Last chapter sure was controversial! It seemed about half the people who reviewed thought Severus was right, and the other half thought Hermione was. I love it! I also didn't realize I had so many Draco Malfoy fans following this! I hope to do you proud by the time this story ends. As I said, we've not seen the last of him.

Quick point of clarification, folks: Remember, this story was already complete when I began uploading. Nine chapters, in this story, currently equate to approximately 130 single-spaced pages in MS Word and over 50,000 words. To give you some context, 50,000 words is the word count required for a novel according to NaNoWriMo. We still have about a third of the story (aka a novel's worth of adventures) to go before we're done. Plenty of time to tie up all the loose ends, don't worry!

Clara liked her present. No, she loved her present. At least that was the impression Leopold got when, as soon as she saw him at Platform 9 ¾, she ran to him and threw herself into his arms, hugging him and babbling about how brilliant it was that he had done that for her, that her brother had told her that it was a fake signature because Snape was dead, but that she knew better.

She trusted him. She believed in him.

He didn't see Hermione in the back of the platform, hand over her mouth to hide the grin she was unable to suppress. It was sweet, really. Leopold had been silent as to the details of his "special friend" so she hadn't much of an idea of what to expect. Truth be told, she had assumed that theirs was a relationship like Severus and Lily's, a mutual friendship but with one hopelessly besotted with the other, the other oblivious and therefore holding all the power in the relationship. Leopold and the little girl, on the other hand, seemed equally enamored of one another. It was a relationship of equals. Lucky boy.

Hermione tried to remember at what age she had begun to fancy boys. Did she fancy Ron yet back in first year? She knew Ginny had fancied Harry since before her first year, when she was only ten years old, and now here they were, fifteen years later, married and madly in love.

She waited while Leopold boarded the train (he insisted on loading his own trunk) and took a compartment with the redheaded girl. They both waved out the window, but Leopold had eyes only for his friend, who was beaming at her family. Hermione waved back anyway.

According to Neville, Leopold had done quite well last term. She hoped the upcoming term would be more of the same. With his aptitude for learning, a true friend on his side, and the Gryffindor emblem on his chest, Leopold might just avert disaster.

Might.

Hermione knew that if she made a production out of giving him a gift, or even mentioned his birthday, Severus would not accept it. He preferred to keep a low profile when it came to his personal life, even with her to a certain degree. She therefore debated whether it would be best to leave the gift for him on his pillow, where he could obtain it at his leisure, or to hand it to him privately.

She decided on a private hand-off. She kept silent about his birthday all day. Told Harry and Luna not to mention it to them and, above all, not to mention it to any of the children.

She had, however, neglected to warn Neville.

"Severus," he'd called happily as he came out of the floo that afternoon, "Happy birth—"

"Longbottom!" Severus stormed angrily. He flew to his feet and hit him with a tongue-tying curse.

After Longbottom held up his hands in surrender, Severus canceled the jinx and gave him a murderous glare. Longbottom ran up the stairs without risking another word or look.

Severus eyed her warily for the first half of the day and, apparently deciding that if she was going to do something, she would have done already, visibly relaxed after that.

Severus was turning forty-five this year. Not old by Wizarding or Muggle standards, and his life would have been full for a man twice his age, but he still didn't want it acknowledged. He was forty-five, fostering fifteen children, and living with a woman nearly twenty years his junior. He was a former Death Eater, former spy, former professor, and former Hogwarts Headmaster.

Lots of "formers" in his life, come to think of it.

Hermione was young enough that she could still be things if she wanted to. He was old enough that he not only was things, he used to be things. Both of his parents had died by the time they were forty-two. They had seemed so very old at the time, and now he realised that, from this vantage point, they really had been so very young.

All things considered, he couldn't help but feel a bit middle-aged.

When he retired to their room (when had it become "their" room? He had to admit he liked the thought) that evening, after a long day of brewing medicinal potions, speaking with Longbottom about Mr. Clairemont's progress at Hogwarts, speaking with Lovegood about the counseling sessions, attending to one child's panic attack (triggered by the hooting of an owl, which had been the way by which he had learnt of his parents' deaths in the final battle), and avoiding Harry Potter, he was ready to collapse onto the bedclothes and fall fast asleep. It had been a day like any other day. Perfect.

He stopped in his tracks, however, when he saw Hermione perched on his side of the bed with a small parcel in her hand wrapped in green. She had a small smile on his face, as if daring him to admonish her for buying him something on his birthday. He wanted to, badly. No Slytherin accepted a gift outright, ever. They must resist at first, act suspicious, act like accepting the gift is beneath them, and only after the giver has begun to beg the recipient to take it off their hands to they finally accept. Otherwise the giver has too much power over the recipient. Really, it was quite elementary.

Severus, however, found himself unable to play the usual game with Hermione. She looked eager yet sheepish at the same time. She held out the parcel to him, saying nothing. Really, it would be rude not to take it from her. How disappointed she would be if he didn't. Besides, it would be a waste of time to play the game with a Gryffindor; they couldn't help but beg the recipient to take the gift from the get-go and would be personally insulted otherwise.

He sat down next to her on the bed and took the parcel, leaning in and giving her a soft kiss. "Thank you," he said.

"Happy birthday," she whispered, as if saying it at a normal volume would make him reject it. Which it probably would have.

He carefully unwrapped the parcel to reveal a small leather-bound book. It had nothing written on the front or along the spine, and he opened it up to reveal blank pages.

"It's a sketchbook," she offered. "You mentioned that you used to draw and so… here you go. It's enchanted so that only you will see what you draw in it, and it will help improve your technique by guiding your hand based on what you see in your head. Of course, you can cancel that at any time by casting a quick Finite on it, but there it is."

Hermione held her breath as he looked over the gift. She wasn't sure what had possessed her to give him the same gift Lily had all those years ago. It's not like she was jealous of the woman, or felt like she had to match up with her in any way. She rather thought that someone as buttoned-up as Severus (both literally and figuratively) could benefit from some sort of creative outlet. There was a piano in the cellar at Grimmauld Place, but if he played, or if he even could play, she would likely never know. He had very little time, anyway. This was a hobby that he could take anywhere and do at any time and, best of all, do so privately.

At least she hoped he would see it that way, and not as a vain attempt to compare herself with Lily Evans Potter.

"Thank you," he said again, but this time more softly. He tried to convey that he really liked it. Drawing had been a secret passion of his for years; it had taught him how to carefully scrutinise and observe those around him, to understand how certain expressions and body language could convey peoples' motivations and thoughts and feelings. It had taught him how to conduct his observation without being obvious. Really, drawing was the best spy training. It had also been a way to relax, to sort out thoughts, to cement memories. It truly was a thoughtful gift. To make sure Hermione understood that, he added, "I really like it."

She smiled at him. He was not one to pay false compliments or assuage feelings, so if he verbalised that he liked something, he actually liked it. She kissed him again and he wrapped his arm around her.

"I only wish I had more time to do it," he lamented.

"You do," she pointed out. "You have me and Harry and Luna and Neville here all the time, taking care of most of the duties. If you need help making potions, you know that I can manage most, if not all, of what you have to brew. Harry can take over some of the administrative stuff—don't roll your eyes, he really can. If you're still overwhelmed, tell us. That's why we came here in the first place, that's why we bullied our way into your life and insisted on taking up this cause with you."

He offered her a little nod but nothing more. He knew that he could relinquish control of many of those things, but he did not wish to.

"It was very thoughtful of you," he said. He gently set the sketchbook down on the side table and took her in his arms. "I normally do not like my birthday to be acknowledged, but never before has it been done in an understated, personal way. I could have asked for nothing better. So thank you again."

"What do you think you will draw?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Whatever I see, whatever inspires me, whatever is on my mind. I suspect there will be a fair few of you in there as a result, as you fit the criteria for all three."

"You'd want to draw me?"

"Mm hm," he murmured, pulling her down to the bed with him and playing with the thin strap of her vest. "The female body is a work of art, and what better way to appreciate it than to record perfection when I see it?"

She snorted. "My body is hardly perfect, Severus. I have a scar on my chest, another one on my neck, a little extra weight around my mid section, my thighs have always been too large, my breasts are too small and uneven—''

He cut her off with a kiss. "Stop that. You are beautiful. I have always thought so."

"Always?"

"Well, not when you were a student, because such a thing would have been completely inappropriate. I never allowed myself to think that way about any student. But," he said, "in some of my weaker moments I did allow myself an occasional glance and did like what I saw."

"Really?"

"Really."

"You didn't seem to think so my fourth year."

"What happened your fourth…?" his voice trailed off as he remembered a hex and laughter and long buck teeth and his own cruel words, 'I see no difference.'

Surely that could not still be affecting her ten years later?

"Hermione," he whispered, pulling her into his arms. "I make no excuse for that. I am sorry."

She shook her head. "Being stupid," she said. "It was long ago, I was a child, I did have over-large teeth, and we were both different people back then."

"Yes, but I should not have said that, as both a person and especially as a teacher."

"Thank you," she said. "So, you liked what you saw, did you?"

He smiled. "At the Yule Ball, when you were dancing with that Bulgarian blockhead, the eyes of every man in the room were on you, and not because you were on his arm. At Slughorn's Christmas party, when you flounced around in that pink party dress like you didn't know what you looked like." She blushed. "But as I said, I would only allow myself a small glance. Not only was I in a very precarious position at the time, as a teacher it would have been unconscionable of me to even consider a student in that manner."

"But… you did sneak a peek?"

"Well… I am only a man," he said sheepishly.

Hermione licked her lips. "Yes, so I noticed," she said, giving his figure an appraising look, her eyes lingering on the evidence of his manliness. "And it's your birthday, too."

The sketchbook lay on the side table, untouched, for the rest of the night.

Luna had seen much progress with the children through the use of "play therapy"—art therapy, play time, and other ways to get the children to both open up about their families and begin interacting with each other. They were at ease with each other and with the adults they saw every day. But once they got to Hogwarts, things would change. Leopold had been a remarkable case—so far in his first term, he had not had a single disciplinary incident, no reported bullying, no major medical issues, and no hexing beyond that what was normal between Hogwarts students. Whether it was his House or his new name or sheer dumb luck, he was doing well. Luna knew she could not afford to be so optimistic about the others, however, and so she needed to shake up their therapy sessions.

She brought her idea to Severus at the beginning of February.

"Cognitive Behavioural Therapy?" he asked.

She nodded. "Basically train them to calm themselves when they experience their trauma triggers. For some of them it's solitude, others it's darkness, for many of them it's crowds or strangers."

He nodded. "And this would involve what?"

"Well," she began hesitantly, "it would involve having them relive the trauma, focus on the reactions it causes, and training them, bit by bit, to change their reactions to the traumatic memories. That way, when they encounter their 'triggers' they will be more likely to cope with it."

"Is there no other way? Reliving much of that would be intense even for a grown adult, to ask traumatised children…" He shook his head. "I think that may be too much."

"Severus," she said in her dreamy, cheery voice that set his teeth on edge, "What House are most of your children sorted into?"

"They are not my children, Miss Lovegood, and you know very well that all of them have been sorted into Slytherin, save for Mr. Clairemont."

"And where are the Slytherin quarters?" she asked in what Severus considered to be a patronising matter.

"The dungeons."

"And where did they live prior to coming here?"

"The underground space in the orphanage." Comprehension dawned. "You believe that one of the reasons they have historically had so many problems at Hogwarts is that they find themselves living in a dungeon."

"In a room with other children, under ground, with no adult in the immediate vicinity," she finished for him. "I personally have only visited the Slytherin common room once, but I found it a rather dreary existence, and if I had painful memories associated with a windowless, underground living space, I would have a difficult time living there, too."

Severus wanted to ask her on what occasion she visited the Slytherin common room (it would likely have been whilst he was Head of Slytherin), but stopped after he realised he did not want to know. He instead weighed the options. Luna's points were all good, but it was still asking a lot of them.

"What do you suggest?"

"Being wizards, we have a variety of methods at our disposal to allow them to re-live their memories," Luna pointed out.

Severus shook his head. "Their brains are too underdeveloped at this age to withdraw memories and place them in a pensieve, and Legilimency is not an option."

"Why not?"

"I refuse to use it on them. They need to be able to trust me and they never will if they know that I have the ability to enter their minds at my leisure and if I cause them to relive their most painful memories."

"That is a consideration," Luna said. "Is anyone else skilled in Legilimency who could help you?"

He shook his head. "Not to the level I am, and frankly anyone less than a Master at it would potentially cause more harm than good in undeveloped minds."

"Even for simply retrieving memories?"

He sighed. "Hermione does have some background in memory charms, but I don't think her Legilimency skills are sufficient for this."

"There are some Muggle methods of recovery that I could try," Luna offered. "They wouldn't re-live memories the same way we might, but they could at least begin to recall it? Hypnosis, perhaps, would be a good place to start. Muggle hypnosis, that is. Maybe in the future we could add some potions to help sharpen the recollections, but that would be a long time yet. And perhaps at a later date, when they will be ready for more thorough and intensive work in this area, we could consider ways to have them relive the memories through magical means."

"It is worth considering," Severus said. "Much as I am loath to offer any praise on anyone, I would be remiss if I did not say that I have not been disappointed in the way that your methods, however unorthodox they might be, have helped them. They have… come a long way, Luna."

For Severus, this was the most effusive praise and thanks he could give, and Luna knew it.

"You're welcome."

She got up to leave.

"Luna," Severus called as she reached the doorway. "Do you think they will ever get past it?"

She shook her head. "Completely? No. But I do believe that they can learn to live with it to the point that it no longer controls them. I believe that they can eventually learn to control the feelings and memories."

"Can?"

"Can. I cannot say if they will. It depends on a variety of factors."

"I do not accept anything less than perfection, Luna."

"I know, I was your student once. But you may have to learn to accept 'best effort,'" she said, unknowingly echoing Poppy's words from a few months earlier.

It was with a slight sense of shame that Severus decided to make use of the charm Hermione placed on the sketchbook that would guide his hand in order to improve his technique. It had been at least a decade since he had last sat down with a blank sheet of paper for the sole purpose of drawing. Far, far too long.

It was his mother who had encouraged the talent. "Habibi," she had said, "You have the hands of an artist. Use them well."

He went down to the cellar and removed the books full of sketches that he made whilst at Hogwarts and after. He hadn't looked at them in years. It would help him practise (and wean himself off the charm) to look at his style and see if it wouldn't trigger the muscle memory.

His style was precise, just like him. Figures were not drawn stylistically but rather realistically. He used only charcoal so the figures were rendered in black and white with copious shades of grey. He considered that this, too, reflected both his life and personality.

It was late at night. The children had been put down hours earlier, Luna was (to the best of Severus's knowledge) sleeping alone in her bed, and he had left Hermione sleeping tangled in the sheets.

Severus crept back up the stairs to their room and set an armchair at the foot of the bed. He had a good view of Hermione from here—lying on her stomach, arms pillowed under her head, hair flowing messily over her shoulders and down her bare back, and the sheet lying loose across her hip, she was absolutely breathtaking.

Like any good Slytherin, Severus would not put himself or his craft on display until it was perfected. Hermione didn't need to know that she was already modeling for him. It had been many years since he had a live female nude model—he would take advantage of the opportunity.

He flicked his wand and bathed the room in soft candlelight and firelight. There was always low light in the room (Hermione still couldn't sleep in complete darkness) but he needed a bit more to work. He doubted this would wake her up. Conjuring a charcoal pencil and casting a silencing charm on it so that the scratching of it against the paper would not disturb her, he took a deep breath and began.

Hermione honestly hadn't known what was in the book when she opened it. Frankly, she was surprised he hadn't hidden it in his cellar, warded against any intrusion. Once she looked, she knew she should have looked away, but curiosity overcame her and she could not help but flip through the book from cover to cover.

She immediately realised that it was an old sketchbook of Severus's. It had obviously been done a long time ago; the dates in the corner of each page (next to the stylised "SS") were all from 1976 through 1977; this would have been Severus's sixth year at Hogwarts.

Hermione did not know much about Severus's sixth year at Hogwarts beyond his tirades against James Potter and what little Harry knew about Severus and Lily's friendship. According to Harry, James and Sirius had begun to target Severus on the Hogwarts Express their first year and had remained bitter enemies ever since. He had been friends with Lily Evans Potter since before starting at Hogwarts and remained best friends until the end of their fifth year. Severus had nearly been killed by a transformed Remus at the beginning of fifth year. His parents were killed during the summer between his sixth and seventh years, and he had taken the Dark Mark just after finishing at Hogwarts. He had been a reluctant member of the Slug Club and played Chaser for the Slytherin Quidditch team during his seventh year.

There was still a dearth of information about his sixth year.

The drawings were in a simple and realistic style. The figures themselves were the focal point; there was little, if anything, in the way of background or scenery, unless it was a part of the action in the picture. They were charmed to be animated; the drawings came to life and the figures in them moved about as if they were one of the Muggle cartoons Hermione had watched as a child. They weren't Wizarding portraits, she couldn't talk to them or interact with them; the little figures simply repeated their movements in a cycle. She might have thought the charm rather a small trick that would cheapen the picture, but instead it enhanced it. It gave these very real drawings a heart, for lack of a better term, as the figures in the picture expressed emotion and feeling through changing facial expressions and subtle body language.

She knew Severus had been very skilled at observation, and that this contributed to his skill, but she truly appreciated it in the nuance of the work. The small, barely perceptible movements that betrayed a thought or desire or fear. The subtle facial expressions that would change in a heartbeat. How doing nothing could convey so much.

On the first page, a woman with long hair, a thin face, and large almond-shaped eyes was sitting under a tree reading a book; leaves would fall into her hair and she would brush them off, annoyed. In the next page, the same woman lay on what looked like grass, hair fanned out behind her head, skirt riding up her thighs, as she lazily waved a wand above her head, conjuring first birds (Hermione suppressed a smile at this) then bats then fish, a look of satisfaction on her face each time.

This woman, whoever she was, seemed to feature in every one of his pictures. Sometimes she danced in place. Other times she playfully turned away from the page, glancing over her shoulder in a suggestive manner, flirting with the artist. On still other pages she would sleep, Hogwarts tie wrapped around her plaited hair, clothing wrinkled, lying against some pillows on a stone floor.

What Hermione saw in the latter pages surprised her.

There the same woman was… nude… in a bed, sheets rumpled, watching Hermione sleepily with a tired smile on her face. Her expression was… satiated? On the next page, she lay on her side, facing the page, hair messily falling about her shoulders, arm over her breasts, giving the artist a "come hither" look. The series continued: she was lying on her back, completely unclothed and uncovered, arms over her head; she was giggling as she hid her naughty bits from view with her hands; she slept softly but sneaked a peak at the artist.

Whoever she was, the rendezvouz had apparently been their only one. All pictures had the same date.

Abruptly these pictures stopped and only one picture remained. The same girl, fully clothed, was leaning over a desk, scratching something onto a parchment with an old quill. After finishing with great flourish, she held up the parchment for the artist's inspection and blew a kiss.

Hermione's breath caught when she read what was written. It couldn't be; they hadn't been friends anymore at this point, she had cut him off completely.

Lots of Love,

Lily

Maybe the scenes were all drawn from memory, or from Severus's imagination? But they looked too realistic to be anything but drawn from life. Hermione was no artist, and had done little study of art, but she knew what her gut was telling her, and her gut was telling her that this woman, Lily Evans Potter, had posed for every single portrait in this book.

Every single one.

She knew that he had loved Lily. He had told her himself a number of times. His Patronus had changed for her and still stayed with him to this day. He had fought and nearly died in the war for his love for her. As much as Hermione had been aware of all of that, been at peace with all of that, seen the beauty in all of that, she had never considered that the two had ever acted on their feelings, had been in a relationship, had… consummated their feelings for each other.

It was a puzzle, to be sure. Either Severus had a very active and clear imagination (and Hermione knew from experience that this could be true) or the relationship between him and Lily had been far more intimate than anyone had ever known, or been willing to admit.

She knew it would be a risk to ask him about it. It would involve admitting that she had looked through the book, would involve admitting that the ghost of Lily Evans Potter was still a part of their relationship, and would involve what would most likely promise to be a most awkward conversation.

Hermione wrestled with the decision for some time before making up her mind.

When she finally screwed up the courage to do so, Hermione spoke to him without preamble.

"What really happened between you and Lily Potter?"

Oh, Hermione, don't ask the question if you don't want to know the answer!

My knowledge of Cognitive Behavior Therapy is cursory at best. I did do a bit of research on the subject, and it is supposedly one of the best ways to help people of all ages deal with post-traumatic stress, children in particular. Many apologies if I got something wrong about it. Hypnosis is a tool used in therapy, but my understanding is that it has become disfavored because it is prone to manipulation. We'll pretend it works in this story.

"Habibi" is Arabic for "my dear" and is an endearment often used by parents for their male children ("habibti" is the female equivalent). Given their coloring and features, I've decided Severus and Eileen are Arab on her mother's side (maybe that's where his maternal grandmother comes from). Just a little layer to add texture to the character. My Slytherin hails from that part of the world so this is a bit of an homage to him.

We really don't know much about Severus's sixth year, other than the fact that he scribbled in his potions book a lot. I'm about to take liberties with canon, folks. Don't hate me for it.

Coming Up: Deleted scenes from The Prince's Tale, and Hermione drops a bombshell of her own. Theories? Guesses? Hint: NOT pregnant.