The Sun is Often Out
Chapter Four
Hermione knocked on the door to number twelve, Grimmauld Place with just a flicker of butterflies in her stomach. She knew Ron would be in there, and it would be the first time she had seen him since things had ended between them, nearly three months ago. In the intervening time, they had written sporadically, but Ron had never been one for writing letters so they had been a rather uncomfortable and stilted affair.
Harry opened the door. 'Hermione! There is no need to knock, come straight in.'
Hermione smiled and gratefully entered the warm house, shaking off her snow-covered cloak as she went. She could hear the sound of the Weasley clan coming from the living room and made for the door. Best to get it over with as soon as possible, she thought.
As soon as she appeared in the doorway, they descended en-masse, apart from Ron, she noticed, who lingered slightly by the sofa. Hermione greeted them warmly, particularly relieved to find that Molly was not being distant with her. She had wondered if Molly would be unhappy with her for ending her relationship with Ron.
The group dispersed around the room and Hermione moved to sit by Ron on the sofa. He smiled at her rather awkwardly.
'It's great to see you again, Ron,' said Hermione, breaking the ice.
'Yeah,' he replied. 'You too, Hermione.'
Ron had never been one with words, but Hermione knew him well enough to know he was being sincere. There was silence for a moment and Hermione looked helplessly at her hands for guidance.
'I, ah, hear things are going well at Hogwarts for you.'
Hermione turned towards him. 'Oh! Yes yes, very well thanks; I'm learning so much, and well, you know me—I can't learn enough!'
Stop babbling!
Ron smoothed a hand over his red hair, and Hermione saw a good-natured look form on his face more reminiscent of the times before they had split up.
'I also heard about your N.E.W.T.s.'
'Oh, yes.' Hermione found herself feeling a little sheepish. She caught his eye and they both chuckled quietly. 'Typical me, hmm?'
'Just a bit,' he laughed.
'Would you believe me if I said that it wasn't my idea to actually do them officially?'
Ron grinned. 'In other words, it was your idea to do them unofficially?'
'Yes,' admitted Hermione, without a hint of embarrassment. 'I was going to teach myself the work for fun.'
'Fun!' Ron scoffed, not unkindly. 'Well, you know me, Hermione—I'd rather curse myself with a particularly nasty hex than go through all that again!'
Hermione rolled her eyes with mock-impatience. She was immensely relieved to feel that the awkwardness was clearing between them. Maybe one day, in time, it could be like the old days again, and as Harry flopped down beside her, she could almost pretend that it was.
The four days Hermione spent at Grimmauld Place passed far too quickly for her liking, but the thought of seeing her parents kept her spirits from dampening too much. She had enjoyed being amongst the Weasleys again.
They'd all shown an interest in how she was getting on at Hogwarts, and, in turn, she'd regaled them with some of her most cringe-worthy moments as a teacher—stumbling into a pyjama-clad Argus Filch while on a midnight flit to the kitchens had been one of them.
Hermione had also had chance to discuss her work on the Muggle Studies syllabus, although that had been mostly with Ginny and Arthur Weasley. Harry and Ron had tried to look interested, but Hermione, after months of teaching, could now spot the vacant expression of a daydreamer a mile off, and Arthur, rather unsurprisingly, had shown enough enthusiasm for the both of them.
When she'd asked him what aspect he'd enjoyed the most about Muggle Studies at Hogwarts, he'd replied:
'Oh, I couldn't possibly say, my dear! I just found it all so completely fascinating. I could talk about them all day; I mean, what are these things they wear in their ears sometimes? Often, white or black strings that disappear into their clothing…'
What followed had been a lengthy discussion during which Hermione had tried to explain the concept of earphones and portable music players.
It occurred to her that Arthur Weasley was one of the few exceptions to Snape's hypothesis about wizarding interest in the Muggle world. Arthur was utterly fascinated with them—there could be no bones about it.
Neither was it out of pity, or indeed, a need to feel superior—it was genuine interest. Hermione wondered if Arthur would ever consider coming to Hogwarts to talk to some of her classes about Muggles, or even his work at the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office. Perhaps it would be good for the first-years, if, of course, first-year classes got the go-ahead. It would be something to consider.
Hermione, having put her Christmas presents under the tree in the library, was jolted from her musings when she heard the door creak behind her.
'Hermione?'
'Ron, I'm just putting the presents under the tree, and, don't worry, I haven't got you a book this year!'
He smiled gratefully. 'Listen,' he began, 'I, ah, hoped to speak with you before you left. We haven't had much chance to speak privately.'
Hermione was suddenly on the alert. 'Oh yes, of course. What is it you want to talk about?'
He sat down on the sofa and motioned for her to join him. 'It's a bit awkward, well, it's not... it shouldn't be anyway. I just wanted to ask you…' Ron broke off for a moment and Hermione felt her stomach sink through the floorboards. Was he going to talk about getting back together?
'Look, I'll just come out and say it. There's this girl at the Ministry and I'm thinking about going out with her, but I wanted to tell you in case you weren't all right with it or something. I mean, I don't know why you wouldn't be, I just, I felt I ought to tell you…' He stopped, becoming aware that he was rambling.
'Oh, Ron! Of course I am OK with it! I am happy for you.' Hermione gave him a wide smile, touched at his consideration. 'Thank you for telling me, though. I appreciate it.'
She hugged him tightly, not for the first time wondering if she had been a fool to let things finish with him as she had.
On Christmas Day, Hermione awoke mid-morning. She'd arrived back at her old home yesterday afternoon, overjoyed to see her parents. They'd had so much to talk about, that it had been rather late before they retired to bed.
From the sound of it, her parents were already up. Hermione rolled out of bed and shrugged on her dressing gown before making her way downstairs.
'Morning, love; Happy Christmas,' greeted her mother warmly.
'Thanks, Mum! Happy Christmas to you, too. Where's Dad? In the kitchen?'
Her mother rolled her eyes. 'Yes. He's supposedly learnt some fancy new trick off the telly about cooking a turkey, so he wants to be in charge of it this year.'
Hermione smiled. 'Dad!' she called. 'We're opening presents!'
A moment later, her father appeared. 'Righto; you had a few arrive yesterday by owl, by the way—from Hogwarts, I take it?'
'Most probably,' answered Hermione as they sat down and began unwrapping.
She had to smile; she might not have got Ron a book this year, but he certainly had got her one, as had Harry. They could be so predictable, she thought affectionately.
Her parents had got her a gift voucher for Madam Malkin's in Diagon Alley.
'Mrs. Weasley helped us get it,' explained her mother, at Hermione's questioning look.
'Thank you! I could do with some more teaching robes, and indeed some new dress robes, too.'
Hermione turned her attention to the small pile of gifts she had left, revealing themselves to be a bottle of wine from Pomona, and a box of Honeydukes' finest from Poppy. Minerva had sent her a beautifully crafted burgundy scarf, and then there was one small, rectangular package left.
Hermione lifted the gift tag and saw with a jolt of anticipation that it was from the Headmaster. His name wasn't written on the tag anywhere, but Hermione could not fail to recognise the hand that had spikily scrawled 'Happy Christmas.' She ripped off the paper to reveal a box, sincerely hoping her parents would not comment on her haste.
Inside the box was a long, silver-coloured bookmark, the type that curled over the spine of a book. On the end of it was an intricate Celtic emblem, and Hermione turned it over in her hands for several moments. It was very pretty. She hadn't thought about him much at all since leaving Hogwarts five days ago, and quite frankly, it was a relief.
Now, however, his image swam unbidden to the front of her mind as she considered his gift. Hermione sighed to herself silently, placing the bookmark back into its box. She was being far too sentimental—he'd probably bought a job-lot of them and given one to each of the staff.
Nevertheless, over the next few days, Hermione found her thoughts turning towards the Headmaster more often than she would have liked.
Perhaps it was the quiet of being with her parents, after the bustle of Grimmauld Place, that allowed her more time to just sit and think. As much as she had loved being with Harry and the Weasleys, and her parents for that matter, Hermione could not deny that she was missing Hogwarts.
Indeed, it rather came as a surprise to her, but she did miss the life she had created for herself there. She knew it was silly—she had been gone for less than a fortnight! However, she was beginning to feel cut out for teaching, after all, and was considering the possibility that she might spend a few years as one, at least.
The thought of Snape still niggled at her uncomfortably, though. Hermione had very little experience of crushes. Granted, there had been Lockhart, but that didn't really count—she had been thirteen, and that time with Viktor didn't really stand for comparison either. Then there was Ron, but that hadn't been… unprompted. He'd been her good friend and she had fallen in love with him. There wasn't anyone she could really talk to about it, either. Well, her mother maybe, but Hermione wasn't sure what exactly she would say to her, anyway.
She would just have to trust herself, she decided. Whatever it was that she felt around Snape would surely burn out eventually. It wasn't as if she was entertaining flights of fancies about the two of them. There were scores of reasons why she shouldn't and, anyway, everyone knew now about him and Lily Potter so there was no point really.
No point at all.
On New Year's Eve, Hermione left her parents with a promise not to leave it so long until her next visit. She Apparated to Hogsmeade and all but rushed up the path to the gates—there was something very pleasant about the sight of the old castle. She was looking forward to seeing Minerva and the others, wanting to thank them properly for their gifts. There was someone else she was eager to see too, in spite of her reasoning that she should probably keep her distance. She felt not a little foolish for it.
The castle was quiet when she entered. The majority of students were not due back for a few days, and only a handful had remained behind. She headed straight for Minerva's office. The office was empty, so she headed to the older woman's quarters.
Minerva invited her inside with a warm smile. 'How was your Christmas, dear?'
Hermione sat gratefully in the armchair by the roaring fire and accepted the offer of tea and crumpets. 'Quiet for the most part—just my parents and me—but that is how we like it. And yours?'
'Good, thank you; I visited my sister for a day or two in Aberdeen. I couldn't stay for too long, as I have four students who stayed behind in Gryffindor.'
Hermione nodded.
'Oh, before I forget, Hermione,' Minerva's eyes twinkled for a moment. 'We are having a little get-together in the staff room tonight for the New Year. I hope you will join us?'
'Of course!' laughed Hermione.
Hermione was secretly pleased at this piece of news. Surely the headmaster would be there? Maybe she would be able to strike up a conversation with him? Hermione suddenly cringed to herself at her pathetic little hopes. Had she no self-respect? Where had it gone? When had she become some childish girl mooning over a man twice her age? She knew it was a slippery slope, and yet she couldn't stop her foolish thoughts.
That evening, Hermione stood looking in her wardrobe at all the robes she owned. She wanted a set that weren't too dressy, or too casual. Nothing she owned seemed to fit the bill; she really should start paying more attention to clothes, she decided. In the end, she pulled on some dark blue robes and then turned to tackle her hair, thinking she would wear it down (only after giving it a good spray to calm down some of the frizz, that is).
She studied herself in the full-length mirror for a moment and sighed in frustration, not quite satisfied. Well, it would have to do. Tugging at an errant curl, she shut the wardrobe door and exited her rooms.
Come eleven o'clock that night, Hermione was rather disappointingly sober in comparison to the incessant frivolity of others around her. In fact, it annoyed her to realise that it was precisely because of disappointment that she was not enjoying herself—Snape was nowhere to be seen.
In fact, she had seen neither sight nor sound of him all day. She huffed to herself and stuffed a pumpkin pasty off the nearby platter into her mouth. Should she be concerned though? Surely, he would have joined his staff for a drink on New Year's Eve… And yet, no one else seemed bothered by it. His name had not been mentioned all night.
Eventually, she couldn't stand the not-knowing, and hoping that it wouldn't be that much of an unusual observation, Hermione turned to Minerva with a carefully schooled expression.
'Is there any reason why the Headmaster hasn't joined us tonight?' Hermione glanced around the room nonchalantly. 'He's missing out,' she added for good measure.
Minerva waved her hand dismissively and adjusted her crooked spectacles with laboured movements—she had been pretty handy with the Scotch all evening.
'Hermione, my dear, I despair of that man! He has been like a black cloud hanging around the castle these past two weeks! I tried,' Minerva slurred slightly, 'I tried talking to him again, but he won't listen to me. He's probably about, brooding somewhere.'
Hermione frowned to herself at the implication of Minerva's words and began to feel rather unsettled. The stuffiness and the noise of the staff room were rather cloying and Hermione felt the need to get some fresh air in order to think. She said as much to the woman beside her and slipped quietly out into the corridor. She wandered silently through the dimly lit corridors, enjoying the sound of the silence. When she moved upwards, the staircase she stepped on rather abruptly shifted and she grasped the bannister tightly. She alighted and decided where she would go—the Astronomy Tower. It was a beautifully clear night and a bit of stargazing might clear her head.
Truth be told, she was worried. She recalled the conversation she had had with Minerva several weeks ago, when Minerva had said she should not approach Snape about his moods. Hermione wasn't sure it was right to simply stand by while he was so obviously troubled. Not that she had such a high opinion of herself to think that she could triumph where Minerva had failed. Indeed, she was probably the last person Snape would take notice of, but, she wondered if she should try, at least.
All of her silly fancies about admiring the fall of his hair, the intensity of his black gaze, or the timbre of his voice vanished from her mind when she thought of him now. They seemed irrelevant, and indeed, self-indulgent when he was clearly unhappy in himself. What could she do, though? Should she go looking for him? Could she pluck up enough courage to go to his office? Probably, she realised, if her need to see if he was all right was anything to go by.
Hermione opened the door onto the Astronomy Tower and immediately felt an icy blast of air. She really wasn't appropriately dressed for standing atop a windswept tower, but a Warming charm would suffice for a few moments of reflection.
Hermione moved into the open and towards the battlements, where she could gaze out over the night sky. The stars were exceptionally bright above her and the twinkling lights of Hogsmeade were also visible in the distance. She smiled to herself.
The occasional gust of wind felt very refreshing and it blew her thick, curly hair away from her face—now she couldn't care less if it ended up looking like a bird's nest. She leant on the parapet tiredly, taking extreme care not to look down—it wasn't the highest tower at Hogwarts for nothing—and could soon feel the cold seep into her bones. Hermione thought it was unwise to linger, despite her desire to remain, but it wouldn't do for her to become ill.
Any move to leave was arrested by the sound of hear heavy footsteps climbing the stairs. Hermione turned to face the door and stepped further into the shadows, unable to help but feel slightly apprehensive. She exhaled deeply when she saw who it was; well at least she wouldn't have to go looking for him now.
Frowning, she realised he was in his shirtsleeves when she herself was freezing with a full set of robes on. He didn't see her as he moved across the tower, and Hermione said nothing, unsure of what to do. His movements were heavier than usual, and she wondered if he had been drinking.
She was galvanised into action a few moments later when he reached the parapet and swayed unsteadily between the battlements.
'Professor Snape!' she cried, rushing towards him and grabbing his arm. 'What… what are you–'
He flinched in surprise to see her. Soon he wrenched his arm from her grasp. 'Relax,' he spat out. 'I'm not going to throw myself off.'
Up close to him, it was clear he had been drinking—she could smell it. There was a strong hint of stubble on his face, and in the moonlight he looked extremely tired. Hermione felt at a loss.
'Leave me,' demanded Snape imperiously. 'I wish to think.'
Her eyes widened as he sat on the edge of the parapet. Her stomach lurched at the thought of the drop below. 'Look, I'm not leaving you sitting there–'
'I told you I wouldn't throw myself off, didn't I?' he snarled.
She wished he wouldn't keep putting that image in her mind. 'Yes, you did, but you could lose your balance by accident in your, um… in your–' Hermione stammered slightly.
Snape flew to his feet to tower over her and Hermione took an involuntary step back. 'In my what?' he hissed. 'In my pathetically inebriated state — is that what you wanted to say, Granger?' He glared fiercely down at her, and Hermione felt stunned at the anger radiating off him. It radiated like a heat.
'No… no, I…' she began quietly, but as quickly as he'd advanced on her, he whipped around and stalked away. She was about to speak again when he turned back towards her, and the words died on her lips.
'What the hell is it to you what I do, anyway? Well?' he demanded.
Hermione tried to placate him. 'Nothing; but sir, please, I–'
He cut her off once again, and Hermione began to feel frustrated that he wouldn't let her finish a sentence.
'Exactly! Nothing! So why can't you get it into your inexplicably bushy head that I want you to leave?'
Hermione could not say she enjoyed being spoken to in such a manner, but something was keeping her there. Maybe she had a hitherto unseen masochistic side, but Hermione was determined to get him to calm down. She tried a different tack.
'Please, Severus–' Hermione broke off rather startled when the words only seemed to ignite him further.
He barked a harsh laugh. '"Please, Severus!" Oh yes, that is sure to get me to bend to your will. Take a look at where we are, Professor,' Snape gestured wide with his arms, encompassing the whole tower, 'and oh, look! I'm standing just about where Dumbledore was when I killed him. That's what he whispered to me, "Please, Severus." Urging me, and I obliged.'
Hermione swallowed uncomfortably at the sudden venture into un-chartered territory. He laughed again and began advancing on her, his voice becoming increasingly raised.
'The most, the most ironic thing is that it hardly matters anymore that I killed him. No one seems to care that I was able to cast the Killing Curse on him! Does it matter to you that I am a murderer?'
'No,' Hermione managed, her blood running as cold as the air around her.
'No! Of course not! All is forgiven and forgotten, but I remember—how could I possibly forget? How could I forget how I sat there while Charity Burbage begged me for mercy until the Dark Lord snuffed out her light with a flick of his wand? There are those two words again, Professor, "Severus, please—help me, Severus!" Do you know what Voldemort did with her dead body? He fed her to his cursed snake!'
He loomed over her again and Hermione fought with the urge to look away, or indeed, to run. Tears rose to her eyes unbidden as she absorbed what the man in front of her had just… unleashed. She'd had no idea that he'd been present when Charity Burbage was killed. Tears spilled over and she ducked her head to swipe at them.
Suddenly his fingers were under her chin and he directed her gaze back to his. 'This is what you wanted to hear, isn't it?' he whispered at her venomously. 'This is the show you wanted to stick around for?'
Hermione remained still, hardly daring even to breathe, or even comprehend what she was hearing. His touch was not forceful, but as soon as he'd done it, she could see he had surprised himself.
She felt shame that no one had noticed his despair until now, but then, they had noticed it, and she thought of Minerva who'd written it all down to moodiness. She, herself, had fallen into the same trap, agreeing with Minerva; but they were both wrong—it was so much more. In that moment, Hermione was made painfully aware of her own age and inexperience. She was not naïve; she had played her own part in the war, but it certainly wasn't the same as the man who stood before her. In many ways, they had fought different wars.
What on earth could she say that didn't sound trite and inadequate? How could she deal with this? It was extremely important that she did.
Eventually, she shook her head in response to his question. 'No,' she whispered quietly, a tear escaping down her cheek.
He released her, breathing heavily and still staring at her. His rather stricken expression told Hermione that he was beginning to remember himself. He ran a hand through his long hair and turned away from her.
'I'm… I apologise; I didn't mean to frighten you… I, ah, I don't know what came over me. I should not have —'
Hermione could tell that his anger had passed, for his voice was back to its soft resonance. Indeed, he appeared rather shaken. She watched as he ran his hand over his face and then to his neck.
How often had she seen him do this? Hermione doubted it was some kind of nervous habit he'd developed. Without really thinking about it, Hermione approached him, sensing that it was time for her to take control of the situation.
Hardly believing her own audacity, Hermione grasped his arm and tugged his fingers away from where they pressed at his neck. Snape turned to her in surprise.
'It still hurts you doesn't it, sir?'
There was no answer. Making a split second decision, Hermione gathered all the courage afforded to her by that last glass of wine she'd had, and reached up to grasp the knot of his cravat, pulling slightly to loosen it. Immediately, a pair of hands came up to clasp her wrists and Hermione nearly gasped aloud at how cold they were.
'What… what on earth are you doing?' he murmured.
Hermione was relieved to hear there was no bite, only surprise, in his tone and this spurred her on. She ignored the grip on her wrists and carried on loosening the knot until she could tug the white collar of his shirt away from his neck. She risked a quick glance up at his face to find him watching her intently.
'The bite on your neck, sir, I can tell it pains you—I have seen you often grasp at it. I want to see it.'
'Oh, you do, do you?' His voice was soft and calculating, and he relinquished his grip. Hermione swallowed involuntarily.
Holding the corner of his collar with one hand, Hermione used her free hand to lightly move his hair out of the way. She moved her head back to allow her to see better. In the moonlight, two puncture marks were visible, with the surrounding skin partially raised and bumpy. In the sunlight, Hermione assumed it would be more obviously discoloured than it was in the dark. Hermione had an urge to touch it but she was afraid such an action would be pushing her luck.
Eventually she let his hair drop back around his face and released his collar. Snape raised an eyebrow at her.
'Why don't you take something for the pain?'
He sighed heavily and moved back towards the parapet, except, this time he lowered himself to sit with his back to the wall, his legs outstretched before him.
'Many reasons; mainly because it doesn't hurt often enough, and when it does, it does me good to be reminded. And that's the last of your questions I am answering.'
Hermione ignored him. 'You must be freezing; it's too cold to sit out here.'
The glare she received might have withered her under normal circumstances, but these were not normal. Hermione pulled out her wand and cast a Warming charm on the stones around him, before settling herself down next to him. He gave a low, annoyed groan.
'Quiet. Your hands are like ice, you know.' So saying, Hermione boldly reached for his hand nearest her, and pulled it into her lap, enclosing it in both of hers to warm it. She felt, rather than saw, his head whip in her direction.
'What the devil… You are taking unprecedented liberties with my person tonight!' he growled.
Hermione's lips twitched as she resisted his attempts to remove his hand, and soon he huffed quietly and ceased. When Hermione was sure there would be no apprehension in her voice, she spoke into the silence that had fallen between them.
'You've never spoken those thoughts aloud before, have you?'
Snape didn't answer straight away, but eventually he did with resignation. 'No, I have not. How could you tell?'
Hermione ignored his sarcasm. 'It would do you good to talk about it.' She had a feeling that this outburst she had witnessed was only the tip of the iceberg.
He scoffed loudly. 'Even if I were predisposed to talking about my feelings, there is no one to listen.'
Hermione knew that to be untrue; she herself would be more than willing to help him, but she wasn't sure how to tell him that. She was reminded of his periodic correspondence with Harry.
'Perhaps you could write them down, and, even if you burn it straight away, the process might help.'
He was silent once more, and Hermione dropped her gaze to his hand, unexpectedly realising that she was stroking the back of his hand very lightly with her thumb. She blushed in the cold air, but couldn't bring herself to cease her movements, not while he seemed to be allowing them. Venturing a peek at him out of the corner of her eye, she could see he was staring directly ahead, unmoving.
Hermione looked ahead too. 'Look, sir, I am not going to pretend to understand what you must feel, or indeed, tell you what to feel, but I just hope that there will come a time when you can look at your part in the war differently. People don't hate you for what happened with Dumbledore, simply because now we understand why it had to happen. Often, that is all it takes for people to accept and move on. As for Professor Burbage, she did not die in vain; she died for the future of the wizarding world and, well, you cannot blame yourself for everything.'
'Recognising such logic does not lessen my regrets… sometimes they are all I can think about.'
Hermione felt the desolation in his tone settle somewhere between her ribs and it pained her.
'But, perhaps you are right,' he said quietly. 'There may come a time when I can learn to live with them properly.'
Hermione nodded to herself thoughtfully. For his sake, she sincerely hoped so. 'Will you tell me, sir, how you survived that night in the Shack?'
Snape looked at her then. 'Been wondering about that, have you?' He paused for a moment. 'No, I will not tell you tonight. Rest assured, there is no story of divine intervention or magical miracle that you are missing out on… just one of misguided loyalty and sacrifice. It doesn't end well, and I am sure I have depressed you enough for one night.'
Hermione wanted to protest as her curiosity was irresistibly piqued. How could it not end well? He was alive, wasn't he?
'I don't think I could stand the irony of you flinging yourself off the tower… after all this.'
Hermione glared severely at him.
'Not a fan of gallows humour, then?' There was a twitch of his lip.
'Indeed not.'
Hermione saw this as an opportunity to lighten the mood somewhat. 'Oh, and by the way, that comment about my "inexplicably bushy head"? It was a low blow indeed—I'll have you know it is very windy tonight.'
He gave a low chuckle. 'My most sincere apologies, then.'
They both lapsed into a comfortable silence and Hermione could feel the chill seeping into her bones again, not to mention the complete lack of comfort provided by the hard stone. Yet, for all that, she was very reluctant to move. In the distance she could hear the tolling of the clock in Hogsmeade, and she realised the New Year was upon them.
They could not sit there all night, but Hermione promised herself a few moments longer, before he would finally remember himself, take back his hand and retreat to his own tower, and she would be left feeling more confused than ever.
AN: : )