The Unbearable Lightness of Being

After Harry left, Severus allowed himself precisely one minute and forty-three seconds to sit in with his face buried in his hands, overwhelmed and weary to the bone. His earlier words seemed to echo in the gloom of his office: Both of us have everything to lose.

And Voldemort as a demon of the Greater Dead had truly everything to gain.

Everything to lose. As Severus dwelt on that thought, a curious lightness began to spread through him with every breath he took.

Hermione. His young, brilliant, compassionate wife. Alina. A student under his protection. A clever, gifted girl he held dear – almost, he imagined in a rare flight of fancy, like a daughter.

More names surfaced, and the lightness that filled him grew almost unbearable: Minerva, who'd come for him as he stood amid the ruins of his old life. Muriel, poking and prodding and berating him, almost as if he were not a former Death Eater, traitor-hero-murderer, but just another patient and deserving of her care. Lois, who was so much more than just a Muggle speech-therapist.

… Bill Weasley who included him in the circle of camaraderie that always surrounded the young DADA teacher in the staff room so effortlessly as if Severus truly belonged among them.

Severus inhaled as if to steel himself for a blow as he forced himself to confront the next name.

Harry Potter.

No longer a living symbol for guilt, grief, fear, deeds unforgiveable and foul … and a love not meant to be. No longer The-Boy-Who-Lived however many times.

Instead – Severus exhaled very softly – just … Harry Potter.

And a friend now, too.

oooOooo

The castle lay weighted down with the sated silence of dinner when Severus ascended unusually meek stairs to the hospital wing with swift, soft strides.

In front of the door to Hermione's room, Severus hesitated. The effort of will that had taken him here faltered. At the end of the corridor an Oriel window beckoned with welcome respite. As slow steps took him towards the high pointed arches, his mind provided him with convenient excuses to justify this detour: Just a breath of fresh air after a day in the dungeons. Only a quick look around to ascertain that no teenaged miscreant were outside skipping dinner in order to get into more malignant mischief.

Simply staring at the sky, wondering …

This was a different situation, of course. He knew that. Everything was different for him and Hermione. He was not his father. Nor his mother. He was a wizard. Hermione was a witch.

Still … that did not put them on even ground by any means. At the time of their marriage age, experience and their relationship as Master and Apprentice had set them apart. Since then life and Death – a bitter smirk quirked his lips –, had cruelly annihilated what hopes he might have harboured for time to provide a more equal balance between them. At least for the foreseeable future …

And nowhe had reacted with violence in a situation when gentle support had been called for. Of course he realised that his reaction had occurred in a very specific situation. Shock. Hysterics. And Harry had already told him that Hermione had forgiven him.

Still … the fact remained that he had failed Hermione. And while she might forgive what she would – and should! – otherwise condemn in her current, needy, fragile state, he could not absolve himself that easily from his transgression.

Severus leant heavily on the window sill.

Violence had always been a part of his life. Growing up in Spinner's End had meant growing up with violence in many guises; even if his own father had rarely raised his hand to wife and son, at least compared to the standards of the neighbourhood. Later, at Hogwarts, violence had accompanied him on a daily basis, both in his own House and in his confrontations with members of other Houses. While a constrained manner and reserved conduct had been his trademark as a Death Eater, violence permeated those circles. And then came the war with all its consequences …

In spite of the warm light of the spring sunset he was facing, Severus shivered. This time he did not permit himself another sigh. Instead he straightened his shoulders and turned away from the sun.

Enough with the maudlin and moanin'.

oooOooo

When he finally entered the room, the experience was anticlimactic.

Hermione was asleep.

He used magic to move noiselessly and settled in the visitor's chair. On the beside cabinet sat a plate with a cookie – the soft, squishy, American kind. A visitor must have left it for her; Hogwarts House-elves didn't care for foreign food.

Hermione lay on her side, eye patch pressed into the pillow, her body curled protectively around her injured hand. A stray curl fluttered whenever she exhaled. Severus noticed that this particular strand of hair was so light it looked nearly amber. Further careful scrutiny revealed that her magic must be returning already: the countless tiny scratches the explosion had left on her skin were vanishing.

Severus relaxed minutely in his seat. At least her body was healing. How long would it take for her magic to recharge completely? Monday her powers had been depleted to the point where Hogwarts had not recognised her as a witch. Now, only two days later, her magic was already strong enough to start healing her.

Severus frowned. What did that mean? His mind began to dissect the puzzle.

Hermione's magic seemed to be getting used to an unnatural process of depletion and regeneration. And with every cycle more magical energy returned to her quicker. For a moment he considered if this phenomenon could be employed as a method to increase the strength of any wizard. When he returned to his contemplation of what this must mean for Hermione, a muscle at the corner of his mouth started spasming.

A heartbeat later his merciless mind presented him with a logical and utterly devastating conclusion.

oooOooo


A/N: Just as I promised: it's June and I have a bit of time for fanfic writing again at long last. As it's been a while since the last update, please read the first chapters of this story again before asking me about things you don't understand. (It's answering questions or writing new chapters, my friends – the choice is yours!) Apart from that, please feel free to leave a comment. Thank you for reading, and I hope you like this chapter.

P.S.: Just to reassure everyone – I am already working on the next chapter. I definitely won't leave you dangling from that cliffie for six months.