Calling Card
By Bambu
All disclaimers and author's notes may be found in Chapter One.
~o0o~
Chapter Six: Epiphany (46-56)
In which Severus figures it out.
When the first pale glimpse of light relieved the utter black of night in the dungeons, Severus bolted upright. He had heard Hermione's voice whispering in his head.
"I still love you. As an adult… I hope you find some joy."
He cast about in the darkened room for any sign of her. There was none. It had been another dream. "Bollocks!" he snarled.
The room was frigid, and he was still clad in his robes from the night before, although covered by his spare duvet.
The surge of adrenaline that accompanied his first jolt of awakening sped his heart rate and overrode the symptoms of his hangover briefly. With the first flush of reality replacing his dream-like state, he was all too aware of his pounding head and sour stomach. He groaned and reclined against his pillows, pulling up the duvet that he assumed Blaise had thought to cover him with the previous night, thinking that this was becoming a too frequent occurrence.
His head throbbed as his hangover hit with the impact of a Goyle-driven Bludger. Driven by some deep-seated need, Severus staggered into his sitting room, where the fire had burnt to embers. The room was chilled, dark and shadowed, and all that remained of the earlier cheery blaze was an orange tint, which gave off just enough light to navigate by.
With ungainly movements, Hogwarts' most graceful wizard sprawled into his familiar, time-worn armchair. In the dim light, his eyes sought the small cedar box that had become his talisman over the past several months, and had been neglected for the past few weeks. His hand reached out to grab it. He had missed its oddly comforting weight. Closing his eyes, he allowed his hands to re-familiarize themselves with the smooth exterior, lightly tracing the Mishima family sigil cut into the lid of the box.
His mind ignored the dull throbbing from his over-indulgence and cast about at random, seeking some stray intriguing idea to focus on. His thoughts recalled snippets of phrases
"March 21, 2001, I realized that I was in love with you."
That had been three months before the final defeat of the Dark Lord. His thoughts were scathing. Why had he been so reticent to believe that she was telling the truth? Why had he shelved her declaration through all the long years since she had left? Why had he blindly pursued Narcissa after the final battle, when his heart had been touched by another? Had it been so unpalatable to believe infatuation had led him to the soul-killing path of the Death Eater? Where had his courage to face harsh realities gone?
Used to decades of practice lurking in the shadows, ferreting out information with subterfuge and subtlety, Severus had found the internal fortitude to stand tall and face his former master at the final battle. He had found his courage.
With Hermione at his side.
Gods above, how blind had he been?
Why had he ignored the brilliant young witch, only to adhere to a false ideal like a parasite on a host? Was it a need to prove everything he had desired wasn't corrupt? That day he heard Draco and Narcissa talking, any hope of realizing his childish fantasy had died in his breast. After that any other hopes he might have held for happiness were inconceivable. He simply couldn't believe a witch with as much to offer as Hermione Granger could truly want him; his bruised pride and ego hadn't allowed him to take the chance.
"I still love you."
Those had been almost her last words in August. She still loved him. He had ignored her then. Now, he didn't believe those feelings were possible after his treatment of her in his office. If she was sincere, perhaps she had never stopped caring for him.
Had she buried her feelings as deeply as he had hidden any for her?
With each constricted, painful heartbeat, the truth could no longer be ignored. Severus had buried any and all conflicted thoughts for the young witch, until the gift of the cedar box. Hermione had applied the thin end of the wedge, and like all good wedges, it found an opening, exposing his hidden and unrecognized dreams.
In not facing the truth, he had been a coward.
Browbeaten as a child, tormented as a teenager, warped as a young man, and willfully inaccessible as an adult, Severus had always faced the hardships that accompanied his decisions.
Until Hermione.
Whatever the outcome of the unresolved issues between them, he owed it to himself to discover if his hidden, deep-seated suspicion that Hermione Granger was perhaps the love of his life was true. Fear held him back. As with all potentially magnificent possibilities, the risks were equally magnified. If Severus revealed the depths of his own heart, it would be the greatest risk he had ever taken. It wasn't his life on the line, it was his soul.
"…nor are my feelings anything but repellant to you."
Like quicksilver, infiltrating a crack, to puddle and congeal, his thoughts coalesced. He was afraid she might not now love him, that he had lost the opportunity to find a reciprocal relationship with her. If he solved the riddle of the box and it didn't lead him where his heart told him to go, he would be crushed. In that eventuality, his future would be harsh, condemned to live out his years an embittered and lonely wizard. Gods, what a grim thought.
What spurred him to action was the realization that he could not continue as he had been. Severus was utterly wretched and for the sake of his sanity, he must find a resolution.
The destruction of the box would no longer provide the security of ignorance. Ironically, Severus thought that his own, personal Pandora's box had truly been opened.
Swallowing hard he rose, foregoing the remainder of the night's sleep. His chosen path determined he made his way to his bath and his hangover elixir. He had work to do and a puzzle to solve.
An hour later, Severus stood in his private lab, erasing the final chalked notes on his original Compromettere and preparing to unravel the final wards on Hermione's gift. He pointed his wand at the black board, swished the beloved ebony rod, and in a deep voice uttered, "Dettare." A long, slender piece of chalk levitated, hanging on his every word, ready to faithfully scratch his verbal commands onto the black surface.
"I gave you all the clues you need to open the box."
What clues? He had successfully followed her clue about his research. What other clues had she given him? All she had done was relate a list of dates. By all the gods… the dates. Severus muttered aloud, "I'm an utter imbecile, a prat of the first order."
Dutifully, the chalk faithfully recorded his words on the wall in clear, concise handwriting.
For the first time in weeks, Severus laughed – harshly - at the evidence of his own chastisement. Wandlessly he erased the sentence. He then recorded all relevant data about the Mishima box, and further, the chalk tracked the dates Hermione had recited in August. Severus acknowledged the mistake in not cataloguing them before. With luck, he would avoid resorting to the Pensieve for the information - his last dip into the stone bowl had been traumatizing enough.
Where had his vaunted detachment gone, the control he had drawn on during his precarious career in espionage? Those skills should be second nature; he had relied on them for the majority of his life. And yet, it was more than a decade since he had been required to utilize his training. Ten years of disuse could dull even the sharpest of blades.
Severus furrowed his brow in thought, and began to compile the dates he remembered. When had she been here? "August 31, 2011."
The chalk obediently scratched the date on the board. He remembered her visit was the day before the little cretins stormed the castle. The date's significance? Oh, yes, she had 'completed her assignment,' and realized she was still in love with him. Severus' heart clenched at the thought, and said, "HG claims she's still in love with me," to the date written on the wall.
The words lingered in the office.
Still. She had said 'still.'
Did that mean she was in love with him for the entire decade? Even while she was married to another? Questions flooded his mind.
Severus realized how little he knew about Hermione Granger as an adult. Was Granger even her name? She lived in Japan. Where in Japan? What was her connection with Mishima, Ltd.? It seemed a logical assumption to make that she worked for Mishima, Ltd. How long had she worked for them?
He chastised himself for being so self-centered he hadn't discovered even this rudimentary information about a witch who haunted his every waking moment. He had the tools at his disposal. He knew how to be discreet, how to elicit information he wanted. He knew how to do it discreetly, surreptitiously. Considering the high regard the entire staff held for their former student, there should be little difficulty eliciting the information he required.
What were the other dates she mentioned?
Severus narrowed his eyes in thought. Best to start chronologically, past to present. Their first confrontation was - when? Racking his brain, Severus recalled the date the Dark Lord fell. Hermione had cornered him in his office a scant two days after their emotionally charged and life-altering battle camaraderie. He had been hiding from the ebullience of the wizarding world, and Albus Dumbledore in particular. Severus had been so overwhelmed by the emotional backlash of Voldemort's demise he had needed the quiet solitude of his rooms to sort himself out. That was where she had found and confronted him with her impassioned plea for a chance. And that was where he had callously disregarded her.
It had been such a vulnerable moment that her approach had been immaterial. Had been stark naked and spread-eagled on his desk, he would not have welcomed her. Indeed, Severus had eviscerated her most tender feelings and essentially 'Obliviated' himself of the memory.
The date - Mithras' black bollocks - what was that date? Ah. "June 25, 2001." The chalk obediently scribbled the date.
As he remembered her significant dates, Severus muttered them aloud, barely pausing to note the chalk poised for his every word, dutifully following the geas of his spell. His eyes closed in concentration. His brain had finally begun to function with its usual quick-wit.
October 7, 2003. The day his engagement to Narcissa Malfoy had been announced.
He recalled being reluctant to allow the Daily Prophet to publish the information, but Narcissa had insisted. How he had allowed her to manipulate him. The morning the news had been printed, Severus had cringed over his morning breakfast at the High Table. Whispers had washed over the Great Hall like a tidal wave, crashing and breaking over the dais to fade into a collectively held breath as he opened his paper. Grimly, he had thought it was a slow news day, because the picture Narcissa had given Rita Skeeter moved in all its glory, filling half the page. It was one of the happy couple seated in the morning room of Malfoy Manor, hands held as Narcissa waved her Aquamarine engagement ring for the camera.
In hindsight, Narcissa's penchant of making a spectacle of herself, of publicly proclaiming that she was his and not Lucius' was suspect.
Severus sighed heavily. If only he had been as insightful then.
That date was important to Hermione as well.
'The day you broke my heart.'
She had said the words without inflection, with no indication of the anguish he now believed she had felt. In retrospect, it was that lack of emotion in her usually animated voice that should have been telling. Harry Potter's best friend, had always worn her heart on her sleeve.
Apparently, she had learned something in the decade since leaving England. In August, her emotions had been tightly controlled, subsumed beneath a smooth and elegant façade. He wondered if she were still as passionate as those early years when her expressive face and luminous eyes glittered with every emotion to cross her heart. He wondered if she were as passionate as he imagined almost nightly, despite frequent use of Dreamless Sleep.
Rather than dwell on those thoughts, he recited the next important date: "December 31, 2004."
That had been a year following her precipitous departure from his office. She had fallen in love. Had it taken her that long to bury her feelings for him? Had she fallen in love with someone else, still knowing she was in love with him? How had she met her husband?
Had Albus known? Or Minerva?
Severus snorted aloud. Of course Minerva knew. For years, she had regaled him with tidbits from her frequent correspondence with her favorite former student. Those details would undoubtedly begin to filter through his mental blockade shortly. In the meantime, his memory, now that it was focused, recalled the other important dates in Hermione's litany with successive ease.
She was married on September 21, 2005. Nine months after falling in love - enough time to have a baby. Severus' breath caught in his throat. What if she had a child? Children?
No, somehow he knew that she didn't have children, just as he had known she was no longer married that day in August. Only now, he wanted more information, and he would have to practice subtlety in eliciting the information from his colleagues.
There were other dates to note.
Hermione had been widowed on June 13, 2008. A short marriage then. Surely Minerva had told him this story. He would have to coax it out of her again. No one was as voluble as Minerva McGonagall on the subject of her favorite graduate.
If Severus was honest, his unwillingness to listen to the frequent updates was self-preservation. Hearing news about Hermione had been too much like hitting a slowly healing bruise. Sometimes the painful wound lingered long after the initial injury.
After his own engagement dissolved, he had retreated from frivolous news, especially any specific information about Hermione Granger. If he had given her any concerted thought, it would have meant facing the juxtaposition of a potentially deep emotional connection he had deliberately flouted to the ersatz love he had cherished for Lucius' pale, stylish widow.
With a heavy sigh, Severus pinched the bridge of his Roman nose. The task he set for himself was formidable. Although, as information he intended to gather from his colleagues merged with the details his colleagues had imparted over the years he would have sufficient knowledge with which to devise a way to open the box.
Severus leaned back on the high stool at his work table. His limbs were stiff, but he felt better than he had in weeks. Glancing up at the chalkboard, he saw a neatly charted outline of the significant dates in Hermione's life post-Hogwarts.
After a few minutes' contemplation, the clock interrupted his reverie, chiming the tone signifying 'breakfast,' and he acknowledged the hunger in his stomach. For the first time in weeks, he was actually hungry for a meal. Severus rose to his feet, absently patting the box that had returned to its rightful place in the pocket of his robes. He glanced at the chalkboard, and one date stood out: 'March 21, 2001… in love with you, the day you stood up to Albus… '
Severus felt as if the air had been sucked out of his lungs. March 21. His birthday. Today. Today was his birthday and Hermione Granger had been in love with him for eleven years.
He had carried a torch for Narcissa for twenty years, and knew what it felt like to watch the object of your affection entwine themselves in another's arms and heart. Severus suddenly found it difficult to swallow; it seemed he had far more in common with the former Gryffindor Brain than he realized.
Making his way to the High Table, Severus scrutinized his colleagues, gauging their sympathy. It was almost universal. His Slytherin cunning gloated. He would use their sympathy to his own ends, a necessity if he were to succeed in opening the damned little puzzle-box and find his witch.
Minerva was the only one occupied in a task other than dining. She scratched away at a parchment, absentmindedly eating a scone and sipping tea.
'Good,' Severus thought. Her distraction would prove most beneficial. He chose a seat next to her, and was gratified by her smile when he placed his Mishima box in its customary position on the table.
"Good morning, Severus. I trust you're well?"
"Yes, Minerva, I am." He inclined his dark head slightly and raised an eyebrow at her parchment; it appeared to be a letter, and several feet long. "Correspondence?" he asked, leadingly.
"A letter to Hermione; I'm just finishing it up. I want to give it to the post-owl this morning. It's been weeks since I've written to the dear girl, and I do try to keep in touch."
"Ah, the inestimable Miss Granger." He drawled. The corner of his lips twitched as he watched Minerva's spine stiffen at his presumed condescension.
"I'll have you know, Severus Snape, that as I have mentioned before, Miss Granger has not been Miss Granger for several years," Minerva sniffed, affronted. "In fact, her married name matches the one on that little box you're so fond of. She kept her married name after Brian died."
"Minerva, I don't doubt that your Miss Granger – pardon me - Mrs. Mishima is a treasure." He mocked. Mentally Severus catalogued the information while reflecting how easy it was to assume mannerisms others expected, and to goad confidences from them.
Without asking, Severus was regaled with the story of Hermione Granger's – he would never call her Mishima again – last decade: her departure from England, first to France, where she had worked as a minor curse-breaker for Gringott's Paris division, and then to the bank's curse-breaking department in Hong Kong. Mishima, Ltd. had wooed her and won her services in January, 2004. She had moved to their corporate headquarters, located in the old world magical community of Kamakura, Japan. Hermione began to work with Brian Mishima, the chairman's son, and then the two had married the following year.
As Minerva told her tale, Severus realized none of it was new information. Synaptic connections were firing in his memory, and he refrained from grimacing when Minerva waxed lyrically about her happiness when Hermione became engaged. The Transfiguration Professor had met the couple twice in London, when they had traveled to Britain for business. Minerva had liked Brian Mishima. He treated Hermione like a precious gift, although she had been surprised to discover how much older than Hermione he was.
"He was close to your age, Severus. Granted, it makes sense if you think about it. Hermione was always more mature than her peers, or chronological age, would lead you to believe."
Severus, thinking that the age difference between Hermione and him was no longer the impediment it once would've been, only responded, "Indeed."
Minerva had continued more sadly as she recounted the unexpected and untimely death of Brian Mishima. He was sent to Xi'an for a special warding assignment at the Mausoleum of the late Emperor Qin Shi Huang. The Muggle archeological dig had been a popular tourist attraction for a number of years, the most famous aspect being the Emperor's excavated army. More than seven thousand terra cotta warriors and horses had been unearthed, and the site was host to thousands of tourists every year. The wizarding world was concerned the Muggle 'dig' would encroach upon the more private, magical site left by the Emperor's former regent, Lu Buwei, who himself had been a wizard.
The Chinese Ministry of Magic hired Mishima, Ltd. to layer additional security wards around the site, and Brian Mishima, as the son of Mishima's Chairman, had been sent as the most logical and prestigious choice. The Lu tomb was protected by local authorities. They had estimated the additional warding would be nothing more than routine procedure. In hindsight, Hermione would have been a better representative because of her background in curse-breaking. Brian had been hexed and killed within the first twenty-four hours of his trip. Heartbreakingly, Hermione and her father-in-law had been the Mishima representatives to retrieve Brian's body, unravel the pre-existing curse, and set the contracted wards.
"Why, Severus, you never let me prattle on like this. Are you well?"
"I am perfectly well, Minerva." He almost smiled when she pinched her lips at his less than satisfying answer. He had listened attentively, and gained far more than expected. He felt the force of her attention, but had years of experience in masking his inner thoughts and feelings. He turned a bland façade, and ate his breakfast.
Relieved by the change in her younger colleague, Minerva decided to consider the significance of Severus' willingness to listen to her prattle on about her favorite student, past or present, later. She hastily finished her letter while deciding to owl a note to Blaise Zabini later in the day. While Severus still appeared slightly haggard from his recent weeks' inattention to his own personal care, his hair was once again clean, his goatee freshly trimmed, and his eyes were alive and crackling with the force of his personality. The younger Slytherin had been exceedingly worried the previous night when he arrived at her sitting room.
Minerva and Severus finished their breakfast in the more comfortable sort of camaraderie that had characterized their interaction in recent years. The dark-haired wizard poured his last cup of Ceylon black tea, and Minerva gathered her things to depart for her first class of the day when she remembered the date.
"Oh, Severus. Happy birthday."
Simultaneously, with her verbal wishes and Severus' "Thank you, Minerva," an astonishing thing occurred. The Mishima, Ltd. box which had sat quiescent for months on the High Table began to glow and pulse with an iridescent golden light. There was no sound associated with the radiance, but it managed to capture the attention of everyone within the hall - Severus was inordinately relieved that Albus was attending a Wizengamot meeting.
Minerva gasped. At the other end of the High Table, and in his excitement, Filus Flitwick toppled off the magically elevated chair he called his own, squeaking as he went down, "Oh, Severus, what's it doing?"
But Severus Snape was first and foremost a private wizard. It simply wasn't in his nature to share so openly something that mattered to him. With one swift, decisive grab, he captured the shining box, absently noting the pulses were coming in more rapid succession, and he swiftly strode from the Great Hall, his robes billowing in an almost reluctant wave at all who watched his exit.
The last sound he heard was Rolanda Hooch's excited shriek, "Is it opening, Severus? Today's my day, you know!"
As soon as he heard the doors thud shut behind him, Severus abandoned all sense of decorum and sprinted for his lab. For some reason, he knew that this was it. He hadn't quite figured it out yet, but he realized that perhaps Hermione had charmed a failsafe into the box.
Today's date had significance to them both.
It was his birthday, and it was the anniversary of the day she had first realized her feelings for him. Of course. He might have seen it earlier had he paid closer attention to her clues. Instead, he had wallowed in stubbornness and his own inability to face his feelings for the remarkable witch.
The box radiated warmth from his pocket, and golden light leaked from the hidden cache in his robes. Rarely before had the hallways of the dungeons been so brightly lit.
Careening into his lab, Severus placed the now rapidly strobing, illuminated box on top of his work table. As he caught his breath, he realized the pulses were beating in time with his own heart. They were slowing until they held steady, and when his heartbeat evened out the glow maintained a constant glow.
He sat still for several endless minutes, waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Until the final pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Severus took the last intuitive leap that had made his services as a spy invaluable to the side of the Light. The box wouldn't open without the password. The one tailored exclusively for him, and created by her, based on her feelings for him.
With great daring, he uttered the fateful words he believed Hermione had used as the final password to release the remaining layers of wards surrounding his very precious treasure. His voice trembled with emotion as he whispered, "I love you."
He had never said the words before.
At one time, he might have thought them to Narcissa, but by the time she was his, it had seemed too juvenile to say. There had never been anyone else, other than the former Gryffindor witch.
With its final throbbing strobe of light, the box went out. Hermione's voice filled the room, warmth replacing the chill of the sudden darkness.
"Happy birthday, Severus. Today is significant in more ways than one, but your birthday is something to celebrate. My gift to you is inside."
Severus noted the newly revealed seam, and very carefully, his fingers caressing the wood, he removed the entire top of the box. He looked inside and his heart stopped. He felt lightheaded.
Groping for the stool, he sat down heavily upon it. He blinked hard to clear his sight, and smelled the traces of Hermione's unique, exotic fragrance from the interior crèche. Severus was staggered by the enormity of her gift.
Nestled within the indigo velvet lining lay Hermione's golden medal, her Order of Merlin, First Class.
A tiny scroll of parchment lay visible beneath the coveted golden trinket.
As if he had cast 'Wingardium leviosa,' the scroll floated up from the box until it was suspended in front of Severus' disbelieving eyes. The scroll unrolled, the crimson words on the parchment clearly legible and in Hermione's copperplate script. He removed the medal - his own personal holy grail - and reverently held the golden disc in his hands.
Her voice resounded in the quiet room, reciting the words of the note as he read what she had written.
"In every war there are unsung heroes. Regardless of the reasons they are driven to serve, they have given selflessly and painfully, devoted to a just cause that doesn't always acknowledge their sacrifices. You are one of those men.
Please accept my gift in the spirit in which it is given, from someone who recognizes your contributions to my adopted world. This medal is rightfully yours, and should have been awarded to you ten years ago.
Thank you, Severus, for all you have done to ensure the future. The world is a better place with you in it."
Severus felt the unfamiliar sting of tears prick his eyelids. He re-read the last few sentences several times because his eyes were so filled with moisture he could barely make out the words.
Hermione had given him her Order of Merlin, First Class. Her medal. A medal she had earned, and one he had coveted all his adult life - the true recognition for his sacrifices. By Mithras' Golden Horns, she truly understood. She had acknowledged the debt to him.
Severus slid off the stool and sank to his knees on the cold stone floor, so shaken that he couldn't have taken a step if Voldemort had risen from the grave. Hermione Granger had willingly given her medal to him because she valued him, and wanted him to know it.
What a fool he had been not to see her true worth before he had thrown her out.
It had taken seven months for him to realize how priceless she was, and that she wanted him. Him. The greasy bat from the dungeons. She honestly seemed to have loved the snarky, brooding, ex-spy, ex-Death Eater, and completely besotted wizard that he was.
He ran his trembling fingers over the raised and molded lines of the medal, and then carefully returned it to its box. To think that he had been carrying around a First Class medal for months. That he had tried to burn it, to hurl it from the Astronomy tower. A sardonic grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. How ironic it would've been if he had been successful.
How could he ever repay her, to thank her for this gift? It was so much more than a memento, or a polite social gesture. It was an acknowledgment that someone, some where, knew just how much he deserved the medal, and she had rectified the injustice. It was more than anyone else had done.
Gods, but he admired the witch, the remarkable, stubborn, brilliant witch who had tormented him with her enigmatic puzzle leading him down a path to self-realization.
A woman who would never come to him again. Not after the rejection of her last visit.
Severus' excitement chilled in his guts. Hermione had no reason to think him receptive to her. If he ever wanted to see her again, or begin any sort of a relationship with her, as was becoming his heart's most ardent wish, it was up to him to rectify this situation.
A thank you wouldn't be amiss. It would bridge the gap he had created with his abrasive rebuff. Perhaps a letter. He was good with words. He could write a letter. No. She could tear it up, or return it. There was no telling how she might respond to a letter from him, especially after his last words to her.
He really should thank her in person, but that would mean going to Japan.
He mentally snorted. It wasn't as if it were a box of chocolates or a scarf that she had given him. This was no ordinary gift. It required an equally extraordinary thank you. Definitely in person. There was nothing else for it.
He would go to Japan.
Japan. He had never traveled there. He would have to ease Flitwick into conversation again.
After this morning's events, it shouldn't be too hard. Filius, not to mention the entire staff, would be falling all over him to find out whether he had opened the box. Fortunately, with the small wizard's enthusiasm, a judicious word or two should release floodgates of information.
That only left one other decision to make. When to go?
Severus calculated the dates in his head. Spring break was in three weeks' time. That would give him an entire week to attempt to make peace with Hermione once he found her.
He looked at the Order of Merlin again. All the fear and doubt he had the night before and the preceding weeks, vanished with the very solid evidence of Hermione's deep-seated regard for him.
With a lighter heart than in years, Severus Snape began to make plans.
~o0o~