She was singing. Well, no, that wasn't right because she knew even in her dream state that she was not the person she was seeing reflected back to her in the dressing room mirror.

The curls were there, the frame was similar, but the room was not one Hermione was familiar with. The lights, furnishings, and her costume were very antiquated.

And it was a costume. She wasn't sure how she knew that was true.

A dapper (not a word Hermione would use usually) gentleman came through the door, frowning slightly at her peering into the mirror. He bestowed her / me with a lovely bouquet of roses. Blood red.

"They're lovely, Raoul," she said, taking a moment to sniff the aromatic offering.

"Lovely roses for your return," he said. She could smell the liquor on his breath. Stale and putrid, an attempt to hide it behind a mint of some sort but she could still smell it.

She smiled, but Hermione could feel it wasn't a true one. That never boded well.

"I'll be ready to go home in just a few moments."

"Of course," he said, taking his leave. "The boy will want his mother."

She set the roses on her dressing table and returned to the mirror. Hermione watched as she began to undress. Hermione gasped at the sight of the fresh-looking bruises under the corset. She turned in the mirror and there were others along her back as well.

Sad chocolate eyes gazed into the mirror.

"Where did you go?"

She set her petite hand against the mirror almost longingly. Tears shimmered in her dark eyes, eyes that Hermione thought looked eerily like her own. But not quite.

The young woman changed clothing and then departed her dressing room and the theater with the man. Raoul. Hermione knew that should mean something to her, but she didn't know what. Soon they arrived at an impressive home.

Here their paths diverged. Raoul went one direction while the woman went to a nursery where she hugged an adorable boy, about two if Hermione had to guess. (Though she was no expert on the ages of children.)

"Mama," he said.

The woman talked to him briefly in French and then he got ready for bed. She read him a story and sat in the rocking chair next to his bed long after the child had fallen asleep.

She turned then, looking, Hermione imagined, right at her.

"Don't make the same mistake I did, ma fille. You must follow your heart."

"Regarde avec ton coeur."

Hermione gasped, coming awake. She'd had similar dreams about the same woman for … well years. She'd never spoken to her before now.

At least not that Hermione could recall.

She rubbed her eyes and slid her hands over her cheeks before stretching and going about getting ready for her day.

She would attribute the weird dream to once again sleeping in Hogwarts after years away. She'd just completed dual apprenticeships in Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts and was here to start as a professor this next term. She would be teaching the first through second years of Charms, freeing Professor Flitwick to focus more on the advanced years and his own work. 

"Good morning, Professor," her elf Minsy said.

"Good morning, Minsy," Hermione said. "Did I miss breakfast?"

"Oh no, Professor, Minsy came to be sure you didn't need help."

"I think I'll be fine, thank you."

"Did you had a good sleep?"

She stopped from getting out of bed with the question, her feet on the floor now though.

"It was overall, thank you. And you?"

"Me?" the elf asked, looking very confused.

"Yes. How did you sleep?"

"Oh, Professor is too kind. I had a good sleep."

"Good."

She showered and readied herself for the day, her smile faltering slightly when she got to the Great Hall and saw that her only option was to sit next to Professor Snape or Trelawney at the other end. She sighed, taking a seat beside Professor Snape.

"Better the devil you know," she muttered.

"Professor," Snape drawled.

"Good morning, Professor," she said, going about eating and ignoring him as best as she could. She'd hoped he'd be … anywhere but at Hogwarts when she'd interviewed for the position. Of course he was not. He was as much a fixture at the castle as Binns by now.

(Okay he wasn't that old, and she knew that despite what he'd told her … five years ago now.)

She ate quickly and took her leave. She wasn't fast enough it seemed.

"Professor Granger," Snape said from the stairs.

"I have…" truthfully she really had nowhere to be just then. She just didn't want to hear what he had to say. "To go," she said finally, gathering her robes up so she wouldn't trip and ran up the stairs.

She found an empty room and went in, closing the door behind her. She set her head in her hands and shuddered.

She could do this.

She was fucking Hermione Granger, damn it. She could see him every day and pretend she didn't know what he felt like. Tasted like, even if the tasting had only happened the one time it was seared in her memory.

She sighed.

She suspected Ronald was planning on proposing to her on her birthday. They hadn't seen one another for five years while she was in Australia doing her apprenticeships and trying to figure out how to restore her parents' memories. Even still she knew she was expected to say yes. A part of her thought that she should despite her misgivings. They didn't always get along but certainly now that she was working things would improve. She hadn't met anyone in Australia. She'd tried. She really had, but none were him . She would not let him know he'd managed in three months to spoil her for anyone else.

Her hand reached instinctively for her forearm and the bruises she knew were there.

It made her remember last night's dream, and the bruises she'd seen on the woman in it that, like hers, dressed no one would see.

Ronald had lost a bet and been upset she didn't have galleons on her to pay the bet off. She tried to dismiss it as him not knowing his strength.

Why it was her responsibility to pay off his debts she wasn't sure. They weren't even dating officially. She'd gotten back in May, just in time for a five year anniversary ball celebrating the end of the war. He'd claimed more than his share of dances and having no one else to give them to she'd allowed it. She'd told him that she was not his personal bank.

That had earned her a slap.

He'd never hit her on the face before.

Things would certainly be better now that she was working. They could plan their wedding and …

She wretched.

She brought the back of her hand to the spot on her cheek where she knew a bruise was visible. She'd been very careful to cover and glamour it.

He'd said he was sorry.

He always did.

He hadn't brought her flowers this time.

"I tried following my heart," she whispered.

That had gotten her laughed at, and resulted in her fleeing Britain for five years.

Ronald had caught up to her though, and she'd taken it as a sign. He'd been nice, seemed to actually listen to her for a change. At first. He'd never truly been listening she knew now. He'd also never once apologized for leaving them.

She wasn't sure when she'd become needy. Needy to the point she thought that she had to have a man, a wizard, to be whole. All of her friends were married, though, and had children. She didn't want to be the only one. She and Ronald were the only two left.

Well, she was the only one left to be neither married nor have children. Ronald had two. They were cute but he didn't really seem to take being a father too seriously. At least in her opinion.

Maybe that came from knowing her parents had tried for over fifteen years for her, and just as they were about to give up her mum got pregnant with her. Her dad was forty-two when she was born and her mum was thirty-nine. Not ancient, but most definitely the oldest parents in all of Hermione's primary school days.

Footsteps brought her out of her thoughts. She looked up with a sigh, wiping her eyes. When had she started crying? She did it so frequently now she shouldn't be surprised anymore.

She saw Minerva's eyes narrow slightly and knew she was disappointing her former head of house with her emotional display on her first day here as staff.

"I'm sorry, Minerva, I don't know what's come over me," she said, using her wand to clean up her sick mess. Minerva had seen it, though. Hermione was certain of that.

"It's not a problem, Hermione. I knew being back here would be difficult. Maybe we should have eased you in."

"I'm fine," she said, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her robes.

Minerva looked concerned and Hermione hated being responsible for putting that look there. She'd done little more than worry her head of house constantly for seven years (she had no doubt that despite not being at Hogwarts Minerva still worried after them that year before the final battle).

"Evidence points to the contrary, dear."

Silence. Hermione didn't know what her boss wanted her to say.

"Did Severus say something to upset you?"

"No, Headmistress," she said quickly, not wanting to be responsible for him getting in trouble.

"He seemed concerned."

"That's ironic," Hermione said with a scoff. She knew with the crying it sounded more like a sob but just the same.

"Is there something I need to know, Hermione?"

"No. I'll be fine."

"Why don't you go up to your rooms and settle in more. We'll meet up after lunch to go over the lesson plans you submitted to me."

"Sure," Hermione said.

Minerva had taken over as headmistress after the war. Snape hadn't wanted the position. Minerva had hired someone to teach Transfiguration, but as luck would have it Scotland didn't agree with him after four years. So Minerva had hunted Hermione down (not difficult to do given the marks and outstanding progress she was making on both apprenticeships. News evidently travelled fast from half the world away) and offered her the job. She'd sweetened the offer by throwing in the Charms classes as well. Hermione doubted Filius really needed that much time for research but maybe he had been waiting years for this day to come.

"A cup of tea, maybe. Put a little tipple in it. I won't tell."

Hermione stood then and left the room. It took her a minute to acclimate to where she was exactly in the castle but she soon figured it out and was on her way to her rooms.

Severus entered the room a few minutes after seeing Hermione leave, giving her a bit of time to ensure she wasn't going to go back.

"Well," he said.

"What did you say to her, Severus?"

"I didn't get the chance to say anything but her name! She ran like a bat out of hell into this room. Knowing I was out of my element with emotional witches I went to find you. It was your idea to hire her."

"Is that what you're telling yourself, Severus?"

He scoffed.

"I didn't even know where she was or that she was near the end of her apprenticeships until you brought her successes to my attention."

"Your point?"

"I repeat, Severus, what did you say to her?"

"I may have in a moment of agitation told her she was a pest and to leave me and whatever delusions of romance she may have behind."

"Severus! You didn't. That woman saved your life. She sat with you for months because no one else could tolerate your moods. She testified for you. She went through your memories so that only those pertinent to the war would be used."

"I'm aware," he said tersely.

"And you repay her by telling her to get out?"

"I said it was a moment of agitation, Minerva. I was in a lot of pain. I didn't think she'd leave the continent!"

"Did you try…"

"To what? Get her to quit her apprenticeships and return to me? The wizard twice her age who ridiculed and demeaned her for six years? The wizard who kissed her in a moment of vulnerability and then told her to leave? No, I most certainly did not."

"She has bruises, Severus. She tried to glamour one on her cheek, but if you know what to look for…"

He clenched his fist at his side as Minerva continued.

"There was another on her arm, too, just high enough her robes would cover it normally. She wiped her cheeks with it. Obviously fingertips."

"Who?" he demanded.

"I don't know. The only person she's been linked with since her return is Ronald Weasley."

"That bastard. You'll tell me if it happens again?"

"Severus, talk to the witch!"

"It would seem, Minerva, she doesn't wish to speak with me! What do you want me to do?"

"Go after her, you imbecile!"

He huffed. "And say what? I'm still too old for her."

"There was nothing doing with Lily, Severus. She wasn't yours to be had. This witch, though. Do you love her?"

He closed his eyes, bowing his head as he thought over Minerva's question. Did he love her?

She'd sat with him for months. She was patient and more than kind, certainly more so than warranted for her to be with him. She never sniped or snapped at him. He was rude and belligerent and she'd ignore him, pretending as if she hadn't heard a word he said until he was done with his tantrum and spoke to her like a human being.

She did not force him to talk about his shared memories, but let him know that they were protected. Only those important to the war effort were shared with Shacklebolt and the Wizengamut.

She was, dare he say it, nice to him.

Loving.

She snuck him cookies when Poppy wasn't looking. She brought him a chocolate milkshake! He wasn't even sure how she'd known he'd love such a thing. It wasn't until in a moment of weakness when he'd kissed her and then recoiled in pain from the effort that he pushed her away. A witch deserved to be kissed, deserved a wizard who could do such a simple thing with her.

He wasn't sure how long his convalescence would be. He knew, of course, that wouldn't have mattered to her, which was why he'd told her to leave.

"I think I might," he admitted softly.

"Then talk to her. All she knows is you rejecting her and Ronald Weasley. You know he'll say exactly what he needs to get her to come around."

"He has two illegitimate children!"

"I'm aware."

He sighed. "So her only options are me or a Weasley. Is that what you're saying?"

"She's almost twenty-four years old. Everyone she knows is married and has children. Her parents are lost to her. Yes, I think she will succumb to the pressure of ‘everyone's doing it'. She may be incredibly bright, but she also wants to fit in. She wants a family. To belong."

" I will not help her with that goal."

"But she won't need to with you! I can't believe you let it get to this point. I thought you'd owled her years ago."

"It was returned," he murmured.

"And you let that stop you?"

"I'm not going to force myself…"

"Severus. I'm speaking to you as your friend. Not as your boss and not as Albus' friend. Your friend. A woman who has watched you grow into the man you are today despite the odds, despite my own biases." Minerva shook her head. "Do something, Severus, or you will live to regret it. James loved Lily. I know you know that despite his faults and as I said she was not your witch. Hermione, though, is your equal in every way you could possibly dream of."

"I'm aware."

"Ronald Weasley will say whatever he can, Severus. She will listen to him because you are saying nothing. Almost five years she spent away and she came back here with no one and I have not heard her speak of anyone significant."

He sighed. "I will take it under advisement."

*******

She was in her dream again. The boy was a little older now.

"Papa," he said excitedly when he spotted his parents. The father, Raoul, went elsewhere.

The woman asked the boy about his day in French. Hermione could tell that, like her, French was not her native language. The way the father and the son spoke made that very evident.

"Mama," he said. "Why doesn't father play with me?"

Somehow Hermione knew why. They'd tried for years for a second child to no avail. There was clearly nothing wrong with the mother as she'd already given birth to one child with no complications. The father did not want to acknowledge what was blatantly obvious and so he ignored the problem, ie., the child.

If the husband, Raoul, was not the father. Then who?

"He's busy, but Mama will play with you."

"You work on the stage and you are never too busy to play with me."

"Never," she said, grazing the tip of his nose with her finger. Hermione found the woman beautiful and her interaction with the child charmingly simple. "What shall we play then?"

"I wrote this," he said, gesturing to a sheet of staff paper. "Will you sing it for me?"

"Of course, Gustav," she said, taking the paper. She looked it over and seemed … surprised. "This is very good. Who did you write this for?"

"Mademoiselle Dupont."

"Do you like Antoinette?"

He shrugged, clearly he did not. "But Papa says."

"Remember what your mother says, too," she said.

"Follow my heart."

The woman turned as if looking at Hermione instead of the boy, Gustav.

"Regarde avec ton coeur."

Hermione woke with a start.

"Gustav," she murmured. She bit at her lower lip, chasing something in her mind as the dream cleared.

She was brought out of her thoughts of the boy and his mother at the sound of knocking at her door. She picked up her wand to see what time it was not having meant to fall asleep at all so she had no idea what time it was. She'd slept through lunch she realized. She stood then, walking to the door assuming it was Minerva wondering where she was.

It was not Minerva. It was Snape. She started to close the door, but his words stopped her.

"Hermione, please," he said.

He'd only said her name, her given name, once before. She thought she'd exaggerated how lovely it sounded coming from him, being said in his voice.

She had not been.

She'd certainly never heard him say please.

"I'm due to meet Minerva," she said, flustered that two words could get to her so easily.

"She can wait," he said, stepping inside.

"Come on in," she said under her breath.

He smirked then and she sighed.

"What do you want?"

"I'd forgotten what you look like when you're mad."

"Have you settled your curiosities then, Professor Snape? Is that all?"

"Severus," he said.

"You made it abundantly clear that I am not someone you care to be at all personal with so I will address you as I feel comfortable."

He narrowed his eyes, looking at her and she thought that he saw entirely too much. He raised a hand then, reaching for the bruise on her cheek.

"If I somehow contributed to you believing that you deserve to be treated in such a fashion, Hermione, that was not my intent."

"I'm not sure you have the right to care."

"Of course I do."

She huffed. "Get to the point."

"Do you know what it is to be attracted to someone?"

"Of course I do, I'm not a frigid bitch like everyone assumes…"

"Let me finish, Witch, please."

He paused, taking a deep breath as he collected his thoughts. It was … foreign to him to lay himself bare for anyone. He knew, though, if there was ever a time to do so it was now.

Here goes nothing.

"Do you know what it is to be attracted to someone? Attracted so completely that you wonder how you could have missed them being such a good match for you? Body, mind, soul. All right there in one very attractive, appealing, but younger package. You are healing as you were quite literally brought back to life by said attractive, appealing, and younger package. Nothing works the way you want it to. Everything hurts, even the most mundane tasks. You don't know if some things will work the way you want them to. You take that step to make your attraction known and your body does not wish to cooperate. The pain you thought was subsiding rears its head at a most inopportune time, reminding you that you are weak, older than the one you covet, and your soul is tainted. You've done terrible, horrible things and surely don't deserve someone so good. So light. So you do the honourable thing and tell them to go, to get away from you before you can taint their soul, too. You do not realize that she will go halfway across the world and not return for years. Your attempt at correspondence is returned, unopened."

"Severus," she whispered.

"I only say this," he said, grazing his thumb over the bruise. "Because you deserve so much better than this, Hermione. You should never have to hide anything. If it's not me, if you are certain that I am not to you what I am very certain you are to me then so be it. You do not deserve to be marked. Ever," he shrugged. "Except of course from my lips."

She gasped, looking at said lips.

"Go meet with Minerva, you know how to find me if you wish to."

"Alright," she said, knowing she must sound and look ridiculously stupid. The last thing she'd ever expect out of Severus Snape was an apology. Okay, he hadn't said he was sorry, but that was what he was saying.

Did he mean it? What would he do if he decided once again he wasn't good enough for her? That was what he was saying happened before.

"Oh," he said, turning at the door. "Welcome back to Hogwarts. It has been, might I say, dull without your presence here."

She giggled. She couldn't help it. He left then, seeming to take her laugh as a good sign. She thought it was, too.

******

Breakfast the following morning was far less stressful. She sat next to Severus as that was where an open spot was.

"Good morning," he drawled in a low voice, seemingly meant only for her.

"Good morning," she said, meeting his gaze with her own. He nodded in response, handing her the sugar. She took it and put less than a spoonful in her tea.

"How did you sleep?"

She shrugged. "Okay, I've been having dreams," she said.

"Nightmares?" he asked, sounding concerned.

"No," she said with a shake of her head. "It's odd. I've dreamt of this woman for years. She's familiar to me, but I don't know how or why. It's like I'm seeing bits and pieces of her life."

"As if she's showing them to you?"

"Yes. Is that possible?"

He shrugged. "Look around you, Hermione," he said, gesturing to the castle and the Great Hall in particular. "You tell me."

After a moment he asked. "What is she doing?"

"She's taking care of her son."

"And?"

"That's really all. She's an actress, I think. An opera singer. The past few nights she's seemingly spoken to me."

"Oh? What does she say?"

"Regarde avec ton coeur."

"Look with your heart," he said.

"Yes," she said with a nod, not at all surprised that Severus Snape knew French.

"I did not know you speak French," he said.

"My mother is French."

"Really?" he asked.

"Yes. She met my father and moved here to live with him, well, forty years ago."

"From France."

"Yes. She caused quite a stir marrying an Englishman and leaving France. I actually have a title if you can believe that."

"Do you?"

"Mm hmm. Vicomtesse."

"I did not realize I was among anyone of such standing," he said.

"Oh yes, I flaunt it at every turn." She gasped then.

"What?" he asked.

"Gustav!"

"Is that supposed to mean something to me, Hermione?"

"That's what she called him. The boy. In my dream. Gustav."

"Okay."

"My grandfather is Gustav deChagney. I met him a few times mostly when I was younger so I barely remember him. He passed during my fifth year, which was why I didn't feel quite so terrible doing what I did with my parents."

Severus nodded in understanding. Few knew what she had done and it was best that way.

"Am I dreaming about my great grandmother?" she asked.

"What do you know of her?"

"Not much. I think she was an opera singer when she was younger now that I think about it. I never really thought to ask. My great grandfather was the Vicomte where I get my title from." She paused. "His name was Raoul, her name was Christine."

"Your great grandmother was Christine deChagney nee Daae, daughter of the famous Swedish violinist?"

"I," she frowned, nibbling at her lower lip. She called on the things she'd heard her parents talking about when she was young. Things that just hadn't mattered much to her. Who really cared at the age of five about their great grandparents. "That sounds right."

"A woman of station and fame. Do I need to properly address you now?"

"Oh stop," she said, leaning toward him a bit. "I get the impression, from my dreams, I get the feeling that Gustav was not his. I also get the feeling that Raoul was not a good husband," she said, gesturing to her own cheek which she knew Severus caught.

"Oh, a scandalous history on top of being a woman of means. I am now intrigued."

"I'm sure."

"So, assuming it is your great grandmother, who was obviously a hussy," he said, his lips twitching from the effort of not smiling. "What are you going to do?"

Hermione looked at him for a long time. Was her great grandmother somehow contacting her through her dreams? And, if so, was she purposely guiding her away from Ronald and into the arms of this wizard? Had it started with a rough grab of her wrist with them, too, and turned into more at a time she couldn't get away?

Look with your heart.

She knew what her heart wanted. She wanted him. This wizard. Her equal in all where it mattered.

"Well, I guess I'm going to look with my heart then and stop letting my mind have all the control."

"Am I forgiven?"

"Yes," she said.

"We can start anew?"

"If you'd like," she said.

"I would very much like to get to know Hermione Granger again."

"Me, too," she said.

"I have not changed much. You know what they say about old dogs and new tricks."

"You're not old, Severus."

"No?"

"No."

"I think you are right. Come to my quarters later and I will demonstrate that I am now pain free."

"Is that a promise?"

"Do you want it to be?"

"Yes," she said.

"Then I shall endeavor not to disappoint my witch. And perhaps with some research on our parts we can discover who young Gustav's father, your great grandfather, actually was."

"I'd like that."

"I figured you might."

~The End~

Story ©Susan Matthews/APCKRFAN/PhantomRoses.com