Weeks went by with Hermione diligently focused on her academics. She poured herself into her studies with a fervor that even surpassed her usual drive. Every waking moment seemed dedicated to reading, researching, and completing her assignments with meticulous care. She knew that diving into her studies was a reliable way to keep her mind occupied, away from the complicated feelings and situations swirling around her. And while it was effective in many ways, there was one thought she couldn't shake—the soulmate spell.
The thought of Verus Anima Revelio lingered persistently in her mind like a whisper she couldn't ignore. The idea of using it had taken root, growing stronger each day as Ron continued to press his misguided beliefs about their supposed "soulmate" connection. She found herself rereading that particular passage in the ancient text more times than she could count. She had memorized every word, every detail, every nuance of the ritual required to cast the spell. She could easily recite it from memory now, the incantation rolling off her tongue in silent practice whenever she found a quiet moment to herself. Sometimes, when she was alone in her dormitory or secluded in the library, she'd close her eyes and imagine what it would feel like to finally see that space before her empty of any glowing script. The idea brought her a sense of hope—a resolution that would allow her to reclaim control over her own heart.
Harry and Ron had reprised their positions on Gryffindor's Quidditch team, which provided some welcome distraction from the daily grind of classes and tension. As the weeks wore on, the Gryffindor team threw themselves into intense practice sessions, determined to prepare for their first game of the season against Slytherin. Harry, now a seasoned Seeker, had taken on more of a leadership role, guiding the younger players and strategizing alongside Ginny, the new team captain. Ron, on the other hand, had returned as the team's Keeper, still riding on the highs and lows of his unpredictable performances.
Hermione made an effort to attend a few of their practices, mainly to support Harry. She'd sit in the stands, wrapped in her warm cloak as the autumn winds began to chill, and watch him dart around the pitch with his characteristic speed and skill. She could see how focused he was, how much he enjoyed being back in the air, and she wanted to be there to cheer him on. She knew he appreciated it; he'd often flash her a grateful smile or wave as he sped by.
But while she was there for Harry, her feelings toward Ron remained strained. He was still being a bit of a prat, constantly casting sidelong glances at her during practice as if expecting her to swoon over his performance. His persistence had only grown more frustrating in the weeks since their argument at breakfast, and Hermione was beginning to feel the weight of it all. She had tried reasoning with him, but Ron's insistence on their "fate" was unwavering, and it only added fuel to her desire to cast the soulmate spell.
During one particular practice, Hermione found herself sitting a little farther away from the main group of Gryffindor supporters, trying to avoid Ron's attention. She watched as he made a few decent saves but also fumbled more than once. She could see him looking around after each blunder, his eyes scanning the stands until he caught sight of her. She knew he was seeking her approval, her encouragement, but Hermione remained stoic, offering only polite claps when Harry or one of the other players did something noteworthy.
Ginny, who was leading the drills with her usual determination, flew over to the stands during a break, her cheeks flushed from the cold and exertion. "Hey, Hermione," she greeted, catching her breath. "Thanks for coming out again. Merlin knows we need all the support we can get before the game."
Hermione smiled at her friend, appreciating the distraction. "Of course, Ginny. You're doing a fantastic job as captain. The team looks like they're shaping up well."
Ginny gave her a knowing look, her eyes flicking over to where Ron was brooding near the goalposts. "You know he's only making those faces because he's trying to get your attention, right?"
Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes. "I know. He's been impossible lately. I'm starting to think he's only playing like this because he thinks it'll make me come running."
Ginny chuckled. "Wouldn't put it past him. You know how he is when he gets something in his head. But he'll come around eventually. Just keep doing what you're doing." She paused, her expression growing more serious. "Though, if you need me to talk to him or knock some sense into him, just say the word."
Hermione laughed softly, feeling grateful for Ginny's support. "I'll keep that in mind, but I have a plan of my own. I just need to wait for the right moment."
"Sounds intriguing," Ginny said with a grin. "Well, whatever it is, I'm sure it'll be brilliant. Just remember, we've got your back."
As Ginny flew back to the pitch, Hermione's mind drifted back to the spell. The full moon was approaching, and she was nearly ready. Now, it was just a matter of timing. She needed to catch Ron in a moment when he wouldn't suspect anything, a moment when he'd be close enough for the spell to work but unaware of what she was doing. She'd have to choose her time carefully. And as she watched Ron fumble yet another save, a small smile crept onto her face. Soon, the truth would be revealed, and maybe, just maybe, she could finally move on from this exhausting chapter.
Toward the end of dinner that evening, Hermione's patience had worn thin. She had tried her best to ignore Ron's relentless advances throughout the meal, choosing to sit at the far end of the Gryffindor table, hoping the distance would send a clear message. But Ron's persistence knew no bounds. He continued to slide closer to her, his thigh brushing against hers, his arm attempting to wrap around her shoulders, all the while talking with his mouth full about their "inevitable future together." She felt a swell of irritation rising in her chest, her jaw clenching as she repeatedly shrugged him off.
"Ron, stop it," she hissed under her breath, shrugging away from his hand for what felt like the hundredth time that evening.
"But 'Mione, we're meant to be together," he insisted again, his voice tinged with that familiar whine that only grated on her nerves further. "Why do you keep denying it?"
"Because we are not soulmates, Ron!" Hermione snapped, her patience finally reaching its breaking point. She put down her fork with a loud clatter, her hand slipping into her robes to grip her wand tightly. She had tried to be patient, to be civil, but he left her with no other choice. Her fingers wrapped around the smooth wood of her wand, and she took a deep, steadying breath.
Her heart pounded in her chest as she murmured the words she had rehearsed countless times in her mind, "Verus Anima Revelio." She said it softly, almost under her breath, but with enough clarity and intent for the spell to take effect. The air around her seemed to still, the sounds of the bustling Great Hall fading into a distant hum. She could feel the surge of magic flowing through her, radiating from her core and out through her wand, reaching out into the space around her.
Hermione waited with bated breath, her eyes fixed on the space directly in front of her. She expected to see nothing but emptiness, the air unmarked by any glowing letters. She imagined the sweet relief that would follow—the undeniable proof that she and Ron were not meant to be together, no matter how many times he insisted otherwise. Her heart was set on seeing that empty space, her mind ready to embrace the freedom it would bring.
But then, something unexpected happened.
A golden glow began to shimmer in the air before her, faint at first, like a mirage, but growing brighter with each passing second. Hermione's breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening in disbelief. Slowly, as if written by an unseen hand, letters began to materialize, one by one, in elegant, glowing script. Her heart pounded in her ears as the first letter formed—a bold, unmistakable "S." She blinked, momentarily confused, her mind racing.
The next letter appeared, and then the next: "E… V… E… R… U… S."
Hermione's breath hitched as the realization began to dawn on her. No. This couldn't be right. She watched in stunned silence, her hand trembling slightly around her wand as the letters continued to appear.
"Snape," she whispered, her voice barely audible, almost lost amidst the chatter of the Great Hall. The full name was now clear and complete before her eyes, glowing with an ethereal brilliance—Severus Snape.
She felt her heart drop to her stomach, a whirlwind of shock, confusion, and disbelief crashing over her like a tidal wave. She glanced around the room, half-expecting someone to notice the glowing letters in the air, but everyone seemed oblivious, engrossed in their meals and conversations. The world around her seemed to move in slow motion, the voices of her classmates muffled and distant.
Ron, still seated beside her, continued his prattling, oblivious to the revelation that had just unfolded in front of Hermione. She could barely hear him over the deafening roar of her thoughts. Her mind raced as she tried to process what she was seeing. Severus Snape? How could that be possible? Snape, the cold, enigmatic, perpetually scowling Potions Master who had somehow survived the war, now the headmaster? Her supposed soulmate? It was absurd, unthinkable. And yet, the glowing letters remained, unwavering in their clarity.
Her eyes darted instinctively to the head table. There he was, Severus Snape, seated in his usual place, his dark eyes sweeping over the students with that familiar inscrutable expression. He appeared as he always did—detached, his posture rigid, and his face a mask of indifference. She couldn't see his eyes well from this distance, but she imagined they were filled with that intense, penetrating gaze that always seemed to see right through her.
She swallowed hard, her mouth dry. What did this mean? Did he feel it too? Was he even aware of the magic unfolding just a few yards away from him? She had so many questions and no answers. Her mind struggled to grasp the implications of the spell's results. Could it be a mistake? Had she cast it wrong? No—she was certain she had done everything correctly, followed every step to the letter.
A rush of heat flooded her cheeks as she realized what this could mean. All those times she'd caught his gaze lingering on her in class, the strange tension she'd felt when they were in the same room. She had always dismissed it, convinced it was nothing more than her imagination or paranoia. But now, with the evidence glowing before her, she had to face the possibility that there was something more at play—something she hadn't allowed herself to consider before.
Remembering that she still had her wand in her hand, Hermione's fingers unfurled, releasing it with a subtle clatter onto the table. The moment her grip loosened, the golden letters in the air vanished as if they had never been there at all. A ripple of magic dispersed around her, and the buzz of the Great Hall resumed at its normal volume, the ambient sounds of clinking silverware and excited chatter filling her ears once more. But inside, Hermione felt a maelstrom of conflicting emotions—disbelief, confusion, shock, and something else she couldn't quite name.
Her heart still hammered in her chest, and she could feel a cold sweat forming at the nape of her neck. She needed air. She needed to think. She needed to be anywhere but here, surrounded by her housemates, where Ron was still babbling on without a clue, and where anyone could sense something was off if they looked at her too closely. She needed to get out.
Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she quietly excused herself from the table, her voice barely above a whisper. "I need to go," she mumbled to no one in particular, not even bothering to look at Ron. She could feel him reaching out as if to stop her, his fingers brushing against her sleeve, but she quickly pulled away, the contact feeling suffocating in her current state.
Hermione rose from her seat, trying to mask the turmoil brewing beneath the surface. She moved briskly, not quite a run, but faster than her usual pace, threading her way through the crowded Great Hall. She could feel the weight of curious stares as she weaved around her classmates, but she kept her eyes trained on the towering oak doors at the far end, willing herself not to look back.
Yet, despite her best efforts, she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, as if someone's gaze was burning into her back. It wasn't just any gaze—she knew exactly who it belonged to. She dared a glance up toward the Head Table, and her breath caught in her throat as her eyes met a pair of stern, black eyes that were already locked onto her.
Severus Snape's gaze was intense, unwavering. From his seat at the head table, he seemed to have noticed her abrupt departure, his dark eyes following her every movement with a scrutinizing sharpness that sent a shiver down her spine. His expression remained inscrutable, his face a stoic mask that betrayed nothing, but there was something about the way he watched her—an unsettling combination of curiosity and something else she couldn't quite place. His hands were steepled before him, fingers interlaced, his posture rigid as always. For a moment, Hermione wondered if he had somehow sensed the magic she'd cast, if he had felt the ripple of it across the room like she had. Could he have possibly known what she had just discovered?
Her cheeks flushed under his gaze, and she quickly averted her eyes, focusing back on her path out of the hall. She couldn't handle thinking about that right now—about what it meant that his name had appeared, or what it might mean if he knew. All she knew was that she needed to be alone, to gather her thoughts without the weight of his piercing stare bearing down on her.
As she stepped out of the Great Hall and into the quieter corridors of Hogwarts, the cool air hit her like a splash of water, a welcome reprieve from the suffocating warmth inside. She leaned back against the cold stone wall, her mind racing. She took several deep breaths, trying to calm her rapid heartbeat. How could this have happened? She had been so certain that the spell would reveal nothing, that it would finally put an end to Ron's absurd claims. But instead, it had opened a door to something far more complicated—something she had never even considered.
Snape. Her soulmate. The words sounded impossible even in her own mind. She couldn't fathom how the spell could have made such a mistake. She'd cast it perfectly—every step, every word had been precise. She knew the magic was sound; she knew it wouldn't lie. But that only meant… that only meant…
She shook her head, trying to dislodge the thoughts spinning in circles. There was no mistaking what the spell had shown, but what did it truly mean? She had never thought of Snape in such a light—never allowed herself to. He was her professor, a man shrouded in mystery, who had been both an enigma and a reluctant protector during the war. And yet, she had to admit there was something compelling about him, something she hadn't quite been able to forget. She had always wondered about the man behind the mask, the one who had played a dangerous game with life and death, and yet survived.
