Text at the beginning in italics is from the Deathly Hallows. And all characters belong to JKR of course.
And finally, here's epilogue 3 – which is how I think things probably would have turned out – very different to the first two, although the text is pretty much the same at the beginning again. Actually, I found this one the hardest to write, not sure why. Anyway, I'd love to know which version you liked best (hint hint)!
"Look … at … me…" he whispered.
The green eyes found the black…
In the end, it was Hermione who stood by, watching in horror as Harry collected the substance in a flask. And it was Hermione who pushed Harry aside and fumbled frantically at the collar of Snape's robes.
She breathed out hard when she saw the glint of the silvery chain against his thin neck. "Thank god, oh thank god – you did it, you clever man!" With shaking fingers, she found the vial with the stopper and twisted it around, clasping the unconscious professor's shoulder with her other hand.
There was just time to glance over her shoulder at the astonished boys. "I'll try to get back when I can… I'm so sorry, I can't explain now –" and then she felt the dizzying sensation of the portkey. It slammed them down on the ground hard somewhere just outside Hogsmeade, and Hermione felt Severus grunt in pain. Blood gushed from the wound in his neck, as she tapped the vials to enlarge them. There were 3 – one she recognised as essence of dittany and poured it liberally over his wound.
It was unclear what the other 2 were, but the man was clearly fading fast, so she took a deep breath, grabbed the back of his head to steady him, and poured them both into his gaping mouth.
She dropped the vials, gathered his head onto her lap and gazed down at him in despair… that turned to hope as his pulse started again and he began to gasp for air.
20 years later, a village outside Granada in Spain.
The local children called him a wizard – which was ironic, all things considered, as it had been years since he'd done any real magic – in public, at least. His magic was in his healing. He had power that even the local doctors respected, even though they did not understand it.
He was a foreigner, of course, even though he'd been living in this village for at least 15 years. The villagers treated him with some suspicion, but despite that, would tramp up the dusty hill to his small house whenever they had a complaint that modern medicine couldn't fix. His poultices soothed their arthritic shoulders; his herbal medicines cured coughs and fixed poorly stomachs. He had even attended difficult births when asked; had pulled forth distressed infants that might not have otherwise survived their traumatic arrivals into the world. And he had gentled the last days and moments of people leaving this world.
He was occasionally seen about the village, shopping or strolling around. He was polite but taciturn and occasionally moody – in appearance tall and thin with straggly dark hair, turning slightly grey. He spoke fluent Spanish, but his pale skin spoke of a much cooler climate.
He had relatively few friends. There was a small wizarding community in Granada, and he occasionally made the journey there to sit in a café with them. They would discuss the latest news in their world – new Ministry regulations; Harry Potter's ascent to power. As far as his friends were concerned, he had been at Hogwarts and had played a small role in the battle over Voldemort, but no one knew who he really was.
He made these trips by car - happy to travel by Muggle means, having been brought up partly in that world.
It was a rusty old car, but it served him well. He turned off the main road and moved slowly, carefully down the stony, dusty track into the village. He lived just above the village, with a good view over the valley, in a position with reasonable precipitation and good soil for his plants. The house sat low against the hillside; the back of it actually built into the hill, which kept the rooms cool in the heat of summer and cosy in winter.
He parked the car at the side of the house, jumped out and paused. There were footprints in the dust – not a local; they had the tread of designer walking boots. He hesitated then walked forward quietly, his hand drifting towards his wand tucked in his jeans pocket, just in case…
As he turned the corner, he could see a small, slim woman with curly hair pulled back in a practical pony tail, standing by his front door, her back to him, looking out over the valley. He stopped, a lump forming. He'd know that figure anywhere.
"Hermione…" He choked on the name, but she heard him and turned around, looking at him cautiously.
The years had been kind to her. She must be 38 but looked 25. Still straight and slim, but motherhood had made her slightly curvier than before. Her face was slightly blank; she had learnt to hide her emotions behind a serene mask.
"Severus." Her voice had grown slightly husky with maturity, or maybe it was a sign of emotion after all. "How long has it been?"
"Five years." He couldn't believe it, even as he said it. Had it really been that long since their last meeting. "What took you so long?"
She shrugged slightly, averting her eyes. That was new too, whatever else had happened between them over the years, she'd always been honest. Why try to hide her feelings now? She knew she couldn't keep anything from him if she looked into his eyes; not because he'd ever dream of invading her privacy with legilimency, but because he knew her too well.
"Well, you know, the Ministry… And of course James graduated this year. Harry and Ginny are so proud, he finished top of his year, did you know that?"
"Mrs Potter was kind enough to inform me. She is a good correspondent."
"Yes, of course… I forget that you're in touch." She glanced at him, uneasily.
They looked at each other; he was almost afraid to ask his usual question: "So no one knows still? Apart from you, Potter and the Weasleys?"
"As far as the world is concerned, Severus Snape died from Nagini's bite even though Hermione Granger tried to save his life. He was posthumously decorated for his bravery. No one knows what became of your body, but your name is on the Wall of Remembrance by the lake at Hogwarts."
He gave a brief sigh of relief and considered her, noting the weary eyes. "You must be tired, especially if you apparated direct. I know that takes it out of you these days."
As he took her arm to lead her towards the house, she gave a sudden sigh and turned, burying her face against his shoulder. His arms came up automatically, pulling her into him; his face buried in her hair. The scent of it filled his nostrils and he let out a shuddering breath, tightening his grip on her.
After a few moments – or was it hours? – he released her. "Come on. You need a drink and something to eat."
They sat in the shady garden late into the warm summer evening, sipping wine. They spoke in desultory tones about the latest developments in the wizarding world, although she knew he was probably more interested in the stash of new potions journals she had brought with her. She'd neglected her knowledge of the topic over the years – at one time, she'd been a useful sounding board for his theories, but over the years, her interest had waned as she'd had her children and then become more involved in her role as a Ministry lawyer.
Each time they'd met, the conversations had been shorter and the silences between them longer, but somehow it didn't matter.
He finally asked the question that had been on his lips since she'd arrived so unexpectedly. "How is Ron?"
She looked away, quickly. "Oh, he's fine. Did Ginny tell you he was getting married again?"
He nodded. "She did. I know it hasn't been easy for either of you in recent years."
She grimaced. "Well, we always said we'd stay together until Hugo started at Hogwarts. We didn't want him to have to move between two houses. But now it works well – he has them at Christmas, for a big Weasley party, I have them at Easter and we share them over the summer. They usually come to France for a couple of weeks with me, to see mum and dad – oh, did I tell you my parents had sold up and moved to La Rochelle? Actually, they're there now, so I didn't have so far to travel to see you this time."
He made no comment. She sighed. "Anyway, Susan will make a good stepmother. She's a good person… he probably should have married her in the first place."
"So why did he marry you?" And why did you marry him? The unspoken words hung between them.
She looked at him, her brown eyes glittering. "You know why."
And he did, it was true. Suddenly, he couldn't bear to look at her.
She took a deep breath, stood up and moved towards the lip of the hill, gazing down at the valley, at the thin stream that trickled down towards the village.
"You know, I often imagine you back then, before the battle… I imagine what you felt and did after that night – when I met you at Hogwarts. I imagine you remembering this place, travelling here, buying it without whatever money you could scrape together. I can almost see you in the Headmaster's office, late at night, making your plans, dreaming your dreams. Making your arrangements for when you would be able to do what you wanted to do… or possibly even never. " She glanced over her shoulder at Severus, her eyes very dark. "You made plans for that eventuality too."
They both knew she was thinking of the letter he'd left her in his office – the letter which had also been his will.
"Why didn't you come with me?" he burst out, suddenly. It was something he'd never said over the years; had never dreamed of saying to her.
She'd been one of the few who'd known of his survival, who had actively helped him escape in secret from Wizarding Britain. It was she who'd worked for years to get his name cleared. She who'd visited him so often over the years, to advise, help out, cajole, act as his link to the outside world. He'd known her as an eager young woman who had finally completed her studies, as a Weasley bride glowing with brief happiness, as a wise and practical young mother. And yet, she had continued to arrive, each summer, for 2 weeks. They'd dug the ground together, danced around each other in his small laboratory as she held equipment for him, laughed over late night bottles of wine, shared occasional, always chaste, hugs. She'd never asked him for advice about her marriage, almost as if she'd always known it would be a bad idea, but they'd talked about almost everything else. And then, five years ago, the visits had stopped. And he had never known why, but he had had his suspicions. He had always known, in his heart, that her marriage had been built on shaky foundations. They had been so young, so full of hope in that post-Voldemort world.
He saw her back stiffen at his words. He filled their glasses, picked them up and walked over to her. She kept her eyes averted, but he suspected she was crying silently.
"You know why." Her voice was thick – she was certainly weeping.
He focused his eyes on the horizon. "You didn't come –" he said, carefully, "- because it was the wrong time, the wrong place… wrong in every way." Ironic that that had been his thought that night she had approached him at Hogwarts. "You didn't come because you had to stay behind. You had things to do – your education to finish, people who needed you, work to do at the Ministry… And then, when you could have come, it was too late."
She looked up at him, suddenly, the warm brown of her eyes glowing russet in the last rays of the dying sun, and once again he felt himself drowning. He saw the wasted years, the possibilities… the intimacy, the instinctive understanding, the light brushes of hand and shoulder and thigh. All the things that had never been… and would never be. Not now. He knew that; knew it instinctively in his bones.
She smiled at him, reached out her hand. "Shall I say it, or will you?"
"I will..." They clinked glasses. "To Hermione Weasley… a good woman, a fighter for rights and for lost causes…"
"And to Severus Snape… potions master, healer, a good man who chose to live after his death…and the bravest man I ever knew," she whispered in response.
They held hands and drank as the evening darkened and the bright stars appeared over the little village.