Chpt20: In the Event of Something Happening to Me.
"Good morning, sunshine."
He ignored the voice.
"Severus? Severus, I know that you're awake," she poked him softly in the side.
".Severus.. Severus, wake up. Look, it's morning!"
"I hate mornings." He muttered, rolling over and shoving his head under the pillow.
The weight on the bed beside him shifted, and he felt her breath on his cheek as she leaned under the pillow to see him.
"Hmmmm." the sound was low, and it reverberated down his spine as he tried to avoid the day.
"Am I going to have to drag you out of this bed, Severus Snape?"
Trying to articulate some sort of negative sound, Severus managed a defunct "Ugh".
Laughing slightly, he felt the voice shift, then draw nearer, placing a warm kiss on his mouth, the action immediately bringing him back to earth.
"Hmm. I thought that might work."
Opening his eyes, he looked up at her, "Good morning, Heather."
She smiled, her bed-head topped face lighting up, as her eyes sparked eagerly, "It's always good when you're here, Severus, you should know that."
~*~*~*~
Severus Snape opened his eyes.
That dream, that goddam dream that had plagued his sleep for the past nights had once again decided to torture him.
To torture him. torment him. Intimidate and persecute him.
The dream was systematic in its offensive, and what unbalanced him most was that he longed to dream it again and again, and never have to awaken from it.
Shrugging out of bed, he padded towards the bathroom, his bare feet slapping loudly against the stone floor.
It was going to be a long day.
~*~*~*~
Hermione leaked the last drop of solution into the vial of ageing potion.
"Tempus Adaequatus."
Tapping it with her wand, she muttered the charm that would activate the new component, and pocketed the result.
~*~*~*~
// I wonder what I should wear today.? //
He stroked a finger over the selection in his wardrobe.
// Let me see, black, black, or. ah yes! Black. Hmmm. decisions, decisions. //
Choosing to ignore his own unexpected humour, he lifted out a random hanger, and strolled towards the window.
// It will be cold in Hogsmeade today. //
Indeed, it would be.
Outside, in the lonely mountains of the Scottish highlands, the snow was falling thickly, covering the hills and valleys in its icy winter blanket.
But the cold would never compare to the frost that had engulfed the hearts of the two individuals who were fearfully preparing to meet the unknown.
Would she be there?
~*~*~*~
Would he be there?
Would he hate her for leaving him on Thursday? Would he be angry, would he be furious enough to.
Hermione dropped the thought, letting it blow out into the empty caverns of her mind.
The vague image of the thought fluttering in the wind, drifting out of her grasp and into the darkness presented itself, and Hermione suppressed a snort.
This was no time for laughter and poetry.
Inside, she ached, burned, wept for him, for herself, for them. She didn't dare to let the tears fall, knowing that once she had begun, she would never stop, and that would hurt her beyond reason.
And it would hurt him.
Yesterday, Friday, that most ungodly day, he had been so angry, so irritable.
At first, she could have sung for joy at the knowledge that he was affected by her absence, but as the day had gone on, the doubts had crept in.
She would not allow herself to hope for the impossible.
~*~*~*~
Snape opened a book, thick, heavy, leather-bound in appearance, and opened it. Inside, all the pages were blank, tinged with a darkly ochre colour that was constituent to this particular type of ancient parchment.
"Apokaluptein."
Instantly, the pages were filled with writing in his own spindly, spidery hand, and he pointed his wand at the book.
"Saturday twenty first of December." He paused.
"I am going to Hogsmeade. She may be there; she may not. Whatever callous hold she has over me draws me in the inevitable hope that we will meet. I do not understand. this is a New World to me."
The book slammed shut, and he stared down at its surface, its archaic design in embossed loops and swirls.
Abashment was a condition that unsettled him, one that he had never experienced before and had no intention of living with.
Pointing his wand back at the book, he muttered the spell, "Finite Apokaluptein", and the writing vanished again.
~*~*~*~
Beneath the cellar of Honeydukes, Hermione finally allowed herself to stop for a moment.
Haste could prove disastrous to an already vulnerable situation, and she had no intention of pushing him away.
Slowly pushing her robes from her shoulders, she began to get changed into her dress-robes.
A deep burgundy red in colour, she had never worn them, fearing that the plunging neckline and figure-hugging corset would be deemed too opulent for a seventeen year old girl.
For now she would be twenty-three, though.
For now, she would be Heather Gates, and she would flourish in the knowledge that, for now, she could love him, and maybe, just maybe, he could love her.
The silk was cool on her skin, and she transfigured the wall in front of her into a mirror, smiling at the person that she saw there.
"Hermione," she whispered, "this dress is too good for you, you know." Her reflection smiled back at her, before reaching down to lift a small glass vessel out of the pocket in the school robes.
Downing its contents, she closed her eyes, reluctant to see the transformation as it took place.
~*~*~*~
Snape inhaled sharply, gasping at the sight of her.
She was walking slowly towards him, looking confident, yet uncertain, and somehow uncomfortable. Much the same as he felt.
When she had approached, he bowed courteously, meeting her gaze for a fleeting second, seeing the warring emotions that lay there.
"Miss Gates." "Professor Snape."
The forced indifference in both of their voices was undeniable.
"Would you care for a drink? A refreshment of some sort?" He indicated towards The Three Broomsticks, and Hermione hesitated.
"Well. I had rather hoped that maybe - maybe we could talk."
Glancing up from her inspection of the snow, she met his gaze, albeit nervously, and tried to present the semblance of certitude.
Snape simply raised an eyebrow and nodded.
"Come," carefully directing her, he lead her back towards the passage into Hogwarts, uncertain as to what would happen next.
~*~*~*~
For once, she ignored the figures in the hallway, ignored their clamouring voices as they questioned her on her health and other trivialities.
At his door, he spoke the same password as before, and silenced the gargoyles with a deadly look. Its wrought iron hinges barely whispered as the door swung open, and Hermione found herself faltering.
Should she enter, she would open a whole world full of possibilities - some of which she feared with all her heart.
Snape laughed. "I promise that I won't attack you as soon as we're on the other side."
Looking up at him, Hermione nodded, smiling faintly as she stepped into his rooms.
"Good morning, sunshine."
He ignored the voice.
"Severus? Severus, I know that you're awake," she poked him softly in the side.
".Severus.. Severus, wake up. Look, it's morning!"
"I hate mornings." He muttered, rolling over and shoving his head under the pillow.
The weight on the bed beside him shifted, and he felt her breath on his cheek as she leaned under the pillow to see him.
"Hmmmm." the sound was low, and it reverberated down his spine as he tried to avoid the day.
"Am I going to have to drag you out of this bed, Severus Snape?"
Trying to articulate some sort of negative sound, Severus managed a defunct "Ugh".
Laughing slightly, he felt the voice shift, then draw nearer, placing a warm kiss on his mouth, the action immediately bringing him back to earth.
"Hmm. I thought that might work."
Opening his eyes, he looked up at her, "Good morning, Heather."
She smiled, her bed-head topped face lighting up, as her eyes sparked eagerly, "It's always good when you're here, Severus, you should know that."
~*~*~*~
Severus Snape opened his eyes.
That dream, that goddam dream that had plagued his sleep for the past nights had once again decided to torture him.
To torture him. torment him. Intimidate and persecute him.
The dream was systematic in its offensive, and what unbalanced him most was that he longed to dream it again and again, and never have to awaken from it.
Shrugging out of bed, he padded towards the bathroom, his bare feet slapping loudly against the stone floor.
It was going to be a long day.
~*~*~*~
Hermione leaked the last drop of solution into the vial of ageing potion.
"Tempus Adaequatus."
Tapping it with her wand, she muttered the charm that would activate the new component, and pocketed the result.
~*~*~*~
// I wonder what I should wear today.? //
He stroked a finger over the selection in his wardrobe.
// Let me see, black, black, or. ah yes! Black. Hmmm. decisions, decisions. //
Choosing to ignore his own unexpected humour, he lifted out a random hanger, and strolled towards the window.
// It will be cold in Hogsmeade today. //
Indeed, it would be.
Outside, in the lonely mountains of the Scottish highlands, the snow was falling thickly, covering the hills and valleys in its icy winter blanket.
But the cold would never compare to the frost that had engulfed the hearts of the two individuals who were fearfully preparing to meet the unknown.
Would she be there?
~*~*~*~
Would he be there?
Would he hate her for leaving him on Thursday? Would he be angry, would he be furious enough to.
Hermione dropped the thought, letting it blow out into the empty caverns of her mind.
The vague image of the thought fluttering in the wind, drifting out of her grasp and into the darkness presented itself, and Hermione suppressed a snort.
This was no time for laughter and poetry.
Inside, she ached, burned, wept for him, for herself, for them. She didn't dare to let the tears fall, knowing that once she had begun, she would never stop, and that would hurt her beyond reason.
And it would hurt him.
Yesterday, Friday, that most ungodly day, he had been so angry, so irritable.
At first, she could have sung for joy at the knowledge that he was affected by her absence, but as the day had gone on, the doubts had crept in.
She would not allow herself to hope for the impossible.
~*~*~*~
Snape opened a book, thick, heavy, leather-bound in appearance, and opened it. Inside, all the pages were blank, tinged with a darkly ochre colour that was constituent to this particular type of ancient parchment.
"Apokaluptein."
Instantly, the pages were filled with writing in his own spindly, spidery hand, and he pointed his wand at the book.
"Saturday twenty first of December." He paused.
"I am going to Hogsmeade. She may be there; she may not. Whatever callous hold she has over me draws me in the inevitable hope that we will meet. I do not understand. this is a New World to me."
The book slammed shut, and he stared down at its surface, its archaic design in embossed loops and swirls.
Abashment was a condition that unsettled him, one that he had never experienced before and had no intention of living with.
Pointing his wand back at the book, he muttered the spell, "Finite Apokaluptein", and the writing vanished again.
~*~*~*~
Beneath the cellar of Honeydukes, Hermione finally allowed herself to stop for a moment.
Haste could prove disastrous to an already vulnerable situation, and she had no intention of pushing him away.
Slowly pushing her robes from her shoulders, she began to get changed into her dress-robes.
A deep burgundy red in colour, she had never worn them, fearing that the plunging neckline and figure-hugging corset would be deemed too opulent for a seventeen year old girl.
For now she would be twenty-three, though.
For now, she would be Heather Gates, and she would flourish in the knowledge that, for now, she could love him, and maybe, just maybe, he could love her.
The silk was cool on her skin, and she transfigured the wall in front of her into a mirror, smiling at the person that she saw there.
"Hermione," she whispered, "this dress is too good for you, you know." Her reflection smiled back at her, before reaching down to lift a small glass vessel out of the pocket in the school robes.
Downing its contents, she closed her eyes, reluctant to see the transformation as it took place.
~*~*~*~
Snape inhaled sharply, gasping at the sight of her.
She was walking slowly towards him, looking confident, yet uncertain, and somehow uncomfortable. Much the same as he felt.
When she had approached, he bowed courteously, meeting her gaze for a fleeting second, seeing the warring emotions that lay there.
"Miss Gates." "Professor Snape."
The forced indifference in both of their voices was undeniable.
"Would you care for a drink? A refreshment of some sort?" He indicated towards The Three Broomsticks, and Hermione hesitated.
"Well. I had rather hoped that maybe - maybe we could talk."
Glancing up from her inspection of the snow, she met his gaze, albeit nervously, and tried to present the semblance of certitude.
Snape simply raised an eyebrow and nodded.
"Come," carefully directing her, he lead her back towards the passage into Hogwarts, uncertain as to what would happen next.
~*~*~*~
For once, she ignored the figures in the hallway, ignored their clamouring voices as they questioned her on her health and other trivialities.
At his door, he spoke the same password as before, and silenced the gargoyles with a deadly look. Its wrought iron hinges barely whispered as the door swung open, and Hermione found herself faltering.
Should she enter, she would open a whole world full of possibilities - some of which she feared with all her heart.
Snape laughed. "I promise that I won't attack you as soon as we're on the other side."
Looking up at him, Hermione nodded, smiling faintly as she stepped into his rooms.