A:N/ A big thank you to my beta, moonrevel, who still hasn't tired of correcting my dreadful mistakes.

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The visit to Hogwarts has been… well, not a joyous affair, but he has gone through worse things than reminiscences with his ex-colleagues. He is grateful when he and Hermione are allowed to leave.

He knows the school grounds like the back of his hand, and his feet lead down the familiar path to the Apparition point with perfect ease.

Holding hands in public has always been too immature for him, but now he finds he doesn’t mind so much. They walk next to each other, perfectly in sync, having matched their strides months ago.

The Apparition is short and painless, and he does not wobble anymore when they land; she has learned not to let go of him too quickly.

The hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley is familiar and a welcome change after three long hours in the dreary walls of Hogwarts. The heat is stifling, and yet he is glad for the long-sleeved shirt he had chosen to wear this morning. What else were cooling charms for?

The Quidditch shop must have some new broom on display, judging by the excited and raucous tumult people of all ages were making. Severus sighs. He would never tell her how much he missed flying.

They pass the pet menagerie next, the soft hooting of an owl the only noise coming from the various creatures, the warm temperatures subduing even the most rambunctious of animals. The smell, however, is particularly noxious on this warm day.

He is surprised not to hear any cooing sounds from Hermione, which she usually makes every time they walk past the pet shop. She has been pestering him to get another cat for a while now, after the demise of her ginger menace. He has always grimaced disdainfully at the mere notion of another feline gracing their cottage.

But he loved her, so what else could he do but indulge her? It wasn’t often that she wished or asked for something, so he could be gracious and let her have a new blasted familiar. Her birthday was coming up, and he has already asked Minerva to accompany him and help him choose a new pest… erm, pet.

Florean Fortesque’s ice cream parlour is heaving, and Severus swears he can smell chocolate ice cream and caramel sauce. It’s mouth-watering, but he walks past the shop, not wanting to embarrass himself by dripping ice cream all over his clothes.

He hears the commotion before she does and stops, trying to suss out what’s happening. It’s coming from behind them, and he is suddenly being pulled abruptly to the side by Hermione.

The action startles him, and he almost loses his footing. Before he has a chance to complain, the shouts reach the couple, and in the next second something hurtles past them, annoyed outcries following the dangerous object.

“Geez, is there a need to come barrelling through the street with a load of pumpkins like that? That maniac almost ran over two children,” Hermione complains, patting his body to make sure he’s alright.

“Just hex the little twit,” Severus advises blandly, the cloying smell of pumpkins still wafting through the air.

“Too late, he’s too far away,” she sighs theatrically, and they march on.

She leads him through the enchanted doorway, tapping the bricks with a rhythm that is uniquely hers.

The noises on the other side of the wall are similar to the wizarding street behind them, yet completely different. Loud children, some excited, some bored. Adults are gossiping, trading, haggling or occasionally talking to themselves.

It’s the sheer amount of people he finds annoying; you can hardly walk without bumping into anyone, or treading on one of those pocket-sized dogs. Even on its busiest days, Diagon Alley was a comfortable place for shopping.

The biggest differences are the noises from the tumultuous traffic on the Muggle side and the distinct smell of too many cars on such a hot summer day. He almost flinches with every honk from a passing car, and he cringes when loud music issues from vehicles with open windows.

It is rather oppressive and nerve-wracking, but he says nothing as she leads him to a taxi. When he hears her ask for the nearest car rental place, he raises an eyebrow and gets a cheerful chuckle in return. Why say anything to dim that good mood? He stays silent.

“Would you rather Apparate?” she asks worriedly.

“You planned this day,” he simply answers. He really doesn’t mind driving. The journey usually gives his brain something to do.

It’s too hot in the taxi and the driver seems to suffer from a bad case of body odour. “You will never guess who I had in the back of me cab last week…” the middle aged man proclaims loudly as soon as they sit down. The chatter does not cease for the entire ride.

“Watch out,” Hermione cries, and the driver slams on the brakes, causing Severus to bang his hand on the headrest in front of him.

The driver just chuckles. “No worries, lass,” he calls, not sounding overly worried or contrite.

Hermione mumbles something unsavoury under her breath, while stroking Severus’ face tenderly. He removes her hand gently. “I’m fine, witch.”

The rest of the ride passes uneventfully, and Severus breathes deeply when they reach their destination.

“More driving,” he says dryly as Hermione gets the keys for the rented car.

“I’m a very sensible driver,” she protests mildly. “It’s not too late to Apparate, you know?”

He can hear the anxiety in her voice. “Have you chosen a cabriolet or a flashy limousine?” he sniffs haughtily, trying to dispel her worries.

xxx

The car is small, but enough for two. Buckled in by her more experienced hands, they are off. From the car, Muggle London isn’t much better, but he can at least pretend not to be a part of it, which never quite worked when he simply walked through it.

He closes his eyes; there is nothing to see anyway. The air con is working great and makes it easy to forget the stifling heat outside, but he wishes for some air, some real air.

His spidery fingers ghost over the many buttons on the console, but he has to admit defeat sooner than he’d like. She does it for him and he sighs in appreciation as the lukewarm wind ruffles his lank hair. His sigh is thanks enough for her, and she chuckles.

He lets his arm poke outside and feels the hot sun on it despite the wind the moving car was creating. He spares a fleeting thought for the anti-sunburn potion that stood dusty and forgotten on one of his shelves at their home.

He lets his hand turn this way and that, letting the wind weave freely through his spread fingers. His head is leaning against the head rest, and he turns his face towards the sun. His face is completely relaxed, no scowl or frown marring his features. It’s as close to a happy grin as he will ever get.

The continued stop and go traffic is quite relaxing. He likes the sounds the motor makes when it slows to a stop and accelerates again. The feeling of being softly pushed into his seat every time the car speeds up again is oddly amusing.

Her driving style is safe and steady, and he is grateful for not being jostled about too much. Nevertheless, he automatically grasps for the handle on the door each time they careen through one of the many roundabouts. It always leaves him a bit dizzy, no matter how careful she is driving.

At a particularly busy junction, the delicious smell of Chinese food reaches his sensitive nose. While he hadn’t been hungry before, his stomach rumbles in anticipation.

He turns to her, but she speaks before he has a chance to pretend to do her a favour by ordering Chinese tonight. She would have seen right through his scheme anyway.

“How about Chinese tonight, Severus?” she asks, and he can hear the smile in her tone.

“Mhh, why not,” he says nonchalantly, not fooling her for a second.

The constant hum of the motor and the gentle rocking brought him dangerously close to sleep. With all his might he tried to fight it, not wanting to nod off like a toddler going on holiday.

Besides, the car is not a good sleeping space; he’s likely to end up with a horrid crick in his neck.

“Just recline the seat,” she tells him, and he isn’t sure whether or not to be grateful for her advice. He looks at her helplessly, and the next second he feels her hand on his, directing him to the adjuster.

He twists the knob and is soon almost flat on his back. No, too vulnerable, even though there are no strangers able to witness him. With a few more twists, he sits more upright again, but comfortable enough for a quick nap.

He closes his eyes and asks for some music. Thankfully, she chooses a calming classic piece. It is quiet enough to be relaxing without keeping him awake. Her hand on his thigh, gently caressing him from knee to groin with repetitive strokes, does the rest and he drifts off.

The car slows down when they reach their destination. The change in noise wakes him up.

“Here we are: Southend-on-Sea,” she says excitedly while he brings his seat back up into a normal position.

“You’ve brought me to a… beach?” he asks, not quite happy with how hopeful he sounds.

“Yes, just in time to see the sunset!” Then she makes a dismayed sound. “That was a stupid remark,” she says, sounding contrite.

He just snorts.

The walk to the, thankfully, not too crowded beach is short, the terrain unknown to both of them, and they walk with care.

He has a hard time concentrating on her guidance; the never before heard whooshing of the incoming waves taking his breath away.

“You should take your shoes off: the sand is warm.”

Reluctantly, he follows her advice. She holds him by the elbow as he takes off his boots.

Feet now naked, she takes his hand again and waits for him to nod for her to proceed. At his sign, she tugs on him to bring him closer to the water, but he stalls. Hermione looks at his face. She fears that he is unhappy or uncomfortable, but that is not the case.

The wizard looks gob-smacked, keeping himself rigid while curling his toes in the soft sand. He lowers his head self-consciously, but cannot stop playing with the sand, relishing the feeling of the small particles seeping between his toes.

After a long moment, he straightens, and without a word she guides him to the water.

“Ready for another new sensation?”

He hums his agreement and is momentarily surprised to feel her lower herself in front of him, her hands sliding down the length of his legs as she goes. It all becomes clear when he feels his trousers being folded up until his shins are completely exposed.

He feels ridiculous, but obediently follows the gentle tug of her hand. He cannot stop from gasping when the first cool waves lap at his feet.

Each new wave caressing his feet makes him sink a little deeper, and soon he begins to feel wobbly and slightly disoriented. She steadies him before he falls.

“It’s a little easier if you keep walking,” she tells him, and they set off for a slow walk along the beach.

His first steps are still hesitant, and he finds it difficult not to follow his instincts and stare futilely at the ground. Once he is confident enough with this entirely new experience, he tugs on her hand, telling her without words that he wants to go in a bit further.

Holding her hand with a tight grip, he ventures deeper into the water, and he can feel drops splashing onto the back of his legs, making the skin there itchy. He goes in further, only stopping when the water reaches his knees, and he feels his trousers getting wet.

His already slow pace gets even more so as he wades through the deep water. The feeling is indescribable, and he has the sudden urge to just lie down in the sea, let the water caress his entire body.

He stops again and just listens to the noises of the sea: even a few gulls screech loudly somewhere from above. He has never been to the seaside before and has only ever seen pictures of beaches. He is trying hard to combine the pictures in his mind with what he feels right now. It is the weirdest sensation.

“Sundown at three o’clock,” she whispers in deference to his peaceful mood.

There are moments where he misses his sight more keenly than usual. This is one of them.

He had always loved sunsets. He had watched so many, ever since his childhood. They had even made an unattractive place like Spinner’s End look a little more bearable.

They had accompanied him through all his years in Hogwarts. He had witnessed some rather spectacular ones.

He had never seen the sun set over the ocean. This is as close as he will ever get.

Blind as he is, he still has some light perception, and the brilliant and bright light of the setting sun still registers on some level. He squeezes her hand, admitting his gratitude to her, and not just for this perfect day she has given him.

xxx

He had enjoyed himself today, and he tells her by folding her tightly into his embrace once they stand on the now cooling sand. He’d be a sulking prat had he hated today’s outing.

He raises both hands, and his fingertips caress every inch of her face. He feels the familiar arch of her nose, her cheekbones, the soft and plump lips, her sharp chin and her soft earlobes. It does not give him an exact picture of her face, merely a vague, general idea of her appearance.

He has seen her grow up, known her since she was eleven years old. And yet he cannot recall her face completely: the only thing he can remember perfectly is the amber colour of her eyes.

It is enough; it is her character that makes her attractive to him. Very attractive. He leans forward and brings his lips to where his fingers rest gently against her lips.

It does not matter that he can’t see anything, that he had lost his eyesight during the final battle. All that matters is her mouth on his and her body pressed against his.

“That was rather enjoyable,” he mumbles into her hair, and his vocal gratitude makes her turn quickly to look at him.

“The kiss?” she asks mischievously, and he rolls his eyes.

“That too,” he grumbles and is well aware that she must be looking at him. She had told him many times how much she loves to look into his eyes. Apparently, they are still as black as ever and completely normal looking, for which he is grateful. He would have hated to add deformed or hideous eyes to the list of his many faults.

Her silent appraisal is not as unwelcome as it has been, and he looks off into the distance, turning his face into the soft breeze. He inhales deeply, the salty air making his mouth water. With a swipe of the tongue he can taste traces of salt on his lips.

“Next time, we should try swimming,” she declares.

He just nods. She will keep her blind bat safe: he knows that.



The End