Chapters 161-170

Happy Christmas!

Hermione stared at Severus, her face hot and cold with anger, her stomach quivering with fury. She wondered if this was how volcanoes felt when they are about to erupt. Severus didn’t look very happy with his presents either. His eyes were smouldering at her like burning embers over the rectangular objects on his side of the coffee table. She could tell that he was angry, but she didn’t care. She brandished the scroll like a club.

‘How dare you,’ she bit out, ‘how dare you?’ Tears of helpless rage filled her eyes, and she didn’t wait for his reply. ‘How is it possible that you’re convinced you can save the world all the time?’ she asked, her voice growing shriller with each word, ‘That you can play double, no, quadruple agent between Voldemort and Dumbledore long enough for Harry to defeat the bastard? And now, that you can go beyond the Veil to put an end to that damn leeching curse? And at the same FUCKING time, you’re not only convinced that this will cost you your LIFE, you don’t even seem to CARE whether you live or die! HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE? What the hell is WRONG with you? And now this! You’re giving me this HOUSE for Christmas? That’s absurd! If you really think you can save the world, why can’t you hang on to a little bit of hope for yourself?’

‘And what about you?’ he asked, his voice dangerously quiet. ‘If I have reason to think that I will not live to see my next birthday, do you honestly believe that it’s in good taste to give me a stack of calendars for Christmas? To remind me of all that I will lose? The warmth of—’ He swallowed hard, his eyes burning. Suddenly the anger appeared to drain out of him. His shoulders slumped. He stared at the beautiful leather-bound diary in his hands. ‘Your warmth,’ he murmured. ‘More precious than the warmth of any summer’s day.’

He inhaled and looked at her with that bleak, black gaze. ‘Do you have any idea what you do to me? I—you know that I have to do this. And besides, it’s not only my life that’s on the line, it’s Harry’s just as much, and—if we fail—yours, and Alina’s, and that of every other wizard and witch with Muggle blood in Britain. Damn it, Hermione, why do you have to be so stubborn?’

‘Because I love you.’

Romance novels were full of similes of heroines who felt broken-hearted. But those descriptions didn’t really do the experience justice. Hermione felt…shattered. As if someone had driven a stake right through her middle, as if she were coming apart at the seams. But she could only sit there unmoving, the parchment that only needed her signature in the presence of the local notary on the conveniently for Wednesday morning scheduled appointment in her hands, the silence ringing in her ears.

‘For what it’s worth,’ Severus murmured after a while, ‘I do not want to die. There were times when I did. You know that. But now…’ He shook his head, lank hair swirling around his jaws.

She stared at him. Those black eyes. And unless you were just a few inches away from his face, they were black. That fine black hair that kept clinging together like barbs of a feather. That proud hooked nose that for some inconceivable reason was such an expressive part of his face. Just like his eyebrows. They could smirk, and sneer, and question, affect surprise or glower evilly…as if they wanted to distract from those thin, sensitive lips that could—at times—betray how he really felt.

He’s beautiful, she thought. And brilliant and brave. He glowered at her, though regretfully now rather than angrily. And ugly. She felt a wry grin curl her mouth. As well as difficult and domineering.

‘Let’s go to bed.’ She laughed at his wild-eyed look. ‘There’s nothing we can do,’ she explained softly. I’m not giving up, she thought obstinately. It’s just a strategic retreat from…She closed her eyes for second. The world and all the rest. ‘What will be, will be.’ She paused and took a deep breath. ‘I always hated that song,’ she muttered and was gratified to see the corners of his lips twitch with a smirk. ‘If there’s nothing we can do,’ Hermione repeated, ‘I’d much prefer to do nothing in a way that allows me to do that…nothing in a way that…makes me feel…’ Heat crept into her cheeks. ‘Good. And…’ She swallowed. ‘Close to you.’

oooOooo

‘Don’t,’ Hermione pleaded when Severus was about to slide out of her body. ‘Please. I—I’d like to feel you just a little longer. Please.’

With a sigh he adjusted his position and remained where he was, smothering her with the pleasant heaviness of his weight, piercing her—no longer fiercely and demanding, but so she could still feel his presence within her, like an anchor. She wound her arms and legs around him, tears mingling with sweat at the corners of her eyes. For a few precious moments she could believe that nothing in the world would ever be able to separate them.

‘I could fall asleep like that,’ she murmured.

‘Perhaps you could. But I can’t.’

Disregarding her mournful sigh, he withdrew from her and rolled over to lie next to her. But he did gather her in his arms and held her close. Hermione was about to doze off, when she heard the sounds for the first time. A distant scrabbling somewhere above her. She frowned. ‘Did you hear that?’

‘What?’ He yawned.

‘I don’t know…some kind of scratching. Up in the attic?’

He shrugged and tightened his hold on her. ‘Maybe Winky?’

‘But she’s got the chamber next to the kitchen! Are there rats here?’

‘Not anymore!’ Severus retorted fiercely. ‘And now go to sleep.’