A/N: Thanks for the continued reviews, even if updates are super far apart!

Chapter 15: Tension Rising

As Hermione flopped down at the Gryffindor Table, Ginny turned around and grinned wickedly at her blonde shadow.

"Oh, Drakey-poo! It's just so sweet of you to make sure your new godmother gets to supper safely!"

Draco scowled and pressed his fist into his side. "Weaslut… has no one sprogged you up yet? Honestly, I'm surprised. I thought you'd at least be on your second by now."

"Bastard!" Ron snapped, launching to his feet.

"You see, my parents are married," the Slytherin returned, "and disease-free, which is probably more than one could say about yours, Weaselby."

"You're dead, Malfoy!"

"Oh, sit down, Ronald." His sister waved at him dismissively while continuing to smile at the interloper. "I know you must love your new Aunt Mione bunches and bunches, Drakey-Wakey, but the children's table is over there."

"I know you'll take this as an invitation, but I assure you it isn't: Fuck you, Weasley."

"Someone's using naughty words!" Ginny sang, cocking her head. "You know, Hermione – you should curb that behavior now before it becomes a nasty habit."

"Ginny," Hermione hissed under her breath. "Stop."

"Toodle-oo!" the redhead called out as Draco stormed away, muttering curses.

"I can't believe you just did that."

"I can't believe you didn't let me pound his bloody face in," Ron growled while glaring at the Slytherin table. "Fucking prat."

"Tut, tut, Ronald. Naughty words."

"Shut up, Gin."

"You shut up."

"Both of you shut up," Harry snapped, drawing all of their attention. "Just stop bickering and let the rest of us enjoy the bloody feast."

"Ouch, mate," Ron grumbled as he picked up his fork.

"Sorry." The dark-haired boy rubbed his forehead and sighed. "I'm just… really sick of people talking."

"Sorry, Harry," Ginny mumbled. "We're here for you if you need to vent, you know."

"Thanks, but I'm fine." A few seconds passed before the boy scowled and shook his head. "I just thought maybe… maybe they wouldn't write anything since Skeeter is gone, but… of course, someone else took up the task."

Hermione gave him a sympathetic smile and gently squeezed his hand. "At least the article wasn't as long as last year's? Or as… Skeeter-esque."

"Ha! Right," Harry sneered. "Probably because the fifteenth anniversary of their deaths was more interesting than the sixteenth."

An odd silence fell over their part of the table as the three of them exchanged uncomfortable glances. Eventually, the boy let out another deep breath and apologized again.

"It's okay, Harry," Hermione replied. "Honestly, you're not the only moody one today, but at least you have a valid reason to be so."

Touching her foot to Harry's, Ginny took a slow sip of pumpkin juice before turning her head. "So, was wittle Dwaco difficult to deal with, then?"

The brunette witch snorted as she pushed food around her plate. "I suppose issuing death threats could be considered difficult, yes. But considering how he's been the past two weeks, he wasn't terrible."

"So who else is being moody today?" she asked. "Not cuddlywuddles? Say it isn't so."

Ron choked on his potatoes, and Harry – after nearly spitting out his juice – clapped him on the back.

Hermione rolled her eyes and pressed on her temples. "He was extremely short-tempered this morning. I didn't get up early enough. I took too long in the bathroom. I didn't walk fast enough up to breakfast."

"I did wonder why you ate with us all day," Ginny commented. "Not that I'm complaining, of course."

"Merlin, he glared so hard at Crooks, I thought he might burst into flames."

"Crooks or Hubby-Wubby?"

"Take your pick," she sighed. "I don't know what his problem was, but I half expected him to yell at me for breathing too loud."

"Hmmm… maybe he doesn't feel well? I know all of my brothers turn into utter arseholes when they're sick. Except Percy – he just whinges a lot."

While she mulled the suggestion over, Hermione glanced up at the Head Table only to discover that her husband was absent. He had not been in his office when she dropped off her bookbag after class, so she had assumed that he had already gone up to supper. Apparently, he had not.

"Oi! Granger!" Seamus called as he flopped down onto an empty spot on the bench. "What'd you do to Snape?"

The witch narrowed her eyes. "What?"

"He's been even more of a foul git than usual! D'ya give him a case of the blue bollocks, or what?"

Ron threw down his fork in disgust, while Hermione crossed her arms defensively. "I didn't do anything to his bollocks."

"That's the problem, innit?"

"Shut up, Seamus," Ron hissed.

"Hey, I'm just saying," the other boy smiled. "Maybe a little sucking off here and there wouldn't be a bad idea."

"Shut UP, Seamus!"

Flushing red with embarrassment, Hermione stared down at her plate while the rest of the table broke out into giggles. After a minute, she chanced another look toward the front of the Hall. Still, Snape was missing. He clearly was not meeting with Draco since the blonde was thankfully ensconced at his own table, and all of the other professors were in attendance. It did not make much sense for him to miss the Halloween Feast, unless he really was sick.

He better not be expecting me to take care of him. She thought briefly of the chapter on how to be more nurturing, which she had skimmed, and found herself scowling in disgust.

"Hey," Ginny murmured, nudging her arm. "You alright? Don't listen to them. They're all idiots."

Sighing, the brunette nodded and resolved herself to focusing only on her meal. Before she had taken more than a bite or two, she began to consider another possibility. Snape had explained that Voldemort was unlikely to summon him unless after dark, on a weekend, or holiday. Technically, it was dark outside, and a Friday evening, at that. Not to mention that Halloween seemed like a rather clichéd night for dark things to take place. Maybe Snape had been pissy because he had an inkling of what would happen later that night.

As her appetite vanished, Hermione set down her fork and fiddled with her napkin. With Ron and Harry both brooding, and Ginny sending her concerned looks whenever she was not sending them to Harry, it was growing ever more uncomfortable to sit amongst the loud chatter of her Housemates. When she could not take it any longer, she wished her friends a good night and rose to her feet.

"Atta girl, Granger!" Seamus called out, holding up a half-eaten pumpkin pasty in salute. "Take one for the team!"

The Irish wizard swallowed back his giggles when she fixed him with a withering glare, but a number of sixth years picked up where he had left it.

"Take one where, eh?"

"The arse, perhaps?"

"Gross!"

"Eating here, mate!"

"Don't be such a perv!"

"Well, with how often Snape buggers us in class…"

Hermione did not hear anything further as she was focusing all of her energy on fighting the urge to run away in tears. Pressing her lips together, she kept her held high and her spine rigid while striding forcefully toward the exit. Once she was through the door, she turned abruptly and did not relax until she was certain she was out of sight of Gryffindor Table.

She was nearly to the staircase when she heard footsteps rapidly approaching. Growling, she drew her wand and spun to face her pursuer. "Piss off, Malfoy!"

Daphne gave a tired sigh and pushed her wand away with two fingers. "You're lucky it wasn't Draco. Had you pulled your wand on him, you'd be out cold right now, and Slytherin House would be in for a storm tonight."

Narrowing her eyes, Hermione lowered her wand. "What does that mean?"

"It means Draco is a far superior dueler than you," the taller witch said cheekily.

"The storm bit, thank you."

"Slytherin House looks after its own. We have each other's backs, and we keep each other in line. Had Draco hexed you – even in self-defense – we would all be facing Professor Snape's wrath for his actions."

"His wrath?"

"How is it that you used to be at the top of every class?" Daphne asked, cocking her head.

Hermione folded her arms. "I still am, you know."

"I suppose, but does it actually count for anything now?"

Sparks of anger flared in the Gryffindor's eyes, and she swiftly turned on her heel.

"You know," the pureblood murmured, trailing her down the staircase, "You could at least attempt to improve his mood a bit."

Scoffing loudly, Hermione tossed her head. "Oh I could, could I? And are you in the blowjob camp, or the buggering one, then?"

Daphne's eyes widened briefly before she lifted her nose in disgust. "You needn't be so crass about it, but no – I'm not in either… camp. I merely was referring to the fact that as the two of you are soul mates, your emotions strongly affect one another. He's in an awful mood today, so you are as well, and that only feeds his ill temper. If you would attempt to be more cheerful, perhaps it would influence him positively."

"Oh," she mumbled, before remembering her irritation. "Why do I have to be the cheerful one?"

The Slytherin huffed in amusement. "Besides the fact that it's Professor Snape we're discussing? You have a duty to provide as serene of a home as you can."

"Do you all memorize that stupid book or something?"

"What stupid book?"

"Of Ribbons, Roses, and Rings," Hermione answered in a false, higher pitch. "The most ridiculous, insulting thing I've ever read."

"I see," she replied, bristling. "No, unlike certain people, we don't memorize books. We just know what is expected of us."

"But there's so much more you could do in life! You shouldn't have to settle for popping out babies, and minding the house, and waiting on your husband hand and foot! We're not inferior beings just because we have ovaries instead of bollocks."

"I never imagined you to be vulgar," Daphne intoned. "And we do not consider ourselves inferior. Most wizards are held just as accountable to their wives as their wives are to them. If you think we merely sit at home, waiting for instructions from our husbands, you are completely off base."

"That's what the book describes, though!" she protested. "It's absolutely backwards. I mean, what's the point in getting an education if you don't do anything with it?"

"No!" the Slytherin witch snapped before recovering her controlled expression. "You clearly don't understand."

"No, frankly I don't," Hermione agreed as they came to stand in front of Snape's office door. "By all means, explain it to me."

Daphne inhaled deeply and raised her chin. "Another time perhaps. I would rather return to the Feast, if you don't mind. Give my regards to Professor Snape."

Without waiting for a response, the girl gracefully turned and made her way back to the staircase.

Giving a deep sigh, Hermione pushed open the door to find the office again devoid of her husband. Their shared quarters, too, yielded no clues as to his whereabouts. Steeling herself in case he was resting in bed, she raised her hand to knock on his bedroom door. When no snarling answered her knock, she tried again.

"Well, I tried at least," she stated, looking down at Crookshanks. "He did say I could check his wardrobe. I'll just pop in and check, and then I'll know."

A minute later found the girl still staring apprehensively at the door. She had an awful feeling that he would be inside, ready to lay into her for invading his privacy.

"Are you a Gryffindor, or are you not?" she whispered to herself. Steeling her shoulders, she reached for the door knob and hesitantly crept across the threshold. A peek at the bed confirmed that the wizard was definitely not lying about, and, unless he was sitting disillusioned in the corner, was not likely to spring on her. Still, she had no wish to linger any longer than necessary in his room lest he return.

That desire became even stronger when she discovered that the eerie black robes were, in fact, still hanging in his wardrobe. Clearly, Snape had not been summoned, which meant that he and his foul temper could storm through the door at any moment.

Letting the cupboard door slam shut, Hermione whisked out of the room and shut the bedroom door behind her. She scooped up her familiar and retreated into her own room to read.

When later she cast a Tempus charm to discover that nearly two hours had passed without hearing any sounds of life from the rest of their suite, curiosity drew her back into the sitting room. Book in hand, she curled up in the corner of the sofa with her grandmother's quilt tucked over her legs. Though she continued to read, her eyes periodically left the page to stare at his office door, the door to the hallway, or the clock on the mantle. Eventually, when the latter showed it to be well past curfew, she sighed deeply and set her book aside.

It was possible that the man was out doing rounds. There had been a number of occasions during which she or her friends had encountered – or narrowly avoided encountering – Snape in the corridor at a later hour than it was currently. Considering it was Halloween, a night of mischief, it would make sense that he was out on patrol. There was not anything else he could be doing on a Friday evening if he was not in his office marking papers and had not been summoned.

Unless he's brewing. The girl snapped her head toward the door he had said led to his private laboratory. Chastising herself for not thinking of it sooner, she threw off her blanket and crept across the room. She pressed her ear against the door, but heard nothing beyond it. It remained silent after she knocked.

Hermione frowned at the door and folded her arms to her chest. He had warned her that his laboratory was off-limits to her without permission, and given his earlier mood, it could very well end up in a screaming match if she were to enter while he was in there. Finally, she decided it was worth the risk, and that he could not truly fault her just for poking her head in to ascertain that he was still amongst the living.

Half-expecting to get hexed, she was surprised when the door opened easily to reveal a dark, narrow hallway. After glancing once more into the brightly lit sitting room, the witch took in a steadying breath and withdrew her wand.

"Lumos!" Cautiously, she crept forward, touching one hand to the stone wall. After several paces, the hallway turned a corner and disappeared suddenly down a staircase. The shadows produced by her wand-light made everything eerie, and continuing down the stairs would require her to lose sight of the safety of the sitting room. It was dark and unfamiliar – if these stairs had a tendency to shift about like the rest of the castle's did, she could end up tripping and falling to her death. Or worse, to her paralysis. If Snape was not actually down there, it could be ages before anyone found her.

Nope, not going down there. She shook her head and wiped a trickle of nervous sweat from her forehead. Clearing her throat, she called out, "Professor?"

Her voice echoed along the darkened walls, but received no reply.

"Severus?"

Again, her call went unanswered.

"Oh, bloody hell," she whispered, shivering. With one last nervous glance down the stairs, she spun on her heel and hurried back into the light, slamming the door shut behind her. "Nox!"

Stowing her wand, Hermione returned to the sofa and attempted to pick up where she left off in her book.

Sighing deeply, Severus leaned his head back against a boulder as he watched the reflection of the moon in the Black Lake disappear behind clouds. His stomach rumbled quietly as though it were responding to the faint sounds of thunder in the distance, yet he could not find an appetite for anything.

He had always hated Halloween. Even as a child - with his nose pressed up against his grimy bedroom window, watching the neighborhood children wandering about with buckets of sweets – he had hated it. The feasts when he had been a student at Hogwarts had been alright, but those memories had been entirely overshadowed by the events that occurred sixteen years past.

He could remember every detail of that night as though it had only happened a few days prior. A sick feeling had churned in his gut the entire day and had only grown worse after sundown. Having never felt that way before then, he had seriously contemplated consulting Poppy, but had convinced himself to sleep on it. Except sleep had never come that night – nor had it on any Halloween since. Instead, he had spent the night restlessly pacing his quarters, unable to dispel or explain his unease. At least not until he had received the Floo call from Albus requesting his presence in his office.

Usually he managed to get through the feast and his rounds before coming out to brood in what had been their favorite spot on the grounds. This year was different, though. As he stared down at the silver band on his finger, he could not help but think of the last moments he had spent with Lily. When the baby Potter had become too restless to remain at the café, Severus had spent some time with them at a nearby park. Much too soon, she had realized the need to return to the house before James returned from wherever the hell he had been.

Closing his eyes, Severus remembered how Lily had all but begged him to meet her the following week. After agreeing to do so, he had stupidly blurted out some mangled confession of his feeling for her. Instead of laughing or cringing – two reactions he had always feared to receive from her – she had kissed him and then asked if he was willing to wait for her.

'Always' had been his response, and the smile that brightened her face before she disapparated had encouraged him to hope like he had never done before.

Three and a half days later, she was dead.

Tears stung at his eyes as Severus picked up a small rock and turned it over in his hands. Sixteen years ago, the world had collapsed beneath him and had left him with a task that only seemed to grow more gargantuan with every passing day. He highly doubted he would ever like the boy – far too much of James Potter present in him – but he had promised Lily that he would protect the little snot, so he would, even if it cost him his life.

That had always been the plan. It was simple. He would keep himself alive as long as he possibly could, but he had never envisioned himself out-living the Dark Lord. But, of course, Potter and his minions had buggered everything up. Now he had a child bride bound to him, whose fate could be directly determined by his actions.

Granger was supposed to be his soul mate, so if he were to die before the War ended, they would expect her to do so as well. Frankly, it was a likely outcome given the rage that would erupt through the Death Eaters when his duplicity – or triplicity, perhaps – was discovered. Unless the Order were to immediately step in and stash her away, Bellatrix and the Lestranges would hunt her for sport. He shuddered to think what would be in store for her were Dolohov and Mulciber to get their hands on her.

But even if the Dark Lord were defeated soon after his own death, her future was almost certainly fucked. No accreditation and a reputation as a liar would make employment nigh impossible. She would likely have to change her identity or flee someplace where the names Hermione Granger or Severus Snape would not be recognized. Granted, the list of possibilities was rapidly decreasing. Soul mates were rare, and publicity was sure to spread.

He cursed Dumbledore for the idea, and himself for not coming up with a better alternative. It worked somewhat for the mean time in that it kept the nattering witch alive as well as himself, but it had a very high potential of coming back to bite them in the arse later.

And whatever Fate had in store for Rita Skeeter, he hoped it involved a gigantic pile of shite.

In the meantime, though, he was the one who had to live with the bossy, walking ball of hair. And her ugly, cross-eyed cat.

"Fuck," he groaned, tightening his fist about the rock.

He knew that several times Dumbledore had meant to imply that Granger had things in common with Lily. Beyond the fact that they were both Muggleborn witches sorted into Gryffindor House in the same year as a Potter boy, however, Severus did not recognize any further similarities.

Lily had been self-assured, well-liked, and never felt she needed to show off in class. If anything, Granger had far more alike with his own adolescent self – desperate to prove she belonged and that she had talent. She had even demonstrated a willingness to compromise her moral compass and ignore common sense to earn and maintain friendship without considering the future ramifications. Several times, he had tried to disabuse her of the behavior he had displayed, but she seemed determined to head down a slippery path as he had done.

And sure enough, she had stumbled and tumbled into him at the bottom of the slope. For all intents and purposes – well, most intents and purposes – she was his bloody wife. They were now stuck together in the muck. She could get him killed just as easily as he could her.

With a deep growl, Snape launched the stone as far into the lake as he could.

He could have prevented this entire nightmare if he had just convinced Lily to run away with him sixteen years ago. Or if he had never overheard the prophecy or had at least kept it to himself seventeen years ago. Or if he had held his bloody temper and not ruined their friendship to begin with.

But, as his mother would say, wallowing in could-haves would never solve anything. He would just have to grit his teeth and bear it as best he could. It would be a gods-granted miracle if he managed to come through it all with his sobriety and sanity intact, and without having strangled the girl with her own hair. So far, he had managed to survive almost a fortnight of his marriage without doing anything regrettable.

Two weeks down, too fucking many to go. Groaning, Severus hauled himself up to his feet and wiped the dirt from his robes. Staring up at the moon, he breathed in a deep breath and then placed his palm flat against the boulder beside him. "I'm sorry, Lily… as always."

After a moment, he turned and slowly picked his way across the grounds. Upon entering the castle, he did a circuit through the first two floors before finally descending down to the dungeons. Giving a passing nod to the Bloody Baron, he entered his office and, after a few steps, found himself careening to the floor. Luckily, he managed to correct his balance and then glared down at his foot, which had been ensnared by the strap of a bookbag.

"Fucking hell!" Severus snarled, kicking the offending article across the floor. Recovering control of his breathing, he ran one hand through his hair and then snatched up the bag. He muttered under his breath while moving toward his quarters. "What part of 'pick up your shite' is so bloody hard to understand?"

Upon noticing the glow of the fireplace and a lamp, the wizard raised an eyebrow in confusion. The clock on the mantle declared that it was nearly four in the morning and yet the lights were still on. Taking a few steps further into the room, he was able to see that his young wife was curled up tightly on the sofa. On the floor was littered her shoes, wand, book, and a patchwork quilt.

Upon closer inspection, he noticed that she was shivering slightly as she slept. Winter was approaching, and the chill of the dungeons could not be bested by a low-burning fire. Looking down at the blanket that had been cast aside, Snape momentarily considered draping it over her. However, upon remembering what he held in his left hand, he did not feel quite so charitable.

Instead, he dropped the bookbag on the end of the couch. "Granger!"

"Oh-huh!" the witch gasped, startling awake. "Wha—?"

"Did you forget where your bed was located?"

Hermione blinked slowly and swallowed. "N-no, I just… I was reading and fell asleep."

"And yet still managed to leave your possessions strewn about the place. I do not recall giving you permission to treat my office as your personal dumping grounds."

"I.." Her eyes flicked to where he had placed her bag. "I meant to put it away, but Draco was getting impatient about being late to the feast, and you weren't there to escort me instead, so I left it there temporarily. I just… I was distracted and forgot to grab it again after supper."

"Clearly," he sneered. "Perhaps you might do so now as you go to your room."

The girl narrowed her brow as she sat forward. "So now there's a curfew on common space? These are my quarters, too."

"They are my quarters," Snape argued before gesturing toward the tapestry. "Your room is through there."

With a huff, she climbed to her feet and then glanced at the clock. "And where have you been all this time?"

"That is none of your bloody business."

"Isn't it?"

"No," he stated before disappearing into his bedroom.

As the late hour did nothing to curb her temper, Hermione glared at his door for several seconds. "Oh, I see – my whereabouts are your bloody business, but yours aren't mine. And here I thought we were married or something! Silly me."

With that, she gathered up her things and stomped over to her room. "Stupid prat. So glad I spent the night worrying about you. I hope you twisted your stupid ankle on one of the trick steps!"

The witch tossed her shoes on the floor, dropped the rest of the items atop her trunk, and flopped onto her bed. When Crookshanks hopped up beside her, she began recalling her heated discussion with Daphne. A loud groan escaped her as she realized, despite all of her protestations about the pureblood society's expectations of women, she had just spent the evening sitting on the sofa waiting for her husband to return and send her to bed.

"He can't tell me when to go to bed! He's not my father! Who does he think he is?"

Given that Daphne Greengrass, Slytherin Sweetheart, claimed husbands were meant to be no less beholden to their wives than vice versa, Hermione felt justified in her anger. After all, she was the one who had to put up with all of the comments and stares from her classmates. She was the one who had to suffer extended bouts of time in Malfoy's presence. She was the one who had sacrificed her future – even if the Order was victorious.

She was not a child. She was an adult in both the Wizarding and Muggle worlds. It was enough that she had to lovesick fool in public; she did not need to cater to his every whim when in private.

Respect is a two way street. Why should I respect his rules if he can't be bothered to respect me? With that thought in mind, Hermione yawned loudly and wrapped herself up in the warm bedspread.