Castaways on a Sullen Sea
By weasleywheezes

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry that this chapter is short, but it is a transitional period of the story…

Chapter 18 – Regrets

Harry promised Hermione that he would write often when he left for London to work with the Ministry, but she had yet to hear from him months into his mentoring. Ron, who was in Dublin dealing with Quidditch teams, had sent two short notes to her. Hermione knew that her best friends were still hurt by her pronouncement of her feelings for Severus. She thought that perhaps they would get over the initial sting, but as time went on, she realized that she had misjudged them both.

Still no word from Severus. Hermione had dismissed it, knowing that he was occupied with Hogwarts' business. She had not attempted to owl him because of that very fact. The Weasleys were as accommodating as possible. Arthur and Molly both knew about her relationship with Severus, and they tried not to breach the subject. Everyone was uncomfortable with it, including Hermione. She cried herself to sleep most nights. It was a lonely hell. Hermione had never felt so empty. The isolation by itself was more than she wanted to deal with. She knew that Severus would never write; she knew his pride would never allow it. She desperately wanted to talk to him, to share her thoughts and feelings with him as she did during those summer months at Snape Manor. Hermione knew what she had to do. She took out her quill and parchment and began to write a letter.

Dear Professor Snape,
I know you're busy with school and everything, but I wanted…

She rumpled the page into a ball, threw it into the wastebasket, which promptly ate it (it had been enchanted by Fred and George years before). She grabbed another piece of paper and started again.

Dear Severus,
Hello. How are you? Is Hogwarts going well for you?

She stopped briefly, scratched the offending sentence out violently, and cut off the top of the page. Hermione knew that she was overly nervous. There was nothing to do but say what she felt inside. She took a deep breath, composed herself, and put quill to parchment. After an hour of thoughtful pauses and silent curses at herself, Hermione rolled the paper up and threw it away. Platitudes would not make her case. She needed to be direct.

Hermione decided to stop for a moment and think. She was tired. Ever since she had seen her mother lying dead on that slab at the mental institution, she had felt as though a small piece of her had died, also. The feelings of grief didn't really come, though. She wondered if she was going through a strange process of grieving that she had never read about. She wondered if she was being untrue to the memory of her dead mother. She sighed, laid her head down onto the desk, and went to sleep.

Dreams came quickly. She and Severus were back in the hallway, kissing one another, enacting all of their secret fantasies. There was no Dark Mark burning, no call from Voldemort to interrupt them. She dreamed about his mouth on her bare breast, and gave an involuntary shiver. Suddenly, she saw Draco Malfoy. He was standing there, watching them. "Mudblood! You'll die, the blood traitor will die!"

"No, no!" she screamed, but Draco pulled out his wand and killed Severus. She continued to scream, but no sound came out. It was almost as if she was reliving the horrible ordeal that Malfoy had put her through, but this time there was no Professor Snape to save her. Gromnett appeared, holding a fireplace poker, daring Malfoy to do his worst. Malfoy laughed, but disappeared, not before spitting on Severus' prone body.

Hermione woke up, rubbing her eyes and wondering what the dream meant. It was very quiet at the Burrow. No doubt Arthur was still at work and Molly was knitting somewhere downstairs. Hermione rummaged for a small piece of paper, dashed something down on it, sprayed it with her perfume and gave the letter to Errol, the dotty old owl who could barely fly. "Professor Snape, Hogwarts. Please hurry, Errol," she whispered to the poor bird. As she saw Errol fly away, she sat at the window and stared at the horizon. She wondered what Severus was doing at that very moment.

--

The students had noticed a change in Professor Snape. He was still the same ill-tempered bastard he had always been, but there was an obvious sadness, too, as though he had lost something important to him. Weeks passed, and the rumours flew, as rumours were wont to do at a boarding school. According to the entire second year Hufflepuff class, Professor Snape had lost his soul and couldn't find it. The third year Ravenclaws believed that the professor was a vampire, but had lost his taste for blood. The teachers did their best to dispel such gossip, but couldn't.

The teachers themselves wondered what made the potions master even more reclusive. They attempted to talk to him about it, but he sent them away. It was McGonagall who finally broke the silence. She barricaded Severus and herself in the teacher's lounge. "It's her, isn't it, Severus?"

He snapped the book he was reading shut and glared at her. "It's not her. It's nothing."

"I wouldn't say it's nothing. Everyone knows, Severus. Albus and myself are the only ones who know who."

Severus pondered her words for a moment. "Minerva, you cannot possibly expect me to believe that you think I'm a lovesick fool."

"I never said lovesick fool, Severus. You did."

He sighed. As usual, McGonagall bested him at his own game. "And you're certain you're not a Slytherin…"

"Of course I'm not a Slytherin. Stop changing the subject!" Professor McGonagall said, clearly exasperated. "You are pining for Miss Granger. I'm not leaving this room until you admit it."

"Indeed? Then you'll be here for quite a long time, Minerva. I have no intention of saying that."

"Fine. I'll have the Head Boy bring up my things. You'll have to crack sooner or later, Severus. I shall be here when that occurs." She sat in the chair she placed in front of the door and smiled sweetly, felinely, at him.

Severus stomped to the window. He hated it when Minerva McGonagall got the best of him, and he hated that she knew. He stared out the window for a long while and then finally gave up. He sat in the chair opposite his fellow professor and looked her straight in the eyes.

"Fine. Fine! I love her."

Minerva whistled low and adjusted her glasses. She fidgeted for a moment, and then placed her hand on Severus'. "What can I do?"

The question shocked him for a moment. "I…well, I… I suppose there is nothing you can do. I have to forget her."

"Severus Snape, I cannot believe we are having this conversation. I know this is high and mighty Gryffindor talk, but you shouldn't allow a little thing like age to get in the way." She sighed, left her chair. "You would do well to remember that she's not your student any more. You have nothing to stop you."

He stood there for a short time, thinking about Minerva's wise council, then went to his room. Severus sat in the well-worn leather chair in his quarters and rubbed his temples. He thought it would be easier to forget her after classes started, but it seemed to get worse every day. Severus looked at himself in the mirror. He noticed the dark circles under his eyes, the small crow's feet that started to show, the deepening frown lines. He moved closer to his reflection. The light reflected off of the little grey threads that appeared in his hair. Severus yanked a few out, but realized that his quest was in vain. He turned away quickly. "I'm so old," he admitted to himself.

He had heard nothing from Hermione Granger, and he thought he knew why. It was because of the terrible way they had said goodbye, or didn't say goodbye. He mentally kicked himself every time he contemplated of how he had made a mess of things. It was just like him to crush the flower of youth, he thought.

Severus softly touched the Dark Mark and winced with pain. It all came flooding back to him – the beatings, the betrayals, and the fear. He felt the pang of loneliness. He also felt the love and concern that Hermione had given him back at Snape Manor. There was no doubt about it. It was the love that hurt him most of all.

He heard a soft hoot, a giant thump!, and leapt to his feet. Next to the window was an ancient bird with a parchment attached to his leg. He wondered who would be sending him a letter, until he smelled the delicate scent of gardenias. He opened the missive and saw her perfect cursive handwriting. What he saw made him smile, yet broke his heart into a million pieces.

I miss you.