Chapter Text
Heavy. Dark. Cold.
Colossal weight encapsulated Hermione’s body from the bottoms of her feet to the riot of curls atop her head. Even her eyelids felt as if every lash was tied to a heavy stone, the prospect of opening them was completely unthinkable. She had never felt such extreme lassitude in all her life—considering the lap of luxury she had been living in the past year, clearly something was amiss.
Her thoughts were as slow as treacle, the lack of speed added to her mounting frustration and concern. It was unlikely she had consumed a poison or potion. She had only eaten food prepared by house elves she would have considered safe since her foray into the past. And while the Drowsiness Draught’s fumes could induce similar symptoms, its sickly-sweet vapor was unmistakable once first smelled.
However, the likelihood of a slow-acting curse was quite possible.
It was impossible to have seen everything that occurred around her during the final battle. The sheer chaos and carnage were incredibly overwhelming to her senses. The young witch scrolled through her mental databank, trying to connect her symptoms to known hexes and curses.
Coming up blank, she wished she was able to research the problem, or better yet, considering her predicament, be able to consult an expert of the Dark Arts, like Professor Snape. She felt her thoughts halt and collide, then focus again, hovering on Snape. What was it about him that was providing such warmth and a glow surrounding his mental picture? In fact, the longer she thought of him, the more her center felt lighter, and her thoughts began to pick up speed.
The bond!
At first, while utterly alarming to be shackled to Professor Snape of all people, being able to feel his and Harry’s emotions would give her such an advantage in dealing with them. Not to mention that it was the veritable linchpin to keeping her tied to the past. She was starting to think it could be a positive factor in her new life, but this morning clearly proved it was actually a curse.
Anything capable of commandeering such total control over her body automatically deserved to become the new enemy number one. Well, maybe number two after Voldemort. And one mustn’t forget the Patriarchy—alright, so the bond was up there.
Muttering under her breath about sadistic Potions Masters, and that of course a bond to one would equal misery, she tried to roll herself over to sit up. Her muscles clenched in preparation to turn over and ended in protest. Movement was going to be a complete wash. What to do—“Tilly!”
Hermione heard a quiet pop and then a hesitant, “yes, mistress?”
“Are you able to apparate directly to Prof—Severus Snape?”
“Yes, Tilly can follow the magic to him!” her squeaky voice exclaimed.
“That is … definitely something I’d love to follow up on later. For now, can you please retrieve him?”
“Right away!”
Letting out a long sigh, her breath caught partway through it at the realization that so far, Harry had yet to make a peep. He had never slept so long without waking her. Immediately, she cursed herself for not having Tilly check on Harry first. Her chest felt hollowed out with a heavy, sinking stomach as dread rose and spiraled alongside anxiety, two fastly committed bedfellows. As the seconds passed, she waited in terror, anticipating hearing Tilly announce that Harry had died once more, and that she had failed in her mission so quickly.
There was a gentle pop, and then the bed sank on her right. Eyebrows furrowed against the soft cotton pillowcase, she tried moving once more. Finding success in turning her head more to the right, she slowly opened her heavy lids.
Light from the new day lit up the room, but it took her fuzzy eyesight a few moments to truly take in the sight before her—on his back lay the still form of one lightly snoring Potions Master. In. Her. Bed.
“Tilly!” her shrill voice called out.
“Yes?”
“Thank you for getting him, but why is he in bed with me?” she hissed the latter half of her question.
“Magic demands it.”
“What do you mean? Does this have something to do with you ‘following the magic’?”
“House elf magic different. We is able to see bonds tying people together. Mistress bond is different from most. Needs to be close together for low magic to recover.”
Hermione felt her slow thinking finally catch up to what Tilly was saying. They were magically depleted, that’s why she felt as she did. Harry and Snape must be feeling the same. Her body relaxed as she sighed. “Well, how long are we required to be like this then?”
“Until you is better.”
She swallowed her groan and replied, “I gathered that, but how long must we remain so close to each other? I don’t even know what time it is.”
“A little after seven, mistress. Magic have different demands at different times, more fluid than mistress thinks. Could be lunch or dinner before is safe to be apart.”
“Well, that’s irritating,” she sighed in frustration and then said, “thank you, Tilly.”
Her eyes fell upon the professor’s form. His hair was lank and greasy. The pallor on his face diametrically opposed his black hair and eyes, which were currently hidden beneath surprisingly long, thick, black lashes. The planes and sharp angles of his face were marred by that large beak of a nose. Fate had truly been unkind when his features were formed. And she was stuck with him—a deeply unpleasant, caustic, cantankerous, moody, hot-tempered bully.
Lucky her.
Hermione bit her lip as she considered his reaction to waking up in bed with her. She imagined the startled rage on his face at her presumption—never mind the fact that he was the one in her bed, after all. Had he left his wand behind, or was it still on his person?
Given the wrinkled robes he was sporting, he clearly hadn’t changed since she last saw him. By the stench of him, it was quite clear what he had been doing to pass the time. At least young Snape likely wouldn’t be as skilled at wandless spells, and she would have a better chance at defending herself if he were to duel first and ask questions later … hopefully.
Idly, she wondered if her Professor Snape ever indulged in alcohol. From her recollection of his wrinkled robes, she thought it was quite likely he did, especially after days when Neville or Harry were particularly trying—not that her friends meant to be, well, Harry sort of did at times. Now, she was rather curious how much of his behavior was related to drinking.
If he were as drained as she felt, on top of being drunk as hell, Professor Snape would likely be out for some time to come. As Harry was also out of it, she could safely kip a bit longer, just enough to maybe feel well rested for once…
Jolting awake to a sitting position, she glanced wildly about the room, taking in Harry asleep in his crib, and Snape still snoring beside her. She breathed deeply, trying to calm her racing heart, slightly unsettled by not remembering a single thing from her dreams, though it had felt vaguely like being chased by an invisible monster. Stretching her stiff limbs, she was surprised by how much she ached and attributed it to a side effect of the bond.
Casting a quick tempus, she raised a brow at seeing it was nearing half past two in the afternoon. Hermione gathered new clothing quickly and took a quick shower, luxuriating in the hot water despite her hurried movements. As she dressed and finished her morning ablutions, she heard Harry begin to stir.
He looked up at her with a grumpy expression, and she couldn’t help but smile in commiseration. When he stretched his arms up and flexed his hands at her, she scooped him up and cuddled him close.
“Good morn—er good afternoon, Harry. I’m feeling a bit rough as well, though you’d think with how much sleep we both got, we’d be feeling tip-top. Time to get you changed, though, I’m sure Tilly has made sure you haven’t wet yourself.” To her surprise and delight, he only fussed minimally through the entire process. “Let’s get ourselves some food, I bet you’re quite hungry. I hope at least.”
While carrying Harry on her left, she whipped out her wand to cast mobilicorpus on Snape. Depositing him on the chocolate brown sofa in the sitting room, she continued on into the dining room, settling Harry into his highchair.
“Tilly, would you happen to have lunch for us?”
A moment later, a plate of sandwiches, crisps, and sliced apples appeared at her seat at the head of the table, while a toddler-friendly plate appeared in front of her friend. She chuckled as he stuffed his little fists full of food and began the messy process of filling his gob. Her sternum ached as she thought of how her other messy eating friend would look side by side together. She couldn’t say it wasn’t fair to miss him, as she consciously chose this life, but she’d be damned if it didn’t hurt all the same.
Picking at her food, she stopped eating when Harry lost interest in his. After thanking Tilly for the food, she took Harry into the sitting room. Since the sofa was occupied, she set Harry up with his toys on the floor and conjured some plush cushions for her reading spot.
Gnawing on her lower lip, the curly haired witch perused her options, hyperconscious of all the pressing research. Narrowing in on Trauma in Childhood, she reclined against the cushions and reached into her trusty beaded handbag at her side. Briefly, Hermione did a double take as she didn’t consciously remember bringing it with her, but she wasn’t about to question it and withdrew some parchment and a self-inking quill. Glancing at her young friend, she was happy to see him engaged in playing for once. Perhaps, she’d be able to make quite a bit of headway with this book.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Consciousness crept up slowly upon Severus until his entire being focused on the migraine that pervaded his entire body. With furrowed brows, he tried to swallow past the dragon dung that seemingly took root in the desert that was his mouth. He desperately needed a hangover relief potion. Or more alcohol. Either would do, but preferably more alcohol—he had yet to forget his sins.
The back of his neck tingled as it always did when someone was watching him. Either the drink scrambled his senses more than he thought possible, or something was massively amiss. Now that he was trying to take stock, the sofa he was laying on was infinitely more comfortable than his ancient, avocado green nightmare.
Where the fuck was he?
His history had long taught him the skill of using his senses to assess his environment before betraying that he was awake. He heard the scratch of nib against parchment, the turn of a page in a book, and the soft susurrations betraying someone nearby. Barely opening his eyes, he saw the unfamiliar sight of a bright white Artex ceiling, certainly not his familiar leak-patterned view. The Potions Master decided to bite the bullet, and he turned to see who his kidnappers were, palming his wand in preparation.
Vivid green eyes, as familiar to him as his own onyx, stared back at him from the infantile face of James Potter. That sealed it. He was in purgatory.
His own personal hell, conveniently fashioned into a commitment he was unfathomably tied to for the next sixteen years. Fate had never been kind to him—one only had to look in the mirror, see his abusive, alcoholic father beat and rape his mother, let alone the attention paid to him from both of them, see the seven years of bullying his personal tormenters dealt out in four against one, to quite possibly the worst decision he could ever make—though he had been so proud at the time of it—resulting in him killing the love of his life.
Every single instance of his misfortune culminated into the abomination that was James’ face and Lily’s eyes. Acid curdled his already nauseous stomach even further; he couldn’t stand to look upon the toddler any longer. His nostrils flared as he took deep breaths, fueling the flames of his anger and hatred, starting with himself, but spilling onto the other occupants in the room.
Narrowing his eyes at the oblivious witch, he held his wand clenched in his fist beside his lap as his cold voice called out, “by what right do you have for kidnapping me from my own home?”
Seeing her eyes widen and then focus on his wand, minutely soothed the raging beast within him. She should fear him and his capabilities. He felt entirely capable of casting every single dark spell in his repertoire, and it was vast, as Black loved to shout out to all and sundry.
Hermione stood and brought Harry to her with a quickly murmured spell. “Tilly, could you please come take Harry into the conservatory?” She waited until the house elf took him away into safety before addressing the irate man glaring at her. “By right of you failing to comply with your agreed upon commitment. You said you would be by to make sure the bond between us was maintained correctly, and yet you refused to show. I awoke this morning incapable of movement, thanks to you. So, don’t you dare act like I am at fault, when the blame for this all lies at your feet!”
Standing to face her directly, he snarled, “my fault? I’m not the tosspot making deals with preternatural entities that affect other people’s lives. If you’re looking for someone to blame, look no further than the mirror, that is, if you can find yourself under that hideous mop you call hair.”
He heard her actually growl before spewing out, “oh, and I suppose I should have just left everyone dead, yourself included, so that way you wouldn’t be inconvenienced.”
“It would have been infinitely preferable, yes,” he hissed back. He would have welcomed death with open arms to not have to deal with this misfortune.
“I never knew you were such a coward, preferring a way out rather than dealing with the hand you’ve been dealt. My mistake,” she said sharply.
Blood red colored his vision. For a few moments, he was uncertain whether his already coalescing magic had reacted, cutting out the tongue of the wretched shrew who dared to slander him in such a way. His voice was deadly quiet and cold, when he said, “you know not of what you speak. Given the bond seems to have recovered, I’ll not stay here—”
“Incarcerous!” Her cheeks reddened in anger and sparks seemingly appeared in the toxic mass on her head. “If you think you’re going to run out on another conversation again, let alone your responsibilities to those of us bonded to you, you have another thing coming.”
The utter cheek of this cunt-faced-twat! He gathered his magic, finding some difficulty in managing a wandless counter-curse due to the fury coursing through his veins.
“Like it or not, you are tied to Harry and me. By keeping yourself separate for so long, you endanger us recklessly. Stop being such a selfish prat, and let’s figure out—”
Finally, he managed the finesse required to pull off the spell and quickly sent off a silent Langlock. The blessed quiet couldn’t come soon enough. “I’ve had enough of you and your endless prattling of abandonment. I owe nothing to you or the Potter spawn. I’ll return on my own terms to satisfy the needs of the bond, not when you deem it necessary, you domineering harpy,” he sneered. Turning with a flourish, he disapparated, appearing back home in the familiar, darkened room, encased by bookshelves and his lone sofa turned bed of late.
Severus clenched and unclenched his fists as he paced small circles in the room. He felt like the panther Lily described after her trip to the zoo, muscles coiled and sprung as he angrily treaded back and forth, occasionally snorting his anger. With a dramatic whirl flaring his robes, he flung an empty whisky bottle into the cold fireplace, relishing the shattered destruction he caused. He took rapid, deep breaths as he located other bottles which quickly met the same fate as the first.
That daft bint was utterly maddening. Fuck her and the thestral she rode in on. Fuck!
He was long over thinking of her. Storming into the kitchen, he headed to the alcohol cabinet once more. Sneering at the dwindling stock, he grabbed a bottle of Vat 69 and settled back on the dilapidated sofa. He drank long pulls of whisky, desperate for the sweet embrace of oblivion.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Hermione stood staring at the spot Snape had just left with her mouth agape. Silently she seethed, feeling quite like when she took a Pepper-up Potion, and steam hissed out of her ears. Tosspot? He was the tosspot, so quickly turning to alcohol and so deeply in his cups that he took hours longer than her to awaken.
How very dare he leave, once again, while they were discussing his selfish ways.
The man was extremely infuriating. How could he not see that they needed to live together to appease the bond? Not that she was any more enthused at the prospect than he seemed to be.
Giving in to her frustration, she let out a strangled scream in the back of her throat before doing her best to block it all away. The professor’s temper was legendary, and he was as stubborn as a hippogriff. There was little she could do now that he was gone.
Just as she drew in a deep breath of air to try and defuse her emotions, she heard Harry’s angry screech out of nowhere. Flinching, her attempt at relaxation instead trapped air inside her chest. The pressure fueled a downward spiral of anxiety, the two sensations were so similar that one called forth the other. She quickly made her way to her young friend and saw him lying on the floor throwing a tantrum.
Hermione bewilderedly looked at Tilly, seeing the slight elf pulling at her ears in distress. “What’s going on?”
“He grew angry, more and more, longer Master and Mistress yelled. Tilly could not calm him,” she said tearfully.
She thought how distressing it must have been for Harry to hear them arguing. What with everything going on in his life lately, he really didn’t need this instability worsening things. “It isn’t your fault, Tilly, why don’t you go do something you find relaxing, and I’ll see about calming him down.”
Picking up his writhing form was quite like trying to hold a flopping fish close, except said fish was capable of pelting her with his fists and feet. She just narrowly dodged his headbutt coming straight for her nose by turning her head and catching it on her cheek instead. “Shite!” she yelled in pain. The boys had really done a number on her vocabulary in that last year, for her to be unable to stop the expletive from escaping.
All at once, she stilled, watching to see his reaction, scared that he would now pick up a new word that would be the bedrock of his vocabulary. Every mum and caretaker would look at her in judgment, knowing what she had done.
Mercifully, he continued to fight her. Her shoulders relaxed, and she resumed her path, exiting the conservatory into the back garden. Walking into the grass, she placed him down in front of her and then sat next to him.
Biting her bottom lip as she thought of what to do, she withdrew her wand and focused her entire being on her happiest memories—Harry and Ron hugging her after all their trials and tribulations, big and small. Her parents hugging her close and telling her how proud they were of her.
“Expecto Patronum!”
She beamed a smile as her friendly otter swam up to her and nuzzled, nose to nose, before sliding down to Harry. The toddler had stopped at her yell and now looked up in wonder at the floating otter lazily circling him. Hermione held the spell and watched as he sat up and stretched out a hand. Her otter slid underneath it, not unlike a cat receiving pets.
Harry’s grin was all the happiness she needed to continue fueling the spell. All eight of his baby teeth were on full display, and the sparkle in his eyes as he giggled in pure delight was mesmerizing. Her heart filled with pure joy at the sight.
Oh, how she wished she were able to tell her boys what her life was like right now. Ron definitely would have called her completely mental for doing what she did, although perhaps he’d use her favorite phrase instead—brilliant but scary. He had matured some that last year, his strategic mind likely would have thrown her back in the past whether she wanted to or not—he was no stranger to self-sacrifice after all.
And Harry, well he would have gotten that look on his face that he always had anytime she or Ron put themselves at risk for him, or when they stuck by him when no one else did the same. She knew he’d be immensely grateful she was keeping this Harry from living a life under the Dursleys’ abusive thumbs.
She was doing nothing less than what her boys would have done in her stead. Still, her heart ached for the life they would never get to live together—in happiness and peace after the war, figuring out how to live as adults together. Hermione had always thought she’d spend years advancing her career until she felt firmly established, with numerous achievements under her belt, before settling down with her husband to have children.
Now, here she was taking care of some other witch’s baby, without a loving husband, or an established career. In fact, her worst fears for her life had come true—being NEWT-less and raising a child. How clichéd could that be?
Despite things being completely backwards from how she dreamed, she knew she would eventually get there considering how long witches lived compared to muggles. This was just a small portion of her life—raising her best friend and defeating Voldemort once more—easy peasy. She was Hermione Granger after all.