"I suppose so," he replied, and he could feel himself smiling at her.
"You're very handsome when you smile," she said very quietly, was only muttering it to herself, he guessed.
"I'm not," he argued and pressed his fingers against hers.
"You are," she smiled back. "You can't see yourself."
"Of course I can't. But I refuse to be called handsome."
"Why?"
"Because..." he was at a loss. Because he wasn't? Because he never had considered himself handsome? Because he had known from the tender age of...what...nine, that he would never be considered handsome by anyone? Because his father had said that he was ugly as sin? "Because I'm not."
"You are. Don't argue," she whispered and lifted their hands to her lips and kissed his fingers. One after the other.
90. Conversation
In simple terms, English conversation can be described as an activity where, for the most part, two or more people take turns at speaking. Typically, only one person speaks at a time and there tends to be an avoidance of silence between speaking terms. (This is not true in every culture) If more than one participant tries to talk at the same time, one of them usually stops, as in this example where A stops until B has finished:
A: Didn't you know...
B But he must've been there by two
A: Yes but you knew he was going.
(Yule, 1996)
It had taken a while before it got comfortable. His fingers played with hers just as much as her fingers played with his but when they had moved to common ground, she could focus more on the conversation than on him holding her hand. She had tried to steer clear of talking about people they both knew, since, well, most of them were from the wizarding world but it couldn't quite be avoided. She had begun asking about Mrs Callaghan and her back and then about Aideen and Draco, he hadn't asked (and she hadn't even wondered about it) about Harry or Ron at first.
And then, after a not quite awkward silence had fallen, he had squeezed her fingers briefly. "What about Luna Lovegood? Have you heard from her?"
She shook her head, "Not really. I mean we owl about once every other month but...she's working for her father now, I think. Or maybe she's off to somewhere in the world to look for some non-existent creature."
"Longbottom?"
"Apprenticeship. Herbology."
"Makes the most sense," he said pensively.
"Why are you asking?"
He pierced her with his eyes. "I'm interested. I seem to remember that you were friends with them."
Hermione shrugged and saw what he was doing. He was trying to appear interested in her life. Maybe he really was. But that wasn't the way to it. Those people...she still liked Luna and Neville but they didn't have a lot in common anymore. And friends? Yes. On some level. "Friends is a...matter of definition. They were certainly always more than acquaintances but I can't say that I loved Luna or Neville or anyone else I went to school with. I mean I love Harry and Ron, but they are my friends. Harry always was my friend and I'm glad I could rebuilt things with Ron."
"Rebuilt?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Oh, I suppose you couldn't have known. I thought that by now everyone knew. No, it's just that for a while I thought that he and I were well-suited and after the, erm, battle, we tried to make a go of it. Well, I did and he saw things much sooner than I. But it was awkward," she blushed and shrugged and almost pulled her hand away.
"I see. I remember some sort of tension between you and Weasley."
She shrugged. "I don't know," then she beamed at him. "But I can't tell you how glad I am that things with him didn't work out."
"Well, you would have eaten him for breakfast. He's no match for you intellectually," he snorted. Snape snorted. At her, at Ron, didn't matter. He snorted.
"Ron is not that bad. We just had different interests. For him, maths is still the 'weird-plus-and-minus-stuff'."
"I see," was Snape trying to hide a grin? It certainly looked like it. It amused her to no end and it made her smile as well.
"Try explaining quadratic equations to him and he looks like you've just declared that you want to have a sex change," she laughed. "And I think deep down, he still doesn't quite accept that I might not want to work in the wizarding world. He even offered me a job to work with him at his brother's George's. Ridiculous."
"Oh, why not? I can see you testing their products," he smirked.
"Are you teasing me?"
"Possibly," he still smirked.
She pulled her hand away from his and slapped his fingertips. She shook her head with a smile. She couldn't believe he was like this. He could be like this. Teasing her. Joking with her. She wondered whether to tell him about that, ask him, but instead, she only smirked back and put her hand in his again. "I don't want to look like a canary, thank you very much," she told him nevertheless a second later and before he could say more or react in any other way than smirking, she could hear the front door being opened and closed again.
"Erm, okay?" she muttered. "Ron doesn't walk like that. Must be Harry. Home so early?" she asked Snape, frowning.
"Early, Hermione? Have you checked what time it is?" he still smirked. Or smirked again, she wasn't sure.
She shook her head. Of course she hadn't checked the time. Why should she have? She didn't wear a watch and she was now very comfortable with him. No need to know how late it was but...they had only finished their meal a few minutes ago. And Harry probably had a shite night and had decided to come home early. Or...that didn't make sense.
"What time is it then?"
"Half past two," he whispered and sounded amused. He was amused.
"Really? Well. Erm. Okay," she laughed. "I didn't think it was that late. Or early. Would you like more tea?"
He nodded with a tiny smile and that tiny smile let some wrinkles appear around his eyes and they were...very beautiful. Only a few wrinkles around his eyes and he appeared younger (which was, she noticed, a paradox but...didn't matter) and happier and...had she doubted that man? And his intentions? Why else should he smile like that at her, while holding her hand and stroking her fingers? He was honest. He was truly honest with her and that man was...interested in her. In her!
It had only ever been Victor Krum who had been interested in her (and Ian but Ian didn't count and she wanted Ian out of her head), who had paid this much attention to her while she just sat and talked. Her boys had only ever listened when it had been about their life and the threat thereof. But Victor had never been able to catch her attention this way and she had certainly never talked this long with him. Or wanted to keep on talking. And if they talked the night through, she could spent the next day in bed — being Saturday.
"So no, I wasn't teasing you," he said after a moment.
"Teasing me? Oh, the Weasleys Wizard Wheezes. I can't work for them. I'd rather go work for a computer company. Or one of those internet-companies. I said it before, I don't...I don't really see myself, or my future, entirely in the wizarding world."
"And yet, you worked so hard to give me my magic back?" he arched his eyebrows.
"Yes. But I won't...I mean, do you want to know why I did it? I told you."
"Not in so many words," he gripped her hand tighter as she levitated a fresh pot of tea on the table with her other hand.
"Because it's your right to do magic. And just because you can doesn't mean you have to go and work for the Ministry, or teach at Hogwarts, or do something else there. You don't have to buy a shop in Diagon Alley. And you said so yourself, you want to see how teaching at university will go for you. Why shouldn't you be able to do both? Magic and Muggle stuff? I think most of the wizarding world is just too arrogant to...you know, Malfoy. Look at Malfoy. He finds a book, decides to act on it, and then somehow gets a Muggle woman into his bed and obliviates her as he sees fit. He thinks he can rule over them, and I believe a lot of people think so. Even the Half-Bloods. No offence. But you go to Hogwarts, you stay there for seven years, then you have a magical education but how to multiply larger sums is beyond people and you don't even want to know how many mistakes Ron makes when it comes to punctuation. And that's just wrong..."
"And yet you went to University. Muggle University," he interjected.
"Because I could force the Ministry to give me A-Levels and if they hadn't done that, I would have had to forge them. I would have but...Draco. He was a good pupil. He was bright and he was clever and well, he was good at school but last I checked, he was unemployed and before that, he was selling clothes. That can't be right. You see what I mean? There is no way that someone who only went to school in the wizarding world has a future, a decent future, in the Muggle world. It's not any different the other way round but...I don't see why I shouldn't change that. Why shouldn't I live in the Muggle world? Why shouldn't I have a Muggle job? And why shouldn't you?"
He smirked at her and dragged his thumb across her knuckles. "I don't think I've heard such a passionate speech at this hour for quite some time."
She rolled her eyes but smiled. "You provoked me."
"I shall remember that provoking you might have rather interesting and entertaining results."
"Funny," she mock-huffed but...this was more than enjoyable. This was wonderful. This was comfortable and warm and fuzzy and if anyone had told her that she would feel comfortable and warm and fuzzy, with a dizzying feeling in her stomach with Snape a few months ago, she would have sent that person straight to St Mungo's. Or a Muggle looney bin. But she was. Even though...the chair she sat on was a little uncomfortable and she truly wanted to move to the sofa in the living room. Fire and Snape and...but she couldn't. It was mind-blowing enough as it was to have him holding her hand like this. But to expect him to cuddle with her, or to wish it...she couldn't.
Hermione sighed softly.
.
"Are you tired?" he asked, hearing her sigh softly.
She shook her head, pouring more tea. It had surprised him as well how late it was really and he hadn't expected to have sat with her that long without being bored or uncomfortable. His back would suffer the next day, or that day, he knew, since the chairs were wooden and hard, but he couldn't bring himself to get up and asking her to go to a more comfortable seating, he couldn't as well. This was her home and he was possibly even pushing the boundaries a bit by holding her hand like this.
He had never been one to hold hands. Hadn't ever done it before her. Not really. Never. But he couldn't stop himself. He couldn't pull his hand away and he couldn't stop his fingers from stroking hers. He had never in his life acted this way and he had never before felt the need, the urge to touch someone, quite on the contrary.
Maybe, he wondered briefly, he was now catching up on all the years that he had avoided touching, or being touched. Or possibly her hands were just too soft to let go. Maybe those were after-effects of forcing his Occlumency away. Or maybe Eleonor's tears had...oh.
"Have you," he asked slowly, "done any reading on magical properties of tears?"
"Tears? Phoenix tears?" she frowned. "Yeah, I have but..."
He shook his head quickly. "No, human tears."
"Magical properties of human tears? I don't think so," she shook her head back. "Why?"
"I, erm, do you think there is something?"
"We could look in the library but in this library, I think we can only find something if it has dark properties. How...what gave you the idea?"
Severus took a deep breath. He knew he had a choice. He could tell her what had happened — or he could keep it to himself. It wasn't really a choice. Not really. He expected honesty of her. And he wanted her to trust him. He couldn't stop touching her. He did trust her.
Taking a deep breath, he let go off her hand and she looked alarmed for a moment. "After you performed the curse, I had a delayed reaction?"
"A reaction? What was it? Did you write it down for future purpose? Bullocks. Are you alright now? Is everything okay again? What was it?"
He took another deep breath. "Occlumency. I was so used to using it that I had no control over it anymore and all my shields snapped up. That's why I haven't contacted you during that time."
"I don't...you wanted to contact me? And...I'm still not sure what you mean? You got the magic back then..."
"I hugged you and you bolted," he remarked snidely.
"Yeah, well, after that. You just..."
"Has anyone ever used forceful Legilimency on you? When you occlude and...can you occlude?"
"A little," she shrugged. "But if you don't have a teacher to teach you and you only learn from books..."
"Won't work yes, but the sensation was the same only reversed. I couldn't think all I wanted anymore and I couldn't feel at all anymore."
"You...couldn't feel? Anything? Like physical pain and..."
"Not really, no. And since I was completely out of practice, I had lost, in a way, control over my ability. My mind shut down and..."
"Oh, Severus," she breathed and of course he noticed that she was, for the first time, using his first name. And then breathing it like that, like a caress, he was almost undone but she came first and she reacted first and darted around the table and flung her arms around his neck and pulled him into a hug, pulled his head between, against, to her breasts and stroked his temple and hair and forehead and cheek. "Is it okay again now? And...oh, did you cry then?"
"I didn't," he whispered and actually wanted to say anything anymore. He was rather comfortable pressing the side of his head against her...breasts.
"The tears? It had to do with the tears then? I mean..."
He rolled his eyes and took a deep sniff of her scent, then pulled her down on his lap. She squealed a little and sat sideways against him, her arms still (or again?) around his neck and rested her head against his.
"No. I did not cry but Eleanor...Eleanor, well, she cried on me. And I did count the tears and after three, I began fighting against the Occlumency and after seven, all the shields were lowered."
"Because she cried on you?" she asked and he couldn't help staring at her bare legs, her feet and her hidden thighs on his thigh. It was easy to just put his hand on her thigh, feel them again. He kept them on her skirt but he could clearly feel that they were as firm as he remembered and, sort of thought about. He squeezed her thigh and rested his hand there and she smiled and sighed.
"Because she cried on me. At least this is what I believe," he told her in a whisper.
