keep their interest, though, Severus. I can help if you'd like, listen to your ideas I mean. I don't think you realized that if you'd been a … fair and approachable teacher, you would have had the students eating out of your hands after that opening."

He stared at her for a moment after she'd finished speaking. That was over four years ago. How many lectures had she listened to since that one? How many papers had she written?

"You remember that?"

"Of course I do! I told you I thought you were a good professor. I wasn't lying. I was captivated and, eventually, sad the more it became evident you would not teach me all that you knew as I would have liked."

"Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me. That's you. You made me think that. You are a good professor, Erik. You have the potential to be a great one. I wouldn't say that if I didn't believe it. Students may not have liked you. They may have been afraid of you, so didn't know that you were a good professor. That doesn't take away from the fact that you are knowledgeable, and more than sufficiently capable to teach the subject. You have your whole teaching career to rewrite from day one, to be whatever professor you envisioned for yourself without a war, Albus and Tom's interference, and without Harry in the picture. I'm excited to see it unfold, truthfully. Now, have you eaten lunch?"

She tilted her head at him. Did she see that she'd surprised him, he wondered? Could she tell that? No one had ever told him they thought he was a good professor. Albus did on occasion, but he was placating him. This witch, though, had been his student.

"Or did they starve you?"

"I could eat."

"I thought about the fact I was hungry not too long before you came home. I was just going to make a sandwich after a few more pages." She glanced at the fireplace with a slight frown, seeming to realize she'd read more than just a few pages. He recognized that look of surprise at time passing. "Would you like one?"

"I can join you."

"Afraid I'm going to poison yours?"

"No, should I be?"

She gave a soft laugh with a shake of her head. "No, not yet anyway."

Over the next few weeks they fell into somewhat of a routine.

Severus usually made breakfast, and he did not scrimp on anything while doing so, as it seemed to be the meal they both enjoyed most. She helped, and took guidance, obviously wanting to learn. They both knew sooner than they believed he'd be at Hogwarts and she'd be on her own. There were no microwaves here and they were choosing to forego elves. So, that meant she'd be responsible for her own meals.

They were also quite busy doing various things around the house and property around her studying at first for her OWLs and now notes he, Albus, and Hermione had compiled as far as her externally appearing to be prepared to be a librarian if she chose that route. The OWL scores had been passed on to Albus already, so now they could focus on her NEWTs. Severus knew she'd need little to complete her OWLs, their review prior to giving her the exams was a formality. By April of her fifth year, she'd likely been ready since Christmas. He'd wanted to be sure, though.

Busy doing their thing meant that there was no set time they got to lunch. What they ate in the morning sometimes was all they'd get for several hours. So it made sense to make it a somewhat luxurious and filling meal.

He took the time to teach and show her how to do various things, knowing eventually she'd be here by herself and have to do them. Yes, she could eat toast or oatmeal or whatever, but he wanted to ensure she could make whatever she wanted to if she chose to go that route. And, well, she needed to know.

She would take care of lunch, usually something like sandwiches that would keep to be eaten whenever they were ready. He was busy putting his lab together in the cellar dungeons. She was busy changing things in the various assorted rooms.

Crookshanks was adapting to life in a new house, one larger than his mistress' usual home but smaller than Hogwarts. Severus saw quite a bit of the feline, which wasn't surprising. The cellar, and its dungeons, were where he was most likely to find critters to stalk and eat.

They'd decided with a few exceptions to keep everything as it was. For now at any rate. As they acclimated and adapted to, not just this time, but being a family they might change things. Both agreed to discuss before making any decisions. Severus mentioned this to Albus, not wanting to appear to be freeloaders, taking another family's belongings and keeping them as theirs, to anyone they might invite into their home. Albus assured them that the couple before them hadn't done any entertaining in-home (as Hermione had guessed, they hadn't lived there very long to do any) so no one would know but them.

Some things were transfigured to look or be a little different. Sometimes it was as simple as a sofa turned to cream instead of white. Some things were simply moved around to give the room a different look and feel.

Neither were dissatisfied enough with anything to spend the money to replace it. Also knowing that there was going to be a child in the house, sooner rather than later, buying something new just to be stylish seemed foolish.

He worked with her on occlumency and legilimency, as well as the undetectable extension charm, improving her wandless magic, and apparition. She still needed work, but he told her that he believed she could bury thoughts of the time turner and her notebook enough to keep most people probing her from discovering anything they shouldn't. They would continue to work on it to prepare her for Albus. No doubt she'd meet him again.

As far as his lab, he was to the point now he thought that he could make some potions instead of just fiddling with the equipment to get it the way he wanted it. She'd watched him more than a few times as he worked in the lab and, as frantic as he looked, she thought he looked more at home than she'd ever seen him. She wouldn't say relaxed, but this was his environment.

His home some might say.

He was clearly exceedingly more comfortable around cauldrons and stirring rods than he was sofas and doilies. He knew a lab and the equipment that went into it better than anything else, and that was evident in not just the way he carried himself but the way he treated each and every item, right down to the vial stoppers.

These items and this equipment were comforting to him. He respected them. And with that respect, they gave him a wealth of knowledge many passed over because it wasn't as magical as a charm or transfiguring something.

He cared.

He knew these things were powerful. He respected that which could be created here, and the burden that carried for someone like him. If his potion were to be used by someone else for something nefarious. One day, maybe, she'd enjoy talking to him about her polyjuice potion, but that time wasn't now. She wasn't sure he knew where she'd made it, but could imagine his reaction if he found out. She realized now, after watching him, how frustrating teaching potions to students who wanted to learn what they considered to be real magic, not things they had to chop, crush, and stir had to have been to someone like him.

He couldn't teach someone to respect something they truly didn't, and wouldn't, take the time to understand.

He thought creating potions was magical.

Magic to most was pointing a wand and making something happen. It didn't come in a beaker or vial. He may not have wanted to teach, but the students' disinterest and inability to comprehend how dangerous the subject could be had to take a toll. And lessened his opinion of the profession.

She thought back to the kiss the day they'd been married, two months ago and wondered what it would be like to have him treat her the same way he treated these non-living items. His fingers were long, elegant, and capable. She suspected they were scarred and callused from years of use but she didn't care. The kiss had been … surprisingly nice, and she found that she wanted him to do it again.

That left her wondering whether he would ever do it again? She hoped he would. Someday. It had been nice enough she'd like to see what it would be like doing it without Albus Dumbledore standing there. The kiss she'd given him after they'd exchanged their wedding bands wasn't the same. He'd done something thoughtful. She kissed him to display her gratitude. She'd started with his cheek, that Gryffindor bravery took control and, before she knew it, her lips were on his.

There was a limit to her bravery, though. She'd pulled away almost immediately. He hadn't said anything, which surprised her. She appreciated that, though, versus the scolding she'd expected.

Hermione also spent a lot of time outdoors as the weather grew nicer, weeding and preparing the grounds for new things to be planted. They had so much land, probably close to two hundred acres they guessed based on the map and she had plans for some of it. It was busy work, getting her mind off of the fact that her husband likely wouldn't want to kiss or touch her for months yet. There was nothing illegal about kissing! She knew, though, he wouldn't want that line blurred. And, likely he thought (as she did) that this time was important to figure out how they worked together as a couple.

So, she'd taken the map of their land Albus had provided them and created a magical copy. She went out at various times to each section to make notes on sun exposure, areas that got more or less rain, and what not. She took herself to the local library to research what would grow best based on her research. With that, she plotted what could be planted where, and what would work for which season.

She knew Severus had lots of ideas as far as potion ingredients went. The garden off the conservatory would be flowers and such. They'd already cleared a spot and put some paving stones down so they had a small patio in the middle of their (hopefully) blooming garden they could sit in and read. Or, less likely knowing the both of them, just sit.

Dinner they usually worked on together, like breakfast. Sometimes they talked while preparing, but not always and the silence was rarely uncomfortable. At times it was, but she imagined that would come with time as they settled into the reality of being here together forever. Their lives for now were very much about one another. It was odd for her, and she was sure it was for him, too. Evenings they spent reading, or enjoyed the occasional card or dice game together while they unwound before heading to bed. There were evenings they didn't sit in the same room, but both seemed to know they were welcome if they wanted to venture to where the other was.

Today he hadn't seen her all day except at breakfast. She'd gone into town yesterday to pick something up she'd ordered a week or two before. He presumed she was busy with that, so didn't think much of it until she didn't come down for dinner. That was not at all like her.

She seemed to enjoy assisting him. He was the better cook, but she was learning. She was a more than sufficient baker he'd come to discover. He had little to compare her abilities to, beyond the elves at Hogwarts or Malfoy Manor. His mum. Well, she baked cookies, but those homemade goodies were few and far between, even when he was a youngster. And non-existent the older he got.

He went up to the game room and found her bent over one of the tables studiously working on something. So immersed, she obviously hadn't even heard him come in. That actually happened with some regularity. Even outdoors while she was tending to gardens and the various outbuildings they had.

There were times he wondered if she even cared that he was there.

"Pray tell, Marie Rose, what is it that you are so immersed in that has you missing dinner?"

He had to admit he was growing … accustomed to the company and assistance with dinner nightly. Her questions were sincere. Why do you sear that cut of beef but not the one we had last night? Why do you combine those spices? Why do you prefer asparagus to broccoli with this dish? Some of them were tiresome, but he realized that she was asking because she truly wanted to know why he preferred things one way versus another. She didn't say so, but she wanted to get to the point that he did not need to do these things any longer. So, he answered her questions, and they had gotten to the point with some dishes he didn't say anything until she asked.

"Jesus," she said, practically jumping out of the chair. "Announce yourself next time."

He arched his brow at her choice in expletives. He wasn't sure he'd ever heard her swear. He wouldn't have believed she had it in her truthfully.

"I didn't realize that was necessary in my own home."

"It is when I'm trying to work on a surprise."

"A surprise," he said, stepping toward her.

She held out her hand to stop him from coming closer. No spell was cast, so he could have continued if he wanted to. He, however, respected her request. She very rarely asked anything of him.

"Don't you dare come any closer! I am almost done. Can you make dinner without me and I'll be down to eat with you when it's finished? I should be done by then."

It was on the tip of his tongue to comment about the fact it was not his job to prepare her dinner while she was amusing herself. However, as he couldn't recall ever being on the receiving end of a surprise, he held his tongue. He assumed the surprise was for him at any rate, because as to this point there was no one else for her to be surprising.

"Very well. I will come back for you if it gets too late."

"I'm almost done," she said, waving dismissively and he shook his head.

He was not accustomed to … being brushed off.

What was that?

He left then, heading down to the kitchens to see to dinner. True to her word she showed up in time to eat, perhaps a minute or two after everything was ready, but he didn't have to go find her at any rate.

"Did you have a productive day then?"

"Yes," she said.

He noticed a flush of excitement on her face that he truthfully hadn't seen yet in this time. Oh, the work she did around the house, inside and outside of it, appealed to her, but it wasn't like this. He'd seen it a number of times in their original time when she was excited to share something she'd learned with Potter or Weasley. She seemed to enjoy the work she was doing outside especially, but she didn't get this look on her face while doing it. At least not that he had seen.

And anyone who thought she wasn't working hard outside would be a fool. He helped once in a while, but she wanted to do it by hand not with magic. She wanted to know the state of the various building foundations and what not. He was fairly certain she was already on a first name basis with quite a few people in town with her errands to buy things or ask questions about what she'd found.

"I did as well," he said.

"Oh, good. I'm sorry," she said as they both tucked into their food.

It was nothing fancy, but she had yet to complain about any of their meals. There was no McDonald's here, of course, and neither wanted elves. He hoped to convince her to employ at least one or two after Tom came into the picture. He didn't see how she'd have time to cook and care for a house this size with a baby without some assistance. Of course women did it without any help, he knew that. However, from what Albus had been saying for years, Tom Riddle was no ordinary child.

She helped him do the dishes and then beamed at him as she took one of his hands in both of hers and tugged.

"What? Did you have something on your mind?"

"Oh, stop it. Yes, you know I do. I've been working on this for days! That you only once almost discovered it I consider a huge victory."

He followed her to the game room. There was a covering on the table she'd been working at when he was in here almost two hours ago.

"Close your eyes," she said, sounding immensely proud of herself. He heard excitement in her tone, too.

He huffed but did as she requested, closing his eyes.

He heard the rustle of fabric indicating she was removing the cloth covering from the table.

"You can look now."

He opened his eyes, and it took him a moment to process what he was looking at.

"You made this?"

"Well, yes, and no. The actual board I had made in town. The tiles and the grid on the board, though, yes," she said.

It was a homemade Scrabble board. The tiles were little more than pieces of paper fastened onto what appeared to be sturdy pieces of cardboard, judging by the look and feel of it.

They had both mentioned one of their first evenings here, while playing cards, that it was too bad such games as Scrabble would not be available to them for years. It had been a throw-away comment, really. She would likely be a formidable opponent, which was what led to his making the comment to begin with. And it would have been something to add into their rotation of what was available to them between things like cards, dice, dominoes, and backgammon.

"Hermione," he said, sliding a finger along the board.

He was so caught off guard by this offering that her true name slipped out unintentionally. They both agreed not to use them, even in the privacy of their home for fear that one day they'd slip when it mattered. He never cared for his name, but there were moments the past couple of months he would have liked hearing it.

The game board was rudimentary, the paper obviously glued onto the board sized to be the size of a Scrabble board. The tiles had the letter and point value on them just as they should, which meant she actually put some thought into this. He wasn't sure he could recall off the top of his head that J and X were worth eight points versus Q and Z being worth ten points each. Or that V was worth less than K. Or how many squares were on a Scrabble board and the placement of the bonus squares. From what he could see based on his memory, though, she'd gotten it exactly right.

"You don't like it?" she asked, sounding disappointed.

"On the contrary. You've accomplished what few, if any, have done previously. You've left me speechless."

"Oh, well," she said.

"I'd be afraid we'd ruin your work, though."

"Well, I spelled the paper so it should be pretty resistant. I mean, we're the only ones who are ever going to use it, so I'm not worried about it getting ruined by children playing with it. And I made extra of the tile pieces so if we lose one or one gets ruined I have extras."

"Of course you did," he quipped. He ignored the feeling that washed through him when she mentioned children. Not a child, but children, implying more than Tom would be here.

"It's just cardboard and paper. It's not like we can't make more."

"You're right," he said, picking up one of the tiles.

Certainly not as sturdy as one of the actual tiles from their original time, but as he didn't imagine either of them would become violent with, or mishandle, the tiles he thought they would likely do just fine.

He regarded her then, her eyes were glimmering and she was biting her lower lip. He was coming to realize that gesture meant she was nervous. About his reaction to this gift she'd made for him. She hadn't just bought something for him. She'd taken a comment he'd made in passing to heart and did this.

For him.

He tilted his head, regarding her as he set the tile he'd been holding back on the tabletop.

"You thought I'd scold you?"

She shrugged.

"It's probably not the best thing to waste money on."

He closed the distance between them then, setting a finger at her chin to tilt her face up a bit so he could look at her.

"Have I given you some sort of impression that you are overspending?"

"No, I just…"

"It's paper and some cardboard. I can't imagine that the board itself cost that much, and it will give us hours of entertainment potentially for years, Marie. I see no issue with it."

In truth he'd never had anyone make something for him before. Hell, he had never really been given a gift before. He did not count the gifts other staff members gave him at Christmas. He was fairly certain he would remember this moment, this gift, for as long as he lived.

He did something he swore he wouldn't do for months yet despite how enjoyable he'd found it to be the first time he'd done it (even if he'd had to be told he was supposed to!).

Enjoyable and Severus did not usually go together. Not without ending tragically.

He leaned down and kissed her. She breathed in with a gasp. Other than outside of the house they did not really touch. Sometimes in the kitchen, while cooking or cleaning up, their fingers would come in contact while reaching for this or that, but it was accidental, inadvertent. (Mostly) unintentional.

This was anything but that.

She let out a soft sigh, hands reaching for his forearms as she moved to her toes. She gave a soft laugh, as her moving to her toes resulted in her cheek bumping against his jaw, but she didn't pull away or tell him to stop.

Not only did she not tell him to stop, but her left hand slid up his right arm until it was at his shoulder and then her fingers were touching his hair as she stroked the nape of his neck with her thumb. And then she closed her lips over his lower lip, grazing it with her tongue before drawing away. Though not going far, as if she was offended or insulted he kissed her.

"I thought you were never going to do that again," she whispered.

"What?"

Certainly what he'd heard wasn't what she meant.

She shrugged, kissing the side of his mouth and then his jaw. "I didn't think you'd appreciate me doing it first."

"You wanted me to?"

Had she gone mad? Had he? In what world would she want him to kiss her?

"Of course."

"Enlighten me, Witch. How is that an of course?"

"We are married, yes?"

"Yes."

"I presume married people kiss. Other than when we've been shopping or whatever, you haven't even acted as if you particularly like me, which I get. I know this was thrust on you and everything, but it was on me, too. And I just want to make the best of it, so that we can be happy. Both of us. Together. I can't help but think that … closeness will lead to happiness. In part anyway. I wasn't going to throw myself at you, though. Does that really sound baffling?"

"A bit actually."

"You don't want to be happy?"

"That you think you can be that with me ."

"Oh, well, you haven't been terrible to this point. You've been mostly nice, in fact, other than taking my hat," she said, laughing softly so he knew she wasn't truly still upset with him about it. 

He also noticed that she took to wearing hats for the remainder of the colder weather they'd experienced that did not flatten her hair or cover up so much of it. So she had evidently deciphered what he meant that first day they'd gone out together.

"Yes, well, you haven't been nearly as insolent as I imagined you'd be."

"Ringing endorsement from you. So you like it," she said, returning his attention to her gift.

"I do. I'm just sorry we can't let anyone else see it."

"I know," she said, her eyes getting a bit of a sad look at that.

"I see it, though, and we will use it."

"I'm glad you like it then. I was afraid when you didn't say anything at first that I'd overstepped some unspoken boundary."

"No, it's truly the nicest thing anyone's done for me, Marie Rose. I realize it's for us, not exclusively for me, but you made it with me in mind. I'm unaccustomed to being given things."

She reached in then, sliding her arms around him and hugged him. He held his breath for a moment, certain it was some sort of trick. Yet, she did nothing else. She merely hugged him. He slid his arms around her cautiously, mirroring her gesture. She sighed softly, rubbing her cheek against his torso much as he'd picture a cat doing when they were content. Fitting, he supposed, since her familiar was a cat. A cat, he now noticed, that was still curled up in front of the fireplace from when he'd seen him earlier. Had he even moved when she'd come down for dinner, Severus wondered.

"Nice," she whispered. "Thank you."

He agreed. It was … nice. Very nice. Who knew?

"Would you still like to go to the Kentucky Derby?" The question was blurted out before he could screen it properly.

She drew away then, hands still at his sides but not around him as they had been. He almost wished she hadn't moved. "Are you serious?" she asked, and he loved the gleeful look in her eyes.

"I am. We've worked hard since our arrival. Why not? You'll have to tell me what we need to make this drink you spoke of."

"You've never heard of a mint julep?"

"I'm afraid not. My father's choice of liquor was well whiskey, served neat. And if he got it on the rocks he'd send it back. He wasn't going to waste his money with the whiskey getting watered down by the ice."

"Oh," she said. "Well, all we'd really need from here is bourbon. The rest we should be able to get while there, it's not illegal. It's just sugar and some mint sprigs."

"I see. And clothes? We need muggle formal attire?"

"Are you really serious?"

"I am."

"Well, yes, I'd need a dress. And a hat, of course," she said, smiling at him cheekily.

"Are any of my muggle suits appropriate?"

"Oh, yes, they'll do fine. Once I get a dress I will let you know which one will go best."

"Good."

"But Severus, really, we don't need…"

"You mentioned it. So, clearly it's something that is of interest to you. I agree it would be nice to get away from here for a few days. We've been working hard for nearly two months straight putting the house and our affairs together, acclimating ourselves to this world we're now a part of. We're going to have a lot on our plate come January. I won't be around much after August. So, let's take advantage of having some extra money, since we aren't changing much of the furniture, and free time and treat ourselves. I have a few things I could do in London tomorrow. If you wanted to accompany me, you could shop then."

"Oh, Severus," she said. She reached up and kissed him. "Thank you! I was thinking," she said, biting her lower lip and then shook her head. "Never mind."

"When aren't you thinking? Go on, don't never mind me. What?"

"Very funny! No, seriously. All right. Do you think Albus would send a couple of elves to help get the land ready to be planted and used? I've done about everything I can, but if I want to start planting things. I'm only one person!"

"You want to grow things?"

She scowled a bit at him. Why? He honestly hadn't presumed she'd want to do much beyond flowers.

"Well, I know you have ingredients you'd like to grow. You can give me a list. I realize I'm not as experienced as you, but I should certainly be able to buy the basics. I was also thinking it might be a good idea for me to learn how to plant and care for things like tomato plants, corn, other vegetables, and such now. We both know in a few years the more we grow ourselves, the better we'll be for a while. And I'd rather not have to learn while we're starving with a growing boy. To hear Mrs. Weasley talk, Ron's appetite isn't unusual. The buildings outside suggest there were animals here before. I wager they were pretty self-sustaining, with the help of elves I realize, from the looks of things. If you trust me, I'd like to be that way, too."

He scoffed. If there was anyone he would trust to get something like self-sustainability right, it was her. He, for his part, had already set aside a few areas for various compost piles. They also had a box in the pantry of newspapers they could use to assist for fires and what not. They were only two people, but he knew that if they got anyone else reusing things, and that person got someone else reusing things. Well, they'd be lightyears ahead of where they were in their future when it came to reusing and recycling. He hoped.

"It's a good idea. I'll send a letter with Verdandi to ask him. I doubt he'd say no. It would be good hands-on work for Tom as he gets older as well."

"That was my thinking, too. You will have to be patient with me if I ask questions, Severus. These are things I do not know about."

"I will bear that in mind, and will ask him if he will think of some elves for next year who might be willing to do such labour. I would only purchase those willingly embarking on that path."

"Thank you," she said. "I'm not talking about supplying thousands of people, but we need to be able to take care of ourselves. We have savings, that doesn't mean we should plan on having to spend it."

"Understood."

He liked that she was practical and thinking ahead. It would be so easy to not think about what was to come. He hadn't expected her to dive right in, though, but he supposed he shouldn't be surprised. She was right. The more she - and he - learned now, the easier and more second nature it would be when those lean times were upon them.

"We certainly have the land for it."

"We do. I never thought I'd say this, but here it goes. I like that you think of such things. That you remember your history and when we are in relation to certain events and want to prepare without utilizing your notebook."

"No, as I said that's a contingency plan, in case of some dire emergency. My desire is not to get ahead by cheating."

"Except for the Kentucky Derby."

She smiled slightly. "We don't have to bet! I really just think it would be so fun, and all right a little sad."

"Sad?"

She shrugged. "Don't you wish you could warn them? Tell them what's going to happen in a few years?"

"Unfortunately, you know that we cannot."

"I know that. I do, but still, seeing all of those people dressed in their finery, knowing some of them probably spent every penny to make that trip and a few years from now would wish they had that money back."

"I understand. We will experience that a lot over the next seventy years, I imagine. Just remember that our focus is Tom. We can help as we can, and I'm sure that we will contribute as we are able. We cannot save everyone, though! And he cannot see us fretting over everyone else as if there is no tomorrow."

"I know."

He nodded. He knew she did know. He … appreciated that she was like that, thinking of others. There were limits to what they could do, though. "I will send an owl inquiring about elves to get the land prepared. You set our board up for a game and whatever you care to drink."

"Trying to get me drunk so you have an advantage and can beat me?"

He snorted. "I hardly think I need to get you drunk in order to do that, Marie Rose."

"Mm, we shall see."

Story ©Susan Falk/APCKRFAN/PhantomRoses.com