Chapter 34

Hermione returned to her chambers in the guest wing of Hogwarts castle in thoughtful mood after her emotional, but strangely pleasant, encounter with Madam Pince. She had promised the librarian that she would not call her by anything but her agreed name, for her own security, but Eileen had invited her to the cottage in Hogsmeade for afternoon tea the following day, where they could speak freely, and where she had promised to tell Hermione more about her son's childhood, and the years she had worked secretly alongside himself at school.

Buoyed by the thought of hearing more about Severus, Hermione felt more energised than she had in weeks as she cleaned her teeth and prepared for bed. She'd had a light supper delivered by a quiet little house-elf, and it was still relatively early, but her pregnant body was demanding rest, so sleep it must be.

The room that Professor McGonagall had placed her in was lovely, far nicer and obviously much more private than living in Gryffindor Tower. The small four-poster bed was a little larger than the dormitory beds, and was hung with scarlet and gold drapes that matched the curtains at the window, which looked out over the front lawns and down at the work going on in the courtyard that she was finding rather entertaining to watch.

The attached bathroom was tiny, nothing more than a sink, toilet, bathtub, and square foot of standing space, but it was private and that was a huge bonus at present. Hermione couldn't imagine that a huge pregnant girl bobbing around in the prefects' bath would be particularly acceptable – although the thought did sound wonderful, she'd have to try and arrange a late-night swim, thinking with a pang of the last time she'd done that, and with whom.

There was a small fireplace with two armchairs either side of it, and a thick scarlet rug upon the hearth. There was plenty of space to keep her clothes in a heavy wooden armoire, a single chest of drawers with a mirror above, and she had finally unpacked her books from the beaded bag on to the large bookshelf, for which she was truly grateful. Two books about magical pregnancy had also joined her collection, ordered by owl from Flourish and Blotts and delivered to her at the castle, as she had thought it prudent to educate herself about what was to come.

Hermione had learned about trimesters and morning sickness, bumps and babies, and far more than she would ever have wanted to know about giving birth. Even magically aided, it still didn't sound like an experience she was particularly looking forward to. She tried not to think about it, and wondered if her new relationship with Eileen would mean that the child's grandmother would be willing to help and advise her? She hoped so.

Her new-found energy, she read, was an effect that many mothers-to-be often noticed during the second trimester, a period where they felt healthy and vital, and their bump was still small and not weighing them down. Hermione resolved to enjoy this middle bit, as the last trimester didn't sound fun at all.

Having not left the castle since she'd arrived from the Burrow, she was keenly looking forward to taking a stroll into Hogsmeade village the following day. She planned to leave the castle early and spend some time browsing in the shops, perhaps looking for a small gift to take to Eileen when she visited.

Being honest, Hermione hadn't really missed the outside world that much. There had been so much to do at the school that she had found herself much in demand by the professors, who all enjoyed having an extra pair of hands, especially her capable and organised ones, to arrange their classrooms and prepare everything that was needed for the new and returning students. She had made herself useful and begun to feel quite at home.

Slipping into bed, enjoying the feeling of being enveloped in the familiar sheets and quilt, a gentle quickening rippled across her stomach, and she placed both her palms on top of her tiny bump.

"Hello, my angel," she murmured, unconsciously using what had been Severus' affectionate name for her, as she stroked her bare skin. "I know you're there."

Hermione fell asleep with her hands still folded protectively across her.

-xxx-

Hogsmeade was pleasantly busy as Hermione strolled along the small high street, window shopping in Scrivenshaft's and popping into Honeydukes to purchase a gift box of assorted chocolates as a gift for Eileen. The late-August weather was warm enough for her simple white floral shift dress and a pair of flat pumps to be sufficient to keep her covered and comfortable. As she walked, Hermione gathered her long hair into a messy bun at the back of her head, not really caring that a few curls were already working their way loose – it was a hot day.

She couldn't help popping into the Three Broomsticks for an ice-cold lemonade, and was greeting warmly by Madam Rosmerta, who appeared not to notice her little bump that was visible behind her dress, and if she had noticed, did not mention it. Perhaps the barkeep simply thought she'd put on a bit of weight in the last year. Hermione sat at the bar and discussed the castle repairs with Rosmerta in between the older witch serving other customers. It all felt delightfully normal, and she actually began to look forward to the new school term starting the following week.

Reality hit as she was following the directions that Eileen had written down on a piece of parchment, to guide Hermione to her cottage home at the edge of the magical village.

It was not simply 'returning to school'.

She had missed a whole year whilst living rough, on the run, hunting Horcruxes. Many of her classmates were either dead or not returning to school, the lure of the complimentary NEWTs too tempting to resist. Her year would also be joined with the existing seventh-years making the NEWT classes therefore bigger, not smaller. Not the mention the burgeoning fact of the little girl that was currently growing inside her.

How much longer could she keep her secret? Why should it be a secret at all?

Because it has to be, she thought.

She could not ruin Severus' reputation when Harry had fought so hard to clear his name after the final battle.

To have it revealed that he had been sleeping with a student, for that part would certainly come out if she revealed she was expecting Snape's child, would besmirch everything that Harry had tried to do to honour him. No, she could not do that to his memory.

Even now, there was a large, noisy contingent of witches and wizards who believed that Snape should be remembered only as a Death Eater, a vicious murderer, and a traitor to the Light. His much deserved post-humous Order of Merlin had been denied, due to the vociferous backlash against his actions.

Harry hoped to petition the Ministry again in the future about the award, but opinion against Snape was just too divided at present.

She counted the cottages until she reached the last-but-one, a thatched house with a pretty little garden out the front. Creaking open the gate and walking down the stepping-stone path, Hermione knocked on the green door with a gentle tap. It was opened by Madam Pince - Eileen immediately, strangely standing there with her bag in hand and wearing a summer travelling cloak, looking as if she were going out.

"Miss Granger," she whispered, urgently, "I apologise for it being this way, but I couldn't breathe a word up at the school, it would have been too risky."

Hermione's heart lurched in fear, her reflexes honed for danger, well-trained over the last year.

"I don't understand?"

"You will, dear. Just go into the sitting room. Straight ahead of you."

She ushered Hermione into the hallway and neatly side-stepped her out of the door.

"Straight ahead of you."

Eileen closed her own front door quietly behind her, leaving Hermione standing in the hallway holding a box of Honeydukes chocolates. Resisting the urge to tear the door open and follow her, she gathered her Gryffindor nerve and walked slowly down the short hallway, pushing open the door at the end, which led her into a sitting room filled with natural light that spilled in from the back garden, where an oasis of flowers could be seen around the circular lawn.

"Don't be scared," came a low, achingly-familiar voice, deep and sonorous, but with a husky edge to it.

Hermione dropped the chocolates right there on the floor and spun around to face the armchair in front of the unlit fire, drawing her wand from the concealed sheath on her dress and holding it out in front of her as she backed away.

The barefooted man that was seated there, wearing a black t-shirt and trousers, his long raven hair falling around his face, was certainly not, could never be, Severus Snape.

What in Merlin's name had Eileen Prince, if indeed that was her name, set up here?

"Don't shoot," he murmured, and she could see that he was holding so tightly to the arms of the chair that his knuckles were white.

Those familiar eyes were boring into hers, as black as coals.

"You're dead," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I saw you die."

"You saw me lose consciousness from extreme blood loss."

"No one could have survived that attack."

"I believe you have met my mother? She refused to allow me to die."

"Why did you never tell me about her before? How did she save you? Who are you, and is Madam Pince even your mother, or is this some sick hoax you have cooked up between the two of you? Answer me!"

The hand holding out her wand trembled violently, but she kept it pointing to the centre of his chest, clenching her teeth and feeling her heart pound nauseatingly fast inside her. He had not taken his eyes from hers, and the memory of how their volcanic blackness used to bore into her very soul was prominent in her mind.

"My name is Severus Snape," he began, in a slow, quiet voice. "I was a professor, and then headmaster, of Hogwarts school. I remained loyal to the wishes of Albus Dumbledore throughout the duration of the second wizarding war, and was believed murdered by Tom Riddle's snake in the Shrieking Shack. My mother, Eileen Prince, a woman you formerly knew as Irma Pince, saved my life after I was attacked, and her method of doing so I will explain fully once you believe who I am."

"How can I do that? How can I trust that it is really you?"

"Hermione," he began, gently, in that heady voice that was already caressing her ears like warm chocolate. "I was instructed by Dumbledore to train you in Occlumency, which you mastered remarkably quickly. Your first successful visualisation was that of a castle drawbridge closing. You then progressed to using a white mist, or steam, to conceal your thoughts. You managed, to my disgust, to Legilimise against me."

She began to lower her wand unconsciously, wanting to hear more, wanting desperately to trust what this man was saying, wanting it to be him, for Severus to somehow not be dead, but she needed to protect her own heart and sanity at the same time.

"Keep going," she whispered.

"The first time I touched you was when you allowed me to put my fingers inside you after viewing my thoughts and seeing that I desired you. It happened right there in my Defence classroom. It was the most sublime moment of my life. I then gave you my virginity in my own bedchamber at Hogwarts. One of my favourite memories is of fucking you on my kitchen worktop after tea and toast. Another is the night we welcomed the New Year in the prefects' bath. Your breasts are my life dream to hold, and you sing like an angel when you climax."

Her tears were flowing freely now.

"You are the only woman I have ever taken into Slytherin's chamber, and you took an apple and ate only one bite."

"Oh, my goodness …"

She dropped her wand, and covered her mouth with her hand.

"Your worst fear is forgetting to hand in your homework, although I should imagine that has changed somewhat, now."

"Oh, Severus …"

"Your hair chokes me like Devil's Snare in the night, and yet I find it does not worry me."

She began to step towards him.

"You once gave up your Christmas holiday with your family to spend it with me."

He stood up, a little stiffly, and met her in the middle of the room.

"That's right," she whispered, as he reached her, and she lifted her hand to touch his cheek, watching his eyes close in pleasure at her touch. "I did."

"It was the kindest thing anyone has ever had done for me."

"It is you. It is really you."

He raised his hands and wiped away the tears that were dribbling down her cheeks, using his thumbs, holding her face with his long fingers as his eyes roved all over it, drinking in the sight of her.

"It is me, indeed," he confirmed.

"Please …" she whispered.

"Whatever you desire of me."

"You know."

"Perhaps I do."

His last words were nothing but a whisper as he leaned forwards, still cupping her face in his hands, and slowly dropped his mouth to hers, lightly bumping his lips against her own.

Hermione let out a sob, an anguished, choked sound of desperate relief as she felt the soft touch of his lips brushing agonisingly slowly over hers, something she had never dared to dream that she might feel again.

"My angel," he growled, removing his hands from her face and wrapping them tightly around her, pulling her close and reassuring her of his physical presence, of his reality.

It was him.

The familiar planes of his chest, the way that her curves fitted so perfectly against his own, the feel of his breath against her ear as he pushed his long nose into her hair, murmuring words of comfort and reassurance. She tilted her chin up to look at him, and he bent his neck to kiss her, a wonderful, warming kiss that massaged her lips and welcomed her home.

Keeping her held tightly against him, Severus flickered his tongue out to open her mouth, and she willingly did the same, sighing in blissful relief at the familiarity of being joined to him in this way. Her arms snaked around his back and began to stroke the hard lines there, feeling the uneven skin through the thin black cloth of his shirt as he moaned softly in pleasure at her touch.

She held him as tightly as he was holding her, and soon began to feel tears drop on to her face that were not her own. He was crying. It mattered not, as they continued to kiss one another, sobbing into one another's mouths, welcoming each other home.

Severus looked down at the beautiful witch in his arms, her eyes red from crying, as he supposed his own must be too. Not only had he survived, against some fairly remote odds, but Hermione Granger was back in his arms.

"I believe that you have a story to tell me, Severus," she said, "and I am ready to hear it, if you are ready to tell it?"

Keeping his arms around her, he guided her towards the long sofa in front of the windows, where they had a fine view of his mother's precious garden, which she tended with love and care.

He sat down in the corner of the sofa, and she hopped up next to him, slipping off her shoes and crossing her legs as she had always done when they'd sat in his office at school. His heart lurched at the memory, and he reached for her hand. He cleared his throat with a little difficulty, for he was not completely back to normal after the snake's attack, but a scratchy throat was certainly better than the alternative.

"After I left you outside the Chamber of Secrets, I was forced to join the other Death Eaters in battle," he began. "I made sure the hood of my robes and my mask were secured in place with a sticking charm, so that none of the students or staff could discover my identity. I sent wild jinxes and hexes, all designed to miss their marks, or else hit a Death Eater. I was forced to land some hits upon the fighters, for it would have aroused suspicion otherwise, but tried to do minimal damage.

The Dark Lord sent Lucius Malfoy to collect me from the battle. As soon as I saw where he had taken me, that Voldemort and I were alone in the Shrieking Shack, with that damned snake in the protective dome, I knew."

"Knew what? That he was going to kill you?"

"I always thought, I know not why, but thought that Riddle would eventually use the snake against me. I was a loyal servant, and although he would raise his wand to me in punishment arbitrarily, I believed he would never cast a killing curse upon me. For that reason, I always carried, amongst the other potions I kept secreted in my robes, a vial of the bespoke anti-venin that I created for Arthur Weasley when he was attacked by Nagini."

Hermione's hand flew to her mouth.

"You had the anti-venin in your cloak? I could have given it to you!"

Severus shook his head, and stroked her hand that was enclosed in his.

"I had already taken a dose, when the battle first began, suspecting that if I wasn't killed by my staff or students that an attack on me from Riddle was inevitable, and that the snake was likely to be involved. There was a second vial in my cloak, but at that point I would not have been able to take it, since my throat was ripped open."

She winced at his graphic words, keeping her mouth covered and urging him to continue.

"You saw everything that occurred between myself and the Dark Lord in the Shrieking Shack? You heard his reasons and his grotesque parody of regret?"

"I did. We were under Harry's invisibility cloak. Me, Harry and Ron."

"That must have been … difficult to watch."

"It was the worst moment of my life. You looked terrified, but so calm, so dignified. I wept for you, Severus."

He tightened his grip on her hands, wanting to keep bodily contact with her. Granger would be lucky if he ever let go.

"I remember giving my memories to Potter, I remember the touch of your hand, telling me in the only way that you could, that you were there with me. It gave me the courage I needed to die, Hermione."

"But you didn't die."

"I did not. Unbeknown to me, my mother had heard the commotion from her home here in Hogsmeade that night, and had entered the castle via the secret passage from the Hogs Head, along with the Order, and other villagers who had arrived to assist with the battle. Disillusioned, and not joining the fray, she had attempted to keep track of my movements as I moved about the castle and grounds. She tells me that she watched Potter take down Voldemort in the Great Hall, and heard the bastard talk of how he had killed me. She did not wait, but came straight down here to find me unconscious, but alive."

"How is it even possible for you to have still been alive?"

"It is possible, Miss Granger, because a certain someone had the presence of mind to apply an enormous amount of dittany to my neck and press a scarf to the wound, thus beginning the closure of the wound and additionally slowing the rate at which the blood was leaving my body."

Hermione's eyes widened as he reached into his pocket, pulling out the thin scarf that she had been wearing that night, even oft-washed it was still clearly covered in his bloodstains. She had helped to save his life?

"I shall buy you another to replace this one that I ruined."

She began to sob again, not attempting to stem the flow of tears that tracked down her face.

"How did Eileen manage to heal you, though? It was an appalling injury."

Severus pulled the collar of his shirt aside to reveal a criss-cross pattern of scars on his neck and throat in various stages of healing, but nothing like the extreme devastation she had been expecting.

"My mother had to work quickly, for she could not risk someone coming back to finish the job, or my body being taken and defiled. Since the castle wards were down, she Apparated me directly to a Muggle hospital, the same one in fact, where she had attended many times after my father had injured her. Giving false names and telling them a story that I had been repeatedly stabbed in the neck by a man armed with a knife, who had robbed us, they took me into surgery, where I was operated on with skill and speed.

The Muggle surgeon painstakingly repaired my throat, layer by layer, and I received a transfusion of several pints of blood. After two weeks in hospital, I was healed enough to return home, so my mother drew the curtains around the bed and Apparated us here."

"You just left."

"I had no other choice. I have since made a large charitable donation to the trust of that hospital under the false name I gave that night."

"Oh. That's a nice idea."

"It was the least I could do, after being forced to leave the way I did. They saved my life, but I could not have stayed longer, too many questions would have been asked, and checks on my identity would have been made. I had received a visit from an occupational therapist, needing more details, so we knew it was time to leave.

Once we were home, I began the process of my physical and mental recovery. Using my mother's wand, I have been performing revisions of my scars at regular intervals to improve their appearance, and I took anti-venin for the first month to ensure that all Nagini's poison was neutralised."

"Your wand! It was found, snapped?"

"A masterstroke of my mother's. Knowing the censure that I would face once the war was over, whichever side was victorious, she made a choice to hide me, so that if I survived I would be free to choose my own path, rather than face retribution or punishment. If I had used my wand, the Ministry would have known immediately, so she snapped it and pointedly left it at the scene of my presumed death. I now have choices, due to her actions."

"This is all so hard to take in."

"There is no rush."

"Well, actually," she answered, looking embarrassed, "there is more of a time pressure than you might think."

Severus had no idea what she was talking about, and cocked his head to the side, quizzically. Hermione gulped, knowing that he had not noticed the swell of her stomach when she had walked in, not at all, his eyes had been far too focused on her face, and then she had been in his arms. She stood up, standing in front of him, and smoothed her dress over the small bump that contained their child.

He was utterly silent, and could not remove his eyes from her belly.

"The night in the tent," she whispered. "The night you delivered the sword to Harry. We did not cast the contraceptive charm. Eileen did not tell you?"

His eyes wide, he shook his head, and he reached out a hand to touch her stomach, touching it with the tips of three fingers, as if he did not believe it was real.

"I suppose she believed it was not her news to tell. Go ahead, touch as much as you would like," she urged.

Lifting his other hand, he cupped the swell of her belly and held it with wonder, in the palm of his hand.

"This cannot be true," Severus murmured, "and yet here is the evidence before me."

Hermione allowed him to run his hands over her stomach, stroking and caressing as if trying to memorise every curve. He was meeting his daughter for the first time – they needed time to get acquainted.

At length, Severus leaned forwards, planting his bare feet on the floor and pressed his lips to her stomach.

"I have no doubt that I shall be a horrendous father, Hermione. But I promise you my unwavering support and … and myself, should you require or desire me."

She looked down at him, taking his austere but striking face in her small hands.

"Dumbledore said you did not love me."

"Dumbledore is a fool. You are the only witch I have ever loved in my entire life. I am not sure I even knew what love was, until you showed me the way."

"Oh, Severus."

The dark wizard pulled her down so that she was sitting on his lap, her legs together and rested upon the sofa cushions. Putting his hand around the back of her head, he urged her mouth towards his, capturing her soft lips once again, kissing this slip of a girl who was inexplicably carrying his child.

"Do you wish to bond?" he asked her, between kisses.

"As marriage proposals go, that was rather awful," she smiled. "But no, I don't. Not yet, anyway. I have a life ahead of me. I want to study, qualify, master everything. I have no idea how I'm going to do that with a child. But Severus, I do want you, I really do."

"I am with you," he assured, without hesitation. "You will achieve every one of your dreams. This child will not hinder your life, only enhance it. I promise you."

Hermione tangled her hand in his thin black hair, grown longer since she'd seen him last, and stroked the sensitive back of his scalp.

"This child is a little girl, Severus. We are having a daughter."

A thousand thoughts ran though his head, not a coherent nor sensible one among them.

A daughter?

A daughter?

"We can only hope that she inherits your looks," he muttered, pulling Hermione towards him so he could kiss her yet again, not able to get enough of her honeyed lips.

He had survived, quite unexpectedly, after walking the most audacious tightrope for the last nearly twenty years. Now that he had been granted this sweet reprieve, this second chance, he had no intention of letting it slip from his grasp.

Ever.