CHAPTER FOUR

"Harry, what's wrong?" asked Chelsea, his girlfriend. Harry had been distant for the entire meal.

"Just… ran into some old… an old friend today." 'And an enemy,' he thought.

"Oh, ok."

"It was just… never mind."

She didn't know he had been the saviour of the wizarding world. When she asked him where he'd gone to high school, he told her it was a small boarding school no one had ever heard of.

Since she wasn't particularly inquisitive—something Harry liked about her quite a lot—that had been explanation enough.

Harry took another bite of his sandwich, and thought back, for the millionth time, on his encounter today. His punishment had been just what he expected—but he'd done it so many times, he didn't really care. The real punishment had been thinking about why he'd been punished in the first place.

He made Hermione cry. But was that really Hermione? That girl that was with Snape, being completely uncommitted to her husband. Neither had really explained how Ron hadn't been faithful, so he didn't even know if he could believe that.

This was what Harry was thinking about. This was what was wrong. His whole life. The fact that he was glad his girlfriend wasn't inquisitive. He had been inquisitive before, to the point of recklessness, along with Ron and Hermione. The fact that no one knew who he was. Not that he particularly missed the fame, but he missed his friends, even his enemies—just people who knew him, what he could and couldn't do. The fact that he would be like this for the rest of his life. Normal. But not quite so normal, since he still had the taste of what a better, easier, happier life would have been.

The fact that he couldn't tell Chelsea any of this, and that she was probably the best he was going to get. She was quite striking: long golden hair and shining green eyes that almost matched his. He didn't think he could ask for a more attractive person. But, she was so… not magical. So Muggle. So mundane.

He began to wonder, for the first time, if maybe Hermione wasn't crazy. If something really was going wrong between her and Ron. 'But I really don't understand why she'd be with Snape,' he thought, still disgusted. His mind drifted back to their days at Hogwarts together. Hermione had always been the sensible one. And very rarely had she been wrong about anything. He didn't want to, but he knew he'd have to trust her, which meant accepting the fact that his former best friend had been a complete git and somehow been unfaithful to his wife, who had, too, been his best friend at some point. And it meant that he'd have to accept the fact that the teacher he had hated most during school might not be a complete bastard after all.

Harry sighed. "Chels?"

"Yeah?" she asked, looking up from her plate.

"Thanks," he said, "for never asking questions."

"You're welcome?" she responded uncertainly.

"Wait, I'm not done," he said. "You should have been asking questions. There's so much you don't know about me, and I think it's time that you knew. C'mon." He led her outside and she fell in step beside him as he began to tell her everything he could remember about what his life had once been.

Hermione woke up early, suddenly, realizing she had been sleeping on the couch, and that she was very cold. She heard bustling in the kitchen, and groggily walked in.

"Ron?" she murmured.

"G'morning. Did I wake you?"

"Um, I don't think. Did you turn the air conditioning up?"

"Yea, a bit, it was burning up."

Hermione frowned. "Then you did wake me up. It's so cold."

"Sorry," he said, finally turning to her. She didn't know why she expected him to apologise, or at least bring up their brief argument last night. She knew he wouldn't.

Deciding not to dwell on it first thing in the morning—well, maybe not first thing, it was nearing eleven—she grabbed her wand and pointed it at various things in the kitchen. There was a sudden burst of movement, and then, a bowl of cereal was ready for her to eat. She sat down in the dining room and called, "Ron, are you going to sit down or are you just going to stand in there all day?"

There was a pause of deadly silence, then Ron appeared in the door frame, and joined Hermione at the table. The silence got no better, until finally, Hermione said, "Are you going to say anything?"

"I'm waking up."

"You're already awake, and you went to bed at seven last night, so there is no way you were even tired when you woke up."

"Oh, so I suppose you're never tired when you wake up, even when you've gotten enough sleep," he accused.

Hermione stared at him. "When did you wake up?"

"Just fifteen minutes ago."

She stared at him intensely, then said, "You're lying. You got up at nine."

"Sometimes I wish you hadn't decided to be an Auror."

"Maybe if you'd learn something about something other than Quidditch once in a while, I wouldn't be able to read your thoughts so easily," she shot back at him.

He winced, as if she had just hit him rather hard. Then, he stood up, and walked to the living room. Hermione sighed, her brows furrowing. It shouldn't be so hard to tell him. She just didn't know when would be a good time to bring it up. 'Never, really. It's never a good time to tell your husband you aren't in love with him anymore, and are going to leave him because he has no prospects and no appreciation for what you do.'

She followed him into the living room, and sat down next to him on the sofa. "Ron, I'm sorry." 'Not really.'

"Sod off."

She rose in a great deal of anger, and slapped him viciously. "You are ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. I didn't know how to tell you this before, but now I'm just going to say it. You… are a git. All you do is read about Quidditch and brown nose your boss in hopes he'll promote you to a higher position in your division. You don't care about anything important. You seem uninterested in starting a family, and uninterested in me. And I can't take it anymore, Ron," she exclaimed, tears streaming down her face. "I can't TAKE IT, and I can't take YOU, and I never want to see you or your stupid Quidditch books or your…your indifference!"

And with that, she flew upstairs, and packed as much as she could in as little time possible, and left, leaving Ron staring after her in partial confusion and partial shock.

Hermione walked joyously down the street to a vacant spot, and Disapparated, luggage in tow, to Hogsmeade. She pulled her hood up, and walked into The Three Broomsticks, taking a seat in the corner, away from watchful eyes.

Madam Rosmerta walked over to her, and whispered, "Hermione, is that you?"

"Yes, Rosmerta," she replied. "Can I get a butterbeer, please?"

Rosmerta nodded, then said, "You seem happier than… than usual."

"I am."

Rosmerta smiled and sauntered off to get Hermione's butterbeer. Hermione wondered if she could get Severus's attention somehow. It was a Sunday, and he was probably grading papers. She chuckled at the thought of his red ink scratched all over the students' papers, commenting on their poor writing ability or sheer lack of intelligence. What had been entirely irritating to her as a student she now found rather comical, though she still pitied his students.

A moment later, Rosmerta brought Hermione's butterbeer over, and said, "Here you go, Hermione. Is there anything else I can get you?"

"Actually, I'm curious, is there any way you can contact Professor Snape?" Hermione whispered.

"I can Floo call him, if you'd like."

"Oh, really? That would be tremendous."

The landlady smiled knowingly and said, "I'll go right now."

Hermione sipped on her butterbeer, grinning in silent anticipation. She wondered what was taking Rosmerta so long, though it really had only been a couple minutes.

After five or so minutes, the woman came back, and said, "The professor told me he could not leave just at the moment, but that a dungeon, two left turns, and kittens will help you see him."

The younger woman responded, "Oh. Um, ok. Shall I just leave the money on the table when I go?"

"That's fine. It was nice to see you again, Hermione."

"Likewise, Rosmerta. Have a nice day."

Hermione drained the rest of her drink and left more than enough money on the table to pay for it—after all, Rosmerta had done enough to merit a large tip. She walked out into crisp autumn air, and took the short journey to Hogwarts.