Addicted to You

XXVI

English words to her grandma were like a set of rules imposed upon women by the male dominated society. So whenever she used to read out a poem to her, she used to look deep into her eyes, because poetry to her, was written in two languages- either happiness or sadness.

Her grandma had this habit of counting lost homes and not stars. She used to reminisce her home, her husband, who came back in a box from the war. And she stood in front of his pyre, pretending it to be a giant star, fallen on earth.

They aren't hurling bombs anymore, but our memories and the English Channel is red with our promises.

This isn't war. But this is more devastating. This is love.

Because, said her grandma, in war you lose your home once. In love, you remain homeless forever.

***************************

As the night progressed, the shower took a more violent turn, serpentine threads of lightning split the sky moments before distant rumbles of thunder echoed, followed by a gust of wind, making Hermione shake like a leaf. An unnerving feeling struck her, a coldness permeating through the skin- ice cold- as if the rain outside had seeped in somehow. Something was coming. Something dragging its feet along the grass, muddy slushes as it disturbed the wetness of the ground. There was definitely something, dripping water off of its furry coat as it searched for her in the dark.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard a pounding on the wood and despite the palpitating fear in her heart, she found herself rushing to answer the door. Her mouth remained open in shock and her heart might have stopped beating altogether with this sudden and unexpected arrival. It was Snape.

He was leaning on the doorframe, completely drenched and his breathing laboured from the exhaustion of searching for her madly. His dark eyes were blazing as his gaze met hers and his face conveyed the tempestuous emotions he was undergoing, just like the raging storm outside. She couldn't control herself when his lips parted as he whispered her name in an impassioned yearning.

"Hermione..."

She grabbed hold of his lapels and pulled him towards her, smashing their lips together. She was getting wet from the water dripping off of him but she didn't mind- she pressed him to herself and kissed him senselessly, letting him coil his hands around her waist. He was cold but his mouth was hot and demanding and oh so sweet and she kept her eyes shut tight, welcoming him and savouring every sensation that he aroused in her, with all her heart.

Hermione opened her eyes again and found herself groping at only air; the foolish smile got erased off her face as she saw that there was no one in front of her. She was still at the Weasleys, standing in front of an open window and reminiscing about that first encounter with Snape. She wished she hadn't opened her eyes again, for in that world she could still feel him. She touched her face, her lips that were still wet but she didn't know if it was from the tears that she was shedding or the rain. 

***************************

After years of isolation, finally finding a place to call home, a place to stay safe, Snape found himself to be more lonely than he had ever been. Because he had learned to care- he learned to love and he learned to miss.

He felt pathetic, to be sitting in front of the fire with a glass of whiskey, the empty house ridiculing him as he wallowed in his sorrows.

He loved silences. He loved the dark and quiet because that's when his mind was free. That's when he had conversations with himself. But lately he had started hating them. Because he missed her, missed the conversations they had if she was around. Because what used to be her voice curbing his fears, when she wasn't there, was just an empty hollow. And what followed was a deafening silence.