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By the time they Apparated back to the estate, Hermione wasn't surprised to see the tawny owl waiting on the window sill. She hadn't imagined it. His face hadn't walked from her nightmares and into her subconscious, he'd come from Paris to invade her little town in the flesh. Phillipe had finally found her.
You and I have a lot to discuss, his letter said. There were instructions on where to meet him, and a veiled threat of what would happen if she didn't show up. Her hands shook as she folded the missive up and stuffed it into her pocket. They had taken most of the day to finish their shopping, and now she didn't have much time. Quickly, she put all the groceries away and put together a meal for Atticus and Severus. When he saw that there were only two plates, Severus raised a questioning brow.
"I... have a favor to ask you," she finally admitted. Severus waited. He'd seen the change in her demeanor earlier in the day and had been trying to stay patient until she admitted the reason for it. "I have some business... personal business, that I have to take care of. Urgently. Would you mind- I mean, could you possibly-"
"I can watch Atticus, if that's what you're asking," he took pity on her and filled in. Hermione nodded gratefully.
"I don't think it will be long. I know it's not fair to ask you, and that you deserve more of an explanation-"
"Hermione, truly, it's fine.
She looked close to tears, and Severus could see her hands trembling. She pressed her fingers to her lips and then laid them on his shoulder gently. His stomach clenched. "Thank you," she whispered.
"Are you alright?" he asked softly. Something was wrong. Horribly wrong. Hermione was always so calm, so collected. Seeing her like this had him tied up in knots. But he could only help her if she let him. Silently, he urged her, his eyes boring into hers, to let him in. She took a shaky breath, opened her mouth, then closed it again and shook her head.
"I'll be fine. I'll be back as soon as I can."
She pulled her cloak back over her shoulders and took one last, long look at Atticus and Severus before Apparating away. Severus blinked, hoping childishly that if he did so enough times, she would reappear on the next blink. Of course, she didn't. Sighing, he turned his attention to Atticus.
After they finished dinner, they played in the living room until nearly bed time. Since Hermione still hadn't returned, Severus took the boy up to their rooms and read him a bedtime story. Thankfully, Atticus fell asleep while he read. Severus couldn't have imagined trying to explain to the boy why his mother wasn't back to put him to bed. He cast the monitoring charm Hermione used, then returned down stairs and sat in the library to wait.
It had been tempting to pour himself a lion's share of firewhiskey and try to smother his mounting concern for Hermione with alcohol. But he had the feeling that he would want to be in full possession of his faculties when she returned. Instead of pushing the fear away as he had been while Atticus was awake, Severus finally let himself be engulfed by it. He allowed it to wash over him, to sail along his nerve endings and coil tight in his stomach. Then he took a breath and started to rationally dissect it.
He assumed, with how strongly she'd reacted, that this had something to do with her ex husband. Had he sent her a letter demanding visitation of his son? Was there some sort of blackmail he was holding over her head? Or was she just truly terrified of the man?
The latter was hard to accept. Hermione was a brilliant woman and a powerful witch. The idea that she would let a man bully her was unthinkable. This was the same woman who had faced Voldermort with hardly more than a tremor. Still, Severus knew that power did not necessarily give confidence. His own mother was proof of that. She could have hexed his father's bollocks off in a second flat, but instead, she had let Tobias Snape cow her into submission. She'd gone so far as to let him abuse her, as well as her son.
The idea of Hermione's husband harming Atticus both filled him with terrible, black rage, and struck him as ridiculous. Hermione was more protective of her child than a Hungarian Horntail of its egg. He had no doubts whatsoever that if the man had tried to hurt her son, she would have destroyed him. So was that what had happened? He'd threatened to harm Atticus, or done something to make her think he would, so she'd left? But then, the timeline didn't match up. He tracked backwards, covering her time in his home, her time working on the research paper, and the time she'd spent making the move between countries and looking for a job. She had to have left France very early on in her pregnancy. For all that Severus knew, her husband had never even seen the boy.
That seemed most likely to him, then. For whatever reason, after nearly three years, the man wanted to see his son. Part of Severus understood that desire. It was natural to want to have some part in your offspring's life. Perhaps he'd been apathetic about Hermione's pregnancy and now had seen the error of his ways? But that didn't explain Hermione's fear. It had been sharp, nearly tangible. She wouldn't have been so afraid just because her former husband wanted to meet his child. It was possible that she was afraid of being drawn into a cross continent custody battle, but Severus didn't really think that was the case, either. Hermione rarely acted without reason. And for her to move thousands of miles away, and purposely exclude the man from Atticus' life, there had to be a damn good one.
As the minutes ticked on, Severus began to realize that the gnawing in his belly was panic. Yes, Hermione was a more than capable witch. But that didn't mean she couldn't be caught unawares. The statistics of domestic violence were much lower in the wizarding world than in the muggle one, thank Merlin, but it wasn't unheard of for a witch to be seriously harmed by an angry husband. Surely she would send her patronus to him if there was any real trouble. Unless she couldn't for some reason. He was drawing out his wand to send his own patronus to her when the front door thudded closed and he heard Hermione's footsteps in the hall.
He let out his breath in a rush, relieved beyond measure to have her home. And determined to get answers from her. He couldn't help unless he knew what was going on. That determination took a back seat as soon as she walked through the library door and he saw her face.
She looked exhausted, defeated, and frightened. She looked small and fragile. There were tear tracks down her cheeks. Severus didn't want to demand explanations. He wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her tight. He wanted to promise her that everything would be alright, and whatever happened, they would face it together. That he would protect her.
Hermione went right to the mantle where the bottle of Ogden's and the glasses were. She poured herself a large portion, saw that he didn't have a glass, and poured a second one for him. When she handed him the tumbler, the liquid sloshed from her trembling. He cupped both of his hands over her own and the glass for a moment before accepting the drink and letting her pull away. As he watched, she set herself carefully in the chair opposite his, took a sip of the liquor, and began to speak.
"I was nineteen when I met Phillipe. I thought he was older, more mature, at twenty five. We had some similarities, such as disinterest in quidditch, but mostly I was drawn to him for his romanticism. I had spent so much time being needed to help Harry, being needed for the Order, being needed to fight Voldermort, that it was so easy to be swept off my feet by a man who just wanted me for me. It is mortifying, looking back, at how easily I was seduced. Not just physically, but emotionally. I let myself become so caught up in him that nothing else mattered. It was only a matter of months before we were married and I was starting a new life in Paris.
"I did keep some of my ideals. I wanted to go to university. It had always been my plan to work in the ministry, to try and make a difference for those who couldn't stand up for themselves. Phillipe encouraged me, at first. He told me to take as many or as few classes as I wanted, and that he would support us while I continued my education. He put his social life on hold to be there for me, to help me study or to encourage me before tests. It wasn't until much, much later that I realized those sweet gestures had left me isolated and penniless. I was wholly dependent on him.
"The shift was so subtle that I didn't even notice it. I was stressed about a class. He told me simply to drop it. I could take it again sometime later. After all, I didn't want the stress of one silly class interfering with my marriage, did I? Then it was another class, and another. I managed to graduate, but only barely. And then, even though the plan had always been for us to move back to Great Britain so I could start at the ministry, he wanted me to take some time off. To focus on 'us.' How could I refuse? After all, I'd neglected him while in school, I had been so horrible to prioritize anything else over him, and when he'd been so good to me. So supportive of me. So I stayed home. I kept the house, I was the perfect wife. And still, it was never enough.
"Why couldn't I keep the house immaculate? Why couldn't I be more understanding of his needs? Why couldn't I love him enough to do exactly as he asked, when he asked it? I was selfish, callous, cruel to him when all he did was care for me. That's what he convinced me. That I was stupid not to see how much he loved me. How much he needed me. How good our lives would be if only I listened to him more. But no matter how hard I tried, I was never good enough. And then he started drinking more and more.
"Of course he blamed me. He wouldn't have to drink if I wasn't such a terrible wife. It was unfair of me to ask him to give up the only thing that distracted him from how big of a failure I was. So what if he yelled at me when he was drunk? So what if he was rough?"
Severus' hands balled into fists, and she heard him inhale sharply. She went on as if she hadn't noticed.
"After all, he never hit me. I'd grown up in the muggle world. Didn't I know that there were men who beat their wives? Didn't provide for their families? Wasn't I lucky to have a husband who put up with my demands and nagging? And I convinced myself that he was right. He never struck me. He belittled me, shoved me, screamed at me, but he never once raised his fist to me.
"Still, I wasn't happy. I wanted more from life. So I wrote to the ministry behind his back. They sent a letter back almost immediately, telling me they would be happy to have me start in the Regulation of Magical Creatures department as soon as I was able. I hid the letter, but apparently not well enough. Phillipe found it and replied to them in my name before I had a chance to. I have no idea what, exactly, he said, but I received a second letter telling me that I needn't bother to ever apply for a position within the ministry again. And as if that blow wasn't cruel enough, Phillipe suddenly grew much worse.
"I wasn't allowed to leave the house without permission. How could he trust me, he claimed, when I'd already gone behind his back and betrayed him? He kept track of me at all times, demanded total obedience, and began to drink even more heavily. And then one night..." She stopped, raised the glass to her lips and took a long, fortifying breath before going on. "I hadn't realized at first that it was missing. I hadn't been able to purchase it on my own for months anyway because I wasn't allowed to have money. But then suddenly it was time to take it again, and there wasn't a dose of contraceptive potion in the cabinet. I'd brought it up and he'd brushed it off. Said he would get it for me, not to nag him about it. I tried not to. After all, I knew enough about the female reproductive cycle to know that I was likely still be in the clear for at least two weeks. But then two weeks passed and he still hadn't bought me the potion. So when he came home that night, drunk and angry, I risked his wrath to tell him no when he came to bed."
She stopped again, staring into the fire burning slowly in the grate. Of all the shame she felt for having let things get so far with Phillipe, this was the worst. And it only exacerbated things that then she felt guilty about that shame. Because hadn't her failure to stand up for herself resulted in the best thing in her life? She swallowed hard, pushing the thoughts away.
"He wouldn't take no for an answer. He knew exactly what he was doing, and so did I. I was terrified of what would happen, but more afraid of taking any stronger steps to stop him. So he- we-"
"He raped you?" Severus' voice was deep and rough. She nearly jumped at the sound of it, he'd been quiet for so long. She shook her head against the ugly word. Rape was something that happened to people who were helpless. It happened to strangers in back alleys, not to wives in their own beds.
"Of course not. I was his wife. I didn't pull my wand on him even though I could have."
"He was angry and drunk. He wanted to have sex, you did not. So he made you."
"It wasn't like that! I'm not a victim. I didn't scream for help, I didn't try to defend myself."
"But you told him no."
"Yes," Hermione breathed, hating the way the admission made her feel.
"And you were afraid to stop him."
"Yes." That one stung even more. How could she have been so deeply under his thrall?
"And he forced you anyway."
This time, her reply was barely more than a whisper. "Yes." She heard Severus taking several deep breaths as he tried to calm himself. What must he think of her now? How weak she had been, how blind...
"He got you pregnant," Severus concluded when he trusted himself to speak. Hermione nodded. "Tell me what happened next." He was almost afraid to hear it, but he had to know.
"It took me weeks to be certain, of course. Even magical tests can't be accurate right away. But then I got my first positive result and I knew that it was true. I was pregnant. He came home that night, and he was... rough with me. More than normal. And even though I hadn't wanted it to happen, I realized that I had more than myself to worry about, now. The idea of him treating a child the way he treated me... it made me sick to even contemplate. And then it all came crashing down on me. How much I'd let him manipulate me. How bad things had become. I hadn't done anything to deserve his cruelty, other than allow it to happen. But I wouldn't allow the same thing to happen to my child.
"So I left. I had no money, no friends, no place to go. But I knew that if I waited any longer, if he had any inkling that I was pregnant, I would never get away. So I destroyed the pregnancy test, took only what I could carry in a single bag, and filed for divorce in absentee. Then I fled the country. I don't even know if it went through," she admitted softly. "I never looked back. For months, I bounced from place to place, staying in cheap motels with the money I'd gotten from pawning my wedding ring, camping when that money ran out. I knew I couldn't do anything in the wizarding world until he'd stopped looking for me. I gave birth to Atticus in a muggle hospital so that he wouldn't be in the ministry register. I left the spot for the father's name blank.
"And when I felt that it was safe, I went to Minerva for help finding a job that would allow me to care for Atticus. The research paper was perfect, while it lasted. I kept to myself, desperate to keep out of the public eye. If even a hint of my return had made the papers..." She trailed off, shuddering to think what would have happened. "But a year went by, then two. I thought he must have given up on searching for me. I let myself feel safe. I even went on a few dates, trying to really start my life over again. And then, you know the rest. The paper was completed suddenly, and I lost my flat, and then you appeared like a gift from Merlin himself. A secluded estate in the country, a live in position, and little contact with anyone that I didn't trust explicitly. I thought it was finally behind me. I thought, here with you..." She stopped again, not wanting to say too much when she was so emotional.
"What happened today?" Severus finally asked.
"He saw me. In the village. I don't know how he found me, but he did. He couldn't trace our Apparation, but his owl found the house anyway. He sent this." She pulled the letter from her pocket and handed it over to him. The library had grown dark, but the dancing light from the fire illuminated the bruises around her wrist as she waited for him to take the letter. His hand shot out, long pale fingers circling her wrist just above the dark smudges. His grip was gentle, but unbreakable. Slowly, he turned her hand over so he could see the marks more clearly. He didn't bother to ask if Phillipe had made them. He didn't have to. Softly, lighter than a feather's touch, he traced his fingers over the bruises and began to chant. In moments, the marks had faded away, and the ache in her wrist was gone. "Thank you," she whispered. Severus looked at her for long moments, his black eyes unreadable. Then he nodded his head in acknowledgment and took the letter. He read it quickly, then set it aside.
"So you met with him."
"Yes. I did. But I wasn't foolish enough to go unarmed, or unprepared. I let myself be hurt by him far too many times before, when I'd been too stupid and naive to stop it. But I'm not that girl any longer. He doesn't know about Atticus, and he has no power over me." Despite her brave words, her voice wavered. "I expected him to be angry. I expected him to try and get me to return to Paris with him. I refused him in no uncertain terms and defended myself when he tried to push the issue. I told him to leave. I'm not sure he will."
"He has spent nearly three years trying to find you. I doubt he has any intention of giving up so easily now that he has."
"I didn't mean to have you dragged into the middle of all this, Severus. You've had more than enough danger and subterfuge to last a lifetime. I won't insult you by saying I don't expect you to care, but I'm not asking you to get involved. I got myself into this mess, and I am taking responsibility for it. I'll deal with Phillipe."
Severus said nothing. The silence stretched between them until Hermione thought she would crack under the stain of it. She couldn't bear his quiet condemnation.
"I was young and inexcusably stupid to let things get as far as they did. I know that. I am so ashamed that I allowed it to happen. But you have to believe that I am not that silly, selfish girl any longer. Atticus changed that. Changed me."
"Stop!" It sounded as if the exclamation was wrenched from Severus' throat. His breathing had grown ragged and he clenched the arms of the chair in a white knuckle grip. If Hermione had any doubts at all about the man's integrity, she would have been terrified that he would hurt her. "If I hear you call yourself stupid, or selfish, or any other insult that bastard made you believe about yourself, I will hunt him down tonight and tear him limb from limb. You have no idea how precarious the thread of control I'm clinging to is right now, Hermione. I thought the violence within me had died when Voldermort did. I was wrong."
Hermione inhaled sharply and covered her mouth with her hand as if to prevent any more words from slipping out. He'd been so still, so silent during her tale, that she'd had no idea how much it had affected him.
"What you wanted, after the war, to be desired simply for yourself, was not a foolish hope. I understand it perhaps better than anyone. The fact that you fell prey to the seduction of a man older, confident in himself, and seeming to offer you everything you wanted, is not surprising. He took his time grooming you into submission. Again, I am well aware of what it is to be sucked in so slowly that you don't realize that you are powerless until it is too late. The isolation, the forced dependency on him, the growing intensity of his demands, are textbook behaviors of an abusive partner. Men and women far more experienced than you have been taken captive by them.
"The fact that you continue to blame yourself is testament to just how deeply he had you in his control. The fact that you cannot acknowledge yourself as his victim only solidifies the power he had over you." He pushed to his feet, slamming his empty glass down on the mantle as he fought to control his anger. "He forced himself on you knowing that he would likely get you pregnant, and knowing that you didn't want it. That you found the courage to leave him when you realized that he had succeeded is nothing short of miraculous. Your strength, then and now, amaze me. And yet I cannot express how furious I am with you that you went to face him alone!
"I knew you were afraid when you left. I had figured out that it had something to do with him. But I convinced myself that you were worried about a custody battle, or simply weren't ready to face him. I had no idea that he didn't know about Atticus and you were afraid of him finding out, and no idea that you feared for your safety from him! I know that you are a powerful witch in your own right. But he is physically bigger and stronger than you. What if he managed to get your wand away from you? He could have done anything he wanted, and no one would have been there to stop him. No one would even have known where to look for you.
"All it would have taken was one word from you, and I would have supported you unquestioningly. You aren't blind. You know I care. Perhaps far more than I should. I respect that you wanted to handle this yourself, but you can't have thought I would rather you go into danger alone than get involved." He ran both hands through his hair in frustration. He was torn between wanting to hold her and wanting to shake some sense into her. How could she have put herself at such great – and unnecessary – risk?
"He's just a man-" Hermione started to say softly.
"He's not a man," Severus sneered. "He's a bastard and a coward."
"You're right," she agreed. "He is. But despite his physical advantage over me, I wasn't afraid of him that way."
"He put his hands on you again. Marked you." Severus gripped the mantle and tried to let the flickering dance of the flames lull him into a false serenity.
"I don't care."
"You should," Severus hissed angrily, whirling around to face her. Hermione shook her head.
"I don't care that he hurt me physically. He had no power to cause me any real harm, because the only thing I was afraid of was the one thing I was absolutely certain wouldn't happen. I could face him because I knew Atticus was safe here with you. What Phillipe does to me doesn't matter. I'm strong enough to handle it. The most important thing is that Atticus is protected. You're the only man in the world that I trust to do that. To keep him from Phillipe, to keep him safe, no matter what."
Severus sank to his knees in front on her with a soft groan. "I can keep you both safe. If you trust me with your son then surely you believe that. I can protect you, Hermione." The last words were spoken like a plea, one of his hands reaching up to cup her cheek softly.
"You shouldn't have to," she whispered back, leaning into the gentle touch and unable to stop herself. "You are already doing more than I have any right to ask you to do by protecting Atticus. I, alone, am responsible for dealing with the consequences of my mistakes. I am so ashamed of what my irresponsibility, my recklessness, has led to. I can't make that worse by asking someone to fix things for me now." Severus drew his hand away and shook his head. Did she really not see the similarities?
"You cannot believe that I, of all people, would hold a youthful error in judgment against you. I can tell you what carrying around that kind of guilt does to a person, Hermione. Trying to grapple with it on your own will only make matters worse."
"That's not the same at all," she exclaimed. Severus got to his feet and stared down at her.
"Isn't it? You let yourself be taken in by him because you wanted acceptance. Because you wanted to be wanted. And then by the time you realized the truth of his cruelty and violence, it was too late to just walk away. He stripped you of all that you were and then rebuilt you, piece by piece, with a thousand little insecurities so that he could shatter you again with a single word. And it wasn't until someone you loved, someone innocent, was at risk, that you managed to break free. Your husband was no Dark Lord, Hermione, but that doesn't make your ordeal any less real. Or any more your fault." He sank back into his chair and ran his hand tiredly over his face. She didn't reply, but he knew it would take time, far longer than just one evening, for her to accept his words. He felt wrung out and trampled on. Still, it couldn't be anything compared to what she was coping with.
"Do you think he will track you to the estate?" he finally asked.
"Yes," Hermione admitted. "He seemed almost... unhinged."
"Then for the foreseeable future, consider yourself on leave from work. I would suggest you focus your time and energies on Atticus. I will be redoubling the wards around the house and I encourage you to add your own, as well. I can get anything that is needed from the village, and I would appreciate it if you were willing to accept an escort should the need arise for you to go somewhere off the grounds." He raised a hand to stop her when she started to protest. "I know you would rather go off on your own and have me here with Atticus, but I want you to trust me when I say that I can protect you both. Even if you were not fully capable of defending yourself, it would be well within my power to keep you and Atticus from any harm.
"Do you believe that, Hermione?" His dark eyes searched hers, willing her to extend her trust in him. She looked him over, eyes lingering on his broad shoulders, strong arms, and agile, powerful hands. Hands that were capable of such violence and such tenderness. Finally, she met his eyes and nodded.
"I do."
"Good." He let out a long breath. "But I think we can both agree that we shouldn't push that unless there isn't any other way to avoid it."
"Absolutely," Hermione nodded emphatically. The fire had begun to die, and Severus felt as if his energy was extinguishing along with it.
"You should probably try and get some sleep. I don't imagine the coming days will be easy on you."
Hermione rose and nodded. "Likely not." She set her glass down on the mantle beside his and then turned back to him. "Severus..." How was she supposed to find the right words? Maybe if she was writing it out, she could be eloquent and loquacious, but out loud any words sounded clumsy on her tongue. "I- thank you. For listening to me, for responding the way you did. For caring enough to want to help. And for not pushing me. None of this can be easy for you, and you shouldn't have to deal with it. But your acceptance, your willingness to help, means more to me than I can say."
Severus rose from his chair and walked over to her, stopping only a few inches away from her. He could feel the heat from her body radiating against him. With the knuckle of his first finger, he gently lifted her chin up. He searched her eyes, trying to figure out what to say. 'You're welcome' seemed insipid and trite. 'I would do anything for you' sounded mad. Finally, he decided to say nothing at all. He leaned forward and pressed a feather light kiss to her forehead. Then he turned and watched the flames sputter out while she made her way from the room.
He sat, he didn't know how long, staring at the coals as they glowed red and slowly faded to grey. Her story played over and over in his mind. His chest ached as he imagined her, idealistic and eager to be in love, crushed every time her new husband belittled her. Becoming increasingly convinced that he must be right. She really must be stupid and selfish and uncaring.
For the first time in many years, Severus thought back to the way he'd treated her in school and felt ashamed of his actions. How many times had he called her a 'stupid girl,' or told her she was foolish and reckless? How many times had he undermined her confidence and demeaned her efforts? No, Severus was not responsible for the actions of her bastard ex husband. But he'd made her no stranger to cruelty. The thought made him feel sick.
Even though he knew it would be far easier to push the thoughts from his mind, he couldn't help himself from imagining Hermione cringing away from Phillipe, trying to pretend that it didn't hurt when he pushed her around, trying to excuse the bruises he left on her skin because at least he wasn't punching her. Then, worst of all, came the thoughts of him impregnating her against her will. He didn't want to see it, didn't want to think about it, but the scene played out in his head like an old film caught on a loop- Phillipe coming home drunk and angry, confronting Hermione and advancing on her. Hermione trying to dissuade him, knowing what would likely happen if he got his way. Telling him no, bracing for his wrath, feeling helpless as he drug her to the bed anyway. Struggling against him, but refusing to call out for help or raise her wand against him because she was his wife, and wasn't it her duty to submit to him? Wasn't it wrong of her to fight him? Wasn't she selfish and cruel to deny him, too stupid to know any better? Then finally giving up, letting the despair consume her, tears falling freely from her eyes as he laboured above her- Severus pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and groaned, trying desperately to push the images out of his mind. If he didn't get a grip on his whirling brain, he was going to retch on the library floor, or simply destroy everything in sight.
He could go out and find the man right then. It wouldn't take long. A few tracer spells, a little dark magic, and Phillipe would be within his grasp. But then what? Severus wasn't entirely certain he could be alone with Hermione's ex husband without being in real danger of killing him. It was becoming insidiously easy to excuse the act already. He was less than a man, less than a dog. And didn't savage dogs get put down? He could eliminate the threat to the people he cared about and then Hermione would never need to worry about Phillipe again.
But those were the thoughts and impulses of the Death Eater and spy that he'd been during the war, not the man he'd fought so hard to become since then. Would Hermione really want her son around the man who'd murdered the boy's father? And what would unleashing that kind of violence do to the careful control he'd developed? Would he slip back into the old persona that had embodied him for so long?
Perhaps the most deciding factor, was that Hermione wouldn't want him to. She'd chosen to confront her ex on her own so that he wouldn't have to be caught between them. Yes, she had needed him to stay with Atticus, to know that he would be safe, but Severus knew that she also felt guilty about the idea of him being involved at all. She thought this was her responsibility to handle, and that she shouldn't have asked him for any help at all. If Severus acted now, Hermione would forever feel guilty for whatever he did. Not to mention, she'd had her thoughts, her choice, stripped away from her far too often for Severus to be willing to do that to her again. No, this time she would get to decide what needed done. He would stand by her side, protecting her if needed, supporting her, respecting her choices as long as she didn't put herself at further risk.
Feeling a little more in control of himself, Severus made his way up to his room and practically collapsed into the bed. He closed his eyes and tried to will himself to sleep. First, the thought of Hermione, belly swollen with child, sleeping in a shabby tent and jumping at every sound, terrified it was her husband hunting her down, assailed his mind. He pushed the image away and it was replaced by the sound of her screaming as she gave birth, alone and in a crude muggle hospital. With a groan he threw his arm over his eyes and forced his mind to go blank. Blissfully, placidly blank. He drew upon his iron will to make himself fall asleep.
Unfortunately, his subconscious took full advantage of its reign and ran rampant with dreams of Hermione back in Phillipe's clutches, subject once more to his cruel whims.
