Chapter 47
When Hermione returned to Severus' rooms, the Headmaster's words of wisdom echoing in her mind, she found him standing by the window, his back to the rest of the room. With the darkness outside and the soft firelight in the sitting room, Hermione could see his reflection, the Daily Prophet in his left hand.
Approaching cautiously from one side, Hermione saw his eyes were fixed on the photograph that captured the moments around Draco's death; his hand was shaking.
"Severus?" She kept her voice barely above a whisper. His stay in St Mungo's, the slow recovery of his own body and his guilt over Draco's death had pushed him closer and closer to breaking point over the past week. Whether his temper would snap and he would lash out, or finally break down, Hermione wasn't certain; the line between his despair and anger seemed thin and blurred. She trusted him not to hurt her – he would be more likely to direct his anger at his own person – but that didn't mean she would unnecessarily antagonise him, either.
But she had to do something to pull him from his misery… somehow, she would, for both their sakes.
Hermione stopped a few feet from him, watching him uncertainly and trying to gauge his mindset.
"You don't need to be here," he finally said, dropping the hand holding the Prophet to his side.
"I know that," she responded, moving forward a single pace. "I want to be… if you want me here."
His reflection's eyes flickered to meet hers in the window, but then he turned away from her and walked slowly across the room to the fireplace, standing close to the hearth – whether for warmth or light, Hermione wasn't sure, but she followed a short distance and stopped, giving him the space he seemed to need.
"I don't know what I want, Hermione… I just… I just don't know," he sighed, glancing at the photograph again, clearer in the light from the crackling fire. After a moment, he went on, "I should know by now that life is rarely fair, that those who deserve some semblance of respect rarely receive it, even in death. I just wish he, of all people, could have the proper farewell he deserves… given his death was hardly his fault."
"It was Voldemort who took Draco's life, Severus," Hermione said, hearing the unspoken self-blame in his words. "Not you, not the Headmaster… no one but Voldemort should carry the blame for his death."
Severus was silent. He turned the parchment over, reading the list of names again. Hermione considered that many of the dead were people Severus might have considered acquaintances… even friends… a long time ago. She wondered how many of them had truly enjoyed the things they had done in Voldemort's name… and whether there were those, like Severus, who realised the monumental mistake they had made in joining his ranks, but unlike Severus, had been unable to break free.
Hermione watched as Severus' thumb brushed lightly across Draco's name on the page as he turned it over again.
She sighed and stepped forward, meaning to take the parchment from his hands, if only to stop him dwelling on the photograph for any longer; it wouldn't help.
Her sudden movement seemed to startle Severus, though, and the parchment slipped through his fingers before she could reach him, falling towards the floor. As if in slow motion, Hermione watched it fall… then, caught in a swirl of warm air from the hearth, it veered towards the fire and landed amidst the leaping flames.
The edge of the parchment was already on fire as Severus let out a strangled curse and tried to retrieve it. By reflex, he reached out with his right hand to pull the parchment from the flames, but the sling impaired the movement, and in the split second delay it took for him to realise his mistake and fling out his left hand instead, the page went up in a small whuff of blue flame, the flammable potion used to bring the wizarding photograph to life fuelling the fire.
Spinning away from the fireplace with a harsh snarl, he wrestled with the sling until he managed to tear his arm from its confines, rip it from around his neck and hurl the material across the room. Hermione knew it had been frustrating him the last few days anyway; his arm was all but healed, but the elbow joint still ached after a few hours of being left unsupported, so he had persisted in wearing it until now.
Staggering forward almost drunkenly, he only stopped when he reached the window, bracing himself against the glass and breathing heavily.
Shaken, Hermione turned her eyes to the fire, noticing a small, charred corner of the parchment had fluttered out of the fire and onto the hearth bricks. Unbidden, an image came to her of a pile of charred bodies lying in a dank stone vault. She pushed the thought aside and looked to Severus again.
As she watched, his palms, laid flat on the glass, clenched into fists, and he drew his right one back, heaving it against the window with a dull thud. The unbreakable glass didn't yield, and a second thud reverberated as he hit it again.
"Severus, don't–" She started forwards, but then something made her stop, made her stand back and let him expel his frustration. Perhaps this was what he needed… to let go.
He continued pounding the glass, alternating hands now; each blow became less forceful, more futile, as both his strength and willpower waned. Hermione couldn't see his face, hidden behind a curtain of hair with his head bowed forwards, but his shoulders were heaving every time he paused between blows.
Finally, any remaining strength Severus may have been clinging to disappeared; he dropped his hands and turned, slumping against the window as he slid down the glass, coming to rest in a heap on the cold, stone floor.
Hermione took a deep, shaky breath and blinked to clear her eyes of the tears that watching him finally self-destruct had brought forth. Crossing the space between them, she knelt beside him and pulled him against her. Leaning into her embrace with something between a sigh and a sob, he let her hold him. After a time, his arms came around her waist and his head drooped to rest on her shoulder, his breath warm on her neck. Every so often, a shudder ran through his body.
She didn't know what to say, so she simply held him, one hand tangling through his hair as she made quiet, soothing sounds.
Hermione had no idea how long they sat there; her back was aching and her legs were numb with the seeping cold from the stone floor. After kneeling for some time, she had shifted to sit beside him instead, leaning against the window. He hadn't spoken a word, and Hermione didn't know whether he had fallen asleep or was simply too exhausted to speak or move… too world-weary to care anymore.
When she thought she could stand the silence no longer, she shifted again, raising one arm to lightly touch his cheek.
"Severus?" she prompted softly.
He murmured something unintelligible in response, but as she pushed his hair back from where it was obscuring his face, she saw he was indeed awake, eyes open and staring blankly ahead.
"I'm sorry," he said finally, the words quiet on a soft exhalation of breath.
"There's nothing to be sorry for," she replied. In a way, though it had been hard to watch, she was glad he had finally broken down. Perhaps now, with the pent-up emotion and frustration finally expelled, he would be able to move on. "I'm just worried about you, that's all. You've been so… withdrawn ever since we came back here. It's almost like…" She hesitated, wondering if what she was about to say would see his temper flare again. Deciding to risk it, she squeezed his arm gently and murmured, "It's almost like part of you died out there on the field… like part of you died out there with Draco."
He turned his head away, but not before Hermione saw a single tear slip from the corner of his eye. Heartened, rather than dismayed, that his stoic countenance was cracking even further, she continued on.
"You're trying to bury it all within yourself when what you need to do is let go. Not forget… just let go. There's a difference, you know."
He still didn't speak, but he appeared at least to be listening.
"No one expects you to suddenly forget the last twenty years of your life and throw yourself into this– this new world… especially not after the way things ended. It will take time to heal, Severus, and I don't just mean this." She nudged his arm gently, then raised her hand and rested it on the soft cotton of his shirt, just above his heart, whispering, "I mean this, too."
Hermione saw him swallow; she could feel his heart thudding beneath her palm, belying his outward calm.
"I know you're trying to pretend everything is all right, that you've healed, but we both know you haven't," she continued. "Not physically and not emotionally. You nearly died, Severus. Surviving the Killing Curse doesn't mean to say you're invincible. It was sheer dumb luck."
"You really believe that?"
She rubbed her hand tiredly across her eyes.
"I don't know what to believe anymore," she said quietly.
He was silent, and on impulse, she unhooked the top button of his shirt, revealing the small rune-shaped scar over his breastbone. She pressed her palm over the mark, and he raised his own hand to cover hers.
"It's just that I feel suddenly… out of place," he said, struggling to find the right words. "Everyone is overjoyed that Voldemort is dead and the war is over – and well they should be. I just can't bring myself to be in much of a celebratory mood."
"That's understandable," Hermione said gently. "God knows you've been through far more than most of us could even comprehend where Voldemort is concerned."
"Then shouldn't I be even more happy than most?" he questioned, dropping his hand again. "I'm not, though. I'm frustrated and angry with myself and those around me."
"Not you," he added quickly, as if sensing the question burgeoning in her mind. "I feel helpless because I cannot do anything for Draco; I couldn't save his life, but I thought I could ensure him some small modicum of dignity in death. Even that has been taken from my hands, though."
"You can hardly blame yourself when it's out of your hands," she said. "It's a terrible thing that he has been counted as one of them, Severus, but as much as you hate it – and I hate it, too – there's nothing we can do… and that's what letting go is about."
"It sounds a lot like forgetting," he commented, closing his eyes and resting his head back against the glass again.
"No," she insisted. "Letting go is allowing yourself to move on; giving up blame – misplaced or otherwise – and recognising that some things cannot be changed. Think of the people we've lost – yes – but don't dwell on them always. Everyone has lost someone, somewhere along the way. I know it's not even been a week… maybe I'm being ungrateful, but I'm just sick of being worried and scared. I have no idea what to do now, because before the end of the war, I was afraid to even contemplate life beyond it. Now, I have to. We all have to, for our own sakes and for those who can't. We're the lucky ones, Severus… we survived… and perhaps the best thing we can do to honour the memory of those who didn't is live enough for them and us."
He stared at her wordlessly, dark eyes as bright as she knew hers must be. Holding his gaze, she rose to her feet, knees cracking after sitting on the cold floor for so long, and extended her hand to him.
"Isn't that what they'd want?" she prompted quietly.
Finally, he nodded. Taking her hand and letting her pull him to his feet, he surprised her by embracing her again, fiercely this time, his breath warm on the top of her head. Drawing back briefly, he tilted her head up and leant towards her again. She thought for a moment he was going to kiss her, but then he bowed his forehead to rest against her own.
"Thank you, Hermione," he whispered. His breath smelled vaguely of Firewhisky, and the roast beef they'd eaten for dinner in the Great Hall, hours before.
"For what?" she asked.
"For being here. For allowing me to knock some sense into myself." One of his hands brushed hers as he flexed his fingers, and she heard his knuckles crack. "Most of all, though," he continued, tilting his head so his lips brushed hers as he spoke, "thank you for reminding me there is still so much to live for."
He did kiss her, then, a slow, deep kiss during which neither time nor the outside world seemed to matter any more. Everything faded from Hermione's mind but the feel of Severus' lips on hers, his hands splayed across her back and his strong body and steady heartbeat against her chest.
Breathless minutes later, she drew back, catching his hand in hers as it slid from around her waist. Examining his knuckles, she saw they were already darkening with bruises from his assault on the window, and a glance at his other hand revealed the same.
"We should put something on these," she murmured.
"No, leave it," he said, shaking his head. At her questioning look, he added, "It will remind me not to do it again."
She smiled lightly, continuing to rub his hands. A glance up at his face shows his eyes half-closed, enjoying the simple touch. His lips were slightly swollen from her kisses, and the sight brought forth a deep longing within her to be as close to him as possible tonight.
"Come on, Severus," she said finally, backing towards the bedroom and tugging his hand gently to follow. "Let's go to bed. Tomorrow's a new day."
He let out a tired chuckle, but allowed her to lead him into the bedroom, halting beside the bed. He tried and failed to stifle a yawn, and she felt a wave of disappointment that he might be too tired for anything more tonight… followed by a pang of guilt at the selfish thought.
Decided to give him as much as she could, even if he wasn't able to offer much in return tonight, she reached for the top button of his shirt. He made no move to stop her, and she set about undressing him slowly and carefully, kissing and stroking each newly-exposed patch of skin as she went. He was silent, his dark eyes following her every move. When she drew his grey trunks down his legs, her fingertips tracing his thighs and hipbones, he let out a half-sigh, half-moan. Hermione smiled to herself and guided him back towards the bed.
Once he was reclining back on the pillows, Hermione quickly slipped out of her clothes and joined him, pulling the duvet up around them both.
Severus rolled onto his side to face her. Tilting her head up slightly where it lay on the pillow, she stared into his eyes, and he simply stared back.
"What?" he finally asked.
"I'm just glad we're here – together," she whispered, a louder voice seeming inappropriate in the stillness of the room. Though they'd shared his bed every night since he had been released from St Mungo's, they hadn't really been together in the true sense of the word. He had been so closed off until tonight… for all she'd slept beside him, there might has well have been a wall between them.
Now, that was gone.
A faint smile flitted across his lips, and he reached up to cup her cheek in one hand. Moving closer, he captured her lips with his again, the soft kiss quickly deepening into something more. Pressing herself up against his body, a jolt of desire shot through her. Maybe she had been mistaken in thinking he was exhausted… maybe this was what he needed.
She drew back for a moment, wondering if it was right to encourage him after what had been such an emotional evening already. Sensing her uncertainty, Severus hesitated, too, propping himself up on one elbow.
"Hermione?" he questioned. "Is this all right?"
"Of course," she said. "I just don't want you to think I- that everything I said before was just trying to lead you to this. I meant what I said about being worried for you."
Letting out a soft sigh, he regarded her for a moment before he said, "Do you want the truth?"
She nodded, half-curious and half-afraid of what his answer would be.
Lying down again, he nudged her to turn away, then wrapped one arm just below her breasts, pulling her back against him and tracing the soft flesh with his long fingers. His other hand rested further down, tracing random patterns on her stomach, and she resisted the urge to wriggle back against him. It seemed his desire to talk had finally resurfaced, and who was she to deny him after his week of near-silence? Other pleasantries could wait. When they were settled, he spoke, his breath stirring the hair tucked behind her ear.
"The truth is, it's the future, not the past, that's more the source of my… discomfort, I suppose you could say. You say you haven't thought beyond the end of the war… but you're young, Hermione – you have your whole life ahead of you. I'm older, but my own choices have seen to it that I've never really had a chance to live… I don't think I'd know how to."
"Then we can learn together."
Perhaps she imagined it, but she fancied she felt his heartbeat quicken against her back. He didn't answer, though.
"You doubt me?" she asked. Taking his hand from her stomach, she brought it up to where the chain bearing his ring still hung around her neck. Pressing his hand over the object, she whispered, "I'm still wearing this, aren't I?"
"That you are," he finally said, turning it over between his fingers, then dropping it again. It slid around the chain and rested on the sheets beside her shoulder. There was a hint of mild surprise or uncertainty in his tone that gave Hermione the urge to reassure him again.
"Of course," she said. "I won't take it off unless you ask me to."
It seemed he was about to speak, but then she felt him shake his head as if to clear his thoughts. Hermione considered adding she would take it from around her neck to wear it on her finger, instead… but something made her stop. If she spoke such words with a hint of mirth, he might think she wasn't serious… and if she spoke them seriously without knowing how he felt about the matter… No, he would be the one to broach that subject when the time came.
For now, it was enough that they were here.
"I've missed this," he murmured, burying his head in the riot of curls around her head. Then, brushing the hair aside, he began a slow trail of kisses across her back, shoulder, and down her arm. The hand that had been resting beneath her breasts now moved up over them, and she gasped softly, arching back into him.
The hint of a chuckle broke from him, rumbling through his chest, and he moved his other hand down between her legs, brushing her inner thighs teasingly as she groaned in frustration.
He made her wait for the touch she truly wanted, drawing out the sensations and keeping her perilously close to that delightful point of no return. She managed to reciprocate in kind, though, and delighted in her ability to make him gasp and moan with even the lightest touch of her fingers, the smallest movement of her hips.
Coming down from a wave of heady pleasure, Hermione watched his face as he moved over her, taking in every details… the beads of sweat across his forehead, the strength of his wiry arms as he took care not to crush her, and his eyes, deep and dark yet full of fire. His face contorted almost as if in pain, and Hermione realised he was seeking more than just physical release through their love-making tonight.
His whole body shuddered as he neared his peak, and a harsh cry spilling from his mouth signalled his release; he dropped to his elbows, his head dropping to the pillow beside Hermione's.
When his arms could no longer support him, he rolled sideways, collapsing half-beside Hermione and half-across her in a tangle of limbs. Their breathing slowed in unison, his racing heart slowing to a steady beat where his chest rested against her shoulder.
They lay together in a tangle of limbs and slick skin, and Hermione's eyes drifted closed contentedly. Severus' head was buried in her hair again, breath warm on her neck.
Even close to the height of summer, there was still a slight chill about the castle, and Hermione shivered as the cool night air brushed over her skin. Her wand wasn't anywhere within reach, but she managed to Accio the duvet from down near their feet and pull it up to cover them. Shifting slightly, Severus moved his hand over her stomach, and she heard him murmur something quietly; the slight tingle through her nether regions gave away the contraceptive charm.
Part of her wished he wasn't so rational as to have remembered… but she brushed the thought off, blaming it on the confusing mixture of emotions playing havoc on her mind in the last few hours.
"Thank you, Hermione." His whispered words drew her from her thoughts, and she turned her head sideways to see him watching her through heavy-lidded eyes.
"Anytime," she returned with a smile.
Later that night, Hermione lay awake long after Severus had fallen asleep, thinking on all that had come to pass. For the first night since the end of the war, she was free of at least one of her worries – her worry for Severus and his state of mind and body. She'd finally broken through to him tonight, and while she didn't expect things to change right away, she recognised this as the first step towards really and truly healing and moving forwards.
Their inability to give Draco a proper farewell would linger in Severus' mind for a long time; Hermione knew better than to think he would give up on that just yet. She made a mental note to ask Harry whether he might try to speak with the Ministry about it. Surely, if anyone could sway their decision now, it would be him.
She wondered what would happen in the coming days, weeks and months; the graduation ceremony was scheduled to be held at the end of the week, and the Headmaster would undoubtedly want to hold the celebration as scheduled. There would inevitably be some sort of official ceremony arranged by the Ministry to mark the end of the war, too.
Hermione had no idea how long she might stay at Hogwarts for… or how long she and the other ex-students would be welcome there. Until the ceremony next week, it seemed pointless to leave, and they were all still wary of the wizarding press, often seen lurking around just outside the school grounds. Hermione had no desire to face awkward questions about the war, her friends, and especially – after Rita Skeeter's article – about Severus.
Her mind drawn back to Severus, she shifted onto her side, curling closer to him. He murmured a soft noise but didn't wake, and Hermione took a moment to regard him; the curtains across the room were half-open, and in the light of the thin, white moon, Severus' face seemed almost to glow.
Watching him sleep, she wondered how long he would stay at Hogwarts, now that the need for him to remain was gone. If he decided to continue teaching, Hermione had no idea where he might go for the remainder of the summer. She knew the teachers didn't remain at the school, but it startled her to realise she didn't know where Severus spent his time outside the walls of Hogwarts. There was his house on the Southern outskirts of London – the one he'd taken her and her parents to at Christmas when it had been doubling as an Order safehouse… but he'd said back then he had hardly spent more than three weeks there in the last twenty years.
If he didn't return to teaching the following September, Hermione tried to think of what he might do instead. Potions research was the obvious choice, of course, but outside Hogwarts, Hermione knew of only the Ministry having resources to fund any significant projects, and somehow Hermione couldn't imagine Severus working for them.
Hermione rubbed her eyes tiredly. She didn't even know what she would be doing beyond the next few weeks. Any thoughts of the future had been put on hold until Voldemort had been defeated… and since that time, her thoughts had been on immediate concerns.
Raising a hand to trace his jawline with a single finger, the first hint of stubble pricking lightly, Hermione could only hope wherever both of their lives led them, it would be in similar directions, so they could be together. Leaning up, she kissed him lightly on the corner of his lips, then settled back beside him and eventually drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, Hermione was awakened early by an insistent tap, tap, tap coming from the sitting room. Glancing over at Severus, who had rolled away from her some time during the night, she saw he was still fast asleep and snoring lightly. The noise grew louder, and Hermione rolled out of bed with a sigh, retrieving her robe and wrapping it quickly around her as she made her way out into the other room.
Stifling a yawn, she discovered the source of the tapping was Snape's owl, fluttering outside the window, carrying a wad of letters and squawking indignantly to be let in as she tapped the window with her beak.
"All right, calm down," Hermione said, though she doubted the bird could hear her through the glass. Frowning as she tried to recall which glass panel would open to admit the owl, she tried two before she finally found the right one. The panel of glass vanished and Tonatiuh swooped into the room, dropping the letters on Severus' desk and alighting on her perch nearby.
A gust of cool morning air swept into the room before the glass reappeared, and Hermione crossed to the desk, rummaging in the top drawer where she knew Severus kept a handful of Owl Treats. After feeding a few to Tonatiuh and scratching the bird's head for a moment, Hermione's eyes drifted back to the pile of letters, and she was surprised to see that the topmost one was addressed to her.
She undid the string holding the bundle together and picked her letter up, turning the others over to see whether any more were meant for her. They all seemed to carry Severus' name, until she reached the bottom of the pile and found another addressed to her. It bore an official-looking Ministry wax seal, and flipping back through the other envelopes, Hermione saw Severus had one the same.
Sitting down at the desk, Hermione examined her other letter more carefully. The return address was accompanied by the St Mungo's insignia, and there was a small lump in one corner of the envelope.
In a flash of recognition, she realised what it was and tore open the envelope; upending it, the chain and distorted rune fell out on the desk, along with a folded piece of parchment. It looked no different from when Hermione had handed it over to Healer Derwent over a week ago, and it was icy cold to her touch as she picked it up.
Clasping it tightly in one hand, she reached for the parchment and unfolded it, reading the short, handwritten note within.
Dear Miss Granger,
As promised, I am returning the token you so kindly lent to my colleagues and I. You were right in thinking further investigation of the necklace revealed nothing unusual in its composition, and the lingering traces of the curse it absorbed have faded almost to the point of being undetectable.
We can find no explanation for the protection it afforded Mr Snape, and I can only think to add it to the list of wondrous and unexplainable things I have witnessed in my fifty years as a Healer at this hospital.
I do hope this finds both of you well, and bid you keep the token (unwearable as it may be) as a reminder of how fortunate you and yours have been.
Best regards for the future,
Esmé Derwent
Healer-in-Charge
Spell Damage (short-term)
St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and InjuriesFolding the parchment and setting it back on the desk, Hermione rose to her feet and turned to the window again. Opening her hand, she examined the twisted metal in the pale morning light, brushing the pad of her thumb along its smooth edge. One of the tiny crystals that had been inlaid in the downstroke of the rune was still visible, partially covered where the molten metal had swallowed it.
She was so lost in thought that she didn't realise Severus had come out of the bedroom until a pair of arms suddenly came around her from behind. She shrieked softly in surprise as he pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder where the hastily donned robe had slipped down.
"Good morning," he said, voice low and still husky with sleep.
"Yes, it is," she replied, turning around as he dropped his arms and trailing her eyes appreciatively over his bare chest and down to the waistband of his sleep pant. He must have pulled them on before exiting the bedroom, she thought amusedly, because he certainly hadn't slept in them… not the previous night, anyway. Unaware of her scrutiny, his eyes fell on the pendant in her hand and a look of mild surprise crossed his face; he reached out for it, his eyes meeting hers in askance.
Handing it to him, Hermione watched as he examined it, turning the piece of metal over and over in his palm. After a minute, she silently handed him the note from the Healer as well. His eyes traced down over the words, and then he set it aside, holding the pendant out for her to take it again.
"What are you going to do with it?" he asked, their fingers brushing as she accepted it from him.
"I don't know," she said thoughtfully. "I can hardly wear it, but I don't fancy parting with it all the same. Besides, I did give it to you, if you recall."
"Loaned it to me," he corrected, eyes drifting to the pile of letters on the desk. Flipping through them, he stopped when he came to the one bearing the Ministry seal, adding, "And I hope you don't expect me to wear it again, after what happened last time I did."
"What happened was it saved your life, Severus," she said sharply, annoyed by his nonchalance.
The biting tone rang out in clear in her voice, and he sighed and took her by the shoulders, his hands warm through her robe.
"Forgive me," he said, his dark eyes sincere as she looked up at him. "I didn't mean to sound ungrateful… but it's still yours, from your parents. The decision of what to do with it now rests with you."
She nodded, and a sudden idea occurred to her. Searching the pockets of her robe for her wand, she put the pendant down and picked up the parchment note. After reading it one more time, she set about Transfiguring it. Severus watched interestedly as the parchment darkened, changing into a small, dark-wooded box.
Satisfied, Hermione set her wand down on the desk, she flipped the lid of the box, and retrieved the pendant, dropping it inside.
"There," she said quietly, putting the box on his desk. "For safe-keeping."
He nodded, but picked up the box and crossed the room with it, stopping in front of the glass-fronted cabinet at the other end of the bookshelves. Aside from bottles of liquor on the lower shelf, she knew most of the other things in the cabinet were of some significance to him… his Pensieve, for one.
Placing it on the top-most shelf, he closed the cabinet and turned back to face her, echoing her own words, "For safe-keeping."
Hermione turned her attention to her other letter, while Snape moved back towards the window to greet his owl. Tonatiuh hooted softly at her master's approach, dipping her head to nuzzle his palm as he reached up to touch her.
Smiling softly to herself, Hermione curled up in a corner of the couch and studied the Ministry seal on the envelope in her hands. Looking at it, a niggle of worry crept into her mind for what it might say. Why would the Ministry be sending her a missive?
Biting her lip, she cracked the wax seal and drew the parchment from the envelope.
Dear Miss Granger,
The Ministry of Magic wishes to inform you of its decision to award you the Order of Merlin (class to be determined) for your role in the defeat of He-Who-Can-Now-Be-Named, Tom Riddle, and your valuable contribution to the war effort over an extended period.
A presentation ceremony will be held in the near future to formally present awards to all those recognised for their contributions to the war.
Congratulations and thank you. The Ministry of Magic and wizarding world as a whole owe you a debt that cannot be repaid.
Regards,
Rufus Scrimgeour
Minister for Magic
She read it again, eyes widening as she realised she hadn't imagined the words; they were actually there in front of her.
There was a sharp intake of breath from across the room, and Hermione saw Severus had his own missive from the Ministry in his hands; he was unnaturally still as his eyes moved back and forth across the parchment, and then he lowered himself into the chair behind his desk and let out a deep breath, rubbing his face with his free hand.
"You're getting one, too?" she asked softly.
Looking up, his eyes locked on the identical parchment in her hand. Nodding, he laughed softly, a hint of bitterness amidst the amusement.
"I used to think I deserved one of these," he said darkly, pushing the parchment away from him across the desk and resting his head in his hands. When he spoke again, his voice was muffled. "Now it's the last thing I want from them."
Tucking her own letter back in the envelope and setting it aside, Hermione returned to Severus' side and perched up on the corner of the desk, facing him.
"You do deserve this, Severus," she said. "I know it's not what you'd want from the Ministry, if it was up to you… but it's deserved nonetheless."
"No more so than yours," he returned, leaning back in his chair and regarding her with a glimmer in his eyes. "And Order of Merlin at eighteen; not many can boast that honour."
"Harry's only seventeen," she murmured. It was unthinkable she would be so graciously rewarded without Harry receiving the same honour… though he deserved far more than a medal. Thinking of all the other Order members who had been at Godric's Hollow, she wondered aloud whether they, too, would receive honours from the Ministry.
"I daresay they deserve it," Severus said thoughtfully. "However, the Ministry does not give out the Order of Merlin lightly. If I recall correctly, there haven't been more than a dozen bestowed in the past decade."
"They seem to be handing out a fair few now," she said. "If I've got one, Ron must have one, and I'd feel awful accepting one myself if Professors McGonagall and Lupin didn't receive one each… not to mention everyone else in the Order. They've been a part of this far longer than I have, and done far more."
"You've done more than you know, Hermione," he said.
"And you've done more than you're willing to give yourself credit for," she said, hopping down from her place on his desk and pressing her hand to his lips when he made to speak again, anticipating his disagreement with her statement. Frowning in mock seriousness, she added, "No arguments."
He raised an eyebrow, pursing his lips to kiss her fingers, and she pulled away, laughing softly. Leaving him to read the rest of his mail in peace, she re-entered the bedroom, retrieved her clothes, and went on into the bathroom to take a shower.
She couldn't help thinking that things were looking up already.
Hermione spent the better part of the weekend with Harry and Ron, only seeing Severus at mealtimes in the Great Hall and at night when she returned to his quarters to sleep.
She had been both relieved and delighted to learn Harry and Ron had also received letters from the Ministry on Saturday morning, and Charlie, as the head of the Weasley family now, had also received a letter bidding him to accept honours on behalf of his parents and late brothers.
Strolling around the mostly deserted corridors of the upper castle or lounging out on the lawns near the lake, it was like an enormous weight had suddenly been lifted from all of their shoulders. Harry's eyes were brighter than they'd been in a long time as they discussed the future. He'd been accepted into the Auror training program – something he'd wanted since careers counselling in their fifth year – without having his NEWT results; the Ministry wanted the Boy-Who-Lived working for them no matter what his exam scores had been.
Ron was looking forward to leaving Hogwarts and making his way out into the wider world. During the first few days after the battle, Ron had spent some time talking to Lee Jordan, best friend of his twin brothers. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes in Diagon Alley had been closed since Beltane Eve, and Lee expressed an interest in getting the store going again in remembrance of his friends. The idea inspired Ron, and the notion of continuing his brothers' work seemed to give him a new purpose.
While happy for her friends, Hermione purposely made sure the conversation didn't turn to her own immediate future. She needed some time to think on where her life was headed… where she wanted her life to go.
All she knew at the moment was, as much as she had enjoyed her time at Hogwarts, she was becoming more anxious to leave with each passing day. That said, there were certain things – certain people – she didn't want to leave behind.
And that was the source of her uncertainty.
She didn't know Severus' plans… or whether those plans included her. She hoped they did, but she couldn't be sure; she'd learnt better than to second-guess someone like Severus Snape, and until she'd had a serious talk with him about where they were headed, she wouldn't make plans of her own.
During lunch in the Great Hall on Saturday, Dumbledore had announced that the graduation ceremony would be held as planned the following Friday, but it would be combined with another presentation – the Order of Merlin ceremony for those honoured for their contributions to the war. Since many of those who were to receive awards were still staying at Hogwarts – and three in particular were also graduating from the school – it made sense for the celebrations to be combined.
On Monday morning, Hermione woke early but found the other side of the bed empty. Severus was nowhere to be found, and upon further inspection, Hermione realised his cloak was gone from its almost-permanent place on the back of the bedroom door. She wandered down to the Great Hall for breakfast, hoping to see him before he left for wherever he was going, but there was no sign of him there either.
Hermione sat down alone and nibbled half-heartedly on a piece of toast with jam, her mind elsewhere.
Severus had seemed preoccupied the past few days, now she thought about it… not the despairing numbness he had exhibited before, but a different sort of preoccupation; he seemed to be deep in thought, and she'd often caught him watching her with a strange, unreadable expression on his face. Hermione wondered whether he was annoyed she had spent the better part of the weekend away from him; she had only seen him at mealtimes and when she returned to his quarters at night. He had seemed agreeable enough to her spending time with Harry and Ron when she had put forward the suggestion on Saturday morning… and with that thought, she wondered if it was the time spent away from him that was bothering him… or had she not been away long enough? Maybe he had enjoyed his solitude more than he was willing to admit to her… hence his seemingly distant mood.
Hermione's worry grew when he hadn't returned by lunch, and she stopped the Headmaster on the way out of the Great Hall, enquiring whether he knew of Severus' whereabouts.
"He's gone to London to attend to some business," Dumbledore said, surprise that she hadn't know evident in his tone. "I do believe he said it wouldn't take long."
"Oh, okay," Hermione murmured. "Thank you, sir."
She managed to occupy herself for the rest of the afternoon, but in the back of her mind she was wondering just what business Severus was attending to in London.
Apparating back to the Hogwarts gates just after four o'clock, Severus breathed a sigh of relief that there was no longer a group of reporters lurking about the great iron gates, hankering after any sight of those who had been labelled war heroes by the wizarding public.
Severus snorted at the irony of being included amongst them; if only the wider community knew all the things he had done… he should be thankful they didn't.
What had started that morning as a simple trip to three destinations in London had taken much longer than anticipated thanks to the Daily Prophet. It seemed there wasn't a witch or wizard who didn't recognise him, nor were there any he spoke to who didn't ask after Hermione with a trace of curiosity, amusement or – in one case – contempt in their eyes.
A witch had stopped him in a corridor at the Ministry of Magic, gushing about how the wizarding world was as indebted to him as it was to Potter, and enquired as to when there would be a public announcement of his engagement to Hermione.
The nosey woman had been so affronted when he had told her in no uncertain terms to mind her own business, she had done an immediate about-face and snapped, "I knew that article was a complete and utter lie. All your former students still think you're a heartless bastard, and here's the proof! Hermione Granger must have lost her mind."
"I'll be sure to give her your expert opinion," he had snapped, stalking off before the witch could respond.
By the time he returned to Hogwarts, he was beginning to wish he'd had either Potter's Invisibility Cloak or a flask of Polyjuice Potion for the journey. He had a splitting headache, and he trudged back up the path to the castle with a deep scowl on his face.
He passed Ginny Weasley in the Entrance Hall, and the young girl who usually greeted him with a polite acknowledgment and a smile gave him a wide berth upon seeing his dark expression. He ignored her and continued on up to the first floor. Finally reaching his quarters, he shut the door forcefully behind him and let out a heavy sigh.
"Long day?"
Hermione was curled up in one corner of the couch, book in her lap, watching him curiously.
"I will hex the next person who mentions your name and mine in the same sentence," he groused, shrugging out of his cloak. Withdrawing a small package from one of the cloak's pockets, he tossed the garment aside, set the package on the coffee table and sat down tiredly beside her. "Have they no respect for privacy?"
"No," she said simply, and he snorted derisively.
Closing her book and setting it aside, she turned slightly to face him.
"So, where did you go?"
He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. He considered getting up to retrieve a headache potion as he answered, "London."
"I know that. Professor Dumbledore told me when I couldn't find you after lunch."
He opened his eyes, sensing an accusatory undertone in her voice.
"Why didn't you tell me you were going?" she persisted, frowning at him.
"You were still asleep when I left," he said. "I didn't want to wake you."
"Right." She looked away. "So you just woke up at six o'clock this morning and thought, 'Hmm, I might go to London today'. Hardly, Severus."
"No, I've been meaning to go for a few days, but must I have your permission?" he snapped.
Hermione's expression turned from one of annoyance to hurt, and he immediately regretted his harsh tone. She had every right to know where he had gone – it was the other idiots, plaguing him ceaselessly all day, who had no right to ask.
"I'm sorry," he said, picking her hand up and squeezing it lightly for a moment. "It's just been a long, frustrating day."
"I can imagine," she murmured in a small voice. "I just meant… I don't have to know everything you're doing, but… it would have been nice if you could have left me a note or something, saying you'd be back later. You were just gone."
"And I apologise for that. I didn't think my errands would take quite so long."
He didn't elaborate further. Some of his business in London he wouldn't discuss with her yet; there were many things to be considered before a decision was made. He could feel her watching him, though, wondering what errands he was speaking of, and sure enough, after only a moment of silence, Hermione spoke again.
"So am I allowed to ask what you were doing in London?"
He nodded his head towards the small package on the table. This he could tell her about.
"For you," he said.
Her eyes widened and she reached out to pick it up, turning the paper-wrapped object over in her hands. When she looked up again, her expression was contrite.
"I'm sorry," she murmured. "Here I was thinking… I don't know what I was thinking about why you'd gone… and you were buying something for me."
"Not exactly buying." He chuckled at her confused expression, and added, "Open it."
A minute later, Hermione looked up at him confusedly, the tiny, Muggle-made statue of an owl sitting her palm.
"It's a cross-Channel Portkey," he explained. "I thought you might like to visit your parents."
Her eyes widened and an expression of surprise and delight crossed her face… but then she seemed to falter, biting her lip. Her eyes had brightened with happiness… but then they become worried… wary, even.
"I thought you'd be anxious to see them after all this time," he said, slightly disappointed. He thought she would be overjoyed; it had been almost six months since the last time she'd seen them, and although she wrote often and was used to not seeing them for months at a time, Severus knew it bothered her they were that much further away now.
"I am, but I–" She looked up at him searchingly, then shook her head and simply repeated, "I am. Thank you."
He cleared his throat and stood up, realising the words were all the thanks she was willing to give him. "It's set for five o'clock this afternoon, so I suggest you gather whatever you wish to take."
Glancing at the clock on the mantle, which read twenty minutes to the hour, Hermione jumped up and headed quickly for the bedroom. At the doorway, she stopped and turned.
"You're not coming with me?"
He shook his head, and Hermione crossed back to him more slowly, a trace of uncertainty still on her face.
"You can come with me… if you want to," she said, looking up at him hopefully.
"Not now," he said. "I think you need some time with your parents."
Nodding, though she still didn't look entirely convinced, she asked, "Will it bring me back as well?"
"Yes," he said. "There is no set time on the return journey. You may come back whenever you choose."
She smiled at that, and embraced him briefly, whispering, "Thank you," against his chest as she rested her head there for a moment. He raised his own hand to the back of her head, holding her against him for a beat longer.
Reluctantly pulling away, he said, "Go on, get your things together or you'll miss the Portkey."
Waiting in the sitting room, an idea occurred to him, and when she emerged with a shrunken bag in one hand, he pressed the small wooden box containing the remains of the rune necklace into her other hand, closing her fingers around it.
When she opened her mouth, he forestalled her question, saying, "They'll wonder why you're not wearing it."
"True," she murmured in agreement, tucking the box into a pocket of her cloak.
Handing her the Portkey, he glanced at the clock. One minute to go.
"Are you sure you won't come?" she asked again.
Shaking his head, Severus took her face gently in his hands and kissed her lips softly.
"I'll see you soon," he murmured, stepping away as the clock on the mantle began to strike the hour.
"Severus?"
They locked eyes, and after a slight pause, she said softly, "I love you."
An increasingly familiar, dull ache settled in his chest, and he smiled down at her, resisting the urge to reach out to her again; the Portkey would activate any time now.
"I know you do," he replied quietly.
That same look of uncertainty or worry came onto her face again, and he wondered whether his response – his failure to return the sentiment in kind – was the source of her concern this time. He opened his mouth to speak again, but at that moment the Portkey activated and Hermione vanished.
Sighing, he wandered over to his desk and sat down, pondering her confusing reaction to what he thought would have been a much-appreciated gift.
Aside from knowing how much she wanted to see her parents, he had thought a few days apart would probably be good for both of them. He wasn't sure when she would return, and he would certainly miss her, but he had many things to consider while she was away. She had finally managed to convince him in the last few days that there was indeed a life out there – beyond Hogwarts and beyond the war – and now he had to decide exactly what that life was.
To be continued…
Author's notes: Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter. This chapter was supposed to be the last with the exception of an epilogue, but it looks like there will be another full chapter to follow instead. I don't want to tie every loose end in the story up… but some things do need to be addressed that I hadn't considered before, so it will take a few more words.
Obviously, and as I've mentioned before, this story isn't HBP-compliant, but there are elements I've borrowed from HBP – Scrimgeour as the current Minister for Magic being one of them.
Thanks to Potion Mistress for her tireless beta-reading and sharp eyes, and also to emlouise for a discussion we had last weekend which caused me to reconsider a particular part of a scene in this chapter.
