Chapter Nineteen
My Heart Will Know You

The castle was a black silhouette against the dark horizon. In the Lake District, clouds had hidden the sky: here a myriad of bright stars glittered on crenelated towers and gazebos, and the air was clear and cold as ice.

Stephen Seeker stood barely fifty feet from the great gate of Hogwarts, his feet already on the familiar path. He held the Invisibility Cloak in his hands; he would return it to Harry Potter as soon as his latest mission was completed. If everything worked out as planned, he wouldn't need it any longer.

He hadn't been here for nearly eight years; he had met with Minerva McGonagall twice, but not at the school. She still owned her father's house in Edinburgh, facing the Firth of Forth; they had planned his new life back in 1998 while he sat in front of a big window, looking outside at the wide, grey branch of water and watching the golden lights of the trains crossing Forth Bridge.

But now he had come back to Hogwarts, he had come home. Here he had spent his boyhood. Here he had succeeded in gaining knowledge and tragically failed in finding true friendship until long after that boyhood was gone. Here he had taught for nearly seventeen years, caught between his faithfulness to Albus Dumbledore and his false loyalty to the Dark Lord. Here he had struggled helplessly against the old hate that constantly overcame him whenever he saw James Potter's child… even though the boy was Lily's son, too. Here had changed into the man who "died" in the Shrieking Shack. And here, standing in the night, on the edge between old and new life, he felt great gladness that his unwilling guard over the Boy Who Lived had been one of the keys to his personal redemption.

He could see their faces in front of his inner eye: James, arrogant and unbearably confident… but James had loved Lily, he had truly loved her, and that was reason enough to leave the old abomination in the past where it belonged. Sirius, whose cruel confinement to Azkaban had ultimately hindered him from growing up into the person he might have otherwise become. Remus… Remus. He was the only one who in retrospect really touched Seeker… because Remus had gone through the same ordeal as Ruta had, because she had loved him so hopelessly… and because her painful fate had revealed so much about what Remus had gone through most of his life.

Ruta.

He was finally able to leave his old enemies to the past. But she was his present, and perhaps his future, if he managed to release her from the frozen fear that had led to her astonishing, generous offer.

Freedom… and time.

He had been given the gift to choose, and he had chosen. He could see his path clearly before him… the path that had led from the misery of Spinner's End to this castle, to an end and an unexpected beginning in the Shrieking Shack, and from there into a future he would not spend alone. Not if he found the courage in his heart, not if he spoke the right words… the most powerful spell he'd ever used, strong enough to unlock the soul of the woman who loved him enough to set him free.

He stood directly in front of the gate now. He unfolded the precious cloak, pulled it over his head and felt the fine, thin fabric whisper against his cheeks and nose. He knew the spells sealing the door by heart, and the heavy, wooden wings swung back when he touched them with his wand and whispered the well-known words.

Pale moonlight flooded the Great Hall, and the familiar scent of books and stone and ancient dust on carved wood wrapped around him like a loving embrace. Seeker took a deep breath, walking with soundless steps… the corridors were blissfully empty and his feet found the way to the Headmistress' office without any assistance. She was most certainly not in her private quarters. He knew her well enough to know that her duties would keep her working until late in the night. As they had kept him working, in the office that had never been his, because for him it would always belong to the only friend he'd ever had.

He reached the Gargoyle and hesitated for a moment, searching for the password. "Glenfiddich," he finally whispered, remembering the short note she had sent him three months ago, "just in case". The Gargoyle made way for him, not the least irritated that there was only a voice but no human figure where it came from.

One moment later he had reached the entrance; the door was ajar, and no voices could be heard, only the very soft scratching of a quill. He stepped inside, closed the latch and looked at the woman sitting behind the desk.

She was writing on a parchment, a steep fold between her brows, and her rectangular glasses mirrored the firelight. He could see pale streaks in the chaste, black hairdo; and tired lines running down from her nose to her mouth. He let the Invisibility Cloak slip from his shoulders.

"Minerva."

Her head jerked up and she gave a shocked gasp. "Severus?"

"In person." He folded the precious fabric and saw her startled gaze when she recognized it.

"For heaven's sake, but that is Potter's!" she exclaimed. "How did you…"

"I borrowed it, with his full agreement" he replied, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You realize that I didn't want to walk through Hogwarts in full view, don't you?"

"Oh… of course." She looked slightly confused. "But I still don't understand…"

"You will, in a while. I would like to tell you a most interesting story, and I need your help." He sat down in the chair opposite to her. "Does the password still match the secret bottle in that cupboard over there?"

"Yes, it does. Clever of you." Minerva's face relaxed in a rare smirk, and a small flick with her wand made the door of the cupboard in question fly open. A green bottle with a black and golden label sailed elegantly down to the desk. She uncorked it, and an amber-colored liquid ran into two crystal tumblers that suddenly appeared in front of her. She handed him one of the tumblers, took a sturdy sip from her own and leaned back, studying his face over the rim of her glasses.

"Now, Severus… I'm all ears."

vvvvv

The next morning dawned chilly and with dark, thick clouds nearly touching the rooftops of St. Mary Green. Ruta sat beside the window in the parlor, tightly wrapped into her dressing gown, the warmth of the fireplace behind her. Snow was blowing against the cottage, dusting the asters in the garden and the windowpane with a thin veil óf crisp white.

She was tired to the bones. Winky had served her an early dinner the evening before and she had gone to bed long before midnight, trying to find the rest she so urgently needed. But sleep fled before her, and she lay curled up under the warm featherbed, staring at the wall.

She had done the right thing. She had done the right thing.

It had been staggering to see how willingly he had accepted her offer. She had shown him the way out, and he had actually taken it. But what else could she have done? Radescu had brought her the perfect solution for her personal dilemma… and directly after the Romanian werewolf had left, in the darkness of her vestibule, she had realized that the powder of the Piatra Lunii meant not only freedom for her. Stephen was no longer bound to her fate; she was well enough now to care for herself, and after taking the powder she wouldn't need to undergo the monthly discipline of taking the Wolfsbane Potion he brewed for her.

She had done the right thing.

After that ridiculous, painful drama with Remus she had met a few other men, one of them the brother of a young witch she had befriended in the garden market in Dover. He was kind and caring, and it was not his fault that he constantly kept reminding her of her cousin… and of her own, devastating failure. That relationship had ended before it could grow too serious, and after a few more half-hearted attempts – and several years – she had decided that keeping to herself was the best thing she could do.

The right thing.

What she felt for Stephen Seeker was so different from anything she'd ever felt before for anyone: curiosity first, then a growing friendship that slowly turned to deep affection. Knowing his story had warned her against expecting and demanding more than he was willing to give. And then Greyback's revenge had torn her life to pieces, and Stephen gave more than she'd ever dared to dream of. She'd gotten used to relying on him with almost frightening swiftness, overwhelmed by his quiet generosity… it had been so easy to trust in him, so fatally natural to rely on his strength. And when Radescu's astonishing gift turned the circumstances of her life upside down again, she had been, all of a sudden, overwhelmed by the feeling that her needs held him captive, same as the fateful vow Albus Dumbledore had screwed out of him after Lily Potter's horrible, untimely death.

She had done the right thing.

She couldn't expose him to yet another long-term debt. If she had learned anything about this enormously complicated man, it was that he took his promises and duties grimly serious. He had nearly sacrificed his life for the last ward he'd been entrusted with, and his commitment to her personal well-being had nearly led to his discovery. She knew that he honestly cared for her, but she was rather unsure if three months of a reluctlantly growing friendship, a horrible drama and two shared nights were enough to overcome both their engrained habits and inevitable misgivings.

The right thing.

But she missed him. Missed him already with something uncomfortably close to desperation, trembled at the thought that he might actually stay away, might shy back from what they had so miraculously gained. With a mixture of fear and wonder she realized that all her defenses were broken; she felt incredibly lonely, vulnerable and lost. Lost without his voice, his touch, his sarcastic wit, lost without his eyes seeking her gaze. Perhaps she had done the right thing, but what if her noble offer meant the end of nursing the small flame of hope she had so unexpectedly granted her heart?

At half past six in the morning she decided that it was hopeless to wait for a slumber that wouldn't come anyway. She got up from her bed, prepared a bath with rosemary to raise her crestfallen spirit and sat in the clouds of fragrant steam until she was able to think clearly again.

Her old dressing gown was made of faded, burgundy velvet; rather shabby after being worn for nearly fifteen years, but she wrapped her naked body in the warm folds with exhausted gratitude.

She went down into the kitchen; it was spotless and empty. Winky hadn't come yet… and Ruta was not entirely certain if the little house-elf wouldn't stay away if her master were doing the same. A small scene drifted into her memory: Winky, brewing coffee with an elegant gesture of her long fingers, and at the same time singing out loud. She shared Andromeda Tonks' and Molly Weasley's enthusiasm for Celestina Warbeck's dubious musical oeuvre; her squeaky voice, belting out "Let meeee beee your love pooo-ti-ooon…" had been one of the rare highlights of the days after Ruta's return from St. Mungo's.

She not only missed the master, she missed the servant, too.

The parlor was chilly, and after a second of hesitation she knelt in front of the fireplace, took dry pieces of applewood from the basket and piled them on the grate. It was still easier to get a fire going with her left hand than to use the Incendio Spell, the fingers of her right one clumsily trying not to drop the wand. Finally she felt the glow of the flames on her face and sat back on her heels, giving a small sigh of satisfaction.

A few minutes later she had installed herself in the chair beside the window; she pulled the curtain aside and gazed out into the dim, blue light of the early morning. Right opposite her house, a streetlamp painted a soft, bright circle into the growing snowdrift around its bottom, and while Ruta was still watching, she saw Callista Ogilvie passing by, walking Fancy back towards the bend to Mill Walk. The old woman made careful, small steps; her white dog was only discernable against the clean hills along the cleared sidewalk because it was wearing a gaudy red pullover, and something that suspiciously looked like knitted shoes. Twenty-five years ago Mrs. Ogilvie had buried her husband, Ruta thought, and since then she resided in her cottage, surrounded by photographs in silver frames, embroidered flowers on ruffled cushions and a pet for company (the current 'Fancy' was No. 4 in a series of poodles).

Where would she, Ruta, be, twenty-five years from now? Still in St. Mary Green, still cultivating roses and vegetables in her back garden, and closing the curtains against the memories of the demons she had overcome and the man she'd sent away?

She followed the old lady with her eyes until Mrs. Ogilvie vanished around the bend, and suddenly her gaze was drawn back to the spot under the streetlamp. Despite the frost, the air seemed to waft like being heated by the flames of a fire. There was a small, sharp bang, clearly audible even through the closed window, and a tall figure appeared where seconds before only drifting snowflakes had been. Ruta stared, hardly believing her eyes.

That…

She blinked. Tiredness was burning behind her lids, and for a moment her sight was blurry. When she could see clearly again, the spot beneath the streetlamp was empty.

Bravo. Now she was hallucinating. As if her life hadn't come apart at the seams already without this additional complication.

Sleep. She needed sleep. Ruta felt her head sink back; she was fighting the obdurate desire to wake up in her bed after enough hours of rest, comforted by the thought of Winky's coffee and the warm, reassuring presence of Stephen's body beside her.

"Good morning, Ruta."

She sat up in her chair with a start, her eyes flying open.

He stood in the middle of the parlor, still wearing his dark, long cloak. Snow was melting on his shoulders and hair, and every line of the familiar face was as clearly drawn as if sketched by a very sharp crayon. She saw tired shadows under the black eyes, and a certain strain around his mouth, as if it had taken a long way to return to her, and fierce resolution to boot.

This was her last, conscious moment. Every clear thought, the last shreds of her noble selflessness were swept away by a wave of naked relief, and the very next moment she shot out of her chair, hands blindly reaching out for him. He caught her in his arms, stumbling half a step back under the vehemence of their collision. Ruta was securely held and buried her face in snow-damp wool, overwhelmed by the familiar scent and the firmness of his body beneath the thick layers of clothing.

They stood for minutes, swaying slightly. Ruta could feel his warm breath in her hair. Finally she trusted her voice enough to speak. "So much for my iron resolution," she murmured into his shoulder, and felt laughter rumble through his chest.

"It was rather impressive," he retorted. "I must confess I feared that you might send me away again at once. To the Australian outback, perhaps, to stay there for half a year at least, brooding over my… er… choices."

Ruta stepped back and accepted the big handkerchief that suddenly appeared in Stephen's hand. She dried her eyes and found to her great surprise that she was laughing with him.

"Brooding? I don't think so." She shook her head. "I can much more easily imagine you exploring the primitive magic of the Aborigines, eagerly collecting recipes for draughts with strange herbs and dried insects."

"Very clever," he smiled at her. "And a very good idea; I might actually take you up on it it later. But let me get out of this wet cloak first. Winky will be here any moment, to prepare a breakfast for both of us. I'm sorry that she was unable to come earlier; I made some important arrangements last night, and she was otherwise occupied."

"Arrangements?" she asked, frowning.

"We'll come to that later," he said, shaking the cloak from his shoulders and steering it out of the parlor with a casual flick of his wand while she sat down in the chair again. His smile deepened as he studied her face. "I've spent the most part of the last twelve hours in Scotland. And I have brought back a job offer for you."

"You brought…" She stared at him. "Who would---"

"Minerva McGonagall, of course," he calmly said. "Hiring a werewolf is nothing new for Hogwarts, remember?"

Ruta took a deep breath. "Is she aware of what happened yesterday?"

"Yes, she is." He was still speaking in that calm, confident tone. "It doesn't matter any more to her than it matters to me."

She gave a snort of disbelief. "Are you seriously trying to tell me that she doesn't care?"

"This is not what I said." He settled on the sofa opposite of her. "But she relies on your trustworthiness – as I do. And the idea of having you as an assistant for Professor Longbottom definitely has its merits. He is very skilled with herbs, but he consistently muddles up the paperwork. And there's that project with Beauxbatons, requiring a strong herbologist in the works. Beside your own profound knowledge, an organizing hand is badly needed, and Mr. Longbottom will doubtlessly be delighted to find out that it is your hand." He pulled a small parchment roll out of his pocket. "This is an official employment contract for the next two years, with the option to be extended if necessary, and a more than reasonable salary. All you have to do is to sign it."

"I don't know what to say." She took the parchment and turned it between her hands, but she didn't unroll it.

"You should consider moving to Hogwarts," he continued. "Of course you could Apparate, but it would make things a lot easier. Minerva is more than willing to offer you accomodations if you should need them, and leaving St. Mary Green would mean to make a clean sweep." He gave a small smile. "Not to mention that your presence would keep Mr. Longbottom from fiddling with the paperwork after hours, thereby destroying any progress you might have made."

She felt a short, sharp sting of regret. It would be the end of her time in St. Mary Green. Eight fulfilling, peaceful years… but clinging to an idyllic past made no sense. Greyback had ripped the pattern of her existence apart, and there was no way back. Stephen had been right, yesterday at the bank of Bléa Tarn: she had to make plans for the future. And doing the first steps into this future at a familiar place would certainly make things easier.

"Only two years, Ruta," he said, his voice very gentle. "Two years to take up the threads of your life again. Minerva made it very clear that she would like to keep you at Hogwarts even after the project is over, if there is any chance to do so. And two years from now, Teddy will receive his letter…"

Teddy.

"Until then, you can visit him any time… each weekend, if you like. I am sure that you'll be able to Apparate again without assistance very soon… but as long as you need help, I'll take care to get you here safely."

"You want me to take this offer." It was not a question.

He sighed. "Yes, I want you to take this offer, Ruta. You are not made for an idle life."

"What about you?" Ruta studied his face. "You are not made for an idle life either."

"I know." He got up from the sofa and went over to the window, turning his back to her. "You may not be aware of the fact that the school owns several properties within the Hogsmeade area. Minerva offered me a house, Kelpie Cottage. It is spacious enough to be comfortable; there's even room to set up a laboratory."

"Oh." She carefully placed the parchment roll on the table. "Will you buy it?"

"I have not come to a decision yet." He hesitated. "But yes… it may well be that I buy it."

"Stephen…" She stared down at her hands. "You have been hiding for months, here in St. Mary Green. But you never planned this to be permanent, did you? You only wanted to make sure that Harry was well… until I came along and things became much more complicated, of course. If you move to Scotland now, to settle down so close to the school where your memory is more alive than anywhere else… that would mean a much bigger risk. Some day the next Vicky Stone will appear on your doorstep… or even some unsuspecting teacher, stumbling right into your secret. What will you do then?"

"Trust me, this will not happen." He was still not looking at her. "The time for hiding is over."

"Wait a moment." She rose from her chair, stepping behind him. "Do you seriously want to tell me that Severus Snape is about to return?"

"Merlin, no." His shoulders grew rigid. "It is not Severus Snape who will live in Kelpie Cottage, but Stephen Seeker. Only that he has not been more than a name until now. It is time to give him a proper face."

vvvvv

The parlor was silent… silent enough that Ruta could hear the fine whisper of snowflakes against the windowpane. Suddenly a log cracked in the fire, making her wince. A proper face?

"I don't understand." She touched his shoulder. "You're talking in riddles, Stephen. Please, would you look at me?"

Finally he turned around. When he spoke, his deep voice was as tense as his whole body.

"I not only wanted Minerva to find me a house in Hogsmeade," he said. "I already told you that she created my new identity, eight years ago. Last night I asked her to go the extra mile for me, and to perform a permanent Transfiguration."

"But, Stephen…" She swallowed. "That would mean…"

"That would mean that my outward appearance is about to change completely and irreversibly," he finished her sentence. "Of course the method is strictly forbidden without an official permission from the Ministry of Magic, at least if it's used to change the body of a human being. It was highly popular among Gellert Grindelwald's minions, fifty years ago; Voldemort despised it because the effect couldn't be undone. And it takes a truly powerful Master – or Mistress – of Transfiguration to perform the spells without doing severe damage."

She felt a sudden, icy prick of panic in her heart. "It is dangerous, then."

"Yes, it is." His gaze was as placid as it was determined. "But continuing this masquerade is dangerous, too, as the recent events have sufficiently proven." He reached out and ran his fingertips from her temple down to her chin in the mere hint of a caress. "And I could not lay my fate in more capable hands, believe me."

She asked the next question without thinking.

"But if the whole business is such a danger and makes her sail close to the wind for good measure – why do you insist on taking that risk, and why does she agree?"

He didn't answer. Ruta found his eyes; she saw something unexpected in their black depths, a flicker of… what? Insecurity? Fear?

"Stephen?"

"Well…" He cleared his throat. "Because we both agreed that you would probably not wish to spend the rest of your life with a husband who constantly hides behind closed curtains."

Time abruptly slowed down and came to a sudden halt. Ruta stood frozen to the spot, her gaze fixed on his face, hypnotized by her own heartbeat. She could sense the strong, regular pulse in her fingertips and behind her temples, her breath following its rhythm and gently adjusting to the tide of her blood.

"Ruta."

She came back to herself with a start; he looked at her with growing concern. And yes, there was fear indeed, she could see it clearly now… the fear of having ventured too far, of burned bridges, of being rejected once again. The realization that she was able to shatter his hopes with a single word hit her like a heavy blow against her ribcage.

"Stephen." She barely recognized her own voice. "Are you… are you asking me to marry you?"

"It would certainly seem so." His lips twitched in a half smile, but his eyes were completely serious. "I moved heaven and earth to get you employed again, and to find a house worthy to be offered to you as a new home. I brainwashed one of the most formidable and strong-minded witches in Britain into breaking the rules and giving me a new face, and I twisted her arm into procuring a special licence from the Ministry, to officiate the wedding herself. Yes, Ruta Lupin, I am asking you to marry me ."

She couldn't help but smile at this impressive numeration. But still…

"Just for the record: you know what I am. Radescu's Powder might keep me from changing each month, but I'll never be able to trust myself again completely."

"Anyone who trusts himself completely is nothing but a dimwitted fool," Stephen said, almost angrily. But then he took her shoulders in a firm grip, softening his tone. "If you should find it in your heart to trust me instead and to accept my proposal, we shall fight our demons together from now on, back to back."

Disbelieving joy welled up inside of her, bright and irresistible.

"I have always trusted you, from the very beginning," she replied softly. "And you should know enough about my heart by now to do the same."

"Well, then…" He pulled her close, his chin in her hair. "Do you accept? I'm not getting any younger, my Herb of Grace."

Ruta laughed into the warm skin of his neck, feeling the shiver running down his spine. "Me neither. And you are right, we have already lost enough time as it is."

She stepped back and raised her head; their eyes met. She reached out and found his hands. His face was younger than she'd ever seen it before, amazingly carefree and full of hope.

"Yes, Stephen Seeker, I will marry you. I have no idea how the husband I plan to share the rest of my life with will look like, but it will still be you, and this is all that counts."

"Thank you," he replied earnestly. "You won't regret this, I promise."

"I'm much more afraid that you might regret this some day," she said, her voice a little shaky – but before she could find more words, his mouth silenced her. The kiss was tender and confident, and she returned it with disbelieving happiness.

Stephen's arms closed around her, hands stroking her shoulders and following a delicious trace along her spine. He caressed the back of her neck and she heard a deep intake of breath when he discovered her nakedness under the dressing gown; both his kiss and his embrace turned from gentleness to sudden hunger, striking sparks and making her flesh flare with delight.

Yes, she thought, oh yes… and suddenly everything within the difficult, intricate pattern of her life seemed to fall into place. The failures of her past, the endless years of deliberate solitude – the result of her terrible inability to accept Remus' loving friendship and to be content with what he had been willing to offer – all that had led her here, to this moment, to this place. Even Greyback's mindless cruelty had become useful, in a way… to shatter her petrified belief that she didn't really need anyone else. For she had needed Stephen, she always would from now on; fate had – finally! - caused her frozen pride to totter and fall.

Glorious heat spread in her body and made her skin tingle, and she sighed into his mouth as his fingers gently loosened the knot in the velvet belt around her waist. It felt so good, so incredibly right. The knowledge about their newfound bond ran in her blood like a strange tune, untamed and triumphant. Mine, she thought, burying her hands in his hair, you are mine. And I am yours.

A metal clattering came from the direction of the kitchen, followed by a loud splash of water.

"Let me stiiiir in your caaaa-uul-droon…"

That voice was unmistakeable. Ruta broke the kiss with a soft gasp, Stephen's breath warm and fast on her face.

"Let me waaaltz with your waaaand…"

"Merlin's beard!" Stephen groaned. Laughter bubbled up in Ruta's chest, infectious enough to make his shoulders shake in response. They stood brow to brow, and the black eyes directly in front of her were glittering with a mixture of embarrassment and amusement. "I can only apologize for her taste of music."

"Honestly, I think it's rather charming," Ruta protested, unsuccessfully trying to master her own exuberant mirth. "Wait until she gets to the verses…"

"Are you trying to tell me that the chorus is not the worst thing about that song?" He looked decidedly horrified.

"Oh, brave wizard of my heart," Ruta quoted gleefully, "how your magic captured me! No spell can ever make us part – our passion, it was meant to be!"

Stephen raised one hand. "Mercy, my Herb of Grace… enough is enough. Even my capacity for suffering has its limits."

He stepped back, still holding her hand.

"You must be hungry," he said, "and considering your addiction to her coffee, I should count myself lucky that I'm able to offer Winky's services as a kind of dowry, so to speak."

"Her kitchen skills were certainly very tempting," Ruta said, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, "but they were not what tipped the scales."

"I can only hope that the main reason are my inner values," Stephen remarked, "for even if you actually cherish my outer appearance - which is something I find rather difficult to believe - you won't be able to enjoy it much longer anyway." The laughter had vanished from his eyes. "Are you aware that you are buying a pig in a poke?"

"Stephen…" Ruta shook her head, searching for words. This was perhaps a last kind of test, and she needed to be absolutely honest. "You are wrong; when I met you, I had not the tiniest idea who you were, and still I felt drawn to you. I admired your cleverness, your sharp wit, your humor… long before I found out about your true identity. And after all that…" She paused and felt the gentle pressure of his fingers around hers, encouraging her to continue. "… after all that drama I was… I was ashamed to have burdened you with so much. That was why I insisted on giving you a choice, and sending you away… and then I suddenly understood that I betrayed myself."

"Why?" His voice was very soft.

"Because I simply couldn't bear the thought of losing you again," she answered openly. "My feelings for you have nothing to do with how you look – I will accept any change, as long as the man underneath the skin remains the same. My heart will know you anywhere, Stephen Seeker."

She cupped his face with both hands and kissed him.

"And now I would love to have some coffee and scrambled eggs. I leave it to you if you want to tell Winky about our plans immediately… you might risk a cascade of Warbeck-songs, simply because she decides to celebrate the good news. And afterwards I would like to lie down for a while… I didn't get much rest last night."

"Me neither," Stephen said. "I need something to counterbalance Minerva's Glenfiddich. The times when I could take a night spent with discussions and half a bottle of malt whisky without any unpleasant repercussions are long over."

"I'm really sorry." Ruta laughed. "Perhaps we should lie down together. And after enough rest I might actually decide what it is I would like you to keep."

Understanding dawned in his eyes, and renewed amusement. "Don't tell me you have grown fond of my nose!"

"I could definitely live with it," she told him. "only that there are probably too many people in Hogsmeade and Hogwarts who vividly remember the face it belonged to for thirty-eight years." She looked down at his fingers. "But I have grown fond of your hands, Stephen."

"Only my hands?" He was teasing her, and he obviously enjoyed it enormously.

"Give me a cup of coffee or two," she said, "and grant me a few hours of undisturbed sleep, and I will tell you what else it is that I exceptionally like." She raised her head, smiling innocently into his eyes. "I'll go upstairs and change into something more decent."

"Are you sure you have to?" His voice carried more than a hint of regret, and a second later she felt his fingers, grazing the swell of her breasts under the dressing gown. She caught his hand in a firm grip before it had the chance to venture any further.

"Breakfast first." She spoke close to his lips. "I'll be with you in a moment."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

On his way to the kitchen he stopped in the doorway, smoothing his disheveled hair, and turned back to her, his eyes fixed on her face. "Ruta…"

The sound of his voice carried her back to the evening when he had read her the fairy tale. Even in the body of a wild beast, held captive by the curse, she had reacted instinctively to the way he spoke her name then… full of wonder and a joy he hardly dared to feel, and at the same time hesitant and almost unwilling. But now all hesitation and reluctance were gone, replaced by new confidence and peace, and the tune in her blood grew jubilant as she watched him smiling at her with the same deep, profound bliss that sang in her own veins.

He left the room, and she could hear him speak to Winky in the kitchen, though she was unable to discern what he was saying. She went out of the parlor and up the stairs to the bedroom, her steps fleet-footed and swift.

He'd never said the famous three words people usually associated to the intimate union of two hearts… not in the weeks before and not today. And Ruta didn't believe that she would hear them from him any time soon.

She didn't care. Her heart knew, without the shadow of a doubt.

Her heart knew.

FINIS

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Author's Notes:

Well, that's it. No, really... after some serious consideration I have decided against an epilogue. Those among you who still would like to catch a glimpse into the future of this unusual (and very beloved) couple, I just posted a little conclusion. Originally it should have had the title Miss Potter's Secret, but the little hero decided against my initial idea for the plot and also insisted on another title. If you are interested. you can now read: Once Upon A Hill Top, also here in this archive.

Wow. More than one year of work... and all that only because I sent rabidsamfan the first version of the prologue and was told: "Feed the bunny." I did, and it grew TEETH. Thank you - by the way - to rabidsamfan and clevertoad, my two most amazing betas, honest enough to make me rewrite the worst nonsense and enthusiastic enough to keep me on track. I love you, ladies, always.

Thank you to my readers. You carried me through, you gave me the courage to continue and warmed me with your open praise (or made me think with your critical thoughts). This tale would not be what it has become now without you. And if you really want to make me happy - for I don't make any money with this, I only enjoy playing in Mrs. Rowling's glorious sandbox - tell me what you think. I honestly cherish every review!