The Seven Year Sleep

Chapter Three
Leaving on a Jet Plane

LuvSeverus: No, I've never seen Regarding Henry =D I'll definitely look it up though.

Thanks everyone!

Ah... that hit the spot.

Severus, sinking deeper into the hot water that filled the creamy marble bathtub, sighed with deep satisfaction. He leaned back carefully against the back of the tub, and relaxed. He had always enjoyed the luxury of a sit-down bath, especially after coming home from some job or other. It gave him a little bit of alone time, time to be selfish and let his over-worked body retire.

His home here was much more aesthetic, to say the least, than any Severus had had before. After all, Severus had grown up in abject poverty and the rooms at Hogwarts, though comfortable enough, hadn't been the most extravagant. It had been in the dungeons, and always rather dark and gloomy. Despite the fact that he had been widely recognized as an overgrown bat who liked that sort of setting, it wasn't entirely true. He could live with it, but he was human after all. He admired beauty, and living in a beautiful place.

Looking through the flat had been interesting. It was a very nice apartment.

The bedroom he and Miss. Granger (Hermione, he silently reminded himself) must have shared had been large, with floor-to-ceiling windows, decorated in pale apple green and soft creams. He refrained from looking much at the king sized canopied bed.

What was nicest about the flat though, to Severus at least, was the sizeable laboratory slash library that had been installed. He had breathed in hard at the sight of it. It was absolute perfection. There were neat labeled jars full of Potions ingredients on one entire wall, resting on the many shelves that had been built on, heavy black cauldrons sitting on round stones which could be heated up with just a prod of the wand, a desk or so supplied with quills and parchment, and bookcases filled with lovely old tomes, most of which he had bought over the years. Severus had run his fingers lovingly over the cracked leather bindings, inhaling the scent with a splendid feeling rising within him.

It was just unbelievable how right he felt here, and Severus knew that he must have spent most of his time right here in this hallowed place. He smiled at the nubs of wax candles on holders. Though there was obviously electrical lighting all over the flat, Severus had always been partial to plain candles. They gave some atmosphere to the lab.

Soon, Severus had washed his body and drained the water. Draping on the soft black terry cloth robe he had found in a closet and slipping his feet into worn-out bedroom slippers, he opened the door to find Hermione a few steps outside of it. He had been drying his hair with a bath towel, and he raised an eyebrow questioningly at her as he continued his action. He was unnaccountably amused at the flush that stained her face in a quite attractive pink color.

"I'd like to speak to you about something... a lot of things," Hermione said quietly, and Severus nodded. There were a lot of things that had to be explained.

"Would you wait a bit? I'll dress and meet you in the living room."

Hermione simply turned away and walked towards the living room, without another word. Severus looked at her back thoughtfully before going into Hermione's bedroom. There was such a look of sadness upon her features, more than before. He knew it must be hard on her... in a way, the witch had lost her husband, even if Severus was there in body. He dressed quickly, being careful not to stretch his neck too much, and then walked back to the room.

He found her sitting on the couch, petting the orange cat absent-mindedly, the troubled look still on her face. When she saw him, Hermione bit her lip. It must be a habit of hers, Severus thought, when she is anxious.

He sat down across from her, in the leather armchair, and looked at her steadily, waiting for her to begin.

She coughed. "I'm not sure where to start," Hermione began in a low voice. It was difficult for her to speak at all, especially when he looked at her so stoically, as though it didn't matter a particle what she had to say.

"I would like to know a few things," Severus said. "If you wouldn't mind telling me."

She nodded, patting Crookshanks on the head.

"What is my occupation now?" he asked her, thinking it was the safest question.

Smiling she answered, "What else? You adapt old Potions, and make new Potions, and are a widely respected Master. You give lectures, and write articles for Potions Weekly, and other magazines. You make quite a bit of money, as well, but it isn't so much for the money. You enjoy your work terribly, far more than teaching those dunder-heads, as you put it."

He absorbed this fact, and smirked. Yes, it did seem like the kind of job that fit him to a tee.

"What do you do?"

"I make wands," Hermione answered, grinning. "Ollivander needed an apprentice, and it is such a curious, interesting art... I love it very much."

Severus nodded, though he was a bit thunderstruck that she hadn't become an Auror or turned to working for the Ministry. She had seemed the type to follow rules. He decided the next question would come up sooner or later- might as well be sooner.

"I... how did we get married?"

She was quiet for some time.

"I guess you could say we fell in love," Hermione replied after a while, her eyes dreamy.

"I don't understand," he said irritably. "I'm not insulting you, Miss. Granger, when I say that... it's just beyond my grasp to love anyone."

She just looked at him. "Apparently not." She lifted her left hand, where a diamond glittered brilliantly.

He closed his eyes. "I know we're married," Severus said grittily. "But it... to me, right now, it doesn't seem possible. I loved Lily Potter, Hermione. No other woman could possibly compare."

He could see the hurt flutter over her face, and the control it took to not let it flow over.

"Perhaps you're right... perhaps I could never have compared to her," Hermione said sadly.

"At one time, I thought maybe that you did love me. Listen, Severus. I'm going to tell you the truth. Before all this happened, even before you lost your memory, I think perhaps you lost your feelings for me. You had begun to grow distant. We never talked anymore. We argued. To be honest, we weren't very happy the last few months of our marriage." Her head fell down, a tear dropped onto Crookshanks' orange head. He meowed at her, and moved away.

Severus twitched uncomfortably. He didn't mean to make the witch cry.

Her face tilted upwards again. "At any rate, I think it's best we separate. For a while. Maybe permanently," she said, each word careful and slow.

He looked at her hard. Whatever he had been expecting her to say, that hadn't been it. "What do you mean, Miss. Granger?"

"That. Just that. You see me as Miss. Granger now. Even when... if... you get your memory back, I don't believe you love me anymore," she said honestly. "You completely forgot our anniversary. But it isn't just that. I don't hold you accountable for that- you were attacked. I don't know, Severus. You had changed. You weren't the man I loved anymore. I couldn't tell you anymore who you were, because you became a stranger to me even before losing all memory of our past."

She was crying in earnest now.

"I still care about you, I still love the man I married. But we need some time apart... I think we need to relearn each other."

He said nothing, but his heart was beating fast. Too fast. He felt pain clench around it.

"I... I'm going to go now. You can stay in the apartment. I am going to stay with a friend, for now."

Severus watched her as she walked into the bedroom. He followed her, looking on as she put clothes into a traveling bag. "Will we be meeting?"

"If you like."

"I think we have unfinished business," Severus said silkily.

"We'll meet," she said finally. "As friends."

"As friends," he echoed.

He wondered why it felt so wrong.

He wondered why he felt so alone after she had left, carrying in one hand the large orange cat in a large orange carrier, her other hand pulling the case along.

He wondered why he picked up the ring she had left behind, why his fingers had tightened convulsively over it.

He wondered why it felt as if something very substantial had exited the house, and only the shell remained- a large empty shell in which Severus was left to rattle around like a pea in a museum.

He wondered why a single tear dripped down his nose.

He would lie awake all night. Wondering.

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"I can't thank you enough, Ginny," Hermione croaked, crumpling up another tissue and throwing it in the overfilled waste basket beside her. She filled her mouth with the sweet nutty chocolate her sympathetic friend had given her, letting its wonderful taste take off the edge of the bitter sorrow that coated her insides.

The red haired witch patted her hand comfortingly. "It's nothing, Herms," she said brightly. "We don't hang out enough as it is. And my flat is plenty big enough for the both of us."

That was a kind lie. Ginny's flat was tiny, though flawlessly decorated. As a Healer, she didn't have much call to be at home, and being a single woman, didn't care for a large space. It was pretty though, Hermione thought, and reflected the owner quite well. The walls were painted in bright colors, no faded pastels or hint of subtlety. The bedroom was fuschia and white striped, with posters of her favorite band highlighted with big, round lights.

The two witches were going to be sharing the queen-sized bed, but neither minded. They were close friends, and had done so for years at the Weasleys.

"You can stay for as long as you want," Ginny said smilingly. "I'll hardly be home anyway... I'm usually at St. Mungo's."

"I'll be working too."

"It'll be nice having you and Crookshanks around! It's lonely, nights."

Hermione bit her lip. She would have many a lonely night as well. Despite the fact that she loved Ginny like a sister, she wanted a man. One man.

"Oh come off it. Don't start the waterworks again," Ginny advised.

"I'm sorry," Hermione whimpered, dabbing her eye with another tissue. "I can't seem to help it."

Ginny sighed. "He'll come around. He loves you so."

"He doesn't anymore."

"Bullocks. A love like that can't die, Herms."

"I don't know, Ginny."

"Why don't you write to him? You know how you are boldest with a quill... you can write to each other, before meeting up in person? It might help," Ginny said with a stroke of brilliance. Hermione looked thoughtful, though unsure. "You can write as if to yourself, about the last seven years. All the important things, and choose to send it later if you want."

“I’ll think about it.”

Ginny yawned then. “Well, I’m beat... long shift today. I’m going to turn in. If you need me, just give me a good shake.” She sank into the bed thankfully, drew the covers around her.

“Okay... and thanks, Ginny.”

“Night, Herms.”

“Night.”

She heard Ginny’s soft snores a minute later, and smiled. The poor witch must have been dead tired... Hermione sighed. She just couldn’t sleep. Perhaps she would write. It had been a good suggestion.

She crept out of the bed, turned on the little lamp. Hermione found parchment in the small desk by Ginny’s bed, and a quill. Dipping her pen in the emerald green ink, she began to write.


September 14

It began in spring, as many a romance does. Cliched, isn’t it? But like lovers before us, we were convinced we were the first, the only ones to love as we loved.
In a way, I suppose our entire story is just one bad cliche.
You, the tall dark wizard who refused to believe in love.
Me, the bookish witch who believed too much.
We fell in love that spring, seven years ago.
Seven times spring has come and gone again.

I will tell you, as best as I can, how it all happened. As though you were a mere stranger. It is simpler that way.

The war had ended. Jubilance reigned. Harry Potter was heralded a hero, and Severus Snape, as well. But the Potions Master did not long for glory. He snapped at the reporters who crowded around his hospital bed, threatening to curse their balls off permanently if they came again. They never did. He was tired. Glad, but tired. The last seven years had been quite a hellish ordeal for him. He merely wanted to rest.

But it wasn’t to be so. He had just closed his eyes and sank thankfully into the comfort of the hospital bed when the door opened again.

“Did I not warn you, you thundering thick-skulled maggot?” he hissed, his black eyes flashing marvelously as he sat up in the bed.

“It’s me, Professor,” squeaked Hermione Granger, hiding behind a huge bouquet of ugly flowers.

“Oh god, spare me,” he said, rolling his eyes. “What do you want, Miss. Granger? Make it snappy, I am exhausted and don’t care what you have to say.”

“I just wanted to say.. well, thank you.” She carefully set the bouquet next to the huge pile of others.

“Fine. Goodbye.” He waved a hand at her dismissively.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. He really hadn’t changed, had he? “So I guess you really are a rat bastard?” she mused thoughtfully.

To her surprise, it elicited a chuckle. It was warm and sounded like rich dark chocolate. “I’m afraid so, Miss. Granger,” he said solemnly. His eyes were full of mirth.

“Call me Hermione,” she said impulsively, then flushed. “I mean.. after all, I am not a student of yours any more.”

“No, I guess you aren’t,” he said, running his eyes over her. “You’re all grown up.” She blushed deeper, tucked a curl behind her ear.

Why did she feel a clutch in her lower parts, a tingling in her breasts as he said that? Of course, it might have been that sexy voice... the husky way he had spoken, the intensity of his dark eyes as they ran over her appraisingly. Hermione wanted to feel him whisper against her skin.

“Don’t get ideas, Miss. Granger. I don’t date.” Severus looked amused.

“Why?” she shot back, stung. “Are you afraid?” Her voice was taunting, her eyes glinted challengingly.

He smirked. “Hardly.”

“Then, why don’t we go for a walk one night? That is,” she said wickedly, raking her eyes over his body similarly, “if you aren’t too old and sickly.”

He bristled at that. “Of course I’m not too old and sickly!”

“Fine. Friday at seven o’ clock. You may pick me up.”

She left him then, left him staring at the door, half-angry, half-amused.

“Touche, Miss. Granger, touche.”