Chapter 7

Enough is enough, if we stay, we'll never leave

You know I'd go with you anywhere

Just get me out of here.

Birds of Tokyo

1997

He could have fled. The soft sounds of her feet descending the stairs from her room in the tower gave him time enough to do so, but he was spoiling for a fight. Not with her, of course; no, never with her – trusting, innocent as she was – but with anyone.

The room was dark, with only one or two candles providing enough light to see a few feet in front of him. Her Lumos spell was harsh to his tired eyes, and Severus hissed in discomfort as he rubbed his forehead.

"End the spell," he demanded hoarsely, shielding his eyes. When she didn't, he raised his voice, "Damn it all, woman, end the spell!"

It was the first time he had named her for her true gender and not her girlhood. She gave a small gasp of surprise from somewhere across the room, reacting more to the harshness of his tone than his actual choice of words, and again they were left in darkness. But he could hear her breathing, and the sound of her fingers fumbling for the furniture so she could guide herself across the room.

"What do you want?" he questioned her wearily, letting his head fall against the wingback chair. The fire had gone out hours ago and it was cold enough now for his fingertips to feel like appendages of ice. He was too tired to care, though, and his wife was often as warm as he was freezing; she appeared like a wraith in front of him, her mass of curls and kinks pulled back and a puzzled frown pinching her features.

"You're cold," she stated slowly, and he noticed that she only wore a knee length white cotton night gown; no matter, he could be cold for both of them.

"An astute observation," he managed to say.

"Severus…" She inched closer, and then bent down until they were face to face. A small sniff in from her nostrils told him what conclusion she'd already drawn; he should've felt annoyed, should have felt pissed that she'd take such liberties when there was nothing between them at all. But here was his wife in his face, attempting to work out if he was drunk.

"Have you been drinking?" she asked eventually, drawing back slightly, bemused at the lack of scent.

He cocked an eyebrow and snorted. "I have not had a drink since we married," he said dryly. "I am not drunk."

"Oh." She shifted on her feet. Severus could almost see the cogs turning. "Why?"

"Because you are in my care," he explained gruffly. "You might well be… whatever you are, but if you think you'll find me half blind when there's a student upstairs that has access to my private quarters, then you'd be completely incorrect."

Hermione scowled but a wide smile broke through almost immediately. Severus thought back to when she was the polite, careful girl that he'd married just three months before; the change should've made him disconcerted, but instead it gave him relief, gave him something to concentrate on instead of his blinding headache.

"Severus?" She knelt down in front of him. His eyes were closed despite the darkness of the room, and he felt, rather than saw, her small, warm hands closing over his knees. "Are you all right? Tell me why you get such headaches. I only saw you just a few hours ago, you said you had a meeting with the Headmaster… surely that did not give you such a migraine? Isn't there something I can get for you, anything at all that I can do?"

He waved a hand in the air. "Headache potions only work for so long… they just dull it, now. Besides, this headache- ah." Severus cut himself off and shrugged. "It'd be a waste of your time, Hermione. Go back upstairs."

There were not enough galleons in the world for him to sit and have this conversation, not that money had ever held sway over him anyway. Once a poor sod, always a poor sod, except his clothes fit him better these days. Occluding might have worked, but after utilising the walls all night while having to sit through Albus' increasingly worrying rantings and ravings, it held no attraction now.

And he'd also forgotten just who he was married to. She studied him for a minute, like he was an equation that needed finishing. It wasn't unpleasant, but there were things that she could not know and this was certainly one of them. He searched for something to dangle in order to put her off the scent.

"What headache? Finish the sentence," Hermione pressed. "At least let me – oh, I'm not even going to ask. Stay there."

"Does it look like I'll be moving anytime soon?" he grumbled, then said to her retreating form, "The idea is to have peace and quiet, wife. I am well aware that such things are difficult for you, but if you would just – ah. Oh." He sighed with relief. "All right, fine. Stay."

Hermione snickered quietly from behind the chair and moved the damp cloth over his forehead with one hand, while her other fingers threaded through his hair and pressed down firmly onto his scalp. A charm kept the cool material from dripping onto his face, and he felt the wash of her magic over him as a warming charm found its way through his clothes and heated the pale, ice cold skin underneath.

Severus sighed again, a deep one straight from his chest. Gods, the feel of her magic… it wasn't just the heat it brought, but it was so deceptively light, so feminine, that he almost believed that there wasn't a wild haired woman tending to him. It was easy to trick himself into thinking that the fingers were long and fair instead of shorter and carrying the hue of skin that turned golden in the sunlight, instead of pink. The witch behind him would be taller, thinner in a more angular way, and her hair would look as if aflame when caught in the bright midday sun. But then she'd be a calculating woman, and not the inviting presence that seemed to envelope him as he sat in the room, the shivers subsiding.

"Why don't the usual potions work?" The voice, more sharper and honest than the beguiling murmur of Lily, brought him back to the present and he sucked in an audible breath. He hadn't even realised when he'd started woolgathering, and it was enough to tell him that he needed to get away, sooner rather than later.

"Because such headaches are wrought from almost constant Occluding," he explained eventually, ignoring the way her ministrations stilled. "Maintaining mental defences can be taxing at the best of times, and excruciating at the worst depending on how long they are left for. Holding strong defences for hours at a time is a recipe for a bloody painful headache. Does that answer your question?"

"You know it doesn't," she hurled back in a voice that he'd heard used on her 'boys' a number of times over the years. It always heralded a lecture, and if he wasn't mistaken, Hermione ruddy Snape was about to give him a talking to. In any other circumstances they would've been in for quite a row, but as it was, he didn't even have the energy to raise a hand to stop her.

"For starters, you shouldn't be Occluding so much! There's no one save Dumbledore who could even have enough talent to make you do it so heavily, at least while we're within this castle. And if that's the reason for your headache, that you spent tonight in a meeting with the Headmaster and needed to put up iron walls as strong as those you would use for You-Know-Who, then I think there's something you're not telling me."

"Ah." He chuckled darkly, sarcastically. "There are many things that I do not tell you. Do not presume that just because you might share my last name – not that it is anything to write home about anyway – that you now have some sort of right to the knowledge that I carry! And furthermore," he added loudly, "it is my own damn business!"

"Oh leave off," she muttered, letting the wet cloth fall into his lap and scoffing when he yelped as it came into contact with his groin. The robes had fallen open at some point, and having a cold cloth on his wool covered crotch was not his idea of a pleasant sensation. Both of her hands now dug into his scalp and he groaned in twisted pleasure as they pressed against his temples to the point of pain. It did the job, but he was loath to admit it.

"I've a bone to pick with you, Severus Snape, husband of mine," she snapped. "And it's not that you have secrets, although that does piss me off to no end. But whatever – keep them if that's what you want. What I do wish to say is that I am bloody well proud of your last name. Don't laugh at that. Do you think I'm not proud to share your name? Well, I am! I had to get married under this stupid law, but I'm telling you now that if I could have chosen any man anyway, it would've been you! And you can bugger off if you think that I should be pitied by others just because I am Hermione Snape. It is something to write home about, and I'll tell you something: I did write home about it! I wrote a four page letter to my parents just before they had to leave, telling them that the Ministry was full of wankers who wanted to take us back into the Dark Ages, but that I was safe and as happy as I could be in this situation, because I managed to marry the best man that I ever would anyway! Now take this bloody cloth and put it on your forehead so that we can combine coolness and pressure, husband."

Dumbfounded, Severus' limbs obeyed her before his brain could even think up a snarky comment. She was proud to be married to him? Him, of all men?

"Bloody hell," he muttered, naturally disbelieving. "Someone's put you under a spell."

"Only one of your own making," she shot back, then spluttered and coughed.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"Right," he drawled, disregarding the offhand comment and relaxing into her touch. So far, there had barely been any inconveniences that came with being married – if he was under an illusion that a real marriage would be like this, then he would've looked into it years ago. Not that he had been on his own for all of these years by choice… Maybe if he survived this thing, he could try and find an older woman like his current wife who'd surely cut the leash as soon as she was able to.

Now that's an interesting thought. When did I begin to consider being with a woman so like my own wife? When did she become the standard of which to compare others to?

"Hmm?" He turned his head to the side, having missed her hesitant question. "What?"

"I asked if you, erm…' She sounded as if she was navigating a tactical nightmare of a question. "Have you ever been married before?"

The pain began to hammer in his head again, although this time it was inspired by a completely different emotion: amusement. He barked out a laugh, then found himself truly chuckling; if he had any belly at all, it would've been quivering from the effort.

"Good heavens," he exclaimed and turned to look at her quickly then began to laugh again at her shocked expression. "Christ, Granger. No! When would I have had the time, I ask you? Unless you've got the idea that teachers go off gallivanting on secret rendezvouses when you're all tucked up in bed?"

He was surprised that she could even speak through the bright red blush that stained her cheeks, but she offered a simple, "I guess not."

"I apologise," he said at once. "It wasn't my intention to belittle you, but… oh sod it, it really was – I know you've read all of the staff profiles in the library, and you will have seen how blank mine is, so why would you ask such a thing?"

"I thought you might've intentionally not told anyone, understandable of course, and I was curious," she replied, attempting to be indifferent though he could see through it as clearly as if she was in front of him, not behind him, still massaging his temples and scalp. For a fleeting moment, he thought to tell her to stop – it couldn't be a nice feeling, working her fingers through his greasy hair. But then she pressed more firmly again, and in turn he was lost to the touch.

It lulled him into speech, and like he had evaded her while talking about the meeting with Dumbledore – which really had been a crock of shite – he offered her as many truths as he could. "I have never been married. You are the only woman who has ever shared my name and quarters."

"Oh." The sound was flat, yet still intrigued. "Have you ever… no, no – sorry, it's none of my business."

"Ask it," he ordered quietly – he could predict the question, but for some strange reason he still wanted her to ask it. Besides, this was a clean slate, was it not? Dumbledore still held him to the same promise he'd made years ago now, and here was a chance to have someone know so that when it all came out after his inevitable death, there would be someone to understand what the reality of it all really was.

"Have you ever… Have you ever been in love before, Severus?"

There it was. He sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose. It still pained him to really think on it, to offer his soul up for such self-examination as to know the true answer to the question. And she shouldn't feel comfortable asking him such a thing either, though he was far too tired to properly object. The dead of night often invited all sorts of enquiries that would have otherwise stayed hidden away.

"Impertinent woman. I don't know," he replied honestly, and then pragmatism took over. "Probably not. It felt like it, at the time. But the young are prone to…" He shrugged. "Young people your age…" He tilted his head back, not enough to really see her but obviously enough to get his point across. He still did not wish for her to really define herself as his wife; given his task that was creeping up on them and coming ever closer, it would only make it that much harder if she achieved the impossible and began to actually like him. "I was young," he said shortly. "That is the grand total of it all."

"Mmm," she sounded out, mulling over his words. "One thing – think what you like, Severus, but you are still young. I don't know how you've gotten it into your head that you're prehistoric-"

"Your words, not mine," he snorted. "And by young, I meant-"

"I know what you meant." Her fingers sunk into his shoulders for a moment, and he froze as they smoothed over his biceps. It seemed innocent, but she was too silent, too unsure. And it felt… oh, shite. No. Not this…

"Hermione," Severus said sternly. She removed her hands from him entirely, ending the impromptu assistance for his headache.

"Right," she mumbled. "Sorry. It's late, so I'm off to Bedfordshire. Sorry again. Night."

"Goodnight," he returned in an attempt to be polite, but his puzzled gaze followed the young woman as she hurried to the door on the other side of the room then all but scampered up the stairs.

He blew out a breath and felt his shoulders drop when the lock on her door clicked. If he didn't know better, he'd curl his lip and plot against such emotional fuckwittage, but when he shoveled around in his mind, upending shelves and moving through the marshes that were his everyday thoughts, he registered that it didn't particularly bother him. He prodded and poked at the layer where he hid his old feelings for Lily and, curiously, he couldn't even find enough energy to conjure up some tokenistic guilt.

All he felt was the same grim determination, and the same sadness that he'd always carried for the woman who had once been his friend, and who'd died too young to even begin to construct a more adult mentality that might've made her see sense and forgive him for a youthful mistake.

It was such a waste.

Such a lovely, lovely waste.

...

2001

"Absolutely not!"

"Mum!"

"What? Do you think that I'm about to let you-"

"I'm twenty one! I'm not asking for your approval! I'm informing you-"

"Helen, perhaps we ought to sit down and talk-"

"Shut up, Richard! Hermione, love, listen – it's been an awful time for you, I recognise that-"

"And I recognise all that you've done, I know you've been here as much as possible, and I know that you've supported me in the best way that you know how. But, mum, I just want to be home again!"

Bloody hell – what? 'Home'?

Severus almost let out a groan when Helen rounded on him and shoved an accusing index finger in his face. "You're orchestrating this! You were supposed to let her go, Snape! The Law's over and she's all but cured now – where are the ruddy divorce papers?"

"Helen!" Richard placed a cautioning hand on the older woman's arm but she shook it off, glaring at Severus. He still hadn't moved from his spot on the couch, having decided not to enter into this conversation at all unless it was absolutely necessary. But with the way Hermione was blinking and gesturing to him, he was supposed to champion his spouse in this. No bloody way. It was as flummoxing to Severus as it was to her parents, after all. He would bring her back to live with him because it was what she wanted; that didn't stop him from thinking that she was making the wrong choice. All of her friends were long gone from Hogwarts; there was only him, and Merlin knew what sort of support Hermione thought that he could give. And he didn't even know exactly why he was agreeing to it in the first place.

"It's her decision," he drawled in the end, ensuring that his voice was deathly quiet, the type that always made his students respond when they were being particularly stupid. He could understand Helen's concern – in truth, he'd long been aware that she wanted Hermione to stay with them. Helen had always mentioned it, and he'd never expected that his wife would choose otherwise. But she seemed to want to stay with him; thought that his quarters and her little room in the tower were home. After her horrid almost-year on the run, he could understand why she'd have attached herself to the dungeons over her dorm room for example, but for god's sake, wasn't she supposed to want to be with her parents?

But with the way she was watching them, he began to see that perhaps she had been carrying suspicions about her mother and father since regaining some of her sketchy memories. It wasn't hard to miss for Severus, but he was used to reading people; Helen and Richard had presented a united front upon reaching Hermione's room, yet Richard was quieter than how he'd been in the very early days, and Helen was more accusing, more quick to find and place blame. They were two very different people now compared to who he'd first met a decade ago when delivering Hermione's Hogwarts letter with a few grunts and gruff explanations, assuming he'd never see the pair again.

Oh, how wrong he was.

And yet, it didn't feel as he thought it would – he'd readied his shields to clamp down on any sickening reactions, any self-accusatory threads that his mind would naturally chew on, and mostly because he was not the man that took on everyone's shite anymore. But there hadn't been a need for it; funnily enough, whenever Helen growled and shouted, he'd taken one look at Hermione's upset features and his indignation had turned swiftly into concern for his wife. Now that was unanticipated. It wasn't new - no, not new at all. It wasn't even entirely unwelcome.

All of that kicked into overdrive when Minerva sodding McGonagall strolled her way in, with tearful cuddles for the Grangers and his young wife. No one seemed to notice that her smile when she turned to him was stiff and triumphant, but he bloody well did, and he found his voice only minutes later.

"No," he enunciated slowly when Helen attempted to bring the Headmistress into the conversation. Minerva scoffed, breaking her façade for just a moment, and Severus felt a rush of righteous anger when Hermione arched an eyebrow and pursed her lips at him from behind her old Professor's back, as if to say: what on earth is the old bat doing? It almost felt as if he and his wife were a team, united against those who wished to part them. He really should've prepared himself for the onslaught of possessive sentiments that hurtled towards him.

Oh well.

"My wife will be returning to live with me, as is her right. She has made her choice, and you can all either accept her wishes or pack up and go home. If," he held up a hand for silence when Helen screeched, "you desire to see her, as you are more than welcome to, then it would behoove you lot to shut up and leave her be."

If Hermione had any Legilimency skills at all, he would've blatantly invited her into his mind just so that he could tell her to wipe the adoring look off her face. It didn't help their cause in the slightest, as Minerva took one look at it and gagged.

"Professor Snape," she warbled, "there are no provisions for spouses of teachers staying at the castle! Miss Granger's-"

"Madam Snape!" Hermione corrected her shrilly, making Severus cover his mouth to hide a completely uncharacteristic hoot of laughter. He looked at his wife and smiled slightly as he tried to convey the warmth that was slowly spreading through his veins at the sight of her, the little spitfire, chomping at the bit just to make sure everyone knew what her name was.

"Fine, Madam Snape!" McGonagall acceded ungracefully. "But my decree stands!"

"Actually, it does not," Severus put in gleefully. He really should've stopped and thought about what he was about to do, but seeing Minerva like this was goading him to no end. "That was part of the deal of me even being able to marry Madam Snape, after all. Albus informed me ever so kindly that it is allowed for staff members to live offsite at Hogsmeade if their familial circumstances call for it. It seems, Headmistress, that mine do."

"Hogsmeade!" It came as a shout from a trio of stunned adults, though his wife did utter a little gasp of pleasure. He filed that away in his mind to examine it when he finally found some bloody peace and quiet.

"Yes, Hogsmeade," he repeated.

"You haven't even got enough money for a house other than that dump at Sp-"

"I don't believe that my finances are any of your business, Minerva," he growled. "Nevertheless, I do happen to have the rights-"

Poppy – your old holiday home is finally going to have some use.

"- to a cottage just outside the village. So, if anyone wishes to see us, that is where we shall be."

...

"That was bloody brilliant!" Hermione crowed in a low undertone as he led her out to the Apparation point, her shrunken bags in his left coat pocket. "Thank you, Severus! Really – thank you."

"Yes, well," he said awkwardly, taking her arm and readying them for the turn that would take them to Hogsmeade. "I'm afraid the place is a little old and dusty – it hasn't been used since… well, since Poppy bought it due to assuming she'd ever have time to stay in it. And, ah, there's… It's quite small, see, and-"

"No tower for me?" she supplied, her fingers pressing down until he felt their warmth under all of the layers of wool.

"No. No tower. Just the main bedroom. I'll take the spare."

"I think that's all right… what do you think?"

He looked down at his wife, aware of his ungainly, gangly height compared to the assured way she held herself. It wasn't as if anyone saw how tightly she was holding onto him, after all. But he did. He knew. He grinned for a moment, suddenly feeling as if she were his partner in some form of crime.

"I'm sure I can suffer through your presence."

Her peal of laughter went straight to somewhere that he suspected could be his heart, and he wore a look of a deer caught in the headlights all the way from the hospital until they landed outside a tiny white stone cottage with a thatched roof, looking for all intents and purposes as if it were in the middle of nowhere.