Disclaimer: It's JKR's, I just play around in it for fun…
A/N: This is really the second half of chapter twelve – from Severus' perspective.
Happy Reading!
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"Here's the key, Severus. I trust you'll be able to dismantle the wards and let yourself in."
"Why can't I just Apparate in?" he asked, turning to face his friend.
Minerva grinned. "She's just like you, Severus. She doesn't allow anyone to Apparate onto the premises except herself. And me, as well," she added as an afterthought.
"A nice gesture," he said snidely.
"Yes, considering that it is my house." Minerva smiled.
"As this is your office? Territorial, aren't we?" Severus asked, gesturing to the vast expanse of office surrounding them. He had been shocked when he arrived at Hogwarts to speak with Minerva; the office of the Headmaster (or Headmistress) had changed so dramatically since his last time here. With Albus.
Whereas Albus had favored simplicity and traditional Anglo-Saxon furnishings. Minerva's tastes tended towards the lush traditions of the Scottish Highlands. Her penchant for tartan robes and rich colors were obviously displayed in the spacious office. Tartans, plaids, and tapestries – all bearing different Clan patterns – adorned the walls. Several House Cup trophies danced above the fireplace – all Gryffindor House Cups, Severus noted – and the smell of coffee, incense, and old tartan wool simultaneously flooded the senses. He felt quite out of place for many reasons, not the least of which were the Birkenstock sandals he was wearing.
Minerva had yet to notice the sandals. When he had arrived - with the herbs, no less - her jubilee had been nothing short of explosive. She was a powerful witch, and had long become so accustomed to the shows of her power when in high emotion that she didn't notice the swinging of lanterns and glow of her hands. Yes, Severus thought. Powerful indeed. Minerva McGonagall was one witch you did not want against you.
"Yes, territorial," Minerva said, and winked.
Oh Gods, spare me Minerva in an excited mood. She's far too much like Albus for her own good ... all those innuendos and meddling ...
"At times I wished I was as accomplished a Legillimens as you, Severus. I'd love to see what goes on in that head when you mentally vacate the conversation."
His attention snapped back. "For my sake, Minerva, I'm very glad you are not."
She guffawed. "So, you're going to take the herbs to Hermione?"
"She is the reason I procured the herbs in the first place."
"She'll be overjoyed to see you."
"Again with your assumption that every Order member values my happiness above all else," he snickered, trying to cover the emotions raging within him.
"Hermione's a kind soul," she said softly. "Now, off with you, my boy."
"Such a kind dismissal."
"Would you rather I called you a ...?"
Severus did not stay to hear Minerva's baiting innuendo, and practically hurtled himself towards the fireplace.
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He Apparated onto the beach by the Brighton shore minutes later, gazing around, taking in the surroundings. There was a plethora of lawn, miles of beach and water, and a quaint white cottage situated the perfect distance between the two.
Hermione was there. If she wasn't, he would wait.
He'd been waiting a long time.
He walked up the steps of the wooden deck nervously, taking out his wand. He attempted to pool all of his concentration into dismantling her complicated and elaborate wards, smiling wickedly as he realized that a few of the wards were identical to his. She spied on my wards last year, did she? Sorty little minx ...
He took out the key and entered the house, wand out, trying to detect her presence.
She wasn't there.
Ah, well. Where's a chair...
He made his way down the hallway and into the sitting room, deciding to poke around a bit before she arrived. After all, all I have is time, he thought. He first walked into the kitchen. First thing's first. He pulled a small crimson box out of his pocket, muttering a charm to enlarge it to its full size. He set it on the counter, tilting his head to look at it. A crimson, silver-starred box with unicorn hair tied around it in a bow. A bit ... feminine ... for his tastes, but his dear distant cousin had insisted on it. Oh, you love the woman! Azar had exclaimed.
She was four or five times removed from him on the family tree, but she was his favorite relative, a petite woman a few years his junior. Azar had dark, sparkling eyes that came to life even when she discussed the most boring of subjects. And a wide variety she could extrapolate on, too! She was just as intelligent as Severus, with a knack for charms and a taste for coffee. She had married a man in charge of Columbian coffee, and Severus got his dark roast exclusively from her.
Yes, Azar had been thrilled when Severus had come for herbs. She was one of the few people he knew who actually delighted in his presence. Minerva would be another, he thought wryly. Shaking his head, he glanced around the kitchen. Fairly standard. He walked over to the sitting room, sparsely decorated, full of whites and creams, pale colors. Calming colors.
The elaborate marble fireplace caught his attention. Proof of Minerva's ownership, he thought, looking at the elaborately wrought stone. The mantle, in particular, was stunning - or would have been, were it not so cluttered with photographs. Hermione's photographs. He looked up at the framed pictures - both wizard and Muggle - which were full of predictable faces. Harry, Ron, the Weasleys, Minerva ... they were all here. My God. She has that ... his confidence left him as he saw a silver frame, pieces of glass missing, silver bits chipped off the edges. How did that happen? he wondered. Inside the frame was the picture from V-Day ... of when she jumped into his arms ... of the first time he kissed her. He'd kissed her on the cheek, but the picture didn't show that. It had been taken the moment before, when she jumped into his arms. In this photograph, they were forever captured in the anticipation of a kiss.
"Is it always to be like that?" he wondered aloud.
He turned away from the mantel, fighting back emotion. Why had he not come to her before? He loved her. He loved this cottage already. It was Minerva's, yes, but the photos ... the meticulous living space, the odor of brewed dark roast ... everything screamed Hermione. She needed him. He sank into a large lounge chair next to the fireplace, holding his head in his hands. What would he say to her? What had he expected? She would want a reason and ... he didn't know if he could give her one. All he could do was apologize. Severus Snape, apologize! And he was ready to do it ...
The screen door to the deck clanked open. He sat up, startled. She's here.
Attempting to make himself look as relaxed as possible, he swung one his ankle up to rest on his other knee, and leaned back in the chair, hands behind his head. He knew how to cover his emotions, he knew how to steel himself against things. He'd appear relaxed, calm, smooth, collected, and ...
She walked through the hallway that lead into the kitchen. She didn't look to her left - she didn't see him yet. She had dropped a bundle of bags onto the floor. L'Ruelle de Deeses? My, my, aren't we full of surprises. He smiled, quirking an eyebrow. She had her back to him in the kitchen. She looked lovely. White capris, sandals, a pink tank, wild curls. She looked spontaneous, happy, unbidden. His heart swelled. One moment. He'd say something in just a moment ...
She pulled a pitcher out of the refrigerator, and was pouring herself a glass of lemonade.
The rustling of bags startled his attention away from her. Severus glanced over to the large grouping of bags, some of which had contents now spilling onto the floor. What is that ...
Bloody hell. I'm a fool.
The most appealing scarlet bustier he'd ever seen in his life had freed itself from the constraints of its bag. The Deeses. Well, well, Hermione.
His expression hardened, his thoughts in a flurry, his emotions raging with anger. Minerva never said anything about Hermione having a man in her life. A lover, it would appear ... well, of course she wouldn't tell Minerva everything.
She's found someone else.
His heart constricted with a pain he hadn't thought possible.
Control yourself.
He closed his eyes, allowing the pain to wash over him in floods. If he had controlled the Cruciatus for so many years, he could certainly control this. A woman's love was fickle. Well. He was here on a business transaction. He was here to give her the herbs.
She'd noticed the herbs.
"Is that unicorn hair ...?" she was asking aloud, unaware of his presence.
Steeling his mind and heart against her, Severus relaxed his features and sank back in the chair. "Ten points to Gryffindor," he drawled.
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A/N: Thanks to Jen, Gwenog Jones, Dizi 85, mugglemomof3, enchantedlight, lizz, Barb8, pyro313, PheonixFlight, duj, Julie, and cricketsong for the reviews.
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