Hermione studiously avoided him for the next week, cooking enough dinner for both of them but eating in her room, and when he saw her or tried to talk to her, she would just walk away. Severus didn't understand what was going on, but he could feel her sadness seeping through house, surrounding him until they were both trapped in a silent cocoon of misery. He'd been drinking whiskey constantly, curled into that bed where they'd lain, imagining he could still smell her in his sheets.
And then, he admitted it to himself. He didn't quite know what to do to fix it, because he was quite sure it needed to be fixed as soon as possible, but he felt the answer dancing on the edge of his mind.
The invitation to the Weasley's for Christmas dinner helped. It came a week in advance, which was more time than he necessarily needed, but he still wasn't entirely sure he was making the right choice. So much hinged upon this, upon his decision, and he felt woefully unprepared and uninformed with regards to making it.
But he hadn't a choice, since he wasn't sure when another opportunity would present itself, and he couldn't bear knowing how upset she was. Even worse, though, he couldn't bear that he could feel her sadness relenting. He could feel her starting to move on, let go, forget about him.