Two

Snape could feel himself trembling beneath his robes.

They knew. And if they knew it followed that other people also knew, his colleagues, perhaps, or students he was currently teaching. He was used to being judged by those around him, for good or ill. But this; this was different. This involved another, an innocent, sweet and loving soul who did not deserve the derision of being associated with an ex-Death Eater. Worse was the stigma of sleeping with her Professor, a man whose behaviour should have been beyond reproach, in that area at least. What trials had she endured at his expense? The name calling, the shame… Gods, Hermione, why… But it wasn’t her fault. He could have stopped it, damn it, he should have. But she was there, showing him kindness he had never known, caring and tending his injuries, understanding his position and yet accepting him, encouraging him, making him smile, even. He had been weak, vulnerable. He had needed her, and she had been willing, enthusiastic and insistent.

Snape’s thoughts were tumbling over themselves, panic mixed with enduring memories. He forgot he had an audience and that his face was more than likely mirroring his feelings. He steeled himself, forcing himself to sit up straight and his face to resume its mask of indifference.

‘Whatever it is you think you know, Weasley, I fear you are mistaken,’ he drawled.

Ron leapt from his seat and lurched towards Snape, ready to punch him, his fist drawn back. Snape had drawn his wand before he had chance to go further, but it was Harry who stopped them both. A Barrier Charm forced them apart, pushing them both flat against the backs of the wooden booth.

‘Bloody hell, Harry! The git deserves it,’ Ron growled out, rubbing his shoulders where the force of the charm had shoved him hard against the bench.

‘That’s as maybe, Ron, but you want answers, not a fight. I thought you wanted to help Hermione, not make it worse?’ Harry’s voice was steady but firm and the reasoning tone obviously worked. Ron’s shoulders slumped, his anger gone and replaced with a sulky glare in Snape’s direction.

‘As for you, sir,’ Harry looked at Snape, ‘It would be helpful if you could just be truthful. Hermione told both of us about the two of you, and I believe her. If you choose not to be honest, then perhaps what happened meant more to her than it did to you, and you were just using her, which is what Ron thinks already.’

Snape’s guard fell. ‘I would never have used her, Potter. Do you think I make a habit out of bedding students?’ He rubbed his face with his hands, exhaustion sweeping over him like a heavy, dull fog.

‘I never thought that, sir. Hermione didn’t tell us everything, but from what she said, you did care for her, didn’t you?’ Harry was answering him but looking at Ron, who just scowled.

‘Of course I bloody cared.’ Snape sighed.

‘Well, if you care so much, why haven’t you written to her, then, or tried to make contact?’ Ron sat forward indignantly.

‘Your witch is not the only person to read the Prophet, and I made it my business to catch up on every back issue once I regained consciousness. I know she is with you now, Weasley, and I don’t make a habit of chasing another man’s witch.’ Snape looked at Ron briefly before looking away. The news that Hermione had taken up with Weasley had cut him deeply, but then he couldn’t blame her. He had promised her nothing and pushed her away. He wasn’t meant to survive, for Merlin’s sake, and he couldn’t stand the thought of Hermione’s grief if he had allowed things to continue. But thinking of her with Weasley… He didn’t want to ponder it a moment longer than he had to.

‘She only came to me when you let her go, you know.’ Ron’s voice had dropped to a soft murmur. ‘She said you had told her that you didn’t want her any more. You couldn’t have hurt her more if you’d tried.’

‘I had no choice. She wasn’t safe being close to me. Voldemort was calling me to his side every other day, and although I am a strong Occlumens, I couldn’t risk him seeing Hermione in my thoughts. I did what I did to protect her. Believe me; I hurt myself twice as much.’ The memory of Hermione’s face streaked with silent tears as he ended things swam before him, and the haunted look in her eyes in Potions class. He had done that to her, and it had almost killed him. He wanted to tell he was sorry, that he was wrong. That he loved her.

‘I can’t be what she wants me to be, Snape. I’ve tried so hard to be there, to love her as much as I can, but it’s not me she needs. It’s you.’ Ron closed his eyes, and Snape was shocked to see a tear fall and be roughly brushed aside. ‘She keeps calling your name in her sleep, you see. At first I thought they were just dreams, a force of habit that she would get over eventually, but it’s more than that. Tell him, Harry.’

‘It’s true, sir. Sometimes she just sits staring into space. We can’t get her interested in anything, sometimes she even forgets to eat. But then I found this, sir.’

From his pocket Harry pulled out a small book, which he quickly enlarged and handed to Snape. He recognised it immediately as the journal Hermione would sit with beside his fire and write in. He stared at the beaten red leather cover, remembering the feel of it, resting his hands where she would have laid hers.

‘You need to read the last entry. Things have got a lot worse since then. Sometimes she doesn’t even get out of bed.’ Harry frowned as he spoke, and Snape realised that he wasn’t there for Ron at all, but for Hermione. Her well-being mattered to him too. Snape turned the thick, parchment pages of the book, entranced by the familiar writing. He noticed the gradual deterioration of her script until the final written page, which seemed to have been scrawled on by a child’s hand. He read the words, feeling the pain as it screamed itself from the pages.

‘I give up. I thought he loved me, but I was so, so wrong. It’s been over six months since he woke from his coma, and Harry told me he was able to speak, and then to read and write, but still nothing. I have waited, Severus… I promised I would and I did… I waited for so long…’

Snape closed the book slowly, his eyes heavy as he gazed back to the pale faces before him.

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Make her happy. You loved her, once. She still loves you. I would rather see her happy with you than be ill with me,’ Ron whispered. He rose, as did Harry, and they made to leave as Snape handed Hermione’s journal back to Harry.

‘Don’t keep her waiting any longer, Snape.’ Ron looked him in the eye, resigned that he would lose Hermione one way or another.

Despite everything, Snape felt a flicker of something in his heart.