There and Back Again
Part 3
When she got home that night following her visit to Hogwarts, she was surprised to find her mother had cooked a big dinner for them both. Hermione entered the kitchen to see her mother pottering about with saucepans and plates, and to her, was looking brighter than she had in many, many months.
'Mum?' she questioned nervously, fearing her mother might be putting on a false front to cover up some other incident. Hermione knew she often had off-days, but they couldn't pretend they didn't happen.
Her mother, however, read her entirely. 'Don't worry, love, I'm all right. I just wanted us to have a nice evening.'
And it was a nice evening they did have. For the most part, Hermione relayed her day at Hogwarts, ensuring to leave very little out. What she did leave out mostly related to Severus, but that was only because she wasn't sure just what there was to say. Her mother listened intently throughout, asking questions in all the right places, but Hermione felt there was something remaining unsaid, or that they were building towards something.
Eventually, she found her suspicions to be correct, and her mother revealed what she was about.
'When are you going back to teaching, Hermione?' she asked promptly, once they'd finished eating.
For one awful moment, Hermione thought her mother might have been waiting for her to leave all this time, but then sense returned to her, and she knew that would never be true. 'I don't know—'
Mrs Granger smiled to herself. 'Hermione, you loved your job, didn't you?'
Hermione nodded truthfully.
'You can't stay here for ever,' said her mother quietly. 'Well, you can, of course, but I know you don't really want to.'
'Mum—' Hermione sighed painfully, looking to contradict her, but was interrupted.
'I don't mean it like that. I mean that you want to go back to your life—the life you set up. Your father is… gone, and, you know, I will have to get used to being on my own at some point.' Her mother smiled gently.
'I don't want you to be on your own.' Hermione looked down at her plate. She knew what it was like being on her own, and she could manage it, but she didn't want her mother to have to manage it.
'We wouldn't… You'd be able to visit every weekend, wouldn't you?'
'Of course, yes, but…' Hermione exhaled at length. She didn't want them to go back to what it had been like before.
'It is decided,' remarked her mother pragmatically. 'The new term will be starting in September; what better time for you to go back?'
'Mum—'
'No, you must do it, love, otherwise you never will, and I think that would be a great shame. You're obviously good at what you do.'
Her mother collected up the plates and patted her shoulder as she did so. Hermione simply sat there, knowing instinctively that her mother was right, but disliking it all the same. Part of her had hoped if she left it long enough, the yearning would just go, that she would get used to it. But clearly, she needed to really force herself to consider the reality of the situation she was in. Whatever happened, she would need to get a job somewhere. Maybe she could train as a Muggle teacher? No, that would never work.
The more she thought about her mother's words, however, the more she saw that she couldn't coddle her. Was it really in her mother's best interests that she become entirely dependent upon her? Her mother was in good health—there was still a life out there for her to have if she wanted it. She might never find it if they lived in each other's pockets.
But it was difficult. It was not as though she would be moving down the street—she would be moving to the other end of the country, to somewhere inaccessible to her mother. There had to be a better solution.
'Hermione,' said her mother one day, when it was clear to her that Hermione had not made up her mind. 'Your father and I were so proud of the things you achieved. Neither he, nor I, would want to see you throw it away. If any part of you wants to go back to Hogwarts, then you must.'
She did want to go back. She feared it might be selfish, but she did. And it troubled her a great deal.
But days following that conversation, she was standing outside a wooden door in the dungeons, breathing steadily. She needed to know if she had made the right decision, and there was only one person she could trust to tell her.
In her preoccupied state, she forgot to knock on the door, and instead, simply walked in. He was standing at a table, fiddling about with some potion-making contraption that she would be hard-pressed to name.
'Can't you ever knock?' Severus asked in a disgruntled voice, and she knew it meant she must have startled him.
She crossed over to him and glanced with interest at the bubbling cauldron and multitude of equipment he had set up. 'What are you doing?'
'Nothing much,' he muttered. 'Just bored.'
Hermione smiled, watching the steam wisp up from the cauldron. 'Never mind, the students will be returning in a couple of weeks.'
His scowl deepened.
'And, ah, so will I,' she said cautiously.
'I'm sorry?' He stared right at her.
'I'm coming back to teach at Hogwarts.' She stood before him and clasped her hands together self-consciously. 'At least, I think I will be, anyway.'
He did not reply immediately, but that did not worry her.
'I'm pleased to hear it,' he finally admitted. 'But, I confess, I thought you wished to remain closer to your mother?'
Hermione smiled sombrely and looked away. 'I do wish to remain near… but, I also wish to come back.'
He moved away from his work and sat down near a table covered with parchment. He indicated that she should join him, but she only wandered nearer. She did not sit, owing to a sudden restlessness of feeling.
'In all honesty, it was my mother who impressed upon me the importance of doing what I want to do.' Hermione paused momentarily and stepped nearer to the bookcase behind him, finding it easier to compose her thoughts when confronted with a wall of books. She scanned the familiar titles as she spoke quietly.
'I do feel guilty, in a way, that I would prefer to be here. I saw my friends a good deal while I was away.' She sighed. 'But I realised that you cannot go back. As much as I love my friends, we are different people now. Our common ground has gone. Theirs is family and children, and mine probably never will be that.'
She reached out and touched the spine of a particularly attractively bound book, enjoying the feel of it. Looking over her shoulder, she sent a smile towards him. 'My friends have never understood my love of books, you know, and that is because I haven't let them. They have no idea that I spend my time absorbed in novels; that subsequently, I am prone to harbouring romantic delusions and imaginings; that, like anyone else, I need some escapism. I regret that I have hidden that part of me from them.'
'Can anyone ever really know anyone? Truly?'
Hermione stirred, moving to where he sat and opting to lean against the table. It felt necessary to be close to him. 'I wonder at that, too. But I suppose the answer can only ever be 'maybe'.'
'I'm not sure that we ever really know ourselves, sometimes…'
She looked at him, vaguely surprised by that observation. 'I think you may be right.'
Hermione exhaled softly after a moment and continued speaking. 'My mother reminded me that I am a witch—that I can travel to anywhere within minutes. Do you know what I hate most, though? I hate that Hogwarts has been such a huge part of my life, and yet, it will always the one thing my parents, my mother, will never know. It is the one thing that will always be a mystery to her, no matter how many times she could read Hogwarts: A History. I could bring her to Hogsmeade and she wouldn't even be able to see the castle, let alone anything else. It's no wonder there was such a gulf between us; I am isolated here.'
Hermione stared down at her hands. There was no way for her mother even to contact her at Hogwarts apart from via owl post. That would not do for the future; she would have to devise some other means of communication before she could feel comfortable in coming back. She might be isolated at Hogwarts, but she would not be cut-off.
They lapsed into quiet. Though she hadn't really expected him to, she was glad he hadn't decreed her selfish or recriminated her for changing her mind. Grateful, she sought to change the subject to something lighter. She had the very topic; though, it could very well backfire and leave her looking madder than a box of chocolate frogs.
She moved to perch herself on edge of the table and ignored his subsequent look. 'Severus, you know we love reading?'
'Um, I had noticed, yes…'
She placed her hands on her knees, smiling slightly. 'Have you ever transported yourself into a book?'
His moment of hesitation was enough for her.
'I have,' she revealed with a smirk.
'It's dangerous to do such things unsupervised, you know.'
Hermione ignored him. 'So, what did you think? What book did you go into?' Merlin, she hoped he hadn't thrown himself into one of his more darker and tragic novels he indulged in.
'What book did you travel into?' he asked instead.
'Obviously, North and South; but you know, as soon as I looked down at myself and saw the skirts I wore and touched the bonnet on my head, I felt…'
'Stupid?' he helpfully supplied.
Hermione chuckled. 'Yes! I knew it was a step too far, and actually, I found that when it came down to it, I didn't want to see that world for myself, not really. I feared it would only be a huge disappointment. I vowed never to do such a thing again.'
'At least we know there are limits to our madness.'
'True—it is a very slippery slope, after all.' A smile stretched across her mouth and she could do nothing to rid herself of it.
'What is that in aid of?' he asked suspiciously.
Hermione shrugged her shoulders, still smiling to herself and shrugged. 'Nothing… I'd hoped to hear that you had done the same.' As soon as she'd seen that recipe in the Potions text, she'd wondered if he'd attempted such a thing. It pleased her that she felt she knew him enough to divine some of his actions.
She did not fail to note that he avoided all talk of his own experience, but she wouldn't draw attention to his reticence. Not yet, anyway.
Instead, she focused on the little bubble of excitement that was blossoming inside her. Suddenly she couldn't wait to be back in the school and—
The door knocked. Hermione twisted round in surprise, in time to see Rolanda Hooch's head appear around the door.
'Se—oh; so sorry, to, ah, interrupt. Hermione, how nice to see you again.'
Hermione smiled, feeling uncomfortably aware of the glint in the eye of the Flying instructor.
'What can I do for you?' inquired Severus blandly, leaning back in his chair.
'Just wanted to tell you the rota is up for planning Quidditch practice for the new term. I know you don't like to get there last. '
Hermione couldn't quite tell, but she thought Rolanda might have smirked as she left.
Strange woman.
Following his discussion with Hermione, and after she had departed, Severus approached the staff room precisely to get at the Quidditch schedule. The door was partially open when he arrived and he paused at the sound of the voices within. It was Hooch speaking, and he had anticipated something of the sort, but anticipating it did not lessen the irritation he felt at being proved right.
'So, I go down to his office,' she was saying, 'and who do you think should be in there with him? Hermione! No one else even knew she was here, and yet, there she was…'
Severus had heard enough; he pushed the door open the rest of the way and stepped over the threshold, intending to put a stop to such nonsense. Bloody Hooch and her gossiping; she drove him up the wall, sometimes. At his entrance, Rolanda looked up, and upon catching his eye, instead of going silent, she openly winked.
'Yes, there she was,' she continued, leaning in her chair towards her audience, 'practically lying across his desk…'
Pomona tittered loudly, while Poppy looked genuinely scandalised.
Severus, only through years of practice, did not blush outwardly, but inwardly he quailed with embarrassment.
'That is patently not what you saw Rolanda,' he spat, muttering 'you silly old hag' under his breath.
Rolanda laughed. 'Perhaps not, but we are most intrigued why our esteemed Professor Granger should rush down to see you so eagerly every time she visits.'
Severus clenched his jaw as he took his seat. He glared swiftly at the coven of nosy witches to his left, before turning his back on them to plan out Slytherin's Quidditch practices. 'The answer is simple; she cannot stand you.'
Rolanda snorted.
'In fact,' declared Severus dryly, 'she tells me the only barrier to her returning here is you.'
But there was no barrier, was there? She'd just told him so. His quill paused over the parchment as he properly digested the news. In doing so, he found himself wincing slightly. He'd better not start dreaming about her again. No, he'd have to put a full stop to that nonsense this time.
She was coming back. She'd been out there, in the world beyond Hogwarts, and had come to the conclusion that she wanted to come back.
And as he resumed scratching his quill across the parchment, he felt unaccountably smug.
Slytherin would win the Cup this year; he'd put this year's salary on it.
During her first week of teaching her classes again, Hermione felt happier than she had in a long while. She felt like things were as they should be again—back to normal. But always in the back of her mind, especially whenever she felt too light of heart, she thought of her mother. And then she couldn't help but worry.
She'd not waited till the weekend to go home, as she had agreed with her mother. Instead, she'd arranged with Minerva that she would leave the castle for a few hours during her free afternoon on Wednesday. She Apparated to her old home and found her mother was not even there.
Feeling rather deflated, she'd sat and waited, trying to ignore the fact that she felt a little concerned over where her mother might be. She'd sensed there and then how ridiculous she was being.
In time, a car pulled up outside the house and it was her mother returning.
'What are you doing here?' her mother had asked in surprise once she was inside.
Hermione had smiled. 'I wanted to see you.'
She'd hugged her, then. And nothing, she was happy to note, felt awkward about it.
Once the first week was out of the way, Hermione began to feel even more settled into her old routine. Currently, she summoned to afternoon tea with the headmistress.
'Are you going to join our little book club, then, Hermione? It is you I have to thank for the inspiration. I only wonder why you did not bring it to my attention in the first place!'
Hermione smiled sheepishly at Minerva. 'Oh, you know, it was only something Severus and I indulged in infrequently…'
Minerva frowned thoughtfully. 'I see… You know, I was so relieved when I heard about it. Prior to that, I thought maybe you and he were having some sort of torrid affair.'
Hermione swallowed some of her tea down into her lungs and coughed violently. 'Torrid affair?' she gasped in between harsh breaths.
'It was silly of me, wasn't it?' Minerva laughed, before her expression turned dismissive. 'It was silly because Severus would never have you… No offence, my dear.'
Hermione only gaped.
Minerva, on perceiving Hermione's stunned expression, hurried to give reassurance. 'I just mean he wouldn't have anyone. He doesn't like anyone. He'll probably never get over his love for poor Lily. Not that you need to worry about that; you're only colleagues, after all.'
Minerva replaced her cup onto her saucer and put it on the desk. Hermione followed suit, but only because the tea tasted suddenly awful. Was she really having this conversation? Have you asked Severus about his feelings? was what she wanted to ask the headmistress.
'Some people in this life are just meant for being on their own, I think.'
Minerva sighed pensively and Hermione looked at her, slightly startled by that train of thought.
'It's a shame, perhaps, but we are what we are… Don't you think?'
Hermione looked downwards, troubled, and shrugged her shoulders. 'Maybe…'
When she saw the look in the elder woman's eye, Hermione wished she had been more definite in her answer.
Actually, Minerva, I—
She could not bring her confused thoughts into a coherent sentence, and in the end, just let the words come out. 'I thought once that people are destined for certain things in life… but is it really destiny? What is destiny, anyway? Circumstance, I think, makes us what we are, but surely we can exercise some sort of control over circumstance, and by extension, our so-called destiny?'
Minerva looked at her searchingly. 'Change is hard, my dear; and I fear there does come a point where the desire for change is trumped by the desire to remain where one has always been. For instance, I don't think I could ever leave Hogwarts—I'm not sure I'd remember how to function without it.' Minerva smiled a half-smile. 'But we are all different; we each have our own ways.'
Hermione felt herself deflate slightly. 'I agree…'
"Some people in this life are just meant for being on their own, I think."
Minerva's recently spoken words echoed around her mind uncomfortably. They were words she had considered herself on occasion, but now she sought to contradict their assertion. How could anyone be meant for anything? There was no one sitting up on high planning out everyone's lives. No one was meant for anything unless they themselves decreed it.
"It was silly. because Severus would never have you… No offence, my dear."
Her heart pulsed loudly in response to the recalling of Minerva's rash words. Would never pick her, would he? What did Minerva know? Hermione could do nothing to prevent her sudden leap to her feet, and Minerva looked up at her in surprise.
'Forgive me, Minerva,' Hermione began, trying to ignore her inner discomfort. 'I just remembered I agreed to meet one of my fifth-years for a discussion. See you at dinner.'
She fled from the office and almost tumbled down the revolving staircase in her haste. She paused for breath and could only feel a sudden, terrible yearning within her.
Was she… Was this… No, it was preposterous.
Hardly knowing what to do, she let her feet take her where they may, and she ended up bursting out of the doors and into the grounds. She was… Well, she had a sneaky feeling she might be… in love.
Releasing a breath, she stood still and assessed herself critically.
Most of her literary heroines at this point would be lamenting their unworthiness in the eyes of their beloved. Or they would be, typically, flagellating themselves for some slight they'd intentionally or unintentionally brought against the object of their affections. They might mope and wallow in despair, but… not she. By Merlin, not she.
She was actually in love. And despite the sombre thinking that had led her to consider such a concept as her being in love, the very fact that she might, finally, feel something akin to love, and not platonic love either, was, paradoxically, uplifting.
God, she suddenly wanted to dance, or run up a mountain, or dive into the lake, or even get on a bloody broom and zoom off into the sky! She might even manage a few corkscrews so light-headed did she feel!
Hermione sucked in a breath of crisp air and calmed herself.
'Love comforteth like sunshine after rain.'
It did comfort her. For someone who'd spent such a lot of time thinking and imagining about love, but who'd never thought she'd be able to feel it herself, it was an exhilarating moment. Even despite all her reading on the subject, she still wasn't sure how she knew it was love; there was just a complete feeling of clarity within her. It had happened to her, finally. For so long she'd been unsure as to whether she had it within her love, or to even be attracted to someone.
She felt for someone real, and actually it was a relief, as odd at that probably sounded, but she had been aware of the dangers of her obsession with books. To an extent, she knew she did immerse herself in fictional lives at the expense of her own—it would probably never change—but she could see that she had been lucky, finally.
And no one else could have gained her attention like Severus did, because the point was, they were the same.
Hermione turned back towards the castle, feeling the chill of the air seeping through her robes. Just because they were the same did not mean, of course, that he felt anything for her, or indeed, would come to feel anything.
Unrequited love; how often had that been a feature of her stories? But in books, of course, unrequited love was, invariably, requited by the conclusion of the text. That plotline never got old.
She entered the staff room and headed towards the warmth of the fire. Most of her colleagues were present, including Severus, the man she… loved. He caught her eye, so she smiled a little in acknowledgement, hoping that she wasn't blushing.
Maybe it would be all right that her feelings might remain forever unrequited? It might be painful at times, but to love someone, in whatever way, was a special thing to be grateful for.
Wasn't it?
She thought of Severus and his love for Lily Evans. At first glance, it was hard to imagine why he would ever be grateful for that experience, but Hermione felt that, yes, he should be grateful, for otherwise, what kind of man would he have been without it?
But, really, what did she know? She'd never been in love before; she didn't know what to do with it now that it was there. Would it eventually come to hurt her?
What was it going to be like reading her romance novels with her new perspective? Would she feel differently? Would she understand a little more? Would she want a little more? Would she hope for more? Would she, Merlin forbid, even come to resent her love for romance?
No, that, surely, would never happen.
She had a book within her robe and she took it out, smiling contentedly to herself.
She had to be going slowly round the bend, she thought wryly.
They stood together in the little grey church in Hogsmeade, the only occupants apart from a couple of others.
Hermione peered through her veil down at her white robes and could hardly believe she was really there. She glanced at her companion, her fiance, and swallowed down the nervousness in her throat.
There was a frown on Severus's face, but Hermione was not perturbed to see it, even on his wedding day.
The clergyman came forward and stood before them. 'I require and charge you both (as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgment, when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed), that if either of you know any impediment why ye may not lawfully be joined together in matrimony, ye do now confess it; for be ye well assured that so many as are coupled together otherwise than God's Word doth allow, are not joined together by God, neither is their matrimony lawful.'
Hermione held her breath at the silence that followed, but when is that silence ever broken. The clergyman did not hesitate and proceeded with the ceremony.
'Wilt thou have this woman for thy wedded wife?'
'Stop! The marriage cannot go on: I declare the existence of an impediment.'
The distinct voice echoed around the chapel, and Hermione felt her blood run cold. Severus moved not an inch; he only clutched her hand hard.
'The impediment consists in the existence of a previous marriage. Mr. Snape has a wife now living,' came the voice again.
Hermione felt her nerves thrum violently and she turned to Severus, ensuring nevertheless to remain collected. His expression was as hard as stone and his eyes were flinty. He said nothing to her, but put his arm about her waist to pull her to his side.
'Potter; Weasley,' he said harshly, by way of greeting to their intruders. 'You would thrust on me a wife, would you?'
'We have the proof here, that on the 1st of November, 1980, Severus Tobias Snape was married to Sybil Trelawney in the parish of Hogsmeade—'
Hermione started violently awake, her eyes flying open. She must have made a noise too, for when her vision cleared, there were several pairs of eyes watching her. Even Severus was looking at her, and Hermione struggled to mask what she was sure was a horrified expression.
Oh Merlin; what had she got herself into?
She forced herself to get a grip and she glanced at the book resting in her lap. Whatever possessed her to pick Jane Eyre tonight? But of course, when she'd picked up the book earlier she hadn't known she was in love.
She sank into the cushions of her chair and put a hand to her brow.
She was pretty sure Severus did not have a mad wife locked away somewhere, but Merlin...
Grasping her book with a grimace, she raised it to smack her forehead. The brief movement of punishment was mildly satisfying. She thought about repeating the action, but was interrupted.
'Are you quite all right, Hermione?' came Pomona's slightly concerned voice from across the room.
'Er, yes,' Hermione replied, a little bit embarrassed at her behaviour. 'Perfectly fine; it's, ah, only a paperback, so… no harm done…'
Smiling weakly, she placed the book on the arm of her chair and folded her arms across her stomach. They'd be sending her for a once-over from Poppy if she carried on.
She'd not had any of those silly little, fantastical dreams in a while, truth be told. Recently, if ever Severus popped up in her dreams, it was only ever as himself, usually in some mundane situation. Hermione had taken it to mean that it was because she had stopped seeing him in her everyday life that he featured less in her daydreams. But she could see now that, actually, she preferred it when he was not dragging her down the aisle, or rescuing her from some dangerous situation before professing his undying devotion, or some other such rot.
She preferred it when they were just themselves.
She subtly surveyed him as he frowned and scowled over the essays he was marking. Of course she loved him, she probably had for a while. She'd just not had the awareness to comprehend it, preferring to believe herself perpetually uninterested, and yes, uninteresting, even.
The fact remained, however, that she did not know where it all left her.
But she would think hard, and it wasn't as if she didn't bookshelves full of different scenarios for her to work from and take inspiration.
Research.
What better justification was there for her to spend an evening going through her numerous tomes?
