"Hermione?"
"Hello, Severus. Why are you calling me on my mobile? I thought you were …"
His voice was brusque, abrupt. "Look, I can't explain over the phone. I need you to find our marriage certificate."
"Our … yes, of course." She paused in the doorway of a local pub, avoiding the streams of people pushing to and fro on the street. "It's at home in a box on top of the kitchen cupboard. I'm out at the moment, though. Not due home for about an hour. When do you need it?"
There was a pause, empty air whispering around her phone. She thought she could hear echoing in the background, as if in a room with smooth walls. Then…
"As soon as you can. Bring it to the Bow Police station, and ask for Detective Inspector Clarke. Got that?"
"Well, yes, but…" At that moment, the phone was cut off – the jangle in her ear told her it had been dropped or slammed down. She looked at it, and then cursed, and turned to fight her way back against the Regent St 2014 Christmas crowds just as an icy rain started to fall.
Three hours later, she stood at the front desk of the station, waiting her turn to speak to the constable. She had knocked over a cup as she grappled the box from the top shelf, and taking thirty seconds to clean up the mess meant she just missed the train from Sloane Square. As she watched the end of the train disappear up the tunnel, the pipes above her gurgled and the recorded voice announced a fifteen minute delay in District line trains. Only the lack of safe places to apparate to stopped her slipping into a quiet corner and heading over that way. That, and she was worried for the large document holder she was carrying.
The disgruntled tourist who had lost their passport finally moved away from the counter, and Hermione stepped up.
"Yes, ma'am?"
"I'm Hermione Gr.. Snape. I'm here to see my husband. I was to ask for Detective Inspector Clarke."
"Just one moment." He looked down on his list, then picked up the phone and dialled. A short muttered conversation later, he looked back up at Hermione. "The DI will be down in a moment."
Hermione sat gingerly on a plastic chair, and looked around her at the posters seeking information on everything from local possible terrorist activity to a suspected lolly thief. There was the hiss of the heater, the slight sound of traffic from outside, and then the click as high heels came up behind her, and a clear and precise voice said "Mrs Snape? I'm DI Clarke. Thank you for coming in."
Detective Inspector Clarke turned out to be a woman of Hermione's age, dressed in a sensible dark suit and shoes that spoke of long hours standing. Hermione stood and held out her hand.
"I'm glad to meet you. But I have no idea … what is this all about?"
"Perhaps we could talk inside." The DI walked up to the door beside the counter, and swiped them in. Hermione found herself escorted down a long hallway and into a bare room that was overly familiar from too many television police dramas. She sat on the chair at one side of the desk, and watched as the DI sat herself on the other. It took all Hermione's self-control not to blurt anything out, but to let the other woman start things.
Which she did.
"I won't start the recorders, as this is just an informal interview." Hermione relaxed a little at that, although she was fairly sure the DI would remember everything Hermione said. And didn't say. "We're just trying to confirm the identity of the man who claims to be Severus Snape."
"Why? Has he done something wrong? My husband is not a criminal, as far as I know." Hermione tried hard to stay calm, but she could feel herself starting to twist up inside. "He asked me to bring our marriage certificate, so I brought the rest of the documents as well."
"The rest?"
"My own birth certificate, my … our proof of residence, and of course I have my Driver's licence." Hermione opened the concertina file she'd brought, and pulled out an inch-thick bundle. "Some of these are copies from when we applied for our home, but you should be able to check them against the originals without too much trouble."
DI Clarke waited until Hermione had placed the bundle in four separate piles, and then she quietly picked up the five year old marriage certificate and looked over it.
"You should probably know, then, that the reason Mr Snape was brought into the station is that he has been arrested for identity fraud, with links to illegal immigration."
" WHAT? Severus is as British as I am! Born here, lived here – what the hell…" At that, the DI looked up, and Hermione tried to calm down and moderate her language. "Whatever makes you think he's anything but the man he always was?"
"Because he was declared dead over fifteen years ago. Because there were no records of him in the system from his so-called death until five years ago, when he turned up in the entry records for the ferry from Dublin, and then shortly afterwards in the marriage registry, as married to a Hermione Granger – said Hermione being a woman of interest after the disappearance of her parents approximately seventeen years ago. Oh, and because his records were accessed around five years ago, along with thirty other dead Britons, just three months before his reappearance in the country. And three of the other people whose records were accessed have mysteriously turned up again, in a series of raids on businesses suspected of employing illegal immigrants." DI Clarke looked directly into Hermione's eyes. "At least, when we picked him up, Mr Snape hadn't strangely acquired a Ukrainian accent or a skin colour more usually seen in the South Sudan. But we do have to check these things."
Hermione hung her head, the tears barely contained. "My parents disappeared, yes. If you checked your records, you would see that I spend the five years afterwards searching for them all over the world, and then another two years trying to learn to live without them. And I was away at boarding school when their house was destroyed. Surely you can't be bringing that up now."
"I have to. It's my job." The DI picked up another certificate, and looked it over. "And I'm always suspicious of co-incidences. But these do seem to be in order. Let me go and check them. I might be a while – can we get you a cup of tea?"
"Tea would be nice, yes." Hermione gradually regained control of her voice, taking a couple of deep breaths. "And if it's any help, we know he slipped off the system because he had moved to Australia many years ago. I found him there when I was looking for my parents, and it caused no end of trouble when he tried to return to the UK. But we thought that was all fixed, when we married. It wasn't?"
"It can take a while for things to work through the system, and it was only when we picked him up on a routine matter that his entry rang the alarm bells. But we might be able to sort this out now. I'll send in that tea, and some cake, perhaps?"
"Yes please."
It took half an hour before a young constable brought her a cup of overstewed tea and a slice of fruitcake in a plastic wrapper, giving Hermione plenty of time to think over the circumstances. It was all her fault, she knew. If only …
She sipped the tea, grimacing at each drop, and hyper-aware of the CCTV in the corner of the room that was no doubt recording every move she made.
If only she hadn't asked him to marry her.
She still had the wedding dress in her cupboard. Simple, elegant, ivory silk satin in a suitable length for a registry ceremony, yet something she would treasure.
If only she hadn't wanted to live in that exclusive flat in Knightsbridge. If only the advertisement hadn't had that line Suitable for married couples. No children.
She'd had the sense to dig out her wedding ring and put it on, but it felt loose on her finger. Had she lost so much weight in the last five years?
If only she hadn't realised that meant her status of divorcée would not have been suitable. If only Ron hadn't remarried so quickly after things fell apart. If only Severus hadn't accepted her offer to wipe out his life debt with the marriage of convenience. If only…
The door creaked open, and the first person through was Severus, looking rather dishevelled. She'd rehearsed in her mind what she ought to do as a concerned wife, but her actual movements were the result of her fretting and caring for her friend – she leapt up and hugged him hard.
"Hermione…"
"Are you all right? Are you hurt at all?"
"Hermione, … dear ." The dear was a little forced, but the hug was firm. "I'm fine. Tired, but fine. And they've said we can go home."
"For the meantime." DI Clarke followed him in, still holding the sheaf of papers, although the dearth of paper clips revealed that they had all been copied. "Mr Snape, we need to look into why there is conflicting evidence about your whereabouts on some occasions, and we will need to have an officer visit your place in approximately a week, but you have been released on the payment of bail, and you may go home with your wife now."
Hermione felt Severus sag against her lightly upon hearing this, but she was still worried. "An officer?"
"We will need to confirm that yours is a genuine relationship, and that you are both the people you say you are. Expect a letter in the next couple of days." She opened the door for them, and waited while Hermione repacked the documents in her bag. Severus steadied himself against a chair, and then took Hermione's arm as they walked out of the room, up the corridor and out of the station.
Once in the chill of Bow Street, Hermione turned to Severus and put her hand to his forehead.
"I am not dying, Hermione."
"No, but you look like it. Could you handle a side-along?"
The look on his face told her he could, so she dragged him into a side alley next to the nearby Underground station, and, with a careful look around, apparated him to the flat that had caused all the trouble in the first place.
Severus almost collapsed once they got there, so Hermione put him to sleep in her spare bed, and then carefully sat down and went through the documents to see what it was that had not allayed the DI's suspicion. There were copies of his and her birth certificates, and the marriage notice form, and her scrawled notes about dates and times to fit in with her job at the Ministry. There were bills that were proof that she at least had resided in the local area for the required time, and a copy of his bill at the incredibly horrible hotel he had booked into to ensure he met the residency requirement.
There were also her divorce papers from Ron, folded neatly in the long brown legal envelope they'd arrived in. She'd only looked at them twice – once when they arrived to make sure they were correct, and again when she'd taken them to register for the marriage. That was her fault, of course. She'd insisted on having their marriage registered in the Muggle system, so she'd had to arrange to have the divorce registered there too. The marriage just hadn't worked. They'd been too different, wanting things that were too dissimilar, and she'd been tired of always being the one compromising, but he had been the one to recognise that they really ought to end things in a civilised manner. She had been happy for him when he remarried.
There was nothing that she could find that would make the police suspicious that hers and Severus's marriage wasn't real. But there also wasn't anything that she could point to that would prove that it was. No love letters, no hoarded Valentine's gifts…
And if her marriage was exposed as a sham, then Severus would be sent to gaol, she would undoubtedly be arrested, and worst of all, she would lose her beautiful flat.
She sat, staring at the papers in front of her, and then a slow smile spread across her face. Muttering "Tomorrow", she threw the papers back in their box, and headed down the short corridor to her guest room. Peeping in, she checked that Severus was sleeping peacefully, the books she had hurriedly removed from it lying in untidy heaps around the floor.
"Tomorrow," she whispered, and headed to her own bed.
The next morning she woke to the glorious smell of brewed coffee and toast. It took her a moment to remember who her houseguest was, but then she drew on her old-yet-warm dressing gown and slippers, and plodded down the hallway to the sight of a tall, dark-haired wizard pushing down the plunger on her French Press.
"Good morning, Hermione. I was just about to wake you. Toast?"
"Perfect." She took the proffered mug and a plate of toast, and headed for her customary chair, only to bump into Severus as he headed for the same one.
"Oops'
"Sorry"
"No that's obviously your chair."
She nodded and sat down, gesturing for him to pull the other chair up to the table. This, alas, took another minute or two as the chair was covered in copies of the Quibbler and research journals on Charms and Arithmancy.
"How do you do it?"
"What?"
"You're a sensible witch. Clever. And you were always so organised." Severus finally sat down to his coffee and toast, slightly cooler than they had been originally. "How do you cope in such disorganisation, Hermione?"
She was about to retort about it being her place and her business, but then she remembered why he was here, and hesitated. Finally, with a blush, she replied.
"I'm normally fine. But when I get engrossed in a plan, I lose track of where I'm up to. Things … pile up. Like the … oh, thank you for packing the dishwasher."
"You're welcome." Severus drank his coffee, appreciating the rich aroma. "And anyone who choses their coffee so well can't be too bad."
At this, Hermione grinned. "Blaise got me onto it when we were collaborating on the House Elf Work Contracts bill. But enough of the trivia. I have a plan."
"A plan?"
"We're in a bind, Severus. I don't know how much you remember about yesterday…?"
He shook his head. "Did they tell you how I was picked up?"
"No."
"It's a very sad story. I was quietly watching a football match and some louts started a fight. The police were called, and we were all hauled in – and then they checked the records and decided, that instead of holding those drunken hoodlums responsible, they would arrest me!"
"And that's the whole story?"
Severus paused in his diatribe, and looked a little uneasy. "I may have left out a few irrelevant points."
"Such as where, and why, this fight started?"
"Does it matter? A man, be he Muggle or Pureblood, should have the right to a quiet drink."
"You were in a pub."
"A reasonable establishment, or so I thought." He got up and refilled the kettle, then washed out the plunger. "Oh – I should have asked. Did you want another cup?"
"I will, thank you, Severus. We have a lot to do today. But go on – you were in the pub, drinking. Watching the match – who was playing?"
"Arsenal and Newcastle."
Hermione looked at Severus's clothes, the same ones he had been wearing the day before. "And this pub was close to Holloway? And you were wearing black and white?"
"A man's clothes should not make a difference."
"You've been too long out of the Muggle world, Severus. Even I know not to wear certain colours near opposing football grounds. But do go on. Did you say anything to these Arsenal supporters, who were within walking distance of their own club's stadium, and obviously rather dedicated in supporting their club?"
At this, Severus had the grace to look uneasy.
"I might have mentioned the obvious inability of their centre forward to keep the ball under control." The kettle boiled, and Severus took the opportunity to turn away from Hermione. "And perhaps something along the lines that their right back couldn't set up a shot if his life depended on it."
Hermione jerked upwards, stunned. "You did what ?"
"I became embroiled in a little disagreement about the relative abilities of the two teams."
"Were you drunk?"
"I may have had a pint. That shouldn't be enough to affect someone."
"Only one?"
"Or two. I can't remem… look, is this important? Don't you have a wonderful plan to save the world and get me off?"
It was too late. Hermione just managed to get her coffee mug down before the hysterical laughter became too insistent to hold back. She erupted in a deep belly-laugh that took over her whole body, whooping and holding her sides as she tried desperately to regain control. "Severus … Snape … in a drunken fight … over a football match? "
"Oh, do shut up, Granger!"
"But … oh Nimue, I wish I'd been there to see it!"
This set her off again, and finally Severus started laughing as well, the funny side of it finally hitting him as well. He collapsed in the chair opposite her, and took her hands as they both gave in to the mirth.
As the laughter subsided, they realised they were holding hands across the table. Rather than a sudden and abrupt release, Severus gave Hermione's hand a squeeze before he gently let go, then he stood and finished making the second pot of coffee. Hermione smiled, then rose and fetched a writing pad and paper.
"So, where do we stand?"
"We need to prove that this marriage is real, so that they can dismiss the charges against you."
Severus winced. "I may still be liable for being part of an affray, if that's how they say it."
"Which will be a fifty pound fine or perhaps some community service. That one we can deal with. But this… we're both in trouble over it. And I'd just like to say that I had no idea this would happen when I asked you to ... "
"Neither had I, Hermione. I agreed in order to wipe out the life debt I have to you – and to help with restoring my own reputation in the Wizarding world. And, to be honest, it helped subdue the ridiculous rumours that were flying around about me."
"And me."
"I beg your pardon?"
Hermione blushed. "After Ron and I separated, although we did so amicably, it felt as if the entire Wizarding community had their own ideas about why and how and who was responsible. I had no idea, until Luna showed me. Did you know some of the publications had me paired up in a ménage-a-trois with Draco and his father?" Her look of disgust almost had Severus laughing again, but he managed to restrain himself.
"Some people have no sense. But let us return to the chief part of the matter. They seem to think that I am not who I say I am, and that our marriage was a sham marriage."
"So they're 50% right."
"Indeed. But we need to change their opinion on both facts. I can easily obtain things like my birth certificate, but I believe they are concerned that I am an imposter who has already done just that."
"Exactly." Hermione started writing on the pad in front of her. "Documentation is only going to be a part of it. You know, I think I know why this has happened."
"Enlighten me."
She looked up, concerned he was being sarcastic, but his face held only a genuine interest. "There was a case on the television the other night, of a team of people setting up false identities for illegal immigrants coming into the country and using the identities of dead people to set themselves up. They usually use things like the names of babies who died, that were born at the same time as the person who needs the identity. I think there was an author used that…"
"Frederick Forsyth. Hack writer – should have stayed in Africa meddling in local politics. But his writing does help pass the time."
"Right. Anyway, it seems that some of these people are using the identities of people more recently declared dead. If it's someone whose body wasn't found, so they'd had to be legally declared dead, then it can be written off as an administrative error. I think that's what's happened to you."
"And because I was out of the country, and all my identity documents are either publically available, or were destroyed when that bunch of vindictive bastards torched my mam's home, they don't believe it's really me. But that's only half the problem."
Hermione cursed the reflex that brought bright colour back to her cheeks so easily. "Yes. We need to convince them, somehow, that this marriage is real. So we need to learn each other."
"L… yes. You're right." Severus reached over and took her hand. When she didn't pull away, he felt strangely happier. "We need to learn what people learn when they've been together for five years. Our likes, our dislikes, your favourite food, my preferred tea…"
"Lapsing Souchong, brewed for exactly four minutes and served in a Russian tea glass – oh, sorry. Please continue."
"How did you know that?"
The smile on Hermione's face was the same one she had had in the first potions lesson, where she had known the answers to all of Severus's questions. "You made it for me the morning of our wedding. I've never forgotten."
Her grin set one off on his face too. "And you wouldn't. Hermione, I think we can do this." Then his face fell. "Except for one thing…"
"One th… oh. Right. Can't we claim that you snore or something?"
"And how would you explain that one room is a bedroom and the other is obviously a workroom of sorts? Either we do some major remodelling here, or we have to pretend that we're sleeping in the same room."
The thought of having to clean up her study, even for this, was too much for Hermione to contemplate. "Then we'll pretend. Or at least, you can sleep in with me the night before the interview. It'll look more authentic, and I think I can trust you. "
"Think?"
She squeezed his hand firmly. "Know. I still feel bad about not trusting you when I was at school, and I've learned so much more about who to trust and not to." Letting go of his hands, she went back to her notepad. "I've enchanted this paper to come back to one place so that if we leave it around the flat, it can be gathered up quickly before the interview. And it will make it easier to study. So."
"So. Let us start. I don't eat peas – not after mushy disgusting peas at my infants' school. And never feed me tripe, despite my background…"
Three days later, Hermione was on the phone to Harry, thanking him for his patience and asking for an extension to her holidays. Severus walked in just as she was finishing off, and sat himself opposite her at the table.
".. yes, really, Harry, the appointment's next Monday so I should be back on track the next day. No, it won't help if you go and tell the authorities. The Muggles don't think of you the same way thie wizarding world does. Yes, I promise that if this doesn't work, we'll ask Kingsley to talk to the Prime Minister." She glanced over at Severus and mouthed won't be a moment. He merely pointed at her empty coffee cup, and she nodded in desperate gratitude, as her conversation started again. "No, honestly, Harry, if we confunded this lot, it wouldn't help – they'd just send the next bunch." There was a pause, then a final "My love to Ginny and the kids. Of course I'll come for Christmas dinner. If I'm not in gaol. Bye. Later. GOODBYE , HARRY!" She hit the "end call" button hard, then sighed deeply.
"Helpful yet somehow not?" Severus pushed the cup of coffee over to her, and a plate with a decently-high pile of hobnobs.
"You know I work for Harry, editing press releases from the Ministry that need to go to the Prophet?" Severus nodded, and Hermione continued. "I was supposed to be going back to work tomorrow so I could cover the Christmas rush, but I've asked for the rest of this week off. And next Monday." She pushed over a letter that he hadn't noticed before, and he glanced down to see the letterhead of Bow Street Police Station on a rather official-looking document.
"Monday. As in four days away. What time?"
"Nine. And it's not at the police station. They're coming here !"
"It's a shame we didn't make as big a fuss in the Muggle world as we did in the Wizarding one." Severus looked over the letter, then pulled out a pen and made a small mark. "They missed an apostrophe." Hermione snorted, but he ignored her. "Alas, I don't think the copies of Rita Skeeter's 'special no-holds barred' report will convince them, even with that lovely picture of us dancing in the hall."
"It would be difficult to explain the moving pictures to them, yes." Hermione felt her shoulders relax a little as she chuckled at the thought of DI Clarke's face if the Daily Prophet pictures were included in a police report. "I've had a thought, though. We don't have to have been living together all these years."
His eyebrow rose. "We don't?"
"There's this actor, been with his partner for years and years …"
"Gay?"
"No, he's with a woman. Rita, Renée, something like that. She's a politician, he's always off doing movies and plays and things, and they live in separate houses, but they've been together for nearly fifty years. If they can do it, surely we could have."
Severus snorted. "Then he's a fool, if he's found the perfect woman and yet won't live with her. One of the most important parts is waking up and seeing the person you love beside you." He almost looked uncomfortable at this, and quickly shook himself back to his usual demeanour. "If we tried claiming something like that, though, I'd have to find somewhere that I'd supposedly been living in for years myself, and that would be harder. No, I think we're going to have to stick with the original plan. I'll go home tomorrow and pack a couple of boxes of things to put around here, so it looks more like a dual occupancy. Which means I'm afraid you're going to have to clean up a bit."
Hermione glanced around at the kitchen with its packets and jars all over the bench, and the hallway with books piled all along the walls. The slight release in tension she had been feeling crept back in. "I don't know if I can in time…"
"I'm helping, remember. We're in this together." He stood and came around the table, wrapping his arms around her. "Come on – we'll make one of your special plans for how we're going to attack this place." He drew her out of her chair, and along the hallway to the couch in the tiny lounge room – which was also covered in books and papers. She gave a half-hearted laugh as they moved the papers off and onto the floor, then she stopped and looked at him.
"Surely it would be easier to write up a plan at the kitchen table."
"It would, Hermione, but I don't want to start writing right away. We can plot here just as well as the kitchen. And there's something else we need to do." He sat on the couch, and held out his hand.
She just looked at it.
"It won't bite you."
"I never thought it would, Severus. But why?"
"Because we're still as nervous around each other as a dog and a cat forced to live together. So I'd like you to sit down here, beside me, and I'm going to give you a backrub while we work out how to deal with your … stuff."
"Oh."
She still stood, dumbfounded for a moment until he took her hand and pulled her down to the couch beside him. Turning her so she was facing away, he tugged at the bottom of her sweater until she realised his intentions, and raised her arms for him to remove it. Her long-sleeved top underneath was soft to the touch, and Severus had to restrain himself from stroking the sensuous fabric. Instead, he started gently rubbing her shoulders in an effort to get them to relax and drop a little.
"Why is there so much, Hermione?"
"Well, I hate throwing things out. I lost so much and I just couldn't bear to lose my past again." She glanced around the room, her body slowly responding to Severus's agile fingers. "I don't need it all. I know that. But I need to feel safe, and this clutter does that for me."
"Because your parents are still missing?"
"And because everything I owned, all my childhood possessions, and everything that was part of being a family, was thrown out by the people who arranged to buy their house. I had no idea that my parents were selling the place when they moved to Australia. I should have known. But I was busy doing … other things."
"Like keeping that boyfriend of yours and his mate alive."
"Little things like that, yes." Hermione relaxed into the rubbing, feeling the tiredness creep over her. "If I had a bit more stability in my life, perhaps."
"You've been here five years, Hermione. Is that not long enough?"
"You'd think so. But I worry so much."
"Isn't it time you let someone else do the worrying?" Severus had, by this time, managed to guide Hermione back so that she was leaning against his chest and he had his arms wrapped around her. She swung her feet up on the couch, carelessly creasing a pile of old Ministry press releases that had been dumped at the end, and he started gently stroking her hair. "Surely it's your turn for a break?"
"Hmmm, yes, maybe. I should let you do a bit more around the place. After all, you are my husband. And keep doing that. It feels really nice." Her eyes closed, and her body slumped as she allowed herself to trust him enough to fall asleep on him.
Severus stayed stroking her hair until he was certain she was deeply asleep, then he accioed a pen and paper, and started writing a few things down while Hermione slumbered. Twenty minutes later, she remained asleep as he gently eased her head up enough to allow him to slip free and head out of the room.
Once back in the kitchen, he clapped his hands together three times, and a distinct *pop* heralded the arrival of three of Hogwarts' longest-serving house-elves.
"Rosie! Korsy! Sunny! I have a job for you. A very important job."
"Yes Professor. What is you wanting?" Korsy, the oldest and most bent of the elves stepped forward, their gleaming white pillowcases throwing a light of their own that was brighter than the dull winter midday sun fighting its way in through the windows.
"I have some plans, but you need to do them silently. This could be a bit hard." Severus knew he had hit the right nerve when all three elves suddenly shook their heads.
"It's like you don't trust us, Professor Snape, sir!" Rosie stepped up and took the paper from his hand. "You wants us to build this? We is doing it now, and doing it silent!" She looked over the plans, then looked out at the hallway. Finally, she brought her gaze back to the kitchen. "I is thinking that she might let Korsy and Sunny do this, and I will tackle the kitchen. Is this the new mistress's place?"
"It is. It might be mine, too, Rosie." Severus's gaze slipped from I-see-a-job-that-needs-doing to one that could almost be called tender. "It might, perhaps, maybe, be mine as well."
Hermione woke to the sound of a pile of books crashing to the ground, and a fluffy of accusations that sounded suspiciously like house-elves – but what would they be doing in her flat? She opened her eyes, to see something quite odd – all along one side of her lounge room was a set of beautiful oaken shelves, with her Daily Prophet and other papers neatly arranged along in neat chronological lines. Her leather-bound Oxford English Dictionary and her few novels were there as well, each on their own set of shelves with little brass plates indicating which each was.
Sitting up, Hermione discovered that Severus had put a blanket over her as she slept. "And I never realised. I must have slept worse than I thought the last few nights." She shook out the blanket, and was starting to fold it, when another crash from the hallway arrested her movements.
Sneaking up to the doorway, she pulled it open to find a wall of papers stacked up against it. Of course, opening the door caused the entire pile to come down crashing on top of her. She managed to get her arms up to protect her head, but she still ended up in a mound of reference books, dusty letters, Hogwarts textbooks and letters from Luna that she'd been keeping in a pile and meaning to answer.
"HERMIONE!" She heard the yell but was still too dazed to respond to it when a pair of potion-worn hands pulled off the books and dragged her to her feet. "Are you all right? Bruises? Broken bones?" Severus pulled out his wand and ran it over her body as he dusted off her clothing and surreptitiously checked her for serious damage.
"No… no, not at the moment." She coughed and rubbed her hands over her eyes. "What the … WHY are there house-elves doing things to my walls?"
Sunny hopped up, brandishing her very special copy of Year with the Yeti (signed by Lockhart while he still knew who he was.) "We is making you bookshelves, Miz Snape. We is putting all your books away carefully, but we…" At this, the elf jumped down to the floor beside Hermione. "Sunny is a bad elf and should be punished." Year with the Yeti flew as Sunny applied it with great force to her head.
"No, you mustn't!" Hermione tried to grab the book off Sunny, but Sunny jumped away at just the salient moment – right into the legs of Severus.
"Punishing isn't allowed, remember?" He took the book out of Sunny's hands, and put it into the bookshelf. "Hermione, why don't we let these poor beings finish their job, and you go and have a bath while I make dinner?"
She nodded dumbly, and he hugged her then gently pushed her towards her room to go and get fresh clothes.
Twenty minutes later, Hermione had finished her bath and was about to walk out of the bathroom back to her own so that she could get dressed. She was so used to having the place to herself that it was a marvel she wasn't wandering around naked, but the chill of winter meant that she'd unearthed the towelling robe the Weasley's had given her some years ago. She tied it lightly, wondering if it would hold while she made her way back to her bedroom to dress.
Two seconds later, as she opened the door of the bathroom, she had her answer. Severus stood in front of her, hand raised to knock on the door just as she flung it open and started through – straight into him. Her hands came up just in time to stop her slamming completely into him, but the impact was hard enough. He instinctively wrapped his arms around her to try and hold her as she felt every inch of his body from his knees to his shoulders envelope her in a cloud of garlic-smelling wizard. Her robe fell open, and her naked body could tell each different fabric on his black clothes, from the silk waistcoat to the woollen trousers.
"I was just going to tell you that dinner is nearly ready." Severus looked down at her, amused to see the blush creeping up her face. Then, as she leaned back to look back up at him, he realised the blush was creeping further down, and he could see quite a distance. "Feeling better?"
"I … um … " Hermione went to close the front of the robe, but Severus gently pulled the edges together, then tied the belt a bit more firmly than she had previously. "Thank you."
She stood there, realising that, up so close, he was looking rather dashing. His hair was tied back for cooking, and the waistcoat he was wearing, a subtly patterned silk, had been smooth and sensuous against her skin. She was used to his cynical or bitter look, but now he was filled with concern and care for her, and something else…
His arms went back around her. His head moved lower, and her arms snaked up to cradle his face as his lips gently touched hers. They stood, still for a moment and a year and forever, until another crash of toppling books brought them back from the place their minds had taken them.
"Severus …"
He smiled at her. "Dinner. Hermione? Go and get dressed, and we can talk over food."
She had never heard her name said so sweetly.
"I'll hold my interview in here, with Miss Granger…"
"Mrs Snape." Hermione's voice was quiet, but determined. "I am honoured to have my husband's surname now."
"Mrs Snape then." DI Clarke looked around the kitchen, with its tidy shelves and extensive spice and herb collection. "My colleague, DI Webb, will be in the lounge room with Mr Snape."
"I prefer Professor . I might be retired, but I earned that title." Snape's voice tried to be gruff, but a gentleness kept it from being so.
"… but while I knew him at school, he was the big, scary Professor. No, it wasn't until long afterwards that I saw him as a person. And then, of course, running into him in Australia when I was miserable and desperately in need of a friendly face …"
"… Of course, I never thought of her then as anything but a pupil. In fact, she was that really annoying know-it-all. I didn't have much contact with her for ages afterwards, because I moved to Australia to get away from a nasty situation in my home town, but I'd been there just long enough to feel homesick when I spotted her in the street …"
" … no, he would have preferred me to keep my maiden name. He says he doesn't want people to forget who I am, but I think really he's proud of me. But then I'm proud of him – he did some terrible impressive things in his younger days – so I'm very happy to be Mrs Snape."
" … no, she prefers her tea made with a teabag. I tease her about it. She calls me a perfectionist, but I hate to admit it – she's right."
" … he insists on order and tidiness. It drives me nuts sometimes. But look at these shelves. I have to admit it – it's much easier to find everything I need. And Severus had them made for here. He said it was for his sake, but I think he did it for me, really."
"That's almost it, then, Mrs Snape. But I have one last question for you. When did you realise that you loved him?"
Hermione twisted the ring on her finger, then smiled and held it up. "I don't think I really understood how much I loved him until I understood why he gave me this ring."
"It is lovely. Why then?" DI Clarke admired the antique setting and the old-fashioned cut ruby with tiny diamonds surrounding it.
"Because it's his mother's ring, and it's the only thing he has left of her. When I realised that, I knew I loved him. Because I knew then that, when he gave it to me on our wedding day, he loved me then. He didn't like to say it, but he did."
" … Nearly finished, Professor. My last question is – when did you two fall in love? Was it why you got married?" Webb poised his pen above the last part of the paper.
Snape thought over this, and decided that truth was probably the best option. "Actually, I don't think we really loved each other when we married. I was looking for comfort, and she was seeking stability in her life. We were certainly friends, and it seemed like a good idea. But I trust her, and I respect her, and she is the one person I can be truly honest with – and I knew that the day we were married. And since then, I've come to love her deeply and dearly, more than you can imagine.
"In fact, DI Webb, I believe we have your investigation to thank for this. Making us look at our relationship, and how much we mean to each other, has brought us closer than I ever thought we could be. I don't think I could love my wife so much without your office's pushing us to prove it."
The detective had stopped writing, and was watching Severus with slowly-widening eyes, realising he was privy to something very, very special. The distant sound of a mobile phone nudged him out of his reverie, and he wrote a few last words on the paper.
At this point, there was a knock at the door, and DI Clarke stuck her head in.
"Gerald, can I talk to you for a moment?"
Webb nodded, gathered up his papers and headed out to the hallway. There was a dull murmur for a minute or so, then Webb led Clarke and Hermione into the room. Hermione walked right over to Severus and took his hand, standing with her other hand on his shoulder.
DI Clarke spoke first. "We've reviewed the notes, and of course it has to be approved by our superiors, but I need to tell you both that I am recommending to the Superintendent that no charges are necessary, that we consider that the pair of you are legitimately and genuinely married, and that you, Severus Snape, are the real person we have listed on our records."
She coughed gently, then smiled and continued. "I also will tell you that three days ago, a man carrying identification that named him as Severus Snape was picked up in a raid on a farm in Norfolk, where he and several other suspected illegal immigrants were working without the correct visas. It helped that this other Severus also had documents identifying him as a Uzbekistan national who had escaped from custody over five years ago. We couldn't mention this before, but the phone call I just had was to tell me that he has admitted that his real name is Islam Khokimiat, and his deportation is being arranged.
"Mr … no, Professor Snape, Mrs Snape, thank you for your co-operation, and if you have any more queries, please refer them to my office."
If you asked Hermione later, she would say that it's quite probable that DIs Webb and Clarke let themselves out. They may have even said something to the couple as they left. But Hermione was too busy looking into Severus's eyes as he stood up and took her in his arms.
"It's over?"
"Finally."
If you asked the Detectives what happened next, they would smile and say "Some things should remain between a married couple."
And please don't ask the elves. They is not telling.