"Thank the Fae" by gingerbred Chapter 05
Mar. 15th, 2019 06:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thankthefaeYule be here for Christmas... Part 5
Our heroes *still* aren't out of the woods... They have yet a ways to the castle and are working diligently on personifying awkward en route.
We return to our usual Severus centric point of view.
Originally Published: 2017-01-05 on AO3
Chapter: 5 / 13 of ?
Pairing: Hermione Granger / Severus Snape
Disclaimer:
I don't own any of this and won't profit from it. All props to JKR, the fount of all things Potter canon.
Last Chapter:
In a flurry of movement Hermione launches herself directly at him, and her arms wrap tightly around his neck... And she's... hugging him.
His arms went up instinctively at the movement, and then realizing there was no imminent threat ('define "threat"!' something roars), just sort of hang there in the air for a breath before closing briefly, tentatively across her back, and he finds himself with a warm armful of witch.
Merlin.
For her, it's a pleasant and welcome change. Too bad it can't last.
Yule be here for Christmas... Part 5
Well, that's an altogether startling development.
Severus considers carefully, as is his wont, and reassures himself "startling" is not too strong a word for it. This... whatever this arms thing is... this was completely unexpected. But that can be said of many things.
Less than an hour ago, he wouldn't have thought he'd encounter anyone else besides the Fae in the Forbidden Forest this evening. Fifteen minutes ago, he couldn't have pictured his young colleague would ever choose him as a confidant. That she is currently seeking comfort in his arms... It's so inconceivable, he never could have envisioned it and would have discounted it as utterly ludicrous mere moments ago.
And of course there was the latest... gift from the Fae. ('Merlin knows what that was about.') Research is called for, copious amounts of research, beyond a doubt. There is precious little to be done for it at the moment, and he refuses to dwell on it.
But consoling distraught witches... is entirely out of his realm of experience. And perplexing. And demands his immediate attention. He first pauses to covertly examine her to determine if she is, indeed, distraught. ('Because if she were, you would have any notion of how to proceed?' 'Properly assessing the problem is never amiss,' he is fairly certain.)
Initially, he is reasonably confident that she is simply relieved. Whatever he said to her, and he's not at all certain in retrospect what it could have been, seems to have been welcome, which would make... this... arms thing a... hug. (He decides that's the correct word for it, but finds it so confusing he'd prefer not to think about it. At all.)
Fortunately, he is saved from contemplating that further by a muffled sob. ('Splendid.') It seems her relief has given way to a sudden surge of emotion. ('Be careful what you wish for...' the sap taunts. 'Silence.')
And this just compounds his confusion. He has, certainly, made people cry, undoubtably many, and probably on repeated occasions at that. ('In point of fact, I'm reasonably certain I have made this young witch cry when she was my student.' In a complicated confluence of repression and denial, he refuses to think of her crying over him after Voldemort and that thrice damned snake left him for dead, much as he doesn't think about the attack itself if he can help it. But it doesn't stop a quick image of her distress from flashing to mind.) Never, never is he sought out to console someone who is crying. ('In the interests of accuracy, she didn't exactly seek me out. There was literally no one else around.' 'But still...' the sap can't help starting before being squelched.)
Not since he and Lily were young children, which ('oddly') is longer ago than he finds himself willing to admit with this attractive young woman in his arms, has anyone expected he would be able to provide solace. And at the time, Lily was a good friend. That his pretty colleague could imagine him capable of providing what she apparently needs in this situation seems... unlikely, or ill-reasoned. ('A shame. Her brain was always exemplary.')
Unsure how best to proceed, he raises one of his arms from her waist (and is shocked to discover they were both still there, to be honest, but then fails absolutely to remove the remaining arm leaving it... 'propped there conveniently,' he decides) and, his right arm now draped across her upper back, begins to pat her reassuringly on the shoulder. Or something that passes for it. It's rather an awkward pat. ('More of a thump. Merlin's beard, man, she's a slight thing! Have a care with her.')
So he thumps away. ('That can't possibly be an appropriate response?') But bizarrely, it seems to help. That comes as such a shock that he ('quite typically') decides to take it as further proof that he is unequal to the task. ('Which disregards completely the fact that you are evidently managing it.' The sap remains a great and bloody thorn in his side, but murderous thoughts do little to quash him.)
She bewilders him once again by burrowing her face further into his chest, and as the pleasant citrusy scent of her hair work's its way to his nose, and he catches himself almost bending closer to inhale (!), he begins weighing the advantages to simply remaining permanently astounded in her presence. ('It's in the interests of efficiency. Doing so would most likely conserve time and energy.' 'Doubtlessly,' the sap sounds... sarcastic.) Reflexively, his arm around her tiny waist tightens ever so slightly, and erring on the side of caution, he opts to thump her shoulder some more. And then suddenly he is almost positive the little chit is laughing... She remains good for a surprise, he'll allow that, but mocking him after he's been quite decent is clearly taking the piss...
And then he's ripped from his thoughts again at her slight movement. She can't have... ('Absolutely not.') So did she just wipe her tears on his chest? Because the alternative doesn't bear thinking on. If he didn't know better, he would say it looked suspiciously like... nuzzling. Which is patently absurd, and therefore incorrect. ('Clearly.') And suddenly he finds his discomfort at having the petite witch in his arms increasing... dramatically.
He's changed since the war, not that most people care enough or would be close enough to notice. He has relaxed some, as any student can tell you, which was only to be expected. He is kinder, or at least less abusive (a mental eyebrow raises), and gentler ('not that that says much as a relative measure'); the sarcasm remains, but the tone has shifted. All of that comes as no surprise.
The far more significant difference is that he no longer has to have all the answers. Previously, indecision, hesitancy, uncertainty, or lack of resolve could all have meant death. Now he allows himself the deceptively simple luxury of being contradictory and undecided. Which means sometimes his thoughts and feelings these days are all over the map. It's rare, but when it happens, he's discovered he almost enjoys that feeling of free fall, except for the even rarer occurrences when he very much doesn't.
This situation is shaping up to be the latter.
Holding her is unexpectedly... pleasant. Being able to comfort someone is frankly astonishing. He's never contemplated it, so it's unanticipated when he realizes he likes that feeling rather a lot. Both feelings, really. It's a pity then, that he expects to be able to repeat neither. Comforting her is proving a whole that's better than the sum of its parts. So obviously the very last thing he wants is this soft witch in his arms.
And that's blatantly false; it's most definitely not the last thing he wants. If pressed, he could almost certainly provide a very extensive list of things he'd like less. ('Fortunately, people don't...' 'There's a lovely witch in your arms that appears the exception to your rule, given she's pressing you rather tightly at the moment.' He's... aware.) And of course it's pleasant, but more so in the theoretical sense. (The sap's eye roll is very nearly audible.) It sounds all well and good on parchment, but one really doesn't want to find oneself with a presumably taken witch in one's arms.
He should wonder why that matters, but once again doesn't.
Perhaps it's a question of honor, or maybe it's fear of losing the battle again, as he remembers losing Lily to James all too clearly. It's probably a combination of both. (Not that Lily was his to lose in any romantic sense of the word, but her loss was nevertheless very deeply felt.) Involvement with taken witches is ill advised at best.
If he were being honest, which nothing shy of Veritaserum or a compulsion spell would be likely to invoke on this topic, he's not even certain he's prepared for a single witch at this point. But if anything, it's probable that her unavailability adds to her appeal, making her "safer," because he doesn't have to justify, if only to himself, not acting on the attraction. (He's not a coward, simply thwarted, 'more's the pity.') It's one thing to think someone is attractive. It's another to want to hold them and yet a third to act upon it. He's reasonably comfortable with the first step these days - thought is free. But not actions. Actions can come at a very steep price. And never with someone else's witch.
It, typically, seems to have completely escaped his notice that he doesn't storm about thinking all manner of witches attractive, but rather a very specific one. One currently in his arms. Or more precisely, holding him in hers.
She's ceased making soft, strangled sobbing noises and actually seems to be trying to swallow a giggle instead, and Severus wonders if this is the onset of hysteria. He is completely out of his element here. But then she leans back, though still not releasing him, and looks him straight in the eyes and apologizes. (Although the apology would be more convincing if she were to let him go...)
"I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have forced myself upon you. I shouldn't have taken liberties. I... " and she trails off and then takes a deep, cleansing breath and a new tack. "Thank you."
He's still holding her weakly and searching her face for something ('for signs of a breakdown, obviously, what else?'), but he doesn't break contact or force her to do so. He waits, silently, until she's pulled herself together. When she is able to smile up at him sincerely, and he no longer fears her impending mental collapse, he lets her pull back further.
He can't suppress the urge to surreptitiously check his robes for proof of tears and confirmation that she had blotted them against his chest; there's still that odd movement of her head to account for. His keen eyes discover two minute damp spots, near imperceptibly darker black on black, the remainder of tears from the placement, but not smeared, so no. Not the cause for her... gesture. His next explanation: she must have been shivering from the cold, makes about as much sense as it did when he first suggested it was getting cold out as they met outside the Fae's clearing, and speaks for denial. ('Warming Charms. Idiot.') But the alternative is too absurd... ('Once you eliminate the impossible...' 'No... nuzzling... took place.')
She rescues him from his thoughts once again, sighing deeply and repeating "Thank you," resolutely as she draws a hand gently across his chest.
She turns to head back to the castle, and he's a little uncertain if he should follow. He doesn't know if she now needs her space, or if his continuing on with her would be more or less awkward than if he just allows her to go ahead. But then she stops and waits for him, turning to face him and says, "you have no idea how good that felt." (He has his own ideas about that, but deems them inappropriate to the situation at hand.) "For obvious reasons I'm not supposed to talk about it much, so to have someone understand where I'm coming from, what I went through... It's an enormous comfort." And then she reaches out and takes his hand, giving it a reassuring and grateful squeeze, and her smile makes Warming Charms redundant, and she tugs him after her on the way back home, releasing his hand only when he resumes following her and before he can ('perversely') feel even more ill at ease.
As they emerge from the Forbidden Forest together, Severus can't help thinking how fortunate it was that they were hidden from view of the castle by the tree cover. He shouldn't like to have to explain the sight of her in his arms. But a tiny traitorous voice very deep inside can't help thinking: it might have been nice to have been seen ('as a comfort') after all.
Notes:
In the next chapter, finally out of the woods and with the castle in sight, Severus and Hermione enter the home stretch. Surprisingly, Severus determines that conversation is not his forte. Fortunately, Hermione is up to the challenge and we get a bit of an update on miscellaneous Weasleys and Harry.
Minor ginger and Potter bashing shall occur.
A/N:
"Thought is free." is from Shakespeare's "The Tempest," although I tend to think of the song "Die Gedanken sind frei" with that phrase. The "modern" version of the song post-dates "The Tempest," but the predecessors have a couple hundred years on the play. "Es bleibet dabei: Die Gedanken sind frei!"
"Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth." - Arthur Conan Doyle. Severus and Sherlock share certain traits I enjoy. You just know he devoured those books as a lad.