To the reviewer who's not happy with this pairing. There are thousands of authors writing what you want. If my story –and this particular pairing— doesn't do it for you, then I'm certain it can be found elsewhere.

SS/HG was an escape for me when I desperately needed it. This pairing also brought me back to writing when I didn't think I could or would ever write again. Snamione is my OTP. And I have no desire to write anything else.

Also thank you all for the supportive PMs *huggles*

And back to the story…

As one reviewer pointed out, oh dear, Hermione you're assuming again… :D

Snape's wry snort broke into her careening thoughts. "You have no worries there. I am not related in any way, shape or form to Mr Potter."

Had he read her mind? No. He didn't have to. Her expression had to mirror her shock. "Then how…?"

Snape put down his cup and a dark line grew between his brows. "That is personal to me, Miss Granger. Safe to say, I became…aware of a soul-bond that never reached a kiss."

Hermione couldn't hold his gaze. Thick emotion swirled through her thoughts, the ever-present jealousy for that damned witch…and for Snape. Oh gods, how terrible that must have been for him? To know that the woman he loved was meant for him…but had chosen another? Had Lily Evans simply taken an easier path?

How had he realised? Through touch? Or was it something he could simply…see? Hermione had never known, never thought such a thing could bind them together. Yes, she'd respected him, but she always respected her teachers. And the odd warm dream about him, she'd always explained away as Professor Snape being the only full-grown wizard under a hundred in the whole bloody castle…

Had Lily Evans known? Or suspected? When Snape became aware of the bond never sealed did she?

Hermione's belly turned over. How difficult was it love Severus Snape? With his theory, a soul-mate bond tied the best woman to him. Tied them together. Gave them the greatest chance…and yet Lily Evans had chosen another. Even she had almost slipped into accepting another wizard. A swell of sympathy rose in her chest. And why would he want her? The wild-haired, bossy know-it-all that had plagued him for years. Now he had another impossible bond. She almost laughed. Was she as equally hard to love?

"I will make no claim on you, Miss Granger." His voice was smooth, but there was an edge of tightness that pricked at her. She was a reminder of a time and woman he had lost and her eyes burned. Fuck, she would always be second best. It was hardly fair. "I…regret that our…status has removed your ability to marry and bear children with the one you love."

Hermione pressed her lips together at his words. Her throat ached. "You've lost that too, sir."

His lips twisted into a bitter smile. "That was never within my grasp, Miss Granger." He stood, something quick, almost anxious and Hermione copied him. "Foy!" The little elf popped into the room, delight shining in his eyes. "Please take, Miss Granger to her suite." Snape looked to her, his gaze shuttered. "Stay within in the grounds for your own safety."

"And the excuse for me to be here, Headmaster?"

"An illness at the Burrow? Arthur thought it more safe for you to stay at the school until the time came for you to leave for Australia."

She gave him a small smile as she accepted Foy's long, clawed hand. "So the truth. In a way."

Snape inclined his head. Something shone in his eyes, an emotion, a reaction she couldn't quite name. "It is always the best place to hide a lie, Miss Granger."

Ron picked at the bunch of grapes, popping two into his mouth at once. He chewed and frowned. Two days. Two days of sitting in a warded hospital room, with a pile of Quidditch magazines and the odd family visitor. He'd been told not to leave. And not to speak to anyone.

He swallowed. A growl escaped him. Mione hadn't been to see him either and it was her fault that he was trapped. He sank back against the plumped pillows and stared out of the long window. A silenced, bustling street reflected back; the busy Muggle world of Charing Cross. Red buses, too many cars to identify and people weighted down with bags…pushed his inactivity hard into his bones.

He wanted to be out. Flying. Playing Quidditch. Pushing Mione against the wall of his room and finally getting into her knickers—

His mum had said he'd have to put a ring on a witch like Mione before he got that far. She was a worthy woman. That he should secure her before some other wizard saw her as a fine catch. He didn't mind. It'd be a l-o-n-g engagement. Mione wanted to burrow herself any in some form of apprenticeship. Charms, maybe? He'd skimmed that three foot explanation. But with her safely housed with a Master, it would leave him plenty of time to dip his wand before the fidelity charms chased over him.

And that was an old, pure-blood tradition. His dick stirred. Some of the ancient ways he was more than happy to follow.

Where was Mione anyway?

Dad had muttered something about a bond. A tie. But that was impossible. Mione was his. She'd wanted him for years, and now, well, she could have him. He smirked. Her reward for being a good girl. And popping her cherry, that was his reward. And his right.

The door creaked open. A healer in a starched-white uniform with a notebook and quill stepped into his room. She was young, blonde and very pretty. Ron sat straighter and smoothed over his blankets. Fuck, he was already hard.

"Mr Ronald Weasley?" The healer looked at him and smiled. She really was unbelievably pretty. Part Veela, maybe?

"Yes. That's me."

The door shut and the swirl of warding settled back into place. "Good. How are you feeling, Mr Weasley?" Her wand swept over him and the cool rush of spells caught his breath.

He gave her his confident 'I'm a war-hero' grin. "Call me Ron."

Another smile and a little dimple appeared in her left cheek. "I'm here to see if there are any lasting effects in your flesh or to your magical core."

"An attack like this can do that?" No one had said they'd be any damage to him. What in Merlin's name had Mione done? He'd only wanted to marry her. Make an honest woman out of her. But oh no, Miss Hermione Granger had to be one step above everyone else and be 'magically tied' or some such tripe.

The healer looked at his chart fixed to the end of his bed. She flipped through the pages, her blue eyes sharp. "A soul-bond attack is a very serious matter…Ron." Her smile was wide. And Ron blinked. Didn't she just say it was serious? "Luckily for you it seems you only encountered a Soul-Mate's Kiss."

The truth slotted into place for Ron. A soul-mate. Mione had a soul-mate and it wasn't him. And who had she kissed? Anger heated into a tight ball in his chest. Viktor Krum. Ron looked at the pile of Quidditch magazines, remembering the player and his new German veela wife. Lucky sod. No, Krum was married. So it couldn't be him.

Mione had shown no interest in anyone else. And no one else had shown any in her. It was why Ron wanted her. She'd fix on him and make him a good little devoted wife. His belly turned over. Could he marry her now? He frowned. The only man she'd ever talked about in the nine foot long letters he skimmed every week was… No. No it couldn't be. That was…insane.

"Is something wrong, Ron?"

"Snape." He bit out the name. "She bloody kissed Snape."

The healer's eyes were bright and she pressed her feathered quill to her lips. Her head tilted. "Excuse me?"

Fury pushed through his flesh. He'd waited for her. Waited. The witch in Leicester didn't count. Mione had been in Australia that time. And that witch in— No, that didn't matter, either. That was just a handjob. But what she'd done? So much worse.

"She kissed Snape! Mione. Hermione Granger, bloody kissed that slimy, greasy, slimy bat. And I was going to marry her." He pulled in a harsh breath, the swirl of betrayal thickening in his thoughts. "How could she do this to me?"

But the door to his room was already swinging back into place and he was left alone. For about a minute.

"Mr Ronald Weasley? I'm Healer Owen. How are you today?"

Ron stared at the tall, black man in a starched-white uniform, his name magically stitched under his right shoulder. The other healer hadn't had that… Something pushed into Ron's brain. Something he should know from all the times he'd visited St Mungo's…

The name was a magical signature, proof of a healer's credentials. And that other healer, she hadn't told him who she was. He'd assumed. And been distracted by a pretty smile.

She wasn't a healer.

Ron shut his eyes. "Oh fuck…"

I can't help myself. I can never paint Ron 'good'.

As ever, let me know what you think! :)