Chapter Text
This isn't where she was supposed to be, Hermione thought. This wasn't supposed to be happening.
It had happened in fourth period on the first day of school after the holidays. Hermione had spent the night pacing her bedroom, unable to sit still, and her eyes felt grimy with exhaustion all day. Then, in fourth period, in front of a class of dazed looking seventh years who were being shepherded through the British taxation system, it had suddenly occurred to Hermione that she could have an attack. Right here, in front of her students. The thought itself summoned panic to the point that her vision began to darken and she dismissed the class fifteen minutes early to sit in a broom cupboard and cry.
Hermione clutched her head in her hands. She had been forgiven, she reminded herself. But it wasn't enough - she was stuck in the orbit of her attacks, a small satellite in the darkness. Her attacks had a life of their own and she was just a grown woman having a cry in a cupboard.
This wasn't supposed to be happening.
-
Hermione did her headcount twice, making sure all eleven of her third years were accounted for. They were impatient standing in the shadow of the castle, fidgeting their gawky limbs to dispel the chill, puffs of breath fogging around them. They were all wearing their best Muggle clothes, carefully chosen before the holiday break. They had done well. Hermione had taught them well. A flash of pride reached her through the haze of exhaustion.
Professor Snape shouldered the front doors open and came to stand at the back of the group. Hermione had to stuff her hands in her pockets to hide their shaking. She hadn't been sure he would come, though she now realized that was foolish and solipsistic. Severus kept his professional commitments.
"Right, we have eleven minutes until the portkey leaves, so we have to get off the ground quickly. Follow me!"
Severus took his place at the front next to Hermione as they set off. He snuck glances at her often and the fact that she noticed could only mean that he wanted her to notice. Hermione didn't react. She wasn't feeling up to playing his games.
Once they were clear of the wrought iron gates, Hermione gave the students a quick explanation of portkeys for the uninitiated and set them up around the empty beans tin she had pulled out of her purse. By the time she had them suitably arranged, the only open place was between tiny Muriel King and Severus.
"One minute. Everybody hold on," Hermione said, her voice sounding thin. Severus had his eyes on her and she lifted her chin, holding his gaze. But finally, she had to take her place beside him. They were pressed together from their shoulders downwards, standing back to back. Hermione could feel every point of contact like a burn. Then came a sudden jerk, and they were spinning through space.
Hermione stumbled, landing painfully on her ankle, and Severus reached out a hand to steady her. She leaned into the touch before remembering herself. All of her third years were on the ground, giggling, and she ordered them up before passersby took an interest.
They had landed in front of a large shopping complex in Abergavenny. The third years looked around in wonder and apprehension. Even at this early hour, there were more people around than on an average day in Diagon Alley. Davie Milford was watching the automatic glass doors glide open and closed with his mouth gaping.
"You know the rules. Watch out for each other," Hermione said. "Make one financial transaction and have at-"
"Milford, pay attention," Severus snapped.
"-and have at least one conversation with a stranger," Hermione continued serenely. "Be back by noon, or we will leave you behind. Have fun, alright?" The students took off without a backward glance, whispering excitedly. Her mood took a cliff dive towards dread as they disappeared from view.
"Hermione-"
"You left me alone. All break. You were my friend, and you left me alone." He opened his mouth to speak but Hermione cut him off. "And the worst of it was, I felt so powerless. Knowing that I had to wait you out, that if I tried to have a rational, civil conversation with you you'd give me nothing but vitriol."
Hermione turned her back on Severus and stalked over to a fountain that had been shut off for the winter. It had a wide lip around it that Hermione perched on. After a long moment, Severus sat down as well, keeping a careful distance between them.
"I've been reading Notes from the Underground," Severus said. "It's about a foolish, spiteful man who ruins the only good thing in his life."
"I know what it's about. I suppose, in this analogy, I'm the prostitute?"
"Hilarious, Granger." Severus made a show of seeming affronted. He was trying a touch harder than was his wont and it set off a sort of contradictory protectiveness in Hermione. She was angry, yet she wanted to make this easier for him.
"Why did he ruin it?" she asked. Severus looked at her hard. She knew he sensed the conciliation in her tone and was unsure how to respond. She wondered when they had become so attuned to each other's vagaries. Severus played for time, running a finger distractedly along the rough cement of the concrete ledge.
"I should have died in that shack," he said quietly. "I wasn't meant to survive. I wasn't meant for this."
"For what?"
Severus swept a hand out to encompass the day, the shopping center, all of civilian life.
"Oh, Severus. Tough." He blinked at her. "So, you're still alive. You have just about the best problem in the world. You have to learn to deal with it."
Severus continued to run his finger along the lip of the fountain, looking away from her. Impulsively, Hermione reached out a hand to arrest it's motion.
"I can't fix you, you know. And you can't fix me. But I like you. I think I might- and whatever this is between us, I want it. So what do you want? If you have to be alive, what do you want from life? Because we are owed. We are owed a little happiness. And if we aren't, we're going to damn well take it anyway." Hermione realized she was lecturing, and dialed down her tone. "What do you want, Severus?"
How much did Hermione Granger really know about Severus Snape: the teacher, the traitor, the soldier, the spy? She knew that he could be vicious and unkind, that he had spent six years denigrating her in front of her peers. She knew that he had lived his life for so long by the light of a long dead obsession. She knew that he cut his gaze to the right when he was making a joke, that he thought Fyodor Dostoevsky the greatest author who'd ever lived, that he still looked taken aback each time she said something kind. She knew what he was going to say.
"You," he said. "Just you."
Hermione let her breath escape in a rush. "Okay then. That's settled."
"For the record, Granger, I think you'd make an excellent prostitute."
"I do have a good head for business," Hermione mused. Then she laughed, startling them both, and when her sides ached so she was no longer able, she smiled her brightest smile in months. When the sun reached it's zenith it the sky and her students returned, she gave them each five points just because she could (Severus managed to deduct Davie Milford's before they even made it back to the castle).
Over dinner, they were separated by Hagrid and Professor Sinistra, but kept catching each others' eye and smiling a conspiratorial smile. Hermione's hands trembled with a new and infinitely more exciting sort of anxiety.
The next time she found herself in a broom cupboard, she decided, she would go back to Abergavenny, find the nearest phone booth and book herself an appointment with a psychiatrist. Hermione Granger was twenty one years old. She had something messy and real and wonderful with Severus and friends who loved her. She didn't need to be forgiven.
She could damn well forgive herself.