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“It’s been ten years since the Battle of Hogwarts. Ten years since the day we won the war, since the day we lost beloved friends, partners, mentors. They will always live in our hearts, in our minds, never to be forgotten. Their sacrifices will always remind us of the heavy price of peace…”
There was a little corner of the Hogwarts grounds today that was full of witches and wizards. Everyone present wore their best robes and their most solemn expressions, wanting to celebrate both death and life in front of the war memorial erected here.
In the front row of seats, placed to accommodate those present, sat Hermione Granger.
Same as every year.
“Do not forget to carry within you always, the teachings our loved ones passed on to those of us who survived. Bravery, courage, self-sacrifice, love…” the Minister continued, earning a murmur of approval from everyone gathered.
Same as every year.
Hermione let out a soft, barely audible hum of disapproval, that was met with immediate looks from both Harry and Ron.
After that, the show remained just the same: the Minister called the Golden Trio to the stand. Harry made a heartfelt speech, while she and Ron remained behind.
Then came the applause. The photographs, the forced smiles for the sake of the papers. The short interactions with people she was expected to talk to (“ Miss Granger, how come you only show your face on this anniversary? ”, and “Miss Granger, why did you retire? Where did you retire to?” , and “Such a shame you abandoned the heart of the wizarding community Miss Granger, you should be here, in the spotlight”). And the even shorter interactions with the very few people that she wanted to talk to ( “Mione, we miss you- why did you leave?” , and “Mione, you don’t write to us often enough, we need to know how you’re doing” , and “Mione, what you’re doing is no solution. You can’t be a recluse for the rest of your life” , and “Hermione, are you really happy with your decision?”). The latter were at least words that warmed her heart, but also ones that didn’t change the fact that she had decided to stay away from this community. Away from the lies, the half-truths, the concealed anger that this celebration caused.
The unsaid, ugly truths.
When the social part of the commemoration was over, Hermione stood behind, staring at the marble memorial. Stared at the names of the fallen. Fred. Tonks. Lupin. And at the end of the list, as an afterthought - Severus Snape.
Hermione felt a rush of anger at the way his name was purposefully added to the end. The Ministry had barely agreed to acknowledge it, and if it wasn’t for the Golden Trio’s and Professor McGonagall’s insistence, the name wouldn’t have been added at all.
Ironic, she thought, as she bent down to watch at the name engraved on the marble. Harry knew the truth about Snape, from the memories the man shared before he had lost consciousness. Yet, the Ministry bade him not to reveal it. It doesn’t matter anymore, they said . He was still a Death Eater and people won’t believe this story. Even if they did, we can’t risk people romanticizing ex-Death Eaters. It’s too late.
Despite that opposition, Harry and Hermione tried to clear the man’s name.
The Ministry staunchly refused to acknowledge the facts, and Hermione found herself not wanting to be a part of this community that didn’t want to face where they had been wrong.
That’s how she found herself rushing back into the Muggle world.
A little house close to a Muggle town. A calm, undemanding job. A quiet life, away from the heart of the wizarding community. Out of sight, out of mind - except for that one day of commemoration where she was obligated to play her part for the flashlights.
And then… A most unexpected visitor in her life. Someone who literally came back from the dead, and chanced upon her by accident, one afternoon, in her - very Muggle - workplace.
After his arrival, she never looked back to her previous life.
Leaving the memorial behind her, Hermione made her way to another, partly neglected corner of the school grounds. She headed towards the little cemetery that hosted the graves of people who meant something to the school. Besides Dumbledore’s gravestone that was close to the war memorial, the rest of them laid here.
No one was going to visit that part of the school today.
No one… Except for that solitary figure that was peering down at one of the gravestones. That figure that was dressed all in black, with a travel cloak shrouding their face.
“Peering down at your own grave is rather morbid, don’t you think, Severus?” the witch asked the figure. He didn’t turn to face her but rather kept looking down at his own name, engraved in stone.
He never let anyone else know that the gods had somehow let him survive.
“There is some sort of poetic justice in this, right?” he asked, and she nodded her acknowledgement. “In a sense, I did die. The spy, the wizard, is no more. All that remains is… me .”
Hermione’s face softened at this admission. She had come to know all that remained of him, and, as time went on, she came to cherish it.
“I’m not complaining,” she retorted. There was no missing the fondness in her voice.
“Have you said your goodbyes here?” he asked again, this time turning around to face her. In many aspects, he looked different now. What hadn’t changed at all, was the gaze, that inquiring gaze of his that seemed to look deep into people’s psyches.
“I have. Till next year - I am free.”
“I am, too. For good .”
“Are we ready to go home, then?”
“Yes. Let us go.”
She stretched her hand to hold onto his own, and together, they left everyone behind once again.