Twenty Seven: The Cost of Living

Please note that this chapter contains scenes of death and explicit sexual content.

No more drowning in my sorrow, no more drowning in my fright, I'd just ride on the backs of the angels tonight.

Hermione was determined that Christmas would be special for them. After all, it was their first as a married couple – the first of many, she fiercely told herself, over and over. She owed it to her friends, who thought she was the enemy. She owed it to her parents, killed by this madman, and she owed it to her husband, whom she loved more with every passing day. Mostly, she thought, she owed it to herself to survive, and find a way to prove their actions were done toward the aim of defeating the Dark Lord. She only prayed that, when the time came, she could somehow make Harry and Ron understand. As much as she told herself she could do it, the actual idea of how to make them see the truth still eluded her.

At times, she would think over the past twelve months and shake her head, wondering how it was that two people could experience so much in one year's time and not snap under the strain. When she thought of how Severus had spent the last twenty years bending, testing the very breaking point of his sanity and nerve, she would make sure she held him extra close during the night, and make love to him all the more tenderly the next day.

Severus watched in bemusement as she decorated the modest tree, insisting on placing the lights and baubles herself, eschewing the use of any magical means of embellishment. She stepped back, and Severus cast the spell needed to make the fairy lights work in the non-electrical house. He placed her mother's lovely angel at the top-most branches. She baked cookies and they listened to carols. At night, he held her as they both gazed at the flickering lights and reflected prisms of light like two awestruck children. It felt bittersweet to Severus that they were alone; he wanted her to be surrounded by friends and family. Hermione vowed she would show no tears to Severus; she had to be strong for him, now.

He Apparated her to a part of Muggle Canterbury that she had often visited with her parents, and they spent a happy hour Christmas shopping, their eyes always darting around in case of recognition. They wrapped their modest presents, and drank their favourite Muggle wine, Old Git, and listened to Christmas carols on the Muggle radio. Hermione was afraid of what they might hear on the Wizarding wireless. They forced themselves to avoid bad news; they knew they would be innundated with it soon enough. Already there were attacks on Muggles, and signs of growing unrest and pointless raids by the more jaded Death Eaters. A professor from Hogwarts had disappeared shortly after her article condemning Muggle-bashing was printed in the Daily Prophet.

And so on Christmas Eve, they sat on the sagging sofa, sipping wine, staring at the tree and listening to Radio 4. They nibbled on 'Christmas food' all day; Hermione had made enough to feed an army. They sat, laid-back and stuffed, listening to choirs softly heralding the coming of the Christ child.

Hermione raised her glass. "To our first Christmas. Our first of many." Severus clinked his glass with hers, and they both drank quietly. For a moment, the only sounds were the music and the soft crackle of the fire in the small grate.

At length, he said, "I wanted more for you, you know."

Hermione turned to look at him. "What do you mean, love?" In the glow of the tree lights, Severus' angular profile looked softer, younger. Hermione's heart swelled; she did not think it possible to love her stern, dour husband more than she did at that moment.

He shifted, and kept his eyes on the tree. Finally, he spoke. "You should be in a lovely house, with a huge tree covered in lights and baubles. There should be mountains of presents just for you, and the sound of laughter and friendship throughout the house." He turned to her. "You were meant to be the hostess of a manor, gracious and lovely, welcoming dozens of friends to your home." He looked away. "I have never been able to give you what you truly deserve." His eyes gleamed in the light of the Christmas tree. "And even if we live through this thrice-damned war, I never will be."

Hermione, troubled, turned to him and pressed against his chest. "That's not true, Severus-"

He turned his dark eyes to hers, and his sadness made her chest ache. "I didn't even properly propose to you. You had to take the initiative. You have always taken the lead, and I have had to follow."

Hermione gasped. "Severus, I have never wanted you to feel as if I were just another set of orders you had to obey."

He looked at her blankly, then sighed, and drew her closer. "I didn't mean that! Damn my stupid runaway mouth." He kissed her hair, and pressed her to his chest. "I just meant that you have always been there, since that night at Grimmauld Place, caring for me, defending me, protecting me. I have never known anyone, anyone at all like you, wife." He said this with wonder, as if the thought had only occurred to him.

"Until you, Hermione, I truly felt that my life was pointless. Each wrong turn in the road; each stupid, badly informed decision – I blamed it on fate, on destiny – on Lily. I took no responsibility for them. Even when I first became aware of you and how Black was treating you, I told myself it was really none of my business – that you were just a biological goad of my self-enforced celibacy, and that you meant nothing more to me."

His voice was bleak. "Then you found me wallowing in my own filth in Grimmauld; your greasy, obnoxious professor, the hated bat of the dungeons, reduced to a crawling worm on the floor." He paused and closed his eyes. When he spoke, his lovely voice trembled with emotion. "That night, you were an angel, and suddenly I wanted your kindness and your sweet generosity all for myself, like a selfish child clutching a coveted toy. Even as I tried to push you away or remind you of our real relationship, I wanted it all."

He looked down at her, and tipped her face up to his with a single long finger under her chin. He planted a soft, sensuous kiss on her little heart-shaped mouth. "You have been my hiding place, and my rock. One day, I'm going to do it all properly. I'm going to bend the knee, and place the engagement ring on your finger, and I'm going to dance with you at the ball, and I'm going to stand with you in front of your friends and declare you my precious wife, and the mother of my children."

To his surprise, his young bride flung her arms around him, and covered his face with kisses. She pulled back just enough to stroke his hair from his eyes. "You do know that it's enough just to know you want those things, don't you?"

He pulled her close, wanting the knot of fear to loosen, so that he could find some pleasure in her contentment. It seemed the least he should be able to do, but deep down, he felt the unmistakable certainty that those things would never happen for them.

Perhaps it was enough just to want those things.

Christmas morning was ushered in with a few presents, some nice wine and a light dusting of snow. They walked through the tired lanes of Spinner's End anonymously, holding hands and talking like lovers do. To any bystander or passing figure, they looked like a typical English couple in a depressed area; drab and simple, unremarkable and quiet. Only the most observant would note the closeness of their bodies, the way their hands clasped, as if afraid to be separated by the very air.

At times the young woman would laugh silently, as if thinking of a joke, and the lean, saturnine man would smile in response, but they never spoke. They walked, two quiet figures in the barren landscape of Industrial England, hiding away for as long as they were able.

On New Year's Eve, Severus felt a strange tingle, like an itching under his skin. To his amazement, he realised it was his Dark Mark. After twenty years of searing pain when it flared to life, the magic of his and Hermione's love had reduced the discomfort of the Mark down to the equivalent of the sensation one feels when a limb has gone to sleep.

As they remarked upon the change, a silvery-white peacock shimmered into the room, and Severus caught Hermione's eye when the strained voice of Lucius Malfoy issued from the proud bird's throat. "Severus, this is a very important meeting. It will be at Malfoy Manor. Please bring your..." Severus bristled as he could see the bird all but sneer. "...wife with you. I would caution you not to be late. There will be... entertainment to follow."

The Patronus faded, and Severus and Hermione glanced at one another uneasily. Whatever it was, it was serious enough to send Lucius Malfoy like a common minion to summon them.

As they walked into Malfoy Manor, Hermione could feel Severus' mind brush against hers, like a physical thing. Give nothing away, Hermione. Occlude your mind, except for that which I place within it. If you show him too much, or not enough, he will become suspicious.

I'll try, she promised, holding her head high. She was walking into the belly of the beast, and she was afraid for her life, but more than that, she was afraid of what she might unwittingly reveal. I have faced him before, she told herself. I will face him again. This is just another night. You must be strong for your husband. Nothing that happens will be worth jeopardising this.

The same blond Death Eater who had accompanied the Carrows the night they invaded Hogwarts met them at the gates of the Manor. "The Dark Lord is expecting you."

"Obviously. He summoned us. Ergo, he's expecting us," Severus replied, witheringly. The blond sneered at Severus with obvious dislike, but held his tongue. He eyed Hermione curiously as he followed them into the large dining room, where sat the assembled Death Eaters, camp followers and general hangers-on – and Lord Voldemort.

"Ah, Severus, we were about to start without you," the Dark Lord said, almost coyly. "And Mrs. Snape. So kind of you to join our little meeting."

Hermione dropped to her knees and kissed his robe, with what sounded like a breathless, happy sigh. With humble dignity, she said quietly, "My Lord, thank you for the honour of inviting me."

Voldemort touched her face. Inwardly, Hermione wanted to vomit. His hand felt clammy and cold to the touch. Then she looked up into his slitted eyes, and she realised with a jolt that her experience Between had given her new eyes to see. She thought of her own soul, divided, and how traumatising it had been. How could he function, with so little of his soul left as to render him almost inhuman?

"I trust you are fully recovered from your recent ordeals?" the Dark Lord said, his eyes gleaming in the light. Hermione lowered her eyes, and glanced at Severus, who touched her elbow supportively.

"I am, My Lord. It is most kind of you to ask." She looked up at him, allowing him a flash of a memory of a wet bathroom floor, and the infirmary. She also briefly flashed the thought of Dumbledore, and the anger and loathing she had felt at the time, along with sexual arousal toward her husband. She could actually feel his Leglimency scoop up these images, like a prospector panning gold.

"That is excellent news. We shall need you fit and well for the continued school year."

Hermione and Severus merely bowed at this cryptic statement, and Hermione took the chair Severus offered and somehow felt a little safer once he'd assumed his seat beside her.

Once she and Severus had taken their places at the massive table, Hermione ventured a look around. All three Malfoys were present, as was Bellatrix Lestrange and her husband and his brother. Several men whom she didn't recognise were also there, and the Dark Lord himself presided with a smile of unholy glee.

"My friends, we are in the presence of the witch who overcame and destroyed the great Albus Dumbledore," the Dark Lord hissed, and Hermione kept her face impassive as everyone turned and looked at her. She smiled at Voldemort and bowed to him, keeping her attention on his face.

"Perhaps you could regale us with the fine tale, if time permits," he said, his reptilian eyes sweeping the room, finally resting on the Malfoys. "There are those who worship me with their promises or their fear, and those who worship me with their actions. Is this not true, Lucius?"

Hermione stole a glance at Lucius Malfoy. He was not the same man who had arrogantly stalked through the Department of Mysteries. A year in Azkaban had changed him terribly, and he made a little stiff bow at the table. "My family and I have always strived for your glory, My Lord."

The Dark Lord watched his former lieutenant carefully. "A safe answer, my friend."

"It is a true answer, my Lord," Lucius said, a note of unease creeping into his cultured tones. Upon closer inspection, Hermione noted that his fingers, resting lightly on the table, trembled slightly; the nails were broken. In the harsh light of the hall, he looked rather indifferently groomed. His hair looked dull, his face patchily shaved. Lucius was no longer the smug lord of the manor. He looked like a man terrified of losing his world. Hermione did not think it possible to feel pity for the man, but she knew she was close.

It certainly gave her no pleasure hearing the Dark Lord needle him so insidiously, while others scoffed and tittered.

As the meeting quieted down, the Dark Lord rose. "My friends, this is not an evening for self-congratulating and posturing. We have struck the weakening blow, but now we have a world to run. Our infiltration of the Ministry is almost complete, and once this has been done, the world must be made to understand that we are rulers now." He stretched out his arms in an obscene parody of blessing, his hideous smile reaching to the back of the room. "The gods have returned."

For the better part of two hours, there was discussion of the Ministry, and how it would be changed. Hermione was rather surprised at how mundane it all sounded, and wondered if similar conversations took place in the cabinets of newly-elected officials taking over from old regimes.

The talk turned, as she knew it inevitably would, to Harry. Severus began, "When we left Potter at Hogwarts, he was alone, isolated. Now that Dumbledore is... gone, he will be relying more and more on his so-called friends to help him, especially now, while he is still underage. My wife," he glanced at Hermione with a thin veneer of ownership in his voice, "was the true intellect behind all of Potter's escapades. He will be useless without her."

He turned back to the Dark Lord, praying he was not inadvertently speaking the truth. "My sources tell me that the blood traitor Weasley's family is planning a wedding during the latter part of the holidays, in late January. I know that Potter will be there. Might I suggest that we reconvene in a few days' time to discuss the best way to infiltrate this gathering? By then, the Ministry will be yours, and the wards for the secret-kept location of the wedding will fall." There were murmurs of ascent and rumbles from all corners.

After some further commonplace discussion, Hermione breathed a sigh when Voldemort agreed to meet later to plan an attack. Severus had been hoping they could buy time.

The Dark Lord held up his hand. "And when the dust settles, where do we begin? Quite simply, my friends, we begin with our future. Our dear, precious children." The last four words were spoken with such obscene benevolence Hermione felt her gorge rise, and it was all she could do to remain sitting there by her husband's side, hearing this monster talk so blithely of precious children, like they were courses on some hellish banquet.

"Hogwarts," he was saying, "must have strong leadership. I propose that our own dear Severus-" he turned toward him, "take over the position of Headmaster of our glorious school. Who better to herald the new dawn of our wizarding educational system?"

Hermione sat still as stone, and she could feel the waves of revulsion within Severus, who stood up with a smile. "You have given me honour beyond measure, my Lord. If this is your wish, I will gladly assume the post." He preened and looked around with a satisfied gleam in his eye, but Hermione heard him. Oh, gods, lass, it's begun. Help me to be strong!

She smiled at him, the very picture of the proud wife. I am with you, Husband, Hermione replied, and their voices were strong and sure within. Say those things he needs to hear, and we can plan-

"And to help you, Headmaster Snape," Voldemort said, with a smile, "I propose you add two new educators to the list. Our own Alecto and Amycus Carrow."

Severus felt his gut roil sickeningly. I'll bet you didn't forsee that little double-cross, did you, Albus? Those two inbreds will turn the school into a slaughterhouse. They're sadistic and stupid and more than a little incestuous, and I'll spend more time trying to prevent them hurting students than trying to keep the real faculty from hexing me.

"And what subjects will they be teaching, My Lord? I did not realise Alecto and Amycus were of an educational bent." There were several sniggers in the room, not least from the Carrows themselves. Amycus rose to his feet, puffed up with overblown self importance. His lumpy, unpleasant resemblance to Dolores Umbridge was only surpassed by that of his equally lumpy and unpleasant sister. They both looked untidy, a trifle dirty. And this was the Pureblood Master Race, thought Hermione with contempt. It took a silent reminder from Severus to keep her from sneering at them.

When Amycus spoke it was with a gutteral South London accent. "I will be assuming your old position, Snape, as Defense Against the Dark Arts - or as they will be now called, Dark Arts Studies. I mean, what are we defending, ay? This is about teaching Pureblood power and might and how to use it!" He punched the air like a Quidditch fan, and several Death Eaters made similar noises, as if it were all a big joke to them.

Carrow's sister Alecto stood by her brother. They made an ugly, unpleasant team; to Hermione, they looked like two overgrown garden gnomes, all misshapen heads and arrogance. "And seeing as the position is going spare, I will be taking over as Professor of Muggle Studies." She said the word 'Muggle' with the same inflection as 'Mouseshit'. Amid the catcalls and hoots, Hermione felt her mouth go dry.

"I am assuming then, that Professor Burbage was asked to retire after last week's rather biased article in the Daily Prophet?" Severus asked, sounding anything but interested. Suddenly Hermione felt very exposed. She could see where this was leading. Charity Burbage had disappeared unexpectedly shortly after the article appeared in the Prophet, Hermione had the sickening sensation of being a very insignificant bug under a very large microscope. She kept her eyes cast slightly down, unwilling to call attention to herself.

"Yes, indeed," the Dark Lord hissed, smiling hellishly. "Mrs. Snape, both you and Draco have attended her classes in the past, yes?"

Answer carefully, pet.

Looking into the Dark Lord's eyes, Hermione made a little formal bow. "I have attended her classes, sir. I found her postulations to be refreshingly... naive."

"Really, Mrs. Snape? In what way?"

Hermione looked at the Dark Lord carefully. With a mixture of humility and contrition, she said, "I am well aware of what I am, My Lord. And while I understand my place, I often felt that her attitudes toward Muggle equality gave Muggle-borns a false sense of how they are fit into Wizarding society, and how they can best be of use to Wizarding Britain."

Bellatrix Lestrange hissed, "Fertililser." Several Death Eaters laughed, and Hermione lowered her head. Severus remembered his thoughts on what seemed a lifetime ago, when she first insulted Hermione to his face. You'll be the fertiliser, Bella, and Hermione and I will be dancing on your bones.

Hermione said, "With all due respect to Mrs. Lestrange, Muggle-borns are the servants of the Dark Lord. We can be used to stabilise the country once you have come into your power, My Lord. We can be the bridge between the Wizarding and Muggle worlds."

"And why do we need that, little girl?" Bellatrix spat, her contempt for Hermione open and fearless. "We are the gods here. We have no need of Mudblood diplomacy!"

"If you wish to conquer the world, my dear Bella, you must be prepared to conquer all of it." Voldemort gazed upon Bellatrix, his eyes full of reproach. "And witches in glass houses shouldn't throw breaking hexes. Your own dear sister Andromeda married a Muggle, did she not? And her daughter, your niece Nymphadora, is now married to the werewolf. Your own closet has its fair share of skeletons, my dear."

A look of fear graced Bellatrix's face. Her eyes narrowed. "Not for long, my Lord. I swear it!"

As Bellatrix spoke, Hermione became aware of Draco glancing upward from time to time. She caught his eye and lifted an eyebrow, but his eyes grew large and he looked away. A drop of water fell just below Hermione's right eye, causing her to make a startled noise of surprise. She automatically brushed it away with her knuckle, and then looked at her hand in horror. It wasn't water; it was a bright red smear of fresh blood.

Hermione shot a glance up at the ceiling, but it was enshrouded in darkness. Another drop of blood landed on the polished surface of the table with a sickening splatting sound. Frozen in fear, Hermione could only stare at it, as the Dark Lord spoke. "Wormtail, did I not tell you to make sure our entertainment for the evening remained a surprise? I'm afraid you've gone and spoiled it."

"I'm sorry, sir!" Wormtail, Peter Pettigrew, scuttled from an alcove behind Hermione and Severus, and offered Hermione a handkerchief.

"Thank you, I'm fine," she said, and cleared her throat. She sounded suddenly hoarse.

"Ah, well, no matter," Voldemort said, and looked at Hermione keenly. "We had all but wrapped up our little meeting anyway, and Nagini is hungry."

A movement overhead caught Hermione's eye, but before she could look up, something astonishing happened. She actually felt and saw Severus enter her mind. "Don't look at me, Hermione," he said, and it was as if he was there, behind her eyes, and they were both looking out of the window of her mind together. "Don't look up, and don't panic. You are going to see death tonight. You must not panic."

It was the most incredible feeling. It was as if she had taken Patafamenserum again. He was standing in her mind, and it was as if they were looking from the bridge of a ship out onto reality. Nonplussed, Hermione stammered, "How – what -" From within, she could speak to him, while her body sat quietly looking on. "How are we doing this-"

Within Hermione's mind, Severus took her hand, and it was as real as if he'd reached across the table and took it. She risked at glance at him; he was sitting impassively at Voldemort's table as before, looking faintly bored. He returned her look with indifferent eyes, and yet within, she could feel him, his voice tinged with something this side of alarm. "It doesn't matter right now. We can talk about it later. What I need you to do now is remain calm. Don't panic," he instructed her again. "If you do, it could mean your death. Don't look. I am with you."

Within her mind, Hermione saw him calmly step in front of her, pulling her behind his body, as if shielding and protecting her. She realised that he was literally providing another level of Occlusion, so that the Dark Lord could not catch her out when – when whatever was happening above her played out to its hideous conclusion. In that moment, Hermione knew that the only thing stronger than her gut-clenching fear was Severus' desperate need for her to hide it.

A figure descended from the darkness overhead, slowly revolving around, held upside down by a spell that suspended it with invisible ropes. With a flick of Voldemort's wand, the figure regained consciousness and started to moan.

Hermione could not prevent herself from looking, and her gasp of horror was met with derisory laughter. Her body flushed with the shock of what she saw, and it was only Severus' urgent entreaty to remain still that prevented Hermione from jumping to her feet and bolting from the room.

Hermione found herself staring directly into the face of Charity Burbage, one of her favourite Hogwarts professors. She swung like an animal trussed and prepared for slaughter, and her face was beaten almost beyond recognition. Hermione fought the rising scream that felt lodged in her throat, unable to quell the sick feeling of adrenaline coursing painfully against the inside of her skin. Her heart was pounding so hard she was sure everyone could hear it; it actually hurt her chest, and for a moment she thought she might be sick.

Even as she tried to calm herself, Severus mentally wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly. "Do not address her, Hermione. I know it is against everything you feel led to do, but your reaction could mean our very meaningless deaths. Pretend you don't know her. Do this for me, my good little girl. Be my good, good girl," he soothed, but Hermione could hear the frantic desperation in his voice.

Severus hated himself at that moment more than he could ever remember. He was using his own ability to manipulate Hermione's feelings, but he knew he was right. If she betrayed them here, they would die the same senseless, brutal death as Charity was facing. He could not let that happen. As much as it tore his heart out to abandon Charity in her hour of need, he knew he must. Anything; he must do anything, say anything to save his wife.

As she slowly revolved, Charity spotted him. "Severus? Oh, dear gods, Severus, is that you? Please, please help me!" Her voice was pitiful. Nothing, he said to himself, and by proxy to Hermione. I feel nothing. I don't know her. I don't know you, Charity. Oh, gods, I'm sorry, but I don't know you!

"Hermione Granger? What are you doing here? Oh, Hermione, tell them to stop! Tell them I'm no threat to anyone! If you have any compassion, please tell them to stop! Please tell them to stop hurting me!" Professor Burbage screamed, and Hermione merely looked at Severus, and kept her face stonily resolute. I will mourn you, Professor. But I have to leave here alive, and I'm not going to make a foolish, impotent gesture now. I can't. Nothing will save you. I have to live. I'm sorry. I pray you will understand.

And Professor Burbage kept crying and screaming. Her pleas for mercy slowly turning into recrimination. "How can you live with yourself, Severus?" She looked at Hermione. "You can't leave me here like this? What kind of person are you? How can you live with yourself?"

And then to condemnation. She looked at the grim, pitiless faces. "How can you let an innocent woman be tortured, damn you? How can you sit there? All of you? How can you face this monster - "

"Avada Kedavra!"

The body landed on the table with the crashing force of a fallen angel, frightening Draco so much he actually fell out of his chair with an undignified squawk. Hermione sat quietly, her eyes glued on the still body. The room was so still Hermione fancied she could actually hear Professor Burbage's soul rising out of her body. The unnatural quiet was finally broken, and several besides Hermione jumped, glad to be free of this strange spell of death.

"Nagini. Dinner." The Dark Lord's voice cut through the stillness. His voice was light and lilting, the same way Hermione called Crookshanks for his evening meal.

"You did wonderfully, my love." Severus moved out of her mind and back into his own. She could still hear him, but she was now free to move herself. She felt suddenly bereft, as if the floor had been dropped from her, and Severus sensed it. I'm here. I'm here. Hermione...

After this, there was the most cursory of discussions on how the Ministry would be infiltrated, and the best way to ambush the Weasley wedding, where Potter would be the most vulnerable, and when and if they should postpone the opening of Hogwarts. Hermione barely heard them. She made herself watch the hideous progression of Nagini, Voldemort's familiar, as it devoured her Professor of Muggle Studies.

Charity Burbage was a sweet, smiling woman who had always encouraged Hermione, had always tried to make her feel at home in the Wizarding world, had always greeted her with affection and kindness. And Hermione had looked through her as though she was a stranger, in order to live. She knew she had done the only thing that she could, but it hurt more than anything she had done; yes, even surpassing the beating her soul had taken for killing Dumbledore.

And so she watched the giant snake open its massive jaws and swallow Charity Burbage until she was nothing more than a huge bulge in the snake's swollen body. It was the penance, the payment required to be allowed to walk out of this hell and smell the sweet, free air of life again. Hermione knew she would take it gladly to be able to leave this room with Severus, so that she could one day avenge this innocent witch's horrible, humiliating death. But she would watch it again for a long time to come, she thought, in her dreams.

Finally, after an eternity, the meeting ended, with the promises of 'refreshment and entertainments to usher in the new year'. Severus, using Hermione's still recovering health as an excuse to eschew the revel to come, was allowed to escort her away from the manor before the more twisted of the evening's festivities had begun. Severus honestly thought he couldn't take much more, and he knew for a fact Hermione most certainly could not.

They walked quietly from the manor to the Apparation point, hand in hand. To the outsider, they were silent, still. In reality, Severus was pouring comfort into his wife through their link, and she was trying her best to find the strength to tamp down the hysteria that impatiently threatened her tight hold on her self-control.

I'm so sorry, Hermione. You should never have to see these things. She nodded. She could feel his thoughts without effort. He was sick with the horrible feeling of guilt; he was weak with the relief that it wasn't her, spinning like some twisted party game, to be worried and pummeled until it spilled its secrets on the mirror-shined surface of the dining table.

She thought about herself. She had just watched an innocent woman die, and stood there like a statue, hearing her kind, sweet-natured Muggle Studies professor beg her for a rescue she could not provide. Hermione knew this would haunt her for the rest of her life; knowing that Charity Burbage died thinking she was a cold-hearted bitch who didn't care.

"She didn't think that, lass."

Hermione looked up at him, but he merely tugged her hand and kept moving. "I was able to Legilimise into her mind. She knew what you were doing."

She felt something under her ribcage loosen. "Are you sure?"

He looked at her, willing her to believe him. "As sure as I am able to be, love. What you must not do is condemn yourself. You did what you had to do to survive. I know it is an abomination to even think these things. I know it goes against everything you know or believe. It is a hollow victory, but it is a victory. We have lived to walk away. We have lived to hold one another one more day."

She thought of what he said, and took a great lungful of air. The night was cold, but the aroma of woodsmoke and frost stung her nostrils and smelled unbearably sweet. She felt Severus' hand in hers, and she was suddenly, inexplicably filled with a relief so sharp and powerful it felt like she'd been punched in the chest. Her body was suffused with another sudden intense burst of adrenaline that almost buckled her knees. From panic and horror, it quickly morphed into arousal so acute it felt like a cramp in her womb, and she looked up at him, bewildered. When Severus put his arms around her to Apparate, she whimpered and rubbed shamelessly against him. He looked down at her with the same stark, bleak want in his dark eyes and nodded, pulling her close.

Guiltily, she moaned, "Severus, I need – "

"I understand, my darling girl. It has happened to me before. I'll take you there, I promise."

The moment they entered Spinner's End, he put his fingers to her lips, as if silently entreating her not to speak. She replied by pressing her warm lips against his cool hand, her eyes locked on his, and it broke his control like a fever. Their mouths met, crashing hard against one another, and Severus tasted blood in his mouth. It only inflamed his passion, and soon they were tearing at one another's clothes, breathing hard.

He pushed her against the wall, knocking her head carelessly, his mouth plunging hungrily into hers with frenetic, driven, shame-filled kisses, even as she pulled him to her. She struggled to undress herself as he swooped down upon her neck, nipping at her skin as if trying to devour her, infuse his mouth with her taste. He thrust his leg between her thighs, and she moaned shamelessly as she humped him like an animal, frantic for any friction, any sensation that would remind them they were gloriously, thankfully alive.

Hermione was tearing the clothes from her body, her face flushed, overwhelmed and grief-stricken, as Severus gave up on his clothes and unfastened the buttons of his trousers, already needy and desperate. Hermione looked down at his hard cock and wrapped her fingers around it, pulling him to her. They made harsh, grunting sounds that both shamed and excited her, and she wanted him so badly she thought she might swoon from her sheer, helpless lust.

"Hurry, Severus," she moaned, pulling at her clothes, and she cried out as he tore her knickers away, snagging the band of lace against her thigh and burning her leg with the friction. He pushed her legs apart and positioned himself, not waiting or needing to prepare her.

He drove into her, hard. She gave a startled, satisfied yelp of pleasure. "Oh fuck, Hermione," he swore harshly, finding her impossibly wet and ready and hungry for him. The plump little lips of her cunt pursed around him greedily, and the feel of her tight, slick pussy was perfect. At that brutal, savage moment, his need to have her almost surpassed his love for her.

They fucked one another frantically, trying to drive the terror of the past hour out of their hearts and bodies. Severus hooked his hands around the back of Hermione's shoulders and she wrapped her leg around his thigh, trying to find deeper purchase. He pounded up into her, moaning at the painful pleasure of being alive, the exhilaration of taking his wife like a whore against a wall.

"You had to do it to stay alive," he gasped, his mouth against her satiny neck. "You had to live. You have to live for me..."

His hips pumped against hers like lightning, and he could feel his control going too fast. He couldn't come yet... she hadn't climaxed... he couldn't leave her this way, shamed and panting and unfulfilled...

"Hermione, please," he whined, sobbing with the effort of trying to hold himself in check, but she was already crying out her climax, her little sweet cunt gripping and clutching him, and he came with a shout, as his legs buckled. They slid down the wall, his body still thrusting hard into his tender wife's, his semen gushing warm within her like an apology.

They clung to one another, shuddering. "I love you," Hermione whimpered. "I love you."

He nodded, unable to speak, but kissed her as gently as his tremours would allow. They rocked against one another, trying to calm their pounding hearts, their troubled spirits. The demons their coupling had exorcised had been appeased – for now.

Severus took a shuddering breath, and, bracing himself against the wall, he pulled them both to their feet. Hermione leaned against him, heavily, and Severus bent and wrapped his arms around the tops of her legs, and lifted her against him like a child. Wordlessly he carried her up the stairs to their bed, accompanied by the distinct popping of Muggle fireworks, and the church bells in the village ringing in the New Year.

They undressed quietly; each instinctively knew it wasn't the time to speak of the horrific events of the night. Naked, they climbed into bed, and he pulled her against his chest and stroked her hair.

"Do you need a Calming Draught?" he asked, his voice sounding almost guiltily normal. He should sound contrite, repentant. Instead, he merely sounded like a concerned husband caring for his wife.

She looked up at him and smiled tiredly. "No, I'm fine, love. Can I get you anything? A cup of tea?"

He looked at her, and dropped his eyes. "I know it sounds awful, but I – I would love a sarnie right now."

She nodded as she rose, donning her dressing robe. "Why don't I make us something to eat? I think the food might dull the –" she looked away. "I think the food might help us sleep."

"Thank you, lass." He looked up at her and brushed her gown with his fingertips. "You do take good care of me."

Hermione looked at him with soft eyes. "There's nothing that makes me happier." She swallowed, and left the room, and seconds later he heard her quiet tread on the stairs.

Later that night, as they slept, she turned in his arms, and he spooned up against her, molding his long slender body against hers like a blanket. Severus dreamed.

In his dream, he was standing on a mountain, overlooking the most beautiful sunset he had ever witnessed. Colours swirled and merged, like an iridescent seashell: pinks and pearly white and deep coral and yellow, kissing the edge of the darker purples and blues of the oncoming twilight. He gaped at it, marveling at how perfect it was; his only discontent was that he was alone in witnessing the glory of it. He wanted to share this halcyon moment with someone.

The wind was warm, and he looked down at his skin, glowing golden in the sun's final glorious journey to night, and the breeze lifted his hair, and riding with it was the fragrance of jasmine and grass and gardenia, lush and aromatic and warm. He saw, to his delight, coming toward him was Hermione, dressed in a purple robe that fluttered around her like the wings of a mythical creature. It was gauzy and insubstantial, like a desert garment, and it was then he noticed that he too wore a light, almost sheer robe, in midnight blue.

It was a decadent garment, and wearing it, he did not feel like Snape, the flinty, hard-edged and bitter wizard he had always been. He felt like Severus, a quiet man of soft summer climes and siroccos. He felt like the man he'd been waiting his whole life to become. He felt beautiful and loved and cherished. It felt like making love with Hermione; light and beauty and magic and innocence. It was thrilling.

Hermione's welcoming smile reached him before she did. She was carrying a bowl full of fruit, and it too glowed in the sunset. Severus knew each piece would taste exquisitely ripe and tart and fresh on his tongue, as irresistible and satisfying as the young woman who carried them.

As Hermione rather ponderously placed the bowl at his feet, Severus realised she was heavily pregnant. Her belly, large and round, protruded proudly from her slender body, and with something akin to wonder, Severus placed his hands on the lush mound. It was hard and pulsed with life, and when he looked into her face, he was overwhelmed at her beauty. Her hair was like burnished gold in the fading sun, and her skin glowed with health and happiness. She was smiling at him with so much love in her eyes it threatened to bring him to his knees.

"This is mine," he said, marveling at the life that swam in the rich waters of her womb. "Mine," he breathed, splaying his possessive fingers over her body. She nodded, with the smile that belonged to him alone.

"This is yours," she said, caressing his face with her warm hands. "This is ours. This is our future."

"I'm dreaming, aren't I?" he said, his voice musical and lovely even to his own ears. "This is a perfect dream."

She smiled. "We're both having this dream, then. Because I'm dreaming it, too. Now we can share and protect one another in our dreams, Severus."

Severus knelt and pressed his lips against her warm, hard belly, full of his child. "You're so beautiful," he said, knowing he was mooning at her like a third-year, and unable to stop. "I love you." He closed his eyes, praying to those indifferent and unfavouring gods. "If I knew I could have this, I'd tear my heart from my chest and lay it at your feet," he said, caressing the beautiful round vessel, and laid his head against it, hearing the strong heartbeat of his son. "I know this is a dream, but I'll make this dream come true."

Hermione's fingers wove through his hair. "We. We will make this dream come true, husband."

Severus opened his eyes, and he was in his boyhood bed in Spinner's End, his sleeping wife warm and kitten-soft against his body. He was ragingly hard, aching for her. More than that, he knew she was wanting him as well. Gently, he slipped his middle finger against her velvety soft slit, and it came away slick and hot with her moisture. He knew her body now, knew how to please her; now that seemed like the most important thing in the world, like the one thing that would clean and heal them.

As quietly as he could, he shifted on the bed until he could slide his yearning cock slowly into her wet heat. He whimpered brokenly as she engulfed him, tight and slick and so hot he could almost feel his flesh sizzle. He rocked into her slowly, feeling her stir, feeling her move with him, helping him, urging him on with her sleepy little cries and mewls of pleasure. She began to move against him with greater urgency.

"I want to put my seed in you," he whispered, his voice rough with sleep and passion. His large hand played over her taut, flat stomach. "I want that big belly, full of my boy. I want him to suck milk from your sweet little tit. I want to watch my son grow in you. I will be a good father. I promise."

"I know you will," she moaned, pushing back against him, her body growing tighter and insistent around his shaft. "I want those things, too, Severus. Give me those things." His movements grew more frantic, his thrusts deeper and faster, and she mewled her soft little cries that inflamed him so.

"Let me," he moaned, delirious with pleasure and desire and dream lust. He whispered against her ear, "Come on my cock, Hermione. Come for me..." She obeyed him instantly; her voice cried his name like a blessing.

Severus felt his orgasm rush through him like the warm wind of his dreams. Pleasure melted into his cock and balls, sweet and devastating. He choked out her name only a second before he spurted his seed into her waiting vessel, and the selfish, foolish man within the wizard wished with all his might that her body would accept his offering, and reward him with new life within her rich womb. In the moments after, he fought the urge to weep; later, he was never sure if it was because he wanted it so badly, or that he believed in his heart it couldn't possibly happen. For too long, he had believed that a man like him was not destined for such things.

Severus was summoned daily between New Year's Day and the two weeks before they returned to the school. Most of it had to do with the infiltration of the Ministry, and preparing Severus for his role as Headmaster. He left each meeting feeling sick to his stomach after several hours of preening and affecting a smug surety for his new role as the leader of Hogwarts. Each night, he would open his heart up to his wife, who, like a sponge, accepted all his pain, his remorse and his guilt, allowing him to siphon the worst of it from his sanity.

Also during that time, Severus met with various sources, trying to appease one while throwing another off the scent. He played the dangerous game that most spies will play: deceiving with the truth, using the guilty to hide the innocent. It was a heavy, dark game that left him exhausted at the end of each day.

While he spent his time working with informants and grassers, Hermione scoured her reference books for any clues as to the locations of the Horcruxes. There was precious little to be found; mostly all they knew came from their conversations with Dumbledore, and even these were suspect as the old wizard grew weaker and more covert. All she could ascertain was that Voldemort had created them from objects he prized or coveted – Salazar's ring, the mysterious locket that Severus and Reg Black had unwittingly helped to hide, the strange diary that had nearly caused the deaths of both Ginny and Hermione, and all those affected by the basilisk.

They knew that two had been destroyed – the ring and the diary, and they knew that Dumbledore suspected there to be seven in all, including Harry and Nagini, the Dark Lord's familiar. They suspected, or hoped, that Harry had the locket. They knew a powerful magical item was the only way they could be destroyed. Other than that, they were starting to get an idea what the other two could be, but until they returned to Hogwarts they could only speculate. The prospect of returning to Hogwarts made them both feel ill; they avoided discussion of it.

The Ministry of Magic fell on Severus' birthday. They were having a quiet celebration at home. Hermione had knitted him a scarf and matching gloves, and he was just tugging the latter on his hands when the Dark Mark spluttered to life. Even as diminished as it had become, Severus still hated the feeling, and he cursed roundly - he'd already been summoned once that day. "Bloody maniac wants me there twenty-four hours a day," he fumed, drawing his cloak about his person. He dropped the gloves into her hands.

"As much as I appreciate them, they will be noticed-"

"I know, love, I know," she said, frantically, helping him into his cloak. "Go! There must be something wrong." She looked at him worriedly, then made a shooing gesture. "Don't keep him waiting, Severus!"

He paused only to pull her into his arms for a hard kiss, then Apparated away. These summonings had become so commonplace they no longer fretted over them; to Severus it was like reporting for work. That thought dismayed him more than any other. If Potter, Merlin forbid, should fail, this would be their lives. No, Severus thought, thinking about his all-but vanished Dark Mark. If this bastard wins, I'm taking Hermione and fleeing. I would leave now, if I thought Potter could win without us... Severus cursed his own sense of loyalty and duty; ironic as it was, he was no more capable of walking away from this fight than Hermione, no matter how much he longed to do so.

It takes a special type of saunter to walk briskly and look as if one has all the time in the world, but Severus had elevated the walk into an art form. All the years of stalking around the castle had given him powerful, strong legs and stamina; his long robes gave the appearance that he glided along. Watching him stroll up to the Manor, anyone would have suspected that the new Headmaster of Hogwarts to be as carefree as if taking an afternoon walk through a garden. No one even suspected that his heart, pounding hard and heavy in his chest, was gravid with dread.

He was the next to last to arrive; Yaxley trailed in soon after Severus was seated, looking smug and excited.

The Dark Lord waited until all eyes were on him alone. "Yaxley. Give me the news I wish to hear."

"It is done, my Lord!" Yaxley was grinning triumphantly. "Pius Thicknesse has been Imperiused; all the parties are in place, and await your orders."

The Dark Lord was pleased. "Excellent! Timing is now everything, Yaxley."

Swelling with importance, Yaxley preened and said, "We know that the Blood Traitor Weasley's family are hosting the wedding of his son, Bill in a week's time. Their location is currently protected by the Ministry's strongest repelling charms and wards, but once the Ministry's infrastructure shuts down, those will drop. We'll be there at the moment they do, and we will grab Potter before they know what hit them. You'll have him in your grasp before that day is out."

"Excellent, my friend!" the Dark Lord said, smiling his hellish smile. "I understand more of this prophecy now. He must die by my hand, you see," Voldemort said, rather petulantly. "I will stage a public execution, to show the world what happens to those who presume to possess the might of Lord Voldemort himself."

All of the Death Eaters cheered, and Bellatrix looked as if she were about to come in her seat. Severus cheered with the others, wondering who in the Order he could trust with this news, and more importantly, who would believe him. There was only one he truly thought might actually listen before trying to hex him into oblivion. As he smiled and applauded the Dark Lord's imminent triumph over Harry Potter, Severus sent his silent message to his wife: I need to talk to Lupin.

Opening lines: "Poughkeepsie" by Linford Detweiler and Karin Bergquist