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The Shrieking Shack closed in around her. The air was still crackling with magic, the smell of blood and something putrid hung in the air. Shakily, Snape rose to his feet in front of her.

Dread filled Hermione's body. No, no, no. This couldn't be happening again. This dream, this memory. She needed to wake up.

Right on cue, Snape raised his hand to his throat.

Even though she knew this wasn't real, that Snape was – hopefully – sound asleep in his bed and not bleeding out in front of her, she couldn't stop herself. She sprang forwards, pressing her hands over his to quench the bleeding. Her skin became warm and slippery with his blood.

"Look at me," he wheezed.

She grit her teeth. "I will not, you prick. You're not dying, and that's final."

"Hermione," he whispered.

Knowing she would regret it, she raised her eyes to his. Blood leaked from his eyes and nose, seeping into his mouth as he smiled gently.

"You can't save us."

She froze. That wasn't right.

She didn't even flinch when he raised a blood-stained hand to touch her cheek.

Hermione's eyes snapped open. Sunlight streamed through the window; she'd forgotten to close the blinds last night. Sitting, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and ran her hands over her face. She'd had that same nightmare for four nights now. Only that time it was different.

You can't save us.

He had never said us before, it had always been me.

A shudder ran through her. She wasn't too keen on finding out what it meant.

Something fairly small and silvery burst through her wall, and her wand was out in a second. The rook Patronus flew around the room twice, then perched on the chair by the desk. Her wand lowered. There was only one person that Patronus could belong to.

The rook opened its beak. "Granger," came Snape's silky voice, "I hope you're lying injured in a ditch somewhere, since you are not at the shop. I never took you for not keeping your promises."

The Patronus, having delivered its message, dissolved in a silvery mist.

Hermione glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table. The neon numbers seemed to mock her as they stated it was 9:52 am. She was supposed to be at the bookshop twenty minutes ago. She flew out of bed, scrambling around the room to find clean underwear and her bag.

Ten minutes later she rushed through the door at the bookshop, breathing heavily. As usual, Minnie came up to say hello and was given a quick scratch and a stroke before Hermione pulled off her coat. She spotted Snape further into the shop, talking to a customer. He'd pulled his hair back at the nape of his neck, and the sleeves of his jumper were pushed up. As if noticing her watching, he turned his head in her direction. Something tingled through Hermione's body, and it took her a second to identify it.

Attraction. Desire.

Oh gods, she wanted to shag Snape.

The Literary Festival that Richard from the coffee shop had asked her about on her first morning was starting that weekend, and Hermione felt no guilt in her excitement of the event. If she was to die soon, she deserved to feel excited about books before she did. Sipping tea in Snape's office, she looked over the programme for the weekend; there were so many things she wanted to check out.

"Anything interesting catch your eye?"

She looked up. Snape was leaning against the doorway, hands in his trouser pockets. From the angle of his forearm, she could see the faint outline of the Dark Mark. The newfound realisation that she desired him coursed through her veins, but she decided to ignore it. It wouldn't do anyone any good.

"Plenty. Do you have time to go to any seminars?"

Snape nodded. "A few. My employees can handle the shop when I'm not here."

Hermione handed him the programme. "Which ones are you interested in? We can go together."

Snape snorted. "And subject me to you waving your hand like an eager first-year? I think not."

She rolled her eyes. "Just tell me which ones you're interested in, Snape."

They went to several talks and seminars together that weekend, and Hermione found she enjoyed Snape's company very much. He had a dry humour and would offer commentary during the talks which had her biting her lip to keep from laughing. Several times she caught him looking at her appreciatively.

There were moments when she forgot what was lying ahead – that it was likely they had less than two weeks left on his earth. The nightmares wouldn't let her forget though, wrecking through her body and leaving her in tears and cold sweats.

On Sunday afternoon – the last day of the festival – three talks were due to take place in Snape's bookshop and Hermione arrived early, having promised to help set up. She and Snape were arranging the folding chairs when he cleared his throat.

"I was wondering if I could treat you to dinner tonight, as a thank you for your help." He didn't look at her as he spoke, instead focusing on the chair he was setting up.

Hermione's stomach fluttered. "I'd like that."

She felt strangely nervous getting ready for dinner, and she wasn't sure why. It wasn't as though he'd propositioned her. Still, she applied a bit more makeup than usual and wore an outfit that made her feel both sophisticated and sexy. A spritz of perfume and she was ready to leave.

Arriving in Snape's entrance hall, her stomach clenched at Snape's appreciative gaze. She hadn't been imagining it; he was attracted to her too.

Dinner felt like foreplay, and later she couldn't recall anything but the way Snape's eyes glittered in the low light and her skin seemed to dinner, they retired to the sitting room.

She felt warm, and she wasn't sure she could blame the wine. Before she could second guess herself, she reached out to tuck his hair behind his ear. Her fingers lingered on the side of his face, the stubble rough against her skin.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Snape's voice was low and silky and went straight to her core.

"I am." Emboldened, Hermione put her glass on the coffee table and sat up fully before throwing a leg over his hips. Now straddling him on the plush sofa, she tucked her hair behind her ears so she could see him properly.

At first he didn't move, only gazed at her with dark eyes that seemed to bore into her. Then his hands gripped her thighs, sliding up to cup her arse and pulling her towards him. "I don't play games." He punctuated his words with a roll of his hips against hers.

Hermione moaned at feeling his hardness against her. "Neither do I. If we're going to die, wouldn't you want to feel close to someone before you do?"

"What happened to the Gryffindor optimism?" His hands ran up her back and around to brush against the underside of her breasts. "You didn't use to be this morose."

Hermione reached for his hands, covering them with her own. "I grew up." Rolling her hips, she delighted in the way his eyes clouded over with lust. She leant in closer, their noses brushing.

"I thought you didn't play games?" His breath washed over her as he spoke.

She tilted her head slightly, eyes darting down to his mouth. "I'm giving you the chance to say no."

"And why would I do that?" His hands slid over her breasts, fingers moving over the neckline of her top to run underneath the fabric.

Hermione moaned. "Is that a yes?"

"Yes."

His lips crashed against hers, and Hermione forgot how to breathe. Her fingers tangled in his hair, and she pressed her tongue against the seam of his lips. Her thighs squeezed around his hips. She was beyond aroused. Hands clenched and pulled, and soon they were both topless. Hermione's mouth fell open when he tasted her flesh for the first time, gasping for breath as her hips kept rolling against his. He was going to be the death of her.

Minutes later they were in his bed, though she couldn't recall how they got there. He pulled off her jeans, she kissed the scars on his throat. She pushed his trousers down over his hips, he stroked her wet centre. Once they were both naked, he settled between her hips and pushed against her.

"Still yes?" his face was flushed, voice tense with wanting.

She nodded, clawing at his back. "Yes, yes."

Then he was inside her and her world shifted. Her legs rose around his waist, back arching. His breath was hot on her neck, a groan leaving his throat every time he withdrew and pushed back inside her. She dug her fingers into his back, feeling the rough texture of scars she hadn't yet seen, and wrapped the other arm around his head to keep his mouth on her neck. She shifted her hips, and her stomach tensed.

Everything narrowed to his skin sliding against hers, the feeling of being filled and surrounded and she couldn't believe how good he felt, his arms curling under her shoulders to anchor her as he thrust harder and she was getting closer and closer to shattering in a million pieces and she hoped he would keep her anchored when she did.

Her muscles tightened and spasmed, his name falling from her lips like a plea. She was still coming down when he tensed against her, teeth scraping against her neck as he pushed in sharply and then stilled.

Still panting, Hermione pressed her lips against the parts of his face she could reach. Shrugging her shoulder, she guided his chin up so she could kiss him. They shared breathless, open-mouthed kisses that gave her goosebumps. Hermione's legs uncurled, sliding down his thighs and rubbing against his calves.

Snape lifted off her slightly, and she shivered when the cool night air hit her sweaty skin. Opening her eyes, she found Snape looking at her. The low light cast most of his face in shadow so she couldn't read the look in his eyes.

There was a yowl and scratching on the door. Minnie was obviously not pleased with having been shut out.

Hermione chuckled.

"Damn cat," Snape muttered, climbing off her and walking over to the door.

Hermione rose on her elbows, unashamedly checking out Snape's exposed arse. On his back were four evenly spaced scratches, pink against the paleness of his skin. She bit her lip.

Snape opened the door, and Minnie pranced into the room with her tail high in the air. She meowed, circled Snape's legs a few times and then left the room.

"I suppose we should be glad she didn't try to join us," Hermione quipped.

Snape chuckled and turned to the bed, leaving the door open a few inches. "Unfortunately for her, I don't share."

Hermione held his gaze. "Neither do I."

His eyes glittered, and her core clenched in anticipation as he stalked towards the bed.

–

After round three that night they had collapsed breathlessly against the pillows, Hermione pushing her hair from her sweaty forehead. Before she could pluck up the courage to ask if he wanted her to leave, he had kissed her shoulder and asked her to stay. She had bit her lip and nodded (which had led to round four).

They didn't discuss it, but all they really had at that moment was each other. Hermione spent most of the days in his bookshop with Minnie on her lap, and the nights wrapped in Snape's arms. They went on long walks and had tea and proper English scones. Hermione tried to quench the realisation that she felt more at home after two weeks in New England than she did in ten years in Australia.

Exactly one week before Halloween, Snape Apparated them to Salem, which had a vibrant magical community. The entrance to the magical part of town was through a tiny shop selling herbs. It was a beautiful day, sunny and cold, and the magical side of town was so vast Hermione could barely take everything in. They browsed the shops and stalls and bought spicy mulled wine. Snape's hand didn't leave the small of her back as they steered through the crowds, which made her heart race, but it felt too intimate to reach for his hand.

Three hours later he had her bent over the back of his sofa, one hand gripping her hair as he whispered dirty things in her ear.

Drowsy, Hermione stuck her arms underneath the pillow and regarded Snape with hooded eyes. The room smelt of sex and sweat, and she was still feeling floaty from her orgasm. She tried not to think too much about the fact that Halloween was only three days away.

"What was it like?" she asked lightly. "Being dead?"

Snape stilled. The air suddenly became tense.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, "you don't have to-"

He placed a hand on her waist. "It was...quite strange, to tell the truth." His thumb caressed her skin absent-mindedly. "I recall little of dying, only pain and fear and a sense of failure. Afterwards there was a sense of calm, of being at peace. The next thing I recall is being back in the Shack." He shifted onto his side, leaning his head on his hand. "Why did you bring me back?"

"Honestly?" She shifted closer, the gap between them on the bed suddenly feeling too wide. "It was for a number of reasons. Mostly because your death was unfair and unnecessary. Of all the deaths from the war, I mourned yours the most, and it made me feel so guilty. Then there were the nightmares." She paused, pulling her hand away from the pillow to tuck his hair behind his ear. He didn't flinch when she touched him. "I was desperate; nothing I tried got rid of the nightmares. I thought that even if I failed, at least I'd tried. I owed you – we owed you – that much."

She couldn't read the emotion in his eyes, and she waited for him to speak with bated breath.

He leant in and kissed her softly. "I'm glad you did," he said, the words vibrating against her lips. His mouth continued down her jaw and to her neck, and she let him roll her onto her back.

With a contented sigh, she tangled her fingers in his dark hair as his mouth wandered south. She was glad she had brought him back too.

Before Hermione was sufficiently ready, Halloween was upon them. She had fallen asleep wrapped tightly in Snape's arms and had been awoken several times during the night by his lips on her body. She had clung to him just as frantically, both trying to will the morning away.

"What time is it?" Hermione whispered, not lifting her head from Snape's chest. The sunlight was already streaming through a gap in the curtains, bathing the room in a golden light.

"Not the time to get up," came his reply, rumbling through his chest and vibrating against her ear.

Chuckling, Hermione placed a kiss on his chest. "I never figured you to lie in." Goosebumps broke out on her skin as his fingers ran up and down her back.

"There's a time and place for it."

Leaning up, she pressed her lips against his and shifted position so she was straddling his hips. She felt his erection against her arse, and rolled her hips. She enjoyed the way his breath hitched and his fingers gripped her hips just a bit tighter. Lifting up, she guided him inside her. They both groaned when she sank down, and she tore her mouth from his to bite her lip. Would this be the last time she would be with him like this?

Bracing her hands on his chest, Hermione sat up fully. Her movements were still slow, and their breaths were loud in the quiet room. Eyes locking with his, she felt something clench around her heart. She couldn't do this. To know him, to have him, only for it to be ripped away? It was unbearable. Hermione closed her eyes, scared that she would start crying if she didn't. Her head fell back as her movements quickened. Then she felt his hand settle between her thighs, and she groaned. Her world narrowed to his fingers on her clit and him moving inside her. She was so close.

He groaned. "Hermione."

She fell over the edge, body spasming and clenching around him and she gasped, "Severus."

–

By the time early evening came, Hermione couldn't remember what they had done that day. She had moved out of the hotel and into Snape's house days earlier, after a pointed comment about wasting money on a room she didn't inhabit, and she packed up her belongings mechanically. She'd already written letters to Harry, Ron and her parents, due to be sent in the morning. Just in case. She was unsure how Snape had prepared for his probable demise; she hadn't wanted to ask.

Once the bookshop closed for the day they returned to his house. Minnie was being overly affectionate, and Hermione wondered if she couldn't feel the tension in the air.

"Have we got everything?" Hermione asked for the fifth time that day.

"We do," Snape answered, tone even.

The hours until they could do the ritual seemed to drag by. At last, the bell chimed nine o'clock and Hermione and Snape left the house. The crescent moon offered little light as they Apparated to a clearing on the outskirts of town. A chilly wind rustled the leaves around them and found its way underneath Hermione's coat.

Severus erected several wards as she took out the contents of her beaded bag. Wards in place, Snape took his place next to her.

He looked at her with a desperation that chilled her. "Hermione, I-" his mouth closed, the nerve to speak seemingly lost.

Hermione grabbed his hand and squeezed it. "I know." She cast a quick Tempus."It's time."

Snape prepared the ingredients in a small cauldron he'd brought, while Hermione drew the runes on the ground with her wand. His voice was almost lost to the wind as he spoke the incantations. The cloak was placed, and the candles were lit. Hermione bared her right forearm, and Snape did the same. She gasped as the knife sliced through her arm, and next to her Snape inhaled sharply. Their blood dripped into the cauldron.

"Are you ready?" she asked, casting a quick healing charm over them both.

Snape nodded, face pale. "Ready."

Joining hands, they raised their wands together. Their voices mingled with the sound of the wind as they spoke the incantation. A magical force field emerged from their wands, slowly enveloping both them and the frock coat on the ground. Hermione closed her eyes, drawing strength from Snape's hand in her own. The magic shot through her, alighting every nerve ending of her body and making her whimper in pain. She squeezed Snape's hand tighter. Forcing her eyes open, she saw the force field fully enclose them.

As one, they threw the content of the cauldron on the frock coat before shouting, "Nos manere!"

The force field exploded, and Hermione knew no more.

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