This story was initially written for rivertempest for the SSHG Giftfest 2019 that was hosted on LiveJournal. It was an honour and a pleasure to write you this story.

Title: Only By Twilight

Author/Artist: Corvus Draconis

Pairing: Severus/Hermione

Rating: T

Word Count: 13909

Content: There will be gore.

Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to JK Rowling and associates. No copyright infringement intended./small

Summary: Cursed by Lord Voldemort, Severus Snape and Hermione share a curse that brings down the end of the Dark Lord's empire. Unable to share each other's presence as they wished, they become far more dangerous—more so as time goes on and they unable to unite.

Beta Love: Thanks to Dragon and the Rose for their loving beta-age.

Only By Twilight

For the SS/HG Gift 2019 Giftfest

The snow was falling silently, but trees were burdened with snow it had not been prepared for—a winter that had not been natural or remotely normal.

No, people shivered inside their homes both Muggle and magical, praying for an end to nature's most terrible wrath.

It had been snowing for over a year now.

It hadn't stopped snowing since the Year of the Great Wolf-the year the beast came upon Britain, slaying victims across the whole of the country, leaving them tattered, torn, and chewed upon.

They called it a wolf.

They called it many, many things.

Some said it was the Beast of Baskerville come to life.

Some said it was a true Hound of Hell itself-pitiless and merciless.

The only truth seemed to be if you went out into the snow, you were prey.

If you stayed inside, you prayed for the living, that the doors would hold out the cold and the dead.

The guilt.

The unknown.

The darkness.

Like prehistoric man, they huddled around their cave-like castle and homes, cut off from food and civilisation. Planes were grounded, buses and cars trapped, ploughs encased in ice, and cell towers toppled and ravaged by ice and snow.

The wilds were taking over; nature reclaimed its own. The wild animals were more prepared than people. People were only as good as their tools, and no tools could have prepared them for the cursed snow that never ended.

Britain was an arctic wasteland.

People who attempted to forage during the day met and fought over what food and supplies they could find-many homes protected themselves with an abundance of hunting rifles and steel traps meant for animals.

People slew other people for the scraps and even a hint of food.

Magic crackled within visible leys that spiderwebbed across the country like lightning storms, drowning out and sucking away all attempts at magic by wizarding folk and their pathetic mortal incantations.

Every fool who attempted to pull a wand had the last dregs of magic sucked from their very souls—turning them into ordinary mortals, mundane Muggles.

House-elves and creatures of magic-the beasts and non—humans, beings—remained untouched, for once the only saviours to those who once lorded over. Goblins, forbidden to wield wands, sneered at the humans who had given them laws and restrictions, sealing off their warm places, hidden gardens, and earth-heated living places, saving only their own and those who had loyally worked for them: the curse-breakers and the tenders, the humans that had never had issues working for goblins.

House-elves, once taken for granted, were now the only lifeline to food and supplies, but supplies were quickly dwindling, hoarded by the selfish to lord over the needy, and even house-elves were not totally immune. The closer their link to humans, the more of their magic was drained away with each Apparate, each magical encounter. It was almost as if the curse was punishing humanity by forcing them to learn humility.

The magical greenhouses were the only source of food, and the decisions had to be made as what plants had to allowed to die to make room for basic crops for survival.

No one doubted it was a curse.

Even Muggles believed it was a curse brought down from whatever god they believed in, force, being, or myth.

The Floo network was utterly useless, sending people to random places on the node-network, trapping them between locked floos in even more paranoid businesses and residences.

Apparition was a death sentence to their magic.

Brooms sputtered and fell from the sky randomly, drained of all power.

Parents put anti-magic collars on their children, paranoid that their acts of accidental magic would turn them into squibs—until they couldn't find anymore.

Riots.

Murders.

People killing their friends and neighbours to protect their own families against the desperation of others—

It was all because of a curse.

And only four people knew whose it was.

Two had not been seen in over a year—

One holed himself up behind Hogwarts walls, praying for the walls to stay solid and unyielding and for his sin to remain unrevealed.

The other believed himself a hero—having banished a great evil from the hallowed halls of Hogwarts.

Oddly, no one else knew the truth.

But secrets buried deep tend to fester.

The curse grew ever stronger, tearing across the lands of Britain, sealing it away from all possible help. Boats froze in suddenly formed icebergs, crashing, capsising, before being sucked down into the depths of the sea. All planes avoided Britain due to both weather and electrical storms.

But what of the Wizarding war?

The machines of war were frozen, crashed upon foreign, alien nature.

What good did being a pureblood do when casting even a small spell tore the magic from within you and castrated you?

What good was power without food?

What good was arrogance without servants?

What good was magic without hope?

SSHGSSHGSSHGSSHGSSHG

Nagini had run out of food but a few weeks previous, Voldemort realised, with the last of his Death Eaters having served as sustenance for the only companion he gave a lick about. All the others were mere minions and didn't really matter, not even Bellatrix, even as much as he had admired her wild fanaticism.

They were bloody pointless, anyway—

Magicless.

Useless.

He could cast spells, but every time he did, there was a twinge of something as if his Horcruxes were fading, so he postured and waited, saving his magic to kill Harry Potter (that is if the weather didn't kill him first.)

His diary had served its purpose in a new way—having corrupted the supposedly pure and punished a rebellious servant.

Admittedly—perhaps the spell he had left buried within its pages might have been just a little too—

No.

He was Lord Voldemort.

He and his spells were perfect.

The Malfoy estate was as good as any place to build his lair, and now he didn't have to listen to the incessant chatter of idiots around him.

No one understood his grand plan.

No one really understood him.

The curse would fade when he finally chose to will it so.

He would let all of Britain freeze to death and build a kingdom worthy of himself upon their frozen corpses.

He cocked his head as he heard a distant howl—felt it rather than actually seeing it.

It was the howl of the beast.

And somewhere deep inside him, Voldemort knew it was death.

But was it his?

No, never.

He was immortal. He was forever. No mere beast would ever get the better of him.

SSHGSSHGSSHGSSHGSSHG

"She's gone, Ron," Harry said heavily, drinking his pumpkin juice turned to ale in a long swig.

Ron slammed his fists down on the table, making his own mug of ale topple and spill all over the tabletop. "She can't be gone forever!"

"I should never have told you-" Harry said, staring into his pumpkin ale.

"Of course you should have! She's mine!" Ron bellowed. "If I can't have her, no—"

Harry's eyes widened, then lowered in shame. "You weren't ever supposed to know. I found out in confidence, and I-I shouldn't have, I shouldn't have-"

He pushed the ale away, wincing. "I just hated him so much, I thought, I thought—" he stammered, thumping his head onto the table.

"He's gone, alright?" Ron snorted rudely. "We're heroes here at Hogwarts, mate."

"Dumbledore hasn't spoken to me since," Harry trailed off. "He was so angry. So terribly angry."

"Would you just stop, Harry?" Ron snapped. "That spell was specially made to punish Snape! It was designed to sort the greasy git!"

"But it affected Hermione!" Harry protested. "She disappeared too!"

"She'll be back! She's not evil like he was. She'll be back, and we'll get married, and we'll all be heroes, mate!"

With Ron's words, the wind began to howl even more loudly outside.

They could hear the howl of a great beast.

Ron, despite himself, looked scared. "It's just the wind," he said. "We'll have to stoke the hearth extra hot tonight." He reached over and threw a log onto the fire.

Harry stared miserably into the fire and embers. "I should never have told you."

SSHGSSHGSSHGSSHGSSHG

Harry hunkered down under the invisibility cloak, unable to look away as horror filled his body from head to toe.

"Hermione," Snape's voice was strangely soft, tender even—a low purr like a velvet panther.

"Severus," she replied, looking up from the stone bench.

The courtyard was empty, private, having been put behind a locked door in a forbidden wing. Harry was looking for the Mirror of Erised as he did so many times before, but instead-

Snape's long, pale fingers brushed against her cheek as he tilted her head up. "The old man commanded me to kill him. To save Draco's soul."

"And what of ours?" Hermione asked, her brown eyes filled with sorrow.

"He does not seem to care," Snape said, resigned.

"I'm twenty—seven years old trapped in a body that will never seem more than this—all because of that accursed stone. Oh, but I'm so sorry, Miss Granger. I had no idea that hiding it within you for even a short time would alter your entire physiology. I had no idea that time-turning would activate it within your DNA." Hermione looked bitter, her eyebrows knitting together. "I time-turned for years to be ready—ready for what? To see you dishonoured? Mocked? Condemned?"

Snape pulled her to his chest, his arms wrapping around her. "I can bear the weight."

"I cannot bear to see you shamed when you should be seen as a hero—a person of honour."

"I am hardly pristine, Hermione."

"And I am?" Hermione scoffed. "You saw what I did to that little bint, Marietta Edgecombe. What I did to Umbridge?"

Snape combed her hair soothingly with one hand. "What has his "greater good" made of us?" he whispered. "Our so-called benevolent Leader of the Light," he added bitterly.

"Married?" Hermione answered, her voice a whisper, but her smile both sad and happy at the same time.

Snape's expression seemed pained. His eyes crinkled around the edges as his lips flattened in a wince. "When this is over, I wish to give you a real wedding with as many disgusting amounts of frivolity, flowers, and cake as you desire."

"You know I don't need that," Hermione answered.

"You deserve one," Snape said, his face pinched as he touched her cheek.

Harry wanted to scream as he watched the show of visible affection, more so as Hermione looked up at Snape with such warmth and a smile.

"All I need is you, love," Hermione said, her hands cupping his face. "Survive, and that is all the wedding I require. I wish only to be able to come home to you."

"Home," he whispered, pulling her to him with a groan. He leaned into her, his cheek against her hair. "With you," he said, haunted.

"Unless you have some other wife waiting for you."

Snape startled and scowled, but when he saw Hermione's warm smile, he let out a sigh of relief. "Whoever thought Dumbledore's meddling and some idiotic Ministry decree would give me you," he said, brushing his thumb against her cheek.

"I believe they call such things entrapment," Hermione replied.

"I have never so relieved to be," he said, pausing, "entrapped."

"You hated me," Hermione replied, chuckling.

"You play a convincing know-it-all swot."

"That's because I am."

"My know-it-all swot," he said, his voice a rumble of distant thunder.

"Yours," she replied. "All yours."

She gave him a look of pure mischief. "They intended to arrest you for being of 'acceptable marrying age' and not being 'suitably married'. How kind of them to think so low of your prospects that they did not specify to whom you had to be married to."

Snape growled, anger seeming to both darken his eyes while simultaneously filling them with fire. His growl was bestial, inhuman, and from the depths of his soul.

Hermione pressed herself to his line of buttons, her arms around his waist.

Snape's anger diffused as it turned into something else, and his mouth dipped to capture Hermione's. She murmured into his mouth, her arms tightening around him as their bodies attempted to merge together in a wave of undeniable lust.

Snape!

Hermione!

No fucking way.

No way.

No how.

This was the exact opposite of the Mirror of Erised! This entire place was a nightmare! A bloody nightmare!

Harry stumbled, a part of him going forward to stop the atrocity while part of him tried to stop the bile from coming up from his stomach. His arm broke the branch of the nearby sapling.

Snape's ardour transformed into wrath as he literally snarled. His body pressed Hermione behind him as he seemed to tower a hundred times scarier than his anger in the classroom, a thousand times more terrifying than his scorn for Harry Potter's very being alive.

For a second, Harry saw his death as Snape's black eyes bored into him despite the cloak. His large nostrils flared, his breaths coming in heated rises and falls of his chest as muscles rippled, previously unseen under the billow of his woolen robes.

He swatted the air just in front of Harry, and Harry only barely stumbled back in time.

He'd never seen such wrath-

Oh, he'd thought he had, honestly, but he'd been wrong.

At that moment, Snape was Death, and Harry had no doubt at all.

Hermione's hands (oh, but they seemed so small against Snape's robes) pressed against his chest and pulled him around.

The fury flared up like a fire consuming parchment, but then Snape's eyes widened as his breathing evened out.

"We're alone here," she said. "Only a complete idiot would come here at this hour, and only someone allowed though Dumbledore's wards could get in here at all."

Snape turned his head to glower into the darkness, his expression quite dubious. "I can think of a few choice dunderheads who do not heed curfew or rules and possess an alarming amount of sheer dumb luck."

Hermione snorted, taking her fingertips to his jaw and pulling him around to face her. "We have so little time together. Must we constantly fight shadows and paranoia here too?"

"It is worse here than in the lap of the Dark Lord," Snape said, frowning. "At least at a Dark revel, I know everyone there is out to get me."

"I'm out to get you," Hermione purred, sultrily.

Harry felt the bile rising in his throat yet again.

"Is that so, Miss Granger?" Snape rumbled in his most practised professorial voice.

Hermione hooked one finger around Snape's silken cravat. "Why, yes," she purred. "Professor."

The unmistakable sound of a shared kiss haunted Harry as he silently fled from the hidden courtyard, wrapping the invisibility cloak tightly around himself as he ran. He ran so fast, he missed the dark alcove where the Mirror of Erised was waiting, and he didn't stop running until he reached Gryffindor Tower.

"Ron!" he blurted. "I really have to tell you something!"

SSHGSSHGSSHGSSHGSSHG

Harry remembered the terrible screams the most.

Ron had looked so smugly victorious when he'd returned later that night, utterly convinced that he'd done the world a great favour.

The agonised howls of a wounded beast filled the halls and corridors even as the sun rose.

But as Hermione had staggered down the stairs looking completely drowsy and confused-

Hermione fell to her knees in front of everyone, her hands trembling, her body shaking, her eyes wide as she clutched her hair with her hands. Her hands curled into fists as she let out an agonising shriek.

"Mione! You're safe now!" Ron cried, rushing up to her, putting his hands on her.

Then he yelled as his hands were scalded, no, burned.

Hermione's eyes were black, completely and utterly black. Her body trembled violently, seeming to want to shake itself to pieces. The sun beamed in from the open stairway window, and Hermione's body suddenly burst into blue-white flames.

She screamed and screamed, and screamed-

As every gut, soul, and mind was filled with terror, agony, and fear.

Children and adults throughout the entire school fell to the floor, clutching their heads or their guts, ripping out their own hair in sympathetic agony.

A newborn phoenix rose up from the ashes of Hermione Granger's robes and flew out the window, the mournful song of a heartbroken soul spreading across both Hogwarts and Hogsmeade even as the clouds began to gather.

Snow began to fall in great, silent flakes as the skies opened up. Ley magic surged out from cracks in the ground, spidering across the skies like a vast, moving net.

Harry hadn't slept well in over a year.

Since the rise of the Great Wolf.

Since Hermione had disappeared.

Since Snape had stumbled off into the snow, mad with what could only be called inconsolable grief.

Since the ley lines rose up and cast their net across Britain.

Since the first children started losing their magic by merely attempting to use it—

Since Dumbledore had forbidden the use of any and all magic at Hogwarts.

Since all brooms inexplicably came crashing down to earth, and they all became prisoners inside the school—

Most people thought Ron was a bonafide hero for "getting rid of the greasy git of the dungeons." They hadn't seemed to connect the coming of the snowpocalypse to the terrible deed that had finally driven Snape from Hogwarts.

But Harry knew.

He knew so well that he turned his pumpkin juice into pumpkin ale and drank himself to sleep each night, deep into the arms of oblivion.

He isolated himself in the Room of Requirement, attempting to drown the crushing guilt.

Harry was certain that Dumbledore suspected. Knew even. He now looked at Harry with something akin to severe disappointment.

Dumbledore's arm was blackened, charred.

Everyone claimed that Dumbledore had attempted to wrestle the magic back into Hogwarts and had been burned for it.

Oddly, Dumbledore seemed relieved and significantly less stressed as the arctic storms came rolling in, as if the winds somehow offered more protection than magic.

How was that even possible?

Yet, as magic became the enemy—the addictive drug that stole your magic-a strange peace born of commiseration slowly settled between the once antagonistic Houses of Hogwarts. They were all learning how to do things "the hard way" or "the Muggle way" or even "the centaur way."

"Least Snape isn't here lording over us, yeah?" Harry heard Seamus and Neville muttering together as Hagrid brought in a load of wood from outside. A swath had been cut through the snow with shovels so they could get to the forest.

They had to repeatedly shovel every day in shifts; otherwise the bitter cold would take their fingers. They'd even started to build a tunnel under the snow so there would be paths out, but every day they would have to check to make sure the weight of the snow above didn't collapse their work.

They had to read all the Muggle Studies books backwards and forwards and pay close attention to the Muggleborn students to learn how to perform routine tasks without magic: how to build snow structures, how to build fires, how to make airshafts, so they didn't suffocate. The most important of all, at least to Harry, was how to properly ferment barrels of pumpkin juice in the Room of Requirement.

The merfolk lurked deep within the lake, refusing to go to the surface. The giant squid seemed much of the same mind. The poor Whomping Willow was entirely buried in snow.

The tree was probably super cranky about it too.

Harry could barely live with his constant, smothering burden of guilt.

His dreams were now terrible nightmares of great wolven beasts, giant piles of burning wands as frozen corpses stared blankly into space, and the soul—wrenching dirge of a phoenix.

Harry fisted his hair in his hands and then drank an entire tankard of pumpkin ale, praying for sweet oblivion that would temporarily free him from the awful guilt.

SSHGSSHGSSHGSSHGSSHG

Hermione stretched and awoke in the dark of night, her hands fisting into dark, warm fur. The great black wolf whined and snuffled her, tongue licking her face like a welcoming hound.

She pressed into the wolf's warmth, her face against his muzzle as she rubbed his ears. "Hullo," she whispered.

She squinted into the dark, but all she saw was more darkness. She pulled the familiar black robes around herself-the robes that smelled of him, her husband, her beloved.

The nights were brutal, out there in the frigid, icy dark.

Yet, when she was with him, it was always warm.

Warm, but so lonely.

There was no sense of Severus in the wolf, no, but the wolf was as devoted as it was fierce and protective. The wolf was immense, the stuff of legend. A sun eater. A world-destroyer. Every fang was a dagger, his body a furnace.

Sometimes, she would see a hint of Severus in his expressions. A narrowed eyed scowl on a wolf's face. She would laugh, cry, and then the wolf would lick away her tears in bewilderment, having no idea why she was so confusing.

At first, the Death Eaters, the bloody Snatchers—they all came for her in the dead of night.

Werewolves.

Evil men and women.

And he would arise from the massive snowdrifts as a furious lupine god of death, his hackles up, his teeth flashing, his claws slashing, and his mighty rage eternal. He was a force of nature-an embodiment of wrath.

Her wolf.

Her love.

Yet, she could never touch the wizard he was, only catch but a fleeting glimpse of him as she shed his robes and he stood before her as a man.

Oh, but for a moment, they could almost touch, almost embrace.

But as the darkness faded and made the wolfen beast a man, the sunlight stole her away in flame and feathers.

The wolf hunted her food, and the piles of hoarded fruits and forest foods seemed to indicate she hunted for him, too. Each of them caring for their mate in the most basic way possible, never to embrace but always close.

So close.

Painfully close.

The wolf rarely left for long. He seemed to know she could not remain warm long without him.

Sometimes, she would wake and find a small, frozen flower left on his robes. She would clutch it to her breast and weep, and the wolf would lick away her tears and allow her to near throttle him in her grief and loneliness.

Betrayed.

They had been betrayed.

Someone had called upon a most unnatural magic, defying the natural order, and magic had turned them into avatars—one of the dawn and one of the night.

Voldemort's minions, lackeys, and pawns lay cold and frozen in the wastes as though the ice age had come again.

Some were torn limb from limb, their bones crushed.

If they stayed too long in one area, some were burned alive to char and ash.

So they kept moving, wolf and woman. Phoenix and man.

They didn't use any magic lest they be traced.

The Dark Lord had ears everywhere, even in chaos or perhaps more so because of it. They couldn't risk returning to where other people were.

The wolf cared not who or what threatened her. The wolf protected her against all comers. All manner of things.

She had to admit, if it were her, she would do the same. She would lay down her life for him. Protect him. Maybe, she already had. She was, even when she wasn't aware of it, protecting him just as he protected her.

Oh, but how she missed him, his arms, his worship of her body as though it were the only time together they would ever have. Perhaps, they hadn't been so wrong.

Now, they were doomed to only catch sight of the other in the fleeting twilight hours when night and day met in the middle.

A glimpse.

A gasp.

A desperate reaching of hand to touch the other.

But no, it never happened.

It would always end in tears.

It was worse in the fact they had met as phoenix and wolf-both seeking the solace of their hidden Animagus forms to escape Hogwarts if but for a few minutes at a time. They had never realised who the other was until the Ministry demanded Snape be married under the law or face Azkaban.

Albus, of course, knew nothing when he "forced" them to marry to "serve the cause of the Light and keep our Severus safe."

He had no idea.

They had no idea, either, as if irony wasn't thick enough. They both believed the other incompatible, immutable, and utterly unsuited for the other.

They had come together as animals, but their human selves were stubborn and willfully ignorant of the other's nocturnal companionship.

They had found friendship and companionship in the dark of night. They had found solace in the anonymity the night provided without the need for words or names. Only when the magic of the forced marriage bond reinforced the bond they had formed unknowingly, did Severus Snape and Hermione Granger realise magic had already bound them.

Dumbledore simply believed their bond sufficiently sealed to protect both Severus Snape and Hermione Granger from Azkaban. He swore them both to absolute secrecy, giving them an abandoned wing in which to meet after hours as husband and wife. They had no doubt it was being carefully monitored by the manipulative old coot—for despite his "magnanimous" help, he disapproved of his spy and Harry Potter's babysitter actually demonstrating that they liked each other.

Sometimes, they put on a show just to make him squirm the next day at the Head Table.

Sometimes, it wasn't a show as much as a meeting of pent—up frustration, need, and pure desire.

She was, thanks to Time-Turning and being changed by the Philosopher's Stone, a woman trapped within time.

And so was Severus—bound to her as their magic was bound-together forever but unable to touch, to love each other as a wizard and his witch.

Someone had certainly seen to that.

Betrayed.

They had been betrayed.

But by whom?

Hermione had no idea.

She had a feeling Severus knew, and that he was guiding them back to the source of their curse. It filled her with dread to face the reality of who might have ultimately betrayed them both.

What was ultimately scarier was that she had a feeling that it wasn't the Dark Lord Himself that had done it.

Who, then?

Who could have been so cruel?

SSHGSSHGSSHGSSHGSSHG

Charlie Weasley arrived at Hogwarts every week or two with some of his comrades in dragon—training, each time with one of the "safer" dragons to help carry the youngest students outside of Britain where they could be safely transported to another magical school.

The trips were slow thanks to the danger of using magic, and many of the regular spells used to help calm and temper the dragons were not useable thanks to the curse upon magical Britain. The safest dragons, or at least the least likely to eat someone, were all smaller species, so evacuation en masse was not a viable option. There was also the matter of some of them being quite venomous, which had to be countered with physical wraps of their muzzle-something that had to be undone from time to time so the creatures could eat and drink.

Hippogriffs were too cranky by far and would attack children just for not bowing at the right moment. Thestrals didn't trust anyone who didn't have active magic. Flying horses were so rare, no one who had them wanted to risk them flying in Britain and getting drained of magic, which could easily kill them as well. The very risk of it was simply too great. The freezing cold, unlike any cold known before, had already driven many magical species to shelter far from the eyes of men. Charlie's dragons were the best and only feasible method to transport children out of Britain

So, a few children at a time, the first years were delivered out of Britain to the foreign magical school networks, assimilating them into schools around the world that were willing to accept transfer students under unusual circumstances. Many refused, however. Either the language barriers were too great or the culture was too foreign for them to adjust. Or else they would be living too far away from their families—families who could not escape Britain's magical, snowy wasteland.

Harry put a hand on Charlie's shoulder. "Charlie."

"Harry, we're just about to leave-"

"I had a dream. A vision," he said quietly. "I think I now know how to bring an end to this ruddy curse."

"What?" Charlie breathed, quickly pulling the younger wizard to the side.

"I've had them for months, Charlie," Harry said, his eyes sunken.

"Have you been drinking?"

"Yes. No. I mean—" Harry sighed. "Look, it doesn't matter that I drink, Charlie. The visions. They started before I did. I drink-so I don't."

Charlie's eyebrows knit together. "Harry, what the hell happened?"

Harry looked skyward, wincing. "I did something horrible."

"What? What did you do?"

"I saw something I shouldn't—I-" Harry trailed off. "Well, I reacted pretty badly, and I ran to tell the first person I thought would understand. I told him. I told him. And-"

"Harry, I don't have time for this right now. I have to get—"

"I told Ron, Charlie! I told Ron that I saw, and he ran off, coming back all smug and saying he took care of it—"

Harry clutched his hair in his fists. "I don't know how he did it. But that was the same night the Great Wolf came to Britain. The dawn consumed Hermione in flames. The cold. Then magic itself turned against us. Everything."

Charlie's face grew red as he started to storm off.

"No!" Harry said, grabbing him by the arm. "I need you to deliver a message. It's really important!"

"Nothing is more important than beating the truth out of my sodding stupid git of a little-"

"Charlie! Please!" Harry cried insistently.

Charlie's expression darkened.

"To break the curse, Hermione and Snape have to come face-to—face with Ron while they're in human form."

"What does Snape have to do with it?"

"He's the WOLF!" Harry insisted. "He's the beast that rends and destroys evil out in the snows."

"He's killed every single Death Eater from here to Cornwall—" Charlie gasped. "Every last Snatcher as well." He stared intently at Harry. "How do you know it's Snape?"

Harry winced, then set his jaw. "He told me after. I didn't believe him. I really didn't think-Ron used a page he took out of Ginny's diary. It was Tom Riddle's old school diary. He said he hadn't even meant to—he just wanted to see what Ginny was so possessive about. The page came when they fought, and he kept it. The spell—the curse-was designed to fulfill one's heart's desire. And what Ron wanted most of all was to show everyone what he thought Snape was: a monster Ron really believes that's what Snape is."

"And be famous," Charlie snorted, narrowing his eyes as he watched his youngest brother preening in front of a crowd of adoring syphocants.

Harry tugged his arm. "Please. I need you to get a message to Hermione. To Snape."

Charlie turned to him. "What kind of message?"

"Tell them that on a day without a night and a night without a day, they must face him. Face him and the curse is broken."

"There is no such thing!" Charlie protested.

"Charlie, please!" Harry insisted.

Charlie narrowed his eyes. "Even if I wanted to, how would I even find them?"

Harry handed Charlie a worn galleon.

Charlie gave him a look.

"It's a special charmed galleon. Hermione made them. You can pass messages with it—direct to her. Only if you're close. Well—closer than far. It won't work for me here. We don't dare use magic. But—it warms if she's close by."

Charlie took the galleon a little suspiciously but tucked it away. "You realised every day I'm out there on a wild hippogriff chase, there are children here that aren't getting out of Britain."

Harry winced. "If you do this—the curse could break. You won't have to keep doing this anymore."

Charlie patted the dragon's side and climbed up into the saddle, locking the safety straps in place. "You'd better be right, Harry Potter."

Harry closed his eyes. "I have to be. There has to be an end to this."

Severus had gotten used to transport via phoenix flight after a year of being away from Hogwarts—banished into the wilds by a terrible curse. They used no magic lest they be traced, but whatever they did as beasts did not seem to apply to whatever traces the Dark Lord's minions or Ministry had looking for them.

They had travelled far and wide across Britain and the vast, relentless snows, yet he walked upon two legs during the day. She, however, only did so at night. He had not held his wife in his arms for over a year, and his anger and frustration often mirrored what he knew boiled within the wolf.

The change he could not control any more than she could.

Not anymore, anyway.

Now, they were locked in a cycle of dawn to dusk to dawn again. He roamed the day as a man and a wolf at night. She flew the skies during the day and walked beside the wolf at night as a human.

There was no control in the change, no keeping of conscious thought—not since that fateful night when he had felt the familiar hooks of the Dark Lord's insidious magic sinking into his body and throwing him mercilessly to the floor. The wolf had torn himself out by force, as separate from him as the sun and moon, ripped from his consciousness and control, stoked into a rage, and transformed into something that ran on pure instinct rather than intelligent discourse.

Severus, the man, was forced into a box buried deep within, only vaguely aware of anything but the soul-deep loneliness and the painful deprivation of her distinctive touch and embrace. She was the balm to his tattered soul—taunted by the teasing, tantalising nearness of her, the siren song that was the Amortentia scent that lingered upon his robes as the she-phoenix flew up with the morning dawn.

She had been his most treasured memory since the fateful night when one moonlight flight of a hidden phoenix had collided with a solitary wolf, their magic swirling around each other long before their minds realised who the other was. They had met, phoenix and wolf, under the cover of darkness. There, the primordial stygian blackness, they had shared each other's company and magic until they could not deny the other had become important.

Utterly essential, in fact.

So, when Dumbledore had arranged for them to be married to "save" him from Azkaban, they had both believed their hearts to be already taken—closed off but for a wolf and his phoenix and the phoenix and her wolf.

Yet, on the night of their most forced consummation, their magic seemed to have the last laugh.

They had already been bound… to each other.

The wolf had probably been utterly smug, but Severus the man had been completely dumbfounded that the witch who had embraced him was none other than Hermione Granger.

Older.

Timeless.

As much a slave to sodding Albus as he was—

Robbed of her childhood.

Stripped of her innocence.

Trained as a soldier whose only escape had been her flights of freedom under the cover of night, just as he had.

The same.

The same as him.

Sworn to the service of Albus Dumbledore to ultimately save Potter's son.

He had bound Snape in guilt for a childhood friend scorned.

He had bound Granger in duty for a childhood friend who was too bloody arrogant and brazen than to think his parents hadn't been such perfect little Gryffindor bastions of light.

A boy.

A mere child.

A right dunderhead whose heart was half in the grave and a half so far up his arse that he couldn't see Black without his rose-tinted glasses. He couldn't see Albus as anything but some wonderfully kind grandfatherly wizard who had nothing but Harry's best interests at heart.

Maybe he did, but it didn't really help people who weren't directly tied to Harry Potter.

Meanwhile, Hermione kept saving him from his own mistakes, saving Neville, saving Ronald Idiot—Boy Weasley—

She did because she was sworn to.

A compulsion she could no more fight than she could choose to stop breathing…

Oh, but Albus hadn't ever expected his master plan to backfire so spectacularly—

For in binding them together via magic, he had cancelled out all of their other vows. Perhaps Albus would have had a heart attack in realisation, had he and Granger not been cursed shortly after!

Oh, and Severus knew full well who had cursed him.

He knew Weasley's jealousy—riddled voice.

He knew the feel of the Dark Lord's spellwork.

It had ripped through his shields just like how he would tear through his mind looking for "weak" emotions to use against him.

He also knew that the Dark Lord did so love spells that couldn't be countered, only solved: solved by death.

Since the Dark Lord believed himself to be immortal, it was never a problem for him.

However, Ronald Weasley was not immortal, and Severus would see him rotting in hell to free himself and his wife from this hideous twilight purgatory. Oh, and it would be entirely legal. He would follow the letter of the law as it applied to their forced marriage: to attack, harm, or attempt to sunder a couple united to "help seed the future of the Wizarding World" was punishable by death and that had been so for countless centuries.

He might not even use a wand, instead using his bare hands to snap the Weasley oaf's scrawny, freckled neck.

Sure, Charlie Weasley came with that obscure message from Potter saying he could break the curse by facing Ronald Bilius Weasley on a day without a night and a night without a day.

What absolute rot.

No, now that Hermione's phoenix-self was carrying them back towards Hogwarts, he planned to end the curse in the only way he knew would work.

Death.

He would personally obliterate Ronald Bilius Weasley into his component atoms, and he would enjoy it.

SSHGSSHGSSHGSSHGSSHG

"What the hell is this about, mate?!" cried Ron as he zapped his hands trying to get out of the glowing magic-imbued cage.

"Looks like Hogwarts has finally had enough of your taking credit for being some kind of hero while condemning everyone to a ruddy snowpocalypse!"

"You did this?!" Ron accused.

Harry shook his head. "No magic, Ron, remember? None of us can."

"You can get Dobby to come release me!"

"Dobby can barely lift his arms. He's helped us too much already," Harry said.

Dobby pulled on his ears weakly. "Hoggywarts says Weasel—boy must pay for what he did," he wheezed. "Hoggywarts very angry that he used Dark magic. His Dark magic. The corruptor. The silver-tongued snakey—wizard."

Ron's eyes bugged out even as a crowd gathered around the magical cage.

"What do you mean, Dobby?" Minerva said, her eyes narrowing.

"Marriage most sacred bond," Dobby squeaked. "Weasel—boy broke it on hallowed ground of Hoggywarts. Hoggywarts terribly angry. Magic angry. Nature angry too because of what Weasel—boy did."

Albus' face became very still, his blue eyes lacking their customary twinkle.

It was then and only then that the crack of a loud Apparate deposited the tall, twisted form of Lord Voldemort straight to gates of Hogwarts. He blasted open the barely—warded unmaintained-by—magic gates off the hinges and storms through the snow bellowing, "HARRY POTTER! I'LL SEE YOU DEAD!"

Snow went billowing out in all directions, but even as the magic flared and the snow left by a vortex of powerful magic, the very image of the Dark Lord seemed to shrink with each and every spell he cast.

He stormed forward as if propelled by a great gust of wind, only by the time he arrived in front of the cage containing one Ronald B. Weasley and the entire Hogwarts staff, he was yelling out spells and pointing his wand only to have the nearby, newly uncovered Whomping Willow pound him into a bloody pulp, directly into the frozen, snow-covered ground.

Harry Potter clutched his head as a foul dark vapour spewed out from the mark on his forehead even as the once-great and terrifying Dark Lord Voldemort became nothing but still, thoroughly pulverised flesh. Harry straightened, wincing, rubbing his forehead where the infamous scar disappeared in front of everyone's eyes.

The chilling howl of a great wolf echoed out over the moors, and Ronald Weasley's horrified eyes went from the splotch of pulp that had been Lord Voldemort to scan the hidden horizon.

"Get me out of here NOW, 'arry!" he whinged.

"The Dark Lord just squibbed himself to death in front of us all by using magic," an incredulous Harry yelled back at him. "What good do you think I could do against a bloody great beast of vengeance?!"

SSHGSSHGSSHGSSHGSSHG

Ronald Bilius Weasley, Saviour of Hogwarts and Vanquisher of the Greasy Git of the Dungeons, had a problem.

He had, if he admitted it to himself, developed multiple problems, but there was one, in particular, that was vexing him the most: Bloody Snape was returning.

The Great Wolf, they called it.

The Sun-Eater.

The World Devourer.

He-Who-Rended-Death-Eaters-to-Bloody-Bits

The beast had left a swath of torn remains that were once Dark magic users from Cornwall to Scotland and back again, taking no pity, leaving no one alive to tell about it save the savaged bodies of the dead.

The first had been the Lestrange brothers.

The second had been Bellatrix.

Snatchers were torn limb from limb, their twisted remains scattered but not eaten, almost as if the beast didn't even deem their corpses worthy of feeding upon.

Other corpses were burned and charred black, smouldered bone and meat—their burned faces frozen in an agonised scream.

The only thing that was left untouched was the victims' wands, buried in the snow with them, entombed as the snow and the ice-covered them in layer after layer of unforgiving frozen water.

Oddly, the same giant footprints of the Great Wolf always had a smaller set of human prints right beside it. Even more so, children lost in the snow would report that "a woman with a wild hair and a giant dark wolf helped me back home."

Pillagers and looters, criminals, and those who believed that laws didn't matter when the snow was heavy on the ground were found tied to trees on the outskirts of towns—babbling, crying, begging to be put in prison because the gaol was infinitely preferable to be found again by THEM.

Them in all caps with an exclamation point.

Murderers were found with their hands charred off or their bits mysteriously removed as if by cauterisation, their eyes glassy and drool dripping from their mouths as they chanted that they had sacrificed their pieces to avoid the Jaws of Hati while others believed they had seen into the eyes of Sköll and been judged to be wanting. Others said that the Slender Man had scowled upon them as a bird of fire swooped down and set them to flames.

Ronald had kept careful track of all the stories.

At first, it had been to gloat to himself about the great git's predicament, but then he had slowly begun to realise that somehow he had tied Hermione into Snape's fate with his anger—fueled spell—driven Hermione into the curse she now shared with Snape.

She was supposed to be with him!

They were meant for each other.

Everyone had told them so.

So what if Lavender had better hair, better legs, and a downright glorious arse-

Hermione had no business at all being with the greasy-haired git, and if she wasn't going to be with him, then she definitely didn't need to be chummy with Snape (or anyone else!)

That included Harry.

Especially Harry.

But the Great Wolf was returning to Scotland-to Hogwarts.

He could feel it in his very bones.

The greasy git probably wanted to give Ron a piece of his mind, and here he was, stuck in this ruddy stupid cage!

It wasn't supposed to be like this!

The spell promised that all of his wishes would be granted!

Wealth!

Fame!

Popularity!

Being idolised as a hero!

He wanted to be so much more than his overworked father and his multitude of older brothers.

So what if the spell had required a little blood? He just "borrowed" what he needed.

The emotion part had been dead easy.

Visualisation of Snape being a stupid beast just like everyone knew he was? Easy.

Sure, it hadn't gone quite as he had expected.

Sure, he hadn't expected Hermione to get tangled into the spell along with him.

That wasn't his fault.

Stupid magic.

There was no way the magic-sucking leylines were his fault.

He hadn't asked for mountains of ruddy snow, either.

Or this damnable enchanted cage.

What the hell was Hogwarts thinking?

If it could do this, why hadn't Hogwarts just put a cage around Voldemort the last time he'd been there? Surely he'd gone to Hogwarts too at some point?

Then again, why hadn't it just put a cage around Snape? The bloody git had definitely deserved it!

Damn, it was cold.

His teeth were chattering like mad.

The blankets weren't cutting it, even if the teachers had given him. Right, and the snow brick-built dome crafted in snow and ice.

He could hear the howling of the icy wind and the chilling howl of the Great Wolf.

Or was it just the wind?

His mind?

Maybe it was the frigid cold seeping into his mind.

He could almost swear that he heard the ground rumbling.

Why was it getting dark so early?

It felt like lunchtime. He was so hungry.

He stared at the flickering bonfire-one of the few still-working remnants of magic they could use without performing magic themselves.

They'd at least left him with some heat, even if it didn't feel like nearly enough.

He touched the bars and yelped in pain as they instantly heated up and not in a pleasant, comforting way.

His hands hadn't been the same since he laid them on Hermione in an attempt to comfort her: the day she had burned in front of them all.

The pain was one of the few things he could still feel through them. He couldn't even get a decent wank in without the pain. Fortunately, he'd had plenty of pretty witches to help him with that particular issue, but—

He heard loud footsteps approaching his current position. The crunch of boots against frozen snow and ice sounded like someone dragging a table across gravel. The steps were both familiar and ominous.

Fear quivered and pooled in his stomach as part of his mind began to realise to whom those footfalls likely belonged to.

Snow crunched.

Crackled.

Creaked.

Oh, gods.

It was him.

It was really him.

The snow caved in as a familiar black shape rose up from a kneeling position.

"Mr Weasley." Venom mixed with fire. "How long I have waited to wrap my hands around your throat and—squeeze."

SSHGSSHGSSHGSSHGSSHG

The staff of Hogwarts knew something had changed when the snow seemed even more oppressive. It came in a fury that blotted out any attempt to see further than a few feet. The wind was howling like the cry of a great beast, and some believed it truly was. Worse, it was becoming dark as night, and Trelawney was proclaiming doom upon the world even without her crystal balls and magic-enhanced predictions.

Aurora Sinistra said it was only the approaching eclipse having known the celestial schedule as thoroughly as any centaur, but no one seemed to hear her placations. Doom seemed to hover, and the weather was but proof. The astronomical events were just further evidence of damnation. Trelawney had discovered herself more easily believed when doom and gloom were so tangible in the present. Thinking it would be there in the future was hardly a leap of faith.

But the sun's haze through the dark clouds had always been there if only to mock them that a truly sunny day would never occur.

The pitch, eerie, suppressive darkness only stoked the fires of paranoia and desperation for both the children and adults alike. It was hard to suppress the fear when terrible hunger and bitter cold stalked every corner.

But now, all of them had a person to blame.

It wasn't even Voldemort, though perhaps he had played his part.

No, the blame now settled securely about Ronald Weasley's shoulders, and the only place that was safe from riots was (ironically) the howling wastes of snow outside Hogwarts. There, they had entombed Ronald Weasley in the cage made by Hogwarts, crafted a show shelter around him, gave him enough heat to keep him from freezing to death, filtered him his rations that all of them had to share, and let him contemplate his life choices.

To return to Hogwarts would expose him to the vengeance of the students who blamed him for the Rise of the Great Wolf, the snows, the hunger, and the inability to do the magic they were born with, not to mention being unable to return to their families. The snow had seen to that, burying food and escape with equal abandon. No more did he bask in the light of a hero, no. Now, Hogwarts itself was the hero along with the Whomping Willow, and Harry Potter was the Boy—Who—Lived-With-Guilt -

Meanwhile, Albus was holed up in his tower contemplating how things had gone so wrong without his knowing.

Minerva had her suspicions as Potter's guilt had begun to manifest in increasingly more visible ways: lost hair, lost sleep, bags under his eyes, and the scent of alcohol much like Trelawney did. Yet, after Hogwarts had stepped in, it was even more clear that whatever guilt Potter had harboured, it had been for spurring Ron into action rather than having done the deed himself.

If anything, Harry Potter was no longer the impulsive, hot-headed boy he had once been.

She suspected he was living his life now to make up for some great sin he'd committed-something she'd seen before in a young wizard who believed that a single mistake on his part had caused every pain that mattered.

Old wizards too, if she were quite honest.

But the encroaching cold had never been so fierce.

The darkness had never been so forbidding.

But the howls…

Gods, the howls.

Nothing from the Shrieking Shack had ever been so gut—twistingly wrathful and lonely at the same time.

Every time it sounded off, Albus and Potter had looked so unmistakably guilty, and yet Minerva couldn't for the life of her fathom why.

Hermione Granger's sudden disappearance had been a mystery that no one seemed to know the answer of. When Severus had stumbled off into the unforgiving cold and ice-haunted more than she had seen since he was but a teenager—

Minerva felt the twisting of guilt in her gut at the memory.

Somehow, she'd missed something important.

Something right in front of her.

Hermione Granger and Severus Snape?

Surely not.

He was her teacher.

She was just a young lass, a student!

But slowly, ever so slowly, pieces started to fit together.

Albus had given the girl a Time-turner—

She remembered catching them together in his office.

"I'm sorry, Miss Granger. I had no idea that keeping it hidden within you would affect you as it has. Poppy assures me she is doing her best to counter the effects."

Miss Granger's head was bowed as she stared into her lap. "I suppose I knew my childhood would be gone when I accepted your offer, I just had no idea I would face-"

"Minerva," Albus said suddenly, his head snapping up. "Miss Granger and I were just finishing up here."

"I'll be going now, Headmaster."

"You will be sure to check with Poppy about—"

"Of course, Headmaster."

Hermione walked by Minerva silently, seeming strangely sombre.

"What was that about, Albus?"

"Miss Granger was simply experiencing growing pains, Minerva. Nothing that our dear Poppy can't sort out."

Minerva had begun to remember little things after that.

So many secret meetings with Dumbledore.

So many times that Albus would send Hermione Granger to Severus for private lessons but never tell her what they were about.

So many times he'd tell the child to do something that seemed a bit too complex for a simple third year, fourth year, or even a student of any year—

She'd remember how Poppy's eyes would seem so haunted after talking to Miss Granger.

"I couldn't save her," Poppy said, her voice heavy with weariness.

"Don't be silly, Poppy,"Minerva had assured the distressed mediwitch. "She's alive. She's recovering."

"Oh, Minerva. I couldn't save her from time."

From time.

Not in time.

At the time, she'd thought Poppy had simply misspoke.

"Only Miss Granger can save Severus from Azkaban, Minerva."

"But she's just a child, Albus!"

"Not to the Ministry, Minerva. Do you wish to see Severus in Azkaban?"

"No, but—"

"This is what must be done."

"But Albus, she's with the youngest Weasley boy—"

Albus' laughter was strange and almost mocking. "No, Minerva, my dear. Not on your life."

She remembered the secret Ministry wedding, fully expecting it to be a farce like everything else. She'd figured the gentle touch of Snape's hand on Miss Granger-now-Madam Snape as he brushed her hair from her face had just been a lie in front of witnesses.

She figured that Hermione's allowing Snape to guide her in front of him was simply respect for her teacher and the wishes of the Ministry.

But that wasn't it at all.

Minerva only now realised it as the blackness swirled outside with the ice and snow.

Snape hadn't plunged out into the snows to commit suicide. He'd gone out to find his wife.

Minerva started to run towards the great doors that led to the outside tunnels under the snow.

If Severus was making his way back to Hogwarts, Ronald Weasley would be dead soon.

Severus would kill him, and there would be few people anywhere after the last year that would dare stand in his way.

SSHGSSHGSSHGSSHGSSHG

Ronald Weasley screamed and pissed himself in sheer terror as Snape's claw-like fingers tightened inexorably around his neck. There was no magic to power the terrifying sense of doom, no. He felt the wizard's terrible rage, smelled his breath-

Saw his death in the other man's obsidian eyes—

They were black, so black.

They spoke of wrath eternal.

He looked human, but his lips parted in a lupine snarl. "For over a year, I have hunted down the Dark Lord's lackeys, and each time I rose as a man, I wished one of the remains was of the one who cursed us."

His hands tightened. "Cursing me was expected, but you cursed Hermione, my wife. That, I can never forgive. I am allowed, by Wizarding law, to kill you for your utter stupidity. Your foolish jealousy. Your pitiful little play for power."

"And I do not need magic," Snape growled lowly, "to completely tear you apart."

Ron could only squeak in mindless terror like a petrified rodent before the maw of a hungry predator.

His terror rose with the harsh odour of his urine, and Ron shrieked out a chain of shocking confessions in a stream of consciousness rush that would have made even Cormac McLaggen blush had he been there.

"You are disgusting," Snape hissed contemptuously. "How do you even look yourself in the mirror and not die of shame?"

His fingers tightened again. "Fear not. I will absolve you as I bring an end to your miserable life. The only tried and true way to end a Dark curse, boy, is death."

Ron's body was slammed hard against the walls of the cage even as Snape's hands found his neck conveniently squeezable. He turned red in the face, then blue, choking.

"Severus, NO!" Minerva cried, running up, huffing wildly. "Don't kill the boy!"

Snape's head jerked up, his eyes narrowing. "I'm well within my rights, Minerva. You have no right to stop me." He slammed Ron's body into the cage bars hard, causing Ron to whimper.

"Please, sir!" Potter's voice came in a hoarse pant and heave. "Please! You can break the curse! Today! Right now! You and Hermione just have to face him together! Together!"

"And I am to believe that the best mate of the fool who cursed us? I am to believe the one who made it happen?!"

Minerva wrung her hands in utter distress. "There's no harm in trying, Severus, please! Let him be judged by the Wizengamot! Let him live with his shame! Please!"

Snape's eyes smouldered with his rage. "Why should I let him live when he has stolen everything good in my life? Even in shame, it is not enough. Even if he were to feel anything, it will not bring her back to me nor me to her."

The sheer agony in Snape's eyes caused both Potter and McGonagall to stammer over their words. How could they possibly justify mercy to the man who so deserved to mete out justice?

"Severus."

Snape's eyes widened and his hands abruptly loosened from Ron's neck. Ron fell flat on his arse, and he scooted back to the opposite wall of the cage, choking, gagging, and gasping.

Hermione stood there, wrapped up in a thick cloak borrowed from Charlie Weasley. She carried a dragon-shaped metal lantern glowing brightly with caged dragon-fire.

Three large strides took Severus to Hermione, and he engulfed her in his arms with a moan, a cry, and a prayer. The lantern clattered into the snow tunnel as Hermione clung to Snape, her eyes closed tight as her hands wrapped around him and she buried her face into his neck.

The cage that held Ronald collapsed, and he immediately tried to flee in the snow and ice, but Harry tackled him like a Rugby player, slamming him into the ground with a yell.

"Gerroff!" Ron yelled, struggling.

"Look at them!" Harry demanded.

"No!"

"LOOK AT THEM, RON! Or for all that is good in the world, I swear I will tell your mum just how many witches you slept with in the last year!"

Ron's eyes opened wide to stare at Harry, but his blurred vision focused on the deathly countenance of Severus Snape and Hermione Granger.

"You sodding IDIOT!" Hermione screamed.

A cloud of angry, brassed-off (flaming) canaries dive-bombed Ronald's exposed skin. He howled in pain and rolled up into a fetal position, trying in vain to protect his freckled hide.

Snape pressed two fingers to her chin and lifted her jaw so she looked up at him. "You're so beautiful when you're angry."

Hermione's expression softened as they both came together in a passionate kiss.

A heated blast of magic blew out from Hermione and Severus as the clouds parted, the sun came out, and the howling wind immediately ceased. The ley magic seemed to withdraw its web from across Britain, fading into invisible normality as the howl of the Great Wolf and a phoenix combined together. Two Patroni blew outward, a wolf and a phoenix, and then they flew away together across Scotland towards southern Britain.

The very land seemed to take in a deep breath and release it with a relieved sigh.

Magic had returned to the world once more sharing itself with all of Britain.

SSHGSSHGSSHGSSHGSSHG

Magic Comes Back to Britain as Spring Returns at Long Last!

The Curse of Winter and the rampage of the Great Wolf has finally come to an end. Magic has returned to our people once more, and with it a strange miracle has come along with it: Squibs have been blessed by magic!

It seems as though the magic that was stolen by the ley storms has given back equal to what was taken, returning magic to those who were stripped of magic through innocent use. But it seems as though magic has decided for itself whom it would re-bless and whom it would deny.

At the core of it, the Wizengamot has reformed, and their very first trial was that of Ronald Bilius Weasley, the confirmed instigator of the Dark Curse that threw Britain into the frozen wastes for well over a year. As if having been responsible for such Dark magic wasn't enough, he was also found guilty of trying to break an established Ministry—sanctioned marriage bond that was created under the Marriage Act that took effect three years ago.

While Masters Severus and Hermione Snape have refused to seek the boy's death after an emotional confrontation that ended in the lifting of the curse, many are still crying out for justice for the chaos and death caused by that wintry nightmare and the paranoia the unending snows wrought in their wake.

The Wizengamot, however, stresses that while those deaths were truly unfortunate, blaming the boy for the selfish and cruel acts that hastened outbreaks of violence during the snows was not specifically his fault.

Master Severus and Hermione Snape, united under the Marriage Law instigated by Minister Fudge to encourage repopulating the Wizarding World, brought up a conspiracy at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, specifically at the hands of Headmaster Dumbledore. After being put under oath and Veritaserum, both Snapes revealed a shocking conspiracy to end the war by forcing Snape to take the Dark Mark to save his childhood friend (only for Dumbledore to fail at saving Lily Potter) and training Master Granger to be a soldier capable of defending both Harry Potter and his best mate Ronald Weasley when it was time to send him off to "save the world."

Master Hermione Snape was, thanks to time-turning magic to complete her increased classwork and having held the Philosopher's Stone within herself for "far too long," was found to be approximately twenty—seven years of age before her rapid aging finally came to a halt. It was because of this accelerated ageing and later lack that has her effectively frozen in time-a crime that has the Wizengamot considering a unique punishment for the headmaster of Hogwarts.

Mr Dumbledore was also found guilty of having tried to oath-enforce Master Snape into murdering him to secure his "place" with the Dark Lord and terminate his life before a dark curse could consume him from the hand up. The curse seems to have halted with the death of He-Who—Must—Not—Be-Named.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore has since been summarily relieved of his position at Hogwarts and was made one of the handfuls of new teachers for the Ministry's new Squib education program. All of the former squibs who are now finding themselves with magic must be trained and assisted to integrate back into our society without becoming a danger to themselves or others. Dumbledore's financial assets have been split amongst both Snapes as compensation for a lifetime and childhood of deliberate manipulation and pain—a list of grievances so shocking that even the Wizengamot will not list them for the public. One that was revealed, however, was forcing the then Miss Granger to marry Master Severus Snape to "save him from Azkaban" since she was of age thanks to her time-turning at his behest.

The law only applies to witches and wizards aged twenty—five and above, and many are considering keeping it active especially after the vast number of magical lives that were lost due to the snows.

Minerva McGonagall is the newly—elected Headmistress of Hogwarts in the wake of the trials. The students will be returning next autumn term as usual, and repairs and restaffing will be taken care of during the summer hols.

As for the fate of Ronald Weasley, He-Who—Brought—the-Deadly—Snows, the Wizengamot is considering community service after they determine if his magic-less state is permanent or temporary. Many believe his connection to YKW's Dark magic in order to cast the spell linked their magic, and when YKW squibbed himself upon attacking Hogwarts, he depleted both his magical reserves, artefacts, and all those connected to him each time he cast a spell.

It seems, however, that in the case of the Boy Who Lived, the last spell YNW cast caused an outpouring of Dark magic to spill out from his infamous scar. Mr Potter was left with a bleeding forehead, but it was healed as if it had never been there. While his magic seems to have been drained much like those connected to YKW, the staff at St Mungos remain hopeful that since he lived that magic will return him as the healing of the magical scars left by the Dark lord's presence proceed further.

So far, the Weasley family has declined to comment.

SSHGSSHGSSHGSSHGSSHG

Severus shuddered as Hermione slipped into his embrace, fully human again. The lingering scent of winter clung to them both, but under it all was still the other's Amortentia. She gazed up at him with the same combination of trust and fiery passion she had since the very first night of their revelation and consummation under the Ministry's shady marriage act.

Her hair still had red and gold feathers mixed within the lush curls, and he sported some impressive canines and (rather sexy, if you asked Hermione) wolf ears under his black hair thanks to them each having spent so long in their Animagus forms, but that didn't bother either of them. They were no longer locked within them, their minds forced into a deep unawareness.

They were free.

Dumbledore was now tethered to the task of teaching former squibs, one of them being Argus Filch, and the boy who had cursed them had been forced to take on Argus' old job.

There was nowhere else he could be accepted and not instantly Avada-ed for his part in bringing the deep freeze across England.

Thanks to Charlie Weasley's help, no one had lost their child to the relentless snows at Hogwarts, and those who had lost their magic found they were slowly regaining it. The Muggle riots and murders, however, were entirely another matter.

Fortunately for Ronald Bilius Weasley, being squibbed forever was seen as such a terrible fate in modern Wizarding society that his being banished to Hogwarts didn't seem inappropriate at all—for he was a man without magic being forced to live out the remainder of his life with a constant reminder of what had once been a part of him.

It was also because of Charlie Weasley's valiant rescues that the Weasley family wasn't completely blacklisted as a waste of magic by every wizarding family in Britain. William Weasley had married his fellow curse-breaker, the former Fleur Delacour, in the depths of Gringotts during the great freeze, and his reputation was utterly beyond reproach. Percy Weasley had gone on sabbatical after having discovered that Dolores Umbridge had been gleefully stealing Dark artefacts during the chaos and hoarding them in her office. The twins opened up a joke shop in Diagon Alley, determined to bring happiness and fun back to the world they'd almost lost, and they donated a share of their profits to benefit the victims of the freeze.

If anything, it was Ginny who faced a great deal of ridicule for being the sister of the squib caretaker, but she still had her magic. She was hardly one to allow herself to be a victim, and her bat bogey hexes afflicted a significant number of people before peace returned to Gryffindor tower.

And Molly and Arthur seemed genuinely grateful that Severus hadn't done what he had had every right to do: break the Dark curse upon himself by taking their youngest son out of the picture-permanently, even when the majority of Wizarding Britain believed he should have, at least until they realised he was going to live his life without magic.

That, they truly believed, was a fate far, far worse than death.

Potter, in his guilt—addled mind, could barely even look at either of them, and while that was just fine with Severus he knew his wife still had good memories of the young boy she had been best mates with.

As for the man he had become, well, that was evolving into something different and something far better than what his swine of a father had been.

Harry Potter showed true remorse, and for that reason alone, he was willing to give him the chance that James Potter had neither earned nor deserved. Magic seemed to believe that Harry was redeemable, for it was slowly returning to him.

Magic had done what it could to preserve their love, even while their physical forms had been forced. It had bound them together before they had been married, and it had purged them of the vows to Dumbledore to preserve their sanctity in marriage. He would have to trust it in regards to Potter.

He would have to trust that Harry Potter could change.

He had, after all, so he had to believe Potter was capable of the same.

Hermione stilled his thoughts by kissing his neck, and Severus growled, pulling her chin up to kiss her properly.

"Thank the gods, there is no Dumbledore here to loom over us anymore, love."

She looked at him with a tender smile, her fingers lightly tracing his eyebrows and pushing his hair back from his lupine ears. "I love you."

Severus let out a choked half-sob as he pulled her to him as if they would merge together into one being. "Thank Merlin for you."

"And for you, Severus," she replied, her palms cupping his cheeks. "My wolf. My love."

He pressed his forehead to hers. "Yours," he whispered. Their magic swirled together, a promise.

Hermione flushed pink, her hand covering his as she guided his pale hand to her abdomen. "Ours."

Severus' eyes widened, skin pale. "Truly?"

Hermione smiled broadly as Severus twirled her around joyfully and crushed her to his chest.

SSHGSSHGSSHGSSHGSSHG

Harry's hand tentatively reached for the knocker on the seemingly mundane wooden door and then hesitated. He swallowed hard, thinking of all the other places that would be easier to enter than this particular residence.

"The bread is going to attract a horde of hungry Nargles, Harry," Luna said, grabbing the hamper packed full of freshly baked goods. She knocked on the door and pushed it open, and a wash of warm magic blew over them as the wards recognised them.

"Hermione, we're here!" Luna walked into the house without a care, pulling on a balloon shaped like a wolf and another shaped like a phoenix. "Happy anniversary!"

"Hi, Auntie Luna!" young voices cheered from inside the house.

"Going to walk in, Potter? Or shall I jump through my open window to get into my own domicile?" Snape's voice rumbled from behind him.

Harry startled, turning red about the ears and face before he caught his breath and heartbeat with a pained expression.

"You should eat more fibre, Potter," Snape said, pushing by him. "Or buy one of our constipation potions. I may even charge you less than the going price for typical imbeciles."

Harry jolted his head up at the comment, his head smashing into the quaint wooden sign above the door that said "The Wolf and Phoenix Apothecary" to the Wizarding eye and had only the painted wood carving of the wolf and phoenix to the mundane, Muggle eye.

The action startled a phoenix chick that had been snoozing on the sign's hanger, and the fluffball gave an annoyed squawk before fluttering into the cottage.

He rubbed his head, wincing, and walked into the cottage with a sigh.

The inside, much like Grimmauld Place and the magic-imbued tents, was larger than the outside belied without tipping off the neighbours that more was afoot. The small drive ran past the outer garden wall, and occasionally people on bicycles or horses would saunter by, waving or giving unknown visitors suspicious looks.

"There you are, Harry," Hermione's voice greeted from the dining room. "Well, walk through. Don't just stand in the hallway."

The entryway was, much like walking into Diagon Alley from the Muggle side. The "shoppe" was like a country store with nothing but typical if localised fare: soaps, tinctures, liniments, lotions, and herbal sachets. The small room beyond the curtain concealed a pass-through wall activated my magic that allowed magicals to enter the apothecary proper. The door to the actual living space was hidden and guarded by a painting of a great wolf on a snowfield.

Muggles, Harry knew, thought it a noble painting of a wolf in the snow. Magicals, however, knew exactly what the painting was and paid it the respect it was due.

Harry gave Hermione a tentative smile. It had taken him years to be able to even stand in Hermione's presence without feeling like a total heel's heel. It was Luna who had helped Harry out of his bout of serious depression and drinking, and it had also been Luna that had helped bridge the chasm that had formed between the one-time best friends, setting Harry straight about the difference between guilt and penance.

His magic had been quite slow to return to him after the death of Voldemort, but it had not been quite as hard as he'd thought it would be. He'd lived for over a year without magic, doing things the Muggle way to avoid being drained of all magic, after all. As his magic returned to him, he found he had far more respect for it now, and he returned to Hogwarts to teach flying. It was partially penance and to reconnect to a joy remembered-the joy of living.

And only after seeing the new Potions teacher allow countless students blow themselves up to the point of staying in the infirmary for days at a time did Harry realise that Snape may have had an unpleasant teaching demeanour, but he had successfully protected them from their own idiocy.

And only after having taught young students how not to kill themselves on a broom did he realise that perhaps young people really were dunderheads until they learned better.

He did his best to make amends for what he had inadvertently caused by filtering his money into benefits for helping the families who had suffered the greatest hardship during the freeze. He found he liked it: meeting people, helping people to help other people.

Making things right with Hermione and Snape-

Well, they were both Snapes, technically.

Facing down the two of them had been hard, more than hard, but in the end, he realised that it was a good thing to face up to one's past and reality.

Only then could he look forward to the future.

"Harry, you have that maudlin looking expression on your face again," Hermione said, kissing the side of his face. "Thank you for coming."

"It's your anniversary," Harry replied. "Of course, I'd want to be here."

"Well, most of you does," Hermione said, smiling.

Harry smiled sheepishly. "You are a bit intimidating, Hermione."

"Me?" Hermione arched a brow.

"See? You share eyebrows with him!"

"He has a name, Harry."

"Not that I could ever say it!" Harry blurted.

Harry let out a startled bleat as a black-haired child pounced him from behind. "Hi, Uncle Harry!"

"Hey Sidon," Harry said, attempting to regain his dignity with little success.

"Never gets old," the boy said, grinning as he went back to setting the table with Luna and fetching food from the kitchen.

"Ahhhh. Mr Potter," Severus drawled as he brought in a fragrant beef roast to set it in the middle of the table. He moved his head much like a predator watching a prey animal. "I see you figured out how to walk through a door. How exciting for you."

Hermione practically floated to the taller, black-haired wizard. "Severus, do try not to intimidate our guests."

Snape-Severus—sighed heavily. "There goes my evening."

Hermione stood on her tiptoes and placed a kiss upon his mouth. "Thank you, love."

Severus muttered something that may or may not have been in Sumerian. His dark eyes focused on Hermione's with no small amount of heat.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry," Luna said cheerily, bringing in a watermelon carved to look like a jack-o-lantern and a bowl of melon balls. She put the red-glowing melon-lantern on the table with the fruit and patted the lantern with pride. "It takes a lot to intimidate me. It might have something to do with how I never really notice." She skipped over to Harry, pulled him into an enthusiastic snog, and then frolicked back towards the kitchen. "I'm sure he'll get better about it all once we have the triplets."

"What—lets?" Harry babbled to Luna's back as she disappeared.

Luna poked her head around the doorway. "Did I dream telling you about that? I was naked when I told you, but that wasn't exactly abnormal, so it didn't seem like a dream."

Harry sputtered and turned beet—red.

Luna shrugged. "Well, now you know!" She disappeared around the door again as Harry Potter fainted dead away on the spot.

Severus looked upon Harry's prone and vulnerable body. "Justice."

Minerva walked in, stepping over Harry's prone form as she carried a tin of fresh-baked shortbread fingers. "Ah, I see Mr Potter has graced the floor again this year."

"Minerva!" Hermione greeted, rushing over to embrace the elder witch. "Thank you for coming!"

"I wouldn't miss it, lass," McGonagall said, waving her wand to move Harry from being face-first on the floor to sitting upright at the dining room table. "Is Amelia going to make it?"

"She said she would be a little late," Hermione said. "Someone let Nifflers escape into the Ministry offices."

"I'm surprised you aren't there to help," Minerva said.

"My husband may have threatened the entire DoM and St Mungos to leave us alone for the weekend or else," Hermione said dryly.

"That's what you get for providing such marvellously effective potions," Minerva said, chuckling.

"They could always buy their potions somewhere else and have their arms fall off or their hair fall out," Severus snarked. "Might even be an improvement."

"My husband, ever the optimist," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. She took her husband's face in her hands and drew him down for a snog of their own. "That's what I love about you, Severus," she purred as they reluctantly parted.

"My dreary fashion sense?" he replied, one eyebrow arching.

Hermione placed her index and middle finger together to touch his nose and run it down the bridge. "That every snarky bit of you is mine," she said, beaming at him.

Snape's black eyes flashed gold like the baleful eyes of the Great Wolf. He captured her in his arms and pulled her close, squeezing the air from her lungs in a sound reminiscent of a phoenix warble. "Always."

And they lived snarkily ever after.

SSHGSSHGSSHGSSHGSSHG

I hope you enjoyed your story, rivertempest.