In the dark that comes just before dawn, Hermione Granger sat alone at the top of the hill above the Burrow. Her eyes were trained on the horizon, which was currently a faint blue. Soon enough it would change, like all things seemed to do these days. Nothing stayed the same for long. Mist lay where the land would allow it, and the ground beneath her was damp. The grass, a shade of green that only comes before the harsh heat of summer, was cold between her toes and on the bottoms of her bare feet. The air was cooler outside than it was in the house and smelled of freedom. Inside, she felt trapped, bogged down in the sorrow that came from the wake of the second and final war with Lord Voldemort. It was hard for her to sleep, especially in there, surrounded by memories. Last night alone she had spent five hours tossing and turning, listening to springs squeak and boards creek, and only an hour was spent asleep. Eventually, she had come out here to await the sunrise on what she was calling another page in the chapter of miserable days.
The week had been full of them, and next week there would be a service at Hogwarts on Tuesday, as an overall memorial. Certain people would get individual ceremonies there. Two days ago, Wednesday, they had laid Lupin and Tonks to rest. Yesterday morning it had been Colin Creevey and yesterday afternoon had been Fred. Today they would return to Hogwarts, to bury Snape.
There was movement coming up behind her, but Hermione didn't turn. She knew it was either Ron or Harry, or both, and she was right on one account. Ron lowered himself to the ground beside her, looking ridiculous in blue and white striped pajamas that were too big in the shoulders and waist but too short in the leg. At least two inches was visible - and that was when he was standing. But she and Harry were used to the sight, so she hardly noticed it. And even if she had, wasn't it an inconsequential thing now?
"Yesterday was bad." He was looking at her, but she didn't turn her gaze away from the horizon.
"Every day is bad." She knew he was referring to his brother's funeral, that she should be sensitive about it, but there was a part of her that wanted to lash out at him.
"You okay?" He moved his hand, aiming to put it on her shoulder. But at his touch, her face grew stormy and he removed it in a flash.
"I'm fine, Ron. Just...upset with things." Things he wouldn't understand. Oh sure, he'd pretend to. But how could Ronald Weasley ever comprehend how she could feel bad about the death of a man so many people hated? He'd tell her she was stupid, that Snape had treated all of them with such contempt it would serve him right if nobody came to his funeral and memorial service. She didn't want to hear that because that would justify his own attitude toward going. "Are you going to go today?"
He stared at his feet. "I don't want to, really. But Harry asked me to. So, yeah, I am."
They lapsed into silence and around them, in the trees budding with new life, the birds began to chirp softly. Pale yellow began to spread across the sky from the point on the horizon at which Hermione had been staring, and then orange and light pink streaks began to appear. It was a beautiful thing, one of the few that the young witch still found herself able to enjoy. Shadows all around the couple began to retreat, and when the sun finally showed itself in all its dazzling golden glory, Ron gasped softly. The sky grew lighter, the sun higher, shadows melted. Finally, everything had taken on that rosy light that morning brings with it. "It's wonderful to watch, isn't it?"
"Yeah," his voice was soft, "it is. I can see why you come out here nearly every morning."
She allowed herself a slight smile. "It's one of the few good things left in the day. And it reminds me of Dumbledore."
Ron cocked his head.
"You know... 'Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light.' I feel like this is him, turning on the light."
"Ah."
They sat in silence for a few more minutes, until the sun was fully visible. Hermione turned back toward the house. "I suppose we should head back to the house. Everyone else will be up soon, if they aren't already."
"Is it bad that I was hoping you wouldn't say that?" He turned with her and reached for her hand. She took it begrudgingly, her expression clearly stating that she was only doing it to keep him from being upset. Regardless, he wasn't going to complain.
"I think that the answer to that depends on why you were hoping I wouldn't." She picked up her pace slightly.
"Well, it's only that we never get to spend time alone together anymore. I only get to see you when we're with everyone else. It's like you're...avoiding me, or something."
She stopped walking when they were in the garden, surrounded by the vegetables that Ron's mother grew so diligently, and took her hand from his grip to cross her arms over her chest. "You want to know why we don't spend much time alone together anymore, Ron? Take a look around you."
He stared at her, not comprehending. With an exasperated sigh, she wheeled away from him and stormed up the worn back steps that led to the Burrow's door. How could he not see the memories, Fred in every one? She found it impossible to walk through the orchard without picturing Bill and Fleur's wedding (and how it had basically launched the search for the horcruxes) or seeing the twins, along with Ron, Harry, and Ginny, playing Quidditch. She even saw him when she was walking through the garden, remembering the days of summer when they had eaten their meals out there. What was so hard to understand about it?
He caught up to her just before she went inside and grabbed her elbow, pulled her around to look at him. Her jaw was set and her eyes flashed. "I've been trying to give you some space, some time to be with your family when they need you. You can't even appreciate that..." So how could I expect you to appreciate anything else?
Merlin, relationships were tough.
She jerked her arm from his grip as he glared at her and opened his mouth to reply, but she was through the door and had it locked by the time he got a single syllable out. Mrs. Weasley stood at the counter, wearing one of her favorite flower-covered aprons. Sausage sizzled in a griddle on the stove while eggs scrambled in a pan, and the witch was busy buttering toast. She turned as she heard the door, forced a smile. "Good morning, Hermione."
There were dark circles under her bloodshot eyes. How much sleep had she gotten...? "Morning, Mrs. Weasley. Did you manage to get any sleep?"
The older witch shook her head with a sigh, wiping her hands on her apron. "Hardly. Nor did you. I heard you get up awhile ago."
Hermione nodded. "I've locked Ron out, if you're wondering. You can let him in whenever you'd like, but I'm not doing it." With a last look at the back door, she left the room and went to the stairway. She only went up one flight and then stopped, hand on the bannister. The door at the end of the hall was shut and she was loathe to open it again. But she needed to, because she needed to change. She wasn't going to the funeral dressed in her nightgown.
She walked past the room that once been Bill's and turned her head automatically as she did so. Fleur was busy smoothing sheets and rearranging blankets just so while Bill fiddled with his wand. Neither saw her as she slipped by them and knocked on the door to Ginny's room. She knocked again, but there was no answer. And lowering her head to the wood resulted in hearing no sounds. Either Ginny wasn't awake, or she just wasn't going to answer. Hermione was betting on the latter.
Gently, she turned the knob and pushed the door open. The window was open and the curtains pushed back. The air smelled of spring and sunshine, and the birds that had begun their singing earlier hadn't stopped. Their chirping grated on Hermione's nerves now. Ginny sat at her desk, her back to Hermione, but the older witch knew that the younger was looking at her through the mirror. "I thought you may have been asleep."
Ginny snorted and twisted in her chair. Her hair was a mess, actually resembling Hermione's, her face drawn and red. "As if I could sleep after yesterday. As if any of us could."
"Fair enough. I was just going to change..." Ginny nodded and turned back to her mirror as Hermione moved over to the small makeshift bed, and the small closet behind it. She slid the door back, pulled a simple black dress out, took her nightgown off and put the dress on. Sat on the edge of the bed, found her black flats. "Are you still coming today?"
"Don't have much of a choice."
"Of course you do. Your mum won't make you go if you really don't want to." She closed the closet back.
"She's not the one I'm going for."
Harry. Of course. "He's lucky to have you, you know." She smiled slightly. "Really lucky. I'll see you there, then."
Ginny didn't respond as Hermione left the room, but then again, Hermione hadn't really expected her to. She wasn't expecting many people to talk these days.
The witch slipped from the Burrow without seeing anybody else; evidently, Mrs. Weasley had gone upstairs to gather her family one by one and Ron was nowhere to be found either. She cast a look at the table, set for nine. It brought a lump to her throat and as she lingered with her hand on the knob, she thought that it would probably be yet another unpleasant reminder to the family of what they had lost. There were a lot of those.
She didn't look back as she walked from the house, just stared at the ground before her until she knew that she couldn't be seen. It was at that point that she stopped, turned all around her to make sure that nobody was watching - there weren't usually others in proximity to the Weasley property, but it never hurt to be safe. When she was satisfied, she disapparated with a soft pop and moments later - with another pop - appeared in Hogsmeade, close to The Three Broomsticks.
Once, she would have been delighted at a chance to stop in the pub for a butterbeer. But that was a long time ago. Currently, just the thought of going inside made her eyes sting, bringing back memories she almost wished she could get rid of. She raised a hand to her face to wipe away the tears beading up, then began her walk toward the school.
The gates opened for her automatically, as if they were expecting her. Indeed, they were. Or at least the woman in charge of them was.. Hermione walked up the path to the school, taking in all the damage from the battle that had been fought there only a week ago. Large chunks of stone lay where they had fallen, too cumbersome to bother with at the moment. Already there was reconstruction taking place, namely in the more necessary could wait to be fixed probably would be put off for at least a couple weeks.
Her steps echoed as she walked down the corridors, rubble crunched underfoot in spots. She was silent for a moment when she got to the headmistress's office, and when she said the password - though it was in just a whisper - she felt as though she had yelled. Her knock was like the sound of Filch's hammer on nails, pinning up the numerous educational decrees during Umbridge's brief reign at Hogwarts. The door opened as if of its own accord, opened to show a witch as familiar to Hermione as her least read textbook. "Professor. I hope you don't mind my coming early. I...well... I just needed to get away."
The woman nodded from behind the large desk, gestured at a chair before her. "We all have things we wish we could get away from and all have a manner of escape. I believe you know you're always most welcome at Hogwarts, Miss Granger."
Hermione sat, took a look around the office. Snape hadn't changed it much when he had taken over, and neither had McGonagall changed his decor. In a way, the young witch thought, the place was a shrine to Dumbledore. "Not always." She spoke soft enough that she was hoping she hadn't been heard, but, alas, that was not so.
"If he'd been able to have things his way, I'm sure you would have been." She sounded weary. Worn. Run ragged. "Then again... I can't be so sure. I thought once that I knew him, and what he would do. And I was wrong." A touch of bitterness, resentment. And how could she be blamed?
For a long while, both were silent. McGonagall stared at the cabinet that stored the pensive and in the lapse in speech, she thought of Snape. She didn't think first or specifically of their time teaching together but rather of that fateful night.
Her first reaction after all the Death Eaters had fled the castle behind Snape was to wonder why he hadn't warned them that an attack was coming. Surely he would have known. Surely. But she also didn't know at that point that he had been the one to do the deadly deed, and so part of her wondered if it were possible that he truly hadn't known anything until Filius had woken him. She wondered if perhaps Voldemort had grown suspicious of him, had stopped telling him important information, if their side had lost one of their most crucial elements in this war.
But then she thinks too of what Hagrid said, that Snape was involved in Albus' death, and she can't help but doubt his loyalty.
After she saw his body, it hit her. Still and strangely peaceful in that way that only the dead obtain. He was gone forever, never coming back except in memory. And at the hand of a man she had come to trust. How was it that Severus Snape was able to kill Albus Dumbledore when the greatest dark wizard the world had seen in recent years had been unable to? Was it because Albus had that fatal flaw, that curse of having to believe the best in everybody? Had Severus been able to hoodwink him?
She wanted to deny it, just like so many years earlier when she had been shocked to learn that she was teaching under the same roof as a Death Eater. To be fair, she hadn't really been surprised to hear that Severus had gone in that direction - had one seen his friends and had noticed his interest and aptitude for the Dark Arts they would have been shocked if he hadn't. But Albus had been most insistent in his assurance that before Voldemort had attacked the Potter's, Severus had rejoined their side and was spying for the Order. Albus had numbers of useful sources (she really didn't want to know all of them) but had said for a while that the best information was coming from someone directly within that vile circle. And since he had come to Hogwarts as a professor, Severus had caused no reason for complaint. He worked long and hard, and though it was hard for several of the faculty to get along with him (sour and sarcastic as he could be), McGonagall had found that she got along with him quite well. He didn't shirk his duties in the slightest and for the most part his students excelled in the OWLs and NEWTS. He was a perfect Head of House; though he played favorites with Slytherins in public, he was as strict as could be in private. There was nothing that happened in his House's common room or dormitories that he didn't know about - and that included some activities that most of the professors preferred to pretend didn't happen. She'd actually come to like him, to respect him and the confidant he had come to be for Albus.
The thought again ran through her head that she would have sworn his loyalty lay with the Order and Albus. Had he not done all he could to thwart Quirrell when Quirrell went after the Philosopher's Stone? Had he not been as concerned as all the rest during the terror of Tom Riddle and his basilisk? While mistaken about Remus' involvement with Sirius, he had tried to help with that situation. He kept an eye on Karkaroff during the Triwizard Tournament... and at the end of the Tournament, he had helped deal with Barty Crouch Jr. He hadn't uttered a single complaint when Albus told him he must return to Voldemort, even though it could mean being killed that very night. He'd given them as much information as possible when Voldemort was trying to retrieve the prophecy, and McGonagall knew that he had hated Umbridge every bit as much as she had. He'd done what he could for Albus' hand, had continued spying, continued his role in the midst of things that he had long since lost a macabre interest in.
But if Harry said Severus had killed Albus, it must be true. Harry wouldn't lie.
Those of the Order who were able to had gathered in the hospital wing, warded themselves so that they couldn't be overheard.
"We always knew Severus is one of the most highly accomplished Occlumens. If there was something he didn't want Albus to know..." Remus' voice was harsh and hoarse.
"But Albus swore he was on our side! That he was working for us." Tonks could only manage a little over a whisper. "I wasn't sure, but I had the feeling there was something Albus wasn't telling us about Snape."
Albus had never told any of them why exactly it was he trusted the man. And Severus... well. He had been difficult as a student and had been difficult as an adult. How could they have proved anything either way against him? He was smarter than the rest of them, had demonstrated that even as a student. It was what made him so dangerous, so scary to reckon with. And it was also one of the reasons that McGonagall believed she was able to get along with him better than the rest. She was willing to acknowledge it.
"He only told me that his reason for trusting Severus was one we needn't doubt. That it was absolutely genuine. He wouldn't hear a word against him." She dabbed at her eyes, wished she could have done things differently. Wished it were she who were dead. Without Albus, with Severus on the other side, what hope did they have?
Hermione was looking behind the headmistresses, at the portrait of Dumbledore there. While McGonagall had been lost in her thoughts, the young woman had been noting the ever so slight differences in the office. There weren't many at all, so the major change made her want to smile. "The other portraits... Where are they?"
McGonagall looked over her shoulder at Albus. He seemed to be sleeping, but she had a sneaking suspicion that he was listening to everything they were saying. It was comforting in a way, to know that she could still talk to him - even if only in this form. "The library. Evidently, the only one Severus could stand was Dumbledore."
She smiled at that, and then her expression sobered once again. "It must have been hard, dealing with the world thinking he was something that he wasn't."
"And harder yet, performing acts he no longer took any pleasure in."
Hermione's gaze fell to the desk, to two volumes that sat upon it, one atop the other. The one on top was bound in dark blue and the words stamped into its cover were faded. Her fingers itched with the urge to grab it, to see what it was all about. But it was what sat beneath it that interested her most. Black leather, well worn. It was clearly a notebook. But...of what? Snape hadn't seemed to her like the type to keep a journal. But he did write things, she remembered. She had seen him during classes sometimes, and on the few occasions she had gone to ask his help while he was in his office.
McGonagall seemed to follow her gaze. Her hands hovered over it for a moment before she moved the top book. She seemed hesitant in picking up the second one, though less hesitant when handing it to the young witch.
"What is it, professor?" She opened it, flipped through the pages. All were blank.
"One of Severus' most treasured belongings, I believe." She took in Hermione's puzzled expression. "It appears quite blank, but-"
"It is not." Dumbledore had finally decided to cease his feigned slumber. He smiled at the two witches, blue eyes twinkling as merrily as ever from behind his half-moon glasses. "You see, Severus - as we all know - was a man of the most private sort. He wrote in it several times, yes...so there is indeed ink. But it will only come forth when the reader Severus intended has the book."
"So then..." She had scooted closer to the edge of her chair, bit her lip ever so slightly. "We must find him."
"I wouldn't be so certain in your choice of gender, Miss Granger."
Three rapid blinks, a tilt of the head. "But Professor Snape wasn't married. We all knew that much... But, he would hardly let anyone know about a relationship if he were in one... So how are we to hope to ever find this woman?"
Dumbledore's smile grew wider. "Oh, I believe you'll know her when you see her. She's not such a stranger to you as you think."
The blasted man was never capable of giving a straight answer was he? It had bothered Harry to no end during their days as students, and it usually took their minds combined to solve the riddles. How was she to know what woman to give the book to? She sighed and ran a finger down the spine. Perhaps the woman would reveal herself when she saw Hermione with it. She could hope at least...
A clock chimed, signalling the start of a new hour. Eleven. How had time flown so quickly? The funeral was due to start in an hour. "I should go. Let you finish getting ready."
Minerva made no objection, but stood when the younger witch did, and moved around the desk to put a hand on her shoulder. "You've done a marvelous job helping, Miss Granger. I cannot thank you enough."
Hermione managed another small smile and nodded. "Despite whatever people say, Professor, and despite whatever you may believe, I think that he'd be proud of you. You did exactly what you were meant to do. You tried to protect the school, the students... You helped." And before McGonagall could respond, she was out the door.
From the entrance to the castle she could see a girl with pale blonde hair, wearing a pale blue dress, sitting down by the lake. They hadn't spoken much since the war had ended, which made Hermione feel guilty. She knew Luna didn't have many friends, and though that may or may not have bothered Luna, it did bother Hermione. So without even a moment's hesitation, she made her way to the water's edge.
"Hello, Luna." She slipped her shoes from her feet and let her feet dangle in the water. It was cold, almost too cold, as though the dementor's were still lingering about. She moved her legs back, sat on them. Grabbed a stick and toyed with it instead.
"Oh hello, Hermione." The blonde barely turned her head to look at her friend, just kept skipping rocks. "How are you?"
A soft sigh. "Ready for the day to be over. You?"
"I'm fine, really." She stopped with the rocks then and sat completely still, looking across the lake at the spot the funeral was to be held. The tomb was out, set before at least a hundred white chairs. "I'm glad he died."
That took Hermione aback. "You're...what?"
"I'm glad he died. Not for the reason some other people are... but because now he can be free." She got to her feet. "Speaking of freedom, there are some snork-snouted huffs that I need to rescue from a trap. I'll see you at the party, Hermione."
The silence that set in after Luna left reminded Hermione of that morning, before Ron had joined her on the hill. The sounds that had accompanied life on the school grounds before Dumbledore's death were absent. There were no people laughing or yelling at one another in joy, no students pretending to duel, no quidditch practices. There was just silence, and the thoughts running through Hermione's head.
She rose when people began to walk out of the castle, toward the chairs. She joined them, at the back of the group, even though her seat was near the front. She wanted to be able to see all the people who had actually come. To her surprise, many of the seats were filled, nearly all of them with familiar faces. More people than she had expected to had turned up to pay respects to Snape. Toward the back were most of the Gryffindors, who she knew had really only come because they wanted to lend their support to Harry. The only ones who weren't in back were the Weasleys. She spied them sitting toward the middle, easily identifiable by their hair and the cloud of sorrow that hung about them. A lump caught in her throat as she couldn't help counting them, and falling one number short of what had always been.
D.A. members sat just ahead of the Gryffindors, looking solemn and weary and not at all like they had hated the man in the tomb. Then there were the few students from other Houses who had decided to come, shopkeepers and workers from Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade who had manned the shops Snape most often went to, some Ministry officials. The remaining members of the Order were close to the front, mixed among the Hogwarts professors. And the very front row was the only one not completely full. To the left sat Kingsley, McGonagall, Harry and Ron, with a spot for Hermione to Ron's right. To the right were only two people - Draco Malfoy and his mother.
As Kinglsey stood and moved to the front of the audience, Hermione found herself looking over at the Malfoys for a brief moment. She could hardly see Narcissa, except to tell that the witch currently had her head bent, but the span of empty seats between herself and Draco provided her with an easy view of him. Too easy. She hated to admit it, but even she had to admit that the heir of tainted gold was nice to look upon. In his white oxford and smart jacket, he looked more professional than his father ever managed to and it suited him well. He leaned forward a little bit and she caught sight of a green and silver tie. Always representing Slytherin well. His hair had been touched up since the last battle, so that it actually looked like he had been socializing for ages instead of being locked up in his own home. His face was drawn, similarly to the Weasleys, and Hermione wondered...was it possible that Draco actually missed Snape?
If it were possible, an even deeper silence settled over the assembled crowd as Kingsley got to his feet and moved to the front of the group, just beside the marble. "I wish that this were the first - or even the only - funeral I had to attend this week," the minister began. "However, you all know that that is most definitely not the case. We have laid to rest many of our fallen, and are not done yet. That makes it sound as though this man is just another person, another one of the casualties, but I don't believe I'm mistaken when I say that you all know that that isn't true."
He paused to take a breath and look at the crowd. "We've gathered today to say goodbye to a most unexpected hero. I didn't know Severus Snape as well as others, but I did know him better than some. I've been told several things about him, as I'm sure you all have." There were a couple soft laughs. "He was not one to joke with and he simply tolerated many things. He was often snide and sarcastic, harsh in the classroom, and difficult to arrange anything with. But he was also a devoted professor and member of the Order of the Phoenix, a loyal partner and defender. In the final moments of his life, on a night that we will all remember for the rest of time, he fought. He knew, when he was in the Shrieking Shack, that he was going to die. But he knew that the only one capable of ending the war was there, and he held on long enough to give his last contribution to our side, to help bring down those who had infiltrated the walls of our beloved school. It is because of his sacrifices that we are able to stand here today, free of oppression and free to remember him - perhaps not with fondness, but to remember him nonetheless - and give him the funeral he deserves."
There, Kingsley turned and motioned for Harry to come up. Hermione shifted in her seat, hoping Harry wouldn't fumble over his words, wouldn't say something stupid.
"I always thought that when people said they had to think a lot about what to say, they were just trying to come up with words to fill spaces. But then I was trying to figure out what to say here, today, and it took a lot of work. Nothing really feels...right. Nothing that I know how to say could do him justice. I don't think any of us really knew him, except maybe Dumbledore. The next closest person to him was Professor McGonagall, so I think it's only fitting that she come up here."
Well, it could have been worse. Harry slipped back to his seat, taking a deep breath, as McGonagall went to stand by the tomb. She had changed from her usual tartan robes to all black, and Hermione thought that the other robes were better for her. She looked even older now.
"I don't know what more to say about Severus, except that I can think of no better man to have helped us through this war. When he... When Dumbledore died, I hated Severus. I hated him and everything I knew about him - or thought I knew about him. And when it was announced that he was appointed headmaster, I was angry. How dare he come back here? How dare he take the position we all assumed would go to him after Dumbledore passed - under different conditions? I made his last few weeks a living hell and I tried to kill him the night Harry returned to the school."
She pressed a tissue to her eyes. "Severus exhibited both the best and worst qualities of a Slytherin. I hardly think that needs to be expounded upon further... But he didn't just have characteristics of one house. Hufflepuff prizes loyalty, and one cannot say that he didn't have it. We all misjudged him. He was loyal to a fault, endless in his dedication to ending the Dark Lord. He was patient, beyond a level any of us could hope to achieve. He waited a long time for his chance to save those that he could. He was as knowledgeable as any Ravenclaw, his mind one that understood more than anyone who knew him realized it did. He knew more than anyone I've ever known - except Albus Dumbledore himself. You had to be brilliant to outsmart Lord Voldemort. And though everyone may not have liked his style of teaching, he spent most of his adult life sharing his knowledge with students and staff alike. Severus may have been - rather, was - the most cynical man among our numbers and held everyone at arm's length - but it can't be said that he ever failed to answer when he was called upon.
And need I say anything about Gryffindor? Severus was braver than anyone here knew. Braver than I, for one, could ever imagine being. He didn't act where everyone could see, but performed where he was needed. Severus Snape embodied every House here, and was, in my opinion, one of the best men I have ever known."
Hermione stopped listening at that point, certain that anything else said would just be a repeat of what had already been mentioned. She looked again to her right, toward Draco and his mother. The young man looked the same as he had earlier, but his mother most definitely did not. She moved her hands over her face briskly, frequently, but discreetly - as though she didn't want anyone else to notice. And it seemed, as the funeral came to an end, that her plan was working. Nobody else looked at Narcissa, or her son. Nobody looked toward the front at all, really. They were all looking back toward the school as they walked in it's direction.
All but Harry and Ron. The pair stood waiting for her, and Ron put his hand out as though to touch her arm much like he had that morning. "You coming, Hermione?"
She felt another flash of irritation. "Leave me alone, Ron! Just...just leave me alone."
The boys gave her an odd look, but did as she asked. Harry pulled his friend's arm, telling him to come on, to let Hermione have some time alone. She thought for a moment that she had never been so thankful for him as she was right now.
Once they had gone, she looked back to the Malfoys and was shocked to see just Narcissa sitting there now. Draco must have slipped past while she was distracted. The blonde witch had given up on trying to hide her tears now, simply sat with her hands in her lap and her head bent. Her body shook ever so slightly. Hermione ran her thumb over the black notebook she'd almost forgotten she was carrying with her, and looked down at it. Things clicked. The woman was Narcissa. The book belonged to her.
Hesitantly, Hermione stood. Narcissa was certainly no stranger to her... She remembered her torture in Malfoy Manor and was tempted to walk away without saying a word to the witch. But then she remembered how Narcissa had lied in the forest, had saved Harry. And she thought that if Snape had felt something for her, she owed it to him to at least give it to her. They didn't have to talk, necessarily.
"Mrs. Malfoy?" Hermione sat beside the other witch. "Are you alright?"
Narcissa stiffened slightly, sniffed. Wiped her eyes. "I'm fine." Her voice was hoarse.
Hermione just looked at her. "Were you close?"
Narcissa glared through black mesh as though considering some insult or other. But the fight seemed to leave her suddenly. She slumped. Crumbled and brought her kerchief up to hide her red, weeping face. "You could say that."
She felt oddly bold and timid all at once. The last time she had seen Narcissa had been after the snatchers had captured them, when Draco lied about recognizing Harry. And she still hadn't quite decided what to fully make of the whole family, or even Harry's decision to stand behind them. "I know he spent a great deal of time with your family."
The Malfoy woman sighed as if even in grief she could be made impatient. "He was my lover, Miss Granger. If that's what you want to know. Nothing more." But her tears and the bitterness in her bitterness belied the deprecating statement. "I doubt I have any answers to whatever questions are circling in your possibly injured head at the moment."
The young witch blinked in surprise; she obviously hadn't expected such a blunt response. "I...didn't quite mean that way, although I was wondering. I just meant that...well... Draco spoke of him fondly. And he always seemed to like Draco better than any of his other students."
"My son knew..." She cleared her throat. "My son knew that Severus was...special to me. I think he probably...looked upon Severus as more of a father than his own father." She grimaced wryly. "Though that couldn't make him trust when..." Again her lips trembled. "Of course, it's too late for that. Too late for so much."
"A better man for such a figure couldn't be found." Hermione bit her bottom lip, unsure of how Narcissa would take the boundary being crossed. "That couldn't make him trust when what?"
"When Severus could have helped him most." Cissa snapped. She fussed with her handkerchief in her lap. "You're too young for regrets, Miss Granger. You and my son alike. Even...even Severus would have told you that."
"Perhaps. But he would have been wrong." She looked at the grass for a moment, at the leg of the chair she was sitting in, at the tiny dab of blue she could see from between tree limbs up ahead. "He had at least one when he was younger than us - and I think the number grew with age."
Narcissa scoffed. "He learned from the best," she muttered. "I am an expert at cataloguing regrets." She sobered, and the sudden calmness on her face resurrected the pretty there.
Hermione looked to her face, at the shape of her cheekbones and her lips, at the color of her eyes, and how a few strands of her hair had escaped to frame it just so. It was easy to see, even past the obvious signs of distress, the attraction. "He wasn't one of them, was he?" Her voice was almost a whisper.
Watery blue eyes fluttered closed. A wistful expression curved Narcissa's lips. "No. No, he wasn't. He was...so much more." She bowed her head. "I will never truly know, though." Silence, then she gathered herself. "Yet another of those many regrets." When she looked at Hermione, there was a clarity in her eyes - a softness most unexpected. "Miss Granger?"
Her brown eyes met those of the older witch, her expression one of slightly uncertainty. "Yes, Mrs. Malfoy?"
"Tell them." Narcissa spoke simply. "Whether you hate them, need them, want them or...love him. Just tell them. Your friends. Your family. Enemies... Lovers. Tell them how you feel. Because when they are gone..." She trailed off as if the rest wasn't necessary. And it wasn't, truly.
She seemed to understand Narcissa's comment about never truly knowing how much more Snape was. It showed in her eyes, how they darkened and widened at the same time, and how her mouth formed a little 'o.' "You... he... He was more than just a lover to you, then. I know I shouldn't ask, but... how long? How long did you keep him happy?"
Narcissa gave a rueful laugh. "Did I keep him happy? Sometimes I wonder." But her tongue was loosened somehow. Whether the curious Gryffindor was the cause or her grief was unknown. Either way, she shared as though the sharing was cathartic. "I loved him for years. But he was so taciturn. Among other things. But lovers? Not long enough. I suppose it could never seem long enough, could it?"
Memory absorbed her for a time, comforted her like a blanket. "Draco was a boy. Starting Hogwarts soon. And Lucius was away. All the time. And Severus... Well, Severus was there. He came when I was afraid to be alone in the house. When Draco was sick. Or ill-mannered, which was more often than not. It was always Severus. And one night..." She shrugged. "One night Severus was just that, too. And I suppose it stuck." She glanced at Hermione, a blush high on her cheeks. "Don't think ill of him because of me, please. I assure you it was I who...insisted." The blush deepened.
Hermione frowned slightly. "Why...would I think ill of him?" She paused. "Or you, for that matter."
Narcissa shook her head. "I don't know. Not that he would have cared." Another small smile. "He was amazingly apathetic when it came to the opinions of others. He certainly made that quite clear with my sister often enough."
Hermione couldn't suppress a soft laugh. "I can only imagine what the two of them were like together." She let her eyes roam over the witch's face. She was more relaxed now, whether because talking was helping or not the Gryffindor didn't know. "At least you didn't have to worry about competition."
That earned an actual laugh. It was the strangest sound Hermione had ever heard issued from this witch. "No, certainly not," she said, still chuckling. "But Severus only ever really had room for one witch in his life at once, I think. And I took the place of the one he lost. His true love, I suppose." She looked into the distance. "I hope I was a comfort to him, if nothing else. But... There are answers I won't have until I see him again. The day I pass beyond the veil myself." She smirked. "If he's still on speaking terms with me."
At that, Hermione ran another finger over the black leather in her lap. "I think you were. A comfort, I mean. And...probably more." She looked at Narcissa from the corner of her eye. "I didn't know him as well as you did, obviously, but I think people are capable of having more than one true love. And it may just be me," she swallowed thickly, as though she were afraid of what response she might receive, "but I think everyone has the wrong idea about his love for Lily, in the end. They've warped it into more than what it was...deeper, in a way. I think he had moved on from romantic love with her."
"Perhaps you're right, Miss Granger." A sigh. "Whatever the case, I was - am - a married woman. A Malfoy, at that. I could never give him all of myself, and...that was hardly fair. I hope he understood."
"All's fair in love and war, Mrs. Malfoy. I think he did. After all, he didn't exactly give you all of himself either."
"You know he used to say that? The love and war bit. He said that every time I tried to discuss our relationship. Any time I mentioned anything about having a spouse." She chuckled. "Among other things he said when I mentioned my husband. Things as a lady I shan't repeat." She looked askance at Hermione, checking that the younger witch took her meaning.
Hermione raised an eyebrow slightly, trying to suppress a smile. "I take it that despite all appearances, then, that he rather didn't like Mr. Malfoy."
"Rather?" She plucked a bit of lint from her skirt. "If by rather you mean he would have preferred a crucio to the bollocks rather than converse with Lucius, then yes...rather."
"He was excellent at fronts, then. For years, Harry and Ron and I were convinced they were snakes of the same skin."
"Snakes, yes. No denying." She looked thoughtful. "I read somewhere once that muggles give awards for acting? I can tell you Severus deserved a thousand of those. Even the Dark Lord..." She shuddered. "I could barely look at his face, but every day Severus played his right hand to perfection. It's why I sometimes wondered..."
She stayed silent, unsure of whether she was meant to say anything or not.
"I wondered if he was acting with me," she whispered. "If he truly felt for me or if I was yet another convenient player on his stage."
Her jaw worked for a moment as she thought about what to say. "I hope you and I are in agreement in that you weren't just a convenience, Mrs. Malfoy. If you were, I don't think he would have kept up a relationship of any sort with you."
"I know, I know." Again Narcissa took a deep breath, attempted to right herself. "Sadness. I always did that when I was sad. Questioned him. He would tell me I was being ridiculous. He would..." She didn't finish. She broke down again, unexpectedly - a puppet with strings cut. She slouched and sobbed anew.
The leather in Hermione's hands seemed to become heated - she gasped as her hand began to burn. She knew she should hand it over, but a part of her wanted to keep it out of it's new owner's hands for just a little longer. But that would be wrong, she knew. Hesitantly, she held it and reached her arms across the slight distance separating the older woman from her. Placed it in her lap.
Narcissa blinked at the gift. "What is this?" She asked. Then her hands closed over the journal and her breath caught. As though she recognized the magic there, she hugged it to her chest. "Severus..."
Narcissa's reaction alone made Hermione glad she'd handed the journal over. "He...left it. For you."
Something like wonder that was definitely sorrow turned the Malfoy's beauty dark. She lowered the journal, fingers caressing it as though it were a lover - and perhaps it felt that way. "For me," she murmured softly.
She seemed to forget that Hermione was sitting beside her, her world narrowed down to only one thing. Hermione shifted slightly, uncomfortable being there still but unsure if she should leave. She turned her head away from Narcissa, to try to let the witch have a moment of privacy, and focused her attention on the grounds of the castle.
Narcissa was oblivious to anything the young witch did. Her fingers continued to slide over the leather, memorizing the very feel of it. The magic she felt in it was one so familiar to her now, one she knew she would be hard pressed to find anymore, that she was almost reluctant to take her hands away for even a second. If she did, perhaps it would be lost to her forever. But for one brief second, she set in her lap and only then remembered she had an audience. A look over showed Hermione wasn't paying the least bit of attention.
And so, swallowing the lump in her throat, she looked back to her lap and opened the book upon it. She did so slowly, savoring the feel of it. The anticipation, the nervousness. The slight dread at knowing this was the last thing she would have of him almost made her close it back, so that she could prolong what she figured would be giving up something. But the temptation was too strong, the delight that he had left her anything at all so great, that there was no turning back.
The writing on the first page was simple and short: her name, just her name, in his elegant hand. She flipped it over to find the beginning of a sea of words, letters covering every inch of parchment that they could possibly have been put on.
"Shoes scuff stone, forks clatter, students murmur. Minerva goes on about the latest news in the Prophet, and Albus smiles. For them, life is no different today than it was yesterday or the day before. Part of me envies them, but then part of me says not to - because if life were no different for me today than it was yesterday, I'd still be hoping that that would change.
It's all thanks to you that it did. To say that I never dream about you would be a lie, and I would have to be foolish to say that I never entertained fantasies where precisely what happened last night would occur. I've watched Draco grow up, thinking that they would remain in my mind, never daring to truly hope and just letting them live in dreams. So you can understand why, when I walked in to see you waiting for me on your bed, it was so easy to think that it wasn't really happening."
That was one of her favorite memories, one of the most cherished. It wasn't the best of all of them that she had of him, but the best things aren't always the most special.
She was nervous as she lay there, wondering what he would do when he found her. Turn stiff and act the perfect gentleman, as he was so apt to do when he refused her? Or lose control and ravage her, as she so very wanted? With any luck it would be the latter.
"Cissa?" His voice came from down the hall.
"In my room, Severus." She sat up against the pillows, made sure the sheet was tight enough around her that he would see there was absolutely nothing else covering her.
"Merlin, witch. You could have told me you'd be in here instead of letting me wander the entire manor." He was closing the door as he spoke, his back to her. "You said you needed me as soon as was possible. Is everything alright?" He turned and she could feel his surprise as his eyes took her in.
The candles she had lit earlier flickered, and the light they threw on his face was dim. Even so, his interest was obvious. His posture had stiffened only slightly, more in surprise than refusal. He swallowed thickly, didn't look away.
"Not everything, no. My son is away at school at the moment, where he doesn't need me. My husband doesn't want me. You, though..." she smiled. "You're here, now." The sheet slipped down, exposing the top of her breasts.
"Cissa, I'm flattered. But I cannot..." Oh, but how he wanted to.
She pouted her lips slightly. "We've both wanted it long enough - there's no point trying to deny it." She had caught his almost defensive expression, knew what words - what lies - were going to come forth if she let them. "And now we have the opportunity and you would not seize it? How unlike you."
Her hand slid under the sheet, between her legs. The sheet fell to reveal one breast, pert and begging to be touched.
He licked his lips.
There was a flash of her hip.
A growl and a ripple of air as he practically flew to the bed.
A soft thump after the witch waved her wand, his clothing falling to the ground in a slightly rumpled heap.
The lighting was hardly ideal for seeing detail but detail wasn't what Narcissa wanted. Yet. She could see well enough to make out his outline, and the obvious differences from Lucius. Her husband was thicker, firm, his strength more obvious. Severus was sinewy and lean, his strength one of the mind and of magic. So why was she more attracted to him than to the man that could make just about every woman he deemed worthy of looking at swoon? Well, that one was an easy answer. When you've come to hate a person, you want nothing to do with them. And Severus was everything Lucius was not.
She toyed with the edge of the sheet. "Well?"
He slipped into the bed, next to her. Mimicked her position."Well?"
'Unsure, are we?' She moved to straddle him, felt how tense he was. It had been a while for him, she guessed, and even then it was doubtful that the woman was one he knew much less one he thought he could never have. Her fingers on one hand stroked his jaw and the other hand just rested on his shoulder. She leaned forward, let her mouth arc over his.
He groaned into her mouth, hands shooting up from beside him, the right to rest lightly on her hip and the left to hesitantly explore her cleavage. She knew she had him then, that she'd cut loose the chain of restraint he had been so tightly bound with. He grew bolder as he saw what his touch could do to her, how she arced into it, how if he hit just the right spot she couldn't help but give a little whimper and start to close her eyes.
Between them, he grew harder quickly and she'd had enough waiting. Taking one of his hands, she guided it to stroke her folds and before his calloused thumb could stroke her enough to make her cum she took his erection in her own hand and let her fingers dance.
"Stop." There was a bit of an order to his tone, but desperation too. And it was because of that that she stopped. He took advantage of the moment to flip them over and to make sure she was actually on her back. It was easier for him to see now, his eyes having adjusted to the dimness, but he didn't have to look to know without question that it was okay to press onward.
She was tight but he didn't seem to mind, holding back until she softened around him. He sought her lips again and as they kissed their bodies fell into synch so it looked like they were one. Suddenly he hit a sweet spot, and she shifted her pelvis up as much as she could. "More! Just...more!"
He obliged, picking up his pace and power and before long she rippled around him. She thought he was done too; he'd started to stiffen when she'd gone over the edge, but then he was back to snapping his hips. When he did shatter, he did so magnificently, leaving her with his seed and his strength. He rolled, holding her to him still. Stroked her face, her neck, her shoulder, the small of her back.
For the first time in years, she felt appreciated. With a soft smile, she reached up to touch his face. Her fingers were light, as if she thought he would grow angry with anything more. Instead, he barely seemed to notice anything. His gaze was distant, his movements slower. "Something the matter?"
Her voice brought him back from whatever he was thinking about. "No, of course not."
He was hesitant, not in his words, but in moving. For several seconds, Narcissa looked into his eyes and watched a struggle within them. In the end, he sought her lips and as they kissed, the witch couldn't help but feel like some part of her had come home. Had she ever felt like that with her husband? Once, perhaps. Would she feel it with him again? Unlikely.
Actually, it was more than unlikely... it was a certainty.
Hermione watched the witch as she came to the end of the memory, noting every tear that slipped down her cheeks and the fleeting happiness that seemed to leave with the withdrawal from the book. "He must write well..." Her tone was soft, shy. She didn't want to intrude but she didn't want the witch to forget that she was here, either.
The older witch stroked the soft pages. "If I said no, then I would be telling you a pointless lie. Yes...he wrote well." She closed the book, eager as she was to read more. "Miss Granger, might I ask you a question?"
She nodded. "Of course, Mrs. Malfoy..."
"What did you think of him? What will you remember?"
What did she think of him? Once, her answer would have come quickly and without any thought - she would have said that he was by no means her favorite professor, and that even if she did find him a bit dodgy, he was good at his job. But then he killed Dumbledore, and she was mad at him. Confused about his actions, his loyalties. His appointment as Headmaster had been hard to swallow, and would have been harder still if she had remained at Hogwarts for her seventh and final year of school.
Now, with what she knew, what she had heard... everything was different. Narcissa knew that, and Hermione knew that she knew. So she chose her words carefully. "I... I never shared the hatred for him that Harry had. I didn't always like him - you of all people must know that he could be quite cruel at times. He penalized me for answering questions he asked. But he was an absolutely brilliant man, and talented as well, and I respected him."
She paused for a breath of air. "I'll remember his loyalty, Mrs. Malfoy. To Harry's mum, to the Death Eaters for a time, to Dumbledore, to the school...but most of all, to you." At that, she got to her feet.
Narcissa rose as well, reached out to touch Hermione on the shoulder. "Thank you."
Hermione nodded, gave her a smile. "Take care, Mrs. Malfoy."
The blonde nodded. "You too, Miss Granger." She waited until the young woman had moved a few steps away, and then she called out again. "And remember what I said..."
"No regrets." She was smiling as turned her head to look over her shoulder. Narcissa smiled back at her as a slightly chilly breeze drifted past, making the hair on Hermione's prickle. The other witch's blue eyes had brightened slightly, and she hugged her arms to herself. Beneath her hands, Hermione imagined she saw a masculine pair. And there, embracing her from behind, was the wizard they had just buried. He nodded to her, a nod that said what words could not. She had nothing to worry about, no reason to feel guilty. "Mrs. Malfoy? You don't need to have any yourself."
Her laughter had a note of genuine happiness to it. "Oh, I know now, Miss Granger."
This time, when she started back toward the school, she wasn't stopped. The grounds were back to their relative state of desertion; she found everyone inside, seated at tables of various size in the Great Hall. Harry, Ron, and Draco were with Kingsley and McGonagall at one of the larger tables. There were two empty seats that Hermione guessed were for herself and Narcissa. She sat without speaking to Ron, and just smiled at the other three. Listened to their conversations, but didn't contribute until they spoke about the last absent member.
"Hermione, you were out there with her for a while... Where did she go? Back to Malfoy Manor?" Harry was looking around even as he spoke, hoping to see the Witch Who Lied coming toward them at any second.
It was Draco who spoke, though. "She's still outside."
"Why on earth? She should come in!" Harry started to rise.
Draco shook his head at the same instant that Hermione disagreed. "No, just...leave her be." She glanced over at the Slytherin, who met her gaze evenly. Habit made her want to hate him, but she couldn't bring herself to feel anything but connected to him at the moment. The two of them alone knew the deceased man's greatest secret. "Not everyone can say goodbye so quickly as you, Harry."
Draco gave her a slight nod, looked back to his plate. The chatter between the other four at the table resumed, and Hermione looked above herself, where the ceiling matched the sky outside. The agony of losing the familiar always causes emotions to run high, sometimes makes individuals think things that aren't true. All Hermione could think of were regrets and a woman who made up half of a portrait. 'Stay with her, Professor. They say that it's possible to die of grief when it is great enough.'
The same cool breeze from earlier tickled the back of her neck.
A/N: This is definitely a piece that would not have been possible without mrs. milfoy. Thank you, as always, my friend. If I've got Snape down, she has Narcissa, and so it goes without saying that this couldn't have happened unless she helped me. You see, I told her a while back that I wanted to do a piece where Hermione reflected on the death of Snape, and at first I was disturbed. Why would I write Hermione? I don't know. But the idea wouldn't leave, and encouraged me to just write it. Turns out that this is one of my favorite things that I have written. Who would have have guessed? The Narcissa that you see after the ceremony to the excerpt from Snape's journal to Narcissa is all 's writing; the Hermione is mine.