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Leaving His Love	By : Lissa Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 4667 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potty does not belong to me. I write for fun. No financial gains are ever made from my writings about the Wider Wizarding World. JKR owns it all.

Chapter List
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UPDATE 8/15/2018: I have had so many people beg me for more of this story, that I have actually taken the time and thought in order to expand it. It will no longer be a one-shot.
Now, it's unfortunately NOT written yet. BUT, I do have it outlined as a five part short story. I have also done a thorough edit on this first chapter. Nothing was changed plot-wise, but it's cleaner and makes a little bit more sense and will flow into the rest of the story.
Now, as for an update. Darlings, I have no idea. As I write this, Snowblind12 and I are focusing on finishing up ...After Happily Ever After (SS/HG), then we will move to A World Not Fit to Live In (LM/DM/HG). After that we will begin work on book two of the Master Mine Series (HG/Multi Partners) entitled "Master Mine: A Lesson in Love". (Book 1 is completed and is up on the aforementioned joint account.)

I thank you for your patience and appreciate every read, fav, follow, and comment more than you could ever know. xxx Lissa

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Chapter One
Snape felt sick, but this was the only way he could get her to understand that she was too good for him. He needed to set her free. He refused to hold her down, keep her back. He wanted her to fly as he knew she could. He would forever be a Death Eater, no matter that his name had been cleared. No matter that she was a big part of the reason he wasn't mindless from a Dementor's Kiss with his empty shell left rotting in some god-forsaken cell in Azkaban. He refused to subject her to the ridicule that would follow him until the end of his days. She deserved better than that; he loved her too much to be selfish enough to keep her.
But he would never forget her, that he vowed to himself. She would be the last thing he thought of before drifting into the nightmares that would haunt his unfathomable soul each night for the rest of his miserable life. She had made him human again, and he could live with the pain of her loss if it meant she would be rid of the dark looks and whispers that followed them wherever they went. By doing this, he would rid her of the barricades in her way because she was with him. In time, she would have come to see this for herself; that he wasn't worth it. Be it in six months, five years, ten, twenty – who knew. What he did know was that he couldn't get in any deeper. If he did, he would never have the strength to do this. To leave.
To free her, he had to shatter her. To shatter her, he would have to do the one thing he knew she'd never be able to forgive.
His eyes roamed the scene surrounding him. She was out with her friends tonight, something she had done very infrequently since they had become involved over a year ago. His mind strayed to that fateful day. She had been covered in dust and dirt, her hair piled in a messy, unruly bun on top of her head. They had both volunteered their services to work in the scorched, but shockingly still functioning Room of Requirement. The help for that unremarkable Tuesday afternoon had been limited, and they had been alone. They spent a few hours sifting through The Room of Hidden Things, putting out smoking piles of ash with water charms and disappearing the never-ending piles of garbage and debris.
They had worked in silence until she had collapsed. It had terrified him – why, he hadn't been sure. She had looked awful, he knew she wasn't well. Exhausted beyond comprehension. She had been a skeleton of her former self; her skin as translucent as smoked glass. There were dark circles under her eyes, hair dull and lank, brown eyes haunted and lifeless. He knew the horrors she and those insufferable friends of hers had endured. He had volunteered to work with her simply because he had guessed something like this would happen. He felt that perhaps the terror had come from deep down, where he knew this incredible woman-child he had been trying to keep alive for the last seven years of her life lived in his non-existent heart.
If he had been honest with himself, he would have realized he had come to care for that entire class. You can't fight to keep people alive for years on end and not get attached. She was his favorite by far, though. Brilliant, snarky, observant, funny (though he would never admit that), and – as she grew – beautiful, kind, thoughtful, and forgiving. Of course, he was the only one who knew he felt that way.
He had spent the next fortnight by her bedside at St. Mungo's. She had been very wary of him for the first few days, but as he continued to sit stoically by her bed stead, administering conversation and making sure she didn't overdo herself, he felt the change between them. It was subtle, like ripples the wind made on a pond. Suddenly, he was the first one she looked for when she opened her eyes. He overheard Mediwitches rumbling about how he only went home to sleep at night. That he rarely left her side. The rumors of an affair started long before they had actually become lovers.
It was well into the summer, after she had failed to return her parents to their home. After she had moved into Grimmuld Place with Potter, but a couple of weeks before term was to start. Weasley, Potter, and Hermione would be going back to Hogwarts; as was he. Them to finish the year they had missed; him to return to his old position as a Potions Master. She had invited him for dinner. He brought her a bouquet of summer wildflowers as a hostess gift. He had been anticipating a group of people, but would never put off one of her invitations no matter how uncomfortable crowds made him. She was the first witch in almost two decades who held his attention. She could spar with him blow by blow on almost any subject and the ones she couldn't, she would research and debate with him during their next visit. She was an excitable intellect that drove him mad. Rarely did they agree completely on things – but their debates boiled with academia that made him long to pull her in his arms and fuck his point of view into her.
He knew his inappropriate desire for her had started the moment she collapsed in front of him and it had grown to a titillating tantrum of longing to claim her as his own.
She had been wearing a cotton green sun dress with a silver vine pattern on it that had clung to every curve of her body – a body that had steadily regained its curves as the summer had continued – and tied behind her neck while the sweetheart neckline had given off just a hint of cleavage that encouraged his imagination to run rampant. It had shocked him, because she was always dressing very practically in jeans and baggy tee shirts or jumpers or button-down shirts. Things that effectively hid her form - where the dress had been utterly revealing and enticing.
He never mentioned that he was astonished to find her alone. She never came out and said it was a date. They dinned in the garden she had repaired that summer, amongst the strong smell of late summer roses and lily of the valley. When he had told her that he best be going – long after the sun had set, and the stars sparkled above their heads in a celestial dance that had twinkled for hours – she had looked utterly crestfallen. Then, a breath-taking look of brilliant determination had swept over her face; she had taken three long strides into his startled arms and kissed him soundly on his mouth.
To say he had been surprise would have been the largest understatement of his life. It had felt as if someone had stunned him off a broom - all the air leaving his lungs like he had landed from said fall on the flat of his back.
She had clung to him, her fingers twisted into the fabric of his shirt, kissing his surprised lips for what had felt like an eternity before he had the sense to wrap his arms around her and kiss her back with all the passion she brought out in him. She had melted into him like chocolate in a cauldron, whispering his name over and over again as he had feathered her face in sweet, tender kisses. He had carried her up the stairs and they had loved each other mindlessly with their mouths for what felt like an eternity. After hours whispered conversations, desire and longing; of him telling her why he should not be her fist and her convincing him why he should, he had slipped into her folds as the sun made its appearance over the horizon, casting her beautiful face in golden tendrils of light as she came apart beneath him for the first time, sobbing his name in ecstatic wonder and joy.
He knew he loved her then.
It had taken him another few months to tell her. Terrified of how she would react. They had been upfront with Minerva about their relationship. Because of this, McGonagall had Hermione take a self-study potions course with him as mentor, instead of a teacher. She stated that as Hermione was more than of age to make her own decisions, and there were no rules at the school against consenting relationships; they would be allowed to see each other as long as she was not his student. They had both agreed willingly to the change in her curriculum.
They were able to keep their relationship private until Christmastime. In light of the defeat of the Dark Lord, there was a large Yuletide ball. He had insisted they attend together. She had been giddy with her happy yes of excitement. They decided to just let people react to them being together as the only people who knew of their relationship were McGonagall, Weasley, Potter, and the Weasley girl.
It had not gone over as well as she had hoped. Many people were shocked to the point of utter rudeness. It hadn't surprised him in the least, but the wounded look on Hermione's face had been enough to break his heart. He thought for sure she would leave him then; that she would realize she was too good for him. Instead, she had whispered tearfully in his ear after dinner was over that they should go. He agreed, and they had left together with their fingers entwined, not giving anyone the satisfaction of thinking their reactions had caused a rift between them.
She had insisted on staying with him that night. In fervor of tears and kisses, caresses and erotic whispers he told her that he loved her for the first time as she settled over him, enveloping him in her heat. She had frozen, palms on his chest, nails digging into the unforgiving tightness of his muscles. The sob that tore from her had frightened him, and he sat up – never breaking their contact – to wrap his strong arms around her. He had kissed the tears from her face as she whispered. "I love you, too, Severus." The crushing weight of terror that had filled his frozen chest melted, filling his body with a warmth he had never known before. They had made love the rest of the night, slowly and passionately. Every ounce of ardor between them glowed with no words to help.
She had been hopeful that the more people saw them together, the better it would be. People had to get sick of them, she told him, right? Months later, however, it was getting worse. She had moved into his home in Cokesworth when school had let out, after she had told him she didn't want to be apart from him anymore.
The following weeks, after a photograph appeared in The Daily Prophet's gossip column of them carrying boxes into the house together, were filled with hate mail and howlers. Graffiti had been plastered on the walk-ways outside his home – "Mudblood filth." "Death Eater Lover." "Traitor." She pretended she didn't care, but he knew better. Strong as she was, she longed for approval. He knew that the outpour of hatred for the man she was in love with from people who had given her upmost respect in the past was damaging her spirit.
She had tried to get a job at the ministry in the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures Department. With her N.E.W.T. scores and fame from the war, she should have been a shoo in no matter where she applied; one by one all her resumes had come back rejected.
They both knew she wasn't getting a job or an apprenticeship because of their relationship even if they didn't speak of it. She decided to go to the University instead. She would be starting in a little over two weeks. So, he knew now was the time to do this. He could break away from her clean; she would have somewhere to go, she would be kept busy. She would have enough time for her friends to help her pick up the pieces before moving on with her life. He would be returning to teach, which would help keep his mind away from her. He would never move on, he wasn't naïve enough to think he'd ever find love again. She was young, and beautiful, and brilliant. Without his reputation holding her back, she would flourish and thrive like a wild forest. She would find love and continue on. He would just be a memory.
He watched her dance with the Weasley and Lovegood girls with sad, defeated eyes. His heart was tormented. He had wanted to watch her laugh and smile one more time. She had told him she would be home around midnight, he knew she'd never be able to wait that long. She would be home well before then, missing him. Outside of the times he purposely went away for a few hours at a time to plant doubt in her mind for his upcoming betrayal, they were hardly ever apart.
He left the pub; she never knew he had been there. On his way home, he stopped in Knockturn Alley. It had taken him a few weeks to find the right one, but the witch he settled on was pretty enough. She looked nothing like Hermione and everything like Lily Potter and he knew this would make her insecure. One more match on the pyre. He had planned everything to the nth degree, to leave no doubt in her mind that this was real when she sat back and went through it later. His stomach rolled with revulsion once again. As much as he knew he had to do this, a selfish part of him wanted to never leave her. If things were different, he'd marry her, make her a mother, grow old with her, and wait for her behind the veil so they could spend eternity in each other's arms.
"I want to make it clear to you witch," he snarled, after having gone over the plan for the evening one last time. "I will pay you twice what you're asking. Half now, and half will be waiting on the kitchen table for when it's done. You pretend you're mine. You pretend we've been seeing each other for months. Do you understand?"
The redhead nodded, mouth curving into a greedy smile as he tucked the galleons into her hand. He apparated them to his home. They slipped beneath the covers, naked. It felt all wrong have this tramp tucked up next to him in Hermione's spot and again his nerve wavered. The strange witch in his bed fell asleep quickly and he supposed she never really got to sleep at night in her line of work. He wouldn't sleep. It would probably be months before he ever slept well again. What felt like an eternity, he heard the front door open. He glanced blearily at the bedstead clock, it read eleven twenty-two. He had known too well she would be early. He nudged the witch awake and muttered. "It's show time." She stretched out like a cat and started kissing his neck and jaw, making little moaning noises in her throat. He added his own sounds, making the ruse realistic.
He heard Hermione creeping up the stairs, humming quietly to herself and his heart shattered. This was going to destroy her, but he knew in time she'd come to find it to be for the best. She slipped almost soundlessly into the room and the paid-for witch sat up, screaming and pulling the sheet with her naked form. "Who the hell are you?!" her annoying, screechy voice demanded. Hermione froze in utter shock, peering through the dark as Snape lazily put the witch away from him and stood.
"Hermione, you're early." He was a good actor, too many years as a double agent had left him with skills to rival the best.
"What do you mean – she's early?" The redheaded witch's voice was so annoying. He cringed away from her, pretending to be abashed as she continued. "You told me you left this bitch weeks ago?!"
Hermione still hadn't moved, the pale light streaming through the window was enough for him to see her face, and he knew she could see his. "Hermione," he made a point to ignore the witch, "please." He held out a hand and took a step towards her. "It's not what you think." Suddenly, he knew this was the worst idea of his life and the regrets slammed into him, robbing him of his voice. He had to fight for control.
A look of horror slowly slid across Hermione's face and she took a step back, a hand fluttering to grip her chest above her heart. Silent tears spilled over her lower lashes and cascaded down her face. "Get out," she whispered, her eyes spearing the redhead with daggers. "Leave now." Her voice was cold, resigned iciness clipped her tone.
The whore huffed and puffed for a moment before moving across the bed on her knees. She threw her arms around Severus and pouted. "But baaaby. You said you were done with this little girl." Snape smirked at her cruelly and rubbed her back, adding to the fabricated story.
He whispered, "I'll take care of it now," as he heard Hermione gasp.
"It's best you go, witch," he told her, patting her backside. He disentangled himself from her, doing his best to mask his disgust.
Hermione raised her wand at the witch who was invading everything she thought was good and whole, her hand shook with barely disguised torment. "I asked you to leave." Her voice was deadly calm, and Snape felt a thrill go through him as her power rippled through the air. Apparently, the prostitute wasn't as daft as she had seemed, because she grabbed her things and bolted; the magical electricity in the room terrifying her. "Floo me later, baby!" she cried over her shoulder. "When you get rid of the little girl, come find your real woman." He watched Hermione flinch with the insult.
"How long?" Hermione whispered when the whore was gone.
Never. I will never be with another witch, my love. It was a struggle to form words. "Months," he lied, his voice bored.
"Why?" Her voice was strangled. He took another step towards her, menacingly.
"Protego!" Her voice came out laced with emotion as the shield charm burst between them. "You cannot touch me right now." Her tone was deflated; she sounded dead or dying. She raised one hand to her forehead rubbed, as if trying to make sense of what was happening. "Tell me why." It was a pleading whisper.
"I didn't mean for you to find out quite like this," he started, "but the answer is simple. I don't want you anymore." The falsehood had been practiced for weeks. The cold mask of dislike, the disgusted tone, the way he looked at her – it had all been practiced to perfection. The way his body reacted to the sobs that finally emanated from her, however, was automatic. He wanted to pull her in his arms, explain how foolish he was being. Apologize over and over again. Beg her forgiveness. He crossed his arms over his chest to prevent reaching for her again.
"You don't … want … me?" He understood her disbelief and anguish. Just yesterday he had made love to her, knowing it would be the last time he had her in his bed. He had made her come over and over again, taking his sweet, precious time, until she was mindlessly satisfied. Memorizing every inch of her body to commit to memory – it would be all he would have to survive on for the rest of his miserable existence.
"Severus, I don't understand. We love each other." Her voice was shaking with her devastation and her face was crumpled in hurt and confusion, tears still dripping off her chin.
"I don't love you." The deception in his tone was not betrayed even though his heart thrummed and his mind raced. I'll love you forever. Her strangled gasp of misery let him know his words had hit home. It nearly killed him that she believed him. "I never loved you." How could she believe him? He had done everything in his power to let her know for the past year that she was the only thing worthwhile in his world. The words hung in the air for eternity as she searched his face with her eyes. Looking for something...a lie? Proof he was speaking the truth? He didn't break his gaze, he kept it cold and distant; willing her to see the falsehoods as reality.
She finally broke. "Severus…no!" Her bewildered devastation and anguish combined to make his chest swell with horrified guilt. "No, you're lying to me! Tell me what is going on!" she insisted, and she removed the shield to throw herself at him. He pushed her away and the sobs that reverberated out of her felt like an earthquake in the chambers of his heart.
"Severus!" she tried to cling to him, her desperation to see through the lies made him nauseated. He hadn't expected her to react like this. She was the strongest person he knew. He expected anger, hate; he wanted her to punish him for his lies. The frantic pleas of anguish were ruining him. He spun from her in wild terror. He thought she would have stormed out by now, he hadn't been prepared for this. He grabbed his pants and pulled them on, all the while attempting to keep her off him as she sobbed his name, her love for him, and her disbelief again and again.
Once he was partially dressed he grabbed her by her shoulders and put his face millimeters from hers, the snarl deep and cutting, his voice cold and unforgiving. He had come too far to turn back now. "Stop acting like a heartsick child!" he growled, startling her sobs to soft hiccups of grief. "You knew as well as I did this would never last. We're too different. You're a child, Hermione. It's been fun, the fucking has been satisfactory. It was never anything more than that. It's over now."
She pulled away from him, eyes overflowing again as she wrapped her arms tight around her middle. The hurt and shock on her face was mirrored with only a stony glare from him. He had used all her insecurities about their relationship against her - her youth, her inexperience...and a woman who looked a little to much like Lily Potter for comfort.
The sobs that wracked her body were silent and convulsive now, and he was starting to worry that she was going to pass out. It took everything in him not to reach for her and envelop her in his arms. "I'm going to the school. I won't be back. Make sure you take everything with you. You have two weeks to get out."
"Severus," she whispered, "please, don't do this. Please tell me what is really going on." He looked at her as frigidly as he could, silently telling her it was really over. That he was not lying to her. Inside he begged her to look away from him. To accept what he was telling her. If she flung herself at him again, it would all be over for him. When she finally dropped her gaze, her shoulders hunching with defeat, it was all he could do not to break down himself. He gritted his teeth to keep the lump in his throat at bay.
"Good-bye, Hermione," he stated without feeling when he could talk again. He turned and, without a backward glance, forced himself to leave the room. A moment later, he heard her disintegrate into a deafening moan of abandonment that made his knees buckle on the stairs. He steeled himself on the banister and desperately tried to collect himself. He stopped in the kitchen on his way to gather his things, sending an owl to Potter to come collect her. He and the Weasley boy would take care of her. They always watched out for her, one thing to be grateful for. He grabbed his bag and cloak from the hall closet. The reality of what he had done was crashing down on him. He had to get out of there before he confessed the whole lie to her.
He paused in the doorway, gazing up the stairwell to the room that held the woman he loved so much he had just shattered their souls to give her freedom. Her sobs echoed through the house, rattling the chambers in his heart. In time, he would just be a memory. He hoped she would remember the good.
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Leaving His Love