Mist and Vapors

"So what now?" she said when they reached the bottom of the staircase. "How about a walk? Some fresh air? It should be nice and quiet up on the roof; it's too cold for many of the students to be out."

"I told the headmaster that we would be marking papers. It would probably be more appropriate to retreat to either one of our offices," he said, brushing glitter and confetti off his shoulders and hair.

Hannah looked at him with an ill-concealed grin. "Severus, I may not know much, but I can tell you with utter and complete conviction that the headmaster is under no illusions whatsoever concerning your urgent essay marking."

With a sigh, Severus conceded. "Very well, then. The roof it is." With a wave of his wand, he banished the last glimmering particles stuck in his hair.

"That was quite a party," she said in amusement as they made their way down dark hallways and up winding staircases.

He snorted. "If I didn't know better, I would believe Albus Dumbledore hates me."

"I'm sure he had the best intentions."

Another snort coming from Severus' direction told her that he was not at all convinced.

Reaching the top of the staircase, they opened a small, but heavy oaken door and found themselves on the roof of the castle. The sun had already disappeared below the horizon, but there was still enough light to see. The half-frozen lake lay below them, still and grey like a pewter plate. Far off, the lights of Hogsmeade blinked on one by one, gleaming through the gently rising mists.

They walked along the parapet, following the wall until they came to a small turret, rounded and windowless. The only door had been bricked up a long time ago. Severus eyes went to it, then to her. There was a peculiar expression on his face.

"What?" Hannah looked at him questioningly.

"Nothing. Let's keep going."

They kept on walking until the wall ended against the West Tower.

"Do you want to go in?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Not yet."

Hannah leaned against the crenellated battlements.

"It's beautiful. Not beautiful in the same way as the South of France, but beautiful nonetheless. Not as obvious or flashy, maybe, but the bones of the land are good." She turned to Severus. "Where did you grow up?"

"Shropshire," he answered shortly.

"That's pretty country. Are your parents still alive?"

"Yes."

"My mother died when I was thirteen."

Snape looked away. He wasn't about to tell her that he already knew that.

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No. And you?"

Her mouth set in hard lines. "No. Father never wanted children in the first place. I think he only gave in that one time to make Mum happy."

"He told you that? That he didn't want children?"

"Oh yes. More than once," she said in a taut voice. "Every time he got upset with me. And then, when Mum died - he couldn't stand to have me around any more. I guess I look too much like her, and he wanted her, not me..." She turned away to where he couldn't see her face any more. "He wouldn't even let me return home during the holidays."

"Where did you go?"

"Filius invited me to stay with him at his sister's house in the Lake District. She has a rather large family - lots of grandchildren and great-grands my age. I don't know what I would have done without him. And her."

"Flitwick's sister?"

"Filia." Hannah laughed, and turned back towards him. "Their parents weren't the most imaginative when it came to names, were they? Good thing they only had two children."

"Is she like him?"

"Like two peas in a pod." She smiled affectionately at the memory. "She is every bit as smart and funny and caring as he is. - And as short," she added with a grin. "If you ever get invited, go. She is one of the best cooks you'll ever meet."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said dryly.

Looking out over the lake, now almost invisible in the deepening dusk, she continued on, almost to herself. "When Mum died, Father burned everything that was hers -- every picture, every item of clothing, everything that would have reminded him of her. The only thing of hers I have is because of Filius. It is like he knew what would happen..." Her voice faded out. With an effort, she pulled herself together and looked at Severus. "And I don't know why I am telling you all this. Anyways, complete change of topic - did you notice that there wasn't a present from me?"

"No," Severus lied. He had, as a matter of fact, noticed.

"I did get you something." She looked at him with a self-conscious, embarrassed smile. "Well, it wasn't really for your birthday, because I didn't even know it was your birthday until this morning, since no one bothered to tell me before then." It was her turn to throw an accusatory glance in his direction. "Anyways, I saw it when I went shopping with my aunt - it just reminded me of you..."

She pulled a small velvet box out of the pocket of her robe. "I didn't want to give it to you down there. If you hate it, that's all right; I won't be offended. I don't even know if you'd wear something like this..." Her voice trailed off. "Here." She pressed the box into his hand.

When he flipped open the top of the box, he could hear her hold her breath. Inside, there was a simple silver pendant in the shape of an anchor, hanging from an equally simple chain.

The anchor. For millennia, the symbol of hope - that which holds you in place when the storms try to break you on the rocks. Severus found himself swallowing hard at a silly, sentimental gift for the second time in less than three weeks.

"Remember when we talked about hopes and dreams?" she said quietly. "When I saw this, I just knew I wanted to get it for you. You don't have to wear it. Just keep it in a pocket or something. If you want, that is." She was still studying his face closely, as if worried that she had somehow offended him.

Avoiding her eyes, he very carefully closed the box and put it in his pocket. "Thank you."

A few awkward seconds later, he cleared his throat and looked back up. "I don't know if it is of interest to you or not, but as of today, I am finished with this phase of the potions trial."

She turned to him in anticipation. "And?"

"It appears as if the experimental potion works as well or better than the old one in preventing the disease and in treating it once early symptoms appear, and only two of the test subjects showed any sign of side effects."

"Oh Severus -" She grasped his upper arm for a moment, her eyes shining. "A success, then. That's wonderful. What a great birthday present for you. So what happens next?"

"Nothing much until the summer holiday. I might, if time permits, run another short experiment during Easter break."

"This is a very good thing though, isn't it? I imagine that there'll be many people interested in your results."

He allowed himself a small smile. "Yes." He fingered the velvet box in his pocket. The results might just open some doors that he thought had been closed for good. They just might.

"I'm just so happy for you." When he looked at her, there was something like - pride? - in her eyes. It made his heart lurch sideways a little. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had taken pride in his accomplishments. He could not even remember the last time there had been anyone to tell.

.-.-.-

When he returned to his rooms that evening after dinner, he poured himself a drink and sat down on the edge of his bed. He pulled the velvet box from the pocket of his robe, opened it, and set it on the nightstand.

Hope. Dreams. How could he explain to her how futile hope had been? How for the last few decades he had known that there was no future for him, that his future would forever be tangled in his past? That the things he had done made him unfit for anything other than what he had and was right now?

Carefully, he lifted the chain from where it lay nestled on the black velvet and dangled it in front of his eyes. The silver anchor gently swung back and forth, catching the gleam of the candlelight.

How could he explain that for the last few years, there had been no room for thinking of anything further down the road than how to survive the next summons, the next attack, the next day?
She had been a child during the last war. And she had missed this one, spending the last ten years teaching in assorted Muggle schools on the continent, as she had told him. How could he expect her to understand?

He fastened the chain around his neck. For a moment, he could picture her face, anxiously awaiting his verdict on her gift. The memory brought the ghost of a smile to his face.

Like the gift, she had been unexpected, unlooked-for at this point in his life. It still surprised him every time he found himself outside her door yet again. Yet with each passing week it grew less awkward and more comfortable, this time he spent with her. And with every passing week something he had thought dead and buried long ago was slowly coming to life again...

His hand closed tightly around the pendant. For a moment, he sat lost in thought. Only then did he let the chain drop out of sight beneath the collar of his robe.

One Tuesday in early February he came up to her quarters again, but instead of being greeted with her usual smile as she opened the door, he heard an irritable "Come in". The first thing he noticed as he entered was the acrid smell of smoke in the air. Hannah was over in the kitchen corner, scraping things that resembled oddly-shaped charcoal patties off a baking sheet and into the rubbish bin. There was a thunderous expression on her face.

She barely looked up when he entered. "If you are expecting scones, you'll have to go elsewhere today," she said in a clipped voice.

"Um - that's fine. Just tea will be fine."

She jerked her head towards the corner cabinet. "Well, you know where the bloody tea pot is. Help yourself." She was scraping viciously at the burned-on residue.

He looked at her with raised eyebrows. "Maybe I should come back some other time."

"Swell idea. You do that," she bit out through clenched teeth.

"Fine."

He was half way to the door when he stopped and paused. Slowly letting out a deep breath, he turned around and walked back over to her. "This isn't like you."

"And you have suddenly become the expert on what is 'like me', have you?" With jerky movements, she kept scraping away at a particularly stubborn spot.

"You are reacting completely out of proportion. You must realize that. What is wrong?"

"Nothing." The pitch of her voice was rising.

He leaned over, took the spatula out of her hand and placed it on the counter. "Quite obviously, there is. Now would you stop acting like a hag and tell me what exactly the problem is?" he said sharply.

She wheeled around to face him. "What's the problem? You want to know what the problem is?" Her eyes were spitting sparks. "Well, for starters, I slipped on the stairs this morning and sprained my wrist. Then I managed to upset my coffee cup over a stack of essays, which meant I had to tell three of my students that they needed to rewrite part of their papers because the ink ran all over. What is it with the quill and ink obsession, anyways? I mean, what exactly is so terrible about ball point pens? Or pencils, heaven forbid? - Then Peeves, who has been leaving me alone up to now, decided to try again and got me completely drenched right before lunch. Then I get an owl from my aunt that she is having problems with her pregnancy and might lose the baby. And as if that wasn't enough, this afternoon, two of the bordering-on-illiterate sixth years you sent to me for tutoring had the gall to tell me that they thought such a stupid Muggle subject was, as they put it, a complete waste of their time, and they were only coming because you would have their hide otherwise. And that I shouldn't expect too much. In short, it's been a no-good, terrible, utterly lousy day, and then I BURNED THE DAMN SCONES. And scraping them off made my wrist hurt again. And now you can take a hike and leave me to my ridiculous, unreasonable, hag-like self." Angry, lips quivering, she turned and reached out for the spatula again.

Severus leaned over and took her wrists in his hands.

"Which one?"

She nodded towards the right one, not looking at him. There was a slight amount of swelling, and a bruise was starting to darken.

He ran a finger over the bruised skin. "Did you see Madam Pomfrey?"

"No. It's just a stupid sprain. It'll be fine in a day or two." She jerked her hand away from him and turned away.

He straightened up, anger on his face. "Were Herrick and Langley the two in question? I have had my eye on them for a while. I assure you, Hannah, that they will learn respect..." He paced a few steps. "As far as Peeves is concerned, I can and will make him understand that he needs to leave you alone... Maybe the Bloody Baron...Yes, that should work..." He nodded to himself. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have supplies in my office for a poultice that will help with the pain in your wrist, and ..."

He was interrupted by a small choking sound. When he looked up, he saw her caught between laughing and crying, tears running down her face.

"Severus, I don't need you to fix everything, really."

He looked at her in confusion. "Then what do you want me to do?"

"I don't want you to do anything." She held her hands out in front of her in a gesture of helplessness. "I just want..." And with that she took a step towards him, wrapped her arms around his waist, put her head against his chest, and proceeded to cry unreservedly into his robe.

He stood perfectly still for a moment. Then, he slowly put his arms around her. He could feel her shoulders shaking. There were things you were supposed to do...From somewhere, dimly, there came memories of being comforted as a very small child. Breathe in, breathe out. Awkwardly, he raised one hand and started smoothing her hair, his other arm still wrapped tightly around her back. "Shhhh..." It seemed the right thing to do, because after a minute or two, he could feel her relax against him. Strange, how his chest could feel so hollow and so full at the same time... After a while, the crying stopped, but she didn't let go, her arms still wrapped around him, and her face buried in the folds of his robe. He tightened his hold on her, just ever so slightly, as his other hand cupped the back of her head, his thumb still stroking her hair.

When she finally straightened up, she pulled a large handkerchief out of her pocket, turned away, and blew her nose. "Oh Merlin, that was embarrassing," she muttered. She looked back over her shoulder. "I'm so sorry. Really, I am. I can't even imagine what you must think... and I must look a fright..."

Her eyes and nose were puffy and red, her face blotchy.

"Actually, yes, you do," he said with a smirk, as he pulled out his handkerchief and proceeded to dab at the wet front of his robe.

Her eyebrows drew together, her eyes started blazing - and then just as quickly, the corners of her mouth started twitching. "Well, you are honest, I'll grant you that," she said with a weak grin.

"You are better, then?"

She nodded. "Much. Thank you."

"I am still going to get something for your wrist."

"I'll have tea ready when you come back."

He turned to leave.

"Severus..."

He looked back at her with arched eyebrows.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

Color was rising in her cheeks. "For turning around. For letting me be ridiculous."

He shrugged his shoulders, a closed look on his face.
"I did nothing. Now, if you will excuse me?"

She looked on with soft eyes as the door closed behind him. "Did nothing? That's what you think. Personally, I beg to differ." And wondered with a smile if he had noticed that for the first time since she had known him, he had actually called her by her name.