A/N: Inspired by a poem by Robert Graves.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

She tells her love while half asleep,
In the dark hours,
With half-words whispered low:
As Earth stirs in her winter sleep
And puts out grass and flowers
Despite the snow,
Despite the falling snow.

- Robert Graves

As the distance from the War becomes longer, Severus finds that many things changes. Two years after, he's stopped Occluding every waking second which in turn rids him of his migraines and makes him look less like a constipated mannequin. Four years on, he no longer has nightmares about that bloody snake. Five years, and he's able to sit with his back to the door without panicking.

One thing time doesn't cure him of is his frequent bouts of insomnia.

It's a damn shame as well. Before, during those long and lonely years, the cold and empty bed had not been a great incentive to try and get some rest. Now, though, there's a very warm and beautiful witch occupying his bed which means he tries harder. A handful of times every couple of weeks he lies awake until the wee hours of the morning, one hand clasped around one lovely breast and the disaster she calls hair tickling his nose. On rare occasions he doesn't even make it to bed until almost morning; he finds he does some of his best work in a slightly sleep-deprived state.

Tonight is such a night.

By the time he's bottled the last of the potion and cleared the workbench, it's a quarter to five. Making sure the workspace is spotless, he kicks off his heavy boots and treads upstairs. The house is quiet and cold, and he casts a glance out the kitchen window. The moonlight reflecting in the deep snow makes it almost luminous, the frost on its surface glittering. The snowman she built earlier that day is still there, crooked and misshapen. The sight of it makes him smile.

Years of walking the same path allow him to leave the lights off as he goes out to the hallway and ascends the stairs. The bedroom door is open, and the moon casts a silvery glow on the sleeping form of his lover. He smiles at the soft snores coming from her delicate nose and quickly sheds his clothing. Opening the covers, he's blessed with the sight of her bare back and knickers that have definitely migrated north. She shivers, and he quickly lies down and enfolds them both in the thick duvet. His hand finds its favourite place (her breasts really are something else) and he presses the length of his body against hers.

Hermione sighs, and her hand comes up to cover his. "Severus?" she mumbles, voice so thick with sleep he's not sure she's even awake.

"Go back to sleep, love," he whispers against her neck, then places a light kiss there.

She presses back against his body. "Mm, love you."

He smiles and buries his nose in her hair, matching his breathing to her slow and steady one.

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