A/N: I wanted to let you know quickly that I have built Snape's cottage in the Sims, and I have made an album on Imgur with screenshots of the home. It does include the changes that are made in this chapter, but you are welcome to look at it now if it'll help you picture everything. You just need to search for my username, SirToofs, and it should be the only public album I have up. If you have trouble, let me know! This is a work-in-progress project of mine, that I poke around with here and there as the fancy strikes, and I do imagine things a bit differently in my writing (like the living room having a bit more space- Sims 4 furniture is so clunky!), but I'm pleased with it overall.
I'm also quite happy with the response from the last chapter! I'm glad you all enjoyed it, as it was a blast on my end to write and I'm quite fond of it. I'm running out of pre-written material to edit and post, so my updates might slow down again, but don't worry, I'm still working on it!
Chapter Twenty-Two
Severus wiped the sweat from his brow and arched his back, stretching the cramped muscles with a groan. The changes being made to his house were unfortunately quite extensive, and was requiring a fair bit of finesse on his part, and his already overtaxed body was beginning to protest. Sparing a moment to rest, he leaned back against the kitchen island and took in his handiwork.
It had been decided fairly quickly that the best course of action would be to put in a second story to the home. Though much of the downstairs was to remain untouched, it meant that he had needed to clean out the attic and relocate his spare potions equipment, hence his kitchen being heavily utilized as a storage closet; but it hadn't been hard to add in some more cabinetry, and he did so whilst leaving Minerva and Filius to tackle the specifics of the addition itself.
The results of their combined efforts would leave Hermione a large enough space for a bed and desk, as well as a small sitting area and her own bathroom- something Minerva had been insistent upon, and something Severus was in complete agreement with. He was relieved to not be forced to share a shower with the girl, at the very least.
Woman, he corrected himself. She's not a girl any longer. He wasn't sure which would be worse, in this situation. If she were an underage child, he could at least take on the familiar yet despised role of guardian, but she wasn't- she was an of-age adult such as himself, and while he took on a protective role around her, they were more or less on an even standing. As it was, he wasn't sure what part to play anymore.
"Severus?" His name was called from upstairs, breaking through his thoughts, and he scrunched his eyes in annoyance.
"Yes, Filius?" Every five minutes with him, I swear. He walked into the hall to the foot of the stairs and called up, "Did you need me to reach something off a tall shelf for you?"
"Oh, no," the small wizard chuckled. "Mind you, I haven't built any shelves yet, so it may very well come up." Severus rolled his eyes as the man chattered on. "No, I had a question. Do you have a color preference for these walls?"
"Anything but pink," he all but snapped, growing tired of these useless questions and endless interruptions. It wasn't his room being designed, after all. Why should he care? They could always be spelled to his satisfaction later on.
"Yes, I agree, Miss Granger does not seem to be the 'pink' type of lady, does she?" The little man's head popped into view from the floor above. "You wouldn't happen to know her favorite color by chance, would you?"
"Now why would I know something like that?"
"It's violet," said a voice behind him, and when Severus turned he saw that Minerva had finally returned from the Ministry. "I believe she also likes periwinkle blue."
"Ah yes, thank you, Minerva!" Filius squeaked, and turned back to his task.
Severus turned away from the steps and faced the woman. "If he turns my walls periwinkle-"
"You'll live." She pulled off her traveling cloak and hung it on his coat rack by the door. "Kingsley has everything squared away with the Hogsmeade Council- you are free to maintain the renovations should you choose to after the Fidelius has been lifted."
"And when is my prison sentence set to begin?" he asked, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.
"You are by far the most melodramatic whiner I have ever met," she retorted. "To answer your question, we can't exactly cast the spell while the remodeling is taking place, and Hermione won't be here for a few hours yet. It'll be done by sundown, most likely." She paused then, turning serious. "Are you sure you're all right with this?" she asked. "I know you- you keep taking your anger out on everyone around you, and soon she'll be the only one around."
"You think I'm going to spend my days screaming at the girl?" He shoved off the wall with a frown, walking into his living room. "I have some semblance of self control, Minerva, despite what you may have heard."
"I'm being serious, Severus. If you don't think you can coexist peacefully-"
"What other option is there?" he snapped. "Grimmauld Place will never be as secure as it was before, the Weasleys are galivanting across the country, and any safe house the Ministry or Order could set her up with would be one of terrifying isolation. At least here, she has-"
He cut himself off before he could finish that sentence. At least here, she has a friend. Did she still consider him as such? After the lack of contact, after their near constant bickering earlier that day, was he still a friend to her?
It mattered not. He still cared for her, and she was right- he did want her safe. If she was safest with him, then so be it. "I'll behave," he acquiesced with a frustrated sigh.
Minerva smirked at him. "There's a good lad." She took her time looking around the room, paying special attention to his bookshelves. "She's going to want to read these," she mused.
"She's going to have to learn some self control," he groused. At her raised eyebrow, he rolled his eyes. "She can ask."
"How generous of you."
"How much more generous do you expect me to be?" He gestured to the hall that now housed a flight of wooden stairs. "I feel as if I've gone above and beyond, of late."
"Would you be opposed to doing me one more favor?"
Minerva wasn't looking at him, but was instead intently studying his shelves. A lack of eye contact from the witch was never a good sign. "Would you allow me the chance to deny you?" he asked wearily. She smirked.
"I only wish to make Hermione's stay better."
"Then who am I to refuse?"
She turned to him then, and gestured to the books. "I fear she's going to struggle with her schoolwork. Not in the academic sense," she explained, "but in the stress of it all. She is used to having full access to the Hogwarts library, and I daresay she won't handle losing that resource very well. You are a man of knowledge, Severus. Please help her. Keep her sane when she inevitably doubts her own merit."
Severus studied the witch before him with suspicion. "You wish for me to tutor her?"
"I'm asking that when she starts to panic about her marks, you either talk some sense into her or help her with the assignment." When he rubbed his eyes in irritation she added, "It's only a few weeks worth of classes, Severus, and you'll have the time."
"Yes, thank you, I'm aware of that fact." With a sigh, he nodded. "Fine. I will do what I can to keep the girl sane."
She reached out to touch his arm, and he flinched in surprise. Ignoring his discomfort, she said, "Thank you, Severus. I truly appreciate everything you are doing for her."
He shrugged her hand off awkwardly. "Don't you have more of my house to transfigure?" he muttered, and she chuckled softly.
"I'll go rejoin Filius, then. You said you wanted periwinkle walls?"
"Try it and see," he glared, but she just smirked at him as she left the room.
Alone and uneasy, he shifted his gaze to the bookshelves. This was going to be harder than he thought.
"Do you have all your things with you?"
Professor McGonagall stood by the fireplace in her office, jar of floo powder in hand. The sun was beginning to set, and the light from the window cast long shadows across the room as Hermione nodded and stepped forward. Crookshanks, irritated at having been forced into the carrier yet again, hissed loudly in displeasure.
"Oh hush," his owner told him, poking his nose gently through the bars with her free hand. To the older witch she replied, "Yes, my trunk is in my pocket and I have the rest of my things in my little bag here."
"And are you truly okay with this, Hermione?"
Her professor studied her intently, and Hermione raised her brow. "I am," she answered, taken aback by the question.
"You're sure?" McGonagall smiled reassuringly as she placed a hand on her shoulder. "It isn't too late to change your mind. I could always contact Harry for you, if you're having second thoughts."
Hermione shook her head and tried to speak confidently, though she felt anything but. "No, I think I'd rather not delay anything. I'm sure it will all be fine."
"I am too, my dear," she assured her. "You're a strong witch, Hermione. Especially when faced with Severus Snape's worse moods."
With a snort, Hermione smiled. "Yes, well, he's certainly had his fair share to put up with on my account."
"Oh pish." The old woman laughed, before sobering. "If ever you change your mind," she told her earnestly, "I will arrange your move post haste. And if that man does anything-"
"He won't." Hermione didn't have to try to sound confident this time; she knew without a doubt that Snape would never hurt her. Not intentionally. "But thank you."
Nodding, McGonagall gave her a reassured smile and held out the jar to her; Hermione reached in and grabbed a pinch of Floo powder. "When you're ready, then. I'll be along shortly, so if he asks, tell him he'll have to be patient."
She gave Hermione an unsettlingly long look-over before grabbing her upper arm. "I will do everything I can to ensure this is a short-lived predicament for you," she spoke reassuringly, "and in the meantime, if there is anything I can do to make this easier, do not hesitate to tell me. I am so proud of you, Hermione. You have been through hell and back, and you are still showing strength I wouldn't have imagined possible." With a sly grin, she added, "If ever there was proof of you belonging in Gryffindor, willingly walking into a serpent's den would be high on the list."
Hermione could not find any words in which to reply. Instead, she threw her free arm around her professor, holding her hand a bit awkwardly so as not to spill the floo powder. McGonagall didn't mind; she returned her one-armed hug with a sturdier embrace of her own. "Thank you," Hermione whispered, and her eyes swam with unshed tears.
Stepping back, she looked down at the powder in her hands and then into the fireplace. It's now or never, she told herself firmly before her resolve could falter. This was the best decision- this was the most logical decision- for her, and Hermione took comfort in that above all else. She found peace in it; if it made sense logically, it could make sense every which way. She just needed to focus on that.
She inhaled deeply, bracing herself, before stepping directly in front of the fireplace. Standing here would only delay the inevitable; it was time to move forward. With no more hesitation, Hermione threw the powder in the flames and spoke her destination.
The house was quiet when she stepped into Snape's living room. It looked the same as when she left it- it was still crowded without being cramped, dim without being dark, comfortable if not cozy. It wasn't so much welcoming as it was comforting, and it was enough for her.
She bent down to take Crookshanks out of his carrier, and held her disgruntled familiar close to her chest as she stood. Should she wait here? Or was she expected to seek him out? Would he be annoyed if she wandered his home without permission? Would he be annoyed with her mere presence? Was she forcing herself on him- trapping him, pushing him into a corner by making him think she had nowhere else to go- or was he willingly opening his home, his life, to her?
She heard his footsteps in the hall and turned towards the doorway as he entered the room, wiping his hands on a cloth. When he raised his eyes and caught sight of her, he froze.
His frock coat was unbuttoned and hung open, exposing the white shirt below in a bright slash that broke up the vast expanse of black. His hair hung limply as it framed his face, as if he had showered and the strands were still wet. His eyes, still staring at her intently, were unusually open, and she could see his trepidation and unease as clear as day. She was sure her eyes mirrored a very similar emotion.
After a moment, he visibly swallowed. "You brought the cat," he stated awkwardly.
Her arms clutched Crookshanks closer to her chest. "Please don't make me send him back," she whispered, dread growing at the thought of losing him, too.
Snape shook his head quickly. "No, no, of course I won't." He spoke softly, as if afraid he would spook her. He did not immediately say anything else, opting instead to stare at her a while longer, before clearing his throat. "Minerva-"
"She'll be by shortly," she answered the unspoken question quickly. Snape nodded, looking behind him, and she took a step around the couch. "Thank you," she told him, and he glanced quickly back her way. "I know this is probably the last thing you would want-"
"Hermione," he interrupted, "your safety is exactly what I want, as you so aptly reminded me earlier."
"But still, I'm sure living together, at least temporarily, is not ideal for you."
He stared at her carefully, before slowly stating, "There are worse people to be stuck with." A small upturn of the corner of his lips indicated a slight teasing note to his words.
She graced him with an awkward smile of her own, and after a few more moments of staring where she realized that today was, in fact, the first time she had seen him face to face since the day following the last time they were attacked, he turned his head back to the hallway.
"Would you-" he started, stopped, then tried again. "I'm sure you would like to see your new accommodations?"
Taking in the discomfort he was portraying- if he were nervous enough to actually show it, he may be more uncomfortable than she was- she nodded. "Yes, thank you," she answered him, and followed his lead into the hall.
Directly across from the living room was the kitchen, visible through a large open doorway similar to the one they had just walked through. To her right was what looked to be the front door, and there was a floating wooden staircase immediately to the left of the living room, the hallway continuing down the length of the cottage rather awkwardly around it. It was here that Snape gestured, and Hermione glanced up at the staircase in surprise. "After you," he said with a nod.
Gripping the rail with one hand, Crookshanks still clutched in the other, she ascended the staircase ahead of him. His soft footsteps followed behind her.
The upstairs was a bit cramped, but homey. The entire space formed a U, fitting neatly around the stairs, though the open space was more of an L shape. In the left nook, behind a banister railing, was a single bed and night stand sat upon a patterned violet rug. Across from that space was a large wooden desk, and at the end of the L was a soft pink armchair and purple ottoman aside a tall dresser. The cream walls and furniture offset the dark floorboards nicely, and the curtains draped against the windows complimented the softer pieces in the room.
Hermione approached the door into the other nook and glanced behind her, where she saw Snape leaning up against the banister with his arms crossed, watching her. He nodded his encouragement, and she opened the door to find a neat, little bathroom, with its own window and shower. She backed out of the space, and turned her wide eyes back towards the man still lingering on the topmost stairs.
"You did all of this for me?" she asked, and he raised his eyebrow in response.
"Did you think I was going to lock you in a cellar?" he asked skeptically, and shook his head. "It was decided that you needed your own space, and enough of it that it would be comfortable for you. I understand there's no door, but we could always-"
"That doesn't bother me," she assured him. "I think a door might make me feel..."
"Secluded?" he guessed.
"Locked away," she answered.
A pause passed between the two, where Hermione looked around once more. "It's really quite lovely," she told him.
"Thank your professors," he shrugged. "I can't say I'm much of an interior designer, myself."
"I disagree," she said. "Your living room is very well put together, I think."
"You were blinded by all the books," he smirked, and she grinned in response.
Crookshanks decided in that moment that he had had enough of the conversation, and wriggled out of Hermione's arms. She watched as her companion strutted up to Snape, who stared down at him with disinterest. "Can I help you?" he asked the cat, who just blinked owlishly at him before waltzing past him and jumping on the bed. "Interesting creature," he remarked dispassionately.
"He seems to like you," she offered, and he raised his eyebrow at her again.
"How can you tell?"
"He doesn't sleep around people he doesn't trust," she answered, pointing behind him. His head swiveled, taking in the cat who had wasted no time getting comfortable at the foot of the bed, and turned back to her. "Plus," she added, "he tends to agree with me. I trust you, so he trusts you."
A hardness crossed his face and his eyes became sharp before he caught himself and schooled his features. He took a deep breath, uncrossing his arms and running a hand through his hair as he looked away. "Hermione," he said uncertainly, but she stopped him.
"Don't." When he looked back at her in surprise, she shook her head. "Don't apologize again," she said softly. "I can't handle you blaming yourself like this. You did nothing wrong." When he opened his mouth to argue, she interrupted him again. "You didn't. All you did was make a friend."
She watched with frustration as he turned his face away, his hair falling to cover his expression. She wanted to step forward, to brush it back behind his ear, to force him to look at her and demand that he accept her friendship once and for all... but what right did she have to do something so bold? Was it not she that ended their correspondence? No wonder he didn't believe her. She opened her mouth to address that, to apologize, when the sounds of the floo activating distracted them both.
"Severus?" McGonagall called out. "Hermione?"
"One moment," Snape responded sharply, taking a deep breath and schooling his features once more. He looked her way, stoic yet again, and said, "Your presence is not necessary for the fidelius charm to take place. If you wish to... make yourself at home, it would be acceptable to do so now." Without waiting for an answer, he fled her presence down the stairs.
Blinking, Hermione stared after him for a moment before turning back to the room. It really was quite lovely, she thought again, and while she had no expectations- she wouldn't let herself think that far ahead- she was pleasantly surprised all the same. After giving her cat a long look, she pulled her trunk out of her pocket and resized it, setting it up at the foot of her bed. If everyone else was to be preoccupied for a while, she had might as well begin unpacking.
At the very least, she could change out of her uniform.
Severus watched the floo turn from green to orange as Kingsley disappeared, and sank into the sofa wearily. He leaned forward, head in his hands, and let out a long, heavy sigh. This was it; the spell was cast. He was no longer a free man, able to come and go as he pleased. He was a prisoner in his own home, powerless to get himself out of this predicament, forced to rely on the help of others. He felt shackled; restrained. He despised it.
And worse yet, he wasn't alone in his misery. In typical Severus Snape fashion, he had dragged another down to rock bottom with him. Hermione Granger should have been nowhere near any of this, and yet due to her continued association with him she had once again found herself in an impossible situation. The poor girl was even worse off than he; at least he was comfortable within these walls, these same five rooms he had been inhabiting for months. Hermione was forced out of the one place she could have reasonably called home and relocated to the attic room of the same man who put her into this predicament in the first place.
He let out a low, frustrated growl. Her refusal to accept his apologies, to acknowledge his hand in her difficult situation, infuriated him. She's foolish and naïve, he thought bitterly to himself, and blind to all logic. Of course I'm to blame for this! Were these men not after him, after all? If not for these targets on his back, targets that he himself placed there by years of poor decisions and desperations, would their situation not be completely different?
He rubbed his face with his hands roughly, agitated beyond belief. Minerva had gone upstairs to speak with Hermione, to go over the logistics of her remote learning, but soon... soon it would just be the two of them. The mere thought of their shared isolation unnerved him; what would it entail? Would they simply co-exist side by side, or would she require more from him? He couldn't imagine she was the sort that thrived on seclusion. It was all well and good for the likes of himself, but she had always surrounded herself with her friends. What would this glorified prison stint do to her wellbeing? Nothing good, of that he was sure.
His head turned towards the doorway as he heard footsteps descending the stairs, and he watched as Minerva entered the room, a grave look on her face. "What's wrong?" he asked, frowning. She shook her head dismissively.
"Nothing to worry yourself over," she assured him. "Just a bit of tears, as to be expected."
"Is she all right?" He stood, gesturing to the couch as he turned his desk chair around to face it.
Minerva sat gracefully onto the cushions and gave him a sad smile. "She's as expected. I think the reality of the situation is finally hitting her."
"Yes, I've noticed her shielding quite a bit today," he agreed, taking his own seat with a sigh. "I could tell it was the only thing holding her together at the end."
"She's let her guard down for now," she told him. "She's experiencing quite a variety of emotions at the moment, but I think she'll be all right. I've left her to try to get some rest."
Severus glanced over towards the hall quickly, asking, "has she eaten at all today?"
"Have you?"
He glared at the woman on his couch. "We aren't discussing my wellbeing."
"Hermione was," she replied. As his brow raised in surprise, she clarified, "She seems to think you're down here sulking, drowning in self hatred and blaming yourself again."
"The little chit," he muttered, looking down at his hands.
Minerva leaned forward. "She's right, isn't she?" At his silence, she sighed. "Severus..."
"What could you possibly say that would convince me otherwise?" he growled, standing abruptly. He paced in front of the fire, ranting. "No, I did not intend for any of this to happen, but that does not mean I am blameless in this!"
"Severus, them targeting you through her is a reflection of the sort of men they are; it has nothing to do with who you are!"
"It has everything to do with who I was!" he snarled, turning to her in a rush.
She was silent at that, taking in his anger with a reserved expression. "So that's it," she said quietly. "That's what's bothering you."
"Have me figured out, do you?" he sneered.
"Yes, I believe I do." Standing, she faced him properly and addressed him with a seriousness he hadn't heard in quite a while. "Severus Snape, you are not the man you used to be. I know that. Hermione knows that. When will you know it?" When he did not answer, she pushed forward. "You are allowed to make friends, for goodness sake. What's happening isn't a punishment because you dared to reach out. What's happening is happening because evil still exists in this world, and Voldemort's people remain a very stubborn bunch."
She stepped forward and reached for his arm, but he pulled away from her. "Damn it, Severus, it's not a crime to be comforted!" she huffed as he turned away.
"Minerva..." he took a deep breath, unsure how to proceed in this conversation. He didn't know how to explain to her exactly how carrying around his past weighed him down. The guilt over turning to the Dark Lord in the first place, the deep-seeded hatred he held in his heart back then, were overshadowed only by the devastation that came from the death of the only person he had dared care about, a death he might as well have cast upon her himself. The agonizingly long wait between wars did nothing to quench the contempt he had held for himself, and when the mark burned years later, it was to his near relief that he set off to spy once more, hopeful for some shred of redemption, some glimmer of hope that he was not the damned man he knew himself to be.
He had done everything he could, the second time around. He had protected Potter, assisted the Order, murdered Albus Dumbledore, and taken over Hogwarts, all with the desire for vindication, for as much absolution as he could possibly achieve. And now, here was proof that there would be no such thing for him. Who was he to search for absolution, when his hands were drenched in blood? Who was he to expect anything different in his life?
He should have seen this coming. He should have known he could not rest; not yet, perhaps not ever. Would he always be fighting against something? It certainly seemed that way. He couldn't remember a time in his life where he wasn't forced up against an impossible situation, a cruelty reserved for the likes of him. He would never be free of it, he knew now. And it was cruel to drag anyone else down with him.
How he was expected to face her day in and day out, knowing that he was the root cause of her presence, of her glorified imprisonment, he did not know. He wasn't even sure why she had so willingly agreed to this. They hadn't written in weeks- where did he stand in her mind? Was she still determined to be his friend, or had she finally given up that wild notion?
He heard Minerva shift behind him, and he turned to see her staring at him expectantly. "What would you have me say?" he asked weakly. "I daresay I know myself better than the two of you, despite what you may think. I alone know all that I've done, what sins I must atone for. I alone know the suffering I have caused, and continue to cause. Please don't lecture me on my worth, for I am well aware of it. Nothing in this life or the next will show me otherwise, I promise you that."
He turned away again before he could see the effects his words had on her. Why must she take so much convincing to leave him be? His suffering was inconsequential; he would still do what must be done. He always had.
He could hear her heavy sigh behind him. "Severus," she began, but he interrupted her.
"Don't, Minerva. Just... leave it."
She paused before taking a deep breath. "Very well," she assented. "But don't you dare drag Hermione down into the pitted depths of hell with you. She needs a bit of positivity during her stay."
He grimaced. He was fully aware of his natural disposition. "I will attempt such impossibilities," he offered, and she snorted.
"You'll do fine," she assured him. "You both will." She sounded so sure, so confident, that he turned to face her again, doubt fading across his features. She smiled at him then, oddly calm after the events of the day. "I will see you tomorrow afternoon," she added.
"You will?"
Minerva nodded. "I have promised Hermione to speak with her teachers, to ask them for reading material that would assist her in her studies. I told her she should talk to you, but she seemed hesitant to ask anything more of you. Try to assure her that she can reach out if she needs to."
Tired of discussing his treatment of the girl, he simply nodded. "Tomorrow, then," he said, and she stepped towards the fire.
The next few hours had Severus sat in front of the flames, the book in his lap going unread. He stared blindly at the pages, long since giving up on absorbing any of the information within. His mind circled the day's events, plaguing him. Was there truly nothing else he could have done? Was this as unavoidable as everyone else believed it to be? Was this solution they had come up with truly the best they had to keep her safe? For the life of him, he could not think of an alternative. Perhaps he was too tired; it was nearly ten in the evening, and it had been an incredibly trying day. He just couldn't convince himself to retire to his rooms.
He was brought out of his reverie by a soft creak of the stairs. His wand was in his hand before he remembered that he was no longer alone in his home. He paused, listening; was she seeking him out?
No, he heard her footsteps fade away once she reached the bottom of the stairs. Curious, he set his book down and stood. What was she doing? His question was answered when he heard the squeak of the back door opening and shutting; she had gone out to the back garden. But why?
Severus glanced at the clock on the mantle uncertainly. He wasn't sure what he was expected to do in these situations. The fidelius protected the garden, of course. She was still safe as long as she remained in its boundaries. Unless... was her plan to leave?
He was halfway to the back door before he realized what he was doing. She couldn't leave, not after everything they had been through; not after everything he had done to keep her safe. What was she thinking?! But as his gaze fell upon the yellow eyes of her unblinking familiar on the steps, he knew that his fears were unfounded. She wasn't leaving after all, not without her blasted cat.
Then what was she doing? He walked forward much more cautiously, unsure of what he would find when- if- he followed her out back. Should he even impose?
Growing frustrated, he ran his hand through his hair and let out an aggravated sigh. He glared at the door as if it were personally responsible for his tormented deliberations. What was expected of him in a situation like this? What would Minerva do if she were here? Minerva would kill me if she knew I ignored this. His friend's moral compass spurring him forward, he gripped the handle tightly and slowly opened the door.
The back garden was dark when he stepped out into the night, yet he spotted his target easily; Hermione sat quietly to his right, curled up on an iron-wrought bench and staring at the stars. He heard her sniff when he first stepped out, and as he silently lit the lantern hanging from the doorway, the light illuminated her features more clearly. She was wiping her eyes to hide her tears, avoiding his gaze as she sat more stiffly in her seat.
"Hermione?"
When she didn't answer, he took an uneasy step towards her. "What are you doing out here?" his words were gentle, and he fought to keep any accusation out of his voice. She reacted favorably to his efforts, and turned her head slightly in his direction, eyes still on the cosmos above.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I just... needed a minute. I thought I'd sit and look at the stars a while."
When she didn't elaborate, he took the few steps separating them and sat down beside her. He watched her out the corner of his eye as she adjusted her position on the bench to accommodate his presence, and turned his attention to the stars as well. "It is a good night for stargazing," he agreed, and she assented with a simple "hmm."
They sat there, side by side, for quite a while. The bite of winter cut through his clothes, and he wished he had donned his robes before stepping out, but he daren't make the first move. Surely this was what he was supposed to be doing? Offering companionship in an otherwise lonely scenario?
"I'm sorry I haven't written," she blurted out. The words came out in a rush, and he raised his eyebrow as he glanced over. "I just..."
"You were distracted." Her letter had been incredibly vague, but he had a feeling whatever it was she was distracted by was more serious than schoolwork.
"In a way." She sighed and looked down, fingers twisting together in a familiar expression of worry. He said nothing, waiting for her to elaborate in her own time. It didn't take her long. "Ron and I broke up," she whispered, as if ashamed to admit it.
"Ah." So that's what it was. "I'm... sorry to hear that." Was he, though? Weasley was a terrible match for her, even he could see that. And his own history with relationships proved how poorly he was at judging this sort of thing.
Unprompted, she continued. "I don't know how much more I have to lose before the end," she vented. "My parents, my home, friends who've died or moved on, my own boyfriend and now my school-"
Her voice hitched as the emotions welled forth, but she managed to continue. He sat there, silent, listening. "Ron was one of my best friends. We've been through so much together, over the last eight years, and I spoiled it. I don't know if it's salvageable, and I don't know what I'll do if it isn't. Will I lose Harry, too? What about Ginny? I've already become so separated from everyone, so isolated; what if this causes irreparable damage to our friendships? What if I never get to bring back my parents, what if it's never safe? Am I destined to be alone?" She rubbed furiously at her eyes, as if the idea of her tears sent her into a rage. "It was hard for me to focus on anything but schoolwork the past few weeks. At least I haven't lost my ability to do that."
He sighed and gazed up at the stars for a long moment. How was he, who had lost so much himself, supposed to comfort her? Knowing he had to at least try, he looked over at her again. "As someone who has desired to be left alone their entire adult life and was constantly refused the opportunity, let me assure you that you will always attract people to your side. Even if you have the unfortunate luck of finding yourself in a friendship with a curmudgeonly hermit of a former death eater." She chuckled softly at that, and the corner of his mouth rose in a semblance of a smile. "Hermione, look at me."
When her eyes met his, they were round and red, wet and glowing in the flickering light of the lantern behind him. He continued. "I cannot say with absolute certainty what will happen next, but judging from what I've seen of the three of you over the years, you are annoyingly attached at the hip regardless of any sort of altercation you may have had. I have no fear the Golden Trio will continue to thrive for years to come." Concern flitted across her face as she doubted his words, but he moved on. "As for the rest, well... you could have sat your N.E.W.T.s without returning to Hogwarts, and received top marks. You are putting far too much worth in your physical classes and not enough on your ability to educate yourself. When was the last time a class had benefitted you more than your own self study?"
She was silent at that, and he pressed on. "And where your parents are concerned, I promise you, when all this is over- and it will end- I will go retrieve them myself if I must. While I cannot relate to the feeling of familial love, denying it from you would be pointless and cruel."
His hand, suddenly with a mind of its own, reached up to wipe a tear from her cheek. She jumped at the contact, but did not pull away. "This despair does not become you, Hermione. You're smart enough to know that this is all temporary, that things will begin to improve in time. After the first fall of the Dark Lord, it took over a year for everything to feel normal again. It's only been six months." He took a deep breath and pointed into the distance, where a faint dotted glow could be seen. "You know how much work went into putting Hogwarts back together. Imagine doing that for an entire country. It just takes... time."
She was quiet after that. He could feel her eyes on him, but didn't meet her gaze, letting his words sink in. He could still feel her tear on his finger; he absentmindedly rubbed his thumb over the wetness, massaging it into his skin as they sat in silence.
"Time is the one thing I can honestly say I have both too much of and too little of." Her words came out stronger than they had done before, and he was glad for it. "How can I have lost my breath running when time stands still?" He heard her wipe her face with her hands before saying, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have burdened you with all of that. I know you aren't having any easier a time at the moment. I just wanted to let you know that I'm sorry."
"You apology is not necessary, Hermione." Now that he had given himself permission to say it, her name flew from him easily; he liked how it sounded, how it felt on his lips. "I admit your last letter left me more concerned than your previous lack of letters had. I am just pleased to see that you are, for the most part, well."
And it was true. Seeing her here, talking with her, made him realize how much he had been missing her. So little time had passed, how was he already this attached?
She was searching the stars, her profile lit by the lantern swaying in the winter breeze, its flame casting harsh shadows over her features. He watched her, watched her eyes dart from orb to orb, connecting the dots into constellations as her mind worked over their conversation. "You aren't curmudgeonly," she said at last, breaking her silent pondering with a soft smile.
He shared the expression as she glanced over at him. "Out of all the words I spoke, that is the one you latched onto?"
"It was the only thing you said that was a lie." She turned to him then, her body shifting in order to face him properly. "Thank you," she whispered. "I don't know how many more times you're going to find me broken, only to piece me back together again."
"Perhaps there's a spell that could work in my stead?" he asked, his wit seeping through at last. "In case I'm unavailable for a house call."
"I'll have to look into that," she replied with a laugh.
Feeling like he had exhausted his sympathetic comfort abilities at last, he stood, reaching down to offer her a hand. She took it, and he helped her up off the bench, holding on as he frowned at her fingers. "You're freezing," he noticed, taking in her underdressed status at last- her open school robe over what looked to be quite thin pajamas. "How are you not shivering?"
She shrugged her shoulders, seemingly unperturbed. "It was nice, at first. Kept me grounded. I didn't really think about the weather when I came out here."
He had absentmindedly been rubbing her hand between both of his, warming it, watching the movement until he realized what he was doing. Slowly, he let go. "We should get inside," he told her. "Would you benefit from a dreamless sleep?"
The offer seemed to please her, and she nodded with a smile. "I think it would help," she agreed, crossing her arms and tucking her hands in. "I wasn't having much luck resting earlier."
He walked over to the back door, but lingered before opening it, studying her carefully. "You'll be all right?" he asked her, and she nodded.
"Thank you. For..." she paused, and he quirked an eyebrow. "Well, for everything," she breathed. "For keeping me sane."
He graced her with a genuine smile, and nodded. "It's an honor," he said, adding just enough of an edge to his words that she laughed. Good. It's better when she laughs. "After you."
As he escorted her into the house, he felt a relief flow through him. She was going to be all right. She was safe.
And maybe, just maybe, this wouldn't be so terrible after all.
A/N2: Fun fact- when I read Snape's 'self worth' contemplations to my husband, he started to sing Linkin Park's "Crawling" to me. I just about fell off the couch laughing when he did that, so I thought I would share.
As always, reviews are appreciated!
