Undisclosed Desires
Seven
Reflecting on their afternoon in the Three Broomsticks, Severus rather feared the next Owl from the Ministry. When it finally arrived, he could only stare at it for a good ten minutes, before plucking up enough courage to open it.
When he read its contents, he was filled with all parts of dread and resentment. Ironically, this was a relief. He took comfort, because there was safety and familiarity in dread and resentment. Admittedly, that he and Hermione should be directed to attend the annual Ministry Garden Party together, well, he should actually be feeling something more akin to terror, but dread and resentment were comforting enough.
But, following time to dwell, alarmingly, under the dread and resentment was nervous anticipation too. He knew what that meant. It meant that he must actually care very little as to the assignment, just as long as he had the opportunity to see her—to spend time with her.
Which was a complication.
A line had been crossed in their last meeting, possibly by them both, but certainly by him. He still could not fathom why he had not found the strength to deny her that extraneous meeting. He should have denied her. He could pretend it was the Ministry's manipulation, but it was clear the truth was far more mundane. He had wanted to show off his skills and abilities with the cauldron. There was little else in his arsenal, after all. He had wanted to impress her.
There was no mistaking the odd sense of exhilaration he felt hours later, after spending time with her.
He liked her; admired her.
Desired her, even.
Tragic, really. The idea of a man like him, as old as him, and who looked like him, desiring a woman like her—as young as her and as beautiful as her.
Who could blame him for it? He was not so socially inept to be blind to her behaviour. He was practiced at reading people and at second-guessing their motives. Inexplicably, she sought his attention; that much was true. The only concession might be that she failed to understand what her actions courted in a man like him. Did she understand that he might read far more into her actions than she might have intended?
Yet, she was not a stupid woman—she was not a simple woman. Therefore, she must know.
He thought about how she had looked, in the garden of the Three Broomsticks, sitting there in the sunlight, pensive, and with a frizzy halo of hair rising from the top of her head. The image enchanted him. He wished he could look at it forever.
And then there was the creeping, sick feeling too—the feeling of wanting her company and of looking forward to extracting yet more smiles from her. He was building a sub-conscious collection of them and his opportunity to expand it would soon run out. The irony, that he should now begin to rue the end of this ordeal.
Severus dropped the letter onto his desk and rubbed his fingers tiredly along his bottom jaw, heaving a large sigh.
A garden party, though.
His resentment lay in that he should now have to share his time with her. He did not want to share her. And once that thought was fully formed, he sought to banish it and shake himself.
When later, she turned up at his office on her lunch break, looking somewhat harassed, he decided he would be better served by focusing on his dread, above all things, at being forced to attend such a publicly social gathering of the great and the good. Neither category into which he ever felt comfortable or entirely welcome.
'What are we going to do?' she posed, sounding utterly aghast.
And though her irritation made his insides shrink, he couldn't blame her for recoiling at the prospect of them attending such a public event together. He recoiled from it.
'I have given it some thought,' he began calmly, 'and we are not required to tell anyone why we are there. It will be assumed we were invited the same as anyone else. And with that in mind, who on earth is going to conclude that we are there together. We are known acquaintances, after all.'
She frowned thoughtfully, as if his answer had been not what she had expected. Perhaps he ought to have shown a smidge more of his usual impatience.
'I suppose you are right… Neither is there a sticking charm preventing us from moving more than ten paces apart.'
She chuckled, the thought evidently amusing.
'None that we are aware of,' Severus interrupted grimly. 'Never fear, I shall not cramp your style.'
He reached for his ledger to continue his work, in what he hoped was a sign of dismissal. She did not leave, however.
'Come now, I have no problem attending an event with you, Severus.'
His resulting pulse of pleasure was embarrassing. He hoped it was not visible to her.
'I simply do not wish to promote this ridiculous decree,' she continued, oblivious to his internal meanderings. 'Nor do I wish to see you uncomfortable. I mean, when did you last attend one of these shindigs? As I recall, you have avoided almost all of them.'
'Noticed, did you?'
Her eyebrow lifted. 'What if I did?'
For a skill that he had honed over years, he was finding it increasingly difficult to meet her eye for too long, these days. Especially, when she had that knowing gleam in her eye. He blinked away now, fearing that not even concerted Occlumency would prevent his thoughts being written all over his face.
'Do not worry on my account,' he urged. 'The end is in sight; let us focus on that.'
And he did focus on that. He needed to remind himself that this whole experience was a farce. He and Granger were not matched in any way. It was a grotesque error that would surely be identified in due course.
But there is a connection, a retaliative voice would hiss in his mind. He had connected with so few people in his life, that he felt sure he could not be wrong when he felt it. He couldn't mistake her kindness, and her openness, and he could not misunderstand his enjoyment of her, and his ease in her presence—surely he could not?
So what haunted him repeatedly, usually at night, was the idea that, maybe, the Ministry was not wrong. If they were wrong, should she have not treated him with impatience and disgust? Should she not have barely tolerated him? And he would feel righteous contempt and mistrust. Instead, he was beginning to believe that she might be trying to nurture the connection, and, worse, he was allowing it.
The day of the garden party eventually dawned.
For all his internal wranglings and misgivings Severus was filled with a ridiculous sense of anticipation. He had even taken time with his attire and his grooming, yet, he fervently hoped she would not notice.
In a bid to ensure they satisfied the Ministry, they had aimed to co-ordinate their arrival into the Atrium at the Ministry of Magic. As it turned out, there were so many people milling about, trying to make their way into the gardens, that Severus did not spot her until he had been buffeted outside into the courtyard beyond.
There she was. She hovered alone, standing to one side by an ornate water fountain.
He took a moment. In another life, he should have liked to have gone to her, greet her warmly, compliment her appearance, and then sweep her off on his arm. But alas, his repertoire did not provide for such smooth gestures.
'Good afternoon,' he managed as he approached.
'Ah, there you are!'
He had not reckoned on what it would be like to be in receipt of her smile in such an overwhelmingly public setting. He almost felt like rearing out of the way to protect himself from it.
'You look nice,' she observed.
Her eyes flickered initially, cautious, but then they were earnest, and maybe defiant, too.
Severus swallowed uncomfortably. 'And…you,' he managed, his voice small. In her case, nice was putting it mildly, of course. He wasn't sure he had ever seen her look so elegant.
Another throng of people started to mill towards the gardens and Hermione was jostled. Automatically reaching his hand out to steady her, Severus felt their fingers touch briefly. The resulting ripple of heat that surged through him meant he dropped his hand immediately. Sending a scornful look at the crowd, he then turned a more measured look back to her.
She was closer now. He could see the fullness of her eyelashes, a new item about her for him to docket. She stared up at him, her expression somewhat wistful. 'I wish we didn't have to be here,' she whispered.
For once, Severus felt no doubt in his interpretation of her meaning. There would be no peace here. There would be no quiet. They were both prominent in their own right, and whilst no-one would be vying for his attention, he knew they would hers. It was written in the warmth of her eyes and the tilt of her chin. She wanted what he wanted—for them to be alone. Just the two of them; talking, sparring, learning, understanding, maybe even disagreeing, he did not mind which.
Perhaps there could be more, too. He wished for her to touch him, to feel once more her warmth on him. A small gesture, anything, would do.
'You know the Ministry could not make us repeat this event,' he heard himself say in response. He didn't much care that they might have to have an extra turn at something else. Maybe he even wanted it.
Her eyes were searching. There was that look again—the look that could prise secrets from the blackest soul. It was so unreserved and warm that he was moments away from opening himself to her. He would let her in and see it all, if she wanted. Lay out every single miserable part of himself in the hope she could counter them.
She swallowed thickly. 'We, I, will have to stay for a bit to say hello to everyone, but then we can leave if you like. Fuck the Ministry.'
Severus nodded, unable to find his voice. Fuck the Ministry. Very well. He could do that and then some. He took a step back to create a far more polite distance between them, noticing how her chest had turned a little pink.
'I have prepared a cover story for our mutual acquaintances,' she said, resuming her composure.
Severus bridled. 'You mean…'
She nodded enthusiastically. 'Come on, we should get it over with straightaway.'
'Surely, I do not need to—'
She gave his arm the lightest of nudges, indicating he should turn. 'Yes; they won't be interested if they see us together later.'
He reluctantly followed her onto the lawns, which were utterly and garishly bedecked. There were tents and tables and all manner of fripperies set out for entertainment. There were flowers everywhere. Only one thing interested Severus and he quickly clocked the nearest bar for reference. His attention was soon arrested, however, when, up ahead, he could see a conglomerate of mostly ginger heads. His insides twisted a little.
'Hello everyone!' Hermione called out brightly.
There was Potter, his wife, his eldest child, and a smattering of Weasleys, including the final third of the insufferable trio. There were broad smiles all around in response, and then quizzical glances between themselves when they realised their dear friend had rounded up a straggler. There was a mumbling of greetings in his direction, which he returned with a nod. Potter shoved out his hand, which, if a certain person had not been present, he might have rebuffed, but feeling her eyes upon him, he took it.
'Haven't seen you for ages, Snape, and now it's twice in a few weeks.'
'My commiserations, Potter.'
'I told you, Harry,' put in Hermione, 'that Severus has been assisting me in my Healership training, on the potions side, of course. He has even promised to consider publishing some of my work in his journal.'
Severus failed to suppress a scoff.
'Did you not?' she questioned lightly, her eyes full of challenge.
'Of course,' he replied silkily, looking at her, 'we usually require a few fluff pieces to fill the pages.'
Her eyebrows twitched, whether with amusement or affront, he wasn't sure.
'Hermione has had articles published before, haven't you?' puffed out Potter defensively.
'Mediwizardry Monthly, wasn't it?' queried Severus.
He watched her expression flicker in genuine surprise. 'Oh, did you read them?'
'Skimmed, might be more apt.'
She scowled good-naturedly. For fear of looking like he was enjoying himself too much, Severus glanced away over her shoulder to the bar, only to find his eyes immediately meet with those of a tall, bespectacled witch. He looked away, uttering a soft groan of annoyance.
In acknowledgement of the curious expressions before him, he murmured, 'Look out.'
As he expected, a figure suddenly drew up next to him. A hand was clapped firmly on his shoulder and a Scottish brogue cried, 'Well, I cannae believe my eyes!'
'Minerva,' Severus said, turning slightly to her.
'Whatever brings you here?' she questioned, glancing briefly between them all. 'Hello everyone,' she added, smiling.
There was a chorus of greetings and few waves from further out where some of the wider Weasley clan had moved away.
'Well?' she prompted briskly. 'You once told me to "away and boil ma heid", the last time I asked you to join me here.'
Potter actually had the temerity to snort out loud.
'A man may change his mind,' Severus replied stiffly, sending a swift glare over Minerva's shoulder to where Hermione stood, evidently trying to contain laughter.
'Indeed,' Minerva agreed, but the subsequent squeeze of his shoulder told him she did not believe him.
Young James Potter suddenly stepped out from behind his mother and started tugging on the skirts of his Aunt Hermione. Severus looked at the boy, mildly perturbed that even the Weasley genes had failed to dilute the Potter lineage. Hermione obligingly scooped the child up onto her hip, smiling widely and plucking gently at his cherubic cheeks with her thumb and forefinger. The child giggled brightly, before whispering in her ear.
Hermione laughed. 'Oh you want to go on the swings? Let's go, then.'
With a brief apologetic glance, she carried him away towards a children's play area.
'I think I need a drink, Minerva,' Severus grumbled, watching her go.
Without excusing himself, he headed off in the direction of the bar. He cursed garden parties for being full of people. He cursed Hermione's friends, and their progeny, for he knew they would occupy her all afternoon, and he cursed Minerva, for she knew him too well and he could sense what might be coming.
When he turned from the bar, with drink in hand, he was face-to-face with his former colleague. The Headmistress stood there expectantly, looking down her nose at him.
'The house-elves tell me everything, Severus, and so does Rosmerta.'
'Rosmerta should get a life. And why don't you, for that matter?.'
He simply received a raised eyebrow for that barb and he sighed loudly. 'I assisted Miss Granger in her studies by allowing her to assist me with my brewing for the Infirmary. Did you know that she is training to be a Healer?'
'Since when do Healers do their own brewing?' she argued.
'Forgive me, but have you met Hermione Granger?'
'Yes, and I have met you, too, funnily enough.'
There was a momentary stand-off as they each surveyed the other. He knew Minerva had form for being somewhat of a busybody when she wanted to be, but he felt, uncomfortably, that she might seek to warn him away from her former charge.
'Well, tell me, what do you think is going on?' He punctuated that with an icy glare. 'What is it about Granger and I spending time together that so upsets you?'
Minerva hesitated, before clicking her tongue in irritation. 'Oh, nothing,' she uttered resignedly. 'Besides, I know it's none of my business.'
'Becoming self-aware in our old age, are we?'
She pursed her lips, looking as though she was about to reignite the point, but decided once again not to. 'Come,' she said instead, 'I have no wish to quarrel with you.'
She reached for a glass of wine from the bar. 'There's a few people over here who would like to see you.'
Severus turned to where she was looking and muttered a silent fuck. A Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry reunion that absolutely no one asked for.
'Actually, Minerva, I—'
'You what? Do you have somewhere else to be? Perhaps you were going to assist Hermione in pushing young James Potter on the swings?'
Severus was impressed, despite himself, by her entirely straight face as she said those words. The glint in her eye entirely belied her composure, though.
He took a breath. 'Just don't talk shop, will you?'
'Can't promise anything,' she replied, smiling, before turning to head across the lawn.
Reluctantly, and with a final glance back to where the young James Potter was still being entertained by his aunt, Severus followed.
He never wanted to think about pushing James Potter on the swings ever again.
AN: Thanks so much for your comments!
