The Girl Who Never Knew

"You've changed," said Ron, staring past me at the fleeting scenery. "You aren't yourself anymore." Harry, behind him, nodded his agreement.

I merely stared at them, waiting for their departure. All I wanted right now was to stare out, my face cold and pale from the wind, as the sight of Hogwarts receded. I wanted to see it disappear, to hope I should never have to see it again. It was his fault I had formed horrible memories of Hogwarts-and then he had left, before I could.

"We're not leaving," said Ron stubbornly, and he planted his arms on his hips.

I nodded. "Alright," I said softly, "don't." I knew eventually I would bore them and they would grow disgusted with me and leave. It happened to everyone; it had happened to him.

Turning my back to them, I watched as we moved, whipping away and retreating, teasing me with the promise of the Muggle world.

When I came onto the train, wild haired and red-faced, there was an owl for me. There was a pink ribbon around its leg as well as a thick letter.

Opening it, its shimmer dazzled me temporarily. I knew what it was, and was reluctant to see it.

Resolving to save it for later, I tucked it into my pocket. I would have little cause to wear the heavy, black robes for the entire summer.

At the station, I caught sight of my parents. They were agitated and very concerned. I did not anticipate the idea of being with these normal, respectable people whom I knew no longer for the summer. Normality and respectability had fallen behind me; or it could have been that I had risen above. Hadn't I wanted the mundane?

_

Sometimes, there is something slothful in one, something that holds one back from the quick, fast, painful thing that must be done. All have felt it; none will extend empathy into another's experience of it, thinking instead: why? What could be stopping them?

This was the situation I had gotten myself into. Every day, the wedding invitation was there, mocking in its proximity and in my weakness. I did not touch it-I should have, but not until much later, when my mother found it.

With my parents' involvement, I lost any chance of changing my mind. There could be no turning back now. Was I going to be supervised? Would my outfit being provided? Could I save them a piece of cake?

Whether I answered is yet to divulge itself to my memory. That summer had come at the beginning of my descent into adulthood... perhaps it was something I was supposed to remember. My life was passing me by, much to my relief, this grave time leaving me unmarked. I did nothing to stop it; actually, I did nothing at all.

That was not enough for any of them, no. I received frilly scented manifestos, charts clotted with rosy inks and diagrams, all merely to demonstrate where I would stand. I was the only member of the party who was not to attend the rehearsals, for I was expected to be a surprise. Here had I been always predictable, boring even, and I was to be the crowning glory of disclosure. This was more than what I was accustomed to.

Only one week before the holiday ended did I recall my homework. Though I was uninterested, I forced myself to scramble together several poor essays, much composed from an automatic recitation of the facts. If nothing else, it would be my name that would trigger a good mark for it. My marks were declining, but I remained confident. Memorizing the entire curriculum had proved beneficial in the end.

I went to shop for my school supplies the next day. Sunday was, I hoped, perfect timing to shop, as most wizards would be immersed in religion for the day. If I did not have to meet anyone, I would deem myself lucky for the first time in months.

My parents went with me, frightened at what I might do-or, they claimed, what might be done to me. They were themselves avid readers of the Daily Prophet and did not trust wizardry anymore. My father had even talked to me about pulling out of Hogwarts; although I had agreed, my mother had not.

"You've spent too much time in that place to give up now," she said, her face drawn and tired. "You're giving up so quickly, when there's so much before you. Why now, Hermione? Why have you decided only now to be so difficult? Any other time..."

The streets were empty, as I had hoped, when we arrived. We bought the books silently, my father abstaining from his customary groans of thrift, and saw no one.

As we passed the wand shop, someone hailed me from inside and pulled me in.

I found myself staring into the glowing eyes of Mr. Ollivander.

"I remember you," he said. "Hermione Granger, four-inch rosewood wand with dragon heartstrings. Destined for great things, yes, if the owner could rise to the challenge. But the owner seems bogged down in sorrow and burden."

I nodded, and as my parents came in Mr. Ollivander made excuses to them and pointed them in the direction of the pub. Then, he turned to me again.

"I can't bear to see talent like yours wasted," he said angrily. "I've been watching you-Albus Dumbledore was convinced you needed a new wand and talked to me."

"No," I said. "There isn't anything I need really." I shook my head timidly as he scrutinized me for some time.

"I think so," he said gently. "Why don't you tell me about it?"

And since I didn't even know his first name, I did.

When I was done, he said nothing at first. Then, he patted me on the back, smiled, and saw me out.

"My grandson feels the same way," he told me; "Severus has been very confused. I regret you will make destructive choices in your life. It's too late for him now-he's already made his choices-but don't let yourself be forced down with him."

Upon arriving home, I received a letter from Professor Dumbledore, asking me to confirm my withdrawal from Potions.

"Professor Snape has assured me you have passed Potions, but I am somewhat worried at your sudden change in attitude towards your studies," he wrote.

This time, I was on the ball, grabbing paper as soon as I'd read the letter.

Dear Professor Dumbledore: As Professor Snape has said I have completed the Potions course. I felt it was keeping me from reaching my academic potential when I already knew the material. Thank you for your concern, however.

I am hoping for a change in scenery, as well, to learn magic from different viewpoints. Would I be able to transfer? I am aware this is on short notice, and I am prepared to wait until after the Christmas holidays. With the utmost respect, H. Granger

On the train, much later, I looked forward to a response, but my hopes were betrayed when one came. Yes, Professor Dumbledore had been kind, but I had expected more than his shock, his readiness to reach out to me, and his reluctant denial of my request.

It crushed me. I had thought of it only as a change of scenery, but it had grown like a tumour in my head... I was starting to think there was a tumour in my head. This was but an excuse, for I was letting myself slip. It felt better than I would have thought.

From a Time-turner, I learnt something of time; from the first term of school, I learnt even more. Time was something you were conscious of, passing without notice, something that could leave no mark on you until you embraced it. For me, it drifted and we were one in our aimless pursuing of yesterday, wanting for something that would never come back. We were one in our unattainable tomorrow, for today came quickly but never quickly enough that we could reach out and seize tomorrow.

No, the days never came at the right speed. I wanted the days to pass quickly, for I wanted to sever my ties with Snape, but I dreaded their coming as his fate drew closer, a noose around his neck.

_

I kept myself perfectly controlled. This was the inevitable happening. This was now-I was here-and from the impact and gravity of this situation, I found I could not talk. There was nothing to say.

Coerced into looking nice, my earlier protests could not be defended. I scrutinized myself in a mirror. Snape passed me as I was doing so, and stopped entirely. Whirling about, he grasped me at arm's length.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed. "I told you to leave me be!"

"I wanted to see this," I said, "and I'm part of the ceremony. Surprise." My words fell flat, my intended speech by the wayside. I had stayed up at nights, thinking of what I would say, imagining the way his face mutilated itself with an expression of alarm.

Even I was a mere trifle right now to him, though. He was getting married, and no matter how I tried to bring myself into it I would be, ultimately, excluded. Worry shone through his jaundiced complexion, his eyes focusing elsewhere. I stood, unheeded, and he stalked off.

A slight, dark woman came out, summoning me to the bridal chamber.

The soon-to-be Mrs. Snape-such a horrible sound to it, a death rattle if there ever was one-was there, brushing her dull-coloured hair.

"There you are, Hemlock. You know, I've been to many wizarding weddings, not like you. I can help you with your questions," she said condescendingly. "At least you'll get this out of the experience." She paused to look at me. "There, you look lovely. I am glad you let me manage your hair for you.

"A wizarding wedding is like this. The couple brings their wands, the procession goes normally, then come the vows and initiation. The wands are a very important part of the ceremony, like a marriage candle. It binds the two."

Her face was flushed and excited. She'd had a long time to plan her wedding and had not lived her life fully until now.

"Your part in the ceremony is to hold my train," she announced. "Look at it, pure gossamer silk, rose-tinted, and hand-embroidered." Looking at me expectantly, she waited.

After some time, I realized the role I was supposed to be playing and found my voice. "But wasn't that expensive?"

That really pleased her.

"Well, yes, actually. But I figure Severus can afford it. He is as rich as royalty." Tossing her head, she laughed. "I am lucky to made this match."

I sighed at her materialism. "What about the rest of him?" I prodded. "Besides his money?"

Her face screwed up, perplexed by the question. "Besides his money?" she repeated. "My dear, no man is anything without his money."

Restraining myself from enumerating many of Snape's traits, many uncomplimentary, I nodded listlessly. My mind mocked her for not knowing him as well as I. Gossamer was characteristic of her, as insubstantial and flimsy.

"Do you know what you are to do?" she asked me. "You may be excused if you do."

I dropped into a courtesy, for it seemed the right thing to do terminating my visit. Smiling slowly, she tossed me a flower from her bouquet and I tucked it into my hair.

Guests were beginning to arrive in a steady stream, several looking askance at me. I fled towards the back of the church, where Snape was pacing back and forth. He hadn't noticed me.

An idea began to form in my head. I took out my wand from my glove, glad to have brought it.

"Accio wand," I whispered, coaxing his wand slowly towards me. It was hard to do when he was in constant movement. Snape was too wrapped up to realize his wand was being taken, and I did not worry about being caught.

When it reached my outstretched hand, I slipped it into my other glove.

There was something clearly amiss in the ceremony when we started. The atmosphere changed quickly from breathless anticipation to snickering curiosity. It was the fault of the accelerated "Here Comes the Bride," and as a result the speedier procession.

I looked at Snape as we moved down the aisle. Gripping the rail next to him, his mouth fell open, before disappearing into a very thin line. This had not been what he had expected; I thought he would have wanted the traditional ways followed to a rigid extent.

We exchanged a look of concern as our eyes met.

It did not take long to reach the front of the cathedral, Snape looking tenser with every step. I smiled at him uncertainly.

The vows were said, loudly by her, coldly by him (though he seemed amused when called Sebastian), and before they could finalize the marriage, the priest said:

"If you do not have your wands, we cannot continue. Now it is necessary for you to check that they are on you."

Severus groped for his wand as his almost-wife whipped out hers. Everyone looked expectantly at him.

"I-I don't have it," he said, stunned, and repeated it.

The guests began to murmur. Turning pale, the bride reached out and slapped him.

Clearing his throat, the priest suggested, "Perhaps we ought to continue this in private once Mr. Snape has found his wand?"

Wailing loudly, the bride yelled, "NO, think of the presents, the supper! What have you done? You've ruined everything!"

With much fuss, the party dissipated quickly, and Snape stormed off to the back again. I followed him.

"I just wanted to get this over with," he said as I entered. "I wished for something like this to happen, but not like this. What a disaster." Turning towards me, he asked, "What have you thought of all this?"

He had never asked me my opinion of anything before.

"Well," I said, but stopped, my words lost. I knew what I wanted to say; the thoughts had been brewing, poisonous, in my head for months. Never had I said a discouraging word to him, yet here he was asking for it.

A fervent look on his face, he waited. For months, I think, he had needed to know how I felt, withholding himself only for me. Now, here was the moment. What did he have to lose? This was the end of the road for us. We would not be meeting again, depending on what I had to say. In sinking to this level, he was no longer so proud. Snape was optimistic. He knew this was his time.

Pulling off my gloves, I held out his wand.

"This is yours," I said. "You probably don't want it anymore."

Surprised, he shook his head. "No," he agreed. He started to walk away.

"Wait!" I called. A mass of emotion exploded inside me. I couldn't express that somehow, I felt there was still hope. Together, we could be invincible and change his dismal future... that we didn't have to pull ourselves into catastrophe to escape the other.

Though he didn't look back, I could see his smile reflected in the mirrors of the chamber.

"Farewell, Hermione," he whispered.

Did I dream you dreamed about me?
Were you here when I was full-sail?
Now my foolish boat is leaning
Broken, lovelorn on your rocks,
For you sing, "Touch me not, touch me not, come back tomorrow:
O my heart, O my heart shies from the sorrow"

I am puzzled as a newborn child
I am riddled at the tide:
Should I stand at the breakers?
Should I lie with Death my bride?
Hear me sing, "Swim to me, swim to me, let me enfold you:
Here I am, here I am, waiting to hold you."

The owl was unsigned, but needed no name.

When I received his letter, I was still trying to forget. When I read it, I realized I didn't have to.