Eight: Too Late?

The next morning, Hermione awoke cold and lonely and with a slightly damp pillow. She didn’t dwell on the previous evening, though, although she was more forced to than actually choosing not to brood. God knew she wanted to brood. Instead, her morning was painfully busy, with much unwrapping of presents and lots of chatter and a quick breakfast.

Hermione admitted spitefully to herself that she had hoped that she would see Severus at some point, but she didn’t even catch a glimpse of him at the High Table during breakfast. She was sad that she didn’t see him, even though he had basically told her that it wasn’t worth it to cross the line for her. She somehow couldn’t pay attention to that when she was as attached as she was.

It was after a breakfast of sulking and pretending to be fascinated with her eggs that she then walked back up to the dormitory to the others, hastily stuffing presents into her bag as a form of last-minute packing. There was then a short time of more mindless chatter in the Common Room, most of which Hermione spent silently having a staring contest with Ron, a delicate, edgy sort of staring contest.

Then, they were whisked down to Hogsmeade Station, and sadly, Hermione still did not see Severus anywhere. However, she continued to hope that maybe she had missed him in the crowd, maybe, just maybe, he was here at the station, and she simply did not see him. Her hopes began to fade, though, as she got onto the train and put away her trunk and situated herself in a compartment alone. Blessed alone. Now she had a chance to brood.

Hermione would have sat with Harry and Ron, naturally, but she knew that she would never be able to live through an entire train ride with the man who she had betrayed, and who she had hurt. She wasn’t sure whether he had accepted her apology or not, and she knew very well that she could not manage to stay quiet without falling at his feet and begging forgiveness. She didn’t want to hurt him, even if she did love someone else.

No! Not love, she reminded herself.

She almost refused to look out of the window, not wanting to see the castle as it rolled away from her for the rest of her life. She felt like she would never want to leave this place again, especially since Severus Snape remained here. Not that she was being a silly romantic. Not that she wanted to be with him forever. That’s what being in love did to you, and she wasn’t in love.

The scarlet steam engine began to roll forward, taking her forever away from that special man. It was then that Hermione, giving into her curiosity and melancholy want not to leave without a final glimpse at everything that was previously so familiar, did afford herself a single glance past that glass pane.

Only then did she noticed the dark set of eyes gazing impassively at her from the platform, from the centre of a small group of a few of the other professors. He was looking straight at her, but with a pang Hermione knew that she couldn’t go to him, for it was too late. The train was leaving. Had he planned it this way? Was it his sole purpose to make her suffer?

She raised her hand, pressing her hand, fingers spread slightly, to the cool window. She wasn’t sure if this was a gesture of goodbye. Tormented, she allowed herself only a small sigh of mourning. Why had he avoided her even as they had all come down here? Did he not want to talk to her? Obviously, she told herself, he still does not want to admit, even to himself, that he thinks of me like I think of him. Selfish bastard. Damn him.

She turned away, and somehow managing not to burst into tears, perhaps for her anger, she settled back against the seat for the lonely journey back to London. What a rotten Christmas this had turned out to be.

When Hermione turned away, so did Severus. The train faded slowly out of sight with a sufficiently melancholy wail. Snape and the few professors that had decided to come down to see the students off walked back to the horseless carriages to take them back up to the castle, while tiny white flakes began to bombard them.

He refused not to let this swell of anger in his throat choke him.

Snape sat in a lonely corner of the carriage as Professors Sprout and McGonagall chattered endlessly about nothing in particular. He was silently thinking, unwilling to bother with their petty discussion. He was instead thinking of the injury caused him during the past week, even if it had been so exquisite a pain.

Life would slowly heal of this rupture, Severus told himself. It was a pain that would heal, no matter how agonising it seemed currently. After all, the wound had healed the first time she left, although she had opened it anew. Still, scar tissue would form, and soon he would forget.

Anyway, as there had always been, there would be plenty to distract him from this. The current students that he was teaching would come back, and life would return to its previous state. Everything would be perfectly normal. Except him. He could never be normal again.

She had done something to him that week, something that he could not describe. He had not noticed the world around him, thinking only of her eyes and her taste and how much he wanted to take back what he had said to her. She had only thought that she was good at hiding the tears that started in her eyes. In truth, they were too noticeable, especially to the one who had caused them. He wanted to kiss those tears away.

Severus Snape, as one would imagine, had never been much of a romantic, and he still was not. However, there was simply something about seeing that beautiful, ethereal creature in pain that made him want to take her in his arms and simply let her cry.

In fact, he could almost imagine that lithe form pressed against his chest, her soft locks tickling his chin, and her head resting on his shoulder. He could imagine dropping a kiss onto her pale forehead and smoothing the unruly curls away. But he could never do that. She had offered the chance to him, and in his selfishness, he had turned her away.

Did he hate himself for it? No. He was angry, yes, but that would fade in time. There was nothing to do about it, anyway. Why should he dwell on it? No amount of sulking and self-deprecation could possibly help him. Anyway, she would get over it, as well, and eventually, it would probably be forgotten.

Was he lying to himself? Yes, but at the current moment he wasn’t aware of it.

Upon reaching the castle, he walked down to his office, and entered, glad of the darkness, where he belonged. Then, he noticed who was sitting serenely before his fire, a fire which hadn’t been lit when he had left his office this morning. Albus Dumbledore looked up with a smile.

"Good morning, Severus. Do join me," he said. Severus was slightly on edge, now, wondering what would be requested of him. He hoped it wasn’t anything ridiculous, not to say that many of the Headmaster’s suggestions or requests were very ridiculous.

Severus silently did as Dumbledore had said, and gazed at the Headmaster for a moment, waiting for him to speak.

"You know, simply because I am not always there when things are going on does not mean that I am completely unaware of what goes on in my school," said Dumbledore vaguely.

"Oh?" said Severus, as though this was a new idea, though it wasn’t quite. It was Albus’ job to know what was going on, after all. "Such as?"

Dumbledore looked straight at him as he answered. "Such as how you are currently throwing away one of the few chances at happiness you’ll have."

"Headmaster –" Severus began to say.

"I’ll take no excuses," said Dumbledore, holding up a hand. "You are my dear friend, and I do not want you to once more deny yourself something that you want and that you certainly deserve, what with all that’s gone on."

"It’s too late, Headmaster," said Snape after a moment, settling back in his chair and feeling like a ten-ton weight rested on his shoulders.

Dumbledore made wise eyebrows at his friend. "Is it? You don’t know that," he said. "By the way, I’m sure that Miss Granger could use a reference in that interview of hers."

Severus didn’t bother to ask how Dumbledore knew about Hermione’s life, since the man obviously knew everything, anyway.

"She doesn’t need any help," he heard himself say, but the words were past his lips before he realised what he was saying. He tried not to notice as the twinkle in the headmaster’s eyes became more prevalent and definitely more amused.

"I’m sure, Severus," Dumbledore said, a slight hint of merriment in his voice.

"What I meant is that she is a fantastic mind as it is, and little else can help her," Snape said.

He knew that complimenting her, however true it was, was only going to chip away more at his mask of pretend stony indifference towards Hermione. No, he told himself, think of her as Miss Granger. That’s the correct way to think of her. Anyway, he’d really botched this up. He shouldn’t even have said anything, and now Headmaster Dumbledore thought that he was madly in love with Granger. A tiny voice piped up in the back of his mind. What if he was?

No. That was incredibly illogical. He didn’t love her. He wanted to touch her, but he didn’t love her. He didn’t!

"Think about it," Dumbledore interrupted his thoughts, patting Severus’ sagging shoulder. "Really. Just think about it."

He, with one last impish smile, departed and left Snape to listen to the silence. Snape sighed, and shifted his weight a little. Gazing into the fire, he stretched out his legs, crossing his ankles and steepling his fingers over his stomach. His dark eyes reflected the gyrating blaze, and were hooded as he thought distantly of his problem, this great, looming thing before him.

What was Dumbledore saying? Well, it was obvious that he was suggesting that Severus write a letter of recommendation for Granger, however, what good would his word do? Had she wanted to become a Potions Mistress, perhaps he could have helped, but would the acclaim of a Potions teacher do anything to help someone become an ambassador? He wasn’t even the head of her house.

But the idea of helping her was almost tempting, as if he would be apologising to her. Maybe she might forgive him for saying what he had, however unlikely that was. It was possible, though. And it was almost relieving to think that she might. No. It was definitely relieving, though he didn’t want to admit that.

He glanced at his desk, his quill resting there, and writing materials. Words like déjà vu floated through his mind as he reluctantly stood. Should he really? Would it actually help? What if it didn’t? Of course, anyone would have told him that it was the thought that counted, but was it really? He flexed his fingers restlessly as he inwardly argued with himself.

Then he thought, what the hell. What did he have to loose? Not much.

So he sat down, and began to write.

Hermione had just apparated from the King’s Cross to her home, and she was relieved to be here, at last. She looked around and sighed with happiness as the distinct scent of Home gradually overtook her senses. Of course, Hogwarts seemed like home a lot of the time, but then, it could never beat her very own bed. And she was exhausted.

It had been a long train ride, but it had been eventful, with plenty of people visiting and talking to her in her compartment, along with that owl that had visited near the end of the journey. How it found her, she had yet to realise. The only time she remembered having an owl visit her or someone in the near vicinity of her while on a train was when Sirius had sent an owl to Harry on the train back from Hogwarts in third year, at least eight or nine years ago.

Hermione paused as she set down her bag next to her bed. Was it really that long? She sighed, shaking her head. She knew one thing for sure, she was extremely afraid to open this particular letter. It was from him. Snape. She, of course, wasn’t totally sure as it had only had her name on the envelope, but she was pretty sure. What could he possibly have to say to her, though? He didn’t seem the type to apologise for anything. Even breaking her heart.

Now, she opened the side pocket of her bag after she had kicked her shoes off and peeled off her socks. She slid the enveloped out of the bag. It seemed to spread magic dust through the air that made her tense and apprehensive. Biting her trembling lip, she tore the envelope carefully open.

Skimming the contents, she had to blink away the evidence of how touched she suddenly was. It was a letter of recommendation, and it was signed by Professor Severus Snape. So he had been listening when she was telling him about herself the night before. He actually cared. Something about realising that simply made her shiver, with the best sort of chills giving her goosebumps. He was apologising in his own way, she knew, and she appreciated that he wasn’t being maudlin. She hated that.

But really, this was almost too much. Falling back onto her soft mattress, she sighed and clutched the letter to her chest as though it were some epic poem that he had written for her. In your dreams, she told herself. If only she could see him and thank him properly. For now, though, a simple owl would have to do. She leapt up from the bed and went to her desk.

She paused. No. That was too informal. She wished she could have sent that, though.

Hermione paused just before she dipped her quill once more into the ink. She didn’t sign it just yet, and instead put her quill aside. She would send it once she knew whether she got the job or not. Of course, she wasn’t sure if he would care so much as to want to know the outcome of her interview, but still… it seemed the right thing to do.

That finished, she could finally go to sleep. Almost lethargic, she slowly went through the ritual of getting ready for bed, showering away the travel, brushing teeth, brushing hair, and sliding into her silky pyjamas. She then nuzzled deep into her bed, and was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

It was only several days later that she burst through her front door with a triumphant whoop, startling her cat, that she remembered the forgotten letter on the desk. But it wasn’t quite at that moment. She was too elated, and too busy dancing around her living room. Currently twirling around with her arms stretched out, she suddenly realised how childish she probably looked.

Laughing, she flopped down on her couch, and her cat pounced up beside her, though he was staring at her in wide-eyed horror. Well, actually, it seemed like cats were always wide-eyed, but it was usually just in a curious sort of way. The horror was apparent in this cat’s saucer-sized eyes, considering the fact that Soot was looking ready to leap back off of the couch and run into the bedroom to hide under the bed.

She petted Soot once and smiled.

"Guess what?" she asked.

The cat looked at her blankly, without even a mew in response.

"Well, okay, don’t guess. I’ll just tell you," Hermione went on, completely ignoring the fact that she was talking to a cat, something that wouldn’t answer her anyway. "I got the job! Aren’t you excited for me?"

Soot started purring, but Hermione had a vague idea that that probably had to do with the fact that she had continued to stroke his soft, black fur, rather than that he was excited for her. She wanted to indulge that nonsensical idea, though, and pretended that he was happy because she had gotten the job that she had wanted so long.

"You know what? I think I’m going to go get a drink to celebrate," she said. "I wish you could come, but you can’t." With a sigh, she placed a light, affectionate kiss on his head.

She then stood, and walked into her bedroom. If she was going to go for a drink, she might as well get dressed up in at least some measure. She slid into a short, slightly low-cut, backless black dress, along with her strappy black shoes, not caring that it was a little cold for such shoes. She managed to gather her hair in a messy bun at the nape of her neck, and even put on a little make-up.

I’m pathetic to do all this, since I haven’t anyone to see me, Hermione thought sorrowfully as she surveyed herself in the mirror. Oh, well, she thought after a moment. With a sad sort of hum, Hermione went and grabbed her coat, sliding it over her shoulders and dropping her keys into the inner pocket. She picked up her purse and walked do the door, her heels clicking importantly on the hardwood floor of the hallway. She didn’t expect what was coming.

She opened the door, and surprise hit her like a car at some illegal speed. There on her doorstep stood Severus Snape.

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