He needed his bed. Severus propped his head against the headboard, grazing his fingers over the course curls of whatever witch was around the tip of his cock at present time.

At first, the unending carnal cycle had proven to be exactly what the Medi-Witch prescribed, but after one too many fucks, Severus found himself unable to give one himself.

The Firewhiskey was beginning to stir in his belly, begging release. Tilting his head back-not the right choice in retrospect- he emptied the contents of his stomach just inches away from the witch's hair, sending her into a fit of shrieks. He couldn't blame her. He was disgusting.

Perhaps Dumbledore had a point, keeping him reigned in all these years: first as a Potion's Master, then as a double spy, then a member of the Order, then a Healer in remedial. The few moments of freedom he was allowed felt like a whole celebration to him. He never took them for granted. Now that he had his fill- binge drinking, fucking, sleeping and eating whatever Rosmerta had cooked up that day for two days. Three days? He lost count.

Only now, he realized the old codger was right. Restraint was a blessing in disguise. Especially for Severus.

He had his father, Tobias', genes to blame for it. He too had an addictive personality. Severus had found himself obsessing over many things in his youth: the Dark Arts, Potions, James Potter, revenge, and getting the affection of a certain red-haired witch. None of those obsessions led to anything worthwhile.

This witch was ready to leave. He heard her casting on whatever remained of her evening robes and shutting the door behind her. By then, Severus was slumped in the bed, too tired, too hungover to feel sorry for being left by another woman. His mind swam in haze of alcohol-driven apathy and post-emesis relief.

He needed his bed, the one on Spinner's End. His perfectly selected cotton and silk blend of sheets and the familiar scent of herbs drying over the fireplace were calling his name. He would give an arm and a leg to find himself there at the very moment.

He had Apparated home the first night, right after being taken by the baubles by that Medi-Witch Bell, with the ludicrous idea of apologizing. Yes, apologizing to Granger for whatever usual bullshit came out of his mouth in the throes of his anger. Woman liked that. Apologies. And he wasn't really angry at her. He was angry at being thrust into yet another situation out of his control and being told what to do in order to 'fix it'.

He found Granger sitting on the sofa-his sofa-with Potter and in deep discussion. The furry orange beast was there too, curled up by the fireplace. He thought about barging in and throwing the lot of them out, but decided they looked far too serene and peaceful for him to intervene. He thought about sneaking upstairs, at least taking a bath in his master bathroom, but decided against it. The wards he placed around the home were far too strong and he didn't want another Potter aware he had crawled back into the house, once again on his knees before a woman he had wronged.

Severus wanted to make a point, that Granger couldn't just insult him like she had (even in her mind) and expect him to stick around and help her break some bloody curse. So he had to pretend this entire situation did not bother him.

As punishment for his restraint, he had to make do with the tiny sink in the Three Broomsticks bathroom and the cot on the second floor, the one Rosmerta granted him access to as a favor for their many years of friendship and for keeping her out of the drunken clutches of his fellow Death-Eaters. It was not his spacious, large comfortable bed at home, but it had to do.

He dragged himself now into the tiny bathroom, draped his head over the toilet and waited for the rest of his stomach's contents to spill into the bowl. When they did, he reminded himself it was all for the best, that his body would heal right after the substance was extracted from his body. After all, what else was a body made to do but survive?

He took a quick look at himself in the mirror above the sink. Instantly regretted it. His hair hung in a greasy drop over his sunken cheeks and lifeless eyes. How many days has it been? He never drank much, in fact he usually didn't drink at all.

It was all Granger's fault, of course, provoking his relapse into drinking. After their encounter, he felt the sudden incontrollable need to drown himself in the bottom of a bottle. It helped almost instantly. Never before had he felt kin to the Weasley boy. She was positively infuriating, that witch. How Ronald managed not to become an alcoholic after all that time was a testament to his strong character-one Severus could learn from at this given moment.

But even with his mind swimming between anger and self-pity, Severus could not completely erase Granger's thoughts of him.

His kiss was the worst she'd had in a while. Apparently, she couldn't even imagine how a wizard like him could seduce a witch like her. And yet, she was not fully revulsed by him. There was curiosity there….and an admiration for him.

And dare he say, the lingering flavor of fear that she might actually want him. The gritty, cruel, selfish…arsehole.

And if he was completely honest with himself, somewhere in his drunken haze he had imagined her plump lips wrapped around him, those brown eyes obediently staring into his as she….not whatever witch of the hour…moaned his name between succulent licks of his cock.

But that would not happen.

He had grown so weak these past few days, so much like his pathetic, womanizing, drunkard father. Reeked of him too. Turning the water on in the tiny handheld shower, Severus allowed the ice-cold stream to sober him up. Then he crashed on the bed, falling to an alert state of sleep one had after one too many drinks.

By morning, he dragged himself downstairs, dumping his dirty dishes into the kitchen sink. They were alone in the pub, safe a scraggly bearded wizard in a Ministry uniform slumped in the corner. Silently, Rosmerta the barmaid slid a plate of toast and eggs before him, along with a mug of coffee and a vial of Pepper-up. Downing the liquids, Severus noticed an envelope lying above the usual copy of the Daily Prophet.

"Your wife was here," Rosmerta said flatly. "I told her you were sleeping so she left the message with me."

Severus grunted a thank you and tore open the envelope with the tip of the butterknife. It read:

Severus Snape,

I understand you are occupied with your own affairs; however it would mean a lot to our public images if we appeared at the Yule Ball at Hogwarts this December 25th at 8:00 PM. As you know, the Minister and the Headmaster expect us to make our appearance together especially in light of upcoming elections. Please consider it for your own sake.

Hermione Granger.

P.S. I have taken the liberty of bringing your formal robes to Madam Malkin's to be Charmed clean. They will be ready for pickup by 2:00.

P.P.S. I will be at Harry's home preparing for tonight and Crookshanks is locked in the guest room. You are welcome to access the house at your leisure to make yourself proper.

Welcome to access the house. His house. Severus held back a laugh, imagining her saying it as an eleven-year-old in her sharp voice from behind the potions desk, lecturing him. Him. Severus Snape. He admitted it was quite considerate of her to have the robes pressed, though he could hardly imagine what sort of robes he possessed that were in need of such molly-coddling.

"What is it?"

"As though you haven't read over my shoulder."

Rosmerta placed another dish from the self-washing sink onto the shelf. "Guilty as charged. When is the ball?"

"Tonight."

"You will go, of course."

Severus took a long drag of the coffee.

A figure stirred to his right-the drunk from the back of the pub- and the equally musky smelling man settled down on the barstool and tossed a few galleons onto the bar stand before Rosmerta. "Firewhiskey."

"At seven in the morning?"

"Five o'clock somewhere," Severus said, dipping his toast into the eggs before shoveling it into his mouth.

"Aye," the drunkard said, angrily eyeing the toast and eggs Rosmerta slid his way along with his rejected cash and a stern finger pointing to the sign "Bar Maid reserves right to refuse alcohol to inebriated wiccans." "The brown-haired lass was waiting here all morning."

Severus clenched his mug. "So it seems."

"Thought I knew her from somewhere." He laughed. "Saw her on the way in. Never understood what a young pretty thing like her could do with a fuck like you."

Severus laughed shortly. "Me neither."

They ate in a tense silence before the wizard spoke again, veins now filled with the new dosage of the food. "You're that Potion's Master."

"Was."

"Read about ya in the Prophet." He grabbed the newsprint from under Severus' plate and looked at the first page. "Aye. There it is."

Severus grabbed the paper back and looked at the front page.

It was him during one of the past few nights' debaucheries in London. Perhaps the Cheshire Cat Club. He was lounging in a chair with two witches, barely of age, sitting on his lap and very scantily clad. He was smoking a willow leaf cigar in one hand and drinking something pink and glowing in the other. The caption read "Potions Daddy goes Wild. London is falling down."

"Reckon she likes that."

"Likes what?"

"Those stints of yours," the drunkard said, poking his finger on the page. "Crotchety little thing. Some witches are like that. They act all proper in public, but behind closed doors, they've got more kinks than an old jumper. They like to watch."

Rosmerta's hand felt cool on his arm. "Ignore him, Severus. He's had a bit too many."

But Severus was too far from comfort. "Come again?" he growled.

"Don't say nothing that isn't true. Those young bitches get promoted while the rest of us sit around here and get pissed. Ain't that why you're here instead of at home with 'er? You don't like it, go back and fuck your precious Hermione instead of those cunts you're published with-"

By then, Severus' restraint had abandoned him, and he had the man's face between his wand and the counter. "Keep my wife's name out of your bloody mouth."

"Or what, you'll Crucio me?"

-x-x-x

"He wouldn't."

"He will." Hermione snatched the copy of the Daily Prophet out of Harry's hands, folded it and tossed it into the bin earning her a nasty look from one of the goblins. For all the noise they may counting Knuts, they enjoyed the quiet. "I sent him a letter."

She and Harry had been patrolling the Gringotts vaults for what felt like hours on a wild goose chase for the so-called Ancient Love Spell. Kingsley was convinced that there were still some clues they have not yet discovered about the case, and felt strongly that his intuition was correct. He had sensed the Ancient Magic again and was determined to re-open the case and find the culprits. Hermione had half a brain not to tell him that her and Severus had been the ones affected by said Magic and the signals he was receiving was likely emanating from them, but she went along with the ruse of doing pointless busywork to keep herself out of his presence….and this included patrolling every corner of Magical London and beyond. There was no need to once again become the prime suspect of a case she had never been involved in.

So she and Harry got off at yet another level of the Underground Vaults, followed by a cranky goblin named Borvin and began their scan of the premesis.

It was bad enough Severus had refused to come home these past few days, but now there were scandalous photo of him in the Daily Prophet. At least now she knew where he was. Not that her former professor's sex life bothered her, but as an Auror, she had a reputation to uphold and her 'husband's' debauchery in the Cheshire Cat Club did not help it.

Hermione was sure her colleagues were already talking about it. Mrs Snape and her wandering husband. Thank Merlin Harry kept quiet, well almost.

"Why did you ask me if he was coming?"

"I'm just saying that if he doesn't…."

"You're suggesting he won't."

"Blimey Hermione, I just wanted to say something."

"Then say something useful. Because I don't need any help in feeling worse than I do."

"If anything, Malfoy would be your best bet in dealing with Snape." Then moving close, he bumped her shoulder. "Look. I'm sorry. I know this isn't easy for you."

"No. I'm the one keeping you in the dark."

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."

Hermione rounded a corner, keeping the wand ahead of her. The less Harry knew, the better his chances of not become another one of Kingsley's suspects. "I don't want to talk to Malfoy about my….marital problems."

"Fair. But he is his godson."

It was a fair point. Hermione decided Malfoy would be her last resort. She was still betting on Snape's decency to pick up the robes and show up tonight at the Yule Ball so they could at least discuss an amicable way of splitting.

Splitting. Look at her, just a day ago she had rejected Ron's marriage proposal and now, thinking of ways to divorce her husband. Life worked in mysterious ways.

What was she going to say to him? That he could keep his house while she moved out with Crookshanks, and looked for a flat? And what of the Love Spell? In the past reality, at the very least they were given a head start to gather evidence to prove their innocence or come up with a reasonable explanation as to why the spell had disappeared exactly the day Hermione and Harry had gone to visit the vaults. Now in this present time, it looked like they had escaped from the scene of crime and hidden away for a year. If Kingsley were to find out that they could be guilty, it would likely be Azkaban for the two of them. And Hermione did not want to go to Azkaban.

As Ginny zipped her into her silver floor length-gown, Hermione hoped that Snape would not be a coward and would show up tonight.

-x-x-x-

Hermione stopped the waiter balancing a tray of elven wine on his head and exchanged her one empty glass for two full ones. The first she chugged instantly, plopping it back on the tray, the second she nursed in her hand as she waited for the brain freeze of the previous to dull down.

"I reckon she's had enough." Professor Malfoy snapped his fingers, ushering the wizard away.

"No, she hasn't," Hermione scowled, signaling for the staff to stay with her Auror gaze.

"She has." Draco shot the two an equally threatening professorly scowl that he had perfected all too well. And because being born with Pure-Blooded audacity and the most stark grey eyes was nothing Hermione could ever learn from a hundred Auror handbooks, the wine disappeared along with the waiter. "Slow down. You getting yourself pissed is not going to Summon your husband over any quicker."

"Fuck off."

Draco smiled smugly. "That might have fooled Potter, but not me."

"Congratulations."

"So he doesn't know your little secret?"

"Malfoy."

"You know, I take back what I've told Minerva. You and Severus are perfectly suited for each other."

She rolled her eyes. "Really."

"You think everything has to be your way, he dislikes being in the way. Opposites attract."

Hermione's eyes flashed as Draco removed the last contents of wine from her glass. "All I asked was for him to join me for one night. So we could talk things over after…last time."

"Asked, or politely forced?"

"What would you do if the one person who could help you decided to flee the scene like a coward and distract himself in illicit activity?"

"I'd give him space."

"All I've given him is space. I stayed out of the house all day. And I had his clothes pressed. All he had to do was show up."

"See, but it doesn't seem so gracious when it's on your terms." Draco tsked his tongue. "After all this time, you'd think the Dark Lord's spy would know when he's being coerced."

"You're suggesting I should play on his terms?" she huffed.

"One year of perfect attendance and now, such petty scruples." Draco adjusted a stray hair on Hermione's updo. "I wouldn't be so worried. He has perfect attendance when it comes to large scale events."

"Only lately he's decided to make a scene before appearing at them."

"I'm sure there's a reason."

And like that, the reason slipped into the room in the form of a Doe Patronus. Hermione and Draco followed it to a secluded corner of the castle where the Doe stated why exactly Severus was not present at the ball. It turned out to be a very fitting reason indeed.

"Blasted Bullocks," Draco cried, "You're telling me Severus is behind the bars?"

-x-x-x-

Severus rested his head against the brick wall. In comparison to Rosmerta's guest room, this was the lowest possible downgrade. He made a mental note to a) stop drinking indefinitely b) get back into his daily mediation habit c) not threaten to Crucio a stranger at a pub. He was losing his touch.

And now, despite vowing to make a point, had still called on Hermione Granger's mercy. Which he hoped would be satisfactory despite the fact that he had not been the paragon of honesty these past few days. Although he had not broken any serious infractions, threatening a Ministry worker with an Unforgivable Curse combined with his track record might be enough to send him to Azkaban. After all this time.

The door clinked open and a group of footsteps descended the steps of the department. A light grew larger as the figures approached his cell, their voices becoming more distinct. It was Granger, and….his blasted Godson.

Granger's demeanor looked stern, but the moment her face had come into the light of the wall candles, filled with a sudden worry. She dashed forwards, kneeling before him behind the bars, her breasts bouncing quickly in the silver dress.

"Severus, what did they do to you?" Her hand trailed along the edge of his cheek, then suddenly jerked back as he winced. As yes, the black eye.

"A small inconvenience for the greater good."

"You didn't heal yourself?"

"They have my wand."

"You have his wand?" Granger cried. "Under what allegations?"

"Physical assault." The Auror crossed his hands. "And threatening a Ministry official with an Unforgettable Curse."

"Blasted Toads," Draco whispered, holding back a grin. "Not the Unforgettable Curse."

"Unfulfilled," Severus said in a low voice.

"And you have no concrete evidence," Granger continued. "Who are the witnesses?"

"The barmaid, who refuses to testify-"

"-as there had been no infraction-"

"-and the official himself-"

"-pure delusion-"

"Silence!" The Auror rattled the bars, prodding Severus' cheek with the cane. "I'm certain the Minister will not hesitate to put you behind bars in Azkaban where you belong-"

"-but not without a proper trial and clear evidence."

"You best stay out of this miss-"

"-Auror Hermione Jean Granger." She scowled, whipping out her badge, an act that made the clearly lower ranked Auror of the station swallow the rest of his insults. "And before you begin lecturing me on the properties of Wizarding Law may I remind you that it is illegal to keep a client behind bars without the proper evidence. This is an improper arrest based solely on speculation. No magical traces have been found of said Unforgiveable Curse?"

"None." The Auror bit back a snarl.

"Very well, we will pay the bail for….what exactly are you charging him with?"

"Physical assault."

"Yes. And until our trial date, you have no right to keep him here on speculation. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes."

Hermione crossed her arms, a satisfied smirk on her face, the lights off the candles wall sconces playing wicked games in the pools of her eyes. Severus pushed down a very unnerving shift in his lower stomach as she sent the Auror back upstairs to prepare the documents. Unfortunately for him, the glare remained quite the same as she pressed her palms into the bars and released a sigh.

"Draco had suggested I do not remind you of your past record. But what in Merlin's name prompted you to…to…"

"Crucio." Severus compiled smugly, mirroring her stance, inches away from her face.

"Surely a drunk at the pub could not have said anything to offend the Ministry's greatest ex-spy."

"Believe me, it was not for myself."

"Then for who?"

"For you."

"That changes things," she mumbled, licking her lips.

"I certainly hope so. I intend to return home. My home."

"Our home." Granger's brows shot up. "I thought your devices knew no bounds?"

"Being left alone to them clearly made me reevaluate their …limitations." Severus tapped her badge with his finger. "Though yours never seem to stop emerging."

"I don't take any pleasure in this," she snapped.

"Oh, but I think you do. Auror Hermione Jean Granger."

"Believe me, had I been in any less desperate circumstances-"

"If you mean to insult my physical appearance, my sexual attributes while I am detained behind bars save your breath. That is a low blow."

Her cheeks reddened. "I did not say I was disgusted by you."

"Words were not of the essence," Severus pushed off the bars, running a hand through his hair. "I know very well how many horns my beast has. What I will not tolerate is having them counted- ridiculed by you."

"You had no right to Legillimens me."

"Quid pro quo."

"Draco." She waited for him to mutter something in her ear and run up the stairs before turning back towards Severus. "You're right. I am sorry. I was…shocked and embarrassed that morning. You have every right to be upset."

Severus nodded, the apology making his insides squirm with a feeling he couldn't impulsively categorize as revulsion. "I am typically competent at finding Counter-curses."

She nodded, eyes to the floor. "We will think of something." And slowly added. "Besides love."

In his typical fashion of words women did not want to hear but were useful for obtaining results, Severus decided to take the honest route. "I cannot love you, Granger. You must know it."

She opened her mouth, then quickly closed it, drawing in the silence.

"I cannot love anyone." He cursed out the prepubescent croak in his tone. "I fear I am too old for it."

She smiled. "Let that be the beast's words."

And he, grazing his finger along the cold iron bar, colder still as it separated him from her, smiled back.


A/N: Thank you for the reads, follows, comments, hearts! I appreciate it!