Chapter Text

* * *

Saturday morning was bright and shiny. According to the window on the east wall, at least. Severus opened his eyes and lay absolutely still for an immeasurable amount of time simply listening to the silence and staring at the unfamiliar ceiling of his living room. No, of course, he knew what his ceiling looked like, or he had a general idea of it more precisely, he just never spent any time inspecting it so closely. There was never a reason to. Now, though, he would rather count every crack in every stone than let his mind wander and unavoidably return to mulling yesterday's events — which he’d prefer to bury somewhere deep and dark — over and over again.

Things like the fact that Dumbledore was dead, for example. Dumbledore was dead , and he wasn't . He did not lift a finger for it to happen, and nor did Draco, for that matter. More so, he kept his promise and ensured the boy's safety from the Dark Lord's wrath afterwards, fulfilling the terms of his vow, and now was enjoying the freedom not only physically but also magically.

It was so hard to believe. That he was alive and not a fugitive. Severus even had a dream about it. Kind of. He dreamt that he was running across an enormous field, terrified of a dark mist full of strange shadows and shapes crawling after him in the deadly silence. It was night, but everything was gray, and stars shone from the clear sky. He ran, and ran, and ran forward to the beautiful light ahead, one hundred percent sure it was Hermione. The light was just that — light, without any particular form, but Severus knew it was her, felt it in his very core, so he ran like mad because the mist was catching up, surrounding him, but to his dismay, he wasn't getting any closer. He called for her, screamed her name at the top of his lungs, but Hermione didn’t seem to notice. She was not moving, and nor was he, only the shadows. They were catching up so fast, the mist was biting his heels already, and the hair on the back of Severus' neck stood up, his skin prickled. That's when he became truly desperate. Severus remembered chanting 'please, please, please…' endlessly, then roaring 'PLEASE!'. Hermione turned her face to him (was she crying?) and held out a hand, but Severus woke up all sweaty and with a pounding heart. 

That’s why he didn't want to think. He didn't know if Hermione cried last night or not because when they got into his quarters and Severus asked if she would like to sleep on a proper bed this time, preparing himself for an argument, she simply nodded and went there without a word. It was so unlike her (as far as Severus knew), he had no idea what to do now. The door to the bedroom was closed, and it was still early, so there was a good chance that Hermione was asleep, and he didn't want to get up anyway (because surely it would ruin everything. He'll have to start dealing with things, and he was so damn tired of it). 

"Good morning," sounded from the entrance, and Severus jumped up. Hermione walked into the room dressed in a plain light green summer dress with flowery pattern, smiling at him. She did not wear a glamor, and Severus could see that her right arm was heavily scarred from shoulder down to mid-forearm. A burn most likely. He realized that he was about to start openly gawking, and shifted his gaze. 

"I thought you were sleeping."

"I'm an early riser," shrugged Hermione, sitting on the armrest of a chair opposite him. "Have already run a couple of circles around the lake and been to Paris, sent a letter to Francesca. She has an old acquaintance who might know something useful about human Horcruxes."

"Paris?.." he repeated dumbfounded, staring at her. 

"Yeah. Francesca taught me cross-continental apparition. A tricky thing, but with practice it gets easier, more bearable. It actually is pretty useful, for me at least."

"I see. Why Paris though?"

Hermione shrugged. "It's faster. She's usually there at this time of year, but I'm not sure."

Severus just nodded, got up and strode to the bathroom. He needed a shower and a cup of strong coffee for this.

When he returned dressed and ready, the room was back to its original semi-chaotic state and on a coffee table sat a tray with food. Hermione looked up from her seat in the center of the couch. 

"Would you like a coffee? It's too early for breakfast in the Great Hall."

Severus sat down to her left and took a sip from his cup, enjoying how the hot liquid flowed down to his stomach.

"I saw McGonagall on my way here," Hermione continued. "She asked us both to come to her old office as soon as possible. There's going to be a staff meeting at seven, and she wanted to talk with us beforehand."

"Alright," replied Severus, setting his cup down. "Let's go then."

He got up, but didn't get to make a single step, because Hermione stopped him, taking his hand. 

"Wait, please," she asked quietly. "Is something the matter, dear? Besides the obvious, I mean. You seem to be in oddly low spirits."

This time Severus did stare. How was it that she was in such high spirits, that was the main question. He carefully glanced at her from time to time, looking for signs of mental and emotional consequences of last night, but strangely saw none. 

"Hermione, I… Nothing's happened, I assure you, at least nothing that you don't know of." He sat back down and cleared his throat. "I'm just worried about you."

"I'm fine."

He looked at her skeptically, and she smiled. 

"No, truly. I'm not saying yesterday hasn't affected me, but at least for now I'm fine. I guess I just haven't allowed myself to properly process it yet," shrugged Hermione.

"Are you occluding?"

She smiled sadly and sighed. "I am, dear. I am occluding. There's no saying what would happen when I stop, and right now is not the time to fall apart, Severus. We have a lot to do and no time to do it, so… I promise to deal with it at the earliest possible opportunity, alright?"

Severus nodded. What else could he say? She was right. Hermione’s gaze shifted to his chest. "Oh, by the way, while we're at it…" she stood up and started rummaging in her pockets, after a few moments taking a small pendant out of it. She strode closer to him, holding the necklace up: a gray-ish white flat stone in the form of an equilateral triangle that hung from a simple thin chain. 

"This is a Beacon. Well, we called it so at the hospital. It's a piece of marble, charmed to keep track of the patient's vitals and if necessary to act as a sort of anchor for an apparition. It also —" 

"A suicide watch…" interrupted Severus, feeling how his stomach dropped somewhere low. 

Hermione closed her mouth with a click and was silent for an eternal moment. 

"It also has carved runes for reducing pain, and I added another two sets for general protection and for protection from dark magic specifically. I, of course, removed all tracking spells, I mean those that were supposed to monitor your whereabouts and constantly let me know the state of your health. There's only one left — with an apparition anchor — for emergency situations, because I know how much you value privacy, and respect your boundaries. So for the most part it's just a pendant for protection with a small added bonus that would allow me to find you as quickly as I possibly can, in case if you suddenly started dying." Again.

The 'so I wouldn't have to sprint across grounds and up staircases, operating on hunches any more' was not said, but Severus heard it loud and clear nonetheless. Saw it in Hermione's eyes. Or maybe just imagined, it was hard to tell. He felt guilty, because, of course, he deserved to be watched after that foolish stunt in the tower, and, of course, Hermione would find the most unobtrusive way to do it, leaving him his dignity. Or what was left of it anyway. 

What a strange world they were all living in… Two days ago he saw her as an insolent seventeen-year-old know-it-all and nothing else. Now he couldn't perceive Hermione as anything but a grown smart capable woman she actually was. Couldn't imagine her in any other role than the one she was in now. It was confusing and gratifying at the same time, because if it wasn't for that, he wouldn't have had her. 

They looked at each other in silence for about twenty seconds. 

"I apologize," whispered Severus and held out a hand. "I'll wear it if you want me to. You can even restore all the original spells on it if it would make it easier for you, I don't mind." 

Hermione plopped down on the armrest, looking stunned. Severus too was stunned by his own sudden loss of control over his mouth, what's to say about the unexpected willingness to put on a third collar — one with an even shorter leash at that — but it was too late to back down. The words were out, and he was far too afraid to lose Hermione to correct his previous resounding statement of absolute trust, which was true and not true at the same time. And do not even try to ask how on God’s green Earth it was possible…

"Why?" she breathed.

Why, indeed… If only he knew how to explain it even to himself.

Severus forced his brain and his mouth to function and give her something resembling a valid reason. "Because, Madam Granger, what I did was beyond foolish, and I fully deserve to be closely monitored, even if there's very little point in it as I am certain I will not repeat it." He didn't have any reason to for as long as he wasn't alone. 

"I'm extremely glad to hear it, dear. Here,” She pulled the chain over Severus’ head, and he nearly choked from the sheer relief. No collar.

“Alright?” asked Hermione, leaning back a little and looking into his face strangely.

Severus nodded and tried to smile. 

“Thank you.”

Hermione smiled back and gently stroked his shoulder and upper arm before sighing softly and removing her hand. Her fingers felt warm through the shirt, they sent waves of goosebumps all over his body.

“We need to go.”

“Then let’s go,” he replied, reveling in the lingering feeling of her touch.

Severus stood up, Hermione put her hand into the crook of his elbow just like yesterday, and they left his rooms, heading for Minerva's old office through the many secret passages. All the way, while they talked merrily and sometimes even laughed — or, in Severus’ case, chuckled softly — he thought that he could get quite used to it. Not that it became less terrifying, of course.

* * *

Almost a week blurred away very fast. The school was quiet, children and professors alike seemed down. Rarely who laughed, or even talked, in the halls. There were no classes, only afternoon study halls, and final exams were postponed for another week because of Dumbledore's memorial service. The castle mourned its late master, blanketing everything in a general atmosphere of doom. It was suffocating. Try as he might, Severus couldn't find the same amount of grief in his soul. 

He spent his days attending meetings, observing study halls, or traipsing the forest with Hermione, doing all he could to escape this depressing mood. Once she apparated them to her absolute favorite place in Germany for a few hours, and it was the first time in months when Severus felt liberated.

After yet another heated debate, the Order decided that throwing for Dumbledore a big pompous funeral (as the most hopelessly foolish members demanded) was unwise, given that the location of his death was to remain hidden from the Dark Lord at all costs. Potter was browbeaten into taking Hermione and Severus to retrieve the body, and the selected members of the Order quietly buried him afterwards in the nearest muggle cemetery under a false name.

Severus would never forget the emptiness of Hermione's eyes when they entered that creepy cave… He did ask her for the real story that evening, regretting it almost immediately, but even more so when he entered her memory in the pensive a few hours later. She cried afterwards. Sobbed on his shoulder for a good hour, shredding Severus' heart on billions of tiny pieces, but all he could do was hold her, while she let it all out. He stroked Hermione’s hair, just like she did that first night, and whispered some soothing nonsense that had no meaning or purpose. One thing he was certain about though: that night he truly felt close to her. Maybe it was beyond foolish, but at that moment, he trusted Hermione without a shred of doubt. Could it be only because he wanted to trust her? Possibly. Probably. But then and there he did not care in the slightest, because he felt that she trusts him just as much, and it helped him to get rid of the remnants of his fears concerning the wisdom of that particular decision. 

The inner circle of the Order was made aware of the Dark Lord's Horcruxes, which horrified them to no end, but since it also pissed the hell off Dumbledore's portrait, the whole endeavor seemed well worth it to Severus. He may have eventually forgiven the old man for breaking his soul if things played out the way they were planned, but Hermione's soul was far more precious and pure, and therefore, any damage to it was unforgivable. 

Aside from Minerva, they did not tell anyone about Potter yet, because Hermione was hoping to find that acquaintance of her French friend who supposedly had a working knowledge on that particular problem as he has dealt with it in the past. But so far there has been little success.

Severus limped through the dark secret tunnel, heading to Hermione's rooms that Minerva provided her after she officially dropped out of school, so she wouldn't have to sleep on the couch while still living in the castle. He emerged on the second floor and strode through the empty hallways to the guest wing on the upper floors. It was a little before 9 pm, so most of the students were already inside their common rooms, and those who weren't, hurried to join their classmates, especially when they crossed paths with Severus. Thankfully, they still feared him, even though they already grew accustomed to his new appearance, effectively putting an end to all weird stares towards him, which he could not say about Hermione, though. 

Ever since Saturday morning last week when the news of expulsion went out the students couldn't seem to be able to stop gossiping about it. Thank Merlin, they knew nothing about her friendship with him. She would never live that one down, not that he would live long enough to notice, most likely. The Dark Lord's insanity and paranoia were steadily increasing, making it harder to predict his movements. 

Severus arrived at Hermione's door and knocked, feeling nervous for some reason. It wasn't the first time he was summoned this week, but last time — when he requested an audience with His Almightiness to report the latest news (mostly about Hermione) everything went fine. Today the Dark Lord wasn't overly pleased with him. Severus was tasked with finding Dumbledore's body, and for obvious reasons, couldn't bring any good news to his master.

Hermione opened the door and smiled, motioning for Severus to come in, but her face dropped quickly when she noticed his limp.

"Lay down," she commanded, pointing at the couch, "no arguments, Severus."

He sighed but did as he was told. That's why he was here, at least partially. In truth, he just wanted to spend some time with Hermione, not caring much for his leg beyond it being the perfect excuse for a visit. Not that he needed one, of course, but it still made him feel better that he had it. The injury seemed far from severe, in fact, he could've probably treated it himself just as well. Or went to Poppy. 

Hermione waved her wand over his leg, muttering something, and then looked at the colorful strings and runes that sprang to life above him, nodding to herself.

Severus never saw anything like it — when Poppy performed a diagnostic spell, the results appeared on a piece of parchment — now, he didn't understand a single thing, but his healer obviously did.

"Take off your boot and sock, and pull up the trouser-leg," she ordered, turning away and heading out of the room. "Unless you prefer me cutting it out of the way, of course, or removing the trousers completely," she added when Severus did not move. 

Sighing deeply, he did as he was told as quickly as his injury would allow him. He folded his sock into the boot and left it in front of the couch, then he turned sideways, stretching the leg in question on the cushioned seat. It looked greyish where it wasn't bloody, and started to swell. 

Hermione returned a few seconds later with a handful of jars and vials. She glanced quickly over the display, and if Severus wasn't occluding, he sure would've been blushing at this point. If she noticed his discomfort, she didn't show it, not that Severus cared if she did. At least at the moment.

Thank Merlin for mental arts.

Scratch that. Thank Merlin for magic in general. And who cares that Merlin wasn't actually responsible for the existence of magic, he was just one of, like everybody else on this planet. Well, not precisely like everybody , but it was just semantics in truth. Even Merlin was a child once, and someone's student, and… 

Severus' thoughts came to a screeching halt when he realized what utter nonsense currently occupied his brain, and forced himself to watch Hermione's hands that deftly and steadily worked around his foot and ankle, repairing the damaged muscles and skin. Judging by the amount of quiet swearing that left her lips, the injury wasn't actually as simple as it seemed to him. Hermione was waving her wand over it in a complicated manner, sometimes poking straight at the ruined area, but strangely enough, Severus didn't feel any pain. He didn't feel his leg from thigh down at all, come to think of it. Usually occlumency shields were a good weapon to combat pain, but they were unable to block it completely. Some of Hermione's waving must've been a numbing spell, because he didn't take any potions yet.

"Fuck!" quietly exclaimed Hermione exasperated, shook her hands for a few seconds as if to return feeling into them, and resumed casting with more speed.

Severus watched sweat gathering on her forehead, detached. There clearly was something terribly, awfully wrong, and he started to feel worried behind the shields. Not moving her gaze from his leg, Hermione commanded him to take two Blood Replenishing potions, and the moment he did, he saw her conjure a tourniquet just above his knee and then make a cut along a part of his lower leg. It must've been deep, because blood flowed freely all over the couch, and Hermione waved her wand like mad over the open wound, this time chanting something under her breath.

One minute, two, three, and Severus could see black thin smoke-ish tendrils seeping out of the cut and dissolving in the air. Hermione was working for several more minutes, and then relaxed with a deep satisfied sigh. Smiling a little, she closed the wound, applied some solve on it that he hasn't ever seen, and only then glanced at Severus' face.

"I'm going to release the Numbing charm, so take Pain Reliever, because otherwise it's going to hurt like hell. And Muscle Relaxant too. And then maybe another Blood Replenisher in a few minutes, we'll see. What in the blazes did they hit you with?"

"Honestly? I have no idea. It was the Dark Lord, and he usually casts nonverbally, not to mention, I was still mostly out of it after the…" he cut himself off. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around how hard it was to control his tongue with Hermione.

"Cruciatus curse?"

Severus nodded in response and gulped down the potions before asking how bad it was. 

"It was eating your flesh like some sort of acid. An hour later, and amputation would've been the only option. If you were still alive by that point, that is. Once the curse would've hit the artery…" she trailed off, allowing Severus to finish the sentence by himself.

Again: thank God for mental arts. On the second thought, screw them, he was shocked despite the Occlumency… admittedly, not so much by yet another close call — more by the fact that he found himself honestly caring about it. 

"You know, maybe you really should return all those health tracking spells on the pendant…" mumbled Severus as he lowered his shields, breaking the heavy silence. Hermione chuckled, cleaning the couch around his leg that still lay there, though why she bothered, he couldn't see. The thing was literally soaked with blood… Far easier to just throw it away. 

"And then maybe teach that Numbing charm to Poppy. It'll be damn useful, especially with the younger students."

"I'll think about it," Hermione smiled and got up from the floor, abandoning her task. Mostly because it was finished and the couch was clean. "Would you like some tea?"

"Yes, thank you." He sat up normally, but stayed half barefoot for now. The leg really did throb, even with Pain Reliever. "Have you gotten a reply to your last letter?" he asked, watching Hermione go about making tea in the small kitchenette adjacent to the living room.

"Yeah, actually. I wanted to talk to you about it. There's some good news and some bad news. Which one do you want first?"

"He's dead or otherwise unreachable, isn't he?"

"Huh," chuckled Hermione. "Marco's dead, yes. For almost a year now, sadly enough. The good news is, though, I know where he was just before it happened."

Severus froze as the implications sank in, feeling cold all of a sudden. "So you're, khm, you're going to use the time-turner to meet with this Marco?"

He tried to stay reasonable, to think rationally. Even if Hermione would turn back years, for him things wouldn't change, because she'll eventually catch up with his time-line. Today, she could turn back for a decade, and tomorrow morning they could still have an early cup of coffee and a walk around the forest. If she doesn't meet someone far better than him — and let's face it, it won't be difficult — to stay someplace else with.

"I do, for eleven months," Hermione strode back to the couch, carrying the tray with a tea set. " We do, if you’d agree to come with me?.."

"You… You want me to come with you?" He couldn't believe his ears. 

"I do," she smiled, sitting down next to Severus. "First, it'll be a great opportunity for you to rest and recover. Second, I plan to begin searching for Horcruxes and would be immeasurably grateful for your help. And third, maybe you'd be interested in just spending some time together, you know, as friends," she added, seeming nervous. "To get to know each other more. If you want, of course." 

Severus was stunned. Did she really think that he wouldn't follow her to the end of the world?

"Hermione," he whispered, taking her hand. 

"I will be happy to go down to the literal honest-to-goodness Hell with you. And knowing myself, most likely not even asking whatever for," thought Severus. 

But he couldn't give voice to it. The words stuck in his throat, so after trying to push them through for several long seconds and feeling the telltale signs of raising panic, he nodded. 

Hermione looked at him for a long moment, searching for something in his face, and then leaped forward, hugging him tightly. "Thank you."

"Thank you," Severus wanted to whisper, but his lips once again stayed sealed. 

They sat this way for a while. Severus felt so incredibly good and light; he never ever felt like this and wished only to stay in that moment forever.

* * *

The evening and next morning flew by in preparations for the jump, as Hermione called it, so by 13 pm all instructions were given, all necessities packed, and all issues taken care of. Right after lunch, that Severus was strongly encouraged to attend with one meaningfully raised eyebrow and a rather pointed glare, he stormed back into his rooms. His good mood from the morning and, dare she say it, even excitement a little bit — yes, he seemed sort of excited, alright, no need to cause such a fuss over it — anyway, they were nowhere to be found, and that's putting it mildly. 

Hermione was waiting on the couch with a book propped up on her lap, her right hand playing absent-mindedly with a chain from the time-turner. She stopped going to the Great Hall for meals this week, preferring to eat in her chambers (when she was in Hogwarts) for security sake. Not that she was hiding, but they decided that it would be better if no one saw her, especially in the castle. So yes… she was kind of hiding and hated it. Last Saturday Minerva did not announce the news about her dropping out of school, but questions were still inevitable; and since Harry and Ron were forbidden to tell the truth about time travel under fear of very dire consequences, other students knew only that they had a serious fight with Hermione and had no idea or care about where she was now. So… gossip. The whole school buzzed with all sorts of incredulous scenarios from her running off to Krum to her abduction and death by torture at the hands of Death Eaters. The first was downright ridiculous, the last — not so much, but all of them together were very tiresome, so when Hermione wasn’t busy sitting on numerous and largely pointless Order meetings or spending time with Severus, she prefered to stay away from Hogwarts: in Boston studying, or in Paris meeting with Belmont and looking for Marco.

Severus slammed the door behind him and made a beeline towards the bedroom. 

"Why so gloomy?" asked Hermione, looking up, making him stop mid-step and turn to face her with a cold glare. 

"Aren't you ready yet?" he snapped in a way only Professor Snape could, but all it did was make Hermione smile. "Cease your infernal smirking, woman, and get up!"

She barked a laugh but obediently stood up. "I take it, lunch went well?"

"Why the lot of you are unable to mind your own business is beyond comprehension," hissed Severus, scowling.

"What have the lot of us done to warrant your wrath this time?"

"What I do with my life and myself doesn't concern anybody! It's none of anyone's fucking business, not yours, and certainly not theirs, so stop it! Just stop it! " boomed Severus, waving his hands to point alternately at Hermione and somewhere else (she could only guess where), and then darted into the bathroom. 

"Well… You do have a point there," mumbled Hermione, looking at the loudly slammed door. Despite the fact that she was just yelled at, her spirits were still high. To be completely truthful, she was just relieved to finally leave the castle (and was planning to do so for good, therefore packed all her stuff). But even more than that, she was glad Severus was slowly coming back to his normal self. Ever since that night in the Astronomy tower he was tiptoeing around her, as if afraid that should he cross some imaginary line, Hermione would disappear. Which was sweet but ridiculous, seeing how easily and completely she fell for the Beast of the Dungeons, however mad it sounded.

Ten minutes later, there was still no sign of Severus, so Hermione walked to the bathroom and tentatively knocked on the door.

"Are you alright there, dear? I was planning to drop by my flat in Paris and take a few things that might be useful. You're welcome to come with me if you want."

The statement was met with silence. 

"Or you could wait here, it shouldn't take long."

The door opened slowly, and there stood Severus, calm once again, but seemingly warring with himself about something, as he watched her intently. After about ten seconds of silence, Hermione saw his face become collected, the man nodded and walked out without another word. He took his shrunken baggage from the nightstand in his bedroom and proceeded to the exit. Since they couldn't be seen in the hallways, therefore had to use the usual secret tunnels to get out of the castle. While they walked, Hermione took Severus' arm as was their habit by now. 

When they got to the apparition spot in the forest, she tightened her grip on his elbow and apparated them to Paris, to the nearest safe place a short distance from her building. They walked into the tiny entrance hall and up three flights of stairs. Hermione led the way, still in silence, and Severus didn't seem in a hurry to break it either. She did not turn around to check his reaction, and he wasn't giving any indication of how much he liked or disliked the place. Perfect, as far as Hermione was concerned. At first, she was a little worried about her companion’s stubborn muteness, but he didn’t seem to be actually angry or in any way hostile, so Hermione quickly decided not to worry ahead of time.

Since there were no muggles around, she never bothered with keys, using wards to lock up and secure the place. She pressed her hand to the door to dismantle them, then pushed it inside. 

"Welcome to my home," she announced quietly, finally looking back at her friend. At least from her point of view… who knew what the man thought most of the time. "It's tiny, I know, and nothing special, but I love it nonetheless."

Severus scanned the room. "It's lovely, Hermione."

"Thank you,” she smiled. “Have a seat. I'll be quick." The man did as was bid. 

"I apologize for the outburst," he said quietly when Hermione turned away, stopping her. "I did not mean to yell at you, nor did I mean what I yelled. They just… Let's just say, they repeatedly broached a very uncomfortable topic, and I…"

Hermione smiled at him. "It's fine, dear. I understand."

"Indeed?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Yes. You're not the only one who makes poor decisions in stressful situations."

Severus looked at her as if daring to announce that she was one of those unfortunate human beings, and Hermione chuckled. Of course, she was — she could name probably dozens of situations where she made silly mistakes because she wasn't able to think straight due to stress, the last being the events on the Astronomy tower — but bringing that up would stir a can of worms that weren't ready to be stirred. 

"What I meant was," she continued instead, "it's perfectly understandable that one would snap at other people when they are pissed off. We're all humans, Severus, it's in our nature."

"I'm starting to see why some of my colleagues and students declared you insane recently."

Hermione laughed.

"Well, I really should start packing, so…" she said, still smiling broadly, twisting her hair into a bun. "Anyway, feel free to roam around and do whatever, just be careful with boxes and anything that's closed or locked, or just seem strange — there are some nasty things here."

She went about packing: most of her wardrobe, some (read: a lot) of books, her cursebreaker gear and useful knick-knacks, her brewing kit, a number of potions, stacks of papers and notebooks — all went into her bottomless rucksack. At the same time, the majority of what Hermione packed in school (namely her textbooks, notes, uniform, etc) was taken out of the luggage and left in the wardrobe. Ignoring the invitation to take a look around, Severus remained seated on the couch and watched her like a hawk, asking questions from time to time, mostly about one item or the other. All in all, almost an hour flew by without them noticing.

Finally Hermione zipped her rucksack closed and turned to Severus with a satisfied smile. 

"I'm ready," she announced and glanced at the clock on the desk to verify the time. It was 15:06 am. 

"Let's go, then."

Hermione sat down close to Severus, put the chain of her time turner around their heads and spun them back. Ironically, the process of traveling in time takes… time. When she jumped back for a number of hours only, it was instant and did not have any inconvenient side effects such as nausea or headache, or increased blood pressure and heart rate, or — God forbid — bladder release. The greater the distance, the more the chances of all that happening, as Hermione found out the hard way when she returned from 1999 back into 1993. She felt so unimaginably awful and sick back then… even her eyelids hurt. It wasn't like she was squeezed through some tight tube (the way an apparition was often described to feel like), it was like she was torn into molecules, then at the neck-breaking speed plunged into a red-hot tight even for molecules tube, forcefully squeezed through it right into a grinder, and then hastily put back together. And, as it turned out later — much, much later — the whole process took about two minutes. Hermione couldn't be sure, of course, seeing as at that moment she was in no state to even think about it, let alone perform spells or look at watches. But when she more or less came back to her senses and discovered the state of her trousers… she swore to never do that again, thanking the gods that she was alone.

This time the distance was much smaller, so the jump went much faster and smoother. The moment they materialized, Hermione checked that they were both alright — nothing more serious than a mild case of dizziness and nausea. They made it out of her flat, apparated to Boston from the nook behind the diner, and then to one of the islands on Winnipesaukee lake in New Hampshire. It was a small magical village on a small magical island in the very center of the Broads, hidden from muggles' view. It was a piece of heaven on earth, created in the middle of the 17th century, not long after the witch trials began, where there was always peace, the weather was always nice, the sky — blue, the grass — green, and people — smiling. At least that's how the legend went. 

They landed on the shore and looked around. As Hermione expected, the island really did throb with magic: hundreds upon hundreds of old and new wards ensuring that the aforementioned conditions continued standing were so thick, she could see them shimmering everywhere. What she did not expect was that the so-called 'small village' turned out to be a much bigger settlement. Maybe even a whole town, it was hard to guess.

It was morning — about half to 10 am — and the weather was indeed fine: it was comfortably warm, the sky was mostly clear, the wind blew softly. They stood on a wide clearing near a thin line of send on the edge of the island. Right in front of them floated a big bright red sign with 'Welcome!' written on it in large glistening yellow and green letters. About a hundred yards away from the clearing stood a row of old low houses, surrounded by trees and flowers of all kinds and sizes. At the right end of the row above the roofs and treetops could be seen a yellow-ish clock tower.

"Do you see what I see?" asked Severus, and Hermione glanced at him to see where he was looking. 

"If you mean that mini Big Ben over there, then probably, yes," she laughed. "It depends on how likely it is that we have a collective hallucination." 

Severus chuckled. "Not likely." 

"He's right, ma-am," sounded from the left, and they both simultaneously turned there. "It's as real as I am," confirmed the stranger. "Long story. But for one kiss I can tell you all about it later," he added, smiling broadly and winking at Hermione. She raised her eyebrows, looking the brash stranger over. He had what was commonly considered a handsome appearance: tall, with golden-blond hair, blue eyes, white smile, lean muscular figure, and so on, and so forth. And he, of course, was typically used to being in the center of every woman's attention, thought Hermione. She dated one of his sort about three years ago… dumped him after two weeks. Long and miserable weeks.

"Welcome to our by all means magical island! My name's Roger, by the way. Roger Brown. And I can tell you everything there is to know about this fantastic place!” gabbled the man away automatically, ignoring Hermione’s (and, more importantly — Severus’) frown. “If you would just give me your names please so I could register you as guests, we’ll immediately get you both nicely settled!”

"This is a rather nice start," thought Hermione, smirking at Severus' sore expression. 

An hour later they all stood in a living room of a small guest cottage on 3rd street, where they were placed with Roger's help. It was a nice cozy room with light blue walls, large windows, a fireplace, lots of shelves by one wall, a big dark blue couch in the middle, and a kitchenette with a small but sturdy wooden dining table and three chairs. According to Roger, on this floor were also a bathroom and one bedroom. Second bedroom was located in the attic. 

As the two of them finally managed to say goodbye to Brown, they took a look around the rest of the cottage, and Severus graciously allowed Hermione to pick a bedroom (she chose the upper one). They unpacked until lunchtime, and spent the rest of the day exploring the island. 

It was the best day ever. From Hermione's point of view at the very least. In the past she often wondered what it would be like to go on a date with Severus. She knew, of course, that their evening wasn't a date, but, laying in bed in the dark that night, she could at least imagine that it was. Just for a moment could allow herself to slip the shields down and feel that ever persistent yearning behind her ribs and maybe even cry a little. But not for long.

Because now she truly began to have hope. 

Marco Caruso was an Italian half-blood wizard with about ninety years, two wifes and three sons behind him. He was a thief and a scoundrel, but an intelligent, handsome, and, as rumor had it, dark and powerful one at that. Hermione never saw him, and he never saw Hermione, but Belmont crossed paths with the man on a regular basis because of her work: she often traveled the world as a part of all sorts of expeditions — including archeological — and he often traveled the world, looking for all sorts of stealing-worthy goods.

According to Francesca's information, he was to arrive at the island in the middle of August, stay for about two weeks, then go on a tour around America and get himself shot by a muggle in a muggle bar in some small godforsaken muggle town. Nobody mourned him, not even his own two remaining children, and certainly not Francesca. 

It was almost three weeks until Marco's arrival, though.

"When is that Marco character going to be here?" — asked Severus the next morning while they were having breakfast.

Hermione sipped her coffee and placed the mug on a table in front of her. "August 16th."

"What are we going to do until then?" He also took a sip. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad to have a vacation, Merlin knows I've earned it, but why did we get here so early?" 

“Because first — he’s a paranoid bastard,” chuckled Hermione, “more so, a wanted paranoid bastard who has a habit of checking everyone around him in case somebody turned out to be an auror from whichever country, so we need to make sure that he won’t find anything suspicious about us. And second — because I want a vacation just as badly as you do. Last time I had one was in June 1999, a little over six years ago.”

“Did I mention how strange it all sounds when you talk about the future in past tense?” smirked Severus.

“A couple of times, yeah, probably,” laughed Hermione. “As for what we are going to do while we wait, I think that, first of all, we should befriend that babbling baboon Roger. It might be very helpful later, we can feed him any information we want, so he’d have a lot to feed to Caruso afterwards. And we can start combining our knowledge on Riddle and Horcruxes, make some plans on how we're gonna find all of them. But more importantly, we are going to rest and enjoy ourselves for four weeks in a row. And this last one is not up to negotiation, dear, we need it.”

“You want me to befriend that idiot?! Woman, do you know me at all?” exclaimed Severus, getting up to clean his mug and put it away. “I’d strangle him with his own endless tongue in an hour.”

“Yeah, you probably would, wouldn’t you?” Hermione shook her head, amused. “Alright, I’ll befriend that idiot, you can find yourself another occupation.”

With that settled, Hermione helped with the dishes, and they read for a couple of hours, comfortably lounging about on the couch. When the clock struck 11, she left Severus to his own devices while she went to set her plans in motion. Hermione walked around the island for some time, heading in the direction of the beach. When she spotted Brown, she wandered nearby for another half-hour before he had the chance to approach her.

Hermione sat on the warm sand with her bare feet buried under it, watching the far bank of the lake and thinking of how much she wished that Severus was sitting here with her when Roger plopped down beside her with a loud huff.

“Hello, beautiful! Why so sad?” he inquired, gently pushing her shoulder with his elbow and looking way too smug while doing so. 

“Hi!” replied Hermione, forcing a smile. “I was just lost in thoughts, that’s all. How are you today?”

“Awesome! You? How’s your boyfriend? Where is he, by the way? I wouldn’t have left such a beautiful woman alone if I were him. Someone might steal her.”

“He’s not my boyfriend, just a good friend. And we are both fine, thanks.”

“Awesome! Did you know…” And he started chatting with more vigor than Hermione would’ve thought possible, relaying the major turning points of his life, sometimes asking questions about Hermione's life, but mostly talking about anything that came to his mind or caught his eye. 

And days went on. 

* * *

Severus truly enjoyed himself. From time to time. For the most part… if he turned a blind eye to the persistent attempts of that fool Brown to woo his beautiful angel, which was becoming harder and harder to ignore with each day. Hermione spent the majority of her time with Severus and didn’t seem interested in anyone else, reserving her warm loving gazes only for him, but she still insisted on keeping up her friendship with Roger.

It would be useful, she said.

It annoyed Severus to no end.

It got to the point when he couldn’t tell for certain who was worse: Roger Brown or Harry Potter. As impossible as that sounded.

And it didn’t matter — no, it did matter, it just didn’t help — that Hermione was right to insist on her continued acquaintance with the imbecilic blond monkey for the sake of throwing Caruso off track and ultimately for the sake of their cause. Because however long Severus tried to reason with himself that, if anything, she was a free woman and had every right to make her own choices — even if one day she suddenly declared Brown the love of her life and forgot about Severus — he couldn’t force those feelings to stop. And couldn’t blame Hermione for inflicting them, since choosing her love partner was not his decision to make, not his place to do anything at all, least of all approve or disapprove. He should’ve just shut up and be grateful that a woman such as Hermione Granger was a part of his life once. 

And that inability annoyed Severus even more. During every conversation, every walk, every meal, every quiet hour they shared he felt this constant stream of something hot and bubbling in the background that he refused to name and acknowledge, but despite his best efforts it still made him miserable.

Caruso, of course, turned up exactly when Hermione predicted, and exactly as Hermione predicted, he turned to the rattlebrained Brown for information on every single citizen and guest of the island that Brown was aware of. Especially on the two them — and all because of one odd and gloomy Severus Snape that did not fit into the cheery picture even without his usual dungeon bat costume, obviously…

What’s to say… Severus was not in a good mood. It was the 20th of August — three weeks and three days since they got to the bloody island, and one month and four days since the Astronomy tower, but instead of celebrating those no doubt important dates with Hermione — and let anyone dare to disagree… he would not be responsible for his actions  — Severus sat at the bar in a local pub, known as ‘Punch Me’ (Merlin give him strength…) and watched how his Hermione was having a great time on her first date with the blasted fuckwit Roger, at the same time keeping an eye on another Hermione, disguised as Viletta Rivett, who was having a quite intense conversation with Marco Caruso in a booth on the opposite from her other self side of the pub.

It was a risky affair. The laws of time travel were pretty strict on that matter, therefore Hermione and Severus spent many hours of many days arguing — or having mighty rows more likely — about it, but in the end decided that as long as Hermione didn’t actually interact with herself, it was all going to be fine.

But Severus was still nervous. At first, Hermione tried to convince him that since it was all going to be fine, he should stay at the cottage and do something productive, but he insisted that he wouldn’t be able to focus on anything. So now here they were. Severus assured Hermione that it would be far easier on his nervous system if he was present in the pub to make sure that nothing went wrong with the time travel, and she acquiesced. Now though, Severus was ready to rip his own head off for his previous imbecilic notion that he’d be able to stand the sight of her laughing on a date with another man. 

He should’ve. Because they’re just friends, right?

Because one thought of admitting even to himself that he might be wanting to be more triggered a panic attack.

So he’d die alone and hated, while his beautiful Hermione would live long and happily, having a tremendous career and a bunch of great grandchildren.

“Another firewhiskey,” he mumbled to the bartender, heaving a great sigh. What was he doing here? Torturing himself?

Severus glanced around the pub. The booth where Rivett and Caruso sat a little while ago was empty. And he did not even notice when they left. How useless was he? Granger, though, was still there. He could hear her cheerful voice from where he sat, and every syllable shot a new pin in his heart. Again, why was he still there?

Boiling anger at his own inadequacies raised its agly head, and Severus downed the last shot, standing up, banged some money on the bartop and bolted out of the pub.

It was about 10 pm, so the streets were still crowded, but in the twilight it wasn’t so evident, so Severus easily ignored all passersby. He focused on his legs that stomped purposefully on the road, on fresh air that drifted in and out of his throat, and tried to keep his mind clean. Their business with Caruso was most likely dealt with, and even if not, their rent would expire in several days. After that they would leave together, or he would do it alone — it did not matter which — but he couldn’t stand to be on this bloody island with all of those bloody people surrounding him. He just couldn’t. And if Hermione cared for him one bit — as she continued to claim — she won’t think twice about leaving it all behind either.

Why on earth did he even agree to travel back in time with her in the first place? It would’ve been far easier to be dumped overnight than watch it happening for eleven. Fucking. Months!

Oh, how much he despised himself…

By this point Severus practically flew toward the cottage, not paying much attention to the path, and as a result…

“FUCK!” he exclaimed, stumbling over something and almost digging a trench on a road with his nose. Someone not far from Severus snickered in the growing darkness.

“I hate you all!” he barked in reply, and, fuming, hurriedly left, loud laughter rolling around behind him.

The rest of the short walk to the cottage thankfully went without incidents, but the door might have been slammed a little too forcefully. For a few minutes Severus paced around the living room taking deep breaths and trying to calm down. Hermione might return any moment, and if he still was so pissed off at that time, who knew how the evening would end. A good outcome was not likely, and despite everything, he still did not want to lose his only real friend because of a hopeless case of a run-away imagination and a temper tantrum. Once again.

Breathing exercises helped somewhat. A dose of Calming Draught helped even more, so  half an hour later when Hermione entered the cottage with a smile on her face, he sat on the couch with a book propped up in his lap, still annoyed, but marginally less. 

“Hello again,” she said softly, sitting sideways on the opposite side of the couch. “I have good knews.”

“Do you?” snapped Severus. “Had a good time?”

Hermione frowned a little. “Well, considering who I was with…” He snorted, interrupting. “…Could’ve been worse,” finished Hermione. “Severus, has something happened?”

He jumped up from his seat, dumping the book on the cushion, and marched to the kitchenette. How could she ask such a thing?!

“No,” he cut, opening one of the cabinets and taking a mug out of it. He suddenly felt very thirsty. Hermione watched him drink tap water for several seconds, then got up.

“Severus…” she strode closer. “Please, talk to me.”

“I am talking to you.” He returned the mug to its place and turned away. “And now I’m going to bed.”

“This is not a conversation, and you know it.” Apparently, Hermione didn’t have much patience left either. “You won’t even ask how things went with Marco?”

Severus stopped half-way to his bedroom. “Oh, so now you’re with Marco too?”

“What?! Are you drunk? What the hell are you talking about?”

“I am not drunk. I haven't been drunk since October 81, as I’ll have you know.”

“What then? Have you suddenly changed your mind about wanting Harry to survive? Is that it?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, woman!” snapped Severus, facing her again. “Let’s have one conversation without the blasted Potter in it, I’m sick and tired of that fool!”

“Fine,” snapped Hermione right back and crossed her arms on her chest. “Lets. I’m listening. You better have an incredibly good explanation for this outburst, Severus. So stop yelling for one moment and tell me what the hell has happened in half-hour.”

“One more time: nothing has happened. Go back to your date and turn your great evening into a great night. Just leave me out of it!” And with that Severus attempted to leave the room again.

“Whow, stop right there!” exclaimed Hermione behind his back. “Is this about Roger then? Severus, don’t be stupid! You know I agreed to go out with him just to have a cover for my little chat with Marco. We discussed it numerous times, you said you didn’t mind me going!”

“I didn’t mind you going.” By this point Severus truly lost it. “I did mind you laughing with him, however —”

“What?!”

“…and cooing with him —”

“WHAT?!”

“and sitting with him all dressed up and beautiful, while he ogled you with that arrogant, smug, ugly face of his!”

“Wha… Why?..”

“BECAUSE I WANT YOU TO BE MINE! BECAUSE YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO… You say all those things to me, and then go and ENJOY A DATE with the first damn moron WHO CAME ALONG! IF YOU CHANGED YOUR MIND ABOUT ME, YOU SHOULD’VE JUST SAID SO, YOU’RE LYING… You’re… TO HELL with it all!” he bellowed and stormed to the front door, stopping with his hand on it. 

“You should’ve just let me fall…” he added quietly after a long deathly silent moment, and with a heavy sigh went out, so she wouldn’t see tears running down his cheeks.