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The Peek into the Brain of the Bloke
He had not thought of loving her when she had shown up on his doorstep, shorter than he had assumed she would be from the glamorous publicity shots featured in articles about her culinary genius. She seemed more wholesome that he had supposed she would be also, coming over from the glitter of London nightlife. The dark circles under her eyes were still faintly visible and her skin had the waxy tint of someone who has been sick.
He had not even considered her romantically, with all her pretty golden hair piled on top of her head, and her soothing voice. It was unthinkable. He loved Lily. Always, always Lily.
But…there was something irresistible about her, something that drew him like a moon to her orbit and comforted him like tea on a cold night. Something in the way that she tilted her head when studying something or went back to shops at least twice before making a significant purchase. The way she pored tea, kneaded bread, or perhaps the way she always greeted him with a smile.
Falling in love, for Severus, was not a storm of realization or stepping off a cliff into emotion, overwhelming him when he struck bottom. No it was a gentle lulling of her waves on his cold shores, sliding through his empty home and into his lonely heart.
His love came in into focus through a dream—sitting at the kitchen table and watching her baking his favorite pie, the glitter of a faceted garnet on a thick gold band. She turned to him with a smile, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes deeper now and her golden hair streaked with shimmering grey.
"What made me love thee? Let that persuade thee, there's something extraordinary in thee." And then she laughed; full and sweet like the sound of bells. He woke then, the bitterness of longing burning in his chest.
He had been angry with himself—angry that his desires always flowed soul deep, that they were too lofty for him to achieve and yet close enough to tempt with their nearness.
He had taken her to Paris, delighting in her excitement, reveling in her companionship. He had stumbled into her arms with uncharacteristic haste. Heady with her nearness, he had tipped his hand completely and prepared to loose her.
Against all odds, she had stayed; like a warm ray of summer son across the autumn twilight of his life. Could the next fifty years outshine the former? He had dared to hope only to see his plans go sideways as Harry Potter and Remus Lupin crashed through the safety of his manufactured life.
Somehow she was still here, watching him over their plates with the worried look of a caretaker.
"Are you making progress?" Elaine broke his meditative reflecting over their spicy chicken and fried rice.
He rolled his shoulders and shrugged. "To synthesizing an antidote, yes. To tracking down the perpetrator, no." He lifted his chopsticks to his lips.
Garnet, #34
Elaine's dream-time quote is attributed to Shakespeare from The Merry Wives of Windsor, 3.3.