Chapter 2

"I am a Slytherin, my friend. Never forget that."

And with those words I return to the house with the diary in my hand, prepare my lunch, and then begin to read about me.

~**~

I remember asking Mum once how I would know when I had found the right man. She told me, "Your worst day with him will be better than your best day without him."

I wish Mum was here. Now, when I really need her to talk to.

I grimaced slightly as I pinched a bit of chicken from my sandwich and offered it to Crookshanks. Yes, she should have her mother with her, I thought. Planning a wedding is not something that a young woman should have to do alone. I'm sure Miss Weasley helps her... when she's not pining away after any of the myriad of lovers she's had. But I doubt that it's the same as having a mother there to share this with.

I dreamed of Ron again last night. I can't tell Severus about it because I know how much he despised Ron. I'm afraid he could ever understand what Ron meant to me.

Sitting back, I thought about what she had written. She was wrong; I had never despised Weasley. Truth be told, I had never felt anything other than mild annoyance toward him. Frankly, he hadn't been worth the time. It must be said that Potter, while I harbored a deep, deep aversion to him, had gained a small portion of my respect... up until the day he walked away from Hermione. Weasley, however, had done nothing to impress me. I acknowledged that he had been a loyal friend to his comrades, but when you've seen people pledge their undying commitment to a madman, the concept of loyalty loses its luster. To me, Weasley was just another student, and though I never wished him to die, his passing mattered little to me.

I was angered, however, to think that Hermione would assume I wouldn't understand his importance to her. I knew that she considered him to be one of her best friends, and though I tried not to think about it, I assumed that he was her first lover. She was certainly not a virgin when I bedded her, and unless she had lost her innocence at a very early age, the only relationship I ever saw her in was with Weasley. Not that I normally concerned myself with the non-academic life of students, mind you, but Harry Potter and his circle of friends had – for obvious reasons – been an exception.

Did she think that I hadn't a first love of my own? More likely she assumed that she was it. I didn't understand desires to relive the past, so I was satisfied to keep my memories to myself and let Hermione have hers. We had never really discussed my previous relationships, but there were several. None of them compared to what I felt for Hermione, though, and from the words I was now reading, it was clear that she felt the same about me.

I spent the better part of the afternoon with the diary, drinking in the secret emotions and thoughts of the woman I loved. Although the first entry was dated only five months prior, the pages were filled with her small, precise writing, and my heart ached as I remembered a time when Hermione's voice would have been as verbose as this book.

I know that I can never thank him for what he has brought to my world. I used to dread waking up in the mornings... Everything would come rushing back, and it was all I could do to keep from crying. There were times where I hoped that I wouldn't wake up at all. Now I can't wait for morning, for the dawning of a new day so that I can see him, touch him again. This, this is the love I've waited for.

Her words shocked me. They were in such complete contrast to the quietly stoic affection that I had come to expect from her. This sounded like the Hermione I remembered: the passionate, lively woman that I yearned to see again. But why was she relegating these feelings to a book? Why not show me, tell me how she felt? She never hesitated to say the words, "I love you," but there was no trace of this fervor behind them, and I couldn't understand why. Did she fear that I didn't feel the same way? Impossible. I had asked her to marry me, for Heaven's sake! I had opened myself to her in ways that I'd never done with anyone else and proven with words AND actions that my love was genuine. If she still doubted me, there was nothing more that I could do.

Crookshanks pushed his head impatiently against my shin, and I chuckled. "Yes, yes, my friend. I've wasted enough time here, haven't I?" With a quiet groan I pushed myself from the chair ... damn, it was hell getting old ... tucked the diary into my pocket and made my way back downstairs to my lab.

~ * ~

"Hello, Severus. Did you have a nice day?"

I glanced up from the report that I was working on and favored Hermione with a warm smile. "I did, my love, yes. And you?" I stood from my desk as she hung her coat in the closet and walked toward her.

"It was very nice," she remarked, her back still to me as she closed the door. "We got in the shipment of that new book I've been wa..." She never got to finish her sentence as I turned her face to mine and kissed her hungrily, my tongue tangling with hers as her arms hung loosely at her sides.

"Wow," she said when I pulled back. "What was that for?"

"I've been thinking about you all day today. I missed you."

"I've missed you too... but right now I have to use the loo. I'm sorry. I'll be right back." Extracting herself carefully from my arms, she disappeared down the hall.

I'd not been lying; I had been thinking about Hermione all day. Though I hadn't read any more of the diary, the words I'd taken in had played over and over in my mind, and I found myself surprised at the reaction they'd evoked from me. I felt myself curiously energized, excited... renewed. Though I'm no poet, it was clear to me what had happened; I had fallen in love with my fiancée all over again. Reading those extraordinary sentiments and hearing them in Hermione's voice in my head had given life to the dream I'd held for so long: that someday I would know what it was like to be loved by that intense and fiery young woman.

I knew now that I could bring her back. It would take time, which I had plenty of, and patience. Granted, patience may not be the first characteristic that you would associate with me, but I can be a most serene man... when it benefits me. And having Hermione in my life – in any capacity – was hugely beneficial to me. So I would, for lack of a better term, woo her again; or, more precisely, I would woo her for the first time. I had never approached her in a romantic manner; I had simply wormed my way into her life and into her bed. Now I would take the time to open myself to her, to let her know how much she meant to me so that she, in turn, would feel confident enough to speak aloud to me the feelings that were hiding in her diary.

When she returned from the loo, I had opened a bottle of wine and poured two glasses. As she sat on the couch across from me, I scooted forward and kissed her again, more softly this time.

"So, tell me about your day," I purred as I handed her a glass.

"It was fine," she answered. I waited for more, but she just sipped delicately and concentrated on the fire.

"Is Miss Weasley feeling better?" I finally prodded.

"A bit better, yes." She looked at me and smiled. "It's sweet of you to ask."

I nodded slightly, not wanting the conversation to become centered on her friends. "And how was your day at work?"

"It was actually quite wonderful!" She perked up a bit as she told me of the new books that had come in and the conversation she'd had with her managers. "They told me that they're going to allow me to implement the new inventory system I've been planning for the stock room."

"I certainly can't imagine a better candidate... You're the most organized person I've ever known."

"Thank you, Severus." She grinned, obviously pleased with the compliment. "It will save them an enormous amount of time. You should see the state of that back room right now. It's disgusting!"

She carried on with an impatient toss of her head, and I lost myself in watching her. I took stock of all the little things about her that I seemed to overlook these days: the tiny ring of gold around the outside of her irises; her way of sweeping her hair back over her shoulder, only to have it tumble forward again as she gestured emphatically; how she would close her eyes happily after each sip of wine, her lashes casting longer shadows on her cheekbones. Does she ever do this? I wondered to myself. Take a moment to look at me as though it were the first time? As if we were strangers, not a couple so familiar with each other that each movement, each word was taken for granted? As she spoke I found myself more drawn to her than I had been in ages. Heaven help me, I thought. This woman will be my wife.

"Hermione?" I interrupted her, and the expression on her face belied her annoyance.

"Yes?"

"I love you." I wanted to tell her so much more, to put into words how lucky I felt, how amazing it was that a woman like her would have found a way to breathe life into a forgotten soul. I couldn't.

The look of frustration melted from her face, and her eyes softened. "I love you too, Severus."

Leaning forward, I took her hand in mine and raised it to my mouth. After placing soft kisses on her fingers, I unfolded them, and placed another kiss on her palm. I traced a finger up the inside of her arm and felt her shiver in my grip.

"I want to make love to you," I whispered before running my tongue along the tender skin of her inner wrist. Gathering her close to me, I breathed into her hair and kissed her neck.

"Severus," she whimpered, eliciting a hungry growl from me. I was suddenly impatient to feel her warm skin against mine, to hear her cry my name. I kissed her hungrily, eager to taste the sweet evil of her mouth. My tongue swept against hers softly, its sultry wetness bringing to mind other hot, moist places. As I ran my hand down her hip, pulling her tighter against me, she moved her mouth from mine.

"I'm sorry, Severus," she sighed. "I'm just very tired. It was a long day. Could we just go to bed?"

"Don't," I whispered, then ran my tongue along the gentle dip at the base of her throat.

"Don't what?"

"Don't hide your feelings from me anymore." I tried to capture her lips again, but she pulled back in my arms.

"What do you mean, 'don't hide your feelings from me anymore?'"

I stroked her hair softly. "I just want you to know that whatever you feel, whatever you think, you should feel free to tell me." Cupping her chin in my hand, I kissed her – gently this time – and then stood up.

"I do not enjoy discussing your past, Hermione. I think you know that," I said, walking toward the fireplace. "But I also do not enjoy seeing you so... restrained emotionally. Although I'm sure I'm the last person you would ever suspect would be concerned about a lack of overt demonstrations." I chuckled, expecting her to join me, but she didn't, and my laugh was small and brittle sounding in the room. Hermione, for her part, simply sat on the couch with the same perplexed look on her face.

"I want you to know that even though we have never discussed it, I understand how difficult things must have been for you when Mr. Weasley died."

The wrinkle on her brow creased even further as she stared at me and said, "Arthur?"

I was not used to making grand declarations of feelings, and having to spell out what I meant to Hermione, of all people, agitated me even further.

"No, Hermione, not Arthur!" I snapped. "I'm talking about Ron!"

"Oh!" she exclaimed as she finally realized what I was saying. Then, more softly, "Oh." Tears filled her eyes, and she put her hand up to her trembling lips. "Ron," she whispered.

I knelt in front of her, touching her cheek. "This is what I'm speaking of, love. This. I know that you have endured such pain in your life... so much more than you ever should have had to... and I know that it has affected you in so many ways. It's made you afraid to be as open with others as you once were; I can see it in you every day, and I miss the way you used to be. I want you to know that you can be free with me. I may not reciprocate the way that you would like, it's true... but please don't let that stop you from being yourself with me."

She was shaking her head before I had even finished. "Severus, I've always been honest about my feelings for you. You know that I love you." Taking my hand in hers, she continued. "Where is this suddenly coming from, this ... "

"Tell me again. Now." I didn't care that I was interrupting her; I felt as though I could make some headway with her, and I wasn't going to be sidetracked now.

She opened and closed her mouth a few times, giving me a quizzical look before saying quietly, "I love you."

I shook my head impatiently. "More, Hermione! For God's sake, now is not the time for you to miraculously become a witch of few words!"

"I don't know what you want me to say!" she spluttered. "You want to know how I feel about you, and I tell you that I love you, and you tell me that it isn't enough!"

"Tell me how much you bloody love me! Tell me that you can't wait for the dawning of a new day so that you can see and touch me again! Tell me that I'm the love you've been waiting for!"

She stared at me in confusion for a moment and then stepped back suddenly as realization crashed over her.

"You read my diary." Her voice was low and hollow, and for a moment I was more frightened in her presence than I had ever been in Voldemort's.

"Yes."

"You had no right."

In that instant, as she glared at me righteously with fire in her eyes and an unfamiliar disgust in her mouth, I felt completely lost. I held no secret, no power, nothing that she could want from me. I was nothing, and she was everything.

"Yes," I replied again, simply.

Looking away from me, she took several deep breaths and then spoke again.

"So you know."

I had known that she would be angry at my intrusion of her privacy – as would anyone with half a brain – yet I hadn't imagined her being so upset at my discovery of her most furtive emotions. Distress, perhaps embarrassment, yes... but anger? It didn't quite seem to fit.

"Yes, Hermione. I know."

As quickly as a moth passing its shadow over a light, all passion left her face. In time, I would remember that moment and wonder if she had learned it from me.

"Severus, I'm sorry..."

"I know you are," I answered, crossing swiftly to her and putting my hand on her arm, ignoring the way she flinched. "But you don't need to be sorry, Hermione. I just want you to understand that you don't have to hide these feelings from me!" At her look of confusion, I continued. "As I said before, I am not a man who is comfortable with showing my affection openly. That doesn't mean, however, that I would reject you showing yours. I love you for what you are, Hermione. I'm not looking for someone like me... even I'm not that masochistic. If you love me as much as you say you do in that diary, please know that I would love for you to tell me."

There was no sound in the room for a period of time, save for the crackling of the fire. Just as I was composing another way to get my point across in my head, Hermione spoke.

"Severus, did you read the whole diary?"

"No," I admitted, immediately wondering what further words of praise she had written about me in the unread pages. "I believe I left off somewhere in March."

She nodded, her eyes now focused on a point outside of the window. I strode behind her and carefully enfolded her in my arms, my chin resting on her head.

"I don't expect a change overnight, Hermione."

Setting her hand softly on mine, she sighed deeply. "Severus?"

"Yes?"

"Take me to bed."

And so I did. Our lovemaking that night was slower, more intimate and more romantic than I remembered it having been before. Hermione touched me sensuously, almost reverently, as I covered her body with mine. When I slid inside of her, she whispered my name over and over, her lips, tongue and hands rushing over me as though trying to leave no inch of my skin untouched, and when I stiffened and bucked, coming inside of her, her name a strangled groan escaping my lips, her eyes never left mine, almost as if she was trying to commit the moment to memory.

~*~

The next morning, before she left for work, she quietly asked if I was planning to finish reading the diary.

"Yes," I said honestly. "I'm curious to see what else you've written about me."

She looked at me solemnly for a moment, then raised her hand to my cheek and said, "Well... I'll see you tonight, then."

"Enjoy your day," I murmured, leaning down to kiss her softly. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Severus. I always will."

I smiled at this little extra response. Well, I thought to myself, she's already starting to make an effort. This is going to go better than I had hoped.

I worked for several hours that morning on an experimental binding potion that I was trying to perfect for one of my clients. I wanted to go back to the diary, but I was determined to wait until lunchtime and read while I ate, as I had the day before. When the potion had reached a point where it had to simmer for some time, I decided to make myself a sandwich and resume my reading.

I took my lunch outside this time, to my seat on the porch that I so enjoyed. I'd never told Hermione how much that spot meant to me, but most of my affection for it stemmed from memories with her: sitting on my lap, kissing me softly; perched next to me in a chair of her own and reading quietly as dusk approached; sipping her tea and debating one topic or another with me as her eyes raked the grounds looking for Crookshanks. I'm sure that she thought I enjoyed the privacy of my morning ritual, sipping my coffee on the porch, but I doubt that she ever would have guessed that I spent most of that solitary time thinking about her.

I read slowly, leisurely, enjoying the warmth of the sun on my neck. I could hear Hermione's voice reading aloud the words on each page, and I found myself formulating responses to her in my mind, as though we were in the midst of conversation.

For a long time I didn't want to allow myself to think about the future. I wasn't sure there would even be a future for me... for any of us. Now I find that I'm constantly looking forward. Forward to when we'll be together again, holding each other, able to touch and revel in the presence of the other.

I know, my love; I look forward all day long to your return. It is when my heart feels most at home.

I know how lucky I am to be in love with such a man and to have him love me back. It doesn't matter that he is not perfect... He is perfect for me, and I realize now that without him, I am not me.

It's true, isn't it? I find it more and more difficult to remember a time when we were not together, when you were not the driving force in my life.

There are times when I sit back and look at him and try to see him through the eyes of another woman. It is then that I realize how physically handsome he is, in a completely unbiased way!

That may be going a bit far, my love. While I may have accepted that you, for some ungodly reason, find me attractive, I know that is not the general consensus. And I am fine with that, as long as you continue to see me the way you do.

I love his whole body, but I am most infatuated with his face. The way his mouth quirks up when he's trying not to laugh, the gentle slope of his nose, the way his hair falls into his eyes... oh, those eyes! They are what entice me the most. I've always known they were fascinating, ever since my first year at Hogwarts, but I didn't realize just how amazing they are until much later! I can lose myself in them. They're such an amazing shade ...

No.

Oh, gods, no.

~**~

Disclaimer: Everything creative is JKR's. Everything sick and twisted is mine, all mine!

Author's Notes:

As always, I need to apologize for the delay in updating. This story rattled around in my head until I had to get it out, but while I had the beginning and end all planned out, the middle proved to be rather evasive. Plot bunnies... damn wascally wabbits!!

This story gets its title and plot line from the song "Diary" by the group Bread. They're a band from the 70's that I don't really know too much about, and I don't really like too much of their stuff. LOL. But this song has always seemed terribly poignant to me, and I found myself inspired. If you're not familiar with the song, please don't hunt it down just yet for the lyrics... It will kind of spoil the later part of the story for you. I'll include the lyrics in their entirety when the story is finished.

Snape is a bit OOC in this story, but I hope I've kept him from being too squishy. His complete adoration of Hermione is essential to the storyline.

Props to the hubby, as always. We suffered a bit of a personal loss around Christmas, and ... as usual ... he pulled me through it. And, being as four of my six cats are snuggling around me as I write this, I'm gonna throw a shout-out their way, too... big thanks (in age order) to Chunks, Skittles, Cartman, Schmooze, Smitty and Pandora. You guys rock! Now stop puking on the rug.