The Spring that Never Was
Hermione sat at the side of the lake, her hair blowing in the wind. She felt a heaviness in her heart that just couldn't be warmed by the light of the sun. The beauty in front of her passed through her eyes as though they were empty panes of glass. How could this have happened to her? How could she have been so foolish? She heard a rustling in the grass behind her, but didn't even turn around.
"Hey, Hermione. What're you doing out here?" Ron asked softly from behind her.
"Did you get a headache from studying too much?" Harry asked, completely unaware of her true plight.
If only there were books I could study…for love. Hermione thought ruefully to herself, biting her lower lip.
She turned around to face her two best friends, forcing a smile onto her face and praying her tearstains had disappeared like the morning dew.
"Oh, hullo Harry and Ron! I was just watching the birds and listening to the wind in the reeds. It's quite relaxing." She gave a small, hollow laugh.
Ron was always surprised by her elegance, both in form and in word. He could hear the pain in her voice, and was devastated that she wouldn't confide in him. But of course, she always tried to deal with everything on her own. She was so strong, but so frightened of her own weaknesses. He could only continue to hope against hope that someday she would open herself to him.
"Well Ron and I were just coming to look at the mermaids, what with their being topless and all, when we saw you here!" Harry grinned in his endearingly vapid way.
"Hey Harry! One's sunbathing over there!" Ron pointed off into the distance.
"Oh goody!" Harry clutched a camera to his chest and ran off like a happy schoolgirl stalker.
Ron turned to Hermione with a very serious look in his eyes.
"Hermione, I know that you aren't okay. It's hard to see you like this. I don't know what happened when Professor Snape called you to his office after class last week, but I do know that you haven't been yourself since then. If you ever need to talk to someone, please know that I'm here for you. Always."
She could feel his concern, and only felt more guilty for having worried him. But these were not issues that he could ever understand, for he was still a boy.
"I know, Ron. I just need some time alone to think right now." She gave him a sad, fleeting smile.
Ron nodded gravely and went to go ogle the mermaids with Harry.
How could she talk about it? She wanted to die from the embarrassment of it. Every time she remembered it, the feelings erupted anew. It was like having her heart broken again and again.
A little over a week ago, she had finally steeled enough courage to put her feelings of longing into the perfect letter for Professor Snape. She had spent days poring over the letter, reading and re-writing it until she felt it expressed her true heart with no room for misinterpretation. She was very careful about this, as she had read a lot of harlequin romance novels. She knew that Severus could never truly return her feelings, what with it making him a child molester and all. Still, she had wanted him to know. And after a few days of stalking him, she had finally figured out where his sleeping quarters were and how to disarm all of the traps. While he was in potions and she was on a spare, she had snuck into his room and tucked it neatly under his greasy pillow. She had waited on pins and needles, scarcely eating, scarcely breathing, for his response. But she had never expected such cruelty
"Miss Grainger. It has come to my attention – quite unwillingly – that there is an urgent situation between us that must be resolved." He had steepled his fingers, resting his elbows on his desk.
His face was impassive. She tried to read those dark, brooding eyes, but found only a blank and careful expression.
"I'm not very adept where love and the fairer sex are concerned." Hermione blushed and waited for him to continue. Deep down, though she knew it to be impossible, she harbored some hope that he would be moved by her pure love.
"Quite frankly, I must confess that I am disturbed and appalled by your brash and inappropriate behavior. I realize you're a mudblood, but are you delusional as well? Or do muggles raise their children to believe they should sexually pursue those old enough to have sired them?" His impassive face remained set.
"But sir! I didn't mean to offend you, I just-"
"Need to be admitted to St. Mungo's! Yes, I know. And while I can see that you appear to be rational and put-together, the mere fact that you can overlook my sour disposition and poor personal hygiene is proof enough that you should have been committed sooner." He took out the envelope from his robe pocket, and unfolded her letter, which was awash with pink cursive and I's dotted with hearts.
"This line in particular, I believe, speaks to your deep psychosis. 'When I see you bending over Neville's cauldron I can't help but think of a stormy stallion fighting against the winds of oppression.' Really, what were you thinking?" He snapped.
"I understand that that line in particular was somewhat over-romanticized, but I just wanted to tell you that I love you!" Hermione shouted emphatically, tears streaming from her face in a burning need for him to at least acknowledge these feelings, even if he didn't return them.
There was a pregnant pause in which they stared at each other. While the cold mask slipped from his face, Hermione found that she was unable to read whatever new emotion replaced it. The room was charged, and then Snape regained his composure and spoke.
"Miss Grainger," he began as he quickly ripped her letter in half, "I want you to get out of this office," he tore it again into quarters, "and never speak of this," eighths, "shameful and childish display you have made," sixteenths, " AGAIN!" He tossed the letter into the air and the pieces rained down on her like hot ashes of shame.
Before the last one fluttered to touch the cold stone floor of his office, she had fled the room choking back sobs.
She gave a last furtive glance at the abundant beauty around her before she slowly rose. Where was she to go now? Absorbed in her own thoughts, she walked around the bend of the lake and only heard it before it was too late.
"Mister Potter! Mister Weasely! What are you doing? How many times have I told you not to photograph this vulgar display of animalistic sexuality?" Snape roared, tearing the film out of Harry's camera and shouting above the noise of their futile protests.
Hermione stopped, feeling icy fingers gripping her heart in a relentless fist. She couldn't bear to see him and relive her painful adolescent experience. He suddenly turned and for a brief instant, his surprised eyes met her horrified, frightened ones. Losing all self-control, she bolted like a slender doe from the lake and ran blindly into the Forbidden Forest.
"Miss Grainger, wait!" Snape took a few halting steps in her direction, "The Forbidden Forest is forbidden!"
She paid him no heed. What did she care if she got in trouble now? What did she care about anything now that her dreams had been destroyed, like the letter he had so easily ripped to shreds?
Running without abandon through the brambles and undergrowth, Hermione stumbled over a tree root and crashed into the mossy ground. Spitting leaves out of her mouth and wincing at the scratches and scrapes she had received, she stubbornly regained her footing and dashed onwards.
Suddenly, a dark shadow with glowing red eyes lunged out of a blueberry bush. Before her stood a massive, snarling wolf. She looked up into its hungry face and felt a cold terror spread through her limbs. She tried to scream, but only a faint squeak escaped from her rose lips. The beast growled and took a step towards her and she reached for her wand. Her eyes widened in horror. It wasn't there! She must have dropped it while she was fleeing her own heartbreak. The best crouched back on its haunches and leapt forward. Hermione was finally able to scream, covering her face and closing her eyes.
"LOOK OUT!"
Hermione felt herself being pushed out of the way and there was a flash of light and a deafening crash. Stunned, she sat up and turned in horror to see that it was Snape and that he had cast the spell too late. The wolf lay dead, but its momentum had carried it forward and its gaping maw had torn a jagged hole in Snape's chest. Blood gushed from the hole and he started wheezing.
"Professor!" Hermione stared at his wound in horror, taking off her keen sweater vest to apply pressure to the wound. "Hold on! SOMEBODY HELP! ANYBODY! HELP! HELP!"
"It's okay." Snape grabbed her wrist with his hand. "Everybody comes here eventually." He coughed up blood.
"No! You're not going to die, Professor!" Hermione pushed harder on the wound, causing him to wince. "I won't let you die!"
"Call me Severus." He rasped.
"What?" She was taken aback.
"I could never tell you, but I can show you. Reach into my right robe pocket." He weakly instructed her as Hermione's sweater vest turned crimson.
Hermione searched the pocket, hoping to find something useful. Instead, she pulled out a piece of paper. It had been torn to shreds, but meticulously taped back together. Every piece was in its place and every seam met perfectly.
"My letter. But, I don't understand." Hermione breathed.
Saying nothing in response, he pulled her into a deep and passionate kiss. As their lips parted, he let out a final sigh and his eyes closed forever.
"No…It can't be." Hermione started shaking. "SEVERUS!"
Her cries echoed throughout the forest, tolling the sadness of a true love never realized. But she would always remember for the rest of her life the words that were carried by that final dying sigh: "I love you."