In My Life

Chapter 12: In My Life

Severus paused for a moment, wondering just what he was doing in Hermione’s flat. She was so young, so full of life. Why was she interested in a relationship with someone like him? Surely, she had men swarming around her like flies to honey.

Taking the seat beside her, he asked, “Why haven’t you attended the Ministry balls in the past?”

She shrugged. “It’s not the type of event a woman enjoys frequenting alone.”

“No one’s ever asked you?” he asked. “I find that hard to believe.”

“It’s the truth,” she told him. “You read the newspaper—you must have some notion of why people avoid me.”

“I ignore the gossip section.”

“Ah, that’s very wise. I assure you, you haven’t missed much—at least, not much that’s true.” She took another sip of her drink, quite a bit larger than the last.

“The truth rarely sells newspapers.”

“Too right.”

“What atrocities have they misreported now?”

“Nothing too serious.” She laughed, but the hurt in her eyes belied her humour. She looked away and said, “Oh, it doesn’t matter, I suppose. You know how horrid the press can be. The only thing better than a hero is a fallen hero. The Prophet had great fun turning me into a harpy. And I believe the latest exposé from Full Moon Monthly suggests that I prefer women to men.”

He snorted, not entirely surprised by her revelation.

“And so what if I do?” she asked. Indignation squared her shoulders. “How is that anyone’s business but my own?”

“It’s not.”

“Of course it’s not. I swear, Severus, sometimes this world is so bloody archaic, it just makes me want to scream. Suppose I did want to be with a woman—it’s not as if there’s anything wrong with that.”

“Not at all."

"Then why are you smirking?"

"I was merely going to suggest that should you feel compelled to have relations with another woman, I’d be happy to … nay, obliged to witness the proceedings and offer my assistance.”

“Stop trying to make me laugh. This is serious.” She chuckled in spite of her warning. “In fact, you should really think about your reputation before you show up with me at the ball. I’m damaged goods, you know.”

“Don’t ever say that!” He spat the words with more vehemence than he’d intended. After a deep breath, he said, “You know that’s not true.”

She watched him for a moment, then nodded. “It’s human nature, I suppose. People love to believe the worst.”

“Some people, yes,” he agreed.

She frowned at the floor. “Everyone believed the worst about you, didn’t they?” Her tone was soft, completely at odds with her fierce expression as she turned her gaze upon him.

“In most instances it happened to coincide with the truth,” he told her, wary of the worshipping light creeping into her eyes. “And it served my purpose at the time. It would be most unwise for you to attach any Byronic hero trappings to me, Hermione. I doubt either of us would be pleased with the outcome.”

“I’m not romanticising your role,” she said. “I simply find it disturbing that you worked so hard for the Order and yet so few trusted you.”

“Did you trust me?”

“I trusted Dumbledore,” she replied without hesitation. “I trusted that he must have had a terribly strong reason to believe in you, which I pointed out to the boys.” She looked into her drink and spoke in a whisper. “But when Dumbledore… died…”

“When I murdered Dumbledore, you mean?”

Her eyes widened. “He… he was dying.”

“True.” He nodded. “But haven’t you ever wondered if something—anything—could have been done to cure him?”

The shock on her face turned to horror. “It… it wouldn’t have mattered. You had made an Unbreakable Vow.”

“Also true. Dumbledore was quite concerned with young Draco’s soul.” Bitterness crept into his tone, jagged and raw like a dull knife ripping through flesh.

The sudden urge to discuss the complexities of his past was baffling. He hadn’t confided these thoughts to anyone but Kingsley, long ago and under the influence of far too much Firewhisky. Perhaps a part of him needed to test her, to push her away by reminding her of the awful things he’d done in his life. She already knew more than most—she knew he’d overheard that blasted prophecy, that he'd caused the Potters' deaths. Incredibly, the knowledge hadn’t deterred the tenacious little witch from desiring a relationship with him. But perhaps the reminder of how he had killed her beloved headmaster would change her mind.

Her brows drew together while she stared at the floor.

“I understand why Dumbledore didn’t want Draco to perform the killing curse.” She spoke slower than he’d ever heard her speak before, as if she chose each word with the utmost care. “He was a wise man, and there was a time when I would have defended his actions to the very end. But I can’t help but think he made a great many mistakes… the situation with Sirius… the lies he told Harry… all those secrets. And he used you inexcusably, Severus.”

She placed her hand on his leg.

He met her gaze and stared into unwavering loyalty. Confidence smoothed her features and made argument seem like utter folly. He opened his mouth to speak, but words failed him. Something tightened inside his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs. He had to look away just to breathe. Raising his glass to his lips, he drained the remainder of his whisky in several deep swallows. He had no idea how to respond to this kind of faith.

Setting aside his glass, he said, “Dumbledore used a great many people; I am certainly not alone or unique in that regard. However, it was also Dumbledore who noticed my portrait was missing from the headmaster’s office when I was presumed dead, without which I would not be here today.”

She looked away. He wondered if she blamed herself for being one of those who had left him for dead in the Shrieking Shack. The notion was ridiculous, but he filed it away for a future discussion.

“You see the irony, I’m sure. Dumbledore demanded my soul, but he also saved my life. Only time will tell who made the better bargain.”

He rose from the sofa and held out his hand. “Come. That’s enough talk of tattered souls and pointless regrets. You look far too gorgeous to spend the evening on such topics. Shall we go?”

She nodded and retrieved her cloak, apparently deep in thought as she walked to the door. He sensed anti-Apparition wards, confirmed when she led them to a spot in the corridor where she must typically Disapparate. She turned to face him, sliding her arms along his chest before winding them behind his neck. His hands circled her waist automatically. It was startling how familiar—how easy—it had become to embrace her.

“For what it’s worth, Severus, you definitely made the better bargain.” Her eyes sought his. “Dumbledore might have gambled with your soul, but I happen to know it’s still your own, complete and undamaged.”

“How can you possibly know that?” he asked, uncomfortable with her certainty.

“Because I wouldn’t feel this way about you if it weren’t.”

He lifted one eyebrow. Before he could chide her foolishness, she rose on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his, cutting off any protest he might have made. He was lost in the depth of her kiss, full of passion and conviction and the promise of so much more. His mind whirled as if he were drunk, but then he realised they were both spinning: she was Apparating them to the Ministry ball.

My thanks to Karelia, who dropped everything to beta this simple little one-shot that grew into a monster. She's awesome.