CHAPTER NINE

Hermione was, for the moment, blissfully happy. The Apothecary had sent them a little challenge - an ancient formula for a European potion called simply 'Intégrité De La Vie'. It had not been brewed successfully for several generations, and very few had even attempted it... but if they could get it to work, it would be invaluable in treating those who had gone insane or suffered catestrophic nervous breakdown. This meant lots of research, translation, retranslation (Severus refused to concede that just because she could read Medieval French and he couldn't, that meant she got to have the translation to herself), experimentation, narrowing down, broadening up, niggling, squabbling, and throwing things. She'd had to make a special trip to buy a set of mugs so hideous that nobody cared if they got broken, and Winky had swept up enough shattered kitten-and-daisy bedecked china to fill several dustpans.

She suspected that he thought, in the week coming up to the anniversary of Lord Voldemort's death, they needed a distraction. The way she'd verbally eviscerated a hapless clerk when he'd asked her if she'd decided what party to go to might have given him a clue, she had to concede.

It had helped, both to distract her from the anniversary and from her confusion about the man sitting at the other end of the table. They'd spent several happy days bickering, throwing ideas at each other, forgetting to eat, and generally descending into a blissful intellectual haze.

"Have you got Heilende Tränke für den Verstand?" she asked, wiping her inky fingers absently on her sleeve and reaching for a fresh piece of parchment. "I think maybe I'm getting somewhere with the three sprigs of 'feuille-argentée' the original text refers to. I think it might be the same as the 'silberner Wedel' in that memory restorative that old Mueller thinks is rubbish but concedes does work sometimes..."

"I had it this morning..." Severus excavated through the pile of books beside him, and passed it over. "Here. Mueller was an idiot, but I'll concede he was a scrupulous taker of notes."

"Bless him," Hermione said fondly. Far too many of the brewers of older times had simply used colloquial names for things, thus encoding their formulae far more thoroughly, from the point of view of those who tried to follow in their footsteps centuries later, than they could have by using actual codes.

"It's all that's saved him from being forgotten," Severus said rather sourly. "Is there tea?"

Hermione jiggled the teapot hopefully, and got a sad little sploshing sound. "No. WINKY!" she called plaintively. "THERE'S NO TEA LEFT!"

Winky appeared seconds later, barely visible under an enormous tea-tray. "You is forgetting lunch again!" she said reproachfully, shoving things aside to make room for the fresh teapot, milk, sugar, lemon slices, biscuits, and an enormous plate of sandwiches. Hermione yelped and was just in time to rescue the maligned Mueller from being pushed right onto the floor.

"Winky!" Severus snapped, steadying his stack of books with one hand. "If you must mess the place up with a meal for four, kindly do so on the table at the other end of the room!"

Winky looked around the room and uttered a tiny, squeaky snort. Hermione couldn't blame her. It looked as if a hurricane armed with books, parchment, and quills had gone on a rampage through the study, and Winky's contribution was probably the tidiest area of the entire room. "Master Snape will become ill again if he does not eat!" she said determinedly. "If Winky is putting food where he cannot reach it, he will be forgetting it again. And Hermione is just as bad!" She bustled around filling mugs and loading plates, bobbing at them insistantly until they made room, then disappearing with a brisk crack.

Severus grumbled something probably quite uncomplimentary, picking up a sandwich. "Look at this," he said disgustedly, picking through an untidy stack of parchments. "I had these arranged." He seemed quite unaware of the fact that he was almost inhaling sandwiches as he rummaged through the parchments, arranging them all over again.

Hermione, who was going through biscuits almost as fast, dug around for her fountain pen. "She's a lot more argumentative now than she used to be, have you noticed that?" she asked, flicking through Heilende Tränke für den Verstand. "I think she's finally gotten used to the idea of freedom."

"She's positively bossy." Severus poked around the plate of biscuits until he found a lemon cream. "I blame your dreadful influence."

"I am happy to accept responsibility. I think I convinced her with the 'you can do what's best for them, not what they THINK is best for them' angle." Hermione located a ham and cheese sandwich and bit into it, belatedly realizing how hungry she was. "It's more efficient, in the long term."

"And more annoying, as well," Severus muttered, but not especially as if he meant it. His snipes and grumbles were getting a lot less nasty, these days. "Do you have the ink?"

"Don't need it. MY pen doesn't dry out every few words." She waved it at him. "I keep telling you, if you'd just try one, I'm sure you'd like it."

"I did, and I didn't like it. I don't know how you can write with something that thick without your fingers cramping up." Severus found his ink, dipping his quill and frowning thoughtfully at his parchment. "I think possibly the references to a 'song of morning' may refer not to a dawn-blooming flower but to an actual musical element."

"A potion you sing to?" Hermione rubbed the tip of her nose with the end of her pen. "Or... birds, maybe? They sing at dawn. Are there any songbirds with bits useful in healing potions? Or maybe birdsong itself is a key?"

He considered that, his once bitter face relaxed into happy thought. "That is a promising thought... You keep looking for your silver leaf, I'll consult 'Magische Vogels'. I have a copy somewhere..." He headed for the bookshelves, food forgotten again as he rummaged happily. Returning the the table, he gave her a brief, warm smile as he sat down, then submerged himself in his book.

Well. So much for that distraction from her feelings for him. That smile had made her heart pound and her emotions do little backflips.

Admit it, Granger, you're hopelessly in love with him. And I do mean 'hopelessly', however optimistic Ginny might be about it. At least he likes having you around... maybe if you give it another couple of years, he'll forget about student-Hermione and see grownup-Hermione... well, actually, two years of this will land you in a funny farm, so it'll be more total-lunatic-Hermione really, but maybe he goes for that.


Severus picked at his dinner, knowing that Hermione was doing the same. The Intégrité De La Vie had worked well as a distraction until now, but tomorrow was the first anniversary of the Dark Lord's death, and no distraction was enough now.

Except, just barely, her.

He let himself watch her, admiring her delicate features and soft, fair skin even as he fretted inwardly at the sad droop of her mouth and the slow way she poked at her food. Of course she was unhappy. She'd lost friends - and the boy she loved, damnit - in that final battle. She'd been in the hands of the Death Eaters for a period of at least an hour, and Merlin only knew what had happened in that time... she'd never talked about it, and he'd never pried.

He wanted to help her. To somehow make this easier for her. But, short of putting a potion of Dreamless Sleep in her tea so she slept right through the day, he couldn't think how. They both preferred not to talk about it, they weren't on such terms that he could hold her while she mourned... and even if they had been, he wasn't sure he could stand holding her while she wept for someone else. He was a jealous man, he always had been, he would only wind up hurting her more.

"We probably shouldn't try to work on the Intégrité De La Vie tomorrow," she said softly, catching him unawares as she looked up and met his eye. "We're not... going to be at our best."

"No." He looked down at his plate. His shepherd's pie looked particularly unappetizing, as good as Winky's cooking always was. "It is a fascinating exercise, however, if a somewhat frustrating one."

"More than somewhat." She dredged up a small smile. "If we do manage to perfect it, though,and it works the way it was supposed to..." She sipped her wine, the unhappy introspection fading a little from her face. "It might do something for Neville's parents," she said hopefully. "That would make him so happy... he adores them, you know, and I really think they know who he is... his mother's always hoarding things to give to him."

"I hope so." He'd seen the Longbottoms only once, since they'd been confined to St Mungo's. He remembered both of them from their days at school, although they'd been a couple of years ahead of him. It had been painful to see the change in them. "He is working there now, isn't he?"

"Apprentice Herbologist," Hermione agreed. "He adores it... I think he'd sleep in the greenhouses if they let him."

"It was always his best subject, as I recall." He was not going to say anything unkind about her friend, not today. And as mad as Neville had always driven him, he felt guilty about how his evil-teacher guise had made him treat the boy.

"Yeah..." She ate a forkful of shepherd's pie, with a dutiful look on her face, then sighed and laid down her fork. "I'm going to go get an early night, I think," she said quietly. "Do you mind if I have the bathroom first?"

"Not at all." He wanted to say something kind, something reassuring, something that would help, but he didn't know how. "Sleep well," he offered, knowing how inadequate it was.

She gave him a small smile, pausing on her way out of the room to rest a hand lightly on his shoulder. "You too," she said softly. "I'll keep an ear out, in case you don't."

"As will I. Goodnight, Hermione."

She smiled again, and headed for the door. "Goodnight, Severus."

He watched the door swing closed behind her, and then leaned back in his chair, closing his eye, the better to imagine that she was still there.

I love you...


Hermione was hiding, and she knew it.

She'd gotten up well before he had, and headed down to the laboratory. They'd agreed not to work on the Intégrité De La Vie, but if she didn't do something she'd go insane. Some people brooded - Hermione either worked or exploded.

Severus was a brooder... she was pretty sure he was in the study now, going over things in his mind and sinking back into the pit of depression he'd been slowly crawling out of. She should go talk to him, distract him, but she would only fall apart herself if she did.

So she'd started a complex salve for the more persistent and unpleasant skin-conditions - not a fussy one, it would be forgiving of a few mistakes, but it took time and a lot of work. And while she worked at it, she tried an exercise that she'd learned from Remus Lupin. She closed her eyes, tried to silence her mind, and then let what words would rise from the roil of thoughts and emotions.

"Endings," she whispered aloud, stirring a shred of Kneazle fur into the salve. "Beginnings. Love. Fear. Inevitable."

That helped. Once she had words, she could start making sense of what she was feeling.

Today marked an ending. It had been a year. It was all over. She was as recovered as she was going to get, she had moved on, even the nightmares were rarer now. And a beginning, too... "First day of the rest of your life," she muttered, smiling wryly at the cliche. Time to stop hiding, to start living her life again.

The love and fear were part and parcel of each other, all focused on the man inside the house. She would have to do something about that, but not yet. They needed... more time. Time to be certain.

As for the 'inevitable'... that was why she was hiding. Ever since she'd woken up, she'd been twitchy. Something was coming, she could feel it tingling over her skin. Maybe it was a memory of how she'd felt last year, maybe it was just fear of the future, but she hadn't been able to shake the feeling all day. Something is coming something is going to happen brace yourself be ready...

"Or maybe I'm just overtrained, after seven years of disasters," she told herself aloud. "It's Harry's fault. He's made me paranoid."


The anniversary of Voldemort's death, of his own torture and maiming and the loss of students and friends on both sides, was enough to drive even his stifled longing for Hermione from his mind, for a little while.

Hermione hadn't been at breakfast. She was in the laboratory, he knew, but he'd chosen not to venture down to the end of the garden today. Her memories were, doubtless, as raw and painful as his, too much so to be shared - and he doubted that either of them could have held a conversation on any other topic today. It was better that they didn't see each other. He could offer her no comfort, and it would be monstrously unfair to expect comfort from her.

So he lingered in the study, ordering Winky from his sight when she appeared to try to coax him to eat. He tried to distract himself at first with books, with tidying up the detritus of their work, with the translation of that Elvish passage... but soon the memories pulled him in anyway.

A year ago today, Voldemort had smilingly struck him down, without warning. When he'd awakened, he'd been bound, spread-eagled against a wall, his wand in Pettigrew's hands as Voldemort slowly and patiently explained the the steps by which he'd discovered Snape's treachery. The steps he intended to take to punish it. He always made a point of telling people what he was going to do to them, to increase their fear as much as possible.

And, though he'd tried to hide it, Severus had been horribly afraid. Pain he was accustomed to, but the slow mutilation Voldemort had described had left him pale and shaking before a drop of blood had been shed. His fingers had merely been the beginning... eventually he would have lost his hands completely. His legs, too, would have been sacrificed. His eyes, his tongue, would have been torn from his head. And he wouldn't have been allowed to bleed to death, either... Voldemort had intended his punishment of the traitor to go on for days, and all the Death Eaters would have had a chance to participate. The shards of broken glass in his lungs had been Lucius Malfoy's idea...

If the Order hadn't intervened when they did, hadn't appeared when he'd given up all hope - he would have broken, he would have pleaded for death, and he would not have received it.

He realized with a start that his quill was crushed and broken in his grip, ink dripping slowly onto the parchment. Swallowing hard, he laid it down slowly, pushing back from the table. The translation could wait for another day.

Stumbling a little, he made his way up the stairs to his bedroom. Winky would be coming back to the study to try to get him to eat again, soon, and he didn't really want Winky to see him like this - the faithful little creature worried enough, and he didn't deserve it. He had done nothing but berate her and order her away, when she'd first followed him here, and yet she'd stayed.

Just as Hermione had. He'd tried to order her out, too, and the memory seemed so distant now. He'd hated her for seeing him like this, resented her interference and her pity. And now... now he would give anything to keep her by his side. But he didn't deserve her, not even the friendship that wasn't nearly enough anymore.

Reaching his room, he closed the door and leaned against it. He'd been - content, the last few months. Even happy. The depression had lessened, he'd been able to forget his guilt for days at a time, as he flouted the loneliness he deserved and fell for a girl he couldn't have. Now the guilt returned, as the memories refused to be denied.

And then, to his shock, as his thoughts travelled that well-worn path... something new surfaced.

Anger.

He was tired of punishing himself. He had risked more than anyone else, had faced death and torment time and again, and it was not fair. It was not just. He'd gone from being abused by the Marauders to being manipulated by Voldemort to being controlled by Dumbledore, and he was suddenly blisteringly angry at all of them. He would NOT keep torturing himself on their behalf. It was over, it was finished, and he was done with them all.

A sudden twinge in his fist brought him back to reality, and he realized with a shock that he'd punched the wall. He'd actually punched the wall. For the first time since he was in his teens, he'd so lost control of his emotions that his body had lashed out without his conscious awareness. And the loss of control had felt good.

It was his left hand, and as he examined the reddened knuckles, his eye was drawn back along the arm. The Dark Mark was faded, but still there - he'd spent hours staring at it while he tortured himself for his inadequacy, his worthlessness, the knowledge that he should have died.

It had to go.

His old potions kit was still here, tucked away under the desk. His silver knife was clean and razor sharp. That would do.

He didn't bother to numb the pain as he sank the slender point carefully into his skin. He was inured to pain, he'd suffered so very much of it over his lifetime - and this pain was a good one, a cleansing one, as he excised the mark he'd used to torture himself with for the last eighteen years. It was over. He had a chance to start over, and he was going to take it and be damned to them all. He had a life to live, and he was going to live it.

Removing a section of one's own skin was a disgusting process, but he persevered, muttering a quiet charm to slow the bleeding. He didn't want to stop it entirely - it would be easier to regrow the section of skin if he didn't. He'd clean up the mess later, he was used to that. Once the patch of skin was severed he breathed the soft, songlike spell he'd invented years before to heal his hurts, wincing as the edges of the wound slowly grew together, pink new skin spreading towards the middle of the wound. It was a little thinner than the rest, and still sensitive, he'd have to use the spell again... but with the bleeding stopped, he turned his attention to the blood-covered Dark Mark. Fire would do nicely to destroy it.

He muttered a spell that drew the moisture from the patch of skin, leaving it dry and almost mummified, the Mark still clearly visible. Then he lifted his wand and touched it almost ritualistically to the Mark. Bright blue flame engulfed it, and he watched, feeling an unimaginable weight lift slowly off his shoulders. It was over. He was free.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?"

He looked away from the dying flames that had just consumed the last of the Dark Mark to see Hermione standing in the doorway, as pale as a sheet and her eyes huge with shock. Her horrified scream startled him, until he looked down and realized that his hands were covered with blood, the floor marked with it, the bloody knife still clearly visible. "I'm all right," he said hastily as he rose a little unsteadily to his feet. "I-"

"ALL RIGHT?" She crossed the room in two strides, and slapped him hard enough to make his ears ring. "You... you..." she raged as he staggered, staring at her in shock. "How could you?"

She lifted her hand again but he caught her wrist. He could hold her off, now - he wasn't especially strong, but he was significantly bigger than she was. "How could I?" he demanded, the anger rising again. "How dare you come barging in here, invading my privacy-"

"I was worried about you!" she shouted back. "Winky told me that you sent her away, that you were hiding up here, and I came up to check that you were all right! I thought maybe I could help!"

"You do help!" he shouted, still holding her slender wrist as she tried to hit him again. "But you've been avoiding me all day! I thought you didn't want to talk to me, that it would be too painful!"

"Not as painful as finding out you'd done something stupid after all we've been through!" she raged, flushed with fury now instead of pale, her eyes flashing. "I can't lose you too, I can't!"

"I wasn't doing something stupid, I was doing something I had to!" he growled, shaking her and holding out his arm, making her look at the patch of pink, unblemished skin where the Mark had been. "It's over, Hermione! I had to stop torturing myself with it!"

They were shouting, he realized dazedly, but they weren't fighting. Maybe it was easier to say things like this, when you were angry and afraid and they just came out...

She looked, and gulped, swaying a little. "You... you idiot!" she whispered fiercely, touching the edge of the skin. "Doing something like this, here, you could have severed a vein or infected the wound or-"

"I had to do this," he said quietly. "I just... had to let it go, Hermione. I couldn't live the rest of my life punishing myself for what's done."

She nodded, her lovely eyes swimming with tears. "I've been telling you that for months, moron," she whispered, and then she was hugging him tightly, ignoring the blood that smeared both of them.

He held her back, pulling her tightly to him, and she looked up in surprise - he didn't always return her embraces, and was usually gentle and tentative when he did. But now he couldn't hold her tightly enough... and when she looked up, her face so close to his, he couldn't resist.

He kissed her. Afraid as he was of being rejected, he could no more live for the rest of his life under the burden of unspoken love than of guilt. He was done with torturing himself. Now was the moment to sieze the day, to know... to kiss her, at least once...

And she kissed him back, without a moment's hesitation, melting into his arms as they kissed almost shyly at first, then more eagerly as they both realized that the other wasn't pulling away. Then she did, just enough to speak between kisses. "I love you," she said softly, giving him a half-frightened look as the words slipped out.

Severus stared at her for a moment. That was it? It had been this easy, all along? He kissed her again, holding her tightly, and then he rested his forehead against hers. "I love you too," he said quietly, blushing a little at how anti-climactic and... and silly it sounded. But it felt... right. No melodramatics, this time, no years of misunderstandings and lies and misery. Just... I love you. As simple as that.

She let out a tiny laugh, of relief and happiness, and slid her arms around his neck. "We're both idiots," she told him, cuddling against him as she kissed him again. "But you're a bigger one, I'm sticking to that."

"Of course I am, I'm a foot and a half taller than you are," he said, and she laughed again, a happy little gurgle. "And yes, we are."

"Good. As long as we're agreed on that." She kissed him yet again... and this kiss went on, and on, and grew more passionate as they clung to each other. And although they did talk after that, aside from a muttered Scourgify to get the blood off, it was somewhat incoherent and very private.


Winky tiptoed away from the door, where she'd been unashamedly listening at the keyhole, beaming all over her tiny face. Finally, the two of them had worked out that they belonged together. Good! As much as she enjoyed looking after Master Snape, who needed her and appreciated her, it wasn't the same as having a proper family. Now, at least, they would soon be in a position to start one. It had been so long since she'd had children to look after... she could hardly wait.

Of course, she wouldn't say so. Humans liked to think they'd thought of these things themselves, bless them.

She slipped downstairs, making happy plans. She wouldn't interrupt now, but she'd put out a snack for them - they were bound to get hungry later - and they'd need a nice big breakfast...


It was dusk when Hermione slipped out of the bed, padding over to the small window. The first few stars were coming out, and she looked up at them, smiling a little.

Hacking out the Dark Mark like that had been a very stupid thing to do, and she was not going to change that opinion. But... it had been time, for both of them, to let go. To move on. To find a better way to spend their evenings, she added mentally, blushing and giggling quietly. She should, she supposed, be feeling solemn and uplifted and... something. And she sort of did. But 'That was great. REALLY great' kept drifting across her mind.

"You sound happy." Warm arms slid around her from behind, and he drew her back against him. She leaned back, enjoying all the warm, bare skin and resting her hands gently on his arms as they held her.

"I am happy," she murmured, snuggling back against him. "I thought you were asleep, though."

"I was." He was smiling, she could tell by his voice. "Until the very warm, pleasant young woman in my arms went and moved."

"I did try not to wake you." She snuggled some more. This was VERY nice. "Did I mention that I love you?"

"Several times. Before, during, and after." He sounded sort of surprised and smug, both at once. It was adorable. "I... got the impression that you were pleased," he added hopefully.

She snickered quietly. "I am not going to pander to your masculine ego any further, Severus," she told him firmly. "Isn't it enough that if we'd had any neighbours, they would have heard me? And that Winky definitely did?"

He giggled. He actually giggled. "Yes," he admitted sheepishly, kissing the top of her head. "I suppose it is."

"Good." She turned in his arms, standing on tiptoe to kiss him lingeringly. "I love you," she murmured again, savouring the words. If she'd known it would all be so EASY, she'd have said it long ago.

"Even though I'm too old for you?" he whispered, returning her kiss. "And temperamental, and selfish, and rather broken?"

"Yes," she agreed, resting her forehead against his. "Even so."

He smiled, and kissed her again. "And I love you," he told her almost shyly.

"Even though I'm too young for you?" she returned, smiling slowly. "And temperamental, and bossy, and rather broken?"

"Even so," he agreed, holding her a little tighter.


Author's Note: I anticipate a lot of complaints at this point, so I'll elucidate - I don't write smut. On rare occasions I will include a fairly non-explicit sex scene, but only if it's pivotal to the overall plot. This one wasn't. We didn't need to see it, and frankly, they're both very private people who don't like to be watched. So I do not want to hear any 'but there was no prolonged and graphic seeeexxx' bitching, because there is never going to be, and anyone who wants it is welcome to look elsewhere.