A/N: I'm posting this for a dear friend of mine's enjoyment...

To Asia: this autumn (homage) one-shot is dedicated to you, for all of your steadfast support and encouragement of my writing over the years. I can't begin to express what it has meant to me and how much your kind words have kept me going. Between you and my dear beta, Brittny, I would have quit writing long before now. Thank you for believing in me, and, most importantly, thank you for your wonderful friendship. It's meant the world to me, and I hope what I've written with this one-shot conveys how deeply I value you.

To Brittny: What can I say; or, more importantly, where do I start? You're my wonderful and treasured friend, and I'm not sure why you've bothered looking over my mediocre work for so long; but I dread to think how less along I'd be as a writer - or a human being, for that matter - if it weren't for you, your patience, and your loyal friendship. Thank you for having stuck by me, even though myself and my subpar writing skills haven't been worthy of your time and commitment. I owe you so much.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is copyrighted to and belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just playing in her sandbox. No money, just fun. Artwork is credited to Asia.

Recipient: Asia
Prompt: An autumn-based one-shot inspired by a series of SSHG images made by Asia that were gifted to me. Post-Hogwarts, AU.
Beta(s): Brittny
Warning(s): M-rated

His Autumn Garden

By CRMediaGal

"An autumn garden has a sadness when the sun is not shining..."
― Francis Brett Young, Cold Harbour

For Hermione, nothing quite beat the feeling of checking off her inventory list at the end of a gruelling work day. Well, perhaps there were one or two, which mostly involved the opposite sex, if one wanted to get down to the nitty, gritty details. Hermione smiled proudly to herself, a sense of accomplishment washing over her as she sauntered to the front of the bookshop to deposit proof of completion of her last task of the day.

Mr Honeycutt, the elderly but gentle store owner, was busy mumbling behind the counter, nodding on occasion as he held a bright red telephone loosely to one ear. Hermione ceased humming and walking immediately when she heard the creaky, cross-sounding voice coming from the other end of the line. That voice was undoubtedly Mrs Honeycutt, who tended to ring on and off throughout the day—five or six times at random—to badger her poor husband about mindless, trivial matters that had nothing to do with the shop. Mr Honeycutt was always exceedingly obliging, however, indulging his wife's incessant chatter through use of the Muggle instrument, until a customer approached or Hermione had need of him. She normally tried to avoid interrupting, though, and now was just such an occasion.

"Mmmhmm," Mr Honeycutt mumbled, sounding disinterested; he eyed Hermione sidelong, a friendly, aged smile emerging upon his pleasant-looking face. "Yes, dear. Uh huh. Mmmhmm. Yes, yes, dear; I understand."

Hermione simply returned the wizard's smile in understanding and quietly went about her business like usual. She placed her completed checklist of the store's inventory on the counter and searched out her purse stashed discreetly beneath the register.

Hermione was just removing her wand from behind her ear to store it in her back pocket when Mr Honeycutt said his third 'buh bye' to his wife and officially hung up the phone, sighing as his lively, hazel eyes met hers.

"Daffodils," was all he said by way of explanation.

Hermione's eyebrows rose in question. "But...it's October," she replied rather stupidly, though Mr Honeycutt merely shook his head.

"She wants them magically enhanced to last the winter and can't recall the proper formula. Bollocks if I know; not sure why she thought I'd have the answer. I think she just likes to make use of that bloody telephone every chance she gets. I never should have bought the ruddy thing!"

Hermione's kind-hearted smile returned as she laced her arms through her coat. "I'll ask Severus about the daffodils—"

"Oh, please, my dear, don't bother. My wife's harassed him over his expertise well enough."

"It's no bother at all, really," Hermione laughed off, swinging her purse over one shoulder. "I'll inquire this weekend."

Mr Honeycutt extracted his wand to vanish a bit of dust lingering on the register. "Off to the Cabin again, are you?" He peered at her curiously over his shoulder.

Hermione, who was now beaming from ear to ear, responded with a cheerful "Where else?" that left Mr Honeycutt chuckling and shaking his head, wisps of short, white hair swishing back and forth atop his head.

"Ahhh, to be young and in love..."

"My boyfriend would be elated to hear you refer to him as young!" Hermione jested at her missing other half's expense, to which the store owner gave a playful toss of his head, gesturing towards the front of the shop.

"Well? What are you still dawdling around here for, dear? I can handle what's left before closing up. Off with you! Shoo!"

Not wasting another moment, Hermione skipped her way to the front door, ecstatic that the weekend had finally arrived. She gave an enthusiastic wave to Mr Honeycutt on her way out the door.

"Have a good weekend, sir!"

"You do the same, Hermione," he called after her, watching from the store window as his prized employee safely Disapparated in the middle of the deserted cobble stone street.

The phone began ringing again, and Mr Honeycutt softly cursed to himself as he picked it up and reluctantly held it to his ear.

A blast of cold air whipped at Hermione's face and rippled through her curls as her feet found purchase on solid ground. As the wind settled, she took a moment to brush off scattered leaves and dirt that had kicked up in the midst of landing. Her desired location had been that of a dense, quiet woodland area—its access both familiar and remote—and, at once, her ears picked up on the tranquil sounds that only Mother Nature could create. She extended this private moment of isolation to breathe in the well acquainted aromas that surrounded her: the sweet smell of pinewood, the pungent scent of smoke coming from a nearby chimney, the slightly acrid whiff of oak and ash that hung heavily in the autumn air...

As her nose absorbed these fragrances, Hermione's lips curled into a wide, contented smile, and she sighed. The Cabin was her refuge, Mother Nature its blanket of resources, and, turning her gaze northward, Hermione spotted the picturesque sight of her sought-after retreat in the distance. It was a small, cottage-style dwelling nestled within the thick of the woods, with a thatched roof and the working chimney her nose had picked up on moments ago, steady smoke billowing from its vent. Glowing lights radiated from inside, signalling that the home was occupied, which caused Hermione's heart to skip another beat.

Stepping forward with an eager gait, Hermione capered up the wooden path that led to the Cabin's front entrance. Its walkway was virtually hidden by an abundance of crinkling leaves, twigs, and branches that gently littered the ground. If any animals were sniffing about in search of food, Hermione was certain that her crackling footsteps would have easily frightened them off.

Spotting a torch light coming from the back of the house, Hermione made her way around the side to the backyard, where the area was bathed in a magical heat that encouraged Hermione to slip off her coat. She stopped along the edge of the clearing, having glimpsed something else—or someone, rather—familiar.

Just as I suspected.

"Well, you've been busy while I was out!" she piped up, waiting for the individual in question to turn around.

A raven-haired wizard wearing an equally raven jumper, Muggle jeans that were dirtied and worn, and a pair of old dragon-hide boots, whipped his head around from where he was crouched on his knees in a batch of soil, his face covered with sweat and debris; to Hermione, he was considerably easy on the eyes, even when he was scruffy and grimy from tending to their backyard garden.

"Just ensuring that everything's set to ripen come spring," he answered her as he removed his gloves and wiped at his forehead with the back of his sleeve.

Hermione's smile broadened as she made her way over to him, stepping carefully so as not to tread on any plants, ingredients, or harvests. She leaned down to kiss the wizard's mouth, laughing softly as she drew back to remove a speck of dirt from his bottom lip.

"Remind me to inquire later about a winter flowering formula."

The man she had sweetly kissed rose to his full height, one eyebrow arched in curiosity. "Mrs Honeycutt?" he predicted correctly in a smooth, deep baritone.

"None other than," Hermione answered, amused.

He rolled his eyes, as if in annoyance, but Hermione knew better. "So, what's the culprit this time, dare I ask?"

"Daffodils."

"Of course it is."

"Oh, stop it, Severus," Hermione hissed and swiped lightly at the front of his jumper. "You know you're the only Potion Maker and gardener extraordinaire she'll take any advice from?"

"Am I supposed to be flattered?" Severus returned with a sliver of a sneer curling his upper lip. "You are aware, Hermione, that the woman's pretty much lost her marbles?"

"Well, you are the expert gardener!" she countered with a snicker. "Even folks with no marbles know that."

"Point taken, though it doesn't sound very promising when you put it that way."

"Dully noted."

Hermione ceased laughing, inclined on tiptoe for another kiss—one that was longer-lasting and more passionate than the first—and resumed her normal height, having to crane her neck to peer up into her lover's face. As she did so, she discovered that Severus was wearing a purposeful smirk, though not with his lips but, rather, with those rich, dark-coloured eyes.

"Have you been out here all day?"

"Mostly."

Hermione sought Severus's body heat for added warmth. Despite the penetrating heat magic was providing around the garden, the brisk autumn nip in the air still left Hermione shivering and wishing she hadn't so quickly dispersed of her coat.

"You should've bundled up more," Severus proceeded to scold her as he attempted igniting more warmth in Hermione's body by rubbing her arms.

"I did!" she argued, albeit feebly.

"Oh? Where's your ruddy coat?"

"Over there," Hermione half mumbled into his chest, expectant of what was to come.

Severus issued a reproving "t'sk" at the discarded heap on the ground and summoned Hermione's coat into his hand with his wand, which had emerged from its resting spot behind his ear. "Silly minx," he whispered into her ear whilst wrapping the coat around her petite form.

Hermione poked him playfully in the ribs for that remark, which earned her a funny, unexpected jolt from her wizard. It had been a humorous discovery for Hermione, upon first getting to know Severus Snape, that the man was surprisingly ticklish, particularly in certain areas she now knew best.

With ease, they resumed hugging one another in the cold, and, slowly, Hermione's eyes eventually opened to gaze out over the Cabin's shadowy backyard. The torch flames scattered throughout provided enough light to showcase what was Severus's pride and joy: an extensively grown and well-maintained garden of many various uses.

Unlike most gardens, in the autumn months Severus's garden was never bare nor did it die at any other time of the year, such as in the bitter winter months. Even then, with the grounds often covered in wet snow, plants, foods, and even flowers bloomed in adversity. At present, an enormous pumpkin patch inhabited two-thirds of the garden and had become its present use while the weather was still agreeable without magic. They had thought of many uses for the pumpkins since they came to ripe: everything from delicious homemade pumpkin pies to its perfect use in coffee to the brewing of pumpkin beer to applying them as mere decorations—well, for Muggle folk anyhow.

"They're getting big," Hermione pointed out, regarding a few of the larger pumpkins near the front.

"Yes," Severus concurred, still holding her to his chest. "I put an advert in the Muggle papers for Sunday. Hopefully they'll be gone by then."

"If not, we could always use them for more pie!" Hermione suggested through a smile she hid against Severus's chest.

"You and your ruddy pies," was all Severus quietly retorted in return; his words were teasing but gentle.

Hermione resumed grinning whilst peering out over the expansive garden Severus had brought to fruition. Its inhabitants for each and every season that came to pass took up a large chunk of hers and Severus's time to fashion, but neither of them minded to tending the yard. It had become their growing livelihood, after all, and a satisfying activity they enjoyed sharing together.

During the week, Hermione worked part-time at a bookstore in Hogsmeade, where she had steadily been employed since the end of the war. The remainder of her work days, which didn't necessarily feel all that labour intensive, were spent with Severus in the garden, a spot he had started plying before she ever came into the picture several years ago, though, for whatever reason, it had taken Hermione coming along for Severus's efforts to finally pay off.

"I could stay out here the rest of the night," Hermione murmured through a long, drawn-out sigh.

It was the start of the first weekend in October, and the autumn foliage was quite present in these parts of the woods—the leaves a speckle of bright crimsons and deep golds and rustic oranges, bursting with their last weeks of life. The garden itself would have been rather bleak-looking had there been no pumpkin patch to occupy most of its bed.

Hermione adored this time of year more than any—Severus a little less so—and, even with their garden at its most desolate harvest of the year, it was still splendid to look at.

"Well, I certainly can't," Severus shot down Hermione's half-hearted proposal with a quiet snarl. "My fingers are frozen. Come, I have the fire going."

Severus stepped away from Hermione, linked his larger hand through her smaller one—Hermione startled, for his fingers really were freezing—and led her indoors to a warm, cosy spot before a stone-covered fireplace. He had her take a seat on the sofa before momentarily excusing himself.

Hermione toed off her shoes and coat and made herself comfortable. The sitting area contained the well-used sofa she currently sat on and a few comfy sofa chairs to match, as well as a large stack of reading material strewn about, including several book cases filled to the brim, so much so that the individual shelving units were starting to sag. A selection of blankets that Hermione had sewn during early long weekends spent at the Cabin, were draped over the backs of the chairs, knitted in autumn-like colours of burgundy, burnt sienna, and yellow. She had made them during the initial weeks of hers and Severus's relationship, thinking he might like them to wrap his body in on colder nights at the isolated spot he had purchased shortly after the war's end. Although Severus had poked fun at Hermione's knitting skills (which had long since improved), she noted that he never scrapped them or stashed them away out of sight, and she appreciated that; it was the small things the snarky man did, after all, that showed where his true heart lay, and that was with her.

Hermione Accio'ed one of her knitted blankets into her lap and snuggled into the back of the couch. The welcoming aroma of something cooking in the kitchen suddenly hit her nostrils, causing her mouth to water. She hadn't been aware of being hungry until now, and she took in a strong whiff of whatever it was, closing her eyes to savour its delicious smell, when Severus emerged in the room, dressed in a different charcoal-coloured jumper and trousers. His hair was damp and brushed away from his face, and Hermione's senses were unexpectedly distracted from the man's cooking by his own bathing salts.

"Mmm, you smell delicious," she moaned appreciatively against his mouth after he sauntered over to peck her on the lips.

Severus scoffed off her compliment with an amused snort. "If that's all it takes to get you in the mood, then I'll tuck it away for future reference," he piped over his shoulder as he disappeared into the kitchen, hands deep in his side pockets.

Hermione giggled and wrapped herself tighter into her blanket, taking a moment to admire the flames licking at the hearth. "Elvish wine?" Severus called to her after several minutes had passed in uninterrupted silence.

Hermione's eyes fluttered towards the soft light trickling in from the kitchen. "Do we have any of that pumpkin-made wine left?"

She detected Severus scouting and shuffling about in search of said wine and waited patiently. A minute or so later, Severus materialised in the doorway again, hovering items in front of him with his wand, including a tray of two bowls containing unknown, steaming hot contents, napkins, and utensils. In his non-wand hand, he was steadying two filled glasses of wine, one of which he handed to Hermione before joining her on the couch.

"Cheers," she stated with a huge grin, and Severus willingly complied, bringing their glasses together to toast to what was surely to be an intimate evening spent in front of the toasty hearth.

After taking a swig of the pumpkin-flavoured wine, Hermione leaned over the tray on the coffee table to take another sniff of their meal. "So, what's this?" she inquired excitedly; her stomach was already rumbling.

"Butternut squash soup."

Hermione's eyes lit up, as she so loved Severus's cooking; the wizard was a natural and normally the one to supply them with fancy dinners.

"Oh!"

"With chilli and crème fraîche."

Hermione smirked at him. "It looks wonderful!"

"It had better be as good to taste," Severus intoned as he handed Hermione a bowl and spoon, holding the utensil to her lips to sample.

After relishing her first sip, Hermione spoke up, brown eyes twinkling, "You know what we haven't made yet..."

Severus, who was just raising the spoon to his own mouth, paused to squint at her. "Don't even suggest it," he purred, earning an inspired grin from Hermione.

"Oh, c'mon! Might as well with that huge pumpkin patch!"

Severus rolled his eyes and finally sampled his cooking expertise. Seemingly satisfied, he licked his thin lips and shook his head of long, wet hair.

"You and your bloody love of everything pumpkin."

"Rubbish."

"Perhaps I should consider turning you into a pumpkin..."

It was Hermione's turn to promptly narrow her eyes. "You wouldn't dare," she hissed under her breath.

Severus simply projected a half-cocked smirk as he took a relishing sip of his wine. "Try me."

Hermione huffed and commenced slurping her soup with her own spoon, foregoing her manners, much to Severus's inner amusement. He eyed her over his meal, raising an eyebrow on occasion as Hermione ate loudly, obliviously.

"You're being much too cynical for my tastes right now," she jabbed a moment or so later.

"Am I?" At Hermione's sportive toss of her curls off of one shoulder, Severus shrugged and blew on his spoon. "Must be from slaving away the past several days making your pumpkin beer and your pumpkin wine last weekend and, oh, your bloody pumpkin pies—"

"All right, I'm about to take you over my knee, Severus Snape!"

Severus's eyebrows rose to his hairline. "Would you?" he proposed softly and proceeded to waggle them animatedly for her.

Hermione reacted by laughing and smacking him on the arm. In a split second, she was scooted up against him, her knees curled into her chest beneath her blanket whilst the rest of her leaned sweetly into Severus's side. His free arm roped around her shoulders and rubbed small circles along her back. Before long, Hermione was practically purring like her half-Keazle, Crookshanks, her face nestled into his neck so that her lips could tenderly appreciate Severus's jawline.

"Give me more of this pumpkin wine and I might," she warned through a low whisper against his ear.

Severus's gentle smile soon had her filling stomach doing nervous flips. "I'm afraid that's the last of it." Hermione was unable to mask her frown of disappointment, and Severus's smile extended to his eyes. "I'll make more for you this weekend."

"Oh! No, love, it's all right—"

"Do you want your pumpkin wine," he interrupted her with another growl, "or shall I force it on you?"

At this, Hermione pursed her lips, her dismay swiftly evaporating. "Fine, if you insist!"

"'If I insist'," Severus repeated with mocked indignation, sending Hermione into another fit of lighthearted giggles; he tugged on her neck to bring her face to his. "As if I could resist..."

Suddenly, he was capturing Hermione's lips, the abiding tang of butternut squash on his tongue as it sensually slipped inside to converge with hers. Hermione gasped and opened her mouth to receive him, all thought for abating her appetite abandoned. The tingling sensation spreading from her fingers to her chest and down through the tips of her toes suggested other much-needed nourishment, and she would readily comply.

Giving a flick of his wand, Severus's and Hermione's bowls of hot soup were eased safely out of their hands and back onto the tray. Hermione, exercising little effort, hastened herself on top of Severus's lap, her blanket falling to the floor, and encased her arms around the nape of his neck, intensifying their snog fest tenfold.

Their hands, hungry and helpless to resist one another's electrifying touch, began to grope and pull and dig at each other's clothing. Severus's dexterous digits dipped beneath Hermione's blouse to rub at her tits, thumbing her nipples to attention through her bra. He tried to reach around and unfasten the strap from her back but wound up cursing at his inability to remove it successfully. Hermione aided him in his quest, snickering breathlessly against his heated lips as she removed the top half of her garments, blouse included, and felt the stirring reaction her nude flesh garnered from the wizard she was perched on top of.

The atmosphere couldn't have been more perfect. From the crackling fireplace to the comfortable room temperature to their delectable meal and pumpkin-flavoured wine to the crisp smell of autumn that infiltrated the air, Hermione couldn't have asked for a better backdrop to their evening nor, apparently, could Severus, who was looking all too eager to take her there and now over their creaky, spring-induced couch.

Hermione bent her neck to kiss Severus more deeply, and felt his upper body sink into the back of the couch with a long, guttural moan. His hands glided down to hug her lower back, and Hermione melted into his possessive embrace. She fingered his hair as he reached lower still, hands curling smoothly inside her trousers and even her knickers to press firmly at her nude backside. For once, Hermione wished she was wearing a damn skirt for a change, one that could easily be hiked up around her waist so as to give those marvellous hands direct access to what needed most assuaging.

Instead, Hermione felt herself being lifted off the couch, and, though he stumbled a bit around the coffee table with his witch in tow, Severus made it to the fireplace without falling arse over elbow and lowered Hermione effortlessly to the rug, rearing back from their enthusiastic kissing up to that point to tug off her 'blasted' trousers and knickers. Apparently, they were in his way, and he could no longer exercise patience.

Hermione couldn't help smirking. She enjoyed it when Severus was uncharacteristically flustered and not entirely in control of himself. It was growing evident, too, between the balmy warmth their snogging and fondling was generating, as well as the tremendous heat being cast by the nearby hearth, that their faces were significantly flushed and overheated.

Before Hermione could even mope about being the only one of them who was de-clothed, Severus was heaving his jumper over top of his head, tossing it aside out of sight without a second glance.

The absence of war in recent years had been kind to the former spy, whose slim frame, which, to Hermione, had previously bordered on sickly, and remained so for much of his adult life, was now bulkier and healthier than ever. His once sallow skin was still pale but his cheeks contained unmistakable colour, his eyes far less weary and heavy with the burdens of leading a detrimental double life. Even his midsection, which Hermione took a moment to undress with her sight, had filled out nicely; his ribcage was no longer ghastly prominent but robust. Although he was still on the sinewy side and well-defined, his body was hardy and in obvious good health, and, for Hermione, it was a welcoming, appealing visual to see how greatly his sought-after peace efforts had affected him.

To Severus, though, it wasn't just newfound tranquility in his life that had brought about such positive changes in him, and he vowed long ago that he would spend the rest of his life showing his appreciation to the shrewd, prepossessing, awe-inspiring witch presently lying beneath him, her frizzy curls fanned out over the rug, cheeks pink and plush, and soul-crushing eyes that bore up at him as if he held the keys to all of her happiness.

"Severus?" she whispered, increasingly uncertain the longer Severus stared on, his chest rising and falling laboriously.

Slowly, at last, he lowered himself over top of her, wet hairs tickling the sides of her face. Reassured, Hermione reached up and cradled his jaw between her palms, extending the kiss to a lengthy, needy expression of utmost desire.

The longer their kissing commenced, the more impatient Hermione grew. She writhed and groaned and mewled into Severus's mouth, before long arching and pushing as much of herself against him as she could. Severus chuckled, vocals low and deep, which sent a shiver of excitement down Hermione's spine, and halted their combined efforts to wiggle out of his trousers and briefs, employing his wand to speed matters along.

As soon as he was finally rid of all attire, Hermione pushed their lips together for more fervid snogging and groping, avid to touch every part of bare skin she could grab. Severus wilfully followed her lead, and allowed a quite keen Hermione to suddenly take charge.

Minutes later, growing ever more desperate for relief, she rolled Severus onto his back and crept over top of him, mounting him as she did so, and took the wizard inside of her delicately, slowly, till their sweat-laden bodies came together in united gasps and feverish trembles of delight.

Hermione "oh"ed and "ahhh"ed his name over and over whilst Severus hissed, clenched his teeth, and clutched onto Hermione's rolling hips as they dipped and circled atop him, both of them aching and hankering to be quenched of all previous hungry ministrations.

Shortly thereafter, Hermione was practically screaming and throwing her head back at every highly sensitive sensation coursing through her body. Severus was forced to bite down hard on his tongue to prevent crying out as well. They rode one another to a mind-blowing orgasm that left fingers ramming into skin, hearts beating wildly, and lungs gasping repeatedly for breath.

As Hermione came down from her blissful climax, she felt as if every part of her body was humming and buzzing in tune to the haunting autumn wind that tapped against the cabin's window panes. She could hear it whisper and moan outside, and echoed accordingly.

Slowly, she sunk onto the rug beside Severus and curled up into his loose embrace, one leg and arm draped over him, sensing the pounding of his heart against her hand.

"That was...unexpected," she issued through a weighty sigh. At Severus's subsequent eyebrow raise, Hermione laughed and explained, "Considering we didn't even finish our first glass of wine..."

"Mmm, yes," Severus concurred, now understanding what she meant; he was too knackered to move just yet but began rubbing the back of Hermione's head, scrunching a handful of her curls between his spindly fingers. "Speaking of drinks...and food..."

At the pregnant pause that ensued, Hermione peered up at Severus, curious. "Yes?"

"There's a bit of your pumpkin pie leftover from yesterday..."

Hermione's blushed cheeks stretched to the rest of her poised face as her smile grew. To Severus, it was utterly captivating.

"I could always go for some pumpkin pie," she paused to affectionately peck him on the mouth, "especially after that. Now I'm famished all over again!"

At Hermione's follow up laughter, Severus smacked her playfully on the arse, causing the witch to jolt in his embrace, and—gingerly—eased himself into a sitting position, then forced himself up from the hard floor that didn't agree with his forty-something limbs.

Hermione took her time raising herself from the rug as well. The heat emitting from the fireplace was starting to cool, what with nothing else to protect her naked flesh from the general nip in the air. She gathered her now crinkled blouse in hand and threw it on, as well as her knickers, but forewent her trousers in favour of a blanket.

Hermione was still seated on the rug, wine glass in hand, when Severus returned, stark naked and carrying two plates of pumpkin pie topped with whipped cream. It was a immensely alluring visual to Hermione, both the sight of her favourite pie, but, more importantly, being served by her wizard au naturel, and she smiled broadly as he took a seat on the rug next to her and handed her her plate. She was almost disappointed when he reached for his clothes that were scattered about the floor, but seeing him shiver on account of the cold evening wasn't much enticing either, so she let it go, waiting patiently for Severus to dress so that she could inch closer and drape her blanket over the pair of them to cuddle beneath. Severus conveyed nothing aloud at this small gesture, but he did wordlessly draw Hermione as near to him as possible, wrapping an arm around her and hugging her to his chest.

Together, they took turns feeding one another their slices of pumpkin pie until the last crumb had nearly been consumed. "You definitely need to make more of this," Severus barely managed to get out mid-chew.

Hermione eyed him, surprised. "I seem to recall you saying barely an hour ago, 'You and your ruddy pumpkin pies'!"

"Indeed, but I stand corrected. This is bloody delicious."

"I'm glad your high standards approve of my baking skills!" she half teased, moving in to lick a bit of whipped cream off of the corner of Severus's mouth.

"You should sell some."

Hermione reared back at that suggestion. "Sell?" she questioned.

"Why not? We'll be selling pumpkins again this weekend. Why not sell some of your pie as well?"

Hermione frowned down at her now empty plate, uncertain. "Do you think people would go for it?"

"If they have the opportunity to sample it first, then they'd be utter dunderheads not to take some home with them."

An optimistic smile made its way across her lips. "All right! Let's give it a try."

In haste, Severus reached for the last bite of pumpkin pie on his plate, which would have been served to Hermione, before she could snatch the fork from his hand. "I'd like some more for myself as well."

"After that, you'll be lucky if you get any!" she exclaimed, extending a hand to pinch his cheek.

Severus growled and batted her hand away, only to snatch it up and bring Hermione against his chest, his strong arms weaving around her to hold her hostage. She didn't fight his efforts, however, merely snickered close to his face, unmindful of the thoughts rummaging through his mind.

It was strange to him to feel so alive, particularly at a time when everything outside was withering and dying. Yet here he was, engaged with and actively pursuing life as opposed to, for so many lonely years, merely existing. Autumn had certainly never brought Severus Snape much joy before Hermione came charging into his world. No, it had been a constant reminder of all he had lost, and the difficult trials that would eventually come to pass.

But now...

Now, autumn was Severus's favourite season, simply because it was hers. Pumpkin pie was his favourite dessert because she made it and enjoyed it and baked it with love. His garden thrived and prospered season after fruitful season because she had helped it to grow. She had helped him to grow; to love life again; to find prosperity and reasoning to move forward rather than remain stuck in his miserable, forsaken past.

"Severus?"

Hermione was giving him that concerned look of hers again, unsure of what he was thinking but wishing to know what was reeling behind those inscrutable eyes. Severus blinked and thoughtfully kissed the tip of her crinkled nose.

"Shall I refill your wine glass?" he proposed in a soft purr, peering down at her with a small but exceedingly gentle smile.

"I suppose," Hermione replied with a dispirited sigh, "though we're out of my favourite."

"Ahhh, yes," Severus recalled, glancing from her vacant glass to her downcast eyes. "Shall we make some more?"

Hermione's eyes expanded. "You want to do that now, love?"

"Why not?"

"That involves getting ingredients from the garden and—"

"I'll take care of that," he insisted. "You stay here—you and your knickers—and get everything set up in the kitchen a while."

Although taken aback by Severus's sudden burst of enthusiasm, Hermione didn't repel or turn him down. She had no idea what had brought on such attentiveness, but she didn't care one bit; she preferred Severus Snape this way far more than his old, bitter, unhappy self.

Much, much more.

"All right, love," she chuckled, giving him another tender kiss. "If you insist."

"When it comes to you, of course I would," he returned in a quieter voice.

Giving her another dainty peck to her nose, Severus then excused himself, snatching up his coat in the hall before trudging back out into the chilly backyard. Hermione watched him exit, her eyes just able to make out his tall silhouette in the garden as he moved about gracefully, gathering all the elements together that they would need.

With a contemplative smile, Hermione eventually gathered up their empty plates and glasses and strolled over to the window, adamant to watch Severus for a time. She realised the longer she observed him working so diligently and considerately over his garden that it wasn't the usual perks of autumn alone that made her adore this particular season more than any of the others; a lot of her appreciation for the mellowest fruitful time of year also had to do with him and how her wizard looked, and paralleled, its rich pops of colour and fading harvesting.

Like the falling leaves, Severus was just as vulnerable and could shatter at the slightest ill touch, much like a crisp leaf might shrivel in one's hand if not handled with care. He was living proof of what could survive the dying harvest, and come out the other side blooming and vigorous and reborn. Like autumn, Severus Snape would come round again, year after year, stronger and more vital than he had been the previous season, rebuilding his life in slow, steady steps—with her.

Just like his garden, Hermione mused, reaching out a hand to lovingly tap the glass that separated her from her other half, though momentarily. Just like his autumn garden.

A/N #2: Thank you for reading. Reviews are always greatly appreciated.