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Chapter Text

Against all odds, Hermione Granger found herself hoping that this would work. Generous as her mentor was to her, Frank Nickle was still a fearsome wizard and after all he had done on her request – such as convincing the board that she could master in four subjects simultaneously – she could not, would not, give him additional work by terminating this apprenticeship before it had properly begun. Even if the thought sounded... tempting.

Sure, the potions master Nickle had arranged for her was the best in the field, and incredibly picky when it came to apprentices. Personal objections hardly mattered. Then there was the fact that he was a war hero. But the man also hated her, that much she knew, and they would have to spend months working together. It was likely going to be unpleasant at the very least. She did not want to know what it had cost Nickle to get Severus Tobias Snape to take her as an apprentice.

Hermione sped up her pace as she caught a glimpse of the time. Their meeting was in five minutes, in a wizarding café hidden somewhere in York. It must be hidden well, because this was her second time walking around the block and she had not found it yet. She sighed. Being late was probably the way to terminate the apprenticeship before it had properly begun, knowing the wizard she was meeting.

There. She only caught it because of the cat in the windowsill. From the outside it looked like a normal muggle home, if a bit old and dusty. But if you looked closely, the name of the cafe was drawn in the layer of dust on the window, with the instruction to ring the bell thrice. Hermione did so obediently.

The door opened to a young woman, short hair pinned back and with dimples in her cheeks as she smiled. “Come on in,” she exclaimed warmly. She stepped aside to allow Hermione clear passage. At the end of a narrow hallway, an arch led into a spacious sun-bathed room. Round tables were filled with guests and at the counter, witches and wizards danced around each other to get steaming cups and food to their customers. It still managed to amaze her – magic.

“Hermione Granger?” the witch who had opened the door asked.

Hermione nodded and smiled. “That’s me.”

“Mister Snape is over there.” The woman pointed to the furthest corner with a slender finger. “Anything I can get you, before you go?”

It took a minute for the question to register, because Hermione was at that moment stretching her neck to look over the crowd of people for a sign of her old professor. “Oh, uhm, tea, please.” The woman darted off with another nod.

The corner she had pointed to was significantly quieter than the front of the café, and it clearly allowed Severus Snape to read the Daily Owl undisturbed. His brow was furrowed as he read something on the sun-lit page and he did not look up as she approached. “Sir,” she said finally, standing right in front of the table. Dark eyes shot up to her over the paper.

“Miss Granger.” He pointed his attention back at the newspaper. “Sit.”

Lovely. Unsure of what to do with herself, Hermione pulled back the chair opposite him and sat down, hands fidgeting in her lap. She glanced at the man opposite her. He had changed since the war. That much was not a surprise – she was aware of what role he had played and just how straining that role must have been on a person. She had been there, at the Wizengamot, testifying in his favour. He had still been a pale and sallow man back then. Now, his cheeks were not quite so hollow anymore, and his skin was still pale, but less sickly. His black hair was not as greasy as it used to be, although it still showed the effects of spending too much time bent over a cauldron. And then there were the scars at his throat – no longer red and violent –

“If you are quite done gawking, miss Granger.” Hermione winced. The paper had already been put to the side and an impatient look had taken over his face.

A cup of tea was placed in front of her before she could apologise. She nodded her thanks to the waitress. When she looked back at Professor Snape, she found his eyes trained on her already, studying her. “Thank you for meeting with me, sir, I’m most –“ The impatience rapidly turned to annoyance.

“Honoured?” Snape provided. “Let’s not insult each other with empty flattery, miss Granger.” Hermione found she had nothing nice to say to that, so she pointedly held her tongue. This was going to be a long year indeed. “I am curious, miss Granger, why did you decide to master in Potions?”

“I find it an interesting subject, sir.”

Professor Snape waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Yes, yes, you were always the eager student. Your life’s purpose to be a know-it-all. No, what I meant is, why this subject and not any others?”

“I-“ Hermione started, but no words followed. Something flickered in Snape’s eyes. Whatever it was, it made her want to punch him more than his words had. The corners of his lips tugged upwards, into what could almost be described as a smirk. Almost, but that would be too close to a smile.

A finger brushed his lips as he contemplated his next question. “You always did well in potions, of course.” Hermione nearly started at the words. Her heart fluttered in her chest. Severus Snape did not compliment anyone but his godson. Let alone a Gryffindor. “But that was the case for all subjects. I would have expected a future in Runes, or maybe Arithmancy.”

Those had been her favourite subjects, both in school and in the two years of Master education leading up to this. It surprised her that he knew that though. “I suppose sometimes people are not what you expect, sir.”

This time she was sure she did not imagine the quirk of his lips. “Indeed,” he said, in what she supposed was a meaningful way. A folder appeared seemingly out of nowhere, her own picture beaming up at her from the table. “It says here you have mastered in four different disciplines. Am I the only one you seek to apprentice under at the present moment?”

She nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“I will warn you that a Potions apprenticeship can be demanding, and the potions decide the work hours, not me. That being said, I firmly suggest you do not consider another apprenticeship until you have finished your Master’s project in potions. Understood?”

“Perfectly, sir.” 

Professor Snape nodded, satisfied. “You will be at the lab every day from seven in the morning until six in the evening, but as I mentioned before, some potions will require midnight brewing sessions, I expect you to be willing to stay longer if this is the case.”

The idea of brewing at night sounded quite nice to her. She actually hoped that would happen during her apprenticeship. “I can do that,” she said enthusiastically.

The potion’s master’s eyes narrowed on her. He slowly opened the folder in front of him and glanced at the document. “Remind me, miss Granger, what is your suggested research project?”

Hermione’s fingers tugged at her cuffs. “I planned to work on an antidote to memory charms.” Her answer sounded confident, but inside she prayed he would accept it. Because that was the real reason she wanted to master in potions. If he now rejected this proposal... She could still see the empty look in her parents’ eyes when she’d obliviated them. She had to suppress the shudder that travelled down her spine.

He held her gaze for a few moments, as if he could see right through her. Then he nodded. “That is an... acceptable subject.” Hermione almost sighed with relief. “That is all I need to know for now, miss Granger, you will receive more information per owl soon. I assume I can trust you with my address?”

“Of course.”

A moment later, he had picked up his newspaper again, not paying her any more attention. “Good day, sir,” Hermione said as she pushed back her chair. He did not respond. Still, she thought to herself when the door of the café closed behind her, that had gone better than she thought it would.

***

"SNAPE?" The word rang through the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld place.

"Professor Snape, Harry," Hermione corrected him tirelessly, "Professor Nickle arranged my apprenticeship with him." Harry slumped in his chair, a far off look in his eyes. Hermione knew the inner battle that was being fought now. It was the same as the one she was constantly fighting.

"Snape hated teaching, he bullied us for years!"

"He is a very talented potion's master," she countered calmly.

"He made our lives miserable. What if he will do so again?"

"It will not be a matter of our lives this time, Harry, only mine. And Snape is a war hero. Living with the constant danger of two maniacal masters, being hated by all - I'm sure now that everything's changed..."

"You mean to tell me he was nice to you? Or even polite?" Harry bit out, rubbing his temples feverishly. Hermione stayed quiet. She didn't want to lie to Harry, not when he had stood by her side for years. Of all her friends, Harry was the one who stayed, together with Ginny. They let her keep her room here for as long as she needed it. She'd tried paying them for it, but they refused every time.

"He was... his usual self," she finally admitted. "I don't have much choice in the matter anyway, and I am truly grateful to get such a talented teacher."

Harry's eyes softened, a small, apologetic smile curling on his lips.

"And with access to a lab, you can finally continue your work on memory charms." Ginny leaned against the doorframe, one hand supporting her stomach. "You should be getting to work soon, Harry."

"Right." Harry promptly rose, walked around the table, where he first kissed Ginny, and then put his hand on her stomach and muttered some loving words.

Ginny just ushered him off with another peck and some friendly insults.

"Good morning," Hermione smiled when her friend walked past to the counter. She earned a grunt back. "Not enough sleep?"

"This little monster here just won't stop kicking," Ginny sighed.

"How rude!" Hermione exclaimed teasingly. "I suppose they take after their parents." Ginny shot her a look fierce enough to make any other person cower, but Hermione knew her friend too well. She pulled out the chair next to her and patiently waited for Ginny to sit - which was neither a fast nor graceful process. "So," Ginny continued, munching on a piece of toast, "you finally told him?"

"Yes,"  Hermione rubbed her eyes tiredly. "He took it relatively well."

"Hmm." The next bite crunched. "He might not admit it, but Harry has forgiven Snape a long time ago." Hermione snorted, but Ginny continued. "He's just worried for you."

"I can hold my own."

"I know," Ginny said, putting down her toast to properly turn to Hermione. "Harry knows, but that doesn't mean we don't want to be there for you anyway." They shared a smile. "Now tell me about your apprenticeship.”

Chapter Text

Hermione didn’t know what she had been expecting. It hadn’t been an adorable cottage with a rose garden, she knew that much. She was right with that hunch, at least. The house she now faced was dark and grimy and tall in a way that mirrored its owner. Not a bit of green in sight. If she'd imagined anything, it would, in fact, be this.

She breathed in the crisp morning air, and stepped forward. A tingly sensation crept over her skin, imperceptible enough that she might have dismissed it as a chill if she didn’t know this man and the feeling so well. A ward, a strong one, that had probably alerted him to her presence from the moment she had so much as breathed in its general direction. Others might have thought it rather paranoid, but Severus Snape had a lot of enemies and few friends.

She used the iron knocker - a simple, practical ring. The door opened a moment later. “Miss Granger,” the man on the other side said.

“Good morning, sir,” she returned the greeting, trying a smile. His face remained blank. Unsure of what to do, she fidgeted with the straps of her bag. He turned on his heel and left her standing at the doorway. She had to shoot into action to not let the door fall shut again. Her hand went through a wall of warmth as she reached out to catch it – another ward. At least she would be well protected during her time here.

She followed him into the hallway. It was narrow, and a tad dark, lit by dimly glowing lamps. A green carpet ran down its length, swallowing the sound of her footsteps. She glanced around while trying to keep up with him. There was an archway to the right, which revealed a sitting room overtaken by books – she was sure she caught a glimpse of a few rare and even forbidden titles – and another one beyond that, leading into a sun-bathed kitchen. A door to the left, through which Professor Snape now disappeared. Straight ahead was a staircase that looked overall crooked and like it would creak if a fly were to rest on it.

She nearly ran straight into her new mentor, realising belatedly that he had stopped walking. He scowled down on her. “If your infinite curiosity is satisfied, Miss Granger, I would like to get on with my work.”

She straightened her spine, despite the heat flooding her face. “Of course, sir.”

Up close, the narrowing of his dark eyes was even more disconcerting than it had been in the classroom. She had to fight the urge to take a step back. “This is the laboratory, where we will brew. All the other rooms are strictly off limits. If you so much as look too closely at one of my books, I will know and there will be consequences, am I understood?”

Hermione was torn between disappointment, intimidation, and a hint of amusement at his characterisation of her as she nodded. “Good,” he drawled. “The standard safety rules apply in the laboratory. You will leave your personal belongings outside; will wear protective robes and you will not sit in the proximity of the cauldrons.”

Hermione jerked another nod despite the need to roll her eyes at him. Those were rules she had been able to follow since she was 12, and simple common sense. Something told her he would not appreciate the gesture, however, so she promised herself she could roll her eyes later, when he was busy with something else. With a quick cast of Tempus, Professor Snape turned to the lab and walked on. “You will familiarise yourself with the work this week by helping me brew some of my more standard orders. We will discuss your research project later this week. I trust you have done some preliminary research already?” More than preliminary, she had filled two entire notebooks with notes, and organised them into a neat overview just to avoid sneers from him.

“I did, sir,” she answered. With that, he pointed her to her work bench and a pile of orders.

“Oh, and Miss Granger,” he added, as she reached for the first one. “No recipes. I assume that is not an issue for a know-it-all such as yourself.”

***

It was not an issue, Hermione had memorised all recipes by heart from the moment she got her hands on them. The batches of Wiggenweld potion he made her brew on Monday were as easy as breathing. The blood-replenisher and burn-healing paste on Tuesday were a breeze. The calming draught she brewed on Wednesday felt like an insult. If this was what she was going to be learning, she might as well not have done the Mastery. She’d brewed more complicated potions during her second year. She thought back to her time brewing in the girls’ lavatory with a fond smile.

It was clear Severus Snape was a busy man. Although he was keeping a close eye on her work and would from time to time provide short comments, the promised discussion of her research project didn’t happen until Thursday, when she was rounding up a batch of Dreamless Sleep. “Granger.” His voice was thunderous compared to the long silences, causing her to almost spill the precious potion everywhere but in the bottle, where it was supposed to go. She glanced up uncertainly. Professor Snape was seated at the desk at the other end of the room, filing away parchment as he spoke. “Your research proposal, if you please.”

A jolt of excitement went through her. She bottled up the fresh potion at double speed and rushed to grab the portfolio from her bag in the hallway. A moment later, she pushed it across the desk. One of his dark eyebrows arched as he folded it open. If she didn’t know better, he was impressed. No, she knew better. That was simply the look of a man plotting a perfect sneer. That was his favourite pastime, after all. “You have to leave some work for me, Miss Granger,” he said instead, not quite friendly, but not quite a sneer either. She didn’t offer anything in return as he read through the first page, then the second, then the – he sighed and rubbed his temples. Not a good sign.

“I decided on a memory potion as starting point,” she rushed to explain, “but the Restoration Potion seemed interesting as well, and maybe a wit-sharpening potion. At any case, I am currently browsing through older tomes of herbology, and I have found a number of books on – “

“Miss Granger.” Her teeth clacked as she snapped her mouth shut. No other words followed, his dark gaze resting upon her as if he were trying to read her. It took all her self-control to not shift restlessly in her chair.

His eyes flicked down to her notes again. “All of these potions are promising candidates,” he finally conceded. She blinked. That was... not negative. “But not nearly sufficient for your purpose.” She released a breath, feeling her shoulders sag a bit under the weight of disappointment. Pale fingers snapped her folder shut. The motion hurt a bit more than she was willing to admit. “Walk me through your thought process. What are you looking for in these books you found?”

She glanced back up at his face. He was leaned back in his chair, one arm folded across his chest as the other reached up to his face, where one finger lay curled against his mouth. The picture of attentiveness. Her brain paused for a moment, not knowing what to make of the person sitting in front of her. “Well,” she started uncertainly, “the memory potion and wit-sharpening potion provide clarity, but they only sharpen what is already there. The subject of memory charms is vague at the least, it is uncertain whether obliviated memories are still there, but suppressed, or if they are truly gone. If it is the former, something stronger will probably be necessary to trigger those memories again, maybe something personal connected to the memory should be added...” she trailed off, reached for the map and conjured a quill to make a note of that thought. When she looked up again, she could’ve sworn there was something amused about his look, although she could not put her finger on what exactly expressed that amusement. “If the memories are truly gone... well, I don’t know what happens then, so I hope that is not the case, but we can hardly obliviate people to find out. Perhaps the Restoration Potion might still be able to turn the spell back then, but it must be increased in strength, and it will probably be most effective when used shortly after the spell.”

The man on the other side of the desk, the person who was Professor Snape, but not quite, nodded slowly. He flicked his hand and a book came flying into the room. Such a casual show of wandless magic. Hermione was too surprised by it to realise he was now holding the book out to her. “This might be of help for your research.” The cover was dark and dusty, and from the title alone she could tell that this was a book she would not even find in the restricted section of Hogwarts’ Library, which Minerva had gracefully given her access to.

She reached out to take it. “Thank you.” Merlin, she sounded breathless. He grumbled something in return and reached for his pile of parchments again. Hermione supposed that meant she was dismissed.

***

Perhaps it had been a good mood, Hermione thought to herself as she was stirring a bubbling potion the next day. The man despised her after all, so it was highly unlikely he had been as helpful and polite as he had simply for her sake. Still, she couldn’t help but search this week’s memories for a moment in which Professor Snape had truly been Professor Snape. Sure, he had made his remarks, and sure he had been brutally honest about her work at times, but the comments he’d made were purely professional. There had been none of the unnecessarily personal attacks that she had expected from him.

She glanced into her cauldron. The recipe usually said to stop stirring at the 5th time, but the potion did not look quite perfect yet. Following a gut instinct, she switched directions and stirred twice more. “Good.” The world was drawled so close to her ear that she really should have been aware of his presence before it. Still, she nearly jumped out of her skin, then felt it heat as she realised who had spoken. The man had already turned his back to her again, but her stomach fluttered. Good. Her work had been good. Severus Snape had deemed her work good. He glanced back at her, a strange look in his eyes. She had not said that out loud, had she? OH – She suddenly remembered Harry’s legilimency lessons in their 5th year. The warmth in her face intensified to a burn. Still, the snide comment did not come. Yes, reconciling the Professor Snape she had known to the Professor Snape now teaching her was proving to be increasingly difficult.

Chapter Text

Apparently, there were a lot of surprising things about Severus Snape. Hermione was still standing in the doorway of Spinner’s End, staring at the man who was now walking away from her. In the ten years that she’d known the man, she had never seen him without his frock. Even at night, when Harry, Ron, and her had done something stupid and his expertise was required to fix it, he always showed up with every single button properly done. She’d even wondered if he slept in the thing, just to maintain that distant and imposing composure at all times. But now she was staring at the back of his stark white button up, tucked into black slacks, and questioned everything she thought she knew about him – something that seemed to rapidly become a habit.

It had already been strange enough to see him with his hair tied back during a particularly challenging brew the other day. The front locks had slipped free and fallen in front of his face. He had appeared oblivious to it, but she definitely hadn’t been, staring in awe at this person whom she had always thought in control of everything, almost inhuman.

Shaking the thoughts away, she slid her leather bag of her shoulder and hung her coat on a hook. Human or not, she was sure to face an ill-humoured mentor if she was late. Inside the lab, she was strangely disappointed to find he had already put his protective frock on. She slipped into hers, a brown and patched up one that she had managed to get second hand for a few knuts. Money wasn’t that easy to come by when studying four subjects and not having any parents to rely on. She made her way over to her desk, expecting to find more order cards for blood-replenishers and the like waiting for her there.

The desk was empty. “Sir.” She turned back around. “There are no orders.”

“Congratulations, miss Granger,” Professor Snape drawled, sliding a jar of beetle eyes from its place on the shelf, “There is nothing wrong with your eyesight.”

Hermione ground her teeth. “So, what do I do?” There was a hint of impatience in her voice that bled through despite her best attempts to conceal it.

The man spun around, pinning her in place with an even look. She bit the inside of her cheek, like she should have done just now. Way to go, Hermione. “You may begin with brewing the Skele-Gro St. Mungo’s ordered – “and involuntary gasp broke from her. “Only,” Snape continued, narrowing his eyes, “if you are capable of brewing a flawless one. I do not need an apprentice wasting my time.”

She could do that. She had studied the potion plenty of times during her first two years of the Mastery. With a dutiful nod, she summoned the order card and set to work. She could have sworn she heard him mutter ‘insufferable’ as she put the cauldron on the fire. It didn’t feel like half the insult it had been years ago. Not when he had complimented her work and let her brew for St. Mungo’s.

Later, Hermione found herself less enthusiastic as she retrieved a pufferfish from the corner it had flown off to and brought the knife and down again. The blade pressed on the shiny, slime-covered skin, but did not breach it as it slipped from her fingers again. She sighed.

“You have to make two cuts.” Hermione’s head shot up. Professor Snape was standing at her table, watching her struggle with the fish.

 She frowned, thinking back to the instructions she’d memories. “But the recipe- “

“If I wanted you to blindly follow the recipe, I would have let you use it,” Snape interrupted her, stalking around the table. He held up a hand. “The knife, Granger.” She handed it over instantly.

With a swift move, the tip of the knife pressed into the skin of the pufferfish. Then, with a gentleness she’d never noticed before, he turned the creature and dragged another, longer cut right through the existing one. With the same precision, he moved on to the next. When that one was done, he extended the knife back to her and nodded to the third. She could feel him looking at her as she plunged the knife into the skin of the third fish, then opened it up with a smooth cut. She let out a huff. She should have thought of such an easy solution.

When she looked up, she found the professor back at his table, hair curtaining his face as he crushed an ingredient. She’d never really paid too much attention to how she cut, squashed or crumbled an ingredient, as long as she did it. But this man, he knew exactly how he had to handle an ingredient. She studied the way his fingers broke the bean apart.

Her eyes kept wandering his way as she continued her own potion, curious to find what other tricks he would reveal. Eventually, his eyes flicked up to meet hers. “Is something the matter, miss Granger, or did you simply want to stare at me yet another time instead of working on the potion you were assigned?”

She felt her face heat, even as she rushed to say, “I have finished the potion, sir.”

His eyebrows furrowed, and he abandoned his cauldron with long strides. He stopped at her side, where she temporarily forgot that she had to move to let him see, and glanced at the oddly yellow liquid. “You’re supposed to be brewing for another half hour.” It was good, then.

Hermione met his gaze with determination. “If you wanted me to follow the recipe, you should have let me use it.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. It was barely there, but Hermione caught it. She felt a surge of pride course through her veins. “Very well,” he said.

***

“Are you thick-headed, or did you really think you could convince me this time around?” Hermione glanced up from her book to find her mentor sitting in front of the fire again, where the face of Robert Drost was twisted in indignant fury.

“You still answer to the ministry, Snape. I need the potion by tonight.”

“Veritaserum takes a month to brew-“ dumbass, she inserted for him in her mind. She could have sworn she saw his mouth tighten into an almost smile for a second, “Which can only start in two weeks, at the next full moon. Exactly the amount of time it should take you to take this case to your superiors and get me an official document of approval.”

“I am a ministry worker; I am your superior and I order you –“

“Come back with an official permit and we’ll talk.” Professor Snape cut off the connection with an angry gesture. She watched him levitate the chair back to the desk, grumbling all the way there. In the few weeks that Hermione had been his apprentice, she had heard a version of this conversation unfold at least thrice. The name Drost was well-known to her with the number of times the man would demand potions that required the support of people way above his rank. He never followed through with getting those official approvals.

“What?” Snape snapped as he sensed her eyes on him.

Hermione shrugged, not as easily intimidated by his temper as she used to be. “It’s a shame he won’t get his permit, I would have liked to try out Veritaserum.” He glared at her. “I was hoping you could help me with this passage,” she said, changing the subject to what actually had been her question. “I think it’s mistranslated, but I’m not sure.” She held out the book to him, opened at the page in question.

He took it and wordlessly conjured his glasses. Those had been a surprise too, when he’d first worn them. She’d gaped at him for a good minute before he threatened to put her on cleaning duty.

“I should check the original, but I think you’re right.” Those words still made her insides flip. She was starting to get used to this new version of Snape. Still impatient, controlled and ill-tempered, but a tad softer around the edges. Almost human.

“I’ll ignore it for now then,” she replied, scribbling down some notes on a piece of parchment. “Thank you.” He handed the book back to her, expression significantly softer than what it had been moments ago.

***

The lovely thing of having one’s parents live in Australia is that even if it was dark back home, she usually ended up visiting them during the day.

Of course, visiting was a strong word. It was more like stalking, watching from a distance. Hermione shook off the strange portkey sensation and checked if all her limbs were still in place. You never knew with these illegal, home-made portkeys. She wouldn’t use them if she weren’t broke. The ministry charged a fair number of sickles for a return portkey to Australia.

She stashed her transfigured spoon back into her pocket for later and settled against her usual tree. It was not often that she made the trip all the way around the world. She checked in regularly, but she didn’t like actually seeing her parents when she knew they would not recognise her. Once, they had run into her by accident. Hermione had been careless, crying, and her mother had asked if she were alright. Hermione had put on a smile when all she really wanted to do was throw herself into her mother’s arms and tell her everything. But how did you tell your mother who didn’t remember you that she was your mother, but didn’t remember you.

Truth was, Hermione didn’t regret casting the spell that had taken their memories four years ago. They’d be dead if it weren’t for her decision, and that she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself. But she missed them – the people that had known her and loved her from the day she was born. The people that had taught her to love books and to be brave, do the right thing.

Jean Granger, or Elsie Durham, as she was known here, stepped out of her house and into Hermione’s line of sight. An explosion of greying blond curls was tied back from her face. Hermione smiled. “Hey mom,” she whispered into the silence.

Ten seconds, that’s all the time she had before the woman disappeared into her car.

Chapter Text

The scars of war were fading even in Hogwarts. It was as if the castle was a living thing, knitting itself back together where the old walls met the new ones. Hermione, however, could not help but see them, trace her hand over them as she passed them in the hallway.

“I assure you, miss Kingston, that you are not going to die. Professor Trelawney has made this prediction every year for as long as I have worked here, including to mister Potter. Since you have far better odds than him, I would not worry about it too much.”

Hermione paused at the top of the stairs to the Headmistress office. A young Ravenclaw sheepishly rushed out of the open door, head bowed to hide her burning cheeks. The girl almost knocked Hermione back down the stairs, if she had not sidestepped at the last moment.

“Ah, Hermione,” Minerva called from her office. “I was wondering when you’d show up. Come in and have a seat.”

Hermione did so, sinking into the chair closest to the burning fire. It was surprisingly cold for the time of year and she’d forgotten her cloak back at Grimmauld place. Of course, she could have cast a warming spell on her way to the castle, but Hermione had a tendency to forget she was a witch from time to time as well. “Professor Trelawny still makes death predictions?” she asked fondly.

Minerva shook her head with a slightly worn-down smile on her face. “Every year. And every year they believe it.”

Ah – Hermione had forgotten the feeling of a genuine smile, but it tugged at her lips now. Hogwarts usually had that effect on her.

Minerva watched it happen closely. “How are you, dear? I hope Severus hasn’t been too rough on you?”

“O, not at all.” Hermione paused to thank the house elf that popped into the room with a tea tray and then promptly disappeared again. “I mean, he is still ‘professor Snape’, of course, but he’s been a great help with my research and I genuinely think I could not have learned more from anyone else.”

The smile that played at Minerva’s lips bore a trace of sadness. “And how is – how is Severus?”

Hermione was silent, considering the question for a moment. The weight of Minerva’s loaded gaze rested on her. “As unreadable as ever,” she eventually decided, “From what I can tell, he prefers to keep to himself, both during the hours of my apprenticeship and outside of them. But he seems les... tired, ragged, worn-down.” Her mind wandered back to the look in his eyes as yet another client snarled hateful things down the fire place the other day. He was a respected potions master, but not a respected person, and the reality of that had weighed so clearly on him in that moment.

Minerva nodded, as if reading her mind. “I was glad to hear your apprenticeship was with him, jealous as I am that he stole my star student. But he gets lonely, and I think you’d make an excellent match to his intelligence, if not stubbornness.”

The words hit Hermione more than she let on with her chuckle. She doubted she could ever make a difference to him, despite Minerva’s hopeful words. But she was not going to tell Minerva that when she seemed so genuinely worried. “How are you?” she fired the question back, eager to change the topic to a less complicated one.

“Oh, I am just fine. The school has been relatively quiet, despite Sybil’s prophecies of doom and gloom. Horace is retiring this year – truly, this time around – so I will need to find someone to replace him.” She took a sip of her tea. “And I am thoroughly enjoying the peace with all the Weasleys and Potters graduated. Although I hear a new one is on the way?”

“Yes, two more months or so.” Hermione beamed. “From what I hear from Ginny, you’ll have your hands full with this one when they get to Hogwarts.”

“A Potter and a Weasley in one? I do not doubt it.”

The house elf appeared again with a loud crack, threw an anxious look Hermione’s way, and then leaned in to whisper something in the Headmistress’ ear. “Thank you, Essie,” Minerva said with a kind smile. “Well, it seems my momentary peace has been interrupted. I should have known better than to speak of it. I’m sorry, dear, we will have to continue this conversation another time. Will I see you at the Order meeting next week?”

“I’ll try my best,” Hermione promised, rising from her chair. “Good luck with everything.”

The Headmistress grabbed her arm gently before she could slip out. “You too.”

***

Ginny was in the kitchen when she got home. “Hermione?!” she called out, not moving from her chair. Hermione made her way over to kiss Ginny’s hair. “O no no, no kisses for you. I haven’t seen you in forever and I live with you!”

Hermione laughed. “I know, I’m sorry. Tea?”

Ginny huffed in a way that Hermione interpreted as of course, naturally, thank you Hermione. “Honestly, has Snape chained you to your cauldron?”

“Professor Snape, Gin.” She placed two steaming mugs on the table.

“Don’t Gin me,” Ginny snapped, although she wrapped her hands around the mug instantly. “You’ve been extreme in your studies before, but never this extreme.”

Hermione gave her friend a pointed look. “You know why,” she said quietly in warning.

“Yes,” Ginny threw a hand up. “You need to find them a cure. But what about the other things you need. Sleep, time to yourself, a hobby-“

“I’m not sure if you noticed but studying is my hobby,” Hermione snorted, “Ask Harry and Ron, they’ll be able to tell you all about how much I bored them to death in school, quoting so many books I basically became one myself.”

“Screw Harry and Ron.” The words echoed through the kitchen and into the cavity in Hermione’s chest. The one she’d ignored for so long up to now. “Screw them. They’re idiots. Loveable idiots, but idiots nonetheless. They can say all they’d like about you, but without you, they’d never have gotten through Hogwarts, they’d never have survived being on the run and all of us would never have won this bloody war.”

Hermione wondered when her mouth had become so painfully dry. She forced herself to swallow down a sip of burning hot tea, the sound that came from her throat harsh and unnatural. “I’m grateful they don’t see me that way, Ginny. I’m grateful they don’t just see me for the function I might have to them.”

But Ginny shook her head. “You’re wrong, Hermione. By making those jokes, they simply try to laugh away how much they rely on it.”

The observation landed like a blow and Hermione was left stunned in its wake. Unsure of how to respond. As the youngest Weasley, Ginny was often underestimated, but Hermione had always admired her ability to cut through the bullshit. That did not mean that she liked it when Ginny directed that skill at her. The redhead seemed to sense that now too, as she visibly relaxed in her chair. “I’m just worried about you.”

“I know,” Hermione said, looking down at her tea. She drew in a deep breath. “Truth is, I don’t know what to do with myself when I’m not working.” Now it was Ginny’s turn to stay quiet. “Most of my childhood and adolescence were focussed on keeping Harry alive, then winning a war. And when that was over, I had my parents to worry about.” Not meeting Ginny’s eyes, she sighed. “I am not sure what or who I am outside of all of that.”

There, the truth Minerva had also tried to wring from her. There was no response from Ginny, aside from the hand that wrapped around Hermione’s and held on firmly. That was enough. They sat like that, hand in hand, until Harry came home half an hour later and pressed a kiss to Ginny’s lips, then gently grabbed Hermione’s shoulder. “Good to see you’re still alive, stranger.”

“You too,” Hermione responded, “loveable idiot.”

Chapter Text

The Burrow was full with people and laughter. There was barely space to put her bag down when she finally arrived. She and professor Snape had gotten caught up in a particularly difficult potion and lost track of time, something that happened more and more often lately. He’d still been brewing when she left, answering her invitation to join her with a grunt. She wasn’t sure what else she’d expected. She kept trying though, her conversation with Minerva still fresh on her mind.

She now smiled at the chaos lying ahead of her, shrugging off her cloak, and then her jumper – the proximity of so many bodies was a much more efficient heating system than muggle or wizard alike could think up.

“Hermione,” Mrs Weasley called fondly, pulling her into an embrace. “Come in dear, you just missed dinner but I’ve got some saved for you.”

The Weasley matron disappeared into the kitchen, scolding a smoking George on the way. “Good to see you ‘Mione,” her son now greeted the newcomer, “We were starting to wonder what happened. Ron said the greasy git must have locked you up in the dungeon, but I bet you found an enchanted book that transported you to worlds of adventure. Please tell them it’s the latter, I could use the galleons.” The surviving half of the Weasley twin wrapped an arm around her shoulder and guided her deeper into the whirlpool of sounds and bodies. It was a good day, then. Hermione was glad. During the first months after the way, she had found him upstairs all too often, swigging from half drained bottles or sobbing as he leaned a little too far out of the window for her to feel comfortable leaving him there. She’d sat with him many nights before she moved back to Hogwarts and, eventually, Grimmauld Place.

She patted his arm now and laughed. “Will do, although I am afraid it was neither.” She received a lopsided grin at that, before he scurried off to join someone else’s conversation.

Hermione glanced around the room. Not as full as it should have been – as it used to be. Before. It made the moments they all gathered here all the more precious to her.

She caught a glimpse of Luna’s near-white hair, over on the couch, and started to move that way, nodding and smiling at the Order members who caught her eye. She found her friends spread out over two sofas and a number of chairs. Luna, Ron and Lavender, who had more or less become an unofficial member, ever since she and Ron had started dating again, two years ago. Ginny and Harry, with a sleepy Teddy on his lap. Neville sat on one of the chairs, and now cleared another for her. Hermione accepted it gratefully, waving at Teddy, who had cranked an eye open to see who everyone was greeting. He gave her a weak wave back before crawling closer against his godfather’s chest. The four-year-old was raised by the Weasleys like he was their own, but Harry visited as often as he could and was the boy’s unmatched favourite. He now beamed at her, and she beamed back. He would make an amazing dad, she was sure.

“Here you are, dear,” Mrs Weasley handed her a platter of spaghetti. “Have they told you the big news yet?”

“She literally just sat down, ma,” Ginny cried over the noise.

Hermione looked from mother to daughter in confusion. “What big news?”

Ron cleared his throat. “Lavender and I – we’re getting married.” The woman at his side nodded eagerly, grabbing her fiancé’s hand and giving him a lovesick look that Hermione never quite understood. There was a hint of anxiety buzzing behind her best friend’s eyes – about her reaction, she realised. She let her face light up. “That’s amazing!” she exclaimed sincerely, “When did this happen? How?”

Ronald relaxed back into the couch. “Why don’t you tell it, Lav?”

Lavender seemed more than okay with that. She was no longer the desperate, ridiculous girl Hermione had once despised – she no longer called Ron Won-Won, thank Merlin – but she was still as enthusiastic as ever about their relationship. “Well, we were at one of Ron’s quidditch games in Belgium, and they were beating the opponent’s ass, obviously, when suddenly, just before the break, all players – even the opposition – started to fly into formation. It took me a second to realise what was happening, but then I saw that they formed the words ‘marry me’ and at first I thought it must have been for someone else – “

“But then I landed in front of her,” Ron continued, “and she got the hint by then. She kissed me senseless.”

Letting out a breathless laugh, Hermione fondly shook her head. “Ronald Weasley, I did not think you had it in you.” Her friend grinned like a praised puppy. “So, when is the wedding?”

“Oh, we’re waiting until next summer,” Lavender said, “Ron’s got quidditch now, and anyway, we’d like to have a wedding out here, on the field.” Mrs Weasley clasped a hand over her heart at that, and had to leave the room for a moment.

“Two thirds of the Golden Trio married,” Harry mused.

“That leaves only you, Hermione.” The words came from Neville, but Ron snorted.

“Hermione doesn’t date people, she dates books.”

The room burst out in laughter, oblivious to the way Hermione stilled. “Good one, Ron,” she muttered, but Harry was already talking over her.

“No, it’s true, I remember that time-“

Hermione rose abruptly, putting her spaghetti back on the chair and stalked away. The others did not seem to care or notice, too enthralled by Harry and Ron’s anecdotes about good old bookish ‘Mione. Ginny’s words came back to mind. So far her two best friends ladies and gentlemen.

She grabbed her cloak and bag and slipped out before anyone noticed. The term had not applied in a while anymore, she thought as she made her way back to the apparition point. She barely spoke to Ron nowadays, and Harry... Harry would always choose his first best friend over her. The thought stung at her heart.

She apparated to Grimmauld Place first, where she stared at the door that contained a prospect of an empty house and a lonely evening. Whatever had wormed itself in her heart twisted painfully. She was sure they hadn’t even noticed her absence yet, or someone would have come after her by now. Pricks.

She forced her ribs to expand far enough for some air to slip in, but the ache in her chest just seemed to grow at the effort. Her breath was unsteady as it left her lips. “It’s okay,” she breathed to herself, “Don’t cry.”

But it was not okay. It hadn’t been okay in a while now. It felt like the wound that had closed for everyone else was still there for her. A gaping hole in her chest. A void that she tried to ignore most days, covered up by the band aid called distraction.

Her throat squeezed painfully as she fought the tears from falling. Two options. She could go inside and find a nice corner to cry in, or –

Hermione chose option two.

She wasn’t sure how it had even become an option in her mind. She wasn’t sure if it was an option to begin with, even as she apparated into the dark and abandoned street.

The light inside was burning, his sitting room lit up like the stage of a theatre. And there was the lead actor, sitting in his highbacked chair, back to the audience. Slender fingers brought a half empty glass into her view. Whiskey, she realised as she caught the amber colour of the liquid. Her eyes travelled to the table next to him, where a mostly empty bottle rested. His hair appeared from behind the back of the chair as he hung his head low, hiding his face in his hand.

Of all the bits and pieces she’d gotten to know about Severus Snape, this felt the most personal, the most human. Vulnerable in a way that was unsettling for a man as guarded as him. She blinked back tears. Me too, she wanted to whisper into his ear.

On the other side of the glass, the man tensed and rose from his chair. Hermione froze. Fuck. She must have set off the ward.

The door flew open a moment later. “GRANGER!” Snape thundered into the street. “What are you doing here?” His hair was a mess, his shirt crumpled and untucked, one sleeve rolled up, the other down. She knew she should be intimidated. She knew she should probably apologise at the very least. But her eyes drank him in and all she could think of was how she wanted to smooth out his hair, take the glass from him, drain the bottle in his sink, grab his hands and tell him: Me too – and – maybe we can be lonely together.

There must be something truly, innately wrong with her, she realised. Then the reality of his stare on her kicked in, more tired than aggressive. He must have read something in her eyes, a kind of recognition, for he stepped aside and said, “Come in.”

***

“I thought you were at the Order meeting,” Snape said as he led her into the sitting room. With his permission, she sank into the furthest of the two chairs.

“So you did hear me when I invited you,” she accused him half-heartedly. He shot her a look. “I was, but I just couldn’t bear it anymore.

He sat down again, pointedly ignoring the alcohol that stood next to him. He seemed surprisingly sober, for the amount of liquid that had disappeared from the bottle. “I’m not an alcoholic,” he snarled, “Minerva gifted me this bottle for Christmas.” Over half a year ago then. Hermione blushed and looked away. “I might seem like a sorry excuse of a person, but-“

“I never said you were,” she cut him off, “and if you are, I am too, so I don’t care. Will you please stop reading my mind, it’s impolite.”

“I can’t help it if you shout thoughts at me,” he grumbled, but the bite had left his voice. “Why are you here, miss Granger?”

“Hermione,” she corrected him. She weighed her next words carefully. “And I didn’t want to be alone.”

The skin between his eyebrows creased as he studied her. “One would think being surrounded by a dozen of order members is the opposite of being alone.”

“Ron is getting married.” She blurted the words out, only realising belatedly how that sounded when he responded with a soft “ah”. “No,” she corrected him, “it’s not heartbreak or anything that is making me say that, we kissed once and that was more than enough, but... Ron is getting married, and everyone was joking about how I would marry my books and laughing and – I don’t know how they can laugh with so many ghosts in the room.” Her voice was small. “And they all seemed so sure of my inability to ever care about someone, be cared for by someone, and they laughed at that prospect.”

She wasn’t sure why she was telling him this. Again, she wasn’t sure why she was here. He was probably cursing himself for ever letting her step foot inside his house right about now. “Being able to be happy when alone is a skill many people have not practised enough,” Snape offered quietly, “It does not necessarily imply loneliness, Hermione.”

Her name on his lips sent shudders down her spine. She wasn’t sure why it had that effect. “No,” she shook her head, “it doesn’t, but – “

“But you already are.” It sounded dangerously like the me too she had wanted to tell him earlier. She nodded, not meeting his eyes. He sighed, the soft sound loud in the silence of the room.

“I don’t think loneliness has anything to do with how many or how little people you surround yourself with, half of the time.”

She dared a glance up at him. In the soft light of the fire, his eyes were even darker than usual, darker than the night outside. “I think you are right.”

Chapter Text

He led her up the stairs. They did not creak when she stepped on them, at least not much. Following him up step by step felt like she was entering some sacred place – a place where no one but him had been.

There were three doors on the first floor. He pointed out the bathroom to her, then showed her to the spare room. If it hadn’t been obvious that Severus Snape did not entertain guests often, the room, with its single desk and chair and a lonely bookcase pressed against a wall, quickly fixed that misconception. He moved the chair aside and transfigured the desk into a bed.

“Thank you,” she said.

“I’ll be down the hall if you need me,” he responded. The door fell shut a moment later.

If she needed him. She replayed the words in her mind. Severus Snape would be down the hall, if she needed him.

She dragged her jumper over her head and kicked of her jeans. The day had been crazy – or the night had, at least – and she wanted nothing more than to sleep. Once again, her mind was filled with the argument between her and Ginny last week. It had been a while since she’d felt at ease enough to want to sleep.

Ginny. She hoped she hadn’t worried the woman with her sudden disappearance. She conjured a piece of parchment and quickly scribbled a few words on them. Then she hesitated. He’d said he’d be there if she needed him.

She transfigured her jumper into a robe. Her heart beat so loudly she could feel it rocking her body as she knocked on his door. It opened a moment later. He had not changed yet, aside from the few buttons that were undone and exposed a sliver of skin. She trailed it with her eyes, her breath hitching at the white scars that circles his throat.

“Yes?” Snape asked tiredly.

Gods she was tired, her eyelids already pulled down by sleep to cover her burning eyes. She forced them open again. “Ginny – she’ll be worried. I need an owl.”

He held up a hand. “Give it to me, I’ll make sure she’ll receive it.” She handed the piece of parchment over without protest. “Sleep, Hermione.”

“Good night, sir.” She turned away with a yawn.

She had already reached her door when he said, “Severus.”

Leaning against the doorway, she glanced back one more time. “Good night, Severus.”

Her desk-bed was surprisingly comfortable. She fell asleep within seconds and woke up better rested than she had been in… years.

Hermione rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she trudged down the stairs. It could not be past six yet, that hour had been burned into her mind like a natural alarm by now. Besides, it was still too dark outside – and it was usually light just around the time she apparated to Sna – Severus.

She paused at the end of the stairs. She needed breakfast, her aching stomach was doing a wonderful job of reminding her of that, but she didn’t know if it would be okay to go into the kitchen.

“Some of us would like to get on with their day, miss Granger.”

Hermione shrieked and whirled around. Standing on the stairs, just a few steps behind her, was Severus. He was back in his button up and trousers, not a crease to be found, and – she blinked in surprise. He was wearing socks. Well, she supposed that was usual for most people, but she’d never seen Snape in anything but shoes. It was oddly domestic. The man rose a single eyebrow. “Right, sorry.” She stepped aside.

With his body passing so closely by hers, memories of the previous night flooded her mind. What she had told him – how she’d found him. Merlin, she had been so out of line showing up at his house like that. Her face burned when she followed him into the kitchen. “I’ve got toast and I’ve got coffee,” Severus grumbled, his voice still rough from sleep.

“Just toast is fine.”

He grunted in return. Not a morning person then, Hermione noted. Strange, his behaviour was so bright and lovely during the rest of the day.

He threw a look over his shoulder. “Keep your mockery to yourself.”

She could not help but laugh. His darkening expression told her to expect burnt toast, but the plate that was placed in front of her a few minutes later held two perfect pieces.

“Thank you,” she said. He did not say anything in return and sipped his coffee.

The drink made him notably more amiable, and by the time they stepped into the lab he was back to his bright and lovely self. Or, he was producing full sentences again and grumbling less than speaking. In the lab, the order basket had grown so full it had overflown overnight, white cards spread over the table and even over the floor. She stopped at his side to see what he was looking at. “Flu season,” the man beside her simply said. “Worst time of a potion master’s life.” She laughed at that, the second time she’d laughed in the span of an hour. “I’m glad you find this so amusing, Hermione, that will make the next fourteen or so hours so much more bearable for you.”

Her mouth snapped shut, and she bit her lip to prevent herself from laughing again. Severus shook his head.

The fourteen hours was not a joke. In her defense, she’d never thought it was a joke, but she found it significantly less funny when fishing sweat drenched hair out of her face at the eleven-hour mark. And only now, after all that work, did the pile of orders show somewhat of a dent. Severus had promised her many more fourteen-hour days over lunch break.

They stared at each other now, chests heaving. “I’m done,” Hermione told him. He nodded.

“We’ll take a break, I’ll make dinner.”

She put her utensils aside. “I’ll help.” Severus turned back around to face her, again with that single eyebrow arched. “It’s the least I can do.”

“For making you brew potions for eleven hours straight?” he asked, “Should I be worried about any attempts to poison me?”

“For letting me into your house, listening to me, and offering to make dinner.” She rinsed off her hands. “And I’m pretty sure you are immune to most poisons.”

His scoff did nothing to disprove that theory. Nevertheless, he seemed awfully concerned when he looked over her shoulder later. “What are you doing?” he asked uncertainly.

“Stir frying the vegetables?” Hermione asked back.

“Get away from my stove.” She instantly stepped back and let him take over.

“I should have mentioned that I’m a terrible cook.”

Severus huffed. “You wouldn’t say.”

“Ginny says I’m hopeless, she always has to save the day when I try.”

That earned her a half-interested hum. She approached the counter again, leaning against it with her hip so she could face him. “You’re not terrible,” Severus admitted begrudgingly, “the pan was too hot and you didn’t add oil.” He continued stirring, trying to undo her damage. It was strange, seeing this person in such a domestic setting, cooking a meal for the two of them. But then again, it had been a strange day.

“Do you have to watch, witch?” The half-hearted snarl brought her back to the present moment.

“Naturally,” she instantly responded, “How else will I learn?”

“I am sure miss Weasley is an adequate cook and much more willing to be observed.”

“No offense to Ginny, but she isn’t a renowned potions master, sir-Severus.”

Severus glanced at her, a hint of amusement in his eyes. So that had been it, she thought to herself. All those times he had seemed amused but not moved an inch of his face, or when he’d glanced at her with that strange light in his eyes. It was amusement that danced in his eyes, and it looked good on him. “Obviously, the ability to brew does not insinuate the ability to cook, or else you would be making yourself useful right now.”

“I am being useful,” Hermione protested, “I’m staying out of the way.” The corner of his lips twitched, a slight dimple forming and smoothing out on his skin again. She was inexplicably tempted to ask him to do it again.

“You lay the table,” he ordered. With a lazy flick of her hand, plates and cutlery came flying out of their respective places and settled neatly on the table. All the while, Hermione maintained eye contact. “Always so eager to show off.” He shook his head. “Sometimes I do not understand why you chose potions, of all things, to master in.”

A blush took over her face and her heart started skipping beats. She was glad he didn’t look at her, because surely, then she would have told him. She would have told him about her parents, the memory charm she’d cast on them and her inability to solve her own mess. “Like you said,” she said instead, “I am a know-it-all and I love a good challenge.”

***

“Hermione?” Hermione froze. Shit. She had tried so hard to not make any sounds when walking up the stairs. She’d even cast a dozen silencing charms, but the steps just did not want to cooperate. Blasted house.

She looked up. Ginny was rubbing her sleep-warmed face as she leaned against the wall, one hand supporting her belly. “Hey,” Hermione whispered, “I’m okay, go back to sleep.”

Of course, the redhead did no such thing. “Did you only just get back from Snape?”

“Yes, it was busy. Flu season, Severus said. It might happen more often this month.” Ginny hummed. “Go back to bed, Gin, I mean it.”

This time, her friend did turn around, but she paused at the door to Harry’s and her bedroom. “I’m sorry if it hurt you – the comments Ron and Harry made. I went after you, but you weren’t here.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to be alone. I went to –“

“- Severus,” Ginny finished for her, with a small, knowing smile. “Yes, I know. I’m glad you had someone to go to.” Hermione nodded, not sure what else to say. “Well, anyway,” her friend continued. “I’m sorry.”

Just before she could slip out of sight, Hermione whispered, “I love you, Ginny.”

Ginny paused and looked back into the hallway. “I love you too.”

Chapter Text

“You’re in luck, Granger.”

Hermione fumbled with the buttons of her frock. Her fingers had started to tremble four days into flu season and had not stopped since. Meanwhile, Severus appeared unbothered. A double spy, she remembered, was probably used to being pushed to the limit.

“No more fourteen-hour workdays?” The words sounded a tad too hopeful to be interpreted as a joke.

Severus gave her a long look, a frown on his face as he took in the sight of her. It was humbling, being absolutely wrecked whilst he continued on with the usual, composed demeanour. “One more,” he promised, “then we can return to our ten-hour ones.”

Hermione felt like crying. She heaved a deep breath and pushed her shoulders back. “Let’s get to it, then.”

Two weeks. Two weeks she’d been in the lab from seven in the morning until eleven in the evening, brewing like her life depended on it. No time to talk to Ginny, or write letters to Minerva - who had written many to Hermione, she just hadn’t had time to read them yet - no time to visit her parents or to work on a cure for them. She groaned. “I hate brewing.”

Severus didn’t bother to look up. “And here I was thinking you ‘loved a good challenge’.” He quoted her own words back at her, and she fought the urge to slap him.

“This is too good a challenge. It has undone me. It has drained me of my Gryffindor spirit.” But she didn’t feel as bad when she caught sight of the smirk on his face.

And then there’d been that. Two weeks of spending every waking hour with Severus, alternating between silence and banter, learning how to brew and cook. She could cook, she thought smugly. She was not as hopeless as Ginny had so often exclaimed.

“Get to work, miss Granger, or I’ll deduct 50 points from Gryffindor. See how that will help your Gryffindor spirit.”

Even Hermione’s laugh sounded exhausted.

The hours bled into each other as she brewed, becoming one blur of exhaustion and chaos. It was a small mercy that the work took too much of her focus to count the minutes. She’d gotten clumsy, dropping knifes that narrowly missed her feet, nearly knocking over her cauldron, twice, adding the wrong ingredients until the potion would start hissing and steaming in protest. She supposed she was lucky that she still had her eyebrows and all ten fingers. That was, if she wasn’t seeing double and imagining half of them.

At four, she was staring at a potion that was bubbling in a way it definitely shouldn’t be, when suddenly she found her cauldron empty.

“I could have fixed it!” she protested. Severus crossed his arms in front of his chest, a frown on his face.

“Go home, Hermione,” he said, not unkindly. Humiliation burned through her and she opened her mouth to refuse, but he shut her up with a stern look. “You are a workplace hazard and frankly useless to me right now.”

She had to bite the inside of her cheek to overshadow the burning of her eyes. Useless. Averting her gaze, she nodded.

She felt his eyes on her back as she shrugged out of her protective frock and left the lab behind. It was raining outside. No, that was an understatement. It was pouring. She hadn’t even noticed that when brewing. With a sigh, Hermione stepped outside and let the rain take her. Almost instantly, the water beat her curls into submission until they clung to her face. Great.

She stepped past the second ward. Deep breaths, she told herself as she closed her eyes, focus. She scrunched her nose, tried to get a grip on her entire body. Now, she thought – but her body remained passive.

Behind her, the door creaked as it opened again. “Granger?” The sound of his voice almost made her knees buckle. “What in Merlin’s name are you doing?”

“Gathering energy,” she shouted back over the roar of the rain. “I don’t want to splint.”

A string of curses escaped his lips. “Get inside, witch, before you catch pneumonia instead.” Hermione considered the offer for a bit, hesitant to face further humiliation in front of him. “Now, Hermione.”

Who could argue with an order from Severus Snape? She trudged back to the door, accompanied by the sucking sounds of her rain-soaked shoes. A sigh of relief left her lips when his wand banished the water from her body and wrapped her in a blanket of warmth.

He turned back to the lab. “Your bed is still there, in the spare room.”

Her bed. An involuntary smile crept over her face. “Thank you, sir,” she murmured.

“Don’t mention it,” he said evenly, “I simply cannot deal with an ill apprentice right now.”

***

She woke up from the sound of a crash. Her heart beat in her throat. Her wand flew to her waiting fingers in an instant. “Lumos.” The bedroom was lit up in a blueish light; the chair, the bookcase, and the bed. Nothing else. Her feet found the floor before she could consider it, and she rushed to the door. Nothing in the hallway either.

A loud clang echoed up the stairs, followed by a much softer, “Shit.” The air rushed out of her lungs. Severus, it was just Severus.

Padding down the stairs, she discarded her Lumos as she glanced into the lab. Two hands leaned on the edge of his workbench, knuckles white as his muscles tensed. His head hung low between drawn up shoulders. 

“Severus?”

Instantly, the man straightened his spine and rolled down the sleeve of his right arm. She caught a glimpse of what he was trying to hide. The mark was no longer black, but an angry looking red, like it was freshly burned. 

“It’s okay,” she rushed to say, “I – I’ve got one too – well, not that one, but – “ Her tongue obviously did not know what to do, so she let her fingers tug at her sleeve instead, revealing the word that was carved into her flesh.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed harshly. “Go back to bed, Hermione, everything is fine. I forgot to brew my dreamless sleep potion, that’s all.”

Hermione met his gaze. There was no way she was going back to sleep now. She conjured a chair and knocked him back into it with a gust of wind. “Granger,” he snarled in warning.

“Hermione,” she corrected him patiently, “and I can brew this potion just as well as you can.”

“I didn’t stand in the rain for five minutes gathering energy to apparate.” He tried to stand up, but she sent more wind his way.

“And I didn’t wake someone up in the middle of the night by knocking over a cauldron,” she replied sweetly. He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. The sound made Hermione’s movements stutter.

She put the cauldron back on the fire and vanished the spilled potion. Filling the cauldron with new Honeywater, Hermione began to speak. “I got mine when I was 17, in Malfoy Manor. Harry spoke Voldemort’s name – we didn’t know it was a taboo yet – and some Death Eaters caught us. Bellatrix assumed I was the weak link.” Severus snorted at that. “She traced the word into my arm with a cursed knife. It’s like I can still feel it happening from time to time.”

Little bubbles of air appeared in the liquid. She added a Sopophorous bean. She’d have five or so minutes before she could move on to the next step. She turned to meet his gaze.

Severus was looking up at her with dark, unreadable eyes. It suddenly occurred to her that she was wearing little more than the shirt she had slept in. A blush crept over her face. Still, she did not look away.

The five minutes went by before he began to speak, watching as she fished the bean out of the water again.

“I was the same age,” he admitted, “and bitter and angry.”

“People make bad decisions when bitter and angry,” she offered, but he shook his head.

“Maybe quit a job, hurt someone they love – not join a group of murderers.” He sighed. He was the picture of exhaustion, with empty eyes and a curved back. It felt almost too intimate to watch him in this moment. “I have done many terrible things in my life, Hermione, do not attempt to make excuses for me.”

She quietly sprinkled the Moly plants over the cauldron and started to stir. “I do not deserve the peace that potion offers,” he murmured, “nor do I deserve your presence.”

Her heart ached so badly she almost swayed. “I’m offering it anyway.”

They were silent for a while, watching as the potion slowly settled into its deep, purple colour. “My mother was a pureblood, a Prince. Her family cut her off when she married my father, a muggle and a drunk.” I’m not an alcoholic, he had snarled at her. Now he ran a hand through his hair. “He hated her when he found out, hated me too.” He shuddered. Memories seemed to flash behind his eyes. Memories too bad to translate into words. “Then there was Lilly, and she offered me kindness and the hope of a place to belong.” He shook his head. They both knew the rest. The entire world knew the rest, after his trial.

She bottled the potion with trembling hands. “It does not excuse anything,” he said, his voice rough as he pushed himself up from the chair and took the potion from her hands.

Her hand wrapped around his wrist before she could stop herself. Bare skin on bare skin. Their gazes snapped to each other like they were magnets that were too close to stay away. “Maybe not,” she murmured into the space between them, “but you spent a lifetime righting that wrong.” He shook his head. “You have sacrificed so much, Severus, including your life, almost.” She did not know why her voice sounded so rough, or why it pitched and broke as she continued. “Maybe you can’t forgive yourself. And maybe all the others can’t either. But I can, and I already have.”

His eyes flooded with a million emotions that she couldn’t place. His body swayed closer, into the touch she had initiated, until she could feel the heat radiating from him to her. Their eyes still locked. His breath left a trail of warmth where it caressed her skin. Her lips parted without her permission.

“Foolish girl,” he breathed into the silence.

Then, suddenly, he was gone. And Hermione was left in a free fall of emotion.

Chapter Text

Hermione shifted in her chair, trying to find a position in which she could comfortably read the heavy tome Severus had arranged for her – the original version of a translation she’d struggled with. It seemed counterintuitive, perhaps, to try to understand the original, thousand-year-old manuscript when she hadn’t understood its translation, but Hermione was a woman of many skills, including the reading and deciphering of Old English and confusing hand writings. Her parents had always stressed the importance of being able to rely on your own mind, and she’d spent her entire life gathering the tools to do so; often in the form of memorising entire library books. So, when Nickle had suggested arranging manuscript lessons in her first year, she’d not even hesitated for a second. She was grateful for that now.

“Severus.” The man in the chair next to her hummed absentmindedly, engrossed in his newspaper. “I want to meet your bookdealer. No – scratch that – I want to marry your book dealer.”

“I’ll be sure to let him and his husband know,” Severus responded. The paper rustled as he turned a page.

It had become part of their evening routine - reading together. When their days had gone from ending at eleven to ending at seven, they had not gotten any less busy. Severus had invited her to stay for dinner, that first night after flu season, and after they had still wanted to do some research in what Hermione called the library.

She had stayed every night after that first one. First for more research, then to beat him in a game of muggle chess, and eventually because they simply enjoyed each other’s company. The green velvet reading chair next to his become her chair, and the spare room upstairs became her room.

Cradling the book like it was a newborn baby, she held it out to him. “Look at this.”

He put his paper down with a sigh and grabbed the book. His eyes darted over the page like it was written in regular English, a skill she greatly envied.

Hermione held her breath as she watched his lips purse and his brow crease. Not a good sign. “I know it is an unusual ingredient to use,” she rushed to explain even before he had finished reading, “but it might just be what we are missing.”

Severus lowered the book to his lap and looked at her with a strange expression in his eyes. “Unusual is an interesting choice of word,” he said slowly. The room suddenly didn’t seem as warm anymore. Not when he was looking at her like he didn’t know her. “What is this really about, Hermione?”

Her mind blanked, and all she could say was, “Sorry?” Her voice was squeaky as she said it.

“I’ve known you to break rules if you think it is necessary to save someone you love, or if your morality absolutely demands it. Not for – for what? The Examination Board won’t approve your project if you use an illegal ingredient. You’d be lucky if they allow you to continue your Mastery.” His gaze seemed to bore into her, his voice low, but clear as he repeated, “So, what is this about, Hermione?”

He could see right through her, even without his legilimency. If he wanted to, he’d have already read her mind by now. But he didn’t, and left the burden of the choice between honesty and lies with Hermione. Still, he could see right through her.

Hermione opened her mouth, and closed it again. This was Severus, not professor Snape. He would not sabotage her, or ridicule her, or abandon her if he knew the truth. He would probably help her more than she could imagine, if she told him.

She opened her mouth again, and forced her painful throat to make a sound.

Someone knocked on the door.

“Ignore it, it’s Minerva,” Severus ordered. He knew just as well as Hermione did that she’d been about to tell the truth.

The door rattled on its hinges. “Severus Snape! Open up or I’ll blast this door into pieces.”

With a frustrated growl, Severus pushed himself up and stalked out of the room. “What?” she heard him snarl.

“So, you’re alive.” Minerva appeared in the hallway. “Where is – ah.” She’d turned around and spotted Hermione, whose mind was still reeling from the confrontation that had almost unfolded.

Swinging her legs from underneath her, she rose. “Tea?” she asked, practically begging for an excuse to be alone for a moment. She slipped past the two before they could answer.

In the kitchen, she filled the kettle with trembling hands and collapsed onto a chair. Her hands buried and braided themselves into her hair. Stupid, it had been so incredibly stupid to even suggest the ingredient to Severus. And then his questions, his acute observation of her. How he’d seen right through her. Merlin. She just wished Minerva would sod off so she could tell him everything.

“- no floo calls! No owls! Hermione didn’t even show up at the Order meeting tonight! She never misses one!” Minerva’s voice was shrill enough to echo through the hallway into the kitchen. Hermione bit her lip to stop from crying. She’d forgotten about tonight’s order meeting. She’d been caught up in cooking dinner with Severus first, then reading that blasted tome later.

She was doing everything wrong today.

Severus soothing baritone voice reached her next, although she could not hear what he was saying. Her hands were trembling so hard that they pulled at her hair and rattled against her head. And the thing was – the thing was that she just wanted her mom. She would know just what to say, just what to do. She would smile at her, and gently dry her tears and tell her it was okay. That she was okay.  Hermione would give everything for her mom to hold her right now.

Minerva’s shouting resumed in the other room.

Hermione forced some air into her lungs. She was being pathetic. She was 21 years old, an adult both in the magical and in the muggle world. Crying in the kitchen of her teacher, with whom she basically lived because – because – she didn’t know why. Because she liked his company. Because she liked him.

Her mind chose that excellent moment to bring back the look he’d had in his eyes when he had just read the text. Like he didn’t recognize her. A whimper escaped her lips. That was pathetic as well.

Frustrated, she pushed herself up. He was wrong. She could prove him he was wrong. She could make this all right and show him that this was to save someone she loved about. Someone who loved her. Someone whose love she had always thought was unbreakable. Until she’d cast that spell. Surely, that was worth breaking some rules.

There was no need to consider it any longer. With the tears still fresh on her cheeks, she rushed out of the kitchen.

“Excuse me, Minerva,” she heard Severus say in the living room, “Hermione?” She quickened her pace and reached for the door. “Hermione,” he repeated, more urgently now.

His hand landed on the door just above her, keeping it shut. He was hovering over her like this. She turned her face away to hide her tears. “Let me go, Severus.” Her voice sounded hoarse.

“I will do no such thing,” Severus said behind her. “Minerva, kindly get the fuck out.”

Minerva protested, in some way. Hermione didn’t really pay attention. She just heard Severus respond, “I think you’ve done quite enough.”

In the moment of chaos, Hermione opened the door and slipped out into the night.

***

She was already halfway down Knockturn Alley when she realised. She was acting like a fool. What was it she’d said to Severus? Bitter and angry people often make bad decisions, or something. Well, she was about to make a phenomenally horrible one. Her feet slowed from trying to speed walk a marathon to unsure.

What was she doing? She had run out on Severus and Minerva, who were probably worried sick now, not to mention blaming each other and Merlin knows Severus did not have many friends to lose. Even worse, she’d gone straight into a street that was infamous for seedy witches and wizards, former Death Eaters who had escaped their fates in Azkaban. And all she had to protect herself was her wand.

All of that, to buy an illegal ingredient that might or might not help her parents, so she might or might not redeem herself to Severus, who must now definitely think she was – what was it? A foolish girl? And that same ingredient would very definitely destroy her academic career.

Hermione turned on her heel and shook her head hissing, “Idiot. You absolute idiot, Hermione.”

That on its own was not a very smart thing to do.

A murmur went through the street, which had seemed absolutely abandoned just moments ago. “Did you say Hermione?” A woman stepped out the shadows, licking her rotting teeth with a grin that promised madness. “Hermione Granger?” She crooned.

Nimue, Morgana and all the others. She could kill herself right now, except she was pretty sure that was already the mad woman’s plan for the night. Hermione reached for her wand.

A second person stepped into the light, cloaked, hidden from view by the heavy fabric. “Well, well, well,” the stranger drawled. “Potter’s best friend. Hogwarts’ Golden Girl. I know many people who would pay a decent sum for your death.” The woman’s eyes glinted. “How fun it will be to break you.”

Hermione held her breath, waiting for more to reveal themselves.

The cloaked figure drew a wand. “Crucio!”

She blocked it effortlessly and cast a wandless Revelio. Just the two of them, as far as she could tell.

“Expelliarmus!” The spell sent a wave of shock through her arm, and Hermione just barely managed to hold on to her wand and reverse the spell. The mad woman’s wand soared towards her through the sky.

“Stupefy!” she shouted at the cloaked figure. They fell to the ground with such a loud thud that they were without doubt going to be covered in bruises.

Hermione ran. It was not like she was particularly worried about beating these two in a wand fight, but she wasn’t very eager to meet their friends either.

Diagon Alley already lay waiting ahead of her, when, out of nowhere, a third person stepped in the way and caught her body as it slammed into his. Icy cold fingers dug into her arms. Behind her, the woman cackled. “Where are you going little girl?”

Chapter Text

The both of them were still there when she returned, fifteen minutes later. Severus was stalking to and from in the cramped space of the hallway - Minerva was seated, pale. They caught sight of her at the same time.

Her own eyes instantly focussed on Severus. He looked a bit worse for wear, his hair all over the place like he had been tugging at it and there was a rounding to his usually so perfectly straightened back that sent a wave of nausea and guilt through her. She met his eyes last.

“Minerva. Leave.” His voice was rough, tired. 

For once, Minerva did not protest. She rose without a word and patted Hermione’s arm on her way out. Hermione followed her with her eyes until the door fell shut behind her.

His eyes were still on her, jumping to her cheek when she turned to face him. His jaw tensed. Right. The cut. Her hand pressed against it carelessly and returned bloody. Fingers curled around her wrist and pulled it down. He had crossed the distance between them whilst she hadn’t been watching, more of a predator than the idiots back in Knockturn Alley could ever be. She blinked away the surprise, the dizziness, that his sudden closeness brought, and pretended it didn’t affect her. There were other things to worry about right now.

He didn’t say anything as he guided her to the lab, the heat of his hand scorching her back. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Either he didn’t hear or he didn’t care.

She got pushed down on a chair as he reached for a jar from the shelf. He sat down opposite her a moment later. “What happened?”

“Just three drunkards.” She hissed as he brought a salve-covered finger to the cut and pressed ever so lightly.

She had thought they were Death Eaters. She had thought they were going to kill her, take her to whoever led them now. But then she had smelled the alcohol on their breath and realised what was going on. It seemed best not to share that brief moment of panic she’d felt. Not when he was already looking down on her with eyes that were like bottomless pits of darkness.

“Where?” Severus asked. They both knew where. It was a blatant test to see if she would tell him the truth.

Shame settled into her stomach as she looked at her hands. Not telling him the truth had gotten her into this mess of a night. “Knockturn Alley.” The fingers on her cheek forced her face up again so he could continue his work. “I wasn’t going to go through with it. I was already on my way back when they ambushed me. It was stupid, but I was just so – “

“Bitter and angry?” He supplied the words for her, and, despite the situation, they felt like a joke. She nodded first, then shook her head.

“Lonely and scared.” She glanced up at him. “Not that different.” There was something unbearably intense about the way he looked at her. Something beyond the anger and the disappointment. She winced. For the first time since the apprenticeship had started, she truly felt small in his presence.

Her skin itched where it knit itself together. They stared at each other. “Should I check for more injuries?” His expression was darker than it had ever been. At the shake of her head, he rose.

She reached for him on instinct, her fingers brushing his arm. “Wait, please.” He towered over her like this, more so than he already did if she’d been standing. “I – let me explain, please.” For a moment, he just stared at her, like he was contemplating the option of walking away. She pulled her hand back uncertainly. A part of her whispered please don’t walk away from me, and she wondered if he could hear it. Slowly, he sat down again. “It’s quite a story,” she murmured. He spread his arms as if to say, I have all the time in the world.

The nod she gave was more for her than for him. Her mind stumbled over itself to find the words to start. “After Dumbledore died,” she began eventually, “It was clear to us that there was no going back. We were not going back, because the world couldn’t. In just a few moments it had become a grim and dangerous place, and we all understood that Harry was our best bet to fix it. So, when we all went home for the summer, we knew we would be called by the Order soon.”

It was as though traces of those cold times still haunted her. She barely managed to suppress a shudder. “It was different for me than for Ron and Harry. Ron’s parents knew what was happening, they could protect themselves, and Harry’s family was put under Order protection. But mine – they did not know how serious everything had gotten, wouldn’t have understood if I had tried to explain it. No one cared to offer them protection.” She bristled with a quiet anger that she’d always forced to the back of her mind. Until now. “It was up to me to protect them. And I’d heard what had happened to Neville’s parents – “ She shook her head. “I was – am – Harry’s best friend. The risk was too big. Not only would it have broken me if something had happened to them, even if it didn’t, I wouldn’t have been able to offer Harry the help he needed, because I’d be too worried about them all the time.”

She closed her eyes in an attempt to stop the tears from falling. The sigh that left her body seemed as broken as she felt on the inside. “So I obliviated them. Sent them to Australia.”

The opening of her eyes was like the opening of a dam. A trail of wetness spread rapidly across her cheeks. She looked up, at the man whose face had gone from ice cold to something that she could only describe as pained.

“I thought I could fix it,” she whispered, although she already shook her head. “I searched every book in the library during my eighth year, and when I couldn’t find the answer there, I decided on the four subjects most likely to help me figure it out. Then I approached Nickle, who I heard was a friend of Slughorn’s and a collector of ambitious students himself. Not to mention highly respected in the world of academia. He convinced the Examination Board to let me take on four subjects.” Which is how she ended up here, with him.

Severus took a moment to let the information sink in. “And why,” he began after a moment, “did you not tell me this before?”

It was a struggle to open her mouth again. Because that had been her real mistake, hadn’t it? Not trusting him, when he had trusted her. “At first, I thought you’d be the Professor I knew before. I was afraid you’d,” she searched for words that would not sound quite so harsh, but couldn’t find them, “that you’d laugh at me, refuse to work with me.” His eyelids fluttered in a rare show of hurt. The burn that had started out in her heart crept up her throat like sour acid. “But then I got to know you, and you became my friend, and suddenly I was so afraid that all of it would be ruined by ... well, exactly this.”

Severus gave a sharp nod. “Thank you. For your honesty.” He rose from his chair. “I will help you with your parents,” he said, hovering over her for a moment, “on the condition that you will not so much as consider breaking the law again.”

Her mouth felt dry, her lips chapped as she ran her tongue over them. She nodded.

More tears escaped her eyes when he turned and walked to the door. Before she could wipe them away, he turned to look at her. It seemed as if there was something he wanted to say. Something hurtful, something soothing. She didn’t know. She had always struggled to read the man. Whatever it had been, he clearly changed his mind. A second later, she was alone in the lab. It vaguely occurred to her that if she bottled her tears now, it would be a new ingredient. Tears of Truth.

Chapter Text

The following day was quiet. Empty. A note was waiting for her when she got downstairs at 6. No breakfast and no Severus. That was enough to bring that all too familiar sting back to her eyes.

Hermione, the note read, I will be gone all day to meet with some clients and business partners. I suggest you use this time for research.

No name. Not even so much as an initial.

Hermione decided she didn’t feel like eating breakfast after all.

She spent most of the morning staring at pages that might as well have been empty, the words just clusters of meaningless letters to her mind - which was instead quite busy alternating between replaying moments from the previous night and beating herself up over them. Somewhere in between, it also managed to remember what Minerva’s call had been about.

An additional wave of guilt chased her out of the house around three. It was time for some visits of her own.

Minerva looked busy when Hermione knocked on the office door, but the Headmistress dropped everything the moment she saw who it was. “Hermione,” she said, obviously trying to school her face into neutrality.

Hermione tried her best not to notice the way she was scanned for injuries. “Do you have time?”

“No,” Minerva said frankly, “but I can make some. It’s about time these dunderheads learned to think for themselves anyway.” She sounded oddly like a certain dark wizard. Hermione smiled weakly, feeling her lack of sleep like a blanket of fog in her mind. “I’d like to ask how you are doing, but the answer is written all over you.” The Headmistress gestured to the chair facing her desk. Like this, they were more like they used to be. Mentor and student.

“I’m sorry about how yesterday went,” Hermione started. Her voice was still a tad hoarse from disuse.

Minerva tutted. “It was me who invaded a private and, I’m afraid, vulnerable moment.” She shook her head. “It is I who should apologise.” Hermione swallowed thickly. She disagreed, but she did not have the energy to contradict her right now. “Did you and Severus manage to solve whatever it was that was going on?”

The question was gentle, like the woman could sense that there was more going on than she could tell. The way Hermione avoided her gaze probably said enough.

“I think he’s angry with me. He did not say much last night, and when I woke up this morning, he was-“ It was hard to speak, when it was hard to breathe “- gone.”

A heavy sigh came from the other side of the table. Tender arms wrapped around her a moment later. Hermione hadn’t even noticed she’d started crying until Minerva rocked her from side to side and murmured, “there, there,” into her hair.

At Grimmauld Place, she was assaulted by a heavily pregnant Ginny, who wrapped her arms around Hermione first, then shoved her back with a punch that was too hard to be playful. “You disappear for two weeks with a single note saying you’re staying at Spinner’s End, wherever the fuck that might be!”

Hermione rubbed her painful arm. “I’m sorry,” she said. She’d been saying those words an awful lot the past 24 hours.

Ginny narrowed her eyes. “Want to tell me what happened?”

***

Hours later, she was staring at the ceiling of her bedroom in Spinner’s End. She wasn’t sure if she was right to return there when Severus wasn’t home, but the thought of staying anywhere else simply felt wrong.

She listened to the sounds of the night. Severus had gotten home a while back. She knew because she’d heard the front door open and close, followed by the door to his bedroom.

After the initial tension, she’d confessed everything to Ginny, including the feelings she herself couldn’t quite place.

“You like him,” Ginny had said.

Hermione had considered it for a while before nodding. “Yes, I think I do.”

With a sigh, she threw the covers back. Trying to sleep was pointless. She might as well go downstairs and get some research done. Tiptoeing into the hallway, her eyes wandered to his door. Would he still be awake? The edges around the wood were dark, but she just wished she could talk to him for a bit.

Hermione squared her shoulders and changed course. There was no harm in seeing if he was awake. His door creaked when she pushed it open. It was pitch black inside. Even the distinction between grey and dark tones disappeared when she stepped into the room. Unsure of what, exactly, her plan was, she shuffled further inside.

She heard sheets rustle. “Hermione?” She stopped. His voice was low and gravelly with sleep, and it sounded so… intimate, when he said her name. Relief and anxiety mixed in her stomach.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she murmured into the darkness.

A sigh. She wrapped her arms around herself against a non-existent chill.

“I’ll go get you some Dreamless Sleep.”

“That’s not why I couldn’t sleep,” she rushed to say.

Some most rustling. Suddenly, a ball of soft light hovered in the air between them. She had to raise her hand and squint to see what it revealed. A dark wooden bed, a duvet of which her tired eyes could not quite decide the colour, and – her mind stopped working for a second. Him.

The covers fell back as he pushed himself up, revealing arms that rippled with a surprising amount of muscle, and a chest covered in a black t-shirt. Hermione was quite sure she’d never seen so much of him. He’d always covered himself in blouses and robes. “What is it?”

She felt her cheeks burn as she snapped back to the present. “Is it okay if I-“ she did not finish her sentence but gestured to the end of the bed. He nodded and she hesitantly sat. It might be better to look at her hands instead of him. “I’m sorry.”

He sighed. “Hermione-“

“I am,” she rushed to say, “I hate this silence between us and I know it’s my fault and it kills me.”

“Hermione-“ Severus started again, to no avail.

 “And I trust you, I really do. I trust you more than anyone else. Only Ginny knows about my parents. I told no one else. But I should have told you.”

“HERMIONE.” His voice rumbled through the room like quiet thunder. She couldn’t help but flinch. “Breathe.” Her body instantly followed his command. “Good girl.” Her face flushed. Heat spread through her body in a strangely pleasant sort of way that she hadn’t felt before. It was like her brain had short-circuited. “Look at me.”

Hesitantly, she dragged her eyes up. Severus’ gaze was soft in a way that made her mind melt in relief and her stomach think it could do summersaults. “You always have the right to decide what you share and what you do not share about your private life.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he stopped her. “You do not have to apologise for not telling someone something that is simply none of their business.” He held her gaze. “To me, or anyone else.”

“I wanted to,” she whispered nonetheless. “I’m serious, Severus, all I could think about in that kitchen was how badly I just wanted to kick Minerva out and tell you everything.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up. The motion, small as it might be, sent a wave of relief and pleasure down her spine. “The woman has a terrible sense of timing, doesn’t she?”

Hermione snorted, then looked down at her twitching hands again. There were tears gathering in her eyes. Just enough to feel the threat of them falling over the edge, just too little for them to actually make the drop. “I’m sorry I overreacted and ran away.”

“It was very Gryffindor of you.” His voice sounded almost fond. “I wasn’t angry at you, Hermione – well – I was.” Her teeth sank into her lip to stop the pain she could not reach. “Look at me,” he ordered again, softer now. “I was. You threw yourself head first into a dangerous situation which, even if you had not run into those bastards, would have had serious repercussions for your future.” She nodded. She was mad at herself for that too. “But I was mostly angry at the situation. At Minerva for barging in like she did. At myself, for putting too much pressure on you to the point that you thought you had to fix everything yourself. And yes, your judgement of my character stung, but it was fair. Milder, probably, than what most others would say.”

Once again, she opened her mouth to protest, but he wasn’t done speaking yet and cut her off with a look that told her to cut the bullshit. “I am sorry for what happened with your parents, I had some… words with the Order about that today.” She could feel her face twitch in a fight with emotion. “And I’m sorry for leaving you like I did, and for making you feel this way.”

The tears finally toppled over the edge as she gave him a tired smile. “Severus Snape apologising?”

The glare she got in response was comfortably him again.

The urge to hug him tugged at her, and it took all her remaining energy to not give into it. She reached for his hand instead.

His fingers were rough and warm against hers, and the feeling sent shivers down her spine. She prayed he couldn’t tell.

He stilled. His gaze fell to where their hands met.

She sheepishly retreated. “Good night, Severus.” Her knees buckled at the sudden weight she put on them, but she managed to steady herself in time.

“Good night, Granger.”

She slept well past six the next day.

Chapter Text

“Hand me the –“ Hermione pressed a Jobberknol feather into Severus’ hand before he could finish his sentence. He glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. It was mid November and for the first time ever, the Recollection Potion – a working name – had made it out of the research phase and into the experiment one. Which was why they were brewing together, rather than separately.

At Hogwarts, Hermione had always tried to convince teachers that she really didn’t need a group to do a group project. Her classmates would either hold her back, or let her do most of the work anyway, and it hardly seemed fair to give them her grade. She’d been nervous, at first, that she would be that with Severus. The dunderhead holding him back – an annoyance. Not only did she dread the thought of being an annoyance to him, she hated being the one behind, which was another reason why she always worked so hard to be ahead instead. But from the first moment of brewing together, her fear was proven wrong. For once in her life, she found herself working with someone like a well-oiled machine, moving around each other and the cauldron like it was a choreography in a bigger ballet. She moved in to add this, he stepped out to fetch that. Never colliding more than the brushes of their hands and the words that left their mouth. Hermione found herself not just being interested in her work, but having fun. And there was a permanent glint to Severus eyes that told her maybe he thought the same. She hoped so.

Hermione had barely reached over to stir the potion, when a blue stag leaped through the wall. It would have knocked her and the cauldron clean over. If it hadn’t been immaterial, that is. Severus, who had cast a protego around them the moment it had appeared, swore, then glowered at her as she laughed.

“Hermione,” Harry’s panicked voice echoed through the room a second later. “Ginny’s in labour, I don’t know what to do. Please get here as soon as possible.”

It was Hermione’s turn to swear as the stag disappeared into thin air. She flew past Severus, narrowly avoiding knocking him over while she accioed her trusted beaded bag, which until now had been gathering dust in her drawer, and desperately tried and failed to shove her feet into her shoes. When she looked up to grab her cloak, she found Severus watching her, arms folded across his chest and a smirk on his face. “O shut up will you,” she snapped, “my best friend is giving birth to my god child.”

His eyebrows shot up at her tone. In any other scenario, there was no way she would have gotten away with that. Which was why it was best to take advantage of the situation at hand and get the hell out of there.

A row of Weasleys and their partners were waiting outside of Ginny’s room when she ran up the stairs of Grimmauld Place. George carried a confused Teddy, Mr Weasley paced the room at such speed that it was dizzying to watch, and Lavender was trying to distract Ron by nuzzling the side of his face.

She skidded to a halt. “Go downstairs, all of you,” she half-panted, half-ordered, “She’s not screaming for your amusement.” Arthur grew a few shades paler. “And someone get him a bucket.” In an instant, the band of gingers startled into movement, throwing scared looks her way as they cleared the hallway.

The door behind her creaked open. The screams instantly doubled in volume. “Hermione!” Hermione was almost knocked over by the force of Harry’s embrace. Two wiry arms wrapped around her chest so tightly it hurt. “Come on,” she said, gently pushing him away from her, “Let’s go meet your child.”

***

It was a boy. James Sirius, Harry had declared proudly. That was after he had thanked the stoic mediwitch over and over and over again. The woman had frowned at him, as if she had an innate fear of receiving postcards and invites to family trips from her clients.

Only a second after declaring it, a tiny, wrinkled hand had reached up in what could have been a slap, if its owner had had a little bit more coordination, and Ginny had laughed. It was such a beautiful sound after all the screaming and swearing that had left her throat. But then the little bundle had been placed into Ginny’s arms, and the laugh had made place for a smile so wide Ginny’s face did not seem big enough to hold it. Hermione swallowed thickly as she saw the tears gather in those chocolate eyes. She had to take a deep breath to hold herself together.

“Do you want to hold him?” Ginny had asked, after Merlin knew how much time had passed. It had seemed like seconds to Hermione, but it must have been longer than that, because the mediwitch had disappeared from the room and Mrs Weasley had taken her place, now brushing sweat-soaked hair out of her daughter’s face.

Hermione’s heart leaped. “May I?” She’d only ever held Teddy before, and he had already been one when she first met him.

Harry gently scooped his son out of Ginny’s arms. “You better pay attention James, because you are about to meet your favourite person in the world,” he cooed. Hermione just hoped she wouldn’t drop him. He looked so delicate in his father’s arms.

James was surprisingly heavy when placed into her waiting arms, yet at the same time, she thought he was light as a feather. She looked down at his face – his little nose, his brown eyes that he got from his mum, his mouth that seemed to be already holding a monologue in his own, quiet language. “Hi,” she heard herself saying. Her voice was unnaturally high. High on happiness, she thought. That’s how she felt right now, looking at this little human in her arms. Her finger brushed over his cheek, as careful as though he were made out of cotton candy and would melt at her touch. “You’re going to be such a little trouble maker, aren’t you?” she whispered, “Just like your mum and dad.”

The little guy stilled, and looked up at her. That was it. She could feel her heart melting. Goodbye world, goodbye Harry and Ginny. It was just James and her. “Hi,” she said again, this time crying in earnest. The grin that split over her face was positively painful. “I’m going to read so many books to you, you’ll be the wittiest baby in the world.”

Harry laughed as he reached for his son again. “Let’s get you away from her before she corrupts you,” he said fondly. His eyes were dewy like morning grass.

Her arms felt light at the loss of the weight, and she followed Harry’s every move until James was safely back in his mother’s arms. She met Molly’s eyes. Time to give the fresh parents some space.

Ginny and Harry barely seemed to notice as their two visitors snuck outside of the room and gently closed the door behind them. Hermione sighed and looked up at Mrs Weasley with a teary smile. “Congratulations,” she whispered. The woman’s face crumpled. Before Hermione knew what was going on, she was pulled into a hug that knocked the breath out of her lungs. “Mrs Weasley?” she asked, when they finally let go of each other.

“Oh, call me Molly dear,” Mrs W- Molly said with a motherly caress of the cheek. Hermione stilled and looked at the woman with big eyes. The woman tutted, then cupped her cheek. “Me and Arthur are always here for you, dear, I hope you know that.” Merlin, this day was messing with her emotions. At the very least it was messing with her hydration levels, because Hermione’s eyes promptly watered again. “What did you want to ask me dear?” Molly asked when Hermione had managed to somewhat pull herself together again.

“I need to go pack a few things at hom- Severus’ place.” Her heart stuttered at the unintended slip up. Mrs Weasley seemed way too happy to care or notice. “I will be back in less than ten minutes, but just so someone knows.”

“I’ll let them know if someone asks,” Molly promised. She sent her off with another hug. On legs as unsteady as a fawn, Hermione hurried down the stairs and passed the party that was going on in the living room. Mere seconds later, she was at another part of England entirely.

“Severus?” she called, as she shut the door at Spinner’s End. Her voice still betrayed her recent tears.

“There’s no need to shout, witch,” Severus grumbled. He was in the sitting room then. She took a steadying breath and stepped further into the hallway, into the archway that led to the sitting room. A book lay forgotten on his lap. He took in the sight of her, glancing over the edge of his glasses. “It went well, then?” There was an edge of relief to his voice that she hadn’t expected to hear.

Her cheeks hurt from smiling so much. “It’s a beautiful baby boy.” She hesitated. “James Sirius Potter.”

Severus huffed a laugh. “He’s never been one for subtlety, has he?”

Her own laugh hid her relief. “Just watch out, they’ll call the next Severus.” His nose scrunched up in distaste. She had to fight the urge to trace it with a finger. “Anyway,” she continued, silently cursing her mind for that image, “I promised Ginny I would be there for the first few nights-“

“Of course,” Severus cut her off, “take as much time as you need.” He pushed his glasses back up his nose and returned his gaze to his book.

It was expected, of course, but still, Hermione felt a sense of loss at the thought of leaving. The entire prospect seemed unusual. “Will you still let me in when I get back?” she tried to tease.

“Yes,” Severus replied without a moment’s hesitation. His attention snapped back to her. “That is if you will still want to come back.”

“Yes,” she echoed his answer with a grateful smile. She lingered in the room for a moment, not knowing what to say, but also not wanting to leave yet. Her hands fidgeted behind her back. “So, anyway, I should-“

“Pack your bags?” He arched an eyebrow.

She rocked on her feet. “Right.” Still, she did not move.

The glint of amusement was back in his eyes when he turned to the next page.

Chapter Text

It was dangerous, holding James so much. She had not thought it was possible, but every time she looked at him, she fell a little bit more in love. It made her wonder what it must be like for Harry and Ginny. What it must have been like for her own parents. She tried not to think about the last question too much, but it kept popping up in her mind whenever she looked at the three of them.

It was a good thing, then, that there was a lot to do when she was not holding James. She had thought she’d known Grimmauld Place before, but now she felt like she was everywhere at once – one with the house. Magic made things like folding laundry a lot easier, but with a newborn around, life was bound to be a little hectic, and Hermione wanted to keep that chaos from Ginny as much as she could. She was at her beck and call, and tried to jump in wherever possible. Cooking, changing diapers, keeping out uninvited guests. She felt like one of those super nannies that the rich and important people hired in the muggle world. The ones that were trained to fight people over a buggy.

An exhausted Hermione now sat in the windowsill in her room and let her head fall back against the wood. Somehow, these last three days had felt just as intense as the fourteen-hour workdays she and Severus had battled through.

That was also a topic she tried to avoid thinking about – Severus. She didn’t want to be too... obsessive. Someone, a friend from the muggle world, had once told her that love was obsession and Hermione had thought back then that it was a rather odd thing to idealise. But being away from him was like seeing something clearly from a distance when before she’d been too close. Hermione Jean Granger was done for. And even though part of her was thrilled, another part wanted to hide itself away from the inevitable rejection she would face if it ever came out.

There was a knock on her door. She’d left it half open in case of Ginny or Harry had needed her. It was the latter who now stood in its opening with a grin and a sheepish, “Hi.”

She smiled at him tiredly, and was about to stand up, when he stopped her by sitting down himself, in the other corner of the window. Surprised, she leaned back against the frame behind her again. He looked just as tired as she felt. “You know,” he began, “I think I’ve seen you more in the past seventy-two hours than I have all year.”

For a moment, all her mind could do was wonder at the fact that she’d been gone for seventy-two hours now, and whether Severus would still be in the library, or already in bed. But then she processed his words. She shrugged of the thought with a stab of guilt. “We’ve been busy.”

Harry snorted in acknowledgement to the immense understatement. He let his head fall back against the windowsill and turned his face to the darkness outside. “I have a son.”

“You do,” Hermione confirmed, “a beautiful one at that.”

His chest rose and fell in a soundless sigh. It was hard to tell whether he was merely tired or pensive with his face turned away like this. All she could see was that his jaw was covered in a dark stubble. They were a far cry away from the children they used to be. “Hermione?” His bright green eyes landed on her face again, a concoction of serious and sad swirling in them. “Promise me something?”

Hermione fought the urge to frown. “Promise you what?”

His weak smile did nothing to soothe the worry that coiled in her chest. “If anything were to happen to me and Ginny... promise me that James will always be loved. Not just taken care of, but,” he trailed off for a moment, along with his gaze. “Loved.”

All of the sudden, a different light seemed to be shed over them. With just a few words, they had gone from two friends to two orphans, one by death and one by loss of memory. He had wondered the same thing as her, she realised. He had wondered at his parents’ love for him, and felt the stark absence of that love now that they were gone. “Ginny told you.” He nodded in confirmation. She sighed. That was something to deal with later. “I promise Harry.” It was the easiest promise she ever made. “But nothing is going to happen to you and Ginny.”

“You can’t know that for sure,” he pointed out, “I don’t think something will happen, but I just wanted to make sure. Just in case.”

Hermione reached out to lay a hand on his arm and traced what she hoped were soothing circles into his skin. “You’re going to be an amazing dad, Harry.”

His own hand shot out to cover hers. “Thank you. I don’t think I tell you that enough.”

“For what?” Her head tilted.

“Everything.” She could tell from the look in his eyes that he was driven by the whirlwind of emotions of the past week, but she felt the words wrap around her heart like a warm hug anyway. “I am so grateful to have you in my life.”

She felt like crying, but she was pretty sure her water reservoirs had been drained for the month, so she opted for a smile instead. “Right back at you, you loveable idiot.”

Harry snorted. “I don’t know whether this is Snape’s influence, or my wife’s.”

“Oh, definitely your wife,” Hermione grinned, “Severus would use much stronger words to describe your idiocy.”

Harry’s eyes sparkled like polished emeralds. “Dear old ‘Severus’ talks about me a lot, does he?”

“He is not old, and he is definitely not dear,” Hermione scoffed in defense. “And he has better things to worry about than the dunderhead that made his teaching job so much more difficult.”

Harry hummed. “I bet you keep him plenty busy yourself.” The words themselves were technically innocent, but there was a suggestion in his tone that made Hermione’s cheeks hot enough to cook an egg on.

“Harry James Potter!” She flung a pillow at his head.

He raised his hands in surrender, but could not stop himself from adding, “It would not be such a surprise, you know. You always were a teachers’ pet. If you and Minerva had been lesbians, I’m sure you would make a fine pair.”

He paid for that comment. The next pillow landed square in his face and a bewildered laugh broke from him. “Don’t they teach you manners in auror school?” The pillow plucked itself from the ground.

A grin lit up his weary face. “They must have skipped that chapter.”

Chapter Text

She kept blushing. It was terribly inconvenient, and she wished there was a way to stop it, but she hadn’t found it yet. She blushed when he spoke to her, she blushed when he looked at her, she blushed when he was only there in her mind. At least she was proudly displaying her house colour, Hermione eventually told herself, when it became clear that the blushes would not leave her any time soon.

Fortunately, Severus was either a gentleman or oblivious. He never mentioned the blushes. Unless you counted raised eyebrows, narrowed eyes, or smirks – which, to be fair, seemed to be his native language. Of course, these things only made her blush more.

Hermione learned to live with the blushes soon enough and found she was still perfectly capable of staring him down while winning debates. Not that Severus would ever admit to either of those things.

That was alright, she’d told him rather smugly, since he was never at the Order meetings to contradict whatever she said. It was her word over… nothing.

He’d done his usual eye-narrowing at her, of course.

The point still stood when she found herself at the second-to-last order meeting of the year. The last one was to be on Christmas, and then they’d all see each other again during the Annual Victory Ball. Hermione thought it was rather superfluous to hold a victory ball at New Years, when there was already a victory festival on the actual date of the victory, but who was she to judge. She definitely wasn’t going to start telling people to stop celebrating their freedom – not after they fought so hard for it. And not when maintaining it proved to be so difficult at times. Kingsley’s tired smiles were enough of a testament to that. He’d taken on the position as minister after the war, and no one had yet to step up as competition. Something told her he lamented that.

In a way, these order meetings were tiny Victory Balls as well. Sans the expensive clothes and flashing cameras. They gathered to memorise the ones who had fallen, and to celebrate freedom, friendship, and courage. And the (very) occasional birth of a new Order member, as was the case now.

The majority of the guests stood clustered around the Potters and their newest family member, much to the dismay of Teddy, who now had to settle with sitting in the lap of his fourth favourite person, who happened to be Hermione.

Nothing she tried could chase the sulkiness from his face, or the dark blue colour from his hair. She’d tried talking about school first, since he’d just started his first year of primary school. He’d given some vague answers and sulked on. Then she’d tried his favourite topic of all time, Vi, a handsewn elephant made out of his parents’ old clothes. Not even the chocolate she’d given him brought a smile to his face.

Still, Hermione persisted stubbornly. “Do you like reading books with Molly?” He nodded. “Why don’t you grab me your favourite book and we’ll read it together, okay?” He nodded again and climbed off her lap, stubbornly refusing help. Victory.

It must be scary for him, she thought, seeing the people that usually gave him their undivided attention now point it at someone else. She sighed sadly at his retreating back. Tonks would have known what to do to make him smile. And Remus would have held him tight and reminded him that he was loved. All things she could do as well – things she tried to do. But it was not the same without them.

Her eyes travelled the room in the boy’s absence. And stopped. Slowly, just in case it was her imagination and quick movements would drive it away, she turned back to the glimpse of black she’d seen in the doorway. It was like her entire body tuned into him at once, hyper aware of his every move as her heart seemed to switch to a whole new rhythm. She glanced back at the room. The rest of the Order was still loudly exclaiming all the wonderful things about James (“Oh, and look at his eyes! Did you see his eyes?”), completely unaware of what she now saw. Some war heroes. Her lips curled up into a smirk, then dropped as she realised this might not play out so well. His name had been cleared, of course, and he’d received the first Order of Merlin. But he’d also betrayed them during the war. At least, they had thought he did.

When the Order still had not noticed the man who now stood in the doorway, taking in the scene in front of him, she started to question whether it was her who was seeing things. Which would actually not surprise her – she’d marvelled at the side effects of her crush many times by now, hallucination would just be one on a long list. Maybe she should rub her eyes to get rid of whatever persistent dust had settled there or something.

She’d already brought her hands up to do so when a collective gasp filled the room. The roar quieted to a rustle. So she was not imagining him.

Eyes the size of saucers. If she were to describe the reaction of the Order in a sentence, that would be it. A corner of his mouth crept up and sparked the glint in his eyes. Oh, he was enjoying this reaction. The bastard. She opened her mouth to burst the bubble of shock that hung in the room – but someone beat her to it.

“Severus!” Molly exclaimed. At least three people flinched at the sudden burst of volume. “Come in, come in. Here. Let me take your cloak.”

The woman was all over him in a heartbeat. A new wave of shock went through the room, this one originating from Severus himself. He simply looked at the ever-so-Gryffindor Mrs Weasley when she hooked an arm through his and patted his hand. It was Hermione’s turn to smirk.

Severus threw her a look that was at once accusatory and pleading, which she answered with an innocent batting of her eyes. And blushing. Stupid blush.

Molly, it seemed, had a test in mind. She dragged the poor guy right to the centre of attention. “Have you met my grandson yet?”

Severus looked down at Hermione’s godson with a look that could only be described as… discomfort. Hermione didn’t know why that took her by surprise. “Congratulations, mister Potter, Mrs Potter.”

Harry threw a brief look her way. “Thank you, sir.”

A sigh of relief went through the room. The rite had been passed. If Harry Potter and Molly Weasley accepted Snape, so would all the others.

A tiny body barrelled into her legs, startling Hermione out of her stare. Teddy was trying his best to climb back up again. “Did you find it?” she asked, casting a wordless spell to help him. He nodded proudly.

The book was unfamiliar to her, as most magical children’s books were, and she opened it with genuine curiosity. “There once was…” she started. A strange feeling tugged at her stomach. A need to see who he was with, if he was alright. She guided her attention to the story instead.

Any was a dwarf who had no preferences at all, ever. The book started out with the question whether he’d like toast or pancakes for breakfast, and he shrugged and said “Any is fine.” This is how he’d gotten his name, after all. But this lack of opinion had gotten him into trouble with (Teddy gasped) the spiders.

The boy hid his face in her shoulder, then loudly exclaimed he wasn’t afraid. She just smiled and rubbed his back. Her eyes travelled the room briefly, just long enough to find Severus caught in a conversation with Arthur and Kingsley. The former was talking animatedly, his cheeks even redder than his hair, whilst the latter tried his best to coax some words out of Severus. Severus, in the meantime, still looked oddly uncomfortable.

An introvert, Hermione realised. Severus Snape was merely an introvert who no longer had a role to hide behind. Without the double spy, or the intimidating and cruel professor, he was left only with his sneers and scowls to protect himself. And he wasn’t using them. Or, he was trying not to use them.

A sharp tug at her hair brought her attention back to Teddy, who was not about to lose the attention of his fourth favourite person as well. “How does Any get out?” Storing the observation for later, Hermione turned back to the book.

A centaur helps Any, and sternly lectures him on the importance of thinking for himself.

“I’ll be sure to do that, sir,” Any said, “but where do I start?”

“With gathering knowledge,” the Centaur said.

“And where do I find that?” Any asked.

Any was about to start a quest for an opinion, when Hermione saw a certain someone enter her peripheral vision. She lowered the book. “You just couldn’t let me have my point, could you?” The man in front of her grunted, conjured a chair right next to her, and sank into it with a relieved sigh. “I wouldn’t have told them,” she continued.

A confused Teddy looked between them. “Who are you?”

Severus eyed the child uncertainly. Definitely an introvert, Hermione thought, and one who had used up his scarce supply of social interactions for the day. She spoke for him. “This is Severus.”

Teddy’s forehead creased in a frown. “Does Sevvus not speak?”

Hermione snorted, then quickly bit her lip. Dark eyes narrowed on her. “He does,” she answered, holding the man’s gaze, “He just doesn’t like it very much.” The look she got in response was absolutely dangerous. It would probably have scared anyone else – anyone sane. Unfortunately for him, all it managed to do to Hermione was spark a bubbly feeling in her chest. And a blush. Stupid blush.

“Oh,” Teddy simply said, oblivious to the interaction that happened over his head. “That’s okay, Sevvus, because I do like talking, and I like your nose.”

Something soft and incredibly vulnerable settled on Severus’ face. It made her heart ache. “Thank you, Teddy.” She was sure his voice had never been this quiet before. “I like your hair.”

A grin split on Teddy’s face. “I always have to hide it at school, but I like it too.” His aforementioned hair was now as blue as the sky on a summer’s day. Vibrant. “You have a nice voice too.”

A giggle broke from Hermione’s lips. It seemed Severus Snape had gotten himself into a compliment contest. “You do,” she quickly clarified, hoping he wouldn’t take her laughter as mockery, “have a nice voice, I mean.” There was that familiar smirk again. If he looked at her like that for too long, her brain would short-circuit.

Without warning, Teddy climbed from Hermione to Severus, much to the amusement of one and the discomfort of the other.

“You are stealing my position as fourth favourite,” she hissed half-heartedly.

Even the glare he sent her looked a bit lost. “Whenever you want it back, Granger, it’s yours.”

They would have entered one of their staring competitions, if it weren’t for the flash that temporarily blinded them. A grinning George lowered his camera. “Now that will make a great Christmas card.”

Chapter Text

December came around and with it the stress of finding everyone the perfect present. As a perfectionist, this might be one of the most anxiety-inducing periods of the year. New, enchanted oven mittens for Molly had been easy. A planner for Neville, one that would loudly remind him of appointments, made sense. But what did one get for Severus Snape?

The thing is, she technically had a present for him already. It needed some perfecting here and there, but she was sure she’d gotten the charms right this time around. But she really didn’t want to wait until Christmas to give it, and it was work-related anyway.

Books? He already had an excellent book dealer who provided him with rarer and older editions than she could ever find. Then what? He wasn’t exactly a man for nicknacks.

With a sigh, Hermione rolled out of bed and parked the thought. She could start making him happy by actually showing up to her apprenticeship.

She found him in the kitchen, frowning at a piece of parchment as he leaned against the kitchen counter. Whatever he held in his hand looked formal – behind his fingers, bits and pieces of the ministry logo revealed themselves. His eyes did not leave the parchment as she entered, and yet he spoke. “Drost actually went through and got the permit.” Amazement laced his voice – not something that happened often.  

Hermione froze in the middle of grabbing a mug and looked at him over her shoulder. “Does this mean we get to brew Veritaserum?” At his nod, a squeal of excitement left her mouth.

“Merlin, witch,” Severus protested. Hermione couldn’t bring herself to care. It was already a show of self-control to not wrap her arms around his neck, even if she stopped herself just barely in time.

She rocked to a halt in front of him. “May I brew it?”

He took in her hopeful look with scrutinising eyes – she threw in a smile for extra luck. “Fine,” he grumbled, putting his mug down on the counter behind him, “But only under strict supervision.”

When she nodded her consent eagerly, he cast his eyes up and muttered something under his breath. Then they flicked back to her. The air left her lungs. Coffee. That was the colour of his eyes. Like pure coffee. So dark it was almost black, yet lighting up as it swirled with emotion. Right now, it was coffee with a strong swirl of annoyance. “Was there something else?”

Oh- she’d been openly staring at him. That stupid blush returned as she stepped away. Her hand found the mug she’d reached for earlier. She dared another glance at Severus – and hissed when she poured hot tea over her own hand.

That was the second time that morning she made him mutter under his breath.

***

She’d been waiting for the right moment to give her present, and it occurred to her on a Friday. Their experiments with the Recollection Potion had proven fruitless, and so they were forced back to the drawing board. Hermione tried her best to not let that discourage her.

They were sitting in the lab, at their shared desk, passing a note-filled parchment back and forth. It was the best way to keep all the notes in one place, but Severus read and wrote quite a bit faster than her – she was convinced he used some sort of spell, but he had silenced that accusation with a sneer – and every time she was using the parchment, his impatience grew. First, he merely tapped his fingers on the table. Then, he cleared her throat as a sign for her to hurry up. Now, he was incessantly glaring at her, which was distracting for so many reasons.

“Fine, fine, you go first,” she caved, pushing the parchment across the table and making a mental note of what she’d meant to write down. Then she remembered the present and nearly jumped out of her chair. She took the stairs two at a time, snatched the gift from its hiding place, then practically flew back down again.

She placed two notebooks on the table.

Severus stared at her in question. “What is this?”

“Something I’ve been working on,” Hermione panted, “It’s inspired by the diary Voldemort used to communicate with Ginny. Here.” She grabbed the first of the two leatherbound journals and wrote the rest of her note in it. “Have a look at yours.”

He dragged the remaining book his way and opened it to the first page. She wrote her name behind the note to demonstrate its function.

Severus’ gaze shot back to her. “How –“

“I’ve got the entire charm written down, if you ever want to create it yourself.”

He stared at her in silence, then let out a short, amazed chuckle. “Always the overachiever, aren’t you?” It didn’t feel as much as an insult anymore. Not when he shook his head in amazement.

She watched closely as he dipped the tip of his quill in ink, then brought it to the paper. She looked down at her journal. One word. Ingenious.

Her lips parted as heat spread over her face. “You really think so?” she asked breathlessly.

It almost seemed to be adoration, the look on his face. “You should get this patented.”

She couldn’t help it. Her body was not in her control anymore. In a rush of emotion, she planted her hands on the desk and leaned over it to bridge the distance between them. It all happened so quickly, she barely had time to register the feeling of his lips on hers – when he snapped back.

“Miss Granger.” His voice was dangerously low. A warning. And a reminder of her position.

Shit. She stumbled away from the desk, nearly falling as her feet got caught up in the legs of her chair. Trembling fingers traced her lips. “I’m – I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know-“

Then, Hermione did the most un-Gryffindor thing she had ever done. She ran.

***

Ginny stroked her hair as she groaned. “I’m such a fool.”

“You’re not a fool,” Ginny argued gently, “Hermione, you’re probably the furthest thing from a fool I have ever met.”

“But why did I kiss him?” She buried her face further in her hands. “Now he definitely hates me.” All she really wanted to do was bang her head against the table, but that would be too disturbing an experience for James, who was already staring at her with uncomprehending eyes.

“Look,” Ginny said more sternly, “Kissing him might not have been your brightest moment, but at least now you know how he feels about you.”

“Yes. Disgusted,” Hermione answered uncooperatively.

A patient hum filled the space between them. “Severus Snape might be a complicated man, and I’m sure he hates a lot of people – but I saw the two of you at the Order meeting together. I’ve got the picture to prove it, actually. Harry had our own copy framed, and I know Lavender was thinking about putting hers in the – “ Hermione let out another long, miserable sound. “Anyway, what I was trying to say is... out of all people, he probably hates you least.”

Uncertainly, she glanced up at Ginny from between her fingers. “You think so?”

Ginny pursed her lips as she pretended to consider. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”

James chose that excellent moment to start crying. The weight of Ginny’s hand disappeared from her hair, and a moment later, nonsensical cooing filled the room. Followed by a smell that made Hermione’s nose scrunch up out of its own accord.

“Do you want to hold him?” Ginny asked as she sat down again. “My arms are tired of the constant weight.”

Hermione happily accepted the constant weight, fondly pressing a finger to James’ nose. It was his giggle button; she’d discovered during the first days after his birth.

“Why don’t you take some time away from him?” Ginny suggested. “It might help you to sort out your feelings. Me and Harry are staying over at the Burrow next week, as will the rest. Up until the Victory Ball.”

Not taking her eyes off of the little trouble maker in her arms, Hermione nodded. “That might be good.” Still, her chest constricted at the idea.

***

That night, she sat in the windowsill of her bedroom at Grimmauld Place as her fingers traced curly letters. Ingenious. The highest praise he’d ever given her – or anyone, probably. It made her stomach swoop in a strangely pleasant way, despite everything that the word had caused.

Some time away might be good to help her over these feelings. And then – then they’d be fine again. At least as professor and apprentice. At least long enough to cure her parents and complete her Mastery. If he’d even let her continue her Mastery. And after that – she didn’t want to think about after. She really didn’t want to think about him at all. But her lips still tingled every time her mind brought him up. Followed by a feeling of heartache, when she remembered how quickly he had jerked away. Like she had burnt him.

A silent tear escaped her eye. It started a lonely path down, down, down. On its way to mend a broken heart.

Chapter Text

Severus silently watched her put down her bag.

“I’ll be back after New Years,” she reminded him again. She didn’t know what else to say. It was difficult to say much if her only response was the thinning of his lips. “Or at Christmas,” she added, “the invitation still stands.”

“I don’t celebrate Christmas.” The first full sentence he had uttered since her return from the Potters. I don’t celebrate Christmas.

“Right,” Hermione said, “Well, goodbye.” She bent down to pick up her bag and turned away. No farewells followed her. It was for the best, too, for she would never have been able to leave the way she did if he had said something.

At the second ward, she glanced over her shoulder at the house. Still dark, grimy, and imposing.

She apparated on her next step.

The Burrow wrapped her in its warm embrace after she had faced such a cold goodbye. Lights were burning from every window, laughter and music rose up to greet her all the way at the border of the grounds, and two loveable idiots were flying overhead. They swooped down as she waved at them.

“Oi!” Ron shouted. “You better leave that long face outside of the wards. George enchanted them to make any sad visitor dance until they’re happy.”

She looked at him in disbelief. Harry jumped of his broom and collided with her moments later. He pulled her into a tight hug. “That might do the trick,” he said, as he shuffled the two of them over the boundary. It did, she went over laughing.

She found Molly in the kitchen. “Can I help?” Hermione asked to make her presence known. The woman jumped, then relaxed as she saw who it was. A habit from the war.

“O, you’re a dear, but I’m almost done. Go settle in. Ginny’s upstairs preparing your room.”

That would be like old times. Room-sharing with Ginny.

She climbed up the stairs and said hi to George on the way. It was good to be surrounded by some merriment again.

***

Hermione was dreaming.

She knew, because she was back at Spinner’s End.

She was wearing the same clothes as that first time, when they’d met in the little café.

A dress as blue as the sky.

He was sitting in his chair, forever in his white button up and black slacks.

And he tugged her towards him with the curl of his finger.

“Come here.”

His velvety voice was enough to make her knees buckle.

Warm hands wrapped around her waist and pulled her down.

Until she was sitting in his lap, a leg on either side of his.

Then he kissed her.

***

Bill was waiting for her when she got downstairs, arms crossed and grin in place. “Granger,” he barked her name like he was a drill sergeant. “Outside.” The others exchanged excited looks.

It was a remnant of the months after the war, when everyone had been too afraid to let each other out of sight. Hermione had struggled with too many emotions at once. Relief. Anger. Bitterness. Hope. Grief. Fear.

The very first week, he had ordered her outside just like this and taught her how to fight. No magic.

It quickly became part of their routine.

***

One morning, he arrived during one of these fights. To drop of one of dad’s potions, Ron explained later. He had paused to see what was happening.

When she lost the fight, Hermione excused herself and followed the man inside.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come over for Christmas?” Arthur asked him. “We’d be happy to have you.”

Hermione beat him to the answer. “Severus doesn’t celebrate Christmas.” Dark eyes met her own. “Do you, Severus?”

She regretted it instantly. He didn’t deserve to be lashed at, simply for not caring about her the way she cared about him.

She turned away to avoid any answers.

***

She was in Spinner’s End again.

This time, she was slightly disturbed to find she was wearing her old school robes.

She didn’t want him to see her like that – the school girl that was an infinite bother to him.

But when she looked up, he was sitting in his chair again.

Someone else was in his lap.

Someone with bright red curls.

Someone whom she’d never known, but suddenly hated intensely.

He met her gaze as the woman’s mouth trailed on to his neck.

He did not look away as his head fell back and a moan broke from his lips.

He did not look away as the darkness reached out from behind her.

And she let it swallow her completely.

***

“Are you alright, dear?” Molly asked when they were cooking together. Hermione found she actually quite liked cooking now. “You and Severus seemed… tense, the other day.”

“I kissed him,” Hermione admitted – she did not know why. “The weekend before I came here.” A soothing silence fell in the kitchen. Space to talk. “Anyway, it’ll all be fixed once I quell this feeling.”

“And how are you doing with that?” Molly asked.

Hermione didn’t know how to say the truth. So she said nothing at all.

Molly slipped her a piece of chocolate.

***

Ron convinced her to play wizard’s chess with him. He’d probably thought it would be an easy game, but all her practice with Severus had trained her.

“Oh come on!” he exclaimed, “You’re cheating.” Still, he won every round. And still, more followed every time. He had to give her a chance at winning, he claimed.

It was his own, quiet way of acknowledging her struggles, she knew. That’s why she kept playing as well.

***

Ginny woke her up one night. “You were crying.”

“Bad dream,” Hermione said, “Sorry, I’ll cast a silencing charm.”

But Ginny shook her head and crawled into bed next to her.

When she was snug and warm in her best friend’s arms, Hermione whispered, “How does anyone stand it? Love?”

***

She was put on babysitting duty. The house was quiet. The others had left for the Christmas market in London.

She rocked James on her arm and encouraged Teddy’s drawing efforts at the same time. When he made a mistake, his hair coloured red, and the paper ignited itself. Both of them blinked in surprise. Then, Hermione chuckled and pressed a kiss to his hair.

They celebrated that night. Cake for dessert.

***

Minerva came by and took her for a walk.

Severus had visited her, she said, he never voluntarily shows up at Hogwarts.

What did he come for? Hermione asked.

Just to talk. He looked a little worse for wear.

Hermione knew there was a lot that Minerva wasn’t saying.

***

Two days before Christmas, Hermione dug up her notebook. Teddy’s been asking for his fourth favourite person, she wrote. Then cursed herself.

***

Ten minutes.

A few hours.

A day.

No response.

Chapter Text

On Christmas morning, Hermione didn’t think about Severus or the message at all. The Order had gathered early, and now sat around a tree. Or, where a tree would have been, if it was in fact hiding out behind all the presents.

Harry was thrilled with her gift. It was a quidditch shirt that said “Loveable Idiot” over a big number one.

Hermione received a new sweater in her favourite colours of brown and burnt orange, a pile of books as high as Teddy, from whom she got a drawing.

The best present arrived when she glanced at the open notebook.

Merry Christmas, Hermione.

Okay, she did think of him then.

Merry Christmas, Severus.

***

She had a dream that night.

They were walking side by side, and she reached for his hand.

He looked at her.

She smiled back at him.

He frowned.

She squeezed his hand.

He squeezed back.

***

Drost called this morning, asked why the potion wasn’t done yet.

She smiled. Should I send a get well soon card to St. Mungo’s?

Ginny raised an eyebrow. “What are you writing?”

Hermione blushed. “Just some notes.”

***

I beat Ron at wizard’s chess today, she wrote. He wouldn’t let me make a speech, but I’d like to thank a certain potions master for always looking so smug when he wins. It is the best motivation a know-it-all like me could ask for.

I don’t look smug, he wrote in the afternoon.

Oh, you so do.

***

There was another note waiting for her, she noticed with a loudly beating heart. She read the first words. And let the air slip out of her lungs in an empty chuckle. It was just for research.

***

It was hard to let go of him when he kept writing messages. She was torn between happiness and frustration every time she read them. They were often just a few words long, but the fact that they kept appearing was enough.

Unfair, that’s what it was. It was unfair to back away from her kiss, yet continue to make her feel this way.

***

Two days before the ball, she stared at herself in the mirror.

“I don’t know,” she said.

“Yeah, me neither,” Ginny confirmed.

“It doesn’t really feel like you,” Luna added.

So at least they were all on the same page.

Hermione had bought the dress somewhere in the summer. It was more or les in line with her usual ballgowns. Lilac chiffon fell from her waist to form a subtle trumpet skirt. The bodice fit like a corset and was decorated with light green beads. And the sleeves – the puffy bell sleeves were what had convinced her to buy it. But Luna was right. It wasn’t her.

“That’s too bad,” Ginny wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Now we’ll just have to go shopping again.”

“You like shopping,” Luna pointed out.

The redhead grinned. “Exactly.”

Chapter Text

Taking a few deep breaths, Hermione brushed her clammy hands off on the silk of her clothes. She had tried to go for something else this time, no girlish or prude dress that everyone was expecting of her, and no house colours either. No symbolic gold, and, of course, no black, as that was quite literally forbidden at these events. These events, Merlin.

Her hands trembled, splotches of ink still spread all over her fingers. She supposed she would be wearing a bit of black after all. But her clothes, those were a deep grey, possibly pushing the no-black rule a little bit. A loose halter top and billowy, high waisted trousers. Hair swept up to leave her neck bare, with the exception of a few free curls. She forced the air out through her lips in a steady exhale. “You are Hermione Granger,” she told herself, “You’re a bloody Gryffindor. Show it.”

Gryffindor or not, Hermione couldn’t help but dread the annual Victory Gala. Not when so many witches, wizards and cameras would all be focussed on them – the golden trio.

A loud bang on the door made her jump a little. “Hermione!” That was Harry, on the other side. “Come on, we’ve got to go.”

“Coming.”

One last glance, and Hermione escaped the abandoned ladies room, finding the other two thirds of tonight’s spectacle waiting for her. “Four years,” she told them. “Surely someone else will want to take some credit now and then.” Harry clasped a hand on her shoulder, whilst Ron just shrugged.

“Ready?” A ministry employee nervously led them to the entrance. There was no time to decide whether they were ready before the doors opened.

It was as though the world went on mute, that’s how quickly the ballgoers fell silent, only to break out in deafening cheers and applause. Combined with the flashes of the cameras, it was like a proper short circuit in Hermione’s brain. She just hoped no one saw her flinch. To anyone who knew her, it was most likely easy tell she was tense, but she knew now from experience that to the cameras it was not. That, or they charmed the pictures in the newspaper. She would not blame them if that were the case.

Eventually, the roar of the crowd quieted down again, and cameras were pointed elsewhere – she was free to disappear into the crowd. Now the more pleasant part could start. Her eyes scanned the crowd, heart leaping as she caught sight of velvety black hair tied at the nape with a ribbon.

“Miss Granger,” someone interrupted her. “Or could I say Hermione?”

Hermione tore her gaze from the person she was hoping to find and gave the man in front of her a polite smile. “Professor Slughorn,” she nodded. “How are you, sir?”

“O wonderful, wonderful my dear girl. Very glad to be back in retirement.” Humming in understanding, she brought her gaze back to its previous point, only to find him gone. Frowning, she stretched out her neck to look around. “Looking for someone, my dear?”

“Hmm? Oh – no, not at all,” she responded quickly. Slughorn didn’t seem to really care, babbling on about how she was one of the many great students he’d taught – never mind her average grades in Potions then – whilst she searched the room, occasionally smiling or nodding along.

“And I am so glad to hear you chose a path in potions. Of course, I told – “

“Horace.” Minerva McGonagall was the one to help Hermione out of her misery. “You are not bothering miss Granger, I hope?”

“Certainly not, Minerva,” the man responded jovially.

“I believe Potter was looking for you just now.” The man’s eyes lit up at the idea of being wanted by the great Harry Potter himself. With a quick excuse to Hermione, he disappeared.

The women shared a smile. “Did you write to him?” Minerva asked, guiding Hermione toward the side of the room. Both of them knew who he was.

“I have,” Hermione smiled anxiously. “We’ve been writing a bit, on and off.”

The headmistress hummed, a tentative look on her face as she eyed Hermione. “I do have to say you look much better than last year. More yourself.” A moment of silence fell, in which Hermione furrowed her brow trying to grasp at the woman’s meaning. “I wonder what brought about this change. Or who?”

“Ah-“ Hermione simply replied, tearing her eyes away from the hall again. She was wondering when that would be brought up. Minerva’s eyes were knowing. “He is my teacher,” Hermione said quietly, “I am his apprentice.”

“You are both off age.”

“It would be inappropriate.”

They fell silent for a moment, turning away form each other. Hermione’s hands were clammy again. Of course, Minerva McGonagall of all people would be the first to figure it out. After all the letters and cups of tea, not to mention their conversation last week, it was not that great of a surprise.

“It would be inappropriate,” Minerva finally conceded, “But is that your judgement or theirs? And if so, which do you want to live by?” A warm, wrinkled hand gently squeezed her arm. “Excuse me.” The older witch swept away, leaving Hermione alone in her corner of the room. She stood there, frozen in place for a moment, pondering over Minerva’s words. It was madness. First of all, to think Minerva would ever encourage something like this. Second of all, to think the man would ever feel the same. Her mind wondered back to the barely-there kiss. She snatched a glass from a passing waiter and gulped down half of the white wine in it, unable to stop her face from contorting at the taste.

“Hermione.” She startled, face flush as she coughed up a mouthful of displaced wine.

“Severus,” she croaked. Severus, dressed in all black despite all of the dress codes, now joined her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his pale lips. Unsure of what to do or say, she took another sip. Last time she’d seen him... She needed a lot more alcohol to forget about that. His eyes landed on her glass.

“I though you didn’t drink.”

With her free hand, Hermione gestured to the room full of people, even as her face flushed. “Desperate times...”

Snape grunted his agreement. “Where are Potter and Weasley? Shouldn’t they be bothering you right now?”

Hermione snorted. “They can bother me all year long. I’d say it’s rather nice to have a night of peace every now and then.” She glanced up at the man next to her. “What do you call them? Dunderheads?”

A smirk broke his scowl. It did weird things to her heart, knowing that she put it there, and she couldn’t help the grin that took over her own face.

Severus leaned in closer. “Careful, miss Granger, or people will say I corrupted you.”

It took an unreasonable among of effort just to breathe. She forced herself to meet his gaze, all too aware of the distance, or rather the lack of distance, between them. “I would be inclined to agree,” she murmured. Something shifted behind Severus’ dark eyes. She swallowed past the funny feeling in her throat.

Right at that moment, a blinding flash lit up their corner, and Hermione staggered back a few steps in surprise. A red-faced, stocky wizard lowered his camera. “Miss Granger, any comment on the outfit?”

Another jumped in. “Are you worried about-“ “Miss Granger! What did Headmistress McGonagall –“ “Any comment on mister Weasley’s engagement?” “- inspired by your muggle-“ “Did you come here with-“

“Enough.” Severus’ voice was like quiet thunder, shutting up a dozen of loud wizards without bothering to raise his voice. The last question got to her just in time. “Miss Granger, what inspired the change?”

Hermione looked at him the exact same moment he looked at her, eyebrow raised in question. Another camera flashed.

It took a while for the spots to fade from her vision, but when they did, his entire expression had changed from questioning to understanding. “Gentlemen.” His hand landed on her back, guiding her through the crowd of press. “A dance, witch?” he muttered under his breath. She nodded wordlessly.

The crowd split for them as he led her to the dance floor, his other hand joining the one on his back. Hesitantly, Hermione looped her arms around his neck. A couple people murmured something nearby, and she turned her head to find them, but Severus murmured, “pay them no mind, Hermione,” in her ear.

For the second time that evening, she felt heat rise to her cheeks and she tried her best to fight it. They swayed in silence for a while, unable to meet each other’s gaze. All the while, Hermione debated whether she should let go, step away. It would only be unfair to herself to stay, to let him hold her like he meant it, like it wasn’t for any other reason but to spite all those people that now murmured his name in disbelief. Like he hadn’t pulled away and frozen her out when she’d kissed him. But when she tried to step away, his arms tightened around her waist. His nose brushed her ear. “Breathe, Hermione,” he gently reminded her. Then, even quieter than before, he added, “The time of revenge and spite is long in my past, witch, I have no want to prove anything to anyone.” Inside, Hermione cringed. Bloody legilimens.

“You’ll have to teach me occlumency one day,” she murmured.

“I’m surprised you didn’t demand me to earlier.” A spark of humour danced in his dark eyes. She couldn’t help but smile herself.

“I’ve been busy.”

The man hummed.

They fell silent again, more peacefully this time. At least, until Severus murmured, “You look beautiful, Hermione,” and flustered her beyond a point where speech was possible. She opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again.

Those were not words she ever expected to hear from him.

There it was, that almost smile again as he watched her struggle. “I think you better return to your friends, before they get worried.” His arms slowly pulled away from her, and suddenly, her skin felt cold at the loss of contact, and the disappointment. “I expect you in the lab tomorrow at 7, no exceptions.” With that, he stalked away, leaving behind a speechless Hermione.

Chapter Text

As it turned out, Severus Snape was still a cruel man. That was the only explanation for everything. She kissed him – he pulled back. He froze her out, then wrote messages every day. He called her beautiful, then left her standing on the dance floor.

Hermione didn’t know anymore. At this point, she didn’t know anything, but that might be her sleep deprivation talking. It didn’t help when the first thing he greeted her with was a wicked smirk that made her cheeks burn and her heart skip. She didn’t know how to react when he spoke her name in a low rumble either. Her body decided on abruptly turning away from him and keeping her eyes trained on her hands as she worked. That would keep her distracted, for a little while.

But then he would plant his hand next to hers and look over her shoulder as she brewed, his breath caressing her cheek when he murmured, “very good,” in her ear, before moving on. Those words... There was no way he did not notice the shivers travelling down her spine.

So yes, he was a cruel, wicked, evil man. By noon he had her on edge, and starting every time he so much as looked at her. Which was terribly inconvenient when brewing. She’d crushed what she’d needed to cut, she’d stirred a few times too many, and knocked her knife off of the table so often that she began to fear for her toes.

After a few frowns, Severus gently wrapped a hand around hers and moved it away from the cauldron. Slender fingers pried the ingredients out of her hand. “Careful.” She looked at the innocent looking beetle eyes.

Not so innocent, as they would have inevitably blown up her cauldron. “Oh,” she merely said. The first thing she’d said to him. “I – I’m sorry.” She stepped back from the cauldron. And breathed. His hand was still wrapped around hers – warm, calloused, unsettling. Utterly confusing. Which did not help with clearing her mind. He was not just turning her into a speechless fool, he had been purposefully distracting her, making her a sloppy brewer too. She yanked the hand back.

The movement was closely followed. “Hermione,” Severus said slowly.

“Funny,” she snapped, “I thought it was Miss Granger.” So there was her Gryffindor spirit.

Without so much as looking at him, she marched to the supply closet to get new ingredients. Objectively a dumb decision, because there was only one exit, and that was swiftly taken up by Severus. One hand rested on either side of the doorpost, effectively blocking her way out. She looked at him then; he looked every bit the predator as he took her in with impossibly dark eyes. She could not fight the shiver that travelled down her spine. “You’re being cruel.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Am I?”

His hands slipped from the doorpost. When he stepped forward, it took everything she had not to step back. “I kissed you,” she reminded him.

A smirk. “You did.”

“You pulled back.”

Another step – he was crowding her now. Caving, she took a step back. Her hand brushed against the shelf mere inches behind her. “You ran away.” His voice was low in the cramped space of the closet. “Forgive me if I did not expect my apprentice to kiss me.” She sucked in a breath. Did that mean –

“And after that?” she breathed, before she could allow herself the torture of hope.

“After that,” he stepped even closer – her back was truly pressed against the shelves now “I thought you considered it a mistake.” Another step.

They were as close as they could be without touching, their breaths colliding in the air between them. “I thought you hated me,” she breathed. His face was cast in a dim light that made it hard to read his eyes, but she could have sworn they grew darker.

“I don’t think,” he murmured, “I could ever hate you.”

The air felt thick between them. Alive, almost. As if it were at once pushing them apart and pulling them closer. “Severus.” The word was a plea, a whimper, an admission all at once.

Impossibly, he managed to lean even closer without touching her, the brush of his robes against her hand and the air on her parted lips the only, nerve-teasing contact she was granted. She stared up at him, waiting. A finger trailed down her cheek, tapped once underneath her jaw, before gently pushing it up a bit further. She let him. “Good girl,” he murmured.

Before she could respond with another, humiliating sound, his lips claimed hers and they melted against each other. And – Sweet Circe, she had dreamed of this. The softness of his lips, the almost demanding nature of his kiss. Some part of her was vaguely aware of her hands being pushed against the shelves, holding them in place, but his lips... This beat her first and only kiss by miles. She’d always considered kissing something performative – something you did because you were in a relationship. Was that what they were – “Pay attention, Hermione,” he growled against her lips, and it was enough to turn her legs into jelly. And then he was deepening the kiss, releasing her wrists so he could angle her head even more. Her own fingers buried themselves in his hair. Soft. Silky.

She quietly begged him not to stop – to never stop. But he pulled back ever so slightly. After how long, she did not know. “Does that answer your question, witch?”

She was glad for the shelves, because without it, she would have sunk to the floor ages ago. Her breath came out in short bursts only. “Not at all,” she answered breathlessly, “Maybe you should kiss me some more.”

Their lips were still close enough to feel his curve into a smirk.

He stepped back and she reached for the shelf behind her for support. “We should talk.”

He was right, of course, but she pouted anyway. “And then more kissing?” She took the low sound – it sounded suspiciously like a groan – as a yes.

She followed him into the sitting room and watched him sit down with an odd sense of déjà vu. The dream flashed before her eyes. Him in his chair, she in his lap. It did not seem as excruciatingly impossible right now. Although Severus was wordlessly telling her to behave. At least for now.

Could she help it that he had rudely taken over her dreams as well as her reality?

He quietly observed her as she curled up in her own chair. Weighing different words, different outcomes, no doubt. Always in control. She decided to start for him. “What are we?”

He looked terrifyingly serious over his intertwined fingers. No sparks, no smirks, no raised eyebrows. Pensive. “You are still my apprentice,” he answered at last, “Whatever would – and did – happen between us would be considered improper.”

Something told her he was not particularly worried about that, so she smiled. “A very wise woman once asked me whose opinion I want to follow – my own or everyone else’s.” She shrugged. “We are both off age, consenting adults, and you will not oversee my final examination. I don’t see what would be so improper about it.”

A soft smile took over Severus’ face, an expression still so rare that it still left her in a feeling of free fall. “I should send Minerva a thank you card.”

“And I Nickle,” Hermione added, “I don’t know what he did to convince you –“

The smile grew. “Nothing. When I heard you would master in potions, I approached him.”

Hermione felt her jaw go slack – much to Severus’ enjoyment. “You – he – appr – What?”

“I approached him,” Severus repeated patiently, “Should I write it out for you?”

She glared at him – he enjoyed that too. “You are unmistakably brilliant, Hermione.” A thrill went through her entire body, one which was closely observed by the man next to her. “Brilliant,” he repeated lazily. Her teeth sunk into her lip to stop herself from reacting. “Beautiful.” Merlin, he was trying to kill her. His voice lowered a notch as he murmured, “Good girl.” She hid her face in her hands at the strange sound that wringed itself from her throat. He hummed. “Interesting.”

Despite the embarrassment, she managed to make her, “Is it?” sound hopeful.

Her tone must have reminded him of the purpose of the conversation, because his voice was serious again as he said, “Look at me.” Reluctantly, she pried her hands from her face. Whatever he was going to say, concern filled his eyes because of it. “I have never been an easy man to be with. There are terrible, terrible things in my past that you might never know about. And you – you are good, brilliant, compassionate.”

A crease had broken up the skin between his eyebrows. Everything in her ached to press her thumb to it, smooth it out, soothe his worry. She pushed herself up on unsteady legs. His eyes followed her every move, waiting, until she stood so close to him that their knees were pressed together. He looked up at her – a strange occurrence, for her to tower over him.

His eyes fluttered shut for a moment. “I don’t deserve you,” he breathed.

Slowly, she climbed onto his lap, patiently waiting for him to make space. His hands settled on her hips; hers brushed through his hair as she tilted his face up to hers. “I don’t think it’s as much about deserving one another as it is about both persons stubbornly choosing to love, support, and care for each other. And I think you and I have plenty of stubbornness between us.” She marveled at the smoothness of his hair. “If you can promise me that, then I’m yours. I don’t care about the rest.”

Dark eyes seemed to drink in hers. One curt nod, all words forgotten. His fingers dug into her hips – she found she didn’t mind at all. “I promise,” he rasped.

It felt like her face crumbled under the overwhelming feeling of happiness. “Is it time for more kissing now?”

She squeaked as he pulled her down and their lips collided once again.

Chapter Text

On the ninth of January, at a time that could only be called unspeakably early, a groggy Severus Snape stood in the doorway to the kitchen and watched his apprentice open the oven door. The smell of the smoke that now flooded the kitchen is what had gotten him out of bed. The little witch hung her head and sighed.

Despite the glint of amusement that a bystander could discern in his eyes, he kept his voice low and serious as he drawled, “What on earth are you doing, witch?”

Hermione froze, and turned around ever so slowly. Yes, there was the man that she had meant to surprise, standing in the kitchen an hour too early. “Making your birthday cake?” she asked sheepishly.

The man arched an eyebrow. “Did I, or did I not, tell you about my opinions surrounding birthdays?”

She squared her shoulders. “Just because you won’t celebrate your birthday doesn’t mean I won’t,” she said, more surely now, “I happen to be very grateful that you were born.”

“Oh, are you now?” Severus drawled. With a wave of his hand, the smoke cleared out and a burnt cake revealed itself. It was at this point impossible to tell what kind of cake it would have been, considering the shell of black that covered it.

A defeated groan left Hermione’s throat as she levitated the monstrosity out of the oven and into the sink. “It’s alright, I’ll make a new one.” She chose not to mention that this had been her second attempt already. Some witch she was. It was a good thing she had left the ingredients out on the counter, she supposed.

“So you can poison me on my birthday?” A hand landed on the countertop on either side of her, locking her in. She smiled through her disappointment.

“Well,” she answered innocently, “since you don’t do birthdays, I don’t see why it matters if I poison you today or tomorrow.”

He laughed, a low rumble that knocked the air out of his lungs. It was one of his favourite pastimes, leaving her breathless. She turned around to face him. The impatient bastard instantly took the opportunity to seize her mouth. He pressed her back against the counter as he explored her mouth. She should wake him up early more often, Hermione decided. The past few days, he had been keeping his distance in a way that he called respectful and she teasing, never giving into more than kisses and brief brushes of hands. It was clear that he was still trying to give her space to change her mind – a strange notion which she worked to cure him off soon.

She broke the kiss only briefly to breath, “Happy birthday, Severus,” against his lips.

He growled into her mouth. Without taking his lips from hers, he hoisted her up the counter, his hands gripping her thighs hard enough to bruise. She mewled as he settled between her thighs. O yes, she would definitely wake him up like this more often.

“On second thought,” he murmured, his lips brushing hers as he spoke, “I think I rather enjoy birthdays. We should celebrate them every day.”

“Greedy,” she whispered, but the word turned into a moan as he silenced her with another kiss.

Satisfied, he pulled back. “I don’t hear any objection, miss Granger,” he said smugly.

She gently tugged his hair. “Foul play, mister Snape.”

***

Hermione closed off the container of Veritaserum before gently putting it back on the shelf. She was quite disappointed that she had not been there to brew it, but at least she could check in on it and monitor its process. It was looking promising, so far. She told Severus as she joined him back in the lab. He hummed, fully trusting her judgement. She watched as he worked on his own potion – a request from Poppy – the question playing in her mind for a while. “Have you ever experienced Veritaserum?” she asked, after a few minutes of silence.

Severus stilled, and put a stasis charm on his work. “I have,” he admitted reluctantly, “It was quite common to test the loyalty of the Dark Lord’s followers. Horrible things were admitted under Veritaserum. Things that often led to the news of death the day after such meetings.”

Gone was the easy ambiance that the morning’s kisses and banter created. His shoulders were now tense as he did not quite meet her gaze. Damn her, she had not meant to bring up any trauma. She should have realised, asking questions like that.

“Stop that,” Severus pierced her with a stern gaze, “You can’t weigh your every word just in case it might hurt me. I appreciate your unfiltered curiosity, even if it brings up memories.” He rounded the table and leaned against it as he stared at her. She swallowed past the dryness in her mouth. She could feel his mind press against hers, only making itself known out of politeness. It was an odd sensation, even if it was gentle. “You wish to know what it is like?” She nodded. “There are two ways in which we can go about this,” he continued, his voice growing quieter. More dangerous. “Either I can tell you, and you will be left with the same knowledge that you already have. Or-“

“Or?” she asked, eager. The corners of his mouth twitched.

“Or,” he repeated, “you can try for yourself, in a safe and controlled situation.”

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. His eyes dipped to follow the movement. “The second.” The words were a whisper between them. “I’ll try the second option.”

An absolutely malicious grin appeared on Severus’ face. It told her more than enough about what kind of territory they were getting themselves into. “Excellent.” He conjured a vial of veritaserum from the supply closet. “After you, miss Granger.”

***

Severus led her to the sitting room and told her to sit down. She did so slowly, unsure of herself and the decision she just made. “This is going to go as follows,” Severus said, measuring out the right amount of potion. “I will mix three drops of the Veritaserum into your drink. It will then take a minute before you feel its effects.” Hermione nodded, watching one of said drops collide with the water. “Then I will ask you questions – the serum is best felt when you try to lie to those questions. At any given moment, if you want to stop, you will tell me so instantly and I will give you the antidote. Understood?”

“Understood,” Hermione echoed.

The man looked up from the potion, his eyes finding hers. “I need you to promise me, Hermione.”

Her throat felt like sandpaper as she swallowed. “I promise.”

“Good girl.” She blushed. He put the vial away and pushed the glass toward her. “Whenever you’re ready.”

The water sloshed in the glass as she held it with trembling hands. The liquid looked as clear as ever. If she had not seen the Veritaserum being added, she’d have thought he was fooling with her – arguably a great study into the placebo effect, she absently noted.

Straightening her back, she saluted Severus with the glass, then drank it in two long gulps. No lingering tastes whatsoever. It was scary, how easily someone could slip this into a drink without anybody noticing.

She felt nothing out of sorts at first, but then she glanced up at Severus – It felt like all her thoughts were sorted in her minds, the clutter making place for the truth. From the look on is face, she was pretty sure they were loud enough to be heard. She held his gaze despite the heat that flooded her face.

“How do you feel?” Severus asked, leaning back in his chair.

“Excited, but nervous. And so incredibly confused – although I think that might also just be you. You tend to confuse me. It’s exhilarating. I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you, and I wish you would –“ the words tumbled out of her mouth without her permission, and she was grateful when he cleared his throat.

“That was clearly a complicated question to start with.” He shifted in his chair. It was clear he had heard where that sentence would lead. “We will get to those intriguing thoughts of yours later. Let’s start with your name first.”

Right. She was supposed to try to lie. Her tongue fought to say the words as her mind raced for an alternative. All her knowledge on names seemed to slip away from her, until all that was left was Hermione Jean Granger, Hermione Jean Granger, Hermione Jean Granger. But there... not a lie, but not quite the truth either. “Jean.”

Severus raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Very good. Not even a minute under Veritaserum and you already found a way to evade its effects.” Warmth bloomed in her chest at the praise – she could not deny it under the influence of the potion. “Your full name?”

“Hermione Jean Granger,” she answered instantly. She had to physically bite her tongue to avoid every single thought from rolling out her mouth after it. Severus watched the struggle with delight. “You are playing games with me,” she observed.

His voice dropped a key as his face grew dark. “And do you mind, Hermione?”

Hermione shook her head. “Not at all. I just wish you would kiss me again.”

“Just kiss you?” His voice was basically sinful as he purred the words. A moan escaped her lips, another thing she was unable to stop. His composed facade faltered. “Gods, Hermione.” His eyes darted to her mouth. “Do not answer that.”

“Not just kiss me,” Hermione answered anyway. “I think you’re scared to chase me away, but I want you. All of you. I want –“ Again, Severus cut her off.

“Later, Hermione,” he promised, “As... intriguing as this situation is, drug induced conversations are rarely the right way to go about this.”

“Then give me the antidote.” That earned her a glare. He might be the one in control, but she obviously had her influence over him as well. She smiled sweetly. “Or don’t.”

She watched as he pulled himself back together. “Tell me,” he continued, voice slightly hoarse, “What was the moment you first heard about the philosopher’s stone.”

The answer lay on her tongue instantly. It should have been buried underneath years of memories – their first year was hardly what one would call eventful after all the others that had taken place. But the memory played in her mind as clearly as it had happened yesterday. She gasped. “That’s it.” She practically leapt out of her chair. “Veritaserum reveals the truth. It might just be strong enough to counter memory charms.”

If she thought she’d ever seen Severus Snape in awe before, she’d been mistaken. Because the look on his face was so positively amazed and adoring as he looked up at her that she paused. “Brilliant.” He shook his head. “Absolutely brilliant.” Then he pushed himself up from the chair and with a few long strides he bridges the distance between them – and kissed her. Her mind instantly flooded with other thoughts again. He laughed. “Let’s get you the antidote first.”

Chapter Text

“Hermione.” She gasped in gulps of air. Had he come back to her? She couldn’t see, it was too dark. “Breathe.” She was trying, but it felt like she was drowning. “It was a dream.” A dream. Her fingers curled around soft sheets. Then she registered the hand cupping her face. She wanted to see his, she wanted to make sure this was not a dream. As if reading her thoughts, a ball of dim light blinked to life. Severus was hovering over her, a frown on his face as his eyes searched hers. His eyes. They seemed alive again, not the flat front that he put up for most people. The first full breath of air passed through her lungs. The second. “Good,” Severus murmured, although the frown did not smooth itself out. When he was sure her lungs were functioning again, he lowered himself back onto the bed and gently pulled her towards him.

His scent – parchment and spices and something essentially him – filled her nose. Slowly, her heart slowed down again. “Severus,” she whispered, latching onto him a heartbeat later. She drew in another deep breath. A large hand rubbed up and down her back, slowly, leaving a trail of warmth where it went. “I thought you forgot about me.” The words were muffled by his shirt, and a calloused fingertip gently guided her face up, so she was looking at him again. She nearly crumpled at the sight of his concerned expression.

“Why would I forget you?” he asked, quietly, the rumble in his chest louder than the actual words themselves.

A shiver rolled down her spine. His hand faltered, then slowly continued their path. “You were there, and Harry and Ginny. Everyone. And you were looking at me with empty eyes and – “The image flashed in her mind now, and her hand curled in his shirt in a weak attempt to keep him by her side. He eased a curl behind her ear. “Mum and dad are in the process of adopting,” she whispered, “I found out this morning.” She’d been quiet all day, tormented by questions she used to push away. Ones that she could no longer ignore. They were so close to perfecting the cure – days, really. It felt like they were too late anyway. She was already being replaced. “They are over the moon of course. They always wanted a child,” she added monotonously.

Silence. The only way she could tell he was there and listening were the occasional pauses and stutters of the hand on her back. He was waiting for her to continue. To let it all out. Her eyes fluttered shut. “Do you think my sonograms are empty?” she asked, revealing the question that had haunted her ever since she’d pointed her wand at her own parents. “Do you think they are blank, meaningless pictures? Or do you think they found them whilst moving, wondered whose they were, and eventually threw them out?” Moist was gathering behind her closed eyelids, but still she went on. “I saw it when James was born. The love Ginny and Harry felt for him. I know my parents must have felt the same, but, one spell and... and it’s gone. Like I never existed.”

Her eyes blinked open and she looked up at him again. The pain of her parents’ situation was old to her. It was dull, always present in the background but no longer a sharp stab that shot through her whenever something brushed past it. But the pain she had felt when seeing his cold and flat eyes directed at her, when he’d sneered at her and pushed her away... It terrified her. “Is it truly that easy to erase people?”  she now whispered into the deafening silence. “Say they would come here, obliviate you, and Harry, and all the others... Would I then still really exist? Am I still my parents’ daughter if they don’t remember ever having a child?”

She could feel his chest rise and fall with his sigh. His heartbeat was a steady presence underneath her. He looked at her, unwavering. Then, he said, “My mind is protected by walls of obsidian. The most powerful wizard could not break them.” He offered the words like a promise. “What I am trying to say, Hermione,” he continued quietly, “Is that they can obliviate me a thousand times over. But I could never forget you.”

***

Spending their evenings reading turned into spending them revising. At least for Hermione, whose final examinations would start soon after successfully completing her Mastery project. When the notes she had taken during her Mastery ran out, she returned to her notes from Hogwarts. And when those ran out, she went to Severus. He indulged her nerves, let her question him and quizzed her in return. Albeit not without some comments on always having to be Miss Perfect. At some point he pried the notes and the books from her hands and vanished them. She had tried wrestling him over them, but she’d forgotten he was a former spy, and had found herself pinned to the floor in moments. She’d demanded he’d teach her that instead.

The days were still spent brewing. It was just a matter of small changes now. The diagnostic spells had proven that the potion was mostly successful, but something was still off. A quill recorded every decision she made – it would be terribly awkward to brew the potion in front of the board and realise you forgot what exactly you had to add on the third stir – whilst she brewed and brewed and brewed.

Her shirt clung to her body, soaked in sweat from too intense labour so near a fire and a steaming cauldron, hours and hours without end, when she finally dropped in slightly torn up leaves of forget-me-nots. It was a long shot, a ‘better try it so I can definitely cross it off of the list’ attempt. She stirred, not expecting much to happen. This was usually the stage where she would get stuck. But on the third stir, she glanced into the cauldron and found the liquid had moved from buttery yellow to mint green. She frowned, and stirred thrice more. A light purplish blue chased away the green. Her heart beat in her throat. She gaped at the simmering liquid.

Simmering. Remembering herself, she extinguished the fire with a tap of her wand. “Well?” Severus looked up from his own work. She almost didn’t want to try to find out. It would just be another hit to her faltering hope.

Sucking in a breath, Hermione hovered her wand over the cauldron and muttered the incantation. Runes flashed in the air, calculating. Then...

She had to brace herself on the table for support. Severus joined her a moment to later to check the spell. “It works,” Hermione muttered in disbelief. She turned to Severus. He himself was looking rather smug.

“Did you ever question it, witch?” His words implied that he never had.

She conjured a chair just before her legs gave out. After a moment of pointless staring, she looked back at Severus. Her mouth opened, then closed again, then opened. But no words would come out.

Severus turned to a shelf, then returned with a calming draught in his hands. “One sip,” he warned her. She nodded.

The moment the draught kicked in, she smiled. Then grinned. Then laughed. “We did it,” she gasped between laughter. “Sweet Merlin, we did it.” There was a hint of reservation in his eyes when he took in the state of her. Probably wondering whether he should drop me off at St. Mungo’s. She threw her arms around his neck. This man – there were no words. No words, but, “Thank you.”

His own arms pulled her closer. “You figured it all out yourself,” he responded, his voice filled with pride. “My brilliant witch.”

She pressed a kiss to his lips at that, then turned back to the potion. They could cure her parents. She could go and cure her parents right now. “Go,” Severus urged her quietly. “We will deal with the rest once you’re back.”

A tooth sunk in her lip. She looked at the vials that she’d prepared earlier. It was a strange thought that, after four years, she might have her parents back in four hours. Her hands trembled when she transferred the potion to the little bottles, mind racing with all the possibilities of how this could play out. When she had filled the last one, she carefully closed every single one of them and slipped two in her pocket. “Do I just put a bit in their tea?” she wondered out loud. “Or do I ask for their consent?”

“Whichever option you prefer,” Severus answered, watching her as she gathered courage. “Although the first option would be understandable, with your sense of righteousness, the second might be preferable.”

She nodded. “The second, then.” They shared another kiss. She did not ask him to join her. He did not ask whether she wanted him to. This was a thing between her and her parents – something she had to do herself. A moment later, a loud crack announced the activating of an (illegal) portkey, and it was just Severus who was left standing in the lab.

Chapter Text

Turning on the ball of her foot, Hermione retraced the path she had carved in the grass. Five steps, turn. Five steps, turn. Pacing, as her mind raced. There was not a lot of time to think – it was somewhere past eight in Australia, and the sun was hovering just above the ground, waiting for the night to take over. If she’d show up any later, it would seem suspicious. People simply didn’t show up at other people’s doors after a certain time at night, especially not when they were strangers.

But her nerves kept her on the steady path of worn-down grass. She had the potion; the two vials weighed her pocket down like a stone and her fingers kept brushing over them to make sure they were really there. Everything could be so easy from here: a few drops in their tea when they weren’t looking, asking the key question in the middle of a conversation. They would remember everything. But Severus was right, of course. It wouldn’t sit right with her. She’d taken their memories without their permission, the least she could do was give them a choice this time around.

Another turn, the friction of her foot pulled clumps of grass from the earth. It all came down to her ability to convince them. “Hi, sir, ma’am, you don’t know me, but I’m your daughter and coincidentally also a with. I removed your memories. Drink this unknown liquid to get them back.” Hermione chased the words out with a humourless laugh. Her parents were patient people, but this might be a bit extreme, even for them. The image of a grumpy Severus standing in the middle of a muggle police precinct trying to scare the officers into letting her go came to mind. Despite her nerves, she snorted. At least the worst-case scenario would be amusing, although Mister Weasley might be a safer bet if she had to get bailed out.

She squared her shoulders and abandoned her track. There was only one way to find out how her parents would react, and it was not incessant worrying and ruining their lawn.

A trembling finger pressed the doorbell and the sound rung loud enough that she could hear it on the other side of the door. She fought a flinch. Now was an important moment to keep her composure.

Some clattering and mumbling later, the door swung open to reveal a middle-aged man. Wendel Granger, more commonly known as Jack, had an explosion of grey hair and kind, amber eyes that showed traces of laughter. In other words, he was still exactly as Hermione remembered her dad, and she nearly wrapped her arms around his neck at the sight of him.

“Hello,” he now said, taking in her sweater and long trousers with furrowed brow. The heat of the Australian January had completely slipped her mind, and it occurred to her that he must already think her strange before she’d even opened her mouth. Wonderful.

“Hi,” Hermione croaked, “You must be Jack.” The man nodded, even if she had not really asked a question. “I’m Hermione,” she continued, “Hermione Granger. I was wondering if I could talk to you and your wife for a bit.”

Bewildered, her dad asked, “About what?”

“Well, it’s,” she gestured aimlessly, in the hope of finding the right words. “It’s quite the story.”

Jack – Wendel, she didn’t really know what to call him – took the hint and stepped aside. “Come in, my wife is making tea.” She nodded gratefully and stepped past him. Despite all her visits, Hermione had never seen the inside of her parents’ house, but she was relieved to find that it was still them. That she had not taken something essential to them. The space was modern, but comfortable. A large, open kitchen. Two opposing couches with a wooden coffee table in between. Rows of books against the wall. Pictures… Pictures that did not include her.

“Monica,” her dad called from behind her. “We’ve got a visitor. This is Hermione Granger.”

Jean Granger looked up from the mugs of tea she was preparing. “Oh! Pleasure to meet you, Hermione. I’m Monica. Can I get you anything to drink?”

Hermione managed to say, “Tea, please,” with a clumsy tongue and dry mouth. How long had it been since she had last had tea with her parents? Too long.

At her dad’s invitation, she took place on one couch, while her parents settled onto the other. “So, Hermione,” her mum begun, once they were all properly provided for. “What brings you here?”

Her hands were shaky, so much so that she could feel the vibrations go up her arm, and she had to sit on them to make it stop. “I am looking for my parents,” she answered, a half truth, “I grew up in England, but they moved to Australia, and we… lost contact.” As an afterthought, she added, “They are dentists too.”

Her mum frowned. “O, how horrible. What parents would not keep contact with her daughter?” Wendel nodded sympathetically at her side.

“O, no, no,” Hermione rushed, “They aren’t bad people, but they – they forgot about me.” Her parents exchanged a glance that told her that was exactly what bad parents would do. “When I was eleven,” she continued desperately, “I got a letter to attend a school – wait.” She made sure to conjure it behind her back, so she wouldn’t scare them off instantly. A crumpled sheet of parchment appeared in her hand, the emerald ink of which she had traced many times. “This letter,” she said, now handing it to her parents, “It was delivered by a woman, a professor at the school, who explained that there is a society unknown to common people – a magical society.” Sympathy grew into reservation as her parents’ eyes jumped between the letter and her. “Sometimes a child of ordinary people can be born with magic as well.”

“As was the case with you,” her dad guessed, the lines of his face sharpening with distrust. She tried not to let that discourage her.

“I know it’s hard to believe, but I can prove it.” The drawing of her wand made her father jump up from the couch, ready to fight. She swallowed, and raised her free hand as she rose as well. Slowly. “It won’t do any harm,” she promised calmly, “Please, just give me a chance.”

Neither of her parents said anything, but they didn’t make a move to stop her either. She tightened her grip on her wand and let the memories flood her mind. Holding James for the first time; Severus kissing her in the supply closet; Molly hugging her and calling her dear; Teddy stubbornly climbing onto her lap without accepting help, rendering Severus speechless. “Expecto Patronum.” A blue otter leapt from her wand and promptly started to dance around her parents. Her dad flinched, but followed the creature with glittering eyes. Her mum stared at it, in awe, then at Hermione.

The otter disappeared with a final leap. “He can deliver messages,” Hermione explained, “and protect the caster from… darkness.” Best not to go into dementors right now.

Her father hesitantly lowered himself back onto the couch.

“So you have magic,” her mum stated, “I still don’t understand how that ties in with your parents. Or with us.”

Hermione sat down again. “Magic can help accomplish many wonderful things, and it can be quite practical for day-to-day chores... But some people use their powers for awful purposes, and at an awful cost – dark magic. Around my birth, there was such a dark wizard who had gained a lot of followers with the promise of power. He left a trail of bodies wherever he went – they were quite hopeless times. Until he encountered a boy, Harry Potter, whom he could not win from. The boy was protected by his mother’s love.” She paused, seeing if they were still following her. “That child became my best friend at the school, Hogwarts. As we grew up, the dark wizard, Voldemort, regained his power and a second war began. One which you – which my parents – were never a part off. And as Harry’s best friend, I, and everyone I loved, became their main targets.” She drew in a steadying breath, forced herself to meet their eyes. “I had to protect my parents at all costs. So when it was clear there was no return to peace, I –“ Her voice broke off her words. “I took your memories,” she whispered.

The words echoed in the silence. And died out.

At some point during her speech, she’d started crying. Her cheeks warm and wet. But her entire being was focused on her parents, who were now fumbling for words. “We- we are,” her mum murmured, at the same time as her dad blurted, “You took our memories?”

Hermione nodded.

“You took our memories,” her dad repeated, louder now. She flinched.

“Jack,” her mom said quietly, wrapping a hand around her husband’s shoulder in an attempt to calm him down.

“No. Not Jack. Not Jack, because she took our memories.” He turned back to Hermione. “You can’t just do that to people!”

Fresh tears followed the old ones as she shook her head. “No, you can’t,” she responded, “Believe me when I say it nearly killed me, seeing you go on with your lives like I was never a part of it. I have worked long and hard to find an antidote.”

“Then why?” her dad roared.

She glanced at her hands, which now held the cold bottles that could change everything. “It was the best shot I had at protecting you.”

A string of curses escaped her father’s lips and Hermione felt the odd need to curl up in a ball and cover her ears. Sob. Instead, she carefully placed the two vials on the table. “This is the antidote,” she told her mom, who seemed to be dealing with everything a tad better, “If you ever want to… remember. Then drink this, and answer this question.” She placed a piece of parchment next to it. What do you know about Hermione Granger? “It will trigger the lost memories.”

She rose on trembling legs. “There’s a phone number on the other side. If you need me, call me.” With that, she left the room and its occupants – one raging, the other just staring – behind.

Chapter Text

Her hand was still in his when she asked, “Do we tell them about us?” The grip around her hand tightened, a small gesture that never failed to bring about that fluttering feeling in her stomach.

She glanced at him. Standing in the afternoon sun, with the golden backdrop of fields of barley, he looked like an angel. If he were death come to beckon her, she would go with him without a doubt. The corner of his mouth crept up. “Then it’s a good thing that I’m not.” She shot him a glare, but his thumb brushed over the top of her hand and rendered any real bite harmlesss. Prick.

He turned back to the house with a fond chuckle. “It’s probably best to wait,” he decided, “at least until you have finished your apprenticeship.” He was right, of course, but she couldn’t help but pout anyway.

His body swayed closer, his voice dropping to a murmur as he added, “I think you’ll find that hiding in the shadows can be rather... enjoyable, at times.” The pure suggestion in his tone. She sucked in a breath and glanced at him. Images of shadowy alcoves, his body pinning hers against the wall, as he – Severus smirked and she wacked his arm. Now that was an image that she’d have to push away for the rest of the night. “Behave, Hermione,” he mumbled under his breath, “One would think you’re quite satisfied after our activities of the past week.”

She resisted the urge to punch him again, a commendable effort that was surely worth a second Order of Merlin. “If you are implying that you’re getting tired, sir, I’d be happy to let you rest for the next week or so.”

Something between a snarl and a growl broke from the wizard, but she had already disentangled their hands and smugly set off for the Burrow. At least now they were somewhat even. Ten steps in, she looked over her shoulder and arched an eyebrow in a studied impression of Severus himself. “Coming?”

The Burrow was already bustling when they entered, and a cheer went through the room at their arrival. Harry clasped a hand over her shoulder with a grin. “The sensation of the Annual Victory Ball! Merlin, ‘Mione, when I said you always were a teacher’s pet, I didn’t expect you to actually date your teacher.”

Hermione merely blinked in surprise. Beside her, Severus made a sound that was concerningly similar to choking.

“Wh- How did you-“

“Know?” Harry supplied helpfully. “With the sexual tension between the two of you at the ball, and your subsequent absence for an entire month, it was kind of a given.”

O gods. Did everyone know? It was painful how obvious they’d been, considering that Harry really did not pick up on these clues that often. Especially because… one of them had been a spy for crying out loud!

Ginny pushed Harry aside like Hermione had only seen her do before in the quidditch pitch. “Move, Potter, I need to speak with my best friend.” She took Hermione’s hand with a nod to Severus. “Sir.”

Hermione let herself be dragged across the room without protest – she was far too bewildered by the smirks, whistles, and occasional comments of passing Order members to even notice she was being dragged. “Does everybody know?” she blurted, the moment they were safely hidden in a corner.

“Everyone from the Order does,” Ginny grinned. “The news has written surprisingly little – I suspect that is Kingsley’s influence.”

Merlin bless Kingsley. Hermione heaved a deep sigh and pulled herself together.

“So?” Ginny asked impatiently. Chocolate eyes bored into her with such an intensity that she almost got a headache.

“So, what?” Hermione asked.

“So… How did it happen!” A number of heads turned their way. Ginny might be the most sensible Weasley, but at least the complete lack of subtlety had been passed down to her.

Hermione pointedly cast a muffliato. “Any louder and Kingsley’s efforts would have been in vain, Gin.” Ginny huffed, not a trace of regret on her face. “It happened the day after the ball. He kissed me.”

Her friend stared at her for a moment longer. “That’s it?” she finally exclaimed, “That’s all I get? Hermione, I have held you when you were crying over this man!”

“I was not crying!” Hermione protested, earning herself an eye roll. Okay, maybe she had been. “Fine, alright. I snapped at him, he cornered me in the supply closet, and then he pushed me against the shelves and kissed me. Is that enough information for you, Ginevra?”

“Not nearly,” Ginny’s eyes sparkled. “But I’ll demand more details later. You might have to save Snape from McGonagall first.” That was not a sentence that she ever expected any of her friends to utter. Hermione followed Ginny’s gaze to the dining table, where Severus sat across an even more stern looking Minerva than usual. With an apologetic smile at Ginny, Hermione slipped back into the crowd.

“Ah, Hermione,” Minerva greeted as she drew near. “We were just talking about you.”

Hermione smiled and trailed a hand over Severus’ shoulders as she sat down beside him. “All good things I hope.”

The smile on the Headmistress’ lips was overly innocent. “So,” she said swiftly, “I hear your apprenticeship is almost at an end.”

Ah. That. A warm hand settled on her leg, his thumb rubbing soothing motions onto her thigh. “My final examinations will be next week,” she answered, avoiding the real question there.

“And, your parents?” Minerva asked tentatively. The hand stilled as Hermione did. Then tightened its hold in reassurance. Not for the first time that day, a surge of appreciation for this lovely, wicked man welled up in her chest.

She forced herself to meet Minerva’s gaze, not look down, not break. “They did not take the news that someone tampered with their memories well. I left the potion with them, but I haven’t heard anything since.”

Silence fell as Minerva searched for the right words to say. Eventually, she settled on, “I’m so sorry, Hermione.”

Hermione shrugged, pretending like she hadn’t cried, stared into the void and spiraled over this far too often over the past two weeks. “It is their decision. I’ll be alright. I’ve got my Mastery to focus on anyway.”

“And after your Mastery?” Something changed behind Minerva’s eyes. In her posture too, as she leaned forward ever so slightly. Hermione noted the change with curiosity.

“After my Mastery in Potions I’ll seek out a new one for the next year,” she answered apprehensively. “Why do you ask?”

The smile Minerva gave her was a tad predatory. She’d clearly been waiting for this to come up. “Septima is thinking of retiring. She’d be more than willing to take you on as apprentice Arithmancy. And, of course, there’d be a separate certificate involved for the teaching aspect of the apprenticeship.”

Never underestimate Minerva McGonagall. It was a widely spread piece of wisdom among any student that the woman had taught. And here she was, playing right into Hermione’s weaknesses and ensuring a potential employee all at once. Hermione had to bite her lip to stop herself from grinning.

“Of course,” the Headmistress continued, taking the reaction as a success, “There is still plenty of time to make up your mind. Severus, if you ever want to return to Hogwarts, the Potions position is still open. All these temporary teachers might interfere with the students’ progress.”

Severus looked like he’d rather take Nagini than another year before a classroom.

“We’ll think about it,” Hermione responded for him, reveling in the way she could refer to them as ‘we’.

***

“So much for keeping it secret,” Hermione mumbled later, when they were lying in bed. She pressed a kiss to his shoulder before settling her head on it. “Such a shame. I was rather curious as to what ‘hiding in the shadows’ with you would entail.”

Severus grumbled something unintelligible. His pride had been hurt exceedingly more than hers – he, who thought himself such a private and impenetrable person. At her giggle, he growled and flipped them around. A knee settled between her legs and he planted a hand beside her head as he hovered over her. “Perhaps I’ll just have to visit you in Hogwarts.”

Her stomach swooped. “You should,” she breathed, looping her arms around his neck to pull him closer. “Severus?”

He hummed to let her know he was listening, even if his head dipped to press a kiss to her neck. “I don’t feel so alone anymore.”

He met her gaze, a precious vulnerability in that connection between their eyes. “So do I.” Then, he kissed her.

Chapter Text

Buzzing, that’s what her body was doing right now. Not necessarily trembling, but buzzing with nerves. Even her breath sounded unsteady as it left her mouth, and when she drank in more air, it was a sharp, cutting sound. And then there was the hollow feeling in her stomach.

Hermione loved exams; she really did. They were a fun way to test your knowledge. The written exam this morning had been a breeze, nothing to worry about. But beyond that door, with its wooden carvings to represent the virtues of scholars – curiosity, determination, benevolence, and more – there was a handpicked jury of some of the best Potion Masters and Mistresses. There to judge her as she worked.

She rocked back and forth on her feet. If only all the other people in the hallways would find somewhere else to be. Then the pressure of prying eyes would be gone, and Severus would be free to hold her. Now, all he could do was murmur reassurances whenever she started picking at her skin or mumbling the recipe from the top of her mind.

Hermione was just starting to think that they’d given up on her already – decided that she was not good enough to be in a Mastery course, when the door swung open. Professor Nickle stepped forward, a calming sight with his wrinkled smile and familiar waistcoat tense over his stomach. “You may enter the room now, miss Granger.”

She couldn’t quite feel her body as she glanced at Severus one last time. He gave her a single nod, nothing more than a slight lowering of his chin.

The examination room was a simple circular chamber, with a crescent table for the jury and a single work bench standing right at the centre of the room. No paintings on the wall, no bright colours or elaborate decorations. Simple, undistracting.

Hermione’s eyes landed on the board as she walked up to the worktable. There were five of them, and most of them, she’d seen and read about and admired ever since she’d started her Mastery, if not longer. Everett Blimsy, a greying man with metal framed glasses in front of bright blue eyes, was known for his ground breaking work in healing potions. It was no surprise that he was given the middle seat, which gave him the role of leader of the jury. At his left sat Julia Crimson, who had become the youngest editor of Potion’s Weekly in history, when she was only twenty-four. Philip Bord, who was in internationally acclaimed Potions Master sat on Blimsy’s right. And then there was Evangeline High, current temporary Potions Professor at Hogwarts, who had held an important position in the ministry and greatly improved potions such as the Veritaserum. And finally, on the far right… Hermione faltered in her steps. That was Vivian Dandle, who was known for her work innovative non-profit work with muggle organisations and who was a Muggleborn herself.

Hermione was vaguely, but only vaguely, aware that she was staring, and not at all aware that her feet had stopped moving, until Nickle cleared his throat. “Please state your full name and your Mastery project for the Jury.”

It honestly took her a moment to remember what it was. “Hermione Jean Granger,” she finally remembered with a blush, “Mastering with an antidote to the obliviate charm.”

Five pairs of hands simultaneously started leafing through their papers, some pausing as they recognised her name. One by one, they nodded their consent to Nickle. “Very well, Miss Granger. You have provided us with your recipe and a list of ingredients. Please take a moment to make sure you have received all necessary items. You will not be able to ask for or receive new equipment or ingredients during the test.”

Hermione desperately brushed her clammy hands off on her academic robes. She prayed she wouldn’t miss anything. She prayed she wouldn’t mess up. She didn’t think she’d ever prayed that much, except, maybe, when Harry walked into that forest to face Voldemort. She walked through the list in her mind. Stewed Mandrake, Jobberknoll feather – both present. What else? A vial of Veritaserum already waited for her on the corner of the table.

“I have everything,” she confirmed, after a second run through.

Nickle jotted down her answer, and nodded. “Then you may begin.”

***

The potion took forty-five minutes to brew. Which might not sound like a lot of time, until you are the one doing it and you spend every second of those forty-five minutes dancing around a hot cauldron. Her nerves left her after the first five minutes, and by the time the potion gained its blue-purplish colour, Hermione had forgotten all about her audience.

It wasn’t until Julia Crimson noted how the recipe she had given them was accurate to the second that Hermione become aware of her whereabouts again. Master Blimsy glanced down at his notes, traced a finger over thin lips, then asked, “And how would this potion work?”

Still high on the thrill of a successful brew, Hermione eagerly seized the opportunity to let the nerd in her speak. “The potion is an antidote specifically to the obliviate charm. It is based on the hypothesis that the obliviate doesn’t delete memories, but rather hides them away – something that this potion has proven true,” she rambled excitedly, “It hides these memories so well that simple memory enhancing potions cannot quite reach them. The key aspect of this potion, the Veritaserum, forces the drinker to be truthful. The regular potions sharpen the memory and thus make the hidden memories more accessible, so that when the recipient is asked a question about the obliviated memories, the Veritaserum is triggered and forces the memory back to the front of the mind.”

An impressed nod from Bord brought a smile to her face. How she loved academics and their appreciation for knowledge. Most other people sighed, rolled their eyes, or smiled politely whilst their eyes glazed over.

“Thank you for your time, Miss Granger.” Blimsy put down his pen and gave her a charming smile. “A letter with a breakdown of your results will be sent your way soon. Although, I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you.”

Oh- Hermione felt the strong need to jump up and down in excitement, but that would surely be frowned upon in this context, so she opted for a face-splitting grin instead. “Thank you,” she said, with a nod to the jury. She caught Dandle’s smile on her way out and nearly tripped over her own feet.

Nickle stopped her at the door and murmured, “Well done, Granger,” before she could leave entirely.

She feared she might die out of happiness.

Outside of the Examination Room, Severus had been joined by Arthur and Kingsley and – not being able to hug Severus in public – she let Arthur wrap her in his arms instead. She squealed as he lifted her off the ground ever so slightly. Just like her father would, she noted, not without a hint of melancholy.

Then, dark eyes found her. “It went well?”  She bit the inside of her lip and nodded.

“Of course, we didn’t expect anything else,” Mister Weasley said proudly.

Yes, death by happiness was rapidly becoming a real threat. It would be a good way to go.

***

A ministry owl brought the news. All Outstandings. A letter was included.

              Dear Miss Granger,

Congratulations on the conclusion of your mastery. You are truly a talented Potions Mistress.

I understand from Nickle that you are considering an apprenticeship in Arithmancy – a promising combination with potions indeed. I have no doubt your career in academics could be a great one, but if I have judged your character accurately – and I usually do – academics alone won’t offer you the fulfilment you might search in life. You have fought fiercely to better the wizarding world. Now I invite and challenge you to better our world as well – the one that exists both out of the magic and normal world. Our magic can make a difference in the lives of many people who do not have the same privileges and abilities.

If you desire it, a position in my lab is yours – part time for as long as you might be studying, and fulltime whenever you might want it.

              I look forward to your owl,

              Sincerely,

              Vivian Dandle

Chapter Text

“Hermione.”

“Hmm.”

“Hermione.”

“What?”

“Your muggle contraption is making noise.”

She peeled an eye open and was met with infinite darkness. She heard it now too. The Nokia tune was muted by the nightstand drawer, but loud enough to wake a light sleeper. Groaning, she pushed herself up.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. It had at that point not quite occurred to her that only two people had her phone number, so she picked up with a yawned, “Hello?”

The phone merely uttered some static noise. Then a heavy breath reached her ear. “Hermione.”

The familiarity in that voice washed any remaining sleep away. “Dad?” she asked, not quite believing it could really be him. Her mind had come up with dreams not that different from this after all.

The mattress dipped as Severus sat up as well. A strangled, sob-like sound echoed through the phone. “Yes honey, it’s me. Mom’s here too.”

Her hand came to her chest to cover her pounding heart. “You took the potion,” she stated, more than asked, as the world started to free itself from her and sway up and down, side to side.

“Yes,” her father half-laughed, half-cried. “We took the potion you little genius.” Her fingers crawled up to her lips, pressing against them to remind her brain that she was also part of the world, which now started to turn blurry. She was dreaming. She had to be. But oh, how she hoped it was real. She hoped it so badly it hurt.

“Is this real?” she asked, unsteadily, both to the phone and Severus. The latter brushed a lock of hair behind her ear as her father answered, “Yes, this is real.”

A sob of relief fought its way free from her throat. Her body caved in on itself as she grew weak from emotion, her forehead pressing to Severus’ knee. He gently took the phone from her hand.

“Mister Granger?” His voice was still deep and rough from sleep. “We will be there in half an hour.” Then he hung up the phone and drew her to him.

Chapter Text

The little house on Spinner’s End had witnessed many lives since it had been built. There had been muggles and wizards alike – happiness and grief and exhaustion. Of all these lives, it considered that of Severus Tobias Snape the most tragic. It had listened to the baby’s cries, waiting for him to realise that his parents would never show. It counted the bruises on the child’s body, unsure which had been the work of the boy’s father, and which the work of the boy’s classmates. It lamented the curious and witty soul that turned defensive and sharp over the years of continued abuse. When the boy left for Hogwarts, the house missed him, and hoped he would find the acceptance and love there that Cokeworth had never offered him.

Except, one summer, the boy returned and carried with him a piece of magic darker than the house had ever known. From that moment, it was forced to watch as the boy grew into a bitter, agonised and isolated man. Death would be a relief for this unfortunate soul that the house had sheltered for so many years.

It was a surprise to find Severus on its doorstep again, when the war had ended once and for all. He bore a few more scars and a second chance with him like they were a burden, rather than a blessing, but the house found itself surprisingly glad. If no one would love this soul, Spinner’s End would.

It watched the man’s wounds heal and strength return with a sense of satisfaction. When Severus walked into a room, the light would grow warmed, the chairs would be softer, and the markings of his youth would retreat into shadows – the dent where Tobias Snape had knocked him against the wall, the stain where his mother had bled out after Tobias had been in a bad mood, the scorch mark where the boy had shown magic for the first time in an attempt to get his father off of him. He’d been three years old, and he’d had to go without food for days after that.

Small brushes of a hand against a wall and a muttered, “thank you,” told the house that its occupant was aware of its efforts.

Occasionally, an older witch would stop by. Minerva, Severus called her, along with a bother and meddlesome. But Minerva had stubbornly decided to step into the motherly role that had been left unfulfilled and there was no escaping her. The house watched gleefully as she forced the man to slowly, begrudgingly lower his defences and accept the woman’s fussing. It was Minerva who first mentioned a name that piqued the house’s curiosity. One that snatched Severus’ attention with a mixture of annoyance and curiosity. “Hermione Granger?” the man asked in disbelief.

“Yes, Severus, that’s what I said. Nickle approached Horace to arrange an apprenticeship.”

Severus shook his head. “Horace Slughorn will never meet the needs of an educator to the likes of her. There is nothing new that the man can teach her.”

Minerva scolded him, of course, but she left Nickle’s details anyway. Severus wrote to him not an hour later.

Months passed without any mention of Hermione Granger, but then suddenly, there she was. And the house adored her. Kind and fiery and as curious as the boy that the house had once known.

So what if the windows became a bit more transparent when the witch peeked into them one night, looking for company? So what if cooking became more difficult on half-functioning stoves? It kept the two of them together for longer. So what if the supply closet was just a tad smaller when Severus backed the girl into it?

The house savoured their banter, marvelled at the laughter – it had never heard the man laugh before, until her – and grew quiet at the depth of their care for one another.

Hermione eventually became aware of the house’s sentience as well, and once she realised that it took care of them, she started to take care of it as well. She lovingly smoothed out and vanished the markings that the house had once tried to hide, she skilfully scourgified the façade until the house was the brightest in the street, and she kindly asked and thanked it for its services whenever she needed it. Most importantly, she brought happiness to a place that had once been grim.

In return, the house looked after her and Severus, and eventually the little additions to the family – who quickly grew to be not so little anymore. With their parents’ intelligence and quick-wittedness, the house was sure that the Granger-Snape’s were true menaces at Hogwarts, but it was glad whenever the children returned to its own walls.

When Severus Tobias Snape finally found that death that the house had once thought merciful, it was with Hermione holding his hand, pressing a kiss to his brow. It was with his children and grandchildren gathered around him. Generations of happiness born from the boy whose life the house had once deemed so tragic. It had been tragic once, it supposed. But in the end, it was beautiful.