A/N: Please note the date of the flashbacks. We are in 1998 now and we are not done with our memories just yet. A warning for some crude language here, and for those that prefer to skip more detailed love scenes, please keep that in mind from the next chapter onwards. Please forgive any grammatical mistakes – I check everything carefully, but am very much in need of glasses that I have not yet had the time to organise.

And… as for the two cliffhangers, I do solemnly swear that I am up to a lot of good ;-)

Chapter 14

I'll know you by the thunderclap

Pouring like a rain of blood to my emotions

And that is why

I stumble to my knees.

Crowded House

1998

"Are there any further questions?"

Severus cast a bored look around the room, the wariness he was accustomed to during staff meetings well hidden behind his mental shields. He could expect a godawful headache for his efforts, but it was either that or get out his wand.

Whereas once attending a meeting in the staff room had been tedious and more often than that, a waste of time, there was still a sense of order about the whole thing. Apart from Albus' horrendously ridiculous habits, the meetings managed to stay mostly professional.

Yet here Severus was: the current – and very reluctant – Headmaster of Hogwarts, and he was wishing for nothing more than the return to those old dull days of mind numbingly boring meetings. Anything would be better than having to rein in the Carrows, both currently sitting at one end of the table, twirling their wands around. Contrary to his own initial assumption, they were not particularly loud, nor did they often disrupt the room.

No; they were worse.

They were beady-eyed and silent; they were constantly observing not only the rest of the staff, but Severus as well. For while they were not even close to his own status within the inner circle of the Death Eaters, they were certainly interested in climbing up the ladder, no matter who they trod on to get there.

The staff had learned quickly not to speak out whilst the Carrows were around. There had been nothing Severus could do about it, no warnings he could give, but thankfully the twins' quietly snarled death threats and hexing of notable students of the more vocal teachers had them all keeping their mouths shut.

Severus now eyed the brother and sister, who sat entirely too close together for comfort. He suppressed a shudder of revulsion and stood, his palms on the table as he leaned forward and turned his examining gaze onto each teacher that sat along the rectangular table.

"Before we leave this meeting, I find it… disappointing that I must continue to remind you all about the importance of discipline." He lowered his voice until it was barely above a whisper. "All punishments must be approved. I am aware of everything that occurs inside of this school, and you can be assured that I will not hesitate to take matters into my own hands if teachers are found to be handling their own detentions privately. As per usual," he added blankly, "cooperation ensures that the school can continue to be the success that it now is. Remember that none of you are… indispensable."

And also as per usual, he noted,not one bloody senior teacher has even picked up on yet another hint. For how else could he be aware of everything going on in the school, unless the school itself believed him the rightful Headmaster? Umbridge hadn't been able to enter into the office – he had! The ruddy fools had no idea, nor would they ever if their scowls and sneers were anything to go by.

Good riddance to the lot of them.

"Enough," he muttered. "This meeting is over."

They filed out one by one. He ground his teeth together, his fingers holding onto his wand with a vice like grip as the Carrows moved past him.

"Quality meetin'," Amycus drawled, curling his lip as he smirked. "Piss-poor methods though mate. A bit of torture never goes astray with," he paused and looked over his shoulder at Minerva, "…with old bitches like these. Got to break 'em before they'll come 'round, eh?"

Severus could sense Minerva's gaze, though he refused to meet it. He knew exactly where her thoughts had gone, and if he could just fob Amycus off before he started to talk again-

"Say," the halfwit continued, "it'd be just like your Mudblood bride, eh? She was good for it, wasn't she, by the time you were done with 'er? I might just get me a little bird like that – all prim and proper, mine for the takin'. She was good, wasn't she? The Mudblood?"

The insinuations were so blatantly obvious that it was an effort not to silence the man immediately. Still, Alecto was lurking at the doorway with her wide, calculating eyes and he knew he had no choice. Only Albus and Riddle knew about his supposed impotence – at some level, the Dark Lord even enjoyed having a right hand man that was as physically inept as he himself was. In turn, it was just one more piece of personal information that Riddle 'had' on Severus. The slimy git played his followers like an award winning conductor. His meetings were full of clever speeches and vibrant promises, yet when the work was done, he ruled them by his own iron fisted brand of manipulation. Sex was generally not a weapon used by Riddle himself – oh no, Mudbloods were too unclean for him to proclaim them as acceptable vessels and violence was more to the point.

But that was not to say that the Dark Lord's followers, particularly those outside of the inner circle, did not partake in such things.

Turning to stare directly at Minerva's distraught features, Severus sneered, "My bride was… sufficient. A pity that she ran away…"

Stop talking, stop talking, he begged silently, knowing that Minerva would never, ever forgive him this. Their relationship had never been particularly strong, but Minerva could hold a grudge almost as well as Albus. If he managed to live through the war, she would never forget this slight.

The rest of his mind was caught in something like a whirlwind of thoughts that all screamed that it was the best thing – the very best thing – that Hermione had left the school. If she were to see him like this, speaking these words…

Alas, it was of no use.

"Oh yes, a pity," Amycus leered. "Still – she was good for it? Not up for it, not those haughty Mudbloods, not that it matters, eh?"

And Severus severed whatever threads of friendship that could've been left with Minerva with a firmly spoken, "Indeed."

The way the old witch staggered out of the room, her hand over her mouth and an arm out to the wall to support her steps was enough to send him to his office. One day soon Amycus would 'come down' with a stomach upset again, but until then, the united front that he had to present sickened him right through to his soul.

The half full bottle of whiskey in his sitting room was empty within the hour.

…

The next day brought with it the same never ending headache, and the day after that was no different.

Had there ever been anything more draining? Severus was inclined to think that his entire miserable existence had been preparing him for this – the time where there was not a soul that didn't loath him, that didn't think him capable of the most horrendous acts. Surely even Hermione now would be moved to empty out her stomach if she ever remembered how she'd massaged his greasy head so tenderly, or touched his murdering hands so gently.

Fuck Tom Riddle, and fuck Albus Dumbledore for making him cast the damned killing curse.

Halfway through brushing his teeth, Severus slammed his palm down on the vanity. If the barmy old sod hadn't put on that bloody ring…

There was no use thinking on it.

He finished his evening ablutions and ran his hands through his hair. Surveying the vials in the first drawer, he calculated that finally, finally, he could down a good dose of Dreamless Sleep. It was addictive, and lost its potency the more the body became used to it, and since he had first taken up the office, Severus had tracked his use meticulously so he would keep being able to have one full night's rest every now and then.

Severus walked out of the bathroom, rolling the vial between his hands. His bed called and he stumbled towards it, shivering despite the warming charms. It was snowing outside, and his warm grey plaid pyjamas would hold up under the covers but were hopeless while walking across the stone floor.

A weary groan left his lips as he pulled down the covers and stared at the soft sheets. He was so tired that he almost fell onto the bed as he uncorked the vial. He brought it to his lips, savouring the scent of it with a faint smile of relief, but just as he was about to tip it into his mouth-

"What the f–"

The crack! of someone Apparating into his private quarters made his hands shake with fear.

The vial slipped out of his grasp and for a moment that felt like minutes but was really just a shred of a second, Severus watched as it seeped out onto the white cotton covered mattress.

It couldn't be the Dark Lord.

Even on a bad day, the bastard had more finesse than that.

No – he reached out with his magic and knew that whoever had just landed in his sitting room on the other side of the door wasn't dark at all.

The fear dissipated, quickly replaced by a sickening, twisted hope that made his heart hurt as he shoved the covers away and sprinted to the door, throwing it open to see-

"Hermione!"

…

Anger came quickly.

"What the hell are you doing, girl? Do you even understand just how dangerous this is –" He cut himself off. He couldn't complete the sentence.

She stood in the centre of the room, trembling.

Her hair was a mess; her clothes were dirty and hung from her frame. She was pale, close to gaunt, and there were shadows under her eyes that rivalled his.

And yet, he realised, she has come to you.

He moved further into the room, coming to a stop a few feet away from her. Hermione had not said a word, but her eyes followed his every step; her lips were pressed firmly together and her chest was heaving. Her wand was pointed towards his chest.

"Are you going to hurt me? I'm s-still your spouse, and the wards will let me right out of here in the next second if you are. Are you?" she bit out, her thin, shrill voice breaking at the end. She pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration, a familiar gesture that caused him to wince. There were tears in her eyes but her stubborn scowl kept them from spilling over onto her sunken cheeks.

She looked like hell.

He could continue the charade – yell at her, curse her, insult her until she ran back to whatever hovel she'd escaped to come here, to him. He should do it.

Severus found that he couldn't.

He sighed. "No, Hermione. I'm not… I couldn't ever… I will not hurt you."

He took one step closer, then another, and held his hands up in a gesture of… what, he did not know. But for all of her fright, for all of her skittishness, she turned to him with a movement so graceful that he closed the distance between them without a word. She came to him silently, throwing her body between his arms that were outstretched, ready to receive her.

All he could do was hold her, bury his face in her hair and hope she did not feel the kiss he pressed to her trembling head.

…

2001

The kiss changed everything and nothing at all. It drove him mad.

But this madness… it was exciting; fascinating.

It had been so long since he had felt anything like this – or was it more that he never had? There had been women, yes, but desiring, dreaming and yearning for his wife was entirely different.

Severus was often wary of greed – the often treacherous emotion had been no friend to him in the past. Any dalliances (of which there were few, enough to count on both hands with no need to keep recycling fingers) after the disaster that was Lily were with safe women, where safe meant women that would never want more of him than a quick tumble. That suited him well enough; he kept his heart well hidden.

And for all of the years before his world was rearranged and thrown into something resembling a blender during that afternoon in Albus' office when he had learned about his impending nuptials, he had done well to safeguard his heart.

Until now.

Until her.

For the first time, there was a woman in the world that was joined to him. Even the way he should politely introduce her to others was marked by possessiveness – 'this is my wife.' And she, too, would let such words slip from her lips – 'this is my husband.'

She was his, and he was hers.

And by all the gods, since the time her lips had pressed so carefully against his on the kitchen floor, he wanted to truly have her. Not just have her use his last name, the odd sounding Snape tacked on so proudly after her scrawled Hermione. Not just have her wear his ring, the thin gold band that she still wore.

No; none of those things were enough anymore.

Severus wanted to possess her; he wanted to wake each morning, reach out a hand and find her body only inches away. He wanted to ignore the bed in the bloody uncomfortable spare room with its too low ceiling and share hers, to let his bare feet sink into the plush lilac rug, to sleep curled around her.

Which was all rather interesting, considering that such desires had slammed into him all at once, filling him with the suspicion that perhaps he had been entertaining these things for much longer than he cared to admit. And they were feelings – feelings that seemed a little like…

No. He wouldn't think on that.

Not yet.

During the beginning of their marriage, he would've felt like a fool for even acknowledging such sentiments. Hermione had been nothing more than a girl trying to make the best of her situation. He didn't entertain the thought, even for a moment, that she fully understood who he truly was in those days. Of course she hadn't – by design, no one else had either.

Yet here they were, playing house, living to no expectations except for their own. He was free to grumble and scowl in the mornings before he could enjoy the breakfast spread at Hogwarts, and she was welcome to throw herself into reading the entirety of his library, as she had begun to do the Sunday morning after what had come to be remembered by Severus as 'The Kiss'.

Bloody Merlin, he should just transfigure his bedroom ceiling to resemble the Klimt piece – it would be more apt, considering how many nights he spent lying awake recalling it.

After 'The Kiss', it felt like he could cut the tension between them with a knife. Each day was more complex than the next; they danced around each other, neither of them sure how to best address the pink frocked elephant in the room.

Severus wanted to address it – he wanted to do more than just address it. From the moment he awoke in the mornings, thrusting his erection into the mattress thanks to yet another exquisite dream, to when he would stick his head into her room and bid her farewell for the day, he was filled with yearning for her.

Hermione, too, left him flummoxed each night when she would drag up a stack of parchment to her bedroom – she'd agreed to officially become Neville's research assistant for the time being, and books were stacked on every flat surface on both levels of their home. Severus was far from perturbed; truly, what bloke didn't mind leafing through a new text from the shelf in the loo in the mornings?

But the temptress that was his wife wasn't just concerned with depositing books everywhere.

No, no. Hermione Snape seemed to be far more concerned with offering him a murmured, "Goodnight, Severus," followed by a teasing press of her lips to his cheek whenever she went to her bed. He couldn't even bring himself to change the status quo – the game she was playing was so delectably enticing that he only wanted more of it. Yet the ball was in her court; he was determined to move in a way that matched Hermione's pace, and if she was content with kissing his cheek each night while he was going half mad save for a desperate wank most mornings, then so be it.

…

She had taken to visiting Frank and Alice in St. Mungo's three times a week. At first, Severus had been quietly reluctant, concerned that she would slip into melancholy at nights or during the days, but Neville and Minerva (to his utmost surprise) organised access for his wife to the Hogwarts library. When she wasn't at the hospital or working at home, he could often find her right at the back of the library, tucked into a cubicle beside a stained glass window.

It was wonderful.

There was no need to brood over how she was faring on her own at home, and he already had a few options for another trial. Neville was ecstatic most days – the boy barely bothered to hide the spring in his step, a byproduct of having the assistance of the brightest witch in England. Which was, of course, nothing compared to the probably improper, prideful smirk that Severus had on his face each time he heard students whispering of the war hero that had taken up residence in their library.

She was too shy to take lunch at the staff table in the Great Hall, but it didn't bother him – Hermione instead ate in his quarters in the dungeons, and he managed to always finish his own meal in record time so as to have a cup of tea with her before classes resumed. She had nervously asked if he was all right with such an arrangement, her in his old rooms without him around, and it had taken all of his considerable restraint to avoid saying that working in his office or private lab with her scent in the air was making these days some of the best he'd ever spent at the castle.

It wasn't just her steady presence at the castle that left Severus feeling lighter. Hermione had begun to insert herself into his daily routines in a way that left a grin on his face, something that unnerved his students. He would open his notebook of lecture notes to see a charmed drawing of a flower opening and closing, or there would be a small vial of perfumed oil left on his desk from her experiments. Never one to waste ingredients, if something wasn't working correctly, Hermione simply adjusted its purpose.

Ingredients were not the only thing that his wife appropriated; Tink became her right hand elf. The winking little thing popped up at all hours with a cup of steaming hot tea, or (much to his students' amusement when the elf once mistimed his offering) a freshly mixed juice. Sometimes small bits of parchment accompanied them, with her neat scrawl spelling missives such as, 'Enjoy x' or 'For you – just the way you like it'.

Severus was almost entirely sure that he was being wooed.

He rather liked it.

…

Weekends were another matter.

Weekends were torture – sweet, agonising torture.

Oh, he had marking of course, but Hermione enjoyed charming her quill to match his handwriting and he indulged her most nights. It was a release of sorts, a humorous one – her remarks on his first to third years were often more succinct than even his, but just as witty.

So he didn't have marking, then. Not really.

Truthfully, there was not much in the cottage that could be used as a way to distract him from the overwhelming desire to take his wife to bed.

Why didn't he?

Good question, he mused sardonically as he turned over in bed. It had now been over four weeks since 'The Kiss' – why hadn't he done something about it?

There were a million answers to the question. Half were probably in the right direction, a quarter were more than likely true but there was no hope in pinning anything concrete down for long enough to analyse it.

His mind was a mess. He was a mess. He wanted her to come to him, purely because he felt he needed to be careful around a woman that had only recently come out of a three year stint in hospital, but then he wanted to be the one to go to her, too. After all of this time, having the freedom to actually enjoy her attention and return it in some form was marvellous.

It was hopeless. Severus grunted and rubbed a hand over his forehead, offering a few unintelligible grumbles to the night air as he tried to get comfortable enough to fall asleep.

But then…

Severus sat up in bed and cocked his head to the side.

"What on earth was that?" he mumbled to himself, straining to hear what had seemed very much like a moan coming from down the hall.

There was nothing for a long minute or two but soon enough, he heard it again.

It wasn't a moan… he listened hard, but he couldn't quite decide just what he was hearing until a loud, strangled gasp filled the air.

A nightmare, then.

Severus was out of bed in the blink of an eye. He pulled on the pyjama pants discarded in a pile on the floor, dithered over donning the matching shirt then dropped it and hurtled out of the door when another gasp reached his ears.

Her nightmares were a weekly occurrence at least – an unfortunate side effect from the many failed trials that she had suffered through, and at first this sounded like any other.

He slowed his steps as he reached her door in case she fell asleep on her own again, but he paused as if stunned when another sound broke through the wooden barrier.

"Oh – oh – oh, oh, oh…"

Couldn't be… He inched closer to the door.

He held his breath…

Oh gods… oh, gods – "Fuck," he breathed, heart pounding as he put a hand over his mouth, unable to make himself move away from the door after he heard it.

And he had heard it.

He knew he had.

And there it was again. He almost staggered with the weight of it, just those three little words-

"Oh, gods – Severus!"