A/N - Thirteen years ago, I wrote the story Power Play and its companion, Master and Commander. At the time, I felt strongly that the story ended there. And in some ways, I think that's still right. But over time, I've also come to see how the story could have played out beyond that last chapter. So while these are technically separate stories, I'd recommend reading Power Play and Master and Commander before reading this epilogue. I initially thought this would be a one-off but now it's looking like maybe 3 or 4 chapters - we'll see.
Edited to fix a few typos.
It was a cool evening in April; though it wasn't quite dusk yet, the sun had already dipped behind the tall, close buildings of Diagon Alley and long shadows had begun stretching across the narrow storefronts, where nearly all of the shops had closed for the night. Severus Snape stepped out of Gringotts into the rapidly dimming light and descended the crooked, yet grand, marble staircase, pausing as he reached the Alley. His minor business completed at the bank, his intention was to return to Hogwarts. However, before he could disapparate, the light from the Leaky Cauldron caught his eye. The pub was quiet, with only a few people drinking inside. The post-work crowd had dispersed for the evening, off to their respective homes and families. The thought of such warm, domestic scenes caused Snape a small and inexplicable pang of grief. Confused by the feeling, he shook it off immediately; just the same, it seemed a calming drink wouldn't be unwelcome and he headed for the Leaky Cauldron.
Stepping inside, Snape surreptitiously scanned the room, confirming there were no familiar faces among the few patrons. Feeling satisfied, he took a seat at a darkened corner of the bar. Not even Hannah, the owner and usual bar mistress, was present, and for that, he was grateful. He didn't dislike Hannah, or for that matter, her husband, Neville, but he wasn't in the mood for chitchat. While it could be argued that Snapes' rough edges had softened a bit over the previous decade or so, there was only so much small talk he could stomach and Neville provided more than enough of that at the Hogwarts High Table each day.
It didn't take long for the unfamiliar barman to take his order and produce a glass of firewhisky on the rocks. The barman seemed to sense his newest patron wasn't inclined to talk, and discreetly took his leave, retreating to the other end of the bar, where he charmed a knife to slice lemons. And for a short time, the pub was peaceful, with only a soft murmur issuing from the few witches and wizards sitting at a handful of tables and the quiet crackling of the fire lending a cozy air as the night fell outside the pub windows. The quiet calm settled on Snape like a blanket, as the firewhisky soothed his jittery nerves, warming him from the inside. He couldn't quite pinpoint why exactly he felt so unsettled but did his best not to give it any thought. It was a strategy that had served him well for quite some time.
As Snape sat by himself, doing his best to ignore his own thoughts, the door to the Leaky Cauldron opened and a man with a familiar tousle of brown hair strode into the pub. Snape closed his eyes and groaned inwardly as Harry Potter took a seat about halfway down the bar. The barman greeted him by name and Harry responded in kind, seemingly on friendly terms. It made sense – as a Ministry employee, this was probably his local haunt. Other Ministry employees likely come here often too, he thought to himself but quickly stamped out the thought, unsure what it even meant.
Snape tried to make himself smaller, tucking himself and his dark robes into the shadowed corner, but it was no use – just as Harry lifted his firewhisky glass to his lips to take a sip, their eyes met. Despite Snape's eternal disdain for the man, Harry's green eyes still evoked complicated feelings in him – they had lessened substantially over the years, particularly due to certain intervening events, but he knew they would never die entirely.
Harry finished his sip and immediately slid off his stool, moving down the length of the bar until he reached the darkened corner. Placing his glass on the bar top with a soft thunk, he sat down on a new stool, leaving one open between them. He took another long sip of his firewhisky before finally speaking.
"Hello, Professor." He was looking straight ahead as he spoke but then turned towards Snape, almost conversationally. Snape, however, continued to stare straight ahead, finally responding, "Potter," with a brief nod of his head. He turned his attention back to his whisky glass.
"Don't see you here very often, particularly not during the school year. What brings you to Diagon Alley?" Harry's tone was friendly enough but Snape knew better – while their animosity towards each other may have cooled since the Dark Lord was vanquished nearly 15 years earlier, they had never become friends and they certainly never engaged in idle banter. He may have been Lily's son, but there was and always would be too much of James Potter in Harry for Snape to ever be able to do anything more than tolerate him.
"I had business at Gringotts," Snape responded, hoping for a quick end to their conversation but sensing that his hope would be in vain.
"Ah, I see. I work nearby - but, of course, you already know that," Harry rambled. He seemed to want to say more but before he could, the barman appeared before them, asking if he wanted another drink. Snape started to shake his head no, hoping to make a quick escape from the pub, but Harry answered first, ordering another round of firewhiskies for them both as he quickly polished off his first. The barman produced another whisky on the rocks for Snape. As he poured another whisky neat for Harry, Snape did not miss the wink and subtle flirtatious smile the barman directed at Harry, nor the redness that rose on the back of Harry's neck in response. Snape raised an eyebrow in surprise but quickly took a swig of his whisky, relaxing his expression before Harry turned back to him.
As far as Snape was aware, Harry was still married to the Weasley girl. And while Snape didn't make a habit of reading about Harry Potter, the Famous, Ever-Beloved Auror and Ministry Star, he was covered too extensively in the Daily Prophet for Severus not to be aware of his marital status. Of course, there had been a few rumors now and again over the years, mostly from the likes of Rita Skeeter, insinuating that all was not as it seemed with the Boy Who Lived, but as Snape had no real interest in Harry or his personal life, he never gave the gossip much thought or credence. Now, however, seeing an opportunity to take the upper hand in whatever this conversation was, Snape turned suddenly towards Harry, narrowing his eyes and asking in a silky voice, "Tell me, Potter, how is your family? Your wife? What takes you away from them so late in the evening?"
Snape felt a small bite of savage pleasure, watching Harry blush furiously as he lost his composure momentarily. But his triumphant moment didn't last long, as Harry recovered quickly, answering smoothly, "They're well, thank you for asking."
Harry cleared his throat, took a sip of whisky, and, retaking control of the conversation, continued, "I'm here this evening because I worked late. Of course, there have been a lot of late nights recently what with…after…well, everything that's happened."
Harry was staring intently at Snape as he spoke, seemingly waiting for a reaction. He cleared his throat again but didn't avert his eyes. Snape sat for a moment in befuddlement, unsure of the reference Harry was making. But even as he puzzled over Harry's words, their meaning suddenly became clear. In a rush, the events of the previous months crowded into his mind – the attack and kidnapping, the agonizing days waiting for news, the dramatic rescue.
Hermione.
All at once, his senses were filled with her. The memory of her was so strong she could have been sitting next to him. He could see her luminous eyes, smell her clean scent, feel her soft cloud of hair. He could taste her skin, her lips, her tongue. He could hear her breathless sigh in his ear.
Snape felt like he had been punched in the gut, the wind knocked out of him. Of course, this wasn't the first time a reference to her had evoked a strong reaction. He had known when he removed his memories of Hermione that he wasn't removing her permanently or irrevocably. The memories were still there, in the dark recesses of his brain, but they were softened, protected. He could go days without thinking of her, drifting through his life in a sort of melancholy peace. It was only when he was reminded of her existence, by reading about her in the newspaper or hearing someone speak about her, that the memories of their time together so many years before flooded his consciousness and he was subsumed by her very being.
Snape struggled to regulate his breathing. He realized his hand was gripped tightly around his glass and he forced himself to loosen his fingers. Trying desperately not to shake, he raised the glass to his lips and took a long swallow, letting the burn steady his nerves a bit. After another sip, he cleared his throat and spoke, willing his voice to be even.
"Yes, of course, Miss Granger. I hope she has recovered from her ordeal." He kept his eyes trained on his glass but he could feel Harry's gaze boring into him.
"It's Mrs. Granger-Weasley," said Harry, almost cautiously. "She hasn't been Miss Granger for ten years, at least." Snape closed his eyes briefly, wincing inwardly at the reminder.
After a beat, Harry continued, "Anyway, she's…" Harry paused, seemingly searching for the right words. "She's struggling. After what she's been through, I suppose that's not surprising. But I don't know, it's worse than I thought it would be. It's been a few months but I feel like she hasn't really…come back to us, I guess, if that makes any sense."
Harry seemed genuinely despondent as he described his friend's current state but any pain he was feeling for his friend could not possibly have matched the torrent of emotions Snape was experiencing in that moment. The thought of the agony that had been inflicted upon her and his inability to help her was tangled up with his memories of the anguish he had inflicted upon her himself once upon a time, creating a surge of anger, shame, desire, and despair. And more than anything, there was a mounting urge to comfort her growing within him, an urge with no outlet.
Snape took a deep, steadying breath and released it slowly. Careful to maintain his veneer of disdain, he asked, "Quite a sad tale, Potter, but what does this have to do with me?" Even as the words were leaving his mouth, he hated himself for speaking them. Internally, he was screaming for her, aching to protect her. But he kept his face expressionless, his hands steady.
Harry didn't answer immediately. Instead, he leaned back in his stool, crossing his arms, a contemplative expression on his face, as he appeared to study Snape intently. After what felt like an eternity, he seemed to come to a decision. Taking a breath and letting it out slowly, he finally responded simply, "I know."
"Potter, you know nothing," Snape sneered automatically in retort. But as he took another long pull on his whisky, emptying the glass, he felt a surge of panic. What does he know? he wondered to himself frantically. He couldn't know about them. Hermione never would have told, he tried to reassure himself.
Harry leaned forward in his seat. "Severus."
Snape's eyes jumped to Harry's face in surprise and their eyes locked.
"I know." They maintained eye contact a beat longer and then Snape looked away. He took a steadying breath, trying not to let his fear show. He knew Harry couldn't use Legilimency on him; Harry had never mastered the art and Snape's own power as an Occlumens was too great. How could he know? He looked to the opposite end of the bar and signaled for another drink. This time, Harry didn't so much as glance at the barman as he poured them another round, instead, keeping his gaze trained on the side of Snape's face. Snape took another long sip of whisky and said nothing, resolutely continuing to look straight ahead, not allowing his face to betray even a hint of the emotions roiling within him.
Finally, Harry spoke again, quietly.
"Eleven years ago, the night before Hermione married Ron, she had too much to drink and she…she confessed something to me. She was having doubts." Harry paused and Snape felt his heart do flipflops in his throat.
"She told me there had been someone else…that she was in love with someone else."
At that, Snape's heart nearly stopped. He could feel it expanding in his throat, threatening to choke him, and he knew better than to try to speak, lest his voice betray him. Was it possible? Had she loved him? He hardly dared to breathe, waiting for Harry's next words.
"I couldn't believe it when she told me. But she refused to tell me who it was. The next morning, she acted like I was crazy when I tried to talk to her about it again. And of course, she and Ron got married, as planned."
"Over the years, from time to time, I wondered who it could have been. Occasionally, I had suspicions or theories but really, I had no idea. And she never brought it up again. And I think she and Ron have been happy, I really do." It almost seemed as though Harry were trying to convince himself, just as much as Snape, of Hermione and Ron's marital bliss. Of course, he recognized it could have just been wishful thinking on his own part. But he didn't have time to dwell on the thought because Harry was continuing.
"Sometimes I would wonder if I had imagined that conversation, it seemed like so long ago. And then all this" - he gestured wildly – "happened, her abduction, us finding her…" Harry trailed off again, a pained expression on his face. With his eyes closed, he continued, "When we found her, she wasn't really conscious. Everything she had been through, the torture…it was both physical and mental. He had beaten her, cut her, used the cruciatus curse…and worse…" Snape felt physically ill but willed himself to remain calm and keep listening. "It had just been too much and she shut down. We wondered if she'd ever come out of it or if she was too far gone, like the Longbottoms…"
Harry was quiet again, briefly lost in his own thoughts and Snape too cringed inwardly at the thought of the poor, helpless couple. The idea that Hermione had nearly met that same dark fate was to gruesome to contemplate. Harry took a breath and sighed, continuing with his thoughts, "But she did start to come out of, thankfully. And I was there when she did. And for hours, while she was in that in-between state, not quite with us and not quite gone, she called out, over and over again…for Severus. For you."
For an instant, Snape could hear nothing else. The room was silent. And then slowly, a quiet buzzing began to sound in his ears, growing steadily. It had been nearly 13 years since she had left him. Thirteen years of him willfully forgetting her and then painfully, agonizingly remembering, and then having to let her go all over again. In all that time, he had always believed she was happy and safe in the life she had chosen. And while it caused him anguish to imagine her that way without him, he couldn't allow himself to picture the alternative. The fantasy life he had briefly glimpsed and then let slip away was not and had never been possible.
Harry was speaking again and Snape quickly shook his head in an effort to clear the buzzing.
"After she came to fully and I was able to take a step back and really think about everything, it all started to make sense. After a while, I remembered Seventh Year at Hogwarts…what it was like for Hermione, how difficult that year seemed to be for her emotionally. How distant she became and how sick…"
At that, Snape turned completely towards Harry, looking him full in the face. Harry narrowed his eyes. "And finally, something clicked. After all this time, it finally all made sense."
Snape's face remained immovable, his dark eyes unfathomable. He kept his gaze trained on Harry and finally asked in a low voice, "Why are you telling me this?"
Harry blinked and for a moment, it didn't seem he would be able to provide an answer. But eventually, he let out an exhausted sigh.
"We just don't know what to do for her, how to help her. Physically, she's okay, and her abilities are all still there but it's like she's just a shadow of the real Hermione. She's a shell of the person she used to be." Harry's eyes were bright with unshed tears and his voice dropped a register. "I can't bear to see her this way, to see what this has done to Ron."
Before he had even finished speaking, Harry seemed to recognize his mistake. Snape had felt his heart breaking at Harry's description of Hermione's wretched state and he yearned to hold her and find some way to repair the damage that had been done. But the mention of Weasley was like a slap to the face, a sharp reminder that Hermione was not his to comfort and console. This was Weasley's job, not Snape's.
Harry turned gaze away from Snape, looking across the bar and let out a deep sigh. "Look, I don't really even know what I'm asking you. When I came in here tonight, I had no idea I was going to find you here. But knowing what I know, I couldn't let the opportunity pass by to talk to you about her. Obviously, there's some kind of connection between you still, we both know it, and - "
"We know no such thing. I am Miss Granger's former professor, nothing more. This 'connection' you speak of is nothing but a fantasy." The words felt like poison as they fell from his lips.
Harry pursed his lips and nodded. "Okay, fine. But if that's truly the case, then why can't you call her by her name? It's Weasley."
Snape couldn't bring himself to deny his feelings once again so instead, he said nothing. Keeping his face turned away from Harry, he picked up his glass and drained it, the ice remnants clinking in the class as he set it back on the bar. Harry seemed to sense the wall of finality that Snape pulled down between them. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
"I guess I've said all I needed to say. I'll leave you alone. But please, please, give what I've said some thought. If you can think of any way to help her, to reach her…" Harry trailed off into silence, drained what was left of his whisky and, rising from his stool, dropped a handful of galleons on the bar.
He glanced at Snape one last time but Snape kept his gaze directed straight across the bar. Harry shook his head sadly. "Goodnight, Professor."
Without turning, Snape inclined his head ever so slightly. "Potter." He trained his eyes on the bar and when he lifted them again sometime later, he was alone.