Chapter Nine

Thanks as always to exartemarte for the beta/Britpick.

On rare occasions in this life there are brilliant moments, ones that we would choose to live over and over again if we could, events which remain etched by fire in our memory.

The kiss between Severus and Hermione was one of those memorable events. And yet that impression was to change almost immediately.

When they finally broke apart to allow some air into their starving lungs, they looked into each other's eyes, each searching out the reflection of the other's soul. She lifted her hand to caress his cheek, but at the instant she did it he saw her mouth twist in a grimace, and she lowered her eyes. He followed the direction of her gaze and saw the cause: a gold ring inset with a ruby.

To say that Severus felt as if a bucket of cold water had been dashed over him would be an understatement. He felt his heart give way, as if he had been stabbed. So much self-abnegation, so much suffering and skirmishing with death, so much healing from his broken heart . . . all so that a slip of a girl could wound him again. A girl he had allowed into his thoughts and feelings, thinking that nothing could ever hurt him like that again. For one brief second his face became a mask of pain, but within an instant it had regained its customary cold expression. At the very least he would keep his dignity. And thank god for his years of practice as a spy.

Hermione raised her eyes slowly. She did not see the moment in which she had destroyed Severus's unexpressed aspirations, nor did she see the way he had regarded her with anguish, with pain, and with hopeless yearning. She saw only the mask of cold indifference with which he had succeeded in arming himself.

Ron. She was engaged to Ron, her friend since childhood, the first and only man she had ever been with, the future father of her children, who in one short week would be her husband. Could she dishonor that commitment? Trample the confidence that had been placed in her?

But Severus . . . kissing Severus felt different from anything she had ever felt before. She felt as though she could completely lose herself in his arms, drown in the depths of his dark eyes, while that velvet voice caressed her, saying her name over and over: Hermione, Hermione . . .

Never in her life had she felt so confused. She needed time to think, time to sort through her feelings . . . but time was the very thing she didn't have. Severus was there in front of her, waiting, and within seven days Ron would be waiting for her at the altar, with Harry and Ginny as witnesses, and the whole Weasley clan seated around her, and her parents, and all the members of the Order of the Phoenix . . . just thinking about it gave her vertigo.

But Severus was looking at her coldly, indifferently now. Where was the man rapt with passion who had kissed her only seconds before? Had she imagined him? No, not possible. Had it been nothing more than a kind of seizure that had carried him away in the emotion of the moment?

Hermione dried the tears that were filling her eyes on the sleeve of her sweater. Severus held out a white handkerchief, and she thanked him timidly. He stood and helped her up. They looked steadily at each other for another moment, and then he turned and left her alone in the filthy room.

He hadn't even noticed that it was his mother's bedroom.

***

It was Saturday morning, the day after the incident in Eileen Prince's bedroom. Hermione and Severus were seated at the dining-room table eating breakfast, conversing in a cordial tone but unable to look each other in the eye. Suddenly the fireplace blazed green, and Ron appeared, covered in soot and ash.

"Someone needs to give this chimney a good sweep...look what it's done to me!"

"Ron!" she cried, and jumped up to throw her arms around him and kiss him. It wasn't that she was that eager to do it, but it was what he would be expecting.

"Wait, Mione . . . ugh! I told you! Now look, I've got dirt all over you!" He laughed merrily and gave her a playful kiss. "I've missed you."

Ron touched the tip of her nose, leaving a smudge of soot that was at once funny and adorable...but nothing short of torture for Severus, who couldn't help but think that the spectacle was going to make him bring up his breakfast if he didn't get up from the table immediately. Privately he set aside the image of the little scene, recasting himself in Ron's place, imagining himself making her laugh and blackening the tip of her nose before helping himself to more kisses. With a hiss, he threw his napkin down on the table and left the dining room.

It was going to be a long weekend for Severus Snape.

Ron and Hermione spent the rest of the afternoon together, and Snape made certain to stay out of their way. Ron could not get used to the idea that his "Mione" was so chummy with the bat of the dungeons, and he wondered what kept her at his side. His lack of academic prowess didn't mean Ron was a fool. Snape was walking now, and his wound was still livid, but it was healed shut. Hermione had explained to Ron that even though the wound was closed, any exertion or sudden movement might open it again, and the danger of this happening was still acute.

According to her.

When evening came they gathered again in the dining room for dinner. Snape did not seem particularly inclined to strike up a conversation with Ron, and Hermione understood that he had already put himself out considerably in allowing Ron to come to his house, so she didn't press him. She had known for some time just how far the man could be pushed.

Ron chattered gaily to his fiancée while the house-elves set the dinner on the table. And then something happened that made his mouth go dry and the words to stick in his throat. Hermione raised a bite of beef to her mouth, and before she could make the slightest gesture of pleasure or displeasure, Severus picked up the salt-cellar and placed it in her hand. Without even looking at it, she salted her meat and continued to eat. Ron looked at Severus's plate and realized that he had not yet touched his food. How the devil could the greasy git have known that she wanted to salt her meat?

"Is something the matter, Ron?" she said, realizing that he had suddenly fallen silent.

She doesn't even realize what just happened.

"Nothing, Mione. I was just looking at how beautiful you are." I still can't believe you're mine, and that we're getting married this weekend. He cast a sidelong glance at Severus, who seemed to be taking an unusual interest in his dinner. "To our future marriage," he said, raising his wineglass and waiting for Severus and Hermione to join him.

Severus left off examining his plate and raised his glass. He looked for a second at Hermione, also with her glass in hand, and took a slow sip while looking steadily at Ron, then set the glass back down on the table. Ron's look was freighted with a very clear warning: stay away from her.

But Snape was not a person who was easily intimidated, least of all by a little snot-nose like Ronald Weasley. Before Severus could get his feelings under control, Ron's wineglass shattered into a thousand pieces, drawing forth a shriek of alarm from Hermione. Instinctively, she moved towards her former professor for protection, and he stopped himself halfway to shielding her with his arm.

"What was that?" she cried, returning to her seat perhaps a fraction too late to escape Ron's notice.

"The change in temperature, perhaps . . . poorly tempered glass," said Severus, with a face of innocence.

Ron got up from his chair and went over to her, squatting down until his face was on a level with hers.

"Are you all right, Mione?" he asked in the sweetest tone he could muster, drawing a hand down her cheek.

Hermione could only nod shakily. She felt guilty, as if she had been caught in the act of betraying him.

Ron would not be cowed, and as soon as Mindy had cleared away the debris, he sat back down and applied himself to his dessert. And as Hermione had completely lost what appetite she'd had, he ate hers as well.

When the meal was finally over they left the dining room together, Severus with the intention of sitting for a while in the library with a glass of whisky until it was time for bed. He had a lot to think about. But Ron had very different plans. Taking his fiancée by the hand, he drew her to him and kissed her fiercely, pulling her along with him upstairs toward her bedroom. They went up amid kisses and laughter (his), and when they were at the top, Ron stopped and looked back down. As he had suspected, Severus had paused, and was watching them from the foot of the stairs.

This time there was no well-practiced mask of espionage that could have deceived Hermione. His face betrayed nothing, but his eyes met hers, and she knew. Knew that it was he she should be with at this moment, he who should be taking her to his room, he who should be covering her with kisses.

But real life was different.

"Good night, Professor," said Ron, with a self-satisfied smile.

"Good night, Severus," she said, her eyes pleading with him to forgive her.

He did not reply, but turned to go instead, his robes billowing about him, and walked determinedly in the direction of the library. Really, he could use a glass of Firewhisky.

From a distance he heard:

"Since when do you call him Severus?"