Closer

"You're a selkie, and I thought that you were beautiful."

Her words seem to seep under his skin, freeze him from the inside, steal all movement...his body is tense and drawn in steel lines. Hermione steps forward carefully, like she's walking on tender bubbles of hope, and she presses the flat of her hand to the tight cord of his spine, right in the valley between his sharp shoulder blades. Severus' muscles twitch under her palm like he's a nervous horse. Latent magic tingles against her fingertips, and she feels the way his torso expands and then deflates on the curve of a long sigh.

"Granger... Hermione," he murmurs. He turns to face her...his expression is hauntingly serious and intense...and her hand hovers on the uncertainty in the air between them. He takes her hand and captures it in an embrace between both of his palms. And then, with another soul deep sigh, he slides his fingers across her skin as he lets her hand go again.

"We cannot do this," he says softly, shaking his head.

But even she can see it in his eyes, now, that he feels this connection that shimmers between them like the purest promise. And surely he, the accomplished Legilimens, can see through the hopeful transparency of her eyes and read how she cares for him.

She rubs her fingertips together, touches them softly to her lips. "Why?" she whispers through the tingle of magic that lingers like a kiss.

"Aside from what Minerva might do to me for considering..." He shakes his head and his mouth twists into a grimace. "More importantly, I should think that, given the content of the DADA curriculum this year, you are now overly aware of what happens to an alliance when there is an imbalance of power between the partners."

Hermione blinks as she navigates to the core of what he has just said. Is he aware that he does that...that he reverts to intricate and convoluted sentences to hide the intimacy of what he means?

Hermione's a logical woman, and she actually agrees with him about the folly of initiating a student-teacher liaison. But she will not be...thank Merlin...a student for much longer. "So, you're saying that we can't do this now, not that we can't do it ever?" she presses.

She can wait, she thinks, until June. The warmth and the scent of summer is always a tantalising thing to look forward to. Adding the anticipation of what this could be would almost be a hedonistic pleasure.

Severus presses his lips together, and he shakes his head. "I am not fully human..."

Hermione shoots him a frustrated glare. "Fleur is a quarter-Veela and Bill loves her; Remus was a werewolf and Tonks loved him and..."

"Hermione," Severus says with a warning threading dark notes through his voice. "I have already stated that we should not be having this discussion right now and especially not until you have gone away and thought long and hard about the implications of..." Severus rubs his long fingers across one black, slanted eyebrow. "I am a half-breed... this is a complication that a bright and beautiful young witch does not..."

She narrows her eyes at him, feeling a spark of ire warm her temper. "I'm old and clever enough to make an informed decision for myself, thank you..."

"I am sure that you are not fully informed," he argues stubbornly.

"Well, then, will you inform me?" she pleads. "We can surely talk about other things before the summer... will you please talk with me... Severus?" Her heart flutters like a butterfly at her pulse.

He closes his eyes for a moment as if he is praying for strength. Then he licks his thin lips and nods. "We can talk, yes," he concedes. "This time next week we can talk... if you still want to, that is."

His last words seem to wrench unwillingly from his lips, as if an admission of uncertainty is an unforgivable weakness, as if it pains him to consider that she might change her mind.

Hermione spends Monday on a seesaw.

Sometimes she watches Severus Snape and marvels at the traits that made him the consummate spy...he goes about his day as if the world has not shifted under his feet; his face does not display a glimmer of recognition or emotion when he calls upon her to answer a question during DADA; he blends into the familiar rhythm of his day without missing a beat. But these things also make her stomach twist with anxiety; cause her to question reality and wonder if it was all a whimsical dream; set her to wondering if it is he who has changed his mind overnight.

When Hermione returns to her dormitory on Monday afternoon, she's got her robes pulled halfway off when she notices the book on her pillow. With her robes hanging around her neck like a heavy black mantle, she picks the book up and stares at it for a disbelieving moment. Then she traces the title...Selkie...with a silly little jab of trepidation, as if the book will pull her into another tunnel again or transport her right into the black belly of the lake.

There's a folded note tucked between the cover and the first page. His handwriting is not as angry and as hard as she's used to seeing it: A frame of reference for your perspective.

"Oh, where did you find that book, Hermione?" Ginny asks later that evening. "I don't think I've read that one before."

Hermione has the large, green book cradled in her lap like a treasure, and Ginny is doing a Muggle Studies assignment. She's been peppering Hermione with questions all evening, and Hermione is starting to feel like a reference book for Muggle trivia.

"I found it in the library," Hermione lies because the silk-thin thread that is weaving itself into complexity between herself and Severus Snape is still brittle and new, and it needs time and solitude to grow into something breathtaking.

"If you're going to work with the water Beings and Beasts next year, it's probably a good thing you found it...I swear that library plays hide and seek with books you really need," says Ginny. She sighs with tedium as she labels a drawing of a video machine (insert VHS tape here; stop button; power cord). "I don't see why we have to learn this when it's just going to be replaced by those DVD things."

"Because, Gin, whether we like it or not, the wizarding world is anything from a couple of years to a couple of centuries behind when it comes to those sort of technological things." Hermione thinks that Ginny only knows about the existence of DVDs because Arthur Weasley covets the rainbow shimmer of shiny things.

Ginny snorts and rolls up the length of parchment. "Anything interesting in there?" she asks, gesturing to the book by raising her arched eyebrows in Hermione's direction.

"Most of it is interesting in an anthropological sense," she says. Ginny doesn't bother to hide her eye roll. "You know... like the rules according to how their villages are arranged and built, the structure of their family units and their social divisions, and then there's also information about how they farm and what they eat..."

"Raw fish. Ugh. We learnt the basics of all of that last year with Hagrid." Ginny groans. "Very, very exciting." She starts to gather her things together, lazily Accio'ing a quill from under the couch...Ginny's belongings always seem to scatter around her, ranging further and further the longer she sits.

Hermione sticks out her tongue, and then she says casually, "Did Hagrid ever teach you about how they procreate?"

Ginny drops her quill and it rolls back under the couch as if it likes the dark and the quiet. "No... You know Hagrid never gets into the mechanics of things like that." She shudders dramatically. "Not that I really want to imagine Hagrid saying things like sex and penis."

Hermione pulls a face at Ginny because that's an image that she really did not need inside her head, even for a singular bloated and disgusting moment.

Ginny edges forward and leans her elbows on her knees, her eyes alight with wicked interest. "Their naughty bits aren't openly visible... so how does it work, then? I guess we all assumed they... laid eggs or something."

Hermione sighs. "It's actually very romantic," she says as if she's being prim and scolding Ginny for wanting sordid and graphic details. "When it's the New Moon, the selkies come out of the water into the dark night..."

"Shame, only once a month," Ginny interrupts with a snicker.

"Well, it says that they can do it when it's clouded over, too," Hermione says thoughtfully. "And we do live in Scotland, you know..."

Ginny and Hermione look out of the common room window and down at the lake at exactly the same moment, and they burst into rippling giggles...it only takes eye contact or a waggle of eyebrows to resurrect the levity for the duration of the evening.

Hermione presses her hand to her chest...it feels like it's full of glitter and champagne...after she's gone to bed, and she considers that their behaviour wasn't childish at all; it had tasted too much like joy and relief, a giddy celebration of life and friendship.

"Where are we going?" Hermione murmurs as they descend the stairs from the first floor the following Saturday.

"Patience," Severus says calmly.

Hermione shoots him an incredulous look...he's got some things to learn then, too, it seems. But she presses her lips together because the walls have eyes and ears, and she drops her gaze to the hem of his teaching robes and how the black material flutters and shivers as it catches against the buckled ankles of his leather boots with each step. Black is for mourning, she thinks with idle resignation. I'm mourning for the absence of his practice pants.

They pass Filch and Mrs Norris in the Entrance Hall. "Good morning, Professor." Filch eyes Hermione with gleeful animosity. "Detention, eh, Professor?"

"Hmm," Severus hums noncommittally, and he watches the duo disappear down the dungeon stairs before he opens one of the Great Doors. "After you," he murmurs.

Hermione glances up at him with astonishment, her lips parted with surprise, and the amusement she sees in the hint of his smile is for her, and she holds the novelty of it...it is starkly different from the derision that usually rides on the curl of a sneer...to her heart like a gift.

Severus links his hands behind his back and begins to stride down the steep incline towards the lake, slowly enough for Hermione to keep abreast with him. "It seems that Hagrid suggested to the Headmistress that I might be the best person to give you Mermish lessons," he says conversationally. "I agreed, albeit under a large burden of duress," he adds dryly.

Hermione wrinkles her nose as she goes about the complex business of deciphering Severus Snape. "So, where did Hagrid get the idea from, then?" she asks as the truth begins to coalesce into sense.

Severus gives her a convincingly blank look and shrugs. "Additionally, I informed the Headmistress that practical application of your lessons would be necessary. Fortuitously, this has been facilitated by the successful implementation of ungraded Bounding Wards on the perimeter of the giant squid's territory," he continues blandly. "The Chieftain has consented to teacher-supervised visits with his daughter."

Joy ripples on the morning breeze like a bright and colourful streamer. "You organised visits with Syrena?" she says with delight.

"I have no idea of what you could be alluding to, Granger," he says turning his head and raising his eyebrows. "I am merely following the Headmistress' directive." But as he turns his head again, she is positive she sees him give her a whisper of a wink.

Syrena is waiting for them in the shallows, and she waves excitedly before she executes a perfect backward flip...her silver tail sends a spray of water sparkling to the air.

"You do learn from Gallchobar," the little selkie admonishes Hermione, pointing a green-tipped finger at Severus.

As another piece of information clicks neatly into place...and brings another mystery into stark relief...Hermione turns to face him, a question tingling on her tongue, but Severus shakes his head minutely.

"Yes," Hermione answers, swallowing her curiosity for the moment.

"Gallchobar helps us, and now you help us also." Syrena gestures across the lake to where Kraken floats behind his triple-guarded waters. "Father is happy... there was a celebration in the village... the selkies say thank you."

"I am happy also," Hermione manages to string together, and she lets the selkie's joy bubble and click into the air around them as Syrena tells of the great feast and the dancing and the peace that her people enjoy. Hermione realises she's only probably ever felt more proud of her role in Voldemort's demise; that doing this for these gentle people means the world to her. Severus is quiet, and he stands behind her like a sentinel, watchful and sombre. Hermione remembers the unorthodox way he requested her help with the wards and the squid, and she knows that allowing this moment...facilitating it, even...with her friend is his silent thank you, his way of expressing his gratitude and his trust.

Syrena's mother surfaces all too soon to take Syrena home, and Hermione is almost startled when the Chieftain's mate smiles at her today, then calls out in a croaking echo: "Thank you, Cass."

Once the selkies have disappeared beneath the divide, Hermione turns to Severus and asks: "Cass?"

He looks like he's hiding a smile as he says, "It means curly," he tells her, and his eyes shift to the unruly spring of her hair like a caress. "They like your hair and find it uniquely charming because selkies generally all have black, straight hair."

Hermione smiles. "I like the name."

Severus nods. "Good. It is an honour for a witch or wizard to be recognised as a friend of the tribe... they are generally rather shy and inclined to steer clear of human involvement."

Hermione thinks of how Syrena had a special name for Albus Dumbledore, and she nods. "Realise that, yes." Hermione stares out across the mirrored surface of the lake. "Why did she come and fetch Syrena if they're safe, now?" Hermione asks.

Severus quirks a wry smile. "Likely for discipline's sake," he answers. "You're not the only young woman with a taste for adventure, and I'm sure you are aware that it can lead to trouble."

Hermione likes the way he calls her a woman, can even appreciate his gentle teasing. She's almost sorry when they turn to walk back up to the castle. She chews the inside of her cheek. Severus had said they would talk today, but he seems quite content to walk quietly beside her. She has to admit that the silence is comfortable; it isn't filled with the tight silence that surrounds strangers sometimes.

"So, do none of them know who you are?" she asks eventually. "Who your mother was?"

The wind whips his hair into a fan, and he reaches up to tuck it behind his ears. "No," he says tightly, "they do not. To them, I am just a gall... and one who has the silly inclination to practice magic, too." He shoots her a sidelong glance and shakes his head in wry disbelief. "You gather information better than an Auror might, Granger," he says with a hint of grudging admiration.

Hermione chuckles, and from his rather mild reaction, she suspects that Professor McGonagall warned him about the fact that she knows. "I think it's luck, really. Syrena and Hagrid both talk too much. So, why didn't you tell them that you are Leenash's son; that you're family?" she asks.

Severus' shoulders stiffen slightly. "Another day, Hermione," he says simply, and she's sure a shadow haunts across his face for a moment.

Although Hermione's dying to know the entire story of his life right now, immediately, at once, she nods and presses her lips closed against the flood. "Slow and steady wins the race, my girl," her father always said.

She sees him relax, and an expression that might be surprise flickers in the lines of his features. Halfway up to the castle he hmm's in a considering manner. "We may as fit a vocabulary lesson in while we're at it... so I won't have to lie to Minerva."

"Okay," Hermione agrees because she has to admit that she does need the practice if she's going to become fluent.

Severus tilts his head to the side and his eyes narrow with thought. "Translate this sentence into English," he drawls, and then he pauses and turns to her. "Someday, the storytellers of the water will tell of the beautiful Air Magicker who bound the Kraken and who captured the Gall's attention so well."

Hermione's mouth drops open and she feels a rush of pleasure and surprise prickle at her skin and her nerves. "You're... cheating," she manages to whisper. "You said we could not talk about... this."

Severus' chuckle is low and husky. "It was an indirect reference in a hypothetical selkie tale, and in an entirely different language," he counters, and then one side of his mouth lifts in a skewed smile. "When are you going to give me the list?"

This time, Hermione cannot keep up with the convoluted maze. "What?" she asks blankly, stopping dead on the flight of stone stairs that lead up to the Great Doors.

"Give me your list of questions," he says. "The one in your pocket, and I will see which I can answer for you in future."

Hermione gives a small huff of disbelief and digs the list out of her pocket. She presses it into his waiting palm. He folds his fingers closed like a trap, fast as a flash, catching the tips of her fingers. "Just remember... reciprocity," he murmurs, and he lets her hand go again.

And then he smirks as he opens the Great Doors for her again and leaves her dithering in the Entrance Hall as she wonders about what he meant by that impossibly vague comment.

A/N: A million sparkles of appreciation for Annie Talbot, who soothed my wibbles and made the horrid typos go away.

Thank you to everybody who reads and reviews The Silvering Divide. Writing this story has been a shining and silver experience.