Hermione stared up at the pile of books before her, accepting the doomed faith. For several weeks she had been migrating between the Blacks' and the Malfoys' mansions, only to find herself inevitably at Spinner's End and realize that all her searches were in vain. No matter how hard she tried to find the answer, the reality was that even in the world of magic, the dead were not resurrected. And her desire alone to change something on the crooked road of fate was not enough.
Harry cordially left the library of the Ancients and Nobles at her disposal, if only to get her away from field practice, where she earned nothing but misfortune on her curly head. Draco was calm and obnoxiously polite as he listened to her recent conversation with the portrait of his dead godfather, after which, of course, he allowed her to visit the mansion at any convenient time, and he himself wrote Harry a letter, where he proposed to show Hermione to healers. Neville, the kind-hearted Neville whom Hermione loved so much, even he looked at her too strangely when she came to Hogwarts with the intention of settling there in the next week. This was how one looked at unreasonable children or those who have lost their minds. Cheerful prospect, thank you so much.
Hermione flipped the page of yet another guide to the Dark Arts for which her husband's library was famous, set the volume aside in disappointment, conjured herself a huge cup of coffee, and leaned back in her chair.
"In the latest news: we were officially recognized as crazy, and Neville even consulted with Flitwick on the subject of whether the portraits could lose their minds if they were painted. Harry openly declares that you are a bad influence on me, and Draco installed a dating app on my phone."
Laughing, Severus sat in the chair across from him and beckoned for a cup of tea from a nearby still life.
"What about you? Who is your next victim? I still remember that unfortunate Ravenclaw who thought he was a knight in shining armor."
Hermione took her first sip and closed her eyes, remembering.
In the first few months of their marriage, which could hardly be called a marriage, everyone was whispering in the corners, alternately sympathizing with the unfortunate victims of the Decree, or, on the contrary, envious of them, depending on who the respected Ministry brought together with whom. Obviously, no one considered Snape an enviable groom. Even Snape himself. He was emphatically polite and courteous, accompanying his wife to Hogsmeade for the necessary ingredients, but they did not go beyond an exchange of pleasantries. Unless, Hogwarts, being a fully conscious magical being, brought their rooms together so that in case of unforeseen circumstances she could get to her husband without obstacles. He was summoned several times to the meetings with His Lordship, and after such meetings, he limped noticeably and secretly grimaced in pain but did not comment further. Hermione was still afraid to interfere in such a delicate topic. Although, she always stubbornly waited for his return, spending the nights on the windowsill.
He, as always, pretended not to notice anything around him. After all, Snape did not need a faithful Labrador waiting for him at home. Even with a curly head.
And so, on that frosty morning, smelling of damp leaves and a premonition of doom, he knocked on Hermione's door and offered to accompany her to Hogsmeade. Not that she really wanted to leave the warmth of her chambers, but when else would she be able to walk around the village without expecting a blow from the sly? Be that as it may, her husband was a serious opponent when it came to security.
They walked swiftly along the quiet and sleepy streets, collecting purchases along the way and looking into this or that shop. Snape was buying rare herbs, Hermione could tell from the list, for the antidote for snake bites. She herself was preparing to brew a potion for Remus under the guidance of her husband. The Order badly needed another pair of hands, and Remus needed a talented healer. Hermione viewed the future prospects of working with Snape with a mixture of anxiety and admiration. Perhaps they could spend more time together, but she still desperately wanted to unravel his mysterious nature. And the very idea of learning from the best Master in Britain delighted her. Miss Granger and her irrepressible thirst for knowledge. And nothing else.
Hermione begged Severus to go into the antique shop and the next minute she got lost between the shelves. He himself was somewhere nearby, vigilantly watching what was happening. Justin Macmillan showed up out of nowhere, scaring Hermione to death.
"Hey, hey, calm down, it's just me. Remember me? We've attended Divination at Trelawny's together and occasionally crossed paths at Herbology."
"Let's say I remember. Say "thank you" that I have a slow reaction rate, otherwise you would have been dispelled into atoms by now," Hermione muttered, catching her breath. "What do you want?"
"To talk. I've been trying to catch you for three weeks now, but you're either busy or under the supervision of your guardian."
Hermione frowned but remained silent for now. Justin radiantsmiled.
"I should have found you earlier, before the Decree. You see, I'm a pureblood too, I have an ancient family, but they don't mind Muggle-borns at all. I could provide you with funds for living, and for this, you would help my mother in the estate, we have a huge plot and several houses in Italy and France. You can even continue your studies. We could discuss this. What does it take for your marriage to be declared invalid? Snape's sexual failure? Are you infertile? Genetic abnormalities?"
Hermione stared dumbfounded at Macmillan for a couple of seconds, wondering if it would be better to punch him in the nose or call on her famous canaries and let them massacre him right in the middle of the bookshelves. And it's good that Snape didn't hear all this nonsense right now, otherwise, Mr. Tyler, the elderly shop owner, would have to scrape Justin off the ceiling and floor. Macmillan imperturbably continued to paint the prospect of a marriage union with him, not noticing the unkind gleam in Hermione's eyes.
"Wait a minute, that is, you need a slave, a cook, a nurse, anything but a wife?"
"Why is this? I told you I would let you study. Isn't that what you dream about?"
"I fail to see any serious obstacles to my studies. And I'm married, in case it has escaped your notice."
"That's what I'm saying, what is necessary to…-"
"In the past ten minutes, you have insulted me in every possible way, humiliated my husband, exalted yourself to the skies, and are you still trying to impose your person on me? In my opinion, you should not have entered Ravenclaw, you belong among the Malfoy peacocks, and even for them, you are too pompous a turkey."
"Hermione, listen, did I say something wrong? I just want to help! I want to save you from Snape!"
"I'm not the princess in the tower, Justin! And you don't need to save me."
"But you, Mr. Macmillan, will need help very soon," the voice said insinuatingly from behind a nearby rack, and Snape appeared before their eyes, whose cold fury knew no bounds. Macmillan turned pale and made an attempt to step back, but leaned back against a bookshelf with terribly rare editions. The innate craving for knowledge did not allow him to throw the bookcase and rush to his heels. Snape folded his arms over his chest.
"So what do you have to say to justify your vile behavior?"
"Professor Snape, I... I... I might have lost my mind! I beg your pardon!"
"Obviously. Show yourself to Madam Pomfrey and disappear from my sight this very second. I do not have the patience of Madame Snape and I will hardly spare your sanity."
Dust still swirled behind Justin, and Hermione was already laughing outrageously, losing her balance and grabbing Snape's elbow. He stared at her in astonishment.
"Well, well, calm down, Hermione, what shall people think?"
"I don't care what they will think, Severus! Have you seen his expression? No, that's unbelievable!" Hermione replied, noting to herself that they somehow suddenly switched to a first-name basis, and this was absolutely fine with her.
Snape took her out of the shop and led her through the streets, away from curious passers-by, still holding her by the elbow.
"Say what you like, but in this amazing story, I clearly occupy something between Count Dracula and Mr. Darcy," he whispered conspiratorially to Hermione. She blushed.
"No one will believe us anyway."
"That's the whole point, wife."
Hermione returned to reality, looked sadly at the portrait of her husband, and returned to him the half-forgotten phrase:
"That's the whole point, Severus."