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A bit of Romione, but just a tiny drip.

39. Dialogue with Ghosts

The room was half empty. Snape was trying to conceal his incipient inebriation; Granger smoothed her hair with her fingers; it had loosened during the night to its normal appearance and looked like a brown bush again. Harry and Ginny were still dancing in the middle of the room, following the rhythm of a very old song whose name no one remembered anymore. Mrs Weasley, helped by several elves, was starting to pick up the cutlery and tablecloths. It was time to go. David stood from the table and smoothed his tailored pants, smiling at Jean with clear eyes.

"I think we should go."

Hermione nodded and shook McGonagall' and Lovegood's hand to say goodbye. Luna's gaze wandered to some point on the Hall while letting her fingers go.

"Ronald is here, that's opportune," she said softly, as if it was something really curious.

Hermione didn't want to turn and confirm it. But she had to, she couldn't spend the entire night facing Luna Lovegood, trying to hide from Ron and the Weasley crowd that was surely anxious to see the romantic reunion.

"Sweetheart, Ron's here, he's coming here."

Hermione turned around; before looking for the redhead man, she searched for Snape. He was still next to the bar, exuding a misty, violent aura; his eyes were widened, metallic-like, sharp.

She hadn't seen Ron in a long time; at the beginning, it was like someone had punched her in the stomach. He was hugging his parents and his brothers, he even hugged Harry tightly. Granger was full of anguish, she wanted to run away. The redhead found her from afar, still squeezing Ginny in his arms, his smile weakening when he saw her. He apparently said something to the circle of redheads, and Jean realized he was starting to walk in her direction. She couldn't stop seeing his eyes as he got close. She remembered the pain of watching him leave, she remembered the jealousy when he was with Lavender, she remembered the gigantic, crushing wall of his thousand blue eyes during her school years, her mental collection of Ron Weasley's smiles. She could still see him run with a crown of bird wanting to peck his head. She wished she still had the mood to defend herself like that from everything Ron made her feel. She shouldn't want Ron ever again.

He finally arrived; his perfume was intrusive, suddenly the air around her smelled like Ronald Weasley's perfume, everything pointed to him. A group of people were watching them, waiting for a hug or sudden kiss. The former appeared quickly: firm arms transported her to the Quidditch player's warm body. She wanted to cry. For him and for Severus who had to be watching this all, even with a glass in hand. She slipped from his grasp as she much as she could.

"Is that it, Ronald Weasley? You come here and do this, as if nothing had happened?"

"I know it wasn't right, but… things are changing, I'm changing; in fact, 'Mione, I didn't come here to visit, I'm going to start training as an Auror."

"You're not the only one changing, and this is not the time. You can't come here and expect everything is the same just like that."

"I don't expect that; I don't expect that it'd be the same."

David glanced at them, uneasy. Hermione guessed that black blur she could perceive was Snape, but she didn't dare to face him directly.

"Hermione, I know I did many things, they weren't…. they weren't good. But I don't want you to hate me for that you, you shouldn't hate me for that, I'm not perfect."

His eyes were sharp, looking for her face as she tried to retreat.

"I don't want us to end like this."

The girl yielded and let their gazes meet. Hermione seemed close to tears; Ron knew he was lost to her in many ways, she was giving up, she was letting him go. Maybe it was true and he wasn't the only one changing. He tightened his lips; he wanted to yell at her, he wanted to shake her, he wanted for her to stop looking at him like that, as if he was some stranger.

"How long were we together, Hermione? Tell me how many."

"Who cares about that, Ron?"

"Almost eight years, eight. I only left for some months."

"You don't know what can happen in some months, even in some seconds, Ron. It has nothing to do with time."

"Then Snape was right."

Hermione's face loosened, her mouth fell sideways slowly, her eyes were already dripping. Ron hated that he'd caused that. Ron hated everything he had done. He was furious with her, with her tears, he was furious with the small wizard reunion that had been watching them expectantly a few seconds before and that now, noticing the discouraging meeting, pretended they hadn't seen anything and tried to avoid the sharp scene. He also hated the bloody bat that watched them from afar; the git was probably gloating after fucking his life up.

"The hell you looking at, Snape?" he yelled so he could hear him.

For the first time, Hermione reached him, putting her hands on his chest. "Leave him alone, Ron. Don't fight with him."

"If it wasn't for his letters..."

"He doesn't have anything to do with… this." He actually had a lot to do with this.

Ron watched her for some seconds; his gaze was tainted, he didn't seem like the same man who had hugged his family, smiling. Hermione had never wanted to cause him any pain.

"I can't stand that we end up like this."

"Then you should've stayed."

Ronald nodded in a way that frightened Granger.

"I guess it couldn't have been different," he said as he savoured the scathing taste of his mouth. "I was right, Hermione. I just had to leave you for a while, and this happens."

"I was tired of waiting for you to finally decide if you loved me."

Weasley turned his head while biting his lip; his arms were stiff and his brows hardened, as if they weren't truly his.

"Whatever, we're already fucked up," he said loudly, so everyone could hear it. Before he turned, she could see the telling wetness of his eyes. His long legs carried him away, Hermione watched his nape full of thick red threads, his way of walking, and she reproached herself for letting things end up this way. David's hand extended on her shoulder, then he hugged her from behind. Hermione sheltered herself in that familiar touch.

Ronald swallowed repeatedly; his lids were hot, he felt them wet. He wanted to kick the stupid, ornamented chairs; he wanted to loosen the hand squeezing his throat that didn't let him breathe in peace. He wanted to punch himself right in the face, in the nose; it was just as he said, everything was fucked up. He didn't expect Hermione to throw herself in his arms, he actually wasn't even sure he wanted that, but the way she looked at him, as if he was nothing more than just an annoying fragment of her past. It had managed to reach a painful point.

He wasn't even sure of his intentions towards her, but that didn't matter anymore, or at least she wasn't interested in finding out anymore; she apparently only wanted to push him aside painlessly. He wouldn't be able to discover what was possible between him and Hermione Granger. During his walk, Snape had been looking at him; he was always there to mock everyone in their most untimely, vulnerable moment. He remembered some pieces of the bloody letter the greasy git had written; that, combined with his haughty chin, made him change his path and stride quickly, run, pull his hands out of his pocket. With his fist, with his wand, he didn't care; he was going to break that haughty look tonight, he had always wanted to.

Ron should have reached there, where they were, but instead he turned around in a rough, quick circle backwards; a spark paled the candle's light, a wand flew some meters to fall next to some tables. Suddenly two men were grappling next to the bar. They smashed against the floor and Harry ran to the fight; Hagrid did the same, but being in the middle of so many tables, the chairs didn't let him emerge from the furniture. Mr Granger, seeing it was a fistfight and not a magic fight, also ran there.

"Merlin, Ronald Weasley, stop right now!" Mrs Weasley shrieked with the full strength of her voice.

Arthur' and George's steps joined the rest of the echoes.

Harry hugged Ron's torso to remove him from Snape, an anonymous hand ended up scratching his face, his strength wasn't enough to separate them, and he had stupidly left his wand in a pocket of the jacket he'd previously removed. David Granger pulled Snape's arms to separate them, and suddenly the man seemed to wake up from a furious delirium and stopped trying to hit Weasley, focusing instead on leaving the crowd of confusing hands, nails and sweat. Arthur and George ended up calming the youngest son. Snape fixed his cloak and left, barely saying goodbye to McGonagall and Harry.

Ron apologised to Harry and Ginny, still half-stunned for what he had done. At least he could console himself with the fact that the wedding had already ended when the fight started, and very few guests had seen it.

Granger hasn't come back. During the first day, you calmed yourself down, telling yourself that maybe she was still a bit disturbed after what had happened with Ronald Weasley; then you started to remember that you didn't know anything about that conversation, excepting that the redhead hated you. You started to think and whisper that maybe they weren't as separate as you thought on the wedding night.

It's stupid, but you don't know where to start looking for Granger; she looked for you in the Ministry and appeared close to your house; sometimes you planned a date in some coffee shop or an avenue corner, but to look for her in those places wouldn't be more than an attack of unproductive, melancholic fantasy. She wasn't stuck to the places where you had kissed her.

Maybe you were heavy for Granger, maybe she was relieved, breathing deeply, thinking you were just a bunch of dirt in her chest, thinking Weasley has shiny hair, that he's younger, that he knows how to make her laugh, things you never even tried. Granger may be thinking about a lot of things that make her stay right where she is, that keep her hidden from you. You're so stupid, you didn't even bothered finding out her address. Through Potter, you once gave her some letters with the excuse you had to apologise, but now you don't want to ask the conceited Gryffindor for help.

You could, in revenge, go and look for her like the evicted you were becoming thanks to her; you could stop following her plan of silence and secrets, you could go to Hogwarts and disrupt every class, open the classrooms and look for her in every juvenile face, in every brown hair. You could yell at Minerva so she can tell you the number of her house, the name of her street. You could so many things, but you know damn well you won't do any of them and that's the worst thing. You comfort yourself by thinking about the big scandal you'll raise, you would raise, if you dared. You take comfort in knowing you'll kiss her to the limits of decency in a crowded hallway, so everyone can see and so she can't slip from between your fingers.

In the end, you'll just stay there, locked in your grey walls, repeating to yourself that you should've expected something like that, it couldn't have been different. That you were Severus Snape and she... she's made of a flow of elements that were never compatible with you. Nothing in you is compatible with her youth; there is no link between her bird gaze and the dull eyes you use to perceive the world. Granger's retreat is the most logical, natural outcome; your reticence to know it, your refusal to start your barricaded loneliness once again is also just like you; you, who isn't better prepared for abandonment than twenty years ago when Lily decided she wasn't going to be happy with you.

What will you do now, Severus? Hate her like you hated Lily for a while and see her later, months later, creating a different life distant from you, elevating the pinnacle of her happiness over the debris where you still look and wait for her? You can't watch that happen, you can't watch and pretend that you don't care, that it doesn't burn a part of your soul.

You can't keep being the same man after her, after Hermione Granger. You can't, and you don't want to either.

Severus…

And to think you may wonder where I am; you wonder what happened on the wedding night. And to think I said you shouldn't be afraid; I shouldn't have told you that, I didn't have any right, because I'm afraid too.

I imagine you in that worn couch you have in your living room and I know you must be drinking elf wine, whisky or whatever you can find first; I know you must be mumbling things against me and that your eyes are half-closed by how angry you are and how badly you end up after drinking like that.

I wouldn't put you through this without a reason.

I know you want me to tell everyone and I know I should and you're right, many times you're right, unfortunately. But I think about the Weasleys' faces, about Harry's, McGonagall, even Hagrid, and I feel we're both defenceless, both against natural order, against what everyone will think of us, against what we ourselves thought may happen with our lives. And my dad, Severus, doesn't trust me like before, and if I tell him the truth, he's going to disown me, he's going to say it's our world's fault, he'll say I betrayed him, and maybe it's true. Should I be with you, Severus?

You don't have faith in me, you don't truly believe what I feel; the rest won't either, they'll say you gave me some potion, that you forced me, and I don't completely trust my strength, Severus. I can't tell them. I tried with my family, to tell my mum over the phone, to tell my dad in the hallway while he put on his tie. I didn't, and I don't dare see your face, because I know it has to be like this; you come with all this stuff. You, like anything worthy, carry consequences mixed with kisses.

I love you, Severus. It should be enough, it should be the only thing that matters.

N.T.: 3 chapters left!