Breaking the Chains

Endings & Beginnings

It was nice here. Safe. Unthreatening. No raised voices, no pain or death or pressure. These were the thoughts that filtered through to Hermione, as if sent from another mind, far away, corrupted by static. Though hers was the only mind here, she knew that. Still what she knew no longer mattered, thought processes were a distant memory; a worry for another day.

Virtually obscured by the intervening distance were the voices, snippets of which filtered through. They were much quieter. And it was easy to choose not to listen, feint as the words were. The temptation to do so was great. When she weighed the calm of her current state against the angst-ridden sounds of those words, the decision became much easier.

She chose to stay where she was, in the place that was not really there, but was the entirety of her reality for the moment. It was not a decision that she took without a certain amount of regret attached - the image of a dark-haired, dark-eyed man was the one thing that kept her from drifting further than she could currently perceive.

In this place, it was most likely possible to cross over the horizon. The way back would be complicated though.

To avoid the heart-ache that memory caused, blurry and incomplete as it was, she examined the place around her. This examination turned up some interesting conclusions. This was a place with no name. It was not a place of dreams or nightmares; it is not a place of good or bad; it is just a place. This was a place which had no name, nor could it ever have. It was the makings of free-fall, the aching of loneliness, boredom and loss; or maybe Hermione thought, maybe it was her emotions that were in free-fall; maybe she was unwilling to allow them to settle for fear of allowing the past to return.

As she made these discoveries, the voices faded away, and people shifted to an even further distance. The only thing that remained constant was that presence by her side, a presence she knew every intimate detail of, that haunted her mind in this empty place, calling her back.

And then, in an epiphany that was singularly undramatic, she realised what she had been struggling to find for so long. There was nothing here. No answers. Nothing more to find than was already within her. This was no way to face the world, or her problems, or past. She had to go back.

* * *

Severus Snape had sat by Hermione Granger's bedside for nearly the whole time she had been in the infirmary. After she had collapsed in the corridor, she had not regained consciousness, and showed little sign that she was aware of the world around her since. That had been four days ago, Dumbledore mused, and he had to confess he had no ideas what was going on in her head.

Neither did Poppy Pomfrey, who could say nothing more than her state was akin to that of a very deep sleep. Physically, she was unharmed. After it became clear that first day that she was not going to awaken, the ministry officials had left, demanding to be informed as soon as she awoke.

The Aurors had left almost as soon as the details of what had happened had been explained, eager as they were to begin searching for a body. They were anxious to have that confirmation this time around, it seemed, and were currently storming all the haunts of his known followers. The way his death eaters were running scarred provided all the impetus they needed, and the assurance that they would not storm into one of his strongholds and meet the man himself in all his magnificence.

All celebration, in fact all mention of what would come to be known as a glorious victory, had be strictly forbidden. Dumbledore had happily complied with that; he too was searching for the words and the time to tell the school what happened and how, perhaps why, and having the body of Voldemort found to start with would definitely make it easier to begin.

At the moment, all Dumbledore knew for certain was that there had been no revels, no attacks, no raids of deaths in the magical community, and that the dark mark that had marred Severus's flesh was now gone. That, along with Severus's word and account of events, was good enough for him to believe.

However the lack of a body was not only suspending celebration and announcement, but the investigation that had been promised. Fudge, who was still in power despite his disastrous, short-sighted refusal to move against Voldemort at the end of the TriWizard Tournament, was being deliberately obtuse. This time there was no Barty Crouch to lead the purge of the magical society, no zealot on a mission to destroy dark wizards everywhere, just a man who wanted as little trouble as possible.

Dumbledore knew, without a doubt, that should he allow it Hermione and Severus would be the scapegoats for the events of four days previous. There was no way the ministry could condemn Harry Potter without revealing just how extensive Voldemort's power had become, something Fudge did not need.

For in this campaign Voldemort had taken a slightly different tack. He had not declared all out war on the magical world, preferring instead to target key people with fatal precision. The fodder for revels was drawn from the Muggle community world wide - apparition made it easy to spread the losses - instead of the children and family of witches and wizards on the side of good. It had been a master stroke, taking out the people who argued loudest that decisive action needed to be taken against Voldemort, whilst giving the rest little incentive (or personal vendetta)to make themselves targets.

That had given Voldemort the time he needed to establish himself once again, while allowing Fudge to play down the threat he posed, using the media to reassure people, and more importantly, retain his own position. It had been Dumbledore's actions, and those of the Order of the Phoenix, that had held the situation in check for as long as it had been. And now it was over.

He had seen in the way Fudge pushed through the crowd to listen to Malfoy's groundless accusations that Fudge was looking for anything to explain away the fact that Voldemort had nearly succeeding in killing Dumbledore and taking over Hogwarts to boot. The gleam in Fudge's eye as Malfoy had spoken, and his steady countenance thereafter confirmed that he was going to use that slander to his advantage.

Malfoy deserved to have his mouth sown shut, Dumbledore noted grimly, but that would not help the situation now.

No-one had discussed the accusation that Potter had raped or impregnated Hermione, although it was clear to see that she was pregnant while Severus had carried her, at least not official. Neither had anyone discussed Severus's supposed part in this revenge killing Hermione had plotted, although the ministry, or rather Fudge, had requested that he be suspended from his post until the investigation had been completed. Dumbledore had of course complied, but had not had the heart to remove him from the school.

In truth, it would have taken an act of the gods to pry Severus away from Hermione's unconscious form. It was refreshing to see Severus showing such healthy, normal emotions; to show any emotions at all, other than self loathing in private or arrogance in public. He just hoped that Hermione would awake soon, because without her Severus was quickly falling apart, and this time he would surely descend even deeper than before.

The young lady in question had to wake up, if only to enjoy the life she had fought so bravely to earn, and to give her child a mother. The world had enough orphans already.

* * *

Severus was tired and grumpy. He was fed up of being watched and checked up on, and reminded to eat and sleep. The last time Dumbledore had tried, he had growled that should any of his actions come close to causing him fatal damage he would be required to desist by that 'damn charm', so he could stop fretting and go away.

Dumbledore had move away slightly to watch the two of them for some time, lost in silent contemplation, then to Severus's huge relief, left without further comment.

Now he thought about it, his whole back was aching from leaning on her bed, and for some reason so was his left shoulder. Sleeping sitting upright had been a blast from the past - the last three months had been spent in a bed with Hermione beside him - and he didn't regret stopping that habit.

His magic was just returning to full strength after six days, and he assumed Hermione had suffered the same drain on her strength, even if she had not realised it in her sleeping state. Looking down, he rolled back his left sleeve to look at the pale unblemished skin there, and was reminded what it was all for.

Damn the bigger picture, if I can't be happy. He thought. Forget the common good, what about me?

Because you're still paying the debt you can never write off, came his answer, you're paying, and she's paying, and it's still not enough.

He looked up, his face tight with pain, to find Hermione gazing up at him.

"Is it gone?" she whispered.

"Yes. It's gone. We did it. We actually did it and made it out alive." He was grinning, probably idiotically, but right now he didn't care.

All he cared about was gathering Hermione into his arms again and holding on in case she tried to slip away again. Which he did.

In return she wound her arms around his waist and squeezed against him. The moment didn't need any words, so none were wasted.

When Madame Pomfrey bustled in, neither broke away.

* * *

Poppy Pomfrey couldn't help herself, and when she considered it, didn't see why she should - this was her infirmary and the patients were her guests. If they wanted to keep their secrets, then they should keep their voices down.

After having walked in on the couple hugging, she had gone against her normal instincts of ending all physical contact immediately when it was not strictly platonic, and let them continue to hug. It seemed to be as far as they were going, and they clung to each other with a desperation she had rarely seen.

Once it became apparent that Hermione had fallen asleep once again, she had wrestled her out of Severus's grip and checked her over, pronouncing her fit and the baby unharmed, and the sleep this time to be much lighter. Severus had remained stubbornly in his chair, if anything looking more worried than before, probably by the prospect of loosing her once again.

This was the point at which she had rejoined to her office, to call Dumbledore about her patient's recovery, and to escape the intensity of the emotions swirling around the room. He had told her that until Hermione was fit enough to face the inquisition, this development should not be told to anyone else.

Poppy had understood his meaning well enough.

So she had held her tongue, and it was maybe an hour or two later that the voices had started up:

"Hey, you're awake."

"Hmm."

"Is that a 'be quiet' ?"

"No."

"Good. I love you, Hermione, and I thought I'd lost you for a while."

"I love you too - but you know it'll take more than Voldemort to get me off your back."

"It certainly will. He's currently as influential as a pile of dust."

They had both laughed at that, and Poppy had privately wondered, but then maybe that was just their way of dealing with things.

"So it worked then?"

"Yes. What exactly do you remember?"

"I haven't tried to, I'm concentrating on now."

"That's okay; don't push yourself until you're ready."

"Was it that bad?"

"Yes."

"Then that must have been what I was hiding from . . ."

"Hiding?"

"Long story. So, I did my bit - but it didn't work as fully as it should have. I - I - what then?"

"You went to Potter."

"Yes - I went to Harry - told him how to fight - and then - oh gods - oh ---"

At which point her voice had cracked as the memory washed over her full force.

"Is he really dead?"

"I'm afraid so."

"And did Malfoy really say all that stuff to the minister of magic?"

"If you mean by stuff, give out a motive for you to murder Potter, and accuse you, us, of doing just that, then yes, he did, bastard that he is."

"Hmm. When do a get the chance to turn him into a ferret?"

Snape paused, perhaps fighting laughter, perhaps frowning. "That might not be the best of ideas right now."

"I know, but thinking about it makes me feel better."

"Still -"

His voice was cut off as Dumbledore himself entered her office, and she gave him her full attention.

"How is Miss Granger's condition now?"

"She seems to have improved dramatically - her prolonged sleep was a way of avoiding dealing with her troubles, I gather."

"Is there any chance of the situation recurring?"

"So long as she's not put under too much stress, I doubt it."

"Then I would like to see her, see them both. I need to inform them that the funeral is taking place tomorrow."

Poppy nodded, and gestured towards the room in which Hermione and Severus were to be found, but declined to join him.

This time, she shut her office door, which activated the silencing wards.

* * *

Hermione looked up as the door to her room opened, as did Severus, to see Dumbledore ease his way through it. He was smiling, but reservedly so. He looked both happy and sad at the same time, a feeling Hermione could easily relate to.

He inquired gently about her health, and her comfort, and had similar words for Severus. It was true Hermione noted, that Severus looked haggard and drawn, but he joy shining through his features had stopped her from noticing it thus far. He had seemed perfectly happy to carry on, and was capable of doing so, and said as much when asked.

It was at this point that Hermione noticed him become uncomfortable. He had evidently run out of safe topics, and was now faced with moving on to more difficult ones. Curiosity battled with a desire to shield herself from whatever could make Dumbledore uncomfortable.

Curiosity won. "Would you mind telling me what's being happening in the world since the solstice?"

"Well . . . Miss Granger . . . Hermione . . . quite frankly there's been a lot of trouble since that incident in the corridor. Cornelius Fudge has latched onto the accusations and is trying to use it to keep his position."

Both Hermione and Severus frowned at this, in confusion, not in anger. Anger was to come later.

"Fudge cannot let the scale of Voldemort's power or destruction become public knowledge, which it would if he told the truth about events. So rather than paint you two as heroes, he prefers to paint you as villains who killed Harry Potter with revenge in mind.

"There's currently a search for Voldemort's body going on, and it's more than likely that whoever finds the body will also be credited with having defeated him. The details will be classified of course, that being a quick fix for everything, and Fudge will be applauded as Minister, instead of the true cost of his refusal to believe becoming apparent.

"So at the moment I'm doing my best to keep them out of this school, and away from the two of you. There will be a full investigation and a trial, of course, but that's a worry for another day. No seriously, Hermione, we can and will protect you, and get Fudge out of office as well.

"But for now there is one more important matter. I came to see how you are because I wanted to know if you'd be well enough to leave the school tomorrow. Oh dear, that came out terribly, I don't mean for good, I mean for a day. . ."

Hermione had looked up with a sudden clarity in her eyes, and squeezed Severus's hand a little tighter. When she spoke, her voice was choked, but there were no tears in her eyes.

"You're burying him tomorrow, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Godric's Hollow, the plot next to his parents, to be exact."

"Of course. I'm not sure how welcome I'll be though."

Dumbledore smiled and inserted, "All his teachers are going; I would insist that you were there anyway."

"How . . . thoughtful . . . of you."

"I have my moments."

During this exchange, though, Hermione had drifted away with her thoughts. She had no idea what was going to happen to her, or how one night could reduce the structure of a carefully planned out future to ashes. The only thing she knew was that now Harry was dead, she couldn't blame him, or hate him.

In lieu of anything else to do, she studied the grain of wood in the door.

* * *

The funeral had been underway for a while now. Severus Snape stood at the back of the crowd, looking as properly disinterested as he should, and earning himself stares of disapproval.

He wasn't interested. Dumbledore had been characteristically cunning in demanding the presence of all Potter's teachers so that Severus's presence could be justified. However nothing justified standing shoulder to shoulder with Hermione at this moment. They were playing endgame and needed now more than ever precision control over themselves and their appearances.

Instead of pining to be with Hermione, he concentrated on projecting emotions of calm and composure to her across the crowd. Shielded by all the other people, it was no easy task. But it was necessary.

Ronald Weasley had been there with the rest of the clan, all looking suitable distraught. For himself, he couldn't countenance such an outward display of emotion. Why did these people need to prove to the world how much they were grieving; why did they need to prove publicly how much they loved the deceased? Shrugging it off, he decided maybe it was just their way, and each to his own.

But Ron, as soon as he had seen Hermione had felt compelled to rush to her side and ask her if it was true. 'There's lots of truth out there. Which one were you searching for in particular?' He had heard her say as he moved away, and had smiled. It was something he would have said. 'About the rumours. What Malfoy's saying?' He had caught, and stopped at the edge of hearing range to await her reply.

Though the intense grief he had felt come off her when she had eventually answered had stopped him smiling:

'If he's saying that Harry and I helped kill Voldemort, then yes, it's true. If he's saying that I killed Harry on purpose, then no, it's not.'

'And the other thing?'

Hermione had just turned away, unable to answer. In the clothes she was wearing it was obvious she was seven months pregnant.

And so the funeral had begun, with a small, but discernable distance between Hermione and the people standing around her. It was sad, but understandable.

However, as Severus had been musing and focusing on Hermione, he had not noticed the funeral come to an end. It was only the flow of people moving away that alerted him to the fact. Hermione had yet to move.

Once everyone bar himself, Hermione and Dumbledore had disapparated of disappeared, he released his partial control of her emotions to let her deal with things her own way, then settled down to wait. Dumbledore came to sit beside him, and the two were peaceful until a series of little plops announced a few new arrivals.

Hermione remained unaware, but the two men turned to be met by Cornelius Fudge himself, with a guard of four Aurors.

"I asked to be informed when she was ready to spoken to." Fudge opened coldly.

"And we will, minister." Dumbledore answered equally coldly. The lack of capital letter on the honorific was obvious, too.

"I meant when she awoke."

"Then I'd advise you to say what you mean. It generally avoids confusion."

"Then let me be clear. There will be no more attempts to prevent this investigation from going forward. I will interview her today, and bring this to trial as soon as possible."

"No, you will not." That was Snape, evil Snape, icy Snape, intimidating Snape speaking.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'd apologise, but then I'm not sorry. I thought we were speaking clearly, so here it is. Miss Granger has her NEWTs in two weeks, and these proceedings will disrupt that. Her pregnancy means they cannot be delayed. I'm sure you were not aware of that, or you would not have made the suggestion."

His tone, however, said he believed the exact opposite.

"So, I would like you to consider that the outcome of the trial exonerates Miss Granger entirely, as I expect it will. You will have prevented her from qualifying as a witch, which I will take personally. I have spent a considerable amount of time tutoring her in readiness for these exams. If there's one thing I dislike more than you, minister, it's wasting my time. As I said, I take it personally.

"You think Miss Granger was out for revenge, so let me tell you, you have no idea what a vengeance quest looks like. I do. And I would be happy to show you. So let me explain. Should you prevent Miss Granger from qualifying as a witch, or give her an unfair trial, I will publish the details of every death Voldemort or his death eaters has caused in the three years since his resurrection in any media interested.

"Don't look so disbelieving. You might not rate the Muggle police, but I have (like everywhere else) contacts there. Contacts happy to compile a list of every body found with the ritualistic markings that the death eaters love to leave, of any and ever crime featuring a dark mark hanging in the air. And you know how long that list is going to be. Try having a working relationship with the Muggle Prime Minister after that, because he will receive a copy, you can be sure.

"And if that is not enough to turn public opinion against you, I will publish the name of every death eater I have encountered, along with the amounts of money they have contributed towards your private ministerial coffers. And yes, I do have that information already.

"So, if these are events you do not want to come to pass, then here is what you will do. Nothing, until Hermione's results are published. Then you will hold a trial, where both Miss Granger and I will testify, under the influence of verisatum, administered and brewed by an independent official. All the national media will have representatives there. And we will have the truth out once and for all.

"Do you agree?"

Fudge swallowed, the answered,

"You wouldn't dare."

Snape merely raised one eyebrow. "Try me."

Dumbledore nodded his assent and approval.

Fudge disapparated, followed by the Aurors, who were grinning. It seemed no-one likes a bureaucrat.

* * *

Hermione had felt the empathic emissions from Severus weaving their way to him across the crowd - calm, strength, control, love. They were a crutch she felt grateful for; they allowed her to carry on without breaking down entirely and maintain some dignity, in what seemed to be a sea of hostile faces. But they were only a crutch, not a reality, she reminded herself, as the funeral progressed.

After Ron had spoken to her, virtually accused her, she had abandoned trying to follow the words. The sentiments were enough, and she tuned out the voice leading the service to little more than a lilting hum, so that her thoughts could follow their path unhindered.

She began tracing the route between first meeting Harry and Ron on the train, through the incident with the troll, and the adventures that had ensued. Logic and poisons - basilisks - werewolves - dementors - time travel - dragons - screaming eggs - endless hex practises. She was just reviewing the incident in the fifth year with the errant broomstick and the giant squid with something approaching amusement, when she felt her crutch collapse.

Turning quickly, she scanned where the crowd had been for Severus, and instead found it gone, and Severus and Dumbledore standing a way back waiting for her. It seemed the funeral had ended and she hadn't even notice, but Severus seemed prepared to wait as long as was necessary.

Turning away, she missed the arrival of Fudge and his Aurors.

Instead her attention focused on the graves before her. Harry's was still fresh, as were the tumult of emotions running through her at the moment, so she wandered on to the next headstones. Lily and James had been buried in the same grave, a circular symbol representing eternal love carved into the stone. Beyond that the previous generations of Potters were lined up, the dates displayed on their markers stretching back over several centuries. It appeared the Potter ancestral home had been in Godric's Hollow for some considerable time.

Which raised a big question Hermione had been avoiding. Was Harry going to be the last Potter? Genetically, she knew the answer was no. Her child was currently the last Potter, but it took more than a genetic match to make a parent, or come to that an heir. By Hermione's reckoning anyway. In her mind the issue was simple - her child would be a Granger, but recent events had made her wonder.

As her anger at Harry had dissipated, she had begun to wonder whether or not she owed him anything. He had certainly never asked her to take his name, or bear him an heir. She knew she had no obligation to him, but they had been friends - virtually inseparable - for six years, and he had saved her life on more than one occasion. And when it had come down to it, he had fought for her, rather than against her.

Finally, she felt ready to face his grave. Hesitantly she sat down at the foot of it, and crossed her legs underneath her. In her mind, she said what she had to say, although around her there was only silence.

'Harry', she wanted to scream, 'you betrayed me worse than anyone else ever has. You caused me the most intense mental and physical pain I've ever known. The hurt you caused me will never leave me.

'You were my best friend - and Voldemort managed to persuade you to do that to me - and that's why I was so angry with you. Why wasn't I good enough, or important enough to you, to fight? I'd have really liked an answer.

'But despite that, I can't be angry any more, or hate you. The way you died - well up to then I'd have said you'd failed in your fight for good - but now I'm not so sure. In the end, you did what I know you've always wanted to: kill Voldemort. We couldn't have done it without you.

'I'm having your child, and I'd like you to have known about that properly, perhaps to have seen your daughter. I don't know if she'll look like you. I'm sure she'll do and say things that remind me of you - but at least the memories won't be so overriddingly painful. But I don't know if I'll tell her about you, or if she'll take your name.

'I'm sorry. I don't know why, or what about, but I wanted to say that. I hope you find your peace.'

The thoughts were sealed with more silence. Vaguely she could hear Severus talking in the back ground, and then turned to find Fudge flouncing away, then apparating, and Severus drawn up to his full and impressive height, looking truly menacing.

She had said all she had to say - made her peace - and knew that it was time to leave. Her silent monologue had cleared the air, and made a definite end to the relationship. In her heart, Hermione knew she had visited Harry's grave for the last time, and shed her last tear for him. She walked over towards her lover.

As she approached, she caught the tail end of a conversation with Dumbledore saying,

". . . really think it was a wise offer to make?"

"Albus, there's no such thing as an independent official. Trust me, I have a plan."

"If it's optional, I'd really rather not trust you as far as I can throw you."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"Hello. What did Fudge want?"

Both Severus and Dumbledore turned immediately, looking slightly like they had been caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

Severus smiled his most reassuring smile, "To wish you well in your exams."

"Oh, gods, I'd totally forgotten about them! When are they! I've lost track of time."

"In about three days." Answered Dumbledore.

The information rendered Hermione totally speechless. She looked like a rabbit caught in the glare of headlights.

Severus grinned, almost maliciously. "I suppose this is one of the occasions on which being an insufferable know-it-all comes in handy."

Hermione just shook her head, still in shock. Severus offered her his arm, and she took it dazedly, and allowed him to double apparate her back to just outside Hogwarts.

By the time they were walking up the drive towards the entrance hall, Hermione had found her tongue, and was chattering ceaselessly about the revision she was going to need to do, where she was going to do it, and when, and in what order.

Severus felt himself thinking longingly of her earlier silence, or even her coma, but instead settled for calming her down.

* * *

It was a good thing, Hermione reflected at various points over the next week, that she had spent so many days in a deep sleep. The Monday after she had attended Harry's funeral, her exams had begun. That she was as prepared as any other student that had ever taken them did nothing to quieten her nerves, and she spent the intervals between exams revising frantically.

However, some cruel irony meant that Severus was the only one who ever saw this. All her examinations were taken in the room adjoining Dumbledore's office, and she was collected from her room in Gryffindor tower by a member of staff and escorted there on each occasion. So whilst the morning before a afternoon exam (or the night before a morning exam) she was frantic with anxieties, leafing through her notes over an over, in the hour or so before her exam a muted calm washed over her. It was as if in her heart of hearts she knew that there was nothing more she could do to prepare, and that last minute cramming was unnecessary, as she knew every word that was there anyway. That self-confidence only reared its head at times of most desperate need, but the fact that it did, meant that she was able to perform well in her exams.

Hence when she was collected, there was only one word to describe her manner: poise.

But on the roller coaster between highs of elation at an exam gone well, and calms of pre-exam confidence, peaks of nervousness, and troughs of satisfaction at a paper that contained no unknowns, she was hardly relaxed enough to sleep. That, along with the fact that she had to get up at least twice a night to go to the toilet, meant she found little rest, and by the end of the week saw her running on adrenaline and pepper-up potion.

Beside that, she was sleeping alone, and in her Gryffindor room, not Severus's. If there was a reason for that, she couldn't put her finger on it. It wasn't just that in the advanced stage of her pregnancy she no longer felt comfortable with the idea of making love, because she knew he would understand and respect her reservations. And she couldn't fool herself that it was to spare him the disturbance that her agitated and wakeful state would cause him, as she knew he would care for her, and needed much less sleep than she did. He would look after her, and support her; she knew that, just as she knew he felt hurt at not having the opportunity to. And she regretted causing that hurt.

Yet, in her current state, both mental and physical she wanted to be alone. She had no time to concentrate on anyone except herself, and that had the potential to be even more hurtful to Severus than her avoidance of him.

But now they were over - she had finished with a final exam in charms - and there were no more excuses, she reminded herself. She had to provide a real reason for sitting in her room with no lights on, staring at herself in the moonlit mirror, or she had to go to him.

Slowly she raised her eyes to meet those of the pair reflected in the mirror. The steady brown gaze seemed just a little too knowing, and presented her with two rather cold realities: she knew why she was avoiding Severus; and she was too afraid to admit it.

Deal with the second she told herself, and maybe you'll deal with the first as well.

"Here goes nothing . . ." she whispered to herself, to set the ball rolling.

I am avoiding Severus because I've made an end, or had an end made for me, with all the pain and suffering of the past year. Maybe it's artificial, but there's no perfect time to stop being a victim, and get on with your life in the independent way you always planned, so this is as good as it gets. I want to prove to myself that I can do this alone, if I have to, and that I don't have to lean on him the whole time. That I still have the choice to stand alone.

And because if I get too close and declare my undying love to him, I won't be able to do what I intended. I love him, but I won't let that stop me from keeping my word. The past is not truly over until every loose thread has been tied down. And that is why I don't know if I can go to him. I don't know if I'm strong enough.

Concluding that neither reason should keep her from the man she loved, she gathered her box of floo powder, chucked a handful into the flames, and was gone with a cry of "Professor Snape's rooms."

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