July at Hogwarts.
Naturally, it was bucketing down.
Hermione frowned and stared out of the small panes of leaded glass to the stretching green of the lawns far below. Professor Flitwick had cast a weather-aegis over the stage and assembled benches, keeping them dry and warm in the inevitable damp—to put it mildly—of a Scottish summer.
The Professor had growled and muttered as he worked his magic. He'd declared it 'unnatural'. That it was too wet, too fierce. The Headmistress simply arched an eyebrow at him, then reminded him that he did live in the British Isles. Bloody awful weather was this land's particular gift.
And then they grew quiet, Flitwick bowed his head and Professor McGonagall had pressed a shaking hand to her mouth, and with saddened eyes murmured that was something Severus always said…
So, protected paths snaked away, dry beds of green in the plodgy wet and mud, and already guests milled around, waiting for the students to take their seats. A shock of Weasley red stood out and with it, the wild messy tumble of black.
This was it.
Her final day at Hogwarts.
Her NEWTs were over, the panic and mania of those few weeks ebbing away. The results were due in August…and she should care. She should. She'd worked and revised as only she could, willing herself to crash into the familiar academic whirlwind that would pull her mind away from a promise made—
"You ready?"
Ginny bounced into her room —Hermione's own private one as a returning 8th Year— and flicked her gaze over her friend. "You look nice."
You made an effort.
The words went unsaid. But they were there. Most of the year had seen Hermione wearing shapeless uniforms and the ravening bush that was her hair running wild. But that day? No. She had her best robes in a green so dark it was almost black and her hair a river of riotous but sleek curls.
A promise made, after all.
"Thanks." Hermione twitched a smile and waved a hand at her friend. "Harry's already down there. And with you looking like that, he's going to strain something."
"Good!"
Ginny twirled, her grin bright with the layered fall of her robes. Even in the grim, grey light seeping in through the long window, the intricate pinning of her fiery red hair was simply perfection. Ginny was a goddess. "He has not been an attentive boyfriend." She pursed her lips. "Perhaps I should trade him in for an older man. I know it's a scandal with Luna and Kingsley Shacklebolt, but she is deliriously happy. And he'll be here today, perhaps he has a friend…"
Hermione wasn't listening. Her belly cramped, the sudden pain, the ache that had chased through her flesh and bones for more than a year caught her hard and sharp.
An older man...
"Hermione?" Ginny passed her hand to her arm and gave a gentle squeeze. "You—you didn't have your eye on him did you? I remember...I remember now how you stared at them at the Yule Ball. That first dance, when their soul-bond flared…"
Luna touched Kingsley's arm, a light play of fingers over his sleeve and there…There. The perfect and eternal dance of magic twisting between them. Ready. Waiting. The golden shine of it bright and achingly sweet.
A kiss, a kiss would seal it. And had, there with their first dance in the Great Hall, packed with practically every witch and wizard in their world to witness to it.
Hermione's heart squeezed. The burn of tears forced her to blink. Fuck, it wasn't fair. She shook her head, more of a jerk than anything graceful. "No... no." Another smile at her friend, probably strained, but gods, her heart wasn't in it. "Well, jealous that she found her soul mate, I suppose."
"You and Ron could try again?"
Hermione huffed a laugh. "We didn't try the first time, Gin." She drew in a long breath. And Ron's...reaction to her pulling way from what he saw as their destiny had made her more than relieved she'd escaped to Hogwarts for a year. Even if every stone, every room, the very air reminded her of—
"Come on." Hermione willed herself way from the window. "Your family's down there. They'll be expecting us."
She fought down the wild flight of pixies invading her belly.
He had promised.
And she had to believe that Severus Snape would keep his word.
She had to.
The wild rain beat against the weather-aegis, a constant drum that broke through even Professor Flitwick's strongest muffling charms. Perhaps there was something in his complaint about the rain. It was a wild rush of weather.
The leaving students crowded the front benches in their finery, chattering and quietly handing around tiny smoke-filled glasses of firewhiskey. Hermione let her gaze slide away. She wasn't a prefect—hadn't been all year—so it was none of her business how drunk former students got.
Her gaze darted instead to the stage and the shuffle of wizards and witches setting up the final touches of flowers and banners and all other manner of ostentation. They moved…wrong. It pricked at Hermione's senses. Her magic. She closed her eyes. She was twitchy, over-strung, seeing stuff that wasn't there. She refocused. Merlin, someone had heaved out the Head's lectern from the Great Hall. In the gloom of the afternoon, even its owl looked pinch-faced and pissed off.
Ginny hunkered down on the bench beside her and glared up at the cloud burst blattering the air far above her. She rubbed her bare arms. Yes, the warming charms also weren't enough. Even for Scotland, this was a grim summer's day.
"Should've at least had this event in the Great Hall."
It was Kingsley's idea, this farewell to Hogwarts leavers. Heroine suspected it was really Luna's idea and the current minister was... besotted. Oh, he dressed it up as giving closure to those who'd had such a disastrous final year and... oh, look, the year below might as well join those handful of students…
Normally, all that happened before the Express took the final year students away forever, was the Headmaster wished them well in the Leaving Feast the night before. Just a simple 'look after yourself and do well in life'. No big fanfare.
She hoped…she hoped that this...insanity didn't interfere with her own plans.
"Luna gets what Luna wants. Well done her," Hermione muttered under her breath and Ginny barked a laugh.
"Not yet, apparently."
Both their gazes slid to the fae-blonde witch hovering at Kingsley's elbow in a barely-there silver gown. The weave of their soul-bond practically hummed in the gloom and the Minister couldn't keep his eyes on the thick wad of the speech notes in his hands. Luna's innocent smile was edged with knowing wickedness. Well done her, indeed.
Ginny shrugged. "The Minister is being honourable. He wants to court her."
"This is Luna. She won't wait."
"True. She'll drag him off to a faerie ring in the Forbidden Forest. We won't see them for days. Years." Ginny snorted. "Lucky her."
Hermione lifted a eyebrow. "You're jealous now?"
"Soul mates. They're rare, Hermione. Rare as a teenage boy finding a clue. Or a clit."
"Ginevra Weasley!"
The witch snorted. "I'm thinking about researching a guiding charm. Or y' know, it could glow…"
Hermione hid her face behind her hands and denied the breaking cackle. "Gods, Gin. You'd make a fortune."
"Can I have your attention?" Professor McGonagall's sonorous carried across the lawns and more than one spine snapped straight and several jaws clacked together. She did have them trained well. "The ceremony will begin shortly. We won't keep you long." Her lips pursed and she narrowed a look to Kingsley who stood trying not to gawk at his nearly naked witch. And failing. A lot.
No, they wouldn't be long at all.
"Following, there will be refreshments in the Great Hall. I understand there will also be some…after event at the Ministry."
Hermione held down a groan. Merlin, the day wasn't going to end.
She'd hoped... she'd hoped that there'd be a train ride and a certain dark wizard waiting for her on the platform at King's Cross. Or the desperate dream of him in Hogsmeade before she boarded. Or the one she did not dare to think…of his striding across the laws of Hogwarts. To her. For her.
A promise made.
A fist wrapped around her heart.
His last words. Not final. Never final. No.
Because their plan had worked.
The Minister broke way from his witch and offered a bright smile to the Headmistress. Her mouth pulled down at the corners. There was an obvious disapproval of his... binding of Luna Lovegood. It pricked worry. Hermione respected Professor McGonagall, wanted her approval. If—
No. No.
When. It was when.
The Minister's smooth voice broke into the threatened cascade of her thoughts.
"Thank you all for coming on this," Kingsley looked to the heavy roll of black cloud that stretched over Hogwarts' towers and pushed out to the horizon, "rather interesting day. "
"Had no bloody choice, "Ginny muttered under her breath and Hermione fixed her gaze to the grassy floor to hide her smirk.
Kingsley's dark eyes narrowed on his cards, before he placed them on the broad stretch of the lectern. He leant forward, his hands gripping the straight, golden sides. A touch of a smile lifted his lips. "We're here to honour the achievements of…"
The Minister paused and frowned.
He stared up at the sky and then to one of the witches lingering at the edge of the stage. What..? A wand snapped into her hand, the burn of a defensive spell singeing the air —an Auror, she was an Auror—and with that the mood of the crowd changed.
Hermione's wand was tight in her fingers before she realised, dark words on the tip of her tongue. She shot a glance back to Harry, five benches back and his eyes had narrowed. He looked beyond her to the lawns. There was a tightness to his jaw. There were still rogue Death Eaters loose in the world, but they'd been assured those few men were a minor threat. Nothing to—
A wild splash of magic surged up from somewhere behind her and...exploded.
Hermione was on her feet, her gown girded with a practiced flick of her wand. A torrent of freezing water fell from the sky, soaking her —everyone— to the skin in seconds. And there…there…the souring burn of magic, biting through the air, fierce and wild.
Fuck, fuck.
They were under attack.
Defence drills snapped in —because the new Head left noting to chance. Within moments, the guests were secured and the former-students had their wands out, all in a fighting stance and fixed in their designated defence groups, patterns and shields in place. Hermione shivered and wished she'd cast a drying spell, though the impervius stopped the deluge from soaking her further.
"I don't see anything." Ginny peered out into the thick fog that shrouded them, not even the cast spell cut through. Fuck. This was strong magic. "What are thy waiting for."
A raw scream, dragged up from someone's torn soul, echoed over the lawns. And gods, gods it was her, herself, because a tall dark shape —familiar, so familiar— shifted through the the mist and sheets of rain.
The crowd around her had fallen to silence, but she didn't care. Not for a second. It was—
Wet hands tried to grab her, snatching at her arms, at the sodden silks of her gown. What…? She shook herself free. What were they...?
She staggered over a clump of grass.
Running. She was running. Haring towards that hazy silhouette.
Because...because...
Strong arms caught her. Wrapped around her. Held her so tight. A sob broke free and she buried her wet face against silk and wool. Copper, sandalwood, parchment and fresh green herbs crashed through her senses. A solid body was everywhere —everywhere— under her searching hands.
He was…
"You're here. You're alive. You're here."
Severus.
Severus Snape had come back. To her. For her.
"Where else would I be, sweet girl?"
Hermione clutched at his familiar robes, her cheek pressed hard to a jet-carved button on his frock-coat. He sounded the same. Exactly the same. When she had thought never to hear the beauty of his voice ever again. Not with… "It healed. All of it."
She willed herself to look up. To put her faith in his realness…and met the endless dark warmth of his eyes.
Another choked sob broke from her.
Severus cupped her jaw with one of his large hands and Hermione pressed into his ached-for touch, practically mewling as if she were a love-starved cat.
A quirk of a smile pulled at his mouth.
Bloody legilimens.
"Your insane and quite brilliant bit of magic worked," he paused and his lips quirked upwards, "…adequately."
Hermione snorted and a grin burst from her till her cheeks ached. "I've missed you. Gods, have I missed you. And I love you. I haven't told you that enough. I—"
"Severus...?"
A drenched Headmistress stood at Hermione's shoulder. Her voice shook. "Severus…? It's you. What..? How?"
"A moment please, Minerva."
And Severus Snape dipped his head to brush the lightest, the most treasured of kisses across Hermione's lips.
The world stopped.
Somewhere there were shouts, and screams, and demands to know what in Merlin's name did he think he was doing…but Hermione was lost. Floating in the bliss of golden magic, in the teasing thread of it through flesh and bone. Sinking deep, deep into her soul. The warmth in Severus' eyes held her and fresh heat bloomed though her flesh. "I was right."
It was a whisper, a hope, a vindication.
"Know-it-all."
But the low rumble was dipped in affection.
A soul-bond. They shared a soul-bond.
Gods, that had been the gamble she'd played. That their inchoate bond would tether him to life, to the healing magic that worked on him as time crawled for her.
"It worked. All of it."
"As I said, quite brilliant."
"Severus Snape!"
Professor McGonagall rasp broke into their perfect bubble. "Just what is going on here!"
They could explain about her over-use of the time-turner, how she'd aged —somewhere around twenty two at the last count— and how the lemon-sucking git had taken advantage, had thrown her into aiding Severus. An older, cleverer witch paired with his living-on-the-edge-of-his-skin spy. Paired, just not in the way Dumbledore expected. Or wanted.
But frankly…no. She didn't want to explain anything. Not in that moment.
She'd been without her wizard for an entire year. Longer…
"Perhaps, later, Minerva. Much later."
Severus smirked at McGonagall, pulled Hermione to him and with a turn and a crack they were gone.
"I wanted. I... hoped." Hermione didn't know where he'd taken them as she refused to lift her face from his chest. From the reality of him. The familiar warm scent of wool and fresh herbs, and those tantalising hints of leather and rare spices.
Him.
Her Severus.
Long fingers threaded through the wet tangles of her hair and a tease of magic eased it dry, leaving it to fall as a warm weight against her back.
"I have only bits, pieces of memory after Nagini. Warmth, rain, icy cold. I believe the passing of the seasons."
Hermione willed her head up to meet his dark eyes. "But no pain? I read..."
Sevenu gave a silent shake of his head. "No, no pain, sweet girl."
A twitch of a smile lifted his lips and she echoed it. To see it again. Her heart thudded. For everything, everything to be over and it to be their beginning. Finally.
"I should've realised that the wild weather was the ending of the spell—"
"It matters not." His chest swelled. "I am here. With you. That is all that matters."
"Where…? She glanced around her to find herself in a small, pale-plastered sitting room, with low oak beams and the warmth, the feeling of a home. "…is here?"
Severus mouth twitched again and…something moved through his black gaze. "I also made plans. Though slightly more optimistic ones. It is…ours. An unplottable cottage in the Dales. Thought a ruin near Wild Boar Fell.
"Oh.."
His expression dipped. "Of course, if you do not wish—"
"No, no! I…" She buried her face against his chest again. Breathed through a desperate tightness. Drew the ached-for scent of him deep into her lungs. She had planned for the worst. The very worst. She had. Whilst he… "It's lovely. The cottage. The thought. You. You are just lovely."
Severus huffed a laugh. "Not the way people usually describe me, Hermione."
"Then people are idiots. "
"You may be biased."
She joined him in soft laughter. "Possibly. "
He let out a long breath and flicked a hand to the blackened heath. The orange glow of flames burst from the pile of logs set there and a sudden warmth licked against her bare and very wet legs. She shivered.
"Let's get you out of these wet things, witch."
Her heart thudded. They had only shared the barest of touches, not wanting to risk the binding of their suspected soul-bond. A soul-bond —as Luna and Kingsley demonstrated— shone in the magic. And she could never risk that for Severus. There'd been her reading, too. That the soul-bond tethered each to the other in times of injury, until magic wrought a full healing.
And Severus had promised to come to her on her last day, sealing the rite with a heart-promise.
"Hermione…?"
Again, she'd pushed doubt into him. Shit.
"I want...I want everything with you. Everything."
He paused and his voice was soft. Low. Unsure. "A consummated soul-bond is…"
"Forever." She smiled up at him, willing him to see the truth. That he was more than she could ever want. Her heart caught in her throat. "I need to have the next two hundred years with you. This last year. No. No, there's no escaping me now, Professor Snape."
"And I'm no longer your professor."
"No." Her lips quirked up into a sharp smile. "But sometimes, perhaps…?"
His gaze narrowed and those perfectly kissable lips pursed. And there, a hint of wickedness. "What a naughty girl you are, Miss Granger."
Her belly swooped, the delicious curl of heat threading though her flesh. Gods, his voice was a sin. "Yes. I can be, yes. Yes, please."
The dark shine of his eyes at her babbling sparked further fire and his mouth brushed hers again. The soft curl of binding magic wove over her skin and she chased his lips, rising up onto her tip-toes, as he drew back.
More. She needed more. She needed all of him. "A bath, or a shower. A shower, so much quicker. Then I plan to be very naughty. Very soon."
Severus arched a black eyebrow. "Do you indeed?" It was a low rumble, warm and dark and so... tempting it dried her mouth and made...other places decidedly wet. And there was that smirk again.
Irritating legilimens.
He stepped back, but caught her hand. He pressed his lips to her knuckles and the swell of their merging magic teased her. His smirk deepened and he glanced behind him to the shallow turn of the carpeted stairs. An eyebrow lifted. "I am at your service, my witch."
Hermione sucked in a breath. She'd planned and overthought and built a hundred fantasies on this very moment. What she would say. How she would act. The want and need for him a constant flame in her flesh. But all of it fell away. It was a simple need. "I want forever with you, Severus Snape."
His own breath stilled and the look, the expression on his face, as if she'd given him such a gift… "And I, you." He brought her hand to his lips, pressing a sparking kiss to her palm. "Now and always. I promise. And that begins," he drew her to the stairs, "with showers and a naughty —and thoroughly naked and debauched— witch. Would you agree?"
Hermione was already running, taking the narrow steps two at a time, her heart thudding and Severus' rich laughter chasing her up the stairwell.
She couldn't agree more.
After all, Severus Snape always kept his promises.