Chapter Text
They sat on his plush, emerald green sofa, Severus straight-backed with the latest edition of the Royal Potions Acta journal in hand and Hermione curled against the sofa’s arm, her feet resting on his lap as she read Hogwarts: A History for what Severus guessed was the thousandth time.
It was her comfort read, he had learnt, and as the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts approached, he knew which doubts haunted her mind.
He was partially at fault for putting them there.
The dying embers of a fire started to lose the battle against the creeping cold of his dungeon-located quarters, so he summoned her favourite—and garishly red-and-gold—quilt, arranging it to cover them both before returning, half-hearted, to his reading.
It had been nearly three years since the war had come to an end. Enveloped in the bubble of warmth and contentment he found himself now, thinking about those dismal, melancholy days wasn’t something he made a habit of.
Anger and hopelessness didn’t bear contemplating, lest they take it as an invitation to return.
Still, he couldn’t help but let his mind follow wherever he knew Hermione’s to be.
Prior to the Dark Lord’s turning on him, Severus had had a contingency plan in place—an assortment of potions for every scenario he could conjure, which included the need for an anti-venom.
All that preparation, however, had been laid to waste when Gryffindor’s know-it-all had panicked at the sight of him choking on his own blood and had chosen to bind their life forces together before he could protest.
Suffice it to say that had been a scenario Severus hadn’t predicted.
He had berated her for her foolishness, for her misguided pity and arrogance, callously enlightening her that he had been in no danger other than what stemmed from her own recklessness and martyrdom.
The tears he had given Potter were nothing in the face of the ones he had provoked in her. He’d been his unpleasant self, coated in the comfortable skin he’d gotten used to inhabiting out of necessity.
The most cutting part, however, had been her words.
“I’m happy you are alive, Professor.”
With that, her back turned and she left. He should have known that there were limits to bearing unwarranted abuse.
It wasn’t until much later that the realization came: Hermione Granger would rather have her life tied forever to his—a bitter, harsh man who never so much had one kind word for her, not even when she had merited several—than risk his loss.
Fixing the situation had been a humbling experience, though, unlike Lily, Hermione had been willing to grant him a second chance.
So when she now asked, “Do you ever wonder how different life would be if—”
Severus' response was to abandon his journal to the ground and manoeuvre his body until it loomed over hers, his dark eyes deliberately meeting her chocolate brown ones before he leaned over and coaxed her lips open, her mouth pliant under his as he kissed away her doubts. “Not anymore. Not for a very long time.”
Hermione Granger thwarting all of his careful preparations was inarguably the best thing to ever happen to him.