Chapter 41

Hermione is reading in bed. Her bed, not Severus's, which isn't theirs. It's his, and she doesn't belong there, not if he's making plans to marry her off to his goddamn godson once snake-face is dead and he can be rid of her.

Severus is with Voldemort now. Before he left, he told her to take the potion if he didn't return. Well, obviously. Does he think she's an imbecile? She's relieved they'll be able to get all this over with, and she can move on with her life. Not a life married to Draco the slimy Ferret Malfoy, and not one married to Severus the cold-hearted bastard Snape, who can't wait to unload her onto said Ferret.

She pushes away the thoughts she's been stupid enough to entertain recently, of their life together after the war is over. He doesn't want that. She fooled herself into thinking he did, because the sex was so good. But the fact that he likes shagging her doesn't mean he loves her, or even likes her. Her mother warned her about that when she gave Hermione the birds and bees talk, told her that some men—not all of them, but a lot—are happy to have sex with a woman without caring about her in the slightest. Mum said women, and young women especially, often mistake sex for love, and Hermione would do well to remember that so as not to let herself be hurt. Mum and Dad were in their late thirties when they married, and Mum told her more than once how grateful she was to be married to a man she chose for sensible reasons, and not because her hormones were playing tricks on her.

Hermione wishes she could talk to Mum now. Mum, who has no idea her daughter is married, because in the wizarding world, Hermione is of age and doesn't need to tell her parents anything if she chooses not to. She did choose not to. Why worry them needlessly? If she'd gone into hiding rather than marry, she'd have had to tell them, because they'd have needed to hide along with her. But she couldn't ask them to do that, give up their lives, walk away from a successful dental practice they've spent so many years building. Now, she writes them letters about her NEWT preparation, sharing with them the happy news that the Headmaster is allowing her to take her exams a full year early without the markedly less happy reason why.

She feels the wards before she hears Severus enter the sitting room. She wants to know what happened, but doesn't want to give him the satisfaction of leaving her room and asking him. When, after what feels like an agonizingly long time, he knocks on her bedroom door, she feels a grim sense of satisfaction. She knows it's petty, but she can't help it. "Enter," she says, adopting his form of answering a knock at the door, as well as that insultingly bored tone he uses so often. He has long since stopped using it with her, though she supposes that if things continue as they are, he'll start again.

He opens the door, no longer in his Death Eater robes, but with frock coat and cravat still on. "I'll take the potion. Tomorrow is the day."

She doesn't answer, just picks up her own dose of the potion from the bedside table. Before she can open it, it flies out of her hand and across the room to his. She throws the duvet back and is out of bed in an instant, stalking across the room to him. "Give that back."

"There is no need for both of us to take the potion."

If she doesn't take it, she won't remember this day, won't know that he cares so little about her that he'd just as soon foist her off on Malfoy. The idea that she'll wake up tomorrow and continue making a fool of herself acting as though this marriage means something to him is more than she can bear. "The fuck there isn't. Give it to me."

"Goodnight, Miss Granger."

There it is. That bored, annoyed tone. The one he hasn't used with her in weeks. And Miss Granger. God. She will not cry. She absolutely, positively will not. As he turns to go, she grabs his arm. "This is wrong, Severus. You know it is. It's stealing something that belongs to me. My memories." When he still does not release the vial, she whispers, "If you do this, I will never forgive you."

"There will be nothing to forgive, since you will not remember."

"But you will. You'll know." She gasps as a terrible thought occurs to her. "How many times have you done this already? How many days have I lost? How many things do you remember that I don't?" The tears she's been fighting spill over now. "I'll never be able to trust you, will I?"

Severus lies awake, as he used to so often before Hermione began sleeping beside him. Now, with her side of the bed cold and empty, he tosses and turns just as before.

Why did he give her the potion? If he hadn't, she'd wake here in his bed tomorrow—a new today—with everything fine between them. They'd have breakfast, talk about the logistics of the plan, and he'd keep his stupid fucking mouth shut about stupid fucking Draco.

But he did give it to her. Like some bone-headed Gryffindor. There was absolutely no benefit to him in doing so. She would never have known. But he would have, as she pointed out. What of it? the pragmatic, morally ambiguous part of him argued. As has been happening distressingly often of late, that pragmatic, morally ambiguous part of him lost the argument.

She will still wake in his bed in the morning, he realizes, because she woke here today. But she'll get up and storm out the moment she wakes. She'll go back to that bedroom that he should have had the castle swallow up weeks ago, as he contemplated doing. But he told her he'd never force himself on her, that being him with him would always be her choice. So, he left the room, and now she's in there, crying and angry at him.

Why do her tears affect him as they do? As a Head of House, he's accustomed to tears from temperamental young women, and they've never affected him much. But the tears of this temperamental young woman put him in such a state that he can't sleep or think straight. The thought that she might be sobbing behind a silencing charm right now, hurt and miserable because of him is almost more than he can bear. He wants to tear down those wards and pull her into his arms. He aches to kiss away her tears and beg her to forgive him.

Beg her to forgive him? God. No. Please, no. Not this. Not again. He has not gone and fallen in love with another unattainable Gryffindor Muggleborn, has he? This one at least reciprocates his sexual attraction, but that's all it is. She's not in love with him. How could she be? She was forced into this marriage. He's twice her age, and has little to recommend him in terms of looks or fortune. All her friends hate him. And tonight, she said that she'd never be able to trust him.

He wakes early, as he told himself to do before falling asleep. Maudlin and ridiculous to want to see her sleeping beside him one last time, he knows, but he allows himself this one last indulgence before he closes the door on this latest embarrassing chapter in the life and loves of Severus Snape, pathetic dunderhead of the first order.

Her breathing is even and regular. A stray curl lies near her mouth, and normally he would brush it away, but today he does not, because it will wake her, and then she will leave. He needs the loo, but he doesn't go, in case she is gone when he returns. Eventually, the needs of his body force him from the bed, but when he returns, she is still asleep. It is only when he gets back into bed that she stirs. Her lashes flutter and then she opens her eyes. When she looks up at him and smiles, his heart leaps. She has forgiven him! But then the events of the previous night come back to her, and her gaze shutters. She starts to get out of bed, then realizes she is naked, and Summons her dressing gown. He drinks in one last look at her bare back and shoulders before she pulls the garment on, crosses the room, and closes the door behind her.