Overwinter

oh-ver-WIN-ter | verb

1: to pass, spend, or survive the winter

It was over.

The day was bright, the sun shining down on him. In the park near Spinner's End children laughed loudly, tumbling over the playground equipment. He watched them absently from the wooden bench on which he was perched. For the first time in nearly his entire life, he had no pressing business. He had no job to attend to. He had no master to obey, no master to thwart. No enemy-allies to placate. He simply… sat. Outside, in the sunshine. His neck did not bother him, and he was pleased. No darkness tried to invade the moment. He did not break his gaze away from the playground as she sat down next to him.

"Miss Granger," he greeted amicably.

She smiled. "Professor. I'll admit I didn't expect to find you here."

"The day is lovely." He sat back, leaning against the back of the bench and stretching his legs out in front of him. His legs crossed leisurely at the ankles as he moved his eyes up to the blue sky. He wove his fingers together behind his neck. "Not a cloud in sight."

She merely hummed her agreement. She had heard rumors that the former spy was taking it easy, relaxing, and enjoying his life. Clearly they had not been exaggerated. Here was a completely different man from the one she had known in school. His eyes were closed when she glanced over at him.

Severus could admit that he had been hoping that she would come to check in on him at some point. Having nearly embraced death had done wonders for his ability to self-evaluate. He was intrigued by her. Lecherous old man or not, it was true. During his years in the classroom he had been forced by his position both as a spy and as her teacher to feign distaste for her but the truth was that she had grown into a remarkable woman. Her intelligence and self-assurance were unequaled. He would consider himself privileged if she would allow him to become acquainted with her as two people, rather than as student and teacher.

"Would you care for some tea, Miss Granger?" He opened his eyes then and turned to look at her for the first time that day. Her face was thinner than he remembered it, even after the trio had been on the run and on scarce rations, but the smile that lit her face at his inquiry pushed the thought to the back of his mind.

"Why, Professor Snape, are you inviting me over for tea?"

"I am," he said simply.

"I would love some tea." She was pleasantly surprised. She had not expected the rumors to be quite this true. This was scarcely the same person. Perhaps he would withdraw in the safety of his own home and she would be presented with the snarky, difficult man she had expected. He stood from the bench and she was struck suddenly by how tall he was. She had never noticed before. How had she not noticed? He was a full head taller than she. It also occurred to her with a jolt that he was not in black. He wore a light grey t-shirt with… blue jeans.

"Well are you coming?" he asked after a moment. She was staring at him, which he did not entirely mind, but he was beginning to wonder if she was broken.

She started. "Oh, yes, of course." She hastily stood from the bench and walked along beside him as he walked away from the park.

They walked in silence that neither of them tried to fill. He looked so different without his billowing black robes. She thought he almost looked young again – carefree. She glanced over at him again and caught him looking at her. He met her eyes and gave a small, impish smile. Suddenly she worried that she was underdressed. She blushed under his gaze and smoothed at her sundress. He stopped in front of a small white house, almost a cottage, with a cute little fence out front. Opening the gate, he stepped aside for her to enter the yard ahead of him and she felt the tingle of wards as she passed through them.

Inside the house, she was struck by how bright it was. Large, open rooms dominated the space with windows overlooking the yard. She could see an herb garden in one corner of the back yard through the windows. In another section, she identified several magical plants commonly used as potions ingredients. He allowed her to explore while he moved to the kitchen and put the kettle on.

"Professor," she said, moving into the kitchen after him.

"Severus, please," he interrupted. "I am no longer your professor."

She blushed but nodded. "Of course. Severus, your home is lovely. Judging by your garden I would guess that you have a lab somewhere?"

"Obviously," he drawled with a raised eyebrow. "Could I live without one?"

Her lips drew back in a delighted grin. He was joking with her. "I would guess not."

"It's in the basement. I'll show you after tea if you'd like," he offered.

She nodded eagerly.

He pulled out a chair for himself at the small table and motioned for her to do the same. "Miss Granger-"

"Hermione," she said insistently.

His eyes were warm as he inclined his head once. "Hermione." He took a moment to savor the taste of it on his tongue. "How are you?"

She blinked twice, caught off guard by his seemingly sincere question. She hesitated. Societal norms dictated that she merely say that she was 'fine' or 'doing well,' but she didn't think that he wanted that sort of answer. She got the feeling that he really, genuinely wanted to know how she was doing. And if anyone would understand, it would be him. "I'm…" She swallowed, unsure how to proceed. "I'm not sleeping well," she admitted.

"Are you having nightmares?" he asked gently.

Mutely, she nodded. With dread, she felt tears start to prick at her eyes. She ground her teeth together and stared resolutely at the table.

"I can help you with that," he offered. "I, too, have experienced a share of survivor's guilt."

"It isn't fair," she whispered.

The kettle whistled loudly and she heard his chair scrape as he moved to fetch it. A cup was placed in front of her and she caught a whiff of the tea. The smell of it comforted her slightly and she breathed deeply. He offered her sugar quietly and she murmured her thanks.

They were silent for a moment, each stirring their drinks. He took a sip of his tea and sighed in pleasure before sitting forward and clasping his hands together on the table. "There is very little sense when it comes to the casualties of war. Quite frankly, it comes down to dumb luck. The long and short of it is that you were luckier than those who died. As was I." He stared intently at her until she met his gaze. "There is nothing that you could have done to save them."

"I feel like I should have died instead," she admitted. "It isn't logical, I know, but…" She trailed off, knowing that he would understand.

"There are those of us who would have felt that way had you been among the fallen," he said lightly. He took a sip of his tea.

Hermione bit her lip. "Would you have?"

He nodded. "I realize that you probably don't think much of me but I am grateful that you lived. And, Hermione, the best thing that you can do to honor those who fell is to live your life the best that you can. I fully believe that you will do them proud. It would be against your nature not to do so."

She lowered her gaze again to the table, inspecting the grain of the wood. "Thank you. I wish that I could have your positive outlook."

"I nearly was among the casualties," he informed her. "I only survived because of your quick thinking in the shack. It has taken months of solitude, freedom, and self-assessment for me to have gotten here."

"I've had as much time as you," she argued. "Why can't I just accept it and move on with my life?"

He shrugged. "Everyone moves at their own pace. There is no right or wrong way to grieve. There is no time frame for guilt."

"You should be a therapist," she said with a small smile. "You'd be good at it."

He answered with a laugh. "And have to talk to people all day? Merlin, the horror."

"You're talking to me just fine."

"Yes, but I actually like you." His voice was nonchalant, as though he had just made a comment on the weather.

She scoffed. "No you don't. You're just cheery today."

He turned serious eyes on her. "I do. Frankly, I always have. Think of the position I was in. How would it have looked if I had been seen to like Harry Potter's muggleborn best friend?"

Her eyes widened. "I thought you hated me."

"You were meant to." He paused, taking another sip of his tea. "I would like, now that it's all over, to get to know you. I think that we could be friends."

He said it so calmly, as though he were talking about something so normal. "You do?"

With a small smile, he nodded. "Yes. I know that you must think of me as your imposing, git of an ex-professor so if you'd rather not, I understand."

"No!" she protested. When he raised an eyebrow at her, she blushed slightly. "I mean… I don't think of you that way. You were cruel, I'll admit, but you had to be to survive. I understand that. You are brave and intelligent and I would like to be your friend."

He sat back in his chair. "Excellent. Well, as your friend, I feel that I should inform you that your guilt is allowed, it is normal, and it is healthy. Neglecting yourself, however, is not. You're thinner than you were on the run," he murmured.

She looked down into her teacup. "I know."

"Stay for dinner."

"What?" she asked, eyes shooting up.

"Stay for dinner," he repeated. "I'll give you a head start at filling yourself back out."

She smiled softly. "I'd like that. Thank you."

"My pleasure." He bowed his head slightly before raising his cup and draining it.

His gaze wandered to the back yard outside the window. The sun continued to shine brightly. The grass was green and he could see the wind blowing gently through the trees. The long winter of his life was over. And he had survived.