Culpam Poena Premit Comes

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.

It didn't take long before a comfortable routine emerged, much to Hermione's chagrin and Severus' satisfaction. It was just easier to round out the work day by grabbing some take-away dinner and meeting Severus for a bit of quiet time and companionship. Of all the nasty adjectives its many detractors could use to describe Azkaban prison, it was nevertheless very peaceful and quite suitable for Hermione's purposes. She could freely converse about her many projects and ideas without the constant nagging paranoia of lurking corporate spies.

Predictably, her conversations with Severus were also very productive. In addition to helping her organize, arrange, and complete her work, he was quite adept at bouncing ideas back and forth on all manner of topics, which was a godsend. Very few witches and wizards were qualified to discuss interdisciplinary ideas, which was the very heart of her company. Hermione wasn't willing to entertain the thought that he was her business partner in any way, shape or form, but gradually, she began to allow herself to lean on him for support and discovered she was quite happy doing so.

Slowly, Hermione began to unwind. Spending her evenings with Severus meant that the two of them could complete her mountains of paperwork and she could relax and de-stress just a bit. It was somewhat counter-intuitive that she would have more free time by spending her evenings locked away in prison, but Hermione discovered that she suddenly had the extra time she needed to do such necessary tasks as interview potential new staff members, scout out larger warehouses for their proposed expansion, and take advantage of the occasional extra hour of sleep.

Under the guise of taking care of Severus' needs, Hermione found herself eating regularly and taking better care of herself. Gone were the days of coffee and pop-tart lunches. Not that take-away meals with Severus every night were that good for her waistline, either. And though she'd never admit it to any of her friends, spending time with Severus was honestly easy.

She just had trouble reconciling Severus with Snape.

Snape was a murdering Death Eater who betrayed them all. Snape was cruel and tormented brave Gryffindors and helpless Hufflepuffs because he could and because he enjoyed the suffering of others. Snape was the traitor who deceived the Order and Dumbledore, who took their secrets to Lord Voldemort, who assassinated their beloved leader, and who stood alongside the forces of evil during the final battle. Snape was a liability. His reputation alone put her good name and the standing of her company at risk.

For Hermione, the trade-off had been worth it. When Hermione instigated her far-fetched scheme to pull the wool over the Ministry's eyes, Snape had been a good option. She couldn't have cared less if he were miserable. Or, at least, that's what she'd told herself when she proposed marriage.

Now that they were legally wed, everything had changed considerably. There was depth to the man. She just couldn't think of him in terms of labels and stereotypes anymore; he simply wasn't as two dimensional as the professor she once thought she knew. To Hermione, he'd become Severus.

Severus was the man who brilliantly suggested experimenting with niffler essence for her Natural Scentsations atomizer. Severus had a rich laugh, and occasionally, when he smiled broadly, she caught a glimpse of a dimple, which was obviously why he almost never smiled. Severus taunted and teased her mercilessly; he pushed all her buttons and made her want to throttle him, until she realized he was just trying to get a rise out of her and meant no real malice. It was also difficult not to like Severus, though she could hardly call him a bloomin' ray of sunshine.

He was still a liability.

That realization was brought home when he dropped the small confession that he was an Animagus. Hermione silently kicked herself, wondering what else she didn't know about the wizard. Though it was obvious that she couldn't just walk up to him and in her most Dumbledorian voice ask, 'Is there something you'd like to tell me?'

She'd done her research on him before approaching him. She'd sifted through court records and school records. There was no other way of doing a 'risk assessment plan' without a bit of digging, but then, this was another bombshell she wasn't prepared for. Obviously, Hermione needed to do more research. Neither she nor her company could afford to be linked to more scandal than that to which she had already exposed herself.

The problem lay entirely with the Ministry. Not that it was surprising.

If someone wanted to pull public records, they had to visit each section and subsection to gather bits and pieces instead of being able to access one collective database. Hermione speculated that this had to do with the fact that each and every section and subsection charged a processing fee for their assistance.

When doing her original research, Hermione had visited the Home Registry Bureau and discovered that Snape owned only Spinner's End. She'd also visited the Patent Office and discovered that Snape did not have any original potions credited to his name. When he casually corrected her on both of these topics in their marriage contract negotiations, Hermione didn't get too worked up over the issue, but resolved to research it further at another time.

This Animagus business was another matter entirely. Truthfully, Hermione hadn't bothered going to the tiny Personal Transmutations Office to see if he were registered as an Animagus; it seemed like a waste of time and Galleons. Now, she was rethinking everything. There were now too many unknown elements in the equation.

Two weeks before the Yule holiday, Hermione finally found the time to return to the Ministry in an attempt to learn more about the enigmatic man she found herself very fond of despite the protestations of her conscience.

Hermione was so fearful about what she might discover that her head was near exploding when she arrived at the dingy, sub-basement office that dealt with registering Animagus forms. She just had to know if he'd ever bothered to register himself, not that she believed he did. But if he hadn't and somehow he was caught, that could be a scandal for her. The press would get involved. Sales would drop. People would throw out her products and swear never to buy them again. She'd be disgraced and would end her days shut up in some old house alone, unloved and unwanted.

Hermione knew she was being just a tad bit melodramatic and was perhaps exaggerating, but it was possible, wasn't it? What else was he hiding? Was there anything worse than being a Death Eater, and the murderer of this century's greatest and most beloved wizard? She just had to know; she just couldn't deal with any more surprises.

A short wheezy wizard with a bad comb-over met her at the counter, blandly asking her to identify her Animagus form.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm not here to register; I'm not an Animagus." The clerk gave her a skeptical look. "I'd like to make a public records request."

"Three Galleons," he deadpanned.

Hermione fished for her coin purse and gave the clerk Severus' name. A few moments later, Hermione was indeed holding a copy of Severus' Animagus registration form. By the date stamp, he'd received it while still attending Hogwarts. Minerva McGonagall's signature was also on the card as his sponsor. Well, that explained how he was registered. She smiled as she envisioned Professor McGonagall dragging a young Severus Snape down to the registration office by his ear.

She studied the small green card. It recorded his serpent form Dispholidus typus, male, bright green in color with black striated markings, gold eyes, oviparous, highly potent haemotoxic venom. All this Hermione expected, but a part of the card also contained a line for known aliases. There, in cramped, structured handwriting, were the words 'Half-Blood Prince.'

Of course. She could have slapped herself. He'd signed his correction to Imelda's potion as ...HBP. Apparently, Hermione wasn't the only one who thought that the Snape name was a liability.

It took her a goodly chunk out of her afternoon, but Hermione revisited Ministry sections and sub-sections, performing a public records request on the name 'Half-Blood Prince.' She walked away with quite a stack of little green cards. The name had been officially registered as a legal alias, and the wizard was entitled to sign documents using it as his legal name. He was even entitled to a Gringotts account under the moniker.

It infuriated Hermione to no end that he'd been so secretive with her, but then, she never directly asked him, 'By the way, do you conduct your affairs under an assumed name?' and he was secretive enough not to say a word unless directly asked. Even then, he would probably avoid answering. There was also no telling what he'd concealed under non-legal aliases. The information on the little green index cards was fascinating, but certainly not damning to her reputation. Hermione knew she needed to dig deeper.

The opportunity came quite unexpectedly as she was going through Azkaban security early one evening. Laden with pierogies, borekas, and assorted pelmeni, Hermione was about to have Russian night with Severus and the boys when she ran into Mr. A. Ffoulkes, who was just then leaving his cell.

"Mister Ffoulkes, what a surprise!"

"Good evening, Madam," he bowed courteously.

Hermione was about to let him slip by when she seized upon the idea to interrogate him, or at least make pleasant conversation in the hopes of learning a secret or two about her husband. "If it's not too much trouble, might I have a word, please?"

"For you? Anything, Madam Granger."

Hermione might have cackled and rubbed her hands greedily if it weren't so unseemly. Instead, she pulled him hastily by the elbow into the small anteroom where the marriage ceremony had been conducted only a few short months before.

"Now, how may I be of assistance, my dear?" he enquired politely.

"Have you always been my husband's solicitor?" she asked innocently.

"For the better part of two decades, I'd say. I made Severus' acquaintance while working for Headmaster Dumbledore."

"Hmm..." Hermione paused thoughtfully, "I was curious... I assume you arranged our marriage contract."

"Yes, ma'am, I did. Is there an issue with the stipulations?"

"No, not as of yet. I wonder, though... do you draw up all his contracts? Have you taken care of his potions patents and other legal business?"

He nodded his assent.

"It wouldn't be possible for me to take a look at them, would it?" she fished. "In the interest of our now joined estates."

Mr. Ffoulkes gave her a generous smile, which did nothing to improve the clipped professional tone of his voice. "Madam Granger, any such request would have to come from your husband himself. I'm not at liberty to discuss his private affairs, even with his wife."

"And if I hired you?" Hermione asked sweetly, knowing full well that she was treading on thin ice.

"Perhaps I could be of some assistance to you then, but certainly not by infringing upon your husband's confidentiality. I suggest that you dig elsewhere."

Hermione offered him a wide smile that hopefully bespoke 'who, me?' "Well, I won't take any more of your time, Mr. Ffoulkes. Perhaps I'll just have to make an appointment to see you in your office."

He inclined his head and shook her hand, apparently unsurprised by the entire line of questioning.

As Hermione turned to exit the antechamber, Mr. Ffoulkes placed a hesitant hand on her shoulder.

"Madam Granger, if you are interested in hiring me for my services, you should know I am quite selective in my clientele. I'm a man of reputation, and I only accept clients of equal standing..."

Hermione scowled, biting back the words, 'And yet you represent him,' but the opportunity never came.

"And I only represent the innocent. If there's nothing else, I bid you good evening."

He held the door open for her, but Hermione wasn't quite certain she could move her legs.

"What do you mean by that?" she hissed as soon as she could find her voice.

Mr. Ffoulkes just blinked at her in apparent confusion. "I only represent innocent clients, Madam; I think that should be quite obvious."

"Innocent?"

He frowned at her as if she were a small child whining for sweeties. "Yes, innocent. Now, is there anything else you wish to discuss with me? I am late getting back."

"No..." her voice sounded small and uncertain to her ears, and Hermione still had not budged an inch. "Thank you for your time, sir," she mumbled.

Mr. A. Ffoulkes left her standing there in the small room, staring intently at the floor, her world gone quite topsy-turvy.

Russian food had somehow lost its appeal. All food had lost its appeal.

Hermione left her bags with the boys and Apparated to her flat, where she quickly found her couch and Crooks and curled up with both.

By morning, she knew there was one last place she had to visit to uncover all she could about the man she'd married. Hermione had no idea if the wizard would deign to speak with her. As his life's work had finally reached completion, he had become uncharacteristically quiet. But she had to try.

Her missive to Minerva was returned promptly. The Headmistress was quite eager to catch up with her little lioness, especially while the children were on winter holiday. So, Hermione found herself, quite sooner than she was prepared to, bundled up tightly from the chill and making the trudge up from the winged, boars gate to the empty castle. Hermione kept putting one foot in front of the other, her eyes habitually scanning the tree line to ensure no rogues, scoundrels or dangerous creatures emerged, as bloody unlikely as that was. But it kept her eyes from darting to the charred and hollowed-out remains of Hagrid's hut. Just as her feet touched the flagstone, the front door swung open and the Headmistress greeted her much in the manner as she had done when Hermione had been a first year.

This time, she knew that behind the austere robes and tight smile, Minerva was as warm and welcoming as Molly Weasley. The Headmistress escorted her to her office, chatting politely, while Hermione gave the perfunctory responses. Yes, she was fine. Winter was much colder this year than the last; yes, it would make for a healthy spring. Her company was fine, thank you for asking. No, she hadn't seen Harry recently. New textbooks? How interesting.

Her attention was drawn to the chips and hex scars that were fading into the masonry. Before she had set foot in Hogwarts as a student, the castle had been scratched and dented from generations of children fighting in the hallways. The Final Battle had only added its layer to what was already there. Hermione wondered if in a few generations any child would be able to tell that the scorch mark on the floor in front of a disused classroom was where Hermione had repaid in kind the hex Dolohov had given her. At the guardian gargoyle of the Headmistress' office, Hermione noticed quite plainly that he was still missing an ear and took small satisfaction in that. It leaped aside allowing them passage. Once Hermione was settled, Minerva left her, mentioning she'd be back and they'd have a proper tea. Hermione nodded absently, her eyes round and unblinking at the wizard jovially popping painted lemon sherbets before her.

She heard the door shut behind her and took a deep breath before realizing she didn't quite know where to begin. It seemed impolite to demand he inform her of all the ugly secrets and back-alley deals he'd made during the war. Especially if she ended up arguing with a silly piece of wood daubed with pigmented oil.

"Ah, Hermione!" Albus broke the uneasy silence. "So you've come at last."

"Er?" Hermione cocked her head to the side questioningly. "You've been expecting me, sir?"

"I assumed that, after you married Severus, you might be by."

"Oh."

Well, that made things easier. She was afraid she'd have to tell him about the Marriage Law, defend her logic of marrying Severus, and justify why she went ahead with the foolhardy plan of marrying his murderer. And then insist he tell her why his murderer was innocent. That's all. At least now, she probably didn't have to tell him about the Marriage Law.

"You know how fast news travels. I believe it was Poppy who told me first, and she had heard it from Molly, who had been told by her son on the day he'd tried to propose to you."

"Oh." She was really going to have to work on her vocabulary. Her mouth quirked a few times, opening and closing as if she had something intelligent to say, but Hermione was at a total loss. She expected to have to rationalize her actions and apologize profusely, but the Headmaster looked quite at ease, whereas she most definitely was not.

"So, you don't mind," Hermione whispered.

"No, not at all, my child," Albus boomed. "On the contrary, I'm thrilled for both of you. I'd say you're a good match for each other. Severus needs someone to keep him on his toes."

Hermione's mind reeled before she snapped back into place. "But he killed you."

"That he did. Though I'm glad you're not calling it murder."

"But..."

"Hermione," Albus called softly. "Let it go. I have."

Her shoulders slumped and her head crumpled into her hands. She was so damned confused and emotionally stretched thin.

"Mr. Ffoulkes said he was innocent. What does that mean?" she pleaded.

The Headmaster sat back in his chair, studying the witch in front of him. She was in no place to hear the fullness of his truth. It was obvious that she was distraught, but he could ease her mind for now.

He sighed heavily as if bearing Atlas' burden, even though breath was an illusion for him. "During the war with Grindelwald, war crimes were committed on both sides. I'm fully aware of the sins I committed, but there were others who refused to accept their actions as criminal. Hermione, many wizards claimed to be 'only following orders' when they were brought to justice."

"They're still responsible for their own actions. They had a choice," Hermione snapped. "They didn't have to follow orders."

"I agree," the Headmaster said gently. "And Severus would agree with you, too. He believes he's responsible for everything he did while working under both Tom's and my orders."

"Oh."

"But he's mistaken, Hermione. I'm afraid his sins all belong to me. You see, he didn't have a choice. I took them all away from him."

Stricken, Hermione could only look at her former Headmaster and leader of the Light in horror.

"Go, Hermione. Go find your husband and provide whatever comforts you can for him. And tell him... tell him I'm sorry. I left documents and a Pensieve with Ffoulkes. The evidence supporting his innocence should be enough to sway any member of the Wizengamot if he ever decides to leave Azkaban. I suspect, though, he'd have to forgive himself first. I only hope he can one day forgive me."

"But..." she had questions, so many more questions, but the old man feigned sleep. No amount of pleading roused him. Hermione tried desperately to get him to speak with her again, but he slept on.

An hour later, Minerva found Hermione mumbling in incoherent half sentences at the dull painting, tears racing down puffy cheeks. She stumbled and slumped into a chair weeping uncontrollably while Minerva threw a healthy dose of Floo powder into the fireplace. The girl didn't protest as Minerva guided her through.

Hermione emerged in her living room, soot dragging across the carpet as she found her couch, and cried herself to sleep as Crooks stood watchful guard over his mistress.

Back at the castle, Albus was not allowed to feign sleep as Minerva turned her full, formidable wrath upon him.

A/N:

Chapter title: Culpam poena premit comes – Punishment closely follows crime as its companion.

Thank you for reading! AV