Severus Snape was a man used to having long days. Very long days, in fact. Today, however, was promising to be excruciatingly, and overwhelmingly so.
His feet felt like metal in his shoes, and the ground was magnetic, rooting him to the spot in front of his door. Every muscle of his body was tense with dread and he could feel it turning in his stomach. He knew he deserved this; the pain, the solitude. He was after all a decorated war veteran, back from the dead, who was completely cleared of all charges. But why should that make society accept him? He thought, with a bitter laugh. The laughter was cut short by the sound it made as it echoed across the empty house, ricocheting and mocking him.
He slammed the door before it could echo and ridicule him again. With a crack he arrived in Knockturn Alley, using this location to fix the usual sneer on his face and get his robes billowing before he entered Diagon Alley. The short walk to Flourish And Botts was punctuated by stares, glares and the occasional under the breath comment. Sometimes he'd get nods from former students, Slytherins of course. He finally swept into the comfort of the shop, he was there for a special order and knew it would be ready.
"Here's the book you asked for, Professor." He grunted in response to the sales clerk. A former student, but did that really matter? He held in his hands a gift. A book that would give him away. That would finalize everything forever. He turned over Love Letters of Great Men in his hands, closing his eyes briefly, imagining the look on the face of the recipient.
He was snapped out of his reverie by the slamming of the door behind him, and without even looking at who had entered, he exited. Looking at the Muggle watch he always wore, he realized that he had to be there within five minutes. Apparation was instant, so he needn't be concerned about punctuality. His nerves got the best of him, however.
He arrived with a start just outside the gardens, beautifully lit and decorated. Even he, cold hearted and miserable ole Snape had to stop and admire them. Or maybe he was bracing himself. Either way, he only took a second. Thoughts whirled inside his head, but he had accepted his fate a long time ago. Nothing would change the way things are now.
After a moment of affixing a cold look in his eyes and a sneer (once again) upon his face, he opened the gate and entered the garden. It was relatively secluded where he entered, and he had, so far, been unnoticed. That gave him the luxury of noticing her first.
"Miss Granger" He greeted his face taut with scorn.
"Professor" She acknowledged, greeting him equally disparagingly.
"I brought a present…" He started, before she cut him off.
"The table is over there"
"No, I wanted to give it to you, directly." He replied, chagrined by her aloofness towards him. He thrust the book into her hands, and immediately hid behind his hair.
"Professor…." She started, staring at the book in wonder and joy, the expression bringing a slight glow to his heart.
"Severus…" At his given name he looked up, and she laid a hand on his arm.
"This is amazing, thank you so much." She nearly whispered as she pulled him into a tight albeit chaste hug.
"Hermione! The ceremony's about to start!" Ginny rushed over, acknowledging Snape with a nod of her head, "Professor."
"Weasley", he nodded back. She had already directed her attention towards Hermione.
"You can't be late for your own wedding! Circe, Ron's in a tizzy as it is!" Ginny was scolding Hermione as she was pulled away with the book still tight in her grip.
Snape watched them leave with a stony expression, trying to envelope and save as much of her embrace as he could. He stood on the edge of the garden, uncertain of how masochistic he felt today. Deciding to spare himself the agony of watching the spectacle, he walked out of the garden and turned to face it briefly, before apparating away.
By the time Hermione had opened the book, long after the wedding and long after Ron had fallen asleep, Snape had already drowned his sorrows in fire whiskey and was somewhere between sleeping and torturing himself in his mind, redoing and lamenting every mistake, word, action he'd ever done. Especially when it came to Hermione. At every thought of her name he had pounded another shot, until he could barely see and sat there, tears in his eyes, being hit by waves of realization that she was gone forever. As he was passing out, she was sitting up in her bed, eyes wide in shock at the words written on the inside of the cover.
"Darling," he wrote in spindly script, the D slightly smeared, "You'll forgive me that I never wrote. It's just that time stopped ticking. It's just that all the ink ran clear. It's just the words ran out of letters. I cannot go a day without thinking about you, missing you, looking at where you once stood, sat, ate, slept. I drink until you are no long the pictures that chase me down a flight of screens in my mind each night. Until the part of me that you first touched, forgets. I'll love you until the ends of the earth, my Hermione. I regret any and every moment I let you think otherwise, especially and most persisting, the moment I let you leave. I'll never forgive myself for all that I've done.
All my love,
Severus"