Chapter Six: Epiphany
In which Severus figures it out.
When the first pale glimpse of light relieved the utter black of night in the dungeons, Severus bolted upright. He’d heard Hermione’s voice whispering in his head.
“I still love you. As an adult… I hope you find some joy.”
He cast about in the darkened room for any sign of her. There was none. It’d been a dream. “Bollocks!” he snarled.
The room was frigid and dark, and he was still clad in his robes from the night before, although covered by his spare duvet. The surge of adrenaline that had accompanied his first jolt of awakening sped his heart rate and had overridden the symptoms of his hangover briefly. But now that the first flush of reality had replaced his dream-like state, he was all too aware of his pounding head and sour stomach. He groaned and reclined against his pillows, pulling up the duvet that he assumed Blaise had thought to cover him with the previous night, thinking that this was becoming a too frequent occurrence.
His head throbbed as his hangover hit with the impact of a Goyle-hit bludger. Driven by some deep-seated need, Severus staggered into his sitting room, where the fire had burnt to embers. The room was chilled, dark and shadowed, and all that remained of the earlier cheery blaze was an orange tint, which gave off just enough light to navigate by. With ungainly movements, Hogwarts’ most graceful wizard sprawled into his familiar, time-worn armchair. In the dim light, his eyes sought the small cedar box that had become his talisman over the past several months, and had been neglected for the past few weeks. His hand reached out to grab it. He’d missed its oddly comforting weight. Closing his eyes, he allowed his hands to re-familiarize themselves with the smooth exterior, lightly tracing the Mishima family sigil cut into the lid of the box.
His mind ignored the dull throbbing from his over-indulgence and cast about at random, seeking some stray intriguing idea to focus on. His thoughts recalled snippets of phrases
“March 21, 2001, I realized that I was in love with you...”
That had been three months before the final defeat of the Dark Lord. His thoughts were scathing. Why had he been so reticent to believe that she was telling the truth? Why had her declaration felt like a ‘Diffindo’ slicing into his heart? Why had he shelved her declaration through all the long years since she’d left? Why had he blindly pursued Narcissa after the final battle, when his heart had been touched by another? Had it been so unpalatable to believe that infatuation had led him to the stultifying, soul-killing path of the Death Eater? Where had his courage to face harsh realities gone? Used to decades of practice lurking in the shadows, ferreting out information with subterfuge and subtlety, Severus had been able to find the internal fortitude to stand tall and face his former master at the final battle. He’d found the courage – with Hermione at his side.
Gods above, how blind had he been?
Why had he ignored any thought about the brilliant young witch who’d made her feelings clear, only to adhere to a false ideal like a parasite on a host? Was it that he’d needed to prove that everything he’d desired wasn’t corrupt? The day that he’d heard Draco and Narcissa talking, any hope he’d clung to for his childish fantasy to survive had died in his breast. After that it had been inconceivable that any other hopes he might’ve held for happiness would ever be realized. He simply couldn’t believe that a witch with as much to offer as Hermione Granger would’ve truly wanted him; his bruised pride and ego hadn’t allowed him to take the chance.
“I still love you.”
Those had been almost her last words to him in August. She still loved him. He’d ignored her then. Now, he didn’t believe it was possible for her to still have feelings for him after his treatment of her in his office. But if she’d been sincere, he wondered if she’d ever stopped caring for him? Had she buried her feelings for him as deeply as he’d hidden his for her? And he had. Severus had buried all of his conflicted thoughts for the young witch for over a decade, until the gift of the box that he held in his hands. She’d applied the thin end of the wedge, which had, like all good wedges, found an opening, that had widened, exposing his hidden and unrecognized dreams. With each constricted, painful heartbeat, the truth of his thoughts about Hermione could no longer be ignored.
In not facing the truth, he’d been a coward. Cowed as a child, tormented as a teenager, warped as a young man, and willfully inaccessible as an adult, he’d always faced the hardships that accompanied his decisions. Until now. Whatever the ultimate outcome of the unresolved issues between Hermione and him, Severus owed it to himself to find out. His fear was holding him back. He had a suspicion, it was one he’d kept buried for years and was one he hadn’t before even named, that Hermione Granger was perhaps the love of his life. As with all potentially magnificent possibilities, the risks were equally magnified. He’d never taken a greater risk. It wasn’t his life he’d be putting on the line, it was his soul.
“…nor are my feelings anything but repellant to you.”
Like quicksilver, infiltrating a crack, to puddle and congeal, his thoughts coalesced. He was afraid that she might not now love him, and that he’d lost the opportunity to find a reciprocal relationship with her. If he solved the riddle of the box and it didn’t lead him where his heart told him to go, he’d be crushed. In that eventuality, his future would be harsh, condemning him to live out his years an embittered and lonely wizard -- Gods, what a grim thought. What spurred him to action was the realization that he couldn’t continue as he had been. He was utterly wretched and, for the sake of his sanity, he needed to find a resolution. The destruction of the box would no longer provide the security of ignorance. Ironically, he thought that his own, personal Pandora’s box had truly been opened.
Swallowing hard, Severus rose, determined on his chosen path and, foregoing the remainder of the night’s sleep, he made his way to his bath and his hangover elixir. A double strength vial, he thought, would suffice. He had a puzzle to solve and work to do.
An hour later, Severus stood in his private lab, at long last erasing the chalked notes on the original Compromettere, and prepared to unravel the final wards on Hermione’s gift. His head was clear and he pointed his wand at the black board, swished the beloved ebony rod, and in a deep voice uttered “Dettare.” A long, slender piece of chalk levitated, hanging on his every word, ready to faithfully scratch his verbal commands onto the black surface.
“I gave you all the clues you need to open the box…”
What clues? He’d already successfully followed her clue about his research. What other clues had she given him? All she’d done was relate a list of dates. By all the gods… the dates. Severus muttered aloud, “I’m an utter imbecile, a prat of the first order.”
Dutifully, the chalk recorded his words on the wall in clear, concise handwriting. For the first time in weeks, Severus laughed – harshly -- at the evidence of his own chastisement. Wandlessly, he erased the sentence, and began to record all the relevant data he’d gathered about the box and the dates Hermione had spouted at him that afternoon in August. He’d made a mistake in not cataloguing them before this. He fervently hoped that he could remember the dates without having to resort to using the Pensieve for the information - the last dip into the stone bowl had been traumatizing enough as it was. He’d been so unnerved by the experience that he’d never compiled the list of dates he’d gone into the memory to retrieve. Where had his vaunted detachment gone, the control that he’d drawn on during his precarious career in espionage? Those skills should be second nature; he’d tenaciously clung to them for the majority of his life. But it’d been more than a decade since he’d been required to utilize his training, and ten years of disuse could dull even the sharpest of blades.
Severus furrowed his brow in thought, and began to compile the dates he remembered. When had she been here? “August 31, 2011.”
The chalk obediently scratched the date on the board. He remembered that her visit had been the day before the little cretins stormed the castle. What was its significance? Oh, yes, she’d ‘completed her assignment,’ and realized that she was still in love with him. Severus’ heart clenched a little as he added to the date written on the wall. “HG claims she’s still in love with me.”
Still. She’d said ‘still.’
Had she meant that she’d remained in love with him for the entire decade? Even while she was married to another? Questions flooded his mind. Severus realized that he knew very little about Hermione Granger as an adult. Was Granger even her name? Where was she living in Japan? What was her connection with Mishima, Ltd.? It seemed a fairly logical assumption to make that she worked for Mishima, Ltd. How long had she worked for them?
He chastised himself for being so self-centered that he hadn’t found out even this rudimentary information about a witch who haunted his every waking moment. He had the tools at his disposal… he knew how to be discreet and how to elicit the information he needed. Considering the high regard the entire staff held for their former student, it shouldn’t prove too difficult to find out what he needed to know.
Now what were the other dates she’d mentioned? Best to start chronologically, past to present. Their first confrontation was… when? Racking his brain, Severus recalled the date the Dark Lord fell, and remembered that she’d cornered him in his office a scant two days after their emotionally charged and life-altering battle camaraderie. He’d been hiding from the ebullience of the wizarding world, and Albus Dumbledore in particular. Severus had been so over-stimulated by the emotional backlash of Voldemort’s demise that he’d needed the quiet solitude of his rooms to sort himself out. That had been where she’d found and confronted him with her impassioned plea for a chance, and he’d callously disregarded her.
She’d accosted him at such a vulnerable moment that, even if she’d been stark naked and spread-eagled on his desk, he’d have spurned her. Instead, Severus had eviscerated her most tender feelings and essentially ‘Obliviated’ himself of the memory. The date -- Mithras’ black bollocks -- what was the date? Ah.
“June 25, 2001.” The chalk obediently scribbled the date.
As he remembered them, Severus muttered the significant dates aloud, barely pausing to note that the chalk hung on his every word, dutifully following the geas of his spell. His eyes closed in concentration. His brain had finally begun to function with its usual quick-wittedness.
October 7, 2003. The day his engagement to Narcissa Malfoy had been announced.
He’d been reluctant to allow the information to be published in the Daily Prophet, but Narcissa had insisted. How he’d allowed her to manipulate him. He’d cringed when he’d seen the headline over his morning breakfast at the High Table. The whispers had washed over the Great Hall like a tidal wave, crashing and breaking over the dais to fade into a collectively held breath as he opened his paper and saw the morning’s edition. Grimly, he’d thought that it must’ve been a slow news day, because the picture Narcissa had given to Rita Skeeter moved in all its glory, filling half the page. It was one of the happy couple seated in the morning room of Malfoy Manor, hands held as Narcissa waved her Aquamarine engagement ring for the camera. In hindsight, Narcissa’s need to make a spectacle of herself, to loudly proclaim that she was his and not Lucius’, was suspect. If only he’d been as insightful then.
But yes, that date was important to Hermione as well.
‘The day you broke my heart.’
She’d said it without inflection, without the anguish that he now believed she’d felt. In retrospect, it was that lack of emotion in her usually animated voice that should’ve been telling. The Gryffindor Brain, Harry Potter’s best friend, had always worn her heart on her sleeve. Her expressive face and luminous eyes had always glittered with every emotion to cross her heart.
It seemed that she’d learned something in the decade since she’d left England. In August, her emotions had been tightly controlled and subsumed beneath a smooth and elegant façade. He wondered if she were still the same passionate woman he’d known, and imagined almost nightly, despite the frequent ingestion of Dreamless Sleep.
December 31, 2004, a year later, she’d fallen in love. Had it taken her that long to bury her feelings for him? Had she fallen in love with someone else, still knowing she was in love with him? How had she met her husband? Had Minerva known? Of course she’d known, for years she’d regaled him with tidbits from her frequent correspondence with her former student. The information would undoubtedly begin to filter through his mental blockade shortly. In the meantime, his memory, now that it was focused, recalled the important dates in Hermione’s litany with successive ease. She’d been married on September 21, 2005. Nine months after falling in love -- enough time to have a baby. Severus’ breath caught in his throat. What if she’d had a child? Children? No, somehow he knew that she didn’t have children, just as he’d known she was no longer married that day in August. Only now, he wanted to know more. He’d have to be subtle in eliciting the information from his colleagues.
There were other dates to note. She’d been widowed… June 13, 2008. A short marriage. Surely Minerva had told him this story. He’d have to coax it out of her again. There was no one who was as voluble as Minerva McGonagall on the subject of her favorite graduate.
If Severus was honest, he’d have to admit that he’d never willingly listened to the frequent updates, it was too much like hitting a bruise one has hoped has begun to fade only to be reminded, sometimes quite painfully, that it still lingers. After his own engagement was dissolved, he’d retreated from frivolous news, and any specific information about Hermione Granger he’d have classified as immaterial. Had he given her any concerted thought, he would’ve had to face the emotional connection he’d ignored and buried, and the excruciating juxtaposition of his spurned feelings for the young witch to the ersatz love he’d had for Lucius’ pale, stylish widow.
With a heavy sigh, Severus pinched the bridge of his Roman nose. The task he’d set for himself was formidable. Although, it seemed as if the continual snippets of information his colleagues had imparted over the years had seeped into his subconscious, and as they began to merge with the additional information he intended to gather from his colleagues, he’d know how to open the box.
Severus leaned back on the high stool at his work table. The morning was chilly and his limbs felt stiff, but he felt better than he had in weeks. Glancing up at the chalkboard, he saw a neatly charted outline of the significant dates in Hermione’s life post-Hogwarts. Deep in thought, the clock interrupted his reverie as the hand chimed ‘breakfast,’ and he acknowledged the hunger in his stomach. For the first time in weeks, he was actually hungry for a meal. He rose, absently patting the box that had returned to its rightful place in the pocket of his robes, when one date stood out on the board.
‘March 21, 2001… in love with you, the day you stood up to Albus… ’
Severus felt as if the air had been sucked out of his lungs. March 21. His birthday. Today. Today was his birthday and Hermione Granger had been in love with him for eleven years. He’d carried his torch for Narcissa for twenty years. He knew what it felt like to watch the object of your affection entwine themselves in another’s arms and heart. Severus’ throat felt suddenly tight; it seemed that he had far more in common with the former Gryffindor than he’d realized.
Making his way to the High Table, Severus scrutinized his colleagues, gauging their sympathy. It was almost universal. His Slytherin cunning reasserted itself, and he’d use their sympathy to gather the information he needed, if he were to succeed in opening the damned little puzzle-box and finding his witch. Minerva was the only one who appeared to be occupied. She was scratching away at a parchment, absentmindedly eating a scone and sipping her tea. ‘Good,’ Severus thought. Her distraction would prove most beneficial. He took a seat next to her, to her unexpected delight. He was in better spirits than he’d been for weeks, and he was gratified by the relief on her face when he placed his Mishima box in its customary position on the table.
“Good morning, Severus. I trust you’re well?”
“Yes, Minerva, I am.” He inclined his dark head slightly and raised an eyebrow at her parchment; it appeared to be a letter, and several feet long. “Correspondence?” he asked, leadingly.
“A letter to Hermione; I’m just finishing it up. I want to give it to the post-owl this morning. It’s been weeks since I’ve written to the dear girl, and I do try to keep in touch.”
“Ah, the inestimable Miss Granger.” He drawled. The corner of his lips twitched as he watched Minerva’s spine stiffen at his presumed condescension.
“I’ll have you know, Severus Snape, that Miss Granger has not been Miss Granger for several years,” Minerva sniffed, affronted. “In fact, her married name matches the one on that little box you’re so fond of. She kept her married name after Brian died.”
“Minerva, I don’t doubt that your Miss Granger – pardon me -- Mrs. Mishima is a treasure.” He mocked. Inwardly, Severus catalogued the information as he reflected just how easy it was to assume mannerisms that others expected, and to goad information out of them.
Without asking, Severus was regaled with the story of Hermione Granger’s – he would never call her Mishima again – last decade: her departure from England, first to France, where she’d worked as a minor curse-breaker for Gringott’s Paris division, and then to the bank’s curse-breaking department in Hong Kong. Mishima, Ltd. had wooed her and won her services in January, 2004. She’d moved to their corporate headquarters, located in the old world magical community of Kamakura, Japan. Hermione had begun to work with Brian Mishima, the chairman’s son, and then the two had married within the following year.
As Minerva told her tale, Severus realized none of it was new information. Synaptic connections were firing in his memory, and his heart constricted when Minerva waxed lyrical about how happy she’d been for Hermione when the younger witch had become engaged. The Transfiguration Professor had met the couple twice in London, when they’d come for business, and she’d liked Brian Mishima. He’d treated Hermione like a precious gift, although she’d been surprised to discover that he was significantly older than Hermione.
“He was close to your age, Severus. Granted, it makes sense if you think about it. Hermione was always more mature than her peers, or chronological age, would lead you to believe.”
Severus, thinking that the age difference between Hermione and him was no longer the impediment it once would’ve been, only responded, “Indeed.”
Minerva had continued more sadly as she recounted the unexpected and untimely death of Brian Mishima. He’d been sent to Xi’an for a special warding assignment at the Mausoleum of the late Emperor Qin Shi Huang. The Muggle archeological dig had been a popular tourist attraction for a number of years, the most famous aspect being the Emperor’s excavated army. More than seven thousand terra cotta warriors and horses had been unearthed, and the site was host to thousands of tourists every year. The wizarding world had been concerned that the Muggle ‘dig’ would encroach upon the more private, magical site left by the Emperor’s former regent, Lu Buwei, who himself had been a wizard.
The Chinese Ministry of Magic had hired Mishima, Ltd. to layer additional security wards around the site, and Brian Mishima, as the son of Mishima’s Chairman, had been sent as the most logical and prestigious choice. The Lu tomb had already been protected by the local authorities, who’d estimated that the additional warding would be a routine procedure. In hindsight, Hermione would’ve been a better choice because of her background in curse-breaking. Brian had been hexed and killed within the first twenty-four hours of his trip. Heartbreakingly, Hermione and her father-in-law had been the Mishima representatives to retrieve Brian’s body, unravel the pre-existing curse, and set the contracted wards.
When she’d finished her story, Minerva was slightly astounded that Severus hadn’t cut her off. He’d never been willing to listen to her talk about her favorite graduate, but, not only had Severus not stopped her, he’d listened attentively the entire time. It was entirely out of character, and Minerva decided to think about the significance of this fact later. She hastily finished her letter, casting a sideways glance at her younger colleague. He still looked slightly haggard from his recent weeks’ inattention to his own personal care, but his hair was once again clean, his goatee freshly trimmed, and his eyes were alive and crackling with his personality. Relief washed over her, and she mentally made a note to owl Blaise Zabini later in the day to let him know that Severus was more himself. The younger Slytherin had been exceedingly worried the previous night when he’d arrived at her sitting room.
Minerva and Severus finished their breakfast in the more comfortable sort of camaraderie that had characterized their interaction in recent years. The dark-haired wizard poured his last cup of Ceylon black tea, and Minerva began to gather her things to depart for her first class of the day when she remembered the date.
“Oh, Severus. Happy birthday.”
Simultaneously, with her verbal wishes and Severus’ “Thank you, Minerva,” an astonishing thing occurred. The Mishima, Ltd. box that had sat quiescent for months on the High Table began to glow and pulse with an iridescent golden light. There was no sound associated with the radiance, but it managed to capture the attention of everyone within the hall -- Severus was inordinately relieved that Albus was attending a Wizengamot meeting.
Minerva gasped and, in his excitement, Filus Flitwick, at the other end of the High Table, fell off the magically elevated chair he called his own, squeaking as he went down, “Oh, Severus, what’s it doing?”
But Severus Snape was first and foremost a private wizard, and it wasn’t in his nature to share so openly something that mattered to him. With one swift, decisive grab, he’d captured the shining box, absently noting that the pulses were coming in more rapid succession, and he quickly strode from the Great Hall, his robes billowing in an almost reluctant wave at all who watched his exit. The last sound he heard was Rolanda Hooch’s excited shriek, “Is it opening, Severus? Today’s my day, you know!!”
As soon as he heard the doors thud shut behind him, Severus abandoned all sense of decorum and sprinted for his lab. For some reason, he knew that this was it. He hadn’t quite figured it out yet, but he realized that perhaps Hermione had charmed a failsafe into the box.
Today’s date had significance to both of them. It was his birthday, and it was the anniversary of the day she’d first realized how she felt about him. Of course. He might have seen it earlier if he’d paid closer attention to her clues. Instead, he’d wallowed in stubbornness, and his own inability to face his feelings for the remarkable witch.
The box was radiating warmth from his pocket, and the golden light was leaking from the hidden cache in his robes. Rarely before had the hallways of the dungeons been so brightly lit.
Careening into his lab, Severus placed the now rapidly strobing, illuminated box on top of his work table. As he caught his breath, he realized that the pulses were beating in time with his own heart. They were slowing until they held steady, and when his heartbeat evened out the glow maintained a constant glow. He sat still for several endless minutes, waiting.
Waiting… Waiting.
Until the final pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Severus made the last intuitive leap that had made his services as a spy invaluable to the side of the Light. The box wouldn’t open without the password. The one tailored exclusively for him, and created by her, based on her feelings for him. With great daring, he uttered the fateful words he believed Hermione had used as the final password necessary to release the remaining layers of wards surrounding his very precious treasure. His voice trembled with emotion as he whispered, “I love you.”
He’d never said the words before. At one time, he might’ve thought them to Narcissa, but by the time she was his, it’d seemed too juvenile to say. Never had there been anyone else… other than the former Gryffindor witch.
With its final throbbing strobe of light, the box went out. Hermione’s voice filled the room, warmth replacing the chill of the sudden darkness.
“Happy birthday, Severus. Today is significant in more ways than one, but your birthday is something to celebrate. My gift to you is inside.”
Severus noted the newly revealed seam and, very carefully, his fingers caressing the wood, he removed the entire top of the box. He looked inside and his heart stopped. He felt lightheaded. Groping for his stool, he sat down heavily upon it. He blinked hard to clear his sight, and smelled the traces of Hermione’s unique, exotic fragrance from the interior crèche. Severus was staggered by the enormity of her gift.
Nestled within the indigo velvet lining lay Hermione’s golden medal, her Order of Merlin, First Class.
A tiny scroll of parchment lay visible underneath the coveted golden trinket. As if he’d cast ‘Wingardium leviosa,’ the scroll floated up from the box until it was suspended in front of Severus’ unbelieving eyes. The scroll unrolled, the crimson words on the parchment clearly legible and in Hermione’s copperplate script. He removed the medal -- his own personal holy grail -- and held the golden disc in his hands, reverently. Her voice resounded in the quiet room, reciting the words of the note as he read what she’d written.
“In every war there are unsung heroes, regardless of the reasons they are driven to serve, they have given selflessly and painfully, devoted to a just cause that doesn’t always acknowledge their sacrifices. You are one of those men.
Please accept my gift in the spirit in which it is given, from someone who recognizes your contributions to my adopted world. This medal is rightfully yours, and should have been awarded to you ten years ago.
Thank you, Severus, for all you have done to ensure the future. The world is a better place with you in it.”
Severus felt the unfamiliar sting of tears prick his eyelids, and he had to read the last few sentences several times because his eyes were so filled with moisture that he could barely make out the words. Hermione had given him her Order of Merlin, First Class. Her medal. A medal she’d earned, and one he’d coveted all his adult life… the true recognition for his sacrifices. By Mithras’ Golden Horns, she’d truly understood. She’d acknowledged the debt to him.
Severus slid off the stool and sank to his knees on the cold stone floor, so shaken that he couldn’t have taken a step even if Voldemort had risen from the grave. Hermione Granger had willingly given her medal to him because she valued him, and wanted him to know it.
What a fool he’d been not to see her true worth before he’d thrown her out.
It’d taken the past seven months for him to realize just what a priceless woman she was, and that she wanted him. Him. The greasy bat from the dungeons. She honestly seemed to have loved the snarky, brooding, ex-spy, ex-Death Eater, and completely besotted wizard that he was. He ran his trembling fingers over the raised and molded lines of the medal, and then carefully returned it to its box. To think that he’d been carrying around a First Class medal for months… that he’d tried to burn it, to hurl it from the Astronomy tower. A sardonic grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. How ironic it would’ve been if he’d been successful.
How could he ever repay her, to thank her for this gift? It was so much more than a memento, or a polite social gesture. It was an acknowledgment that someone, some where, knew just how much he’d deserved the medal, and had rectified the injustice. It was more than anyone else had done.
Gods, but he admired the witch, the remarkable, stubborn, brilliant witch who’d tormented him with her enigmatic puzzle that had led him on a path to self-realization… and who would never come to him again. Not after the rejection of her last visit. Severus’ excitement chilled in his guts. She had no reason to think him receptive to her presence. If he ever wanted to see her again, or begin any sort of a relationship with her, as was becoming his heart’s most fervent wish, it was up to him to rectify this situation.
A thank you wouldn’t be amiss. It’d be a bridging of the gap that he’d created with his abrasive rebuff. Perhaps a letter, he was good with words, he could write a letter. No. She could tear it up, or return it. There was no telling how she’d respond to a letter from him, especially after his last words to her. He really should thank her in person. But that would mean going to Japan. He mentally snorted. It wasn’t as if it were a box of chocolates or a scarf that she’d given him. This was no ordinary gift. And it required an equally extraordinary thank you. Definitely in person. There was nothing else for it. He had to go to Japan.
Japan. He’d never been there. He’d have to ease Flitwick into conversation again. After this morning’s events, it shouldn’t be too hard. Filius, not to mention the entire staff, would be falling all over him to find out whether he’d opened the box. Fortunately, with the small wizard’s enthusiasm, a judicious word or two should release the floodgates of information.
That only left one other decision to make. When to go? Severus calculated the dates in his head. Spring break was in three weeks time. That would give him an entire week to attempt to make peace with Hermione once he found her. He looked at the Order of Merlin again. All the fear and doubt he’d had the night before and the preceding weeks, vanished as if he’d performed an ‘Evanesco’ with the very solid evidence of Hermione’s deep-seated regard for him.
With a lighter heart than he’d had in years, Severus Snape began to make plans.