Nine

A/N: A few questions answered, but not too many to keep us from having more fun. Writing is going well. I'm in the middle of writing chapter 17, so the daily updates will continue.

I planned this fic to be a fairly sweet romance with a sprinkling of lemon. I have to say, Hermione and Severus have other plans. Once they make it to Lemontown, they seem ready to set up shop and stay there for a while. While I wouldn't call this fic PWP, we are certainly going to end up a bit heavy on the first P and a little light on the second. ;)

Smooches to all my awesome readers and big sloppy kisses to those kind enough to review. No beta- so any mistakes are my own.

Disclaimer: They are not mine; I only take them out to play.

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Steven's voice was soft and hesitant as he began his tale, his hand brushed her hair, fingers twirled in her curls. As the story unfolded, his voice grew confident. Hermione noticed him watching her face carefully from time to time, gauging her reaction to his words. She made certain to keep her expression open and engaged, no matter how his words plucked at her heart.

"Five years ago I woke in a hospital bed with no memory of who I was or how I had come to be there. The doctors and staff were very kind, but I was quite physically ill in addition to the memory loss. I had lost so much blood they feared I'd never wake up at all. And I had a great wound on my neck that resisted healing. They thought it was infected with one of the nastier, antibiotic-resistant bacteria."

The poor man. Of course, the bite from a magical creature had been resistant to mundane means of healing, but there was no way for Muggle doctors to know this.

"Because of that wound and my weakened state, I was in the hospital for most of the next six months. The first four of which I was confined to my bed. No one there knew who I was or where I came from. They'd found me lying outside on the pavement, nearly dead."

One of his hands was in her hair, the other arm draped across the back of the sofa. Hermione didn't want to interrupt him, but the image of him alone and bleeding tugged at her heart. She reached up, drawing his free hand down and pulling it onto her chest, between her breasts, where she clutched it tightly in both of her own.

"It's all right, pet," he said with obvious affection. "I'm quite all right now."

"I know, I'm so sorry you had to go through that, though." She brought his hand up to her mouth and softly kissed his palm before returning it to the place between her breasts.

He gazed at her with warm affection, and then cleared his throat and began speaking again.

"Not only was my memory gone, but I didn't know how to do the simplest things. I had to be taught everything, how to brush my teeth, how to shave. The most mundane tasks were quite beyond me."

Of course, a Wizard was very dependent on his wand, even for such tasks as cleaning one's teeth. And Steven would know nothing of the potions and charms used for keeping one's skin free from hair.

"I had a roommate while I was convalescing, an elderly man named Franklin. He was very kind to me. When he realized the extent of my memory loss, he spoke to me about everything, from politics to sports and television shows. All of it was alien and new to me, but with his patience, I began to become more familiar with the world around me. We watched the telly together, and he began asking a young friend of his to start bringing me books, which I devoured with enthusiasm."

His eyes had closed, and she could feel a slight tremble run through his frame.

"With my memory gone, it was as if Franklin was my only friend...the only person I knew in the world...and he was dying."

Hermione was driven to action then. With a soft sound of distress, she jumped from the sofa, straddled Steven, and wrapped her arms tightly around him, pressing her face into his neck. He trembled in her arms. When the trembling passed, he gave her a soft kiss and bid her to lie back down. She returned to her previous position and he clenched one hand back into her hair. The other he pressed flat against her chest and she covered it with her own.

"He had cancer...a nasty, lingering, incurable sort. Towards the end, the pain was very bad, despite the morphine the doctors gave him. I would read to him for hours, trying to distract him from the pain. The time for my own release from the hospital was nearing and I was terrified. To be thrust out into a strange world without even Franklin to guide me, without a penny to my name. Oh, the hospital spoke of some sort of half-way house run by the government. There I would be guided back into society and taught to do some menial job. I was grateful that I would not be left on the street, but the entire idea was horrifying."

Hermione raised a hand to his cheek and he leaned into the caress.

"Two weeks before I was to be released, Franklin passed away. I was so distraught, the hospital was considering delaying my release. A week later, Franklin's young friend, Marta, came to visit me. She brought Franklin's solicitor with her. Franklin had no family, no children, or nieces, or nephews. His life-partner had passed away long ago, and he was alone in the world. My only friend left his bookshop to Marta and me, and he left me the flat above the shop and the rest of the estate, including a car I didn't even know how to drive. At first, I was concerned that Marta would be offended that Franklin left so much to me when she had known him and worked for him much longer. She hugged me and cried on my chest, saying it was perfectly sensible for Franklin to leave everything to his two closest friends."

Again Hermione raised a hand to his face, and he turned his head to kiss her palm.

"Marta adores you, you know," Hermione said softly. "She was absolutely scheming with me when she found out I fancied you."

"Marta is a kind young woman and an absolute godsend. She taught me how to run the business with her, taught me how to drive, taught me everything, really. All with a patient sweetness and a stubborn streak a mile long."

"Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but I'm surprised that the two of you never dated. She really is a sweet girl."

"Honestly, I never even considered it. I never felt that way about her, and she's always treated me as if I'm an uncle of sorts. She's the closest thing to family I have, and I love her like family, but there's nothing romantic about it."

They sat in silence for a moment, the fingers of Steven's hand caressing her gently in the valley between her breasts. For once, his expression was unreadable, almost perfectly blank.

As his hand stilled, he spoke again. "Hermione, the thing you are afraid to tell me, is it that you know who I am? That you know who I was before I lost my memory?"

When she gaped at him, her mouth hanging open, her breath caught in her throat, his expression softened slightly.

"How...how did you know?"

"When we first met, that night in the rain, you looked at me as if you'd seen a ghost. Since then, every once in a while, your expression gives away your thoughts."

He always watched her so carefully, it was little wonder he'd figured it out. Even as Steven, Severus Snape was a very intelligent man.

"I did know you before," she said, her voice coming out in a whisper. After a deep breath, she continued. "I was worried to tell you. I did a little research when it was clear you didn't recognize me. Forcing memories can have a very negative reaction to someone who has amnesia."

"While that is true, simply telling me you knew me shouldn't have been dangerous. Why have you kept it from me? Was I so horrible in my former life?"

His expression had gone blank again, and this time she sorted out why. He was terrified. Apparently, fear was the only emotion he was capable of hiding. With a soft cry, she launched herself from the sofa and straddled him again, hugging him tightly and kissing him all over his face before clamping her mouth to his.

The tension in his body relaxed, no match for her passionate onslaught, and he kissed her with equal enthusiasm.

When they broke for much-needed air, he gazed at her with honest affection. "Tell me, please. There must be some reason."

This time she settled in, sitting next to him on the sofa, cuddling against his side, one of his arms holding her tightly to him.

"There is a reason," she admitted, "but I'm not certain where to start or how much to say."

With a groan, his head tilted back onto the back of the sofa so that he stared at the ceiling. His free hand came up to cover his eyes. "Good Lord, Hermione, please tell me that we are not related."

She giggled at that, and then quickly put his mind to rest. "No. Steven, we are not related. Merlin, with everything we've gotten up to, and on this very sofa, no less. I would never do the like with any sort of family."

While he blinked at her use of the word 'Merlin,' he let it pass without comment. "So, I'm not secretly your father?"

"No, of course not."

"Thank heaven for that," he muttered and then kissed her briefly again. "Hermione, please tell me what we were to each other. There must be something...well...when we first met, you looked scared. As if you thought I would do something to hurt you. It's long worried me. What sort of man could I be that you would think I would hurt you in any way?"

"Steven, it's not like that. The truth is, I did not know you that well. The people who did know you, your friends, they mourned when they thought you had died. They speak of you even now with great fondness." There was so much more she could tell him, but her worry over pushing him to remember was strong.

"But there must have been something or you wouldn't have reacted like that."

It was clear she had to tell him more. "Sweetheart, you were my teacher. I was a schoolgirl and you a strict taskmaster who tolerated no disorder in your classes. I did not know your personal self at all, only who you were in the classroom."

This confession seemed to relieve him greatly until his head thunked down again onto the back of the sofa and the hand returned to cover his eyes.

"Please tell me nothing of an untoward nature occurred between us while you were a student."

She giggled again, which allowed him to uncover his face and look at her.

"Heaven's no, Steven. We could barely tolerate each other when I was in school. I respected you and envied your intellect even then. But you were stern and I was an annoying bundle of curiosity, asking you questions at every opportunity. It was only after I met you as Steven, and got to know you personally, that I became quickly smitten."

He relaxed again, tugging her closer to his side and resting his cheek against the top of her head.

"What was my name, pet?"

"I'm not certain I should tell you."

"Tell me. I've longed to know, and it isn't the same as trying to get me to remember."

"Severus," she turned to whisper in his ear. The frog that had replaced her heart had a fit of rolling as she finally voiced the syllables she had been longing to call him.

"Severus?" he barked. "What a ridiculous name! Who saddled me with that monstrosity? Or is that my surname?"

"No, it's your first name, and I quite like it, by the way. Your full name is Severus Tobias Snape."

"Gods, what an unholy mouthful. I think I'll stick to Steven Sondheim for the present."

"And how came you by that name?"

"Franklin named me. He and his lover had seen every musical that came to London back in the day. I was a little taken aback to be named after someone famous, even with the different spelling. However, Franklin had been so kind to me that I could deny him nothing. Now, I'm quite used to it."

"So, the name Severus means nothing to you?"

"I'm afraid not. It's just a strange word to me. Listen, pet, you've told me you had a few skeletons in your closet. I'm sure the fact that you knew me before we met was one, but is there anything else you would like to tell me?"

Suddenly tense and afraid, Hermione untangled herself from Steven's embrace and rose from the sofa. Stepping to the window, she gazed outside as she tried to figure out what to do.