Hello, all! I am terribly behind on my editing, but hopefully this little tidbit that is full of plot will help excuse that. We are wrapping things up here...

Oh, and yes, for those of you who asked, there was indeed a nod to JohnLock in the last chapter! Cookies all around to everyone who noticed it : )

They didn't have to wait long for a response from the Prophet. It came by way of a retraction on the front page of the morning edition in bold lettering. After 'correcting' several facts about the previously printed articles, the editor offered his apologies to Mr and Mrs Snape and printed selected excerpts of the letter Hermione had sent in.

Satisfied that the new story would solve her job hunting troubles, Hermione decided to wait a few days to let the fervor die down before going out again. In the interim, she helped Severus in the lab with his potions. They began playing chess after discovering a mutual love of the game. And they christened every surface in Severus' house suitable for coitus- and a few that weren't. Slowly, they opened up to each other about the things they'd held back when they only knew each other as H and S. Hermione told him about how hard it had been to erase her wonderful, loving parent's memories of her. He, in turn, shared his disdain for his abusive muggle father and the kinship he'd felt with his pureblood mother.

In the darkest hours of the night, Severus told her about the chain of events that had led him to Voldemort's side. She'd held him and simply listened. Later, she revealed to him the whole story of how she had ended up at Madam Peony's. In the wee hours of the morning they shared in the comfort of having another person understand their most brutal choices.

By the next week, when Hermione intended to go out in search of a job, Severus realized that with her help, he could produce far more potions than he could on his own. Hesitantly, he broached the subject of her becoming his assistant, instead of finding other employment. Hermione accepted the offer happily. They settled on a salary- which Hermione claimed was too generous but Severus insisted upon- and very quickly fell into a routine together.

At first, they were both achingly aware of the fact that their marriage was only for show. In time, though, the awkwardness of that faded away. They bickered about which flavour of marmalade was better (Severus preferred orange while Hermione would only eat strawberry.) They grumbled about de-gnoming the garden. At Christmas they blended their traditions together and even started new ones. On rainy afternoons, they shared stories of their childhoods. Severus scowled at her stories of all the sneaking out she and the boys had done in the castle. He laughed at her retelling of decking Draco in the face. He smiled in vindictive joy when she shared the tale of discovering Rita Skeeter's unregistered Anemageous form and capturing her in the shatterproof jar before forcing her to retire for a year. In turn, Hermione was outraged on his behalf about how the Marauders had treated him in school. She gasped when he revealed how he'd first responded to Minerva's job offer. She delighted in his tale of finding and raising his big dark owl from a mere hatchling.

Before they knew it, half a year had passed. Then a year.

One night while he was making his deliveries to the brothels (Hermione never accompanied him on those deliveries like she did on his others), Severus noticed a strange looking beetle on a windowsill outside the first whorehouse. Then, though he almost didn't notice it, he saw the same insect again at his second stop. It had curled antennae and a smattering of spots around the antennae that looked almost like glasses. Without letting on that he'd seen it again, he went to his third destination of the night. Subtly, he inspected his surroundings. At first he saw nothing out of the ordinary. As he was leaving, though, the beetle was there again.

Instead of reacting, Severus went about his business as if he hadn't seen anything. At home, he kept his suspicions to himself and made a few discreet inquiries through the ministry. What he discovered outraged him, but he wasn't surprised. That week, he did some private research on curses. Then, when it was time for his deliveries to the brothels again, he left the house the same as he always did. At the first stop, he glanced around and his expectations were not disappointed. Nearly invisible among the leaves of a nearby bush sat the same black beetle. Casually, he reached into his robes and withdrew his wand.

"Im Perpetuum!" There was a flash of blue light and a small crack. With another wave of his wand, the bug was lifted from the bush and flew against it's will into his hand. He glared down at it. The beetle buzzed violently, and Severus tsked. "Trying to change back, Rita?" He shook his head and gripped her when she would have jumped away. "I know it was you who wrote those articles about Hermione. The ones about the Weasley boy's death, as well as the ones about the brothel. I don't know how you did it, but I know you stopped her letters from getting to their recipients, too. I even know why. But you see, I don't give a damn about your injured pride or the grudge you hold against her. Were you angry to have been bested by a school girl?" he mocked in derision. "Enough to try to ruin her life as an adult, even though she had obviously moved on? You're nothing more than a pest. This form suits you, Rita. And I hope you agree. Because you'll be keeping it for a long time." The beetle shook and buzzed. "Hermione was too generous with you when she caught you. You'll find that I do not suffer the same affliction. The curse I put on you will prevent you from becoming a human again. It may wear off in a few years," he shrugged, "or it may not. I really don't care." Then he flicked the beetle from his palm and didn't bother to watch where it landed.

He meant what he said. He didn't care if the curse ever wore off. She'd carried her grudge against Hermione for more than a decade and it hadn't lessened. Out of petty anger, she'd destroyed an innocent witch's life. If Rita hadn't written those accusing articles about the Weasley boy's death, Hermione would never have lost her job. She wouldn't have been forced into whoring herself to survive. Rita was responsible for every humiliating, painful, or terrifying moment Hermione spent in the brothel. She had hurt the woman he-

He stopped as if he'd walked into a brick wall. The woman he... loved?

No.

No no no! Cared about. Enjoyed. Was fond of. Was attracted to. Liked. Respected. But loved? How could he be so stupid as to have fallen in love with her? When he tried to think back to when it had started, he couldn't place a singular moment. Just flashes of her body pressed against his, the smell of her shampoo, the comfort of her nearness. He saw her impish smile, felt the brush of her hand against his, tasted the curry she made for his birthday dinner. She was home to him. Somewhere along the way, attraction and intimacy had given way to affection and contentment. And then, when he hadn't been looking, those had wandered into love and devotion.

The realization shook him to his core. For the first time in a long, long while, he felt fear. Fear of losing something he'd never thought he would have. Now that he knew how he really felt about her, came the dread of not knowing how she felt. She cared, that much was obvious. Even he wasn't so self-deprecating that he couldn't see it. But she'd never spoken a single word about love. In the year they'd spent together, they'd explored every inch of each other, inside and out. He knew her darkest fears and deepest secrets. He could read her the way he read a book. But still he had no idea if she might reciprocate his feelings.

Worse, he realized that his timing couldn't have been more impractical. Because of the higher pay he'd insisted on giving her for her work with him in the lab, she'd almost paid off her contract. In less than a month, she would be free. Free to leave him. Selfishly, he wondered if there were any loopholes he could exploit to keep her with him. But no. Even if there were, he wouldn't do that to her. Couldn't do that to her. She'd spent years waiting for her freedom. Loving her meant that he wanted what would make her happiest. And despite what he wanted, she deserved to be free.

He finished his deliveries in a blur and Apparated home. Hermione had fallen asleep on the couch waiting up for him. Gently, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her up the stairs. Moonlight shone through the gap in the curtains and illuminated the room in a pale glow. Everywhere he looked was some evidence of her presence. Her slippers at the foot of the bed. Her dressing gown on the hook by the door. Her hairbrush on the vanity. The picture of the two of them at Christmas on the nightstand. He swallowed past the lump that had formed in his throat and laid her on the bed. A beam of moonlight fell across her face. When he got into the bed with her, he let his fingertips trace over her. The sensitive tips of her ears, the slope of her nose, the hollow of her throat, the small scar on the crook of her shoulder.

Slowly, her eyes fluttered open and she smiled at him. "You're home."

"Yes."

"Good. I was lonely waiting for you."

"Were you?" His voice was thick with emotion.

"I was. But you're back now." She snuggled into his arms and sighed contentedly. "I wish you never had to go," she whispered as she drifted to sleep again.

"I wish you didn't, either," he whispered back.