The Curtain Falls
By Bambu

All standard disclaimers apply. The source work is not mine, I'm simply playing with a scene.

Please note that the first chapter of this story was written before the last canon book was published, and I’m merely completing the story’s arc.

As always, my thanks go to SnarkyWench. This time, for a lightning fast beta.

~o0o~

He swept into the room like the drama queen she’d always thought him. But in these surroundings, his entrance wasn’t out of place. How clever of him to have hidden in such a way, she thought.

He removed his satin-lined cloak with a flourish. If she hadn’t cast the DNA Spell on his dressing room’s hairbrush, she would never have known it was actually he.

The dark hair was the same and the hooked nose was the same. The voice, which dripped disdain when his snapping black eyes rested on her presence, had the same enviable flexibility, and his words illustrated that his mind was as incisive as ever. “Miss Granger, I never expected to find you haunting the manager’s office of a Kansas City operatic production.”

“Yes … well … I’ll just be going,” the manager stuttered, indicating he was a seasoned production hand by slipping quietly through the door. His departure left former professor and disliked student to speak for the first time in a decade.

Snape, or Sebastian Simon as the theatre marquee professed, looked down his nose at her and curled his lip. “Have you grown so over-confident you think you won’t need reinforcements?”

A man’s voice shouted through the door, “Seb! Hey, Seb, are you going to be long? We have to strike the sets, and you need to get your stuff off the stage.” The soft drawl continued, but innuendo twined through his words. “If you don’t get out here, the Prop Mistress will be more than happy to hold your jewels for you.”

Hermione stifled a laugh at the crudity of the comment, thoroughly enjoying the flush which stained Snape’s cheeks, even visible under the theatrical make-up he wore, but she remained seated.

The jokester retreated, laughing uproariously.

“Do you actually let them call you ‘Seb’?” Hermione mocked.

“They’re Americans. Everything has a nickname.” He practically shuddered.

Hermione wondered briefly what other embarrassments he’d suffered as an exile besides the obvious indignity of becoming an itinerant singer of some note in the United States’ Midwest. Then she fingered her wands; there was no telling when the pleasantries would cease and she’d be forced to use more drastic measures. She’d tracked him for months. Initially skeptical -- he was tanned and fitter than she’d remembered -- she’d followed his peripatetic ‘tour’ in order to acquire tangible confirmation of his identity. He’d been extremely careful, never leaving a single hair or nail paring for her to find. Every hotel or motel room he inhabited had been warded beyond her capabilities. As a level six curse-breaker for the new Department of Mysteries, it was a feat she found professionally irritating, even as she'd acknowledged his brilliance.

Today, however, Hermione's hypothesis had borne fruit. She’d watched Simon berate the waitress in the hotel’s coffee shop for spilling his coffee into his breakfast. From the moment he’d called the blonde a dunderhead, Hermione had been certain of his identity.

Shortly thereafter, Hermione had risked casting a spell on the tire of his car when he’d driven away from the hotel. He’d been late to the theatre, and rushed getting ready for curtain call. For the first time in the six months, he hadn’t Scourgified his hairbrush before taking the stage.

It had taken three glamour-removing Charms before she could cast the DNA Spell on the baby-fine strands of black hair he’d left behind. It was no wonder he’d disappeared so effectively before the end of the war. In fact, no one had seen him or Draco Malfoy after the night they’d fled Hogwarts until she’d stumbled across Sebastian Simon’s path.

Interrupting her reverie, Snape, for indeed this was Severus Snape, took a single intimidating step in her direction. “Enough of the pleasantries, Granger. How did you find me? I won’t ask what you want because it’s obvious. You will either kill me or arrest me. I can assure you that you won’t be successful in either endeavor.”

She held up her hands at that, bent at the wrists so he could see the dual wands sticking from the sleeves of her dress. They were held neatly in place with quick-draw arm sheaths. By revealing her armament – each knew full well there was more -- Hermione showed her willingness to ‘treat’ with the enemy.

“I’m only here for one reason, Snape. Well, two, actually. Where’s Malfoy? He’s next on my list.”

Snape seemed to swell with rage, and, in an instant, his wand was pointed between her eyes.

Ah! This man she recognized. His lips had thinned to a gash in his face.

“Don’t be stupid, Snape… or may I call you Seb?” Silently, Hermione cast another Impervius Charm upon herself. He’d always been volatile, and she was, admittedly, provoking him. With her next words, her tone was colored for the first time by the bitter betrayal of his departure. “I promise not to call you coward.”

A hex trail of red shot from his wand only to flare violently at the edge of her shielding spells and then instantly dissipating into sparks.

“I’M NOT A COWARD!”

Hermione flipped her wand into her hand and cast a non-verbal spell. He parried easily.

“If you think Incarcerous sufficient then you’ve risen to the heights I foresaw for the silly little girl you were.” His sneer was blatant.

“I’m no longer a little girl, Seb.” She grinned like a predator when he couldn’t seem to Apparate from the room, and effortlessly blocked his next wordless hex. “I’m all grown up, now.”

Giving verisimilitude to her statement, Hermione rose from her chair and his eyes widened before he narrowed them. She was dressed in black, and her hair was held captive in an intricate coiffure of braids, woven with a charmed rope of black silk. It should have been ridiculous, but instead was extremely elegant. Her dress was high-necked, long-sleeved, and form-fitting to her hips, at which point it flared enough for comfort and into a straight skirt, slit at both sides, giving her some freedom of movement.

In rapid succession, five more hex ricochets filled the room with smoky magical residue, and Hermione waved her dominant hand to clear the air while holding her secondary wand on Snape. “Oh, please. We’re both adults. You know I’m not here to kill you.”

He ignored her and pointed his wand at the door. She knew he’d be through her containment spells in fairly quick order, so she’d have to make it fast.

“I’m here to deliver a letter from the new Minister of Magic.”

His hand arrested mid-motion and his head swung in her direction. His eyes met hers for the third time. “Who?” was all he asked.

It was her turn to sneer. “If you have to ask, then your intelligence has been vastly overrated, Professor.”

“Potter,” he growled.

“In one,” she replied. When he doubled his efforts to escape, her temper, mercurial at best, exploded. “Give off, Snape!”

Decisively, Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age, executed a complicated double enchantment, both wands pointing, jabbing, and flicking. Before he could take a second breath, Severus Snape was levitated into the air and lying flat on his back, both arms firmly affixed to his sides. His eyes glared at her and his expression was one of sheer fury.

She laughed harshly. His might not have been a face she’d seen recently, but the expression she remembered distinctly. She’d seen it her third year at school. He looked as deranged now as he had then, when she’d helped Sirius Black escape. “Living in exile has obviously dimmed your intelligence. If I’d wanted to kill you, you’d have been dead four months ago when I decided Sebastian Simon was really you.” Of course, his expression couldn’t change, but she saw comprehension dawn in his eyes. “Yes, I’ve been tracking you for some time. I quite liked Carmen, but I hated Figaro. You really have a more dominant presence than that idiot director gave you credit. I considered taking the Props Mistress position this time round, but decided against it. She really does have a thing for you, doesn’t she?”

Hermione’s smile was almost malicious, but there was something else in it she couldn’t mask. Interest. She found him intriguing, but didn’t want to admit it.

She’d only come to deliver his pardon from the Ministry, but she knew that in all likelihood this would be the last time she’d ever see Snape and she wanted to make it count.

It had never been anything as straightforward as a schoolgirl crush, but she’d wanted his approval for years, especially once she’d learned he was Dumbledore’s spy and had saved Harry’s life, and hers, on more than one occasion. She’d been devastated by his betrayal, and her innocent part in helping him succeed. Having seen him leave his office that night at Hogwarts, Hermione had known something was wrong, but had trusted him to save Harry. The results had been something no one, except perhaps Narcissa Malfoy, had expected.

Years had passed, and Voldemort had been dead before Hermione realized Snape had saved Harry that night. In the wee small hours before dawn, one morning, while crying in her cups over the friends who’d paid for her freedom with their lives, Hermione had been sobered by an epiphany. Snape hadn’t killed Harry or brought him to the Dark Lord when given the perfect opportunity. She had ignored the thought for weeks, assuming she’d been too drunk to think rationally, but the subversive thought had persisted. Finally, the truth had squirmed its way through her defenses. Leaving Harry alive hadn’t made sense if Snape had been truly loyal to Voldemort. Added to that fact were Snape’s and Draco’s disappearances and Hermione had been given a lot to consider.

It had taken another year before Hermione had convinced Harry to talk about Snape rationally. Ron had refused to have the conversation at all. Then, once Harry had been in office, he’d discovered additional evidence proving Snape’s relative innocence. The former Minister for Magic had known of Dumbledore’s plan, of the Unbreakable Vow Snape had taken. Initially, Rufus Scrimgeour had granted Snape clemency for following the directives of his superior, but after Albus’ death, the Minister had found it expedient to deny Snape, and Draco, by extension, the leniency he’d promised. Scrimgeour had found it much easier to rally the wizarding world with two well-known Death Eaters splashed across the front pages of every wizarding publication.

The Minister died at the end of the war, and a weary but exultant population had voted the twenty-five year old Chosen One into office. Many expected him to be a titular figurehead, but Harry Potter had been more than irritated by the high-handedness demonstrated by the Ministry since he had been a boy. His tenure in office had begun with a fresh broom. The resulting clean sweep had been thorough, starting with the dismissal and incarceration of Dolores Umbridge, who’d remained a Ministry factotum throughout the war.

When Harry had finally accepted Snape’s and Malfoy’s circumstances, he’d sent Hermione, as his emissary, to deliver their pardons. That had been a year ago. It had taken her months to pick up Snape’s trail, and she suspected he led a semi-public life to further cover Draco’s escape. Snape was still protecting his charge after all these years.

In any event, Hermione shook her elegant head, her plain brown eyes meeting Snape’s. “I’m here for a very simple reason, and I knew you’d be inclined to hex first, run second, and never ask questions. I have two letters each for you and Draco Malfoy. The first is the clemency you were granted while Rufus Scrimgeour was still in office, and which should have been yours as soon as Albus Dumbledore was dead.”

Her expression didn’t flicker when she said that last -- there were too many years and too many deaths between the shock of Dumbledore’s and now -- but Snape’s eyes became opaque and unreadable.

“I will finish my task and then you’re free to go. You’ll never have to see me again.” Without conscious thought, Hermione brushed a strand of black hair, which had fallen across Snape’s face when she’d immobilized him, out of his eyes. It was a gentle gesture, and marked the first time Hermione had ever touched him. Her smile was bittersweet.

From a cleverly disguised pocket in the front panel of her dress Hermione withdrew four envelopes, all clearly sealed by the Minister’s personal Seal of Office.

She placed the first two envelopes upon Snape’s tuxedo-clad chest. “These are yours. I must deliver the others to Malfoy in person. The second letter is an official Pardon from the new Minister for Magic, in case there are any difficulties reinstating your rights and licenses.” She met his eyes again, and said very softly, “You need not continue to play a part, Severus. The curtain has fallen upon Voldemort's final act.”

She stepped away from his body, all business once again, deftly removing the anti-Apparition wards from the room. “There is a small magical community in Tulsa, Oklahoma, where you will find Owl post. Malfoy can set up a meeting with me, and I’ll deliver his letters.”

After another couple of moments, Hermione had dismantled the security spells she’d raised. The only active spells remaining were those holding her prisoner captive. She looked at his rigid body, the years had been good to him, but then she’d been watching him perform three to six times a month, and knew how well he’d adjusted to a Muggle life.

“I had always wished to learn from you, Professor. One of my regrets is that you weren’t able to like me enough to teach me.”

Swiftly, before she could give it the second thought, Hermione bent over Severus Snape’s body and brushed her lips against his inflexible mouth. Then, with a CRACK and a THUD she was gone and Sebastian Simon had fallen to the hard wooden floor.

~o0o~