Chapter 28
"Um—there's a man at the door who wants to see you," she said, hanging halfway inside the room at the threshold. He seemed to be rummaging through a cardboard carton on the floor. His shirt was buttoned halfway up to his chest and it seemed like she had disturbed him at an inopportune moment.
He turned with a raised eyebrow.
"What's his name?"
"I didn't ask."
He seemed to consider for a moment and then drew up, fixing his buttons.
She threw the door wide open, taking in the view of his room. It was the first time she had set foot in there and for first impressions, it was a sad sight as compared to the rest of the house. It was bare and unadorned, a simple bed lay in the middle with a new mattress and patchwork quilt, the windows on either side of the panelled wall had no curtains and the only other piece of furniture in the room was a small coffee-table.
"I'll be right back."
He passed by her and she was left staring at the gloomy interiors.
A brief reflection from the carton drew her attention and she went to look. Inside was an odd assortment of objects; the reflecting object had been a silver mirror with golden carvings around the edges, there was a pair of butterfly clips studded with colourful stones, a small manuscript of sorts that looked like it would crumble to dust if she laid hands on it and in one corner was a pretty hand-crafted, golden necklace inlaid with a large sapphire in a round frame—it was attached to a very fine chain twisted delicately, at equal intervals, and the clasp that held together the two ends of the chain was a simple, plain square with an engraved letter 'E'.
"It belonged to my mother."
She turned, surprised that he had returned so soon and a little ashamed that she had been caught snooping through his things.
The necklace dangled by the tip of her two fingers, shimmering innocently.
"I-I was just," she began sheepishly, intending to make an excuse for her trespass but thought better of it, "I shouldn't have gone through your things, I'm sorry."
He raised an innocent eyebrow, a thin smile quirking about his lips, and retrieved the silver mirror she had noticed before.
"All of these are her things—I intend to store them in the basement." He turned the mirror over in his hands, rubbing its foggy surface with his thumb. "She was especially fond of this hand mirror. It belonged to my great grandmother Elvira Prince. She was—very well known for her beauty, a famous stage actress of her time—my mother was very close to her in her later years."
He picked up an azure brooch, scratching over its serpentine carving idly.
"And this was her mother's- it's an heirloom, she always said, and it might well be—I, however, don't believe that it has any sort of enchantments, at least none that I care to find out about or would be of any use to me."
He tossed it back into the box while Hermione stood clutching the necklace stupidly, quite interested in the one-way conversation he seemed to be having with her.
He sighed, running his fingers over the butterfly clip softly.
"You're welcome to keep the necklace if you want, along with any of the other trinkets here—just don't lose them."
Only now did she realise that she was holding the necklace quite close to her heart and it probably looked like she wanted it.
"What—no, I don't want it—I mean I was just looking—it's very pretty and all but I—I wasn't—" she stuttered, uncoiling the necklace chain from her fingers quickly.
Severus watched in amusement whilst she fumbled, taking a long time to disentangle the chain from her fingers, and chuckled when she pushed it into his larger palm.
He shook his head slightly, his obsidian eyes growing darker and more intense, and he returned the necklace to her.
"Keep it." He covered her hand with his, squeezing it slightly. "It would suit you well."
He turned away, using a duct-tape to seal the box, and cut the rest with his teeth.
Hermione stood in uncertainty for a while, waiting for him to say 'boo' and snatch it away but nothing of the sort happened. After a while, she pocketed the necklace just as Snape finished packing the box.
"I don't mean to pry—" she sat on the edge of the bed and looked out of the window, "—were you close to her?"
"Sometimes," he said and flicked his wand, sending the box zooming out of the doorway. "She wasn't what one would call amiable but she was nice in her own way; a woman of few words is what most people called her and it was true too—she spoke less and worked more, all the time—"
Hermione was surprised to find him so receptive to her questions; they must have been uncomfortable for him, at the very least.
Very uncharacteristic of him, she thought and watched as he went to stand by the window, gazing out absently.
"She had an unhappy marriage, unkind and isolated—" he murmured quietly and the mild tenors in his voice were further evidence of how deeply it mattered to him, the matter of his family, and she felt a part of her heart reach out to him.
"I'm sorry," Hermione said and meant it.
He turned his head and glanced sideways.
"Are you really?"
She nodded. "We have first-hand experience of it, don't we? After all this, it's hard not to sympathise with those who—"
She didn't finish her sentence, for Severus's face darkened and his scowl became prominent, his eyes no longer seemingly alive—his lips parted to a small crack and she saw a nerve twitch in his temple.
Okay, time to go.
She shrugged. "I think I should go." She stopped at the doorway and looked back."I got the mail from local post office, Harry left for the burrow last night so he asked me to get it. It's in the study."
He didn't answer, choosing to look out of the window once again, and she closed the door behind her.
She ran her fingers over the smooth keys of the piano, remembering wistfully.
Her mother would play waltz pieces during summer holidays, sitting with her dad who would sing—he had a lovely voice, and Hermione would try and dance with her imaginary friend—she was only a child and had an active imagination, and some of her best memories with her parents had been the ones in their drawing room, sitting around, dancing, laughing, merrymaking...
It was a baby grand piano that lay idly in the corner of the drawing room.
Severus sat at the table, penning a letter to someone, she had enquired about the recipient but he had simply 'hmph'ed at her, declining to comment.
That had been rude, especially since he had followed her to the drawing room when she had decided to spend the day doing absolutely nothing.
Or something like it.
Well.
"Hermione."
"Yeah."
"We have to return to Hogwarts as soon as possible."
She cringed inwardly.
"Why? I mean—weren't the classes cancelled and the students sent home?"
He put down his quill and folded the parchment into half its size.
"Only for a little while," he said. "The ministry has declared it safe to resume the school term—the students will have arrived by today evening and Minerva expects me to be there latest by tomorrow afternoon."
"Is that who you're writing to?" she asked, curiously. "Is Harry going too? I don't really want to go—I'd rather stay back if it's all the same."
He seemed a bit taken aback but a moment later; he crossed his arms and fixed her with a level look.
"You're not well, even though you may believe so, and your arm needs trea
tment. Do you really wish to mope around in this house with no one for company? I won't have it."
She stared at him with an open mouthed expression that made her look like a fish.
"I don't want to go back, especially now—what do you mean you won't have it?" she snapped.
He closed his eyes and shook his head.
"I don't want you running away from things, Hermione—don't misunderstand my intentions," he said quietly, holding her gaze. "I have to go back, Potter's going back too—leaving you all alone here isn't an option and even if it were, it would only be a temporary solution to your problems."
He shoulders dropped and she lowered her head, holding it in her hands.
"I'm just so tired and I want to rest, away from it all," she said in a small voice. "I just want to be alone."
She closed her eyes, feeling the rich satin of her palms against her eyelids while the world stayed quiet, so quiet that she was afraid to make a sound and it was as if his presence was no longer an element in her consciousness—she sniffed loudly.
"Hermione, look at me."
His voice was closer and she realised that he had shifted to the armchair right next to her. She raised her head, her lips still pressed and her features broken in a frown.
"Running away from problems makes them worse—isolation is never a good option." He cracked a sad smile. "And I believe you should prepare and sit for the written tests, at the very least—we can deal with the practical assessments later."
Written tests?
He knew?
But she hadn't told him; she hadn't told anyone—how could he—?
"How did you know?" she asked, feeling a headache coming up. She decided to take a nap as soon as the conversation was finished.
"I had my suspicions."
A small nerve ticked in his jaw.
She ran a hand through her hair, holding it back in her hands.
"Is there a cure—I mean, I know that it isn't a disease but—"
"No."
She swallowed.
"I think I'll go take a nap. I feel a headache coming up."
She started to leave but he his fingers curled around her wrist and stopped her—he was staring up at her clouded face in concern.
It seemed like he was struggling within, wanting to say something and the words lingered on the edge of his tongue but he seemed to change his mind midway and let her fingers slide away from his hand.
The evening was significantly colder that day. She decided to wear her sweatshirt before going down to the kitchen. Harry wasn't going to join them for dinner so it would be just the two of them, Severus and her. She folded her quilt and laid it at the bottom of her bed, looking up when a brief knock sounded at her door.
"Could I speak to you for a second?"
She straightened, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
"Yeah."
He closed the door behind him but took no further steps towards her. His arms were folded behind his back.
"I have reservations at a local restaurant—it would save you the trouble of cooking and definitely be a nice change. It isn't a compulsion and it is entirely up to you, feel free to refuse."
"Oh, um..." She rubbed the end of her nose. "I guess we could go out, I suppose—what time?"
He seemed a little pleased at her acceptance, she noted, but it might just have been her head playing tricks on her. He had seemed to be acting so differently around her that she found it hard to believe at times and she was almost certain that her head had suffered some kind of damage back in the cave.
"I believe that the earlier we go, the better it would be," he informed her. "Whenever you're ready, please come down to the study—I have some business to take care of and I shall be able to dispose of it in an hour."
An hour should be enough.
She nodded and bit her lip.
"Is it fancy?"
"What?"
"I mean—should I dress up or something or would casual do? I don't really feel like getting ready tonight—"
"Whatever pleases you would be just fine."
A brief pause.
Her eyes trailed down to her injured hand—it was slightly discoloured still, no longer black thanks to the potion he had brewed her, but she was still touchy about the light purple hue clinging to her skin.
The door creaked to a close and she stared at the pillow-cover moodily.
He walked slowly, taking measured steps so that she could keep up with him.
She had let her hair loose, open and falling in lovely cascades down her back—her cheeks had a brilliant pinkish tinge and her eyes brown eyes sparkled from exertion. He himself had put on a pair of unassuming black pants and a navy blue shirt, having taken care to tie his hair behind his head and not to sound vain, but he had even ventured to spray generous amounts of perfume all over his person.
It wasn't like him to be conscious—he generally kept off such ridiculous displays and was content to be himself in every situation for he had lived with himself for too long and he had always been satisfied—but tonight was different, he knew it was different because he could feel his nerves tingle slightly and there was this air of hitherto unfamiliar anticipation that he hadn't experienced in a long while.
The restaurant was just around the corner and it hardly took ten minutes of silent walk through the thinly spread snow to reach it.
There was no doorman at the gate so he stepped up and held the door open for her.
Another five minutes of consultation at the reception, during which time Hermione patiently waited at his side, and the host seated them at a table which was close to the window, overlooking the lake. The interior was dim and secluded—it was pleasant enough, bearing a slight resemblance to the 70s, and he was grateful that their seats had enough privacy from the general crowd.
Hermione took off her coat and it looked like she had taken pains to dress herself up.
His eyes lingered for a few moments on the nicely cut, knee length, brown dress that she had donned—the sequins stood out on the hem and the plunging v-cut neckline was a little deep for his tastes but it looked lovely, nevertheless. He took his eyes off her, realising that he had been staring, and wondered if he should compliment her. He wanted to, there was no doubt about that in his mind, but he was uncertain about how she would receive it.
She stole the moment from under his extended her nose, however, at the exact same time when he was ready to tell her that she looked nice.
"It's a nice restaurant, kind of beats my expectations," she commented, looking around her. "I didn't expect the village would have places like these."
He wrapped up the words in head, choosing to look nonchalant instead and gave her a short nod in acknowledgement.
Their waitress was a short, pink-cheeked woman dressed in too many bright colours and it hurt his eyes to look at her but Hermione cracked a smile as soon as she arrived.
"Good evening," she said, retrieving a pen from behind her ear and took the writing pad out of her pocket. "Our specials tonight are—wait a second, aren't you Severus Snape? The Professor at Hogwarts?"
Ah, this again.
"Yes I am," he said curtly, forcefully scanning the menu he had already checked, and hoped that she would take a hint. "I think I would like White Corn and Maine Lobster and my wife would—"
"This is so exciting; I read all about you in the Daily Prophet and I might be just a waitress but I keep up with the local news and whatnot—the manner in which some people reacted to your acquittal was absolutely disgraceful in my opinion—"
He gnashed his teeth, holding the spoon in his hand a little too tightly.
"And you're Hermione," she said, her voice growing louder in excitement. "It is a great pleasure to see you all right—you look so young and I have to tell you that your dress looks wonderful."
There went his line, Severus made a face internally. He was supposed to tell his wife how beautiful she looked, not some silly waitress at a restaurant.
Wait a minute, was she still talking?
Hermione seemed not to mind it though, and she even answered a few personal questions freely—this was probably the only reason why he didn't put a stop to her chatter and take her to task for wasting their time.
It was a whole ten minutes before their order was noted and the waitress zoomed away, most probably kitchen ward, and he really pitied her colleagues.
"So—um—you look nice," he said quietly, hitting himself on the head with a metaphorical bat. She looked surprised but seemed to take his compliment well and uttered a sincere 'thank you'.
That made him feel more at ease than all the other things combined—maybe it won't be a disaster after all.
"Annie said that that lady over there, the one with a piano and all those instruments, is a very accomplished singer and we're in for a treat," Hermione commented after a while, and Severus noted that she looked healthier and more composed than she had in weeks.
"Who's Annie?" he asked curiously.
Had he missed something?
"The waitress who took our order."
"The irritable bug has a name," he commented dryly, taking a sip of some ridiculously expensive wine that had only just been served to them. "Impressive."
"What's impressive?"
"That she has a name."
"Why?"
He shrugged.
"I wouldn't expect the parents of such a progeny to have much wit about them, let alone have the common sense enough to name their child."
Hermione, who seemed surprised at first, let out a soft chuckle.
"You're not seriously implying that intelligence is hereditary."
"I very much subscribe to the philosophy, my dear little lady."
She tilted her head sideways, and he thought she was enjoying this playful banter with him.
"In fact, I believe that people should procreate on the basis of intelligence rather than love and all the other ridiculous things this society dreams of," he continued and surveyed the crowd in the room. "It would save our world heaps of mediocrity and dunderheadedness."
She said nothing, choosing to be interested in the hem of her dress suddenly.
At this exact moment, the lady she had pointed at started singing.
I don't know my love for you, darling, but I know I wouldn't survive a day without you...
She did have a lovely voice, Severus conceded, taking his eyes off her and noticing another couple seated at some distance.
"Like that poorly matched couple over there," he drew Hermione's attention towards them. "They're breaking up—something about a ruined shirt or a dog—"
Hermione, who was enjoying her dinner, looked up in surprise, only just noticing the couple.
"How do you know?"
"Guess?"
"Legilimency?"
"Indeed."
She wiped her mouth and looked around.
"I could never get the hang of it. I tried hard, of course, but without an actual teacher to guide me, it was nearly impossible."
He smiled shortly at her admission and ate his lobster in silence.
I never imagined my love to be so beautiful and glorious, like the moon, dancing about in the stars,
But you, my dearest, are all that I imagined and more, for as long as I dreamed...
Suddenly, the couple in distress stood up, both at the same time, and the girl slapped the man hard, who staggered but held onto his chair for support while she shouted profanities at him. It was quite a commotion for a few minutes before the manager guided them away from the main area to somewhere more secluded and he could resume his dinner in peace.
"That was unfortunate," Hermione said softly, looking at the table.
"Not really, no." He took a large bite from the plate and wiped his mouth. "It's quite fortunate for the girl; the man was unfaithful her and held no real regard for her. If anything, it's good riddance for her."
"How do you know all that?"
"The man reeks of ill will and his thoughts were unguarded, flying all over the place," he said. "But enough about them—you seem distracted, is everything alright?"
She nodded, not quite meeting his eyes.
"I've been thinking—I-I was considering getting my own place, if possible, after you move leave for Hogwarts and maybe—"
"No."
"But I—"
"No."
"Why not?"
He was feeling torn between the desire to make a scathing comment that might cut her in half and the other desire to hold her hand in desperation, refusing to let her go.
"I want—you to come with me."
That one sentence took all the strength of will and character he possessed, and it probably came out all wrong, judging from her narrowed eyed and pressed lips and he sighed mentally.
"After everything that happened, has happened, why do you think that that would be good idea?" She looked down and he assumed that she was surveying her lap for some inexplicable reason. "This marriage was a disaster for both of us—and after you and her, I just—"
He opened his mouth several times and shut it, at a loss for words.
"It will be as you desire, Hermione, but you must know that nothing of the kind transpired between Fiona and me," he finally said, frowning. "I admit to having an occasional affair with her a few years ago, and she did harbour some sort of infatuation for me over the years but I have not betrayed you as a husband and nor will I—the brief moment of lapse which you witnessed occurred due to her intoxication and my own unawareness at the time of her designs. I realise that I never sought your apology for the same but I do so now, intently hoping that it isn't too late to make amends."
If her round, tear-filled eyes were any evidence that she still held some kind of regard for him in her heart, then he supposed that he had enough of it. Her lips trembled and she swallowed, wiping the small beads of salty water off her chin quickly.
She didn't say anything, however, and he was left wondering.
A sneaky thought occurred to him that he might question her about the relationship with Stern but a wiser part of his mind told him to shut up and finish his wine.
He couldn't lose her over this, not again.
"I'm sorry too, for everything I suppose," she said finally, reaching composure. "This has been a terrible year so far—and it keeps getting worse."
Her voice broke off and he felt compelled to reach out for her hand once more, surrounding her healing fingers with the warmth of his grasp, and he noted when they trembled a little at his touch.
It was time to go home.
He signalled for the cheque and helped her put on her coat, all this while very aware of the fact that several people had recognised them by then. He steered her away from prying eyes, glaring at a young man who was eyeing Hermione's neckline with an open-mouthed expression.
It was only going to be a ten minute walk but his thoughts were rattled and everything seemed different—it was like a great wall of ice between them had broken and they were fighting the deluge.
Together.
She walked with huddled shoulders, her face drawn in a frown and her eyes fixed on the sidewalk.
When they reached the house, it was with a feeling of emptiness that he opened the lock, shutting the door behind him silently and heard her footsteps ascending the staircase. He decided to sleep too; he had an early journey to make the next day and it was best to not be late.
He was, however, surprised to find her standing on the landing. She was expecting something from him, what, he didn't know.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose, confused.
"Your room is very unwelcoming, I noticed," she said softly, fumbling with the end of her dress.
"I haven't had the time to furnish it." He said, running his finger over his lips. "I am not a man of many needs, Hermione, and I find that quite comforting."
Again, she looked at him expectantly, biting her lips.
When he didn't say anything, he decided to end the awkward silence and bid her 'good night'.
She seemed put out at the prospect of an abrupt departure but nodded at him and in one fleeting moment of surprising tenderness, he found her pecking his cheek besides bidding him a good night in return.
Oh.
"Hermione."
He stopped her before she turned the knob of her door.
"Do you want to come with me to Hogwarts tomorrow? I would—appreciate it greatly."
Her eyes lit up in a strange stroke of warmth and he found himself oddly intrigued.
"Yes." She smiled at him, turning the knob with her hand hidden behind her back. "Yes I would."
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