Chapter Six

The next morning, Hermione woke alone, in a decidedly unfamiliar bed in an equally unfamiliar room. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and looked around. The room was a nice size, with clean white walls and a parquet floor covered with a thick gray rug. The bed in which she lay was a large four-poster made of birch, with heavy dark blue hangings. On one side, there was a bookcase filled with books and the odd knickknack, while on the other was a small bedside table that matched the bed. A dresser and armoire took up most of the opposing wall. In the far corner, she spied an oversize blue chair, where she had apparently tossed her clothes. They were tangled together with a familiar dark green sweater and black trousers.

Memories of the previous evening came flooding into her consciousness. It was real, she thought happily. She snuggled deeper into the bed, drawing the white duvet tight against her naked body. His cologne - a heady combination of parchment, fresh-cut grass, and sandalwood – clung to the sheets.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," she heard him say. Dressed in just a pair of black pajama bottoms and a dark gray dressing gown, he was carrying two steaming mugs of coffee and a newspaper.

She smiled at him. "Good morning, Professor," she replied teasingly. "Have you brought me a coffee?"

He arched his brow and raised the cups in his hand. "Indeed." Crossing the room, he placed the mugs and the newspaper on the nightstand beside her, before bending down to ever so casually brush a kiss across her lips. She ran her fingers over his cheek as he pulled away.

"Aren't you going to join me?" she asked, disappointed at the loss of contact.

He picked up his mug and took a sip. "Do you wish me to?" he asked demurely.

She rolled her eyes and patted the bed beside her. "I think we're well past coy, Professor."

He regarded her for a moment, taking another sip. Reaching out to brush aside a curly tendril from her forehead, he murmured, "I suppose we are." He finished his drink and banished his cup before climbing in beside her. She moved her pillow aside and waited for him to comfortably settle himself before leaning back against him. In doing so, the duvet crept down, affording him a generous eyeful of her cleavage.

She took his hand in his, threading their fingers together. "Do you have any plans for today?" she asked him.

"Most certainly," he replied. He trailed the fingers from his free hand over her bare shoulders, before capturing her lips in a searing kiss. "I plan to map every peak and valley of your body."

They parted company several hours later. Hermione was reluctant to leave him, but her standing appointment for Friday night dinner with her parents was not to be missed.

Hermione was a studious woman by nature. Normally, taking three weeks off from work – especially when she was this close to achieving a goal she had pursued since her fourth year at Hogwarts - would have annoyed her. However, with a new relationship to explore, she found herself most grateful for the much-needed time off.

Except for Friday evening, they spent every moment together. They filled their days selecting activities advertised in local papers or consulting his travel guide. At night, they alternated between his flat and hers, becoming more intimately acquainted with one another.

Surprisingly, they fought only once, when she had suggested they eat dinner at the Leaky Cauldron. It had been innocently suggested; they had been just down the street from the Muggle side-entrance and starving when she proposed it.

"But Severus," she argued. "It's right there."

"Dead men do not just walk into the Leaky Cauldron," he retorted harshly. They stared at each other. He was right, of course. Instead, they chose a Muggle pub a block away. While studying their menus, she decided to see how far she might push her luck. "How long do you intend to be dead?" she asked him as she reviewed the wine list.

He glared at her over the top of his menu. "I had intended it forever."

She ignored his scowl. "Yes, I understand that," she replied, keeping her eyes trained on the day's specials. "However, seeing as you've willingly entered into a relationship with me, you clearly understand that won't be possible."

"Are you threatening me?" he asked. He sounded hurt, more than angry. She placed her hand on top of his.

"Of course not, Severus," she said, stroking him with her thumb. "But surely you cannot expect me to keep our relationship a secret forever. Unless…,"

"Unless what?"

She pursed her lips. "Are you ashamed of being with me?"

He stared at her. "Am I ashamed of being with you?" he repeated incredulously. "If anything I would think it's quite the opposite."

It was her turn to scowl. "I can't believe you would think that, Severus. What would prompt me to push you to reveal yourself to the wizarding world if I was ashamed of you?" She arched her brow. "You must know I have no hidden motives here." When he did not respond, she continued. "Severus, you've been exonerated of every charge levied at you in the past. Harry and Professor Dumbledore's portrait both testified at your trial. You're considered a hero."

He rolled his eyes. "I assure you, I'm no hero."

"I beg to differ."

"Then we must be content with opposing views on the matter." He sighed and turned his hand over so he was holding hers. "Hermione, I can't go back there. Not now. Maybe not ever."

"So what I am meant to do?" she asked quietly. She set aside her menu and looked at him. He had never looked so vulnerable.

"I… don't know," he said miserably.

"Nor do I," she replied. She squeezed his hand. "But rest assured, I will never reveal your secret."

The next three months passed quickly.

It took only five weeks for Severus Snape to become a fixture at the Granger Friday night dinners. After their argument, Hermione had expected him to be resistant to spending time with her parents; it had taken her until the evening before the Beautiful and Damned for her to summon the courage to invite him to the show, sure as she was he would decline the invitation. He did not, and the two couples had a genuinely lovely evening, parting with plans to repeat such an outing soon.

Her parents adored him. They enjoyed his dry, sarcastic sense of humor, the fact that he was well-read and interested in learning about new things for the sake of learning. Walter brought Severus with him to his club and taught him to play golf, while Miranda convinced him to attend a writer's workshop to help him overcome a bout of writer's block.

Severus, for his part, liked that her parents were intelligent, open-minded, and accepting of past mistakes. "For surely," he told Hermione one night before bed, "I have many." Though he had never voiced it, Hermione knew he was also grateful that her parents had nearly fifteen years on him; certainly, it was easier for him to be more comfortable dating their daughter when he and her parents were not of a similar age.

It was undeniable. Hermione was falling in love with him. However, if she was being truly honest with herself, keeping their relationship a secret from her friends weighed heavily on her head and her heart. Still, she loathed bringing the topic up again, being as she was in full knowledge of his opinion on the matter.

On the morning of April third, an unfamiliar white owl tapped on Severus' window. It was carrying a large cream-colored envelope.

"Severus," Hermione said, nudging him gently. "You've got an owl."

"It's probably from my mother," he answered drowsily. He was still half-asleep. "Let it in, would you Miss Granger?" he asked, using his favorite term of endearment for her.

"Sure, Professor," she replied, using her own. She kissed him on the top of his head and went to let the bird inside. As was her custom, she gave it a few treats as she untied the envelope from its leg. The owl gobbled them gratefully before flying off. She closed the window behind it and turned the envelope over in her hand. It was stamped closed with an unfamiliar silver wax seal.

"I don't think this is from your mother, Severus," she said, running her finger over the seal. Though Hermione had yet to meet the witch in person, they had corresponded a bit since she had become involved with the woman's son. Eileen Prince favored a copper-colored sealing wax that she embossed with a quill shaped stamp.

Severus glanced suspiciously at the envelope from beneath a curtain of black hair. "Bring it here, Hermione," he said, sitting up. "Please."

She did as he bade, and handed him the envelope. He stared at it wearily. Unsure of what to do, she slipped his dressing gown on over the skimpy t-shirt she had slept in and went to make the coffee. When she returned, he had on his reading glasses – she adored how he looked in them – and was glaring at the envelope's contents as if they had personally insulted him.

"What's wrong?" she asked, passing him his mug of coffee.

"It's a bloody invitation," he muttered. "To a wedding." He jerked his chin toward the piece of cream parchment, inviting her to read the contents herself. She slid back into bed beside him before picking it up.

"Mr. and Mrs. Julian Canthus Greengrass and Mr. and Mrs. Magnus Theophilus Pucey -," she paused, giggling. "My, that's quite a mouthful." Severus nodded glumly, urging her to continue. "Invite you to join them for the nuptials of their children, Daphne Selene and Adrian Augustus on the second of May." She put down the parchment, baffled at how it had fouled his mood. "Severus, it's an invitation to Daphne's wedding, which you knew was upcoming. Why are you acting like someone has gone and run over your puppy?"

"I've never owned a dog in my life," he said, taking a fortifying sip of coffee. He shook his head, pushing the envelope away. "This bloody wedding is sure to be the social event of the damned wizarding world," he said with a sigh. "How can Julian do this to me?"

Hermione was confused. "How can Julian do what to you, Severus?" she asked. "All he did was send you was an invitation. Surely you were invited to Daphne's sisters' weddings?"

"Yes, but that was different. Phoebe and Theia were married before the Battle of Hogwarts."

"Astoria married Draco last year."

"In a very small ceremony, as befitting the Malfoy family's diminished social standing. He knew better than to insist I attend."

Hermione reread the invitation. She found it lacking in instruction, and said so. He tapped the parchment with his index finger. "Read what he wrote on the opposite side."

Hermione flipped the parchment over and saw that his cousin had added a handwritten note on the back. "We hope you can attend; it would mean the world to Daphne if you were there. Your mother tells us you are dating a lovely young woman. Please extend the invitation to her as well."

She put down the letter, trying to make sense as to why it was offensive. "Are you upset your mother told him you are seeing someone?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Of course not," he said, removing his reading glasses. "Not everything is about you." He sighed again, and reached for her hand, to remove the sting from his words. "I'm upset that this isn't an invitation so much as a summons."

Hermione read the note again. "It doesn't seem as such," she remarked.

"Perhaps to the untrained eye," he murmured. He finished his coffee and banished his mug to the kitchen. She stared at him expectantly.

"If Daphne insists upon my attendance, I must acquiesce," he explained. "How can I deny my savior anything – especially when she's getting married on the anniversary of the very day she saved my life?"

The dark cloud of Daphne's invitation hung over them for the remainder of the weekend. No matter what Hermione did or said, she was unable to shake him from his bitter mood. It was a relief to them both when she finally gave up and returned home early the next afternoon.

To Hermione's surprise, there was a cream-colored envelope of her own waiting for her by her front door. She snatched it up and opened it hastily. Daphne had invited her to the wedding. She flipped it over and was surprised to find a note on the back of her invitation as well, this one penned in Daphne's flowery hand.

Hermione,

I hope you are reading this on Sunday. Please meet me this evening at the Leaky Cauldron, at eight o'clock.

- Daphne

Hermione glanced at the clock on her cable box. It was only three. "I wonder what she wants," she said aloud, bending down to rub Crookshanks behind the ear. The Kneazle purred but offered no further insight.

She considered ringing Severus and asking him what he thought she wanted but decided better of it. If Daphne had meant for her to read the letter today, then she desired her intentions kept private.

Hermione spent the rest of the day, intermittently cleaning her flat while watching a marathon of a detective serial on the telly. At a quarter to, she applied a quick swipe of lipstick and ran a brush through her rebellious hair before apparating to the pub.

The Leaky Cauldron was less crowded than it had been on the previous occasions Hermione had visited. Hermione greeted Hannah and ordered a drink before sliding into an empty booth in the corner.

Daphne arrived at eight on the dot. She looked resplendent in a set of royal blue robes, her blonde hair plaited in a complicated hairstyle that would not have looked amiss Arthurian portraiture. Hermione, dressed in jeans and a button-down shirt, felt woefully underdressed.

"A gillywater, Hannah, please," Daphne called as she made her way across the bar to Hermione. She slipped into the booth without ceremony. "Please forgive the hair, Granger," she greeted her, swatting at it uncomfortably. "I've come from a trial at the hairdresser, and she's quite overdone it, I think."

Hermione thought it looked magnificent and said as much. Daphne shook her head. "It's too much. Hair is meant to accentuate a bride, not overshadow her." Hannah brought their drinks over and left menus on the table before discreetly taking leave. Hermione removed the lime from the rim and mashed it into her beverage before staring at Daphne, expectantly.

"Thank you for meeting me on such short notice," Daphne began. "I wanted to speak to you about-," she paused, noticing that they had attracted the attention of nearby table. She whipped out her wand and muttered, "Muffliato."

Smart, Hermione thought.

"Sorry about that," Daphne apologized. "But I've no wish to be overheard. I want to talk to you about Severus."

"Severus?" Hermione asked innocently. "Do you mean the dearly departed Professor Snape?"

Daphne regarded her shrewdly. "Let us speak plainly, shall we? I apologize for my deception at the New Year's Ball." She sipped her gillywater, measuring her words. "I wasn't aware of what you knew, and, well…they weren't my secrets to share."

True. Hermione leaned forward.

"I've managed to puzzle together, from our interaction and Cousin Eileen's letters, that you and Severus are seeing one another. Have been, apparently, for some time now." She paused, looking at Hermione for confirmation. She nodded stiffly, as there seemed little point in denying it. "Good," Daphne said approvingly. "He's been on his own for far too long, honestly. Aunt Vivienne said he spent most of his life pining after a dead woman who never loved him back, and frankly, I find that simply tragic."

Hermione was not sure how to respond. She looked down at her drink.

"Oh, darling, I don't mean to make you feel bad," Daphne said. She patted Hermione's hand. "Bloody hell, I've bollixed this up, haven't I? Let me start again. I am tremendously happy you are dating my cousin. He is a special person, and he deserves to be with someone who makes him happy. Before you ask, we – my family and I – know you do. Or rather, I know you do, while my family simply knows that he is dating someone and that he is, as a result, happier than we have ever seen him. Not that we see him often, mind…"

Hermione wondered when they saw him at all. It seemed, to her at least, that they were always together, prodigiously avoiding British wizarding society and everyone associated with it. As if reading her mind, Daphne continued. "Not that we've seen him recently, but Dad is always in touch with him. He's told you that Dad is acting as his intermediary between him and his publisher since he continues to refuse to let anyone else know he is alive."

He had not told her that, but Hermione was unsurprised to learn it. Severus had said that Daphne's father was a well-respected author; it made sense to use him to get his Potions textbooks published. "Daphne -,"

"Wait," Daphne said, cutting her off. "I'll get to my point. It is this – we are tired of his living in hiding. We respect his desire for privacy – he has always been so fiercely private, even as a young man – but he is a hero, Hermione, as much as you and your friends, and he deserves to be recognized as such. At the very least, he should not be forced to live out his life in hiding."

"I agree," Hermione said. "But he doesn't want anyone to know he's alive. He said there are only a handful of people or so who knows it."

"That's true," Daphne agreed. "My parents, my sisters and their husbands – minus Draco, of course - and I, and Vivienne and her husband. Vivienne's children do not even know – Severus stopped coming 'round for Christmas after he was healed up enough to move on to Italy." She took another sip of her drink. "We miss him. We want him to be part of our lives, especially now that he is finally free of his double allegiances. You know, being stuck at Hogwarts was practically imprisonment for him."

Hermione nodded again. He had told her as much.

"Besides, you're very much part of the magical world, employed at the ministry and all that. I imagine your relationship has become rather serious, being as you are both a serious sort. Don't you wish to get married one day? How are you going to do that when he won't even allow you to tell your closest friends he's alive?"

Hermione wondered if Daphne was a Legilimens. She seemed to be hitting on every thought Hermione had worked hard to repress since becoming involved with Severus Snape.

Daphne was staring at her. She expected Hermione to answer. "I don't know," Hermione replied shakily. She sighed. "Yes," she admitted. "I could see us married, one day. I like to think that's the direction we're headed…" Truthfully, she had no idea if he felt the same. For all their endless hours of conversation, they had never discussed moving into together, marriage, or children. Nothing beyond their plans for the next week or two. "We've never talked about it," she admitted.

Daphne frowned. "Well, I think it's high time you have that conversation. Granger, I know we don't know one another well – a failing on both our parts, I think, because I always liked you well enough when we were at school, especially in the later years when we studied Arithmancy and Ancient Runes together – but I think you deserve to happy as well. And no one can be truly free if they are forced to hide such an important part of their lives from their friends." She pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill and scribbled something on it. "That's my address, Hermione. Speak to Severus. When you are ready to come out with your relationship, let me know. I'll do everything in my power to help soften the blow."

With that, the blonde witch finished her drink and stood. She tossed a few galleons on the table – more than enough to pay for both their drinks – and left.

Over the next week, Hermione replayed her conversation with Daphne in her head at least a hundred times. She knew she ought to mention it to Severus – at least in part – but the opportunity never presented itself. She had not heard from him all week; it seemed that once again, he was avoiding her.

By Thursday, she grew impatient with his silence. After lunch, she apparated directly to his flat. She had no trouble entering it, as he had programmed the wards to recognize her magical signature weeks prior. She called out his name and headed for his study, expecting him to be at his desk, slavishly revising his textbook. The first of the series was due at his publisher the following week.

His study was empty. Hell, his entire apartment was empty, save for Seraphina, who rejoiced at seeing her. She gave the owl a treat before entering his bedroom.

She sat on his bed. Now what, she wondered. She decided she should at least leave him a note, lest he thinks someone had managed to break in. She looked around for a spare bit of parchment when his travel book caught her eye.

Did she dare? She knew how the book worked, as they had used it together. Before she had time to form a plan, the book was in her hand, her wand poised against the embossed cover. "Point me," she directed it. The book flew open and an advert for the Regent's Park in Primrose Hill glowed. She knew the park well. It was just down the street from her parents' dental practice.

"Curious," she murmured. She replaced the book on the shelf. What was he doing in Primrose Hill? More importantly, what was she going to do about it?

Screw it, she thought. Clearly, she was going to go see what was going on. She transfigured her work robes into something more appropriate for venturing out into the Muggle world and gave Seraphina another treat before disapparating for her parents' practice. She was grateful that they kept a small utility shed behind the redbrick building as it had, on several occasions, spared her from accidentally frightening one of their unsuspecting patients.

Carefully, Hermione made her way out of the shed and down the street. She entered the park. Disappointingly, he wasn't in her immediate line of vision. Not wishing to traipse across the entirety, she discreetly withdrew her wand and laid it flat on her palm. "Point me," she said. Her wand spun, pointing southeast toward the duck pond. She replaced her wand in her pocket and started along the trail.

She found him relatively quickly. He sat on a bench, facing the ducks. Next to him was an attractive woman with dark hair. Hermione's eyes widened with surprise as she recognized her. What was he doing with Professor Sinistra?

Hermione moved behind a tree. She was torn. She knew she should go home. Yet, she found she could not. Before she knew what she was doing, her wand was out of her pocket again, along with a compact mirror. When she was certain no one was watching her, she waved her wand against herself, casting several glamor charms. Gone was her bushy brown hair and brown eyes, replaced with longer, sleek blond locks and eyes the color of the robes Daphne had worn earlier in the week. After a second's hesitation, she softened her jawline as well and added a small mole above her lip on the left side. That'll do, she thought. She looked like an entirely different person. Pulling a book out of her purse, she moved closer to their bench, taking a seat on the grass. To anyone passing by, she simply looked like a local taking in a few minutes of early April sun during her lunch break. Instead of a jealous and potentially deranged girlfriend spying on her significant other, she thought.

Hermione opened her book and tried to focus. It took her a moment, but she was soon able to discern their voices from among the general din of the park.

"It isn't going to work," she heard him say morosely. Her ears perked. What wasn't going to work?

"I don't understand why," Professor Sinistra. "It's worked thus far. You're happy, aren't you, Severus?"

"What is happy, Aurora?" he replied. Hermione watched as Professor Sinistra tossed something at him. "Fine, fine," he said, cowering slightly. "Yes. I'm happy. I'm the happiest I've ever been in my forty-four years of existence," he answered. "She's everything I have ever wanted, and then some." Hermione blushed. She suspected he was speaking about her. "She understands me in a way that I don't think anyone else has ever bothered to try."

"Even -,"

"Yes."

"Which is why I don't understand," Professor Sinistra repeated. "If everything is well, then what is the problem?"

"I'm not enough for her."

Professor Sinistra laughed. "Darling, I say this with all the love in the world, but you are a lot. I'm quite sure you're more than enough."

"No," he said sharply. "She's young. We have never discussed it, but I am sure she wants a family. I can't give that to her."

"Why? You are still young yourself. Even Muggle men can produce children well into their seventies. As a wizard in his prime, there's no reason you couldn't as well."

Hermione heard him sigh. Pretending to turn the page, she struggled to hear his muffled response. Fortunately, her former teacher seemed to suffer from a similar affliction.

"Come again, darling," she said lazily. "I didn't quite catch that."

He shot to his feet. Hermione froze – he seemed to be staring in her direction. He must not have noticed her, though, as he continued.

"What kind of life can I give her?" He said. "A life in hiding is no life at all. We have been together for almost four months. I keep waiting for her to give me the boot."

Professor Sinistra wrinkled her nose. "Such a charming Muggle expression," she drawled. He stared at her archly, but she paid him no mind. "Severus," she continued. "You must get over yourself. If you are a man on the run, then it is because you have chosen it. Surely, you understand that no place in our world would turn you out. Why, if you were to stroll into Minerva's office tomorrow and demand your old position back, she would toss out Sydelle Smiley and have you signing a fresh contract so fast -,"

"Aurora," he said warningly. "I will never go back there."

"Nor do I expect you to," she answered with a casual shrug. "It still doesn't change the facts, Severus." She reached for his hand, and Hermione felt a twinge of jealousy at how easily he relaxed in her grasp.

"Severus, we have been friends since we were eleven years old. I know that you have done and seen things that weigh heavily on you, not the least of which are the circumstances for surrounding their deaths. But…"

Suddenly Hermione heard a buzzing. Someone must have cast a Muffliato spell. A shadow fell across her and she glanced up, sure she had been caught.

She had, but not by him. Peering down at her was none other than her best friend, Harry Potter.

"That's enough, Hermione," he said quietly. He held out his hand to her. "Come. Let's go."