Severus sighed as he saw the regular customer approaching his apothecary. Of course she'd come here today when his emotions were already … raw. Just as they'd been the previous two years on this date. He may be away from Britain, but he knew what today was.

He mourned.

And he remembered.

The anniversary of the date he got a new lease on life.

Three years ago he'd looked at it quite differently.

He'd looked at it as if he'd been deprived of the death he'd wanted.

Nay deserved.

He'd worked for nearly twenty years to that end. He'd known when he changed sides that he was signing his death warrant.

He'd been shocked he made it out of the first wizarding war alive. Scarred, bitter, and more alone than he had ever been. Voldemort was dead but there had been so much loss. Lily was still dead. He was still stuck working at Hogwarts because for some bizarre reason Dumbledore believed the Dark Lord wasn't gone for good.

Horcruxes.

Severus scoffed aloud with a shake of his head as he thought of them. He wasn't sure if Dumbledore knew for certain of them back in 1981 or not. Severus had had three years to think on that. If the old man had known but done nothing to find them for nearly fifteen years Severus' respect for the wizard would plummet. It was pretty low already after he'd ordered Severus to kill him.

Ginevra Weasley could have died as the result of one of those horcruxes! A student! An innocent. Dumbledore would still be alive if he hadn't put that cursed ring on, but he was a grown man who'd chosen (stupidly) to put that ring on. Ginevra Weasley had not chosen to take that diary nor could she have willingly done so at age eleven.

So many things to think about. So many things to have … feelings about.

So here this witch was on the last day he wanted to worry about burying things. He tried to occlude like crazy when he saw the witch enter his apothecary. 

He had to.

He was not afraid of her knowing his thoughts. As far as he knew she'd never tried to do that and it was laughable to think she'd be able to. Why would she? She didn't know who he was. No one here did. He'd covered his tracks quite well, and hadn't settled here until a year ago. The second wizarding war and defeat of Voldemort wasn't forgotten, of course, but it certainly wasn't reported about as rabidly as it had been.

The two years before that? The two years after the war. He'd traveled extensively. He went wherever and stayed however long he wanted. He'd seen sights that he and Geta had seen on TV or in magazines and books as children and dreamt of visiting. He hadn't really meant to stay here when he'd arrived over a year ago.

So, no. It wasn't this witch he feared.

He was afraid of another witch knowing his thoughts.

The first time this particular witch had entered his store and … flirted with him. His soul mark had not liked that at all. He wasn't sure what he'd been feeling that made her aware of anything unusual happening. He had never in his life had a female flirt with him (not legitimately anyway, sure some had for various reasons of wanting things from him), so he'd been too stunned at first to realize what she was doing. He must have reacted in some way, though, that his witch knew there was a threat .

As if.

This witch was … not to Severus' tastes at all. She was more Lucius' type. Glamorous, rich. Seemingly anyway. High maintenance as muggles said. If this witch truly knew him she'd realize she had no chance. He did not crave box seats at the theatre or dinner at the Ministθre.

Not that he wouldn't do those things if required of him by his witch, but he did not want them. They were not prerequisites nor were they particular interests to him. The more he observed Hermione over the years the more he realized that she was not high maintenance.

He was just here going about his business and life.

Quietly.

Settling in as he made peace with his past and the actions (his own and otherwise) that led to him being here, hoping a witch across the Atlantic Ocean didn't get angry with him. Over things he had no control over!

It was four or five months ago she'd first discovered his store. She was not overly subtle in her intentions. Her visits increased in number. He was not receptive to her overtures. She seemed to take that as a challenge. She did not know that he was not here to find a witch. Her presence seemed to affect him in such a manner that the soul mark reacted every time she patroned his store.

So occluding it was.

He already felt … guilt at just leaving her as he had. Despite her claiming she understood he knew there were paths he could have taken other than fleeing Britain and to this point not returning. (That anyone knew about anyway.)

He'd had to do it.

What his witch failed to realize was that every time this witch came to his store and made the soul mark react with a burning reminder that he had a soulmate he used it as an excuse to portkey to London and catch a glimpse of her.

His witch.

Hermione.

One time he came close to actually approaching Grimmauld Place, but thought better of it at the last minute.

Most recently he made it into the very familiar kitchen despite the decor being updated, heard laughter on the other side of the door and couldn't … intrude.

There'd been other visits, sightings, over the years to assure himself she was okay. Thriving. The laughter had made him have second thoughts of attempting to claim her so publicly. In front of others. She might reject him.

When wasn't she around Potter, though? She still resided with the wizard.

"A lovely day, is it not?" she asked when she came into the store.

"It is passable," he said.

It was early May in Canada. The snow had melted, but the days were not quite warm enough to go without outerwear of some sort.

She came in near closing time today he noticed. No doubt intentionally. She'd been coming in later and later every visit it seemed, dropping subtle hints of interest. (Even he recognized them. He wasn't daft.) She wasn't an unattractive witch. She was always dressed nicely and was capable of stringing more than two or three sentences together without sounding like a dunderhead. She would no doubt make a wizard happy.

Just not him. Even without Hermione to consider he wouldn't be interested.

"I have your order ready for you," he said.

"I'm still so surprised I find this quality here at this little store," she said. "I always had to go elsewhere until you opened up."

It wasn't the first time he'd heard that. He'd had to basically give away some of his more common products to get business at first. Eventually, though, his obvious quality became the talk of the local magical community. He managed to put two of the other apothecaries in the area out of business in no time flat. He wasn't necessarily proud of that, but he couldn't help that his products were superior.

"Looks can indeed be deceiving," he said. "I am of course glad that you enjoy my quality."

"I absolutely do."

"Thank you."

"I was going to head to Le mousse du sorcier for a drink before going home."

She'd never actually posed the question of him leaving with her before, so he was very glad he was occluding as strongly as he was today. Then again, she hadn't exactly asked now either.

"I've heard that is a good choice to end one's day and unwind," he said.

He truly had no idea what she did to know whether it was the end of her day but assumed so.

He'd heard many in the area talk about it. It seemed it was akin to Hogsmeade's Three Broomsticks or Diagon Alley's Leaky Cauldron. A friendly gathering place for magical people in the area.

"Have you ever been?"

He scoffed inwardly. Outwardly, he was the polite apothecary owner he presented to the Canadian magical world. As if he wanted to rub elbows with magical people who might recognize him. He wasn't hiding, necessarily, but he was not ready to walk into a bar and introduce himself. He did not want to talk about the war or his role in it.

"I'm afraid not, no. I am not much of a people person, which is why I work alone."

"You should come."

There was the invitation. He had no idea what he'd done to gain this witch's attentions.

"Another time, mayhaps. I have brewing to tend to this evening."

"There's more to life than brewing, Mr. Tobias."

A clue she knew absolutely nothing about him. Not that she could since she didn't know him.

"Not if one enjoys doing it."

There was a part of him, the curious and inquisitive part that wanted to know things , that wondered if he shouldn't take this witch up on her offer the second time she'd hinted at interest. He'd feigned cluelessness, but he knew what she was doing from his observations of women with Geta, Ambrosius, and various wizards over the years. That thought process led to a feeling in his gut that he had not liked experiencing at all. The feeling in the shared mark played little into him shutting that idea down. Casual dalliances had never held an appeal to him. And, in truth, this witch held no appeal to him whatsoever.

He'd looked more than his fair share while traveling and since setting up shop here. Wanting to see if … anyone would strike his fancy. The looks never went anywhere, not even friendship. The idea of Hermione … knowing of, experiencing him, being with someone was a deterrent certainly. He also didn't need nor want the complication that came with entanglements. He really did want to sort out what he wanted. To be ready if - when? - she was ready for him.

"I make the best because it is something I take very seriously. Let me get your items."

He took his leave then, going to the back to get her meticulously prepared order.

"Is there another establishment that might entice you?" she asked when he returned.

"I'm afraid not," he said politely. Was no not enough?

He had to hold back his scathing response. It would not do to chase a good customer away. He sighed heavily, his mark was throbbing. That meant he wasn't doing as good a job at occluding as he should be. She was reacting to him.

Great. That was not what he wanted today. Likely her emotions were raw today, too.

"I have a witch," he said, the admission sounding foreign coming from him. He had never, in forty-one years, been able to lay claim to a witch. He wasn't even truly sure he could now. "I am already spoken for. She would not approve of such an excursion."

She glanced at his left hand then to his face. There was disbelief and possibly amusement in her eyes.

"You don't have to lie to me."

"I am not lying."

"I've never heard anyone talk about you with a witch. No one even knows where you live."

There was a reason for that. He lived on an island on the other side of St. Mary's River. In the United States' Michigan. He and a little over six hundred other people lived rather peacefully.

Most importantly, privately.

He worked here and he slept at home with the casual foray into gardening. Socializing among magical people was not on his agenda.

The island was only approachable by ferry.

Or apparition in his case.

The home was small and a rental. It was owned by a family who didn't want to sell the property that had been in their family for several generations. No one among the current generation wanted to live on an island in the middle of nowhere any longer. They were happy to have someone who was willing to do "fix-it" projects in exchange for discounts on the rent. Busy work, but he liked using his hands in such a fashion.

So very different from making potions yet nonetheless satisfying.

He had befriended the next door neighbour on either side of his property. One was a bachelor like himself. The other was a family whose children were in college so were seldom home. Both men were a bit older than he was, but they'd struck a bit of a friendship over their various gardening and handyman escapades.

Severus Snape never thought he'd see the day where he'd have a house with a porch that had a table and chairs set up for visitors. They always ended up at his place after their various chores as his house was in the middle. And yet he did. During the winter they even met in his garage sometimes after clearing snow. He'd go home this evening, Chayton and Georges would find their way to that very table and chairs on his porch for an adult beverage and to share stories of their respective days.

It was something he'd never had before, other than with Geta and in some ways Ambrosius. He liked it. He almost thought the two men were doing more for him than he was for them. He even this past winter sat in Georges and Chayton's living rooms, watching American football games. Evidently, their favoured team was rather helpless, but they were both rabid and loyal. It would take Severus a lot longer than a few games to understand the game, but listening to the two men cheer, and voice their frustrations, was something he could relate to as far as quidditch.

These friendships, these small things, these moments of extending himself beyond his comfort zone were making him … more. More what he wasn't sure, but certainly less closed off. He engaged in small talk. He had conversations that were about the weather and how to deal with mosquitos. Not everything had to be serious and mean something.

He laughed even, something he couldn't remember doing this often ever before in his life.

He had things to laugh about! He told jokes!

He wasn't sure what no one knowing where he lived had to do with whether he was involved or not. Unless she was implying that he couldn't possibly have someone because no one ever saw him doing anything. Of course they did not. It was the way he wanted it.

It was intentional.

He very much enjoyed his quiet existence.

He tended to stray to the muggle areas more often than not when he wanted to be out amongst people. Tourists were somewhat fun. He could talk to the husband of a woman who was shopping while he was spending time at a local bar and never see the man again. A bit of conversation with no expectation of more or risk of anyone recognizing him. It was perfect. A great way for someone like himself who was rather reclusive to keep a finger on what was happening in the world. And to keep from anyone stumbling on his identity.

"Mm," he said simply. It would not do to alienate this witch. "I assure you that I am spoken for and where I reside has nothing to do with this, my place of business."

She gave a slight pout that he supposed was meant to be flirtatious or something, but he just shook his head. "Will there be anything additional today?"

"No," she said.

He collected her money and watched her leave after the transaction was complete.

His hand went to his chest and the mark he knew was there. He rubbed the spot lightly. He wasn't sure why he couldn't take those final steps to her the times he'd gone to London. He couldn't see her the one or two times he had actually gotten close as to be in the position to do so.

Fear?

He'd actually seen her last about a year ago, from a distance. He recognized her hair, and the feeling of … relief that washed through him at actually seeing her. Seeing that she was in fact whole and well. He felt nothing from the mark in that moment so she was obviously unaware of his close proximity (as he wanted it). He hoped, though, that the feeling of relief aided her, let her know that he was also alive and well. His other visits, he'd heard her or caught a glimpse. Glimpses were enough.

With a flick of his wrist he turned the window sign to CLOSED and locked his door, setting his wards.

He went to the back area then, glancing at the only personal effect he had here in his store. A picture of Geta, Ambrosius, and him. He knew what Geta would say to him. He'd tell him to get on with it. He had the potential for something in the rest of his life. Geta would tell him to take the risk.

He'd lived when he shouldn't have. It was a new future. An unwritten future that no longer looked like everything in it would turn to shit.

And Ambrosius? He likely would, too, but for different reasons. Ambrosius would think his leaving London in the first place was a fool's errand. Running away from what was clearly his destiny. He would not have understood his desire not to strap the witch … Hermione … to him immediately after a war.

He'd needed this time. The anonymity. No one here knew his name. They knew him only as Mr. Tobias. Whether Tobias was his first or last name, no one knew. Of course, it was neither. The irony of him using his father's name wasn't lost on him, but he could think of no better way to ensure he wasn't discovered. Anyone who knew anything about him would surely look for him under any name but that one.

He wondered what she was doing. Closing time here meant she was likely asleep. Was she working? He assumed she was and successfully at that. He had purposely avoided the Daily Prophet, not wanting to read anything about wizarding Britain's happenings. He caught glimpses of it during his trips there but he didn't subscribe to it or go out of his way here to keep abreast of happenings there. He certainly did not want to see her on the arm of another wizard. A possibility he knew could happen as a result of him leaving her as he had. He would not blame her. There were certainly far more suitable options for her.

She was marked for you, Severus. How much more suitable could there be?

He knew this was true. Fundamentally. It didn't mean he wanted to make her accept it. Nor was he certain that she would be ready to. He was afraid she'd see him after this long and realize he was in fact an old, ugly, scarred bastard who didn't deserve her.

If he had stayed, she wouldn't have had the opportunity to date. To find him lacking. To decide that she could do better.

Yet he knew full well that this distance and time were necessary. For both of them. He would have been absolutely no good for her, for anyone, immediately after the war. He wasn't sure he was ready yet but the idea of actually talking to her on her birthday this year seemed more a possibility than it had last year. He'd heard her talking with Harry and the others the last time he was there and didn't want to risk laughter aimed at him so he'd left.

"She won't wait forever will she, Geta?" he asked the picture. This one wasn't magical, so it did not wave, look at, or respond to him. The magical picture of the five of them was at his home, tucked away in his bedroom (where his neighbours never went) so that his neighbours wouldn't see a moving photograph.

"I'm somewhat content here, though," he murmured.

Somewhat being relative.

He knew full well there was a … piece … missing from his life. Mentally, physically, and spiritually. Without her present beside him he knew it would always be incomplete. He was willing, wanting, to accept that less and less these days.

He was much closer to being ready to claim that missing piece than he had been three years ago. He wondered if she would be content here with him. Would that be possible? Or would he be forced to return to wizarding Britain despite his contentment here?

Would she even want him now after years of no real contact? He picked through his trash to find an item he could use for today's portkey. He knew he wouldn't speak to her today, but he wanted to ensure she was truly all right. It was how he justified these covert visits to this point.

NOTE: Many thanks to calico_k on the Discord server for helping me come up with the name of the bar mentioned here.

Story ©Susan Falk/APCKRFAN/PhantomRoses.com