'He's changed so much, I barely recognised him.'
Severus felt winded by the words and had to steady himself against the wall for a moment, hanging his head in the dark hallway.
So that's what she thought of him, now. Eight and a half years had passed, and she was as glorious as ever, perhaps more so now, radiant and powerful, eyes sparking with life.
Severus had known, of course, that he had not changed for the better. His prominent features had once been softened by a boyish charm, his face often animated and hopeful. Not so now. Now, he knew, he was haggard looking, deep creases on his forehead and around his mouth making him look severe and unhappy. His skin was sallow and often too dry, his hair perpetually greasy looking. He looked worn and tired and like a man of 45, not 33.
But to hear it confirmed in her voice was another thing entirely. It balled up deep inside him and held on to his insides in a tight fist. She had barely recognised him.
They had met only briefly the day before. He had managed to avoid her otherwise. She had entered the kitchen with Tonks and Percy while Severus was brewing some Wolfsbane at his impromptu brewing station. Severus' heart had thudded and his hand had quivered a bit at the unexpected sight of her, but he had been able to keep his composure enough to finish the series of stirs the potion required. She looked lovely and confident, smiling warmly at her companions as she entered. She had only briefly looked at Severus and had greeted him with a cold 'hello'. The blood in his veins had turned to ice. He had not seen her in eight and a half years.
He's changed so much, I barely recognised him.
Perhaps it was fortunate that he had overheard her offhand remark to her companions in the living room. At least now he could know for certain that there was no chance of their rekindling their past relationship. That she had lost all the attraction for him she had once had. That she would forever treat him with a cold, empty politeness. That they, who had once been so inseparable, so in love, so in tune with one another, were now more distant than strangers – because strangers, at least, had a chance of developing a friendship.
Severus steeled himself with this knowledge, drew it around himself like a cloak, and entered the living room where he had to spend the rest of the evening watching Hermione charm the other Order members. When he entered and found himself a seat in a corner, she was sitting on the edge of a dark green sofa, wearing jeans and a jumper that accentuated her soft curves. Her tight curls framed her face and her dark brown eyes glowed with animation. She didn't so much as glance at him as some of the others greeted him.
She seemed absorbed in her conversation, and, upon being prompted by Sirius, started recounting her war stories with a compelling energy which had the others hanging on to her every word – the time she had escaped a veritable ocean of inferi by setting her own boat on fire, the challenges of negotiating a peace deal between warring vampire clans in order to unite them in the cause against Voldemort, the time she had been able to convincingly lie while she had been held under the Cruciatus for hours.
Severus listened intently as he pretended to read his book, The Healing Properties of Diverse Sea Life, involuntarily crumpling the pages at this last story, the thought of her intense suffering intolerable to him, the knowledge that she had come so close to death chilling him to the bone. She laughed through it though, as if it had been nothing.
The men were particularly keen to engage her, asking her questions about her travels and praising her bravery. Sirius and Remus were being especially bold, flirting outrageously with her in turn, which she laughed at while flirting back. She didn't seem to have a preference for either and clearly enjoyed the company of both. Remus and Sirius were both handsome and easy going, eager to please and charming. The war had not scarred them, had not diminished their looks as it had Severus'. They were light-hearted and fun to be around. Remus was perhaps the better looking of the two, with even features and a rakish smile, but Sirius was livelier and more engaging, flourishing when he was at the centre of attention.
'I wonder which one she'll choose,' Severus heard someone say nearby. It was Minerva who was chatting to Arthur on a sofa close to where Severus sat, Arthur's toddlers playing at their feet. 'She told me that she's ready to settle down now, after her long years of travelling. Such a brave, beautiful woman. I'm sure either Sirius or Remus would do very well for her, handsome young men, and half in love with her already! Personally, I'd bet on Remus winning her over in the end.'
'No, my dear, I think you'll find Sirius will be the one to get her,' Arthur replied, and Severus looked back at Hermione, bright and laughing under all the attention in the centre of the room as Arthur and Minerva made their bets. His heart was clenched in a tight vice, it felt like suffocation, and Severus wished fervently to be anywhere but here in this room, with her.
…
They had met before the beginning of the war. Severus had newly joined the Death Eaters after finishing his potions mastery, excited at the prospect of proving himself, showing the world what he had to offer. He was working as a potioneer, developing new potions to extend the limits of magic which to so many seemed set in stone. The Dark Lord had provided him with state-of-the-art equipment and a free licence to work on any projects appealing to him. He felt far away from his former life, where, as the quiet and withdrawn boy he was, he had been perpetually overlooked and underestimated. He had not had many friends, had had a lonely existence.
Hermione had been recruited fresh out of Hogwarts, the bright young muggleborn trophy for the Dark Lord to show off to the world, a token to demonstrate that muggleborns could have a place in his new regime. She was an excellent spellcaster, had come top in almost every class in her school, was ambitious and eager to learn, eager to excel, eager to succeed. She had been a few years below him at school, a Ravenclaw while he had been a Slytherin, and they had barely noticed each other back then.
But upon meeting one another again, they had fallen in love almost immediately. Severus had been tasked with showing her the ropes. She would be working on developing her spellcrafting skills, with the aim of developing new spells while Severus developed new potions. He was quiet and reserved, yet treated her with a sincerity and kindness that drew her in quickly. She was outgoing and confident, she liked talking, and soon found that she especially liked talking to him. He who listened carefully and thought deeply about her ideas, who treated her with respect and on terms of equality which she soon discovered was rare in the Dark Lord's enclave. Before they knew it, they were almost inseparable and spent every possible moment side by side. No other two people could have felt so connected, so united, as they had then. Severus had never before felt that kind of felicity, had never known what it meant to see another person and be seen in return, to understand and be understood.
They made a strange pair among the Dark Lord's ranks. Others laughed at their physical dissimilarities. Severus was tall, thin, and pale, his nose large and hooked, his cheekbones high, his hair black and hanging past his shoulders, and he was always dressed in black. Hermione was much shorter than him, her figure full and curvaceous, her skin dark brown, her nose small, and her hair curled proudly around her soft round face like a dark halo. She wore bright colours. Her favourite cloak was bright red and stood out at the gatherings, bold and unapologetic, like she was.
The first time they kissed, Severus had almost cried. Perhaps he should be ashamed of the fact, but to have led a life as lonely as his, to have been so unappreciated and unloved as he had been, and then, to discover that this need not be so, that there was this bright beautiful person who knew him and wanted him… it had been too much. And he had told her that he loved her immediately after, knowing that it was too soon but unable to hold it in, and she had kissed him again and told him she had fallen for him too. Never had he been happier.
The first time they had made love, Severus had actually cried. As she rode him, holding his hands down onto the bed as she rose up and down on his length, her sheath hot and wet and her glowing eyes fixed to his, he had felt himself crumble apart into a thousand little pieces which had merged with hers before reforming. In that moment they had become one being. Afterwards, Hermione had gripped his face between her hands and said 'we belong together, Severus, marry me.' And he had dissolved into tears and the last threads of his loneliness had floated away, disappearing into the night.
Too soon, the reality of the Dark Lord's aims and depravities had intruded on their bliss. His regime was one to be based on suffering and destruction, not knowledge and progress, and Hermione was there as a mere puppet to be held up as a false proof against the Death Eater's bigoted ideologies. They discussed these revelations in quiet night-time whispers, bonding further over their shared horrors of what they had inadvertently become involved in. They discussed the possibility of fighting together, bringing down Voldemort's forces from the inside. They hatched plans and debated plots, each less realistic than the last, yet they were certain that, together, they would win.
And then Dumbledore had approached Severus. Dumbledore, who had been the only adult in Severus' life who had ever shown care for him, his headteacher at school who had become his legal guardian when his parents had died. The man who had appeared to believe in him when no one else had, who had told Severus that he was talented and intelligent and could go far in life. The man who had first nudged him towards the Death Eaters in the first place.
The reason behind this last act finally became clear to Severus. He had always been meant as a spy. Dumbledore had expected him to become disenchanted with the Dark Lord's plans as, indeed, he had. And so Dumbledore finally informed Severus of his plans, now that he had planted himself firmly in the Dark Lord's service. Severus was to feign allegiance, do his utmost to gain the Dark Lord's favour, and bring information back to Dumbledore to be used by the Order. It would be dangerous. But he had no choice.
Severus told Dumbledore about Hermione, that they could work together, spy together, to further the Order's efforts. But Dumbledore had persuaded him against it. It had taken much persuasion, and Severus had initially resisted firmly. But Dumbledore emphasised the danger that they would be in, the precariousness of their positions. If they made any mistakes, the Order's cause would be lost and the Dark Lord would win. Hermione might be well intentioned, but she was untrained, unexperienced. She was too bold, she would give them away. Now was not the time for love. Perhaps later, when Hermione had proven herself. They were young yet and there would be many more options for Severus out there, more prudent options, women better positioned to support him and further the cause.
Severus was certain, deeply certain, that there could be no other woman for him. But he had let Dumbledore's words influence him all the same. Perhaps if Dumbledore had not been his sole source of comfort and support as a child, this would not have been the case. And if Severus had not believed that his decision would be the best for the Order as well as for Hermione herself, he would not have been able to go through with it.
But go through with it he did. He told Hermione that he could not marry her, that Dumbledore had persuaded him it would be a mistake, it was too soon, too rash, too imprudent. That he would become Dumbledore's spy alone.
And she had not taken the rejection well. She had been furious. Her heart was broken, too, but this was overshadowed by her hurt pride. Severus had promised himself to her, had agreed to marry her, to fight by her side, and he had let himself be influenced by someone other than herself to end their engagement. She would not hear him out, would not listen to his 'maybes' for the future, his protestations of continued love. She had left him, firm in her decision never to set eyes on him again.
Severus had been wretched, his loneliness engulfing him again tenfold. He became Dumbledore's spy, mostly kept apart from the rest of the Order aside from the most occasional meetings, none of which Hermione had attended. He climbed the Dark Lord's ranks and eventually found himself the right-hand man. He had had to commit the most terrible crimes, had felt his soul whither, and he had had no one to share it with, no one who knew him or saw him or loved him. His youth had faded quickly, and after eight and a half years of painful toil, he hardly recognised himself in the mirror.
Hermione had escaped the enclave and was quickly recruited for the Order by Minerva. She had excelled in her training before being dispatched on missions around the world, gaining allies for the cause. Severus had heard of her successes only intermittently over the years, and each time had pierced his heart with a lonely, longing agony. She had never tried to contact him again, never sought him out. And all the while, Severus knew that he would never, could never, love another.