1. Chapter 1 by whatapotter
The Lady Loves Her Will
Moonlight flickered off the rippling currents of the Black Lake as it slept silently in the twilight. Hermione Granger wrapt her cloak more firmly around herself to shield away the biting wind, burrowing a hand into the material at either side as she did so. The sounds of merry-making and raucous laughter echoed outwards from the shadow of the hulking castle behind her, standing firm like a sentry to all who dare attack its children.
Sighing lightly, she turned away and began trudging slowly towards the glistening surface of the lake. She liked to come here sometimes. It was always peaceful, especially at night. It helped her think things through away from the hustle and bustle of the castle and the constant pleas for homework help she got.
This evening, however, homework was the last thing on her mind. Shivering, she scooped her cloak out behind her to make a comfy seat on the rutted log she always chose. The lake was so silent tonight, so peaceful, so… unending. It showed no turbulence on this evening, no confusion, and Hermione found herself inexplicably jealous. It was always there, unrelenting in its constancy. Whatever the elements threw at it, whether it be scorching heat, pummelling rain or biting wind, it always seemed to find peace and calm afterwards. Always reverting to this implacable mirror she saw stretched out before her tonight. Staring out at the lake, she wondered, for perhaps the hundredth time tonight, how she could feel so confused and upset on a day like this. The one day she had been dreaming about for what seemed like years…
“The war is over, Miss Granger,” said a familiar voice to her right.
Startled, she jerked around, so used to sitting here alone. If he hadn’t spoken she doubted she would have noticed him at all. The shadows of the overhanging trees seemed to crouch and cuddle, wrapping their thin frames around his body. His face gleamed eerily in the moonlight, his normally sallow skin turned almost translucent under the gentle caress of the beams.
Turning back around to face the water, she tried not to feel annoyed at his presence. “Yes.”
There was a bite of irritation to his answer, as if he was just as annoyed as her at the interruption to his solitude. “So, perhaps you should get back to the puerile celebrations those nitwits you call friends are bound to be throwing.”
Irritation morphed into full-grown annoyance, but she refused to turn back to look at him. If he was uncomfortable with her presence, then he should leave. She’d prefer to be alone at this moment, after all.
“I don’t want to.”
Silence fell between them, and Hermione imagined that he was being just as stubborn as she was; both wishing the other would leave, but refusing to do so themselves.
The silence ballooned outwards, becoming pregnant in its expanse. Knowing that he must be simply sitting there, staring at her back, she began to feel uncomfortable. Despite feeling irritated at herself for doing so, she felt she should elaborate.
“I don’t feel like we should be celebrating.”
“Do you not?” She could feel the mocking smirk playing with his lips without even having to turn around.
“No.” She answered categorically, daring him to mock her further.
He rose to her challenge. “The Dark Lord is dead, Miss Granger. There is much to celebrate.”
Celebrating its victory, her irritation won, and she whipped around to face him.
“Why do you always call him that? The Dark Lord. Why show him such respect?”
He voice dropped a few degrees, becoming positively chilly. “Your impertinence astounds me, Miss Granger, as does your butt-nosed rudeness.”
Preferring things to be civil between them, if she must share her solitude this night, she dropped the subject and moved back to his earlier question.
“People are dead, Professor, lots of people. Some were my friends, some were people I vaguely recognised from the hallways, and some are merely names in the Daily Prophet. Somehow it doesn’t seem right to celebrate so much loss.”
He seemed amused. “While that is an adequate sentiment, Miss Granger, perhaps it would be more suitable that you left your much vaunted intelligence to mere book reciting.” A smirk twitched his lips, but he continued before she had the chance to reply. “In your rush to gain some imaginary moralistic high ground over your peers, you seem to have misplaced simple things such as wisdom, and respect.”
Anger sparked to life within her, burning brightly in her eyes. She opened her mouth to furiously reply that he had no idea what she thought or what her sentiments were, but he overrode her.
“Consider, Miss Granger, that this death you talk of “ your own friends and classmates. Consider precisely what they died for: freedom, peace, the chance for people like you to live your life outside of oppression and fear. Your effort to honour their deaths merely makes a mockery of the gift they died attempting to give you.”
She closed her mouth slowly, and turned to face the water again. Was that what she was doing? Wallowing in the loss so much that she neglected the really important truth? They had survived. She was alive and living, and thankful for it. Harry and Ron were up in the castle celebrating. Shouldn’t she be there too? Celebrating life, instead of out here mourning it?
A slight smile graced her features, and she turned to look once more at the castle. Strange that he, of all people, had eased her turmoil so much. Stranger still, that she felt guilty leaving him here alone.
She turned to face him once more. Staring into the water, his face was unreadable “ a stony mask, one she had never seen him without. It must be incredibly hard, she reflected, to live a life behind stone walls, caged by the masks you wear and the roles you play.
“And you, Professor Snape?” she returned, boldly. “Why be so hypocritical “ what life are you rushing to live?”
He scowled at her. “Do not be so impertinent as to make aspersions on my life, Miss Granger. You would regret it.”
She felt a laugh bubble up inside of her, and was suddenly uncaring when it escaped. “I graduate in a week’s time, Professor. There is little you could do to me now… and I stopped fearing you a long time ago.”
He assessed her, a considering look gracing his features. The look which always made her feel like one of his potions ingredients, as if he was trying to figure out what she was made of, or how she was put together.
“You are eighteen, Miss Granger, and have just helped save our race from one of the most evil abominations known so far. Why sit here in the dark, w-“
He stopped suddenly, as if only now realising what he was saying. Abruptly turning away from her, he once more sunk into contemplation of the gently rippling water.
“With you, Professor?” she asked quietly, finishing his sentence.
She gained no answer from the hulking outline of his back, and the silence stretched until she chose to fill it.
“You interest me.”
He turned suddenly, fixing her with a glare so cold it burned. “Do me the dubious honour, Miss Granger, of refraining from you analytical tendencies. I have no wish to be the focus of your mulish interrogations into my character.”
She smiled at him, feeling delightedly playful, and remarkably unconcerned about such behaviour. “Do you insult people because you fear developing positive relationships on principal? Or because you fear the closeness which may result “ the trust you would have to give?”
His glare deepened. “I insult people merely because I do not like them, and have no wish to continue trading falsely polite conversation.”
She smiled again, a mirthful laugh escaping her lips. "Let us drop the politeness then, Professor. After all, I am, according to you, an impertinent, rude little busybody. While you, according to me, are acerbic and tactless, with a penchant for wallowing in your own melancholy. I feel we would probably get along much better if we dropped all attempts at politeness and merely traded honest insults.”
One corner of his mouth lifted slightly, as if he couldn’t decide whether to discipline her more harshly than ever before, or laugh. “Either that, or my severely tested self-control would finally snap, and you would not live to see those celebrations I wish you to go to.”
Hermione snorted. “Well in that case the irony would kill you as well “ to spend years as a Death Eater spy, and then land yourself in Azkaban as soon as you cease that particular double act.”
“Indeed,” he muttered darkly. Silence regained control over the situation, and the pair of them watched a gust of wind dance across the lake, sending thousands of little ripples into acrobatics - spinning and tumbling in its wake.
He considered her again. “You’ve changed.”
She smirked back. “I’ve already told you, Professor. You don’t scare me anymore. I’ve placed myself in the very path of Voldemort himself, and I hate to break the news, but you don’t really compare in the intimidating stakes.”
His mouth twitched slightly again, but other than that he didn’t reply. A lone leaf flitted across the lake this time, trying and failing to imitate the winds grace.
“That was a very brave act.” His voice sounded gruff and rough. Hermione felt a glow start within her chest as she realised how hard it must be for him to compliment others, so set as he was in his roles. Knowing that he had made the effort to compliment her sent a pool of sunshine trickling through her veins.
Shrugging off the praise, she muttered, “Everyone else would have done the same.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Stand in the way of death itself to protect a friend? I think not, Miss Granger.”
Noticing the additional compliment within that as well, she couldn’t help the blush that stole up to her cheeks, and was suddenly heartily glad of the enfolding darkness. “Thank you, Professor,” she said softly, very sincere.
He nodded brusquely, and the topic was dropped.
The silence gathered them into her ready paws again. This time, however, it was not quite so uncomfortable, and Hermione found herself relaxing “ the usual peace she could find in this place returning to her.
His voice, when he spoke next, was cold once more, and she regretted giving him so much time to replace his masks.
“Your friends are waiting, Miss Granger. I think you’ve wasted enough time here. Celebrate, enjoy, live “ after all, those that you grieve for died to give you just that.”
She nodded, and stood up slowly, dusting off her cloak. Just as she turned to leave, a thought crossed her mind and she swivelled back.
“You never answered my question, Professor.”
He sighed. “Which one would that be, Miss Granger. You fire them off so frequently that I constantly lose count.”
Ignoring him, she pressed. “Why do you sit here, preaching to me? Why not live your own life once more? You’ve obeyed both Dumbledore and Voldemort for so long… but now that they’re dead isn’t it about time you…”
She trailed off, seeing the stony look set onto his features. Regretting the last intrusion that had stretched the peace growing between them, she muttered, “I’m sorry,” and turned to leave.
She had only taken a few hurried paces when she heard him speak once more. His voice was so soft, however, that Hermione was not sure if he was speaking to her or to himself.
“That is entirely the point. I’ve been fighting this war more years than you’ve been alive, Miss Granger. I have no life left.”
Hermione had no response to that. Feeling a horrible guilt well up inside of her at the friends she was returning to see, she simply murmured, “Goodnight, Professor.”
He remained silent, brooding into the stillness of the night.
Once her footsteps had faded completely, and he was left only with the gentle rustling of leaves for company, he quietly murmured, “Goodnight… Hermione.”
The Great Hall greeted her with a blast of noise that hit like a tidal wave as soon as she set foot in it. Colin Creevy had managed to acquire an extra large box of Fred and George’s exploding fireworks, which were magically streaking and whirling around the room. Dean and Seamus had somehow gotten hold of a few crates of butterbeer and everyone seemed to be holding a tumbler. Everywhere people were cheering and laughing and hugging each other.
“Hermione!” a voice shouted over to her.
“Hermione!” an equally loud call echoed.
“Where’ve you been?” Ron stumbled up to embrace her, and then dragged her over to where Harry was standing.
“Thinking,” she replied softly, imagining the look on their faces if she told them just whom she had been talking with.
Ron rolled his eyes at her, and caught her in a one-armed hug, as his other was greedily wrapped around a Butterbeer. “The war’s over, the sucker’s dead, and we graduate in a week, Hermione! Can’t you stop thinking, just for today?”
She forced both a smile and a laugh, and disentangled herself from his grip. Inside her head, his voice was echoing again and again. I have no life left. I have no life left. I have no life left.
Looking at her boys, she suddenly made her decision. “I’m sorry, Harry, I… I have to go.”
“Go? Where?” he asked, clearly confused. “You just got here!”
“I can’t explain,” she pleaded, shaking her head fitfully. “I just… I’ll see you later, okay?”
“As long as it’s not the library,” he warned, still looking puzzled.
She smiled back and kissed his cheek impulsively. “It’s not. I promise.”
He was sitting in exactly the same position when she approached as when she had left. Head slightly bowed, robes billowing slightly in the wind, even as he sat still, as if to warn off any who might get too close. Looking up as he heard her approach, a scowl settled comfortably across his features.
“Perhaps you are hard of hearing this evening, Miss Granger. I distinctly remember telling you to leave me be. Or perhaps you take malicious delight in placing yourself where you are not wanted.”
She laughed, and he looked distinctly affronted. “I guess you were right all along about my character, Professor. However, you neglected to insult one of my most prominent traits “ stubbornness.”
With that, she settled herself comfortably on the log next to him.
“You mentioned you had no life left. Well then, if that is indeed the case… isn’t it about time you found yourself a new one?”