Brief Note: This was written for eeyore9990, who had requested "something with a little angst, but with a happy ending; EWE SS and HG probably a good five years after the final battle; each take a long holiday."

I hope you all will enjoy this, and feedback would of course be lovely!

your slightest look easily will unclose me

though i have closed myself as fingers,

you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens

(touching skillfully, mysteriously) her first rose

somewhere i have never traveled, e.e. cummings

When Too Good Is True

By: Alexa Johnson

Hermione Granger is standing in line at a ubiquitous Starbucks when she first sees him.

He has not noticed her yet, and she takes advantage of his obliviousness to stare at him, to confirm that he is no apparition. She even blinks, but he is still there when she opens her eyes.

There is no mistaking him.

Severus Snape cuts a distinguishable figure even in a place like New York City where individuality is swallowed in the bustling crowds, although she is astonished to see how thin he looks without his billowing black robes.

Then he looks over at her, a succession of emotions moving rapidly across his face, each one as indescribable as the last, before he settles upon the sneer that had been his trademark at school.

She opens her mouth, shuts it, and opens it and shuts it again, feeling like a fish but unable to help herself, hatefully aware of the hot flush that has crept onto her cheeks. "I—you—what are you doing here?" The way he's looking at her makes her feel as though she's back at Hogwarts again, and she firmly tells herself to get a grip. She is a grown woman now, more than worthy of being his equal, and she will not let him intimidate her anymore.

"This was a free country the last time I checked, Miss Granger. Or did you not get the memo?" His acidic voice and scornfully arched eyebrow make her feel positively miniscule.

She squares her shoulders and lifts her chin defiantly, fiercely quelling the sudden rise of uncertainty within her. "Of course I did. I just wasn't expecting to see you here, that's all."

"Ma'am? Do you want to place an order?"

It is then that she realizes it is her turn in line, and her face feels like a furnace as she mumbles an apology and asks for her usual tall caramel macchiato, her embarrassment mounting, for she just knows that he is finding amusement in her discomfort.

As much as his presence in the United States intrigues her, she knows she is not ready to face him now, and taking the risk that she might never come across him again, she exits Starbucks once she has her drink without even turning her head in his direction.

Severus Snape.

In New York City.

She has not been able to push him out of her thoughts all day, no matter how hard she has tried. And oh, she has tried; yet it all has been in vain.

He had immediately disappeared, even though the combination of his memories and the discovery of Dumbledore's Pensieve had been more than enough to clear his name and award him an Order of Merlin, First Class.

Yet by then he had already vanished without a trace—and quite literally at that. They had tried to search for him, but it soon became clear that if Severus Snape did not want to be found, no amount of searching was going to make the slightest bit of difference.

She had thought about him sometimes and had hoped that wherever he was, he was finally living his life the way he wanted. The last place she had expected that to be was here.

Of course, it was the last place she had expected to be at this point in her life too.

She had stayed for the funerals and the award ceremony and Harry and Ginny's wedding, but it was at that point that she had begun to feel suffocated, and everything that had seemed so right before the war almost horrified her. She had tried to explain these things to Ron and had only found out later on that had been the night he had planned to propose to her.

Oh, Ron. I never wanted to hurt you.

While marrying Ron had once seemed natural to her, after the war she had tried to picture a future with him and for the first time she could not do it. Even the thought of staying in wizarding England, facing unwanted publicity and fame as a hero of the war had been unbearable to her.

So she had left after the wedding, and even though Harry and Ron had both been cordial and understanding, she had sensed that a thin fog of tension had descended upon them. Ron had said that he had no hard feelings, that he didn't want to force her into anything, that he still wanted to be friends, and even though she felt he was not quite sincere, she did not, could not fault him.

Ron had tried so hard, but there were some things he had never been able to fulfill. On the nights she would have liked to have an intellectual conversation with him or discuss a book, he wanted to talk about Quidditch or the latest broom model, and some days she could set that aside, but on others all she could see were their differences, the differences that would make a successful long-term commitment almost impossible.

She is not perfect—far from it.

If she had been, maybe she would have been able to be the girl Ron wanted her to be, would have been able to push aside her sudden panic and hang on to the idea of them. She had disappointed so many people, she knew.

But at least Harry and Ginny had been able to make their dream come true.

Their dream had just not been hers.

She thinks it is almost rather ironic that she, the brightest witch of her age, the girl who could have any career of her choosing, is the one of her friends who has lost sight of her future, the ambition and drive that had propelled her through school.

Seeing Severus Snape had changed everything for her because, even in that instant, he'd reminded her of everything she had been, of her drive to excel and prove to him that she wasn't another one of the dunderheads.

And now what is she, and what is she really doing here?

She is running from everything, even herself.

It takes her a day to make up her mind, but the next morning she is at the same Starbucks at the same time, hoping yet not hoping that he will be here.

She waits a little longer after she's received her drink just in case, but she is out of luck.

He does not come.

Convincing herself she's not disappointed when in fact she might be—just a little bit, anyway—she leaves Starbucks all the more determined to keep coming back until she sees him again.

If he stopped by here once to get coffee, he must be bound to do so again eventually.

And when that time comes, she will be ready.

An entire week passes by and it doesn't bring a trace of him, and she knows it's ridiculous, but she is starting to lose hope when, on Sunday morning, there he is.

She has already bought her drink and is sitting at a high table by the window sipping at it when he walks in, and she risks a glance before dropping her gaze. Besides, knowing him he has already seen her, and now that he is finally here she finds her earlier confidence waning.

It is not because she is intimidated, because she isn't.

But the last time she saw him was at his trial.

What could she possibly have to say to him that he would want to hear?

She is so caught up in the past that she almost forgets this is the present, until an all too familiar velvety voice startles her out of her ruminations.

"Miss Granger. Why are you here?"

She blinks and looks up at him, and is about to speak when she suddenly snaps her mouth shut, realizing that she had been about to address him as Professor.

What an auspicious beginning. Let's try again, shall we?

"What do you mean, why am I here, sir? This is a Starbucks. I wanted coffee, so I bought some. And now here I am drinking it." Well that was better.

"Obviously," he says with a sneer. "But why here? There are at least a thousand Starbucks in New York City. I walk by this one every morning, and for the past week have seen you here through the window, and not always even with coffee. So let me ask again—why are you here?"

She has to remind her jaw more than once not to fall to the ground.

So he has been avoiding this particular place just because he noticed me here. Now there's something I could exploit without even having to worry about point reductions… "You mean you've been avoiding this particular Starbucks because of me?"

He snorts. "Don't insult my intelligence, Granger."

"Well—truthfully, I was intrigued, sir. When I saw you here at the beginning of the week, I couldn't help but wonder why you chose this place of all places, and why you had disappeared." Merlin, had that really all been out loud?

Sparing a quick glance at her left hand, his sneer widens as he says, "The same questions could be asked of you, Miss Granger. And I don't even see a wedding band—pity. What happened to make Weasley change his mind?"

That is all it takes for her hesitation to vanish completely. "I'll have you know that nothing happened. Not that it's even any of your business."

She doesn't want to say something she'll regret but she fears that is the road she is heading down, so without another word she jumps off her chair and walks around him to the exit, refusing to look back.

The next day it is as if she is drawn to the Starbucks quite against her will, torn between her desire to see him and her desire to never want to see him again.

But it is partly because of her desire to never want to see him again that makes her more determined to go back, because she knows that if she does not, he will have won, and that thought is almost unbearable.

Maybe he was hoping to scare her off so he wouldn't have to see her again, but there is no way in hell that she is going to give him that satisfaction.

This time when she enters, he is already there at a table by the window, and when his eyes notice her there is only a flash of surprise in them before his expression settles into its usual indescribable mask, and she allows herself a small smile of triumph.

After getting her drink, she makes it a point to walk by him even though it is only a little out of her way. "Surprised to see me, were you? Did you really think I would just walk away with my tail between my legs, never to show my face here again?"

"That would have been preferable, yes." The scowl on his face grows with each word. "But yet, here you are. One would think you have some infatuation with me, judging by how often you keep coming round."

Somewhere along the way his scowl has turned into a smirk, but his accusation has made her so flustered and embarrassed that she hardly registers it, in part because it is true.

Wait…what? Where had that come from?

She isn't obsessed with Severus Snape—is she?

Think fast, Hermione—recovery is crucial.

"Why, you conceited, arrogant—git!" It only takes a second after the words fly out of her lips for her eyes to widen and she claps her hands over her mouth in horror. Sweet Merlin—not that kind of recovery!

But instead of the angry explosion she expects, the smirk only grows. Oh, the bastard is laughing at her!

"You should be extremely grateful that I am in no position to deduct points. Which is a pity, really."

And before she knows what she is doing, she is apologizing, because that is who she is. "Honestly sir, I'm so sorry—I have no idea where that came from—"

He snorts. "What is it the Muggles say about sticks and stones? I think I can handle being called a git."

She laughs a little nervously, and—is that a tiny bit of respect on his face?

"Since all the tables are taken, would you—er—mind if I joined you?" She is going to need to have a talk with her brain later on, because it has definitely not been doing a good job of monitoring what comes out of her mouth.

Much to her surprise, he motions to the chair across from him, sighing somewhat dramatically. "I could tell you to go away and leave me in peace, but you'll be here tomorrow anyway, so there's no real point in that I suppose."

"I knew you'd warm up to me," she says, grinning as she takes a seat.

He scowls. "Indeed."

Somehow—and she is not really sure how—they have fallen into a pattern.

She is not quite sure why he stays around to talk with her, but maybe he Iis/Ilonely and wants someone to talk to. Whatever the reason, he has started to approach her more and remained longer, and over the course of the last couple months, they have spent more and more time in the Starbucks, just talking.

"So what made you choose New York?"

"Well isn't it obvious?" Oh no. He's giving her the look he used to reserve especially for Neville Longbottom. "I didn't want to be found. And this is certainly the last place anyone would think to look."

How funny, she thinks, that they have come to the same place for totally different reasons.

"But I could ask the same of you. Running from Weasley, were you?" He is still mocking her, but the previous harshness is gone.

"No." Her voice is soft, distant. "Myself."

"Have you ever thought about going back to England?"

The fact that she's asked this question takes her by surprise at first, but then when she thinks about it, she realizes that a part of her Ihas/I been thinking about the possibility of returning to England, or at least what that would be like.

"What you have to understand, Hermione, is that it doesn't matter that I have been found acquitted of all charges, that I have been award an Order of Merlin, First Class. All that will matter to most wizards is that I did, in fact, kill Dumbledore—reasons aside—that I was in the Dark Lord's circle, and that I did serve him quite willingly for a brief time before turning. That's all they will see, because that is all most people can see. I'm too complicated a person for others to understand, and most people won't care to put in the effort to understand. I may go back some time in the future, but that is a very distant time as far as I can tell."

They have been on a first name basis for the past few weeks now, but this is the first time that he hasn't had to correct himself after saying the first part of her last name, and she cannot help a small smile as she says a little demurely, "I care."

He blinks. "What?"

"I care. About understanding you, and why you did what you did. I can relate, you see—people always saw me as a little odd, even before I knew about magic, and would just avoid me instead of bothering to get to know me. Even at Hogwarts—I am, for the most part, absolutely certain that Harry and Ron wouldn't have even bothered to befriend me if it hadn't been for the troll incident. Yet it happened, and it took me awhile before I could really accept the fact that I had somehow managed to find two amazing friends who accepted my oddities, and cared about me in spite of them. So yes, I care—quite strongly, in fact."

She thinks she is almost as surprised as he is once she closes her mouth, because more words had poured out of it than she had intended.

He leans back in his chair, with an expression on his face that she hasn't seen before. "Really." It is a statement, not a question.

"Yes." She desperately wants him to believe. "I don't know how to show you, but I have no reason to lie to you, to manipulate you. I just do, honestly and truly."

He looks down into his cup. "Why?"

"Because no one should have to be alone—not even you."

"We miss you, Hermione. Please just think about coming back soon?"

She covers the mouthpiece with her hand to hide a sigh, and rubs a hand across her eyes. It is hard talking to Harry with so much between them that cannot be acknowledged. Even though Harry's testimony had probably played the largest part in the clearance of the charges against Severus, that had done nothing to improve Harry's attitude about the man, although Hermione knew he respected him, even if he wouldn't say it.

There was just too much bad blood between them that could never be fixed, and she knew she should tell Harry about Severus but she didn't want another thing to come between them. "I know, and I miss you guys too, Harry, but—I'm just not ready to come back yet. Somewhere along the way I've lost myself, and I think that to truly find myself again, I have to keep away from familiar faces and places so I don't delude myself into thinking I'm happy just because I'm feeling safe and secure. I'm not saying I wasn't happy in England, but—I'm not the same person I was before the war, Harry, and this is just something I have to do on my own."

There is a long, heavy silence before Harry speaks again. "I think I understand, Hermione. Just—don't stay away for too much longer, all right? And you know you're more than welcome to phone if there's anything you want to talk about."

Maybe it's because they've been apart for so long, but since she'd been opening up more with Severus, he was becoming the one she has been thinking about first when she wants to talk to someone, and she hadn't really seriously considered phoning Harry or Ron either.

But this is just another thing she cannot divulge. "Of course I know that, Harry. Please say hello to Ron and the rest of the Weasleys for me, won't you?"

"You know I will, Hermione. We'll talk soon, all right? Just take care of yourself." He sounds a little sad, and she knows she is the cause, knows that she should feel guilty about it, but for whatever reason doesn't feel as much guilt as she probably should.

"You too. Bye, Harry."

When she hangs up, she is almost relieved.

They will always be friends, she knows this, but now that there is no Voldemort and no sense of impending doom or a mystery to solve where they need her logic, she cannot help but wonder if there really is enough among them for her to remain as close to them as Harry and Ron are to each other.

"Harry called me yesterday."

"Ah, Potter. I suppose I now owe him a life-debt since it is mainly him I have to thank for my freedom. Like father, like son, eh?" His face is covered with the Potter Sneer, and she has to fight the urge to laugh.

It is a comfort to her that there are things that will never change, even when it seems as though everything around her is.

"You never will change your mind about him, will you? He and Ron want me to come back to England."

"So I suppose you'll be leaving, then?" He is trying so hard to be indifferent, but it is because of this that she can see right through it.

"I didn't say that. I said that they want me to, not that I did." She knows she is only being slightly cruel by dragging this out, but she cannot resist.

"Well you clearly do, or else we would not even be having this conversation if I am not mistaken." His hands are wrapped more firmly around his coffee cup, which tells her everything she needs to know.

"I'm telling you that you are mistaken, very much so in fact. I'm not ready to go back yet—this holiday that I've been on, if I can even call it that, has been about trying to find myself away from the security of familiarity, but…I've found something that I didn't even count on, and it's something I'm not willing to lose."

He snorts. "Don't mock me, Hermione."

She almost throws up her hands in frustration. "I am not mocking you, Severus. I am telling you the truth. Whether or not you believe it is up to you. I've said all I can say, and there isn't really anything else I can do to get you to believe unless you use Legilimency, and that wouldn't really be the best thing to do, would it?"

He is silent, and, frowning, she realizes then that maybe there is something else she could do.

Leaning forward, she stops when she is halfway and folds her arms across the table, looking intently into his face.

"What do you have in mind, then?"

She almost backs down, almost lets the doubt win, but it only takes a second for her to come to a decision. "This."

And then she crosses the rest of the distance and kisses him.

He is so startled that he doesn't kiss her back at first, but when she shows no signs of stopping, he starts to return it, hesitation turning almost into desperation until he pulls away.

"You really are being honest—this is not some sort of elaborate prank." Despite the uncertainty that is still lingering in his voice, it is not question.

She smiles. "No, Severus. It is through you that I have found myself again. Of course I couldn't tell Harry that—you know as well as I what he would have said. You've reminded me of myself, have opened me again—" She pauses to take his hands in hers. "—and if you would have me, I would like to stay here, with you. For as long as you would like."

There is a self-deprecating look on his face. "You know what the Muggles say about things that are too good to be true."

"Except for the times when too good is true—and I would like this to be one of them."

Then gives her a small smile—a real smile—and she is amazed at how much it changes him. Her heart almost skips two beats.

"You have said and done all you need, Hermione, and if you're absolutely certain this is what you want—"

The smirk is back, and before she has time to translate it he is kissing her, and she is more certain than ever that this is what she wants.

When they finally leave the Starbucks, they are holding hands, and though they have no clear destination in mind, she feels more certain of her future than she has been since the end of the war.

And it does not frighten her.

FINIS