Pondering Severus in Three's

Pondering Severus in Three's

Hermione was almost finished with her meal, when Harry 'The-Boy-Whose-Name-Seemed-To-Get-Longer-And-Longer-Every-Time-The-Papers-And-Magazines-Printed-It' Potter came through the doors with Neville Longbottom, Harry's partner of nearly five years.

Harry was wearing faded blue jeans and a loose black tee-shirt, and his hair was as wild as ever. Neville looked slightly more dressed up, wearing pressed, black jeans and a forest green tee-shirt with an informal, black suit jacket over his shirt. His dark hair was longer than it had been in school, but nowhere near as long as Harry's was, and had a tousled, just-out-of-bed look.

Both looked very attractive and very much in love.

Hermione remembered how hard Ginny had taken the news of Harry's preference; she remembered holding the younger girl, as she'd bemoaned her fate. She had restrained herself from mentioning that Harry and Neville's sexual orientation had always been questionable, seeing as how both never had too much interest in the opposite sex. Plus, she had seen how Neville had started hanging around Harry more during the fourth year.

The witch smiled as a muscled young man with medium ash brown hair dropped into the booth beside her, draping an arm around her shoulders. "Hello, Neville."

Neville Longbottom had changed drastically. He was no longer a cubby-faced boy who was terrified of everything. Indeed, without Snape around in their seventh year, Neville had improved in Potions. That was not too surprising, since he was a whiz at Herbology. And, while he was not the best, he had improved slightly at Charms, due to Dumbledore's Army being reformed. He had also begun working out, so that he would be in good shape when the War came.

While Hermione knew he was off limits, and gay, she could not help but find Neville hot; and apparently she had been watching Neville's forearm for too long, because she heard Harry clear his throat and chuckle. "What?" she asked hastily, while schooling her face into a look of confusion.

Emerald eyes sparkled. "You know what," he drawled with a smirk. "Stop imagining having sex with my boyfriend."

Hermione gaped and blushed a dark pink, elbowing Neville in the chest when he chuckled at her obvious embarrassment. "I-you-I did not-I..." she stuttered angrily, before huffing. "Rest assured that I was not imagining having sex with your boyfriend...no offence, Neville...and I cannot believe you would even imply that, Harry James Potter."

The raven haired wizard was obviously enjoying his friend's discomfort. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I shouldn't have accused you of such an atrocious crime." He winked at his partner.

Harry knew that Neville had become intensely striking, and could not blame his best friend for finding the taller man so attractive; he would have wondered about her preference if she did not. Even Malfoy, who was straighter than a wand, and married, agreed that the Gryffindor was gorgeous.

As he gazed at his friend, whose flushing was slowly dissipating, he could not help but notice the changes that had occurred in her.

She wore a brown and black peasant skirt, with a tight, brown top and black shrug over that. Her brown hair hung to her waist in smooth waves, and only light make-up accented her pretty face. She looked very earthy, and Harry thought it suited his friend well.

He had not seen her much over the past seven years, and had assumed that when they'd met on those few and far between times that she had taken special care of her appearance for those times. However, as she sat in front of him now, he could not help but wonder if her hair had naturally lost its frizz as she'd matured, or if she spent hours (and bottles of products) every morning to keep it from sticking out in all directions.

All through their school days, the witch's hair had been the bane of her existence, and Harry had felt badly for her. Her hair had been so bad that a nickname had been going around behind her back: Medusa. Of course, what was surprising was that even her bad hair (and it was bad) could not detract from her natural beauty. Well, that was the way he saw it. Ron and many of the other boys never did. No one did... until Victor Krum.

Despite the redhead's dislike of the Bulgarian, Harry found him to be a perfect gentleman to his "sister", and had approved. Of course, it turned out that the two were, as Hermione had said, just friends. He had a sneaking suspicion why.

Severus Snape.

Hermione Granger had always been the biggest defender of the Potions master, and had taken it very hard when Snape had murdered the Headmaster. At first, she had gone through denial, hotly protesting against Harry and Ron. When the anger started coming through, there was not a day when they did not fear for their lives.

Harry could not blame her; Snape, like Minerva McGonagall, had been a big inspiration to her. She had respected and admired him, and had constantly sought his approval, though she would never admit it. He knew that she would also never admit her long standing feelings for him out loud.

She had always had a crush on the man, that was obvious. However, it was around their fourth year that Harry had seen the subtle changes that had made her crush something more.

Finding out that Snape was a traitor had been devastating for her; he remembered how much she cried, how her heart was torn in two. Of course, he knew that Snape's "betrayal" was nowhere as devastating as the knowledge that he had been loyal... and that he had lost his life for it.

As Harry watched her now, it looked like her heart had been pieced carefully back together. It was a façade, of course.

He knew that Hermione still mourned him in secret. He knew that she still held on to his memories, dreamed of him during the night, and heard his voice in her mind. He knew this because it showed in her eyes, her eyes that had once lit up with her smile. Now her smiles never reached those brown eyes. And those brown eyes did not hold the warmth they used to.

The Gryffindor leaned back in his chair, thinking back to the trials, Lucius' memories.

Snape, you bastard, Harry thought to himself. You both were heartless.

Or perhaps Snape had just been blind. He would have had to be not to notice how much the young witch had adored him.

Like father, like son, the wizard drawled mentally, remembering the memory from the trial.

A heart-wrenching sob tore from his throat as he clutched Dumbledore's blue robes, burying his face in the material. "Please, Albus... Father..."

The younger wizard was stalking around Dumbledore, glaring hatefully. "She adored you, Albus. She worshiped the ground you walked on. She loved you." He snorted. "She loved you. A waste of time, I think. After all, the ones we love hurt us the most."

"Harry?"

He blinked his emerald eyes, reality setting back in, and he found Hermione and Neville watching him intently, worry apparent in their eyes. "Sorry," he said, forcing a convincing chuckle. "I drifted away for a minute." He grinned wickedly at the witch. "Were you lusting after Neville again, Hermione?"

Hermione nearly growled. "I was not lusting after Neville."

"Then who were you lusting after?" the smaller wizard shot back.

Hermione's shriek was almost drowned out by the noise of the other customers, but both Harry and Neville were close enough to hear her shout of indignation. "Harry James Potter!"

The Boy-Who-Lived wrinkled his nose in mock disgust. "Ewww... Hermione, I always thought of you as a sister. I would rather not have images of us in horrid incestuous situations."

Neville began choking on his laughter, and therefore did not see the glare she sent him or his lover. Once he was able to breathe again, all he could do was watch the love of his life verbally torment Hermione.

It was good to see her smiling again, though. She had not done that near enough during school. Of course, she'd had a reason.

They all had a reason not to smile that last year.

Neville shook his head. Snape, you bastard.

He was the reason that Hermione rarely smiled.

*