The headmaster is quiet as they trudge through the snowy school grounds. He carries a copy of the fifth years' assigned reading, having silently agreed to read the book when she shyly handed it to him. He holds the book carefully, as though it is a precious gift. Oh, she has missed him so!

However, his expression, when she dares to look up at his face, is faintly mutinous. In spite of the lovely morning they have shared, has she upset him? She cannot bear it.

"Prince?" she asks timidly. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong," he says flatly, his tone forbidding further questioning. He spells open the heavy double doors that signify the entrance to Hogwarts. "You must be starving. Lunch will be served soon."

"Won't you be joining us?" she asks as she steps in the direction of the Great Hall and sees him continuing on towards the central staircase.

"No. I have a new Muggle Studies professor to recruit," he responds stiffly, not looking back at her.

She stares in dismay at his rapidly receding figure.

/

His mind is spinning; relaxation is out of the question. She was so beautiful, so young and vibrant this morning: all things that he is not. Over the years, he had allowed anger and self-recrimination to cloud his memory of these essential qualities. She should be with someone as young and beautiful as she is. Someone like Roger Davies.

Should he, can he let her go again?

There is a peremptory knock on his office door. Too mentally disorganized to even speak, he simply opens the door with a wave of his hand.

"Severus," Lucius beams, striding forward.

"Lucius," the headmaster springs to his feet. "What are you doing here? How fares Narcissa? And Draco?"

"All your questions shall be answered in due course," the Malfoy patriarch responds grandly, "but only at the dining table. Narcissa is in the Great Hall. We have come to repay the visit that you paid us."

The headmaster shrinks back. "I'd much rather stay here; I have work to complete. We can catch up after your meal."

"Severus Snape—Prince, I mean. Is there a dragon in the Great Hall to make you so fearful? Come now, there's a good man." Lucius claps a hand onto the headmaster's back, steering him back down the spiral staircase and several others. Soon enough, they are in the room that he has been trying to avoid. Narcissa is conversing happily with the Muggle Studies professor at the head table. Thankfully, the seats on either side of the headmaster's chair are empty.

"Severus!" Narcissa walks over and plants a kiss on the dour man's cheek. "We came as soon as we could. I know that you have a soft spot for our new daughter-in-law. We wanted to make sure that there are no hard feelings." Next to him, Lucius preens.

The headmaster shakes his head. While much improved by their postwar restrictions, the Malfoys still enjoyed being able to one-up their peers, even those whom they considered their friends. He can see his ex-fiancée frowning at the Malfoys from behind Narcissa's back.

"I have nothing but congratulations for you and the happy couple. I do hope you will be able to cope with being second in Draco's love and attention once again," he replies smoothly. Narcissa's smug smile fades slightly. Sometimes, he thinks, the only way to deal with Slytherins is to behave like a Slytherin. "When do Draco and Ginevra plan to make their triumphant return?"

"In ten days," Lucius chimes in. "They will make a stop at the old Malfoy estate near Paris before moving in with us."

"How pleased you will be to have them back!" the Muggle Studies professor enthuses.

"Yes," Narcissa affirms, but a light frown graces her otherwise placid features. "I suppose we will have to entertain Molly and Arthur on a regular basis, but it cannot be helped."

"Oh, yes, you will all be one large, happy family for the rest of your lives," the young professor replies with an innocent-enough smile. "Just think of all the Christmases you'll spend at the Burrow!"

Catching Lucius trying and failing to suppress a shudder, the headmaster chuckles. Well done, Professor Granger. You'll make a fine Slytherin yet. "I wish Draco and his new bride the best," he says conclusively. "I look forward to finding out whether the Malfoy or the Weasley genes reign supreme in the hair of this union's offspring."

"Even if they have the reddest hair in the world, I will love my grandchildren dearly," Narcissa vows.

The Muggle Studies professor imagines Lucius Malfoy surrounded by a host of small ginger-haired, pointy-chinned menaces. Unsuccessfully, she attempts to hide her giggles.

/

It feels like she has Turned back time to the beginning of the school year. He refuses to meet her eyes, doesn't say a word to her. He is listening intently to her conversation with Narcissa, but only because he has no other recourse. She feels anger and desperation well up inside of her, threatening to burst forth from the dam she built so many years ago to contain them. She refuses to play this game with him, not after all these years.

Neville arrives, a much-needed distraction. "Hello," he says to her, glancing nervously at the Malfoys on either side of her.

"Professor Longbottom, I trust you have met Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy?" the headmaster asks.

"Not formally, no," the new Herbology professor replies, eyeing Draco's parents distrustfully, and with good reason.

"It's nice to meet you at last, professor," Narcissa gushes. "You must be wondering why we're here. We've come to thank Severus for introducing our new daughter-in-law to Draco."

"New daughter-in-law?" Neville asks, mystified.

"Yes, Ginevra Weasley," Lucius responds.

Neville settles heavily into a seat at the end of the head table. "Congratulations," he says gloomily. As the Malfoys exchange baffled looks, the Muggle Studies professor rises to join her pale friend. The headmaster watches as his ex-fiancée places a small hand gently on Neville's slightly trembling wrist. Hit with a jolt of understanding, he indulges in a sudden rush of pity for the man that the accident-prone boy has become. He stands and moves closer to them, not really aware of what he is doing. He can feel the heat of Professor Granger's gaze on him.

"Adjusting to full-time teaching can be a draining experience," he finds himself saying to the lost-looking young man. "Why don't you take the afternoon off? Narcissa has a talent for Herbology, and I'm sure she wouldn't mind overseeing your classes while she's here."

"Severus," Mrs. Malfoy begins to protest, but he silences her with a cold sneer.

Neville says slowly, "That's very kind of you, sir, but I'd like to teach. I've found that it helps to keep busy."

"Very well." The headmaster nods, turning to make his way back to Lucius.

"Won't you sit a moment, headmaster?" Neville asks abruptly. He is looking at the dark man with more favor than he ever has before. Without quite knowing why, the tall headmaster acquiesces, sinking into a chair on the other side of the new teacher.

"Even though they didn't wait to include us in their wedding, I'm so glad that Draco and Ginevra didn't have a long engagement," Narcissa says, loudly enough for the quiet knot of professors around Neville to overhear. "Draco and Astoria waited far too long, in my opinion. Theirs was such an uncertain engagement, too. A witch and wizard should never commit to each other without a sense of when they will marry and what each wants out of the relationship."

There are at least two people at the table for whom these words strike a little too close to home. Two people whose much-vaunted brains are working furiously.

"Too right, my dear," Lucius says lazily, reaching out to stroke his wife's cheek. "I can't count the number of times you admonished Draco and Astoria about it."

"Astoria meant well, the poor dear," Narcissa sighs. "But she thought she knew what was best for Draco. She didn't ask him what he wanted."

A puzzle piece slides neatly into place in the Muggle Studies professor's brain, a mystery—the only one she was never able to solve in the Department of Mysteries—solved.

'As usual, she is right in all the essentials but is missing something important.'

Severus, switching his ring with the Unspeakables' ring, with Occluded eyes—the only time he had ever Occluded in front of her. Severus, not answering her question regarding whether he preferred Lily to her. Severus, casting a mysterious Patronus that could have been a lion—but it had wings?

"They hate me," he says, turning away from her and walking to the window. "Your parents. Your friends. They'll hate you, too, if we go through with this."

"How many times must we have this argument?" she whispers, wrapping her arms around him from behind. "They could never hate me. Not one of them. They'll come around to you eventually. They're just blinded by the façade you had to put up for so long."

He snorts. "Façade? I have never been a nice man, Death Eater or no."

"Not through any fault of your own." She slips around him, squeezing in between him and the windowsill. They watch from the headmaster's tower as the Giant Squid extends an enormous tentacle to rescue a notebook from the highest branches of a willow that droops over the lake. The squid drops the treasured item onto the shore in front of a small girl in Hufflepuff robes, who jumps in delight. The headmaster chuckles, his laugh rumbling through the young woman in front of him and causing her to shiver happily.

"Not a nice man, although I'd argue that you're very nice to me. The best man, though. Even Harry couldn't argue with that."

He is quiet for a moment, clearly battling an internal demon. "I just want to do right by you," he says at last, placing his hands on her shoulders.

"Your sense of honor will be the end of you yet," she mutters, but she places her head under his chin anyway.

'Steadfast and a constant joy.'

Steadfast and a constant joy … a man of honor who may have thought he knew what she wanted …

Steadfast …

"Merlin's knickers," she gasps, momentarily pausing in her patting of Neville's hand.

"Astoria would never have forgotten him this quickly," Neville says in a tone too low for the Malfoys to hear. On his other side, the headmaster is taut, tense. "I knew her when we were little, you know. The Greengrasses were just about the only purebloods apart from our family that Gran could stomach. Astoria and her sister Daphne and I used to play together. Tea parties and such—I was outnumbered, you see." He smiles sadly. "She used to give me teacakes from her kitchen. She was so doting."

"From what I know of her, I can easily believe it," she responds, her mind still chewing on other, more interesting things. "Any witch who loved truly would be the same way."

He huffs a laugh. "That's a lofty claim to make. Do you really believe that?"

"Yes!" The word escapes her without a moment's thought. "Did you know that I studied love when I was a minion of the Ministry? I learned that in some ways, the wizarding world has been more advanced than Muggle society. A powerful witch is respected in equal measure to a powerful wizard, for example. But history shows that the most formidable wizards are easily distracted by other challenges: the pursuit of influence and wealth, among other things. A powerful witch in love, on the other hand—there is no stopping her devotion. Her feelings are intimately linked to her magic."

Neville makes a noise of dissent. "How do you explain the amazing feats of magic that wizards have accomplished in the name of love? A wizard is only as strong as his love is."

"It is true that love has made many a wizard's magic more potent, but I don't think that a wizard's love lasts longer than a witch's. Just as witches tend to outlive wizards, their love transcends the trappings of time and distance." She falls silent for a minute. "I don't mean to make little of a wizard's feelings, Neville. I have the greatest respect for what the love of a great wizard can do. All I claim for my fellow witches is that we have the capacity to love even when all hope is gone."

"What do you think, headmaster?" Neville asks, shifting to look at his other lunch companion, but the severe man has begun to rise to leave. The headmaster's eyes burn into those of the Muggle Studies professor for an instant. He moves to walk past the two young professors.

A quivering hand on his sleeve stops him in his tracks.

"Severus," the owner of the small hand says, an indefinable emotion glimmering in her eyes. "Severus, please."

He can't help himself, can't cope with the onslaught of emotions that this particular woman has a peculiar talent for making him feel. "Damn it, witch! Where is your fire? When did you become this puling mess?"

She is speechless. There is pin-drop silence at the head table. Neville looks furious, but the headmaster continues before the other man can leap to his friend's defense.

"Tell me," he hisses recklessly, harshly. "Do you really wish to join the Ministry?" Do you really want to leave me behind?

Ever so slowly, she straightens her spine. Rising bravely to her feet—she is a good half-foot shorter than him—she pokes him fiercely in the chest. "Severus, you infuriating wizard," she says urgently, "I have never wanted to join the Ministry." There are tears in her eyes and in her voice, but there is determination in both, too.

All of the professors are looking curiously at them, their eyes traveling between the Muggle Studies professor's hand, where it rests squarely over the headmaster's heart, to their boss's agitated face. Only the vague noise of students' voices at their House tables roars alongside the blood rushing from the headmaster's brain back to his heart.

"Severus," Lucius interrupts after a minute, tiring of this unyielding tension. "Do you have business this afternoon? I'm planning to speak to the school governors this afternoon. It would be nice to rejoin the board now that you're back in charge and my daughter-in-law is a teacher here. Your recommendation would be a significant help in this regard."

The headmaster's gaze is locked with his ex-fiancée's. "I'll assist you, Lucius, but Professor Granger must join us," he says firmly. The witch bows her head mutely in response. She couldn't have left his side if she tried.

/

"It's dreadfully cold out. Shall we take brooms to the front gates?" Lucius asks after lunch.

The Muggle Studies professor shakes her head vigorously. The headmaster's eyes almost twinkle.

"You never did like flying," he says in a soft tone that Lucius has never heard from him, "but people change with the times."

"I haven't changed as much as you seem to think," she retorts sharply. He quirks a half-smile at her obstinacy.

"No, I suppose you haven't."

"I'll see you two at the Ministry," Lucius says impatiently. He summons his broom and stalks off into the bleak midwinter.

"We shall fly," the headmaster tells her firmly.

"Severus," she begins warningly, but before she can protest further, he scoops her up into his arms and leaps into the sky.

Oh! She burrows her head into his neck, too terrified to peer down at the rapidly receding Hogwarts grounds.

"I thought you disliked flying because you are bad at it," he says conversationally, his rich voice reverberating through his chest and reassuring her. "However, I'm beginning to think that you have a fear of heights."

"And I'm beginning to think you have a Superman complex," she mutters, clutching tightly onto his waist and cracking open one eye to observe that he has one arm extended forward, the other wrapped securely around her.

"I have been accused of many things, but fancying myself Superman isn't one of them," he says, finally making his descent to the Hogwarts gates. "Now, wasn't that faster than walking?"

"Do you expect me to applaud and swoon over how talented a flier you are?" she says sarcastically. "I did it for years to appease Harry and Ron; you're out of luck."

"Ah, but Potter and Weasley needed brooms to fly, did they not?" He lands but does not release her. "Next stop: the Ministry." He quickly spins into a graceful Disapparation, pulling along his dizzy companion. She cannot help but laugh.

"You ridiculous man," she sighs as they step into the Ministry's visitor's entrance, a decrepit London telephone box.

"Foolish, certainly, but never ridiculous," he corrects, cradling her close to him as they descend down to the atrium. They smile shyly at each other, still intertwined in a careful embrace when Lucius bears down upon them.

"People are staring," Mr. Malfoy says casually. "You're lucky Rita Skeeter isn't buzzing around."

"Let them stare," the Muggle Studies professor replies quietly. "I'm not ashamed." She looks challengingly at the headmaster. He meets her gaze evenly but says nothing as he steps away from her.

Nodding approvingly at the dour man, Lucius says, "I've checked in at the visitor's desk. Apparently, the governors will reconvene in half an hour. They will be ready for an audience at two. How shall we entertain ourselves in the meantime?"

"I could visit Harry—"

"Hermione, I asked you to come here for a purpose," the headmaster interrupts in a tone that allows no room for disagreement. "Lucius, I'll meet you here at a quarter to two."

They can tell that the Malfoy patriarch is positively bursting with curiosity, but he has the decency to refrain from questioning. "Good luck."

With a jerk of his head, the silent headmaster beckons the young woman to follow in his billowing wake.

/

The long walk to the gray room is a blur; he is too nervous, too exhilarated, too occupied in watching her curls bounce before him as she leads the way.

"Why do you want to see the gray room?" she asks, stopping abruptly outside the familiar plain black door.

"Humor me" is all he says, casting a nonverbal Alohomora. He gestures for her to precede him into the room. The door closes behind them with a quiet click.

The room looks the same as always, but something feels different—feels off. She settles onto the floor, feeling a sudden chill at the loss of the usual cocoon of safety, of peace.

"What did you do? The room—it isn't working!" She is frantic.

"What do you mean?"

"Normally, the room is warm and cozy. It feels like I am being washed in silk, as mad as that sounds."

He advances towards her as she speaks. Hearing a noise, she swivels on her bum to find him sitting behind her.

"Does it feel like this?" he asks, lifting her onto his lap and wrapping his arms around her. She can feel the silk of his robes rubbing sensuously against her arms. She nods mutely, relaxing into him.

"It smells like you, too," she confesses, her voice muffled by the robes into which she has pressed her face.

"Does it sound like this?" he asks, murmuring "princess" between soft kisses into her hair, along her jaw, down the line of her neck.

"You sound better," she admits, adjusting her position to allow him better access. "And—mm, you taste better, too."

"In that case, I don't think you need to visit this room anymore," he says authoritatively.

She smiles impishly. "I might need some convincing."

/

It is nearing the time of Lucius's appointment. The headmaster has transfigured his frock coat into a black duvet on which the two of them lie. She doesn't ever want to leave this room, this refuge from a reality in which their relationship is less certain.

"All that vomit you spouted at lunch about witches loving longer than wizards was preposterous nonsense," he says, carding his fingers through her curls. Her high ponytail had been let loose half an hour earlier.

"You're right. Your feelings for Lily prove it," she says. She traces his lips with a finger, reveling in his proximity.

"Let us get this matter sorted, once and for all," he says, sitting up ramrod straight. She mourns the shift in position. "Yes, I loved Lily. I will always love her as the dear friend I unwittingly wronged. But I went willingly into the Final Battle for love of another woman. I forced myself to recuperate from that dratted snake attack so that I could see this other woman's smiling face every day. If Lily were alive now and somehow wanted me, I would choose you, princess."

She tries to will away the tears in her eyes. "I know, Severus. I figured it out today. At lunch."

"My little Know-It-All," he sighs. He brushes away the tears slipping down her cheeks. "May I ask what precipitated this epiphany?"

"I remembered your blasted sense of honor," she says, "and your bloody loyalty." She hesitates. "And your Patronus has changed."

"Expecto Patronum!" The half-eagle, half-lion beast erupts from his wand and pads towards her, sweeping into an elegant bow at her feet. "A griffin, ever since your seventh year. He knows whom he serves."

"Why act now, Severus?" she whispers. "You were content to leave me alone for ten years. We've lived under the same roof for months now. I know you must have held a grudge against me. What I did to us—interviewing for the Unspeakable position—that was unconscionable."

"We both made mistakes," he responds slowly. "I was horrified when you showed me that ring. To be consigned to seven years without you, after all that we'd been through—I couldn't speak, I was so angry. But having been exposed to your maturity beyond your years, I forgot that you were still quite young—still inclined to listen to your elders. I didn't account for Minerva McGonagall. She told me last week of her role in the affair. She was worried that you had not recovered from our 'dalliance,' to use her words."

"It was never just a dalliance for me," she says softly. "I'm glad she told you. I should have told you long ago."

"I probably wouldn't have listened to you," he admits. "I harbored too much ill-feeling towards you. But Minerva, without knowing it, gave me hope. And knowing that you'd refused at least one other man's proposal helped. Ginevra Weasley's accident—it softened me even more towards you. You were magnificent."

She kisses him. "It's going to take some time before everything is completely right again."

"I know," he says seriously. "But this is the most right I've felt in a decade." She nods, rubbing her nose against his neck.

"What will happen when we leave this room?" she asks. "Do we have to go back to being the headmaster and the Muggle Studies professor?"

He extends a hand to her. "I think it's high time the world met Prince Severus and the princess Hermione." They shake on it. He whispers into her hair, "If you repeat that sappy line to anyone, I will fervently deny saying it, and I'll take twenty points from Gryffindor."

/

The school governors are so rattled by the irrepressible smile on the normally sarcastic headmaster's face that they immediately give into his request for Lucius's reinstatement. Lucius is both pleased and confounded. When he asks the headmaster why he is in such a good mood, the answer merely puzzles him further: "Ask the princess." Hermione smiles demurely at them both.

The next morning, she receives two owls at breakfast. One bears a letter from Roger, begging her to reconsider her refusal of his job offer. She tosses this letter to the side without a second thought. The other letter, borne by a handsome black-feathered owl, is from her mother, inviting her to tea that afternoon. "I've made enough cake and biscuits for the British army," the letter reads, "So bring a guest to help us polish off the lot."

"Will you go with me?" she asks the headmaster, anxiously trying to read his eyes. "I don't want to keep this from her or daddy."

His face is inscrutable, but his eyes soften. "Certainly. If they say anything that makes me angry, stuff my mouth with a chocolate biscuit."

/

The Drs. Granger patiently await their guests in their sitting room. Eager to do things right this time, Hermione's mother is wearing one of her best dresses. Her father paces slowly in front of the roaring fire, a slip of parchment clutched in his hand.

"I am writing to reclaim my happiness," the letter begins. "Ten years ago, we met at your daughter's graduation. I admit that I got carried away with my good fortune. I proposed to Hermione before I consulted with you. Regardless of how you would have answered, I would have asked for her hand in marriage, but I did not even pay you the courtesy of informing you of my intentions.

I cannot blame you for your dislike of me and of my past. I am not an easy man, but your daughter convinced me long ago that I am a good man. One day, I might even convince you of it. For now, I would be content with your blessing to have the opportunity to do so. For your daughter's sake, if not mine. I have reason to believe that she may love me still. If this is the case, I plan to ask her, once again, to marry me."

"Do you think she'll bring him?" Hermione's father asks.

"I hope she does," her mother says. The doorbell buzzes. "Oh, do be circumspect." She hurries out of the room to open the front door. Hermione's father strains to hear the voices emanating from the hallway, but the newcomers enter the sitting room before he can prepare himself.

"Daddy!" Hermione says, giving the man a hug.

"Dr. Granger," says a tall, serious man dressed in black slacks and, surprisingly, a Beatles jumper. The two men shake hands.

"Professor Prince," the young woman's father says stiffly, but not without welcome.

The group gathers around the coffee table to partake of the freshly baked goods. Hermione's hand never leaves the dark-haired man's thigh, which neither dentist fails to notice.

Hermione is the first to break the awkward silence. "I'm surprised you made so many sweets, Mummy. Aren't you afraid of tooth rot?"

"It's a special occasion, isn't it?" her mother replies. To Hermione's surprise, there are tears in her mother's eyes. "My little daughter is going to be married."

"What?"

"Damn," Severus curses. He turns sideways to face her. "I wrote your parents in the gray room when I was feeling ... inspired. I was going to ask you tonight, princess. Marry me."

She is already tearing up. "Oh, Severus, I—"

"Do you love her, Prince?" Hermione's father interjects gruffly. "You never said in your letter. It's the only question I have for you."

Severus looks directly into Hermione's eyes. "After all this time? Yes. I swear it."

"That's good enough for me," the other man says with a shrug. "I've been reading all about what you did in the war. You're the only man in the world, apart from Harry Potter, who is worthy of our daughter."

"Are you quite finished, Daddy? I'd like to accept Severus's proposal before he gets angry about being compared to Harry."

/

They marry a month later in the gray room. Fitting the entire Weasley and Malfoy contingent into the small space is a narrow thing, but magic is on their side; everyone manages to find a comfortable seat. A beaming Neville serves as one of the groomsmen, while Minerva, with whom both the bride and groom have reconciled, weeps tears of joy in the front row. Ginny and Draco cuddle in a corner.

During the afterparty, which is held at Hogwarts so that the students can join in the festivities, Ron steals a dance with her.

"That room where you had the ceremony is something else," he says, shaking his head. "It smelt like Luna Lovegood—peaches and cinnamon, you know. Lethal combination, that. Thought I could hear her singing, too."

"Mr. Weasley, do you mind if I cut in?" a warm baritone asks. As Ron transfers his best friend to the headmaster's waiting arms, Severus says, "Speaking of Miss Lovegood, is that her by the cake? She looks as if she'd like to dance." His words are an understatement; Luna is already swaying by herself, exciting catcalls from a few obnoxious seventh-year boys.

"I'll take care of it," Ron says, swelling with annoyance at the sight of the students. He hurries over to Luna.

"Matchmaking, are we, Professor Prince?" the newly minted Madam Prince teases.

"Merely doing whatever it takes to get him away so that I can kidnap you," he replies.

"It's hardly kidnapping when we both live here already," she reproves.

"Ah, but I'm planning to smuggle you away to the States," he says. "Just for two weeks, mind."

"Really, Severus?" she asks in delight. "When can we go?"

"Whenever you like." He smiles crookedly. "We have all the time in the world."

/

Thank you all for being such a lovely captive audience! I absolutely loved writing this fic and hope you'll check out my WIP, "A Truth Universally Acknowledged." Please review!