Chapter Twenty-One

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JKR. This is all for personal fun and enjoyment.

A/N: Thank you to Psykiapa for talking me through my blockage and to Snapeophile and Shug for your thorough critique, suggestion, and editing. Bless you all.

Hermione tore open the letter that lay perfectly placed in front of her bedroom fireplace.

Hermione,

I am in full health now – I’m well enough to write, at least. Thank you for your letter. To see your writing in print after so long was heady indeed.

Would you be amenable to meeting before our official meeting? If so, I will be at Crystalline at five o’clock tomorrow evening. Let me assure you, their French Roast is excellent.

Yours,

-SS

Her fingers shook, and she set the letter down on the fireplace mantle as relief swept over her.

He was healthy. He was safe.

He’s alive.

And he wanted to see her before the work meeting –

He wanted to see her tomorrow.

Hermione shucked her work clothes off and took a bath before bed, all the while dwelling on his invitation.

He’d be there, regardless of her reply.

But how to reply… such a decision rested on impulse and instinct, not on rational thought.

She could attempt logic and make as detailed a pro/con list as she could think of, but the possibility of seeing him was resting on one night’s sleep and half as many waking hours.

She took a draught of Dreamless Sleep, something she’d kept to help her sleep in the days following Ron’s death. She needed to rest.

She’d think about it tomorrow.

*

The next day, five o’clock

The sun was setting, and it hid behind clouds near the horizon. It was nearing twilight, a time full of romance and intrigue.

Crystalline was a well known wizarding café near Scarborough. Situated at the top of a cliff, it overlooked the North Sea and was popular not only for its superb coffee but for its stunning vistas and the excellent charm work that afforded comfortable outdoor dining in the midst of a chilly British March.

Hermione’s heels clicked gently against the dry cobblestone steps that wound up the rockface. Her fingers clutched at the rail. Even though the staircase was charmed warm and dry, and though it was impossible to fall from it, her fear of heights persisted. She’d forgotten why she didn’t come here often: she was always bloody terrified to climb to the top, and she wasn’t familiar enough with the café to attempt Apparation.

The light breeze rustled through her hair, which she’d let down. She’d cut it to shoulder length a week or two ago, with a few strands still curving over her shoulder. She’d gone home to freshen up her makeup and fluff her hair, but had stayed in her work clothes – a classic grey pantsuit and an ice blue shell underneath.

Click, click. Her heart raced in time with her steps, and she attempted to mentally strike the fear out of her.

She had spent a good deal of work time thinking about how to approach this meeting and had concluded that she could be scared shitless or she could be fearless.

She’d chosen the latter.

It didn’t entirely calm the butterflies, though.

She was meeting him out of curiosity – curiosity and a much dwelled upon need to see him in the flesh. The need stretched taut across her skin.

She was a woman ignited. She hadn’t felt this alive in months.

She could do this.

She reached the top of the stairs and was relieved to see the paneled glass that separated her body from the cliff’s edge.

“Welcome, Madame,” the maitre d’ said. “Will you be dining alone or joining a party this evening?”

Her eyes scanned the outdoor patio – the café was all outdoors, even the kitchen – and her eyes finally found who they sought.

“I’m joining someone. Excuse me,” she said with a gracious smile.

He was seated at a table right at the cliff’s edge. A symbolic precipice if ever there was one, she thought wryly. He had, thankfully, taken the seat that faced the cliff.

He was in profile, and she quickly noted his black trousers, crisp white-collared shirt, and the silver streaks that radiated from his temples.

When she was barely a meter away, he turned to look at her, and he smiled, and her heart felt like it was going to go out of rhythm it was beating so fast.

“Hermione,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it.

She ignored the sensation.

“Severus. It’s a pleasure,” she said, taking the seat across from him.

“I took the liberty of ordering a pot of French Roast for us,” he said. “It’s excellent.”

“So you said in your letter,” she said smoothly. “It is good to see that you are well.”

He leaned forward and met her eyes for the first time. “It is good to hear your voice,” he said.

Fuck. “It’s certainly been a while,” she said.

“It has.” He paused. “I do not think the initial awkwardness can be helped, do you?”

She laughed, somewhat relieved. “No. But I want to talk with you all the same.”

“I am pleased to be meeting, as well.” He graced her with a smile and strummed his fingers along the table as the waiter arrived with a coffeepot and two cups.

“Do either of you need room for cream?” the waiter asked as he poured the steaming dark roast.

“No,” they replied in tandem and smiled at each other.

The waiter nodded and walked away. They both reached for their cups.

“So what have you been doing all these years?” she asked, leaning forward, going on the offensive.

“Cosette didn’t tell you?” he asked wryly.

“We don’t speak of you,” she said softly.

“Ah.” He paused. “Well, I sold the apothecary ten years ago or so to devote myself to research and consulting.”

“The group?” she asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Individual work, for the most part. But the group has done quite a bit of work over the years.”

“The cure for lycanthropy, yes, of course. I am remiss for not mentioning it already – it is incredible, Severus, really. Words cannot describe the immensity of your contribution.”

“I can assure you that the Galleons can.” He sipped from his coffee, keeping his eyes on her the whole time.

She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you did it for the money.”

“You know me better than that,” he murmured, strumming his fingers against his cup. “The challenge was… intoxicating.”

“Impossible to resist?” she asked, trying to keep the edge out of her voice.

He noticed it anyway. “We all sacrificed a good deal for that cure,” he said.

“And was it worth the sacrifice?”

There was a heavy pause.

“For me, no,” he said, and she gaped at him. “I had sacrificed decades of my life and, at the risk of sounding trite, nearly my entire soul for a fight far greater than that cure.”

“But you helped people!” she exclaimed.

“It wasn’t life or death.”

“To some people it was,” she said stubbornly.

“I lost the love of my life,” he said frankly, looking straight into her eyes. “To say that some people are now more comfortable just doesn’t seem a sufficient counterweight.”

She struggled for words, reeling from his revelation. “Are you so selfish?”

“I had earned the right to be selfish, and yet I still sacrificed. It’s deliciously ironic.”

“That sounds rather heroic, Severus.” She gave a weak smile.

“Save me the accolades. I took out my selfish behavior on the lamb I was sacrificing.”

“I was a lamb?” she asked, amused.

“It sounds more innocent than a lion.”

“But decidedly less powerful.”

“Or dangerous.”

They laughed.

“And what were you doing in South America, if I may ask?” she asked with a smile, desperate to put her emotions back on an even keel.

“Claudette and I were visiting an old friend we met through Pierre – an old herbologist who breeds some of the rarest… potions ingredients... in the world,” he said, noting her too-obvious excitement, “and no, I am not going to give the British Ministry my contact information.”

“There are women in the group?” Hermione asked, acutely aware of the twisting in her gut. She fortified herself for the inevitable.

He met her stare dead on. “Yes.”

“Were there – then?”

“Yes,” he replied, not saying more than was necessary, the stubborn arse, and he seemed to be enjoying watching her squirm.

“Fine, I’ll ask the question,” she said, frustrated, and he waved a hand to cut her off.

“I was never unfaithful.”

She paused. “Have you had any… relationships… over these last few years?”

“Yes,” he said. “None significant,” he added after a moment.

“Claudette –”

“The only romance that ever blossomed in the group was between Claudette and Cynthie, and they’ve only been together for the last ten years or so.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, feeling like a complete dunderhead. God, she was supposed to be more grown up than this. “I’m sorry to have pried.”

He shrugged. “Romantic attachment is commonplace and is often significant in the human life.”

She snorted. “Now who’s the philosopher?”

He grinned. “It’s nice to know you care, Hermione.”

Her heart fluttered. “Yet you don’t ask of my…” she started, but then cut herself off.

“I know your life story,” he said, leaning back in his seat comfortably. “Hermione Granger,” he said, semi-mockingly, which made her laugh, “Married to war hero Ronald Weasley for over twenty years, phenomenal career in the Ministry which culminated in a position as Department Head, two children who are reportedly just as brilliant as she is, and she is still seen in the company of her childhood friends.” Severus folded his hands on the table and looked at her seriously. “There is no mystery about you, Hermione, and there is little possibility of the rest of us escaping news of a war hero’s life, I assure you,” he said sardonically.

“You escaped it,” she said.

“I didn’t want it.”

“I didn’t, either.”

“Regardless, you lived there, and living in the center of the activity renders you complicit to the consequence. You had to endure, and so you did. Your children sound like they are no worse for the wear,” he remarked.

“How do you – Cosette,” Hermione finished lamely. “So she told you about me.”

“Never in detail, and only because I asked.”

“I couldn’t ask,” she said softly.

“I know,” he replied. “I respect your dedication to your family, even though I, of course, wished it otherwise.”

“You’d have rather I threw it all away?”

“You did once.”

“I had children.”

“A fact which I noted and respected. Don’t hate a man for harboring feelings for you, Hermione. Consider it a compliment.”

She huffed, something she did not know she was still capable of doing.

“I’m sorry,” he said lowly, and she met his eyes with understanding.

She breathed deeply. “So am I.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you ready to talk about this?”

“Why else would we be here?” she asked, surprising even herself.

He looked up at her sharply. “I was a bastard,” he said flatly. “I didn’t treat you as you deserved.”

She chuckled. “I know.” A wry smile touching her lips. “But I made a cock-up of it, too. I wanted what you wouldn’t give – my expectations were unfair and…” She waved a hand. “I ignored your protests. Stupidly, I might add.”

“C’est la vie.” Severus shrugged.

“I should have left earlier. You could have sent me away. There’s blame on both sides.”

“I was too bloody selfish to dismiss you. I couldn’t if I had tried,” he said. “And the blame is mostly mine, though I do appreciate your finally acknowledging that I wasn’t husband material.”

“You weren’t.”

“And yet you still found a husband. Resourceful, you,” he said, arching an eyebrow.

“I won’t apologize for Ron.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“I loved him.”

“But not like you loved me.”

“You have some bloody cheek,” Hermione said, eyes flaring. “And a lot of nerve.”

“Women do not excommunicate their former lovers unless the dam is barely holding the water back,” he said, sipping his coffee.

Hermione glared at him. “I wasn’t in love with you when I married Ron. You can disabuse yourself of that notion right now.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t presume. The water was behind the dam, after all.”

“If you are going to mock me –” She swallowed hard. “I’d have thought you would have matured by now.”

“I have. Just seeing if there’s still fire in the old girl is all.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle. He certainly knew how to get a rise out of her. “I have missed you,” she said, surprising herself once again.

“You cannot imagine how I have missed you,” he said lowly, and she stirred.

“I couldn’t write,” she said. “You know I couldn’t.”

He paused. “I do. I’ve had twenty years to reflect, after all.”

“I won’t apologize.”

“I’m not asking you to. I’d have left me, too.”

They chuckled and sipped their coffee.

“Henri helped me… after,” he said slowly. “Helped me to see my fault in it.”

“You couldn’t see what you were then?”

“I turned to drink, not therapy. Henri and Cos had other ideas.”

“They didn’t want to lose you.”

He shrugged. “They’ve been stuck with me ever since. I consider that sufficient punishment.”

She chuckled. “And Claire. Claire was stuck with you, too.”

“You are shamelessly digging for information.” He sounded amused.

“I know.” She grinned. “Oblige me?”

He looked at her for a long moment. “Claire has certainly grown to be a lovely woman. She was a precocious girl and always wore her heart on her sleeve – she still does. She’s positively willful in her acceptance of everyone. But then, you know this,” he said ruefully.

“I just wanted to see how you talk about her,” Hermione said, tracing the rim of her cup with her forefinger. “She’s with Harry’s son now.”

Severus snorted. “I know. The whelp seems to have more of his mother in him than his father, thankfully.”

“You’ve met him?” Hermione asked, stunned.

He nodded. “Claire brought him home for dinner sometime before Christmas. I joined them for dessert at her behest.”

Hermione put a hand over her heart. “She cared for your approval?”

He shrugged, and Hermione said, “Oh, Severus.”

He grimaced. “Enough sentimentality. Tell me of your children. I hear they’re a chip off the old block – yours, that is,” he said, and Hermione did so.

*

The candles flickered well into twilight, and Hermione and Severus had spoken of her children and career in exhaustive detail.

“I must ask one more question about your daughter,” Severus said, and Hermione nodded in acquiescence. “Who is she named for?” he asked, and her heart dropped.

Severus continued shamelessly. “All Weasley grandchildren are named for someone – Hugo is named for his grandfathers, and Rose’s middle name is obviously for the impressive Mrs. Potter.”

“Ginny is impressive, Severus. Don’t tease,” Hermione chided him.

“For once, I was being completely serious. She’s been revolutionary for the Wizengamot, and that is something they badly needed. But I digress. Who is Rose named for?”

“Beauty and the Beast,” Hermione said, and Severus looked at her, disbelieving.

“The story or the book in which it is written?” he asked softly, his eyes boring intently into hers, and she lowered her eyes.

“I’ve loved the name since I saw it in your grandmother’s faerie book. Also, the first time she kicked in the womb was when I was reading Beauty & the Beast.”

“You read her the faerie book?” he asked.

“Yes, I did.”

He nodded. “I had thought that it was a possibility, when I first heard her name.”

“She knows the source of her name, as well,” Hermione said slowly, and Severus looked up at her sharply.

“She knows – about –”

“Us. Paris. Everything. Well, not everything,” Hermione amended, “but she saw a letter of Ginny’s last November, and in December we had a – a long talk. A very long talk.”

“How on earth did she see –”

“It was on my vanity,” Hermione said, fully cognizant of what she was admitting. “It was barely two weeks after Ron’s death,” she plowed on, “and I’ve kept Ginny and Harry’s and your letters.” She paused. “I kept them in the blue box.”

“The one from India?” he murmured.

“Yes. There, I said it. I still thought of you. I told my daughter about you – us.” She inhaled. “What do we do now?”

“I’d like to be friends,” he said.

“We’ve never been good at being ‘just friends,’” she pointed out.

“We can try,” he said. “I am willing to partake of whatever you are willing to share.”

She smiled. “My time would be a good start. We should try to get to know each other again.”

“Indeed,” he said, quirking his lips. “But I’ve felt quite comfortable tonight, haven’t you?”

She let out a high-pitched laugh. “Oh, Severus, how could I?” She shifted in her seat, and her leg brushed against his under the table.

They froze for a split second.

It was enough.

“Hermione,” he said urgently, reaching for her hand across the table, and the heat that encompassed her knocked the breath clear out of her.

“Slow,” she said.

“Slow,” he repeated, withdrawing his hand.

She looked around the café. “They haven’t brought the bill.”

“It’s on my account,” he said.

“Was this a date?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

He chuckled. “It’s a little late for that question, don’t you think? Besides, we don’t ‘date’ at our age. We meet old friends for coffee.”

“And ex-lovers,” she added.

He paused. “That, too.” His eyes darkened as he looked at her. “That, too.”

She attempted to swallow discreetly.

They talked only a little longer before confessing mutual exhaustion – emotional as well as physical – to the other.

“I’m not as young as I used to be,” Severus said wryly as his knees creaked as he stood.

“I’m no spring chicken, myself,” Hermione said, brushing a curl behind her ear.

He looked down at her admonishingly.

“What are you looking at?” she asked.

“I am drinking in the sight of you, living and breathing and warm under my hands.” He cupped her face.

She put a palm against his cheek, and the feel of his stubble rasped against her palm and ignited a brushfire that shot up her arm.

He gave her a near-feral grin, and her eyes darkened at the sight. So, he remembered that she preferred a little rasp on his face.

He turned his head and kissed her palm, and she inhaled sharply before withdrawing her hand.

“Beast,” she said accusingly, and he laughed.

“You haven’t lost your pluck, have you?” he asked.

She grinned at him. “You’ll just have to find out.”

He smiled. “I look forward to getting to know you again.”

“And I, you.”

She turned to walk away, sincerely hoping that her adrenaline rush wouldn’t plunge her down the stairs, until he called out, “I love you, Hermione.”

She whipped around only to see him walking the opposite direction, all tall length and broad shoulders, black trousers and white shirt, black and silver streaked hair, and he disappeared with a crack.

She closed her eyes and smiled.

*

One Year Later

Rose wrapped her coat tighter about her as she walked down the rocky path. It had already been a long morning – she had caught an early Portkey from London to Paris and had met Claire for breakfast at their favorite café. They’d strolled the city streets for a while before Rose had traveled by Floo to the wizarding transportation center in southern France, near Montpellier. She’d taken a cab through the city and was walking the last two miles of her trip on the centuries old, rocky path that curved about the Mediterranean’s shore. The breeze coming off the sea was more brisk than she’d anticipated, but the view was breathtaking.

This was her inaugural visit to her mum’s new house, the one she shared with a certain Severus Snape. Hermione had broken the news to her friends and family just over a month ago, and it had been met with significant trepidation, with Ginny and Rose proving her principal supporters. She’d retired from the Ministry mere months behind Kingsley, and she was currently consulting. She had gifted their family home to Rose.

Rose hadn’t yet moved in – probably wouldn’t, come to that. Her flat in London more than met her needs, and she was in the midst of a hectic first year as a full-fledged Mediwitch at St. Mungo’s.

Rose breathed deeply. She was acutely aware that she was making this trip alone, had talked about it with Claire that morning, with Delilah the night before. Hugo, for all his good-heartedness, had not taken the news well. Hermione had sat him down and told him in sparse detail of her history with Severus and why they would be cohabitating again, and Hugo had not wanted to hear it. Rose was sure he would come around soon. He has to, she thought. For mum’s sake, for my sake, he just has to. She tried to think of the situation dispassionately; from that point of view, Hugo was a young man who had been very close to his father and who possibly perceived that his mother had “replaced” Ron.

Rose snorted. As if anything could be further from the truth.

Still, it pained her that Hugo had vehemently rebuffed her invitation to join her this morning.

She finished the slow climb to a high hill – presumably the one her mum had told her about in the directions – and she gasped at the view.

The downward descent was considerably steeper than the climb. About half-way down, the old path met with slightly newer cobblestone, which snaked through orchards and gardens, which were black in the dead of winter but which would be sure to bloom brilliantly come May, or even late April.

The path wound to intricate stone steps, which led to the door of the villa. It was an older villa, nineteenth century, her mum had said, and it was just beautiful. Rose crossed her arms over her chest as she stared at the view for a long moment, basking in the peace that pervaded the landscape. The villa, she noted, butted right up against the shoreline of the sea.

She was definitely visiting in the summer.

She let out a deep breath and then started to walk down the hill. There was only a bit of snow on the ground, but it made the path slick. Rose took her wand out of its holster and blasted the snow to the sides of the path. She could make it disappear, but she rather liked snow.

Her mum had said to dress casually, that Severus wouldn’t be impressed with finery. Rose had taken the advice to heart and had dressed in jeans and a cream turtleneck. Her black pea-coat and thick dragon hide boots kept her warm.

Rose dearly wanted to make a good impression on Severus. Her mum had assured her that Severus already liked her – which is completely preposterous, we haven’t even met yet! – but Rose knew she had one thing working in her favor: she was named after his grandmother. And yes, her mother adored her, as well. Those would be reasons enough for a man to be satisfied with his partner’s daughter, but still, Rose fretted. Claire had attempted to calm her nerves over coffee. I’ll be fine, I’ll be fine, of course I’ll be fine, Rose thought to herself as she continued the slow descent.

She did know one thing – she was damned determined to like Severus. She couldn’t recall ever seeing her mum so happy, and for that alone she could kiss the man’s feet.

She felt a sudden vibration in her pocket and leapt in surprise. She never carried her cell phone – camera – whatever it was – in her pocket, but she had been trying to travel light today. These new magical phones were all the rage among the young professionals.

She stopped walking and checked to see who was calling. She set her mouth in a grim line as she answered.

“Scorpius Malfoy, this had better be important.”

“Giving yourself a pep talk, are you?” came the cheeky voice on the other end.

“That’s not funny.”

“Of course it is. That’s the sort of neurotic habit I adore you for.”

She tried to keep her lips from quirking in a smile. “Why are you calling?”

“Just seeing how you’re doing.”

“I was better before.”

“I thought I’d give you incentive to make a good first impression.”

“What?”

“We’re placing bets on how well the meeting goes.”

“Who?”

“Everyone.”

“Scorpius –”

“And by everyone, I mean James, Ryan, Isaac, Zeke, Louis, me, your family members… Merlin, Rose, what do you take me for?”

She groaned. “So you’re placing bets. It’s not my money, so explain to me why I should care.”

“I made a bet that you will do fabulously, and if you do make a good first impression, then we’ll go to the restaurant of your choice tomorrow evening.”

A stupid grin plastered itself on her face. “Instead of the surprise you said you were going to do?”

“I do know how you hate surprises.”

She giggled and then mentally berated herself for giggling. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow, then,” she said, attempting sternness.

She could practically see him rolling his eyes on the other end. “I’m picking you up at seven. Don’t forget.”

“I won’t.” Click.

She put the phone back in her pocket and walked hurriedly through the gardens and approached the back – front? – door.

"Rose!” she heard her mother’s voice from inside the house and saw her mother bound out the door and down the steps to wrap her up in a tight hug.

“Oh, my darling, I am so glad you’re here,” Hermione said, kissing Rose’s cheek.

“I am, too, Mum,” Rose said. She squeezed her mum and let her go.

“Who were you talking to just now?” Hermione asked, linking arms with Rose as they walked up the path.

“Scorpius,” Rose said, exasperated, and Hermione laughed.

“You’re going out again?” she asked knowingly.

“I’ve no idea why.”

“Some things are better left unexplained,” Hermione said as a tall shadow came into view. Rose halted in her tracks.

Both women breathed deeply, and male laughter filled the air as he moved from the shadow into the light of the doorway, and then down the steps and onto the path.

“Like mother, like daughter,” Severus said, and Rose tried not to stare.

He was tall, austere, and inordinately striking, with silky black, silver-streaked hair and dark eyes. Lean but muscled, wearing only white and black – just as Rose had pictured him.

“Severus, I would like you to meet my daughter, Rose. Rose, this is Severus Snape,” Hermione said, and Rose noted her mother’s scrutinizing gaze as the two of them clasped hands.

“Good handshake,” Severus noted with a slight wink.

Rose grinned. “Mum taught me well.”

“Do you need time to rest, or would you like a house tour?” he inquired.

“A tour would be lovely,” Rose said, smiling, as she rubbed her hands together.

“Oh my goodness, what a mother I am, letting us all stand out in the cold,” Hermione said, practically shoving Rose and Severus towards the door.

They entered the house, and Rose was immediately struck by the skylights and large windows, by the large fireplace in the center, and by the general openness of the space.

“Is the main floor all one room? Like Nana’s?” Rose asked, admiring the room.

“Almost,” Hermione said. “It’s an old villa, very closed off, but we’ve already done some work opening the space up.”

“Would you like some coffee with your tour?” Severus asked.

“Everything goes better with coffee.” Rose smiled at him, and he chuckled.

“You raised her well,” Severus said to Hermione. He brushed his hand against her mum’s as he walked in what Rose presumed was the direction of the kitchen or the nearest coffeepot.

“Well?” Hermione asked Rose softly.

“I think we’re going to like each other,” Rose said, squeezing her mum’s hand.

“I’m sure,” Hermione said. “Besides, you’re both stubborn as oxen, and if you want to like each other, you will.”

Mother and daughter laughed as Severus levitated three cups of coffee into the room, and they all claimed a cup and commenced on a house tour.

All was well.

More or less, Rose thought, smiling to herself, which is as much as any of us could ask for.

She followed her mum and Severus into the next room, watching as they walked hand in hand.

Fin.

Closing Notes:

And so our tale ends. Sage has been a year in the making, and, thrilling as the serial format is, I am inordinately pleased – and proud – to have a finished product. My first completed novel, as it were.

Regarding this chapter specifically, I would like to note that the café is entitled Crystalline in tribute to the Stevie Nicks song “Crystal” which, for me, is the song that defined this story. Whenever I needed to find my way home, “Crystal” was waiting for me.

I would like to acknowledge four wonderful women who have been on board the H.M.S. Sage since the beginning: Psykiapa, Shug, Snapeophile, and Septentrion. Thank you for your time, for your energy, and for offering your skills with editing and translation. Above all, thank you for your friendship. I am indebted to all of you in the most literal sense of the word.

Most of all, thank you to the readers who connected with this story and saw it to its completion. You have blessed me more than you know. Thank you all for your encouragement and trust.

*curtain closes*