A/N: Warning: Domestic Violence

There is a scene depicting domestic violence in this chapter. Avoid if this bothers you. No howlers, please. And yes, there's a purpose to my madness. I suspect you'll see it in the text, but if not, it's explained below, after everything is said and done.

As always, thank you for reading. -slbb

After handing Severus the scrap of parchment, Hermione pushed past him into the cottage's tiny bathroom. "I'll have to stay out for most of the day. My past self will be bringing Harry over to visit. I'll be back at dinner." Lately, she'd been lax about keeping the future from Severus. She no longer cared—Merlin, she was almost there. Severus simply stared at her. "Now—out! I have to shower!"

Severus regarded her smugly from the doorway but didn't move. "Afraid I might watch? How…interesting for you to be timid now. Half an hour ago…" He arched an eyebrow and smirked.

"You're going to make me late!"

"Certainly you can spare an extra minute to two for me…" he murmured, moving closer. He snaked his arms underneath the unbuttoned shirt she had pulled on—his white long sleeve shirt—and her breath hitched.

"The problem is that if I give you an extra minute or two…" she said wryly.

"I'll take more than that. True." He dragged her towards him so that more of his skin touched hers. "But I promise to be good."

"We both know you're much better than good. But I'll be late."

"I know of a way to save some time."

"Really?"

"Really," he said, wandlessly turning on the shower behind her. "Let me come in with you. You can do what you need to and I can enjoy a bit more of what…is…mine." He bent to kiss her.

"I'm not sure how this will save time. But it sounds like a fair compromise," she whispered, breaking the kiss.

He pushed the shirt off her shoulders and down her arms. It fell to the floor. "Better."

Leading her into the shower, Severus positioned her up against a wall and then picked her up so she could wrap her arms and legs around his lean body. She lost herself in the caress of the warm water and the press of his skin into hers, barely managing to escape the cottage before her past self showed up with Harry.

The following morning broke grey and cloudy, reflecting Hermione's restless mood. According to her journal—although she hardly needed her notes to remember—she would be able to remain at the cottage until late afternoon. But the knowledge she'd be able to spend most of the day with Severus didn't help her disquiet. And Severus seemed to be aware of it.

Hermione peered into the sitting room from the doorway to the kitchen, mug of steaming coffee in hand. He looked up and indicated a seat on the brown leather couch next to him. "Come sit with me."

She padded over and sat down reluctantly. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"I think so," she said, folding herself into his arms.

"What can I do?"

She hesitated. "Promise me something."

"What?"

"That you won't kill him."

"I cannot promise you that," he said, giving her an indecipherable look.

"Okay. Promise me you won't kill him today."

"I promise I won't kill him today. Feel better?"

"No." Hermione paused. "Winding up in your front yard helped me figure out that I belong with you, so he helped us, really," she reasoned. He arched an eyebrow. "Okay. There are times when I'm furious with him. I mean, I have a scar on my face. Other times, I am just sad that it happened. I know he's hurting. But I still don't want you to kill him."

"We don't know what the future holds. Let's take it one moment at a time."

"I know a little of what the future holds," she said, smiling sadly. "And today is horrible." She took a deep breath. "Don't forget to give me the parchment." She knew the reminder was unnecessary; she had only voiced it for her own sanity.

"Of course," Severus said gently. "Everything will be okay."

She looked in his fathomless eyes; the darkness there was tender. Should she voice the feeling that now carried her soul? Should she tell him she loved him? "I…" But the hope that buoyed her—that he would answer in kind—was still a fragile thing. She let the words die on her tongue.

He reached up and brushed a curl from her face. "I know, angel. I do, too."

By late afternoon, Hermione was shaking and fidgety. "It's time for me to go," she said, shrugging on her jacket and picking up her bag.

Severus put his arms around her. "Find your way back to me," he said in his silk velvet voice as she buried her head in his chest.

"I will. I don't even want to leave."

"After tomorrow, you will never have to leave again."

"After tomorrow."

During the long hours her past self was at the cottage, Hermione meandered aimlessly around Muggle London, eventually wandering into the London Library. Surrounding herself with books usually brought her comfort. Not today. Right now, he's seeing the result of Ron's rage on my lip. As she drifted through the racks, tears threatened yet again. What was I thinking? Severus is going to kill him. Maybe not today, but he's going to kill him. Why had she stubbornly refused to listen to Harry and Ginny when they told her Ron was a lost cause?

Should Severus retaliate, how was she going to keep her former Death Eater from being hauled to Azkaban for assault…or murder? Take a deep breath. It's a bit dramatic even for you, Hermione. You won't lose him. Severus hasn't done anything yet. Nothing says he will.

Maybe an espresso would set her right. She strayed into Café on the Square, ordered, and settled down to distract herself with a Muggle newspaper.

An hour later, she Apparated back to moonlit front yard of the cottage and pushed open the front door. Severus was parked in the front room, an open book on his lap. "Hello."

"Come here," he said and she obeyed.

"I'm sorry I put you through that," she said, sitting down next to him. "Your father…"

He circled his arms around her as the firelight danced around them, neither of them saying anything more.

Hermione awoke just after the break of dawn, cozy and comfortable among the rumpled linens and the safety of Severus's arms. The seven weeks were over. She'd done it: today was the day she would catch up to herself in time. She bustled about the kitchen to unearth breakfast for them, barely able to contain herself. There would be no more leaving while her past self was here at the cottage. There would be no more daily reading of her blasted journal. There would be nothing but them. Together.

As they parted, they agreed that Severus would meet her at Grimmauld Place just before midday. Hermione took a deep breath and Apparated to the home she shared with her closest friends, her thoughts a jumble. She wished more anchored her than this tenuous desire to be rid of the complications the Time Turner had wrought.

Hermione stilled her soul and oriented herself to the present: her untidy room at Grimmauld Place. As she stood there surrounded by the clutter and discord, she remembered. She remembered carefully counting each spin on the Time Turner nearly two months ago. She remembered when the room had finally stopped spinning, and how the echoes of the moment morphed into the familiar colours of walls seven weeks prior. She remembered Apparating to just outside the Hogwarts grounds, and making her way to the infirmary to find her Potions Master. She remembered the realization that she loved him as he lay there fast asleep in the moonlight.

She glanced around the room. Ron's flowers were on her dresser. Her suitcase was open: she'd been packing for the weekend with Ron when she left. She focused her thoughts on what she needed to do first: fix the situation with Ron. She strode out the bedroom door and down the stairs to his room, aware that from his perspective, he had asked her to go on holiday with him yesterday. She knocked, the echoes of the wooden sound falling down around her, descending the narrow stairs. "Yo," he called from inside.

"Ron, it's me," she said tentatively, twisting the knob to open the door. The ancient window shade was closed; the room was stale, dark, and smelled of unwashed socks. Ron was lying flat on his bed, tossing a small ball in the air and catching it. He didn't look at her.

"Hey."

"Hey." Hermione hesitated. Sweet Merlin, let me get through this without him lashing out. "Ron, I've been thinking…I don't think we should go away together this weekend."

"Yeah? Why not?" Ron continued to toss and catch the ball.

"We need to stop this. Whatever this is. We just need to be friends, not anything more."

"Whatever, 'Mione," he said never taking his eyes off his game.

"Okay, then."

"Okay, then."

And that was it. She climbed back up the stairs to her room and let tears of relief come.

Half an hour later, Hermione sat on her bed, her mind at ease, her tears, long dried. Her hands itched to organize her room, eager to throw out the broken pieces of yesterday she had stubbornly clung to until now. She found she no longer needed them. Or wanted them.

With several flicks of her wand, order conquered the chaos.

The rumble of a Muggle motorcycle permeated the relative peace of Grimmauld Place. Hermione smiled. She bolted to the window to part the grey curtains, revealing Severus's his lean form three stories below. Her Potions Master was clad in denims, a leather jacket, and an ancient t-shirt. He was parking his motorcycle—a beast of a BMW—while finishing off a cigarette. As she looked, he leaned back against the bike, glanced up precisely to her window, squinted his eyes, and gifted her the half-smile, half-smirk she had come to adore.

She heard the doorbell ring followed by Ginny and Harry's voices—loud with admiration and congratulatory greetings—then footfalls up the stairs. A confident knock sounded on the wood of her door.

Severus stood in front of her, his infinitely black eyes glittering. He moved towards her silently, tangling his long fingers in her hair as he angled her face gently upwards. He dipped to ghost a near-kiss on her parted lips. His touch was so tender, so light, that if she hadn't had her eyes open, she would have not been sure it had happened. As he withdrew to focus his dark eyes on her, she found they were alight with something she had never seen in them before: hope, she guessed. "Have you made your choice?" he whispered.

In response, she caressed his jawline with her fingertip, then pulled him down toward her so their lips met again; this time he kissed her deeply. "You already know that I have."

Hermione dragged him through the threshold of her door into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him with wordless magic. She moved to press herself into his arms, blissfully feeling no longer numb, but finally, gratefully home—everything in her life exactly where it should be once more.

"Hermione," he said, his velvet voice thick with emotion as he held her, "it's time for you to leave here."

"I know," she responded softly.

"Come with me," he said, locking his dark eyes on hers, "to stay at the cottage. Permanently."

She replied only with a shy smile and moved to fill the already-open suitcase on her bed. His eyes followed her around the room. "I'll let you finish. I told Potter I'd have a word. I'll be in the kitchen." He vanished down the stairs, leaving the door open to the landing.

Unable to refrain from smiling, Hermione poked her head in her closet and began to charm her clothing into her bag. Maybe if Severus helped me with the books, we could get out of here faster. She found her wand. "Expecto Patronum." As the bobcat appeared, she spoke a message into her waiting Patronus: "Severus, when you're done downstairs, do you mind coming up and helping me with the—"

Hermione heard a footfall and glanced away from her Patronus. She was startled to find Ron, arms crossed, staring at her from the threshold of her bedroom door. The bobcat bounded away past him to deliver her partial message.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

"I'm packing, Ron. I'm leaving," she replied levelly.

He laughed sarcastically. "Yeah. I don't think so."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

Ron rounded on her faster than she could have imagined him moving, knocking her wand from her hand and slamming her into the wall. Suddenly, his sweaty hands were around her throat. I…can't...breathe… Hermione struggled against his grip, but could no more budge his hands than cry out. She did, however, register Harry's voice calling out in an echo bouncing up the stairs: "That doesn't make any sense, Professor. That was Hermione's voice, but her Patronus is an otter, not some sort of pointy eared cat."

She didn't hear Severus respond. Instead, she heard steps ascending the stairs. Ron turned in the direction of the open door and released her throat—she bent over, gasping and choking—then he grabbed her and shoved, sending her hurtling out of her bedroom and across the landing. Hermione slammed into the closed door across from her room with an enormous crash, head first, and slumped to the floor, dazed. She opened her eyes to find Ron looming over her. As he dragged her up by her jumper, she registered the stale liquor on his breath. "You're not going anywhere," he snarled, barely loud enough to hear. In one terrible instant, he swiveled her so her back was to the stairwell…and with a violent shove, he pushed her down the stairs.

Hermione's momentary surprise gave way to panic; then she was spiraling backwards, falling, falling…hitting nothing. After what seemed an eternity, she slammed hard against a turn in the stairwell.

She scrambled to find some foothold, anything she could grab onto; her hand made contact with a baluster but she was moving too fast to keep a grip on it. It yanked out of her hand, twisting and wrenching her arm. Hermione bounced across the turn and tumbled, winding up backwards again.

Her ankle caught in the spires holding up the banister and yielded to momentum with a sickening crunch. Hermione screamed and kept falling. Her head slammed against the opposite wall and she careened off it, each stair sending lightning bolts of pain shooting up from her ruined ankle, threatening to send her vomiting into unconsciousness.

The stairs had accomplished driving the air out of her lungs, so now she could no longer scream.

Just when she thought she would never, ever stop falling, just as she was about to reach the next landing, just as she thought her neck would be next to break, she felt strong arms stopping her...catching her. And the smell of sandalwood.

Then everything went black.

The familiar squeeze of Apparition, coupled with the screaming pain in her ankle, arm, and head, ripped Hermione back to consciousness. She was aware of Severus's arms carrying her, supporting her underneath her back and behind her knees. Beneath coppery smell of blood was the immediately recognizable antiseptic odor of the Hogwarts infirmary. She opened her right eye a fraction to the deserted main ward. She blanched. Her right ankle was hanging at a disturbing angle.

Hermione gulped several breaths, futilely trying to fill her lungs. She began to claw at his jacket in panic. Severus! Help me, I can't get any air...!

"POPPY!" A terrible shriek ripped from his throat, tearing through her and reverberating around the empty room. "POPPY!" he wailed again desperately, and for a half second, she pressed herself into him as much as she could, hoping to calm the racing of his heart.

No one came.

Hermione continued to gasp; he looked down, met her eyes, and appeared to compose himself. "Hermione, you had the wind knocked out of you. You'll be able to breathe in a minute. I promise," he said gently. He glanced down the hall. "Where is that blasted witch?" he muttered.

He struggled to pull his wand from his sleeve without laying her down, finally freed it, and pointed it down the corridor. A great panther formed from the silver mist that had exploded from his wand, and it turned to stare back at them. She felt Severus sway, as if he were suddenly unsteady on his feet. After a second, he seemed to regain his purpose and spoke into the waiting cat. "Poppy, it's Severus. We need you in the main ward. Now." It silently leapt away down the hall to locate the message's recipient.

Her lungs were finally, blessedly full. "What—" Hermione wheezed through the increasing pain.

"Shhh. Later. I'm sure Poppy will be here any moment."

An instant later Poppy dashed into the room, out of breath, wand out and pointed straight at them. His calm vanished at the sight of the mediwitch. "She's hurt," Severus managed. It was half plea, half panic; he uttered the words as if speaking them aloud had somehow made them true.

"Severus? Is it you? Your Patronus…?" She demanded, wand still raised.

"I don't know. It doesn't matter now. Help her!" he screamed at the witch.

Poppy looked at them warily and then seemed to come to a decision: she lowered her wand. "Set her down here," Poppy said, indicating a cot nearby. For no reason Hermione could fathom, Severus didn't move.

"Severus…" A pause. "Sweetie, let me help her," Poppy said gently, laying her hand on his shoulder.

Still nothing.

"Severus! Put her down!"

Her Potions Master finally obeyed, moving slowly towards the closest bed, and gently lowering her downward. As her ankle touched the linen, she yelped involuntarily, squeezing her eyes shut against the sickening pain. He grasped her hand.

"Sit," Poppy commanded Severus stiffly, "and don't interfere."

Severus released her hand and Hermione heard the scrape of a wooden chair across the tile. Without Severus's fingers laced in hers, suddenly she was cold and terrified...she was still falling and Severus had not been there to catch her…Ron would discover she was alive and choke her to death her in her sleep…she would never stop falling…Severus would abandon her…Madam Pomfrey wouldn't be able to heal her ankle…Severus would kill Ron while she was in the infirmary...she would fall and break her neck like…

She felt Poppy pull a blanket over her, leaving her ankle uncovered. Shaking, Hermione forced her eyes open, focusing them on her Potions Master. "Promise you won't leave me! Severus, don't leave me! Promise me!" she shrieked as the tendrils of panic curled around her every thought.

Severus approached the bed and took her hand firmly in his again. "It's all right, Hermione. I won't leave you. And Poppy will help us."

Hermione turned to plead with the healer examining her. "Madam Pomfrey, please don't make him leave!" she whimpered.

"It's all right, child." She handed Hermione a potion. "Drink this. It's Calming Draught." Poppy turned to Severus. "I have to straighten her ankle before I knit the bones. You'll need to distract her."

"I—" Hermione began, and Severus bent down, locking his fathomless black eyes on hers, tenderly wiping the tears from her face. "Squeeze my hand," he whispered. Hermione screamed as the healer moved her foot into position. "Brackium Emendo." Hermione gasped: only an echo of the pain in her ankle remained.

"I'm going to get my diagnostic wand. I'll be right back," Poppy said and strode out of the room.

"You'll be all right," he whispered, but Hermione wasn't sure the reassurance was for her or not.

Poppy returned, a black wand in hand. "Your right arm is sprained. You also have two sprained ribs. You have a laceration in your scalp, by your eye, and another at your ankle. But you do not have a concussion."

Severus's shoulders seemed to sag in relief. "Thank you, Poppy."

"This will help the sprains," she continued, handing Hermione a greenish potion, "and this lotion will help the bruising." The healer leaned towards Hermione's face. "Your eye and your scalp, however, need attention." She turned to Severus. "I know you are more than able to handle wounds, Severus. Would you like to do it?"

"You're better."

"All right then," the witch said and aimed her wand at Hermione. "Ready?"

Hermione shook her head and stilled herself for Poppy's spells. "Put some Dittany around her eye," she commanded Severus, "and here and here." Hermione felt his shaking fingers rub the liquid onto her skin.

"You're okay," he said, his voice unsteady, his dark eyes, gentle. "I'll clean her up," he said, glancing up at Poppy.

"Of course. I'll be back in a moment," Poppy said and bustled off.

"Tergeo," he said, siphoning the blood off her face and hair. When she was clean, he laid his head gently across her chest. "I was terrified," he whispered. "I thought…" he started, but let his words trail off without finishing his sentence.

The admission of his fear hit her in the pit of her belly: Merlin…Eileen… "I knew you would take care of me," she managed, unable to voice anything more. There would be time enough for that another day.

"I always will." He sat up, but didn't let go of her hand. "Your Patronus…"

"And yours."

"I am aware of others that have changed. It's uncommon, but it can happen," he said levelly.

"I should have told you. A panther and a bobcat. What are the chances?" she said, trying to keep her voice light.

"What are the chances, indeed."

The bobcat…pleased her, somehow. But Severus…would he mourn the loss of his doe, his near-tangible reminder of Lily? Should she see any significance in hers had changed into a feline, too? "How did you Apparate us directly here?" she asked into the silence to change the subject.

"The headmaster is not subject to the wards."

"Of course." Hermione paused, not knowing how he would react to her next comment. "She called you 'Sweetie'," she commented, softening her words with a shy smile.

He chuckled. "That she did. When I was a student, she treated me more times than I can even remember. She took to calling me 'Sweetie'."

"You were always getting into fights and getting hurt. You were here more than you were in the Slytherin dormitory," Poppy said, bustling in the room. She turned to Hermione. "He was my little Sweetie."

"Poppy—" Severus began.

The mediwitch ignored him, turning to focus on her patient. "Now Miss Granger, how are you feeling?"

"Much better, thank you. How long before I can leave?"

"Just a day or two. I want to make sure you're fully healed because Merlin knows what you two will be up to the moment you leave this infirmary," the mediwitch said. Hermione felt herself pale. Poppy leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially, "Trust me child, I know all about Severus Snape's charms," she continued, punctuating her words with a wink. Hermione felt her eyes widen.

"Poppy—" Severus warned.

"Now Severus, I'm speaking to my patient. Please do not interrupt me," she said, giving her Potions Master a reproving look. The healer turned back to Hermione. "When he was a student, he used to have a crush on me. He would leave flowers on my desk most every day. Sometimes, even a note." She smiled wistfully, her blue eyes focused on some past memory. Poppy turned back to Hermione. The blue became hard. "I don't particularly enjoy sharing my Sweetie, but as I suspect you're not going anywhere, Miss Granger, know this: if you hurt him, you will have me to answer to."

"I understand," she responded, swallowing the ma'am that she'd almost added. It was all Hermione could manage as her Potions Master sat stiffly on a nearby chair, his face emotionless.

"Very well, then," Poppy said businesslike, turning towards him. "Severus, I'm certain you will refuse to leave. Make yourself useful and ensure she gets rest." She eyed him witheringly. "And stay on your own cot."

Hermione wanted to crawl under the bed. Poppy strode out of the room without a backward glance.

"Merlin, that was mortifying," Hermione said.

"Well, she didn't hex you into oblivion."

"I suppose that's a plus." She smiled softly. "At least you can stay."

"She cannot force me to leave since, as I mentioned, technically I'm still her superior." His black eyes were gentle. "Even if I wasn't Headmaster, she would not be able to convince me to leave you."

"I'm sorry."

"What for?" he asked, taking her hand and intertwining his fingers in hers.

"This was not the evening you had planned."

"This was not the evening that either of us had planned. No matter. You are safe, now. That is what matters."

"What will you do?" she asked in a whisper, knowing her Potions Master.

"I will deal with it—with him—another day," he said, his voice steel. His expression softened and he reached over to brush a curl of her hair away from her face.

She knew better than to exact another promise from Severus at that moment, so she nodded in answer. "Okay. But would you owl Harry? He's probably frantic. And ask him to bring my wand."

"I will," he said. "Now rest, angel, and I will watch over you."

A/N: Okay, lovely readers, here's the key: Hermione is a means for Severus to achieve a redemption of sorts. While in the scene above he physically saves her, she is actually the one saving him. Remember how Severus described Eileen's death? Yeah. All that.

Of course, there's much more to it. Coming soon. I love you all. -slbb