sixty-six ~ seventy-seven

Hermione was startled to find Snape slumped over the kitchen table, head upon an outflung arm, but quickly calmed when she realised that he was still breathing… and that the cup beside him contained nothing nastier than cold Earl Grey. After a moment's pause, Hermione fetched a blanket and draped it over him; be a pity to wake him when he was seemingly as exhausted as she. And sleep was such a lovely idea… A pillow— and perhaps another blanket— and she would test the quality of her couch. After that walk, stairs were the invention of the devil.

"Where in the bloody hell have you been?"

A screaming Snape was not a thing to wake up to.

"Went for a walk," she mumbled, turning over to try for more sleep. A vain attempt, as Snape snatched her blanket away. Irritating wanker; after the trouble she'd gone through to make sure he stayed warm.

"You were out all bleeding night," he hissed.

"S'long 's I live in my house, I follow my rules," she retorted. "You didn't seem t' want me 'round last night, Daddy, so stuff your concern 'n let me sleep."

The blanket dropped on her head.

She had finally awakened. "Your feet are severely blistered."

The comment drew Hermione's bemused gaze from the ceiling to the man seated in a nearby chair. She blinked, then winced as she tried to flex her feet.

She'd been too upset to remember shoes last night.

"I was walking," she said, half explaining, half defensive.

"I see." Completely neutral. "You tore several of them; you'll be lucky if they don't become infected. I treated them as well as I could without magic."

She glanced down at the bandages. "Thank you. I'm… sorry if I worried you. I… Last night… hurt."

"Last night… hurt. "

Pointless to pretend to mistake her meaning. "We have been too long alone here," he replied. "And you are under great stress. It has… manufactured emotions and reactions in you that are not…"

"Real?" Hermione finished, her voice every bit as dry as his could be.

"Natural," he shot back. "Or lasting. It would be better for both of us if we returned to our separate lives."

"What life?" she queried. "Friends who don't really care? Parents who didn't know me even before the memory charm? Grudging plaudits from ignorant assholes?

"Screaming nightmares that no one understands?"

Hermione stopped before she descended into self-pity. "What do you want, Severus Snape? You've always been free to go. You've no reason to stay."

"I pay my debts."

She gaped at him, speechless, before throwing herself back with a humourless laugh. "So I'm a debt, am I? Well, nothing new there, I suppose." She became quiet. "I'm well aware that I'm broken. But I think you've done more than enough to repay anything I've done. If you feel separation is best, then please. Go."

She'd mistaken the hand of duty for that of friendship.

Her own damn fault, this time.

She'd turned her back on him, pretending to sleep until long after the sounds of him were gone. She didn't dare cry. Not until he had undeniably left. She wasn't about to go check.

For once, it would've been nice for someone to give a damn. One person wasn't too much to ask, was it?

Well, perhaps he wasn't built that way. Perhaps he was like a one-person dog. The thought amused her and she distracted herself by figuring out what breed of dog Snape would be.

But she was quite aware of when the kitchen door shut behind him.

The road was lonely; unseasonable cold had discouraged sightseers. But Severus felt obliged to walk it for a spell, leaving intact Granger's proscription.

His thoughts were poor company as he walked; they seemed to feel obliged to replay every conversation from the past month. But then, little else in his head could be considered congenial. The recipe of a complex potion, perhaps? Or the never-ending list of his own cock-ups.

He knew he'd hurt her. But slicing the connection now, before she deluded herself further, was preferable. He'd done what he could to help her.

And now, he was free.

The ceiling was fascinating. The knobbly texture, the play of light… But thinking was a too-deeply ingrained habit.

And Snape had given her plenty to think about.

Was he right? Had their time here, the help he'd given, created emotions that would eventually prove false? Or did she simply like the person she'd discovered?

Back again to the question of whether or not she trusted herself. Damn.

And the light he had thrown on the war… She was forced to question her place in it. And the place she wanted to have when— if— she returned to the wizarding world.

Snape accomplished his journey in easy stages: from outside Aberdeen to London, London to Paris, Paris to Istanbul. Istanbul to… Middle of Nowhere, Asia. Tired from the multiple Apparations, he stretched out amidst the grasses, simply staring at a sky bluer than he had ever before seen.

He was alone. No one was there to make demands, not on his time, his mind, or his soul.

Severus decided to think of nothing for a while. After all, there was no one to interrupt, no particular reason to think of anything.

It was very peaceful, to think of nothing in Nowhere.

Severus found himself opening his eyes; he'd fallen asleep in Nowhere; day had already passed into night. But not into darkness; he was illuminated by a near-full moon and accompanied by more stars than he could imagine. Every blade of the tall grasses was stark against its shadow, shifting greys against black in the wind.

The rustling of grasses meeting each other and parting was the only sound; Severus wondered if there were another living creature anywhere. He seemed to be the only one in this… not emptiness, no… non-human realm. He was a mere incidental, here in this vastness.

Hermione was not accustomed to inaction. In defiance of the ache in her feet, she began to clean the cottage. An incongrous task, perhaps, but one that, as many women knew, would consume her physical energy while she turned her mental energy inward. All problems could be solved logically; she merely had to take the edge of nerves off in order to tackle them.

She could admit now that she needed help. Snape had helped her to understand that, other matters aside. And remaining here wasn't an option; she'd go mad with nothing to do. So… to wizards or Muggles?

The kitchen was spotless, and the laundry nearly finished when Hermione concluded her reasoning. She would leave wizardry— for now, anyway. Everyone there was too close to events— and it only hurt more to see others recovering far better than she. And wizards simply didn't have the resources; they believed everything could be fixed with either a wand or a potion. She needed someone with wisdom and a heart. Perhaps that was the handicap— or strength— of being Muggle-born; science and its methods still held far greater sway over her.

So she would seek out a place in Muggle society.