A/N: I continue to be overwhelmed by the response to this story. You are all angels and I adore you. In other news, please thank oblivion . baby for her excellent beta work on this chapter! Now, I know many of you have asked for some insight into Severus' brain in the past, and so I give you your very first peek. Enjoy!

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Prelude

October 15, 1997

Her hair was a mess, just as it always was. Severus watched her as she struggled with it, trying valiantly to hold it all in one hand as she slipped an elastic over the rats nest. The product of her efforts was a haphazard bun on top of her head that left half of the riotous curls threatening to escape and the other pulled so tightly he thought she would begin complaining of headaches shortly. Sighing, he drew his wand and aimed it at her, flicking it this way and that and observing as Hermione jumped and then rolled her eyes at the sensation of her locks rearranging themselves into a tidy chignon at the back of her head.

"Honestly, when did you have time to learn hair dressing spells?" Hermione huffed, giving him a perturbed look but leaving the elegant updo alone.

"You left a book on the coffee table," Severus dismissed, smirking as he looked back down at the scene on the table in front of him. The potion ingredients were splayed out across the surface precisely, set there by his own hand an hour earlier as he had prepared every necessity for the potion they were about to brew. Some of the ingredients were quite dangerous, and he had taken special care to separate those from the rest, spacing them each several inches apart to prevent cross contamination and any potentially fatal reactions.

"Did you remember the jumping nettle?" Hermione asked, her hands now clasped tightly together as she stared down at the ingredients. Severus barely prevented himself from rolling his eyes at the question, but knowing how nervous his young wife must be, he managed to restrain himself.

"I picked it fresh this morning, before Pomona made it to the greenhouses. It's just there." He pointed to a bowl filled with quivering bits of minced nettle, and Hermione let out a breath of air.

"Alright," she said, looking as if she were steeling herself against something. "Let's start."

Severus watched her as she placed her wand on a nearby shelf and began to don a pair of petite dragon hide gloves. Her face, usually embarrassingly expressive, was carefully blank, and he noticed as she moved that there was a stiffness in her extremities that was abnormal for the woman.

"Hermione," he said, keeping his tone as low and as soothing as possible. "If you would feel more comfortable waiting while I—"

"Shut up, Severus."

His brows arched instantly, and he scowled in her direction, crossing his arms and glaring down at the stubborn witch. He was trying to be nice, blast it, and she was being as prickly as a Hungarian Horntail.

"Oh, don't look like that," she continued, lifting a pestle to begin crushing fresh herbs into a paste. "I need to be here. I can't sit in the other room while you do this. I wouldn't be able to think of anything else. Besides, brewing relaxes me."

Severus scoffed, remembering the way her hair had poofed out and her brow furrowed over cauldrons in his classroom. The chit had been an anxious wreck any time he'd gotten within a yard of her, checking and double checking her ingredients, her potion, and her recipes. Watching her work had been like watching a hummingbird in flight, constantly moving at hyper speed, always ready to move on to another location, or project in her case. At any rate, she had hardly ever looked relaxed. Efficient and over concerned, yes, but never at peace with the brewing process.

Of course, it would probably behoove him to keep such observations to himself, and so, Severus sighed and lifted the sharp knife he used for slicing to begin working alongside his wife. For the first several minutes, they accomplished their tasks in tense silence. Hermione sighed occasionally, and Severus made his way through two different ingredients before turning the the cauldron and using his wand to light a flame beneath it. The purified water inside, which was to serve as the potion's base, had been precisely measured before Hermione had even woken for the day.

"Sev?" Her voice was so quiet he almost missed it. Severus looked up from his work, his gaze landing on his wife where she stood beside the table, her hands unmoving as she stared down at the table.

He cleared his throat. "Yes?"

"What were you like as a boy?"

"What was I—" Confused, Severus narrowed his gaze before stowing his wand away and leaning back against the table the cauldron rested upon. "What kind of a question is that?"

Hermione dropped her pestle and crossed her arms defensively as Severus watched her.

"There's no need to take a tone," she said.

"A tone? Don't be ridiculous." He tried to keep his voice even. Hermione was being irrational, and he knew from experience that it would not do to contribute to her ire. "I was merely asking where your query came from."

"Ridiculous," Hermione repeated, turning the word over in her mouth as if she had never heard it before. Severus tried to keep from wincing and gave her a penitent look.

"I was confused," he elaborated, doing his best to extend an olive branch, "at your interest in my past. It is not something we have ever discussed."

Hermione shrugged and leaned against the table beside him. Severus watched her out of the corner of his eye as she moved. Her almost elfin ears were being tickled by stray curls, short enough that they had not been caught up in the chignon he had created for her.

"I think it's a natural curiosity," Hermione said, looking up at him as she spoke. "You had a life before we were married, Severus, before I even knew you existed. You had a personality all your own from the time you could breathe… and if nothing changes in the next two weeks… well, we'll have a child of our own, and it will be like you, and like me, and I suppose I'd like to know what to expect."

His heart stilled in his chest, and Severus tried to remember how to breathe. There it was, the truth they had been ignoring since the Dark Lord had told them what he wanted from them. Whatever its origins, whatever Lord Voldemort's designs for it were… the ritual they were preparing for tonight would result in a child. The concept, which before had seemed nebulous and far away, suddenly became a very tangible, very immediate possibility. He exhaled and then drew in a new breath, trying hard to ignore the mounting anxiety within.

"Severus?"

Hermione looked at him expectantly, and he glowered, though the expression seemed not to affect her.

"I was a putrid little waif, with little in the way of possessions, or friends. I'm sure any child of mine would be equally as off putting."

Hermione laughed, and the sound of it soothed an ache Severus had not known was plaguing him. "Oh, come on," she said, "you're not going to put me off that easily."

He made a noncommittal noise and crossed his own arms, mirroring the way Hermione sat at his side. He felt her eyes on him as he stilled, and tried not to move beneath her gaze as she watched him for nearly a full minute. At last, she spoke, and Severus felt a particular satisfaction that he had not been the one to break their silence.

"I was very curious as a child. I spent a lot of time asking my mum and dad why things were they way they were," she said.

"I hardly think I need you to tell me what your childhood was like," Severus drawled, "I was there, if you'll remember." And really, the last thing he needed was to be reminded of his bride's youth, or the fact that he'd known her since well before her first blood. Unfortunately, she ignored him, and continued her speech.

"My hair took forever to grow in as a baby. I'm practically bald in family photos until I turned two, and even then, my hair was so short and curly, that is just sort of bounced around on top of my head like a mop."

"Not much has changed in the last sixteen years, then."

Hermione shot him a scathing look and spoke again.

"My dad took me to church every Sunday. We're catholic, actually. I took my first communion when I was seven, but honestly haven't been much since I started at Hogwarts. When I was eight, I had a crush on a boy named Allen Penworthy. I told him I liked him after class, and he said, "Okay," and then proceeded to ignore me for the rest of our acquaintance. I was obsessed with ballerinas from ages four to six, but gave up on my dream of becoming one after my parents enrolled me in a class, and I discovered exactly how uncoordinated I am. My favorite picture book was a story about a little girl adopting a grandmother—because I hadn't any grandparents of my own— and my first chapter book was The Little Princess. I still read it every summer, actually. With the exception of this past one." She paused, taking a few deep breaths as she seemed to search for something else to say.

For his part, Severus found himself enraptured by her description of a little, Muggle Hermione, being raised by parents who loved her enough to pay for her to take ballet. How nice it must have been, to only be bothered by little disappointments. He was reminded, for a moment, of his own childhood friend, a girl only a little like the women standing before him now. How often had he envied her the seemingly idyllic life she led, with a mother who had doted on her, and a father who had never imbibed to excess? Now, here was his own wife, eager to share her own happy experiences with him. What a pity, he thought, that all he had to give in return was darkness.

"We had a cat when I was small. Her name was Contessa, and she was an absolute terror. Twice, she clawed my bedspread to shreds trying to attack my feet as I slept. I was terrified of cats for years after that, until the old beast died, and we adopted a sweet little kitten named Edgar. Oh, and I've never liked watching the telly. I thought it was only for sports until my dad tried to introduce me to cartoons when I was five or six. I much preferred reading though."

Severus snorted at that. "Of course you did."

Hermione's mouth quirked into a near smile, and she looked up at him, uncrossing her arms and threading one through his elbow as she leaned her head on his shoulder.

"What about you?" she pressed. "Did you watch a lot of telly?"

He sighed, exasperated at her insistence, but shook his head.

"We didn't have one," he answered after several quiet moments. "Couldn't afford to replace it after my father threw it at a wall." Beside him, Hermione grew completely still, but she said nothing, as if she were willing him to continue. He sighed again, but gave her what she wanted. He thought he always would.

"I was quiet. Unnaturally so. To speak was to beg attention, and attention was the last thing I wanted from either of my parents. My father was a drunkard, and my mother a doormat. I spent my time reading, escaping into the works of any author I could get my hands on. I spent a lot of time at the library before I got my letter. Of course, I knew what I was. I would steal my mother's wand and try to do spells I picked out of old school books. One night, when he was beating her, I grabbed her wand and tried to hex him. It didn't work, and he snapped the thing in half for my efforts." He felt Hermione's hand curl around his bicep, squeezing tightly, but he couldn't keep the words from flowing now that he had begun.

"I was home schooled. My mother didn't want me showing any accidental magic around Muggle children. Luckily, she was an efficient teacher. I was not an unattractive child, though I was rarely without bruises and often poorly groomed. I had a pet mouse that my father one day stepped on to punish me for interfering in his discipline of my mother… and I had a little sister—"

His voice broke despite his best effort, and he blinked rapidly.

"You had a… oh, Severus."

"She was born the summer after my third year, but when I came home for Christmas she… well. That was the holiday my father accidentally fell down the stairs. My mother wanted to bury him next to Messalina, but I wouldn't let her. I couldn't let her spend eternity next to that monster. He ended up in a potter's field somewhere. I honestly couldn't tell you where."

He looked down at Hermione, whose face was buried against his arm, and he felt a damp spot against his arm as she tried not to sniffle.

"It was years ago, Hermione," he said, his voice thick with emotion. This was why he never bloody discussed such things. His past was better left to the dust than resurrected.

"I know," she said, looking up at him, her face glistening with tears. "But I'm allowed to weep for you, Severus. And for her."

He didn't say anything, only nodded, and as he pulled her fully into his arms, she let out a muffled sob.

0-0-0-0-0-0

They had finished the potion in silence after he had bared his soul to her, and it sat in its cauldron now, gently simmering. They took their evening meal alone together, with Pippy serving them both as they sat on the sofa. Severus sat with his back straight when he was done, and Hermione leaned into him, her arm draped across his middle as she held him close.

"If we do go through with the ritual, and I happen to get pregnant…" she said suddenly, and her voice trailed off. Severus lifted his glass of brandy and took a sip before answering.

"If we go through with the ritual, you will conceive," he corrected. She should have no misunderstandings where that was concerned.

"Yes. Thanks for that." Her voice was dry as she grabbed his glass and stole a sip of her own before returning it to him. "In any case, I was thinking that if we do the ritual, I'd like to name the baby after my dad, if its a boy." Severus raised a brow in surprise at the sentiment but remained silent. It was doubtful the Dark Lord would allow them any say in the child's name should they continue on their current course.

"Henry?" asked Severus, who thought he was remembering Mr. Granger's name correctly.

"Mhm. It was his grandfather's name. There's a long line of Grangers named Henry. I thought I would continue the tradition."

"I see only one problem with that," Severus shrugged, keeping his voice low as his hand stroked her upper arm.

"What's that?"

"Our child won't be a Granger, it will be a Snape."

Hermione snorted and stole his glass for another drink, this time not bothering to give it back. "Let me guess," she said, "you want to call him something awful like Caius Aurelius?"

Severus didn't see anything awful about the name but shook his head all the same. "No. The Snapes were Muggles, if you'll recall, and I had a great uncle I was quite fond of as a boy. I would want to name a son after him, I think."

"Oh," said Hermione, contemplative now. "What was his name?"

"Bernard."

"Bernard!? Oh, Severus, you're joking. We can't name a boy Bernard. He'd be mercilessly teased. It's an awful name!"

Severus didn't answer, only shrugged and stole back his brandy.

Silence fell between them once more, and they watched the flames in the fireplace opposite them flicker, until at last, Hermione spoke again.

"What will we do if there's a baby, and the war isn't won… or if it is won, but by the wrong side?" Her voice was quiet, and she refused to meet his gaze as she spoke. Severus froze and then turned to look down at her, searching her face before setting his drink on the end table and using his hand to tilt her chin up so that he could look her in the eye.

"We'll win, Hermione, or I'll die trying." And he would, he couldn't bear to live more of his life as the Dark Lord's servant. He knew the cost, and it was his humanity.

"Don't say that!" Hermione cried, "Severus, don't!"

He kissed her then, because he didn't know what else to do or say, and she allowed herself to melt against him until their lips parted and she nestled against his chest once more.

"If it's a girl, we should name her Messalina." Her voice was muffled by his robes, but he felt his heart twinge all the same. "And we'll hide her with Muggles if we have to. Nice ones. We'll modify their memories and make them think they've always had her. And they'll live in America."

"America?" Severus repeated the word, dismayed. "You want her to grow up a yank? Yammering on about 'dudes' and 'far out' and whatnot?" Hermione laughed.

"Honestly, Severus. What decade do you think it is?"

"Hmph."

"Besides, with luck, she wouldn't be with them for long. A few months. A year? We would have her back as soon as he was gone."

"I see." And he did see. He saw her hopeful wish, and it pierced him.

"And maybe, we'll even win the war before she's born, and we won't have to hide her with Muggles at all!"

"American Muggles." Severus expanded, and Hermione nodded against his chest.

"We'll win, and we'll move to the outskirts of some little village. We'll raise her there. I'll work at the Ministry, and you'll come home every evening from Hogwarts, and we'll be perfectly, blissfully happy." Her voice was so low he was having trouble hearing her, but he thought he had caught everything.

"I won't stay on at Hogwarts," he corrected. "I'll stay home with the child."

Hermione glanced up at him, her expression surprised.

"Stay home with the— are you serious?"

Severus arched a brow and inclined his head. "Does that surprise you so very much, that I would want to care for the child myself?" She studied him as if she were considering her answer before she finally spoke.

"No," she said, shaking her head with a half smile on her lips. "No, I don't think it does."

She nestled herself back against him and gave a long, relaxed sigh, and he continued to run his hand up and down her arm. Before long, the steady motion of their combined breaths lulled them both into a quiet, easy sleep.