A Letter and a Meeting

A Letter and a Meeting

Dear Sir,

Hermione Granger-Weasley

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stunned, Severus Snape, in the last years better known as Carlos, read the words over and over again. A big, grey owl had delivered the letter about an hour ago, but hadn't waited for an answer. Therefore, he had no way to deny her the meeting as he didn't own an owl and would have to go to the mainland to find someone who did.

Besides, he didn't want to cancel the meeting. She had been cheeky enough to describe his hut at the beach as a meeting point, and he guessed she would Apparate there. Given the formal tone of the letter, he very much doubted that the children would be with her. Therefore, this was about wine and not at all about the two of them.

Maybe.

Carlos placed the parchment on his worktable in front of him, smoothed it out with his flat hand, and allowed himself to think of her for the first time in a month – for the first time since she had left.

He remembered her. Her hair, soft and long on his pillow, whilst she slept in his arms. The gentle rising of her chest and the soft moans caused by pleasant dreams. Her lean figure: the small waist and long, slender hands. The sight of the sun behind her and her eyes, big and brown, with a sparkle of mischief every now and then when she was about to say something to amuse him, or shortly before she would push him overboard, backwards into the water. Her voice, warm and rough at the same time.

Of course he remembered her legs around his waist, her mouth on his and the feeling of being inside her, coming inside her.

He had deprived himself of those memories simply because it hurt too much to remember them. Although he had known that he had fallen in love with her, the strength of his feelings came as a shock for him. More often than not, he found himself staring off into nothing, neglecting his tasks, and abandoning his duties. Sometimes at night, he sat on his veranda, looking at the stars and imagining she would do the same. Pathetic, really, but he couldn't help it.

Damn shit that he loved a woman he couldn't have.

And now, there was this letter.

At first, he had refused to open it, fearing someone had finally found him, accusing him of murdering friends and relatives, of being a traitor, a Death Eater, and the Dark Lord's most devoted follower.

After a few minutes, he realised that, if someone who hated him had found him and knew who he was, this someone wouldn't write a letter to warn him. So he had unrolled the parchment, had read the words and now couldn't believe it was from her.

And what the hell for? Wine? A contract? Unlikely, but then, she wrote she was partners with George Weasley, the owner of that joke shop in Diagon Alley. If this was true, she didn't need the wine. If she didn't need the wine, why write?

Carlos sat until midnight and tried to solve the riddle of the letter. Maria placed bread and olives on the table, but didn't disturb him otherwise. Pedro poured him a glass of single malt whisky without a word. Both didn't try to interrupt his thoughts – they knew it was useless.

When the moon set in the small hours of the morning, he went to bed and dreamed of her. Tessa. In his dreams, she always was Tessa, married to a faceless man, and not to someone he once had taught. In his dreams, she was willing to give up everything to live with a winegrower who once had been her Potions teacher.

*****************

The week passed slowly. Carlos had to force himself to care for his vines. For the first time since he had come to the mountains, he wondered if it had been the right decision to stay here. Maybe he should have gone back to Hogwarts after the Dark Lord's death. Maybe fleeing, leaving the ruins of his life behind, was what a coward would have done. But at the time, facing the outcome of two decades of spying, accepting a trial and quite possibly a sentence in Azkaban had proven to be too much for him – he had left, had become someone else, someone unknown.

On the other hand, Tessa had told him one quiet night that he had been honoured with an Order of Merlin, Second Class, because Potter had told everyone about his real motives. The whole world knew about Severus Snape's secret love for Lily Evans, his failures, his traitorous ways concerning the prophecy. Everyone knew he hadn't been a double but a triple spy. That he had been Dumbledore's man all his life, and that he had killed the old wizard not out of hate, but because it had been necessary.

Carlos absently dropped the pruners to the wet ground. It had rained the previous night, and it was important to cut down the old branches. Usually, it didn't take him that long to do it, but today, Pedro had already come twice to check on him, concern written all over his leathery old face and clearly wondering where his employer was and what was taking him so long. He couldn't know that the tall, silent man was thinking about the past and, by doing so, opening up old wounds.

Killing Dumbledore had been hard; ruling the school afterwards, pretending he was unimpressed by the Carrows' cruelty, faking disinterest in the students' pleas for help, had been even harder. For nearly a year after he'd fled, Carlos had been plagued by nightmares of dying children, accompanied by their very real cries when Amycus or Alecto used them as guinea pigs for their games.

Being killed by the Dark Lord had come as a relief, really. He had been certain that he wouldn't survive the final battle; he even had suspected Nagini being the weapon. Her attack had come fast, and her bite had hurt worse than anything else that came before. Still, he had been able to pass on the memories that were so very important to Potter's success. The faces of the three youths, terrified and pale with shock, occasionally drifted through his dreams even ten years after that horrible night.

Carlos smiled when he realised that he had dreamed of her every now and then. In his dreams, her face was white as a ghost's; her voice, speaking words he couldn't understand, was a child's voice. As a student, she had been so very annoying and yet so very brilliant. Pity he hadn't been able to give her credit for her answers, each one correct and each one already showing that she would turn into a most remarkable witch.

He had changed in the past years, he knew that. Even his fear of snakes had subsided on the island, simply because the damn things were everywhere. Small ones and big ones, most of them harmless and only a few poisonous. The one at his feet, for example, would make him sick if it bit him, so he silently took a step back and let it pass before he gave up on cutting his vines and went back into the house. He needed a shower. He needed to think of something other than the past.

Anything but her.

******************

Not thinking of her proved to be impossible. She was in his head day and night. Not even Lily had managed that, as there had been other things to occupy his mind: school, lessons, teachers, his difficult relationship with his mum, and even Potter and his gang. Tessa, though, was always there, right in front of his inner eye.

He couldn't think of her as Hermione and definitely not as Mrs Granger-Weasley. Sometimes, when he couldn't hinder it, her name escaped from his lips, and it was always the name she had given him when he had first met her, before he knew who she really was.

Tessa.

Damn it. He shouldn't meet her. He should stay in his mountains, with his vines and with Pedro and Maria. Tessa didn't know where he lived; she would stay at the house at the beach for an hour or two, realise he wouldn't come, and finally leave again.

But he knew she wouldn't give up. As his student, there had always been a question lingering on her lips, she never had been satisfied with easy answers, and he couldn't imagine that that had changed. Besides, she was a witch, and she probably would use a location spell to find him. His house in the mountains was warded against coincidental trespassing, even if someone with magical powers happened to pass by. The wards wouldn't fool someone determined to find him, though. Moreover, she could always ask where he lived. It was no secret amongst the ones who knew him, and he wouldn't put it beside her to seek out Conchita to get his address.

It was late, and with a sigh, Carlos admitted that he had made a mess out of his dinner. "Not only too salty but burned as well," he muttered and heard Maria's giggles. He had the strong feeling that she knew why he was so absent-minded but didn't dare to scold her. She knows me too well, he thought. How could I allow anyone to get that close to me?

Well, that was obvious, wasn't it? He had opened up to the people around him because if he hadn't, he would have died of loneliness. After Lily had died – or after she had fallen in love with James, and he had abandoned her, to be truthful – he hadn't allowed anyone to come near him again. He had fought alone, only lead by Dumbledore's decisions and plans. He had ignored his own needs, the needs that every human being had: to find a companion, to have friends, to enjoy love and to experience emotions other than hate and despair. Only when he had been close to death, bitten and half crippled by a giant snake, had he realised that he didn't want to die.

The consequence was a change in his appearance as well as in his behaviour. He had cut his hair; he had found himself work outside in the sun; he had taken on swimming as a method to train the muscles in his injured shoulder. He had also opened up to strangers. Pedro and Maria, Chino, Conchita – friends, people who cared for him, people who liked him as he was.

But he had never allowed a woman to creep into his heart. Not after Lily. Losing her had torn him apart. Seeing her kissing James Potter had shattered his hopes so entirely that he had believed love to be a waste of time. Having been the reason for her death... Carlos shook his head and shoved the rest of his burned, salty dinner away with disgust. That was a path he wouldn't take today, thinking of Lily and why she had died. Once, it had been too painful. Now, it was a bitter and sad subject he had no intention to muse about.

Doing the washing up allowed him to calm his thoughts and make up his mind. He would go and meet Tessa. He would find out what she wanted, and he would guard his heart against the sight of her. The best thing to do was to assume she was here for business. Wine was what she wanted, so it would be wine she'd get. He could do with an extra bit of income, and it was impossible to sell the wine himself. The people on the island didn't have the money to buy expensive wine, and on the mainland, someone might recognise him. With an agent, though, a distributor like George Weasley and his shop, he could stay hidden and still sell his wine.

Perfect plan, he thought, satisfied, and went to bed.

********************

Two days later, the day she would arrive, Carlos was up at five in the morning, unable to eat, unable to sit still, unable to read or to do anything useful whatsoever. After two hours of getting in Maria's way, she kicked him out of the house and told him to go for a walk or to dig a new vegetable patch. She specifically forbade him to milk the goats or groom the horses, to go anywhere near the vines or even the chickens. "You make them nervous," she clarified at his thunderous expression. "You make me nervous. Best if you went to the beach to go for a swim, Carlos. Now!"

Angry at the fact that she was right, he packed his bag, then walked through the hills for an hour, chasing rabbits, and carefully avoiding bumping into Pedro. He didn't need another scolding, and when the sun was high up in the sky, Carlos walked to the village three miles away, took the bus to the beach, and wondered why he was feeling like a doomed man on the way to the gallows. "She's just another summer fling," he murmured, quietly enough that the man sitting next to him didn't wake up. "I'm not in love with her. And she just wants a bottle of my wine. Actually, I should have sent Chino to meet her. He's better with contracts than I am."

"Hmmm?" the man next to him mumbled and shoved his body round in his sleep. His head rested on Carlos's shoulder, and on his lap he held a big, beautiful goose. The bus was packed. Another hour, and they would be at the beach.

"Nothing," Carlos assured the sleeping man. "Sleep on."

The man didn't wake until the bus came to a screeching halt, hugged his goose, and went to the market to sell it. Carlos, feeling by now as if he had walked all the way from the mountains, shouldered his bag and headed for his hut. It was another two hours by foot, but he didn't mind – it was only one o'clock, he wasn't hungry, and he hoped walking would clear his head a bit.

Unfortunately, his hut looked exactly as he had left it. Inside, he thought he could smell her perfume in the air, could hear her laughter, could see the wet footprints of the children on the light planks. Sand was everywhere, and underneath the bed he found a ribbon that once, only a little while back, had held back Tessa's hair.

Goodness, he would have never believed he could miss anyone so very much.

Three o'clock in the afternoon, and he couldn't think of anything else but how the sunlight had reflected on Tessa's wild locks. This had never happened before – once the ladies were gone, they were not part of his life or his dreams anymore. He enjoyed their company for as long as it lasted, and that was all. He held the memory of each of them dear, but he didn't feel like he was split in half without them.

Swimming was possibly a bad idea. It was very likely that he would drown, simply because he'd forget to move his arms and legs whilst thinking of her. Therefore, he went to the beach and began scrubbing the shells off his boat; work he hated to do under any other circumstances. Today, he welcomed the chore. It was hard, dirty work, and if he didn't concentrate, he would cut off his fingers with the sharp knife he used.

Of course he forgot the time in the end. He was just wiping his sweaty face, looking at the sun, and calculating the time when he heard the sharp crack of her Apparating. Irritated, he turned round, not believing he had spent more than two hours removing the shells off his boat.

But there she was. A moment ago, the beach had been empty, and now she was there. He could hardly believe how unspectacular her arrival was. He didn't Apparate, himself, anymore. It was unnecessary as the island was small; it was dangerous, as someone could become suspicious. In addition, it was tiring for him due to his injury, so usually, he took the bus or walked. He had nearly forgotten that it was a common way to travel in the wizarding world unless small children were involved.

Slowly, he dropped the knife and knelt down to wash his hands in the salty water. With every breath he took, with every heartbeat, he drank her in.

He didn't like what he saw. She was dressed as a businesswoman, with a blazer, elegant trousers, high heels, and even a pearl necklace on. A small handbag hung over her shoulder. The professional, dark blue fabric of her suit was an ugly contrast to the sand-swept veranda, and why the hell didn't she at least say hello?

Hesitantly, he wiped his hands dry on his shorts. It had been hot, so he had taken his shirt off. He was in the water up to his knees, sweat dripped off his temples, and he was anything but clean. He couldn't have made a worse impression. Closing his eyes for a moment, he gritted his teeth, waiting for her to frown, to wrinkle her nose, or any of the other small, but nevertheless so very important signs of her disgust at his sight.

She took a step, then halted.

I wouldn't be surprised if she left without a word, he thought, but then decided that he wouldn't make it that easy for her. She would at least look into his eyes before she turned and fled.

She dropped her handbag. A moment later, her blazer, impeccable and undoubtedly expensive, fell into the sand. Her hands came up to free her hair: a moment ago tamed in a tight bun and now nothing but a wild, chestnut-coloured mass cascading down her back.

Her shoes – kicked off. Barefoot like himself now, she took a step towards him, whirling up sand. The white blouse was swept away by the wind when she let it slip over her shoulders, revealing a thin, cream coloured top. This was not a businesswoman anymore, and there was no disgust in her face. Only the same longing look he remembered so well.

He could just stare and get closer, step by step, disbelieving, but full of silly hope that this wasn't just another dream.

"Carlos," she said when he was only a foot away, and he caught her in his arms, pressed her body against his, felt her hair, her heartbeat and her smooth cheek pressed against his.

Hastily, she continued, "I will need a bottle of your wine, like I said in my letter. I have one week to finish the bargain. Ron is looking after the children, and he laughed his head off when he saw me in those clothes, but it had to look real. Everyone thinks you are a ninety-year old Spanish Muggle. Sorry for that." She took a breath. "I missed you!" she added, and he felt her lips at the corner of his mouth

"I missed you, too," he murmured in her hair and wasn't too surprised that his throat was tight with emotion. "Gods, you have no idea how much I missed you."