Chapter Two

Hermione shrugged out from under the protective embrace of her husband's arm and marched toward the graffitied entrance to the block of flats she'd involuntarily visited four years before. She didn't need him to fight this battle for her. Didn't need him to shield her from the onslaught of memories the rotting landscape of Tumbledown Rookery stirred. What she did need was for him to allow her to hide away behind the damn Granger cowardice masquerading as the touted Gryffindor bravery.

She glanced over her shoulder at the man she loved and cherished beyond all reason. Compassion, concern, and resignation fought for dominance in his midnight gaze, triggering one of the myriad of memories that perpetually weakened her resolve and strengthened her devotion to her amazing wizard. With nothing more than a simple glance, he made her feel safe. Had done since the night he saved the trio from Remus-as-werewolf during third year.

According to Minerva, it was that feeling of safety that pulled her through the whirl of accidental Apparition and landed her, quite literally, at Severus' feet in Hogwarts' staff room. She honestly couldn't remember thinking of the Potions master as she stood in her parents' lounge defending herself from barrage after barrage of condemnation for wiping their memories and sentencing them to continued life safely tucked away in the tropical paradise of Cairns, Australia. She'd simply silently begged for home during one of the short respites from their verbal hostilities. One minute she was curled in one corner of the Grangers' brown suede sectional; the next, she was on the cool flagstone floor of the staff room with the toes of Severus' dragon hide boots inches from her nose.

And she'd been besotted ever since. So had he, for that matter. He was simply more reserved in the company of others. Except, it seemed, when he was in full protective mode, which irked her need for independence no end. Something, even nearly five years after the incident, she still struggled to quell, though it had gotten considerably easier after the last encounter with her parents.

Three months after Hermione's impromptu Apparition into Hogwarts' staff room, Minerva convinced the elder Grangers it behooved everyone involved to come together and settle things like the calm, rational adults they all were. She agreed to act as arbiter. Surprisingly, Severus offered his London flat as neutral ground, though both Hermione and Minerva knew the man was anything but neutral when it came to his newly discovered soul mate. Still, it was preferable to the private dining room at Rosmerta's or some low-budget room at an establishment somewhere in reasonably close proximity to the midway point between Hogwarts and Ramsgate. Not to mention it gave the wizard in her life a reasonable excuse to be present. One her parents could not possibly protest.

Yet, protest they did. Vehemently. To the point Minerva's attempt to be Switzerland quickly turned into the Americanization of the Headmistress. She and Severus swooped in like modern incarnations of Eisenhower and Montgomery, fending off attacks and countering with verbal bombardments so intense the temperature in the room rose by at least ten degrees in the span of five minutes.

While Hermione appreciated the defense by her mentor and her suitor, she was perfectly capable of waging her own battles. She was, after all, a fully grown witch. Or at least that's what she told the Turner landscape hanging in the flat's salon after she fled the war waging on the other side of the wall.

"I know you are, my darling girl." Severus' words from that night caressed her memory as deftly as his hands against her skin. "But you don't have to. Not any more. Not ever again. I am here beside you. Always."

And he was. She glanced again at the enigma carefully keeping pace with her. Even when, like now, she was too stubborn to admit how wrong she was not to share her burdens, he was there. She could never outrun him or push him hard enough to drive more than a few inches between them. Then, when she was ready, he reached across the chasm and tethered her to him with nothing more than the light twining of his fingers with hers. Unless she reached first.

The October wind picked up again, its bluster dislodging not only a faded chocolate wrapper from one of the small trenches carved in the concrete by decades of acid rain, but the linchpin of her pride. Spanning the gap between them, she caught his hand, her fingers dovetailing between his. One squeeze offered in apology, one returned in understanding.

And the desolate landscape didn't seem quite so foreboding any more.

SSHGSSHG

A strong cocktail of bleach and stale urine permeated every corridor in the grubby little tenement. Hermione buried her nose in the closest lapel of Severus' coat to quell the urge to retch. For the moment, the gentle scent of nutmeg, cocoa, and herbs overpowered the noxious fumes of neglect and despair.

The familiar contours of her husband's long, shapely fingers rippled beneath her cheek, brushing the wool of his jacket softly against her flesh. She closed her eyes. Despite the thickness of the cloth between them, she relished the serenity offered by his touch. Then it was gone, replaced by the pressure of a soft square of fine lawn against her palm.

"Here." To some, he was as terse as always, but to the trained ears of the ones he loved, his words were a gentle request. "I'm sure you'll find this of more use than my collar."

She grinned, a genuinely happy stretch of her lips that further dissipated the tension between them and bolstered her decision to listen to her heart rather than the stubborn pride urging her to prove she was strong enough to stand on her own. She shook her head enough to emphasize refusal of the proffered handkerchief, but not enough to dislodge her nose from the essence of Snape infusing the fabric of his clothing. "No, thanks." She snuggled as close as she dared given her husband's prickly nature in public environs. "I'm perfectly content right here." She patted his chest, just in case he needed clarification.

His indignant huff did little to cover the amused contentment conveyed by the slight tremor of relaxation in the muscles of his chest and shoulder. "Very well." His arm slipped around her waist and he gently tugged her closer. "If memory serves, the boy's flat is the third one on the left past the southern-most stairwell."

If memory served. Hermione shuddered as the images of that Halloween flashed through her mind. It was to be the first spent at Severus' side at a Ministry-sponsored event instead of the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall with the younger members of her House. Madam Pomfrey had deemed him well enough to leave the infirmary for an hour or two. The feast would be their first foray into society as a couple after making their courtship known at her twentieth birthday party the month before. She had a new set of robes from Twilfitt & Tattings and a grand case of butterflies that left her both giddy and anxious. She'd been on her way to an appointment at Michaeljohn's when a strung out Ron intercepted her and...

Her husband's sudden stop paused the swirl of recollections. A quick glance, and the memories pounded against her consciousness with a vengeance. They were at his door.

With almost physical effort, she shoved the memories behind one of the shields Severus had taught her to build in the early days after the kidnapping. It wouldn't do to relive the event just now. Not if she actually expected herself to cross the threshold.

"Hermione." The black velvet of his voice caressed her as gently as his fingers against the small of her back. "You don't have to do this, love. The corridor is deserted. Just let go and Apparate home. I'll be there as soon as..."

Instinct and familiarity allowed her to find his lips without lifting her head from its niche against his chest and shoulder. "But I do, Severus." She shifted enough to see those obsidian orbs swimming with concern and brimming with adoration. "If I intend to return to our world more fully after graduation, I need to put this behind me." She trailed her fingers from the corner of his mouth to his jaw. "Just...be there for me?"

His smile crinkled beneath her touch. "Always, my darling girl." He grasped her hand and tugged it back towards his lips. Gentle brushes against each knuckle stilled her breath for a moment. "Always."

SSHGSSHG

The hinges creaked as Severus leaned his weight against the door. Wand drawn, but hidden in the natural folds of his overcoat, he maneuvered his way between his wife and the widening crack between the door and the jamb. Following the inward swing of the portal, he stepped inside.

A nearly oppressive dimness assaulted him, the room's only illumination the shaft of light from the hallway and the weak beams wiggling through the rips in the curtains. He raked his gaze from the window to a point beyond the pale daylight's reach, then onward into the shadows.

Slowly, outlines of furnishings emerged from the twilight. Then came the details. Grungy mountains of clothes and other rubbish littered all four corners of the tiny bedsit. There was a dilapidated sofa along one wall. Along another was a ramshackle iron bed covered with filthy...

Something stirred beneath the soiled duvet, and Severus settled into a crouch, wand extended. In the next breath, he was nearly overwhelmed by the pungent, coppery tang of stale blood. A long, low moan drew him toward the shambles. With slow, measured steps, he inched closer until the occupant came into view. "Dear God," he whispered, his knees nearly buckling as he closed the final distance in a panicked jog. "Hermione, send for Poppy."

Lying curled and near motionless on the edge of the mattress was a young girl. A quick Lumos revealed tangled honey brown tresses and brown eyes glassy with fever and fatigue. Her clothes were stained and crusted. Rhythmic tremors coursed along her frail limbs. He could almost feel Death with each rattled breath she drew.

"Ron?" The poor lamb managed to reach toward him before her hand thumped back to the quilt. "Ron." A tired smile flickered against her lips. "I know you're disappointed with me." Her words slurred barely above a whisper; her eyelids fluttered like a sleepy toddler's. "But I made everything all right." She lifted her hand again and pointed to a pile of old pizza boxes and takeaway containers in the corner opposite. "I tossed it in the rubbish bin."

"That's fine, love," Severus soothed, resting a hand beside the girl's head and leaning over her. Experience taught playing along was the best way to keep a victim calm...to keep her from wasting what little strength she had left on a futile fight. He brushed a sweaty lock of hair from the child's forehead. Merlin, she looked so much like his Hermione had after Dolohov cursed her all those years ago. Just as then, his heart lurched toward his throat. Swallowing hard, he gathered the lass' thin hand in his. He brushed another sweaty lock of hair from her forehead. "I'm sure..."

"Oh, my God."

The alarm in Hermione's voice sent a shiver down his spine. He turned in time to see his beloved gently lift a bundle of bloodied rags from the center of the mound of cardboard and polystyrene. In that moment, he had no doubt, time stuttered.