After the Fall

After the Fall

The Decision

Hermione ordered breakfast sent to her room. She had no desire to sit with the rest of the staff now that she knew she would leave in a few months. She no longer had to play polite and listen to endless predictions from Trelawney about doom and dark-haired saviours of the wizarding world, or listen to Neville and Sprout go on over the uses of some common under-appreciated houseplant.

She pulled out the folder she kept on job interviews and applications from her desk drawer, sat on the floor and laid out the pieces of parchment. She made a stack for the copies of applications she had owled that resulted in polite rejections. The second stack was for those she received only a note for, saying the application would be on file for a year.

It was this second stack that she now picked up and studied. Three businesses had since closed. She sighed, thinking finding a job would be a lot harder now that their displaced workers were also looking. With a flick of her wand, she reduced the three applications to ash. She looked at the next two pieces of parchment and knew they were dead ends. She returned them to the floor and frowned.

She now had two applications left that she could update and send in with an inquiry. The first was for a position at St. Mungo's for work in the Potions and Pharmaceutical billing department. The second job was working with Arthur Weasley at the Ministry. She flicked her wand at the second piece, sending that to ash as well. She knew she would not be able to work with Arthur Weasley after all that had happened.

The Weasley family, cold to her since the last time she had seen them over three years ago when she was no longer with Ronald. She could only imagine what they would be like now, after all this time. She pulled out a sheet of parchment to send off to St. Mungo's, updating her resume, asking again for a job interview.

When she was done, she sat hugging her knees, looking at the fire and wondering about going out into the Muggle world. She had enough in her vault that she could afford at least two years of school to update her skills to fit back in the world she had left. Never before had she considered it seriously. Now, she sat and thought about the brochures she had in her desk and thought she may leave for good.

Her parents were no longer hers, not knowing who she was or who they had been. She tried to remember friends from her days in the Muggle world and found she knew a few first names, but knew no one she could drop in on or invite for tea.

She found a melancholy sweetness in the idea of disappearing with no explanation. She wrinkled her brow and wondered if anyone would really miss her. Five years ago, she would have thought of many; today she could think of none. Neville was the closest to someone her age she could call a friend, but that was not even true. He was a work associate who talked to her between classes on occasion. At least it was more than the rest of the staff, who limited talk to meals and never directed their comments to her.

She thought of a poem she had read, but could not remember the author or the name. She remembered the need to put away childish things and decided then she needed to do the same. She needed to put away her dreams of a world that she no longer belonged in, a world where she had become an oddity to stare at and wonder about. She put her folder away, knowing she would never send the new resume to St. Mungo's. No, instead she would leave and go back to where she belonged. Nothing here had a hold on her.

Picking up the parchments and returning them to the drawer, she flicked her wand and said a firm "Nox." Having made her decision, she thought she could at last sleep without her dreams.

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Severus Snape managed to crawl out of bed by dinnertime. He had a tray set out in his sitting room on the same table as the half-empty bottle of whiskey. Pushing the tray back, he took his dinner in liquid form again that night. Waiting for the warmth to seep through his body, he stretched out his long legs and laid his head back on the chair.

He sometimes thought of leaving Hogwarts now that he was free of both his masters and the roles he no longer played. Every time he took up quill and parchment to make a list of things he could do, places he could go, and things too long put off, he would sigh, lay the quill down, and know he would stay here until term let out, and then he would begin to plan for the next. It was a cycle of which he was familiar. A cycle he had kept for twenty-two years, twenty-nine if he added in his own student years here at Hogwarts. This was a place of comfort and a place he could hide as he had for twenty-nine years.

He had taught more children than he could remember. Their faces and names blurred together and became the all too familiar ones he saw from day to day. He saw the grey-blue eyes and silver-blond hair and knew a Malfoy somehow figured into the mix, or saw brightly coloured changeable hair and knew with a certainty that if Tonks had lived he would be blaming her.

Tonks, he thought. He never would have called her that, and had never spoken to her more than he had to. Now, as he sipped his whiskey, he thought of the way she had stumbled and tripped and then would laugh at herself and felt his mouth curl up in a grin. He had admired the tenacity in the girl she was, and the fierce loyalty in the woman she became. He frowned when he realized he regretted not having ever spoken to her kindly.

He held the bottle up to the light of the fire and judged how much longer he had to remember faces before the whiskey kicked in, and wondered if half a bottle could still make him forget or if he needed more.

At times, he thought of moving back to the small house he still kept at Spinner's End. For all these years, he had sent a yearly fee to a management company that cared for the house even though he had not seen it in the better part of a decade. He could no more leave his lab and forego his potions than he could live as a Muggle again. He had forgotten the simplest things. The last time he travelled into London he had found the clash of noise disconcerting and the constant hum of electrical gadgets irritating and grating on his nerves.

He held his bottle in his hand as he closed his eyes and brought the cool liquid to his lips once more. He no longer used a glass. He no longer needed to put on airs and be the impressive git of the dungeons. He almost smiled, thinking that he had worked hard for the reputation that he had, and planned on using it to his advantage.

He looked at the chess set Minerva had given him and could not remember the last time he had company and wondered why she had thought of buying it for him. He put his head back against the chair again and chuckled at the thought of playing chess with Peeves.

He tipped the bottle back for another swallow and noticed the pain slipping a little farther away. Opening his eyes and examining the bottle, he judged he had just enough left to see him though. Whispering "Nox", he prepared for another lonely night.

_____________________________________________________________________

Minerva had put Hermione's file back in the desk drawer. Although the witch had the best grades that she had seen for many years, Hermione no longer had that certain spark, that imagination or that certain wonder that she used to have. She missed that 'it' that set her apart. The Hermione of late could learn anything that came from books but missed that certain part of genius that made others stand out.

In normal times, a position in research and development would have been available. In normal times, Hermione would have no problem obtaining employment. However, these were not normal times, and employers did not want an employee who would have the press knocking on the door.

Minerva knew Hermione still woke at night screaming and trying to forget the dreams that chased her through the days. Too many times, she had seen the young witch walking the grounds well after midnight as if trying to fool the dreams into following her outside and losing them there. She had never spoken of it. She was sure Hermione was not alone in her night-time terrors and did not think drawing more attention to it would help.

Minerva reread the last correspondence she had received on Hermione. St Mungo's was no different than the rest. All positions had been filled, they were sorry to say, all positions that the applicant was qualified for. Minerva read between the lines and knew that businesses such as St. Mungo's thrived on privacy and needed employees that were not sought out once a year as the anniversary of the final battle rolled around.

She had not even bothered contacting anyone in the financial area. She knew that one of the trio, and a Muggle-born at that, could not find employment in that sector of the wizarding world. The war may have been won, but the hatred of all things Muggle or Muggle-born was still there. Too many purebloods still controlled the money and had too much control to allow Miss Granger to find a suitable post.

She put the file back in her desk drawer and slid it shut with a sigh. Swivelling her chair around, she looked up at Albus' portrait and saw he was once again pretending to be asleep in his chair.

"I could use a little help around here, you do know." She leaned forward to watch him closely. "Don't sit there and pretend to be sleeping, old man. I can't keep this up forever, and I see your nose twitching."

"Ah, my dear, Minerva," he said as he opened his eyes and smiled. "When will you learn that you cannot fix everything?"

"I cannot just leave it like this. She is all alone."

"We are all alone, my dear. It is only a matter of degrees."

Minerva scowled at him as she folded her arms across her chest. "I don't need more of your cryptic answers, Albus. I need someplace to send her, some place she can go."

"The best thing you can do for her is to leave her alone." Albus smiled, leaned back in his chair, and peered over the top of his spectacles. "Until you find your own peace, you can not give any to her."

"I am at peace. It is Professor Granger that is not. Just last week, in this cold, she was up and walking most of the night. She gets no rest."

"Yet you were up to see her." Albus frowned at her. "My dear Minerva, when was the last time you slept through the night without a potion? Have you never thought that she would be unseen except due to your own dreams?"

"I cannot just forget all of them, Albus. There are so many left alone."

"Alone is much better than lonely, don't you think?" He stood up and walked to the frame on the picture. "Now you must excuse me, dear. I think I will turn in for the night."

Minerva watched as he walked out of the picture and wondered for a moment where he slept. Then, uttering a soft "Nox", she left her office as well and went to bed.