When Hermione came back to herself, she was on the floor in the corridor outside the room she had burst into. Severus was leaning over her, his expression stern, yet not one of anger. Not too bad, she had been expecting him to shout at her as he had once in his classroom. She turned her dark eyes to his and made a little noise that she hardly recognised. The black eyes of her companion softened a mere fraction but it was something none the less.

Slowly, she sat up and ran a hand over her face, clearing the last of the lingering haze that fogged her head, "Now you know my awful secret," Severus said. The tone of his voice sent a pang through her and she laid a hand on his forearm.

"Who is she?" she asked.

"You don't remember anything from before?" he asked, countering her question. Hermione shook her head, whoever she had been before the incident with the time turner was long gone. "This is not a conversation to be had in the middle of a corridor, can you stand?"

Hermione pushed herself up onto her feet, still feeling a little unsteady. It passed after a moment however and she was silently led back to the room she had dashed from a few minutes previously. When she was once more situated on the comfortable chair near the fire with a cup of tea in her hand, Severus continued.

"The woman you saw upstairs, chained to the bed, is my wife," he stated. Hermione knew her eyes were widening at learning this. Why on earth would he want to keep the woman chained up? She opened her mouth to ask just that but the look on Severus' face stopped her. She snapped her mouth shut, needing an explanation. The man ran a hand over his face and let out a deep sigh. Hermione took the pause to think about what she had briefly seen while she was in the room. The woman had been chained to the bed, a look of complete anguish on her face. Her olive skin had been slick with sweat and there had been scuff marks on her wrists. Multiple bruises had been visible on her forehead and her dark hair had been a complete state.

"She has lost her mind," he muttered softly.

"Severus…" Hermione said, her words trailing off as she really was at a loss at what to say. The idea that he was willing to keep her a secret, hidden in the loft, when she needed help was appalling.

"Let me explain," he said. Hermione nodded eager to hear his justification for such behaviour.

"We met during my travels to Africa," he said before running a hand over his face. Hermione sipped her tea, listening intently. "She was a missionary with her father, trying to seek out witches and wizards located in the darker parts of the world. I was there trying to find some more obscure potion ingredients. Illithya and I, the courtship was swift and we were married within two months," he said. Hermione placed her now empty cup on the side before turning her eyes back to him.

"Go on," she prompted.

"I decided that we should accompany her father, an aging wizard, up river to the deeper parts of the jungle. I wanted to find the components and I knew she did now want her father to go on alone. Looking back, I should have persuaded both from the folly of that journey. Within a month, he was dead. The loss hit my wife hard; however the descent into madness did not begin until we reached her home of in Italy. Melancholy took over as we journeyed and she kept from me the knowledge of her affliction. She had been bitten by something. I don't know what and the symptoms only began to show when we reached her home. By then, there was nothing that could be done.

"I brought her here under cover of night and kept her upstairs. By the time we reached here, her mind was not her own. The doctor informs me that she has but mere weeks, if that, before she succumbs to her sickness. She is chained down as she is wont to harm herself by bashing her head against the walls." He finally sank into the chair opposite her and rested his hands on his knees. Hermione let out a sigh.

"Why do you keep her a secret?" she asked, unable to really wrap her mind around that.

"Reputation alone," he said, "The thin veneer of respectability would soon disappear should everyone know I married a mad woman. The scandal would be dire and the tongues would be wagging for years to come!" he said. She tried to understand what mentality would lead to such but recalled that this time was not her time and he was very much a product of it.

"But Fleur-"

"Was a dire mistake that I deeply regret making, yet I seem unable to disentangle myself from her," Severus said.

Hermione nodded, needing a moment to think about what she had learned. The carriage clock on the mantle struck three and she sighed. She should have left by now, however this was far more important than anything. Molly could yell at her all she liked, it made no real odds anyway. "I learned this before didn't I?" she asked, her eyes narrowing a fraction. He nodded. "This is why we fell out, we were… were we anything more than friends?" she asked, not clear on that aspect of their former companionship.

"There was hope of such," he said, his tone neutral yet she thought she could detect a hint of something else. "On both sides," he added. That made her look up. Not once had he ever alluded to returning her affections. Not openly anyway. It made her chest flutter and her cheeks flush.

"Then I discovered there was no hope for a future together and got angry. I imagine I yelled a lot and stormed out." Hermione knew herself well enough to know how she would have reacted to the discovery.

"You announced your engagement to Krum two days later," he said. She nodded and let out a small sigh.

"A decision made in anger it seems. Where does Fleur come into it?" she asked. The French woman was an irritant beyond belief and Hermione knew that deep down, she would never be able satisfy the complex needs of the man before her.

"As I said, a decision made in haste in an attempt to spark petty jealousy."

"It worked," she snorted. She folded her hands in her lap and took a moment to let that sink in. "The problem now, is how we get out of this situation without causing too much scandal."

"Don't tell me you care for what happens to Fleur," Severus snorted.

The woman had been nothing but cruel to her since she had shown up but despite everything, Hermione nodded her head, "She has been used by you to spark a reaction from me. She had every right to be suspicious and hateful towards me. Her assumption that you retain feelings for me is correct," she said.

"How magnanimous of you," he said dryly.

"I mean it; she has no blame in this!" Hermione retorted. In fact, she now almost felt sorry for the girl. Another glance at the clock told her it was half past three and she sighed. "If I don't go, Mrs Weasley is going to yell so loudly that there will be more than one story to cause gossip!" she said shaking her head.

"So soon?" he asked, standing as she did.

"Yes. I think, I need some time to think about all this," she said. He had the good sense to remain silent and merely nod at that, "I'll write to you."

"You'll not say a word of this?" he asked. Slowly, she nodded.

"Promise," she said. He seemed to relax when she said that and a small sigh escaped his lips. He led her to the door in silence, bidding her farewell as she climbed into the carriage. The moment they were apart, she let out a held breath and sagged against the seat. What she had uncovered far outstripped what she had expected to find and it left her reeling. No wonder they had fallen out over it! Her thoughts turned from the situation between them, to the one his poor wife found herself in. Knowing that the relationship between them could wait, she decided that it would be best if they focused their attention on making sure she was as comfortable as she could be in her final weeks.

That settled, she resolved to write to him stating that as soon as she was able. The carriage ride rattled rapidly through the streets and before long, she was back home. Molly raised her eyebrow at the hour but said nothing. Hermione ventured no further explanation and headed up to her room to write her thoughts down and send them before they fled from her mind.