Chapter Nine
Gone. Severus was gone.
Hermione felt the blood rushing to her head. She could not see, could not hear. Everything turned to white noise.
He was not coming back.
"Hermione?" Daphne said softly. When her friend failed to elicit a response, Daphne sank to her knees beside Hermione's chair. "Hermione?" she repeated, tapping her friend's leg gently.
Hermione moved her hands to her temples and massaged them aggressively, forcing herself to return to the present.
"I'm so sorry," Daphne continued. "It's my fault. I should not have pressed him to come to the wedding. I just thought -,"
"It's not your fault," Hermione interrupted hoarsely. She opened her eyes. Her friend was peering up at her, her face grief-stricken. "It's not your fault," she repeated. "It's mine. I told him I would give up anything to be with him, except his hiding from the world. It was my only condition, and last week he seemed willing to acquiesce. Apparently, he wasn't ready."
"I pushed,"
"You didn't." Hermione interrupted again. "I did. I gave him a choice, a de facto ultimatum, and he's made it." She rubbed her temples again. She was surprised at how composed she sounded.
Daphne frowned. "But maybe I could have,"
Hermione smiled weakly and reached for Daphne's hand. "I don't think there is anything you, or your father, could have said to change his mind," she said quietly. "He told us all from the get-go that he wanted freedom. He must have felt this was his only way to get it."
Half an hour later, Hermione sent Daphne home. Daphne had wanted to stay, but Hermione had insisted. "You have so many things to tend to," Hermione had said, and when Daphne began to argue to the contrary, Hermione had shut her down with a gentle, but firm request for time to process.
"We have to call off the search," Hermione asserted. "Clearly, this is what he wants." Knowing she would be unable to produce a Patronus, she gave Daphne Harry's address and asked her to let him know what had transpired. "Please tell him I need time to myself. I promise I will be in touch with both of you by Monday morning."
When Daphne had gone, Hermione shut off her floo access. She meant what she said; she was in no mood for visitors, no matter how well-intentioned. She made herself a cup of strong tea before crawling back into bed. She lay staring at the ceiling for a few minutes before sitting up.
"You've been dumped," she said aloud. "This isn't the first time. It likely will not be the last time."
This was the rebuke she needed. Opening her the drawer to her bedside table, she pulled out a notebook and a ballpoint pen. She tapped the pen against her teeth, thinking, and then began to make a to-do list.
1. Cry.
2. Pack up S's belongings. (Had he left any behind?)
3. Call Mum and Dad and cancel dinner.
Hermione read her list back and sighed. Item two should be easy enough – she was fairly certain he had taken everything with him. Number three was going to be difficult. She had not canceled on Friday night dinner even a single time since her parents had returned to Britain. Yet, she had to. She simply did not have the wherewithal to tell them everything that had happened. Not yet.
Might as well get that good cry in first, she thought. And so, she indulged. She allowed the unshed tears to flow, and soon she was sobbing deeply. A short while later, when she felt she could compose herself once more, she reached for the phone and called her parents' house, knowing they would be at the office. She left a message on the answerphone.
"Hi Mum, Dad, it's me. I am terribly sorry; I have to beg off tonight, I'm feeling quite under the weather. No need to ring back, I'm going to try to sleep it off. I will call you on Sunday. Love you."
As she hung up the phone, she crossed off items one and three from her list. She added a fourth item – visit the shops for food – before sinking back against her pillows and allowing herself to fall back to sleep.
Hermione slept for the better part of the day. When she finally managed to rouse herself from slumber, she was surprised to find that it was nearly half-past four.
Eying Crookshanks as he ambled into her bedroom, she sat up. "I better get to the shops," she said aloud. As usual, her flat did not have much in the way of food, and if she intended to indulge in a nice, long wallow, she required proper supplies. She glanced at her notebook, tempted to jot a list, but Crookshanks impatient hiss made her think better.
Instead, she straightened her clothes and pulled her hair back into a messy bun, before following the kneazle cat back into the kitchen. She refilled his bowls, checked the state of his food supplies – fully stocked, as always – and gathered her keys, wallet, and a couple of canvas shopping bags. She pointedly ignored her mobile and the blinking light of her answerphone before exiting.
Hermione was fortunate to live in an area with several options for food shopping. Bypassing the usual shops she frequented – too many memories - she walked an extra few blocks before selecting a market at random. Grabbing a basket from the neat stack, she wandered aimlessly around the store, adding items that met her fancy. So what if it was mostly ice cream, toffees, and prepared lasagnas?
On the way home, she passed a Blockbuster Video. She popped in, and moved through the rows automatically, collecting Bridget Jones's Diary, Shakespeare in Love, and Pride and Prejudice. Who better to help mend a wounded heart than Colin Firth?
Hermione woke around ten the next morning by a soft, but persistent, knock at her front door.
Sitting up on the sofa – she had passed out on it the previous night, somewhere around hour three of Pride and Prejudice – she spied the blinking light on the answerphone. She had never checked the messages. It has to be Mum, she thought.
"Coming, Mum," she said aloud. Pushing Crookshanks off her lap, she stood, stretched, and headed for the door.
It was not her mother.
It was Ronald Weasley. Holding a large wicker hamper.
Hermione furrowed her brow. "Ron?" she said, genuinely surprised.
Her best friend – and former boyfriend – smiled down at her. "'Morning Hermione," he said congenially. "May I come in?"
Hermione frowned. "What are you doing here?" she asked.
Ron bit his lower lip. From experience, Hermione knew he was trying to select his words carefully. "I came to check on you. I heard about -," he paused, as the door across from Hermione's swung open, and elderly Mr. Goulding from across the hall came paddling into the hallway to collect his morning paper. He paused mid-step, staring at the pair of them. Ron raised his eyebrows. Hermione took a step backward, allowing Ron egress into her flat.
"Thanks," Ron said as he slipped inside. He set the basket on the table by the door and removed his denim jacket while Hermione watched silently. Hanging the jacket on one of the pegs by the door, he gestured to the basket. "Mum made scones, muffins, raspberry jam, and a lemon curd she claims you like."
Hermione felt her eyes fill with tears. Molly sent food, she thought. Everyone must know.
"Aw, hey, don't cry," Ron said gently. He put an arm around her shoulders and drew her into a hug.
"Does everyone know?" she whispered into his chest.
Ron tightened his arms around her. "No, 'course not," he said. He gave her a quick peck on top of her head before stepping back to look at her. "I do," he said, wiping a tear off her cheek. "Harry and Greengrass filled Gin and me in on what's happened last night."
Hermione sighed. Ron frowned. "Don't be mad, okay? They are very worried about you. We all are. We want to be respectful of his privacy, 'course, but you are our friend. Our priority. And I know you're hurting, even if you're trying to convince everyone that you're doing just fine and just need a little alone time." With that, he used his Auror-precision to take a quick sweep of her flat His eyes landed on the DVD rentals. "Pride and Prejudice and Bridget Jones' Diary, eh?" he asked, whistling. "I see I've come just in time. You've called in the heavy artillery."
Despite the situation, Hermione laughed. Ron knew her so well.
Her laughter made him smile in turn. He gave her another quick hug, using the advantage to steer her toward the sofa. "Don't let me stop the healing process," he said teasingly. "Turn the telly back on. I'll make some tea to go with the scones." He started toward the kitchen, before pausing in the doorway. Cocking his head at her answerphone, he added, "And for the love of Merlin, call your Mum back."
Despite the fact that she had once accused her ex-boyfriend of having the emotional range of a teaspoon, Ron Weasley turned out to be precisely the tonic that Hermione needed. Taking his role of 'emotional support' very seriously, Ron spent the remainder of the weekend in her flat, curled up on the couch, ordering in and preparing food, acting out her favorite bits from the films they watched over and over again, holding Hermione when she needed to cry, rubbing her back when she had trouble calming down, and speaking to her calm and gentle when she needed to bounce her thoughts off someone. By the time he left her on Sunday evening, Hermione felt ready to face the world again.
Without Severus.
It was a rough go at first. Harry, Daphne, Ron, Ginny, her parents, and even Kingsley, constantly found excuses to be by her side, watching her, waiting to pick up the pieces in case she broke down. Admittedly, there were times that she wanted to, but she would not indulge. She had been heartsick before and overcome. She would do it again.
Her supervisor was helpful. After her dubious success at championing House-Elf rights, he was now ready to let her move on to Centaurs. Hermione blissfully threw herself into the research, rediscovering her love of archaic texts that she had lost during her House-Elf battle.
"I think this will be an easier battle to win," her supervisor told her. "You had many influential people opposing you on the House-Elf issue because the lot of them have elves; that won't be the case with the Centaurs."
Daphne's wedding was another tough moment. Hermione had considered skipping the event altogether but had been talked out of it by the bride herself. "Severus and Aunt Eileen won't be there," Daphne had insisted. "And I want you to join us." To make things less painful for Hermione, Daphne moved her from the Greengrass family table and invited the Potters and Ron. With her support system in place, Hermione attended, and while she did enjoy herself immensely, she could not help but feel a pang every time she caught sight of the Greengrass family celebrating. He should have been here, she thought. He should have been here, drinking too much champagne and enjoying himself – with me.
He had made his choice.
Time marched on. Weeks turned to months; Ginny announced she was pregnant with her and Harry's first child. Ron proposed to his girlfriend Siobhan. Daphne and Adrian bought a house. Severus' first book came out and was received with great fanfare by the academic community… and he missed it all.
Then one night, over a sumptuous dessert that followed a spectacular dinner at the Pucey house, it happened.
"Hermione," Adrian began, as he refilled glasses of wine, "have you considered getting back out there?"
Hermione took a sip of her wine and studied her friend over the rim of her glass. "Getting back out there?" she repeated.
"In the dating pool," he replied. "I've got a few friends – ouch, Daph, what the hell!" His wife had elbowed him, hard, in the ribs.
"Not now, Adrian," Daphne said sharply.
"Why not?" Adrian snapped, rubbing his ribs gingerly. "Look, we all care for the Professor, but he's gone. Hermione is a brilliant, beautiful woman, and several of the blokes have been asking after her."
Hermione leaned back in her chair and took another sip of her wine as she watched Daphne and Adrian argue. Was she ready to start dating again? Severus had left almost four months ago... she had not given dating a second thought in all that time.
Maybe she should.
"Who is interested, Adrian?" she asked quietly. Her friends ceased bickering immediately. Hermione caught Arian throw his wife a triumphant smile.
"Marcus Flint, for one," he said, settling back into his seat.
"Marcus looks like a troll!" Daphne snorted. "'Bout as smart as one, too."
Adrian ignored his wife, focusing his gaze on Hermione. "Theo Nott. Eddie Carmichael. Kenneth Towler. Cassius."
Hermione was surprised by the last name. "Warrington?" she asked. Cassius Warrington was Adrian's best friend. Since becoming close to Daphne and Adrian, she had hung out with Warrington maybe half a dozen times. He had always been nice enough but had never come across as particularly flirtatious.
Daphne narrowed her eyes. "I thought Cassius was dating the Welcome Witch from St. Mungo's. Beatrice Haywood?"
Adrian shook his head. "They went out a few times, but didn't have much in common." He grinned at Hermione. "Not like our girl here. What do you say, Hermione?"
Hermione honestly did not know Cassius well enough to say whether they had anything in common, either. She finished her glass of wine with a casual shrug, "Let me think about it."
Hermione did think about accepting a date with Cassius; quite a bit, and if Fate had not intervened, she may very well have accepted. However, Fate was a fickle mistress, and it chose to redirect her. At least, that was how Hermione chose to interpret what happened next.
It was Ginny's birthday, and Harry wanted to take all of them – Hermione, Neville, Luna, Ron, and Siobhan – out for a celebratory dinner. As none of them – aside from Hermione – ventured out into Muggle London very often, he thought it would be great fun to put on their fancy dress and go out for dinner at an elegant restaurant. As Ginny had been craving a lot of Italian fares, he chose an authentic Italian bistro, specializing in Milanese cuisine.
It was not until they arrived at their destination – via taxicabs, just like real Muggles – that Hermione realized it was the same bistro that she and Severus had ate at on their first date. As well as several subsequent dates.
Hermione felt ill.
As the group slid out of the taxicabs, Hermione placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Harry," she said, fighting to keep her tone neutral. "Where did you find this place?"
Harry was busy admiring the delight on his wife's face. "What? Oh, your Dad recommended it to me a couple of weeks ago, when I went in for my last tooth cleaning. Told him Gin had been craving Italian."
Her dad. Of course. Naturally, she and Severus had taken her parents there a couple of times, as it was his favorite spot.
She had not removed her hand from his shoulder, and he turned to look at her. "Are you alright? Your dad said this place was really good."
Hermione removed her hand and swallowed. "I'm fine. It looks lovely." Harry nodded absently and moved away to lead their group inside. Hermione inhaled deeply and filed in behind Luna.
It was earlier in the evening then when Hermione and Severus usually patronized the establishment, as they most frequently visited the bistro following an evening performance. As such, Francesca, the hostess that usually sat them, was not yet on duty.
Hurdle one avoided.
Due to the size of the party to the establishment, they were seated in a private room in the back. Hermione had never been in the private rooms before and was grateful; at least she could enjoy her meal without constant visual reminders of her past.
Hurdle two successfully overcome.
Settling into her seat between Luna and Ron, Hermione exhaled deeply. She could do this. She would do this. She would enjoy this wonderful evening out with her friends at this delicious restaurant. Plastering a bright smile onto her face, she relaxed against the banquette and opened the menu that lay before her. On the bright side, she knew what she liked, and could at least order with confidence.
Even if she did so in English, and not fluent Italian.
Hermione could feel her smile droop a bit at the memory of him doing so, so many times before.
"Are you okay?" Luna traced her fingertips along Hermione's arm, and Hermione raised her head. "You look a bit sad."
Hermione shook her head. "I'm fine, Luna, thank you. I was just… thinking about something."
Luna's protuberant silvery eyes seem to pierce her, but the other girl said nothing. Hermione returned to her menu.
"Buonasera!" a pleasant and familiar voice greeted them as he entered. Hermione's head shot up.
Shit. Hurdle three, it seemed, was not to be avoided. It seemed like their server this evening would Gino, who waited on her and Severus often. Of course, the congenial Italian recognized her straight away, greeting her enthusiastically. "Miss Hermione! How lovely to see you again. It has been a while, no?"
Hermione nodded her head and managed a tight smile. Hermione could feel all eyes on her, even though no one said anything. An awkward silence ensued.
Fortunately, Gino was good with awkward silences. He introduced himself to the room and launched into a description of the special in mouthwatering detail. Ron and Neville, who were fairly adept at steering away from awkward moments themselves, began asking him all sorts of questions about various menu items and wines. Before long, her friends selected more or less everything on the menu along with a couple of bottles of highly recommended vino. As Gino left to place their order, Ginny and Harry fixed their gaze on her.
"I don't wish to discuss it right now," she said in a tone that left no room for questions. "But yes, and often."
Harry nodded while Ginny raised her brows, but that was that.
Despite the uncomfortable start, dinner was a merry affair. It had been some time since they had all gone out together as a group, and Hermione simply wanted to enjoy time with her friends. Before long, they were finishing their desserts and espressos, when Ginny announced she needed the loo. Hermione decided to join her.
She did not make it very far. They were just passing the door to the kitchen when Gino called her name.
"Miss Hermione?" he said tentatively.
Ginny paused. Hermione motioned for her to go on without her as she waited on Gino.
"I'm so sorry for before, Miss Hermione," the young man began. "I didn't realize your friends didn't know you came here with Signor Severus."
Hermione waved her hand dismissively. "It's fine, Gino, please don't trouble yourself over it." She bit her lip. "I just… didn't tell them much about him."
Gino nodded. "I recognized my mistake immediately, Miss. I'm sorry; we just haven't seen you and Signor here in such a long while,"
"He's left the country," Hermione confided.
"Oh, I know," Gino said, nodding encouragingly.
Hermione wrinkled her brow. "You do? How?" Surely, he had not stopped by the bistro to say goodbye, no matter how fond of the wait staff he might have been.
"Yes, Miss Hermione," the server said, nodding emphatically. "I'll show you." He began unbuttoning the top two buttons of his uniform and reached into a hidden inside pocket. He withdrew a newspaper clipping and held it out to her.
"You see, Miss Hermione," he said, handing it to her excitedly. "My mamma, she still sends me clippings from the big local events back home." He grinned at her. "She's trying to woo me back home, my mamma is." He tapped the paper in her hand. "I kept this one because he's in it, you see, right there. I was waiting for the pair of you to return to the bistro, I thought you might like to see he made it into the paper."
Hermione's eyes flickered onto the clipping. Sure enough, underneath the heading was a large photograph, featuring an antique car – her eyes flickered over the words Corsa Spider in the caption line – and three men standing beside it. Two were smiling at the camera - they were probably the owners – while the third man leaned halfway over one of the open doors, examining something. The man was thin, and had a sharp, hawkish profile… it was very clearly Severus.
Hermione fought to control her voice. "I do not read Italian, Gino," she said, tracing her fingertip against the photograph. "What does the headline say?"
"Lake Garda Celebrates Annual Antique Autoshow."
Lake Garda… a little town called Limone…
And just like that, she knew exactly where to find him.