A Sort of Memory

The years passed; the world moved on. Severus, with twenty years of salary socked away and a nice Headmaster's Bonus, made a life away from Hogwarts with a shopfront that sold potions both magical and mundane, integrating into Wizard and Muggle society with surprising ease, but with the same intolerance of willful stupidity. Hermione had far more mess to clean up, both physically and emotionally, but she, too, found a life she could lead, working at the Ministry and learning, learning, learning. Coincidence, perhaps, that her flat was in the same town as Severus's shop. They met often... and talked.

It was one evening, very quiet and unusually solitary, when he knew. Knew the answer to Hermione's question and knew why he hadn't known before. The knowledge assembled itself slowly over the hours, and long afterwards, he lay awake in his bed, questioning, absorbing, organising. He could not... would not ...rush over to Hermione's in the dead of night until he was certain of the veracity and completeness of his new... old? ...understanding. This was not something that could be brushed aside with half a tale.

Besides, the knowledge came with its own emotions, and a disturbing set of revelations.

Hermione watched him anxiously; Severus was not a man to display nerves, and he was visibly twitchy. He opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again. Finally...

"Time travel," he said, "is a tricky beast." Not what she was expecting, so she nodded dumbly.

"It has myriad effects," he continued. "Some of which are less obvious, and decidedly more bizarre."

She frowned. "You called me... on my busiest day, I remind you ...to discuss time travel?"

He gave her a look that would quell a Fifth Year. "More bizarre," he repeated, "but informative.

"I can answer your question now, Hermione."

It was surprisingly simple when he explained... and certainly bizarre in the way that he did so. He drew a memory from his mind, and it was the memory of a memory, a memory that a Hermione of another time had shown another Severus in another Pensieve. She watched herself show the other Severus what had happened in Malfoy Manor... in a time when he'd been unaware, and Bellatrix had indulged herself fully. Hermione cringed and backed up against the reassuring solidity of 'her' Severus.

"You trusted me," he murmured. "You showed me. I couldn't bear it.

"I went back."

'I couldn't bear it. I went back.'

The simple statements replayed over and over again in her mind in tandem with a myriad of names and faces. Time travel was tricky. There'd been so many instances when Severus could have gone back, could have interfered, could have saved someone at the risk of upsetting the whole apple cart.

'I couldn't bear it.'

He'd changed her history. He'd inflicted pain to save her from worse. He'd risked the possibility that his interference could change victory to defeat.

That flash of hurt.

He'd destroyed the bond they'd formed in that other time.

Hermione turned. She played her hand against the shuttered face. It all fitted together now. "One of these days," she informed him, "I'm going to have to get you some white armour."

A derisive subvocal and he batted her hand away.

"You loved me," she persisted. "You wanted me." He turned away, his cheeks mottling, but she didn't pursue the memory further. All these years later, and she could still feel him against her, but the woman now knew what the terrified girl hadn't. "You rescued me."

"I can only wish I could have," he muttered.

"You did," she insisted.

The young woman planted herself solidly before him, stared into his face with disconcertingly direct eyes. "Do you want me now?"

He didn't reply.

She stepped forward, leaving mere millimetres between them. "Do you want me?" she repeated.

A nerve twitched. "Irrelevant."

"Is it?"

"You can't want me, except from gratitude."

"My other self must have."

A raised eyebrow.

"I wouldn't have shown that memory to the boys. But I showed it to you."

"You trusted me," he explained, suddenly tired.

"I loved you," she asserted. "I was trying to explain something to you."

"What?"

"Why I couldn't love normally."

Severus swallowed convulsively, as though the physical act could help him digest Hermione's words. She didn't know; she couldn't. Hermione now was far less damaged than Hermione then.

But the woman was the same. Long before his memories had integrated themselves, he'd begun to love her for herself: stubborn, bossy, brazen, loyal, big-hearted. She'd looked past the damage 'he' had inflicted and given him a second chance.

He reflected on the differences between the two versions of this woman.

All he could do was thank the gods that his gamble had worked. And that she didn't hate him for it.

"I never hated you." Astonished, Severus stared. He must have spoken his thoughts aloud. "I didn't," she insisted. "Over the years, I was angry... terrified... puzzled by you, but I never hated you."

"Hermione..." He back away; she allowed him the distance, deliberately lowered the tension by making tea.

"You do have an enormous nose," she said conversationally, "though your teeth are vastly improved. You're appallingly skinny, but I've never liked muscle-men anyway. And it gives me the urge to fatten you up.

"You've a brilliant mind, almost insane loyalty, and the truest of hearts.

"Why wouldn't I love you?"

Her heart was hammering against her ribs, possibly looking for an emergency exit in order to find someplace to hide.

His gobsmacked expression, however, was adorable. Yes, her mind repeated firmly. Adorable.

Hermione had felt the shift in her feelings and eventually been able to name them. Today had simply removed that final bar, resolved the incongruity that had bothered her for these years.

The water was boiling, and Severus still said nothing. She didn't dare look, focusing instead on the tea. Perhaps her heart would simply ooze out of her chest and disappear through the cracks in the floorboards.

He'd dreamed, both in this timeline and the other. Dreams were as far as he allowed himself to go; reality had never been an option, for more reasons than he cared to examine.

What it came down to was that there's no fool like an old fool, and in this, he's old enough to qualify.

She'd flattered him in the only manner he'd likely believe. 'Brilliant mind.'

Lovely, intelligent, passionate. She had a hell of a lot better options than him. Some of them came to mind, and his fists curled. Could any boy truly appreciate her?

Not bloody likely.

Hermione proffered the mug, watched his fingers wrap around the warmed ceramic. Remembered the feel of them gripping her wrists. Remembered them clasping her hand. She bit her lip, watched the steam rise.

Severus set his cup aside, then gently removed hers. He tilted her head up and watched her minutely, finding tears hiding behind her eyes. Struggling to formulate a statement and failing, he fell back on the simplest, most difficult words. "I love you." Emboldened by her rising joy, he added, "I will cherish and adore you, Hermione, and yes, even fight with you."

And Hermione kissed him.

"Mother?"

Hermione looked up from her reading and smiled. Sensitive like his father, the young man had developed one of his defenses: a slightly excessive formality. "Yes, Eagan?"

"Is this yours?" He passed her an overlarge Time Turner. "I found it cleaning the attic."

She frowned at the extraordinary weight in her hands. "You know I haven't mine anymore, love." He'd grown up listening to their war stories. "It must be your father's," she realized. "He rescued me with this."

Eagan's eyes widened. "And then what happened?" This was a story they hadn't shared.

"And then your mother rescued me."