Shadows of Redemption (Part III)
Snow dusted the castle grounds as winter fully embraced Hogwarts. The evenings Hermione spent with Snape had become less about research and more about quiet companionship. They would read, argue over obscure magical theories, or sit in silence, comfortable in each other's presence. And though neither spoke of it, something had shifted between them—a current of unspoken words and lingering glances.
Hermione found herself looking forward to these evenings more than she cared to admit. She'd catch herself watching the way Snape's fingers moved when he turned the pages of a book, or the faint smirk that tugged at his lips when he won an argument. It was disconcerting, this growing awareness of him.
One evening, as they worked in his office, Hermione broke the silence. "You never told me why you stayed."
Snape looked up from his parchment, his brow furrowing. "What do you mean?"
"Why you stayed at Hogwarts, even after everything. You could have left, started over somewhere far away where no one knew you."
He leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes studying her. "And do what, Miss Granger? Open a shop in Diagon Alley? Become a wandering potion-brewer for hire?"
"You could have had a quiet life," she pressed.
His gaze softened, and for a moment, he seemed almost vulnerable. "Perhaps I felt I had unfinished business here," he admitted. "Or perhaps I'm simply a creature of habit."
Hermione smiled faintly. "I think you care more than you let on."
He smirked, but it didn't reach his eyes. "A dangerous accusation, Miss Granger."
"Call me Hermione," she said softly, surprising even herself.
Snape's expression flickered with something unreadable before he inclined his head. "Very well… Hermione."
The way her name rolled off his tongue sent a warmth through her chest she couldn't ignore.
The first crack in their carefully constructed walls came just before Christmas. The Great Hall was a spectacle of holiday cheer, with enchanted snow falling from the ceiling and a massive tree glittering with ornaments. Hermione sat at a small table with McGonagall and a few others, chatting over tea. Snape, as usual, lingered at the edge of the gathering, his presence a shadow among the festive lights.
When the carolers arrived, singing a cheerful rendition of God Rest Ye Merry, Hippogriffs, Hermione caught Snape's eye from across the room. She grinned, her amusement clear, and to her surprise, his lips twitched into what could almost be called a smile.
Later, as the crowd dispersed, Hermione found him in the corridor outside the hall.
"Enjoying the festivities, Professor?" she teased.
"Mockery does not suit you," he replied, though his tone lacked its usual bite.
She laughed, the sound echoing in the quiet hallway. "It's good to see you smile, you know. Even if it's rare."
Snape looked at her, his dark eyes unreadable. "You're insufferably observant."
"And you're insufferably guarded," she countered, stepping closer. "But I don't mind."
For a moment, the air between them seemed to hum with tension. Snape's gaze dropped to her face, lingering for just a heartbeat longer than was appropriate. Then he stepped back, his expression shuttered once more.
"Goodnight, Hermione," he said, his voice soft, before disappearing into the shadows.
The turning point came on Christmas Eve.
Hermione had stayed at Hogwarts for the holiday, wanting to avoid the chaos of the Weasley household for once. She was curled up in an armchair near the fire in the Gryffindor common room when an unexpected knock startled her.
Snape stood in the doorway, his black cloak dusted with snow.
"Professor?" she asked, standing quickly. "Is something wrong?"
"No," he said, stepping inside. "I simply… thought you might like some company."
Hermione blinked, caught off guard. "I—yes, of course. Please, sit."
He lowered himself into the chair opposite hers, the firelight casting flickering shadows across his face. For a while, they sat in silence, the only sound the crackling of the fire. Finally, Snape spoke.
"I've spent much of my life avoiding people," he said quietly. "I thought it was safer that way. Easier."
Hermione watched him, her heart aching at the vulnerability in his voice.
"But you," he continued, meeting her gaze, "you've made it rather difficult to remain a recluse."
Her breath hitched, her cheeks flushing. "I don't mean to make your life difficult," she said, a teasing lilt in her voice.
His lips quirked into a faint smile. "And yet, you do."
Hermione hesitated, then reached across the small table between them, her fingers brushing his. "Maybe you don't have to be alone anymore."
Snape stared at her hand for a moment, as if debating whether to pull away. Then, slowly, he turned his palm upward, his fingers closing around hers.
"Perhaps not," he murmured.
They sat like that for what felt like hours, the firelight wrapping them in a cocoon of warmth. And for the first time in years, both of them felt the faint stirrings of hope—not just for a brighter future, but for something more.