Chapter Text
Hermione is obscenely early. She blames the anxious flutter through her chest and stomach, which also manifests in her knee bouncing. The heel of her boot makes a repeated low sound against the wood floor that reminds her of a heartbeat. She rests her elbows on the table and picks at her cuticles. She wonders what she looks like to the other people in the coffee shop, sitting alone with two steaming mugs and a plate of biscuits. Maybe they think she’s been stood up. Merlin, she hopes not. She looks at her watch—a 19th birthday present from her parents—which still shows it’s fifteen minutes until two. Hermione pushes her hair behind her ear and tugs on her neckline. Her jumper is too warm. She pushes the sleeves up, then tugs them back down. She should have worn her navy one instead. Oh. Rolling her eyes, she discreetly sends a cooling charm into her neckline. Much better. It’s embarrassing how often she forgets she’s a witch.
She checks her watch. Thirteen minutes until two. She huffs and looks out the window. The sunshine reflects in the puddles caused by the rainstorm earlier today, and a few leaves fall off a nearby elm. Her stomach is in knots. What if he’s not coming? Other than the owl she sent last week, she hasn’t spoken to or seen Severus in four months. Not since she left Hogwarts, and she couldn’t resist looking back at the castle on her way to Hogsmeade. He stood in the courtyard with the other professors—a tradition for seeing off the seventh year students—and when their eyes met he nodded curtly.
A reflection in the glass makes Hermione’s breath hitch. Severus’ eyes don’t leave hers as he weaves through the tables. She stands on wobbly knees as he reaches her.
“Severus,” she says, the name feeling unusual in her mouth after so many months. “You look good.” And she means it. The groove between his brows is less pronounced and his cheeks aren’t as sunken. The end of the war has clearly been good for him.
“So do you.” He clears his throat. “Shall we sit? Or is standing the new fashion?”
“Oh.” Hermione chuckles. “Yes. Sit, I mean. I ordered coffee, I hope that’s all right.”
“It is, thank you.”
Settling, her foot bumps against Severus’ underneath the narrow table. Hermione tugs her sleeves over her hands. She’s not sure how to act now that he’s here.
It’s Severus who speaks first. “I wanted to offer you congratulations; Minerva has been bragging about your N.E.W.T results for months. I wasn’t surprised in the slightest, you were always a swot.” He smirks, and his brow arches in a way that makes her cheeks flush.
Hermione smiles. “Thank you.” She practically lived and breathed revision after they broke the soul bond, and seeing her marks made the sleepless nights and near overdose on Invigoration Draughts worth it.
“What field of study did you choose?”
“Arithmancy. It was a toss-up between that and Charms. Literally; Harry made me toss a galleon to decide after two weeks of pros and cons lists.”
The brow arches higher. “You decided your future on a coin toss?”
Chuckling, she shakes her head. “Of course not. The moment it landed I knew what I wanted.”
There are more things she wants—things she can’t bring herself to say out loud yet. She takes a custard cream from the plate and nibbles on a corner. The silence stretches but isn’t uncomfortable.
“How have you been?” Hermione says, putting the half-eaten biscuit on the plate and glancing at his empty left sleeve. “How are things at Hogwarts?”
“Much like they always are,” Severus says before taking a sip of coffee. “Hogwarts remains a constant. Though I’m finding myself with more free time than I have previously, which has taken some time getting used to.”
“Maybe you could pick up a new hobby? Something low stress like… cloud watching.”
He snorts. “Cloud watching? I think Minerva would send me off to St Mungo’s if she caught me cloud watching.”
Smiling, Hermione leans forward and rests her chin in her hand. “I don’t know, I think she’d support my suggestion.”
He rests his arm on the table, hand close to her elbow. “I’m sure you can use that brilliant brain to come up with a better hobby.”
Memories of his touch on her skin make her cheeks flush. “I’ll do my—”
Severus’ body tenses. His hand clenches and his face twists in pain.
Hermione frowns. “Are you okay?”
“Give me a moment,” he presses out between clenched teeth. His eyes closes and his hair falls around his face as he lowers his head.
She puts her hand on his, putting her fingers between his until they’re fully clasped. They sit in silence until his body slowly relaxes. Wetting his lips, he looks at her.
“Does that happen a lot?” Hermione asks softly.
“From time to time, and more often now it’s getting colder.” Clearing his throat, he pulls his hand from hers. “I’m conducting research on a potion that works for nerve pain, but I’ve been unsuccessful so far.”
She curls her hand around her mug. “How are you adjusting otherwise? We haven’t really talked about…”
“I’m making progress.” Severus shifts in his seat. “There are a few different options for prosthetics I’ve been trialling, but none of them felt right.”
“In what way?”
He traces his lower lip with his finger. “It’s hard to explain, but it felt foreign? Much like using Polyjuice Potion and being in someone else’s skin.”
She nods. “It’s been some time, but I remember that feeling.”
Severus smirks. “Having a tail will do that.”
Hermione shudders. The month she spent in the Hospital Wing was the worst of her life. “Don’t remind me, I still have nightmares about that.”
“As do I; I was brewing potions around the clock for weeks.”
It’s strange for her to reconcile that the man sitting in front of her—a man she’s kissed and touched and spent so much time with she feels she knows him as she knows herself—is the same man who brusquely directed her to the myriad of potions needed to shed her feline features and made her cry in her fourth year by his comment on her teeth.
“I’m not sure I ever thanked you for that,” she says.
His face softens.
The barista comes to the table, face apologetic. “Excuse me, we’re closing in a few minutes.”
“Thank you,” Severus says.
Hermione’s stomach hurts as she puts on her coat and follows him outside the café. She’s not ready to say goodbye yet. Severus lifts his collar against the chilly autumn wind. It blows his hair around his face, and Hermione shoves her hands into her pockets to not push it back.
Severus looks uncertain. “Do you need to get back?”
“I don’t.” She smiles. “Walk with me?”
She leads him up the stairs at Bootham Bar, with the city walls extending out before them. It’s Hermione’s favourite part of the city, and she can’t count how many times she’s walked the length of it when needing to clear her mind. This particular part of the path is narrow enough that his arm brushes against her shoulder. They’ve walked for a few minutes before she speaks.
“I’ve done some research lately about soul bonds. The university has a surprising amount of literature about soul magic—most of it purely speculative, of course.”
Severus snorts. “Are you planning on doing another soul bond?”
Hermione chuckles and pushes her wind-swept hair from her eyes. “No, once was quite enough.” She steps around a puddle on the path. “I was looking for any mentions of breaking soul bonds.”
“Did you find anything?”
“No. According to the literature I read, breaking a soul bond shouldn’t be possible.”
“And yet, we did so,” Severus says. “Not all answers can be found in a book, Hermione. What made you want to look it up?”
“Curiosity, really. It’s been, what, six months since we did the potion? I’ve been expecting there to be some sort of lasting effect, but I haven’t noticed anything out of the ordinary.”
He looks contemplative. “Nor have I. Other than not dropping dead when the bond was broken.”
Hermione laughs. “That’s one side effect of the bond that I’m happy for.” She tugs on his arm, making him stop. “I’ve missed you.”
His face goes from surprise to disbelief to something she can’t interpret. “Hermione…” his tone is pleading.
Her eyes water. “I don’t want to hear any warnings about what others may think or that I don’t know what I’m saying. It’s not fair and honestly, it’s belittling.” She touches his face. His skin is chilled and there’s a hint of prickly stubble against her palm. “You deserve to be happy, Severus. If you don’t feel the same way just tell me, but don’t push me away because you’re scared.”
Severus’ lips part slightly. Hermione holds her breath. Then he moves his arm so he can grasp her hand instead.
“I won’t pretend I don’t have reservations about how people will react, but it’s only out of concern.” He leans into her touch. “I couldn’t stand to see you hurt, especially if it was because of me. You matter too much to me.”
Hermione’s chest lightens until she feels she would float away if not for his grasp on her hand. She slides her hand around the back of his shoulders and stretches up to rest her forehead against his. His arm goes around her waist to tug her closer. A sense of calm spreads through her chest and out through the rest of her body. Her eyes fall closed as she breathes in the moment. His lips brush against hers, once, twice, so soft she can barely feel it. Her grip on his shoulders tightens as she kisses him with more purpose. A low sound rumbles in his chest.
She pulls back reluctantly. “Do you mean it?”
“I do.” Severus’ eyes flicker over her face. “My feelings for you haven’t changed, Hermione. I’m not trying to push you away, but I want you to be prepared that it probably won’t be easy.”
Hermione smiles. “I never did care much for easy.”
His lips curl into a smile. “No, you certainly didn’t.”
Hand-in-hand, they continue walking. The street lights flicker to life as darkness falls over them. It’s cold and somewhat damp but the air smells like a log fire and his hand is warm and steady in hers. She’s not concerned about what people will say or think. They have been through worse.
