Chapter 6

The world owes me nothing
and we owe each other the world.
I do it because it's the least I can do
I do it because I learned it from you
I do it just because I want to.

Ani DiFranco

"No matter what she says, it is highly unlikely that-"

"Is it?" Poppy pressed, adjusting her glasses as she leaned forward in one of the green plastic chairs that were set around a small white table. Severus' long limbs were attempting to box themselves into the chair opposite her in the tiny room that made up the Janus Thickney Ward's tea room.

Severus huffed and gave a sullen, inelegant shrug.

Poppy continued with a slight smile softening her generally stern face. "You visited her once or twice a day, every day, for three years, Severus. She remembers Ms. Brown, yes?"

"Yes, but-"

"And she remembers her mother, yes?"

"There were some issues initially, but yes-"

"But she does not remember the last visit of Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley."

Severus spread his hands, aware that his voice was rising somewhat but powerless to stop it. It had been a bloody long day, and he was ready to go home. "That's my point! She's constructed her own fairy tale of a reality, where she was the princess and the beast visited her out of the goodness of his heart." He paused to scoff and rubbed his forehead tiredly. "The Weasleys visited once a week, three weeks out of four. She should remember those visits, Poppy, but she doesn't. All she remembers is that they-"Again, another pause, this time for Severus to wince uncomfortably, "-kissed at some point during the last battle. At her request, no one else has been to see her today – they're all aware of course, but for now Ms. Brown is fending them off."

"And her parents?"

He sighed and slumped down in the chair. "Their flight is due in late tomorrow evening. Apparently they preferred to bring more luggage than the Floo would allow."

"Good heavens," Poppy exclaimed, reaching over the table to pat his arm. "They're not staying at Hogwarts are they?"

"Thank Merlin for small graces," he replied and shook his head. "No; she never did sell their house, so they'll return… Helen mentioned that they wish for Hermione to-"

"She didn't!"

"It's the best choice, I suppose…" Severus trailed off. Surely it was? At best, Hermione could be considered a strange form of a friend for all that she was his wife, but while they had shared conversations in the past – some heated, some bland and some that he'd even say were invigorating and pleasant – he was under no impression that she would return to Hogwarts. "It would be… bizarre for her to return to that room in the tower. Why should she? I'm certainly not entertaining the idea that Minerva will allow her to stay on as my wife."

"She might," Poppy muttered, taking a bite of one of the biscuits from the stasis controlled plate. "You never know. She almost had a heart attack when I told her about Hermione – that's why I was late in coming; I had to monitor her for a while. Went as white as the Grey Lady."

"Yes, well," he grumbled, "I'm sure she'll be around soon enough now that her favourite cub has awoken."

"And what will Hermione have to say about that, Severus?" Poppy narrowed her eyes. "Or might I be right in assuming that you are set to stroll down the path of self-sacrifice and not tell your wife about the way our beloved Headmistress has been treating you? I notice that you haven't said anything about her reaction to the lack of visits from her so-called best friends."

"I don't have to defend my decisions to you," Severus returned dully, aware that by his following words, he was doing just that. "She can judge their intentions for herself if they choose to reveal the information. I'm not getting between them – she asked about them only minutes after ascertaining that she hadn't, in fact, dreamed up my continued presence over the years. I am well aware that she is not me, Poppy; I am more than capable of living alone, she is not. Especially after all that has happened. She should be surrounded by-"

"Her husband!" Poppy interjected, ignoring his long suffering groan.

"I'm not her bloody husband, Poppy! Even this-" he brandished his hand, "-this ring, it means nothing! I've only… I've only kept it on because she's kept hers on!" He looked down at the silver band and twisted it around his finger. When Hermione had first been hospitalised, the skin under the ring had been rubbed raw from the oft repeated movement. Now, there was simply one more callus that gave evidence to those long, sleepless weeks. Of course they were sleepless – I had a responsibility to her; anyone else would have been there for her in the same way, if she had been given to another man.

Steeling himself, Severus stood and drew his robes closely around his body. Now that she was awake, he took a small amount of comfort from being able to use the black wool as one last defence; she would have seen him without them only a handful of times, and never once without his frock coat. He was retreating back into his sterner, taciturn ways, yet it felt that that was his only option. What else was he to do? Run in there and announce that he was the knight to her princess? She had terrible luck, if that was the case. Not only was he almost twice her age, but he was a man forced on her to boot. Scoffing again, he made for the door.

"I am all she has for the time being, Poppy," he addressed his closest friend, brushing off how her brow pinched. "When her parents are here, she can…"

Poppy marched around the table and prodded his buttoned up chest with a firm finger. "You will give her the choice if she wants to stay with you or not, Minerva be damned. She is still your wife, whether such a thing is on paper or not. You do not detest her presence, I trust?"

"Of course not!" he exclaimed, disarmed for a moment at the notion. "Of course I bloody don't! I-" He cut himself off abruptly and scowled. Whatever he'd been about to blurt out seemed ridiculous in the cold light of day, and he decided then to think no more on it. Even the idea of it made him shiver in self-disgust, and he curled his lip at the repulsive, lecherous sod that he would've been seen as if he completed the sentence: I do not detest her presence, but rather the absolute opposite! It might have even been… pleasant to know that she was there, her books strewn around the room as she doctored his tea while she waited for him to come back from - no. That was better left unsaid. He was nothing to her, and she (he could be completely honest with this, as it was true) was only the hint of what he could have had but never would. It wasn't even really about her; oh, he found her lovely enough, but he already knew very well that there were no universes in which young, intelligent, comely witches deigned to lower themselves to stubborn, poor, and greasy haired gits.

"You what?" Poppy asked, that annoying, secretive smile half back on her lips.

Severus let the scowl turn into a glower and then bent closer to her to hiss, "Nothing at all. It is what it is, Poppy. Enough."

"Keep telling yourself that and maybe it will come true," she shot back in a low whisper as he rolled his eyes and stalked out of the room with a short wave of his hand in farewell.

…

The anger blew out of him in a sigh of resignation when he noticed that the lights inside Hermione's room were on. He'd left her sleeping; she'd been asleep all day after the happenings overnight. They had only spoken briefly after she'd flung herself into his stunned embrace, though he understood that he represented safety to her, for now, and he could give her that, at least. Not long after the Healers had been able to confirm that she was indeed cured for the most part (she would continue to be prone to forgetfulness and anxiety, and would never regain any memories lost since entering the coma after the final bout of crucio, but for all intents and purposes, Lavender had all but finished writing up the discharge papers).

Pausing outside long enough to determine that she was pacing, Severus knocked on the door once and entered after her muffled assent.

He watched as she walked around the width of the room and back, clad in her usual jeans and Weasley jumper, though this one was navy blue with a white otter on the chest. It was older than the rest, probably made about six months into her hospital stay when she had already been reduced to her birdlike thinness. It still fit her well, and Severus was glad of it; seeing his wife in this way, harried and tiny, was easier than if she were the assertive, pink cheeked woman that he'd married in '97 – at least this way, there were no soft curves to her body that he had to ignore. It drew a bold line in the sand, between the wife she'd been, and the free woman she now could be.

"You don't have to knock, you know," her clear voice interrupted his musings and he looked at her face properly now, bowing his head in greeting.

"Good evening," he said hesitantly from his spot at the door, choosing not to address the comment about knocking in the hope of avoiding any conversation about boundaries when his headache seemed like dwarves had taken hammers to his skull.

She was standing near the desk, holding her hands together. "You don't have to knock," she repeated, more firmly. "I know… I know that you were here, Severus. I know that you came to visit me as much as you could."

He shrugged, not voicing more than a careful, "Yes."

Hermione gestured impatiently for him to move further into the room, and so he turned to close the door then sat on the couch. "What can I…" he started, then huffed, unsure of himself in this new awkward environment that seemed to fester and grow with each intake of breath.

Thankfully, she took on the lack of hint and sat at the far end of the couch. She was almost prim in how straight she kept her posture, and he recognised the frown as one of determination. Hermione had always been stiff and rigid when thinking furiously; if not for the hospital room and her gauntness, they might have been in his quarters with a pot of tea while debating one thing or another.

The silence being thrown back and forth was uncomfortable, and he was on edge while he waited, until finally she opened her mouth to speak her thoughts.

The first question had him flummoxed, and he blinked. "Pardon?"

She offered him a small, timid smile and repeated herself. "Have you been sleeping here?"

"No," he said slowly, dragging out the vowel. "I still… I still have the same quarters in the dungeons."

"And you've been sleeping there?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

"Oh?"

Her head fell against the back of the couch and she sighed. "I keep remembering things; little things, mostly. It was just like one big dream, for lack of a better word." He nodded again and turned on his side, bending one leg at the knee in a gesture to encourage her to keep speaking. It was a curious thing, to hear her talk of the days when he'd been on tenterhooks during each visit, wondering where her mind would be from one day to the next. He could recognise that he did care about it, about her, and so he quickly poured them both steaming cups of tea then returned to her on the couch.

"Go on."

Her smile looked purely grateful, and his chest felt tight, the bones protecting fragile organs now too brittle. How was he to take on this… this gratitude? This pity? No doubt she would pity him; all of the days that he'd visited, the time that he'd spent… How could he make her see that he'd needed it, too? Gods, in the relative privacy of the closed off room, he knew that he still needed it. She had been an unexpected boon in the whirlwind of shite that was his life in the last years of the war, and he'd be lying to himself if he said that he no longer wanted to know the peace that came from sitting beside his wife, speaking softly, listening to her conclusions and ideas. Of all people, Severus did not want her pity. To tell the truth, he simply desired for her to understand that the safe place of throwing himself into protecting others was more natural to him than even contemplating the concept of leaving her to experience her three years of hell alone.

"Well," she began eventually, after a long sip of tea, "I can remember everything before the last battle, which you know. The Manor… the Manor is a bit sketchy, naturally-"

"Naturally," he put in dryly, glad that she knew him well enough to feel at ease with that one word that really meant: Gods above, woman, I'd kill the lot of them with my bare hands if I had any inkling of what the bitch was going to put you through.

"Glad you agree," she teased, her posture softening. There was no telling who moved closer on the couch, though somehow they were soon both facing one another, knees touching. An amusing sight with him in his black, never ending robes and her in such innocent attire. Beauty and the beast, without a doubt, he realised grimly.

"Continue," he ordered gently.

"Hmm, well…. I know everything that happened before I saw Bellatrix in the corridor. But I cannot remember the-the last lot o-of the cruciatus, nor can I remember being asleep for so long in here… All that I have of almost three ruddy years-"

"Don't talk of it," he said immediately, reaching for her in an unconscious and familiar extension of his arm that brought her closer to his side. She tucked herself into a tiny folding of legs and arms, then leaned against the side of his body. The warmth of her was pure and beautiful, even more so now that she was truly cognizant. "Don't even think of it."

He could do this; the easy, natural caring. He'd done it for three years – a little longer wouldn't hurt.

"You're right, of course," she mumbled thickly. He kept his gaze on the ceiling, not once looking down though his shoulder was growing damp.

Hermione sniffed then cleared her throat. "Everything feels like… like… as if I needed glasses before and now I've got them on, and everything is crystal clear. Like I was in the clouds before, looking down on what was happening. When I… When I'd lose track of things, there was a part of me that was so frustrated because I should have known all of those things! I did know them! And I can't even recall now, just what I was like. All I know is that I saw Lavender every day… and I saw you, and mum came in every now and then. Though I don't know… oh god, Severus, it's just so terrible, because I don't know what's happening with dad, and why I can't remember his visits, and I don't know why I can't remember Harry or Ron visiting, nor any of the Professors, or just… anyone from my life at all. Just mum, Lavender, and you."

"I can help with some of those things," Severus offered, having already worked out exactly what he was about to say. "If you wish for me to be the one that-"

"Who else?" she said, her voice close to shrill, nigh on hysterical. "Who else can I ask? Who else can I remember? No one!"

Her smaller hands scrubbed roughly at her face until he pulled them away, bearing her frustrated cry and ignoring how she struggled in his grasp.

"Stop it, Hermione," he said sternly. "For now, everyone is fine. Your father is in good health – he visited every day for three months, and now he comes when he can get time away from the practice he works in. Yes, in, not owns. We-you didn't sell the house, and real estate in Sydney isn't cheap. And your friends and professors… everyone is fine. Everyone is waiting to know when they can come storming back in here, annoying me with their presence like they used to so… so often. Don't cry, wife; don't cry. Don't you remember what I have always told you?"

The effect wasn't instantaneous, but somehow she calmed enough to allow him to ease his grip on her arms. He eased the pressure slowly, searching for a way to distract himself from the guilt of not being completely honest – her father was in Sydney, yes, but her mother's obsession with Hermione's illness had caused a wedge between the two that he wasn't sure was even being replaced. It was not his place to tell their daughter though. No – Helen could do that. As for her friends… Severus found that he didn't even care. He wasn't bitter enough to complain about them, and she was too fragile to be told right away. Let it happen on its own time.

Finally she muttered, "It is what it is."

"Yes," he said simply. "And this is who you are, for now. That is who you were. It is done. To appease my theatrical side… it is over."

She snorted and elbowed him gently in the side. "Good god, Severus Snape has a theatrical side? To think of all those nights we wasted simply talking, when I could've learned more about all of that instead."

"Tell anyone and I shall be forced to silence you, Madam Snape," he quipped, rolling his shoulders when she eased away from his hold.

"That's another thing we need to discuss, amongst the mountain of elephants charging around the room," she said directly, staring at him with her lips pressed firmly together.

Exhaling, he tilted his head to the side. "Would you like me to…" His restless left leg made itself known while he searched for the words. "They cancelled the Law. All it'd take would just be one more signed document, and you'd… you'd be free of me. I don't have it here, but I confess that I ordered the forms-"

"But why?" she cried, hands coming up to cover her gasp. He flinched, and drew away from her in surprise.

"Why what, Hermione? Surely you want-"

"No!"

"No?"

"That is… unless you want… Severus, do you want to divorce me?"

What on earth?

He stammered, taken aback by the question and her pleading eyes. He didn't have the first idea of what she wanted. It wasn't that it made no difference to him… it did – for some reason that he couldn't put his finger on, he wasn't even opposed to staying married to her. Perhaps because it wasn't even a marriage in the first place, which was why she should be running away the first chance she had! He was content with knowing there was someone on the earth who didn't have to put up with him, just simply enjoyed his company. But Hermione… She was twenty one, now, and a woman like her… She should be worshipped by a man of her choosing. And that man has never, ever been me.

"Hermione, this whole thing," he looked away and gestured between them, "this whole marriage was forced on you. I was forced on you. Don't you want to-"

"I'm not asking myself what I want, Severus. What do you want?"

"I…" He groaned and tugged on the ends of a handful of black inky hair, exasperated at his utter lack of verbosity. "I don't know, all right?"

She harrumphed and stood up with her arms crossed over her chest. "Well, good!"

"Eh?" He echoed her movement and stayed a few paces away so he wouldn't tower over her. "What do you mean, 'good'?"

"Good, because we're on the same page!" she explained, beginning to pace again, her hands flying around in the air. "I don't know what I want, either! All I know is that you're safe, Severus. You're who I remember, and you're my husband. Even if that might mean other things than the usual usage of the word, you are. And I don't…. I'm not in a hurry to change that. I want… I want things to go back to how they were, so we can start making decisions. I suppose that I'm asking for you to help me again, Severus," she finished quietly, coming to stand before him, her bottom lip caught in her teeth. "Help me, until we can decide what we want to do together. There's no rush, is there?"

He was still shocked enough to only be able to dumbly shake his head and say, "No, Hermione. There's no rush."

…

He stumbled home in the early hours of the morning, mind reeling and heart pounding. This tiny little woman, this spitfire and all around witch, had made him feel more wanted, more needed, than barely any other time in his life. That she thought that the two of them together could somehow make good decisions was… astounding, to say the least. There was a lot to organise and a lot to plan, if they really were to stay married for the time being, as she wished. But he'd think on that after her parents made their automatic objections. If his wife still wished for it after all of that, then he could easily find the stones to push against Minerva's walls just enough to have her bend to his will in this.

A small thought wormed its way into his head as he downed a headache potion and peeled off his clothes before heading to the shower: that his quarters, usually a haven of silence and calm, felt lonely.

He did not put any weight to stopping and working out why.