Consequences of Leaving

{one-shot}

A/N: Uhh, it's gonna be sad. And I so rarely write attached to Severus so here we are.

Six years prior he'd started coming down the stairs, drowsy but otherwise put-together for five in the morning.

The only other things up at this time were the birds just barely awake and croaking their tunes, or the old lady a few doors down, Mrs. Nielsen, who had her television so loud that in the summer it was easy for him and the entire neighborhood to hear it if their windows were open.

Same old routine, get ready, shuffle down the stairs, prepare the kettle-

There was a break in the careful steps that morning, however, when he came upon a figure too familiar for it to be real. How many times had he dreamt she'd come back to him? Each dream too real to awake from peacefully. Would this be the same? Would he awaken at any moment now, seeing her crestfallen eyes or tortured visage, broken enough to know she'd been through a hell he couldn't bring her back from?

No, so he pinched himself, wanting to have control over the situation.

Nothing happened.

The figure was still there, her face leaning against his old and weather-stained window that looked as though someone had frosted it many years ago. She was actually there?

"Hermione?"

The name was unfamiliar on his lips, the idea that she even would answer to it bloody terrifying.

Whirling around, as though she weren't a trained Auror of the highest caliber, she stood and came over to him. They'd been molding her since the moment Voldemort fell to look like this, like a cat pouncing on its prey.

"Severus?"

He took a step back. Gods, it was her. The idea to check and make sure that she wasn't an imposter was far too gone now. She was in his arms quicker than that, extracting from him a hug he'd only dreamed of the past six years.

"You're back," he muttered, stroking her hair as though it would be the last time he ever held her again. In some ways, it would be.

"Yeah," she was crying, "I had to do a lot of things... some things no one was anticipating."

"Bloody Ukraine."

He didn't know what else to say, but the sniffled-laugh was plenty for him to know that at least it was the right thing to say.

She backed up after a few minutes longer, looking strong, yet weathered. How many seasons had she endured of things that he had seen as well? Who put this woman through it? He wanted to tear their bones from their bodies without an inch of mercy. Severus knew what maniacs did to their pray.

"You look-" Hermione stuttered, no breath in her lungs to support a word she wanted to say.

"I suppose I do," he answered, knowing exactly what he looked like. Six years it had been, and well, he could only stave off the gray hair for so long before it took root, too proud to dye it, and his face had grown wrinkled from the immense amount of frowning.

Severus adjusted his collar, suddenly wishing he'd taken a little more precaution in dressing for the day. Hermione watched him carefully as he did this, and his thoughts grew more insecure until he saw her physically deflate.

She collapsed into his armchair, letting loose a laugh that he could only describe as frustrated and over-built, a pressure cooker of emotions.

"You're married?"

"Remarried, technically," he told her with no quiet opinion on the matter. It wasn't by choice. He would've bloody left their own contract alone if she hadn't run off to Ukraine the moment the Ministry begged it of her and been declared dead when her two month mission left her two years missing.