Twelve: My Dear Someone

Anti-Litigation Charm: None of the characters belong to me. They belong to JK Rowling, who let my entire reason for reading the Harry Potter series bleed to death on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. I'm building a better world.

I'll build a boat, steady and true, as soon as it's done, I'm going to sail along in the dreams of my dear someone...

The following days were a blur to Hermione. Madam Pomfrey informed her it would be several more before she was allowed to leave the infirmary. She spent all her time pogo-ing between bouts of sadness, boredom, restlessness and heartache. Her parents' death was a constant, nagging ache in the back of her mind, like a song she'd heard, and every time she thought she was shed of it, it would come back to harass her.

By the second week, her scar burned and itched maddeningly, reminding her of Harry's scar, and how it irritated him. Hers bothered her so much she had to take Calming Draughts just to keep from clawing at her chest. Madam Pomfrey warned her that to irritate the wound would only make the scar worse, and Merlin knew it was bad enough left untouched.

Ron, Harry, Ginny, Neville and Luna came to keep her company each day, before they left for the summer, and tried to inject a bit of normality. Ginny was especially attentive; she was still smarting from Professor Snape's harsh words in spite of her conviction he had truly saved Hermione's life. The subject of Sirius' death was a delicate one, and each attempt to discuss what had happened in the Department of Mysteries seemed to back double onto him.

Harry was a bit quieter of late, and on the Saturday students were to leave Hogwarts for the summer, he showed up at her bedside, alone. Hermione was surprised to find him still on the grounds.

"Hello, Harry," Hermione smiled. "Why are you still here?" With a bit of their old teasing banter, she said, "I thought you'd be champing at the bit to return to the loving bosom of your family!"

He gave a short, rueful laugh. "Only returning as long as I have to. I'm planning on spending most of the summer with Ron at the Burrow. The train's leaving in a few minutes. I've got time if I run." His smile faded. "I had a bit of a row with Snape earlier and he –"

"Professor Snape, Harry!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Professor Snape, and he told me to get down to the station, but I thought I'd stop by, seeing as I was at a loose end."

Concerned, Hermione asked, "What sort of row? Honestly, Harry, he is our professor and you – "

"I don't care!" Harry flared, his eyes turning angry. "He's a bully and a git and he's the reason that Sirius is d– "

"Harry, please!" Hermione all but wept. "Harry, listen. I saw it all. Bellatrix Lestrange cursed Sirius, and he tripped backward, and fell through that arch, or whatever that was. Professor Snape was nowhere near him when it happened!"

"I don't care! Sirius didn't deserve it! He should be here with me! If anyone deserved to fall through that arch, it was Snape!"

Hermione looked at her friend, the boy she had known since she was a scared first year on the Hogwarts' Express. She thought of Severus; the man who had saved Harry over and over again, simply because he'd loved Harry's mum, and in the course of time, had come to love Hermione. The painful knowledge that her best friend wished Severus dead with such vehement conviction overwhelmed her, and Hermione put her head in her hands and sobbed.

Stunned at her reaction, Harry looked around for Madam Pomfrey. "Hermione? Are you okay?" He risked a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Look, I didn't mean to upset you! I still don't fully understand what happened between you and Sirius, but - "

"Oh, Harry, understand what happened?" Hermione looked up at him, her tear streaked face contorted with fury. "It's time – past time you accepted the truth! Sirius tried to rape me that night!"

Harry gasped, and slumped in his chair. He shook his head, sadly. "Hermione, Sirius was the closest thing to real family I've ever known. I – " His bright green eyes were haunted. "I just didn't want to believe he was capable of doing... of forcing you to –"

"I know you don't want to believe it. But I was telling the truth, and if it hadn't been for Professor Snape, he would've raped me."

Harry turned to her. "Hermione, will you tell me what happened that night?" He looked uncomfortable. "I mean, what happened to you at Grimmauld."

Hermione shuddered. She didn't want to remember. "That night, I went to Grimmauld Place to make sure Sirius wasn't there."

She wiped her face with the back of her hand, and sniffed. "Well, he was! And he was drunk, and he held me down and tore off my clothes!" She could feel her fear and anxiety growing with every breath. It wasn't just Sirius. It was the Department of Mysteries, and being cursed, and her Mum and Dad, and Harry's disbelief, and Dumbledore's secrets. And through it all, Severus, taking the blame for every little thing that had gone wrong.

Hermione's face grew pinched. She knew she was rubbing salt into the wound, but she couldn't help herself. "Have you ever been fucked by a dog, Harry? Well, neither have I, but if Professor Snape hadn't arrived at Grimmauld when he did, I would have firsthand knowledge of how that feels! Yes, Sirius changed into his Animagus form to do it!" She looked into Harry's stunned face. "Professor Snape's not perfect, Harry, but at least he's never tried to rape me!"

Harry looked at his friend, shock and disgust warring with his pitiful need to believe in his godfather. "Hermione, I'm so sorry. Sirius always seemed so – I know you told me over and over but - I don't know what to say – "

"Then best you say goodbye and make ready to leave, Mr. Potter." Harry and Hermione turned to see the Potions master standing in the infirmary, arms crossed, a scowl darkening his features. "I believe I've already ordered you to the train station, Mr. Potter, not to come and upset Miss Granger."

"What are you doing here?" Harry hissed, his hackles rising.

Severus stepped up to the boy, cold anger rising from him like vapour on ice. He hissed, "What I am doing here is none of your concern, Mr. Potter. Your train is leaving any moment, and I daresay you will have to run to make it. Say goodbye to Miss Granger." The last words were spoken in a low, cutting tone that made them sound both ominous and slightly dissolute. Severus' obsidian eyes flashed, and for a brief moment Hermione was sure Harry was going to challenge their professor again.

Instead, he merely stuffed his hands in his robe pockets, and turned to go. As he passed him, Harry looked at Severus with undisguised hatred, but Severus merely stared back, coldly imperious, silently challenging the young man to question his authority again.

"'Bye, Hermione. I'll owl you this summer, yeah?" He looked back at Hermione, and threw a murderous look at Severus, who gazed at him with the impassivity of a marble statue. Together, he and Hermione watched Harry leave the ward, his shoulders hunched with careworn sorrow and resentment.

"Wonder what it's like to have a quiet life?" Hermione quipped, as she blew her nose.

"He should not have come here if his only reason was to upset you," Severus growled, still furious at the exchange he'd overheard. Grubby little scrote; he had no right to drive her to tears. She was still fragile, and the death of her parents was still as raw a wound as the one on her chest. And here comes Potter, skulking in, to talk about losing his precious godfather. Typical Potter, to think of no one but himself.

"He's still upset about Sirius," she said tiredly, wincing as she tried to find a comfortable position in which to sit. Watching her carefully, Severus helped her to sit up, and then sat behind her. It was the only position she found bearable any length of time.

"I know this can't be exactly comfortable for you, Severus," Hermione began, as he gently pulled her back, to lean against his chest.

"Does it matter? Your comfort is paramount now, and if you can rest, you will recover faster," he purred, allowing his voice to slide into its soft, hypnotic cadence. His body was warm, and she could feel the buttons of his coat, and that strangely soothed her. The first time, he placed a Cushioning Charm against her back, but it wasn't as satisfying. She presumed it was simply because she couldn't actually feel him.

Once she was settled, she gave a little sigh and felt her limbs relax. He smelled so nice, and his warmth enveloped her and made her feel safe. She felt the rumble in his chest as he made a little moan of contentment. "Besides," he drawled, his voice close enough to tickle her ear, "I never said it was not pleasurable for me. Holding you in my arms has never been a hardship."

He pressed the softest, most teasing of kisses on the shell of her ear, and Hermione smiled, and threaded her fingers with his. Lying back against him, she dozed a little, and he felt his heart almost burst within his chest with a hopefulness that was unquenchable. He had tried to keep it at bay, to stiffen his resolve against the yearning for their future together. In the quiet hours of the night after he returned from his summoning, he had given into it. Nothing, he vowed, would keep them from their chance at a real life. Hope had kicked him in his crooked teeth too many times; this time, it seemed hope might be on his side. If he could continue walking the tightrope between Dumbledore and the Dark Lord...

He smiled as she sighed and stroked the hand now threaded with hers. In the few short months since they had come together on the floor of the Grimmauld Place library, he had changed so drastically in his mindset it was hard to believe he was the same person inside. No one else could see any discernible difference. Even Albus, who had once asked him why he eschewed the good opinion of others, barely noticed a ripple in the fabric of Severus' attitude. He proudly hid it well; no one, save the little witch in his arms, knew exactly the breadth and depth of his altered life. Poppy had her suspicions, but he'd grown used to her keeping his secrets.

It was a furtive little game they played, with the aid of Madam Pomfrey. She made sure Hermione wasn't disturbed, and Severus made sure Hermione would rest. She leaned on him, and he spoke to her about various subjects that interested them both, and they made plans for the summer. Sometimes he would speak in his lovely, low, silken voice for the sole purpose of lulling her, knowing his own abilities to coax and seduce a response, using his one beauty. Even as he spoke, he could feel her body relaxing, moving into a deep, healing sleep.

During the past two nights, she had experienced nightmares, but it took little more than a gentle shifting of her body to ease her out of them. There were moments she cried in her sleep as well, and called for her mother, and her plaintive calling tore at his blackened soul. When he spoke to her, even in her sleep, she gentled, and her restlessness settled. The knowledge that he could do this gave him a quiet sense of power that had nothing to do with darkness, or even magic. He only knew he felt like a god, when she nuzzled against him with soft little murmurs that stirred both his softening heart, and his hardening cock.

As they sat together, they quietly made plans to deal with the dreaded process of taking care of funeral arrangements and inspecting the burned house. It would be a Muggle service, and none but a select few knew of it. The Headmaster had discussed it privately with the both of them, and they had come to a mutual agreement of the best way to proceed. Because of their 'special relationship', as Dumbledore called it, Severus was to accompany Hermione to Surrey, to both assist and protect her against the possibility of further attack.

It was an empty reason, and they all knew it, but they all played the game. Hermione was no more a candidate for attack from Death Eaters than Severus at the moment, as far as Dumbledore knew. Severus, however, knew the Dark Lord was ever capricious, and none were exempt from his whim.

On Monday, they planned to Apparate to her parents' home, where she'd been given permission by the Fire Chief to inspect the ruins for any items of value. Severus had already gone ahead and placed a powerful deflection charm on the house. Any would-be looters approaching the property would feel a sudden desire to go to Sutton Hospital to have their eyes examined.

Finally, on Tuesday, they would go to the funeral home in Morden, where Hermione would pay her respects, see to it that the bodies were cremated, and meet with her parents' solicitor. There had been no mention of her parents' deaths in the Wizarding papers, and Severus was profoundly grateful. He had hinted to certain Slytherins that the indication of any knowledge of any Muggle deaths was akin to accessory to murder, so they remained quiet. If they spoke, it was amongst themselves.

Severus was troubled for more than one reason. The Department of Mysteries debacle snared several Death Eaters, who were now incarcerated in Azkaban. The Dark Lord was furious with his lieutenants, especially Lucius Malfoy. While Lucius languished in disgrace in Azkaban, Severus knew the Dark Lord would exact vengeance for his failure, and Severus feared Draco would be the instrument of his revenge. Draco had been quiet since his father's capture and imprisonment, and although Severus tried to reassure the boy that his father's liberation was not far away, he could sense Draco's growing lack of faith in him. It was an issue that would have to be addressed soon enough, and Severus mentally added it to his growing list of concerns, along with Albus' increasing absent-mindedness.

Dumbledore was proving a worry. After being gone Merlin knows where during his 'little vacation from Hogwarts', as he had taken to calling his unceremonious sacking, he was off again, pursuing something he assured Severus would 'assist in Tom's demise once and for all, and prepare Harry Potter for his final date with destiny'. It bothered Severus that Dumbledore was being so cagey about it.

The Headmaster had, as promised, visited with Hermione shortly after his reinstatement as Headmaster. He had been accommodating, even lenient with them, almost to the point of inviting Severus to have Hermione move in with him. In the end, he and Severus had decided the best option would be to allow Hermione to stay in the adjoining rooms to Severus' in the dungeons for the summer. Hermione had been pleased, Severus surprised. He had thought the Headmaster would put up a bigger fight. It had been almost too easy.

There was something about the Headmaster that troubled both Hermione and Severus. Professor Dumbledore had seemed preoccupied, distant, and more than once they'd had to repeat themselves to jar him from his reverie. When asked if he was feeling well, he smiled indulgently and patted their shoulders like one would a child, citing a bit of tiredness from the hard work of returning the school to its pre-Umbridge state. He also hinted at his more personal 'project' as he called it, but would reveal nothing to either of them.

"When all the pieces are in place, I assure you, I will let you know," he smiled, and gave them a cheery wave as he departed, muttering to himself.

"Do you think he's alright?" Hermione whispered to Severus. Within her mind, she heard his voice, sardonic and dry, Barmy old poof. Whatever it is, you can be guaranteed that Potter, the Chosen One, is at the heart of it.

More than Dumbledore's increasing vagueness, it bothered Severus that Hermione's curse scar had still not healed. Poppy had dealt with her fair share of curses and hexes. Severus had lost count of the times she'd treated his own hex- and curse-induced injuries, and he knew how quickly the mediwitch was at regenerating the tissue.

"It was a terrible curse, Severus," Poppy had told him, when he returned from seeing off his Slytherins for the year. "It's going to take days, perhaps weeks, before it's fully healed." She gave him a warning look. She quickly contained them both in a consultation shield, so that no one could hear their conversation.

"I don't presume to know what is going on with you and that girl, Severus, but I know you. I can't believe this is just some passing diversion, to be discarded when Albus next tells you to jump."

Severus hid his astonishment at Poppy's frankness and grew shuttered, his expression stony. "You are quite correct, Poppy. It is none of your concern." He softened slightly. "However, I can tell you confidentially that there is an 'understanding' between Miss Granger and me. That is all I will divulge. Suffice to say the Headmaster is aware of it, and is being kept abreast of the situation."

Madam Pomfrey huffed. "I don't care about that, you dozy prat! I want to make sure that she understands there's to be no fun and games until that curse scar heals. I know she's not sexually active." She gave him a stern look. "Yet."

"Nor will she be until she is of the age of consent, Poppy," Severus said, feeling as if he were sliding down into quicksand of his own making. "Nimue's nightgown, Poppy, I'm not a predator!" His jaw worked angrily. "I'm not Sirius Black," he muttered under his breath.

Poppy looked at him intently. "Ah, thus explaining the half-healed scratch marks on her back." Severus nodded.

"I was fortunate to stop him, but not before he clawed her. I healed the scratches as best I could, thinking we would return here and you could take care of her." He looked away, the hideous events of the battle playing in his mind. "The fates had other plans for us."

The two of them looked up as Minerva McGonagall entered the infirmary, and Madam Pomfrey immediately dropped the shield. "We'll continue this discussion at another time, Severus," she said, quietly, then marginally louder. "Hello, Minerva. I'll be right with you."

Poppy turned back to Severus. "Right, now, off with you! Minerva's here for her follow-up examination, and you need to start working on summer potions for me, young man. I've got a very large list," she said, almost smugly, and handed him a foot long parchment.

He sighed. "Why is it that the number of Healing Potions I am required to brew increases with every passing year since Mr. Potter and his little gang of Gryffindor miscreants arrived? If they don't hurry and leave school, I'm going to have to borrow a Time-Turner to get all this brewing done." He looked at Minerva pointedly as he spoke, and, with a nod to Poppy, left the two women.

"And what was that all about?" Minerva asked Poppy with a slight smile.

Poppy returned her smile with a shrug. "What is anything ever about with Severus?" She beckoned. "Come along. We'll take care of this matter with Miss Granger first. Then I want a good look at you, young lady." She was rewarded with a most un-Professor McGonagall-like tongue poked out in her general direction. Laughing, the two women walked over to Hogwarts' last patient of the Battle at the Department of Mysteries.

Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey approached Hermione, who was stretching, having finished her nap in Severus' arms. To Minerva, she looked a little stronger, more like her old, bossy self.

"Right, Miss Granger, why exactly did you wish to see me?" Professor McGonagall approached Hermione's bedside. "How are you feeling, dear?"

"I'm better. Thank you, Professor," Hermione said, biting her lower lip. She was not looking forward to this. "I wanted to ask you about my current state as regards to my age in the Wizarding world."

Puzzled, Professor McGonagall said, "I'm not sure I understand the question, dear?"

Hermione blushed. "Well, I would like to record my actual age on this date, and I'd like for you and Madam Pomfrey to be witnesses." She tried to sound calm, but in reality her heart was pounding. "I have to meet with my parents' wizarding lawyer at the end of the week, and I'd like to be able to show him that I'm an adult in the eyes of Muggle Britain, and therefore not to be considered as an orphan, or ward of the state."

Madam Pomfrey frowned. "I'm sorry, Miss Granger, but I'm afraid I'm still a bit in the dark. Why do you need me to tell you your actual age? Surely you know what day and year you were born! Only those who have meddled with time –" She turned and looked at Professor McGonagall chidingly. "So that's what Severus' little parting shot was about." She gave her friend a chastening look. "Really, Minerva? And I thought the Ravenclaws were the overachievers."

Professor McGonagall looked back at the mediwitch with blithe aplomb. "Miss Granger was a perfect candidate for the use of a Time-Turner, Poppy. And she returned it after her third year." She gave Hermione a little puzzled frown. "However, dear, I cannot imagine you added very much time to your life during the year you had access to it."

Hermione coloured slightly, as much as her damaged body would allow. "Professor, if I'm to be perfectly honest, I think I might have added a bit more than I originally led you to believe."

Intrigued, Madam Pomfrey looked from her patient to Professor McGonagall. "Hphm. All right. Let's see then." She made a complicated series of patterns in the air with her wand, and pointed it straight at Hermione's heart. "Sagacit teraevum!"

The three women watched as Madam Pomfrey's wand produced a spiraling, blue light. It danced against Hermione's chest, and then formed into a "0". The number changed, and the spell began counting, the numbers increasing rapidly, measuring the days of her life. The symbols increased so quickly, they looked like a blur against her chest.

As the numbers reached their final tally, they slowed down somewhat, until they reached: 6630.

Madam Pomfrey muttered, "Diesut Annus." The numbers quickly rearranged themselves, until the results appeared across Hermione's chest: 18Y1M4D10H34M38S. The last two numbers increased, one per second, as the older women looked at the moving symbols.

"Hmm. That's quite interesting, really," Hermione murmured, looking down at the numbers flashing over her chest. "I thought it was around a year and a half, and I was almost right." She smiled up at her Professor, as if she'd achieved a special goal.

Minerva McGonagall spluttered, "Eighteen years and one month? What is your actual date of birth, Miss Granger?"

Hermione gulped. "The Nineteenth of September, 1979." She almost laughed at Professor McGonagall's expression. Madam Pomfrey did a quick calculation, using her wand as a pen in the air.

"You added almost SIXTEEN MONTHS to your life?" Poppy Pomfrey squeaked. "Gods, girl, nothing is that interesting! You must have been bored out of your skull by the end of the year, repeating it so much."

In spite of all that had happened, Hermione was struck by the outlandish statement, and for the first time in days, she laughed, and then grimaced as the curse wound ached. Madam Pomfrey laughed with her, and Professor McGonagall left to issue the newly validated birth certificate, shaking her head. "Never again! I will never allow a student a Time-Turner!"

It was only after she left that Madam Pomfrey said, "Oh dear! The whole point of Minerva coming in today was to give her a follow-up examination." She fixed Hermione with a baleful eye. "No more surprises, young lady. I've got my hands full enough this summer as it is."

Hermione felt the slightly sick feeling, as always, as Severus Apparated, with her in tow, to a back lane around the corner from what had been her parents' house. While she struggled to keep down the meager contents of her stomach, Hermione mentally steeled herself for what she would see. The house she'd grown up in was nearby, and as Severus took her arm, they walked toward it.

Hermione tried not to buckle when she saw what was left. The roof had remained intact, but the rest of the Surrey home was a blackened shell. The local arson investigator, Martin Hugo, met them, his tone sympathetic and rather puzzled.

"I've never quite seen fire damage like it, miss," he said, shaking his head. "The blaze was quite localized, and burned itself out quickly." He gave her a kindly smile of sympathy. "Most likely, your parents succumbed to smoke inhalation, just as the intruder did." He watched as the young girl nodded, then looked up at the man with her.

The girl was a budding beauty, that's for sure, and it was just as obvious to the Muggle investigator that she was completely head over heels for the dark-haired man with her. They were both dressed in black; she in a black dress and low heels, he in a black suit so severely tailored he looked like a jaded, debauched priest.

To the outsider, they looked like polar opposites, extreme, yet perfectly suited for one another. The man was just as darkly stern as she was brightly pretty, and as dour as she was lush, but together they formed a symmetry that was oddly pleasing, like a balance of two aspects of a single personality. Oh, no doubt, they were together; it was written all over them.

The investigator cleared his throat. "Ah, well, I'll just let you have a look around. The main damage inside is from the hoses, and the upper floor has been declared safe for inspection as well." He tipped his hat. "Please give me a shout if you need anything." The young woman looked up at her escort, who nodded, and assisted her into her former home.

As Hermione walked through her parents' ruined house, she forced herself to concentrate on what was salvageable. She would not think of her parents now. When she and Severus returned, she would hide away in the dark recesses of Hogwarts, taking herself off alone, and give vent to her grief. She would be strong until then. She did not wish Severus to see her as a weeping, helpless girl, but at that moment, that was exactly how she felt - pathetic, clingy little girl, wanting her mother. Hermione sniffed, and squared her shoulders. She would face this with the dignity her parents deserved.

She had made a very big deal about her technical age so she would not have to go through the trauma of being declared a minor and taken into care. She had to act her age now, or be forever seen as a child, masquerading as a woman.

Severus followed her dutifully through the smoke-blackened rooms. Almost to a fault, Hermione was meticulous and thoughtful, but kept little. When she found an item she wished to keep, she silently handed it Severus, who shrank it down, and placed it in a little box in his pocket.

Going through most of the house had been difficult enough for Hermione, and she forced herself to be very restrained regarding the things she decided to take. Her room was mostly filled with books and old toys; she picked out the volumes most dear to her, and when Severus gave her an admonishing look, she sheepishly swept them all up, shrank them, and added them to Severus' little box.

"I have the same love of my books, Hermione. I would not have you leave any behind."

"They're water and smoke damaged –"

He smirked, and rolled his eyes. "Remember who and what you are, witch. I can help with the charms to restore them, if you like."

It was when she entered her parents' bedroom that the tears she had been fighting finally escaped. Her mother and father, passionate beings that they were, kept this room strictly off limits. To be in here, in their private inner sanctum, unbidden, made their deaths final. She turned and looked at Severus, her face a mask of pain.

He stood a little removed from her, as if a bit uncomfortable to be alone with her in a bedroom, albeit one that was exposed to the elements from the broken windows. In the grey day, against a backdrop of smoke-blackened walls, waterlogged furniture and the acrid smell of smoke and ash, he looked every inch the dark sorcerer he was. Pale and austere, his arms crossed in front of him, he surveyed everything with an unreadable look, his features bland and immobile.

He turned at that moment, and looked at her, and something in her face must have stirred him, for he walked toward her, and put his hands on her shoulders. "Hermione? Are you feeling unwell? You are extremely pale."

She shook her head, and attempted a smile. "No, I feel alright, considering. To be honest, I'm getting a little overwhelmed." She looked around, her eyes exhausted. "I don't know what I was expecting to find here, but it's almost too perfect. I was thinking it would be..." she trailed off, shrugging.

Severus understood exactly what she was thinking. The fire had been set as a diversion. The Grangers were long dead before the fire, and it had only burned briefly before Sutton's fire service showed up. If the house had been ruined beyond recognition, it would almost be easier to bear.

"Hermione, we can return on another day. I feared you were pushing yourself. It is too soon for you."

Hermione smiled up at her wizard. His trademark scowl was in place, but she could see the concern and the love behind it now. It was strange; it had been there for a long time, but she noticed it automatically now. Perhaps it was their blood oaths, perhaps it was her close brush with death, but he was like an open book to her.

She looked around, and soon found the one thing she knew she must remove from this room. In a small, locked box, she found her mother's private 'literature'. She did not want strangers pawing through her parents' belongings and giving food to the gossipmongers. There was a brief bittersweet ache in her heart as she recalled her last holiday here, giggling with her mother over her euphemistically entitled, 'special box of muckies'.

Although Severus had no idea what the box held, Hermione's face was flaming as she shrank the box and handed it silently to him. He took it without comment, but quirked an expressive eyebrow at her obvious discomfiture. Hermione also found her mother's jewelry case, and took those personal effects, along with the fire-proof box containing their important documents. All went into the little box in Severus' pocket.

She went from room to room, a silent little waif, Severus in tow. It was beyond sad, seeing the remains of her family, her life. She took surprisingly little; only her parents' belongings, the photos, the seemingly trivial little gifts, and her books. Those were the only things she wanted to take from this house.

"That's the lot," she said, when they'd gone through each room, and taken what Hermione wanted. "The rest can go to the charity shops." She looked around, and Severus was dismayed at the bitter edge to her expression. So little to take, so little left of two lives, all shrunk down and stored in a little box in his pocket. What would be left of him, in the end, worth keeping? Would Hermione wish to keep them, tucked away in a little corner of her heart?

Hermione stopped in the front room, and picked up an object on a table. It was a small vase, of no particular aesthetic or monetary value; it was neither pleasing nor offending. It was merely a vase, and Hermione studied it carefully for a long time. Just as Severus opened his mouth to ask her if she wanted to take it, she suddenly turned away from him and, grunting with the effort, threw it with all her might at the fireplace, where it exploded with a crystalline smash that was strangely satisfying.

"Hermione?" he asked, just as she whirled and grabbed another unremarkable knick-knack and sent it to join the first against the marble fireplace. She grabbed another, and another, until she was red-faced, reaching for anything to throw, to destroy, throwing her body into it with a straining cry as each hurled object flew to its end. Severus allowed her the release, until he saw her face turn a sickly pale, and she reeled. Cursing himself for allowing her outburst to go too far, Severus caught her in his arms, and she grabbed his shoulders, as if to both pull him into her arms, and push him away.

"Such a fucking waste!" she screamed, and her voice echoed off the damaged walls. "Why didn't I think to protect them better? Why did I believe Dumbledore when he said that they were safe here?" She looked at Severus for a moment, shaking her head. She gritted her teeth, and held onto him; his own fingers bit into her shoulders and pulled her against him, giving her an edge of pain that would allow her emotions to give full sway to their outlet.

"I can't help it – I'm so damned ANGRY!" she cried, her voice sounding muffled and harsh against his coat. "I hate the Dark Lord for killing them! I hate him for what he's made you do, and what he's done to me!"

She looked up at Severus, a mixture of grief and incredulity on her face. "And in the middle of all of that, I have to be grateful to him – I have to thank him as well!"

Severus looked down at the young witch, alarmed at her words. "Hermione, lass, what are you talking about? You don't know what you are saying!" He looked into her mind, frantically urging her to calm, but her barriers were fully occluded and chaotic.

She was shaking her head, and she laughed shakily. "It's true, Severus. Had it not been for him, I wouldn't have you."

She looked up into his shocked face. She shook her head. "You would never have given me a second thought, had it not been for Sirius, or that night in Grimmauld." Her amber eyes blazed into his. "You would still think of me as the irritating little know-it-all who pissed you off in class, the ugly little swot with buck teeth!"

"You wouldn't have fallen in love with me, if not for that inhuman monster." She shook her head, tears filling her eyes. "I hate him for taking away my childhood, but I have to thank him - for you!"

Severus took her in his arms, and captured her face in his hands. "Never thank him, Hermione! He's done nothing! You must listen to me!"

She looked up at him, her face full of misery. He pulled her close, so that his lips were close to her ear. "You said yourself we were meant to be, from the beginning of time. That it was our destiny to come together. I believe this, Hermione. Even if there had been no Dark Lord, no Dumbledore, no Sirius Black, no Harry Potter, I do believe we would have found each other. I believe love would have found a way."

She watched him closely, and he opened his mind to her, to show her his true feelings. "I would never have said that to another living soul. Not before you. Not even to Lily. I would never have had the courage." He took her head in his hands and kissed her. It was a warm, soulful, healing kiss, and it healed him as well. "You have made me believe that I actually understand love, witch. Only you."

As they stood together, in the ruined shell of her father's house, Hermione rose on tiptoe, and caught Severus' mouth with hers, and returned his kiss, his healing. He held her, and closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were blank with fear and dread. "I believe there is a day of reckoning coming, Hermione. I believe we will wade in blood before this is over. I do not know who will win. I hope it is the light."

For a moment, he looked like the little, lost boy Hermione was sure he'd been. His voice was tender and fervent. "I've fought so long, and I'm weary of fighting. But I can keep fighting."

He trembled in her arms. "I will fight for the light to win. I cannot promise we will win, but I will promise you this: whatever happens, I will never forsake you."

Tears fell from her eyes. One splashed on her hand, and he regarded it for a moment, then leaned down, and kissed it from her skin. When he looked up again, tears were clouding his own eyes, like rain on smooth stones. "You stood in front of me. You took a curse for me; a curse that could have been my death. You risked death for me, Hermione. No one has ever done that before."

His onyx eyes blazed brightly, intense with power and promise. "I do not know what the future will hold, but my back will be against yours, and my wand will defend you to my death. Because I love you."

For a long time, the two of them held each other, and wept for all they had lost separately, for all they had gained together. There was a feeling, like a bubble building in Severus' chest; it threatened to burst and render him helpless in her arms. He held her as she sighed, and pressed closer against his Muggle suit.

"Come, lass. There's nothing here for you now."

Hermione nodded, and stepped back, taking a shaking breath. She looked up into his face. In the natural light, she would admit, he was not a handsome man. His nose was too large, his skin too pale, his scowl too fierce. But he had beautiful, liquid black eyes, and silky, expressive brows that were arched and delicate. His teeth were crooked, but his lips, when not pressed together in anger or twisted in a derisory sneer, were softly sculpted.

He was ever a study in contrasts: blue-black hair and pale skin, dark and light, cunning and incorruptibility, discipline and tenderness. Severus Snape did nothing by half-measures; he was the genuine article. As Hermione stood in the remains of her Muggle life, something about his harsh countenance soothed and awed her, and gave her the feeling of being in exactly the right place.

When he reached to stroke her cheek with the back of his pale hand, she met his gaze with a renewed strength. Severus, looking down at his witch, knew that the bubble in his chest was the complete, indubitable realisation that he was the source of that strength. It was another burden he knew he must carry, and he shouldered it with gratitude and pride.

His gaze softened, his lips relaxed from their thin, repressed line, and his expression changed; it became sure, more tender. Hermione gasped, looking up into his face. "You know, you are a beautiful man, Severus Snape." She placed her tiny hands on either side of his face. "I think you are most beautiful man I've ever known."

For a moment, he looked down at her, and the cautious hope and desire to believe made him even more alluring. Then, something of the old mask slipped back, and the trademark smirk twisted his lips. "I can only ascertain that you are suffering from post-traumatic delirium, my pet," he replied, dryly. He offered his arm. "When you feel you can, we will leave this place."

The spell Sagacit teraevum comes from the Latin sagaciter aevum, accurate age.

Title and Opening Lines are from "My Dear Someone", by Gillian Welch and Dave Rawlings.