Chapter Four

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

A/N: My thanks to snapeophile and sshg316 for their continued work on this story - you two are the best!

*

1 June 2000

It was always difficult, this time of year. It had been for the past three years, and Hermione didn't imagine that this anniversary would be any different. The anniversary of Voldemort's defeat would never cease to make her sob unceasingly.

Oh, there were grand celebrations. The Ministry had put on a lavish ball that first anniversary, and since then, notable Wizarding families and companies had followed suit. The week before the anniversary was enough to fill even Lavender Brown's social schedule – there were various private parties, public galas, parades, and speeches to attend. The Prophet always ran a multitude of pieces, including a 'historical' section in which they reprinted the few pieces from that time that had actually predicted a few things right. They also ran a memorial issue, which was the one currently laid on Hermione Granger's lap.

She sat cross-legged on the floor in the small sitting room of her Diagon Alley flat, her hair streaming wildly around her face, still dressed in her pajamas. She always got up early on June 1. It'd become a twisted ritual of hers, to get up early in order to read the memorial issue. Gets the tears out of the way first thing.

She ran her hand across the front page of the special booklet-style the Prophet used for this particular issue. The front page always had the same photograph: a long shot of Hogwarts, smoke billowing from the grounds, the Dark Mark slowly disappearing from the sky. She gulped and opened the page, knowing the myriad of photos that would greet her, the waving hands of individuals listed from front to back in chronological order of death.

Bertha Jorkins. Bartemius Crouch, Sr. Cedric Diggory.

Amelia Bones. Emmeline Vance. Sirius Black.

Igor Karkaroff. Albus Dumbledore.

Charity Burbage. Mad-Eye Moody. Ted Tonks.

The small insert on the third page with a photograph of Harry with Dobby always brought a fresh flush of tears.

She turned to the fourth page, knowing what would come.

Fred Weasley. Remus Lupin. Nymphadora Tonks. Colin Creevy... a multitude of others.

And on the final page, a dark photograph of Severus Snape, with the title "LOYAL TO THE END" listed above, "Missing in Action, Presumed Dead"listed beneath the photo.

Not dead, she thought, staring at the photograph. Not dead.

"Where are you?" she asked aloud, surprising herself. She laid the open booklet on the floor and rested her elbows on her knees, her hands running through her hair, watching the dark, surprisingly still photograph of her enigmatic ex-professor.

I watched you die, she thought fiercely. I watched you die, and I went back for your body, and you weren't there. You have to be alive. Somewhere. Somewhere, you're alive, breathing and working, at this moment...

I will find you.

She rested her chin on her hands, breathing deeply. That was her other unspoken ritual – the one she kept from all who knew her. The Prophet could print all the tripe they wanted on how Snape was "presumed dead," and certainly, Harry's confirmation that he had indeed been bit by Nagini and bled to death in front of him didn't help much. But his body hadn't been there. She'd seen it with her own eyes – she and Minerva had gone back to the Shrieking Shack to retrieve Snape's body... a body that wasn't there. The theories for where it had gone were outrageous at best and, in Hermione's opinion, not worth listening to. Ron's suggestion that maybe the body had just "disappeared" had even prompted Harry out of the glassy reverie he had adopted whenever Severus Snape was mentioned by name.

"That's complete crap, Ron. Even I don't think it disappeared," Harry had said rather harshly, surprising his friends.

"Bewitched his body to disappear when his heart gave out?" Hermione had raised an eyebrow incredulously. "Shite, Ronald, utter shite. I know you can do better than that."

Both boys had turned a deaf ear to her insistence that he was alive. Admittedly, the evidence to the contrary was impressive. She'd been with Harry in the Shack when Nagini had bitten Snape, after all; she'd watched Snape bequeath his memories to Harry (a dying act if ever there was one), had listened to Snape's always-controlled voice crack as he asked Harry to look him in the eye. Hermione, entirely confused at the time, now understood. He'd wanted to die looking into eyes identical to those of Lily Evans... also an action that could be construed as a dying wish.

But were all those actions part of an elaborate Slytherin smokescreen for his faked death? Hermione shook her head in consternation. She could never get past that niggling doubt...

She knew Harry believed him to be dead – Snape was an intensely private man, and the sharing of his memories almost certainly confirmed that he had indeed been dying. It had convinced Harry, at the very least, if not her.

"Does it matter where his body's gone, Hermione? Really? The man gave me his memories, for Christ's sake! He hated me, loathed me, but gave me his most... treasured... memories. I stumbled upon one memory of his during fifth year, and you remember the rage it sent him into! You think he would've given me that load of memories in the Shack if there was even the slightest chance he could live?" Harry had demanded the summer after that fateful June. "His body's gone, and there is no proof he's alive. If he is, he hasn't stepped foot in wizarding Britain."

"It was the life he chose, Hermione!" Harry had bellowed. "He's dead! Deal with it!"

If Harry and Ron knew she'd been actively searching for their ex-professor these past three years, they would almost certainly have a screaming match the likes of which Diagon Alley had never seen. It'd throw the street into paralytic shock... especially if it came from its revered Golden Trio.

She sighed and got to her knees to stand up. She picked up the booklet and laid it reverently on the coffee table by the fireplace. Ginny would be by later today; she didn't like to be with her family on this anniversary, and Hermione honestly couldn't blame her. She'd lost a brother, one who was still greatly mourned. Hermione had listened to enough talk to know what today would entail for the Weasley clan. The entire family would gather at the Burrow. Arthur's hands would be full dealing with his inconsolable wife, and Bill, George, Fleur, Angelina, Ron, and Harry would go out flying – everyone gave George the most attention on the anniversary, even more than they gave Molly. When they got back, they'd be met by Charlie, happily playing Uncle to Victoire and Percy and Penelope's baby boy. Percy and Penelope would have a wonderful late lunch prepared and all ready to eat in the kitchen.

And Ginny would be at Hermione's flat, going over the memorial booklet, eating chocolate, and drinking loads of butterbeer. By the time four o'clock rolled around, Harry would arrive, ready to cart Ginny back to the Burrow for dinner. He'd invite Hermione, as he always did, and she would decline. Later that night, Ron would come over, and they'd drink wine and eat a late supper and shag each other senseless, driven by grief a desire to forget. It would be absolutely amazing. It always was.

But for some reason, she never looked forward to it.

Rather than contemplate those tempestuous thoughts, she walked into her kitchen and pulled out a bag of Italian Roast from her refrigerator. She needed to wake up and jolt her heart out of its semi-catatonic state, and dark roast coffee always did the trick.

You haven't failed me yet, she thought as she poured the grounds into the paper liner. So don't even think about letting me down now.

*

"This is probably the best coffee I've ever had in my life, and I don't even like coffee," Ginny said, smacking her lips together as she sipped from the crimson mug. Hermione looked at her friend and glowed.

"I knew I'd eventually convert you," she said, a wide smile on her face as she inwardly rejoiced. It was a seemingly small thing, but Hermione had been offering her friend coffee for years. To be taken up on the offer and get a positive response was more than she could possibly have hoped for.

Especially when Ginny had showed up late and in a foul mood to boot. Someone in the Weasley clan always managed to get Ginny in a snit before she 'abandoned' her family, as Molly had so kindly put it that first year.

The two women sat cross-legged on Hermione's sitting-room floor, both looking like they'd just gotten out of bed, even though it was almost three in the afternoon. Their hair was unkempt, their clothes slightly wrinkled, and there were the faintest hints of tear streaks on both their cheeks. The memorial issue had long since been placed in the bin with its predecessors, the tears had been shed, memories shared, and the girls had moved into their traditional fourth phase of the late afternoon – chocolate and coffee. Hermione had brewed another batch of Italian Roast after finishing the first pot off herself, and Ginny, surprisingly, had asked to try some.

"It's rather unusual for a non-coffee drinker to like dark roast," Hermione remarked, sipping from her cup.

"Because it's so dark?" Ginny asked with a cheeky grin.

"Well, yes," Hermione chuckled. "It's not particularly light or sweet in the traditional sense."

"This is somewhat sweet. Very rich, very smooth," Ginny remarked.

"Well, it's Italian Roast. It's the darkest of the dark roasts, and the most intense, but it does have a subtle sweetness to it that the other darks lack."

"What other roasts do you like?" Ginny asked.

"I prefer a coffee that is... rich, sophisticated, intense but with a subtle sweetness that can... creep in around the edges," Hermione started, her mouth quirking upwards in a smile. "The Viennese Roast is dark but quite mild, really, and very rich. It's quite good. French Roast is the most popular dark roast, but I don't like it; it's too spicy for me, though the smooth texture is nice. And Porto-Fino is another Italian that is a blend of South and Central American coffees; it's quite intense, as far as dark roasts are concerned, but it has a remarkably lighter flavor to it." Hermione shrugged. "That was probably more than you want to know, but the gist of it is that I like Italian Roasts."

Ginny smiled. "You and your coffee. You are so not English, you know that, right?"

"I like tea," Hermione insisted, feigning insult. "I just prefer coffee. Tea doesn't have enough of a kick, and I find it to be quite thin, not at all interesting."

"Yes, you like your drinks sophisticated, rich, smooth..."

"You make it sound like I'm looking at the singles advertisements in the Muggle papers, Gin!" she laughed.

"Don't you?"

"Absolutely not."

Ginny shrugged but had a rather indecent look on her face. "You can look, you just can't touch. That description certainly doesn't fit my brother – he's not rich, and he's certainly not anywhere near sophisticated or smooth."

Hermione lifted her eyebrows. "He's never been any of those things, not that I expected anything different." But do I want...

Ginny remained silent for a moment. "Are you sure about it?"

Hermione inhaled sharply. Ginny's tone was casual, but her eyes were sharp, piercing – like a Legilimens interrogating his or her witness. Hermione knew her mind hadn't been breached – and she was certain that Ginny didn't (yet) have the skill to do so – but her senses were on high alert. What is she playing at?

"Am I sure about what?" she asked flatly, trying to keep her tone level.

"The engagement," Ginny said automatically, eyes still locked on Hermione's. "Are you sure it's not too soon?"

Bugger.

She and Ron had been engaged for several months, and Hermione had had the distinct feeling that several of her friends did not approve. Namely, Ginny and Luna. Luna had approached her that first week and asked her various questions, questions she was sure Ginny was about to launch into. It's too soon, you need time apart, do your futures line up...

Complete tripe.

Hermione had no idea why Ginny didn't approve, as it was her brother Hermione was engaged to, but she knew she was certain to find out.

What had Ginny asked? Is it too soon?

Right. She knew the answer to this question.

She breathed in slowly and collected her thoughts. "How exactly is it 'too soon?' We've been friends for a decade, and your mum claims that we've been 'destined' for each other since the beginning. It's also been three years since we graduated, and those are three years we've been in a very serious, very exclusive relationship. He's twenty, I'm twenty-one, we've got our careers established and coming along nicely – so I confess, Gin, I fail to see how it's possibly 'too soon,'" she said, trying to keep the bite out of her voice.

"Your – infallible – logic aside, Hermione, have you listened to your heart lately?" Ginny asked, leaning back on her hands.

Leave it to Gin to cut through the bullshit and get to the bottom of the issue.

Hermione gave an uneasy smile, trying to mask the uneasy churning in her stomach.

"Have I said anything lately to lead you to believe that I don't love your brother, Ginny? Because there could be nothing further from the truth."

"No," Ginny immediately agreed. "You love Ron. Ron loves you. But I don't see evidence that you're in love with each other... yet."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Ginny beat her to it.

"And shagging does not mean you're in love."

Hermione closed her mouth. Ginny gave her saucy 'I know I'm right' grin.

"Well, well," she said, trying to catch her breath. "I never thought I'd see the day that Ginevra Weasley would try to talk me out of marrying her own brother."

"I'm not trying to talk you out of it. I'm trying to talk you into waiting. There's a difference."

Hermione sighed. "If we know we'll marry each other, why wait?"

"Because there's so much to go through first! And not just getting your careers under you," Ginny said, leaning back against a chair, her hands wrapped around her mug of steaming coffee. "There are fights to have, issues to work through... We know you're compatible as friends, and maybe you're even compatible in bed, I really don't want to know, but do either of those things mean you can build a life together?"

"Yes," Hermione said automatically. "We want the same things out of life..."

"Which are?" Ginny challenged. "Ron wants a family."

"So do I!"

"He wants one right away. Are you willing to start having children within a year of getting married?"

"Well – no..." Hermione stammered.

"And you want to travel first, yes? You've always talked about living on the Continent for a while. Do you think Ron will take kindly to that idea?"

"He'd wait," Hermione said frankly, looking Ginny right in the eye, giving her best 'I know I'm right' look.

"Yes, he would," Ginny said softly after a moment. "He'd wait for you; he's convinced there's no one else for him."

And what goes unsaid is that I know Ron isn't the only person out there for me.

Hermione sighed. "I love Ron," she said. But am I in love with him? She shook the thought from her head but not before the thoughts flew across her face. She stared at the floor stubbornly.

"No one's questioning your love and devotion to each other, Hermione. You're best friends, everyone knows it."

"And doesn't everyone want to marry their best friend?" Hermione asked quickly.

"I'd rather not marry you, darling; I'm pretty sure we wouldn't be compatible in bed," Ginny deadpanned, sipping her coffee.

Hermione burst out laughing. "Okay, who doesn't want to marry their best friend of the opposite sex?" she emphasized.

Ginny shrugged. "That's probably Neville, and we'd be right awful for each other, let me tell you."

"Ron and I work, Gin, and we've worked well – well, mostly well – as a team for over a decade. Not everyone finds that," Hermione insisted, trying to quell the doubts that were rising in her – that had been rising in her since Ron proposed. The nagging voice that said 'More time! I need more time!' was getting louder by the second.... Damn it all, why did Ginny have to voice her concern?

"What you have is a beautiful thing, that's true," Ginny acknowledged, snapping Hermione out of her mental flurry. "But to find a compatibility beyond friendship... a compatibility that transcends the familiar into the unknown and to desire it anyway... to find that depth of understanding on a spiritual level, to be so drawn to someone you couldn't stand the thought of being separated, to be in a room with them and have a near-magnetic attachment... that is something else entirely. And that is something I don't think you and Ron have," she finished quietly, looking her friend straight in the eye.

Hermione broke the gaze and stared into her coffee. "That sounds like obsession."

"Or being in love."

"Not all of us can be you and Harry. We all want different things out of love, Gin."

"You think you want a friendship-based love. You think you want Ron. And maybe you do." Ginny shrugged. "But I think you need something else entirely."

"What we want and what we need are two very different things, Ginevra," Hermione said quietly.

"Yes, and typically that phrase is used to indicate that a person should pursue a need before a want... so why are you so hell-bent on putting this want of yours above everything else? Do you think you're not built for a Grand Passion-type love, dear?" Ginny asked kindly.

No, I don't.

Hermione sighed. "I'm the brains, darling. I'm the bookworm. I'm the academic, I'm studious..." She trailed off, chuckling. "Not typical descriptors for a person built for a Grand Passion thing, if you know what I'm saying." She sighed. "And why are we having this conversation anyway? Ron and I are getting married within the year."

"Are you? You haven't set a date yet. And when I say you, I mean you, Hermione. Ron would elope tomorrow if you asked him."

She inhaled sharply. Yes, Ron was more than willing to drop everything and get married now. And, like Ginny said, that would mean a baby within the year. Fuck it all, she didn't want to be a mother yet.

"You said you were trying to convince me to wait, Gin, but the more you talk it sounds like you think Ron and I should just break it off."

Ginny shrugged. "I'm just trying to talk some sense into you before you go off and make a mistake."

"Marrying Ron would be a mistake?"

"Marrying Ron right now would certainly be a mistake. Maybe later it would work." She sighed. "Or not. It depends. But I do think you've got a lot of self-searching to do before you go off and hitch yourself to my brother and bring a child into this world. You'll make a good wife and mother, Hermione, just... maybe put it off a bit."

They sat in silence for several minutes, digesting what was being said.

What if she's right? I've hardly even thought about Ron today... and Grand Passion is not the thing we have... Am I in love with him? ... Oh, sod it.

Enough, Hermione. Enough.

"Are you trying to spare Ron or spare me?" she asked Ginny, her voice steady.

"I'm trying to spare both of you, but he would never listen to any of this, mainly because most of my concerns deal specifically with you and how you need to wait."

"So Ron's ready for marriage?" Hermione asked.

Ginny laughed. "Ron was born ready for marriage. He's lost if you put him out to pasture by himself."

Hermione couldn't help but chuckle. "Too true."

Ginny leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees. "Just think about it, please? I'd love it if you got married, but I don't want you to get married because you feel like that's the only place this relationship can go."

Hermione nodded slowly. Think about it. I can think about it. "I... appreciate your thoughts, Gin. Remarkably objective, considering Ron's your big brother."

Ginny shrugged. "I love him, and that means I want what's best for him. I love you, and I want what's best for you. Fact is, I don't think it's in either of your best interest to get married right now. But I'll drop the subject, let you think on it for a while. And it's not like you're not a member of the Weasley clan already. And you and Harry are practically brother and sister, so we'll be in-laws anyway."

Hermione grinned. "Has he proposed yet?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "He'd better do it soon."

"He will if he knows what's good for him."

"If he doesn't want to be impotent until our wedding night," Ginny said, dead serious. "I think he's waiting for me to finish my internship at the Ministry, but that won't be done for another year and a half, and if I have to wait much longer it's" – she slid her finger across her throat – "for our sex life. And I don't think he'd like that too much, so it might be just the impetus I need to get him off his arse and to the jewelry store."

"The Bat-Bogey won't work?" Hermione asked.

Ginny shook her head. "He's gotten very good at deflecting it."

Hermione did not want to know why Harry had gotten good at deflecting it. For that matter, she didn't want to know about Harry and Ginny's sex life. Or impending lack thereof.

As she opened her mouth to change the topic, she heard Ginny beat her to it, only what came out of her mouth wasn't quite what Hermione expected.

"Is that Viktor's owl?" Ginny asked incredulously, pointing to the window.

Hermione's jaw practically dropped as she saw the mahogany-colored owl swoop in and drop a letter in her lap. "Thank you..." Hermione started, but the owl flew out the window, not waiting for a reply.

"Is it Viktor's owl?" Ginny repeated, looking slightly excited, anxious, and entirely too saucy for her own good.

Hermione nodded. "Yes. I haven't heard from him in months; I wonder what the occasion is."

"Right, well, you read the letter; I need to go use the loo," Ginny said, scrambling off the floor and straightening her clothes as she walked into the hallway.

Hermione tore open the envelope and pulled a short note out. Then again, this was Viktor. His notes were always short.

Hermione,

Viktor

She clasped her hands to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock and joy.

You're alive. Oh, thank Merlin in Heaven, you're alive!

She didn't expect the tears to come pouring down her cheeks, but they did. A sense of vindication swept over her... vindication that her hunch was correct... joy that he was indeed alive and seemingly all right... and an inexplicable sense of relief, like somehow the world was right again, that the pain of what had been unmade with the War had been lessened, that the edge had been taken off, that there was some kind of... hope.

Hermione's heart clenched so tightly she put her hands to her chest. Paris. He was in Paris. He was close – so very close...

The tears kept pouring and her breath came quickly; her heart felt like it was going a mile a minute.

I'm going to Paris.

*

I hope you are all enjoying it thus far! :-)