The long and winding road to love

Chapter 22: Confessions of the hearts





Hey! Well… here
we are after such a long time. I just wanted to tell you that most probably the
next chapter will not be up until next week for finals are, indeed, important
at the moment. But I wanted to thank you all for you AMAZING support. I really
have no words to describe my feelings towards you people! You are amazing!

Anyhow… I do hope you will enjoy chapter 22.
These chapters are only important for a better understanding of the story but
SOON things will change. Will they change for good? …Stay tune!

Anyway, here it
is… chapter 2… enjoy!

 

Chapter 22:
Confessions of the hearts.

 

The sight of a dead Hermione had been brutal. He never thought he
would live to observe such a tragic picture and we are talking about a man who has
seen plenty of monstrous things in his life. The white theatre rope seemed so
incredibly real and her face- all covered in red because of the blood that
emerged from the cuts in her cheek- made clear to Severus that the person
standing in front of him was no other than Hermione Granger; his wife, the love
of his life even if it was too dangerous to admit so.

 

His heart filled with pain to a degree unknown; his pulse
accelerated and then his lips and his hands moved so quickly that the mirror
lay destroyed before he could even protect himself in some way. Was there any
point in protecting himself when he knew death was waiting for them all? He
could found none. What kind of a man was he if he allowed Hermione to enter his
tormented life? A life he knew was a waste, a life he had worn out.

 

But then when the pain was too strong to ignore, Severus dragged
himself to his chambers without looking back. If he had, however, he would have
seen his wife looking straight into her own death.

 

But he didn’t. When he finally did, it was too late to discover
the cause of Hermione’s torments. He had an idea of what might have provoked
her to scream but all conjectures were useless now. All he knew was that this
little creature he loved so much was now humbly offering herself as a stick for
him not to fall. All he had was her and even though he knew the dangerous
situation in which they were situated he couldn’t refuse to grin at the sight
of her curls, of her white skin, of the tiny beauty spot on her left forearm.

 

When they reached the leather chair in which she would later apply
the potion, he sat and shared a conversation with Hermione. Well… they had a
“conversation”, because according to Grease to have a conversation both parts
need to cooperate. And in this chat Severus’ dark nasty remarks were making no
progress.

But when he prevented her from touching his magical wound and
their gazes locked and their hands made contact, everything in the world
stopped for he was in love. And there is no better thing for a man than to be
in love.

 

Inside his chest, however, different emotions were blossoming.
Feelings he had never felt before, not even regarding Hermione. He wanted to
kiss her. Oh, Gods! How much he wanted to kiss her. But he didn’t. And then, as
soon as it had arrived, the moment was gone. But the sentiments were still
there, beating hard on Severus’ chest; beating hard on Hermione’s chest as
well; her hands were even trembling with nervousness.

 

But when the potion made contact with his skin and Hermione locked
herself up in her room- or so he thought- his brain
seized to fight, and his heart stopped repressing his real feelings, his real
thoughts, his real self.

 

His head ached with terrible pain; he could hold the madness no
longer. He had this terrible urge to speak his mind about the world, even if
the world refused to hear. He had so much to say that it seemed selfish for him
to remain quiet, the people needed to know.

 

And when I say people I mean Hermione, of course.

 

The pain was no longer a problem even if the occasional stubs in
his brain made him lower his speed towards her locked chambers. He needed no
key; he would shout his feelings if it was necessary.

 

But sure enough, Miss Granger had left her door unlocked for her
prince charming to enter at leisure. Believe me: Severus Snape is no ones
prince charming but here stood a little girl who thought he was the most
wonderful man on the face of the earth, a man that had saved her from her own
darkness, a man who loved her deeply.

 

Or so she thought until they reached the castle, before meeting
the professors at the Entrance Hall and chatting with the Malfoy’s. Since then
everything she knew for certain, her world collapsed creating doubts in her
young soul.

 

And now she had seen herself dead in a mirror, a magical mirror
that had injured her husband, and a man who behaved icily in front of her but
passionately when her presence could not be depicted.

 

The nature of his real feelings was as vague as were his
attitudes. The powerful effects the potion was developing in both a physical
and mental level were, however, incredible and soon the barrier between him and
his loved one would be destroyed and Hermione would comprehend everything.

 

“Open up,” he commanded, without even touching the door with his
index finger. He was calm. For now.

 

“It’s open,” she tranquilly said from the other side of the wooden
door, peacefully waiting for him on her bed.

 

There was no time for hesitation. He needed to act, and he needed
to act rapidly for the effect the potion had on his mind would not last
forever.

 

And so smoothly opening the door with his entire palm pressed on
the wood; he entered her chambers only to find her smiling like the child she was,
like the innocent girl she was. But as soon as she saw him she understood why
he had ordered her not to let the door open. The information he was about to
reveal was vital for the order and perhaps it was better for her not to know.

 

Yes. Perhaps.

 

But life does not consist of speculations, though. And maybe it is
better that it does not.

 

“Dear,” he said, slowly walking towards the bed and sitting
graciously over the black sheets with the proper movements a gentleman would
make before sitting down in front of a lady, “you need to listen,” he
whispered, leaning forward and kissing her neck while gradually reaching for
her hands.

 

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to listen. But he had asked her to
do so in such a tone of voice and his caress had such an effect on her that she
could not refuse. And so placing her head in her pillow, she listened to this:

 

“Hermione, darling, I love you even if I cannot show my real
feelings at the moment. I am committed to my job and the lives of many are at
risk if I do not achieve my goal, but that does not mean I do not love you. I
do, believe me when I tell you I cannot sleep at night because the memories of
you torment me even when the sun does not shine, late at night. Moreover, if I
act coldly or even like a twit every time we speak, you have no fault in this.
My shoulders should carry with all the responsibility, with all the blame. Is
me who fears your death. But you shouldn’t have heard that. You know, my love?
I sometimes envision a world where I can live happy with you on my bed, making
love as we used to, with no worries in our hearts. But soon enough I realize
that is all a dream and that peace may not be found in our lifetimes. My plans
with Malfoy, however, are not as secret as you may think- because I do know
that you think of this. I know you, Hermione. Your brain cannot stop; your
thoughts are almost knitting a net of reflections. We are the same; we share
the same obsessions, my darling. It took me some time to understand why
Dumbledore had been so keen at the beginning with us marrying, but I now
comprehend that this wise man knew from the start that we are meant to be
together because we share an equal soul in two different bodies. I love you and
I am sure you are the love of my life. If we manage to survive, I promise that
I will ask for your hand properly. But then again, the danger the Death Eaters
represent at the moment is great and thus we need to be prepared. Listen to
this, and listen to this carefully: they want to kill him; they want to kill
Dumbledore,” he confessed with his eyes as big as golf balls.

 

She wanted to ask about Malfoy’s plan; she needed to find a way to
help the order. But the weight of his words had been enough to leave Hermione
speechless; even though she tried, her throat refused to make noises.

 

He gently lowered his head and placed it on her lap seeking
comfort, seeking love. She kissed his raven hair and said nothing while the
effects of the potion wore off. Tomorrow morning he would remember nothing.

 

“I love you too,” she muttered before falling asleep.

 

It had been a long day and no one knew, not even Hermione, what
the next day would bring.

 

Perhaps it was better that way because little did she know that a
boy with fair hair would find a way to make her life a little bit more
complicated than it already was. And that, my friends, is saying something.