Snape, A History

Chapter 9: Birthdays and Courage

September always reminded Hermione of Hogwarts. Despite the fact that she had been out of school for twelve years now, the arrival of fall made her long to pack her trunk and face new challenges head on. The challenge this year, however, was not one Hermione relished; this year, she would be relearning how to live as a single woman. She would have preferred to deal with lessons requiring quills, books, and parchments.

The law required that she and Ron live apart for two years before a divorce could be granted. Although Ron had left seven months ago, the first six months were the trial separation; it was only during the past month, after the decision to divorce was made, that Hermione had begun to realize that it was time to think about do restructuring her life. The flat, for example: it was so much a part of her life with Ron that Hermione began to wonder if she should keep it, redecorate it, or even move on.

And while Ron had taken most of his belongings when he left, a goodly portion remained, haunting the closets and drawers of the flat. Hermione was faced with the emotionally charged task of packing the rest of Ron's things and sending them off to France. Even though the most recent owl from Ron suggested that she simply toss the lot, Hermione knew that there were items, souvenirs of the past, which he would surely miss. Harry volunteered to help with the project, and the two of them spent a rainy afternoon going through the remainder of Ron's things, alternately laughing at good memories and commiserating over the sad ones.

"Bloody stupid git," Harry muttered under his breath at one point.

Hermione shook her head. "You might as well call me a stupid git as well. I'm just as much to blame as Ron for the way things have turned out."

"Fine. You're a stupid git, Hermione."

Harry sounded as though he were teasing, but something in his eyes suggested that he was not.

"I'm really sorry, Harry," Hermione said, slumping onto the edge of the bed and propping her feet on Ron's old Hogwarts trunk. "This must be miserable for you. You're my friend and you're Ron's friend as well. You must be furious with both of us, and I don't blame you."

"I am, sort of," Harry admitted, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "We were good together, weren't we? And now that's all gone."

"But it hasn't been the three of us for some time. It's been you and Ginny, and Ron and me... Well, it was Ron and me..."

"I know. It's just that I don't want to see either of you hurt."

Hermione looked up quickly. "It's not like one of us was cheating, you know. We both chose this path. No one person's to blame."

"It still feels like someone died," Harry muttered.

"Ron has opportunities in France that he never had here. He's finally a success in Quidditch, and he's happy. Genuinely happy."

"What about you? Are you happy now? What do you have?"

There was no answer to that question. Hermione climbed to her feet, ignoring Harry completely. "Let's get finished, shall we? I think the last regular owls go out at six, and if we hurry, we can get all this stuff to the post office before then."

What do you have? The question haunted Hermione for the rest of the evening, long after she returned from the wizarding post office. Finally she was forced to sit down and tick off the list on her fingers:

She knew, when the elderly Crookshanks made the list, that it was time to reevaluate her life. At least the book was going well, Hermione reminded herself. If nothing else, writing was a way to keep busy when the lonely evenings threatened to become oppressively quiet. Another few months should see the end of it; already, she was composing her letters of inquiries to the three wizarding publishers in Britain.

The interview with Severus Snape - barely disguised as a discussion concerning Lord Voldemort - had gone surprisingly well. Hermione had collected some new material, although her primary goal was to encourage Snape to open up about himself. And he had opened up...somewhat. Hermione was encouraged by this; while she knew that her little ploy to get Snape talking by discussing Voldemort's foibles didn't fool him for an instant, it had at least been rather effective. They had spent the better part of an hour and a half in the charmless pub, moving from the topic of the war to the new potions coming out of the States, to the snail's pace advancement of wizarding innovations. Hermione found herself appreciating Snape's quick mind and the entertaining discussion.

September was halfway gone when the phone rang one evening.

"Hello, darling," Julia Granger said on the other end.

"Hi, Mum. What's up?"

"I seem to recall that someone is having a birthday on Thursday."

Oh.

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose and grimaced; she was long past the age of being excited over approaching birthdays. "I forgot that it was so close," she admitted.

"I thought perhaps we might have a little do for you," Julia continued. "I could invite a few of your friends over to celebrate."

"No, Mum, please. Don't bother with it."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes, really. Please."

"What about just you, then?" Mothers never gave up hope.

"I'd rather stay home and work on my book. Would you mind terribly? Maybe we could get together this weekend," Hermione countered. Julia meant well; she'd no doubt imagined her daughter alone and miserable on her birthday.

"Of course, dear." Julia Granger accepted the verdict gracefully. "What night will work for you?"

They settled on Saturday night. Hermione hung up the phone, staring at it for a long moment before taking her hand away. Her birthday... She had forgotten that it was coming up. Well, it wasn't as though she and Ron had celebrated madly each year. It wasn't as though a long-standing tradition would fall just because they were now separated.

Hermione managed to ignore the upcoming birthday until she returned home from work on Thursday and rifled through her assortment of Muggle and owl post. Her parents had sent a card, as had elderly Great-Aunt Elsa. There were cards from Harry and Ginny, from Arthur and Molly, from Minerva McGonagall. It was only when Hermione realized that none of the cards were from Ron that reality struck her square in the face.

She pulled out an assortment of leftovers from the refrigerator and made a supper of sorts, wishing now that she'd allowed her mother to have her small celebration tonight after all. It would have hurt nothing: Julia would merely have invited the Potters and a few Weasleys, served a too-fattening cake, and been satisfied that she had spared her daughter a few hours of heartache. Instead, Hermione sat alone, munching on a cold chicken leg and remembering the trendy new restaurant she and Ron had tried on her birthday the year before.

Even working on her book provided little distraction. Accustomed as Hermione was to ignoring distractions while working on a project, it was proving to be a daunting challenge on this evening as images from past birthdays paraded through her brain. She should have worked harder all those years to spend more time with Ron and less on work, she decided. But they had each been so involved in pursuing a career, the drifting apart had been so gradual... Hermione finally gave the writing up as an impossible job this evening, and decided to go for a walk. She could go nowhere tonight without appearing pitiful and needy. Her parents would know why if she turned up there, as would Harry and Ginny. Everybody would think Poor Hermione, alone on her birthday without Ron...

...unless she went somewhere where Everybody did not go.

* * *

Later, Hermione was to decide that she would have given anything to preserve the look on Snape's face when she showed up on his doorstep. To say that the man was startled was an understatement. But he hadn't survived years as a double-agent by being slow to react, and in the blink of an eye Snape had carefully re-schooled his expression.

"Did we have an appointment this evening, Granger?"

"No," Hermione said, already regretting the impulse that had brought her here to Spinner's End. "I - ah - was wondering if you would like to go to the Plaid Pony."

"Now?"

"Yes. If you had no other plans, that is."

Snape opened his mouth briefly, looking for all the world as though he wanted to launch into a diatribe about people who dropped in unannounced. Instead, he shrugged his shoulders.

"Did you want to discuss Voldemort again?"

"Not necessarily, no."

Another silence. Hermione shifted nervously from one foot to another, read to open her mouth and apologize profusely for the intrusion.

"Very well," Snape said curtly. "Wait here."

He disappeared back inside the house, leaving Hermione to stand there alone in the end-of-summer chill. Moments later, Snape returned, pulling on a black leather jacket as he pulled the door closed behind him. Hermione tried not to stare. The clothes he had worn to the pub on their last visit were ambiguous: neither fish nor fowl, passable in either Muggle or wizarding world. The leather jacket, however, was clearly Muggle. It was jarring to see Snape dressed like this, Hermione thought. It made him appear more human somehow.

The Plaid Pony was not as crowded as on the previous occasion. Hermione again watched the leather jacket as Snape removed it this time, tossing it onto the empty chair beside him.

"Well?" he asked, settling back into his chair. "What do you want?"

Yes, this was a really bad idea. "Nothing. Just - nothing."

"Do you honestly expect me to believe that?" Snape raised an eyebrow.

Hermione struggled briefly with herself, then blurted, "Fine. I'll tell you so that you can have your little fun with me and be done with it. It's my birthday, and I don't want to be alone."

Incredulous, Severus sat up straighter in his seat. "You don't want to be alone on your birthday? Sweet Merlin, Granger, what sort of insanity is this?"

"You heard me," she muttered. "It's my birthday. I really thought I'd be all right with this, but it's my first birthday alone - without Ron, that is - and if I spent the evening with anybody else I know, they would be feeling rather sorry for me."

"You must be feeling very sorry for yourself indeed if you were driven to seek out my company," Snape quipped dryly.

Hermione turned bright red. "I wanted to spend the evening with you because I knew you wouldn't feed me false platitudes in order to make me feel better. And also because I enjoyed our dinner here the last time."

The stare that Severus fixed upon her was unnerving, but Hermione refused to shrink under its intensity. Finally, he blinked. Snape shook his head, the corners of his mouth curling up into a grudging hint of a smile.

"Granger, you are an infuriating woman, do you know that?"

"I've been told that upon occasion," she admitted, smiling in faint response.

"Then may I have a beer while I'm not feeling sorry for you?"

Hermione nodded, relieved. Snape rose from his seat.

"May I order something for you?"

"Just a sparkling water."

"Of course." There was an evil glint in Severus' eyes. "Still not drinking?"

"No." She shot him a furious look.

Snape returned shortly with their drinks. Hermione seized the water and took a very large gulp.

"No wonder you were inebriated," Severus commented as he took his seat once more. "Has no one taught you to sip a drink?"

"I happen to be thirsty," Hermione muttered.

"Kindly use some discretion with your sparkling water. I do not wish to carry you out of here."

She glared at Snape. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"Probably not. Tell me, Granger, what part of my sordid life would you like to uncover this evening?"

"I don't intend to discuss the book tonight. Besides," Hermione added, "you made it quite clear that I am not allowed to interview you."

"Of course, I forgot - that last visit was because you wanted information about Voldemort, not me."

"What you're saying is that I have all the subtlety of a dragon."

"I didn't say you weren't subtle, Granger. Just transparent."

"Thanks a lot," Hermione said bitterly.

"Then I can presume that you don't need any further information from me?" Severus asked loftily.

"Just because I don't want to talk about the book tonight doesn't mean that I'm finished with our -" She broke off, the word 'interview' clinging to the tip of her tongue.

"Our what?"

"Our conversation," Hermione finished triumphantly.

The corners of Snape's mouth twitched into a full fledged smile. "If we don't hold a conversation, then this will be a very quiet evening indeed."

Hermione groaned aloud. "I give up. You win. Slytherins..."

"What does being a Slytherin have to do with this, pray tell?"

She shook her head and closed her eyes. She was not, Hermione decided, in any shape tonight to hold her own with Snape's verbal sparring. One had to be rested and in top form for that, and just now she was neither.

"Why," Snape went on, "do you still feel the need to flaunt house prejudices this long after leaving Hogwarts? Haven't you learned by now that the bloody hat puts us where we want to be, not because there is some mystical personality matching that takes place during the Sorting? People enter a house and then take on its character. How else would you explain the fact that Neville Longbottom has an Order of Merlin medal in his sock drawer?"

Hermione stared at him, openmouthed. Severus continued.

"Did you honestly believe that every student in Slytherin House sat up nights, plotting diabolical schemes? Or that everyone in Gryffindor was a hero in the making? I regularly found it necessary to issue low marks to Ravenclaws, and if you think everybody in Hufflepuff was loyal to a fault, then you have not been forced to listen to a sobbing Slytherin whose Hufflepuff boyfriend had three other girls on a string. House rivalries are juvenile, hormone-fueled, and a waste of time, Granger. Surely you should have realized this by now."

She could only sit in silence and try to catch her breath. Severus Snape, the bigoted Potions professor, making sense? Hermione managed a smile.

"You do like to lecture, don't you? Even if you did despise teaching as a career..."

Snape took a sip of his beer and placed the mug on the table. "Adolescents are the most intense, hot-blooded of creatures. Everything to them is 'the worst' or 'the best', black and white, good and bad. Being so young, they have no points of comparison with which to moderate their beliefs. They fail to see the subtleties that are life itself. Are all Gryffindors brave, all Slytherins evil? Of course, legend says it is so. Unfortunately, legends make no allowance for human choice."

* * *

Hermione thought about Snape's words as she lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling and unable to sleep. Their conversation had moved on to a discussion of the topics in that morning's edition of the Daily Prophet, but it was the comments about house rivalries that still commanded her attention. As Snape had said, there wasn't a Hogwarts alumnus alive who hadn't been blinded to the good and bad traits of others, based on house loyalty. But just now, Hermione could see that the vaunted Gryffindor courage was only one type of bravery.

For there was another type: the quiet courage that allowed one to face up to the past and acknowledge responsibility for his or her actions. The bravery that allowed one to accept the consequences and voluntarily make restitution for his or her mistakes.

Hermione Granger found herself, despite all his flaws, in sudden awe of Severus Snape.

A/N: I need to acknowledge another fabulous writer at Mugglenet for her insight into Slytherin actions: Desdemona Black and her editorial "In Defense of Slytherin: A Different Kind of Courage".