Mist and Vapors

It was late evening before Severus returned. He had sent Flitwick and Lupin back to Hogwarts with the Potions supplies once they had finished with the house, but he still had to deliver the items they had retrieved to his mother. Then, there were papers to go through and assorted other details to work out regarding the disposal of his father's estate. It had taken a while to tear himself away from his aunt and mother's cottage, and it had long been dark when he finally Apparated at the edge of the Forbidden Forest to begin the walk back to the dungeons - another long day in a series of long days.

He took off his cloak once he reached his quarters, sat down in the leather armchair in front of the cold fireplace, leaned back his head and closed his eyes. It had been hard going back to the house.

The last time he stepped out that door he had felt a heavy weight lift, knowing he would never have to come back. He was proud of his lineage - proud of being part of a family that could trace its history back a thousand years, a lineage that was strewn with people of importance, ancestors that had made their mark on their generation, for good or for bad. Proud, sharp, confident, strong, the Snapes had not always been what they had degenerated to over the last few generations. But he didn't need the house to remind him of that. The house reminded him of other things, things he would rather forget. And he was sure his mother felt the same way.

No, it was the right thing to do, selling the house. The house was the only valuable asset they had left. His mother's half of the proceeds would support her nicely for quite a while. Not that the house was worth much in its present state; the real value lay in the land. But some nouveau riche wizarding family might like the idea of acquiring an old pureblood estate, and would be willing to sink the money into the property that would be needed to restore the house to what it had been.

For a moment he sat motionlessly; emotionally and physically exhausted. The presence of Lupin and Flitwick had made him stay on task, kept him from succumbing to pathetic, dreary memories. For that, at least, he was grateful.

He straightened back up abruptly and picked up a book. After turning a few pages, he put it back down and got up. Restlessly, he walked a few paces before admitting the fact to himself: he wanted her.

He shook his head irritably as if to dispel a pesky fly and paced back and forth a few steps in front of the fireplace.

This had happened more than once lately. Usually, it was not practical to act on the urge - he would be stuck in class or in meetings; it would be too late or too early... And even when he would have had the time, he had fought the impulse as a weakness and had made himself wait until a time that she would be expecting him.

She wasn't expecting him tonight. He had told her that he would most likely be back very late, and that he would just see her tomorrow when he had told her about his plans before lunch.

He walked a few more paces, knowing he was being ridiculous. She would want to know how everything had gone, she might even be worrying - surely, it would be the kind thing to do to put her mind at ease.... Resolutely, he picked up a handful of Floo powder and stepped into the fireplace.

She must have gotten up as soon as she had heard the flames spring to life in the fireplace. He barely had time to step out on the hearth before he heard some sort of incoherent little cry and found himself kissed hard and long before being pulled into a tight hug. "The thought of you back in that house...I'm so glad to see you..." Evidently, she had been worried, he thought with a smug little smirk as he let her pull his head down against her shoulder. He closed his eyes and let her hold him, blocking out all thought and simply enjoying the warmth of her body against his.

"So how did everything go?" she finally asked, leaning back a little.

"It went fine," he murmured, pulling her back towards himself.

"It must have been so hard, going back there."

He didn't answer, just pulled her closer. She hugged him back tightly. "Are you all right?"

"I am fine," he murmured against her hair. Satisfied for the moment, she pressed her face against his neck. He could feel her breath against his skin, soft, warm, moist, and as he held her, he felt the tightly wound coil within him ease up a little. Right that moment, he was fine. Better, at least, than he had been all day. When he finally straightened up a minute or two later, she reluctantly did the same.

"Can I get you anything? I assume you had dinner?"

He nodded. "I ate at Anwyn's."

"A cup of tea, then? Or something stronger?"

"Tea would be perfect."

He sat down at the table, watching her as she filled the kettle with water and put it on the stove. "While on the subject of dinner," he said lightly, "my aunt and mother have been bothering me about bringing you over for a meal. Would next Sunday be convenient?"

"For Easter?" She was looking question marks at him as she pulled two mugs out of the cabinet.

"Yes. They will be planning a dinner already, so I thought that would be easiest. Unless you have other plans?"

"No. No other plans." She walked over and stood behind his chair, her hands rubbing his shoulders as she waited for the water to come to a boil. He leaned his head back against her, closing his eyes.

"Do you think they will approve of me?" she said, a touch of worry in her voice. "At least they already know I'm a Squib..."

The beginnings of a smirk played around his mouth. She seemed to have forgotten that it was the very fact that she was a Squib that had protected him from the dementor's kiss and his mother from staying under Pettigrew's curse indefinitely. "I believe my mother, at least, is quite inclined to like you," he said dryly, his eyes still closed.

Hannah looked down on his face, feeling the by now familiar tightness in her chest. He looked worn out and tired, that grey, pinched look to his face that she hated. She gently ran a finger over the lines of his face, tracing his eyelids, the curve of his nose, the angles of his cheekbones, standing out sharply in his gaunt face. Not too long ago, he had flinched almost every time she touched him. Now, she could see some of the tightness fade out of his features as her fingers stroked his skin. She followed the shape of his ear, then the line of his jaw, rough against her fingertips.

"How long has the house been in your family?" She looked carefully at his face as she asked, looking for signs of anger or discomfiture, having learned by now that sticking a toe into the turbulent waters of his personal history was perilous business.

There was so much she still didn't know about him. She had pieced together shreds and patches of his childhood from the bits he would let slip here and there, the few things he had told her. That it had been a cold house to grow up in - his mother sneaking him affection behind his father's back as if it were contraband pieces of chocolate: clandestine, piecemeal, sparingly, sweet for a moment but leaving him hungry, always afraid of what his father would do when he found out that she hadn't obeyed his orders to 'not mollycoddle the boy'. And his father...the way Severus would abruptly stop a conversation when it came to that subject was almost more eloquent than anything he could say.

"Not that long. About three hundred years." The words came out reluctantly.

"I can understand that your mother wants to sell it, after all that has happened." She slid her hands around to the back of his neck, massaging the muscles at the base of his skull with her fingertips.

He stifled a sigh. "It is the right thing to do."

"I imagine in spite of everything, it might be hard to see it pass into other people's hands." Her hands moved down to his neck, his shoulders.

He shook his head. "It was a relief, really."

If there was relief, he was hiding it well, Hannah thought. Somehow, he looked brittle today, vulnerable. Maybe it was his position - his head leaned back against her, letting her support the weight of his head and shoulders, his throat exposed, his hair, for once, falling back from his face, leaving his features stark and bare.

He had told her he was fine, but there was that permanent slight pinch to the edges of his mouth and nose. He had hurt for so long that he had learned to ignore it, the same way he had learned to ignore the constant ache in his bad leg. But she could see the marks the pain had left on his face. And today, the lines were edged even deeper than usual... She looked down on him, loving him so fiercely that the emotion pushed at the bottom of her throat and pricked at the back of her eyes. What can I do for you? What will you let me do for you?

"Stay here tonight," she said impulsively, caressing his face. "Don't go." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she saw the tightness come back into his face, and he sat up sharply.

Instantly, Hannah blushed a most unbecoming shade of red. She well knew the moral code he and she had grown up with, and that what she had just suggested was quite outside the perimeter of proper behavior for a well brought up young lady from a pureblood family. Of course he wouldn't approve. "I'm sorry, I don't know what's come over me." She tried to turn away, but he had grasped her wrist and stood up.

The teakettle picked just that moment to interrupt with a loud, shrieking whistle, piercing the awkward silence. Half defiantly, without looking at him, she freed her hand from his grasp. Quickly, she walked over to the stove and took the kettle off the flame. Then she paused, her back to him, unsure what to do next. Why did this Ex-Death Eater have to be such a stickler for protocol? She was a Squib, for heaven's sake, the rules didn't apply to her the way they would to a pureblooded witch, no one would blame him... She could hear his footsteps as he walked up behind her.

Her eyes still downcast, she offered no resistance when he turned her around. "I know better, really, I do," she said quickly, before he had a chance to say anything. "It was just that..."

Severus trapped her face between both of his hands, forcing her to look at him. "Hannah."

Still blushing painfully, she finally looked up into his eyes. Her heart started beating a bit slower again when he didn't look as stern as she had expected. Instead, there was an unexpected gentleness in his eyes.

"I don't know if I can make you see," he said softly, almost as if to himself. "But I can think of nothing better than to stay here, with you. I would like nothing more than to take you up on that offer."

He cupped her face with his hands, holding it as if it were a precious thing, his eyes boring into hers, willing her to understand.

His thumbs caressed her cheeks. "But I want to do this right. Can you understand that?"

She nodded mutely, her heart thumping in her throat. That sounded like...a future. A promise, almost. She put her face against his chest, closing her eyes as he stroked her hair.

She could wait. But, by Merlin's beard, she hoped he wouldn't make her wait too much longer.