"So you've started an investigation, right, mate?" Ron inquired into Hermione's situation rather heatedly.

They'd all joined for the lunch Harry had set up, and then informed Ron of exactly what had been going on. Of course he knew well enough that the wedding had been called off, but he was not aware, however, that a now very heartbroken man was somewhere in London while his fiancée was in her apartment with not even a clue as to why he was so involved. To say the least, Ron wasn't too pleased that anything like it had happened. In lieu of everything that she'd been through in the past few days, suddenly there was this? Ron truly felt awful for his best friend.

"Of course, Ron, but sometimes it's not that easy."

"Bloody hell, it isn't that easy! You're almost Head Auror! Whoever did this to her needs to be found."

There was a bit of a delay in Ron's voice as he caught Malfoy's gaze quickly. There was animosity between the two purebloods, there always would be, and Harry knew well to ignore the slight implication Ron seemed to be providing in Draco. You would think after seeing him marry his best mate, Ron would forget the transgressions of Draco, but no. The red-head was much too stubborn for that.

"My team is working on it as we speak. They won't allow either of us," Harry stressed his words then, "To be involved because of how close we are to her."

With an obviously dissatisfied look, Ron picked up his glass and drank from it as if attempting to cool his temper.

"I understand, but do they want us to do anything. Surely you're not letting them do all the work, Harry—"

"It's for the best," Pansy finally cut in, the whole table surprised to hear the quiet Slytherin finally speak.

There was an odd mix between Weasley and Pansy, Draco felt... as did Harry. The two themselves didn't notice it, they hardly noticed each other, but it was apparent that the opposing presence sort of mollified them. It was like years of snarls and back-handed comments were replaying guiltily in their minds, so they simply attempted to make nice. Although, it wasn't always nice... sometimes it was just dead silent. In all his years of knowing the boisterous and rambunctiously annoying woman, Draco had never seen her as quiet as she was when Weasley was around. He and his husband had discussed it once; Harry surmised that they simply scared one-another to no end, and Draco couldn't help but agree. It was like that between Harry and him for a while, even.

"We know her best, though," Ron answered quietly, compacting his temper below the surface where it couldn't bubble over.

"I reckon you do, but that's exactly what they need to keep her well right now. Snape is going to need you guys to help win her over and restore her memories," Pansy said.

It was almost touching the way her voice had soothed, but Harry wanted to vomit.

"Alright, you lot, listen. Everything will be okay eventually. My team will figure it out, and sooner than later we'll be attending a bonding? Sound fair?"

Harry smiled at the nods, and even chuckled a bit as Ron attempted to hide his with a glare.

"I reckon she just needs some time," he tried to assure himself, smiling at the waiter who finally brought food to end the awkward talk of Hermione and her unfortunate situation.

Of course, now they could only wonder how the couple was fairing... especially poor Severus.

-

It was only noon and Severus was drunk for the first time in the entirety of his rather extended life. It hurt, the pulsing throb that took over every cell from his neck up. Merlin, he hadn't ever suffered a worse pain in all those long years of life he now regretted. It felt like it ran across the inside of his skull, starting at the dead center of his forehead circling about his brain to his right temple then on to the back of his head, straight through to the left temple. Repeat. Seriously, the alcohol was slowly but surely going to kill, and the prospect wasn't an awful one in that dull moment of leaning against the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade of all damnable places he could have possibly ended up. There wasn't even a hope for anyone finding him there, however, so it was possibly a good thing. Luckily enough, Severus possessed a rather strong stomach from years of smelling and brewing potions of the most rancid smells, and he knew rather well vomiting wasn't an option. Everything around him spun, and even the dull lights of the tavern seemed like the glistening sun as he downed another shot of who-knows-what at that point.

His hair had been pulled back into the damnable ponytail Hermione had insisted he utilize once. Severus could have laughed at himself if the bartender wouldn't throw him an odd glance on top of the others he'd already received. They had been in his lab, jotting this and that down when multiple times she asked how he could work with his hair constantly draping around his face like a curtain.

He had shrugged, such a small gesture, but nothing was small any longer to Severus. Every memory, every gesture, every affection, every spell that he'd shared with her was on replay in his mind. Maybe that's what caused the headache. Severus wouldn't be surprised at such a thought actually having merit. The constant reel of images and scenes was making him sick, was putting that throbbing pain into his head, surrounding his brain.

Severus forgot, sort of, that after she had asked him of his hair, he originally snarled at her. He'd snapped so vividly, telling her to leave it alone.

She wouldn't have it.

Hermione had always been the bite to his bark. She went behind him, he whose back was hunched so painfully over the notes he was taking, and slowly tugged his hair down into that damned ponytail which would rest at the nape of his neck for the rest of that day. He'd hated it, really, but in that he did not possess the strength to inform her of his hatred. It was something so small, a minuscule —despite how demeaned he felt— detail that she loved. For some reason, it caught her fancy and then his lovely fiancée did it whenever she felt the need. He, of course, had never put his hair up himself.

Until now.

Severus growled at his thoughts and slammed the empty glass on the bar. The wood echoed the sounds off its wall made of the same material, then ricocheting off into his ears causing a mild groan from his throat. Even that burned with the singular notion of slamming a glass.

That was enough inebriation for one day.

He thanked Dumbledore that there were pepper-up potions at his home, and he was grateful to Merlin that he could spare one for his own use. There was still work for the ministry that was he could do, even if he was supposed to be taking his wife for his own just then.

That thought only made him an angry drunk, and even if he knew Hermione would protest such a thing, Severus apparated home very drunk.

With no signs of splinching obvious to him, the potions master took easily to wobbling over to his furniture and nearly throwing himself into it. The cushions were a welcome comfort, and as his mind screamed at himself for the awful feeling of nausea and pain. There were two different pains encompassing his body. One was solely of his muscles, the deep and throbbing one that he knew meant inebriation. It swelled inside of him, soothing when he took another drink of whatever it was he'd been served at the bar, then it came right back tenfold. Oh, the torture it created for those few seconds of numbed bliss. Then there was the second and more harmful pain. The pain his thoughts created were those of heartache and a heavy want for his ceasing to exist. Merlin, how wonderful the embrace of death sounded. The appeal sickened him, the fact that such a strong and emotionally controlled man could be swayed by love like he was.

Severus felt like he was betraying himself with such abuse and disloyalty to his body. He had not ever been conscience of those things, really, but he knew that getting drunk only led to the slip of tongues, that which could never be had in his life as a spy. Very rarely did he even sip fire-whiskey with Albus knowing that even a little goes a long way.

Well.

There he was, a very long ways away from any standard he'd ever held himself to. Severus hated himself, he hated what fate had done to him... but he couldn't hate Hermione.

That was the prevalent thought in his mind, even though he was trying to get rid of her. He wanted her gone, Severus wanted every single memory of the love he had for her obliterated from his brilliant mind once again. Surely hours ago he wouldn't have, when there was hope that she remembered him and loved him still, but that was all bollocks now. Still, it's not as though her losing her memory was her own fault, but whosever it was, they would have hell to pay... after she was back to her normal Hermione Granger self.

Severus threw himself back into the cushions further, hoping they would swallow him whole. Maybe the floor would simply open into a black hole, oh how lovely the prospect seemed. Then there was that nagging in his voice, that sudden peep of his conscience that told him death was not only the coward's way out, but the fool's. Severus was no fool, and he had known that for a very long time. Death wasn't the answer, and neither was forgetting again. The solution only lied within an investigation into what happened, and Hermione getting her memory returned to her.

Severus hoped that Hermione got her memory returned to her quickly, for he wasn't certain how long he could wait. There had been hoards of men and wizards alike who all wanted her heart, and she'd denied them all for him. She'd been awaiting the perfect man, Hermione had told him one day, that he would come and battle wit with her, but still let her have her freedom. She was so strong, and Merlin, with Hermione, Severus felt like he could honestly get through anything. He didn't have her this time, and to get her back he had no voice but to suffer.

What cruel trick of fate was this?

Severus finally got up to go change and land in his bed, smelling the way her scent lingered in the sheets from the times her clothed body had lied with him, her perfume sinking into the depths of his sheets. When they engulfed him, taking him under their cold wings, Severus felt her empty presence besides him. The ghost of Hermione was present in the sheets, and the hurt was even more so as he clutched so hopefully to the black and crisp bedding.

There he was, lying in bed at what was one in the afternoon? Two if time had been kind and moved quickly?

Not having a care, Severus closed his eyes and rolled right to the middle of his black-fitted bed and sighed heavily... not a groan, but certainly nothing more.

Severus' last thought before his drunkenness took over and aided him in sleep, was purely of Hermione. He saw her, their four years together as a wonderful couple and everything that could have— should have been. And that was what haunted him until the very next, dreadful morning.

A/N

Wow! An on-time update! Go me!

And I'll have another one for next Saturday!! What a theory!!!

Please tell me what you think!! I'd love to know!