"Ah, Miss Granger, please take a seat."
Master Beggin waved her into a deeply plush wingback chair set before a glowing fireplace. The small room, shadowy and warm with the sweet smoky scent of hickory, more resembled the library in Prince Albert Mansions than an office within the Ministry's Archives.
But then, the rumours ran that Augustus Beggins hardly ever left the vast underground cavern of ancient knowledge, that he was secretly a dragon and hoarded his rare and precious treasures…
A smile tugged at her mouth. Her Master was a sweet man, polite and considerate, whilst being as bitingly sharp as Severus in some ways…
Severus. She closed her eyes and fought not to dwell on how they'd left his bathroom that morning. Merlin, she'd been certain her face was still beet red as they flooed into the Ministry. The memory of his taste. How delicious and thick he was—
She sat down —sharp— onto the chair and twitched her robes over her knees. She smiled at her master. "Is it time for tea?"
Beggin's bright eyes shone, merry and warm. "It is always time for tea, Miss Granger."
A little elf in the full livery of the Archive popped into the room with a full tea tray and an array of petits fours that reminded Hermoine that it was close to eleven…and her breakfast had been rushed.
"How do you take your tea, Master?"
And a fortnight before, Hermione was all too aware that she wouldn't have known to show the respect due to her master by offering to pour his tea. Something so simple and yet painfully displaying the yawning gap in her cultural knowledge.
"Milky with two sugars, thank you, Miss Granger." He offered her another warm smile, watching as she poured and stirred…and taking the delicate bone china cup as she prepared her own tea. His respect to her was allowing her to take one of the first of the little cakes.
Tiny things. A minutiae of manners. But Severus was right. They were all powerful magical beings. Without strict laws binding them, there would be chaos.
Also, the sweet little éclair was delicious.
"You have enjoyed your first week here?"
Hermione grinned at him. "Oh yes. There is so much here, it's…magical."
Her master snorted and his sharp gaze flicked to her throat. "I would have us grasp at an opportunity here, Miss Granger. I am already being called on for works pertaining to the rites of the Ribbon and the Ring. I was —as you know— a ribbon-wearer, but I believe it would be beneficial to you and to the Archive if you collated the works, as the first stage of your apprenticeship."
Hermione pressed her lips together to stop the wildly immature squeal that wanted to break from her. Scouring the Archives for anything and everything concerning the Ribbon and the Ring, then selecting the works that best reflected the sacred rite. And she…she would learn everything there was to know about the ribbon she wore.
The little prick of hope was there that she would find something that would keep her with Severus after the ribbon fell away. It burned bright…but she quashed it.
Still…the myth of the rings. She could find its origin and whether it would apply—
No. No, enough. She drew in air and willed herself calm. "I would love to do that, Master Beggin. Truly."
"There were once older collections." Beggin's lips pursed and the brightness in his eyes sharpened and a rare anger touched him. "But they have been…scattered, books lost or —I fear— destroyed. The troll, Umbridge," Beggin practically spat the name, "had free range here."
He picked out another cake. "I must admit, I have read the transcript of your…dealings with the witch." His mouth twitched upwards. "It sealed your apprenticeship."
Hermione blushed, though her stomach twisted. The idea that her vindictiveness had secured her position…itched.
"Oh, be assured, Miss Granger, that your NEWTs, your school record, the glowing reports from the Professors of Hogwarts all contributed. Sending Dolores Umbridge for an encounter with the centaur herd? Simply icing on an already perfect cake." And he popped a tiny éclair into his mouth and beamed at her.
"Bring that ruthlessness to the protection of the Archives and you too will be thought a dragon with her hoard."
Hermione found she wouldn't mind that one bit.
They drank tea and consumed cakes and broke down her first week, and her approach to pulling together the new collection. And her fingers itched to list what needed to be done and to tear from the little office to disappear into the stacks…but, she only had a few hours that day.
Severus would soon be collecting her and later in the evening, the primping would start for the Yule Ball that night.
Hermione wondered if a show of nerves would have her…eased as she had been for the Malfoy Ball.
And wouldn't that be lovely?
As she rose, ready to leave, one question burned. Her Master had worn the ribbon for a season…and had seen it end. She gripped the back of her chair, her fingers biting into thick damask. "Master?"
She pressed her lips together, her throat tight. She ached to know. But…the confirmation that it would end. That her time with Severus was only a temporary joy. It was a pain under her heart.
"Hmm?" He looked up from brushing the worst of the crumbs from his robes. "I believe I need a bib. How did I get so messy?"
A smile broke from her. "The end? When your ribbon, what, fell away? Faded? I have the little book, but there's hardly anything in it. So much of what will happen is dictated by my Mentoris. And I would like to know…what does it feel like at the end. And…and after."
A sadness flickered through Master Beggin's bright eyes. "It's almost sixty years since…" His fingers touched his throat and he drew in a heavy breath. "Hector Delmar. My Mentoris. A beautiful man, inside and out. He wore the Ring a number of times, before and after me. Very probably to chase the feeling that grips Professor Snape now." His lips twitched upwards. "We remained friends till be moved through the Veil. Ten years ago, now."
Her Master's blue eyes became distant, lost to the past. "The time of the Ribbon. It's a fire. A need. An ache in your blood, one for the other." He looked to her and there was the sad pull of a smile to his mouth now. "At the end…that fire fades. As does the ribbon. So much smoke in the air. And you're…closed to one another. Even in the moments after, it feels as if it were all an illusion, that ache, that wild twining of magic.
"And really, could it be any other way? How could the ribbon-wearer move on? I wouldn't have looked twice at my Archie if the…want for Hector still beat so hard in me." Her Master gave her an impish smile. "And Archie was fifth on my Card."
Hermione fought back the itch at his mention of the Card. No. No, it was still something she would avoid. Just…no.
"It's the magic then? How I—you…you feel-felt?"
Her heart drummed, the pain of it tight and hard. Her master had confirmed it all.
It wasn't real.
And that thought tore through her. She clung to the fact that her Master had been able to stay friends with his Mentoris for so many years…and consoled herself with that. It was short comfort, even if she could spend an afternoon as she had the day before in the smoke and heat of Severus' laboratory, both caught in the thrill of discovery.
But after…there would be no slow showers, or crawling into bed, skin to skin, easing back nightmares with their bonded touch…
"'Magic draws a path us mere mortals have no hope of following'." Master Beggin pushed himself to his feet and dislodged yet more crumbs. He huffed a breath, flicking at his robes. "And that's one of Merlin's. So if he was blind, what chance do we groundlings have?"
Hermione's throat was tight and she swallowed. "Thank you for sharing such…personal information, Master."
He patted her hand as he passed, heading for his parchment-piled desk. "All will resolve as it should, Miss Granger. Trust in the magic."
"Yes, Master. I will…try."
She nodded and slipped out of the office, wishing she'd never asked the bloody question. Stupid curiosity. Sometimes ignorance was bliss. Her fingers slipped over the ribbon, wanting its realness. Silk and warmth and knowing that her touching of it would ripple through Severus in a delicious rush.
She closed her eyes and a tear slipped free.
She would make the most of her time with him, because, soon—all too soon—it would be so much smoke.
"Professor Snape."
Augustus gave him one of his quick nods and that bright, knowing smile. Merlin save him from another ribbon-wearer who revelled in the return of the ancient rite. It had been over a fortnight and there was —to his knowledge— at least one other witch who'd had the ribbon put to her throat.
Severus could not wait to be lost in the herd.
Hermione rushed from her little office, weighed down under her bag and velvet coat. Her bright smile squeezed his heart and the ache to pull her to him, to envelop her with his robes and hide her from the world tore through him. Damn his possessive streak. One he was finding it more and more difficult to suppress.
He eased Hermione into her coat, the curl of her magic shrinking her bag to something no bigger than her palm and she slipped it into her coat pocket. He offered his arm.
Her little fingers slipped into the crease of his elbow and pressed against the smooth wool. She smiled up at him, her eyes shining. "I've never been to a proper Yule rite."
"The fires are already lit in the atrium and will burn for a fortnight." He curled his lip. "Let us hope the Ministry lackies that set them drew the smokeless charm to its proper strength."
Augustus huffed a laugh. "It's been a few years…I'm certain the upper floors will be able to cure their own herring come Wednesday."
Severus snorted. "I don't doubt it." He nodded to the wizard. "Good day, Master Beggin."
Hermione matched Severus' shorter stride, the witch seeming reluctant to pull too far away from him. It was insane –this need— but he didn't fight it…and dared anyone to come close as they left the lifts and strode out into the atrium.
The great arch of green tiles and those stretching up, thick with windows reflected the orange blaze of too many fires. All held in black braziers, the crack and spit of wood and the groan of heated metal ran under the clatter of escaping ministry workers. And a thin layer of smoke was already a grey pall weaving around them.
Severus muttered a cleansing charm, surrounding them in a filter of clear, breathable air.
His gaze slid to the witch clinging to his arm, a frown following. She'd not questioned what the spell was, even though it was one of his own making. Which was not like the Hermione Granger he knew. "Hermione?"
Her hand tightened on his arm and a line formed between her brows. "Just…just so you know, I want to remain friends after. I don't…I don't want to lose you, Severus. Even if this…"
She brushed her fingers over the ribbon and it shot jagged lightning to his balls. He sucked in a breath and she blushed, something so sweet, it only deepened his sudden, fierce ache.
"Sorry." She gave him an embarrassed smile.
"Friends." And he bit back the bitterness of that word, the acid taste of it. "Yes, of course. I would…welcome it, Hermione."
Some part of him knew that this was her sop to the wild magic that gripped her too. The need for each other. The belief that it would tear her —them— apart with the falling away of the objects that bound them.
This will fade. Severus knew that. Knew it. This would all fade and friends, friends would be good. And he would not mind then, as she bounced from bed to bed, seeking the wizard with whom she would settle.
But not yet. She was still his. And Severus glared at a bastard-wizard who'd turned an avaricious eye on his witch. The younger man blanched and scurried away.
No, he was not willing to let her go. Not yet.