Correspondence

After the dinner was over and the plates were in the sink being washed by invisible hands, the refrigerator was filled with leftovers, Hermione’s parents were home safely, Draco and Ginny had disappeared to somewhere, the children were in bed, and everyone else was winding down, getting ready for bed. Hermione and Severus remained in the living room, discussing their Christmas and the past Christmases that they had had.

“I got you a present,” she said, a slight blush creeping up her face.

“You didn’t need to do that,” he responded as he watched her reach behind her and pull out a small box that she must have been hiding in her pocket the entire night. She waved her wand and enlarged it, so that it was normal, rectangle size, and handed it to him.

“I know I didn’t, but I wanted to. So take it and open it and don’t complain,” she said with a grin as she watched him open it carefully. He peeled the wrapping paper back and revealed a leather-bound book. He pulled it out of the rest of the wrapping and looked at the spine to see what it was.

“It’s a copy of Peter Pan,” he murmured in awe.

“Open it,” she whispered. He lifted the cover and read the opening page.

“It’s a first edition,” he said with reverence in his voice and traced the front page delicately with his finger.

“I saw it when I was out shopping, and I knew I had to buy it for you. I hope you like it.” He leaned over and kissed her gently, answering her question not with words but with actions.

“I don’t just like it, Hermione. I love it. I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect gift. Thank you,” he said as he placed his palm against her cheek and traced the lines of her face with his thumb. “I got you a present as well, but I must confess that in my nervousness in coming here, I left it at my house. I can go and retrieve it if you would like.”

“That won’t be necessary, I can go with you, if you don’t mind of course,” she said, her face a question mark.

“Of course I don’t mind,” he said.

“Then let me go grab my bag and let Molly know I’ll be out; then we can go.” She left him sitting in the living room by himself. He sat there looking about the ramshackle but homey room. His perusal was interrupted by the sound of the kitchen door creaking as it was opened. He looked back and met the familiar eyes of Harry Potter with a cup of water in one hand and a newspaper in the other.

“Potter,” he said with a nod of recognition.

“Severus, I wanted to thank you. For my present, for everything. I never really got the chance to thank you for everything that you did for all those years. I also wanted to apologize for how I treated you. I was unfair and judgmental, and I apologize. My only excuse is youthful stupidity. Please forgive me,” he said, his eyes pleading for forgiveness.

“Only if you will allow me the same courtesy, Pott… Harry. I treated you with disdain that you did not deserve. I assumed that because you looked so much like your father that you would be just like him; obviously, I was wrong in that regard. You may look like him, but the heart that beats inside you is your mother’s through and through.”

“Thank you, Severus. One last thing.” Harry paused as Severus nodded for him to continue. “Take care of her.” He nodded toward the stairs that Hermione had run up not too long ago. “She is one of the most important people in my life, and I would hate to see her hurt, especially by someone that I have so much newly attained respect for.” Severus nodded his understanding, and Harry tucked the newspaper under his arm and used that empty hand to shake hands with Severus, an offering of peace and forgiveness in a single handshake. He retreated up the stairs, and Severus returned to his perusal of the worn room.

“What did Harry want?” a quiet voice asked from behind him. He turned to see Hermione, who had snuck up on him, her shoes making no noise on the wood floors.

“Just to bury old ghosts,” he said quietly. She smiled at him and moved next to him, grabbing his hand and pulling him up to stand next to her. He lead the way outside and Apparated them to his house.

She smiled when she saw the little house. It suited him perfectly. The pure white of the house was matched by the deep black that the shutters had been painted. The gardens looked like they were kept but not obsessed over. It was a quaint place, yes, that was the word she was searching for, quaint.

“This is very quaint, Severus.”

“Thank you, Hermione. I just recently purchased it. I sold my childhood house a while ago, and until recently didn’t see the purpose of buying another, but I saw this one day and thought it would be nice to have a place that I could escape to every once in a while.” He led her inside the small home, and she smiled when she saw the walls lined with shelves filled with books. He walked over and placed his newly acquired copy of Peter Pan on a shelf that housed only a select few books; they were severely old, their spines falling apart and the leather quite worn.

“Would you like anything to drink?” he asked.

“No, thank you, I’m fine.” She smiled at his thoughtfulness. She sat down on the only furniture in what she guessed was his living room, a well-used couch.

He sat down next to her slightly awkwardly as if he couldn’t be close to her. She heaved a sigh of annoyance; she had been so sure that they had finally gotten past this, but apparently she was wrong.

“Severus…” she started, turning to face him and finding her nose inches from his. She sucked in a deep breath and was preparing to chastise him for his ridiculousness when he bent over and captured her lips. A fire burned through her, filling her veins and flowing throughout her body. She brought her hand up and cupped his cheek, kissing him back with vigor. His hands dropped down and clutched her hips, squeezing her gently, enjoying the feeling of her beneath his hands.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her, longing to have his skin on her skin. She couldn’t get close enough to him. She threw her leg over his hip, straddling him on the couch. He gave her a shocked expression when she pushed him down into the couch and pressed her body into his. Her tongue delved into his mouth, taking what she wanted and what he was willing to give. Her eyes closed, senses on overload, she didn’t see him watching her. With one swift movement, he flipped her over, laid her flat on the seat of the couch, and flattened himself to her body.

His hands traced her body, defining her delicious curves. He slowly unbuttoned her sweater, distracting her with kisses that stole her breath. The sweater fell to her sides, exposing the deep green bra that she wore beneath it.

“Being festive?” he questioned with a quirk of that familiar eyebrow.

“Yes,” she returned with a smile.

“This wasn’t for me?” he pulled the strap of the bra away from her skin, letting it snap back causing her to gasp at the sting. “You didn’t wear them thinking you were going to ‘get lucky’?”

She giggled at his use of the popular phrase. “Maybe, but mostly being festive. Besides, is it wrong to have a pinch of hope?” she questioned, looking up at him.

“No, it is never wrong to have a pinch of hope,” he whispered as he dipped his head back down to explore her luscious mouth.