Spinning Drabbles
By Somigliana
Disclaimer: Severus and Hermione belong to JKR, as always.
A series of drabbles, woven into a continuous story, written for the livejournal community, grangersnape100, for a variety of challenges.
Part 1: Cobwebs of the Past
Her fingertips traced the name on the silver Christening cup. It was barely visible through years of tarnish and neglect: Severus Tobias Snape.
She'd found it in the top corner of the rusted steel kitchen cabinet while helping Severus to pack up at Spinner's End.
He never spoke of his family. When she broached the topic, his posture stiffened and his expression shuttered – the studied indifference she so despised.
"The past is just that, Hermione."
Her attempts at discussing the war years were answered similarly.
She jumped at the insistent, high-pitched whine of the wizard-proximity charm – an unexpected visitor approached.
sSs
She picked up her wand from atop the Daily Prophet – 'Heroes of the newly-ended war', the headline proclaimed.
The living room was even dingier now – the empty bookshelves intensified the aura of neglect. Soon, they would be finished here, and starting a new life in a home that was bright and warm.
A tentative knock at the door startled Hermione, despite the fact that she'd expected it. She didn't like being here alone while Severus moved the boxes. There were sinister memories that lurked in the shadowed corners, it seemed.
She opened the door a crack, and her eyes widened.
sSs
Her hair was wispy-white, but the heavy brows and ebony eyes were unmistakable.
Eileen Snape.
The years had weathered the woman; despite being in her early sixties, she looked infinitely older. Her skin was not pallid, but had the fragile, age-cracked appearance of antique bone china.
The Daily Prophet was clutched in spidery, age-spotted hands.
"I'm sorry, I was hoping that Severus Snape still owned this house," she said, sounding relieved and regretful all at once.
"He does," Hermione said, with an apprehensive smile. "He's not here at the moment, but he'll be back soon. Please, come in, Mrs. Snape."
sSs
In contrast to her son, Eileen's posture was stooped and weary, as though the weight of a lifetime of hardship pressed them forward.
She stepped into the living-room, and stopped dead in her tracks. Her dark eyes scanned the bleak room, taking in the details as if she'd never it before.
She shook her head slightly, as though realising that she'd been drawn into the shadows of the past. "I apologise – it has been many years …"
Hermione nodded and gestured to the sagging sofa and worn armchair. "Please, sit, Mrs. Snape. Would you like some tea while we wait?"
sSs
Hermione conjured a tea tray, which settled on the rickety table; she'd packed all the kitchen crockery away that morning.
She glanced up to see that Eileen was regarding her with the same inscrutable look that Severus had sometimes; it was disconcerting to see it on her face.
She was apprehensive about being faced with the woman who Severus refused to speak of – what would he say when he returned?
Why had Eileen Snape returned?
"How do you know my son, young lady?" she asked, accepting a cup of tea. The cup rattled on the saucer, echoing Hermione's jangling nerves.
sSs
Hermione blushed. "Sorry, forgive my rudeness; I was surprised to see you. My name is Hermione Granger – I – er – worked with Severus during the war."
Eileen glanced down at the crumpled paper on her lap. "Ah, yes, there you are … a war hero as well," her thin voice cracked a little, "like Severus."
Hermione nodded. "Yes, the wizarding world owes your son so much."
Eileen's lips pressed together for a moment, although this did not hide their tremble entirely. "And I owe him an apology … a lifetime's worth of apologies, really," she said, with infinite sadness and regret.
sSs
Hermione warred with herself for a moment – she was infinitely curious by nature, but Severus would undoubtedly resent this unexpected visit, be angered if she probed into his past with the questions that she longed to ask.
She settled for what she hoped was a reassuring smile, leaning forward imperceptibly, vaguely guilty for wishing that Eileen would continue speaking.
"Severus has never spoken of his family?" Eileen asked astutely.
Hermione shook her head; her smile was sad, although tinged with recognition that Severus was most certainly his mother's son.
"I don't blame him, really." Eileen's eyes were shadowed with guilt.
sSs
"Why?" The question slid off the tip of Hermione's tongue before she could stop it.
She felt herself being drawn into the woman's story; one which she was sure would bring insight on her lover, understanding that eluded her sometimes.
She was as close as anybody had ever been to the shadowed man, yet there were facets of him that were still shrouded, impenetrable. She'd despaired of ever breaching the invisible barrier that prevented their complete journey from eager student and disdainful teacher to cherished lovers.
"I should probably start at the beginning," Eileen said, drawing Hermione from her reverie.
sSs
"I used to be Eileen Prince," she began, tracing an age-ridged fingernail around the rim of her teacup.
Hermione nodded, remembering the sullen-looking teenager in the yellowed pages of the Hogwarts library archives.
"My family were … displeased when I married Toby." She paused to clear her throat. Hermione recognised it as a sign of one desperately trying to quell rising emotion.
"They were Pure-bloods with the old prejudices and Toby was a Muggle." Her eyes had the glazed look of one lost in the past. "But he loved me." There was a note of breathless disbelief in her voice.
sSs
"He wasn't rich – he worked at the factory." She gestured in the direction of the abandoned, derelict mill that overshadowed the cramped neighbourhood. "But there was so much love in this house."
She gazed around at the room, so dark and abandoned now, and Hermione struggled to imagine the picture that she was painting.
"We lived here, until –" Her voice wavered before she swallowed, seemingly drawing courage to remember.
"My brother, Damien … he was a dark wizard … one of the early Death Eaters, I'm sure. He murdered Toby. He said no nephew of his would be Muggle-raised."
sSs
Eileen's dark eyes were glittering with tears now. Hermione closed her mouth and conjured a handkerchief, rising to sit next to Eileen.
She pressed the linen square into Eileen's hands. "I'm … so sorry," Hermione said softly, slightly regretful at encouraging the ghosts of the past now.
Hermione was shocked – from what Harry had hinted in the past, she'd thought Severus' father had been a brutal tyrant.
"Thank you … I've not spoken of this in years," she said softly. "But being back here …" She wiped her eyes. "It's time to make peace, though," she said with steely determination.
sSs
Hermione waited for her to continue, anxious that Severus would return soon, waiting for the tell-tale shift in the wards.
"Severus was four," she said eventually, playing with the edge of the handkerchief. Her hands had a bluish cast to them, spidery veins beneath paper-thin skin. "Damien took both of us to his home, then."
Hermione frowned, wondering why Eileen hadn't run from her brother, made a new life for herself and Severus.
"You must understand – he was … stronger and controlling. I had no money and, after the first week, no wand."
Shivers of foreboding raced along Hermione's skin.
sSs
Eileen's eyes were focussed on her hands, taking the time to gather her thoughts into a coherent stream, Hermione thought.
In those quiet moments, she sensed the wards shifting, and she felt a cold, heavy sense of dismay settle in her stomach; if Severus came in now, she would never hear the end of the story.
Surreptitiously, she glanced behind her, to the left, where the hinged bookshelf to the kitchen was still partially ajar.
There in the gloomy shadows, a hint of movement caught her eye. Slowly, she raised her wand and thought with all her might, Petrificus Totalus.
sSs
The shadow stopped moving, frozen upright against the doorjamb. A slow, guilty-relieved stream of breath whistled past her teeth as she turned back to Eileen.
He was going to be so angry with her, but it would be better this way, she rationalised; now he could hear Eileen's story firsthand, without explosive interruptions and vehement denial or blame.
"Oh, I fought back at first," Eileen continued. "But the fighting, it used to disturb Severus, gave him nightmares –" Her eyes were shadowed with her own nightmares, Hermione realised, "- so eventually, I stopped fighting."
"And then?" Hermione's voice was breathless.
sSs
Eileen glanced up now, her pain written plainly in her eyes. Hermione wondered if she would ever see such depth of emotion in her lover's matching eyes.
"I died inside for a long while," she admitted, closing her eyes for a moment. "I failed my son - stood back and let my brother indoctrinate him, raise him with the same prejudices, teach him the Dark Arts.
"Severus worshipped Damien and he believed all the lies my brother fed him. That his father had been a worthless Muggle, so poor that he'd killed himself … that Toby hadn't cared for his family."
sSs
Eileen took a wavering breath and leant forward to put her ice-cold tea on the coffee table.
She seemed to be gathering speed in her tale, and Hermione's mind was reeling as all the details began to weave together. Where there had been gaps in her comprehension of her difficult lover, they were woven closed now with understanding.
"Damien was a cruel and demanding teacher. If Severus did not please him with his studies, he could tell him he was a worthless Snape, the son of filthy Mudblood scum. If he did well, Damien would call him the Half-Blood Prince."
sSs
"You've heard of that title, I take it?" Eileen asked, glancing up at Hermione's sound of realisation.
Hermione nodded mutely, realising that the title must have made Severus proud, that he'd worn it as a badge of honour.
Eileen sighed. "He wrote it on all of his school books – my old books. The Princes were never Pure-blood royalty, you see.
"Damien was likely recruited by Voldemort for his dubious skills … he hardly had two Knuts to rub together, mostly."
Hermione had been wondering when the conversation would turn to Voldemort, and felt her heart begin to race almost painfully.
sSs
"It was inevitable, in the end, really," Eileen said sadly, shrugging impossibly bony shoulders in a weary gesture of defeat.
"But when I saw that hideous mark branded on my child's arm –" Her words were thickened by tears now; they fell from her face, leaving wet blotches on her faded robes.
Hermione reached for Eileen's hand now – the witch's skin was dry, like rough parchment, and her bones felt impossibly fragile under Hermione's touch.
Hermione bit her lower lip, wondering what Severus was thinking, frozen, watching them. Would she be branded a traitor, like he'd been all those years?
sSs
Eileen's hand was icy cold; eerily chilling, like the incorporeal ether of the Hogwarts ghosts. It was a striking comparison that struck her, then. Eileen's was a life half-lived, with a ghostlike detachment from reality for so many years.
The older witch took brief comfort from her touch, and then wiped her cheeks with trembling hands.
"The Princes had always been gifted at Occlumency, and I spent so many years hiding within myself. It's so easy to do, put up shields to numb everything."
Severus does the same.
"That night, I looked into his eyes and let him see …"
sSs
"I let him see too late," she whispered. "Either he didn't believe me, or he'd just lost the capacity to care … lost in darkness and power.
"He was so very angry – in that moment, he was Damien … frightening in his rage."
Severus still had those moments – where he lost himself in rage; became a dark man who Hermione didn't recognise. She had a name for that man now. Damien … demon of the past.
"So I fled, knowing that I'd lost my son to Voldemort forever." She shook her head. "No, I let my son be lost …"
sSs
"I thought him lost all these years, until I saw this yesterday." She held up the tear-ruined newspaper.
"I am deeply ashamed now that I did not have faith in him then, that I did not stand firm for him, that I thought him a monster.
"I did not know if Severus had ever returned to this house – he inherited it all those years ago from Toby. Perhaps I just wanted to –" Eileen stopped, perhaps unsure of why she'd ventured to Spinner's End again.
Eileen smoothed the wrinkled newspaper out and traced the sneering photograph. "Do you know why?"
sSs
"No, I don't."
Hermione didn't know why Severus had switched sides; Dumbledore had taken that secret to the grave, and Severus was exceedingly tight-lipped about it.
There were speculations that Severus had been in love with Lily Potter, or perhaps that Voldemort had finally crossed the line with a heinous assignment. Or perhaps, Hermione reflected now, perhaps his mother had tipped the scales that evening.
"It is probably too late to beg forgiveness, but I wanted him to know."
"He does know," Hermione whispered, feeling a new wave of apprehension and guilt now that her burning curiosity had been satisfied.
sSs
"What do you mean?" The narrowed, suspicious eyes that Eileen gazed at her with were unsettling; another inherited gesture.
Surely she deserved anger from Severus for hexing him and listening to his life story without his explicit permission. It was a Gryffindorish flaw, she knew; one that always coloured her actions … acting without forethought … leaping into fire.
"He – arrived home just after we began talking," Hermione said in a small voice. "I – he's standing the doorway under a Body-Bind Curse."
She glanced towards the door, guilt acidic. "I'm so sorry." It was directed at both Severus and Eileen.
sSs
Eileen followed Hermione's gaze, and her spindly fingers tightened reflexively, crushing the handkerchief tightly. Hermione couldn't tell if she was angry, dismayed, or both. Eileen's dark eyes lingered on her son's unmoving form for a moment before she turned back to Hermione.
"Perhaps not the wisest thing to do," Eileen said softly, her words carrying to Hermione's ears only. "But effective at making a Prince listen, nonetheless.
"Before you release him, thank you, Hermione … you were a wonderful listener."
Hermione didn't feel much better; the bitter taste of bile flooded her mouth as she reached for her discarded wand.
sSs
A rippling wave of magical energy thundered through the living room the instant Hermione released Severus from the Body-Bind Curse.
The tea set rattled on the tray, stinging sparks of visceral magic danced across her skin almost painfully, static fluffed her hair into a frizzy nimbus around her head, and the threadbare curtains whipped up; anaemic streams of light lit the dim shadows for a moment.
In the wake of the powerful release of pent-up magic, there was a deathly silent moment; almost like the magic had sucked all sound into a vacuum … she couldn't breathe, frozen with fear.
sSs
The moment stretched agonisingly as he stepped into the room, and then in a rush, her heart was thundering in her ears again.
Tension was written in his tall frame, from white-knuckled hands clenched into fists, to the tightly-drawn set of his jaw.
Eileen had shrunk back on the couch, skeletal fingers digging into Hermione's bicep and Hermione heard the faint words: "Not Damien."
He took a step forward from the shadowy corner, almost menacing in his tightly controlled movement. His eyes flashed anger.
This is the man I love. I am not afraid of him.
"Severus … please …"
sSs
His lip curled into a nasty sneer at her words, and she realised belatedly that they echoed Dumbledore's last … viewed in a Pensieve, before Severus had approached her, trusting her alone to believe him.
And now she'd broken his trust, she despaired. Would he ever forgive? Severus was not forgiving, this she knew well.
"I wish to talk to my mother … alone." His voiced was clipped, tightly controlled, rage barely suppressed.
Hermione didn't want to leave the fragile witch with him when he reminded her of her brother who had abused her so.
"But –"
"It's alright, Hermione."
sSs
Eileen's soft words surprised Hermione. "Severus is not his uncle." There was soft hope in her voice, and Eileen's eyes were riveted on her son.
"Will – will I see you at home later?"
His refusal to meet her eyes, the stony silence, sent her heart plummeting. She dropped her head, tears prickling. She wanted him to rage at her, tell her how angry he was … the disregard was infinitely worse.
"I'm so sorry." She repeated her earlier words, and they made her soul ache.
She stood, and then Apparated – her stifled sob lingered and echoed in the empty room.
Part Two: Spin the Future
"It was all a mistake," she murmured, glancing around their home through tear-blurred vision. "It's not the end of the world," she said a little more loudly, reassuring herself.
Severus' exquisite collection of rare books was piled in one corner, half unpacked from the boxes. His wire-framed reading glasses sat atop a leather-bound tome on the desk. Nothing seemed out of place … blissful normalcy.
There, see, all his things are still here – he'll be home soon and everything will be fine once he's cooled off.
She began to unpack the books onto waiting shelves, feeling a little more hopeful.
sSs
The hopeful feeling began to dim and flicker after she'd unpacked all the books and Vanished the boxes. They wouldn't need the boxes, after all. She and Severus had planned on staying here for many years, building a beautiful life together.
She'd made a little error in judgement - he'd know that it hadn't been malicious or intended to hurt him. Wouldn't he?
She ignored the little voice that pointed out that she'd raised her wand on purpose, not to help him, but for her own selfish reasons.
The Floo remained stubbornly cold as she willed it to flare with life.
sSs
The sun slipped away beyond the Forbidden Forest, and in turn, the light in the living room dimmed with her darkening hope.
She lit one lamp with a flick of her wand – Severus would see the light and know she was waiting up for him, let her made amends, let her admit her mistake with remorseful eyes and repentant lips.
A sharp tap at the window sent her hope soaring. She opened the window to let the owl in, and thought she imagined that the light gust of air carried whispers of forgiveness.
She opened the letter with shaking hands.
sSs
Dear Hermione,
I hope that this note finds you well, and forgiven.
Severus and I did not speak extensively this afternoon; the conversation was stilted and riddled with blame. In my case, I will always accept the blame for having to read of my son's innocence in the Daily Prophet, when it should have been written on my heart.
However, he has conceded to take time to think, and that alone gives an old witch hope.
I am travelling back to Ireland this evening. I hope to see you soon—perhaps a wedding to lift my soul.
Regards,
Eileen Snape.
sSs
Hermione stared at the letter for a long moment, a sour expression written on tear-stained cheeks.
Oh, perfect - he'd spoken to Eileen, promised to think on her mistakes, given her shining hope. And here she sat, wallowing in remorse, waiting for him to return, fearful anticipation burning in the darkened room.
She hated waiting … hated being in the dark about anything. The clock on the desk ticked loudly, echoing in her head. Time marched on …
Resentment itched at her nerves – resentment that Severus had never told his story before … and most of all, resentment at herself.
sSs
The little post owl screeched impatiently, ruffling its feathers and tapping its beak on the window frame. The sound was hollow and empty.
"Here," she muttered, tossing an owl treat into the night. "Now bugger off." Hermione watched the owl dip towards the cobbled street – snatching the treat from the air - then swoop off into the shadows.
It was dark outside, the full moon obscured by heavy clouds. In the distance, a wolf howled, sending shivers racing across her skin.
She slammed the window shut angrily. Where the hell was Severus?
How could he let her wait like this?
sSs
Like a burning flare, her frustrated anger and seething resentment fizzled after the momentary, intense burn. She really had no right to be angry with Severus … if only …
She turned her gaze to the mantle, where two clocks stood side-by-side – one Muggle, one wizarding; a reflection of embracing both worlds, and each other.
She watched the magical clock for a long while, her eyes fixed on the unmoving hand … Here Be Dragons. It'd been a joke about his fiery temper at the time, but now, it wasn't amusing in the least.
The Muggle clock forged on …
sSs
The wind whipped up, and branches scraped and scratched against the window – eerie shadows flickered on the opposite wall, encroaching on the light.
There's a storm coming…
At the sound of a plaintive meow, Hermione realised that Severus must have banished their Kneazle kitten to the bedroom. His name was Crookshanks Two, but Severus called him Bane.
She opened the door, deliberately averting her gaze from the room where they slept, loved, shared. A tiny, tufted-eared ball of fur wound around her ankles, purring gratitude.
Hermione picked him up, buried her face in soft fur, drawing hope from unconditional love.
sSs
"Oh Crooks, what have I done? Do you think Severus will ever forgive me?"
The tiny kitten's plaintive, meowing answer was not the one she sought. "You don't know either, do you?" she said sadly.
She slumped back onto the couch, exhausted, but unwilling to sleep in their bed alone, facing the cold, empty space where he should have been.
She lay down, watching the shadows dance intricately on the ceiling. Crookshanks settled on her chest, a warm, comforting presence.
"I promise that I'll never ask him nosy questions again, if only he'd come back," she whispered to the dark.
sSs
At the strangely comforting sound of sheeting rain against the window, Hermione slipped into a restless sleep ...
'He'll hurt you, Hermione – I still don't trust the git … he's always got an ulterior motive.'
'You're with S-s-snape?' 'How could you choose that nasty, greasy-git over me, how could you?' 'He must shag like a demon.' 'Well, I always thought he was the most horrid man, and an awful teacher, but he must be okay if you like him.' 'He's so much older, my child, with a lifetime of history and pain. I'm so afraid he's too dark for you.'
sSs
Anaemic strips of light filtered through the window; the storm had petered out during the course of the night.
Hermione groaned a little, slitting swollen eyes open, momentarily confused about why she was sleeping on the couch.
In a rush, the events of the previous day flooded back as she scrambled to consciousness; her heart ached anew.
She sat up slowly, moaning softly, reluctant to face another day without Severus.
She glanced up hopefully at the mantle through a new shimmer of tears. She gave a soft gasp of hope that hurt her aching heart; his hand pointed to 'Home'.
sSs
Hermione turned around wildly, searching for his tall frame, her heart hammering in her chest now, hope fluttering in her stomach.
And there he was, staring out of the window, outlined in the light of dawn.
"Severus, you're home!" she cried, rushing around the couch, ignoring the sharp pain as she banged her knee in her haste, reaching out her arms to embrace forgiveness.
He turned, that impassive, blank look written on his face, and held up one elegant hand, effectively halting her in her tracks.
"No, sit, Hermione," he said neutrally. "There are things that need to be said."
sSs
Hermione sat on the couch, leaving space next to her for Severus to sit. The corners of her mouth turned downwards slightly when he opted for the armchair opposite.
He was home, but he'd never felt so distant – well, not since they'd been away from Hogwarts and the student-teacher relationship.
He sat gracefully, looking completely at ease – in sharp contrast to the nerves that crawled and slithered in her stomach.
He lifted his gaze to meet hers, his expression blank and infuriatingly calm – her world was falling apart, and he gave no indication that he was affected by any emotion.
sSs
I'm so, so sorry … I love you … please, please just don't be angry with me anymore. Her voice sounded desperate in her mind as she willed him to hear her, to believe her.
His lips thinned into a displeased line. "Do not do that, Hermione," he said warningly.
Hermione pouted, sticking out her lower lip. "You use Legilimency when it suits you," she whined.
"I am Slytherin."
"Oh, for Merlin's sake – why do you always have to justify every contradictory thing you do with your old House affiliation? It's where you were bloody Sorted, not who you are!"
sSs
"And your actions this afternoon were not vintage Gryffindor? Thoughtless, tactless, brash, blundering Gryffindor?" The disdain he infused into the word Gryffindor had the inner lioness bristling and hissing.
"No!" I don't know.
Severus smirked, a nasty little triumphant smirk.
Hermione dropped her head, breaking eye contact, and stared at her clenched hands. Gods, he knew how to wind her up, get a reaction out of her. Had he just come home to pick a fight and then leave?
"I'm so tired if it being about Gryffindor and Slytherin. Why can't it just be about you and me for once?"
sSs
"I don't see any other reason that would explain your actions," he said dismissively.
Her head snapped up, her expression incredulous. He just didn't get it. She wondered if he ever would.
"I wouldn't have done it if you'd told me about it before," she accused, nostrils flaring. "I've asked you so many times to talk to me, tell me about yourself and … everything, but you're so closed off."
Sometimes, well, mostly, Severus felt like a complete stranger, despite their intimate relationship.
"So now it is my fault?" he asked softly. This time, anger flickered in his dark eyes.
sSs
She threw her hands up in a gesture of defeat. "I was wrong, okay? I apologised … I said I was sorry!" Her voice had reached that high-pitched, indignant shriek now, and even she winced inwardly.
What more did he want from her? "I just wish you would trust me enough to tell me things," she said, her voice softer and mournful now.
"The past is just that, Hermione," he said. "Why can you not leave it be?"
The endless, cyclic argument had run full circle. This argument could have been one on any number of previous days. Eternally cyclic.
sSs
"Because … your past is a part of you, Severus," she said, sighing heavily. "It would help me to understand how you react better, and I love you … I want to know all of you."
"You do know all of me." And there it was; the subtle, erotic innuendo designed to distract her from the argument.
She asked him to open up, he deflected – an intricate dance around the heart of the issue. It was the same, tired routine, and she was sick of dancing.
She dropped her head wearily. "I don't know if I can do this anymore."
sSs
"And just what do you mean by that, Hermione?" If not for the white-tipped tightening of his fingers on the arms of the chair, Hermione might have sworn he was enquiring about the weather.
She closed her eyes momentarily, trying to ignore his façade of ambivalence – she knew that expressing himself and opening up was difficult for him, but every time she conceded to his request to forget the past, she felt like she was losing a piece of herself.
I don't want to wake up one day in the future and think that staying with you meant deserting me.
sSs
Her throat closed, accompanied by an ache that burned at her heart and clawed at her soul. She swallowed her tears away and let out a wavering sigh.
"What I mean is – it always boils down to this discussion, no matter what we are arguing about to start with –"
He made an impatient sound in the back of his throat. "Well, if you would just leave well enough alone –"
"I can't," she said, shaking her head, knotted curls flying. "I've tried, really, I have, but I need more than intellectual conversation and great sex and I love yous."
sSs
Severus shifted in his chair, clenching his hands into fists, his knuckles cracking in the stilted silence. "What more do you want?" What more is there, his stiffened posture seemed to say.
It broke her heart just a little that he thought that this was as good as it could be.
After yesterday's revelations, she understood a little better why he had no idea that another person could make his soul whole again.
"It's not what I want," she said softly. He was always so suspicious of any gesture or action that had no motive of inherent selfishness behind it.
sSs
"Then what is it?" he snapped, leaning forward in his chair suddenly. She gazed up for the first time in several minutes, her eyes shimmering with tears.
"It's what I want to give you, Severus," she said, feeling a lone tear slide hotly down her cheek, tickling at her jaw line for a moment before she wiped it away.
"I'll give you countless amounts of outright acceptance … you can share your so-called shame filled accounts of times in your life and I won't judge it. You just have to trust me. I need you to trust me, so badly."
sSs
He dropped his head, breaking an agonising moment in which he gazed at her, his eyes seeming to search her face for some hint of insincerity, some trick to her words.
His long black hair fell forward across his face, and once again, Hermione felt shut out of anything that he might be thinking.
Another unwanted tear fell. She made to stand, pushing against the sofa with her hands – she'd been determined to save them, hell or high water … but now, her love was encouraging her to leave.
She couldn't take this hurt – she had to save her heart.
sSs
She waited a heartbeat for him to ask her to stay, but his head remained bowed. The ache in her heart intensified; her decision vindicated.
She reached for her wand on the coffee table, intent on Apparating to a place where she could cry - cry for the potential that she could see in them, mourn for that which he was blind to.
With his customary grace of movement, he rose swiftly, silently, and her wrist was grasped in a vice-grip just as her fingers brushed the polished wood of her wand.
His fingers dug into her skin almost painfully.
"Wait."
sSs
She closed her questing fingers on empty air, and twisted her wrist uncomfortably against his bony fingers; his grip loosened slightly, but still he held onto her, refusing to let her leave.
She turned surprised eyes to his; now a hand's-breadth from hers. Emotion – something barely ever seen in his face out of the bedroom – burned and flickered on myriad shifting levels; the opaque shutter to his soul thrown open in that moment.
Her patience stretched back elastically from its breaking point, made malleable now in the face of this change.
"What?" she asked softly, standing up to face him.
sSs
Severus swallowed, and Hermione watched the slide of his adam's apple as he tilted his head backwards, closing his eyes for a moment. To steel himself for what came next, or in gratitude that she stood waiting, who knew?
Finally, he levelled his gaze on her again, and seemed to taste each word before he spoke it. Hermione realised that he must be forcing himself to do this, against his natural instincts, and she felt a wave of guilt warring with curiosity and relief.
"You must realise … that I do not trust easily – and the events of yesterday –"
sSs
Hermione dropped her head in shame, realising the implication of what he was saying before the words were spoken.
"– do not help to reassure me that my trust in you is merited or even appreciated, Hermione." A long pause lingered between them, then. "I realise that my own reticence to speak of … things was perhaps a mitigating factor."
Hermione nodded. Finally, he saw where she'd been coming from!
His fingers were curled around her wrist now, just a simple touch that kept them tenuously connected. She wondered what he was going to say, however, to change anything now.
sSs
"I have trusted but three people in my lifetime, Hermione -"
Unspoken disappointment lingered in his voice – of trust broken by each in some different, crushing way ... Damien Prince, Dumbledore, and now her.
She didn't have enough fingers to count the people who she trusted implicitly in the wizarding world alone … Severus, Harry, Ron, Arthur, Molly, Tonks, Remus, Bill, Viktor, Charlie, Neville, Luna … and the list was incomplete still in her mind.
Merlin, how … heartbreaking to have so little faith in people.
How could she turn her back on the chance to give him renewed faith?
sSs
There was another long silence between them, one that asked if there was still hope, or if the inevitable was being delayed.
"You need to trust me, too, Hermione –"
"I do … I was the only one during the war who –"
"I know." There was warmth in his gaze for a fleeting moment; in that instant she believed that he truly loved her.
"You need to trust me – trust that I will eventually have the courage speak of my past."
"I –" She hesitated. What if this was just a subtly manipulative way to get her to stay?
sSs
It was a rhetorical question, her mind supplied an instant later – Severus was manipulative by nature; expecting that to change would be like expecting the Gringotts goblins to pay interest on her Galleons, or expecting the Ministry to free house-elves – all wonderful concepts, but so inexorably cemented in the nature of the wizarding world, that it was fruitless trying to change them.
"– do trust you," she finished in a rush of exhaled air; his relieved breath hissed past his lips in the next instant.
"I just can't promise patience." It was her intrinsic nature that he'd have to accept.
sSs
"I wouldn't expect you to start now," he said dryly, his fingertips gliding up her lower arm to curl at her elbow.
When had he moved to stand so close, she wondered, when he'd felt worlds away just seconds ago. The light touch felt more intimate than any that had passed between them before.
The moment was tentatively peaceful, and although he'd said nothing to diminish her curiosity, she was placated by the openness to his gaze, the silent air of compromise that seemed to linger, sparkling with promise.
The earthy scent of after-rain promise drifted on the morning breeze.
sSs
"So, what now?" she asked softly. It felt like they'd solved nothing and everything, all at once, and Hermione felt suspended in time, standing face to face with a man she'd known for years, and only seconds.
It had taken the threat of her leaving forever to bring them to this moment – did this mark the entrance to another cyclic, endless struggle against each other, or the beginning of something brand new?
There was no way of knowing – it was a choice between trusting Severus, and leaving; living with the what-if of unfulfilled potential and a life path unlived, unexplored.
sSs
His hand moved to link her fingers with his, and he tugged slightly, guiding them to sit on the couch where she'd spent the longest night of her life, reliving each cautionary word and sceptical look of disbelief in the face of her relationship with the redeemed, older wizard.
"I think, first," he drawled, "that all promises should be sealed with a kiss." That sinfully low voice held promise of an entirely different kind.
He turned and cupped her cheek with long, elegant fingers, his thumb brushing at her jaw line as brushed his lips softly with his, once, twice.
sSs
Subconsciously, she leant forward towards him, a soft sound of protest escaping from the back of her throat as he leant back again.
The tenderness in his touch was new and wholly unexpected … and with startling clarity, her head knew what her heart wanted – she had to take a chance at this promised life, despite the challenges that they faced.
He read her decision in her eyes, and the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled.
"You really have to stop doing that, too, you know."
His laughter, rusty and unused, had never sounded more beautiful to her.
All hail Alanis Morissette Queen of Angst for these lyrics:
That Particular Time
... Staying with you meant deserting me.
You Owe Me Nothing In Return
I'll give you countless amounts of outright acceptance …
You can share your so-called shame filled accounts of times in your life and I won't judge it.