Long time no update.

However, I took advantage of finals week and wrote this up. I'd say 'hope you enjoy it', but…read on. You'll see.

Disclaimer: Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape, and Hermione Granger do not belong to me.

It had been a week since that night. A week, Severus thought, of no Hermione.

He would have never been able to predict the thoughts coming to him now, but it seemed as if everything were missing. The eccentric knocks on the front door at the least expected times never pulled him from his tasks. Her bubbly laughter never floated in from the other room, and her brown, frizzy hair never got in the way. Even small things like the absence of leftovers from a meal they had cooked together seemed to make the strangest places look empty, like the fridge.

He slammed his book with a frustrated growl as he pushed himself out of his chair and paced the rug in the library. Where was she? Couldn't she have at least told him where she was? He'd called her time and time again, hearing the same voice every time as it repeated its cheerful message. He'd hang up over and over, growling at the annoying beep as it sounded its sharp note. The only exception was yesterday morning. After calling her twice, he'd decided that leaving a message was in order. He still hadn't received an answer.

Was she purposely ignoring him? He knew that the time they had spent at the park that night had been far from pleasant, but she hadn't run away from him. Yet. Maybe she had thought it would be a good idea to pack up and hurry away before he could find her. He sneered. She was a Gryffindor; they didn't run away from the likes of a Slytherin.

Of course, she didn't owe anything to him.

Exhaling slowly, he gazed past the window to a small, empty patch of dirt by the gazebo. His eyes misted over slightly as he recalled the day they had spent there. The shade of the trees and the dapples of sunlight kissed their skin, and the grass underfoot caressed their feet. Then, there had been a group of golden daffodils, raised toward the sun. Now, only the brown soil remained. The tousled bumps reminded him strongly of the time they had dug up the last plants.

"But why not just move them?" she insisted. "That's a lot of bulbs you're throwing away."

"Do you see anywhere to move them?" He grunted as he pulled out a particularly stubborn stalk. She fluttered anxiously about him.

"What if I take a few home? They could still last for a few more days, can't they?"

He threw the last stalk in the neat pile beside him. Sitting back on his heels, he looked up at her. "Why?"

She sighed in exasperation. "They're flowers, Severus. Flowers live. It's not right to just throw them away because you think that their slightly tanned petals will ruin the vivacity of your garden."

"I already told you, it's not because I think they're ugly," he explained patiently. "The soil's not right for them."

"Fine. Then what can we grow here?"

He contemplated the soil for a moment, his fingers stroking the petal of a particularly light daffodil. "What do you want to grow?"

"I've always like fuchsia."

His lip quirked. "There's a big difference between a patch of soil on the ground and a hanging basket."

"Oh." She flushed in embarrassment, chewing her lip. A moment later, her eyes brightened. "What about lilies?"

He thought about it for a bit. Well, why not? Oranges and whites blossomed in his mind, complementing the green blades of grass perfectly. He imagined Ginger winding her way through the tall stalks, batting at a petal.

"I think," he said slowly, "that it would be a great idea."

They'd never gotten the chance to buy any. As everything else seemed to be, it was just a memory.

Turning away, he exited the room and stepped heavily down the stairs. The sunlight streaming in from the window down the hall seemed so dull, and the dust motes circling about him suddenly left him feeling very oppressed. In two fluid movements, he pulled on his boots and stepped outside.

He inhaled slowly, taking in the crisp air around him. An early fallen leaf crinkled beneath his heel, the bits whispering as they brushed across the walkway, branching out around him. It was as if there was a bubble surrounding him—the air didn't quite brush his cheeks, the sounds about him didn't quite reach his ears. It was as if nothing could touch him.

He felt beyond irritated. So what if he happened to be in vacuum in the middle of his garden where nothing just happened to be able to touch him?

How the hell had her leaving been able to make such an important impact?

The warmth of the sun lightly pressed on his eyelids, their weight growing heavy. Blinking as if to brush away the cobwebs in his eyes, he ran a hand along his cheek. So tired…

A brisk walk would have to do. With a renewed vigor forced upon every limb, he made the park his destination. The last beauty of summer hung delicately before him, but he didn't stop to take it in. It occurred to him that had Hermione been here with him, perhaps he would have taken the time. Everything would have been…

Perfect?

Thoroughly angry with himself now, he threw himself moodily on to the bench he usually occupied. Why was he sitting in her seat?

Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to care enough to move.

Both legs outstretched onto the path before him as he sat slightly askew on the bench, he crossed his arms and let his chin drop to rest on his chest. He stared at a pebble for awhile, turning it over with his toe. Slowly, his eyes closed.

Something bit at his toe.

He wiggled his shoe a bit, pulling it back.

Something pulled it back just as insistently.

He cracked open one eyelid, his eyebrow rising at the duck now settling its bulk on his shoe. It's plump body, combined with its fluffy feathers, covered his foot completely.

Hermione would have laughed at the sight of a duck turning itself into his slipper. It just stared at him, opening and closing its beak as it swiveled its head a bit before settling its gaze on him once again.

Slightly, he flicked his foot. It waved its wings a bit for balance, then settled down again.

Slowly, he eased his foot from underneath the duck. It looked ruffled for a few moments, then began to pursue his foot again.

He closed his eyes briefly, then:

"GO AWAY!"

He leapt up, his face working furiously. In a startled squawk, the bundle leapt a bit before flying away, still calling. It mingled with the echo of his shout, both hanging in the startled silence around him.

She would have laughed.

Damn it! Why did she keep popping up in his thoughts? The wind adjusted and he shivered a bit, settling back down onto the bench. He couldn't help but feel slightly…disturbed.

Dismissing the thought, he closed his eyes again, hoping that he might be able to ignore the wooden planks digging into his back for a bit of sleep.

However, that was far from coming.

As the wind picked up, a slight curtain of mist blew; covering everything it touched in a fine layer of moisture. He watched a strand of hair wave slightly, a few tiny droplets of water coating it. The wind dropped a bit then picked up again, buffeting the few fallen leaves that were shriveled on the ground. Tumbling and dancing, they lightly kissed the pavement before falling into the grass beyond.

Memories were a lot like that, he thought. New and delicate, they were cherished, like the leaves slowly unfurling on the twig of a tree. Nourished, they kept growing, a large part of life. All too suddenly, something would come and crush it, leaving it in plain view so that it couldn't be ignored. Gradually, the pain would ease, and the memories would blow away, gone from sight but still there.

Yes, memories were a lot like leaves indeed. He snorted moodily. He must have grown soft.

What happened to the bat of the dungeons that could scare away a first year with a careless glance? What about the snarky git that could ignore everything around him and keep his heart tucked out of everyone's view?

Well, almost everyone.

There would be exceptions. Sometimes, when his alcohol couldn't numb the overwhelming pain, when his potions couldn't keep away the horrifying dreams, he would go to Albus. Somehow, the old wizard would always be there, a small lantern before him, the whir of instruments a calming, soothing murmur. A small twinkle would appear in his understanding blue eyes, amazingly clear and wise, as he offered a cup of tea, replaced with worry when his colleague would refuse. The wizard could listen to Severus' tantrums and fits of rage like no one else could, even when the walls around them came crashing down.

The very image of a strong wizard, he was. Like a true Gryffindor, he would willingly bear the burdens of many others, always brave and strong.

Then here was Hermione. Or was it Jane? To him, she was like two different people. He had never gotten to know any of his students, and didn't make any special advances to learn about Hermione Granger either. She was the bookworm, know-it-all, and Gryffindor star pupil.

But Jane was different. She was the bubbly smiling young woman who didn't mind running to someone if she needed comfort, or if someone ran to her for a small moment of rare understanding. She was the one who smiled at every greeting, every word. She was the one who adopted cats and tended to gardens, who cooked and read on every subject imaginable. She was the one who stopped by everyday for a small conversation, halting reality for a few carefree moments…

But then, who was she now? Was she Hermione? Jane? Someone else? Indeed, both of them seemed like figments of the past.

Severus tried to banish the thoughts from his mind, but they persisted. Maybe he still had yet to learn from them before they would go away.

As the rain blew harder, a teardrop fell from his eyes, mingling with the wetness there.

"Severus? Severus?"

He caught a glimpse of the voice calling his name, but it was fuzzy, as if it were too far away.

"Severus?"

He heard a tinkling laugh as he stirred. Nodding slowly, he blinked, his vision blurry.

"Wake up, sleepyhead."

The feeling of four paws leaping onto his lap then tickling and kneading his thighs brought him fully awake. Ginger's whiskers brushed his cheek lightly as she nuzzled his neck. Bringing his hand up to stroke the cat, he looked up, and his breath caught.

"Hermione?" He asked softly.

"Yes, of course". She frowned. "Who did you think I was?"

He contemplated the question as the cat purred beneath his ministrations. He couldn't tell her that he had been frightened for a moment that she might have been Jane, that she might not have remembered anything, could he?

"I'm not Jane, Severus." She spoke as if she could read his thoughts. Kneeling next to him, she played with Ginger's tail. Then she looked up, her eyes inquiring. "Why would I be? You told me, didn't you?"

"Told you what?" He studied her, put she averted her eyes.

"What was most important to me. My memories…my life."

He lifted up the furry bundle in his lap, settling it closer to Jane. The cat stared at him curiously for a moment before cuddling with her owner. He took the opportunity to stretch a bit.

"I didn't just tell you," he reminded her. "I also hid them from you."

"I've been meaning to ask you: Why did you hide them from me?"

He stood up, arms crossed as he stared out into the distance. "Because I was scared." It seemed as if he admitted to being scared of a lot of things these days.

"Scared of what?"

He shrugged, feeling her eyes bore into his back. Ginger leapt lightly to the ground behind him, twisting about his ankles a bit before disappearing between the trunks in a grove of trees.

"I don't know. Maybe that you'd hate me…or leave."

She stood up and came to stand beside him, her arm brushing his.

"I wouldn't just leave."

"Then where were you? For a week?" He felt a protective anger welling up inside.

She laughed softly. "I'm still not here, you know."

"What?"

"You're so vulnerable in your dreams."

Around him, things began to shift. The park he was in faded, and everything darkened. The floor was black, stretching to infinity. At the edges, a pinkish light glowed. It was like a sunrise, rising from every direction. It brought out her eyes from the shadows on her face, he noticed. He took in the small stars dotting the sky, faintly twinkling.

"A dream?" he repeated. "Then how are you here?"

She smiled, as if she knew something he didn't. Leaning over, she put a finger on his lips to shush him.

"Magic." Stairs materialized, and she began climbing them. They seemed to have no end, and he didn't know where the zigzagging staircase would eventually lead them. However, he followed her. She spoke again.

"You told me once that you didn't believe in magic anymore. What would it take to make you believe in it again?"

"I don't know."

"How do you not know?" She seemed to think a bit. "Well, do you believe in magic because I've appeared in your dream?"

He nearly snorted. "No."

She shrugged, then twirled on a landing. "At least it's a place to start." He watched her, afraid she might fall. As if she heard his thoughts, she turned towards him. "What if I did this?"

She jumped in a graceful arc from the landing. Horrified, he watched her fall for a hear-stopping second, the float in nothingness. She laughed at the expression on his face. "Did you think I would disappear? It's your dream; I can't fall if you don't want me to."

"I'd still feel all the better if you didn't jump."

To tease him, she just fluttered away further. "I have a secret."

He felt a bit irked by her careless change of topic. He took a seat on the landing, his legs dangling off the edge. He raised an eyebrow at her expectant expression. "Really?"

"Yes." Content, she continued to dance, as if the random topic didn't mean anything.

"Would you tell me?" He couldn't help but feel a little curious.

"You wouldn't be able to understand it if you didn't believe in magic."

He sighed in exasperation. "How do I 'believe in magic'?"

"Come and dance with me." He couldn't tell if that was an answer or if she hadn't heard him. "Come on."

Tentatively, he took a step. It felt as if he were…floating. Maybe it was because of the lack of ground beneath his feet. Before he could get used to this new change, she grabbed his arm and twirled him around. He laughed softly at the delighted look on her face, regaining control. "Music, perhaps?"

"Certainly."

She snuggled up to him as he wrapped his arms around her, and music began to play. The sounds were muted as if they were to fade at any moment, rising then pulling away.

"Now?" She asked, her voice muffled.

"Now what?"

"Now do you believe in magic?"

He decided to humor her. The corners of his mouth twitched. "Almost." She sighed, a small exhale ruffling the tips of his hair.

"What do I have to?"

Well, it was his dream, so why not? He bent down a bit so that his lips were beside her ear. "Kiss me."

She pulled back slightly in surprise. This time, it was he who laughed at her expression.

"Well?" He waited.

"Anything, I suppose, to make you believe in magic." She brushed her lips across his cheek, then rested her head on his chest again.

"Now?"

"Maybe." He smirked at her pout, giving up. "Yes."

"Good." This time, the slowly pulsing music faded away completely. She pulled away. "Now I can tell you my secret." She continued humming small strains of the music to herself, a solitary dancing figure.

"Okay." He raised an eyebrow, prompting her. She didn't seem to notice. He growled. He would have chosen that moment to wake up if she hadn't finally decided to comply. Even then, sleep began to slip.

She stood on tip-toe, close to him. "I love you."

Kissing him full on the mouth, she disappeared, fadingalong with the stars around him…

He blinked, his fingers reaching up to smooth a crick on his neck. Damn, it really was raining.

Deciding that the rain didn't feel all too horrible, he straightened into a more comfortable position, wiping some of the rain from his forehead. His thoughts wandered back to the dream.

The images were still vibrant and sharp in his mind. As he mentally went through it again, he realized that there wasn't a single fuzzy spot. Indeed, it felt as real as some of the nightmares he used to have, when the Dark Lord had communicated with him through sleep…

He pushed back the thought. It did no good dwelling on matters so old. But…what if she really was trying to tell him something? She certainly had enough magic to send him a dream. But why?

Pushing himself up, he began to walk back. The street lamps glowed in the darkness, rain catching the light like shards before disappearing in the shadows again. Feeling the rain come down harder and already soaked to the bone, he fumbled with the doorknob, stepping into the tiled foyer.

He grimaced at the quiet. All he could hear was the dripping of his coat. Flicking on a pair of light switches, he hit the next switch in the kitchen. The dark interior illuminated, he grabbed one of the towels from the rack, drying off his hair, then wrapping it around his neck. He spotted his answering machine, the message light blinking, and made his way around the counter to it. Frowning, he played the message.

Sst, ssst, sst.

It was fuzzy, and he listened to a few seconds of silence, jumping when the strong voice of a careworn man began to speak.

Hello, this is Doctor Windhyme, Jane's doctor.

He froze, then slowly put down the towel, listening with dread.

I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but at six o'clock this evening, she passed away from brain complications. We give you our deepest regrets. If you could contact me…

He heard no more, stunned.

Hermione was dead?

Dun dun dun. Is she dead? Does magic save her?

Review with your opinions! I'd love to hear what you think!