Out of the Silent Planet

Title: Out of the Silent Planet (32/39)
Author: moirasfate/ianthe_waiting
Rating: MA/NC-17
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Plot driven smut, Darkfic, Romance, Drama, Angst...
Warnings: M/F, Bondage, slight non-con, voyeurism, oral, anal, Dom/sub issues, Dark!Draco, and HBP spoilers.
Summary: Post-Hogwarts - Hermione Granger fulfills Severus Snape's final wish, to journey to Japan to ‘retrieve' something of importance. Set eleven years after HBP.
Author's Notes: This is my first DM/HG ficlet, so please be kind to the newbie! The title of this fic is taken from C.S. Lewis' book, first in the Perelandra Chronicles.

All hail kazfeist! Uber thanks goes to her for beta-ing this chapter, and for her help in the future!



Out of the Silent Planet
Chapter Thirty-two – Of resolutions and silent planets.



The first owl came three days after the New Year, an elegant eagle owl with a small package dangling from its razor beak. Hermione eyed the owl speculatively as it perched upon the wide sill of her office window reserved for owl post. She paced before the window, casting glances at the single owl on the sill, who waited impatiently, shifting from one foot to the other for Hermione to retrieve the small parcel and let the owl be on its way. It was a busy owl, after all. Finally, Hermione bade the bird to drop the package, take what it wanted of treats, and water set upon a small table near the window. The eagle owl did just that, casting a yellow eye upon the discarded delivery as it took flight into the icy January air.

Hermione moved to the package, pulling her wand from behind her ear and prodding it suspiciously. With a flick, she flipped the card attached to a silken thread over…and read the name penned in ornate copperplate. To Miss H. Granger, Longbottom Apothecaries, London. Due to the green ribbon upon a glossy black box, Hermione had no doubt who had sent the package, and she sneered at it. Summoning a fresh owl, Hermione instructed the Firm’s large barn owl to return the package immediately. And with that, Hermione felt as if a stone had been lifted off her chest. Rejecting Draco Malfoy, in some form or another, seemed to be the only remedy for her failing mood in the past week.

Hermione had berated herself plenty the day after the New Year’s party. She had cried until she was physically ill, burned her dress and shoes from the party in the fireplace of her home, and sat in her favorite chair brooding. She resolved to never cry over Draco Malfoy ever again, she resolved to never let herself get so lost in a person as to lose sight of her own dreams and wishes, and she resolved to never let anyone have so much power over her life as Malfoy had. Of course, she knew it was her fault for letting Draco Malfoy exert so much control over her, whether he had intended to do or not. She simply would not deal with the man any longer. She would not flatter him or herself into thinking that she meant anything more to him than a passing fancy or even an obsession. And the thought that he would start to send her gifts only made Hermione bristle in incredulity.

Hermione’s anger turned to industry, as it often had through many periods of her life, and she abandoned her administrative offices in lieu of the labs. Informing her secretary to send back any packages not clearly marked by a sender, Hermione took up the task of helping her assistants with trials on improving the Blood Replenishing Draught. And as she stirred her variation of the Blood Replenishing Draught in her labs ten floors below her office, seven times clockwise, seven times widdershins, she set her mouth in a harsh line, pressing all the blood from her lips. Draco Malfoy had been an annoyance, a disruption, and nothing more. It was fruitless to consider him at all, and Hermione tried to focus on her trial potion. One stir too many, and Hermione instinctually jumped back from her cauldron as it fizzled and the potion inside evaporated in violent red stream. Cursing under her breath, Hermione wiped a strand of cropped hair behind her ear and looked about the lab. Her assistants, five in all, were all busy working on variations of the same potion, trying to improve the instantaneous effect of replenishment. The original potion did not act quickly enough when it was applied in emergencies. The project was to not only improve the speed of the effectiveness of the potion, but to also make the potion more useful for the many blood types. The original potion worked for every blood type, but at times could not work fast enough to transmute itself to suit every blood type. Just in the Muggle world, certain blood types required that transfusions needed to be of blood of the exact type. This principle had not been synthesized in the Wizarding world as of yet.

Perhaps the most important aspect of testing was the fact that it distracted Hermione from her deepest and most painful thoughts. She had never been one to forgive herself easily, even the simplest mistakes brought about a deep internal berating that would soon seep outward to make Hermione appear as sullen as she felt. Not even maturity could break Hermione of this habit. But Potions seemed to distract her completely, or at least, it usually did. In Potions, mistakes could yield results, happy accidents even, or a new observation on the combination of ingredients. It was a field where mistakes could be forgiven, but it was also a field of an exacting nature where precision, timing, and purity meant the difference between saving or ending a life in the medical applications. In this sense, Hermione could begin to forgive herself in every other way.

Days passed, and Hermione had only set foot in her office once to pen a quick note to a supplier in America for a particular ingredient. Several more days, and Hermione realized while slicing bloodroot that it was nearly February, and nearly a whole month since she had been to visit Millie and the baby. Guilt set in, and instead of planning her next week full of more trials on the Blood Replenishing Draught, she set aside two days to visit Rowena’s Respite. Frank was approaching four months, and Hermione regretted not going to see her godson more often. Therefore, she set out one day after work to look down Diagon Alley for a suitable gift to take the child, more as a penance for herself than to placate a baby.

It being still winter, Diagon Alley was laden with snow banks, the new year being unusually cold and wet, even for London. Hermione was admiring the way the snow fell into the panes of the glass before Quality Quidditch Supplies when she noticed that Ronald Weasley was peering out from the same window at her, frowning.

Hermione could not help but smile when Ron realized he had caught her attention, and then waved her to come inside. Hermione rounded about a gaggle of witches in front of the adjacent shop and made her way into Quality Quidditch, which was thankfully quiet with only a handful of patrons inside. Ron was standing near the counter nodding to the owner of the shop before motioning to Hermione to follow him into the back. Hermione could only remember being dragged into the shop a few times with Harry and Ron during their school days, but she would hardly know that their was a comfy parlor in the back of the shop lined with antique posters of World Cup heroes from decades past. Ron motioned Hermione to sit at a small table near a window looking onto a back garden and poured her a cup of tea.

“How have you been, luv?” Ron asked finally, breaking the silence of the parlor.

Hermione smiled as Ron also poured himself a cup of tea and settled back into his chair across from her.

“Busy. Business bring you to London?” Hermione asked conversationally, lifting her cup of tea to her lips.

“In part, and pleasure. I am assisting the Ministry for the World Cup this year. Britain is hosting again.”

Hermione nodded, her smile beginning to hurt her face.

“You look like hell, Hermione.”

Ron’s blunt statement made her slowly lower her cup to knock against its saucer. She could always count on Ron for such pleasantries…

“You must be working too hard, and too long, luv; I am very familiar with those dark circles under your eyes,” Ron said, smiling.

“Yes, well…” Hermione began.

“Millie tells me you haven’t been to Hogsmeade for many weeks.”

Hermione nodded. “Work. I’ve been in the labs, and I am beginning to think that I want to relinquish all my administrative duties to someone better suited for such things.”

“Maybe you should do that.”

It was at that point, that conversation, even the inane and mundane, dried up, and the pair was left to sip their tea in silence. Hermione remembered all too clearly that this silence was what had marked the end of their relationship, and it pained her.

“I was going to look for something for Frank, I have yet to begin to spoil him,” Hermione laughed halfheartedly, her hand beginning to tremble as she tried to lift her teacup to her lips again. However, as she began to lift the cup, Ron’s large paw of a hand slipped over hers, his fingers gently wrapping about her wrist.

Raising her amber eyes to her old friend, she felt a sob trying to free itself from her chest at the loving expression on Ron’s face.

“I realize that things have not been easy for you, Hermione, and that I should have tried to at least be a friend instead a total arse after the War… I suppose I was selfish, thinking that if I did not have to see you that I would be able to change myself, find the strength to make amends for all the horrible things I said to you in the end… But I was just a coward, after all.”

“I had forgiven you years ago, Ron. It was not just you, and it was not only your fault.”

“I know… And the only reason I am brining it up now is that I know that something has shaken you, luv. And as much as you are fighting to get your bearings back, you are still shaken. I know I haven’t been so good a friend as to ask what it is that has you so indecisive, or why you’re working yourself into early retirement, but I do hope that you will come to me if you ever need me…”

Hermione could not look at Ron. If even he could see her pain, her confusion, and her indecisiveness, maybe her resolution to live a life without Draco Malfoy was not ever going to happen. What could she do then?

“I will, Ron, and thank you.”

She patted the back of Ron’s palm with her free hand, trying her best not to cry, collapse and tell him everything she had kept bottled inside for so long. Even if she did confide in him, what could Ron do?

Nothing. There was nothing to do, nothing that anyone other than Hermione Granger could remedy. And there was the question of what was there to remedy? Draco Malfoy was not a man who would cherish her like Ron had tried to do all those years ago. Draco Malfoy was not a man who would care about her work or her ideas like Severus had. And Draco Malfoy was not a man Hermione could ever feel completely safe with, no matter how civil he might appear in public. The thought of having Draco Malfoy Obliviated from her thoughts had crossed her mind more than once, but Hermione was never one to take an easy way out…

No, Hermione Granger was a fighter, and no matter how difficult life could be, she would take up the challenge and with time, come out in the end.

Making her goodbyes, Hermione promised to owl Ron, and returned to her quest on finding a gift suitable for a four-month-old child.

* * *


Three days after meeting with Ron, Hermione was called away from the labs at the request of her secretary ten floors above. Hermione’s secretary, Melinda, was the type never to bother Hermione for trivial matters. Hermione and Melinda’s relationship as employer/employee had never become more personal than that clear delineation. Therefore, when Melinda summoned Hermione to return to her office, Hermione knew that the matter was important and when she arranged herself the best she could in her office, Melinda politely knocked on the office door and let a guest inside.

The man who stood before Hermione Granger unsettled her to her very core and with a soft voice, Hermione asked Toku Matsumoto to sit down. When the older man hesitated, Hermione wondered if the elder Matsumoto understood English, but slowly, he sat, smoothing out a wrinkle in his gray flannel suit, placing a leather briefcase on his lap. The last time Hermione had seen Toku Matsumoto had been at the ryokan and the man had been dressed formally and in Japanese fashion. To see the man in Western clothes seemed horribly out of place to Hermione, and slowly she studied the man’s kind face. He was the last person Hermione could ever imagine meeting with her in her office in London.

“Surely my arrival and request to meet with you, Miss Granger, comes as a surprise?” Toku asked politely in slightly accented English.

“Forgive me, Mr. Matsumoto. It is a surprise, and an honor. What can I do for you, sir?” Hermione asked quietly, settling back into her chair, ignoring the prickling of the hairs standing on end on the backs of her arms and neck.

“I have come to see you for two reasons, Miss Granger, the first having to do my grandson, the second with my grandson’s father,” the elderly man intoned discreetly, his dark eyes fixing upon Hermione. “I have just come from speaking with Headmistress Minerva McGonagall and the Board of Governors. My grandson is to tender his resignation, effective at the end of this term.”

The gravity of Toku Matsumoto’s words seemed to slam into the forefront of Hermione’s brain. And slowly, she remembered Toku Matsumoto’s words to her at the ryokan. He had said several years before that Yuki was not to come to Britain, but he had. Slowly, the reason why Toku Matsumoto needed to inform her of Yuki’s resignation made sense.

“Our family finally has the leverage to keep my grandson from shaming himself and our family’s name. This leverage was given to us by Master Ryu, pardon me, Mr. Malfoy.”

Hermione blinked. “How? If you do not mind me asking?”

Toku Matsumoto smiled, but Hermione could see just beneath the veneer of the elderly man’s politeness that he was not pleased with his forthcoming explanation.

“Mr. Malfoy has invested a great deal of money to keep our inn from becoming dilapidated and lost to bankruptcy. In the past few years our inn has been suffering financially, due in part to the fact that word somehow got to the Japanese Ministry that we had harbored British war criminals. Of course, those criminals were exonerated, but rumors began to circulate that our family was corrupt and disreputable. Over six hundred years before the Matsumoto family had to endure other damaging accusations, and only through my ancestor’s perseverance and good business sense was our lands and inn saved. This time, however, Mr. Malfoy saved our family as repayment of his debt to us. He made only one request, one that we were glad to honor, and that was to take my grandson back to Japan. There, my grandson will take up his family responsibility as the proprietor of our inn, an obligation he cannot refuse.”

Hermione sighed softly. She could see the threads of Malfoy’s thinking wrapped all about Toku Matsumoto’s words. The validity of the threat he had made at her to stay away from Yuki Matsumoto was no longer there, and somehow, deep inside, Hermione was relieved. It was not as if she hated Severus’ son, but it was not as if she wanted him in her life either. The man simply made Hermione uncomfortable, and it was not simply because he was Severus’ son, but it also had much to do with Draco Malfoy and Hermione’s conflicted emotions.

“Again, I apologize for any pain my grandson may have caused you,” Toku whispered, bowing in his seat and slowly lifting his eyes to Hermione again.

“No, Mr. Matsumoto, you are mistaken. Yuki has been nothing other than kind and friendly with me. In better times and situations, I would hope that he and I could have been better friends.”

As Hermione said this, she knew it was the truth. There were so many things that could have been different concerning her feelings for Severus’ son, but the time and circumstances had not been right. Hermione sat back deeper into her chair, her thoughts beginning to pull her away from her current company.

“The second reason why I have come, Miss Granger, has to do with an item that my mother and daughter would like you to have,” Toku Matsumoto continued, moving to open the briefcase on his lap. The clicks of the latches brought Hermione back to the present, and she watched in puzzlement as the gentleman pulled out a bundle, wrapped in a swath of elegant ivory silk, setting it upon Hermione’s desk, just within her reach.

“I realize that the diaries Severus Snape left for you to find were destroyed. Hanako informed us soon after my grandson and Mr. Malfoy burnt them. However, this is one has escaped the fire and the notice of the two young men.”

Hermione suddenly could not breathe. She hesitantly grasped at the silk, pulling the bundle toward her and slowly fumbled with the knot. Inside was a single slim volume, a book written on rice paper with a Japanese brush, Hermione noticed as she opened the cover to the front page. It was written in Japanese, and as far as Hermione could tell, the book had no enchantments on it whatsoever.

“Lady Fuumi wishes you to read this book, for she believes it the most important of all the books Master Severus left this us for safekeeping. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I must Floo to Heathrow for an afternoon Portkey back to Edo.”

Hermione stumbled as she rose to bow to Mr. Matsumoto, so confused by what had just transpired in its entirety. Toku Matsumoto left with an entreaty that she visit the ryokan soon, saying that she would always be welcomed. Hermione stared at the office door a long time after the gentleman’s departure, unsure of what to think, say, or do. The brief meeting had unsettled Hermione, but not so much as the fact that one remaining diary in Severus Snape’s hand was waiting for her to decipher and peruse.

Taking the rest of the day off, Hermione Apparated back to her cottage, the diary tucked under her cloaked arm, and immediately set down to translate the volume and perhaps find a new peace at reading Severus’ words.


* * *

I have been distracting myself with working out new theorems and equations concerning the improvement of many mundane Potions. Much of this distraction is facilitated by the Matsumoto’s extensive library at the ryokan. I had forgotten how large the library was when Kaede and I first found solace there. Those were halcyon days, when I thought that my life might mean something more than what it has come to be. And in some ways I am glad that Kaede had not lived to see me as I am now. I know she would not be ashamed of me, but she would be repulsed, and that perhaps is worse than shame.

D has finally fallen asleep, after many days of maniacal raving, cursing, and expending whatever magical frustrations upon the warded walls of his cell. Kaori has finally found a way to put up Silencing wards strong enough upon the room so not as keep the household awake all night.

I cannot convey my fears in coherent words, nor my worry. D is unstable and inconsolable. The physical damage has been healed, but the mental and emotion wounds may never heal. The best I could hope for is for D to fall into some sort of eternal sleep, and never have to wake into his harsh reality. He is simply mad, and there is nothing I or the family can do to make him otherwise. We can only try to make him comfortable.

It surprises me still that the boy has not given up his will to live. After his ‘accident’ I feared that he may find a way to end his life, but he did not, and his actions since coming to the ryokan reveal that he has an undeniable and innate instinct to live. But I cannot help but wonder what reason he may have to continue on. Of course, he is young, and his mistakes thus far can be amended. Unlike myself…

I will continue to try and work to get D to a level where we would not have to cage him like a wild animal, but my time here is drawing short. If our sources are correct, I may have a few months before I must return. D will play no part in the ‘ending of all things,’ and if he ever does recover, I know he will resent me and everyone else for keeping him away, but I can see no better solution than this.

If only Cissy could be here.

Poor Cissy, I fear that she will not survive her husband. Of course, Cissy fears this too, but still she goes on, for her son. I would love to tell D that his mother has sacrificed much to insure his safety, and maybe then he would snap out of his madness and be of use. Perhaps, if I survive this war, I will tell him that his mother risked her life so that I could save his, if he does not know it already. Cissy is stronger than she likes to think, stronger than anyone would like to believe. If only she had left Lucius when she had a chance, if only she had taken the chances given to her. So noble, Cissy, and I can only hope that your death will be as noble as well.

In the meantime, I must fulfill the vow I made with Cissy, and if it means sealing D away for the rest of his life, so be it. Cissy’s love for D will always remain, even if he should forget.


* * *

Always the impetuous child, D has tried once again to use an Unforgivable without a wand and without focus. He is in a coma or a trance, the magic running through his body so unstable that he may not regain consciousness for many weeks. In this time while he sleeps, I make my plans to return to Britain. News has not been good, to put it bluntly, and I fear that by the time I return the War may have been lost.

When I look at D, I cannot help but think of the Potter boy. Of course, I would give anything not to think of Potter, but I cannot stop comparing the two. Like stones on a go board, these two boys may have been destined to be the opposite of the other. One light, one dark…but which is which? For the life of me, I will never find this out.

But as I look upon D now, I think of a book I read long ago. Out of the Silent Planet by the Muggle author C.S. Lewis… The exact details of the book escape me after so many years, but the themes are engrained into my memory. The main character is kidnapped by two evil men and taken to Malacandra or Mars, and there learns that he is confined by the small mindedness and limited spirituality of his home world, the Silent Planet Thulcandra. Ransom, yes, Ransom, the main character learns that his world is so small compared to the greater universe and the powers within it. He learns that much of his knowledge is useless, his beliefs only a fragment of a greater truth, and that in his arrogance as a human being, finds himself unworthy to live on Malacandra and the purity that exists there… As I look upon D now, I wonder if he is somehow feeling what Ransom felt. D has learned that all his beliefs, that all of his life has been contained inside of a cage constructed of lies and evil.

The question remains, however, of will D ever find humility in the knowledge of his situation? This ryokan may as well be the boy’s Malacandra, and the family here his Oyrasa or angels. The boy’s world to this point has been that of Thulcandra, the Silent Planet…and I can only hope that this experience, and this world, will make D redeem himself or facilitate him in doing so. Redemption for him…redemption for me…

* * *

For the first time in a long time, I thought of Hermione Granger. The busy-haired, insufferable know-it-all…and I could not help but smile. I thought of her because I ended up hitting D to subdue him after a fit, a jab to the nose settled the boy, and it made me think of Granger. She had never held back when it came to the boy, and I had been told many times that the girl could bring the biggest of boys her age to their knees with her ringer of a jab. I, then, began to remember the boy jinxing her teeth to grow, and I could not help but laugh. Of course, in the end, the Granger girl got her revenge…

I had noticed long ago that the boy was unnaturally attracted to the Granger girl. The boy had always watched her, hated her, envied her, competed with her. And I cannot fault the boy, Granger is a worthy opponent, but it was not until the boy’s last term did I begin to realize it was something much more than competition that made D stare at her. It was attraction of a different sort, but I will not analyze much more. Whatever chance D had to save himself was dashed that night on the Tower. I think that everything leading up to that point was a struggle for him, he beginning to realize that he was trapped…and wishing to be free…to be like her and Potter and his ginger haired friend.

Love is a weakness. I know that is what Lucius taught the boy. But I also know that Cissy taught the boy that love is an asset and a source of strength even in the most dire of situations. No wonder the boy is so damaged now…he has been torn his entire life.

But if the boy will survive, he will have to begin to make his own choices; his own way. And eventually, he will love. Perhaps even love as much as he hates now… I wonder who will love him. Cissy loves him to the point of sacrifice, but it will never be enough. Whomever he will love will be strong, resilient, fantastic and better than he might ever deserve. I can only hope whomever this person will be, she will love him just as madly.

* * *

Hermione’s resolve broke and tears began to stream down her cheeks. The diary slid to the floor from her lap and Hermione hugged herself so tightly that her fingernails imprinted half moon marks into her upper arms and blood began to well up from the flesh. She cried like she had never cried before, the grief pouring from her as if it had never existed inside her before. The grief of losing friends in the War, the grief of her loneliness, the grief of losing Severus was nothing compared to what was oozing from her body now.

She could not pity Draco Malfoy, for pity was a baser emotion, but she could grieve for him.

She loved him, loved him madly, but it was a love that could never come to fruition for so many reasons. Her love for him drove her mad, tortured her. And she knew, just as she had known all along, that there would be no happy resolution to her love. It was a twisted thing deep in her soul, aching for the man who could bring her no joy and no comfort. And so she too was torn, much like Draco had been, and there would never be a solution for her as far as she could see.


* * *


With a flash of green, the Floo call ended, and Draco Malfoy sat back into the divan next to the fireplace, the image of Cormac McClaggan’s greedy face burned into the backs of his eyes. After two hours, Draco had managed to negotiate an extension of McClaggan’s services in return for a higher fee and the promise of more assistance. In the time that Draco had appointed McClaggan his solicitor, Draco had edged out all of the ex-Gryffindor’s clients, making McClaggan his exclusive employee of sorts. While McClaggan complained that he had not intended on being a corporate lawyer, McClaggan was the richest solicitor in Britain. Draco knew he had to appease the odious man the best he could, because despite the house McClaggan had been sorted into, McClaggan was one of Draco’s greatest assets.

Sighing deeply, Draco closed his eyes, reaching blindly for the small package at the end of the divan, his metallic fingers tangling in the ribbons binding it. Another returned gift, the fifth or sixth, Draco could not remember. It had been a platinum necklace, carved ivy leaves that would decorate her ivory throat with such elegance and beauty that he had spent hundreds of thousands of galleons to have it custom made in Vienna for her… He saw the design in his mind’s eye about her throat and had hoped that she would have cherished the gift. She had returned it untouched, the box unopened much like she had returned the emerald brooch, the silk gloves, the silver pen set and the special ink from China.

It had been two months since he had seen her, taken her at the New Year’s party at the Apothecary offices. Letters had been returned, Floo calls unanswered, Draco knew well enough that Hermione Granger was avoiding him like some kind of dragon pox victim, but he still tried. His need for her was stewing into a frenzy, and part of his call to McClaggan had to do with an errand concerning Hermione Granger. The next day he was traveling to Australia to meet with a subordinate, and perhaps by the time he returned, he would make another bid for Hermione Granger.

These thoughts left Draco Malfoy with a smirk upon his lips, his mercurial eyes distant, so that when Hobbin, his most trusted elf announced that there was a guest waiting in the foyer, it took Draco many moments to extract himself from his thoughts to the present moment. He glanced at the restored water clock resting on a spindly table near the fireplace, quirking his mouth in distaste at the late hour and the inconvenience at such a late guest. Suddenly, however, his blood seemed to race and his heart lifted. The thought that perhaps she had come to him made Draco quicken his step to the door and his hand pull upon the knob with enough strength as to made the metal whine. Down the main staircase and out of his private parlor, Draco narrowed his eyes in the dark of the foyer, only moonlight reflecting off snow outside the windows lighting the hall. And there, standing exactly between the facing Floo entrances was a cloaked figure, waiting…

* * *

Hermione stretched her legs before her, the bottoms of her stocking feet beginning to warm with its proximity to the fire. She bent and snatched up the diary, her eyes now dry and her body still. Crying had exhausted her, and she felt totally wrought out. Her brain was beginning to shut down and sleep stole her clear vision from her mind. Swollen eyes shut and Hermione began to dream.

She sat in her chair before the fire, diary on her lap, but next to her, in Severus’ chair, sat her mentor. Severus Snape appeared in the manner in which Hermione remembered best, younger, snarky, dark, and foreboding. He was the Potions Master who haunted the Hogwarts dungeons, in his prime.

“Quit stalling, Granger, and make up your silly little mind.”

Hermione stirred slightly, the timbre and intonation in Severus’ voice so real, disturbing the air around her. Slowly, the words, all too true and tangible, began to sink into the ether of her foggy brain.

“What are you talking about?” she said, but the words came out too slow, and her tongue and lips felt oddly disconnected from her brain.

“It is not like you to be so indecisive.”

His voice was like a Sobering Potion, and as if it were a potion taking effect, Hermione understood.

“What is that silly mind telling you, your heart, your soul?”

Hermione did not hesitate. “I want him…but…”

“There should be no ‘buts’ where your heart and soul are concerned.”

“But it will never work, Severus…” she whispered in a whine.

He sighed and Hermione could smell his breath tinged with brandy and the lingering fumes of potions he had inhaled for decades.

“What do you want then?”

“Happiness.”

At this, Severus Snape twisted his lips into a cruel smile and barked a laugh.

“You make your own happiness, Granger. After all these years, have you not learned that fact?”

Hermione said nothing, chagrined.

“No one can give you happiness, you make it yourself. Depending on another person for anything, including happiness is sheer folly. You are stronger than this, Granger.”

Hermione tried to nod in agreement, but she found herself in a state where all of her bones had turned to jelly.

“So stop sulking, stop doubting. Do what you must to grasp that thread, and weave it into something wonderful…for yourself.”

The reprimand stung, meaning to Hermione that every word her mental Severus Snape was uttering was truer than true. Those words were so true, in fact that she began to sob, and laugh at the same time. How silly, she was indeed.

The boiling heat of her tears and the subtle choking feeling she felt in her throat and chest from trying to laugh roused her from her dream. The diary was tear spattered in her lap, and the bottoms of her feet were itching from the heat of the fire before her. Severus had always been a voice of reason, and for once, in a very long time, she wept out of grief for Severus and not for herself.

There was only one thing to do, oh, how clear it was now! She was to make her move, speak her peace, and possess her happiness.


TBC...