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Chapter Text

“I put a spell on you

Because you’re mine…”

Severus Snape looked well. Hermione wasn’t entirely surprised. She and Harry had worked tirelessly together to ensure he had received the best care over the summer. He’d been convalescing at Grimmauld, under round-the-clock supervision from private healers. After the first week at St Mungo’s, she and Harry had pleaded with Kingsley to let Snape be transferred to Harry’s home, where he could recover in privacy. Eventually, her role in his care had diminished as he began to gain strength, and she threw all of her focus into passing an accelerated summer NEWTs preparation that Minerva had arranged for those up to the task. She had been by often to see Harry, and dropped in on Snape - more for curiosity’s sake than anything. He fascinated her, and she was trying desperately to reform her opinion on him after knowing the truth about him. He was by turns aloof and hostile, sneering at them in derision one moment and ignoring them the next. It was clear he wasn’t happy he had survived Nagini’s attack, but neither she nor Harry were content to see him languish, and pressed on despite his thankless attitude.

Ever the champion of justice, Hermione had determinedly constructed with Harry their argument for Snape’s Wizengamot hearing. When not immersed in her studies — she knew she’d been ahead for ages through private study, but was surprised at how very prepared she did feel for the upcoming exams — she was pouring over every magical law book she could get her hands on. Kingsley had been rather quiet on the matter, though he had also viewed the memories and knew Snape to be a hero and agent of the Light. But he had warned them it would be hard to change the minds of others, without spreading the memories around like candy. Even modified, the memories were deeply personal, and Harry was loath to expose their former professor in such a way. That, in addition to the fact that there was such a fervor against Snape that the memories would hardly make a dent into their preconceived notions, had Hermione and Harry grasping to find a more steady ground for their defence case.

She glanced warily at Harry as the Undersecretary began to read the charges against Snape in a high, snooty tone, not unlike her predecessor, that toad Umbridge. She was disappointed but not surprised when it turned out to be a rather lengthy exposition, causing Hermione to roll her eyes at some of the trivial things being recited. Ultimately, all of it was trivial to her; without Snape’s contribution and incredible sacrifices, they would all be in a world of utter darkness now. They should be exonerating him immediately and handing him an Order of Merlin, First Class. Nothing concerning the Ministry was ever easy, though. After the Undersecretary finished her recitation she sat down primly and smirked in triumph, folding her hands across her lap as if she’d accomplished some great deed.

Harry stood to counter, and Hermione gave him an encouraging smile. He spoke of Snape turning to Dumbledore, all those years ago, attempting to save an innocent family from Voldemort - leaving out that Snape was driven to this because he was desperately in love with Harry’s mum. He expounded on Dumbledore’s plan and his wish for Snape to kill him, for the dual purpose of putting Dumbledore out of his curse-ridden misery and Snape gaining the ultimate favour of the Dark Lord. He spoke at length about the moments through the years that Snape had saved their sorry hides, with no help from them as they took on the mantle of the Golden Trio, blinded by their self-righteousness. He even recounted how he knew Snape had done what he could as Headmaster to subtly protect the staff and students from the Death Eaters who tried to torture them.

Harry was sweating buckets as he finished, and a long, excruciating silence descended on the room. Hermione reached out and squeezed his hand, nonverbally signaling that he’d presented excellently. She glanced to Snape, who was peering at them with a furrowed brow. Did he really not expect them to have his back, after the weeks they had spent dedicated to his healing? And how could he just sit there, in silence, entirely stoic as if the rest of his life didn’t hang in the balance?

Her gaze swept over the shuffling plum robes of the Wizengamot, attempting to discern their reaction to Harry’s impassioned speech, but it was as if they had perfected stoic visages so as not to give anything away. She had a sinking feeling that they should have brought Dumbledore’s portrait with them. They had discussed doing so as they’d formed their argument in Snape’s defence, but ultimately they had decided against it, choosing to instead rely on the testimony of the Boy Who Had Saved All Their Arses.

The tension was palpable as a parchment was handed to Kingsley, who scanned it quickly. It was with a grim visage that the new Minister began to read.

“Severus Snape - it is the decision of the Wizengamot to preclude you from being sent to Azkaban with the others who bear the Dark Mark.”

Hermione let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, and she and Harry exchanged satisfied smiles.

Then her heart dropped to her stomach as Kingsley continued.

“However,” Kingsley added, his frown making his disapproval evident, “because of your involvement in the inner circle of Voldemort and due to your use of an Unforgivable Curse causing the death of Albus Dumbledore, you are hereby restricted the use of your magic.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped open in dismay. Harry jumped up beside her, furious.

“That is entirely ludicrous, Kingsley, surely!” Harry’s fists were clenched at his sides. At this outburst, there was discontented murmuring throughout the rows of witches and wizards who made up the Wizengamot.

Kingsley looked over the parchment at the riled young man, sending Harry a warning glare. Momentarily quelled, Harry stood with a clenched jaw, his rigid stance telling of his displeasure.

Continuing, the Minister looked to Snape and read, “You shall be allowed to retain the use of your magic exclusively under one condition.” He paused, sighing tiredly, and set the parchment down. “You must enter into a marriage bond, in which your magic will be tied to your mate, and your spouse will be responsible for tempering you.”

For the second time, Hermione found herself gaping at the Minister, hardly believing her ears. They had fought and risked everything in the war to save… this? An archaic regime that would reduce a man who’d saved them all to becoming a Squib unless he enslaved himself to a new master?

“This is barbaric,” she spoke aloud firmly, and it resonated around the cavernous, quiet room. Heads turned her way in surprise. From the corner of her eye, she saw Snape staring at her. She could feel his eyes boring into her, even moreso than the shocked, outraged gazes of the Wizengamot.

“Young lady,” spoke the Undersecretary, tilting her perfectly coiffed blonde head, “there is to be silence during the reading of a verdict.” Her pompous tone set Hermione’s teeth on edge.

“Oh, I do apologise; but I find myself entirely baffled by the fact that you are attempting to place this man, a veritable hero to all of us, in the clutches of yet another master - for the rest of his life!”

Harry’s jaw was clamped tightly shut, and he looked as if he’d tasted something foul. He nodded in avid agreement with Hermione’s words, clearly not trusting himself to refrain from having a violent outburst if he opened his mouth.

“Hermione,” Kingsley murmured her name in admonishment. It grated at her. If he was counting on her usually reasonable demeanor, he was dead wrong, and in for quite a nasty surprise. How could he allow this? She understood that he was newly-appointed and with such came an inordinate amount of pressure. And, he had warned them of the attitudes toward Snape. But placating this madness seemed completely unacceptable to her.

“He has the option of not bonding,” the Undersecretary spoke primly, as if it made all the sense in the world.

“And becoming a Squib! Fine choice that is!” Harry finally exploded, his fist coming down on the wood railing in front of him.

“That is enough!” boomed Kingsley, who stood abruptly. The room went silent in the face of his commanding presence. Kingsley glared at the Undersecretary, and then turned to Harry and Hermione. “The Wizengamot has come to a decision, and it shall be honored.” He sounded sour about it himself, but nevertheless had to uphold it.

Harry sank down into his seat and scrubbed at his face with his hands. He met Hermione’s eyes with grim determination, and her breath caught in her throat. She could read Harry like a book, and she knew what he was thinking; she had come to the same conclusion as he. It was mad, it was absolutely stark raving mad, but… she couldn’t bear the thought of a wizard like Snape losing his magic. It was completely unfair, and she wished they could fight it, but they both understood the verdict was set in stone, and there was only one thing left to do.

Sucking in a deep lungful of air as she summoned her gumption, she stood and faced the Minister and Wizengamot. “I will do it.”

Kingsley gaped at her. “You will do… what, exactly?”

Murmurs were growing louder and louder around the room, making her feel slightly dizzy. Damn her impetuous Gryffindor hide, but this certainly called for rash action. There was clearly no other way, and inaction was untenable. She and Harry hadn’t worked themselves to the bone to keep Snape alive and steadily recovering, only to have him be rendered magically impotent and forgotten.

She lifted her chin high. “I will bond with him to save his magic. I find it utterly absurd that this ruling should dictate his fate in such a way, but I will do this.”

She purposely avoided Snape’s eyes, though she could feel them burning through her. She glanced at Harry, who was watching her with a resolute, but proud expression.

“Hermione,” Kingsley started, but she would not let him finish.

“Please do not belittle my intelligence by trying to dissuade me. I was beside Harry as we fought Voldemort.” She glared around the room as the majority of the gathered officials shifted uncomfortably in their seats — they had let children fight their war, and they had no right to treat them as children any longer. “I am quite capable of making this decision.”

“Very well,” Kingsley said, at length. “When shall we have the bonding document prepared?”

“Today,” she responded determinedly. “Right now. I will not have him rendered magically impotent even for a moment. He’s suffered quite enough.”

“Do you consider yourself some kind of martyr?” Severus asked her angrily. How dare she do this, as if he wanted to be tied to a young, bossy, brash witch. As if he were something worth saving. As if he wanted to be saved at all! He was supposed to have died on the floor of that shack, his job done, and finally free of the guilt of which both of his masters had so easily taken advantage. But no, these two bullheaded Gryffindors had taken it upon themselves to save him; and now she, she had the audacity to charge in like some magnanimous rescuer instead of letting him rot like he deserved. How dare she!

“If I were you, I’d be inclined to show a modicum of gratitude,” she said dispassionately, running her wand over her skirt and jacket. They were Transfigured into a simple white chiffon gown that came to rest just below her knees, with flowy sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. She peered at herself in the mirror next to Kingsley’s desk, and lifted her curls behind her head, securing them with a murmured Sticking Charm. Severus watched with growing horror as she transformed into a young bride, a look of resignation plastered on her face.

“I’m hardly going to dance a jig in resplendent bliss,” he finally countered with a sneer. Perhaps if he was as mean as possible to her, she would retreat before she could follow through with this farce. “I am not so sure I wouldn’t prefer to be a Squib than bonded to an insufferable know-it-all.”

She put her hands on her hips and glared up at him. “Is that really how you feel? Speak now, or forever hold your peace,” she spat mockingly. When he remained silent, staring down his nose at her, stunned by her impertinence, she snorted derisively. “You might also consider a new insult. I scarcely think ‘insufferable know-it-all’ will hold up for the next one hundred years.”

“Don’t be so sure,” he muttered sourly. It had been worth a try, but of course he was dealing with one of the most obstinate women he had ever had the displeasure of knowing. With not a little self-loathing he considered that perhaps after all the years he’d spent being so cruel, she had become immune to his rudeness.

Potter entered the room, followed by Kingsley. Both looked positively decisive, their mouths set in stern lines. Potter strode to Granger and took her elbow, pulling her back a few paces to murmur something to her. Severus watched with open antipathy.

Kingsley put a hand on his shoulder, and Severus gritted his teeth. “I am sorry, Severus. This is not what I wish for you, after your numerous sacrifices.”

Severus jerked himself away and stalked forward. “Can we get this over with?” he sneered toward his supposed savior.

“Right.” Granger held her head high as she made her way over to Severus, coming to rest before him.

He glowered down at her, expecting to send her skittering away, renouncing her pledge to bond with him. He quickly faltered as she stared him down with tenacity, nearly unblinking in her intensity. Kingsley stepped to their sides, and Potter took Granger’s hand and kissed it before extending it out to Severus, an expectant look in his haunting green eyes. Severus felt panic clawing at his throat as he stared into the eyes of his beloved Lily; his whole life seemed to flash before him, which hadn’t even been the case when that damned snake had tried to do him in.

Willing his hand to stop shaking, mentally roaring at himself to calm the fuck down, he took Granger’s hand in his, darting his alarmed gaze to her. Her warm brown eyes enfolded him, and her hand squeezed his, and he briefly wondered if her offered comfort was genuine as Kingsley began incanting with his wand in hand.

A weave of shimmering gold encircled their arms and wrists, wrapping around them like clinging vines. It felt like electricity was rocketing up his arm, and he could tell from her awed expression that the sensations were mutual.

He glared to the side at Kingsley, who was rotating his wand in a delicate movement as the spell took effect.

“A soul bond?” Severus ground out, anger seeping out of every pore.

Kingsley cocked his head at him. “Surely you expected this, Severus. Your mate must be responsible for tempering your magic. A soul bond marriage was the only option.”

Hermione’s grip tightened on Severus’ hand in alarm. “It would have been nice to know!” she scolded, frowning down at the golden vines.

They shimmered vibrantly for a moment, and then both Hermione and Severus gasped as their magics sealed together, sending a jolt through both of them. His magic, feeling dark and sensual, settled like velvet through her. Her magic, warm and bright, poured into his body like firewhisky. As the golden bonds dissipated, they continued holding on to one another, both overwhelmed from the breathtaking sensation that had engulfed them.

“It is done,” Kingsley told them, sheathing his wand back inside his robes.

Hermione pulled her hand away, rubbing along her wrist and the palm of her hand as if she’d been burned. She felt… different. As if her insides had been scrambled, as if she weren’t alone inside of herself any longer. It was, without a doubt, the most disorienting feeling she’d ever experienced. Settling her gaze on her newly-bonded other half, she found that he appeared to be as shaky as she.

Snape slumped for a moment, appearing worn and haggard. Harry took his arm immediately.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked him with concern.

Snape hissed and pulled away. “I don’t need your help, Potter.” He glared at Hermione. “The both of you have done quite enough.” His tone was not appreciative as he muttered the angry words.

Hermione felt his resentment roil through her, and at her widened eyes, her new husband stared at her suspiciously for a mere moment before she felt a wall block their connection.

Concentrating with the last bit of his strength, Severus Occluded strongly. He’d been relatively relaxed as he’d recuperated the past few weeks, and had even begun to wonder if he wouldn’t need to use his Occlumency in this strange new post-war world. But of course, his life could never be peaceful, or simple. The level of Occlumency he employed hardly hurt anymore, and it would be his one protection in this farce of a marriage.

Chapter Text

“Have you gone absolutely barking mad?” Ron asked upon stepping through the green flames of the Floo.

“We’re all mad here,” Hermione intoned humorlessly. She sat on the sofa in front of the fire, eyes glassy, her stomach churning. They had returned half an hour ago. Her new husband had preferred to Floo alone, retiring to his room severely weak, not speaking a word to her. She couldn’t very well blame him. He was again tied to someone against his will, and this time under the condition of a soul bond, one of the most powerful magics in existence. He deserved to be ornery.

Her eyes roved over Ron, and her heart squeezed in a vise grip as she beheld him. As usual, he had soot speckled over his freckles and across the shoulders of his cloak. She couldn’t even bring herself to murmur a cleansing charm as she normally did. He was on a warpath, and just like she couldn’t blame Snape for his attitude, she couldn’t blame Ron for his fury now. For once, she didn’t have it in her to challenge him. She had saved Snape, but had destroyed her relationship with the one she’d always longed to love. How was it they were still suffering after the blasted war had been won? Hadn’t they been through enough?

“How could you let this happen?” Ron demanded of Harry, stepping forward menacingly.

“Let?” Harry shook his head. “No one’s the boss of Hermione. You know that, mate. Her mind was made up.”

Hermione hugged her knees to her chest, wishing she could disappear. “Don’t pretend you weren’t backing me one hundred percent,” she chastised Harry. “You had the same notion when the verdict was read.”

Harry nodded in agreement. He shoved a hand through his hair and looked to Ron. “It was insanity,” he told his friend, attempting to make him understand. It was a lost cause, really. Ron, once upset, was not easily mollified. “They were going to turn him into a Squib.”

“And why the bloody fuck should we care?!” Ronald bellowed. “He made our lives miserable for six years, and now it’s all, oh, he’s actually a hero, let’s marry him?” Veins bulged at his temples and across his forehead, and his jaw was clenched so tight it seemed his teeth would break.

Hermione wasn’t sure she had ever heard him so enraged, even when he’d been wearing Slytherin’s locket for too long. As he focused his irate fervour on her, she shivered and clutched desperately at her knees, wondering if she could fold in on herself enough to dissipate entirely.

“What about us, Hermione? What about our future?” Ron suddenly surged forward and gripped her upper arms painfully, a desperate look on his mottled face.

“Ron, you’re hurting me,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes. She wasn’t one to doubt herself often, but she was questioning everything now. She’d thought only of Snape’s future, not of her own. But it hadn’t been a selfless action; it had been selfish. It was one thing to throw away her own future to save another, but she had also disrupted Ron’s future, as well. She felt herself breaking, giving into the onslaught of moisture that had gathered in her eyes.

Harry grabbed Ron and pulled his hands off of Hermione. “Let her go, mate.”

Ron’s eyes filled with angry tears, and he roughly jerked out of Harry’s grasp. “How do you expect me to let her go, exactly? I am still trying to let go of my dead brother. Now I have to give up my girlfriend, as well? What’s next?” He clutched at his ginger strands, looking deranged. Hermione worried for his sanity. A tortured sob left her throat, and he faced her, his eyes wide.

He dropped to his knees before her, his hands curling around her legs as he stared pleadingly at her. In a small, sorrowful voice, he begged, “Please, Hermione. Please undo this. I need you, don’t you see? I need you.”

As her heart shattered into a million pieces, she only vaguely registered that the door to the library had opened.

“I’d thank you to remove your hands from my wife, Mister Weasley.” Snape’s voice was cold as it echoed around the room. Despite the frigidity of his tone, it ignited a fire in the redhead.

Slowly, his fury radiating off him in waves, Ron let go of Hermione and stood, facing Snape with a look that should have killed the dark wizard all on its own. He wasn’t as tall as their former professor, but he was packed with muscle, making Snape seem almost scrappy in comparison. Hermione knew Ron could do a lot of damage, if he wanted to. And he looked like he very much wanted to.

“You!” Ron thundered, moving purposely toward Snape. “You bloody fucking greasy bastard git!”

“Ron!” Harry shouted, and tried to step in front of his friend. The redhead shoved Harry to the floor as if he were a bothersome paperweight.

Hermione watched, frozen in horror, as Ron descended upon a seemingly unconcerned Snape. Ron’s beefy fists rose, and he jabbed Snape in the face before landing a solid punch to his abdomen. Snape, in his weakened state, doubled over and then crumpled to the floor, hands over his stomach, face twisted in pain.

Ron reached for his wand, and there was a demented gleam to his eye as he raised it. Hermione finally gained the cooperation of her body, and rushed forward to block Snape, casting Protego to shield him seconds before Ron spit out a calculated Crucio. She gaped at her boyfriend - or, ex, as it were - hardly believing her ears. He glowered at her, his face red, untroubled that he had just cast an Unforgivable Curse that Hermione herself had been subjected to only a few months previously.

Suddenly, Ron’s limbs seized up and he dropped backwards to the floor, Harry’s Petrificus Totalus binding him into nonresistance.

Harry’s green eyes flicked to Hermione, and they stared worriedly at each other for a few moments before springing into action. “Take Snape upstairs, and ward his room,” Harry directed. “I’ll deal with Ron.”

Hermione nodded, eager to follow orders in the chaos that had resulted from her brash actions. She knelt beside her new husband, her hands roaming over him as she checked him.

“Get away from me,” he sneered at her, staggering to his feet and attempting to make for the stairs. He didn’t make it halfway before dropping down to his knees. His earlier outing to his court hearing, in addition to Ron’s assault, on top of the weak state he was already in due to Nagini’s attack, had debilitated him greatly. She knew, based on the memories Harry had seen and told her about as well as what she’d experienced in the past few weeks taking care of him, that Snape did not receive assistance gratefully. He clearly appalled appearing powerless, but it couldn’t be helped.

Sighing, she bent and grabbed his arm to bring it around her shoulders, and hefted him up determinedly, ignoring his grunts of disapproval.

As she settled him onto his bed, propping pillows behind him and dragging the cover up over him, she spotted the still-healing swollen veins that started on his neck and crept down his chest. When they had first rescued him, she’d witnessed Nagini’s venom sweeping through his system; his veins had turned black as he lay dying, inching down his chest in stark contrast to his pale skin. At the time, she had been certain he wouldn’t survive. They all had thought the worst. His recovery was nothing short of miraculous. However, his new life was proving to be anything but. Her heart softened toward him, as she watched him resist her help. He deserved peace. Even if he was shite at maintaining it. She shook her head as she remembered his words to Ron. I’d thank you to remove your hands from my wife. Surely Snape didn’t give a fig where she was concerned.

Disgusted by her roiling emotions, she pointed her wand at the hearth and murmured a quiet Incendio before turning to him. She handed him a pain relief potion and watched with a gimlet eye as he grudgingly upended the vial’s contents into his mouth.

“I’ll come back to check on you tonight. Healer Atterberry will be back in the morning, but if you feel you need attention before then, I can summon her sooner.” She filled a glass of water and set it on the small table at his bedside.

“You may as well not come to me tonight,” he rumbled, and the words strangely lacked their normal derision. “I can’t… I won’t be able to… I’m still healing,” Snape told her gravely, not meeting her eyes.

She caught on rather quickly, considering her inexperience in such matters. She hadn’t even pondered their wedding night, and she found herself feeling slightly nauseated as she dwelt on it. What would it be like to give herself to a man who hated her? It was certainly not the dream way of losing her virginity she’d always pictured.

Nodding distractedly, she replied, “Of course. We can worry about… consummation… later. But,” she continued, staring at him resignedly, “they will expect us to do it soon.” She could feel her cheeks blooming with color in her embarrassment, and was exceedingly grateful in that moment for the wall he’d erected and maintained between their link with his Occlumency.

“Don’t you think I’m aware of that?” he asked her snidely.

“Whatever,” she snapped. Then, after a deep breath to calm herself, she added, “Goodnight.” She walked out of his room, her stomach in knots.

“I’m going to pretend, given the circumstances, that I didn’t hear you cast an Unforgivable.” Harry’s voice admonished Ron, as Hermione reentered the library. Harry was an Auror now, and could easily apprehend his friend for his indiscretion, but Hermione was in agreement that given the circumstances, it should be excused for now. She was still spitting mad that Ron would do such a thing, especially in her presence after he’d watched her suffer in excruciating pain for hours after Bellatrix’s reign of terror on her, but she didn’t have the energy to feel anything but exhaustion.

Hermione sat down on her favorite sofa, pulling her knees to her chest again and staring into the fire. What a complete and total mess. Snape wasn’t even grateful. Of course she didn’t expect him to be blissful that his magic was now tied to hers, but at least he still had his magic. If he would perhaps show one ounce of appreciation for what she’d done for him, maybe she wouldn’t feel so utterly sick now.

“I’m sorry,” Ron said bitterly, jerking her from her thoughts with surprise. He knelt before her once more, and pushed an errant curl behind her ear. “I reacted that way because I love you. I love you so much, Hermione, and I feel like you’ve been stolen right out from under me.”

She closed her eyes and swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I love you too,” she whispered, unsure if she should voice such a thing at this point. She was a married woman now, bizarre as that was; and though her affection for Ron wasn’t likely to just suddenly evaporate, surely she shouldn’t be speaking words of affirmation to any man but her husband. Not that she had any words of affirmation for Snape.

“Look,” Harry interjected, sitting next to Hermione on the sofa and placing a hand on one of her knees. “Kingsley and I had an interesting conversation, before the bonding.” At the reminder of that, Ron snarled, and Hermione winced. Harry continued unabated. “Apparently there are many who didn’t want to impose that verdict on Snape. It was a close vote. And after you stepped up so quickly to save him - you, the ever-fair Hermione Granger - they expressed concern that they were wrong to distrust him.” He looked between Ron and Hermione. “That means they could overturn it, and you could get an annulment. We just have to wait them out.”

Ron seemed slightly pacified by Harry’s conclusion, but Hermione felt a strange hysteria building within her. Wait them out? Where did that leave her? She had to consummate with Snape; the Wizengamot had made it clear the bond was nothing without it, and if they didn’t do it soon the Ministry would consider their bonding null and carry on with stripping his magic. Her desired relationship with Ron had gone to pot, she had a new husband she was trying to find affection for, and all of it may or may not be reversed at some unknown time in the future. How on earth was she going to navigate the minefield that had become her life?

“I will wait for you,” Ron vowed to her, cupping her face in his hands. “I’ll have Dad feed into Snape’s good image, and they’ll overturn everything in no time. Then we can be together,” he told her, pulling her head to his chest and squeezing her tightly.

Hermione stared numbly to the side at Harry, and she could see in his eyes that he had tried to instill a false hope to appease Ron. He appeared deeply regretful. But she knew that no one could be as regretful as she.

Chapter Text

“You know as well as I do that a soul bond cannot simply be annulled,” Hermione murmured to Harry, sipping delicately at the red wine he’d poured for her. Upon bidding Ron goodnight rather numbly, Harry had suggested a bit of liquid fortitude would be useful for both of them. She rarely imbibed much of anything, and wondered with twisted dark humor if she would now partake more regularly. Surely a warm, fuzzy feeling generated from a sip of fermented grapes was preferable to the detached, yet achy state she had found herself in earlier.

Harry eyed her warily. “I may not be as well read as you, but I do know how soul bonds work, ‘Mione.” He sighed tiredly and sipped from his own glass. “I was honest when I said Kingsley mentioned a way out. There’s some kind of clause, or loophole, in the case of this marriage bond because of the circumstances surrounding it.”

Hermione gave him a withering look. If there were a way out, she would know about it. Hermione was well aware of how arrogant she could be when it came to her vast knowledge; some might even label her insufferable, she thought with wry amusement. But she did tend to know everything, and she wasn’t ashamed of that. In this instance, however, she found herself wishing - just this once, mind - that she could be wrong. Despite the cynical nature that had come with fighting in a war, she wanted to believe that Snape’s name would be cleared eventually, and that he could be completely free, and that she wouldn’t have to break Ronald’s heart, or her own. But she was jaded now, and that nagging voice was winning, and so she turned her nose up at Harry disdainfully, saying, “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

Her best friend of nearly eight years could sense that she was spoiling for a fight, but he seemed disinclined to rise to the occasion. Calmly, he rejoined, “Neither had I. I doubt Snape even knows of it. But it makes sense. There are conditions in magic, and considering both of you were unwilling…”

“I wasn’t unwilling, though. I made a conscious decision to bond with him.”

“Well, neither of you realized until it was already happening that it was a soul bond. And you may have made a choice, but Snape looked like he’d rather be dead than join with you.”

Hermione snorted. “Thanks ever so much.”

“It wasn’t meant to be offensive, ‘Mione. It’s a good thing. It means that one day, if everything can fall into place, you may be able to be free of each other.”

“All of this is hinging on the Wizengamot changing their minds about him, and the way they acted at the trial today certainly doesn’t give me any faith that it will occur. You saw them, Harry. They want him to suffer, one way or the other.” And, oh, did that make her bitter. How naive of she and her friends to think that just because Voldemort was defeated, all would be right in the world. So much had changed, and yet, it almost seemed as if nothing had changed at all. The Ministry elite was still filled with those who had sat back and let children fight a war against a madman.

Harry stood up from his chair next to the fire and came to perch next to her on the sofa. He put a hand on one of her knees and squeezed encouragingly. She wanted to push him away, wanted to seethe, and carry on, and tell him he was so wrong and that they had done everything for nothing. But as she looked into his earnest, determined green eyes, she could only smile pitifully and let him soothe her. For so long, she’d been the one to hold up the others. In that moment, she wanted to be the one who accepted the comfort given. They had won, but had lost so much, and she hadn’t given herself any time at all to mourn her losses.

“We have to keep believing,” Harry told her, his thumb smoothing circles over her kneecap. “We are the ones who are going to build the future. You especially, Hermione. You’re incredible. You could be Minister for Magic one day, if you set your mind to it. Don’t let this derail you. Your NEWTs are coming up, you’re helping to rebuild Hogwarts… your future will be bright, you’ll see.”

“I’m also married to a man who hates me,” she murmured with misery.

“Snape is… well, he’s Snape. But I’m starting to wonder if a man who could love so deeply and devotedly for so long could be all that bad. Maybe he’s all bark and no bite.”

“Don’t let him catch you saying that,” Hermione warned, and though her tone was playful, she remained sad. The mention of Harry’s mother didn’t help matters. “What if he hates me even more, since I’m not your mum and yet he was forced to marry me?”

Harry blanched and adjusted his glasses nervously. “Oh, ‘Mione, I’m sorry. I didn’t even think… Even with it being our biggest problem right now, I’m having a hard time remembering you’re now the wife of Severus Snape.”

Merlin’s pants, she thought ruefully. The Wife of Severus Snape sounds like the title of a dreadful romance novel.

Harry must have read her disgruntled expression, because he quickly forged ahead. “Who says you even need to act married? He has his room here, and you have yours. You have an important agenda each day, and he’s still recovering. You won’t even have to see each other that often! This will all work out.”

At this point, she had a sneaking suspicion that this chipper version of her best friend must have been brought on by the two and a half glasses of Beetle Berry Whiskey he’d had. She patted his hand where it rested on top of her knee before unfolding herself from the sofa and standing to stretch. She finished her glass of wine in one swallow and leaned down to kiss Harry’s cheek.

“I’m going to shower and get to bed. I have NEWTs prep tomorrow with the others, and then Professor McGonagall and I are going to attempt to right the suits of armor in the afternoon. Don’t forget that Ginny is coming to cook breakfast for you in the morning, you lucky sod.”

She turned to depart, but Harry grabbed her hand, and she turned to face him once more. He brushed his thumb across her knuckles, and peered up at her measuringly.

“You’ll be alright, won’t you?” he asked, his voice laced with desperate concern.

She squeezed his fingers and nodded. “I always am.”

Severus rose later, disgusted with himself. He may as well be impotent, not able to perform on his own bloody wedding night. He wasn’t even certain that was truly the case, but was hesitant about speeding his heart when that thrice damned snake venom might still be retained in his system. They had saved him before too much necrosis of tissue had occurred, but his neck was still a disgusting mess. The healers, aided by his own research after Nagini’s attack on Arthur Weasley, had managed to purge much of the venom from his system. But he swore he could still feel the toxin, laced with dark magic, as it left his body. It made him feel sluggish and feeble, and he loathed it.

He made his way down the hall to the loo, holding onto the walls for support. Stupid red headed fool had certainly succeeded in knocking him to his arse. He snorted in self-disgust and neared the lavatory, tilting his head in puzzlement at seeing the light on. He didn’t hear a sound, however, so pushed it open a tad and peeked inside.

His new wife stood there, pushing her white gown down her hips, shimmying out of it until it pooled at her feet in a silken heap. She pulled the pins from her hair and shook her head, causing the rich brown locks to fall around her shoulders in soft, riotous waves. She reached in to turn the shower on, waited with her hand under it until it was at her desired temperature, then hastily removed her undergarments and stepped into the stall, encasing herself in the glass.

Severus couldn’t breathe. She was perfection. Smooth, creamy skin; a plump arse that had his mouth watering; round, full breasts. He swallowed hard. He had only just begun to stop seeing her as a schoolgirl; this was a shock unlike any other, to see that she was very much an adult woman. For a brief moment his treacherous mind revelled in the notion that she was his, and his greedy obsidian eyes drank in the sight of her, unable to pull away from her dripping form.

She let the water run down over her body, merely standing under the spray for a few minutes. She stepped out from under the steady stream, ran a hand over her face to get the water out of her eyes, and then opened them. As if feeling his gaze on her, her large whisky-colored eyes darted to the door, and she gasped as she saw him standing there, watching her hungrily.

For endless moments they stared at one another, their eyes locked. He was aware of his pounding heartbeat, and a stirring in his nether regions that he had worried was impossible after the attack. Her chest was heaving as she stood beneath the spray, rivulets of water streaming down her skin. She seemed at a complete loss for words. It was rather pleasant, having her silent and naked. Then again, he was quite stunned, himself.

With slow deliberation, he let his eyes roam over her naked form, taking his time, lingering over the high, round mounds of her breasts, the scar that slashed across her torso, the dark triangle at the apex of her thighs. He smirked as he noticed her polished toenails. Openly leering now, he met her eyes once more. She was gaping at him in a rather comical way, indignation and disbelief fluttering across her expressive face. Raising an imperious dark brow, he inclined his head before turning and shutting the door behind him.

Once safely in the hall, he leaned back against the door and took a deep, steadying breath, willing himself to calm, to stop the feverish rush of blood to his groin. His hand gripped the doorknob as if it were a lifeline. If someone had told him before his treatment that by the end of it, he’d be married to Hermione Granger and responding eagerly to her naked body, he would have willingly succumbed to the venom - after hexing whoever had spoken such nonsense. He considered pinching himself, as if this were all some kind of twisted nightmare and he just needed a quick nudge back to wakefulness.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The image of her nude, wet body was burned behind his eyelids. He wasn’t entirely surprised by the scar across her torso, a souvenir from the ill-fated, foolish trip to the Ministry in her fifth year, for he was the one who had provided the healing potions while she’d been under Madam Pomfrey’s care. But being aware of it and seeing it in person were two completely different matters entirely, for such a vile blemish across her smooth, otherwise perfect skin seemed out of place. He was surprised to find himself feeling sympathetic toward her, especially as his spy-trained eyes had also caught sight of the crude word etched into her arm from Bellatrix’s cursed knife. Despite her obstinance which had clearly landed her in precarious positions, she had suffered much in her young life, and he was all too familiar with that.

Shit, Severus, he admonished himself angrily. You’re identifying with Granger. And yet, despite his hard instinct to push away anything and anyone who came too close to him, he couldn’t reason why he should continue any unpleasantness. They were bonded; not just simply married, but soul-bonded, which was a lifelong commitment, and damn if he was going to put in a monumental effort to be miserable, when there was nothing to be done about the situation. His honed survival skills pointed to going along with the ride, because there was no turning back, and no changing the circumstances.

As usual, he had no power. And it was past time he got used to the idea.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Severus gingerly made his way down to the kitchen, and was surprised to find Ginevra Weasley there, humming as she cooked. He had thought, when approaching the swinging door, that it was his wife crooning softly. Despite his resolutions to be less unpleasant the previous evening, he found himself scowling when he realized he was disappointed to have found someone other than Granger in the kitchen.

It was only when he slid out a chair from the table and seated himself that the youngest Weasley noticed he had joined her, and she gasped and wiped her hands on her apron, approaching him.

“Are you okay, Professor?”

He looked at her as if she were a snake-haired gorgon. Who the hell cared about his well-being? “Where is….” He trailed off, not knowing how to refer to his wife. He’d never called her by her given name, and though he’d used “my wife” the previous day to deliberately unsettle one Ronald Weasley, he felt strange using it now. “Where is Miss Granger?” he asked finally.

The youngest Weasley sized him up, and he resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably. “I think it’s Mrs Snape, now,” she retorted, and there was mischief in her eyes.

Her audacity shocked him. Did everyone consider him less frightening now because he had been revealed as being one of the side of Light? It wouldn’t do. He gave her a withering glare, prepared to respond scathingly, but Potter walked in, nearly slamming the kitchen door into his body. He would have to remember not to sit in the chair nearest to the door next time.

“Oh! Good morning, Professor,” Potter greeted him. “Joining us for breakfast today?” The boy’s voice held no sarcasm, just a pleasant surprise that grated at Severus’ frayed nerves.

Severus scowled strongly at him. Sod the previous evening’s resolutions, he would not engage in sprightly morning chit-chat with this annoying little shit. And why the fuck was Potter still referring to him as his “Professor” when he hadn’t been such for over a year now?

Oblivious - or perhaps uncaring - of Severus’ bad mood, Potter rambled, “You’re more than welcome, Sir, but Hermione won’t be here this morning. On Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Fridays she meets with the others who are taking the accelerated NEWTs at the end of the summer. She’s also helping Professor McGonagall and the rest of the staff rebuild Hogwarts during the day.”

Severus snorted in derision. Like he cared where she was. He wanted breakfast, not a wife in his face before he’d even had his caffeine.

“Why Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Fridays only? Seems underset for the overachiever.” Dammit, Severus, what the hell was that? Perhaps he had gone mad, or was in a nightmare. Breakfast with Potter, conversing about the wife he never wanted, and talking to himself to boot. Any moment now he’d wake up next to Lockhart, and then he would be begging to come back to this strange new reality.

Miss Weasley was flicking her wand, sending plates flying over to rest before him and Potter. She motioned to the various items she had prepared, and they floated across the small space to their plates. Sausages, eggs, toast and tomatoes - half of an English breakfast, and though he hadn’t had much of an appetite in the couple of months he had spent recovering, Severus found himself suddenly ravenous and tore into the food eagerly, only remembering to mutter a sour thank-you to Potter’s girlfriend after the boy had sent him a disapproving glare.

“Anytime, Professor,” she answered, unperturbed. Miss Weasley took her seat next to Potter, and she began to explain Hermione’s schedule as she picked up her cutlery. “When the program started, Hermione was spending Saturdays, Sundays and Mondays in Australia, trying to set her parents to rights.”

Severus cocked his head. “To rights?” he questioned, flummoxed as to why he continued to inquire, but unable to help himself. He begrudgingly admitted that he was fascinated by his new wife, and not just because of what he had seen of her the previous night. She clearly packed her schedule with items to keep her busy, no doubt possessing a color-coded chart. But what fueled her? What prompted her to make the decisions she did? It couldn’t all be Gryffindor bravery.

Potter swallowed his mouthful, then answered, “I thought you would have heard, Sir. Before we began our hunt for the horcruxes last year, Hermione Obliviated her parents and sent them to Australia, to keep them safe from Voldemort.” He scratched at his head, his wiry hair sticking out every which way. “She was hopeful that a reversal could be performed.” The boy clenched his jaw now, clearly upset for his friend. “But she hasn’t been able to find a way to do it yet, and it’s not looking good. They’re lost to her. She would have done it anyway, you see, to keep them safe; but she just thought she’d be able to undo it. She halted her research when…” He trailed off, looking over at his girlfriend hesitantly.

“Go on,” Snape demanded, curious as to what could have caused the know-it-all to temporarily cease such important efforts.

Potter’s cheeks reddened. It was Miss Weasley who met Severus’ gaze head on, and the force of it felt like a blow to his stomach. “She stopped focusing on them to focus on you,” the girl said, not mincing words. “She wanted you to win your trial.”

Stunned speechless, Severus sat back in his chair, his fork dropping carelessly to his plate. Granger had been so confident that she could help him win his trial, she had halted the research in the restoration of her parents, something she felt was unobtainable. Perhaps if he had spoken for himself, done anything at all at his trial other than sit there and watch it unfold like an aloof, apathetic statue… perhaps he would have won, and the girl would have been free. But no; once again, he was responsible for ruining a life.

Potter cleared his throat and changed the subject, telling Severus of what had been afoot at the Auror Office, with several Death Eaters still on the loose and causing havoc. He could hardly pay attention to the boy’s words, however; his mind was thoroughly entrenched in the angst of what Granger had given up, and for his sorry hide, no less.

He had not come across a reversal spell for Obliviation. With dread, he conceded that it probably did not exist. Sure, she had the Weasleys, and Potter, and even Minerva held a great deal of affection for the girl, but nothing could replace the love of her parents.

He must endeavor to be kind to her, to be patient with her, to help her. Resolute in his newfound goals, he did his best to listen as Potter prattled on about his work at the Auror Office. After all, his girlfriend had cooked Severus breakfast.

It was the end of the week before he finally saw his wife at breakfast, and all of his good intentions had long deserted him in the wake of his frustration at her notable absences. He hadn’t even caught a glimpse of her during her comings and goings, for his room was on the second floor while hers was on the first. He had made a couple of attempts to retire to the drawing room after supper and wait for her to come bustling through, but these proved futile and he hadn’t tried again. All in all, he was incredibly perturbed, and he wasn’t sure whether it was at himself for wanting and expecting to see her, or whether it was because he felt she was avoiding him.

She was on her way out of the kitchen when he finally came upon her, a piece of toast in her hand. She leaned down to kiss Potter on the cheek, instructing him to “say hi to Ginny” for her, and was hastening out when Severus met her at the kitchen door. She came careening to an abrupt halt, her feet barely over the threshold, and the kitchen door swung to hit her on the bum. She frowned up at him, clearly uncomfortable with the fact that their bodies were a hair's breadth away from one another, but he had intentionally not moved an inch in an attempt to intimidate her.

“Don’t you think I have a right to know where you are, and what you are doing?” he ground out, staring hard down at her with disapproval.

“Um…” Her nose scrunched in a show of perplexed disbelief. “Not really. No.”

Affronted by her manner, he found himself rising to his full height, glaring at her now. “I’m your husband,” he told her stiffly.

“And? That doesn’t mean that I answer to you or something.” There was amused astonishment in her voice, and it grated at him greatly.

“That’s exactly what it means,” he growled. “I’ve barely even seen you since…” His face hardened. The farce that had been their exchange of wedding vows was something he did not wish to dwell upon, and he had put much effort in trying to erase her naked body from his vision, because clearly it had the ability to addle his usually astute brain.

“Look,” she started, shifting her book bag on her shoulder, “you made it clear you didn’t exactly want to… engage with me.” Seemingly disgruntled by her own unintentional play on words, she shook her head as if to clear it. “I thought you would appreciate your space.”

He grunted in response. He was thankful she wasn’t a cloying wife. But did she have to act as if he were so repellent? He noticed with wry amusement that she wouldn’t even meet his eye. He wondered if she were embarrassed at how he had gazed upon her while she’d been bathing, or if she was truly just put-off at the idea of being married to him. He couldn’t care less, either way. They were stuck in this situation and she would have to learn to live with it, just as he was attempting to do.

There was a knock at the door, and Granger turned to it with a look of relief across her delicate features. “That’ll be Healer Atterberry. Has she said anything about your progress?” she asked, carefully sidestepping him and moving toward the door.

Severus stood rooted to the spot, ignoring her inquiry. “It’s been near a week,” he said quietly. “They will expect us to… solidify this marriage, soon.” He wasn’t sure why he’d said it. For some strange reason, he took immense pleasure in rattling her. Perhaps it was the way her hair would faintly spark with her amplified emotions. Perhaps it was his subconscious attempt to drive her as far away as possible so that he could suffer properly for all he had done. Perhaps, though, it was because he still had the image of her wet body seared into his brain, overwhelming him every time he closed his eyes.

She turned to him with wide eyes. “Um… right.” She nodded, her delicate brows furrowed. “Whenever you’re ready.”

He had been ready since he’d seen her in the shower, but he chose not to voice that. “Tonight, then,” he replied. Damn it all, they needed to move past this.

“Oh!” she gasped, blanching in a reaction that would have been amusing to him if this whole situation weren’t awkward as bleeding hell. “Oh, okay.” She straightened her shoulders and tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear, assuming that damned mantle of courage with finesse. “See you tonight.”

“See you,” Severus mocked, his voice deepening considerably as he subtly referenced the shower incident. Despite his attempt to rile her, he found himself responding to his suggestive tone, his body coming alive at the thought of her naked before him once more.

He smirked as she glowered at him just as a red flush graced her cheeks, before she turned, threw open the door, and Disapparated without even greeting Healer Atterberry.

He’d succeeded in provoking her. Only time would tell what the results of that would be.

Chapter Text

Healer Atterberry was a lovely woman, a few years his senior, who had insisted on coddling Severus from her first visit to his bedside. Potter was paying her a small fortune to attend to him, though she had tried to refuse the money because it was “her honour to serve a war hero.” Severus made sure she was aware of his level of derision at such a notion, but the matronly mediwitch was not put-off by his surly attitude - which, quite frankly, took the fun out of it. He didn’t seem to intimidate anyone as of late, and that fact was beginning to perturb him profusely.

“Honestly, Severus, I think you’re recovered enough to make love to your wife,” she told him gently, after he begrudgingly admitted that the Ministry expected him to seal the soul bond posthaste.

He scowled. “The term ‘make love’ implies mutual affection, of which there is none.” He had certainly cemented that, after verbally eviscerating his wife in her formative years, and recently invading her privacy, which couldn’t have been as enjoyable for her as it had been for him. From his standpoint, he’d never referred to fucking as making love, and couldn’t say he had felt affection of that sort in decades. They were being thrown into a most uncomfortable situation, even if the girl had brought it upon herself, and he admitted to himself that he had no earthly idea as to how he was going to approach the evening, despite his bravado in front of her earlier.

Atterberry sighed loudly, bringing Severus’ attention back to her. “Consummating your marriage, then.” She fluffed his pillows and situated them the way he liked. “I’ve run full body diagnostics three times. There is no venom left in your system, your neck has fully scarred… you’re ready to re-enter the world.”

He hadn’t wanted to re-enter anything, and wasn’t sure he wanted to even now. Where would he find employment? How was he supposed to make this sham of a marriage work? How could he live with himself being indebted to Harry bloody Potter?

“Now, mind you, I wouldn’t overexert yourself during the deed,” she told him, a sparkle too much like Dumbledore’s in her eye. “Gentle copulating might be best for both of you.”

Severus could feel his face flush and quickly dipped his head so that a curtain of black hair covered his face. Gentle copulating? Death Eater gatherings surely hadn’t taught him the act of gentle lovemaking, and neither had his rare visits to brothels. And Merlin, he hoped the healer wasn’t insinuating that Granger needed gentle because she was a virgin. Never in his life had he been with a virgin and he didn’t fancy the idea of starting tonight.

What choice do you have, you blithering idiot?

“I suppose I’ve teased you enough for one day,” Atterberry surmised as she stood from her chair beside his bed and began packing her tools. “You will need to lighten up at some point, though, Severus,” she admonished him.

“What if I don’t know how?” he asked, before he could stop the sullen words from tumbling out.

She eyed him from the doorway. “Let her in,” the healer told him softly. “She’ll teach you.”

And with that, she was gone, leaving Severus to perch on the edge of his bed with a confounded look upon his face.

Hermione sat in the drawing room, waiting for some kind of sign that it was time. So much for being a famed Gryffindor war hero. She was hiding from her new husband as if he wouldn’t find her in one of the places she frequented the most. Stupid, Hermione, stupid.

She’d returned home from assisting with the rebuilding of Hogwarts about an hour and a half past when Kreacher usually served Harry and Severus dinner. It hadn’t been intentional, not entirely, but she could hardly think of eating when she knew what would come after. She had hardly been able to think much at all that day. She’d aroused the concern of her NEWTs study group and of Minerva, whom she had grown extremely close to in the weeks that followed the war. Minerva had been kind all week to not bring up Hermione’s unexpected and shocking marriage, but today she had decided to fully express her misgivings to the young woman about being married to a bitter, hardened man twice her age. It had only served to unsettle Hermione further, loath as she was to admit it. She was as jumpy as a frightened rabbit and could think of nothing to calm herself down.

There was no love lost between her and Snape, but she felt something toward him she couldn’t explain. She had helped to save him and had felt immensely protective of him from the moment she had learned the truth about who he was. Looking back over the course of her time at Hogwarts, she could now clearly define times when Snape had shielded them from harm time and again, and she felt somewhat foolish for having put herself and him in such a position. No wonder he’d been so cruel to them! They’d narrowly escaped death and dismemberment many times due directly to his intervention. On some level, she felt as if she owed it to him to ensure he had a pleasant life, now that he had another chance to live. She found herself wanting to please him, though that wasn’t new; she had sought his favour repeatedly during her school years, frustrated that she had won over her other professors with ease and he remained unimpressed by her efforts.

At the same time, however, he pushed buttons she didn’t know she had. She had once told Harry that she was always mad at Ron, and certainly the redhead knew how to upset her quickly and often. But Snape was different. He made her feel on edge, with a heightened awareness, a prickling under her skin when he taunted her.

No one, save her parents when she was younger and maybe her doctor a time or two, had ever seen her fully naked. His blatant leer as he’d come upon her in the shower had rattled her so much so that she had lain awake in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling and wondering what on earth she’d gotten herself into. His unwavering gaze had been so carnal, so predatory, that it had made her feel faint. Even now, the memory of it had her knees quaking. Viktor had always looked at her like an eager puppy dog, and Ron’s recent interest in her had been like a tidal wave, his love for her seeming to be based on what she could do for him - “You’re going to make so much money as Minister one day, ‘Mione, and we’ll have a whole house full of kids!” - and those being her only two romantic experiences with the other gender, she was quite sure she was unprepared for Severus Snape.

She should be put-off by him. She should be utterly disgusted with his gratuitous actions, and desperately seeking a way out of her marriage, as Minerva had suggested earlier.

And yet, she was helplessly fascinated by him, this dark enigmatic man who would rather push everyone away than find happiness. Despite the way he actively sought to unnerve her, she wanted to turn the tables on him; kill him with kindness, as her father used to say. She wanted to win him over, and give him the life he should have had before the war. How she would go about it, she had no idea. She felt rather like a fish out of water.

The feeling only intensified as the door opened, and his tall, lean form filled the doorway, the scarce light from the dying fire casting ominous shadows over him. She could feel rather than see his obsidian eyes darting over her form. She tried not to shrink into the sofa, instead lifting her shoulders up and back and uncrossing her legs to sit up straight and proud before him.

His deep, amused voice washed over her, causing her breathing to stop. “Shall we?” he asked, extending a hand out toward her in expectation.

Taking a deep breath, hoping it wasn’t too noticeable, she stood and squared her shoulders, and then joined him at the door.

Finding her voice, she murmured, “We shall.” She swept past him, guiding him by the hand down the hall toward her room, praying to whatever deity was listening to keep her knees from buckling along the way.

Chapter Text

She was a fraud. She knew it, and had no doubt that he did too. As they moved into her room, and she reached past him to shut the door firmly behind them, she noted with distress that he was smirking wryly, as if incredibly amused by her brave charade; as if he knew they were entering into territory in which she was not a know-it-all, and he was relishing her ineptitude.

Hermione came to stand before him in the center of her room, her back to her bed, staring at his shoulder and steadfastly avoiding his glittering dark gaze. She could see in her periphery that he still wore that amused smirk, but something in his stiff body language made her wonder if he was just as nervous as she, and doing a bloody good job of masking it. He’d always known how to unnerve her, and especially after the shower incident he had been taking great pleasure in seeing her rattled. Moreover, he was succeeding. After all she’d been through, after how controlled and self-confident she’d come to feel, this man still had the power to make her feel completely inept.

Except… He wasn’t staring at her as if she were inept, nor inadequate, in any way. In fact, his obsidian orbs were targeted on her in the same way a wolf would look ravenously upon a deer in anticipation of gobbling it up. The imagery sent a shiver down her spine, and she realized it was not with dread, but with curious expectation. Her knees began quaking, and she could feel minute fissures of electricity spiking through her curls, a result of her excited magic as she began to feel drawn to her soul-bonded mate.

“Shall I light a fire?” she managed to squeak out, hating the sound of her pinched voice.

“That won’t be necessary,” he answered, and stepped forward to sweep his hand over the wick of the candle at her bedside. The overhead lights went dark, and the golden candlelight cast shadows upon him, causing her breath to catch painfully in the back of her throat.

She was used to a sneering, snarky Snape. This silken-voiced, almost gentle version of Snape had her completely flummoxed. She could feel her guard begin to slowly drop, even as she resisted, positive that she could never fully trust him.

“I…” She stopped, wet her lips, and tried again to find her voice. “I can turn down the duvet,” she murmured.

He raised a brow. “Do so. Then…” His voice lowered, sliding across her like velvet. “Remove your clothes.”

She could feel her eyes widen to the point where it nearly hurt. Turning away from him, she approached the bed and pulled the cover down, watching her hand shake pitifully as if it belonged to someone else entirely. Attempting to swallow past the lump in her throat, she slipped off her shoes, and then reached up to unbutton her blouse, hoping her ragged breaths weren’t too terribly audible.

“Facing me,” came the low baritone of his voice. Her breath hitched painfully in her throat.

Closing her eyes, she turned and continued slipping the tiny pearl buttons through the buttonholes, thankful her fingers didn’t fumble on the way down.

“Open your eyes.” The command was firm. She never could have resisted.

Her lashes swept up, and she slipped her blouse off her shoulders as she stared at the same spot on his shoulder once more.

“Hermione,” he said, and the sound of that deep, silken voice saying her name for the first time caused her to gasp. She suddenly felt very faint, and wondered if she would be able to remain on her feet much longer. Blinking rapidly, she was entirely overwhelmed when he commanded, “Look at me.”

She swallowed hard, wondering why she felt so parched. How on earth had she landed in this situation? Never, ever had she imagined that Snape would be deflowering her, and that she would be so incredibly affected by the process.

Sighing, thinking she definitely should have read more books regarding the subject, she finally met his gaze. Instinctively, her chin rose in defiance. She unzipped her skirt and pushed it over her hips, where it pooled in a heap on top of her blouse. Standing before him in only her knickers, she shivered. He raised an expectant brow, one that delivered an obvious challenge. Narrowing her eyes, remembering suddenly that he’d already seen all of her, she made quick work of her underthings, discarding them on the floor.

What seemed like endless moments passed in which their locked gazes never wavered from one another. She was pleasantly surprised that he didn’t rake his eyes down her body, but the way he held her gaze so intently unnerved her entirely. A cold draft of air passed over her, and goose pimples rose on her skin. She could feel her nipples harden, and a hot blush crept up her neck and over her cheeks.

“Get in,” he told her.

Her mouth dropped in shock. “But…” Indignity rose within her, and she clenched her fists at her sides. “Things are a tad unfair here!” She motioned between her naked body and his clothed one, her ire well and truly ignited.

“Get in,” he commanded again. His tone brooked no argument whatsoever.

Huffing indignantly, she turned and climbed into the bed, settling in the corner and trying to cover herself as much as possible. When she noticed him reach for his cravat, her eyes snapped to the movement, suddenly enthralled with his every move.

He made quick work of his clothes, years of practice of the same routine and all those buttons obvious as piece by piece hit the floor. His pale skin stood out starkly against the dark furniture of the room and contrasted mightily with the golden light from the candle. He seemed uncaring to be revealing his body to her, yet it was as if she could feel that he wasn’t entirely comfortable in his own skin. A prickling at the base of her skull insisted it was unpleasant for him to be this exposed, but how in the world could she know that? With a furrowed brow, she wondered if their connection was growing in strength. It would certainly be a comfort to her to be able to feel what he was feeling right now, to know his vulnerability since hers was clearly written all over her expressive face. But he was resisting. She knew he was Occluding, and had been since the moment the soul bond took root.

Her troubled thoughts came screeching to a halt as his pants landed at his ankles. Upon seeing him completely unclothed, she gulped and her hand fluttered near her heart. Terrified in a purely feminine way she’d never experienced, she stammered, “If you could just… go slow. I’ve never done this before.” The admittance of such left her feeling ashamed.

He paused, and considered her, his obsidian gaze sweeping her form. She waited tensely for him to revert to the angry professor she’d known in her adolescence. She saw a kind of steely resolve enter his gaze before he moved forward quickly, sooner than she could even register what he was doing.

Suddenly, his hands clasped around her ankles, and he dragged her down to the end of the bed, her bum resting at the edge. As he knelt between her thighs, she gaped down at him, her heart pounding in overtime. “What… what are you doing?” she asked him in a shaky voice.

“I need you wet,” he murmured as his lips descended to the soft flesh of her inner thigh. “Very wet.”

And she meant to demand more answers, but the feather-light touch of his lips against the incredibly sensitive flesh of her thigh had him closer to his goal sooner than she’d believed possible. Rarely over the years had she found time to explore her body, but on the occasions she had, the light stroke of a finger over her inner thighs had always excited her quickly. Once while furiously necking, Ron had slipped his hand between her legs and discovered how sensitive she was there, but scared from how far they had advanced, she had pulled away from him. Now, Snape - her husband, which still astounded her - had chosen to attack her there first as if he’d known exactly what she liked. Unable to form words, her belly tight with anticipation, she lay with her hands clutching the duvet as his lips kissed, sucked and nipped at the soft flesh.

It was when he wrapped his arms around her thighs and pulled her even further down toward him that she realized his lips were moving in a path, the ultimate destination clearly her most secret place. Her legs kicked minutely in nervousness but he held fast, and she felt utterly helpless. The fear mixed with desperate arousal was suffocating.

He didn’t stop. He didn’t even seem to notice that she was having a difficult time breathing. His mouth descended on her heat, an almost chaste kiss placed upon her nether lips before his tongue darted in between them and stroked up. A shocked cry left her throat, and she arched up off the bed, but he steadied her and continued, stroking his tongue up again from her tight opening to the hardened pearl hidden between her folds. Then suddenly he was besieging that pearl again and again, his tongue darting over it so forcefully she was gasping, Her fingers twisted painfully in the sheets, and she thought she would simply die when his lips enclosed the engorged bud and vigorously sucked.

“I…. I…. Severus, please, I…” Incoherent, she tried to plead with him to stop, or go on, or something she wasn’t even sure she was begging for.

At the sound of his name, a low growl vibrated against her clitoris, and she screamed in pleasured agony. Legs trying to flail, knuckles white from her death grip on the duvet, she bucked beneath him as if to remove him from her. There was no way she could handle all of this sensation.

One hand pressing her hips down, he snaked his other between her legs. She felt one of his long fingers stroke her heat before he slowly penetrated her to the knuckle, the shock of it and slight foreign feeling masked by the laving of his tongue on her clit.

“Please…” She begged, and she had meant to ask him to stop. She felt as if she would die if he didn’t stop, but then she realized she would probably die if he did. He was giving her the most incredible sensations of her entire life.

He lifted his head, and she blushed to her roots when she saw his mouth and nose glistening from her wetness. His thumb took over for his tongue, and he continued the abrasion against the swollen nub between her damp folds, just as he added a second finger into her heat. The stretch surprised her, but was not unpleasant. He pumped his fingers in and out of her leisurely, watching her with hooded eyes.

“Let go,” he commanded her, curving his fingers as he thrust. Her meager breath caught in her throat, and she knew she was on the edge of some precipice, but knew not where to go from there. She stared down at him helplessly, struggling to breathe, hoping for some guidance. “Let,” he drew out the word, his voice deeper than ever, “go.” And he bent his head and sucked her clit into his mouth once more, simultaneously curling his fingers again inside of her.

She was breaking into a million pieces. She was falling and had no idea where she would land. The release of her frenzied pleasure had her quaking beneath him, unable to grab a foothold and uncaring if she did. Never had she thought such bliss was possible. If she had, she would have been experimenting on herself ages ago.

He moved up her body, and she registered with embarrassment that her fist was clutching his hair. She dropped her hand away as she felt the rock-hard evidence of his arousal sliding up her leg as he covered her body with his. All at once shy, despite the fact that she had just come apart from his intimate ministrations, she lowered her gaze from his, unsure what to do next.

Snape settled in the cradle of her thighs, and he reached up to take her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“It will hurt at first,” he cautioned her gravely.

Biting her lower lip, an old nervous habit she thought she had successfully broken, she nodded once in understanding.

A faint smirk tilted his lips. “Brave little Gryffindor,” he mocked, but there was no sting to it.

Reaching between them, she could feel him lining up his exceptional erection with her opening, still slick from her orgasm. The tip of his length entered, and she froze, involuntarily squeezing against his entry.

“Relax,” he directed her. And truly, she tried. But as another inch of him sank in, she panicked and squeezed again. “You are not making this easy,” he gritted between clenched teeth, a light sheen of sweat dotting his forehead.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, willing herself to open to him.

He looked up from the attempted joining of their bodies, and his gaze scrutinized her thoroughly. Before she could even guess at his intentions, his head dipped and he took one of her nipples into his mouth, rolling the taut little bud against his tongue.

What in Merlin’s name did he think he was doing? She arched against him and he sank deeper into her, and the sting of it caused tears to fill her eyes. Frantically she pushed at his shoulders, caught between the unexpected delightful sensation of his mouth at her breast and the growing uncomfortable pressure from his penetration into her heat.

His head snapped up, the comprehension in his eyes astounding her. He was reading her like a book, had been this whole time. Somehow, he’d kept the soul bond closed on his side, but had opened enough to feel her throughout the entire experience.

“You can feel me,” she whispered in awe.

Seemingly displeased that she had caught on, he lowered his head and attacked her mouth with a bruising kiss. It was the first they had shared and she hadn’t been expecting the sudden plundering of her mouth, his tongue so forceful against hers she had to put her entire strength into the duel. Whilst she was distracted by their impassioned kiss, he took the opportunity to enter her fully, thrusting into her so quickly and deeply that at first there seemed to be no pain at all. But then, as he stilled after seating himself to the hilt, she could feel the burn of her ripped flesh so mightily that tears leaked from her eyes.

He released her lips and stared down at her as she sobbed softly, the sting lessening but the discomfort still throbbing throughout her nether regions. She noticed with consternation that she had clawed at his shoulders so desperately that angry red welts were appearing on his pale skin.

Cautiously, his hips began to withdraw, before he surged forward once more. A fresh wave of tears flowed down her cheeks.

“Must you move so soon?” she asked pitifully.

A short, bitter bark of laughter escaped him. “Yes, I must.” The look on his face was pained, and she so rarely saw anything but stoicism that it shocked her. “The sooner I move, the sooner we can be done with this,” he informed her, as if to bolster her for the next few minutes.

It hadn’t been all bad. The current sensations weren’t preferable to what he’d invoked in her at the beginning, but there was something fascinating about the way he moved in and out of her. The steely strength of his arms as he braced them on either side of her, the concentration on his face, his dark hair swinging around his cheeks in time with his thrusts - all of it inexplicably captivated her.

Reaching up, she cupped his cheek in her hand. His eyes met hers, and she gave him a faint smile. In that moment, she felt his guard slip, just enough to where she heard the whisper of his thought: “I’m sorry.”

His eyes widened as he felt her mind join with his, as he watched her feel only a small amount of the guilty pleasure he felt being inside of her. Her triumph and the curve of her lips as she smiled, so pleased with herself for slipping past his defenses, had his balls tightening almost painfully. He released within her, his head dropping forward as he bit back a low groan.

It was endless moments before his body ceased spasming and he finally lifted his head. He disengaged from her body, and despite the still-present discomfort she felt bereft.

“I’ll return to my room,” he informed her aloofly, Occluding strongly once more.

She clutched his forearms and held him in place. “Don’t.” Her eyes implored him. In that moment she didn’t care how needy she sounded or how much of her emotions were saturating him. He’d taken her virginity and sealed their soul bond, and he was going to stay with her for just a little while. Of course, he was still Snape, so gently, she added, “Please.”

Raising a brow, he carefully moved to lay beside her, pulling the duvet up with him to cover them both. They lay still next to one another, his mind totally shut off from her, but Hermione couldn’t help but be grateful she wasn’t alone - even if she felt lonely.

Chapter Text

It was the morning before their weekly copulation, and Severus found himself looking forward to it.

He’d awoken the past Saturday morning to an empty bed, and a note from his wife that read, “I figured you might need your rest, so decided to let you sleep in. I’ll be back for dinner.” Despite her cheeky remark and the embarrassment at having woken up near afternoon in her bed, he appreciated that she had let him know she was out and when she would return. Perhaps they would begin to make slow but steady progress in this new world.

Her deflowering had been something of a revelation. Never in his life had he witnessed the true reaction of a woman to his touch, pure and unadulterated. As strongly as he’d been Occluding, her emotions had besieged him, a battering ram against the sturdiest of castle doors. He’d held out as long as possible, but had slipped and lost himself in her body, in her response to him, and she had caught him. She’d known he was open, and it had terrified him. He’d felt marginally guilty at shutting himself away at the end, but was glad he’d gone against his flight instinct and stayed with her.

There may have been an uncomfortable reunion had they faced one another alone the next evening, but Potter joined them for dinner, and conversation flowed freely. Mostly between his companions, but they would often seek Severus’ opinion on the matter being discussed. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He didn’t care for socializing and he didn’t fancy playing house with them. But deeper down, the part of him that had been rejected for so long, the part he repressed at all costs, whispered of what could be in the future he’d been given. Or rather, that had been forced upon him.

Hermione shyly bid him goodnight, and so the routine continued throughout the week. They never found themselves alone together, but more and more their dinner conversations deepened, and he learned more about his wife that only proved - however hard he tried to resist the feelings - to enrapture him further. She had always memorized and regurgitated information, but he was pleased to discover that she had learned to internalize and process information, and truly was a bright individual who could challenge him on many different subjects. She was a silly thing, making Potter snort more times than he could count, and she had a tinkling laughter that lit up her entire face. When she wasn’t wearing robes, she wore horrendous baggy jumpers that drove Severus absolutely berserk; not only because of how ugly they were, but because he kept imagining her body underneath. However, despite the light she seemed to bring to those around her, he could identify an underlying sadness in her, such that on more than one occasion he’d considered opening their soul bond connection to feel it out.

At night, he tossed and turned, aching for her, dreaming of her wild hair spread across the pillows, her soft skin, her warm heat. It was a kind of torture, not unlike the raging fevers he’d suffered while fighting off Nagini’s venom. Rather than let his frustration overcome him, as he would have in another life, he chose to dwell on the anticipation of their Friday evening rendezvous, planning how he would take her next, wondering if she was looking forward to it as much as he.

He had awoken early, and had felt the excitement roll through him knowing it was Friday once more. Hoping to catch Hermione for breakfast, even if it was with Third Wheel Potter, he meandered down to the kitchen.

He swung the door forward, and the sight before him sent his blood boiling in fury.

Ronald Weasley was behind Hermione, attempting to teach her how to flip an omelette, and they were laughing together as his arms caged her in.

Severus violently pushed the door fully open, and the bang as it hit the wall made Hermione jump. Their eyes bounded to him in alarm.

“A word, madam,” Severus practically growled at her.

She gave Ron an apologetic look and followed Severus to the darkened hallway.

“What is it?” she asked, impatiently.

Her tone enraged him further. He swirled on her and pinned her against the wall, snarling down at her. “You are MY wife.”

She gawped up at him. “What on earth?”

“Weasley has no right to have his hands all over you.” He glared in rage down at her. “Perhaps you need a reminder that you are a married woman, now.”

He sealed his mouth over hers and she immediately resisted, trying and failing to push him back. She jerked her head to the side in defiance, bucking against him. Insistent to make her understand that she was his, Severus inserted his hand between her legs, stroking against her sensitive nub through her clothes. He felt her immediate capitulation, as if his touch made her lose all of her thought. Hermione let out an agonized moan against his ear, before finding his lips eagerly and arching into his touch.

The slam of a door met their ears, and Severus looked over his shoulder to see Weasley standing there, fury evident across his features as he eyed them. Severus sent him a nasty, triumphant grin, and the redhead moved forward menacingly, but Severus faced him coolly and glowered.

“She is mine, Weasley; and the sooner you accept it, the better.”

“She was mine first!”

“Apparently not,” Severus replied with a leer.

A slap echoed throughout the hallway, and Severus felt the sting as if in delayed time. He turned disbelieving eyes to his diminutive wife, who was glowering up at him, the ends of her hair crackling with her roiling emotions. She stepped in between the two wizards, gazing at them with disgust.

“I am not some thing to be possessed. I am a witch who has had quite enough of this pissing contest.”

She stalked toward the front door and exited, and seconds later there was a pop, signaling her Apparition.

Not sparing a glance or a word to Weasley, who was still emanating pure fury, Severus followed her without hesitation. Reaching out with their bond magic to find her, he Apparated, half-fearing a Splinch from the attempt.

He arrived at the end of a driveway of what looked to be an abandoned home. It was small, but obviously very posh, the kind of home he could only dream about as a child in his ramshackle home at Spinner’s End. He could hear a creaking of chains coming from the back, and so he followed the sound cautiously, senses alert.

As he came around the corner of the brick house, he saw Hermione sitting on a swinging bench in the middle of the garden, her eyes sad. He came to rest before her, and she stopped swaying, but didn’t look at him. He knelt before her, his hands curling loosely around her ankles. He had never been the comforting sort, and most definitely loathed the idea of apologizing to anyone, and so he felt quite unsure of what to say to her and opted to wait for her to speak. The melancholy she displayed was near unbearable. For a week, he’d been closely examining her and attempting to learn more about her underlying sadness. Now, he was the one who had brought it to the surface, and it vexed him greatly.

“I’ve given up so much for our world,” she whispered, her chin rubbing across her knees. “It never seems to be enough.”

He remained silent, her emotions overwhelming him through their bond, so much so that he found himself disarmed of his usual Occlumency shields. She was utterly vulnerable, and it seemed their soul bond insisted he be, as well.

“I couldn’t bring myself to sell it,” she said, peering up at the dark windows of the home, her eyes shining bright with unshed tears. “I had hoped to bring them back, after we won.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “It doesn’t feel like we won. All of our hopes for change, dashed as reality set in.” Her gaze finally settled on him, and it was unnerving. “All I wanted to do was help you. That’s all. Had I known you would hate me for it, perhaps I wouldn’t have.” Again, a dark, wry laugh. “That’s not true. It’s in my nature. I couldn’t stand idly by and see you reduced to such a fate.”

“I don’t hate you,” Severus told her gravely. “I couldn’t, even if I wanted to.”

“It feels that way sometimes.”

“It’s not the case.” He snaked his fingers through her own, releasing them from their death grip on her knees, smoothing his thumbs over her white knuckles. “I will be better. I will endeavor to be a better husband to you.” Even as the words left his mouth, he wondered where the bloody hell they were coming from. He didn’t know the first thing about being a good husband, or even being a good man. He had failed so often, and fully expected himself to continue to, despite whatever efforts he may put forward.

“I shouldn’t expect such things,” she said softly. “You didn’t want this. No one did. Of course you have a right to be angry.”

“Not at the one who merely wanted to save me.” He squeezed her hands. “At the Wizengamot, yes; but never you. I have always been a difficult man, Hermione. I am regretful of the way I have treated you thus far.”

“Truly?”

“Truly. And I’d like to make it up to you.”

Her eyes met his, the brown orbs shining with a hope that scared him. “How?” she whispered.

He gave her a lopsided smile, belying the terror within him at the idea of opening up to another person, and stood, pulling her to stand before him. Wrapping his arms around her, he Apparated, landing them in an unknown alleyway.

“I used to pass this place as a child, watching fancy patrons enter and wondering what it would be like to go inside.” He waved his wand down her body, and her clothes Transfigured into a nice ensemble. “Will you accompany me to an early lunch?” he asked.

The smile she gifted him stole his breath. She placed her arm in his, and he escorted her into the restaurant. It was surreal for him, to be walking into this place he’d always wanted to experience, with a wife he never expected and suddenly could not let go; to even be alive in a world where he could pursue such an occasion freely.

They savoured their food, and it was clear the gesture had meant much to her. As they sipped at their tea, Severus leaned forward, his gaze solemn.

“Hermione,” he said her name, trying to ease into the subject, “where are your parents, and why haven’t you brought them back, as you had hoped?”

She swallowed her tea with an audible gulp, the merriment in her eyes from their enjoyable time together disappearing entirely. She chewed on her lower lip, clearly of a mind to deny him the painful answers, but her shoulders lifted resolutely and she met his eyes.

“I Obliviated my parents last summer in order to better protect them. I moved them to Australia, constructed new identities for them, and left my familiar Crookshanks with them as well. I didn’t want those I loved most to come to harm because of me.” She sighed and looked down at her teacup, tracing the rim idly as she continued. “You know very well how many books I’ve read, and although I never once come across any information about a way to reverse the spell, I was certain I would find a way. Brightest witch of her age and all that rubbish,” she said with no small amount of self-deprecation.

Severus winced. She was clearly very angry at herself for what she had done and the assumptions she had made.

Hermione met his eyes again, and the tears from before had returned, brimming, though she seemed adamant she would not let them fall. “Immediately after it all ended, I went to check on them. I don’t know what I expected - perhaps some ridiculous Muggle part of me thought it’d be something right out of the cinema; they would see me, run to me, and embrace me, and all would be right in the world.” Her voice dropped to a strained whisper. “But they did not know me. They answered the door and blinked at me in confusion. Even Crooks wouldn’t come to me. He was mad I left him behind.” She took a deep, steadying breath, and determination entered her gaze. “I returned to study as much as I could. I even rifled through the books about dark magic from the Black family library. I’m ashamed to say I might have done anything to set them right. But I found nothing. I don’t want to give up, but…” She closed her eyes. “There’s no hope.”

Severus steepled his fingers and thought carefully about her words. He didn’t wish to instill false hope within her, but he was quite sure, especially with the assistance of Healer Atterberry, that he could restore the memories of the Grangers.

“I’ve never known you to be one for giving up,” he mused, eyeing her speculatively.

She frowned at him. “I don’t, typically,” she retorted, seemingly offended at his response to all she had revealed to him. “You do realize I just poured my heart out to you, yes?” Her hair sparked dangerously as her ire kindled.

Severus smirked, undaunted. “All I’m asking, dear wife, is that you not give up just yet. Focus on your NEWTs, and then perhaps you and I will begin in-depth research. I’ve contacts throughout Europe, China, and America. Magic is vast, and we will exhaust every possibility before I hear you say there is no hope.”

Stunned, she sat blinking at him, and he dared not open their connection to gauge her feelings. For a moment, he wondered if he’d gone too far, if he’d pushed her too much once more, and had lost ground. But then, a secret smile spread across her face, and she leaned forward, reaching out to stroke his hand upon the table.

“You know… it is Friday… and tonight…”

“I’m well aware of what day it is,” he replied roughly, his voice deep. Her suggestive tone had certainly captured his attention.

“Well, I was just thinking that maybe we could begin early…”

Severus raised a brow. She was initiating intimacy with him in the middle of the day?

“Check, please,” he called out to the server. “Table one.”

Chapter Text

They stood staring at one another, neither making a move. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but rather filled the room with a tight tension that made it difficult to breathe.

Hermione let out a nervous laugh and pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. She had been very bold at lunch, something she’d never imagined being with the man before her. But she was drawn to him in the most inexplicable way; it was very likely their soul bond, but even if so, there was zero possibility of fighting it. During their journey back to her room, however, she’d lost much of her gumption, and was suddenly struck that it was only her second time and she still didn’t have the foggiest idea what she was doing.

“Stop that,” Severus growled at her abruptly, and began slowly stalking toward her like some hungry panther.

Hermione stared at him wide-eyed, belatedly realizing that she was chewing at her lower lip while she pondered how to proceed. She released her lip from captivity immediately. “Why?” she questioned him, wondering why he would care about her nervous habits.

“Because,” he replied, as he stepped forward, and his thumb caressed over her swollen bottom lip, “that’s my job.”

She gasped into his mouth as he slanted his lips over hers, kissing her deeply as he cupped her face in his hands. She leaned into him, eyelids fluttering, enjoying the flavour of honey on his tongue from the treats they’d had at lunch.

They kissed like their lives depended on it, and in a way, perhaps such was the case.

Her blouse was thrown over her head; his jacket was pushed firmly from his shoulders. Off went her skirt as he urged her toward the bed and tipped her back to lay upon it; but as her back hit the mattress, she came up quickly to sit on the edge and stare up at him.

“Um,” she started, not quite meeting his gaze.

“What is it?” he asked in a gravelly voice. When she didn’t answer, he smirked and tipped her chin up. “What is bouncing through that brain of yours?” he asked softly, with that playfully mocking tone that made her feel both warm and foolish at the same time.

“There is… something I read about… I wondered if you’d let me try it.”

He arched a dark brow, and it reminded her of the way he used to look at her when she would answer a question out of turn in his classroom.

“I think you’ll like it,” she hastily assured him, biting her lower lip again and reaching out for the placket of his trousers.

Severus dipped his head and gave her a brief but fierce kiss before standing up straight. “I’m at your mercy,” he conceded, hands going to his sides.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. A handjob at most, perhaps; an almost clinical examination of the male genitalia from this ever-studious know-it-all. But when her little pink tongue darted out and stroked the head of his penis, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

His hands shot out and gripped her shoulders roughly, and he drew in a sharp, pained breath when she looked up at him from beneath her lashes, lips pouty.

“What do you think you are doing?” he asked her slowly, in a low, barely restrained murmur.

“It’s called fellatio,” she answered matter-of-factly.

His eyes narrowed dangerously. “I’m well aware of what it’s called, Granger. Why are you attempting it on me?” He couldn’t help his misgivings. A woman had never willingly put her mouth on him before. Voldemort had found it amusing at Death Eater Revels to Imperio others to perform it upon Severus - neither he nor the Imperiused party had been willing. It wasn’t exactly something he was comfortable with his innocent wife doing to him.

Trying to brush off her hurt feelings at his rejection, Hermione sat back and shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

Damn their soul bond. He could feel every ounce of her embarrassment and distress. Remembering his promise to her, he reached out and took her chin in his hand. “You don’t have to do this, Hermione.”

She peered up at him tentatively. “I want to, though,” she insisted softly. “I want to please you. The way you have done to me.”

His nostrils flared at the heady arousal her words inspired. Despite his hesitation, he found himself nodding in acquiescence, hardly believing when she smiled beatifically up at him in response and perched on the end of the bed once more.

“Will you let me feel you? Just a little? So that I may learn as I go?” She spoke of their soul bond. She didn’t know the level of vulnerability she was asking of him; it was almost painful. He had a flashback to earlier in the day, when he’d come upon her with Weasley’s arms wrapped around her, her carefree laughter ringing out. He could never hope to have that with her. He could never trust her, or anyone, fully.

And yet, his own magic was working against him, for he discovered in that moment that he could deny her nothing. He was confounded to hear himself answer solemnly, “Yes.” He was terrified as he felt the shields of his mind slowly crumble.

She smiled up at him, and then her gaze dropped to his semi-hard length, a steely determination in her honey brown orbs. He’s so big, he heard her unspoken thought whisper through his mind, and a strangled cough escaped him. She ran her index finger down his length, and then gripped him around the base, languidly pumping her fist up twice. As he hardened fully as before, she leaned forward and touched her tongue to the tip once more. Apparently pleased by the shiver that ran through his body, she swirled her tongue lazily around the head of his cock, before enclosing him in her mouth.

Fucking hell, he thought. He’d been reluctant to let her do this, but damn if the sight and feel of her didn’t enrapture him.

She took as much as she could of him to the back of her throat, and then immediately came back up as if it had been too much. Taking a deep breath, she tried it again, relaxing her throat as she did so. Her hand intermittently squeezed at his base, and Severus lifted a hand to rest gently on the back of her head, urging her forward as his eyes closed against the sensation. Her inexperience only endeared her to him more, and when she tried to suck as she retreated up his shaft, he let out a low groan.

He should not be letting her do this. She was too good for this. Too good for him. Just like the few who had been forced to take him in their mouths at the Revels. He needed to put a stop to it… The panic rose like acid in his throat.

“Severus,” she spoke his name, wrenching him out of his escalating distress. “I want this. It’s just me. You’re my husband,” she reminded him. She reached up to place her free hand on his chest. “Watch me,” she whispered to him. “Guide me.” One would’ve thought she was some Odyssean temptress, not a recently deflowered bookworm.

He watched her swollen lips enclose around him once more, her tongue swirling around the ridges of his cock as she moved her mouth down his length. As she withdrew this time, her tongue caressed the entirety of the pulsing vein along the bottom of his shaft. His hips bucked forward involuntarily.

That’s it, he heard her thought purr through his mind. What else would please you? He wasn’t sure if she was purposely talking to him through their bond, or if she was just subconsciously broadcasting and the magic of the bond was relaying it to him. It was entirely disorienting and uncomfortable for a loner such as he, but his physical desire was overpowering his mind.

He placed his hand over her free hand, still on his chest, and maneuvered it slowly down his body until it rested over his balls. Seeming to sense what he yearned for, she cupped them in her hand, massaging them gently as she continued to make love to him with her mouth. Before he could even articulate what he sought, she had moved two fingers to his perineum and caressed the spongy flesh in time with her tongue stroking over his cock.

As the exquisite pleasure washed over him, he gently cupped her face and moved her back from him. He planned to have a long afternoon and evening with her, and he was not going to come this soon.

“What?” Hermione asked, her eyes dazed with confusion and desire. “I thought I was doing it right.”

“Too right,” he rejoined hoarsely. “It’s my turn.”

She cried out in mirthful surprise as he pushed her back onto the mattress and tugged her knickers down her legs.

Severus descended upon her rich heat eagerly, the smell and taste of her something he had fantasized about endlessly since the previous week. She was turning him upside down and inside out, and he wanted to drive her wild, to make her as addicted to him as he had become to her. He wanted her to know, without a doubt in her vast mind, that she was his. He lapped at her juices, pleasantly surprised at how wet she’d grown just from pleasing him. His wife, wanting him, keening beneath his mouth - what an astounding concept.

As she climaxed against his waiting tongue, he drank her in, thrilled at her small hands clutching desperate fistfuls of his hair. He made a vow to himself that the next time he tasted her, he would draw it out, make her beg and scream his name before he allowed her release.

Hermione marveled as he moved up her still-shaking body and rested between her open thighs, which cradled him as if he were meant to be there. She ran her hands over his shoulders and down his arms, stroking the lean muscles she found there, squeezing them in appreciation. Severus reached between them to position himself at her entrance, and she embraced him with trepidation.

“Will it hurt again?” she whispered, her hands gripping his back. The first time hadn’t been unbearable, but she still didn’t fancy the ache from before.

“Most likely,” he answered truthfully, a small smile lighting his face, “but not for long.” He was a different man when he smiled. It startled her to realize that she was growing to care for him, willing to do anything to see him smile at her in that way.

“I’m ready,” she told him bravely.

His brow raised with amused scepticism. “No, not yet,” he informed her. Before she could ask him to explain, he bent his head to her breast. His tongue laved at one of her stiff, oversensitized nipples, causing her to dig her nails into his back.

A low, sexy rumble of laughter from him vibrated against her nipple, and she felt a warm gush between her thighs.

“Oh, my,” she moaned, eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks as he engulfed her breast and sucked. She could never have imagined such a thing would be pleasurable. He moved to the other, his tongue dancing teasingly over her areola before twirling over her nipple.

Just as he closed his mouth over her breast, he thrust forward into her depths, and the dual sensation nearly had her climaxing once more. Her hands slid down to his smooth arse, and she dug her fingers into it, relishing the resulting murmur of approval from her husband. He buried his face into her neck, nuzzling her flesh, nipping and laving as he thrust rhythmically into her heat.

As his hips began snapping erratically, and she felt him deeper than he’d ever been, she reached out to cup his cheek, just as she had done when he’d first claimed her a week ago. His eyes met hers, and there was a moment of sheer bliss as they connected fully, body, mind and soul, completely open to each other and experiencing what the other felt.

She arched against him with a low moan that slightly embarrassed her, and felt herself being swept off on the tidal wave of her orgasm, completely undone beneath him. The feel of her tightening around his cock, coupled with the raw emotion coursing from her to him, sent Severus over the edge, and he pumped determinedly into her as his seed spilled inside her.

Overwhelmed by their exchange, Severus hastily reconstructed his Occlumency shields; not fully, but enough for a small respite. He was, and always had been, a closed-off, extremely private man. He knew that would have to change, what with the fact that he’d made his new wife a promise to be better for her. But revealing so much of himself in a short amount of time was near torture for him, as exquisite as it had been. He couldn’t afford to let anyone, especially Hermione, hurt him the way Lily had; they might as well have let that damned snake kill him, because bleeding out as toxins seized his body was a much more merciful death than dying slowly from a broken heart.

You can’t have my heart, witch, he thought to himself firmly.

But somewhere, deep inside in a place he was determined never to acknowledge, he knew the tiny woman beneath him would be his undoing.

Chapter Text

Monday dawned all too bright and early, but Severus was at the table for breakfast, and he was surprised when Hermione came flouncing in and planted a kiss to his cheek, then moved to Potter in her usual routine of kissing the boy’s cheek on her way out. He wasn’t sure if he felt it was a pleasant surprise, considering the amused look on the boy’s face after she hurried away, but the knowing, near-leer of a smile Severus bestowed upon him in response caused Potter to turn away with red cheeks.

Severus allowed himself to inwardly bask at the affection Hermione imparted. They had spent the entire day and night together Friday, thoroughly exploring each other’s bodies, hesitantly testing their soul bond. She was no Occlumens, but she was adept at closing off from him when she felt it necessary. They found that as their lovemaking became more passionate, it was near impossible to keep their minds closed from one another, and they had no desire to, for it amplified their pleasure tenfold. He felt as if he were someone else entirely when he was moving within her; not a dark, guilt-ridden former Death Eater, but an invincible sorcerer, bathed in light. He knew it was her magic surrounding him, capturing him, enrapturing him. She was a revelation to him, eager to engage, and he badly wanted to believe it was truly her and not their bond. He would never have believed Hermione Granger would become his goddess, that he would worship her body over and over and that she would burn for such attentions from him. It shocked him to his core, and he fought hard against the swell of guilt over his ever-fading loyalty to Lily, and the assertion within him that he did not deserve something so pure after all he had done. He had to fight it, because he was beginning to realize he could not let her go.

He’d reluctantly left her over the weekend, giving her easy excuses, but he had secretly visited her parents in Australia to assess the damage done to their minds. He needed to get to work immediately, and he had some idea of where to start, but he was dreading that owl being sent.

He had just finished his tea and was leaving the kitchen to get started on his research when Miss Weasley swept in, her expression grim. She nodded at him as she passed but strode straight to Potter. Severus paused by the doorway and pretended to be interested in the tattered cookbooks at the end of the countertop, a ridiculous notion, but the grave tone of the redhead had him listening intently.

“George found him this morning, sprawled out with no less than three naked witches.”

Potter’s brows soared. “Rather ambitious of him, isn’t it?” He adjusted his glasses on his nose even as he reached for his girlfriend’s hand and rubbed his thumb across her knuckles. “But this is a good thing, right? He’s moving on.”

The redhead sighed and plopped down in the vacant chair next to him. “It’s not good at all, Harry. He’s been out with a new witch every night, and now he’s going to miss work because he overloaded himself with Bin Juice and sex. He’s self-destructing.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Potter assured her soothingly. “He’s just struggling to cope. We will iron him out.”

Ginny shook her head sadly. “Even Mum boxing his ears didn’t seem to have much effect.” She rubbed at her head tiredly. “And Hermione will be completely gutted once she finds out. And she will, no matter how hard we try to keep it from her. Every single witch Ron sees goes straight to the Daily Prophet to gloat about her wild night with the war hero.”

“Hermione hates the Daily Prophet.”

“Harry! You’re missing the point. We have to find a way to run damage control on this.”

Potter reached back to scratch his head, a nervous habit he’d developed over the years. “I’m afraid we’re way past damage control, Gin,” he told her wearily. “Hermione made a decision, a brave one, the right one; Ron has made decisions too. All we can do is try to support them, whatever the future holds.”

A fierce possessiveness filled Severus, the anger in his throat bubbling so violently that he had to swallow to tamper it down. He didn’t want to believe, after what he and Hermione had shared recently, that she would be upset by Weasley’s conquests. But what did they share, really? An inexplicable physical draw to one another based on a soul bond neither of them wanted? Of course she wouldn’t suddenly prefer an old, tainted former professor to the beau she’d always yearned for.

Furious at himself for even caring, Severus quietly exited the kitchen, retreating from the false sense of hope he’d foolishly let grow within him.

Somehow, as he’d come downstairs for dinner against his better judgement, Severus had allowed himself to be led into the library. He was not a social person and had no desire, especially this night, to be around them all. Every instinct in him was screaming to return to his room and refuse to develop relationships that would no doubt end in pain. But Potter was agitated by recent Death Eater activity, and for the first time that he could ever remember, the boy was genuinely asking for his input, drawing on his knowledge, looking at him as if he were wise.

“The remainder have mostly fled to other countries,” Potter explained, “but there are a fair few who have stayed in the area, and we have evidence they may be plotting something. A couple of Muggles have gone missing, traces of dark magic around their homes.”

Severus steepled his fingers and rested his chin atop them. “There could possibly be a way to follow the trail of the dark magic being used. I highly doubt these were the more prominent members of the Dark Lord’s followers; most were killed or immediately captured and taken to Azkaban.”

“That was my thought, too,” Potter agreed. “They are elusive, though. Granted, our department is slightly fragmented right now.” His green eyes lit up as an idea dawned on him, unsettling Severus. “We could use your help in the MLE. Like a consultant. I can speak with Kingsley about it tomorrow.”

Severus inwardly groaned, but the idea did have merit. It would no doubt pay well, and perhaps ease some of the guilt he felt. Not to mention, he would be bloody good at it.

“Let’s go out tonight,” Ginny suggested suddenly, startling the quiet room.

Hermione glanced up from her NEWTs study to frown at her friend. “I have a full day tomorrow.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Don’t be a spoil sport. I’m not talking about a grand party. Let’s go down to your favorite chippy. The heat has let up and I’m craving something salty.”

Hermione blushed at that, internally admonishing herself for the resulting gutter thoughts. Oddly enough, she’d had the same craving all weekend. She shook her head as if to clear it, embarrassed by her wanton thoughts.

“That sounds great, Gin.” Harry stood from his desk. “I’ll let Kreacher know we won’t need dinner tonight.”

Hermione glanced at Severus, who had grabbed a book and looked engrossed in it, no doubt pretending to be deaf. She realized he was never really included in their plans, and she felt sad that he figured it was another outing he would not be a part of. Standing, she went to his side and brushed a hand over his shoulder.

“Will you come with us?”

The hard line of his mouth concerned her. He’d been rigidly closed off throughout the evening, refusing to open at all to her, hardly even meeting her gaze since she had arrived home.

Fearing his rejection in front of her friends, she boldly slid her hand into his jet-black strands, twirling the locks through his fingers. “I’d really like it if you came with us.”

Severus’ face relaxed as he stared unseeing at the book in his hands. He was going soft. Her gentle voice was tying him up in knots, making him feel as if he could refuse her nothing. What kind of man his age walked merrily down to the neighborhood chippy with young adults as if he belonged among them?

This is your life now, Severus. She is your wife. The rational part of him was striving to gain control of his feelings, but still his damaged soul was struggling to remind him he could trust no one, have no entanglements, lest he be heartbroken beyond all mending a second time.

“Please,” Hermione murmured, her fingers tense in his hair. Her honey brown eyes implored him with a sincerity that shook him.

“I have not been to a chippy in a long time,” he confessed, removing her hand from his hair and enveloping it warmly in his own. He stood, eyes still locked with hers. “I will be glad to go.”

The brilliance of her resulting smile made his heart skip a beat. Her fingers threaded solidly through his, and all of his fear and anger from before melted away as they followed her friends from the room, a sense of belonging stealing over him.

Chapter Text

Severus quickly learned his wife had terrible taste, which, he supposed, he should have known, considering that she had willingly bound herself to him. Hermione divvied out an obscene amount of vinegar and salt over her fried fish and chips, and followed it up with so much ketchup it appeared she held a murder scene between newspaper. She laughed merrily at his horrified face and coaxed him to try it her way, and, making sure Potter and Miss Weasley were engrossed in their own meal, he accepted the chip she held to his mouth. Another horrified look from him prompted her tinkling laughter all over again.

As they stood on the street enjoying their meal, something prickled on the edge of his awareness; something that told him they were being watched. Living as a spy for so many years, he had learned to trust his instincts, to listen when he felt a ripple of unease. Moving to stand beside Potter, he made sure the young women were deeply involved in conversation before he murmured, “We are being watched. It would be best to head back.”

After years of being questioned, accused, and ridiculed by Potter, it continually astounded Severus that the boy listened to anything he had to say; but heed, he did. With a solemn nod, Potter took his girlfriend’s arm, and began the journey back. Hermione peered up at Severus curiously, but he tried to appear natural, not wanting to unsettle her when she appeared truly happy and carefree. She was positively glowing as they walked hand-in-hand back to Grimmauld Place, and Severus had difficulty concentrating on the wordless Protego to keep them shielded, just in case.

The malevolent feeling eased as they distanced themselves, but he felt relief when they arrived home. He approached his desk in the library, the others following. Potter eased into a chair on the other side of the desk, while the two young women settled onto the sofa and began chatting animatedly.

“What was it?” Potter asked of him, his green eyes intent.

“It felt heavy; malignant dark magic.” He pondered the situation, knowing he had felt such a force before - it had surrounded him regularly when he was amongst the Dark Lord’s followers. Perhaps even he, at one time, had exuded that to others. Dark magic, veiled correctly, would often feel silky, seductive; that was why for some, it could prove to be irresistible, the promise of power and knowledge gripping one’s every thought. But presented in the true form by a witch or wizard, and most certainly to other seasoned dark magic users, the sinister presence could be identified immediately.

Potter did not question him. He simply nodded, mature beyond his years, as if dying for a time had brought him a certain wisdom. “Following us?”

Severus shook his head. “It did not follow. Whoever it was simply watched. They are waiting for something…” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I would suggest Aurors, at least one, assigned to the street. You are very much still a target with Death Eaters at large.”

“The Fidelius should keep us safe,” Potter suggested.

“It will provide a certain level of security whilst we are inside, but those approaching would be in danger. For the time being, I believe we should all Floo to our desired destinations,” Severus concluded, his gaze straying to Hermione.

Potter’s eyes followed. “We should tell them.”

“Tell Miss Weasley if you must, but Hermione cannot be concerned with this. She is focused on her NEWTs and must not become distracted.” Severus ignored Potter’s doubtful look and continued, “Arrange a meeting with Kingsley. It is time I become involved in this.” His glittering gaze lingered on his wife. He couldn’t possibly know for sure the intended target of such malevolence, but every instinct in him roared to keep her safe at all costs. If it meant working with the Ministry to bring the remainder of the Death Eaters to justice, so be it.

Hermione’s gaze suddenly connected with his, and she smiled softly at him.

“I suppose I should head home, since all of you go to bed earlier and earlier these days,” Ginny announced.

Harry stood and guided her to the Floo with a hand at the small of her back. “Take the Floo, Gin,” he told her.

“I hate the Floo,” she replied.

“Get used to it,” Harry insisted, and filled her palm with powder. He pressed a swift kiss to her mouth and tapped her bum. “In you go.”

“You annoy me sometimes, Harry Potter.” At his boyish grin, Ginny rolled her eyes, called out, “The Burrow,” and spun away.

Harry turned to Severus and Hermione and wished them goodnight, nodding at Severus solemnly before leaving the room.

Hermione stood and joined Severus at his desk, staring down at him as she reached out to stroke the harsh lines around his mouth. “You’re worried. What’s wrong?”

He shackled her wrist and pressed a kiss to it, rising to tower over her. “Nothing to concern you.”

“Well, it looked serious. Don’t treat me as if I’m unintelligent, Severus,” she admonished him. “Tell me.”

Severus sighed resignedly. Of course she was observant as well as intelligent. She was no shrinking violet, but a war hero in her own right and certainly his match. Protecting her was vital to him, perhaps as much as breathing; he’d never felt so protective in his entire life, and surely it had something to do with the intricacy of soul bonding. Still, he couldn’t protect her by keeping her oblivious - that was clear to him now.

“Potter informed me of recent Death Eater activity this evening. I have security concerns, particularly when it comes to the two of you, and I advised him that we should all be using the Floo for travel until this has been sorted.” He brushed a fingertip down her cheek, inwardly rejoicing as she swayed toward the contact like a starved kitten. “I have promised my help to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in capturing the rest of the Death Eaters.”

Hermione covered his hand with her own on her cheek. “You could be in just as much danger, Severus. You must be careful.”

He felt his insides warm. Had anyone ever been concerned for his safety? Yet this brilliant, affectionate, warm and willful young woman begged him with her honey brown eyes to obey her in this.

“Do not worry for me, Hermione. Come,” he bid her, his fingers locking with hers. “You have to be up early.”

He escorted Hermione to her room, hiding his smirk at the joyful warmth radiating from her through their bond. She was tying him up in knots, ever so slowly demolishing the walls he’d erected long ago to protect himself from the inevitable pain others would cause.

It was with much regret that Severus bid her goodnight and turned to go to his room, but Hermione held fast to his hand and tugged him back to her. “Leaving already?”

He raised a brow. “It is late.”

Hermione looked up at him from beneath her lashes, her teeth nibbling at her lower lip. “You’re right. Goodnight, then.”

Severus eyed her speculatively for a moment, but turned to go once more. He was immediately pulled back again, her hand firm in his, and before he could open his mouth to ask her what she thought she was doing, her free arm wound around his neck and she stood on her tiptoes to press a kiss against his mouth.

“Stay,” she whispered, her fingers clutching his hair as if rooting him to her.

“It’s Monday,” he said simply, but his body was already reacting to her. He slid his arm around her waist and pressed her to him, their bodies fitting together expertly.

“I don’t care what day it is,” she replied softly. Her lips brushed against his jaw and moved down to his chin where she nibbled lightly. “I want you to stay.”

Merlin, what was she doing to him? He took her mouth in a bruising kiss and ushered her into her room, shoving the door closed with his boot and barely remembering to set any wards.

Tuesday evening at dinner, Hermione watched him constantly, a mischievous look in her warm brown eyes that had Severus adjusting uncomfortably in his seat. Potter seemed oblivious to the intensity between them, unperturbed when he had to ask Hermione a question twice when she wasn’t paying any attention at all to her friend. Severus wasn’t entirely surprised when he walked her to her room and she clung to him eagerly, but it pleased him greatly all the same. The magnetism between them seemed to grow more powerful each time they made love, and as he swept her into her room and backed her against the closed door while his hands rushed over her body and his lips attacked the sensitive skin of her neck, there was no thought at all for their privacy.

On Wednesday morning, as they sat together having tea and toast before she met her study group, Potter entered the kitchen, his glasses lopsided on his face and bags under his eyes.

“For the love of all that’s good,” Potter groused, “set your bloody silencing charms.” His eyes slid from a blushing Hermione to a stone-faced Severus. “Or take it to your room on the second floor.” He slunk out disgustedly with a cup of tea in his hand, and Hermione hid her face against Severus’ shoulder as her body shook with laughter.

That evening, Severus was deep in study in the library, pouring over memory charm material. Hermione swept in appearing completely worn, her hair sticking out every which way, a mountain of books clutched haphazardly to her bosom.

“What a bloody day,” she sighed, dumping the books onto the wide side table by the window and slouching into one of the plush, oversized chairs near him. “I’m feeling the pressure,” she bemoaned, draping one of her hands dramatically over her eyes.

Severus raised an amused brow. “What could possibly rankle the know-it-all?”

She turned her head to glare at him. “I’m not rankled,” she insisted sulkily.

“Clearly,” he rejoined snidely.

She ignored his signature biting sarcasm, sitting up and pulling at a piece of down that was peeking from the cushions. “Neville actually disarmed me today. Neville! To be fair, he’s become very focused and determined. But I was already dreading my Defence practical.”

Severus shook his head and tsked at her. “If Longbottom disarmed you, you most definitely need more practice.”

“I know,” Hermione agreed, and sank back into the cushions again dejectedly. “I was going to ask Harry to help, but he’s been so busy.”

There was silence. Severus waited for it to click in her mind, wondering where the famed Brightest Witch had disappeared to. She was completely out of sorts and it was unlike her. Surely a lost duel to a friend wouldn’t set her off so easily, though he knew how much it meant to her to receive an Outstanding in the Defence Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T. after she had received an Exceeds Expectations years ago on her O.W.L.

Her head popped up and she considered him with a slow smile. “You could help me.”

Severus inclined his head. “Could I?”

There was a tense moment between them, and then he extracted his wand from his sleeve in one rapid motion. “Expelliarmus!”

Hermione, wand already in hand, deflected it and stood, face determined. Severus stood as well, slowly, eyeing her with an arrogant smirk.

“Petrificus Totalus!” she shouted, but he deflected, immediately attemping the same on her, which she deflected as well.

“Tricky girl,” he murmured, black eyes glittering.

“You have no idea,” she replied, in a low, even tone.

He did smile then, the smile of a dangerous predator watching his prey. “Don’t I?” He arched his wand in a complicated symbol as he exclaimed, “Carpe Retractum!”

She dodged as a rope shot out of his wand toward her. She rolled behind the stuffed chaise and then stood. “I didn’t know you were into bondage,” she taunted, her robes in a tangle around her. Before he had time to respond, she cast, “Cantis!”

Severus knew she’d been trying to distract him with her suggestive comment, and her charm bounced off his silently-erected Protego shield to hit her right in the chest. She stumbled, and then she opened her mouth and began to sing, the sound ripped from her throat.

Severus actually laughed, the sound echoing around the library. “Finite,” he managed as she glowered at him. “Now I am familiar with the sound of a dying cat. Thank you, dear wife, for a wonderful performance.”

He was still reveling in his amusement when Hermione pointed her wand. “Tarantallegra!”

Against his will, Severus’ legs started moving in a strange rhythm, and he danced around the library like a fool while Hermione doubled over in laughter.

“I can’t decide if you’re dancing a jig or having a seizure,” she teased between peals of laughter. His glower must have resembled hers a moment ago, and she took mercy on him and ended the spell.

“Thank you, Severus,” she said warmly as she moved toward him. “That was such fun, and the practice is so helpfu--”

She was abruptly cut off as she was suddenly jerked to him by an unseen force. His hand wrapped in her hair and he bent her back over the sofa, seizing her lips with his. She held onto him for dear life, kissing him back breathlessly.

His head lifted and he grinned wolfishly at her. “You need to work on your wordless spells, Wife,” he admonished her.

She laughed nervously, and urged him back with her hands pressed against his chest. “Perhaps you are right,” she agreed, not quite looking him in the eyes. She edged out from between him and the sofa, and moved to pick up her satchel. “I’m going to go change for dinner,” she told him, still not meeting his eyes.

Severus wondered at her behavior, fighting the immediate feelings of rejection that bubbled up to the surface. She had come into the library clearly miffed; their duel had given her a distraction. Now she was backing away from his advances after jumping his bones the last couple of evenings. Was she the only one allowed to initiate intimacy between them? To hell with that - she was his wife. He sat down at the desk where he had been researching, his brows furrowed in confusion. What had thrown her so out of sorts?

Dread filling him, he eyed her school books laid across the side table. Rising, he approached the tomes, his gaze catching the edge of a newspaper jutting out of one of the massive volumes. Carefully, as if it might bite him, he tugged the item out. It was the evening edition of the Daily Prophet, and plastered on the front cover was a picture of Ronald Weasley with his arm around a light-haired witch in form-fitting robes, simpering up at him as if he were Merlin’s gift. “WAR HERO ENGAGED?” shimmered the title in giant letters above the picture.

Severus dropped the paper as if it had burned him. Denial, fury, and possessiveness welled in him, swirling dangerously in his chest. Dark, heavy rage spread through him, the likes of which he hadn’t felt in what seemed like ages. How could she be so eager for his touch, for his lips on her skin, for his cock filling her until she screamed his name, and yet be so upset at anything Weasley did? He had actually let himself believe she was coming to care for him.

Overwhelmed by the violent emotions roiling within him, he stalked up to his room, slammed the door, and warded it with every ounce of magic possible, and then he let out a wretched howl akin to that of a wounded animal.

Chapter Text

Severus stood in the last place he wanted to be. Malfoy Manor was an unsettling reminder of the darkest time of his life, and it seemed to feed the agitation within him. The swirling darkness encapsulated him, choking him.

“Severus,” a voice greeted, and he turned to see Draco striding toward him. The young man held his head high in the Malfoy way, but the boy had turned gaunt, with black circles under his eyes, his robes ill-fitting. Post-war life had taken a tremendous toll on Draco, and Severus felt the ever-clawing guilt shredding his insides. He’d been a Death Eater, too, had the same mark on his arm; and yet he was safely ensconced in the home of the Boy Who Lived, enjoying the delights of his wife’s body, while his godson wasted away without his family and without the respect his name had always brought him.

He clasped hands with Draco, and followed him to the study, a place Severus had joined Lucius many times over the years. Lucius had been a terrible friend to him, constantly treating him as if he were a peasant, but he was one of the few Severus did count as a friend. During his time as a spy, Lucius had suspicions about his loyalty, but despite his need to please the Dark Lord, Lucius had never brought those suspicions to the crazed megalomaniac. Narcissa had been more of the one to treat him kindly, and now she was gone, having joined Lucius in Azkaban. Draco had not given up trying to get them released, compiling as much evidence as possible that they had parted from the Dark Lord in the end. If Severus’ own trial was any indication, there wasn’t much hope for them.

Draco handed him a glass of firewhisky, then quickly folded his trembling hands behind his back. Severus noticed the anxious habit and said nothing, but he felt sorrow and regret that he hadn’t been able to protect this boy effectively.

“So,” Draco started, peering at Severus curiously, “why have you come?”

This wasn’t the time for sympathy; Draco would take it as pity, and Severus knew all too well what that felt like.

“Have you been contacted by any Death Eaters?” Severus asked bluntly.

Draco’s expression darkened, his grey eyes stormy. “If that is why you have come, you can see yourself out. I’ve lost everything. You have real bollocks, to ask me that.”

Severus raised a placating hand. “It wouldn’t be unlikely, however much we would both like to forgot our involvement with them. I merely asked for the safety of you and others.” He took a sip of the whisky, and let it burn his throat as he thought about the safety of Hermione, who hadn’t escaped his mind for one moment despite how angry he was at her.

Changing the subject swiftly, Severus solemnly met Draco’s gaze. “I need access to your library.”

Draco considered him bemusedly, having eased a hip against his father’s large mahogany desk. “Now why would you need access to some of the darkest books in Britain?”

Severus chose to ignore the slight mocking tone of his godson. “It is the more ancient tomes I’m in search of, not necessarily those containing dark magic.”

“What are you up to, Severus?” Draco questioned him, eyes narrowed.

Severus remained silent. It was not so much that he was keeping a secret, but he had no desire to dwell on why he was here, still researching for a way to restore the Grangers when his emotionally unfaithful wife had wounded him so badly the day before.

Draco crossed his arms over his chest, a hint of his old arrogant school days creeping into his expression. “How’s life?” he asked, his tone almost suggestive in nature.

A dark brow raised. “Excuse me?” Severus asked with a hint of a sneer, as if warning the boy off of the topic. He had a very uncomfortable feeling he knew where this was going and was not even remotely in the mood to discuss it.

Draco persisted, his smug smirk evident now. “How’s life… with Granger?”

Severus’ black eyes glittered dangerously at the young man before him. A few years ago, it may have done the trick in warning the young man off his current course, but it didn’t seem to be working; a rather disconcerting notion.

“It must be unbearable. Insufferable, even. And in Potter’s house, no less.” Draco was deliberately riling him, a truly stupid thing to do. Severus was twice his age, and yet Draco made Severus feel ashamed, as if he were some kind of traitor or fool to be associating with Draco’s former rivals.

“I can’t even imagine trying to consummate a marriage with that goody-two-shoes. Probably cold as a fish,” Draco pressed with disdain.

Severus moved forward menacingly, having had quite enough. “You will cease, Draco.”

Hermione was anything but cold. She was warmth, light, everything good in the world, even when she was being haughty, even when she was being difficult. Even when she was busy focusing on her former beau.

“You’ve grown to care for her,” Draco accused, his face showing his disgust. “I wondered why it took you so long to come. You’re whipped.”

Severus found himself reaching for his wand, the darkness inside him swirling dangerously. At Draco’s widened eyes, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, summoning his composure. He wrapped his outer robe tightly around himself and crossed his arms over his chest, feeling his Occlumency walls erect around him in protection just as solidly and reliably as his robes always covered him. He’d allowed the soul bond to make him more emotional, and Draco’s taunting proved that it was definitely to Severus’ disadvantage.

“It took me months to heal, Draco,” he said coolly. “I regret that you are in this situation, and I will do what I can to help your parents. But that is neither here nor there. Do you give me access to your library, or shall I leave now?”

Draco stared at him in consternation. “You’ve changed.”

Severus sighed wearily. “Change is inevitable, Draco, and we all must adjust to this new world. What good would it do me to wallow in misery, bemoaning my fate? I expected to die, wanted to, but I didn’t; and now, not entirely of my own will, I am bound to a former student. Bound, Draco. I cannot change what is, but I can try to not be a wretched bastard about it.” Easier said than done, of course, but Draco didn’t need to know the details of his current woes.

The boy gaped at him, but then his mouth snapped shut, and he nodded toward the door. “Do what you’d like with the library. You’re lucky the Ministry didn’t seize it all. How long will your research take?”

“I’m not certain,” Severus replied, still wondering at the words that had come out of his own mouth. He was rife with his inner confliction. Opening himself to Hermione had been a revelation and he didn’t want to revert to keeping his shields up constantly, but how could he truly allow himself to feel when it seemed like such a weakness to do so?

“I will have one of the guest rooms ready for you, if you need to stay,” Draco offered.

“Thank you,” Severus told him sincerely. He turned and strode from the room, his emotions in an uproar. He was undoubtedly displeased with Hermione concerning her reaction to Weasley. But her reactions to him were genuine, Severus knew that; she couldn’t deceive him when their minds were nearly merged during their lovemaking. He’d fought for a woman and lost once; he didn’t fancy doing it again. But he was bound to her, and he would not forfeit his chance to make it work between them. He would win her over yet, no matter what it took. She belonged to him, and no one else. She was his.

Chapter Text

An entire two days had passed since Hermione had seen Severus. Two nights ago, he’d been thoroughly ensconced in his own room, with wards so powerfully set she had been unable to get through to him at all. Attempting to reach out through their bond yielded nothing but disappointment; he was slammed shut to her. Although she conceded with rationality that the man deserved some alone time, especially with the hormonal and rather embarrassing sexual attacks she’d made on his person as of late, she couldn’t help but feel a bit wounded by the distance he’d put between them.

It occurred to her Thursday evening, after having discovered that morning that he was inexplicably gone from Grimmauld, that perhaps something deeper was going on; but again, the man deserved his space. Everything had changed rapidly for both of them, but especially for him. She had pushed him to join her in her world, with her friends, and it wouldn’t be surprising if he needed some sort of reset, as it were.

But as she arrived home Friday evening from her rebuilding projects at Hogwarts, going directly to his room and finding it empty, her usually reliable rationality fled from her. This was the longest Severus had been gone from the house since he’d recovered. What if he’d just decided he’d had enough and left? Of course, Hermione had never expected an ideal marriage with him, but she’d let herself begin to hope over the last few days that there could be more for their relationship than first anticipated.

Uncharacteristically skulking along to the kitchen, deflated and worn from the day, she opened the door to see her husband standing there preparing tea. A wave of relief, quickly followed by apprehension, settled over her.

“Where have you been?” Hermione questioned him gently, cautiously approaching him as if he might flee again at any moment. Her eyes lingered over his lean form, taking in the pristine sheen of his black robes. Thank Merlin he was home unharmed, but where had he been? He hadn’t answered her question, so she moved forward again. “I was worried.”

“Of course you were,” he snarled back mockingly.

Hermione was completely taken aback. This was Snape, not Severus; not the one who had made heated love to her, not the one who teased her gently about her bad habits. Something had changed, and she didn’t like it. She touched a hand to his arm, frowning when his whole body went tense. “I mean it,” she assured him softly. “I missed you. I tried to reach out through our bond, but there was just… emptiness.” Her thumb stroked over his forearm. Perhaps if she were patient, she could bring out the man for whom she’d grown to have very deep feelings.

Abruptly he swirled toward her and caught her upper arms in his hands, gripping her tightly, but not painfully. “We are bound, and there is no escaping it.” The look on his face was near-feral as he murmured the words, agony lacing his tone.

“I don’t-” Hermione began, but was cut off as his lips sealed over hers in a bruising kiss. Melting instantly against him, her body going liquid for him as it had since they bonded, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. His embrace tightened to the point she thought her bones may crush, but she felt no pain, only an intense desire to merge with him, to feed their passion to a fever pitch. Her fingers tangled into his hair as he thrust toward her suggestively. They began to turn as one so that he crowded her against the countertop, and his hands slipped down her back to her bottom in preparation to lift her up.

The sound of someone clearing their throat halted their frenzied hands, both going utterly still at the interruption. Hermione blinked, wondering if she would have actually let Severus take her right there in the kitchen. Cheeks flaming, she knew the answer to that.

Both Hermione and Severus turned their heads slowly toward the kitchen door to see Harry standing there, his brow raised above his glasses in a look that was both amused and annoyed. Clearing her own throat, Hermione let her hands drop from her husband and adjusted her robes as confidently as possible, not meeting Severus’ furious gaze as he, too, broke away from her, clearly frustrated.

As only her abominable luck would have it, Ron chose that moment to saunter up behind Harry, the expression on his face matching his fiery red hair. He’d clearly witnessed their interlude and was trying to contain himself, but the man was a ticking time bomb and could not be trusted for a moment. Not even truly realizing her actions, Hermione shifted so that she stood in front of Severus.

“I let Kreacher have the evening to himself, even though he didn’t like it,” Harry announced awkwardly, his body subtly blocking Ron’s. “I fancied the idea of us going out to dinner.”

Hermione fought the urge to let her jaw drop incredulously. Was he attempting a mediator role, hoping to smooth things over between his best friends? How the tables had turned, after all her years being the intermediary of the group. She could understand, having been in such a role, the desperate feeling of wanting all to be right in the world amongst them. But an evening out with Ron in tow was not something she wanted to endure. Her emotions had gotten out of control, not to mention that she’d really been looking forward to reconnecting with Severus.

Narrowing her eyes, feeling her hair frizz with her magic, she asked challengingly, “All of us?”

She saw Ron’s nostrils flare and his mouth open in an attempt at an angry reply. Harry seemed to guess this was the case without even seeing him, and he answered swiftly in an even tone, “Of course your husband is invited, Hermione.” He glanced over his shoulder in warning, willing the not-so-subtle hint to sink into his riled friend’s thick skull.

“I would rather be bitten again,” Severus sneered from behind Hermione, and she turned toward him with a stricken look on her face.

“Severus!” she gasped, hurt in more ways than one by his words. Didn’t he understand she had stood up for him, for their relationship?

“You’ve asked much of me, Wife, and I have given it to you.” A cruelly sensual smile lifted the corner of his mouth, as if he took great pleasure in publicly reminding her of all the things she’d begged him to do to her in private. “But I will not waste niceties with that one,” he told her firmly, with a curt nod at Ron.

Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She wasn’t truly asking it of him; she didn’t even really want to go. But she had to try. On some level, she had to try to mend all the brokenness she had caused. And that would start with reaffirming her years-long friendship. Her eyes opened and she nibbled at her lip worriedly as she stared at her husband. It would hurt him, just as it would hurt her if the roles were reversed, but she would smooth it over. She wasn’t quite sure how she was supposed to put everything to rights by herself, but she was determined to take on the task.

“I’ll bring something back for you,” she told Severus finally, and lifted on tiptoe to brush a kiss across his jaw.

She turned to leave, but he caught her arm and twirled her back around to face him.

“Bring yourself back to my bed,” he growled into her ear, and released her so that she stumbled back, dazed.

Blushing profusely, she hurried out of the room, past Harry and Ron, trying to hide her smile.

The new pub in Diagon Alley was overflowing, as it had been the last several weekends since it had opened. Although it was on the corner between Diagon and Knockturn, its location didn’t deter any witch or wizard, and on the contrary seemed to encourage a blending of two worlds. In the past, the three of them had used glamour charms to disguise themselves before entering the establishment; their fame could be a bit annoying at times, and the owners didn’t really appreciate the lack of business from the Knockturn Alley regulars once they spotted Harry Potter and his do-gooder friends. But tonight was a bit different in that none of them could even summon the strength to care much about those things. The week had taken its toll, and so they strolled in together and went straight to the bar to grab a drink directly before heading to a dimly lit area for their privacy and the owner’s sanity.

“Ahhh Misshus Shnape,” a seedy patron cooed from down the bar. “I know you like bad boysh.”

Hermione turned her lip up at him and grabbed her drink, then swirled swiftly to head for the open booth in the back of the pub.

As they slid in, Ron’s disgusted look grated on her nerves.

“Do you have something you wish to say, Ronald?” she asked airily, ignoring Harry’s sharp inhalation and peeved look at her question and tone.

Ron scoffed loudly. “It’s embarrassing, really. Mrs. Snape? And what people think of you now. It’s absolutely disgusting.”

Hermione could feel her hair sparking with her ire, but instead of responding she took a deep gulp of her drink, determined to take the high road.

Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. “Do we have to do this tonight? Or at all?”

“When else are we going to discuss it?” Ron shot back savagely. “Any other time she’s busy whoring herself to that greasy old git.”

The air went still. Hermione felt the color drain from her face, and then felt the blood rush back into it at an alarming rate as her right eye began to twitch. She was going to hurt him. Her lifelong friend, her former love. She was going to hurt him so badly he’d be crippled for months even with St Mungo's help.

Just as she felt her fingers tighten around her wand, a busty female server approached their table, smiling prettily at Ron while ignoring Harry and Hermione completely.

“Hi there. I’ll be your server tonight. What can I get to sate your appetite?” The young woman’s voice oozed with innuendo, her eyelashes batting at Ron innocently.

Ron’s face blossomed into a smug, eager expression and he rattled off his usual list of endless eats.

Revolted by the blatant display, Hermione slid out from the booth and excused herself to the loo. Food certainly didn’t seem important as her emotions swirled around her. How could she care so much for her new husband and yet be affected by anything Ron did? It was nauseating. She had never felt as conflicted and confused as she had of late.

As she exited the loo, still in a befuddled state, a hand curled around her upper arm and hauled her out of a side door that led to a darkened private alley just behind the pub. She glowered up at Ron, who had placed two hands on either side of her head on the wall behind her and was giving her an equally as dangerous glare.

“How could you do it, ‘Mione? You told me things would change. You told me this was temporary and we’d find a different solution. And yet every time I see you, you’re hanging all over that sick bastard. Has he put a spell on you?” He studied her carefully, his eyes taking in every inch of her face as he searched for some hint of a dark enchantment that held her enthralled like some kind of mindless sex slave.

Hermione folded her arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re not blameless, you overbearing oaf.”

Neither was aware of the side door opening and closing quietly, though no one seemed to exit.

“Not blameless?” Ron raged, veins bulging in his neck. “I’ve been on my best behavior since I rescued you and Harry in the Forest of Dean. I’ve practically worshipped you and the ground you walk on - not that I’ve been rewarded in any way for that!”

Hermione sputtered. “Rescued us?” It felt like enraged fire was racing up her neck and exploding out of her skull as her hair crackled with her magic. “Rewarded?” she screeched, recoiling from the sound even as it came out of her mouth. Tears started rolling down her face; angry, sorrowful tears she was ashamed she couldn’t control. “I suppose I wouldn’t have been whoring myself out had I given myself to you these past months,” she cried out, “but I am when the Ministry forces me to engage with the man to whom I’m legally married. And you have some nerve, considering you’re engaged now!”

Ron had never been very good at watching her cry. She so rarely did in front of him—in front of anyone, really, not willing to give them that power over her. He fed on her anger, seemed to thrive off of spats with her, but when she cried, he was utterly undone, and now was no different. He made a move toward her, his hands lifted in supplication.

“‘Mione, I’m not engaged, the stupid Prophet-”

Darts of red shot toward Ron before he could finish, and he fell back to the cobbled stone of the alley, clutching his side.

Hermione ducked as a second jet of light just barely missed her head. Before she could cast Protego, a shield was in front of her. She looked up to see that Ron was on his feet headed toward the newly-appeared Harry, who was dueling a pair of wizards in masks.

Death Eaters. Her heart thundered in her ears as she unsheathed her wand and took a defensive stance, but no more than the pair appeared, and Harry dispensed of them quickly. Casting a Patronus with his usual ease, he instructed the stag to report to the Ministry while Ron bound the felled Death Eaters with a few loops of his wand.

“Floo home,” Harry instructed her curtly. “It’s going to be a long night.”

Hermione prickled at the directive, feeling quite like a child being told to go to her room. But this was not her territory, and Harry and Ron would indeed have a very long night at the Auror Office.

“Ron,” she said, reaching out to clasp his forearm in her hand. “Thank you for the shield.”

“We’re not finished,” he told her gravely, “but I would never let harm come to you.”

She lowered her eyes from his intense gaze and nodded lamely before heading inside to the Floo.

Severus was livid. She hadn’t expected anything less, but feeling the full force of it through their bond was startling. She could interpret enough of it to know he was mostly furious with himself; he blamed himself for not dropping his pride and accompanying Hermione to the pub. She gently tried to reassure him without letting on that she knew what was behind his fury. She’d seen his memories. She knew his biggest fear was not being able to protect the ones he cared for, even bigger than being hurt himself.

“Severus,” she finally murmured, cutting off his tirade. She reached up and cupped his angular face in her hands, gazing up at him earnestly. “Please… just make love to me?”

He pulled her tightly to him as her hands sank into his dark locks, and his lips took hers almost desperately. Their lovemaking was fierce, swift, and intense, leaving both of them naught but breathless heaps in her bed.

As she lay curled against his chest, Hermione savored the feel of his arm around her, protective and caring. She delighted in the fact that she had obviously come to mean something to him, that it mattered so much to him that she was safe. It was wonderful to feel cherished. Her parents had made her feel that way, and she missed it. The boys cared for her, of course. Harry was practically her brother, and Ron did love her in his own way, but she didn’t know that they cherished her. It was a unique feeling, and one she was pleasantly surprised to feel with her unexpected husband.

She marveled that he had so much to give, and yet he’d sacrificed any chance at sharing himself for most of his life. He’d lain there in the Shrieking Shack, accepting death, welcoming it, and grumbling about its defeat after she and Harry had saved him.

“Why did you want to die?” she whispered against his chest, her fingers splayed lightly on his stomach. The thought of him dying squeezed painfully at her heart.

He didn’t answer her. She wondered if he even knew the answer.

Instead, he posed one to her. “Why did you save me?”

Hermione hesitated. He wouldn’t like to be reminded that she’d seen his memories, but she wouldn’t lie to him.

“When Harry showed me your memories,” she began, risking a cautious glance up at him, before snuggling back into his chest, “I felt drawn to you. It sounds silly, I know. I’ve never been through what you have. But I could always feel… I don’t know, I could feel that you were different from what you appeared. Watching you withstand so much for so long… I felt as if you were a kindred spirit.”

She wasn’t quite sure what to expect in the wake of that very personal confession, but after endless minutes of nothing but silence, she resigned herself to let it rest and attempted to sleep.

Just as she began to nod off, she felt his fingers trail lovingly down her arm, and his chin rubbed across the top of her head. “Because,” he murmured, barely audible, “I didn’t believe this was possible.”

Chapter Text

It’d been a month since Healer Atterberry had given him the all-clear. Severus met with her briefly to discuss his research at Malfoy Manor, and she agreed with him that there was a possibility of a recovery potion for Obliviate if he could piece together all of the information. He’d brushed off her praise and gleeful comments about how content he appeared, but gladly accepted the scrolls she’d loaned to him concerning medical research on magical mental mending.

On the heels of their positive meeting, however, Kingsley had requested a conference with him to discuss a recent decision made by the Wizengamot.

It hadn’t gone well, not by any stretch of the imagination. Kingsley had implied that if Severus took the position with the Ministry and basically ate, slept, and breathed work, he could obtain an annulment of his marriage bond with Hermione and serve out his sentence that way. He’d left shaking in rage, after tightly assuring the Minister he would still help where he could with the escaped Death Eaters; for if his suspicions were correct, they had a lot more than Death Eaters to worry about. But he would not be working for the Ministry full-time and annulling his marriage. It was entirely out of the question.

What upset him most - and unnerved him completely - was the suggestion that he and his wife could simply part ways. He had grown quite attached to the little witch and wasn’t willing to let her go so easily. It might make him a selfish bastard, but he would not release Hermione; not to make the Ministry his commanding mistress and overrun his life. He had been fairly positive that there was no possible way out of a soul bond like theirs, but Kingsley had subtly made it known that Ministers were made privy to magic most others had no clue existed, and that breaking a soul bond was within his power.

Wanting to see Hermione, wanting to feel her real and close to him, he silently ascended the stairs to her bedroom. She was too trusting by half and had left her bedroom door open, but to be fair, no one was home, and wouldn’t be for a while. Still, after slipping in to see her snoozing on her bed, a book open and haphazardly dangling from her fingers, he shut the door and locked it with a flick of his wand.

He slid in behind her, sweeping her hair over her shoulder to give him access to her neck. She sighed in response but stayed asleep, completely unaware. He smirked and bent to press kisses to her neck as his hand traveled down the line of her body. His fingers danced over her hip to stroke across her covered heat, and a soft moan escaped her.

“Wake up, witch,” he whispered against her ear. “Wake up and see what I have for you.”

He felt her stir, just as his hand slipped under her blouse and rushed to cup her breast, his fingers tugging at a stiff nipple.

“Severus,” she whispered, covering his hand with her own. He deftly slipped his free hand beneath her body and reached around to press his fingers to her core once more, and she arched against him.

He continued stroking her through her clothes, his lips insistent against her neck, nipping and suckling her flesh. As if she could bear no more, she spun and pressed herself to him eagerly, her arm coming up to wrap around his shoulders as she met his lips for a frenzied kiss.

Yes, he thought triumphantly. Her response to him made him feel powerful, wanted. He was lost in her, drowning in the taste of her, when he felt a prickle at his senses, suddenly aware something was amiss.

He broke their kiss and looked up to see Ronald Weasley in the doorway, blotched and angry.

Hermione stared confusedly up at Severus for a moment before following his gaze over her shoulder. Ronald glared at her before slamming the door shut so hard it was a wonder it didn’t fall off the hinges. She jumped in response, her grip on Severus’ shoulder tightening.

“Bloody hell,” she whispered, still staring at the door with agony in her honeyed eyes.

“Do you still have feelings for him?” he asked her quietly, fearing the answer but needing to know. He was summoning all his strength to contain the rage at that cretin entering her locked room. With concentrated effort, Severus wandlessly locked and warded her door.

Hermione hesitantly met his gaze, her eyes full of guilt. Her nonanswer was like a lance through his sternum.

“Even after all of his petty revenge fucking?” he asked incredulously, his tone harsh.

“I am not so shallow,” she replied, miffed. “He was my first love. I hardly even noticed other boys. I always just wanted him. And then I finally got him, and… I’m so confused. Everything has happened so quickly.” She looked away as tears filled her eyes. “I can’t just let go,” she finished sadly, helplessly.

Severus felt the vice grip around his heart tighten at the same time his stomach clenched painfully. “He doesn’t deserve you. He never has.”

She gasped indignantly. “How dare you? You don’t know him, or us! Where in the world do you get off?”

Severus charged ahead, responding to her chaotic magic causing her hair to spark. Didn’t know her? He knew everything. “Oh, I dare. He is a first class dunderhead. How often, over the last eight years, has that boy made you feel bad about yourself? He wrote you off for years as merely a brain off of which he could siphon. When he finally became aware of your interest, he went to someone else. He’s an idiot, and the only thing you have in common is Potter.”

She glowered at him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Severus scoffed. “Don’t I? I wasn’t the only observant one at Hogwarts. You were the Golden Girl. All of the staff often wondered how the brightest witch of her age could be drawn to someone as dull as Weasley. Endless staff meetings wasted gossiping about your will they, won’t they with him, as if he ever had a chance of being worthy of you.”

“Stop it, right now!” she cried, her fists clenching against his chest. She thumped him, hard, near his heart.

Ruthless in his resolve, he continued. “He left you. He left two people he claimed to care for to fend for themselves in the most perilous situation of their lives. Who would do such a thing? You are too good for him. You always have been.”

“Stop!” she yelled at him, and made to move from the bed, but his hands were like iron, holding her to him. She punched at his chest again, a double jab that made him grunt but otherwise left him unfazed. “If I’m too good for Ron, then I’m too good for you, too!”

Severus raised a brow. “I am well aware of that,” he agreed, and it made her gape up at him. “You are all that is good and pure and whole in this world, Hermione. You are young and brilliant and vivacious and you never should have been tied to the likes of me.” His grip on her tightened a fraction, his black eyes flashing dangerously. “But tied to me, you are; and you will acknowledge your worth by freeing your mind of that boy.”

She made several noises of frustration and attempted to extricate herself from him, twisting and writhing against him, beating his chest with her hands. Her futile attempts had them shuffling ever more perilously to the edge of the bed, where she nearly fell off. He drew her to him, ignoring her rough protests, and rolled her underneath his body, where he pinned her securely. He captured her wrists and pinned them above her head. She was in the middle of an outraged cry when his lips descended to hers, and he thrust his tongue inside her mouth, urging hers into a duel.

She resisted with all her might, thrusting her hips up to try to buck him off, trying to turn her face to the side to get away from his kiss, but it was no use. In the weeks since he’d been pronounced healed, he’d regained his wiry musculature, and his steel tenacity flinted against her iron will, until she succumbed to him. Severus could feel the anger and frustration melt away from her petite form, and she began to return his kiss with equal fervor, her soft curves cushioning all of the sharp angles of his body. She moaned into his mouth, her legs falling open so that he could rest in the cradle of her thighs.

He tore her maddening little sleep shorts from her body, groaning when Hermione arched up at the contact of his covered concrete cock rubbing against her bare heat. With a whispered spell, nothing prohibited his skin from pressing to hers. She cried out, arching again, and he laughed huskily deep in his throat, reveling in the clear craving she had for him.

Holding both of her captured wrists in one hand, he slid the other between them, taking himself in hand and guiding the engorged head of his length up and down between her nether lips. He watched the emotions play out on her face; frustration and ecstasy warred against one another as he directed his cock in a tortured massage over her clit, before moving it back down to her pulsing opening. Over and over he tortured her, waiting for her to make her demands, to capitulate beneath him as he so desired.

He didn’t have to wait long. Her honey brown orbs seared into his. He couldn’t tell in that moment if she loved him or loathed him, and he wasn’t sure either of them cared, so desperate were they to become one.

“Get inside me, right now,” she commanded, swiveling her hips in an attempt to draw him in, which normally he would have gladly given her.

“I will not,” he informed her, smirking at her widened eyes. “Not until,” he told her simply, stroking the thick head of his shaft relentlessly against her taut little bud, “you tell me what we both know.”

Hermione cried out as he moved back to her opening before she could climax from all the sensation against her clit.

“Tell me,” he urged her, teasing her with just the tip. “You’re mine. Say it.”

“You know I am,” she assured him in a broken sigh, her arms shaking with the effort to break free from his hold so that she could take control.

He pulled his lower half away and stared down at her, his free hand grasping her chin, demanding her glazed-over gaze. “I want to hear you say it.” Needy bastard that he was, he knew he must have this victory; Weasley could hold no claim on her ever again. After she said the words, he knew she would commit to them.

She bit her bottom lip and breathed in deeply. Eyes never leaving his, she twisted her wrists in a purely feminine way, causing his grip to falter. Moments later, her hands were on his hips. She arched up after forcefully pressing him forward, gasping as he sank into her warmth.

Severus’ heart leapt as they joined. The rightness of it could not be denied.

“I’m yours,” she promised, pulling his head down to seal her words with a kiss.

Chapter Text

Hermione was curled up next to Severus on the sofa in the library. It was her favorite place, second only to her bed when he was in it. Her husband was reading a book on experimental potions while she was reading the first in Luna Lovegood’s newly-published Cryptomagizoologist series - something light after the massive amount of studying for NEWTs. Once in a while she would laugh out loud at the ridiculous narrative, and Severus would peek over to indulge her as one of his unconvinced brows raised at Luna’s claims of mysterious and previously unidentified magical beasts dwelling around the world.

She looked up curiously when Harry entered, and immediately smiled in greeting. Her smile quickly faltered at his grave stare, and a sinking feeling entered her stomach. She couldn’t take much more in the way or rows with those she cared about. It was exhausting her to her core.

“Can I speak with you?” Harry asked her. He acknowledged Severus with a nod, then turned abruptly and disappeared into the hallway.

Hermione grudgingly extricated her legs from Severus’ lap and stood, laying down her book as if to mark her spot next to him.

“The nargles can wait, I’m sure,” Severus murmured with a teasing smirk, even as his eyes never left his book. She would love to master his level of nonchalance one day. He seemed wholly unconcerned that Harry wanted to speak with her alone. He’d seemed wholly unconcerned in general about the day’s whirlwind events, while she’d nearly run herself ragged internally mulling over everything from NEWTs to Ron to her parents.

She was so nervous about what Harry had to say, she hardly noticed Severus shift and follow her silently, at a distance.

She found Harry in the kitchen, cleaning his glasses in the Muggle way, with the bottom of his shirt. Old habits died hard, or in the case of Muggleborn (or Muggle-raised) wizards, sometimes not at all. She’d come to realize that she and Harry were the same in the way they did not take magic for granted. It came naturally to them, but they would always remember a time that they weren’t even aware it existed.

“Ron was sent home from work today,” he informed her, voice stiff. “He came back from lunch in a rage. Stank of alcohol. He has been mad at himself since the other night when we went to the pub, telling me he shouldn’t have talked to you the way he did.” Harry leaned back against the counter, a deep frown etched on his face. “He came by here at lunch to apologize to you. He wanted to explain that shite in the Daily Prophet and make things right.” Lifting his admonishing gaze to her, he asked tightly, “How many times have I asked you to set your wards?”

From the shadows of the doorway, Severus’ jaw clenched.

Hermione’s head dropped guiltily. “My room was locked,” she said in a small voice. She’d never been one to cower when it came to her boys, but she was so damned tired and worn down. “He shouldn’t have tried to come in anyway. It’s not appropriate anymore.”

Harry sighed. “I’m not excusing him, but I’m not excusing you either. This has been hard on him.” Before she could protest, he held up a hand. “Don’t. I’ve been beside you, I know it’s been hard for you too. But Ron hasn’t really had anyone. Molly, I suppose. But he doesn’t want his mum. He wants his girlfriend back.” Harry rubbed at his face tiredly. “The last thing he wanted to see was the two of you shagging.”

Hermione didn’t have many words, which was unusual for her, but what could she say? When the war ended, she had been hopeful, perhaps naively, that life would be easier; that it wouldn’t constantly feel as if the whole world was on her shoulders. She brought most of that on herself, she knew, yearning to champion the downtrodden. She had long accepted herself for who she was: a brassy, bossy, rational yet sentimental Gryffindor. Sometimes, though, she wished she could have just a hint more self-interest. Maybe then she wouldn’t hurt as much.

She was still trying to comprehend what had happened earlier with Severus. The fact that Ron wasn’t truly engaged hardly mattered to her; she’d never felt as right with him as she felt with Severus. The raw emotion she and Severus shared through their bond had completely undone her. She felt weak, worn to her last shred of self-control, yet she felt strong too, with Severus’ magic still lingering throughout her body. Untangling all of her emotions was the last thing she needed to be doing right now.

An arm slid around her shoulders, and she was startled out of her thoughts to realize Harry was embracing her.

“I didn’t mean to reprimand you, that’s mental,” Harry said against her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I expected things to be easier after the war, you know?”

Hermione nodded, her arms looping around his waist. They’d shared many such warm embraces, supporting one another through the long, harrowing days on the run. Harry rarely had the right words to say but when they held each other, it was all that was needed. She briefly wondered how Severus would feel if he saw them, but surely he could see plainly there was nothing more between them than the love siblings would have.

“The thing is, Harry,” Hermione spoke, squeezing her eyes shut against his shoulder, “I… enjoy being married to Severus.”

He was silent, not even his body language hinting at a response.

“He… is gentle with me.” Unless I don’t want him to be, she thought to herself, but decided against voicing such a thing. “I think he’s come to care for me.”

Harry released her and stepped back, holding her hands in his. “Because of the soul bond? From what I understand about them - and granted, that’s very little - but it would be natural to form an intense emotional connection when you’re joined in a soul bond.”

She bit her bottom lip. “Harry… I cared for him before we bonded. I think, even me with all of my drive to protect the underdog, that it would be impossible for me to ever marry someone I didn’t care for.” She squeezed his hands. “I know it’s hard to fathom. I’m still trying to sort all of it out in my mind. We don’t stay connected, though. He Occludes often. I still don’t think he’s fully opened up to me. It’s not as if I’m unable to think rationally…”

“I trust you more than most to think clearly,” Harry assured her. “I’ve been around this whole time, seen you together. I can’t say it doesn’t make sense.”

“That’s a double negative,” she whispered.

He gave her an incredulous look over his glasses at her correction, then flashed her an appeasing smile. “It’s good that you’re learning to get along together. It is. I just hate seeing Ron so broken up.”

A new courage filled her, and she squared her shoulders. “I’m not keen on it either, but it’s our new reality. Ron has choices to make too and he hasn’t been making very wise ones. Severus isn’t going anywhere, and frankly, I don’t want him to.” She blinked after she said it, feeling the sure truth of it. “I know he’s working with the Ministry to find the remaining Death Eaters. If they reward him by giving him a choice to end our bond, and he chooses to do so, I’ll accept it.”

“You’ll be hurt,” Harry guessed, looking none too pleased by the prospect.

Hermione shrugged. “Then it will be nothing new.”

From the shadows of the slightly-ajar door, Severus released a stunned breath. She was his. If he didn’t somehow ruin it all, Hermione was entirely his.

Severus had become quite used to her plopping soundly into the seat next to him when she arrived home from a long day of meeting with the NEWTs study group and rebuilding the castle. He didn’t think he’d ever become accustomed to her then leaning toward him and kissing him softly on the cheek before serving herself whatever Kreacher had prepared.

“I’m glad Harry isn’t home yet,” she proclaimed to his surprise, after finishing a bite of roast chicken. The grumpy old elf pretended he loathed Severus’ wife, but he seemed all too ready to prepare her favorite meal on the days she was gone overlong.

“I doubt very much Potter would appreciate entering his home to find you being ravished across the kitchen table,” Severus teased her with a knowing gleam in his eyes. He enjoyed watching her cheeks turn pink as she let her imagination run wild with his suggestion.

“Certainly not,” Hermione said with a secret smile. “Actually it’s about something else.” She took a deep breath. “The accelerated NEWTs are in one week. I’m thinking two more weeks and we should be done with the castle.”

“Will you devote yourself entirely to reconstruction after the exams?” Severus asked her curiously. She was clearly having a difficult time approaching the point.

“I want to,” she admitted. She suddenly reached out and took his hand, a hesitant look on her face. “Severus,” she began, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. “Minerva wants to hire me. It came as a shock, since I expected to apprentice first, and she said one of the other professors would shadow me as much as possible, but she needs the roles filled. She said I could have my pick of Muggle Studies, Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts, or even…” She looked up at him from beneath her lashes. “Potions.”

He raised a brow at that. He wasn’t sure what to make of this new information, so remained silent. Hermione’s wide honey brown eyes were so focused on him, he finally opened his mouth and murmured, “Congratulations.”

Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. “Well, what is your opinion on it?” she demanded.

“Hermione, you have a choice to make, and I will not sway you. You have heard me say on numerous occasions that whatever you set your mind to, you will accomplish with excellency. Fishing for compliments is not becoming of you, Wife.”

She huffed and sat back. “I wasn’t fishing for compliments. You are my husband, and I want to make this decision together. If I accept any of them, I will need to live at Hogwarts, and… Well, you would too, being my husband.” She flushed and bit her lower lip again; the incessant action was causing it to swell, and not only that, but something of his, too. “Minerva asked me to talk to you about possibly taking up one of your old posts. She misses you, believe it or not, and just think, we could both be employed there, as colleagues!”

Severus smirked disbelievingly. “Minerva asked you, did she?” He couldn’t help the sneer in his words.

“I may have suggested it a little,” she admitted, deflated. She made to continue with her roast chicken, less eager in the endeavor.

“Hmm.” Severus covered her hand with his. “As appealing as I find the idea of having our own place to dwell, I’m unsure if I want to return to Hogwarts.” He patted her hand and picked up his book, intending to continue, but a derisive chuckle left his mouth. “Minerva,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Is that why you haven’t come to help?” Her earnest eyes bore into him. He ignored them. “You’ve been well enough for a while to visit and help us rebuild. You’re avoiding Hogwarts?”

Always with the unending questions. At this point, he’d come to realize she just couldn’t help herself.

“Minerva wanted my head the last time that I saw her. All of the staff did. They hated me, and with good reason. The things that took place there…” His eyes were unfocused even though he continued to stare at the page in front of him. Snapping out of his dark thoughts, his heavy gaze shifted to her. “I am glad you were absent your final year. No one will forget the depravity I allowed into what was supposed to be a safe place for children. I doubt the castle itself would even welcome me.”

Hermione leaned toward him. “You were playing a role. You had to.”

Severus looked away from her. “At a cost.”

“So you believe,” she countered.

“So I know!” he snapped at her, causing her to jump. He immediately regretted his tone. “I am asking you not to press this matter, Hermione. I have enough on my plate as it is, investigating the malevolent stalkers we have had.” He didn’t mention his secret project - the potion he was crafting to restore her parents’ memory - but it was taking up a great deal of his time, especially since he was keeping it a secret from her and could only work on it when she was away.

Hermione nibbled at her chicken and cast him a furtive glance which he ignored.

Then her hand slipped up over his knee to his thigh, creeping up ever so higher. Severus’ head swiveled toward her and he raised an interested brow.

“Will you think about it?” Hermione asked of him, her gaze pleading as she captured her lower lip in between her teeth and released it slowly. “For me?” She batted her lashes at him alluringly, a knowing smile teasing her lips.

He couldn’t help it as a deep laugh escaped him. He shoved his hand into her hair, wrapping it around his fist and leaning her head back, bending to press a lingering kiss to her neck.

“You would seduce me into this?” he queried against her throat, his deep baritone vibrating across her soft skin. Her answering laugh, filled with confidence and warmth, ricocheted around his head, making him heady with desire. He let go of her reluctantly and toed her chair away from his. “Finish your dinner before I upset Potter.”

“I’m looking forward to presenting you with a very persuasive essay. After we set our wards, of course,” she intoned sardonically.

“Naturally,” Severus agreed.

Whatever his reservations about returning to Hogwarts, he couldn’t deny it would be much more agreeable to have their own space so that his little wife could seduce him any time she wanted. Roast chicken be damned.

Chapter Text

To top off her very distressing week, Hermione was now suffering from a concussion.

It’d been because of the elf blood section of the text, of course. She knew to be a Potioneer, one must have a very strong stomach. And of course, mostly only dark potions required such a thing. But thinking back to Dobby saving them only to die in the process, and then the thought of harvesting his blood… Or worse yet, someone killing an elf just for their blood… It made her incredibly upset. Why such a thing had been in the NEWTs study material, as a very odd aside about the uses of elf blood, was beyond her. This sort of thing was exactly what inspired a fascination and pursual of the Dark Arts and someone really needed to address it with the Board of Governors...

Distracted Hermione was never a very tidy Hermione, to say the least, and it was only when she heard Neville yelling her name that she realized something was amiss. Seconds later, a massive piece of rubble she’d unsuccessfully levitated hit her full force on the side of the head.

She immediately went tits up, and lay there looking at the clear blue sky. There was nary a cloud in sight, and she marveled at the rarity of such a thing in Scotland. Just yesterday it was raining, she thought passively, blinking.

Parvati stared down at her, unimpressed. “I told her she was being a showoff by levitating all of the larger pieces.”

That bitch. Hermione attempted a glare but it hurt. Jealousy had never looked good on her former roommate. At least I can fly, she thought, as her head began spinning; but with horror she realized Parvati could replicate herself as Hermione began to see three and four of her former classmate.

“Hermione, how many fingers am I holding up?” Neville quizzed her, waving his fingers unhelpfully in front of her as she squinted at him.

“You dolts, get her to Madam Pomfrey immediately!” McGonagall instructed sharply as she came rushing over.

Hermione harrumphed in her head. It would not do to remain laid out for the entire work party to gawk at her. If only they knew why she was so distracted, they might show some compassion.

Not an hour later, she was in the infirmary, feeling like a right dolt, when Severus came storming through. His robes billowed menacingly around him, and really, he did resemble a bat when they did that. Hermione stopped mid-babble to Madam Pomfrey, gaping up at her very agitated husband, who glared at her accusingly. She let out a nervous giggle.

“Have you gone mad?” he inquired in his soft-but-deadly voice, the one that sent her reeling back to her early school days when she and the boys were convinced Severus Snape was the big bad of their world.

“Stark raving,” she answered succinctly, sitting up in the bed. The sudden movement caused her head to swim and she clutched at it in pain. Madam Pomfrey moved to ease her back down but Severus stepped forward and did so himself, his eyes roving over her disheveled form.

“Concussion?” he questioned the mediwitch, glancing over at her, but not lingering to look Poppy directly in the eye. Even through the slight haze caused by Hermione’s head injury, she could tell Severus was uncomfortable being there. The fact that he had come despite his misgivings to see if she was safe warmed her heart to the core, and the rush of warmth caused her to become increasingly light-headed.

Reaching up, Hermione cupped his face and looked at him adoringly. “I love you,” she informed him, before passing out.

“I have already attended properly to her; she is safe. Let her rest,” Poppy encouraged him, placing a hand on his stiff shoulder. Severus eased back from the bed. “She needs it. Her diagnostics show a very high level of anxiety along with that concussion.”

Poppy looked at him with a small smile, her eyes shining with unshed tears. He willed her to rein in the emotion. It was wasted on him. The only one from whom he wanted such sentimentality had just declared her love for him after being hit over the head and admitting she was stark raving mad.

“I always had a feeling—” Poppy began, but Severus cut her off.

“Don’t.” He gentled his voice some, but not completely. “Please. I am making every attempt to focus on my future, and not on the past. I am foolishly hoping everyone else will, as well.”

“And what a wonderful future to look forward to,” she said brightly, her eyes shifting to Hermione.

“It was certainly a surprise to us all,” Minerva cut in as she approached them. She didn’t specify if she was referring to the fact that he’d been on their side all along, or the fact that he was now saddled with her most perfect and beloved student. “How is she?” she asked, peering past them to Hermione’s prone form.

“I am confident that she will recover swiftly. But you must not let her do something so foolish again,” Poppy admonished.

Severus surprised them both by letting out a low chuckle. “That witch does what she wants to do, when she wants to it.”

Minerva nodded with a small smile. “That she does. I read all about your trial. It was shocking, to say the least, but she hasn’t stopped talking about you since. I had my doubts such a union could work but she’s persuaded me thoroughly on the matter.”

“She is good at persuasion,” he agreed faintly, inwardly celebrating at the thought of Hermione speaking so passionately about him to her mentor.

There was an awkward silence, but Minerva was another brash Gryffindor who tended to be very direct.

“I wish I would have known, Severus. I suppose I should have. I’ve known you since you were a boy. Dumbledore will hardly answer for himself, sleeping in that portrait all day. I fairly boxed his ears that he would keep from me what terrible things he asked of you.”

Severus shifted warily. “If we could--”

“I heard what you told Poppy,” Minerva cut in. “I’m encouraged to hear you say that you want to focus on your future. It’s all that matters now. She will bring you immeasurable happiness, Severus, if you let her.” Her brogue was becoming thicker, a sure sign of her deep emotions.

“She already has,” he said, startling both of them. He wanted to laugh at their stunned faces, but he was increasingly uncomfortable with how personal the discussion had become.

“Severus,” Hermione called from the bed, and they all turned to look at her. She reached out a hand toward him, and he went to her instantly, perching next to her and rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. Minerva and Poppy shared a glance before disappearing from the hospital wing.

“I meant it, you know,” she informed him softly, a playful smile on her lips. “Getting hit over the head makes you think about things.”

He froze, deep inside wanting so badly to rejoice at her affirmation, but terrified of the notion that she had come to love him, what it meant, and how he would ever be able to return the words, scarred as he was. Instead, he reached out to smooth her riotous mass of curls from her brow, stroking it back repeatedly, as she smiled sweetly at him.

“My parents would sit by me when I was ill or had injured myself,” she reminisced as she continued. “I suppose I was spoiled. They would take turns massaging my head, telling me stories, soothing me.” She squeezed his thigh. “It feels good to be taken care of again, Severus. I hope that isn’t too juvenile of a thing to admit.”

He’d never known such tenderness with his own parents, and yet he did not feel jealous nor wistful hearing of her experiences. Rather, he was more resolved than ever to remove the sadness from her eyes and heart as she spoke longingly about her parents.

“Hermione, I have something to admit to you,” he began, enfolding her hand in both of his. “For some time now, I have been working on a cure for your parents’ memory loss. As a matter of fact,” he added, casting a quick Tempus charm, “I must return posthaste, as this potion is extremely time sensitive, and I am hoping to avoid another failure.”

Hermione blinked up at him. “You… What?”

He kissed the stunned look off of her face, and stroked back her hair one last time before rising from the hospital bed. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “I’ll reveal all to you this evening. Remember to Floo home when Poppy releases you,” he reminded her sternly.

He smirked as he spun away, seeing her eyes blink wildly as she tried to process everything he’d told her.

She thought she’d seen Severus’ cruel streak mellow out of him in the weeks since their union, but clearly the man still had it in him, to leave her gaping at him after dropping so much into her lap. Especially as she had been in the process of coming out of a concussion, it had been devious of him to leave her to sort through his revelation.

She bid her goodbyes to her friends at the castle doors, distracted as her emotions churned. Severus hadn’t been able to return her blurted-out sentiment, but making her near-impossible mission of regaining her parents’ memory his own certainly spoke volumes about the depth of his feelings toward her.

What a thing! With no guarantee of her love until that day, he had been working on something so incredibly difficult - for her. She was reeling with the knowledge, feeling herself falling even more in love with him each step she took to the Apparition point beyond the gates of Hogwarts. Of course, anything else he had told her was shoved right to the back of her mind, which unfortunately included his instruction about taking the Floo.

She Apparated from the gates of Hogwarts, almost giddy in her eagerness to see him and learn of more of his plans.

No sooner had she landed in front of Grimmauld Place than she was grabbed roughly from behind. With another sharp, splitting pain to her skull, everything went black.

Chapter Text

Where the bloody hell was she? Severus tried not to be irritated, and in fact, he was far more concerned. She had come home late before, but as he had just witnessed her recovering in a hospital bed only a few hours prior, he felt sure something was off.

“Where’s Hermione?” Potter queried as he made his way into the kitchen looking worn and disheveled. The boy had always managed to look harried, even in his school days. Part of the strain of being the Chosen One, Severus supposed with residual scorn.

Potter sat down across from Severus and waited for the prepared dinner from Kreacher to arrive in front him, immediately scooping up potatoes with his fork when they appeared.

“I am quite wondering the same myself,” Severus groused uneasily as he shoved at his own potatoes. Should he have returned her words? Should he have waited to tell her about the potion? Should he have made the effort at all to find a cure for her parents, or had it been something she wanted to work on herself? The uncertainty was nearly unbearable. He’d opened himself up to her, allowed himself to be vulnerable, and now she wasn’t coming back as she normally would. Surely it was just a coincidence. The greater probability was that her concussion had somehow gotten worse and she was still lying in a hospital bed; but then, Poppy or Minvera would have contacted him at the first sign of such a thing happening. Where was his witch?

“Oh?” Potter glanced at his watch. “Today was her day working on Hogwarts, right? It’s been dark for ages. Do you think she stayed for dinner at the castle? Professor McGonagall is always trying to get us to stay. I think she misses us.” He grinned at the thought as he speared a carrot.

“I highly doubt it,” Severus returned grumpily. “She made a mistake with a bit of stone from the castle today and gained a concussion as a result. Poppy would have directed her to return straight home.” He laid down his fork. “I directed her to return straight home.” He blistered at the thought of his instruction being ignored.

Potter rubbed the back of his neck as if the same jolt of unease was hitting him as it had Severus. “It’s true that Hermione has a habit of ignoring instructions sometimes if she thinks she knows better, but, I would think she would be ready to come home if she had a concussion today.”

Pulling out his wand, the young man before him cast an impressive Patronus charm, instructing the enormous stag that appeared to go to Hermione and ask her to report back to them. Severus winced at the sight of the stag galloping off, painfully reminded of the loss of one love decades prior. He swallowed the rising panic, determined to maintain resolve in front of Potter. For what seemed like the thousandth time, he reminded himself that Hermione was not Lily.

After several minutes passed and no bouncing otter careened into the kitchen, Severus stood and began pacing.

“Oh, sweet Merlin,” Severus breathed, as a sickening realization dawned. “The Floo.”

Potter was right on his heels as Severus stalked through the house to the library. Severus wasted no time in scooping up a handful of the powder in the bowl on the mantle and swiftly tossing it into the fireplace. “Hogwarts Headmistress’ Office!” he all but shouted, and shoved his head into the flames.

“Dear me, Severus, what is the matter?” Minerva asked of him as she peered back at him from the other side, her brow creased in concern.

“Did Poppy release my wife from the infirmary?” he asked urgently, willing his paranoia to abate.

Minerva frowned with confusion. “Poppy sent Hermione home hours ago, Severus. I saw her walk with Mister Longbottom and Mister Thomas to the front gates.”

Potter’s swift intake of air behind Severus did not help with the clawing dread in his throat.

“Confounding woman,” Severus muttered. “She did not use the Floo, then?”

“I watched her Apparate with my own two eyes, as they all do at the end of the day,” Minerva rejoined impatiently. “Severus, what are you on about?”

“She hasn’t returned. I told her to Floo exclusively. We have encountered menacing magic that has been following us, Minerva.” He stopped himself before continuing, alarmed at the break in his voice. He needed to regain control. “I must go. She isn’t safe.”

Ignoring Minerva’s protests, he broke the connection.

“We can’t assume,” Potter said calmly, and Severus hated him for sounding more in control than he felt.

“She would have come home immediately,” Severus insisted angrily as he stood and stepped back from the hearth. “You wouldn’t understand. Something happened between us today…”

He was ashamed to realize as his gaze met Potter’s that Potter could see and recognize the agony he felt. He hated being laid bare in such a way before this James Potter lookalike, just as he had been before as he lay dying. Somehow, the idea of losing Hermione felt worse than death by venom. None of his reservations mattered now; he simply needed to get her back to safety.

“Hermione tried to explain your soul bond to me,” Potter ventured carefully, delicately. “If what she was saying is true, you must be able to connect with her, no matter where she is.”

Severus swallowed the frog in his throat. His every survival instinct protested at the thought of dropping every single shield he’d ever constructed, which was what a connection such as that would require. Even in his most intimate, heartfelt moments with Hermione, he had still Occluded on some level, never quite willing to expose himself raw emotionally.

But he knew what must be done. He could not lose Hermione. She was his, and damn it all, he was hers. Closing his eyes, he opened himself completely, dropping every wall he had ever painstakingly erected. He had been Occluding for so long, it took him more strength to drop the familiar shields than it did to maintain them. For the first time, he embraced his soul bond with Hermione, fully accepting it into himself, letting it fill him from the core until it fizzled out in a tingling sensation to his extremities.

His breath caught. He could feel her. Terrified, shaken, alone. Her mind screaming, reaching out, calling…

Calling for him.

A desperation in her voice that felt like a sucker punch to his gut. He could hear her as clear as if she were standing beside him.

Severus, please.

Those words, spoken by the woman he loved, had him gasping for air. His eyes flew open, and he knew they were filled with horror.

His wife was in grave danger.

Chapter Text

“I have been there before,” Severus said hoarsely, accepting the cup of water handed to him by Potter. Drinking deeply, he set it down carefully, fearful his grip would shatter it. “It is a terrible place. I had suspicions of this remnant, but I foolishly wanted to believe it was not possible.” Severus closed his eyes, picturing the disgusting den where at least once the Dark Lord had summoned his followers. The putrid smell seemed still fresh in his nostrils.

“Greyback’s den,” he revealed gravely, his voice deepened by the dread of it.

Potter’s eyes widened in consternation. “Werewolves?”

Severus’ jaw tightened. “Lupin was their best chance at being treated humanely, and he’s gone.” Noticing Potter’s face fall, he continued methodically, “With their overwhelming participation in the wrong side of the war, werewolves have been driven completely from society.”

“Not all of them sided with Voldemort!” Harry insisted with outrage.

“Be that as it may, they have been shunned from society. Kingsley and I had discussed it as a possibility. It makes sense they’d want to harm those they feel are responsible for turning them into complete pariahs.” Severus breathed deeply, summoning all of his self-restraint. “You, and by extension your friends, are the famous ones who defeated the Dark Lord. It seems they want the three of you punished for this.”

“But Hermione of all people,” Potter countered in astonishment. “She’s almost annoying the way she carries on about equality for all sentient creatures.”

“Almost?” Severus rejoined, unable to help the brief smirk that came with the thought of her impassioned speeches. It faded immediately at the thought of his wife being silenced forever. They didn’t have time to spare to discuss the why; they needed to rescue Hermione before it was too late. He wasn’t sure how she was still conscious given all the pain that he’d felt through their bond.

Potter’s half-hearted smile prompted him to move forward.

Severus steepled his fingers, ignoring the pitiful shaking in his hands. “We don’t know what we are up against. We don’t know how many, and I am only partially familiar with the territory.” Every fiber of his being demanded he storm in and rescue his wife, but years as a spy had taught him to be calculating instead of rash.

“Is Greyback there? Is he still alive?” Potter asked with alarm.

“There is no way to know. His body wasn’t found but…” Severus trailed off, debating on whether to expound. At Potter’s expectant look, he continued, “Greyback’s pack was nearly feral at the best of times. I’d previously heard rumors that they would cannibalize their dead.” Severus shook his head. “We have no way of knowing. Even in his absence, the pack will be fierce. They are bloodthirsty regardless if it is a full moon or not.”

“Not to mention the Death Eaters we ran into at the pub. I’d bet galleons they are working together. We need backup,” Potter surmised, drawing his wand and casting the Patronus charm.

Severus rubbed the bridge of his nose warily as Ronald Weasley, accompanied by a few other men he vaguely recognized in Auror’s robes, stepped through the green flames of the Floo.

“You didn’t,” he said tightly to Potter, glare set firmly on the redheaded arse in front of him, who was glaring back with an equal amount of loathing.

“I’m an Auror,” Ron informed him angrily. “She’s in danger because of you, so maybe you are the one who shouldn’t be a part of this.”

Severus stood slowly and approached the younger man, drawing to his full height and keeping his hand near his wand.

“Now you listen to me, Weasley. Hermione is in danger, full stop. Everything else matters not. You will join me in casting aside our rivalry for the time being, though I caution you to remember that she is, in fact, mine.” The boy’s nostrils flared, but Severus ignored him and addressed them all. “You will all need all of your wits about you for what is to come.”

“What are we anticipating, Sir?” one of the Aurors asked Potter.

“We are going headfirst into a werewolf den, lads,” Potter answered with a brave face. “Severus, please explain the situation.”

Severus nodded, inwardly surprised Potter would turn it over to him, when the young Aurors in the room so clearly had so little respect for Severus. Nevertheless, he was the most informed in this situation.

“Werewolves prefer to grapple, though most are still in full command of their own magic as any wizard would be and must be taken seriously in that regard.”

“Werewolves are under a wand ban,” one of the younger Aurors inserted triumphantly.

Severus raised a mocking brow. “If you think dark werewolves who fought for the Dark Lord are playing by the rules, you are criminally lacking in sagacity,” he deduced with condescension. Gods, he wasn’t at Hogwarts, and he was still instructing dunderheads. “They will almost assuredly have wands to use,” Severus continued. “This den is where Greyback’s pack resides; rather, what used to be his. Let us hope rumors of his demise weren’t greatly exaggerated, and that they have weakened rather than strengthened since the final battle. They are notorious flesh eaters, having a taste for it even when not in their werewolf form. Count yourselves lucky that we are nowhere near a full moon.”

Potter blew out a breath. “Right, then. Aim to incapacitate,” he instructed firmly, “I want them brought to trial to answer for their crimes.”

Severus bit back a protest. Potter could direct his Aurors however he saw fit, but Severus was not under his command, and he would be aiming to kill. Clearly, the boy had learned nothing over the years. Incapacitating the enemy gave them a chance to escape… And not a single one of the bastards who had hurt his wife would escape this night.

Chapter Text

All hell broke loose.

Weasley flew off the handle, charging in like a roaring bull at the sight of Hermione’s bleeding, crumpled body. The boy’s outward expression of fury mirrored what Severus felt inwardly, but he knew he needed to be precise and calculating to face the dark wizards who’d set this trap.

“Ron!” Potter yelled, to no avail. They watched as the reckless redhead was tackled to the ground by a wiry figure in tattered clothes. A ferocious wrestling match ensued. Potter exchanged a look with Severus, who shook his head to halt whatever the other impetuous Gryffindor felt moved to do.

Two groups swarmed in front of them from the interconnected halls of the cavernous den. Masked figures spread out in a familiar formation, a tactic Severus recognized from his Death Eater days. Others, half-clothed and looking positively feral, turned toward them, snarling ferociously at Severus and the Aurors accompanying him. The werewolves. They moved predatorily to form a half circle in front of Hermione, hunching down in preparation for a fight.

“New plan,” Severus murmured out of the side of his mouth to Potter, his eyes glittering dangerously as he started at the werewolves. The ferociousness of his magical essence surged through his body, amplified by his proximity to Hermione, despite the fact that she was unconscious.

“What?” Harry hissed in affronted disbelief.

“You and the others deal with the pathetic excuses there,” Severus instructed, nodding toward the masked foes. “I will retrieve my wife.”

Weasley’s screams moved them all into action, cutting off whatever weak protest Potter had been about to give him.

Potter made a motion that had the Aurors falling into line behind him as they faced off against the Death Eaters. Spells ricocheted off the cavernous walls of the underground lair. Deftly dodging hexes and curses, Severus stalked toward the semi-circle at the back of the den. His power was burning throughout his body. He wondered if he even needed his wand, as deadly as he felt in that moment, but then that was precisely why he needed it. The pure chaos that magic could be when not channeled properly could bring the rocks around them crashing down on all their heads. Precision and control were his specialities. He willed his eyes to stay away from Hermione and on the pack in front of him.

“Snape,” the one in the middle growled. He was a bulky, hairy wizard resembling Fenrir Greyback. Severus recognized him as Greyback’s younger brother, Jormund. Jormund was no doubt bitter about his brother’s fate, and had likely been waiting for this moment. “Pity you didn’t come later in the week. We would be turned by the moon, and waiting for you with this little piece,” he kicked behind him at Hermione’s unmoving form, “roasting on a spit.”

Severus gifted Jormund a cruel smile. “I believe a roast is exactly what we need,” he announced. He drew his wand from his sleeve in a slow, confident fashion. “Have any of you cretins ever seen Fiendfyre cast?”

A deflected curse whizzed past their heads. It dissipated against the wall behind Hermione’s unconscious form. The werewolves before him, a half dozen of them, shifted uneasily as their leader squinted at Snape in disbelief. Severus had no intention of casting the deadly spell, but of course the individuals before him clearly hadn’t suffered from an overabundance of education, and their hesitancy gave Severus a chance to mentally calculate his next few maneuvers. He could say with certainty he had never dueled against six werewolves, even in human form as they were now.

“You wouldn’t,” the beastly looking younger Greyback concluded finally. “It can’t be controlled.”

In the time it had taken the man-beast to calculate whether Severus would follow through with his threat, Severus had cast a wordless Protego with a subtle movement of his wand. By the time Jormund finished his sentence, Severus was exploding into action, casting Sectumsempra at the least threatening member of the group. The weakling fell to the ground, whimpering and incapacitated.

Two of the more muscular members rushed toward him; a male and female spitting with rage. Severus lifted his wand in quick, precise motions.

“Argenteum Astrum!” he shouted.

Back to back, thick streams of silver light jetted out of his wand, hardening into sharp, wicked-looking shafts of solid silver which lodged into the incoming werewolves. Shocked expressions came across their faces before they fell to the ground. They wriggled in agony as a slow death by the Silver Bolt curse came upon them.

Another bulky male charged toward Severus, and he sidestepped quickly to avoid being bowled over. Severus shot a curse at him, but the werewolf had his wand in hand, and deflected the curse. Severus expertly cast Protego once more, effectively deflecting the werewolf’s returning hex. With a shout of rage, he charged Severus once more.

“Genua retro!” Severus cast, causing the werewolf’s knees to suddenly detach from the front of his legs and creep around to the back. His opponent’s ripped trousers afforded a grotesque view of the hex in action. Ligaments and bones shifted and wriggled underneath his skin and realigned at the back of his legs. Not losing momentum, the werewolf was suddenly running backward, and crashed head first into a protruding stone with a sickening crunch. He buckled and slid lifeless down the wall.

One more down, Severus thought with triumph. It’d almost been too easy.

He swirled back around and was hit square in the face with a roundhouse kick from the last remaining female werewolf. The pain was so great his eyes watered, and Severus could feel warm liquid gushing down toward his lips. The coppery taste stung his tongue and made him cringe. Through his disorientation, Severus surmised that his nose had been broken. He struggled against the ferocious grip of the woman, but she rammed her elbow into his neck and shrieked into his face as she trapped him against the wall.

Severus’ eyes darted to Jormund. The leader of the pack had hauled Hermione’s still-limp form up in front of him. Severus struggled to focus as blood poured into his mouth and his windpipe was increasingly crushed from the force of the female’s elbow against his throat.

Jormund jerked Hermione’s head to the side by her hair, and his feral eyes landed on Severus.

“Now you’ll watch as I rip out her throat and feast on her flesh.” Jormund bent his head, and his rusted-looking teeth gleamed in the light of the hexes bouncing around the cavern. He glanced up at Severus with a demented grin. “If only I had some ketchup.” The reference indicated it had been this werewolf whose malevolent presence Severus had felt that night that he and Hermione had been at the chippy.

Severus felt rage unlike any he’d ever known burst through his pores, accompanied by a fierce panic as he struggled against the werewolf holding him. He watched in horror as Jormund’s teeth made contact with Hermione’s flesh.

And then, an eerie roar filled the cavern. Hermione landed on the ground as Jormund was knocked off balance by a bloodsoaked Ronald Weasley, who in that moment could have been a werewolf himself. The young redhead looked half-wild, his Auror robes ripped, his hair filthy and sticking out in every direction. He posed an impressive, brutal figure, gaining even Jormund’s attention.

Severus used the distraction to his advantage, kicking his captor in the stomach and pushing her off balance. Spying his wand on the dirt before him, he dove for it, scooping it up and making the quick movements of the Silver Bolt curse at the wolf woman. She staggered toward Jormund, but didn’t quite make it to him before she dropped beside Hermione, convulsing as the silver burned through her veins.

Greyback bayed like a tortured animal and attacked Weasley. The two tumbled to the ground. Severus heard Weasley cry out in pain as Greyback bit him savagely, ripping out his shoulder tendon. He slashed at the redhead’s chest in fury.

Severus took a moment to catch his breath. Every cell in his body was pulling him toward Hermione, but if he didn’t make a move now, it could mean Weasley’s life.

“Sectumsempra!” he shouted, pointing his wand at Jormund.

With a wounded howl, Jormund rolled from his position atop Weasley, curling into a fetal position. Jormund whimpered helplessly as Weasley’s wide, wild eyes met Severus’ in astonishment, realizing Severus had just saved his life. Potter arrived next to his friend as Severus turned away.

Falling to his knees beside his wife, Severus gingerly scooped Hermione into his arms. He scanned over his surroundings briefly to assure they were forgotten there in the dark against the wall of the cavern. He was too dazed to attempt to Apparate, and would not risk splinching them. He began checking over her wounds carefully, gingerly, his heart breaking at every mark he came across. She had slashes up and down her torso, as if they’d tortured her with hexes. Bruises marred her face and neck, but thankfully, her neck remained unscathed. Soft, pained moans escaped her throat as his hands moved over her. Severus stilled his medical exploration, and rocked her in his arms as he sang a soothing healing chant to her.

He lifted his head and his eyes roved over the scene before him. The skirmish was finally, blessedly, coming to a head. Potter and his Aurors had managed to defeat and capture the wizards who had been masked. More Aurors were arriving, and with them mediwitches clothed in St Mungo’s robes. Jormund Greyback was struggling weakly against his bonds, bellowing hoarse obscenities, while Weasley was being levitated and loaded onto a special stretcher.

“Severus,” Hermione whispered weakly against his chest, her fingers curling into his robe.

“Shhh, my love,” he spoke softly against her tangled curls. “It’s over now.”

Severus fought the sudden dread that filled him as he registered what he’d just said. He pulled Hermione closer, his arms tightening around her. He’d done his part; he’d helped defeat the dark remnant from the war. Had he seized Hermione back from the grip of death’s jaws just to watch her be released from their bond forever?

Chapter Text

After her rescue, Hermione had spent a night in St Mungo’s, though she hadn’t felt it necessary. Despite the near-death experience she’d had the day before, she was bursting at the seams to get home. Severus was there, bottling his cure for her parents as the Mediwizard on her case prepared her release paperwork. They had so many loose ends to deal with, but the potion had a shelf life of three days, and Severus had spent the summer painstakingly crafting it. They had no choice but to leave immediately for Australia and proceed with their plan.

Stealing in after they were asleep, she and Severus dosed her parents with the potion, massaging it down their throats. They stole away immediately, only going back the next day to see if they recognized their daughter.

The first day, they both stared at her longer than seemed appropriate to do to a complete stranger. They were exceedingly kind, inviting her in for tea even. By day three, they were pulling her through the door and hugging her so tight she could hardly breathe.

It took a week for all of their memories to return. Hermione was overcome with emotion that Severus’ potion had been successful. He’d insisted on staying in the background, watching from afar, until she felt they were ready to accept that, only did they have a daughter, but she was married to her former professor.

After all was said and done, her parents decided it was best to stay in Australia. It’d been a tearful goodbye, but Hermione and Severus had pressing unfinished business in Britain. Kingsley had started by sending owls summoning them to the Ministry, but after a week he was desperately sending his Patronus and insisting their return. Once it was all finally done, Hermione was determined she would be back at the first chance.

It was still startling to Hermione that Severus had gone to such great lengths to reunite her with her parents. He had yet to speak of love to her, but in her experience, actions went further than words ever could. No one had ever shown her the love he had in making the memory recovery potion and being there for her as she restored her parents’ memories. She had fallen so deeply for him it made her dizzy just to think about it.

Their Portkey from Australia deposited them into an arrival chamber at the Ministry, and no one awaited them which was preferred. Harry had offered to be there to fill them in upon their return, but Hermione was adamant he stay home. There was something of utmost importance to her that needed to be done, and she just hoped Severus wouldn’t be too resistant to the idea.

“I know you’re exhausted,” Hermione ventured carefully to her husband, “but I have to visit him. We both do.”

“I assume from your rather sheepish expression that you are referring to Weasley,” he deduced dryly.

Hermione averted her eyes. She shouldn’t have asked. She was quite certain it was entirely unfair to do so; Severus had already bent over backward for her in the past few months. Maybe she should have sneaked out early and visited Ron by herself... But no, keeping such a thing from Severus was not a good idea. They had become very faithful in their honesty with one another, and she would not lose that under any circumstances.

“He is still in a coma, Severus,” she said softly. “We both owe him our thanks, and perhaps it will aid in his recovery.”

He smoothed his thumb over her worried brow, and then slipped his index finger under her chin to tilt her face up to him. “Let us go, then. I suppose, loath as I am to admit it, I do owe him a bit of gratitude.”

They used the Floo at the Ministry to travel to St Mungos, and it was with a heavy heart that Hermione entered Ron’s hospital room. Ginny was there, sitting beside him, and she rose from her seat and greeted them sadly.

“How is he?” Hermione asked, voice low.

Ginny sighed. “It’s complicated. It took a lot to patch him up after the fight. Those werewolves tore into him, Hermione. He’s lucky to be alive. I think,” and her voice broke as she barely managed the words, “I think we would’ve lost him had they been in werewolf form.” Her gaze shifted to Severus, and she gave him a teary smile. “We’ve heard that he survived in no small part because of you.”

Severus raised a brow. “He held his own,” he groused, unwilling to take any credit for the redhead’s survival.

“Please don’t do that, Sir. It was shocking for us to hear him actually admit that you had done something heroic. He was ranting before he fell into the coma - he couldn’t stop saying, ‘Snape saved me, Snape saved me,’ and talking about how you held Hermione.” She ran a hand through her hair in a way that reminded Hermione of Harry. “It was like he’d finally caught on that you care.”

“Hmm,” Severus voiced noncommittally.

“He was beginning to fade just after I got here, and he was so hysterical on top of it that the healers put him into a magically-induced coma. They’re hoping it saves him.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I’ll let you have some time with him. I need to head home anyway.”

“I’ll see you soon,” Hermione promised her, returning Ginny’s tight hug.

Hermione reached out and squeezed Severus’ hand before she moved to Ron’s bedside.

“Ron,” she murmured, a tear falling down her cheek. She brushed an errant lock of red hair from his clammy forehead. “Ron, I know you can hear me. I know you’re in there. Thank you for being there. You helped to save me.” She wiped the tears that fell from her eyes, slightly embarrassed to be crying for him in front of Severus. “You will always mean so much to me,” she whispered. “Please don’t ever think otherwise.”

In that moment she realized that she would always love Ron, not with the silly infatuation of a desperate young girl, but with the depth of an allegiant kinship after years of facing the most harrowing experiences of their lives together. As she lifted her head and met Severus’ speculative gaze, her breath caught. This man -- this dark, boundless, intense wizard -- was all she’d never known she needed and wanted.

“Please say something,” she begged of Severus as she stood and moved toward him. She took his hands in hers and squeezed encouragingly. “It’s time to move on.”

His dark brow arched at her barely audible words, and she wondered if he realized the depth of them. He stared at her a moment before releasing her hands and moving closer to Ron’s comatose form.

“I owe you my thanks, Mr Weasley,” Severus spoke with sincerity. “True, your tie to my wife was troublesome; but you acted selflessly, and I thank you for it.”

Hermione smiled up at him as she joined him next to the bed. She took Ron’s hand in hers once more and clutched it tightly.

“I’ll visit again soon,” she promised. “I hope to see you awake next time.”

She let Severus guide her toward the exit of the room, not noticing Ron’s fingers twitch after Hermione’s touch left him.

“I love you, you know,” Hermione said as she leaned against the doorframe, watching Severus disrobe in preparation for a shower. He was so weary he could feel it in his bones, but the sight of her transformed his tiredness into desire. His white shirt hung loosely on her body, ending at her knees. He never tired of seeing her in his shirt, which she avidly enjoyed wearing at bedtime -- but they were so far from going to sleep now, and she had brought it upon herself by enticing him the way she was now.

“Is that so?” he asked her reflection with a raised brow. His shirt dropped to the ground, and he turned to face her.

She folded her arms across her chest and gave him a purely feminine look of irritation. “Yes, that’s so, you cranky bugger.” Her face softened as her eyes darted over his half-clothed form. “I just wanted to voice it, after tonight.”

“How about you show me?” he suggested silkily. He unbuttoned his trousers and shoved them down smoothly before stalking toward her and backing her up against the wall. He reveled in the sound of her gasp as he pressed his body against hers. Her arms rose to encircle his neck, and she lifted on tiptoes to meet his hungry mouth.

Passionate, toe-curling kisses left them breathless, but hungry for more. As he grabbed hold of the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head, she reached between them and wrapped her hand around his swollen cock. Severus groaned and curled his fingers into the two perfect globes of her arse, lifting her and guiding her legs to clamp around his narrow waist. He stepped onto the marbled floor of the shower and reached behind him quickly to turn on the water.

“I remember seeing you in this shower for the first time,” he growled into Hermione’s ear as he steadied her against the glass door. “I couldn’t believe my eyes. From then on, I wanted to fuck you so badly I could taste it.” He collected all of her riotous curls in his hand and drew them over her shoulder, attacking the skin he’d revealed with his lips and tongue as her thighs tightened around his waist. “Will you let me, Wife? Will you let me do what I’ve wanted to do since that night?” He followed the water washing over her breasts with his tongue, and her head dropped back against the door in rapture.

“If you don’t,” she replied on an agonized whisper, “I shall go mad.”

She opened her side of their soul bond to him then, completely and utterly exposed to him. Her overwhelming emotions of love and craving for him jolted into him. Warm, familiar magic sizzled through his body, hitting every nerve ending and heightening his frenzy.

“Please,” she moaned, and he knew what she wanted. She squirmed against him, and it drove him wild. She’d left him defenseless by embracing their soul bond, and without even truly contemplating it, he reciprocated.

He wondered if she could feel the depth of his feelings for her, just as she felt his unyielding length sheathing into her heat. Inhibitions were a thing of the past as he thrust into her, the spray of the water falling over them, baptizing them in a new beginning. Her nails dug into his shoulders and his fingers gripped her thighs as their pleasured moans filled the air.

They were truly one. He did not exist without her, and she did not exist without him.

His head dropped to her shoulder, where he pressed openmouthed kisses to her wet skin as he pumped in and out of her delectable body. He gave a low, wicked laugh as Hermione took a handful of his slick hair and jerked his head back before kissing him frantically. Her tongue dueled with his as she tightened around him, gasping into his mouth as she neared her peak.

His hips snapped forward in rapid strokes, and as she arched against him, he allowed himself to lose control and join her in sweet release.

Severus rested his forward against hers. He would never be the same without her.

Chapter Text

Hermione sat at the table, glaring at her husband’s back as he prepared coffee for each of them. Because of him, she now preferred coffee to tea, but only if he added two sugars and a splash of milk.

She didn’t understand him. Not at all. He knew how she preferred her drinks. He let her wear his perfectly-pressed white shirts to bed. He made feverish love to her, laying himself wide open to her through their soul bond, and yet still he would not say the words.

She told herself she didn’t need them. His actions continued to show her all she needed to know, and it had to be enough. This morning he’d accepted the Defence Against the Dark Arts post from McGonagall, and had even informed the Headmistress that he and Hermione would require adequate living quarters given that they were a married couple. The thrill of that directive had curled her toes. Their own space, together, had been something she had craved more than once. To know that Severus wanted it too made her belly somersault.

But he wouldn’t say the words. And he had been somewhat short with her all morning, as if he had an underlying concern. Merlin, she could feel it through their bond, but the obstinate man refused to speak of it.

To be fair, she wasn’t voicing her feelings, either. They had a meeting with Kingsley in an hour, and before Harry had left for work he’d told her that Kingsley planned to give them an annulment for Severus’ help in wrangling in the remnant of Voldemort’s followers. Apparently, the Wizengamot thought very highly of this show of loyalty from Severus - though of course they had no idea that the reason he’d truly acted was for her - and were prepared to not only exonerate him, but also offer him a position at the Ministry.

The very thought of losing him made her stomach hurt. Over her dead body would he be severing his ties to her. He was hers now, dammit, whether or not he said the L-word.

They finished their coffee in silence, and Hermione wondered why she was being so stubborn with herself in not just discussing it with him. She just couldn’t bear the thought of swaying him into a life with her if he didn’t truly want it. She would accept whatever outcome he chose in the end, though it would hurt worse than the Cruciatus if he chose to part ways.

She held onto him tightly as they made their way to the Ministry, and then to Kingsley’s office. She didn’t want to let go. She wanted him to know that she didn’t want to let go, and yet, she couldn’t bring herself to say anything.

Kingsley smiled in greeting as he rose from his seat. He skirted the massive oak desk to meet them in the middle of the room, taking Severus’ hand in a firm handshake with a pleased expression. He took Hermione’s hand in greeting next and patted it affectionately as he led her to a chair to sit. Severus sat beside her, perched on the edge and looking as if he had no time at all for a meeting with the Minister himself.

“I am so pleased to tell you both of the exciting decisions made by the Wizengamot over the course of the last few days,” Kingsley said, perching on the edge of his desk and looking down at them. “Severus, your help in finding and defeating the remnant of Voldemort’s followers - highly dangerous ones at that - has made quite the impression on the Wizengamot. It is finally clear to them that you can be trusted.”

Hermione snorted with annoyance. “It should have been clear from the start.”

Kingsley almost let his joyous expression falter but quickly continued his summation. “Be that as it may, they have now decided that you are to be exonerated.”

Hermione reached out to Severus and gripped his hand. “That’s so wonderful,” she said quietly, with a soft smile. Her stomach churned and she tried to keep a tight grip on her emotions.

“Yes!” Kingsley nodded with excitement. “And they also want to give you an Order of Merlin, Second Class, for all of your contributions to Wizarding Britain.”

Severus didn’t speak. His gaze settled on Hermione and he watched her, his eyes narrowing. She knew that he knew she was locking herself down from their bond. Even without the open metaphysical pathway, he could read her like a book.

Kingsley cleared this throat, his eyes growing large as he waited for Severus to indicate his feelings in any way.

“Since you are being exonerated, Severus, I would also like to make you and Hermione the offer to grant you an annulment of your soul bond. It is a tricky business, and not often done, but each Minister is given the power to do so,” Kingsley said proudly, clearly expecting them to be happy to be given such knowledge.

Hermione couldn’t help it. Her hand tightened on her husband’s and her eyes closed in a grimace that rattled her whole body. When she tried to steel herself and meet his gaze again, Severus was smiling wolfishly at her. She gulped and looked at Kingsley.

The Minister was clearly flustered now as he waited for any kind of response from Severus, who hadn’t spoken one word in response to all the information Kingsley had given.

“We would also like to have you on as a Private Investigator for the Ministry,” Kingsley rushed to say, as if he was ready to just be done with the matter altogether. His eyes were wide as they bulged in distress, so unnerved was he by the lack of response from the man in black.

Severus squeezed Hermione’s hand, and she shyly met his gaze once more, giving him a hesitant smile. His thumb rubbed circles around her knuckles in a loving caress. Hermione shuddered when his sensual magic came blasting at her full force, wrapping her in such loving emotion that she felt like she was cocooned in him and his depth of feeling for her. Her eyes widened in wonder and it was all she could do not to pounce on him right there in the Minister’s office.

“I have accepted an offer to fill the Defence post at Hogwarts,” Severus said with a smirk as he turned to Kingsley. “Hermione will be the new Transfiguration mistress,” he informed the Minister, the pride he felt for his wife’s accomplishments evident.

“And the annulment?” Kingsley asked, looking bewildered.

Severus raised a brow and looked at Hermione expectantly. His magic still tickling her nerve endings, she addressed Kingsley boldly.

“There won’t be any annulment,” she said primly, holding Severus’ hand firm in hers.

“And why is that, Madam Snape?” Severus quiered, the smile wide on his face now.

Hermione raised a brow, mimicking her husband almost perfectly.

“Because you’re mine.”