Author's Note: My friend Corvus needed some cuddly SS/HG story action, and I was more than happy to oblige with this little one-shot. Warning: Fluffy as hell.

Only to be With You

"Wake up, sleepyhead."

Severus opened one eye ever so slightly and closed it again.

"I saw that!"

"No you didn't," he murmured.

"Yes. I. Did."

Severus inhaled sharply as two cool hands slid up against the bare skin of his stomach.

"No fair!" he hissed, but his scowl softened as the weight on his belly increased and Hermione pressed the warmth of her upper body against him, her honey-brown eyes looking up at him as she smiled mischievously.

"I thought that you were the one who said that life wasn't fair," she replied with a smirk, tracing a gentle circle around the scar on his throat.

"Indeed, I did," he said softly, his arms wrapping around Hermione and squeezing her tightly, "And it continues to be so, for it is absolutely unfair that I should wake up to such a lovely sight after having been such an absolute bastard for so many years."

"Oh, don't worry," Hermione replied, softly flicking the tip of his nose, "you're still a bastard. But I love you anyway."

Severus felt his cheeks go hot at how casually she declared her feelings. He still had trouble believing that he was still alive, much less that she loved him of all people.

She'd saved his life, had sat by his side and helped him regain his health. Nagini's bite had torn his nervous system to shreds, and he was barely able to blink his eyes to answer simple yes or no questions when he'd finally awoken from his coma. After he'd been discharged from St. Mungo's and before the horde of journalists could descend upon his broken body, Hermione had grabbed him by the elbow and Side-Along Apparated him to her Unplottable home in the English countryside and convinced him to stay until he was at least able to handle his own daily routine.

It had been humiliating at first to rely on someone else so much. He hated being an invalid, but Hermione had been patient even though she was sometimes stubborn about things like adding so many blankets to his bed that he was seriously surprised that he hadn't caught fire the first night he'd spent in her guest room.

And so the months passed. She stayed by his side despite his protests and helped him through the grueling months of physical therapy required to help him relearn how to walk, and more importantly, to regain the fine motor movement in his hands. Every night, she brewed him the special tea that had helped to quicken the recovery of his vocal chords so that he could speak intelligibly again. He knew how long it took to make, how many delicate steps were required to make the brew fully potent, and the fact that she did it perfectly each time meant more than words could say.

While his voice was still recovering, they'd written hundreds of notes back and forth on parchment, and, surprisingly, he found that she was witty as hell. Erudite. Clever. And she thought of him in ways he'd never before been regarded.

He'd found back-issues of Potions Mastery Monthly on his bedside table, and each had been equipped with a Page Turner Charm.

Just the little things that showed him that she cared for him even when she had nothing to gain but his grumbling reticence. But what caught in his mind was the fact that she knew him. She knew when to push, even if he got angry, and she knew when to pull back and give him space. She watched him. She listened to him, too. Not only the words he said or the words he wrote, but his body language, how he flinched, the way his eyes grew narrow with suspicion. She could read him as well as any book, and a part of him was unnerved even as the rest of him filled with wonder.

It was her touch that stole his heart, though.

At first, it was gentle and fleeting, her hand on his, comforting him when he was thrashing around blindly during one of his screaming night-terrors. At first, he'd pulled away, thinking it was a mistake. But then, every time he woke up screaming, there she was, the warmth of her hand on his, and her eyes staring down at him with concern as she called his name gently to wake him up.

She massaged his muscles on his back when they grew tight and spasmed painfully from the memory of many Crucios from his past. Though his mind had forgotten many of the tortures wrought by Voldemort, it seemed that his body could not. It took many months of him stooped over in bed, his back bent forward until his nose nearly pressed against his knees as she sat behind him, the warmth of her legs curled around the sides of his thighs and her small, sure fingers kneading the terror from the tightness in his back.

"Hermione...Why...why would you do...all of this for me?" he'd croaked, when his voice had healed enough. He'd written it many times in their notes to one another, but she'd never given him a clear answer.

"Severus...would you believe me if I said that I...wanted to do it?" Hermione had said softly, her soft gaze meeting his hard eyes without blinking.

Goddamn it. He loved the way she said his name.

Still, he couldn't believe that she wasn't merely doing all of this work out of pity, some misplaced Gryffindor idea of chivalry.

And Severus Snape hated being anyone's charity case.

He still had to walk with a cane when he'd tried to leave in the dead of night, but he rationalized it to himself. After all, she didn't need a cripple like him around. She'd spent so many months with him, helping him selflessly, and he'd begun to soften, let himself think that maybe...this time…

No.

He couldn't allow himself to be hurt again, not after everything he'd learned about what people such as himself deserved. Even Dumbledore had been disgusted with him. He knew in his heart that he did not deserve to be saved by someone as intelligent and capable as Hermione. He was certain that the only reason that so few had died was due to her quick thinking and immeasurable skill. She was a hero, and heroes didn't choose to be with ugly, useless bastards with physical and psychological scars. He was certain that she merely saw him as a project to fix before moving on to her next cause.

And so, it was with great surprise that he found himself answering the door to his dilapidated, rain-battered house on Spinner's End to find a soaking-wet Hermione, her sides heaving, her eyes red and wide with fright as she'd beaten his front door until it nearly bowed in the middle.

He'd opened the door and she'd flung herself at him with a careless abandon that he sometimes wished that he too had, wrapping her arms around him and sobbing into his robes with relief.

"I thought...I thought….I'd...lost you!" she'd sputtered, her face muffled by the cloth on his chest.

When she looked up at him, her eyes puffy, her nose wrinkled to the left as she tried to sniff back her emotional outburst, something inside of him had finally broken.

"Hermione…" He'd breathed, his voice breathy with wonder as she'd brought her hands up to either side of his jaw, pulling him down to her until their foreheads were pressed against one another, her nose flush with his even though hers was far more petite than his would ever be.

"Please...I...I can't…" she'd stammered, her voice still husky from crying.

It was then that he'd moved faster than either of them seemed to believe was possible and closed the remaining distance between their lips. Her lips were soft and warm while he knew his were dry and thin and awful and…

She kissed him more deeply, then, and all of his self-depreciating thoughts flew from his mind altogether.

They spent weeks together, pressed side by side in bed, their fingers entwined as they sat in the library reading, their skin always touching in some way as she helped him to clean and straighten his house. While they made breakfast, he could feel the warmth of her body radiating against him even though it was only her hip that rested against the side of his thigh and they were fully clothed.

They weren't fully clothed often, though.

He still didn't know if he wanted to stay in the twisted, dusty house at Spinner's End, but he couldn't justify intruding on Hermione even though he knew that he was more than welcome.

He was still a stubborn git, no matter how much he loved her.

And so, she'd wake him in the morning, her body pressing against him until there was nothing in the world but her scent, the feeling of her skin against his. He would breathe deeply into her hair, smelling every tiny bit of her herbal shampoo as well as the conditioner and underneath that...the innate scent of her, of Hermione.

It was addicting, that scent. If he could bottle it, he knew he'd be able to make a fortune. But he also never wanted to share it with anyone else.

No. Severus Snape was not only a stubborn git, he was a possessive git as well. If she would have him, he would follow her to the ends of the earth. Even if it broke him into a thousand pieces, he could not bear to be far from her side.

And so it was.

They tried to make things casual, but within a day, they were either at one household or the other, never sleeping alone.

Never.

When Hermione went back to work at the Ministry, she found that within months, she hated the inane politics and the utter feeling of futility that marked her days. Severus, too, had not wanted to tell her that he hated the feeling of mopey emptiness that filled him while she was away, but had been all too happy to encourage her to consider other options when she'd brought up her dissatisfaction with her job.

And so, they'd opened an apothecary together in Hogsmeade.

Finally, when they found themselves spending more time in the living quarters above the shop than at either of their homes, they sold the place on Spinner's End at a ridiculous price to some weird fan of his who'd paid top Galleons, using the proceeds to benefit a number of well-run charities. Hermione's Unplottable home they kept as a summer residence, as the Apothecary didn't do much business while Hogwarts was out of session.

And together, they traveled the world, having many adventures together, their bond growing so close that Severus found that he could practically read her mind without Occlumency. What had scared him the most was when Hermione had been able to do the same. He'd felt a stab of caution when it had no longer scared him at all, but then he realized that something had taken the place of the constant hypervigilance, the suspicion, the guarded fear that had been his life from the time he could walk.

Being with Hermione was like coming home, a home he'd always dreamed of having. Her heart was the heart he wanted to hear beating against his every night of his life as they lay in bed together, their warmth comforting them both as they fell into a restful sleep.

It was only a year later that they married. It was a quiet, small ceremony, but they didn't need much, and they didn't want any fanfare. As far as they were concerned, it was only a legal declaration of what they'd confessed to one another long before- a love that had adhered to his very soul, if indeed he actually had one.

"Whatever did I do to deserve you, my love?" he whispered into her hair as he held her in his arms tenderly, though he suspected she'd long since fallen asleep after all they'd been up to that evening.

She sighed in her sleep and his eyes widened as her hand sought his out, covering it gently before she sighed once more and her breathing became deeper and more even.

With a warm smile spread peacefully across his face, Severus joined Hermione in a long and restful slumber, their bodies entwined together in the utter bliss of complete peace.