Chapter 2: I'm Not Crazy

CHAPTER 2: I'M NOT CRAZY

It was a Saturday morning, but the sky was dark and threatening more rain. Hermione was sitting in the café, staring at the empty chair where she had caught a glimpse of a very authentic Severus Snape look-alike. She had been eating breakfast there each morning that week on the off chance that the man would appear. If she could see him again and confirm that he was not her former professor, then she could avoid all this emotional turmoil.

The past few nights had been spent thinking of nothing but him. She had recalled his memories in detail, remembering the large teardrops that had fallen off the tip of his nose when he had cried in Sirius's old bedroom. His pain had wrenched her heart into tight knots, leaving her falling asleep against a pillow soaked in hot, salty tears. She had spent a solid week after viewing his memories in such a state, but Hermione thought that time had begun to heal those old wounds. Plus, just as she had admitted to Kingsley, she never even knew Severus Snape. Why should his life and death upset her to such an extent?

The teenager manning the register shuffled over to the table beside her and began wiping the crumbs away with a wet cloth. An elderly woman and her daughter usually worked each morning.

"Excuse me," Hermione said softly, lifting a hand to attract the boy's attention.

He turned to her, looking very put out and slightly unhappy. "Yeah?"

"Are you new?"

The boy shook his head and tapped the cloth against his leg, letting the crumbs scatter over the floor. "No, I work in the evenings."

"I moved in down the street not that long ago. I'm actually looking for someone I saw in here one evening."

The boy shrugged. "There are a few regulars in the evenings. Who're you looking for?"

"A man about forty-five years old, shoulder-length black hair, large nose, pale skin, usually wears all black."

"Oh, yeah, him. He's been coming here since I started a year ago, probably even before then."

Hermione gripped the edge of the table and leaned forward. "He comes here often?"

"Every evening at seven o'clock. He usually stays until nine o'clock when we close up. You know him?"

"I wouldn't say that, but I'd like to meet him."

The boy curled his nose up. "He's a lot older than you."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Never mind. Thank you for your help."

She watched as the teenager returned to the bakery case at the back of the store and began rearranging the biscuits on display. Not having an incredibly exciting social life, Hermione had nothing to do on this particular Saturday evening, which meant she could return to meet the mysterious man.

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The day dragged, the minutes slowly ticking away, lasting much longer than they ever had before. She returned to the café well before seven o'clock because she found she couldn't wait in her flat much longer. Hermione was aware the excitement she felt was ridiculous, especially when she knew once she got a good look at the man she would realize his nose wasn't as large and his hair not nearly as greasy as her former professor's. Deluding herself into believing that he was alive would certainly be a mistake.

The sulking teenage boy was still behind the counter, staring at the nearly empty coffee pot. Hermione ordered a large cup of hot chocolate from him. "Long day?" she asked, handing him money for her purchase.

"Double shift," he replied. "My aunt is sick and my cousin's away."

"Sorry."

"You're early." He dropped the change into her open hand.

Hermione smiled nervously. "I know."

"He's not a real nice guy. He just reads a lot. Doesn't talk to anybody." The boy cocked his head at her. "You probably won't like him."

"You're probably right," she conceded, taking her hot chocolate and settling into a table in the far corner of room.

She drank half the cup and tapped her fingers along the polished tabletop while she waited for a familiar face to walk in the door. The café was nearly deserted. There were only two other customers...elderly men...at a table by the window. She could overhear them discussing heart medication and anesthesia. Their mumbled conversation was drowned out by the opening of the door and the sound of rain pounding against the pavement outside.

A tall man stepped inside, brushing the water off his coat. Hermione tried to tilt her head and peer beneath the hood, but it was too deep and the dim light the café afforded was of little help. With his head down, he stepped up to the counter and ordered something in a soft murmur. The boy poured tea from a large, metal pot and slid it across the countertop, accepting the man's money in exchange.

Hermione tracked the mysterious man with her eyes, watching him arrange a newspaper and the cup at the same table as that first night she saw him. Turning his back to her, he slipped the still-wet coat off his head and shoulders, letting it slide down to reveal long arms clad in austere black. She mentally compared him to the picture she held in her mind of Severus Snape. His hair was tied back, but it appeared to be about the same length as Snape's had been before his death. His frame was lanky and tall, though he did not hold himself with the same stiff composure as her former professor.

He dropped the coat on the spare chair and turned around. Hermione moved her eyes up the expanse of his chest, covered in a tatty, black button-up shirt. She gasped when she saw his face and found it to be the very same unhappy and sour face of Severus Snape.

"Oh, Merlin..." Hermione muttered under her breath. Her fingers were curled into tight fists in her lap. As impossible as it seemed, she truly believed Severus Snape was sitting just a few yards from her in a small café in a very Muggle part of the city. He was supposed to be dead; she had watched him die years before. The very thought made Hermione light-headed, and she lifted her shaky hands to clutch at the table.

He obviously had not seen her yet. She had not changed her appearance drastically in the five intervening years. He would surely recognize her if he lifted his head from that newspaper. What could she do? Should she approach him? Should she leave? Should she contact Harry? Hermione knew she had to do something. Forgetting this had ever happened was not an option.

She saw the teenage boy watching her out of the corner of her eye. His sulking attitude had transformed into morbid interest over the drama playing out before him.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione quietly stood and walked over to his table. Her pounding heart felt like it was cutting off her windpipe, and all she could think about was Severus Snape telling Albus Dumbledore that he wanted to die after Lily Potter had been killed.

As she stepped over to his table, he looked up and met her gaze. Hermione opened her mouth and said the first thing that came to mind. "I thought you were dead."

The utter shock that ripped apart his carefully constructed façade was remarkable to see. What felt like minutes passed, but it was, most likely, only a couple seconds before he replied, "You must be mistaken." His voice had not changed over the years. It was like a soothing balm to her aching heart. He was alive; she could help him, and things would be better. He deserved that and more.

"Professor, I..."

"I am not a professor. You've mistaken me for someone else." He rose from the chair. "Excuse me," he mumbled, avoiding her eyes and practically running out of the café. The small bell over the door chimed at his abrupt exit.

Hermione ran after him, stepping out into the thick sheets of rain. The storm had darkened the sky, and she wasn't able to see far in the downpour. After several minutes of pacing up and down two blocks in each direction, looking for any small sign, she returned to the café.

The two elderly men by the window watched her with curious eyes as she wrung her hair out by the entrance mat and wiped her wet face on her already damp shirt. She wanted to snap at them and tell them to mind their own business, but she held her tongue.

"I told you," the boy said when she returned to the table where Snape had been sitting.

Hermione looked up at him, feeling numb and confused. Severus Snape was alive. "What?" she asked, trailing a wet fingertip along the newspaper he had left on the table.

"He's a downright git sometimes. He tips decently, though." The boy paused when Hermione didn't reply. "Do you know him?"

"No," she replied without thought.

The boy shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "It sure sounded like you knew him. You said you thought he was dead."

"I did think that." Hermione shook her head and tore her eyes away from the newspaper to look at the discarded coat. Without hesitation, she snatched it up and checked both pockets for any identification that might tell her where he lived. There was nothing.

"Are you okay?" The boy's voice seemed very far away.

"What? Yes, I'm fine," Hermione answered in an equally distant voice. "Do you know where he lives?"

"No, I don't even know his name."

She nodded and placed the coat back on the chair, turning to leave. "Thank you."

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After leaving the café, she spent another hour searching the surrounding neighborhood for any sign of Severus Snape. She found nothing.

Hermione returned home that night feeling confused and anxious. Despite her curiosity about the mysterious customer at the café, she had not truly believed he would be Snape. The Ministry's investigation had convinced her that there was no possible way he could have escaped with his life. She snorted in laughter at herself as she stepped into the shower stall. Who needed the Ministry's files when she had seen him die with her own two eyes? Harry and Ron had witnessed it as well. His bright red blood spilling over the dusty floorboards of the Shrieking Shack was an image she had never been able to forget. Nor could she forget the moment when life fled him, leaving only glassy eyes, devoid of everything that had made him who he was.

After her shower, Hermione pulled a small phial out of the medicine cabinet and gulped the liquid down. She had forgotten to take the potion before, and it was not an experience she wanted to repeat. She rinsed the empty glass phial out and sat it with the others beside the sink.

For the first night that week, she went to bed without tears. Her discovery had been so unexpected and surreal; she could think of nothing but finding him again and righting the wrongs.

The following morning, she flooed Harry, who came over to speak with her after detecting the urgency in her voice.

"What's wrong, Hermione?" he asked as soon as he stepped out of her fireplace and brushed the soot from his robes.

"You should sit down for this," she replied, all nervous energy and flailing hands.

Harry took a seat on the edge of the couch, watching his friend with trepidation. "Are you okay?"

She stopped pacing. "Snape is alive," she blurted out, whirling around to gauge his reaction.

For a moment, he was unable to respond. "What?" he finally managed to ask.

"I told you I saw someone who looked like Snape at the café down the street. I went back last night to give myself some peace of mind." She sat in the armchair and pressed her hands together. "Harry, it's him. Snape. He's alive. I saw him; I spoke with him."

"Hermione, that's impossible. We saw him die. Kingsley sent out a team of wizards to..."

She waved her hand in the air to dismiss his argument. "I don't care what we saw or what the Ministry's report said. I saw him last night, Harry. He was very much alive."

"I don't...well, I don't see how this is possible. Are you sure the man was Snape?"

"Yes!"

"And did he say anything?"

"Yes! I would recognize his voice anywhere."

"But what did he say?"

Hermione stood and began pacing again. "He denied it, of course. But I know it was him, Harry. I swear it." She reached the window and turned around to retrace her path to the armchair. "We have to find him. He's obviously been living as a Muggle because his wand is buried at Hogwarts in the coffin."

"Hermione, I don't know about this. Are you sure you weren't mistaken?"

"No, I am not mistaken, Harry!" she snapped, flipping her hair over her shoulder in annoyance. "He must think he'd be thrown in Azkaban if he returned. You'll need to speak to Kingsley and have an official pardon written up before he's able to come back."

"But, Hermione, you don't know where he is."

"Don't worry, I'll find him. He must live close to the café because he can't Apparate without a wand."

Harry shook his head at his friend, watching her manic strides across the room. "Maybe you should take me to the café and let me see before we talk to anyone else about this."

"I'm not crazy."

"I know, I know. I just think it would be best to have two witnesses."

She frowned and shoved her fist onto her hips. "You don't believe me."

"Well, it's hard to when I saw him die."

"Fine. We'll go tonight."

---------------------------------------------------

Harry sighed and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in the chair across from Hermione. "I'm worried about you," he said, giving her a grave look.

"Don't start with me, Harry. I saw him here last night."

Ron was sitting at the head of the table between his two friends. He gently patted Hermione's hand. "You're stressed, what with the new flat, your break-up with Lance, and all that pressure from your new position in Improper Use of Magic. He was probably just some poor bloke who looks like Snape, maybe even related to him."

Hermione snatched her hand away and glanced around the empty café. The place was due to close in a few minutes, and the boy behind the register was giving her curious glances when he thought she wasn't looking. "It isn't stress," she said through clenched teeth. "And I don't give a fig about Lance. I broke up with him, if you'll remember. "

Ron shot Harry a meaningful look before turning back to Hermione. "I expect you're still broken up about me, then?" He tried to hide his grin.

"Now you're just being ridiculous. Breaking it off with you was the best thing I've done in my life, Ronald."

He clutched at his chest. "Ouch, 'Mione. I try to cheer you up, and you end up ripping me apart."

She looked down at her lap and tried to stifle the chuckle bubbling up out of her throat. "Oh, please. You were so happy I broke it off that you almost kissed me."

"I always told Ron you were too smart for him," Harry said, smiling at them both.

"Harry, that's mean."

"But true!" Ron added, laughing.

The conversation died out and slowly the smiles faded from all three faces. The boy whom Hermione had spoken to before was shuffling around, wiping the counter and turning off the appliances and lights.

"He's not coming," she whispered, staring out the storefront windows.

"You probably scared him, Hermione," Ron teased. "You ran up to him and told him that you thought he was your dead professor."

"It was Snape." Her voice was firm and confident.

"Hermione, please just sleep on this for a few nights. Ron is right; you're stressed out and seeing things that aren't there. Snape is dead."

She opened her mouth to argue with Harry, but his worried expression stopped her short. "Fine," she said in a soft voice.

Author's Note: If you were among the first few people to read the first chapter, you missed a note I added after the chapter had been posted for several hours. This story ignores the epilogue of DH. I hate it, and I don't want to deal with it. It screws up my happy ending. So, exercise your right to denial and pretend like you never read the epilogue. I know I do.

Anyway, thank you to moonrevel and JenF for their wonderful beta abilities.