September 1997

The start of term came, as it always did. An hour earlier than normal, a show of power by the Dark Lord, the sounds of students returning wafted into the entrance hall. He expected them to be quiet, subdued, even wary, yet, for the most part, they weren't. At least, Severus amended, seeing the flickering eyes and tense posture of many of the older students, they weren't displaying their unease. Face impassive, the man marveled at the inherent resiliency of students. They milled about their tables, perhaps with more trepidation as they noticed the obvious gaps, talking and laughing as if nothing were wrong.

Which ended far too quickly. An instant, terrified hush petrified the crowd of students in front of him. Flinty, dark eyes observed the various expressions before him, ranging from hatred and bald fear to smug satisfaction and triumph. No one moved, no one talked, the hall fell just as silent as it was before the children set foot within the hallowed walls. Not until that moment did Severus realize how much he treasured the often irritating noise, how hearing the snickers and laughter of children being innocent gave him peace. He swallowed his emotions, and spoke.

"Before the Sorting begins, there are some points I wish to address," his silky baritone resonated in the perfectly quiet hall. "I will warn you of this once. I am not Albus Dumbledore." That elicited some response, he sneered to himself, tramping down on his self loathing. "As all of you should know by this time, I am not kind, nor am I forgiving. I will not listen to your excuses, nor will I make any exceptions. There is a list of rules upon each pillow. You will do well to read it, and adhere to the directions. Failure to do so would be unwise. "

A nod cued Minerva, who huffed down the aisle to open the doors for the new first years. In came the smallest group of new students Severus ever saw. No one saw the pity, the fear, the absolute despair roiling around his stomach. Even as the meal went on, students only murmured back and forth, as if earning his ire would equate to some unimaginable punishment. The worst part, he bitterly thought, is that they're right. As students finished, and the younger years appeared to be in a post food daze, Severus stood once more.

"Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am your new Headmaster, Professor Severus Snape," a polite smattering of applause came from the Slytherin table, while the rest just stared in silence. "You may address me as Headmaster or Professor. This year, we will be implementing several changes. First, we have Amycus and Alecto Carrow. They will be our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and Muggle Studies professor respectively."

Another, unsure smattering of congratulations came from the Slytherins, most shocked and afraid of the addition. Severus didn't blame them.

"They are to be in charge of discipline this year," continued the dark wizard, eyes boring into his students, pleading they understand to stay out of trouble. "And will be meting out punishments. In addition, there shall be no quidditch this year."

Now, that, got a round of grumbles and alarmed whispers. From there, he outlined, in brief, salient points, the expectations of the year. By the time he finished, and the students left for the night, he sat alone, in the high chair, wondering just what he had gotten himself into this time. A soft curse brought him to his feet and he left.

oOo oOo oOo

Several days later, just as Albus slipped from his portrait to go visit Sir Matthius the Mad, Phineas slipped into his portrait. After their customary greeting and rather biting commentary at the incompetence of his newest professors, the man regarded Severus with great thought. Neither broached the subject of that late August talk, and he could not be more glad for it. Running a school, much to his chagrin, required far more paperwork than he wished.

Just as he thought the other Slytherin had left once more, he heard, "You know, they are planning something."

"Oh?" the succinct answer.

"Yes," sneered Phineas. "Just this morning, Miss Granger came by and promptly apologized, but said that I couldn't be hearing their plans, just in case. Pale and exhausted, that one is," a brief glimpse of worry flashed across his painted eyes. "Cast some spell that made it so no portrait in the house could see or hear what they were planning. The only thing I know is when she passes me. It is rather disconcerting."

"What? The blindness, or the fact they are planning?" Severus snorted.

"Both, quite frankly," he smirked in response. "Though, Severus, if I may talk of a rather delicate subject…"

"What?" A drawn, wary response answered, as dark eyes regarded the portrait with an intense look.

"It is none of my business, of course, but she truly does not look well," Phineas frowned. "Muggle raised though she is, the girl knows her magic. Being drained or ill would be most disadvantageous at such a junction."

"And I would care why, exactly?" Snapped the younger man, black robes swirling.

"Because their health is imperative to your mission, is it not?" the painting raised a sardonic brow.

"He does have a point, Severus," Albus hummed as he stepped into his own frame. "Do keep an eye on them, Phineas. Report to me if they get any more ill, we cannot afford disease at such a time."

Severus scoffed at the blase, high handed response. If the portraits were to report to anyone, it would be him, the current headmaster. Instead, content with the knowledge provided by Phineas, he shook his head and resumed his work, mind racing. Nothing good ever came from the Golden Trio planning something. Granted, when Miss Granger took to a plan, and the brats she called friends actually followed said plan instead of running off half cocked, it tended to go smoothly. The problem resided in the fact that, more often than not, the two hotheads rushed into things, allowing for only half a plan, and ended up getting everyone injured.

A growl threatened to break free at the thought of her getting injured because of them. Not for the first time, Severus cursed the overly secretive nature of his mentor. He didn't know how to help the stumbling, fumbling trio of students in his position. Gods, he lost his only form of contact with them. It became rather challenging to pass on information to people who would kill him on sight.

To top off this rather horrible situation, he still worried about the girl, mostly against his will. Thoughts of her invaded his mind at all hours of the day, a distraction he could not afford. Almost every hour, the pessimistic side ran through every reason a relationship would never work, not now, nor later. In response, the soft and steady side, ever growing, presented undeniable facts. Ancient Magic, at the most sacred of ritual sites, matched them. They were both ley born, most likely from areas with a high concentration of ley lines. Their magic matched, and, if he were to let himself be somewhat fair, they were both of an academic, studious sort.

These thoughts swirled through his mind, occupying him as hands finished the rest of the tedious paperwork, a veritable mountain of disciplinary forms.

oOo oOo oOo

After a particularly grueling day of supplicating and manipulating a week or so later, Severus stared into the fire. Fire whisky and merry crackling soothed his frazzled nerves until he dozed. Spice, fire, and herbs swirled in the air, mixed with an addictive combination of lavender and something exotic he could not place. Distant laughter and music fluttered upon the balmy breeze. Arms squeezed a warm, firm form.

Panic died before it begun. No matter how much he longed to talk, to move, to control his own damn body, the dream moved on. Eyes remained firmly shut as he felt his God direct his hands. Fingers skimmed up and down in a soothing and hypnotic fashion. It took several passes for Severus to pick up on what made his God purr. He sat within his own mind, shocked at the subtle roundness. Magic knew his reluctance to the match, and now used his greatest secret to cajole him.

Severus tried to be upset, angry, panicked, but the sheer vulnerability he heard in her voice paused him. She asked if this was okay, if he wanted this, and Merlin knew he did. Relief washed over the pair in waves, as a shocked surprise suffused his conscious self. While his God reassured her with gentle words and soft caresses, his mind flew to the past, reevaluating and analyzing.

Behavior patterns and actions cast new shadows, new light illuminating actions and words. His favorite theory for the girl had always been that she possessed great self assurance of her intellect. Merlin knew her to be the smartest student he ever taught, and most of the professors let her know it, showering praise left and right. Yet, he never noticed how lonely her life had been. Outside of the two dunderheads, and a couple others on occasion, the wo- girl in his arms rarely talked to anyone.

While her classmates were off experiencing all sorts of adolescent firsts, including her two Gryffindor bodyguards, she sat in the library, reading dusty tomes. Never once, to his knowledge, did anyone seek her for anything other than information or academic assistance. He caught her once telling off some fangirl of Potter's, how she didn't care who she was, and what she had on her, she would never give the girl an introduction to the Boy Who Lived. He hid for that one, mildly impressed by her loyalty and cunning in dissuading the girl after the aforementioned declaration.

In fact, the one time the -sod it- woman in his arms attended any sort of event, the boys tried to take advantage of her, and the girls insulted her. Afterwards, the castle settled back into the pretense that it never happened. Which left her much more like Cinderella than anyone else. To add to that, the Weasley boy did no favors, dating a bully and rubbing it in her face for the majority of last year.

Protectiveness bubbled up, unbidden. He didn't want to empathize. Yet, looking back over her six years at Hogwarts, how could he not? If it weren't for the two boys who, despite everything, knew how to get their heads out of the asses long enough to apologize and stick with her, where would she be? She reminded him far too much of himself. How did everyone miss on her? Of course, pubescent boys only see the shortest skirt and the tightest shirt.

A soft, tinkling voice broke his concentration, bringing his mind to this strange dreamscape. Resolute words pierced his heart, sure that the Goddess knew exactly his deepest, darkest, most held secret, and he reveled in it. A weight seemed to be lifted, and, for that moment, the thought of anyone wanting him around long enough to give him a family choked him up. As they laid back, sweet breezes and warmth lulling him to sleep, Severus allowed his mind to wander, thanking the dream for at least giving him the facsimile of a pregnant wife who loved him, and no one else.

oOo oOo oOo

The Autumnal Equinox came, and so Severus went to his cottage in the woods. Setting Filius and Septima as the 'responsible adults' to watch over the Carrows, he left the school for the evening with some sort of home of a decent return. Dusk colored the clearing, as people chattered over the news. He briefly spoke with the couple from before, them urging him to accept her, and him just feeling wrong-footed the whole time.

A small part of him wished that she would come to this gathering, smaller than the summer holidays. Yet, the rational and protective personas were glad. Wandering all of the British Isles was not a good idea when the Ministry wanted you dead, and he could not bring himself to deny the sigh of relief when he knew her to be safe. He spend the night in contemplative silence atop his boulder, legs crossed, arms propped on knees.

Morning dawned, bright and crisp, yet never once did he move. Even with magic to ground him, Severus found his thoughts an absolute mess, almost as untamable as the curly frizz upon his mate's head. With a resigned sigh, he turned towards the tucked away cottage, hoping to gain some clarity soon.

oOo oOo oOo

Days passed in similar manners. More often than not, he'd remember bits and pieces of dreams. Discomforting realizations started to form in his mind about Miss Granger. How truly insecure and afraid she felt. That she never felt pretty or wanted before. That, what she wanted above everything else, was someone to love her and only her. Every day, he woke up to the pain of his heartstrings being played like a fiddle. In the fog of barely-awareness, his mind often called out, trying to answer such a pure desire.

Eyes blinked sleep from them, and, moments later, the loud, if shrinking part, would shove all such sentiments into a box and go about his day. Phineas went as far as to say that she added another enchantment to his frame, unsure as to what it could be, though he still couldn't see or hear. Severus reasoned that knowing they still resided in Grimauld to be a positive.

Mid September, a sudden spike of anxiety shot through his system. Fingers and limbs froze, unable to move as his body itched to go forth and do something. Shaking off the perturbing sensations, the headmaster turned towards the predecessors behind him and called for Phineas. Seeing the Black ancestor there, Severus took a deep breath.

"Are they-?" he began only to be cut off.

"She walked past me not a quarter hour ago," the prompt answer. "I assume they are executing whatever plan they concocted. Yes, I will update you when I can."

"And what plan is this, my dear Phineas," Albus tittered after watching the tense exchange.

"Why, Albus, I thought you knew," the other man sneered. "Your little favorites are off doing some undoubtedly dangerous and noble act. Should they fall, due to a lack of proper preparation, you cannot blame us Slytherins. For once, we were doing exactly as you ordered us."

"I have complete faith that what they are doing is absolutely necessary, and that they will succeed," replied Dumbledore in his sanguine, tranquil tones, trying to settle ruffled scales.

"Yes, and that attitude is exactly what killed my descendent. No matter our political differences, he was still the last of my line," Phineas' icy reply sounded, soft and lethal. "I take great offense at your lackadaisical handling, Dumbledore."

"I daresay you do, Phineas," demurred the other man, "and I cannot fault you for your justified anger and anguish."

The Slytherin headmasters, past and present, ignored the flamboyant Gryffindor, especially when he started the wheedle information out of his previous spy. Severus snorted, saying he knew nothing. Almost an hour and a half later, as he packed up to go to lunch in the Great Hall, did the unrelenting tightness in his chest ease. Relief lifted the weight of worry from him, just knowing her to be safe.

oOo oOo oOo

Break In at the Ministry of Magic! Undesirable number 1 and 3 spotted! Where is number 2? The headline stared him in the face. A smug smirk pulled at Minerva's lips, Severus noted. She knew something, and the fact that his God remained quiet meant her to be safe. So this is their great plan, seething words flared through his mind, sneak into the ministry for some unknown reason and almost get caught at it!

His mark burned the night before, however, just as he gathered his things, an owl carried a message telling him to stay put. A small frown tugged at his lips, but Severus knew better than to disobey a direct order. Instead, he continued on the parchment mountain on his desk. Now, he could see why. With no knowledge pertaining to the troublesome three, his presence was better left at the school to keep the discipline. Black billowed behind his long, graceful steps up towards his office.

"Is this the noble and necessarily dangerous task you set your little cubs to do?" he growled, levitating the paper in front of the portrait for good measure. "Wouldn't all of this have been easier if they had someone to contact to give pertinent information?"

"We will not discuss this issue anymore, Severus," the dodding persona gone, left with only steel and authority. "You cannot have any contact with them. They cannot know. No one can."

"And if someone figures it out?" He growled. "Or if these imbellic children get themselves killed? What happens, then Albus?"

"It is your job to make so no one figures it out," frowned the man in the frame, blue eyes hard. "As for the later, I have complete faith they will live."

"That is no plan," an answering snarl. "If they die, we have as good as lost ourselves."

"You know my answer to all of this," Albus stated, serious and sure. "And you will abide by it if you wish to see Lily's son through this. To earn her forgiveness."

At that moment, the last string snapped, a loud twang echoed in his mind. Always about Potter. About his guilt for Lily. How he could never repay her, leading him with a carrot. Yet, some part of his knew he no longer did this for her. Perhaps at first, all those years ago, but even now, the task of watching over the children became an obligation. He fought the Dark Lord, not for some woman who soundly rejected him, but because it was the right thing to do.

In fact, the soft, treacherous part of him interjected, there is only one woman I would be doing any of this for, and you're damned lucky she's on your side. The rest of him reeled, insisting on the principal of the matter; torture, murder, and rape were wrong, as was blind discrimination and hatred. Yet, he knew, deep down, that she truly did matter, whether he wanted her to or not. And clearly, it does not, he snorted.

"As you say," the neutral response.

oOo oOo oOo

Towards the end of the month, a crate floated in front of the dark wizard at some ungodly hour. Unable to sleep, creating potions soothed him where alcohol and the written word could not. Unlike most students' ideas of him, Severus did have a heart and a soul, along with a bloody loud conscious. Keeping the matron well stocked calmed his nerves and made him feel more in control, like there was something he could do.

He rounded a back passage that would open near the supply closet and saw the warm glow of candlelight flicker under the exit. Soft voices flitted through.

"Are you sure?" the first voice, curious yet cautious.

"Absolutely! It's all set, Poppy," a Scottish lilt answered. "Even with the paperwork signed and filed, it's a bit surreal. And think, the two of them there. I originally wanted to set them up in the cottage, but this is much better, do not you think?"

"I think," the careful tones of the matron hummed. "That it will be just what is needed. Did you-?"

"Yes, and you will-?"

"Naturally, I would trust no other," busted the Hufflepuff busy-body.

"Well, enough about this for now," Minerva sighed, the sound of china tinkling entering the passageway, "I must return to my office, and maybe do a few rounds."

Farewells flew by and, within a quarter hour, the infirmary fell silent and still. A brow rose in contemplation of the conversation, rather sly and cryptic if he were to say so himself. Thoughts hummed through his mind, puzzling out the newest mystery in his domain.

October 1997

Severus knew Minerva slipped away the first weekend of October. To what end, he didn't know, nor did he care. As long as she kept up the pretense of teaching at the school, and following his demands, he could care less. The Carrows decided to test their limits with him, ending with more torturing of all three of them; the siblings for disobeying the Dark Lord's directives, and Severus for allowing them too much leash. He practically snorted, wanting to say how he had repeatedly and strenuously advised them to listen to him. Did it work? Hell no. Did that stop the Dark Lord from punishing them all? Absolutely not.

After the break in at the Ministry, the snake faced overlord appeared more paranoid than usual, suspicious of every shadow and every sound. He checked, in triplicate, each item of information brought forward. Severus took note, wondering just what could have made him more neurotic than normal. However, he valued his hide and life far more than a sated curiosity, thus leaving each time with some vague sense of accomplishment.

Around this time, other patterns appeared. The other, tenured professors, Hooch and Hagrid included, as well as Poppy Pomfrey, all appeared just as icy as glaciers. Yet, nothing ever went wrong with them. Oh, they gave as good as they got when they could do so safely, behind closed doors and away from prying ears and eyes. Often times, Minerva and Filius thought of inventive ways for the sheer joy of irritating him. However, they were all superficial. Singing suites of armor, color changing certain banners, the occasional personal storm cloud. All equally innocuous, and ridiculously frustrating to put up with, but no worse than Peeves.

Indeed, he noticed how the slips on his desk, typically the size of the alps, sometimes even close to the topography when he fell behind, were of normal, everyday occurrences, things that, if they were allowed, no one would bring to the headmaster. Their recommended punishments were reasonable, thus speeding the process along. What stalled his little system ended up being the Terror Twins, and their ideas for 'rightful' disciplinary action. The more repeat offenders, Longbottom, the youngest Weasley, and surprisingly Luna Lovegood, he was unable to shield completely, yet, he tried even for them.

One evening, as he stalked through the castle after dropping over another covert batch of potions for Poppy, he heard a clattering up ahead. Curious, legs swiftly and silently carried him towards the staircase and around the bend. A swish and he stood, disillusioned, as he watched the new troublesome trio attempt to get into his office.

"Darkness shall rise," Ginevera muttered.

"That's would be a ridiculous password," Lovegood remarked, unperturbed and dreamy as always. "He is a potions master, why not try some reagent?"

"Gryffindors suck," the redhead tried again.

"Seriously? He's the headmaster," Longbottom sighed.

"Okay, okay, how about Slytherins Rule," and light blue eyes watched the gargoyle with an intent stare.

"Nightshade," the boy tried, taking the Lovegood girl's advice. "Aconite? Belladonna? Snodgrass? Knotgrass? Lacewing Flies?"

"You're rather terrible at this, Neville," the blonde giggled at the blushing Gryffindor boy.

"You said try potions ingredients," he mumbled, looking away.

"We can't just give up, though," Ginevra hissed. "Harry needs it. It was left in the Headmaster's will for him!"

Now, that was an interesting tidbit, Severus mentally filed away, curious brow rising as he wondered just what boy wonder needed from his office.

"That just means we have to keep on trying," Longbottom frowned in concentration as his thoughtful brown eyes gazed at the gargoyle. "Could you let us in, please? It's very important."

The stone didn't so much as blink.

"Dragon's Blood," Lovegood hummed into the silence.

Taking pity on them, and secretly worried that the Carrows would appear out of nowhere and force a true punishment on them, Severus mentally drew the rune and gave the gargoyle permission to allow the students up. Triumphant grins flashed between the small group of rebels as they clamored up the stairs and opened the now barely guarded door. He snorted at their soft cries of success and followed a moment later, thanking the guardian of the door.

"As if I'd leave my office this open and defenseless," he snorted on the landing as he listened to the children root around his office.

"Ah ha! I found it," Ginevera stage whispered, "Neville, come and help me, I can't lift it right."

Shuffling and grunting filled the air as the students attempted to lift and carry the goblin made blade. Shoulders shook, straightening the teaching robes, and a sigh whooshed from his lungs. Taking a deep breath, he flung the door open with a loud slam, shocking and startling the three miscreants into still silence. A single, black brow rose, asking a silent question.

If the moment were not so grave, nor the circumstance so delicate, Severus would have snorted in amusement before verbally thrashing the interlopers. Ginevra stood upon Lovegood's back, holding one part of the glass display case, while Longbottom stood on the other side, attempting to not drop onto the chair he stood, rather precariously, teetering back and forth in haphazard fashion. Eyes wide, mouths gaping, the two Gryffindors stared, dumbfounded, at him. Meanwhile, Lovegood turned her head and gave a dreamy wave of the fingers. Severus mentally palmed his head in exasperation.

The sword of Gryffindor twinkled behind the partially removed display case. A flick of his wand saw the glass securely around the silver artifact and the rest of his room righted. He motioned, imperious and expectant, to the students, whom all seated themselves in front of his desk. A look of mutinous rage sneered from the Gryffindors, while Lovegood, ever the free spirit, gave him a dreamy smile.

"And what, may I ask, brings you to my office well past curfew and caused you to pilfer it?" His low, silky voice asked in a cold tone.

"We were just trying to get the Sword of Gryffindor, Professor," the Ravenclaw answered with her typical aplomb.

"Luna!" her companions chorused.

"Yes, Miss Lovegood, I surmised as much myself," he dryly retorted, feeling a migraine coming on.

"Well, you see, Professor," the blonde continued past the groans of her mischievous counterparts, "Ginny misses Harry and thinks that if she were to help him along, he'd be back with her sooner, so they can continue to sneak snogs all over the school," the redhead Gryffindor flushed a bright pink much to Severus' hidden amusement. "And Neville is trying to impress someone, though I'm not sure who." The boy hid his face in his hands.

"I just went along because they asked me. Though, really, sir, I have no idea how they think they'll get it to Harry. The plan was rather ill conceived and I told them as much. The wacklespurts were everywhere while we planned, you see. They are very bad. Now, if there were some nargles, then maybe we'd have a chance. Obviously, the wacklesprouts do not lie."

Severus counted to ten and prayed to the Gods, before counting to ten again. Merlin give him strength, he turned to face the quietly bickering trio in front of him. If he were an emotional man, the result of this situation was two fold; either laugh or cry. As he was not prone to fits of emotion, he simply raised a brow, breathed normally and glared at the students before him. The two lion cubs flinched at the sight, while the Ravenclaw watched with detached bemusement.

"Be that as it may, Miss Lovegood, you and your compatriots attempted to steal from my office, and that is an offense I do not take lightly," he ground. "Detention, for the next week, every night, with Professor Hagrid in the Forbidden Forest. Do. I . Make. Myself. Clear?"

Pinched glares from the Gryffindors were offset by the cheerful "Yessir!" of their Ravenclaw friend. He pinched the bridge of his nose and stood, ushering the trio from his office before escorting them to their common rooms. All the while, Ginevera and Longbottom shot him dirty looks and whispered nasty things under their breath. Lovegood bounced behind the pair, fay touched as always, looking and conversing with several portraits along the way.

As they rounded back the corridor from Gryffindor Tower, the blonde Ravenclaw walked next to him, oblivious as always. In previous years, where he would escort her without punishment to the Ravenclaw common room, they would make small talk. One bullied child to another, though most would never know it. He would ask if she found all her shoes yet, and she would remark one way or another. This lead to a few suggested hiding spots Avery and Mulciber used before figuring out the little half blood could defend himself.

Yet, he could not even do so much as that. They walked up one of the moving staircases without breaking step.

"In case you were curious, Professor," the girl's whimsical voice hummed. "I am not missing trainers this year, which is a relief. Only Charlotte O'harea has hidden my robes around the common room, and even that wasn't too bad. I found them all within a week. Since, no one's touched my things. It's been a pleasant experience to have all of them together and not have to go hunting around for socks this term."

"I see," his noncommittal answer.

She chattered away about auras and creatures, filling the minutes of silence with her oddly musical voice, like wind chimes in the breeze. Only at the bronze knocker did the girl end her odd monologue and turned towards him. Blue eyes pierced him, and, even with his occlumency walls up, felt as if his soul laid bare to this slip of a child. A moment passed before a smile, appreciative in her dreamy fashion, bloomed on her face.

"Thank you, Professor," she went to turn.

"Pardon?" He asked despite himself.

"Thank you, for all you have done," the blonde sixth year smiled at him once more. "I know it must be difficult for you, but, considering, this year has been tolerable thus far. It could be a lot worse."

"I would say you're welcome," Severus dryly retorted, hiding his confusion, "but I know not what you speak of. Get inside your tower, Miss Lovegood. You have detention for the next week."

"Of course, sir," chirped the girl, who turned, and, with a riddle ("You can see me in water, but I never get wet. What am I?" "A reflection.") left Severus in the hall alone.

A pensive furrow of the brow reflected the state of mind left by the little chat with Lovegood. Severus always knew her to be fay born, much like her father's family's reported ancestry. This gave her a unique insight to life, the world, and alliances. He shrugged off all thoughts as he heard a heavy scrape by his office. He growled, realizing his mistake far too late, hoping for the best. If the boy really did need that sword…

"Hello, Severus," Amycus greeted him with a horrible, toothy smile. "I see you have dealt with the little trouble makers."

"Not that it is any of your business, but yes I did," he scowled at the disgusting man. "Pray, what made breaking into my office so popular this evening."

"Oh, Alecto caught some Hufflepuff chit out of bed, and, let's say, got a few answers as to why it was," a dark gleam danced in his eyes, thoroughly disgusting Severus. "Don't look at me like that, Snape. We didn't touch her, pity though it is."

He rose a brow. At least the little torture session with the Dark Lord had some effect on them. That had to count for something.

"We found out that she was meeting up with some friends to sneak into your office and steal something. She didn't know what they wanted with it, but went to help, sodding Hufflepuffs. You know how they are," the man continued on. "So, Alecto and I came up here and saw the office to rights, and took the duty of removing the object to our Lord as soon as possible. Anything to keep Potter from winning, right?"

"You. What?" Severus ground out, seeing red at the deliberate undermining and invasion of his privacy. "Without me there? Did you think I am incapable of doing so myself? Or that the Dark Lord told me to keep it here? Perhaps, if you used that bit between your thoroughly neanderthal skull of yours, you would have thought to ask me about it? If it was protected? If that is fake sent to demoralize the opposition every time they saw it hanging in my office?"

The pitiful man stammered and paled, the look of horror on his face. A spark of dark satisfaction filled Severus as he prowled closer, towering over the cowering man. Let him feel just how enraged this evening made him. How much anger and hatred he contained, all directed at this poor, pathetic excuse of a man. If he could, Severus would wipe him from the face of the earth. Yet, rational thought punched instinct in the face and regained control. With several sneering insults, and a dismissal, Severus left the man scurrying away.

"Well, I hope you're happy, old man," his deep baritone snarled into the silence of his newly warded office. "I hope you had something else up that garish sleeve of your's, because the sword is beyond me now."

Nothing. Not a peep. Not even a pretend snore from the multitude of portraits that stood behind the solid desk. A perverse sense of vindication swirled through Severus' head.

"And to think," he continued, voice low and sly, "This all could have been avoided if you decided to tell me something. Perhaps your precious Potter would be able to do whatever mystery task to win this war with his inherited weapon."

Severus swept out of the room as the other portraits began to round on his predecessor. Several exclamations of how one cannot simply give such a thing to a student followed him to the hidden study. Though the tower had chambers of their own, Severus never felt right in them. They were too airy, too free, and he decidedly did not fit. That did not mean he didn't use the couch for a short kip or the study for moments alone during the day. In fact, hearing all the previous heads of the school scold and tear into Dumbledore did much to alleviate his pounding head. Serves the old codger right, his mind growled.

oOo oOo oOo

Balmy breezes and spicy fragrances danced around Severus once more, and he found himself in the dream once again. The majority of the month passed between this world and the waking, where his God and her Goddess would commune and talk, bond, and slowly crumble his resolve. The things he learnt surprised and enticed him in turns. She showered him with affection. She spoke of hidden dreams that matched his own far too well for his comfort. All the while, growing and changing with his child. Awake, the dreams tasted so sweet and too good to be true. While in Morpheus' grasp, he dared to believe.

Thus passed October.

Samhain dawned cold and crisp, cloudy and grey. Dread built throughout the month, as had confusion. No longer railing against the thought of being with Granger, her records stated her a full year older than he thought, thus a graduate in his mind, other obstacles stood in his way. As he sneered at students in the hall and snarled at faculty and staff alike, apprehension filled him. The dreams took a more desperate, pleading tenor the past few weeks. Ashamed and embarrassed, he released those emotions the only way he could at this moment; by raging at others.

Phineas' 'help' hadn't done anything of the sort. Early in the month, Granger granted him sight once more, though he couldn't hear a single thing, no matter which portrait he sat from. The twits still remained in Grimmauld, but he hadn't seen anything of the young woman. Attempts at lip reading yielding only so much. Dueling often made an appearance on the boy's faces, and a single portrait remained in their make-shift practice room. However, neither boy made more mention of their female friend who disappeared.

Which did not help with Severus' stress levels. He accepted that he felt something for her, more than he ought and desired. Not knowing her condition made him uneasy, as if she were running away from him in particular. Which fed his self loathing, insecurities, shame, and embarrassment. This led to him being angry, and, well the cycle continued. He knew the God asked and pleaded on a nightly basis, and that the Goddess responded enthusiastically, vowing to take care of him if he let her. Yet, a lifetime of insecurity and rejection kept niggling at the back of his mind. Why should this change now? With him, of all people?

A loud crack, and Severus left his chambers after the feast. Anxiety filled him as he flitted about the little cottage in preparation for the celebration. Samhain always drew a large crowd of curious muggles, which guaranteed a far-too-crowded time for someone like him. Fingers fidgeted, legs bounced, and dark eyes scanned while he sat atop his customary stony seat.

Somewhere in this undulating mass of humanity, Hermione Granger stood or sat or waited for him. That addictive lick of tingling warmth prickled his skin, exponentially increasing the tumultuous chaos of his mind and stomach. Part of him, a rather large part by now, if he were being totally honest, exalted at the prospect of his mate wanting and waiting just for him. Yet, trusting dreams, of all things, felt too insubstantial and fraught with disappointment. Barely noticing the change in music or atmosphere, dark eyes gazed about the clearing.

Chanting and magic rolled over his senses, bubbling and roiling across his skin, in his blood. Liquid power flowed through him, heightening and electrifying the senses. A shout unleashed magic, exuberant laughter and singing, celebrating and dancing began as his senses reoriented himself from the ancient magic all around. A few moments and eyes opened to a whole new world. Various hues twirled in an elegant, ancient dance of magic, bleeding into one another. Yet, they could not hold his attention. Not this festival. Wading through the kaleidoscope of color, eyes searched as his body hummed, leading him to her.

A crack in the crowd revealed, sitting and waiting. For him. Her amber and burgundy stood, flickers of brilliant scarlet danced with her colors, and, before he could think on it, she left. Severus blinked once before he gave chase. Warm colors darted and wove through the writhing crowd, each glimpse leading him closer to his prize. Triumph and satisfaction flooded his chest when, within the shadows of their clearing, he caught her.

For a moment, he stood and relished the feel of her back pressed against his chest, hands twined at their sides. Everything stopped, and righted at once. Contentment and tranquility hummed through his body, mixing with the magic induced euphoria into a potent, addictive cocktail of emotions. Arms moved to wrap around her slim waist, only find it no longer slim. Muscles tensed as his mind whirled at all the implication, the thought 'What have I done?' spiraling on repeat as her body stilled.

Pregnant. His mate and ex-student stood in a clearing in Ireland, cradled against his body, round with his child. Not a single thought formed into coherence for several moments. About the only thing his mind could settle on were colorful expressions for several moments. Which meant that everything in their dreams were true. Her happiness at the situation. Her desire to fulfill his dreams, as they were her's. That optimistic part that grew over the past few months wanted to accept this boon, this gift, and hold it close. Yet, Slytherin logic and pragmatism needed something more substantial.

He spoke and asked and prodded. Only to grow to learn that she wanted this just as much as him. Happiness and excited nervousness radiated from her being as he questioned her, cautious and wary at first. The timing, she conceded to be wrong, but asked when better. He nearly snorted. Any time other than during a war where they stood on opposite sides would have been better, yet her soothing croon smoothed away the edges of his sarcasm and ire.

Small, warm hands guided large calloused ones from her growing waist to the prominent curve of her stomach. Heart caught in his throat, overwhelmed with emotions usually kept under lock and key. Desire and longing mixed with need and a surge of unfounded affection for the brave woman. Now he knew why Phineas' spying came to an end, why he now only saw, never heard, the dunderheads in Grimmauld Place. She wanted to keep this a secret from him, and knew enough about portraits to take appropriate precautions. He could understand, and commended, her desire to keep this quiet.

Bringing his mind to the situation at hand. Her happiness suddenly appeared rather important to him. Curious how he spent months denying caring and abhorring that attachment he now so readily accepted, desired even. A single night and a single truth brought it out, and he could not stop himself from asking just what she required. The answer floored him. She wanted him. His pessimistic mind roared to life. No woman wanted him, so why would she? Fleeting answers such as, 'because you're her mate as well,' flitted through his chaotic mind.

Her sweet affections shaking his being far more than he wished to admit, but no. Unbeknownst to his conscious mind, strong arms wrapped around the witch in front, hold tight, almost panicked. Order slowly formed in the mess of his mind, senses returning to him; the soft sway of her hips, the brisk, fragrant breeze. Voicing his question once more, it shocked him to find that she would take no other. A gulp slid down his throat, and another question, fierce and needy, as he dug for resolve to do the selfless thing, to save her, them a terrified voice corrected, from him. Yours and yours alone, she had asserted, almost in desperation, and his mind looped those words again and again.

She expected him to reject her, for no one to want her, not even her mate through magic. No one expressed a desire for her before this, and why should he be any different. Severus felt this train of thought, and it resonated so strongly within him, he could not say no for the life of him. Every weak, feeble argument brushed way with her delicate hand. Each assertion brought a new spike of fear and terror into him; how could he ever live up to whatever expectations she built? He would simply endanger and disappoint, and thus pushed farther until he asked what she would do if he simply said no.

The answer froze him to the spot. He knew many things about the woman in front of him, both from their nightly dreams and from the six years he spent as her professor. If there was one thing Severus knew about Hermione Granger is that she did not run away from a problem. Unless, he added, she deemed it hopeless to stay otherwise. Surprisingly pragmatic and realistic for a Gryffindor, the woman in his arms knew when to retreat and lick her wounds. She planned for his rejection, a distraught thought spun out and stuck, and planned accordingly. How very Slytherin of you, he mused, defense cracking.

Once more, small hands guided the larger pair along the swell of her torso until it rested, and murmured to him. A son, he blinked back the unexpected tears, I have a son. Stopped, she pressed his palm firmly and something flittered and flitted against it. Trembling movements and a sweet voice washed over his senses, and Severus knew he lost. In his possessive and tight embrace stood everything he ever wanted; a witch willing to love him and the promise of a family.

May the gods have mercy on anyone who wished ill on them, for Merlin knew he would have none.