Chapter Text
“Professor Snape? Sir?” A familiar voice at his doorstep called.
There wasn’t even a knock, merely a whisper of a voice asking for him, as if the person hoped for the message to be lost.
Severus kept his periodicals and stood from his armchair. He had an inkling as to who his visitor might be. A whispered spell and traces of the present vanished. In its replacement was the dusty, unkempt picture of the old.
The wooden door to Spinner’s End creaked loudly, shattering the quiet of midnight. He withheld a wince, putting on his best stoic countenance.
There she was.
Unruly curls displayed, longer than she ever kept them. Muted golden eyes that spoke of her misery and a pale face that bore etchings of speckled freckles.
A tight-lipped smile.
“Sir,” she greeted mindfully.
“Miss Granger,” he returned the courtesy.
She must’ve waited for him to speak further but found herself impatient, blurting instead, “I need a place to stay!”
He arched his brow.
“They have their own families, sir. I can’t possibly intrude,” she continued without prompt, suddenly flustered, “newborns. The Potters have a son. James, that's the boy’s name,” Hermione winced, thinking it must’ve been a sore point for the man to hear that name. Instantly, she changed the subject, “The Weasleys have a girl. Very, very sweet girl…Ron isn’t too well. The family is struggling as it is… I can’t —” she stuttered, growing frustrated with her inability to speak out, “I simply cannot be a burden to them!”
Severus watched rose blooming on her cheeks, squeezing her eyes shut at the mortification of being a bumbling idiot. Determined to not cry, her hands were clenched into fists as she turned to leave.
“Apologies, sir,” she muttered.
“And where do you think you’re going, Miss Granger?”
Her shoulders dropped. This was her last resort. There was indeed nowhere to go.
“I don’t know.”
“It’s cold.”
“It is,” she sniffled, wiping the stubborn tears.
“I shall pay no part in blame should you fall ill.”
Hermione glanced over her shoulder. The door to the unwelcoming house opened wider. Oddly, the first thing she noticed was that Professor Snape wore mismatched socks. To think someone who dressed impeccably all his life wouldn't be as casual.
“I do not wish to wait till sunrise, Miss Granger.”
“Of course,” Hermione replied numbly.
Severus Snape hadn’t met a more nervous Hermione Granger since the first time he met her, waving her hand up in the air, begging to be acknowledged. And now she was in his home, busy with his tea things, asking a hundred questions of his preference.
He wanted to scream at her to stop fussing.
But he couldn’t after seeing her shed her coat, left with a jumper that hung on her spindly figure.
She was far too thin.
Malnourished, he reckoned.
She was gaunt under the flickering lights. Cracking lips and skin that were patchy. Scars were visible on her inner wrist but she was quick to cover them. He suspected that she had been living roughly for a couple of days before taking the plunge to find him.
“Miss Granger.”
“Are there biscuits, sir? May I know where you’ve placed them?”
She fluttered about, opening the cabinets with a surety of someone intimate with its layout.
“Miss Granger…”
“Perhaps you’re hungry? I could whip up something. Eggs and toasts? Breakfast for supper? Is that alright?”
“Miss Granger!”
She visibly jolted, spine straightened before turning to face him. There was a flash of fear in her eyes, afraid that he might strike her.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
He cleared his throat, aware that the girl was scared of him. Gently, he managed, “I do not need tea or supper, Miss Granger. There is plenty of food in the refrigerator. You may have them if you wish. Otherwise, the bedroom is to the left, connected to the shower. There’s a change of clothes and clean sheets. There will be breakfast at seven tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
Severus nodded and left for his room.
Hermione crumbled to the cold floor and sobbed. She felt her chest tighten painfully, biting on her lower lips to stifle the urge to scream out. A hand clutched over her pounding heart, willing it to slow.
“You’re safe. You’re safe. It’s okay. He wasn’t angry. He was just irritated. It’s okay. You’re safe. No one will harm you. Not anymore.”
It took a while for Hermione to drag herself up, gripping the edge of the counter to steady herself. She drank her cold tea and retired to bed.
As promised, breakfast was prepared at six forty-five.
“Good morning, Professor,” Hermione greeted the back-facing man.
A noncommittal grunt answered her.
“Should I make tea?”
“No.”
“But surely I can—”
“Sit down.”
“Sir—”
Severus pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Give it a rest, Granger.”
“Sorry.”
Hermione said nothing more and found her place in the corner seat of the dining table. She watched as the professor helmed his kitchen. A series of fluid movements entranced her, transporting the witch to her time in Hogwarts when magic was everything.
The memories trickled in.
The Gryffindor girl with such eagerness to please. She poured into books, learned charms and curses, enunciated spells with vigour. The brightest witch of her age with so much potential.
Hermione nearly laughed.
The notion was a startling difference. Now, she lives day by day. At times, hour by hour just to get through the motion of being alive. It was an all-tiring endeavour to stay afloat.
“Granger,” Severus handed her a platter of the English Breakfast, taking the woman out of her reverie.
“No beans,” she murmured.
“None left.”
Hermione smiled.
“I don’t like them anyway. Thank you.”
They ate in silence.
Severus surreptitiously observed the woman before him. She was still smiling at her plate, something amusing caught her eyes or perhaps she was grateful for the meal.
He couldn’t be sure. Miss Granger wasn’t as nervous in the past. Now, She was overly friendly to compensate for her overwrought disposition.
She was jittery… jumpy even. Restless and unsettled.
Hiding something?
Hermione chuckled seeing how her eggs and sausage perfectly aligned to form a smile.
“Did you do this?” she asked, looking up with a curious tilt.
Severus tried to appear nonplussed by her question. It was odd that she became comfortable so quickly. It wasn’t usually like this.
He pinned her an irked look.
“Do what?”
“The smile here,” she showed him with a hopeful shine in her chocolate eyes.
Severus nearly flinched and abruptly stood, towering over her.
“Stop wasting time, Granger,” he sneered.
“I was only asking…” She muttered petulantly, still daring to meet his eyes.
“Do I look like –”
“You wore the wrong socks yesterday.”
“What?”
Swallowing hard, Hermione lowered her gaze, “nothing. I’ll shut up.”
She could feel that he was staring right through her, boring into her soul. She held her breath and tightened her grip on the cutleries, wondering where her audacity came from.
When did she get brave?
He would burn holes in her if he could. He would hex her to Sunday if his wand was nearby.
He didn’t, fortunately.
The professor made an effort to appear angry, picking up his own plate and dropping it down the sink noisily. The man swore something under his breath. Hermione tried to ignore it, focusing on her breathing and hopefully controlling the urge to throw up for being stupidly fearless.
How did she become familiar with him?
She hated the man. She hated that he was far smarter and knew how to make her feel lesser. Hermione was fairly certain the feeling was mutual.
“Miss Granger.”
Gathering her wits, she turned to him. She shook her head a little, thinking the professor would be in his full teaching garb, black cloak draped across his shoulders and all. It threw her off a little; he was likewise dressed in a plain grey sweater.
“Yes?”
“Why are you here?”
“I told you.”
“No. You provided excuses as to why you couldn’t turn to others.”
The woman looked genuinely confused, brows knitted together.
“Oh.”
“Well?”
“I…I feel unsafe.”
“Dark magic?” He questioned.
“No, nothing like that,” She murmured, suddenly uncertain, rubbing the inner sleeve of her jumper.
“I need a concrete answer, Granger.”
She bit her tongue, knowing how foolish she would sound, “I don’t know, sir.”
A deep sigh.
“You’ll have to visit St Mungo’s then.”
“I don’t want to,” her voice was small. She was pulling at the sleeve now, exposing the welts along her inner wrist. Severus caught the movement, strode up to her, jerked her up and yanked the fabric down her arm.
“What is the meaning of this?” He shouted, eyes flashing in anger.
“Let go!”
His grip was unforgiving.
“What have you done, Granger?”
“Done what!” She cried out, trying to fight off but her strength proved futile.
“This!” he hissed.
Track marks down her arm. Dark coloured veins and bruises.
“I don’t fucking know! Let me go!” She screamed, pushing him hard enough to break free.
A look of bewilderment passed Severus seeing the tears sliding down her cheeks.
“Granger–”
“Why do you have to do that? Why are you always so forceful?” She spat spitefully, holding her covered left arm protectively.
He composed himself, placing a respectful distance between them.
“Clearly, you suffered some bouts of amnesia. You’ll visit St Mungo’s.”
She looked indignant.
“I said I don’t want to.”
“This isn’t up for discussion, Granger.”
“I’m an adult,” she gritted her words.
“If you’re an adult and not a spineless child, you wouldn’t need my help.”
His words stung. Her cheeks flamed in embarrassment.
“Fine. I’ll leave.”
“You’re shooting up drugs like an addict!”
Hermione shot him an offended look.
“I have never consumed those things.”
He pointed at her arm. An angry stab.
“Those marks are proof. You can’t lie to me, Granger.”
“How would you know?” She retorted.
“This isn’t the time to be stubborn.”
For someone her size, Hermione was pushing her luck as she stepped towards the man.
“Answer me.”
Another step, neck craned up to meet him. She watched the flash of panic skirting in his pupils before it vanished just as quickly.
“You’re being childish.”
That riled her up.
“Answer.Me.”
Severus stared at her blankly before saying, “you’ve been here before. Have you forgotten, Granger?”
“What?”
“You heard me fine.”
“I don’t believe you. You’re lying,” Hermione accused sharply.
“How does that benefit me in any way?”
Refusing to back down, her eyes narrowed.
“You were a spy. Lying comes as a second nature.”
“My days as a spy had nothing to do with you, Miss Granger, if your sobriety could help you think for one second,” Severus retorted too easily.
She didn’t know why his words were particularly hurtful. Why did she want his self-sacrificial notion to be about her?
“Now, Miss Granger, a visit to St Mungo’s, yes?”
Hermione nodded, stepping back. She had lost all bravado.
“Clean yourself up. We’ll leave soon.”
In the bathroom, Hermione tried to recall.
She looked at her reflection in the mirror and touched her face. Her skin felt dry. Her eyes were swollen from crying, tinged with red. Her hair was an untameable mess, frizzy and bedraggled. She pulled the sweater taut against her body, securing the excess fabric to the back.
Far too thin, collarbones poking through, skin of a sick pallor. Her mother would be disappointed.
Whatever happened to mum?
A drug addict.
Yes, that was believable.
This has happened before, her mind suddenly screamed.
She was in the exact same state then. Thinking of it makes her head hurt, like a gnawing probe digging at her skull to skip away the past.
Obliviate?
Surely that’s fucking messed up.
Disgruntled and feeling entitled, Hermione, barged into her professor’s room demanding answers.
“Why can’t I remember?”
She froze, aware that Severus Snape was shirtless. His bare, scarred back was to her.
A low gasp escaped her.
“Get out,” his voice eerily quiet.
A sudden fixation on the web of silvers.
“Your scars.”
“Granger.”
“I drew on them.”
He turned then. Eyes blazing with wrath she hadn’t seen before. Hermione fled the house, fearful of the words she blurted. Terrified of what they meant.