I do not own Snape, Hermione, Hogwarts, or anything magical; neither do I design to profit from them.
Ended
She leaned back against the stone next to the door, her palms pressed to its cool roughness. The air, stale with the odors of many strange potions, was damp and chill and creeping though the fine wool robes that fell gracefully from her shoulders to swing heavily around her feet. Despite the discomfort she stood patiently, waiting for the door to burst open under the pressure of escaping students.
Through the door came the faint sounds of potion brewing: the occasional soft clang of a brewing rod against a cauldron (she grimaced, cataloging the various problems that occur when the vibration from the bump of an ill-handled rod interacted with some of the more delicate potions), the scrape of a lab bench against the stone floor, and very occasionally, a low, muffled voice. She smiled as she listened to the voice; irritation rang in it, clear even through the thick wood of the door.
A shuffling and scraping indicated the end of class, and Miss Granger leaned more closely into the dank stone, anticipating the flood of students. They were not long in appearing, and scattered with an alacrity that suggested desperation rather than efficiency. She smiled again.
As the last student disappeared up the stairs, Miss Granger removed herself from the wall and entered the classroom, walking quietly through the arranged desks towards his desk near the far wall. Snape was standing at its side, carefully packing many vials, the offerings of ham-handed students trying to brew a new potion for the first time, into a partitioned wooden box. He was as neat as ever, but his motions lacked their usual liquid grace, as though he had to concentrate to keep each vial from clicking the edges as he placed them in the narrow compartments.
As Miss Granger approached, he glanced at her, his expression flat and blank.
"Miss Granger."
"I have good news for you, Mr. Snape," she said gently.
He picked up the box and turned away from her, carrying it into his storeroom and stowing it on an organized shelf. He ruthlessly clamped down the hope that was choking his throat.
"And?" he questioned shortly, returning to the classroom and seating himself at his desk.
Miss Granger stepped closer and leaned forward across the smooth surface. "The probation is ended."
"Ended?" he repeated stupidly, staring up at her.
"This morning." Hermione's face tightened with irritation. "The two new members were fully convinced of your innocence ten years ago. Your probation was the first item on this year's agenda."
Her anger was clear on her face, and the man felt warmed that it was against others for his sake. Two Ministry officials had held their positions for five years longer than expected (or approved) just to make sure that his probation would be upheld, even in the face of the overwhelming evidence of his innocence.
"Ended." He tasted the word again.
The young woman smiled warmly at him, and he was suddenly glad of her Gryffindor openness. It was nice to see that she was genuinely happy for him.
"What will you do?" she asked, "Will you keep teaching?"
Snape snorted. "Teach? No. Any enjoyment I had as a teacher died when my choice to do it was taken away."
Hermione wondered if he was referring to his probation or the years he spend under Dumbledore, or both.
"So," she pressed, "what will you do?"
He considered being irritated; he did not like to speak about his plans, even to a…friend. Too many years as a spy, he thought wryly, and decided to tell her.
"I'm going to travel for a year. When I return, I will open a research lab."
This unadorned explanation pleased Hermione very much. She had half expected him to snap that it was none of her business.
Emboldened that he had responded at all, she asked another question. "Where will you travel?"
Snape gave her an exasperated look. "You never stop asking questions, do you?"
"No," replied Hermione serenely, "In my work now, people seem to think it an advantage."
Snape smirked at her, and she grinned back.
"I'm going to Tanzania, India, Siberia, New Zealand, Brazil, and Nova Scotia," he admitted, and began rifling through papers on his desk.
Hermione's mouth fell open slightly.
"My travel is partly for my own pleasure, but also to help stock my research lab. I will be able to procure several potions ingredients in my travels that I would have trouble finding here at all, and many that I would otherwise pay exorbitant prices for," Snape said.
Hermione's mouth closed. "Sensible."
One corner of Snape's mouth turned up. He hadn't spoken so much to anyone for a long time.
"Mr. Snape," began the woman.
A sudden desire to dispense with formalities swept over Snape, and he cut Hermione off. "Call me Severus, please. You are no longer my…business associate."
"And call me Hermione," she responded without surprise.
He was nonplussed at her easy acceptance of his given name. Surely he had been intimidating and unpleasant enough during her teaching years (and more recently) that she would feel some discomfort at his desire to use a more personal title. But once again he looked at her to find that warm smile directed at him, and his surprise lessened.
"Severus," the name rolled easily off her tongue, but the rest of her sentence tripped and fell over itself. "I do hope…that is…after you come back and set up your lab…I would be very pleased if…I hope we can be friends. Whenever you return perhaps we can meet? I'd love to hear about your travels."
There was a slight echo of the eleven-year-old pleading for recognition in her voice, but it was very slight. Snape looked up at the woman, standing in front of his desk, and realized the stumbling for what it was: the reining in of the exuberance and confidence of the request. Hermione had grown up.
"It would be my pleasure," he said, and smiled.