She was there: it had to be her with those honey-colored eyes and that curly, wild hair.
Severus Snape sat up in his bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as his heart raced from the clarity of his dream. In some corner of his mind, he dully wondered what time it was. He groped about the bedside for his wand, only to discover that it had rolled off of the nightstand and onto the floor beside the bed.
"Tempus," he muttered, his voice deceptively void of emotion and sleep.
2 am. He blinked wearily, then rubbed his eyes once more as he charmed his clothing free of vomit and felt about for his shoes.
Ignoring the scent of firewhiskey and muggle rum on his breath, he forced them onto his feet then sluggishly left his chambers to wander about the grounds, despite the pouring rain.
He soon found himself standing at the edge of the lake, high up on a cliff where braver, older students and trembling, accosted first-years dove into the lake during the school term.
The memories flooded back harshly, feeling as though the Hogwarts lake had decided to rush wildly into his head, giant squid flailing its tentacles against his skull in protest while angry Merpeople jabbed and prodded his brain with their tridents. Laughter chimed like bells inside his head as she laughed at the squid's antics in his mind's eye.
Never before had Severus felt so much pain, even when held under four crucios at once. His legs buckled and he winced as his knees slammed into the rocky embankment that was slick from the downpour. Each raindrop felt like a knife being shoved through his back and into his heart.
Sunday.
How many days had it been, exactly?
Oh, yes, six – after all, tomorrow would be one week exactly. Snape drunkenly surmised that was the only reason he knew how long it had been. He was lying to himself. He knew because it had been six nights of being completely wasted; six empty cases of firewhiskey and six empty fifths of English Harbour; six mornings spent disgorging poisonous alcohol from his body and six hangover potions missing from his private stores.
It had been six days since that dreadful moment, since he watched her smile and laugh and tug on his arm for the last time; six days since he had held her; six days since they had shared breakfast in his quarters; six days since he had kissed her; and six days since he had lost his Hermione.
Sometime later he would find himself wondering how he had managed to get off of the cliff without falling into the rocky abyss below. Despite the urge to jump into the raging waters, Severus found himself on the staircase to the Astronomy Tower. He cringed as the memories continued to swirl inside his head, not unlike the storm outside.
"Come with me, Sev," she had said with a sultry voice, half teasing, half begging, then grabbed his hand to lead him up the steps where he had caught many a couple snogging after curfew in years past, yet in that moment, the only couple he had found himself able to concentrate on was them: him and his Hermione. That was the night when she first told him she felt something for him. Severus had used Legilimency to test her honesty, thinking that it was a cruel prank, but was surprised to find her feelings genuine; however, he was even more surprised to find she was a strong Occlumens, herself. In the back of his mind, he wondered why, but ignored the alarms and dismissed it as irrelevant. He wanted nothing more than to know what was behind her walls, yet she wouldn't let him in. He had respected her boundaries at the time. Now, he almost wished he hadn't.
That night was the first night they had made love, one year ago from Sunday.
He tore himself away from the Tower and the urge to dive off of it – after all, he knew it wouldn't work, he had tried the day after she disappeared from his life: who would have guess that the wards preventing student suicides would work for their professors as well? – then made his through the castle once more, jostling the portraits from their slumber and harassing ghosts, determined to yield new results from yet another drunken interrogation.
He stopped in front of a portait of Jane Austen, guardian of what was once Hermione's quarters.
"Jane," he muttered, then rose his voice when she didn't respond. "Jane. JANE!" The woman shook in fright from her aggressive, unscheduled wake-up call.
"Yes, Severus? What on Earth could you possibly want at this hour?" she asked indignantly.
"Forgive me, Jane. Have you heard from her?" It was unnecessary to specify of whom he was speaking. Her expression softened and the authoress shook her head.
"No, Severus, I promise you will be the first person to know, if I do." He grimaced.
"Are you sure you didn't see her when she left?" he sounded desperate. The elderly woman pitied him and shook her head once more.
"I'm sorry, Professor Snape," she braced herself for the intoxicated speech she had received every night for the past five days, thus she was surprised to only get a brief apology.
"My apologies for bothering you, Madame Austin." As he walked away, she noticed him fingering a small, square box in his pocket whilst muttering under his breath and rubbing his forehead with his other hand.
As he continued to amble throughout the castle, empty of students during the summer holiday, the memories continued to churn inside his head. It never occured to him to use a Pensive.
"You lie! Where is she?" He had screamed when they told him she was no where to be found. "Find her, damn you!" he had demanded.
Searching had been futile, though, for Hermione Jane Granger had no desire to be found.
At 4 a.m., he had Floo called Harry Potter, his mind still spinning from memories of her, preventing him from sleep. Harry had grudgingly invited him over, then listened with slight satisfaction as his most hated professor begged him for the whereabouts of his best friend. All Severus received in return for his groveling was a cup of tea, a shot of whiskey and a Calming Draught.
Later that day, after a Hangover Remedy and some Muggle Aspirin, he found himself at the Burrow, confiding in Arthur Weasley. "Arthur," he said, "I believe she's driven me bonkers. She's haunting me. Every time I close my eyes, she's there." Arthur shook his head in disbelieving amazement, but remained silent.
"I was going to propose that afternoon. It would have been one year that evening. Why wasn't she there that evening?" Knowing Arthur couldn't provide any answer he hadn't came up with himself, Severus Snape thanked the man for sharing his brandy, then walked out the kitchen door to Apparate back to Hogwarts.
She had told him once at the beginning of their relationship that she would never marry because men were too unstable, and love wasn't something that could be proven from a book. He was determined to prove her wrong, because it was all over the books. He had thrown a book for the first time that day – in fact, he found that he had thrown several before it was all over: Shakespeare, Brontë, Austin; all brutally tossed onto the table before the brightest witch in a century.
He cornered her after that and asked how she felt about him, if she experienced stomach-churning nausea or ten thousand butterflies pumping their wings as fast as possible inside her gut like he did. She had grudgingly admitted it, "Yes, but I –" he cut her off with a passionate kiss. Taking advantage of her shocked expression, he had triumphantly whispered into her ear, "That's love, Hermione."
He found himself wondering if that was why she was gone. Perhaps he had terrified her that day, and she had left instead of getting ready for dinner that night because of it, despite the conversation taking place months and months ago. He couldn't fathom how the brightest witch of the age didn't believe in love, especially after Lily Potter's sacrifice for her son. She was Harry's best friend, for Merlin's sake! Why didn't she believe in love?
That evening, Severus was seen in her old neighborhood, pulled from the Hogwarts Archives, banging on doors without any particular pattern. A small part of him expected, no, hoped that he would run across a Potter here or a Weasley there who could point him in the right direction. The problem was that he was rather intimidating and absolutely no one recognized the crazed man in his strange clothing as a high-standing member of society, Muggle or otherwise.
Eventually, he stumbled across the home of Abagail Mason who was kind enough to tell him that Hermione had once lived in that neighborhood: She would know, for she had watched the Granger girl before she was old enough to stay home by herself. Severus begged the old woman to help him, but Abby could only say that Hermione had been gone since age eleven and she'd barely seen her since. The lady was kind enough to mention that before she had went to a boarding school in Scotland, Hermione had enjoyed her family's property in the French countryside. She offered the address of the Granger's old summer house, then sent him along.
He discovered himself on the doorstep of the summerhouse some minutes later. He banged on the door while frantically whispering her name under his breath, only to meet what had to be Hermione's mother: she looked like an older, blonder version of her daughter. They had never heard of the dour professor and they didn't believe that she was missing. They were absolutely no help. He discretely used Legilimency, only to find that they truly had never heard of Severus Snape and they did not know where she was if she wasn't in Scotland like they believed her to be.
He left, dejected, to sit on a bench by the road, once again ignorant of the constant downpour. He couldn't decide whether or not he wanted her parents to know his story, his story and their only daughter's story and how they were entwined. He was unable to fathom which hurt more, the thought of her sharing something so private with everyone or the reality that she hadn't spoken up at all about her lover.
His hand fell back into his pocket, yet again caressing the ring box that held his would-be engagement ring. Something made him pull the box from his pocket and examine it once more. The top of the velvet box was beginning to look worn and faded from his ministrations. He cracked open the lid and saw the one family heirloom he could bring himself to be proud of still sat comfortably inside the box: his mother's ring. A platinum band was lined in small, bead diamonds that trimmed around one large, eye-catching round center stone. It was perhaps the only thing of any value that his father had ever presented to his long-dead mother.
"It's lovely, you know?" Severus was surprised to be jostled from his reviere. Hermione's mother had been curiously watching the younger man inspect the ring from her living room window. She realized that this was the man Hermione had mentioned some ages ago, though she'd never bothered to offer a name. She didn't know him, but she knew exactly how much Severus loved her daughter from the dangerous, wild look in his eye. She had rushed out to talk to him once more about Hermione. She took a seat beside him on the bench, daintily holding her umbrella.
"Do you think she would like it?" he asked, his voice rougher than he had guessed it would be. The older woman considered it carefully, then accepted it when he offered her the ring.
"I believe she might. It's exquisite," she offered the ring back to him. He took to opportunity to beg her to pass on a message if she heard from her daughter, and to contact him at the first chance if at all possible, because it'd been six days, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could take it. The woman said little, but agreed to contact him and carefully offered the last tidbit she remembered hearing from Hermione.
"She never spoke of the Magical world, you know? She said that she didn't want us to be involved in it. I missed a large part of her life because of it," the woman said remorsefully. Severus understood Hermione's logic, but it still pained him to see the hurt look on her mother's face. He said nothing and they sat silently for a few moments, Mrs. Granger wondering where she went wrong, Snape simply listening to the rain hit the pavement and the rumble of thunder in the distance. Her mother broke the suddenly spoke, breaking the silence.
"Professor, I seem to recall her mentioning someone named Ronald. She never really brought her friends home, but she did talk of them often. Ronald and Harold, I believe – No! Harry! Ron and Harry. You might check with them about Hermione's whereabouts?" she said, the bid the man good day and left him, once again, staring at the ring in it's little velvet prison.
It was then that he began hunting out Ronald Weasley. He found him, alright, but Ron slammed the door in his face as soon as he saw who had came knocking and refused to answer. He had the niggling sensation that either Ron was hiding Hermione, which was unlikely given the obvious connections, or that Ronald Weasley blamed him for Hermione's disappearance.
Disappointed once more, he tried Harry Potter again, but Harry couldn't offer anything other than the same story he'd provided some hours before. He never mentioned Snape's inebriated Floo-call at four in the morning. He simply offered to do a drying charm, and then sent the man on his way back to Hogwarts via the Floo. Snape dimly wondered if the rain was mocking him in his dark mood and somewhat stormy disposition. It had rained that day, Sunday as well.
He remembered that night vividly:
He had left his quarters in a hurry to escort his lover to dinner, his mother's ring nestled comfortably in his trousers' pocket against his thigh. Whispering the password to Jane, he had nearly dived into the doorway in his anxiety to see Hermione. His anxiousness grew as he had made his way through the suite yet Hermione was no where to be found.
Sitting sadly on her side of the bed, he discovered an envelope on the nightstand addressed to him. He put his head in his hands and sobbed, the anticipation too much for the aging man as his gut told him this was goodbye. Finally, he picked the letter and tore the envelope open, heartbroken to see her typically neat, cramped writing transformed into a horribly rushed mess.
Darling Severus,
I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I've gone. I'm not going to return. I've done the unforgiveable and I can't ask you to forgive me for it. I couldn't tell you, I couldn't make myself tell you. I think I am actually in love with you, and I'm so confused. You wouldn't have ever guessed that there was something I couldn't say, would you? You've been haunting me for the past year. I can't get you out of my mind, but maybe I can wash you away with the rain. I will have to settle for watching you from afar. I can't bear to be close to you again. You'll never forgive me. I'm sure we'll meet again someday.
Love, Hermione.
Her letter was smudged with ink that had been hastily sprayed across the page and her drying tears had turned several of the small spatters into large puddles. He hadn't known what to say to her missive, so he crumpled it up and tossed the small ball across the room. After Summoning the note back to his hand, he ran out the door to Jane.
"Jane! Where is she?" he begged, "Why didn't you tell me she wasn't in there?" The lady gave him a very puzzled look.
"Severus, she is in her quarters, is she not?" At his stricken look and trembling hands, she surmised that she was most certainly not in her quarters. Casting a fast Smoothing Charm, he offered Madame Austin the letter. "Oh dear, we need to go find Dumbledore."
That evening in the Headmaster's office, he had sat with Minerva on one side and Albus on the other, both attempting to soothe the grieving Potions Master. He had spent himself, yelling and cussing while threatening to curse every last thing that moved if they couldn't find her, thus he was resigned to Albus' Calming Draught-laced lemon drops and grudgingly accepted when the old man offered. When Potter returned to tell him that there wasn't any sign of her, he had lost it. That was the first night since the end of the reign of the Dark Lord that he had gotten so inebriated he barely remembered his name. Her face still haunted him, though.
He snapped back to the present and realized he was still sitting under a broken streetlight on a lonely bench in Southern France. He clutched his mother's engagement ring tighter still, then dried and repaired the damage to the little box. He gave one last look at the Granger residence, then Apparated away to Spinner's End. He would find her eventually.
Remembering Sunday by All Time Low
He woke up from dreaming and put on his shoes
Started making his way past 2 in the morning
He hasn't been sober for days
Leaning now into the breeze
Remembering Sunday, he falls to his knees
They had breakfast together
But two eggs don't last
Like the feeling of what he needs
Now this place seems familiar to him
She pulled on his hand with a devilish grin
She led him upstairs, she led him upstairs
Left him dying to get in
Forgive me, I'm trying to find
My calling, I'm calling at night
I don't mean to be a bother,
But have you seen this girl?
She's been running through my dreams
And it's driving me crazy, it seems
I'm going to ask her to marry me
Even though she doesn't believe in love,
He's determined to call her bluff
Who could deny these butterflies?
They're filling his gut
Waking the neighbors, unfamiliar faces
He pleads though he tries
But he's only denied
Now he's dying to get inside
Forgive me, I'm trying to find
My calling, I'm calling at night
I don't mean to be a bother,
But have you seen this girl?
She's been running through my dreams
And it's driving me crazy, it seems
I'm going to ask her to marry me
The neighbors said she moved away
Funny how it rained all day
I didn't think much of it then
But it's starting to all make sense
Oh, I can see now that all of these clouds
Are following me in my desperate endeavor
To find my whoever, wherever she may be
I'm not coming back (forgive me)
I've done something so terrible
I'm terrified to speak (I'm not calling, I'm not calling)
But you'd expect that from me
I'm mixed up, I'll be blunt, now the rain is just (You're driving me crazy, I'm)
Washing you out of my hair and out of my mind
Keeping an eye on the world,
From so many thousands of feet off the ground, I'm over you now
I'm at home in the clouds, and towering over your head
Well I guess I'll go home now...
I guess I'll go home now...
I guess I'll go home now...
I guess I'll go home
Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it's most likely not mine. This story is based off of All Time Low's "Remembering Sunday" ft. Juliet Simms. Harry Potter is the property of J. K. Rowling.
Author's Note: So what did you think? This was an angsty little blurb written at two in the morning one night when I'm quite positive I was crying, although I was the Hermione in the situation. If you're interested, I might write a follow up to give it a happy ending now that I'm feeling better. I promise, Impending Disaster will be updated in the next week. Until then, go with Godspeed. - Rei
Author's Annotation: 10.25.10 at 5 p.m. I'm going to add two more parts to make this a happy ending since all of you are asking so nicely, then maybe a prologue. I'm going to post them either tonight or in the morning. I'll even give you a hint. There are two songs by two different artists that share a somewhat common theme. The artists are All American Rejects and Jet Black Stare. Until then, sayonara. - Rei