Chapter Twelve

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

A/N: Thank you to Shug for her beta work and to snapeophile for alpha reading. I don't know what I'd do without you!

I am honored that Sage has been nominated for Best WIP at the Quill to Parchment Awards. To vote, go to http://awards.quilltoparchment.com/.

*

October 31, 2001, Paris

Hermione fingered the exquisite pearl necklace that curved around her neck. It was her birthday gift from Severus – he'd taken her out for a luxurious dinner last month and presented her with a gift that was beautiful, thoughtful, and expensive. A token if ever there was one, unless he was in the habit of buying expensive jewelry for every young woman he took out for coffee (and lunch and dinner and to Capois...). "A grown up gift for a grown up woman," he had said with a wink. It was her twenty-second birthday, and he said it was one to celebrate. She had no idea why. Perhaps he said that for every birthday. Only time would tell.

She grinned at her reflection in the mirror. She was in the work bathroom, as she was heading straight to the Capois cottage to spend the evening with Severus. They had been "together" for a few months now, but who was counting? They spent an ungodly amount of time together, or so Cosette said. They met once a day for a morning coffee before work, and occasionally met for other meals as well. They were having an All Hallows Eve dinner together this evening, as a matter of fact.

Her smile faded. He had been in a foul snit when they met for coffee that morning. He was occasionally unbearable first thing off, often due to a lack of sleep, but her light attitude was usually enough to bring his spirits up, or at least to transform a grimace into a smirk by the end of their morning ritual.

Not this morning.

It was Halloween, and she had wondered what it was about this holiday that put him in such a temper.

She had scribbled a note off to Ginny, now a regular correspondent, asking as much, and had received a short response:

October 31, 2001

I'll stop rambling now.

Ah, yes, Hermione had thought. How had she not remembered? The first downfall of the Dark Lord was marked by the survival of Harry Potter and by the death of his parents.

As if Severus would forget.

She gave herself one last once-over in the mirror and tried to relax. She needed to prepare her mind, soften her tongue, and be kinder than usual. She wasn't going to spar tonight or, as Cosette said, "give him shit."

Right. She could do that.

*

Two hours later

Her kind words and the excellent dinner at Aunt Amelie's café had done nothing to sweeten Severus' still-sour mood. He had been short and silent, and Hermione doubted that he was even enjoying her company, even though he'd invited her over for the night. She sighed. They'd come back to the cottage for dessert, which Severus was supposedly serving up in the kitchen.

How the hell could she lighten the load? Honestly. And he hadn't said a word about anything: about Dumbledore or the war or Voldemort or Harry or James or Lily... The few words he had uttered were all to do with work and the weather. Naturally.

She was the supportive... significant other, for lack of a better word, but couldn't he just say something?

She was sitting on the front steps watching the sun set. It was a lovely sunset, if an angry one. There was a bit of purple but virtually no pink or yellow, just orange and violent streaks of red across the sky.

It suited the occasion.

The sun slipped beneath the horizon, and Hermione pulled her sweater tightly about her. The chill would descend quickly now. So would darkness.

As if her evening could get any darker.

Severus called her name, and Hermione rose to join him in the kitchen.

*

"Kahlua and vodka?" she asked, surprised, as she saw the bottles on the kitchen counter.

He put a casual arm around her waist and drew her close, startling her. He had not been in an affectionate mood. "White Russians," he said simply. "An excellent after-dinner drink. Try some." He pushed a glass in front of her.

She picked it up and sipped. Almost a milkshake, she thought – it tasted rather like a latte. A latte with a good dose of vodka. It had a hard edge to it. She made a bit of a face and set it down.

"You don't like it?" he asked, gazing at her.

"I do," she said. "It'll just take some getting used to. I'm not good with hard liquor."

He nodded, and she watched as he tipped almost half a glass back.

O-kay...

"Merlin, Sev," she said, trying to be light.

He slammed his glass down on the counter and went rigid, withdrawing his arm from her waist. "Don't call me that," he said, looking at her fiercely.

She shrank back. "Okay, then," she said, taken aback. "I was just teasing..."

He picked up his glass in one hand, the Kahlua and vodka in the other, and stalked out of the kitchen into the sitting room.

She exhaled, frustrated. Damn it.

She was always tempted to say "Well, to hell with you!" when he got like this, but it was Halloween, and she knew she should be here, regardless of how foul he was, regardless of how much alcohol he drowned himself in – she needed to be here. For him.

She swallowed her pride, picked up her glass, and followed him into the sitting room.

She stalled in the doorway. The Kahlua and vodka lay on the floor in front of her, discarded and untouched, and his glass was turned over on the table, dripping onto the hardwood floor.

She Banished it all and walked over to where he sat. She took a seat opposite him in a wing-back chair in front of the fire.

Judging by his body language, he didn't want to talk about it; that was clear. She sat silently, crossed her legs, drank her White Russian, and stared at him. He was sitting as far back in the chair as was possible, retreating into the shadows as the firelight flickered across his legs. His chin rested on a fisted hand, his lips were pursed, and he looked as tightly wound as she'd seen him. In France, she added. As tightly wound as I've seen him in France.

This was a far cry from the Severus she had known the last few months, and it shook her. This was not the snarky, caustic, obscenely arrogant, socially adept man she had come to know. This was Professor Snape. The old Professor Snape.

She kept her gaze on him, unflinching, knowing he would break at some point. She uncrossed and crossed her legs again, noticing his eyes flicker in her direction.

She suppressed a grin. When in doubt, use your body. He was always susceptible to her form, even though they hadn't...

He snorted. "Don't play games with me, Hermione," he said.

Thank God. "Talk to me?" she asked softly, meeting his eyes.

Minutes passed.

"If you are waiting for an exposition on my feelings," he said at long last, sneer intact, "you can go somewhere else. Surely Henri and Cosette are throwing some debauched party on this most eventful of nights."

"They are," she said quickly. "I'd rather be with you."

"You and your fucking curiosity," he muttered. "I don't know why I indulge you."

She uncrossed and crossed her legs and stared pointedly.

He snorted again. "There is that. I have clearly secluded myself too long if even you tempt me."

Her breath caught in her throat. Her mind went blank.

Completely thrown, she stood, ignoring the sudden head rush.

A moment passed, her standing in shellshock.

She recovered her voice. "You want to talk games, Severus?" she said loudly. "Have the last few months been a game to you?"

He slammed against the armrest and stood, meeting her eye to eye, as much as was possible given their height difference. "Can you not understand that I want peace and quiet? Especially on Halloween!" he roared.

"Then you shouldn't have asked me over!" she screeched. "If you want your fucking peace and quiet, fine! But don't ask me over and take your foul mood out on me and expect me not to ask what's wrong!" She breathed heavily. "And don't be angry at me when I try to joke."

"Don't call me that... name," he said, his voice deathly quiet.

"Tell me why and I won't," she said stubbornly. "Does it annoy you? I'll stop."

He inhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why does it have to be you?" he muttered. "There are easier women, less difficult women..."

"Prettier women, more compliant women..." She trailed off, feeling broken. "Answer my goddamn question. One question, Severus. And it's not about your wretched mood, which I deal with on a regular basis, or about this game... I care about you," she pleaded.

He looked at her savagely. "You care?" he mocked. "How quaint." He sat down in his chair and conjured a drink, Hermione couldn't tell what. He sipped and smacked his lips. "You want an explanation, Hermione? Lily called me Sev. Lily. And this is the twenty-year anniversary of her death. This is a day when I bask in memories of her and drink myself into oblivion because the one woman who ever said she loved me save my grandmother is dead. And you care? What a consolation." He sipped his drink. "Is that enough exposition for you?"

Hermione's eyes filled to the brim. Don't cry, don't cry.

"I'm a consolation prize, is that it?" she choked out, wiping a disobedient tear from her cheek. "I'm a consolation prize for you? Lily's dead, Severus. She's gone, and there's nothing any of us could have done. And I am leaving –" He looked up at her sharply "– because I refuse to be your second best. I will not compete with a dead woman. You want memories and alcohol? I wish you joy in them."

She Disapparated with a crack.

*

She got as far as the meadows outside the cottage. Having forgotten her bare feet, she ran through them a long while and breathed hard against the brisk night air. She finally saw a stump off in the distance, and she ran to it, taking a seat on it a minute later as she cast a warming charm on herself. Her breath came fast, and her heart was racing, and tears were spilling.

She looked up at the sky. A red moon. She gulped and drew her sweater tightly around her. The stars were brightly lit against the dark canvas of sky, and she stared at it for a long time, tracing constellations with her fingertips, wishing she could recall more of her Astronomy class.

Ginny. Ginny had loved Astronomy; she'd taken enough of it, Merlin knew. She didn't care for Divination, preferring to read the past and future out of nature rather than from omens and crystal balls. She could recall Ginny going out to dance naked under the full moon more than a few times, always with a Disillusionment charm, of course. Hermione chuckled at the memory. Ginny, she thought. She whipped out her wand and Conjured parchment and a pen. She Summoned some fireflies from off in the distance and put a stasis charm on them so that they floated in front of her, giving off light to write by.

October 31, 2001

Hermione

She folded it up and pointed her wand at it. It disappeared, gone to Ginny's fireplace. She breathed in deep and looked back up at the sky.

*

She sat on the stump a long while and watched the stars dance and thought about the hard, embittered, broken man inside the cottage.

She stood up after what felt like an hour and trudged back across the meadow, her heart a bit lighter with attempted forgiveness, and pretended not to be affected as the cottage came closer and closer until she was at the steps. She was surprised to find the door ajar. Odd, that.

She walked in quietly, shut the door, and crossed the old rugs in the entryway as she made her way to the sitting room. The fire was roaring, but he wasn't in sight.

She peeked in the kitchen – no one – and, hesitant, walked over to his bedroom. She looked in the open door, but he wasn't there, either.

"Severus?" she called, worry rising in her.

She walked back through the sitting room, central as it was, and was startled when she saw him sitting in a chair in the corner, shadows fleeting about his drawn, tear-stained face. He met her eyes. His were filled with sorrow.

"Oh," she whispered. She walked over to him.

She stood next to him and was about to put her hand on his shoulder when he reached for her hand and held it.

"I'm sorry," he said, not looking at her. "So sorry," the words seemed choked out. "You are not a consolation prize." He kissed her wrist and released it.

"It hurt," she said.

"I know, and I apologize," he said quietly, looking up at her.

"I accept your apology," she said slowly.

Silence.

"Severus?" she asked. He looked up at her. "Please never say those things to me again."

"I won't," he sighed. An emotion passed over his face, she couldn't tell what, but he put his head in his hands and breathed deeply. "I... care about you as well," he murmured, so softly Hermione barely heard it.

But she did hear it.

She slowly raked a hand through his hair. He reached for her hand, stilling it, and with a gentle touch brought her hand down to his face. He hadn't shaved recently, and his stubble was alternately rough and ticklish to the touch, but when his lips kissed her palm insistently, she shut her eyes and blocked everything else out. She felt his tongue dart out and press against her palm in several quick stabs, and she let the heat roll. She swayed slightly, and he slowly kissed up her forearm. He gently tugged at her arm and led her body around so that she faced him. He caught her hips with his hands and brought her to stand between his knees. He rested his forehead against her stomach as she stroked his hair.

At long last, he pulled her arms down to her sides and looked up at her, his eyes hot, and she pulled her top up and over her head because the heat was going to burn her up if she didn't. He brought his hands up to her waist and hooked his fingers in her skirt. He pulled it down slowly, his fingers and the silk alternately raking over her stomach, thighs, and then her shins, at long last pooling at her feet in a sea of blue. She stepped out of the skirt as he brought his hands up to touch her, and she lost herself in the sensations as his fingers disappeared in her.

*

After, he carried her over to the rug in front of the fire where he made love to her slowly, exquisitely, and her world shattered in a thousand brilliant stars, the firelight reflecting off her pearl necklace.

*

Present

Hermione's eyes glazed over after she told Rose that she'd gone back in the cottage and reconciled with Severus, and Rose knew she wasn't getting the whole story. At this point, though, she was not about to press for details.

She sipped her wine as her mum went into her own world. It seemed as if she was watching a memory play out on the kitchen floor, she stared at it long enough.

"Mum?" Rose asked after a moment.

Hermione snapped out of her reverie and flushed.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "I just... never mind." Her cheeks reddened.

Rose shut her eyes. She wasn't stupid, after all. "I'm not going to ask."

*

As a note, I owe a severe debt to the film Practical Magic for Hermione's letter to Ginny. The letter Sally writes to her sister Gillian in the film is the direct inspiration, and it just struck me and seemed so fitting here. The only line that is directly lifted is the one about wanting a love that even time will lie down and be still for.

I hope you're all still enjoying!

*hugs*