Closure

"Kiss me," she said softly, feeling her stomach flutter as she held his gaze.

For a long moment, he did not move or speak, simply looking at her contemplatively, his focus shifting between her eyes and her mouth, his face unfathomable.

Severus Snape found himself in totally unfamiliar territory. He had not had any physical relationship with a woman for over twenty years. After Lily's tragic death, for which he felt he was largely to blame, he had locked that side of him away, convinced that the indulgence of such pleasures would desecrate her memory. The fact that he had repaid his debts, ready to sacrifice everything in order to help bring the Dark Lord down, avenge Lily's death, and protect her son had done nothing to change his attitude. What other purpose could there possibly be to his unbidden survival, if not to continue worshipping her, keeping her memory alive in his heart? It was as if Dumbledore had reached out from the grave – another example of his foolish, compulsive, good-doing meddling – ignoring the fact that Severus' only reason to live had died long ago on a dark Halloween night. He had set that wretched bird on him when – stripped of his duty – all there was left for him was to continue grieving her for the rest of his life.

Yet up to now, his resolve in that matter had never been tested. During the heyday of the Dark Lord's first rise to power, his status as a Death Eater had rendered him an attractive conquest in certain circles. As a young man, he had welcomed those fleeting affairs, even though they had never helped him forget long enough that he could never have the one woman he really wanted. Once those days were over, however, he knew full well that there was absolutely nothing to commend him to the other sex. He had retired into his shell, nursing his bleeding heart, and often neglecting his physical appearance in the process.

All the more surprised he was now to suddenly find himself alone with a beautiful and exceedingly intelligent young witch, who seemed hell-bent on seducing him in the most blunt, forthright way. Faced with such a real and tangible possibility, he realised that the reason for his chosen celibacy had perhaps been as much a fear of rejection as anything else he had made himself believe. He looked into the captivating brown eyes of the girl in front of him. They were full of desire – desire for him – and real, disarming tenderness. Never before had he been on the receiving end of such emotions. They were his undoing. It was as if his most coveted wish had suddenly come true, only that her eyes were not green. He found it increasingly difficult to come up with reasons why he should push her away. She certainly was not a child anymore. And so, for the first time in over two decades, he stepped out of his self-imposed prison.

He lifted his hand to brush a stray lock of hair away from her face, softly stroking across her curls, feeling their texture – so soft and springy, so feminine. His other hand moved up to cup her cheek, while tentatively tracing along the outline of her lips with his thumb. She parted them sensuously, letting him feel their soft plumpness. She was so beautiful, so perfect, and so full of life. His insides twisted in painful yearning.

Hermione could tell the change in his breathing by the pronounced rise and fall of his chest. Her own heart seemed to skip a beat when his large, svelte hands moved towards her face. She knew from the past what strength and dexterity they possessed, but what she hadn't anticipated was how wonderful their touch would feel, so warm and gentle. His slender thumb brushing over her lips made her quiver inside with longing. She wanted to take it into her mouth, but didn't dare to take such liberties. Slowly, hesitantly, he drew her closer, leaning in until his mouth met hers in a tender kiss. The breathtaking intimacy of soft, moist flesh touching flesh was so overwhelming that she couldn't suppress a groan of release, pressing herself harder against him. He placed his arms around her, possessively holding her closer as he deepened their kiss. She had never been kissed like that. The slow deliberation with which his lips and tongue explored her mouth made tickles surge in her stomach and an exquisite ache spread from her groin. Her knees buckled, leaving her clinging to him for support.

Somehow, he managed to manoeuvre her the short distance towards the bed. Sitting down on the edge next to her, he scrutinised her features, as if trying to read her without the use of Legilimency.

"Promise me one thing, Miss Granger," he said, his eyes soft and full of warmth, belying the harsh tone of his voice, "that you will abandon this nonsense, and study a subject making full use of your magical abilities."

"O.K.," she replied uncertainly, "I'll think about it." She was deeply moved by his concern for her education, as well as the expression in his eyes. She wondered if he had ever looked at Lily Potter that way, and if so, how she could have resisted.

"Something like Transfiguration, or Charms – even Potions, if you must."

"No, certainly not Potions. I had a horrible teacher who put me off the subject for life," she teased him shyly.

"Good," he growled, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "It never was your greatest strength."

"But what about you?" she asked. "Don't you think it is a waste for a wizard of your calibre to just turn his back on the magical world and live as a Muggle? Are you even carrying a wand?"

He lowered his eyes for a moment, as if unsure about how to answer her, before looking at her again with an openness she had never before seen on his face.

"I no longer have any use for a wand."

She didn't understand what he meant by that. Her confusion seemed to be evident on her face, such that after a short pause, he continued to explain.

"It seems that I came too close to death the night of the final battle, and that particular part of me was lost."

Then it dawned on Hermione, leaving her dumbstruck. Was he saying that he had lost his magic? It was inconceivable. How awful would it be for a powerful and skilled wizard like Snape to suddenly find himself reduced to little more than a Squib? Her heart went out to him. What a cruel irony of fate that the man who, at one stage of his life, had associated himself with an ideology regarding Muggles as inferior, had now been condemned to live as a Muggle himself. Yet she knew that he did not deserve such a punishment. It seemed that once again, to him, life had not been fair, something she felt an overwhelming need to rectify.

"But there must be something we can do! There must be a potion, some sort of cure... Maybe it will come back... Even if St. Mungo's can't do anything, I will do some research... there must be a way..." she stammered, close to tears.

"No, Miss Granger. I don't need your pity." he said firmly. "And considering... the unspeakable things I have done with magic..." He paused, averting his eyes again to stare at his hands in his lap. Then his voice faded to little more than a whisper. "Perhaps someone like me should not be carrying a wand."

"What? No!" she protested. "How can you say that! You never were one of them! We couldn't have won the war without you! You..."

"Stop!" he interrupted her harshly, eyes ablaze with something she wasn't sure how to interpret. "Don't try to turn me into a hero. I'm not. You have no idea..."

"I – I just want to help... I... we owe it to you." she insisted hoarsely, a sob caught in her throat.

"No. Stop trying to fix me. I don't need your help. I can still brew a number of potions. And I even learned how to use one of these..." She watched in amazement as he pulled a mobile phone from his pocket, briefly glancing at it to check for messages before putting it aside on the bedside table. "Technology is almost like magic," he said with a smirk.

She couldn't help but admire the strength and composure with which he had accepted that terrible blow of fate and learned to live with his condition. She also wondered how it would affect someone who had always looked down on those not up to his own level of intellectual prowess and magical skill, whether it would have been a lesson in humility, and given him a sense of appreciation for other qualities in a person. Perhaps, in some way, it had made him more human.

"Yes," she whispered, lovingly pushing a jet-black strand of hair behind his ear, "you are perfect just the way you are."

Closing her eyes, she brought her lips close to his and they kissed again, slowly and affectionately at first, then with increasing hunger and passion. Her hands started to roam over his back, feeling his strong shoulders and how his body tapered towards his slim waist, slipping into the warmth underneath his jumper to caress his skin. As their kiss got more and more heated, he suddenly stopped and pulled away.

"Are you absolutely sure you want this?" he asked seriously.

Hermione knew where this was leading. She had only had sex a few times before, and never with a grown man twice her age, but she wanted him so badly now, her desire left no room for second thoughts.

"Yes, I do," she replied firmly.

As if to prove that she meant it, she started to tug at his jumper. He allowed her to pull it over his head, exposing his naked upper body. His frame was broad, but lean and lightly muscled. The pale skin of his body was soft and youthful, unlike that of his face, which bore the signs of maturity and a life of tragedies. Her eyes were immediately drawn towards his left forearm. Seeing only a faint scar where the Dark Mark would once have been, she felt a rush of joy, and a small smile lit up her features. He was a free man at last.

Her courage soon left her, however. She was anxious not to appear too inexperienced, yet that was exactly what she was. She felt terribly out of her depth, wishing she had spent the previous night immersed in a book on the art of foreplay rather than the theories behind human rights law. She was as nervous as if she were in an exam, knowing her professor was about to discover that she hadn't done her homework. So she was immensely relieved when he took the lead, kicking off his boots to kneel behind her on the bed, moving her hair aside to kiss her neck. The sensation of his soft lips feathering along her hairline, together with his warm breath against her ear sent a pleasurable shiver down her spine, making every nerve ending in her body stand on edge in anticipation.

His fingers slowly unbuttoned her blouse. As he pulled it down her shoulders, she leaned back against his chest, savouring the warmth and sensuality of his skin against hers, while his hands caressed her arms and shoulders with a firm, yet gentle touch. Then they tenderly cupped and squeezed the small mounds of her breasts. She had so many times fantasised about those graceful hands touching her, but this was no dream. He was actually there in all his striking physicality, and the reality far surpassed even her wildest imagination. Sighing with pleasure, she arched her back, letting her head fall back onto his shoulder. His right hand slowly moved down to caress her stomach before unzipping her jeans and slipping inside. When his fingers grazed over her most sensitive part through the fabric of her underwear, it felt so good that she could not stop herself from crying out, opening her legs wide to give him better access.

"Arghh – Severus!"

It was the first time she had ever used his given name. The novelty of its sound from her lips had something sublimely intimate about it. He seemed to notice it, too, as he paused for a moment, as if awestruck by her audacity, or the unaccustomed familiarity it evoked.

"Hermione..." he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. It was just one word – a prayer, a promise, a powerful spell that tore down the walls of inequality that had always existed between them. At that moment, they were no longer professor and student, no longer adult and juvenile, but simply a man and a woman, captivated by each other.

His fingers started to stroke her again with dexterous skill, this time venturing underneath the line of her panties, while his teeth nipped gently at the cords of muscles running down her neck and along her shoulders. She had never experienced such exquisite pleasure, such all-consuming lust. She whimpered helplessly, every fibre of her being screamed for more. She could feel the evidence of his desire pressing against the small of her back, daunting, but incredibly arousing. She wanted him all the way; she wanted him to make love to her.

"Do you want more?"

The deep, velvety timbre of his baritone so close to her ear was more powerful than any aphrodisiac he could have brewed. She wished he would just stop asking, but she could understand his need to be absolutely sure of her consent.

"Yes! Yes!" she moaned, almost beside herself.

She could sense his smile at her eagerness. Mistaking it for smugness, she turned to face him and kiss it off his face, straddling his long, lean thighs, running her fingers through his raven hair, caressing his neck and shoulders, feeling the contours of the muscles underneath the pale skin. He wrapped his arms around her and drew her closer against his body, her soft, smooth belly against his taught, masculine one with its smattering of coarse black hair. As she looked into his eyes, which were burning with emotions that words could never express, she let herself be engulfed by their slowly smouldering fire.

"Is this your first time?" he asked softly in between kisses.

"No," she breathed against his lips.

He seemed relieved by her answer. "Lie back and allow me to undress you," he murmured, gently lowering her onto the bed.

His dark voice was full of promise, a promise that made a swarm of butterflies flutter up in her stomach. She was only too happy to comply, lifting her hips to let him pull down her jeans, watching him as he removed his own clothes. He lay down next to her, bending over her. She looked into the black pools of his eyes, spellbound by their power. His hand slowly moved up along her thigh, making her body tremble with the thrill of being so exposed to his touch and the prospect of what he could do to her.

"You know," she breathed, "it seems that you're still capable of certain kinds of magic."

From there on, Hermione would no longer be able to recall with certainty the sequence of events, as in her mind they all blended together in a haze of passion and devotion, where time no longer mattered, and spatial coordinates blurred into insignificance. The voice of reason in her head was drowned out as her entire being was attuned to her senses, drinking in every tender caress, every gasp, every hungry kiss, every sigh of pleasure, the warm softness of his skin against hers, the firmness of his hands holding her, the sweet saltiness of his lips, the cool silkiness of his hair, the musky scent of his body, and always his eyes, holding her captive in their black depths, never once letting her go.

One moment, however, would forever be emblazoned upon her memory with total clarity, the moment he entered her, slowly, with careful restraint, filling her to the core. Overwhelmed by a feeling of total surrender, of complete and utter fulfilment, she cried out in a shuddering sob, clutching at his shoulders, seeking his mouth with hers, inhaling his breath deep into her lungs, intoxicating herself on its heady perfume. As he made love to her – slowly at first, then with increasing fervour – she let herself tumble into the abyss of his eyes looking down at her, eager to connect with him in every possible way.

An hour later, Hermione was drifting between sleep and day-dreams. Her limbs were heavy with a pleasant tiredness. Her body was tingling all over, a reminder of the powerful, all-encompassing climax she had experienced. She was awoken out of this blissful daze by the sound of soft footsteps. As she opened her eyes, she saw Severus, fully dressed, picking up his coat off the floor and slipping it on.

"Are you leaving?" she asked incredulously. Alarmed, she sat up in bed.

He had never worn his heart on his sleeve, but now it seemed that he was making no effort to hide his emotions. His features were far from the mask of schooled indifference that he had so often worn in the past. As he stood there, in the middle of the room, he looked torn, even lost. Hesitantly, he moved towards the bed and sat down on the edge, his dark eyes glittering softly as he looked at her.

"I – I must go," he said softly, apologetically.

A feeling of terrible dread started to rise up in her heart.

"Do you regret what we did?" she asked, only just managing to keep the tremble out of her voice.

"No. How could I ever regret it? You must not think such a thing," he replied adamantly. Once more his eyes held her hostage, such that she found it impossible to look away. He took her hand in his, gently caressing the back of it with his thumb.

"Hermione..." he said, his dark voice pronouncing her name with deep affection. She was afraid of what he would say next, steeling herself for the moment her blissful bubble might burst. Yet the words that followed were devoid of any sting.

"You are an amazing witch, Hermione. But you don't belong in my world, and I don't belong in yours."

She wanted to protest, but could not get a sound past the lump that had formed in her throat. She wanted to tell him that she would follow him anywhere, that she didn't mind living the life of a Muggle with him, and that to be with him was all she desired. As their eyes were locked on each other in silence, she suspected that, despite her inability to speak, he already knew all she could have said, and that it would have done little to change his mind.

"Please..." he continued after a moment. It seemed that now it was his voice that was close to shaking. "Embrace your life. Don't waste it like I have been doing with mine."

Slowly, he bent down to place a light kiss onto her forehead.

"Goodbye, Hermione," he said softly.

Without any further words of explanation, he released her hand, rose from the bed, and left the flat without looking back, quietly closing the door behind him.

She felt the urge to run after him, but she was not dressed. She also knew deep down that it would have been futile. Instead, she got up to look out of the window. After a few moments, he emerged from the front door of the building. She watched as he walked down the street, his elastic gait making his long hair bounce on his shoulders. When he disappeared around the corner, she was certain that she would not see him again.

Staring out into the void, she was surprisingly calm and composed. She felt a deep sadness and a great sense of loss, like she had just said farewell to a dear friend. And in a way she had – the imaginary man who had been her constant companion, her sounding board, and the judge of everything she did had suddenly materialised into real life. He had given her all she had longed for, and then walked away, never to return.

Somehow, his decision to leave did not hurt her. She could only guess at his reasons and at what things looked like from his perspective, but one thing she knew for sure was that it was not because he did not care about her. He probably felt that she needed to move on and return to her magical life, into a world where he no longer belonged, and perhaps he was right. Perhaps in his mind, renouncing her was the most loving thing he could do.

He had said that he had no regrets, and neither did Hermione. The memory of the special moment they had shared was a treasure for her to keep. She was happy to know that he was alive, that somewhere out there, he had the chance to make a better life for himself. Deep down in her heart, she knew that a part of her would always love him. But at the same time, deep down in her heart, that same part of her was finally able to let go.

"Goodbye, Severus," she whispered softly, still staring at the spot where she had lost sight of him.

She turned away from the window to get dressed. Her stomach rumbled; she needed to make herself a sandwich. As she headed for the fridge, her eyes fell onto a framed photograph on the shelf, making her stop in her tracks. It had been taken after the war memorial ceremony, showing Harry, Ron, and Hermione, smiling contentedly at the camera. Suddenly, she was overcome with joy and love in a rush of emotions that almost brought tears to her eyes. The sandwich was forgotten. She grabbed her coat and headed for the door. This time, as she stepped out onto the street again, she knew exactly where she was going.

Severus could not stop walking. He had such a strong sense of purpose, yet he had no idea where he was heading. It was as if he had awoken from a long state of hibernation, reborn into a world that seemed so new, so fresh, so foreign, and exciting. The colours of the sky, the trees, and the shop windows were more vibrant, the air was crisper, and even his own heartbeat had a new, electrifying thrum to it. Every fibre of his being was humming. He felt an amazing lightness. As he moved along with powerful strides, it seemed like his feet were hardly touching the ground.

When he reached the South Bank Promenade, he finally came to a halt, leaning against the quay wall to look out over the river. The day had cleared up beautifully from its dull, grey start; it seemed that spring was finally here. As he felt the sun's warming rays on his back and the cool stone under his hands, his skin was still tingling from her touch and her kisses. He would never forget Hermione Granger. Leaving her had been incredibly hard, but it had been the right thing to do. It was the responsibility that came with the greater experience and wisdom of his years. Everything else would have been selfish. She was like a wild bird, like a delicate butterfly – and if he tried to hold on to her, he would only end up taking away all that made her so special. He was too mature to fool himself into believing that they could have a future together. It was better for her to find a mate of her own age, even though she was still too young to see that. He had also been witness of how his mother had struggled to find happiness away from the magical world she loved so much. It had ended up destroying her, and he did not want Hermione to make the same mistake for his sake. He found he cared too much about her to mar her young, promising life.

For such a long time, other people had been planning every aspect of his life out for him, but he quickly dismissed any notion that their encounter could have been the result of anything other than luck – a whim of the gods – or fate, if such a thing existed. Now nothing would ever be the same again. She had reached out to him, leading him away from that dark, lonely place he had dwelled in for virtually all his adult life, and there was no going back, not after he had had a taste of what it was like to be truly alive. Now his heart – incarcerated for so long in the dungeons of the past – was free and open and incredibly vulnerable, but also incredibly strong.

He turned around to watch the people strolling past him. A mother was struggling with a toddler who refused to sit in his pushchair while the baby she had in a carrier on her back was screaming its head off. She seemed to have infinite stores of patience, even though her eyes and posture betrayed her tiredness. He wondered whether she had the support of a loving husband, or whether she was facing the challenging life of a single parent. He smirked. It wouldn't get easier when those two grew older. He knew that much from years of teaching hormonal teenagers. A group of three young girls, tourists apparently, came walking by, chatting animatedly in a foreign language, eating ice cream. The blonde one caught his eye with her sparkling smile and the graceful swing of her hips. He was not going to make a habit of women young enough to be his daughter; nevertheless, he allowed himself the small pleasure of watching her for a moment. Then his curiosity was roused by a middle-aged woman wearing an impeccably tailored trouser suit and black-rimmed glasses, who was talking into her mobile phone a short distance away from him. It was apparent from her facial expressions that it wasn't an easy conversation, and he caught himself wondering what crisis she was managing at the other end of the line. When she had hung up, she stood there for a moment, seemingly shaken, her slender, manicured fingers tensing around the phone still in her hand, as if contemplating her next move. He could tell she was a strong, driven person and would not give up easily. His eyes wandered on until he noticed a lady leaning across the same wall as him, several feet to his right, enjoying the sunshine. She had frilly brown hair and was wearing an equally frilly long skirt, paired with a flowery blouse. Her dress sense was dismal, but there was something about her that held his attention – perhaps the laughter lines around her eyes, or the air of deep content - serenity almost – that she radiated. Suddenly she looked up and caught him staring at her, giving him a small, benevolent smile. He felt compelled to answer with half a wry smirk of his own before forcing himself to look away again.

He realised that the afternoon was getting late, and he still had work to do. It was time to go back to his flat, a bright, airy loft conversion, from where he ran his small, but thriving internet business, selling 'herbal remedies', such as beauty elixirs, or potions designed to enhance and prolong sexual pleasure to an ever growing client base of Muggles. He still had to send out an order to one of his regular customers, who claimed his products had saved her marriage, and urgently required another supply.

And so he got up and moved on, looking ahead with a great sense of anticipation. The possibilities were endless. At just over forty years, the majority of his life lay still ahead of him. Free from the shackles that had held him back for so long, it was not too late to finally start living. As he walked, he could still hear her voice in his head. 'It seems that you're still capable of certain kinds of magic.' It made him smile.

This is the end of the story of Hermione Granger and Severus Snape. The truth is that love does not have to last forever in order to be meaningful. It can touch our lives for the briefest of moments, yet still change its course for the better. Sometimes, in order to truly love, we have to let go. But then the end of this story is really just the beginning of another.

A/N:

I will leave the continuation of the story to your own imagination. And if you ever felt like taking up pen, quill, or keyboard to share it, I'd be absolutely thrilled to read.