You can thank Banglabou's diamond encrusted whip for the speedy update… ;-) Forgive me for the delay in replies for chapter 4. Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read/follow/review and favourite the story.

Chapter 5

Now the moon will rise on your naked faith

Cause a wave to break where you bathe

Someday I will serve you, some day.

Chris Whitley

1997

"Do you take me for a fool, Albus?" Severus muttered, raking both hands through his shoulder length hair. The Headmaster merely shrugged and continued watching him with his normal, infuriatingly chipper expression. Severus was partial to the idea that it was the look of a ruthless and shrewd dictator, not that many others agreed with him.

"Of course I do not. Name me any other who would be able to protect Miss Granger in the way that you can, and I shall contact him immediately. There is no other option."

The adamant refusal had Severus standing and moving to the front of the office to pace back and forth. "There are others, Albus! Others she would not find so…" he flinched but went on anyway, "…repulsive. I have lived in hell for years, it doesn't matter to me, but how you have come to the conclusion that she should share such a life, I have not even the slightest idea. Tying her to me will ruin her eventually, Albus – mark my words! She'll be more of a target than she's ever been. It'll be just one more nail in the-"

"You know I don't follow your Muggle references, Severus," Albus said pointedly, his bright eyes hardening. Severus shrugged off the remark. The Headmaster not understanding things that he said were often the main reason that he even bothered to say them in the first place.

"Be that as it may – this is a terrible idea, even for you. In your current state-"

"Enough!" Albus thundered, tucking his blackened hand inside his robes. "You will marry the girl – it is your Dark Lord that has come up with such a plan, anyway! Do not think that I am making this decision on a whim, Severus. Miss Granger must be protected. I will not have you sprouting nonsense such as those of her year being able to do so – Ronald Weasley is an intelligent young man, but his strategic skills do not transfer to lying to the face of Tom Riddle! Likewise, Remus Lupin – he is at the bottom of the pack. He has no pack. There would be no difference in Miss Granger marrying either man. Even Harry cannot do what you can, which is hide her in plain sight! You know this!"

Severus returned to the chair and sat down heavily, putting his head in his hands. Of all the things he had prepared for when he had been summoned to the meeting with the Headmaster, it was not this. Speaking his true thoughts, he mumbled, "The girl despises me, Albus. She would never forgive me for…"

"For what? Taking her innocence? It matters not, as you will do no such thing. We are not so archaic as to force consummation-"

"Thank Merlin for that!"

"-and she understands, more than most, of how delicately your role must be managed."

Severus narrowed his eyes and stared at the Headmaster, picking up on the unsaid hints. "You have spoken to her already! Admit it!"

"And if I have?"

His shoulders sagged and he sighed; it was not in anger, nor frustration. The cost to Severus had already been so high that this was merely just another rung in the self-sacrificial ladder that he climbed each day. He already spent blood, sweat and honest to Merlin tears to protect these students; what was a piece of paper when compared to that?

"And… and what did Miss Granger have to say?"

"Ah." Albus suddenly resumed his grandfatherly persona; he popped a sweet into his mouth, the mood change almost giving the younger wizard whiplash. Severus rolled his eyes and gestured for him to get a move on.

"Patience, Severus. You will need it in the days to come, though perhaps not for the reasons that you think. Miss Granger… or should I say Hermione, has no objections to the match. In fact, when presented with the alternatives before your name was even mentioned, she was the one who said she would prefer you above all."

"It means nothing," he shot back. "You have marked me for her; the alternatives were window dressing."

"If you think so, my boy. Go now, Severus, and ready yourself. Your bride – oh don't look so dour, it does have a nice ring to it, I've always wanted to see you married one day – will arrive in time for afternoon tea."

…

"And this is the door you will use to gain access to your new quarters. I apologise for it being within my office," Severus said stiffly, "but it presents a…"

"United front?" Hermione supplied, easing her bag onto her other shoulder. He nodded when she smiled tentatively. The plain gold wedding band on her left ring finger glinted under the candlelight for a short moment. Still shocked how quickly the events of the day had steamrolled past him, he looked down at his own silver ring with a frown.

Feeling the urge to say it though knowing he would botch it anyway, he kept his eyes on the ring as he said, "Miss Granger, I am aware that the situation will be trying for us both. Our dealings with each other will not change for the most part, nor will your position within the school. There will be times when we will have to be seen together, of course, but I do not believe that shall need to occur very often." He pursed his lips as he wondered the best way to put what needed to be said, for he was under no illusions about what the girl was no doubt feeling about the situation. Treading on unsteady ground but unsure of how to make sure that she knew he expected nothing from her, he went on, "And I certainly do not envisage the two of us spending more time together than utterly necessary."

He really didn't. Just the day before, she was still his student. It may have been the holidays, but he himself had never desired a student in any way, shape or form, and wasn't about to start now. For her part, Severus only wished to reassure her that this farce of a marriage was purely for her safety; nothing more, though nothing less.

Hermione looked down at her shoes and reached almost absentmindedly to tug on the end of her plait, a girlhood habit, he figured. Though what it meant, he had no idea. He couldn't see her face from this angle to have any hope of interpreting her silence, but when she looked up, her expression was grim yet determined. She seemed to grow taller before his eyes until he realised that she had set her bag down and straightened her shoulders.

"Sir," she said, and her voice seemed lower, almost… pleasing in this context; he didn't think they'd ever actually been alone together in a room with the door closed before. Unnerved by her proximity and the directness of her gaze, he took one small step back and covered it by placing his hands behind his back, as if he was merely shifting his long limbs. Hermione smiled again, which annoyed him.

Shouldn't she be crying by now? Every single other girl in her position would be. Does she find the situation funny?

She did; that was the only reasoning he could come up with for why she seemed so at ease. Severus scowled, and her smile tapered off somewhat until only the corner of her lips curved up at the end.

"I'd like to apologise to you for intruding on your privacy, Professor," she said softly. Flummoxed, he raised both of his eyebrows and waited for the rest of her little speech. "I know this is the very last thing that you would ever want-"

"Your safety is paramount, Miss Granger," he butted in. It was certainly freeing to have an excuse to confide in someone – what was her wedding ring, after all, if not an oath to keep his secrets? He knew he'd judged her correctly when she nodded quickly instead of squawking in shock.

"And you've sacrificed yourself yet again to be the person who will provide that safety, sir."

Severus cleared his throat and shrugged. "It is what it is."

"Yes," she breathed, nodding again and picking up her bag. "I'm glad that we agree. I don't want to take up more of your time than is necessary, and I will do my best to keep out of your way." Taking her statement to mean that she herself didn't want much more to do with him, he walked towards the door to her chambers. He'd never expected anything less from a schoolgirl forced into a marriage with her thirty seven year old teacher anyway. Not that he wanted her to want anything more – or did he? It would have been flattering; it wasn't like there was anyone lining up for his time...

He shook his head minutely, clearing his thoughts so as not to head any further in to the confusing jumble they were becoming. When he was sure of himself again, he offered her a token glower and jerked his chin to the stairs revealed by the door.

"Into your tower, Miss Granger," he said dryly.

She gave a short giggle, a foreign sound to his office, and advanced across the room. When she was standing between the doorframe and his body, close enough for him to see that her hair actually looked soft despite its crawling, ensnaring nature, he stiffened. She smelt of jasmine and something exotic… he knew it though… before he could stop himself, he took a deep breath despite her widening eyes.

Frangipani. Mum always liked frangipanis…

"Sir?"

His eyes had closed. Buggering hell. He crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. "Miss Granger?"

The witch hesitated, and then put a hand on his arm. He almost shrugged it off, but allowed the touch even though his body flinched at the contact. If she were in her school robes, it would've been another matter, but as it were, she was in jeans and a blue cardigan, looking far too mature for his comfort. His thoughts were a mess yet again, but chief among them was something disconcerting: she's my wife, and if she wants to touch me, then why should I reject her? It is purely platonic, after all. I'm old enough to be her father. And I'll be responsible for the death of the Headmaster that she more than likely reveres, god help me. She'll hate me by the end of the year.

There was absolutely no doubt in his mind that after she heard of his task, his wife would despise him, as well she should. He would despise himself, after all. He had been right to try and object to this preposterous match; why hadn't Albus bloody well listened? Whatever warm feelings that he'd had previously evaporated with that thought and Hermione drew back from the way his features grew cold.

"I just…" She tilted her head to the side, that ambiguous gesture that could mean anything and everything. Her expression was curious and, surprisingly, open and inviting. "I just wanted to say, sir, that, well… we are married and… I'dliketobeyourfriendifyou'llhaveme. Goodnight, sir."

She all but ran up the stairs, her scent rushing back to him when her door at the top closed quickly. With no idea about why he was even doing it, he waited until the lock clicked, then closed his eyes and breathed in again.

…

"You had no right!"

"I had every right! I have every right! You are my wife, or have you forgotten so quickly?"

"How could I forget? I have to wear your ring every day! As you have to wear mine, so don't think that I'm the only one suffering at the moment. Oh! You bloody well made me lose my train of thought!"

Forgetting himself, Severus snorted and quickly put a hand over his mouth. "Sorry."

"Oof!" Hermione threw her hands up and flung herself down on the chair in his office. "I can fight my own battles, sir. Ronald has always been a bit prickly-"

"He's an arse," Severus shot back flatly, curling his lip when she huffed.

"Of course he is, but he's still my friend. I've been arguing with him since first year, sir. Besides, what he said wasn't… wasn't…"

"Wasn't new?" he supplied evenly. Anger spread again from his stomach to his chest; possessive anger that he had no right to feel. But he still did. "Does the Weasley idiot make it a habit of disparaging your… situation?"

"Oh come on. You know everyone does. But who cares? I don't! If you go around thundering at everyone who even hints at-"

"Miss Granger," Severus snarled, "I do not accept anyone who thinks they are within their rights to tell you that you have… what were his exact words…" He tapped the side of his nose for effect. "Ah. 'Lifted your skirt for a new grade or two'. Are you telling me that I should allow insipid creatures to say such things to my wife?"

Grumbling unintelligibly, Hermione called for Tink and smiled kindly on the she-elf before ordering them some strong black tea along with a few squares of chocolate – white for him, dark for her. "No! That's not what I'm saying. But I was handling it just fine."

"Might I remind you that it was your shouting that piqued my interest? If you wish for me to stay away and not defend what I should, then have your arguments behind closed doors and not in the middle of corridors!"

Tink reappeared and Hermione busied herself with pouring his cup, the movements now familiar to him after four weeks of marriage. He watched as her short, delicate fingers touched the lid of the teapot as she poured the steaming liquid, then flexed to snap off a square of white chocolate that she placed carefully on the edge of his saucer. Such a domesticated scene was not something he'd ever envisioned during the first few awkward days, but now… now, he found he had been looking forward to entering his office after a long day and letting Miss Granger – Hermione, he reminded himself – do what she felt she needed to. It wasn't even worth objecting to, not when he was beginning to think that it wasn't at all unpleasant. Like cool water on a hot day, her presence was a balm to him, which almost rivalled the shock of Albus' ruddy ring.

"Good point," she said after she bit into one of her own squares. "But really-"

"Enough, Hermione." He covered his smirk with the teacup when she instantly flushed and looked down shyly at her lap. "You have handled Mr. Weasley in the past, you will continue to handle him now and in the future. But do not expect that I will go easy on anyone insulting you not only in public, but also in my presence." Tentatively, he added in a softer voice, "Let me… Let me protect you."

He didn't understand her reaction at all. Her head whipped up and she looked at him for a long time with a confused smile playing on her lips, as if she had discovered some great, feminine secret. Severus rubbed his forehead and looked away, but not before he heard her whispered, "I would like that very much."

He left the office soon after, puzzled at whatever urge had made him say such a thing. She stayed behind, her tea stained eyes following his every move.

…

2001

Two years, eleven months and twenty days after the war had ended, Severus stumbled out of the Floo and into the Healer's staff room.

His tongue felt heavy, his heart was pounding and his limbs moved as if a puppet master was intent on dragging them across the floor. His heart was struggling to keep up with the fear coursing through his veins, a fear that was unexpected and entirely unwelcome.

He forced his body to stop in the quiet, deserted room. Leaning against the wall, Severus bent his body in half as he breathed in heavily through his nose and exhaled out of his mouth.

She is asking for me! Hermione is awake, and asking for me!

There was no way of deciding what emotions pushed through his body and into his mind first. Elation, pure and true, came first, followed by blinding panic. Only his eyes could see and take in the room; there was a ringing in his ears, blocking out all sound, and his body was a dead weight. His heart stuttered.

Fear overrode any slivers of self-preservation. It was as if her waking had thrown him into a tunnel back into the Final Battle, when Arthur had trudged along the ground with Hermione's body in his arms before he transferred her into Severus' own disbelieving hold. In the staff room, he fancied he could even smell the charred flesh still, the fires burning over the castle grounds, the scent of bodies (both human and not) suffering the indignity of the loosening of bowels that came with death by white hot violence.

"Professor – shh, you're all right, Professor. You're in St. Mungo's; you're not a patient, you are a visitor, you are free to leave at any moment. You are alive, there are no threats to you or your wife. Breathe in and out, slowly now – that's the way. Close your eyes and listen to my voice, sir. In and out; in and out."

Humiliation threw an ice bucket over his panic attack as Lavender eased his body lower until he sat on the tiled floor, his head between his knees. The only touch she gave him was a steady, unmoving palm on his shoulder. It took him a full minute to realise that she was murmuring low words that made up a spell, for her palm grew warm and it began to pulse, providing a basic rhythm that drummed gently underneath her hand. Slowly but surely, his breathing matched the rhythm, in and out, in and out, and the thrumming of his heart left the ledge of imitating the wings of a hummingbird, and instead slid down to basic, life giving beats.

"Forgive me," he muttered, mortified. Ignoring how his body swayed with the too-quick movement, he stood and reached a hand out to the wall to steady himself. When his vision cleared, it was filled with a scowling Healer.

"Panic attacks are not an insult to me or you, Professor, so don't ask for forgiveness," she said sternly. "And don't you think that I won't be adding you to my weekly checkups along with your wife. Stubborn sods, the both of you."

"Remind me to not get on your bad side," said Severus, wincing when she gave a motherly tsk of her tongue.

"Sit down for a moment, won't you? We should talk about what's going on in there."

Reality crashed back into his skull. "I want to go in-"

"In a moment." There was no room to move in her tone. Severus sat down at the staff dining table and frowned. Lavender held up a hand and sat opposite him. "This is important, Professor Snape. I understand that your main instinct, your husbandly instinct – oh don't glower so – is to go to your wife. But I want you to go to Hermione when you are calm and collected, and I want to tell you now that there is a long road ahead for the both of you."

Severus sighed and hung his head. She had to have forgotten him, for Lavender to be speaking in such terms. Either that or she wanted nothing to do with him. He'd forgotten that Hermione's memory charms on her parents had ended when she had clinically died for thirty seconds just after he'd Apparated them into St. Mungo's three years ago, and so his wife might be naturally believing that as her next of kin, Severus was the only one to call. It was with a sinking feeling that he finally looked up at the young Healer and nodded.

"Yes… I imagine she will be wanting to-"

Lavender shook her head and stood. "No, sir. Don't imagine, don't assume. I told you the truth – Hermione has been asking for her husband, for you. But she is distressed, and within reason. I have elected not to inform her of the current state of affairs, as I expect that you will know the best way to approach such things with her."

"Wait-" He stood abruptly and moved to the door. "Does she not remember? The end of the war – the last three years – does she not remember anything?"

"I didn't say that, sir," Lavender chided him. "Go and find out for yourself. But for Merlin's sake; don't rush into anything. Give her time to process things if need be. No decisions have to be made yet, and she will be with us until she is ready for that to change. Go on, now. I'll be right behind you."

Taking the hint that she was giving him a few moments of privacy, Severus yanked the door open and strode quickly down to where other Healers were milling around Hermione's door. As he approached, one knocked on the door and whoever had been inside slipped out with a triumphant grin towards him.

Ignoring the older man's outstretched hand, Severus reached for the handle and turned it slowly, licking his lips to dry and relieve his dry mouth. In that instant before seeing his wife again, he made the second vow with himself concerning Hermione: if it is within my power, I will see to it that she is happy again, that she is safe. She was still his wife for as long as she'd allow the ring to stay on her finger and his last name to be hers.

With a deep breath, he stepped inside.

The room was dark; dawn was still at least two hours away. Immediately his eyes trained on the small, familiar figure curled up on the bed facing the wall. The restraining of his wild hope was impossible, and it was the sweetest, most memorable music to his ears when he heard a hoarse, haughty voice say, "I told you, I don't want anyone to be here unless it's my husband. Severus Snape is my husband, and if you don't get him, then I'm not going anywhere."

Gods above, she sounded like a petulant, spoilt child. And all for him. He swallowed nervously, his heart back to thumping furiously though for the life of him, he could not pin down just why his body was reacting so. With one timid step, he moved further into the room.

"Hermione?"

The change in his wife was instantaneous. He saw her body freeze, as if disbelieving, then before he could even speak again, the small tiny figure from the bed was setting shaking legs over the side and hurtling towards him until she stopped only a hair's breadth away.

So utterly lovely…

Severus couldn't move; he couldn't speak. He opened his mouth but words would not form, let alone sound themselves out into the air.

She stood before him in a knee length white cotton nightgown, her features unchanged from when he had visited every day, sometimes twice a day, for almost three years. There was barely any difference between the face of this woman and that of the one that had signed her name next to his on their wedding certificate, then told him so shyly and so sweetly that she wished to be his friend. He would not have been able to discern this Hermione from the one that had wept in his lap only days ago.

With one exception.

Her eyes, her brilliant whiskey eyes, were shining in the dark room; something had struck flint and steel and sparked a life within those eyes, those orbs that were locked on his black gaze.

He stuttered and started, then gave up on speech. She, too, only watched him for so long, her face the picture of concentration. He began to feel wary, wondering if Lavender had misspoken and she was missing chunks from her memories.

But then she spoke.

First, Hermione lifted her hands ever so slowly, as if approaching a wild beast. When her fingertips made contact with his cheeks, he let out one broken sigh and closed his eyes, willing the tears not to spill over. He'd thought he'd been successful, too, until her fingers dabbed at a single line of salted moisture that ran from the corner of his eye to his jaw. He opened his eyes, transfixed, and watched as she brought the finger to her own lips and tasted the subtle tang of the tear.

It was like morning and night, like velvet black skies illuminated by a Lumos spell. From the moment her tongue touched the tear, her face shifted to that of wonder and, dare he even think it, amazement.

"You came for me," she whispered, her hands returning to cup his cheeks. She was on her toes, and he found that he was bending his knees; not to kiss her but to keep her feet level on the ground. She had spent too long in the clouds, too long high above him. Let her body stay firmly anchored to the earth, to me.

"I… I did," he choked out, unprepared for the onslaught of emotions that hit him like a sledgehammer. Who was this woman to him? And who was he to her? He thought he'd known, had a clear view, distinct answers, yet now it was as if the slate was clean and blank.

"Severus. Severus Snape." Her voice was clear and concise, and as she spoke his name with the strong thread of awareness layering with the softness, her fingers began to trace the harsh lines on his face, even more jarring now after his daily vigils at her bedside.

"Hermione," he returned slowly, brokenly. "Hermione Gr-"

"No." Her fingers covered his lips and she scowled. He almost laughed at the expression that was so like the wife he'd had in the early days, until she said, "Hermione Snape," and all thoughts that were rushing through his mind stopped.

"Hermione Snape," he repeated as if stupefied, growing almost nauseas from foreign feelings that were attempting to squeeze through his body. They were suffocating, overwhelming, and yet when she bit her lip and smiled, they, whatever the blasted feelings were called, pushed out of the dam gates.

"Say it," she ordered gingerly, almost like she was unsure of her welcome. Perplexed, Severus spread his hands in the tiny space between their bodies.

"Say wh-" He started, then cut himself off. He should have been cautious, should have been more controlled, for this, whatever it was, would never last for a man such as he, yet he mumbled it painfully anyway, "…Sweetheart."

"Oh, god, Severus –" She launched herself forward and into his embrace, her arms winding around him and fingers clutching to the back of the navy button down shirt that he'd thrown on in his haste to get to her. "I thought – I thought I'd never get back!"

"You're here, you're here," he chanted in a low murmur, retreating into the safety of being her carer, her supporter. Anything was better than losing himself to a woman that would leave him soon enough.

"What do you remember?" he asked carefully when her sobs subsided and only sniffling could be heard. In practiced movements, he moved his hands up and down her spine in an experienced effort to calm her.

He was dumbfounded at her answer. "Nothing, oh god, nothing at all," she whispered, burrowing into the nape of his neck. "I can't remember anything except for you."

…

Hours later at a more respectable time, he left the room and his now sleeping wife for a moment and ducked into a quiet stairwell. He raised his wand and intoned the spell, picturing the moment he'd first stepped foot onto platform nine and three quarters, the memory he had used for years.

The doe did not form.

After three more tries and only getting a wisp of silvery smoke in return, Severus swore and instead left a message with Lavender to inform Poppy (who could reach Hermione's parents while he was otherwise engaged) and Harry Potter of the awakening of Hermione Granger.