Known and Unknown

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Chapter Two

Known and Unknown

Hermione ceased screaming but rushed from the bed, ignoring the throbbing pain in her head as she panicked at the sight of the dead man who seemed intent on grabbing her. What was going on?

"Stay away from me!" she cried as she backed against the far wall, putting as much space between her and the man she knew had to be an impostor. Severus Snape was dead and had been dead for a very long time. He was not in her hospital room and certainly was not her husband.

Healer Merriweather rushed from the room, her shrill call for assistance echoing down the corridor. Hermione relaxed minutely at the knowledge that help was coming, but she kept her eyes focussed solely on the man before her, wary of the impostor's possible intentions.

"Hermione," the man said soothingly. "You must remain calm. You will cause yourself further damage. Return to the bed. Please." His eyes implored her to listen, to do as he said.

If she hadn't been certain that he was an impostor before, she was now; Severus Snape would never implore, soothe, or say please...not to her, not to anyone.

Pain lanced across her forehead as she shook her head, one arm stretched out before her as if that alone would keep him at bay, the other blindly scrabbling at the bedside table next to her, hoping to find her wand. "I don't know what you're attempting to accomplish," she said, forcing her voice to remain steady, "but I suggest you leave before the Aurors arrive to take you away."

The man arched an eyebrow. Hermione sucked in a breath at the familiar expression; this man was good, but he couldn't fool her. He had an excellent command of the professor's mannerisms, but his dark eyes were much too soft, much too kind.

She attempted to shake off the spark of curiosity that thought aroused, but the question refused to be ignored: If his goal were to harm her, why would his eyes be kind?

"What in the...?" he began, and then his brow knit in confusion. "What's wrong? Why are you acting this way?"

He edged around the bed, slowly but steadily approaching her.

"Stop! Don't...don't come any closer!" Hermione winced, her head throbbing in agony at her panicked outcry. Her mind seemed unable to process things fast enough, and until she could think properly, she would concentrate solely on self-preservation.

The man stopped, however, just at the end of the bed, not even two metres from her position against the wall. He appeared confused and ... hurt. If the situation hadn't been so dire, Hermione would have laughed. Honestly, whoever this person was, they hadn't done proper research on the late enigmatic professor. Severus Snape would never display his more tender emotions so easily, so openly.

Her traitorous mind, however, reminded her of the picture of Professor Snape with Luna's parents...the one that had so intrigued her. Clearly he had been capable of showing emotion ... when he so chose.

Pushing aside the thought, she blinked rapidly; the pain in her head was taking its toll, and she wanted nothing more than to slide to the floor in an exhausted heap. She braced herself, not wanting to appear weak before help could arrive.

The impostor was about to speak again when the door was flung open, revealing Healer Merriweather, a lavender phial clutched in one hand, and ... oh, thank Merlin. She had brought Harry.

Relieved, and convinced that Harry would be capable of handling one rather ill-planned impersonator on his own, Hermione allowed her body to succumb to the pain, sliding down the wall until her bum hit the floor. She pulled up her legs and wrapped her arms around them, resting her aching head atop her knees and willing the pain to cease.

"What the bloody hell is going on?"

Hermione frowned and then looked up at the man who had been her best friend for almost two decades. Harry looked neither shocked nor outraged nor any other emotion that would have made perfect sense in such a situation. Instead, Harry stood just inside the doorway, his green eyes filled with confusion and concern. His wand remained sheathed.

She was about to point out the obvious issue...a man impersonating a dead hero was in the room and claiming he was her husband...when Harry did something utterly unthinkable: He turned to the impostor and said, "Severus? Is she all right? What's going on?"

Scrambling to her feet, Hermione began to search for her wand in earnest. Obviously the entire world had gone mad. Harry was speaking with the impostor as if he were an old friend, the Healer was looking at her as if she had gone barmy, and that man simply stood staring at her with some sort of bizarre expectation. She didn't know what was going on, but she wasn't about to wait around to find out. Ignoring their presence in the room, she pulled herself together long enough to think of Summoning her wand. Wandless magic wasn't the easiest of achievements, but given her desperate state, she thought it was worth a try.

"Accio wa..."

Before she could complete the incantation, they were on her, Harry having nearly leapt over the bed. She kicked and clawed and bit as they wrestled her to the bed, her head nearly exploding in agony, but she didn't stop. Something wasn't right. Everything was dreadfully wrong, and she couldn't let them win. She couldn't let them...

Damn it. She'd forgotten about the phial in Healer Merriweather's hand. Hermione choked as the Healer managed to spill the lavender potion into her mouth, using a standard Healer's charm to force the liquid down her throat.

"Bloody bastards," she slurred as the Calming Draught quickly took effect. Her limbs ceased their movements, and she felt herself being magically restrained to the bed. She tried to fight the draught but knew it was to no avail. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as her brain slowly registered Harry's betrayal. Over the course of the last two weeks, both of her oldest and dearest friends had turned on her. It was too much for her to take. Her lips curled into a sneer, albeit a small, almost drunken one. "Et tu, Harry?"

Harry's forehead wrinkled, and he looked to the fake Snape in confusion. But the man's dark eyes rested solely on Hermione. He raised his wand, and before Hermione could fully process that Harry did not appear at all alarmed, the man softly cast the spell.

"Legilimens."

Had Hermione been in full control of her faculties, he would have never been able to infiltrate her mind. As it was, however, he entered easily and had begun sifting through her memories before she had realised he was even there. His intrusion was gentle, almost tender, and had she not been furious, terrified, and drugged, Hermione would have wondered at the care he was taking to make the experience as pleasant as possible.

It was over as quickly as it had begun, and he eased out of her mind, leaving behind a gentle whisper of her name as the only indicator of his presence. Hermione tried to open her eyes...only then did she realise she had even closed them...but found that her eyelids would not cooperate. Either the Healer had given her too much of the draught, or it had been laced with a sleeping potion.

Hovering on the edge of consciousness, she heard Harry's worried voice. "Great Merlin's balls, Severus. Was that the only way to find out what's wrong with her?" When there was no answer, Harry sighed and asked, "What is it? What's happened to her?"

Hermione felt herself drift further towards the arms of Morpheus during the heavy silence that followed. Just before she finally fell asleep, she heard the choked reply:

"She doesn't remember. She doesn't know me."

*****

Hermione shifted gingerly in the wretched hospital bed, still a bit groggy from the Calming Draught the Healer had forced down her throat. She was frightened and confused. The things they were insinuating were absurd...insane. Yet she was the one they had sedated and examined as if she had completely lost her mind.

No, it wasn't insanity; Healer Merriweather claimed it was amnesia. Five years, two months, and seventeen days...gone. And during that time, she had somehow gained a new husband, one who had once been her professor, had ridiculed and despised her...though she reluctantly granted that might have been part of his role as a spy ... perhaps. Merlin, she'd seen him die. It was impossible, ludicrous.

Wrapping her arms about her torso, she turned onto her side and closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. She grimaced. The one thing Hermione had always hated most about St Mungo's was the lack of smell. A Muggle hospital would reek of the chemicals used for disinfection; St Mungo's, being a magical facility, used various disinfecting charms, leaving behind an odourless environment. The lack of any odour was disconcerting ... especially since it meant the only thing she could smell was the lingering scent of potions ingredients and herbs.

Which meant that he was still there.

Not that she hadn't been aware of his continued presence. How could she not, with his stare burning a hole into the back of her head? As far as she knew, he had not left the room for a single moment since she had awakened...not when she had screamed in his face in shock, not when she had recoiled from his attempts to soothe her, and not even after she had bitten him. Instead, he had retreated into the shadows, to a chair pushed into the far corner of the room, where he sat facing her, his black eyes intensely watchful, his face etched with pain and concern.

She couldn't bear to look at him.

There was a knock at the door, and Hermione heard someone enter the room.

"Mr Snape," Healer Merriweather whispered. "Would you mind stepping into the hall?"

He muttered an affirmation, and Hermione heard him approach her bed. She stiffened as she felt him brush the back of his fingers against her cheek. He inhaled deeply, then jaggedly released the breath before leaving the room to consult with the Healer.

Hermione was left alone, struggling to fathom why she felt like crying.

*****

"Are you ready?"

Hermione turned away from the window to face the man she had once believed to be an impostor, the unfamiliar robes fluttering about her calves as she moved, and frowned. She wasn't sure how to answer the question. "I suppose."

"Good. Healer Merriweather has approved your discharge. We may leave whenever you wish."

"All right." Hermione sincerely hoped she didn't sound as nervous as she felt. She was leaving ... with him. Needing a few moments to compose herself, she turned back to the window, her fingers toying with the ring on her finger.

It had taken several hours of questions, mountains of official paperwork from the Ministry, a wand analysis, and three drops of Veritaserum before Hermione had finally accepted that the man before her truly was Severus Snape. Apparently he had gone into hiding after the war, allowing the wizarding world to believe him dead rather than face an uncertain future. Hermione was still unclear as to what had led to his return or to their marriage. Severus...how strange to call him that...had answered all her questions thoroughly, but Hermione had been unwilling to broach those subjects. She wasn't sure that she was ready to hear the answers.

While she had accepted that he was indeed Severus Snape, she was not yet convinced of their marriage, even though everyone had assured her that it was true. A marriage license had been provided that had clearly been signed by her, both with ink and magic. Yet it seemed too preposterous a notion to consider.

Even so, despite her reticence, she was about to return with him to his home, to the life they had purportedly built together. She had balked initially, but Healer Merriweather had admonished her quite severely, telling her that if she wished to ever remember the last five years, then she needed to return to her life, to surround herself with familiarity.

"Come," Severus said, interrupting her thoughts. "The children are anxious to see you."

The children. Hermione moved away from the window and for the first time, greeted Severus with a joyful smile.

*****

His home, it appeared, was a white stone cottage with a grey slate roof and a red door in Hogsmeade. Colourful flowers lined the front path and filled the boxes under the windows. On one side of the cottage was a large tree with several low branches, one of which held a wooden swing. A low stone wall surrounded the property, separating the cottage from its neighbours. It was charming and utterly unlike anything Hermione had imagined.

"You were expecting something more dungeon-like?" Severus asked from behind her.

Surprised by his amused tone, she turned her head and returned his small smile. "Perhaps."

He chuckled softly, the sound sending shivers along her spine. "I am sorry to disappoint you, then." He opened the door and ushered her inside. "After you."

Once inside, Hermione paused inside the hallway and looked around. To the immediate left of the front door was the staircase to the first floor, and there were several doorways that led to rooms off the hall. The pale cream of the woodwork complemented the warm, golden yellow of the walls, and the wide plank oak flooring made the hall feel cosy and inviting.

"The children will be returning soon. Would you care for a cup of tea?" Severus asked from behind her as he hung his cloak on the coat rack.

Hermione allowed him to take her cloak, as well, and replied, "Yes, please." Tea sounded delightful ... and would be a good distraction.

"Good. Feel free to look around. I shall return momentarily." He walked off towards what Hermione assumed must be the kitchen.

Hermione stood awkwardly in the entry hall for a few moments. She had to admit she was curious. Giving in to her inquisitive nature, she peeked in the two doors on her right and discovered a water closet and a room that appeared to be Severus' study. The loo was a pale, powdery blue, while the study was a rich olive green. The woodwork and oak floors from the entry hall were present in these rooms, as well. They must go throughout the entire house, Hermione surmised.

Severus had gone straight, down a small corridor that must have led to the kitchen, so she turned to the door to the left of the front door and entered the dining room. Inside was an antique oak table, obviously well-used but also well maintained, its rich patina glowing in the late afternoon sunlight that filtered through the window. She smiled as she could easily see meals at the table with Rose and Hugo, chatter and laughter filling the room. She tried to imagine Severus joining in but simply couldn't picture it. Frowning, Hermione continued her exploration.

As she walked through the dining room, she passed a large opening on her right. Without entering fully, she took in the surprisingly modern kitchen. The simple beech cabinets and butcher block countertops merged nicely with the traditional elements of the cottage, while the modern lines and finishes gave it a current feel.

Severus was standing at the modern Muggle stove, his back to her as he heated the kettle. Hermione recognised her favourite teapot awaiting use beside the stove, and somehow she knew that three teabags had already been placed inside.

She worried her lower lip between her teeth as she watched him. He had not left her side for more than a few minutes at a time since she had awakened, but up until that moment, Hermione had not taken the time to really look at the man who was her husband. He was as tall as she remembered, his body still lean, although he seemed healthier, not as spindly. The genetics of being a wizard meant that even in his fifties, his hair was still as coal black as the last time she had seen him, almost two decades prior. Severus had removed his robes and frock coat and had tossed them over a chair at the small kitchen table, leaving him only his white shirt and black trousers. His shoulders were broader than she would have expected, and she watched the muscles of his back move underneath the white linen shirt as he fixed the tea. Hermione couldn't help but allow her gaze to traverse his form. She had to admit, he had a rather nice arse.

A bit discomfited by that thought, Hermione hurried across the dining room to the other door in the room. It led to a large sitting room, which was absolutely lovely. The ceiling was clad in more of the warm oak and featured exposed beams, giving the room a casual air. The walls were a golden tan, and the plush furniture was a rich olive green. Paintings of various landscapes dotted the walls, and a pair of French doors led out to the back garden. Along the main wall sat a large, stone fireplace with various photos and knickknacks littering the mantle.

From what she had seen of the house, it was warm and comfortable, inviting, even, and she recognised her own tastes in the finishes and furnishings. However, while she could easily imagine herself and the children here, she was painfully aware that she was a stranger in its midst. Nothing was at all familiar.

The photographs on the mantle mocked her, confirmation of a life of which she had no recollection. She was inundated with emotions: confusion, curiosity, fear. Part of her wanted to look, to see the evidence of the five years of her life that had passed her by, while another part of her was frightened of that very proof. She realised at that moment that she was still hoping that she would wake up soon and find herself in Luna's sitting room, surrounded by Professor Snape's belongings.

Gathering her courage, she walked to the mantle. The first several photographs were ones with which she was familiar...baby pictures of Rose and Hugo. She smiled and moved the next photo, the one Luna had shown her of her parents and Severus. Hermione wondered if it was a copy or if Luna and her father given it to him.

Her gaze travelled to the next frame; this one was new ... to her, at least. Severus was standing in the Lovegoods' garden, holding a tiny, bald infant in his arms and smiling warmly as he looked down at the angelic face.

"My goddaughter."

Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin and spun around, clutching a hand to her chest.

"My apologies. I didn't mean to startle you." Severus set the teacups on the low table that sat in front of the sofa and then seated himself. "Tea, strong, splash of milk, no sugar," he said, sliding a teacup towards her as she slowly sat down at the far end of the sofa. If he noticed her hesitance, he pretended otherwise.

That he knew how she preferred her tea was both comforting and disconcerting.

"Thank you," she murmured as she reached for the teacup.

He nodded and sipped at his own tea.

They sat in awkward silence for several minutes...or at least it felt awkward to Hermione; Severus appeared blissfully unaware of her discomfiture as he lazily crossed his legs at the ankle and continued to drink his tea. Finally, Hermione said, "Luna is your goddaughter?"

"Mm." He swallowed and set his cup on the table, angling his body slightly towards her. "Yes, she is."

"That's ... interesting."

He laughed, and she found herself mesmerised by the rich, deep sound. "It certainly is that. I have been friends with her parents since our first year at Hogwarts. Only Xenophilius and Eglantine would ask a Death Eater to be godparent to their child." He chuckled again and shook his head, as if he were still incredulous of the request, even after so many years.

His eyes flitted to the mantle, and Hermione followed his line of sight. Her brow furrowed. He appeared to be looking at a carving, but she couldn't make out what it was exactly.

"May I?" she asked, already standing to take a closer look.

He shrugged his indifference, folding his arms across his chest, his expression neutral.

Hermione picked up the small object and smiled; carved of a solid piece of oak, it was a snake, a badger, a raven, and a lion...the four Houses of Hogwarts. She glanced at Severus. "A gift from the school?"

He smirked and shook his head. "I carved that one during my fourth year at Hogwarts. There are...or were...three others in existence. Xenophilius has one...he would be the Ravenclaw. Eglantine, the Hufflepuff, had another...I believe it is in Luna's possession now. I, of course, was the Slytherin, and the Gryffindor ...."

He trailed off and looked at her expectantly.

As though she should know the answer. As though she had heard the story of the carving many times before.

"I...I'm sorry. I don't know."

One corner of his mouth curved upwards in a small, reassuring smile. "It's quite all right. The Gryffindor was Lily Evans. The four of us were quite close, although I must admit we were an odd bunch. As you know from your own time at Hogwarts, it isn't often that close friendships are made with those from other Houses...especially with a Slytherin included," he added self-deprecatingly.

"Yes," Hermione agreed as she looked at the carving, "but what a lovely concept...four friends, one from each House."

Severus nodded. "It was ... while it lasted."

He was quiet for a moment, and Hermione thought that he was probably recalling the events that had led to the end of his friendship with Lily; while she wasn't aware of the details, Harry had once told her that Severus and his mother had been friends but had a falling out. He'd also said that Severus had been in love with Lily ... but Hermione wisely held her tongue when it came to that subject.

Severus cleared his throat, and that small smile returned. "I will always cherish the memories of that time."

Hermione glanced away; the conversation seemed to have turned terribly intimate somehow. She quickly replaced the carving and returned to the sofa and her tea, hoping that Severus would not notice the slight tremble in her fingers as she picked up the cup.

"Hermione," Severus began, and she knew that she'd been unable to hide her discomfort. "It's only natural that you feel disoriented or uncomfortable. Please don't feel as if you must pretend that you are well."

His understanding was unexpected but appreciated. "Disoriented is an apt description," she said slowly, measuring her words carefully as she gazed into her teacup. "I feel comfortable in this house, yet nothing is familiar. It's very confusing." She lifted her eyes to his. "I can't imagine this is much easier for you."

"Indeed. I miss my wife."

Hermione sucked in a shaky breath. He looked so lonely, so bereft. It was disconcerting to see his emotions so clearly visible; she was used to seeing the mask, not the man. She didn't know what she could possibly say to ease his pain. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," he replied. "I..."

Whatever he had been about to say was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening. Hermione grinned; it had to be the children. She had missed them desperately and couldn't wait to see them.

Severus released a huff of laughter and stood, offering her a hand and helping her to her feet. "Come. They are anxious to see you, as well."

Sure enough, the quick-paced pounding of little feet heralded the arrival of Rose and Hugo, and Hermione turned to the doorway to greet them.

Her enthusiastic smile faded from her lips as they ran into the room. Her arms mechanically surrounded children who seemed to know and love her ... but who were simultaneously familiar yet utterly unknown to her.

Rose had grown quite tall, and her face had slimmed, the roundness of childhood all but gone. Her hair and eyes were the same, but she was so much more mature than she had been three days ago. And Hugo ... her baby. He had also grown, his gangly arms and legs indicating that he would be tall like his father. His ginger hair had darkened and was longer than it had been, curling over his ears and the back of his neck. Hermione barely refrained from gasping as she realised that Rose would now be ten, almost eleven, and Hugo was seven.

The knowledge that she had lost five years of not only her life but of her children's lives came crashing down around her. Hermione sank to her knees and stared at the two joyful faces as they chattered away, asking if she was feeling better, telling her about their 'holiday' with their grandparents, and informing her that their grandfather had allowed them to eat ice cream for breakfast.

"Hugo!" the girl scolded, her small fists on her hips. "You weren't to tell!"

They continued to bicker amongst themselves as Hermione attempted to catch her breath. Her children, her babies ....

She looked up at Severus, tears swimming in her eyes.

Recognising her distress, Severus encouraged the children...whom Hermione realised were now eerily silent...to select a game to play with their grandparents before dinner. Reluctantly the two red-haired children left the room, repeatedly glancing over their shoulders, their faces filled with worry.

She heard the Weasleys with the children, offering to take them outside to play, and then Severus knelt on the floor in front of her and pulled her into his arms. She clung to him, her fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt as she rested her forehead against his shoulder, seeking comfort where it was offered.

"It's overwhelming, I know," he soothed. One arm had loosely wrapped around her waist, while the other stroked her hair. "It will be fine, Hermione. I promise you, it will be fine."

Hermione stiffened as she realised she was currently being held by a man she hardly knew and loosened her grip on his shirt. "I'm sorry."

Severus quickly released her and shook his head as he helped her stand. "No need for apologies. I understand," Severus murmured. "Let me show you to your room. Dinner isn't for another hour or so...you may rest if you'd like."

Hermione immediately recognised his intent: he was offering her privacy and some time to regain her composure. She quickly agreed and followed him as he led her back through the house and up the stairs.

Later, she would vaguely recall him informing her of the locations of the children's rooms, as well as his own, the bathroom, and her upstairs study, but for now she could only nod, her mind unable to fully process a word he uttered.

He opened a door, and Hermione entered, taking a brief look at the room that was now her own. Everything was white, from the walls to the furniture.

"This is a guest room, but I think it will suit your purposes," Severus said impassively.

Hermione turned to see him standing awkwardly in the doorway, his cheeks lightly flushed. He cleared his throat and gestured toward the corner of the room.

"I took the liberty of bringing in our family photo albums. Healer Merriweather recommended that you spend some time looking at them...she said they might help." He ran a hand through his hair, and Hermione was intrigued by the nervous gesture; she'd never before seen the man in such a state. "I'll knock when dinner is ready." And with that he left, his back rigid and his face devoid of all expression.

Hermione blinked at his sudden change in demeanour and then closed the door before turning back to look at the room. She recognised nothing but felt immediately at ease. Once again, her mind attempted to absorb the strange, incongruousness of the familiar within the unknown; the attempt was unsuccessful. Longing for a few minutes' respite, she lay down on the bed and allowed herself to fall into the blessed abyss of sleep.

*****

As soon as the children had been put to bed, Hermione had decided to explore the garden. Her mind was frazzled, and she sought the peaceful quiet of the outdoors at dusk. What she found was a garden that was as lovely as the cottage itself. Filled with flowers and herbs and various other plants, it was a luxuriant sanctuary. The heady scent of night blooming jasmine filled the air, and Hermione sat on a bench under the kitchen window and breathed in the lush fragrance. After several minutes, her body and mind were finally able to relax.

Dinner had been an awkward affair.

Surprisingly...at least to Hermione...the Weasleys had joined them for the evening meal. They had eaten in strained silence; no one, Hermione included, had known how to act after what had occurred earlier with the children. She had tried to offer them a reassuring smile but knew that it probably appeared as more of a grimace.

She would have to overcome this feeling of disorientation ... and soon; Hermione didn't know how much longer she could take the sad glances and careful hugs from her children. She reminded herself that even though they were older, they were still her children, and she loved them more than life itself. Rose and Hugo were the most loving, sensitive, caring creatures she had ever known...she would not allow the situation in which she found herself to negatively impact them any longer. She would simply love them and get to know them again. There was no other option.

"Go sit down, Molly. I'll take care of the washing up."

The kitchen window was open to welcome in the night air, and Severus' deep voice drifted easily out into the garden. Hermione closed her eyes and attempted to block the intriguing, anxiety-inducing sound, her thumb moving to twist her ring about her finger.

"Nonsense," came Molly's admonition. "It will go more quickly if I help. Now, budge over. I'll wash, and you may dry."

Hermione couldn't help but allow a small smile at Severus' reply: "Yes, Molly."

For several minutes, Hermione closed her eyes and enjoyed the night air as she listened to the soft clinking of dishes and the gentle swishing of water. It was relaxing. Peaceful.

"You will want to advise Ron not to visit for at least the next several days," Severus murmured, his words instantly shattering Hermione's fragile tranquillity. "For Hermione, it's only been a few weeks since their divorce. I do not know how she would react to his presence."

Ron. Her husband ... former husband. Her heart hurt with remembered betrayal, still so fresh to her, forgone and forgiven, by the sound of it, to everyone else.

"They won't be back from holiday until the end of the week, but I'll send them an owl tomorrow, nonetheless," Molly agreed. "Given the circumstances, it would be best for Ron and Eleanor to stay away ... for now anyway."

Them. She hated the fact that Ron's being part of a "them" hurt her. A small part of her had hoped, even gleefully prayed, that his relationship with Eleanor had not lasted beyond a few months' time. Obviously, that hadn't happened. Not that she wanted him back...she certainly did not want that...but, if she were honest, she had hoped that he would realise his error in leaving her and be alone and miserable in some pathetic excuse for a flat, with only the rats to keep him company.

Good Merlin's ghost. Perhaps she was more vengeful than she'd thought.

"Indeed," Severus replied, interrupting her thoughts. "You may tell him that I will bring the children for their visits until Hermione is ready to see him."

"Or until she remembers."

There was silence, and Hermione found herself holding her breath as she awaited Severus' reply.

"Or until she remembers," he repeated. Had Hermione not been listening so carefully, she would have missed the softly spoken words.

"Oh, dear boy," Molly suddenly said soothingly, and Hermione's brain conjured the insane image of the older woman pulling the wizard into one of her infamous hugs. "I know this is difficult, but everything will work out fine. Hermione loves you...she'll come back to you. Make no mistake about that."

"I hope so, Molly. I don't know how long I can survive without her."

The quiet desperation, the underlying longing in his voice was so heart-wrenching, so painful, that Hermione fled into the sitting room, through the house and up the stairs to the guest room, unable to listen to another word.

*****

She was breathing heavily as she entered the bedroom, as if she had run a marathon rather than a short sprint up the stairs. Closing the door behind her, Hermione paused for a moment, resting her forehead on the door, her hands still clinging to the doorknob.

She would get through this. She would.

Turning, Hermione walked to the bed, her eyes immediately falling on the photo albums that sat on the table beside the bed. They called to her, tempting her to partake, even in such small measure, of the life they offered to share.

Slowly, she made her way across the room. She picked up the first of the three albums and then sat down on the edge of the bed, placing the heavy book in front of her. Several minutes passed as she stared at the cover, her curiosity piquing along with her reticence. Finally, she opened the album.

Within moments, she slammed the cover shut and thrust the album as far away from her as she could, unable to look beyond the first page. Her head was spinning in confusion; nothing made any sense anymore. Burying her face in a pillow, Hermione attempted to stem the flow of hot tears that streamed from beneath her eyelids as she mourned a life she could not remember living.

A/N: Thanks again to my betas, DeeMichelle and Subversa, and to my Brit picker, LettyBird. You're the best! I'd also like to thank machshefa for all her help.

Next chapter will be up in a day or two.