Chapter 10 - Until You Came Along
Ten years later. A warm tuesday in June, at exactly 7 pm.
A little bell chimed as Severus Snape hesitantly walked through the doors of the Björn and the Sill.
He instantly recognized Jean Granger standing behind the front desk, head bowed down, scribbling on something in front of her. Nothing had changed. The interior, the chandeliers, the kitsch. It all looked exactly as he remembered it. Even Jean Granger herself, with only a couple of white streaks in her hair and some additional lines in her face as sole evidence that time had passed at all since he last saw her.
This was a mistake, he thought, throwing a glance over his shoulder, debating with himself whether he could slip back out unnoticed.
The breakup from Hermione had gone from being a flaming misery every waking second of every minute of every day to a dull but relentless ache. His first instinct had been to run. Run from Hogwarts, Scotland, England. He had wanted, desperately, to flee from the ifs and the buts and the could've beens that lay imbedded in the very walls of the castle. The very walls of his own rooms.
To escape, by any means and costs, the constant reminder of the woman he had loved and lost.
Dumbledore had, ironically enough, been exceptionally persuasive in his endeavors to keep Snape on staff and in the country. He had started off by offering him a rather generous raise. "Do you think my loyalty can be bought, Headmaster?" Snape had retorted bitterly. But Dumbledore had only given him a sad smile and countered with the Defense Against the Dark Arts-post. "Say the word and Palmer is out," he had told him.
Needless to say, Snape declined all of Dumbledore's offers, in an attempt to defend the last scrap of dignity he felt he had left. Vowing to never place himself voluntarily in that man's debt again. But since he had nowhere else to go, when hit with the reality of leaving the only real home he had ever had, he decided to stay put. Albeit reluctantly.
So Snape had kept himself busy. Burying himself in work and engaging in research. Whenever he found himself with time on his hands he would brew potions for the Infirmary. Or help Madam Pince re-organize the library, something that occurred more often than one might think.
He would do practically anything, short of helping Palmer grade his papers, to minimize the risk of ending up alone somewhere, brooding over the past. Hoping against hope that the initial agony would subside. Eventually. It had with Lily after all.
But no relief came. Instead, it turned out to be nothing like the situation with Lily, after at all. If anything, the profound, deeply melancholic longing had only grown stronger.
As the years passed by he learned that when the anniversary of his and Hermione's dinner would come around he would be wallowing in misery, torturing himself with images of her and that man, living happily somewhere in the world, with a couple of bushy-haired know-it-all children and ...
It always ended the same way, with him sprawled on the bed, out cold, with an empty bottle of Firewhisky in his hand.
Every year he secretly hoped that Hermione would turn up for one of the alumni reunions or balls that Hogwarts organized, despising himself fervently for it. For the weakness of wanting to catch a glimpse of her face. Potter had attended almost every one, the Weasley boy a fair few. But Hermione always politely declined.
After a couple of years he had started keeping a journal, inserting thoughts and memories when they came to him, as a way of not forgetting. It was a necessity when working with potions and the familiarity of organizing thoughts and ideas, in this case feelings and conversations, and it was one of the few things that had a calming effect on him.
But then, one miserable night about six months ago, he had been rifling through his journal, reading a couple of quotes here and there, when he suddenly had stumbled upon one in particular that had made him short of breath. A foolish, desperate wish immediately surfaced as his breathing slowly returned to normal.
And as the anniversary of their dinner date approached once again, that wish gnawed at his brain, interrupted his sleep, his waking hours and his teaching, making it impossible for him to do anything but to act on it.
But now, as he was standing there in the foyer, clad in a white shirt and black jacket, he felt like an idiot.
"Welcome to the Björn and the Sill, sir. How may I help you?" Jean Granger looked up and gave him a wide, professional smile.
"I-"
"Wait, I'm sorry." She cocked her head to one side. "Don't I know you from somewhere?" She clicked her tongue. "You're one of Hermione's old professors, aren't you?"
Snape felt his chest constrict painfully at the mention of her name.
"Yes."
"Mr ..." She furrowed her brows, seemingly racking her brain. "Snape, isn't it?"
He gave her a terse nod. "The very same."
"How lovely to see you again. Are you staying for dinner?"
"No, actually," he said languidly. "I was ... wondering if Miss Granger was here, by any chance."
Mrs Granger looked at him, perplexed. "No, I'm sorry. Hermione has been living in France for the last ten years. She's rarely home," she said slowly. "I'm sure she would've told me if she was visiting."
"I see." He felt a pang of disappointment. "Never mind. It was just a ... silly thought."
"She hasn't been Miss Granger for a long time, you know." Mrs Granger looked at him curiously. "It's Mrs Collins nowadays."
"Is that right?" Snape replied venomously. "Thank you for that invaluable piece of information," he drawled, then whipped around and stalked out the door.
Out on the sidewalk, Snape snapped his head to the left, scanning the street to see if it was safe to Apparate from the spot. Except for a couple of doves, delicately pecking at the last few crumbs of a discarded hot dog bun, the street was completely deserted. Snape quickly turned his head to the right. Good, I just want to get the fuck out of-
And there she was.
Leaning casually against the facade, gazing out at nothing in particular, a cigarette in one slender hand, was indeed Hermione Granger. Collins, he corrected himself and rolled his eyes. Such an inane name.
For a second he couldn't believe it, his heart hammering furiously as he took in her appearance.
It was a self-assured woman standing in front of him. With shorter hair, expensive, tailored clothes and a posture almost identical to that of her mother. It was blatantly obvious that the frustrated and slightly awkward teenager she once had been was long gone.
"That's really not good for you, you know," he said and pointed towards the cigarette in what he hoped was a nonchalant way.
Hermione slowly turned her head, narrowed her eyes and looked straight at him, giving him a nod and a confident but thin-lipped smile.
"Professor Snape," she said off-handedly while putting out the cigarette with her heel. "Long time, no see."
He cringed inwardly at the use of his formal title, suddenly unsure of how to respond. "It certainly has been. Are you ... coming inside?" he asked tentatively, motioning for the door to the restaurant.
"I haven't decided," she replied, tearing away from his gaze. "I'm not even sure I should be here."
Gripped by a sudden panic at the thought of her leaving already, his brain started fumbling for anything to entice her stay.
"Have you eaten?"
"I have."
He frowned. "How about coffee?"
She folded her arms across her chest, shuffling her feet distractedly. All the while his heart kept beating so loudly he was sure she could hear it.
"Sounds ... endurable," she replied finally, an almost invisible smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth.
Snape exhaled quietly, answering her smirk with one of his own. As she walked past him he carefully put a hand on the small of her back, guiding her through the doors of the restaurant.
It was such a small gesture, and would probably have had little substantial meaning to anyone else. But for him, to be able to touch the woman that had occupied his thoughts for a near decade, it was exhilarating. Exhilarating and bittersweet.
"Hermione?" Mrs Granger shrieked, a bewildered look on her face. "What are you doing here?" She pulled her daughter into her arms and hugged her tightly, shooting Snape a vicious glare over Hermione's shoulder, letting him know that she hadn't forgotten his rather rude departure only minutes ago.
"I'm only here for a couple of hours, Mum," Hermione replied as she broke away from her mother, casting a side-way glance at Snape.
"Is Christopher with you?" Mrs Granger inquired, a frown replacing her smile.
Hermione hesitated for a second. "No, he's back in Marseille."
"Hermione ... " Mrs Granger sighed disapprovingly. "Do you have to-"
"Let's not talk about that now, please," Hermione interrupted briskly. "I think Professor Snape is rather starved for a good cup of coffee."
"Of course," Mrs Granger replied curtly. "Sit wherever you like, I'll send someone out in a minute."
Snape and Hermione slowly made their way to a small table next to the windows. The restaurant was echoingly empty, except for an elderly couple at the far end, who were happily chatting away over two bowls of pea soup.
Snape proceeded to pull out Hermione's chair, gesturing for her to sit, pretending not to notice her questioning look.
"So, where are they?" he asked as he sat down in the chair opposite her.
"Where are what?" she replied, confused.
"Your awards." He cocked an eyebrow at her. "I thought the premise of this meeting was for you to show off all of your achievements in the Potions field."
"Ah," she said, nodding in remembrance. "I ... I gave up on Potions a long time ago, I'm afraid."
Snape bowed his head slightly, the true meaning of her words not lost on him. He had wanted to tell her, to explain, to make her understand for so long, but now, when he actually had the chance he didn't even know where to begin. Or if it even mattered.
"Hermione, I ... " he started, but trailed off.
Something akin to sadness clouded Hermione's expression for a fleeting second. "I don't need to know, Severus. Not anymore."
"I suppose you're right." He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "So ... if not potions, what did you end up doing?"
She shrugged and graced him with a little smile, seemingly happy to change the subject. "Professor Flitwick pulled some strings and got me into L'institute de Charmes. I have ... we have," she corrected herself, "been living there for the past ten years."
A young waitress stopped by their table, putting down two large mugs of steaming coffee and a little tray of gingerbread biscuits. Hermione poured some milk in her coffee and stirred it gingerly before taking a sip. "Since I finished my master's degree I've mostly been doing research," she added.
"Any little know-it-all children making life difficult for their teachers?" Snape asked innocently.
"No," she replied thoughtfully. "There never seemed to be a right time for it. Not yet, anyway." She shrugged. "What about you? Any Snape-spawn running around Hogwarts?" She shot him a cheeky grin.
Snape snorted, staring at her in disbelief. "Don't be ridiculous."
"You know," she said, putting her elbows on the table. "I can't get over the fact that you look exactly the same. I don't know how you manage."
"Well." He peered at her over his coffee mug. "I actually brew my own beauty potions."
Hermione's mouth fell open. "You what?"
"That was a joke, Mrs Collins," he replied, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Don't look like you've never come across one."
"Well, no, I've heard a couple. My surprise lies in the discovery that you're able to produce one," she retaliated with a smirk. "Severus." Hermione's expression suddenly turned serious. "There's no need to call me, well, that. I'm actually-" She stopped mid-sentence.
"What's going on over there?" She jerked her head towards the entrance, making him aware of a heated argument at the front desk. They both craned their necks to see what was causing the ruckus but the angle made it almost impossible to make anything out.
"Jean, just let me in," a frustrated man's voice called out. "I know she's in there!"
Hermione's face turned ashen. "Oh, for the love of god," she whispered, putting her head in her hands.
Suddenly the man had freed himself from Mrs Granger and came stomping straight into the restaurant, a wild look on his blotchy face, his eyes darting everywhere.
He instantly caught sight of Hermione and Snape and was upon them in a second. "I KNEW I WOULD FIND YOU HERE!" Christopher Collins bellowed, saliva flying everywhere.
"I wake up ALONE in OUR house and find THIS on the table?" he shouted accusingly as he shook a stack of papers in front of them. "I had to take a fucking last-minute flight over here!" He looked at Hermione with disgust, scoffed and threw them right in her face.
"Signed and delivered. Almost like a bloody Stevie Wonder song."
Snape instantly bolted to his feet, a fire awakening in his gut. He loomed over the man in front of him, turned his features into a sneer and hissed, "You need to calm down if you know what's good for you."
"BACK OFF!" Collins roared, poking a finger hard in Snape's chest. "You have NO right to tell me how to speak to my own wife!" He then turned his fury to Hermione.
"You're really choosing this assclown over me? Look at him!"
"I'm not choosing anyone, Christopher," Hermione sighed. "But you and I ..." She motioned in the air between them. "... we're done."
"Are you seriously telling me that you'd rather want this ... this joke of a man than me?" Collins spat, ignoring her reply.
"Fine. Yes." Hermione rolled her eyes. "It doesn't matter what I tell you, anyway."
"Then you're an idiot," he grumbled.
Snape's wand hand twitched, a twitch he desperately wanted to give in to. This is not my fight. Hermione can handle herself, he repeated in his head, not quite convincing himself.
"And a lying, conniving, cheating bitch," Collins added disdainfully.
On second thought.
Ten years of built-up anger and frustration came bubbling up to the surface as Snape furiously lashed out his fist and hit Christopher squarely on the jaw, making his head snap at one side before he stumbled backwards over a table, dragging the tablecloth, cutlery and crystal glasses with him before loudly falling into a heap on the floor.
Such an inane man, Snape thought, rather smugly, as total chaos broke out.
"OH MY GOD!" A hysterical shriek belonging to Mrs Granger rang out through the restaurant. Wobbling across the floor as fast as her high heels would take her she threw herself on the floor next to the unconscious man.
"What on earth is happening?" A croaky lady-voice called out from across the room.
"Nothing, nothing!" Mrs Granger yelped, sweat beading across her forehead.
Hermione sat frozen in her chair, a hand clasped over her mouth, eyes swiveling between her husband on the floor and her still fuming ex-professor.
"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," Mrs Granger gasped frantically. "PERCY! Where is that insufferable man when you need him, PERCY!"
"I'm right behind you. There's no need to shout," Percy Weasley replied irritably.
"Well, don't just stand there!" Mrs Granger demanded, getting up from the floor, brushing off invisible lint from her knees. "Check for a pulse!"
"Is that man dead?" the older gentleman barked, now standing up, pointing at Christopher's limp body.
"I hope so," Snape replied casually.
"No, he's very much alive," Percy said after placing two fingers on the inside of Collins' wrist, shooting Snape a glare.
Mrs Granger exhaled loudly and clapped her hands together. "Thank god!"
"What a shame," Snape snorted.
"But I still think we should call an ambulance," Percy said, looking concerned. "His jaw looks completely dislocated."
Snape had retreated to the bar, a dishrag full of ice pressed to his knuckles.
Over by the front desk, Hermione was talking to one of the ambulance men, while Mrs Granger, Percy and the waitress searched the floor for broken glass, put the table back in order, changed the cutlery and calmed down the elderly couple.
Suddenly the ambulance man broke away from his and Hermione's conversation and walked over to Snape.
"Sir, we're leaving, but Mr Collins insists on speaking to you before we go. He's out by the car," the young man said.
"I can't imagine I would want to hear anything he has to say," Snape scoffed.
"That's your call, sir," he replied, giving Snape a silent nod and then turned to leave. With an irritable sigh, and a roll of his eyes, Snape slowly got up and reluctantly followed him outside.
Firmly incapsulated in a neck brace, grimacing with pain, Christopher Collins lay on a thin stretcher just outside the doors to the restaurant.
"Come closer," he grunted, as Snape stepped out on the sidewalk.
"I'm perfectly fine over here, Mr Collins," Snape replied coolly, folding his arms across his chest.
"Bloody bastard," Collins wheezed.
"Is that all?" Snape drawled.
"No," Collins seethed through gritted teeth, mumbling something incomprehensible.
"I didn't quite catch that," Snape said, raising an eyebrow. "It seems you're having a bit of a problem with the enunciation."
Collins drew himself up on his elbows, red in the face from the exhaustion. "I said: May you endeavor to deserve her, you piece of shit," he sneered, before collapsing back on the stretcher.
I must have hit him harder than I thought, Snape thought, furrowing his brows in puzzlement.
"What did he say?" Hermione immediately asked as Snape came walking back through the doors.
"Nothing in particular." He shrugged. "He called me a bloody git, a piece of shit and that was it."
Hermione shook her head in disbelief. "I need a glass of wine. And two if you insist on rhyming."
He snorted out a laugh, a first in a long time.
Once again they settled down at their table, Hermione quickly ordering a bottle of white wine for them to share. The papers that had been thrown in her face had been gathered from the floor and lay in a neat stack at her side. Snape cast a glance at the pile, a couple of words suddenly catching his attention. Petition for dissolution of marriage.
"He's not always like this though," Hermione said conversationally as she poured wine in their glasses. "Not that it matters anymore," she added, frowning.
"Hermione," Snape cut in, his heart racing. "What is that?" He pointed towards the papers.
"Oh, that," she sighed. "We're getting a divorce. Christopher's been refusing to sign the papers for over a year now. But it seems like he's finally caught on."
"You're getting a ... But that's impossible." Snape said, dumbfounded. "Unless ..." A chill spread through his body. "Unless he's hurting you."
She waved a hand at him dismissively. "What? No, no, it's nothing like that."
He narrowed his eyes at her in suspicion. "Has he been unfaithful to you?"
"That's really none of your business," she replied. "But, no."
"Or did you-"
"Severus."
Snape spread his arms in frustration. "Then I don't see-"
"He's a Muggle," Hermione said pointedly. "And we never bothered with a wizarding ceremony. Christopher never saw the point and nor did I when it came down to it."
"He's ... a Muggle?"
"Yes."
"He's a bloody Muggle and you never bothered to tell me?" Snape said, overcome with shock.
"Well, yes, why does it even matter?" she asked angrily, looking at him like he had gone completely mad.
"It matters ..." he said through clenched teeth, mimicking her tone of voice, "... because it means that the mistake I made a decade ago could have been rectified in an instant. You could have been mine, ten years ago."
"Oh." Hermione reached out for her glass and took a gulp of wine. "I'm sorry to deflate your ego but getting engaged to Christopher wasn't a spur of the moment thing."
She put down her glass and gave him a sympathetic look. "Just because Muggle vows don't shackle you, literally, to someone for the rest of your life doesn't mean they aren't as important or mean any less than wizarding ones." She paused, searching for the right words. "I'm not going to lie, I might have been ... persuaded into doing something else if things had been different but ... I was so young back then. And confused. We would have never lasted, you and me, Severus. Not as it was, anyway."
She gazed out the window.
"And besides, what would you have done? Been a stay-at-home-husband? Hung out with me and my university friends? What if I had decided that I really did want to move to France? Would you have come too?"
"You could have been my apprentice," Snape said quietly.
She stared at him, at a loss for words. "Your what?" she whispered.
He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a yellowed, worn-looking envelope.
"I wrote you a letter of recommendation." He held it out for her to take. "I was supposed to give it to you on your graduation day."
Hermione reached across the table, gingerly taking the letter from him. "It's still sealed?" she asked as she examined the letter.
"I never saw any reason to open it again," he replied, watching apprehensively as she tore the flap open, carefully pulling out two pieces of parchment and unfolding the first one, a glint of excitement and anticipation in her eyes.
"To Whom It May Concern. It gives me great pleasure to write this letter of recommendation on behalf of Hermione Granger," she read aloud.
"Miss Granger is a diligent and ambitious worker, who has risen to all challenges that have been thrown in her way." She stopped and cast a glance at him. "This doesn't sound like you at all, I must've made quite the impression," she smiled.
"Well ..." He took a sip of his wine. If you ever knew.
He watched as she read the rest of the letter, growing quieter with each sentence. When she reached the end of it her lips were slightly parted, eyes wide. "Should she ever be interested, I would gladly offer her an apprenticeship myself," she read quietly.
"I didn't even know you took on apprentices," Hermione said finally, breaking the silence between them.
"I don't." He ran a finger around the rim of his glass. "You would've been my one and only exception." He chanced a glance at her and saw her carefully folding the parchment and putting it back in the envelope, seemingly lost in thought.
"I almost forgot about this," she suddenly exclaimed and held up the second note. "What is it?" She curiously turned it over.
Spiky little notes and untidy drawings, complicated calculations and peculiar combinations of runes were crammed together in between lengthy and detailed instructions, filling the parchment from top to bottom.
"Monkshood, poppy seeds, smoked adder fangs," she read from somewhere in the middle of it all, furrowing her brows. "I know this, it looks like ..." She bit her lip and then inhaled sharply.
"It's the original formula for the Wolfsbane potion." Snape cut in. "I just thought that ... to get you going, but then ..." He cleared his throat, not daring to meet her gaze.
When he finally looked up he could have sworn he saw her wipe a tear from the corner of her eye.
"Okay, you two! You better start wrapping it up, we're closing in five minutes," Jean Granger called out as she disappeared into the kitchen.
Soon enough they where saying goodbye to Mrs Granger, Snape waiting patiently while Hermione took her time promising her that yes, she would come back to visit properly and no, she and Christopher would not be getting back together.
"Take care of yourself, dear," Mrs Granger emphasized as she waved them off. "And Mr Snape." She pursed her lips. "Although it's always interesting when you come around, I must confess that I've had enough excitement for quite some time," she said, giving them one last smile as she locked the door behind them.
"Severus," Hermione cast a sideways glance at him as they slowly walked down the street.
"I know I said that it doesn't matter anymore, but I think ... I think I need to know." She stopped abruptly and turned to face him. "What happened?"
Snape sighed. "I had every intention of committing myself to you back then, Hermione. But then Dumbledore found out about us and he wasn't as understanding as one might have hoped."
Hermione regarded him in silence.
"He threatened to fire me, and then he put a trace on me to make it impossible for me to be alone with any female student without letting him know," Snape continued.
"He what?" Hermione gasped.
"He had it on me for three years," Snape said, casually adding, "He can be quite resentful when he wants to. On the bright side though, it cut my detentions in half for a long time."
She smiled at him. "Quite the joker nowadays, aren't you? Well, I suppose that explains it," she said quietly.
"Hermione." Snape took a deep breath, no doubt spurred on by the wine. "Before you run off getting engaged to somebody else and disappear on me for another ten years, I was wondering ..." He eyed her intently. "... if I could take you out to dinner."
"Severus ..." she said, a pleading note in her voice. "Don't ..."
"No, that's not quite right. You're supposed to turn to me and say something along the lines of 'are you insane?'" He quirked his lips and folded his arms across his chest, looking at her expectantly.
She in turn raised an unconvinced eyebrow at him. "'Have you completely lost your mind?' was the exact phrasing, I believe," she replied dryly.
"Was it really?" His smirk turned into a full smile. "I do have a way with words."
Hermione let out a laugh, the sound making his heart skip a beat. She shrugged and looked at him apologetically. "But I don't think I can reenact this properly. I don't even have any vials to break."
"It could do with a couple of adjustments anyway." He moved closer, overcome with a sudden need to be near her, to touch her.
She met his gaze uncertainly. "Like what?"
"I've had ten years to think about what could have been done differently, Hermione," he replied softly as he reached out and removed a strand of hair from her face, placing it behind her ear. "I should never have let you go, for one."
Hermione's eyes fluttered shut. "Let's just ... let's take it slowly," she said hesitantly, backing away from him slightly.
"Of course." He put his hands in his pockets and peered at the ground, suddenly unsure of what to say.
"But to answer your question; I'd love to have dinner with you sometime," she added quickly.
Sudden relief came crashing down on him like a tidal wave, he could hardly contain the flutter of excitement in his chest. "Would it be acceptable if I owled you?" he said, trying not to sound to eager.
"Yes. Most definitely." She gave him a small, trembling smile. "Goodbye for now then."
And with the turn of a heel she was gone.
Snape watched the thin air from where she had vanished. He could do slowly. He had been doing slowly for the better part of his life, and even though it had been an unsuccessful kind of slowly, this time was different. This time slowly actually had the potential of a happy outcome. If he played his cards right.
Yesterday he had been set on finally letting go of what had seemed like a never-ending nightmare; today, he had been given a second chance.
But then, with the flick of a switch, his excitement turned into nervousness. He hadn't courted a woman, well, ever. He was painfully unaware of the correct procedures and social guidelines.
Wait, courted? he thought, his features immediately turning into a scowl. You sound like Dumbledore's contemporary. Never mind. First things first. Dinner. I need to find a nice, little restaurant. Or maybe even cook myself? No. He shook his head. Definitely find a-
A loud CRACK! brought him out of his reverie and a determined-looking Hermione stood before him once again. Only this time she had a devilish twinkle in her eyes.
He opened his mouth, surprised. "Did you forget-"
"You know what," she cut off, closing the distance between them with three swift steps and pressed herself flush against him. "To hell with slowly."
And then she roughly grabbed a hold of his collar, pulled him down to her face, crushed her lips to his and with one final CRACK! Disapparated them from the spot.
fin
Until You Came Along - Visitors
That's it folks! Thank you for reading, for all your wonderful reviews and for sticking with this story until the very end!