5.

When he saw her the first time he wasn't completely sure that his mind wasn't playing him for a fool. She looked so very different in person compared to the photos in the magazines that he hid in a box at the back of his wardrobe like some dirty secret. Not that they were—dirty, that is. Just a secret. He didn't often have guests, so he didn't really need to hide them, but he dreaded the idea of someone finding out that he was...what? Mooning over a girl half his age? Obsessing? Stalking?

But no, he hadn't been imagining things. The woman he had seen stepping out of Flourish & Blotts, looking elegant and beautiful in a set of mulberry robes, was the same woman before him now.

He stood at one end of the Potter's sitting room, his back against the wall out of a long ingrained habit, and a drink in his hand as he observed the overly full room.

Everyone Potter had ever known was there and, even with the wall they'd knocked down when redecorating, the former Headquarters was still packed. People mingled and chatted with each other in small clumps, the occasional person breaking off to talk to someone else, or to hail down a familiar face. Very few spoke to him, which he was okay with, because even years of peace could not morph him into a social butterfly.

He nearly snorted at the thought.

Instead of feigning interest in the lives of others he nursed his whiskey and tried not to watch her.

It was difficult when she wore robes like those. The rich wine colour suited her admirably, making her tanned skin glow, and her sun lightened hair stand out. The fit was impeccable and they looked as if they had been tailored specifically for her which, in retrospect, they probably had. The material clung to her body in all of the right places without being obscene.

He shifted his body weight and forced his gaze away.

His eyes lighted on his godson, Draco, and his date Miss Lovegood. That had been a match that he had never seen coming but, once it was there, couldn't deny its probability of succeeding. Miss Lovegood lightened Draco's heavy soul and gave him a reason to smile. For that, Severus was grateful.

Invariably, he found himself looking at Hermione once more. She had barely glanced at him since he walked in, Pomona and Minerva pressing their hands against his back as if they feared he'd suddenly change his mind about attending. It was the first time he'd been in the same room as her since she left the country. He understood that she visited the Potters every once in a while, but he was not privy to such gatherings and she'd never sought him out.

She was so very, very different.

Holding herself stiffly, as if she were constantly on display or under scrutiny, she looked uncomfortable with her present company. Her appearance, everything from her clothes, to her purse, to her little heels, was stylish and expensive looking. She had more make-up on than he'd ever seen her wear; a swipe of something on her eyes and a little gloss on her lips had been her modus operandi for so many years. Now her hair was short and straight, almost boyish and yet...not. Her brown eyes were smoky and dark, looking seductive and dangerous at the same time. It made him uncomfortable.

He felt like an idiot for thinking it, but he missed Miss Granger, the young woman with the barely tameable hair, the ill fitting jumpers, and the constant smudge of ink on her chin and fingers.

It was thanks to his constant scrutiny that he noticed when she slipped away. His eyes followed her and from his vantage point he could see her feet climbing the stairs in the hall beyond the sitting room. Calmly, he set his drink down and followed, walking the edges and avoiding cutting a clear path through the people standing about and socialising.

When he reached the landing of the second floor he was unsurprised to see light spilling from beneath the doors to the Black library. He smiled to himself in the windowless hallway, glad to see that some things never did change. Moving on quiet feet, he reached the doorway and pushed it gently open.

His eyes found her standing by the bookcase along the far wall, a few steps from a grouping of couches and the fireplace. He watched as her fingers danced along leather bound spines, moving from one tome to the next, and he could imagine the sight of her eyes following avidly from title to title. She stopped randomly, something catching her eye, and she plucked a blue bound book from the shelf. She opened it there, laying it flat in one hand while the other skimmed down a page. Without looking up, she wandered back to one of the couches and sat down with her back to him.

"You finally look like yourself," he said quietly. Her head snapped up, though she did not turn around. "At least a little bit," he amended.

"I don't know what you mean," she said stiffly.

"You don't look like the Hermione that I knew."

She stood up then and he heard the soft thump of the book she'd picked landing on the cushion beside her. Turning around, she finally faced him.

He felt her stare deep in his gut and realised suddenly that he was incredibly nervous. Her expression was pinched and tense, though not as angry as he had thought it would be. He watched her watch him, neither of them saying anything, until she finally crossed her arms over her chest defensively and looked away.

"The key word there is 'knew'," she said softly, her voice barely reaching him.

"Yes," he agreed, just as quiet. "You have changed completely; I cannot say that I know you any longer."

"Everyone changes, Severus," she says, the defiance in her posture leaking into her tone.

"True," he nodded. "But do they change so completely that they are nigh unrecognisable?"

"What are you talking about?" she demanded, finally looking at him once more.

"You are a heralded war hero, your picture has been plastered through The Daily Prophet and more since you were, what? Fourteen? And yet this morning you waltzed through Diagon Alley without anyone batting an eyelash at you."

Her eyes widened and her arms dropped to her sides. "Are you stalking me?" she asked, incredulous.

He snorted. "I am many things, Hermione, but that is not one of them. I own a shop in Diagon Alley, I saw you leaving Flourish & Blotts."

"You say that no one recognised me in one breath and admit to doing just that in the next." Her limp hands found their way to her hips and her eyebrow rose. Even her body language had changed, he mused silently.

He strode forward, crossing the small library in a few long legged steps. To her credit, she did not so much as move an inch when he stopped at the couch she had occupied. He leaned over the back of it, his hands pressed into the cushions so that she could not look anywhere but at his face.

"You can change everything about yourself, Hermione," he told her fiercely, "and I would still know you." His eyes flicked over her, from top to bottom. "I would know you anywhere. The question is can you say the same?"

She frowned even as she tilted her chin up defiantly, determined to maintain eye contact with him. "What on earth are you talking about?"

He nearly smiled at that moment. He'd been wrong about one thing, at least. She may have morphed into another woman physically but it seemed that she had not lost her backbone, or her inherent need to challenge him. He leaned back, giving them both space because, in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to vault over the back of the couch that separated them and take her in his arms.

"Do you recognise yourself, Hermione?" he asked quietly. "When you look in the mirror, can you still see who you are?"

She opened her mouth...and then closed it. Her arms went back over her chest, crossed tightly under her breasts. He waited one heartbeat, two, three, before he turned back towards the door.

"I'll leave you to your reading."

6.

She felt two spells hit her at almost the exact same time. The stinging hex hit her in the back of the knee a second before the Stunner connected with her shoulder. She went down like a sack of bricks.

"I got her! I got her! She's mine!"

"I hit'er first!"

The scent of unwashed body surrounded her as a pair of arms hauled her up from the forest floor, leaves and debris clinging to her open jacket and the sweater underneath. Big hands surrounded her forearms and her shoulders ached as her limbs were pulled back against their sockets, her chest forcibly thrust forward. In front of her stood two grimy looking wizards, one with his wand out and the other looking decidedly uninterested.

"She's mine, Scabior!" the lankier wizard, the one with his wand out, argued hotly. He was missing most of his front teeth. "I hit her with a Stunner."

"Ah," said a voice behind her, "but it was my hex what caught'er first."

"But I stunned her!" the other protested, his voice almost shrill.

"Shut yer gob," her captor spat. "She's my prize. I'll take'er to Malfoy Manor, see what our pal Fenrir caught." He pulled sharply on her shoulders while he leaned slightly around her, enough to see a bit of her face. "Would you like that, luv? Get to see your friends, you would."

She didn't bother fighting him. She knew when she was good and had. If she were lucky, they would underestimate her and give her an opening to get her wand back. Desperately, she fought back the feeling of panic that threatened to crawl its way up from her belly and swallow her whole.

"What? Nothing to say?" Scabior grinned in her face, his teeth various shades of yellow and brown. Her lip curled unconsciously and she turned her face away. "Aww." He made a tutting sound. "I don't think kitten likes me. Oh, well."

Before she could prepare, before she could take a fortifying breath of air, she felt her body wrenched into Side-Along Apparition. Constricted on all sides, all she could be sure of was Scabior's body pressed tightly against hers, which was not reassuring at all.

They landed hard. He was either unused to bringing people with him, or he was simply inept at it. He didn't bother to hold on to her as her knees gave out and she landed on all fours at his feet. He let out a laugh, a high pitched, nasally sound.

"What have you brought?" a voice demanded. She looked up and found herself staring at a woman she'd only seen in passing years ago.

"Potter's Mudblood," Scabior answered proudly.

Narcissa Malfoy's eyes darted down to her quickly before she turned sharply on her heel. "Bring her," she called over her shoulder.

He was not gentle about it. Grabbing a fist full of her hair, he proceeded to drag her down the hall as she tried to gain her footing and keep up at the same time. She barely saw any of the rooms they passed, such was the pain in her head, until she was released to fall once more onto all fours.

"Draco! Draco, come!" a new voice demanded. Hermione looked up into the demented gaze of Bellatrix Lestrange leaning over her, black hair almost completely obscuring her face. "Is it Potter's Mudblood? Is it? Look, boy! Is it?" she gestured wildly with her hands.

Hermione heard movement and looked up to see Draco dragging his feet. He glanced at her reluctantly, and she was struck by how terrified he looked.

"I...I..." he stammered, swallowing heavily. He didn't seem to be able to look at her for long.

"Speak up, boy!" Bellatrix screeched suddenly. She reached out with both hands and dragged Draco closer. With one hand on his face she forced him level with Hermione and she could see sharp nails digging into his skin.

"I'm...I'm not sure."

With a noise of disgust, Bellatrix threw him away from her. He stumbled but caught himself before he could fall. "Get Snape!" she yelled. "Someone get Snape!"

Hermione felt her heart give a great, uncomfortable lurch. She had not thought that he would be at Malfoy Manor, not with school in session at Hogwarts, but no, there he was, walking calmly into the room. His eyes lit on her instantly and he paused.

"You seem to have another guest, Narcissa. At this rate, the Manor will be full to the attic," he commented dryly, his eyes still on her.

"Snape!" Bellatrix barked. "Is this Potter's Mudblood?"

In a split second decision, she took the option of answering away from him. She straightened as much as she could from her position on the floor and tilted her chin defiantly at him.

"Hello, Professor. Fancy meeting you here."

Bellatrix swung about, surprise written on her sunken features momentarily before maniacal glee overtook her. "Oh, Mudblood. You're not very smart, are you?" she cooed.

Hermione shrugged, feigning indifference. Out of the corner of her eye she watched Severus walk further into the room, taking a spot near Draco. "What's the point in pretending? He'll tell you who I am. He's not like stupid over here," she jerked her head at Draco, "who can't see through a few glamour charms."

There were no glamour charms on her person, she hadn't had the time to cast them as they fled, realising they had walked into a clever little trap. Severus knew it, and she daresay that Draco knew it as well, but Bellatrix and Narcissa had only seen her in passing and that had been years prior.

Bellatrix gestured with her hand as if she were batting away a fly. "I don't care, Mudblood. Where's Potter?"

A sharp bark of laughter escaped Hermione before she could stamp it down. "Do you actually expect me to answer that?" she asked incredulously. "And you call me stupid?"

The dark haired witch snapped her wand out of her sleeve with practised ease. She had barely uttered the word 'Crucio' when Hermione's body exploded with pain and she began to scream. She fell backwards, hitting her head hard on the wooden floor, and felt as if she had been lit on fire from the inside. The pain eased just long enough for her to suck in a great, shuddering breath, before it descended upon her again.

"Call me stupid, will you?" Bellatrix's voice sounded as if it had come from a great distance.

"...won't get...kill her..."

The curse was lifted at the same moment that Hermione heard Bellatrix's voice spit out, "Fine. You do it then."

Drawing in rapid, ragged breaths, Hermione forced herself to roll over. Everything in her body screamed in protest, but she wanted to be able to see her tormentor, wanted to be able to look them in the eye. When she looked up, however, it wasn't into the face that she expected.

She met his gaze boldly even as bile rose in the back of her throat. He looked down at her, his face dispassionate and calm. To everyone else in the room Severus Snape did not give a shit that he was about to torture one of his former students. No one else in the room could see his eyes.

There was no need to be a mind reader. She could see the pleading in his dark irises, the need for forgiveness. For permission, even.

Blinking, she felt hot tears leak out of the corners of her eyes and soak into her hair but she didn't say a word as he lifted his wand and aimed it directly at her face. Instinctively, her hand covered her abdomen.

"Crucio"

Hermione woke with a gasp, her entire body twitching. Heart racing, her eyes wildly took in the unfamiliar surroundings. It took her several seconds to realise where she was. Slowly, she sat up and pushed back the sweat dampened sheets that she had gotten tangled in. With a shaky hand, she rubbed at her face and pushed her fingers through her hair.

"Fucking hell," she muttered. Slipping her hand under her pillow, she retrieved her wand and lit it silently. Shuffling around the room a bit, she found her dressing gown and shrugged into it before letting herself quietly out of the room and into the hall. She stole quietly through the house, her wand the only light to guide her, until she found herself in the kitchen.

Being in the basement and far away from the family rooms, she felt safe lighting the lamps and filling the brass kettle with water for a cup of much needed tea. She put the ancient contraption on the hob before settling herself at the long, scrubbed wooden table that dominated the room.

As if in her dream once more, her hand fell to her abdomen and her flat belly. Seeing Severus had brought back her worst memories of the war. In the grand scheme of things, she had been through worse both before and after that event, but nothing else had left such emotional scars. The arrival of Harry and Ron, gagged and trussed up like a couple of turkeys, had ended his little torture session not long after it had begun. He had only been forced to use the Cruciatus and a handy little cutting charm on her before Fenrir had burst into the room, screaming that he had to see the Dark Lord. Hermione had never been so happy to see that Ron's shoddy charm work had failed because, even though he'd botched a glamour and instead made Harry's face swell, he had clearly taken her advice and tried to disguise them when they were caught.

The kettle began to whistle and she quickly hopped up to grab it before it woke the whole house. Methodically, she made herself a cup of tea, her mind far away.

She'd always known that it could come down to Severus having to choose between her and his cover, and she knew that he had chosen correctly. Anything else and their spy would have been lost; without him they would not have had the upper hand in the Final Battle, not to mention the countess little tidbits he picked up and passed on, or the false trails he laid for Death Eaters to follow. Anything else and he would have died.

It wasn't until she woke in Shell Cottage, until after she'd heard about Harry and Ron's daring rescue, that she realised something was wrong. Fleur hovered by her bedside, casting worried eyes upon her in a way that Hermione had never seen from the aloof French woman. When the blonde had finally shooed Harry and Ron out of the room and sat down on the edge of Hermione's bed, taking her hand gently, she knew that something was terribly wrong.

It had only been two missed periods. She hadn't been sure. It could have been stress and poor diet, two things she'd had in abundance, but as she had listened to Fleur's quiet, heavily accented words wash over her she had realised that she'd always known. The knowledge had been buried deep inside her, sitting just under her navel, growing steadily with each day, but she had been afraid to acknowledge it.

Fleur cried. Hermione did not. She listened to the other witch tell her that diagnostics spells had revealed the pregnancy, and the fact that her barely-there-child had not survived the experience. She remembered rolling over and facing the wall, looking for anything other than Fleur's soft, pitying eyes.

He hadn't known, not that he could have done anything with the knowledge. It would have simply made keeping his cover that much harder for him. Her rational mind told her that she ought to have been glad she'd never had the chance to tell him, that she hadn't been prepared for a baby at the time, that it wasn't his fault, that it might not have even been his curse that did it. She often wished that her rational mind was the one controlling her heart.

She had spent years blaming him, even though she knew she had no right to. It had taken her a long time to remember herself, but by the time she had years had passed. She convinced herself that it was simply easier to stay in America, and squashed the part of her that wanted to return to England, to fall upon her knees and beg him to take her back, because she knew it was pointless. Severus Snape was, indeed, many things, but forgiving was not one of them, especially when he had been tossed aside like yesterday's rubbish.

Hermione stared at her tea, uninterested in drinking it, her thoughts swirling in her mind until the soft shuffle of feet disturbed her and she looked up. Yawning, his mouth full of crooked, yellowing teeth, Kreacher entered the kitchen. When he spotted her, his head cocked to the side and his eyes settled on her mug.

"Is Missy wanting new tea?" he asked.

"No." She shook her head. "What time is it Kreacher?"

"Just past half-five, Missy."

Hermione nodded silently and drank the rest of her tea, cold though it was. When she was finished, Kreacher whisked it away before she could even begin to protest. She thanked him quietly and let herself out of the kitchen. The house just as still and quiet as it had been when she'd left her room, but somehow the early morning light creeping in through the windows filled it with a sense of expectancy, as if the house knew it would soon be bustling with people and activity.

Reaching her door, Hermione hesitated on the threshold, a wild thought dancing through her mind.

She would only be in England for a few more days, just long enough to celebrate Harry's birthday with him. When would she return after that? Probably not until he had another child.

Perhaps now was the time to fall to her knees and beg.

And George had mentioned something about Snape living above his shop as the twins had once done.

How hard could a shop owned by Severus Snape in Diagon Alley be to find?