A/N: Wow! I published this with the intention of it being a one-shot. Just an idea that had been bouncing around in my head for quite some time. This may not ever go further than a few chapters; however, I am inspired and grateful for your follows, favs, and comments. Thanks so much! Please don't expect daily updates from me regularly. I write when inspiration strikes, and that's that. I do promise to try and get up a chapter at least once a week though.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Obviously. If I were J.K. - my life would be vastly different I presume. I'm just borrowing her character to play with for a while.

Hermione didn't really remember leaving Severus Snape's house through the kitchen door. She wasn't paying much attention as she practically ran the few blocks to the park where she could apparate. She found an old, rusty swing set and sat down for a moment. Breathe. Deep breaths. What the hell was that all about?! She had just singlehandedly a)failed spectacularly at what was supposed to be a basic task, b)given one Severus Snape an impossible amount of fuel for his horribly rude comments and generally nasty personality, and c)seen something that looked like the edge of a genuine human being in his fathomless dark eyes when he entered the kitchen.

Hermione was confused. She wrapped her arms around herself and errantly thought to be grateful for the late summer weather, lingering sunshine, and an empty neighborhood. After several intense seconds of breathing heavily and slowly in an attempt to calm herself down, she began to do what Hermione did best: analyze. The reason the spaghetti went horribly was simple. She hadn't had a cook book, or library, or frame of reference within the past 10 years to help her. She was simply very unprepared. She should have known better than to try. She shuddered in the warm air at the thought of showing up to a potions class having not the faintest idea of how to brew what was on the board, the wrong cauldron, and no book to reference. She frowned then - transitioning to her last cause of confusion. What had she seen in Snape's face when he stepped into the kitchen? In nearly a decade of knowing the man, she has only once seen real emotion in his features - in Dumbledore's pensieve, watching the memories he had given Harry in what he must have been sure was his hour of death. For his usual glare to soften at the edges, his eyes to widen, the tension in his shoulders to appear to lessen (if only ever so slightly) … well, that wasn't the reaction she had expected to her messy failure. She had been terrified to hear him in the doorway. She was sure he was going to draw his wand and have her pay dearly for what she had done to his lovely kitchen (scratch that - Severus Snape does not own anything lovely) she thought. With that sarcastic aside from her subconscious, she snorted. Just stop it. She chastised herself. Apparition. Right. She had a job to do.

Severus sat at his kitchen table, head in his hands, for what felt like an eternity. He had closed his mind off to all feelings and thoughts countless times during the wars. It wasn't difficult for him to do now. He felt strange though - sitting here in what was obviously a bizarre tableau with no emotion or thought behind his distressed position. He lifted his head and rolled his eyes at himself. What was he, a 17 year-old fool? It had been nearly 20 years since he failed to close his mind from all thoughts completely. He sighed and winced at the growing (quite literal) pain in his neck. New tissue had finally begun to knit itself underneath the mangled layers of skin and muscle. The bloody snake had missed his vocal chords by mere millimeters, thank Merlin; however, the head Healer at St. Mungos had certainly not let him forget that he was able to breathe only due to sheer force of will. His trachea had been punctured through and through. It had collapsed. How he managed to stay alive before arriving at St. Mungos, no one knew. Miss Granger had once commented that muggles called such situations, "miracles" - not that he cared.

For once he was glad that it took her what seemed to be a very long time to come back with food. Yes, he was anxious to change the dressings on his neck and have another round of pain potion - but he apparently needed time to sort his mind out before she got back. Foolish girl! He couldn't have her around while his carefully constructed guard was down. How dare she invade his space and threaten his sense of want as such?! She was his student! Well, not technically anymore. Didn't matter - she had no right to provoke unwanted thoughts and feelings (he sneered outwardly at that word's passage through his mind) in his kitchen. Did she know? Had he carelessly displayed his thoughts on his face for her to see? Had she even bothered to search his face for any thoughts? No, he recalled, she didn't seem to look too long. Just long enough to panic, apparently. Perhaps she hadn't seen his "moment of clarity". He decided then to simply pretend it never happened. Oh sure, he'd make a few snarky comments about her cooking skills and get called a git, but that was the extent of that. He sighed and went to his favorite chair in the living room again, picking up a book he had been reading before her arrival.

Hermione apparated back to her flat in London. She knew every take-out restaurant within a 6-block radius. She deliberated for a moment, not sure if Severus Snape was more of an "Indian" fan or perhaps Chinese? Shaking her head she quickly brought that train of thought to a halt. She did not want nor desperately need to know what type of take-out Severus Snape preferred. She decided that she couldn't go wrong with Fish & Chips, and left her apartment for her favorite place one block over. Once she had received and the food, she walked a few shops down to where she knew a narrow, dark alleyway to be. She apparated back to the park at Spinners End and slowed her steps as she walked closer to his home. Was he angry with her? She had created a terrible mess after all - and wasted more than an hour between her failure of the century and the resulting food run. I have a job to do - anger aside - she reminded herself. She very timidly raised her hand to knock on his front door once again. She may have been a Gryffindor, but knocking on the door of the waspish man whom she had just quite possibly offended and/or angered still left her with lingering doubts as to her boldness.

Severus opened the door again, this time much more slowly and not before affixing his usual glare onto his face. He stood aside for her, and as she walked past he drawled, "Suffice it to say Miss Granger that I will never put my faith in your mundane abilities again." She tried (and possibly failed) to hide her wince as he spoke. She supposed she should have known that was coming. She walked straight through to the kitchen, and stopped abruptly upon swinging the door open. It was once again spotless and immaculately clean. She had just begun to turn her head around to thank him, but he was already so very close behind her. She froze; open mouthed, upper body turned awkwardly half towards him. He gifted her with what could almost be considered a smile if it hadn't looked so malicious on his face. She snapped her mouth shut and marched over to the table, trying desperately to keep her blush hidden. He doesn't get any thanks if he's going to be a smug bastard about it. She thought as she set out their food. Oh gods! What if he didn't want me to eat with him? Why would he? I nearly destroyed his kitchen! She chanced a glance at him as she paused with her food in hand. He simply arched one dark eyebrow at her from his place in the kitchen door and swept over to his seat. As he began setting up his plate as he pleased, she nearly let a sigh of relief escape before muffling it behind her hand and a fake cough.

He pretended to ignore her obvious nervous behavior and began to eat. He would never tell her, but for Fish & Chips from what he was sure was a dismal establishment, it was quite delicious. He very rarely allowed himself to eat such unhealthy fare. For most of his life, it was crucial to maintain his best health for both physical and mental reasons. Now, as he savored the salty, slightly greasy food, he almost smiled at her until he remembered to continue the facade of anger.

She pretended not to watch him from under her eyelashes as she ate. She had never felt so scrutinized while eating before. Although, as far as she could tell, he had yet to actually look at her. What the hell is going on here? She pestered her own subconscious. Is there a reason I'm suddenly aware of how I chew my food, and whether or not my elbows are on the table? An internal debate immediately launched – concerning her foolishness for being concerned with what he thought of her vs. the desperate need to maintain a modicum of decorum after her earlier disaster.

She stopped debating with herself long enough to realize that her (hopefully) empty plate had vanished. She looked around to see her former professor standing in the doorway with that damned eyebrow arched at her again. "If you're quite through with your own foolishness Miss Granger, I believe St. Mungos has sent you here for a reason?" This time she couldn't stop the furious blush that colored her cheeks. How could she be so stupid? Of course he had finished eating and she hadn't noticed. She rose from her spot and followed him back into the living room to begin work on what she was supposed to have done two hours ago. She transfigured his chair once again, and he silently acquiesced by reclining in it. How undignified, he thought as she began to rummage in her bag for supplies. A few moments later he hissed sharply as she gently pulled the gauze away from his wound. The potions he was taking throughout the day were causing new skin tissue to form more rapidly than usual, and today his fears were confirmed when the gauze stuck to that new tissue. He made a mental note to cut his dosage in half as long as she insisted he keep the gauze on. As she worked – quickly, efficiently, and silently – he fought to keep from showing any outward signs of pain. He always kept his eyes closed while she worked at his wounds – being neck wounds she was often very close to him and staring intently at her hands. Keeping his eyes open would have been awkward at best, even for him. He had been hit with Crucio more times than he cared to count, but this? Merlin's beard – this was painful. He cast his mind about for some distraction to the pain, and immediately took notice of the very faint smell nearby. It was … peaceful. Almost tropical. Coconut, perhaps? Or was that citrus? Or floral? Either way, it was a welcome distraction for him. Until he realized that the smell had to be coming from her. He certainly did not keep anything in his home that could be attributed to that smell. It took every ounce of self control Severus Snape possessed to prevent himself from physically vaulting himself out of the chair. That wouldn't do at all. She had to be almost done. He could feel her gently placing new, clean gauze over the now raw wound. It was all he could do to wait patiently for her to be finished before gracefully rising from the chair and maintaining his dignity.

She packed up quickly, and gave a somewhat awkwardly muttered, "Right, well, I'll be here at 5:00 p.m. tomorrow then" before she practically scurried out of his front door. He noticed that she had left an extra dose of pain reliever potion for him, and for once, did not snarl inwardly at her attentiveness to his pain. He flat out refused to even begin to think about his treacherous thoughts concerning the way the girl smelled. Nope. Not going there. At all.