PRESAGING RAIN
This is a non-profit tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, together with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.
A/N: Spoilers. Thanks to all my reviewers. Bellegeste, part of this is especially for you.
Sheltered by a large oak tree from the worst of the cold January breeze, Hermione sat at the edge of Malfoy Forest, with her arms hugging her legs and her chin resting on her bent knees. She wore a warm woollen cloak, but the hood was thrown back, allowing her unbound, abundant hair to stream halfway down her back. She'd come out here to watch the dawn again as she often did; it was the treat she promised herself after a wakeful night.
This was her favourite spot on the Malfoy Estate. Everyone still called it that although the Ministry had renamed it Victory Gardens when they confiscated it. Somehow coming here was made all the sweeter by the reminder that the arrogant former owners had got their comeuppance. She'd often picnicked on the grounds with Ricky, but he'd always favoured the lawn just past the Manor's formal gardens and near the top end of the stream. Now that she no longer had to consult his preferences, she usually chose the wilder, wooded end to wander in.
Winter had been mild this year, with frosty, foggy mornings and dry, sunny days. It didn't seem right for the weather to be smiling when her internal barometer was set firmly to "Grey, leaden skies presaging rain". She almost wanted the world to be crying with her, but then she wouldn't be able to sit outside here and savour the peace of the morning so perhaps it was better this way.
It would have been so much easier to get over Ricky if they didn't still have to work in the same department. Not that they worked alongside each other very often, at least she was mostly spared that, but so many of their colleagues had taken sides that she was conscious of censorious glances and muttered asides more days than not. She pretended not to notice such from either supporters or detractors since there was nothing to be gained from antagonising anyone further. The short-lived relief of clearing the air in her own defence would soon be outweighed by the long-term damage to her career. She liked her job too much to wish to leave it. Better just sit tight and wait for the storm to blow over.
It had been a long, dreary six months and she was still waiting.
She stared out at the faintly brightening sky, with a wry smile. Ironic really that the cause of her problem had turned out to be the best preparation for dealing with it. No one who'd endured seven years of Snape's acid tongue needed any further lessons in the utility and practice of keeping head down and mouth shut. Though it wasn't quite fair to describe him as the cause when Ricky's unreasonable jealousy had encompassed every man she spoke to.
That last argument rang in her ears again.
"You were smiling at Roger the whole time. Don't think I didn't see you!" Ricky had ranted.
"It's a wedding, of course I was smiling! You didn't want me to frown and ruin the ceremony did you?" She'd been the one to hold out the hand-fasting ribbons for Roger and Luna. Naturally she'd smiled at both of them.
"Next I suppose you'll say you don't like him."
There really was no acceptable answer to that. She sighed and explained patiently.
"He's your best friend. Of course I like him because of that but the one I really like is you."
"You only like me because I look like Snape! All your boyfriends have looked like Snape!"
"I've only ever had three," she protested. "Is it my fault if the only people who like me enough to ask me out are tall and dark or else they've been my best friend since first year?"
"You're saying you'd go out with any guy who asked you?" he'd snarled. "So you don't really like me at all, this whole pretence is just because I was stupid enough to ask you."
"You weren't stupid to ask me. You're being stupid now!" she'd retorted through gritted teeth.
"Oh, I'm stupid am I? Now I know; now I finally hear the truth! Every time we kissed you were thinking how stupid I was, what a sucker for thinking it was real!"
"It was real." She'd been crying by then. "But it isn't any more. I can't take this. I've had enough. Goodbye – and I never want to see you again! Goodbye!"
Even at his best friend's wedding, he hadn't been able to control it. She'd known then that, if he couldn't be shamed into propriety in front of his friends, he'd never be argued into reason without them. She'd run away to a secluded corner of the garden to be alone. And that had worked so well, hadn't it, with Professor Sour-face Snape waiting there?
Too absorbed in examining rose leaves to turn around, he hadn't even done her the courtesy of facing her to throw his routine insults. His voice had never raised from a cold loathing whisper as he'd mocked first her speech, then her grief, then her friends, then her character. It had been some satisfaction to throw his words back at him though she hadn't been brave enough to stick around and wait for his reply. No doubt he'd had something even more scathing to add.
She choked back a laugh at a sudden thought. He should have suffered under his own tutelage for seven years, then, perhaps, he'd have learnt to maintain a polite silence. Instead, he was as thin-skinned and hotheaded as – she grimaced – as Ron! Only more unforgiving. Considering how those two still hated each other, it was funny to notice how alike they were, loyal, stubborn, proud and unreasonable. However, Snape didn't have Ron's kindness or humour – or his large loving family. He was like a darker, angrier Ron, Ron as he might have been if he'd been bullied and alone.
He'd been angry with her when she stumbled onto him at the wedding. He always seemed to be angry with her, but that day more than usual. His icy reaction to news of Ricky's jealousy still puzzled her. She'd thought he was insulted by their presumption of equality with him, but that didn't quite fit with his retort. He'd said something about not being a neuter, something about his feelings. She'd been shocked that he admitted to having any.
The pinky-golden glow was fading from the sky. She stood up to leave and stopped. Behind her amongst the trees, she heard twigs snapping and a soft murmur of voices. Other people here, this early in the morning? Normally, she saw no one. She turned to look.
About ten metres to her left, a grey-bearded stranger who looked vaguely familiar was exiting the woods, head turned back to throw a comment over his shoulder. She looked beyond him to see a tall, dark figure stoop to pull up some mushrooms and add them to his basket.
Her mouth dropped open as he straightened and she saw his profile. It was Snape.
This was her former professor as she'd never seen him, cheeks chafed to colour by the morning's chill breeze, eyes glowing with humour and a smile of pure enjoyment lighting his face. For the first time, she truly felt that the power and energy he exuded in the classroom were innate in the man and not merely a mask he hid behind. It was like watching a Greek statue brought to vigorous life.
Suddenly, her chest was too small. Her heart was hammering against her ribs and her lungs were squashed flat. This, this was why he'd resented her dismissive comments that day. She'd effectively told him he was beneath her notice, but this vital, active man was no less overwhelming as a person than he'd ever been as a teacher.
He heard her strangled gasp and whirled to face her, hyper-suspicious as ever. Their eyes met briefly and his face froze, the curve of his lips transformed to a rictus. Clearly, he hadn't forgotten their last meeting either.
Professor Snape had risen early that morning. All the apothecaries seemed to have exhausted their stocks of Tunbridge Filmy Fern simultaneously with him. It was the wrong season for harvesting fronds, but, fortunately, he knew of the secret coppices in Malfoy Forest that had been charmed to keep plant-life at peak flowering or leafy stage all year round. That was one of the advantages of having once been Lucius's friend. There weren't many others.
At dinner the previous night, he'd mentioned his plans to Amory, who had promptly invited himself along. It was a new experience to take a companion on a harvesting trip. When he was a teenager, potions was an interest his friends didn't share and as he grew older there'd been no one he could still call friend to invite. He hadn't expected that to change, but it was almost a year now since Amory had changed everything with his unexpected Wizard's Oath of friendship.
Gradually, they'd fallen into the habit of meeting once a week in each other's rooms alternately. Amory had introduced Snape to the ridiculously frivolous, but surprisingly congenial, pastime of building houses with packs of Muggle cards. The combination of concentration and precision was just enough mental occupation to provide a comfortable background for long, tranquil silences and occasional confidences – and a slight deliberate shift that brought all tumbling down was an easy way to unobtrusively change a topic or disclaim one's most recent comment.
Amory was an undemanding companion, who spoke little and understood much. He'd had his own experience of darkness and passed through it to a quiet acceptance that smoothed away the rough, and soothed the sore, spots of Snape's spirit. He was the only one to whom Snape had ever spoken of Hermione and that just the once, on the evening after the wedding.
"The rosebush was blighted," Snape had muttered, staring at the dark-splotched leaf he'd found in his pocket.
Shrewd, hazel eyes had glanced at him and away.
"Was it?"
"I was examining it." Snape's shoulders had lifted briefly. "And then she came."
His knuckles had shone white against the surrounding pale skin as he'd bent over the leaf. His Adam's apple had bobbed up and down. She'd eviscerated him with a word. After seven years of teaching her and two years of occasional meetings, when had she gained that power over him? When had she gone from nuisance to necessity?
Mutely, he'd watched as Amory had selected another card and held it loosely between thumb and forefinger while scanning the flimsy construction in front of him.
"She's a bossy, bigheaded, know-it-all child – I don't even like her," Snape had grumbled.
Still Amory had said nothing. He'd been balancing two cards against each other to start a third storey.
"I don't understand why I even care!" Snape had burst out after a long, brooding silence.
"One never does." Amory had hesitated and added, "There's a Muggle saying. The heart has its reasons, of which reason knows nothing." Then, as his hands lifted from the perfectly balanced cards, he'd surreptitiously jogged the table. The house of cards had collapsed and they'd had to start again.
That six-months-ago conversation was running through both men's minds now, as the younger man and the even younger woman stared at each other without speaking. Black eyes warred with brown as two pairs of cheeks pinked and two pairs of lips thinned. Amory's lips twitched as he watched, but he said nothing.
Snape stared at the annoying chit of a girl that kept popping unbidden into his head. Not even setting himself tasks of mental arithmantics or rote recitations could entirely banish the memory of bright brown eyes and rosy cheeks, framed by a cloud of riotous hair with the sunlight through it. Ever at unwary moments, he'd see her sunny smile as she held up the hand-fasting ribbons, her eager hand splitting the air in his class, her hands on his desk as she leaned over to ask his forgiveness and in his ears her bitter demand would echo, "What are you?"
She wasn't smiling now. There were dark circles under those bright eyes and cold, not health, had put the roses in her cheeks. She looked tired and dispirited; only the hair was as irrepressible as ever. His throat ached from wanting to say the right words to comfort her, but he didn't know how. Those words had never even been in his vocabulary.
A/N Tunbridge Filmy Fern is a rare English fern found mostly in valley woodland where there are rocks and a humid atmosphere. It has small translucent toothed fronds. A perennial, in winter it would be in rhizome stage.