A/N- Okay, I caved and fired up a new pot of coffee, so we're gonna be posting for at least one more chapter. Don't even pretend I'm not depraved. Embrace it. I know I do. This chapter is a bit lighter.
Snow
Of Gold and Steel
Chapter Twenty Nine
The envelope mocked her. The spidery handwriting, so precise and militaristic in its precision was unmistakable. Sara's heart leapt in her chest at the sight of it. She stared at the handwriting, her fingers moving to snatch the envelope from the desk's surface. She'd been saving it all day, savoring the anticipation of the words written within. Outside, rain battered against the window, and on the desk, her university issue swill that passed for coffee steamed. May had always been her favorite month, the torrential downpours of April often bled over into May, and she loved rain. Her gaze flicked to the window for a moment as she caught herself holding the envelope to her nose, then snorted. She was turning into a lovestruck fool. Inside her, annoyance blossomed, and a headache began to edge in. It wasn't her own, yet it turned her world on tail. On glance at the clock told her it was almost dinner time where he was. No wonder he was annoyed. He had to be surrounded by teenagers.
Sara carefully broke the seal on the envelope and pulled the letter out. It was almost a full page this time, a declaration of love indeed, when one was talking about the snarkiest man in all of Britain. Valentine's day and the few days that followed had changed something, yet again, in the ever mercurial and tenuous marriage. It felt, almost real. The baby pegged her in the ribs and she winced, glaring down toward her abdomen as she spoke aloud, sternly. "Just hold your horses, I'll read it to you when I'm done. My turn first, brat."
Her gaze lowered to the page as she leaned back into the chair, attempting to get comfortable, the curious sensation of contentment unfurling inside her now as whatever was going on in Scotland apparently calmed, along with her Kel.
I hate teaching. Have I ever mentioned that? Nothing but idiots, I swear. I walked into my classroom this morning to find my entire desk littered with feathers and bird droppings, and of course no one knew anything about it.
She smirked lightly as she reached for her coffee. Good for them for giving him hell.
Madam Pomfrey has asked me to remind you that you are due to brew another batch of the prenatal potions next week. She has advised me against trying to send them via owl and reminded me (as if I need reminding) that to use muggle post is a bad idea. I, of course, have already taken care of this for you. Expect delivery via UPS sometime this week.
You need a new owl, Sara. Roger overshot my chair at the breakfast table this morning and rebounded off a wall. Be thankful that Hagrid moves fast for such a large fellow, else I fear your bird might have suffered a concussion. As it was, he spent the rest of the morning following me and narrowly missed shitting on Potter's head. Literally missed by a half-inch. Pity.
She nearly choked on her coffee as she lowered the cup to the able, her lips twitching at the thought. She didn't care much for the Potter kid, but tried to reserve judgment. Teenage boys had a way of being wretched simply because of age. She read on.
I have been asked to give you regards from Molly and Arthur Weasley, and their congratulations. After the initial shock of the revelations that Lucius revealed to her in a fit of rage after you left, Narcissa has assured me that Draco will not repeat such actions and has asked me to send you her kindest regards and apologies. Frankly, Draco Malfoy is an annoying little shit, and you should have hexed him a few more time just on principle.
Where the hell had he gotten a sense of humor in the past month since his last letter. Sara buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking for a moment before she managed to sober enough to read on. However the words she read tempered her joy with worry instantly.
Things are growing darker by the day, and I find myself wondering if it was all some kind of dream, Sara. What have you done to me, that I find myself waking up and reaching for you, only to find you are not there. It feels as if a part of me is missing. And I hate it.
The letter was unsigned, and in an instant, anxiety unfurled within her, cocooned and wrapped in hesitance. Sara folded the letter neatly and tucked it back into the envelope. It was his anxiety. She glanced toward the clock, then toward the door. Her second class of the day would be arriving soon. She let her eyes fall closed for a moment, her hand resting on her belly, still unused to it, and still awkward about it. She was just over halfway there, and still uncertainty loomed.
Sara reached for the binder on the desk in front of her, grabbing a bic pen from the jar uncapped it and began to write.
Severus glanced up at the N.E.W.T students who were bowed over their texts, busy working on the essay he'd assigned. A soft cooing caught his attention at the open doorway. Roger appeared, looking more haggard than he'd seen in some time. It was astonishing the poor animal hadn't dropped dead yet. The owl zinged past his head, as he barreled rolled and bounced off the column behind Severus with an affectionate coo and an explosion of feathers so large Severus was stunned the beast had any left. The envelope floated to his desk to land neatly atop it and Snape cocked his head for a moment, listening to see if the bird had survived. To his astonishment, Roger trilled as he shot right back up and promptly got tangled in the chandelier. Suicidal bloody git.
Snape ignored the snickers and gave a stern glare toward the class. The students settled immediately, a few red faces in the front row, and he opened the envelope. It was his one guilty pleasure. He stopped whatever he was doing, any time the deranged fowl appeared with something for him. It had become the one beacon of light in the dark, quickly narrowing world. Even just the sight of her handwriting soothed him. His ribs ached. Why the bloody hell did his ribs ache constantly these days?
Severus,
Don't give Roger such a hard time. He likes you. Yesterday, I came home to find that he'd drug your black turtleneck from my bed and managed to worm his way inside it. Don't laugh, yes, I sleep with your sweater. I know you're smiling… on the inside.
Indeed he did smile at that, and yet again, warmth flared in his chest, chasing away the cold. June in Scotland was still freezing. But then it was bloody Scotland. It was always fucking freezing. A ghost of a smile passed over his face as the neat handwriting leapt from the page once more.
I had a visit with my obstetrician yesterday. She assured me that the butterbean is fine, healthy and growing normally.
The mention of the child brought a new, strange ache to his chest. He wondered for a moment, what Sara looked like now. He made a mental note to ask her to enclose a snapshot in her next letter, if he was alive to receive it. The coming weeks loomed over him, the knowledge of the imparted task hanging over his head as if it were his own death. He shook his head and turned his eyes downward once more.
I was glad to find that you had suddenly grown a sense of humor over the last few weeks, wherever did that come from? It did my heart good, Severus, to see that your spirit is still intact, despite the darkness you wrote about. I would write some flowery words here, but frankly, it's late, and I'm completely tired. Your daughter seems to like to do somersaults at four am. She has to get that from you. I will see you soon, Severus.
All my heart,
Sara
His fingers traced her name before folding the letter once more and lifting the envelope, opening it to tucked it back inside. The corner of another, thinner piece of paper caught his eye. He furrowed his brow curiously before drawing it out and peering at it. At first glance, it appeared to be nothing more than a gray shadow on a black background. On closer inspection, Sara's precise handwriting had tagged a chunk of the blob with an arrow. 'Heart' it said. Another blob was tagged 'head'. And still another 'bum'. Snape's heart stopped cold as the blobs took on a new form. In that moment, he realized, it was no longer an abstract concept. It was real. She was real. He murmured the word softly, or so he thought. "Hope."
The students glanced up and he realized he'd been heard. He stared around himself for a moment before rising from his chair swiftly. "Class is dismissed. Get out of my sight." He fixed them with the surliest glare he could manage, even as he gripped the little picture tighter in his hand, struck by the strangest urge to go and find Minerva and show off the photograph of his little blob.
