SEVERUS SNAPE, FORMER HEADMASTER AT HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY, ACQUITTED OF ALL CHARGES
Hermione glared at the latest issue of the Daily Prophet, tempted to set it on fire. Of course, she was glad Snape's name had been cleared, but the way they'd written about him…
As a boy, Severus Snape knew nothing but loneliness and deprivation, isolated from his peers by his peculiar behavior. This led to him forming an obsessive attachment to Lily Evans, a beautiful young witch who happened to live nearby. Unfortunately for Snape, Evans never reciprocated his feelings, cutting off all contact on the day they arrived at Hogwarts. From that moment on, she had eyes for no one but James Potter, Quidditch star and fallen hero.
Rejecting Snape's persistent and ultimately futile efforts to win her over, Evans would eventually marry Potter, giving birth to a son. That son, of course, was Harry James Potter, nemesis of Lord Voldemort and future savior of the Wizarding world.
"I can't believe they wrote that." Harry scowled, munching furiously on a piece of toast. "I never said…"
"What did you say? Could it have been misinterpreted?"
"No!"
"Which reporter did you talk to?"
"I didn't talk to any reporters! I only told Kingsley. He said it was strictly confidential, but how else…"
"Harry," she interrupted. "Did you see this?"
"What?"
She shook her head, pointing to the tiny line of script beneath the article.
Written by Rita Skeeter, author of "The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore". Excerpt taken from her upcoming publication, "Snape: Scoundrel or Saint?"
"Bloody hell. I should've known."
"Do you think he's seen it?"
Harry sighed. "I don't know, Hermione. I mean, no one even knows where he is."
"Maybe he's out of the country," she said, trying to be optimistic. "After everything he went through, I'm sure he needed a little time away. He could've gone to France or Spain or Switzerland, someplace where he won't even see it."
"Yeah, but if she's got a book coming out…"
Ron and Ginny entered the kitchen, effectively putting an end to their conversation. They started chatting about Quidditch team rankings instead, not seeming to notice as Hermione ducked out of the room. She headed upstairs, summoning a pair of scissors as she sat down on Ginny's bed. Carefully, she cut out the headline along with Snape's picture, tossing the rest of the paper in the trash bin.
SEVERUS SNAPE ACQUITTED OF ALL CHARGES
Humiliation aside, how would he feel when he received the news? What would he choose to do now that all possibilities were open to him? Would he finally find a way to be happy?
She stared at his photo, recognizing it as the same one the Daily Prophet had used to announce his takeover as headmaster. Had that only been a year ago? It seemed like a lifetime, his grim expression filling her with dread as the trio cowered at Grimmauld Place. She'd seen nothing but cruelty in the harsh lines of his profile, his eyes so cold they'd made her shiver.
Now? All she saw was suffering. It was there in the dark circles under his eyes, obvious in the unhealthy pallor of his skin. For the first time, she realized he'd lost a great deal of weight after Dumbledore's death, his face so gaunt it looked like he hadn't eaten in weeks. How had she missed all that? Why hadn't she seen…
"Hermione?"
Hastily, she stuffed the photo in her beaded bag, forcing herself to smile as Ginny entered the room. "Yeah?"
"We're headed down to Diagon Alley. Wanna come?"
"Oh, no thanks. I think I'll stay here and do some reading."
Ginny rolled her eyes. "You're always reading. Why don't you come out and socialize for once?"
Hermione opened her mouth and then closed it again, biting back a sharp retort. It felt like she did nothing but socialize these days, lucky if she could steal even a few minutes for herself. Life at the Burrow was gradually getting back to normal, heavy silence replaced by constant noise and activity. George often stayed over, while Percy, Bill, and Fleur had begun making daily appearances. She'd never felt more crowded, not helped by Ron's constant need for attention.
"Next time," she told Ginny. "Promise."
Soon enough, the house was relatively quiet. She stretched out on the bed, sighing in relief as she retrieved Snape's picture from her bag.
Strange, perhaps, but she really did miss him. She hadn't seen him in nearly two months, deprived of the visits she'd somehow come to rely on. Her time at St. Mungo's had given her a sense of purpose – now there was nothing to do but sit around the Burrow, each day more monotonous than the last.
What was she supposed to do with herself? For the first time in her life, she didn't have a single goal she was trying to achieve. She wished she could relax and have fun like Harry and Ron, but she couldn't ignore the sense of urgency within her. That feeling had plagued her for as long as she could remember, an intense, almost overwhelming need to accomplish…
To accomplish what? She didn't even know anymore. All she knew was that she had to do something productive. Otherwise, she'd go mad.
"Any ideas?" she asked Snape's picture. He stared back at her, grim faced and stoic, as stiff as a Muggle photograph. The only movement she could detect was a slight flaring of his nostrils, a clear sign that he'd hated having his picture taken.
She didn't mind his stillness, nor the lack of response. Both of those things had become intimately familiar during her time at St. Mungo's, Snape lying quietly beside her as she'd talked for hours on end. She'd found clarity in that silence, feeling more like herself than she had since the end of the war.
Suddenly, she knew what she needed to do. Insane? Perhaps, though it was the only thing that made sense at this particular moment. She set the picture on the bedside table, taking a deep breath before she started to talk.
"I don't know what to do with myself. I really don't. Guess I could get a job, but…"
Gradually, her confusion faded, replaced by a newfound sense of certainty. An hour later, she tucked the picture back in her bag, dashing off a quick letter before she headed downstairs.
"You're what?" Ron stared at her, aghast.
"I'm going back to Hogwarts."
"Why?"
"Because I'd like to continue my studies. Really, Ron, you don't have to look so surprised."
"Surprised? Of course I'm surprised! We've been out of school for more than a year!"
She shrugged. "Professor McGonagall doesn't think I'll have any trouble picking up where I left off."
"Trouble?" Ron shook his head. "Hermione, I'm sure you already know whatever it is they teach in seventh year. What's the point in going back?"
"Well, I'll have a harder time getting into university if I don't finish at Hogwarts. Besides, I wouldn't mind a refresher."
"University?"
"I'm not sure about that yet," she said, "but I'd like to have the option."
"What about…" Run hesitated, staring down at his hands. "What about us? Are you breaking up with me?"
"What? No!"
"But you're going back to Hogwarts."
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean our relationship has to end. We'll just be apart for a little while."
"Nine months," he said, sounding sullen.
"I'll be back for breaks. Really, it won't be so bad."
To her surprise, he didn't protest any further. He did give her the cold shoulder for the next few days, but by the end of August, he seemed resigned to the idea. He even went with her to Kings Cross station, his expression wistful as he told her goodbye.
"You'll write? Promise you'll write."
"I will."
"And no snogging other blokes."
She rolled her eyes. "Trust me, I have no interest in boys. I just want to focus on my studies."
"Okay," he said, sounding a bit more cheerful. "See you at Christmas, then?"
"Of course."
She kissed him goodbye, glad he'd accepted her decision. Time apart was exactly what they needed, a chance to reconcile with the past before they turned their eyes to the future.
"Ready?"
She nodded at Ginny, her stomach fluttering as they boarded the Hogwarts Express. It looked exactly the same, even smelled the same, reminding her of…
"Where is everyone?"
The words had already left Ginny's mouth before she grasped the implications. Hermione watched her turn pale, both of them shaking their heads as they walked past row after row of empty compartments.
No, it wasn't the same. Less than half the students would be returning this year, a stark reminder of how many lives had been lost. Even some of the survivors had chosen to stay away, too scarred to even consider another year at Hogwarts. Their vacant seats were haunting, something Hermione desperately tried to ignore as she and Ginny settled into their seats.
"If everyone else gets to stay home," Ginny said, "I don't see why I can't."
"Don't you want to finish your schooling?"
Ginny shrugged. "I've already learned all the important things. Besides, it's not like I'm going to need it. All I want to do is shag Harry and play Quidditch."
"I know, but…" Hermione hesitated, caught off guard by her frankness. "You're not planning on doing that for the rest of your life, are you?"
"Why not? I can get recruited for a team next year, play a few seasons before I'm ready to retire. Then Harry and I will get married, maybe have a couple kids. I don't need any NEWT level classes for that, do I?"
Hermione shook her head, unable to fathom that level of certainty. At 17, Ginny knew exactly what she wanted, as if her entire life had been planned out since birth. How was it possible to be that confident? When Hermione looked into her own future, she saw a dozen paths she might take, each one more hazy than the last.
"What about you and Ron?"
"I… I honestly don't know. Guess we'll figure it out when the school year's over."
To her relief, Ginny didn't question her further. She dug a book out of her bag, pretending to read for the rest of the journey.
"Ah, we're here!"
She followed Ginny off the train, waiting quietly with the other students for the carriages to arrive. Of course, she had no trouble seeing the Thestrals – they all did, with the exception of a few younger students who'd been spared the carnage of battle.
In that moment, she couldn't help wondering if she'd made a mistake. She'd always loved Hogwarts, but now it seemed foreign, sinister, looming out of the darkness like a monstrous beast. Some of the happiest moments of her life had happened there, yet all she could remember was that final, terrible night, bodies strewn across the grounds like so many fallen leaves.
She averted her eyes, spotting the Shrieking Shack in the distance. Just the sight of it made her feel ill, haunted by the memory of Snape's blood, his scream, the anguish on his face when he'd…
"All right, Hermione?
Somehow, she forced herself to smile. "I'm fine."
"Bit weird, isn't it? Being back here?"
"Yeah, it is."
Indeed, it was strange, yet there was no turning back. Where would she go if she didn't stay here? Back to the Burrow? The thought made her cringe, stiffening her resolve as the castle drew near. Whatever happened, she was determined to make the most of her final year at Hogwarts, hoping it would give her the perspective she needed to move on with her life.
She exited the carriage, taking a deep breath as she stepped into the Entrance Hall. Despite herself, she couldn't help thinking about Snape, wondering what life at Hogwarts would be like without him. He'd always been a fixture here, his scowling face as predictable as the Sorting Ceremony.
"Hermione Granger!"
Professor McGonagall looked as if she'd aged five years, though she seemed to be doing reasonably well. She smiled as she approached, tucking a stray wisp of hair behind her ear.
"Hello, Professor… erm, Headmistress."
"Go ahead and call me Professor. I've been using it so long that I don't know how to answer to anything else."
"Okay." Hermione hesitated, glancing at the door to the Great Hall. "Would you mind if I skipped the feast? I'm feeling a bit…"
"Yes, I'm sure you need a little time to adjust. Go on upstairs – I'll see that your absence is excused."
"Thank you. May I have the password?"
"Oh, you won't be staying in Gryffindor tower. I've arranged for you to have a private room."
"Thanks, but I don't need special privileges. I really don't mind…"
"This isn't a privilege," Professor McGonagall interrupted. "Merely a courtesy. You mentioned in your letter that you'd like to focus on your studies with as few distractions as possible. Naturally, it'll be easier to do that if you have a bit more privacy."
"I didn't mean…" She trailed off, not knowing how to refuse without seeming ungrateful. Besides, she certainly wouldn't mind having a room to herself.
"Ah, I need to get in there for the Sorting Ceremony. You'll find your room in the guest wing on the third floor. Last door on the right."
Hermione nodded, taking a deep breath as she headed upstairs. It took her ages to find the room, tucked away in a little used corridor she'd never noticed before. She reached for the doorknob, gasping as it snapped at her with a set of brass teeth.
"How am I supposed to get in?"
"Answer the riddle," the doorknob replied.
She frowned, leaning down to study it more closely. It had taken the shape of a mouth, lips twitching impatiently.
"Okay, what's the riddle?"
"The more you take, the more you leave behind. What am I?"
"Footsteps."
The door swung open, revealing a small yet comfortable looking room. In the center stood a four poster bed, though it wasn't draped in the House colors she'd come to expect. Instead, the canopy was patterned in neutral shades, soft creams mingling with deep, rich browns.
"Well?" she asked Crookshanks as she released him from his basket. "What do you think?"
He yawned, stretching luxuriously before he hopped up on the bed.
It didn't take her long to unpack. She enlarged her trunk and set it against the wall, hanging her spare school robes in the tiny closet. Retrieving her textbooks and other supplies, she arranged them neatly on the desk, hanging her bag on the back of the chair.
"There," she said. "That's better."
A room to herself? This was one change she could definitely get used to. She'd spent the better part of a year sharing a tent with two boys, followed by an entire summer sleeping in Ginny's room. Her newfound privacy felt wonderful, something she chose to celebrate by stripping down to her knickers before she crawled into bed.
"Lumos."
Summoning a pile of books, she smiled as she settled herself against the pillows. For the first time in as long as she could remember, there was no one around to criticize her for reading too much.
"Oh, no."
Hermione sprang out of bed, cursing under her breath as she summoned her clothes. How had she managed to oversleep? She'd always been so punctual, not satisfied unless she was the first to arrive for her classes.
Of course, that was before she'd spent nearly a year on the run, sleeping in shifts rather than maintaining a normal schedule. It was also before her summer at the Burrow, staying in bed until noon simply because there was nothing better to do.
She shoved her books in her bag, briefly attempting to straighten her hair before she abandoned it as a lost cause. Two more minutes and she was out the door, nearly tripping on her robes as she raced through the halls.
If not for the staircase, she would've made it. Unfortunately, it refused to cooperate, making several false starts before it slid into place. By then, she was 10 minutes late, sighing in frustration as she opened the door to the Potions classroom.
Would Professor Slughorn punish her? Probably not. He'd always treated tardiness as a minor issue, especially with students he favored. One third of the Golden Trio? Honestly, she'd be shocked if he even bothered to take a few House Points.
"Sorry, Professor Slug…" She stopped in her tracks, her eyes widening. "Professor Snape?!"
If he was similarly surprised, he didn't show it. He barely looked at her, jerking his head at an empty seat before he flicked his wand at the blackboard. With that, he swept out of the room, leaving the students to whisper among themselves.
"What's going on?" she hissed at Ginny. "Why is he here?"
"I don't know. Guess he needed the job?"
Surely that couldn't be it. He'd worked at Hogwarts for nearly two decades, earning what must've been a decent salary. What would he have spent it on? He was a single man with no one to provide for other than himself. Obviously, he wasn't materialistic either, so he'd probably accumulated a considerable amount of savings over the years.
But if he didn't need the money, then why was he here? As far as she knew, he'd only agreed to teach as part of his cover, working behind the scenes to protect Harry and defeat Voldemort. Clearly, that was no longer a factor, so why…
She shook her head, slicing off a bit of arrowroot and dropping it in the cauldron. Glancing up at the blackboard, she did her best to focus on Snape's instructions, relieved when her potion turned a perfect shade of crystal blue.
Snape finally returned, placing a basket on the desk before he settled himself in his chair. He never said a word, stonefaced and silent as the students turned in their potions. Ginny's had clearly been botched, though he didn't seem to notice. He just sat there, eyes fixed on the wall as they exited the classroom.
"That was weird," Ginny said, waiting for Hermione to catch up before they headed upstairs.
"I know."
"Honestly though, it's an improvement."
"An improvement?" Hermione stopped in her tracks. "How can you say that?"
"Oh, come on. He didn't take any House Points, did he? No nasty remarks, even left us alone for most of class. He isn't…"
"He isn't himself."
Ginny smiled. "Exactly."
Hermione shook her head, realizing there was no point in responding. Ginny wouldn't understand, nor was she likely to care that Snape might be having a difficult time. All she saw was the effect his behavior had on her, choosing not to question that behavior as long as she benefited from it.
"What's your next class?"
"Arithmancy."
"Right, well, I've got Divination. See you at lunch?"
She nodded, waiting for Ginny to leave before she let out a heavy sigh. She couldn't stop thinking about Snape's apathetic expression, his eyes cold and lifeless as he'd stared past her. What had happened since the last time she'd seen him? He hadn't been like that at St. Mungo's. True, he'd chosen not to speak, but he'd shown a full range of emotions. Now he seemed utterly detached, reminding her of…
"Oh."
Suddenly, she knew where she'd seen that expression. He'd been lying in the Hospital Wing, staring blankly at the ceiling as the healers had arrived to transport him to St. Mungo's. That had been just a couple days after the battle… the last time she'd seen him at Hogwarts.
Had returning here traumatized him that deeply? If so, why on earth had he chosen to stay?
Severus shut the door to his private quarters, summoning a bottle of Firewhiskey. Conjuring a glass, he filled it to the brim, dropping into a battered old armchair.
Minerva had offered to replace his furniture. She'd promised him any number of perks if he agreed to return. He'd refused them all, wishing he had the strength to turn down his former position as well.
"Please, Severus. I know I have no right to ask, but Horace has gone into retirement again and I can't find anyone suitable to take the job."
Why hadn't he said no? He could've stayed at Spinner's End, separating himself from the magical world and all its complications. He wouldn't have had to deal with lingering suspicions or pitying looks, forced to reconcile with a past he still wasn't ready to face.
Then again, there was no hiding from that past. He'd learned that on the day he'd left St. Mungo's, haunted by his own solitude throughout the weeks that followed. He'd shut himself up at Spinner's End, heavy silence pressing in on him from all sides until it felt like he couldn't breathe. Even sleep had given him little respite, punctuated by hideous nightmares that left him gasping for air.
He'd tried to treat himself with potions, finding some relief in Dreamless Sleep. Unfortunately, the effects had grown weaker over time, an inevitable consequence of constant use. By that point, he'd had no other option but alcohol. True, it hadn't helped with the nightmares, but it did take the edge off, numbing his senses to the point where he could function.
Of course, that only created another dilemma. What did it even mean to be functional now that the war was over? He'd tried to keep himself busy with books and brewing, but those were only temporary distractions. No matter what he did, it all seemed pointless somehow. He could never escape the feelings of hollowness and futility that had been with him since the battle.
Well no, that wasn't exactly true, was it? He had found relief, brief, precious moments when he'd felt more like himself. The source of that relief had been as unnerving as it was unexpected… by all rights, Hermione Granger should've been the bane of his existence.
Severus lifted the glass to his lips, realizing that it was empty. He filled it a second time, pausing for a long swallow before he returned to his musings.
Indeed, he should've despised her. He'd certainly hated her during those first, excruciating days, wishing she'd left him to die like he'd told her to do. But then the pain had dissipated, giving way to mind numbing boredom. By that point, he'd been so desperate for a distraction that the rest of it hadn't mattered. He'd accepted her first visit, unable to think of a reason to send her away.
Of course, it hadn't taken her long to give him one. She'd babbled about Potter and the war, subjects he wasn't ready to discuss. Then he had made her leave, figuring that would be the end of it. He'd never expected her to come back, unprepared for the relief he'd felt when she'd returned the following day.
After that, he'd been eager to receive her visits. Pathetic, yes, but he couldn't deny it. He kept telling himself that it was only the distraction he craved, but deep down, he'd known it was more than that. She came to represent a feeling, a reminder, some faint recollection of who he'd once been, filled with urgency and purpose.
That, he supposed, was why he'd agreed to return to Hogwarts. He'd wanted to focus on something other than himself, desperate to feel useful again. Of course, he'd known it wouldn't be easy, but he'd needed to find something to live for. Without that, he was utterly at a loss.
"Accio box."
A small, ornate object flew off the bookcase, landing in his palm. He hadn't opened it since right before the battle, that terrible night when he'd needed all the strength he could muster. It wasn't much, just a torn photograph and a scrap of parchment. Still, they'd bolstered his courage, stiffening his resolve as he'd faced what he'd expected to be the final hours of his life.
He opened the box, staring down at Lily's laughing face as he poured himself another drink. Taking a long swallow, he braced himself for his usual reaction.
It didn't come.
Where was the remorse, the self-hatred, his insatiable craving for absolution? Those feelings were gone now, replaced by a twinge of regret. Even his love for her felt different, soft and bittersweet rather than sharply painful.
Of course, it didn't take him long to figure out why. He'd fulfilled his promise, ridding the world of Voldemort while doing everything in his power to save her son. There was nothing left for him to do now, no debt he still owed her, no part of their past that had been left unresolved. All that existed now were things that couldn't be changed, realities he had no choice but to accept.
He sat there bewildered, no longer haunted by something that had once caused him so much pain. Perhaps it should've been comforting, but that pain had also given him purpose, his driving force for what seemed like a lifetime. What did he had to live for if not Lily? What the hell was he supposed to do with himself?
As much as he'd hoped otherwise, Hogwarts offered no solution to that problem. There were no glaring threats on the horizon, no goal he was trying to achieve, not a single person in need of protection. All he saw before him was countless days of teaching, followed by endless nights alone in his quarters.
Was this all there was, then? Nothing to fear, yes, but nothing to look forward to either. There was no one left who needed him, no one who cared whether he lived or…
Well, perhaps there was one person, but what difference did that make? Whatever Hermione had done, she'd done out of a sense of obligation. Now that he was healed, at least in a physical sense, he had no right to expect anything from her.
Still, he couldn't deny what he'd felt when he'd seen her, emptiness replaced by a flash of relief when she'd walked in his classroom. Unfortunately, that feeling had faded, chased away by the reminder that she wasn't there for him. She'd only come back to finish her schooling, preparing for a future that was far more promising than his own.
That future had nothing to do with him. Indeed, it was unlikely that he'd even be around to witness it. He'd still be here at Hogwarts, no doubt, forced to accept the fact that he had nowhere else to go.