Arden's Refuge

Brewing potions required patience, and Severus had never--before now--had any shortage.

At the same time, he almost dreaded going downstairs. How terrible, he thought, to be compelled by irrepressible need to do something so frightening. It was a dilemma he had often faced, especially during his days as a spy, but never quite like this.

She was waiting for him. The thought quickened his breathing and sent a sharp rush of numbness down his spine and arms, to his shaky fingertips. It was simply impossible. He coughed again; the potion would soon be ready. But he couldn't do it. He couldn't possibly go downstairs after what he had done to her.

But he had to go.

The liquid in his cauldron began to turn a soft golden color--perfect, as always. He quickly bottled it and swallowed the contents. With another quick gulp, he headed out the door.

-----

Hermione pulled her knees toward her chest in the chair as she flipped through a collection of Dylan Thomas poems she had found lying around downstairs. It was certainly Severus's, she thought, fidgeting with her hair. She almost thought she could detect the distinct fragrance combination of soap, spices, and coffee. Maybe it was just her imagination. Maybe Severus himself didn't even smell like that. But closing her eyes and thinking of him sitting across from her the day before, holding his coffee cup in his slender white hand, she felt almost certain that he did.

Dumbledore had, mercifully or cruelly enough, left the room after informing her that Severus would shortly be on his way downstairs.

She half regretted requesting him. At the very least, he should be confounded by the inconsistency of her behavior. And very likely he would guess that asking him about the Neruda book he had in his library was simply a pretense. He wasn't a stupid man. Indeed, he was nothing remotely close to it...

And what if he was annoyed that she was practically forcing him to come downstairs when he was, after all, sick? That would be a perfectly reasonable response... especially from Snape.

But it was done, and he had agreed to come. And she could only partly regret the request, after all. Very likely she would have no other opportunity even to be a nuisance to him.

She wished he would hurry downstairs, though.

-----

As soon as he turned the corner halfway down the stairs, Severus could see her curled up in a chair, her back facing him as she leafed through one of his books. How wonderful it would be, he thought, pausing in the staircase, to have her reading his books all the time... He stopped himself mid-thought and continued down the stairs.

Her head sprang up as she heard him enter the room. "Severus! Thank you for coming down." She looked at him in an odd, serious way that he couldn't interpret.

"It was no problem, Hermione. You wanted to see... the book... that is, the one I was telling you about the other night?"

"Yes! The book that you said confirmed that Pablo Neruda was a wizard. What, if you don't mind my asking, was it?"

"Certainly, you may ask whatever you like. As a matter of fact, Neruda was... not exactly a dark wizard, but he dabbled a bit in the dark arts on occasion and the book is something of a autobiography slash confessional slash... textbook, actually. As sorry as he claimed he was for having delved into the dark arts, he seemed to find it necessary to explain in detail to his readers--as few as they were, my copy is one of only about ten--exactly how he did it. Not exactly a positive influence on my life, I must say..." He was surprised to find himself rambling on so freely. He felt much as he had the day before when she met him at the bookstore--dreadfully nervous and yet remarkably... comfortable.

"It sounds... fascinating..."

"Oh," Severus said, sitting down in the chair across from Hermione's and leaning over conspiratorially, "it's wonderful. I'm glad you're intrigued. I think you'll really enjoy it."

"So... you're going to let me borrow it?" she asked, her eyes brightening. Severus almost had to look away from her seemingly warm gaze.

"Well... well, of course... do you know how rarely anyone, even Albus, asks to borrow from my library? It's rather a shame that I haven't much opportunity to share it, as excellent as it is."

"I would have been afraid to ask... that is, if you hadn't so acutely piqued my interest."

"I suppose some people do find me rather frightening," Severus commented.

"You know they do, and you thoroughly enjoy it."

"I do," he answered with a momentary smirk. "I thought surely I had given myself away when I let that comment slip. The one about my library, I mean."

"You're right, it should have been obvious enough to me... but I was so ready to believe that the... intelligent, charming man in front of me was actually mine." Severus thought he could see a faint blush on her cheeks. "I'm sorry, Severus, there I go babbling on about you again..."

"It's all right, Hermione. I don't believe I've ever been called 'charming' before, though."

"Oh, well... you know what I mean..."

He didn't know, but was slightly afraid to ask, so he simply nodded his head. "Hermione, let me ask you... do you find me frightening?"

"Oh, dreadfully so!" she answered, then burst into such genuine laughter that Severus found it impossible to take her seriously.

He found himself smiling back at her. "So you'd be too scared to come back to my house with me to get the book, then. It's all right. I thought you might enjoy seeing my library, but I can see that the... horror would perhaps be too great...?" Severus was alarmed to realize that he was, in his own eccentric way, flirting with her.

"I think," she said slowly, "that I could bear it... just this once."

-----

It had been years since Severus had had company at Snape Manor, much less female company. As much as he enjoyed his beautiful family home, he often wished he could share it with someone. He liked his solitude and privacy--really, he did. But even solitude was better with someone else there... if that made any sense. Lately, nothing made much sense to him.

He was proud to be able to show the place off as he and Hermione walked from their Apparition point outside the gate to the front door. The path to the door was built of stones laid in the 12th century by his ancestor Cornelius Snape and bordered by a thick grove of trees that were nearly as ancient. A natural stream ran across the front yard, crossed by an elegant little stone bridge, which Severus thought was particularly pleasant at night, when its row of lanterns glowed with soft golden light. He wished that somehow he could bring Hermione here at night to see it... All around the mansion, the rather extensive grounds at Snape Manor were, in accordance with Severus's taste, simple and unpretentious, but rich in natural beauty.

The house itself, however, was his favorite part, though--modest in size (for a mansion), but four stories high, with three towers jutting up even higher in typical Gothic style, and constructed of striking black granite that always glistened when it rained, reflecting the dark trees that surrounded the house.

He turned to Hermione as he unlocked the door. "Well, it's a little bleak, I guess, with the black stone... a little dark, do you think?"

She glanced at him rather nervously. "I think it's completely wonderful."

Severus smiled, unable to conceal his pleasure at her approval. "It's even better inside."

-----

"I converted the old ball room into a library," he explained to Hermione as he led her down the grand entrance hall, whose ceiling reached all the way to the top of the fourth floor and which had been decorated, surprisingly enough, in crimson and gold. "The early Snapes were known more for their social graces than for their erudition, and the original library was actually quite small." Noticing that Hermione was looking around at the furnishings, he explained, "And don't laugh at the colors. My great-grandfather married a Gryffindor. A very bossy Gryffindor."

Hermione giggled.

"I told you not to laugh," Severus said, sending her a fake harsh glare that only provoked her--along with Severus--to more laughter. He opened one of the large ebony doors at the end of the hall. "And here we are... my own personal paradise."

The room was as tall as the entrance hall and spanned almost the entire back end of the house. Tall, pointed windows ran almost from floor to ceiling all across the back wall, affording a startling view of the natural garden behind the house, beyond the portico. Surrounded by wooded hills, the garden climaxed in a rocky waterfall that fell into the stream that twisted around to the front of the house.

The other three walls of the library were completely lined with books, four glorious floors of books, each accessible by its own narrow balcony. The room was richly carpeted--in a dark green and silver design, of course--but sparsely furnished, with only a few elegant chairs scattered around the room. Severus had reasoned that more furniture would simply be a waste, considering the extreme rarity of visitors--and yet, the room, though almost perfect, felt a little empty.

"And mine," Hermione said. "I never dreamed that such places existed."

"Let me show you something else," Severus said, leading her to a door on the right wall. "This is my favorite part." Beyond the door lay a circular staircase, lined with more books. They made the long climb to the top, arriving at a small tower with three windows, overlooking the waterfall, the thick forest, and the roof of the mansion. Between the windows were three tightly packed shelves of books. "This is my poetry tower," he told her.

Hermione's eyes widened as she looked around. She sat down on one of the window seats and turned to Severus. "It's beautiful."

She was beautiful, Severus thought, staring at the sunlit figure by the window. Perhaps not in an obvious way, nor in a striking way, but she was soft, bright, perfect...

"You are beautiful," he muttered, so softly he could barely hear himself.

"What?" she said.

"I said... er... would you like some coffee?"

"Yes, please."

"Cappuccino?"

"Actually, yes, that would be perfect."

"I'll be back in a few minutes. Feel free to look at whatever you'd like until then."

Severus looked back at her as he began to descend the staircase and saw her watching him as he left.

-----

Since her seventh year at Hogwarts, Hermione had secretly harbored a tiny crush on the potions master. An insignificant thing, really... no more than a childish fascination. That fascination now threatened to explode into something far more serious.

Had he told her she was beautiful? She couldn't trust her ears. It seemed so out of character.

But so much of Snape's character, as she had learned over the last few days, was different from what she would have expected. If only he really had said that... If only she really could have someone like Severus...

Marrying Ron would have been unfair for everyone, especially Ron. She could see that now. And facing singlehood hadn't been as difficult as she'd imagined. Despite being accustomed to the security of a relationship, she found that she was much stronger and more independent than she had remembered.

But her desire for real companionship was stronger than ever. And Severus seemed to be her ideal companion.

He seemed so resolute in his independence, so suited to solitude. He was, after all, over twenty years her senior. He had had a lot of time to accustom himself to a solitary lifestyle. Who was she to even imagine that she could break that now? And wasn't it really too soon after her engagement for her to think about someone else?

It wasn't that soon, she thought--not really. The engagement may have ended the day before, but she had been letting go for a long time--maybe even the last few years. And why? It all seemed clear now, and for that she was grateful to Severus.

She was also grateful for the friendship that seemed to be springing up. It was good, she thought, that he was able to move past the discomfort of yesterday's situation and act so kindly toward her. The sort of kindness Nymphadora had described to her now seemed apparent in Severus. He was a surprise. He was... beautiful.

Hermione pulled out a book and waited, rather impatiently, for his return.