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August 4, 1999
“So that’s just it then? I get no say in this.”
Severus doesn’t dare to look at her. The insufferable witch practically made sport of breaking down his every wall. The sight of her heartbreak would be the end of his resolve. He could not waver.
“There’s nothing more to say,” he says evenly. “You will not change my mind.”
“You are the most obstinate man I’ve ever met,” she cries, her voice bordering anger.
Hating himself already, Severus attempts to push her over. “A fact which should help you get over this fling.”
The words taste like bile on his tongue, but he does not retract them. Hermione’s breath hitches as if he’d struck her. If she struck him, he would deserve it. But she doesn’t. Of course she doesn’t.
“No,” she says, voice vibrating with her hurt. “You don’t get to do that, Severus. You don’t get to reduce what this was to make yourself feel better about not fighting for it.”
“That’s not—”
“That is exactly what you’re doing,” she shouts. “You can truss it up however you want, but do not pretend for a moment that this is about anything other than your fear. I know my own mind. I know what I want.” She takes a shuddering breath. “Perhaps this is for the best. I could never be with a man who doesn’t see me as an equal partner or capable of my own decision-making.”
With that, she turns to leave. He catches her wrist, forcing her to turn back and face him. She’s a beautiful mess, cheeks red and tear-stained. A spark of hope lights in her eyes. The guilt twists in his gut, but he can’t bring himself to speak, to undo what’s been done. After a minute she sighs. Defeat looks wrong on her face.
“You should know,” she says softly, “Even if I never get to say it out loud again, this will stay with me forever. Goodbye, Professor.”
Hermione pulls her arm from his grasp and strides out of his office. Her steps do not falter. She does not look back. The door closes softly. He wishes she’d slammed it.
Severus looks around the space that they had rebuilt together. Her hand is everywhere, from the furniture she’d thrifted to the fresh wildflowers she’d gathered from near the lake just the other day. He casts a stasis charm over the bouquet and wishes more than anything that he could have kept them in such a bubble as well.
___________________________
September 2, 1999
Severus watches from the head table as Hermione walks into the Great Hall with the Weasley girl and Lovegood at her side. The room quiets upon their entrance but they pay it no mind. They ignore tradition as well, Lovegood joining the two of them at the Gryffindor table. Hermione seems to listen intently as Minerva welcomes the students back, thanks those who had assisted in the rebuild over the summer, and reminds them of the accommodations for those suffering ill-effects from the war.
Severus continues to glance at her.
She does not look at him once.
November 20, 1999
“Am I ever going to get the story of what happened between the two of you,” Minerva asks as she pours another glass of whiskey.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You can’t honestly believe I didn’t notice how often she visited you in the hospital wing. Or that I was unaware that she was the only person with whom you would partner during the rebuild.”
When he remains silent, she prods again. “I see the way you look at her, Severus. And the way she refuses to look at you.”
“That’s hardly significant,” he says, ignoring the first half of her statement. “The majority of my students are loathe to look at me.”
Minerva goes very still. He tenses. The wretched woman has always been able to read him better than he’d like.
“Severus Snape, do you mean to tell me that you ended your relationship with Miss Granger because she chose to complete her education?”
“A relationship between Professor and student is—”
“Do not quote those by-laws to me, Severus,” she interrupts furiously. “I was there when they were written and they most certainly do not apply to relationships between twenty-year-old witches and their professors, no matter how emotionally stunted the later may be.”
“The credibility of her scores would be—”
“We have independent evaluators.” Minerva arches a brow in silent dare. “Try again.”
Severus releases a shuddering breath. “We existed in a bubble all our own, Min. One that I was certain was going to be burst when term started and I, I thought if I were the one to pop it, that it would hurt less.”
“And how did that work out for you?”
He blinks at her. Her austere demeanor softens slightly, but her voice is no less firm.
“Miss Granger is the forgiving sort, Severus. I do not think it is too late for you to salvage your relationship. But you need to be certain that you will stand by her through whatever comes next. She deserves that much.”
“She deserves everything,” he agrees softly.
December 15, 1999
“Ten points from Gryffindor,” Severus snarls. “Each.”
“But Professor—The mistletoe,” the sputtering boy protests. “We had no choice but to—”
“Evan, go before you cost us more house points,” Hermione interrupts, voice tinged with annoyance. It does little to soothe the jealous beast inside him as he glares at the boys retreating back.
“The Head Girl should know better than to go snogging in corridors, Miss Granger,” he snaps, looking back at her.
“It was an enchanted mistletoe, Professor,” she says with a shrug. “What other option did I have?”
“A blasting hex would suffice.”
“You seem upset,” she murmurs, taking a half-step closer to him. “But I don’t understand why. Evan is age-appropriate, significantly less scarred, and notably mild-tempered. Is that not the kind of man you told me I deserved? The kind I should be with?”
Fury licks up his spine. “You were baiting me.”
“And you rose to it,” she spits back, narrowing her eyes. “It was your choice to remove yourself from my life. Don’t watch if you can’t bear to see how I live it.”
He says nothing as she walks away from him. Beneath his jealousy, and his anger, he feels a smug satisfaction bloom. Despite her apparent indifference since the start of term, she remained aware of him. She noticed his attention. More than that, she still cares, at least somewhat. Severus releases a slow breath. Perhaps it wasn’t too late.
December 16, 1999
“Miss Gra—Hermione,” Severus says, feeling his heart in his throat. “Please wait a moment.”
A few curious glances are thrown their way at his use of her given name, but his scowl causes them to quickly avert their eyes. The classroom empties out. Then it’s just the two of them. Hermione stares at him expectantly.
“It’s a Hogsmeade weekend,” he manages to get out.
“I am not on duty.”
“Yes, yes, I know.”
“Then what can I do for you, Sir?”
“Call me Severus.” He clears his throat. “I mean, I’d like you to call me Severus. If you want.”
Hermione’s brows raise slightly. “I’ve been warned against familiarity with my professors.”
“And you intend to heed the advice of a fool, do you?”
“I’ve never considered you a fool, Professor.”
“Curious. It comes out almost exclusively with you.”
Her eyes narrow with suspicion. “Is whatever this is more foolishness, then? A moment spurred by jealousy that you’ll regret come tomorrow?”
“No,” he answers immediately. “I am a jealous man, make no mistake. But this is not that.”
“Then what is this?”
“Me remembering that I’m a selfish bastard at heart and should take advantage of every day the woman I love fails to realize I’m just a bitter old man with little to offer.”
Hermione’s eyes fill with tears. He steps out from around his podium but doesn’t approach her.
“It’s an apology, Hermione,” he continues, now desperate for her to understand his sincerity. “For every day that I failed to fight for us.”
“You love me.” She says it like a question.
“An utter fool,” he mutters darkly, crossing the space between them. He takes her face in her hands, wiping away her tears. “I love you, Hermione. I’ve clearly failed to say it, but I would not have tortured myself these months if it wasn’t true.”
“I love you, too.”
Before he can kiss her, the bell chimes. Footsteps begin to thunder through the corridors. Hermione trudges to the door reluctantly. He follows quietly, leaning back on the door frame to watch her. She seems… uncertain. That won’t do.
“Hermione,” he calls. Heads turn again. He keeps his eyes on her. “Hogsmeade this weekend, duck?”
There’s that brilliant smile.
“Of course, love.”