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A Matter of Honor Book 3: Love and Honor Chapter 14: Christmas Comes Again, Pt. 2 Hermione went to her room to change for dinner. After the meal, there was to be a reception--professors, prefects, Harry and Sirius--Dumbledore wanted to find a way to make the crowd smaller, she thought with a smile, and give Harry a chance to see everybody while he was there. She'd bought a new dress for the occasion. It was deep forest green, crushed velvet, long-sleeved with a square neckline--a little lower than she was used to. It was long--almost to the floor--and draped easily over her body, clinging just enough in all the right spots without making her feel uncomfortable. As she looked in the mirror, she realized that her necklace would be one of the first things anybody would notice. "Well, you said they could deal with it, Granger," she muttered to herself. "That's the spirit," the mirror replied. For dinner, she put on her dress robes; fuller than her teaching robes, they were velvety to the touch as well, and of thicker material. Using a spell she'd learned from Winky, Hermione piled her hair on top of her head--not too high--so that the curls fell down her neck. Maybe just a touch too fancy, but she thought she might as well.
She joined Remus on the walk downstairs. He smiled at her approach, and offered his arm. "You look beautiful," he noted appreciatively, his eyes pausing at her necklace as he surveyed her. "Thank you," she said, and was pleased to find that she didn't feel too awkward. "So…everything still ok? Ron hasn't shown up to cause trouble again, has he?" Remus was teasing, but the thought of Ron, drunk at the Yule Ball, wasn't funny. Remus seemed to remember it too, so Hermione quickly responded, "I think Ron will be fine. From something Harry said, I think they finally had it out, at least a bit. Ron…well, Ron won't get over whatever's bothering him in a day, but maybe he's figured something out, at least." Remus nodded. "Remus," she asked cautiously, "Did you…tell me what you told me because Sirius knows?" Remus nodded. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I…I shouldn't have said anything, but I just…" "No, it's ok," she said, patting his arm. "Of course you'd tell him. But…should I worry about him showing up to cause trouble?" Remus replied firmly, "No. He's not going to cause any trouble. Though I can't promise he'll be polite to your boyfriend, either." Hermione snorted. The thought of Snape as somebody's "boyfriend" was amusing, even if that somebody was her.
During dinner, under the cover of one of Flitwick's more boisterous stories, Severus whispered, "You look beautiful." Later, as Dumbledore addressed the room, Hermione realized she was toying with her necklace, and forced her hand back down to her lap. As she turned her head, she saw knowing smiles on the faces of Professor Sprout and Madam Pomfrey. She hoped--for Severus's sake--that they wouldn't pick on him too much. Severus hadn't said anything about the reception, and she wondered if he would show up. She imagined, however, that Dumbledore would expect everyone to be there. She'd left the room with Remus immediately following dinner to meet Harry in the entry hall. Hagrid was already waiting. "Happy Christmas, Hermione, Professor." "Happy Christmas Hagrid," they replied. As if on cue, the doors opened and Sirius, Harry, and Ron blew in with a few flakes of snow. "Happy Christmas, Hagrid!" Harry beamed, and gave the gentle giant a hug. Hagrid's arms engulfed him, reaching over to squeeze Ron as well. "Oh, the three of yeh, t'gether, under one roof!" Hermione braced herself to be hugged as well, but Hagrid settled for Ron and Harry. Releasing them, Harry greeted Remus as Ron noticed Hermione. "Whoa…" he said. You look…you look good!" She giggled. "Thank you. But I thought you were headed home this afternoon?" As Ron told the story of arriving home to find that Bill and Charlie had managed to burn one of Percy's reports for work in a game of exploding snap, and therefore deciding that he'd stay another night with Harry, the group headed up the stairs to the staff room.
Hermione had a vague thought, as they reached the corridor, that if she had tried to put together a group of friends that would irritate Severus more, she couldn't have managed. When they entered the staff room, however, there wasn't time to worry. The professors descended on Harry and Ron en masse, everyone wanting to congratulate the two on their successes with the Ministry. Hermione thought returning to Hogwarts might be the best thing for Ron and his perpetually wounded ego, and moved to speak to Leigh Periwinkle, one of the Gryffindor Prefects. Surveying the room, she saw the other Prefects talking to each other at the edges of the group, and the Slytherin Head Boy seated in conference with Snape on the opposite side of the room. The knot of people around the alumni began to loosen, with professors returning to their previous discussions, and Harry and Ron came to join Hermione in front of the fire. She introduced them to Leigh, who flushed crimson and excused herself, ostensibly to get more punch. But she didn't return, and Hermione teased, "Well, she seemed quite overcome by meeting the famous duo." "Trio," Ron noted. "The sight of us all in one place was too much for her to stand!" They laughed. Over Ron's shoulder, she saw Snape rise from his chair and cross towards Professor McGonagall. He passed Remus and Sirius on the way, and she noticed that he greeted Remus coolly but merely scowled at Sirius, whose lip curled in response. Well, where those two were concerned, saying nothing was a vast improvement. One of the Ravenclaw Prefects, a seventh-year boy named Heathcliff Huffnagle, came up to greet Harry and Ron. Heath had played Quidditch against Harry for a couple of years. As the guys began the inevitable discussion of their favorite sport, Hermione realized that she'd lost track of Severus. She almost jumped when she heard his voice behind her--that same threatening drawl (she knew the sneer was there as well) that had frozen them in their tracks so often when they were in school. "Ah, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley…" they looked at Snape, but she watched their faces and waited to see what he would say next. "Professor Granger was so glad to hear that you were coming to visit. It's good you could stay. I'm sure you won't want to miss Professor Flitwick's impending holiday…orations. Mr. Huffnagle." Mr. Huffnagle appeared to be bracing for something. But with that curt greeting, Snape moved back towards his chair in the corner. Harry and Ron just looked at each other, stunned, as Hermione bit her lip in an effort not to burst into giggles.
"What a beautiful necklace," said Professor Sprout, cornering Hermione against the edge of the refreshment table. "A Christmas present?" "Yes," answered Hermione. "Must be from someone special…" Sprout prompted, her eyes twinkling. "Yes, yes it was," Hermione agreed, taking her chance to stop Remus and ask him about schedule for the next term. They really must find a time to talk about the lycanthropy cure before school started again….
"I see what he meant about orations," muttered Ron. After Dumbledore's several toasts, Flitwick had talked non-stop for about twenty minutes. "Oh, my, it looks like Sirius needs to leave, Ron," Harry said in a falsely disappointed tone. "Sorry Hermione, we have to go now. I'll see you tomorrow…" She shot them a familiar look as they made their way to the door, and waved good-bye to Ron when he turned back to smile at her. Flitwick continued his narration, oblivious to the fact that other people were taking the opportunity to leave as well. All of the Prefects slipped out, and Hermione saw Remus leaving with Sirius and the others. She sought Severus's eye, and, finding it, made her own move towards the door. Once there, she saw that Professor Dumbledore had stopped him for something, and, hoping he wouldn't be trapped for too long, began to walk slowly in the direction of the dungeons. He caught up with her in the entry hall. "Do you know," he said, as she quickened her pace to keep up with him, "I think he did that on purpose."
Severus took her hand and drew her into the room. Flicking his wand at the hearth, he pulled her to him, silencing the remark on her lips with a kiss. "Feel better?" she taunted, once he had released her. "Much," he said, helping her off with her dress robes and running a finger over the green velvet at her shoulder. Laying the robes across a chair, he said, "You really are exquisite." Hermione blushed, still unused to being told she was beautiful. Moving away from him to sit on the sofa, she commented, "Sprout asked me about my necklace," she said, and smiled at his raised eyebrow. "Oh? And what did you tell her?" "Well, when she noted that it must be from somebody special, I agreed that yes, yes it was." "Would you like to dance?" he asked, seemingly out of the blue. Hermione looked at him, confused and pleased. "Dance? But there's no music." He waved his wand. "Audio Musicus," he murmured, and Hermione heard the opening strains of Bing Crosby's "White Christmas." She laughed with delight, rising to take the hand he offered her. She stepped into his arms and they began to sway in time to the music. "How did you do that?" Raising an eyebrow, he said, "Magic…" She laughed. "Why do I always fall for that one?" He smiled. "Actually, it was magic and Bill…" "Oh, so you had some help. I wondered how you knew so much about Muggle Christmas music." "Hmm. No, Bill was quite helpful…and enthusiastic…" Severus noted, his brow furrowing in jest. "I can well imagine," Hermione giggled. "I wish I could have seen his face when your letter arrived." Severus responded by pulling her close, so that they were now dancing cheek to cheek. Hermione sighed. They danced in silence, the music changing at some point to "Baby, It's Cold Outside." Hermione rested her forehead against his shoulder, and when he lifted her hand to kiss her palm, she shivered. She realized that she wanted to stay…wanted him…that she was ready. She wasn't sure what to say, how to tell him. What if he still thought it was too soon? The next song began.
She nuzzled against his neck, heard him sigh.
Lifting her head, she kissed his neck, his earlobe, his jaw…soft, gentle kisses, trailing across his cheek…
He captured her lips with his; her heart pounded against her ribs, and she found it difficult to breathe…
Her arms went around his neck, and he pulled her closer, one hand straying to her neck to run through her curls…
His tongue tasted her lips, and she opened her mouth to him…
She pressed herself against him, her hands in his hair, and when he moved his mouth to kiss her neck, she whispered his name… "Severus…" Something in her voice made him stop. He pulled away slightly, so as to see her face. Hermione swallowed--was he going to send her away? He caressed her cheek, his eyes searching hers. "I…I didn't realize…" A pause. "There are questions I have to ask you…things I have to tell you. I thought I would have time later, but I see now…I didn't realize that you were ready to…further…our relationship." The music had stopped as the song ended. He looked concerned, and before she could speak he said, "Or maybe I've just misread your intentions completely." "No…" she insisted, "no…you haven't." She paused, feeling a bit awkward. "That is…I didn't plan…" He smiled then. "Didn't plan to seduce me for Christmas? No, I didn't think that you had. But I didn't expect…" He broke off, and she took his hand. "You said that there were things you needed to tell me, questions…ask me now, Severus." "This will not be a particularly romantic conversation, my love. We could wait until after the holiday." "No," she said, certain now. "Let's have the conversation, and then…then I'll tell you if I still want to stay tonight." He chuckled. "Fair enough."
She was a little upset by the fact that he had taken a seat in one of the chairs. Hermione sat across from him on the sofa, not quite sure what he wanted to talk about. He didn't look at her, but his voice was soft and gentle, no longer hesitant. "Hermione, I know very little about your past. I assume that you…have not done this before." He glanced up at her. She shook her head, knowing somehow that her answer would not make a difference to him. He nodded, looked back to the fire. "At some point in our time together, I might have asked whether you were doing this to prove a point, but I know better now. If you tell me, after you hear what I have to say, that you are certain that this is what you want--that I am what you want--then I will never doubt your sincerity again." "But Hermione," his eyes on hers, "I need to be sure that you know what you are choosing. I do not want to come between you and your friends…your parents…" He trailed off, and she realized what had been behind his question about her holiday travel plans. "You're right," she said, trying to keep her voice steady, "My parents won't be thrilled about this. It's one reason I've decided to see them at New Year's--I need to tell them. But whether they understand or not--whether they approve or not--they will not turn their backs on me. I know this for a fact. And my friends…well, Ron seems to have accepted it better than I expected, and Harry guessed before I could tell him. Remus guessed before I had figured it out myself." His eyes grew wide at her admission. "He's fine with it, I promise." Snape took a deep breath. "Then I won't ask again. For reasons I cannot possibly understand, you love me, and you've chosen to be with me, damn the consequences." She smiled, but he continued. "I need to ask you one last thing." She nodded. "Hermione, do you want a family?" The question hung in the air and she felt her stomach drop. She couldn't read his expression. Surely he didn't want children, she thought…but what if he did? What if her answer was the one thing that would stand between them--what if he looked at her differently when she told him? She swallowed, then said simply, "No. I don't want children. I…I might like to be married one day, but I'm in no hurry." His eyes narrowed for a moment, and then he chuckled slightly. "You continue to amaze me, my love. I was sure that you would tell me that, while right now you wanted only me, yes, at some point in the future you would want a family. I was prepared to tell you to leave me here and now, because I would never be able to give you what you wanted." He leaned forward, gazing into her eyes. "You are telling me the truth; I can see it. Why were you nervous about your answer?" She looked down, giggled a little. "Well, for a moment I thought you were going to tell me that you wanted children, and I didn't know what I would do if you did…." He laughed softly. "No, I can assure you. I will never want children. I…" He faltered, and she looked up at him. "I should tell you…the rest…before I make that declaration." He rose to stand in front of the fire, and she thought he actually looked nervous. His voice was smooth, though, and she resisted the urge to go to him. "You should know that this would not be my first time. I have had sex, many times, and with several different people. But this would be the first time I have ever been hopelessly, desperately in love with my partner." A noise of derision. "Or perhaps I should say, this will be the first time I have ever felt anything positive for my partner at all." He looked at her, gauging her reaction. She looked intent, but had not run in horror. Reassured, he continued. "As I said, I do not want children. Aside from that, I cannot have children of my own. Voldemort demanded intimate knowledge of his supporters--in more than one meaning of the term, where the women were concerned. I was told, early in my time as a Death Eater, that I was sterile, and, that being the case, I would not be allowed to marry a fellow Death Eater." A dark laugh. "Not that I was disappointed. I have never believed that I would fall in love, that I would need someone, would choose to spend the rest of my life with someone." He studiously did not look at her. "But the Dark Lord's…proclamation…concerning my availability served to flag me in another way as well. Women would not generally give me a second glance--now for more reasons than my general appearance, to which I paid less attention at that time than I do now." He smirked an aside to her. "I should assure you that I don't clean up, as they say, to look much better than this." "If you looked much better than this," she said coyly, "I wouldn't be able to concentrate on work at all." He shot her a glance, and then returned to his narrative, now gravely serious. "I…" Stopping, he closed his eyes for a moment before starting again. "When we were called together for…celebrations…most of those in attendance would spend the evening getting obscenely drunk and indulging in all manner of…pleasures. I was never sure if it was more a way to masquerade as dutiful servants, or an honest perversion. It was assuredly both. For me, however, it was torture. Large numbers of people crammed into someone's dungeon, someone's country house. But…those revels gave me the opportunity to…vent…some of my rage, my disgust, my horror. I would not drink; I needed my wits about me. But a woman who would…indulge me…was never hard to find. They used me as I used them, and the disgust I felt--at myself, at them--only fueled those emotions that drove me to do the same at the next gathering." She sat silently, not sure if he was finished, not knowing how to make this all right for him. "I will understand if you leave," he said, misinterpreting her worry as horror--or worse, fear. She came to stand beside him. "It doesn't matter to me," she began, and he tried to pull away as she put her hand to his cheek. She took his face in her hands. "It doesn't matter to me," she repeated, "except for the fact that you carry it with you--that it still has the power to hurt you. I'm sorry for that." His eyes met hers, believing they would now see only pity. She leaned closer. "I love you." She kissed him gently, and felt the tension leave his shoulder where she rested her hand. After a moment, she said softly, "I don't want to leave…" "Then stay."
When she woke, she could feel the warmth of his chest under her cheek, the touch of his hand in her hair. She stretched a little, noting the welcome soreness, and let her hand slide from his breast to his ribs, underneath the covers. "Good morning," he said, and his voice rumbled up from his chest beneath her. A little shy, she murmured, "Good morning," as she ducked her head slightly. His hand moved to her shoulder. "Hermione…" She looked up at him, hearing the note of uncertainty in his voice, and smiled. She shifted upwards to kiss him, then came to rest with her forehead against his cheek, his arm holding her close to him. He pulled the covers up around her against the morning chill, then stroked her arm. "I love you," she whispered, and he chuckled. "Apparently so. I lost count of the number of times you told me last night…" He stopped her from pulling away. "I am only teasing, my love." As she settled back into his arms, he asked, "It is all right, then?" "It was wonderful," she said, drawing her hand up across his chest. She could feel him smile. "But…did I hurt you…" he began, but she put her finger to his lips and kissed his neck. "It hurt…some…but then it was better. I'll admit I'm a little sore this morning…but in a good way," she admitted, and he chuckled beneath her. "I can give you something to ease the pain," he noted. "No thanks," she said, sliding her hand back underneath the covers. "I have a better idea." She smiled to herself when he caught his breath as her hand reached its destination.
This time, she woke in his arms. He lay behind her, his arms encircling her, pulling her back into him. Her legs bent with his, and his face was buried in the tumble of her hair. She sighed, completely content to stay in this bed, with this man, forever. Hearing his breathing change, she teased, "I think we've missed breakfast. What on earth will the gossips say?" "Why do you love me?" he asked, and she could barely hear him. "What?" "I said," his voice in her ear, and a shiver ran through her at the feeling, "why do you love me? I believe it's my turn to ask?" She shifted slightly, knowing her response by heart. "I'm afraid that most of my answer will sound pretty selfish," she began, and heard him chuckle. "I love you because you like me just as I am. Because you think I'm beautiful, and you make me believe it too. You don't complain that I work too much. You understand without explanation. I love you because we work together so well--because even though I still learn from you, you never make me feel like you know better than I do. I love you because you make me feel special--I'm the only one you let in behind that stubborn, strict exterior. I love you because I know I can completely trust you. Because you make me feel safe." She rolled over to face him now, putting a little space between them so she could look into his eyes. "I love you," she said, "because you are a just and honorable man. You don't like the word 'good,' or I'd use it too. You want justice, but you accept mercy. You know guilt, but you refuse to blame others for what you have done. You resist help, but you do so because you want to keep others safe. "There are things about you that I don't like--your cruelty to students is on the top of my list--though I've come to understand why you behave the way you do, at least a little bit. But I love that you refuse to change simply because I don't always approve. I love you because you're stubborn, and grumpy, and anti-social…" He snorted. "Again, my love, I get the point." She smiled. "I don't love you despite these things, Severus, I love you because of them. Because that's who you are, and how you are." Her brow furrowed. "That's not a very good answer. I'm sorry. The only answer I really have is, 'because I do.'" He pulled her to him tightly. "That's good enough."
A/N: The idea of the Dark Revel is borrowed from Pawn to Queen. The song is "That's What I Want For Christmas," with lyrics by E. E. Lawrence. The sentiment of loving someone "just as you are" is from Bridget Jones's Diary. The title for Chapters 13 and 14 is a nod to a bad joke from The World is Not Enough. The minute the girl said her name was Dr. Christmas Jones, I knew that, somewhere towards the end of the film, we'd get the punch line from James Bond. It goes as follows:
Read the Expansion of this Scene: "That's What I Want for Christmas" (strong R for graphic sex) |
