As they sat at a small coffee shop on a busy street in muggle Paris, Hermione watched as Severus ran a hand through his hair, and then tied his hair back in an extremely lackadaisical bun that he usually only reserved for brewing potions that took a very long time. It was going to be warm later, though it was comfortable still now, and he wouldn't pull the sleeves of his long sleeve shirt up. He resorted to tying his hair back instead of using a preemptive cooling charm before he needed one. Her own hair was already up. She'd so rarely seen his hair like that, and she was struck by how attractive she found it now that she was no longer a student. There were loose strands of mostly straight but slightly wavy black hair that fell away, or had never even been pulled back, and she felt herself resisting the urge to tuck one of the black strands behind his ear.
He caught her staring and frowned, but he didn't say anything. He merely lifted his coffee cup to his lips. He tolerated her intense study of him, and only shifted slightly in discomfort.
"I like when you pull your hair back like that," She said. He turned a little pink, and looked back down at his coffee cup. "How do you drink that with double espresso?"
"How do you drink dry wine?" He shrugged. "Acquired taste."
"You talk about that a lot," She noted. "Acquired tastes."
"A lot of things in life are acquired tastes," He mused. "Many beverages, hobbies, even people."
"People?" She asked and cocked an eyebrow.
"I am certain you can think of one person that you've had to be around long enough that you ended up liking them," He said with a smirk and a cocked eyebrow in return.
"I'll think on it and let you know," She teased him. "Can I ask you something?"
He narrowed his eyes. "You should just ask your original question. The asking to ask is pointless."
"Right. Sorry," She said. "What... Happened after the war?"
He looked confused. "What do you mean what happened after the war? I am quite certain you remember the details more than I do, as I spent most of the end of the war in and out of consciousness."
"I don't mean then... I mean... Afterward... The scars on your arm," She said. "You wouldn't let any of us visit. Or maybe it was Saint Mungo's. Or maybe it was both."
"You tried to visit me?" He asked.
"Yes," She said. "You don't remember?"
"I do not," He said. "The better part of the two months directly after the war, I was heavily sedated to allow the wounds to heal. Between months three and nine, I was unable to perform Occlumency. My magic was too weak. As such, I experienced roughly twenty years of war traumas simultaneously. It was relentless... emotionally and physically violent."
Her eyes widened. "You had never processed any of it before, only ... repressed it?"
"Not entirely," He said. "Occlumency, as you know, is powerful and complicated magic. It shields the mind from external penetration, yes. For me, however, it provided a means of organization and processing."
"Like... a sort of filing system?" She asked.
"Yes, that would be an adequate analogy," He said. "I was able to process events, and allow my mind to organize the information and experiences. To experience all of it at once, with no way of keeping my head on straight was... difficult to say the least."
"I can... imagine. Before you went to Saint Mungo's, you... Kept saying you wanted to die... You were... Furious that I'd helped you in the Shrieking Shack. Did you mean that? You wanted to die?" She asked tentatively.
"Yes," He said coolly.
"Why?" She gasped.
"Hermione..." He said lowly. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the small table, and then steepled his hands in front of his face. "Surviving was never part of my plan."
"Why not?" She asked. She crossed her arms, leaned back in her chair, and studied him as he spoke.
"In many ways, my death would have made it much easier for people to accept what I had done as good," Severus said. "I accepted the short term consequences of the villainous role I had taken, but I was not prepared for the long term consequences in any way. Living meant questioning. Every day. For the rest of my life. I am better now than I was then, healthier, marginally more agreeable, what have you, but I am still very much me. My personality has not changed that much, or rather, it could never change enough." His voice was even as he spoke about something that was so painful for Hermione to hear.
"But living means you get to tell your story," She said.
"And have I done that? Told my story?" He raised an eyebrow. "I did not do what I did to tell my story. My story was told by many people - some of the versions held more truth than others. Potter's, for example, came directly from me, but it was colored by his romanticization. Rita Skeeter, on the other hand, spun a tale that was far more fictional and exaggerated. She intended to publish that poor excuse for a biography whether I lived or died as my fate when she published it was still very much up on the air," He said.
"You were still sedated when she published that," Hermione said. "How did they collect it? She argued it was censorship throughout the entire process."
"I do not actually know that particular story entirely. It is my understanding that Albus, via his portrait, and Minerva hired an attorney. They prosecuted her for libel. Albus was able to prove the falsehoods in over fifty percent of her book," He said. "Thus, what was sold was to be recollected, though I am sure not all copies were collected, and she was forbidden to publish anymore, and she had to pay restitution to me. The manuscript was destroyed."
"Restitution?"
He smirked. "Yes. A fairly hefty sum."
"What'd you do with it?"
"That, I have you to thank for - your righteous anger about the book on my behalf in exposing her as an unregistered Animagus provided the perfect revenge. I sent the exact amount's worth dead beetles to her home," He said. She started laughing. "It was rather difficult to do, actually. I bought out the entire stock of several apothecaries in Britain."
"Worth it, I'm sure," She laughed.
"Oh, yes," He smiled a dangerous smile.
"Did you ever read it?"
"Yes," He said.
"So did I..." She admitted.
"While there were some truths, it was so far from reality that it rather felt like I was reading someone else's story. She attributed so much to me, things for which I was not even present," He said. "Still, the story's short circulation did enough damage."
"The book, and memories... Is that combination what caused the... Spiral, where you started hurting yourself?"
He looked away from her for the first time. His dark eyes moved up and down the busy street. "In part," He said after a time. "The book, and the trial... were an egregious violation of my privacy, and I'm sure you deduced many years ago how much I value privacy."
"Harry wasn't trying to violate your privacy," Hermione said, but he held up a hand, though his eyes moved over the people walking down the sidewalk.
"Of that, I am aware, yet in order to keep me out of Azkaban, Potter had to share what I'd given him," He said. "You were at the trial, Hermione. You saw the memories. Humiliation does not do justice to what I felt having such things played out before the Wizengamot. I'm sure you can imagine how death might have seemed more appealing to me."
"I..." The memories flashed in her head. His dark eyes studied her eyes intensely, not prying into her mind, but... Recognizing.
"You have never asked about those memories," He said.
"I don't intend to ask about them," She said. "I saw them. I saw you at your trial while everyone saw them. That's... enough. If you want to talk about what was in them, that's up to you, but I've seen your hand in that particular game. You don't need to show me those cards."
He looked over her face and frowned. "I am grateful," He said. "After I was able to summon enough magic to use Occlumency again, things were easier. I still had many things to work through, to file, if you will, but I was able to manage my own emotions better," He explained. "After the trial, when I was released under Minerva's watch to resume my teaching post, I was..." He looked away from her again. "Lost seems like an inadequate term, yet it is the only one that comes to mind. I would disassociate, wander around, and end up places with no recollection of how I got there."
"Really?"
He nodded. "Usually, it happened when I was working through a particularly traumatizing memory."
"Why didn't you talk to anyone? You're wonderful at talking with me. It seems like it's good for you?" She asked.
"It is," He assured her. "More than you know. I have very little friendships in which I could be vulnerable in any capacity. Truly, perhaps, I could only be so with Minerva, but it would be horribly awkward for both of us."
"What about Professor Dumbledore?" She asked.
He grimaced. "No. He has... Seen enough of me." He swallowed and looked back at her face. "You, however, are an exception. We are married. I have never lied to you, nor will I ever lie to you. Any omission is a lie. To make the best of this," He gestured between the two of them, "I must be transparent. I have little relationship experience in any context - friendly or romantic, but I know the theory of what's required for one to succeed. At the very least, I had plenty of examples in my life that showed me what not to do anyhow."
"So you want us to succeed, do you?" She asked playfully.
"Of course. I am a Slytherin," He said. "Now, might we move onto a lighter topic? Perhaps while we walk?" He asked.
He shifted a bit in awkward tension. He'd answered her questions. He'd given her incredible honesty, but it made him vulnerable, which wasn't comfortable for him. She wasn't sure if it ever would be. She had a million other questions, but they could wait. The man was incredibly brave, and strong, more so than she'd ever imagined. She smiled and nodded. He took their cups inside the shop, and then when he reappeared she stood. Feeling a tiny chill run down her spine, she looked at him. He'd cast a nonverbal cooling spell on both of them.
"Severus!" She teased in a light scold.
"What?" He asked incredulously. "It's bad enough I'm dressed like a muggle. I certainly won't suffer like one."