TWENTY-FOUR: Mudlark

Severus was not ignorant of common holidays.

He'd even exchanged gifts for Valentine's Day once—a long time ago, and not with a romantic partner, but he knew the theory. He was just unsure of whether Hermione would want to participate in this particular holiday. They were both pragmatic people; he wondered if she had ever laid her sensibilities aside to do something frivolous and silly with Weasley. He wondered what the appeal was.

He remembered a square, handsome box of chocolates; a card tied with red ribbon; a wide grin, green eyes crinkling at the corners. I love it, Sev, Lily had declared over the tiny shells he'd charmed into a bracelet. She'd likely chucked it straight back in the lake a few months later, but he'd kept the card and the empty, stale chocolate box a long time. It was probably even now hidden somewhere at Spinner's End.

He'd been a teenager—a child. He had given and received nothing but relentlessly practical gifts ever since, if at all. But he ought to get her something, he was sure. Nothing pink, nothing frilly, but something. Shoulders hunched into the breeze, mouth and nose covered with his scarf, he set off around the lake, considering the problem.

He discarded the elaborate gift sets sold in Hogsmeade immediately; she had undoubtedly received something similar half a dozen times. There was nothing personal about a new quill and ink pot, no matter how pretty the engravings, and she had quills enough. There was always jewelry, he supposed, but she didn't seem to wear it except for on special occasions; Potions and precious metals did not mix well. He briefly entertained the replacement of some of her older, more woebegone bookshelves, but no—if she'd wanted, she could have transfigured them herself. No, she liked the secondhand collection of furniture she'd assembled in her quarters. Some of the pieces had sentimental value to her. It wouldn't do to replace them. The same went for her ancient, favourite books.

It felt very nearly like cheating, but he contemplated their recent Occlumency lessons for ideas. She'd been thinking about getting an owl recently—her grief over Crookshanks faded to something soft and quiet, not so sharp and terrible. She hadn't yet made up her mind, but…

He didn't think an owl would suit her. She had the school owls to send what correspondence she wrote, and owls didn't offer the personal companionship that many other pets did. It would not be like Crookshanks, trailing forever after her.

But then, he couldn't replace the beast, either. Their relationship had been irreplaceable; that was what had made it so special. He didn't think a kitten was the right idea. Something else. Something...unique.

He paused at the white tomb, fingers reaching out to touch the cold marble. He had a week left; he could browse the Magical Menagerie and see if anything stood out.

It was not much of a plan, but certainly better than what he'd started out with. Still a little disgruntled, he stared around the grounds as though an answer would present itself out of the wind and thinning snow.

His eyes caught on Hagrid's cabin—the cheery stream of smoke issuing from the chimney, the glowing lamps inside.

Hagrid came across strange creatures all the time. Plenty of them wouldn't be suitable as pets, but other things had been found in the Forbidden Forest in the course of his duties—things that were plenty docile or, at the very least, about as docile as Crookshanks had been.

Making up his mind, he hurried back the way he'd come around the lake. Hagrid was fond of Hermione; no doubt he'd be happy to help.

As soon as he knocked, Fang's booming bark rattled the windowpanes. "Down, yeh dozy dog," Hagrid said; there was a scuffle as he presumably shooed the boardhound away from the door, which then swung back.

He had Fang's collar in one massive fist. The boarhound whined and strained toward Severus, presumably hoping to lick him to death.

"Professor Snape," Hagrid said, his bushy eyebrows climbing toward his wild, tangled hairline. "How can I help yeh?"

He thought of how best to phrase his request. "I know that you occasionally come across creatures in the course of your duty that might not fare well when released back to the wild," he said carefully. "If you find any such animal in the next week, would you please inform me?"

"Lookin' fer somethin' fer Hermione, eh?" Hagrid said wisely. Severus wondered when he had become so transparent. (Probably at the same time that he'd started approaching people he rarely talked to in order to ask favours, he supposed.) "Sure, I'll keep a lookout. Can't promise nothin', understand—some of the creatures I find are downright dangerous. Those kind usually get ter the gentler ones before I do."

There was always the Magical Menagerie. "Thank you," he said. "I would, of course, compensate you for your—"

Hagrid waved him off. "Nonsense. Good enough ter know they go to a good home. I take some of 'em to Hogsmeade, of course, but yeh never know if people take an interest in 'em. Downright sad."

"Yes," Severus agreed, for lack of anything else to say in the face of this generosity, and stepped back. "Thank you, Hagrid."

Hagrid nodded and waved, and Severus set back off around the lake, resolving that he would visit Hogsmeade if Hagrid hadn't found anything by the following Sunday.

All of Severus's luck, it seemed, had been used up—for Hagrid didn't send word by Sunday, and the stock at the Magical Menagerie was overwhelmed by Puffskeins. No matter how the saleswitch tried to sell him one, he was not convinced that Hermione would like it.

He spent every spare moment on Monday wondering what he might get her in place of a pet. During rounds he was distracted, but Hermione did not press him; they said their goodnights outside of his office and, slightly panicked now, he paced his quarters, trying to come up with a solution. He didn't imagine that she'd be particularly put out by the lack of a gift, but he had wanted to give her something, and now—his plans always went accordingly, but not, it seemed, when they involved giant fucking snakes or young, bushy-haired witches.

A sharp tap tap tap sounded from his window.

There was a small, ruffled owl outside, demanding to be let in. He threw the window open; it hopped onto the sill and held out its leg, where a small, grubby scroll of parchment was attached. He loosened the tie and pried open the scroll without thanking the bird. It hooted in indignation and took flight again.

Found a crup, Hagrid's missive said.

He barely took in the rest of the words before jamming the note in his pocket, hurriedly pulling on his cloak, and striding swiftly from his sitting room, raising the wards again behind him.

He did not run, but he did hurry. He was glad to meet no one on his way through the castle; it was going on midnight, and Hogwarts was quiet around him, still buried in half a foot of snow.

Hagrid wrenched his door open at Severus's first knock. "Just in time, eh?" he said, stepping back to clear the doorway. Fang's whine was punctuated by a new, higher bark.

The crup had seen better days. It was gnawing happily enough on a bone, but one ear was visibly tattered; Hagrid had already applied a healing paste. It was scruffy, dirty, and its forked tail had not been properly severed.

"Reckon she's a coupla years old," Hagrid said. "Found her pickin' a fight with some bowtruckles, if yeh can believe it."

"And no one from Hogsmeade is missing a crup?" The thing was painfully woebegone, but at least it stared at him out of bright, clear eyes—glared, really.

"I keep an eye on the papers," Hagrid said, shrugging. "No sign of anyone lookin' for her."

The crup vacated Fang's bed—the boardhound immediately crept back to the blankets, whining—and sniffed her way over to Severus, forked tail giving one slow wag.

"Hermione'll need a license for it," Hagrid went on. "Should be easy enough fer her to get, havin' worked in the Department, an' all. They usually remove the extra tail when they're just babies—"

The crup's mouth pulled back in an unmistakable growl.

"Oh, on with yeh," Hagrid dismissed. "It don't hurt at all."

The crup went back to sniffing Severus's boots, obviously not convinced.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I think this will do."

"Take some kibble, too." Hagrid handed him a bag. "They'll eat anything, crups. Better to give 'em something edible."

He tucked the bag beneath his arm and knelt down to pick up the crup. It promptly stuck its snout in his ear and snuffled.

"Does it eat people, as well?"

Hagrid chuckled. "Only if yeh forget ter feed 'em."

After the weekend, Hermione completely forgot about Valentine's Day.

She and Severus were in the middle of brewing the experimental potion, which required them to run back to her lab during free periods and breaks, cutting mealtimes short. It was at the final, trickiest stages now, and though it was only their first go at the equation she'd worked out, she was hopeful that it would function as it was supposed to.

She spent her free period on Tuesday morning fervently watching the potion. More than once, her hair managed to free itself from the bun she'd tried to tie it back in; the temperature in the lab was sweltering. She ate a hurried lunch and hustled off to her next class with barely a word to Severus, except to say that the potion looked fine and would he check in on it at the next break, please. She saw his mouth twist just a bit toward a smirk as she turned away, but didn't spare a thought to his humour.

She finished her classes, hurried to the lab to check the potion once more before dinner, and bolted down her food, barely noticing the tremor of excitement over the Great Hall. By the time she'd finished, Severus hadn't even made an appearance at the High Table; she considered waiting for him, but decided that the potion couldn't sit another moment. She jogged back to the dungeons.

In the lab, however, she met with disaster: the potion had solidified to a rock-like sheen. It was worthless.

Sighing, she collapsed onto the nearest stool and dropped her forehead to her hand. A week of work, for nought. She'd have to examine the substance more closely to see what had gone wrong.

She was prodding despondently at the mess with her wand when Severus strode through the ajar door to her lab. He stopped short.

"I know," she muttered. "First trials almost never work, etcetera, etcetera. I think I know what went wrong—the misletoe contained too much moisture for the later stages—"

She went quiet when his hand brushed her shoulder. "We'll try again," he reassured her, fingers squeezing, a thumb digging into the knot just above her shoulder blade; her back arched into his touch. "For now, though, leave it. I have something for you."

She looked up at him, brow furrowing. The thumb was still circling, distracting her. "What is it?"

He let out an exasperated huff. "It's a surprise."

"Oh," she said, feeling very much as if she was missing something.

He led the way to her quarters, and she trailed along beside him, bemused. As soon as they entered her sitting room, she heard a strange noise: almost like someone...chewing.

"Do you hear that?" she asked, frowning.

He gave a sharp, low whistle. The chewing stopped; something clicked against the floor, and then the noise was muffled by the rug. Hermione's hand flew to her mouth.

It was a crup. A crup with a piece of one ear missing, but fluffy and clean as though it had just been bathed. It still had the forked tail, though she was sure it was an adult.

"There's a crup in my sitting room," she pointed out, dumbfounded.

He heaved another beleaguered sigh. "I see that I'll have to spell it out. It's for you."

Her mouth gaped open, and she looked from the crup to Severus—who, contrary to all his noises, looked suspiciously pleased with himself.

"You got me a crup," she said.

The first hint of anxiety slipped into his black eyes. "Yes."

She turned away and knelt down on the rug. "Here, darling," she said, patting her thigh. The crup inched a little closer—big, guileless brown eyes trained carefully on her. "Does…it…?"

"She," he supplied.

"Does she have a name?"

"To my knowledge, no." He stepped around her and sank down to the couch, watching her closely. "Hagrid found her in the Forbidden Forest. It doesn't appear that anyone in Hogsmeade misplaced a crup, so…"

"She's a stray. Has been from a puppy, probably, judging by that tail. It's lovely, sweet thing," Hermione said, and the crup ceased her growling immediately. "Come here, would you?"

Finally, as though she'd meant to do it all along, the crup trotted across the floor and stepped into the lap provided by Hermione's crossed legs, turning once to make herself comfortable before laying down. Hermione offered her the palm of her hand, and the crup snuffled wetly at her fingers.

"You knew I was thinking about getting an owl," Hermione said. Her mouth twitched despite her best efforts.

"You didn't feel any particular joy about it," he pointed out. "It's what you thought you ought to do. A responsible pet for a responsible witch."

Slowly, she moved her hand to the crup's head, the better to scratch behind her ears, careful to avoid the tattered one. The animal stretched up into her touch.

"I thought you might benefit from something more…sentimental," Severus went on, a trace of hesitation in his voice.

Hermione didn't know the crup's name, not yet, but she already loved her. She still missed Crookshanks—she thought she would never stop missing him—but the lovely little creature in her lap needed a home, and she had room to spare.

"She does need a bit of training," he said. "She chewed through the leg of my favourite armchair earlier today."

The crup gave a joyful bark. Hermione tried very hard not to smile.

"I will forever be apologizing to you for my pets, I think," she said.

His eyes rose from glaring at the crup to rest on hers instead, the irritation fading in an instant. The swell of affection in his dark eyes pulled mercilessly at her heart, as though to say that he would hear her meaningless apologies for as long as she went on speaking them.

Tired of being held, the crup leapt from Hermione's lap and went snuffling off around the edge of the coffee table. Hermione rose from the floor, brushing off her robes.

"I need to think of a name for you," she directed at the crup, propping her hands on her hips. "And get you a few necessaries—"

Severus pulled a small package from the pocket of his trousers and enlarged it before handing it up to her. "Enough food and…entertainment…to get her through the week, I think," he said.

Her heart expanded, surely, to three times its normal size in her chest. It had been almost two months since she had, in a fit of anger and despair, declared that she loved him; she'd not repeated the words again, but she could feel them in her throat, fighting their way out.

But she knew that he was better (not good, but better) with other kinds of declarations, that words of passion did not come easily to him, so she laid the box down on the nearest table and leaned down to kiss him, cupping his cheek in her hand. His fingers curled around her hips, pulling her closer until she toppled into his lap, laughing, her body warming at his touch, his lips soft and persistent against hers, and she was melting all over again—

The crup barked.

Grumbling deep in his throat, Severus pulled back. The crup had leapt up to the couch beside them, her forked tail wagging. She'd gotten into the package and found a toy—a plush bowtruckle—which was currently being drooled upon in her mouth.

"We'll just need to tire her out," Hermione sighed. "She's probably bored from being cooped up in your quarters all day."

Reluctantly, he released her. She slid onto the couch beside him and pulled the bowtruckle plush from the crup's mouth. When she tossed it across the room, the crup scrambled after it.

"Thank you," she said, smiling. "She's the loveliest surprise. I'm afraid my gift will seem very ordinary in comparison."

His arm draped over her shoulders. "I doubt it."

Rolling her eyes, she raised her wand; the box hidden atop one of her bookcases zoomed over to them, right into her outstretched hand. She offered the box to him. "Hurry, before she works out that she's supposed to bring the bowtruckle back."

Predictably, the crup came running and knocked the box clean out of Hermione's hand to return the bowtruckle. Hermione seized hold of her before she could work out how to chew through that box, too, and Severus held it aloft, frowning severely at the small dog-like creature with a plush in its mouth—

And then Hermione was laughing so hard that she could scarcely draw breath, and Severus, still trying to keep the gift out of reach of the crup, was not much better off. All told, it was several hours before he sifted through the wrappings to find the chocolates she'd baked (some downright terrible, and a few quite good). They ate through the box in one sitting, the crup snoozing amidst the destruction of her scant belongings, and even after the disappointment of their first failed experiment, Hermione did not think she had ever been so happy.