Where are you?

by tearsofphoenix

Standard Disclaimer applies - it's all JKR's.

My most grateful thank you to Whitehound. She is always the greatest, and her help is precious.

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After some years of study, travels and researches, Hermione Granger was at Hogwarts, again. She had been called to be, for a couple of months, the temporary substitute for her dear friend and mentor, Minerva McGonagall, who was still ruling the school, always waiting for the Minister of Magic and the Board of Governors to provide a replacement which it seemed would never come. Deputy Headmistress Hooch, who would be among the many referees needed at the forthcoming Quidditch World Cup, was absent and Minerva couldn't find another person suitable for the job, even if she desperately wished and needed to, since the the battles of the final years of conflict had taken a deep toll of the woman's health.

Hermione's presence, despite her age and her less-than-eagerness to accept the "offer", was a gift to her former Professor who had so often helped her, listening to her own complaints about the fact that she hadn't yet attained her goals: the peace, safety, love that she had trusted she would have achieved for sure. One after the other Minerva had shown her how they needed to be preserved and nourished to be kept, and it had been a tiring and unexpected discovery, up to now.

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The first morning that the young witch was there, she had entered the office at the top of the circular staircase with a little awe, gazing around enchanted. Harry had talked several times about the wonders of this room and of its many treasures, but to see them all together was entirely another thing.

The former Headmasters' portraits were silent; each of them was dozing and Hermione was glad of this, for surely it would have been embarrassing to be observed by all those eyes. Still, she felt like they knew that she wasn't a real substitute, and as if they wouldn't dignify her presence by acknowledging it.

Then, looking around, and watching the celebrities on the wall, the witch noticed the empty frame of the portrait of the most recent and controversial Headmaster of the school. This wasn't a momentary absence, due to the delivery of a message to another portrait or to the fact that someone had declared his presence unwelcome, and she knew it. Severus Snape had never appeared there, despite the fact that that frame had been seen immediately by witnesses at the right moment and in the right place, after the end of the last battle. The frame didn't host its owner and that desk, that was painted a deep green and beautifully inlaid, had never shown him seated behind it or handling the jars and vials placed on it, and no one knew why.

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Years ago, after the last battle, she had explored the possibilities as to what could have happened to Severus Snape or to his body, inquiring of the witnesses and all those that had something to say about the mysteries of death; only to find that even if in the magic world that matter was hotly debated, and challenged in the most unthinkable ways, it was for the most part still mysterious.

She hadn't been one of the people most shocked by the revelations about Snape's past made by Harry: somewhere deep inside her heart she had often been doubtful about his betrayal, and trusting of the fact that he had always protected them, when need arose. But she had been very touched when her friend told her and Ron in detail about the memories he had seen in the Pensieve, one day when he could no longer manage to listen to the habitual way in which the redhead spoke of the miserable "greasy bat".

That recollection of a life implied so much more than a never-ending devotion to a true love: it suggested an unrequited affection and the absence of any other true friendship and, thus, it was a blow straight to the heart. It was what she learnt from those memories, precisely, which started her on her investigations.

Then again, after those first enquiries, time passed, and for everyone life went on, and continued going on for her, too.

Here in the castle, however, from the first day of her stay everything reminded her of her former Professor, and for the first few nights, every night when she went to sleep, tired and unsure about the rightness of her actions when ruling the school, she dozed thinking how much better managed many of the old grudges that still divided the students of the four Houses would have been if Severus Snape - who now should be being welcomed by all the students as the hero that he was, as well as being acknowledged by his Slytherins, as ever, as if he were the only one whom they trusted - had still been with them.

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As the end of term approached, Hermione felt that this period of her staying here in Minerva's absence was becoming easier and easier to inhabit, while - she noteed with a hint of disappointment – shorter, too. Something had started to give her that sense of having reached the right place that everybody searches for when young and that, eventually, sooner or later many find, as they grow: she had felt the absence of such a feeling before her time at Hogwarts as Deputy and perhaps, she thought, its presence now was linked to the castle itself, to its magic…

It must have taken that magic, in fact, to set her dreaming, as she had been doing for a while now, dreams so strange and yearning. Deep inside the young witch knew that they were a great part of her newly found contentment and she feared the loss of them when she would have to leave.

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The first time she didn't remember anything.

The second time she woke up feeling light and almost happy, but without knowing why.

The third time that Hermione had dreamt of Severus Snape, she remembered every word.

"Don't disturb yourself by fretting as usual! Even I, this time, would have to admit that you are doing well, girl" his unmistakable voice had said, that first time when she had seen him in her dreams.

"I'm not a girl!" her dreaming self had dared to answer, with a rebellious tone that she wouldn't ever use with him in the flesh.

"You are, if you are still in need of reassurance and in search of praise," he had answered, and then he was gone.

Hermione had treasured the remembrance of that dialogue, she didn't want to forget it, so she had written every word of the exchange in a little book that, now, was full of many further speeches and precious thoughts:

"What are you afraid of?" had been the question asked by her former professor the next time. "You, of all people, who didn't succumb to Bellatrix's curses and who helped to defeat the Dark Lord!" She hadn't been able to answer and, later, when she awoke feeling that kind of strength that only a good night of rest could give, she remembered that perhaps she had already seen him on more than just these most recent occasions.

Faint glimpses of more meetings came to her memory, thus, and the next time she was able to concentrate and notice more of his surroundings. He was coming from a dark place, full of shadows, but it didn't seem ethereal. It was as if that was a corner of a place, a house perhaps, where he stayed, but which he had stepped out from.

"I'm afraid to be alone forever, and to not be able to live my life completely" she said, without noticing, while dreaming, that it was the first time she had spoken first, or that her words were like an answer to the question raised the last time she had met with him. But the sight of his amused eyes was the only answer she got, then, and for a week he didn't visit anymore.

Every time Hermione entered the Headmaster's office she looked at the portraits, feeling a bit annoyed by the fact that they were always snoring - except for two occasions when she had thought to see a sign of acknowledgement from the blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore's paint, but she couldn't swear to it.

"Where are you, Severus Snape?" had been her question, softly murmured, both times. "Where are you, Professor?"

Was he alive or not? And how was he? And had he at least reached some peace, or not? His presence in her dreams didn't give her any hint of his whereabouts or his state; nor of his feelings, although Hermione could tell that he was showing her more interest and kindness - in a way - than she had ever before perceived from him.

"Have you been afraid to be alone, Sir?" she thought, not daring to breathe the words but realising that perhaps this was the answer to her former unspoken questions.

"I've come back" were his first words, that night.

She should have asked "From where? And where have you arrived?" since that had been her constant question. But: "How are you, Sir?" she felt the need to ask, suddenly, seeing his weary appearance.

"I could be better" he muttered, and she felt her cheeks blushing even through the blurry sensations of her sleep.

"What hurts most?" she wanted to ask, but couldn't. He moved a couple of steps nearer, and she saw his robes, still dirty with his blood. This time a sting of pain made her awake abruptly, without the usual soft feelings that that passage gave her.

Hermione couldn't tell what these dreams were. Her rational side told her that since they were, often, a sort of answer to her worries, perhaps her mind and her desires were the source that generated them.

On the other hand, though, they left a trace so strong that they couldn't be just a fantasy. She began to read everything she could find about the subject, but yet again she didn't find a satisfactory explanation.

Lying in her bed, later, she felt an ache, in her shoulders and in her neck: perhaps it was due to the many hours she had spent without movement, reading. With difficulty rather than with the easiness of the previous nights, when she had approached sleep with an eager pleasure, the young witch slowly closed her eyes to rest.

"To feel the weight of everything that resulted from my choices, the constant knowledge of it that never lifts… and the fact that nobody will feel it with you…" were his words, whispered with effort, like an echo of the exhaustion they were evoking.

"And to see that nobody lifted that burden from you... rather, that they added more to it..." was her comment as she looked at him, black-clad as ever and coming out from his dark corner.

His gaze was brightened by something that she had never seen before: a light that could have been the verge of tears or the smiling shining of understanding. It seemed to Hermione that he would come nearer and nearer, as if sensing her craving to be touched and helped to find rest, willing to give her the respite that he had never had, but he couldn't come close enough.

She awoke feeling a sense of loss and longing for that touch, then closed her eyes hoping to recapture the moment, but it was gone.

Eager to understand what had just happened, Hermione remembered suddenly the words spoken years ago to Harry by their ghost, Nearly Headless Nick, that told of lives that weren't solved by death: "Wizards can leave an imprint of themselves upon the earth, to walk palely where their living selves once trod ... I was afraid of death. I chose to remain behind. I sometimes wonder whether I oughtn't to have ... Well, that is neither here nor there ... In fact, I am neither here nor there..."

But clearly Severus Snape wasn't a ghost, and he hadn't been afraid to die. Or, even if he dreaded that moment, he accepted that horrible death like a lamb to the slaughter, sacrificing himself to keep secret the last weapon that Lily's son could use to win the last battle.

Here… there… where was he? And how could she reach him?

Hermione closed the little book. This, then, was her story up to the present moment, when she knew that the end of her stay was approaching. She couldn't bear the thought of knowing so little about what was happening and about what would follow.

"Please, come again, and stay with me" was her last thought, that night, while seeking for comfort in memories and wishing.

"Come to the Headmaster's office, now" were the words whispered in her ears, right before sleep embraced her deeply.

The witch ran, despite the clumsiness of her movements while still half-asleep, and in a few minutes she was there. All the eyes of the wizards and witches in the portraits were alert and looking at her, this time. Then, they were looking at the frame where the last Headmaster, dressed in a beautiful new set of black, green and silver robes, had reached his place.

She froze. He was dead, then. She wasn't meant to be here to rescue him.

"I wasn't hidden somewhere in your world, Miss Granger" she heard him say, then, and his words were like an answer, as if he could still read her mind. "I didn't know much more of that place than what you saw."

The thought of the darkness that had for so long kept him its prisoner made her run fast to the painting, where she lifted a hand to feel the contact. A tingle of magic surged from that touch. She couldn't help crying softly, understanding that she couldn't reach him, nor he her, not even this way.

"But why? Why did you have to stay like that? You deserved peace, not more waiting…"

"I wasn't waiting. I didn't perceive the passage of time and I didn't feel strong emotions. Perhaps it was the lack of true care by anyone, during my life, that prevented me from putting a real end to it, that forced me to stay there. And maybe death didn't want me to die still deserted like that." He stopped for a moment, thoughtful, then, looking at her and smiling lightly he went on: "Until... I felt your sense of incompleteness, your loneliness. It called to mine. And you cared."

"I did nothing for you…" she interrupted, her voice full of self loathing. "We left you die, that night…"

"But, given a second chance, you did well, Miss Granger" he went on, repeating almost the same words with which he had greeted the woman the first time he had visited her. "You cared, as no-one else in my entire life had done, when I couldn't even dare to acknowledge the wish to be seen by someone else's eyes the way you saw me… the way you looked at me, with understanding."

Hermione lost herself in his eyes, trying to absorb everything of his features, now that they were no longer the short glimpse caught during a blurry vision, nor the foggy remembrances of a lifetime ago.

"I will miss you" she said finally, "and whatever I'll do, from now on, nothing will be the same any more" she sighed.

"You'll live, and you know nothing of what will happen in your future" answered the wizard, with a soft tone that balanced the sharpness of those words.

"So my curse is to go on living" she murmured, not really wanting him to hear those words.

"It seems that it often is, Miss Granger" Snape almost whispered, with a voice as muted as hers, that was more a confirmation than a lecture.

He had almost lost the will to fight, before her, and if at that time that loss had seemed to his tormented soul to be an apt penance to his sins, after her he had learnt to pursue with all his will what had been paraded, finally, in front of him.

"Will you sleep most of the time, like them?" she asked after a while, adding abruptly: "What a waste!"

"We do our duty when times require it" answered a voice, that of another Slytherin, the proud one that had been kept captive by her magic bag a long time ago.

"And when we sleep we also dream" added a third voice, more tremulous than what the witch remembered from the last time she had heard it, but still with a hint of light warmth.

She was looking only at the smiling portrait of the youngest Headmaster, though, treasuring every little feature of it, as if knowing that this was a farewell.

"This isn't the last parting, Miss Granger, if you want it" he finally said, then closed his eyes, still smiling with that look of peace that gave such beauty to his expression and to his appearance.

It was a farewell, she thought, walking out of the room and leaving, without really knowing how she would go on for the last days there or all the following days and months and years to come. But she felt that she had to cherish the little time that they had had as it had been: what they had shared had been unique and precious.

She would start this adult life of hers at her best, she thought, slowing her pace and standing, still and alone, in front of her path. She knew that, no matter how many friends or admirers she might still have, it would be without a more concrete presence of him, and without knowing what could have come from the deep understanding started from their meeting: it seemed impossible to be able to live like that, but he had shown her that, if one had to, one could do it, brave and faithful until the very end.

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Many, many years later, two portraits were whispering softly.

"She ended up living alone like you, despite your subtle efforts to set her to getting a life, it seems."

"Mine wasn't a bad choice, as you are suggesting" replied the witch, primly. "And she, at least, didn't live with an impossible wish" concluded Minerva in her thoughts, remembering the old days of her long useless crush on her superior.

"Silence! Both of you" hissed a third, velvety voice that softened then, saying: "She is coming."

Albus and Minerva looked at the door, as the latest Headmistress entered the room.

All the portraits opened their eyes, and greeted her. Hermione bowed and smiled; she had come back to stay, this time, knowing that one day another frame would join those already on the wall, and that, after a life spent doing her best to make a difference to her world, one day not so far distant there would be something more, someone, to wait and welcome her, no longer only in her dreams.

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A.N. This story is another approach, albeit different from the previous, to one of the most inspiring sides of the HP series, the mystery of life and death: the magic of that world, and of its beautiful developments through fandom, are to me, even in difficult times, a deep reflection of real wishes and sorrows, and they help.

The speech by Nearly Headless Nick is borrowed from the last chapter of OotP.

The section breaks are from Whitehound's site, they are available to everyone at this link:

www. whitehound. co. uk/Fanfic/ffn underscore how-to. htm (remember to remove the spaces after all the dots, and put in a real underscore).