An Evening in the End

{one-shot}

Hermione felt the burn of her lungs and throat before the ache in her legs. She was hyperventilating, tights undoubtedly torn, and the layers of her skirts and pair of heels in her hands dropped to the ground the moment she did.

There was no further place to run, she'd reached the edge of the Black Lake and couldn't go any further.

What a bloody mess Ron had made. It wasn't even the first time he'd made her cry at a dance at Hogwarts, but by Merlin would it be the last.

Who gave him such the slimmest intelligence to think it was appropriate to propose in front of all those ministry officials? Or in front of anyone? Why, of all things, had he brought her up in front of all those people and decided then would give him the best result? Maybe he'd known she might not say yes otherwise.

She didn't say yes this way either.

Hermione had yet to stop crying and she supposed that's why a stranger's feet were able to come into view through the tears. Her reflexes were sharp from the war, but that evening's interactions had certainly dulled them. She may have even pulled her wand, if the stranger didn't crouch down, revealing himself not to be a stranger at all.

Too stunned to say anything, it gave him the perfect chance to speak instead.

"I may not look like it, but I'd like to be of assistance if you need it."

Hermione scoffed, unprepared for this conversation. Severus Snape offering help? Unlikely.

"I highly doubt you can relate to someone proposing to you in front of a crowd and having to say no."

She enjoyed the blank look on his face.

"No, but I know how to go places unfollowed." And with his snark reply he indicated to the hustling of several people over her shoulder.

He reached out his hand, and Hermione made a split choice between the obviously grief-stricken Weasley clan, indescribable noise coming back like a headache when potions wore off, and whatever Severus Snape's undetermined location was.

They landed in some type of sitting room, a handkerchief being offered before she could blink, hardly having felt the apparition. Hermione took it out of pure shock to her whereabouts and sat down in the nearest piece of furniture. Why he owned a winged-back chair was beyond her, and how the room felt so cozy...

He sat too, across from her, on a much less comfy looking chair.

"This is my home."

If she were a student she could only imagine how many laws they were breaking. Thank Merlin she wasn't, but that also meant her last interaction with Snape had been at the first anniversary ball a handful of years ago when she was just shy of no longer being a student then, too.  Not that you could call simply seeing him there an interaction, but one could certainly try. 

Her brain cleared up enough to realize their travel should have been virtually impossible.

"And how did you apparate us here?"

"Old headmaster privileges," he answered simply.

She looked about, clutching the handkerchief in her hands with a desperate need to stay calm. It would be as frayed as her by the end of the evening.

The house was... quaint. The room was small, and from what she could glance, there was a hall with a staircase on her left, and a kitchen on her right. Not to include the cozy fireplace which was lit with loads of magic, the crackle and silence otherwise a fantastic change from Hogwarts insanity. The wonder if his fire was connected to the floo network, anything to get her mind off Ron, was interrupted by her companion.