Summary: He makes this pilgrimage every year at Christmas, but nothing ever comes of it. Will it be different this year?
Categories: Hermione/Snape Characters: None
Warnings: Alternate Universe, Book 7 Disregarded
Challenges: Series: None
Chapters: 5
Completed: Yes
Word count: 5638
Read: 29603
Published: 12/18/09
Updated: 12/21/09
1. I. Pathetic Pilgrim by Subversa
2. II. Irresolute Past Present by Subversa
3. III. Frozen Fantasies by Subversa
4. IV. Reckless Reality by Subversa
5. V. One Lost, Found by Subversa
I. Pathetic Pilgrim by Subversa
You Only Cross My Mind in Winter
By Subversa
I. Pathetic Pilgrim
The snow fell lazily, almost as an afterthought, from the fraught grey clouds overhead. Afternoon in the park boasted only happy, family-types this day before Christmas. Fathers, charged with keeping the children out of the way, pushed swings and stood at the foot of slides and threw balls in the company of their progeny. Teenagers stole last minute meetings with their friends before being consigned to the doubtful felicity of family celebrations. Lovers strolled, hand in hand, oblivious to all others, enjoying the festive, holiday atmosphere of the small neighbourhood park.
One dark, solitary man moved on the periphery of the scene, somehow neither present nor absent. He lurked in the trees and patrolled the edges of the green, now ankle-deep in snow, seeing everything and nothing at all. Those in the park, for the most part, did not notice him, as if some magic spell hid him from their eyes.
Well, of course it did.
Severus Snape stalked impatiently through the Muggle neighbourhood, Disillusioned and further protected by both a Muggle-Repelling Charm and a strong Notice-Me-Not Spell. He loathed his presence here, and even more, loathed himself for being unable to stay away. It had been three years since he had chanced to see her here one day near the Solstice. Since then, it had been his custom to humiliate himself annually with these pathetic treks to Wanstead, to watch for her again, as if he were a bird enthusiast on a quest to view the endangered species, Bushy-Crowned Know-It-All-icus.
He scowled and kicked at a rock, watching it bounce over tree roots and disappear into a small drift. He had been in the area on business that day three winters ago, and on impulse, had walked from the High Street down to a small play park. It had been a fine day then, unseasonably warm, with the sun shining in a cloudless blue skyâ”quite different from todayâs snowy misery. The park had been relatively deserted, and he had seated himself upon a bench, under cover of a strong Disillusionment Charm, to enjoy the quiet. Christmas was a difficult time of year for people laden with family and friendsâ”for a solitary man burdened with neither sets of dependents or supplicants, it was ⌠brutal.
She had strolled into the park from the High Street, as well, a diminutive figure in brown boots, blue jeans, and a short, cranberry red coat, her crazy brown hair lifting from her shoulders and blowing about her face with the intermittent gusts of wind. It had been the work of mere seconds for him to recognise her. His stomach had clenched, as had his hands in his pockets.
Now, his fists clenched in memory of his distress, and he did another visual sweep of the area, though he had never seen her again, since that day. Yet by the simple act of strolling through this park before his eyes, she had made his pilgrimage an annual event, as he hoped against hope to see her again.
For what? he mocked himself. Itâs not as if you have the stones to approach her now, any more than you did then. Pathetic!
II. Irresolute Past Present by Subversa
Author's Notes:
He makes this pilgrimage every year at Christmas, but nothing ever comes of it. Will it be different this year?
You Only Cross My Mind in Winter
By Subversa
II. Irresolute Past Present
Their association was strictly Order-related; there had never been anything personal about it. Yet this interminable winter, oppressed by the ongoing war, was a time of recurrent meetings with her, attended by frequent discussions and equally frequent disagreements.
âIf you cannot see to your cauldron without babbling, Miss Granger, you may go. I will do it instead,â he snapped waspishly, decanting the contents of his cauldron into clearly marked phials.
âI scarcely see how you can view my questions about the genesis of this Nerve Regeneration Potion as babbling, Professor,â she replied.
He glanced to her sharply, hearing something in her tone of disrespectâ”but all he saw on her countenance, rapt as she counted her anti-clockwise strokes, was a sort of gentle amusement. He bristled, a sneer marring his face. What business did this girl have mocking him? She might not be his student any longer, but the differences between them, in both age and station, dictated that she ought to speak to him with respect and deference.
She glanced up then, catching him out as he studied her, and she smiled, the warmth spreading from her up-curled lips to her dark, expressive eyes. âIf you donât care to discuss it while we work, perhaps you can tell me about it later, over a drink.â
His eyes dropped as he felt the unwanted flush of colour in his cheeks, and he busied himself with corking the phials and cleaning his cauldron, taking the opportunity to turn his back on her. âIt is my custom to go to the Three Broomsticks for a drink on Saturday nights,â he replied, neither encouraging nor discouraging her.
âI know,â she murmured, and he thought he heard amusement again, but he refused to turn to see her face until he was fully in charge of his own again.
They left the castle at the same time, though he would not characterise them as being together; it was simply of matter of both of them deciding, independently, to go down the pub for a nightcap. Miss Granger, however, did not seem to grasp the reality of their joint seclusion, for she assailed him with verbal prods until he was forced to return them, and their stroll through the snow under the bright Scottish moon was productive of conversation, as well as two sets of tracks, side by side, in the snowy lane.
The wind picked up, blowing bitterly against the woollen coats and mittens of those daring the outdoors, and the smaller children were gathered and herded away by anxious parents. Severus stirred from his reverie and refreshed his concealing charms, beginning to thread his way again through the trees and about the perimeter of the play park.
That first night, walking with her to the Three Broomsticks, enduring the perpetual conversation, had been the first of many snowy Saturday nights with Hermione Granger. They had spoken of countless things, learning to match their gaits as they walked and practiced the parry and thrust of verbal sparringâ”and many were the times when the gates of Hogwarts had loomed on their return too soon to suit him, for in conversation with her, the distance might have been ten times farther, and still he would not have been bored. It had never been personalâ”that would have been inappropriateâ”but it had, at times, been ⌠engaging.
Then had come the end of the war. He had left the school to found his own business, and their association had come to an end.
He shook his head, disturbing the plain black scarf wound about his throat against the icy air. He was the worst of foolsâ”an old one.
It had only been in retrospect, as years had passed, that he had come to wonder. Had it all been ⌠impersonal? Had he not, at times, detected merriment in her?â”and was it not possible that her gaiety had been an indication of ⌠well, of attraction, rather than mockery?
Surely it wasnât impossible.
Was it?
Desolate, he scowled at his feet, watching each boot pressing into the freshly fallen snow, until the solitary set of prints ended where they had begun, in the copse of trees in the play park in Wanstead.
Dear Merlin, dusk was falling. How he wished, as he had done each year since, that he had more work to occupy him in winterâ”that it was less of a null season for his business. It left him far too much time to think and to feel, always a dangerous combination.
Another Christmas Eve was coming to an end, and she wasnât comingâ”but even worse, he wasnât going after her.
III. Frozen Fantasies by Subversa
You Only Cross My Mind in Winter
By Subversa
III. Frozen Fantasies
He came to a snow-frosted benchâ”the one upon which he had sat the day he had seen her hereâ”and beneath the bench, he saw an irregular shape shrouded in a small drift. Frowning, he nudged it with his boot and saw what appeared to be a childâs black patent slipper. He bent to investigate, and with his ungloved hands, he brushed a coating of snow away from a carrier bag with the feet of a doll protruding. He flicked his fingers, clearing the snow from the bench with a wash of wandless magic, and he sat down to consider his find.
The childâs toy slid from the bag onto his lap, where it laid stiffly, bright blue eyes staring at the sky. It wore a blue coat with its shiny black slippers, but snow had got into the bag, and there were patches of damp upon the fabric. The damp had also affected other parts as well, it would seem, for its golden hair stood out from its head in a bushy mass.
The corner of his mouth quirked in something close to a smile, and his fingertips touched the dollâs locks. Just so would Miss Grangerâs hair become under the influence of the slightest humidity. Nights when pellets of ice fell upon the castle roofs and coated the crenulated parapets, his workroom would be full of steaming cauldrons, and he, working in his shirtsleeves, would often look up to see her with a line of sweat upon her brow and the soft brown of her hair kinking and curling about her face like a living organism.
One long digit twirled a lock of the dollâs hair, and he pursed his lips in thought. What if he had slipped behind her and gathered her hair at her nape, securing it out of her way with an unspoken charm?
âOh, thank you, Severus,â she said, turning from her cauldron to glance up at him, one hand touching the smoothly bound hair, a self-conscious smile upon her lips.
âYouâre welcome, Hermione,â he answered, gazing meaningfully into her eyes, and with a sigh, she swayed into his arms, and they kissed.
âOh bloody buggering hell,â he muttered in disgust, wrenching himself from his puling thoughts. As if he would ever have sacrificed an eveningâs work of cauldrons full of necessary potions for the sake of a stupid kiss!
Scowling now, he stared out into the swiftly darkening evening. On the streets of Wanstead, the lights from the houses cast welcoming glows upon those hurrying home, but in the park, still the teenagers lurked in clusters of jovial raillery. He grimaced. How many times during those last desperate months of the war had he seen her about Hogsmeade or in Diagon Alley with her friends? It was true that she had never been particularly boisterous or otherwise inappropriate in the company of her two shadows, but he had never deigned to recognise her at those times. He would look away and cross the street or turn his back, so he would not have to see her conversing with personsâ”boys! Men!â”other than himself. Had he only imagined her eyes, trained upon the back of his head or the side of his face with the heat of burning coals, willing him to notice her? Why had he not done so? Had he been so afraid that she would not meet him with the appearance of pleasureâ”with the same constant kindness and regard she accorded him in his workroom and in the taproom in the village?
What if he had possessed the courage to approach her one of those times?
âHello, Professor!â she said when he caught her eye, and as he approached her, she excused herself from Potter and Weasley and met him halfway, her hands extended. âI hope youâve been well.â
Taking her hands, he gazed down into her face, the warmth of her brown eyes like a balm to the wound he ever carried with him. âIâm certainly well now,â he said, allowing the emphasis of his words to convey his message. âWould you care to join me for a warm drink?â
And she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, turning her back on her friends and strolling away from them on his arm, a soft, vibrant presence at his side.
âMerlinâs midden!â he swore as a knot of laughing kids swarmed by, and they gave the bench wide berth, as startled by his vehement utterance as he had been by their sudden surge of humanity in his vicinity.
And then he was left alone in the park with no company other than the lovers walking hand in hand, their heads close together, apparently immune to the dropping temperatures and the increasing wind. A sour taste crept into his mouth, and he gritted his teeth against the bitter envy he felt.
âItâs all right for them, isnât it?â he said to the blank-eyed doll still lying across his knees. âThey have someone to walk withâ”someone to talk toâ”someone they consider worth talking to.â
A laugh, happy and pealing like a bell, was borne to him on the wind, and under his resentful eye, the man took his girl in his arms and spun her in a joyous dance in the Christmas snow. In his mindâs eye, the woman became Miss Granger, and she was dancing with Ronald Weasleyâ”just as she had done at the Ministry Gala six months after the fall of the Dark Lord. Severus had stood amongst other Order members, feeling stiff and awkward in his dress robes, wondering why he had come to this place to endure the inane speeches and asinine conversation. Had it been to see her? To talk to her? Well, he hadnât done it, had he? Not either thing.
âSome war hero!â he muttered.
Instead, he had sulked on the periphery, dodged away from her when she chanced into his area, and left early. He had only seen her once, since thenâ”three years ago, on Christmas Eve.
But what if he had stood still when she was close to him, instead of fleeing? What if she had come up to him to say hello, and as the next song began, he had done the natural thing, and asked her to dance with him?
âThank you, Professorâ”Iâd be delighted!â
He placed his hand at her waist, taking her smaller hand in his own, and they began to turn together, moving gracefully in the steps of the dance, drawing the eyes of everyone present but having eyes for no one but each other.
âYou look very pretty tonight,â he said, enchanted.
âThank you,â she answered, a blush staining her cheeks, making her prettier still.
And she danced the rest of the night with him, talked only to him, and at end of the evening, she asked him to take her home.
âJust like some sickly romance novel,â he snorted, repulsed. âAnd not even a good one, at that.â
The things he had done in the warâ”in the service of Albus Dumbledoreâ”had been done of necessity. But those acts now lauded as bravery did not begin to represent the real man he wasâ”the coward too fearful of rejection to even take a chance on acceptance.
The last of his Disillusionment Charm wore away, and he stirred to see that the snow had ceased to fall, and the steady wind had blown the clouds away. The light had been lost in the west, only to be replaced by indifferent, twinkling stars inhabiting another lonely night.
IV. Reckless Reality by Subversa
You Only Cross My Mind in Winter
by Subversa
IV. Reckless Reality
Christmas Eve in Wanstead, with snow on the ground and the air frigid with wind which had blown the snow clouds out to sea. A solitary figure remained in the small neighbourhood park, oblivious to his surroundings as he pondered his inchoate desires and his obvious shortcomings. It is thus that he was startled by the arrival of another solitary soul âŚ
âSir?â
Jerked with no warning from his brooding, his eyes rose to her face, confusion clearly written upon his features. It was Miss Granger, looking down at him with wide eyes, her mouth forming a silent âoâ.
âSeverus!â she breathed, and his heart tripped into double time whilst he sat and gaped stupidly up into her face. âBut ⌠why are you here?â
At last he found his voice, as well as his volition, and he stood, unmindful of the inanimate passenger across his knees. âI might ask you the same question,â he replied with all the dignity he could muster, but he had lost her attention, for she quickly bent to retrieve the fallen doll.
âYou found it!â she cried, the words floating up to him as he stared down at her bent figure.
She was hereâ”here!â”and he was as tongue-tied as a boy.
She straightened again, dusting the snow from the doll. âSheâs not hurt too badly,â she said, as if to herself, and a sure wave of her wand restored the doll to its original condition, hair smooth, clothing pristine. She held it up as if to show it to him and smiled happily. âSee?â
But he couldnât look away from her face.
âSir?â she said again, concern in her tone.
He dragged his eyes from her face to flick a glance at the doll. âI see no difference,â he said stiffly, and was disturbed to catch a flash of hurt on her face. What had he done wrong?
âOf course you donât,â she said, her chin lifting, her lips settling in a firm line.
Nervously, he wet his lips. She had seemed pleased to see him, but now she had withdrawn. How to draw her out again? âArenât you a bit old for dolls?â he inquired in a ponderous attempt at humour.
âItâs not for me,â she protested. âItâs for Victoire Weasleyâ”all the other children are opening their gifts, but I must have left this here earlier today. The shops are closed, and I couldnât buy another oneâ”Iâve been retracing my steps âŚâ
He listened to her, the words unimportant. She was speaking in his presence, and he soaked up her voice like a dry sponge exposed to a trickle of water. The streetlight revealed she was clad in her cranberry red coat, wearing ivory coloured knit mittens and a matching cap, pulled low to protect her ears from the biting wind. Her brown hair spilled, loose and bushy, past her shoulders, and her lovely face was tinged pink by the cold.
Miss Granger glanced about the park, as if to ascertain they were its only inhabitants. âDo you live near here?â she asked, still trying to make sense of his presence. âMy parentsâ house is just down the street.â
âI do not,â he replied, âbut perhaps it is fortuitous for the sake of your doll that I chanced to be here today.â Still, he tried for a note of lightness, but it was foreign to him and sounded stilted to his ears.
Miss Granger grinned, banishing her earlier reserve. âYes, we both owe you thanks!â she said. âNow, you must come with me to Grimmauld Place to give Victoire her dollâ”there are so many of us now itâs easier to meet there than at the Burrow.â
He stiffened and drew breath sharply. Willingly go to Potterâs home, already crowded with Weasleys? He thought not. âI do not care for parties,â he said, and it was the absolute truth.
Her hand in its mitten touched his upper arm, and she came one step closer, gazing up into his face. She smelled of the cold and of wood smoke from a fire somewhere, but it was the peppermint oil, undoubtedly from a boiled sweet, that he smelt on her breath when she spoke. âI know you donât care for parties,â she said. âWe havenât seen you since the first Ministry Galaâ”everyone will be so happy to see you.â
She stepped closer still, and he forgot the obvious lie she had uttered as her eyes pled and her tone coaxed. âPlease come with me.â
He would follow her anywhereâ”walk from London to Hogwarts, evenâ”to have the opportunity to talk with her again, as they had done in the past. But to go to Potterâs homeâ”to see the Order members he had virtually ignored for yearsâ”what fresh hell was this, that he must choose between humiliating himself and losing her companionship? Coward! his mind screamed, and his resolve stiffened against the hated word.
âI shall accompany you,â he said, âto make sure the doll reaches its intended destination, this time.â
Her eyes crinkled in merriment, and as it had done in his earlier imaginings, her hand was tucked next to his side, and he bent his arm to give her a place to rest it. âThen you wonât mind if we Apparate by Side-Along?â she said playfully. âTo make sure no one loses their way?â
And that was how he came to be at Grimmauld Place with Hermione Granger on Christmas Eve.
V. One Lost, Found by Subversa
You Only Cross My Mind in Winter
by Subversa
V. One Lost, Found
It all happened so quickly there was really no time for him to prepare his faceâ”prepare himselfâ”for the reactions of the party-goers. One moment, he stood in the snowy park with Miss Grangerâs fingers resting on his sleeve, and in the next, the door to Grimmauld Place was thrown open, and he stood in a hallway suddenly crowded with familiar faces he could have happily gone his entire life without ever seeing again.
âLook whom I found!â Miss Granger cried to the group at large, her shining eyes fastened on his face.
âProfessor Snape!â
âSeverus!â
Arthur Weasley and Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped forward, hands outstretched, and Severus found himself in the unenviable position of accepting these seemingly enthusiastic welcomes or notâ”and refusing was really not an option, was it? She had brought him here, and it would reflect badly on her for him to reject the advances of her friends. Had he not stood at the side of the Dark Lord and shaken hands with vile, despicable creatures of the Dark? At the very least, these people had fought on the side of the Lightâ”had been loyal to Albus Dumbledoreâ”and for all his faults, the Headmaster had wanted the best for the wizarding world, never mind his methods.
So Severus shook hands, exchanged hellos, and when the flurry of greetings had passed, he followed the crowd into the sitting room, where he saw Miss Granger placing the blue-eyed doll into the hands of a small, silvery-haired girlâ”no doubt the daughter of Bill Weasley and his part-Veela wife. The child hugged the doll with one arm and threw the other about Miss Grangerâs neck.
Arthur stood at Severusâ shoulder and smiled benignly upon the spectacle of his granddaughter receiving her dolly. âI thought Hermione had misplaced the doll,â he said quietly.
Severus responded without looking away from Miss Granger. âShe inadvertently left the doll in the park, but retracing her steps, she found it again.â
âHow like Hermione!â Molly Weasley marvelled, moving between the two wizards, and Severus was uncomfortably aware of her speculative gaze. âIsnât it just like her to return for the one who was lost and to search until she found him.â
Arthur looked down at his wife, puzzlement on his friendly face. âHer, you mean, my love. The doll is a âherâ.â
âOf course,â Molly murmured, turning away with a suspiciously merry smile. âThatâs what I meant.â
âNick a cup of Christmas punch, Severus,â Arthur encouraged, nudging him towards the refreshments. âIâll be right backâ”must see to the sprogs.â
Arthur hurried over to separate two ginger-haired ankle-biters, and Severus sidled to the drinks table, slipping behind Fred and George Weasley before they knew he was there.
âGood evening, gentlemen,â he said silkily. âTell meâ”will you regret it if I drink the punch?â
Two identical grins turned to him. âThe punch is safe,â George assured him, âbutâ”
ââ”donât touch the mince pies,â Fred finished.
âThank you,â Severus said dryly, taking up a cup of punch.
âAny time, sir,â Fred assured him.
âWe learned everything we know about potions-brewing from you!â George added.
Severus took a sip of punch and regarded them with one raised brow. âThat is a charge you could not prove before the Wizengamot,â he pointed out.
Then the twins melted away, and he saw the reason why in the person of Minerva McGonagall. Swallowing nervously, he stood straighter.
âWell, Severus?â the old woman demanded in a querulous tone.
âYou look well, Professor McGonagall,â he lied.
âWhat do you have to say for yourself?â she interrupted, glaring up at him. âHave you forgotten how to write? Is that why you never respond to owls?â
She continued to scold, but he did not hear her. Miss Granger stood across the room with Ronald Weasley, and it was evident he was remonstrating with her. As he watched, Miss Granger raised one hand, as if to halt Weasleyâs tirade, and in that moment, her eyes met his. When she found him looking at her, her cheeks flushed, and she smiled at him, a gesture which knocked the breath from his lungs.
âItâs like that, is it?â Minerva said wryly.
Suddenly alert to danger, Severus tore his attention from Miss Granger and glared down his nose at his former teacher and co-worker. âI beg your pardon?â he said repressively, but the old witch simply chuckled at him.
âThe child always fancied you, though only Merlin knows why,â Minerva said reminiscently. âWhen you wouldnât have her, she spent almost two years trying to make things work out with Ronald.â
The crystal punch cup fell from Severusâ suddenly nerveless fingers and hit the thick rug, spattering his and Minervaâs shoes before rolling out of sight under the sideboard.
âOh, honestly, Severus,â Minerva said, and with a flick of her wand, she cleared away the spilled drink before sweeping away from him to find more pleasing company.
âSheâs right, you know, sir.â
Feeling as if he were being assaulted on every front, Severus turned distracted eyes on Harry Potter, who gave him a half-smile before bending to retrieve the fallen crystal cup.
âI suppose you think you know what youâre talking about, Potter,â he said, his customary expressionless mien hanging by a thread.
âWhen the two of you worked together,â Potter explained, shoving his spectacles back up his nose, âHermione tried hard to get your attention.â
Severus suddenly wanted to hit Potter right in the face. âDonât be ridiculous,â he hissed.
The twit infuriated him by laughing. âI know what Iâm talking about,â he said. âWe were roommates, thenâ”I heard about it in more detail than I wanted to.â The expression in his eerie green eyes changed. âI donât know where she found you, but Iâm glad to see you, sir. You belong here, with the rest of us. Still, sheâs my best friend, and I wonât have her hurt.â He frowned. âSo if youâre not up for it, youâd better leave her alone.â
âAre you two becoming reacquainted?â
The retort, to tell Potter to bugger off and mind his own business, froze on Severusâ lips as he looked down at Miss Granger, who stood now at his side, as if it were her natural place in the world.
âYes,â he replied, feeling tremendous relief to have her attention again. âDid the doll reach her final destination?â
âShe did,â the young woman agreed, turning her back on Potter, thus excluding him from the conversation.
Severus saw Potter roll his eyes and shake his head before crossing the room to join a throng of the younger Order members. Severus didnât want to stay here, at the party, and share Miss Granger with all these people. He wanted her on his own, wanted her undivided attention, wanted things he could neither identify nor articulate. Gathering his courage, he said, âMiss Granger, would youâ”â
But she cut across him, taking his hand and pulling him behind her as she walked out of the sitting room. âI need your help in the kitchen,â she said.
Stupidly, he followed her into the corridor and down to the entry hall, then down the narrow stone stairs to the kitchen, conscious only of her bare hand clasping his, this first contact of flesh on flesh burning through him with white-hot intensity. In the kitchen doorway, she stopped and turned to face him. The becoming flush in her cheeks had gone pale, and in the faint light of the oil lamp, her eyes were anxious, even as her lips trembled. Severus drank in every detail, the fruition of a moment long anticipated yet never expected ringing so persistently in his mind that he was unable to think clearly.
âLook out for the nargles,â she said, her voice sounding strained and breathless.
Severus noted that she had twined the fingers of the hand he held with his, an action of tremendous consequence with too many possible interpretations for him to quickly analyseâ”but she was waiting for his response, and he forced himself to concentrate. âWhatâs a nargle?â he asked, hearing his own voice, rough and uneven, without recognising it.
âThey infest the mistletoe,â she said, and he followed her gaze up to see the beribboned sprig hanging from the doorway.
He was rattled, but he was not beyond reasonâ”he could see that she had deliberately led him away from the others, brought him to a relatively private spot, and stopped with him beneath the mistletoe. It was an invitation, a celebration, and a challenge all rolled into one; the only question was how he would respond.
With an exercise of will beyond any he had ever assayed, he bent his face and pressed his lips to hers. Oh, he was not adept at kissing, but it seemed not to matter at all. The whimper she uttered when she wrapped her arms about his neck was galvanic. His arms gathered her to him, and he dared to trace the soft cleft of her lips with the tip of his tongue. She opened to him, and he lost himself in her. Their tongues touched, sliding each along the length of the other, and then they began to practice the art of thrust and parry, duelling as they had ever done on their long winter walks, communicating with racing hearts and desperate hands the things between them for which there had never before been words.
When at last their lips parted, they stood with foreheads pressed together, lightly gasping, clinging as if to the only solid entity in a world of suddenly shifting realities.
She found her voice first and said, âWhy were you in the park?â
Without thought, he cupped her cheek with the palm of his hand and said, âI was looking for you.â
She turned her face into his hand and pressed a kiss there. âYes, I would,â she said.
He gently raised her chin until her eyes looked into his. âYes you would? What?â he asked.
âUpstairs,â she answered, as if that were a full and acceptable answer.
His lips curved into a half-smile, and he shook his head, almost apologetically, to show he did not understand her.
Slowly and very distinctly, she reminded him, âYou were asking me, âMiss Granger, would youâ when I interrupted you and brought you down here.â
He laughed, the sound soft, scarcely more than an exhalation of breath. âBut I didnât finish the question,â he pointed out, feeling euphoria building in him, an elation beyond anything he had ever experienced.
âIt doesnât matter,â she said serenely, twining her arms about his waist and pressing her cheek to his chest. âRegardless of the question, the answer is yes.â
They walked along Grimmauld Place, hand in hand, unmindful of the cold. They had no definite destination, except to go there together, no definite planned activity, except to do it together, no immediate intentions to be anything, except together.
Upon the earth on Christmas Eve, two walked side by side beneath stars no longer indifferent, but now complicit in the magic of the night, and the moon shone upon the twin tracks of footsteps in the snow.
A/N: Love and thanks to Shug and DeeMichelle for beta reading and to MagicAlly for Brit-picking, even if I didn't always take their advice!
The title of this piece comes from a song by Sting, which appears on his new Christmas album. The inspiration came from the lyrics of the song, combined with a Christmas skit from a very old television program. In the skit, a bum (homeless person in today's parlance) finds a Raggedy Ann doll lying in the snow in the park, and he fantasizes that she is a real girl who is sitting, walking, and dancing with him. At one point, she even becomes "real" ... well, you can see how that would make me think of Severus.
SubHub had a strong hand in shaping this story, and many details come from our own winter courtship, during which we did quite a bit of walking, both in and out of the snow. I had a cranberry-coloured coat.
Thanks to you all for your reads and reviews. Merry Christmas!
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.