FIC: This Night [Severus/Hermione]
Title: This Night
Author/Artist: hikorichan
Prompt: Flying a broom on Halloween night when the moon is full and the air clear
Pairing(s): Severus Snape/Hermione Granger
Word Count: ~1,200
Rating: G
Warning(s): none
Disclaimer:Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Thanks to my betas, AdelaideArcher and MelodyLePetit.
Summary: As is his ritual, Severus flies on Halloween night.
His hair whips behind him in the wind as he flies, the moon a lamp overhead, illuminating him in silver, like a falcon hunting in the dead of night. His bare hands grip the broom, but he ignores the icy chill that seeps into his bones; it doesn’t bother him. He could be home on the sofa, warm in front of the fire, except that tonight is Halloween, and on Halloween he must fly.
He swoops low over the hillside, little cottages dotting the dark landscape, their orange glowing windows sisters to the stars above.
Severus breathes in the chill air, letting it settle him as he banks to the right, no particular destination in mind.
Halloween is for reflection, for the clarity that comes with open sky.
His first flight was more than thirty years ago, before his black hair was streaked with grey. He was a boy then. A young man filled with a gaping, seemingly endless grief.
His broom, this flying, was the only thing that stopped him from destruction-himself or someone else, he did not know; either was a possibility, his anguish was so great.
There were no stars that night. The sky was a sea of black-grey, the earth dark, and Severus thought the blackness might swallow him; he welcomed it.
But somehow he landed, the cold black air having blown away an ounce of grief-the ounce enough to make him land, to make him determined to do what he could to set things right.
He returned to the skies the next year, the sky bursting. Fat raindrops splashed off Severus’s large nose and soaked him to his skin, thunder rumbling in the distance. Flashes of brightness illuminated the raindrops, the outlines of the highlands below, but Severus only hunched over and urged his broom faster, trying to escape the pain and rage that billowed in his chest.
That was how it started, those first years. It so easily turned into a ritual, an escape, a reminder, a way to rededicate himself to his only cause.
So often, the skies on Halloween reflected his mood.
The Halloween before Harry Potter started at Hogwarts, it was patched with clouds, as if the stars were nervous to show themselves completely.
Severus thought he was prepared to see Lily’s boy.
He was wrong.
The next year the skies were a deep, storming grey again.
It all changed the year the Dark Lord fell. That year, the sky was dotted with hazy clouds, the moonlight bright through the blankets of mist, the stars bright at their edges. That year, he felt he could breathe for the first time. That night, flying became something else; his reflections turned forwards, and for the first time he contemplated a future unencumbered by the penance of the past.
When he landed, he felt changed. Not a different person, but as if one of the stars had landed in his chest and ignited something there. He did his best to cultivate it, and though he hadn’t been able to change himself completely, he managed to become something better.
He spent the remainder of the year rebuilding a school he and the country could be proud of, and then quit as soon as the caboose of the Hogwarts Express had disappeared from sight. He sold his old, ratty two-up-two-down in Cokeworth and moved to France, where he took a research position at the famous Dubois Institute. Bought a flat in the nearby village that overlooked the flower-lined rivière.
That Halloween, he took to different skies than those he was used to, revelled in the new earth the moon unveiled for his eyes.
He landed that night feeling better than he had his whole life.
The next several years barely resembled his former life at Hogwarts, though he continued to fly each Halloween, let the broom and the sky touch his soul.
He learned French, made friends with his colleagues, lost his virginity to a woman he met celebrating on Bastille Day. Went on dates after that, with her, and then others.
A few years later, still flying, he found the woman he wanted to marry.
Learned what love truly was.
He met Hermione at the Institute, by happenstance. She’d accepted a position in the Institute’s Charms department only two months before, and to say he was startled to see her bushy hair and familiar face next to him as he stood in line in the cafeteria was an understatement. But instead of recoiling like he expected, she ignored his shocked scowl and smiled at him.
"I was hoping I’d run into you," she said enthusiastically, casting a quick Stabilising Spell on his tray, which was leaning precariously due to his inattention. "I’ve been reading your research into spell decay. It’s fascinating. Do you have plans for lunch? I’d love to speak to you about it, if you don’t mind."
Disarmed by her easy smile, he’d agreed.
Two months later, he’d summoned up the courage to ask her to dinner.
Six months after that, in a mad rush of emotion, he’d asked her to marry him. She said yes...
Ten years later, they are still together. Still in love.
And he is still flying on Halloween. It has long since become a ritual, a way to recharge and reflect. Most people might make resolutions on New Year’s Day, but Severus makes his on a broomstick, flying over an earth illuminated by starlight.
Hermione never questions his need to take to the sky, never tries to invite herself along. Even the few times he’s asked her, feeling guilty for wanting to be alone, she’s declined, saying she’d rather knit by the fire.
Tonight, she kissed him at the back door to their country home, and told him she’d have tea waiting when he got back.
He took off from their garden, letting the sky swallow him up.
He slips along now, gripping his broom. He swoops left, right, meandering along the milky way.
The night is perfect.
Everything is silver and cold. The moon is an old, silver-haired friend, the stars a garden of thistles, sage, and daisies.
The cool air is easy on his lungs, and though there are stars in his eyes, he is thinking about the woman who waits for him back home, how when he began flying so many decades ago, he never would have imagined he could have such a life.
He is so very glad.
When he lands, Hermione is waiting for him, a shawl around her shoulders, its pointed ends knotted over her breast.
He can see the whites of her warm, chocolate eyes as he walks towards her, then the easy smile that started it all.
"Did you have a good flight?" she asks, leaning against the doorframe.
"I was thinking about how happy I am," he says, his voice as smooth as his flight that night.
Hermione’s smile broadens, and he quickly accepts her embrace, returns her languid, loving kiss.
"Come on," she says as she pulls away. "I’ve got a hot cuppa and some biscuits for you."
Smiling, Severus nods, resting his broomstick on the stone wall next to the door. Its miniature sits next to it, its owner upstairs, fast asleep and long tucked into bed.
Hermione loops an arm around Severus’s waist, leaning her weight into him. Severus lays his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. He kisses the top of her head.
They go inside.
Against the wall, the two brooms gleam in the moonlight.
Author/Artist: hikorichan
Prompt: Flying a broom on Halloween night when the moon is full and the air clear
Pairing(s): Severus Snape/Hermione Granger
Word Count: ~1,200
Rating: G
Warning(s): none
Disclaimer:Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Thanks to my betas, AdelaideArcher and MelodyLePetit.
Summary: As is his ritual, Severus flies on Halloween night.
His hair whips behind him in the wind as he flies, the moon a lamp overhead, illuminating him in silver, like a falcon hunting in the dead of night. His bare hands grip the broom, but he ignores the icy chill that seeps into his bones; it doesn’t bother him. He could be home on the sofa, warm in front of the fire, except that tonight is Halloween, and on Halloween he must fly.
He swoops low over the hillside, little cottages dotting the dark landscape, their orange glowing windows sisters to the stars above.
Severus breathes in the chill air, letting it settle him as he banks to the right, no particular destination in mind.
Halloween is for reflection, for the clarity that comes with open sky.
His first flight was more than thirty years ago, before his black hair was streaked with grey. He was a boy then. A young man filled with a gaping, seemingly endless grief.
His broom, this flying, was the only thing that stopped him from destruction-himself or someone else, he did not know; either was a possibility, his anguish was so great.
There were no stars that night. The sky was a sea of black-grey, the earth dark, and Severus thought the blackness might swallow him; he welcomed it.
But somehow he landed, the cold black air having blown away an ounce of grief-the ounce enough to make him land, to make him determined to do what he could to set things right.
He returned to the skies the next year, the sky bursting. Fat raindrops splashed off Severus’s large nose and soaked him to his skin, thunder rumbling in the distance. Flashes of brightness illuminated the raindrops, the outlines of the highlands below, but Severus only hunched over and urged his broom faster, trying to escape the pain and rage that billowed in his chest.
That was how it started, those first years. It so easily turned into a ritual, an escape, a reminder, a way to rededicate himself to his only cause.
So often, the skies on Halloween reflected his mood.
The Halloween before Harry Potter started at Hogwarts, it was patched with clouds, as if the stars were nervous to show themselves completely.
Severus thought he was prepared to see Lily’s boy.
He was wrong.
The next year the skies were a deep, storming grey again.
It all changed the year the Dark Lord fell. That year, the sky was dotted with hazy clouds, the moonlight bright through the blankets of mist, the stars bright at their edges. That year, he felt he could breathe for the first time. That night, flying became something else; his reflections turned forwards, and for the first time he contemplated a future unencumbered by the penance of the past.
When he landed, he felt changed. Not a different person, but as if one of the stars had landed in his chest and ignited something there. He did his best to cultivate it, and though he hadn’t been able to change himself completely, he managed to become something better.
He spent the remainder of the year rebuilding a school he and the country could be proud of, and then quit as soon as the caboose of the Hogwarts Express had disappeared from sight. He sold his old, ratty two-up-two-down in Cokeworth and moved to France, where he took a research position at the famous Dubois Institute. Bought a flat in the nearby village that overlooked the flower-lined rivière.
That Halloween, he took to different skies than those he was used to, revelled in the new earth the moon unveiled for his eyes.
He landed that night feeling better than he had his whole life.
The next several years barely resembled his former life at Hogwarts, though he continued to fly each Halloween, let the broom and the sky touch his soul.
He learned French, made friends with his colleagues, lost his virginity to a woman he met celebrating on Bastille Day. Went on dates after that, with her, and then others.
A few years later, still flying, he found the woman he wanted to marry.
Learned what love truly was.
He met Hermione at the Institute, by happenstance. She’d accepted a position in the Institute’s Charms department only two months before, and to say he was startled to see her bushy hair and familiar face next to him as he stood in line in the cafeteria was an understatement. But instead of recoiling like he expected, she ignored his shocked scowl and smiled at him.
"I was hoping I’d run into you," she said enthusiastically, casting a quick Stabilising Spell on his tray, which was leaning precariously due to his inattention. "I’ve been reading your research into spell decay. It’s fascinating. Do you have plans for lunch? I’d love to speak to you about it, if you don’t mind."
Disarmed by her easy smile, he’d agreed.
Two months later, he’d summoned up the courage to ask her to dinner.
Six months after that, in a mad rush of emotion, he’d asked her to marry him. She said yes...
Ten years later, they are still together. Still in love.
And he is still flying on Halloween. It has long since become a ritual, a way to recharge and reflect. Most people might make resolutions on New Year’s Day, but Severus makes his on a broomstick, flying over an earth illuminated by starlight.
Hermione never questions his need to take to the sky, never tries to invite herself along. Even the few times he’s asked her, feeling guilty for wanting to be alone, she’s declined, saying she’d rather knit by the fire.
Tonight, she kissed him at the back door to their country home, and told him she’d have tea waiting when he got back.
He took off from their garden, letting the sky swallow him up.
He slips along now, gripping his broom. He swoops left, right, meandering along the milky way.
The night is perfect.
Everything is silver and cold. The moon is an old, silver-haired friend, the stars a garden of thistles, sage, and daisies.
The cool air is easy on his lungs, and though there are stars in his eyes, he is thinking about the woman who waits for him back home, how when he began flying so many decades ago, he never would have imagined he could have such a life.
He is so very glad.
When he lands, Hermione is waiting for him, a shawl around her shoulders, its pointed ends knotted over her breast.
He can see the whites of her warm, chocolate eyes as he walks towards her, then the easy smile that started it all.
"Did you have a good flight?" she asks, leaning against the doorframe.
"I was thinking about how happy I am," he says, his voice as smooth as his flight that night.
Hermione’s smile broadens, and he quickly accepts her embrace, returns her languid, loving kiss.
"Come on," she says as she pulls away. "I’ve got a hot cuppa and some biscuits for you."
Smiling, Severus nods, resting his broomstick on the stone wall next to the door. Its miniature sits next to it, its owner upstairs, fast asleep and long tucked into bed.
Hermione loops an arm around Severus’s waist, leaning her weight into him. Severus lays his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. He kisses the top of her head.
They go inside.
Against the wall, the two brooms gleam in the moonlight.