Twenty Eight: Lonesome Valley

Please note this chapter contains explicit sexual content.

Nobody else will walk it for you; you have to walk it by yourself.

The Floo burst into green-tinged life, startling Hermione. She looked up from her nervous knitting in time to see Severus fling himself into the room, his face suffused with anger and anxiety.

"It's happened," he growled as he began to pace the short length of the small front room. "I think they got away."

Hermione stared in painful hope. "Wha-what has happened, Severus?" She stood and intercepted his long stride, and laid a calming hand on his chest. "Start from the beginning, love."

His agitation was obvious, but he calmed somewhat at the measured tones of his wife. He rubbed his face with his hands, a scrubbing motion that Hermione had come to recognise as a delaying tactic he employed when he was uncomfortable or unwilling to proceed.

The Ministry had been fully infiltrated by a silent coup; few within the organisation actually realised that Voldemort had taken over. Once the Imperius Curse used on Pius Thickness was turned toward the inner workings of the seats of power, it was simply a matter of plucking the cards away from the fragile, quavering house that made up the upper echelon of the Ministry.

From there, the Dark Lord planned to use the Ministry's sanctioned wards and safehouse listings to locate Potter and the Order. Severus had hoped Harry would flee to safety before the actual takeover, and to that purpose he'd been working both ends against the middle; meeting with Remus Lupin through a third party, trying to discover the plans of the Order, then giving the Dark Lord just enough information to prove his network of espionage was accurate enough to trust, while not revealing any pertinent facts that would cast the odds in Voldemort's favour.

It was a deadly and dangerous balancing act - learning the Order's business, giving Voldemort enough crumbs to keep him occupied, then anonymously making the Order aware of the Dark Lord's intention to retaliate. Timing was now everything.

But to make it work, Severus had had to ride with the Death Eaters tonight, the night the Order was to smuggle Harry away from his childhood home. The sentiment within the Order would be clear; Severus and Hermione would no longer be on their side. It was to be the final coffin nail in their standing with the Order, and there would be no going back until...

Both Severus and Hermione were both too frightened to think about the 'until.'

Severus sighed, looking exhausted. "They did exactly what I told Mungdungus Fletcher to suggest they do," he said. "They Polyjuiced six of their number to look like Potter, then each 'Potter' was escorted to the Burrow by either an Auror or an Order member. The Death Eaters ambushed them the moment they took off past the perimeter wards of the Dursley house."

Hermione felt her heart thudding sickeningly in her chest. "Something terrible's happened, hasn't it?"

Severus closed his eyes. "We had no way of knowing which one of the Potters was real. Even Fletcher wasn't privy to that information," Severus sneered, his contempt for the dodgy wizard all too apparent. "Yaxley gave the order to bring them all to ground." Severus shook his head, and tried to stretch out his overwrought back muscles. The ability to fly without a broom was a marvelous and rare thing, even in the wizarding world, but it was not without cost to the body. In a strained tone, he moaned, "Merlin, I've never been in such a fight! The Order gave as good as they got, make no mistake. It was a battle."

He began to pace again, and Hermione nearly screamed for him to get on with it. His Occlumency walls were water-tight; he was so agitated he could not drop them. "Severus, please tell me what happened," she begged. He stopped and took a deep breath, and when he exhaled, he seemed to deflate. For that tiny moment, Hermione could see what Severus could look like if he grew old. When he grows old! she corrected herself fiercely.

"I- I hexed one of them," he said softly. At his wife's horrified expression, he continued, "The fool was right in my sights! Yaxley and Mulciber were flanking me; if I hadn't done something, it would have been noted." He stood in the center of the cramped little front room, swaying slightly, and Hermione took the opportunity to force him to sit on the shabby sofa. He held onto her hand as if it were a lifeline, while her other hand rubbed his back to relax the knotted muscles.

"I think I severely injured him, Hermione. I heard his scream, and saw him clutching at his head." Severus dropped his own head with an exasperated sigh. "Merlin, what a fuck-up! It was a Sectumsempra, and I threw it wide, but he just seemed to drive the broom right into it."

"Gods!" Hermione whispered, squeezing his hand. "Did you... do you think you-"

"Oh, he'll live," Severus replied, bitterly, shaking his head. "He'll be scarred for life, and he'll be weak from blood loss and curse my name for eternity, but he'll live. Merlin's balls, why couldn't the fool have stayed on course?" he hissed to himself.

Hermione stroked his hands, which felt cold and bloodless. For a moment, they sat side by side in uneasy and resigned silence. Finally, she could no longer hold her tongue. "Who was killed?"

"Moody. The Dark Lord himself killed him. The rest of them made it to safety, I think." Hermione's grip tightened on his hands, but he ignored it. "They disappeared into the wards of the Burrow. They cut it too bloody close for comfort, though. The Dark Lord was furious; another two minutes in the air and Potter would be dead."

"But he's safe! They're all safe, yes?"

"For now." Severus turned and looked at Hermione. "Mundungus Fletcher." He hissed the name like it was a foul thing, unworthy of his breath. "Worthless wretch! He lost his bottle and Apparated away, leaving Moody alone and unprotected. Fucking coward!"

Hermione listened sympathetically, but with some surprise. It was no secret that Mad-Eye Moody and Severus despised one another, yet here he was, bemoaning Moody's death. Sensing her thoughts, he put a reassuring hand on her knee. "I may not have carried any love in my heart for the one-eyed bastard, but I recognised his worth. He was a strong warrior, and his absence will be felt in this war." He dropped his head again and sighed harshly. He felt so tired...

Hermione bit her lip, lost in thought. "Do you think they can get away before the Ministry falls? Can you get any word to them?"

Severus looked at her almost pityingly. "Lass, do you honestly think they'll believe anything that comes from me now? I've injured one of their own. I led the 'ambush.' If I step one toe out of line, I'll be killed by the Order." Almost angrily, he barked, "We're the enemy now!"

"Severus, please!" she cried. "I know, I know. They won't believe us now."

She felt his unspoken apology as he drew her into his arms, as much for his own comfort as to soothe her. "Oh, Hermione," he moaned helplessly, as he cradled her head against his shoulder. "I never meant for you to have to endure this. If we should survive-"

"When, Severus!" She pulled away slightly and looked up into his eyes. The fact that she'd harboured such similar thoughts only moments before caused her voice to grow harsh with guilt. "When we survive! Don't start that again, please." She shook her head, breathing hard, feeling angry with herself. "I can't bear to hear you say those things – I can't bear the thought of you not being in this world."

Taken aback, he tried to calm his distraught wife, but her overwrought nerves had failed her. As he sat there, smelling of cold, crisp air and failure, she reminded herself that he could just as easily have meet Mad-Eye Moody's fate tonight. While the Order mourned the death of one of its own, her wizard was safely home, holding her. This, combined with the relief that Harry was still alive overwhelmed Hermione, and she held onto Severus, trembling uncontrollably.

"Please promise me you'll live," she begged, her teeth chattering with fear. "Please promise me-"

Alarmed, Severus shook her slightly. "Hermione, calm yourself! You are going to work yourself into a right state." He drew her onto his lap, where she held onto him tightly, shivering. "Breathe in through your nose," he intoned, his voice deep and sonorous; the professor's voice. "Breathe out through your mouth. In, nose. Out, mouth. In. Out..."

He soothed her as she obeyed his gentle but insistent commands, and gradually her shivering subsided, leaving her feeling weak and foolish. She sighed resignedly, both frustrated and angry with herself. This kind of outburst must stop. She was a bloody Gryffindor, for Merlin's sake! She would be of no use to Severus if she fell apart every time he gave her bad news.

This won't happen again, she said, her inner voice contrite and chagrined. You need a partner, not a trembling weakling. I will be stronger.

I know, love, he replied, warm and smooth inside her mind. His inner voice stroked across the jagged walls within her mind's eye. It trailed across the harsh places, soothing the way, taking charge. And in doing so, he calmed his own troubled spirit. He had been the harbinger of troubling news; he would be the one to bring peace to them both.

As his consciousness eased and soothed within, Severus continued to stroke and gentle her with his large, pale hands. His touch grew languorous, and his palms lifted from her skin, leaving his fingers behind to languidly stroke her arm, featherlight and capriciously. Almost subliminally, Hermione felt her body change from anxious to calm, then to a tension coiled with a different spring.

She felt a sudden shame that she had changed from worried sick to wantonly aroused in the matter of a few strokes of her husband's long, skillful fingers. It was the only thing they could control; the only destiny they could form and shape and mold to their whim. She looked up into Severus' eyes, and was relieved to see that same uncertain, edgy desire mirrored in his fathomless dark eyes. Her breath caught; when he was like this, there was only one conclusion, and she welcomed it. I need what you need, my love, she murmured, deep within.

Feeling her in his thrall, he smirked and turned her on his lap until she straddled his hips. He made a soft rumbling noise as his large hands cupped the globes of her bottom and pulled her close against his chest. He purred, "What I need is you, Hermione. I need to forget for a little while who I am. I need to bury myself in your warmth, and I need to feel you melt around me until I don't know anything beyond my cock in your cunt and your tit in my mouth and your name on my lips as I make you come." His voice grew hard along with his erection, and he rocked his hips against hers, knowing that the very coarseness of his language would excite her as much as it inflamed him.

His breath shuddered against the delicate shell of her ear, making her shiver. "I need you to suck my prick until I forget my name and I am blind with pleasure and deaf to everything but your cries." He hissed as her mouth slid against his throat. "I need the taste of your pussy in my mouth and I need to scream in ecstasy until my tongue stiffens, and I need to make you come until you beg for mercy, until you can't remember anything but my body, pressing yours against the mattress, and my soul pressing against your heart.

"I need to brand your skin with my mouth, and I need you to be selfish and greedy and use me until there is nothing left but a man who exists only to pleasure you. I need to hide you away so that I am the only star by which you can find North. That is what I need, witch," he moaned feverishly, as Hermione undressed him as quickly as her arousal would allow. His hands tore at her shirt, popping the buttons in his haste to touch her.

He urged her down onto the sofa, his mouth crashing against hers, and he pushed a desperate moan into her mouth. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him to her, her mouth open to his plundering tongue, swallowing his grunts, his primal sounds of carnal helplessness. His skin was hot against her chest, and she looked up into black, black eyes that were wild and burning with scorching, possessive lust. A wordless spell later and the last of their clothing was sent to the floor beside them; they hissed in pleasure as skin met skin.

He began to worship her with his mouth; slow, deliberate suckling kisses engulfed her nipples, heavy with promise and love. She begged him to take her, but he only smiled. "Wait, love, wait." Her body burned for him. She could feel his cock, ramrod hard and hot, slide between her slick labia, and whispered a plea. Without removing his lips from her rosy areola, a long, slender hand slipped between them, and he found her distended clit and stroked it with the pad of his thumb.

He took her to the edge of her climax with his deft skill, building that slow fire until it raged like a conflagration within. She begged, he commanded patience. She demanded; he pleaded patience. She screamed; he laughed again for patience, until she was wild with need and breathless and on the edge and then he thrust into her with a cock that burned with its own fire. He watched in wonder as pleasure and need and bliss played across her expressive face, each emotion more precious to him than the last, knowing that, for now, he could at least give her this. For now, he could bury himself within her silken flesh and no one could find them.

Her cooing voice was soft and low and he began to move slowly in this dance they knew so well. All the world lay within them, and Severus felt like the man in his dream again; the dusky, mysterious man of the desert, loving and being loved by his strong, proud mother goddess.

He took her with a fierce concentration and adoration that sent her toward a climax of painful intensity, and together they moved against one another, their bodies locked in perfect rhythm, their gazes locked. His strokes increased in depth and strength, and each wrung a growl from his throat that matched his lover's.

She braided her fingers in his hair and he pulled himself closer to her. "I will be a warrior for you," she cried, and he saw in her eyes the same rapture he shared, and his body betrayed his silent pledge of tenderness. He gave into the sweet bliss of her warmth and wetness melting around him, encasing him in a velvet sheath, bending him, breaking his will until he was riding her, hard and desperate, his slim hips bruising her, each thrust a shaft of desire, launched from the bow of Eros into her core.

He cried aloud with each hard, battering thrust, feeling her gathering inward, like a wave towed under from the shore. Her body locked in a rictus of ecstasy; then she screamed her release as he drove her over that aching, blazing edge of her orgasm. The walls of her cunt pulsed and rippled around him, fluttering down the length of his cock. Her core clutched him like a vise, stealing his breath and milking him to the edge of his own release.

An impossible heat bloomed in his groin, and he was going, oh, he was going fast and sweet and- "Hermione... oh gods... I love you so much... so much it... it hurts... mine, mine, oh, fuuuck..." He howled as his climax wracked his body; each terrible, shuddering plunge so powerful it caused the sofa to shift across the floor. He helplessly collapsed over Hermione, moaning; he couldn't catch his breath.

Slowly, his senses crept back into place; he knew he should move, but it felt so marvelous, pressed against the tender flesh of his wife. Reluctantly, he pushed himself onto his forearms. Although Hermione was a fine surface on which to lie, the scratchy fabric of the old sofa was not. Chagrined and sweat-drenched, Severus slowly pulled himself up onto his hands and knees, allowing Hermione space to breathe.

For a moment, he allowed himself the indulgence of simply gazing down at his fine witch. She was flushed and sweaty, her hair damp, her eyes warm and mellow and sated, and when she smiled up at him, he felt like an angel, pure and clean, sweat-washed and shriven. They simply shone with magic, whole and forgiven and sane again.

Hermione regarded her husband as he rose from her. He was a beautiful mixture of light and dark, contrasts of every form and description. His beauty made the word 'handsome' seem insipid, tame, indifferent. As he smiled down at her, his black eyes full of wonder, her heart almost burst in her chest.

He was the world to her.

The Ministry delayed commencement of the Spring term at Hogwarts, so Severus and Hermione spent the small respite trying to figure out a way to help Harry discover the remaining Horcruxes. To their disbelief, the Weasleys decided to proceed with the wedding of their son Bill to Fleur Delacour, which Hermione thought was the epitome of foolishness.

Severus was even less charitable on the subject. "Why on earth would this bunch of bungling morons decide that now would be the time to have this wedding? Do they honestly think this will be seen as a gesture of defiance against the Dark Lord, or are they just being willfully stupid?"

Hermione had no answer. Severus had tried to contact Arthur to tell him that the safe-keeping wards from the Ministry were compromised at best, but the Order had closed ranks. As far as they were concerned, Hermione and Severus Snape were the King and Queen of Death Eaters. Severus even risked trying to give Yaxley at the Ministry incorrect information regarding the date and time of the event, but the wheels were turning, and the pair of them could only look on and watch, praying that, when the time came, the Order would get Harry to safety.

They hadn't long to wait. During the wedding, Yaxley pulled the plug. Scrimgeour, the Minister, was dispatched with little ceremony. The Death Eaters and their collaborators, Imperused or otherwise, swiftly took over the Ministry, and within thirty minutes, the organisational wards and safeguards were vulnerable to the Death Eaters.

The Ministry had fallen.

Hermione remembered her grandmother talking about World War II, and how they all sat around the wireless, listening to death raining from the sky over London. On the day the Ministry fell, she thought it must have felt a lot like this: hearing about it from a distance, fearing the worse, not knowing who lived and who died, feeling helpless and angry and wanting it all to be over now.

In the afternoon, she and Severus were called to Malfoy Manor. The Dark Lord was so confident that Harry would be in his hands by nightfall, he called for a celebration that evening. As befitted his position as Headmaster of Hogwarts, Severus had not been included in the raid on the Burrow, and Hermione sat with him that long, long afternoon, under the watchful eye of Death Eaters of higher rank. She stared ahead, motionless, as Severus sat by her side, his hand placed possessively over hers. No one knew the whimpering, cowering fear that gnawed at the two of them. Deep within their Occluded minds, they held onto one another, their corporeal bodies calm and erect, but their subconscious forms clinging to one another, both terrified that this was the end, and they had failed and all hope was lost.

Slowly, the rooms filled with more Death Eaters. A few of their spouses joined them. No one looked particularly triumphant. There was a tense quiet in the room; no one seemed able to meet anyone's eye.

He must have escaped, Hermione said, her voice strong and hopeful within Severus' mind.

Gods, let it be so, Severus replied. If he can just keep his bloody head down for a little while longer-

Finally, Yaxley, Mulciber, Macnair, the Lestranges and the Carrows arrived, looking grim. The Dark Lord, ensconced on his throne, awaited their news with an unreadable expression.

"Well, my friends?" he hissed, leaning forward. He stroked the giant head of his familiar, who preened at his attentions. "I hope you made today's wedding a memorable one."

Mulciber had the stupidity to smile. "We did indeed, My Lord."

"Excellent. But, where is the guest of honor?" the Dark Lord queried, pretending to look around. "Do you have him hidden in your cloak?"

Mulciber's smile faded. He looked at his fellow Death Eaters uneasily. "Well, sir, the thing is-"

"The thing? THE THING?" the Dark Lord roared, and with a sweep of his wand, Mulciber was thrown across the room like a rag doll. "You dare come smiling to me, empty-handed? Had you no courage to tell me what your Lord already knows? That Potter has escaped you? That you have been outwitted by a sixteen-year-old wizard? Am I surrounded by fools?" He gestured, and the line of Death Eaters fell to the ground, screaming in agony as the Cruciatus Curse tore through their bodies.

Hermione and Severus watched with stony expressions. Within her, she felt Severus' brief, savage satisfaction. She knew that some of these men had tortured him in the past, but to feel his pleasure at their wretched state gave her no peace. At least Harry had escaped, and she could marginally relax, knowing that, for now, he was still in the fight.

For what seemed like hours, the screams echoed in the room. Hermione risked a glance at the Malfoys, who stood apart from her and Severus. The Malfoys, as hosts of the Dark Lord, were also not expected to participate in the ill-fated raid, but their faces told of their own anguish.

Lucius Malfoy was not the wizard she remembered from her childhood. Gone was the louche, haughty bearing. Azkaban and his own demons rode him hard now. His hair was now lank and dull, his face unshaven and a trifle dirty. His clothes looked as if he'd worn them for several days.

His wife, Narcissa, looked even worse, if that was humanly possible. Oh, she was still beautiful in that way that reminded Hermione of blue topaz – clear and cool and hard – but her eyes were dilated with fear. She held Draco to her closely, as if afraid the Dark Lord would take out his displeasure on him as well. If Hermione had been a betting woman, she would have put her last Sickle on Narcissa forsaking everything, even Lucius, to keep Draco safe. Hermione idly thought that, as far as Narcissa was concerned, the Dark Lord could go fuck himself. Her family's lives came first, especially the life of her son.

Hermione wondered how she and Severus could use that information. She almost smirked, thinking that Severus' Slytherin wiles were starting to rub off on her. A whispered word within her mind told her that he thought so, as well.

Two days after the ill-fated wedding party, the news they had waited for finally arrived. Harry, Ron and Neville had disappeared at the wedding and were on the run. Squads of dark and questionable wizards were recruited to be on the lookout for them; they roamed the length and breadth of the country in gangs called Snatchers. Wizarding Britain was now in the grip of Dark Forces, and the reward for the capture of the three Gryffindors was so exorbitant that the most frightened and disenfranchised of witches and wizards began to scour for the three missing boys alongside the Snatchers. The Gryffindors had almost been caught at Grimmauld Place, but again managed to escape.

The days passed in a blur as Severus and Hermione readied themselves to return to Hogwarts. They arrived at the castle a week before classes started. The wards let them in, and allowed them access to the headmaster's quarters. When Severus approached the gargoyle that stood sentinel at the bottom of the stairs leading to the headmaster's study, he found himself wishing that it would refuse him, tell him he wasn't worthy, to fuck off. To his dismay, it sprang aside and let him pass without comment.

The portraits watched him enter the headmaster's study with mistrusting eyes. "Traitor," one of them hissed, but when he looked up at the portraits challengingly, they all scarpered for distant canvases. Severus was eventually left with the only occupied portrait. Dumbledore sat snoring peacefully. At that moment, Severus despised Albus Dumbledore more than the Dark Lord – more than Sirius Black.

"Well, all your predictions came true, old man," Severus murmured. "I'm here as Headmaster, and Hermione is with me. Potter, Weasley and Longbottom are on the run, Merlin knows where, and I have two Death Eaters ensconced in the school, determined to make the students practice Unforgivables on one another."

The portrait twitched, but did not rise from its slumber. And they called me a coward, Severus thought bitterly. "I don't know if you and Potter found Reg's... gift, but since I don't know how to destroy it, it hardly matters, does it? As long as you keep me in the dark, I'm fighting with my wand hand tied behind my back."

He could have been singing a lullaby for all the response he received from the portrait. "It's almost comical, isn't it, Albus? You can't tell Potter how to destroy Horcruxes, because the Dark Lord might discover his knowledge, and you won't tell me, because you don't truly trust me, despite all your twaddle about my rehabilitation. You've only trusted me when it suited you, when you could use me to your best advantage. But never truly."

Again, the occupant of the portrait shifted slightly, but did not awaken. "You're going to have to wake up eventually, Albus. Sooner or later, this castle is going to become a battleground, and I will probably be its first casualty. I know you couldn't care less, but your darling Potter will return here like the fool he is, and when he does, this castle will be awash with blood. This time your hands will be stained as well."

The portrait did not stir. Severus slumped, already weary and heartsick. "Why won't you help me?" he whispered, and placed his head in his hands. "Even my precious wife split her beautiful soul to obey your orders. Why have you left us to face death alone?"

Amidst all of the turmoil surrounding their return to Hogwarts, the Dark Lord began issuing instructions. Amongst the long and sometimes contradictory lists of demands was one that bothered both Severus and Hermione to the point of distraction.

"Why would he want this list of seemingly disparate items placed in Bellatrix Lestrange's vault at Gringotts?" Hermione puzzled, frowning. "The Great Hall Hogwarts Banner, The Sword of Gryffindor, The portrait of Salazar Slytherin and the Great Book of Names?"

They both looked hopefully up at the sleeping portrait of Dumbledore. "Cowardly bastard," Hermione muttered.

Severus shook his head. The line between his brow was furrowed in thought. "The only thing I notice about the list is that each item has an affiliation with the founders." He looked at his wife and stifled a laugh. Hermione's extensive knowledge of the history of Hogwarts was a point of secret pride with her; for him to know more than his little swot did not sit well with her.

"Go on," she said darkly, tucking her knees close to her chest as she sat in her chair. Severus allowed himself a chuckle this time.

"Well, legend has it that Rowena Ravenclaw wove the spells that enchanted the Great Book to recognise any magic-born child in England at the moment of their birth. It is also believed that Helga Hufflepuff herself wove the banner that hangs in the Great Hall, infusing it with enchantments and powers to protect the students there."

Severus pondered for a moment. "I can understand why he'd want the book. It shows every child born with magical abilities. It is the perfect way to discover Muggle-borns aspiring to come to Hogwarts." He spoke the final words with distaste. If the Dark Lord was privy to that information, not one Muggle-born child would survive, Severus was certain.

"But why the others?" he continued. "The Banner has protective charms, and the Sword of Gryffindor is a symbol of the house that fought against Salazar Slytherin in the campaign to allow all types of magicals to come to Hogwarts, but the Portrait? Is holds no intrinsic value and it has no magical properties to speak of. It barely moves; it never speaks."

He glanced at Hermione, lost in thought. Again, he looked back to Dumbledore's portrait and wanted to blast it into eternity.

"Would anyone here like to offer any information?" Hermione pointedly asked the wall of sleeping former heads of Hogwarts. Either they didn't hear her, or pretended not to.

Hermione stood beside her husband in the Great Hall, calm and stoic, as he addressed his former colleagues for the first time as their new headmaster. From his cold, sneering countenance, they could never have guessed that he had spent the previous evening vomiting from anxiety and fear. He had been unable to keep anything down but the thinnest broth, and to Hermione, his dear face looked drawn and pinched.

"Excuse me, Headmaster," said Professor McGonagall, spitting the honorific from her mouth distastefully. "It has always been the policy for each individual instructor to choose the severity and form of punishment for any student infractions." Her eyes snapped. "Why do all detentions and punishments now have to be assigned and approved by you? Professor Dumbledore-" Severus hissed, and McGonagall was visibly taken aback, but she pressed on. "Professor Dumbledore felt that his teachers were more than capable of determining how and when a student would serve detention."

"I am not Albus Dumbledore -"

"That is patently obvious, Headmaster, and more the pity," she growled in return. The two faced one another. The Carrows grinned, hoping for a confrontation. The other professors were looking from McGonagall to Severus; uneasy, but ready to defend their friend against the new, hated headmaster.

"And as such," Severus continued smoothly, as if she had not interrupted, "It is my decision that all students will be brought to me, and I alone will determine their punishment." He looked at the Heads of Houses. "If you do not wish for your students to be brought before the headmaster, I suggest that you urge them to be mindful of this fact and to avoid any reason for punishment. Are there any further questions?" He passed a gimlet eye over the resentful group. No one met his dark gaze.

Finally, Professor Slughorn cleared his throat. "Headmaster," he began, rather unctuously, "will Miss Granger be joining classes this year? I mean no disrespect," he added hastily, giving Hermione an almost apologetic smile, "but do you think it would be advisable for her to-"

"My wife-" Severus interrupted, giving the briefest of hesitations as a collective gasp sounded from the group. He began again. "My wife, as you all know, is one of the most intelligent witches this hallowed seat of learning has produced-"

"For a Mudblood," Amycus Carrow muttered under his breath. His sister sniggered. Severus forced himself to ignore the Death Eaters. That will cost you, Carrow, he said to himself.

"-and therefore, she will take her N.E.W.T.s this spring. I expect you all to make time to tutor her privately. I will be contacting you for a schedule." He hesitated, then raised his chin slightly. "I will not insult your intelligence by pretending that nothing is different. I will not entertain nor will I encourage the discussion of recent events; it serves no purpose. I will tell you that, should you have any information regarding the whereabouts of Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley or Neville Longbottom, you are required by law to inform myself or another Ministry official. I will be more than happy to receive this information in strictest confidence."

He smiled wolfishly, imbedding in their minds his apparent desire to be the one to bring Harry to his Master. It was the final nail in the coffin, the final act that cemented his loyalty to the Dark Lord and his complete defection from the Order. He could see the last vestiges of respect and tolerance bleed from their faces. It was all he could do not to throw himself at their feet and plead for mercy for him and his wife. He knew there would be none, now.

"Aside from the obvious, I expect you to conduct your business here as you always have; the children here need to be taught, and you are their role models. I expect you to be good ones, and to remind them exactly why they are here."

Pomona Sprout ventured, "What about the Muggle-borns, Headmaster? Will they return?"

"Not if they want to keep their heads," Alecto Carrow cackled. She sneered at Hermione. "What do they say? The only good Mudblood is a de-"

"Yes, we all know the phrase, Alecto," Severus drawled, sounding mildly disinterested. He crossed his arms in a bored gesture, but secretly, he was already reaching for his wand. These fools were spoiling for a fight, and if he wasn't careful, he'd spend every waking hour just preventing the Carrows and his professors from hexing one another to bits. "To answer your question, Professor Sprout, the Muggle-born Registration Commission is being organised at the Ministry even as we speak, to get a more accurate idea of the amount of Muggle-born witches and wizards in Britain. Until this committee has conducted a proper census, I would think that most Muggle-borns will stay at home, waiting to hear from the Ministry."

"Technically, information about the Muggle-born Registration Commission is classified, Headmaster," Amycus Carrow said pompously. Tosser, thought Hermione.

"My apologies, Amycus," Severus sneered, "I am sure you have far more knowledge of the inner workings of the Ministry than I. I was merely told that Muggle-borns would not be attending until they were approved by the Commission, and must be patient until they are subpoenaed by the Ministry. All will be eventually summoned."

He could see Pomona looking at him thoughtfully, and he breathed a little easier. She had somehow read between the lines, though she probably thought he hadn't wanted her to. If you know any Muggle-borns, tell them to go underground. Hide. When the Ministry calls, be elsewhere. Please hear what I'm saying, Severus was thinking. Please listen with your ears instead of your hatred!

"And your... wife, Headmaster? Is she subject to this Muggle-born Registration Commission's findings?" Professor Vector asked. She, of all of them, was the most obviously upset. Charity Burbage had been her lover for many years; Charity's disappearance and replacement by the hideous Alecto Carrow had been met with rage and confusion.

"No, as the wife of the Headmaster of Hogwarts, she is not," Severus replied, turning to dismiss the group. "Now, if there are no other questions-"

"Oh, I see, then." Vector's face was blotched with anger, and her eyes began to snap with fire. "If you're a Death Eater camp follower, you can pretty much get away with anything in this 'new order'."

Her fellow teachers stared at Vector in shock. A quiet, helpful witch, she had never even raised her voice in a classroom, much less insulted someone so viciously. In a quiet voice, deadly with warning, Severus replied, "I am prepared to overlook your comment, Professor Vector, in light of recent events. Change is sometimes painful, but inevitable. It can also cause us to do or say things we regret. I will tell you, however, I am not prepared to endure insults aimed at my wife. Madame Granger-Snape is not a Death Eater, nor is she a camp follower."

"So just Death Eater's whore and a murderer, then?" Vector's voice was ugly with pent-up rage. The gasp of the other teachers felt as if it sucked all of the air from the room. Hermione felt her face grow red, and she glanced up at Severus, trying to look as proud and impassive as he. She felt she was failing miserably. He returned her gaze, and she knew she had to say something, or forever be branded.

She stood tall and faced one of her favourite professors, willing her voice to sound calm. "Professor, I am not a whore, nor am I any of those other names you suggested. I am a wife, and I am prepared to support my husband here in every way I can." She looked into the eyes of the angry witch, and continued, "I do not have to justify my reasons for what I have done to anyone here, but I will say that I represent the best interests of my husband, and our actions reflect the one who sent us here."

Those who met her gaze returned it with abhorrence. She met the familiar face of Madam Pomfrey, who glared briefly, then lowered her eyes. Of all the stony looks given Hermione, Poppy's hurt the worst.

Severus, watching his wife with pride and adoration, felt his heart swell. She had faced them and told them the truth, if they would but hear it. Perhaps one day they will, little one, he said. Perhaps one day.

Severus sped quickly down the hall toward the infirmary, his fury lending speed to his long-legged stride. The first week of school had been nothing short of hellish, but this- His gut churned sourly, and a sudden passing weakness slowed his gait for a moment. Damn them, damn them all!

He burst into the infirmary like an avenging angel in black, his pale face suffused with anger. Poppy Pomfrey looked up, and something like relief flickered in her eyes before she bent back down to Hermione and murmured, "You husband is here, Mrs. Snape."

Hermione looked up at Severus as he rushed to her side and knelt, his face on a level with hers. He took one look at her swollen, bruised face and neck, and Hermione heard his silent curse, Gods damn them!

"What happened?" he replied aloud, his voice clipped and dispassionate. He glanced up at the mediwitch, who had closed the privacy curtain with a wave of her wand.

Casting a Silencing Spell, Madam Pomfrey conjured two chairs, one for her and one for the headmaster. "Professor Slughorn found her. He heard a commotion and looked outside his classroom in time to see Mrs. Snape being hexed rather badly."

"By whom?" Severus' voice was flinty, chipped and picked like ice. "Who dared hex my wife?"

Hermione only shook her head. When she did not reply, he added through clenched teeth, "Not Slytherins, then? No, they wouldn't dare. Was it your precious Gryffindors?"

After the slightest of hesitations, Hermione replied, "I honestly don't know, Severus. It happened so fast, and my back was to them. I'm really not sure."

He closed his eyes. Damn them! It was bad enough that they do something this foolish, but to actually attack one of their own – to attack his beloved wife and hurt her-

But I'm no longer one of their own, Severus, she said, deep within the recesses of his mind. I'm the enemy now.

"It-it was my fault, Severus," she added shakily. "You told me to never walk the halls unaccompanied by you, but I thought I'd just pop down to see Professor Slughorn about some reading he'd recommended. I thought I'd be safe while classes were in session."

"It's actually not as bad as it looks, Headmaster," Poppy added in her usual no-nonsense, brisk manner. "Mrs. Snape was hit with a Stinging Hex and a mild Slicing Hex. Her reflexes protected her from the worst of it, but the Stinging Hex is the one that caused the swelling. It's gone down quite a bit from when Horace first brought her here."

Severus nodded, and rubbed his palm absently. He had known the moment it had happened, of course. The moment she was struck he had been in a lengthy discussion with Amycus Carrow about how to properly demonstrate Unforgivables, and why students could not be used in place of the test dummies. Some Gryffindors, led by the formidable Miss Weasley, had already incurred Amycus' wrath by 'accidentally' blasting him with a misfired Reducto spell. Severus had been trying to come up with a suitable punishment that would satisfy Amycus' bloodlust while keeping the hothead Gryffindors from any real harm, when he felt the blistering pain. Suddenly the Blood Oath had seared across the palm of his hand, and Hermione's inner cry shut off any bemusement he felt.

Still, Severus had to sit and pretend nothing was amiss until Amycus stopped bellowing long enough for Severus to interrupt and dismiss him. He feigned complete sympathy for the man, promising all manner of punishment for the foolish Gryffindors. Only when he was sure that Amycus had gone on his way was he able to rush to the infirmary.

Severus willed his pounding heart to calm. Now he would be faced with another balancing act; he could not let the assault on his wife go unpunished, and yet, what could he do?

As if she sensed his thoughts, Madam Pomfrey sighed. "All this is rubbish, isn't it?"

"I beg your pardon, Madam?" Severus replied stiffly.

She huffed. "I don't buy this 'Death Eater' shite, Severus." She glanced down at Hermione. "I also don't buy this 'Dumbledore's murderer' business, either." She took Hermione's hand and looked keenly at Severus. "This, all this, was his idea, wasn't it?" Then she nodded, as if agreeing with her own reasoning. "You are no more Death Eater than I am, Severus Snape. I know you. I know what you've had to suffer because of You-Know-Who. Whatever happened, it's because Albus wanted it to happen, didn't he?"

Hermione was silent. Severus, ever cautious, took a moment to think. Poppy Pomfrey knew him better than anyone alive, even better than Hermione, in many ways. If he had been alone, it would have been different. He would have sneered at her and walked away, but he couldn't. Hermione was vulnerable; he had to protect her.

"The act of merely thinking those thoughts could have grave consequences, Madam Pomfrey," Severus said at last.

"You don't have to be a genius to know that, Severus," she scoffed. "I've already kept many of your secrets. I'm hurt you would imagine I couldn't keep this one. I'm prepared to take any oath, wand, Unbreakable Vow, whatever you deem necessary-"

"No oaths," Severus interjected quickly. He reached for Hermione, who sat up and leaned against her husband's wool coat wearily. For a moment, he felt overwhelmed with exhaustion. "Poppy, I have to protect her. I have to protect these children from the Carrows. I have to keep this school safe until this madness is over." He looked at her bleakly, and cast their fate into the lap of the gods again. "I promised Albus I would."

"I'll help you," Poppy said, matter-of-factly. "From now on, Hermione will be continuing her Healer training with me during the day. If she needs something, I'll send a house-elf for it." Poppy stood, and Hermione and Severus followed suit. She looked from one to the other. "You two are all alone here. No one can know, especially those Carrow blighters."

Severus shook his head. The relief of knowing that one person was on their side left him feeling like a weak fool. "I thought Hermione would be safe here. Today has proven me wrong." He felt his control going, and Hermione suddenly turned in his arms and held him. "I do not care that I am despised and branded a traitor. But I cannot bear the thought of you being punished for it!" he cried, burying his face against her soft hair.

For a moment, they stood still, holding and comforting one another, with Severus apologising. "I am such a weakling! You have been hurt, and all I can think of is how I cannot survive without you!"

Madam Pomfrey watched them for a moment. "Severus, you must understand. As far as everyone here knows, Hermione is a murderess. I know something else must be going on, and if you wish to tell me, so be it, but whatever happens, she will always be known as the witch who killed Dumble-"

"Don't say it!" Severus cried, pulling Hermione in a crushing grip. Almost plaintively, he added, "She was protecting me."

"It's alright, Severus," Hermione soothed, pulling him closer, feeling his anguish, his pain. "It's alright. Poppy is right. I accept that. When this is over, I will be held accountable."

Severus felt his heart stutter in his chest. "Hermione-"

"But," she continued, "I also believe with all my heart that the truth will be known, and we will be allowed to live free." She smiled up at her husband, and the love in her face almost drove him to his knees. "You yourself said that in the end, we would wade in blood. I believe that now." Her tired eyes were resigned. "But we will not be alone. I also believe that now." She turned to the mediwitch. "You've always supported us, and I have to ask you to support us now." She smiled. "Do you have time to hear the entire story?"

Madam Pomfrey, Matron of Hogwarts Infirmary, staunch defender of the weak and the light, faced the Granger-Snapes with her chin raised high. "I will always have time for you. Both of you. And even if it's with my last breath, I'll defend you to anyone who asks."

Severus met her gaze, finding he was unable to speak. He nodded and turned away, feeling at once comforted and crushed by the thought of Hermione's vulnerability here. He had believed her safest here at Hogwarts with him. No, be honest! You felt safe with her here with you. You're not protecting her so much as you are comforting yourself. You're the one who can't stand the thought of being away from her.

Severus' vision had narrowed down to a dark recess that he was now walking with slow, halting, frightened steps. Once, he would have run to the darkness, ready to have it over with. The endgame was nigh, all the pieces set in motion, and there was nothing to do now but move across this giant chessboard Albus Dumbledore had created the night Severus knelt and promised his soul in exchange for redemption.

He would see it to its conclusion, but he no longer leapt to the next square with the same reckless, heedless impatience he had exhibited in his hopeless youth. Now he could think of nothing but Hermione; even as he dragged himself from nightmare after nightmare, his one thought was Hermione. I have to stay alive for her.

Why did it seem so impossible to believe he could?

Lonesome Valley - Traditional Spiritual