Coda: Hero

*****

It was a soft morning, with a wind blowing from the west and moors seemingly unbroken by any living being. Behind Hermione there was a lake, but she didn't care to look at it. Nor did she wish to look at the castle; it was a known quantity, a solved equation, something behind her, something beneath her. It was something she would be leaving soon, and it simply didn't do to dwell on things past. That was a lesson she would never need to be taught again. In any case she was soon to be gone from this place of peace, and she was glad for it; the castle was more and more like home as time went on, and that was unsettling. Home had always been her parents' house, their little place in the suburbs, and it was never meant to be a tall grey block of a castle, thousands of years old, hallowed with learning and laughter. Home was supposed to be newer and shinier, something she created for herself. It was around the corner; she knew that much.

As she walked away - what was she walking away from? Nothing really, besides the castle; she had often wondered how far she could get without breaking some unseen spell and causing a teacher to follow her, and that was as good a reason as any to leave. The fields were beautiful. She had not thought of nothing in a long time, and it was very pleasant to not think at all. She did not need to think, she discovered; only to be. The sky was beginning to darken before she thought of returning. She had still found nothing: no village, not even on the horizon; no hills, no change. She did not turn back anyway. It crossed her mind that there was a spell to make her seem to be walking further, but it was unimportant. The sensation was the important part, the walking and leaving and going sensation. She continued.

"Not a very good day for a walk, Miss Granger," said a voice from behind her. She did not look back, at first. "It has rained on you. Your clothing is in an even sorrier state of affairs than it was when you first left. You have not, it appears, noticed this fact. Might I ask you, have you possibly lost the last smidgeon of common sense that was given to you?"

The voice was unpleasant; it was Snape. Well, perhaps the voice itself was not unpleasant, the very back part of her mind ceded - it was more the words it said, and the tone it used, and generally the person it belonged to. "I don't know why it matters."

There was silence for a moment. "Turn around when you are speaking to a master." A petulant pause, a breaking of the mood, and Hermione turned. A star had appeared in the sky directly above Snape's head. It looked like a drop of paint. She had turned as she walked; the castle was slightly to her right, and behind Snape the Forbidden Forest, darker even than the sky. It tapered off to her left and returned to the barren moor, but the effect was ruined: she saw that she had not passed more than a mile or two away from the main castle. "I was very surprised when I discovered the insufferable Miss Hermione Granger was so blatantly attempting to leave the school. What might her parents think, should they find out? What might dear Professor McGonagall think, that her prized student values her teaching so little?" His voice was dripping with oil and honey and sarcasm. "I do believe they would be shocked. I, on the other hand, have seen far worse in the Slytherin dorms. So if you would care to accept - say, 50 points from Gryffindor, then perhaps we should be returning to the castle now."

"There's no rule that says you can't go on a walk."

"A seven-hour walk? I'm afraid you are gravely mistaken if you believe you could have returned to the castle before sundown." She was utterly still. If she could have heard Snape's thoughts, she would have been shocked at their contents: they wondered, is she suicidal, they wondered, has she snapped, or am I reading into this? They wondered if it had been Harry Potter who did something to her to make her so odd. But she could not tell; his face was a mask of indifference.

"I'm afraid you should not care. I will be back before curfew."

This time he was still. He seemed to not even blink as she pushed past him, an object in motion - catching him with her shoulder and surprised at her own daring in touching Professor Snape, she did not really expect him to follow her. He did. He stirred as she touched him, turned and strode with his usual purposefulness to her side. Dry grass crunched beneath his boots and her delicate slippers. For a moment she fancied that their feet were something entirely different - something a bit romantic even, because they looked so old-fashioned, especially when draped by the robes she still wore. Then she was surprised again; she had not known that her logical mind had room for many fancies anymore. It had truly been an exceptional day.

"You cannot be thinking about school, but I would very much like it if you might tutor Neville Longbottom." It was a way of a truce, and Hermione was not sure if she was comfortable with the idea that Snape was extending an olive branch, as it were. She wasn't even sure of her own sanity; after all, she had surprised herself and been surprised so much that day (at least, much more than usual) that she might very well be changing into something entirely different and unexpected. That was not bad or good, but she did not know the outcome, which was disconcerting; and that, coupled with Snape's odd courtesy, was very confusing. Hermione was not used to being disconcerted. She had had adventures, but she had always supposed them to be not particularly confusing ones; usually they presented themselves to her as logic problems, which she rarely had trouble with. She did not need to handle the physical end. Harry could be a hero; she was happy to simply study and tell him what he needed to do. It worked out perfectly, but she rather thought that he had gotten the short end of the stick.

She had to think about this before answering, which she did quickly; and then she said, "Why?" It was out of her mouth before she knew it, slipping onto her tongue like a spy and then out to freedom. Out to Snape. Another surprise. She had to continue; it was not something to leave hanging. "Do you - care about that? Because, I suppose, nobody ever thought you did. And I think that maybe it would make Harry a lot less - I mean, it would make everyone more -"

"Harry would sympathize with me. I am aware, Miss Granger. I am not, contrary to popular belief, completely stupid. Strangely enough, I am a Slytherin - you might have picked that up somewhere along the line. And Slytherins are not stupid. Some are ignorant, but none are stupid. Not in social matters. Certainly not in matters involving the Potters. And yes, I do care about poor Neville Longbottom. I would rather not give him failing marks again."

But his voice had somehow stopped working in the middle of poor, and had only started up again at rather; that was enough. Hermione was emboldened, and still rather dazed, and so she did something that was also quite unlike her: she stopped still in her tracks and grabbed his arm, not forcing him to a stop, but more asking him to wait. He did. She did not compare his actions to Harry's or Ron's, but it was immediately clear to her that he was different: not as belligerent, not as impetuous. It might have been maturity or it might have been brokenness. She didn't think about it. That was becoming her mantra: don't think - but that was all right. "What's wrong with you? You're nasty and then you're not, and then you're both. Can't you decide?"

There were tears in her eyes. She blinked them away; it was very clinical how she realized and rectified this, and she was beginning to feel more herself. Saying anything was a bad move; she should be quiet and move on, continue to the castle, but they were gripping each others' arms and he was looking at her strangely, and she did not seem to know how to let go. "No," he said. "No, I can't."

"Then -" She looked back up, and saw only the black of his eyes, black she had always thought was simply spiteful. Now it was different. "Our battles are won. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is dead. You must decide, because if you can't then you're a relic of the past, you're still a Death Eater." He did not cringe. Instead he pinched his lips together, breathed through them as though smoking a cigarette, and blew out in a long sigh. She could almost see something uncoil in his belly, leave in his breath. He was not paying attention; her arm tried, of its own accord, to slip out of his hand, but his fingers grabbed tighter, his eyes snapped open. He was not absent, only self-absorbed for a moment.

"Thank you," he whispered, but it was not a whisper - rather a normal voice with enough raw silk in it to seem soft and intimate. "Thank you." She almost didn't sense his movement before she was being kissed softly on the forehead, her arm released and his hands on her shoulders; she was too caught up on the changes she felt in his face, the lines that had not fallen away but were no longer so tight, the mouth that had opened again and almost even smiled.

"It's all right," she said. "It's all right. You just needed to know that a student who knew you then still has faith in your ability to choose." And then she raised her head ever so slightly, and he lowered his, and suddenly there was lips, and neither quite could tell what was happening. But that was all right too, because there was nothing better than to let go for just a moment, not caring, not needing or wanting, but just being. In her private mind of minds, Hermione rather hoped that there would be other moments of being just like that one, often and in quick succession; but that was later, and at the moment, the only thing she felt was an irrational love for the insecure, unloveable, long-hated person before her.

It was a soft night after the soft morning; she later felt they might have looked a sight returning, late at night, both disheveled from walking in the wind and in the dark. She wasn't quite sure whether she cared. She wasn't quite sure of anything anymore. Perhaps she would stay at Hogwarts awhile that summer, instead of rushing off to her parents. Perhaps she wouldn't tell anyone. Perhaps she'd shout it from the Astronomy tower. "I have shared a meaningful moment with Professor Snape, and yes, we kissed! All students may now avoid me like the plague!"

Many years later she finally asked him: What happened, why did you kiss me? He responded: I needed to feel something human again. I hoped that it would work. Did it? she asked. There was another moment of silence; there would be and had been many of these. Finally he answered. She did not need to hear a word to understand his message.