Hermione now lives in a small, cinderblock room. She has taken out a loan to pay for the last year of her school, and the expenses of living. In leaving Hogwarts, she has left her funding and the freedom that comes with independent study as well as the joy of teaching behind.
And, of course, in a way she has left Severus.
She hasn't, though. They are still together, still in love, but with a distance. It is harder, now. She cannot go back to the castle, and he should not come on to the campus. She has been on campus over a month now, and she has only seen him twice. Once for lunch, and once at Spinner's End where they spent the night. It's strange – she misses him desperately when he is gone, but in the hours, the minutes before she gets to see him again, she panics, desperate for escape.
She cannot live with him or without him. She doesn't tell him this.
Being on campus, ultimately, is good. She goes to her classes, the first week, in the same thing she is used to wearing but she looks out of place in the proper robes. People know who she is and think she's snooty. Maybe she is. Slowly, she reverts back to more comfortable clothes. She wears jumpers, corduroys, long sleeved shirts, sneakers. She leaves her hair down unless she is attending a brewing lab. Snape has kept her on schedule precisely, and she is not at all behind. In some areas, she is vastly ahead due to sheer experience. She raises her hand in class; she almost always has the answer.
This, this is the Hermione Granger she was meant to be.
She doesn't exactly have friends. She lives alone in her room. After a while, she gets invited to join a study group. She is used to studying alone and doesn't need the others to get by but it's also a social outing and so she agrees to go to a session, to give it a try. It's held in a study room in the main library and she arrives on time. She seats her self in the only remaining chair and opens her notes. She uses a pen – she has left quills and inkpots to the archaic charm of Hogwarts.
They study solidly for about twenty minutes. They are all potion majors and there is one boy, Corey, whom she actually went to Hogwarts with for about two years. She smiles demurely at him and he looks at her all together too knowingly. He nods his head at her once, solemnly.
There are other Hogwarts graduates, but none from Hermione's years. She is by far the youngest one there, and yet, she is never confused. She speaks softly, but certainly, and if someone has a question, she answers it without referring to her notes.
"I heard they had you teaching, Granger," Corey says, during a lull.
"First and Second years," she confirms, and though everyone else looks vaguely impressed, most of the time she felt like a glorified babysitter.
"Independent study with Snape," Corey shakes his head. "No thank you."
"Well," Hermione says, reluctant to follow this line of conversation. "We got along, actually." Everyone stares at her, as if she is lying through her teeth. "What?"
"It was in all the papers," another girl, Sarah, says. "How he saved your life in the war."
"I don't really want…" she says, shaking her head. "That was a long time ago."
"I remember," says Kevin, who is usually mute. "I had a poster of Harry Potter on my wall until just last year."
"Enough," Hermione says, slamming her notebook closed. "I have to go, excuse me."
She flees feeling the hot stares of the study group on her back. She was foolish not to expect this – this minor celebrity and the subject of Harry coming up. They speak about him like he was nothing more than a comic book hero, an epic figure from the television. Not a real person, not a real boy who won by losing. She writes to Snape in her room, tells him about the conversation, and mails it off immediately. It takes an hour for him to respond and all he asks is whether she wants him to come to her. It is a week night, it is late. No, she responds, because she doesn't want to see him. She doesn't want to see anyone.
Soon, they sign up for, ironically, internships and independent study programs. Everyone is abuzz with the excitement of finally stepping out of the classroom and into the real world of potions. She makes an appointment with her advisor to discuss her options.
"You could always go back to Hogwarts," her advisor jokes, but Hermione shakes her head.
"I want something new," she says. Hermione wants a dreary assignment. She wants boring, she wants unpopular. She wants to do well wherever she goes, but she does not want to excel, she does not want to shine. "Give me something no one else wants," she murmurs.
"Are you sure?" her advisor asks, surprised. Hermione knows she could have her pick.
"Certain," she says. Her advisor hands her a form and Hermione takes it willingly. The top reads Ministry of Magic. Inwardly, she grimaces, but outwardly, she smiles politely. She says thank you.
There are a couple problems with interning with the Ministry of Magic. One: It will be bureaucratic and dull. Two: She will be recognized by nearly every employee there. But problems are something she can handle, dull is all right. She finds herself looking forward to the lack of excitement, to the endless days ahead.
On her first day, she reports to the Ministry at seven am, alone. There is another student from her program assigned to the Ministry but she does not speak with him before hand, does not make plans to travel with him or eat lunch with him. In fact, on this first day, they do not even cross paths.
Checking in is easy, as is finding the right floor, the right room, the right person. Her supervisor is a man named Morris Merrywoods and he is short, ruddy, and boisterous. He is the antithesis of Snape and she embraces this change of environment. She works in a dark room meant for, and used for, storage. She has a wooden desk. She does the work of a beginner, a foot soldier. She sorts, she shelves, she fills out order forms and processes requests. It is tedious and most of the time she is alone.
On her second week, a request comes in from Hogwarts in Snape's slanted hand for several bulk items. Hogwarts, she sees, gets a fifteen percent discount. There is an ink spot, a spill, on the corner of the sheet. It doesn't interfere with any of the text and so he has left it. She can see where he has tried to wipe it away. It's endearing, this action from him and she misses him suddenly; it crashes over her like a wave. She hasn't seen him for some time now. He is giving her space and she is taking this gift without question.
He writes her, of course, and she writes back. He speaks of mundane things – the weather, quidditch, potion accidents. Neither of them care for these things, but they fill up the page; they hold the connection.
She prepares his shipment, moving him up to the front of the queue. She slips a note into the shipment. She tells him, in her own way, that she misses him. She expects nothing, but just before the end of the day, Morris comes back to tell her that she has a visitor.
"All right," she says, rising. In the outer office, he is there. He leans against the door frame; he looks suave. She smiles at him – she is impressed. "Hello, Professor."
"Miss Granger," he says. Morris looks on interestedly.
"Was there something I could do for you, sir?" she asks.
"Yes, there is. I received my order and while it was prompt, it was incomplete," he says. She has to bite her cheek.
"I apologize," she says. "What was left out?" He hands her back the order form. He has marked the absence in red ink. She takes it. She doesn't look at it – she knows what is missing.
"Unfortunately, sir, our office is now closed," Morris pipes up. The clock strapped to Hermione's wrist reads 5:01pm. "I can assure you it will be tended to first thing in the morning." He gives Hermione a stern look; punishment for her first mistake.
"Sorry," she says.
"I'll have to wait," Snape concedes. "Allow me to escort you out, Miss Granger?" Hermione nods.
"Of course."
On the street, the wander into Muggle London. He does not touch her, does not try to take her hand. It some way, it is like they are starting over. He makes small talk and she lets him speak. When they get tired, they go to a Muggle restaurant. It is like a real date. She laughs at his jokes, and he tells her she looks pretty. That desperate fight or flight feeling she has been struggling with is not there.
"Come home with me," he says, after, standing in front of the restaurant as the last waiter stacks chairs and wipes tables.
"Yes," she says.
Spinner's End looks almost the same. There are a few notable exceptions – it is clean and it is stocked. There is wood for the fire, food in the pantry, and even clothes in the closet. He watches her take inventory. He hangs her coat and pours her a glass of clear, cold water. She waits for him to speak.
"I have to stay through the end of the year," he says.
"I understand," she says. They have had this conversation before.
"After that," he says. "Well, I've given Minerva my resignation." He sounds a little melancholy about this. She doesn't really believe him.
"Seriously?" she asks, suddenly gleeful and relieved.
"What choice did you give me?" he accuses. "It was you or it was Hogwarts, but it was not both."
"You chose me," she whispers.
"I always do," he says. She is thrilled. She abandons her water and crawls into his lap. She never wants to go back to the castle. For all the knowledge Hogwarts has given her, it has taken too much. Though she cannot begrudge the school forever. She does now have Snape.
"Let's be happy," she says. "I'll work an unfulfilling job at the ministry and never get promoted for the rest of my life and no one will know who I am and when I come home you will be there."
"Absolutely not," he says, sternly. "You will finish your degree and quit your job for something better."
"Will I?" she asks.
"And we will fight loudly and often," he says, wrapping his arms around her.
"Because you will always be wrong," she says. His arms get a little too tight and she has to wriggle away from him.
"I am seldom wrong," he says. She doesn't say anything, but her expression is enough for him to smack her arm lightly. "Ten points for Gryffindor for cheek."
"Thank you, Severus," she says, her voice serious. He takes a moment to consider his response, to think about the way his life will be different and unsure.
"You're welcome," he says.
Hermione graduates on a Saturday in very early June.
She decides not to attend the ceremonies and three weeks later, her diploma is mailed to her at her new address. The envelope is large and slightly crinkled from the talons of the barn owl. It is addressed to her in a sloppy hand – Hermione Granger, Spinner's End, Manchester, England. She opens the flap and pulls out the diploma. Snape comes and peers at it over her shoulder.
"Look at you," he says. "Where shall we hang it?"
"No need," she says, sliding in back into the envelope. "I'll just keep it in my trunk for now."
"It's an accomplishment, Hermione, you ought to be proud of yourself," he chides, gently.
"I am proud!" she argues. "It's just that hanging it on a wall denotes some sort of permanency and I don't want that seeing how this is the most dreadful place I have ever lived."
"The house is in perfectly good shape," he says, looking around. It is since Hermione scrubbed every square inch of it but it's the outside of the house that concerns her. It is a dead street in a dead town. It is far from London, far from her family, far from a decent apothecary, and is in a Muggle area. Hermione asks him how he even acquired the house but it is a question he does not answer.
"I can't believe you found a buyer," she says, shaking her head. "Not that I'm complaining."
"It's nice to be owed favors," he says, mysteriously. He has not told Hermione who is purchasing the property, but she suspects it is a former death eater looking for a suitable place to hide and waste away. She doesn't care. They are taking the money and buying a flat in London, close to the magical border. She is still working at the ministry – she has loans to pay off now, and he is working nowhere. He wakes up late and brews away the better hours of daylight. He finds shady characters to buy his house while she is gone.
The new flat is wide and empty when they sign the papers. The floors gleam with fresh wax on wooden planks, and the windows are without dressings. They reach to the ceiling and let in the morning light. Hermione is so used to living in darkness and gloom that she has to squint the first day they are there. There is a big bedroom and a smaller one which Snape promptly labels as the lab. On the first weekend, Hermione paints the mostly empty bedroom yellow. Snape is out and she is over half way done before he comes home and says, "Change it."
"No," she says, "It's cheerful and I am so tired of being sad."
"It's like living in the middle of the sun, Hermione," he says.
"You can paint the lab any color you like," she says, stubbornly. "The bedroom? Yellow."
He lets her have this one thing, and she is grateful. That night, they go to bed and the room smells like paint. They sleep with the windows open to the warm night. In the room there is only the mattress on the floor and the sound of their lovemaking echoes off the walls and floor. Still, she wakes up hours later from a bad dream.
"It's okay," he murmurs.
"I know," she says, but the residual fear in her voice forces his tired eyes open.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks.
"I can't help but think… how long until the next evil megalomaniac comes and threatens our way of life?" she asks. "A year? Ten?"
"This is no way to live your life," he says.
"I can't help it." She sits up and pushes off the blanket. She is too hot.
"Hermione, you are going to live your life. You are going to get old, your hair will go gray. Your breasts will sag, your skin will wrinkle, and you will die surrounded by your children and your children's children. And if there is another war, then we fight and we win," he says. "Now go back to sleep."
It's sweet of him to say. She snuggles up against him and tries to close her eyes, to sink back down into a restful sleep. Something nags at her.
"Children?" she asks.
"Go to sleep," he says, forcefully. She does.
Snape unpacks while she is gone. Apart from books, they don't have much. They have purchased the mattress but no frame. Some clothes are hung in the closet, but most stay in boxes because there is no bureau. Hermione has to buy a set of dishes and utensils. There is little furniture because Hermione absolutely forbid Snape to move anything from Spinner's End. He does, however, hang her diploma in a nice frame.
"We live here now," he says, pointing to it. She is inordinately pleased with this. On the weekends, they go out to the antique shops and shop for furniture. It is a slow build – an armoire one week, a blue chair the next. It takes a full month for Hermione to find a dining room table she can approve of. She tries to worry about money, but Snape doesn't let her.
"I've had very little to spend my money on until now," he says. "We will not go to the poor house in just a few months."
She isn't sure, though, and when a private pharmaceuticals company contracts him to brew special order potions of some difficulty, she is relieved. It is not a real job, but he over charges them. At the ministry, they move her from the store room to the lab and as an assistant, she gets paid more. She promises herself she'll quit when it gets boring, but she kind of likes it, in the end.
Five years after the war, the Ministry unveils a statue of Harry Potter in the main lobby. Hermione now works as a private researcher for a corporation. She is invited to the unveiling as a special guest of the Ministry and she has to go through the front door like everyone else. Snape convinces her to go and does not complain about escorting her. She is nervous, though she isn't sure why. She has pictures of Harry and Ron that she looks at every so often and they are bound to be more shocking than a statue that probably won't look a thing like him.
But at the same time, she knows Harry wouldn't have wanted this. Not the grandeur, not the now seven published biographies, not the hero worship. He just wanted to be a boy.
She sits with the Weasleys on one side and Snape on the other. Molly holds her hand and weeps. Hermione does not cry. She grinds her teeth through the many speeches. When the curtain is pulled, the crowd gasps right on cue. The statue is slightly tacky – all gold to match with the rest of the lobby décor. It looks like Harry – messy hair, glasses, long legs. Even the detail of his wand is correct but the sight doesn't jolt Hermione that way it once might have. There is no life in the statue and when the crowd is permitted to disperse, she doesn't get closer to scrutinize the details. She stays on the fringe of the crowd. A photographer snaps a picture as Snape reaches out to touch her wrist. They hardly make the papers anymore. The war has been over for long enough that all the headlines are about Ministry politics, or Quidditch. This picture might make it though; a touching gesture from a once wanted man.
"We've been invited to the Burrow," Snape says, commanding her attention.
"All right," she agrees. She is tired. She has worked a long week and just wants to go home but they owe this to Molly and to Arthur. They owe it to Ron who continually gets left out of the story.
The Burrow is crowded with family and friends. Neville Longbottom is there – Hermione hasn't seen him for years, since he first fetched her from the Muggle bookstore. She'd heard he'd gone state side to study Herbology. He smiles at her. He is tan, and lean in a way he never was before. She has to approach him.
"You look good, Hermione," he says. He is still soft spoken; no longer stuttering.
"So do you, Neville," she says. "I just… I'm sorry for the way I treated you when we last spoke."
"It's okay," Neville says. "You were sad. I understand."
"I was mean," Hermione admits. "You didn't deserve that."
He changes the subject – Neville will never be good at talking about himself.
"I heard you were engaged to Professor Snape," he says. Hermione shakes her head.
"No, we're not engaged," she says. "Just… together."
"That's weird, because I heard Mrs. Weasley talking about your…" Suddenly Neville stops. He looks down at her hand and sees her bare fingers. He has understood his mistake.
"About my what?" she asks, demandingly.
"It was probably a different Hermione," he says, weakly.
"Oh, that seems likely," Hermione snaps and narrows her eyes at him. "Excuse me," she says. She hates secrets and she hates that Snape is keeping this from her and telling others. She finds him in the backyard. He is not the only person out there, but he is standing off by himself with a beer. It is late afternoon and in an hour or so, the sun will begin to set. She knows Snape likes to watch that.
"Severus," she says, planting herself in his line of vision. "You're keeping something from me."
"I assure you I don't know what you're talking about," he says, dryly.
"Liar," she says. "Give it to me."
"Did Molly spill the secret?" he asks.
"Neville," she says, feeling greedy, holding out her hand. He sighs dramatically and digs around his pocket until he produces the ring. It is plain. There is no stone. It is merely a small, gold band. She takes it and puts it on her ring finger. "Aren't you going to ask?"
"You're rather bossy today," he says. "I'd rather not do it in front of people, so why don't you just spare me and just say yes?"
"That's what I love about you," she says. "You're so romantic."
"I do love you," he says, draping his long and heavy arm over her shoulder. She holds out her hand and allows the sun to catch on the metal.
"I know," she says. And though it makes them both terribly anti-social and rude, they stay outside. They wait out the sunset.