Special thanks to S. for believing I could do better and bullying me into trying! If there was a soundtrack to this chapter, it would have to be Brian Eno's 'By This River' – not only is it a beautiful song, it also helped a lot while writing.

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Eight – The Edge of Doom

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Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come.
Love alters not with its brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out, even to the edge of doom.

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:

Hermione jerked bolt upright. Snape's eyes were closed and he breathed evenly, just like before she had fallen asleep. Had she perhaps imagined it?

"Severus?"

His eyes fluttered open and stared ahead unfocused for a second, but he quickly closed them again.

"Severus?" she repeated, more anxious this time.

Snape opened his eyes all the way and looked at her cautiously, as if he couldn't quite bring himself to believe she was really there.

Hermione smiled. "I knew you'd wake up, I just knew, I…"

"You seem awfully relieved for someone so certain I'd recover," he interrupted her.

As she laughed, endless days of fear and guilt and despair evaporated, leaving nothing but glorious relief in their place. She threw her arms around him and kissed his forehead, his eyelids, his cheeks… her lips lingered for a moment before his and, surprising both, it was him who finally closed the distance. It occurred to Hermione that he was pouring every ounce of fear and hurt and loneliness, every bit of his soul into that kiss, claiming her mouth with the raw abandon only the nearness of death can bring.

When they parted, she buried her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling that scent that was uniquely him, unchanged after all that time and he laid his chin on her head.

After a long silence, he asked, barely daring to, "Is it… over?"

She nodded and leaned back to look at him. "Harry did it - as we all knew he would," she added as an afterthought. Suddenly looking amused for no apparent reason, she said, "And before you ask, he failed to get himself killed in the process."

The slightest smile tugged at the corners of Snape's mouth. "He disappeared two days ago and no one has any idea where he went to," she continued.

Looking sideways as if expecting Rita Skeeter to jump from behind the cupboard, Hermione whispered, "I haven't told anyone, but we spoke before he left. He told me he has spent so long feeling as if his only purpose in life was to kill Voldemort that he had never considered what he wanted," she sighed. "He says he needs to find a reason. Between you and me, what he really needs to find is nice girl, settle down and have lots of sex and babies. Don't sneer, you know I'm right."

A long pause followed in which they did nothing but relish in each other's warmth until, all of a sudden, Hermione seemed to remember something and disentangled herself from him, hurriedly getting to her feet. "I should go and fetch Dumbledore," she made to leave but a firm hand closed around her wrist.

"Stay," his eyes were fixed on the ceiling above him. She wondered vaguely what he expected her reaction to be and how he could possibly think she would refuse. "Stay," he repeated.

"I… I suppose we could tell them later," she said and sat back on the chair by his beside.

His hand slid from her wrist but she caught it, entwining their fingers before he could pull away. Slowly, very slowly, his eyes moved from the ceiling to rest on her face.

And he exhaled.

:

A week turned into three and then into seven, and spring crept up on the castle with particular exuberance, as if Nature wished to join in the celebrations of the wizarding world.

Severus was recovering surprisingly fast, and quite soon he felt strong enough to stand up and a little later, strong enough to take a short walk around the grounds, and so walks with Hermione around the lake quickly became a daily ritual.

Nothing had happened between them since that kiss, but Hermione tried to content herself with the fact that he hadn't pushed her away. Yet. There was the casual pressure of his hand on her shoulder, leaning for support, or a slight brushing of fingers, but every contact seemed unintentional and random, a necessity sprung of Hermione taking care of him - a nurse's touch, not a lover's.

Sometimes she caught him staring at her, and a glimpse of fire was visible before he closed his expression again with practiced ease. Those glimpses were what kept her sane, what kept her there.

Hermione knew she'd never feel brave enough to openly question him about the state of their relationship –or lack thereof- but she wondered whether this uncertainty would end up being too much and making her blurt out the wrong question at the wrong time.

One day she found him standing in the middle of the third floor corridor, staring at a painting of a sunny Mediterranean village that seemed oddly out of place in a Scottish castle. At first, she was too preoccupied wondering how he had managed to climb six flights of stairs by himself and why he hadn't acknowledged her presence when he obviously must have heard her to realise exactly where he was standing. The secret entrance to the chambers Dumbledore had given her… then.

Snape raised a hand and Hermione watched fascinated as it hovered before the painting –for how long, she couldn't tell, time had stood still– and finally touched the clock in the church's tower. The wall shimmered for a moment, then seemed to disintegrate, revealing a dark narrow corridor. Severus walked in and Hermione followed suit.

The old mahogany desk, the fireplace, the door to the bedroom… her quarters, for Hermione couldn't help thinking of them as hers, hadn't changed much in twenty years.

Severus was inspecting the room with strange interest. After seven years of reading the slightest changes in his expression -as a lover, yes, but even longer as a student- Hermione could tell that he was frantically looking for something. 'But what?' she kept asking inside her head, 'What?'

He now stood in front of the fireplace, staring unblinking at the cold hearth. "There have been two wars since I last stepped into this room," he said so softly Hermione didn't know whether she was supposed to hear him.

"Why do you think I lived?" he suddenly asked and rounded on her, taking her completely by surprise.

The answer came at once, instinctive and truthful. "Because I needed you to."

His eyes were boring into hers with such intensity that she could almost physically feel the weight of his stare. A part of her wanted to look away, to keep him in the dark in the same way that he had, but she held his gaze, wishing for him to read every corner of her mind, to take in every ounce of feeling that had remained unspoken, and when he finally averted his eyes, she somehow knew that he had.

Without another word, he spun on his heel and left in a swirl of billowing black robes.

He never mentioned that incident again, and neither did she, but sometimes she feared it had been a figment of her imagination, born of her desperate need to break the perpetual impasse their relationship seemed to be frozen at.

And so she waited. In the meantime, she clung to those walks around the lake alone with him, when she could pretend they were a couple who didn't need words, instead of two strangers avoiding them.

The sun changed from glowing white to a dull red without rays and without heat as it neared the lake's surface. Hermione winced when unexpectedly hit by a memory with the power of a very physical, very real blow. The same sun and the same lake and the same two people… she shivered.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

She shook her head no but wrapped her cloak tighter around herself all the same, the warmth of the soft spring evening now gone. They continued their walk in silence.

On the far corner of the lake grew a wide cluster of water lilies. They were much larger than the non-magical variety and bloomed in all sorts of gorgeous colours, and Hermione was reminded of the paintings she had once seen with her parents in Paris.

As she leaned forward to touch one of the flowers, the necklace she was wearing slipped from under the collar of her robes and caught one of the last red sunrays, drawing Snape's attention. Something indefinable crossed his features, suddenly becoming determination. Taking the pendant in his hand, he pointed his wand at it and the necklace was instantly transfigured into an emerald solitaire.

"There's something… something I've been meaning to ask you."

:

Time is a funny thing.

When I was little, I believed it only advanced in one direction, that it just moved ahead inexorably – I now know, however, that Time also leaps backwards, swirls, meanders and wrinkles in ways far beyond our comprehension.

One of those inexplicable wrinkles changed my life forever and taught me that, even though we may generally be nothing but fools in the hands of Time, there are a few things that defy and survive it, existing immune to its power.

Love is one of those things, as I'm reminded whenever I look at my wedding ring.

There is no date engraved on the inside, because my husband and I couldn't agree on which one to use. So, instead of a number that meant nothing, he chose a verse that, at least for us two, means everything.

Taking off the ring, I twirl it absently between my fingers. The inscription glimmers in the soft candlelight and I smile, as I do every time I see it.

Love's Not Time's Fool.

Certainly not.

- The End -

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Quote from Sonnet CXVI. The last two chapters probably owe a lot to 'What the Future Holds' by Ehann, one of my favourite fics of all time and that you just need to read, in the improbable case that you haven't already. And there's a shout out to a film I'm pretty sure we've all seen last Christmas.

Wow, I can't believe it's over!

I'd like to thank everyone who has taken the time to read and review, and also to everyone who voted for this fic at Dark Sarcasm - never in a million years would I have imagined making the Top 10! I wish I had something more eloquent to say than 'Thank you' to show how unbelievably grateful I am.