A/N: This story is a continuation of the AU created in "A Chance for Happiness." If you have not read that yet, I highly recommend you doing so, as these chapters will make little or not sense to you. Updates on this story will be slower than in the original story due to real life. *shakes fist!* but there was some expression of interest in the continuation of the story, so I will leave this open as a place to keep it going.

As always: None of these characters you recognize from JKR's Harry Potter world are mine. I am not making any profit off this. Rita Skeeter is a daft cow, and the characters you don't recognize are probably mine. The story ideas are also mine. Etc etc. Yadda yadda. WHEE! (ahem)


Title: A Continued Chance for Happiness

Chapter 1: Clean-up

Hermione Snape opened up one eye as the sound of giggling children caused her outer awareness to stir. Severus growled against her back, snaking his arm around her waist and pulling her deeper under the covers. His mind blended with hers with a familiar brush of his presense as he sought what had awoken her. His teeth latched onto the soft spot on her neck, and she sagged against him, paralyzed. "Mrmmrmrph," she managed to say.

"How articulate of you, Mrs. Snape," Severus' voice purred silkily.

"Mrrmrprphhffhfmerp," Hermione mumbled into his arm, snuffling his scent off his skin.

"I think my wife has been attacked by brain leeches," Severus commented dryly.

Hermione began to gnaw on Severus' arm.

"Ah no," Severus groaned. "She's turned into a cannibal." He rolled her over and pulled her against him under the covers.

Hermione snaked her arm out and pressed her fingers to the back of his neck, running her fingers across his skin.

Severus hissed sharply, pressing his lips to hers in what had become a perfectly conditioned response after more than a decade of marriage.

Hermione beat her hand against his shoulder futily.

"For the brightest witch of your age, my witch," Severus commented, "You keep expecting a different response for when you do that. It is always the same."

Hermione's reply involved her teeth on his neck.

Severus groaned as his eyes half rolled back into his head, and he growled a response, tumbling with her in the bed until she managed to pull away with a hearty laugh.

"Severus," she breathed his name as though it were the only word she knew.

"Yes, my witch?" Severus replied calmly, his face expressionless.

"Parents," she managed to say, giving him the look that meant "I'd rather stay in bed" and "The children should probably be dressed before we send them to my parent's."

"Mph," Severus grunted. "We could just send them to the Burrow in their pajamas."

Hermione beat her head against her husband's chest.

"No?" Severus quipped. "Pity."

A female squeal of excitement filtered through their bedroom door.

Severus' eyebrow rose as he looked towards the door, his expression torn between resignation and annoyance.

Hermione touched his cheek with her palm and smiled before extricating herself from the bed sheets and walking into the bathroom.

As Severus heard the water to the shower and tub start running, he began to count to himself. "One… two… three… four…"

Two blurs of red, orange, and yellow feathers flew into the bathroom with excited warbles, attracted the moment they realized that their Mistress was starting the hot water.

Phoenixes, much like owls with a delivery, apparently ignored silly inventions like doors. Somehow they always found a way to get from wherever they were to their favorite steamy shower. Nothing would stop them in this endeavor. It was strange that an owl would wait outside a window for a long time, yet were not deterred by closed doors within the confines of Hogwart's. One day, when he wasn't annoyed to be in the Headmistress' Office, he would have to ask Albus if there was a reason owls and phoenixes could ignore doors. That might be a while.

Happy warbling and trilling was coming from the bathroom, and Severus had no doubt that their two phoenix charges were steamed into a proper fluff-ball state within minutes of their flying into the bathroom. Phoenixes liked hot showers. Who knew?

Severus groggily exited the bed and trudged towards the bathroom. He brushed his teeth and pondered whether attempting to share the shower would actually galvanize cleanliness or just make it less likely that their children would be ready to go on time.

Desire to be clean won out over concerns of distraction, and he cast off his dressing robe and slipped into the shower with his wife and the two overly excited phoenixes.

Pyre and Prince chirped happily from their perches, flipping their beaks into the stream of water to scatter water every which way.

Strangely enough, whether by tiredness or determination, they showered together without distraction and exited the shower, leaving the two steam-fluffed birds to sing in the steam.

As Severus threw on his dressing robe to walk towards his wardrobe, Hermione hugged him from behind, pressing her face to his back and inhaling deeply. He had, after many years of ardent practice, managed not to fall flat on his face due to the surge of their metaphysical bond caused by physical contact of such a nature. He was, all things considered, quite proud of the fact that the touch of his wife didn't cause him to sprawl, immediately and in the most undignified manner, completely prostrate on the bathroom floor. Miracles did happen quite regularly in the house of Snape. Practice did make perfect, apparently.

Severus turned and enfolded his wife with a soft croon, gently stroking his fingers through her hair. She snuggled into him happily, enjoying his touch as she always did. Somewhere over the past decade, he had stopped boggling over that as well. It made perfect sense, logically, considering they were bound irrevocably together with a metaphysical bond, that she would enjoy his touch, but self doubt was hardly a logical failing.

Hermione pulled away with a somewhat sad expression, running her finger down the bridge of his nose with a sparkle in her eyes. She turned and shuffled towards her dresser and wardrobe.

Severus closed his eyes and attempted to gather his controls back in order, schooling his face into impassiveness. While it was perfectly acceptable to be lax in such things with his wife, it was not, at least in his own mind, proper to do so otherwise. It wasn't as if he would ever burst into song and start professing his emotions like a wayward minstrel, but protecting his thoughts and emotions was something he rarely felt right without. Two wizarding wars and being under the thumb of the previous Dark Lord as a spy for the Albus Dumbledore did some pretty amazing things to his psyche. Most of them were not entirely positive. He was thankful, at the very least, that Hermione was good at expressing his emotion for him. Due to this, his children did not doubt his love for them even when he wore the same impassive face he did everywhere else.

Severus felt a quiver in his mind and immediately his head snapped up to look towards Hermione. Her hand had gone to the bridge of her nose and her eyebrows furrowed. He was at her side in about three steps, guiding her to the nearby chair.

Her eyes were glassy as pain rippled through their bond. The flashbacks had returned. They were rare in number anymore, but they came with the same randomness that took them both unprepared. If they had time, he would have helped talk her through it and sit together as the turmoil eased, but today their children had to be ready to goto the Burrow and meet with her parents. Her parents would probably not take the knowledge of their daughter writhing on the floor screaming one room away from their grandchildren as remotely healthy.

Severus extended his hand and a potion vial slammed into his palm from whatever drawer it had been stashed in. He popped the cork and sniffed it, automatically checking to make sure it was really what he thought it was. He brought it to her lips. "Drink, Hermione," he said softly.

Normally, Hermione would not drink any potion without checking it first. It was one of their most cardinal rules as masters of potions. A potion give by Severus, however, she would trust without question when it mattered. She drank the potion with his guidance, closing her eyes as the liquid spread through her system.

He felt the pain in her mind ease and he sighed softly, withdrawing the potion vial from her mouth. The potion, much like many of potions in their private stores, was customized for their use. Their recipes, created together either by need or inspiration, were potent at their jobs. The job that particular potion was created for, was numbing the mind from trauma, whether it be current or remembered.

Severus placed his head against hers and touched her cheek. She mirrored his gesture and whispered an apology. He shushed her with a finger to her lips. No apologies. Never for that.

After a few minutes she stood, ready to tackle dressing once more. They both tackled their clothing with automated fervor, pulling on their teaching robes with the speed and familiarity of repetition.

Hermione had once told him that she felt strange outside of her teaching robes anymore. When she had been younger muggle clothes had seemed so much more comfortable and practical, and she had no idea when or how it had changed.

Severus knew the feeling quite well and did not tease her for it. Neville Longbottom did not seem to inclined to stay with his teaching robes, but Severus seemed to realize that Neville's bond with Pomona Sprout between Master and Apprentice was not a fraction as deep as the one that had formed between Hermione and himself. In fact, the bond of familiarity between himself, Hermione, and their shared apprentice Wayne Mitchell seemed much stronger than the one between Neville and Pomona. He wasn't sure why it seemed to work that way.

Wayne Mitchell, much like Hermione when she first started as Severus' formal apprentice, wore the long black teaching robes that mirrored his Master and Mistress'. The only difference was he liked to accent his waistcoat and pants with slightly more color, often choosing Slytherin colors and silver button accents. Wayne, much like Hermione, wore his apprenticeship sigil proudly on his collar, something many aspiring apprentices ditched the moment they could be seen without formal marks of rank. Wayne Mitchell, however, was no dunderheaded apprentice wannabe. He trusted his masters to guide him right and gave them his obedience. If he had questions about method or an ingredient, he asked it later after the potion was done, never when being directed by either Severus or Hermione. It was this that set him apart from the few apprentices Hermione and Severus had sent crying back to Master Declan Stainthorpe.

Once they were properly dressed, Hermione snuggled into his chest, burying herself in his robe. She inhaled his scent like a ward against the future. She pulled away slowly and smiled up at him before heading out the bedroom door. As soon as the door opened, the two phoenixes flew out of the bathroom shower and out the bedroom door. He never would understand phoenix logic. It wasn't like they needed the door to be open coming in, yet they rushed to fly out the open door. Birds. Who knew what was rattling around in their heads.

As the happy greetings from their children and those that had slept over for the night assaulted them both, Severus stepped into the living room to assess how much damage had been done to his living room by over-exuberant children. If he was lucky, he wouldn't have to peel anything off the ceiling. If he was really lucky, he wouldn't have to peel his children off the ceiling either.


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A/N: Thanks to those following from the start of this story with "A Chance for Happiness." I hope you are enjoying the continuation.