Reaching for the Moon

A/N at bottom of chapter. 8 more drabbles here.

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“…believe she’s dancing with him! She knows…” Weasley’s voice, even though he’s trying to whisper, is loud. Snape catches the gist of the younger man’s diatribe as he and Hermione pass the table where he’s sitting. The first waltz ends and a second begins. Instead of stepping away from him, Hermione engages him in another dance. By the flash in her eyes, he knows she’d heard Ron. Snape realizes she’s using him, to prove a point. He wonders briefly if he should let her. The material of her dress brushes against his legs as they spin. “Yes,” he thinks. “Yes.”

* * * * *

When he returns to his chambers much later that night, this is what he remembers:

The amber and honey smell of her hair, and the curl that fell loose when she swung her head to glare at Ron.

Dainty fingers clasping his, the weight of her hand on his shoulder; her breath, warm and moist, against his neck.

The glide and retreat of her body against his as they moved across the floor.

Her wistful smile when he bowed and thanked her for the dances.

His wish the night would never end.

His regret when it did.

His loneliness now.

* * * * *

He doesn’t see her again until two days before the start of school. She moves in early in order to prepare for her apprenticeship. Her hair is loose and bushy, obscuring the pale column of neck he’d so admired at Potter’s wedding.

“I’m still waiting on one book,” she tells him over breakfast. “It should be here sometime tomorrow.”

He nods, watches intently as she butters her toast, stabs at an egg, sips her tea. He is fascinated by the way her mouth moves. She is not hesitant with him. Instead she is direct, laughing, loquacious and completely, irretrievably, bewitching.

* * * * *

Ron is in his office later that day, surly, sullen, and completely out-of-line. “If I could get her to listen to reason, she wouldn’t even be here. You may have been working for the right side the whole time, but I still don’t like you. Not only that, but all your ex-death eater friends don’t like you either. What happens if one decides to get back at you by attacking Hermione? Can you keep her safe?”

Snape orders him brusquely out of his office, but later that afternoon the younger man’s words echo in his head. Can he protect her?

* * * * *

Dumbledore is in his portrait when Snape goes to the Headmistress’ office later that evening. It is his first visit since the final battle, and the familiar mixture of anger and love rises in his chest when he spies the old wizard. “Albus.”

“Severus, my dear boy! I am so happy you’ve finally come to visit me. I cannot tell you enough…”

“Don’t.” Snape’s reply is short. “I’m not here for that.” He pauses, steeples his fingers. “I’m supposed to be dead, Albus. The fact that I’m not makes me a danger to everyone around me. Why won’t it end?”

* * * * *

Minerva interrupts some time later, surreptitiously clearing her throat as she peeks around the door to her office. “I’ve brought some tea,” she explains gently. “And a bottle of Ogden’s. May I come in?

Snape motions her in. “I like what you’ve done to the office. It suits you.”

“I’m sorry that…”

“Minerva, I’m happy. People trust you. More importantly, they like you. That’s important.”

“They like you too,” Albus interjects. “After all, they know the truth now.”

“I still killed you,” Snape replies. “Things haven’t changed for me that much, except now I have even fewer friends than before.”

* * * * *

The tea is good, the Ogden’s is better. Snape’s belly is warm but his mind is still full when he takes his leave. He can’t help but worry. The Wesley boy is an obnoxious prat, but he isn’t stupid. There will be students here tomorrow who are children of death-eaters. Some of their parents are dead, or in Azkaban, and he knows they’ll blame him. He’s not worried about what they’ll do to him – just being alive makes him a target – but he is worried about what they could do to Hermione. She’s their enemy too, moreso because of him.

* * * * *

He dreams of her that night, of her face, pale as the moon as they waltz together and her blood drains from a gaping wound in her neck. He can’t stop it or save her – all he can do is hold her as she dies, watching her eyes glaze over. “It should have been you,” they accuse him. “Why didn’t you save me?”

He wakes just after midnight, clammy and shaking, and barely makes it to the loo before vomiting. He knows what he needs to do. Tomorrow, he’ll tell her he’s changed his mind. Tomorrow, he’ll send her away.

~fin4~

What can I say about Snape in this series of drabbles, other than the fact that he’s terribly lonely and insecure, and doubtful of his own self-worth. I’m in a maudlin mood because of these drabbles, but it can’t be helped. The real question is, how can he reconcile what he wants and what he needs with his fears and doubts?

The song below, to me, completely reflects the dichotomy and longing within this man. The bonus? It’s also a waltz – perhaps one of the songs Snape and Hermione danced to at Potter’s wedding.

Reaching for the Moon

Irving Berlin

The moon and you appear to be

So near and yet so far from me

And here am I on a night in June

Reaching for the moon and you,

I wonder if we’ll ever meet

My song of love is incomplete

I’m just the words, looking for the tune

Reaching for the moon and you.

I’m just the words, looking for the tune

Reaching for the moon and you.