The bloody bitch has warded the door.

Less than two weeks here and already I've gone stir crazy. I miss the moors, the howling wind luring me to sleep every night. I miss the uncaring faces of that pitiful town who don't know me from Adam. I miss my freedom.

Granger treats me like an invalid toddler; she won't let me outside, rarely lets me cook and even refuses to let me help with household expenses. I'm lucky I get to piss and shower on my own. I've been strongly considering ripping a hole through the wall but I'm afraid a neighbor may call the police if I start pounding away. I've practically paced a bare patch in her nude colored carpet. My only company is her kneazle, and he isn't saying much. The only things she appears to trust me with are the television remote and dressing myself.

Congeniality my arse.

It isn't like she's even here. Her work keeps her away most days and well into most nights. There has been even one occasion where she was gone for two days with no word; Though I wasn't in the least bit concerned, it was unnerving to not be kept in the loop. The moment she walked through the door I could tell she had been put through the wringer. Her face looked to clean, no doubt a glamor charm. She headed straight for her bedroom without a word. It was only later that evening when I'd heard her sobbing softly through the door I realized the extent of her distress. It turned out a raid had gone poorly, two Aurors had died. She, like always, blamed herself. Granger walked with a limp and that glamor for several days and smiled as though nothing was wrong. Her pride would someday no doubt be her downfall.

I flip through the television channels aimlessly before settling on some comedy show. The sound of laughter makes me feel less alone.

With my wand I could at least break through the wards she's put in place, but I am out of practice. Though one never forgets how to use magic the strength is what is key. After my altercation with Hansel, I realized how unruly my spells had become. My sectumsempra nearly split his cheek in two. While it ultimately worked to my advantage, I had only meant it to be a distraction. Long ago I had tried to learn wantless magic, but my patience had wore thin quickly. Perhaps now was the time for practice.

The knob on the front door turns and in she walks looking just as bedraggled as always. Her curls are piled in a messy bun on top of her head, her makeup less face pale with large circles under her eyes. There is a long scar on her left cheek I've never noticed before. Her glance catches mind and she averts her face quickly by opening the fridge and rummaging through it. She hasn't said anything yet because she already knows what I'm going to say first. I tell her everyday in fact.

"You look like hell Miss Granger." And I mean it. She truly does.

She sighs and pours herself a glass of water, her back towards me, "Thank you. How was your day?"

"Morose and dull. Prison-like. I considered lighting your putrid kneazle on fire but he hid the matches. I also shaved with your razor, I hope you don't mind."

She nods absentmindedly and heads towards her room with a quiet, "That's nice," and I know she hasn't heard a work I said. Her door shuts and I know I won't see her until dinner.

When she emerges from her chamber with wet hair and glamor in place at around nine I already have the food prepared. She eyes the table with confusion but sits obediently when I tell her to. I don't often cook meals so her puzzled expression gives me a warm feeling. Perhaps I have grown soft with age.

She eats, but it is truly more like picking. I notice she doesn't eat much.

"Is my cooking that foul Miss Granger?" I ask sarcastically.

She jumps in her chair, like she's forgotten I'm even here, "Oh! No, it's delicious Severus. Thank you."

I gesture towards her plate with my knife, "Don't lie to me. You have barely eaten three full bites and have managed to migrate the potatoes halfway round your plate. Either eat, or don't. No good sense in wasting food."

"No," she mumbles and eats a bite of chicken.

Somewhat more satisfied I continue eating, all the while watching her. I feel like her husband and I am old enough to be her father. Hermione is far to thin for my liking and obviously tired. Why I even care is beyond me. She's holding me hostage. I should hate her, but I don't.

'Her face is pretty.' This thought comes out of nowhere and stuns me momentarily. Her cheekbones are high, her nose small and pert, her eyes large and her bottom lip full. The glamor charm is distracting and irks me. I want to see her true face. As she eats I concentrate; I may not have a wand, but I do have will. Before long my thoughts culminate and the glamor has melted away. She doesn't notice. The scar on her cheek is fairly new, probably obtained after the recent raid. It's still red and angry. The skin under her eyes is dark, almost bruise colored. She looks like she hasn't slept in weeks.

I suddenly realize she is staring at me. Her eyes are full of tears.

"Is this really what you wanted to see?" she whispers thickly, "I don't know how you did it, but are you satisfied now?"

"Hermio-"

A tear slips down her cheek and she quickly wipes it away with her shoulder, "It's just as well. I have no one to impress. It must make you feel good, to see the 'brightest witch of her age' a horrid mess. You have always hated me, wanted to see me fail,"

For some reason her words hurt me. Maybe because I know I have in fact said them. Was I really so cruel? Though I want to apologize, what comes out is biting, "Don't go putting words in my mouth, you know nothing about of your short comings are my fault, only your own."

She shoves her plate away from her and stands, "I'm no longer hungry. I will unward the door and leave your wand on the table. Get out."

With that she walks back to her room and slams the door, leaving me still sitting at the table. Sure enough, I feel the magic from the door lifted and my wand appears before me.

So, that's it then. Freedom.

I grab my wand and stand, fully prepared to make a break for the door but pause when I hear the soft crying. She is suffering. For some reason I am hesitating. Leaving would be the smart thing, but then she would be alone. There is a strange ache in my gut, maybe it is guilt. Maybe just a mutual understanding of her pain. A sigh escapes me and I glance over towards the couch at Crookshanks who is eyeing me. His tail swishes as if to say, 'You know what to do.'

After slipping my wand into my room, I quietly make my way to her door. She must hear me, because the crying stops. Though I don't hear her move, I know she's listening. Sighing again, i sit down beside the door frame. My left knee still aches, so I stretch it out and attempt to make myself comfortable. It's going to be a long night.

There is still no crying after several minutes, so I say quietly, "I know what you're going through Hermione. It's painful to lose those you care about; and trust me I know loss. It hurts, but then…it just doesn't. It's no consolation, but things do get better with time." Still no movement from her side of the door. Maybe she fell asleep. I don't know. What comes out of my mouth next sounds shy, and I don't know what possesses me to say it, "For the record, I think you are beautiful. Even with that scar. I have lots of them. These ten years have been…kind to you. You should never let something like that define you, just… oh bloody hell what am I even saying." I rest my head against the cool wall and for some reason it comforts me. Some time passes and my eyes slowly drift shut. While on the brink of sleep I think I hear the noise of her door creaking open, but it is probably just a dream.