Hermione frowned and examined the Veil, where the vague voices and mysterious whispers still could be heard. Frankly, she did not believe in portals to the Other Side. Or to any sides, generally speaking. Unless it was a gate leading into or out of the garden. Her utterly logical train of thought was devoid of all sentimentality, and it was rather her research and scientific interest that brought her to the Department of Mysteries.
However, Lady Walburga's words stirred something in her, forcing her to doubt the path that they had all once chosen after listening to Dumbledore. Of course, Walburga was a Slytherin, and years of being around at least three textbook members of the House of Snakes had taught Hermione to figure out the manipulations when she was faced with something like that. However, the scientist in her was always in doubt. And in recent years, she often wanted to exchange the Auror badge for a professor's robe.
When she conveyed her desire to the portrait of Severus, he stared back at her in disbelief, muttering about the clueless Gryffindors who always get it too late, and disappeared from the frame, not bothering to condescend to a more clarifying comment. Well, Hermione didn't expect anything else from her husband.
But nevertheless, she dragged herself into the Ministry on a clear morning in early November. Irony or not, all the important events in her life were somehow connected with autumn. And if the Houses of Hogwarts could be associated with the seasons, she would boldly give November to Slytherin. Snakes seemed to understand better than anyone what the true expectation of rebirth meant and knew how to find beauty in the darkest times.
Anyone else would have said that Snape was a bad influence on Granger's already overly idealistic nature, and she would have laughed in their face. Following the example of the same Snape. No. The Slytherins were both the perpetrators of everything that happened, to a greater extent; and the victims.
Pureblood children spent all their school years in the dungeons, were despised by other Houses, and by birthright had the reputation of dark wizards, which became, at best, two percent of the total number of graduates. All the same Pettigrew, a glorious representative of the House of the brave and desperate, just did excel on all fronts in the blackest sense. And Dilys Derwent, the famed Slytherin, was the head of the Dark Curse Victims Ward. Draco was now working there when it turned out that his father, after Azkaban, would never be able to regain his lost sanity. Yes, and Narcissa, who spent most of the last year of the war under Imperio, also did not get off lightly.
Dumbledore and the childish naivety that taught them to divide the world into black and white were deeply mistaken in this kind of ideal. And Hermione grew up too late. And too late learned the true price of everything.
That's why now she wandered around the Veil with the interest of a dowser and tried to find at least some clue. The Mirror of Erised, which seemed to have jumped out to meet her when she descended into the Slytherin dungeons, brought her nothing but acute longing. It didn't show the future that Hermione feared so much, it showed a scene from the past where there was no return. The future would be better, Great Merlin. The prospect of meeting old age surrounded by completely magical cauldrons and the latest equipment of the best chemical laboratories did not frighten Hermione anymore. As recently as two weeks ago, she applied for graduate school at a Massachusetts university. Either she would actually change the past, or she would sever all ties with Britain and start a new life in America. With a portrait of Severus, of course, but how else? And no, she didn't think she needed to see a psychologist.
Contrary to common sense and the anxiety of others, she was satisfied with a strange platonic relationship with a portrait of her deceased husband. Draco carefully tried to give her psychological help, Luna smiled mysteriously and vaguely proclaimed that everyone had their own ways of coping, and Harry did not hesitate to call her crazy. Hermione shrugged. Severus had the option to leave. Where did the dead go? But he stayed. He said that he was much calmer with his wife under his supervision.
Hermione had long been accustomed to the oddities that seemed to surround her person from birth.
She remembered how she stood in front of the Mirror and stared enchanted into its depths. And it, like a mockery of her dreams, showed such a simple scene of their rare tea parties that she wanted to howl at the moon until it howled back. It was already clear to everyone that she and Severus had a strainedly polite relationship built on mutual appreciation. He once mentioned that it was much easier for him to return from the meetings of the Dark Lord knowing that he would not have to pass out in the corridors of Hogwarts in an attempt to get to Madam Pomfrey. And Hermione, who had been trained by the same mediwitch, was now listed as a freelance healer of the Order. She always waited for her husband's return, even when he indifferently passed by her, hurrying to report the latest news to Dumbledore. The glimpse, the casual touch, that rare half-smile, everything about Severus always spoke without words.
On one of those nights, when she was restless with excitement, he had been gone for twelve hours, and no one had any information, Snape's house elf knocked on the door of "Madam Snape" and said that "Master has been sitting in the laboratory for two hours and does not want to leave." Hermione was startled but quickly changed her mind. If Severus was able to snap at his elf, then he was definitely fine. And Madam Pomfrey would have told her if anything happened. Hermione did not want to think gloomy thoughts that particular night. She naively wanted to console herself with the fact that she had some weight in the Order and in Snape's life.
Muggle psychologists would have labeled her state the anxious attachment, but what else could she do to comfort herself? A month ago, Snape had woken her in the middle of the night and told her that she was being hunted and that her parents were first on the list of victims. And something urgently needed to be done, otherwise, it would be too late tomorrow. False memories... Snape offered to force false memories on her parents and send them to the other side of the world since it was impossible to teach Muggles Occlumency. He personally, through his connections and, paradoxically, through Lucius Malfoy, prepared the necessary documents, together with Hermione thought out new roles for her parents, and personally cast a modified memory spell.
It was like saying goodbye forever. Hermione didn't cry, didn't say she'd fix everything when the war was over. If it ever be over. She stood and stared at one point while Severus activated the portkeys back and forth and ferried them to the other side of the world. Crookshanks sat at Hermione's feet and screamed heart-rendingly into the void, the wind blew, and it rained. Of course, how could they, according to all the laws of Gothic novels, manage without rain? And then Severus came back and took her hand and told her to go with him. And Hermione didn't care where, because she completely relied on her husband on that wild night that tore the sky with flashes of lightning. And he took her to Spinners End, where she had never been before, sat her on the sofa, and made her a huge cup of hot chocolate. The same chocolate, a medical one, which was soldered during attacks of Dementors.
Hermione clutched the damn cup in her numb fingers and shook as if in a fit. Severus watched her for exactly a minute, then moved behind her and pulled her into his arms. She didn't remember them talking about anything. It was unlikely that her husband was one of those who knew how to speak words of support. But he was warm and she felt safe with him. She didn't need more.
And now she built a tray of tea and his favorite gingerbread cookies, took a deep breath, and went to the laboratory. Let him yell and kick her out, as long as he didn't close in on himself. There were dimly flickering magic lights, something bubbling in the cauldron, Polyjuice Potion, Hermione smelled it, and it was so quiet it rang in her ears. Severus was sitting by the fireplace, right on the floor, squeezing his temples in his palms. He had a wild migraine again. So both Dumbledore and Voldemort dug nicely into his brain, and he managed to wrap them around his finger, as always.
Hermione placed the tray nearby and sat down on the floor behind him, carefully examining his hunched shoulders, discarding conventions, and covering his palms with hers, concentrating the healing energy on his temples throbbing with pain. Severus tensed for a moment, as he always did when someone invaded his personal space, but then, through the veil of pain, he recognized her magic and gradually relaxed, allowing her healing.
She didn't know how long they sat like that, didn't notice at what point he stretched out on the floor with his head in her lap, didn't know if he himself noticed what had happened. The tea was cooling, there was a smell of chamomile, and logs crackled in the fireplace.
"I made it today," Severus muttered sleepily, looking up into her eyes with confidence.
"Sleep, it's my turn to look after you today."
"I would say that this is the first and last time such a scene happens between us, but I don't want to."
"You don't need to. Everything we go through is wrong and amazing from the start."
"But you are okay with this"
"And you're not?"
"I don't know anything anymore."
"Then let it go, Severus. Here and now. And you can call me a sentimental idiot all you want tomorrow. We have here and now."
"I want to do as you say once in my life."
"What's stopping you?"
"Moral standards."
"To hell with the rules, Severus! I learned them all to break them and get away with them. And I have succeeded many times."
"Dumbledore will kill me if he finds out."
"What? That you are spending the evening with your own damn wife? I'm an adult, Severus, we can die at any moment, banish your moral duty hell for once in your life!"
"You are so funny when you are annoyed."
"Who else could see you from this side…" Hermione drawled thoughtfully and smiled.
Severus turned on his side and found her hand in the darkness, pressed her wrist to his lips, and closed his eyes.
"I'm so tired that it seems that even after death I won't be able to sleep."
"Don't talk like that, you'll live, do you hear? We will definitely survive! I promise."
"Well, if you say so, then so be it."
Standing in front of the Mirror, replaying the scene over and over in her mind, Hermione clenched her fists and bit her lip in frustration. They did not keep their promise, and she no longer wanted to look for common sense, which she had lost somewhere at the crossroads. She missed her husband like Hell.