Chapter 3

Work a little harder
Keep your mind on death
Get your things in order
Take a deeper breath

Paul Kelly

Two years, eleven months and sixteen days

Severus stood outside the classroom of third years, listening intently as they shuffled their way into their seats. Each movement was marked by huffs of breath – it was a double period, and the last student to look forward to double Potions was the woman he'd just visited in St. Mungo's. It was trying, for all involved, though he found that since the war had ended, he didn't quite mind it. Teaching in itself was almost enjoyable; it felt safe, familiar.

His persona had only changed slightly since the fall of Riddle. Potions was still the one class where anything could (and often would) go wrong. Even during the years between the wars where he had been relatively (very, very relatively) able to teach the way he desired, it was still with a stern face and calculated voice, alongside an added dash of cantankerousness.

There was no other way to control a bunch of teenagers; he'd learnt that early on when he'd first started as a Professor at Hogwarts, when many of the students remembered him from when he'd spent years running from the now glorified party of four that made up his tormenters. Oh, he'd often given as good as he got, but only after he'd learnt that the only way out of being cornered by the Marauders – quite an apt word, if Marauders meant a bag of dicks – was by turning their own torturous methods back onto them instead.

The punishments, when doled out (always to him, rarely to them) were enough to make him see that equality would never occur at Hogwarts. Not when its Headmaster would barely chasten a Gryffindor who sent Severus to his death and left him with a vivid fear that had only just somewhat abated. Minerva was barely any better.

Even now, one of the most significant reasons for his return to his old position was to resume his post as the Head of Slytherin. Merlin knew that the new Headmistress did not have any soft spots left in her shriveled, bitter heart for those of his House. Someone had to; if he could champion his wife, he could damn well do it for these students, too.

They were a sad bunch. Many of the children had been left with one parent, though there were also a large number of new orphans. He'd honed his bedside manners over the last two years, to the point where even a seventh year would stumble to his office in the middle of the night now. Often they wouldn't speak of what nightmares drove them to seek his assistance, but it didn't matter. A cup of herbal tea with a calming draught would greet them all the same. He understood silent bravery, after all, and there were often younger siblings relying on the older brother or sister to stay stoic and strong. It wasn't uncommon to see him inside his office reading or marking silently while a student curled up on a chair in front of the fire on the other side of the room.

Somehow, the Slytherin students had decided that he was their best shot at getting through the psychological mess that was post-war emotions. And for such an overlooked group as them, they needed anything they could get.

From her guilt over her treatment of Severus, Poppy was on his side and had organised one of the St. Mungo's Healers to visit the dungeons covertly a month ago. The Healer was a quiet, elderly woman who he'd seen at times when making his daily calls on Hermione. That she only nodded and smiled at Snape instead of making a show when she recognised him was enough to have him endorse her to the rest of the group. Minerva had objected when he'd listed the Healer as an expense to be reimbursed, the old sour witch, and so he and Poppy had pooled their resources in a sum of galleons and sickles to pay for it. Let it not be said that Hogwarts staff rolled around in riches.

"Late again, Severus?"

Think of the devil and the devil shall appear…

He painted on a scowl and turned to face Minerva. "Not at all, Headmistress."

"Then why are you outside and not supervising the students?" She pursed her wrinkly lips and looked him up and down. "For all of your raving about how dangerous a subject it is, you are curiously unmindful of allowing them to wander around your classroom without an adult present."

"Ah." He nodded and set his shoulders, aware of her annoyance. "You object to Slytherins being inside alone with the Gryffindors? Never fear, madam – the students work well together. They often do when key… figures are not around to instigate them."

Minerva drew herself up; he frowned again when her eyes darted around the quiet corridor, as if searching for possible witnesses. Finding none, she took a step towards him. "You are late three days out of five, Professor Snape. I suggest you up your game-"

"If I am late, then it is because I am tending to your favourite student!" he hissed, advancing on her slowly, feeling a small, familiar shred of satisfaction when she backed away. "Do you mean to tell me that Madam Snape no longer deserves to be visited? Should I leave her there to rot?"

She squawked and jabbed a finger towards him, though she would not connect it with his chest. He scoffed at her timidity and rolled his eyes.

"You disgust me, Minerva. For all of your big words and career advice, all you are looking to do is punish me for marrying her – just like you did to her when she was your student!"

"I would never-"

"Liar! When was the last time you visited Hermione? Tell me! You can't, can you?" He took one look at her mouth that was opening and closing like a fish out of water and sneered. "Well I can. I can tell you the last time you visited, the last time Harry Potter visited, the last time Ronald Weasley visited – I can even tell you the last time that Phineas ruddy Black visited, because let me tell you, he takes a look in once a month which is more than anyone could ever say for you!"

He couldn't bring himself to stop, not even when the classroom door opened behind him and Minerva's eyes widened until they were fit to bust. The students must have been watching, but he found that he didn't even care.

"Let me tell you when you last visited Hermione Snape, Headmistress. One year, two months and six days ago."

There was a collective sound of gasps from the open door, something that pleased him immensely. Hermione was dearly loved by many of the students of Hogwarts – it wasn't uncommon for him to find cards on his desk to take to his wife with well wishes inside, or sometimes even records of prayers by some of the Muggle-born and half-blood students. A pure-blood from his own house had once clipped a copy of the Lord's Prayer found in an old CoE prayerbook in the library onto a plain card. He'd taken particular care with the preserving spells for that one before slipping it into a box in his private sitting room that was filled with shrunken cards and letters. He figured that Hermione would want to see them… one day.

Turning back to the task at hand, he watched as Minerva flushed a bright beet red before storming away in the opposite direction, wiping furiously at her cheeks. He knew he'd upset the old witch – it wasn't that he even really wanted to. He was well aware of Minerva's hatred for him – she'd never forgiven him for Albus' death – but it incensed him that she allowed her feelings for him to overshadow her grief at Hermione's state. And Minerva was grieving – it was as clear as a summer's day that she cared deeply for his wife.

But he could spare the old woman no pity, not when she couldn't seem to move past what had happened long ago. Hermione was his wife, and may the gods have mercy on anyone that came between Severus and the woman who was bound to him.

He turned on his heel in a billow of robes and waved a tired hand to the students still gawking in the door way. They scattered and hurried back to their seats, though not before one young Gryffindor shyly whispered to him, "Send my regards to Madam Snape, if you please, Professor," before scampering to her bench.

With that, he stood taller and let out a deep breath before walking resolutely down the middle of the classroom, turning with a flourish at the end and flicked his wand to shut the door with a bang.

"Students," he began ominously. They tensed, expecting a severe reprimand for listening in on the conversation. For effect, he glared at those who he knew had gasped the loudest when he had revealed Minerva's lack of visits. Then, unable to hold back a smirk, he simply said, "Turn to page two hundred and twenty three."

…

"Ginger snaps?"

"Yes, well..."

"I remember these! They're my favourite, aren't they? Oh yummy, Severus! Oh I remember that we used to have them together sometimes, you'd get your elf – what was her name... Tink! – to bring them when I stayed downstairs with you every now and then while you did your marking. I miss that so much, Severus…"

"If I'd known you'd react so well, I would've brought them months ago."

"Mm. Well, not everyone likes them. I, for future reference, think they are divine. Lavender likes them too, you know. Will you give her a couple when you go out?"

"Of course I will, Hermione. May I have one?"

"Have what? These? Be my guest, they're disgusting. Just put them in the bin – I don't even know why you brought them. How could you think I would like them? You don't know me at all, do you? No. Of course you wouldn't – you hate me, after all."

"I do not-"

"Give it up, Snape," Hermione shrugged indifferently. "It is what it is."

He narrowed his eyes and looked more closely at her. "I said that to you only a few days ago. Do you remember our conversation? You were upset and I told you that you were my wife and I would always-"

"I'm married to you? Good lord, who came up with that ridiculous idea? You must be dreaming, Professor. Are you feeling all right?"

Severus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, yes. I'm fine. Thank you, Hermione."

"You've never called me Hermione before," she said primly, then perched on the edge of the chair at her desk and ate another ginger snap. "I don't think you should start now. Student-teacher boundaries are important, you know. It's a useful learning tool when you're teaching a subject with such dangerous ingredients."

"Indeed."

Ten minutes later, she spoke again.

"Professor Snape?"

"Hmm?" He looked up from the book on his knees and removed the glasses that he only wore in her presence or alone. Hermione moved to sit beside him on the couch.

"Have you ever travelled?"

A snort escaped before he could rein it in, and she giggled. Wanting to hear the enchanting sound again, he found that he was soon chuckling along as she laughed freely. Struck by her beauty, Severus leaned forward slightly to see her better; someone had cut her hair short when she'd first been admitted (no one had owned up to it, after he had ranted and raved because she had always loved her hair that was almost a creature unto itself and bugger it all, he loved it, too) and it hung now to just past her shoulders. The shorter length meant the curls were a mesh of corkscrews and waves, and though he did miss her wild mane, he could see her face better now. It was simple work to admire the attractive blush to her cheeks, and the way her eyes gleamed.

If only….

Finally, he managed to stop laughing long enough to say, "No. There was never time… once I was steadily employed at Hogwarts and had money coming in for once, I'd already begun spying. Even between the wars, there was rarely the chance for… sojourns, so to speak."

"Oh," she breathed, smiling at him bashfully, almost proudly. "I've travelled," she announced with aplomb. Snorting again, he cocked an eyebrow.

"Oh? Do continue."

"Only if you promise to listen and not interrupt." Dear lord, was she flirting with him? Still, it was harmless; she wouldn't remember it, and he was her husband. He might have once felt a tad… iffy from her affections when she was in the mind of a student, but propriety could be damned for the afternoon.

"I promise."

"Well," she settled back against the cushions on the couch and drew her socked feet up so she could hug her knees to her chest, "I've been to a few places in Europe. France, Spain, Portugal. I quite liked them, but do you know where I really loved? I've only been once, but it's my dream to go again…"

"Where would this exceptional place be, Miss Granger?"

"Call me Hermione," she said promptly, swatting a hand through the air. "We should be on an even footing, don't you think?"

"All right." He shrugged. "Where do you want to go, Hermione?"

"Bali," she said with a feminine sigh, leaving him confused. Of all the places, she wanted to go to a tiny island at the ends of the earth that he'd only seen pictures of in one magazine in a Muggle supermarket? Then Severus decided that it really didn't matter. If Hermione wanted to go to New Zealand, then he'd take her skiing in… where was it? Queensland? No. Queenstown. Wherever it was, anyway, he'd bloody well take her. Bali was doable, though he'd need to learn some new cooling and translation charms, maybe get in touch with the local, indigenous magical community…

"Severus?"

"Ah. My apologies. My mind was elsewhere."

"Wow – you, Severus Snape- what's your middle name, by the way?"

"I do not have one," he admitted. At her disbelieving look, he nodded in confirmation. "It is very much true."

"Mine's Jean," she supplied.

"I know."

"Oh. Right. Anyway, I can't believe you were woolgathering! Ha! Fantastic. Back to the subject at hand – Bali. I went once when I was younger. There was barely anything there; mum and dad met there years ago – mum's a bit of an alternative woman, did you know that?"

Christ, Helen Granger, alternative? Abso-ruddy-lutely not. Unless alternative means bollocks eating beast?

"No, I did not know that about your mother. That's an interesting revelation."

"Mmm. Yes. So they took me for one last hurrah, as it were, as it's a bit expensive to get all the way down there, you see. I was only five but it was fascinating! The heat was… it was alive, if you know what I mean. It felt like it crawled over my skin, like devil's snare in a way. So sticky and humid. And then the mountain air was so clean. I'd like to go back one day."

Severus looked at her thoughtfully, carefully measuring his words before he said, "Perhaps you will."

When the dead look returned to her eyes, he turned back to his book.

"Perhaps I will what?"

"Perhaps you'll enjoy this book I'm reading, Miss Granger. It's quite interesting; let me tell you more about it…"

…

"Did you have a row with the Headmistress again?" Lavender said between mouthfuls of a biscuit. "I just love ginger snaps. Mmm. Delicious. Thanks again, by the way."

"I did not 'have a row'," he insisted. "We merely did not see eye to eye on-"

"Hermione?"

"-on a number of things, most of which are none of your business. How did you come to such a conclusion?"

Lavender stared at him directly then curled her upper lip. "Really, Professor. Do you think I don't notice anything? You bring ginger snaps once or twice a month, and each time it coincides with new stories coming down the grapevine of shouting matches in the dungeons. Plus this is the second time you've visited today. Another telltale sign."

"What sort of grapevine connects Hogwarts to St. Mungo's?"

Bugger. He'd have to watch what he said from now on.

The Healer grinned and shook her head. "Can't tell you, I'm afraid. I'm bound by confidentiality agreements."

"About gossip?"

"You can bet your ashwinder eggs that gossip is included. The things that go on in these wards…" she trailed off and smiled. "Well, good on you anyway. Minerva's got a stick of an immeasurable size up her backside these days. The poor woman doesn't understand how to deal with her grief. She'll come around one day, believe me, and when she does, it will be with an apology of epic proportions."

"Epic proportions?" he echoed faintly. "Sadly, I think you're delusional, Ms. Brown. Not that it matters. The Headmistress is entitled to her own opinions, as I am to mine. In turn, she also signs off on the deposits of my salary, so do your best to paint me in a good light on this grapevine, will you?"

"Always, sir," she agreed and broke open another biscuit before popping one half into her mouth. Chewing, she flicked her wand in the air and produced a complex looking calendar that would have impressed even his wife in the room across the hall. "The Longbottom trial is on Monday. Can you come?"

He grimaced and shook his head. "Not for this one. I'm hopeful, of course, but I have seventh years and Minerva won't authorise the expense of bringing a replacement in. But I'll be sure to come the morning of, and the afternoon as well."

"That's all right," Lavender said readily. Her smile was sympathetic this time, though Severus had seen it enough times to not bother about the damage to his already eaten away pride. "Neville told me yesterday that the patients – well, his parents and Hermione – are expected to sleep as part of the medicine's side effects. So you won't miss much. Just the administering of the Potion – good work on that, by the way; Neville finally confessed it was you, though I don't know why you didn't mention it – then the extra mental stimulants that his fancy new plants have gone into. She won't even be awake when you get here. The sleeping draught has to knock them out so the stimulants can work without waking them. I don't think she'll be up until Tuesday morning."

He elected to defend himself first. "I didn't tell you because it was Longbottom's fancy new plants that were involved with making it. He is not… wholly inadequate and seems to have developed a talent for finding new specimens that could assist. I was merely the stirrer, measurer, etcetera, etcetera. And I will come anyway, that afternoon and the next morning."

"Righto. And don't downplay your part. I know you had a few all nighters while designing it."

"How do you know such things?"

"Grapevine," she said breezily and moved out of the Healer's station to tap her lilac robes until they turned a light grey. "Excuse me, Professor. Time to get back to work." She began to make her way down towards the rooms of Alice and Frank Longbottom.

"Of course." He bowed his head slightly. "Send my greetings to both, if you would."

Without waiting for her reply, he strode towards the main doors and back downstairs to the Apparation point. In the blink of an eye, he was back at the gates of Hogwarts, alone again.

With a sigh of resignation, he took the small square of black wool out of his pocket and tapped it with his wand, watching as it returned to its original state. He drew the robes around him like a second, armoured skin and began the long walk up to the castle.