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To have loved, and lost (was Missed Chances)	By : professorflo Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 10766 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters within. I make no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Remebrance
- 2-2.
- 3-3.
- 4-4.
- 5-5.
- 6-6.
- 7-7.
- 8-8.
- 9-9.
- 10-10.
- 11-11.
- 12-12.
- 13-13.
- 14-14.
- 15-15.
- 16-16.
- 17-17.
- 18-18.
- 19-19.
- 20-20.
- 21-21.
- 22-22.
- 23-23.
- 22
- 23
Yet again I'm burning the midnight oil to finish this chapter. I promise I will respond to your kind reviews soon. They really keep me going when I'm struggling to get the words down. This chapter was really hard to write, so I'm glad I've finally got it down. Hope you enjoy!
There was no answer. When he realised none was forthcoming he glanced over his shoulder at Minerva, who nodded reassuringly at him and gestured to try again.
He knocked louder. Still no reply.
For the first time in weeks, he laid eyes on his wife – ex wife, the woman he now realised he loved. And he still had no idea what he was going to say.
She was hunched over a desk at the far side of the room, surrounded by mountains of books and papers, feverishly scribbling on something in front of her, even as one hand absently reached out towards another tome. Even from the back she looked a mess. Her hair was dull and the curls hung lifelessly down her back. She looked slimmer. Too slim, in fact.
She'd never been particularly curvy, although she was womanly enough that it was hard remembering her as the annoying child she had once been, but from what he could see from behind, she had lost much of what age and maturity had given her.
"Potter should have done a better job at… No…" he thought, as much as he'd like to blame Potter, he knew that his wife had as much of an obsessive nature as Severus himself. When she had something in her head it would take a miracle to distract her from it. He'd seen her go through several exam periods, as well as the many Ministry cases she'd taken far too personally over the years. He had never seen anyone able to make her act like a normal human.
Perhaps it was a good thing that he'd come. The shock of his presence might just be able to break the destructive cycle she always put herself through when she was in this state. He took a couple of quiet steps towards her, the heavy dragonhide of his boots making no sound despite the worn, thin carpet due to the permanent silencing charm upon them.
His heart was hammering so harm he could feel it in his throat, choking him slightly as he signalled he was in the room with a gentle cough.
"Not now, Harry," she murmured distantly, after enough time had passed that he was beginning to think she hadn't heard him.
Severus said nothing, only taking an uncertain step closer. There was silence for a few seconds as Hermione pulled the tome in front of her and began to flick through it. He was about to speak when Hermione let out an irritated sigh.
"Please don't have another go at me right now. I'm really busy, Harry. I think I've found a loophole and I need to get this sorted."
For a moment Severus hesitated. Perhaps now wasn't the best time. If she really was on the verge of a breakthrough, then it might be best to come back in a day or two. There was something in her voice though, a certain strange quality to it that he'd not heard before, and so he lingered, still silent.
She reached for another book, flicking through it too fast to surely take anything in, before pulling another towards her, even as she grabbed the parchment from the pile on her left with her other hand.
"I've got to find it before something else happens to one of those poor women," she continued, unbidden. Eunice Rabnott killed herself this morning, did you know?"
Severus could now hear the tremor in her voice, and with concern he noticed that she seemed to be shaking slightly. Her hands moved faster as she pulled more books and parchments to her, before discarding them just as quickly.
"I spoke to her only yesterday… I told her not to give up hope, that I was sure I would find something…"
It didn't take a genius to know that she was close to tears. He found himself moving quickly closer, until he stood directly behind her chair, clenching an unclenching his fists as he debated the right thing to say or do. As her sobs became audible, he did the only thing he could think of, putting a hand gently on her shoulder, wishing he knew some way to calm her, but not knowing how.
At his touch, Hermione knocked the book in front of her away in frustration, before turning suddenly and throwing her arms around him.
"…my fault. I should… already." Her words were barely discernible through the cries that shook her whole body.
For a moment his mind went blank. What should he do? He couldn't ever remember being in a position like this before. He'd made plenty of witches cry, but he'd never had one weeping all over him. As little experience as he had with this sort of thing, something told him that perhaps now wasn't the best moment to let her know exactly who she'd mistaken for the Boy Wonder.
He could do this. He'd seen others do it enough times. His arms crept slowly round her, until he was hugging her close to him. Stroking her back gently only seemed the natural thing to do. She felt just right in his arms, fitting so perfectly against him as if by design. Why had he not tried this before? The only time he'd held her like this had been their wedding night. He'd forgotten what it had felt like to have her arms around him, pulling him hard against her. Ever since that night she'd laid so placid beneath him, so completely detached from the way he had thrust over and over between her legs.
He closed his eyes in horrified realisation at how much he'd been missing without even realising it How could he have been satisfied for so long with such a meagre approximation of intimacy? He'd had plenty of great sex before his marriage, in the years post-war when he'd been more popular than he'd ever thought possible given his lank hair and sallow looks, but it could never have been described as anything but fucking.
In fact, the only tender moments he could recall between himself and any woman were on his wedding night – at least, before he'd ruined it all by opening his big mouth and spouting off with declarations that he'd been too blind to realise were already untrue. Lily was nothing compared to the woman now in his arms, but she'd been a convenient excuse to stop himself from losing his heart to a woman far superior than his first love. If he hadn't been good enough for Lily, how could he ever have believed that Hermione would truly want him?
As he held her secure in his arms, her slender body pressed against his, Severus could finally under the full extent of how deeply, how completely he'd been lying to himself. Despite all evidence to the contrary – her steamy fantasies in which he played the starring role, the way she had refused to take a lover in the hopes that he would notice her, her sheer delight when he had announced his intention to woo her, the love in her eyes as they had repeated their vows – he had known that one day she would leave him, and rather than wait pathetically for that day to happen, for the moment she realised what an ugly, miserable, worthless old fool she'd married, he'd hardened his heart against her and pushed her before she jumped.
Yet he could have had all he'd wanted and more, he now understood. Of course, there was never any guarantees, not for anyone, that a love would last a lifetime. But Hermione was not the sort to give up easily, or to hurt others on purpose. Look at the years she had stood by her idiotic and sometimes even unkind friends. Even when they'd treated her badly, she'd forgiven them, she'd never stopped trying to help them, even when she'd realised the size of the target she'd put on her own back, just by being the brainy muggleborn friend of the Boy who Lived. She would never have given up on Severus easily, or left him just because she found something better. Not if he'd treated her the way she'd deserved.
He held her tight as she poured out her grief, concern growing over her fragile state, both mentally and physically. He could feel her ribs beneath her bulky clothes as he gently smoothed his hand across her back. Her tears seemed never-ending, and he could only wonder how long she had been holding it all in for her to be so affected and in need of comforting.
The desperation in her cries tore at his heart, making him realise how he had refused for so long to give her this… this affection, comfort… whatever it could be called, having the chance to pour out her sorrows and fears, and be held, and soothed, and her worries eased by sharing with the one person she should be able to pour out her soul to. He had robbed her of that. It wasn't just himself that had missed out on the intimacy and affection that could have – should have existed between them. Whatever he had suffered was nothing compared to her. He was no better than a monster for all the pain he had caused.
Suddenly he wasn't sure that he'd done the right thing by allowing her to believe it was Potter comforting her. Considering what he'd done to her, she might not react so well to him being here.
Her tears were beginning to calm, her breathing slowly returning to normal, although occasionally she still shook with a deep breath. Severus' arms tightened around her in apprehension of the moment when she realised exactly who was holding her. Knowing that this was the last time he would get to hold her made it even harder to let go, despite his growing need to bolt from the room before she had a chance to recognise him.
It was too late, however, for she'd finally gone quiet in his arms. Severus' hold on her loosened as she began to stir, yet his body seemed frozen, trapped between his dual desires to escape and his hopeless longing to stay and be forgiven.
He watched helplessly as Hermione began to pull away from him slightly, his heart clenching at the wretched look on her face and the salty tracks down her cheeks.
"I'm sorry," she sniffed, rubbing at her red and blotchy face, "I didn't mean to do that."
As if he wasn't sure whether he wanted her to hear him, Severus whispered, "You've got nothing to be sorry for, Hermione. I, on the other hand…" He choked up, unable to continue.
She looked up at him, tear-filled yet trusting amber eyes suddenly going wide with shock. They stared at each other for long seconds, Hermione speechless with surprise while Severus held his breath as he waited for the recriminations to begin, or for her to order him out.
Why had he agreed to come here? How could he have ever thought he could win her back? No! How could he have thought he should even have the chance to try? He wasn't worthy of her, nor of being forgiven.
"I shouldn't have come. It was wrong of me to think that this… that I…" he stammered incoherently, looking away as shame bubbled up through him. "Hermione, I… I… I should go…"
He chanced one last glance at her tear-streaked face as he reluctantly released her from his arms. Stumbling back, he felt something shatter in his chest, and as he turned to flee he inexplicably felt hot tears begin to fall from his own eyes. Blindly he rushed for the door, shamed by the sudden outpouring of his own grief in front of the woman whom he'd treated so wrongly.
"Severus…"
The plaintive call stopped him dead just as he was reaching for the handle.
"Please don't…. don't go…"
1 week, 4 days earlier.
Severus took another deep swig from the bottle, draining it completely. As the fiery liquid settled uneasily in his stomach he turn his attention back to the item he was twirling idly between his fingers.
He'd spotted the small hair clip as he'd been leaving her bedroom, abandoned behind the door. It had been the first of the meagre traces of her that he'd found, first in her room, and then scattered throughout the house. All except his bedroom. He'd never given her the chance to leave anything in there.
Severus glanced up at the photo on the mantelpiece, forcing himself once again to watch the sequence over and over, branding himself with self-disgust at how callous he'd been, even on their wedding day. He only allowed himself to look away after it had played through several times.
Letting the empty bottle drop from his finger to thud against the carpet by the side of his chair, he pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. Several other bottles went spinning across the floor as he made his way to the base of the stairs. It took him a good few minutes to climb to the top, and by the time he made it he'd banged elbows and knees several times against the walls and the wooden stairs themselves. At least he'd managed to trip forwards rather than fall down to the bottom.
He eventually managed to reach his room. Stumbling towards the side of the bed that had always been hers, he just managed to stop himself from tumbling over onto the bed and sprawling face down on the covers. He ended up on the floor instead.
Grumbling under his breath, he pulled himself up, careful not to dislodge the blankets that had been neatly smoothed out across the mattress. He'd taken ages to place the objects of hers exactly how he'd wanted them, and disturbing them would have felt almost blasphemous to her memory.
Gently he laid down the hairclip back where it belonged, near the front of the arrangement. Somewhere inside the drunken recesses of his mind, he vaguely recognised the ridiculousness of the small shrine he'd built to her, in the room – in the bed – where she'd unwillingly been forced to come week after week. It mattered not.
Severus ran his fingers carefully across the various items – the hairclip, an empty bottle of her shampoo he'd found in the bathroom bin, the odd pieces of cutlery that had originally come with her when she'd moved in, a scarf he'd found hung up under his coats in the hall, and in the centre, the photo he'd ripped out of an old newspaper. She'd only been in the background of a photo of the Minister, but it was the only image he had of her besides the one sitting on the mantelpiece.
He knew just how pathetic he would seem to anyone looking on, but he didn't care as he pulled the scarf towards him and buried his face in it.
It still smelled of her.
- 22
- 23
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To have loved, and lost (was Missed Chances)