One is the Loneliest

He was a fool.

He had always known it, there as nothing more to be done about it. No longer a patient could he afford to be – or a burden, yet there was more lingering in his mind. The news was good as it was bad – the school was his home as anything in life, it suited him to return to teaching. Able to shape - or reclaim- what he lost during the war. He no longer had to be cruel and unyielding; though he suspected little would change in that regard. But going back meant one very important change to his life – a permanent change.

He would have to leave her.

Regardless of himself– he knew it would hurt her. They had fallen into something easy – she filled cracks in is heart and soul; and he almost hated her for it. Lily was not in the forefront; not in the ways that mattered – leaving him conflicted. Yet…he loved her – he breathed for her smile; to see her the locks of curly hair bounded as she walked down the hospital corridors. And he knew his heart would break to be parted from her.

But he could not date a student.

"I have some fantastic news." Hermione said, pulling forward the chair in his hospital room. "Can I postpone our reading until then?"

"If you wish." He replied looking up from his book, putting it away as she settled. He was able to walk unaided now – only sometimes needing the cane. Sophie had declared it to be a wondrous recovery over the last two weeks since Hogsmeade; but he secretly taking some of his own potions – with outside help - and they did wonders.

"The school's rebuilt, we just finished the last of it yesterday. McGonagall thinks students can come back as early as this summer - to get started on their final year." She was beaming, her eyes were radiant, reaching for his hand; he gave it –feeling her warmth. "All of us could come back – so of course I said yes. And then – something I never dreamed of happened." She sucked in a breath, searching his face as if he was going to guess what she as going to say. "Head Girl." She let out a squeal, kissing his fingers happily. "Think of it Severus – me, Head Girl. I can help SPEW that way, really fix things."

He was silent for a moment, giving her hand a soft squeeze. "You shall do great things." Softly, a sickening feeling in his gut rose up, looking over to a drawer where a letter lay. An owl had arrived – much to chagrin of the hospital staff - wanting him for the current vacant position of DADA teacher – unless he wanted potions. "Did you… say yes?"

"Mhm!" She nodded, a curl falling out from her braid. "I can go settle as early as June. My only worry is about the Head Boy."

"Worried? Miss Granger, do not be so absurd." He drawled, motioning her over as he pulled a blanket over her; allowing them to cuddle – though he was loath to call it that.

"I'm paired with Draco."

"Ah, yes. Draco." He winced at the thought. During their stay at Hogsmeade, they had both discovered old traumas. His came in a cold sweat in the night or day; his limbs twitching, fighting against his mental frigidity. For Hermione, she screamed or murmured – but mostly she cried. They had both been awoken at different times in the night, each to find comfort in another. He knew she would feel uncomfortable having to share those bad memories with one of her abusers. "I recall… one effective way to discipline him is to break his nose." He drawled and she laughed – catching herself as she did so.

"I did not know you knew about that."

"Of course. Who else listen to his whining." He stated, and she leaned her head down on his arm as she smiled at the thought.

Looking up, she gave him a cat like smile. "Did you despise me for over taking your star pupil?"

"No, though you could have managed higher score in Potions; perhaps you were too busy finishing Wesley's and Potter's homework.".

"Oh course you would know."

"It was no secret. We were, however, forbidden from speaking out against Potter's feeble attempts to fool us."

"Harry would die if he knew." She giggled at the thought, looking back to her bag. "Should we get started – we only have a few chapters until we find out what happened. I personally think Watson is on the right track with his idea."

She could not have known, how could she – in her mind he would probably stay in the hospital forever. Which is why he had left St. Mungo's without telling her – even going so far as to move into his new office in the school. He has asked for privacy – only those who needed to know would be told his location until he was fully settled. McGonagall had warned that it would not be wise to break one's heart over Christmas – but he had lived through it before. He had been writing her, but gave no indication in his letters as to his location. They had met for dinner and a movie, the like of which he had not seen since his youth. It had been lovely - no, exquisite - he had wanted to stay with her longer… so much longer; but he declined every slight indication. Escorting her home and kissing her passionately goodbye.

That had been a week ago….he ached for her touch, warmth and conversation at every moment. If at the start someone would have said he would love her so fiercely – laughter would have been the reply.

And now, he could no more imagine his life without her. Just as he could never imagined Lily lying dead on the cold floor. It was strange that this period in his life should reflect a scene in a book; and how fate led her to pick Jane Eyre as the first book to read to him. If ever he could relate to a character –Mr. Rochester with his burning passion for a young woman yet with the barriers of society keeping them apart. However it was he – rather than Hermione – who needed to separate himself.

Putting his quill down, he blew gently on the ink of the letter, folding it quiet as before reading the wax. He felt the rise of tears in his eyes as the owl took it in his break – gently nipping at the man's fingers before flying away with it. Waving his hand, the door shut and locked; no one would be able to disturb him as he took out a bottle of liquor and took off the top – trying to drown out the unending pain within his soul.

/

She thought waiting for 6 years for Ron was hard, she had known the war was hard; she had felt lonely – isolated and terribly afraid. But no of it had shattered her soul. Not like this. She had never known how much water she could produce – most of it landing on the letter itself.

He wanted to end it – them. He wrote about she was not to be a nurse to him anymore, no more a caretaker. He wanted freedom to retake his life – he wanted her to have the freedom to explore her own life, and not be tied down to an old man.

She understood some of it- her small spat with Ron had raised concerns that more of her friends had echoed through the next few weeks. But she would – could! - fix that. The last thing she wanted was to end this. Not for anything in the world. She knew him – the real him and not sexually; he had been clear about those boundaries while her parents were "away", and he was inured. There was little he could do about that.

But his soul. He always used such a cold expression, but it dropped when they were alone. He knew the spot on the back of her neck that enabled her to relax always new when to touch her hand, her thigh– any part of her; just so she knew she wasn't alone. There was also the way he watched her when she wasn't looking – or at least when he believed it so, it was so tender and warm. There was nothing like the was he held her' so gentle at times; or tightly; she knew what each signal meant. She knew the range of his kisses, the light ones he placed ever so carefully on the crown of her head, shoulder or fingers – or the kisses that made her knees go so weak he had to hold her upright –she loved to open her eyes to see his expression after those kisses were over. There was another kind of kiss he had shown her a week ago – and it had made something burn with in her, stronger than imagination could have inspired.

And now it was to be ripped from her.

But she knew he cared – she could feel the weight and depth of his pain; she could hear him whispered her name on a nameless wind, as she did the same.

Tap tap.

She moved her head slowly on the pillow, watching as Harry stepped in with a tray of food. His expression only told her she looked awful, and she was glad of it. If she saw him, she wanted to look as if her soul was splitting into two. "You need to eat Hermione." Harry offered softly, watching his friend as she lay in the dress she had worn when first reading the latter; but it was going on three days and all it had accomplished as Hermione feeling like Catherine or Juliet after separation from her lover. Setting the tray down, he handed her a tissue – in fact he gave her the box. "Have you tried to write to him?"

"He won't reply." She whispered, taking Harry's hand when he offered it. "I know he cares Harry – I know he cares about me."

"But you must see where he is coming from Hermione. It must be hard enough to recover with us swarming him every moment – but how can you know ow you feel about someone when you have bonded over illness and not character. Surely you know that."

"It isn't like that Harry. It is so much more." She shut her eyes. "I know him Harry –

"So! - go see him." Harry stated bluntly. "He's going to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and the school isn't –

"He's at Hogwarts?" She asked, sitting up with a fury. She stood hastily and with a pop! she was gone.

/

He was staring at her as she walked into the classroom, taken aback at her beauty – her paleness – and the overwhelming relief that spread throughout his soul. She didn't stop for a moment, almost running towards him while he stood frozen. The collision sounded in the room, her arms wrapping around his torso as his did the same. He relished the scent of her hair, although a trifle old smelling – it was hers, and he lifted her up to hide himself in her.

"Why didn't you tell me you were going to be a teacher?" She muttered, muffled into his clothes. "You seriously think that this is enough to get rid of me?"

"No." He whispered, "I thought you were a ghost come to haunt me." He could feel tears as they fell from her eyes, and he took in a shuddering breath. "Never again."

Squeezing her even tighter, he kissed the side of her head – never wanting to let her go. "We can do this." She whispered as he nodded, not trusting himself to speak as they stood there; both minds working out how to work around the conventions they faced.