Thirty Eight: Even The Weariest River Winds Somewhere Safe To Sea

Well, I can't believe this moment has finally arrived. I have several author's notes at the end; I hope you will read them, because I have a lot of people to thank, and a little story to tell you.

Thank you for your wonderful reviews. This story changed my life. I hope you enjoyed it.

This chapter is dedicated to Stgulik, for EVERYTHING. You are the answer to so many prayers. You are my Hermione Granger.

It is with a tear in my eye that I write for the final time in this story:

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

---

We've been on this road so long, sometimes I forget you're still right beside me.

I been tired and you've been strong, when I can't find the step you take the lead and guide me;

And something that I meant to say escaped me, but then again, I'd probably say it wrong.

So forgive me for these words; what I said and what you've heard, you know there's something deeper than this song:

And you can keep all the things that I've given you, my love; I hope they serve you well.

I hope that you can tell you're in my heart and I'm better for this ride we took together;

and even though it came down way too fast,

After all the smoke and ashes pass, there's you and me.

---

In the Ministry of Magic there is a huge cyclorama which traverses the entire circumference of the main atrium. It was commissioned by A Grateful Government.

To those who survived, it is a rather anaemic depiction of the Battle of Hogwarts, in all its famous glory. Its generic quality might have stemmed from the fact that it stands in a public place where Wizarding folk of all ages and nationalities pass. The more probable reason was that the artist was nowhere near Scotland during the actual battle.

Because of this, it is unsurprisingly sterile for a depiction of a fight its veterans remember as awash with gore and the stench of the dead and burning and dying. The true survivors of the war attended the dedication ceremony of the exhibit, regarded it with sneering disdain, and proceeded to ignore it for the remainder of their lives.

To its credit, though, it does depict an accurate re-enactment in several minor points. At the beginning of the exhibit, the observer sees the Headmistress bring stone knights to life, the vanguard of the school. Nearby, Hogwarts professors and students slow the progress of giants, while dragons fill the sky with fire and blood.

But other major moments of the battle have been so homogenised as to be almost unrecognisable by the parties involved. Common folk, ancient Wizarding elite, Pure-blood and Muggle-born, all are represented as perfect fighters, their aim true, their courage unshakable. All of the Hogwarts students and professors seem graceful as dancers, immaculately clean, not a robe or hair out of place. Death Eaters are portrayed as unspeakably ugly, corrupt monsters; looking, as a Muggle-born wizard quipped, 'like Jews in a Nazi propaganda poster.'

One of the most dreadfully erroneous sections shows Neville Longbottom slaying the mighty snake Nagini, before turning the Sword of Gryffindor on Bellatrix Lestrange as she bore down on a helpless Hermione Granger-Snape. Neville complained bitterly about this heresy. He was ignored.

Further down, the cyclorama depicts a wild-haired Hermione Granger-Snape again, but this time she is a warrior, a Valkyrie witch. She stands back to back with her husband, Severus Granger-Snape, as they battle Death Eaters, giants, Acromantula and Dementors. The words 'For love' and 'My back to yours' float above their heads, surrounded by cupid-arrow hearts. This section was added two years after the rest of the cyclorama was unveiled.

Then there is the depiction of Voldemort killing Harry Potter, and the incredible moment Harry came back to life, even as Snape returned from a totally inauthentic representation of the Between world, where Voldemort was banished, never to return. Those who were there refused to allow the artist to consult with them over the details of the Between, and of course, he was unable to see it for himself. Later it was discovered that Between could not be revisited at all. After Snape returned without You-Know-Who, the occult dimension known as Between had utterly ceased to exist.

The last panel shows the dead, lying in neat rows, their names magically hovering over their heads with the epitaph:

Either our history shall with full mouth

Speak freely of our acts, or else our grave,

Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth,

Not worshipp'd with a waxen epitaph.

The irony of this quote was seemingly lost on the Ministry.

---

On a blisteringly hot day in June, Severus strode into the Ministry atrium, waving away reporters with an impatient hand. Even Rita Skeeter could not pierce his stoic armour. As he finally reached the lift that would take him down into the bowels of the Ministry, he prayed once again for strength from those thrice-damned gods who so happily gave with one hand and took away with the other.

This was the greatest, most important battle in a lifetime of epic battles. It was for the life of his precious wife.

---

When the Between world spat him out for the final time, Severus found himself in the exact same place he'd left...the courtyard of Hogwarts. Standing beside him was Harry Potter, looking every bit as confused as Severus. The exultation he had felt during his return fluttered and fell from his heart like a tattered coat. Except for the smoking embers of dying dragonfire, the rubble, the charred remains of creatures he'd rather not think about, they might as well still have been in the corridor Between. They saw no one; nothing moved. No sounds greeted them except the rustle of debris blown over the courtyard by the cold Scottish wind.

"Where is everyone?" Harry said, looking around. "Why is so quiet?"

"I-I don't know." The air above them stilled, until nothing moved. "I didn't exactly expect a hero's welcome, but I expected... something." Growing alarmed, Severus looked around for any signs of life. He reached out to Hermione through their link, but he could feel nothing.

Fear gripped his heart. This was not how it was supposed to be. They had defeated the enemy.

"Inside," he said. "Someone must be there."

As they dashed toward the doors that led into the main hall of the school, Severus had an irrational thought that Death had truly cheated him this time, and that this was his true Between; an empty void, mocking him throughout eternity with this silent veneer of Hogwarts. His home forever, with only Harry Potter for company. The idea felt so real and palpable that for a moment, he thought he might be sick.

Hermione, lass, where are you? Why can't I feel...

"Harry! Oh, thank the gods!"

Severus whirled around to see Neville, Luna and Remus Lupin emerging from the Great Hall. They ran toward Harry, embracing their friend, and then they all started talking at once. Behind them, at a respectful distance, the Malfoys warily approached as well. Hermione was in neither group.

"What in Merlin's name has happened here?" Severus demanded.

"Gods, what hasn't happened?" Neville began. "After you and Harry and You-Know-Who disappeared into the Between, all hell broke loose. It was a free-for-all." He shuddered. "The last few Death Eaters just went berserk," he continued. "We threw everything we had at them. We lost some good people, but the last Death Eaters, well, I guess when Voldemort died, they... they..." He stopped, unable to meet Severus' gaze.

Confused, Severus asked, "What happened to them? Did they come back from the Between?"

Surprisingly, it was Malfoy who answered. "Here's what happened to them, Brother." He grasped his shirtsleeve and yanked it back so aggressively, Severus heard the seam rip. Where Lucius' Dark Mark had been was a hideous crater, as if someone had scooped out a portion of his pale skin with a trowel. Severus forced his face to remain impassive. The scar-tissue was shiny and angry-looking, even though it had been sealed by one of the Healers. Both Draco and Lucius were paper-white, and Narcissa put her arm around her husband.

At the sound of movement behind him, he turned as a group of students, teachers, and Order members appeared from the Great Hall and the Infirmary. "Is he gone?" The speaker was a sixth-year Severus remembered as being in Hufflepuff. Her face had a half-healed burn on the left side. Her eyes were haunted with all she'd seen; it was a look shared by many in the crowd. "Is You-Know-Who dead?"

Harry nodded and addressed his former schoolmates. "Tom Riddle is dead, and he's never coming back. We saw him taken by Death itself."

The numbed calm of the group crumpled, and many began to cry. "It's alright," Harry assured them. "You don't have to worry about him ever again." He smiled at them, and the tears gradually turned to a bleak, shattered joy. They wanted to rejoice, but so many friends were gone. There were so few left they could share their happiness with.

Harry accepted their hugs and accolades with a sort of embarrassed modesty; with a start, Severus was reminded that prophecy had ridden on the back of this seventeen-year-old boy since he was an infant. Like Severus, he had paid his debt to destiny. He was truly free.

Remus glanced around at the crowd forming around them. "I think we should take this somewhere a bit more private, don't you?"

Severus looked at the man who had fought back to back with him, but all he could see was Lupin, that long ago day in Grimmauld Place, saying those exact words to him and Sirius Black.

"Tell me now. Please. I must know where Hermione is," he said, not caring that his voice had taken on a childish, pleading tone. "We go nowhere until someone tells me where my wife is." Blind panic welled up in him, and he was near to blasting his own people out of the way, when Narcissa Malfoy placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Her eyes were filled with pity.

"Severus," she said, "Hermione has been arrested. She's going to Azkaban."

---

"The day we took the Mark, the Dark Lord told us that as long as he lived, the Mark would live within us. That is how we knew he never truly died, even though we were told he was killed trying to..." Lucius nodded toward Harry. "Everyone thought he had died that night, but the Mark remained."

Severus nodded. "We had always suspected as much, yes."

They had all adjourned to his former study, where the remaining Heads of House and Hermione's parents joined them.

Lucius continued, "But when you killed the Dark Lord..."

"I keep telling you, Malfoy, Snape didn't kill Tom Riddle!" Harry declared vehemently. "Death took him!"

"Please keep your tempers in check, I beg you," Filius urged for the fourth time. "This is helping no one, least of all our Hermione."

Neville turned to Severus, his face tense. "Anyrote, the Death Eaters. When Voldemort died, they all started screaming. The Dark Mark started burning through their arms like fire. They were literally being roasted from the inside out."

"What happened to the other Death Eaters?"

Neville closed his eyes as if he didn't want to face it. "All those we sent to the Between appeared like they'd been chucked out, and all of 'em were burning and screaming. It was horrible."

"They killed one another," Narcissa added softly, her cool eyes tight with strain. "They went mad, Severus. They turned on one another. It was as if the Dark Mark was the only thing keeping them sane. Even Draco and Lucius..." she turned toward her husband, who slumped against her tiredly.

"I owe... your wife," Lucius began, chewing the words as if they were nettles, "my life. The life of my son. She happened to be in the Infirmary when the Dark Marks began to burn. She understood and stunned us long enough to lance the poison, heal our wounds. She saved us...at least, long enough for us to join her in..."

"Please," Luna interrupted quietly. "Can't you see Professor Snape needs to hear about Hermione?" She drew near to him with all the gentleness of a maid approaching a unicorn. Her blue eyes were tired but full of compassion. "Sir, when all the fighting finally ceased, a group from the Ministry came."

"Yeah, once they didn't have to worry about getting their hands dirty," Neville muttered angrily.

Luna continued. "They helped transport the injured to St. Mungo's. Then a group of Aurors arrived, and started questioning everyone." She hesitated, and cut a quick sidelong glance toward Harry. "Ginny started talking to them, and they followed her into the Infirmary."

Harry gaped at Luna in confusion. "Ginny? But...but why? Why wasn't she with her family?"

Filius took up the story. "The Auror-In-Charge told Hermione she needed to come with them. They told her she was being arrested for the murder of Professor Dumbledore. She begged them to wait until you returned, but..." He shook his head. "I'm afraid Miss Weasley became too impatient. She stunned Hermione and knocked her out cold. She was unconscious when the Aurors took her."

Severus stared at them in disbelief. His heart was pounding so hard he could barely breathe. Rage struck him in the chest like a hammer. "Did no one speak in her defense? Did none of you lift a finger to protect her?"

Lupin put a placating hand on his shoulder, but Severus shook it off. Angrily he roared, "Do you not understand what she has been through? And you just let a grief-stricken girl attack her...in front of her own parents?"

"Severus, we tried to intervene!" Filius replied, his voice plaintive, his eyes angry. "We were held at wand-point. You would have thought we were the enemy, the way these Ministry officials were carrying on."

"I can't feel her at all. She must still be unconscious," Severus said, his head spinning with anxiety. "Perhaps the prison is somehow blocking us." The idea that Hermione was in that heinous place... "I have to go to her."

"We're coming with you, son," his father-in-law said firmly.

Harry nodded. "I'm coming too."

But it would be almost a month before any of them saw Hermione again.

---

During the shambles of what the Ministry called the Reconstruction, Severus petitioned the Minister daily for an audience. The imbeciles at the Ministry had shown the good sense to choose Kingsley Shacklebolt as their new minister, but he had his hands full with trying to weed out the collaborators from the Imperused from the innocent. At first, Severus fully expected to be arrested as well, but it seemed that after the first flush of the battle, getting the government back under control was all Shacklebolt had time to do.

Severus had gone to Arthur Weasley, the only other Ministry official he knew that could help, and came away with the feeling he'd been given the brush off. Arthur had done it with polite courtesy, but his cold, brittle demeanour had been impossible to mistake. He was grieving for his lost sons, and he needed to hold someone accountable. Others shared Arthur's outlook; with the majority of the Death Eaters gone, the Granger-Snapes were convenient scapegoats for a multitude of evils. And while Severus didn't give a toss what they thought of him, it occurred to him it might be another reason he was experiencing this maddening delay.

Each day Severus waited outside Shacklebolt's door, from the moment the workday began until the Minister's undersecretary told him that Minister Shacklebolt had left for the day. "Did you tell him I was here?" he fumed, and each time he was answered with an indifferent shrug. No one sympathised with double agents.

In the end, it took the Boy-Who-Lived-Again, Harry Potter, to cloak his sins and demand an audience. Harry had finally pried himself away from reporters and the Weasleys long enough to be of any use to anyone.

"I'm sorry to be the cause of such conflict," Severus said, lying. He could not bring himself to feel much sympathy while his wife languished alone and wounded in Azkaban. "It was never my intention..." he trailed off.

"I know. You're not to blame, Severus," Harry replied bleakly. "The Weasleys are good people, but they're hurting. They need time to recover. Ginny will come around. And if she doesn't, well," Harry shrugged. "Asking me to turn my back on you two was too much, especially after what she did to Hermione."

Ginevra Weasley had not been happy to learn Harry planned to assist the Granger-Snapes. The atrocities she claimed had been performed on her at Hogwarts while Severus had been Headmaster were beyond disturbing. She was still angry and consumed by the bitterness of losing two of her brothers while Severus and Hermione both survived. When asked, she boldly admitted she had been the one to call the Aurors in. She had been glad to hex Hermione into unconsciousness so that they could take her to prison.

"I pray she will come around," Severus replied out of politeness, but inside he fumed. It was a pity Miss Weasley was too young and foolish to realise that revenge never paid dividends commensurate to the cost. No matter how much you pile on our plate, your brothers will not return in exchange. And now it looks as though it will cost you Harry Potter as well.

"In any case, I couldn't just sit there if I could actually help," Harry said to the plush carpet in the Minister's antechamber. "You and Hermione saved my life. I can't let her spend one extra second in Azkaban if I can help it."

Severus knew he was supposed to say words of gratitude, but he couldn't summon the energy. His heart was so heavy and full of dread he was surprised it was still capable of beating. While he waited and begged and despaired during the weeks following the battle, he had lived on coffee and fear. He couldn't afford to expend any time or regard for anyone but Hermione.

"Mr. Potter? The Minister will see you now," announced the undersecretary, who gave Severus a sneer of derision as he followed Potter into the office.

"Harry, Severus! I'm sorry you've been kept waiting." Kingsley Shacklebolt shook their hands, and waved them toward a set of chairs. "Please, sit. Tea?"

"No. Thank you," Severus replied, trying to hold onto his temper. "Minister, I've been trying for weeks to talk to you. Hermione is rotting in Azkaban..."

"I know, Severus, I know," Shacklebolt interrupted, holding up a large, dark hand. "I promise I've not been avoiding you."

"Why is it that people only say such things when it's obvious they have?"

Shacklebolt didn't even have the decency to look affronted. "The Wizengamot was petitioned to incarcerate your wife by several influential wizards and witches. The law gives them the right to do so, but it also gives Hermione the right to a fair trial."

"And how fair a trial do you expect her to have, with these anonymous 'influential wizards and witches' baying for her blood?" Severus asked harshly.

The Minister stilled. "I'm going to be honest with you, Severus. Hermione Granger stands accused of murdering Albus Dumbledore. She has confessed to it, and there are witnesses who watched her do it."

"But Albus demanded..."

"Witnesses saw Albus Dumbledore plead for his life, saw her perform the Killing Curse. The evidence is damning, and even more so in the present climate." He took off his glasses. "You disappeared with You-Know-Who into some parallel place, Severus. You came back alone with only your word that he is dead. And any Death Eater who could attest to that fact is dead at the hands of his own 'brothers'."

"Lucius and Draco Malfoy..."

"Are persona non grata with the Ministry right now."

"But there has to be something we can do," Harry said, his earnest face set in grim lines.

Shacklebolt looked at the two men. "If I can persuade the Wizengamot to allow her a speedy trial, you may have a shot. If not, I'm afraid..." he raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture.

Severus closed his eyes and reached out for his precious wife. As if far, far down a well, he imagined he could hear her plaintive cry for him. He thought of his pledge to protect her at the expense of their lives. He had never once considered he would be protecting her from the so-called good guys.

Hold on, lass. I'm coming. And I will get you out of this, I swear on my life.

He stood. "Get that trial scheduled. And grant me permission to visit her, as often and for as long as I like."

"Severus, I..."

"Do it, Minister!" Harry Potter barked, surprising the older men in the room. His green eyes were snapping fire. "What the bloody hell good is being the bloody Minister of this bloody country if you can't give this man visiting rights to see his wife? And remind these bloody 'influential witches and wizards' that while they were cowering in their homes, afraid of getting their wands dirty, Hermione Granger-Snape was discovering the spell we needed to win the bloody war!"

---

Severus took a Calming Draught before he and Harry boarded the ferry to Azkaban. He had spent a month imprisoned there, after the first time Tom Riddle had disappeared, and he could still remember the mind-numbing terror the place had evoked in him. He had been only a little older than Hermione, and Dumbledore had been his salvation. How it rankled that the old man was now his wife's downfall.

They entered the prison on the ground floor, a dank, damp place, where a grim custodian took their wands and cloaks. "Warden Oswald's expecting you," he grunted, pointing down the hall. "Last door on the left."

Harry left him at the door. "I'll see what I can do to chivvy them up about her belongings." Severus nodded, and tapped on the Warden's door.

Warden Oswald, a large wizard in his late fifties, was sitting at his cluttered desk, reading Hermione's release parchment as Severus entered his office. His close-cropped hair was iron grey, and he glanced up at Severus with hard blue eyes before returning to the document. "Be right with you, sir," he mumbled. "Have a seat. Langley?"

A blond prison guard appeared in the doorway. "Yes, guv'nor?"

"Some tea for our guest." As they waited, Severus' eyes fell on a brass placard on the warden's desk which read, 'Cedric D. Oswald, Warden-In-Chief.' "An unusual name in the Wizarding world, 'Cedric.' I had a student by that name. Cedric Diggory."

"My godson, Mr. Snape," Oswald answered, his eyes still roaming the parchment before him. "Amos Diggory and I went to Hogwarts together. Terrible thing, that." He sighed as he set the parchment aside and took off his half-moon spectacles. He looked keenly at Severus. His Occlumency shields were water-tight. "So many tragedies these past few years. So many young people."

With more restraint than he thought himself capable, Severus asked, "How is Hermione? Is she eating well? Is she alright?" A bubble of fear welled into his throat, and he had to swallow to prevent himself from choking.

"Mrs. Snape is..." he stopped just as the guard returned with a tray of tea and a few biscuits. "Thank you, Alton."

Once they were alone again, Oswald continued, "Mrs. Snape was only remanded here in custody, you understand. I think she will tell you she's been treated as well as a prisoner can be here. Of course, the Dementors are gone, but there is quite a bit of their residual energy left within the prison."

"I understand. I'd like to take her with me this afternoon," Severus answered automatically, staring at the teacup sitting on the warden's desk. The liquid within quivered, as if the ground beneath them hummed and rumbled, as if they were in the midst of a low-grade earthquake. The warden's cryptic statement had produced a similar sensation in his gut. "My wife has been here for a month. I don't want to think about what she has endured."

Oswald's stern features grew thoughtful. "Mr. Snape, as you may well imagine, I've seen many wizards and witches come to this prison. Some begged for mercy. Some still had their victim's blood on their hands. Some were even innocent. It isn't for me to judge what they've done or whether or not they are guilty. That's for the Wizengamot to decide."

"I understand," Severus answered again. He clenched his teeth, and disciplined himself to calm down, meeting the Warden's unrelenting stare with his own unflinching gaze.

"We watch new inmates very carefully, Mr. Snape, especially witches," Oswald was saying. "Your wife was a model prisoner, polite, patient, self-disciplined. She made a valiant effort to keep her mind and body healthy. Talked to herself, walked the perimeter of her cell, tried to catalogue events, that sort of thing. Her Occlumency shields were strong, and emotionally she was very grounded." He hesitated, then added, "If I may be permitted to say so, it is obvious that she is a witch who is loved and who loves a great deal."

Severus closed his eyes. "She is greatly loved, and is worthy of so much more. She is a good person, Warden."

He fixed Severus with a meaningful look. "This kept her strong for quite awhile. But Azkaban confuses and depresses even the toughest prisoners very quickly. They become disorientated. It's nothing to be ashamed of, Mr. Snape. Your wife fought it for a long time."

Severus' heart hammered in his chest. "I could never be ashamed of her," he said, and coloured at the whining tone of his voice. "Please tell me she's alright. Warden, I..." Tears sprang to his eyes, and he dashed them away impatiently.

"Mrs. Snape has been sleeping a great deal this past week; add to that the fact that her food intake has decreased quite dramatically, and it's not a good sign. To be honest, had a few more days passed, I would have petitioned the Minister myself."

Looking into Oswald's shrewd, pale eyes, Severus shook his head in confusion and fear. "Why?"

"Because that little girl is no murderer."

Severus rose clumsily to his feet. He bumped into the desk, causing the cold tea to slosh from its china cup. "Warden, please. I beg you," he entreated. "Please, no more. I need to go and take my wife home. A month of this..."

"Of course." Oswald looked solemnly at a photo on a nearby wall. It showed a younger version of the man. In his arms, he held a young boy of about ten. Cedric Diggory. He stood, and leaned in close to Severus. Quietly, he said, "You won't hear it from many, and I'll deny you heard it from me, but I know what you did. Both of you. I wasn't there, but I know plenty who were. If the courts decide she's guilty, I'll do whatever I can to help her here. I know the innocent ones, even if they have their victim's blood on their hands. I've been here long enough to hear what Azkaban has to say about each and every prisoner. And it tells me she's innocent."

He stepped away. "Langley!" he called. "Langley, please escort Mr. Snape to his wife's cell and prepare her for departure."

"Certainly, guv'nor," Langley replied, and nodded to Severus. "Come with me, sir."

They walked up several flights of stone stairs, the air growing colder with each step. "She's a nice lady, your missus," Langley said, as they ascended. "Azkaban's tough on witches, you know."

Severus nodded, unable to speak. The closer he approached, the more Hermione's despair and misery permeated his soul, until he could barely summon the strength to keep climbing.

---

Hermione... Hermione! Lass, wake up! It's me!

Hermione groaned and feebly pushed away the dream. "Leave me alone. Just for one night."

"Gods! Oh, lass, what has happened to you?" Hermione blearily opened her eyes, and promptly shut them. This was a familiar, sweet deception: a dream in which Severus was holding her. It was so vivid she could actually smell his warm, spicy scent, hear his beautiful voice in her mind. She burrowed further into her thin blanket, clutching the dream like a comforting teddy.

"Hermione, for the love of Merlin, open your eyes! It's me, love! I've come to take you home."

Hermione blinked to clear her vision. As sweet as the dream was, the longing for home was enough to chance waking. She tentatively reached out, and when her fingertips made contact with the warm, rough skin of her husband's jaw, she croaked, "S-Severus? Are you real?"

The embrace convinced her he was real enough. As they touched, his thoughts flooded into her tattered mind like a warm summer breeze. Joy and anguish, and anger and relief, indignation and love; every emotion was sharp and sweet, and they healed and soothed her as they washed over her. Her vision cleared, and she looked up into the beloved face, all harsh angles and clean defined lines. His eyes, so dark and full of devotion, were wet with tears. "Severus," she said, "did you say home?"

He gave her a tremulous smile, and the hungry tentacles of Azkaban no longer held sway over her soul. "Yes, lass. We're going home."

---

Granting Hermione's house arrest hadn't come a moment too soon, though the timing was less than ideal for Harry. While they waited for a trial date, he insisted they stay with him at Grimmauld Place. He'd even insisted on vouchsafing for Hermione, but Shacklebolt had still made them both take a wand oath that the Granger-Snapes wouldn't leave the country before the trial. "I had to work too damn hard to get it; I'm not going to risk my career or my reputation on you two doing a runner on me and mucking everything up," he'd growled.

Harry also invited Hermione's parents to live there as well, at least until they could find a new house of their own. As well-meaning and helpful as this gesture was, it drove the final wedge between Harry and the Weasleys. When Ginny found out the entire Granger-Snape family was now residing at Grimmauld, she issued an ultimatum: if they stayed, Harry would no longer be welcome at the Burrow. Even Ron refused to back up Harry this time.

Harry was understandably saddened by the turn of events, but stubborn enough not to back down. "I don't want to appear ungrateful to the Weasleys," he'd explained, "but I'm not going to argue with Ginny while she's being this unreasonable. She'll come around." Severus gave up all pretense of having patience with the girl. To him it was a petty drama, and Ginevra's petulance seemed more about asserting her power over Harry Potter than with the difference between right and wrong.

It took almost another month of care before Hermione was able to shake off the hideous effects of the prison. All through the first week, she had paced the house as restlessly as an animal, until Severus Apparated them to a rundown old dog track near Spinner's End and allowed her to walk the poison out of her system.

With Poppy's help, she slept peacefully, and gradually the nightmares tapered off. Hours spent communicating through their mental link restored her peace of mind, and Jean Granger's good cooking elevated everyone's mood; it was easier feel optimistic on a full, satisfied stomach.

The five of them lived comfortably in the old house, and for a man who had once resigned himself to a solitary, unhappy existence, Severus found life surrounded by the Gryffindorish clan surprisingly peaceful. Even Harry Potter no longer rubbed him the wrong way.

Sometimes, in the evenings when they all sat around the table in the tiny, narrow kitchen talking over tea and Jean Granger's scones, the sweet feeling of being part of a loving family would threaten to overwhelm him with emotion. During those times, he would quietly leave the room and stand outside, cursing himself for the soppy fool he was. Hermione always found him, and they held one another until he was able to return.

Now that it was no longer Secret-kept, Grimmauld was full of visitors. It became a refuge for Remus Lupin, who would sometimes bring his infant son round to visit and be fussed over by the women. Filius Flitwick stopped by, filling them in on the slow-going restoration of the school. And everyone who walked through the door, be they Slytherin or Gryffindor, Hogwarts professor or friend, had one common goal: to keep Hermione Granger-Snape out of Azkaban.

On the evening before Hermione's trial, Severus answered a knock at the door to discover the Malfoys, who had come calling to show Hermione their support. They were a quiet, sad little trio standing on the steps, and it was strange to see Lucius waiting so patiently, like a salesman hoping to be invited in. Lucius Malfoy, who had always strode breezily through life, expecting all doors to automatically open for him, because they always had.

They were also under strict orders not to leave the country, and bore their new place in Wizarding society with simple, stoic dignity, like royalty in exile. "I'm sure things will settle down soon, Lucius," Severus offered. With a wry smile, he added, "You always had the ability to fall in a bucket of shit and come out smelling like a rose."

"A rose in need of a garden, Severus," Lucius replied, cryptically. He had never regained the bold arrogance of his earlier days. Instead, a quieter, more resigned Lucius sat at the table, listening to the talk around him, his eyes faintly clouded with longing. He doesn't believe he will ever find a place for himself again, thought Severus. Just then, his mother-in-law said something to Narcissa, which brought a ghost of a smile to her lips. Almost unconsciously she placed her hand on her husband's and squeezed gently.

Beneath the table, he felt Hermione's hand slip into his and he held on to her like a lifeline. If we wizards eventually gain any measure of success, it will be because of the fine women by our side, not our own impotent little struggles.

Later, after their guests departed and the rest of the house were abed, Severus and Hermione made love feverishly, frantically, their coupling full of passion and power and terror. Afterward, wrapped in one another's arms so tightly they could barely breathe, their tears mingling on one another's cheeks, Severus whispered, "I cannot live without you, witch."

She shook her head. "You will never be without me, Severus Snape. I'm in your blood, and you're in mine."

I can't let you go to prison. I won't.

Her eyes met his, and he saw the fear of a young, healthy woman in her full bloom, aching, yearning to live free. Don't let them take me to Azkaban again.

Tears poured from his closed eyes. So be it, lass. Either you walk out free, or neither of us will walk out at all.

She kissed him then, and whispered, "Thank you."

---

Severus remembered the evening of the final battle, thinking how it would all be over in twenty-four hours. How ironic that twenty four hours later the battle had only truly begun for them.

The lift doors opened, and Severus walked into the courtroom. In the centre of the room, seated in that awful chair, Hermione looked as vulnerable as a child. She met his eye, and he nodded. I love you.

She smiled encouragingly as the Wizengamot shuffled through their papers and the Minister struck the gavel. "The court will come to order." As the whispers and rustling died down, Kingsley Shacklebolt announced, "Hermione Granger-Snape, you stand accused of the murder of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, using the Unforgivable Killing Curse. How do you plead?"

Her voice was calm and steady. "Not guilty."

The court disrupted into angry murmurs, and Severus realised just how few friends they had to support them. The Ministry needed Hermione to be found guilty. Tom Riddle was gone; they needed someone to vilify. Shacklebolt struck the gavel again. "Order! I will have order."

As the angry buzzing voices died down, the Minister said, "These are very serious accusations, Mrs. Granger-Snape. Witnesses corroborated the evidence. There are several who stand here to accuse you." His voice rose in the room. "Is there anyone who will rise to defend the accused?"

There was a commotion from the rear of the courtroom as two burly bailiffs came in, carrying two huge portraits, which were faced outward toward the Wizengamot. "Obviously I would stand, but I don't think you'd be able to tell the difference," Albus' portrait-self announced, his eyes twinkling.

"Well, I'm going to stand for Hermione, and I'd like to see you stop me, Kingsley," Minerva McGonagall announced tartly from inside her new frame. She turned to Severus. "Never worry dear. We've brought the cavalry." Like the great witch she had been, Minerva's portrait cried out, "Now, who'll stand with me?"

"I will stand," Severus announced, and rose to his feet.

"So will I," Harry Potter added, and even as he rose Remus Lupin jumped to his feet to add his support. Neville Longbottom was next, and then dozens more witches and wizards moved forward. Severus looked around in stunned disbelief as the declaration carried from one person to the next. Filius, Pomona Sprout. Poppy Pomfrey. Aberforth Dumbledore. Luna and Xenophilius Lovegood. More and more people entered through the door, until the courtroom was ringed with supporters. Severus' heart swelled, and he risked a glance at Hermione, who was peering into each face, her eyes brimming with tears.

Another voice from the back called out. "I will stand, and so will my family." Severus turned to see the Weasley clan join the group, including Bill and Fleur. Ginevra, he noticed, chose not to stand with her family.

In the hushed atmosphere of the courtroom, the Minister looked at the sea of faces and intoned, "Please be seated."

Three drops of Veritaserum were placed on Hermione's tongue, and Severus watched anxiously as her pupils contracted, then dilated. The Minister announced, "Prosecution, you may proceed."

Cornelius Fudge stood up, and Severus' heart sank. He and Fudge had notoriously butted heads over the years, and Fudge was a petty politician who carried a grudge a mile long and a fathom deep.

He looked positively smug as he approached Hermione. "Mrs. Granger-Snape, did you or did you not cast the Unforgivable Killing Curse on Albus Dumbledore?"

Hermione did not hesitate. "Yes." The room buzzed uneasily.

"Objection," Severus replied, standing. "Hermione Granger-Snape may have cast the curse, but she could not have killed Albus Dumbledore."

Fudge looked as if something vile-smelling had been wafted under his nose. "Oh? And how can this be?"

"Because I killed him."

"Order!" The Minister roared, as the room erupted. "I will have order!" He glared at Severus. "Now, Mr. Granger-Snape. What is the meaning of this?"

Severus waited until the room grew quiet. Years of teaching recalcitrant students had taught him how to use his compelling voice, and he waited with cold, imperious calm as the restless group quieted. Softly, he announced, "I wish to confess."

"Severus, no!"

"Hermione, please, I beg of you," he insisted. He turned back to the Minister's chair. "Albus Dumbledore was already dying when the Curse was performed; dying from a potion I created."

"Explain," Shacklebolt replied warily.

"When I was first indoctrinated into the Death Eaters, I was approached by Tom Riddle and ordered to create a Dark Potion. It was made to his exact specifications. It produced dangerous, psychologically damaging visions; it was excruciatingly painful to ingest. It eventually killed whoever drank it. Albus Dumbledore ingested this potion on the night he died. He was almost dead by the time Hermione confronted him."

CLACK! The gavel sounded like a clap of thunder. "Must I empty this courtroom?" Kingsley snapped at the restless, dissatisfied crowd. As they silenced, he turned his attention back to Severus. "Did Albus know what this potion was?"

"He did."

"And may I ask why an intelligent wizard like Albus Dumbledore would ingest a potion he knew would kill him? Did you personally force him to drink it?"

"No, I did!"

The courtroom nearly exploded as Harry Potter leapt to his feet. Shacklebolt pounded the gavel so hard Severus thought it was going to shatter.

"Another outburst like that and I'm throwing out the lot of you!" Kingsley bellowed, his dark eyes flashing. "Alright, Harry, what is the meaning of this? Explain yourself. And you lot keep quiet or I'll Silencio you all!" he warned to the excited assembly.

Harry stood, and for the better part of an hour, told the court nearly everything that had happened during his sixth year at Hogwarts, starting with the black, hideous mark on Dumbledore's hand. He explained Voldemort's Horcruxes. He even mentioned the day he almost killed Draco with Sectumsempra.

He told how, on the night of Albus' death, he'd learned that Severus Snape had overheard the prophecy regarding Voldemort and himself. He explained that Hermione had begged to speak with him, but in his anger he refused to listen. "She was trying to tell me the truth, but I was too upset. Then Professor Dumbledore asked me to go with him to destroy another Horcrux."

He glanced at the portrait, and continued, "When we arrived at the cave, the Horcrux was at the bottom of a stone basin filled with potion. The Professor told me to force him to drink it all, no matter what he said or did." Harry sighed. "It was horrible. I knew it was making him see dreadful things. He was in so much pain. He begged me to stop, but I made him drink every last drop. By the time we returned to Hogwarts, he was too weak to stand. I didn't realise it at the time, but he was dying. I didn't want to believe it. He had always seemed so indestructible and strong. But he kept his secrets, and maybe if he had told me the truth, we wouldn't be here today."

With tears in his eyes, Harry went on. "When we arrived at the top of the tower, the Headmaster begged me to find Professor Snape. That was all he would say. 'Go and fetch Severus!' I went to find the professor, but then Draco Malfoy and several Death Eaters arrived. Draco was the one Voldemort wanted to do the deed, but I disarmed him. Then Severus came, and Professor Dumbledore pleaded with him. I still hear it in my dreams." He turned to Severus. "I thought he was pleading for his life, but he wasn't, was he? He was pleading for you to end it. He was in agony."

Wordlessly, Severus nodded, his heart heavy with the remembrance of that night. Trying to summon the courage to cast the Curse, hearing Dumbledore taunting him; then hearing the words scissor through the air like flying razors...

The courtroom was finally quiet when Dumbledore's portrait spoke. The voice was infinitely sad. "You all did what you were asked, dear boy. Draco and you, and Severus and Hermione. But the only person who took my life was me."

The portrait held up his hand. Even in the portrait, his hand was black, as the vile curse crept eternally over his fingers. Dumbledore addressed the crowd. "I discovered that one of Tom Riddle's Horcruxes was his grandfather's signet ring. In my pride, I placed the ring on my finger. I thought it would give me power over him. Instead, its curse rotted me from the inside out. The corruption could not be halted; it was killing me, and nothing could stop it.

"It was then I devised a plan to forever cement the Granger-Snapes into Tom Riddle's mind as his true followers. If Severus killed me, Tom Riddle would reward him. Sadly, it meant Severus would forever be regarded as a traitor to the Order, but I had to send him where he was needed. Draco's soul would have been spoilt by murder, Severus' would be tempered by mercy.

"Thus, with me gone, Severus was a natural choice to head Hogwarts, and therefore could protect the children, including Harry. Soon, I knew, I would be unable to protect anyone, including myself. The Killing Curse was assisted suicide."

The mutterings of the witches and wizards in the courtroom were subdued, for fear of the Minister's wrath, but Severus could feel their uncertainty. Albus had always been a controversial figure, alternately revered and reviled.

The Minister glared at the Wizengamot and once again they fell silent. "And are their witnesses who can corroborate these facts in a Pensieve?"

"Yes," Severus and Harry said together.

"I have one question for the accused," Kingsley continued, and the crowd turned their focus back on Hermione. "If Severus was charged with making this dumbshow of killing Dumbledore, why was it you who cast the Killing Curse?"

Hermione stood, and the courtroom became as silent as a tomb. With her eyes locked on the Minister, she said, "On the day Severus came to me and told me what Professor Dumbledore wanted him to do, I thought about something my husband had once told me. When he realised that the Potters were targeted as a result of the prophecy he'd given to Tom Riddle, he left the Death Eaters forever. Because of his love for Lily Evans Potter, he got down on his knees before Albus Dumbledore and begged him to do anything in his power to save her. He sold his soul to Dumbledore that night, on the promise that she would be protected. And we all know what happened to her."

She turned to the portrait. "I've often wondered about that, Professor. You knew that entire prophecy better than anyone. And you knew which part of the prophecy Tom Riddle knew. Would you have been willing to sacrifice the Potters to ensure the prophecy was fulfilled? Would you have allowed the Potter family to die for your Greater Good?"

The portrait's voice was crabbed and defensive. "Did I know what would happen? Of course not. Of course I wanted to protect the Potters. But in the end, I will admit I used their martyrdom to ensure Severus' loyalty. Do not forget, Mrs. Granger-Snape; I kept him out of Azkaban. That's more than Severus has done for you."

There was an audible gasp, and Severus clenched his fists. Hermione addressed the portrait with narrow-eyed contempt. "Do not dare presume to know what my husband has done for me, Professor. He defended me when you dismissed me outright. He saved my life over and over, many times. You made him believe he wasn't worthy of love or care, but he loved and cared for me far more than you will ever understand. When I thought my parents had been killed, he became everything to me: father, mother, brother, husband, son. And I became everything to him.

"When he told me you ordered him to kill you, I knew the world would forever brand him a traitor and a murderer, and I couldn't allow you to do that to this fine, fine wizard." She turned back to Shacklebolt. "Voldemort didn't really care who killed the headmaster, as long as he was dead. So Dumbledore and I made a pact. He would sanction our marriage, and in turn, I would be the one to set his twisted, convoluted plan in motion."

She turned to Severus, her eyes shining with love. "I realised at that moment exactly how you had felt about Lily. You had been willing to do anything to protect her. And I knew then I would do anything to keep you safe, even if it meant I would be forever known as a murderer."

"You cannot murder a dead man, child," Dumbledore's portrait replied softly, his voice full of honest regret. He looked up at the members of the court. "You must understand this, if you understand nothing else: This witch is no murderer. We were in a war, and she was a soldier. I was her commander, and I gave her an order. I beg of you, please do not condemn her for carrying out my order in a time of war."

---

They sat, knee to knee, holding hands. The small antechamber was a few doors down from the courtroom, and it was blessedly quiet after the noisy din they'd left behind. Severus gratefully held onto the solitude for as long as it was given to them. Hermione was smiling at him, and his heart swelled. My brave girl. How did I live my life without you?

She took a deep, bracing breath. "I hope they won't take too much time arriving at a verdict. The suspense is making me feel sick."

He nodded. "When they release you..."

"If, Severus."

"When they release you," he repeated stubbornly, "We're getting out of here. Your parents are welcome to join us, but we're quitting Britain."

"Oh, really?" There was a hint of playfulness in her voice, as if it were a game. "And where are you taking me, my husband?"

He caressed her cheek. "Where no one can see us..."

She grasped his hand and kissed it. "Where no one can find us..."

He touched his lips to hers. They trembled against his mouth. "Where no one can hurt you."

The door opened, and still they remained close, uncaring of the rest of the world. Harry Potter said quietly, "They've asked me to fetch you. They're ready to hand down the verdict."

Severus felt Hermione shudder. They stood and held one another. "My back to yours," she whispered.

They walked with their arms about one another down the short hall and back into the courtroom. When a wizard tried to separate them, Severus hissed, "Don't touch her. You don't have the right."

"Yet," the wizard spat, then walked away.

Kingsley Shacklebolt resumed his seat and banged the gavel. The courtroom immediately grew quiet. After a brief moment, he began. "I have fought now in two wars against You-Know-Who and his followers; I do not ever wish to fight again. I have seen strong men turn craven; I have seen brave men die horribly.

"There are those who openly fight for the light and against injustice. Others must fight in the shadows. They are called unsavoury names like spy and turncoat, but their role is no less important than the soldier standing proud at the front line. Their actions and motivations are sometimes difficult to understand, because we can't always see the full picture. But their work is no less vital to win the war.

"Hermione Granger-Snape, will you approach the bench?"

Together, Severus and Hermione walked together. The Minister looked down on them, his dark face impassive. "Albus Dumbledore and I used to play chess, you know. He was a daring and tricky opponent; I rarely won. He never gave anything away until it was too late, and I was in check. He always played his most perilous moves near the end of the game, and he never hesitated in sacrificing a vital piece if it ensured certain victory. 'The battlefield is in our hearts', he used to say. 'If you cannot play to win; play to not lose.'

"Now, I have listened to testimony. I have viewed Pensieve memories. That Dumbledore set this incredible plan in motion doesn't surprise me, and neither does the fact that you were compromised enough to surrender your reputation and your future to his Greater Good. War is not pretty, and it is not sane. And it takes a strong person to do perform ugly acts of insanity in order to win.

"This court finds the defendant guilty of casting the Killing Curse. The sentence is a term of one month in Azkaban." Shacklebolt's mouth twitched. "Including time served."

The assembly roared like a Quidditch crowd, their voices frantic with equal amounts of joy and displeasure. The gavel struck again. "Case dismissed!"

Hermione gasped, then looked up at Severus, the shock written plainly on her face. "Lass, you're free," he breathed, and threw his arm around her. Her knees buckled, but he held her upright, as dozens of friends and colleagues rushed to encircle them. Hermione's parents were the first to throw their arms around their daughter; Harry, Ron and half of Wizarding Britain soon joined them.

In the wild rush of elation, Severus looked down into Hermione's face, and kissed her as if they were the only people in the world.

---

Epilogue

He sat watching the girl sleep. It wasn't necessary, he told himself, but he couldn't stop himself. She sighed in her sleep, and kicked the cover away from her body. There was a slight sheen of sweat on her forehead, and his sensitive nose detected the sweet, mouth-watering tang of her sex. He stirred and hardened, wanting her, always wanting her.

It had been a warm night, and the nearby lake had infused the night air with moist warmth, like a sauna. He smirked at the growing kinks in her already-unmanageable hair. He was tempted to brush the loose tendrils from her slightly shiny face, but he was afraid it would cause her to stir. She looked so peaceful, he was loathe to disturb her slumber. He wasn't there to wake her. He was there to watch over her. A sweet contentment enveloped him, and soon he drifted off, his erection growing flaccid.

They had traveled to several places, searching for this. Oman, Lybia, Peru, China, Brazil. In Mongolia they found it. They had taken one look at Khar Nuur, and knew it was the soft, inviting oasis of their desert dreaming. They located the magical district, and pitched their tent near the water's edge.

Their pale British skin turned ruddy, then brown. Their hair grew long and tangled, except when they bothered to perform Severus' hair taming spell. They drew beautiful patterns on one another's hands and feet with henna; they lined their eyes with kohl to cut the desert glare. They cast cooling charms to keep themselves comfortable, and unwittingly presented an enchanting picture to magical folk and Muggles alike: two exotic, otherworldly people walking among the market stalls and traders of Khar Nuur, wrapped up in their own private world.

During the year that followed, they rutted, fucked, teased, treasured, and exalted one another to their heart's content. They were blissfully anonymous and gloriously happy: eating, sleeping, making love, planning the future and forgetting the war.

---

Severus lolled on the heaps of pillows and cushions that served as their desert bed, and watched Hermione approach from the water. Heat made her silhouette shimmer, and the soft breeze caught her gauzy crimson robe and lifted it like the fluttering wing of a bird. Severus had already removed his own lightweight robe; it was carefully packed away with the rest of their belonging in readiness for their trip home.

She entered the tent, bearing a hammered-metal tray of ripe, golden apples, dates, goat's cheese, figs, flatbreads, and a flagon of wine. "Arslandorj had such gorgeous ripe figs at his stall today, so I went a little overboard. We can take some with us for the journey." She turned, and the sight of her heavy, swollen belly affected him as it always did. She would soon be too far along for any fun and games, so he was determined to pleasure her in every way while he still could.

With a groan, she sat the tray down on a low table near their pillow-bed. Severus helped her to undress, and renewed the cooling charm that kept the inside of the tent at a perfect temperature for Hermione's fluctuating hormones. She lay down beside him with a grateful sigh. "I'm getting too fat for these cushions anyway. I'm getting tired of the upturned-turtle dance every time I need to get up."

"I'll help you stand up," he replied lazily, tucking an extra pillow behind her back.

"Soon I'll be too huge to lift. I'm already a cow."

He kissed the pout from her lips. "You look divine, lass, and you know it." She was so beautiful like this: uninhibited, unhurried, undressed. He caressed every inch of her ripe lush body. She was sweeter than any fruit he had ever tasted, and as heady as any wine he had every imbibed. Oh, my sweet girl... I cannot get enough of you! he moaned with pleasure, even as she burst, ripe and sweet, on his tongue. Later, lying spooned together, they made slow sensual love, reaching their blistering peak in the white-hot Mongolian sun.

---

"I'm going to miss Khar Nuur," Severus admitted, as their drank to their last day in the desert. "Returning to England is going to be strange."

"No stranger than leaving it," Hermione replied, gulping the cool water thirstily. Sex always left her parched. "Besides, Mum and Dad would never forgive us if we had this baby somewhere they couldn't reach." She gave a soft moan of approval as he caressed her swollen stomach. "And Hogwarts needs you."

Severus snorted. "Needs me to be the new whipping boy, more like. I still can't believe those dunderheads petitioned for me to return. Have they lost their collective minds?"

Hermione smiled. She knew he was secretly pleased, but old Snape-ish habits died hard. "It's not as though they had a choice, did they?"

Two months before, a Glossy Ibis had appeared, arriving on the edge of a dust storm. It had slammed headlong into their tent with such force, its long beak pierced a hole in the canvas. Severus had repaired the tent, and was smoothing the bird's ruffled feathers when he noticed the parchment tied to its leg. As soon as they read the contents of Kingsley Shacklebolt's message, they knew their simple, desert life was about to change.

Quite simply put, the school had decided that it wanted Severus to return as Headmaster. He had always suspected the castle was sentient; he could have received no greater confirmation than on the day of the battle, when the castle's wards and defense reset after Minerva's death.

Now, it seemed Hogwarts would not allow any other headmaster to take the helm. Doors would not open. Wards would not reset. The castle petulantly refused to cooperate with any of the governors or its staff. Rebuilding work had ground to a halt, because the castle would not allow itself to be rebuilt.

Baffled, Filius, Pomona, Horace and the newly-named Head of Gryffindor, Bill Weasley, finally managed to gain access to the Headmaster's study. There, they confronted the former Heads and asked for guidance.

"Isn't it obvious, you thick little man?" Phineas Nigellus Black drawled contemptuously. "The castle is pining for its Master."

"Who, sir?" Horace enquired.

"Why, that Slytherin brat, of course. Severus Snape-Granger, or whatever he's calling himself nowadays. If you don't get him and his little Mudblood wife to come back, you might as well turn the place into an aquarium."

"The other portraits corroborated Black's suggestion," Kingsley wrote. "And when the spell was cast to name you Headmaster, the bally place lit up like a Christmas tree. If it had been a dog, its tail would have been wagging.

"It seems that dear Hogwarts was content to pine away while we scratched our heads and tried ineffective healing charms. It simply waited until we got it into our thick skulls what it wanted. Either you must return, or the school will not reopen."

For days, Severus and Hermione talked of the changes it would make to their lives, and if he really wanted to put up with Hogwarts again. The ibis patiently waited while they decided. They nicknamed him Nergüi, which meant "no name", and he remained with them until Severus penned his reluctant reply. "We might as well have a job when we go back," he grumbled, talking to Hermione's bump. "I won't have any child of mine begging for knuts and sickles in Diagon Alley."

---

They Apparated to the old point just outside the perimeter of Hogwarts, pausing a moment until their first-to-be-born stopped kicking her ribs. "I don't think he likes Apparation any more than I do," Hermione announced. With a nod of thanks she accepted the Anti-Nausea Potion Severus had packed just in case. Once her stomach had settled, she put her arms around him, and he held her as close as their unborn child would allow. "Before we reach the castle, I want to tell you something. Something I need to say out loud."

"You sound serious," Severus replied warily.

"I am," she answered. She turned the full battery of her lovely eyes up at him. "I want to tell you how proud I am of you. How proud I am to be your wife."

Abashed, he ducked his head. "You... you could have had any wizard. Any man would be proud to have you..."

"Oh, Severus, why would I want 'any wizard'? I get to spend my life with the most powerful, charismatic, beautiful wizard of our age. I get to have his children. I get to make love to the man of my dreams." She pulled his head down into a kiss. "I'm the luckiest witch in the world."

They held one another for a long time. Severus tried to speak several times and failed, but within their link, he poured out his gratitude, his joy, and his fears. Give them to me, Severus. Together we'll face them. And we'll win every time.

Reluctantly he pulled away. "As much as I would prefer to stay here with you, we have a castle to placate." Together they looked up at the highest tower, and resumed their trudging journey up the hill toward Hogwarts. I can't help but feel we're heading to our doom.

Don't look at it that way, dear. Think of it as prison with benefits.

"Let me know if you grow too tired," he said, as the terrain's incline grew steeper.

"I'm not tired," Hermione replied, puffing slightly. "But hold on to me in case I trip and fall. I'd probably roll all the way into Hogmeade before you could catch me."

Severus laughed out loud, and it was his laughter that alerted Hagrid inside the gates. "Blimey, they're here!" He turned toward the castle and bellowed, "They're early! C'mon, you lot! The Headmaster 'n Mistress is here!"

The massive gates swung open by unseen command, and Severus looked up again at the school that had been so many things to him. "And to think, I never dreamed I'd clap eyes on this place again," he murmured. No sooner had the words left his lips than a huge rumbling vibration rose from beneath their feet and throughout the grounds. It was an excited, happy feeling, like the castle thrumming to life.

As if on cue, the clouds parted, and the sun shone down on the castle, bathing it in gleaming, pearly light. They looked upward, and in every window, they could see faces of house-elves, ghosts, faculty, and all were smiling and waving at them. Hermione waved back, and Severus nodded in acknowledgement. A wonderful smell wafted through the air, like home cooking and baking and hospitality. To be greeted in such an auspicious manner was almost unnerving.

Don't think like that. They are happy to see you, Severus. You deserve this.

Hagrid escorted them up the steps, helping Hermione, who was definitely flagging. "There's not been a baby born in Hogwarts in the past two hunnert and four year. Looked it up myself," he said proudly. His black eyes were moist. "This is a happy day. Welcome home, Perfesser."

Home. I have come home.

Severus gasped, trying to maintain his dignity, but his heart was so full it felt as if it would burst. Hogwarts had taken him in, it had protected him. Within its walls, he'd grown from a child to adult. He had met this glorious witch, and she had made him a man. It was where he belonged: here, in this loving place, with all its secret treacheries and soft, sweet acceptance of everyone who had a claim to a place within its sacred walls.

The night he had fled Hogwarts to rescue Hermione, he had left unfinished business. He could feel the deep, ancient magic, humming, alive, joyous, and needing him to feel whole again. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and he at last understood why Hogwarts had called them home.

My child, and every child who walks through these doors, will be surrounded by powerful human magic, and fostered in its loving embrace. No Hogwarts student will ever feel unloved or abused or afraid while I am here. I pledge to thee this vow, he told the castle. He would finish what he started.

The tears of joy in Hermione's eyes matched his own and once more Severus thanked the silly, thoughtless gods for the beautiful, loving witch by his side. He took her hand, and together they walked through the doors of Hogwarts, like children returning to the arms of a loving mother.

Finis

My life goes on in endless song

Above earth's lamentations,

I hear the real, though far-off hymn

That hails a new creation.

Through all the tumult and the strife

I hear it's music ringing,

It sounds an echo in my soul.

How can I keep from singing?

While though the tempest loudly roars,

I hear the truth, it liveth.

And though the darkness 'round me close,

Songs in the night it giveth.

No storm can shake my inmost calm,

While to that rock I'm clinging.

Since love is lord of heaven and earth

How can I keep from singing?

When tyrants tremble in their fear

And hear their death knell ringing,

When friends rejoice both far and near

How can I keep from singing?

In prison cell and dungeon vile

Our thoughts to them are winging,

When friends by shame are undefiled

How can I keep from singing?

---

Author's Notes:

I can't believe how emotional I am about finishing this story. While I will never make a penny from it, and while many will never know about it, it is the most important thing I have written or perhaps ever will write. This story has been my teacher and my partner, and I owe it more than I can articulate. Lay Me Low taught me how to be a writer.

The Prologue of Lay Me Low came about because of a beautiful song by the Albion Band, which you can find on YouTube (http://youtu.be/ONDGv_PAog0). TheHubs(R) loved this album, and introduced me to this plaintive, heart-breaking song, this anguished plea for a hiding place. I had just finished a little story called The Black-Eyed Angel, and the music just sounded like it belonged to Severus Snape. It haunted me.

I wrote the Prologue with no idea of where this story was going. At the time, I was just learning to listen to and trust my Muse, Dahlra. It was an experiment between us; and every time I asked for a new chapter, he pushed me forward. As the story evolved, I realised I was writing a parallel canon story. But I couldn't stop it. It just kept flowing from my Muse to me.

Even now, there are parts of this story I don't honestly remember typing out - my Muse was driving, and I was essentially taking dictation. Consequently, those are the parts of the story I'm the most happy with; the parts in which I know I was trusting in my guide to help me.

One of the most puzzling aspects of this story (and one of the main reasons I ever got negative reviews) was the song lyrics. I was told by my Muse that each story must have a song to accompany it. I had no idea why, but again, I trusted him. I would be in a shopping mall and a song would come on over the loudspeaker, and he would say, "This one! This is the one for the new chapter!"

You have to understand that by the time I got to the part of the story in which it was revealed that the Hallows was actually a song-spell written by Beedle the Bard, no one was more surprised than me. Every chapter was given to me; there was no outline, no plot, no story arc. This story was given to me chapter by chapter by my Muse, and I had no idea where it was going until he took me there. I actually took almost a year between two of the later chapters, because I simply couldn't get up the nerve to write the battle scene, and he wasn't going to give me anything until other projects were completed. And the stuff I wrote on my own was just rubbish - none of it survived the cutting room floor.

During the past three years, several people volunteered to act as a temporary beta for LML; it was too huge to work on alone. Thank you, Talesofsnape, dharkcharlotte, and lilyevansnape, for stepping in and helping in the earlier chapters. Thank you also to Mimi Manderly, who inspired me by telling me that sometimes she knew something was the right thing to do simply because she was afraid to do it. That got me through many a chapter on my own.

Then, one day I got an email from Stgulik, who volunteered to be my permanent beta. Friends, I cannot tell you how much meeting this wonderful woman has changed my life. She is more than a beta; she is a friend, and advisor, a sister.

She taught me so much about writing, and trusting myself, and realising that the best betas will protect your story even from yourself. She truly is my Hermione Granger, and like Severus, I am a better person because of her. We have laughed, cried, argued and fangurled together, and I thank my lucky, lucky stars for her every single day. If I achieve and enjoy any success as a professional writer, and I truly hope to one day, it will largely be because of her.

Jules, I love you so damn much. There aren't enough words to thank you for all you've done.

I have received many art pieces based on different parts of this story. To each artist, I just want to say thank you. It is one of the greatest compliments a writer can receive.

And lastly, I wish to thank each and every person who took the time to read this epic, and write lovely notes of support and encouragement. You have been so patient and kind and caring, and I cannot thank you enough. I have treasured every word you have written to me.

At least two years ago I heard my dear friend Chris Branch sing his song, You and Me, and knew they were given to me for this last chapter. He was kind enough to grant permission for me to use them here. You can find this on his superb album "Letters From California" here: http://www.cdbaby.com/cd/christopherbranch

Jules gave me the title of this chapter, and I cried as I typed it. It summed up everything perfectly. I am happy to complete this story; I am sad as well, more so for the fact that I can never truly express just how much it means to me and how much it changed my life.

Lay Me Low is dedicated to Dahlra, my Muse, the keeper of my lifetimes. Every night I close my eyes in hopes I will see you again.