Common Darkness

As she walked into her apartment, she began to shed the trappings of the corporate world: a leather briefcase by the door, earrings and a scarf on the side table, a tailored jacket on the back of a chair. Her pumps made it half way to the kitchen before being kicked aside so that tired feet could revel in sudden freedom.

By the time she reached the wine rack, the day's work had fallen away, and her most important choice had become red or white. Feeling the need for the extra high only tannins can provide, she settled on a cabernet. She'd pay for that choice tomorrow; reds gave her such a hangover. But that was okay. As Hermione well knew, everything has its price.

Life in the muggle corporate world had been good to her. Her willingness to forgo personal time had quickly marked her as a go getter, allowing her to rise quickly through the ranks of also-rans. Her rewards were a beautiful apartment, a fat retirement account, and a damned fine bottle of wine any time she felt like having one.

It was a solitary life, but she was content. Or so she told herself, as she once again contemplated the plain wooden box on her shelf. Inside, she knew, was her wand. Simply carved, beautiful, calling to her plaintively as a child locked in on a sunny day. It was high time she took the whole thing and dropped it into the sea, cut that final tie, that last connection to the life she had chosen to leave. If she could only get rid of it, maybe she'd get rid of the nightmares once and for all. But the mere thought of it made her break into a fine sweat.

Hermione made an effort to concentrate instead on the sensation of rich wine in her mouth. She breathed in deeply, analyzing taste and scent, trying to ascertain the finer points of the wine's creation, using her senses and her intellect to slow her racing heart.

She had almost completed her meditation, along with the first glass of wine when the knock sounded at her door. Calmer now, she refilled her baccarat, and wondered idly how long it would take for whoever that was to go away.

The door opened.

She had wondered for the first few years who it would be. Who would be the one to come for her, to attempt to bring her back into the wizarding world. She'd hidden herself well, to the very best of her abilities. Without the signature of her magical use, it would be nearly impossible for anyone to find her. Still, she thought somehow they would find a way here. A Weasley perhaps. Or maybe Minerva. Or possibly the very loyal and dogged Longbottom.

She'd waited for the pop sound of apparition, almost hopefully at first, then with growing dread. But after the first few years she'd stopped waiting, ceased expecting. Intellectually, she figured she'd hidden herself too well. Emotionally, she wondered if they'd even looked at all. Perhaps they too had been relieved that she had taken herself away.

But in all her imaginings and wishings, it had never occurred to her that he would come. And yet, here he was, her former potions master, striding into her living room with his usual annoyed demeanor, looking at her for all the world like she was late for detention.

He'd aged, of course, although the years had treated him kindly. He still had the same hawkish nose, the same sardonic expression, the same long, lank hair. Even dressed for muggle London in simple slacks and a sweater, he was unmistakably Severus Snape, and the sight of him filled Hermione with nostalgia.

"So" Snape's redolent voice drawled, "this is where you have chosen to do your moping?" His eyes cast around Hermione's lovely apartment with the distain she would show an infested slum.

She couldn't help but smile. What else would one expect from the Bat of the Dungeons? Lovely place you have here?

"I'm sorry my accommodations fail to please you. So, have you come to rescue me from my pitiful muggle existence?"

When he remained silent, she shrugged, and fetched another goblet.

"Please, Professor Snape, have a seat. May I offer you a glass of Cabernet before I tell you to get the hell out of my house?"

Snape met her eyes steadily, raised an eyebrow, then nodded. For a time, they sipped in silence. Hermione watched as he scanned her apartment. She noticed his eyes linger on her wand box, and wondered if he could hear it inside, crying for freedom. Then his eyes moved on, and locked onto hers.

"This…is…unacceptable."

"Oh, goodie," Hermione snarled. "Is this where you get to tell me I'm wasting my life and should leave muggle existence behind? Because I can't wait to hear that speech."

Snape stood and closed the distance between them. "I regret to disappoint you that I have no such speech prepared. I wouldn't waste it on someone who has so little respect for her gifts. It's painfully obvious that while your body has matured, your emotions have not."

All those years as his student, all those years hungering for an approval that had never come had left a mark, preprogrammed her responses to this man. She found herself unable to controle the rush of anger that flooded her body. She jumped to her feed and stood nose to nose with her former instructor. "And what would you know about my emotions?' Hermione cried. "How can you possibly know what I felt? What I feel still?"

Snape's face gentled. If Hermione hadn't been half drunk, and half hysterical by his apparition, she would have been shocked. As it was, the unexpectedly kind expression had tears rushing to her eyes.

"Miss Granger, I was at the final battle. I know what transpired. Many good people lost their lives. Many of them your friends. You saw terrible things, you witnessed great suffering. It's not uncommon…'

The tears now sliding down her cheeks, she shook her head. "You know nothing, Severus, nothing."

He wiped her face with the palm of his hand and murmered, "Then tell me, Hermione, tell me. I've spent years looking for you, years. I need to know what has caused you to throw your future away on this average existence."

Hermione shook her head. Her voice was now barely a whisper. "I can't. I just can't make the words come out. If I do, I'll, I'll…I'll break."

They stood there, in silence. It was all Hermione could do not to lean into him. This man she had always hated, he felt somehow, like shelter, like absolution, and she suddenly wanted nothing more than to crawl into his arms.

"Well then. There is another way."

He reached out, tilted her chin, and met her eyes. "May I?"

Hermione took a deep breath, and nodded.

"Legilimens."

She felt him, as he gently slipped into her mind. He skipped quickly through her life in the muggle world, although she caught him lingering on the night she'd been hospitalized. Accidental overdose it had been ruled, although in her mind, he knew as well as she that it had been no accident. Strangely, she felt no shame at having him see it. She simply nudged him back, back to the darkest corners of her memory.

It was still there. As brilliant as any memory could ever be. Distinct. Clear. Horrible. But she found that his presence beside her distanced her. They watched impassively as the movie rolled. As Ron crumpled, a lifeless body with red hair. As Harry threw himself at the Dark Lord, carrying them both to their deaths. Suddenly her distance was gone. She was once again in the moment, raising her wand as the unforgivable words flew from her lips. Experiencing the dark, delicious pleasure as Lucious Malfoy died under her wand. And again, an avalanche of sensation as Bellatrix fell to her. Deep, visceral, ecstasy. Then, the immediate hunger to do it again.

She felt him withdraw from her head in a swift rush. He was holding her up, but his face was a mask of shock. Now it would come, she thought, the moment she had been dreading all those years. He would turn from her, tell everyone what he had seen, what she had felt. Everyone would know she was twisted inside, rotten, vile to have felt such pleasure from such a horrible deed. But at least she wouldn't have to hide anymore. She knew, now, why fugitives would turn themselves in even with freedom in their grasp. The relief was palpable.

He lowered her onto the sofa, and turned away from her. She heard the sound of wine being poured, and soon he was pressing a glass into her hand.

"Drink this, Miss Granger. It seems that you and I have more in common than I'd thought."