Onwards we go in our little alternate universe…

Chapter 2

I like the way you're wearing your smile

And you close your eyes

And you leave us for a while.

The Waifs

…

Two years, eleven months and fifteen days

"Good morning, Professor! Isn't it a lovely day outside?"

"Morning, Miss Granger. It's rather glorious."

"You're so positive when you visit me, sir. I wish you'd show this side of you to the rest of the students. They'd love to see it. It's a real treat."

"Yes… I'm sure that they would adore it. But I don't think that I will."

"Oh. That's a pity, sir. You know, perhaps it's for the best. You can't really control students who are working with volatile ingredients when they're all batting their lashes at you now can you?"

"Ah… no. Why would they be batting their lashes, Miss Granger?"

"Well, you're quite handsome, you see. Don't scowl, it's true. You're striking. Not conventionally attractive, but certainly arresting. You'd wreak havoc on the seventh years if you showed them you were charming, too."

"I am most definitely not charming."

"True, true. That was the wrong word to use. Hmm… witty? Yes. You're quite witty. Arresting and witty – an interesting combination."

"Miss Granger - are you quite all right?"

"Oh – good morning, Professor! Sorry. I don't have time for another extra study session with you today, though I am very appreciative of your efforts in helping me with the private tutoring. Could we perhaps reschedule? I have this pressing assignment, you see – I need to work on translating these medieval texts. My Potions professor thought it would be a good idea. So I'll need to give the extra DADA revision a miss for the day."

"Of course. Do you mind if I work here while you do your research? I have some marking to complete."

"It's much the same to me if you stay or go."

"All right… I shall be here on the couch if you require assistance."

"I assure you, I am quite capable. You do not need to coddle me. Why are you here again? Isn't this inappropriate, a teacher in a student's private room?"

"Quite."

"Then aren't you going to leave?"

"In a moment."

…

"Oh god, Severus…" The book fell from her hands and hit the floor with a heavy thud.

He winced at the tears already beginning to form and sat down beside her on the end of the bed. Would this never end? After everything she had done, would Hermione never be granted a reprieve? As he watched her come to terms with her state, it almost felt like his heart was breaking over and over again. But that would require him to admit that he cared for his wife more than had ever been appropriate. There truly was nothing between them, except the piece of paper with two rushed signatures that had bound them in marriage as a bid to circumvent the Ministry.

The law had been pushed through as soon as the Dark Lord had begun to worm his way into the Wizarding government, in an effort to control the Muggleborn population. It had been not long after Albus had put on that godsforsaken ring; one of the old wizard's arguments was that at least if, by some twist of fate, Severus did end up surviving the war, he would hopefully be dealt with easier given the effort he had made to save Hermione from the clutches of other Death Eaters who would have had her if he hadn't. Dumbledore had already been showing signs of losing his mind, though it did not make him less persistent.

He had claimed impotence long ago and so there was never any expectation of sexual activities – no consummation was required (such acts had been repealed after the first War, though no doubt the fine print would have been adjusted if Riddle had not been defeated). There was never any other man for her in the end; for the woman that was the brains behind Harry Potter, only Severus could provide the cover that she was being adequately controlled. His skills in Occlumency made such things fairly simple to construct, and she had been given private quarters in Gryffindor tower, accessed by a magical door that Dumbledore installed just inside Severus' office so it appeared that they shared a chamber.

They had barely had any more of a relationship than what was already there, which was largely nothing. There had been times that she had greeted him on her way to her rooms when he was marking in his office, and every now and again he escorted her to the library for appearances sake, but it was easy enough for them both to look as if they despised each other and did not wish to keep contact.

Severus truly believed that she did despise him, especially after he carried out Dumbledore's final instruction and snuffed out the life of the old wizard. He didn't know why it was that she didn't now… even in her most deranged moments, she seemed to understand that he had been required to kill the Headmaster. That gave him hope; he had recounted the story while she was in her long, still sleep in the early days. It was a miracle that she had heard him, but there was no other explanation.

Her 'marriage' to Severus did not save her; it was never designed to. Dumbledore himself was aware that the Law might provide only a small sliver of protection if Riddle managed to win the war, but it was enough for Severus to agree to yet another demand from the head of the Order. As it was, he didn't really bother to object – there was nothing that he had to do other than create a few false memories, and once Dumbledore was dead and Hermione was on the run with the rest of the Trio, all that he'd had to do was live his life of hell as he would've done anyway. For a spy, it was the easiest trick he had ever played.

Hermione's torture in Malfoy Manor was the tipping point – Potter himself had spoken with Severus in the months after the battle when everyone had found the time to visit every second day or so. The boy had mentioned how her hands would shake at Shell Cottage, how Bill would tilt his head and watch with narrow, examining eyes when she began to stare off unseeingly for minutes at a time. But there hadn't been time to look at it further; it had been too dangerous to take her to any specialist Healers, and so they listened when she insisted that she was fine.

It was easy to pretend when she called Harry 'Sirius' one morning that she was simply bleary eyed from waking.

Bellatrix Lestrange's last parting gift to the Light before Molly Weasley ended her once and for all was to corner Hermione while she was fighting beside Ron Weasley in one of the corridors of Hogwarts. The bout of crucio had lasted until reinforcements arrived; the woman that had awakened in the hospital weeks later was forever changed. The anger Severus felt when he remembered those early days of sitting beside her quiet, unmoving form was still fresh over two years later. He himself had barely been harmed; he'd ignored the request to go to the Shack, and had fought furiously against his former 'brothers'. It was bittersweet that when he had emerged almost unscathed to witness their triumph, he had found his wife minutes later lying still with her limbs bent unnaturally and her eyes glazed over.

He looked at Hermione now on the bed beside him, at how beautiful (it was easy to admit it when she would never remember it) she still was, how hauntingly lovely her eyes were, and he hastened to extend an awkward arm and draw her to his side. He would be a lucky man indeed if he were allowed to have such a woman for his wife – oh he had her, yes, but not all of her.

Why did he care so? Severus did not really know why his wife had smashed through all of his barriers and inched her way inside his heart. He did not love her, no, but still – she was married to him. The law had been repealed (after a disastrous time where the Ministry enforced the entire population to it for a year in hope of a post-war population boom, it had been discarded after the remaining old guard had been pushed out) but he had no desire to divorce her. She could make that decision when she regained her mind, if she ever did. He knew that she would leave him if any of the trials ever proved successful – why on earth would she actually stay? Yet he was a steadfast man, and he was her husband. Even if it was only on paper, he would damn well support her. No one else was.

Her parents were as vicious as bulldogs when it came to their daughter, but there was no one in the Magical world that had kept up such regular visits. She hadn't been abandoned, not completely, but it was clear that Potter and Weasley only came out of a sense of boyhood obligation. They had lost hope. Severus certainly hadn't. What else did he have to hope for, after all?

Hermione cleared her throat, preparing to speak.

"Two years, eleven months and fifteen days, sweetheart," he said gently, sensing the question that would undoubtedly be asked.

Her sobs were louder and heavier this time; he waved a hand when Lavender's concerned face appeared in the small window beside the door, and the Healer nodded grimly and disappeared.

"It will be all right, Hermione. The Longbottom trial is days away. It's promising."

"It must be terrible if you're telling me that Neville Longbottom has created something promising," she said breathily between hiccoughs. Her attempt at humour was poor – the whole situation was poor – but he chuckled all the same. The sound came from deep within his stomach, somewhere far away from where his heart was disintegrating. She burrowed her face into his neck, dampening his skin with salted tears.

"I'm sorry to have done this to you, Severus. I never wanted to tie you down. Not ever."

"You haven't," he assured her, squeezing her shoulder when she tried to protest. "You are my wife, Hermione. No matter whether it is solely on paper or not. I will take care of you until you order me away."

"Then I w-"

"No," he began firmly, "not like this. You need me. Stop being so self-sacrificing. It is what it is, and I am here. When this ends, you may… decide what it is you wish to do."

She nodded into his shoulder and blew out a long breath. "I just want you to be free. I can't bear to think of you like this, tied to someone when you had no real choice. Tied to me."

"Hush," Severus ordered softly. "Do not speak of it. These are the cards that we have been dealt. Give it time."

"I had a dream last night…" said Hermione, the words making him instantly alert. Dreams were new!

"Oh?" He tried to stay nonchalant, as if he wasn't waiting with bated breath.

"It was…" she ducked down further, her cheek on his chest now, hiding her face from his view. He turned slightly and drew her into his lap. Such a movement would have been unthinkable years ago when they were first married, but he was beyond that now. It calmed her; for some ridiculous reason, she found comfort in the arms of her old Potions Professor. He didn't care to dispute it. Besides, he needed it, too. Her thin arms wound around his body; he feel her fingers twisting into the woolen material of his frock coat.

Her voice was soft and low and he rested his chin on her hair as he listened. "I dreamt that… that the war was over, and you took me away from everything. You kept me safe."

"Me?"

"Yes…" she paused and swallowed. "Does that bother you?"

"Should it?"

"I don't want it to…"

"Then it doesn't. It doesn't bother me at all."

…

"Hermione?"

"Yes, Severus?"

"I would do that."

"Hmm? Do what?"

"Take you away; keep you safe. I'll do it. When this is over, if that's what you want, I'll do it."

"Do what, Professor? What are you talking about? What are you even doing here? Get out! I despise you and your forked tongue – you have no right to be here! Out! Now! That's right – leave, leave! You're a coward, Snape. Always hiding behind your big, bullying ways. Get out! Off you go. That's the way. Don't let the door hit you on the way out."