OK, a bit of time has lapsed here – five years to be precise! As I've mentioned before, I wanted to try to keep this in canon to a certain extent. Several reasons, really:

1. I wanted Hermione to have kids, and having them with Severus was a definite NO as far as I was concerned (I know some writers go down that route and I'm not criticising it, but for me, he's way too psychologically damaged to be a father).

2. I just couldn't make Hermione give up her life and follow Severus at the age of 18 – she's a modern, strong-minded, young career woman and she just wouldn't let me! Doesn't mean she can't marry and have kids (as well as a career), but I couldn't see her burying herself in rural Spain at that stage of her life. She's got to make a difference to wizarding Britain first.

3. I thought it would be interesting to write my story around the epilogue-that-must-not-be-named, but give it a certain twist. After all, we know that Harry and Ginny are happy, but we don't necessarily know that Hermione and Ron are. All we actually know is that they are good parents and appear to be on good terms, but then many divorced couples fall in that category.

I've slightly mucked around with the children's ages – in JKR's version, they are born a little later and hence go to Hogwarts later than they do in my version. I've probably got the birthdays all wrong too, but it's my version anyway! Here's my timeline:

June 2000 – Hermione and Ron get married. Ron starts working as an auror, having spent the last year in training. During the next four years, Harry and Hermione rise in status at the Ministry and work to clear Severus's name.

October 2000 – Birth of James Potter

September 2001 - Birth of Rose Weasley

March 2002 - Birth of Albus Potter

December 2003 – Birth of Lily Potter

February 2004 – Birth of Hugo Weasley

And we pick up the story again in July 2004 – when Hermione has some startling news for Severus and decides to go and see him for the first time in five years…

Usual disclaimer: not mine, no money. No warnings.

July 2004

"You are troubled, my friend."

Severus raised the flap of his old hat to contemplate his friend. Cesar had the satisfied look of a man who has just seen the second of his four daughters get married, to a promising young man who looked set to become one of the finest healers in Spain's wizarding community. But at this moment, his usually contented face was rather serious.

The two men were reclining in armchairs in the salesman's shady garden on this particularly hot and still afternoon. The perspiration ran in rivulets down Severus's face. Surely the oppressive heat would break soon – he could feel a storm approaching; could feel it in his bones.

"What, more so than usual?" He tried to turn it into a joke, but the other man gave him a wry look.

"Come on, Severus. It can't be business – sales are really taking off for you. Beatrix says that practically every household in the magical communities around here has stocked up on bottles of Revivio, and your Scar-accio ointment is selling well too. And that's just the locals. I know you're exporting it across Europe under your other name."

Severus smiled at this reference to the pseudonym under which he continued to live and trade, even though his good friends now knew his true identity.

Not long after Hermione's first letter, he had begun to realise the true value of friendship. It was Cesar who investigated when he failed to turn up for meetings on three occasions; who found his way by enquiry to the little cottage in Valenzuela; who found Severus suffering the effects of a lethal combination of whiskey and cocaine. And it was Beatrix who had stood by and suffered the verbal abuse while Severus cursed and raved his way through the agonies of going cold turkey. It was Beatrix who had generously found a corner of her overcrowded house in which to nurse the emaciated Englishman back to health, while Cesar and the children carried on digging over Severus's land, sowing seeds and making preparations for the winter.

In the circumstances (and in view of the manic ravings that Beatrix had been privy to during his delirium), it seemed a bit pointless to continue with his deception. It was clear by then that the Martinez family were not going to turn him over to the authorities. He found it a relief to unburden himself after so long. He found Cesar to be a sympathetic listener, and was humbled by the man's clear belief in his innocence.

Looking back, Severus didn't know what madness had made him fall into substance abuse. He'd always tried to be careful with his fragile health – more so since Nagini - but even prior to that, he'd rarely over-indulged in drink, and drugs were a definite no. He knew too much about what went into them; had seen first-hand the dangers of drug abuse – and yet, he found himself falling. He could only assume it was despair over the loss of Hermione. He'd known it then, deep in his heart, when he'd received her letter. He'd known she would never return – that her other life would claim her. It gave him no satisfaction to be merely proved right.

The first year had been difficult, particularly after he'd received the awkward, carefully-worded letter in March from Hermione announcing her engagement to Ron. It was no more than he had expected. He didn't reply to this letter or to any of the others that she sent every three months or so, although he did request that his formal good wishes were passed to the happy couple via Bill Weasley, with whom he kept in regular contact.

He often wondered whether things would have been different if he'd answered that first letter; had made his feelings clear. But what would have been the good of that? Surely, if Hermione had really loved him without reservation, she would have stayed faithful and would have returned? He knew she had incredible staying power – she'd stuck by him through the difficult periods of his recovery when a lesser woman would have given up and passed his care to someone else. He convinced himself that she must have been sure of her feelings for Ron – otherwise, she would have returned…wouldn't she? She must have known how he, Severus, felt about her.

Bill and Arthur Weasley had kept their promise to help Severus. Prince Products Inc. came into existence in the spring of 2000. Arthur arranged distribution of the products by mail order – even, with George's help, to the more modern witches and wizards via what he insisted on calling the "Witch Wide Web". Bill handled the accounts and the payments into an anonymous Gringotts account, from which by coincidence a regular salary was paid out to a Tobias Prince at the Granada branch. There was nothing to connect the products produced by this potions company to Severus Snape.

In fact, the search for him had lost some of its impetus. Kingsley was now Minister and was working on eradicating the corruption and bureaucracy that had dominated the Ministry for so many years. He let it be quietly known that he was not interested in the pursuit of a man who was almost certainly dead anyway, and the message began to get through. Kingsley was careful, though, to ensure that no one knew of his regular meetings with Harry, who was still spending a fair amount of his time seeking the evidence needed to clear Severus of the many accusations against him.

Materially, things were a little easier for Severus – apart from the profits that were starting to come in from his patented products, he'd been able to grow plenty of fresh vegetables in his garden and freeze enough for the winters. He did some labour for a local farmer and received his payment in meat. He was careful with his money – ploughing the majority of it back into his research. It was an expensive process; he was starting from nothing and working in isolation, so he had no opportunity to share resources with other researchers. Also, his output was relatively small – so far, he only had a couple of unique potions in production, although he was also selling his own versions of other, more common, potions.

He now made regular trips over to Orgiva, where Cesar and Beatrix would often make him stay a couple of nights. It was a long journey, and he was sometimes tempted to move nearer. There, at least, he would have more company – not just Cesar and Beatrix but among the witches and wizards that lived in the Alpajurras region; there were hardly any in his own area. However, he was loath to give up his anonymity – and his land. It had taken considerable work to get it into its current optimum condition. And there was his laboratory to consider, too. He'd made it bigger – it now extended under most of his land. No one would have guessed the size of the operation that took place under the dusty few acres that he farmed; no one but Hermione had ever seen it.

He would discuss his latest developments with his friends, and it was Beatrix who came up with the name Revivio for his patented potion that helped patients recover their strength following gastrointestinal viruses more quickly. After this early success, he focused on a product designed to minimise the worst curse scars that had proved resistant to other treatments. Scar-accio had taken some three years to develop – he'd had to experiment on himself – but it was now in full production and was expected to take the wizarding world by storm.

It shocked him to receive a letter from Hermione talking enthusiastically about Scar-accio – she of course knew through Bill that it was one of his inventions. She talked about how it had made a curse scar that she'd received during the war almost disappear. That any such scar existed was news to him. Her careful lack of detail about the scar and who had cast it had tantalised him to the extent that he was almost tempted to write to her – almost but not quite. He didn't think he'd be able to be civil. The wound was still too raw.

He was thinking about moving in a new direction. Hermione had written earlier this year about the birth of her second child - a son - but this time her happiness had been tempered by fear. She'd had a difficult pregnancy throughout – it was as well that he hadn't known that, as his helplessness would have been a torment, but she'd kept it from him. Hugo had been born 8 weeks premature and was reasonably healthy, if small, but Hermione had struggled to feed him. For some weeks, he'd failed to thrive. Hermione was usually fairly up-beat in her letters, perhaps deliberately so at times, but she'd been unable to hide her distress this time. Again, he'd almost put pen to paper… but what could he have said to comfort her? No doubt Weasley and the rest of his family were far more qualified to provide support and advice. Molly must have seen it all in her years as both mother and grandmother – who was he to think he could help in any way?

Although he'd never replied to any of Hermione's letters, he'd kept her letters in a box and had spent hours reading and rereading them. He felt he knew Hermione's writing style very well by now. There was something…something about this last letter that had bothered him more than he cared to admit. Something slightly artificial about her usual bright and cheerful manner of writing – he couldn't put his finger on it, but something deep in his bones told him that she wasn't completely happy.

But the situation with her son had given him the germ of an idea – to create a product that would help premature babies catch up more quickly with full-term infants in their physical development. It would be a serious challenge, involving a lot of research, and he would have to start off by getting some comparative data from the neonatal unit at the maternity hospital in Granada to work out which areas of physiology to focus on. It would be difficult…the ethics and practicalities of getting test subjects were enormous. He'd come to visit Beatrix - official district nurse and unofficial midwife to both witches and Muggles in her local community - to get her advice.

And now, this letter…

"Well?" Cesar cocked his head at him, inquiringly.

Severus sighed and flicked the letter in his direction.

It was a fairly short note, and not in Hermione's usual style. Her quarterly letters were usually informative, running to at least 10 pages of small neat handwriting – and anyway, she'd only written the last one a month ago. This was rather terse:

"Dear Toby,

I have some important news for you and need to see you quite urgently. I can't discuss this by letter, so can we meet? I hope it will be convenient for me to visit you on 15th July – if not, perhaps you could write and let me know? I know you don't write normally, but anyway, I will turn up on that date at 9AM your time, in the usual location, and hope to see you then.

Yours,

Hermione"

"Interesting that she still calls you Toby," Cesar murmured as he returned the letter.

"She's never called me anything else. I suppose she thinks it's unsafe to use my real name, even now. You notice she's also careful about not revealing my location?" Severus folded the letter and put it back in his pocket.

"So what do you think the news might be?" Cesar gave him a sideways look.

Severus sighed. "I have no idea, really."

Again, the shrewd look. "You are not sure whether you wish to see her, are you?"

Severus said nothing for a moment. Even now, Cesar didn't know the full story. He knew Hermione's real name and that she wasn't actually related to Severus. He also knew that they had parted on bad terms, but Severus had never revealed the extent of his feelings towards her, and he didn't know how much his friend had guessed in the intervening years. Hermione often asked after the Martinez family, and Severus passed on her good wishes and little snippets of news, but he tried to keep the details light to avoid conveying the fresh pain each development gave him - her wedding… her various promotions… her happiness over Rose's birth, and then Hugo…

It still hurt deeply. He could close his eyes and visualise her as if it were only yesterday. Most often, his mind took him to that vision of her at the Alhambra, in her red dress, silhouetted in the moonlight. He tried to avoid the sensory memories of that last night with her – the scent of her breath, the heat of her body as she leaned over him, her lips on his – but sometimes, he woke sweaty and aroused from heated dreams, gasping her name.

He'd never looked at another woman. Severus wasn't, and never had been, a particularly sexual individual. Women (and men) in general didn't attract him, and sexual responses were rare. It had been a shock when Hermione had elicited that response in him. If he'd been entirely honest, the sexual attraction had been there for him during that summer that she'd nursed him back to health. He'd tried to justify it as the natural response of a still fairly young man to an enforced intimacy with an attractive young woman. The following summer, when he'd realised the true nature of his feelings for Hermione, the reactions had made more sense. He'd hoped, during the intervening years, that they would go away and he'd return to his former asexual state, but if anything, the desire had grown more intense and his fantasies were only ever focused on one woman.

Of course, he didn't even know whether the dream Hermione that haunted him at night bore any resemblance to the current reality. When they'd last met, she'd been a skinny teenager. She'd be twenty-four now, still very young, but a mother of two. He somehow felt it likely that she would have changed quite a bit in that time, although he couldn't really visualise a curvier, maternal version of the slim girl-woman with the boyish hair cut that he'd made the mistake of falling in love with.

He had wondered a bit at the speed with which she'd married and had her children. Of course, it wasn't unusual in wizarding families – Molly had had the first of her many children by nineteen, and Lily Potter was only twenty-one when Harry was born. And look at Ginevra Potter – by all accounts, a promising career in Quiddich curtailed by the birth of 3 children within 5 years, and still only twenty-three. Even the Witch Weekly gossip column, not normally known for its liberal attitudes to either female Quiddich players or working mothers, had expressed disappointment at her decision to retire before she'd really got started. Cesar and Beatrix's youngest daughter, Meghara, herself a talented seeker, had been devastated – her bedroom was dotted with posters of the Holyhead Harpies.

But Hermione, like him, had one foot firmly in each world – magical and Muggle. Most Muggle women concentrated on their careers first and had their children later in life, and he wondered what her parents made of the situation.

He realised suddenly that Cesar was still waiting for a response. "Oh, I don't know. I suppose I'm a bit surprised that she would leave her son at this stage. I believe he's still quite sickly."

"The news must be fairly important."

"Hmm." He had a suspicion it was to do with his current status with the Ministry. It couldn't be an emergency, otherwise she'd have contacted him through the charmed galleon that he still wore around his neck although it hadn't been activated for 5 years.

Cesar sighed. "Severus, I wish you would tell me what is bothering you so much. I think I can guess. It was quite clear when you both visited that summer that there was something going on between you. I think I already knew that she was no cousin of yours…but that day in particular there was a spark between you… I don't know how far it went, but something went wrong after that day, didn't it? Can't you tell me what happened?"

Severus gritted his teeth. "Ron Weasley happened."

"Ah…I see." Cesar patted his shoulder, sympathetically. "But Hermione was not interested in Ron Weasley at that stage, was she?"

"Wasn't she?" He failed to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Cesar paused, astonished. "You really think…? Severus, listen to me. That young woman had eyes for no one but you that day. It was unmistakeable – it was the first thing that Beatrix noticed about her. The way her eyes lingered on you when you weren't looking, the way her face lit up whenever you spoke to her…" He shook his head. "Unmistakeable."

"More fool her, then," Severus muttered.

"What is it with you, my friend? What is it that makes you think you are undeserving of her regard… or anyone else's?"

Severus stared at him. "But… but you know my story by now, surely?"

Cesar shrugged. As was his habit when he had something serious to impart, he switched over to Spanish, a language that Severus was now fluent in.

"I know all about a seriously neglected and undernourished boy who was the product of a violent father and an indifferent mother. I know all about a boy who was bullied at school and let down by his only genuine friend there. I know that boy grew up to blame himself for her death, even though there were much deeper forces at work than the over-enthusiasm of a young man trying to impress his new master –"

"But –"

Cesar held up his hand to stop Severus. "I know that young man sought to redeem himself and that he did that by returning to his headmaster. I know that the headmaster, a much respected senior figure in the wizarding world, actively encouraged the young man's shame in order to gain better control over his actions."

Severus was shocked by the hard look on Cesar's face. He'd never seen his easy-going friend look so… angry?

"That respected senior wizard used his influence over a devastated young man to force that man into a dangerous path. A path that would involve nearly twenty years of thankless toil as a double agent, that would force the young man to carry out unsavoury, sometimes terrible deeds. A path of ignominy, hatred, viciousness…pain. A path that would almost – but not quite – destroy that young man, both physically and psychologically."

"It wasn't like that – not really."

"Wasn't it?"

Severus looked at the Spanish man, not sure what to say. How could he make him understand?

The dark eyes were very knowing. "You are thinking about how you behaved during that period. You are ashamed because you came to…enjoy your power. There were times when you wanted to inflict punishment on Harry Potter and his friends. You gained satisfaction from your treatment of them."

"No! Yes…maybe…" The memories were suddenly overwhelming. The agony of a fallen enemy, writhing across the floor, his hand raised ready to provide an extra dimension…or respite. The power to scatter terrified students in his wake. The impotent fury on the face of James Potter's son…

"But why are you surprised about your behaviour? From the age of twenty-one to the age of thirty-eight, you had to live within that world. You had to pretend to despise anyone who was not on Voldemort's side, and you had to keep that cover up for seventeen years – even during the period that he was dormant… except he was never truly dormant, was he? He lived on – corrupting people's hearts and minds with his malevolent views and codes of behaviour. And you had to be seen to support those views. Surely, over time, it had to affect you? You managed to hold out against an incredibly strong influence on your mind, my friend. Despite the horrors you had to observe, and sometimes take part in, despite the pressures of trying to serve two masters and keep one of them unaware of the other, despite never having a moment's rest in all that time…despite all of that, you managed to hold on to … to you – to Severus. But all the anger, the fear, the emotions you kept firmly locked inside you, well, it had to manifest itself somehow – and with you, that emotion was focused in a very narrow lens… to Harry Potter."

He put his hand on Severus' left arm, his eyes begging Severus to understand. "You are not evil, Severus, or corrupted by your connection to Voldemort. He was, but you are still you… and you are not."

Severus couldn't speak – his throat felt too tight. His right hand came up and blindly sought Cesar's hand; grasped it tight in a gratitude that he couldn't vocalise.

Cesar squeezed the potions master's fingers for a moment before letting his own hand drop. He sighed, gazing at the lengthening shadows across his large overgrown garden. Following his eyes, Severus saw his friend's two young sons practicing famous Quiddich feints on their broomsticks. The air was starting to cool slightly; the sounds of far-off laughter and the faintest rustle of dry grass, by now so familiar to Severus, soothed him.

"And, for this, you felt yourself unworthy of love – unworthy of Hermione. You could have pursued her. You could have written to her immediately, told her how you felt, but you didn't. You sat and waited while another man laid claim to her heart." He turned towards Severus again. "I'm afraid you cannot blame Ron Weasley for that, my friend."

"I knew she would end up with him – I always knew it." Severus's voice was tight with emotion. His throat felt sore; he was struck by the sudden grief that overcame him at regular intervals.

"Yes, you did. And perhaps that was part of the problem."

"You mean that I convinced myself that it was the right thing, don't you? That I was so sure that it would be better for her. And by thinking that way, I made it happen." Severus was silent for a moment, contemplating his hands in this lap, and then he lifted his head to Cesar. "But she is better off with him! He's young – they grew up together. They went through the war together – they understand each other. He's healthy, popular – everyone loves him. And he can give her children – a family life."

"And you couldn't?"

Severus laughed, disbelievingly. "Oh, come on, Cesar – do you really think that would have been a good idea? Even if I wanted to bring children into the world, what kind of life do you think they'd have – the children of Severus Snape, public enemy number 1?"

Cesar grimaced slightly. "Well, I admit that I cannot see you as a father, my friend. Fatherhood isn't really…you – is it?"

Severus smiled, amused despite himself. "I guess it would help if I actually liked children, but in fact I don't. Never have done."

"You make a fairly good uncle to ours."

"Oh, I don't object to them – at a distance. But I always hated teaching." Severus shrugged. "Some get pleasure out of developing young people's minds. I never have done."

"That must have been yet another challenge for you over the years," Cesar commented drily.

The two men were silent for a moment. Unseen by them, Beatrix stepped into the garden, took a look at her husband's face and retreated, just as quietly.

Cesar laughed. "Do you notice that when we talk of Hermione, we talk of your feelings in relation to her? Your views on what is good for her, what would make her happy? But we don't talk about her feelings. She's an adult – a human being as complex as any other – perhaps more so. She has desires, needs, ambitions. We are so busy assuming that, for her, marriage, children, a glittering career are exactly what she needs. And perhaps, right now, she believes that too, but…" Cesar stood up suddenly and turned to Severus. "Do not assume that Hermione has no place in your future, Severus. She is still very young, and there is far more to her than motherhood and the Ministry."

Severus stood too. "But…how? How could you know all those things about me? How could you know how I felt back then – why I did what I did? How is it that you can understand – can care, when…others did not?" He couldn't bring himself to name Dumbledore, but his friend heard what was unsaid.

Cesar just smiled, sadly. "It's quite simple, really. I am a father. Dumbledore was not."

And he walked across the garden towards his sons.

Heart beating fast, mouth dry, Severus sat on his terrace, waiting for Hermione. In truth, he had been waiting ever since he had received her letter 10 days ago. He'd gone about his familiar business, labouring on his land, working on his experiments, shopping, cooking, eating in an automatic manner, all the time thinking soon, soon, soon.

And now the day was here.

He'd tried in vain to tidy himself up a bit, wondering whether she notice any difference in him. He was now almost halfway through his 40s, but then he'd never looked that young, and he didn't think he'd changed that much. His hair was still mostly black with some grey in it, but the condition had improved – it wasn't so greasy now that he was working in his own laboratory and had greater control over the potions fumes. He kept it shorter these days, which suited him better. He would never be able to tan properly with his white skin, but there was more colour in his cheeks these days, and he was a healthier weight – fresh air, good food and plenty of manual work had strengthened his body. And Scar-accio had gone some way to reducing the severity of his scars, although it couldn't get rid of them altogether. There was no doubt that Severus at forty-four was in much better condition than he had been at thirty-eight.

Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said about his clothes. Severus was careful with his money, and didn't see much point in buying new clothes. The only social life he had was with Cesar and Beatrix, who didn't care how he dressed, and no one spared him a look when he shopped in the local villages – no doubt they just took him for a migrant farm labourer.

He was wearing his least shabby jeans and a short-sleeved shirt that he hadn't worn for years – it was more than a little tight across his chest, which made him realise how thin he must have been when he first came here.

He sat, looking around his land. He thought she might be more impressed with what he'd achieved there. The terraces were laid out and planted, with protective frames erected over them, and proper stone steps built between the steep levels. He'd extended the stone terrace around the entirety of the cottage and had built a wooden frame over it, from which vines twined their way up the poles and over the roof, providing much-needed shade. Pots and hanging baskets of scarlet and yellow flowers covered the terrace – admittedly that was Beatrix's touch, but it added to the cottage's attractiveness. Severus hadn't had the dirt track leading up from the village tarmacked, as he didn't want to encourage curious or lost tourists to drive on it, and he'd made sure to keep cultivated some existing olive and lemon trees along the track, as they partly blocked the view of his property.

He fanned his face with his hat. Even in the shade, he could tell it was going to be another stifling day. The weather must break soon…

He heard the crack of apparition, and there she was, right in front of him. Her back was turned to him, so he had a moment to look at her, to gain an impression of longer hair and a slightly more womanly figure before she turned and looked up at him, and her face took his breath away.

"Hello, Severus."