Ten

Summary: Neville, Snape and Hermione return to Hogwarts after the summer. Some things have changed in the post-Voldemort world – how do they cope? (Response to prompt 12 on the Potter Place Fall Challenge Prompt List.)

A/N: Huge, enormous, massive thanks and homage to Subversa for her tireless encouragement and meticulous beta-reading.

Chapter 10

Mid-November was miserable: chilly, wet and foggy. The weather was entirely appropriate to the next event hosted by the school, a ceremony to unveil the portraits of Hogwarts' own who had died in the final battle of the war. The school gathered silently in the Great Hall along with assorted dignitaries and family members of the people being commemorated. Professor McGonagall gave a moving speech about sacrifice and sketched the life of each of the dead heroes as their portraits were uncovered. Colin waved cheerfully from his picture at his brother, Fred leaned on the frame giving his trademark smirk, Remus and Tonks were painted together, looking regretfully but fondly down at their infant son nestled in his grandmother's arms. At Harry's insistence, there were even portraits of Moody and Dobby, and Dumbledore had been carted down from the Headmistress' office to participate. The mood was sombre.

Hermione and Harry stuck by Ron and Ginny. The pair of them were reliving their grief over their brother, Harry and Hermione hardly less miserable than they. Mr and Mrs Weasley were standing in front of Fred's portrait with a monosyllabic George, once more receiving condolences for the loss of their son. At last there came a lull in the traffic surrounding them. Ron had been in whispered consultation with Hermione and, seizing both the opportunity and her hand, finally approached his parents. Molly and Arthur greeted them both affectionately; Molly was pale and a little tearful, but she was glad to see them both and went so far as to call Hermione her 'almost' daughter, "But not an 'almost' for long, either, dear?" she prompted, looking from her to Ron hopefully.

"Actually, Mum," said Ron, clinging tightly to the lifeline of Hermione's hand, "we've decided not to get married. You see – "

"Not?"

"No, Mum, you see, Hermione and me, we're just friends, and that's all we're ever going to be, because, well, you see, I'm..." He trailed off in the face of her obvious consternation. Hermione nudged him, but before he could draw breath, portrait-Fred guffawed.

"Here's a corker," he said conversationally to George. "Ickle Ronniekins is about to come out to Mum."

"'Bout time too," replied George automatically.

"We both knew," said the twins, together, "Dad suspected," they continued as though they had rehearsed it, "and it seems our Hermione's found out and told Ron what's what!"

"Hiya, live George," said Fred.

"Hiya, dead Fred," replied George with half a smile and his eyes moist.

Light was slowly beginning to dawn on Mrs Weasley's face. She didn't know whether to be disappointed and shocked with Ron, angry with Arthur, who had laid an encouraging hand on Ron's shoulder which sagged in relief, or overwhelmed with joy that George seemed at last to be coming out of the semi-catatonic state he'd been in for months. She looked around at them all, and at Harry and Ginny, who had joined them, and began to weep. Arthur gathered her in his arms.

"There, there, Mollywobbles," he murmured into her hair as their children gathered round.

Hermione couldn't take any more. Giving Ron's hand a brief squeeze – he was over the most difficult bit now – she slipped through the crowd and out of the Great Hall.

Her departure did not go unobserved. Professor McGonagall watched with concern as Hermione left, looking very pale, but she could not follow, trapped as she was in yet another pointless discussion with the Minister. Five minutes later, Severus exited unobtrusively.

She had not gone very far. He found her on a bench in the rose garden, surrounded by the nearly leafless bushes sporting a few last dull-looking rosehips. She was sitting with her knees drawn up to her chin, her arms wrapped around them. Her eyes, huge and shadowed, stared sightlessly over the lake as tears ran silently down her cheeks. She didn't acknowledge him as he sat beside her, and for some time they remained silent. Eventually, Severus proffered a handkerchief.

"Thank you."

They were silent again.

"You should go back inside, to your friends, Miss Granger," he said at last.

"Not all of my friends are inside," she replied, still not looking at him.

Such a simple statement to take his breath away so completely.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked her.

"I – " She began again. "That's the thing about a fresh start: you get to leave things behind. The loss, the pain, the fear. You get to have some fun. But the world changes and some of the good things get left behind, too, like expectations, hopes, people..."

"I saw something going on with the Weasleys – you've broken up with their boy?"

"Not really. We weren't really together. Ron needed me there when he told his parents he's gay..."

That surprised Severus and warmed him despite the frigid November weather.

"...but they're so disappointed, and they know I won't ever be a part of their family now, not really, not like Harry, not as everybody expected. And with my parents gone too, I'm..." She paused again. He waited. "...alone. And afraid." She sniffed. "I needed some time to come to terms with it. That's why I'm out here."

"Why are you taking flying lessons?" he demanded suddenly. "I know you can fly – you did so in your first year, even though you hated it."

"The fear. I thought, maybe if I could face my fear of just one thing, I could break the habit." Hermione looked at him seriously. "Of all people, you know what it is to live in fear the whole time. I've covered it with bravado, but since the end of the fourth year, I've been terrified most of the time. Most of the things I was afraid of happened; some things happened that I hadn't even thought to be afraid of until afterwards; we defeated the worst. But I'm still afraid, and I want it to go away."

"In time, Miss Granger, it will. Have patience. You will find other things to take its place and make you happy." Though it was unlikely that he would figure very largely in her future, he reflected sadly. The dank, misty weather and the fading light were affecting them both, he realised. He stood and held out his hand. "You're freezing. Come with me."

Severus' living room was welcoming after the chill outside and the dark castle corridors. Hermione sat and watched as he bent over the fire, mulling some wine to warm them both. Her hand was already warm from being engulfed in his the entire way to his quarters; her heart, too, was warmed by the contact, by the care he had shown for her. He sat back and offered her a mug of the spiced wine.

"It'll make me sleepy," she warned.

"Doesn't matter. There are no lessons today – you'll be able to sleep it off in your dorm behind closed curtains, and none the wiser."

They inhaled the sweet fragrance and sipped in silence, enjoying the companionship. Hermione felt herself getting heavier, settling back into the comfortable old sofa cushions.... Someone knocked at the door, startling them both.

Severus looked around, a little wildly. There was nowhere Hermione could be comfortably concealed except – he pulled her to her feet and pushed her through the door into his bedroom. Promising to get rid of whoever it was quickly, he locked the room. She was left facing the door, her steaming mug still in her hand, feeling a little dazed. She looked around. Severus Snape's bedroom was as austere as his living room was comfortable and chaotic. The wide bed was covered with a simple green quilt, and a blanket was folded at the foot for extra warmth, if needed. There was a wardrobe, a mirror, a bedside table, and a small rug on the stone floor by the bed. That was all. Another door proved to lead to the bathroom. He even favoured black towels, she was amused to see. She wandered back and put her ear against the door to the living room, and as she listened to the hum of voices, her expression darkened. Aurora Sinistra had come calling and didn't sound as though she was going to be dislodged any time soon. Well, with Hermione trapped in the bedroom, at least they wouldn't be getting that far, she thought a little spitefully. But then, neither would she. Having nowhere else to sit, she perched on the edge of the bed and picked up the book lying on the little table. It was the volume of verse from which he'd read to her. It fell open at a poem of magical transformation and love lost and found:

"I went out to the hazel wood,

Because a fire was in my head,

And cut and peeled a hazel wand,

And hooked a berry to a thread;

And when white moths were on the wing,

And moth-like stars were flickering out,

I dropped the berry in a stream

And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor

I went to blow the fire aflame,

But something rustled on the floor,

And some one called me by my name:

It had become a glimmering girl

With apple blossom in her hair

Who called me by my name and ran

And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering

Through hollow lands and hilly lands,

I will find out where she has gone,

And kiss her lips and take her hands;

And walk among long dappled grass,

And pluck till time and times are done

The silver apples of the moon,

The golden apples of the sun."

Hermione read on.

It took a good hour to get rid of Professor Sinistra, at the end of which time Severus unlocked his bedroom and went in to find Hermione curled up fast asleep, his book held loosely in her hand. He looked down at her for a long moment and then, unable to help himself, took off his shoes and stretched out next to her, gathering her to him as if there were no more precious thing in the universe.

Hermione woke in dim candlelight to find herself nestled snugly against her professor's side, the blanket covering them both. When he felt her breathing change, his arm tightened around her. In response, she drew closer to him, flexing the arm she had stretched across his stomach. Eventually, she raised her head and met his eyes. They stayed like that for what seemed a very long time, lost in each other's gaze, breathing each other's breath.

"Go, Hermione," he said at last, softly, shattering her heart. "Go back to your dormitory and your friends. I'm not what you want."

Her eyes filled with tears as she clung to him, but he gently prised her hands away and sat her up.

"Just go, Hermione," he said again.

She paused at the door, looking back to where he sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.

"I may come and see you as usual, mayn't I?" she asked forlornly, knowing what the answer would be.

"That would not be wise."

Turning to go, she missed the look of naked grief and longing on the face he lifted to watch her.

For a second time, Hermione warded herself behind the curtains of her bed. This time, however, she was beyond tears. Surely she could not have been mistaken in what she had seen when he had looked at her and held her? Surely not. Definitely not. So why had he sent her away? Hadn't they crossed any student/teacher line long ago? Wasn't she an adult, well over age? She was rocking, her arms tightly bound around her body to hold in the panic and pain that threatened to escape. She had to calm down, to think. She forced herself to take a deep, shuddering breath, then another, until her body lost some of its rigidity. Severus wanted her – she had to anchor herself to that belief – so why had he turned her away? What had he said? He wasn't what she wanted? If he believed that, then he was so very wrong. Why would he say that? Did he think himself too old? too corrupt? too bitter? His age was a ridiculous consideration, in her opinion. Twenty years was far from insurmountable. As for the second, he had the purest, bravest heart she had ever encountered, hidden beneath the crabby exterior. But life had used him badly, had forced him to be distrustful and suspicious; everyone he had known for a long time had either hated him or used him, sometimes both. She had to find a way to convince him that he, flawed as he was – not some image they had played at creating – was exactly what she wanted, for her entire happiness was at stake. More importantly, so was his. Stupid, arrogant man, to think he could tell her what she wanted....

Hermione's Gryffindor determination was beginning to reassert itself and bring a spark of hope. She scrabbled for those lists she had written so long ago and re-read them by wand-light. Trivial stuff. She erased them all and began again, and on a single list under the heading, "What I want", she wrote two words. She had an idea, and she would gamble everything on a single throw.

During the weeks that led up to Christmas, Hermione's friends noted a change in her. It wasn't so much in what she was doing – she kept to the patterns she had established during the first weeks of term, taking whatever life had to offer her, relishing the company of her friends, soaking up whatever knowledge came within her sphere. Yet there was a difference. She seemed almost to be waiting for something, though nobody knew what, and she wasn't telling. They knew she was working on something in secret, but she wouldn't breathe a word about it except to say that it was something deeply personal, so would they kindly mind their own business, and they would all know what it was if it worked. With that, they had to be satisfied. All Hermione's close friends knew what a tartar she could be once crossed over something she had set her sights on. So the time passed. She remained close to Ron, whose secret, thanks to the twins, was well and truly out. Some spiteful things were said about both of them, but she helped him to weather the storm. Apparently he was keeping his parents up to date with his life, for Molly resumed corresponding with Hermione, seeing in her a champion and protector for her youngest boy. The two of them would always be special friends, which made Hermione as much a part of the family as ever, Molly assured her. Hermione assumed that Arthur had managed to talk sense into Molly, as anyone with six sons couldn't really justify being surprised at having one who was gay. For herself, she missed Severus desperately, and watched the loving relationship between Harry and Ginny with jealous fondness, but with her goal in sight, she put off her grieving until such time as it might become necessary.

Severus was lonely again. He had not fully appreciated how the twice-weekly meetings with Hermione had enriched his life. Granted, people were speaking to him again now, but words couldn't begin to describe his indifference, though he forced himself to listen and respond. He castigated himself as an obsessive, perverted old lecher, and told himself he was glad Hermione had obeyed him and stepped back out of his life, yet at the same time the fact that she had done so left him gutted. He saw Hermione at a distance, interacted with her only as much as necessary during lessons, treasured every look and syllable she bestowed on him and every stroke of her pen on parchment, however dry the topic. Pathetic, lovesick mooncalf. There was little left to see out his time each day but to play the game they had started to its finish. There was at least some satisfaction in that. He set himself to charm the women around him, and frankly, in the closed environment of a boarding school, it wasn't difficult. Using the skills he'd perfected as a close companion of Lucius Malfoy, philanderer par excellence, he soon found the offers flooding in. And yet the endgame each time was of no interest. When he thought of how Hermione's small frame had felt in his arms, against his body, he had no desire to follow through with anyone else. He satisfied his need for revenge by letting each of his would-be lovers know exactly why he was not interested; he spared them the humiliation of taking them to his bed first.

Hermione observed. She couldn't know the details, but she did see that the dynamic at the staff table was changing. From fear, anger, distrust and contempt, through a stage of coquetry, on to an offended shoulder being turned, through to a grudging respect for him, she saw Severus change the attitude of his female colleagues and knew that the last stage would never have been reached if he had followed through on his avowed intention to wound. She would say that in general opinion about the dour Potions master was changing. But he seemed indifferent to it all. This worried her, but it also gave her hope.

A/N: The poem is "The Song of Wandering Aengus" by W.B. Yeats.