Severus looked into her eyes and whispered, "Legillimens!" He didn't really hope that the spell would work, especially between the intersections of realities, but it worked. Perhaps this was their last opportunity to be together as husband and wife before the past ripped their strange existence, so unlike the life, they had once dreamed of, into two jagged halves. And he, most likely, would be erased from the present, forcing him to go further, for the dead had no other way. And she would continue to fight for the happiness she deserved.
He found himself in Dumbledore's office, the very one to which he owed his greatest losses and his greatest hopes. Here, years ago, he begged the Headmaster to let him save Maya. He was losing his mind here the night the Potters were murdered. Here he vowed to protect Harry at all costs, not for the sake of Lily's memory, but for the sake of Maya. Here he accepted the post of the new Headmaster, despised by everyone, and did it for the Greater good. Here he agreed to the Marriage Law and tried to capture in this new Hermione the echoes of his woman, who had left him forever. Was he happy here? At least in the smallest? Snape could definitely answer that yes, he was. Those few hours before dawn, when his wife belonged only to him, and time erased the boundaries. And he believed in the best outcome.
That night at the turn of winter was no better and no worse than a hundred such nights. He, as usual, tried not to lose his mind, darting between the meetings of the Order, the gatherings of the Dark Lord, and the affairs of Hogwarts. Yes, he had allies: Minerva and Phineas Black knew the true nature of things and his dual nature, but there was little they could do to help. So, they could give him some advice, they could cover the students from the Carrows, they looked after the children, they reported that everything was still in relative order with Hermione and her "adopted sons", but no more.
Snape wanted more. He wanted to be there, in the snowy forest with her, and he wanted to be useful. He hated passing bits of news to her through Headmaster Black's portrait and sending scraps from Hogwarts kitchens through the house elves, he didn't want to leave vitamin and healing potions at the edge of the woods. He wanted to be with his wife, no matter what reality she was from. He too much and too often in his life followed the advice of, as it seemed to him, wiser and stronger wizards, in order to eventually dispel the ashes on the ruins of the present.
He knew from Phineas that Hermione felt the worst. That wintering in a tent in the middle of a forest teeming with darkness was still a great idea, and Horcrux sucked the last of her strength from her. Severus also knew that the Weasley boy had abandoned his friends to their fate, longing for a roof over his head and his mother's cooking. Snape wanted to strangle the bastard with his own hands! And Hermione was still crying her heart out about him! His wife was insufferable and did not care about reality.
They were losing time. It was necessary to give them a real sword and push them to action, but he also could not leave the relic at the tent and knock on the security shields. Too risky. Give the sword to Hermione? How would she explain her absence to Potter? Snape's head was spinning. He missed her like crazy.
He knew how often she cried during those idiotic watch nights, forgetting to hide the portrait of Phineas away. He knew that at twenty-three, or whatever she had gotten herself into, it was just as hard to carry the world on her shoulders as it had been at thirty-seven. And he hated this life of theirs. He just wanted to hug his wife.
Instead, he had to sit until dawn on homework, on estimates, on letters to the Board of Governors, and on some other nonsense that no one would remember in a year. And Hermione wintered there, in the middle of the forest, without food and basic hygiene products. And he was taking a hot shower here so as not to go crazy. What a good husband he was after that!
The shivering in his wards made him slip, quickly wrapping a towel around his hips, and hastily rush out of the bathroom. His magic recognized Hermione, and the fact that she had come straight into his office, risking everything, could only mean that something serious had happened. When did they last see each other? His heart was pounding as he padded the marble slabs at the call of her magic.
Hermione stood shivering in the back of the room, her hair dripping water onto Snape's plush carpets. She was wearing a tattered sweatshirt, and dirty jeans, sparks of madness darting in her eyes. When did she last eat? When did she sleep? That cursed locket dangled from her neck. Snape grabbed a dressing gown from a chair, pulled it over himself, and carefully approached her, fearing to frighten her even more. She stood and stared into the void, not seeing anyone or anything around. Did she realize that she had Apparated straight to Hogwarts, into the snake's lair, and if anyone found out... Severus lifted his chin decisively and stood directly in front of his wife.
"Hermione? Can you hear me?"
She startled, and looked up at him with wild eyes. She bit her lips like she was about to attack him, then she fumbled for her wand in her jeans pocket and squeezed the hilt. She defended herself against the whole world, and even from him.
"Will you drive me away? Give up on me as everyone else did? Will you also say that I am a traitor since I came here instead of keeping watch around the fire?"
Severus stood up as if rooted to the spot. What the hell was that damned medallion driving into her head? What else, if not bedtime stories from the Horcrux, could explain this ever-increasing panic in her eyes? He was still thinking about some soothing words, but his arms were already opening to their full width, inviting her into a saving embrace. She shuddered, released her wand from her numb fingers, and stepped into his arms. Her shoulders shaking with sobs, she clung to his robe and buried her face into his chest.
"Ron has left us, Harry is running around the camp like a hunted animal, and I'm going crazy. The Horcrux tells me that you got killed there, that I'm the next, that we're going to lose the war, and that even the Death Eaters wouldn't want someone like me. And that everyone knew that you were a traitor, but I didn't have time ..."
"What are you talking about, Hermione?" he asked, not expecting an answer. She sobbed, trying to utter a word. He ran his fingers through her hair. She needed to be calmed down, fed, and offered a good hot bath with salt. She couldn't give up, they were already so close to victory. Despite his natural pessimism, Severus wanted to believe today. It was all Hermione's fault, whom he continued to hold close to him.
"Who am I, tell me, Severus? I have more Dark Curses than all the Death Eaters in this school, so what's next for me? How can we fight the most feared wizard if I can't even handle a Horcrux? And what happens if Ron doesn't come back? Harry will follow him! How can I keep him safe?"
"You are the one who dared to defy fate where even I failed. You've done more for Harry than all of Hogwarts has done in seven years. You fight where others would give up. And you are…"
"Who, Severus? Who am I to you?"
"You are my wife," he breathed, burying his face in her hair. For the first time in his life, he wanted to go against duty and common sense and just send everything to hell.
"If we die tomorrow, Severus?"
"You won't die, I promise you that," he said firmly. She raised a tear-stained gaze to him and reached out to touch him.
"And you? What will happen to you? We've wasted so much time, Severus. I don't want to lose again here..."
"Hermione, this is neither the time nor the place," he whispered back, leaning closer.
"There will never be a good time, not here, not now, not in this reality," she snapped. He tensed because he had heard exactly the same words many years ago, in that other life filled with pain and love.
"You need to eat and have a nice hot bath."
"Professor Snape and your tact," Hermione laughed, pulling away. "Don't chase me away. I am your wife."
He shortened the distance between them and touched her lips with a kiss, in which he wanted to put all his tenderness, longing, and love. At first, she froze, then later she began to answer, hesitantly, desperately, and in the way that only she could.
"Go, there's a hot bath waiting for you, and when you get back, I'll be waiting for you. If you want it, it will come true."
When she entered the room forty minutes later, he was waiting for her by the fire. She was wearing his stretched T-shirt from the rock collection of shameful pleasures, which he carefully concealed from everyone, and she had never seemed so beautiful to him as now. Snape held out his hand to her and she accepted his invitation without much thought. They apparated somewhere to the seashore, surrounded by mountains, into silence, into safety. He, of course, took care of safety. This was the settlement of the fairies he was familiar with. There was a holy place, filled with the aromas of herbs and honey, saturated with magic, and warmed with warmth.
They lay on the grass and kissed as if they were losing their minds; as if they were dying of thirst as if they had lost their way. She smelled of his Amortentia: violets, heather, and tequila. Such a strange combination, as everything about her. The bright golden color of lynx eyes, viscous honey flavor, and dope flowed through the veins. That's what she was for him. Maya, Hermione, in this and that reality. Intoxicating, maddening, and faithful to the last breath.
She diluted the pitch darkness of his life and sweetened the sour taste of continuous loss and shame that he carried on his shoulders. He loved her detachedly and sincerely, she gave herself to him, looking for support in his inner strength, looking for protection, looking for love. He wanted to save her, and comfort her, but tomorrow would come and bring them face to face with harsh reality. They would destroy the locket, he would give her the sword, and she would return to the camp. He will remain waiting. It would all be tomorrow.
Today they were sitting on the shore, enjoying mutual warmth, inhaling the scent of flowers, and gazing into eternity. For the first time in winter, the stars shone overhead. She plucked fleeting kisses from his lips and looked straight into his soul. Today she belonged only to him.
Prosecco and tequila. And a whole night, long as life.
Their first and last time.