beyondwandpoint (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
beyondwandpoint) wrote2019-03-20 05:28 pm
beyondwandpoint) wrote2019-03-20 05:28 pm
“beyond wandpoint” 035 by gingerbred
“11 09p Sunday - Homecoming”
Severus and Hermione
Originally Published: 2017-12-08 on AO3
Chapter: 035
Pairing: Hermione Granger / Severus Snape
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
She doesn't mean to, he slows his pace enough that she can easily keep up, but she finds herself trailing just a little behind him. Not walking at his side, but just that bit behind, bobbing in his wake, in the lee of his cloak. When he slows so she can catch up, she slows and the distance remains constant. She can't explain why she does it, it's too ingrained in some fashion, but that reflexive action of hers just sets him more on edge. As far as he can tell, nothing about this is right.
She isn't and will never be a partner or an equal.
And so he escorts her to his, their, rooms, as though she hasn't taken this path hundreds of times over the last several years; it all seems new somehow. What is objectively new to her is the location of his chambers. A door she's never noticed before, although it's magnificently carved and hard to miss, appears to her left in the wall shortly before they reach his office, his classroom is still further down the same hall. She assumes the door to his quarters was hidden by a Notice-Me-Not from non-Slytherins.
She can feel his wards ripple around them as they approach, and he tells her to extend her wand.
"Sir?"
"I need to key the wards to permit you access. Raise your wand, please." And she does, and the ripple on her skin is... It's lovely actually. It's warm and safe and strong, it's comfort and home and welcome, it's come in and stay and never want to leave, it's a lazy Sunday in bed with a great book and a hot cuppa, it's... perfect and if it could be bottled would make a bath additive people might pay a small fortune for. It's amazing.
She tries not to sigh too plaintively as the feeling passes, but can't restrain a soft, "Wow."
That amuses him, which only serves to annoy him further; he isn't in any mood to be amused. He hadn't expected a reaction. And certainly not that one. These are his wards, protecting his home. They've never been breached. They're a thing of his own making, essentially... him. He hasn't the foggiest how it might feel to someone else. He's also never adjusted them for anyone else.
Had he considered it, he might have been reluctant to hear her response. Were he considering it now, he might take this as a good sign. Unfortunately, his thoughts are already too preoccupied with all the miserable changes he'll need to make to his quarters to see the positive in any of this.
A little hopefully, she asks him, "Does it do that every time, or is it just when they're keyed?"
He has a brief image of her standing in his, their, doorway forever more were that the case, which is almost exactly the thing she's thinking, too. He has to admit he doesn't know. She resolves to herself to test it, just as he makes a note to observe her reaction in the future.
Once the door is open, she's surprised to find she can't see into the chambers beyond. He passes through the doorway, takes two steps into the room and disappears from sight. She remains standing there, rooted to the spot. Soon he reappears in the doorway, and she realises it's another sort of Notice-Me-Not applied to give the room privacy should anyone come calling. And that's even though the door apparently couldn't be seen by those who aren't in his House.
He's a very private person, she realises, and she's about to intrude in a most unforgiveable fashion. She can't seem to bring herself to cross the sill.
"Well? What are you waiting for?" He asks. When she doesn't respond, she can't find the words, he becomes somewhat gruff, "I'm not carrying you across the threshold." She blinks a little, taken aback at that, she'd never even considered it, and then he completely botches an explanation, grumping somewhat petulantly, "I've carried you quite far enough for the present." That really doesn't have anything like the effect he'd hoped. It would certainly have helped had he modulated his tone even a bit, and off the hurt in her expression he feels the need to add, "I'm hardly in any shape to do so."
And then in some weird compromise that neither was seeking or fully understands, he flicks his wand and has Mobilicorpused her in a bridal carry and swooped her into his, their, rooms. "Sorted," he mumbles, closing the door firmly behind her as her feet settle gently on the floor. She's intrigued to note before the door shuts that she can see the hallway very clearly from this side of the Notice-Me-Not, almost as though the entry were far wider than it actually is. She assumes it's another protective measure.
And then she turns to face the room.
It's stunning.
It's enormous, or perhaps that comes from sharing rooms with so many others for so long, but she's never lived in a space of this size before. It's a long, largely open plan room, with a few steps to provide changes in levels that lend the room some structure and keep it from being uncomfortably sprawling.
The colours and textures are simple, elegant and harmonious. The leather, of which there is much, is a deep green, perhaps not unexpectedly, and when she touches it later, she'll discover it's the softest she's ever felt. When she works up the courage to ask, he'll explain it's dragonhide. The wood, also in abundance, is dark, perhaps macassar, the grain is too lively for anything else that comes to mind. It's gorgeous. Absolutely beautiful. The furniture all seems to be of one matching design; it's exquisitely carved. Two of the walls are the light beige stone of the castle, one, the furthest, is a wall of bookcases. The fourth, to their left, is... something else altogether.
To the left of the entrance is an L-shaped kitchen complete with an island with a breakfast bar she's having a lot of trouble picturing him using. She'll keep that thought to herself. There are no upper cabinets, just some open shelves immediately to the left of the door. The other leg of the L is comprised only of lower cabinetry. It makes the space seem even more open.
The most unusual feature of the room is what's been done instead of a backsplash. In place of the usual tiles, there's a wall of black glass above the countertop. This extends beyond the kitchen, all along the same wall, so that the entire upper half of that wall is made of that glass. The effect is a strange mix of medieval meets modern with the stonework trim framing the glass. It's masculine but beautiful, a little brutal, definitely uncompromising, but very appealing. She likes it instantly. Only much later will it occur to her that it reminds her somehow of him.
To the right of the entry is a divinely carved rectangular dining table of that marvellous wood. It's simply stunning. The tabletop alone is practically an artwork. She immediately wants to run her hands over that polished surface. Eight chairs surround it, three on each side, one on each end, but again she can't quite picture him entertaining. It's a magnificent piece that looks more like it's there because it should be in order to fill the space than because he wants or uses it. But she has no idea if that's correct or simply a failure of imagination on her part.
Beyond the kitchen, along what she considers the feature wall, three steps lead up into what seems to be an oft used reading nook judging by the soft signs of wear. A long wooden built-in bench with green leather cushions occupies the lower half of the wall, just as the cabinets do in the kitchen area. In front of the bench are two comfortable looking wing chairs with matching footstools and a small table between them. A book lies propped open across one of their arms, and she can imagine it's where the Professor left it Friday before so much in their lives changed forever. She manages, barely, to keep herself from trying to sneak a peek at the title.
The far wall is covered entirely in bookcases, except for three doors that are set into the structure. They lead off the larger lounge area in the back right hand corner of the room. The lounge is across from the reading nook and four steps down from it, or beyond the dining area and one step down. A leather couch runs much of its length, flanked on either end by side tables in the same style as the one in the nook, and there's a matching armchair against the furthest wall.
The seating arrangement is nestled in front of a grand stone fireplace in the long right wall that remains in the exposed castle stone. Along that same wall, in what is the dining area just to her right, are two more doors, closed like the other three. The enormous hearth, she thinks, should be plenty large enough to heat the generous room; it's certainly warm enough now. She wonders briefly about that, the room's warmth. She knows better than anyone else he hadn't been there all weekend to keep a fire burning.
The second most unexpected feature of the rooms would have to be the hits of colour. The kitchen has a few accent items in the warmest yellow, a vase, some plates on the open shelves, a ceramic fruit bowl with apples and oranges. The reading nook has similar accents in the richest red jewel tone, a throw and a couple of pillows. In the lounge it's a deep, dark blue for the throw draped over the back of the sofa and again a few pillows. There's an oriental area rug in front of the fireplace held in matching green, red and blue tones. And in the dining area situated between the two doors is a work of abstract art, a truly stand out piece, the only painting in the room, predominantly in those very same colours plus hints of the kitchen's yellow. The scheme's far more vibrant than she would have anticipated, and yet it's restrained.
It's beautiful. It's exactly and yet not at all what she'd have expected from him. She's never seen anything like it, and she likes it very much.
And then he strides into the room and sets about destroying it.
He walks purposefully between the kitchen island and the dining area, takes the step down to the lounge area and follows along the back of the couch until he reaches the far wall covered in bookcases and turns right into the lounge. He crosses grimly to the door furthest to the right and flicks his wand to open it, revealing a perfectly lovely room. It's very masculine in its decor, but she thinks not so much so that she wouldn't have enjoyed it immensely. It's full of more of the same dark wood, carved to match the pieces in the lounge, nook and dining room.
There's an exquisite desk, handsomely carved, that just cries out to be touched, for her fingers to trace the intricate work... It's diagonally orientated in the room facing the door, and equipped with a matching chair in green leather upholstery that looks ridiculously comfy. Absolutely sumptuous. From what she can see past him as she's drawn further into the chambers, the room's walls are completely covered in more of those bookcases, oddly except for another sheet of black glass along the upper half of the back wall. The shelves look like they're brimming with things she'd love to get her hands on. She thinks the bookcases are probably what make the room, it must be his study, seem so much more masculine than the rest of the apartment. It's definitely darker and cosier as a result.
It's a magnificent room.
Or was.
With a sigh he can't suppress, not in the face of this, he flicks his wand again and bookcases start trudging from the room on diminutive claw feet to line up against the right hand wall of the lounge and dining area. They slouch their way past him through the door and slink forlornly up the solitary step, somehow without losing a single book, to continue lining the wall, the half-height shelves slotting into place beneath the artwork. When they've filled the wall, they turn the corner and begin lining the one behind her that holds the door through which she just entered. The shelves only stop when they reach the kitchen. Another few flicks, and the couch and dining table slide further into the room, making more space along the wall for access to the bookcases.
One of the chairs from the reading nook marches over to join the couch and chair that are already there. The footstools and end table are Reducioed and Banished to the nearest shelf. Soon the desk comes stomping out, apparently not quite pleased with this development, to fill the vacancies left in the nook, placing itself rather glumly in front of the only remaining chair.
She wonders if the furniture itself is displeased with the rearrangements, or if it’s in some way a reflection of the feelings of the caster of the spells. She closes her eyes for a moment and tries to listen to their bond, but all she feels from him is a lot of nothing and a chaotic mess. It’s hard to discern any overriding voice in the chorus.
A few more flicks, and he's enlarged the shelves where they now stand on the right hand wall, and transfigured them so there are now shelves above the two doors as well. Soon a stream of books floats out of the room and they align themselves neatly in the new spaces provided. He pauses the exodus only once to redirect a stream to higher shelves, other than that, he hardly seems to need to give it any thought. Peering into the room, she can see there are now only three steadily emptying shelves left, a carpet and the desk chair that sits somewhat gloomily without its desk.
When the shelves finally empty, he takes a deep breath, centres himself, and prepares to make her room.
She feels a harsh stab of guilt. Now she's taken his den and made a hash of his library, and she's not even sure he should be doing this much magic this soon.
To think she'd been sure he wouldn't allow her to come in and turn everything topsy-turvy... That's hardly sufficient to describe what's happening. She frankly had never dreamt just how much she would - this would - upend his life.
The path he'd taken through the room no longer available, she takes a step down into the lounge area, passing in front of the couch to join him.
"I'm sorry, Sir."
"Miss Granger?"
"It was such a lovely room." He sighs again and tries not to think about it.
“Indeed. It was rather.” She feels the void she sometimes senses from him deepen, expand, there’s nothing quite like it in her experience and she’s at a loss how else to describe it. There’s more... nothing, somehow, if nothing could increase. He, however, appears more collected. It strikes her suddenly that he must be Occluding, and her feelings of guilt just increase.
“Shall we agree, the less said about the matter, the better? And I'll do my best for you to see to it that it still is," he sounds resigned, but he's clearly making an effort. Right now she feels as though on top of everything else she's taken from him, she's now destroying his home.
"Should you be using so much magic?" She asks cautiously.
"'Needs must', a wise man recently said to me. I think it was only this afternoon..." He bites back the sigh that was already forming again, but the slouch of his shoulders really says it all, and of course, even with him Occluding, she can still feel some of his despair through the bond. "It's kind of you to be concerned, but I believe I'm sufficiently recovered for a bit of moving house."
"I could help," she offers tentatively.
"I'd prefer to rearrange my rooms..." there's a pained look as he corrects himself, "move my things about on my own." He swallows and tries to sound as neutral as possible. "Obviously, you may... make adjustments to... our rooms in the future if there is... need. Although I would... greatly prefer it if you could keep it to a minimum or discuss such changes with me in advance."
He looks around the main room, now a bit smaller, lined on two more sides with books as it is. She experiences a sudden surge of claustrophobia, which seems odd, as the room is so much larger than anything she's used to, until she realises the feeling was his. With a slight grimace, he recognises that his desk is now too large for the place it stands, and another wand flick shrinks it some until the proportions seem right. Visually, at least. He finds himself wondering if he will ever want to work there in the future. Damn.
Turning his attention to the now nearly empty room that had been his study, he transfigures one of the remaining shelves into a desk, quite a bit like his own, somewhat more delicate, although the choice was subconscious. The desk gambols into place on the left wall, a number of steps in front of them, and the disgruntled chair seems slightly happier now as it slides in before it.
Along the right wall, abutting the black glass on the far wall, he transfigures a second shelf into a four poster bed, the posts magnificently turned, just like the legs of the chair and desk, but with even more detail for all their size. It's a piece of great beauty, and she finds it hard to picture how he does that off the cuff as he did. Cream coloured curtains hang around the bed in a politely neutral selection, neither green nor red. She imagines she'll keep them that way, following his line of thought. The rug provides enough colour to brighten the space.
The third shelf finds a home against the wall immediately to the right of the door, because the witch for whom the room is being made will undoubtedly have many books of her own. A few flicks more, and it expands, wandering around the corner of the room to meet the bed, and now also harbours a wardrobe.
He steps back out of the room and opens the door immediately next to... hers, she supposes, and reveals a storeroom. He grits his teeth and sets about shrinking and expanding it, and she believes she's just watched him cast an extension charm on the room while shrinking its physical boundaries. It's a fine piece of dynamic magic, and she only just refrains from asking him about it.
When he re-enters... her room and creates a door to the left of the entryway and gets to work, she realises he's making her a bath of her own. It's probably just as well, she thinks a bit nervously, as the number of closed doors had diminished, she'd come to suspect his bath must be off his bedroom. That would have become awkward quickly.
She knows, she can feel how much he hates tearing apart his home, how little he wants to sacrifice his refuge, his privacy, and yet as he sets about creating this little room from nothing... The detail he puts into it is gobsmacking.
There are dozens of choices, from the handles of the faucets, the shape of the basin, the colour of the ceramic and texture and size of the tiles, a recess for her shampoo and conditioner, a built in soap dish... And all of them are simply... beautiful. It's a delightful little room, and every detail in it sprang from his mind, no matter how reluctant he might be to have her here.
She can’t help the look of enjoyment that crosses her face, and somehow it sits wrong with him. “The bog,” he snits, irritated she’s chuffed while he’s demolishing his home. When her face falls in immediate response, he pulls himself together and manages a more polite, “I’m afraid it hasn’t a tub of its own, but at least you’ve your own shower. I believe that should prove sufficient to your needs. We can revisit that at some point in the future if not.”
He’s mercurial. One moment he’s politely reserved, the next irritated, waspish and a little crass, and the next stoic and withdrawn. Every now and again he strikes her simply as sad. She gets the sense his life isn’t pleasant, and she’s somehow making it a good deal less so. She wishes that weren’t the case.
"Thank you, Sir. Very much." She wonders if it's wise to continue, but feels the need to express her gratitude. "It still is," she tries to assure him. When he just lifts a brow she expands, "It's a beautiful room." His lips press together and he bites back any answer, but he nods his head once in acknowledgment of her appreciation and withdraws to the lounge.
He turns to face her as he stands in front of the fireplace and with a small shrug says, "The desk chair is very comfortable." When she tries it later, she's surprised to find just how true that is. And then she considers that that is just another thing she's taken from him this weekend.
A/N:
I have a house full of people this weekend, so probably no new chapter until Monday. - Ginger