WARNING: Triggers for depression/anxiety

EWE, AU in that Snape lives, etc., etc. Set midway through the famed 8th year.

The Case of the Lonely Resort Guest

Prompt: calm

Hermione ambled through the dappled sunlight of the early morning, in awe of the quiet stillness all around her. The sounds of humming insects and rambling air conditioners were muted, somehow, lending a soft buzz to the background that reminded her uncomfortably of Muffliato. The air itself even seemed heavy and damp; the strands of light trickling through were visible and she wondered if she had ever truly walked through sunshine quite like this before. It was nothing at all like Britain.

Oh, what had she done? She was thousands of miles away from the only home she'd ever known, and she hadn't bothered to tell anyone she was even leaving. Now that she'd actually managed a good night's sleep, Hermione felt as though the cobwebs strung all around her brain with Permanent Sticking Charms were finally gone. And with the renewed clarity came a renewed sense of bloody fucking hell.

Spying a small stone bench set into a grove of trees, Hermione sank down gratefully. Her limbs felt a bit weak as she thought on what must be happening back home: full-scale pandemonium. She couldn't even explain her actions. Yesterday, she'd been sitting stiffly in McGonagall's NEWT Transfiguration class, dutifully taking notes as always. She'd wanted to make sure she paid the utmost attention in all her classes so that she could pass her NEWTs with flying colors and go get a job—well, somewhere. She hadn't really worked out just where yet. She'd considered—and discarded—the idea of joining the boys in the Aurory. She'd turned down a teaching job from Headmistress McGonagall herself. Remembering her interview with a Healer at St. Mungo's the next week, she'd checked her assignment book to see how many days were left in the school year.

That's when it had hit. Panic unlike any she'd ever experienced before—and that was saying quite a lot. Unable to focus, unable to calm down, unable to breathe, she'd leapt from her seat and run from the classroom like Inferi were pulling at her heels. She'd exited the castle, running all the way to Hogsmeade, and then Disapparating to London. Except she still hadn't felt the punishing grip around her heart lessen, so she'd Disapparated again, this time to France. Then she'd just kept going, and going, and going, until finally, she'd landed here. Goa, India. It was on a rugged beach, brought literally to her knees in the sand, that Hermione had finally felt the suffocating sensation ebb away.

One breath. Another. Another again. Within an hour, she felt almost normal, so she'd decided to stay. A full night's sleep, uninterrupted by nightmares and anxiety attacks, and she did feel like her old self again. And only now did she have the clarity to realize that things had been bad for a very, very long time. Hermione acknowledged that maybe she should have talked to someone about her feelings. About the way she felt trapped, isolated, overwhelmed. Angry. Hopeless.

But post-war Wizarding society had demanded still more from its heroes and heroines: interviews, appearances, reassurances. Normalcy. She wondered idly if anyone had bothered to look beyond the plastered-on smile and phony upbeat attitude to see that she had been screaming HELP ME! Evidently Hermione Granger was a much better actress than she'd ever have given herself credit for.

Besides, who would she have talked to? Harry and Ron, she knew, just wanted to move on with their lives. Were even—traitorously, to her mind—happy. She could hardly admit to them that the number of days where she wished she'd made different life choices was beginning to outnumber the days where she felt content. And who, of her very limited number of girlfriends, would be able to understand? No, she'd been on her own in her grief and terror, and her highly practical brain had only chastised her silly emotions for getting out of control. You made these choices. You did this to yourself.

The worst was You don't deserve to be happy.

All of which had led to her most spectacular break-down, her frenzied dash from the castle, and her ungraceful arrival in a world so far removed from the familiar that she felt almost as if she were in a dream. It was a lovely dream, too: the carefully landscaped beauty of her hotel was so utterly soothing that she never wanted to rise from this particular bench. Unfortunately, she probably did need to let someone know that she was alright, and she felt too exposed to risk casting a Patronus here. She rose reluctantly and made her way to the side of the building, peeking around the corner to see if there were any employees going about their business. Satisfied that no one was nearby, she fired off her otter to Professor McGonagall. She trusted the Headmistress not to disclose her whereabouts.

As the gallivanting creature rushed away, however, a man stepped around the corner of the building, and her Patronus nimbly swerved over his head. Her gasp pulled his attention from the direction her otter had gone—but surely he couldn't have seen it. She was just being paranoid again. He looked as though he were out for an early-morning stroll, same as she was. The man's eyes sought out her own, and Hermione felt the jolt all the way down to her toes.

"Excuse me," she mumbled as she walked briskly past him. He nodded once in response and she practically raced to the end of the building, glancing back briefly as she turned the corner. He was still staring thoughtfully at her—but, no, he was looking just over her head.

Where her otter had been moments before.

The next morning, Hermione transfigured her robe into a swimsuit and decided to spend the day lounging at the pool. She'd never done anything so luxurious in her life, but for whatever reason this place calmed her, and right now she needed as much calm as she could get. Besides, in her desperate flight away from her life, she hadn't even stopped to grab a book. It was most unlike her.

She was still grinning at this uncharacteristic turn of events when she stepped onto the pool patio—and nearly plowed into the same man from yesterday.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" she cried, righting herself and reaching out a hand to steady him as well. At the look in his eyes, though, her hand froze and then fell away of its own volition.

"Do watch where you are going, Miss—" He stopped to cough, then stepped around her and continued on his way. Hermione remained rooted to the spot: that had sounded an awfully lot like... No, it couldn't be. That man was dead and this man didn't even look like him. She was just reacting to his formal manner of speech, that was all.

She was still unnerved while she arranged her chaise lounge, but several hours later, the bright sun and exotic air had worked their healing magic on her psyche once more.

The day after that, he was so bold as to seat himself beside her at the pool. But Hermione—the newer, refreshed Hermione—simply smiled at him and returned her attention to the thoughts meandering through her brain. It was possibly the first time in her life that she wasn't busy planning or trying to get ahead. She was just being. And it was exactly what she had unknowingly needed. The poisonous tension that had coiled itself around every good thought and feeling was receding, finally.

Before she knew it, Hermione had been in India for eight days. It felt like a lifetime, but she didn't regret it. (Although perhaps she regretted the way she'd run from Hogwarts, screaming like a banshee.) The humidity brought out the frizz to her hair, but instead of letting it add stress to her daily routine, she simply took a little extra time to pin it back as best she could, and then forgot about it. Her skin was developing a healthy glow, although she'd learned after the first painful day to stick to the shade when possible. But she was exercising daily, eating a healthier diet, and taking time—lots of time—to relax and meditate. In all honesty, she'd never felt better in her life.

She refused to consider the question of when she'd return, deciding she would know it when it presented itself. She was too afraid to take a good hard look and acknowledge that she might never want to go back.

Luckily, the mystery man from her first day at the resort proved to be a worthy distraction. She often found him in her same vicinity, and her ever-present curiosity wondered if perhaps it was not a coincidence. They exchanged the occasional cordial greeting, though it was no more or less than Hermione did with any number of other resort guests and staff members.

Today, she watched from a shadowed corner of the pool while he meticulously arranged a thin towel on a chaise before settling himself down and digging out a thick tome. Hermione felt a pang of jealousy as he opened the book—perhaps she would ask him, casually, if he had one she might borrow. Unseen, she continued to observe him while he read. Though his physical features were unknown to her, it seemed that his mannerisms were highly familiar. She almost felt as though she were looking at someone she knew.

Shaking her head ruefully at her foolishness, Hermione paddled over to the stairs and exited the pool. She felt certain that the man's eyes flicked over to her swimsuit-clad form as she walked towards him, but just as quickly they were trained on the pages of his book again. Ignoring her pang of self-consciousness, Hermione dragged her chaise closer to his before sitting on the edge facing him.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you," she began, faltering momentarily when he raised his eyebrows at her. Feeling again as though she knew him, she forged on. "But you see, I dearly love to read and it seems I forgot to pack any books. Might you have one that I could...borrow...sometime?" she trailed off.

Midway through her request, he'd stood; now he towered over her as she questioned her brashness in asking a complete stranger for reading material. He stared down at her for a longer moment than Hermione felt was truly necessary—couldn't he just say no already and spare them both this awkwardness?

"I see some things never change," he murmured finally, one side of his mouth quirking ever so slightly. He held out the heavy book he'd been reading earlier. "Take this one. I find it no longer comforts me as it used to. Perhaps, for you..."

Hermione reached out to take the proffered book automatically, his words not quite registering in her head. He was giving her his book? But why? Glancing down, Hermione opened the front cover and gasped. Hogwarts, A History stared back at her—but that was impossible. That man was a wizard?

She looked up again to tell him she couldn't possibly take this book, to ask him who he was, but he had vanished from the pool area. The only sign of him was the slightly rumpled towel on the chair next to hers. Pausing only to slip on her sandals and grip the book more firmly, Hermione leapt up and raced for the nearest garden path, hoping to find him.

After an hour she had given up searching for her mystery man. She sat, his book in hand, amongst the lush landscaping at the back of the hotel property. At some point in her search, she'd had to admit to herself—her unknown stranger was, in fact, not unknown at all. She had noticed the signs herself but thought it was impossible: Severus Snape, here?

Unfortunately this revelation only raised even more questions. How had he escaped? Why had he come to India? Why was he hiding?

Hermione felt the all-too-familiar sense of frustration building again. She didn't know the answers to those questions, nor would she—unless she could find the man and ask. Flopping back on the grass, Hermione sighed. Good luck with that. Even if every fiber of her being was clamoring for answers, Hermione knew she would leave her newfound place of peace before she would disrupt his. It was the very least she could do for him, all things considered.

Besides, Harry—dear Harry—had insisted they all let Snape be. To find his peace. After the battle when they'd gone looking for his body, they'd found nothing but a rapidly cooling pool of blood and a few black buttons. Most had assumed the Death Eaters had come back to dispose of him. Several weeks later, however, a very weak Severus Snape had shown up at the door of St. Mungo's, a story that had kept the Prophet entertained for weeks. Since no information was forthcoming from the Healers themselves, the public was left to their own imaginations. Rumors abounded, conspiracy plots spread unfettered, and to top it all off, the Wizengamot in their infinite wisdom had decided it was the perfect time to jump into the poor man's trial.

Harry and the other Order members had managed to squash that fairly quickly, but still, the damage had been done. Word got out that the infamous patient had disappeared, and speculation ran wild once again. Eventually, with no news or sightings, Severus Snape's name had faded from the pages of the Prophet; Harry had publicly encouraged the Wizarding world to let the man alone for once in his life.

And that had been that. Hermione had only hoped that he'd at least been healthy enough to prosper wherever he'd gone off to. Not everyone felt the same, however. She still remembered overhearing a group of witches and wizards in the Leaky suggesting that he'd run off to kill himself in private.

The memory made her shudder, despite the hot, humid weight of the midday air here. Hermione closed her eyes and tried to shove the visions of the past back into the little box in her mind that she'd created to help her cope with her stress. Even if she could no longer stay here, she realized she was absolutely not prepared to return to England. Not yet.

A shadow passed over her eyes, blocking the sun from her face. Hermione cracked an eye open and saw, to her utter surprise, the very man she'd been thinking of towering over her. She swallowed, uncertain how to proceed.

"I believe you were searching for me?" he asked. The complete surrender and resignation in his tone made up her mind for her. She would not indicate that she knew his secret, nor would she intrude on the solitude he had found here. This place had healed a part of her she hadn't known was broken until she arrived; she would not be the impetus for any further discomfort on his part.

"Er, yes," she stammered as she squinted up at him. "I simply wanted to tell you—thank you, for the book. I value it—in more ways than you might imagine."

He nodded jerkily but otherwise made no response. Hermione began to feel uncomfortable at the disparity in their heights and started to sit up. One pale, long-fingered hand appeared in her vision, and Hermione grasped it without a second thought. The next instant he was hauling her up, and she nearly gasped at his strength. She was so distracted, in fact, that she failed to get her feet under her once she was upright, and so it was that she found herself pressed chest-to-chest with him. He steadied her with an arm about her waist, and try as she might, Hermione couldn't find the will to step away. They gazed at one another for a long moment, perhaps the most open with each other they'd ever been.

"Hello," he murmured eventually, the barest hint of a smile playing about his lips.

"Hello," Hermione answered, sounding far more breathless than she'd like. "Would you care to have supper with me?" Once the invitation had tumbled out, she couldn't regret the impulse. Her impulses had brought her here, after all, and look how right they'd turned out to be so far.

He considered her for just a heartbeat of a moment, then answered simply, "Yes."

Something inside her shifted, and Hermione finally felt her equilibrium restored.

A/N: I've been sitting on this one-shot for a while, mostly because I wasn't quite sure how to end it. But then I decided I'd end it with a new beginning, and you can take it from there. :) I'm trying to clear out my mostly-completed WIPs folder and this was first up!

This entire ficlet was inspired by a single photograph of the Grand Hyatt and Shamana Spa in Goa, India. If you google-image search for it, it's the one of the sunlight filtering through the air over a lushly-lined garden path. It is now on my wish-list of travel destinations! [Side note: If you want to see more of the photos that inspired this piece, check out my facebook page - Kci Fortyseven !]