Chapter Sixteen

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

A/N: My thanks, as always, to the fabulous Shug for her rampant enthusiasm and editing skills. *muah!*

*

June 2003

Months passed. They toured Champagne, attended a conference in Greece, and Severus kept his promise to Hermione by not taking a trip the first two months of the year.

It made her happy, so he was happy. There was peace.

Until March, when he left for four weeks. Then he returned, was with her for a weekend, and left for another three weeks.

She saw the strain it placed on him, noticed the exhaustion in his features, felt his thinning body beneath her hands.

Forgot his weakened condition when she attempted to address her concern, as he flew off the handle –

"You want me here, Hermione. Do not attempt to mask your selfishness with words of concern for my well-being."

"I'm concerned!" she exclaimed, hands on her hips. "I love you, damn it! You're practically sick! You're losing weight, you're –"

"Less attractive?" he sneered, and her heart clenched at the blatant insecurity.

"Severus," she started patiently.

"What about the emotional state these trips have pushed me to?"

"You have emotions?" she retorted and immediately regretted her words. He retracted his arm. "Severus –" She reached for him.

He rose from his chair and walked to the bedroom.

She followed, only to have the door slammed in her face.

She put her hands against the door and leaned her forehead against it, feeling entirely defeated. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry. I love you. Of course I miss you. I'm sorry I've been so unobservant. I should have told you I understood, even if I didn't... I still don't understand. I miss you like hell when you're gone. I love you," she repeated. "I'll sleep on the couch," she whispered, almost to herself.

There was no response from the other side.

She sighed and walked to the couch, murmuring charms to plump up the pillows and soften the throw blanket.

*

She found herself woken by roaming hands that circled her waist.

She didn't open her mouth; his lips pressed against hers almost instantly. She felt one hand running smoothly across her stomach and one slipping beneath her sweatpants and into her knickers, brushing against her, and she moaned softly.

"Severus," she whispered, his name falling from her lips like honey. He moved down her body, tugging at her clothes, and at last he took her with his mouth, seeking reconciliation.

She arched against him and cried out.

*

They slept on the floor, lying exhausted and content in each other.

*

7 June 2003

Ginny,

I love him so much I think I might burst.

Do you remember what I wrote to you at Christmas – about our gifts and such? I was relieved when I opened the box and found pearl earrings instead of a ring, even though I could have sworn I was hoping for a ring.

I dreamt of it last night – only it was different. I dreamt that he'd given me a ring and that I'd thrown it back in his face, full of contempt.

I woke up crying, so ashamed of myself. I didn't feel that way on Christmas Eve, but I felt relief. I feel so awful for that. So guilty.

My dream made me wonder how I'd react if he proposed now. Not that he will or even would, but –

I'd say yes.

My answer changes every day, but today I would say yes – unequivocally, unabashedly, with my whole heart.

I woke up crying, like I said, and this is probably too much information, but he woke me up, worried, and I said that I'd had a nightmare, and he held me and comforted me, and we made love – well, it was beautiful. I barely kept myself from crying afterward. Pathetic, I know. But I wanted to weep.

I know. Too much information.

God, it was beautiful.

I love him. I would marry him. No one has ever held me like that –

He doesn't say he loves me, but he has to, Gin, and I just feel it. No man can touch a woman like that if he doesn't love her –

I think. I hope.

I just – I needed to tell someone.

You understand.

I love you,

Hermione

*

The next day, they fought.

Naturally.

*

16 August 2003

"Severus, we're leaving in ten minutes!" Hermione called, scurrying to pull her dress up. Pierre's birthday gala was being thrown at the Edén Hotel in downtown wizarding Paris. It was new, it was posh, it was trendy.

All Hermione knew was that Pierre was having the Rossi Hotel's limoncello flown in from Italy.

Severus had just returned from yet another trip. She needed limoncello desperately.

Sometimes she really adored her boss.

"You're the one taking all the time to get ready, darling," Severus said sardonically.

Hermione walked out of her bedroom – they were at her flat – and twirled for him. He nodded, approving. "You look lovely. Let's go before the dress comes off."

"It's coming off?" Hermione asked playfully as he took her arm.

"In either ten seconds or three hours. Take your pick."

Hermione sighed. "We're already late."

"I'm a patient man," he said and Apparated them to the hotel.

*

One thing was certain: the birthday party was themed. It looked like Little Italy – well, Hermione should have guessed. Severus raised his eyebrows but didn't say anything. Hermione perused the sea of faces before finding the one she was looking for – Cosette's. Cosette and Henri waved and bid them come sit. As they walked, Hermione noted the stage and was surprised when she saw that it was one of her co-workers onstage singing – the song was something from South Pacific.

"It looks like there's musical-themed karaoke," Hermione said, amused.

Severus rolled his eyes, and she squeezed his arm. "It'll be all right, darling," she said, comforting him.

"Karaoke. Wonderful." He snorted, and they finally reached the table.

"Darling, how are you?" Cosette exclaimed and embraced Hermione immediately.

"I'm well," Hermione said as Severus responded similarly to Henri's courtesy.

"I take it that this is a theme party?" Severus asked, eyebrows raised in incredulity.

Henri and Cosette laughed heartily.

"We have a large and talented network of singers here tonight. Pierre loves musicals," Cosette told.

"Cos and I will be singing, actually," Henri said.

"I didn't know you could sing!" Hermione exclaimed, putting a hand on Cosette's arm.

"I can. I don't often," Cosette said softly. "My mother was a singer," she told Severus.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Severus said, surprising Hermione with his kind tone.

"So am I," Cosette said. Hermione hugged her.

"We're singing a duet. It will be quite the show," Henri said, smiling broadly at Cosette, who brightened instantly.

He's so good to her, Hermione thought.

"From which musical?" Severus asked. Hermione noted that he kept the disdain out of his voice.

"Pierre's favorite." Cosette winked. "You'll never guess."

"Moulin Rouge?" Hermione asked. Cosette stared at her, amused.

"Decidedly not."

Hermione shrugged. "It's hip, unique, and depraved."

Henri laughed. "Good guess, but no. Do you know the classics?"

"I'm afraid I don't," Hermione said.

"It's not quite classic –" Cosette started, and Henri clamped a hand over her mouth to keep her quiet.

"Finally," Severus said as music from a recording filled the room. "Decent music." He looked at Hermione. "Dance with me?"

"You don't need to ask twice," Hermione said, gracing him with a full smile.

*

That smile was plastered on her face as he led her onto the parquet dance floor. She couldn't help herself. He was a strong lead – firm but gentle. He knew not to take her hand in a death grip or spin her out only to leave her on the floor alone.

He took her hand in his slowly, his palm sliding against hers as it moved into its hold.

The song was slow. He immediately lowered the hold to hip-level and drew her in against him as he turned their bodies in tandem, their feet staggered, thighs barely touching, torsos pressed. Hermione closed her eyes and reveled in the familiar chords. Heavenly Day. It was one of her favorites.

Her hand snaked up his arm and rested on his shoulder. She inhaled the glorious smell of his shirt and was caught off guard when he pushed lightly on her back and turned her. She came back into his arms, surprised at the move, and he smiled.

"Pay attention," he murmured. "I do not merely sway."

"I've danced with you before."

"Not like this," he murmured against her ear, and she ignored the tingle that ran down her spine.

They danced close, twined, and spun, leaned and dipped, and he dipped her deeply at the song's end, looking into her eyes the whole time.

She swallowed hard.

They walked back to the table, slightly flustered.

*

It was nothing that wine couldn't help – a half hour later, the two couples sat, laughing and drinking, when a tall redhead approached the table.

"Henri and Cosette?" she asked. They nodded. "You're up in five minutes."

"Merci," they both said.

"Wish us luck!" Henri said as he took Cosette's hand and led her to the center floor.

"This should be interesting," Severus said, amused, to Hermione. They both sipped their wine.

"It will be lovely, I'm sure. Neither of us knows very much about musicals is all," Hermione said.

"With good reason," Severus said. He sighed. "Henri has a good voice, though. He insisted on singing karaoke in a Florentine bar... he was sloshed, but still decent."

"Cosette's mother was a singer –" Hermione started.

"Yvette Bedard. Very popular on the continent," Severus said, setting his glass down. "I heard it was a drug overdose."

Hermione nodded.

"A shame."

They turned towards the stage where Henri and Cosette were being announced. Pierre was briefly spotlighted. He was grinning, though whether it was due to knowledge of the song they would sing or the attention he was receiving from the two scantily clad women he had on either side of him, Hermione did not know.

"Henri and I will be singing a duet from Pierre's favorite musical," Cosette said. "Happy Birthday, darling! We both love you terribly, you dirty old man," she said directly to Pierre. She winked, and everyone laughed.

She and Henri stepped back, bowing their heads as they slipped into performance mode, and Hermione was shocked when the vibrant, full music swept the room –

"No more talk of darkness –" Henri started.

Hermione whipped around in her seat. "I do know this! Phantom of the Opera. 'All I Ask of You,'" she said, shocked. Severus nodded and directed her attention back to the stage.

Henri's voice was strong, and Cosette's soprano was sweet yet contained, as if it was a bird perched and waiting to soar.

Hermione's breath caught as she saw two doves appear out of thin air right above the couple. They flew in tandem throughout the ballroom, seemingly tuned to the music as they soared and swooped with every crescendo and –

"Wow," she whispered.

Hermione's eyes glistened with tears. Everyone in the room was spellbound, but Henri and Cosette were only looking at each other, singing to each other, and Hermione knew instinctively that they meant every word they were saying...

...except the part about Henri always leading and Cosette always following – that was negotiable.

Hermione's heart swelled with the music and their voices. She had had no idea they could sing like that.

They were brilliant.

As the ending approached, Henri took Cosette's hand, and they sang the final bridge –

"Anywhere you go, let me go too. Love me; that's all I ask of you."

"Love," Henri said into the microphone, and Hermione and the entire room gasped as he knelt down on one knee. "Cosette," he said again, grinning. "Will you marry me?"

Cosette's hands flew to her face. She was crying.

Hermione was, too.

Cosette didn't speak but just nodded, and the crowd exploded in applause and cheers. Hermione clapped loudly, but she couldn't speak through her tears. Oh, she was so happy for them. Her heart felt like it would burst.

She turned to take Severus' hand and was confronted by an empty chair.

He wasn't there.

Her eyes continued to rake the room for the next two minutes. She'd stayed in her seat; the crowd was still flooding forward to congratulate the happy couple. She would speak to Cos and Henri soon enough.

The room was brimming with noise and commotion, but Hermione heard only a dull roar. It would be nice to have a companion to talk to, just now.

To listen to. Commiserate with. Joke with.

He'd left.

Black pierced the corner of her eye, and she saw him at the front of the crowd, a smile on his face, shaking Henri's hand, kissing Cosette's cheeks.

He wasn't with her.

She saw Cosette's lips move, and Severus glanced over in Hermione's direction. Cosette followed his gaze and waved ecstatically. Hermione waved back and mouthed "Later." Cosette nodded and turned back to her well-wishers.

He's there, not here.

Hermione put her head in her hand, leaned her elbow on the table, and closed her eyes tightly, wishing this moment away.

Engaged. Cosette and Henri – who didn't even live together, the 'we'll see each other when we see each other' couple – were engaged. They'd been together for four years, but still –

She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up.

"Pierre," she said, immensely relieved.

He took the seat next to hers and scooted closer.

"Where is Severus?" he asked, his voice full of concern.

Fuck, she thought.

"I don't know," she said flatly.

"I thought I saw him leave," Pierre said.

Her heart clenched. "Naturally."

"He cannot keep leaving you like this, with no warning."

Hermione sighed. "He can, and he does. There is nothing I can do about it." She folded her hands in her lap.

Silence.

"I'm worried about you, ma chere. About what this – relationship – is doing to you."

"And what is it doing to me?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Sucking the life from you."

She winced. "Harsh."

"True."

"We have problems, Pierre. Everyone has problems."

"Yours are greater than most."

"And who are you to judge? You're my boss."

"I'm your friend," Pierre answered swiftly. "And your boss. But working together does not preclude friendship."

Hermione chuckled and squeezed his hand reassuringly. "I love you, you old tosser, and you know it."

"Old tosser, am I?" Pierre laughed. Hermione laughed with him.

"Even so," she said, sobered, "have you honestly ever had a serious relationship, Monsieur Bachelor?"

"Would you count marriage as serious?" Pierre asked thoughtfully.

Hermione gasped. "You were married?"

"Shocking, oui? Don't be so surprised. I was quite dashing in my youth."

"You're still dashing, Pierre."

"How kind. It was a long time ago, though," he said, reminiscing. "I was twenty, she was nineteen. She was pregnant. It didn't last long."

"You're a father?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"My son, Philippe." He gestured to the striking dark-haired man now congratulating Henri and Cosette.

"Oh my God," Hermione said, dumbfounded. "Philippe Caron. The company's VP. I never thought..."

"We're discreet."

"You raised a child." Hermione sat back. "I'm impressed."

"Oh, do not put such stock in my fathering skills. His mother and stepfather raised him. He's in his thirties now, and he better understands the situation. I saw him on holidays and sent cards and took him to Italy every summer. We have an amicable relationship. I am pleased his skills fit so well with the company. He has a skill for the clandestine." He paused. "It is a skill both of us appreciate in those we care for."

"Such a subtle transition, Pierre," Hermione remarked dryly.

"Forgive me, then. But please, take care of yourself. And if you need something – anything – do not hesitate to ask," Pierre said.

Hermione recognized it for the gesture it was.

"Thank you," she said, turning her face as he kissed her on both cheeks before walking away.

Hermione rose out of her seat and began walking to the entryway when someone grabbed her arm.

"Leaving so soon?" he asked, his breath hot on her ear.

She turned around, whipping her hair in his face. "You're still here?" she demanded. "Pierre said you left!"

"I went to the men's room," Severus offered, his face expressionless. "But I've been here. Are you angry?"

"Let's just go." She yanked her arm away. "I'll see you at the cottage."

"We need to talk," he said slowly. He pulled her against him and Apparated.

*

Words flew out of their mouths as soon as they were at the cottage.

Severus chucked his coat against the chair. "Where did I go? I went up to congratulate them. I thought you would follow."

"You went up before he was even finished!" Hermione exclaimed.

"People were already coming forward. Did you not see?"

"You left."

"Pierre was with you."

She smacked her hand against the countertop hard. "No. You left me on purpose and you know it."

"Now why would I do that? Do you think the subject of commitment makes me uncomfortable?"

She couldn't say anything.

"Don't tell me you are desirous of some – other – arrangement. I am not the marrying kind, Hermione. I have never pretended to be."

"I know! I don't want to get married right now!" she exclaimed defensively.

Both of them ignored her qualifier.

Right now.

The words dangled in front of her, errant and teasing.

Hermione could swear the tension was making her sweat.

"I am not the marrying kind," he repeated slowly. "Take it or leave it."

She gulped back her shame, gall, and worry.

She'd worry later.

She'd wonder later.

Right now, she thought as they lay in bed hours later. For the first time that she could remember, they were not touching in bed. They weren't curled up against one another. His arm wasn't thrown across her chest. Even their legs lay separate, stiff. His back was turned to her.

Right now. Do I even want to get married?

The thought of a large ceremony made her stomach turn. Small. It would have to be small.

What was marriage, anyway? She and Severus had an ideal arrangement. They lived together at the cottage and kept separate flats and bank accounts. They were exclusive. They could talk. They cared about each other... in a twisted way, at times. They – she... she loved him desperately. He could make her happier than anyone else in the world. He also makes me angrier than anyone else, she thought. She wanted to come home to him at the end of the work day. Needed to come home to him after work. And he liked that she worked, liked that she was somewhere in his intellectual stratosphere. He cooked for her, for God's sake! And the sex was fantastic.

Why on earth would we want to get married?

Legal. Binding. Commitment. Life.

No, not necessarily life.

She turned her head and looked at him. The sight of his back sent her heart spiraling downward into her stomach.

Binding.

The trips, she thought. Would they stop?

No.

Why should they get married?

The thought was unsettling.

Right now.

So maybe she did want that kind of commitment.

She thought of her parents and how they had looked last Christmas, walking on the beach, holding hands, grinning at each other like silly school children.

Twenty-five years now.

Maybe it was retirement. No. It had always been like that. Well, not always. But her parents had stayed – and fought to stay – madly in love with each other.

I want that, she thought. I want to grow old with someone. I want a man to look at me like Dad looks at Mum. Like she's the most beautiful and fascinating woman in the world. Like he'll never get enough of her. Her parents had been each other's only loves, this Hermione knew.

Lily.

Her name came unbidden, and Hermione felt the coldness wash over her body, permeating the sheets. Severus had had a love... a violently passionate, if gradually unrequited, love. A tragic love. The kind of love a man would give his life for.

How did Severus look at her?

With passion, at times.

With care, at times.

With bemused annoyance, at other times.

With interest. Indulgence.

How the hell was she supposed to know how he looked at her?

He's never said he loved me.

Her breath caught, and she turned her face into the pillow.

Could she stay with a man who had never told her he loved her?

She felt his arm slip around her waist then, felt him against her back, and she breathed a sigh of relief as her thoughts fled.

"I need to hold you," he murmured. "Please."

Surprised by the 'please,' she turned her eyes up to his. How was he looking at her?

With tenderness. And desire.

"What are you looking for?" he asked softly. "It's just me."

"I know." She cupped his cheek, and he bent to kiss her. His mouth slid against hers, and she wrapped her arms around him, desperate to lose herself in him.

Desperate to not think.

*

Hermione awoke early the next morning curled up against Severus. She breathed deeply and let her alert body sink back into the mattress.

She rose after a while, surprised that Severus still lay asleep, exhausted. Well, it had been a long night.

She wrapped her robe about her and walked into the kitchen. She had just put the coffee on when she heard a letter come in through the Floo.

She padded across the floor to the sitting room, still a bit tired, and picked up the letter. She smiled. Ginny.

She opened the letter and chucked the envelope into the rubbish bin on her way to the kitchen. She unfolded the parchment.

17 August 2003

Hermione,

I'm pregnant! 8 weeks! You're the first to know, aside from Harry, of course. We're hesitant to tell anyone until I'm well at the twelve week mark, but – oh, I am so happy!

We aren't going to find out the sex – we think we can wait – but we do know that the name will be either James or Lily. We didn't expect to get pregnant so fast, but oh, we are thrilled, and we both wanted you to be the first to know. You know Ron; he's bloody awful at keeping secrets. He'll find out with everyone else.

I love you.

Ginny

A wide smile spread across Hermione's face, and she clutched the letter against her chest as tears fell.

A baby. Harry and Ginny were going to have a baby!

After ten minutes of reflection and two cups of coffee, Hermione realized that she'd never seen a letter from Ginny peppered with so many 'we's.'

Marriage.

She drained her cup and poured herself another.

She stood in front of the kitchen window and watched the sun rise over the mountains in the distance.

*

Liner Notes:

"Heavenly Day" is sung by Patti Griffin and, to the best of my knowledge, was first released on her album "Children Running Through" in 2007. Lyrics here. I love the song, and it very much fits Severus and Hermione at this point in their relationship. I found a random nature video on Youtube that has the song here.

"All I Ask Of You" is my favorite song from Phantom of the Opera, a product of Andrew Lloyd Weber's genius. Lyrics here; watch the film version here.