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The Comforter in the Kitchen

She didn't even look up. "Miss Corbenic?" he repeated. His hands cupped her shoulders gently. "Elaine? Are you hurt? Ill?" His husky voice washed over her soothingly, as his large, warm hands caressed her lacey mauve cardigan-clad arms.

She turned into his embrace, breathing raggedly, feeling as though she had run a mile while pursued. "There's a man, just there, beyond the garden wall."

Severus leaned past her to flick the curtain aside and peek out of the window. His long hair, loose today, swept forward over his shoulder and brushed her hand where it fisted in his dark sweater. He smelled of musk and cedar, grounding and safe.

With a furiously muttered oath, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and seized his cane from its resting place against the door.

"Did he harm you? Upset you?" He led her toward the table in the center of the room. "Did he speak to you? What did he say?" Even when agitated, his voice stayed gentle and coaxing.

Elaine allowed herself to be guided. "He asked if I knew a Mr. Snape."

Beside her, Severus drew in a sharp breath and tensed slightly but she didn't notice.

"Sit, I'll make you some tea," he murmured.

She sank into the seat. "He made me uncomfortable—but when he told me he would find out if I had lied to him, well I—I'm not sure what happened. I panicked. I felt hunted…" She trailed off, still shaken by the strangely emotive experience.

Severus sat very near to her, his arm around the back of her chair. He pressed a warm cup into her hands and she obediently sipped the fortifying beverage.

"You are not to speak to him. If he continues to bother you, you will tell me. I will take care of him." His words were forceful, his eyes dark and burning.

She nodded slowly. "Do you know him?"

"I don't like the look of him." He neatly evaded her question. He refilled her teacup and poured himself a cup with a sigh.

Elaine stirred a dollop of cream into the cup of Earl Grey and stirred gently, basking in the safety of Severus's presence.

She looked at him over the rim of her cup: his thick dark brows drawn together over a firmly settled scowl, his jet black hair falling straight around his shoulders with just the barest hint of a curl at the ends, his intense eyes staring into the middle distance as his thoughts obviously turned inward.

Looking back at this quiet moment much later, she would realize that this was a turning point. If he had been alone in this house, he would have been gone within the hour, disappearing silently into the English countryside. She kept him anchored to the little town of Wolden and this manor that was just starting to turn into a home. After less than a month with him, she had bound him to her without demands, promises, or guilt.

Mauve, #14