All My Life's Bliss

A/N: Everything you recognize and love is the creation of the fabulous JK Rowling (except the poetry, which is the work of Emily Brontë). I'm just here for fun.

All hail the most beta-to-end-all-betas, sshg316, who has the sharpest eye, the quickest wit, and the kindest heart I could ever wish for. I adore you, Shug!

CHAPTER NINETEEN

"All My Life's Bliss"

"Come back with me."

The words hung in the air.

"Come back," she had said.

"With me," she had said.

And in the end, he had.

She had thought it would be easy. She was wrong, of course. He had known it would be impossible. He was wrong, too.

The first task was simply to get off the island.

"We can use magic now," she pointed out.

"Can we?" he asked, giving her The Look.

"Why?" she responded, returning it with interest. "Have you forgotten how?"

"Really, Miss Granger," he drawled, "do apply those wits to something useful. Or are you particularly anxious to Obliviate a dozen or so Muggles?"

"Ah," she said, "I see your point. Well, then, we shall simply wait for the boat. What would you like to do until Tuesday?"

As it turned out, he had a few ideas.

"You could have been a little less obvious," she grumbled as she clambered on board The Grace the following Tuesday.

"Whatever do you mean, Dearest One?" he asked serenely.

"We nearly didn't make it, Oh Love of My Life," she replied through gritted teeth. "We would have had to wait another week. You did that on purpose."

He looked at her with wounded innocence. "I beg to differ, Object of All My Adoration, but that last bit was hardly my idea." He rubbed his thigh significantly.

Hermione turned to the crew of The Grace (both of them). "My brother," she said in a voice dripping with sweetness. "He's such a cut-up."

The ride back to Black's Harbor was a very slow affair.

Once they were free to use more efficient methods of transportation, the journey home became simpler. Until they reached England, that is.

"I assure you I am not dead," Snape repeated, showing uncharacteristic patience with the Ministry of International Transfer and Travel bureaucrat seated behind the desk.

"That's as may be, sir," she asserted primly, "but you're still on my no-Floo list."

"This man is a decorated war hero," Hermione asserted, stepping up to the desk. "Show her your Order of Merlin."

Snape did not look at her. "Can't," he replied tersely. "I threw it in the sea."

Hermione gaped at him.

He shrugged. "You said I could."

As Hermione was still listed among the living, the immovable bureaucrat finally allowed her to pass on her own. She burst into Harry's office, pushing past Sophie once more, who sputtered and tried in vain to stop her.

"Harry!" Hermione proclaimed. "I've found him! I was right! And I've brought him back!"

"Sir, she keeps doing that!" Sophie cried indignantly.

"It's fine, Sophie," Harry said. "She's always been that way." He glared affectionately at Hermione before folding her into a warm embrace.

"So, where is he now?" he asked.

She sighed dramatically. "Come with me," she answered. "I need a favor."

"Of course you do," he grinned. "Lead on."

Ultimately, Snape was forced to see that being a friend of The Famous Harry Potter could prove useful. He was damned if he was going to admit it, however. The final leg of the journey was marked by Harry's fevered attempts to apologize for all his past misinterpretations, Snape's pointed attempts to ignore him, and Hermione's conflicted attempts to suppress both hysterical laughter and a desire to throw something at them both.

At last, divested of their remorseful escort, the bedraggled travelers arrived on the doorstep of Hermione's flat in London. She stood on the mat, suddenly hesitant. She racked her brain, trying to recall the state of the place when she had left it and how it might look to his shrewdly appraising eyes. She turned to her companion--and saw her own panicked feelings mirrored on his face.

Instantly reassured, Hermione reached up to caress his cheek. "Severus," she said softly, "welcome home."

~~~~~~~~~~

"No!" he insisted firmly. "They are merely inviting me to be polite, though why either of them should suddenly feel the need for a display of manners on my account is very much beyond me."

"Severus," she said patiently, "we are both going, and we will have a good time, and we will toast the bride and the groom, and you will dance, if only with me."

He sighed heavily, but it was a sigh of defeat.

As it turned out, the invitation had been issued at Ron's insistence. He grinned at Hermione from the dais as he saw them arrive, and his delight was even more evident as he claimed her for a dance later that afternoon.

"Told you," he said, looking smug.

She batted her eyelashes at him. "Whatever are you talking about, Ronald?" she asked and immediately began to interrogate him about his honeymoon plans.

Snape waited until she would be properly appreciative of rescue before claiming her for the last dances. Ron bowed stiffly to him and then looked in shock as Snape offered him his hand.

"Congratulations, Mr. Weasley," he said solemnly. "And I believe I owe you thanks as well."

"Umm," Ron sputtered, staring at the proffered hand and finally shaking it hastily. "Thanks for what?"

"For moving on," replied Snape, and he swept Hermione back onto the crowded dance floor.

She grinned up at him. "Bastard," she said affectionately.

"Always," he agreed. They continued to dance for a moment. Then he said, "I believe you told me that it was at a wedding that you received your first proposal of marriage."

Hermione nodded, smiling. "Dear Ron. He was very sweet. And very drunk, if I recall correctly."

Snape looked at her. "I am not drunk," he said.

"I didn't think you were," she said.

"So you will not be able to use that excuse," he said.

"What excuse?" she said.

"That your final proposal of marriage was from a drunken man at a wedding," he said.

"What?" she said.

"Hermione, will you marry me?" he said.

She gaped at him, then schooled her features into a bland smile. "Oh, I think I will," she said, and they danced away into the night and into their future.

~~~~~~~~~~

"I don't know, Hermione," Ron sighed. "She just seems so far away. I mean, she's been like this before. Just after Hugo was born, she got all wrapped up in some project she was working on, and I barely saw her. I felt like a single parent."

Hermione smiled in sympathy and urged another biscuit on her friend. This was Ron. Food usually helped.

He took the biscuit but simply held it in his hand. "This time just feels different." He gazed into the fire. "I'm frightened."

She pulled her feet up under her and shivered herself. Usually this fire made her feel particularly warm. It was this hearth that had convinced her to make this her home. Severus' home. Their home together. It had been the fireplace that symbolized and framed her whole married life. Yet today she could find no more comfort from it than her friend could.

"These are strange times, Ron," she said at last.

He looked at her in surprise. "Please don't tell me there are problems here, too," he said with concern. "You and the greasy git seem so happy every time I look at you it almost makes me want to vomit!"

She glared affectionately at him. "So eloquently put," she drawled.

He grinned. "See, you do that better than he does these days!"

She shrugged. "What can I say? The man has a way with the language."

His face stilled. "Seriously, Hermione, what's wrong? Surely you don't think that he would--"

She shook her head. "I don't know what to think, Ron. He's been so odd lately."

"How can you tell?" he asked derisively.

She threw a pillow at him. "He's actually one of the most charming men I know," she replied haughtily. "Present company very much included."

"Who are we talking about?" he inquired in mock confusion.

"Well, really," she replied, "you don't expect him to show it around you, do you? He does have his reputation to protect."

"Yes," Ron agreed playfully. "Though I never did understand that these days. Has he gone back into the spy business?"

Hermione grew quiet. "I wonder," she murmured. She wrapped her arms around her shoulders, hugging herself tightly. "Oh, Ron," she sighed at last, "we're a fine pair, aren't we? Come on," she said briskly, rising from her chair, "you have errands to run. You have an anniversary present to buy, old son. No time for this moping around!"

She shooed him up and out the door, parting with a fierce hug. "I love you, you know," she said.

"I love you, too," he replied and went off in search of the gift that might save his marriage.

~~~~~~~~~~

That night, Hermione sat regarding her husband of nearly fourteen years across the dinner table as he read the owl post.

"You're staring at me," he said at last, not looking up. "Have you finally realized just how old and ugly I've grown?"

"You're not any good at it anymore, you know," she replied at last.

He froze.

"The spying," she clarified. "You've gotten rusty."

He relaxed almost imperceptibly, but Hermione noticed. "See?" she continued. "Mad-Eye would have your guts for garters these days."

He laid down the parchment he had been reading and met her eyes. "Would he indeed?" he asked quietly.

Her expression grew serious. "Severus, what's wrong?" she pleaded.

"If I am such an open book, you tell me," he replied.

"Dearest," she said gently, working to keep her voice even, "please tell me. Whatever it is."

He stared at her for several minutes. At last he spoke. "It is ironic that you should mention Moody," he said. "'Constant vigilance' indeed."

"Severus, you're frightening me," she whispered.

"Do you remember the conversation we had on the dock, all those years ago, the one where you promised to leave me there in peace?"

"Yes," she breathed. Her hands were shaking.

"You had it all figured out then, didn't you?" he asked coolly. "You knew just how things would go if you returned and told them that Dolohov had followed you and murdered me. You were extraordinarily clever."

She shook her head. "Not clever enough," she admitted, but her voice was barely audible. "I was never any good at espionage. Someone would have seen through my story. You would have been in danger all over again."

He nodded. "Yes. Espionage," he hissed. "It is always such a convoluted business."

She studied his face, terrified. "Severus, please, what is it? What's going on?"

"How did Dolohov find me?" he asked at last.

Hermione flinched as though he had struck her, but she refused to look away. "He followed me. He'd been following me for quite some time," she answered miserably.

He gazed at her. "And how did he find you?" he asked.

"I wasn't in hiding." She shrugged. "I was an easy mark. Severus, I'm so sorry!"

"Sorry? Sorry for what?" He actually sounded puzzled.

"For leading him to you!" she cried. "He'd never have found you on his own, and I brought him right to your door."

"Indeed," he agreed. "But why did he follow you at all? How did he know you were on the trail of a dead man?"

She gaped at him, thinking hard. "Wait," she said at last. "On the island..." She frowned, trying to remember his reactions to her silly little plan to keep his secret. Suddenly she gasped.

"Yes," he nodded.

"You said... you said there was a Death Eater still working at the Ministry! And Harry told me before I came that he thought someone else was interested in my investigation of you!"

He nodded again.

"Are you still in danger?" she cried, rising from her chair, relief and new anxiety washing over her at the same time.

Snape stood and moved swiftly to take her in his arms. "Shh, no, I don't believe so," he said reassuringly. "I'm sorry, Hermione, I should have told you, but I did not wish to reopen old wounds. It's been quite awhile since you've had a nightmare about all that."

"You've figured out who it is!" she said, as the blood rushed back into her face.

"I have."

Hermione sighed. "Who? Do I know this person?"

Snape shook his head. "Not well, at least. Potter had an assistant when he first became a Sub-Auror. A girl named Sophie Avery-Smyth."

"Avery?" Hermione asked, pulling her head back to give him a quizzical look. "Wasn't there a Death Eater by that name? Was she related?"

Snape shook his head. "The security investigation when she was hired said she was not. Investigators can be bribed, of course, and records altered." He drew her back to rest against his chest. "It is immaterial. She has done little damage. She was not an actual Death Eater herself, merely sympathetic to their cause--and to their money."

"How did you find out, after all these years?" Hermione asked, her voice muffled by his shirt.

He stroked her hair. "An accident, actually. I had been mildly curious all along, but there was little to connect her to anyone, with Dolohov dead and most of the surviving Death Eaters accounted for. I stumbled across... evidence recently. I have been pursuing it."

Hermione sighed and hugged him tighter. "I knew there was something," she breathed. "I was so afraid everything was starting all over again."

He tipped her chin up with one finger. "It is all ancient history, love. No one even remembers those days. You would do well not to think of the darkness anymore."

She smiled up at him. "But I can't forget it. I won't. Every memory, even the awful ones, lets me treasure all the good that came from this. And it protects against any of it ever happening again."

He gazed down at her face. "Then remember everything," he said after a moment, and he kissed the woman in his arms.

~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Just one more bit to go, as I take on that dreaded Epilogue... and show how I think it ought to fit in with all of this!