Resolution
Her thigh is pressed flush against mine when she murmurs, "Wrong place, wrong time."
Granger is, against all odds, sprawled across my lap, the train's screeching halt having thrown her off balance. I wait for her to leap off of me with a muttered apology or an embarrassed flush.
Instead, she chuckles. "I never thought I'd be in this position."
The lights went out when the train came to a standstill, so I'm fairly certain that she cannot read my expression. Still, I force a sneer onto my face, if only for my own peace of mind. "We find ourselves in a rare moment of agreement."
She smiles, or at least I think she does. "Another unexpected occurrence."
"Indeed. Now, will you kindly remove yourself -"
"I didn't expect to see you here," she interrupts, squirming but making no real attempt to stand.
"That was apparent by the slack-jawed look on your face when you boarded the train."
"Yes, I did look rather surprised, didn't I?" she says cheerfully. "It's been ... how long has it been? Even when I visit Hogwarts, you never -"
"I am a very busy man."
"Liar."
She slides off my lap, and I try to think of something other than the residual warmth in my mid-section. But since the war - and especially since the Ministry's decision - my mind has become rebellious, undisciplined, a confusing mess of thoughts and images that I cannot control. I have not seen her in months - have not talked with her in over a year - and yet I have no trouble picturing her in every sexual position I've ever read about.
She laughs softly, almost as if she knows.
"You find this amusing?"
"Of course. Don't you?"
"I hardly see how being stranded on the Muggle Rail with an irritating former student is amusing."
"Technically, it's the Underground. And I'm not sure that we're stranded. They did say that we should be on our way momentarily."
"At least you aren't contesting my description of you," I mutter, peering into the darkness. I have little faith in the disembodied voice that informed us of a "temporary power outage."
"I suppose I can be irritating." Her voice falls, as if it's being crushed under the weight of this realization. "I was rather annoying at Hogwarts, wasn't I?"
She sounds as if she wants me to contradict her, so I respond with an unqualified, "Yes."
"Well, at least you haven't changed any."
We fall silent, as if we're both expecting something to happen. Staring up at the ceiling, I wait for the Muggle lights - so fluorescent and ugly - to flash on again. But nothing changes, and the stillness feels more dangerous than our inane chitchat, so I grumble, "Damn Dumbledore."
"Aaaah," she murmurs. The sound is so soothing that I cannot stop myself from leaning toward her, just close enough to see that her eyes are closed and her face is relaxed. It's as if she is quite used to dark, malfunctioning trains.
"I should have known that he's the reason you have lowered yourself to use a Muggle form of transportation," she continues, her lips curling into a smile.
"Don't bother giving one of your lectures on cultural tolerance. This would never have happened if magic -"
"The Hogwarts Express, my third year," she challenges, her eyes snapping open.
Because it's dark - only because it's dark - I smile. Of all the things I miss about her, the arguments are near the top of my list.
"The Hogwarts Express didn't break down, and you know it. The train stopped, according to the will of its driver, in order to let the Dementors aboard. This -" I wave my hand in the darkness - "is obviously a failure of Muggle technology, and I want nothing more than to get off this bloody train."
"If you're so impatient to escape, do something about it!" she snaps, crossing her arms and looking away.
Surprised by the sudden shift in her mood, I retort with equal rancour, "You know I can't! The Ministry's blasted rules -"
She sighs. "I know, I know."
But I'm not ready to let go of the subject. "While you and your friends have always been above the law, I am just a humble ex-Death Eater. The Ministry fools are waiting for me to make even the smallest of mistakes -"
She turns toward me so rapidly that her hair whips across her face. "What they did to you was wrong!"
"Ladies and gentlemen," a polite voice crackles from the speakers, "we apologize for the continuing delay. The mechanics are on their way, but as this power outage has affected the entire system, we may have quite a wait ahead of us. We do have a reserve generator that keeps the communication system intact, so if there are any medical emergencies, please push the call button located at the rear of each carriage. Otherwise, please sit calmly. We will be underway as soon as possible."
"Most of it is like a foreign language."
"For me, too," she says. "I haven't really been around Muggles since I was 11, and I certainly didn't make a habit of riding the Tube at that age."
"Then what are you doing here now?"
"Visiting my parents. They moved to London after ... well, after. And since I can't Apparate into their Muggle neighbourhood -"
"Rather early in the morning for a visit, isn't it?" It is only half past six, or at least it was half past six before the power outage. I reach for my pocket watch, only to remember that there's no light by which to read it. For one absurd moment, I feel as if time, like the train, has halted.
"The train is so dark and quiet," she whispers. "It's almost as if time has stopped."
"Foolish drivel," I grumble, startled by the similarity in our thoughts. "You didn't answer my question."
"What question? Oh, my parents. Yes, yes, it's early for a visit, but I wanted to get it out of the way."
"Not a friendly visit, I take it."
"Oh, do pry. I would so love to tell a former professor - the one who mocked and despised me - all about my troubles!"
"You've no skill for sarcasm." I pause for a long moment. "And I meant no disrespect regarding your family."
"Miracle of miracles."
We lapse into silence again. I think that she has finally stopped trying to converse with me when she blurts out, "And you, it's rather early for you to be visiting Dumbledore."
"He hardly sleeps anymore."
"Oh."
Resentment surges through me at the inadequacy of her response. "Of course, you'd know that, had you bothered to visit him."
"I do visit him! Just at decent hours!"
"Not that it matters much, anyway." My anger dissipates so quickly that my chest aches. "He doesn't know day from night."
"Oh, he knows the difference, even if he can't express it. It's those people who keep him there, their treatment of him, if they'd left him at St. Mungo's ..." She stops, and I'm grateful because I do not want to think about Dumbledore anymore than I have to. But then, as if she had only been silent to gather her strength, she bellows, "How could this have happened?"
What can I say? It's the question I ask myself every morning when I realize I'm still breathing.
"Well?" she demands, jumping out of her seat and pacing the length of the carriage.
"Do you think it's odd that there are no other people in this cabin? No Muggles?" Suddenly, I am suspicious of this entire situation: Severus Snape and Hermione Granger, two of the Ministry's least favourite people, stuck in a malfunctioning Muggle train with no legal means of escape. The fingers of my wand hand itch, and I reach, ever so slowly, into the pocket of my Muggle jacket.
"Severus!"
My eyes snap to hers; I've never heard my first name on her lips before, not in all our years of working together.
She returns to her seat beside me. "It is not yet seven o'clock. It's New Year's Day. Most Muggles are still in bed, nursing their hangovers. The bloody mechanics are in bed. Everyone's in bed except for you, me, and the conductor. That's why there's no one else here, and that's why it's taking so long." She hesitates before placing a hand on my arm. "There is no conspiracy."
"Those Ministry fools have brainwashed you well, haven't they?"
She rears back as if I had hit her. "Fuck you."
"Quite mature, Granger."
"If the war taught us anything, it's that there are very good reasons for us not to use magic in Muggle spaces!"
"Muggle spaces?" I snort. "This whole bloody world is a Muggle space to me now. Except Hogwarts, my own magical prison."
"What they did to you is wrong," she says again, leaning against me just a little.
I let out a long breath. "No, actually, it's not. It's just ... unexpected."
"It's wrong!" she argues, straightening in her seat. "No matter what you did before, you were instrumental in winning the war! They should appreciate that!"
I am touched by her righteous indignation - touched, but not dissuaded. "I could be in Azkaban right now."
"It's cruel and unjust!"
"Not to mention a bloody waste of talent," I add, lips twitching despite myself.
"What's happened to you? How can you joke about this? And you said I was brainwashed? How can you calmly accept -"
"What's happened to you? How can you accept being shunted to the Muggle Relations department? The most brilliant witch of her generation, pushing paper for Arthur Weasley -"
"What I do is important! After all that was done to the Muggles during the war, I want to help them. And Arthur is a fine mentor."
"Yes, I'm certain he is, if bumbling inefficiency is your style."
She hesitates before saying, "There is more to life than efficiency and renown."
"How many times a day do you have to tell yourself that?"
"How often do you have to tell yourself that you can accept the Ministry's asinine restrictions on you?"
"I don't think about it."
"But if you did..."
"For God's sake, woman, leave me alone! I don't think about it for a reason. I'd be living with Dumbledore in the asylum if I did."
"I'm sorry. I know. I know exactly what you mean and I shouldn't have ..." She pauses and takes a deep breath. "My situation isn't nearly so bad, of course. They've only kept me from advancing, and really, I meant what I said about that. It's really not important, not really."
I snort.
"I mean it!" she snaps, her voice cracking. "You're the Slytherin, not me."
"You may have been a Gryffindor, but that hasn't stopped you from being ambitious. Interfering little swot."
I mean the last bit to come off as a harsh indictment, but even to my own ears, the words have the ring of an endearment. She leans into me a bit more.
"I have an interview next week," she whispers.
I do not know whether to smile or sneer at the hope in her voice. "Ministry?"
"Magical Law. A low-level position, but perhaps ..." She sighs. "Well, it's doubtful, but I thought I'd give it a try. But I like Arthur and Muggle Relations. Perfectly fine with it."
"You're a fool, Granger. Ambitious, yes, but so damn idiotic. Had you not raised objections to Dumbledore's treatment ..."
"You bloody hypocrite! How could I stay silent? You didn't. Minerva didn't. Harry didn't."
"I had nothing to lose, and Minerva and Potter are untouchable. You, however - a Muggleborn with no connections, save your friendship with Potter - you should have held your tongue! Scrimgeour never liked you. He knew you had ambitions, and you scared the bloody hell out of him. You did nothing for Dumbledore, all the while harming your own future."
"I don't care. I did what was right!"
"You did what was righteous," I correct with a sigh.
"Oh god, I'm getting a lesson in morality from you, of all people!"
"The world has turned upside down, hasn't it?"
"It wasn't supposed to happen this way."
"Of course not," I snap, her defeated tone annoying me. She moves away from me, and I immediately miss the warmth of her arm against mine. I ask, with a slightly softer tone, "What is it that you said when the train stopped? Wrong place, wrong time?"
She leans back into me. "It's a Muggle -"
"Yes, I know," I interrupt, my tone sharp. When she starts to move away again, I grab her arm.
For a moment, neither of us moves, even to breathe. Then, in a voice I hardly recognize, the words come pouring out of me: "Do you ever get the sense that everything that's happened since the end of the war has been wrong? Dumbledore was supposed to die a hero. I was supposed to die, period. It would have made things simpler. They could have put everything behind them. End of story. The old make way for the young, the darkness bows to the light. Neither of us had the good sense to do what was expected of us, and look where that's landed us."
She slips her small, warm fingers beneath the cuff of my Muggle shirt and begins tracing circles on my wrist. I find it difficult to breathe as she whispers, "And what about me? What was supposed to happen to me?"
"You were supposed to marry Weasley and repopulate the Wizarding World."
She laughs, the sound of it filling the empty carriage. "Well, thank goodness that part didn't work out!"
"Yes, it was bad enough sitting through all of those meetings, watching Weasley grope Miss Lovegood. Had it been you, I -"
I stop. The words sound ridiculous in my head; I know they will sound even more foolish spoken aloud.
"What?" she asks, pressing her fingers into my skin. "What were you going to say?"
I shake my arm free of hers and declare, "I loathe New Year's."
"You would," she replies, crossing her arms and looking away.
"No doubt you love it. New opportunities, starting over, second chances ..." I wrinkle my nose. "Disgusting."
"You know, your cynicism gets very tiring after a while."
"And your optimism makes me queasy."
That is a lie.
"She reminds me of Lily," Dumbledore once said, watching her work in my laboratory.
I met his eyes. "You needn't worry."
"Oh yes, I do."
Dumbledore was right, of course, but not about the comparison. Lily saw the dark corners and repainted them; that was the only way she could befriend me, the only way she could marry James Potter. Granger, though, she analyzed and dissected, seeing each broken part as a challenge, always believing she could put the pieces back together.
Lily was, by far, the saner of the two.
"I'm not optimistic," Granger says, crossing her arms. "I'm resolute."
"Resolute?" My lips curl.
"Yes. Determined, steadfast, unwavering."
"My own little thesaurus. You forgot stubborn, mulish, pig headed. God, get me out of this train."
"Oh, poor Snape. How ever did you survive working with me?"
"It was nearly impossible."
And that is the truth.
When I blew my cover and she broke her wand, we were useless to the Order. So we suffered the fate of all undesirables; we went to the Hogwarts dungeons and made potions. Day after day after day, even when the war dragged on long past our expectations, she worked without complaint, with vigour even, as if what we did was important. She annoyed the hell out of me.
Then the Order located Ollivander, and Granger returned to the field with a new wand. Masochist that I am, I preferred being annoyed.
"Forgive me for liking New Year's," she says, shifting in her seat. "It's a better holiday than most. No commercialism, just a day to think about beginning again."
"Why should an arbitrary date on the calendar mean anything?"
"It's a reminder to think ahead. To move on," she adds with emphasis.
"It's an illusion. Our choices were made for us long ago."
"Oh, how pathetic."
"Why are you on this train?"
She says nothing for a long moment. Finally: "Well, my parents... But I chose -"
"Yes, you made a little choice to wake up and get on this train. But long before you were conscious of it, your parents trained you to be the obedient daughter -"
She throws her head back and laughs as if she has never heard anything so humorous.
"Laugh if you want, Granger, but you know I'm correct."
This makes her laugh even harder.
"I'm never taking the train again."
"For a half-blood, you're an awful bigot. How do you usually visit Dumbledore?"
"I'm allowed to Floo to the Ministry. I walk to the asylum from there."
"But that's at least four miles each way!"
"I like to walk."
"You mean that you don't like Muggle transportation."
"No, I like to walk. Do you think I like being cooped up in a dark, dank dungeon day after day? Seeing Dumbledore is the only time I get to move about freely."
She hangs her head. "Minerva mentioned what happened in Hogsmeade."
"If it hadn't been so sodding cold today, I'd have walked, and I'd be sitting with Dumbledore by now."
"Oh, yes, I miss being able to use warming charms when I'm in London," she agrees with a quick nod.
I know that she has allowed me to change the subject out of pity, and this annoys me.
"And not being able to cast Impervius when it rains." She laughs. "I remember in my third year, I cast the charm on Harry's glasses during a Quidditch match. My one contribution to Gryffindor's Quidditch glory, though I think we actually lost that game."
"Weasley was surprisingly good about the whole thing."
"What do you mean? I thought he was as disappointed as Harry about their loss to Hufflepuff. He didn't forgive Cedric Diggory until after the poor boy had already died."
"Don't play dumb, Granger. I don't mean the Quidditch match. I mean that Weasley was good about the incident in Hogsmeade."
"Oh." She is silent for a long moment. "Yes, well, Ron is a good man."
"I'd have expected him ... I'd have expected him to take pleasure in the situation."
"He's grown up now. And he's an Auror. It's his job to protect -" She stops abruptly.
"Yes, it's his job to protect the weak, isn't it?"
"You're not weak."
"I am without my wand."
"You should have been able to use magic! Self defence! And they should have jailed Terry. They should have done more than fine him!"
"Should, should, should. You should have gone into Magical Law."
She breathes in sharply, and I tell myself to keep pushing, to rub salt in the wound, but my voice softens of its own accord. "You get too caught up in your ideals, Granger, ideals that are misguided to begin with. In any case, it was my fault. I wasn't paying attention." She makes a sound of protest as I continue. "I was expecting someone to do it. I just never thought it'd be Boot. Longbottom, that was my guess."
"Neville? He'd never do anything like that!"
"Why not? After all the times I tormented him -" I laugh humourlessly. "Nothing like humiliating one's hated former professor with a trip jinx and the Conjunctivitus Curse in the middle of Hogsmeade Square. It would have been the perfect revenge."
"That's the difference between Neville and you, Severus," she says. "He's able to put his past behind him."
"You need to make up your mind," I growl, turning toward her. "Forget the past, or don't. Which is to be, Granger?"
She looks away from me, which infuriates me even more. "Dear Professor Snape," I mock in falsetto, "I believe, given our past cooperation for the Order, that we have a great deal in common. I would like, very much, to build on that commonality. "
In the moment of silence that follows, I can almost feel the hurt radiating from her.
"Well, at least I know now that you read the bloody letter. You could have responded to it."
"Oh, really? And how was I to do that?" I ask with enough sarcasm to mask my anxiety. When I saw her step onto the train, I promised myself that I would not bring up the letter.
"A simple yes or no would have sufficed!"
"I don't answer vague and unsolicited correspondence. Besides, I was never certain of your purpose. Such formal, stilted language could mean anything. Recruiting me for another of your ill-devised charitable campaigns, perhaps?"
She snorts. "Yes, you could say that. I was starting a new group called ARSWIPE - Assist a Reluctant Snape With Inter-Personal Exchanges."
My lips form a hard line. "Did you come up with that on the spur of the moment? Or have you been planning this moment for the past year?"
"Oh yes, I planned this whole thing!" she declares, shooting up out of her seat. "I used my psychic powers, along with Trelawney's crystal ball, to figure out that you would just happen to be on this very train. Then I waved my wand and poof! The train stopped, and I have one bitter, mean, greasy old man all to myself!"
"Granger, what did I tell you about sarcasm? Oh, and let me congratulate you on your ability to generate offensive acronyms on the spot. ARSWIPE ..." I pretend to mull it over. "Ingenious. You've improved since ... what was it called, SPEW?"
"S.P.E.W. was actually one of my better moments in life." She falls back into her seat. "God, that's depressing."
"I quite agree." At my terse response, her shoulders hunch forward, and so I cannot hep but add, "Though Dobby still wears your hats."
"Dobby is a king among elves."
"The other elves don't tend to agree."
"Since when do you listen to house elf gossip?"
"Since my career as a spy ended. Dumbledore apparently thought that serving as a double agent for the Dark Lord provided me with the proper qualifications for interrogating house elves."
"Interrogating! Did Dumbledore think they were planning a revolt? I've always said that the house elves' slave labour was a stain on Hogwarts' good name!"
"I don't know what Dumbledore was thinking. It was just after you ... it was near the end of the war. The curse had half addled his brain by then."
"I never saw it coming. Yet he was always a little mad, wasn't he? All of his start-of-term speeches? Nitwit, something or another?"
"No, that was an act." I think of that long-ago night in his office: I'm on my knees, begging, weeping, pleading, and his eyes are as cold as ice. "I like him better now."
She starts to gasp but checks herself. I cannot help but like her more for that half-gasp, that naiveté and understanding rolled into one little sound. "He could ask impossible things of people."
"He asked me to kill him," I admit before I realize it.
This time, the gasp is unrestrained. "What? When? Was I still working with you?"
"I used to count how many questions you could ask in a row." Another admission, but this one calculated. I don't want to talk about Dumbledore anymore. "You once strung eight questions together without pause."
"No, no, this time I am not allowing you to -"
"You were still in school," I interrupt, suddenly weary. "And Draco was still alive."
"Wait, do you mean to say ... Dumbledore knew about the curse? He knew what Malfoy had -"
"No. No, he didn't know. None of us knew. Fuck, Draco didn't know it had actually worked. If he had, he wouldn't have needed to kill himself, would he?"
She sighs. "Before that day, I never thought I'd feel sorry for Narcissa Malfoy. Is she ... have you spoken with her since the war?"
"No, not since the funeral." I close my eyes. I begged you to protect him, Severus, begged you! " Narcissa and I had a falling out after she mentioned my somewhat ambivalent role in the war to the Dark Lord."
"She was the one who ... that bitch!"
"You sound like a fool when you curse, Granger. Leave it to grown ups, won't you?"
"Fuck you, Snape."
"What did I tell you?"
"You're changing the subject."
"Which is ..."
"Narcissa Malfoy is a bitch."
"She's not a bitch," I respond with a sigh. "I betrayed her. She asked me to do something, and I wouldn't do it. I was a ..." I can't say the word. But I feel it, buried deep within me: coward, Coward, COWARD!
"Whatever she asked you to do, it must have been wrong."
I laugh bitterly. "Do you realize how deranged you sound, Granger? No wonder Potter likes you so much. You must make him feel like a saint."
"He's a good man! Do you know, when he found Draco's body in the boy's bathroom, he actually cried? I know you've always hated Harry, but you should know that he -"
"For god's sake, I don't want to hear about Harry Potter's virtues. I had enough of that with Dumbledore."
There is a young man who knows how to make the right choices, wouldn't you say, Severus?
"So ... would you have done it?"
"Done what?"
"Killed him. Killed Dumbledore."
I picture it: my wand aimed at his chest, his eyes meeting mine over the rim of his half-moon glasses. Yes, I think to myself, I would have done it.
"No," she declares aloud. "You wouldn't have done it."
"What makes you so sure?"
I can feel her staring at me in the darkness. "I just know. Ask anyone. I'm always right."
"No, you're always self-righteous."
"Haven't we had this conversation before?" Sighing, she stretches her legs - they aren't long, not like Lily's, and yet there's something alluring about them, even in the dark. "God, I'm cold. How long has it been, I wonder?"
"Forever."
"If I arrive at my parents' house too late in the day, they'll be forced to introduce me to their friends and clients; they always have company on holidays."
"They're embarrassed?" I feel my chest tighten as the memory of her striking down Antonin Dolohov in her parents' front yard flashes through my mind. "You saved their lives and they're -"
"Oh no, it's not embarrassment," she protests. " It's ... it's just awkward, that's all. It's awkward for everyone, for me, too. They love me, but how could they explain someone like me to their friends? And they really have no place in the magical world. Anyway, I didn't save their lives. If it wasn't for me, they would never have been in danger. I should have sent them away, modified their memories ... I almost did, you know. I was thinking Australia. Warm sun, far away ..."
"Then they blame you."
"No, no! They just ...we've just grown apart. They see me as a witch now. I'm something very different from them. It's what I always wanted, really."
"And you always dreamed of ending up as Arthur Weasley's assistant, too."
"You're a hateful, spiteful man," she murmurs wearily.
"Perhaps, but I speak the truth."
"Yes, for a spy, you're terribly honest, aren't you?"
She turns away from me and wraps her arms about her waist as if she's trying, quite literally, to hold herself together.
Staring at the back of her head, I am tempted to touch her hair. It's so thick that I'm certain she wouldn't know if I slid the pad of my index finger across one or two locks. My hand hovers just above a flyaway strand when she sighs, long and deep. My fingers curl into a fist that I stuff angrily into my jacket pocket.
"I'm not actually supposed to meet my parents until this evening," she says suddenly.
I blink, completely thrown off guard. "So they're not embarrassed by you after all." I try to speak calmly, as if I was expecting this detour. But my heart is pounding; it finally hits me that she really might have planned this, after all.
"I never said they were embarrassed," she says, her back to me still. "In fact, I said they weren't embarrassed. I said it was awkward and -"
"You said ... oh fuck it. What's going on here?"
Turning slowly, she faces me. "I followed you. From the Ministry."
"But ..."
"I was leaving my office, and I saw you come through the main Floo."
"But it was six in the morning."
"I ... come in early."
"On a holiday."
"With the new Muggle laws, the Muggle Relations Department is really quite busy and -" She stops suddenly.
"You realize that you're a pathetic liar."
"Yes, it does sound that way, doesn't it?" She laughs shrilly. "It's just ... sod it. I visited Dumbledore last week. I saw your name on the visitor's register, and I saw that you come early. I saw that you come early every week on Sunday. And even though it's Monday, I wondered, well, I guessed with the holiday, perhaps, actually, I asked Minerva if you had plans ... And so I thought ... I couldn't sleep last night, and I've always wondered how you're doing, and I knew you'd never respond to my letter, so I thought I'd just ..." She stops and sighs. "I sound like a lunatic, don't I?"
"Yes, you should be in the asylum with Dumbledore."
Several seconds tick by. "Dumbledore would joke about it. Wouldn't he?"
"How should I know?" I retort bitterly.
There is a sound of metal clanking, and we both look up. I wait for the train to move and wonder what the world will be like on the other side of this dark tunnel. The same as it always is. And yet there's a woman sitting next to me, deluded obviously, but sitting next to me, nonetheless.
"Did you cause the train to stop, as well?"
"No."
I glance at her. She seems to sense my doubt because she adds, "Truly. I'd have worn mittens if I had planned to get us stranded in December."
"January," I correct.
"Oh, yes, it's New Year's."
A terrible thought occurs to me. "I'm your fucking New Year's resolution."
"What? What? No! Really!"
"Let me let you in on a little secret, Granger. When you repeat words, you're lying. When you use the word ‘really,' you're lying."
"But I'm telling the truth! I don't make New Year's resolutions."
"You, the queen of list-making, you don't make resolutions?" I think back to the war, trying to remember her New Year's resolutions then. But we didn't celebrate holidays. At least, I didn't.
"Oh, all right, I do make resolutions on occasion, but this was not ... This wasn't my plan. I thought ... I thought that I'd follow you. Perhaps we'd speak, and I'd see if you were doing well. Maybe you'd mention you were visiting Dumbledore, and I'd say, ‘Oh, could I come along?' and then you'd say, ‘If you must,' and I'd say, ‘I haven't been to see him in a while,' and you'd say, ‘Afterwards, we could grab a cup of tea,' which I realize is the least likely part of the scenario, but then, the train broke down, and that became the least likely part of the scenario ... or the most likely, since it happened."
I'm not completely sure what she just said; my mind is still stuck on the idea that she engineered this. "Granger ..."
"Oh, fuck it, would you please call me Hermione? I've just admitted to being a complete fool, and you're still calling me -"
"Listen," I interrupt. "If you meddled with the Muggle train, there will be hell to pay. Scrimgeour will have your head."
She laughs, a little desperately. "I don't know how to convince you that I didn't stop the train! Look, if I stopped the train, I'd start it up again, right now! This has to be the most embarrassing -"
The train jerks and splutters; the lights flash on. I see her face, horrified, and then nothing. The carriage is dark again.
"Oh, thank god," she says.
I can't help myself. I laugh - it's short and unpleasant sounding, but it's real. "You're not helping your case, Granger."
"I swear, that was not me, I had nothing to do with the train! It's Sod's Law, that's what it is."
"Sod's Law?"
"Whatever can go wrong -"
"Will go wrong," I finish. "Yes, I know. My father called it Muggle magic."
"Muggle magic?"
"His only power, he used to say."
"That's rather depressing."
"He was a rather depressing man."
"I see where you get it from."
"You're the one who stopped the train to -"
"I didn't stop the train! I just stalked you. Isn't that enough?"
I laugh again.
"You see, I can't be that bad, can I?" she asks quietly. "I've always been rather proud of the fact that I can make you, of all people, laugh a little."
"You're out of your mind, Granger. We need to get off of this train."
"Well, I told you, I didn't do anything to it." She's silent for a long moment. "But I have a theory."
"Oh, really? And just what is -"
Only when her nose bumps mine do I realize what she's about to do. As far as kisses go, it's a disaster. Her front teeth collide with mine, and there's a piece of hair - hers or mine, I can't tell - on my tongue.
She pulls away and says, "So much for that."
Despite myself, I'm hurt. "Have you gotten me out of your system, Granger?"
"No, I just ... I was trying out a counter-curse to your Muggle magic."
"A kiss? How trite."
"No, not a kiss. Well, yes, but that's not the universal answer. I figured, if there were a scenario in which we might want the train to remain stopped, then Sod's Law would stipulate that the Tube would start running again because -"
I tell myself that it's the prolonged exposure to her, that her idiocy is contagious. Or maybe it's the darkness, or perhaps the cold. Whatever it is, I allow myself to be sucked into her delusion. It's flattering: not the attention so much as this belief of hers that we actually can get what we want.
Our noses still bump, and our teeth still collide. I don't know if the strand of hair is still there, and I don't care. She is warm and soft and real, and I feel as if -
"Sod's Law," she moans against my lips.
I open my eyes to see my reflection glaring back at me in the murky glass of the carriage window.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, we're finally on our way!" the voice in the speaker announces with a certain triumph. "Happy New Year's, and thank you for your patience!"
As the engine whirls to life, she whispers, "I told you that I had nothing to do with the train."
I look down at her. There's a spot on her chin and a little piece of sleep lodged in the corner of her left eye. She studies me, as well, and I wait for her to come to her senses. All she says is, "The next stop is mine."
Of course it is. After all, an hour in the dark does not change anything. I am still an ex-Death Eater, a middle-aged man, a squib without my wand, a disgruntled Potions instructor. There might have been a time, long ago, when things could have turned out differently. I might somehow have been someone nobler than this, something more than a man who spent his free time visiting a lunatic who'd never liked him, remembering a woman who'd never loved him, regretting a cause that he'd never truly supported.
"Perhaps you're right about our choices being made long ago," she says, standing when the voice in the speakers announces the next stop. "I just thought, with it being New Year's..."
"Granger."
She glances at me, her eyes full of hope.
"I don't believe in resolutions," I say firmly.
Her face falls. "Of course not."
And I don't. There is no such thing as a tidy ending. That sense of ending and beginning again, we use it to make ourselves feel better.
And yet, as the train slows to a stop, as the doors slide open, as she begin to walk away, I cannot help myself. I am only human; I need my illusions as much as anyone else.
"There's no harm in one cup of tea, is there, Hermione?"
Story Notes:
Recipient: 
rhitroadkill (rhitmcshanm)
Title: Resolution
Author:sophierom
Rating: General Audience
Warnings: None
Summary: There is no such thing as a tidy ending.
Prompt: Number 3: A holiday fic. Doesn't have to be any certain holiday, just something that captures the spirit of said holiday.
A/N: Dearrhitroadkill, I'm not sure how well the story fulfills the prompt, but I do hope you enjoy. Thanks for giving me a reason to write! Also, a big thanks to (name withheld) for her invaluable suggestions! She's the greatest. Any mistakes are a result of my dorkiness.
rhitroadkill (rhitmcshanm)Title: Resolution
Author:
sophieromRating: General Audience
Warnings: None
Summary: There is no such thing as a tidy ending.
Prompt: Number 3: A holiday fic. Doesn't have to be any certain holiday, just something that captures the spirit of said holiday.
A/N: Dear
rhitroadkill, I'm not sure how well the story fulfills the prompt, but I do hope you enjoy. Thanks for giving me a reason to write! Also, a big thanks to (name withheld) for her invaluable suggestions! She's the greatest. Any mistakes are a result of my dorkiness.