Author's Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

Any dialogue you recognize comes from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Most is changed at least a bit though to fit right.

I'm not J. K. Rowling, so I don't own anything.

Ch 16: Change Your Fate

"Hermione!" Ron called, waving her over frantically when she stepped into the common room.

"What's wrong?" she asked, glancing between Ron and Ginny, both looking worried and anxious.

"Ron said Harry was covered in blood and took his copy of Advanced Potion-Making," Ginny announced, eyes boring into the back of the Fat Lady's portrait as though she could force it to open and reveal Harry by sheer will alone.

"Blood?" she gasped.

"Yeah, that's what it looked like," Ron confirmed.

Not knowing what else to say, Hermione perched on the arm of Ginny's seat and joined her in staring the door down as they waited. What could have happened? What trouble was Harry in now? Had he gone with Dumbledore to try and destroy another Horcrux? No. That couldn't be right. He'd not have needed Ron's book if that was the case.

The potion book. Snape's potion book.

What had Harry done?

She was saved from coming up with a dozen worst case scenarios when the subject of her thoughts stepped glumly into sight.

"Harry?" Ginny called softly. Like a magnet, Harry's gaze immediately sought the girl out. He walked towards her in a helpless daze, never even sparing a glance at Hermione or Ron. "Harry, what's happened?"

"I used the Sectumsempra Spell on Malfoy. It cut his chest open…cut him to ribbons in the bathroom. I didn't know. Snape saved him. He could have died. I could have killed him," Harry murmured, watching only Ginny as he confessed. Only she could grant him absolution of his actions, and only her forgiveness mattered to him right then.

"Snape was there?" Hermione asked, caught by the irony of the situation considering he'd been the one to invent the spell in the first place.

The spell cut Malfoy? It could have killed him?

Once again she was appalled by the notion he was capable of dabbling in such Dark magic. The tone of the spells had gotten progressively blacker all year, but hearing this threw her. Cut to ribbons…. And Snape had invented the spell? Why? What could have motivated him to do such a horrific thing?

"Isn't that the spell that just said it was for enemies?" Ron asked, exhaling in a low whistle as he digested what Harry was saying and ran a hand through his messy hair.

Then the whole story came tumbling out in a rush. Harry admitted confronting Malfoy and how it had turned into a fight and how Harry hadn't known what the spell did, just that he'd thought it was meant for situations like the one he'd been in. When he got to the part about Snape, Hermione found herself holding her breath, anxious to know how he'd reacted, but Harry was more focused on the detentions he'd received than Snape.

When Professor McGonagall showed up, demanding a word with Harry, Hermione spent the time dreading how Snape would react when she next saw him. He'd be furious that she knew Harry was in possession of such a dangerous book – his dangerous book – and that he'd been using it without thinking anything about the consequences.

"Snape knew I'd gotten the spell for a book. He demanded to see my stuff, so I hid the Half-Blood Prince's book before he could find it and take it," Harry admitted. "He called me a cheat."

"You hid it. But then… You're going to keep using it?" Hermione demanded, stunned.

"Of course I am," Harry insisted.

"He was right to call you a cheat. You've gained a reputation for potion brilliance you don't deserve. I can't believe you would still trust that book after –"

"It isn't the book's fault, Hermione. The Prince only copied it out! It's not like he was advising anyone to use it! For all we know, he was making a note of something that had been used against him!" Harry insisted, rationalizing his desire to continue utilizing Snape's book. His desire to continue cheating.

Except Snape would never stand for it. He'd be furious that Harry was using him in such a way. And furious with her for not stopping her friend. She needed to convince him to leave off the book – and not just because she was tired of him beating her without actually possessing the skill to do so.

"I can't believe you're defending what –"

"I'm not defending what I did! I wish I hadn't done it, and not just because I've got about a dozen detentions. You know I wouldn't've used a spell like that, not even on Malfoy, but you can't blame the Prince, he hadn't written 'try this out, it's really good' – he was just making notes for himself, wasn't he, not for anyone else…."

"You're reaching, Harry," Hermione chided, lecturing him, "trying to justify using something you know –"

"Give it a rest, Hermione!" Ginny interrupted hotly. "By the sound of it, Malfoy was trying to use an Unforgivable Curse, you should be glad Harry had something good up his sleeve!"

Hurt pierced Hermione straight through the heart. She looked to Ron for support, but he only winced at her. It was clear he was on Harry's side, but for once was being tactful enough to stay out of their spat rather than laying into her as well.

Clenching her jaw against the implication that she didn't care more about Harry than his actions, Hermione pressed on, insisting, "Well, of course I'm glad Harry wasn't cursed! But you can't call that Sectumsempra spell good, Ginny, look where it's landed him! And I've have thought, seeing what this has done to your chances in the match –"

"Oh, don't start acting as though you understand Quidditch, you'll only embarrass yourself," Ginny hissed in a dismissive tone that stung even worse than her previous words.

"Fine. Do whatever you want, Harry. You usually do anyway. I'm going to the library," Hermione announced, leaving them to face Snape's assured wrath.

At least there was only one of him, so no chance of being ganged up on like she was here.

Hermione's head was spinning, her mind reeling as she made her way through the castle on autopilot. She was horrified that her inaction where the Half-Blood Prince's – Snape's – book was concerned allowed things to progress to the point where Harry was in a position to use one of the spells and injure Malfoy the way he had. It shouldn't have happened. It wouldn't have if she'd done something about it like she'd wanted back in the fall when he'd first become obsessed.

The whole way to Snape's office she berated herself. This was a perfect example of why rules were so important. Why magic needed to be respected, not abused. She was as much at fault for not speaking up as Harry was for using the spell – as Snape was for creating it in the first place!

"Snape's rooms," she bit out, the words clipped and hard as she threw the Floo powder with more force than was strictly necessary into the empty grate.

She didn't even get a chance to brush the soot from her clothes before he was in front of her, invading her space and scowling blackley as he growled, "Did you know?"

"That he had your old potions book? Yes," Hermione said, pursing her lips in disapproval.

"Do you know what he did with the information he learned from it?"

"You mean the information you taught him?" Hermione quipped, turning the tables on Snape.

"He nearly killed Draco," Snape stated, disgust at the events, or with Harry, evident in the twisted expression he wore.

"He didn't know what it would do," Hermione argued, defensive on Harry's behalf.

My, how quickly the tables turn. She'd not expected to take such a stance – particularly when she'd just been fighting with him on the other side of things – but Snape just had a way of getting under her skin and goading her.

She might be furious with Harry's decision herself, but Snape had a habit of unfairly prosecuting her friend, and he wasn't there to defend himself. That meant it was up to her to do it.

"You condone his actions?" Snape thundered, looking betrayed that she would side with Harry over him. But it wasn't like that. Not really. Then he went on, saying, "A student nearly died, but I don't suppose –"

"Of course I don't, but the blame isn't entirely on Harry. Malfoy attacked him, and he was defending himself," Hermione interrupted, placing her balled fists on her hips to show she wouldn't be cowed or intimidated into agreeing with his viewpoint and biased habit of making Harry the scapegoat for every little thing. Then she repeated, "He didn't know what the spell did, only that it was intended for an enemy – which considering the spell Malfoy was attempting to use, fit the circumstances."

"So of course he decided to try it out. And of course you jump to his defense. Your precious Potter. Does that boy ever think at all?"

"If you're so keen to discuss thinking and motives, what were you thinking even creating a spell like that in the first place?" Hermione demanded, needing to understand who Snape had been. A spell like that…it just didn't fit with the man she'd come to know the last five months. Not to mention the last five and a half years.

"It was for Potter," he admitted darkly, dangerously sharp icicles hanging from each syllable, waiting to plummet onto an unsuspecting victim.

"Har–," Hermione gasped, breaking off as understanding sank in. "Oh, you mean James."

"Yes," he said, lips curling nastily. He looked…deadly. Lethal. Vicious. It was a look Hermione had seen him don one other time – in the Shrieking Shack the night he confronted Sirius. And she distinctly recalled how those events had played out.

"That kind of hatred…," she began hesitantly, pausing to swallow before plowing on, "it stems from more than just bullying."

Snape looked lost in thought, and honestly it was enough of a confirmation. He'd already admitted that he used to live for revenge. She'd just not expected to witness that side of him for herself. It was a facet of his personality she had no idea how to navigate or if she should even attempt to. She could envision a warning sign, clear as day, reading, 'Keep out. Danger ahead.' And beyond it, she imagined seeing a rickety rope bridge, complete with broken slates of wood dangling where the footpath was missing.

"Did you tell Potter that was my book?" he asked, expression becoming closed off as he waited for her reply, apparently already convinced what her answer would be.

"No. I wouldn't betray you like that," she answered softly, shocking him.

The shock was quickly replaced by something akin to wistfulness. "Nor did you betray him by informing me that was how he was cheating all year."

"I'm loyal to both of you," Hermione insisted, wondering when and how the conversation had taken a different direction than she'd initially intended.

"There will come a time when those loyalties are in direct opposition, and you will have to choose only one of us," Snape warned, studying her closely.

Hermione felt her breath hitch. What was he saying? What did that mean?

But most of all, why had she seen an unmistakable flash of hurt cross his face before his usual impassive mask descended to hide what he was really thinking?

"We're all on the same side. I won't turn my back on either of you. I'll figure another way out," she declared, refusing to believe she'd do something to deliberately hurt either wizard. Harry was the closest thing to family she had left. And Snape was…hers.

"No one is that clever all the time, Granger. Particularly not during a war," Snape countered, making it clear he expected her to betray him.

"Stop acting like it's a foregone conclusion that I'll pick Harry over you," she snapped, resisting the urge to shove him for being so infuriating and doubting her.

"Won't you?"

Part of her wanted to scream no. She'd not do that to him after all they'd been through, but the same could be said of her relationship with Harry.

It was too much. She wasn't ready to face decisions like that. She didn't want to hurt anyone she cared about. But they were at war. And Snape was a spy that very soon would break everyone's faith in him.

Hermione had made tough calls before – with Harry and Ron – where she had to decide between what she thought was right and their friendship. The consequences of those choices had always been her friends not speaking to her for a few weeks until they made up. Instinctively, she knew the consequences of picking either Harry or Snape over the other for anything would be far more permanent and pivotal.

The situation made her feel very young and inexperienced. It had been months since he'd had her feeling at such a disadvantage in their interactions. It also didn't help that she didn't have all the facts pertaining to the rivalry between James and Snape.

Was that it? Was he projecting his feelings about James onto Harry? But how did she factor in if he was?

It didn't make any sense – because there was still so much about his past that she didn't know.

"I can't answer that. Not truly when I'm not faced with a real situation," Hermione hedged, though it was no less true for all the vagueness it contained. "Or if I don't know more," she prodded meaningfully, urging him to confess more.

"A less naive answer than I'd anticipated," Snape allowed, nodding slightly.

Hermione sighed. If he didn't plan on sharing, then there was no point continuing the debate. Damn him and all of his blasted secrets!

"Will Malfoy be all right?" she asked, circling round to the original reason for her visit.

"He'll live. Potter is lucky I was already following the boy, so I was able to intercede quickly," Snape said, practically fuming. If she didn't know any better, Hermione would expect smoke to start wafting from his ears at any second.

"Have you made any progress in getting Malfoy to trust you?"

"No," he grumbled.

"Do you think he will hurt you again if Malfoy continues to refuse?" she asked worriedly.

Seeing Snape in such a state over break had rattled her. He seemed larger than life, invincible, most of the time. That week had proven that he was just a man, and that his role was every bit as dangerous as Harry's.

"Only if he doesn't succeed before the end of term," Snape muttered wearily, resignation weighing his shoulders down noticeably. "If Draco doesn't…well, the vow I took might finish me off before the Dark Lord has a chance."

"That's only seven weeks," she gasped, fearful of the implications and his grim acceptance of his latter statement should he fail.

"I'm aware, Granger," he stated dryly, smiling without a trace of humor.

A persistent sensation registered in her mind, almost like an itch she couldn't quite scratch. It was a nagging feeling that urged her to prove herself to Snape, to demonstrate her commitment to helping him, and that she'd not put him second.

It drove her to ask, "Can I do anything?"

"No –" he started, but he broke off and studied her. For a moment he looked incredibly uncertain and vulnerable. Snape wasn't one to accept help from others, let alone admit to needing it. Hesitantly, he finally spoke, the words forced and slow, each one drug through barbed wire before escaping. "If you are serious in your desire to aid me, you could play on his guilt."

"Guilt?" she asked skeptically, sincerely doubting Malfoy was capable of such an emotion.

"Draco views himself as a gentleman. Someone to be admired and imitated," Snape explained, retreating into his thoughts as he viewed an imaginary chess board representing the war and the opponents' various moves. It was a lot to navigate, yet somehow he'd managed for this long. Maybe with her help he'd make it to the end of the game.

Hermione held in her derisive snort at his description of Malfoy though. Narcissistic, superiority complex more like. He wanted to be the best without having to do any work, then have everyone fawning over him. Lazy. Entitled.

"His actions that lead you to being with me are a far cry from the ideals he prides himself on. If a situation comes up where you can use that to your advantage, and mine…"

Absolutely no ideas sprang to mind. She was at a complete loss, but she smiled slightly despite the complex puzzle she'd been presented with.

"I've already exhausted all other avenues, or I wouldn't even suggest –"

"I'm sure I can come up with something," Hermione promised, knowing she'd think of little else until she did.

"Thank you, Granger," he replied quietly.

Her breath caught at the unexpected words. Then he shocked her further by stepping into her space, and bending to kiss her lightly. It was a fleeting caress as though he couldn't help himself – there and gone in a blink.

But it was hours before her lips stopped tingling from the contact.

Hermione easily came up with a dozen possible scenarios to approach Malfoy with over the following week, and just as quickly discarded each one. The problem was she just wasn't a good enough actress to make any of them believable. Nor was she willing to put herself in Crabbe's path. That severely limited the places and times she had access to Malfoy.

It wasn't until the Friday following Snape's request that she was presented with a real opportunity.

One of the first years set off an explosion in the common room making everyone jump and scream when the boom resonated through the tower. From the purple, green, and orange colors, Hermione guessed it was the Weasley twins' new Deafening Distrator product. It was cleverly disguised as a sickle that could be dropped on the floor, but when someone reached to pick it up, lights and sirens went off.

Except something was off about this one, and flames had shot up to the ceiling in addition to the rest.

"Bloody, annoying little buggers, aren't they?" Ron growled, swatting at the sparks singing the essay he was hastily scrawling. "Do something, yeah?"

Hermione bit her tongue to keep from pointing out that it was his job just as much as hers since he was a Prefect too. And that he was only upset because they'd messed up his homework – something that wouldn't have happened if he hadn't waited until the morning it was due to get started on.

Sighing, she stalked over the three boys huddled on the floor whispering excitedly to one another. She towered over them, pinning them with her best intimidating scowl. She'd modified her previous authoritative glower, modeled off of Professor McGonagall, to incorporate a little of the fear-factor Snape usually managed when dealing with unruly students.

As soon as they saw her, all three froze.

"Put that away. You know you aren't supposed to have Weasley products in the common room. Nor should you attempt to modify the spells on them. That's advanced magic you are in no way prepared – wait!"

The boys had begun hastily stuffing the blackened coins into their pockets as she spoke, but a few fell out, dropping to the floor with tiny clicks to indicate they were active. The boy who had dropped them obviously wasn't paying attention, and he reached for them, ignoring her cry to halt.

Immediately, more jets of fire roared to life, spitting and sputtering. One caught her in the arm, and she quickly vanished the flames and clutched at the shiny pink spot left behind. It stung and seemed to have a source of heat raging beneath her skin.

"This is exactly why this sort of thing isn't allowed," she lectured, glaring at the boys peeking up at her from where they'd dived behind an oversized chair. Sighing, she asked, "Are you lot all right?"

"Yes," they chorused together.

Turning from the group of chastised youths, Hermione examined the burn on her arm. She was going to be late for Arthimancy if she went to the hospital wing to have it treated.

Malfoy was in her class. In fact, he sat directly behind her.

He didn't seem to care that she was being "used" sexually, only if she was being physically hurt in the process. If she were going to inspire any guilt or sympathy, it'd take a visible injury. One just like the burn she sported….

Tears pricked her eyes at the thought of leaving the blistered, singed area exposed. It already throbbed painfully. But she'd promised. And this was more likely to work than anything else she'd come up with.

From the minute she walked into the classroom she knew Malfoy was watching her. He always did. It would be disturbing if she didn't know why.

Deliberately, Hermione rolled up her sleeve just enough to give him a glimpse of the angry red patch and three blisters dotting her arm. Then she pretended to hide it again, shooting furtive looks around as she did.

He hovered by the door when class ended, just as she'd hoped he would, so she slowly packed her bag, giving the other students plenty of time to move out of earshot before she exited.

"How did it happen?"

Nerves assailed her, and she swallowed convulsively, wishing she were better at pretending and lying than she was.

"As if you don't know," she muttered, feigning a desire to get away from him. She walked forward, hoping he'd follow and press the issue.

Right on cue, he did.

"I'm not in the habit of admitting false ignorance," Malfoy said arrogantly, sneering as he did. He rushed forward and turned to block her path, forcing her to stop abruptly or run straight into him. Hermione chose to stop, smiling privately that she'd managed to snag his interest so effectively. "Why haven't you gotten it healed yet?"

"Because Madam Pomfrey would ask how it happened," Hermione said, ducking her head as though ashamed.

"You couldn't tell her?"

"That Snape hurt me? No! How would I have explained being…," Hermione gasped, breaking off to shake her head.

"You think I'm gullible enough to believe he did that to you?"

"Believe whatever you wish, Malfoy. You never were overly intelligent."

"Why did he do it then?" Malfoy demanded, staring at her arm as if he could see through the cloth to the damage beneath.

"Your master is angry with Snape, and he felt the need to share his punishment," Hermione said evasively, letting Malfoy draw his own conclusions.

"Angry with him? Why?"

"Why?" she repeated, feigning bafflement.

"Yeah. Why?"

Hermione pretended to be confused, scrunching her brow and letting her lips part slightly. Hopefully it didn't look as deliberate as it felt. "You are failing because he's not done enough to help. Whatever is happening, you're running out of time."

She watched him puzzling out the meaning of her words. It was obvious the instant he realized she knew what he was up to.

"You think I don't know that?" he hissed, rage contorting his features as it did when she'd mentioned his mother previously.

Hermione inhaled sharply, trying to redirect the conversation before it got out of hand again. "That's what you wanted, isn't it? You want him to take it out on me – because I'm nothing but a Mudblood. That's why you asked me before… Merlin, you really are a monster," she accused, hissing the words at him so quickly his eyes widened in shock.

"No, I –"

But Hermione had already darted past him and was rushing away, this time actually intending to visit the hospital wing to get her arm seen to. Hopefully it was enough to convince him to let Snape help. She wasn't sure there was anything else she could try.

"Your friend is a fool," Snape announced, striding inside to sit beside her. She turned, drawing her legs up to sit more comfortably as she faced him.

He'd left her in his rooms over an hour earlier to meet with a colleague. She'd assumed he'd meant another professor, but now she was wondering if he'd actually left the castle to meet with a Death Eater. There were water droplets glittering along the sleeves of his robes, but that wasn't a definite indication.

"You've always believed that. What has he done now to remind you?"

Hermione closed her Transfiguration textbook, setting it aside. Most nights she still visited, though there really wasn't much need. Apart from her desire to spend time with him. More often of late she spent the time studying for her upcoming final exams while he graded. He'd sometimes scowl at the reminder that she was still a student, but he didn't comment or ask her to study elsewhere.

And he definitely could. Strengthening the last potion had worked. They'd not been together sexually since her mum's birthday well over a month earlier.

They'd agreed to try two different approaches to maximize the time between when the spell required them to be together since there was so much uncertainty about their respective situations the next year. Snape was taking the new variation every two weeks to delay symptoms while she was waiting until symptoms began then the plan was for her to take it again. Hopefully it would halt them, and delay them further, but they'd need to test it to see for sure if it worked.

Hermione definitely missed the physical intimacy, especially after being together for real – the difference had been far more palpable than she could have predicted, but she also understood the necessity of what they were doing. Even if part of her hoped their efforts failed.

"Miss Weasley," he signed, irritation and disapproval etching deep brackets around his mouth.

"They're dating," Hermione confirmed, wondering why he had a problem with that. Did he dislike Harry so much he had no wish to see him happy? It seemed unlikely that something so trivial would even rank as worth noticing given everything else he had going on.

"And what happens to those closest to Potter?"

Hermione avoided answering right away, reaching towards the table to fidget with the bookmark sticking out of Magical Objects Through the Ages. Snape must have been reading it to help Malfoy now that the boy was finally including him. He'd not come right out and said it, but she had a feeling her actions had had the desired effect and pushed him into letting Snape assist - not that he'd bothered to share with her what they were up to.

"Everyone already knows how Harry considers the Weasleys family," she said faintly, knowing he was making a valid point even if she hated the truth.

"Yes, but only one has him frolicking about the castle like a love-sick pup. And only one is underage and more vulnerable than the rest," Snape countered meaningfully. Dread settled in the pit of her stomach, but she forced it away.

"Ginny is strong. She can look after herself," Hermione insisted, thinking back to the red tornado that Ginny had resembled in the Department of Mysteries the year before. Underestimating her would be at their peril.

"He's willing to take that risk?"

"He can't shut himself off from everyone," Hermione argued, frowning at Snape. "If he doesn't have anyone to fight for he won't have a reason to keep fighting, and we need him to not give up. He's the only one who can end this."

"Sacrifices must be made. They are a necessary part of fighting," he countered, sounding upset that he even needed to explain such an obvious concept to her.

"Like you?" she breathed, recognizing that as the formula he'd based his decisions on since before the end of the first war.

"Pardon?"

"You've made so many sacrifices that you have nothing for yourself. You –"

"We aren't discussing me," he interrupted, giving her a hard look that clearly said to drop it.

She had no intention of doing any such thing. Their new policy of honesty made her braver.

"We are," she stated succinctly.

"I've told you before that you do not have the right –"

"Bollocks. I have every right – especially now," she insisted, sitting up straighter when his eyes flashed warningly. "You can't pretend nothing has changed between us. It's different, and you know it."

"I don't love you," he said quietly, intensity burning in every word.

"I never said you did," she said, shaking off the strange response and feeling slightly confused that his mind immediately jumped to that. "I meant we're friends now. Partners."

"I am not following your logic," he said frankly, though she noted he didn't deny their partnership.

"You would if you stopped arguing long enough to listen," she griped, giving him a quelling look that made his lips twitch in amusement. "You still don't plan on surviving the war. You've given up every personal desire, and now there's nothing left to motivate you."

"Bringing about the Dark Lord's demise is all the motivation I need to keep going," Snape answered smoothly. The answer sounded rehearsed, as though he said it by rote rather than genuinely meaning it.

"It's not enough," Hermione whispered sadly, hating that he valued his life so little.

"That's all there is," Snape said simply, glancing away from her. "The rest has been gone for too long."

"I don't want to lose anyone else."

"Reality check, Granger, you're going to. Probably many before the end," he said sharply, almost harshly.

There was less than a week of school left. Given the ultimatum hanging over Malfoy's head, Dumbledore was on borrowed time, with days at most left to him.

And who knew what would happen after that.

"Then let me clarify – I don't want to lose you," she said fiercely, reaching blindly to snag his hand and squeeze it, trying to press the truth into his flesh. "Please find another reason to live after the war. The future isn't set in stone, though you seem to believe it is. Be proactive. Change your fate, Severus."

Her heart skipped a beat as she realized how she'd addressed him. Severus. It felt right, but she braced herself for a setdown anyways. He'd specifically told her to call him Snape. He'd never given her leave to call him anything else.

Several minutes passed while they stared at one another, neither speaking. They were at a crossroads. Multiple paths lay before them, but Hermione couldn't begin to guess which one he'd decide to take.

Snape shifted closer, his rapid breaths fanning over her face and stirring a curl dangling at her temple. His eyes roved over her face, but his expression remained inscrutable.

"You can't save me, Hermione," he said thickly, the words flat and hollow. Hopeless. Resigned.

"Watch me," she said fiercely.

Then his lips were on hers. Devouring her. Hermione gasped, startled by the sudden overload on her senses, and Snape took advantage to deepen the kiss, feasting on her.

Her arms twinged around him, her hands fisting in his hair. Every line of her body was pressed against his.

Snape was drowning, and she was right there with him, letting him pull her under, almost eager for that moment of euphoria that came with the inevitable surrender to death.

As quickly as it began, it ended.

Snape ripped himself from her and it felt like having a bandaid yanked off suddenly. Her skin burned at the loss of contact.

"It's late," he gasped, staring hard at the floor as he panted, inching back until nearly two bodies could once again fit between them on the sofa. The visible proof of his reaction to her spurred her forward, but he leaned hastily back, raising one hand to ward her off.

"You're dismissing me," she acknowledged, aching at the thought.

"I'm not one of your projects," he muttered, still avoiding her eyes.

"Projects?" she repeated, mind too sluggish to comprehend.

"Those poor, unfortunates you take on. I'm not a charity case or a cause – an enslaved house-elf," Snape growled, lips curling as he finally looked up, dark gaze settled on her with accusations in his eyes.

"No," she breathed, reaching to bridge the gap and press a hand to his heart. "You're my husband."

Hermione left him with those words still hanging in the air, a mirror statement to the one he'd uttered to her previously. She knew he needed time to stew on her words.