All Wounds Heal In Time

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of his playmates, and I don’t make any money from them either, sadly. I do get to play with them and that’s all I am doing! Playing! Honestly.

A/N: This is my very first fanfiction ever, so please be patient with me. I am hoping that I can upload this without any trouble, but I don’t have a beta or anything so sorry if there are any mistakes. I have started by continuing from the last line of DH (aside from the epilogue but this being a HG/SS fic it is *not* DH epilogue compliant!), and all of the text in italics are direct quotes from the book, mostly from the chapter ‘The Prince’s Tale’. The rest of this fic I am planning to be some years in the future. Enjoy, and *please* review! I need to know that I’m off to a good start/wasting my time (delete as appropriate :)!
EDIT: Hey guys having some problems with formatting. Can't seem to get italics working, so you'll have to guess which words are JK's and which are mine! Haha! Seriously though you should know, but for those who don't all dialogue from "He's gone..." is my own. The the rest is from DH. Happy reading! Much love ~ Marie.


~All Wounds Heal In Time~

“I’ve had enough trouble for a lifetime,” Harry concluded, and he suddenly looked very tired. The various portraits of Hogwarts’ Headmasters nodded and sighed contentedly as Harry waved a goodbye and lurched towards the door of Dumbledore’s old office.

“C’mon, mate. Let’s get back to the common room, huh?” Ron said, putting his arm round his best friend’s shoulder. But even at this moment of victory there was sadness in his face – and Harry’s too. It was difficult to forget the fates of Fred, Tonks and Lupin, and many more who lay dead downstairs in the Great Hall, victims of the final battle.

Hermione hesitated. The office seem so comforting, the light pouring through the unbroken windows, the entire room seemingly untouched by the war which had reduced much of the school to rubble. And on the desk, the pensieve, small and stone, Snape’s last memories swirling and dancing inside it like quicksilver.

Hermione glanced around the room again but the boys had already left, and many of the Heads in the frames seemed to have wondered off to join in with the further celebrations outside the office and across the country – indeed, across the wizarding world. Voldemort defeated. Freedom restored. But Hermione could not forget the pain and hurt which lay beneath the joy, an undercurrent of sorrow. The fireworks whirring outside, choice Weasley’s of course, screamed the death of Fred with every spark. One Weasley gone. And George, left with a void inside greater than the loss of any lover, his lifetime duet now a sudden and unending monologue. The victims, so many victims. In her mind’s eye she saw Colin’s small lifeless form, his face young and innocent even in death. And Snape, gazing into the green of Harry’s eyes as he breathed his last breath.

Hermione sat heavily in the nearest seat and put her head in her hands. Tears rolled down her nose and cheeks. She felt suddenly as if she were several years older. With an academic’s clarity she had the matter of fact thought, ‘and I’ll see Thestrals now’.

The bright sun of the glorious day moved slowly and surely across the deep rich red of the mahogany desk as she continued to cry silent tears, eventually falling across the stone bowl, and glinting from the silvery surface within. It caught her eye and she sat up straight, wiping her eyes and nose on her sleeve. She looked down at the swirling memories, transfixed for a moment. Harry had told her and Ron the things he had seen inside these memories in his rushed recounting of the nights events, but she was compelled somehow to see them for herself, drawn inexplicably as if hypnotised by the waves and twirls before her. She was unsure as to how to proceed, never actually having used a pensieve before. Slowly, cautiously, she dipped her hand into the bowl, noticing that the contents felt just like air before tumbling over into the memories of her late Potions Master.

Hermione gasped to see Snape so young, so innocent, a child like any other and yet so clearly the person she knew him to be. His young face so earnest while talking to the little girl with Harry’s emerald eyes.

“You are, you are a witch!”

As they moved from scene to scene in the memory, Hermione stood staring at the children before her, beautiful in their young excitement – Lily’s doubts and Snape’s reassurances warming her. She felt privileged to be given such insights into the lives of these people so distant and yet still linked to herself and her story. Harry’s mother, who was murdered for her son’s life, and Professor Snape, who had died at Hermione’s feet just hours before.

“It *is* real, isn’t it? It’s not a joke?”
“It’s real for us.”
“Severus?”

As the memories of Lily and Snape grew with the passing years in the halls of Hogwarts, Hermione began to feel a new pain deep in her heart, different from the constant pang of grief that had been with her for the hours since sunrise and yet akin to it. It was a deep mourning for her own school life, now so drastically altered and nearly over, and she wanted to be eleven again, at her own sorting, and she wished she could never grow up into the person she was now. Armoured by love and by victory and also tarnished by hate and loss.

By the time Lily and Snape stood at the Gryffindor tower portrait hole Hermione’s mind was so distracted that she noticed the wide, strong shoulders of the boy before her, his hands, his hair, before realising it was her professor at her age. Slim, tall and far better looking than she would have given him credit for, yet his personality already so offensive. Her wince matched that of Lily’s when he muttered the word Mudblood, her heart agreed with the red-headed girl as she accused him of his ambitions.

“You see? You don’t even deny it! You don’t even deny that’s what you’re all aiming to be! ...I can’t pretend any more.”
“No – listen! I didn’t mean -”

Standing on the hilltop with Snape and Dumbledore, Hermione could not escape feeling the horrible certainty of time and change. Again she wished she could capture time, stop herself growing and others growing, anyone and everyone who would grow up into a life of pain or regret. She wanted to keep Lily and James held forever in one blissful day, before they were betrayed, before they felt the real fear for their lives. Locked in a kiss forever, baby Harry slightly squashed yet secure between their chests. She wanted Dumbledore to stay as she saw him now in front of her, almost 20 years younger than the last time she had seen him, alive and unhurt.

And Snape, Snape who stood before her now, not yet 25, young and virile even in his fear and panic. When suddenly they were back in Dumbledore’s office, Lily now dead and little Harry orphaned, the anguish that lined the young man’s face was like a knife in Hermione’s heart. More than anyone she wished she could preserve the life of this man. She wanted to find a moment when he was truly happy and keep him there forever, before he could hurt like he was now, shaken with the bitter regrets and pain of love lost.

“I thought…you were going…to keep her…safe…”
“Is this remorse, Severus?”
“I wish… I wish *I* were dead.”

Suddenly Hermione realised that it was unlikely that there had ever been a time in Snape’s life where he had been truly, blissfully happy. His story was so different to that of Lily and James, who could so easily be portrayed as happy newlyweds and parents. Unable to find solace in the memories of a happy childhood like Ron and herself. The love of his life lost because of his ambitions, and his ambitions part of empty missions due to the love of his life.

He had not even died with glory, but seedily, darkly. Bitten by a snake in a dusty boarded up room with no nobody but Harry, Ron and herself. An empty life and an empty death, and yet he was so honourable, and so selfless. She remembered the innocence and love in the nine-year-old Snape’s eyes and then fell to her knees. She wrapped her arms around her head and sobbed heavily, her body curled into a ball and shaking as her grief escaped through salty tears. The memories around her faded and she found she was sitting in a chair in the office by herself again, head and arms against the desk, her shoulders still heaving as she fought back tears and tried to control her breathing.

“He’s gone, oh he’s gone…” she whispered to herself through her tears, the unlikely figure of her Potions Master the image that represented the waste of these wars, the pain and the hurt. The ruthless treatment of so many innocent and brave people, slain with little more thought than squashing an insect, and yet each one of them pivotal and meaningful and important. Her heart ached so much she thought she would never feel happy and carefree again. “What a *waste*!” She shouted now, and thumped her fists down hard on the desk in front of her.

“Your insight is acute as always Miss Granger.”

Hermione spun round quickly, startled by the voice in the room she thought was empty. On the wall behind her, Dumbledore remained in the large frame hanging there. She had not noticed him since her back had been to him, and she wondered how long he had been watching her.

“Yes, I have been watching since Harry left the room,” he answered her unspoken question. “I thought you would be inclined to investigate the pensieve further, even when you should be drinking firewhiskey downstairs with the others.” He smiled. “Always the inquisitor”.

Hermione blushed. “You could have stopped me,” she answered.

“My dear, I would not have dreamed of it. Something tells me that the images in that basin were meant for you as much as they were for Harry, but as to why I personally cannot comment. I am just a painting, after all,” he added, with a rueful smile and what could possibly have been a twinkle in his eye.

“Oh, I wish I had never seen it Professor. It’s… it hurts too much to even think on it. So much wasted life and love, so many hurt by all of this. I feel I should be celebrating but I feel as though I might cry forever!” Hermione lowered her head as more silent tears slid down her cheeks, glancing at the pensieve. “He was an unspoken hero, and so few will know what he gave up for them.”

“Sadly, Miss Granger, so few would care what he gave up for the cause. Many people lost many things which will go uncounted in the history books of the future. Severus Snape has gone from this world but he has your gentle heart to dwell in. He will not be forgotten. Do not anger yourself by believing that others care not for the losses as you do. The gravity of the situation will dawn on them in their own time. Let them live unhurt for a time.”

Hermione nodded, feeling the heavy weight in her heart, and knowing she did not wish to inflict the grief it felt onto anyone. “If I can spare others this hurt by keeping it to myself, I shall.” She promised.

“You are a good girl, Miss Granger. Or young woman, I should say!” Dumbledore continued, removing his spectacles momentarily to wipe them with his long beard. “Do not think that this sorrow will last forever. You will learn how to make your own life a full and happy one in the future. Because you are so sensitive and so intelligent, you feel the pain of these wars acutely, but this will also increase the happiness and sweetness of the victory once you have accepted them.

“I am reminded of a Muggle saying which I’m sure you will appreciate now: ‘Time heals all wounds’. Often disregarded here in terms of cuts and scrapes which are of course more swiftly healed with magic,” Dumbledore smiled now and Hermione felt a weak smile of her own creep onto her lips. “But very relevant still I am afraid in terms of grazes of the heart. You won’t feel the agony of grief so acutely in the future, Miss Granger, and you certainly won’t cry for ever. Time is the key!

“Now go find what happiness you can for now, and don’t hesitate to visit me whenever you feel the need. I am always glad of intelligent visitors.”

“Thank you, Professor. I will.” Smiling another weak smile, but a smile non-the-less, Hermione slipped through the office door. But her tears did not cease, even while Ron held her through the night.