Hilltop Cottage

A/N: A quick note to TheMaraudersWereBullies. Thanks for the review and yes, I know I\'d get a wider audience. Some of my stories are already posted at ff.net - however, in order to post, I have to do it a chapter at a time which means saving each one in a seperate document, because of the posting process. However - I post here, Ashwinder and The Ptulant Poetess, where I can cut and paste each beta\'d chapter into the handy text box. For me, this is a much simpler process. If people like my writing, they\'ll find me!



Onwards...

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Snape scraped the remainder of his egg fried rice and congealed chilli sauce, which was a shocking shade of pink, from his plate and into the empty take away container. As usual, his meal had been delicious, in spite of the calorific content. He wasn’t quite sure just how much of it he had been aware of eating, however.



The stilted conversation that had taken place between himself and Granger was playing on his mind, and his usually measured and detached approach to the curve balls that life threw at him was teetering on the edge. As if he hadn’t already been confused by their strange connection-- he had spent the day pondering it, for goodness sake--now she had thrown another log onto the fire.



He was fairly certain that her lunch invitation had been just a friendly gesture. While at Hogwarts, Minerva would occasionally make the same offer at weekends, to have lunch in Hogsmeade, or on one occasion, Diagon Alley. It had been pleasant to spend time away from the school, to talk about things other than work or the doom and gloom of the war, although inevitably the conversation would touch on that, the closer the threat had become.



And yet, there was something about the way Granger had asked him, an awkwardness that ordinarily he would have attributed to her youth had they had not already shared each other’s company comfortably over the past few weeks. Her invitation had been heartfelt. But had he heard something in her tone of voice that suggested it was more than just lunch?



Snape stared down at his hands and found that he was gripping onto the edge of his sink so tightly that his knuckles were shining white through his pale skin. His stomach was starting to roil slightly at the notion Granger may desire more than just friendship from him. It was a ridiculously pathetic notion, and he would tell her that if he had to.



Regardless of the age difference, which wasn’t something Snape had thought about until this moment, she was most likely on the rebound from Weasley and needed someone to fill the gap. He knew she admired him for some strange reason. Looked up to him, almost. But he had convinced himself that he was a sad excuse for the father figure so obviously missing in her life, not a potential paramour. One thing he was certain of was that he would end up hurting her, one way or another, and he was beginning to wish she had never turned up in New Mills.



Solitude had been so much easier.





***



Hermione was having a nightmare. Her legs were jumping beneath her duvet, as if she was running where she lay, and small, indistinguishable murmurs were escaping her pursed lips. Beads of perspiration sat on her top lip, and her hair was clinging to her face as she tossed and turned.



It was dark, and she was somewhere in the Forbidden Forest. The sound of hexes and curses being screamed and yelled were coming from all directions, and yet Hermione knew she was safe where she was. There was a smell of burning, and as she looked upwards, she could see the tops of trees set alight by spells gone awry. She turned at the sound of twigs breaking, and her heart jumped into her throat as she shrank back against the trunk of a nearby tree.



Whoever it was, they had stopped close to where Hermione had been standing moments before, and she could hear panting, wheezy breaths as they paused. Steeling herself, Hermione ducked a quick look around the tree trunk and sighed with relief. It was only Severus.



‘Oh, thank goodness it’s only you,’ said Hermione.



Dream Snape stood upright and sneered down his nose at her with contempt.



‘Granger,’ he growled.



‘Severus?’ Hermione stepped towards him with her arms outstretched, wanting to hold him to her and offer comfort.



‘I have no need for you,’ he said, folding his arms across his chest and almost staring through her.



Hermione walked closer to him, ignoring his words and his offhand manner. She went to wrap her arms around him, only to find them slipping through him as if he was but a ghost or an apparition.



When Hermione looked around her, Snape was suddenly nowhere to be seen, and the sound of laughter pierced through the darkness as Bellatrix Lestrange entered the clearing, her hair crackling with magic and her wand arm outstretched.



‘Silly little girl,’ Bella sang, ‘wants to touch what isn’t hers.’



Hermione thrust out her wand and felt herself trembling as she stepped towards the Dark witch.



‘He’s not yours either,’ she said warily.



Bella cackled and licked her lips. ‘He will want real witch, you stupid, little Mudlood!’



She screamed at Hermione and then lunged forward with her eyes wide and her lips stretched in a grin-like grimace.



‘Avada Kedavra!’



Hermione screamed as a flash of green light sped towards her.





Her scream was real, and she awoke in terror, her duvet wrapped around her and almost strangling her as she tried in vain to scramble from the bed. In blind panic, Hermione began to sob as she stumbled and tripped over the pile of Daily Prophets that stuck out from under her bed. Fumbling to the floor, she grabbed a paper from the top of the pile and stared at the front page in the half-light.



The moon was shining through a small gap in the curtains, and it fell on the moving image of Severus as he scowled and sneered in turn. His hair was lank and looked unhealthy, his face pale and wan. A makeshift dressing was half hanging from his still- open neck wound, the photograph having been snatched when he had least expected it. It had been his first venture beyond his front door since the final battle, and all he had wanted was a little fresh air and a pint of milk.



Hermione’s hands shook as she stared into his blank gaze. It was reminiscent of the Severus of her dream, uncaring, unfeeling and distant. This wasn’t the Severus she knew. Her Severus had warmth and humour, and he cared about the living. He cared about her. Didn’t he?



Bellatrix’s words were ringing in Hermione’s ears, and even though she knew it was a dream, they cut her to the quick. The thought of Severus sharing himself in any capacity, with another witch made her want to throw up. As unreal as the dream was, the pain that Hermione had felt when Severus disappeared had stayed with her, leaving her feeling empty and bereft. With sudden anger, Hermione clawed at the paper and started to tear it into small pieces, grabbing and ripping until it lay like black and white confetti around her. Her tears fell, unchecked this time by handy packet tissues. Severus wasn’t here to calm her now, and the thought that she might have to live her life without him in it sent a shiver of terror through her. In a remote and very small rational part of her brain, Hermione asked herself what it all meant.



There was no answer.



***



When Hermione awoke again, the sun was shining through the gap in the curtain and lay in rays across her face. Small dust motes flew like floating glitter as she shifted herself upright and rested her head back against the mattress. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, trying to clear her head of the previous night’s events. Glancing over at her alarm clock, she groaned and then gasped. It was almost noon. And Severus was coming for lunch.



Pushing herself up, Hermione walked quickly to the front bedroom and peered out of the window and down the lane that lead to the house. Severus was walking slowly up the road, his leg dragging slightly and his black hair bobbing a little as he limped along.



‘Fuck,’ Hermione muttered. Why was he so damn punctual?



Dashing back to her bedroom, she threw on her underwear and yesterday’s jeans, fastened her bra with fumbling fingers, and grabbed the first t-shirt from the pile in her top drawer. She lifted her deodorant spray and spritzed herself liberally just as she heard Severus knocking on her door.



With a deep breath, Hermione walked barefooted down the stairs and opened the door breathlessly, forcing a false smile onto her face.



‘Hi’ she said.



Severus opened his mouth to speak, but his words choked and became a startled laugh as he stared at Hermione.



‘What on earth happened to you?’ He was almost grinning, like he couldn’t help himself.



Hermione had never seen him smile fully before, and she was mesmerised by the change in his features. His eyes were almost twinkling, his face looked fuller and a little pinker around the cheeks, and his lips stretched wide and full to show his uneven but fairly white teeth. With a start, she realised he was now in full flow and laughing so much he had to lean on the door jamb for support.



‘What are you laughing at?’ Hermione said, grinning in spite of herself.



‘This,’ he said. With a swift movement, he propelled Hermione by her shoulders into the living room and stood her in front of the mirror above the mantelpiece. She gasped and started to giggle as she saw her hair for the first time that day, stuck out at all angles like a bushy halo. Her skin was blotchy and still showed her tearstains, and as she rubbed at her cheeks, the memory of her nightmare came flooding back, and her face fell.



Severus was standing behind her as she looked at herself in the mirror. She looked ridiculously wonderful with her mad hair, and as he stared at it, he noticed bits of paper stuck here and there. Tentatively, he lifted a scrap from one of her curls and stared at it. It looked like newsprint, and he caught Hermione’s gaze in the mirror with a questioning glance.



Hermione’s lip trembled as she looked into Severus’s reflection. This was her Severus. His eyes were warm, and the trace of his recent laughter lingered around his twitching lips. Slowly, Hermione turned until she was staring up into his face. A look of fear flashed in his eyes, then softened.



‘You’ve been crying again,’ he stated quietly.



‘I had a nightmare,’ she whispered. They were standing so close; Hermione could feel his warm breath on her cheek and caught the hint of peppermint.



‘Tell me about it.’ Severus stood as still as a statue, his arms by his sides, and stared down at Hermione’s pale face.



With a small sob, Hermione flung her arms around him. She hugged him to her so tightly that he almost lost his balance. She was weeping against his shirt, and he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been in close contact with a female in such a way. His experiences with Bellatrix had certainly not been caring or affectionate, and it was with shock that Severus realised the last female to hug him like this was his mother. Lily did not count. Nothing she had ever done counted any more.



With gentle, slow hands, Severus pushed Hermione away from him, keeping a firm hold of her upper arms as she wiped away her tears.



‘Tell me about your dream,’ he said again. He knew how destructive nightmares could be, and if he could help her work through it, all the better.



‘You left me,’ Hermione sighed. She stepped towards him and laid her head on his chest, inhaling him and wrapping her arms more gently around him. ‘You left me, and I couldn’t bear it.’



Severus felt his stomach tighten, and his breath hitched at her words. He closed his eyes, and against his better judgement, wrapped his arms around the now calm witch, pulled her closer and rested his chin on top of her curly head.



To his dismay, it felt good. Amazing, in fact.