Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A/N: It's been a while... All characters belong to J.K Rowling.

Hope is a Dangerous Thing

One

2008

Minerva McGonagall shifted to grasp her wand from the bedside table and then charmed the head of the bed to rise up, allowing a better vantage point from which to watch the sunrise before her. She replaced the wand; she had long since lost the energy for wandless magic.

The sky shone a pink hue, with the Highland peaks in a darkened silhouette. The turret she occupied afforded her almost a panoramic view. She sighed. There could never be a more pleasing vista, she thought. How lucky she was to witness it. How lucky she was to have witnessed it so many times over the decades.

She rather hoped she might witness it many times more. That much was up to Providence, however, and each wax and wane she was forced to consider might be her last.

Poppy Pomfrey bustled in shortly after the sun had burst over the mountain tops and bathed the room brightly. She had returned to Hogwarts, come out of retirement, with the sole purpose of nursing the ailing Headmistress. Minerva was deeply touched. The long hours of inertia were not so very long when she had her old friend nearby. They swapped stories of the past—tales of laughter, tales of mischief, and tales of melancholy, too.

But she was lucky, in spite of it all. She was surrounded by old friends. Only in the nights was she left with her own thoughts and memories for company. Only in the night she had to try harder to keep the ghosts and demons away—the regrets and the what might-have-beens.

However, she was not afraid. She always assumed she would have had longer, but now that the time was near, she was ready for what was next.

Her affairs were mostly in order, but there was one thing that still gave her pause. In spite of the revolving carousel of visitors and well-wishers, she was still waiting on one person in particular. She had written of her predicament, when she could keep it under wraps no longer. She had stopped short of requesting his presence as he had not set foot in the castle in some ten years, after all. But she had hoped he would understand and would travel north, nevertheless.

The fact she had not received any written reply gave her hope and she expected him any day now.

Thankfully, she was not to be disappointed. The following evening, as the sun was beginning to sink, and not many moments following Poppy departing for the night, Minerva heard light footsteps on the stairs. The door opened and, without ceremony, there he was - all of a sudden. At last. After all this time.

Minerva peered over the top of her glasses and smiled warmly. Shutting the door, he swept over to the bed and immediately took the wingback chair next to it.

'Minerva,' he stated softly, without smiling.

Her smile did not waver. 'Severus'.

Her right arm lay at her side, on top of the covers, and she turned her palm upwards. He caught the expectant movement and, with only a small hesitation, placed his hand on top of hers. She squeezed it gratefully, surveying him.

'How long has it been? Three years?'

He nodded. 'I regret that—'

'Don't; I understand.'

She had always tried her best to coax him out of his self-imposed exile. To little avail, apart from a few meetings over the years. But he had always been happy to write and she enjoyed his letters. Many a time she had nearly cackled aloud over the breakfast table; he had an undeniable way with words. It was always a challenge for her to compose a worthy reply.

'You look well.' She meant it. His hair, as dark as ever, was shorter now. A more open countenance suited him, she decided. 'I expect I have looked better,' she continued with a wry smile.

His eyes dropped briefly. 'Minerva, is there nothing that—'

She interrupted with a stern shake of her head. 'Nothing, Severus; my time has come.'

She was pleased to sound matter-of-fact, rather than resentful.

He sighed. 'Are you going to let me talk? Or am I to merely observe?'

'Sorry.'

He affected a look of long-suffering and Minerva chuckled. He raised his eyes and glanced around the room. A faint grimace appeared around his mouth.

'Couldn't they find somewhere better for their illustrious Headmistress?'

Minerva knew he was recalling his own time spent in this remote, empty turret.

'I like it here,' she admonished.

The room was bare and clinical, apart from a few vases of flowers and the wide reaching view, of course.

'It's very…Scottish of you,' he remarked dryly, eyes also dropping to the tartan blanket that was splayed across her bed.

Minerva smoothed at it with her free hand. 'Now, now,' she warned. 'You're in danger of complimenting me too much.'

He shook his head ruefully, whilst she smiled inwardly. How easily they always fell back into their old patterns. Exchanging barbs, trading insults. She was sure it had kept her young, sharp, over the years. Her eyes crinkled fondly behind her spectacles at the memories.

'The castle was never the same after you left, Severus.'

She had surprised him, she could tell. Just a sudden stillness in his whole posture, told her it was so. 'For me, that is,' she clarified wryly.

He was silent. It was true, though. No one else had so equally given her such entertainment and vexation. No one had so equally roused such affection and frustration. She could see he was beginning to look mildly uncomfortable and she took pity, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

'Forgive an old woman, Severus; I find little need for a filter, these days.'

Truly, the prospect of death, how freeing it was. From his own brush with death, she knew he understood that. And despite their shared history, they had always tip-toed around so much of it. She was too tired for that now. She wanted him to know what it had meant to her.

Her companion nodded his understanding, but whatever he was about to say was lost. There was the sound suddenly of quick footsteps on the stairs. The door was pushed open and a chuckling voice sounded through it.

'Oh, Minerva, you'll never guess what happened!'

Any subsequent words from their guest were instantaneously curtailed at the sight of the pair of them.

Severus moved first. He released her hand and slowly got to his feet. 'Professor Granger,' he greeted stiffly.

Minerva regretted the interruption only briefly, for it quickly became apparent there was something rather more interesting to be observed. She was quite sure she had never seen the colour of her deputy headmistress drain so soundly. Nor had she ever looked so dumb. And neither could Minerva recall any recent situation where she had witnessed a tension so taut that were it to snap, she feared great harm might be done.

Professor Granger, it appeared, could not effect a reciprocal greeting, other than to stare blankly. Eventually, she seemed to remember herself and she blinked back into life. 'I, ah, I apologise; I didn't know you had company, Minerva. I'll come back later.'

In a swirl of robes, she was gone, taking the oppressive air with her.

Severus gingerly took his seat again, but it was a moment before he would meet her eye.

'What on earth was that?' she demanded, when he did.

His expression turned irritable. 'Minerva, please—'

'Ah! No, no, do not brush me off. Hermione is never rude.'

Severus shrugged. 'I have neither seen nor spoken to Hermione Granger in years, what does it matter that she momentarily forgot her manners—'

Minerva scoffed loudly. 'You would fob me off, would you, on my death-bed? That was more than just a surprise - she looked like someone had stupefied her.'

She thought he almost flinched and she regretted her words, only a tad. His eyes blazed in frustration before he suddenly let out a growl and flew to his feet. He turned his back to her and leaned both hands onto the windowsill.

Now he was definitely uncomfortable, she thought. 'You have not seen her since you left Hogwarts?'

The question hung in the air for a time. 'You know I have not,' he muttered finally.

She let her head rest back against her pillow and narrowed her eyes in thought. She remembered the moment of his departure and the news of his survival breaking. What a shock it had been. How he had surprised them all. But in the aftermath, she did not remember Hermione Granger featuring in any way specifically. Had she been in on it? Perhaps the reasons she had attributed to his self-imposed exile had been inaccurate all these years, after all.

'I will tell you.' His voice sounded unbearably low. 'But not tonight—it is getting late.'

'I might not be here tomorrow!'

He snorted. 'I should be so lucky.' He returned to his chair with an elegant slump and there was a small smile. 'I will tell you, but do not pester Granger about this, do you understand?'

Minerva nodded.

He watched her for a moment. 'Are you in pain?' he asked.

'No,' she answered. 'Poppy has me on several concoctions...'

'Well, if you require anything… stronger…'

She gave his hand a squeeze in acknowledgement. She rather hoped it would not come to that.

He left after promising to call upon her at the same time the following evening. She bit her lip as the tiredness started poking at her consciousness, alongside indiscriminate memories of the dark little boy who had been overlooked the first time, but who she had tried to support the second time around. It had not been easy, however, and she could never be sure she had achieved anything. He always gave so little of himself.

Her eyes stung a little and she removed her glasses to wipe them.

There was maybe one more thing she could do for him, she decided.

She just hoped she had enough time.

Chapter Text

Hope is a Dangerous Thing

Two

1998

Hermione threw herself down onto the grass and pulled out the Daily Prophet from her bag. This was how she spent most of her lunch breaks these days. In the two months since the final battle, the major repairs to the castle were largely completed. There were still areas off limits, but the school would soon be able to function again.

She had returned to help with the rebuild. All things considered, it had seemed the best thing for her to do. Now, she would also assist in preparing for the return of the children. The school year would start anew in January, but there was still much to be done. Professor McGonagall was in charge. There were teachers to find, children to register, classrooms to decorate… All traces of the Death Eater influence to be removed and resolutely destroyed.

She would also be completing her Newts in the new year. It had to be done and the Headmistress was more than prepared to oblige. Hermione simply could not accept honourary accreditation, unlike many of her peers. Becoming a witch at eleven had been all about her magical education and, whether she needed it or not, she would finish her education. Voldemort had taken much, but he would not take that from her too.

She folded up the paper and threw it to one side; there was nothing of note within it. She tilted her face up, and as the last of the summer sun shone pleasantly over the castle, Hermione rather thought one could easily forget all that had only recently occurred in this remote land. Everything was now filled with renewed optimism and renewed life. Was it the return of normality? She certainly hoped so.

Nevertheless, there were intrigues, still; certain things that piqued her curiosity. Things that, perhaps, were not quite as they seemed. Such as why Minerva McGonagall and Poppy Pomfrey seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time in that one small turret that clung to the side of the large tower housing the Hospital Wing. The wing that had long been empty of recovering final battle victims.

Working the grounds and gardens throughout the summer, Hermione had repeatedly observed their figures in that turret. Hermione also knew they were at pains to keep the wing locked. She knew because she had tried to get in there. Genuinely, of course; Madam Pomfrey had asked her to brew some basic medicinal potions for her stores.

After weeks dwelling on it, the only reasonable conclusion Hermione could make was that, maybe, there was one patient left, after all. And if that were true, who could warrant such secrecy?

Aware that it was not her place to confront them, she was prepared to let the matter drop, deciding for once that she might be better off out of it. Of course, as soon as she was resolved to that, fate decided to intervene. Minerva McGonagall appeared at her quarters one night, quite unexpectedly, clutching a candle and wearing a grave look upon her face.

'I need your help, Hermione.'

Hermione nodded.

As she followed the Headmistress, her heart began to beat a little harder when she saw she was being led to the Hospital Wing. She was finally being taken into their confidence, she realised. And despite having made logical conjectures over the weeks, now wild imaginings flurried through her mind and her stomach began to twitch uncomfortably.

A door she had never seen before shimmered into view. Through it they went and began ascending a narrow, winding stair. The latch on the heavy oak door at top was lifted and Hermione followed the older woman into a small, circular room. The sconces in the room blazed and first her eyes were drawn to Madam Pomfrey, standing expectantly at the head of a bed. Then they were drawn to the bed and her throat clenched painfully.

She had thought it would be him, but seeing proof of it did not temper the shock. Many a night her nightmares took her back to the Shrieking Shack.

Professor McGonagall stepped up to stand at the other side of the bed, sharing an uncertain look with her colleague. Madam Pomfrey seemed to give her a little encouraging nod.

'What's going on?' Hermione managed to stammer out, staring wide at the tableau in front of her. She took a few steps closer to the bed. 'We thought… Everyone assumed that…'

'That Severus was dead,' Minerva finished brusquely. 'As you can see, he is not.'

'He is not,' continued Poppy. 'But neither is he well. In fact, he has yet to awaken at all.'

Hermione still stared dumbly at the unmoving figure. There were dressings adorning his neck.

'Why have you not taken him to St. Mungos? Why have you not told anyone?'

A shadow crossed Minerva's face. 'I could not be sure he would be treated fairly.'

'But Harry cleared his name…'

'It is not that simple, Hermione. There has been no scrutiny of Severus, precisely because he is presumed dead. Dead, he will be simply a paragraph in the history books. Alive? Well, alive he is a problem. He will have to be tried for being a Death Eater, amongst other things.'

Minerva looked down at the somnolent figure. 'I can't fully explain it, but it seemed the right thing to do, at the time. There is no guarantee that Severus will live.' She turned back to Hermione squarely and continued. 'Do not mistake me, we very much wish for Severus's recovery, which is why you are here - we need assistance from one we can trust. Can we—can I trust you not to reveal Serverus's whereabouts to anyone? If you intend on going to the Ministry...'

Hermione shook her head vehemently. 'I do not wish Professor Snape ill.'

The expressions on the older women relaxed minutely.

'Nothing to Potter and Weasley, either.'

Hermione nodded in agreement.

It transpired both women had been sharing the duty of monitoring their fallen colleague - administering liquids, changing dressings, moving him etc. But increasingly, McGonagall was required to attend to duties at the school and it was too much for Madam Pomfrey alone. They needed another pair of hands, essentially.

So that is how, only a few days later, Hermione found herself sitting alone in the chamber with him. Madam Pomfrey had given her much instruction. She had also learned more of his condition. The flesh wounds were healing, but the damage internally could not be assessed until he awoke. The reason he had not awoken, it was felt, was how close he had come to death. His body was shut down and was trying to repair itself, replenish its very lifeblood. They could only provide support to that end, and it was a worthwhile endeavour, she decided. How long could they continue to wait, though? Madam Pomfrey could not be sure, but they hoped for signs of improvement any day.

Hermione sat in the wingback chair and took out her NEWT level textbooks. It would be an hour whilst the Invigoration Draught slowly fed into his bloodstream. And this became her routine for a few weeks, most mornings and evenings—sitting, watching, reading, administering. Talking, too; she always started with Advanced Potions. She would have a one-sided conversation with him, reading aloud, asking questions, voicing her musings aloud. The peace was comfortable; it was pleasant.

Occasionally, she would find her mind wandering. Mostly, she was too tired to think too deeply about her situation, or his situation, for that matter. But sometimes, she would catch herself studying him, wondering about who he really was. Wondering about what kind of man could have lived the life he had. Wondering how he could ever come back from it. Wondering, darkly, if Minerva McGonagall clutching him from the jaws of death might end up being a terrible mistake.

Those moments, she would quickly try to snap herself out of. Inevitably, pondering the demons of others would lead to her revisit her own. She knew she could lose hours to dwelling on the things she could not change and the things she tried to forget. It was never a good place for her to be. She was grateful for any and all distraction.

Their patient eventually did make a return to consciousness, and Hermione was somewhat relieved when it did not happen on her watch. Minerva caught up with her in the grounds one afternoon to update her.

'He is very weak and still spends much of the time asleep,' Minerva explained as they walked, 'but he, ah, cannot talk—at all.'

Hermione frowned.

'Neither is it because of how weak he is…'

'The bite?'

'Indeed…' Minerva trailed off uncomfortably. 'Poppy is to travel to London to St. Mungo's to make some discreet enquiries, but it is difficult.'

'Perhaps it is time to tell—' Hermione broke off at the Headmistress's sharp shake of her head.

'No, dear, not yet. There are things that must be made right first before… We can still rely on your discretion?'

'Of course,' Hermione affirmed, taking note of the evident concern in the elder woman's voice.

Minerva surveyed her. 'We must continue to exercise caution, more than ever, now that he is awake. Yes?'

'Undoubtedly.'

'Thank you. Unfortunately, I also have to travel to the Ministry for several days at the end of the week. Will you—?'

Hermione nodded her head, feeling a slight pang of dread.

'I am very grateful to you, Hermione.' Minerva placed a hand on her shoulder. 'I, ah, cannot say that Severus himself will be grateful. I am sure that he will now regain his strength and when he does… Well, for better or ill we will get an idea of his mind, I am sure. I have explained to him as much as I can, but… I hope you will not be put off.'

Hermione smiled gently. If she couldn't handle a discombobulated Severus Snape after everything else she had been through, well, it would be ridiculous. With a smile, the Headmistress departed. Hermione watched her go, wondering at the evident regard being displayed for the man who, it seemed to her at least, was a mystery.

But despite her assurances, there was something that left her with vague disquiet. Hermione felt her eyes lift skywards towards the Hospital Wing. She thought it was probably trepidation she felt. What exactly worried her, she couldn't be sure.

That evening she took up her usual spot once more. He still couldn't physically imbibe anything, so she set the series of potions to start infusing. He was asleep, and quite peacefully too it seemed. Determined to carry on as normal, she took out a textbook. She passed over Potions and she chose her Transfiguration book instead.

Aware that his sleep was more natural now, she made sure to keep musings to a muted tone. She lifted her wand and practised some of the movements, deciding she would have to bring some items to practise with next time—the bare room provided no pops for her. It was as she was occupied thus that she briefly glanced at her charge. She flinched violently and dropped her wand when she saw two dark eyes watching her.

'Oh,' she exclaimed softly, quickly retrieving her wand.

She saw his jaw move. He was trying to talk, she realised. In the end, he simply closed his eyes in defeat and turned his head so that he faced away from her. Hermione only stared, quite frozen for a time. Eventually, she turned back to her book and uttered not another sound. She wondered if she should say something, to try and engage him, but she could think of nothing. The atmosphere in the room felt too painfully awkward to do anything other than sit in silence.

In any case, she thought he must have dropped back to sleep, for he did not stir at all when she left for the night.

In an effort to neutralise the atmosphere, the next morning when she arrived to give him his potions, she did so with studied confidence and nonchalance. It was needed, because this time he was slumped against the pillows, clearly awake.

'Good morning,' she said brightly, setting immediately to placing the phials in the clamp stand and connecting them to the tube in his arm. When that was done, she reached into her bag and pulled out a book. She had gone straight to the library last night; where else would she go for inspiration?

She flicked the book open to the requisite page and placed it before him. It was a variation on the Dict-o-quill charm. Instead of recording speech, however, it would record thoughts. When he looked up after scanning the page, she produced a quill and proffered it to him.

'Well?'

He nodded tightly, taking the quill from her.

Hermione set to it, raising her wand and casting the incantation over him. She had managed to tweak it slightly, to make it more efficient for his circumstances. No one wanted to be bothering with ink and scrolls of parchment, she felt.

When the spell was finished, she took to her chair. 'And don't worry, it will differentiate between the things you want to say and the things you merely think to yourself. Give it a try; go on, I can take it.'

She was well aware she may have created a rod for her own back, but nevertheless, she felt she ought to assist where she could.

To her mild surprise, the first words to materialise in the air before her were 'Thank you.'

She nodded, her mouth quirkiness slightly at the spidery scrawl.

Then the quill continued with an elaborate flourish, writing, 'Now, feel free to leave me be.'

Hermione shook her head. 'I cannot; you know very well there is no one else here to assist you. I will leave once the infusions are finished.'

Nothing followed that. He opted to stare obstinately out towards the mountainous skyline. Hermione watched him briefly, feeling that he looked plainly awful. His hair had been drawn back and tied to provide free access to the bandage at his neck. His countenance was fully visible, wan and gaunt, and mostly expressionless. More commonly a dark figure, he now seemed to blend totally into the white sheets of the bed. In some ways, she thought it made him look unusually young and small.

Hermione returned to her reading, but for the whole of the hour, he simply stared away from her, unmoving apart from the rise and fall of his chest. It was distinctly unnerving. When the potions were finished, she scrambled for something to say, feeling she could not simply get up and leave.

As she put her books away, she paused and considered him once more.

'Look, why don't you make use of me? I have no doubt you must be bored stiff. What can I bring you? What can I fetch for you?'

There was nothing, not even a movement.

'Obviously, I have no desire to go rooting around your private things.' She tried again. 'Something from the library, maybe?'

Nothing.

'Right,' she murmured to herself. 'Well, here is this morning's Prophet, and the latest Witch Weekly, if you can stomach it.'

She dropped them down onto the table at the bedside and, gathering up the empty flasks, she left.

The next morning when she went to prepare his potions, he once again ignored her for a time. Except, eventually, a question did materialise into the air.

'Why are you still here?'

'In the castle?' She clarified.

He nodded.

She thought about her answer for a moment or two, and opted for the simple explanation. 'I have nowhere else to go,' she replied plainly. 'I expect Professor McGonagall has told you that Harry and Ron are away for Auror training. I do not want to become an Auror.'

He simply moved his head on the pillow to look up at the ceiling. He did not ask the next obvious question, for which she breathed a small sigh of relief. She sat and began fumbling around in her bag, eyes stinging at the thought of her parents.

There was silence again for the majority of the hour until, at the end, she caught sight of the quill scribbling in the air and she looked up. It was a list of book titles, she realised. She flicked to the back of her notebook and began copying them down.

Hermione frowned reading through them. 'You read Muggle fiction?'

He nodded. It was unusual, but then maybe it wasn't, she thought, considering he had a Muggle father.

Her expression must have given her away, for she glanced at him to find the question 'Unusual for a Death Eater?' hovering in the air beside him. She almost flinched.

'No,' she burst out. 'Unusual for a wizard.'

He actually smirked at her umbrage. 'Magic narrows the mind,' he wrote. 'Stifles the imagination…'

'I quite agree. Unfortunately, I have rather lapsed in my reading of novels…'

She often felt she was too easily distracted these days to concentrate on reading for pleasure. There was too much scope for intrusive thoughts. Painful flashbacks. Choking regrets. She sighed deeply, busying herself with putting her books into her bag. She avoided looking up for a moment, sure that he was watching her.

'I will go and retrieve these for you straightaway,' she said briskly.

He nodded his thanks and shifted himself into a more upright position. She left feeling like she had achieved something and it filled her with a burst of positivity.

It was a pleasant feeling for once.

Chapter Text

Hope is a Dangerous Thing

Three

2008

Severus climbed the steps up into the Hospital wing with some sense of foreboding. As he stepped into the small antechamber beyond, he immediately saw his misgivings were accurate. He found himself looking at the back of some riotously curly hair, belonging to a figure occupied with casting sterilising charms over empty flasks. At the sound of his entrance, though, the figure turned around and he schooled his expression into blankness. He had thought he might surely have avoided her for at least a couple of visits. To have encountered her both times was frustrating. He was clearly without luck, it seemed.

'May I ask how it is that you come to be in the castle again?' She asked, folding her arms.

'Why, I entered through the front door.' Obviously, hung unsaid in the air.

'I mean, without an appointment. You can't just wander in and out of a school.'

'The Headmistress requested my presence - my appointment is with her.'

She glared at him. 'Visitors are supposed to be escorted around the castle.'

Severus nearly laughed. 'Very well, if you must, I will be returning at the same time most evenings for the time being.'

She raised her eyebrows immediately in surprise and he frowned in annoyance.

'You thought I would spare only one afternoon?'

Her cheeks turned pink, and there was a brief moment before she replied haughtily. 'I'm quite sure it doesn't really matter what I think.'

They glared at each other and he was beginning to feel agitated. He had not really expected to walk into such a confrontation and wasn't ready for it. Not yet. He took the time to choose his next words carefully.

'Professor Granger, I shall be visiting Minerva as and when I see fit. If you have a problem with my presence in the castle, I suggest you take it up with her. I assure you, I have no interest in inconveniencing you.'

After an obstinate pause, she moved aside. He was nearly through the door when she spoke again. This time, he noted her tone was more equitable.

'Fine… How should I contact you if… You know…'

He blinked and cleared his throat. 'I'm staying at the Hog's Head.'

He didn't wait for a reply, but took to the stairs, cursing himself. At the top, when he reached for the door-handle, he thought his hand trembled and he scowled. The past was catching up with him, again. After all this time. He closed his eyes briefly. Minerva was dying. Soon, there would be no one. And Granger, well… Clearly, he had forgotten much, in the years gone by. His memories had not afforded her nearly enough beauty, he thought. But she seemed so different now, and older, as well, he supposed. And so was he; older for sure, but different? He liked to think so. Something else he had completely misjudged was her apparent umbrage. He had anticipated at best, courteous acknowledgement and, at worst, polite indifference. Still, it would not be the first time he had got things wrong. Likely would not be the last.

He finally opened the door, going inside to find Minerva smiling warmly.

'How are you today?' he greeted, endeavouring to ensure his consternation was not visible to her.

'Never mind that.' She waved her hand at the chair. 'Come on, I have been waiting all day for this.'

He groaned loudly. 'You won't drop this?' This was just what he needed after that little skirmish.

'No!'

He folded himself into the chair and glared at her resentfully.

She ignored him. 'But before we start…' She nodded to the little nightstand. 'A wee dram?'

He laughed and obliged by pouring out a measure of Scotland's finest. He handed one to her. 'Should you be drinking?'

Minerva shrugged impudently.

He settled back against the chair and sighed at length at the expectant look he received. 'I suppose I should begin by pointing out that this entire situation is your fault, Minerva.'

She blanched. 'Excuse me?'

'Yes. I was supposed to die or have you forgotten? There was never an outcome where I lived happily ever after and I was always reconciled to that. You know that I was.'

She met him glare for glare. 'I'm not going to apologise,' she sniffed.

'And then you had the temerity to place me in her care.'

'Severus, you exaggerate; you were not in her care, as you so delicately put it. Now, supervision is more -'

He scoffed. 'Supervision? Have you met Hermione Granger? She does nothing by halves. She made it her personal mission to rehabilitate me - mind, body, and…' His voice broke off into the ether with a sigh.

Minerva was looking studiously into her glass. 'And did she?'

It was a moment before he replied. 'Not quite.' He downed his drink in one go and Summoned the bottle back to him. When he had replaced the bottle and she threw him an impatient look that he could not hold. Instead, he looked down to where his feet were crossed at the ankle and fumbled around for the right words.

'I was all over the place when I was recovering… I felt vulnerable most of the time. I didn't know why I was alive. I didn't know how I would survive, after everything. I didn't know what I was supposed to do for the best. And she, well… She was…' He broke off with a groan and put his head in his hands, cringing. 'She was nice to me, Minerva, that is all. That is how ridiculous I was - how ridiculous I am!'

He felt her hand suddenly on his arm. 'Severus, look, you don't have to -'

'No, you wanted to hear it, and maybe I need to hear it, too.' He looked at her now. 'She showed me kindness when I was at my lowest. She seemed to care about what happened to me. I had forgotten what that was like.'

Minerva's face immediately dropped in indignation and he put his hand over hers in reassurance.

'I never deserved kindness from you, but from her? It did not compute.' He shook his head. 'The problem was, it was different…' He looked away, not sure he had it in him to explain to her exactly what he meant by that. It had made him feel different. 'She owed me nothing. Her attention, such that it was, was strangely addictive. And it amused me to cultivate it, I do not deny it. Towards the end, we would spend hours talking.'

To shield himself from the scrutiny, he put his hand over his brow and rubbed at it. He chuckled under his breath. 'Merlin, those talks…' In this very room. He could see them both now, if he wanted to. Her pontificating, and he, by turns, deliberately facetious and earnestly curious. He was sure he must have done his own share of pontificating, mind. He pulled his hand away and straightened up in the chair, venturing a look. Minerva was watching him with raised eyebrows. He smiled inwardly; it was worth his discomfort to know he could still surprise his old friend.

'Eventually, I knew I - it - could not go on as it was.' He shrugged to himself. 'As you know, I could not spend the rest of my life holed up in here, hiding. There was a decision to make and I decided that Granger should - would - have no influence in it.'

'So, she wasn't part of it?'

'Of course not, she had no idea; the same as you. She, ah, wrote to me several times after, but I never replied.'

Minerva sighed loudly. 'Really, Severus?'

'I'm not proud, but it was necessary.'

'Why was it necessary? What was she expecting to happen between you?'

'I don't know -'

She tutted loudly and at her continued look of consternation, he threw his hands up. 'The point is Minerva, I didn't want to find out. I was a bitter, resentful excuse for a man that, in-case you have forgotten, was also supposed to be dead!' He sighed at length. 'I had to sort myself out, and it was for myself to work out who I was and what I was. It was not for her to do that. She was burdened enough as it was, by the war; I could see that I was only adding to it. I didn't want her to be associated with me, in any way. Enough people have been hurt by me over the years, she would not be another one on the list.'

Minerva said nothing. He noted that she plucked a handkerchief from her sleeve.

'In any case, if I recall correctly, she was married to Weasley a year later.'

He was not sure why brought that up. He fought hard not to shrink under the subsequent glare he received.

'Their marriage was an unmitigated disaster, Severus - they were divorced within two years, as you well know!'

He shrugged flippantly.

'And I'm pretty sure there's never been anyone else,' Minerva murmured to herself, pensively.

No words were spoken for a time. He broke the silence first in an effort to derail his own train of thought, which was in danger of veering towards the fanciful. 'It was the right thing at the right time, Minerva. You surely have not forgotten the terms of my sentence?'

'It was never a life sentence, Severus. You sought me out afterwards - why not her as well?'

'I knew you would welcome it.'

He heard her sigh a little. Well it was true; she was the only person he could count in the world who did care for his well-being.

'And what about now?' She prompted.

'Now?'

She nodded.

He gaped. 'Now, nothing, obviously! Minerva, I am telling you this tale simply because you asked. It was a flight of fancy following an intense time. The water has long since flowed under the bridge. So, Professor Granger holds a grudge like the best of us, who knew? Who cares?'

'Your flippancy does you no credit. Hermione cares, clearly, because despite your wishes you obviously did hurt her all those years ago. Why would she nurse that hurt if she did not care about you?'

He had no answer to that, except that, suddenly, he felt like his heart beat in his ears instead of his chest.

'Well?'

'Minerva, we parted as acquaintances. There was nothing between us, no understanding, no declaration - nothing.'

This is what he had told himself time again. In his lowest moments, he had allowed himself the fancy that those words were not entirely true. And now as he said them aloud, after all these years, he considered if the fancy could actually have lain in conceiving those words in the first place.

Nevertheless, he doubled down. 'Her pride was hurt, no doubt. But better that than anything else I could have induced.'

'But you are different now. You have made a new life for yourself. That which was lost might yet be found again.'

He stared at her incredulously.

'I would happily go to my grave knowing I was leaving you happy, Severus. It pains me to think you have never known it.'

He felt a sharp clench somewhere near his ribs at this. For a time he could not speak, but when his stomach relaxed again, he found his voice.

'You can't outrun the past, Minerva; believe me. Try as you might, it's always there.'

'But it doesn't have to rule the present. You know that now.'

'Perhaps.' At her scornful look, he shifted in his chair. 'Very well, I do know that now.'

'You have hidden away from the Wizarding World for long enough now, don't you think?'

He wasn't sure what to say to that. His return had purely been for Minerva's sake, that is what he thought - what he told himself. He had not given any conscious thought as to who or what else he might find at Hogwarts. His intention was to return to his life as he knew it, when he was able. That is what he thought - what he told himself, anyway.

Minerva seemed to take his silence for indecision and she huffed brightly. 'Right; so, then, you leave things to me.'

He flinched violently and leaned forward in earnest. 'No, please -'

'Severus -'

'She clearly holds only contempt for me now!'

'Nonsense!' Minerva scoffed loudly. 'You forget that I know her better than you. She has nursed this hurt for all these years, yet, she has never mentioned any of it to me! No, my boy, her contempt is paper thin, you mark my words!'

He stared in horror as she positively wriggled with excitement and squeezed his hand tightly.

'Do not worry, I will be discreet. If you give her the opportunity, Hermione will be able to see things from your perspective, Severus. She is not a selfish person.'

She looked at him and her expression became stern. He knew what was coming, having been in receipt of it many times before - a rebuke.

'But you should have written to her, Severus, irrespective of what might or might not have come from it.'

He clenched his jaw and turned his head stiffly to watch the flames in the fireplace. That she was right, of course, was obvious. He knew it then and he knew it now.

And he had, in actual fact, written many times… But each missive had either seen its fate in the flames or obliterated into fine pieces - actions torn from him in a fits of pique, shame, and hopelessness.

He turned his attention back to the bed, whereupon Minerva gave him an encouraging smile. He managed a brief, resigned quirk of his mouth in reply. Having her support might actually make the difference, he thought. Minerva had belief, where he had none, and maybe he could take inspiration from it.

Which, in turn, allowed him a small prickle of hope.

That both thrilled and frightened him at the same time.

AN: Thanks for reading : )

Chapter Text

Hope is a Dangerous Thing

Four

2008

Minerva looked up from the Daily Prophet as her Deputy Headmistress breezed into the room. It was a lazy Sunday morning so far and Minerva was grateful for the visit, as always. A tray soon appeared with tea for two.

'How are you today?' Hermione asked, pouring out tea from the teapot.

'I am very well, my dear, and you?'

'Fine, thank you. I have had a busy morning marking first-year essays, but I am determined to enjoy myself for the rest of the day.' Hermione settled down into the chair next to the bed, smiling as she handed Minerva her cup and saucer.

'Will they be a good bunch do you think?' mused Minerva.

Hermione laughed good-naturedly. 'I need eyes in the back of my head, put it that way!'

They both chuckled for a moment, before lapsing into companionable silence. Minerva's thoughts, so apt to wander these days, started rooting back through time to the more memorable cohorts of children she had encountered in her long career, even the ones she had tried hard to forget! She was only brought back to the present when Hermione spoke once more.

'I saw you had a visitor again, yesterday.'

Minerva felt her eyebrow lift with interest. She had not expected that topic to have been raised so swiftly, and without any prompting too. 'I did yes; we had a lovely chat, in fact.'

She did not miss Hermione's sardonic quirk of her lips behind her cup.

'My dear… I know you said your reaction the other night was simply surprise at seeing Severus here again, but that was not quite true, was it?' Minerva watched as she flinched slightly and set her cup down with a loud clunk.

'Whatever do you mean?' Hermione asked in disbelief.

'Severus explained to me why he thought you might be upset with him.'

'He what?'

At Hermione's somewhat aghast expression, Minerva was now more sure than ever that she had not been given the full story. 'He did, though I should point out that I prevailed upon him to do so. I'm sure you understand that a first year would have noticed the atmosphere between you.'

At the continuing look of shock on her friend's face, Minerva started to feel afraid she might have put her foot in it already. 'But I should also say that I am quite sure I heard the abridged version. He did not tell me anything that would compromise your privacy, dear, but I am starting to wonder now at what he might have left out.'

Hermione stirred at that and reached over to touch Minerva's arm reassuringly. 'I am merely surprised he discussed it with you, Minerva. I assure you, there is no torrid tale to be told—far from it.'

The distant look that accompanied those words detracted somewhat from Minerva's sense of comfort.

'It was so long ago,' Hermione continued, 'I am not sure why it even matters now.' Minerva watched her expression twist slightly, as if she struggled to believe her own words even as she said them. 'I was simply surprised, that is all. But there we are, I am happy that he has come back to you; I know it means very much to you.'

'Indeed, it does… Perhaps you will allow him the chance to explain why he did what he did?'

'Why?' Hermione bit out, with a shrug of supreme unconcern. 'He doesn't owe me anything.'

Minerva felt a bubble of indecision rise up a little.

'And, actually, for the record, neither am I upset,' Hermione continued, matter of fact.

Minerva noted that she did not meet her eye when she said this, instead choosing to pluck at the sleeves of her robes to straighten them. It would be best to leave it there, for the time being, Minerva decided. She knew her young friend had much on her mind at the moment, having had to take over the running of the school amongst everything else. There could be no doubt in her mind that Severus' reappearance had, if not upset Hermione, then had certainly thrown her. Semantics, really, but she would not press too hard until she had no other option.

She focused on her tea for a moment and cast about for inspiration.

'Hermione, do you think I might get outside this afternoon for a little while? The weather is so lovely at the moment, it would be a shame to miss out.'

'Oh, well, of course. I will join you.'

'Perhaps we could arrange for a lovely afternoon tea from the kitchens?'

Hermione laughed. 'Very well, that is a good idea. I will pop down and arrange it.'

'Excellent, thank you!' Minerva beamed. 'Oh, and dear, ask the elves for some cauldron cakes, will you, please?'

As soon as she was gone, Minerva smiled to herself and leaned over to the bedside table. She pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill. Pressing Hermione on the matter may not be the answer right now, but there were other options she could utilise. No, she would certainly not press too hard, but she would not sit still - there was no time for dithering. A change of tack might be necessary for a starting point at least.

She considered the blank parchment doubtfully for a moment, wondering if it really was a good idea. Still, despite the inherent risk of it back-firing, there was little to be lost, and it would be worth the punt if it did work. She smiled again and put quill to parchment.

'Dear Severus…' She began writing.

Chapter Text

Hope is a Dangerous Thing

Five

1998

Hermione often had trouble sleeping. Rather than have to lie awake with only her thoughts, she would often have to resort to other distractions. Some nights she would pass the time reading. Some nights she would wander the hallways. Some nights, when the moon was bright, she would go outside and simply watch the stars.

Tonight, she had chosen to wander the hallways. She never usually encountered anyone or anything on her late night wanderings - the ghosts mostly knew to leave her be these days.

She had meandered her way down the Grand Staircase and now found herself standing in the Entrance Hall. She was considering heading down to the kitchens, wondering if the house-elves would mind if she started a late-night baking session, when she frowned. It was a distinct smell, acrid in nature, that diverted her attention. She vaguely recognised it and looked towards the door that led down into the dungeons. Without giving further thought, she walked over and pulled it open. Looking down the staircase, she could see the sconces were lit. As far as she knew, the dungeons were currently empty of any occupants.

Hermione descended the steps and could immediately detect the smell was becoming stronger. She followed it past the Potions classroom and found herself pausing outside a door further down the hallway. There was a small strip of light shining beneath it, but no discernible noise emanated from within.

She reached out, expecting the door to be locked, but it wasn't. She opened it and quickly found herself gaping wildly. There was a cauldron that was overcome by a clearly ruined mixture, which had surged out across the workstation. The erstwhile brewer was sitting on a bench, leaning forward with his forearms resting on his thighs, looking vaguely stricken and his pallor greyer than usual.

'What on earth are you doing?' She demanded loudly.

The figure jumped to his feet at the sight of her.

She had known he had recovered to the point that he was sat up and awake most of the day. But, clearly, she had underestimated his condition if he was able to steal around the castle at night, unaided, brewing potions in his slippers and dressing gown.

'I am going straight to the Headmistress.'

He leapt forward, suddenly, to block her path and Hermione was sure she had never seen him move so fast. He shook his head vehemently and slumped heavily against the door to shut it tight. At the state of him, Hermione thought she could have easily manhandled him out of the way if she had wished to.

His voice had not yet returned and the quill that now perpetually hovered around him suddenly started scratching in mid air. 'You will not,' was written into the air, imperious even in print.

'You are not supposed to leave the Hospital Wing,' she hissed. 'Merlin, we didn't even know you were able to get out of bed!'

He scowled and nudged her arm in an indication she should follow him back to the table. He threw out his arm and pointed his finger at something on top of it. Hermione saw it was a potions text, quite clearly from the restricted section of the library, and she scanned the pages quickly, looking at him in surprise.

He nodded, bringing his hand to his neck.

'You tried to brew this?'

He nodded again.

Hermione looked at the ingredients and method again, briefly. 'It looks highly complex,' she observed carefully.

'Really, Granger?' suddenly blazed large over his shoulder.

She scowled now. 'Well, look at the mess you have made! I mean, you are clearly not fit enough!' Hermione looked at the mangled cauldron and felt an overwhelming sense of irony. 'Been a while since you melted a cauldron, I expect,' she mused lightly.

It never failed to give her a terrible buzz to speak so brazenly to him, knowing his own weaponry was out of action. It was fiendish of her to take such an advantage, but she'd quite got used to it now.

He gave her a venomous look.

'Oh, I won't tell anyone, obviously.' She smiled, then she conjured a glass of water and held it out to him, conciliatory.

He took it and there was a visible tremor, which she pretended not to see. She took note that he chose to sit down again and she swallowed a sigh. Biting her lip, she turned and Banished the mess. Then she turned back to the workbench and began tidying away the ingredients and implements. Some things would be salvageable for a second attempt, she decided. Some items would need to be replenished, but it would be no bother. When she was done, she turned back to him. He watched her and she thought he seemed more steady now.

Nevertheless, the words 'I'm fucked, Granger,' materialised into the air in front of her.

She raised her eyebrows slightly at his turn of phrase and chose to be diplomatic. 'You need more time to rebuild your strength; that is all.'

The quill began to move. 'You will have to brew it for me.'

Hermione read the words with no surprise. 'Indeed,' she replied. 'I can do it, you know.'

He nodded tersely, before rubbing a hand across his face and into his hair. It seemed to her a tired gesture. He appeared frail, but she knew it was only a matter of time, especially if he could recover the use of his vocal chords.

'I will brew it, though I fail to see why we cannot tell Professor McGonagall. She will go nuts if she finds out what you have done. Anyone could have seen you.'

He waved a hand dismissively, 'She does not need to know.'

'Why? Were you worried she might offer to brew it for you?'

At his sharp look of horror, Hermione bit the inside of her cheek. When she had asked questions about the Potions N.E.W.T the Headmistress had confided in her that Potions was not her forte.

'Minerva has enough to keep her occupied.'

She read the words, but when she dropped her eyes to him, his head was bowed, his attention focused on the water in the glass. She wondered if the issue lay more with a struggle to deal with the obvious concern the elder woman showed him. She was sure there must be no one else to care about him, else they would be in on the secret too.

'What will you do,' she found herself asking suddenly, 'when your health, and your voice, is returned?'

He shrugged, without looking at her. Despite her earlier observation that she liked not having to face his cutting comments, she realised that she hoped for the return of his ability to speak. She could tell he was becoming accustomed to communicating via gestures and expressions. It left no scope for a true conversation. More than that, he seemed to use it as an excuse simply not to say anything, which particularly frustrated her.

'Well, we know where we are, please return to the Hospital Wing, now.' She stepped aside indicating he should lead the way.

He did as bidden, without another word, and they walked back to the Hospital Wing in silence. Hermione was on edge all the way, once again thinking about what a risk he had taken. When they reached the spiral stairs, he disappeared up them with neither a look nor a written word. The door was shut firmly and she stood silently in contemplation for a few moments, before retreating to her own rooms.

The following morning, when she entered the Hospital Wing, ready with a plan of action for the brew, she was met with a surprising tableau. Snape, she noted, was sitting in a chair by the fireplace, staring into the flames. Professor McGonagall stood to one side conversing with Madam Pomfrey. All three turned to look at her entrance.

'Ah, Hermione,' greeted Minerva with a wide smile, stepping towards her. 'As you can see, Severus is feeling much improved and is out of bed at last. We have decided that he can arrange his own medication from here. Your assistance has been invaluable, my dear, thank you.'

Hermione blinked. Invaluable, but no longer required. 'Right, of course,' she acknowledged, giving Minerva and Poppy a small smile. As she turned to leave, she slid her gaze discreetly to the fireplace.

He flicked her a sharp, loaded look in return. Her assumption that he had given only a half-truth to the Headmistress was likely correct then.

She was followed out onto the landing by Minerva, who shut the door behind her. 'My dear, I really am so grateful for your help. I never thought we would be able to return him back to life again.'

'There is no need to thank me,' Hermione replied, touched by the older woman's sincerity.

'There is still some way to go, of course.'

Hermione nodded her agreement, but after a small pause, asked, 'But what then?'

The Headmistress's expression faltered slightly. 'I do not know yet… That is Severus's decision, I suppose.'

Hermione briefly considered asking what she thought that decision would likely be, but at the last moment, decided not to. She wasn't sure she really wanted to know. She squeezed Minerva's arm slightly and turned to descend the stairs. Thwarted slightly, but not put off, Hermione decided to proceed with her day as planned.

She travelled via Floo to Diagon Alley where she spent a quick hour gathering her purchases. A brief visit to Knockturn Alley would also be necessary. She arrived back at the Hospital Wing late morning, and as she anticipated, the coast was now clear.

He was still stationed at the fireplace, but she could see he had been reading. She slumped down into the chair opposite and tugged her scarf free. 'So,' she announced briskly. 'There are some basic supplies that remain in the store cupboard, but I have been to London to source the rest.' She motioned to her bag.

He merely observed her for a time, then the quill started dancing in the air.

'You have been busy.'

'You owe me forty galleons.'

He inclined his head.

'The castle will be quite empty this weekend. Professor McGonagall is away visiting family. I have to visit the Burrow Saturday, but I shall return by the evening. Then I will begin.'

He inclined his head again.

She considered for a moment, something that she had been thinking about for most of the morning. 'I will brew it alone, if agreeable…' There was no way she could do it with him lurking about, observing. Critiquing.

He smirked a little to himself. 'Fine.'

'Excellent,' she exclaimed, jumping to her feet. 'Tea? I've been perfecting my baking skills lately, with the help of the elves. Now that your appetite is back, you can be my judge.'

She flicked her wand and a plateful of cauldron cakes floated in front of him. She noticed he looked mildly taken aback. 'They're perfectly edible,' she assured, with a laugh, taking one for herself.

She took her chair and pulled out the potions text to study. It was not totally a pretext, but it helped justify her presence. It had not escaped her notice that she now had no real reason to be there. She hoped this would not be the end of things. The past few weeks had only nurtured her interest and her intrigue - she had the questions, but only he held the answers.

She must have read through the recipe and method multiple times now, and had made a few of her own notes as well. The potion itself was some sort of non-specific restorative draught, but she noted that its use tended towards neutralising poisons or, indeed, venom. Out of curiosity, she had flicked through the whole of the book and, truthfully, was grateful his pick was on the tamer side of things.

After what she estimated to be about ten minutes, she risked a glance upwards. There was no written demand that she leave, at least, but he simply sat there, staring vacantly into the fire, statue-like, a half-eaten cake forgotten in his hand. Once again, Hermione felt the silence bear down on her awkwardly and she fought not to fidget under it. Looking back at the book, she considered trying to engage him with some superfluous question about the recipe. She knew it would be pointless, though.

Making her mind up, she closed the book and took a breath.

'Actually, what is the point in delaying? I will make a start on this straightaway. I will curtail my visit to the Burrow tomorrow in order to tend to the final stage on time.'

He blinked and the quill started to swirl, but she held up a hand. 'It is decided - the sooner we can resolve this, the better.'

Without further ado, she gathered her things together and left, breathing a sigh of relief to be out of there. She only hoped it would work, and maybe then it might animate him a little.

As anticipated, it took about a day and a half to complete. It had not been an overly difficult brew, but it had required significant concentration and stamina for the complex stirring techniques. She could see why he would have stumbled over it in his weakened state, but she was confident she had got it right - it looked exactly as it should. And yet, come the Saturday night, standing at the bottom of the stairs to the turret with the flask in hand, cogitating, she nevertheless felt the usual pangs of self-doubt.

Gritting her teeth, she took to the stairs and entered the chamber. Now that he was in more control of his surroundings, he kept the room almost perpetually in a dull glow.

'Good evening,' she called out.

She wasn't sure, but she thought he might have been sleeping in the chair. In a moment, though, he rose to his feet. He immediately held out his hand, and Hermione knew what was coming next. He took the flask and began examining it. He held it up to the light, tilting it this way and that, before unstoppering it and smelling it.

She thought there might be some further deliberation or discussion warranted, but to her complete surprise, he gestured the flask at her, with 'Cheers' writ large in the air, and he downed it quickly.

The effect was instantaneous. The flask smashed loudly onto the flagstones as he brought both hands up to clutch at his throat. As his knees gave way, she lurched forward in time to grasp an arm and slow his descent to the floor. She also sank to her knees beside him, feeling her blood running cold at the strange gurgling sound he was emitting.

Then he started coughing violently. Hermione tried to steady him, but the coughs wracked his body so much he had to lean forward and use his palms on the floor to brace himself.

'What do I need to do?' Hermione cried, looking for any movement from the quill. There was nothing. 'Are you choking?'

She grasped his shoulder as he continued to cough and, with her other hand, swept a swathe of hair from around his face. When she saw blood spit forth, she felt her body begin to tremble.

'I need to get help,' she said to him, deciding she needed to wake Madam Pomfrey.

'No,' he rasped out raggedly.

Hermione froze at the sound. He took in several shuddering breaths before twisting onto his side, into a sitting position. 'I just need a minute,' he whispered. He sat, head bowed, chest heaving painfully.

Hermione conjured a handkerchief and shifted towards him. She almost reached out again to pluck away the hair that was splayed over his face, but instead, she simply shoved the handkerchief into his line of sight. He took it and wiped a smear of blood from his chin, then coughed into it. This time it sounded less violent.

'Are you sure you are all right?'

He nodded and a few moments passed where the coughing subsided. Hermione sat back, then, breathing a loud sigh of relief. 'I thought I was going to have to tell Professor McGonagall I killed you.'

She noticed his shoulders started shaking a little and she realised he was chuckling.

'Glad you think it's funny,' she muttered, wondering when her heart would stop racing.

He lifted his head up and rubbed viciously at his neck.

'Is it hurting?' she asked.

He nodded again, but then he swallowed and forced out in a rough rasp, 'Like the Devil.'

'Shall I get you some pain reliever?'

He jerked his head towards the mantelpiece where there was a decanter of Firewhiskey. 'Best pain relief there is.'

Hermione privately begged to differ, but proceeded to get up and distill some into a tumbler. She handed it to him, whereupon he downed it again in one go. He grimaced and shuddered violently. 'Fuck,' she heard him mutter, spluttering into the handkerchief again. Afterwards, he closed his eyes and let out a long deep breath. In a moment, he started trying to get to his feet.

'Here,' she said, stepping forward and proffering her hand when he seemed to dither.

He took it and she grasped his elbow to help propel him up. Once up, he immediately screwed his eyes shut and clenched her hand tightly. For a moment, she thought he might vomit all over her.

'I must… lie down…'

She guided him across to the bed. When he relinquished his hold on her, practically collapsing atop the bedcovers, she was left simply to watch as he seemed to immediately fall into some sort of vaguely unnatural slumber.

'Right,' she murmured to herself, flexing her fingers as if to loosen the feel of his ice cold grip further.

Blinking in a daze, she turned to clear away the smashed up flask and also picked up the whiskey tumbler. There was nothing to be done other than to leave him to sleep it off, she decided, and hope he was correct in his assertion he would be all right. She gave one last look to the bed and, to her surprise, the quill hovered overhead with the words 'Thank you, Granger,' floating beside it.

Hermione cast Finite Incantatem at the quill, before slipping out quietly through the door, a distinctly self-satisfied smirk on her face.

A/N: Thanks, all, for your comments, and for taking the time to read : )

Chapter Text

Hope is a Dangerous Thing

Six

2008

Today, he had been summoned to the castle.

Initially, the sight of the owl had made his throat clench with dread, but he soon saw the Headmistress's own hand on the missive. Nevertheless, the dread lingered at realising his presence was being requested for afternoon tea. Severus crumpled up the parchment and grimaced. Afternoon tea was not something he would ordinarily indulge in. However, he was at a disadvantage, in that he felt he could not refuse the wishes of his old friend. It was one of the few ways he knew how to express his gratitude to her.

So it was that he found himself walking up through the grounds later that Sunday afternoon. There was an unseasonable warmth to the Autumnal sun and even he could feel his mood lift a little. There were smatterings of children about and he drew some furtive glances that he resolutely ignored.

What he could not ignore, however, was the sound of his name being called.

'Over here, Severus!'

He swore under his breath at what he saw. They were sitting down by the lake—'they' being the Headmistress and her deputy. Minerva was sat bundled up in a wheelchair, a garish tartan blanket covering her legs, whilst Professor Granger sat atop an equally garish blanket that laid on the ground.

Minerva studiously avoided his glare as he approached. He knew exactly what he was walking into—meddling, pure and simple. He received only a cursory glance from Granger herself—a blank upwards lift of her head—before she returned her attention to what he could see in her lap was a pile of knitting. By the sudden whitening of her knuckles as she gripped her needles, he could tell she had also been caught unawares.

'Take a seat,' Minerva instructed brightly.

'Where?'

'There,' she replied, as if he were a first-year, pointing at her side and handing him another garish blanket.

'I'm pushing fifty, Minerva,' he grumbled, folding himself down onto the ground.

He was resolutely ignored.

A tray suddenly appeared before them adorned with all manner of cakes, biscuits and sandwiches.

'There,' said Minerva. 'This will keep you happy.'

He could not argue with that and took a pasty, looking at her. 'Are you well enough to be outside?'

'It does me good to get out into the fresh air. I won't be out here long, but it is such a lovely day today.'

There was silence then and it seemed to his mind a little stilted. Minerva seemed happily oblivious, focusing her attention on applying jam to her scone. Professor Granger had put down her knitting and was holding a teacup. Her eyes were directed to the shoreline of the lake, however, and was obviously determined to say nothing. Feeling distinctly uncomfortable, Severus decided to simply concentrate on his pasty.

When he was done with that, he picked up a cauldron cake next. Instead of eating it, though, he found himself considering it, turning it in his fingers. His favourite, but he hadn't had one in years. There were no cauldron cakes in his life anymore, he thought sardonically. He recalled someone had made him a whole plateful, once. His eyes flicked across to her and he was not surprised to see that she was observing his contemplation. At her unreadable expression, however, he felt he could not hold her look for long. He blinked and put the cake down, turning to his tea instead.

He just about managed to suppress a flinch when, in a moment, Granger's knitting flew from her lap and she suddenly was on her feet, marching across the grass.

'I saw that!' She shouted to a group of boys lurking by the lake. One boy was sopping wet.

Minerva smiled. 'Do you ever miss that, Severus?' She was watching Granger remonstrate with her charges.

'Oh, every day,' he replied dryly.

'They will need someone to teach Potions when Hermione becomes Headmistress.'

He inwardly blanched and decided not to dignify the comment with a response. 'She will have big shoes to fill,' he said eventually, changing the subject slightly.

'She is young, but I have full confidence in her ability.'

For what it was worth, so did he, but he did not offer his opinion aloud. What did he know, anyway? His own experience could not count for much, not really. Most days it felt like a distant memory, admittedly less so sat in the shadow of the castle itself, but still. He felt relieved to be removed from it and had no desire to return to it. As he continued to watch the goings on by the lake, he wondered if this, being back here, was now the test - the test of whether he had indeed accepted his mistakes and moved on, grown from them, or whether he had simply run from them.

He felt a bubble of irritation at the painful irony that he could have run all this time in a circle, to end up right back at the start. Mired once again in painful memories and resentment of the happiness of others.

'Minerva, why did you engineer this?' He demanded. 'She does not want to spend time with me.'

'I haven't engineered anything. I simply wish to spend time with my friends.'

He scowled disbelievingly at her. 'I've known first-years with more guile.'

She had the grace to laugh. 'My dear Severus, we can't all be so blessed as you when it comes to cunning and guile.'

'More's the pity,' he grumbled to himself.

'Think of it simply as… an ice-breaker.' She glanced over the top of her glasses at him speculatively.

He glared back. 'It has never felt icier.'

'Well, I can't do everything… You will need to have some input!' There was the sound of footsteps, then, and Minerva suddenly twisted around in her chair. 'Ah! Here is Poppy.'

Severus looked to see the former school matron walking towards them. He jumped to his feet.

'Severus!' She beamed. 'How lovely to see you!'

'Poppy, you look well.' He took her outstretched hand warmly.

'It's been far too long.'

'Indeed,' he acknowledged.

Minerva let out a yawn. 'I'm sure you two can find time to catch up later. I think I need a nap now.'

'Already?' he exclaimed in surprise. And she had the temerity to deny any meddling?

'Indeed, shall we return inside, Poppy?'

Severus saw Granger had returned and stood there watching them, silently.

'Come on, then,' ushered Poppy, taking out her wand and levitating the chair to follow her.

'Finish off the cakes, Severus!' Minerva called over her shoulder.

Severus scowled at the floating form of the Headmistress. 'The little subtlety she had has certainly been lost in old age.'

'Am I missing something?' asked Hermione, also watching the retreating form of the Headmistress.

Severus felt his jaw clench in indecision. 'I, ah, should tell you that I told Minerva of our past… acquaintance.'

Her eyebrows lifted marginally. 'Yes, I am aware of that.'

This was a surprise. Clearly, Minerva's scheming knew no bounds and he had greatly underestimated her intentions. 'I did not have much choice; she would not let it be. I assure you, I did not go into minute detail—it was very much a…gist.'

She blurted out a laugh then. 'A gist, eh?' She smoothed her hands down her robes and set herself to banishing the trays and folding up the blankets. 'I am sure I would have liked to hear your attempt at a gist.'

She stared defiantly at him now. He felt his throat dry out and an odd pain clench in his stomach—he knew he must be transfixed. She looked beautiful again, even in her defiance. It was his wish, he realised, that she would not look upon him with such contempt. He could bear it from others, but not from her. He made to speak, but found his throat closing up tightly and no words would come.

It was only when she abruptly turned to leave, that he felt his brain switch on again. 'Must you rush off?'

She paused at that and turned back around.

He swallowed uncomfortably. 'I would like to… That is to say, I am sorry for how things were left between us,' he said plainly, taking a step towards her. 'I regret that decisions I made caused you…hurt.'

She looked momentarily disarmed by his directness, before a contemplative expression took control. He felt she was likely assessing his sincerity, and he wondered if she might now try to deny that she was hurt. It would have been superfluous, however, it positively exuded from her.

'Very well,' she acknowledged eventually, with a small dip of her head, 'thank you.'

He felt a small release of tension, grateful that it had not cost him much to say the truth for once. Indeed, he rather thought he felt better for it. He knew there was more he should say - more he wanted to say - yet, he had no idea where to start. He wished she would say something, anything, that might start him off on the right track. But she said nothing further and the silence elongated into something unbearably awkward.

'I should… I have things to attend to,' she said, 'good day to you.'

He gave a resigned nod, feeling a deep sense of frustration and disappointment. He observed her progress back up to the castle for a time, her step never faltering, before spinning on his heel and marching down to the gates, swearing at himself for his uselessness.

Minerva must be mistaken, he thought. The matter must be dropped. He would tell her to leave it be. Hope always turned to disappointment. He had come too far to once again allow himself to be mired in resentment. He didn't want to live another life like that.

Nothing was worth that.

Chapter Text

Hope is a Dangerous Thing

Seven

2008

Minerva listened intently whilst Hermione read through some of the owl post that had accumulated in the past few days. She still wanted to keep her hand in the school business, as much as she could, which admittedly, was very little. Nevertheless, there was still much knowledge to share with her young colleague, and precious little time.

'These last few are well wishes to you.' Hermione handed her a small stack of envelopes, which Minerva put to one side, with the intention of reading them later.

She moved to sip her tea, giving a small sigh of pleasure, but noted Hermione had made no move to avail herself, unusually. Instead, her eyes were now directed towards the window, and she sat still in silent contemplation.

'Are you all right, my dear? You seem quite distracted.' Minerva kept her tone as light as possible, but she could tell by her friend's sideways glance she had not succeeded.

When Hermione finally did venture to speak, there could be no doubting the ring of accusation in her tone. 'Why did you never mention that you were in touch with Severus?'

Minerva straightened her posture defensively. 'He bade me not to tell anyone. And, if I may, you never asked.'

Hermione said nothing.

'My dear Hermione, had I known you and Severus had reached an understanding, hell, I would have dragged him back to this castle myself!'

Hermione let out a weak laugh and rubbed her face tiredly. 'There was no understanding. There was nothing, actually…'

'It can't have been nothing…'

Hermione waved her hand flippantly. 'A passing fancy, then…'

'A passing fancy does not smart ten years later.'

There was a resigned sigh. 'You are correct; whatever it was, I have never been able to truly forget it. It was a strange time and I think I let myself get involved in order to…distract myself from my own problems…'

Minerva watched her carefully, saying nothing, wondering how much she would be able to tease out this time.

'Of course, he was always such a puzzle, and then, suddenly, he was just there, right in front of me—totally unravelled and exposed.' Hermione shifted in her chair, considering for a moment. 'It should have been disappointing, really, that there was no real puzzle, in the end. That his story should have been driven by those commonplace, trite, emotions that blight us all in varying ways—love, regret, anger, resentment… It should have been obvious.' She smiled to herself, sheepishly. 'But, somehow, his story was profound. What touched me was this odd naivete that he had—an inability to really comprehend what he had done, and why he had done it. And… ultimately, what that made him, as a person—as a human being.'

Hermione looked at her now and there was a sombre turn to her expression. 'He thought death, his death, was the only rightful answer.'

Minerva looked away at that.

Hermione reached for her tea, seeming to try and blink away the heaviness in the air. In a moment, she continued in a brisker tone. 'But, to get back to the point, I thought it had all counted for something, you know? Why wouldn't he just come back, when he was able to? It's been ten years and then he just strolls back into the castle as if nothing has happened? Who does that?'

Minerva sighed at length. 'Dear, I suspect it meant everything to Severus, and that was undoubtedly the issue.'

At the doubting expression on Hermione's face, she continued. 'Severus has little to no confidence in his ability to inspire anything other than negative emotion. I am quite certain he would not have thought it possible you might even desire to set eyes upon him again, let alone spend time with him.' Minerva sighed again. 'Actions speak louder than words, Hermione, and that is Severus all over. You can read far more into what he does, rather than from what he says. Admittedly, it took me a while to work that out.'

They both sat in silent reflection for a moment.

'If there is one thing you must know about him, Hermione, is that he is desperate to be wanted and to belong, and to be loved, of course. He didn't receive it from his parents and he didn't receive it from Hogwarts. What does that do to a person, Hermione, to grow up feeling unloved and an inconvenience? How does it feel then to see how others live with love and happiness? How some are showered with it?

'Severus's only meaningful relationship was a childhood friendship that he placed far too much value on, because he knew nothing else. His entire well-being rested on poor Lily Evans. What did she know of the responsibility she had been given? She was a child. That relationship disintegrated, and then we know what happens after that.'

Minerva took off her glasses and rubbed a hand tiredly over her face. 'I have had to come to accept my part, Hogwarts' part, in why Severus joined Voldemort. I certainly tried harder the second time around, even though I was initially aghast when Albus told me he hired him.'

She caught Hermione's look of interest and she smiled, ruefully. 'But of course, it was all part of their plan, to which I was not included. Albus was convinced Voldemort would return, and he was determined that Severus should be our asset, be on our side, when he did. And to ensure that, he gave him a position—refuge. My job, of course, was to guide him as a colleague. Which I did, and I observed him, of course, I had to know who this man was that we welcomed into our midst. Except, I soon saw he was still little more than a boy, like a lot of them in Voldemort's thrall—misguided and alone.

'He took to teaching very quickly, in actual fact, and he yielded results. And after Horace, he was good for Slytherin House. I was pleased, I admit. They were good years, and I like to think that he came to feel he was part of something, finally. Everything started to unravel, of course, when Voldemort returned.' Minerva frowned at that. 'Do you know what's funny? Naively, I never thought Severus was to return to the Death Eaters. I thought, after all those years, that must surely be a death sentence. When Severus told me, I even pleaded with Dumbledore not to send him back.' She smiled at Hermione wanly.

'Of course, it all fell on deaf ears. It was the moment they had both been waiting for since the Potters were murdered. The long game they had been playing. They both rather cut me out of things, in the years after, as you know. When Dumbledore died, even knowing Severus as I did, I believed he must have duped me along with everyone else.'

She reached for her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. 'He always says that was the point - that we, like Voldemort, needed to believe he had betrayed Albus. But Hermione, let me tell you, there was a part of me that could not comprehend it. How could I have missed it? He could not have been that good a performer, all of the time?

'Well, he wasn't. Eventually, during that last year when the Death Eaters took over Hogwarts, I began to see. His actions didn't always add up, and too many times, I could see the strain. But… I didn't dare say anything. How could I?'

Hermione reached over and squeezed her hand.

'In one of his darker moods, Severus once said to me that I saved him simply to assuage my own guilt. Perhaps that is part of it, but he did not consider that I just might not want him to die. That his death would cause me great pain...'

She trailed off at that and Minerva found herself closing her eyes and shaking her head, irritably.

'Oh, forgive an old woman for waffling on, Hermione! The point is, I myself struggled to understand why he stayed away all these years, but I now know it was the best thing for him. He needed that time to find those answers that he did not have, and to find them for himself.' She paused for a brief moment. 'I also think you gave him hope, Hermione, and I am certain he never felt hope in a long time. He is a brave man, to be sure, but that would have frightened him.'

Minerva placed her hand on top of Hermione's and gave it a squeeze.

'All I ask of you, dear, is to please allow him a chance to explain. He is still learning, as we all are.'

Hermione got to her feet and immediately leaned over the bed, wrapping her arms around Minerva tightly. 'I will,' she whispered.

Minerva returned the hug with a grateful smile.

A/N: Thanks for your kind comments : )

Chapter Text

Hope is a Dangerous Thing

Eight

1998

Hermione had, perhaps naively, anticipated marked—positive—changes once the use of his voice had improved. And whilst there were, indeed, changes, she soon came to see that to deem all of them positive might be overstating matters.

Whenever she called upon him, which was usually every other evening, he would always be up and awake. The bed was now removed to the far side of the room, separated by a large room divider. He would invariably be sat in an armchair by the fireplace, reading, or she suspected sometimes, simply thinking. Rarely was he out of his dressing gown, but she reasoned he had nowhere or nothing to particularly dress for.

Although he appeared more physically robust, she could not go so far as to say that he looked well. His countenance was perpetually greyish in pallor, and his cheekbones cut a rather angular plane to his features than was usual. And insofar as considering that reclaiming the ability to express himself verbally would improve his mental wellbeing, for a short time, this was probably the case. In a few short weeks after, however, she could see that, in actual fact, there was a noticeable downturn.

It was obvious to her that he might now be in danger of crossing the line from patient to prisoner.

It was this realisation that kept her persevering—even when he would remind her, most nights, that her presence was no longer necessary for his recuperation. Hermione rather thought that it was, but she always chose her words carefully. She had little else to do with her time, she would point out. She also required company in the quiet castle, she would argue.

He never took steps to prevent her returning, which she knew he could have easily done. She was quite sure that, had he requested it of her, Professor McGonagall would have told her to stay away. On that basis, she never read too much into his usual cantankerous mood, for it almost always dissipated into something more equable as the evenings drew on.

Hermione was under no illusions, though. She noticed that he drank a fair bit, too, and felt his acquiescence owed much to this fact. He always offered the whiskey to her, but she was never so stupid as to accept it. It proved to put her at an advantage during some of their skirmishes, as while he seemed predisposed to reticence, the alcohol often dulled his reserve. Some nights, she could even venture that he had proven to be good company.

But on this particular evening, she had found him looking almost as unwell as when he had first awoken.

'Are you managing to sleep at all?' she asked accusingly. She had long suspected that since recovering physically, he now slept far less easily.

'Who needs sleep?' he muttered tiredly, contemplating his tumbler.

'We all do.' Hermione returned to her knitting. 'You need to take up a hobby—something to focus the mind.'

'Like you, you mean?' There was derision in his tone.

She nodded, smirking to herself. 'I still haven't managed to crack it yet, though.' The mitten she was attempting might fit a small child, she reasoned. It really did help focus her mind. Or perhaps empty it of everything other than which stitch was next. Whatever it was, it brought her peace.

'In the short time we have spent together, I count no less than five so-called hobbies you have taken up, yet you have persisted with none of them. How is the baking going with the house-elves, by the way?'

She stilled, clenching her jaw. As usual, he had read the situation right. Her mind could never focus for very long these days. 'I'll stick with this one, you'll see,' she muttered obstinately, gracing him with only a brief lift of her eyes, whilst swallowing a smile.

Nothing further was forthcoming at that, and the only sound for some time was the rhythmic click of her needles. Then:

'Why do you persist in coming here?'

The knitting stopped and she sighed silently—the same subject he insisted on returning to.

'Must there be a reason?'

'There is always a reason.'

Hermione shrugged. 'Why does anyone spend time with other human beings?'

'Must you insist on answering questions with more questions?'

She huffed in resignation. 'I like spending time with you—there, satisfied?' Another question, but there was a rather long silence at it. She usually always gave the safe answers, but she must be feeling particularly facetious tonight. Maybe it would get him to drop the issue, finally.

'I don't believe you,' he said finally.

'That is your prerogative, I'm sure.' She resumed her knitting. 'Why do you allow my company if it vexes you so much?' She just about caught the brief look of confusion that shadowed his face.

'Well, I don't seem to have a lot of say in the matter.'

'Try locking your door, then,' she advised blithely, needles clicking. She smiled to herself at the sound of his pained sigh.

'I do not deserve your company,' he stated after a moment. 'That is the point, surely?'

She looked at him squarely now—he had never said that before. 'I wasn't aware my company was so lofty that it required earning.' She leaned back in her chair and suddenly gave a few dark chuckles. 'Some people might say my company is exactly what you deserve.'

He stared at her, before rubbing a hand over his chin and then stood up to replenish his glass. 'You are too much for me to keep up with tonight,' he grumbled.

She bit her lip and frowned at his back. 'We keep going around in circles on this. If you would rather I did not visit then just say so.'

Interestingly, he spoke as if he hadn't heard her. 'To say nothing of my larger transgressions, but I treated you and your peers with contempt.'

Hermione raised an eyebrow—this was a new tack. He seemed to be opening himself to scrutiny and she knew she could not pass on the opportunity. She considered her answer carefully for a moment. 'All of my peers? Or just the ones most closely associated with all of your mistakes and regrets?'

He glanced over his shoulder at her and Hermione didn't dare to breathe, wondering if he would explode.

'Ouch,' was all he could say, taking a drink.

'You chose to protect the children at Hogwarts. You were prepared to die to secure the future of the Wizarding World. What does it matter, really, what happened in Double Potions four years ago? After everything, what does it matter?'

She returned to her knitting, beginning to feel somewhat uneasy.

After many moments, he spoke again. 'Actually, I chose to protect Potter.'

'At the beginning, maybe.'

He returned to his chair and she could sense he was not done. He set his tumbler down at the side, but twisted it repeatedly in his fingers.

'Potter showed you my memories.'

Hermione tilted her head and surveyed him with interest. 'You want to go there?'

He nodded minutely.

She set aside her knitting then and folded her arms across her stomach, hoping, belatedly, that she did not appear too eager. 'Very well, then… Yes, I have seen them, and no, he did not show them to all and sundry.'

'What did you think?'

She considered for a moment, feeling that the conversation was veering towards the surreal. Did he want a critical commentary as if his life were a film to be reviewed? It was his obvious earnestness that prevented her from making such a sarcastic comment aloud. She thought about how she had anticipated a moment like this—an opportunity for her to learn more—and yet, as she cast her mind back to those scenes she had witnessed in the Penseive, she found her courage dwindling.

'That I cannot imagine ever living that life—what it must have been like.' She shrugged her shoulders in defeat. 'That your commitment to revenge is quite commendable.'

His eyes crinkled at the corners slightly as he almost smiled. 'You don't approve.'

'I don't understand it,' she clarified.

He nodded his head towards the pile of newspapers in the basket by his chair. 'No one does,' he murmured scornfully. 'But you have contradicted yourself, Granger. In one breath I am sacrificing my life for the future of the Wizarding World, but in another I am committed to exacting revenge. I think we know one is more commendable than the other.'

'Well, I'm not suggesting they were your only source of motivation. Anyway, you tell me—it was your life.'

'In truth… I am not sure, anymore, why I did what I did. Should I not feel pleasure at Voldemort's demise? Satisfaction at Potter's continued existence? Relief that it is over? And yes, I am sure I did feel those things briefly, but there is just emptiness now—indomitable nothingness… But revenge is apt, Granger, I agree with that.' He raised his glass to her.

Hermione felt quite frozen to the spot. 'You seem to want to diminish your actions in some way…'

'I got my revenge,' he began, eyes glittering in satisfaction, 'but therein lies the terrible conceit—that I should look to avenge a death I facilitated.' He closed his eyes and gave a resigned sigh. 'And in recognising that, I see now that I wanted forgiveness, too. But how could I be forgiven—how could she forgive me—for choosing to sign up to her destruction?' He scowled at himself. 'The destruction of people like you, Granger. How fucking stupid did I have to be not to see it for what it was?' He heaved a breath. 'I was party to it all, whether willingly or unwillingly, and in the end, I can never know if it was enough. I mean… it can't be, can it?'

There was a long silence where the only sound was the occasional crackle in the fireplace. Hermione found herself staring at the patterns on the rug beneath their feet, feeling vaguely confused, wondering if she was missing something important.

'I forgive you, for what it's worth,' she heard herself say in a quiet voice.

He lifted his head sharply and he looked almost stricken. She thought she detected a tremor as he placed his tumbler on the side-table, as if he had not the strength to continue holding it. He must now scoff at her presumption that her opinion mattered, she felt, but when he stayed silent, it emboldened her.

'The point,' she began after a moment, 'is that it actually does not matter whether Lily would forgive you, or anyone else, for that matter. You have to live with what has happened and the question is, can you forgive yourself? I think you do not want to be forgiven.'

Having to live with your mistakes—a punishment almost worse than death, she thought darkly.

He did not reply, only stirring to rub a hand across his brow and through his hair.

'If I may, I don't think you have attributed the true cause of your emptiness.'

'How? How can I not know myself?'

She shrugged. 'It is not always easy to have the emotional intelligence and self-awareness to recognise why we do what we do—why we behave in the way that we do. And, even if we do know ourselves, it is more difficult still to make changes.'

'Are you trying to say I am emotionally immature, Granger? Stunted, somehow?'

'Purely based on my own observations, then yes. I mean not to insult you; I confess I am not in possession of all the facts, but I would suggest we are all products of our own experiences, and it seems to me you have not had good experiences.'

His jaw clenched. 'You are correct, you are not in possession of all the facts.'

She nodded, feeling he was now becoming irritated by the topic of conversation, but to her surprise, however, it seemed he was not finished.

'Tell me, Granger, if we are products of our experiences, why did Potter not end up like me?'

She simply stared at him blankly.

'Potter spent his childhood unwanted, uncared for, unloved, and yet…' He flicked his hand in a flippant gesture.

The genuine interest she thought she detected in his tone moved her, and it took several moments for her to find her voice. 'Well, we are all different,' she began, feeling a tad out of her depth. 'Whilst there may be parallels, there will be much that was different for the two of you. What is to say that in a different place or a different time, you would have made different choices? And similarly, Harry, too.'

She watched him as he seemed to absorb those words. There was an indecisive look about him that made him seem increasingly vulnerable. For her own part, she was feeling uncomfortable, flushed, almost as if she had partaken of the whiskey too much herself. The turn the conversation had taken was disquieting and she hoped keenly that it would be able to end on a positive note.

'The past is done,' she said firmly. 'There is nothing I can say that can make you come to terms with it. What matters now is the future and what you do with it. My opinion, the opinion of others, is irrelevant if your own opinion is filled with anger and regret. You can never evolve with that hanging around you.'

He didn't look at her, his head was turned to the flames in the fireplace. 'I confess there is much that has happened in my life that I have never been able to reconcile… Never knew how to, I suppose…'

Hermione looked at her hands pensively, speaking quietly. 'Well, Dumbledore wouldn't let you.'

His head snapped up. 'What?'

She sighed loudly. 'What use is a man who is at peace with his past—a man with the emotional strength to allow himself not to be driven by anger and resentment, when there is a war to be fought? What use would rational thought be when difficult decisions have to be made and, frankly, horrific actions have to be taken? You played the game longer and better than any of us.'

Uncomfortably aware that her tone of voice had risen, she decided she had no courage left and resolutely shut her mouth. Surely he would explode now, she thought. But still he sat motionless, moving only after a time to rub his hand over his chin in another anxious gesture. She could barely hear him when he did speak.

'Dumbledore never forced me into anything—there was always another choice. It was what I wanted, at the time, and I was under no illusions, Granger, as to where it would lead, in the end. Now that it is over, I just don't know who or what I am supposed to be. '

'That is something you will have to find out.'

He made a low hum, whether of agreement or disagreement, she could not be entirely sure. She observed him for a time, but he made no acknowledgement of her, preferring to keep his eyes cast towards the fireplace. The clock would soon be striking a late hour and, in the end, she thought it best to just take her leave. 'I should go now,' she said, fumbling her long-forgotten knitting into her bag and getting to her feet. Still he did not stir.

But, as she passed by his chair, the sound of his voice caused her to halt in her tracks.

'I should not say these things to you,' he murmured, without looking at her.

Hermione simply stared at the back of his head, a flurry of thoughts flitting through her mind. Then why do you? She wondered silently. As she weighed up her feelings of confusion, helplessness, and something that felt vaguely painful, she wondered if he might be right. But they were said now and could not be unsaid. Or forgotten, for that matter.

She took a leaf out of his book and avoided acknowledging his words, instead saying, 'I'll send up a Sleeping Potion from the Infirmary for you.'

With that, she left.

A/N Thanks for reading and thanks for your comments too, much appreciated : )

Chapter Text

Hope is a Dangerous Thing

Nine

2008

Severus pulled on his coat and raked his fingers through his hair—this was the sum total of his preparations before leaving for the castle. He descended the stairs into the bar at The Hogs Head and was very nearly at the door, when a brief glimpse of some familiar curly hair in the corner of his eye made him double-take.

On recognising it was indeed the deputy headmistress standing at the bar, he thought he could make a quick dash for it through the door. As ever, though, his luck was out; she spotted him immediately, even crossing the floor towards him.

'Good evening,' she said, 'I was hoping to catch you.'

He could not read her expression and Severus felt the inevitable pang of foreboding.

'Poppy says Minerva has not had a good day today—she is quite tired and is currently sleeping.'

'I see… Very well, I shall not bother her tonight.'

She nodded and he just about caught the indecision in her face. He noted then that she was not in her teaching attire. 'I hope you did not travel down here simply to convey a message.' Not when she had a whole owlery at her disposal.

'Not quite… I have Wednesday evenings off and, ah, I find myself in need of diversion.'

'I see; well, enjoy your diversion.' He nodded his head and turned to take his leave, but her hand automatically reached out to forestall him.

She looked at him with a mixture of challenge and expectancy.

He could have kicked himself at his obtuseness. 'You wish me to provide you with… diversion?' Outwardly, he was mildly surprised, but inwardly, he was gobsmacked.

'Professor McGonagall speaks very highly of you. She wishes that I hear your account of the past ten years and, well, I am prepared to listen, if you are prepared to tell it?'

And suddenly, the gloves were coming off, quite literally. She placed them onto the bar and then unwound her scarf from her neck to join them. A waft of her perfume reached him as she did so. He was quite sure now that Professor McGonagall was absolutely not tired tonight.

Was he prepared? Not really. But he knew he wanted a chance to win her over. And if he could not do that, he owed her an account at least. He sighed silently, realising he might never get a better opportunity.

'I will need fortification,' he said finally.

She gestured at the bar. 'How convenient; I'll have a white wine, please.' With that, she turned on her heel and made her way to a table. There were very few other patrons, but he noted she chose one of the more secluded areas of the pub. He took the opportunity to steel himself, mentally and physically.

'Thank you,' she said as he set her wine glass down.

He sat opposite and took an immediate sip of his ale, looking at her. He would have to graduate to the harder stuff fairly soon, he reckoned, but it would be an error to start on it too early.

He cleared his throat. 'You have questions, so ask them—you may ask me anything.'

She looked at him sharply. 'You will answer them truthfully?'

'The ones I choose to answer, yes.' He smirked a little.

She looked mildly irritated at that, which is probably why she chose such a banal opener. 'Do you like being in the castle again?'

'I don't dislike it.' It was somewhere near the truth.

'Minerva says you live and work amongst Muggles.' He sensed her posture stiffen a little at the reference to his exile. 'What do you do?'

'I work in a Muggle University—in the library.'

Her bottom jaw slackened. 'You work in a library?'

'Yes.'

'Where?'

'Durham,' he replied, after a minute pause.

He sensed this might not land well. She said nothing in reply, but her expression clouded. The county was practically a stone's throw away, he expected she was thinking. After a moment, she roused herself again.

'So, are you living as a Muggle?'

'No, I have not forsaken magic entirely, of course, but those five years I spent without my wand, well, humans are very adaptable.'

She stared at him for a moment, a little bit unseeing, he thought. Her fingers plucked at the stem of her glass, twisting it about slightly.

'But, what is that like?' she asked quietly. 'Do you not miss the freedom to use magic at will?'

'Not really. I have been accustomed to living amongst Muggles, and I admit it was difficult to lose my wand, but none of us actually need magic to survive. In fact, it was a blessed relief to be without it.'

She drank from her glass. 'So, it wasn't a punishment after all?'

'Taking my wand was only part of it, as you know.'

She nodded slowly. 'Why did you decide to hand yourself in to the Aurors, knowing it could jeopardise your liberty?'

'Of all the options, in the end, it was the right one. I knew there would be consequences, but I am satisfied I made the right choice.'

'You choose not to go to trial—how was that the right choice?' She frowned. 'It was thought you probably would have received a more lenient sentence had you had a trial.'

'I made a deal with the Ministry and I preferred not to face a total public airing of my life's mistakes. It suited them not to make a circus of it, too. They also agreed not to pursue anyone that had kept my survival a secret.'

'What?'

'You think you can harbour a Death Eater for months and not have any questions asked?'

She scowled at his facetiousness. 'That's not exactly accurate.'

He shrugged. 'Nevertheless, you obstructed the Ministry. I doubt they would have punished you unduly, but still, it would have been unwanted scrutiny for Minerva—especially just as Hogwarts was just getting back on its feet.'

'I see,' she said quietly.

'I told them what they wanted to know—I gave them all the names of the Death Eaters that I was aware of. I identified the perpetrators of some of the unsolved murders they still had. As you know, they could have left me languishing in Azkaban, but I expect I have Potter to thank for the fact they didn't. Instead, they took my wand and exiled me to the Muggle World for five years. Hermione, let me tell you, I was happy to go.'

Even in the half-light, he could see her expression drain. 'But why?'

'I think you know why. I was not supposed to live, therefore, I was unprepared for a future without either Voldemort or even Dumbledore. I have been ill-equipped at life for the majority of it, the thought of carrying on as I was, well… It was a fresh start, but a legitimate one. I could have continued to pretend to be dead and flee, but that wasn't the answer.'

Her eyes dropped to her glass, downcast. Again, there was an elongated silence as she seemed to wrestle internally with something. He knew what it was.

'Go on,' he urged softly. 'Ask the questions you really want to ask.'

She looked briefly mutinous as she folded her arms protectively. He wondered if the Gryffindor courage would fail and he would be reprieved, but of course, no such luck.

'Very well,' she said obstinately. 'I wrote to you numerous times when you were in Azkaban, but you never responded. I thought we had become friends.'

He considered a moment before replying.

'I wanted to accept my punishment in the way it was intended. I was to be Banished and I would not be allowed to make contact with anyone in the Wizarding World for five years. I have no doubt that you would have tried to help me, but I did not deserve your help, Hermione, so freely offered as it was. It would have been wrong of me to encourage anything that… Your life did not need to be put on hold.'

Her mouth opened to protest, but he held up a hand.

'I could not engage with anyone in the Wizarding World. If they caught me, I would be back in Azkaban. Would you have given up your wand just to keep a wreck of a man company?'

'Perhaps… Maybe you were not the only one who had had enough!'

'Really?'

She rubbed a hand across her brow and sighed. 'No… I could not have left.'

He found himself leaning forward slightly. 'I needed time to get things straight in my mind—to accept the things that I have done, to understand the person that I was, that I am, and learn what that person could be. You told me I needed to do that, do you remember? I couldn't have done it, where at every turn, there would be constant reminders. I was tired of it. You know what that is like—you were tired, too.'

He watched as her eyes seemed to fill. His hand flicked to hers, but stopped short of where hers rested on the table. 'Please, Hermione,' he whispered quietly, 'you must allow me to have this decision as one I made for the right reasons.'

In a lifetime of bad decisions, there were not many to redress the balance.

'But you didn't deserve to be Banished! I was so angry; we all were.' She swiped at her eyes viciously.

He swallowed uncomfortably. 'I did deserve it and, Hermione, I wasn't angry. This was my official reckoning and I accepted it. And when it was done, so was I—totally free, finally.'

Those words seemed to resonate within her and her posture softened perceptibly.

'OK, you were officially exiled for five years, but why did you never return afterwards? Why did you contact Minerva, yet for me there was nothing? Merlin, I have always wondered…' This time she broke off with a loud sigh and a shake of her head.

'I decided there could be nothing to return to.'

'But how could you know that?'

This was where it became awkward for him. He couldn't have known it, not really. He could only give a minute shrug. 'I preferred not to know, Hermione… I couldn't face more disappointment.'

There was almost a stony silence following that and he drank cautiously.

She spoke eventually. 'Are you happy?'

He blinked, sure he had never been asked that before, and he quailed a little at having to answer it.

'Well, I am not sad.' He did not know true happiness, to be sure.

There was quite a long silence after that. She was clearly turning things over in her mind and he took the opportunity to visit the bar, wondering what her verdict would be.

When he returned, she took a deep breath.

'I am aware I have been a little… standoffish… Please do not think that I resent you in any way, Severus. I know this is not all about me, and if you have found a way of living that brings you contentment—that you have found peace, well, I am happy and relieved. Truly, I am.'

Her smile was a watery one.

He dipped his head in acknowledgment, feeling quietly pleased. It gave him the courage to say his next words.

'I cannot say that I never thought to make contact with you once my exile was over. In fact, I actually thought many times of you…' It had been more than many, the problem was that when he had thought of her, he could never be sure that his memories served him correctly. The longer time went on, the more difficult it was to determine what might have been reality and what might have been wishful thinking on his part.

She raised an eyebrow sceptically. 'Surely it was obvious my friendship would always be open to you?'

He gave her a long look. 'Is that what it was?'

Her eyebrows shot up and her cheeks immediately cherried a little. 'Yes, of course…' She stumbled a little and frowned at her own words. 'Well, I guess we'll never know now, will we?'

For a moment, he didn't know what to say to that. 'Won't we?' He answered finally. And this was the crux of the matter. Was it only friendship? His instincts had not always served him well in the past, but he was quite sure now they were not the platonic sort. But of course, just because he was able to hold on to his feelings for years at a time, did not mean everyone else did. Drawing fortification from his glass, he continued in what could have easily been mistaken for a bored tone. 'The other day, when you came into the Hospital Wing, and we met for the first time again, you were wearing my mother's brooch.'

Despite not wearing it this evening, her hand automatically reached up to her neck and her breath hitched. 'I didn't know it belonged to your mother.'

He nodded. It had been the very first thing he had noticed when he had laid eyes on her after all those years. The brooch he had given her that last Christmas, pinning the collar of her robes together, taunting him cruelly.

She gulped the last of her wine and for a long time neither of them spoke. He was thinking of that last evening and he was fairly sure she was too.

'You knew then, didn't you?' she murmured.

There was no wondering as to what she meant—that he had known that evening was to be the last time they saw each other. He nodded stiffly.

'You really are very annoying, sometimes, you know?'

He bit back a laugh. 'It would have been unfair to tell you.'

'Nevertheless, you had me there at a disadvantage.'

He smirked fondly, but quickly hid it. Unremarkable, perhaps, to the average person, but the memory of that last evening had sustained him through many a dark time since. She had conferred a great deal upon him in that one moment, more than she might ever understand.

'Then you must see why I let you be after I was arrested; no good could come from it. I am a man capable of great weakness and I know now that is not a good place for me to be.'

She said nothing for a time. 'It is not a weakness to seek companionship or…' She trailed off at his sardonic look.

'It is when I am me and you are you.'

She seemed to ponder on that for a moment. 'Fine,' she muttered resignedly. 'I can't argue with that.'

'Sorry?'

'You heard.'

He smirked.

She rolled her eyes, before looking to consult her watch. 'I will have to start my way back soon, it is a school night after all.'

'Of course; I shall accompany you to the gates.'

She didn't immediately get to her feet, however, and appeared to be deliberating over something further. 'You would not still consider it a weakness, would you?'

He was a little surprised by that. 'Not now, no,' he answered slowly. Definitely not now, he thought. She was older, had taken charge of her own life, and he was a free man now, in all senses of the word. The only thing that seemed to be in the way, as ever, was the past.

She gave a small nod. 'Right,' she murmured to herself, 'always good to know.' She smiled a little ironically, before beginning to ready herself for venturing out into the brisk night air.

He filed that nugget away for further consideration later, just in case his sudden pulse of hope was a result of a major misinterpretation.

They left the pub and he found the walk through Hogsmeade to be quite pleasant, the air providing clarity to his thoughts, but there was a mildly awkward silence that had now settled between them. He also felt a certain anxiety build in anticipating the manner of how they should part company—him being so woefully unused to such situations. In that regard, it was no surprise that the gates to Hogwarts were soon upon them in what seemed double-quick time.

'Thank you for your, um, time, this evening…' she said quietly.

He looked down at her, but had to quickly avert his eyes—the lamps on each side of the gates illuminated her features in a way that almost caused him pain.

'You know,' he heard himself say, 'I might have some questions of my own to ask.'

A slow circumspect smile drew across her face. 'Very well, I will do my best to oblige.'

'See that you do.' His voice was little more than a whisper, because he was finding it hard to get any breath into his lungs. There seemed to be heavy pressure all about him, pushing in on him, and instinct told him there was really only one way to defeat it. He could not do it, though. He did not have it in him, but he knew she did. He was quite sure she would have to be the instigator.

But it would not be this night—she pushed the gate open and slipped through it.

'Good night,' she said,

He nodded. 'Good night.'

A/N Thanks for reading : )

Chapter Text

Hope is a Dangerous Thing

Ten

2008

'Well, how did it go?'

Minerva peered expectantly over her glasses as her deputy headmistress took her seat next to the bed. She was fairly sure Hermione was aware she had been manipulated into travelling down to The Hog's Head. No doubt Severus was aware too.

Marvellous what one could get away with on their deathbed, she thought, wryly.

To her surprise, two red spots of colour appeared on the cheeks of her young friend.

'What—have you reached an understanding already?'

'No!' Hermione shook her head vehemently. 'Of course not; it is not that simple—he is practically a stranger to me now.'

Minerva scoffed loudly, but when she received a hard look, she decided not to push that point any further.

'Let us just say,' Hermione continued, 'that I accept his apology and I fully support his desire to change his life and to be at ease with himself. Though I hasten to add, I would have supported that at the outset.'

'That's it?' Minerva tried, but couldn't hide her utter disappointment.

'Yes.' Hermione folded her arms primly. 'What else is there?'

Minerva stared at her, shaking her head with impatience. 'What else is there? My dear Hermione, please, do yourself a favour and allow yourself some happiness.' She reached over and squeezed her arm. 'Severus is not the only one with demons to slay, I fear.

'Do you not think it is time to forgive yourself for what happened to your parents? You did what was right at the time. You know the Death Eaters would have killed them. You couldn't have known the charm could not be undone.'

She watched as Hermione's bottom lip trembled slightly.

'I should have known,' she muttered fiercely.

'Hermione, they have not suffered, but you have. Punishing yourself by being alone will not change anything. You do not deserve to be punished, just like Severus does not deserve it. He, like you, insists upon it.'

There were several moments of silence and Minerva observed the conflicting emotions passing across Hermione's face. She decided to push a little more.

'It is quite obvious there is something between you, but I can't understand what the dithering is about.'

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip, seeming to struggle with what she wanted to say. In time, she spoke in a quiet voice, 'I am not sure I can trust him.'

'Because he hurt you?'

'Yes. I deserved better than that.'

Minerva could not disagree, but she could also see the bigger picture. 'You did not deserve to be ignored, but Hermione, do you not think you may have been saved from even greater heartache? You would have been forced apart once he was exiled. How much more difficult might it have been had your relationship continued through his stay in Azkaban?'

'Maybe things would have been different had he allowed us to help.'

'No, dear; Severus made a choice, and whilst it hurt both of us, it was never about us. It was his life, his choice, for once.'

Hermione groaned in frustration. 'I know, I know; I accept that, I do.'

'Do you want to trust him?'

'Yes.'

'Then, Hermione, please give him a chance—the stakes will be completely different this time. We both know he is capable of great loyalty.'

They both suddenly sensed the irony and caught each other's eye at the same time, breaking into a few chuckles of sheepish laughter.

'Well, yes, and capable of great deception, too,' Minerva continued, smiling, 'but he will not wish to deceive you.'

'Do you think he wants a chance, then?'

Minerva almost laughed aloud, but swallowed it when she realised Hermione was asking the question quite seriously. For someone so intelligent and capable, and so outwardly confident, Minerva was always struck by the lack of inner belief she sometimes displayed.

'I should not be so bold as to speak for Severus, but of course he does!'

Hermione dropped her gaze at that and they subsided into companionable quiet for a time, Minerva sensing they both needed a few moments with their thoughts.

'Everything will work out,' Minerva assured, smiling.

Hermione stirred, looking at her thoughtfully. 'What will I do without you?' she asked quietly.

Minerva felt her own lips suddenly start to tremble. 'My dear, you are a strong woman—you will be just fine.'

Hermione shook her head in disagreement, swiping at her eyes. Then she took in a sharp breath. 'I'm sorry; please, ignore me.' She gathered her things together and then leaned over, giving Minerva a kiss on the cheek. 'I should go; he will be here shortly.'

No sooner had she said it than there were footsteps sounding up the stairs.

'Have a good night, dear,' said Minerva.

Hermione moved towards the door as it opened. 'Hello,' she said to the dark figure who entered, offering him a small smile.

'Good evening,' Severus replied, as she passed by. He closed the door behind her and then took his spot next to the bed. 'She looked upset,' he observed quietly.

Minerva sighed. 'I'm worried about her.'

'Why?'

'She has never allowed herself to get over the loss of her parents—what she did to them.'

He said nothing.

Minerva sighed again, at length, deciding it was time to be frank with him too. 'Severus, I must know this is resolved between you.' She gave him a serious look. 'There are few concerns I shall carry with me to my grave, but what should become of two of my favourite people is one of them.

'There is Hermione, who has many friends, of course, but has no one where she is the first in their affections, and you, Severus, you have tried your best to prove you need no one, but in doing so it has prevented you reaching your true potential. That the answer lay in bringing you both together, to take care of each other, well I am only sorry I never thought to engineer it sooner.'

A truly bitter regret, she thought suddenly. If only she had known!

A brief glance at him told her she had rendered him speechless—he looked vaguely dazed.

'You're going to have to make some sort of gesture, Severus—'

He recoiled suddenly. 'What, Minerva—'

'Yes! You let her down; Weasley let her down… You need to give her something that she can take confidence from.'

'I can't do grand gestures.' He stared at her as though she had two heads.

'You are good with words. Just tell her how you feel; proclaim your undying devotion if you must.'

'Have you overdosed on pain relief?'

'No!' She exclaimed with a weak laugh. 'I am simply running out of time.' She looked at him, hoping her sadness was not too visible.

He huffed out a breath. 'Minerva, this is not your responsibility.' He reached out and touched her arm. 'I know you have worried for my well-being in the past, and I am grateful for your concern, but you should not worry for me anymore. I am quite sure Hermione does not wish you to worry on her behalf, either.'

She stared at him, vision blurring. She had worried herself in the past, but she sometimes wondered if she had worried enough. She was reminded suddenly of the first time he had returned to Voldemort following the disaster that was the Triwizard Tournament. Dumbledore had been his usual, serenely unbothered self, and she had sat there feeling sick, fairly sure that Voldemort would send Severus's Snape's dead body back to Hogwarts as an unequivocal message.

It had always pricked at her that she might have done more to convince Dumbledore to release Severus from his perceived obligations.

Unwilling to dwell further on that, she instead turned her thoughts back through the years to the moment Dumbledore had sent her to receive their newest recruit. She could see the pained look even now when he had seen that it was she descending the stairs into the Entrance Hall, rather than the Headmaster. She felt a smile pull at her lips.

'What?' Severus asked, bemused.

'Do you remember the Christmas break when you started here as a teacher and Dumbledore made me train you up?' She started laughing, putting a hand to her face. Merlin, they had had some fractious moments, particularly during those first few months, but he had always been respectful.

'Of course,' he agreed in a deadpan tone, 'I always take great pleasure in saying everything I know about teaching I learned from you.'

'I'm flattered,' she chuckled. 'I soon knew I'd created a monster when Slytherin started winning all those House Cups. And Quidditch Cups, come to that.'

'And then you bought Potter a broom, just to get back at me…'

'Exactly, you drove me to it!'

She closed her eyes with a sigh. Those simple days when house points and trophies were their main concern. Still, she was grateful that all of those days—simple or otherwise—were now long behind them. And whilst she might not have many of her own days left, it was enough to know that the prospects for those she cared about were far more positive.

Another bubble of laughter began to rise up from her chest and she quickly tamped it down, but failed to conceal the accompanying smile. 'I still think you need to make a gesture though, Severus.'

'No…'

'Please?'

A mutinous glare was his only response.

Minerva said nothing more—she knew she didn't need to. The seed was planted and she knew his cogs would be whirring. And whilst Hermione may not get a grand gesture, she was fairly sure she would get something.

Ask for the world and accept a small country—that was more than good enough for her.

A/N Thanks for reading : )

Chapter Text

Hope is a Dangerous Thing

Eleven

1998

Christmas was approaching and in only a few weeks the castle would finally be filled with children again. Hermione would be officially restarting her studies and earning her keep by providing support around the school where she could.

The sole occupant of the Hospital Wing remained the sticking point, however. Increasingly, she wondered what was to become of him. She didn't dare ask the person in question, and neither did she feel it her place to question the Headmistress. She presumed they must have at least discussed it—he obviously could not reside there forever.

And as she had anticipated, the matter did soon resolve itself. There was no direct input on her part, but there were two occasions with her involvement that could be deemed precipitous.

The first on a Saturday afternoon, when she received a note via a house-elf. She was surprised at the familiar spidery scrawl, because he had never once requested her presence. She was even more surprised at the request that she bring him a broom.

Hermione marched straight to his chamber. He was standing at the window peering out when she arrived, and for once, he was actually dressed in clothes other than nightwear. Before she could utter anything, though, he beat her to it.

'I need to get outside for a bit, Granger, or else I shall go mad.'

She was immediately deflated.

He turned to her. 'I need to walk… If you bring me a broom, I shall fly away from the castle where no one shall see me.'

'Professor McGonagall—'

'Is in London and will not be back until tomorrow. There is hardly a soul in the castle, Granger, and I am cooped up. No one shall see me.'

Hermione remained indecisive. She could see his point, but she knew he was supposed to remain out of sight. And what if his intention was to do a flit? How would she explain that one to Minerva?

'Is this really a good idea?'

He shrugged. 'If you do not bring me a broom, I will simply take my chances and walk out via the Grand Staircase.'

She huffed, knowing full well that despite the castle being quiet, it was not empty. Never mind that at any moment, Ministry officials could turn up. 'Fine, but I shall have to accompany you.'

He groaned loudly. 'No…'

'Yes,' she insisted. 'You may do what you like, but I shall at least be nearby and can keep watch.'

'We're in the Scottish Highlands, in the arse-end of nowhere.'

'Nevertheless, you put me in an awkward position, therefore, I insist I have some sway over it.'

'Fine,' he harrumphed irritably.

It took her some time to locate the keys to the store room where the brooms were kept, but she returned forthwith with two broomsticks. He was waiting by an open window, which he immediately jumped through to land on the small balcony around the tower. He threw up his hood so that he was at least somewhat indistinguishable.

'You'd better not try and shake me off,' Hermione muttered irritably as she passed the brooms out, hoping they would not be flying far.

He kicked off without a word and she followed at a short distance. He took them north beyond the Hogwarts perimeter to alight on one of the many barren peaks rising up above one of the many barren lochs.

Immediately, he removed his hood and Hermione nearly burst out with an admonishment. However, it occurred to her he likely desired to feel the wind and the sun on his face and she kept quiet. The wind blew bitingly, despite the winter sun and with a mild frown she cast a subtle warming charm on her scarf and gloves.

'You enjoy walking, do you?' she asked. Evidently, he had been here before to have picked out such a specific spot.

'Not especially, but walking around in circles in a turret for months does tend to renew one's appreciation for enjoying landscape and nature.'

He raised an eyebrow at her as he adjusted his own scarf around his neck. His hair whipped up in the wind, but he did not seem bothered as he started out along the solid stone path before them. She shrugged her shoulders at his reticence and followed.

They walked in silence for a time. Hermione fell back behind a little, mostly because he set a brisk pace, but also to survey the surroundings. He was right, though, there was no sign of life to be seen anywhere. The wind stung at her cheeks a little and she was grateful she had secured her hair in a tie. The frizz could not have taken it.

Up ahead, he came to a stop after a while, pausing to sit atop a rocky outcrop.

'Didn't bring any sandwiches, did you, Granger?' He asked, when she arrived at his outpost.

She let out a bemused chuckle. 'I did not.'

'Pity.'

She took a seat herself, able to see that he perhaps was not entirely back to full fitness. She looked out to the vista of mountains and lakes before her, deciding It was undeniably majestic.

He broke the silence, unusually. 'So, you will soon start your N.E.W.Ts?'

'Yes.'

When nothing else seemed to be forthcoming, she started to pluck up the courage to ask him what his future held. As ever, he unerringly seemed to know the direction of her thoughts without her saying anything.

'Minerva desires things to return to as they were, pre-war.' He chuckled quietly at the idea. 'Is it as simple as that, do you think? Shall I clear my name and return to teaching?'

He looked at her suddenly and she blinked, her mind blank.

'Minerva hopes my reintroduction to society will be a formality, but I quite disagree.' He returned to looking straight ahead. 'I could disappear, of course… In a few more months they will officially declare me dead. I could start a new life far, far away from here, unfettered and free—is that not a tantalising opportunity? '

Hermione felt her mouth dry out and her heart begin to thud uncomfortably.

'What do you think?' He pressed.

Still she said nothing.

'Very well…' he continued, 'I am sure I will know the answer when it comes to me.'

In an almost involuntary movement, Hermione got to her feet. She was suddenly furious at her ineffectiveness—uncomfortable with how her pulse seemed to want to jump painfully from her neck.

He glanced up at her, eyebrows raised in mild interest. 'Something wrong? I have become quite accustomed to your words of wisdom, brutal though they often are.'

Though his words indicated humour, she noted there was none in his expression. The look he gave her was quite calculating.

She thought she should cry out that he could not disappear. She would help him clear his name and live freely. But she was confused at her strength of feeling, her mind a jumble, and found herself shrugging minutely instead. 'I am not sure I should advise you on this. Indeed, I…' She trailed off, clenching her gloved hands into fists and turned her body fully away from him. Why should it matter to her? Or to him? She felt her nails dig into her palm, even through the gloves.

'Who do you turn to for advice, Granger?' He asked suddenly.

She said nothing, further disquieted by his turn of questioning. There was no one, not really. Everyone always relied on her.

She folded her arms together, warding against the chill and stared out across the peaks to the islands that poked out of the sea and beyond. It really was so beautiful, and so oddly liberating. It touched her deeply within her chest and she felt all of a sudden light—lighter than she had felt in a very long time. Tears filled her eyes unbidden and she could do nothing momentarily as they rolled down her cheeks.

She never thought she would be able to appreciate beauty again—never thought there would be a time where there was only light in the world, and nothing dark. To have a brief moment to feel that nothing bad could ever happen when such beauty existed, it was a blessed relief. It took her breath away.

How lucky she was to be able to see this, and to feel this, when so many others never would. She thought of her parents and imagined that they might be stood there next to her.

Fearing she might crumple entirely into sobs, she grabbed the end of her scarf and dabbed her face with it. If she hoped her companion might have missed her upset, it was a vain hope. She caught him watching her.

He said nothing, though, and so neither did she. The cold quickly dried her cheeks as she stared ahead defiantly.

In time he stood, and, to her mild surprise, momentarily squeezed her shoulder. 'Come, let us return to the castle,' he said, 'I can see you are cold.'

He turned back to the path then, but she did not move straight-away. She might like to stand there forever, she thought. Heaving a large sigh, she took to her feet and followed him.

He set a more measured pace on the way back and she walked alongside him. They walked in silence, for which she was grateful as it gave her time to reorder her thoughts. He came to a stop after a time and took out his broom, which he returned to its proper size. Instead of following suit, she hesitated.

'What do you think will happen if the Ministry finds out you are alive?' she queried pensively.

'There will be an investigation—a trial.'

'Is that so bad?'

He shrugged. 'I don't have Dumbledore to pull any strings for me this time around.'

'Surely, he must have left provision to corroborate your side of the story?'

He seemed to survey her for a moment and Hermione could not pinpoint the meaning behind his expression.

'I don't think he expected me to live, either,' he said finally.

Hermione blinked. 'Oh.'

'But this is not your problem.'

This was said to her quite firmly and it startled her a little. She opened her mouth to protest.

'It is not,' he interrupted, and for the first time in a long while, she heard echoes of the coldness he had perpetually employed during his lessons, something which, until now, she hadn't even noticed was missing.

She was not offended, she decided. In her mind, at least, she thought she understood. She had seen and heard too much lately to not be able to see this for what it was.

'Very well,' she acknowledged quietly. She smiled, briefly, and that seemed to unsettle him, for he quickly looked away and jumped onto the broom.

Hermione followed him back to the castle, half-wondering if he would refuse to relinquish the broom back to her. Her wonderings were unfounded, however, it was handed back to her without a word.

Only a few days later, she received a second written request from him.

This time, it was the evening before she was due to leave for the Burrow for the Christmas break. She was in her room, feeling unusually in two minds. She had intended to visit the Hospital Wing that evening, but, surprisingly, the handwritten note actually requested her attendance. He had never asked her to join him before.

Several times, throughout the day, she had looked at the note and tried to justify the feeling she felt as anything other than a strange sense of foreboding.

At one point, she even considered sending a note of refusal, but she knew that could not be borne. So she presented herself at her usual time, but as she stepped inside, she remained vaguely ill at ease. For one thing, he immediately got to his feet at her arrival.

'Good evening,' he said.

She only nodded in reply. There was something noticeably different about his demeanour, and whilst chipper would be a gross overstatement, it almost felt apt in the circumstances.

He poured a glass of wine and proffered it to her. 'Come now, Granger,' he said, when she did not react, 'it's Christmas.'

She took the glass with a small pulse of trepidation. 'What's all this in aid of? I never took you for the festive sort.'

He motioned for her to sit. 'I am not, but I am exceedingly lonely and in want of entertainment.'

This was said in his customary deadpan tone, and as ever, she had to discern any sincerity. To be on the safe side, she resorted to a wry response.

'You must have fallen far to resort to seeking me out.' She thought of all his previous remonstrations against her visits.

'I am flattered you think I had any further to fall.'

Her eyebrows raised at that unexpected response. He held her gaze a fraction too long she felt and she blinked away.

He seemed to exhibit no discomfort and ploughed on, unperturbed. 'You travel to the Burrow tomorrow?'

Hermione nodded. 'Yes, I will spend Christmas there.' She felt vaguely guilty that he would be alone. Although, he himself seemed patently unbothered by that fact.

'Give my regards to Potter and Weasley, won't you?'

She stilled and then scowled at him. 'I don't like keeping things from them.'

The longer this went on, the more time she spent wondering what Harry would think, in particular. 'Harry would very much like to—'

She broke off at the vehement shake of his head. 'I have no desire to spend time discussing Potter.'

'What would you like to discuss, then?' she shot back, mildly irritated.

'Why are you not going home for Christmas?'

That she had most certainly not expected and she felt her blood drain. He watched her sharply and, refusing to be cowed, she met him stare for stare. She did resort to drinking a gulp of wine as a delaying tactic, though.

'I think you already know why I am not going home,' she said at last.

She had long considered that Professor McGonagall would likely have told him about it.

'Why have you not mentioned what happened to them?'

Despite knowing it was none of his business, the perceived criticism in his tone caused in her an uncomfortable pulse of defensiveness, which disposed her to snap, 'When? Difficult to get a word in edgeways with you, what with—'

She broke off at his sudden look of astonishment. 'Sorry,' she murmured, grimacing, 'I didn't mean that.'

'No, no,' he dismissed, seemingly fighting against smiling. 'I can take it. I am quite aware that I have been self-absorbed.'

His concession did not lessen her annoyance at her own reaction.

'What I should have said, is why does it matter to you?'

Finally, he looked away, mildly uncomfortable it seemed to her. He gave a little shake of his head, as if to say it was of no matter, but she sensed it was not the answer he really wanted to give. She took another large sip of her wine, wondering if she had actually succeeded in offending him. But she was not ready to discuss her parents; she wasn't sure she ever would be.

His throat cleared. 'I am sorry for it,' he said simply. 'Although… I recognise it may be an affront, coming from someone like me.'

Only at that point did he look at her again. His posture seemed tense and his face frozen into a blank, unreadable expression. She thought he must be bracing himself. She struggled to form a response, because she could feel the tell-tale emotion begin to rise up in her throat and she fought against it.

Her voice, when it did finally come out, was little more than a whisper. 'Not if you really mean it.'

He nodded his head fractionally and she blinked against the burning in her eyes. She screamed at herself to recover her emotions. She would not cry again in front of him.

Briefly, she wished once more she hadn't agreed to this. There seemed to be an atmosphere that had never been present before. She felt it in the warm flush to her cheeks. She felt it in the way she noticed his fingers pull at the tie around his neck, as if to loosen it slightly. And she could almost taste it in the wine. Now, it hung heavy in the long silence that now passed between them.

The silence was only broken when he got to his feet, suddenly, and approached the mantel over the fireplace. He faced her again and now she could see he held a small wrapped gift in his hand. There was something vaguely like pleasure and horror that washed over her as she felt herself automatically rise to her feet and step towards him. His somewhat unusual demeanour through the evening now made a little more sense.

'Happy Christmas,' he said, offering it to her matter-of-factly.

'Oh, but I didn't… That is to say, you need not have—'

'Granger, take it, please. I am not interested in gifts so pray do not worry yourself.'

She took it. 'Thank you, very much. Shall I—?'

He shook his head vehemently. 'Merlin, no; open it later.'

She nodded, looking at it in her hands and feeling touched. 'You really shouldn't have.'

He looked down at her a little uneasily, she thought. 'Well, actually, I felt that I should thank you…'

Hermione almost flinched. 'What? You owe me no thanks.'

'On the contrary, I…' He paused. 'You have been very kind to me these past weeks and I think I owe you a good deal, so thank you.'

He held his right hand out to her, formally. She stared at it momentarily, feeling dumb. She finally placed hers within his grasp, feeling a wave of warmth travel up from her fingers through to her chest. She expected a handshake, but he didn't shake it. Instead, he turned her hand over, looking at it in his, and his thumb brushed over the back of her knuckles. She couldn't suppress the resulting tingle.

In hindsight, she must have known, deep down, what this all meant—what this evening was really about. It must be that he had reached some portentous resolution about his future. That he had made a decision that had required strength and courage. That he was about to face the unknown, and that he expected to have to face it alone, as he always had done. And maybe that is why she did what she did—to embolden him further.

But, in the moment, she had no real comprehension of any of that.

As it was, she watched him consider their hands, as if he were deliberating over something complicated, and she wondered if he had actually meant to kiss her hand. Without comprehending it, she suddenly snatched her fingers free. Immediately, his eyes lifted to hers and he shrank a little with chagrin. He was wrong to be embarrassed, though. She raised her hand up to his shoulder instead, and, using it as leverage, reached up to press her lips gently to his.

She must surely have intended only a brief, light touch—friendly and unremarkable, even. Except, the resulting warmth that buffeted her was entirely remarkable. And when she started to feel a firm, answering pressure, it began to stray long beyond what anything could be termed brief. Or friendly.

But when wild imaginings as to where she, they, could take this next entered her head, she pulled away sharply. That was certainly too much danger, even for her.

His expression was ponderous, and he made no attempt to forestall her, for which she was grateful.

'Happy Christmas,' she whispered to him.

With that, she fled.

Only the next day, after she had arrived at the Burrow, she found out via a copy of the Evening Prophet that Severus Snape had handed himself in to the Aurors and was in the process of being transported to Azkaban.

It took her breath away, but in many ways she was not surprised.

Of course, it was only later, much later, that she would come to understand the full implications of his actions.

And it would be later still before she would come to understand why.

A/N Thanks for your kind comments : )

Chapter Text

Hope is a Dangerous Thing

Twelve

2008

Severus closed the door to the Hospital Wing and remained standing in the hallway for several moments. There were thoughts jumbling about for supremacy, but he grit his teeth against them. What did Minerva mean by a gesture? What on earth was he supposed to do? He had no idea.

When he alighted from the Grand Staircase into the Entrance Hall, he came to another halt. His eyes were inexorably drawn to the stairs that led down into the dungeons. Was his subconscious mind telling him he should try and seek her out? Irrespective of grand gestures, he knew there was something he could prevail upon her for—something he was sure she would be happy to assist with.

He stepped towards the stairs, faltering indecisively, before rushing hurriedly down into the darkness. The sconces flared into life as he moved and by turns he felt foolish and hopeful.

He arrived soon at the door to his former office. It was only a punt on his part that it was now her office. There was a glow of light seeping from under the threshold and he knocked before he lost his courage. He decided he could always do a quick runner if the voice that replied belonged to someone else.

'Yes?'

Of course, it was her. Hardly knowing what he was about, he pushed the door open. She was sitting behind the desk, quill in hand, and a mountain of scrolls hovered nearby.

'Oh,' she said. 'Hello, again.'

'Please forgive my intrusion,' he began, closing the door. He looked around and must have failed to contain his faint horror.

'You like what I have done with the place?' she questioned, her face suddenly lighting up with humour.

'Merlin, Granger, it's almost inviting.'

She laughed. 'I'm very happy to hear you say so. Just wait until you see the classroom!'

He held up a warning hand. 'There's only so much trauma a man can take.'

She shrugged.

He decided not to stand on ceremony and simply took one of the comfortably upholstered chairs in front of her desk. 'Oh, Professor, no,' he sighed leaning forward. 'Not sweets, as well?' He lifted the lid on the jar and took out a Bertie Bott.

'Your reign of terror is merely the stuff of legend now.'

'But wonderfully embellished as well, I hope?'

'Do you think it really warranted embellishment?'

'Mm, probably not.'

She smiled to herself at that, asking lightly, 'What brings you down here?'

'You appeared upset earlier, I just thought to see that, well, you know…' He scowled inwardly at his fumbling of the words.

'Oh,' she said with a pleased smile, 'I am quite alright, thank you.' She glanced at the clock on the wall. 'In actual fact, I was about to return to my quarters, so you just caught me.'

Severus bit the inside of his lip, feeling he might be about to get the brush off.

'You, ah, may join me for a drink, if you have the time?'

She stood and gathered her things together, without looking at him. He relaxed his jaw and allowed himself a brief lift of his eyebrows. He certainly had not anticipated this turn of events.

'I have no wish to intrude.'

She smiled. 'You would not be intruding; come on.'

She extinguished the candles and he followed her out into the hallway. 'You haven't taken rooms in the dungeons, have you?' he asked doubtfully.

'Good Merlin, of course not.' She gave him a sideways look. 'I've got Minerva's old rooms.'

She must have caught sight of his answering frown, for her next words were: 'Just gets worse, doesn't it?'

'Indeed, I'm merely wondering when you are going to start wearing tartan.'

To his pleasure she cackled. 'I am quite sure that I shall never master the chic hairdo.'

Thankfully, he thought.

When they arrived he was relieved to note she had given Minerva's old rooms the same treatment as his old office, but, nevertheless, there was a certain air of familiarity that briefly disorientated him.

'This is where Minerva used to routinely demolish me at chess,' he observed grimly.

'Oh, really?'

'And try to get me to talk… She would take advantage of my need to excel at everything I do and catch me at my most distracted.'

Hermione set the fireplace into life and turned to look at him. There was a thoughtful expression on her face. 'I can't imagine she was successful at that too often.'

Severus let out a short chuckle and moved to stand in front of the flames—an open fire one of the few things he had missed from Hogwarts, he realised. She poured a glass of whiskey and held it out to him.

'Did she manage to get you to talk just now? She made no bones about questioning me.'

She returned to the sideboard and poured herself a glass of red wine. With her attention diverted, he summoned all of his courage to the fore.

'I confess, that is partly my other reason for seeking you out.'

He noted her back straightened up almost imperceptibly.

'Oh?' She turned around and gave him a surveying look.

He took a silent breath and ploughed on as best he could. 'I am sure Minerva has said much the same to you as she has to me. She cares a great deal about you and she has it in her mind now that we may… help each other. Well, you should know that I have given her an undertaking to earn your trust.'

She was staring at him blankly now, making him uncomfortable and unsure even in his own mind what exactly it was he was suggesting.

'That is to say, with your agreement, of course.' He loosened his grip on the tumbler, feeling he was about to shatter it. 'If that is too much of an imposition for you to bear, it seems to me we still have it in our power to ease Minerva's mind somewhat, before she… I would like to be able to do that for her, and I think you would, too.'

Her eyes had dropped away from him and were now directed at the floor. She was unmoving, apart from some shallow breaths, until she finally raised her glass to her mouth. It was not quite a gulp she took, but he felt it was not far from it. When she glanced towards him again, her eyes were glassy.

'We will not mislead her,' she said quietly, setting her glass down. 'We will tell her the truth.'

He felt his throat tighten with hope. 'Which is?'

She shrugged her shoulders and started towards him with purpose. 'You tell me,' she said plainly, 'to what end do you intend to earn my trust? How do you intend to earn my trust?'

He was able to look at her, but for several reasons was unable to speak. She ventured on, nevertheless.

'You are prepared to give up your peace and solitude, are you?'

He said nothing.

Her look became challenging. 'And for what, exactly? Not simply to fulfil yet another promise, surely?'

'No.' He burst out, without processing it, fighting not to physically leap out of the way of her intense study.

'You must see that I am everything you walked away from, don't you? Even more now than I was then.'

'Whatever you ask of me, I will do it.'

She sighed and shook her head sadly. 'I am not going to extort promises and vows from you.'

He made to speak but realised belatedly he had no idea what to say.

She took pity on him. 'You have to want this—for yourself. You tell me what would make you happy.'

He had to look away then, feeling he might not be able to muster the correct response. Hell, he had no idea how to respond. What did he want? How could he really know, if he had never had it before? He knew his life was at odds with hers, but it did not mean they were incompatible. He was prepared to face the wizarding world again if it meant maintaining a relationship with her.

'It may be a peaceful existence, but it remains a lonely one.'

'Then… get a dog.'

He detected no facetiousness in her tone, and he considered that she was waiting for something else from him. He thought he knew what the real issue was.

'You worry that, at some point, I will decide it isn't worth the hassle.' It annoyed him to say it, but only because he knew it was his fault.

'Wouldn't you?' she asked quietly.

Of course he would.

Severus glanced away from her, clenching his jaw. She was too close, filling his senses to the point his brain now seemed not to work, and looking keenly at him with that perpetual empathy that had always, by turns, fascinated and disturbed him. Then, suddenly, there was the light touch of fingers at his chin, nudging him back to face her. Her thumb brushed over his jaw, the lightest of touches, but his whole body suddenly felt in pain—exquisite pain.

With her other hand she took his glass from him, sipping from it, before setting it on the mantelpiece. When that hand seemed to come towards him too, he felt a sudden pulse of fear.

'Do you mean to torment me?' he whispered, thinking he could not be sure of her intentions. He wondered wildly if she intended some form of cruel payback. He was sure he could not take it.

She was surprised, briefly, before smiling sadly and shaking her head. 'No.'

Too late, he realised he had disrupted her impetus and she withdrew before he could react. She had meant to kiss him, he was sure, and he had thwarted it.

While her back was turned, he snatched up his tumbler and downed it swiftly. 'I am sorry,' he managed to say. 'I am not accustomed to…' The emptiness was all he knew. To feel suddenly a whole plethora of emotion that he was hard pressed to name, let alone understand… The pulse in his neck hurt, his stomach was in knots, and a vice-like pressure was pushing down at his chest.

'It is overwhelming,' she offered conciliatorily, considering him carefully from where she stood.

He nodded. He found he did not mind admitting this to her.

'Twas ever thus,' Hermione murmured dryly to herself, taking up her wine glass. She turned towards him, but instead of approaching him again, she chose to sit on the settee, sitting with her legs crossed beneath her and her back resting against the arm. She motioned her hand towards the opposite end and, somewhat automatically, he did as he was told. The carafe of whiskey floated towards him and as it distilled itself into his glass, he rather thought at this rate he would not see The Hog's Head again tonight.

'Let's start again.' She cleared her throat and then pressed a chuckle away from her mouth. 'I'm sorry if I'm a little, ah, intense.'

'I do not desire an apology—far from it.'

'Let us just say that it has been a long time since I have had… company.' She gave a wry smile.

'Why is that?'

Her head snapped up a little in surprise at his question. 'Oh… I suppose it wasn't a priority, and, besides, there is not much scope here at Hogwarts, you know?' She sipped her wine. 'So, perhaps we are not so very different on that score.'

'You have been married,' he scoffed.

'Ah, yes,' she said, nodding, 'that.'

'I have no wish for the gory details; I simply cannot fathom why you would do it.'

As soon as he said it he thought he might be pushing his luck slightly, but from her expression, he saw she had taken it in the humour he had intended. No doubt the wine helped.

'Well, there we are, Severus, that is the unfathomable conundrum that remains for us to solve. Why is it we put ourselves through this torment? Is it simply for the need to feel loved and to be wanted? Or for the desire to feel that we are not alone in this world—that there is someone with whom you can simply be yourself? Or is it so we have a distraction from ourselves?' She looked at him, but it was a vaguely unseeing look, as though she spoke to herself. With a blink, she continued. 'Some of us find it, some of us don't. Some of us are so desperate for it we seek it in the wrong place—usually catches up with you in the end, mind.'

He didn't know what to say to that.

'I can be on my own now,' she added. 'I am used to it.'

Suddenly, she jumped to her feet and rather than Summon the wine bottle, she crossed over to the sideboard to recharge her glass, talking as she did so.

'I will never again settle for anything less than what I want and what I deserve.' Her voice was quiet as she seemed to labour over the wine. He could not judge her expression as she continued. 'I do not wish to ever have to temper myself for anyone; I wish to be me—unapologetically.'

There was a small smile around her mouth as she faced him again. 'Not too much to ask for, is it?'

It was something about her sudden air of vulnerability that found him getting to his feet and moving to stand before her.

'Well?' she prompted.

'To answer your question, no, it isn't too much, but I can't imagine it is all you are asking for?'

She laughed, poking his shoulder with a finger. 'Ah, see, you know more than you think! Of course there's more. Let's see, there is respect, humour, intelligence, patience, thoughtfulness, empathy, compromise, romance…'

She ticked each one off her fingers.

'What else?' he questioned with interest.

'Love,' she said, a little wistfully, taking a drink from her glass, 'and passion, of course.'

She looked squarely at him and an invisible hand closed at his throat as his thoughts ran amok.

'That's a daunting list, Granger, it really is.' He swallowed his whiskey down in one go and placed the tumbler to the side, deciding he would imbibe no more tonight.

'You don't look daunted.'

'Alas, a long perfected art of mine.'

She inclined her head in acknowledgement, smiling.

They keep coming back to the same thing, he realised. It was obvious to him right then that he would have no better opportunity than this, and if he did not say the right thing now he would regret it forever.

'You continue to wonder at the choices I made, the way I choose to live, and what kept me there for so long—what keeps me there. Well, I shall tell you.'

She put her glass down and looked at him with interest.

'I have built a life where I live freely,' he continued. 'Days go by where I do not even think about magic. I think of the past, but I am not beholden to it. I think of my regrets, but I do not obsess over them. And if I do not have happiness, I have peace.' He hesitated over his following words. 'My greatest fear is that one day something happens that exposes it all as a charade, and, suddenly, I am back at the start, angry and bitter. Hiding is not the answer, though, from you or from anything else.'

Her eyes shone a little and he momentarily felt uncomfortable at opening himself so directly.

'You asked me what would make me happy, well the answer is obvious—it is you. It may be a lonely life, but I would never wish to share it with just anyone. Only you. And, whether you become Queen of this castle or not, it makes no difference to me. I am not afraid of Hogwarts, Hermione, or the Wizarding World, or to put myself back out there.'

It was quite novel to see her so dazed for once, he realised.

'Besides, you get time off,' he stated lightly, 'Durham is but a short broom ride for the ardent admirer…'

She gave a surprised laugh. 'I do not fly very well,' she admitted, with a small distasteful shiver.

'Then, I shall simply have to come and collect you.'

She smiled. 'That is agreeable.'

'Is it?'

She seemed to assess him thoughtfully. 'Yes, it is; I would like nothing more than to share in your existence.'

That rather took his breath from him a little. Was this it, then? Was this the understanding Minerva referred to? Was this the moment he had imagined as being totally beyond his reach until he had set eyes upon her again? And what to do now? He had let his insecurities get the better of himself earlier and from the way she held herself now, with an air of reserve, he was quite sure she was determined to hold her ground this time. It was no good, he had to know.

He dipped his head, pausing expectantly, but she nodded immediately. He kissed her; a gentle touch at first. He tried it again, more firmly, and she responded in a way that made his heart thud painfully, even regretfully. It was a relief to finally feel that their connection, the one he remembered, the one he thought he might have imagined, was something altogether pale compared to how it felt in real time. He eased away slightly, remembering the anguished sense of relief he had felt when she had run off, the first time around. Now, he hoped for a rather different outcome.

He sensed her thoughts might have followed his own, for she smiled and quickly closed the gap between them again. This was something else now, different in its depth and need. His hands seemed to know what to do without his input and one came to rest at the back of her head, the other at her waist. To hold her to him was also completely new; this he could not have imagined with any accuracy.

When she broke away, her forehead came to rest on his shoulder. Squeezing her gently, he tilted his head to lean his cheek into her hair, feeling that he must never open his eyes again, lest he lose all sense and memory of how it felt to be in receipt of such tenderness. And to bestow it, too—he hoped that novelty would never wear off.

'See?' He heard himself sigh softly. 'The truth is, if I couldn't have had this, then I didn't want any of it.'

He had said it, finally. The only reason that really mattered as to why he ran away from her—why he had rejected her friendship.

He pulled away to look at her directly. 'Do you understand?'

She nodded.

'Do you?'

'Yes,' she whispered firmly, as her arms came up around his neck and suddenly they were kissing again. With his arms around her body tightly, feeling the warmth of her, her fingers in his hair at his neck, he thought he could easily collapse. He stopped for a breath, blinking, fighting a surge of emotion that he was not familiar with. He felt he could be literally undone.

She relaxed back onto her feet and looked at him, her hands moving down to his shoulders where she gave them a squeeze. There was a satisfied smile on her face—the brightest smile he had seen her wear since his return.

Then her hands moved down to the tie around his neck, tugging at one end to loosen it. 'Do you know what else I understand?' she whispered. 'We talk entirely too much.' She punctuated that with a kiss.

He was well aware they talked too much, but if he read her intentions correctly he wasn't sure talking was a bad thing. 'I did not come here tonight with the intention of….'

'I know,' she agreed, 'neither did I bring you here with that intention.'

She looked at him, into him, and he tried to ease his mind.

'Funny how things pan out,' he managed to say.

'Is it?' Her eyebrows rose as she succeeded in pulling the tie away completely. 'Not when you consider how many times I thought about doing this. I mean, what do you think I thought about for the rest of that night, all of those years ago?'

Her fingers moved now to the buttons at his collar and part of him thought that he should intervene, but his faculties were long deserted and he could only swallow the lump in his throat.

'You thought about it, too,' she stated, pausing in her ministrations.

'Yes,' he managed to force out.

This pleased her and she kissed him again, her hands gripping tightly at his collar. The urgency of it warmed him in a way that was undeniably foreign, but clearly had the potential to be addictive. Never did he want to be without this feeling, he thought. And despite how close he already held her, she pushed herself against him even more firmly, before pulling away roughly, uttering the most exquisite whimper as she did so.

Surely sensing his reserve, she suddenly hugged him reassuringly. 'I think we have waited long enough, don't you?'

He rested his head against hers, with his eyes closed, knowing that she was right. 'It is too much, and yet… it is not enough,' he whispered, whether to himself or to her, he was unsure. 'Well, then, teach me all of it,' he murmured into her, 'all that I have missed out on.'

She lifted her head away to look at him. 'This is what you want?'

He nodded. 'Please.'

He was rewarded with the softest of kisses. Then as their eyes met, her expression became unusually suggestive. 'Luckily for you, I am a really good teacher.'

He considered her, before leaning down and whispering, 'I've heard rumours you can be a little strict.'

To his delight, her cheeks immediately turned pink.

Well, novice he may be, but he was no dunderhead. He would not let her keep the upper hand for too long. And yet, as he looked at her, he felt no fear at yielding himself to her. In fact, he found his thoughts not to be intrusive for once, not forging ahead, trying to anticipate, worry, or manipulate the situation at hand. His thoughts were only for her and for him, together, as they stood there, coupled with the sensation that, noticeably, he felt lighter than air.

He must be happy, he concluded.

Chapter Text

Hope is a Dangerous Thing

Thirteen

2008

Minerva stirred as she heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. Lately, she found herself dozing off far more frequently than she was used to. She shifted herself into a more upright position, wincing slightly. Any discomfort was dispelled completely by her surprise when two figures entered the room, each taking up a chair on either side of the bed.

She was quite sure she did not imagine that they both only seemed able to meet her eye briefly.

'Well, well,' she said, glancing between them. 'To what do I owe this pleasure?'

There was silence, but Hermione smiled widely at her.

Minerva let out a laugh. 'Don't tell me you have put aside your differences finally!'

'In a manner of speaking, yes,' Hermione replied, sending a swift look across the bed.

'Indeed,' Severus agreed, tapping his fingers against the arm of the chair.

'How? Minerva questioned. 'I never expected you to leave here last night and get straight to making grand gestures, Severus. I'd anticipated a few days, at least.'

'Do not…' came a low growl to her right.

Hermione broke in with a chuckle. 'Actually, we simply realised you were right, of course. We had a full and frank conversation about it and came to see that we both want the same thing. The past has been picked apart enough, already; it is time to move on.'

A full and frank conversation, eh? thought Minerva, is that what they call it these days? She could not fail to spot the new twinkle in the eye of her young friend, or fail to notice how fidgety her usually collected former colleague was. It was as she glanced at him that she decided to take pity on them. She could only imagine what a tumult his mind must be in.

'Well, this wonderful news!' Minerva reached out to squeeze Hermione's hand. 'I hope you will be very happy together.'

She felt her smile falter at her own words as she considered she would be unable to witness their time together. Thankfully, it seemed to go unnoticed by her companions.

'We are very grateful for your assistance,' said Hermione.

'I prefer, interference,' interposed a dry voice.

'Do not thank me.' Minerva feigned a look of innocence. 'I was merely an impartial observer.'

Severus scoffed loudly and Minerva glared at him expectantly.

'You have never been an impartial observer in your life,' he explained.

'Well, you would know,' Minerva shot back haughtily.

'I was nowhere near as bad as you!'

'A likely story; do you remember that dictionary I bought you one Christmas? The definition of 'biased' simply had a picture of you beneath it.'

'Ah, yes, I remember it; imagine my surprise when I flicked through to the next letter and found a photo of you beneath the word—' He broke off abruptly.

Hermione was watching him with raised eyebrows. 'Which word?'

'Never mind,' Severus muttered.

Minerva had to bite her lip against tears of laughter. She took up her handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. Good Merlin, that back and forth had kept them occupied for weeks, becoming progressively more and more insulting. It was a wonder they hadn't come to blows over it.

'It wasn't actually a photo of me, as I recall.' Minerva replaced her glasses and gave Hermione a pained look. 'It was a cat's backside.'

Hermione let out a snort, before sending a scolding look across the bed. 'Shameful behaviour.'

Severus shrugged.

The clock chimed the hour and Hermione turned to her. 'I will have to leave you to it—I have a detention to supervise this evening.' She stood and kissed Minerva on the cheek. 'Good night, Minerva, I'll see you in the morning.' Then she dithered, smoothing down her robes, before speaking across the bed. 'See you later?'

Severus nodded minutely and Minerva was only able to hold in her laughter until the door closed.

'I think you are blushing, Severus.'

'I do not blush, thank you,' he stated firmly.

She raised her eyebrows at him, before smiling ruefully. 'I have no wish to tease you.'

'I do not believe that for a minute.'

'I told you a grand gesture would work.' She bit her lip, trying to imagine what it might have entailed.

He let out a reluctant chuckle of his own. 'Hermione was right, there was no grand gesture… I am quite sure it owes much to your interference. I am grateful.'

He gave her a warm look and she smiled broadly, letting her head relax against the pillow with a small sigh. Had she been alone, she would have allowed herself a small cry. As it was, she pushed against the onslaught of emotions and memories to stay in the present.

'I'm glad,' she murmured.

Truly, she was.

'I just hope I do not make a meal of it.'

Minerva considered for a moment. 'Just be yourself and you will be fine.'

He scoffed. 'She subscribes to something similar, but I'm not sure it should apply to me.'

She looked at him and gave his hand a squeeze. 'Your true self,' she clarified, 'not the person who did his best to be despised because he thought that's all he deserved.'

She was sure he had managed to reclaim himself in the years that had passed since the war. She saw no reason why he could not hold on to it in the years to come.

'If it all works out, as I am sure it will, you will be very fortunate, and so will she. You will not give up your life as you know it, I presume?'

He shook his head. Minerva was unsurprised and in some ways she could see it was for the best. Logistically, it might prove difficult for them, one working in the Muggle world, and the other tied to a Magical boarding school. But she could see he would benefit from having something that was separate—something that was his.

'You should know that the Ministry will be appointing my replacement imminently. They offered to wait until… But I feel there is little need. Hermione is the only applicant.'

'I see.'

' I… I sometimes wonder if she really wants it.'

'What do you mean?'

'I think she will miss teaching and I wonder if it will bore her. Not only that, it can be such a drain—I don't need to tell you how demanding the role is… It is almost like you are never off duty.'

'Well, I admit I was rather busy during my brief tenure, but I don't recall Dumbledore doing a great deal on the day-to-day, as you yourself used to regularly gripe.'

A sharp laugh burst from her at that. 'Now, now; we always swore our post-staff meeting debrief was strictly "once said, never to be repeated"!'

He smirked.

'What I mean is, it is difficult to cultivate personal relationships outside of it.'

'Ah.'

'One of the reasons her marriage failed is that Weasley could not cope with the distance.'

'I am not Weasley.'

'Good Merlin, you are not.'

His expression started to cloud. 'What are you driving at, Minerva?'

'It may not be easy, is all, Severus, for you. You may have to sacrifice more than she will be able to.'

'You think I will be unable to share her with Hogwarts?'

'I would hate to think this place came between you…' She groaned and closed her eyes. 'Look, I just wish circumstances were different, that is all. I suppose I simply wish I had more time to be here.'

He said nothing, but he did shift as if uncomfortable.

'In many ways, I do not see her staying long after this, especially now you are in the picture… She has spent the majority of her life cooped up in this castle, much like you did. I think she will develop a taste for life outside it. And do you know what? I hope that she does. I do not doubt she will make an excellent Headmistress, but I do not want her to spend all her years here.'

'Stop worrying,' he admonished. 'We're not pieces on your chess board. You're starting to remind me of Dumbledore, trying to be several moves in front of the pieces you're manoeuvring.'

There was a smirk on his face as he said it and she scowled at him. 'That's a low blow, Severus.'

'Sorry,' he replied, sounding not remotely sorry.

He had made his point, however, and Minerva relaxed. It really was not her problem. She had achieved what she had wanted and her ability to influence or interfere was rapidly declining. It was time to let it all go.

They remained in companionable silence for a time, until Minerva caught him glancing up at the clock on the wall. She rolled her eyes ruefully.

'Go to her; her detention will be over shortly,' she muttered, feigning irritation.

He looked at her sheepishly.

'Go on,' she urged, with a laugh. 'It's nearly time, anyway.'

'Good night.' He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

'Oh,' Minerva squeaked in surprise. 'I am honoured.'

'Don't get used to it,' he cautioned.

As he disappeared through the door, her smile dissipated and she tiredly pulled her glasses away, placing them to the side. Her eyes pricked and she let out a shaky sigh. She was happy, pleased and relieved. And in some ways, proud as well. But as she extinguished the sconces and set the room into darkness, burying her head into the pillow, she felt sorrow, pain, and regret.

It would pass, as it always did.

Just as long as the sun continued to rise in the morning, she would be fine.

Chapter Text

Hope is a Dangerous Thing

Epilogue

2008

Hermione had long been able to appreciate a lovely, quiet relaxing Sunday, but they were now her favourite day of the week for a rather different reason.

She crossed the Entrance Hall swiftly, buttoning her cloak, before setting off down through the grounds at a brisk pace, hoping no one would accost her and cause her delay. She was in luck; lately, the cold weather tended to keep most of the children indoors.

She was quite sure her flitting back and forth from the castle after years of barely leaving it was becoming noticeable, but she pushed that to the back of her mind to be dealt with again. In any case, hopefully, it would soon no longer be an issue.

Closing the gates behind her, she started off down the path to Hogsmeade, before veering off it to the side a little. No sooner had she done so, a dark figure detached itself from the trees and moved to greet her.

'Good—'

She cut him off by throwing her arms up and pressing their lips together. 'I've missed you this week,' she whispered, when she released him.

He glanced at their surroundings before leaning back towards her to reignite their kiss. It was more than reignited. Her own muffled whimper was enough to alert her to pull away. She let out a breathless laugh. 'Can you imagine? Only weeks into the job and I'm sacked for public indecency!'

'Smuggle me into the castle,' he urged, ignoring her.

'No!' She admonished, extricating herself fully and putting a respectable distance between them. 'There will be enough time later for that; there is something else we need to do first.'

'So you mentioned, but you have been very cryptic.'

'I preferred to show rather than tell… Come, I will have to Apparate us.'

She took hold of his hand and, in a few moments, brought them to stand in the front garden of a small, detached, stone-built cottage.

'Is this…?' Severus asked, looking around at the obviously Scottish landscape that surrounded the cottage.

'Minerva's home, yes.' Hermione reached into her cloak and pulled out a large scroll. 'I received her will and testament from the Ministry this week and I am to execute it.'

'I see.'

Hermione looked to the cottage and then to him. 'She has left this to the both of us—half each.'

Severus blinked in mild surprise. 'She has bequeathed us a house?'

Hermione nodded. 'It is very generous, to be sure.'

She watched him survey the scene before him, wondering what he might be thinking. 'Minerva placed no stipulations upon it, so we may sell it if we wish to.'

His head snapped to hers then. 'How mercenary of you,' he observed with a smirk.

Hermione let out a weak laugh. 'Well, neither of us needs another house, of course. You have your own, and I, well, I have Hogwarts…'

Her parents had sold their house to fund the move to Australia, and with spending the majority of the year at Hogwarts, and most of her free time at Grimmauld Place, Hermione had never seen the need to purchase her own property.

'By the turn of your expression and tone of voice, I'm sensing you do see an alternative use for it.'

She smiled inwardly, always pleased that he could read her so well.

'I think the real reason Minerva left this to us is that one of the perks of being Headteacher is being allowed a Floo connection to a home they own outside of the castle, and this being hers means that connection is already in place.'

He looked at her then with comprehension, and she took his hand in hers.

'So you see, I wouldn't need to smuggle you in, or out, under the cover of darkness anymore.'

Hermione watched for his reaction. The first few months had been relatively easy, they both had free time on the weekend, and she had the odd evening in the week. But they were not enough for her now. She could not spend nights away, and he had no business in the castle anymore. Truth be told, she wanted him around every evening, and every morning, come to that.

She never wanted to ask him to live at Hogwarts, though. He could choose it, if he wanted, but she would never ask that of him. In her mind, this option gave them both some freedom, but convenience, too.

'I'm not saying you have to live here, of course—you will be able to Apparate here from Durham.'

He nodded to himself. 'But this is a gateway to unfettered access to the Headmistress's rooms? To come and go as I please?'

She nodded enthusiastically.

'It's a tempting proposition, to be sure,' he murmured, before chuckling lightly. 'How will that Governor's meeting go when they do find out you have me shacked up in your tower?'

She laughed. 'Well, they don't need to know for the time being, not until we are ready to tell.' She paused for a moment. 'They will probably expect us to formalise our relationship properly, at some point, of course.'

'Marriage?' He blurted out, feigning to be scandalised. In a moment, his expression turned serious. 'But you know, my dear, they may never be happy that I, an ex-Death Eater, an ex-convict, is attached to their illustrious Headmistress, married or otherwise.'

Her expression clouded darkly. 'Don't be silly.'

He raised an eyebrow at her.

'Well, who cares? I love my job, but not half as much as I love you.'

That, quite clearly, stunned him—she squeezed his hand tightly, before releasing it.

'Come on, let's have a look inside.' She walked on up to the front door, biting her lip to prevent a smile forming. She had been waiting for the right moment to tell him that for the first time, and to her, that was perfect. Succinct and matter of fact, no drama. No pressure.

She was already through the door before he managed to stir himself into following.

'Minerva has given us first dibs on her books, as well; many of which are at the castle, but there are some here, too.'

Hermione left him to his own devices, moving from room to room, making mental notes as she did so. In the upcoming half-term she would travel back here and empty the place. There were no specific requests with regard to the furnishings. She would meet Minerva's next-of-kin there for them to take whatever they wished. In reality, most of Minerva's treasured possessions were at Hogwarts and Minerva herself had been able to resolve their fate before her passing.

For as long as Hermione had been teaching, she knew Minerva had spent little time in the cottage, preferring to stay in the castle, but there were still familiar little reminders about the place, however, that made her pause. Photographs of the young Minerva. Lots of tartan. Quidditch paraphernalia. Gryffindor scarves.

Hermione smiled fondly.

When she arrived back downstairs, she found Severus sitting at the kitchen table, ostensibly in thought. She walked up behind him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

'All right?' she asked, as he glanced up at her.

'Will her family not be upset about this?'

'Oh, I think not… Her closest surviving relative is a niece with no specific tie to Scotland, and in any case, she left them her entire life savings.'

'Ah,' he said.

'You know, we can do something else with it if you feel uncomfortable—'

He shook his head. 'It is not that… It's…'

'Unexpected?'

He nodded. 'But oddly comforting…'

She watched his expression twist in confusion slightly and she nodded, speaking quietly, 'Because, it's almost like we don't have to say goodbye to her fully now—that she is still part of this.'

He turned his eyes up to hers and there was a small, mildly irritated frown. 'How is it that you understand me so well? Tell me, because I have spent years trying to fathom it out. No one has ever understood me the way you do.'

She laughed. 'It is what it is,' she said firmly. 'I have told you this before.'

He rose to his feet. 'I still think you cast some arcane spell upon me whilst I was comatose, all those years ago.'

Hermione rolled her eyes and he smiled a little ruefully. He lifted his arm to curl about her shoulders and pulled her to him. 'Whatever it is, I am glad of it,' he murmured, kissing her hair.

She brought her arm up around his waist and squeezed him reassuringly.

'You know that I love you, too, don't you?' he whispered, after a moment.

Her heart stilled at the words. She had not heard them from him before, but in fact, she had not concerned herself over it. In many ways she had felt assured of his feelings regardless, and only worried that he would be assured of hers. And so, to now hear those words spoken, but for them to unexpectedly elicit hot tears was a little galling to her. She subtly tried to bring her free hand up to wipe them away but she failed.

He leaned back to survey her. 'What the…?'

'I am happy,' she cried, pushing her lips firmly against his. 'So happy that you are here and we are together. I feel that I am lucky and I am grateful for it. But then I am reminded that if Minerva had not become ill, we would not be here—we would not be together.' Her tears fell a little more thickly. 'I do not want to feel grateful for Minerva's passing.'

He caught a few tears with his thumb. 'My dearest Hermione, no one would ever think you grateful for Minerva's passing. You just said it yourself, it is what it is. It is true that without Minerva we may never have met again, but it is also true that Minerva would have become ill regardless of you or me. It gave Minerva comfort that her illness might bear something positive—you should focus on that.'

'I'm being foolish,' she muttered.

'Not foolish… You miss her.'

She looked up, nodding her agreement. At his soft expression she bit her lip to try and prevent a sob.

'It is still raw.'

'Yes.' Hermione mentally drew herself up and sighed. 'Come on, let's go; I believe you said you would cook for me today.'

She had been vaguely unsurprised to learn this had become a hobby. It suited him.

'One moment,' he cautioned, turning from her to move in front of the fireplace that loomed quite large in the modest kitchen. 'Ah,' he hummed, reaching for a small pot that sat on top of the mantelpiece.

Hermione watched as he put his hand into it, pinching up the Floo powder within and allowing it to spill through his fingers and back into the pot.

'Perfect condition,' he observed, setting the pot down and crossing back to her. 'Just confirming whether I'll need my overnight bag tonight or not.'

She laughed brightly. 'You don't let the grass grow, do you?'

'Not anymore—learnt my lesson well.' He gave a sheepish smirk. 'I'm a proper go-getter these days'.

Hermione also smirked and nudged him to the front door.

He continually surprised her, she thought. And in spite of her earlier brush off to him, she often found herself wondering how they could have become so connected, so swiftly, but so intensely, and for it to have prevailed through time to have influenced her decision-making, affected her personal relationships, and would now shape her future.

She thought of her younger self and how the conundrum had consumed her for a long time. His exile to the Muggle World had largely taken any agency from her, and after the initial anger, she had tried to move on. But when those five years expired, no one could have known that she had acknowledged that day—he could not have known that, for some time after it, she had felt renewed hope.

Invigorating and crushing hope.

It is what it is. It was true and Hermione was satisfied to leave it at that.

She could think about it now and feel that it was all more than worth it.

Her reverie was interrupted when her companion halted suddenly and she crashed into him.

'What the hell are they?' Severus hissed in disgust.

Hermione peered around him, but already knew what he had spotted on opening the front door. There was a reason she had Apparated them directly into the garden, for, standing guard at the front gate, at the end of the path, were two large lion statues—Gryffindor lions, to be exact.

'Oh, I quite like them.'

He glanced over his shoulder and she smiled benignly at him.

He grimaced and appeared to curtail any further comments, but she thought she heard a muttered 'Gryffindors' and 'bane of my life' as he Apparated away with her.

Hermione kept her smile hidden.

She was quite sure they wouldn't be the only surprise gift Minerva had left him.

FIN

A/N There we go. Hope you enjoyed it and thanks, once again, for reading it. Thanks, also, for taking the time to comment—they are much appreciated.

Some of you will already be aware that I have written several SS/HG stories over a long period of time, but if you are not and you wish to read them, they are on ff.net (I don't intend to repost them all here).

I have enjoyed writing again. I have a few ideas knocking about, so, hopefully, if I can develop those I may be back with something else : )