WARNINGS: Bad language

Just when you think (think) you're in control
Just when you think (think) you've got a hold
Just when you get on a roll
Here it goes, here it goes, here it goes again
Oh, here it goes again
I should have known, should have known, should have known again
But here it goes again
Oh, here it goes again

It starts out easy, something simple, something sleazy
Something inching past the edge of reserve

- "Here It goes Again" by OK Go

Hermione came awake all at once, which was normal for her. She was either asleep or awake; there was no gentle in-between period of gradually increasing awareness. Rather, waking up each morning was like having cold water tossed on her.

She got up and started her morning routine.

There was no denying it, she was a creature of habit. Admittedly, she was naturally inclined to follow a routine, doing so had always served her well at Hogwarts. However, in the years after the war, it had become less optional.

Following a routine had kept her moving forward, had allowed her to mimic a functional human being, even after several sleepless nights, even on dark days when all she wanted to do was 'loose her shit,' as one of her exes would have said.

She made her bed, dressed in running clothes, and cast a glamour over herself.

She did pause when she saw the amount of mail waiting for her. She was tempted to veer off course and deal with the 'shit show' (another colorful phrase from her ex) that undoubtably lurked in the pile.

Instead, she forced herself out the door.

She ran until exhaustion erased her thoughts. By the time she was done her muscles felt delightfully limp. Strands of hair clung to her flushed face, and her lungs burned.

Back inside, Hermione showered, made a cup coffee (an American habit that she found she rather enjoyed), and then did what she did best: She organized.

She started by making a list. And then she made another, rearranging items in different ways.

The coffee went cold. She warmed it back up and reformatted her list, laying it out on a calendar, trying to realistically allocate her time and resources.

If the law, as she was now referring to it, was to be passed in 25 days, she didn't have much time. Hermione couldn't simply pick up and leave the day before. That left far too much to chance.

She shaved a week off. That left her 18 days.

Just two and a half weeks to wrap up her affairs and flee the country in a nondescript manner that wouldn't arouse suspicion.

Sure, no problem.

Hermione rolled her eyes and took a sip of coffee, belatedly realizing it had gone cold again.

There were things that she had to do and things that she wanted to do.

One of the top items on her 'must' list was to figure out what to do with her potions' clients. Some of them could easily be referred out, but there were a few, including Astoria Malfoy, that were another matter entirely. These were her 'special cases.'

The potions she made for them were illegal. Well, to be fair, some of them weren't technically illegal, but that was because they did not technically exist. They were potions that Hermione had invented and that had never passed the rigorous testing and review process necessary to make them commercially sellable.

Hermione very much wanted to keep all of her potions' business. It wasn't about the money. She lived like a monk; her flat a tiny studio, walls crammed with second-hand books. She didn't want much, which would make packing up extremely easy. No, she liked the challenge of her potions work. Plus, she couldn't just let her special cases suffer or in the case of some of them, die.

However, as a fugitive, how easy could she expect it to be to ship black market potions back to Britain?

She was going to need a Plan B.

She leaned back in her chair, stretched, and sighed. In a huff, she scratched out a few lines on her list.

As the sun rose high in the sky, Hermione continued editing until she felt that she had reached a respectable list. She had narrowed down her 'wants' to five and her 'musts' were doable as long as nothing went too off the rails.

Finally she turned her attention to the mail. She gave herself an hour to tackle as much of it as she could.

First letter:

So much for keeping your head down.

- D

Draco had kindly included a clipping from the front page of the Daily Prophet, as if Hermione herself wasn't a subscriber. The magicked photo was grainy and the angle a bit off, obviously security footage, but you could clearly see Hermione punching Sirius… over and over as it replayed on loop.

Hermione actually rather liked the photo.

Next letter:

Definitely blame it on your period. Hormones, right? ;)

- Ron

Another clipping from the Daily Prophet, although Ron had included the headline as well. It read "Hermione Granger Attacks Harry Potter's Godfather." She very much enjoyed the fact that Sirius' name didn't warrant mention even now.

Moving on.

Hermione,

What is going on? I can't imagine what your explanation is. This is really over the top. Sirius has been here all morning, telling Harry how you just lost it.

Perhaps you can pop around, and I'll make us all some tea? Sirius is still here so you could apologize to him—

She didn't even bother finishing Ginny's letter.

The pile went on and on. Toward the bottom though was a letter that made her breath catch in her throat. She recognized the spiky scrawl immediately.

Ms. Granger,

Even though I saw this morning's edition of the Prophet, I'm still tempted to demand proof. After all, they've printed their fair share of fake news, wouldn't you agree?

Assuming it's true, were you just writing to brag? Or was there something I can help you with?

SS

P.S. If you've got sore knuckles, I recommend just a smidge of crushed up dittany mixed with lavender.

Hermione exhaled slowly. She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath. She had hoped he would write back, but she had tried not to expect it. The way you might hope that it won't rain today but you still take your umbrella when you head out.

She re-read the letter—trying to see between the lines, analyzing each word. What did it mean that he was back to referring to her as 'Ms. Granger?' Was he annoyed that she had written him? Was he happy… or at least not 'unhappy,' as he would put it?

Severus Snape was without a doubt the most confusing thing in Hermione's life. Not that he was really in her life. Well, at least not voluntarily. It was complicated.

That was the word that came to mind every single time she thought of him, which was more frequently than she liked to admit.

She had put him in danger all those years ago with her letters. She had lured him into the open with her cries for help. Sure, she didn't know that he could hear her, that there was any possibility he could or would answer, but all the same…. She had sent up a smoke signal, flashed the bat sign into the night sky, and he had come.

Their night together lived in Hermione's memory as a sort of emergency triage. Whether he knew it or not, Severus Snape had saved her life. She was sure of it. No, he hadn't saved her forever. She hadn't left that hotel room and walked straight into the sunset, but he had saved her for the moment. He had staunched the bleeding, sutured her soul back together, enough to allow her to start healing.

He gave her a chance.

That night had been the first step on a long journey that Hermione was still on 9 years later.

And she had never wanted to impose on him again. She had never written his name down after that night. She had carefully regulated any thought she had about him and there were many.

And then two years later Severus Snape resurrected himself.

He had popped back into the Wizarding World as if he had never been gone. As if it were really no big deal at all.

He had been cleared of any war crimes long ago, partially thanks to Hermione's efforts, and he hadn't committed any crime by playing dead. After all, he hadn't told anyone he was dead. He'd never tried to perpetuate the rumor or collect any life insurance or anything. He had simply let the world believe what it wanted, which was what was convenient. It was easier with Severus Snape dead.

So in some ways, it wasn't that big of a deal.

Of course, Hermione had read about in the papers but she hadn't expected to see him. At least not any time soon.

But only a week or so later, he had strolled into a Ministry event as if it were an every day occurrence. Although, to the best of Hermione's knowledge, it was one of the only ones he had ever attended since coming back from the dead.

She was standing there, trying to keep a smile on her face, and suddenly he was across the room from her. Very much alive. Very much present.

If their night in the hotel together had been sutures, seeing him at the event was a shot of adrenaline.

In the time between the two, Hermione had been recuperating. Getting a little better, a little stronger each day, but she hadn't exactly been living. She was still working at Hogwarts, still attending events she didn't want to be at, still haunting her friends' lives.

She saw him and it was like her heart started beating again. (And not in a school girl crush kind of way.)

It was like—well, if he could come back, if he could reclaim his life, why couldn't she?

Their eyes locked, obsidian clouds obscuring the sun, and the wound was cauterized.

He nodded to her, just the slightest incline of his head.

He didn't approach her. He didn't reach out to her in any way.

And that was it. The sum total of their encounter was a few seconds of eye contact and the tilt of a head.

The next day Hermione quit her job.

A month later she went to France to do a master's level workshop in potions.

A year later she was in a America doing an intense (and secretive) potions research project.

It was there that she found a support group for muggle war veterans, which most closely matched her own experience. She learned about PTSD and the many forms it could take.

Not too much later, she laughed again, and it didn't feel forced. She started running. She slept with a man (more than one, actually). She slept through the night. She fell truly head over heels in love with potions.

Suddenly, she looked around, and time was passing. Scars were starting to thicken over what had once been gaping wounds.

And yet… Severus Snape still lurked in the back of her mind.

He may have helped put her back together again, but he had left something inside her while doing so. A surgeon leaving behind a sponge. Whatever it was, she feared it wasn't organic, that it would have to be extracted at some point… and now as as good a time as any.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Wow! Thank you for all the kind reviews both on the last chapter and on "Letters to the Dead." Seriously, you all inspired me to get back to my keyboard ASAP!

Sorry this is a bit of a transitional chapter but all stories must have them.

As we move forward, keep in mind the tight timeframe our girl here is working with! She's only got 18 days, so if events seem to be moving at an alarming rate, that's why.