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"What does Weasley say of the time you spend here?" Severus asks, one more time. Every time.
Hermione bites her lip sinking her teeth too hard into her flesh, shrugs as she lowers her eyes - big, dark, sunlit like puddles of golden honey - reading another line from her book.
He likes to keep silent, getting used to having someone around little by little. Life goes by slowly on the hospital bed. Someone visits him sometimes. Often, actually.
Granger - because he still hasn't gotten used to calling her by first name, and he's probably never going to be able to whisper her name without feeling… dirty and old.
Then there's Minerva, and he sees the remorse in her eyes, deep and unforgivable, no matter how many times he tells her there's really nothing to forgive - she couldn't have known about him.
Potter came twice: once with the Weasleys. That day he was silent, he let Molly and Arthur come forward. Severus listened to their words, their apologies, acquittals, forgiveness, understanding, and in the end he was only able to look at George: the ear that he had scarred and the other missing half of his soul, lost to them all. His gaze dropped to the faded mark burned on his skin and a wave of shame washed over him. When they left, he threw up.
Then, Potter came alone. "Kingsley knows what's necessary" - he explained to him. He placed the vial of memories on the hospital's white bedside table and looked him in the eye, inflicting another wound on what was left of his soul. "These belong to you, it's not up to me to decide what to do with them." And he asked for nothing else, no other explanation, no pity in his gaze, no vain and depressing compassion. Suddenly Harry no longer looked like James. Nor Lily, to tell the truth. He was... just Harry. It had been like breathing a sigh of relief.
Anyway, Hermione is the only one who can get close to him without making him want to die - this time for real. She greets him, makes sure the Healers treat his wounds properly, she sits and reads for a while. She takes his hand, often. And he takes hers. It's a strange feeling to be touched like this and not be afraid of it. Sometimes he is so focused on the contours of her hands - her tense tendons, her long fingers, her smooth white skin, some white scars that run through her like a faint constellation - that he doesn't notice the passing of time.
"What does Weasley say of the time you spend here?" Severus asks her again.
And Hermione knows that she is forced to answer, every time. She looks up from the book, keeping one hand flat on the rough page and the other still intertwined with his. It feels somehow sinful, for some reason, that he asks her this as he strokes the back of her hand with his thumb. Things have been like this for a month, between the two of them. They don't talk about important things; Severus has two black halos under his eyelids, she can see the specter of nightmares that haunt him at night, when what remains of the poison burns more into the flesh of his neck. Hermione still wakes up bleeding from the scars that open between the sheets, the healing paste isn't enough to cure them. It takes time. Even to talk, it takes time. But touching is enough for now.
His hands are warm, rough like the pages of books. Strong. The hands of a man. Safe.
"Ron has more important things to think about now. Besides, it's none of his business."
It's not true. It's a lie. Ronald hates coming to Grimmauld Place more or less every afternoon and never finding her there for him. Harry tries to reason with him, but Ron doesn't understand. He has expectations, he projects them on her as if they had always belonged to each other, as if the fate of their union had already been drawn, a sword of Damocles caressing her neck ready to make her capitulate; Hermione has no intention of making any other decisions. She is tired. Severus doesn't ask her to make choices.
He laughs. There is no joy in his bitter smirk, his black eyes try to prick the cold armor she is building, to tear down the wall before it is too high to climb. He brings her hand to his lips, kisses her lightly with the affection of an old friend who knows her better than anyone else. Perhaps, in a sense, this is really the case.
"You're a bad liar, Granger."
"Yeah well, if you know it's a lie then why do you keep asking?"
He grins. "I like to see you improve. I almost believed you today."
- * - * - * -
Ron thinks it's nonsense. Harry is heartbroken, because he knows that without her it will make a little less sense. It has always been the three of them, together. A family. And now, suddenly, they aren't anymore. Hermione fills the trunk without a doubt: her place's at Hogwarts. For a while longer, if nothing else.
Because she must graduate.
Because Hogwarts is their home.
Because she doesn't want Ginny to go back there all alone.
Definitely, not because Severus will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year. Not for that. Nope.
In her luggage there's room for a few clothes - only those strictly necessary. Many books, years of notes, and all those objects that keep her attached to reality and memories: photos, birthday cards, a Christmas card signed by her parents, one of old Crookshanks' toys, Dumbledore's book. Hermione closes the trunk with a thud and goes down the stairs, at dawn on the last day of summer. Either way, she wasn't going to sleep.
Severus isn't sure he's fine with his new position at Hogwarts, but his name has been cleaned up and being a free man also means he needs to work. And no one - no one - is going to let him work; he doesn't want to spend the rest of his life fighting against the judgments of the people in the Ministry. He is tired, exhausted. At Hogwarts, at least, they don't ask questions, even though escaping the compassion in their gazes is impossible.
The eighth grade students arrive with a portkey, they are spared the chaos of platforms 9 and ¾, the looks of the curious, the whispers and the questions. They will have separate rooms, because many of them are covered in scars that they shouldn't have to explain to their housemates, because many of them scream at night - terrified of nightmares and memories - while others suffer from insomnia, because some of them would be victims of judgment and malice from their schoolmates and are safer alone.
Severus is glad to be there, in front of the door; there is no sign of hostility in his gaze. They are adults. Severus was younger than them when Voldemort marked him. He's glad to be there, really.
Because they were humble enough to decide to continue studying to get their N.E.W.T.
Because despite the horrors perpetrated in that school, Hogwarts will always be their home.
Because here they won't feel so alone, perhaps.
Definitely not because Hermione is there, in front of him, and she imperceptibly hurried her pace when she saw him, and she stopped closer than she was supposed to but he didn't do anything to push her away.
Snape accompanies Hermione last. "Your room is behind Joan of Arc" he tells her, showing her the entrance behind the painting. "The mirror isn't enchanted, as you requested. My office is across the hall in case you need assistance."
There are some unspoken words, Hermione can hear them: if you need me, you know where to find me. It's like lifting a boulder off her shoulders.
She inhales. There is no longer any smell of blood in the air of Hogwarts, only dust and a handful of pollen. There is no one in the corridor. She takes his hand, without looking at him and doesn't notice how his black eyes rain down on her, hypnotized, surprised, astonished. Hermione just needs to know he's alive, he's real, that his hands are warm, strong, safe. The hands of a man. "I don't know if I'm ready to do it - to come back here and stay here, I mean."
Severus sighs. "None of you are. Some of you never will be."
Again, unspoken words. Hermione looks at him and suddenly gravity is no longer holding her to the ground, his hand is. "I'm so glad you're here, professor."
"Severus, when we aren't in class."
Severus. Hermione savors the sound of his name between her lips. It's new. She likes it. "I'm glad you're here with me, Severus."
- * - * - * -
Ginevra Weasley bangs her fists against the wall that collapsed on her brother, the same wall that was rebuilt and on which a gilded plaque was fixed, engraved with Fred's name and the date of his death. She cries, she bangs her fists, sometimes she bangs her forehead, until it bleeds. It isn't even the first time the walls of Hogwarts have been soiled with blood because of her.
Neville Longbottom has a rage inside he can't quench. He fights every now and then, he can't stand it when the older students take it out on the first years just to laugh. He broke the noses of three students. Houses make no difference, two of them were Gryffindors and will spend a week in the infirmary because of him. Minerva tries to make him think in the principal's office, but he doesn't answer and cries, cries, cries even when she hugs him.
Luna doesn't like what Neville does, things don't work out between them. Perhaps also because Luna speaks little, less and less every day. Her eyes drift away to other worlds during class, the professors remind her that she needs to pay attention, but she nods and keeps not to answer. Ginny hears her talking to herself. Seems that the school is still full of nargles. However, Luna no longer attempts to chase them away.
Dean Thomas washes his hands at least seven times a day, because those ink stains are as black as the blood that trickled through his fingers as he crawled to safety during the Battle. Sometimes he arrives late for class because his stains don't go away and he starts screaming in frustration.
Draco is always alone. Even at the Slytherin table no one talks to him and he always sits in the same corner by the door, to avoid the glances and escape first when dinner is over. Nobody sees him in the corridors. He is more elusive than ghosts.
Hermione reads. She reads, reads, reads. Even during meals, even between breaks, even when someone speaks to her and she responds distractedly.
At the end of September Snape leaves the table during dinner, not saying anything. He walks towards the Gryffindor table with a brisk and decisive step, no one asks questions or is surprised. Hermione only looks up when she smells the scent of his aftershave, he looks annoyed. His hand slams hard on the book and he snatches it from her hands, squeezing it under his arm.
"Eat" he hisses.
It's an order. Hermione obeys.
- * - * - * -
Severus no longer wears those clothes. It's still hot in Hogwarts. During the first lesson he shows up with his white shirt rolled up over his arms, his faded Black Mark no longer hidden. There are barely a dozen students in his eighth grade class and they don't have much to learn about Defense Against the Dark Arts anymore. Perhaps, not even about Dark Arts themselves. When they all sit down, there is no need for introductions. They all know why they are there.
"I will ask you questions, and you will raise your hand to answer. How many of you feel the need to perfect the ability to cast non-verbal spells?"
Nobody raises their hand. They all fought in the Battle of Hogwarts, they all survived. They're skilled enough.
"How many of you don't know the Expecto Patronum spell?"
Nobody raises their hand. Draco blushes with shame when Severus looks at him: he knows the charm, but is unable to cast it. None of his memories is happy enough to evoke a patronus.
"How many of you know how to use Protean Charm effectively?" Hermione raises her hand. Finally. "Very well. Miss Granger, explain to the class what it is and how it is practiced."
Hermione smiles, her heart for a moment starts beating in her chest as strong and cheerful as it did so long ago. She starts talking, no one calls her bookworm this time.
- * - * - * -
"Slughorn is an idiot."
Severus almost spits out the water he's drinking at the end of yet another lesson. Hermione waited for the other students to leave the classroom before approaching the desk. She almost always does. "Where's the respect gone?"
"You know I'm right. You rewrote the book when you were studying at Hogwarts."
"True, but he's still a professor."
"Right. Professor Slughorn is an idiot."
Severus capitulates and grins. "My, Miss Granger. And I thought you were incapable of insulting a teacher." Hermione snorts, shakes her head, and her brown curls swing like a mane. Little lioness. Severus continues to look at her, raises an eyebrow. He already knows what she wants to ask him, but he'll make her spit every word out. Still very much Slytherin, thank you. "I don't see how I can be of assistance, I teach Defense Against the Dark Arts."
Hermione pokes her tongue out - he frowns at her as she laughs. "As if you weren't the best potionist in the history of magic. Hell, you are probably the most powerful wizard in the whole Wizarding World." Severus wishes he didn't feel so flattered, but those words come from her. Hermione. Not the clumsy little girl lost in the pages of school books, not the pedantic little Gryffindor eager for approval, not a stranger. That's his Hermione. She grins - and blessed Salazar, if that grin isn't the same as his! Another thing she learned from him. "You have deceived the most powerful dark wizard in the world, Severus. It's a whole other level of prowess."
He smiles complacently, opens a desk drawer and pulls out his old Potions notes. "For the record, you're flattering me to buy my favors, aren't you?"
Hermione nods shamelessly. "And it's working."
Damn me, it's working. He hands her the sheets. "If for any reason I see you lending it to someone, I swear I'll have you expelled."
She almost smiles.
- * - * - * -
From Molly and Arthur Weasley
The Burrow
To Hermione Granger
Hogwarts - School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
December 22, 1998
Dear Hermione,
Ronald told us your situation. Know that you have our unconditional love. You are like a daughter to us and we know how difficult it is to lose someone dear. You are a brave young woman and we will be happy to have you for Christmas.
With love,
Weasley family
Hermione continues to cry, tear-wet cheeks against his chest as he strokes her hair with one hand and rereads the letter with the other - which had arrived that night, and she hadn't stopped despairing since and he he took her hand and made her sit on his sofa, and instead of running away she clung to him, squeezing him so tightly that she took his breath away.
"This is no pity, Hermione. They care about you."
Hermione shakes her head, sniffles and sighs. Her voice is broken. "I - I don't want to go! I want my parents, Severus. My mom and dad, but they aren't there and they don't even remember that I exist! And I - I - I don't want to be with Ronald! He still holds a grudge because I broke up with him! I'm tired! I'm so tired! They said it was all over, but it's not all over, it will never be over!"
Severus drops the letter to the floor and hugs Hermione, wraps his arms around her shoulders as she shrinks in his warm embrace. Strong. Safe. He knows what is happening. Months went by, in the end she too fell apart and now she needs to talk, to throw up all those unspoken words, all the anger bottled up in an attempt to forget. Hermione cries in his hands as she tells him everything, without shame or hesitation. She tells him how cold and hungry she was while looking for the Hocrux, how Ron had left them alone, the torture of Bellatrix Lestrange, the terror of being raped on the floor of the Malfoy Manor. Severus doesn't realize he is crying until Hermione shows him the scar on her arm and he brushes it with his thumb as she sucks in a breath, goosebumps right through her skin, right there where he is touching her.
"Will you ever forgive me?" he just whispers.
She settles into her touch. "It's not your fault, Severus." His name on her lips is right, it tastes like home.
"I know you can never forget, Hermione" he breathes. Severus hugs her against his chest again because he can't bear to look into her eyes as she repeats once again that he has nothing to feel guilty about, that he is the bravest man she has ever known, that he saved her life more times than she saved his. "I know you can never forget, but it will get easier if you can forgive. And when you forgive others, it becomes easier to forgive yourself." He holds back the tears one more time as his heart opens, softly, and it's painful to hear it beating in his chest again as he feels her hesitate, undecided whether or not to kiss his shoulder, as her lips - swollen and wet with tears - caress his shirt.
Hermione closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, a wave of calm embraces her as he continues to cradle her in his arms. "You make me forget, Severus." He holds her tighter, she listens to his heartbeat. It beats harder and harder. Faster and faster. "Can I spend Christmas with you?"
Severus inhales. The temptation to say yes is strong. "You should spend Christmas with the people you love, Hermione."
She looks up, kills him with those huge, kind eyes. "What makes you think you're not one of them, Severus?"
He has no words. It is perhaps the first time in his life he would like to have the strength to destroy something so beautiful, but he finds himself unable to do so. It's not right. Hermione shouldn't want to spend her time with Severus Snape's remaining wreck, yet he can't deny himself her company. Her smiles, her irreverent comments, those tremendous, frizzy curls scattered across his chest, her books. And for the umpteenth time, Severus belongs to someone. Only, this time it doesn't hurt that much - yet. "Will you stop nagging me if I say yes?"
Hermione smiles, she softly kisses his cheek and Severus feels he is about to pass out. Or have a heart attack. Or both. Maybe he's already dead and all this is some kind of mirage. Yet her lips are soft on his pale cheek. She wishes him goodnight and exits his living room, returning to her room.
Severus repeats that moment in his mind until the first glow of dawn.
- * - * - * -
At Christmas, they read all afternoon, sitting on the sofa in front of the fireplace in Severus' living room. Towards evening, when the sky is darker than ever and it begins to snow, he extends his arm on the headboard of the sofa. Hermione slowly slips into the hollow between his shoulder and his chest and he wants to tell her to get up, but she is asleep. A young, beautiful, brilliant woman sleeping pleasantly, snuggled up to him like a kitten in love. Is it a joke? Is it even real?
He tries to move her, but she mumbles something - nooo, I'm sleepy - she slips an arm across his chest and keeps breathing so slowly; his hand gives up and rests on the mane of dark curls, combing them between his fingers.
Hermione purrs until dinner time.
It is the best Christmas of the last twenty years. Perhaps, it is the best of all the thirty-eight of his life.
- * - * - * -
When you forgive others, it becomes easier to forgive yourself.
Hermione often thinks about those words, engraved in her memory. There are so many things she feels guilty about: Ron's silence after refusing the invitation, the erased memory of her parents, Tonks, Remus, Fred, and all those deaths they couldn't avoid.
She looks up at the table across the room.
Slytherins are selective, suspicious, cautious. None of them like to get in the way of eighth grade students.
Draco is always alone. He's been alone for months.
This is the first time she really looks at him; his face is pale, exhausted. He twists and turns the soup with the spoon as if he wants to drown in it and continues not to eat. He placed a stack of books this high beside, like a wall between him and the other students. And then Hermione realizes that it must be hard for him too, to come to terms with the choices he never had.
"Where are you going?" Ginny exclaims in surprise as Hermione stands up holding the plate and silverware in her hand. The students begin to turn as she walks through the Great Hall.
Draco only looks at her when she is standing next to him.
It is like approaching a dog that is used to being beaten; he rolls his eyes and looks... terrified. It breaks her heart, it's horrible. She hated him for so long, and now it doesn't seem to make any sense anymore. She sits to his left, slowly and steady. Her eyes smile imperceptibly.
"I forgive you, Draco. Can I eat with you today?"
He doesn't answer, just nods and smiles as he lowers his gaze to hide the tears.
It feels good, to forgive.
- * - * - * -
In April it stops raining, the sun returns.
Ginevra Weasley spends her weekends in Hogsmeade with some younger students, everyone wants to see her play Quidditch, Gryffindors will win the season thanks to her. When she walks in front of Fred's wall she pats and smiles. "I miss you, Freddy." She wipes away a tear and goes back outside, with her friends.
Neville Longbottom has decided to stay after the N.E.W.T. as assistant of Herbology. He repeats that it is the best thing that has ever happened to him. He takes care of the madrakes and this time he wears the ear flaps nicely and shows the sophomores how to do it, when Professor Sprout asks for his help. Everyone loves him.
Luna Lovegood promised him she will publish his new Herbology articles on The Quibbler, and that she will never accept his dates again, but that they will always remain the best of friends and that's enough.
Draco Malfoy is no longer so alone. Some Slytherins looks slightly disgusted when they see him walking down the corridors next to Hermione Granger. But both of them are gifted, competitive, ruthless: the habit of teasing each other sometimes comes back to the surface, but he doesn't use that word anymore. They sit side by side for lunch, often. Hermione always looks up at the professors' table and smiles at Snape, who for a moment he almost returns.
"So" Draco comments, sinking his teeth into the roast beef, "What's the deal between you and Snape?"
Hermione snaps, her eyes darting at him, wide and alarmed. "Me and Snape? What about me and Professor Snape?"
He shrugs. "You know, the smiles, him letting you talk in class, you stopping after lesson to chat with him..." Hermione blushes and hides her face in her curls as she tries to explain that it's just a simple friendship. But Draco is insightful. It's something she has learned by now. He laughs. "Fuck, you have a crush on him!"
"I don't have a crush on him!"
"Ah - ah, keep telling you that, Granger." Hermione takes a deep breath, he doesn't stop teasing her. "And tell me, does he reciprocate?"
"Draco!" she exclaims, punching him on the shoulder. "He is a professor! He isn't allowed!"
He laughs. "I don't think he gives a damn about what's allowed anymore."
And Hermione knows that Draco is telling the truth, because he too is tired of the judgments of others and maybe that's why the two of them, against all odds, are becoming friends. And perhaps for this very reason he is the right person to confide in.
"It's not... It's not a crush. We're no longer children. I - I'm in love with him." Draco is silent, swallows and says nothing. "Sometimes I spend the night with him." He spits out the pumpkin juice so hard that someone turns and looks at him strangely, Hermione is red. "Not in that sense! We like to read! And with him I feel... safe."
Pause. Breath. "And I slept on his sofa..." Another break. Draco doesn't speak, her cheeks are still burning. "...and we cuddled, every now and then."
He exhales and shakes his head, without looking at her. "Well... holy shit." He doesn't seem surprised, his fork pierces the meat again and tears off another shred to chew on.
"Is that all? Holy shit?"
"What can I say?" he exclaims, but Hermione shrugs, seeks his opinion. Why doesn't he answer? Only after another handful of seconds does he swallow and really looks at her. "That is, you want to tell me" he replies "that the most elusive man in the world, the wizard who deceived the Dark Lord and the greatest spy in the history of humanity cuddles you in the evening on his sofa while you read together, he makes you sleep by his side, and you still wonder if your feelings are unrequited? Fuck, and they said you're the brightest witch of your age!"
- * - * - * -
"I must go." Hermione gets off the sofa. She spent the last hour lying down, her head on his thigh as he stroked her hair with one hand and continued leafing through the book with the other.
"Already? Why this haste?" he looks almost disappointed.
She smiles. "I have to study, exams are in a few days."
"We both know you are already perfectly prepared."
"I've barely opened the Herbology book, Neville will help me a little." With these last words, she smiles at him, kneeling on the sofa next to him as she leans forward. Hermione kisses his cheek, Severus tilts his face a little towards her and for a moment he loses her breath. Her lips are soft. "See you tomorrow" she breathes softly into his ear.
And just as she has arrived, she leaves. When Hermione closes the door behind her, Severus exhales, runs a hand through his hair and swears. He is nearly forty and a kiss on his cheek makes him hard as marble. He is hopeless.
Pathetic, he thinks.
Hermione is studying for the N.E.W.T. and soon her life will take her away from there; he can almost imagine her, a young adult Miss Granger ready to revolutionize the Wizarding World, perhaps becoming a member of the Wizengamot, perhaps even Minister of Magic. Or maybe, after everything she has seen here, she will want to travel far, reach the other end of the world, discover places she never knew existed. Everywhere, but not with him. Not trapped by that wreck of a man he is. And how to blame her? Hermione shines with her own light. He is nearly forty.
Severus hates himself because he wants to hate her, and he can't. It would be easier, if suddenly the idea of breaking her heart hadn't become so unbearable. He will let her go, he will watch her go. Maybe he'll get her letters, but he won't reply. He'll shake her hand if he ever meets her again, but he'll never tell her how disarming her beauty is, how exciting her bright mind is, how soft her wild curls actually are, how much he wants to taste her lips even if just for a moment, just for once.
Maybe, the day she leaves Hogwarts, he might even think about leaving Britain forever. After all, he has nothing left.
- * - * - * -
May 28, 1999
Results of the N.E.W.T. exams
Ministry of Magic
Hermione Jean Granger
Charms - Outstanding
Defense Against the Dark Arts - Outstanding
Herbology - Outstanding
Potions - Outstanding
Transfiguration - Outstanding
Arithmancy - Outstanding
Ancient Runes - Outstanding
Hermione grips the parchment in her fingers as she runs down the hall, making it to the top of the stairs. It is a Saturday afternoon in late May, the sun shines warm on the summer Scotland and everyone is out, in Hogsmeade or on the Quidditch pitch, in the courtyards of Hogwarts or strolling along the Black Lake. The school is deserted. Only the professors are left, and Severus isn't patrolling the wizarding village today.
Hermione is out of breath, red cheeks and heart beating in her chest as if ready to explode. For days she has been rehearsing and retrying the speech in front of the mirror, she knows what to say, and yet...
Severus is sitting behind the desk, in the Defense Against the Dark Arts office, when he hears the classroom door open and immediately slam shut; he grabs his wand and rushes out - it's a Pavlovian response.
But there's only Hermione. And she looks shocked. Or rather, not shocked... anxious, agitated, excited. She lifts the parchment.
"The exams are over" she attests. No comments on the extraordinary results, no boasting, no celebration. Her eyes are large, bright, languid. Amber doe eyes. It's ironic, in a way. She licks her lips and he follows the outline of her tongue to the edge of her mouth - pink like cherry petals.
His heart begins to drum, she leaves the paper on a desk, absently. Her eyes undress him, her cheeks still burn.
Merlin, save me.
Hermione has prepared a whole speech and for the first time she can say that she has absolutely forgotten every word of what she wrote. Severus is there, in front of her, his wand lowers slowly as she gets drunk at that sight: he's delightful. The white shirt adheres to his chest, to his slender but taut, hardened body, the defined muscles of his arms. She wants to climb on him. She wants to tear off his shirt, caress his scars, erase them with his kisses.
"You are no longer my professor, and I am no longer your student" she whispers again, she lets the awareness of those words sink into his thoughts.
I'm dead. No, I'm dying now. Oh God. Fuck. God. Hermione steps forward and Severus can't move or speak... and it's the first time in twenty years that he feels so incapable, in front of a woman, a beautiful young woman who ran there to him, the white blouse a little wrinkled and open along the neckline, the gray skirt without stockings, her cheeks flushed with emotion. Fuck. She will kill me. Jesus Christ. I'm not her teacher. She is not my student. She is of age. A woman. Merlin, forgive me.
"Why are you here, Hermione?"
She smiles and pierces his soul. "Because I love you."