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Chapter Text

Hermione’s pacing echoed across the stones of the tallest tower. Back and forth, back and forth. If she still had a heart, surely she would feel it pounding with every step.

Severus had been gone for an hour. An entire hour. He had never stayed away this long since the night of his transformation.

A dozen frantic thoughts clawed at her.

What if someone had seen him? To the rest of the world he was dead—buried, mourned. No one outside their clan could know he was alive.

What if he was in danger? What if he had fainted?

What if he had chosen to leave her?

Hermione shivered at the treacherous thought, hugging her arms tightly around herself.

A sudden thump made her jump out of her skin.

She whirled—and nearly tripped backward. A man lay sprawled on the stone beside her, limp, eyes closed, clearly stunned.

Before she could react, a shadow fell across her. Hermione looked up just in time to see Severus descending from the sky, face and collarbones smeared crimson, eyes completely obsidian.

“What is that?” she asked, pointing to the man at her feet.

Severus landed lightly. “Dinner,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Why in Merlin’s name would you bring it here?”

He shrugged. “It’s a gift.”

Hermione stared at him, scandalized. “A gift? Who are you? Crookshanks? Dragging home bodies as though they were mice to impress me?”

His lips curved into that dark smile she both loathed and loved. “An anniversary gift.”

“Anniversary?”

“Six months,” he said simply, leaning against the windowsill. “It’s been six months since you saved me in that shack by turning me. Six months since you chose me as your mate for eternity.”

Hermione glanced down at the still figure, then back at him. “Most people give flowers. Or chocolate. Or diamonds.”

A low chuckle rumbled from him. In a single, effortless motion, he reached out, curling an arm around her waist. Blood still slicked his skin as he pulled her firmly against him, and Hermione let out a startled breath, her protests melting when his lips found hers. The kiss was deep, claiming.

When they parted, his voice was teasing. “I like to think outside the box.”

She sighed. “I still prefer diamonds, though.”

Severus smirked. “Shouldn’t I be offended you forgot our special date?”

“I didn’t forget. I simply didn’t remember. There’s a difference.” Her tone softened as her eyes searched his. “Truth is… I thought you’d left me,” she admitted.

Something unreadable flickered in his gaze before he shook his head slowly. “I don’t think that’s even possible. You’ve already injected yourself into my veins.” A smile ghosted across his lips. “Quite literally.”

Hermione laughed, bright and free, her head tipping back in delight. “I had to make sure the last true Prince in this lineage was mine—and mine alone.”

Severus’s eyes darkened. “Even the claws of death weren’t a match for you, my dear.”

She leaned closer, her voice dropping into a whisper. “What can I say? I always get what I want.”

He brushed his lips against hers, murmuring, “And now you have me.”

“For eternity,” she breathed, sealing her words with another kiss.

“For eternity,” he echoed, before claiming her mouth once more.

Chapter Text

Severus sat by the fireplace, a book in hand, but his thoughts were nowhere near its pages. His mind wandered to Australia, where his fiancée, Hermione, was visiting her parents.

She had insisted he come with her. But then work had gotten in the way, and now she was out there, enjoying the Australian beaches in a tiny bikini while he sat here, sulking alone in their flat.

Well. He wished he were truly alone.

Because in front of him, watching with unsettling golden eyes, lay the ginger beast his fiancé called a pet: Crookshanks.

The kneazle was sprawled across the carpet, tail flicking lazily, whiskers twitching.

Severus narrowed his eyes.

Crookshanks blinked slowly, then rolled onto his back, exposing his belly. His paws flexed in the air.

That movement seemed familiar. Severus frowned, recalling something Hermione had once said.

He does that when he wants you to rub his belly.

“Not happening, mate,” Severus said sharply.

The fat cat rolled again, more deliberately this time.

Hermione’s words echoed in Severus’s mind again. The cat wasn’t just asking for attention. Crookshanks missed her too. He missed his mistress as much as Severus missed his fiancée.

With a reluctant sigh, the man set his book aside and knelt beside the kneazle. His hand hovered over the soft fur for a moment before giving a slow rub to the exposed belly.

“Very well. A truce, then,” Severus found himself murmuring softly. Crookshanks purred, curling closer under the touch.

For the first time since Hermione had left, Severus felt a strange sort of company.

But it was still not enough.

Later that evening, he prepared his own dinner and set a small dish of chicken and chopped vegetables for the pet. The kneazle approached his plate warily at first, but ate with satisfaction.

When it was time for bed, Crookshanks followed him. Severus lay back against his pillow, watching as the creature jumped up and curled at the end of the mattress.

Severus, never fond of sharing a bed with an animal, frowned softly, but then regarded it with a faint smile. It was a signal. Crookshanks had accepted him. Hermione will be proud.

He turned to the side and closed his eyes. Sleep came easily, if reluctantly.

Somewhere in the middle of the night, the sound of someone moving around the bedroom stirred him.

Severus’s hand slid under his pillow for his wand.

“I’m back home,” her voice broke the silence. “Don’t Avada me.”

His lips quirked even in the haze of sleep. “I wouldn’t cast an Avada. A simple Stunner would do the trick.”

She chuckled. Severus didn’t bother to open his eyes. He knew it was really her, or else his wards would be screaming.

“How was it with your parents?” he asked sleepily.

“Great,” she replied. “They couldn’t stop asking about you… or the wedding.” Her voice had that warmth he missed. “Mum has officially begun a campaign for a Christmas wedding.”

Severus smirked. “I’m not against it.”

“Sincerely? Me neither.”

There was shuffling—her careful but careless movement as she stacked clothes. Then she came closer, and her hand found his cheek, soft and warm.

Severus opened his eyes. Their gazes met.

There was so much love in her whiskey-colored eyes that his breath caught in his throat.

Hermione smiled softly. “I’m happy you and Crooks are finally on good terms.”

Severus glanced over his shoulder. The cat had moved closer and now lay beside his head, where Hermione should be. He raised an eyebrow.

“Pet sitting was never my thing. But I managed it.”

Hermione scoffed, turning to walk away. “Pet sitting? Please… Crooks is my baby, and soon you’re going to be my husband. So, it’s not babysitting if you’re taking care of your own baby.”

Severus stayed still for a moment, watching as she disappeared into the bathroom. Then, a thought struck him.

She was right. If he was going to marry the woman he loved, the beast curled next to him was no longer just a pet—it was his firstborn.

“Great,” he murmured grumpily. 

Chapter Text

Hermione dropped heavily onto the sofa, kicking off her shoes with a groan. A week’s worth of reports, revisions, and late-night meetings had left her drained. But tonight, at least, she had a reason to celebrate—her project was finally finished.

The coffee table was already set: a plate of cheese cubs, bread, and a bottle of rich elf-made red.

Severus sat waiting, one brow raised at her dramatic collapse. “Long day?” he asked dryly.

“Longest,” she muttered. Then, spotting the wine, she brightened. “But you make up for it.”

He poured her a glass, sliding it across the table. She downed half of it in one go, earning a low chuckle from him.

“Slowly, witch. It’s meant to be savored.”

She wrinkled her nose at him but obeyed, sipping more carefully as warmth spread through her limbs.

They talked idly at first—about her project, his brewing, the absurdities of Ministry paperwork. But by the time they had emptied their second bottle, Hermione’s filter had vanished completely. The wine loosened her quicker than Severus expected. Her cheeks glowed a delicate rose, her curls a little wilder than usual as she laughed at something he hadn’t even meant as a joke.

“You, Miss Granger, are the very definition of a lightweight,” he drawled silkily, swirling the last drops of crimson in his glass. “One glass, and you’re already pink, grinning like a fool.”

Hermione straightened in mock offense, though her wobble betrayed her. “My name is Mrs. Snape," she corrected, pointing an unsteady finger at him. "And I’ll have you know, I can hold my liquor perfectly well.”

“Oh, yes,” he said, tone mock-solemn. “That must explain why the last time you boasted of that fact, you fell asleep halfway through reciting sonnets at me. Shakespeare, if I recall.”

Her mouth fell open. “I did not!”

“You did.” He leaned closer, voice low, smirk tugging at his lips. “And you snored, too.”

Hermione gasped, swatting him with absolutely no force. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he murmured, catching her hand mid-swat and brushing his lips against her knuckles, “you keep me.”

Her eyes shone as she looked at him. Hermione leaned toward her husband, whispering conspiratorially as though the walls might tattle. “Do you know what I thought, the very first time I kissed you?”

“That you’d made a terrible mistake?”

She giggled, shaking her head.

“No. I thought, Merlin help me, this is the man I’m going to marry. And then I panicked, because who decides that after one kiss?” Even more color crept up her cheeks. “And I was right. I did marry you. And sometimes I still panic, because you terrify me, and I adore your scowl far too much, and I think… I think you’re too good for me.”

For once, Severus didn’t interrupt with sarcasm. He reached for her glass, set it aside, then took her hand instead. His dark eyes searched hers, steady and unflinching.

“Too good?” His voice was quiet, almost raw. “Hermione, if there is truth in anything… it’s that I am the undeserving one. I had thought myself incapable of being this content. Of being seen, and still… wanted.”

Her breath caught. “Severus—”

But he silenced her with a kiss. Slow, wine-sweet, searing with the weight of unspoken words.

When they finally pulled apart, she tucked her head against his shoulder, giggling again, her lips brushing his collar. “I love you. More than books, more than reason. You’re it, Severus. My always.”

He let out a shaky breath, as if her words had undone something tightly bound inside him.

“I love you so much that I could listen to you babble about poetry for the rest of my life and count it as a blessing,” he murmured into her hair.

Hermione tilted her head back with a grin, resting her forehead against his.

“You know, you really are more romantic when you’ve had a drink,” she said.

He gave a short laugh. “No. I’m always this way. The wine simply makes it easier for me to say it.”

“There’s trust in the wine, then?”

Severus smirked. “There sure is,” he whispered before taking her mouth in his once again. 

Chapter Text

Medieval AU

Hermione’s cloak trailed softly over the damp grass as she slipped into the shadow of the old oak. The castle loomed in the distance, torches burning along its ramparts, but here—under the cover of night—she was safe.

A figure emerged from the darkness, armor glinting faintly in the moonlight. Severus. Her dark knight.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said in that low, baritone voice, though his hands betrayed him by reaching for her the moment she came close.

Hermione smiled, fingers brushing along the scarred line of his jaw. “And yet, here I stand.”

Their lips met in a kiss that was hungry and aching, the kind of kiss stolen by lovers who knew the world would not easily forgive them. His gauntlet pressed against her back, pulling her closer, while her hands tangled in the ties of his armor as though she could hold him in place forever.

When at last they parted, his breath was uneven, his dark eyes drinking her in. “I would face any battle for you. Every enemy. Every king. Only say the word, and I will make the world bow to you.”

She laughed softly, resting her forehead against his. “I don’t need the world, Severus. Only you.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them, filled only with the rustle of leaves. Then, with a steadying breath, Hermione lowered her gaze and placed his hand gently over her stomach.

“Our love shall not stay hidden much longer,” she whispered.

Slowly, his hand tightened protectively over her belly, his expression fierce and tender all at once.

“I swear on my sword, on my blood, on my life—I will give you the life you deserve. Both of you,” he said, as though the words were an oath. He bent to kiss her again, softer this time, reverent. “Grant me but a fortnight, my heart, and all shall be made ready for our departure.”

Her lips sought his once more, this time lingering, tasting of promises and forever.

“I believe you,” she said.

And when his cloak spread across the grass and she let him lower her beneath the ancient oak, it was not only vows they shared.

The moon shone brightly above, the stars bearing silent witness as their love burned, fierce and eternal, in the dark of night.

Chapter Text

Autumn

The first cool bite of autumn had settled over the castle when Minerva, in her cat form, perched by the window of her office. The morning sun was soft and golden, stretching long across the grounds. She spotted Severus, Headmaster once again, taking his usual walk. For years, that walk had looked heavy, as if every step dragged a shadow behind him. But now… now there was something different. Lighter. Easier. It warmed her heart to see it.

Her sharp eyes followed him as he passed a lone figure on the path. Hermione Granger, who had come back for her eighth year, sat on a bench. The girl gave him a careful, polite greeting, the sort students offered their teachers. But when Severus kept walking, Minerva caught the way Hermione’s eyes lingered after him, before she ducked her head and fidgeted with her hands.

Curious, McGonagall thought. Very curious.


Winter

Winter rolled in with its frost and sharp winds. Minerva stood at her window, warming her fingers around a mug of tea as she watched a familiar scene. Severus walking. Hermione coming from the opposite direction. They exchanged a quick, silent nod. But as Hermione walked on, she glanced back. He did not.

The Transfiguration professor took a slow sip of her tea, hiding a small smile behind the steam.


Spring

By spring, everything had softened—the grass, the air, even Severus. Minerva sat knitting a new scarf while watching them below. There they were again, meeting on the same path. This time, a few words passed between them. Nothing grand. But when Hermione looked back, Severus looked back too. They both smiled.

Minerva felt her own lips twitch upward.


Summer

Then summer came, and with it, graduation day. McGonagall opened her window to the bright morning sun, only to see her favorite scene play out once more. Except now, their greetings had stretched into real conversations, long enough to slow their steps. And today, instead of parting ways, Severus simply turned on his heel and followed Hermione. They walked side by side, voices carrying faintly on the breeze. Minerva grinned outright this time.


Autumn

Autumn again.

Another school year was beginning.

Minerva stretched out on the roof in her cat form, grooming a paw in the weak morning sun. Below, Severus made his usual walk around the gardens.

Only—he wasn’t alone.

Beside him walked Hermione Granger, no longer just a student but the new Charms apprentice. Her hand was tucked comfortably into his.

Minerva’s whiskers twitched with amusement.

About time, she thought, tail flicking.

Watching the two of them fall in love with the changing seasons had been more delightful than she would ever admit aloud. And now, as their joined hands swung gently between them, a satisfied purr rumbled in her chest.

Chapter Text

The city was quiet.

All the houselights on the streets were out, excepted for one. The pale glow of the lamp on the nightstand lit the bedroom as very pregnant Hermione tossed and tuned in bed.

The witch lay on her side, her belly rising and falling with every breath, round and heavy. She shifted under the weight of her own body, letting out a small sigh of discomfort.

Severus, already awake, was propped on one elbow beside her. His gaze was fixed not on her face but on the swell of her stomach.

“You’re restless again,” he murmured.

“I can’t get comfortable,” she admitted, her voice low. “The baby’s decided this is the perfect time for gymnastics.”

Severus let out a quiet hum, resting his hand over her stomach. “Then perhaps it is time I speak to her. She must be taught proper behavior, after all.”

Hermione chuckled, shifting slightly to find a better position. “What are you going to say?”

He bent his head, lips brushing lightly against her skin, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Little one… if you are awake this late, you must be polite. Let your mother rest. Listen to your father.”

A small kick pressed against his hand.

“Ah. A response,” Severus’s lips curved upward in the faintest smirk. “Clearly, you’re arguing already. Typical.”

“You’re talking to her like she can answer you.”

“And she can,” he said firmly.

A gentle jab against his palm made him glance up.

Hermione smiled warmly. “She’s definitely going to have your stubbornness.”

Severus smirked, lowering his mouth to press a kiss against her belly. “Then she will be perfect. A true Snape. Now listen carefully, child… if you are going to keep us awake at all hours, you must also prepare to endure our scoldings.”

Another tiny kick. Severus chuckled. “Ah. I see. You agree. Good. We are of the same mind.”

Hermione reached for his hand, resting it over hers on her belly. A soft laugh escaped her. “You’re ridiculous.”

Still, sleep to claim her, the low rumble of her husband’s voice wrapping around her like a lullaby, carrying her away as he continued his late-night talk with their unborn baby.

“...Now, little one—sleep. For your mother’s sake. You may keep me awake if you must, but let her dream.”

Chapter Text

Muggle setting AU

Hermione sat cross-legged on the floor of her childhood bedroom, surrounded by cardboard boxes, packing tape, and the scattered remains of a life lived within these four walls. Through the open window drifted the familiar sounds of cars passing and children’s laughter floating up the street. From downstairs came her mother’s voice, calling for her father from the kitchen—a sound so ordinary, yet so comforting.

She picked up a small porcelain frame, brushing a speck of dust off it. It was a picture of her at nine years old, grinning with a scraped knee from some adventure she couldn’t remember. She smiled faintly, placing it gently into the box marked Personal.

Each item she packed carried a memory. A journal, its pages filled with teenage dreams and worries; a scarf she had knitted in her third year at university, still faintly scented of lavender; a chipped mug that had once belonged to her grandmother before becoming hers.

With each object she packed, the reality pressed in a little harder: soon she wouldn’t return to this room. This house had sheltered her for more than two decades, but she was closing the door on it now.

Her hand lingered on the edge of a box, and for a moment her mind drifted to the past.

She remembered the first time she met Severus, when his family had moved into the house across the street. They had been awkward teenagers then, glancing at one another with a curiosity that grew into an unlikely friendship. Somewhere along the way, that friendship deepened into something more, and by their later school years, they were dating.

Now they were only days away from marriage. Soon, the house she was moving into wouldn’t just be walls and a roof—it would be their beginning. A promise of everything to come. A new home.

“Hermione.”

Her mother’s voice drew her from her thoughts. She stood in the doorway, arms folded, watching quietly. Hermione blinked back the sudden lump in her throat.

“You’re crying,” her mother said, stepping closer. “That’s rare.”

Hermione gave a small laugh, tucking another book into a box. “It’s not tears. Just… nostalgia.”

Her mother knelt beside her, eyes warm. “You’ve been ready for this for years. But it feels different now, doesn’t it? Moving in with him.”

Hermione paused, folding the last of her scarves. “It’s terrifying and beautiful at the same time.” She looked up, meeting her mother’s gaze. “But I’m happy—so happy, Mum. I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

A proud smile softened her mother’s face. “That’s all that matters, darling.” She reached out, squeezing Hermione’s hand. 

Hermione’s chest tightened. “Can you promise me just one thing, Mum?”

The older woman tilted her head, curious.

“Promise this room will still be here if—God forbid—I ever need to come back?”

Her mother brushed a tear from her cheek. “You’ve grown up, my dear, but you’ll always be my little girl. This place will always be your home too, no matter how far you go.”

Hermione smiled, blinking back the fresh tears in her eyes. “Thank you, Mum.”

At that moment, the familiar sound of Severus’s car horn echoed from outside, and Hermione exchanged a glance with her mother—her fiancé had come to collect her. They smiled and leaned into each other’s arms, the hug warm and lingering, like one chapter gently giving way to the next.

Chapter Text

Severus burst into Minerva’s office without so much as a knock, the heavy oak door swinging shut behind him. His face was pale, his usual composure stripped away, and his hands clenched at his sides as if holding himself together took every ounce of control he had.

“Severus?” McGonagall set down her quill, startled by his abrupt entrance. “What on earth—”

“I’ve been cursed,” he cut her off, voice rough, taut with certainty.

Her brows shot up. “Cursed?”

“Yes.” He began pacing in front of her desk, black robes swishing like a storm cloud. “It started subtly. But it’s grown worse. Every day. I’ve no doubt some insidious hex has taken root.”

“Tell me exactly what you’ve been experiencing.”

He exhaled sharply, as though saying it aloud pained him. “My pulse races without warning. My palms sweat. My stomach feels… unsettled. Burning, twisting, as though I’ve swallowed firewhisky on an empty stomach.” He grimaced. “It makes no sense. There’s more,” he added, voice tightening.

Minerva leaned back, hiding a smirk. “Go on.”

“My thoughts are… distracted. One moment I am preparing a lesson, the next my mind wanders… to her. When she speaks, I—Merlin help me—actually listen. When she laughs, my chest tightens. And when she touches my arm…” Severus broke off, dragging a hand down his face, as though horrified by his own admission. “It’s intolerable. I am not myself.”

A small smirk tugged at McGonagall’s lips, her sharp eyes glinting.

“Severus,” she said evenly, “you are not cursed.”

His head snapped up, eyes narrowing. “Then what—”

“You,” Minerva interrupted smoothly, “are in love.”

For a moment, silence stretched. Severus blinked at her as if she’d spoken Gobbledegook, mouth opening then closing again. A faint flush crept up the side of his neck, visible even against the collar of his robes.

“In love,” he said flatly, as though testing the words.

Minerva allowed herself a soft chuckle. “Yes. In love. Quite incurable, I’m afraid.”

Severus stared at her as if she’d slapped him.

“In love,” he muttered again.

The witch arched a brow. “You might find it less horrifying if you stopped treating it like a dark curse and more like what it is—the best thing that’s happened to you in years.”

He frowned, pacing again. “And what would you have me do with this… affliction?”

“Simple,” Minerva said briskly, rising from her chair and straightening her tartan shawl. “Go after the object of your desire… before someone else does.”

For a long moment, Severus said nothing. Then, with a sharp inhale, he gave a single curt nod, resolve settling over his features. Without another word, he strode to the fireplace. His hand hovered over the pot of floo powder, hesitating only a breath before he called out, “Professor Granger’s quarters.”

Green flames roared to life, curling up around him as he stepped inside. In an instant, he was gone.

Left alone, Minerva allowed the smirk she’d been holding back all morning to spread across her face. With a flick of her wand, silver light burst forth, shaping itself into the lithe form of her Patronus. The spectral cat landed gracefully on the floor, tail flicking as it padded toward her.

“Tell them,” she said, lips curving.

The cat tilted its head.

“That I won the bet.”

The Patronus leapt, bounding through the air before vanishing in a rush of silver sparks, carrying her message off to their circle of friends.

Minerva chuckled to herself, settling back into her chair with her tea. “Finally,” she murmured, shaking her head. “And I’ll be collecting my galleons by supper.”

Chapter Text

It’s been a year since he last saw her. A year since he saw the love of his life.

They had fallen into each other like a storm—fast, fierce, and impossible to ignore.

It began in the Ministry, where their desks were never far apart, their tasks often intertwined. Long hours bent over reports turned into late nights, late nights into shared laughter, and laughter into stolen moments in empty corridors.

It was all-consuming. The rest of the world ceased to matter. They didn’t resist it. They didn’t fight it.

And it was not long before they married.

A quiet ceremony, without fuss, surrounded by those who mattered most. Their life was simple and content—a small cottage filled with books, tea, and peaceful evenings together. Their love was steady, unshakable.

And then came the greatest gift of all: their daughter.

She arrived one summer morning, her cries soft but certain, and in her tiny hands she carried their whole world. They named her Matilda. She was their morning sun, their constant joy, the living proof of the life they’d built together.

They had their dream. A home, laughter in the air, a life stitched together by love and certainty.

Until it all came crashing down.

The accident at the Ministry was worse than anyone could have imagined. A project, years in the making, failed. Catastrophically. And with it, it stripped Hermione of the life they had built. Of the memories they shared. Of Severus.

By the time he arrived at St. Mungo’s, his heart felt like stone. Potter and a healer met him in the hallway, their expressions wary.

“She’s… unstable,” the healer said quietly, avoiding his eyes. “We don’t know how much she remembers.”

Severus blinked. “What—what do you mean?”

“She’s lost part of her memory,” Harry answered softly. “We don’t know exactly what, and—”

“I need to see her,” Severus cut in, voice sharp.

“It wouldn’t do any good,” the healer said gently. “Right now, she’s not herself. She wouldn’t—”

Severus’s hands curled into fists. He didn’t need to hear more. He knew. He had to watch, from afar, as others cared for the love of his life. Others took the place that should have been his.

The worst part was that he knew she wouldn’t want him there. And being rejected by her would hurt far more than watching her slip away.

It was a year ago.

From time to time, Potter would send him letters. Short updates, always ending with the same note of hope that never failed to cut through the ache in Severus’s chest. Each one told him where Hermione was, what she was doing, how she was.

The last letter had come a fortnight ago. Hermione was traveling to Greece.

She had once told him, long before all of this, that she dreamed of Greece—walking among ruins, drinking in the sunlight, tasting the sea. They had even planned it once.

Before.

Now, somewhere under the Greek sun, she was living that dream. Without him.

He stood in the garden of their home, hands in the soil, tending the flowers. Roses. Her favorite. He smiled bitterly, brushing dirt from his fingers.

And then—

“Severus,” he heard her voice.

Soft. Clear.

Severus froze. The trowel in his hand trembled.

Had he imagined it? Or...

Severus barely breathed as he froze in place. He turned slowly, drawn by the sound of her voice—and there she was. Hermione. Standing in the garden behind him, her face wet with tears, her hands trembling at her sides.

“Severus…” Her voice cracked, almost a whisper. “I remember.”

That was all it took. He crossed the distance between them in a single stride, and she ran to him. They collided, arms wrapping around each other as though they could never let go again.

Their lips met, soft and desperate. It was a kiss that spoke of loss and longing, of time stolen and finally returned. A kiss that stitched up a year of aching hearts.

Hermione clung to him, tears soaking his shirt. “I remembered during my time in Greece,” she sobbed against his chest. “It all came back—the way we met, how we fell in love… our life together. I couldn’t wait to come home. To you. To our life. To our daughter.”

Severus’s chest tightened, and then he smiled—truly smiled, wide and warm. His hands slid under her arms, lifting her effortlessly off the ground.

He spun her around, laughter spilling from her lips. Her sobs turned to giggles, her tears mixing with laughter, her fingers clutching at his clothes.

“It feels like a dream,” she whispered breathlessly, still in his arms.

“It’s not a dream,” Severus murmured. “It’s real.”

He carried her bridal style toward their home, the scent of roses and earth still clinging to the air, her laughter trailing behind them. The door to the small bedroom creaked open and there she was—still asleep— their little daughter, curled up under a blanket.

Hermione’s tears fell again, hot and unrestrained, as Severus gently lowered her beside their sleeping child. He pressed a kiss to her temple, murmuring softly, “Welcome home, my love.”

Hermione buried her face into his chest, still crying, still smiling. “It feels good to be home.”