Neville

May 1

She lowered her face and felt the familiar and welcoming freefall, but this time she was afraid.

He looked so old.

Oh, the irony of that...

An iron hand closed over her shoulder.

She felt herself flying backward, flying up, leaving the dark, miserable house and people in their never ending dance of Unbreakable horror.

Gasping, she came up out of the Pensieve like one drowning and heaved in great gulps of air. Pain knifed between her shoulders and down her spine and up her neck and stretched around the dome of her skull and dug into her eye sockets like claws.

The hand on her shoulder tightened and for one wild moment she thought he'd found her like this, that he knew what she was doing, which of his secrets she'd stolen.

But the wall of a body that stood behind her was not her husband's wiry frame. The large hand with long, dirt-stained fingers gripping her shoulder wasn't his.

The electric tingles that radiated from his touch proved that if nothing else had.

"Neville," she moaned, clutching her head. "What are you doing?"

"What are you doing?" he tossed back at her, his rugged face lined with concern.

She eased away from his grip, wincing. "Trying to finish. I have so little time."

"Have you forgot what day it is? Everyone will be waiting for you at number twelve."

"I'm sure they'll have a splendid time without me." She winced and rubbed the back of her neck.

"How many hours have you spent in that Pensieve today?"

She slid her eyes sideways, refusing to meet his gaze. This was too much like the old arguments she'd had with Severus, back when he still attempted to stop her from doing her research. "I need to finish."

"You're finished for the day," he announced firmly, and the idea of Neville being firm was bizarre but sweet. "If I don't take you there's no telling who will come after you, and no telling what will happen if he makes his presence known." He jerked his head at the door to Severus's quarters.

She rubbed her shoulder free of the tingles, suddenly uneasy. "All right. I'll go."

"Maybe you should take a potion for your pain."

She glanced again at the closed door. "I'll be fine."

Neville looked doubtful, but then smiled. "I brought you something."

He gestured to a worktable beneath the cabinets that housed the Pensieve memories. Or rather, he gestured to the large bouquet of flowers that sat atop it.

Hermione walked slowly toward them, bracing herself for the scent. She hadn't realised until her quarters were first suffused with the sugary sweet smell of violets and then the heavily erotic smell of Malfoy roses that perhaps she didn't actually like gifts of flowers.

But these were different. Each sturdy stem was topped with a single bushy blossom...an overblown array of long slender petals the colour of toffee, each ending in a feathery splash. They were floral pom-poms, an explosion of petals that smelled like sunshine and spice.

She bent over one of them and inhaled. "Lovely," she said. "Although the colour is a bit strange. Do people really like brown flowers?"

"It's a Hermione Mum," he said, watching her closely.

Hermione... Mum.

Oh, how those two words together hurt.

She smiled at him, forcing all the warmth she held in her heart for this man into her eyes, her smile. "Neville," she said softly.

He blushed. "The first time I ever saw you, your hair was the colour of toffee and your eyes like treacle."

"I have never been that sweet," she corrected him.

He just shook his head and smiled.

She plucked one of the chrysanthemums from its tall, simple vase and twirled it under her nose. "I don't know what to say. It's so beautiful, and I'm honoured."

"You're beautiful, and it's no more than you deserve."

For one frozen moment she thought he was going to kiss her, and she couldn't let him. Oh, no. She couldn't let him do that. She winced and rubbed the side of her neck. "I need to change but if you'll come back in..." She thought of what she had to do and finally said, "an hour?"

"I need to clean up, too. I'll let them know we're coming."

"Thank you."

When he was gone she stuck the blossom back with the others and stared blindly at nothing.

XX

It didn't take her long to use a cleansing spell and put on clean robes.

She hadn't done anything special to her hair nor had she done any kind of makeup spells in years.

She watched her mantle clock, watched the seconds tick by, and finally when a single bong told her it was half six, she smoothed her hands on her robes and went to Severus's door.

It opened before her.

She entered his living quarters and saw the official document...its white surface almost blinding in the shadowy room. All official Ministry documents were on expensive white parchment almost as white as snow.

She lifted her eyes and saw him standing by the fireplace, a glass of Firewhisky in his hand, watching her.

"Hello, Severus."

"Hermione."

He was dressed elegantly. He clearly was going out afterward to celebrate. He looked younger than he'd looked in the Pensieve when he'd made the horrible vow, and seeing that, she felt it all worthwhile.

She felt an odd little twist in her heart but it was quickly replaced with a short burst of joy. Was this how it felt to be a mum when all was said and done? This strange mix of pain and joy when you watched those you'd loved spring forward into the air, filling their lungs with freedom?

She smiled. "Where do I sign?"

"Under my name."

She walked to the table and read the document. It was simple and straightforward. Because they were married under the now-defunct Marriage Law and because they had no children they were dissolving their marriage.

She leaned over and signed her named carefully under his, the last time she would sign, "Hermione Granger Snape."

She had barely replaced his quill in its stand when the document quivered, rose from the surface of the table, and then disappeared.

Startled, her eyes met his. "That's it, then. It's finished."

"Indeed."

She smiled again, and this time she felt warmth spread through her. "Be happy, Severus."

He scowled at her.

"And find someone. If it's Pansy, that would be quite wonderful. You could have babies. You need babies. You need someone to love...."

And with that, she crossed the room and pressed a quick kiss on his cheek, and then turned and left him alone with his Firewhisky and his thoughts, and she hoped, someone he could finally love awaiting him.

XX

She re-entered her own quarters...for how long?...and found Neville waiting, startled to see her emerge from Severus's quarters. He scowled. "Is everything all right?"

"It's over," she said. "We signed the form and it's over."

"Good," he said fiercely. "That man is evil."

"Neville..."

"I know what you say, what you think, but I was here that year. It doesn't matter that he claims he protected us from the worst of it. What he allowed...only someone evil would take the Dark Mark, Hermione, and only someone evil would allow the things he allowed."

It was an old argument and she couldn't bring herself to get caught up in it again. "It was a hard year for all of us."

Neville made as if to reach for her, but she carefully avoided noticing and went to retrieve her cloak from a hook on the wall.

But that strange feeling in her heart...that new happiness...felt all too brittle, all too easily overwhelmed by other feelings if she wasn't careful.

She didn't want to give up her happiness so quickly.

She turned back to him. "Neville, now that you've been rid of your memories for a couple of years... what is it like? Do you remember anything at all?"

His face clouded a bit. "I remember it, but from a very far distance. I don't have nightmares anymore." He looked at his feet. "You must think I'm a coward, not to take them back."

She touched his arm. "No, never." She'd seen his memories of that night, of the snake, of the gore and horror that came before the glory. Who could blame this gentle hero for not wanting those images fresh in his mind every time he closed his eyes? "In fact..."

She noticed him staring at her hand as it trembled on his arm.

"Perhaps... perhaps I'd like to be a bit of a coward, too. Would you help me? I don't trust myself with a wand right now."

He stroked her hair out of her face. "Anything. You know that, Hermione."

"I think I'd like to let go of some of my memories, too," she said softly. She reached for an empty phial and placed it on the worktable beside them, then lifted her face to his.

He whispered the incantation and when the tip of his wand touched her forehead it felt cool and clean and wonderful. When the first memory pulled free, she felt a momentary lift of her spirits and knew she was doing the right thing. "Two more," she said, and twice more he pulled long, long strings of silver from her mind and carefully put them in the phial.

Only when they were gone did she feel a sudden lurch, a sudden emptiness that longed to be filled.

Of course it did. It needed to be filled with new memories, good memories, memories that didn't pierce her heart.

She stoppered the bottle and placed it carefully on the nearest shelf. She'd find a better place for it when she returned.

It wasn't until she'd once again placed her hand on his arm that she realised.

The tingles were gone.