Leap of Faith

There are not enough words in the universe to express my admiration for and gratitude to J.K. Rowling for the magical universe she created and for so graciously allowing us to take it in directions she never intended.

As always, I must heap praise upon the marvelous GinnyW. Additional thanks go to Annie Talbot and DeeMichelle, and to Shug for last minute alpha duties! You all rock!

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60. Leap of Faith

"Lumos!"

One frantic word followed by the sudden flickering flare of candlelight...

And she was alive, in his arms, her eyes bleary, blinking and desperately scouring his face as she cupped his cheeks and gasped, "What's wrong?"

And he couldn't answer. He couldn't form the word nothing, or any word. Not when he was torn between anguish and joy, between despair and shock.

She was alive.

She was in his arms.

She had said, "Lumos," and now there was light....

He closed his hand over hers and drew it to his mouth, his lips...

And the tingling shot through him, a jolt of magic like gentle lightning on his lips, and he gasped. Something inside him broke loose, leaving him with a hot lump in his throat that he couldn't swallow around, that wouldn't let him speak.

"I'm sorry!" She tried to yank her hand away. "I'm...I'm out of practice..."

He clung to it, his own hand so heavy, so weak, but he couldn't let her go. The ache...the pulse deep within him...it roared.

"Severus," she whispered, her eyes large enough to swallow him whole, "what have they done to you?"

He clung to her fingers and stared at her luminous eyes with an unholy mix of joy and terror. Not just her eyes, but also her skin, now peachy with colour where it had been wan. Her arms, almost as toned and beautiful as before she'd left him. Her body, lithe and strong and pressed against him, not limp but brimming with life.

She almost... glowed.

What have I done to you?

And he inhaled a deep, shuddering breath at the sheer sensation of her moving...moving...in his arms.

XX

Oh, dear god, to just see him was bliss. Too thin, almost wasted, hollows like bruises under his eyes and sunken cheeks...

But alive.

And in her arms.

"What have they done to you?" she repeated, dimly aware of muscles behind her heart that swelled and ached, almost overwhelming her with pain.

But it wasn't her pain...not her pain, but his.

Because her heart, her very soul, was filled to bursting with a silvered glow she could taste and smell and almost hold, it was so real and new....

His cheek was like silk against hers, smooth and scented with the tang of his wizarding shaving soap and slick and wet. She rubbed her face against his, found the hard bridge of his nose...his beautiful nose. His body shook with harsh, shuddering sobs, and she pulled him tighter against her, running her fingers through his hair, over his bare shoulders, down his back and up again. "Don't cry," she pleaded softly.

He was so thin, his bones so sharp, his skin stretched so tight...

She was burning inside, burning with fierce joy, but he was suffering and she couldn't bear it.

Fear as frantic as her joy struck her.

"Who won?" she gasped.

His eyes, his black, black eyes opened and her breath caught in her throat and everything else faded. He stared at her as if she were a vision he didn't trust, and his lips parted as he finally said, "We did."

She couldn't breathe, but she forced the word...one word...out. "Harry?"

"Alive."

The vise squeezing her released.

It was over.

And being over faded to insignificance because what was here, what was now, was everything.

He nuzzled the palm of her hand and she sighed at his touch, but then ...oh, god...he sucked her fingertip into his mouth, suckled it like a nursing babe, and the tingles...oh, god...the tingles...it was as if he was...oh, god, oh, god...sucking her magic into him with hot, wet desire, and she thought if her chest swelled any tighter she would burst with the euphoria.

Because this was shared joy, shared exultation...shared, as the pulse of pain receded and she could only stroke his hair with her free hand and sigh into his throat.

And then some instinct, some strange instinct, led her to ease higher, revelling in the sensation of his skin against hers as she shifted until...she slipped her fingers from his mouth and with just a nudge against his chin, a twist of her torso...his lips closed around a nipple and for a long moment, froze. She thought he would pull away, but she remained still, so still, stroking his cheek as her eyes drifted closed, and then a soft tug at her breast and magic as she'd never felt it, glorious and singing, and all she could do was sigh, "Severus... my Severus."

XX

At some point they had shifted, maybe more than once, maybe many times. Reality and now were concepts that had no meaning for him. All that existed was flickering candlelight and gentle breathing and their hands, sometimes stroking and sometimes clutching, but always soothing, as if they both needed constant reassurance that they were there, really there.

He felt her rubbing against his cheek with hers, every bit the cat she claimed not to be, and had he even the slightest bit of wits about him he would have kept the silence, never risked breaking the bonds that twined between them, but the words spilled out without caution in a gasp of incredulity. "Miss Granger... are you licking my face?"

She went rigid in his arms and he actually felt a blush suffuse her skin; he wanted to snatch his words back.

But, ever his brave Gryffindor, she stroked her tongue along his jaw line once more and said, "Yes, I believe I am."

"Why?" he breathed.

"I need to," she whispered, just as softly.

He pulled her closer and tilted his head back into the pillow to give her better access. He didn't even try to understand. Had she wanted to sink her teeth into his jugular, he would have done the same.

He could deny her nothing.

XX

How odd, she mused, tracing his ear with her fingertip and watching his eyes flutter shut on an indrawn breath. How odd that she of the many questions found herself not asking, not caring about answers.

She only wanted to press her ear against his chest and hear his heartbeat...how solid and comforting. How familiar it seemed, as if it had haunted her dreams.

She wanted to taste the tears on his cheeks or smell his skin or feel the coarse, black hair of his shins against her satiny smooth calves, as she rubbed them up and down, up and down... and tucked away another question for someday... why were her legs so smooth?

She wanted to gaze on the angel-white planes of his chest or the ebony of his hair or the shadows beneath his eyes... not quite so deep and bruised as they'd seemed before.

How odd.

And a question that wouldn't wait.

"Professor," she said, her voice strong and demanding, "what is wrong with you? What did they do to you?"

"They didn't do anything." Again, he drew her fingertips to his lips and they both caught their breath at the sensation. "I gave you my magic."

With his words came a surge between them, and for a brief moment she couldn't breathe, and then, it eased. "Again? You did it again?"

He nodded.

She stroked the shadow beneath his left eye with her thumb. "It didn't do this to you before."

And this time, the shadow was in his eyes, a cloud crossing over them as he tried to pull away. "This time was different."

She crawled closer into his arms and nuzzled in his neck. "Is there anything you can't do?"

His strong hand cupped her cheek, and she allowed herself to drift... drift... She could drift because he held her and kept her safe.

XX

Brine...?

Salt...?

He turned his head and was hit with three thoughts at once.

Olives... along with nibbles of cheese, fruits, a bowl of clotted cream and a pot of tea beside the bed.

Which could only mean she was dreaming of food.

Fucking buggering hell, she had to be literally starving and he hadn't even thought to feed her.

He took a small strawberry and brushed it against her lips, watching them part, the tip of her tongue assessing, even before she was fully awake. She bit into it and moaned, and her eyes flew open as she chewed and swallowed.

"Olives!" She was reaching for the bowl when he caught her hand.

"Olives seem a bit much on an empty stomach..."

She turned wide eyes on him and he cursed himself...she was starving and he was telling her no? He snatched up a small brown olive and fed it to her, almost losing a fingertip in the process. He caught his breath as she stroked her tongue down his finger. Did she want his finger, or just the salt?

A bit of cheese, more fruit, and many more olives... and then he carefully lifted the rose-spangled teacup and offered it to her. Despite the obvious strength in her body and glitter in her eyes, she gave a small half-smile and said, "You hold it."

With a catch in his throat, he nestled her closer and held the cup to her lips while she sipped and savoured and finally sank against him with a sigh.

As he reached to replace the cup she stopped his hand with hers and sat higher in the bed. And then, her eyes never leaving his, she brought the same cup to his lips and held it for him.

And as he stared at her delicate hand, the delicate teacup...

He saw a flash of memory.

A claw-like hand.

Elfin crystal and blood red wine.

Take... drink.

She didn't know. She didn't know he...

"Severus..." Her voice was soft. "You need this, too."

Need.

"Please... I need to give it to you."

His eyes flew to hers. Was there pain there? Fear? Because of him?

And all the echoes of wrong echoed in his mind, but he couldn't refuse, had to accept, had to...

The tea...hot and sweet and all that was goodness and light...slid past his lips and into his mouth and...

He grabbed her hand desperately, closed his hand around hers as she held the cup and drank until it was empty, and all that was left was the memory of the sweet, hot tea...

And then the cup fell to the bed beside him as...he should stop her, but he couldn't, couldn't...she leaned over him and touched her lips to his and...

He couldn't stop her.

He couldn't say no.

He could deny her nothing.

His lips parted and she was kissing him and his soul leapt within him, leapt and soared and there was no simple clicking into place, but a recognition that transcended thought and mind and space as he recognised...

Peace.

Peace.

Peace.

XX

Since when had one of their kisses...their magical, soul-deep kisses...ever led to sleep?

Hermione stared down at him, stroked his cheek and gloried in the feel of his moist breath on her shoulder and thought...no, knew...what must be done.

"Professor..." She touched her lips to his again, stroked her tongue across them again, and felt him stir against her. "Professor..." she repeated, and when his eyes fluttered open, continued, "I think you gave me too much."

"No," he growled. "Never too much. Never enough..." And then, as if to prove his point, he waved a languid hand toward the fire and it flared with more light, more heat.

She sighed with relief and arched her neck as he nuzzled. "I...I have this theory..."

"Too many fucking theories." But instead of continuing to nuzzle, he turned his face away from her.

And she followed him, eased across him until once again, their noses almost touched. "Kiss me," she said.

"I shouldn't..." He broke off, swallowed, and she found the movement of his throat fascinating.

She leaned closer and traced it with her tongue, tasted the salt of his skin, felt the surge of desire to absorb and be absorbed, to be joined and never parted, to be one with this man, this fierce man.

"Hermione!" he gasped, as she ground against him, and she felt his need hard and hot between them, and attempted to cut off his words again..."I can't let you...not until you know..."

"I know you."

And then it was his eyes...his beautiful eyes filled with pain and fear and it slowly sank in...he feared her.

"Don't...don't despise me."

And everything else fell away. "Severus..." she whispered. "I could never...there is nothing, nothing you could have ever done or could ever do that would make me despise you."

"I don't deserve..."

"Everything," she said fiercely. "You deserve everything."

"You deserve..."

"You."

"I can't..."

"You don't have to." She took his trembling hand and placed it over her heart. "Do you feel that? Do you feel it? I'm... I'm glowing. Inside."

And then, when he still didn't answer, she said, "You did that. You did that to me."

To her astonishment, he paled and yanked his hand away in what seemed almost to be...dismay.

"Professor?"

But before he could answer or she could push for more, the fireplace flared green, and to her horror...Albus Dumbledore stepped through.

"No!" The scream tore from her throat. "You can't take him!" And without hesitation, she flung a curse from her fingertips, and only after the fact realised that she'd shouted, "Confringo!"

The curse that had turned Bellatrix Lestrange to bloody rain.

XX

Holy fucking hell.

He flung himself over her, crushing her body into the soft mattress and covering it with his own as he flung up a shield, though whether he really thought he was protecting her or simply hiding her nakedness he couldn't have said.

He only knew that this first instinct was to cover her, then fling up a shield, then take his wand in a death-grip, his mind racing.

Why now? Why had the wards dropped now?

What awaited them on the outside?

He closed his free hand over hers when it twitched as if to curse, to hex, again.

He raised his head slowly to find...

Albus, slumped on the floor, his head cradled in his hands.

No surprise that he'd blocked the blow, but had it truly taken that much out of him?

Severus eased up and reached for his trousers. He pointed to the precisely folded clothes at the foot of the bed and watched as she snatched the black shirt and began buttoning it hastily.

When they were both dressed, he pulled to his feet, gesturing to Miss Granger to remain where she was. Severus calculated. If Albus was here, who was close behind? If the castle wasn't protecting them, how could they escape? He shot a glance at the fireplace.

Albus raised his ashen face from his trembling hands. His spectacles were knocked askew but did little to hide his red-rimmed eyes. "You're... alive."

Severus gripped his wand more tightly. "Why are you here?"

"I thought...I was afraid...I was blocked for so long... everyone was blocked. And when I saw the Floo open to your rooms I thought..." The old man's voice broke. "I thought I'd lost you... I thought you were dead."

Severus felt Hermione rise behind him and curl her arm around his waist, her tension radiating from her in waves.

His eyes were wide as he seemed to drink the image of the both of them in. "I thought I'd lost you, my boy, and that you'd lost the only thing you loved...."

"Not yet," Severus said succinctly.

"Not ever," Hermione shot quickly enough that Severus found himself reaching for her hand again.

The tingle of her fingertips against his palm was gratifying and terrifying at the same time. He raised them to his lips, never taking his eyes from the other wizard.

"Will you help an old man to his feet?" Albus finally asked, holding up a gnarled hand.

"It's a trick," Hermione hissed softly.

But Severus released her and crossed to assist Albus, and then the rheumy blue eyes were almost at his eye level and it didn't take Legilimens to read the emotion there.

And then the old man turned his focus onto Hermione, and his expression softened in relief. "You did it. You... you found a way."

She tossed her wild mop of hair and sniffed. "Of course he did."

As if there was never a doubt, as if he could simply pull miracles out of his arse on a whim, as if he hadn't...

He stepped between her and Albus, cutting off any opportunity for closer examination. "What do you want?"

"There's not a lot more I can want, now that you're both...oh, so many people will be so happy."

"And the Aurors?" Severus asked.

Albus started. "Oh!" His hand was neither too trembling nor too weak to make an elegant spiral motion, and then capture the small stack of Daily Prophets that appeared from thin air. "I've been saving these for you." He reached for the one on the bottom, and then shot them a worried look. "Perhaps we should start with the most recent...this morning's."

The newssheet opened and hovered in the air, a headline flashing.

INNOCENT BY ASSOCIATION

In a unanimous decision unprecedented by this gathering of illustrious witches and wizards, the Wizengamot ruled late Tuesday that Severus Snape is cleared of any and all charges relating to his activities leading up to and during the Battle of Godric's Hollow.

After days of expert testimony (not to mention worldwide attention focused upon the results of these proceedings) Chief Warlock Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore announced, "With the overwhelming evidence presented by our esteemed friends from The National Wizard's Congress of Magic in China, The Royal Swedish Academy of Magics, the Office of the Chief Researcher and Historian of the National Magical Library of Ireland, and...the others will all be listed in the official documents, of course...ahem, in the face of all the evidence presented to this body, it is my immense pleasure to announce that these proceedings have no reason to continue. The soul-binding of one Severus Snape and Hermione Granger Snape proves beyond any doubt that his intentions and actions could not under any circumstances be construed as Dark or in furtherance of the goals and aims of Tom Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort. Therefore, let it be known from this day forward that this matter has been put to rest, never to be reopened and that Severus Snape is now eligible for consideration for any and all awards and rewards commensurate with his service to the Light."

He felt light-headed. He didn't understand it. His eyes flew back to the headline. Innocent by association.

And then, to the powerful and passionate young witch as his side.

Her eyes flew over the words as she clenched her hands over his forearm, tighter and tighter, and then...on a choked sob...covered her mouth with her fist and slumped against him.

"Perhaps..." Albus said gently, a bit of a twinkle returning to those thrice-cursed blue eyes, "we should sit down?"

Somehow they managed to sink onto the floral seat, tightly wedged together and neither complaining, as Albus pulled a straight-backed chair and sat across from them. He lifted the next newspaper, and the headline flashed as large and demanding as the previous.

SOUL-BOUND!

"Even the Dark Lord acknowledged it," testified Madam Narcissa Malfoy under wizard's oath and with Pensieve testimony to back up her assertions. Combined with Pensieve memories of her husband, Lucius Malfoy (currently residing in Azkaban awaiting his own trial, a fact which cast doubts on the validity of any Malfoy testimony prior to their release of their Pensieve memories), and those of her son, Draco (Seventh Year Student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry).

"If this claim is substantiated and upheld by experts, it will make any further proceedings unnecessary," announced Chief Warlock Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

Albus straightened his spectacles more securely on his nose and began flipping through the remaining newspapers.

"Please, sir," Hermione spoke quickly, urgently. "May I?"

Albus released the newspapers to her. "You might find The Quibblers of special interest."

"Quibblers?" Hermione repeated, aghast.

"Fucking hell," Severus muttered.

Albus gestured with a twirl of his finger and The Quibblers found their way to the top of the stack. "They've done a series on soul-bindings and what they entail. More accurate than some of their more... creative articles, shall we say? Xeno Lovegood got an exclusive interview with the Chinese representative..."

"Why Chinese?" Severus broke in, trying to make sense of at least some small part of a process that was spinning out of control. "What did you mean...expert testimony from the Chinese? And the Swedes? And..."

"Oh, yes, well, soul-bindings don't happen every day, as you must realise. The last one in England was eight generations ago and was between two Prewitt cousins...second cousins, of course, which was certainly acceptable at the time. But the Chinese have had several more recent. Sheer force of numbers, it would seem; they have more of everything. And they've done much research on the phenomenon. In fact, they..." he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pouch stuffed with parchment missives, "they are only one of many who are offering the two of you a great deal of money and honour if you'll consent to being part of ongoing studies in..."

"Fucking hell!" Miss Granger announced quite clearly. "Over my dead body!"

"Indeed," Severus added silkily.

She tucked herself more closely to him, and he realised that she was even tenser than before. After a moment of relief, she was now rigid with suppressed emotion.

Albus blithely cast the parchment covered with columns of Chinese characters aside and lifted the next from the pouch. "Ah, yes. You'll find that The Quibbler articles also have a number of quotes from various Weasleys, all defending your union and, it would seem, vying for the honour of being the first to recognise the truth of it. They feel perhaps they were the most predisposed to see it, because of their Prewitt heritage. In any case," he offered a rolled parchment to Hermione, "Molly is already planning your wedding, which she insists upon hosting..."

"Is she insane?" Hermione snapped.

"Was there ever any doubt?" Severus sneered.

Miss Granger blinked up at him, her lower lip trembling. "We already had a wedding, and it was perfect." She caught her lip beneath her teeth, and he gently pulled it loose and soothed it with his thumb.

"Of course you did, my dear, but when you broke your wand, you ended your marriage and..."

"She did no such thing."

"According to statues enacted to support The Marriage Law, by breaking her wand she was relinquishing her rights as a witch and ending all connections to the wizarding world, including her marriage to you. Of course a lot of people want to see this rectified, even to the point of doing it posthumously..." Albus broke off and cleared his throat. "Thankfully, that is not an issue."

Severus lifted Hermione's left hand. The battered silver ring with its small emerald chip caught the candlelight. "We are married according to Muggle magic," he snapped.

And when she stared at him...turned her glowing eyes up to his and stared...he shrugged. "Once was surely enough."

"Indeed," she said, and clasped his ringless hand in hers and presented a united front to Albus.

"Well, I'm not sure how that idea will be greeted... but it matters little," Albus hurried on. "I don't think either of you can comprehend what you have given us. The list of casualties and injuries from the Battle of Godric's Hollow was tragic, and yet out of that sprang not just a triumph over evil but..." He smiled gently. "A marvel. Something exciting and wondrous for people to ponder, something that brought the rest of the world to our door in support and enquiry after years of caution because of our struggles with the Dark."

"A... a marvel." Miss Granger's voice was flat. She shoved the newspapers away, allowed them to scatter across the floor. "So what you're saying is that everyone...everyone has been talking about us, analyzing us? And we're supposed to consider this some kind of honour?"

And suddenly Severus understood her crackling energy, her brittle composure, and felt it tremor through his body, as well. She...his stunning Miss Granger...was sitting at the Head Table again, being stared at again, only worse. She'd lingered on the edge of death, and the wizarding world that owed her so much had turned her...them...into a source of fucking speculation and gossip.

"And are they saying," she continued, her voice quavering, "are they saying that we're suffering from some sort of compulsion, that...that what we have isn't real? Because if they are...if they are, I'll move to buggering China to get away from the bloody bastards!"

Albus caught his breath in a wheezy gasp.

Severus caught Miss Granger up in his arms and buried his face in her horrid frizz, wanting to hide her from the world and show her off to the world and claim her to the world and tell the world to go to fucking hell...and mostly to soak in the overwhelming reality of all that was vibrant and alive and so very much her. His heart pounded in his chest as if just having her clutching him so was overloading it with sensation.

"Madam Snape," Albus asked, clearly astonished. "Whatever would make you think the world doesn't think what happened between you was real?"

She sniffled loudly and wetly and, without letting go...don't let go, he wanted to tell her, to beg her, even though he didn't want the old bastard there witnessing her distress...she turned her face toward Albus and said, "Because they think it happened to us, not between us."

He felt his heart break a little at that, at the knowledge that the truth...that what had happened, was not of their doing and beyond their control...hurt her so. "It makes no difference," he whispered into the delicate shell of her ear. "It makes no difference what they think."

And suddenly, fucking Albus Dumbledore's fucking twinkle came back in all its glory. "My dear, dear witch, surely you don't believe that."

She sat up in defiance, the thrust of her chin sheer belligerence. "I know it's not true."

"Of course you do," he beamed. "Just as Severus does."

What was he playing? What stupid game was the old coot playing with her fragile state of mind?

"Of course Severus chose you, and you chose Severus. The binding couldn't have happened, otherwise."

"I never...I never said he chose me," she said, shrinking back against the floral upholstery. "I realise it was all my doing but..."

"Of course he chose you, that very night in my office when you had George Weasley..." he broke off and looked a little sad, but then braced himself and continued, "young George Weasley ready to marry you on the spot, when you had so many other offers, oh enough to turn most young girls' heads, and yet Severus snatched you out of their grasps and claimed you. You were chosen just as surely as you chose."

Severus sat there, stunned, unable to form words.

"But we...we had kissed. The binding had already happened," she said nervously, staring at her hands...her perfectly formed hands with one small fingernail missing.... He wondered if she'd noticed....

At that, the old man beamed. "Oh you're going to enjoy reading the testimony from the Chinese delegation, Madam Snape. So much for you to dig your teeth into. Not the least of which is...the reason why bindings are so rare is because people turn away from them."

"But...but how could they?" she gasped, and with that she flung herself back against his body and he clutched her to him. "How could they bear it?"

"The soul knows no logic and pays no attention to personal preferences. Such bindings are rarely convenient or comfortable, or with someone you would choose for yourself, my dear. Most people shy away from them, dismiss the first attraction, deny it, and send it on its way. Most people, dare I say, are afraid when it happens." When she didn't respond, Albus chided her, "Surely you're not going to claim that what happened to the two of you was easy? The very thing that makes it remarkable is that it was not. Anyone who knows either of you...even by reputation...recognises that. Madam Snape, you are soul-bound because of the choices you made, again and again, and with each one, your binding grows stronger. And now...with whatever has happened here in this room where I feared I had sent the two of you to die...I am staggered to wonder at the strength of your connection, and dare I say, your love."

She trembled like a bird, her hands clasped in front of her, until he thought she would fly into a million pieces if he didn't get rid of Albus and pull her back to him, give himself over to her again. He groped for words, and finally managed only, "We need our privacy."

"I am more than happy to give it to you, as much and for as long a period as you need and desire. These quarters are yours with no need to fulfil any duties, teaching or otherwise. In fact, this fine old castle has made it clear; she would not have it any other way." Albus stroked the stones with his long, gnarled fingers. "But I would be remiss if I didn't ask one last favour before I leave... there are many who will have questions, but the question that needs most to be answered is this one. May I do a cursory magical examination to ensure that you are both well and stable?"

Alarm seized him. He tightened his grip on his almost-forgotten wand and glared a warning. "No."

Albus looked taken aback and then, casting a sympathetic glance at Hermione, nodded. "Another time, then. Soon, I hope."

And when no further words were forthcoming, he tossed a handful of Floo powder into the flames and stepped after it, his thin-voiced, "Headmaster's Office," echoing after him.

"They have no right!" she cried. "How dare they? How dare they meddle and prod and probe and..."

He swept her into his lap and she...she stiffened. She didn't sink against him and allow him to hold her. She drew back, and he felt as if she'd stabbed him.

"It's all right," she gasped. "I know he's...he's just trying to put a pretty explanation on things, to say the things he thought I wanted...needed...to hear, but he's wrong, I'm not a stupid girl who needs fantasies, not when I've got..." She closed her hands over his and squeezed her eyes shut. "He didn't have to say those things."

His own mind roiled with all that Albus had said, but it was her face, her voice, her strength suddenly so fragile, that broke him. He jerked her to him, wrapped his arms around her, breathed her scent in and held on until his lungs were bursting. "They're all guessing," he finally said. "They're on the outside looking in, and they're guessing."

And with that, she sank against him with a relieved sigh. "Yes," she breathed. "They don't know."

"They can't know. I don't think...I don't think we can even know." How to quantify it? How to define it? To claim one truth was to deny two others. To credit her faith...her unbelievable and incredible faith...was to rob her of her choice. By definition and experience, soul-binding seemed to remove choice, and yet Albus had said.... He gave his head a shake. He only had one thing to offer her, and that was the truth. His truth. The only truth he knew.

He lifted her face until her glistening eyes were locked with his. "I don't know what was choice and what was gut reaction and what was compulsion and what was sheer greed. All I know is that when you walked into my office and demanded that I marry you, I knew in an instant that I was going to mark you as mine, and everything after was mere gamesmanship. And when you offered to marry Draco and be a spy in the very house where the Dark Lord lived...did you realise that at the time? I thought not. But the point is, my fierce Hermione, that you would have been brilliant. You would have been miserable, but you would not have been mistreated, because that is not the way of Malfoy men." He felt his own guilt gnaw at him, remembering the things that had happened to this gift of a girl in his arms that he should have prevented, should have somehow protected her from, and forced his mind to lurch away from the horrors and back to the things he must tell her, that he must make her understand.

"Draco would have been spiteful and an arse, never doubt that. But you would have been safe enough. You would not have been abused, despite what I told you that night. You would have been safe until...until the Dark Lord was ready to see you dead, but don't think for a minute that when I lied to you, when I lied to you about what would happen to you at Malfoy Manor...do not think for a minute that I believed I could ultimately protect you from that final fate. Not if the Dark Lord wanted you dead. But in that moment I lied to you because I knew I could not let them have you, that you were mine, and were going to be mine even if I had to lie and risk the wrath of the Dark Lord to secure you. I made that choice more deliberately than any other choice I have made in my entire, miserable life. I could have let you go to Weasley and be protected by an entire family who loved you. I could have let you go to Draco and, with my guidance, you would have been a spy with access I hadn't even achieved. I could have even given you the truth, opened your eyes to the realities and allowed you to make your own choice. But in that moment, I did not. I chose you, and defied anyone to stand in my way."

"But...but you despised me."

"Yes."

"And you hated me being here."

"Yes."

"And I complicated everything and made your tasks so much harder and..."

"Yes, and yes, and yes," he snapped, exasperated that what had begun as an effort to bare his soul to reassure her had turned into this.

"...and you hated yourself for your weakness and hated me for making you weak," she announced as proudly as if she was acknowledging a declaration of love, and he wasn't sure what to do with her, this maddening wife of his. "And you chose me."

And then she took matters out of his hands by claiming his lips with hers.

And his world blazed with silver.

She melted into him, her lips soft and slick with the taste of potion still on her tongue. If his kisses were insufficient to awaken her from her near-death sleep, her kisses would raise the dead from their graves.

And she needed no desperate measures, just the sheer magic that was hers alone, magic that transcended the elements or learned knowledge, magic that called out to him and gave him life itself.

Life itself.

He fought the truth that twisted and writhed within him and tried to make this kiss, her kiss, enough to drown it out.

But instead, it made his need to tell her more urgent.

The truth.

He pulled her away and gasped for air, for reason, for strength.

"I don't care," she said.

He sputtered.

"Whatever stupid thing it is that you've decided must make you unworthy...I don't care."

"How the fuck did you know?"

She leaned into him with her maddening smile. "I know you."

"Really?" He let a chill shape the word, and she frowned. "Then you know that when I want something...when I want you...I'll let nothing stand in my way."

Her eyelids lowered and her smile grew sultry. "Oh, yes."

"Look at me," he snapped. "We're not talking about...about that. I'm trying to tell you that I have done things...I did something you may find difficult to forgive."

"Oh, Professor," she sighed into his throat, "I love you no matter what you've done, and I forgive you no matter what you do, and if that isn't enough, I'll love and forgive you more."

"The glow," he said, forcing his words through his lips.

"Hmmmm..." she hummed against him, her lips curved in a smile, a delicious hum that bespoke of that very silvery glow with which she was so pleased.

"Do you want me to tell you what it is," he asked, turning his voice to silk, "or do you want to wait until you figure it out for yourself?"

She stilled, then rose and glared at him. "Are you determined to ruin this, to cause a fight to prove some stupid something that only you care about? Because if you are...oh god."

"What's wrong?" All thoughts flew from his head except the look of panic that crossed her face.

"I need a wee."

And with that, she tore herself from his embrace and flew across the stone floor, slamming the door to the loo behind her.

Leaving him with empty arms and a heavy lump of dread to console him.

XX

The door slammed and suddenly he was gone. Not there, not where she could simply reach out and touch him, lean against him, touch him....

Don't be ridiculous.

She forced herself to do what she needed to do, but it seemed as if there were threads, fine threads holding her together, and suddenly, they were slipping loose...

She sank to the floor.

And saw her red box.

Feminine hygiene products...out in the open? In the loo? She felt her cheeks flaming. She would never leave them out for him to stumble over....

How long had she been out? The date on the newspapers...she pressed her fingertips to her mouth and fought back a moan.

Oh my god.

He had used them.

On her.

She reached above her head and grabbed the sink, pulled herself to her feet.

It wasn't as if he hadn't done more intimate things than that.

And now the wretched man was determined to try yet again to push her away, when her threads were fraying....

She pulled herself to her full height and stepped through the door, ready to throw herself into his arms...

It was dark, with only one dim candle burning.

And the chair was empty.

The bed was empty.

She whirled, frantic...

And saw him, dark and looming, leaning against the wall and hiding behind his dark curtain of hair, only the gleam of his eyes visible.

She took a step toward him, but he held out a hand...an elegant, beautiful hand...and she stopped.

He closed his arms around himself, tight, withdrew into himself, like she hadn't seem him do in weeks. His head lowered, he finally said, "You're pregnant."

"What?"

"You heard me. You're pregnant."

"But...but I can't be!" She pointed at the bathroom door, as if the red box were visible. "I...I can't be!"

"But you can be, and you are."

"What...what are you telling me?"

"I'm telling you that you almost died, that I was desperate, that I took a...a blind leap of faith..." He broke off with bitter laughter. "And if that isn't ironic I don't know what is. I used conception to save your life and, as it seems, your magic."

"You...you did what?"

"Conception," he snapped, "is the most basic, common, elemental magic that exists. And I used it."

The glow she felt. The magic. Pregnant?

"You used it. You used it? You 'used' conception? Don't you mean you bloody well ploughed your way into me, deposited your seed and got me pregnant without giving me even a moment's opportunity to say 'over my dead body'?"

"I saved your life, Miss Granger," he hissed.

"As if there weren't other ways...time, time would have taken care of..."

"You don't know that! You weren't here!" he thundered, pale and shaking.

"Which is exactly my point!" she shrieked, overcome with every emotion that had been suppressed for too long while she drifted, drifted.... "I'm only eighteen years old, and I'm pregnant, and I didn't have anything to say about it!"

"A problem you have solved all on your own," he sneered, his face icy calm. "You're finding plenty to say about it now."

He whipped away from her, his body rigid, and only his fingers betrayed him, his fingers trembling, and she wanted nothing more than to capture them and kiss them and suck them into her mouth and...

"I took your choice away from you," he said, and she felt the anger and his pain in his voice, "but I am giving it back now."

"How?" she demanded. "Surely you don't think I..."

"You were dying in my arms, Hermione, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Perhaps you would have preferred that, and I would have followed you. Perhaps your faith," he sneered, "allows you to believe in some benevolent hereafter where we would be together? Perhaps that's the choice you would have made? But you weren't here to consult, so I did what I did, knowing the risks, and was foolish enough to think that the worst thing that could happen was not to fail...because had I failed, I still had you in my arms, nothing would have changed. But what if I'd only half-failed? What if you'd remained in your condition, but conceived?"

She felt a chill of ice slice into her at those words.

"What if I'd managed to achieve that little miracle?"

She felt something hard and cold pressed into her hand.

"I was ready for that. I was ready. Two drops is all it takes, two drops each, and we would be gone. We would all be gone."

She stared down at the dark green phial in her hands and recognised the poison.

"That's the choice I made. That's the burden I carried. And now, Miss Granger, it's yours."

The phial almost pulsed in her palm, its deadly contents were so potent. She fought for air, and then spun away from him, and crossed to the potions cabinet, and placed the phial on the shelf. "You are a stupid, horrid man!" she spat.

"And did I ever profess to be anything else?"

"Tell me one thing," she said, her voice low and barely under control. "Tell me...does any part of you, any tiny part of you, find satisfaction in the fact that you... you got me pregnant?"

"Merlin's fucking ghost, no!"

"Does any part of you, any tiny molecule, take pride in the fact that a part of you is in me or..."

"No!" He whirled back to face her, his eyes burning like coals. "I never wanted children, never!"

"Nor did I!" She grabbed his hands and clenched him in hers. "But all the same, we're having one and it's your fault and...and it's yours. You did this and it's yours and I will never change a dirty nappy..."

"That's what house-elves are for."

"You wouldn't dare!" What new horror was he going to fling at her next? But if it was his, well... She drew in a shuddering breath. "That, of course, is entirely your decision to make. Because," she repeated, "it is yours. You chose to make it and I can't do anything but suffer through the growing and the...the..." she squeezed her eyes shut, "and the birth, but then it's yours."

"I have no problem with that."

"You don't?" Something hard and cold melted within her.

"I accept full responsibility." His words were crisp and matter-of-fact, and she realised, she believed him. He would do it. He would take responsibility. "I'm sure," he snapped, "I'll find many uses for it. Infant parts make very effective potions ingredients and are quite difficult to come by."

Relief coursed through her and she sank against his hard body, and there was no other word for it...her soul rejoiced at the connection.

"Hold me, Severus," she whispered. "Please... hold me."

And he lifted and carried her back to their bed, their wonderful bed, where he held her close until the frightened ache deep in her core subsided, and she thought about the terrible plans he'd made, the preparations, the poison.

And she rolled into his arms and pulled his head to hers and found tears there, and soon their tears joined in salty unity. "We'll manage," she said. "One way or another, we'll manage. I'm sure there are books about it...."

Something hard and sharp dug into her side. She reached down and found another phial, this one empty. She held it to her nose, sniffed it, and didn't recognise its scent.

He snatched it out of her hand.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Surely you don't think I managed to...how did you put it? Plough into you?...without assistance."

She heard a small splintering crash as he flung the phial against the far wall.

She snuggled more closely into his arms and said, "Professor... would you need assistance now, if we were to..."

And a muttered, "Fucking hell," was all she heard before his lips found hers in the darkness and everything else fell away.