November 1997

Severus never slept so well in his life. At least, he mused, not in recent memory. He supposed, once upon a time, he found sleep to be more restful than the past decade or so. The suite the little elf, Tilly, ushered him into felt calming with the deep, cool blue. Cream curtains hung high complimenting the light floors and letting light into the room. Perhaps most important, peace and tranquility permeated the aura and magic. He easily saw why Minerva gave Hermione this particular property. Fresh, salty air blew outside, with the cozy warmth inside; a most agreeable situation if he ever saw one.

"Master Headmaster is to follow me's," another of the remarkably bossy McGonagall elves instructed upon popping into the room.

With a raised brow, he followed the commanding creature into the morning lit corridor. A warm beige and cedar greeted his eye, making the space feel light and airy even with the Scottish winter blustering outside. Windows showed what must have been a temperature controlled flower garden, the one Hermione often mentioned over the course of their correspondence.

"And how is your Mistress this morning?" He asked as they twisted into another hallway.

"She's be well, as Tilly says, sir," the elf responded before stopping at a door. "Here we be, sir!"

Nodding along, shoulders shrugged his customary black robes into place. He straightened, knocked, and entered when he heard a tinkling voice answer. The rich, green surroundings, walnut furnishings and silver adornments caught him by surprise. At the table sat Hermione, robed in mahogany this morn. To her left stood Tilly the Notorious watching her mistress eat like a hawk with prey. Upon his entrance, cinnamon eyes rose from the elf. For a split second, Severus held his breath, some part of him dreading the thought of her changing his mind. A breath left him when, instead of telling him to leave, a radiant smile lit her face.

"Good morning, Severus," her sweet voice greeted him. "Come and join us. There is enough food to feed an army. The gods know why they insist on so much food."

"You's know perfectly well why, Mistress," scolded the elf at her side.

"And you know I barely finish what you put in front of me, let alone what remains on the table," the woman rolled her eyes.

With a brief greeting, the elf led him to the chair across from her, bustling about and filling his plate with more than he ate in a single day. A glance up revealed a sardonic brow and mischievous grin which he returned with a smirk. Yes, he can see how she could barely finish what they put in front of her if this is how they served her every meal.

A flutter of wings announced the arrival of the prophet. A tinkle of coins and the bird left. Severus, slowly making his way through the eggs and toast on his plate, watched with veiled incredulity at the remarkably domestic scene before him. Radiant and glowing with the hormones of pregnancy, Hermione read the prophet over her morning tea, remarking about this or that. Her personal elf provided her with ample food, while he listened and occasionally commented on the subject matter. With a raised brow, she closed the paper.

"Another day without making the front page," she happily hummed. "I've been a little worried lately. They have a bit of a case of cabin fever going on. I hope they can get out somewhere safe soon before they do something truly stupid."

"Am I to assume you mean the wonder duo?" he replied taking a sip of his tea, taking the paper in hand.

"Naturally. They aren't exactly the most patient or level-headed of people," Hermione sighed, patting her stomach.

"You don't say," his dry response.

A snort answered, and Severus allowed himself a smirk. They were not done talking, and he knew it. For now, though, he could enjoy a breakfast in companionable silence with his other half and just be. No school. No Carrows. No Dark Lord. The peace continued until they withdrew to bundle up for a stroll around the garden. Now that they agreed to this tentative relationship, Severus knew they had a finite amount of time to plan. To his chagrin, the Dark Lord knew just why he couldn't be called this weekend. He expected news within the week, and Severus intended to go in prepared.

Just as he predicted, the bone chilling winds reduced to brisk breezes within the confines of the flower garden. A well appointed Hermione held his arm, and Severus could scarce think of anything else. Her pace, sedate, contradicted with the thoughts spinning further and faster each moment. A small, warm hand squeezed his bicep, bringing him from his thoughts. A dark brow rose in silent question.

"You are thinking too much," Hermione answered in kind. "There is much left to talk about, and I daresay we will be spending the majority of what remains of the weekend before you return doing nothing but strategizing. All I ask that you take this time and enjoy it. Just for the moment." Large, doe eyes bore into his dark set. With an exasperated sigh from him, her face lit up and beamed, hugging his arm close for one, tantalizing moment, her scent filling his nose. "Thank you."

Another first for Severus. A moment so sweet, so perfect that it couldn't last. A crystalline drop frozen in time. White blanket of snow settling upon thick, dark eyelashes and wild, chestnut curls. Cloaked arm hooked in his, opposite hand upon his arm. Silence wrapped around him, and all was still. Perfect. If just for a moment.

Settled into the parlor once more, tea service prepared and served, Hermione leaned back against her customary chaise. Severus leaned back in a wingback chair just across the roaring fire. Astute eyes studied the man before her. For the past six years or so, this wraith of the dungeons haunted many a nightmare of her fellow Gryffindors -Poor Neville- but intrigued her. His grace, intelligence, wit all called to her, and now she knew why.

What he didn't know, and perhaps didn't notice, was that the ancestral McGonagall wards decreased the effectiveness and time of any cloaking enchantment, spell or otherwise. She mused that his nose, not quite as hooked, or his teeth as yellow and crooked as believed, gave him a more noble, stately appearance. Not the rugged handsome quality the Potters favored nor the aristocratic elegance of the Malfoys and Blacks. Something more militant and stern, but attractive nonetheless.

During her musings, dark intent eyes studied her similarly. For a moment, they simply looked at one another in the light of day. Something about looking at him now, cemented the reality of her situation. Magic mated her to Severus Snape -the man, the myth, the villain. A curious tilt of his head prompted a small smile from her. Of course she guessed, made a rather accurate and informed conclusion, but, until last night, she didn't know for sure. When she woke up this morning, part of Hermione thought it all to be a dream. Yet, here he sat, surly silence and all.

"So," she began, pulling her plethora of journals and a few pens, levitating a work surface in front of her. "Unless I'm mistaken, we have plans to make."

"That is one of way of putting it," he intoned, amusement dancing in his dark eyes.

"In reality, we have plans to converge and patch together," Hermione impishly replied, a small grin pulling at her lips.

"True," his answer, a small smirk on his face. "I believe I am owed an explanation of why exactly the lot of you decided infiltrating the ministry to be so important?"

A wince. Hermione knew it to be coming. From the mild anxiety she felt every time the Dark Lord summoned Severus, she could only imagine what he went through on the day of the ministry break in. It was pointless to lie about her involvement. Tilting her head back, a deep breath filled her lungs, centering the chaotic thoughts of her mind, before leaving her lungs once more.

"To explain that, I need to start at the beginning. What do you know about horcruxes?" Cinnamon eyes bored into his murky irises.

His breath caught. Horcruxes? No… And yet, it made perfect sense. How He stayed alive despite being Avada'd. His returning sanity and rationality despite his rather reptilian exterior. Mind raced through the events of the last six and a half years, since Potter entered the wizarding world once more. So many little things adding up.

"Horcruxes?" he inquired, intense scrutiny upon his mate. "As in more than one."

"As in at least six, maybe seven," she answered just a grave. He swore. "He wanted his soul in seven pieces, the magic number. However, if I'm right, he might have messed up a bit on that." Another string of expletives left him. "Ah good, I'm glad I don't need to go into the gory details with you then. A bit of a moment to do so with the boys earlier."

"Dumbledore bloody well knew, didn't he," Severus mumbled to himself, remembering the fateful conversation almost a year ago. How Potter had to die. "The Dark Lord doesn't know about his mistake, does he?"

"Of course not," snorted the woman across from him. "You think he'd be dying to hunt down and kill Harry himself if he knew? He'd assign an honor guard instead. May put him under forceful house arrest. Danger tends to find Harry at the best of times."

"What an understatement," Severus groaned, eyes looking into the fire unseeing.

"Yes, well, the former Headmaster, in all of his addled wisdom, decided to set Harry upon the task by himself with the sole help of Ronald and myself. He intended us to figure it all out with the cryptic clues and scant books he left unwarded in his office," Hermione continued, fingers twirling a muggle ball-point pen.

"Originally, I planned to go along with it," delicate shoulders shrugged, nonchalant. "Harry is easier to handle when he thinks he's doing what Dumbledore planned and wanted, and Ron almost always goes where Harry follows. Ill conceived as it was, the Order couldn't be of much help. They haven't properly gotten on their feet after the funeral, and thought holding a wedding held on a Ministry protected property with their enemy's largest opposition in attendance -a fact we all knew on both accounts- a reasonable idea.

"In addition, the number of people who might know what a horcrux is would never be able to do more than recognize the word," Hermione continued with a sigh, leaning back into her chair.

"What changed?" Severus asked despite himself.

She rose a brow in challenge, a knowing expression upon her face. Of course he knew exactly what changed, why they were both breaking from "The Plan" as Dumbledore put it. Dark gaze, intense and focused, never left her eyes. He needed to hear it, to confirm what he knew, make it real.

"You," her simple answer. "You changed it all."

Dark eyes burned into her lighter pair. The answer the same for him, and Hermione knew it. Time stopped once more as they let the truth sink in. If not for a single moment, for both of them attending the same festival, they would never have known, dutifully going through with the scheme of a real life mad hatter. Thank the gods floated to the top of his mind.

"Before Midsummer's Eve," honey eyes tore away from his scrutiny to stare, unseeing, into the crackling, popping fire. "I sacrificed everything." A shallow gulp kept emotions at bay, pulling at Severus' heartstrings. "I knew, since He returned, that it was only a matter of time before I became a target, and, by extension, my parents.

"What did they know of our world, really?" Her bitter laugh cut through the stillness of the room. "I kept the worst from them, knowing that they would take me away. Sure, they went to Diagon Alley with me a couple of times, but that felt more like a surreal film set to them than real power. The Weasley's only showed them the glitz, the wonder of magic. Of course, they spoke in general terms about the dangers, but they looked upon it as some distant, indistinct thing.

"With no face, no experience with the darker side of our world, they didn't believe me when I returned home in the summer," her delicate hand swiped at the beginning of tears. "My mother, bless her, tried to convince me to abandon magic, to run away with them if that was absolutely the best option. They couldn't see that this is just as much my war as it is Harry's, if not more so.

"I tried," emotion choked her voice, watery eyes turning, arresting him in their intense gaze. Emotions swam in and out of those beautiful orbs. "I did everything I could. I brought papers. I showed them memories. It only made it worse. They begged me to go -but I couldn't. I belong no more in the muggle world than Harry… or you. In the end, I did the only thing I could to spare them.

"I obliviated myself from their memories, completely," her whispered voice pained and quiet, might as well have been a shout to Severus' ears.

His own emotions rose to the fore. Regret and sorrow at her decision warred with pride in her bravery and loyalty. While a normal obliviate of a general event or time can be reversed, if one knows what to look for, such precise, delicate work as Hermione performed on her parents could never be reversed. The trauma associated with cutting out and replacing every detail of someone so closely related as a daughter would kill them. Weeks after Severus, himself, ended the life of the only true father figure he knew, Hermione Granger did the same with both of her parents.

"I knew, going into the Midsummer's Festival, that my chances of surviving this war were almost nonexistent. I intended to go into this war with nothing to lose," Hermione soldiered on, voice small.

Legs carried the man to her side, tears beginning to leak down her face, eyes glassy and bright. A monogramed piece of cloth found her, and both of his large, calloused hands cardeled the other. She didn't need to finish that thought -he knew it all too well. Hermione planned to die if necessary, to give up her life for the cause. With nothing left to hold her back, and nowhere left to go, she went to the festival thinking it the last good thing to ever happen to her. Severus knew those thoughts so well, for those were his own. Until he found her, a reason to get through this, to change what they were supposed to do, and do what they thought best.

He knelt by her side for a moment, trying to send her the quiet support his normal eloquence couldn't begin to deliver. Soft sobs quieted into subdued sniffles, the cracking and popping of the fire and tick of the grandfather clock accompanying her. Fingers caressed the small hand within his, delicate and soft. The other curled around his. Bright, determined eyes pierced right to his soul, capturing him once more.

"We will get through this," her soft voice commanding, sure. "We have to. There is no other option."

Severus Snape knew that look. He saw it on that face in her first year, when he stopped the terrible trio the afternoon before they went traipsing to 'save' the Philosopher's Stone. It appeared once more in her fifth year, held by Vincent Crabbe against a wall while Umbridge threatened torture to her best friend, and, most recently, he witnessed it the June previous when she burst into his dungeon office to tell him of the invasion. It spoke of a determination to overcome, a stubbornness to concede, a conviction to do what needed to be done.

"And so we shall," his voice huskier, echoing the emotion in her own, agreed. He stroked her hands one last time before standing. A deep shuddering breath saw to his composure, and he sat once more. "I believe you were in the process of telling me of the horcruxes?"

Taking his handkerchief and dabbing her eyes once more, a familiar, studious look glinted within her eyes. A flick of the wrist sent a journal towards him. Her neat script outlined and noted what she found thus far, running back to the Chamber of Secrets incident in her second year. As he read through her equations and tinkering of the spells, pride swelled in his chest. He knew her to be intelligent, but never this clever.

"So, the diary bequeath to Miss Ginevera from Lucius and the ring Albus found last year were two of his earlier pieces," he mused aloud. "What of the ministry?"

"Mundungus stole and sold several of the Black heirlooms, including the locket no one could open," Hermione informed him, all business once more. Severus vaguely remembered the artifact being brought to him during the Great Cleaning of Grimmauld. "Apparently, Regulus retrieved the locket and entrusted it to Kreacher. It happened to be one of the pieces Dung acquired, and you will never guess who bought it."

"Humor me," Severus encouraged, dry and sarcastic all the while.

"A Miss Dolores Umbridge," Hermione leaned back, a finger sandwich finding its way to her during their conversation. Understanding lit within Severus. "We tried to find some other way to get to her, planned for several weeks. Unfortunately, no one could pin down her home address, and her schedule seems to be wholly dedicated to the Ministry, its social functions, and her precious cats at home."

A small smirk emerged on his face at the disgust and absolute loathing in her voice. So few people garnered such absolute ill favor, Severus noticed over the years. If his ill treatment of Hermione were not enough to deter her, only something truly abhorrent worked. In this case, he wholeheartedly agreed with the judgement passed. It took a truly ill mind to take pleasure in torturing the helpless and children.

"When those avenues were not fruitful, we went for the next best thing," Hermione shrugged. "A normal working day. The boys worked out a surveillance schedule and protocol, I worked on packs and logistics of the actual recovery. We never told the Order specifics, though. More cooks in the kitchen and all of that."

He snorted. Severus could well imagine what would happen if the Order had an inkling of what they planned to do. A massive influx of Order members in the Ministry would have definitely tipped off the Dark Lord and his Ministry. As he listened to her account of the event, delicate and precise, Severus concurred with her initial decision to not include anyone else. That did not, however, dissolve the tight knot of anxiety at hearing just how close to capture she came.

For a time, they sat in silence. She, reliving her memories. He, absorbing the facts presented to him. The cup, Potter, the snake, something of Ravenclaw, and the locket. Two of which in the Order's grasp, one tightly guarded, and the other a true puzzle. The elves brought a late lunch of cold meats and pasteurized cheeses, several other finger foods, and tea. A large yawn and an officious elf saw the young woman herded to her rooms, and Severus with nothing to do.

Refreshed from her afternoon kip, mind replayed the events of earlier. A small wince played about her face at the recollection of the emotional breakdown, but Hermione reasoned, the morning went well. More informative than romantic, she suspected the rest of the stay to go in such a way. Not that, with a small blush, his response to her distress didn't please her. If anything, it eased her doubts of his willingness to be demonstrative and affectionate. At least, she amended, in private.

Slow stroll brought her to the library. Handsome cherry shelves housed hundreds of tomes of various colors and varieties. Truly one of the wonders of the estate, spanning the floors at the edge of the west wing. A crackling fire burned in the fireplace, often a balm to her worried nerves in these trying times.

Sitting across from her normal perch, the austere headmaster appeared lost in thought. A book held aloft by a long-fingered hand remained still, pages unturned. Dark eyes gazed into the distance. Gripped with the irrational desire to smooth the lines on his face, Hermione cleared her throat, not wishing to surprise him. Glance darted to her face, taking in her sweet smile.

"I believe we have more to discuss," Hermione prompted without preamble. Their time together, unobserved and safe, was as finite as it was delicate.

"And so we do," his deep voice rumbled. "I am sad to say it is not anything of particular pleasure."

"I did not think it would be," the woman acknowledged, body folding into soft cushions. "That does not mean it can be ignored, however."

"No, no it cannot be," the man agreed, eyes considering the woman before him. "I must be frank, how is your occlumency?"

"It depends on who is testing," Hermione replied in kind. "Dumbledore taught me personally in my fifth year, and constantly probed me since. I can tell you that none of His people would be able to break it."

"And the Dark Lord?" Severus queried, intense gaze boring into the brunette.

"He would have quite the time of it," the woman thought, biting her lower lip. "It would be difficult, and take more time and energy than He would like to spend."

Furrows appeared on his brow once more, mind firing in rapid succession. At last, appearing decided, Severus gazed into her honey eyes. Despite the serious situation, Hermione's breath caught, the intense focus enchanting her.

"That will do," he murmured, more to himself than her.

"I am glad to have passed muster," her sardonic response.

"Indeed you have," a devilish smirk answered.

A delighted laugh rang through the air, once more breaking the tense atmosphere that settled about the pair. After settling once more, Hermione shuffled through her normal notebooks. For a time, quiet, still and sweet, filled the air. Loathed to break such a serene moment, the woman sighed out.

"Now then, what do you do about the Dark Lord?" Curly tresses lifted and tilted.

"To be frank, in the manner of your House," light, teasing sarcasm slipped into his baritone for a moment, lighting his eyes before turning serious once more. "He knows about your presence, in an abstract, nebulous sort of way."

"The change," the light of understanding sparked in her eyes, voice an unthinking whisper.

"Just so," a swift nod confirmed. "He felt it, and the masking spell, I put upon myself. The mark is connected directly to him, and thus, he is able to accurately read the magical signatures of his Death Eaters. As it stands, fast thinking is the only reason I sit here today."

"What will He do when the truth comes out, though?" Hermione asked, brow furrowed in troublesome thought.

"His exact response is still unknown," Severus began slowly, observing and waiting. "However, when I last spoke to him before Samhain, he appeared open to the possibility of my mate being a muggleborn. That you are the particular muggleborn, if spun correctly, will gain me, and more importantly, yourselves his favor."

Thoughts raced along one another, racing through the fold and synapses of her brain. The benefits of such a daring scheme matched the list of dangers. While she is better suited to gathering and disseminating information, certainly more so than Severus, they would need to bring him back into the fold at some point in the future. That, alone, would take a miraculous feat of magic. Having to face the Dark Lord, and with some regularity, terrified the young woman beyond belief. Distant surprise colored her thoughts as she realized the fear placed into the safety of her son, not of herself. Then again, Gryffindors aren't known for their self-preservation instincts, a sarcastic voice oddly reminiscent of Severus chimed in.

"He will use me as a poster child," her voice, faint and quiet against the backdrop of a crackling fire. "I will need to appear-"

"Respectful of magic and the Olde Ways," firm, soothing baritone finished her half-spoken thought. Warm hands gripped white knuckles, coaxing them away from her swollen abdomen. "For whatever reason, the Dark Lord greatly respects and reveres the Wheel and its teachings. One of the goals he wishes to achieve is to resurrect the Teachings and Feasts.

"He will, in all likelihood, hold you as the shining example. 'Look here, at such a powerful, brilliant, intelligent witch and her devotion to the old holidays'," each compliment a balm, softly spoken. One large hand upon her, softly, slowly stroking in time with his words, soothing the frazzled magic and emotions. "If we play this right, you will be able to do much good, even if the dunderheads you call friends don't win this conflict."

"Is this what it has come down to?" A soft, fearful whisper answered, doe eyes emploring the onyx pair across her. "Planning our lives if this monster succeeds? How best to fit into His society and hopefully, if we are truly lucky, to mold some small portion?"

"You sweet thing," Severus murmured, left hand moving to cup her jaw. "It is what everyone in the Order has been doing from the start, and you are only seeing now. Did you know the Twins keep correspondence with Percy, to appear compliant in the face of the Ministry? How else could they keep their store open at such a time? As for Molly and Arthur, they would happily send their children to a Festival if it meant they all lived.

"Make no mistake, aside from yourself, Mister Potter, and, perhaps, the Wolf, everyone else in the Order began their preparations from the first announcement," his low baritone swirled in the air. "It is simply our time to take such steps. Do not mistake me, I wish to rid the world of Him, and every member of the Order would sacrifice themselves in battle to win. That does not mean they do not have contingency plans."

Logic seeped through the blend of surprise, betrayal, and dawning realization. Of course, those she grew up around wanted Voldemort gone for good. They joined together to fight against the tyrant at great personal risk. That being said, certain patterns and oddities Ron and Ginny brushed off as 'normal' flashed before her eyes.

Bill and Fluer gifted a property on the coast between England and France. Tonks and Kingsley, carefully neutral and professional as their escorts in public. Familiar, playful even, but never overly so. Andromeda teaching Hermione (and Ginny when amendable) proper manners Molly disregarded. The caches of supplies she knew lay hidden across the country should Remus need them to escape into the muggle world.

"Remus kept hidden supplies should he need to retreat into the muggle world," Hermione whispered, breaking the silence. "The Weasley's can get across to France in a moment's notice. Why did I never see this before?"

"Because you were focused on finishing the conflict as quickly and efficiently as possible. It's the same reason Mister Potter cannot see past victory or death," answered Severus. Hands squeezed once, warm and reassuring before he straightened once more. "I am not surprised at the least. With what you have told me of your time, Albus manipulated you just as thoroughly as he has your friend."

"So, we plan," determination shone anew in her cinnamon eyes.

"We plan."

Sunday evening rolled about too soon for Severus' liking. It amazed him how, in such a short time, someone became so integral to his being. Yet, at the end of this short stay, Hermione Granger and their unborn son wound themselves around his little finger, tight and secure. The coming weeks glowed brighter now, a candle in the window lighting his path back home.

Home.

Now, there was a thought Severus never believed would apply to him. Yet, here he stood, in a warm, richly furnished sitting room. Tea steamed in white and blue porcelain. Pages of a book soft under his fingers. A woman, one who cared and cherished him, settled near, the beginnings of their family growing within.

Yes, hope cautiously filtered into his heart. With some luck, they would survive this coming year. The unseen obstacles would need to be met and hurdles jumped, but he had faith -in someone, something, for the first time in what felt like his life. Four chimes echoed through the room after four bars, marking the last of his time in this slice of heaven for the moment being.

"And you will be sure to share with Minerva?" He asked, silence shattering in the wake of his voice.

"Naturally," Hermione hummed, looking up from her text. "You must inform me of the details, though. I will be suspenseful and anxious if you leave me to my own thoughts too long."

"Surprisingly enough, I knew that," he shot back, a smirk gracing his lips.

"Oh hush, you," her playful chastisement. "Do apologize to Headmaster Black, if you will. I could find no better solution than to tamper with the frame in his ancestral house, and it must be right terrible to be in such a state."

"I do believe he is quite relieved to not be subjected to the assuredly dull conversation of your two cohorts," a snort answered. "I dare say he has taken to his new hobby of lip reading with quite some gusto. You would not want to rob him of that happiness?"

"Not so soon, anyway," delighted laugh filled the room, eyes alight with mirth.

With that, time slipped through his long, pale fingers, marching relentlessly forward to his departure. A lightness of heart followed, just as stubborn as the lioness left behind.