Hermione quickly apparated into her room at the pub and, after gathering her things, left her key at the bar. When she apparated to Grimmauld Place, she was struck by how much warmer the evening felt, though the sweatiness of her palms probably had more to do with the nerves she felt than the change in temperature.

The front door opened with a groan and when she entered, she was stunned by how unfamiliar the house feltt after two years of being away. Had that notch on the bannister always been there? And that troll leg umbrella stand - had it always looked so hideous? But no, Mrs. Black had gone. She had nearly forgotten the weeks they had spent cleaning it up and putting it back together again.

"Hello?" she called. Her voice echoed in the entryway and up the staircase. Was anybody even in?

She heard footsteps trodding down the stairs and Ron poked his head over the bannister. "'Mione! You're back! Hey, Harry!" he called up behind him as he made his way downstairs and gathered her into a hug. Hermione tensed at the unfamiliar feeling of his arms around her, patting his back lightly in an effort to return the gesture in a somewhat genuine manner. She saw Harry appear at the top of the landing and he smiled brightly at her.

"Were you successful?" Harry asked, bounding down the stairs. Merlin - no wonder so many people were struck by him when they saw him. He really did look just like James. And his eyes - after spending two years rooming with Lily Potter, she could indeed confirm that his eyes were identical to Lily's. The exact same shape and shade of green.

She felt overcome by their presence and tears began to well in her eyes. How many times had she felt homesick and wished for them to be by her side? How many times had she thought she had made a mistake and wished that she was still here with them? Wished that she could talk things over with them? Well, maybe not everything, but they did have a way of getting her to think of the right solution to her problems.

She shook her head. "No, but I'll try again soon. I have a good feeling about next time." She clung to Harry when he hugged her, thankful once again that her foray into the past had not endangered him.

They encouraged her to join them in the kitchen where Kreacher was putting together a roast dinner and as they sat and talked, it was just like old times - it was as though she had never been gone at all, and to them, she hadn't. It didn't take her long to fall back into easy conversation with them and to catch up on all the gossip she had missed over the past two weeks.

Although she loved being here with them again, her mind kept wandering to somewhere in the Midlands to a little two-up two-down where Severus Snape resided, alive and reasonably well. What would Harry do when he found out he was alive? How would the Wizarding World react when they found out that the man Harry credited for his life had survived the Battle of Hogwarts? There were several times when they lapsed into silence and the sentence rose to her tongue, eager to spring forth, but she resisted. Severus was still recovering himself - how unfair would it be to him?

Ron and Harry eventually retreated upstairs to play wizard's chess and though Hermione wished to join them, realised how odd it would look if she suddenly took an interest where she usually had none. Instead, she opened her little beaded bag and began unpacking it, making her way through the house and returning all the little things she had taken for her years-long journey. When she returned from re-shelving her borrowed books from the library, she did not expect to find Ron waiting for her at her bedroom door when she closed the door to the drawing room behind her.

But lo and behold, there he was, shuffling through a deck of exploding snap cards and hovering near the doorway to the room that she and Ginny once shared.

"Hello Ron," she greeted. "Did you need something?"

Ron opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it before closing it once more. He busied himself with stowing the deck of cards in his pocket before he took a deep breath and once more opened his mouth, speaking very quickly. "Hermione, I was thinking while you were away - you never spend any time with us anymore -"

Hermione felt her mouth drop open and she couldn't help herself interrupting him. "I just got back from a trip, Ron. I have things I'm working on." Mind that he didn't know exactly how long the trip lasted - what had she been doing last time he saw her? Why wouldn't he have seen her? Her brain went through her preparations for leaving - that was it. She was squirrelled away in her room developing the portkey potion, and when she wasn't there, she was out buying ingredients for it or taking long walks to think about it.

"Well, Harry is going to be off to join the Aurors soon, and I'm going to be working with George full time when he re-opens the shop, and it won't be long until… well, until we're not like this anymore," he said, waving his hands and gesturing to the house around them. "We should be taking advantage of it."

Hermione pursed her lips at him. "I've spent lots of time with you both." The six years together in school, in fact, and then a solid year in the forest with Harry, though Ron chose to abandon them -

"Yeah, but… I don't know. I was thinking you and I… we could really - well, I really miss you, I know things were awkward after…" Ron finally met her eyes as his voice trailed off.

Oh dear Merlin. She hadn't expected this. Embarrassment rose in her chest and she could feel her face begin to burn. Her heart still ached from Severus - how many times over the last week had she had to catch herself from reacting to him the same way she would in the past? How many times had she smiled at him and expected him to wrap his arm around her and kiss her head like he used to? But Ron - Ron?

She shook her head at his suggestion. "I don't think so, Ron. I mean, we tried, and it just wasn't really right, was it?"

"But I was just getting over Fred, and I still didn't know what we were doing with our lives -" Merlin, was he really using the death of his brother as an excuse?

"No, Ron, too much time has passed." And it really had. She had lived two years without him, and though she missed him, it had been his friendship and companionship - thoughts of any sort of relationship with him were long gone from her mind.

Ron's arms were suddenly around her and his face was at her neck, nuzzling into the spot just below her ear. It caused her to jump - only a few weeks ago, it had been Severus doing that to her - his nose, his lips brushing against her skin -

"Come on, Hermione, just one more try," he whispered.

Tears sprung into her eyes from her anger at him. She didn't appreciate that he was putting her in this situation where she would have to reject him again and look terrible for doing so. She really didn't want to have to do this - to have this conversation with him. Why couldn't their time together have sufficed?

"Ron - I'm really sorry, but I can't," Hermione placed her hands on his chest, pushing against him in an effort to emphasise her words. "I did feel that way for you once, but it's gone now, and it wouldn't be fair to you or to me to try to pretend those feelings are still there or to make something out of nothing."

He pulled away from her now, his ears pink from embarrassment at her refusal. She suddenly felt embarrassed on his behalf and a little bit guilty. How difficult it must have been for him to lay his heart bare for her, and here she was, long past it.

"Is there someone else? Is that where you've been going?" Ron's voice took on an accusatory tone.

Hermione shook her head despite the lie, feeling anger rise up again at his words. How dare he - up until relatively recently, everything had been done to try to find a solution for her parents. Even she was surprised by the coldness in her voice when she replied. "No. There's not. And even if there was, what business of it is yours?"

Ron opened his mouth to speak again, but Hermione opened her bedroom door and was already half inside.

"I'm sorry, Ron - I just can't," she said again firmly.

When she closed the door behind her, she could hear him shifting from foot to foot and even felt the door handle move just the slightest under her fingers. He wouldn't dare. She quickly grabbed her wand from where she had dropped it on her bedside table, rolling it between her fingers and going over spells that she could cast for emphasis. It was a full minute before she finally heard his footsteps descend the stairs.

That was unexpected, but thinking back, it shouldn't have been. Ron had started doing his best to go out of his way to be nice to her before she left - she just thought it had been because of her parents, but it appeared that his feelings were deeper than she expected.

What if she had known before going back? What if she had seen that change before Severus came into her life?

No - the answer was a firm no. As before, she still had trouble reconciling the fact that he had left her and Harry. She would never be able to fully trust Ron intimately again. And, her heart was still with Severus, twenty years ago, back in their little flat above Zonko's. She was still mourning the loss of her relationship. In a way, she was glad that it happened as it did - there was no awkward goodbye between them, there was no breakup, no need to make up any stories (and she was fairly certain he would have known she was lying anyways, he was so skilled at occlumency toward the end).

She sighed and crossed to the bed, kicking off her shoes with some force, taking out some of her indignation at Ron. One flew with enthusiasm under the bed and she was surprised at the sound of it hitting something solid.

What was this? She didn't remember anything being under there. She ducked down and lifted up her duvet to get a clearer view.

There was a box. A wooden box that she knew definitely wasn't there before she left. Had Ron or somebody…?

She reached out and grabbed it, sliding it toward her. There was a surprising amount of dust on it, but through it she could see that it was simply marked with "H. G." at the top. Her eyes raked it over, looking for any clues as to who would have left it.

There were tiny little scratches and fingermarks in the dust at the top. They looked suspiciously like the ones left in the Shrieking Shack.

It was worth a try. "Dobo?" Hermione spoke to the empty room.

Nothing happened, but she didn't really expect it to. She was no longer a Hogwarts student, and she no longer had any real ties to the school, so there was no reason for a school house-elf to answer her. But house elves, especially if there was one already on the premises would surely be aware of the other. "Kreacher?"

A low pop announced his arrival. "Yes, miss?" though she didn't even have a chance to ask him about the parcel - his eyes widened when he saw what she was holding and he immediately began a running commentary.

"Nasty elf, rummaging through my master's things, around the house, how dare he. How dare he!" He made a grab for the box, but Hermione held it out of his reach.

"Sorry, Kreacher, but who was it?"

"A school elf, it was. Kreacher heard him and ran him off, but not before he was caught in miss' room. Kreacher is sorry. Kreacher tried to remove it but he could not touch -"

"No, Kreacher, it's absolutely fine. I think he was told to leave something for me, I'm only sorry that he disturbed you and didn't get permission," she reached out to give Kreacher a comforting pat, but he shied away from her touch, still coming to terms with her blood status. "You may go now, Kreacher, thank you."

Kreacher nodded and popped away. Hermione turned her attention back to the box, brushing the rest of the dust away. So, from the sounds of it, it would have been here all along - for ages, even when the Aurors searched the house. And if Kreacher was unable to touch it, it must have been spelled against discovery and tampering. Her question was answered within moments of resting her hand on the lid of the box, tracing over the initials with her fingers. The box glowed gently and the top popped up, revealing a plethora of objects within.

It looked like a child's box of treasures. There were letters inside, and she lifted them, folding them open to inspect a few. They were apologies from various firms confirming that there were no known whereabouts of a Jean Granger. Further down was one dated December 1982 - a confirmation of a Hermione Jean Granger, but only recently turned three years old. The box was from Severus - it must be. He told her he had looked for her. She frowned, a pang of guilt hitting her chest as she tucked them back in the box and moved to the next item.

There was a single photograph that had been captured of her at the first Yule Ball - she was in the background. She didn't even know anyone had a camera that evening. There were three girls posing in the foreground - Ravenclaws - and she was behind them, concentrating on a table half in the left hand side of the frame. Hermione lifted her wand and cast lumos to take a closer look and the girls at the forefront of the photograph shielded their eyes, ducking out of frame.

"Sorry," she muttered. Her captured self looked away suddenly and watched something float by, just in time to miss a sullen looking Severus Snape look up and gaze right back at her. She watched the photograph for a few moments and they continued this dance - each staring at the other intensely and missing the moment where they could meet eyes. She extinguished her light and the Ravenclaws peeked hesitantly around the edge of the photo, rubbing their eyes.

Hermione dug further through the box. There were a few hair ribbons that he had gifted her with. They still worked reasonably well, but when she stretched one through her fingers, she could feel the charm begin to give away. The little automaton mouse she gave him was tucked in a corner. There was a stack of letters they had exchanged over the summer that bore her handwriting, so she felt no need to open those. A few letters showed Remus' handwriting, and she opened them quickly. They revealed enquiries from him on her whereabouts, letters to Severus that undoubtedly went unanswered.

Below those was the recipe for the altered Dreamless Sleep potion Severus had created for her, and even further below that was a small phial.

Hermione lifted it hesitantly. It appeared empty, but there was no stain below it to show that whatever had been inside leaked out. She lit her wand again to get a closer look. It appeared that it had once been filled with something silvery - memories. She would never in her life forget how they looked after seeing so many of them spilled out on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. There wasn't enough of the residue for her to even have a glimpse of what he would have left her.

He had remembered her enough to want to leave her with something of himself - of what he had left of her and their life together. Her heart rose with this realisation. He must have had Dobo retrieve the memories when he survived. She wished she had asked Kreacher when he had caught the other house-elf, but it didn't matter now. Severus wanted her to have these things - he cared, or at least a little bit of him did, and she clung to that as she climbed into bed that evening and woke the next morning and lived the next few days without him.

It was this that gave Hermione the courage to return to Spinner's End after a few days, despite Snape's commanding her to get out. Once again, the door yielded to her touch. He had not warded it against her. The downstairs was empty, and she couldn't not hear any noise from the rooms above her, but she knew he was home. She stayed all day, busying herself with dusting his bookshelves. He did not come downstairs, but she knew that he was aware of her presence in the house.

Hermione returned the next day, and the one after that. On the third, she found a note on the coffee table that bore his writing:

If you're going to make a nuisance of yourself, you can at least be useful.

It was attached to a shopping list for potions supplies from Diagon Alley. She ventured there, her first time in weeks, pleased to see that more and more shops had opened up since May. She was recognised by a few people and took some time out of her day to speak with them, but otherwise was able to get everything on his list relatively easily.

Severus was in the parlor when she returned, reading a book as though their routine was absolutely normal. He didn't even bother looking up.

"I bought everything you asked for," she said.

"Good. You'll find a workstation in the kitchen. Mind you don't set it on fire." He did not look at her but instead licked his finger and turned the page of his book.

Hermione squeezed past him into the kitchen and found a number of pages of recipes set out: two for pain potions (both with his amended recipes), one calming draught, and what was this? A balm to hide scars - but there was a spell added to it just in the final stages of brewing. She smirked. It appeared that he continued experimenting with her exploration of spell effects on potions.

She set the pain potions to simmer before she decided to bring up the box. "I found the copy of the Dreamless Sleep recipe," she called, hoping he was still in the parlor and could hear her.

"Yes," she heard his low reply behind her. Hermione turned, surprised to see him leaning against the countertop next to the sink, watching her. She had been so engaged in brewing she hadn't noticed him. "Do you still suffer?" he asked.

"Not that I've noticed since I've returned," she replied softly. They had not - in fact, though her dreams were very restless and mixed-up and anxious, they had not carried her back to Malfoy Manor under Bellatrix's wand and knife, and the slimy voice of the Horcrux had not invaded her senses since she returned.

Snape nodded.

"Do you suffer?" she asked.

He didn't answer, but he didn't stop her when she automatically began to brew the Dreamless Sleep once she had bottled the pain potions. He stayed watching her, motionless against the counter for a while before he disappeared upstairs once more. She heard the familiar thuds and bangs again.

Snape re-appeared not long after the Dreamless Sleep had finished brewing. Hermione was thankful - she was not going to make her way upstairs again to seek him out.

"You said that you had perfected the potion to cure my parents… is it possible to get the recipe?" she asked.

He nodded, reaching past her to pick up a bottle of the pain relieving potion she had brewed earlier. It was the closest they had been together in weeks. She breathed deeply, catching the scent of him, both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. The scent of Hogwarts laundry no longer lingered on his clothes, but there was something there that was him, undeniably him, a scent that had wrapped around her in bed and in late nights in her workroom that filled her senses. She watched as he uncorked the bottle and downed it in one swift movement.

"I'm sorry - shall I go?" she asked. "I can always come back."

"No. Let us sit," Snape said, gesturing to the parlor. She took her seat on the sofa and he joined her after a few moments, handing her a steaming mug of tea. She noticed as he carried them that his arm shook with the exertion of the action.

He flicked his wand toward the bookshelf and a book floated obediently toward him. It was well worn, and when he opened it, she could make out an embossed S. S. on the cover - the notebook she had gifted him for Christmas.

Hermione bit her lip as she watched him flick through the pages. "How did you work it out?" she asked.

"Trial and error," Snape said nonchalantly. He finally seemed to find what he was looking for and placed the notebook on the table between them, turning it toward her so she could have a look.

The ingredients looked much the same as when she had developed it, but there was a sprig of rosemary added, and then an alchemical symbol that didn't make sense to her. Gold? No - they had tried that, and it ruined the potion completely. Sol -

"The sun? Does it need to rest in the sun?" She was nearly off the sofa with her inspection of his notebook and their heads were almost pressed together.

"No," he said. "That's what I wrote for what needs to be remembered. For your parents, it will be you. The missing ingredient will be you."

She looked up, her brow furrowed in concentration. He was staring at her intently, his eyes searching. He slowly reached forward and tugged on one of her curls.

"You are what they are missing and what they need to remember. If you add this, it will work."

It clicked. "Like polyjuice - that's genius, Severus - how did you work that out?"

He leaned back in his chair now. "I may have been a bit inebriated one night when I decided to brew it, just for old times sake." His voice sounded slightly mocking and sarcastic, a change from the softness that it had held earlier. "And do you remember the lock of hair I took from you? Of course you do - it wasn't that long ago for you. Out of some drunken idea I decided to try it and it reminded me of something I had forgotten."

Hermione raised her eyebrow at this admission. She desperately wanted him to continue speaking. "I had the thought to market the potion when we were working on it, but was afraid it might be addictive."

"Certainly," he agreed, but did not bother to elaborate.

They lapsed into silence. Hermione was nearly bursting with wanting to ask him what happened, and she knew that he knew this. A small smile played at his lips as he sipped his tea. He finally spoke.

"I remembered when I first realized I had feelings for you. You were in the library with Lupin, and the sun shone through the windows just so. It caught your eyes and hair and made it look as though it were on fire."

She could feel herself blushing now.

It had been easy to think of Severus as a completely separate entity from Professor Snape. Now they were one in the same. It was the first real acknowledgement of their relationship that he made after that first night.

It had been a bit difficult to reconcile her Severus with Professor Snape, a man who was hard and rather more withdrawn and sarcastic than her Severus had been. Snape bore the years working in the service of two men. He carried with him years of putting his dreams and ambitions away in drawers to teach at the school where he would be haunted by the memories of his tormentors and his lost friends every day, where he would watch the girl he would come to love arrive in the form of a child and leave as a woman, where he would be forced to kill one of his saviors and mentors and take a place against those he called friends. He had been forced to house the man responsible for the murder of one of their best friends he ever had and then was dropped unceremoniously back into his childhood home that held some of his worst memories growing up.

They remained in silence for another quarter of an hour, the memory hanging between them before Hermione decided to take her leave for the night. "Shall I return tomorrow?"

"If you want to brew the potion," he answered.

"I'm not getting a copy?" she asked.

"I think it would be best done under my supervision," he said. "Seeing as I'm the only person who has done it successfully before."

She nodded and returned the next day. And the next. And yet for some reason every day there was some excuse as to why they could not begin to brew the potion. The ingredients she sought out from Diagon Alley were not fresh enough, and when she tried Hogsmeade, they, too, were inferior. He had appointments with Healer Potts which would leave him winded and in pain for days afterward, and he could not make his way downstairs to supervise her - there was always something preventing her from beginning.

It had been weeks now since she had returned. Summer had turned to autumn and winter looked as though it would be on its way soon. The weather had certainly given an impression of it, at least - there was often frost on the weeds growing through the pavement in the mornings. Hermione began to make sure the fireplace in the sitting room at Spinner's End was well built and Snape always seemed to appreciate it.

He had just gone through the ingredients she had procured once more, and had finally deemed them acceptable. He had promised her they would begin brewing the next day. Finally - finally, she would be able to recover her parents' memories. And when that was successful, she would contact St. Mungo's - Healer Potts had asked about it last week, actually - but the fact that Snape owned the recipe and seemed reluctant to let it go posed a problem, especially as he was supposed to be a dead man.

"Are you going to let anyone else know that you're alive?" she asked.

"I see no need to," he replied, casting aside that day's Daily Prophet. She had begun to bring them with her and though he ignored them at first, she began to find them discarded on the coffee table.

She gave him a disappointed grimace. She understood, though. What point would there be? He was enjoying his solitude - reasonably. With the exception of bouts of depression she could see signs of, his demeanor had levelled into one of nonchalance. It had been the same for her - what to do with yourself when your whole life - your whole purpose for existence has been pulled out from under you like a rug from under your feet?

His restless energy had been directed elsewhere, though. The bangs from upstairs. Always. She idly wondered why he never cast a silencing spell, but it was though he wanted someone else to hear his destruction.

It bothered her, though - here he was, hiding away, sending her out on errands in the wizarding world when he was capable of doing that himself. He had so much good to give the world now. He had developed so many good things since he had begun working for Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix. His accomplishments deserved to be seen and recognized. The only thing barring that from happening was himself, and it was beginning to really grate on her.

"I'll return tomorrow, shall I?" she said before she left that evening.

He nodded. "We'll begin brewing tomorrow."

When she arrived back at Grimmauld Place, Mr. Weasley was in the kitchen with Harry and Ron. He was unpacking a basket - Mrs. Weasley had cooked dinner for them again. Kreacher looked quite put out, though Hermione assured him that the roast he had made would taste even better the next night.

"Little Teddy at the Burrow again?" she asked. Mrs. Weasley and Andromeda Tonks had bonded after the Battle of Hogwarts when it was revealed that both Tonks and Remus had died, especially as Andromeda had never had the experience of taking care of young boys and Molly had had more than enough.

"Oh, yes," Mr. Weasley said, gesturing for Ron to set the table. "He's a lovely lad, but…"

"A handful," chimed in Ron.

They laughed and when Mr. Weasley had served the food, began eating.

She don't know what finally possessed the words to spill out of her mouth - maybe it was the talk of the future, maybe it was her brain trying to rationalize to the boys her plans for visiting Australia again so soon when it appeared she had done nothing over the past few weeks except disappear in the mornings and reappear in the evenings but before she knew it, the secret she had been keeping, a whole man's life was out in the open.

"Harry… Snape survived. I'm going back to Australia soon. He's helped me work on a potion for my parents."

Mr. Weasley's fork stopped halfway to his mouth. Harry's brow furrowed. Her statement was so far removed from what they had been discussing that she should have known it would be met with consternation.

"He what?" Ron repeated, his mouth full of mashed potato.

Mr. Weasley jumped in. "It makes sense. We didn't find him numbered among the dead, and his body wasn't where you told us it was."

"How…?" Harry began.

"I tracked him down," she explained. "He survived."

"I thought you'd been in Australia!" Ron seemed indignant that he had been lied to.

"I have, Ronald," she glared at him. "He knew what I did for my parents, and he knew how to fix it. He wanted to help. I've been working with him for the past few weeks."

"And you're only just saying this now?" Ron swallowed. Mr. Weasley gave him a warning look.

Hermione shook her head.

There was a nervous energy in the room.

"Where is he? How is he?" Harry asked.

"He's somewhere private. He's well recovered, but a bit wary," she explained. "I don't know if he's ready for people to know that he's alive yet."

"I'd really like to speak with him," Harry eagerly replied.

"But how did he survive? You saw what that snake did! We all saw!" Ron cut in.

"He had a feeling that Voldemort wasn't happy with him for a while and prepared himself for it," she said. "He knew after what happened to you, Mr. Weasley… He had an idea what could be coming."

Mr. Weasley nodded. The discussion continued - Harry kept trying to get details from Hermione about his whereabouts, but she kept declining to respond. Ron was beginning to grow indignant on Harry's behalf. Mr. Weasley had to intervene and finally convinced them that Snape should be left alone until he decided to make himself known, and Hermione agreed to be an intermediary between them.

The discussion had grown very tense and Hermione felt exhausted - if she felt this emotionally tense after just telling three people, no wonder Snape wanted to keep his existence secret. The moment the words left her mouth, she had regretted it - she should have seen this coming. Harry would want to save him, Ron would want him to face what he had done despite his orders. Thank heavens for Mr. Weasley. Despite the reasonable end to the conversation, she had to escape upstairs to the drawing room.

How was she going to tell him what she had done? He would be furious - here she was, asking him how it felt to be free, to no longer be under the control of two men, and she had taken yet another choice away from him. She began to cry. Of all the irresponsible decisions she had made, no matter her good intentions, this had probably been the worst.

There was a knock on the library door and Hermione did her best to wipe her eyes before whoever it was entered.

Harry poked his head around the door.

"Can I come in?" he asked.

She nodded.

He took a seat on the sofa next to her. "Can you please tell him I'd like to speak to him?" he asked.

She nodded. "Harry, please keep it secret for now," she begged. "He's worried about the repercussions for his actions."

"What? But he was acting on orders! He was on our side!"

"But a Death Eater is a Death Eater, and I mean… Dumbledore isn't really around to testify that he ordered Snape to kill him, is he?"

"Well, there are his memories…"

"I'm not sure if they'll hold up in the Wizengamot. Memories can be altered - you said yourself that Slughorn's were."

"Yes, but you can tell if they have been," Harry brushed off her worry. "I'll speak to Kingsley. They have to."

She bit her lip, shaking her head worriedly at him. "But Harry, you can't -"

"Hermione, can you let him know that I'm going to do my best for him?" he interrupted her.

She nodded, sighing. There was no point in talking to him - he was too far gone in the knowledge now. "I'll let him know."

She had trouble getting to sleep that evening, praying that Snape wouldn't find out, and if he did, he wouldn't react as she feared. She delayed her trip to Spinner's End that morning, stopping by the local Tesco to pick up some groceries before she apparated to Spinner's End. She also grabbed a recent issue of the Daily Prophet and from a quick glance on the cover could see that there was a teaser of an exposé by Rita Skeeter - something else she needed to take care of.

Snape wasn't downstairs when she arrived. When she entered the kitchen, the brewing station was prepared and all the ingredients were laid out, reminiscent of how their workstation used to look.

She began to put the shopping away and had just closed the breadbox when she heard something slam behind her.

Snape was stood in the doorway, his lips curled in fury, his face twisted in a way she hadn't seen in ages. It struck fear in her. There was something clenched in his hand - a paper.

"I told you," he hissed, holding the paper out and shaking it at her. She couldn't quite read it, but recognized Harry's scribble on it. She had expected it - but not this soon. He must have sent it first thing this morning. "Stop trying to take care of me!" he continued. "You're not my mother, and you can't waltz back into my life as though nothing has happened!"

She dropped the apples she was holding and they fell to the cracked linoleum with several soft thuds. "Fine. Fine. You sort yourself out. I'll go." She was hurt, guilty, and a bit angry as well as tired and frustrated. Without a backward glance, she pushed past him to the front of the house, stepped out the front door and disapparated with a crack.