Chapter Seven

Index finger and thumb compressed the bridge of his nose. Eyes pinched at the corners and shuttered behind exhaustion-bruised eyelids. Shoulders hunched. No light diffused the darkness of the Potions master's former quarters, save for the flickering glow from the embers in the fireplace. All the signs were there, pointing to only one conclusion: Severus Snape was despondent. Just as she had known he would be.

Carefully pocketing the dummy Poppy had charmed to alert her of any change in the baby's status, Hermione slipped into the gloomy confines of the sitting room. The click of her heels against the stone floor seemed to echo like the retort of gunfire in the nearly suffocating silence, yet the man slumped in the corner of the battered sofa didn't so much as flinch.

She sighed. He was worse off than she thought. And there was very little she could do about it except wait as patiently as possible for it to pass.

When she reached the end of the sofa, she slipped off her shoes. Gently, so as not to disturb him too much, she settled beside him, curling her legs beneath her and resting her cheek against the top of his shoulder. The contact was made without resistance. Encouraged, she slowly brushed her fingers down his arm until she reached his wrist. She toyed with the buttons on the sleeve of his Muggle blazer and allowed her mind to drift.

She'd known this man, first as teacher, then suitor, and now husband, for more than ten years...was intimately familiar with his blackest moods as well as his brightest humor. It might have taken the rocky beginnings of their courtship for her to learn the coded messages relayed by his posture, expressions, and the changing light in the darkness of his eyes, but now he was as open to her as the well-worn pages of a beloved book that kept one as intrigued in its millionth reading as it had in its first. In fact, it had been the rumpled pages of a book along with the magic of their bond that had offered her the first clue to decoding the enigma known as Severus Tobias Snape.

Hermione caressed the battered spine of her mother's copy of Jane Eyre. She knew she should return it, but until she convinced her parents her intentions had been innocent, or she accepted there was no hope of reconciliation, it was the only link she had to them. Besides, the illustrations reminded her of a certain acerbic Potions master who had yet to accept his status as her Anam Cuplach.

But there he was. Tall, strong, and well on the mend, looking at her with a slight sneer curling the left side of his mouth while the twinkle of something amazingly precious lit his dark eyes. In that moment, the penny dropped. The signs of acceptance, requited love, fragile hope, and chilly fear of rejection exploded into clarity before her eyes. They had been there all along, expressed in the tilt of his head and the arch of his brow for weeks. Only his abrasive exterior had blinded her to them.

Despite the press of sadness permeating the room, Hermione smiled as the memory swam back to the recesses of her mind. She still thanked Miss Bronte on an almost daily basis for the insight her Mr. Rochester provided. From that day, the mystery of Severus' moods had unraveled like the frayed threads of a tapestry. Now, she was attuned to even his slightest sigh.

A sudden surge in her husband's melancholia tickled her mind. She slid her hand over his and entwined their fingers. "Talk to me, dearest."

At first Severus resisted, shaking his head and seeming to withdraw even more. From experience, she knew pushing would only strengthen his resolve to distance himself, so she sat silently, her thumb caressing the side of his hand. He would talk when he was ready. Until then...

"What I saw." Emotions blotted out his voice for a breath. He turned to her, the ebony depths of his eyes so filled with pain it left a physical ache in the middle of her chest. "What I saw," he repeated through gritted teeth.

Hermione pressed her fingers against his lips. "It's all right, Severus. If you can't..."

The strength of his embrace squashed her words into a soft gasp. He trembled against her, the vibrations renewing the sting of tears in her eyes. He very rarely fell apart like this. In fact, it had been almost four years. The memory swam up as silently as a grindylow and overwhelmed her just as powerfully.

Hermione held her breath until Madam Pomfrey's footsteps faded into silence. She listened for a few ticks longer, then slipped out of the hospital cot. Padding softly to the curtain separating her from Severus, she kept a careful watch for the matron's return. Although the witch's usual strict schedule would give several hours without interruption, the nature of Severus' previous injuries as well as the toll the rescue had taken on his recovery might prompt the good nurse to monitor her patient's status a little more closely. And given the Potions master's propensity for propriety, it would never do to allow anyone to catch them alone at this stage of their courtship.

He jerked her up by her arms, his eyes dangerously dark. "You are worth everything, Hermione," he growled. "Everything, you hear me?" With the same ferocity, he brought her back against him, burying his face in her wild tangle of curls. "Without you..."

That night was the first time she'd seen him cry. The first time she'd been able to comfort him the way she was tonight. It was a humbling but heady experience then...and even more so now.

"What are we going to do with her, love?" Severus' voice was as controlled as ever, yet it was tinged with uncertainty. "What are we going to do with that precious little rosebud we rescued from the rubbish heap?"

Easing away far enough to see those midnight orbs and all the mysteries they held, Hermione offered a timid smile. "I've been thinking about that very thing, dearest."

"Have you now?"

Her smile grew at the hint of returning humor in his gaze. She nodded and brushed a silken strand of raven's wing hair from his forehead. "I have indeed." Leaning forward, she pecked his lips. "And the answer is among the simplest I've ever reached."