Teapaper

Snape didn’t show up the next Monday and Hermione was distinctly annoyed that she didn’t know what to do with herself other than sit on the couch and wait. The week had been a necessary cooldown from the… intense experience Snape had subjected her to. The knock at the door that pushed her out of her head had her jumping up and shuffling over to the door as quickly as she could.

“Hermione? It’s Harry.” She threw the door open forcefully with a smile.

“Harry!” She stepped back to allow him in to her flat and shuffled back to the couch, having left her cane in her hurry.

Perhaps it was the forced disconnect from people that allowed Hermione to not know that something was wrong until she sat down. The way Harry just stood there and shifted from foot to foot awkwardly. Like he wanted to be anywhere but here in her flat.

“Er, um. How are you?” He tried out and Hermione nearly snarled in frustration and disappointment.

“Right. So why are you here? Just spit it out. You shifting around like that is putting me on edge.” She snapped. Perhaps she was a bit harsh but what did it matter. The strained tendons of their relationship could take it- it was all they could take. The friendly smiles and hugs were long gone. The bitterness of loss had stained every interaction until all that was left was this- strangers that knew too much of each other.

She could hear Harry sigh in what sounded like relief.

“Ron and Lavender. Lavender’s pregnant. I wanted you to know and not… you know… just find out.” The crushing beating of her heart twisted up with her stomach and left her breathless. She’d known- logically, that this was bound to happen. Had even thought herself emotionally prepared for it. Apparently not- the pained beating of her heart whispered.

“Oh. Well, thank you.” She let out a breath. “Send them my best.”

“Are you sure?” The words stung a bit in her ear canals but somehow the pain seemed less. Last weeks jaunt had put pain in to a different perspective.

“Yes I’m sure. I knew it was going to happen. Don’t know why everyone thinks I’ll be surprised at life moving on.” She made a dismissive noise.

“We just… I dunno ‘Mione.” Harry tried helplessly.

“Save the guilt for a better day. It doesn’t help.”

Harry made a frustrated growl.

“Nothing seems to. And you don’t even care to let us try. Not try to fix you, not try to be with you. Nothing. What are we supposed to do with that Hermione?” The bite of his words sunk deeper than expected.

“That’s not fair!” She cried. Her hand found one of her velvet pillows and squeezed.

“You aren’t always fair either. Write some time. We’d like to know what’s going on with you too you know.”

The door shut with a soft snick and no goodbye. Hermione raised her hands to her wet cheeks. When had she started crying?

The twisting in her chest intensified now that Harry had left. She identified it as loss. She’d known Ron would move on- his touches had become less and less sure until they disappeared for good. Back then, the pain had been too blinding for her to even begin to verbalize what she’d wanted. That she’d wanted him even through the pain. She’d wanted a life with him, had seen one even, one with stable jobs and a reasonable amount of children. A life of holidays at the Burrow where she could exist as best as she could surrounded by family.

The sobs came louder and louder now and she hardly recognized the voice that erupted from her mouth even as she dug her own nails in to the skin of her arms and dragged them down, the pain a welcome instrument to help her balance the inside and the outside. It wasn’t right. She knew that. She didn’t want to care but she had to. Tearing herself away from the couch cushions she made her way to the loo found her nail clippers, methodically shortening each finger until they were blunt objects and unable to do harm.

Putting on her coat, Hermione forced herself out of her flat and headed down to the arboretum, desperate to lose herself in the sounds of the fountain and the smell of flowers.

Sitting on what she’d come to think of as her bench Hermione practiced meditation. Calm, measured breaths allowed the smell of roses to pour in to her soul, filling up what was empty at least for a little while. The fountain drowned out her thoughts to at least some degree so she could focus on one thing at a time.

Snape had unwittingly opened something in her that she’d purposely shut. She’d stopped hoping for a cure about the time that she’d moved from the wizarding world. She’d thought she’d accepted being alone when the letters had all but stopped. His selfish offer had given her more hope than she’d realized. A dangerous amount. Enough to leave the core of her open again to being hurt by the reality that the future she’d desperately wanted was gone- being actively lived by someone else. Lavender of all people. Someone so opposite of her that it hurt worse.

The scratches on her arms stung, and she shifted in private embarrassment even as she felt them push her further towards being centered again. She wasn’t embarrassed of her feelings, she had exploded and imploded all at once and brought herself back out on the other side. She survived. But the tools she used were wrong. She felt like a child too immature to use her words. Like she was still just rubbing sticks together to make a fire instead of using a match.

By the time the arboretum was closed and she had calmed down to a point of distracted numbness it was blatantly obvious that Snape wasn’t coming. Feeling very much like an empty flowerpot hidden on the back of the shelf, Hermione packed herself up and went home, stopping only to pick up a quick sandwich that only got half eaten. Forgoing her usual routine she went to bed still dressed in the days clothes.