Hilltop Cottage

Hermione didn’t go into work for three days after her row with Severus, for the simple reason that she couldn’t stop crying, she couldn’t eat and at night, she couldn’t sleep. It had taken her all of her effort to Floo a message to work to tell them she was sick with Muggle flu, for which there was no wizarding cure. It seemed plausible and had the added advantage that no one bothered her for fear of catching it.



On the first morning, Hermione had woken up on the kitchen floor, and it took her a moment to remember why she was there. When reality hit her, she was devastated all over again. It felt like she had lost a limb and that nothing would ever be normal again. It didn’t help that everywhere she looked, there were memories of Severus, which would set her off crying all over again.



She still received her mail, and the first letter that she got was from Severus. Her hands had trembled as she lifted the envelope and looked at her name, elegantly written in his angular scrawl on the pale parchment. It still sat unopened on her mantle. She felt weak, and she knew that if she read his words she would be at Spinner’s End before she got to the end of the letter.



But gods, she missed him. Her body ached for his touch, her lips needed his kisses, and she felt hollow and incomplete without him. And yet, he had hurt her deeply by not trusting her, despite everything they had been for each other. At her lowest, Hermione hated him for making her feel like this, hated him for not loving her as much as she had loved him. The more she hated him, the easier it was to function like a human being, so she nurtured the hate and let it blossom until she felt able to face the world again.





***



For someone who had just recently been dumped, Severus was feeling oddly chipper.



After Hermione had left, he had finished his Firewhisky. Then he had resolved, in a drunken haze, to woo her back. He knew that she still loved him, so surely all he needed to do was confess his love, beg for forgiveness, and they could start all over again. Damn it, he’d even appear in public again, if that was what she wanted him to do.



He had started by writing her a long and heartfelt letter. He had been a little hung over at the time, but he put off searching for a potion until he had everything on paper. His first attempt had been thrown into the waste paper basket, his tears making the ink run until the words were illegible. His second attempt was better, and he had found it a strangely cathartic process to pour out his innermost feelings onto the parchment.



‘My dearest Hermione,



I feel I must apologise for what took place here last night. My behaviour was unforgivable, and yet I am writing in the hope that you will find it in your heart to forgive me none the less.



My life before you was nothing. I felt nothing. I had nothing. I thought it was what I wanted. But you changed everything, and I have never been more content than with you in my life.



I know I have been lacking, Hermione. I was never prepared to have a relationship with anyone, as I am sure you know. My expectations were purely selfish; I did not pause to consider your needs. I deeply regret it, my sweet witch. You looked very beautiful when you collected your award, and I was never more proud of you. I should have been with you, and I accept that. It was a mistake I hope you can forgive.



Perhaps you would allow me to accompany you to the next ceremony; for I am in no doubt that you will receive many accolades in the future.



You must know that I do indeed love you, Hermione. I have never spoken those words to anyone, but if you were here with me at this moment, I would hold you in my arms and whisper them to you over and over again.



I love you… I love you, Hermione.



Yours, always,



Severus’



He had posted it immediately, certain that she would respond within the week, either by writing back, or better still, turning up at his door. In anticipation of just such an event, Severus busied himself with sprucing up the house for the first time in years, even buying new net curtains and replacing the threadbare rugs in the front room. He would show Hermione that Spinner’s End, while not a palace, was certainly not a prison.



It was while Severus was fixing the creaking stair that he realised it had been over a week since he’d posted the letter, and still there had been no word from Hermione. He felt a sudden stab of concern, and berated himself for not checking on her. He had no idea how she was feeling, or how she had reacted to the argument, and she had been upset when she left. He was sure that, knowing Hermione; she would have shed more than a few tears.



Severus lowered his wand slowly and stared at the bare floorboards, now fixed. Perhaps the witch was sick. If she was and it was serious, the news would have made the Prophet by now. Maybe she was scared of his response if she just Apparated to his house unannounced, particularly after what had happened the last time.



‘Damn it,’ Severus said out loud. He couldn’t just keep waiting for her. He needed to know that she was all right, and he needed to see her. He missed her, and he wanted her back.



Severus ran up the stairs two at a time and into his room, pulling out a fresh shirt and jacket from the wardrobe. Stepping into the bathroom, he showered using Hermione’s favourite bergamot and sandalwood scented soap, and then dressed quickly.



Instead of Apparating straight to the Cottage, Severus walked to the local florist and bought a bouquet of red roses, then found a quiet, Muggle-free spot from which to Apparate. He aimed for the secluded hedgerow just a few doors down from the cottage, so that he could walk up the front path and gather himself. He would never admit to feeling nervous, but his stomach was bubbling with anticipation as he pushed down the handle of the gate.



He was almost at the front door when it opened and a tall, fair-haired young man stepped out of the house and locked it using the Muggle key. He was carrying a briefcase and a clipboard, and he started slightly as he almost walked into Severus, who was glaring darkly at him.



‘I’m so sorry, sir,’ said the young man. ‘Were you expecting to visit with Miss Granger?’



He smiled warily at Severus, who had pulled himself up to his full height and was giving off an air of intimidation that was making him want to run.



‘Not that it is any of your business, but yes. Who are you?’ Severus said coldly.



‘Sam Parker, from Rowcliffe Estate Agents, in Union Road,’ he said, holding out his free hand. Severus ignored it.



‘Why on earth would Miss Granger need an Estate Agent?’ Severus said.



‘Well, she’s letting out the cottage. Didn’t she tell you? She’s in America now, won’t be back for at least six months, possibly longer.’ Sam stepped back slightly as he watched the change of emotions play across Severus’s face.



Shock and dismay turned to anger in the space of moments, and he stared at the cottage, narrowing his eyes slightly. So the bitch had really left him, with no word and no reply to his letter, which told him only one thing, the most obvious conclusion he could come to.



He had been right all along, of course, and now, she was in fucking America, most likely with her new lover.