Chapter Seven – Imaginary

I know well what lies beyond my sleeping refuge . . .

The week that followed dragged on so slowly that Severus was beginning to suspect Friday would never come. He spent his days brewing Pepper Up potions and sleeping draughts, trying to while away the time.

At long last, the day did come, and Severus spent it going over a list of questions he intended to ask her: How did she know the woman? What was their connection? Did she know anything about his own connection to the woman? How exactly had the woman died? When did she die? And for Merlin's sake, what was her name? Although, he had to admit he knew she wouldn't have an answer to that last one. If someone had known her name, she wouldn't have an unmarked grave. And nothing was ever that easy.

As he prepared for their . . . meeting—the preposterous word, 'date', never even crossed his mind—he truly took in his appearance for the first time in over twelve years.

Thankfully, time had done less damage to him than he'd thought it would. His features had merely matured, rather than aged, though he did check thoroughly for grey hairs—none found, thankfully. He hadn't been concerned with his appearance, really, until he'd found himself thinking about Granger's. The first time he'd seen her, when she'd been leaving the bookshop, he'd reluctantly found her attractive. He'd chastised himself over and over about it, too. He couldn't be thinking about her that way—it was inappropriate, wasn't it? After all, he had been her teacher. But that seemed so long ago now . . .

At six o'clock, Severus gathered his things and began making his way down to Hogsmeade, wanting to arrive early. Though he'd once had a penchant for dramatic entrances, particularly in the classroom, he felt he'd save that for another time. Tonight required subtlety—he needed to leave the pub with more information than he came with, preferably without giving out too much of his own.

When he got there, he was pleased to note that Rosmerta still ran the place. With so many things being different than he'd remembered, it was nice to see a familiar face. He ordered himself a firewhiskey then found a table in the back, where being overheard was less likely, and waited for Granger to show up.

When she entered, he noticed that she was dressed nicely, and her hair was twisted into some sort of up-do, with loose tendrils shaping her face. He couldn't help but think that she looked very pretty, all the while berating himself for it. He'd already gone over how finding her attractive was improper, but he couldn't seem to help himself. Perhaps it was the fact that he'd chosen to come back to this life because it had seemed he'd get a second chance at love, and now he was getting ahead of himself with the first woman he saw. With sudden resolve, he determined to stop thinking of her that way. He had more important things to focus on.

"I see you're early." Granger smiled as she approached the table with a gillywater in hand. "I like that in a man," she said, chuckling at the incredulous look on his face. Obviously, she wasn't lacking in self confidence. Severus did nothing but swallow quickly in reply, intimidated by her poise.

She sat down, taking off her cloak, and folded her hands. "I don't want this to be like some kind of business meeting," she began, "So can we skip the formalities? Is it alright if I call you Severus?"

"I suppose that could be agreeable," he replied.

She smiled again. "Good. And of course, please call me Hermione."

He nodded, but doubted he'd be able to use her given name without difficulty. He resolved to avoid using her name at all.

The evening quickly turned to night as the pair found themselves immersed in good conversation. Severus couldn't help but feel a strong connection with Granger—no, Hermione. By the end of the night, he'd called Hermione by her given name two whole times, and felt rather proud of himself. He'd been reluctant at first, but after awhile, she'd got him to open up. They talked about many things, in his life and in hers. He found out that indeed she was working on a project for the Department of Mysteries, mending something that had been destroyed, but she wouldn't say what. She wasn't allowed to. In fact, the only reason she was permitted to divulge that much information about it was that someone else, another Unspeakable, had already let it slip. He or she (she couldn't even disclose that detail) had almost been dismissed for it, and were now on a sort of probation. Hermione was therefore consumed by her work, barely finding time to herself once a week, but she assured Severus it was for good reason—even if she couldn't tell him what that reason was.

The downside, however, had been that the conversation had never turned to the subject they'd meant to discuss. Severus had failed his mission to gather information from her, and he was disappointed in himself. Hermione must have noticed his despair, because as they approached the grounds of Hogwarts, she stopped suddenly.

"Are you alright?" she said.

"I'm fine," he replied.

"No, I can tell something's wrong. What is it?"

"It's nothing," he persisted, taking a leaf out of her book.

"Severus Snape, don't you lie to me."

He scowled. "I was just thinking that we didn't discuss what we came to discuss. And now, it's too late. I hope you had a nice time . . . Hermione," he said, taking care to emphasize her name. After all, he presumed it would be the last time, and he didn't want to waste the chance.

"I did have a nice time, Severus. And I know we didn't get around to what we'd planned on, but I just thought we'd . . . continue that next week," she said with a Dumbledore-esque glimmer in her eye. She was definitely up to something.

And indeed she was. They met again the following week, and still found no time to discuss the woman they apparently both had a connection to. Severus realised he'd been duped once more, but this time he'd caught on to her game.

"I'm afraid we've run out of time once more," he said, feigning disappointment.

"I suppose we'll just have to try again next week," she said, grinning.

The next few weeks continued in the same manner: each Friday, the pair would meet at the Three Broomsticks for dinner and drinks at precisely 6.45 p.m. Each time, they'd agree on seven o'clock, but each always arrived fifteen minutes early, like clockwork. They spent the evening talking, sometimes for hours, until Rosmerta shooed them out the door. Severus discovered that he and Hermione had a lot in common, and on top of that, she was the first to challenge his intelligence in quite a long time. She was the perfect company, and he began to wonder where the relationship was going. They'd never spoken of their romantic lives, and Severus had to admit he had no idea if she was involved with anyone, though he couldn't see how she'd have the time. Between visiting him, visiting Potter, and working, she didn't seem to have time for anything else.

One Friday evening, as she entered the Three Broomsticks, Hermione rushed over to their table and pulled Severus to his feet.

"Let's take a walk," she said as she nearly knocked over his glass. "It's such a nice evening out, so warm for April. Let's not waste it. Perhaps we could even do some shopping."

He barely had time to agree before she was whisking him out the door. They walked down High Street, passing all the shops that were closing up for the evening.

"I think we're a little late," he pointed out.

"That's okay. We can just walk."

They continued on down the street, barely saying a word—it seemed their comfort zone had been left behind in the pub. Finally, Hermione broke the silence.

"I've just remembered—the bookshop stays open quite late. We could go in and browse, if you'd like."

"That would be agreeable," he replied.

The bookshop was owned by two women, Prewett and Hollingsworth, and had apparently been in business for nearly eleven years. They'd opened after things had started to calm down, and had been very successful ever since, according to Hermione.

When they entered, a bell over the door rang, and a red-haired woman about Hermione's age walked out from the back.

"Hello," she said in a friendly, business-like manner. Upon seeing Hermione, however, her eyes lit up and she smiled widely. "Hermione! Nice to see you again." She looked over at Severus, then back at Hermione with a mischievous sort of grin. "I see things are going well for you."

Severus didn't know what this was supposed to mean, but he assumed that the woman was commenting on Hermione's particularly cheerful disposition. Being an Unspeakable was not an easy job, and she must have visited the shop in gloomier spirits often in the past.

"Yes, they are, thank you," Hermione replied.

Just then, a brunette woman entered from the back of the shop. She had a large stack of books in her arms, and nearly dropped them all at the sight of her customers. The red-haired woman had to levitate them to their proper places before taking her business partner aside and whisper something into her ear spiritedly. Severus thought it was a sign of bad business, and began to wonder how the shop had been so successful.

Hermione turned to him. "Why don't you browse for a minute while I talk to them?"

He raised an eyebrow, but agreed. Sometimes women were a real mystery to him. As he browsed their selection, though, he couldn't help but eavesdrop a little. The shop wasn't that large, and they weren't exactly being quiet.

"I can't believe it," the brunette said, "We all thought he was . . . dead."

"I know!" whispered her business partner. "And! When you told us about—well—we never imagined . . ."

"I know, I know!" Hermione's hushed voice said. "But I think I was right."

"Good for you, love."

"Yes, good on you. You let us know how it goes, alright?"

"Of course, ladies." Hermione said. "I think I better get back now, though. My . . . friend is listening in, and I can tell he's getting irritated with us."

"Oh, of course!" whispered the redhead.

Hermione walked back over to Severus and he gave her a grimace.

"Oh, don't be so tetchy," she said, playfully hitting him on the arm.

"Perhaps you could warn me the next time you feel like talking about me?"

"We weren't talking about you . . ."

"Hermione, please do not take me for a fool. Now, I cannot tell you everything that you were talking about, but I know that I was definitely a key subject to the conversation."

"Oh, alright. Remember when we first met? In the cemetery, I mean, not in the classroom."

"Yes," he replied, exasperated. He wasn't stupid; he knew she wasn't referring to that.

"Well, er, that evening, I made a quick stop in here, and I may have mentioned that I ran into someone I thought I knew once. And . . . I haven't been back since, so I was just telling them that I was right when I'd thought it was you."

"I see."

"Oh, you're not angry, are you?"

He wasn't exactly angry, but he was slightly bothered by being the subject of gossip. He liked to keep to himself, and besides, he'd been hoping that . . . well, never mind.

"No," he sighed. He could feel a headache coming on. "But I think I'm going to have to turn in early this evening. I'm not feeling well."

"Oh," said Hermione, plainly disappointed. "Well, I won't keep you, then. You just get yourself better."

As they exited the shop, the owners shot curious glances their way, but Severus ignored them. The walk back to Hogwarts was swift, and he didn't stop at the gates, but continued on through. He could feel Hermione's puzzled stare on his retreating form, but didn't turn around. He was in no mood to explain himself.

After he had changed into his bedclothes and turned in for the night, he finally let himself dwell on what had been bothering him. All this time, he'd been losing focus on what was really important. Two months had passed and he still had no information on the woman who had saved his life, nor had he made any decisions concerning the offer Minerva had given him. He had been wasting all his time and effort on getting to know Hermione Granger. Yes, wasting.

When the women had been talking in the shop, he'd secretly hoped they'd been chattering over—dare he think it—his and Hermione's relationship. In the two months he'd spent learning about Hermione, he realised he'd been merely imagining everything. He'd been so overtaken with . . . feelings, that he'd been blinded to the fact that a real relationship between them was impossible. She would never think of him as anything more than a friend, as she'd put it, and he didn't blame her. He was too old for her, for one thing, and even though he'd lost twelve years of his life, they most certainly still counted in their age gap. He'd been fooling himself, thinking she could ever see past it. He didn't need her.

Oh, who was he kidding? Of course he needed her. He was as trapped as he had been with Lily, there was no denying it. And fate seemed to be delivering him the same outcome as before. He needed her, but he'd never have her. He'd been a fool to come back to this life, hadn't he?

He sat in front of the fire for hours, thinking it over, and still coming to the same conclusion. No matter how he tried to change his thinking, he couldn't. And even if he did need her, so what? What he also needed was a good retreat from the world, and as he brooded, he found it in a bottle of Ogden's finest.