Here and Now
My first story! (At least, first one I'm publishing.) Please review, I'm always looking for pointers. I love this ship but it's difficult to do it justice and keep Severus in character. Am I using the correct rating and categories? Thank you so much, and enjoy!
"Harry Potter is dead."
"Dead," "dead," "dead…."
The words echo in my ears until they lose all sense of meaning. Am I breathing? I can't tell. She's standing over me again, cackling out laughter while I scream, throat tearing with the force of the sound, ripped from me like a physical being. My doom pronounced in simple words—"Filthy little Mudblood! Crucio! Crucio!"
And when my eyes open I'm still screaming, but no sound penetrates the hand over my mouth. I can't breathe—my arms flailing, desperately fighting my attacker—knuckles connect with bone—
"God's sake, woman, calm down," whispers a voice, deep and rough with sleep, right next to my ear; warm breath tickles the fine hairs along the nape of my neck, and I shiver involuntarily—even as I register to whom the voice belongs.
Still, my limbs tense for a moment, just from reflex. Then the breath comes out of me with a gusty whoosh; I relax, boneless, against a lean, lanky human body that curls protectively around my trembling frame. Warm arms encircle me tightly, trying to anchor my mind into the here and now.
Mudblood! her voice snarls again. Here and now, I remind myself. I'm sweating; his hand clasps mine to give comfort, but my palm is too slick to return the gesture. I need to focus. Here. Our bedroom. Smoky gray walls, and lots of green. Red clashes, he insisted when we decorated. He asks for so little yet gives so much; of course I relented. And so we have olive-green curtains, a lime-green rug, and forest-green blankets.
For me, though, true green is the color of the bubbling, simmering brews under his skillful hands. A scene that always leaves me utterly transfixed. His face, masked with absolute concentration; his dark hair constantly shifting to block his vision, locks that've been scrubbed ruthlessly but still remain tinged with grease as though he'd never left his teenage years. He's completely focused, yet I can never quite sneak up on him; I'll get right behind him and he'll look up at me, the picture of smugness. His black eyes staring into mine, sharing more than a thousand words could convey.
His voice is again what returns me to the present; a sound that resonates in my heart and soul. "You're doing it again," he murmurs, and I'm back, tangled in the sheets and his arms.
Now. I'm truly here, this time. The past won't return, at least not for a few more nights. And when it does, he'll hold me close again. Just as I hold him when the memories haunt him. When he sheds tears no one else will ever see. The past, both good and bad; it tries to drown us. There's been too much pain, too much regret. I wish I could forget, but I will not dishonor the dead by doing so.
Yet I find comfort, despite it all. And right now, not then or there, but here with his body lying next to mine, I find just enough strength to turn my head and smile at him. A tiny smile, but a smile nonetheless. I bring a hand up to his head, running it through his hair, enjoying the feel of the strands falling through my fingers.
He half-closes his eyes, giving me that lazy smirk I love so well. He'll never admit it, but I know each moment of such clear affection is precious to him. He rarely initiates contact, as though he thinks it will be unwelcome; it makes my heart ache, that no one's ever seen past the sneer to the wonderful man within.
And suddenly, I know it's time to tell him. I've held back, almost without thinking of it, as though fearing to utter the words—fearing that he's not ready, that I'll ruin what we have. But I need him to know….know someone cares. I think he knows, already. But I need to say it.
"I love you," I tell him hoarsely, but my voice is cracking with every word. I'm trying not to lose it, but I just can't help it. Shoulders heaving with sobs, the tears trickling down; I turn my face away, ashamed.
Callused fingers gently seize my chin and force me to look at him. His lips touch my cheeks, kissing the tears away, before he pulls back a few inches. Dark, nearly-black eyes gaze into my brown ones. I can feel the force of the gaze; it sees deeper than you can imagine, down into my very soul.
And then—
"Hermione…." He shakes his head, and chuckles. I feel the reverberations in his chest. "You, you are simply incredible. I….love you, as well. I don't think I could help it if I tried. If….if I were somehow stupid enough not to, without doubt you would present me with a perfectly logical argument—something about how mutual affection would be equally beneficial to both of us." He smirks again, and before I can protest his statement, he places his mouth on mine.
When we finally pause to catch our breath, a rather mischievous thought occurs to me.
"If my mum hears we've finally confessed, we'll be hearing wedding bells before you even get a chance to ask."
The deer-in-the-headlights expression on his face is priceless. I giggle and kiss him again.