Hats off to duj who was the only one to guess where this chapter was going! One more chapter and the epilogue to go. I am absolutely unapologetic for the cliffhanger, as it really isn't one. You'll see. Review replies to come tonight.

And also… 'Resolutions' is taking a holiday after a guest reviewer decided to bring their moral high ground and associated insults to the review box. I am not, nor have I ever been, thick-skinned enough to put up with such things, nor do I like reviewers of my stories to have to see such idiotic vitriol. So when I feel better about it, I'll pop the story back up.

This little corner of the internet is my happy place. Coincidentally, in my mind, my story list looks like our beloved cottage in this story. So, I hope you all will join me in settling down and entering the 'happy place' whenever you read one of my stories; we don't need anyone telling us that our preferences make us bad people, and I won't allow that in this little space that we all share every week or so.

Anyway, onwards.

Chapter 18

You are in my blood like holy wine,

You taste so bitter and so sweet.

I could drink a case of you, darling.

Joni Mitchell

1998

"You've never brought me here before. Why? This is… It's all so beautiful, Severus."

"Says the girl that stole ingredients from the storeroom. You wouldn't have been able to restrain yourself."

Hermione's peal of laughter rang out through the greenhouse. When she looked back at him from over her shoulder, her fingers trailing along the hedge of a thankfully non-Magical plant, Severus inclined his head, acknowledging the jest.

"I always thought that you went looking for these ingredients yourself! Trekking over mountains and all that."

He scoffed and folded his arms, following her slow moving trail around the plants. "A long time ago, yes. Certainly during my apprenticeship. But I have not had the inclination nor the time for over a decade now. This is easier."

"It certainly is easy," she agreed, staring up at the ceiling.

He had Apparated them both to the greenhouse, his wife's hand tucked into the crease of his elbow. She was right, of course; he hadn't brought her here before.

Severus hadn't brought anyone before, the only exception being the odd house elf or two.

Out of his many creations and discoveries, this was the one thing that he could return to, time and time again. Severus was proud of it – immensely so. Even Sprout, on the one morning that he had allowed her to inspect it, had flushed red with envy. Only three staff members were aware of it: Albus, Poppy and Pomona.

From the outside, it appeared simply as just another room on the ground floor, above his dungeon quarters. There was a set of stairs hidden behind a tapestry in his sitting room that led here, to a nondescript looking door that opened out into a room where nature was given free rein to enchant those who came to see it.

He had organise the greenhouse himself. The charms had taken weeks of research and he renewed them faithfully every year. Along the back wall were the non-Magical plants – the herbs and flowers, those that old wives tales remembered. In the middle of the room and to the left were the Magical plants that needed no change in climate, for he was fortunate enough to know a good amount of uses for the vegetation that could thrive in the climate of the Scottish Highlands.

He was most proud of the opposite side of the room. Careful charms work had created temperature controlled areas, surrounded by wards that ensured each plant had the best opportunity to maintain its usefulness. Some areas rained constantly over the pots and garden beds, while others were dry and hot.

Hermione let out another sigh of wonder, and Severus suddenly wished that he had brought her here long ago – long enough ago that she wouldn't attach a bittersweet note to her pleasure. But he could see it in the way her shoulders were hunched slightly, the way her arms were cradling her own stomach – she thought she might never see it again.

He realised then that he wanted her to.

But how?

"As long as even the most basic wards of the school are maintained," he muttered, "this room will remain. It doesn't require…"

"Your presence?"

"Indeed."

"Is that a roundabout way of saying that if you die, this greenhouse will still be here?"

She had stopped near the non-Magical plants. Her eyes were fixed on a bush covered with vibrant red roses. His throat felt thick when he swallowed.

"It is."

"Ah. Right."

Hermione tossed her head. Chestnut curls bounced back and forth with the brisk movement. "And I suppose that you're telling me this because I should prepare for it? That if you die, I can make pilgrimages here to see all the plants and the trees and the flowers? That it won't be such a loss, because at least there's a bloody garden that will survive you?"

Heart pounding, Severus left his position at the entryway and walked towards her slowly. When he was near enough, he placed a hand on her shoulder. She stiffened but he left it there, a warm weight on her quivering body.

"I do not know if I will survive, wife… You know this as well as I."

She rounded on him with a glare that made his heart burn. "Then what was the point? Why agree to marry me at all? Why not just fight it until you were saddled with someone who… who…" Defeated, she pinched the bridge of her nose. "I don't want you to die." The heaviness of her tone carried her sincerity to him and he was floored by it.

Unable to stop himself, he mumbled, "I do not wish to die either."

"You don't?"

Severus rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his flat hair. "Of course I do not! I want to see the fruits of my bloody labours come about! I want to see this war end. I want to see the Dark Lord dead. Hermione, do you think I would do all that I have done, and not give a damn about being around to at least experience life without a master? Of course I do not wish to die!"

The force with which she hit his body as she embraced him fiercely sent him to the floor, and they fell together, she in his arms and he wincing as his backside hit the stone floor. Hermione was not weeping, but her arms around him were like limbs of iron and she was laughing, chuckling hoarsely to herself and burying her face in his chest.

"You don't want to die?" she confirmed, speaking into his neck.

"I do not want to die. But if I –"

"No," she cut him off sternly. Drawing back, she adjusted herself until she was perched on his lap, her hands on his shoulders. With the clear roof of the greenhouse, the moon shone in and cast a silvery glow on her hair. "No 'ifs' or 'buts'. You don't want to die, so you won't."

"I won't?" he repeated, closing his eyes and snorting quietly. "If you say so, oh naïve wife of mine."

"I do say so. And that's that."

When he opened his eyes again, she was biting her lip and reaching out to tuck a stray hair behind his ear. When her fingers trailed down his cheek, he leaned into her touch and sighed.

"That's that, then."

"Yes," said Hermione. "Now – tell me about the greenhouse. I want to hear all about it."

…

They sat beneath a small lilac tree. His back was leaning against the short wooden fence that he had erected in front of his more favoured plants, and Hermione had worked her body between his thighs. She rested with her back on his chest, her knees drawn up while his hands sat limply on his own thighs.

He wanted to touch her. Why? How had this come about? He wanted the comfort of it, yes, but there was desire there, too… Desire, and a sense of time running away from them. Soon she would have to leave, and he would no longer have the warm, pleasant weight of her leaning against his chest. Even through the robes and pyjamas that he wore underneath, Severus could feel her shoulder-blades; the curve of her spine; the scratch of her curls.

She breathed in deeply, and Severus fancied that he knew her well enough to know that her eyelids were fluttering.

"The smell… all of the scents, really – but this one in particular…" Hermione tipped her head back to better see the tree. "It's divine."

"It is," he answered quietly, reluctant to damage the delicate atmosphere between them.

She eased back against him. Her hands reached out hesitantly, before they settled over his fingers. He allowed her to thread their hands together on his thighs, though he did not even wish to begin working out just why he accepted her touch so readily.

"My parents used to grow lilacs," she remarked pensively. "Mum always found them a bit dull, but Dad's mother apparently had a garden full of them."

"You did not know her?"

"Oh, no. Dad's mum died before I was born. Still, I could always feel her somehow – mostly when Dad and I would do the gardening together during the summer holidays. I haven't… I haven't been able to do that for a long time now. Too long."

Choosing to say nothing in case she wished to speak further, Severus rested his chin on the top of her head. It felt daring to do so, as if he had crossed a line, but it was one she herself had drawn by sitting so closely by him and so he did not spare any thought on it.

She went on to say, "Mum and Dad's wedding song was 'Lilac Wine'. They danced to it – I've watched the videos over and over… more so after I sent them away… it's a bit of an off the wall choice, but it's very beautiful. Have you heard it?"

Knowingly, he shocked her and drawled softly, "I have indeed."

"Really?" Hermione pushed on his thighs to bounce up and around until she crouched in front of him, her eyes shining with excitement. "You've heard it? I didn't expect that."

"Why not?" he countered. "How could I have grown up in a working class area and not been exposed to music? Use that brain of yours," he teased, tapping her temple gently, smirking at her grimace. "I happen to be a man of taste," Severus ended with, snorting when her eyes widened.

"Really?" she repeated.

"Not really," he said between chuckles. "Rather the opposite: leather jackets and all that. It was the seventies," he added, defending himself against her chortles that were growing ever louder by the second. "Hush, you."

Hermione merely giggled again and folded her legs down until she was kneeling between his thighs. "Do you have any photos?"

"Why – should they be gifted to a museum? I'm thirty eight, not seventy eight."

"No!" she swatted at his chest. "I just wish I could've seen you! Sounds like I missed out on a fine sight."

"A 'fine sight'?" he echoed, both eyebrows curving upwards. "Wife, if you're going to spend the evening making impertinent comments about my appearance, then…"

"Then what?" she hurled back immediately, shuffling forward on her knees. The graceless movement drew his attention to her face – like earlier, her lips were so close, just a few inches away. "I like hearing you laugh. And if I have to make impertinent comments to make you laugh, then I'll make them. Unless…"

Intrigued, Severus noted the way her eyes darted to his mouth. If it were any other time, any other moment, he'd have stopped whatever this was immediately. She was frightened, disturbed… she was on the run, for goodness' sake. Yet he, too, was hardly sleeping and spent his patrols flinching at every damn shadow.

"Unless what?" he baited her.

Hesitation splashed across her face, though it was quickly replaced with curiosity. He could almost hear her mind whirling, considering her options, wondering how far she could go.

And Severus, in a move that was so uncharacteristic that it shocked the both of them, leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers. Swiftly she returned the kiss, her clumsy lips pushing eagerly onto his, though she did not try to coax his mouth open. With inhibitions already cast aside, Severus groaned at the mint he tasted on her lips, the sweet, careful way she was attempting to kiss him.

How long had he wanted this, without ever realising it? Perhaps he hadn't ever wanted it; but he wanted it now. Very much.

Slowly, he raised his hands and cupped her face; he felt the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips, and she whimpered. Tilting her head just so until he could kiss her firmly, he swallowed her mewl of surprise that she gave as he pulled on her lower lip ever so gently with his teeth, bidding her to open for him.

And when she responded in the way he had hoped, it undid him. With shaking hands Hermione ran her fingers through his hair, her nails lightly running over his scalp as her tongue slid into his mouth. He moaned, knowing that they couldn't continue, but desperate to simply have this moment with her, his wife, his witch even if just for a night.

She fit perfectly on his lap, her upper body there for him to touch, to discover. Slowly he trailed a line down her spine, savouring the way that she squirmed, unwittingly fitting over his erection as if she had intended to do it. He felt, rather than heard, her gasp of surprise as she registered his arousal but it seemed to push her further – Hermione linked her hands behind his neck and crushed her mouth to his, her body now astride him as she rocked back and forth.

His eyes were closed, yet the heat of her still overwhelmed him; colours swirled behind his lids – red, gold and white hot desire.

He had to stop. They had to stop. Their time was dripping away and he knew she had to return from whatever cold and windy place she'd left behind.

But he didn't want to.

Sighing, his hands left her waist and returned to her face, stroking her cheeks, her jaw, smoothing over her hair. As if she sensed his reticence, Hermione gentled her attentions, their lips only pressing together softly in small pecks that were so tender, so heartfelt, that Severus knew he would return to this again and again in a pensieve. It would become his driving force, the memory that would propel his feet forward in the slow march towards either his death or victory.

When finally she pulled away, her clean hair was messy again, and her lips were plump and shining. Her smile was hopeful and he knew that when he returned it, the discovery of just how much he cared for her was mirrored within her own eyes.

…

She left not long after.

Severus returned to his office. If Tink noticed the small cutting of lilacs that now adorned the Headmaster's desk, he wisely said nothing.

…

The lilacs remained there, Hermione's stasis charm keeping them fresh and pleasantly scented. Even on the morning of the final Battle, Severus took one long breath in with his nose before he left the office, not realising that it was to be for the last time.

…

Arthur Weasley trudged out of the doors of the Great Hall. His face was creased with shock and sadness.

He carried a heavy, dead weight.

Severus dropped to his knees and howled.

…

Her heart had stopped. His beautiful wife…

He carried her in his arms, unhearing, unseeing. The success of the Apparation to St. Mungo's came down to good fortune alone.

…

In the Headmaster's Office, high above the carnage of the field below, the sprig of lilacs wilted.

…

Severus returned to his former desk only once; he hurried in and grabbed what he thought he would need, pausing only to check the bathroom for any toiletries she'd left behind.

The dead flowers in the small vase were forgotten as soon as they were sighted.

"Clean it all up," he ordered absentmindedly, wincing as Tink bowed, the elf already sporting a forlorn expression. "The new Headmistress will need to be in by tomorrow morning."

"H-how is Madam Snape, Master?"

Severus hung his head. "Stable, for now."

"When will Madam Snape be waking, Master?"

He sighed and readied his body to return to his wife's bedside.

"Soon."

…

2001

Severus had been a fool, but he would be a fool no longer.

He surveyed his handiwork and gave one short nod. Mog rubbed his cheek against his trouser leg, and Severus scooped the kitten up in his arms and made his way back into the cottage.

Tink popped into the sitting room as he entered. "Would Master like tea?"

"No, no," he muttered, eyes fixed on the front door. He was not in the mood.

"Master is unhappy?"

"Master is…" Severus paused as he heard the tell-tale clicking of Hermione's low heels coming down the lane towards their little cottage at the end. "Master is… discombobulated."

That was certainly true – it hadn't even occurred to him that he was referring to himself in the third person.

The clicking came closer. The gate squeaked.

"Tink? Take the night off."

She was marching towards the door.

"It's just you and me now, kid," he mumbled to the kitten, who only nudged his hand lest he stop scratching under its chin. Pippin, home for once, hooted indignantly from the corner of the room. "And you," Severus amended.

He heard a small huff outside – he could picture Hermione easily, standing with her arms crossed over her chest. She'd be scowling, to be sure; scowling because of her most hated feeling: not knowing. By now, Lavender must have told her that he'd left the party, and Severus could only hope that his wife hadn't tried searching for him somewhere else before coming home. He wanted her feeling open, receptive. Not pissed off and tired.

The door handle turned.

He looked down at the kitten and sighed, schooling his features so as not to display the nerves that had pooled in his stomach from the minute he'd left the Burrow.

Hermione opened the door, took one look at man and cat, and let out a loud shriek of laughter. Mog whipped his head around to see the cackling newcomer. The young witch's laughs only intensified as two pairs of eyes stared at her, unsure of what on earth was going on.

"Hermione?" Severus began hesitantly, taking one step towards her. Mog's claws dug into his frock coat, as if in protest at being any closer to the wild haired witch.

"Sorry!" she said, wiping her eyes. "Good lord, have you any idea what you both looked like?" She struck a pose, her back straightening and face frowning, while her hands mimicked stroking the kitten. "Like a lord and his pet!"

He shrugged off the jest. "Where were you?"

"Looking for you," she shot back, brown eyes narrowing. She stepped up to him and laid a hand on his arm before asking softly, "Wherever did you go, Severus? Why did Charlie bloody Weasley tell me that you were jealous of Ron and I sitting together?"

"Charles?" Severus repeated, slightly flustered. "Not Lavender Brown? Charles? And… jealous?"

"Percy hit him with a silencing spell, Poppy whacked him, and Lavender hexed him, if that helps."

"It does," he growled, then vowed to put in a good word for Percy with the Healer, if she ever warmed to the idea.

"Lavender also said that you had to do something..."

"Did she now?"

"Yes…" Hermione pursed her lips. "Why does my Healer know something that I don't?"

"She doesn't," said Severus quickly, heading off a senseless argument. "She's too damn perceptive."

"Ah." She shifted on her feet, anxiously looking around the room. "What did you have to do?"

"I think that can wait…"

"Why?" Her eyes bore into his. "Have I done something? Truly, Severus, were you jealous? I mean, it's just Ron – for Merlin's sake, aren't we past that? Don't you feel –"

Glowering at the mere thought of it, Severus bent down to release the kitten then rose to his full height. He put a finger over his wife's lips. She blushed instantly, though it was one of uncertainty and not arousal. He vowed to change that as soon as he could.

"I have some things to say, wife," he said firmly. "And I would like it if you would listen."

Hermione bristled and nodded. But as soon as he removed his finger from her lips, she opened her mouth and snarled, "You don't trust me!"

With a roll of his eyes, Severus crossed the room and sat down on the couch. Knowing that she wouldn't be able to resist either an argument or the opportunity to learn where he'd gone, he waited until she grumbled under her breath then sat down beside him with a huff.

"I have some things to say," he repeated, turning on the couch to face her fully. Impatiently, he waved a hand, making a significant effort not to smile at the way she blew out another breath and swiveled around. Merlin, but she was lovely when she was making a scene.

"Go ahead!" she declared imperiously. "But if you think for one moment that –"

"Enough!" he thundered. "Give it a rest, woman! For once, stop that vibrant, spinning mind of yours long enough to listen!"

She looked down at her lap. "Sorry."

"Oh, bloody hell…" he complained, reaching forward to tilt her face back up. "Don't be sorry! Just… just listen. Please."

"All right, all right!"

"Good." Severus lowered the pitch of his voice and finally allowed the flat line of his mouth to crack slightly, the left side turning up in a small, fond smile. Seeing this, Hermione's shoulders seemed to slump a little and she grimaced; already she understood him well enough to suspect she was wrong.

"First off," he said, "though it shouldn't be the first – it should be the end, but you have jumped to conclusions and I feel I must set it right." Severus took a breath in, wondering for a moment at just how much he could possibly love her to even have this conversation. A lot, he decided. Possibly with all of his heart.

"I am not. Jealous. Of. Ronald. Bloody. Weasley. I never have been and I never will be! How could you think such a thing?"

The blush on Hermione's cheeks drained. "But you left and –"

"I had something to do," he explained softly. "I saw you two sitting together, yes. But if you think that such a sight would prompt me to… do whatever it is that you think I've been doing, then you are utterly in the wrong."

"I am?" Her voice was timid, shy.

"Of course you bloody well are! I trust you, Hermione!" Brandishing his left hand, he waved it around, letting her eyes focus on the silver wedding band. "You're my wife. You took vows. You're living with me. Good grief, do you think so little of me?"

"I swear that I don't, I just –"

"It's all right," he soothed her, his hand now cupping her cheek. When she sighed and leaned into his touch, he grinned and repeated, "I trust you. Whatever they told you, they're wrong. Completely." Years ago he might have been perturbed by such ridiculous accusations, but he knew the Weasley men; the younger ones were all bluster and brashness. He already knew that she trusted him – that was as clear as day, and so he could hardly concern himself with misunderstandings.

"Really?"

"You have to ask?"

Her answer was immediate and placating. "No," she whispered, moving closer until he was able to tuck her under his arm. She leaned her cheek on his chest. "I just thought… It's just been so wonderful with you… and I was sure that I'd bollocks it all up somehow. You supported me for so long and I didn't deserve any of it –"

"You did deserve it," said Severus clearly. "Enough of that."

"Well," she continued, "I was just… waiting for the sickle to drop, I suppose. Because how can one woman be so lucky as to have you sit at her side for years, and then take her in? To put up with all of her maddening habits and make her feel like she's the safest, most cared for woman in the world? Why have you been so good to me? I don't deserve you…"

"I think that's for me to decide," he muttered, silently thanking the heavens above that he was not a young man anymore – he would've spent months agonising over whether or not he deserved her. At least he was secure enough in her affections to leave that aside. "But that wasn't what I wanted to say."

She smiled, chastened. "It wasn't? My knight in shining armour now has more ways to outstrip any other man?"

Severus coughed in an attempt to cover the flash of male pride that made his cheeks sport two twin spots of red. Not that he believed her, of course, but he certainly wouldn't bother to object.

"I am sorry," Hermione whispered, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. Her lips were dry but soft, and she lingered just long enough for the truth of her words to carry. "I truly am. I didn't doubt you – not for a second. I was angry at myself – not at you. Never at you. I thought I'd ruined everything. And I can't…" she trailed off and crawled into his lap, burying her face in his neck. Her body trembled, and Severus knew then that he loved her with a passion that almost felt as if it were outside of his body. As if it had a life of its own; as if it were tangible.

"I can't lose you, Severus. Please, don't ever leave…"

He tightened his grip on her and shushed her, his hands running over her back and waist, soothing her in the best way he knew how. That she cared so damn much to cry over him, if the dampness on his neck was anything to go by... It filled him with the sweetest form of relief – dare he hope that she returned his feelings? That she loved him as he did her?

"Hermione," he said gently. "Come now, wife. I haven't even finished what I wanted to say."

"Sorry," she said again, her hiccoughs drawing a laugh from her mouth. "I'll be quiet."

"I certainly hope you won't be quiet," he drawled, "but at least hear me out. Yes?"

"Yes."

Severus considered ambling along, explaining himself with flowery words and honey-tongued expressions. He twisted one finger around in Hermione's hair, and wondered if he should have prepared for this; written notes, perhaps. And then he snorted and placed a kiss to his wife's head.

With aplomb worthy of his next words, he announced, "I am completely and irrevocably in love with you, Hermione. I just wanted to make sure that you knew that."

She scrambled back and stared at him with a smile that he could easily place as incandescent. "You're what?"

…