Chapter Fourteen

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JKR. This is all for personal fun and enjoyment.

A/N: Shug is my Beta Extraordinaire. Thank you, honey.

*

May 2002

Hermione awoke sprawled out across the massive bed with sheets tightly tucked around her, the sunlight piercing through the windows. She smiled and rolled onto her side, her head landing on Severus' pillow. She inhaled his strong scent – it was one of the most potent smells she had ever experienced. It could rouse her from sleep faster than anything – even coffee.

Coffee, she thought dimly.

She glanced at the clock. 9 AM. It was Saturday, and she hadn't slept in nearly as late as she usually did. Severus had already left for the market; he typically had breakfast prepared by the time she woke up.

She inhaled his scent once more before rising from the bed and tossed her frizzed curls over her shoulder. She wrapped herself up in a dark bedsheet and walked to the bathroom to relieve herself.

There was a note on the bathroom mirror.

Gone to Paris on business. Back tonight. – SS

She felt her stomach drop. She cherished these weekends – these weekends when time stood still and all the world was merely him and her and meals and books and lovemaking.

Tonight. Ah, well.

She washed her hands and walked back into the bedroom. There were things she could do to spend the time wisely. There were lots of chores that needed to be done.

Chores – oh...

She could...

YES!

For all Severus' fastidiousness at the apothecary and his apartment, the cottage in Capois had been left nostalgically musty for years, or so it seemed to Hermione. If not for the complete living room set and china in the back cupboard, she would have called it a Bachelor Pad. And Merlin knew that Severus Snape was the epitome of the bachelor mentality.

Men. Harry and Ron were the same way about their places, honestly.

It was rather ironic, really. Severus was self-sufficient, but the man couldn't pick up a broom or mop to save his life.

Come to think of it, he'd probably never had the need. There was magic for that sort of cleaning... for him, at least.

She'd been itching to clean, and here was the perfect opportunity... she'd made a list for such an occasion at some point...

Where is that darned thing...

She rummaged threw the drawer of her bedside table, unable to find anything remotely related to non-sexual activities, and then went around to his.

What...?

On top of the table there was a book she hadn't seen before... likely because she never went into his personal drawers.

She picked the blue leather-bound book up off the table. SONNETS was engraved on the cover. She flipped the book open. John Donne: The Complete Collection.

Her eyebrows arched in surprise. Severus was exceedingly well read and had a library that routinely put hers to shame, but she hadn't thought he would read...

Her hand graced the cover and ruffled through the pages, and she felt a cloth bookmark. She opened up to the page:

Death be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadful, for, thou art not so,

For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,

Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures bee,

Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,

And soonest our best men with thee do go,

Rest of their bones, and souls delivery.

Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,

And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,

And better then thy stroke; why swell'st thou then;

One short sleep past, wee wake eternally,

And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

She shut her eyes tightly and set the book gently back down on the table. Their conversation from the night before came back in a flash. They'd been curled up in bed together, reading, and Severus had asked her a most unexpected question...

"Why did you come back for my body?"

Even in the light of the morning, in the aftermath of a night of sweet tenderness, it was difficult to think of.

"Because you were a hero. Are a hero," she corrected herself.

"I was anything but."

"I beg to differ."

"Don't."

"Severus..."

"I deserved to die, Hermione. I expected to. I wanted to – I had never been sorrier in my life then when I realized that Nagini would be the weapon."

"Because you were immune."

He nodded.

"But if you were so – desirous – of death," she said slowly, heart racing, "then why did you inoculate yourself?"

"A snakebite is no way to die."

"So death had conditions?"

"Everything has conditions."

She was silent.

He grunted.

"Why..." she barely made out.

"I hated myself. I still do, sometimes."

She could hardly bear to hear those words from him, let alone accept them, and she had had a choice at how to react – sob or scream.

Like many perhaps not entirely rational women before her, she'd chosen the latter.

She had smacked him, had yelled and screamed at him –

He sat against the headboard in frustration as she shouted at him from the end of the bed – how could he say those things about himself, sell himself so short, hate so deeply? His eyes were a merciless black pit, his body still as stone.

"Why do you care?" he asked icily. "Why do you honestly care how I... felt... when it was beyond your control? When you weren't in the picture?"

The words came to her automatically. Relief flooded her being even as she spoke –

"Because I love you. It doesn't matter that I didn't love you then; I love you now, and so now everything you've felt and experienced is significant – how could I not care that you were suicidal?" She tried not to let the lingering hysteria touch her voice. "How could I not care that you had so little self respect, so little cognizance of who you are... what you are... how beautiful and heroic and..."

She had crawled up the bed then, forcing his eyes open, making him look her in the eye, forcing him to acknowledge her words even if he denied their validity. They had slept curled against each other, limbs wound – the same bed, the same breath.

"Death be not proud," she murmured. She shook her head. She'd recreate the damned list. She needed a shower. She needed coffee. There were things to do.

*

After a hot shower and a steaming cup of coffee, Hermione sat at the kitchen table until she finished recreating the long-lost list of chores. She'd wanted to get her hands on the whole place for a while, and she had yet to go through the attic. Truth be told, she was extremely curious. It was probably not the best place to start, as she wouldn't be able to throw anything out without Severus' permission, but she could dust and wipe windows and attempt to clean the floor... and look around...

She anxiously tapped the pen against the hardwood table. The entire cottage needed a nice, thorough scrub. It really needed a spring cleaning. God only knew the last time the place had had a spring cleaning, and it was May as it was – she was a bit late.

Hermione poured herself another cup and finally got to work on making breakfast. She was starving, and she was used to breakfast on Saturday mornings – Severus usually cooked for her. She wasn't the best cook and had dropped enough eggs and burned enough toast to have been thoroughly validated in that self-assessment.

Focus, Hermione, focus! The attic. She'd start with the attic. Severus had shown her the entrance only last week – there was a latch in the kitchen ceiling that pulled a set of stairs down. It was quite fascinating.

Inhaling sharply, Hermione set about her work. She stepped up on a kitchen chair and pulled down the latch. She gently unfolded the stairs that were collapsed in the pull-down door, and making sure they were firmly set on the ground, she went up the ladder. She'd Summon the rags and cleaner after assessing the damage.

The attic wasn't as bad as she'd expected, though it was stuffy as hell. She waved her hands and windows on opposite ends of the room opened, letting the breeze in suddenly. It blew the white sheets covering the furniture sky-high.

Lord, it was humid. She wiped her brow and Summoned the cleaning supplies. They came up quite nicely and landed at her feet in one fell swoop.

Hermione got her wand out and promptly Vanished the dust and cobwebs but sent the spiders flying out the windows – she didn't quite have the heart to kill them.

Cleaning with magic was always entertaining to Hermione's eyes. She'd grown up with Saturdays as the designated cleaning day: Dad would tend the lawn, and she and her mother would give the house a good scrub. Even their new Sydney house was immaculate; it had stayed relatively so, even with her mother missing the Saturday clean in order to cook for the beach barbeque...

Magical cleaning was, consequently, fascinating to Hermione. But while she enjoyed watching, she found herself unable to do a serious clean in the magical way. She'd once forgotten that she'd left her pots scrubbing themselves in the kitchen sink, and when she'd gone in for a drink an hour later, they'd been scrubbed completely raw and the sponge-thing had been grated to the size of a Knut.

Suffice to say, this was one area of her life best kept Muggle.

Hermione took the cleaning spray in one hand, paper towels in another, and promptly got to work.

*

An hour later, she was nearly finished. Vanishing the dust and cobwebs had proven immensely helpful. Hermione was just setting down her supplies and preparing to descend down the ladder when something caught her eye...

BOOKS was scrawled across a box barely four feet ahead of her.

Books!

There were BOOKS in the box!

She quickly went over to the box before pausing with her hands on her hips.

To open... or not to open?

Well, they were in the attic. Given the apparent age of this box, they clearly hadn't been read in a while. Surely Severus wouldn't mind.

And if he did, to hell with him. He of all people would understand.

As long as they weren't priceless family heirlooms... doubtful...

She wrestled with the tape, opened the box flaps, and nearly fell over at the jet stream of light that burst through the box. She covered her eyes, shielding them from the light's intensity. As it dimmed, she looked in the box...

There was only one small book lying at the bottom, maybe eight inches wide and eight or so inches long, but it was a good inch thick, if not more.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat, but not at the fact that so small a magical book could radiate such brilliant, pulsing light – no, it was the book itself...

Is it really...?

She reached for it carefully, touching its cover softly. She quickly withdrew her hands and cast shielding charms on them to prevent oils from damaging the book...

It's magical, she thought immediately after. That probably was not necessary.

The fact that it was probably protected didn't stop her reverent tenderness with the handling. It was ornate, delicate... extremely lavish.

She picked it up ever so gently this time, and when it came into the natural light, she thought she might drop it.

The book's cover and back were a brilliant contrast in ebony and ivory wood, with what looked to be garnet, onyx, and pearl sewn into the binding. Oh, my God. It's so beautiful... how much would this cost? Hermione ran a hand down the cover, completely mesmerized. There was no title, merely a silver latch. She opened it slowly, and it opened like it was brand new – well, clearly it was in excellent condition. It definitely had protective spells on it warding against wear and tear.

The pages were thick; the paper was handmade, and there were slight ribbons of gold that bounced off the pages where the light hit them.

Hermione read the title page:

Faerie Tales

A Collection

Compiled by Brigit Prince

For her daughter Rose

Prince. A family heirloom, then. She winced at how quickly she'd discarded the idea that the Princes would have anything valuable stored in the attic... Does Severus even know about this?

She sat there a moment, an internal battle of respect and curiosity raging against each other...

Curiosity won.

She turned the page.

Table of Contents

Snow White

Briar Rose

The Frog Prince

Beauty & the Beast

The Snow Queen

Bluebeard

Cinderella

White Bride, Black Bride

Hermione's breath caught in her throat. She ran a loving hand across the page, caressing it like she caressed her lover's back in the dark, and she turned the page and read...

*

Hours Later

Hermione was reading the faerie book a second time when she heard a deep voice call out –

"Hermione?"

Her heart stopped. Severus. She cast a Time Charm, and the numbers appeared before her. It was four in the afternoon. Merlin! She hurried to her feet, and placing the book back in its precious and probably protected – if flimsy – box, she cast a multitude of charms in a flurry before scrambling down the ladder.

She was half-way down when she felt hands on her hips, firm and hot, pulling her down the rest of the way. She landed against a hard mass of flesh and bone and muscle.

He pressed his lips to her hair. "You stink."

She snorted, her heart still beating wildly in her chest. "I've been cleaning."

"Mm." He trailed his hands across her stomach. "For how long?"

"A few hours."

He let go of her. "What?" he asked, clearly shocked.

"The Muggle way." Hermione turned to face him and saw his grimace.

"Why on earth would you clean the Muggle way? It takes so long!"

Hermione snorted with mirth. He truly did sound like a petulant child right now. It was unsettling, considering how mature he looked in the three-piece black suit. She was suddenly very conscious of her grungy capris and T-shirt. And where the hell had he been in a three piece suit?

"Hermione?" he asked, a bit annoyed.

"I clean that way for comfort," she said, startled out of her self-recrimination. "Also, I'm shite at remembering everything I've charmed or spelled or whatnot."

"Nonsense."

"And where were you today?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Do you really want to know?" he asked lowly.

Her stomach grumbled loudly, and Severus looked down at her, his expression shifting from casual annoyance to complete disbelief.

"When did you last eat?" he demanded.

"Oh, I –" Her eyes widened at the realization – "I – I haven't eaten. I had coffee before I went up to the attic..."

He growled, slid a hand about her waist, and effectively lifted her off her feet before setting her down on the table.

"You weren't here," she said, knowing that sounded completely pathetic.

"That's no excuse to not eat!" He took off his suit jacket, threw it over a chair, and started rummaging through the refrigerator, looking for something edible.

She sighed. He'd find just the right thing to prepare. He always did.

"I can't cook, Severus," she said patiently. "There's a reason I never cook. I burn toast."

"I happen to like my toast burned. And I'll teach you – it's not as if you've never been able to learn anything you set your mind to before."

"I am wretched at Divination."

"You hate the subject."

"I can't fly."

"You're terrified of heights."

"Stop being right!"

He turned to her and smirked.

She crossed her arms. "You do know that you're an impossible man."

He grinned.

"You can't do that!" she exclaimed. She hopped off the table and wrapped her arms around his torso. "You can't be gone all day and then come back and just smile like that. I'm quite unprepared."

He gently removed her arms from his waist. "Let me cook you something, damn it."

"But –"

"Hermione."

She pouted and watched as he elegantly strode throughout the kitchen, mixing ingredients, standing watch over the stove, and finally serving her an enormous ham and cheese omelet.

He sipped a glass of wine while she ate.

As she finished, she nudged her foot against his. He arched an eyebrow at her.

"Not that I don't appreciate the proposition, but I couldn't possibly –"

At that precise moment, a letter shot out of the fireplace.

Hermione groaned as Severus leapt from his chair to get it. Anything to have his way. But what man doesn't want...?

"Ginny," she heard him say right before he dropped the letter in her lap.

And it was, indeed, Gin's handwriting. Well, he was observant, if entirely disinterested in sex and unwilling to tell her where he'd been. Not that she'd asked yet. But she would.

She opened the letter.

15 May 2002

Hermione,

I'M ENGAGED! Harry proposed last night – very romantically, I might add – and, well, I'm completely incoherent right now, I'm so happy.

The wedding will be in December – I've always wanted a Christmas wedding – and darling, you must be there. We both miss you wretchedly and – forgive me, but I'm newly engaged and emotionally quite willing to give him whatever he wants – but I broke down to Harry and confessed that we've been writing each other – please don't hate me, but we saw everyone today except you and he was so miserable and – so, long story short, I've included a note from him. Don't hold me responsible for anything Harry says; I've not read it. I'll keep you posted on what's going on here.

I love you.

And I'm engaged!

-Ginny

P.S. I knew that the no sex rule couldn't last long!

Hermione grinned. Ginny had finally instituted that asinine rule a month ago, but it had got her what she wanted. Hermione's heart felt like it was ready to burst, she was so happy for them. She ignored the pit in her stomach when she opened the charmed note Harry had included.

Harry.

Hermione, it began.

She inhaled sharply and began to read again.

Hermione,

I don't know where to start. Gin and I are engaged, but I expect she told you about that. You would be proud of how well I did on the planning the night out part – you'd have loved it.

We miss you so much.

So fucking much.

I can't ask why you left because I know you won't tell me. Clearly you would have told me before. And that hurts like a bitch, because you are FAMILY to me... I've been mad at you, frustrated, pissed as all get, depressed, sad, but... it doesn't change the fact that I love you and I'm always going to. Always.

Please come back for the wedding. Please come.

Harry

Tears dripped onto the parchment as she folded the letter back up. She wiped her tears away, suddenly self-conscious...

"Harry and Ginny are engaged," she said, but why would he be interested?

"So Mr. Potter finally pulled his head out of his arse."

She chuckled through the waves of melancholy that were coursing through her.

She stared into her lap and heard rather than saw him come over to her. He lifted her out of her chair, and she stiffened, surprised, but she relaxed as he held her to his chest and walked towards the bedroom.

When he dropped her on the bed, she looked up and arched an eyebrow.

"I thought you didn't want..."

"Let me hold you."

He crawled up next to her and drew her to him, his arm casually draped across her waist.

She was completely and utterly undone.

"Why do you do this?" she asked softly.

"Do what?"

"Put up with me."

He grunted. "So I can fuck you later?"

She smacked his arm. "That was callous."

"Do you want me to apologize?"

She chuckled and he snorted, but his face turned hard, serious, very quickly. "Frankly, I hate seeing you upset and I'd rather calm you down," he said.

"You don't mind making me upset."

"But that's me," he explained patiently, and she wanted to smack him again. "I don't like other people hurting you."

"Ginny didn't hurt me and neither did Harry," she said, noticing the fierce look in his eyes. She sighed. "I just miss them." She paused but decided to forge ahead... tentatively. "Do you ever miss Britain?"

He stilled.

"Sorry," she said immediately. "Stupid question."

He was silent.

"I want to go to their wedding," she said, filling the void, "but I don't want to have to talk to people... see people... see anyone aside from Harry and Ginny... I wonder how I could..." she started and found herself pushed away as Severus violently rose from the bed.

"Severus!"

"You don't want to have to explain us," he said flatly, glaring at her from the end of the bed.

"No! I love you, damn it! I wouldn't trade anything for this, and I don't want to have to explain my choices! They don't deserve an explanation!"

"You think we could be together if we were in Britain? Are you honestly so deranged?" he asked, his voice dripping with disdain.

"Severus, you're completely off the point," she said, trying to make him be reasonable. Why was it so hard for him to be reasonable?

"You're ashamed to admit you're with me?" He turned, but she was faster; she grabbed his arm and pulled him down on top of her and wrapped her legs around his waist to keep him there.

"I love you, and I am not ashamed of you. I am never ashamed of you! People here know we're together, and we'd be together in Britain even if we weren't here, but would life there be harder? Of course it would be," she said, her hands cupping his face. "People think they're entitled to every fucking detail of my life – of your life – and I don't want to answer to them. I don't want to have them follow me back here and destroy everything we have..." She trailed off, watching his eyes flicker.

"How do you intend to not answer to them?" he asked after a long moment.

Her shoulders slumped with relief, and she released him from the death grip her lips had held him in.

"Harry's invisibility cloak. I can sit in the back."

He laid down next to her, still. She reached over and tentatively brushed a finger down his cheek. He caught her finger with his hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it.

He was sorry. If only he could say it...

But maybe. Eventually.

"You said you don't want this destroyed," he said softly. "What are we living in, Hermione? Some fragile fairy tale fantasy, doomed to ruin?"

"God, I hope not." She curled against him and threw an arm across his chest. "Don't wax melancholy. It makes me nervous."

He chuckled.

They lay side by side for a while, and Hermione had almost fallen asleep when he said, "I'll be gone frequently for the rest of the year."

Alarm bells went off in her head. She bolted upright, suddenly awake.

"What?" she asked, keeping her voice calm, looking down into his still-vigilant eyes.

"Work," was all he said, and his tone had the ring of fatal finality to it – the 'don't you dare question me' tone that she had become intimately acquainted with.

The problem was, she couldn't help but question.

"How long?"

He shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, as he was prone to do when she was at her most bothersome.

"A week at a time."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he clamped a hand over it immediately.

"Don't even think about it. It's for work, it is absolutely necessary, and no one else can do what I do."

"Is it dangerous?" she asked when he released her.

"Not particularly."

She rolled her eyes. "Fabulous."

"Hermione."

"I know. A week at a time," she repeated. "Does that include weekends?"

"I don't know."

She flopped back down on the bed and bounced a little. "Wonderful," she said in a tone that made it clear that this development was anything but.

"You can still use the cottage whenever you like," he said, propping himself up on an elbow so he could look down on her. "I'll give you a key and all my passwords."

Her eyes lit up, and her heart swelled. "Really?"

He sighed dramatically. "You're here every weekend, anyway."

"Oh, Severus!" She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him down on top of her, completely joyful.

He grunted and pushed himself back up when her fervor had subsided. "I am an old man, you know. You can't expect my limbs to keep up with yours."

She waggled her eyebrows at him. "Is that a challenge?"

He groaned. "You were practically asleep ten minutes ago, and I am exhausted. You're a fiend, woman." He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in against him.

"How many weekends do we have left?" she asked quietly after a moment.

"As many as you bloody well want. This project won't take forever. I hope."

Hermione chose to ignore that last bit as her emotional weariness dragged her into sleep.

*

A/N: The John Donne sonnet is #72 and is sometimes titled "Death Be Not Proud." Also, as it is summer, I will be updating more frequently. *smooches you all*