Julian – thanks for the tale of your misadventures – it was so fun and so nice of you to share. I appreciate the information on upright/uptight British males and hope my interpretation didn't put you off too much. I can't imagine a world with magic but no music, or a voice like that without a song. I'll be more careful next time.
To everyone else who reviewed – thank you so much for the good opinions and the insightful comments. I hope you like this latest chapter. If all goes well, expect two tomorrow.
If for some reason, you are at all sensitive to certain types of imagery, you may want to skip to the first scene break.
Touch the Air Softly
by Jessa L'Rynn
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. J.K. Rowling created them and writes them with a genius that has never been equaled. Warner Bros. owns the right to do dumb things with them and doubtlessly will once Jo's finished with them, unless she kills them all. I try to fight the urge to put words into other people's visions. But every once in awhile, something yummy like this comes along and I find myself committing what I have been told is both crime and honor. With all due respect to Jo Rowling and her marvelous world, here is my attempt to "steal from the best".
Chapter 17: Oceans AglowTwo lovers met in the darkness. He as pale as the moon, she as golden as the sun, they came together for reasons that neither would be able to explain for all the rest of their lives, though if anyone could have witnessed this magical interlude, the pronunciation that the first reason was love would have come unbidden.
So long hidden in the passing night, his hands were cold against her skin, in that welcome way that ice feels to a fever, a cold so deep it burns as he touched her face, her skin. His icy lips turned her skin to molten gold as he bent his head to kiss her throat.
A soft, wild sound escaped her lips, and she tilted her head down to him, their lips meeting with a desperate hunger. The cataclysm as the elemental forces that made them collided sent shockwaves of desire pouring over each of them - over them, around them, through them. They merged their bodies without hesitation, an ornamental grace of cream and gold entwined hips to hip, thigh to thigh, golden arms curling through night black hair, pale, thin lips at rosy, golden flesh.
Her body bloomed to his lightest touch, his own becoming the instrument that responded only to her elegant hands. The very air was on fire, fuelled by the flame of her young passion and stoked by the fan of his old longing. Their breath came in sharp, quick gasps, and murmured words of encouragement. They communicated their needs to each other in soft exclamations of pleasure and surprise. He whispered against her throat the promises of knowledge; she cried against his lips the thrill of new-flown innocence. Their eyes, when they met, telegraphed messages more emotional, the feeling of completeness and finding a place to belong. His were blacker than the night, and deep and burning. Hers were brown swirled with blue, growing bluer as the moments drew them closer. Her body wrapped around his, enfolded him, enclosed him, and he moved with her to draw them both to a paradise either unknown or forgotten.
Time was endless and meant nothing between them, and for that passage of endless nothing, there was everything between them that could ever be. They breathed together, as one, and then, as though the sound was ripped from his body, her name escaped his lips.
The tapping at the window was as unwelcome as a Death Eater on Privet Drive. Snape pulled his pillow over his head to ignore it. It continued, insistently, to tap. He groaned and turned over and tried desperately to get back to his dream. The wretched owl found a weak place in the window casing and began to tap there, causing the window to thud and rattle in its frame.
A normal night would have found him out of bed at the faintest hint of something unusual. But a normal night would not have had him rising groggily from an empty bed, bemused, bewildered, and lonely, reflecting bitterly upon the noted emptiness.
He flung open the window and found, to his shock, one of Dumbledore's school owls bearing a message. "It is imperative," Dumbledore's loopy handwriting proclaimed, "that you return following the meetings today."
Snape looked at the note, then at the agitated barn owl. "When have you ever known me to possess owl treats?" he asked calmly. The white faced creature continued to glare at him with jewel bright eyes, so he finally dragged his cloak down from behind the door and slipped the stubborn thing a bit of owl treat from an inside pocket. "And don't tell anyone I gave you that," he added as it flitted out the still open window.
A few moments of worrying and checking the hideous mark on his arm passed before he could even decide what action to take. He looked out the window and admired the slow rising sun.
A few flicks of his wand and everything he had brought with him was packed. So was the muggle photograph of Hermione he had stolen from the library last night. He satisfied himself that everything was reasonable and reached for the door to go knock on Miss Granger's door to wake her with the unpleasant news.
The little rapping noise at the window had a distinctive rhythm to it, but Hermione wasn't even interested enough in Harry's issues at the moment to be willing to open her eyes. She had been somewhere else a moment ago, somewhere blissful and intoxicating, and she was utterly uninterested in being here in her little princess bed with Hedwig tapping at her window.
Hedwig, of course, couldn't be dissuaded by other people's problems when she had a goal, as anyone who had got between the snowy owl and her pet Harry over the years could attest. Hermione managed three turns and got balled up in the covers pretty well, but that didn't stop Hedwig at all, and she ended up hopping over to the window with the bedspread tangled around her feet.
"Hermione," the missive read, "you have to come back as soon as you can. Something's up, and I don't know what, but Ron thinks you need to be here. Professor Dumbledore is writing Snape - hope he wasn't too hard on you - and I decided to send Hedwig to let you know, too, so Snape can't wrong-foot you. As soon as your meeting's over, Snape's supposed to have something he can do, Dumbledore said. We'll see you this evening. Love from, Harry."
Hermione sighed and fought her way out of the comforter. Hedwig hopped in through the window and went over to Hermione's desk, where Crookshanks' food was kept during the summers - Hedwig would usually help herself, much to the cat's annoyance. "He's not here right now, girl. You'll have to go with me downstairs. Can you wait?"
The elegant snowy owl blinked at her with those wise, intelligent eyes and bobbed her head in what might very well have been a nod.
Hermione flung herself into the shower and muttered and fussed as the heated spray rushed over her body, washing away her dream from her memory. By the time she finished washing her hair, all she remembered was that she had never had a more sensual dream in her entire life. Even that thought was enough to terrify and exhilarate her as she flicked her wand around the room and tackled all of her muggle chores at once.
Turning to the mirror, she checked her appearance and smiled. Her eyes looked a bit odd in the desk lamp only light, but they seemed to be a very pretty color so she didn't argue. She did pull her hair up and put a half-dozen pins in it to get it to stay in a bun, remembering as she did the snide comments she and Snape had tossed back and forth at each other when this trip first started.
Worry kept her from enjoying the few moments of peace and quiet that she felt she ought to be taking to enjoy her forbidden love and how it was at least no longer so hideously unthinkable - at least she could speak to him without being treated so breath-takingly rudely. Instead, she flung the last of her personal items into her bag, grabbed her tablet and pen and headed across the hall to see if Snape's missive had arrived yet. Hedwig flitted over and landed on her shoulder, bobbing gracefully as she walked.
She stepped lightly into the corridor and had her hand up to knock on the door when it opened and he was standing there, obviously in the process of leaving. "Oh," she exclaimed sharply, and for some reason felt her eyes lock with his. Hedwig ghosted away downstairs, leaving them standing in the corridor, blinking at each other in hazy, early morning confusion. The dream images from last night raced back into her head, colliding with the image of the uncomfortable looking man in front of her. His cheeks appeared to be faintly rouged, probably from the exertion of packing all his things so quickly.
He moved sharply and caught her case from her hand before she could drop it. "Are you quite well, Miss Granger?"
"Hermione," she corrected.
"Are you quite well, Hermione?" he repeated with a trace of his usual snide.
She smiled. "You startled me, that's all," she lied.
"Indeed," he agreed. "I, too, was startled."
Then they just stood there, as though neither of them could work out what to say or do next.
Her father came to the rescue by bounding up the stairs with that boundless energy he had and stopping to grin mischievously at both of them. "So are you kids running away?"
"Daddy!" Hermione snapped, "Professor Dumbledore said I have to come back right after the reading of the will."
"Ah," said her father, and smiled. His eyes sparkled just like Dumbledore's and he offered her his arm. "Well, you can't run away without a good breakfast, so come on. We have to drive into town for this fiasco, you know."
"Oh, yes, I'd forgotten. Professor, my case?"
"It's fine, I have it," he said, and preceded them down the stairs.
Her father leaned close and winked at her.
"Why can't you be like a normal father?" she demanded once Snape was out of earshot. She knew that her mother had related her rather painful confession to her father, and this was the result. "Why don't you fly off the handle or threaten someone or something? Why do you tease me about it like it was sane?"
Dr. Granger abruptly sobered. "Hermione, if I didn't tease, I'd be screaming. You almost drove your poor mother mad with that proclamation. And, of course, I'm sure you haven't made a completely crazy choice, even if it is an ill-advised one. I'll always love you, Hermione, and there's nothing you can do that will change that. You're my baby girl - it's your job to scare me."
She laughed through a bout of fighting tears and hugged him close. "You're my first love, Daddy, forever."
He grinned and took her hand. "I know," he said, and led her into the breakfast room.
The meeting was uncomfortable for Hermione, top-filled as it was with people she didn't know, old people who glared at her as though she were a gate-crasher, and a swotty barrister who reminded her so much of Gilderoy Lockhart that she had to look at him twice to be sure. Snape kept a hand on her shoulder or her arm the whole time and glared at anyone who even looked like they might come over to her.
What Hermione received was the deed to a small house in Brighton and a little box. She refused to open it and carried it back outside with them some four hours later when the meeting ended.
Snape paused with the Grangers in a quiet, shrubbery-lined area outside the barrister's office. "Have you a piece of jewelry you commonly wear, Madam Granger?"
She turned her wrist to better display the small charm bracelet on her wrist. He looked around to ensure that they had no audience and tapped it lightly with his wand. "Portus," he murmured, then something else, then "Last Refuge."
He did the same thing to Mr. Granger's wristwatch. "These are emergency portkeys. If you find yourselves in danger in any way, you should use them by saying 'Last Refuge' aloud, twice. If for some unfathomable reason you only say it once and then find you do not need it, say anything else. They will transport you to a safe house. Your daughter will join you there, as Professor Dumbledore will be aware if either of these portkeys activate. If you lose one, both of you may use them by holding on to the one - a finger hold will do. If things you don't understand begin to happen, don't wait, use them and escape. You will find it preferable, I assure you. Do you understand?"
"Thank you, Professor," Madam Granger said by way of assurance.
They drew their daughter aside, and Snape stood quietly out of the way and waited for them to say their goodbyes. When they seemed as finished as they were going to be, he stepped in again. "Thank you for your hospitality."
"Thank you for your help," said Madam Granger.
"And your promise," added Dr. Granger.
Snape nodded and drew Hermione away and down the alleyway between the barrister's office and the bookseller next door. She trembled as he held her arm and guided her. "Are you that upset?" he asked.
"I'm confused," she said softly. "I'm sure I'll get better."
"Did you think the solicitor was that dunderhead Lockhart?" Snape asked. "I had to look at him twice."
She smiled. Apparently, Snape was taking his job as her friend very seriously, if he was joking to try to cheer her up. "I'm sorry, sir," she said. "I'll calm down."
"Good, because this isn't going to be a comfortable ride."
"Sorry?" she said, completely confused now.
He pulled a large silver pendant from under his shirt and appeared to be composing himself by breathing deeply several times.
"Do you hate portkeys, too?"
"The Dark Lord is fond of dangerous ones," he said, the only answer she was going to get. "Hold on to your case in your left hand." He caught his in his other hand lifted her hand up to wrap it around the portkey. Then, abruptly as if coming to a decision, he grabbed her around the waist with his free arm and pulled her tightly to his body.
Hermione was not prepared for the charge that went through her at the contact. She gasped and threw her head back to look up at him, but before she could make eye contact, he snapped "Hogwarts," three times and they were flying.
The portkey dropped them in Dumbledore's office. Hermione felt very strange when it ended, but even stranger when Snape let her go. He steadied her by her arms and sat her bag down on the bench Harry had conjured the other day.
When Snape went to find Dumbledore, she followed him, telling herself that she was simply confused and trying to find an explanation, but the truth was that she didn't want him out of her sight. She wanted to be with him, and wondered if she would ever find the strength within her to tell him. It was a powerful and powerless feeling, this final acknowledgement that her love for him could lead her to spend her life with him, and to do so happily.
Dumbledore came round the corner and took a seat at his desk, Snape following him calmly enough. "Mr. Potter," Dumbledore was saying, "announced that he has noticed a pronounced increase in the Dark Lord's happiness as Harry perceives it, and that he cannot find any mischief or danger to link to that feeling of increased happiness. He's worried, as am I."
"This is not a good sign," Snape agreed. "At my last invitation in mid-September, I suspected that only Bellatrix and Pettigrew are with him most of the time."
"What happened to her husband?" Hermione asked curiously.
"She probably slit his fool throat," Snape said. "I've no idea; he might be there as well."
"What does he do?"
"Brags, mainly. Bella got him thrown in Azkaban, remember."
"Sometimes I find it alarming that she of all of you has a nickname," Hermione observed caustically.
"It would alarm you further, then, to find that the Dark Lord gave it to her," Snape replied blandly.
She grinned at him and he smiled and Dumbledore just sat there at twinkled at both of them. "I am pleased to see that you've both had a pleasant weekend, even under such unpleasant circumstances. How is your family, Miss Granger?"
"My dad's quite strong, so he's recovering well. Mum's afraid for me, but happy for me, as well. They're healing. And, thanks to Professor Snape, they're safer than they've been in a long time."
"Excellent, Severus. Any problems?"
"None, Headmaster," Snape said respectfully. He opened his mouth as though to say more, then flinched and sighed. "Unfortunately, this will have to wait," he said.
Dumbledore moved quickly to touch Snape's medallion with his wand. The Headmaster was inaudible to Hermione as he whispered spells over the necklace. As soon as Dumbledore had finished, Snape turned and loped toward the door. He stopped, though, with his hand on the handle, and turned back toward them.
"Miss Granger – Hermione. The weekend was a very enlightening experience."
"Thank you, for everything, Professor. Please, please, please be careful."
"I believe you still owe me a detention," he said. "You can come for it tomorrow night at seven and I'll talk with you."
She shook her head. "You don't have to make it a detention. I'll come see you anyway." Her voice must have sounded as funny as she felt, because Dumbledore and Snape both looked at her very carefully. She smiled and waved at Snape as he gaped at her.
Snape rolled his eyes. "There's no need for theatrics, Miss Granger," he snarked, and left without a further word.
"I have to go to the library," she told Dumbledore, quickly.
He watched her eyes. "I think you need to rest for the moment, Miss Granger."
She turned to him, wide-eyed and desperate. "I'm fine," she insisted.
"I know," he said, and opened his arms.
A heartbeat passed, then two. Hermione flew into the old Headmaster's embrace and began, bitterly, to sob.