Twelve

A/N: With thanks to my beta, JunoMagic, and to all of you who have read and reviewed. I really appreciate it. We're at the second to last chapter, so almost there!

The last thing Healer Payne thought she would see when she Apparated into Hermione Granger’s flat at eight o’clock on Wednesday morning was an empty flat.

At first, she assumed that they must not have received the memo. That was rendered exceedingly unlikely by the presence of said memo on the table. Being a sensible woman, not much given to jumping to unlikely conclusions, the Healer then realised with a fond smile that her charges (for that was how she considered them both) must still be sleeping. Unfamiliar with the flat as she was, Mary took her time wondering how best to go about waking its inhabitants. Although what she assumed was the bedroom door was open, waltzing in there with a cheery, ‘Good morning!’ was not an option. She had no idea what arrangement Hermione had set up for them both, and she wouldn’t dream of invading their privacy in such a manner.

Eventually determining that a very loud noise would have to do, Healer Payne raised her wand and allowed it to emit a sound very much like a kettle’s whistle. Perching herself gingerly on one of the stools underneath the workbench, she settled herself to wait for ten minutes before making any repeat attempt to rouse them.

When Hermione heard a noise that sounded an awful lot like the kettle she didn’t own, she didn’t immediately snap into full wakefulness, but just snuggled further into the warm body next to hers.

Go away, whatever you are…

In contrast, Severus knew that he wouldn’t be able to settle again until he found out exactly what had caused the disturbance. Carefully disentangling Hermione from his person, stroking her hair when she stirred a little, he only bothered to grab his wand and pull on a pair of trousers before going to inspect what new surprise the kitchen had in store for him.

Senses still a bit sluggish from the little sleep he had managed to catch the previous night, he almost jumped out of his skin when he heard a woman say, ‘Mr Snape, I presume?’

A friendly, motherly-sounding woman, but not a voice he could place.

Who?

As his brain caught up to speed, and he remembered that there was a Healer coming to conduct a test, Severus felt some very uncharitable feelings develop in his breast towards this woman who was going to send him away.

‘Why are you here? I thought the last phase of illness took two weeks to run its course.’

Healer Payne only answered him with a small smile. Ignoring his rude question, she produced a vial of some clear potion. ‘I’ll need a drop of your blood in this, Mr Snape. From your finger will do.’

Grinding his teeth, Severus touched the tip of his wand to his finger with a very ugly expression on his face and dropped the blood into the vial roughly for all the world as if it had committed some heinous offence against him.

Watching the potion turn shimmery blue, Severus felt his stomach sink even before the Healer told him the result.

‘Excellent news, Mr Snape. It seems that you are no longer infected by the P-virus. You may go home at your convenience.’

Before he could retort that it wasn’t particularly convenient for him to go anywhere at the present time, Hermione emerged, clad in what looked like one of his shirts.

‘Severus, what’s happening?’ she asked, still rubbing her face with her hands.

‘Hello, Hermione!’ Healer Payne cut in before Severus could answer. ‘I’ve just given Mr Snape the all clear. As soon as he packs up his things, he is free to go home.’

‘Mary!’ Hermione visibly flinched in surprise, looking guiltily towards Severus. ‘I forgot someone was coming.’

‘Not to worry, my dear, no harm done. Best you come in this afternoon, though. There are all sorts of things we need to bring you up to speed with.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Hermione replied, staring at her kitchen sink as if it held all the answers. ‘I look forward to it.’

The matronly Healer beamed. ‘I’ll be off, then. Enjoy your breakfast!’

With a small pop! she was gone.

Breakfast was an awkward affair. As Hermione offered to fry some bacon, Severus reluctantly muttered something about needing to pack up, leaving a sort of leaden feeling in Hermione’s gut.

I can’t believe it’s over…

The moment they had both finished eating, Severus stood. Eyes shuttered, back ramrod straight, he stated clearly, ‘I suppose I should be off, then.’

Hermione tried so hard to pretend that she was as unaffected by those words as he was.

What did you expect? That he’d just leave everything and decide to stay in your shoebox flat forever?

‘I suppose so,’ she answered numbly, half tempted to see what would happen if she broke down and begged him to stay.

She didn’t know how or why, but over the last few days or so, Severus had become dearer to her than she would ever have believed possible. She had even thought that they had reached an understanding of sorts the previous night.

Evidently not.

What were these feelings anyway? Maybe it was just that he had seemed to take care of her and keep her company when no one else in the world seemed to care.

She grimaced bitterly.

Of course he took care of me. He is a decent person, and it isn’t as if he was given a choice…

Wondering what he was waiting for, Hermione drew nearer and nearer to the edge of depression and a sort of despair. The gentlest breeze would send her headfirst into loneliness that she hadn’t even realised was possible.

Severus, for his part, was crushed by her calm, apparently emotionless reply.

Clinging to the last of his pride, he now knew that he would never tell her how much the previous night had meant to him. It would be pointless to do so when she didn’t feel the same way.

Ridiculous to expect anything else. It was only a few days, for Merlin’s sake!

As he made his last resolution to leave, Severus realised that this truly would be goodbye.

He would never again seek out the company of Hermione Granger and would almost certainly take steps to ensure that he would not bump into her casually, either.

Yet for all that, he wished her well.

Walking over to her briskly, he didn’t pause to look really at her. He knew that his own resolve and control was tenuous at best. He wouldn’t make a fool of himself by begging to stay, nor did he trust himself not to whisk her away and never let her go. Instead, he bent to give her a gentle kiss on the forehead.

Goodbye, love.

Stepping away, he tried to hide the bitterness by flashing her the smallest of lip quirks. Turning on the spot, he Apparated away before she even had time to say goodbye.

Hermione wasn’t sure what kept her upright as he approached her and was even more confused as to why she didn’t just reach out for him and pull him down for one last kiss.

Barely registering the touch of his lips on her forehead, she struggled to say something, anything, but her usually quick mind couldn’t think of anything appropriate. Not even a bad joke.

Suddenly left staring at the empty space where he’d fit in so comfortably over the last week or so, Hermione’s resolve to be brave and graceful in rejection crumbled when she spied the cauldrons that he had left for Scampy to move later in the day.

Transfiguring one of the stools that they had been using back into the sort of uncomfortable wooden chair she had used before, Hermione fell back into it, boneless. It briefly crossed her mind that he hadn’t even been gone a full minute before she put her head into her hands and started sobbing.

It didn’t matter that they had never been in a real relationship. If this wasn’t a break-up, she had no idea what was.

It was past lunchtime by the time Hermione finally forced herself back onto her feet with a new resolution.

She had work to do.