He spent the next 14 months, 2 weeks, and 4 days doing everything in his power to act as though she did not exist. He had heard snatches here and there of her extremely high marks at University - hardly a surprise, he thought, his smirk being noticed but never commented on by the Headmistress, whenever Hermoine's name was mentioned. Minerva had an inkling, and knew her dearly missed friend with the twinkling sapphire eyes would have encouraged her to carry on with the plans that were taking shape in her clever brain.
So, she researched. She pondered. She watched. She waited. She wrote. Finally, she rang a small school in New England, where she spoke briefly with a young woman who was in attendance there.
Fawkes made a trilling ruckus as the Headmistress' office was entered by a lovely young woman, who ran into the arms of her former mentor.
"Minerva! Oh, I've missed you!" gushed Hermione as she returned the fierce hug her former instructor gave her.
"Hermione, my dear, you look exquisite, and, oh, so grown up! Just beautiful! I am frankly amazed you are not constantly defending yourself against a sea of eager attendants," she said, a quirky smile gracing her lips.
"Well, I think they would have taken my head if I attacked other gels' men… I've had no need to 'fend anyone off'," she said with a rueful grin. "I'm so happy to be here! Even with… everything." A sad smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she gazed at the office that would always remind her of Dumbledore. "It almost feels… as if he's still here." She whispered.
"I know... I still miss him so." The Headmistress let her face crumble. All those years she had wasted, with that merry genius so close. She regretted more than anything the fact that she had never done more than let him kiss her hand. He had always been the gentleman, never crowding her need for propriety. Now, she would never have him, and it pulsed like a wound deep in her belly.
"I'm so sorry," the younger woman said chokingly, seeing the reasons behind Minerva's distress clearly. "I can't imagine…" She took the Headmistress into a gentle hug, and sat with her as she let her sob quietly. "You are so brave... I wish I could be like you!"
"Oh, Hermione, I'm afraid you are," she said bitterly, her Highland brogue growing with each word. "You see,… *sigh* there is a man, a man I wish I could call friend, with undeniable intelligence and indefatigueable loyalty. His history is deeply dark, his past littered with pain and horror, and yet this scarred man would be - is -"
With a shake of her head, she grasped the younger woman by the shoulders, and stared desperately into her eyes. " - perfect for you." The tears streaming down her cheeks made Hermione's eyes begin to collect water in sympathy.
Suddenly she felt a chill go down her spine. She now suspected why her heart had started to beat like a hummingbird's the minute her old instructor had called her.
She had closed her affairs in America with unseemly haste, and almost frantically prepared to move to the one place she called home in her head now that her parents were gone.
Her cheeks became flushed as her mind brought to light all the things it had been collecting, saving them for her willing attention. She tried to relax, letting her mind present to her the things that she had been too busy, too anxious - too uncomfortable - to process.
She gasped and sat bolt upright, nearly knocking Minerva off the settee, as a series of scent and aural memories swam into her consciousness. Boots striking rough-hewn stone. Rustle of pages bound in leather. Scent of herbs, cut and crushed, frothing in cauldrons over heat. That scent morphed, coming to wrap around a masculine musk that suddenly made her knees weak and her pulse jump. Then, the memory of a voice, velvet smooth and solid as steel: her family name spoken by disturbingly sensual lips made thin with distain.
"Severus Snape…" Her face burned as his whispered name dropped from her lips.
The Headmistress dabbed at her face with a pale hankerchief, and looked into Hermione's flushed face. "My dear," she said with gentle surprise, "I should have known; you already know of whom I speak."
Hermione opened her eyes, and let out a trapped breath. "Yes," she jumped up and began pacing, "But I would never be able to approach him. A former student, half his age, his childhood enemy's best friend; a fuzzy-haired, knock-kneed child that he tortured mercilessly through school… not that he had a realistic choice - huh, I was the only one up to his standards and a Mudblood to boot. His attitude just goaded me to do better in his courses, if only to spite him." She looked to Minerva.
"Well, I don't mind much that I would embarrass myself - and I would! - but to embarrass him, wound him - for heaven's sake, he's had enough! For him to let down his guard enough to even see me that way… well, it would be downright, u-uh-unnatural!" she almost sobbed.
"Of course; you have no interest in approaching an isolated war hero with no family, no friends, and no life outside of his teaching and books." The older woman raised an eyebrow archly.
"Not to mention pursuing him for his scornful, mercurial mien." Hermione returned with a smirk not unlike the man they discussed.
"But he's just… like that. We're more comfortable around books than people, and an element doesn't do anything to you unless you cause it to happen. As for wounded… *sigh* who isn't?" Though, it would be amazing to actually see him smile she mused, her gaze went soft and unfocused as she nibbled her lower lip.
Allowing herself a small smile, the Headmistress stood beside her newest teacher. "Did you listen to yourself just now?" Hermione's look confirmed she was realizing some profound things. "You have something rare in common with that man. And if you wish either of yourselves happiness, I suggest you make the first overture. He is far too cautious after his years of catering to the highest hand to seek out a colleague, former student or not… even one with so many appealing qualities." She said brusquely as she maneuvered Hermione to tea set at a small table.
"…but his rejection will be almost more than I can bear." She responded quietly.
"Why do you assume he will reject you?"
"Because he frightens me. How I feel about him frightens me. And he - oh, he can sense fear like a kraken senses a distressed swimmer!"
She chewed upon her bottom lip as her mind flew over years of sublime torture; his billowing cloak as he strode into the lecture hall, his menacing scowl, his dexterous fingers, his eyes flashing in anger, his reappearance after that vile "man" fell, his sullen fury at the Victory Ball, his refusal to return a single letter, his complete shutting away of himself from anything not directly involved with the school… and she despaired.
"Minerva," her shoulders slumped, "I can't approach him like that. He barely acknowledges my existence, he always seemed furious at me, he's rarely even cordial, let alone - he wouldn't even look at me at the one celebratory ball he attended!"
Hermione found herself face-to-face with an extremely intense face. "He could not remove his eyes from you at that ball, Hermione. He fled when Mr. Weasley made that drunken pass at you." The Headmistress straightened. "Miss Granger, if anyone can bring happiness to that man's tortured soul, it is you. And if anyone can give you what you need… Grab your courage, girl! Show him the Gryffindor woman who stood up to insurmountable odds to restore the world!" Her face softened as she added, "I have faith in you."
Their smiles brightened the room, and they spent the last day before classes in companionable conversation and planning.