Distilled Essence of Pleasant Thought
More than two years later, Harry leans back against the counter and wipes the sweat from his forehead. Ron slides down the wall with a groan.
‘And we really couldn’t use magic for remodelling the house?’ he whines.
‘Trace,’ Severus reminds him tersely, slicking strands of sweat-soaked hair back.
Dudley just gasps like a fish out of the water, his face red as a tomato.
Hermione — her hair a matted mess — is making a mental list of everything she still has to do, from cleaning the shopping windows to arranging a gazillion glasses, phials and boxes.
But all in all, ‘Distilled Essence of Pleasant Thought’,[1] the new shop for homoeopathic and herbal remedies in Primrose Hill, is nearly ready for business.
Three days later, the shop sparkles. Every shelf and every drawer is stocked. All bottles and boxes, all jugs and jars, all flasks and flagons are filled: with pills, potions, powders and pastes, with solutions, spirits, syrups and salves, with tonics, treatments, tisanes and tinctures.
But Hermione’s favourite is the cabinet that contains the vials with the organic perfume oils.
Just thinking of Severus’ perfume oils makes her smile.
That’s also the story behind the shop’s name.
Severus caught her gazing at his perfume vials with a silly smile plastered on her face. He glowered at her and snarled, ‘What do you think this is? Distilled Essence of Pleasant Thought?’
She’d nodded, stood up on tip-toe, and kissed his nose. ‘For me it is. The perfume shop of true love and many pleasant thoughts.’
Strangely enough, when she suggested that phrase as the name for their shop, he didn’t protest.
Now he steps behind her, and his hands caress her hip-bones, stroke upwards, until his fingers curl around her breasts. With a happy, weary sigh, she arches backwards. She loves to feel his heat behind her, the hardness of his body. She rubs against him a little, then turns around, her hands reaching up to his collar.
‘We should christen the shop while there’s time.’ She gives him a wicked wink. ‘This could get awkward with customers here.’
‘Lecherous lynx,’ he breathes,[2] hands sneaking underneath her sweater. Then he hesitates, as if to reconsider his approach. Two kisses at the corners of her mouth are soft, not smutty. ‘No,’ he whispers. ‘Lecherous you are not. But my libidinous lioness — that you are.’
Then he draws back, halts her progress down his shirt, studies her intently, the way she leans against the counter, panting, flushed, her hands shaking with her eagerness for him.
‘Ad deam qui leatificat senectutem meam,’ he proclaims,[3] the Latin words long and liquid like his caresses, his fingertips, as he traces the outline of her face with infinite tenderness.
‘You’re not that old!’ she protests, but no other saucy remark will rise to her lips, to make light of this situation. She feels very near burdened with the intensity of her love for him.[4]
‘I am, too,’ he insists. ‘Still, I think I’d better marry you.’
[1] Reference to the poem ‘Hospital of Love’.
[2] Textual allusion to James Joyce’s reference to LBDSM in Ulysses.
[3] Ibid.
[4] Textual allusion to Thomas Hardy’s reference to LBDSM in ‘Bright Blue Eyes’.
I had planned to write my comments for this act at the end, but this chapter is so sweet and so well written, I had to tell you. The evolution of Severus Snape from fellow outcast to reluctant housemate to surprised lover is beautifully chronicled. Well done!
Beth
The way you write of the love between Hermione and Severus is so gentle yet they are both very much in character. I like it very uch.
Beth
I’m glad that they have found such happiness in the world they have built for themselves. That they have a son and daughter is especially sweet.
Beth
“Harry refuses to accept it was too late even before their seven years were over. He vows to move heaven and earth to find a cure.”
This sounds ominous. Does it mean that the seven years of exile was actually a death sentence? How damned sad. But so beautifully written, Juno.
Beth
Where is Hermione? Has she already died? How is it that you can write such bittersweet prose, yet make my heart glad for them at the same time.
Love is like that, yes.
Beth
Oh, my word! This journey has been one of healing and crying and giving thanks for the blessings that were granted and railing against the ones that were not granted. But I’ll wager that the fulfilling life that Hermione and Severus Snape made for themselves and their children was more perfect than any of their magical contemporaries were able to make for themselves.
This is why you are a master, Juno, pure and simple. Thank you for this. I have loved every page!
Warmest regards,
Beth
Another amazing story.