The inevitability of choosing to love you by dance or D4 NCE.
Not everyone in the world has a soul mate.
Whether that's a blessing or a curse has not yet been decided,
though it is contentiously debated amongst the best
philosophers, artists, scientists and religious leaders
of both the wizarding and Mughal world.
For what does a soul mate indicate, if not the existence
of fate? Are those with soul mates
forever at the will of destiny? What about those without soul
mates? Do they have free will because
they are free to be with whomever they choose, or is that
an illusion too? When a babe is born and the soul
mark and date of their meeting appears on the skin, what are
the implications? Is it a cause for celebration?
What does it mean when 2 souls are set upon an inescapable
track to one particular moment in time?
When the moment comes, are you finally free?
Nicholas Flamel, famed philosopher and soul mate to
Paranel Flamel, August 30th, 1979.
Severus is an emotional person. As much as he hates to admit it,
it is a burden he wishes he could rid himself of rather than
being forced to bury it, lest others exploit his weakness.
His emotions run through deep caverns hidden within him and
the layers of stone and occlamacy practice, and yet it
is always just a matter of time before they erode him from the
inside out and explode haphazardly from fishers he is
not aware of until someone or something pries their fingers in
and rips him open. When he was young, it happened
more frequently, especially with the near constant teasing from
Potter and his awful friends. And of course, with Lily when he
called her. Severus sucks in her breath.
Forget what he called her, it means nothing.
Few have recognised the extent of the emotion within him,
though some have ventured deeper than others.
Lily, who has seen the best and worst of him, would be horrified
to know the extent of his love for her.
If she looked closely enough, dug deep enough, she'd peel back
his disguise and find her name written into the swirls of his
fingertips, her likeness painted into the backs of his eyelids,
her voice echoing in his heartbeat.
She is a weakness, and she is gone.
Gone to marry Potter where Severus can never follow the
knowledge that she will never be his, fills him with such pain,
rage and sadness that he can barely function.
He cannot go on like this, he cannot keep living this way.
If he only had something to look forward to, maybe the promise of
some other life purpose, some destiny.
But he has nothing. He was not born with the promise
of a soul mate. How many nights had he stood
naked in front of the mirror, searching his body for a
soulmate mark, something that would indicate that he has some
worth, that he will not always be alone.
He'd comb over his body fastidiously, fantasizing that
he'd find it between his toes or on his scalp.
The mark blooming one day with a date.
A date that means someone loves him, they just haven't met yet.
Yet the older he has gotten, the more impossible the dream.
The soul mate mark appears at the birth of a soul, meaning
that any mark that shows on his skin now would be for someone 19
years his junior. He couldn't even catch the
attention of the woman he loves best, or anyone within the range
of his age. The idea of himself as an old
man with a young woman is laughable.
Pathetic. He is pathetic.
So when Lucius approaches him with the offer to join the ranks
following the Dark Lord Voldemort, Severus considers it.
He has skill, intelligence. He is not completely useless.
He could be helpful to the Dark Lord.
Their beliefs and values align somewhat.
However, that was not the primary draw.
It was Lucius himself. He also used to be somewhat of a
tempestuous young man, prone to anger and fits of emotion, and
when he came to Severus's home as a Death Eater, he was far
more poised and in control than Severus had ever seen him.
He had commented on it, and Lucius told him how everything
changed in one instant. The moment he took the Dark
Mark, peace settled over his mind.
Now his primary goal is to serve the Dark Lord faithfully.
Everything else faded away. Not all the way.
He still had love for his wife, Narcissa, his soul mate, but
even then the intensity of their love had dimmed.
In truth, Lucius told him, when the Dark Lord placed his mark on
his wrist, the soulmate mark that had been with him since the
day Narcissa had been born faded away.
His soul no longer belonged to his wife, it now belonged to the
Dark Lord. My only regret is that Narcissa
suffers. I will not allow her to take the
Dark Lord's mark, and so she feels the lack of our bond.
Lucius had said, but he didn't seem regretful, and so Severus
considers. He is tired, so tired of
fighting his emotions. Perhaps giving his soul to the
Dark Lord would silence the turbulence inside of him.
Perhaps he could move beyond Lily.
Finally, he makes the decision and when the day comes, Severus
receives the Dark Mark. He feels that promised peace
settle over him and he sighs in relief as he bows to his new
master. It only takes a day for him to
realise that it is not nearly enough.
Lily was not his soul mate, and so signing his soul away was not
enough to quell the depth of his feelings for her, though they
had dimmed somewhat along with most of his other emotions.
It was better, but he still had to fight to bury all of it.
He has no remorse except to bend his mind to the Dark Lord's
bidding and hope that his new purpose and time will bring him
relief. At least he belongs to someone
now, if nothing else. September 19th, 1979 Hermione
Granger is born September 19th, 1979 to loving Mughal parents.
They check her for 10 fingers, 10 toes, the colour of her eyes.
They find nothing out of order, no marks of note except for
hints of their likeness mirrored on hers, and they declare her
absolutely perfect. October 1st, 1993.
Hermione stares at the man's elegant hands, demonstrating how
to brew a potion to accelerate the growth of Devil's Snare.
She can admit to herself that they are beautiful hands and
obviously so skilled and practised at their art.
She imagines one of the hands reaching out to her for her to
take into hers. And.
And what? Hermione blushes.
She knows and she doesn't know. At the age of 14, with the books
that she's read and the things that she's giggled about with
friends in the common room, she knows about romance and the ways
of a man and a woman demonstrating their love for one
another. But she doesn't know.
No, she doesn't care to know. No, she just wants to think
about it a little bit. And for some reason, she thinks
of Professor Snape's hands more than she cares to admit.
The rest of the time her thoughts wander over to her best
friend Ron, and while he doesn't have beautiful hands, he does
have a kind smile for her most of the time, and he does make
her laugh when he's not making her furious.
The thought of Ron taking her hand makes her heart jump with
Glee, and she knows, because everyone knows about everyone,
that Ron has no soul mate Mark. So potentially, what is silly
now is actually what is inevitable later.
But she's also busy. Busy with homework, busy keeping
the boys out of trouble, busy writing letters to her parents,
and busy preparing for class. So she has no real time for
these thoughts. Those very real, very possible,
potentially inevitable thoughts of the future.
She'll save those for when she's ready to take his hand and never
let go. So she pushes the Ron thoughts
away and takes the time to ponder frivolously when she can
on the professor's hands and how they might feel, pushing a curl
away from her eyes and tucking it behind her ear.
May 2nd, 1998 When Nagini rips Professor Snape's neck open,
Hermione fights to keep herself from screaming.
She'll never forget his hands reaching up to try to stem the
blood flowing impossibly fast from his neck turning red.
She'll never forget the deep feeling of pain inside her
heart, like something has died within her.
When he closes his eyes for the final time, she feels this way,
even though she knows he has betrayed them.
So while her insides are quaking, she doesn't scream and
she doesn't cry. May 10th, 1998, Days after the
war, the time for serious thought arrives and Hermione can
see her life stretch into the future.
A life with Ron as the new Missus Weasley, or maybe Weasley
Grainger, Grainger Weasley. She knows she is putting the
cart before the horse, but they've been best friends for
years and almost no one in this world besides Harry knows her
better. Besides, couples marry young in
the wizarding world. Thinking about it now is, if
anything, extraordinarily practical.
So when Ron shows up at her bedroom door with that bashful
smile, nervous but hopeful, and so wonderfully and beautifully
Ron, she does not hesitate for one second to take his strong,
sturdy hand and pull him inside her room and into her arms.
Ron lavishes her with kisses and praise, how wonderful she is,
how smart and beautiful, how he's always noticed, how he's
always thought about what her lips would feel like on his.
They kiss for the second time, and Hermione's heart soars.
Together they move towards the bed, laughing, kissing,
unbuttoning shirts and pulling off sweaters, and Ron pushes her
backwards onto the bed. She stretches languorously,
confidently under his gaze, ready to finally know what the
physical manifestation of love feels like.
But instead of falling atop her and praising her body, his face
goes completely white instead. Hermione, I thought you didn't
have a soul mate? He said stiffly, trying to keep
the hurt from his voice and his face and failing mightily.
I don't. Don't you think my parents would
have been alarmed if I was born with a tattoo?
She laughs. The soulmate mark doesn't appear
when you're born, Hermione. It manifests when the person
you're meant to be with is born. He's wandering around the room,
picking up his clothes. Hermione can't help but feel her
future fading away with every step he takes.
Ron, I don't know what you're talking about.
I don't have a mark. Hermione's up on her feet,
rushing to take his hand in hers.
He looks at her, really looks at her, and then his eyes soften
and he brushes her skin tenderly on the right side of her body,
under her breast. It's here, Hermione, it's real.
He says softly, a little reverently.
It means you have a soul mate. That's something special,
Hermione. You should be happy.
Hermione's future washes away before her eyes like a flood.
There would be no Missus Weasley, Granger, Just a
nameless, faceless somebody who she doesn't even know, who she
didn't even grow up with, who means nothing to her.
What does it say, Ron? What is the date?
Hermione is now in panic, scrambling at her body, trying
to crane her head and contort herself to get a glimpse of her
fate. Oh, old still, Hermione, I'll
tell you. He leans closer, his cheeks
reddening as he comes closer to her body.
May 20th, 2005, 11:32 AM. He reads aloud before stepping
back, quickly returning to the task of retrieving his clothes
and dressing Ron. That's in seven years.
That's forever from now. Surely we can.
I mean, I wouldn't mind if we. Hermione was stumbling through
her words, attempting to find a way to bring him back to her.
What? Hermione, Start something that
will only break our hearts. You have someone waiting for
you, seven years or not. Well, I'm not going to start
something with someone I, someone I could have loved for
the rest of my life, who will inevitably leave me.
That isn't fair to either of us. Ron is fully dressed and clearly
resolute that he will be leaving her and there is no future for
them. I Hermione size her heart
shattering, but what else is there to say?
I understand Ron. Ron grabs the blanket from the
bed, wraps her in it, kisses her forehead tenderly, and leaves.
The next time she sees him, he smiles at her same old Ron, and
they move on. May 15th, 1998.
Severus wakes slowly. He knows before he even opens
his eyes that he has the unfortunate indignity of being
alive. What is different, however, is
the avalanche of emotion suddenly overpowering him,
burying him under years of repressed feeling and tight
control. Rage, betrayal, sadness, fear,
friendship. Scant happiness barrels over
him, and he knows that it is a result of the Dark Lord's death.
He no longer has the emotional protection his Dark Mark had
afforded him, and he is out of practice with burying the full
depth of his feelings. He is sobbing and inconsolable
when Narcissa finds him, and there is nothing to be done but
to sit and hold his hand while he tries to find space for every
feeling the Dark Lord kept from him and has now returned.
She knows this because she is only now able to leave Lucius
aside without him falling into a panic attack, and so she and
Draco take turns sitting with each man as they process what
they threw away for power and peace.
After three days, Severus is finally able to speak.
How am I alive? He whispers to Narcissa, his
voice hoarse and pained from three days of crying, but also
likely from where Nagini tore his throat apart.
The unbreakable vow of Severus. She says, grasping his forearm
the way they had when they formed the original bond.
This memory triggers another bout of tears for Severus.
It isn't until the next day that he can ask her.
It kept me alive. I don't know, Severus.
You looked like you had been dead for hours when I game upon
you, but something was drawing me towards you.
It compelled me to find you after the defeat of the Dark
Lord, and when I touched your hand, well, you were suddenly
alive again. Still imminently dying, but
absolutely alive. And Harry?
He asks, He assumes the boy must be dead if the Dark Lord is
dead, but he has defied death more than once, somehow alive
and well. Far better than you my friend.
She says, pushing Severus hair out of his face.
The gesture is tender and comforting, and it sets Severus
off again, another attack of emotion, but he doesn't take
nearly as long to find his centre to take control of
himself. Does anyone know I'm alive?
He asks Sir, He hopes. No, just Draco and I Lucius will
likely be going to Azkaban, and we decided it was best he didn't
know you were here unless you wanted others to know.
He sighs in relief. No, I don't want anyone to know.
All he wants now is to find a way to live with himself.
No, he wants to find something to live for.
July 13th, 1998. It takes Severus 4 weeks of
recovery to be able to control his emotions for most of the
day, and eight weeks for him to finally be ready to make an
appraisal of his battered 38 year old body.
He acquaints himself with his giant new neck wound, his semi
faded dark mark, the smattering of scars from skirmishes and
dangerous potions brewing. His Severus sucks in a breath.
Soulmate Mark on the back of his right calf, A faded thing,
obviously not new, though he's never seen it before.
Reading May 20th, 2005, 11:32 AM.
Severus lowers his head as if in prayer.
Finally, something to hold onto. Relief, blessed relief, brings
tears to his eyes for the thousandth time since he woke up
alive. He has a purpose.
He has something to look forward to that's just for him, and it
overwhelms him. He lets the tears flow and for
the first time in his life, he doesn't hold them back.
He instead lets his emotions wash through him and he realises
these emotions are not eroding him from the inside out.
They are opening space inside him for more emotion, love,
vulnerability. They are carving him into a
vessel to hold the most beautiful aspects of life.
Several has spent years letting fear and the horrors of the past
be his guiding star. He will need a new guide if he
is to be worthy of his soulmate bond.
Though in a way, was this bond not always his fate?
He doesn't have to be a particular person.
He doesn't have to be worthy. He just needs to be himself,
blessed. The bond is why I was spared
from death, he thinks to himself.
This thought triggers a memory of note in a book by Nicholas
Flamel on soulmate bonds. He wrote that the force that
guides them is likely the force that guides all soul related
magic, such as the Unbreakable Vow which led Narsissa to him so
that he may be revived by the soul magic and live to see his
destiny. Unlikely.
The Dark Mark was a fated bond as well.
Severus shudders to think that it had been his fate to be tied
to the Dark Lord in such a way. He does not want to believe that
the Dark Lord's evil, the death and destruction that he wrought,
that Severus participated involuntarily and by force, was
just as necessary, natural, and fated as the bond on his calf.
The Dark Lord's existence, the Horcruxes, and the Unbreakable
Vow are all tied to a long line of atrocities that led him to
this moment. The moment almost wholly in
nature, where he sees that his life actually has potential and
meaning. Does this not imply that all the
previous moments, dark and light, are, in a manner of
speaking, wholly in nature? There is a danger in standing on
the edge of the unknown and staring into the abyss.
Sometimes the Abyss stares back, and Severus wants none of it.
He wants to move on. Everything that is is,
everything that will be, will be.
As much as he cannot change the past, he cannot change the
future, and there is nothing, absolutely nothing, that anyone
can do about it. So Severus sets the mysteries
that have kept philosophers, scientists, and Wizards in a
sweat for the past millennia aside and thinks about his own
life and his own future, and how he will finally meet the love of
his life 7 years from now. Only seven years from now, he is
jolted into action. There is so much to do to
prepare, and while he has always disdained the idea of changing
oneself for another person, he knows that the person he is
today is not ready for such a deep bond.
He has no desire to share this broken man with anybody, much
less the mate to his soul. He does not want the focus of
their early relationship to be stitching him back together into
some semblance of a real man. No, this time is a gift, and he
is not going to waste it. October 28th, 2004 11:17 AM.
The idea of soul mates has always bothered Hermione.
On one hand, there is something theatrically romantic about
being destined to love one particular person, to have an
unbreakable bond that connects your souls over time and space.
But that's the problem, isn't it?
How can one connect a rope between two people through time
and space without inevitably running into the fact that if
everyday soul mates meet on earth at specific times and
places, then likely free will and therefore morality just
can't exist? Or if free will does exist in
some subset of existence, it isn't all-encompassing, which is
barely a comfort, if anything is worse.
Because how can one know what is under the purview of freedom and
what isn't? 1 can't.
And as Hermione thinks about this day after day, as the years
pass and her choices and her accomplishments begin to feel
meaningless, she must wonder what is it all for?
She could lay in bed every day for the rest of her seven-year
sentence now. Six months, 22 days, 15 minutes
left doing nothing worth anything.
And still, one day, May 20th, 2005 at 11:32, AMA date and time
tattooed on her body and mind, drag herself out of bed and
answer the door. And the new neighbor is just
there to say hi and introduce her to his dog, and suddenly her
life will have meaning again. What a joke.
Her friends, bless them, are not encumbered by destiny.
Or if they are, as everyone must be, logically they don't have a
reason to think about it. They just go on with their
lives, loving their partners, raising their children,
achieving promotions, celebrating Christmas.
They are happy and they are clueless.
They are happy because they are clueless and it slowly drives
Hermione Battie until finally, after literally spending the
whole day in bed contemplating that lovely quote from Albert
Camus. There is but one truly serious
philosophical problem, and that is suicide.
Judging whether life is or is not worth living amounts to
answering the fundamental question of philosophy.
She decides that while life is perhaps not as she originally
imagined it, it is worth living, and she has not been living for
some time. It is time to start again.
And so it is with some trepidation that she packs all
her bags and moves to a small town in Kent with all the
science and philosophy she's read recently.
Perhaps she'll take a master's in philosophy by correspondence,
or maybe she'll finish off what Professor Snape had started.
She had the chance at the end of the war to take possession of
his notes, ostensibly to see if there was anything of value to
wizarding society, but mostly because she couldn't stop
herself from taking them. And it helped her feel close to
him, and she couldn't think about him writing these notes
with those hands. And she couldn't forget that her
last memory of him was stained with his blood.
And she did notice some potentially useful potions still
in the research phase. April 24th, 2005, 10:45 AM.
When are you going to get married?
Young man. Missus Peabody asks him for what
seems like the 100th time. Well, that depends.
How's Mr. Peabody getting on? Severus sets her debutante in
front of her, smiling roguishly, running his fingers through his
now short hair. You are despicable.
I'm old enough to be your mother.
She says, blushing. I am being serious, young man.
It's time to settle down. Ah, but you'd make a beautiful
bride. He winks at her.
Don't you think, ladies? The group of 70 somethings laugh
and giggle like schoolgirls, though more pleasantly and less
gratingly than actual schoolgirls.
Missus Peabody comes to his coffee shop daily, and they've
struck up a bit of a friendship, but she does like to show off in
front of her weekly book club. Severus is happy to indulge her,
which perhaps is the most surprising thing, how much
enjoyment he gets from making others feel good.
In his prior life, feeling good was a weakness, and trying to
help others feel good, well, that could get you all them
killed. But here at the Cauldron, where
he roasts and brews the finest coffee in Kent, the deepest
worry he has is making sure he can keep the caustic sarcasm in
check. Most of the time, however, his
dearest customers make it easy. When he arrived in town looking
for some place to put down roots, they embraced him so
quickly that days after he opened his shop, he had devoted
daily regulars who he knew by name and knew about their
families and their hopes and dreams.
And they knew him, too. He became part of the local
community so much that he can't go anywhere in town without a
few townspeople stopping him to chat.
The tourists on the other hand, well, he could take or leave
them most of the time. They were particularly bad on
Saturdays and he could swear his regulars came in specifically to
witness the show sometimes, And he knew this for a fact.
The tourists came in specifically for his sarcastic 1
liners, subtle jabs and put downs.
He had read about it on the Internet when he was reading the
latest reviews of his coffee. He didn't mind, In fact, he
embraced it. If giving the public what they
wanted helped him keep the edge off his mood during the Saturday
rush, well, so be it. Thankfully, it was a Wednesday
morning and all he had to do was keep Mrs. Peabody and her book
club happy until lunchtime. There's a New Girl in town,
Severus. You should meet her missus.
Peabody smiles at him, trying her look again.
She's a notorious matchmaker. She claims that she has at least
10 marriages that she deserves the credit for.
Well, you know where I am, Missus Peabody.
Tell her to come down to the shop, he says, just to blacate
her because he knows it's only a matter of time. 26 days, in
fact, until he can tell Missus Peabody that he has finally met
his soul mate and it won't have anything to do with her
meddling. I've tried to convince her but
apparently she doesn't drink coffee.
She says, looking away guiltily. Severus throws his head back to
laugh. Poor Missus Peabody and her
fruitless matchmaking. His life is practically the
shop. He just can't imagine how this
match could possibly work out. Don't laugh.
Severus, do you see Mr. Peabody here?
He doesn't enjoy coffee, as you know.
I love. It.
She sniffs, indignant. Opposite do attract.
One of her friends, a missus Heathcliff, butts in.
Penelope, you consistently choose.
The one drink here with the least.
Amount of coffee and then ask for more milk.
I think you just like the view. She finishes, completely and
subtly nodding her head towards him.
Cervarus laughs again, and while he doesn't necessarily get it,
he knows he's gained a bit of a following among the older town
ladies. When he arrived, the first thing
he did was chop off his longer hair and set himself up with a
local trainer. War, death and being bedridden
from overwhelming emotion had whittled him down into The
Walking Dead. Now, after many years the
physical labour of roasting and running the shop and the three
times a week at the gym habit, he has to admit that he looks
and feels the healthiest he has ever felt.
He even let Missus Peabody convince him to switch to tooth
whitening toothpaste. Nothing.
Wrong with a bit of vanity, young man, and you have a
lovely. Smile, she had said, and he
indulged her like he always does, except for when it comes
to his love life. Ladies, please, you flatter me,
but if Miss doesn't drink coffee, wants a shot at stealing
me away from all of you, then she'll have to come down to the
shop and meet me. And with that, he turns away to
start helping with the next batch of roasted coffee beans.
May 5th, 2005, 5:45 PM. Hermione stretches, her back
burning from being hunched over her table at the local library.
The library closes at 6:00 PM, and she still has to pack her
philosophy books into her bag and check out her latest stack
of novels. While Hermione still reads her
philosophy, masters, and potion books for her research on
Professor Snape's notes, she finds that when she's alone at
night in her apartment, her favorite thing to do is to curl
up on the couch with a good book and a cup of tea.
Because she's living off savings currently and a small
scholarship for her masters correspondence, she suddenly has
all the time in the world to do exactly what she wants,
stimulate her mind with life's questions, deep dive into the
mystery of a brilliant man's work, and have fun in the
sandbox of her imagination through her love of a story and
narrative. This six month break has been
the best idea, and even the impending due date where she
will finally meet her so-called soul mate is no longer grating
so heavily on her nerves. Perhaps it will be a journey
worth the wait. She just wishes when she's
bringing potions based on her professor's notes, she pretends
he whispers them over her ear and she lets herself become his
proxy, following his every direction.
Exactly that whoever her soul mate is, he will speak to her
soul as much as the man from the notes does.
She feels a certain frustration that in a strange way, she will
betray Professor Snape the moment she meets this soul mate,
because through his notes she has found kinship with him, a
closeness that she has not felt for anyone else.
It's probably a sickness to feel this way for a dead man, But
then she remembers those girlish feelings in school when she
spent so much time writing a treatise in her daydreams to the
beauty of his hands of all things.
She knows that as of this moment, the only person keeping
his memory alive and breathing is her.
And when she meets this soul mate, she might not be able to
keep him alive anymore. She might not want to, or feel
the need to, and it makes her feel terrible, but time marches
on and she has no choice about it.
She does have distractions, however, and Missus Peabody
approaches her as she waits to check out her.
Books, Miss Granger. How lovely to see you again,
missus. Peabody says, joining her in
line. Missus Peabody, how are you?
She replies, smiling at the nice old lady who became her first
friend in town as they met so often at the library.
I am wonderful, thank you. I'm just wondering if you would
want to go down to the coffee. She starts.
Hermione groans and chuckles into her stack of books held to
her chest. I'm just saying, young lady,
that you might enjoy a bit of coffee.
Now I'm not a coffee person myself, but I do enjoy a nice
latte. She starts again, trying to
convince Hermione to go down to the coffee shop and meet the
nice young man there. Missus Peabody, if you want this
young man to meet me, then maybe he should come to the library
sometime. She smiles at the woman, finally
catching her out. She knows for a fact she's asked
around a bit that the mysterious young man, a young mid 40s man
also known as almost double her age, doesn't venture far from
his home, his shop and the local supermarket, so it is very
unlikely that she will meet him if she doesn't go to where he
is. Oh, you are stubborn, Miss
Granger, both you and that boy. Missus Peabody Humphs.
Match made in heaven, I'm sure. She says cheekily, before moving
forward and setting her books down in front of the librarian.
Maybe Miss Granger, I know a good match when I see one you.
Mark my words. And with that, Missus Peabody
sweeps away, surely to be a bit of a busy body elsewhere.
Hermione just shakes her head and makes her way home. 14 days
and 17 hours left to go. No point meeting someone she
might like before she's swept away by someone else.
Missus Peabody wouldn't get it. May 20th, 2005, 9:00 AM.
Hermione vows she's not going to make a thing about it.
She's going to go about her day, and in two hours and 32 minutes
she's just going to well, she doesn't know.
She cannot fathom what is possibly going to happen.
She has read a few things from the literature on soul bonds,
and the descriptions on when bonds are fulfilled are vague.
Some say that it feels like coming home.
Some say they feel like they've been waiting their whole lives
for that moment and it's like being complete.
Some say it's a flash of lightning.
Some say it's a gentle bloom. She refuses to dwell too long on
it. Mike, when you're waiting for
the doctor to jab in a vaccination, perhaps it's best
if you just don't look at it at all.
So she brews her tea, and when there's a knock on the door, her
heart jumps halfway out of her chest.
Is it her new neighbor come to introduce himself and his cute
dog? No, she still has two hours and
25 minutes left. She calms herself, goes to the
door and finds Missus Peabody of all people standing there with a
rolled up newspaper in hand. Good morning.
Dearly, I hope you don't mind, but I asked my friend Missus
Westley to let me into the building and tell me which
apartment was yours. She said cheerily, as if she
wasn't just admitting to gathering private information
about her from her network of spies.
Yeah, no problem Missus Peabody, what can I help you with?
She says, deciding it's best not to be creeped out and just
accept this as small town life. I.
Just didn't know if you'd read the local newspaper.
I wanted to make sure you saw today's feature.
Maybe it might convince you to come down to the little coffee
shop, hmm? She winks at Hermione and hands
her over the rolled paper. Hermione holds back a giant sigh
of exasperation. On to day of all days.
But she was raised to be polite, and so she takes the Prophet
paper, thanking the charmed busy body, and sends her on her way.
Thankfully her tea is now perfectly brewed and well, she
might as well take a look at this coffee man.
All she has now is time, 2 hours and 15 minutes.
So she rolls out the paper and has the second greatest shock of
her day. There in a large feature sized
photo under the title Owner of local coffee shop and roaster
The Cauldron wins Kent's 2005 Small Business Award is
Professor Snape. She is stunned.
Beyond stunned. Professor Snape is dead.
This man in the photo is a fever dream of her twisted
imagination. Because surely her professor
would have told them he was alive.
He would have wanted everyone to know that he did not betray
them, that instead he had laid his very life for all of them.
A hero. And the more she thinks about
it, the more she realises, no, of course he wouldn't want any
of that. He would want to leave his job
done. She's surprised to find after
the shock wears off that she's feeling hurt and angry, because
how dare he let her believe he's dead.
How dare he let her wrap herself up in the memory of him in the
day in his notes and at night in her dreams.
How dare he, when he was right here, alive, thriving.
Even if the photo is anything to go off of, he looks different,
his skin not so sallow and his hair cut short and clean, making
him look younger than she'd ever seen him even 14 years prior.
Gone is the sneered twist of the mouth, the harsh lines of his
clenched jaw. And before her is a man
completely relaxed if not somewhat flirty, smiling
impishly at the camera, arms crossed on his frankly broad
chest. Is she spying a muscular build
under those clothes? Her fury abruptly turns to shame
from oggling her professor, her handsome, alive professor.
Professor Snape, of all people, is the handsome young man down
at the coffee shop. And she has to agree.
This Professor Snape, even with the giant scar from Nagini's
bright on his neck, has become, or was always maybe quite a
handsome man. Hermione's frazzled emotions dim
to a constant buzz through her body, and she knows, she knows
she must go to see him now. She doesn't care what his
reaction will be to see her. She has to be where he is so she
can. She can what she will storm up
to him full of righteous fury and ask for no demand and
explanation of how he has forced her to live without him for
these seven years. It doesn't matter that he likely
never thought of her once since she was a girl in his class,
which is finally a sobering thought.
While she had been absorbed for so long, first in the frivolity
of having a crush on a professor, then in the last
seven years where she had cultivated an unhealthy and
obsessive interest in the man, he's been what?
Flirting with the ladies in town?
Making coffee? One of the most brilliant potion
experts of her age? She thinks about all the work in
his notes, the unfinished brilliant work that has taken
her years to untangle and make progress on.
And here he is being the hot young thing at the coffee shop.
No, he had to come back to the wizarding world.
And actually, it's a good thing that she's the one who found
him, because of course she'll be able to show him the progress
she's made on his work and he'll see the sense of it.
And wow, what amazing good luck and what a fantastic coincidence
that she is the one to see him first.
And on this of all days, May 20th, 2000 and five, 9:25 AM.
Hermione takes in a shuddering breath and calm descends upon
her racing mind. Maybe for the first time in her
life, the anger, frustration, shock and yearning disappears
and she is a beam of light travelling through space.
She is the opening of a leaf in spring.
She is the inevitability of the Earth's orbit around the sun.
She is clasping hands with the immovable mover and she is not
being swept away by fate. She is fate as much as anyone
else's, and it is not a burden. It just is.
As much as she is fate, he is too, and he waits for her.
She takes her time, dressing, washing her face, doing her
hair. She's stretching out the time
now. It will only take her 20 minutes
to walk to the shop, and she has to time it correctly, even
though she knows, she knows that this is the moment she's been
led to for seven years. How could this, her going to
him, ever not be the choice that she makes?
How can the moments that have made-up her life not LED her to
this? Because if she had a choice
between a stranger soul mate and Severa Snape, she would choose
Snape. Of course she would.
Maybe not back when she was a child or right after the war,
but that's why the moment is now.
Today, when the only choice is him.
Of course it had to be today. She's fought against it, she's
hated it, she's reluctantly surrendered to it.
And now she embraces it, this inevitable, drifting towards
this moment when she sees him again.
May 20th, 2005, 11:31 AM. Hermione pushes open the door of
the Cauldron. She notices Missus Peabody,
sitting in the corner, look up at her and gasp, hand coming up
over her gleeful smile. She doesn't have time to think
about how she just became a notch in the busy body's belt of
matches because she's looking at him.
Professor Snape. His back is turned to the door,
though she can see that he is tensed at the sound of the bell.
He would be as aware as the time of she is.
Of course he would be. The clock ticks towards their
inevitable meeting and she approaches the counter with
confidence, ready to start the next phase of her life.
Her life with the man she's learned to know through his
writing and his potions and his bravery and loyalty.
May 20th, 2005, 11:32 AM. She approaches.
He turns. Professor Snape.
Hermione Granger. Severus sees the last person he
expects. And yet that's hardly true at
all. He sees her, and he feels a
sense of peace and finality wash over him.
And it's not the finality of the Unbreakable Vow.
It is more than that. It is a sense that everything in
his life has led to this moment, to her beautiful warm smile
looking up at him, amazed, delighted, and the joy leaping
from his heart. Reaching across the space to
find her soul and call it his too.
He looks inside himself and finds that he is finally ready
to feel unabashedly all the depths of his great wells of
emotion. He is finally ready to explore
these caverns within her from this day and all the rest of his
days and beyond. He hopes.
He reaches out and she places her hand in his.
You have been listening to The Inevitability of Choosing to
Love You by Dance or D4 MCE narrated by me, Briar and Tones.
If you enjoyed this Podvic, please don't forget to give the
author a big fat wet kudos over on AO3 and I'll see you all
soon.