On Turning Thirty

The Story of Hermione Granger..Spinster

Chapter One

Lord, I hate the morning! Especially this morning as it is my birthday today.

The big 3-0. Gods, where has the time gone?

I suppose that I will have to get up soon, as I am sure that Harry and Ron will be pounding on my door any time now, shouting at me to get up and stop lying about. Ronald has probably fixed a huge breakfast in my honor and afterwards Harry will drag me to Diagon Alley for a day of pampering.

All of this designed to keep me out of the flat so that Ron can get it ready for the surprise party they are throwing me.

Really, those two! As if I wouldn't guess…I mean I was the first to guess, and quite rightly that they were, well, gay. To this day I pat myself on the back for my brilliant bit of matchmaking. But I digress.

I am thirty today. Oh. Joy. Woopee!

I really don't want to get out of bed. What's so great about turning thirty? I have no life, I live with Harry and Ron, and I work for The Ministry. I visit Mum and Dad nearly every weekend and try to ignore Aunt Mini's attempts to fix me up with "a nice young man who is so suited" for me. Oh bother! I suppose that Aunt Mini and my parents are invited tonight as well. Please, oh please don't let Aunt Mini drag another "date" along.

I don't think that I will be able to maintain my civility.

Well, it hasn't been that bad, really, my life I mean. Harry killed off Voldemort exactly six months to the day we were graduated from Hogwarts. I will be the first to admit that the war has changed my life in ways that my eighteen year old self couldn't have imagined. Death tends to do that to people anyway. Especially when it's your peers who die and not old people, like it's supposed to be.

Old people. Old wizards. They are the ones who are supposed to die. Not the children. Molly Weasley would be the first to tell you that. She lost Ginny and Charlie. She nearly lost Arthur. I can't imagine it, and I don't know how she manages to go on.

The more I think about it, it was all so senseless. Voldemort was a psychotic to be sure, and his disease touched and changed the lives of so many! The logical, analytical side of my mind can understand the theory behind it, the physiology of it all. The course of the sickness and all, but the other side of me cannot grasp it.

I mean how could a soul be that twisted?

I had managed to go on up until then, convinced that the human condition couldn't get any worse than a megalomaniac sociopath wizard.

I was at home with my parents for a long visit on September 11, and I remember watching in horror as the Twin Towers collapsed. Being Muggleborn I have working knowledge of both the magical and non-magical worlds, yet as the source of the monstrosity was proclaimed, I found myself again wondering at the depths of hate the human soul could achieve. I found myself wondering how those who survived could go on, the widows and widowers, the people who escaped. I knew that there would be survivor's guilt. I had and still do experience it myself. Yet, something drew me to the scene of the disaster. I spent an entire six months there, at the site, volunteering in the clean up effort. I had to go, it was as if I was compelled in some sort of way. My parents were horrified at the prospect of my endangering myself, yet they too understood my need to go. Harry looked at me with the saddest eyes, but he didn't say anything. I knew that he understood. Ron, bless his heart, tried to understand. He told me to owl him for whatever I might need.

I apparated straight to the site, and no one noticed.

I thought I was prepared. I had fought in a war after all. Yet this was so different. I could hear the cries of the dying, still. Their spirits still trapped in the rubble, wandering, wondering and lost. The whole site smelled of death and the familiarity of that smell was what kept me going.

I learned a lot about myself in that time, about life. The most important lesson was that no matter whether or not we possess magical abilities, Witch, Wizard or Muggle—we are all still human. We all still share the same emotions, desire and faults and goodness is not inherent…evil is.

I learned that I couldn't escape my humanity, just like Voldemort couldn't escape his. Just like Mussolini couldn't escape it, not Hitler, or Bin Laden. Whichever world I choose to live in, there would be evil and there would be good. There would be hate and there would be love. Babies would be born, some would die, and some would live. There would be abuses, there would be love. We would eventually grow old and die. There was no escape from it.

In the end the only person I was responsible for was myself. The only person I had to please was myself and I couldn't control the feelings or actions of others. Good may triumph over evil, but at a great cost to the innocent. Perhaps too great a cost.

So here I sit, in my bed in a rather nice flat on my thirtieth birthday. Alone. Unmarried and not quite content. Waiting for Ron's pounding on my door. Ready to put on the happy face that they, everyone expects.

It is a mask really.

I hate my life.

I hate this world.

Oh and there is Ronald, not pounding actually but knocking politely on my door. Maybe I should ignore him, just burrow under my comforter and hide in the darkness. But no..in he comes.

There is something quite nice about being best friends with a couple of poufs. I feel quite pampered actually after my day with Harry (I was right, Diagon Alley). Madam Malkin was smiling when we left and my wardrobe is fuller by three gowns, two capes and various gloves, stockings and shoes. I was a bit wary of Harry spending so much on me, and told him as much, but he waived it off as he led me into Le Boucherie for a killer lunch.

I have no idea how much money he spent on me, and I felt quite decadent as I was getting my massage. Hot stones are a miracle in and of themselves.

I, of course, pretended to be surprised, when I walked through the door to the flat to a room full of friends all yelling Happy Birthday. I playfully slapped Harry and shoved Ron before I hugged them and kissed their cheeks.

Everyone was there. Mum and dad. Aunt Mini with young man in tow. Albus and Minerva, Remus and Tonks and surprise surprise….Severus Snape.

Whatever possessed him to show is beyond me. I mean really. Why? He hates me. Bastard wouldn't even write me a recommendation to my university. Not that it mattered, but still. I was his best student.

Yet there he was, standing with, yet apart from the rest of the group. He didn't smile or anything weird like that, but he was shouting "surprise" with the rest of them.

Well, maybe not shouting, but he did say it. I mean..I was watching him. Who wouldn't? His presence was enough to make you watch him. Severus Snape at a birthday party?

A birthday party thrown by Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley.

The poor man stood out like a Hippogriff in a china shop.

It's been nearly ten years since I laid eyes on him and he hasn't changed a jot. He still wears black from head to foot, buttons everywhere! He reminds me of a Victorian gentleman.

He still sneers, his hair is still lanky, his complexion still is sallow—I found myself biting my tongue in suggestion a membership to a tanning parlor while he was conversing with me.

Yes, Severus Snape, resident bastard of Hogwarts, Potions master par excellence, former Death Eater, bane of Gryffindor's the world over actually held a conversation with me. A conversation free of snarkiness. An intelligent conversation. About my life and how it was going.

He asked me if I were doing well after my trip to New York! Who told him? Surely not the boys? Perhaps Albus? He knew about the trip though my parents, I think. Hell Albus knows everything, so why am I even speculating?

I am slightly tipsy and so I digress.

It's two in the morning and the last of the guests left about a half hour ago. I am so tired and my head feels like it shall float off of my neck at any moment now.

I should have never drunk that punch Fred brought.

I don't think that I danced on a table or anything…but I am fairly sure that when I read over this tomorrow I will not recognize this entry at all.

Severus Snape was at my party!!

Oh dear! Am quite queasy and in need of a cigarette.

Bad habit I picked up in New York. It was either smoke or go raving. Where are my cigs?

Ahhhhh…… nothing like the satisfaction of nicotine fix. Especially when snookered. Damn Fred Weasley.

Where was I?

Oh, yes. Severus Snape was actually at my party.

He didn't look happy about it, but I doubt the man has ever really smiled anyway.

Why was he here?

I haven't seen him in about five years anyway and only then it was because he guest lectured at Uni. He took me to the obligatory dinner after Professor Baltizar re-introduced us (as if we needed it!).

I got the occasional response to letters I wrote inquiring after his health and what not. He was even helpful with a project or two. Other than that I see him only at the parties celebrating the anniversary of Voldemort's defeat.

I hate Ministry functions by the way.

Yet, he was here, in my very living room tonight. He drank with us, participated in the toast to my thirtieth year and he brought me a present. A nice present actually.

It's in the place of honor on my bookcase. A complete collection of Jane Austen. Leather bound and personalized for me.

Wow.

I was speechless then, and I am still. I mean, Severus Snape knowing about Jane Austen, much less actually going into Muggle London and buying me the collection?

Oh…owl tapping at window.

Oh HOLY SHIT!

No.

It's a prank surely?

It's simply not possible.

He's soooo anti social!