Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

...After Happily Ever After	By : Lissa & snowblind12 Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 25739 -:- Recommendations : 4 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with Harry Potter or J.K. Rowling. I make no money off of these stories. This is just fun for me.

Chapter List
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Chapter One
May 1997

“Will you two come with me?” Harry’s voice whispered from nowhere. Hermione and Ron immediately rose. “Dumbledore’s office,” he murmured. They followed him, unseeing, hand-in-hand, through the Great Hall and up the ruined stone stairwell. Climbing exhaustedly, they reached the Headmaster’s office with little interference.

They watched with pride as the past headmasters and mistresses from Hogwarts cheered and congratulated Harry through their portraits. Watched as Harry and Dumbledore had their odd, sentimental exchange. When the cheering died down and the people in the portraits started to file out to seek news of the dead and injured, Harry turned to them. “I want to tell you what happened.”

And he did. Hermione, gripping Ron’s fingers tightly in hers, listened with her heart in her throat as Harry told them about Severus Snape and Lily Potter. Tears trickled down her face and Ron’s arm circled around her shoulders, pulling her close as Harry recounted his insanely brave trek to his death in the Forbidden Forest. They both gasped with wonder that the Resurrection Stone was in the Snitch and exchanged thankful, sorrowful glances with each other as he described how his mother and father and their friends helped him find the courage to walk into the bosom of Death Eaters that surrounded Voldemort and the curse that would take his life.

They listened in fascination and wonder as Harry retold his after-death experience of conversing with Dumbledore and how he was allowed to choose to return to them. At this point, she couldn’t take it anymore. Hermione pulled away from Ron and wrapped Harry in a snug embrace, burying her face in his chest as she cried. Hermione’s display of undiluted love and friendship choked off Harry’s words as tears fell for the hundredth time that night. He reached for Ron to join them. After what felt like years, they all calmed. Grateful to have each other safe. Grateful for it to be over.

“So, Professor Snape was the hero,” Hermione mused with deepening sadness, as she untangled herself from her two best friends and wiped tired eyes on her sleeve.

“The bravest man I’ll ever know,” Harry agreed, letting a deep sigh puncture the momentary silence.

“We should go collect his body,” Ron suggested after another brief stillness.

“Yes,” Harry and Hermione said in unison. Hermione reached for Ron’s hand again and he took it, gently weaving his fingers through hers, a dumfounded smile on his face. She returned it with a watery one of her own, her heart aching.

Together they made their way out onto the grounds. Harry was stopped numerous times by volunteers combing the rubble for bodies. They wanted to touch him, talk to him, and thank him. After only being able to journey a few yards in as many minutes, Hermione whispered in his ear, “Harry, we’ll go get Snape. You stay with these people, they need you.” For some reason, her anxiety was peeking again. She felt a pull to dignify the man that had likely saved them all with his fearless, cunning bravery.

It felt like a lifetime had passed before they made their way into the Shrieking Shack. Hermione had captured the attention of a Healer who had insisted on bringing a Mediwizard and a magicked stretcher with. Hermione was the first through the passage, her wand held high with its tip lit to see the way through the dreary tunnel. Pulling her weary body into a sitting position as she crawled out of the channel, she struggled to her feet. She rounded the bend, her eyes landing on Snape and froze, mouth agape. His coal black eyes sparkled feverishly, his wand raised as if poised to attack. It trembled slightly, but otherwise a show of strength and rage dominated his features. His other hand was clamped tightly over a bunched bit of rags at the wound in his neck. She cried out, wand tumbling out of her fingers, and lunged towards him, ignoring that his wand rose menacingly. Both her hands pressed to help cover the one he held at his neck. His eyes met hers, searching, as if trying to assess her realness; trying to see if she was there to help or destroy. She shushed him gently as the Healer and Mediwizard sprang to action. “I won’t let you die, I promise,” she whispered fiercely, earnest and kind caramel eyes meeting onyx. “I know what you did, I know who you are. I won’t let you die!” His large hand turned and grasped one of hers tightly in it as his eyes dulled, whether with pain or mistrust, she didn’t know. She stared back at him with clear, syrupy eyes. Apparently finding what he needed, he closed his own and his hand went limp in hers, head lolling.

“HELP HIM!” she wailed, frantically turning his face to hers, trying to wake him. Gentle hands pulled her away as she tried to spring forward to assist; not knowing what to do but needing to do something…anything.
August 1997

Hermione woke with an anguished cry, tears pouring down her cheeks as the bed covers tried to strangle her legs. “Hermione!” a soft, pleading lilt. “’Mione, please wake up. You’re going to wake up Mum!” Hermione’s breathing slowed some, her sharp mind locking onto Ginny’s soft, sweet voice. Her friend and confidant. Her truest supporter. Inhaling a deep, cleansing breath through her freckled button nose she stilled.
Her eyes opened to find Ginny’s boring holes into her. “Did you dream about him again?” she whispered worriedly. Hermione nodded mutely. “Are you okay?” Ginny prodded.

Hermione nodded. “Yes,” she whimpered through a tight throat.

“Should we go see him today?” her friend’s gaze was intense, unwavering.

“Yes,” came the almost inaudible reply, tinged with relief and longing.

Ginny nodded. “Try and get more sleep first, okay? Mum said she wanted to visit some of the other wounded who haven’t gotten to go home, today, as well.”

Hermione’s imperceptible affirmation was given and Ginny rolled off the edge of the twin bed made up for her guest and crawled back into her own. “I’m glad you and Ron decided not to take a romance anywhere,” she murmured conversationally as she cocooned herself back into the covers. “I know it took him a few days to get over, but I heard him tell Harry last night it was probably for the best. He values you as a friend too much to lose you completely if something were to not turn out right down the road.”

“Have you gotten anywhere with Harry?” Hermione asked softly, changing the subject quickly as she pulled the bed clothes straight and threw a couple of punches into her pillow to fluff it up. “Is he still talking nonsense about not being with you?”

Ginny snorted. “I think I ‘talked’ him back into it. I knew he didn’t mean it, I know he’s just still apprehensive about it truly being over.”

“I think we all are,” Hermione answered gravely. “How’d the ‘talking’ go.”

“Almost too far,” she chortled with a wicked grin. Then she sighed, “I was half naked and he was completely disheveled before he called it off this time.” Her smirk broadened. “I wished him a bad case of the blue balls, mentally, for leaving me so ready and wanting. He’s determined I be 17 before we have sex. I told him he better have an awesome present for my birthday.” She snorted.

Hermione choked. “Sex? Pft. I’m not ready and I’m eighteen.” Her mind wandered to the stolen moments with Ron after the battle, both seeking comfort for their wounded hearts and bodies. She never would let it go past some heavy petting – with clothes on. But would she have made the person stop if it had been him? She shook her head, dispelling her thoughts.

“You’re not in love,” Ginny responded wisely.
Hermione mulled that over for a moment, then acquiesced with a nod of her head. “I’ll give that to you.”
She wasn’t a hundred percent sure if she would make someone stop or not. If it felt right, she was definitely old enough…right? Moments later, she heard Ginny’s soft, even breathing and she slipped out of bed, pulling the comforter with her. She crawled up onto the window seat into a tall kneel before tilting to one side to rest on her hip, one shoulder to the window frame. She pulled the warm folds of the worn blanket around her legs. It was very early, she guessed around 4:30. The sun was barely peeping over the horizon in royal blue streaks that blended into the indigo of the night. Stars still twinkled brightly above, it was a new moon, so the stars were the only light that could be seen.
She sighed, dropping her forehead into one hand. It had been a rough summer. A summer of recovery. Hogwarts students had been dismissed the day of the battle and had not returned. While she had read in the paper that magically the castle had restored itself through its deeply engrained enchantments, there was still many repairs left to complete throughout the grounds and Quidditch pitch which the giants and enormous arachnids had destroyed. Minerva McGonagall had been appointed Headmistress. Most of the teaching staff were returning to their posts, except Slughorn, who was permanently retiring. It had been decided that because the school had a tumultuous prior year, all students would be returning to repeat the year they should have completed formerly and there would be a double batch of first years. This meant that Harry, Ron, and Hermione were returning to Hogwarts to complete their seventh and final year and take their N.E.W.T.s. Ginny would return for two more years to complete her secondary school education. While some students felt bitter about this, between the Ministry of Magic and Hogwarts’ staff, it was deemed the best solution versus having partially educated witches and wizards perform poorly on their exams and left to desperately attempt to qualify for posts they were not ready for.

Hermione was grateful she would be able to spend one more year not having to take on full adult responsibilities. She felt blessed that she would get the chance to do up her final year right, with no fear. She was excited to learn what she should have learned while on the run last year, and graduate with the scores she would receive after a year with no distractions and the proper amount of hard work and studying.
Her mind wandered, and she wondered if Snape would return. A slow tickle of warmth in her stomach would not allow for her denial of want. She wanted him to return. She shook her head violently. No, ‘Mione. That’s enough. He’s your teacher. Of course she knew that. She didn’t know what her problem had been this summer. But her longing to know the real him, the one he’d kept hidden from everyone for so long was very intense and threatened to derail her thoughts completely. She bit her tongue and forced herself to redirect her thoughts.
As soon as the dust had settled at Hogwarts, Mrs. Weasley had gathered all her chicks – herself and Harry included – and they had returned home to the Burrow. Many funerals were attended by all, and a sob broke softly through her lips as she remembered laying Fred, Lupin, and Tonks to rest in the ground. Tears trickled down hollow cheeks and she swiped at them angrily. She had cried enough. Once a new routine had been established by the Weasely family, Hermione had let Molly know she needed to find her parents and restore their memories.
It was good to have them home and know that she could return to them and her childhood when the need became dire, but staying there had been suffocating. She had owled Harry to see if she could move in with him at Grimmauld Place, to which Harry replied he was staying at the Burrow for the summer with the intent to permanently reside at Grimmauld Place after the school year ended. She had balked at the thought of returning to Ron. In the aftermath of the Battle, when she was no longer terrified for her life, it had all felt wrong. Even though they had invited her to join them, she had declined to come. This prompted both Harry and Ron to turn up on her stoop the next day.
Harry took one look at Hermione’s surprised and apprehensive face and immediately realized what was wrong. He awkwardly excused himself into the house to prattle at Mr. and Mrs. Granger while Hermione took Ron’s hand and strolled with him to a local park.

They sat on the swings together and Ron lamented over the weather, looking increasingly uncomfortable. Finally, his eyes met hers, and as the tears toppled over her lower lashes, he reached out and brushed one away.

“We’re not going to do this, are we?” he asked her tenderly. She bit her lip as another tear fell, then gently shook her head.

“I love you, Hermione,” he whispered. She nodded.

“I know,” she murmured, gripping the chains of the swing, making her knuckles go white. “I love you, too, Ron. It’s just that, I’m not in love with you.”

He sighed deeply and averted his gaze. “I’ve been wondering about that the last couple weeks, too. I know I love you, but I’ve been worried it was all the pressure and responsibility of the war that made me think I was in love with you.” His voice sounded wrong, but her eyes flew to meet his, a wave of hopeful relief rolling over her like tides over sand.
“We can go back?” she pleaded. He gave a firm nod of his head and gentle smile.

“I think so.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “It’ll be okay. Come back to the Burrow with us?” Her heart shattered at his expression. He was trying to put on a brave front through his disappointment, she felt like a harpy. She was ashamed of herself. Her gaze dropped.
“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
“Never,” he responded, the truth peeled out of him like phoenix song. “No matter how life changes, ‘Mione, you and I will always be family. We’ve shared too much.”

The gentle tears that had slid down her face fell in thicker waves as her breath caught in her throat and she reached out to him. He stood, pulling her with him and into his arms. Wrapping them tightly around her and burying his face in her fragrant, bushy hair.
She shook herself out of her reverie and was startled to realize the sun was fully over the horizon. Heaving another sigh and wiping yet one more tear off her cheek, she forced herself to stand and don a dressing gown. She would see if she could start breakfast for Mrs. Weasley before the house stirred to life. Keeping busy helped her the most.
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...After Happily Ever After