One evening

The Great Hall at Hogwarts Castle is always especially beautiful on this day. Flags in the colours of all the Houses line the walls, and golden tablecloths cover the tables, laden with food to suit all tastes. As she passes through the great doors, many eyes turn to her. It's as if she's another decoration of the event, the cherry on the cake of the victory celebration. The red dress that sets off her hair. It's like a sign of devotion to the faculty and to her husband, who wears the same shades on the lapels of his jacket. A quick kiss on the cheek and a soft "I'll be right back". A smile and a warm, "Of course, dear." With a brisk step, she climbs the stairs, stopping herself from running. After all, her status must be up to par. Still, she almost sprints into the classroom, lit only by the faint light of day, looks around, long seconds, and finally a familiar voice, "Good evening, Hermione."

***

Hermione turns to look into the dark corner of the unlit office and sees him. He looks exactly the same as he did nine years ago: a black robe, a jacket that is always buttoned up, wrinkles around his eyes, and his hair hanging down in greasy curls, covering his face. "Hello, Severus," she says, unable to hold back a happy smile. She really wants to touch him, to brush his cheek, to tuck a strand of his hair in, she almost reaches for him, but at the last moment she clenches her hand in a fist and puts it down, knowing it would ruin everything. "I missed you" Any outside observer would say he didn't react at all, but Hermione sees his eyes open a little, the way his wrinkles smooth out, the way his lips purse, and she knows he's missed her too. "How are you?" Hermione asks, then laughs nervously. It sounds awkward. Severus tilts his head slightly and shrugs indefinitely. Just like a year ago. Just like the year before. His life in general is insidiously monotonous. "And you have news, I hear," he asks. It's more interesting to talk about her anyway, there's always something going on. Hermione looks at him in surprise, not understanding what he's talking about. "I happen to like spending time in Poppy's office..." "And she's a chatterbox," Hermione finishes a little angrily. "Three months pregnant... Poppy said it was a boy." "Congratulations," his voice sounds sincere, and yet Hermione bites her lip and averts her eyes in embarrassment. "Have you decided on a name yet?" "I like Hugo." "It's a beautiful name," Severus nods. "Heart, mind, soul," he translates from the old French, and Hermione's chest heats up. "How are things at the Ministry?" He changes the subject, and Hermione is grateful. She always feels uncomfortable when they discuss anything that has to do with her personal life. She can talk about work for so long because she's sure Severus is actually listening to her, and not just nodding occasionally. She talks passionately about her work with the international suppliers, about the extra work Kingsley is giving her. Severus hums meaningfully at this, but his suggestion that the Minister of Magic has his eye on her as his future successor is simply brushed aside by Hermione. They must have talked for hours, because suddenly the office is bathed in the rosy light of sunset, and Hermione goes to the window to watch once more from the walls of her home castle as the day fades into sleep. "I think we should go," Severus voices their shared thought. Hermione, unable to look at him, squeezes her eyes shut and sighs deeply. She hates this goodbye more than anything in her life and he knows it. It is as if the room has come to a standstill and the only sound that breaks the silence is the chirping of crickets in the distance of the evening. After a few minutes, she turns and a bitter smile appears on her face. The portrait's frame is empty again. Hermione runs her hand over the canvas, and the rough paint seems to bring her back to reality. She is not betraying her husband. She has a great career and wonderful friends. The problem is, she wouldn't hesitate to give it all up if only he were alive.