Hermione and Severus strolled side by side down the path, away from the castle and towards the forest. They were a bit tired but wanted to enjoy the beautiful weather, the shining sun and clear skies so rare in the Scottish Highlands even in the summer. The students and most of the staff were gone and everything seemed strangely quiet, almost abandoned. They felt isolated from the entire world, as though the forest and the mountains and the lake before them were theirs and theirs alone.
The weather was so hot that Severus had left his cloak, jacket, and necktie in their chambers and rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt to the elbow, his top few buttons undone. Hermione wore a short pale blue dress and sandals, her wavy hair tied up off her shoulders. It almost felt like they were on holiday, all but for the tinge of sadness that clouded her expression when she thought he wasn't watching, the way her gaze went to her feet instead of the beautiful skies.
She seemed a bit better today, he thought, but it was difficult to tell. Her mood was ever-changing, and he could not blame her. He only wished there was something he could do to assuage her sadness, her fears.
It had not always been like this. Their first years together had been all too easy, all too enjoyable. He had never had someone to love like this, someone who caused everything she touched in his life to turn to gold. The feeling was incomparable. And it was still this way, even now, but her characteristic joy and levity had slowly been sapped away from her because of her own misplaced feelings of failure. It hurt him deeply to see it, and yet it could be nothing compared to her pain.
When they had married, she made it clear to him that she wanted to become something that he had no intention of ever being - a parent. He had refused to consider it in any serious way, the thought ludicrous to him. Severus Snape, a father? Whatever a parent was, he simply wasn't. He knew himself capable of many things, but of this... how could she imagine it? Surely, this was optimism bordering on absurdity. In any case, he had been fully content with his life - their life - as it was.
But then it had gnawed at him. Who was he to prevent her from this insistent desire of hers? They were partners; they had to learn what could be compromised, and accept what could not. And she was unwavering on this. He thought of having a child with her - her - and what a thing it would be. Was it really so easy, to lie together and not so many months later hold a baby - half her, half him - in their arms? He thought of the intensity and variety of the emotions she made him feel, and wondered how a baby would change that. Surely, there was no room left for anyone else. He did not imagine he had much left to give.
He eventually had assented. Hermione had been blissfully excited. He had feverishly read everything he could find on childbirth and development, anticipating that there was only so much time to prepare. Nine months seemed hardly any time at all. He learned the black and white details, at what age a child should begin to crawl, to walk, to speak, and it began to feel like a reality that he could start to anticipate. He had, with trepidation, almost been looking forward to it. Would theirs follow the same pattern, seemingly so prescriptive, so regimented? By four months, doing this. By six months, doing that. What would they look like? What would their personality be? How had his own mother managed this? How had anyone?
It had at first been fun when they had begun trying, boundlessly joyous for Hermione at the thought of what they were doing, their love no longer simply expressive but now purposeful. It gave everything a whole new meaning. Then when a few months had passed without any development it became clinical, experimental, as though she needed to figure out what they were doing incorrectly. When it didn't seem as though any combination of positions or tilting of hips or knowledge of cycles made any difference, she felt hopeless. Her mood had swiftly changed from one extreme to the other, and although he did not think she blamed him, he still felt guilty. He did not know what to do. There were fertility potions they could brew, but neither had experience with them, and they were expensive and could be risky to her health. They did not want to turn to them unless necessary.
Recently, their love-making had lost its charm, simply exhausting and fraught with the feeling of dismay. They had taken a break from it, Hermione wanting to sort out her thoughts, saddened that she had caused this wonderful thing to become difficult, frustrated and angry that nothing made any difference. Severus only wanted her to be happy again.
She thought that there must be something the matter, some deeper issue. She assumed that something was inherently flawed within her. Was it her lack of magical blood, and incompatibility with Severus's, that prevented a child from taking? She did not think this was really the case - Severus himself had had a Muggle father. The curse that Dolohov had cast in the Department of Mysteries, which left a scar across her middle - had it left a less visible injury, one inside of her? This was a more likely possibility. Or, was it an effect from any number of curses suffered, or potions consumed, or unknown magic delved into that could have done some irreparable damage? The Polyjuice potion gone wrong. The petrification from the Basilisk. The Time-Turner. These thoughts ran round and round in her head, unceasing, unanswerable.
Severus, on the other hand, felt the blame could only be his. It was the only thing that made any sense. It was just like him, he thought, that try as he might, he could not give her what she really wanted.
It had been over a year, he realized, his heart sinking a little. More than a year since they began trying. A long period of frustration, of Hermione not being her normal happy herself, of Severus feeling helpless. It had certainly taken its toll on them, individually and together. He looked at her now, noticing her withdrawn expression, and wished that it was not this way.
Hermione, her hands moving to sit in the pockets of her dress, was preoccupied with similar thoughts. They swirled through her mind and she struggled to grasp them, to hold onto them, for more than a moment before they drifted away. It was not just her mind but her body that had recently begun to feel insubstantial and disjointed, as though it was simply an empty frame. It certainly seemed that way. She could not imagine that her stomach, which no longer felt much hunger, still lay within her, that her heart beat as strongly as it used to, or even at all. She felt so fragile, as though a strong wind could send her to her knees and she might never be able to get back up again. Even to work up the strength to leave the castle this afternoon had been a struggle, despite knowing that it would make her feel better. She didn't know if she thought she deserved to feel better.
They walked past Hagrid's hut, the doors and windows shut tight. He was likely out in the forest on a day like today. She had not visited him recently; perhaps they would see him on the grounds.
She realized that she had not made much time for anyone recently. End of term was always busy for Severus, and she had allowed herself to become so preoccupied with work that they had not spent much time together in the past month. This was the first occasion they had been in each other's company where neither was brewing potions or marking essays in quite a while. It felt nice - life seemed so lonely without him.
They entered the forest and felt the temperature drop in the shade. They walked together in silence along well-defined animal trails, listening to the buzz of the insects high in the trees. A small group of Thestrals sat in a clearing they approached on their right, the creatures' heads turning to watch the couple before they moved slightly away from them. One stretched out its bat-like wings, flapping them and snorting quietly, signaling that he had seen them before rearranging his wings against his sides.
They watched the Thestrals for a few moments longer, taking in their eerie yet elegant form, before Hermione's hand found Severus's. She tugged it and led him forward along the path. He almost blushed, embarrassed that little things such as her seeking his hand caused such a strong fondness to bloom in his stomach, as though he were a young, unblemished man once again. She could almost make him believe it.
They avoided the stinging nettles as they walked along, minding their footing as they navigated over the roots strewn across the path. They listened to the warblers singing deep in the brambles and noticed a nuthatch high in a pine tree tapping away. They found a bush of honeysuckle and stood beside it for a little while, Hermione showing him how to pinch off the bottom of the flower to taste the droplet of sweet nectar inside. Two red squirrels chased each other down one tree trunk, across the path in front of them and then up a swaying pine, oblivious to the two humans observing their loud chittering scrap with amusement.
Hermione took his hand again and they carried on their way, following the winding trail as it became wider and ended upon the shore of the expansive lake. There was a patch of grass sheltered by a weeping willow that they walked towards, and when they reached it Hermione pulled out a bag she had carried with her in her dress pocket. Within it was a blanket which Severus took and unrolled to lay under the tree. They sat upon it, kicking off their shoes and relaxing. Within her bag were also two ham and cheese sandwiches wrapped in paper, which they ate while sat beside the other, looking up at the castle in the distance. After lunch they lied on their backs, their hips touching, reveling in the peace and their togetherness. Neither of them could remember when it had last been this nice.
It was wonderful to lie there under the dappled light cast by the drooping branches of the willow - no purpose, simply enjoying the day for what it was. The wind was still faintly chilly coming off the lake but the sunshine was strong and pleasant and reached them even there. A bee zoomed overhead, busy and determined on its unwavering path, and bright blue dragonflies perched on reeds at the water's edge.
"I think that's a kestrel," Hermione murmured, extending her arm and pointing out a small bird hovering just to their left. Its tail fanned out before it dove down to the ground. "My dad's a bit of a birder," she explained, "but I don't know that many."
She turned her head to his, watching his soft grey eyes gently meet hers, the tips of his hair tousled by the breeze. He moved onto his side and propped himself on his right elbow, looking her over.
He bent close to her, his fingers tenderly tracing her shoulder, then her collarbone, then the dappled light upon her skin which shifted with the breeze, simply studying her. She closed her eyes and lied there, her hands folded on her stomach, enjoying the feel of his touch and the sound of the branches swaying, the lapping upon the shore of the lake water stirred by the breeze. But to Severus she appeared sad, as she often did these days when turned to her own thoughts, her closed eyes tired, the corners of her mouth tight. He never knew whether it was better to distract her or leave her be. He wished he could save her from it.
Severus moved his left hand and lovingly stroked her cheek, then played with her hair, then ran his fingers along her arm, admiring her delicate wrists, the gold band on her ring finger causing a pleasant tightening in his stomach. He rested his hand with his own ring upon hers. His eyes followed the line of her jaw, her cheekbone, the beginnings of the small smattering of freckles upon her nose that only appeared in the summer. She was so beautiful.
Emotions that he could not stop overwhelmed him. He could hardly believe that he alone got to kiss her, to make love to her, sleep next to her at night, fold her in his arms, touch her like this. Hermione might believe she was disappointing him, but her presence alone was enough... more than enough. Her love, though, was more than he could have ever imagined - absolution, total sublimity. He could never believe his luck, nor ever tire of her affection, not in a million years.
Their love was as strong as it was delicate, her emotions so deeply tied to his and his to hers. He wanted to take the burden from her but knew he could not, wanted to fill her with the feelings she caused to rise in him, feelings that had only grown with time and made him nearly burst from their fullness, their completeness. He had never felt like this, never. It was almost alarming. He, who had been completely controlled, an impenetrable fortress, empty of almost anything good, felt as though he had no more of a handle upon his emotions than a child did. The extent of the whims of his heart were unknowingly, frighteningly deep. He felt as though he did not even know himself anymore, and could not believe how easily this woman before him had unwound him without seeming to even really try. Her brilliance, her beauty, her goodness, blinded him to anything that existed before her. He could not - and did not wish to - think what his life had been. There was simply nothing worth remembering before Hermione.
He was suddenly seized with the desire to have her, then and there. He felt ridiculous, like an impatient schoolboy. But he wanted to hold her and make her know that she was loved, that he was here, that her worries were his worries and were too heavy to weigh on her alone, that there was nothing, nothing in the world that could cause his affection for her to cease.
He lowered himself towards her, gingerly pressing his lips to her forehead before embracing her, feeling her arms move to wrap around his neck as he nestled into hers. It felt so perfect, his arms around her back, her form so familiar to him, fitting so comfortably beneath him. How many times had he held her like this? Enough that his body knew hers line for line, curve for curve, but not so many that it did not please him every time they lied like this. His heart was in his throat as he turned his lips towards her again. "I want you," he murmured quietly in her ear.
Words that would have before caused her to shiver with pleasure now filled her with uncertainty. He pulled away slightly to look down at her when she at first said nothing.
"Here?" she asked, her eyes opening and searching his. She looked reticent.
"I only..." he stopped. He struggled to find the words, his hands finding and squeezing softly her arms just below her shoulders. "I want to love you, Hermione." His voice was tight as he tried to make her understand. "Without any pretense. Without any expectations."
She looked away, then back to him. "Are you not sick of it?" she asked, airing for the first time that particular worry. She looked stricken.
He appeared plaintive, his eyes searching hers now. "I could never be sick of it," he murmured, finding her hand with his and bringing it to his cheek, leaning into her palm. "I could never not want you." He could feel the fingers of her other hand twisting the tips of his hair.
She blushed, the tightness in her chest lessening as she listened to his earnest words. She sucked at her lower lip, indecisively, before looking around them once more and nodding slightly. She squeezed his shoulder before placing a hand on his chest, above his heart, the thumb of her hand upon his cheek stroking the deep line which ran from his nose to the corner of his lips. His dark gaze held hers for a moment, but his eyes closed before he lowered his head to kiss her.
He turned onto his side and she followed, her legs tangled in his, her hand still below his cheek, the other pressed against his back. He tenderly kissed her, his hands folding her close to him before his fingertips ran up and down her back. They lied like this for a little while, for he could tell she was tense, coiled like a spring. He wanted to wait for her to relax before going any further.
His left hand soon wandered aimlessly down her side, along her hip, then to her thigh, and he felt her soft skin beneath his. He kissed her delicately, then with slightly more pressure as she pushed back to him. Pleasant sensations bubbled in her chest and elsewhere as she felt his lips and his body against hers. When he pulled away she opened her eyes, the sight of him beside her causing her heart to swell too. There was nothing she loved more than to be the focus of his affection, when she could see that his eyes had grown large and soft, when she knew that he wanted her and he knew it, too.
He moved to pull his wand out of his pocket with his right hand. She watched as he propped himself on his elbow then pointed the tip of his wand in a circle around them, his left hand never leaving her skin. The branches of the willow tree filled out and lowered to brush against the ground, screening them from view. He cast Muffliato as an afterthought, then rolled his wand away from them on the blanket and lowered himself back towards her.
He knew her as no one else could, he thought, as he ran his hand along the soft skin behind her knee, down her slim calf and skinny ankle. And as he knew her, so she knew him. She loved his broad shoulders, the sparse black chest hairs peeking out from his white shirt, his flat bottom lip and the curve of his upper, the strong muscles of his lower back. Suddenly, she felt like she had not seen him clearly, not really looked at him properly, for some time. She had forgotten how truly handsome he was. How his eyes could make her feel with only a look.
He was above her again, waiting for her to roll onto her back. She obliged, feeling his knees gently part hers, his arms at her side as he hovered over her, kissing her, then moved lower, his eyes never leaving hers for more than a moment. He kissed her stomach, feeling her draw her knees up, her hands moving to sit on his shoulders.
He timidly pushed up the skirt of her dress, kissing the inside of her thigh and then pressing his cheek against it. He ran his fingers along her opposite knee and then traced up and down her leg, admiring the birthmark on her calf, the scar on her shin, the white of her skin such a contrast to his yellowed, scarred hand. A strong breeze shook the willow's branches, one sweeping onto and catching at his hair and her knee before drifting back, the wind subsiding. Hermione closed her eyes and allowed herself to sense it all, the soft blanket padded by grass under her back, the smell of the warm earth, his lips on her thigh again before pulling away.
His hands went to her hips, under her dress, and she helped him remove her underwear, placing it to the side. His hands then went to hers as he lowered himself, his right thumb brushing the back of her hand while the fingers of his other thread through hers. He slowly moved to kiss the skin below her navel, the top of her mound, his mouth then meeting her center. She gasped quietly, her thighs tightening, her brow furrowed, and his mouth quickly moved to leave kisses on her thigh as he waited for her to relax.
Once her hands loosened their grip on his, his mouth and then tongue gently pressed upon her core. He could feel her begin to tense again, but from the expression upon her face and the opening of her thighs it was this time from pleasure. He closed his eyes and listened to her breathe, feeling her body slowly begin to respond to him. He, in turn, began to move his tongue more precisely and more strongly, listening to her responsive low moan as he did so. It took some time, but she began to move against him and then suddenly shuddered, a quiet cry issuing from her until the feeling subsided. She breathed shallowly and felt him move over her once more, again gentle and tender, folding her in his arms.
He laid upon her, his body positioned between her legs, his member hard against her stomach. His mouth found hers and she returned his kisses, her hands grasping the fabric of his shirt.
"Are you okay?" he asked quietly, his nose pressed to hers, his hands under her back.
She nodded, grinning slightly, tilting her face upwards to kiss him. "I'm fine," she whispered. She brushed her right hand along his chest, then returned it to lie around his neck.
His hips pressed to hers and he kissed her nose, then her brow, not wanting to let go of her. But then her right ankle hooked around his calf and she let out a little whimper in the back of her throat, pushing up to him, eager for him. Her brown eyes found his, and he saw in them something he had not seen in some time - impatient desire. It was more than he could bear.
He disentangled himself from her and moved away slightly, unbuttoning the front of his trousers and pulling himself free of them. He leaned forward to kiss her several times more before using his hand to push her dress up and position himself.
He slowly entered her, moving to put his weight on his arms, his hips resting upon hers. They both drew in a sharp breath of air, the feeling of their bodies coming together so exquisite, so wonderful. He placed his lips on hers and she moaned quietly into his mouth as he gently moved his bottom up and down, his torso resting on hers as his hips moved. He cradled her face with his hands, gasping slightly himself as he rested his nose upon hers, then ran his thumbs along her cheeks, looking into her eyes. Her hands ran up his arms, down to his waist, then up his back, her palms resting flat on his shoulder blades, feeling his muscles taut beneath his shirt.
She moaned quietly, simply enjoying the waves of pleasure coursing through her, the feel of him inside her and above her almost unbelievable, even now. He tenderly sifted his fingers through her hair, felt the skin of her neck, her small ears, her face alternating between focused on him above her, her eyes searching him, and looking as though she were somewhere far away, somewhere only he could take her.
"Hermione," he mumbled, his mouth open, his cheeks flushed. He kissed her, both moaning with pleasure. They moved in that way for a while, Severus kissing her, at times resting his forehead against hers, touching her nose with his, one hand on her cheek, the other in her hair. They gave short little gasps together, Hermione's changing into a deep groan as she began to strain beneath him, to clutch at his arched back. He felt it rising in him too. Their eyes held the other's and they both gasped sharply, crying out, moving with and clinging to the other as they found their release, explosive, breathtaking.
With loud sputtering gasps they collapsed into each other, her hands encircling his back as he laid his weight on her, their hearts beating rapidly in their chests. It was a while before he pulled himself from her, giving her several kisses before doing so.
He turned away, using his wand to clean himself before buttoning his trousers and lying on his side next to her, still warm and calm in the afterglow. She had pulled down the skirt of her dress and rolled to face him, resting her head upon his shoulder as he stretched out his right arm. She curled toward him, her right hand upon his chest, and he drew her tight, his left hand meeting his right upon her hip. She felt that she fit so perfectly here, the shape of her following his so well. The tips of her still-trembling fingers sat on his exposed chest, enjoying the warmth of his skin and the sun through the leaves. They were both still breathing a bit shallowly. She closed her eyes.
She regressed back into her thoughts from the past months, thoughts she could not keep away, thinking on the sadness, the frustration. And she felt that despite everything that had happened, despite her wishes, as long as she still had Severus to hold... she would be okay. She desperately wanted a child, and her stomach sickened at the thought that she had failed so far in that. But as long as she could still see Severus's eyes - feel his heartbeat under her hand - life would still be good. And that was really all that mattered.
Her fingertips moved to his left shoulder, swirling leisurely in circles as she looked upon him. His eyes were closed now, his lips turned upwards in a small smile. Oh, how she loved him, so steady through all of this, refusing to allow her any of the blame, not letting her despair more than was reasonable, remaining ever hopeful even when she struggled. He did so even despite the fact that this had touched every facet of their lives, that she could not break her mind from it, that she had in the past few months turned what used to be a beautiful declaration of love into a desperate, disappointing act. She felt so much guilt. In pursuit of this nebulous thing she thought would make them happy, she had only managed to cause them deep sorrow, the most prolonged in their relationship. She felt broken, in more ways than one. Sometimes she felt as though she might succeed in breaking them, too.
His hand squeezed her hip, and she realized he was looking down at her, his expression questioning, uncertain. Just now, it felt to her like gazing into the sun. She felt she hardly deserved it, for him to tenderly hold her close as though nothing was the matter. His gentleness and worry unlocked something within her, her eyes suddenly becoming watery and her lower lip trembling before she looked away.
"Are you all right?" he asked quietly, his eyes showing his concern, his brow furrowing.
She could only nod, pressing her forehead to his chest to hide her tears, her right hand having moved from his chest to his back. She had not expected this surge of emotion.
He pressed his palm to her back, rubbing it gently, squeezing her tightly with his other hand. She had begun to shake. "It's okay," he said quietly, those two words having become his mantra over the past months. She must be sick of hearing them; they must offer so little comfort. He could hear her muffled sniffling beneath him, her hand clutching his back, and soon her body was wracked with small sobs, her knees drawn up as she curled against him further. "Hermione," he mumbled sadly, knowing that when she became like this that there was little he could do. She was simply inconsolable. He ran his hand along her back without stopping, waiting until she calmed down. He could feel his shirt becoming damp and warm from her tears and her breath, and he could not help but believe that the blame for this rested upon his shoulders. She had been too fragile for this - he should not have asked this of her, not today.
When she had finished crying she laid there, her hands still clutching at the fabric of his shirt. She felt guilty again, this time for spoiling such a lovely afternoon. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
He kissed the crown of her head. "There is simply nothing to be sorry for," he murmured. "Nothing." Her face turned up towards him, her cheeks and eyes red. "I love you," he whispered, watching her bottom lip tremble again. Her mouth opened and her eyes moved away from his, her expression now one of true despair. His left hand moved to rest on her cheek. She closed her eyes. "And I will continue to do so, no matter what happens. I will not go anywhere. There is nothing to fear," he murmured quietly, trying to understand what it was that so distressed her, to dissuade her from whatever thoughts she might be having. The wind gusted around them, throwing his hair over his face and pushing up the skirt of her dress, before settling down again. She clung to him as though anchored by her hands in his shirt, holding on tight, trying so hard not to fall into the pit of despair below her.
He placed his lips on her forehead, then edged down the blanket, gently peppering her red face with kisses. He did not stop, not when her face grew relaxed, not when she began to struggle to suppress a grin, not when he moved over her and she turned her head away, saying, "Your hair's tickling me."
He gently kissed her earlobe, her neck, then finally stopped and looked down at her, his forearms on either side of her shoulders. He could not tell what she was feeling from her expression. She simply looked exhausted. He went to wipe a tear from her eye and she quickly did it herself, her nose still stuffy, her eyes still red. She looked up at him again.
"I love you, Severus," she said, her hand reaching up to cup his cheek. He leaned over her once more, his mouth soft and lingering on hers.
"I love you," he said quietly, firmly. His eyes searched her face, and he felt his chest tighten once more with feeling for her.
She felt almost ashamed. How could she ever believe otherwise, the way he looked at her?
He was on his side again, pulling her to him, kissing her hair, feeling particularly protective. "Would you prefer to go back to the castle?" he asked, unsure if she wanted to return home.
"No," she murmured. "I'd rather just stay here, if that's okay."
"Of course," he replied.
She pressed her forehead against his chest, taking comfort in his touch and his familiar scent, closing her eyes to rest a bit. She felt so very tired.
His hand trailed up and down her arm, then her back, as he thought to himself. It was painful now, but surely, sometime soon... he was hopeful that these tears would all be forgotten someday, in the joy of what had eluded them so far. He did not know whether to share this view with her, whether it was right or cruel to remind her to remain hopeful. He did not voice this opinion - he doubted it would help much. And until it happened... He placed his chin on her head and drew her a little closer. Well, until then, whatever the intervening period, he would simply have to be there for her. It was all he could do.
I have plans for this to be a two-part fic, so hang tight :)
Characters are from my longer fic, Confluence of Truths. I love them too much to put them away!
Thank you for reading xx