Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

When the war ended I think we were all lost in a way. The Order of the Phoenix members especially had to handle the complete loss and devastation the final battle brought. Not only did I have to stomach the death of friends and the loss of my own parents but I had to come to terms with the knowledge that I let a hero die. The battle of Hogwarts may have been a victory, but my internal struggle had only just begun.

The adrenaline of the war instigated my short-lived relationship with Ronald Weasley. When faced with the realization that I was still alive, my hormones took control of my brain. As illogical as it may sound, that is exactly what happened. I tried for weeks to be his loving, attentive girlfriend. I tried to be what he needed to the detriment of my own sanity.

While attempting to be part of a couple, I began having horrific nightmares. I found myself constantly waking up in a cold sweat after watching Professor Snape die in the Shrieking Shack night after night. I knew something had to change; I needed some peace. Since I knew I couldn’t control my evening torment, I decided to end my ill-conceived pairing with Ron. I didn’t expect it to be easy, but it turned out to be more difficult than I had planned for.

I met Ron at the Burrow and asked him if we could take a walk through Ottery St. Catchpole’s countryside. It was honestly the best solution when you think about it. No nosey family members or passers-by trying to hear some juicy gossip. I was so relieved when he readily agreed to my request.

When we had travelled a decent distance from the house I knew it was time. I stopped walking along the gravel path we were on and reached out my hand to his. Taking a deep breath, I looked up to the sky, hoping for some kind support from the bright sun and summer breeze. After I collected the last of my thoughts, I turned to Ron and began.

“Ron, I… I can’t do this anymore.”

“Wh—what do you mean, Hermione?”

“I care for you, very deeply, but I can’t be your girlfriend anymore… There’s too much going on, too much I have to process.”

He was trying so hard not to be angry with me. I could see the color creeping up along his neck into his ears which always told me when his irritation was reaching a fever pitch. I couldn’t let his emotions stop me, so I pressed on.

“I’m sorry, Ron. Honestly, I know you don’t need this on top of everything else you’re going through… But I can’t keep pretending that everything is normal and wonderful when it’s not, and it’s killing me,” I pleaded, hoping it would dissolve some of his anger.

“What is upsetting you so much? Is it something I can do or...?” he said in a quiet yet hopeful way.

I shook my head while the tears began to fall from my eyes.

“No, Ron, there’s nothing you can do. This is something I have to do on my own. I have to find my own way through my disjointed feelings. I know it doesn’t make sense now, and I don’t even know what exactly I need to accomplish yet. But, I know I need to do it alone. I’m sorry.”

“It sounds like you’ve made your decision then,” he ground out.

“Yes, I have. There isn’t anything you can say or do to change it…”

“Is it someone else?”

“Bloody hell, Ronald! No, there’s no one else! My parents think they never had a daughter, and I will never see them again. I watched way too many people die, and I never finished my seventh year at Hogwarts. I have a lot I need to deal with, and I don’t need a romantic relationship complicating my other problems right now!”

“Fine! Deal with your issues! I can’t promise I’ll still be around after you’ve found yourself or whatever it is that you’re talking about!”

I looked up at him, drained completely because of his petulant attitude and shook my head. But before I could respond to his tirade, he turned on the spot and Disapparated to only Merlin knew where.

I spent a lot of time following my break-up considering all of my emotional and academic issues. The nightmares about Professor Snape didn’t get any easier; if anything they became even more difficult to handle.

As the days turned into months, I couldn’t shake the unfairness of it all. I found myself constantly thinking of the man who haunted my dreams. The man who would stare at me with accusing eyes as the last of his life force drained away. He would condemn me each night for my failure. I had finally failed at something in such an utterly spectacular fashion that I began to feel like I would never be able to recover.

Finally, the solution to most of my problems came to me. One cold October morning, after waking up screaming once more, I devised a plan. This plan would not only remedy my lack of career path but would more than likely solve the problem of my night terrors as well. I swore to myself that morning that I wouldn’t let Severus Snape’s death be in vain.

It only took two weeks to set my plan in motion. When the final owl arrived, I began packing my things.

“Hermione, why do you have to move to Germany? I just don’t understand.” Ron Weasley whined from the doorway of my flat.

“Ronald, we’ve been through this. I’ve been accepted to apprentice with Mr. Knaus in Germany. I need to go to him for this education; it doesn’t work the other way around!” Frustrated, I snapped my wand towards the row of packed boxes in the hall to close and seal them for travel.

“I just thought… you know… that after you had your little break that we could have something special…”

“I’m sorry, Ron, but you need to move on. We broke up months ago, and this is just something I need to do.”

“But you never even liked Potions! I just don’t understand why you’ve all of a sudden decided that this is what you want to do for the rest of your life! Besides, you’ve got enough knowledge in the subject to teach the subject if that’s what you really want to do… But I remember how angry you were with the greasy git’s textbook. You—”

In an instant I had the tip of my wand pressed into his throat.

“Call Professor Snape that again, Ronald, and you will be regretting it for a long time,” I seethed. “Show some respect! That man gave his life so we could still be here today. I may not have had the aptitude for Potions that he had, but I can learn anything. Plus, Mr. Knaus believes I have the potential. So, I’m moving to Germany, and I will learn everything about the subtle art of potion making. There will be no further discussion regarding this topic, understand me?”

“Yes, perfectly.”

I could hear the animosity in his voice, but honestly didn’t care. No one could understand my quest to honor Professor Snape’s memory. It made me feel better though. I no longer felt lost in my anger and depression regarding what happened to him. I needed to gain the knowledge that he always tried to impart. I needed to be looked to as the foremost Potions maker in the country and proudly state that Severus Snape had been my inspiration.

Five years later, after completing my apprenticeship, I heard from Professor McGonagall. The time had arrived for me to return home and accept the position I had only dreamed of acquiring. Potion making with Mr. Knaus ended up being the cure for my nightmares, at least for the most part.

Standing in the Headmistress’s office, I gazed upon the rows and rows of painted former heads of Hogwarts. As a Muggle-born, I’ve always been fascinated by the concept of moving portraits. While I waited for Minerva to finish her paperwork, I watched the paintings, all of them busy with their individual pursuits and pretending not to notice me.

When my eyes fell upon the man who, by this school’s standards is considered to be the last Hogwarts Headmaster, I felt my hands immediately turn to fists. My jaw clenched as I stared into the twinkling blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore.

I had so many issues with this portrait. The first of which was the fact that Albus wasn’t the last Headmaster. Professor Snape deserved a damn portrait in this office for all that he had suffered in this position. I knew I wasn’t the only one who felt that way; Harry and I had had several discussions on this very subject. But, standing there facing the cold reality simply made my blood boil.

Next, I thought about how Dumbledore set the poor man up for desolation and torture and ultimately sent him to his death. I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to take all my anger and frustration out on that painting for his hand in the wasted life and potential that was Severus Snape’s existence. Before I could even formulate a scathing remark for the painted Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall looked up from her desk and invited me to have a seat.

“I apologize for keeping you waiting, Hermione. Thank you so much for accepting my offer,” Professor McGonagall said with a smile.

Just seeing my very stern, former head of house smile eased some of the tension running through my veins.

“It’s not a problem, Headmistress. I’m sure you are very busy. I just want to thank you again for offering me the position here…” I said calmly in response.

“Please, Hermione, you’re a staff member now. It is common practice for us to use first names when addressing each other.” She said this with another warm smile, and I simply nodded in return.

“Now, you obviously already know the location of your classroom and office. The entrance to your personal quarters can be accessed through your office. There will be a bare wall behind your desk which is heavily warded.”

She handed me a sheet a parchment which had a list of the wards and their removal incantations on it. I perused the information as she continued.

“You may key the wards to you and add to them as you see fit. You’ll have six weeks until the start of term, but I would like to see your lesson plans in four. The meal times have not changed since you were a student, and I would appreciate seeing you present for at least one per day. Office hours should be listed on your door should any students need to see you regarding their work.”

I looked up when she finished. “That sounds perfectly reasonable. I’ll make sure I get that information to you as soon as possible.”

She and I exchanged a few more pleasantries, but then my anxiousness to go to my new classroom got the better of me. I quickly made my way through the corridors and down to the dungeons. I took a deep breath before opening the heavy wooden door that lead to the Potions classroom.

I let the door hit the wall with the familiar, comforting slam that it used to have in my past. For as nerve-wracking as it used to be, hearing that sound gave me the feeling that I was home.

The weeks leading to the start of term flew by. I spent most of my time immersed in organizing my new living space and creating lesson plans. By the time my first day of lessons ended, I felt completely exhausted.

I packed up my things and walked the short distance to my office. There I fell, not too gracefully, into my squishy leather desk chair. I leaned my elbows against the age-worn mahogany surface of my desk and began rubbing my temples. I could tell right away my impending headache would be of epic proportions.

I really need to talk to Minerva about the torture session that is first-year Gryffindors and Slytherins together in the same room… on the first day of lessons no less! I thought, irritated as I continued to rub my temples.

I swear it’s a wonder they know which side of a cauldron is up!

Dropping all pretense of attempting to ease my headache, I let my head fall to the desktop. Just before my forehead hit the wood, I uttered the only phrase which summed up how I felt at the time.

“Bloody. Dunderheads.”

I heard a quiet click after my head made contact with the desk. Wary of what could have made the sound, I opened my eyes slightly and looked in the direction from which the noise had come. What I found startled me so much I bolted upright and stared at the hidden compartment of my desk that had opened for me.

The once smooth mahogany finish now had an eight by twelve seam cut into its surface. Instinctively, I reached out to touch the panel and felt the wood give a little as if held together by a spring clasp. I lifted the cut section to reveal a tattered, leather bound book. After removing the book and closing the lid of the compartment, the desk reverted to its originally smooth surface.

Shrugging, I settled myself comfortably back into my desk chair to peruse my hidden treasure. The brown leather simply proclaimed JOURNAL on the front cover. I turned the book over in my hands a few times, examining it for any markings or indicators of who it had once belonged to. When that proved fruitless, I cracked open the front cover.

I gasped as I read the name written underneath the obligatory “This Journal Belongs To” stamp.

Severus Snape