[Part Seven: In the Grey]

HARRY's team of Aurors, so it came to be found, had reason for not being at the research labs that day -- most of them. It was discovered that the cadet Roberts was actually a Death Eater (explaining Harry's unease about him; Harry, however, blamed himself for not realising as much) and that, with his position of slight importance to Verloc's investigation, he'd somehow managed to (though it still remained unclear whether he did it through portkeys or Dark Magic; Roberts was found among the dead Death Eaters in the lab) transport the Ministry police and Aurors to an expanse in the Sahara desert, pre-hexed with Anti-Apparation spells.

Voldemort, as Severus Snape had proclaimed, was not dead. He, in fact, was comatose and very ill (apparently, Hermione's potion, designed to stop Dark Magic, reacted badly to his body) -- and so Ginny Weasley, upon her arrival at Hermione's lab with the largest Ministry hit team ever assembled, took it upon herself to secure a room for him at St. Mungo's hospital. For some reason, although the Ministry tried very hard, it was impossible to kill him -- the Dementor's Kiss (which sucked out one's soul, should he have one) failed to work; attempts to behead him (for the Killing Curse hardly worked) failed even more miserably, and Harry Potter, who everyone thought should be the one to kill him, couldn't come up with the desire to kill someone in such a piteous state. Out of sheer desperation Voldemort was finally tossed into a claustrophobic little cell at Azkaban, so heavily warded it was impossible to move inside without getting hexed.

Harry and Ginny got married, and to dispel confusion Severus decided it was best if Ginny, too, could see him. It was a shock to her, to be sure, to see her old potions professor -- whom, in her eyes and Harry's, at least, had never shown any capacity for doing good -- consorting among her crowd; it was perhaps more of a shock to see him and Hermione getting along so splendidly. Ginny knew the meaning of the looks they gave one another. They were so obvious that Harry, who was in Ginny's opinion terrible at reading girls, probably knew too.

Hermione knew what she felt. But it was different to know something than to act upon it, and in her case, to act upon what she felt was beyond impossible.

Severus hadn't left her yet. It grated her that he was still here, and theoretically could leave at any time. She told him as much. He said that if she wanted, he'd leave right away. And so she'd demanded to know how he'd do that -- wasn't it the High Authority, as he'd claimed, who determined his time on Earth?

He'd simply pressed together his lips, crossed his arms, and not said another word.

Hermione suspected he knew more than he told, and dared to hope -- dared -- that this was a good thing. She personally didn't care what happened to her, as long as he was there for it. It was worse to live life without him. That he was dead hardly fazed her. So they couldn't touch one another, so she couldn't take him out for a meal. He worried more about it than she did.

He kept on nagging her to live her life. He was dead, he said, and she should let him go. She should enjoy living, she should find herself a lover, she should have children and have experiences and do all the important things in life he hadn't. Well, she'd shot back (quite hotly), if you didn't do those things why should I? I'm perfectly happy the way I am.

And so she was.

She honestly couldn't stand the thought of a lover. Not if he'd replace Severus -- if she had to have a lover, she wanted him to be Severus, or so extraordinarily like Severus she couldn't tell the difference. It wasn't as if she longed for intimacy. She was perfectly happy, felt perfectly loved, sitting with Severus in the study with the fire crackling, sparking, Crookshanks curled atop her feet, reading books and newspapers and discussing, heatedly, the shortcomings of modern society, and how that all somehow related to the recent paucity of potions research, and thus by direct tandem was the reason for Crookshanks's annoying (to Severus) bent to kill mice.

Time passed, as it always does, and still Hermione was happy with things the way they were -- just her and Severus and Crookshanks, and the occasional good friend -- Harry and Ginny, and of course Ron (who had returned, fiancée in hand, from America). Harry and Ginny had a child, Lily, that Hermione was considered an aunt to (and legally was a godparent to), and that Severus secretly enjoyed showering with affections (he told her frightful ghost stories, and, jointly with Hermione, the basics of potions) -- that was nice. And of course there was always Hermione's research.

Then Voldemort escaped from St. Mungo's. It had been expected -- the surviving Death Eaters, with no Master to guide them and a price on their heads, hadn't had anything better to do than plan his escape. It was more surprising Voldemort survived St. Mungo's than that he'd escaped. At any rate it was a short-lived victory -- as was also expected, Harry Potter had defeated him quite presently, what with the (again) help of Hermione and Severus and Ginny, and (for variety) a back-up team of Aurors.

And for the first time in what seemed centuries, the world was free.

It struck Hermione as so in little ways. People began smiling more, smiling honestly and without (seemingly) need. Shoulders were held high, restaurants were filled; the arts and music, suddenly, were a demanded commodity. Couples took walks in parks, families picnicked -- little boys with toy wands raced around toting paper boats and colourful balloons. The air felt lighter and the sky was immeasurably more blue, and it seemed only natural to skip and sing, or whistle, on the way home from work. And so Hermione did, on her way home from work.

Severus, gliding alongside her, promptly scowled. "What is that infernal noise?"

"I'm whistling," she told him, pretending hurt. "Honestly. Haven't you ever heard someone whistling before?"

"I have," he said dryly. "The memory of it only increases my head-ache."

"Oh, you poor dear."

"Yes indeed," he said, lip twitching. He looked away, as Hermione knew, to hide his smile.

"I am whistling because I feel perfectly entitled to," Hermione said, a satisfied expression on her face. "It's a lovely day, and it's warm, and this park is gloriously green. Aren't those sufficient reasons?"

"Hardly," said Severus. "You seem to have missed out on the fact that it's unbearably foggy, and that there isn't an ounce of sunshine coming through, and that it's been forecasted to rain, and that this park, if it can be called that, is in overwhelming need of a trim."

"Oh, Severus!" Hermione said, bursting into laughter. She swiped her hand at him -- passing through the icy mist of his arm. (Severus was alternately solid and un-solid. It was a curiosity they still could not comprehend.) She snorted, sniffed gleefully. "Overwhelming need of a trim, my foot."

"You," said Severus, "are in overwhelming need of food. You are only ever this difficult when you are hungry."

"Oh, must I be subjected to lunch," Hermione complained. "You never have to eat -- why should I?"

Instantly she knew that was the wrong thing to say; instantly she dreaded, as she had for the past -- what was it? -- seven years, the automatic stiffening of his shoulders, and the baleful glare, and his monstrously arrogant and commanding speech about not joking about such things, about how her life was very important and how she couldn't afford to stop living, and that if she was going to go ahead and start spouting such nonsense then he might as well leave straight away and stop being such an obviously Bad Influence.

To her great surprise, this time he just sighed.

"Because you were made to eat," he said, as if grudgingly explaining himself to one of his students."I, on the other hand," and he straightened suddenly, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, "am a far superior species, and don't have to."

Hermione stared at him.

He's not angry, she thought, chest slowly filling with delight. He's not going to threaten me to leave. He's not going to lecture me. He's going to look over my mistake, and he's not going to think the worst of me for it.

"Oh you -- you," she said, so incredibly happy she was ready to burst, grinning madly. She held out her hand, gloved as it always was when with him, and test-prodded his arm. It was solid.

"Come on, you," she said happily, and slid her hand into his. He smirked, as his way of smiling at her. "Let's go home."

And together they went. The fog closed behind them in a billowing swirl, grey and pulverised; it swept into the street behind them, between buildings of the city, and on up and up until it nearly touched the sky. Lost in this, and yet wonderfully found, they navigated the pavement. And went to their flat. Out went the door, rocking back and forth on its hinge; out went time, and the years. And then one day, much, much later, Hermione woke up from a nap and realised she wasn't breathing anymore.

Severus stood in front of her, but he was no longer silver.

"It's time to go home," he said.

He took her hand, and she took his. Together they went, to the grey world from whence he'd come, off on a boat, with strange papers. Together they stood in line. And when it came time for them to be processed, they came forth together, and when that was finished, they went off together, until finally they were in a room all by themselves.

Hermione leaned forward, and gave him a kiss.

THE END.

To everyone that read and has or will review this story, allow me to extend to you my deepest thanks. I have not always been the most responsive author -- certainly, my absent-mindedness, along with other factors, prevented me from answering a lot of your questions and comments personally (some of them quite wonderful indeed). For that I apologise.

I would like to rethank Ripper for her most inspiring challenge. I don't think I've ever been this passionate for a story before. And of course, I am always eternally in debt to J.. Without her, none of us would be here -- and that, I must say, would be a terrible thing.

I plan on editing this, as some parts were written in a rush, and others are just riddled with errors. (If there's anything you personally didn't like about it, please say so.) Should anyone be interested seeing the clean version, please let me know. I can also be emailed (). I plan on continuing my two other stories.

(And Seph -- I apologise profusely for the semicolons, but in this case, I just couldn't help myself. I promise I didn't use them to spite you. ;-) )