Severus Snape, illustrious Master of Potions at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, sat in a room that had served as office to some of the Wizarding world's best wizards. A cup of tea sat cooling in his pale hands. Ginger and mint, his favorite, though ignored. His face, paler than usual, was stricken with semi- horror. Dark eyes flitted between his father and mother and then swept over to the slip of a girl. A sixth year at Hogwarts. His student. Molten lead orbs looked up to Serces Snape. His father nodded, and Severus looked back to the girl. His wife. He started to pray.i "Oh God, don't let me hurt her"/i

Hermione Granger sat in the chair next to Severus, looking to his father and mother, her name was... iOh crap, what was it?! Oh, yes. Belladonna. Serces and Belladonna."/i Unfortunately, Belladonna was presently sneering at her. "So that's where Professor Snape gets it". She tried to help herself, but failed holding back, and gave a huge sneer, with a soft snarl. This was rewarded with a grin, and Professor Snapes hand crashing down on her thigh. She jumped, giving a soft squeal.

"Kindly refrain from snarling at your new mother in law Pet" Came Severus' whisper in his ear, accentuating his hot words with a sweep of his tongue.

Hermione threw her arms around Severus again, hugging him tight. This was the man she knew, the one who wasn't afraid to share his love for her with his parents. For nearly three months, they had been seeing one another, with Dumbledore's permission. It wasn't until Cornelius Fudge Flooed into Severus' rooms and found Hermione and Severus in a very adult position. He had insisted on marriage straightaway. Severus' parents had come immediately, but Hermione's parents disowned her.

She blinked back to the present as Severus' hands had plucked the cup from her hands, and then grasped her middle, picking her up and depositing her on his lap. He then wrapped his arms around her as she tucks her head under his chin, relaxing visibly. Married life wouldn't be so bad... Would it?

"All that is golden does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

a light from the shallows shall spring;

renewed shall be the blade that was broken,

the crownless again shall be king."