Closure

Sometimes, Hermione thinks, it's like time is holding its breath on purpose.

Hermione is desperately impatient for June to arrive, when she can take her NEWTs, leave her extended childhood at Hogwarts behind and finally begin her adult life.

She wants to have her own home, where she can leave a familiar clutter of books in a corner and scatter her cosmetics across the bathroom counter without having a house-elf tidying it up with what feels like silent and longsuffering reproach. She really doesn't mind the thought of wearing wellies to work, and she cannot wait to utilise her newly-acquired proficiency with Mermish. She longs for a time when she can explore the attraction that pulses warmly between herself and Severus; wrap herself in the glittering threads of promise that are tensioned so tightly, now, that they vibrate when she and Severus are together, almost snap when he touches her hand, guides her wand, quirks a smile at her.

But March has oozed by with deliberate sluggishness, each day clinging stubbornly to the last with a tacky resilience. The bright beads of colour on the grey ribbon of time are her renewed visits with Syrena when the morning is dew-fresh and Hermione believes it might finally be a sprightly day; the new ease with which a warble of meaning issues from her lips as she speaks to her water-dwelling friend; letters from Harry; Saturdays when Professor Snape becomes Severus, just for her; the daily exchange of questions and answers that gives her another piece of Severus to add to the beauty of him that she is building in her heart.

So, when April finally dawned yesterday, it felt like the world's biggest practical joke, like she was a grand April fool for imagining that the castle would empty again that afternoon; that the Easter holidays would finally arrive as the Hogwarts Express huffed away towards London.

Hermione opens the box again...it's still empty...and she sighs as she strokes the luxurious lining. She closes the box again, and her eyes flick to her clock automatically, challenging time to pass.

Hermione would gladly exchange notes several times a day...in the beginning she would rush up to the dormitory after lunch, between classes, to see if a new note had arrived to be treasured. But Severus is far more disciplined about this trading between souls. His letter arrives once a day, an hour after supper time, like he's made a space in his schedule just for her.

She's learned so many secrets. She knows that Severus is a morning person; he likes the grey dawn best of all, when the darkness is tinged with a lavender hint of light; he only ever has one alcoholic drink on any given occasion; he doesn't like bitter, dark chocolate as she imagined but the sweet and cloying white chocolate that her parents preach against; he dislikes using red ink and only grudgingly follows the teacher's tradition of doing so; he likes Muggle horror movies; his middle name is Tobias, after his father; he has dinner with Draco Malfoy twice a month; the lake calls to him like a siren if he stays away too long.

But sometimes it feels like although she knows the intricate shades and subtle facets of his soul, she's colouring a secret picture she's never seen the whole of. These are the stark outlines of him that she hopes will become apparent when time steps aside and allows their relationship to turn into focus.

She opens the box again and smiles. The box holds a simple enough Transference Charm, but when her fingers curl around another secret slip of parchment, it feels like the work of the most pure and elemental magic has fashioned it from the air and her soaring hope.

My favourite potion constituent is Serpentinite. Because many wizards fail to recognise that minerals can add a vital fourth dimension of intricacy to potion crafting, that there is more to a potion than the sum of its organic components. And because I also find the name ironic, yes.

Until tomorrow, and enjoy the peace and quiet that Easter brings.

Hermione glues Severus' latest note into the notebook with a Permanent Sticking Charm. As she flicks through the thick collection of pages, she sees that maybe she is wrong to rush these moments. Time is passing and she would not trade a single page from this book; this is the beginning of her story, and although the pace of it seems ponderously slow, the details are rich and bright like jewels, and the end of the first chapter promises to be enthralling and filled with dazzling sunlight.

Hermione remembers fifth-year when the threat of the approaching OWL exams loomed like a dark shadow, when the imagined taste of failure sat bitter on her tongue, when she closed her eyes and saw a line of fat and round 'O's shimmering in her near future like a string of pearls.

It's different this year. Less urgent. Perhaps it's the perspective of the year away from Hogwarts, a time when knowledge wasn't a competition but a vital necessity, when the value of practical magic outstripped the intricacies of theory. Now, it feels less important to do well for excellence's sake. She is seeking the reward her NEWT scores will bring...Hermione can see that her studies are stepping-stones rather than the ultimate goal.

Hermione is going about the tiresome task of revising for Ancient Runes over breakfast. The castle isn't as empty and melancholy as it was over Christmas, and a number of students have remained at Hogwarts to study or to cram in as many hours on the Quidditch Pitch as they can manage.

Hermione even joins in on the wicked tradition of eating chocolate for breakfast this year; Ginny sent some of her mother's lovely caramel eggs yesterday. Sitting in the early spring sunshine with sugar spiralling through her veins makes the misery of Christmas seem a million years away, now.

"An interesting interpretation on the theme of having eggs for breakfast, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall says primly, although a touch of amusement softens the prune of her mouth.

Hermione smiles up at the Headmistress. "I'll work it all off at duelling practice this morning, Professor."

If Severus has taught her anything, it's that secrets are best kept in proximity to the bright truth. Professor McGonagall is aware that Hermione has duelling lessons in addition to Mermish lessons on a Saturday morning. The Headmistress has even expressed the hope that Hermione will eventually become a friend to the dark man because, "Merlin knows, he needs a good friend."

The only thing that kept Hermione from being annoyed with McGonagall was the tinge of regret and sadness in the older witch's voice that day. It's easy to forget that the school terms forged ahead in her absence last year; impossible for her to imagine what it must have felt like to live in an atmosphere of savage hatred, of bitter betrayal, of resigned endurance. It's obvious that McGonagall did not trust Headmaster Severus Snape, and it's clear that although he may have forgiven her for her fractured stance, that he will never really forget the loss of trust from a once faithful friend, even if it is what he had intended all along.

"You will have to cancel your lesson this morning, Miss Granger...I have already let Professor Snape know."

Hermione glances up at the teacher's table, but she sees that she's missed Severus' exit from the Great Hall. "Why, Professor McGonagall?" Hermione asks, struggling against the disappointed frown that weighs heavily on her brow. There's also a sickening flutter of unease in her stomach at the thought that something might be terribly wrong.

Professor McGonagall's face pulls into tight creases of disapproval. "Young Mr Weasley is waiting for you at the gates; he insists that he be allowed to speak with you most urgently."

If something were seriously wrong, Harry would have owled, Hermione soothes herself as she strides down the grounds towards the gates. What the hell does Ron want? she wonders apprehensively. What is so important that he can't just owl me about it himself?

Ron is taller and older than Hermione ever remembers him being. It's difficult to process that she's older than this rugged-looking man who has traded his beloved Auror's robes for pair of jeans and a Slytherin-green jumper this morning. His hair flickers like a flame on the wind as he strides up the hill to meet her halfway. "Hi, Hermione," he says, shoving his hands into his pockets as if he's struggling against the urge to give her a hug.

Hermione keeps her temper in check...the horrid part of her who wants to demand to know what he wants and why he's interrupted her plans for the morning...and she greets him on the outrush of a sigh. "Hello, Ron."

She waits for him to break the tense silence, the awkwardness forged by months of distance and disdain. "Let's take a walk by the lake," he suggests, leaning his entire body in that direction.

"What is it, Ron?" she demands as her patience finally snaps. She doesn't know what it is about Ron that makes her tolerance seem even shorter than Flitwick...Ron just seems to invite argument with his mere presence sometimes.

Ron runs a large, freckled hand through his hair. "Look, Hermione, I've got something important to talk to you about, and I reckon I'll be able to talk better if we walk and if you're not glaring at me like that."

Hermione folds her arms across her chest and begins to stomp towards the lake. Ron lopes beside her like a Great Dane. "What did you want to say?" she prods, eager to get this conversation over and done with. If he wants to get back together with her, her answer is going to be in the resounding negative. If he doesn't sense that already then he's even more of an imperceptive idiot that she'd ever imagined.

He coughs nervously. "What happened last year at the Three Broomsticks..."

Oh, God, here we go...

"...that was insensitive of me to treat you like that, and I'm sorry."

Hermione stifles a sigh, slightly mollified by his apology and the relative ease with which he's given it. She stops walking and turns to face him, surprised by the lack of petulance in his features. "Look, Ron, I'm sorry about what happened, too," she says. "But I still don't understand why..."

"It's important for me to sort this out with you right now," Ron interrupts, and a flush begins to creep up his neck and soak into his earlobes. "I want things to be right between us."

Hermione begins to feel a headache creep along her hairline, along with a dull sense that she'd rather be anywhere else but here. She wishes she could Silencio Ron right now. But Ron carries on talking in a low and earnest voice.

"I just wish things could go back to the way they were before, you know?" Ron sighs and cracks his knuckles loudly in a telltale gesture that indicates he's exceptionally nervous. "Anyway. I was hoping that someday we could get back to that..."

No. No. No.

"...friendship we had before it got all complicated with sex and snogging."

What? Hermione glances at him, feeling utterly wrong-footed and confused. It's not often that Ron says something she doesn't expect. He's surprised her today. He's different in some essential way, too. It's like his brash arrogance has melted over the winter, along with the snow.

"I hope so, too," she says softly, nodding slightly.

Ron grins at her...she hasn't seen that open smile in so long it makes her heart ache. "I wanted that whole mess to be, I dunno, tied off at least, before I carried on with things."

"What things, Ron?" Hermione asks as curiosity begins to replace her ire.

The deep flush suffuses through to his hair line, sets the tips of his ears on fire. "Tomorrow... I'm going to ask Lavender to marry me."

Surprise hits Hermione like a Stunner. A nasty touch of envy and a dollop of spiteful, bitter scorn fight for dominance, but concern washes over them like a gentle wave. "Are you sure, Ron?" she asks with a sceptical little grimace. She remembers how Lavender smothered Ron during sixth-year, how he'd ended up hiding away from her eventually.

But Ron nods. "The war didn't just affect you and me and Harry," he says, shoving his hands into his pockets again. "Lavender's different since then... she's less self-absorbed and flighty. What happened with Greyback during the battle left her with more than visible scars. She's working at the wizarding orphanage, and she's training to become a mediwitch."

Hermione's mind flickers to the picture of Ron and Lavender in the newspaper, and she retains the sharp edge of disbelief. "It's... awfully soon, isn't it?"

Ron shrugs. "At first I thought that New Year's might be a one time thing, you know? But then we started really talking the next day... it's the first time I ever really listened to her, was interested in what she was saying." Ron cracks his knuckles again. "I've always been a bloke who wanted a wife and kids early, and I can really see that happening with Lav... so why wait?"

Hermione considers Ron's words for a moment...she was certainly never the woman who would have wanted to marry and procreate straight from school, no. They were never a perfect and natural fit.

"If that's what is going to make you happy, Ron," she says with a genuine smile, "then the best of luck to you both."

Hermione feels lighter, somehow, when she runs up to the castle. It's like an invisible and sullen weight has been lifted from her heart. Hermione can't say that she's overly fond of the idea of Lavender, but that's a kneejerk reaction from several years ago. She does believe that Lavender might have changed, and if Ron thinks that he will be content with her, then Hermione is happy for him.

Hermione's excited smile when she feels a wash of magic at the doorway of the DADA classroom is evidence enough that her own life has changed recently, taken a sharp turn to a place that is more thrilling and unexpected than she'd ever have dreamed.

Severus looks like he's been duelling against the wall since breakfast; there's a liquid edge of fatigue to his movement, and his face is flushed with exertion, shiny with sweat.

"I'm sorry I missed duelling this morning," Hermione says from the doorway.

"I was under the impression that you were visiting with Weasley this morning," Severus snaps sharply, and he seems to find a dose of energy from somewhere that ratchets his aggressive assault on the wall up a notch.

He's jealous, Hermione realises after gaping at him for a moment because it's been a long time since he's directed that level of acidity at her. She's almost ashamed at the rush of delight the knowledge brings, the way it dances in her heart and tugs at her lips, wanting to make her smile. "I did speak to Ron this morning, yes, but he's gone now," she says.

"Huh," Severus grunts, and he flicks a vicious hex at the Rebounding Charm, dropping low to the floor to avoid its rapid-fire return.

"He's going to ask Lavender to marry him tomorrow," Hermione tells him simply, deciding not to bait him and test the limits of his jealous snit. She thinks she knows when it's not a good idea to tease a man, especially this prickly variety of man who does not like to appear vulnerable and out of sorts.

"Ah," Severus grunts again, and she's sure she sees a little tension bleed from his limbs.

"I think he wanted some closure," she adds.

Severus drops his wand hand and turns to face her, his chest heaving with laboured breath. His black, drawstring pants sit low on his sharp hipbones, and his green Slytherin Alumni t-shirt is dark with sweat.

"Closure..." Severus holsters his wand and wipes his hands on his pants. "Yes, that is important," he says with a nod. "Without closure, certain events and actions have the ability to haunt you for decades."

Hermione steps closer to him and nods. "Like Lily?" It's not a question from her list, but it is something she is very curious about.

Severus sighs, and he lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe his face. Hermione can't help but take in the tight shift of his abdominal muscles under his pale skin, the subtle curve of his pectorals, the scattering of black hair around his flat nipples.

"You're staring, Granger," he says with dry amusement and a wicked smirk as he drops the edge of his shirt again.

"And you did that on purpose," she accuses in turn as a flush warms her face. "To distract me from what we were talking about."

His lips twist wryly and he concedes her point with a nod. "It seems that we have both been caught out, then." He sinks to the floor in a smooth movement, sitting cross-legged. "Sit," he says, splaying a long-fingered hand on the floor next to him.

Once Hermione's sitting next to him, she gives him a tentative smile. "Okay?" Hermione's not sure what he wants to tell her, but she lets a moment of silence carry her question instead of pushing him; she's found it works better on him...Severus tends to fill the silence with words eventually.

"I blamed James Potter, Albus Dumbledore, Sirius Black...I despised them all for their perceived part in Lily's death. But it was essentially my fault, though, my mistake. And it took nearly twenty years to make it right so that I could finally feel free to move past that burden of guilt. Because after so many years, love begins to feel very much like guilt, you know."

Hermione nods because as much as she knows his bitter past, she also senses that now he's open to their burgeoning bond; he's looking forward to the future, too.

"I did not have the chance to apologise, Hermione, to find the closure I needed then." His fingertips slide across the floor and come to rest against hers so that they're connected by the lightest touch. "So, if you can ever find the smallest measure of closure in your life, then I am delighted for you." A smile twitches at the corner of his mouth. "Even if it meant that you abandoned me to the wall this morning."

Hermione tilts her head and returns the smile. "Thank you," she says, and then she sighs softly because although she's achieved a tentative sort of closure and healing with Ron, she has a larger regret that digs at her heart with sharp claws.

"You should visit them," Severus says.

"I hope you're not using Legilimency," she grumbles, glancing at him askance.

"That would require sustained eye contact," he retorts. "I'm just uncannily perceptive."

"Hmmph. I'm just easy to read, I think," she says with a grimace. "I'm not sure visiting my parents would help, Severus... I've apologised so many times..."

"Have you ever explained the entirety of the situation to them?" he asks.

"Sort of," she prevaricates, and then she sighs with resignation. "No. I've never told them the whole truth about why sent them to Australia."

"People rarely enjoy having decisions made for them, Hermione. The only way they may ever understand is to hear all of it, to know that you did not make that decision lightly, perhaps even to hear that you did not have much time to consider the ramifications of your actions completely." Severus taps her index finger with his.

Hermione shifts slightly, her discomfort arising from much more than the hardness of the floor. "It's too late to get a Portkey," she says, shaking her head and feeling the smallest sliver of relief that it's the truth of the matter.

"Brady at the DMT owes me a favour," he says. "I am sure that he would be delighted to arrange a Portkey from Hogwarts to Perth for you, as well as one for the return journey next weekend." He smirks. "By now you should have realised that the world frequently works more smoothly in the trade of favours than of Galleons."

"But..." She wants to stay at Hogwarts and study for her NEWTs; talk to Syrena in the mornings and practice her Mermish; spend time with Severus; stay here where she's happier, now. She's afraid of having that conversation with her parents, so nervous that her stomach feels like it has twisted inside-out.

Severus takes her hand...thank Merlin for the absence of portraits in his classrooms...and he presses a chaste kiss to the hollow of her palm. Butterflies and bubbles join the confused tangle in her stomach, and she struggles to find coherent words. "Cheater!" she gasps.

Severus sets her hand on her knee, and he shrugs with effortless nonchalance. "I would urge you to go and make your peace with your family, Hermione, and come June we can discuss sufficient punishment for my sins."

A/N: Thank you, as always, to Gelsey.

DMT = Department of Magical Transport.