Goodbye, Professor Snape
by tearsofphoenix

My most grateful thanks to my wonderful friends: whitehound, who edited the story, and Lady Memory, who previewed it.

The boy was unseemly running on the lawn, but he stopped abruptly when he heard his name called by an all too familiar voice.

"Where are you going in such a hurry, Mr. Sloper? Is a Fiendfyre on your trail?"

"I'm late for class, Sir, for Transfiguration; I was training on the Quidditch pitch, but when I went back in the locker room, I saw that someone had hidden my robes and I had to search for them, and…"

"Hmm… It doesn't sound very convincing to me," the same voice interrupted, quite sympathetically. "I suggest you tell Professor Turner that you were going to her class when I called you and gave you a lecture about your untidy appearance… she won't have difficulty believing that. Of course, one point will be deducted from Gryffindor to make the excuse believable; I'm sure you understand," Snape said, then looked at the man at his side and winked.

"Thank you, Sir!" the young student gratefully exclaimed. Then, resuming a more sober pace and tone, he added before leaving, "Goodbye, Professor Snape."

"Every time you behave like this, Severus, I must appeal to all the resources of my memory to remember that you were the most feared teacher of my school days," the other man commented, shaking his head, as soon as the boy had moved away enough not to hear his words.

"He is a splendid example of inherited traditions, Longbottom. I remember his grandfather, Jack Sloper, and the way in which he could never do anything without making a slip of some sort. Then his father arrived, who never failed to show his inability to complete one single potion in the alloted time… Nothing comparable to your abysmal performances in my class, obviously, and yet…"

Neville didn't remember young Sloper's dad, but recalled very well the older fellow; he had been a replacement in the Gryffindor Quidditch team in his fifth year, and the way in which he had hit Angelina with his bat rather than beating the Bludger was something that the audience of that match wouldn't forget so easily. In spite of such a distracting memory and although Snape's jest had been worth a good smile, he wasn't dissuaded from what he was going to say.

"Don't pretend you didn't hear what I said… You were my Boggart, for Merlin's sake! Now they quite love you, the little buggers."

Snape raised an eyebrow, and the Herbology Professor couldn't tell if that gesture were intended for the remembrance elicited by his words or for the way in which he had defined their students.

"But what is even more unbelievable is the fact that in a few days you will go into retirement for real..." Neville went on, mumbling. "This place won't be the same without you…"

Before he could say more or decide to leave the other man in peace and drop the subject, though, his colleague was taking his leave, and he could not do anything but watch Snape's retreating figure until it became a slight, frail silhouette near the gates of the castle.

Sighing, the wizard turned and headed for the greenhouses. As he did so, he couldn't help but remember the past few decades and the way in which Severus Snape had become the man he was now, as well as his greatest friend.

*ƧHS*ƧHS*ƧHS*ƧHS*

In the aftermath of the war, many people had found themselves changed - Neville remembered - and many lives did not turn out in the way history and fate seemed to have prepared for them.

Not all his friends had got a particularly "happy ever after" as they had deserved to do. Harry, bless him, had, and his new family had been to him the best reward, after having been a neglected orphan throughout his childhood and youth.

The other two components of the so-called Trio hadn't shared the same joyful destiny however, and after a while, Neville had found himself unable to witness the misery that Hermione and Ron's split-up had brought in the little group of once close friends.

At that time he had distanced himself from all the conflict and discord and had thrown himself into pursuing his favourite subject. A few years after the battle of Hogwarts, he had started his Apprenticeship with Sprout, in order to become the new Herbology Teacher after her forthcoming retirement.

So, it had been Hogwarts again for Neville Longbottom, and it had been sooner than anybody would have expected.

His old teachers too were no longer the same. Some of them were actually new teachers, hired after the retirement of their predecessors, and those who had remained were old in a way that was barely consistent with popular theories about slow aging in magical people…

It had been really peculiar for the young man to come back to the place in which he had lived the great adventures of his youth and to find such a changed atmosphere. After a while though, he had become accustomed to the routine, which included a weekly visit to Hogsmeade along with his colleagues. There, at the Three Broomsticks, for the first time after the war, he had met Snape.

Rumours about his survival had circulated for years, and someone among the staff members had once told him the details of Snape's rescue and recovery; what Neville hadn't grasped among all this information, however, had been the fact that his former Professor and Headmaster lived in a little flat close to the inn and that he was one of the regulars of the bar.

It seemed that the landlady had had a major role in Snape's return to normality, taking him under her protection and making sure that he always had everything he might need, from well-cooked food to respect and peace, when he seemed to require them.

The unbearable burden that the man carried without giving away the slightest hint of his inner despair hadn't gone unnoticed by Madame Rosmerta during the infamous year of Snape's Headmastership: after all, she had the widest knowledge of customers and knew the entire sample of lonely drinkers. Having once had her own bad experience of what it meant to be the focus of everybody's mistrust, she felt willing to gave him shelter when he was released from the care of the healers, and she did it with the devotion of a house elf and the wisdom of an old, expert housekeeper.

Unlike any other person whom Neville had recently met again, the man in front of him wasn't much different from the one the young wizard remembered: his expression as always concealed by the curtain of his hair, his figure always thin, his look somewhat old-fashioned in his black goth attire… Snape acknowledged the entrance of his ex colleagues with a slight gesture, then went on minding his own business. And so it continued for several further visits, the said business being the drink which Madam Rosmerta served him solicitously when he decided to visit the bar.

Then, one evening, something broke the monotony, and perhaps that was the very first time in which Neville considered Snape with fond admiration and not just respect.

It was Saturday, and there was already a little animated crowd in the bar, noisily making toasts in growing alcoholic euphoria… Then, slipping through the entrance, Hermione Granger entered quietly, trying to pass unnoticed. It had been Neville himself who had invited the young woman that weekend, because London's air wasn't exactly the best for her at the moment: not after all those scandal-mongering articles in the Prophet in which, once again, Skeeter had spread poison on her old nemesis's reputation… Since the end of the war, Hermione had never visited Hogsmeade again, but she had accepted the invitation when Neville had met her, very lonely and pensive, at the Leaky Cauldron, and had proposed a reunion.

She had really changed, in the years after the war. She looked cooler and yet, at the same time, less self-assured than the girl she had been in the old days.

That night both her attire and her slender figure revealed that in place of her former adolescent awkwardness she was now an adult, self-confident woman. At the same time, her behaviour and her evident wish not to be noticed showed how recent events had made her uncertain and wary.

With attentive promptness Neville had stood up to greet her, but he hadn't managed to do it in time, being overtaken by his most arrogant colleague, the current resident Flying Instructor at the school, Cormack McLaggen.

Sighing, he resigned himself to the unpleasant moment that seemed to be forthcoming as he looked at the expression on Hermione's face after the man's approach; an expression that spoke volumes of his finesse and of her reception. So, hoping to offer a diversion, Neville came closer, ready to intervene without raising a fuss if he could; because, of course, the other man wouldn't understand a refusal, even when told explicitly.

"Come on, Granger, don't be coy! Let's celebrate our meeting, for old times' sake!" McLaggen was nearly shouting, grasping her arm without concealing some sort of intoxication in his voice.

"I believe Miss Granger has already stated her opinion on the matter, Mr. McLaggen," Snape said coldly and firmly, after having risen from his corner and approached the younger man without being noticed until the last moment. Hermione had looked at him with surprise; then she had smiled at him, freeing herself from the grip of the astonished young wizard and joining her former professor.

Fascinated, Neville looked at them as Snape invited her to sit, and she accepted with a graceful nod. She smiled at her friend to let him know she had seen him, but she did not join him as agreed.

Neville replied by nodding back as if in agreement. He didn't know why, but suddenly it wasn't so important to be part of that unexpected reunion, no matter if he was the one who should have been her host…

*ƧHS*ƧHS*ƧHS*ƧHS*

After the little exchange with Longbottom, Snape had come home and was now contemplating his surroundings.

Comfortably sat in his old armchair, he reflected on the fact that, often, people feel at home in a place where everything reminds them of their past and gives meaning to their present: some like to put photos or portraits all around, some keep love letters or dried flowers between the pages of a book… even old, worn-out robes that don't fit one's figure any longer can sometimes call to mind the special day in which one wore them and, therefore, still hang in the closet because they can't be thrown away…

He hadn't indulged in keeping or even considering such recollections for a long time… he had done it for far too long in a previous life where he had needed tokens to feed his unrequited love and his dreams and, for an even longer period, he had suffered the consequences of having the worst of such reminders branded on his own skin.

Reminders were no longer a comfort nor a pain, no; yet today, of all days, seemed different. He had somehow started a journey down memory lane by listening to his friend's words, and now it was impossible to stop.

Looking at the many beautiful objects in his house, carefully arranged, Snape could recognise all the signs of another presence in his life, and he began to touch some of those things, taking them thoughtfully in his hands. None of those objects, though, was comparable to their owner, of whom he never needed to keep a reminder. All the words they had exchanged, all the times they had spent together were printed in his memory. And albeit it was true that he had ceased to linger in the past, he hadn't wiped those moments from his memory: he wanted to preserve them because those stages of his new life were impressed in his soul even more precisely than in a Pensieve.

"Thank you, Professor Snape, it was… unexpected," she had said to him on that first occasion on which both had really noticed each other.

He had waved a hand nonchalantly, not even bothering to underline that he hadn't been her professor – anyone's professor, actually - for some time; he was starting to resume his usual posture, as detached and lonely as ever, when she had put a hand on his.

"Why don't we have a drink?"

Perhaps it had been the fact that she hadn't uttered cheerful and insufferable words of joy at seeing him safe and sound, like everybody else always did when they met him for the first time after his supposed death; or perhaps it was Merlin knew what unstoppable instinct in him – the same one that had made him intervene a few minutes earlier, probably – but he found himself pointing to a chair, permitting her to join him.

Then, for some awkward minutes, they both had seemed to be lost in contemplation of the beverages in front of them, as if that strange instant in which they had so unusually been at ease couldn't continue.

"It's a great relief to see that some things here never change," she eventually said with a mischievous smile. "Cormack being a git, Neville being sweet and friendly, you getting people who are in trouble, out of trouble… No, I mean what I'm saying," she hurriedly added, seeing the sudden annoyance in his expression. "I won't say another word on the subject, but many of us wouldn't be here if it weren't for you and your protection."

He snorted.

She smiled again, not at all impressed by such a reaction.

"I assume that you'll be able to enjoy your evening without further nuisances from now on?" he finally asked with the tone of someone who is declaring the end of a meeting by clearly dismissing it.

"I'm sure I will, now," she answered, smiling even wider and without making any move to leave. "As I was saying, it's comforting to see that some things don't change despite the passing of time…"

At that, he found himself amused. Then, feeling an irrepressible impulse to reciprocate her smile, he smirked.

For quite some time he continued to reply to her attempts at small talk by showing his usual reserved attitude but, as time passed by, he found himself enjoying the sardonic quips that her stubborn cheerfulness elicited from him. In the end, his determination not to prolong the encounter more than necessary vanished without him even noticing it.

A real conversation developed then, as she was very interested in his current activities and research. Incredibly, she avoided asking him about his healing and recovery or about his rescue, and that was a very refreshing novelty to him. Time to go was eventually signalled by the fact that the two of them were the only ones still remaining in the bar.

"Goodbye, Professor Snape," she said before Apparating away, and since then, those words had echoed all through his life: she had returned many times to visit and, every time she had left him to go back to her job and to her flat in London, she had fondly repeated them, no matter the fact that, after a while, they were Severus and Hermione to each other.

*ƧHS*ƧHS*ƧHS*ƧHS*

Neville had affectionately watched his old friend leaving the castle, and while looking at his aged and yet serene figure he had also compared him, once again, to the man he had been. On the night that he had just been recalling, the young wizard had been caught in a sort of charm that had kept him at a distance from the couple after having witnessed their meeting… later though, he and Hermione had talked, and he had begun to understand the fascination that he had sensed then and that was still going on, drawing those two people together.

"Just because he stays alone that doesn't mean that he's miserable, Neville, as all of you could have seen if you only had bothered to invite him to join your gatherings at least once. He likes his isolation, of course; who wouldn't have a penchant for solitude after all the unwanted company that was imposed on him earlier? But he's the most witty person I've ever known; his brilliance is like a hidden treasure, and it's awful to see how nobody ever cared to discover it," she had passionately declared.

The young man couldn't help but think that an objective opinion on such wit probably depended on who was at the receiving end of Snape's 'humour', as his friend had defined their former professor's sarcastic attitude. Plus, nothing in Snape's behaviour had ever suggested a wish to socialize, as far as he had seen. But then she had seemed to read his thoughts, because she had added an even more enlightening praise.

"You know, he is not merely living from day to day as if what he does with his life didn't matter. And he isn't feeling as if the world is at war with him anymore... Sometimes he even lowers his defences, allowing me to see that he too can be unsure, as much as the next man. It's a high honour to witness those sides of him," she had ended with an almost dreamy tone.

Remembering those words now that he really knew Severus, Neville couldn't but agree with that first insightful perception of Hermione's.

*ƧHS*ƧHS*ƧHS*ƧHS*

It hadn't always been all roses, of course; how could it have been, given their characters and history? But unlike those years at school, when they were teacher and student and Snape had always despised Granger's insufferable tendency to wave her hand and to show off, now Severus was wishing to really know Hermione and to learn the reason for her need to be accepted… he had noted her uneasiness after having been exposed to everyone's judgement and curiosity, and those were feelings that he knew all too well, after all.

But, ironically, such mutual understanding had faltered on the day on which the burdensome topic of Lily Potter had eventually been brought up after the publication of the latest book on recent history. It wasn't an academic volume, mind, but one of those useless jumbles of anecdotes and gossip that the public ran in droves to buy. It had given great space to his role in the victory and to those infamous memories that Potter had divulged during his last duel with Voldemort.

They were very close by then, and he had felt somehow irked by her question that, he had realized later, had probably been sparked by a recent encounter with Potter, who never concealed his praise for Snape's devotion to the memory of Lily.

"It's useless, isn't it? Me coming here, the two of us talking about everything but the one crucial issue…"

He didn't know why he needed to explain to her, of all people, that that story was in the past, and he hated the confusion that was growing inside him at such a stressful prospect. Of course, given their increasing involvement, she was entitled to an explanation, he didn't doubt that. But, simply, he wasn't keen to give it right then, and not on demand.

"All right, I shouldn't have asked," she had whispered, flushing, seeing his darkened mood.

He barely heard her words.

"I was surprised and charmed by your tact so far… but I should have known better about your curiosity and Gryffindorish interference! How can you ask this of me now? Besides, if one were to trust everything written in that rubbish that they pretentiously call a 'book' or in the newspapers, what should I think of you, then?" he had blurted out sourly.

And he should probably have continued in the same vein, saying how much it had meant to him not to have to prove anything to her for a change, least of all his faithfulness, since his experience in relationships had always been quite the contrary… but then he had seen her wounded expression and immediately regretted his outburst.

Still awkward and suddenly uncertain about the strength of their bond, he hadn't been able to apologise yet. But right when he was gloomily thinking that she would leave forever, she had got to her feet, asking him for an honest answer.

"Whatever you say, I'll accept it… We can't ruin everything, Severus, and I can't think of losing whatever affection there is between us."

Seeing him remaining silent and grouchy, she had made a move to leave. "Well, I'm sorry, and I think I'll go now, if that's what you want," she had concluded.

Shaken out of his sullen mood by those words, he had raised his head, dismayed. "Of course that's not what I want!" he had grumbled, and his posture had reminded her so much of a scolded child that Hermione had melted, her hurt almost gone in the face of his chagrin.

She had come close to him, and he had accepted her slow caresses just like that child, holding her tight, then, with infinite tenderness.

And right in that moment, he had been sure that he had really started a new chapter of his life. He had tried to convince himself, for a long time, that the grief and the loneliness he had carried for so long had gone, but it was only then that he had realized that they truly had; that his life had turned a corner and he was no longer just trying to persuade himself of an untruth in order to survive. What mattered more than anything else now was Hermione, her happiness and the warmth that he felt when she was with him.

He spent the rest of that day telling her all that, and thoroughly.

*ƧHS*ƧHS*ƧHS*ƧHS*

He had never hurt her again since that day, even if hurt she had indeed been, later, all thanks to her relationship with him…

Until the days of their renewed acquaintance, he had lived in retirement and hadn't even remotely thought that a day would come in which he might teach again at Hogwarts. He had received a decent sum after his role in the victory had been revealed, a lifetime pension that allowed him not to work for living; therefore, he pursued his researches or spent his time doing all those things that he hadn't been able to do during his days as a spy. But then one evening, the new Headmaster had come to visit him, asking for his help. Minerva had eventually retired and the man, a Mr. Wickett, seemed to be overwhelmed by the many tasks his new role required.

"If things don't change, next term I'll have a breakdown," the visiting wizard had said wearily.

"I do sympathize with you," Snape had answered politely, affecting a mild interest.

"I hoped you would. And this brings me to the reason why I came here. In short, my suggestion is that… if you would care to… well, how about coming back to Hogwarts? You look in great shape, really, Professor Snape and, of course, you know all the ropes. I don't mean anything which would be a lot of hard work for you, and you can choose which discipline to teach, because your classes would be the first three years, when the little brutes are more pliable… What I'd like from you more than anything else, in fact, is to come back as Head of Slytherin House. Nobody seems able to give them the feeling of belonging that they should have. And there're so few colleagues left of the old guard and…"

Snape had never been a compassionate man and, more than anybody else, he had experienced at first hand what it meant to be manipulated through flattery in order to do something that he didn't like.

If that proposition had been made a few years earlier, he probably would have rebuffed the other man… and he couldn't believe that his last year at Hogwarts, with all the horror that it had entailed, hadn't put a shadow on his career in the other man's eyes.

He pondered the offer made to him… somehow it spoke of some consideration rather than mere hero-worship, although it cast some doubt on the real knowledge that the man had of him. His memories of teaching clumsy first-years, however, were nightmarish, and he would definitely prefer the seniors, if he came back to the school. They would follow his instructions with more attention, and after OWLs they would be students who had chosen his subjects voluntarily and might have some actual talent …

Snape told the man his terms, which a very relieved Wickett accepted without question and, nearly eleven years after his retirement, he felt flooded by a strange vitality and returned to the castle to teach.

He and Hermione had continued to meet at weekends and whenever his teaching schedule permitted. The particular tasks required for Hermione's research meant that her presence in the office was not mandatory and she was able to adapt her time-table to fit his.

One morning, eager to tell him some news concerning her career, she had taken the unusual step of going and searching for him in the castle; she had nearly reached the door of his office when a conversation, taking place not very far from where she was standing, had caught her attention.

"I can't believe he's being fooled again," a female voice was hissing.

"No, and it's really a shame," another woman asserted, all her righteous indignation clearly perceivable in her tone.

"He should know better, at his age…"

"That 'girl'! A vixen, if ever there was one… how many flirtations has she had since she was still at school?"

"Snape can't be involved in a scandal like this… it might even make one think that their affair started when she was his student!"

Right at that moment, Severus had opened the door and, seeing Hermione running away, he had felt confused and surprised. Luckily, he hadn't been the only witness to that little drama, so he had finally found out about the rumours and gossip that had been circulating for some time. Then he had extorted an account of the incident from his contrite colleagues.

He had run out of Hogwarts in a hurry, his robes billowing behind him and his long legs hastily covering the distance that separated him from the gates.

*ƧHS*ƧHS*ƧHS*ƧHS*

Of course, Neville would forever remember the day in which he had realised that a real friendship had started between Severus and himself. It had been a momentous time, especially in his friend's life.

When Neville had seen Hermione running away in distress from the castle, he had decided that nobody would replace him in her rescue, this time. He had caught up with her quickly, and he had been able to get her to talk and to tell him what had upset her so much.

"I can't do this to him, I just can't," she was saying, sobbing.

Neville had walked her towards Rosmerta's refuge, the little room where she put up travellers in need of a bed for the night, luckily not occupied right then. Then, when Hermione had calmed a bit thanks to Rosmerta's comforting words, he had muttered an excuse to the two women and had run in search of Snape, only to found that he was already on his way, his expression as threatening as in the old times.

Never had the young wizard been happier to see again the old bat in all the splendour of his wrath, the irate expression he was sporting promising serious trouble to those who had dared clash with him.

*ƧHS*ƧHS*ƧHS*ƧHS*

"Thank you, Rosmerta, you have been very kind and your tea was lovely. And I really couldn't Apparate away earlier, in the state I was in… But now it's time: I must do the right thing and go."

"I'm not sure you should-" the elder witch had started to say, but she couldn't finish expressing her doubts, as her reply was cut off by another voice.

"I'm sure you mustn't, you foolish girl!"

Hermione turned and saw Severus, who, walking with great strides and a dangerous expression, was coming closer and closer. Then he was there in front of her and, immediately after, he kissed her fiercely, taking her breath away and wiping out any possible disaccord that she could have with his statement.

"And someone said you were the brightest witch of your age, humph!" he eventually muttered, pulling back with a snort of amusement. He didn't let her go however, and embraced her even more strongly, sighing once more. "But then what should be expected from a girl whose Boggart was the bad opinion of a teacher? One would have hoped that you would have overcome your fear of being rejected by now, your wish to be praised… How could you believe what those damnable hags said in their poisoned, venomous gossip?"

Yes, how could she have thought that his life would be damaged by their love? Because love it had been, the kind of love that so rarely blesses both the people involved with the same strength, and nothing had mattered anymore, not even the many differences they might have or whatever jealousy such impudent feeling might elicit in every other person.

*ƧHS*ƧHS*ƧHS*ƧHS*

The initial period after his return to the school hadn't been easy, of course, no matter what Headmaster Wickett had hoped on the day he had asked for Snape's help. On the bright side, after more than ten years, the students were no longer those who had suffered the effects of his powerlessness against the evil that had ruled during the infamous time of his own Headmastership.

A mixture of distrust and disdain was still the main response that he met with, though: the Slytherins didn't forgive him the revelation of a soft-hearted soul and of a snivelling youth while the other students, as well as those who had attended Hogwarts before them, didn't look beyond appearances and considered him a never-ending inspiration for their jokes, forging new nicknames expressly for him.

He ignored them as he had always done. He wasn't that much affected by backbiting, not by students, even less by his colleagues; he had a lifetime of experience in dealing with and coming to term with that. What irked him more was the fact that he wasn't succeeding in what he had been asked.

Meanwhile, after Hermione's run and rescue, their union had been sealed: they had bought a comfortable little house in Hogsmeade and married. But after that day, she had made it a point of honour not to interfere more than necessary in Snape's life at the school.

After a while, however, by seeking her help and her advice, he had won over her involvement: she listened to him and, in spite of the fact that their conversations more resembled a rant followed by quiet reasoning than a real debate, he was glad of her advice.

Good advice too, which he did not always take and about which he didn't say aloud that she had been right, mind, but that in the long run influenced him…

"There seems to be no solution! Sooner or later someone – not only Gryffindors, I give you that – yes, some idiot comes up with the usual drivel about Voldemort being a Slytherin so nothing good can come from this House, and it seems my Slytherins can think of nothing else to counter such nonsense but to throw hexes in the fights that follow!" had been one of his most recurrent complaints. "You would think by now that they would have learned some more subtle way of vindicating themselves, wouldn't you - one which wouldn't lose me points?"

"It certainly wasn't all one-sided in my time, Severus, it wasn't just a house issue… Slytherins also went looking for trouble," she had answered at the umpteenth time she had heard those words.

"In 'my' time, it was just like it is now," he had replied, snorting.

"Yes, and you got a bad name for doing exactly what you are blaming these kids for, didn't you?" had been her further reprimand.

His eyes had darkened, but he hadn't answered; they had had this argument before, and he couldn't concede her point about boys being boys and on the normality of those rivalries even in peacetime.

She, too, had remained silent and thoughtful, then. They were staying in his old rooms in the dungeons at that point, as they always did when the inclement wintry weather was too cold to be faced, so he had left the room, sulking, and had paced the corridors of the castle with determination, hoping, as in former times, to give vent to his mood by deducting points from those so unfortunate as to cross his path.

Everything seemed quiet everywhere, so after a while, he was contemplating returning to his quarters; but he stopped in his tracks when he heard two voices talking softly.

"I know the feeling, dear. I was very much afraid I wouldn't be able to live up to the required standards…" his wife's voce was saying soothingly.

"You?" the sad boy asked, baffled.

"Me, of course! And my friend Harry, too, was terrified by the Hat, until it placed him where he wished! But then we weren't friends, yet, and I was mocked for my appearance and for my being a swot…" she had ended, and then she had given the boy a funny account of her adventure with the troll and of the way it had changed everything.

In spite of the frightening tale, the boy was eventually reassured and cheered up, so he bade his grateful goodbyes.

Snape saw Hermione watch the boy for a while and, after a last look around, turn on her heel and leave… From the expression on her face the wizard understood that she was still worried by their recent discussion, and probably looking for him in order to make up.

Snape didn't follow her, though, but waited for the kid to reach the passage in which he was silently waiting.

At the imposing sight of the Professor, the boy stopped dead in his tracks, once again alarmed and scared.

"Why is it that you're out of your dormitory Mr…? Actually I don't recall having seen your face before, boy: and your name is...?" Snape drawled.

"Potts, Hippolytus Potts, Sir," the boy answered, wincing as he always did at the bad joke his parents had saddled him with the day he was christened. "I was ill, Dragon Pox, and I couldn't attend school until now…" he began, and his tone was once again anxious and quivering.

Snape had given the boy a thoughtful look.

"Actually, when you get used to it, this isn't an awful place to be, if you don't mind the stairs and the trapdoors… Ah, but that isn't the reason you're scared, is it? Afraid not to be able to catch up with classes and your little friends' rich social lives, are we?"

The boy didn't answer but looked at him expectantly.

"I was scared as well, you know, but that was a long time ago…"

"Did you make many schoolfriends then?"

Snape snorted.

"I was actually thinking of when I first came here as a teacher, at twenty-one - but no, I didn't make many friends when I was a boy here, and I was frightened then too. But I came back for a third time again at fifty, so I think I know what I'm talking about," he ended, cocking a conspiratorial eyebrow.

The boy smiled contentedly and went towards his common room without even losing a point for his House.

Snape sighed. Times were changed, after all, and these weren't the days of his bullied youth anymore, nor his wife's danger-filled schooldays… although he had to come to terms with the fact that some things would never change, probably, in each and every school in the world.

From that point, he began to consider each of the students, the homesick ones and the bullies, the brilliant minds and those who just asked to be lead; they became simply those whom he taught, and not mainly and only members of one of the four Houses any longer.

After some time he no longer looked at them as if they were no more than a copy of their wretched parents or, even worse, of their grandparents, and they noticed it… so on the occasions on which he still made such a comparison, it was a shared joke, as were their own quips to him, no longer made behind his back; because he could make them laugh by provoking, rather than by resenting, jests.

Soon Slytherin House had been restored to its dignity, and he had also resumed some more duties, especially enjoying the tutoring of those selected seventh years who showed an aptitude for Potions.

*ƧHS*ƧHS*ƧHS*ƧHS*

As the memories unfurled, Snape remembered the rare moments when he had quarrelled with his wife and smirked at the thought of those who didn't know, each time those silly arguments happened, how little they lasted and counted for them…

"I'm going to give back this book, Hermione. It must have cost you a fortune! This is an irresponsible waste and you know it…" he had said, after she had made him a birthday present of a very ancient tome, the first edition of a Potions book which, she knew, he had searched for for ages.

She had smiled at his gruff lecturing tone, knowing that his were the words of a man who still couldn't trust his eyes when it came to receiving such thoughtful gifts; then she went out of the Great Hall, where she had put the wrapped present at his place at the High Table, so that Severus could find it at breakfast.

Someone else, though, didn't share her opinion.

"He's a greasy old bat, Ma'am, he doesn't deserve you and you shouldn't allow him to patronise you like that," one of the senior students had protested, approaching Hermione right when she was going towards their quarters. She had smiled, gently dismissing the boy before he went so far as to declare his unconditional love for her.

"He's right, you know," said a soft voice that came from the corner of the corridor and startled Hermione in her walk. "I'm too old for you; it's evident to anybody with a little common sense and good eyesight."

"Speaking of age, I'm very glad I have booked that visit to the optician, then," she had answered, then she had hugged and kissed him fondly. Later, in the quiet of their rooms, she had teased him at the sight of the infamous volume that had been put prominently on the shelf where books were more accessible, as if he wouldn't lose sight of it.

And of course, there had been the years of the new generation of Potters, Weasleys, Lupins and Malfoys, and at that time he had feared the impact that the presence of all them would have on his wife, knowing that she hadn't always been very close to her old classmates… and even though Snape knew that Hermione and he were everything to each other, during that massive influx he had considered also what it might mean to her, when compared with the lack of her children - courtesy of Bellatrix Lestrange and of her prolonged meeting with Hermione…

But, eventually, the sense of security that Snape had tried to communicate to her from the outset of their relationship had become stronger than any difficulties. Besides, all of those boys and girls were his students, and she was fond of Snape the Professor almost as much as of Severus the husband.

Furthermore, she had always congratulated every birth in those families, and had made a point of giving her good wishes to the youngsters when they made their first trip to Hogwarts… He had been quite pleased, in fact, to hear Hermione's account of her meeting at King's Cross with little Rose, Scorpius and Albus Severus, noticing how Weasley was still a prat, no matter that by then he had at his side a clever wife who should have kept him in line.

"I knew, of course, that Albus Severus has Harry's eyes, but it's amazing to see how much he resembles his dad, now that he is becoming a student," Hermione had ended, pensively.

Snape had never been very fond of Potter's choice of names for that son of his. To carry such constant reminders seemed a big burden, if you asked him. And he had never met the brat.

"I'll see him all too soon," he had replied, sighing. "Let's hope that his inheritance ends with his looks…"

For a few moments, hearing her pensive tone while speaking of those eyes, Severus had remembered their first misunderstanding on the subject of Lily. His reply, thus, wasn't just a talisman of sorts against the troubles that had always been associated with the name of Potter.

"Well, I've heard that he might be Sorted into Slytherin, who knows? Prepare yourself, then" she had said, but her tone was teasing now, and he had known that everything was well.

Their love had fortified both of them more and more as time passed.

He was ninety now, and his birthday had been celebrated perhaps with excessive jubilation for his tastes, but celebrated it had been, and now that the end of his job at the school was forthcoming, he felt quite content with those years, amazed at what his life had reserved him in its second half.

He looked at the window: it was time to cast Lumos and light up. But as soon as he began to move, he felt that he couldn't; he was tired and, somehow, it didn't matter: lighting the room wasn't so important, he was an old man, after all, and was allowed a bit of rest. He leaned back in his chair, waiting for Hermione's return, hoping for the usual liveliness brought by his wife, who should already have been back, but who surely had found someone in need to be attended to in her homewards path.

When he awoke, for he seemed to have been asleep for a while, he found himself in bed; Hermione, Neville and Neville's wife Hannah were there, stooping over him and smiling.

"Severus?" his friend exclaimed. "That was a fine shock you gave us!"

He paused to grasp the meaning of that strange sentence, then murmured in a voice that surprised him with its weakness, "Why… what happened?"

"I was late; I'd come back on the Knight Bus, and in the dim evening light I didn't even see you at first… You gave me a fright, because you didn't move…" Hermione explained and he perceived a quiver in her tone.

She gulped, then spoke again. "But there will be plenty of time later to explain. Now the important thing is that you are well. Take it easy, Severus, and sleep some more, if you want."

"Don't worry, Hermione" Hannah intervened. "The end of term is approaching and the Professor" – out of respect, she had never been able to call him Severus, in spite of all the years of their friendship - "has only tired himself out, as per usual… But he'll be all right, and ready for the feast in the Great Hall before his retirement. And then he will have all the time in the world to rest."

Rest, yes, he could rest a bit because… what a life his had been! Everything which had happened could fill the story of more than two lives, given the times in which he had confronted his life's end only to find fresh chances… the latest opportunity of which had been, was being, the one that he wouldn't have dreamed in his best dreams.

His beloved wife was now closer to him. Brown eyes found the black ones and they looked at each other intensely, knowing that nothing in the world would move her from there until he awoke once more.

He felt really at peace, and noticed that Neville was making a silent, reassuring gesture to Hermione, probably with the intent of not disturbing his sleep while wishing her good night.

"Goodbye, Professor Snape," Severus heard Hannah whisper, before she left with her husband.

Severus thought they were very nice words to hear right then, one more time before closing his eyes.

A.N.

Below I'm quoting a most loved part of James Hilton's Goodbye Mr. Chips because, along with some scenes of the movie based on it, that book was the one that made me think of Severus and Hermione, and gave me the wish to write this story. As well as for JKR' s work, no disrespect or infringement of copyright is intended; mine is a mere tribute.

"And then came this astonishing girl-wife whom nobody had expected—least of all Chips himself. She made him, to all appearances, a new man; though most of the newness was really a warming to life of things that were old, imprisoned, and unguessed... The one thing he had always had, a sense of humor, blossomed into a sudden richness to which his years lent maturity. He began to feel a greater sureness; his discipline improved to a point at which it could become, in a sense, less rigid; he became more popular. When he had first come to Brookfield he had aimed to be loved, honored, and obeyed—but obeyed, at any rate. Obedience he had secured, and honor had been granted him; but only now came love, the sudden love of boys for a man who was kind without being soft, who understood them well enough, but not too much, and whose private happiness linked them with their own."