Love Is No Fire

Love Is No Fire

Ginny remembered days she had spent in the Order's headquarters, filling her days with mind-numbing work (work that seemed to make little difference one way or the other), feeling as if the war would never end. She had helped Hermione with her research, helped Ron with his work, helped Harry whenever he allowed it.

And she had never given Severus Snape more than a passing glance.

Of course he had been there, time after time, making reports to Dumbledore, helping Sirius and Remus with plans; after a time he had started bringing Draco with him. Like Severus, Draco never had learnt to be friendly, but he had at least been on their side at last.

And this summer had brought the end of the war, in all of its horrible, miraculous ending. And she had survived it.

"You aren't listening to me." There was laughter in Hermione's voice. Ginny jerked her attention back to the verandah, (to her friend--her sister-in-law), instead of the tall, narrow-shouldered man who hovered just inside the house. He didn't want to intrude on their reunion, she knew, but he had become a part of her life in a way she could never have dreamed. Her eyes trailed away from Hermione's, but she caught herself.

"I'm sorry," she said. "It's easier, sometimes. To just let myself drift away for a while." She had been afraid Hermione would look alarmed at that, but instead her sister-in-law's eyes softened, and she nodded.

"I understand. When I think of everything that's happened..." Hermione sighed. "I'm so glad you're all right. Your brothers and father were wild when they thought they'd lost you, too."

"I still can't believe Mum's gone," Ginny said. "Did I thank you, for what you did? It means a lot that you loved her so much."

Hermione took her hand. Ron came and put his hand on Ginny's shoulder. "D'you want us to go?" he said, his voice rough.

She smiled at him, a gentle smile, and shook her head. She didn't want him to go. It hadn't been long since they'd found him again, held prisoner (along with Blaise Zabini) by a small faction of rogue Death Eaters. She wished he and Hermione had come sooner. "It's nice, to have you here." She stood up. "There's a creek, and a nice path. Do you want to walk?" It would make him more comfortable, give him time to adjust to having them here--having anyone here except themselves, but more importantly, having her family here.

Hermione understood (Hermione understood so many things), and when Ron would have protested, she shot him a look that made him shut his mouth and obey. He helped Ginny to her feet with a gentleness, a solicitous manner that, only months ago, would have made her snicker. Now it made her eyes well up with tears that she quickly blinked away. She turned her head slightly, acknowledging him, but she knew he wouldn't want to come with them. He would stay here, make sure the tea was ready, and wait.

"He's different," Ron observed when they were out of earshot. "You've changed him, Gin."

"He's lost the focus for his hatred," Hermione said. "Voldemort is dead."

Ron shivered. "I always thought he hated Harry more than he hated Voldemort."

Ginny looked at him reproachfully. "He never did. Look at how he saved Harry your first year. And all the times after. When he went out to save you all from the Dementors and Sirius."

"Look at the way he tried to get Sirius killed."

And she had to seal her lips at that, because she had sworn an oath that would destroy her to break. But she gave him a stormy look and he subsided. "He has changed," she said after a time. "I don't believe anyone has ever...cared about him before." She couldn't say love, couldn't even say it to him, let alone to her brother. But she thought it. She felt it. She knew it.

"That's true power," Hermione said, her voice wise, and they fell silent.

*

Look at what you've done. Why, you've become a grown-up girl.
I still can hear you crying in the corner of your room.
And look how far we've come, so far from where we used to be.
But not so far that we've forgotten how it was before.
September morn, do you remember how we danced that night away?
Two lovers playing scenes from some romantic play.
September morning still can make me feel that way.

-- Neil Diamond, "September Morn"

He had grown accustomed to having her near, to sensing her move about the house, to hearing her voice as she hummed. He found her filling empty spaces he had never even suspected he had. Of course there were those voids he had always been aware of, the deep hunger for someone's approval, the yearning to be accepted, relied upon. But he had not realized he had had a desire to provide for someone--more than that, to give gifts to someone. It had never occurred to him to want someone to sit quietly with, reading. He had never imagined he would be eager to share the results of a potions experiment with anyone, or that anyone would be interested. He had not seen in himself the capacity to laugh at himself--a capacity she was eager to encourage (and here he suspected the influence of her twin brothers).

What frightened him about the whole thing was the fact that he knew without question that he was now basing his entire existence upon her, and, further, that he didn't care.

She was a child, much as she might argue to the contrary. She was young and vibrant and full of hope for the future. He was twice her age, nearly, and had lived through things so grim, and done things so unthinkable, that he frequently imagined his merest touch might stain her perfect porcelain skin (skin that had, only recently, been marred by so many Weasley freckles; skin that was no longer marred, thanks to him). And yet she seemed at peace here, or at least content to stay.

He called her Miss Weasley; he dared call her nothing else. She still called him Professor. They had never spoken of love, or need. They had barely spoken of comfort.

Yet she stayed.

*

"Harry asked about you," Ron said, his voice tentative.

She felt something in her tighten, but she gave no outward sign of it. "He knows I'm not coming back?"

Hermione nodded, and after a moment, Ron did, too--reluctantly. "I wish..." he began, but stopped and shook his head. "I--I guess things have turned out differently. It's strange, to think of you and Harry not being together, Gin. But--well." He stopped.

She put her hand on his and smiled. It was a new smile, a smile she had learned since coming here. Of necessity it was gentle and soothing, and bespoke a certain amount of acceptance in her soul. It was full of peace rather than joy. "It's well, Ron. I don't mind."

And it was true. She didn't really miss Harry, or even the thought of Harry. Did she miss who she had been when she was with Harry? She had been more innocent then, more idealistic. She had believed in heroes. She still believed in heroes, but now she knew the real heroes were frequently unsung.

She glanced back towards the house, and Hermione saw it, though Ginny hadn't meant to be so obvious (then again, subtlety was a fairly new skill for her). Her sister-in-law smiled and placed a hand on Ginny's arm.

"We don't want to keep him waiting for his tea," Hermione said.

"He is learning patience," Ginny said. Then she grinned. "But it's a slow process."

Ron and Hermione laughed, and they exchanged a relieved smile, and they went back to the house.

*

He had come, he knew, to rely on her wholly. Each morning he rose from his bed, washed and dressed, and then waited for her to come out of her room. They ate breakfast together, then went for a walk. In the afternoons, she experimented with charms or worked with him on a potion (he still hadn't managed more wand magic than a simple "Lumos!"). After tea they sat in the parlour and read, sometimes to one another, sometimes in silence. Occasionally they talked, in general terms, of philosophy or politics or Quidditch. They never spoke of the Reconstruction. Eventually they drifted to their respective bedrooms, usually by midnight. The routine held comfort, discipline, habit.

They very carefully did not talk about love.

Questioned, he would have had to admit that he loved her, and knew it. The adult in him knew their time at Semele together was coming to an end. The new-awakened boy in him refused to admit it was so.

She had attained, in these few months with him, the presence of a queen. She was created to grace the front rooms of Wizard Britain's elite. She had come into her own. Soon, he knew, Potter would come for her, and Snape would have her no longer.

And still he loved her, and held to her no blame for the coming loss. He determined to prepare her for such times. He made himself useful to her so that when she left, she would at least remember him fondly.

In making himself useful, he did not know that he made himself loved.

*

Child, touch my soul with your cries
And the music will know what we found
I hear a hundred goodbyes
But today I hear only one sound
The moment we're living is now

- Neil Diamond, "The Singer Sings His Song"

She soaked in that autumn the way jonquils soaked in the sun. Somehow she knew it was their only autumn at Semele, and that she must revel in it. She would store up this sweet season in her heart, to look back on from later years as a time of joy.

She could see his restlessness, in the way his eyes lingered when he thought she didn't notice, in the way he moved from room to room. She watched him pore over the Daily Prophet, and prayed he was not tiring of her.

She could not believe that was the case. Only with Severus (for she called him Severus in the confines of her mind) did she completely relax, only with Severus could her heart feel at home. So she made Semele hers, she tended the plants on the verandah, and she lived in every square foot of the house, because when he left it, Ginny intended to go with him.

She didn't know what his plan was, but her plan was to stay with him until the end of time.

*

"Miss Weasley?"

"I'm sorry for interrupting, sir. Do you have a moment?"

He scowled at her, but his scowls no longer intimidated her--another thing he blamed on Voldemort. She smiled blithely as she stepped into his workroom.

"The post has arrived. I thought you would want it; only you've been watching the sky anxiously enough this week."

He took the three envelopes ruefully. He was not accustomed to being transparent to anyone (even Dumbledore had allowed him some aloofness). She merely smiled at him, and he felt a pang of something painful in his chest. It must be love, because he thought if she left him he would die. But then it could just be he was a fool.

"Thank you."

She turned to go and he found he wanted her near him. There was an envelope still in her hand.

"You have a letter?"

She stopped, surprised. "Yes, from Hermione."

"I'll bring mine to the verandah. This can wait." He gestured negligently at his potion, knowing she would see through this, too, because he was conscientious with his potions--he had no other magic left to him, and could not stand to waste what was left.

She rewarded him with a smile that brought sunshine to his dim workroom. As he followed her outside, he wondered how much longer he might keep her.

"Percy and Penny are expecting another baby," she announced. He looked over at her, and enjoyed the way the shadows played across her pale skin. She was reclining on the wicker chaise, her ankles crossed demurely. "Bill's transfer to Diagon Alley has been made permanent."

"Your father is to continue as Minister for Magic," he said, scanning the first letter. At her delighted cry, he offered her the paper. Then he turned his attention to the last item: a thin envelope with the direction written in a spidery green hand.

He read the contents over quickly, then sat staring through the piece of parchment in his hand. His heart was thundering inside his suddenly hollow-feeling chest. He couldn't bring himself to look at her. He wanted to speak, but the iron hand of terror gripped his throat.

Finally a noise from her broke his paralysis. He looked over at her. She was gripping the thick sheaf of parchment from her sister-in-law, holding it to her chest, her eyes closed. "Oh," she said, almost a sigh rather than a word. "She's given me her blessing."

It startled him into a response. "Blessing?"

"For when I go." She said it as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He felt dizzy--had the toffees at luncheon been from her brothers?

"Are--" His voice broke as it had not since he was fifteen. "Are you going soon?"

She looked surprised (so exquisite when surprised, with her pale red brows arched over her inquisitive brown eyes). "I rather thought that was up to you."

"I have always thought Potter would realize what he was missing," he muttered.

The confusion on her face blossomed suddenly into relief. "Oh, Severus, I meant you."

Severus. She had called him Severus. How should he respond? Should he say her name now? Should he ask what she meant? Should--well, what did she mean? He gazed at her, tongue-tied.

She took it to indicate a mis-step. "Sir, I meant--I meant to go with you, when you go. If you'd let me. If you'd not mind."

He nearly let his jaw drop. How had she known?

"Well, you haven't been at peace here, not really. That's been obvious."

"I've been at peace with you," he said, and bit his tongue at his own daring.

But her face changed with his words. Her eyes ignited and she smiled dazzlingly at him, and he knew he would do anything if it meant she would continue to smile at him that way.

"Whither thou goest," she said simply, and Severus realized for the first time in six months that Ginny was not going to leave him.

*

All my past life is mine no more;
...The flying hours are gone,
Like transitory dreams given o'er,
Whose images are kept in store
...By memory alone.

Then talk not of inconstancy,
...False hearts, and broken vows;
If I by miracle can be
This live-long minute true to thee,
...'Tis all that Heaven allows.

-- "Love and Life"

John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester (1647-80)

It had amused her, when they arrived in the Athens Floo Hub, to hear someone whisper about the British Minister's daughter--they hadn't recognized Severus. She could remember a time when something like that would have annoyed her. But even the traveling had been peaceful and dreamlike, and Ginny could find no cause for annoyance in her. She glanced at Severus and marveled again how he had just known she wanted to go somewhere warm, somewhere very far from London and Hosgmeade and her mother's grave.

"Crete," he had informed her. "A small cottage on a headland overlooking the sea. With the sun and breezes, and very few tourists. It belongs to a...family friend."

She had smiled up at him. "Yes," she had said, and wished he would put his arms around her.

(He hadn't, not since the day she had mourned for her mother; in fact before that the only time he'd held her had been the day he found her.) But he had looked closely at her until she felt impatient. "What is it, Severus?" she had asked, and bit her tongue that she'd called him by his Christian name.

He had said nothing. He shook his head and looked at her a moment longer, and turned to the owl on the window-sill, letter in hand. Ginny had wondered (still wondered) if he were angry, or if he had not noticed.

The village of Agios Giorgios overlooked the Bay of Dolphins. Shining like a jewel, the bay was dotted with fishing boats, heading in to port in the evening. A yacht, the Minotaur, was making its slow, dignified way past the village and into open waters. At the Heraklion Floo Hub, Severus had acquired a pass that would allow them to Apparate to a secure room in the Moon-Spinners Inn, a taverna run by a Muggle woman whose son was a Hogwarts-trained Wizard (this must be the family friend, Ginny thought).

Though she cast a longing look at the menu--and the bottles of wine lining the back wall--Severus grasped her hand and led her out of the inn and up a steep path leading out of the village. Silhouetted against the afternoon sun to their left was a large windmill, but the path they were on led away from it, to a rocky ridge above the bay. The cottage stood in solitary splendour, the olive trees lining the pathway seeming to welcome them in.

It was a small cottage. It was built of stone, with white walls that shone in the Mediterranean sun. There was a terrace in front of the cottage, with a table and two chairs. Inside there was a kitchen, where Wicket was already preparing a late tea. There was a sitting room, a bath, a toilet, a magic workroom, and a bedroom. When Ginny saw the solitary bed, she repressed a snicker. The look on Severus' face (pure dumbfoundment) made it plain he had not been prepared for this. He stood at the entrance to the bedroom, one hand on the doorjamb, the other clutched in Ginny's. When he stepped in front of her as if to shield her from seeing, Ginny giggled.

He turned to glare at her, but his looks had lost much of the threat since Voldemort's defeat (privately Ginny thought he looked younger now than he ever had as their professor). "Have you forgot that you're with a full-fledged witch?" she asked, glossing away the consternation with a smile.

She waved her wand at the desk chair, which obligingly stretched and lowered, transfiguring into a second bed. "It will fit quite nicely under the window."

"I...had no indication the situation would be like this," he said, his voice faint. "I feel I should have words with Minerva..."

Ginny felt heat race alone her cheekbones (though at least she didn't blush like Ron). Severus had borrowed this place from Minerva--McGonagall? Then the Head of Gryffindor knew! (Knew, and obviously approved, put in the rational side of her mind.) She gave Severus a mischievous smile. "Perhaps that was her intent."

If possible, he froze further. "But I assure you it was not mine, Miss Weasley."

Oh dear. He was either horribly embarrassed or appalled. Though she knew by now he loved her, it was occasionally difficult to believe; Ginny hoped he was merely embarrassed. She chose to take pity on him. "As you say," she murmured, and drew her hand gently out of his.

*

Blast. It had not been his intent to seduce her (appealing as the idea may be) but it had neither been his intent to hurt her feelings. He watched her walk back to the terrace. He had an insane desire to call after her, Ginny, I am sorry. He bit his lips closed, reminding himself of the twenty years between them.

He had told himself time and again (partly in the hopes that he could convince himself) that there were too many differences between them, and that the last thing he wanted was to become someone she regretted. Far worse to lose love than to never feel love in the first place.

A bit late for that, though, said a self-mocking voice in his head. It was too late for that from the first time you held her, all those months ago.

He sighed. It was true. He had lost his heart to her when she had first trusted him, long before he even realized himself to be in danger. Severus had a feeling there would be no recovering from this.

*

She had been careful to learn what flowers would grow in this climate, and she spent the first morning in the terrace garden, remembering the sound of his breathing when he slept. Her trowel rasped in the dry earth, and she pressed her fingers deep, relishing the feel of dirt under her fingernails. Relishing the feeling of being alive.

She breathed in deeply, turning her face up to the breeze. They were only fooling themselves. Minerva's single bedroom cottage proved that. Ginny knew it would drive her mad if she pretended much longer.

Later in the morning he came out to watch her work. She wondered if he felt, as she did, that this ought to be a honeymoon. She wondered if she would have the courage to ask. She didn't think she would. Gryffindor courage only went so far.

The post came, bringing the Daily Prophet and two letters. Ginny passed Severus' to him and opened hers from Hermione. It was short but informative: George was finally home from St Mungo's, Ron was going to play keeper for the Cannons, Harry was on his way to Greece. (Pause, a breath, a thought.) That didn't seem right. Ginny read it again; it said the same thing.

You see, he read in the evening edition of the Prophet that you'd been seen in Athens. Ron tried to stop him, but they both lost their tempers, and Ron said something unwise. Harry didn't take it well. Oh dear. I hope you won't be angry with us. Be happy, Ginny, whatever that takes. Love from Hermione.

Ginny glanced at Severus, who was glaring at the newspaper. Her sudden smile was serene. Let Harry find her. He was in for a surprise.

*

Of course Rita Skeeter had found it necessary to make an issue of the Minister's daughter leaving England, particularly in the company of a much older man--though at least they hadn't realized whom that older man was. Severus didn't know how the woman came by her information (and didn't want to know, lest he be tempted to slip the Draught of Living Death in their tea) but he wished she could give Ginny a bit more privacy. The Weasleys as a whole deserved more respect than they were given. Arthur had done an admirable job of bringing the war to a head, and he'd lost a wife and two children in so doing. Each of his remaining children--and his daughter-in-law; be fair, Severus--had been key in bringing about Voldemort's downfall.

"Have they nothing better to do than report rubbish like this?" he snarled, and saw Ginny start at the sound of his voice.

"Rubbish like what?" she asked.

In answer he handed her the paper. It struck him suddenly, with that mundane gesture, how they would appear from the outside. An older husband and a younger wife, reading the news together on the terrace. Because there were mostly Muggles in this part of Crete, they were dressed in Muggle clothing (of course she was much better at it than he); he wore black trousers and a white button shirt, while Ginny looked more natural--and much more comfortable--in a purple skirt and a blouse that rather looked like underclothing. She wore sandals, and the toenails of her long, graceful feet were painted red.

Her chuckle was calm, comfortable, and genuinely amused. "Oh, you can't let this bother you; poor Rita has been bored since the last Death Eaters were captured and Fudge's wife left him. Besides, at least she called you a handsome older man."

Severus could not suppress a snort. He had been described many times in his life, and handsome had never been a word to apply to him. Sancia, and through her, Blaise, had inherited all the beauty in the Snape family.

"Oh, but you forget," Ginny said, with apparent sincerity, "you smile much more often now. That does wonders for anyone's looks, and you have such nice laugh lines beside your eyes."

Severus wondered what he ought to reply. She seemed to be saying she thought him handsome (and he should really quit his potions work, as her injuries must have damaged her eyesight and his salve obviously hadn't healed it). There ought to be something to say to that. "Thank you," he said at last, stiffly, and wondered if she would understand. But that didn't seem enough. He drew in a breath and said, "I would fare poorly in anyone's eyes, standing next to you."

She surprised him by laughing aloud. "That's about the most backhand compliment I've ever received," she said, and the twinkle in her eyes invited him to join her merriment, but he was too embarrassed. "Nevertheless I accept it in the spirit with which it was offered. Thank you, Severus."

He caught his breath awkwardly. She would persist in calling him by his first name at the most unexpected times, and each time it caught him off guard. In fact everything about her caught him off guard. It perplexed him how he could feel so comfortable with her while at the same time so completely unbalanced by her. He felt his cheeks burning. He lowered his gaze to the stone floor of the terrace, unsure what to say. (How could he be without a quick rejoinder, a sharp retort? He, who had been feared for his sarcastic wit, was rendered speechless by this slip of a girl?)

He didn't hear her move, but suddenly her slender fingers were on his wrist, smooth and cool against his skin. He wanted to shiver at her touch. He looked up.

She was kneeling by his chair, looking at him earnestly. "Severus, have I done something to offend you?" she asked. Her voice was low, but there was no lack of confidence in it.

He swallowed. "No," he whispered.

"No?"

"No, Ginny," he said, and felt a tightness in his chest dissolve. "Ginny," he said again.

She smiled at him. "I'm glad," she replied, and stood gracefully, withdrawing her fingers from him and releasing him from whatever had held him transfixed. "You must tell me, if I do. I don't want you ever to not be honest with me."

"And I don't want you ever to pity me," he blurted, before he could think better of it.

Her smile was mystified. "Pity?" she asked. "Oh, no. Admire. Respect. But never pity, Severus. Never that." And her words, her voice, her eyes, were so sincere that he couldn't but believe her.

*

I've never made promises lightly

And there've been some that I've broken

And I swear in days still left

We'll walk in fields of gold

-- Sting

She didn't know how to tell him Harry was coming. She knew she ought, but he was so uncertain of her she thought it would only threaten him further. (But if she didn't tell him, a small voice said, he would think she'd meant to deceive him.) She waited until Wicket had brought their dinner, and the sun was sinking into the bay, and they'd both had two glasses of wine. Severus was leaning back in his chair, head thrown back, staring at the sunset staining the sky. Ginny was staring at Severus, at the lines of his throat, at his relaxed shoulders. This was the moment, she knew. She had to tell him.

She wanted to place her lips against his throat, to undo the next button of his shirt and kiss his collarbone. A rush of heat ran through her, but she wasn't sure whether it was physical attraction or embarrassment at the frankness of her desires. He of course chose that moment to lower his chin and gaze directly at her. O God, she thought, he's a Legilimancer, of course. But his smile was too open, too--innocent--for him to have heard her thoughts. She bit her lip and looked down.

"What is it?" he asked. "Ginny?"

She felt a thrill go through her, just as it had the first time (and every time after) that he'd said her name. She lifted her eyes to his and smiled.

"Nothing much," she said, taking the parchment from her pocket. "Only Hermione wrote me today, and--well, perhaps you'd best read it."

He took the letter from her and squinted at it. It was growing dark, and Ginny flicked her wand at the candles to light them. It hurt to watch his shoulders stiffen, his expression close, as he read the letter. When he looked back at her, his eyes were sparking dangerously.

"It doesn't matter," she said, and she meant it. "I'll send him away, you know. I don't care."

"I care," he said fiercely, and she felt that heat go through her again. Yes, she was definitely mad. "Why can't they all leave you alone? Why can't he leave you alone?"

She tilted her head. "Well," she said finally, "I rather think it's because he can't understand that I love you, and not him."

*

She had said it. His world shattered into pieces and rewove itself in a new pattern. She loved him.

*

It was too dark to see his face, and his sudden stillness, so silent, frightened her. Oh, she shouldn't, she shouldn't have said that. What had she done? How could she fix this? She felt tears spring into her eyes and caught her breath in a tiny sob. No, she couldn't let him see her cry. If he didn't want her love, he certainly wouldn't want her tears.

She sobbed once more and stood, ready to flee. But then he was on his feet, too (so quickly, like a panther, so dangerous) and he took two strides and his hands grasped her wrists. She couldn't run now, couldn't hide from what she'd said, and she wished desperately that he would let her go.

"What--" His whisper was harsh and ragged, and it told her nothing. She felt her face twist as she suppressed another sob. But she took a deep breath and forced her chest into stillness.

"I said I love you," she repeated, and her voice was low and small and did not shake.

His hands dropped away from her. She heard his uneven gasp of breath, saw, dimly, that his shoulders heaved once. Then she realized he was laughing, and it was a wild free laughter that swept her into itself. She stared at him, unable to breathe. His head was thrown back again, those wonderful lines by his eyes (how she loved them!), his hair falling like a curtain. This laughter was the most unguarded thing she had ever seen him do, and she wanted so badly to touch him, but--but--

And then he looked at her, still smiling--an open smile--and at her bewilderment his smile widened. He reached out to her, and this time he pulled her into his arms, holding her against his thin chest, burying his face in her neck, his narrow shoulders curving around her.

She could hardly understand what was happening, could hardly think at all. She put her arms around him, feeling his spine through his shirt, and held on for dear life. She raised one hand to touch his hair, cupping the back of his head in her palm. He was still laughing, she could feel it between them, and finally it bubbled up and overflowed, and she laughed too, though she could feel his tears on her neck.

He straightened then, lifting her so her feet didn't quite touch the ground, and spinning her once around. It was such a free gesture, so unlike the restrained Severus she had seen until now. She lifted her other hand to his shoulder as he lowered her to the ground again. Their faces were very close, and the light shining in his eyes meant the moon must be rising.

"All that I am, and all that I have, is yours, Ginny Horatia Weasley," he said, and his voice sent a shiver up her spine. "I love you."

And then, finally, finally, he leaned to her and touched her lips with his. And though the moon was full over the Bay of Dolphins, the sun rose in Ginny's heart.

*

Lightly whisper and softly touch,

Your fingers to mine.

Feelings that caress, gentle words,

As your fingers touch mine.

Lips that brush against,

The fingers that touch mine.

Close tightly and keep

Your fingers to mine.

"Your Fingers To Mine" - Anon

Harry found them the next day, walking on the sand as the waves rolled in. Severus had Ginny's hand in his, and though he stayed well out of range of the water to keep his shoes dry, she danced with the waves, hopping over the leading edge, then letting them wash over her feet before skipping back towards him. He was muttering at her for dripping on his trousers, but suspected his eyes were giving him away. When a wave caught her by surprise and soaked the hem of her skirt, her eyes got very wide and she gasped at the shock of wet against her thighs. Severus snorted, then turned his head as something caught his attention. He scowled.

"The Boy Who Lived to Make a Nuisance of Himself has arrived," he said, nodding towards the approaching menace.

Ginny turned.

He strode towards them with a jerky stride, a scowl on his face. When he reached them, he stopped and shoved his hands in his pockets. He took in their joined hands, Severus' protective stance, the smile on Ginny's face. At last he sighed.

"What were you thinking, to run off like that?" he asked, his tone less patronizing than Severus would have expected. "I thought you'd been abducted by a rogue Death Eater or something."

Ginny lifted her chin and her eyes flashed. Severus would have quailed, had that look been turned on him. "I don't answer to you, Potter," she said. "Don't need your permission to go on holiday, do I."

The younger man looked sad suddenly. "You used to," he said softly. He shuffled his feet and turned his eyes on Severus. "And you," he said. "You ought to know better than to cause a scandal like that. You could have had the Ministry after you for kidnapping."

"I have confidence that the Minister for Magic trusts his daughter's judgment," Severus replied, his voice acerbic but free of rancor.

Potter laughed shortly. "I'm sure he does," he said, surprising Severus. "And if he didn't before last night, Hermione made it very clear for him--and for me." His tone was rueful, and Severus suddenly discovered in himself an emotion he had never expected to feel for Potter--sympathy.

Severus stood in silence as the Hero of the Wizarding World turned to the girl who no longer worshipped him, and took her hand in both of his. "Ginny, I'm truly sorry," he said, earnestly ignoring Severus. "I know it doesn't change anything, but I want you to know that--well, I know I didn't appreciate you the way I should have, but you were always...well, always there. I am grateful for that. And--and goodbye."

He turned back to Severus. "And if you don't make an honest woman of her soon, I'll be back--with her brothers."

With that, the Boy Who Might Not Actually Be a Prat After All turned and walked away from them, hands still in his pockets, head held high.

They stood and watched him until he was no bigger than a speck against the glare of the sun on the water. Suddenly Ginny shook herself and looked down at the water. "It's not as warm as I thought it would be," she murmured.

"I...didn't expect that," Severus said finally. She sighed softly, as if she'd hoped he would let it pass, but he knew he couldn't. There was too much there. "I am glad I won't have to hunt for a second on this Wizard-forsaken island. I doubt Alexis would be amenable to a Wizard's duel; he's a good twenty years older than I, and not nearly as hot-blooded."

It made her giggle, which pleased him. But he had something very serious to say, and he didn't even want to put it off. He took both her hands in his and tugged her away from the water slightly. She looked at him, her face blank, and he wondered if she knew (she must know!) what he was doing. But she went along with him, and allowed him to get on one knee in the sand.

"I want you to marry me," he said, and his voice was hoarse even though he'd thought he could be calm about this. "I want you to be my wife, to stay with me always. I know I said I wouldn't want a promise to hold someone to me--"

She stopped him with a finger pressed against his lips. It surprised him, because he'd been fully prepared to eat his words, and she did love to tease him. But she wasn't cruel, and perhaps she didn't need him to, anyway. She removed her finger and replaced it with her mouth.

"Yes," she murmured, "yes, I will, yes."

Severus was too practical a man to give in to his desire to lower her to the sand (he could only imagine the places one would be removing sand from, after such an act). Tempting though the thought was--and sweet as the memories of last night were--he did want to make an honest woman of her before going so far as that. Perhaps he was old-fashioned, but her father was the Minister for Magic, after all, and the Pureblood Wizarding families still observed quite a few old-fashioned traditions. He had a feeling Arthur Weasley would appreciate at least a token gesture.

Ginny pulled him to his feet and smiled at him, and he couldn't help but smile back. He felt, suddenly, as if he could do anything, if she only believed in him.

She spun away from him, laughing, and turned her face up to the sun, her gauzy blue dress swirling around her thighs. She was smiling.

"You look like a goddess," he said, amazed that suddenly he could say such things.

She laughed and lowered her face to look at him. Stretching out her hand, she beckoned to him. He put his hand in hers and let her catch his other hand, pulling her closer to him. His eyes were fastened on hers, and it was a shock when he felt a wave rush across his feet. When it receded, his trousers were clinging to his ankles in a most unsavoury fashion.

Severus put back his head and laughed.

*

Whoso terms love a fire may, like a poet,
Feign what he will; for certain cannot show it.
For fire ne'er burns but when the fuel's near
But love doth at most distance most appear.
Yet out of fire, water did never go
But tears from love abundantly do flow.
Fire still mounts upward, but love oft descendeth.
Fire leaves the midst, love to the centre tendeth.
Fire dries and hardens, love doth mollify.
Fire doth consume, but love doth fructify.
...The powerful queen of love, fair Venus, came
Descended from the sea, not from the flame:
Whence passions ebb and flow, and from the brain
Run to the heart like streams, and back again.
Yea, love oft fills men's breasts with melting snow,
Drowning their lovesick minds in floods of woe.
...What is love, water, then? It may be so
...But he saith true that saith he doth not know.

-- A paradox: Love is no Fire by Anonymous