It was pouring buckets the following morning; the sort of utterly drenching, cold volleys of water that made clear that winter was preparing to come early, regardless of what the calendar said. Hermione sat huddled on her sofa with Crookshanks, wrapped in her thickest flannel dressing gown, mind spinning in useless circles.

'Don't fucking touch me.'

Severus' words still rang her in ears, having not lost any of their ability to wound despite the hours that had passed. Alongside the hurt, however, anger had started to grow; oddly enough, most of her ire was not directed at him, but rather herself.

Oh, she was mad at him. Not just for what he had said, but deeply frustrated that he refused to ask for help- or even accept help- when he so clearly needed it. She was disappointed by his lack of trust, and by the fact that he had reverted to form by lashing out at others. But that was just it: he had reverted back to form. None of this behaviour should have surprised her; it wasn't as if he was acting out of character. And truly, given all the baggage of his past, she did not blame him.

No, she was mostly mad at herself. Not for caring about him, precisely, but because she'd put herself into a situation where she was guaranteed to get hurt. She hadn't protected herself at all. There had been all sorts of warnings- and if Hermione was perfectly honest, he had bluntly delivered the majority of them- that she had wilfully ignored. He had placed boundaries, and she had stepped over them… and then did it again. And again for good measure.

But is it all really as simple as that? The fact that we managed to change an apprenticeship binding ceremony into an esoteric soul bond rather speaks to the fact that a part of him wants more than he's willing to admit. His memories certain reinforced that… I'm sure it matters, though… his self-loathing is so intense that he doesn't think that he deserves a scrap of happiness. And his fear of being rejected is just the nail on that particular coffin.

Really, their very first fight at his cottage outside of Manchester had step the stage for all that had followed, and was indicative of their biggest, and reoccurring point of conflict. She had told him that night that she was grateful that he was alive; he had lashed out at her, unable to see any of the good in his actions, nor accept that she held him in high regard. Moreover, he had told her, rather baldly, that he wished he could excise that part of him that did care about that sort of thing. He had even gone so far as to say that he regretted becoming friends with Harry's mum.

How had he put it? "I absolutely rue the day I became friends with her. Had I not… I never would have learned to care, or to wish for love, to long for friendship and trust. I could have gone my entire life without knowing the utter futility of regret." Not exactly a beacon of hope for the future, that sentiment…

So where does that leave me?

Well, I certainly can't try to 'heal' him. If he so much as got a whiff of that sort of thinking, I'd be thrown out on my bum so fast it would rival the speed ofApparition. I have to take him at his word about what he wants, even if his thoughts might indicate something else. And while I can't exactly put a stop to caring about him- no matter what Minerva says about distance, I'm not going to just revert back to being his colleague or apprentice because it's the safe option- I've also got to do a better a job at protecting myself; he can't be the only one I rely on for support or friendship.

As for the mess with the soul bond… if he doesn't come talk to me in the next couple of days, I'll talk with Minerva again; between the two of us, we should be able to figure out most of the practical details.

Crooks gave an irritated rumble, nudging her hand, and she resumed stroking him. Looking down at his beloved, squished, orange face, she bit back a smile. "So, my familiar feline, the plan going forward is rather simple. I have to trust him… but not too much, lest I come to rely on him or overstep further his boundaries. Likewise, I need to be here for him, but I also need to protect myself. Oh, and I need to care about him, but make sure that I don't care too much about him..." She gave a snort, feeling hysterical sort of humour in the situation. "This should work out just fine, shouldn't it?"

The floo sputtered to life, and Neville's voice suddenly interrupted her messy ruminations. "Hermione? Are you there?"

Taking her wand from her pocket, she waved it at the fireplace, lowering the wards. "It's open."

Neville stumbled through, rather much like his younger self would have. "You look like shite, Hermione," he said, after gazing at her for a long moment.

"So do you," she countered with no heat, and patted the sofa next to her. "Pomona is covering your classes?"

He nodded, a slow flush flowing across his features. "Yeah, for the rest of the week."

"Taking time following your father's death isn't skiving off, Neville."

"I know," he murmured glumly, reaching over to pet Crookshanks' furry, fluffly belly. "But it's not like I really knew him, or anything. And he is better off…"

She arched a challenging eyebrow. "Do I really need to lecture you about sheer foolishness of that statement?"

"No. Minerva has. And Pomona. And Poppy."

"Then do yourself a favour and listen to one of them." She paused. "When is the funeral?"

"Wednesday afternoon. Minerva is getting as many supply teachers as she can to cover the last period. Filius will stay behind so that the rest of the senior staff can go."

"I'm surprised that you're having it so soon," Hermione told him.

"Neither Gran or I wanted to stretch matters out."

"Do you need any help setting up, or anything?"

"No," he said, and then explained. "It's a Pureblood custom to send a House-elf over when someone dies until all the proper rites of mourning have been observed. There are so many elves at the Manor right now that it's beyond claustrophobic. That's why I've stayed here…"

Hermione bit her lip, wondering if she should ask the question that had been on her mind since learning of Frank Longbottom's death. "How's your mum doing?"

Neville's hand stilled briefly, and then resumed the movement. "I dunno. She's… less aware, and hasn't left her bed since they took Da away. I don't think…" he stopped, swallowing hard, "I don't think that it'll be long."

Feeling another round of tears coming on, Hermione took a deep breath in. "Oh, Christ, I'm so sorry, Neville…"

He smiled was more of grimace. "It's okay. I just want it to all be over. I know that sounds terrible of me…"

Hermione reached over and squeezed his arm. "No, it doesn't. Not at all. You don't want them to suffer, and there's nothing selfish in that." The comment made her think of her own parents, and she suddenly couldn't hold back the waterworks.

Neville hastily pulled out a wad of tissues from his pocket and handed them to her.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, dabbing at her eyes. "I shouldn't be the one crying…"

"Do I need lecture you on the foolishness of that statement?"

"No," she said, managing a wet chuckle. "It's been a crap week all around, hasn't it?"

"Most certainly." Pulling an empty blue bottle of Sobering Potion from his pocket, he placed it on the coffee table. "I didn't actually come here to make you cry, you know. I came to say thank you for having the elves deliver that this morning. I swear, that's stuff industrial strength, it is."

She looked at the bottle, her stomach doing a peculiar flip-flop. "I didn't send it to you."

Neville froze. "And I supposed it would to much to ask for either Poppy or Minerva to have sent it?"

"No. That's the special formula that only Severus brews."

He hung his head, covering his face with his hands. "Oh, fuck me." The words came out muffled. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck…"

"Neville…" she inquired softly. "What exactly happened last night?"

"You mean besides me being a complete bastard?" He still hadn't raised his head.

"Look at me," she implored, and he obeyed reluctantly. "What happened?"

"I was with Gran all of yesterday, making the arrangements for the service. We finished about half-past six and I went to St. Mungo's to visit Mum… I saw her, and… it was bad. I came back to the Castle, and broke open a bottle of fire whiskey in Greenhouse Five. I didn't want to think about things any more, you know?" he asked pleadingly, and she nodded. "I got pissed. Royally. And then Snape came down."

His face went blank for a second, and when he spoke again his voice had gone dull. "He was in a mood, that was clear enough. And then… all I could I see was his Dark Mark. The moonlight… it made it positively glow on his arm. It's funny," he said in an aside. "He doesn't seem to care if anyone sees it now, or his scars from Nagini. He's got stones, that's for certain…"

"I don't think that necessary the move of confidence you think that it is, Neville," Hermione said, thinking it that was far more likely to be yet another way he was punishing himself.

He shrugged. "Anyway, he stood there with that bloody sneer on his face- you know the one I'm talking about- and I just wanted to punch him. Hard. I wanted to make feel him the pain, for once, of being mocked and humiliated…" His brown eyes met hers, and she saw shame suffuse his features once more. "So I taunted him. He didn't bite. Then I asked- demanded, really- if he had known about the attack on my parents…"

"Oh…" Hermione exhaled, at loss to say anything else.

"He told me no. Said that he'd been kept here and wasn't able to leave after Harry's parents were killed. The thing is, he answered my question- he wasn't even that rude about it. Mind you, it was clear that he didn't want to answer, but he did. Maybe it was guilt, I don't know…"

Neville stared at the floor for almost a minute before continuing. "I understand so little about my parents lives beyond the basics, and I've always wondered if Snape knew them- after all, he knew Harry's parents, and Lupin… anyway, my curiosity got the better of me. I asked again, and he started to tell me about my father. It was so… weird. I mean, he never speaks about people in glowing terms- its all-backhand complements and dark sarcasm- but he did about my dad. And then I asked about my mum."

Hermione handed Neville back the tissues so he could wipe his own damp face. "Thanks," he said a little thickly. "Snape… he didn't really know my father all that well, but I guess he was pretty good friends with my mum. It… it hurt him to talk about her." He took a couple of deep breaths in. "Oh, Merlin, Hermione… it was horrible. I made him cry. I don't even think that he realized it at first, but then he looked so humiliated by it. It made me feel like a total bastard, at first, but then that part of me that had been so mad at him came roaring back, and I started yelling at him."

"Neville Longbottom yelled at Professor Snape and lived to tell the tale?" Hermione asked sardonically.

"Yeah, I know, right? Hell hath frozen over, or whatever that Muggle saying is." He got up from the sofa, appearing distinctly uncomfortable. "What he was saying just didn't make any sense to me. I mean, if he respected my parents so much, why was he so beastly when I was a student?" Neville shook his head ruefully. "Not surprisingly, he lost his temper at that point, and started screaming back. Told me to sod off, basically. That I should watch everyone around me die pointless deaths, and then watch their children prepare to do the same, and see how that feels."

"It's not a bad argument," she agreed quietly. "On the other hand, Minerva, Filius, and Pomona were far less… abrasive than him, and they went through the same sort of thing."

Neville's mouth quirked at her response. "And here I thought that you liked him."

"I do," Hermione answered. "And given everything thing Severus went through- the war, and spying, and teaching- I understand why he reacted the way he did. The others didn't have half the stressors that he had, so it's not really a fair example. But I also don't think that given a perfect world he would turn into Mr. Sunshine, either."

He thought about that for a moment, and then came and sat back down on the sofa carefully. "That doesn't exactly sound like a ringing endorsement of how matters are fairing between the two of you."

Hermione sighed. "I don't mean it as criticism. I just… well, like I said, it's been a crap week all around, and I've feeling rather done in at moment. My inner cynic is a little more present than I'd like."

Neville smirked. "Is that your inner cynic, or inner Severus?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Go ahead and laugh it up, plant boy…"

"Alright, alright… seriously though, it sounds like it's my turn to ask the uncomfortable questions."

"There is no need," Hermione said firmly, wondering what Neville's reaction would be if she told him about the soul bond. It would be highly entertaining, if anything. "Besides, we aren't done with what all happened last night. Pomona?"

"Not a clue. I know they don't get on, but she's never really explained why. She was absolutely stunned when Minerva said that he was coming back to Hogwarts, and in the Head of House meetings, they pretty well ignore each other."

Interpreting Hermione's look, Neville put a hand up. "I'll ask her in a few days- there's no point in doing it at the moment. She'll just pat my head and tell me to not worry my poor little self."

"That must get rather annoying," Hermione said, with a smirk of her own.

"It is. Believe me, as much as I respect Pomona, we're friendly, not friends. She was wonderful to apprentice under, don't get me wrong, but she still sees me as a clumsy eleven-year old, and it rather puts limits our relationship." Ruefully, he added, "Truthfully, seeing how well you and Snape get on- even though it squicks me out sometimes- makes me a little jealous."

Once again, Hermione's expression gave her away. "Hermione, what's gone wrong between the two of you? I know that you got into a rather large row on Thursday…"

"And what gave you that impression?" she questioned, tone sharp.

"Besides the fact that he was back to being the horribly scary Great Bat of the Dungeons on Friday?" Neville asked rhetorically. "I could feel the disturbance through the wards Thursday night."

"What does that mean, anyway?" Hermione exclaimed, frustration punctuating her words. "Minerva said the same thing, and it just makes you all sound like a bunch of wannabe Jedi Masters!"

He stared at her for several beats before speaking. "Uh, I only understood about half that comment. Jedi Masters… that's from that Muggle film, Star Trek, right?"

"Star Wars, not Trek. Star Trek was the television show, although there have been films…"

"Same difference," he protested.

"Not at all," she countered swiftly. "Would you say that Fanged Geraniums and Venomous Tentacula are the same because they are both happen to be dangerous plants?"

"No. Point taken, Professor."

"I am the Muggle Studies Professor, Neville. It behoves me to know my subject in a thorough manner as possible…"

"Or maybe you just don't want to answer my question, and take a perverse pleasure in being pedantic." Neville said, tone gentle but gaze remaining firm.

"You're right, I don't want to talk about it," Hermione admitted. "But I will, if you are that determined to be a nosy parker. Just answer me first about the wards... It's been driving me batty every time I hear one of you say it."

"The Hogwarts Wards have two interlinked parts: the inherent magic that was created in the building of the Castle, and the protective magic stemming from the senior staff. As Heads of House, we get brought into the Hogwarts Web via an act of blood magic. The Wards then draw on a bit of our magic all the time, making them stronger. While it can be somewhat draining until you become used to it, the linking allows us to control the Wards far easier than otherwise, and allows us to sense when there is a magical disturbance on the grounds. You know all those things that we thought we got away with as students?" He laughed. "Well, we didn't- trust me when I say, you can tell when the usual miscreants are up to no good."

"What does it feel like?"

"Ummm… well, rather like sitting in the centre of a web would feel like, I imagine."

"Helpful, Neville."

"That's the truth, Hermione… I couldn't sense the any of details, and only knew that it involved Snape because his magic is so strong and so ruddy distinctive." Neville tried again. "It's like listening to a car go by when you can't see it. You know the general direction, and how fast it's going, but not necessarily what kind it is, or who's in it. Occasionally, I can sense a bit of the mood- Thursday night, for example, was just this massive burst of…emotion, and sometimes I can tell that Minerva has a… friend over, because she's, uh, very happy."

"Wait, you can tell when Minerva..?" Hermione asked, gobsmacked.

Neville had turned beet-red. "Yeah. I try to ignore that, and not look too inquisitive the next morning at the Head Table."

Thinking of Minerva's appreciation for privacy- much like her own- Hermione made a face. "Has someone thought to mention this to her?"

"She's the Headmistress, Hermione. I highly doubt that she isn't fully aware of that little quirk of the Wards."

"I don't think that she is," she argued. "It's not like Dumbledore was the type to bring a lad up to his rooms, and as far as I know, Minerva is the only one of the Heads to have been married, or even linked to anyone seriously…"

"Thanks for the mental image… I did not need to picture Dumbledore doing… that."

"Just think about, Neville. If you ever get a girlfriend, Severus will know exactly what you've been up to." Hermione let her statement hang in the air like the threat it was.

"Never," he said, groaning, "…have I ever been so thankful to be single." Eyes snapping open, he stared at her. "Wait, does that mean Thursday night wasn't a row, but you two having it off?"

"No!" Hermione shot back, her own blush rapidly covering her face. "Nothing of the sort. It was a verbal disagreement. And it wasn't about… that."

"Oh, really?" Neville drawled.

"Really," she stated, hoping like hell that Neville wouldn't push for many details. I don't mind him knowing about the soul bond, but I'm not going to tell him any more than I have to until Severus and I have that talk. "Severus neglected to tell me several important things, avoided me for a day when he realized he had been found out, and then did a piss-poor job of apologizing."

"A likely explanation," Neville said with a nod, "…but it doesn't explain the massive influx of energy, nor emotion, that got dumped into the Wards during your fight."

"Severus has a temper. So do I," Hermione asserted.

To her relief, Neville backed down. "Fine. It was a mere spat. I shall not inquire further."

"It's not like that," she said, and grabbed his hand. "I've spoke to Minerva at length about what happened, but I'm not comfortable talking about any further until Severus and I have ironed things out, alright?"

"Fair enough."

Hermione glanced at the clock and winced. "Right, I don't mean to kick you out, but I do need to get to ready to teach in an hour."

Neville rose, and the offered her a hand up. "Say no more..."

Reflecting on their conversation, Hermione decided that she had best make one other point clear, lest it fester. "Neville, for what it's worth, I don't think that you were a complete bastard for asking Severus about your parents…"

His eyes hardened. "Perhaps."

She sighed with mild irritation. "Your methods, timing, and execution weren't great, I'll grant you that. But it's not like Severus is a person who you can easily force into something, either. I think that there was a part of him that did want to talk about your parents, especially if he liked them as much as you say he did. Moreover, a large part of his poor demeanour due to the fight we had, and, I imagine, whatever the disagreement between him and Pomona was."

"If you say so," he said, still not looking totally convinced.

"I do, and I will remind you that I know him a lot better than you do. Now, get moving, or I'll have to chose between eating or taming my hair."

"You know, there are charms for that sort of thing," Neville challenged, a slight smirking appearing as he went back through the floo. "I'm sure that Filius would be happy to provide you with a spot of extra tutoring if need be."

"Bugger off, Professor Longbottom, before I demonstrate a few of the charms that I do know…"

The week was total loss, as far as Snape was concerned, and by the time Wednesday rolled around, he was almost grateful for Frank Longbottom's funeral because it meant one less hour of teaching. He had spent the last several days in a state of mingled relief and discomfiture; everyone- including his apprentice- had left him well alone, which while giving him the chance to regain the better part of his composure, had also made him feel like a latter-day, self-indulgent Typhoid Mary.

Once the impression of gutting defencelessness had receded, the solitude had started to grate on him. That particular feeling had caught him by complete surprise; he had gone several contented years with no real social contact other than Lucius, and had spent large portions of his first tenure at Hogwarts alone, all by choice. Then, the silence had been the only thing that would sooth his frayed nerves, and being alone was the only time that he could let his guard down enough to properly relax. Now… it only served to wind him up further; likewise, the knowledge that he had to be the one to bridge the gap between himself and the others served to further sour his mood.

It would be, he knew, simple enough to apologize to both Minerva and Poppy- he'd done little more than snarl at them sufficiently enough to insure they kept their distance- but the mess with Hermione was a fine kettle of fish indeed. She had been hurt badly by his rejection; that had been clear even in the moment. All week, the knowledge of her pain had burned in his stomach like a radioactive lump, and there was a part of him that wanted to go to her and ask for forgiveness before she cut him out of her life entirely.

Ironically enough, it was their soul bond that stopped him from doing so. The mere thought of being pushed over that abyss once more, of nowhere to hide and nothing left unseen, caused him to break into a cold sweat; if she were to touch him, and it happen again…

Thankfully, for once the students had been smart enough to not test his temper; looking out at his third-year, Slytherin/Hufflepuff section, Snape sneered. There were times that having a fearsome reputation came in handy, and this was one of them.

"Time is up. Promptly place a stasis charm on your potion and decant it. You may leave once your area is clean."

As the class duly fled from his class to the more cheerful confines of Great Hall, Minerva's House Elf popped into his classroom.

"The Headmistress is asking for you to join her for lunch, Professor Snape."

He eyed the elf for a long moment, wondering if he was truly in that much trouble, or if this was Minerva's way of showing concern and allowing him an easy out. Either way, he reasoned, that is far less of a request than it appears… and making up with her will hopefully smooth the way with Poppy and Hermione.

"Please tell the Headmistress that I will join her as soon I finish washing several items."

The bloody creature shook her head, causing its ears to flop nosily together in a manner reminiscent of a wet dog. "We is doing any cleaning, the Headmistress says."

Right. In trouble then… He glared at the elf as he slowly peeled off his gloves; unfortunately, the House-Elves were mostly immune to his ire after so many years of dealing with his temper.

"Very well," he grumbled, and made for door.

But when he reached her office, it was to find her pinched and sallow, rather than flushed and angry. A niggle of shame made him pause; Minerva had a fairly decent poker face when required, but he had known her long enough to see the small signs of grief currently marring her expression. She admitted as much with her greeting.

"I couldn't take another noisy meal in the Great Hall, but I also wasn't keen on sitting up here and eating all by myself, either. I hope you don't mind…"

"No. I'll not complain when you give me a ready-made excuse to forgo eating in front of the collected Mongol Hordes."

She gave him that little Scottish snort, and waved him towards the side table laden with food. Wandering over, he peered at the myriad offerings, mind still churning over the uncomfortable realizations of earlier in the day. Why, he thought, resentment flaring, has sequestering myself only made things worse? And why the fuck is 'sorry' so hard to say?

"May I fix you a plate?" he inquired, remembering his manners only belatedly.

From behind her desk, she said, "No, don't bother. Help yourself; I just need to finish with these requisition slips, and I'll come and get something."

Snagging the makings for a roast beef sandwich, he contemplated how much horseradish sauce he could safely risk. While he wasn't worried about any offensive odours- there were plenty of charms for that sort of thing- the stress of the last week had resulted in him experiencing a resurgence of acid reflux. I have got to get this sorted out. I'll be damned if I suffer through another ulcer, but I'm not going back on a bland diet, either…

With a muffled thump, Minerva pushed her chair back and joined him. Her expression held no real interest in the food before them, and Snape could tell that she was eating solely because she knew that she had to.

"How are you holding up?" he asked quietly.

"Not particularly well," she told him, manner blunt. "Frank was a good friend…. and now we've lost him twice. And Alice… well, it's not going to get any easier, and quiet honestly, I'm too damn old to take this gracefully."

"How old, precisely, do you need to be when you can stop taking things 'gracefully'?" He smirked. "I'm only asking a friend, of course…"

Minerva made a face at him. "You've a few decades left, lad, before you can start using that as your excuse for poor behaviour."

"Pity."

Her gaze was steady on his when she asked her question. "And just how are you holding up?"

Giving her a chiding look, his only answer was to taking an overly large bite of his sandwich. Seeing that she really meant to talk- and knowing that this really would be his best opportunity to start mending matters- he resignedly chewed and finally made an answer.

"I am holding up about as well as one would expect, I imagine."

"I've had several long conversations with Hermione," Minerva matter-of-factly told him. "And as I see it, there are several things that need to done, and done quickly." Well, at least she doesn't seem too mad at me. I wonder how much Hermione actually told her? Does she realize that it's a soul bond? She must…

"By all means… enlighten me."

His poor attempt at sarcasm was ignored. "First, you need to recast the Prewett Wards. I think that a good deal of your current poor temper is due to their affects. And before you start going off on me," she stated firmly, "…I am well aware that you are a powerful wizard, and would normally have no issue being the primary holder of another set of wards, but there is madness in the Prewett bindings that even I can feel. They are clearly having an ill effect on you, and are starting to work on Miss Prewett. I've noticed that she's started holding herself back from even her brothers, and I won't let it continue any further."

Minerva's words were not what had expected, and even more so her revelation about Miss Prewett's state of mind. Could I have been so blind? he thought. Could part of why I feel so unlike myself be due the Wards, rather than the soul bond? It was definitely possible, and Snape recalled the sensation of foul corruption quite strongly. That might also be why I've struggling so much with my Occlumency…

"You truly think that is part of the problem?" Snape asked as neutrally, something akin to relief flowing through him at the notion. Were it true, recasting the Prewett Wards might well help to restore the better part of his equanimity… and his control over himself.

The Headmistress was not at all fooled by his sudden nonchalance. "I do." With a sigh, Minerva put her fork down and stared blankly at the empty portrait of Albus Dumbledore. "Severus…" she finally began, "...during the apprenticeship ceremony, or rather, once the bond had manifested it's self… what was your primary emotion?"

"You mean, other than shock?" he asked dryly.

"Yes, of course, other than shock," Minerva confirmed, sounding annoyed. "We were all rather stunned by the whole thing, I assure you."

The memory of Hermione, pressed hard against him, one delicate hand clutched in his came to him then; the smell of lemon verbena and spice, acceptance and need… a damn near giddy joy following her assertion that neither of them were alone any more.

His eyes snapped to Minerva's as realization dawned. "It felt safe."

She nodded. "Now, contrast that feeling with Thursday evening."

It had felt wrong, on an elemental, basic level… a violation and stripping of the worst sort. Severus' mouth opened, but no words came out.

"I understand," Minerva remarked carefully, "…that the events on Thursday were far more… involved than during your Binding, and thus would have provoked a much stronger reaction. I cannot, for the life of me, imagine being comfortable with having someone else in my head, never mind privy to all my thoughts and memories. Given the number of times that both Albus and Voldemort took certain liberties with your person, I can completely understand if your first reaction was not joy at the sudden intrusion." A hint of humour coloured her tone, and her gaze was compassionate. "But Severus, what you felt on Thursday- did it not have more in common with what you experienced breaking into the Prewett Wards than it did the Binding?"

"Yes," he said, breath escaping in a ragged burst. "Damn me, but I do think you are correct, Minerva…"

She smirked, but her eyes stayed warm. "The combination of the Wards, and your bond with Hermione is inimical at best; I think that the instability and Dark magic of Prewett Wards is currently colouring all of your interactions. Do you not now agree with me about the necessity of recasting?"

Severus nodded his head in agreement. "I was hoping to put it off a bit, but the sooner the better, I think…"

"To that end, I suggest that we go and speak with Miss Prewett before we go to Frank's funeral; she needs to decide who else she wants brought into the Wards, and given that the almost the entirety of Pureblood Society will be there, it would be a most efficient time to request assistance."

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose, doing some quick calculations in his head. "She'll need at least five people in order to decrease the drain to what I would consider negligible. Who are you thinking of?"

"Molly, of course, and perhaps Bill as well, given that he could be considered the eldest remaining male of the Prewett line. You, and although Miss Prewett won't like it, Hermione- given the nature of your bond, I don't think that there is a choice. Felix Greengrass and his wife…"

"Her brothers, as well. It should be safe enough once we recast."

"A plan, then," Minerva said. "I've wrangled Dorcus Mulligan from St. Mungo's for the afternoon. We can have her cover the reminder of your classes…" Seeing his doubtful expression, Minerva added, "She can either lecture them on Healing potions, or run the sections as a study hall, your decision."

"I suppose it is safe enough to have her discuss her work…"

Minerva rolled her eyes at his reluctance. "Come now, Severus. If she can handle first-year Healer trainees, then she should have no problem with your classes."

"Fine," he grumbled.

"Eat the rest of your lunch," she ordered, and picked up her fork.

"Yes, mother," Severus said in a dutiful whine calculated to annoy.

"Use that tone again, young man, and I shall be forced to lecture you on any number of other issues." Minerva's threat wasn't said completely in jest, if her sudden glare was anything to go by. For a moment, she seemed to contain herself, but then she gave a low growl and launched into him.

"Jesus Christ Above, Severus! A soul bond, and you didn't bother to tell her!"

He stared at her, taken aback by the language but not the chastisement. "Did you just use the Lord's name in vain, Minerva? In the forty years I've known you, I don't recall you ever doing so…"

"As the eldest child of a vicar, I'd bloody well hope not!" She visibly reined in her disapproval. "And of all the parts in my question, that is what you chose to focus on?"

"What would you have me say? I wasn't totally sure myself what it was until the day we went to Prewett Hall."

His casual dismissal only served to rile her up further. "So you were what, only ninety-five percent sure, rather than one-hundred?"

"I repeat, Minerva, what would you have me say? Yes, it was not the smartest move. Yes, I should have told her as soon I suspected what was going on. I did not, and there were several significant reasons for it." Stomach churning, he pushed the remains of his lunch away. I do not want to have this conversation now… or ever.

"Why?" she challenged.

Why? he thought, resentment crystallizing into a hard-edged anger within him. Because I don't want to be reliant on someone else for my peace of mind ever again. Because I don't want to care about her, not when I know that it's going to hurt me in the long run. If seeing what I truly am hasn't already convinced her to abandon ship, she'll eventually move on once she realizes how little I have to offer her other than my knowledge. It'll be like Lily, all over again: once she's found her footing, she won't need me any more. Oh, she'll be far kinder about it, to be sure, but that will make the brush-off all the worse. If I let myself care about her… no matter how it felt, she's not safe, not for me at any rate…

"You don't want me to answer that question, Minerva."

His flat, cold answer did not deter her. "Severus…"

"No." He rose, pulling his robes tighter around him. "I will go speak to Miss Prewett."

"Oh, for Pete's sake… sit down," Minerva spat. "Finish your lunch- that is an order, in case you were wondering- and give me enough time to eat mine so we can go down together."

It was incredibly tempting to ignore her words and just storm out, as he had done so many times before. There wasn't anything that she could do to stop him, after all. But it was the recollection of Minerva's words concerning the effects of the Prewett Wards that finally decided matters; he wasn't going to let the sodding things make a bigger fool of him then they already had. Besides which, she wasn't Albus, and deserved more respect than he was currently giving her.

"Fine," he bit out, and sat.

For once, Poppy did not have any other patients other than the Prewetts; she was sitting with them by the long windows, and the four of them were playing Scabby Queen.

"Good Afternoon, Madame Pomfrey," Minerva intoned, a certain crispness still evident on her vowels.

"Headmistress, Professor Snape," the Healer replied with a smile. "I have some good news to report. These two young scallywags," she pointed with her cards, "…are officially well enough to be discharged."

"That is good news, indeed. How would you like to see your rooms?" The Headmistress' voice had softened as she gazed at the towheaded boys.

"Rooms?" Lucretia Prewett queried. She appeared tired, Snape noted, the dark shadows underneath her eyes seemingly having only gotten larger since the last time he had seen her.

"Rooms," the Headmistress confirmed. "We certainly would not stick you back into the dormitories and expect you to make do; with some prodding, the Castle has provided us with a set of quarters off the Slytherin Common area complete with your own sitting and bathrooms."

"Can we, Lu? Please?" one of the boys asked, practically bouncing in his chair.

"Of course," she murmured, but did not look very excited by the prospect.

Minerva took lead, answering the Prewett brothers avalanche of questions as they walked through the Castle; for his part, Snape watched Miss Prewett as she trailed behind the Headmistress. It did appear that something was bothering the girl. The fire and determination that had so driven her before was missing, and he wondered if Minerva was correct in her assumption that it was the due to the Wards, and not the inevitable collision with reality. Raising two boys while completing sixth year and N.E.W.T. level course work was going to difficult, to say the least.

"Miss Prewett, if I may have a word?"

The girl turned and glanced back at him, slowing her step enough that he drew even. "Yes, sir?"

"Have you decided whether or not you will be bringing your brothers to the service?" As the Head of the Prewett family, Pureblood custom dictated her attendance; being so young, the brothers could decline without causing offence.

"I will. I do not want there to be any doubt as to their well-being."

"A pragmatic choice," Snape murmured.

"One you disagree with?" she queried flatly.

"Not at all. If your brothers are well enough, then I do think that it is important that they been seen. I am only concerned about the possible emotional impact that such a gathering might have."

Her lip curled slightly. "Marcus and Titus can control their reactions well enough; they've had enough practice, I assure you."

Thinking of his own struggles over the last week, Snape said, "Be that as it may, I have found that it is far harder to control one's self when very little is at risk, as compared to situations when everything is."

"We will have no problems."

"I sincerely hope not." Pausing, he debated if should bring up the issue of recasting the Wards, or wait for Minerva. "There is another matter we must discuss before leaving."

"And that is?"

"It has come to my attention that we cannot delay any further in recasting your family's Wards."

Prewett stopped, allowing the three figures in front of them to move out of range. "Are the protections weakening that quickly?"

"They are not precisely weakening- tell me, Miss Prewett, have you been finding yourself reconsidering your decision to raise your brothers, among others?"

"And if I have?" A spark of anger finally appeared in her eyes.

Snape put a quelling hand up. "I would say that some doubt is a healthy thing. However, over the last week, I have noticed certain… abnormalities that led both myself and the Headmistress to believe that the Wards are having a negative impact on the both of us. Simply put, not all of the doubts or thoughts in your thoughts are entirely your own."

She swallowed hard, face wiped clean of all expression. Her voice was very quiet when she finally spoke. "And you think that recasting will eliminate any abnormalities?"

"Yes, I do." He waited, seeing that the girl still had some significant reservations. Asking her, he knew would only cause her to clam up further. Christ, but this would be easier if she trusted me…

"Are you sure?" For the first time, she looked him square in the eyes, and he saw something almost pleading flickering through her gaze. "Madness has frequently occurred on both sides of my family, especially among the women. I am the daughter of a Death Eater, and Mother… well, I have been thinking that it might be best for the boys if they are raised away from me."

Sympathy rolled over him; given that he was the product of two violent alcoholics, Severus understood all too well the private hell of constantly questioning one's own sanity. "You are not mad, Miss Prewett, nor are you going to go mad; had I any uncertainly about that, I would not have given you the choice of keeping your brothers with you. Neither would the Headmistress, for that matter. If you are still concerned, however, we can arrange for a specialized Healer from St. Mungo's to do a comprehensive examination."

Lucretia Prewett exhaled shakily, appearing as if a good deal of weight had been removed from her thin shoulders. "No. For the moment, I think that I am content to wait and see what affect the recasting has. What needs to be done?" For the first time, the hostile edge was missing from her words, and Snape felt a measure of relief at not having to fight her on this.

"You need to chose the people who will help you recast the Wards; you've seen what happens when there are too few people to draw from. The Headmistress reckons that you will want at least five people to do the job properly, and I agree."

"And I suppose that you two already have a list in mind?" A hint of her former asperity coloured her tone.

"Naturally." He looked down at her, letting a bit of his own smirk show. "You'll want to secure what magic you can from the bloodline- that means Molly Weasley and her older son; I would also recommend you consider Felix Greengrass and his wife. I do believe that they are old family friends, and ones whom you trust?"

She nodded.

"As your guardian, and the current primary holder of the Wards, I will have to be part of the recasting. Professor Granger is likewise bound to me as my apprentice, and must be included. Once we recast, I would like you to consider bringing your brothers in, as well."

"Is there a limit on the number of people that be included?" she asked, sounding like a curious student for the first time in his memory.

"No, although it becomes more complicated to link with higher numbers. Moreover, it rather defeats the point of wards if everyone can call on them. However, should you wish to add others, that is your prerogative, and I will not object."

"You would like me to ask people today, yes?"

It was his turn to nod. "They will all be at the service, and the situation will make it difficult to decline. Although," he added, "…I do not think that any of the people we have discussed would say no."

They had caught up to Minerva and the two boys at the doorway to their new rooms. Minerva arched an eyebrow at him, and he nodded imperceptibly.

With a slight flourish, the Headmistress opened the door. "Shall we?"

Hermione discreetly pulled at her formal black mourning robes, the Crêpe fabric not quite fitting correctly. Uggg, I hate these things so much. They just make a bad situation all the worse. Ghastly doesn't even began to their effects… I swear, we all look like wannabe Dementors. I'll have to make a special note in my will banning them from my funeral in favour of something more cheerful, like sackcloth and ashes.

Trying not to be too obvious about it, she peered at the assembling guests, recognizing a far amount of the people already. Several were staring back, she saw; hardly a surprise as this was the first true public event that she had attended since returning to the wizarding world.

A flash of palest blonde caught her attention, and she started slightly, a worrying thought occurring to her. Bollocks. I never told Severus about speaking with Draco or his father at St. Mungo's. I wonder if they are going to be here today? I imagine that Malfoy will be, at least…

Searching the crowd, she finally found Neville speaking with a group of older witches, all of who seemed to be trying to pat him on various places in a 'comforting' manner. From the hard line of his jaw, he did not find it an agreeable experience. And Hermione to the rescue…

"Neville?" she called, and he turned swiftly towards her.

Making hasty apologies, he brushed off the wandering hands and came over. "Thank Merlin," he hissed. "That was like being captured by the Giant Squid. I couldn't break free, and there was always one more arm…"

Hermione muffled her giggle, hoping that it sounded more like a cough. "There are a couple of jinxes you could use to repel people, you know…"

"Don't think I haven't considered it… So, what's up?"

"Do you know if the Malfoys will be attending or not?"

He blinked, nonplussed by the question. "Malfoy, Sr. yes… I don't know about Draco. He hasn't been to a Pureblood gathering in over a year. Even his engagement party was private."

She huffed in annoyance. "Well, I better find Severus and warn him just the same."

"Warn him?"

Making sure that no one was in earshot, Hermione said, "They are not on speaking terms; they haven't been for awhile, from what I can gather. And Severus hasn't seen Draco in a couple of years, maybe more."

"Wow, really?" Seeing another pack of women approaching, Neville yanked them into a back hallway. "That's kind of a big deal… isn't Snape his Godfather?"

"Yeah, he is. He still makes four or five healing draughts for Draco each week; I've heard him talking about it with Richard Brightbrook."

"Do you know what happened?"

"Not a clue." Hermione shrugged. "I spoke with Draco and his father last week, and I think that the estrangement started on their side, but I can't be sure. It's not like Severus talks about that sort of thing with me."

"Well, don't get too put out if you can't find him in time. This is an important event for Purebloods; he's got to know that the at least one of the Malfoys will be attending."

"I know. It's just…" Hermione trailed off, recalling just how horrible Draco appeared. "I really do want to warn him. I hardly recognized Draco, that's how ill he is."

Neville sighed. "That bad, huh?"

"Worse, really."

"It's so… I dunno, wrong, I guess, to think of one of us being sick enough to die. I mean, during the war, yeah… but now? We aren't even thirty."

"Yup." Hermione fought back a shiver, thinking that she was damned lucky to not be that ill.

Casting a Tempus charm, Neville pulled them back out into the main hall. "You've got about ten minutes to find him before we start."

"Thanks, Neville." Impulsively, she leaned forward and gave him a tight hug. "I hope that you don't think I'm being forward like the rest of those women…"

He squeezed back with a chuckle. "Never. Now, I need to go find Gran. I'll see you when it's all over, alright?"

"Hang in there."

With everyone being swaddled in black, it was far harder to locate Severus than it ought have been; she finally sighted him leaning up against a back wall speaking with an ancient-looking warlock.

Remembering her manners- in public she was his apprentice first and foremost- Hermione stood to the side and waited for him to acknowledge her. He did not make her wait long, beckoning her forward with a long finger.

"Master Senex, may I present my apprentice, Hermione Granger?"

She bowed formally, and shook the man's gnarled hand when it was proffered.

"It's about time, Severus," he grumbled. "I'd hate for your line to die out just because you couldn't be arsed to take someone on… you were one of the few apprentices to make it through Géroux's antics, after all."

"I found myself a little busy, Marcel, for a period of about twenty years. Perhaps you've heard of Tom Riddle?"

"Bah," the man dismissed. "Try being married with four daughters. Tell me how busy you are then."

"Not in this lifetime," Severus muttered darkly. Finally giving her his full attention, he asked, "Do you need something?"

"A quick word, if you would."

Severus sketched a short bow to Master Senex. "If you will excuse me…"

"I'll be here when you finish."

Walking towards a cluster of potted plants, Severus cast a Muffliato. "What is it, Granger?"

His question wasn't unfriendly, exactly, and for the first time in days, there wasn't emotion leaking out of him by the bucket load. That's about as good as it's going to get, I think. Hopefully all these people will help stay his temper.

"You know that at least one of the Malfoys will be here, yes?"

He sounded irritated. "Yes, I do. Lucius wouldn't dare miss it."

Hermione shifted uncomfortably, yanking at her robes again. "Right, well, the thing is, I spoke to him and Draco when I was at St. Mungo's last week."

Snape's eyes hardened then, going opaque in the way that she remembered all too well. "And you didn't think to mention this to me?"

"And when would that have been?" she snapped back, trying to keep her face free of irritation in deference to all the onlookers.

Lips compressing, he hissed, "What did he say to you?"

"Not much. I ran into Draco and Astoria in one of the private gardens, and we'd barely had time to exchange greetings when Mr. Malfoy came in."

"That was it?"

"He was polite enough. He did say- and I'm quoting- "Do tell Severus he needn't avoid Draco on my account."

For a brief second, Severus went completely still. "And how did Draco react to his father's statement?"

"He didn't contradict it." She reached forward to put a hand on his forearm, but thought better of it. "Severus, he looks absolutely terrible. I didn't recognize him at first- I honestly thought he was an old man. I just wanted to warn you so that you wouldn't be shocked."

"Brightbrook has been keeping me updated." The cold fury was gone, and his shoulders had slumped slightly.

"When I left, Astoria followed me out to the Apparition point. She told me that Draco really would like to see you, and felt horrible about 'it', whatever that means. She also said that Draco would have come up to Hogwarts to apologize himself, but that he's not well enough to travel that far."

At that, Severus looked down at the ground, and Hermione noticed that he had begun to rub his arm where the Dark Mark lay.

"I just thought you should know," she finished.

"Thank you." He suddenly tensed and murmured, "The Potters are coming this way. Ginerva looks rather… determined."

She turned around just as the couple reached them; Ginny was holding the baby, and she couldn't help but stare at the chubby-cheeked little boy. Hermione had seen him only in passing a few times, and in photographs that Arthur and Molly kept around the Burrow. He was cute a baby, with a head covered in black fuzz, but it was far too soon to see if he favoured Harry or Ginny. It still felt strange to think that Harry had a child, and it was yet another reminder how much some things had changed in her absence.

"Hello Ginny, Harry."

It was Harry who answered. "Hermione… Good afternoon, Professor Snape."

At her side, Severus bowed slightly, but said nothing. The silence following the greetings was incredibly awkward, and she wondered why Ginny had come over with Harry when she so clearly was uncomfortable speaking with them.

Finally, deciding that enough was enough, Hermione spoke. "So, this is James."

Ginny nodded a little stiffly. "Jamie… we call him Jaime."

Hermione reached out and gently tickled the tiny foot sticking out of the blanket; the baby shifted and fixed bright blue eyes on her. "Hullo, Jaime... it's nice to meet you."

"Do you want to hold him?" Ginny asked, after hesitating for a moment.

The offer surprised her. "Yes, I would."

Carefully, Ginny handed the baby over. Hermione couldn't help but smile as Jaime shook a one petite fist at her. "He's certainly a dense wee thing…"

A hint of maternal pride shone through. "Jaime's put on almost two kilos since coming home."

Hermione tucked his blanket more tightly around him, oddly hypnotized by his wide-eyed stare.

"His naming ceremony will be next weekend," Ginny announced, her voice catching on the last few words.

"I hadn't realized that it hadn't occurred yet."

Harry finally spoke up. "With the various health issues, and everything else going on, it seemed best to hold off for awhile."

She looked up then. "He hasn't had any further problems, has he? Or you, Ginny?"

"No, we've both been fine since the birth."

Ginny put a hand to her hip, and suddenly looked a lot like Molly. "Listen, Hermione… I know that we haven't seen eye-to-eye on a lot of things, and there still is plenty of stuff to work out, but Harry and I have spoken, and we would like you to be his Godmother."

Hermione's gaze darted to Harry, and she recognized that something of that old stubborn glint in his expression. Well, that certainly explains the hints he's been dropping in the last couple of letters. Still, she hadn't meant for Harry to force a reconciliation between her and Ginny. She had often wondered if part of Ginny's inability to forgive- even to hear her out- was rooted in jealousy; Hermione had been at his side during the worst of everything, and Harry had never tried to push her away as he had done with the red-head.

"I am honoured by your request…" she finally said in the formal fashion.

"But?" Ginny queried, starting to sound angry.

"But," Hermione answered calmly as she could, "…I do not want to be a point of contention between you and Harry. I will do it, and gladly, if it's something that you both want. And no matter what, I would like to be part of Jaime's life."

"I agree that we need to talk," began Ginny, but Hermione shut her down, some of her own frustration surfacing.

"We do. But I can't- and won't- continue to apologize for what happened. I had to leave, Gin, and that's what you don't seem to understand. I as good as killed my parents, not to mention quite a few other people. I couldn't live with myself any longer… it was leave, or die."

For once, Ginny controlled her temper. "You weren't responsible for your parents, Hermione. It's not like you caused the wildfires that killed them…"

"No," she agreed. "But I put them in Australia, and I charmed their house to make them want to stay there, and not travel far. Moreover, my parents were targets purely because of me; had they stayed in the UK, they would have likely met the same end as the Bones'."

"They would have done, had you not taken them to Australia when you did." Everyone jumped at the sound of Severus' deep voice. "A week, maybe less, after you relocated, a hit was ordered on you and your family. The garden was still in good shape when we arrived, so I can't imagine that it had been too long after you left."

Feeling like she had been hit by a bludger, Hermione gaped at him. "You went to my house?"

"Yes." She could read absolutely nothing in his body language. "I did not know who the target was until we arrived; at the time, I assumed that Dumbledore had moved you into one of the safe houses and that was why we did not find you."

"Why didn't he?" Harry asked. "The Headmaster had to have known that they would have been at risk."

There was a pause before Severus replied. "I do not know. When I warned him about growing sentiment, he merely spoke of allocating our limited resources with the utmost of care."

Hermione was at an utter loss, and fragments of long-ago nightmares came back to her: of waking up in her childhood bed, surrounded by Death Eaters… her parents, in their frumpy bathrobes, begging as they were tortured. And now it wasn't just faceless men in masks- one of them was Severus.

With a guilty jolt, she met his fathomless gaze. His mouth twisted, the fine muscles of jaw and face tightening. Clearly, he needed Legilimency to read her thoughts, and Hermione felt nauseous.

"I do want you to be James' Godmother." Ginny's words were firm, and jerked her back to the present. "Should things go to shit again, I know that you'll protect him, and in the end, that's what counts."

Tearing her eyes from Severus, Hermione glanced over to Ginny and Harry. She swallowed, fighting the press of tears, yet again. "I will protect and guard him with everything I have, I promise you that."

The baby in question let out a little squawk, as if welcoming the pronouncement. Gingerly, she handed back the squirming bundle. "I should warn you, however, that I'm no good at nappies."

Harry gave her a muted grin. "I'm sure that we can find you a good book or two."

Conversation around them came to a halt as two wide doors were thrown open and Augusta Longbottom appeared. The stark obsidian hue of her robes only magnified the pallor of her skin, and grief had etched heavy lines into her visage.

"It is time," she intoned, and with a billow of black, exited through the doors.

A/N- Uff da... so I did actually have something ready to go when I promised. There was just one little problem- I hated it with the fire of a thousand suns. So I scrapped it, and rewrote the entire chapter... but I still wasn't happy. Thankfully, the third time seems to be charm, because I'm more or less happy with this. Your comments and feedback would be greatly appreciated, however.

So a couple of big thank you hugs for this chapter. First, welcome to all the new readers... several people took it upon themselves to leave comments all the way through out the story- thanks Thirteen Ravens and Guests!- and it was very much appreciated. I've also have a rec for all you that have been looking for some new and excellent SS/HG- check out lena1987. I stumbled on her stories a couple of weeks ago, and they are simply brilliant. Lots of complex emotions, lemon-y goodness, and nice dose of humour. Check her out!

As always a shout-out to those who left comments- viola1701e, Brightki, OnlyAMonster, Nathalie Joe, KEZZ 1, catsgotmytongue, BlueWater5, Snape's Witch (who gets double kudos for pointing out some of my typos!) Dentelle, RhodaBush, mak5258, vjcrystalising, Banglabou, Jinxd n cursed, lena1987, CeilidhStewart, BlueRose2513, oscarg, orlando switch, Thirteen Ravens, corie.f, SweetJane72 and several guests. I can't say thank you enough for all the feedback, good, bad or ugly, and hope that the writing conveys my gratitude enough. I'm still working my way through all the reviews, so bear with me please. I chose to finish this rather than answer anything :)

The title for today's chapter comes from Aretha Franklin's song of the same name. The opening lyrics are particularly appropriate, I think- Ain't no way for me to love you/ If you won't let me/ Ain't no way for me to give you all you need/ If you won't let me give all of me.

Enjoy the last gasp of August, and happy reading!