#qdrew

It’s a warm day, a week after graduation, that finds the duo out by the lake, the scent of clover heavy in the air as they engage in a celebratory drink for having survived.

For Hermione, it’s about having survived her first year as a teacher, for Severus, his last.

“I still can’t believe you’re retiring.”

“Even after everything you went through this year?” He replied, his voice a low, teasing purr. “Even after McLaggen Junior professed his undying love for the Fat Lady at the Christmas feast and vowed to never leave her side again?”

“You’re giving a very specific example of a child who somehow got their hands on a bottle of Firewhiskey-”

“He did it again when he came back from the hols, Hermione.”

“…so the boy takes after his father in the idiocy department…”

Severus let out a low chuckle at that, reaching into the pocket of his robes to pull out a little flash and add a bit of liquor to their tea.

“…you really are leaving, aren’t you?”

Severus looked up at that, surprised to see the sadness etched into Hermione’s features and it took him a moment to compose himself enough to reply.

“I never wanted to teach. This…” He waved his hand about to indicate Hogwarts in general. “…was a mean’s to an end. That end has come and gone, and yet I am still here. It’s time to move on.”

She gave a nod, but was looking down at her tea, and Severus could see she was biting down on her lower lip.

“…but you’ll be all the way in London.”

“You can still come see me,” He replied, surprised at the honesty in his tone almost as much as the ache in his heart that reminded him it wasn’t going to be the same.

“But London has plenty of apothecaries,” She countered, lifting her eyes to his again. “Hogsmeade doesn’t have any.”

He wasn’t aware of lifting a hand to wipe away a stray tear that had fallen from her eyes, but he had just seconds before he was cupping her cheek and gently swiping his thumb back and forth across the bone.

“…I’ll link myself up to the Floo network. Just for you.”

“So, what? I can come and have dinner with you once a month when I’m not on duty?” She shook her head, but was leaning it into his touch all the same.

That spark he’d felt at Christmas, when she’d kissed his cheek after he’d walked her to her chambers was back, and he wanted it more than he could understand.

“…it’s not enough, Severus.”

In that moment, he realized it wasn’t enough for him either.

He leaned in to close the distance between them, somehow not surprised that she met him halfway, that her lips parted beneath his in a gasp.

“You pushed me away!”

“Because I was fucking terrified! I still am.”

Whatever words Severus Snape had been expecting to come out of Hermione Granger’s mouth, those eight... Well, weren’t it. Especially the fourth word. Granger never swore if she could help it, so it made it all the more powerful when she actually did.

But the force of her words made him take a half-step back, his eyebrows drawing together in first confusion and then maybe a bit in anger as he crossed his arms over his chest, steeling himself against this argument that was going to happen whether he liked it or not.

“Terrified? Of what? Of me?”

“Of course not,” Hermione scoffed, rolling her eyes as she crossed her own arms over her chest. “I’ve never been afraid of you.”

“Then what, Granger? What are you so terrified of?”

He knew. Of course he knew. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew by the guilt that swam through those chocolate-colored eyes what she was going to say before her lips even parted.

“...of you loving me. Of you... Being seen with me.”

He scowled, about to respond when she cut him off by continuing.

“You don’t know what it’s like, Severus, to be best friends with The Boy Who Lived. To be seen, constantly, day in and day out. To be followed literally everywhere you go, to have every aspect of your life put under a microscope for the delight of complete strangers.”

She shook her head, and Severus resisted the urge to life a hand and tuck the stray curl that had fallen out of her plait back behind her ear.

“I made my choices when it came to my friends. I did. I knew what I was getting into when I let Harry and Ron into my life in first year. But you...”

Something bittersweet ran across her features then, and it broke his heart to see it.

“...I didn’t have a choice in falling in love with you. But I-I did have a choice in protecting you. I made the choice to save you in the Shrieking Shack. I made the choice to nurse you back to health, a-and to keep your surviving a secret as you asked.”

He took a step closer to her again, hands falling to his sides.

“I made choices - so fucking many of them, Severus - but giving you up was the only one I struggled with.”

“...Hermione...”

“If I’d stayed, if I hadn’t pushed you away, your secret would’ve come out.” She shook her head again, lifting tear-filled eyes to meet his as he stepped fully into her personal space. “What then, Severus?”

“...I’d still be with you, Hermione. I’d still choose you.”

“But, I-”

There was something to be said about that first slide of flesh on flesh.

Three words. Three words Severus Snape had never - not once - expected to hear in his life.

Something a few years previously he’d never even wanted to hear, but… Here she was.

Saying it.

She was staring at him with those big brown eyes, looking nervous, almost hopeful, but…

A heartbeat. Two. Three…

Four.

Five, six.

He didn’t have words for her, and he watched in horror as the hope in her eyes started to die off, start to be taken over by shame and hurt and confusion.

She started to turn from him, but he reached out and gently took her arm in hand, pulling her close as he wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in the side of her neck and taking in a deep breath.

“Forgive me, wife-” He murmured, hating the way she turned her head from him, knowing she was probably about to cry.

“-your news caught me off-guard is all.”

A hand slid down then to gently rest against her lower abdomen.

“My silence was not one of disgust or disdain, but of blessed surprise and joy.”

She softened a touch in his hold.

“…say it again, love.”

Her voice was trembling, but there was hope in her words again as her hand settled over his.

Their first Christmas, well… They weren’t even technically together yet, were they? But it was perhaps the Christmas that sort of pushed them in the right direction.

“We need a getaway.”

They’d been married for nearly eight years - had been together for close to twelve - and with two young children at home, well…

Severus could understand where Hermione was coming from.

“My parents would be happy to take them for a couple of days, and I just… I need a break.”

She’d been putting herself through the gauntlet at work, and Severus knew that well enough, and he couldn’t deny that he could use a break from being the stay-at-home father.

He loved their children - wouldn’t trade them for anything - but maybe a couple of days away would be good for his mental health as well.

“…I’ll book us travel and accommodations this evening, my love,” He agreed, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close to bury his face against the side of her neck, planting a sneaky kiss there before he was forced to pull back when their youngest called out from the living room.

“…duty calls…”

“…and you wanted another one,” Hermione teased, giving him a wink as he pulled away from her.

“Maybe I’ll change your mind this weekend,” He replied with a smirk.

Hermione Granger had never been the most athletic of individuals, always preferring books and studying to running and jumping. It was what she was known for, what she was good at.

And she was good at it. Very good, in fact, and it could easily be stated that it was partially her book smarts that had allowed Harry to live as long as he had.

But war was a messy, fickle thing, and she was quickly learning that.

Quickly learning that books and cleverness weren’t always the best course of action.

Sometimes magic wasn’t either.

It was cold that January, one of the coldest on record, and she’d been trying to do something to stay warm when warming charms just weren’t cutting it anymore.

She hadn’t really felt her toes in about three days.

She wanted desperately - for the first time in memory - to go for a run.

Maybe it was the need to stay warm, maybe it was the anxiousness, but she wanted it.

Badly.

She waited until daybreak, knowing that more of the patrols were running at night - wizards and witches were using the longer nights to try and get further distances away while fleeing - before sneaking out of the tent where the boys gently snored away.

She’d left a note saying she was going to try and get something to eat. There was a town close by, and she had a little bit of muggle money. Maybe she could get a loaf of bread?

She was as careful as she could be during her run.

And the next morning she did the same.

And the next…

And the next and the next and the next and the next and the ne-

She ran until it felt like second nature, until she got faster, stronger. If the boys noticed, they didn’t comment - it wasn’t like either of them were gaining weight so why comment on her losing it? - and maybe she slept a teeny bit better during those rare instances when she allowed herself to succumb.

She dared the occasional night run, but only for short distances, and never far enough away that the boys wouldn’t hear her if she screamed for help.

Which is why is surprised her when strong arms wrapped around her one night, a hand clamping down over her mouth before she could even think to scream.

“Silence, Granger, or you’ll get us all killed.”

Her body froze at the command, automatically obeying it after hearing that voice give orders for six years of her life.

But she was glaring fiercely at him as she turned to face Professor - no, Headmaster now, wasn’t it? - Snape, hands on her hips as she tried her best to regain control of her breathing.

“…you aren’t here to kill me, then?”

He scoffed. “You’re smarter than that question, Granger, and we both know it.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “How long have you been watching us, then?”

“Long enough. Your running form could use some work.”

Her mouth fell open in shock, and she was about to tell him where he could shove his form when he went on in that same low tone he’d been using all along.

“You keep running in more or less straight lines. You’re like an arrow. Sure, going straight gets you to your destination faster, but it’s easier to intercept. The arrow flies true, Granger. You shouldn’t.”

She was thinking about that line a few days later when they were being chased by Death Eaters, feeling a stunning spell go whizzing past her ear as she suddenly banked off to the right.

Severus Snape had battled depression for most of his life - and certainly the entirety of his adult life - but since surviving the war, he’d started learning more about what it meant to be depressed and how to actively combat it.

It helped that he had reasons, of course - his partner of nearly six years was certainly a big one - but there were still days when he struggled with it more than others.

Days when he couldn’t drag himself out of bed. Couldn’t be bothered to eat or shower… Those were the days when Hermione came home, forced him to take his medication and then plopped him in the bath so she could wash his hair.

He didn’t need to talk - she never demanded that of him - but he did need to submit to her taking care of him.

He tried fighting her once. It hadn’t ended well.

There were some days when his depression was more subtle, when instead of pushing her away he pulled her closer, when he got clingy and needy and whined when she left to go make them something to eat.

Still, she was there for him, helping him with all of the things he sometimes couldn’t do on his own, never passing judgement.

He realized that she was there because she loved him and she wanted good things for him. They protected one another and helped each other up when they fell.

He might’ve been out to sea in the darkest harbor imaginable, but she was the lighthouse on shore around the bend. He just needed to float a little bit longer, and then she would be there to rescue him again.

And sometimes, well… He was the lighthouse, too, wasn’t he? He was the source of strength when she was the one cast out to sea, when she was tired and sad and frustrated and desperately needed a hug.