*shrug* I dunno. It's just a bit of fluff I had to get out of my brain so that I could work on a couple of other projects. Reviews are always appreciated.

It's all over.

He should have thought that when he was lying in a pool of his own blood in that dirty shack. Only he didn't. All he could think to do was to thank the Gods for a beautiful young girl with bushy hair. Relief had washed over him as she cried over his nearly lifeless body while she forced potions and bezoars down his half-missing throat. There she was; a little worse for wear, but even when dirty and a little too thin, she glowed with that inner beauty that he had never seen matched.

He had been beside himself with fear the past year. His few hours of sleep were haunted by her face. Those nights forced him to accept what he had long denied. That Hogwarts's smartest witch had inspired him to keep living...by making him love again. At first he hated himself for loving her. To love Hermione felt like forsaking Lily's memory or like being some sick bastard. Only his love for her had never been tainted by lust. He loved her because of her brilliance, her kindness, her strength...her purity. He had never wanted to touch her, only to watch over her, guide her, protect her. And there she was, saving his miserable life.

It's all over.

He should have prayed for death rather than to go on for her. If he had died that day he never would have seen Hermione as the woman the war had forged. If he had died, he never would have been forced to watch. Watch as she nurse him back to health, as she cried into his side over the dead, Weasley accosting her against a wall as he sought a different relief for grief, or be forced to see that look in her eyes when the healer told him he would never speak again. That was the moment the thought came. That was when he prayed for death to rewrite history.

In those months confined to the infirmary bed, being looked after by the object of his affections his worst fears had been realized. He saw her as a woman now. He had fulfilled his commitments to Lily and now he felt hope blossoming in his chest. Hope for what he had never dared dream of. A wife and a family of his own. Hermione was half his age, but wiser by far. When she broke it off with her beau, he thought for a moment that there was a chance he could woo the woman his heart so longed for. All it took was that errant thought for him to suddenly begin lusting after the girl who had once been his student. Only now he felt no guilt. He owed Lily nothing and not only was Hermione the age of consent, but she had chosen to take her NEWTS without her final year. She was no longer a student and he was free to feel any way he wanted about her.

His liberated heart, libido and hope had quickly been snuffed when they told him his voice was lost forever. He could see in her whisky eyes that she blamed herself, but he could do nothing to console her. He'd still have his potions, his occlumency, and, thank the Gods, his skill for wandless magic would ensure he'd keep his spells. None of that mattered to him now, because he knew Hermione would be lost to him. He had thought that when his voice returned her would encourage her own feelings to turn towards love for him by explaining all that he had done and why. He had hoped to wash away all the years of torment and anger he had forced upon her with his silky voice. His voice had always been his one alluring feature, his one talent for drawing in the interest of women. He had been plotting to use it on Hermione. Now it was gone and soon she would be too.

She had been gone for five days. It felt as though a part of him had been ripped out and he was left to bleed internally. She had been his constant companion for nearly three months and then she was gone. He tried closing his eyes and reliving every moment he had had with her in the infirmary. The hours upon hours of her reading her book du jour to him. The afternoon where she apologized for all the wrongs she had done against him as she giggled remembering her escapades. The nights his waist was dampened as she sobbed into him thinking he was asleep. That late afternoon she had bounced up to his bed announcing that she had completed her exams. The mornings he found her asleep with her head resting on his mattress and he chanced running his hand over her curls or against her pale skin.

Harry was his first visitor after she left. She had been in court testifying on his behalf. So had he. Severus Snape had been acquitted. He was free to live his life. But what kind of life could a man like him be allowed to live? No one would ever return his love. While he had a nice fortune to his name as a patent holder on several potions and spells he had nothing to spend it on but more ingredients. Without his voice he wouldn't be able to teach and without his job he would lose the last forms of companionship left to him. The Gods were cruel.

He was released and was forced to return to the one place he had hoped never to return to. Spinner's End. The walls of that bloody house were stained by the screams, blood and bruises his father had inflicted in his youth. Unfortunately it was the only roof for him to hide under. After the first week, Severus quickly realized that the house suited him. It reflected his weary, damaged soul rather well. Maybe that's what caused him to buy the rope and write the letter. Maybe it was the haunting echo of his abusive childhood whispering as he slept that reminded him that he was ugly, unloved, unwanted and unneeded, that convinced him that there was no reason to continue living.

Hermione, you beautiful, wonderful witch!

The morning he wrote, in eloquent script, confessing his love and shame, begging for forgiveness, her owl appeared. No one knew where he was except for order members, so he let the little owl in and accepted his missive. It was a small letter and the ink appeared to have been smudged by what he imagined were tears. Even so, that letter saved his life. She saved his life once more.

Severus Snape,

Where have you disappeared to? I can't tell you how sorry I am that I vanished after that day. I panicked and blamed myself for your loss. I realize now that there's nothing else I could have done. I had intended on returning to you the next day, but things at the trial required my attention. When that fiasco was finally finished - congratulations! - I realized that I had been hiding from the world with you. My parents were still in Australia and I had to try and get their memories back. Nothing I did could bring them back. When I gave up I tried to find you, but you were gone. Do you have any idea how scared I was when you disappeared? No one knew where you were. I thought I lost you too. I can't lose you. Please, I know you value your privacy, but I beg you, let me see you.

Please.

He would have recognized the handwriting anywhere. Her words brought tears to his eyes. Did she miss him as much as he missed her?

knock knock

His eyebrow rose in confusion. No one ever knocked on his door. When he cracked his door open she whispered his name. He had never heard anything more beautiful. She easily pushed the door open wide then shoved her small body against him. He hated how he immediately stiffened in her embrace. He melted into her arms when she refused to let go of her grip.

"Don't ever do that to me again!" She cried into his chest. She pulled back to look at his face. He prayed his face was neutral and not holding his seemingly permanent scowl. It must have been.

"So this is where you've been hiding." He nodded dumbly. "Isn't this where you grew up?" Another nod.

She pulled away from him to get a better look at his drab run-down home. He immediately hated the loss of warmth and wanted to pull her back. He had missed her so long. All he wanted was to be held in her embrace all day. He was so distracted by that thought that he didn't realize she had spotted his suicide letter.

"Sir?" She questioned as she opened the letter with her name on it. He opened his mouth to shout, scream, anything to make her drop the blasted letter, but it was too late. Her hand flew to her mouth as she gasped.

He couldn't help it. He cringed and shut his eyes. Any moment now he would hear her storm past him and slam the door. If he just kept his eyes closed he could hold onto the memory of her holding him.

"Severus." He remained as he was. "Severus." He couldn't help peaking through his long lashes at her. Her face was an odd mixture of pale with flushed cheeks and wet eyes. "What were you thinking?!" She grabbed his white dress shirt and shook him, "How could you think for one second that I didn't love you?!"

It felt like all the wind had been knocked out of him. She loved him? How? When? Was she being serious? He didn't know how to respond. He had relied on his voice to be his only expression of how he felt that he had no idea how to express all these questions and feelings welling up inside him. Luckily, he didn't have to. She grabbed onto him again.

"Why do you think I stayed by your side those months?" She chuckled and the sensation vibrated through his chest. "I never thought you'd ever feel this way about me. The 'insufferable know-it-all' who made your life so difficult; how could you ever love me? I had hoped you had grown a fondness for my company after you never tried to send me away, but it was almost too much to dream..." she sighed. He wiggled his arms from her grasp to wrap them around her. They stood like that for a long time, both grateful to be in the other's arms.

She pulled back and smacked his chest, "Don't you ever scare me like that again!" She buried her face in his chest again, "I don't think I'd survive if I lost you too." There was another lengthy silence before she pulled to look back at him. She cupped his cheek, "You'll never be rid of me now." He gave her a soft smile and she glowed. He'd be perfectly happy if she stayed by his side the rest of his life, and that's just what she did.

The day Severus passed away, the wizarding world mourned for he and his wife. Married 120 years, they passed into the beyond together wrapped in each other's embrace. It was noted later that in their wake, they left two children, six grandchildren and twenty great grandchildren. Their legacy and stories would be passed on for many generations, and all would remark that never had two people been more in love or more perfectly matched.