Hidden in a Sigh

Chapter 16: Hidden in a Sigh

With the arrival of February, a veil of boredom covered Hogwarts, and the grey weeks passed in a fog of cold monotony. Each day seemed endless; morning seeped into afternoon, and evening lingered over its slow death before reluctantly bleeding into night. A Quidditch match between Hufflepuff and Slytherin became the only event worthy of anticipation, but even that proved foolhardy. On match day, the wind came from the north, bitter and relentless. It raced over frosted hillsides, howling through branches laid bare by winter's scorn. The Quidditch pitch echoed with the sound of its fury, ringing out like the dolorous lament of a heart-broken wolf. Madam Hooch's shrill whistle pierced the air, and within minutes, the players' brooms were glazed with frozen rain. Shards of icy mist sliced at the faces of the spectators gathered to watch. The match ended when the Slytherin Seeker finally pried the Snitch...whose wings had frozen solid...from a prison of icicles where it had sought refuge beneath the castle eaves. Even the Hufflepuff fans cheered, grateful the game was over, eager for the warmth of their common rooms.

Within the shelter of the castle, two people seemed oblivious to the pervading gloom. Little by little, Hermione and Snape had moved beyond their shaky reconciliation. While their relationship would never return to the way it had once been, Hermione began to realise that was actually a very good thing. She had suffocated beneath a shroud of regrets and half-truths for too long. There was no longer anything to hide from Snape, and she could breathe deeply at last, relishing her newfound liberation. If only the cost for such freedom had been easier to endure, she might have been perfectly content. But rebuilding the shattered remnants of trust was a complex dance to learn...each time they mastered a new move, the music seemed to change. They stumbled through the unpredictable rhythm of remorse, the erratic tempo of forgiveness. Hermione marvelled at the paradoxical construct behind trust: how something so simple to destroy could require such time, effort, and patience to rebuild.

She became optimistic when Snape once again decided to habit the laboratory, working alongside her as they analysed ingredients and refined potions. By March, his proficiency in using the complex, scientific equipment was significantly impressive. Despite the disdain in his voice when he referred to the microscopes and analysers as her 'Muggle toys,' she noticed he, too, seemed fond of playing with them.

Eventually, she learned to relax whenever she'd journey to her lessons in the dungeons, leaving Snape alone in the laboratory. It might have seemed simple, but for Hermione, this was a major milestone. In the past, she'd been spectacularly possessive about any lab she had worked in, and strict protocol had always been followed. Snape was as obsessively controlling over the order of his workspace as she, so trusting him to stay behind came easier than usual. They worked well together, and she had no doubt the consistency of their precise, methodical efforts played a significant role in their success.

Finding peace in the familiar routine of such protocol and methods, Hermione pulled her notebook closer. She had just finished preparing a gel, and with a careful hand, she entered data for the cell cultures. Times, conditions, sizes, temperatures, and procedures were dutifully recorded, and she soon became engrossed in the entries, losing herself in the unique beauty of creating order from chaos.

"Please refrain from chewing on your lips," said a deep voice from across the room.

She had thought herself alone and started at the interruption. Her surprise turned to pleasure when she focused on Snape's face.

He crossed the room in a few, brief strides, holding her gaze the entire time. In a quiet voice, he informed her, "I rather enjoy having that task to myself."

After glancing at the door, his head dipped towards hers for a very soft, fast kiss. Despite its brevity, a sigh of contentment escaped her lips.

"Shall I cook something special for us tonight?" she offered.

"Does it involve toast?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

She pretended to pout. "Toast is harder than you might imagine," she defended. "But I was thinking of something a little spicy." She tried for a sultry tone but couldn't tell if she'd managed it. "I've an excellent recipe for lasagne."

His gaze fell to her notebook as he spoke. "Regrettably, I have a previous engagement," he said. "Are you amenable to a different night?"

"Certainly," she replied, returning to her task. "Tomorrow, perhaps."

She stared at her notes, hoping he hadn't seen the surge of curiosity that had almost certainly flashed in her eyes. It was not the first time she had wondered about his whereabouts. He often seemed to disappear for many hours, but she'd been loath to question him. The thought of becoming the jealous, interrogating girlfriend was unappealing in the extreme. Her brows drew together when she wondered if she could even apply the term 'girlfriend' to herself. As ridiculous as the designation sounded for a mature woman in her mid-thirties, it at least implied some sort of exclusivity. They had never set those parameters, and she began to wonder how he thought of her. Was she simply his lover? A friend with benefits? His significant other? Her teeth returned to her lower lip when she remembered the way he had likened her to Lily. Considering the precarious turns their relationship had recently taken, she was surprised by her sudden desire for a label, irritated by wanting...needing...to know how she fit into his life.

She flipped a page in her journal, pretending to concentrate on her notes as he moved to stand behind her. Her hair was pinned atop her head, and he stroked his fingers along the exposed skin at the base of her neck while saying, "Unfortunately, the antics of your Gryffindor third-years will require my presence at their detentions tomorrow night."

She wheeled around, her personal predicament all but forgotten. "Oh, Severus, you're not being horrid to my Gryffindors again, are you? Surely that nonsense is behind us."

"I resent your implication, madam. Are you suggesting I favour one House over another?"

"Are you denying it?"

"Most definitely," he said, raising his chin and looking quite superior despite the slight twitch at the corners of his mouth. "I despise all students equally."

She tried for an imperious look but somehow doubted it held much weight when followed so closely by her grin. Turning away, she saw Draco enter the laboratory and pounced on him.

"Draco, we need your honest opinion," she blurted before he could open his mouth to greet them. "Didn't Severus always favour Slytherin with more points than the other Houses?"

"Not at all," he replied instantly. "Severus would never stoop to such partiality."

Noting the identical smirks worn by both men, she muttered an unflattering oath. "And they called me insufferable," she said, shaking her head in resignation.

Draco's smile grew as he surveyed them. Obviously deciding they should both be equally irritated, he turned his attention to Snape and asked, "Have I mentioned yet how delightful you two look together?"

Snape's smirk transformed into a snarl, but Hermione just chuckled. She imagined few people called Snape 'delightful' and lived to tell the tale.

"What is your purpose here, Draco?" asked Snape.

Placing one hand over his heart, he fixed his gaze on the ceiling and extended his other arm towards the sky. "Ah, Severus," he said with excessive drama. "What is anyone's true purpose here? As Shakespeare said, 'there are more things in Heaven and Earth, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'"

Not to be outdone, Snape quoted back to him, "Yes... And 'a fool and his words are soon parted.'"

Draco grinned. "Too right," he agreed.

"How is Luna feeling?" Hermione asked Draco.

"She's quite well. That potion you sent worked miracles on her sickness."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"She looks amazing, too. All that rubbish they say about the sparkle of a pregnant witch is actually true for Luna." He paused to chuckle and shake his head. "She's convinced she has a little bump now, but I'm fairly certain her stomach is just expanding from all the puddings she's eating at breakfast."

"Oh, Draco," she said with dread. "Surely you haven't suggested she's getting fat?"

With a look of utter incredulity, he asked, "Do I look stupid, woman?" Speaking over Snape's unflattering answer to his rhetorical question, he said, "I'd prefer to live hex-free until this baby is born, thank you very much."

Hermione couldn't help laughing, but Draco appeared quite serious. Arching an eyebrow, he said, "I've seen the magic my wife is capable of...I learned after the last pregnancy to keep my mouth shut when Luna's around."

"A pity your wife doesn't visit Hogwarts more often, Draco," said Snape.

"I'll relate your regrets to her, Severus," he replied, deliberately misinterpreting the insult. "Actually, you can relate them to her yourself. My purpose here, as you so kindly inquired, was to invite you to dine at Malfoy Manor next Saturday."

Darkness stole through Hermione's mind, extinguishing all merriment and joy, leaving her cold and numb. She willed her features to remain neutral, knowing Draco was too perceptive to dismiss an inappropriate response.

"Dinner with your parents?" she asked. It was difficult to hear her voice over the buzzing in her ears. She exchanged a private glance with Snape, who said nothing.

"Yes, my father keeps mentioning what a charming dance partner you were and insisted I invite you both," Draco told her. "Luna and I will be there as well, of course."

Her cheeks heated, a flush blossoming on her face as anger filled her. She embraced the sensation, welcoming rage over fear. As loathsome as the invitation was, the fact that Lucius would use his own son as a tool to deliver the request had her hands clenching into fists, her fingernails scoring her palms.

Snape spoke at last. "Please thank your parents for the invitation," he said smoothly. "Unfortunately, we are otherwise engaged on Saturday next." He draped his hand over Hermione's shoulder as he spoke.

The gesture did not go unnoticed by Draco. "I rather assumed you'd find better ways to occupy your time," he said with a smirk. "I'll relay your regrets, however false they may be."

"Thank you, Draco," they said in unison.

He looked at each of them, his head swivelling back and forth as he smiled. "Shall I quote you more sonnets before I leave?" he asked.

"Not if you value your life," Snape told him.

Raising his hands in supplication, he bid them farewell and retreated. Snape walked him to the door of the laboratory, stopping at the threshold to exchange a few words. Their lowered voices rendered eavesdropping impossible, so Hermione watched Snape instead, trying to gauge his intentions from body language alone. After Draco departed, he remained at the door, staring into the hallway with a slight frown darkening his visage.

Closing her eyes, she tried to ignore the way Draco's words repeated through her head, a vile echo of a time she'd rather forget. Charming dance partner. Her stomach twisted as memories crashed around her: Lucius's anger as they'd danced at the Christmas Eve ball and later, on the terrace, his attempts to cajole and coerce her return to Arglist. She folded her arms across her middle, hands still balled into fists, and thought about the death of Mikolaj Brukowski.

"Have you received any news from the Ministry yet?" she asked.

"No."

She bristled from his curt reply, but he didn't appear to notice.

His voice did not soften when he said, "As I've told you the last fifteen times you asked: I will share the results of the Ministry's investigation when it's entrusted to me."

She turned away, feeling he was being a bit unfair. Surely she had repeated her inquiry no more than ten times ... twelve, at most. It had begun to feel as if help from the Ministry was pointless. Lucius might be obsessed with eliminating Muggle-borns, but he was not stupid, and he was certainly not careless. If he had played a part in Brukowski's death, it was doubtful he'd left any incriminating evidence behind.

Shifting her frustration to this most recent development, she said, "I cannot believe Lucius is using Draco as his messenger for threats."

"Are you certain Draco has no involvement with Arglist?"

"Y-yes." She lacked physical proof, but her instincts rejected the idea immediately. Perhaps the Draco of fifteen years ago...the arrogant boy Snape had known...might have supported such heinous plans. But not this Draco. She felt certain the man who'd just spoken of his pregnant wife with such adoration on his face would never willingly allow the type of malfeasance proposed by his father.

With a shrug he said, "Then, obviously, the invitation was only intended to upset you."

"Well, it succeeded."

"Undoubtedly."

She glared, unwilling to relinquish the fury inspired by Lucius and finding it transferred quite nicely to Snape. He didn't seem at all concerned by the invitation, making him an easy target for her anger. "You think I'm overreacting?"

He offered an impatient sigh. "The problem isn't with overreacting, Hermione. It's with reacting, full stop."

"What is that supposed to mean? I should just ignore it?" Her tone rose dangerously.

"Yes, that's exactly what it means."

"Doesn't this bother you at all? Aren't you the least bit disturbed by his tactics?"

"Clearly, you're upset enough for both of us."

His words only increased her ire. "So he can threaten me whenever he wants, and that's perfectly acceptable to you?" she asked with an exaggerated shrug. "But if I dare react to it, then I'm the ridiculous one for feeling threatened?"

He closed his eyes and sighed again. "I didn't say you were ridiculous. I am merely suggesting it is ridiculous...dangerous, even...for you to grant him this power. A threat is meaningless if you refuse to feel threatened by it."

She turned away and snapped her notebook shut. There was logic in his argument, and a part of her knew he was right. But she didn't want logic right now...she wanted a fight. The revelation surprised her, and she examined it further while clearing her workspace. As objectionable as the overture from Lucius had been, she supposed it had been Snape's reaction...or lack thereof...that had caused her indignation to swell. He claimed to care for her, yet he seemed more annoyed with her response to Lucius's invitation than the invitation itself. It brought her right back to her recent musings. Was his level of concern over Draco's missive comparable to the depth of his feelings for her? Or were her frazzled nerves creating dissidence where none existed?

Stuffing her journals into her bag with far less care than usual, she glanced at Snape and found him watching her with a troubled frown. He held himself stiffly, arms folded across his chest, regarding her in silence. Not for the first time, she wished she could tell what was going on inside his head, what thoughts were swimming behind those dark eyes. Returning to her task, she realised Lucius's methods were probably old news to Snape. It helped her appreciate why he'd been unfazed by the unexpected invitation, although understanding the techniques of Death Eaters would never come easy. The secretive power moves, the subtle nuances of shifting control, the sly, furtive negotiations: it all made her feel as if her brain would explode.

She was suddenly glad for the straightforwardness of her Gryffindor brethren. At times, it was difficult to go through life wearing her heart on her sleeve, but if this was the alternative, she could accept that small annoyance.

Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and turned to Snape. "I suppose I don't have a lot of experience in dealing with threats. In time, perhaps I'll learn to control my reactions and grant him less power. He certainly doesn't deserve it...thank you for making me see that." She slung her bag over her shoulder and slid off her stool. "I hope you enjoy your evening, Severus."

"Thank you," he replied, his frown deepening.

She nodded and attempted a smile, knowing it lacked sincerity. Still, she was proud of her restraint, pleased with her ability to rein in her emotions, and she walked past him with her head held high. She didn't make it far. Strong fingers closed around her arm, halting her progress. His speed caught her off-guard, and she toppled against his chest. He steadied her, keeping his arms around her when she would have disentangled herself from his embrace.

"Allow me to clear up one small matter before you leave," he told her.

"Yes?" she asked with a sigh, bracing for the inevitable lecture.

"When Lucius harasses you, it is far from 'perfectly acceptable' to me."

"Oh." She'd been waiting for his censure, mentally debating whether or not to hex him if the phrase, 'grow up' left his lips.

"Our reactions to threats may differ, but let me assure you, I take it quite personally when something of mine is threatened." His gaze travelled over her face, his expression almost desperate.

Mine, she thought. The term should have annoyed her, should have had her rebelling at the very notion. She was her own woman, strong and independent. Possessive men had never held any appeal for her. But somehow, this was different...this man made it different. Where she was independent, he was autonomous to the point of being a recluse. He didn't appear to need or want anyone. What could it mean that he'd claimed her, of all people?

"Have I made myself perfectly clear?" he asked, interrupting her train of thought.

"Perfectly." Unlike earlier, her smile was genuine.

He released her arms, cradling her face with both hands. This time, he didn't bother to glance at the open door. He kissed her without hesitation, without concern as to who might see. His lips were greedy, his mouth covetous, and she responded with a hunger that matched his, clinging to his warmth far longer than wisdom would have allowed. Through the haze of passion, her thoughts once again returned to her earlier quandary, but she no longer cared whether he considered her his girlfriend, his lover, or something else entirely. The need for such description had passed.

She was, quite simply, his.

A/N: Grateful hugs to my lovely betas, Karelia and little_beloved, and smooches to dear lettybird who Brit-picks with pride. My sincere apologies for the delay in posting this story ... I will never again tempt fate by suggesting a date for the next update in my author's note. If you're actually reading this and haven't quit the story during my hiatus, I offer you many, many thanks (and applaud your perseverance). Thank you!!!