Dearest,

I have gone to Bangor to see a man about a bug (don't ask). If that infernal cat sleeps on my best robes again I will not be held responsible for my actions.

S

P.S. We need milk. The feline abomination drank it all.

Hermione stared at the note she had picked up from the floor. The only place it could have come from was her desk, but it certainly wasn't meant for her.

'Dearest', indeed. Hermione would give rather a lot of money to find out who Severus Snape addressed by terms of endearment. The handwriting was unmistakable; few people wrote as if they hoped to impale the page with their consonants.

Snape's office was next to hers. Without making a conscious decision she drifted across the hall, still clutching the note.

The room was empty, so she could look at his disgusting specimen jars to her heart's content. It was obvious why he had brought them from Hogwarts; Minerva would have Vanished the abominations as soon as he had stepped through the Floo to the Ministry.

Severus was as bad at letting go of material things that had outgrown their usefulness (if they ever possessed any) as he was at letting the past stay in the past.

Or maybe that was unfair. He didn't exactly tell her stories from his love-life over a quiet pint (Hermione's move from the MLE to the Department of Mysteries had drastically cut her sources of gossip; nowadays she had to rely on Harry and Ron to keep her up to date), but evidently Snape had acquired an actual relationship at some point.

Hermione tried to imagine the object of his affections and failed. She refused to believe he would fall for a carbon copy of Lily Evans, but as Severus persistently deployed the same surly attitude towards anyone – male or female, fair or dark, young or old – she had no clues to work with.

At least there was hope for her. Hermione may be single at thirty-five, but if Severus Snape had reached a level of domestic felicity where he could complain about cat hair and buying milk, she would surely be able to find a wizard who could live with her book habit.

It just seemed impossible: Severus, of all people, having a secret girlfriend (or boyfriend).

Hermione burst at laughing at the thought of his face if she ever dared to use either word, just as he walked through the door. Or stalked; old habits never died.

“I'm glad to see my interdepartmental memos afford you such amusement.”

“One has to take one's amusement where one can find it around here.” Hermione congratulated herself on cobbling together a somewhat coherent response, before remembering what had brought her there. “I think this ended up in my office by mistake.”

“Hm.” Severus was more interested in the contents of his in-tray. She left the note on the other side of his desk and fled while the opportunity presented itself.

Too late.

“Granger!” he bellowed. “Where the fuck is that sodding memo on printing fees? We're five Galleons over budget!”

That stopped Hermione in her tracks. After more than a century of immersion into the mysteries of magic nothing much excited Perpetua Cartwright, the Department Head.

Other than budget overruns, that is.

“I'll get it!” she hollered back, speculation about what Snape got up to after hours temporarily suspended.

---

The next one wasn't as easily ignored.

I write this with great sadness. We are sealing the gates. We must, because They are getting so close They can be seen in daylight now, but you are still out there and I cannot bear the thought of you facing them alone. Do not return to London. Head to Hogwarts; I will slip out before the gates are sealed.

As long as I still have a spark of magic left, as long as my legs can still walk I promise I will meet you there. Be careful, my darling, and do not fear the dark.

I love you. Always.

Severus

Hermione dropped her spoon into her bowl of cornflakes, mouth hanging open.

It was the same, familiar handwriting, but this time if was written on a torn page from a Muggle notebook, desperation etched into every loop. Who were 'They'? She grabbed her wand in a firm hold, edging her back towards the wall while preparing to activate her Ministry-issued emergency Portkey, but she still couldn't resist the temptation to let her finger caress that last paragraph.

She stumbled out on the other side, temporarily blinded by the bright sunlight. Good – They didn't seem to like sunlight. Or was that zombies?

“Granger.” Severus gingerly set aside something that must be a spade, however unlikely it seemed in his hands, and shook his sleeve to reveal the edge of his wand. “Please don't tell me the Dark Lord has been resurrected a third time.”

“You tell me! Who the fuck are 'They'?” She thrust the letter into his hands. While she was scanning the surrounding back gardens for nefarious activity Severus read, his eyebrows travelled hitherto undiscovered heights.

“You will need to ask your correspondent.”

“I am!” Hermione's breathing had calmed somewhat when she established there was no immediate danger, but she was still on high alert. A cat in the neighbouring garden had almost made her open fire.

“While a superficial similarity to my handwriting may indeed suggest I am the writer of this missive, I can assure you that is not the case.”

Hermione forgot 'Them' in momentary exasperation. “It's your handwriting, signed with your name – have you ever met another Severus? Clearly, the letter has gone to the wrong recipient, but it seems fairly clear to me who wrote it!”

“Clearly. It's equally clear to me that I did not write this.”

The look Hermione gave him must have conveyed that this fell somewhat short of what was required, as he relented sufficiently to add:

“I give you my word.”

Hermione may not even have known that he had a partner, nor many other things Severus considered private (his definition of 'privacy' being rather more generous than most people's), but she knew he would not lie about that unless Voldemort truly had risen from the grave again.

She relaxed her stance somewhat and started to use her brains instead of her reflexes. “Then who did?”

“That, I cannot presume to tell you.” It wasn't quite a 'no'; one had to pay attention to those things around Severus.

“But you have an idea?”

“I would assume it is intended to be a joke.” His funereal tones made clear he would not agree with the definition. ”I imagine your friends may be able to clarify the matter if appealed to.”

Hermione sighed; not this, again.

”My 'friends' are in their thirties and are busy raising their kids and trying to stay on top of the housework while not falling asleep in work meetings. They are no longer the juvenile delinquents you imagine them to be, if they ever were. We grew up during a war, just like you did – do you really think any of us would find that sort of message funny?”

She didn't bother looking at him again. She tucked the letter into her pocket before Apparating back home– it was worth saving, if only to see what Severus' handwriting looked like spelling out the word 'love'.

Spinning through the ether, she realised it must be an old letter, written to Lily – perhaps part of a game, even, or from before the Mudblood incident. Maybe Severus' partner had found it and thought it would be funny to send to Hermione.

Equally likely, maybe the universe had decided Hermione's life wasn't sufficiently crappy as it was, and decided to mess with her some more.

Either way, she was damned if she was going to spend more time thinking about it if Snape wasn't concerned; she had enough to worry about.

---

Miss Granger,

Can you bring your grimoire this afternoon? Mine is temporarily indisposed.

Severus

This was definitely a normal letter from Severus. She had greeted missives from him with misgivings lately (two weeks later, she was still looking over her shoulder for Them), but today she could hunt down her Book of Honorius with satisfaction.

It lasted for about two hours, until Severus Snape denied all knowledge about the letter, pointing to the battered book on the shelf behind him. “Since when do I call you 'Miss Granger'?”

“Whenever you make a particular effort to irritate me – so that would be every three days or so.”
Hermione almost didn't have it in her to be annoyed anymore. An idea struck her.

“Are you feeling well?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” Of course Mr No Personal Questions couldn't answer a simple 'yes' or 'no'.

“I was wondering if you might be ill. Maybe you don't remember writing the letter.”

The ensuing sulk was of momentous proportions; Severus was never at his best when his abilities were questioned, especially not when the after-effects of the war could be the cause.

Hermione put up with it up to a point – Merlin knew Severus wasn't the type to acknowledge his feelings unless they jumped up and hit him in the face, and she couldn't deny that she felt privileged to be allowed to see past his buttoned-up exterior. That said, she drew the line at wandless magic dimming the lights in the room until she barely could see to read.

“Snape, if you could start acting like an adult right about now I'd be grateful. I was concerned about you, that's all.”

No response, but then she hadn't been expecting any.

“Suit yourself. I'll be in my office.”

Another note was waiting for her there:

Hermione,

Can you bring Potter over tonight? I have discovered something he should read, no matter how much it pains me to voluntarily surround myself with dunderheads. My only consolation is that you also will be present (or I may strangle him by accident). Do not worry, I will not disquiet Potter with a show of affection; it will be enough to know you are under the same roof.

S

Severus barely ever addressed her as Hermione, she realised in a daze; it was mostly 'Granger'. No doubt he would claim this missive was from another 'S', with exactly the same handwriting.

She sighed. He was obviously playing silly buggers, in a transparent attempt to get his own back.

Well, two could play that game.

One flick of her wand and the note went on fire; the flames reached the corner with her name last. Hermione retaliated for the nonsensical pang she felt by grinding the ashes into the carpets with her heel.

---

To her shame, Hermione used a cleaning charm on the carpet before going home that night.

It would have been nice to be devil-may-care just for once, but every time she looked at the floor she winced slightly.

There was no use pretending: Hermione Granger was the sort of person who could not bear the thought of giving the cleaners extra work, and she was most decidedly never destined to be recipient of something that could only be described as a love letter from Severus Snape (of course, he would find a way to insult Harry even in a fake letter).

She Apparated home and went straight to bed. There didn't seem to be much point to anything, so what would she stay awake for?

---

Dear Hermione,

You may regard this letter as my one and only attempt at emulating the Gryffindor spirit. As such, I beseech you to return the letter and never speak about it again should it fail to achieve the desired outcome.

I have sufficient faith in your generosity of spirit not to fail me in this.

Having dispensed with the preliminaries, it only remains for me to –

The familiar spiky writing got more and more drawn out, as if the author wasn't quite ready to get down to business. The same thing could not be said about Hermione – she had not drawn a breath since the first sentence, and belatedly realised this might explain part of her lightheadedness.

– to beg you not to move to the other side of the world. I just realised I would miss you terribly. As you may realise, this knowledge shook me deeply. The shock was sufficient to dislodge several deeply held beliefs, such as my disinterest in pursuing a romantic partner. It turns out it only applies to people other than you.

Faced with the undeniable reality of no longer being even within Floo distance, my natural inclination to refrain from ever acknowledging this in words has crumbled. I would even consider moving to the United States of America to pursue a closer relationship with you, a concession that ought to convince you how deadly in earnest I am.

Please don't leave me behind: I don't think I can bear the prospect of a country full of dunderheads without your company. However unlikely it may seem, I love you to distraction and would happily spend the rest of my life proving it to you.

Should you be able to reconcile yourself to the prospect, please put me out of my misery as soon as possible.

Yours, as always
Severus

Such a letter! For being a miserable bastard he certainly could write well; Hermione almost had to fan herself. Somewhere in this world, there were women who received love letters like this from their chosen objects of affection as if it were a matter of course. Not Hermione, of course; she had Severus Snape, who would do anything to prove he could be the pettiest person on the planet.

If anyone could write a sarcastic love letter, that would be him.

Well, fuck him and the horse he rode in on; she was done with this. Any future letters would be Incendio'd on sight.