The waves quietly splashed on the shore melting from the summer heat. The setting sun gently rolled over the horizon, painting the water in all shades of orange and scarlet: the color of Gryffindor, as Severus would not hesitate to comment if he was nearby, but this evening Hermione stood alone on the beach.
Their last day on the islands was drawing to a close. Ten days of sun, sea, fruit, and love gave a pleasant warmth to the heart, ran hot down the spine, causing a sweet tremor in her fingertips, and Hermione could have breathed deeply if it were not for the vague anxiety that had been haunting her for the past few days.
She did not have high hopes that she and her husband would be able to return her parents' memories. Ahead of them loomed a long flight between Greece and Australia, the usual ministerial bureaucracy and waiting at customs. It was decided to fly by plane: the traumas experienced allowed neither Severus nor Hermione to use the five portkeys necessary for this kind of travel.
Hermione gazed at the restless waves and fiddled with her wedding ring with a careless gesture: her life was filled with such dramatic changes over the past six months that she simply could not keep up with this insane race to a better future. Sometimes Hermione wondered: did they have the right to happiness, all of them who were lucky enough to survive in that damned war? Severus, for sure, would have answered her something sarcastic and wise, if he happened to overhear her difficult thoughts, but she preferred not to disturb her husband with her own feelings.
Hermione could see that Severus was also trying to cope with the tragedy that had befallen them in his own way. Sometimes she woke up in the middle of the night and saw him pensively standing at the window and looking out for something in the dark twilight. Sometimes she noticed that he was sorting through the rosehip petals used in Pristine Memories' potion, and just after a while, he grimly clenched them in a fist and grind them into dust. And at times he squeezed her in his arms and lay for a long time, burying his nose in her hair, and was silent about his grief.
They had a right to feel the pain, but they had to live on.
And now Hermione was faced with a choice: to return to Hogwarts and still try to conceive a child, pretending that the past was in the past, or to go to Australia, find her parents and face their disappointment and misunderstanding of her actions. Hermione was not afraid of their condemnation, she didn't fear her parental disapproval, however, she simply was immensely tired of failing.
Severus liked to say that life was not fair. Hermione absolutely agreed with him, but anxiety continued to gnaw at her heart. As if the cloudless sky of their happy vacation was suddenly covered with gray clouds, and a thunderstorm was ready to rage over the peacefully sleeping summer beach and naive travelers.
The soft sounds of bare feet on the sand made Hermione smile: Severus completely forgot about the existence of shoes and walked around barefoot for ten days, arguing that the power of the earth, they say, balanced the chakras, filled the magic reserve, and was generally good for health. She liked to see her husband like this: calm, relaxed, not expecting a blow in the back, sometimes even laughing. They needed this vacation. Both of them.
Severus grabbed her around the waist and drew her to him, pressing his chin against the top of her head. Hermione closed her eyes, never tired of being amazed at how tall he was.
"Tomorrow is a difficult day," Severus commented into the void. Hermione shrugged.
"The last ten years of my life, in principle, cannot be called easy, what is just one more another day for me?"
"But you're worried."
She nodded.
"I have to sort out this situation with my relationship with my parents. Either everything will work out for us tomorrow, and I will meet with their resentment, indignation, and misunderstanding, or the potion will not work, and then we will return home."
Severus kissed her temple gently.
"Home is where, tell me, wife?"
"We were going to Ireland, remember? We wanted to look for a cottage somewhere on the Cliffs of Moher, we planned to visit several Celtic communities and learn about the magic of plants. And then, we can go to Hogwarts. No matter how pretentious I may sound now, but my home is next to you."
"And if the Marriage Law is canceled?"
"Severus, don't be ridiculous!" Hermione reproached, grabbing his arm. "If you think that tomorrow I will run to hide behind my mother's skirt and complain to my dad that a big bad former Death Eater offends me, then I dare to disappoint you: nothing like this is going to happen."
Severus shook his head; deep down, he loved seeing his own wife so zealous for their marriage.
"Darling, there are no ex-Death Eaters."
At that time Hermione did not yet know that her husband's words would turn out to be prophetic.
All the way to Australia, exhausted by her worries, Hermione shamelessly slept. Severus watched her thoughtfully, trustingly dozing in his arms. He was haunted by Poppy's persistent admonitions to tell Hermione about the Time-Turner.
Severus was terrified to tell his wife anything. Contrary to popular beliefs about his unsociability and heartlessness, Severus, to the disappointment of his students and colleagues, was still a man, with his own feelings, with pain hidden deep inside, with fears and worries. Occlumency Shields helped only for the time being. It was impossible to restrain the emotions raging in the soul: one could seriously damage his physical and mental health by suppressing his emotions. Snape couldn't afford such liberties. And, frankly speaking, he did not like to constantly feel numb. Not many people managed to get to know his real self. Hermione succeeded. In some way incomprehensible to Severus, his wife managed to sneak behind all of his carefully constructed shields and teach him that he did not need to hide his emotions around her. Next to her, he could allow himself to just feel: to be irritated at stupid ministerial reforms, to feel indignant that his students again turned out to be lazy dunderheads, to be annoyed about a spoiled potion, to rejoice at the first snow, to enjoy summer fruits, to moan with pleasure, to blush when she happened to inspire the tenderness in him, and to just live.
Severus could not trample her trust, he himself was now hardly anything better than Albus with his eternal interference in other people's fates, and at the same time, Severus was terrified of losing Hermione. Each time he closed his eyes, he saw her slip away from his embrace, like a fragile autumn mist destroyed by gusts of wind. For the first time in years of his stupid balancing between life and death, his mistakes, and remorse, life had dealt good cards to Snape, he could not allow himself to lose this game. He had to prevent the death of Hermione, perhaps after that, he would manage to tell her everything.
Snape carefully, trying not to wake his wife, brushed her hair, which fell over her eyes, aside. Hermione muttered something sleepily, rolled onto her side, and snuggled up on his shoulder.
Watching Hermione asleep, Severus couldn't shake off his apprehension. In his youth, he always considered the Divination to be sheer nonsense, akin to fairground tricks and the follies of charlatans, if only one famous Prophecy had not once changed the fate of the entire wizarding world, including his own fate. Something bad was waiting for them in Australia. Snape was alert.
He was worried about the lack of news from Black and Lucius. The old acquaintances he had acquired during his espionage service had not yet brought him any news, and Severus was firmly convinced that his and Hermione's enemies were hiding like vipers under a snag, waiting for an opportune moment to attack.
The ill-wishers were clearly playing with white pieces, one move ahead of Severus.
The airport was crowded, noisy, and hectic. Hermione talked about something with the employees. It seemed, she was trying to find out where their two suitcases had disappeared. Severus gazed around intently, his magical senses heating up to the limit. All instincts screamed at him to get out of here to a more secluded place, preferably somewhere where there would be only Muggles, unaware of magic and wizards.
Severus persistently pulled Hermione to the exit, but she continued to stubbornly fight for their lost luggage. Snape was annoyed. He really didn't like this damn airport.
A subtle whistle cut through the air around them. Protego, prudently imposed by Severus while on the plane, rippled, ready to crumble into dust at any second. Hermione frowned, puzzled, and looked around. Snape reacted instantly, shielding Hermione with his left hand and catching the deadly blade with his faded Dark Mark.
Poisonous dagger. Dark magic. A florid curse.
Before completely losing consciousness, Severus reached out with his hand to Hermione's cheek and whispered:
"I, nevertheless, managed to save you, my dear heart."