The Remains

He remembered the day she had arrived, a sudden replacement halfway through the year when his Potions teacher ran off with the bartender at the Hog's Head. So she had come, Hermione Granger, Professor of Potions--Potions, of all things--he'd never thought, when she was his student, that she had a particular taste for it. But he had been desperate, and Hogwarts professors were hard to come by those days, with salaries so low compared to the opportunities in the rest of the wizarding world. His own arrival at the school had been under similar circumstances.

And she had been desperate, too, desperate to get away from a troubled marriage (apparently the Boy Who Lived was, by all accounts, still a boy), and desperate for a home, a place in the magic world. And she hadn't really had any friends--no, not since Ron died and she and Harry became estranged. She had been alone, and she needed something to bring her back into the world that had once seemed so wonderful.

It was snowing that day, and she still had flakes on her cloak when she walked into the Headmaster's office, rosy-cheeked and considerably curvier than she had been as a Hogwarts student. The last decade had been good to her, at least in some ways.

Less so to him, he was sure--he was as thin as ever, and the lines that were beginning to form around his dark eyes surely did nothing to soften his oversized nose. He had expected that by this time in his life he would be free, free to pursue employment in the private sector, free to travel... free of the incessant whispering and whining of children. But the end of the War had left him, unexpectedly, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, with a plethora of new duties--just as he was, stoically as ever, coping with the loss of the closest thing to a father he had ever known.

Somehow he had grown into the role. He would never be an Albus Dumbledore, but that wasn't necessary. His characteristic sarcastic wit hadn't really toned down, but he had become even more introverted, more accustomed to spending time in his office alone with his books. He was as ready as ever to verbally lash out at a wayward student--or professor, for that matter--but it was no longer necessary on a daily basis. Being Headmaster suited Severus Snape.

"Professor Snape?" she asked, gazing at him curiously.

He wondered silently if he had really changed so much. "Miss Gr--Mrs. Potter."

"Actually, it's Granger again, sir," she replied, her countenance resolute and almost unfeeling. "Hermione Granger."

"I remember your name, Hermione," he said. That had been a slip-up... how uncharacteristic of him to slip into... friendly terms so quickly. "That is, Ms. Granger," he quickly corrected himself. "Since you answered my advertisement, I assume you are aware of the salary of the position?"

She quickly nodded.

"And you are still interested? Surely a person of your... academic prestige... could find a better-paying position elsewhere?"

"Perhaps so, sir, but I'm really looking for... a refuge."

"I can't promise that. You'll be working fifteen hours a day, dealing with the very worst age group of human beings from morning to night, grading thousands of papers every month, and constantly in danger of death from the ridiculous combination of dangerous ingredients and incompetent students. Are you prepared for all that?"

"I... I think so, sir," she said.

He didn't push the issue. He really needed her. "One more thing, Ms. Granger. You are aware that the last Potions Mistress, Professor Finley, also held the position of Deputy Headmistress?"

"I did not know that, sir."

"I'm also looking for a replacement in that capacity, and tend to rather distrust the majority of the current faculty. But... you... I believe you might do well enough. The additional salary is fairly small, and the duties are rather significant, but..."

"I can do it," she said.

"Thank you... Professor Granger. Have you brought your things with you, or will you be moving in some other time?"

"I left my luggage downstairs."

"Good. I need you to start as soon as possible. I--I'll show you to your rooms now."

He hadn't expected her to stay so long. Somehow he thought that she, like most of the other professors he had worked with, would move on after a term or two, usually to a better-paying job. She hadn't. Until now...

During her first term, he had been surprised by her competence. Of course, he had tried to help her as much as possible, while carefully maintaining his distance, but she hadn't seemed to need it. She had been an excellent pupil in Potions, he remembered. Perhaps his perception of her lack of taste for it had been a mistake, rooted in the Gryffindor stereotypes that he still, unfortunately, held onto. In any case, she handled her classroom with a degree of strictness that even he respected.

As a professor and a deputy, she seemed eager to please, but far more impersonal than he remembered. The years had, perhaps, taken the edge off her warmth just as they had suppressed his harshness. He was shocked sometimes, passing her classroom, to take note of a particular tone in her voice, a coldness that reminded him far too much of... himself. It was as if the old Hermione Granger had fallen apart and been reconstructed in the image of Severus Snape.

He had found himself thinking about her far too often, sympathizing far more than was comfortable for someone like him. He wished somehow that he could spare her the pain of the repressed, lonely life he had, but he had no idea what he could do. And even if he had, he certainly couldn't have done anything. He was still too crippled himself to support another, he thought.

By her third year of teaching at Hogwarts, he had grown to need her. As a Deputy Headmistress, of course... and as the most competent Potions professor he had supervised... and as... not a friend, exactly... No, he could not say that he needed her. And yet, did he really have anyone else? His relationships with the rest of the faculty were cold and businesslike--as was his relationship with her, actually... but something was different, he thought. He couldn't for the life of him identify what. He simply knew that he respected her more than almost anyone else he had ever known. His regard for her seemed to be something more than that, however, something beyond the boundaries of what he could understand or had ever experienced.

She visited his office one day to consult him on a matter concerning her NEWT-level classes.

"Professor Snape," she said, respecting the formality that characterized their conversations, "I was thinking of revising the sixth year curriculum, including a few of the more complex potions that we've been reserving for seventh year, and taking some time in the seventh year to study theoretical potions." She handed him a parchment that detailed her plans.

It was meticulously planned, each class carefully scheduled to make the best possible use of time; each long-term potion slotted into a particular time frame. He could not have done it better himself. He looked up at her and nearly smiled. "Polyjuice, Professor Granger? Do you think that's appropriate for sixth years?"

"I thought you might advise me on the matter, sir."

He gazed at her nearly expressionless face, detecting the uncertain note in her voice. "You might, perhaps, try it out and see if it works." He paused for several moments. "Well done, Professor Granger."

"Thank you, Professor Snape."

"Of course, I'm certain you could brew that potion yourself by fourth year, am I not correct?"

His remark elicited a smile from her, which in turn evoked a strange warmth in his stomach. "Second, sir."

"Second year?" he said. "Even from you, that's... alarmingly impressive." He felt as if he had said too much then. "I suppose," he added, "I now have an explanation for the... er... mysterious theft from my personal supply closet that year?"

She looked almost frightened and he realized that he wasn't smiling. He managed a tiny upturning of his lips to try to ease her nervousness. "We've all changed very much since then," he added quietly.

"Very much," she said.

"While you're here, Professor Granger, I needed to consult you about this recurring problem of students being out of the dormitories after curfew. Filch has found five young couples in the Astronomy Tower in the past two weeks. Do you suppose we ought to have more professors doing rounds after hours?"

"As difficult as it is for some of the professors to stay up that late, that does seem to be the only solution," she replied.

He had found himself, later that evening, suggesting that their meetings become a weekly event. She had easily consented. He soon grew to look forward to these little business meetings, even going out of his way to pick up Hermione's favorite type of tea when he knew she was coming to visit. Indeed, he looked forward to her visits in a way that he didn't entirely understand and couldn't explain, not even to himself. They began to meet two or three times a week, at first discussing Hogwarts business or occasionally reading together. With some trepidation, they began to converse regularly about non-work-related topics, first potions theory, then Muggle physics, literature, travel experiences... Severus drew the line when he realized he had begun to open up about his childhood, his past... It was too much. And not enough, he could see now.

One night they had duty together, making the rounds through the castle. She was very tired, as he could quickly discern from her dragging pace and unsteady gait. He knew she had been up late the night before grading essays, and even coffee wasn't enough to perk her at that hour. As they entered the sixth floor corridor, pitch black aside from Severus's lantern, she began to lean on him, her head drooping onto his shoulder. Her walking came to a standstill. She had fallen asleep, her lavender-scented hair tucked neatly beneath Severus's nose, her warm cheek brushing his neck. He realized then that he had never really touched her before.

He quickly shook her awake. "Hermione, Hermione," he said, then realized his mistake. Embarrassed, he stammered, "You... you need to go to on to bed--to sleep... you are too tired... I can finish this myself."

She yawned and detached herself from his arm. "I need you to walk me back," she said drowsily. "I need you to make sure I don't fall asleep on the way to my room. And... thank you, Sev--Professor Snape."

She had clung to his arm the entire way back, leaving Severus in shock that anyone would voluntarily touch him. But then, she was extremely tired. He hoped, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, that she would not remember this later and be disgusted. For his part, he was enjoying it far more than he had any right to.

When they reached her door, he gently directed her inside. She paused, as if waiting for something. He watched her silently. Then she staggered inside. He knew now what it was that he had earlier been unable to identify in his regard for Hermione. Twisting his mouth in self-disdain, he realized that he would have preferred to remain in ignorance.

Their meetings continued to grow more personal, frightening him to no end. He realized that she had not only stepped into his invisible circle of isolation--she had planted herself there and become so deeply rooted that she could not have been removed without inflicting a serious wound.

She came into his office unexpectedly one day and found him reading. His initial urge was to hide the book. Its contents alone revealed far too much about his feelings for her, and surely one look at it would alert her to what should have already been obvious.

"Professor Snape, what are you reading?" she asked, assuming the playful tone that had gradually emerged in her conversation with him.

"A book," he answered simply, covering it with his hand and clutching it close.

"What kind of book?"

"It's just a book," he said urgently.

Inexplicably, she continued to press the issue, walking toward him and attempting to pry the book from his hand. She had never been so close to him before, and here she was, her body mere inches from his, her hands grasping at his. He inadvertently loosened his grip to hide his shaking. She easily pulled the book out of his hand. "Jane Eyre?" she asked. "Wh-why would you hide this from me?"

"Please, Professor Granger," he seethed, "I need this time alone. Do me a favor and leave."

Something had been different from then on, the warmth that had begun to reemerge in Hermione suddenly extinguished. She resumed the coolness that reminded him--painfully--of himself. The following Wednesday, she wrote him a note to inform him that she would be unable to meet with him that week; she was taking her day off. He stayed up late that night with his door cracked open, waiting for her to pass by on her way back to her chambers. Around one o'clock, he heard her passing by. He intended to walk to the door and silently watch her as she walked down the corridor, but just as he stood up, he heard a knock. "Come in," he said gruffly. Hermione entered.

"Professor Snape?" she asked. "What are you doing up so late?"

"I--I was reading," he fumbled. "I was doing some research on... er... the effervescence model and the effects of... er... And you, Professor Granger," he said, with an almost cruel emphasis on her name, "why are you staggering into the castle in the wee hours of the morning?"

"I am not staggering," she quickly protested. "For your information--not that it is any of your business--I was meeting a friend at the Hog's Head Inn. And I had a rather good time," she added defiantly.

He waved his hand dismissively. "Spare me the details, Professor Granger. What you do in your free time is none of my concern."

"You know him," she continued, ignoring his comment. "It was Remus Lupin."

"Lupin?" he said, softly hissing. "Well, I'm glad you enjoyed yourself," he added, managing a sarcastic smile. "If you don't mind, I'd like to retire for the evening now. Good night," he spat, nodding curtly toward the door.

Her nights out became more and more frequent. He waited for her once at the top of the Astronomy Tower, under the pretense of making rounds. He watched as she walked back from Hogsmeade, accompanied by a taller figure he assumed was Remus Lupin. As the pair drew closer, his suspicions were confirmed. When they reached the entrance to the castle, his stomach burned and he felt his lips pressing tightly together. He continued to stare at the couple. Lupin leaned over and kissed Hermione, and she twisted her arms around his neck and responded eagerly, passionately.

He fled to his dungeons and resolved never to wait up for her again.

The next time he saw her, he said nothing of the incident, but decided to inform her of a new faculty rule. "Professor Granger," he said, in the cold tone that now dominated their scant conversation. "You should be aware that faculty are not allowed to be outside the castle after ten o'clock on weeknights."

"Really, Professor Snape?" she asked snidely. "How odd that I have never been informed before of this... rule."

"I only realized recently how important it is to keep the faculty in line," he answered.

She glared at him. "Remus Lupin has asked me to marry him," she said, with that same defiant tone.

He stared at her, refusing to respond.

"I am thinking about it," she said, then spun on her heel and began to walk away. A few steps later she turned around. "We talk about you all the time, Remus and I."

Severus raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"

"I tell him funny stories about you, about your mannerisms, the things you say... I tell him about how you always knit your eyebrows together as you are chopping potions ingredients... That always has us in stitches..." she trailed off.

"Thank you, Professor Granger."

She had been there seven years now, and somehow the prospect of her leaving did not--could not--seem real. It was as if she had always been there, as much a part of his life as he was himself. He genuinely depended on her help as his deputy. In that capacity alone, she was irreplaceable.

Two weeks later she stopped him in the corridor and informed him that she had decided to marry Remus Lupin.

"I offer you my warmest congratulations," he said icily, smiling curtly.

She blinked quickly, staring at him. "I know that I am under contract to stay for the rest of the school year, but I would like to leave at Christmas."

"Two weeks from now, Professor Granger?"

"Remus has gotten a job... in... in America, and he'll be leaving in two weeks. We would like to be married as soon as possible," she said quietly.

"I think that can be arranged," he said, then walked quickly away, conscious of her eyes following him down the corridor.

It would be their last Christmas together. He would have liked to heal the breach that had slowly formed in their relationship, but he did not know how. Unable to face her personally, he quietly owled her a book she had always admired, a very old and valuable volume on Egyptian number theory. It had been in his family library for centuries. If she had to leave, she would be taking more than his book, anyway.

She had responded with a polite thank you note and a small package, which he found contained a tiny pewter box adorned with the embossed figure of a snake. It now sat on his desk. He fingered it softly and buried his head in his hands. She was leaving. Leaving... Moving to another continent. Marrying. Remus Lupin, of all people. Remus Lupin, his old enemy. He supposed Remus would treat her well enough--better than he knew how to, anyway. He had taken her presence for granted for far too long, unable to express even to himself the intensity of his longing for her.

And now she was really going away, uprooting herself from his life, an operation that seemed painless to her. To her...

She sat next to him at the Christmas feast the night before her departure, quiet and strangely sad. He managed to be civil to her, if not warm... After all, this could be the last time he ever saw her.

"Professor Granger, I want to tell you..." he said.

"Yes?" she asked, turning her head sharply in his direction.

"I wish you the utmost happiness in your marriage," he said, managing the most genuine smile possible.

Her lips turned up slightly at the corners in an odd, stilted way. "I... I still need to pack my things," she said, quietly leaving her chair. "Will I see you tomorrow before I leave?"

"Perhaps," he said.

He walked back to his chambers after dinner alone, as usual. It was dark, and he felt strangely cold despite the stuffy, warm atmosphere of the post-feast castle. The incessant carol singing of the charmed suits of armor served only as a painful contrast to his internal state. The realization of her leaving seemed to have crept upon him like an inescapable frost, stinging and cutting like sharpened ice.

He was about to enter his chambers when he heard a soft weeping sound coming from down the corridor, from the direction of Hermione's chambers. Her door was open. He found himself standing in front of her room in the corridor, looking inside, where Hermione sat on the floor sorting through a pile of books, tears sliding down her cheeks. She gasped when she saw him standing there. "Severus..." she said, gasping again when she realized what she had called him.

"Hermione," he said in a low voice. He was uncomfortable with her tears, unable to cope with emotional displays, but desiring her presence like he desired water... not desire at all, but need. "I wondered... if you'd like me to help you pack your things."

She nodded, trying to wipe the tears from her eyes without his noticing, yet obviously knowing it was impossible. "Thank you."

He sat down on the floor beside her in front of the massive stack of books. "You could do this magically, you know."

"I didn't feel like it," she said with an almost imperceptible whimper. He stacked some medium-sized books together.

"I would have expected you to have everything packed up a week ago, in your eagerness to get out of this place," he commented, unable to keep the snide edge out of his tone.

She didn't reply. He instantly regretted the harshness and wanted to leave her on good terms.

"If you will permit me to be personal," he said, "since this is perhaps the last time I will see you... The school will miss you very much."

"The school?" she asked with a hollow voice.

"Yes, it will... it will be difficult to find such an adequate Potions Mistress to take your place."

"Adequate?"

"I did perhaps use the wrong word," he stammered. "Excellent. It will be difficult to find such an excellent Potions Mistress to take your place. And such an excellent... Deputy Headmistress."

"Thank you," she replied, roughly dropping a stack of books into her trunk.

"I don't know what we will do without you," he went on, compelled somehow to vent the feelings the threatened to bubble up to the surface while he still had a few moments left with her, before they were trapped, unspoken, forever.

She was silent for a few moments. "We?"

"The school. The faculty. The students. They will all miss you very much."

"And what about the Headmaster?" she asked, staring at him with her reddened eyes.

"He will miss you very much, too," he whispered, hoping somehow that she wouldn't hear him. And then it slipped out, before he could stop it. "Please don't go."

The tears began flowing freely again out of her eyes, but her expression remained strangely placid. "And what will I tell Remus?" she said softly.

"Tell him... Tell him we all need you here at Hogwarts. We need you as a Potions Mistress... as a Deputy Headmistress... Tell him... Tell him that I need you..." he trailed off.

Her wet eyes glistened at him, boring into his face. "As?"

"As a colleague," he said. "As a friend..."

"And what else, Severus?"

"As... as a man needs a woman."

She buried her wet face in his robes and he tentatively brought his arm around her. There were still a few hours left in the evening, a few hours to change the rest of their lives, to fix the mistakes of the last several years, to say what had never even been hinted at before.

"Please stay," he said again.

She brought her arms around his neck and rested her cheek on his. "I will stay," she said, brushing her lips across his pale cheek. "I will stay."

He said nothing, but pulled her closer and, for the first time, let his own tears freely fall. An evening still remained, and with it a chance to make things right. He cupped the back of her head in his hand and quietly kissed her. Some chances could not afford to be thrown away.

And maybe for a lonely, middle-aged headmaster and his deputy, a chance for happiness still remained. The stars shone from the clear sky through the window into the room where Severus helped Hermione unpack her trunks. The night was still young.