It was Potter who apparated him back to the gates of Hogwarts that evening, after long hours in the Ministry's holding cell, where his possessions –everything except the wand– had been returned to him and the clauses on his freedom made clear for both a second and a third time.

Overall, things were to remain much as they had been for the past decade and as long as he held the office he had now, Potter would remain the main point of contact. That, at least, was something.

Potter chatted quietly about his children; how little Albus had finally started to show signs of accidental magic and how he himself was slowly coming around to Ginerva's point of view regarding a family expansion. Severus remained mostly silent through it all. He had no words of grandeur to convey and still felt rather dazed after Potter's staunch defence of him in court.

They strolled across the school grounds in the dimming January light, their breaths frosting before them as they went. The castle rose up ahead, grey stone, with patches of yellow inviting light streaming through the windows. If he chose to ignore the ache in his hands, Severus could almost imagine that none of this had happened at all.

Hogwarts was the same as it had always been. The students were securely in their common rooms at this time and the teachers were walking their rounds or retreating to their quarters. Some were perhaps gathered in the staff room for tea and Pomona's Tuesday night quiz. Severus had not expected a welcoming committee even if his arrival had been announced, which it was not.

They walked into the deserted Entrance Hall in silence, where they stopped to take their leave.

"Well," said Potter, "I suppose this is it for now. I'll be in touch within the weekend."

"As you wish, Potter."

Severus drank in the familiar sight, knowing every twisting arch and fractured stone. The door to the Great Hall was cracked open, light flitted through and by the sound of it, Argus was about with his bucket.

"Maye you should find a shower or something." Surreptitiously, Potter cast a tergeo on him, muttering something about rotten tomatoes and looking presentable. Severus had long since accepted Potter's eccentricities and tolerated them without complaint.

"Better." Potter smiled in that impish way he had. "You'll be good as new in a few days' time."

"And my wand?" he asked, feeling bare to the bone without it.

"Yes, about that." Potter made a face. "It's being…impounded. For now."

"Impounded?"

"Yes. It's a matter of paperwork, that's what I hope at least." Potter placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking it a little. "Don't worry, Severus. This is just a tiny impediment, all things considered. Leave it to me, why don't you? I'm sure I can sort it out."

Severus sighed. Potter was right. Perhaps he should just accept that and get on with his life. He had far bigger problems than a missing wand in any case. And he did trust Potter in the end, after all was said and done.

What he was most anxious about was meeting Hermione. He had proclaimed his love for her in that dreary cell in Azkaban, but something still lay between them. Severus recalled with startling clarity the expression on Rose's face at the time of his arrest. She had been frightened, he could tell –frightened of him. The thought gnawed a hole in his stomach.

Potter released him. "I'll go by Filius on my way out," he said. "Let him know you're back so you don't have to. Lends you time to freshen up a bit before you – ah..."

Potter shifted his feet and Severus struggled a moment with the mix of apprehension and gratitude he had for him. But Potter said goodbye before he could settle, forcing him to call after him in a much cruder manner than he would have preferred.

"Potter," he said, unable to find the proper way to express what he owed. "…Thank you."

Potter glanced over his shoulder to give him a grin that somehow managed to convey that everything was understood. "Severus," he said simply before walking away, "good luck."

A draft through the castle carried the scent of earth and the Black Lake, reminding Severus that he was finally home. As Potter took the main staircase upward, Severus turned in the other direction.

He wondered who had taught his classes while he was away and whether they had remembered to harvest the moonflowers in Greenhouse Two. He would remind Flitwick in the morning, he decided, when he called on him to appeal a return to his former position. For now, Potter had his back and the quiet of his rooms were waiting.

There would be no werewolves near tonight.

But before he reached the stair to the dungeons, Cavan Hern appeared unexpectedly in his path.

That man had a disconcerting ability to show up at places and times that seemed to be of his own design. Had Headmaster Dumbledore been alive and in need of another spy, Severus could have provided Hern with glowing recommendations.

Severus made to sidestep him, but Hern placed himself yet again so as to block his way.

"Severus," he said with some apprehension. "I am pleased to find you acquitted at last."

Severus gave him a level stare. He was unprepared to have this confrontation so soon and would rather have deferred it for a time when he had the opportunity to collect himself. But as Hern would not allow refusal, there was little to be done about that now.

"Some would say I escaped fair punishment," he replied coolly. "And if I am to trust Potter's account, you were the one to have me arrested. I beg your forgives for not having the time to exchange pleasantries right now, Professor. I have much to do."

Hern blushed gracefully, yet he did not step aside. "I did," he admitted. "And I have been told by some that it was not my grandest moment."

"I hope not." Severus breathed a huff. "I'll have you know that I've been drinking mud and eating worms because of you. And had my fingers broken. I have a mind to remedy those things, if you'll excuse me."

He took another step to the side, but once more, Hern got in his way.

"Really?" he said with genuine surprise. "That is unfortunate." His flawless blue eyes travelled from Severus' face to his hands and back again before he cleared his voice self-consciously. "You do look like you could use some rest and a decent meal."

They assessed each other, Hern presumably to see if an apology was likely to be accepted, Severus to gauge how far his former and more fortunate rival could be trusted.

"Although you might not perceive it as complementing of you person," said Hern seriously, "I did not turn you in on account of our previous…contest. I have stated my views on that matter, both to yourself and to Hermione. I won't tire you by repeating them, but they are as resolute as ever."

"What?"

Hern huffed, abandoning his attempt at formality. "I'm' trying to say that it was nothing personal, you big git," he blurted, his face going quite red. "Please don't think that."

The look in his eye indicated he was determined not to remain an enemy. Because of that alone, Severus could relax a little – apparently, things were not as bad as he had thought.

"Very well," he said, a little milder, "I won't. But even if you had, you wouldn't be the first to judge me in that way. Just as I'm sure you won't be the last to do so either. It matters little now –I will be satisfied as long as you keep out of my hair."

"I'm not sure I can promise that." The corner of Hern's mouth twitched upwards in a cautious smile. "I took the brunt of Filius' wrath over our duel, remember that – you rather owe me. Not to mention me stepping back in matters of the heart, despite my great advantage. And you still mistrust me for it."

"The way you've been pursuing her?" Severus raised his eyebrows. "You can't possibly blame me."

"And with my stunning looks to boot," added Hern. "I suppose I can't. By the way–" he wrinkled his nose, "–why do you smell like rotten eggs? You should probably shower before running into someone of importance."

"Yes, I've been told." Severus sighed and made again to leave. "If you don't mind, Hern. As you know, I haven't slept or eaten well for days."

"Wait, there's more." Despite the horrific state of his coat, Hern grasped his arm and held him back. "I won't let you leave with this impression of my character. I went through your ingredient stores."

Severus gave a quick bark of humourless laughter. "Indeed? And you call me mistrustful?"

"I did not look for the reasons that you think," said Hern evenly. "But I could tell that your supply is dwindling."

That much, at least, was true. With the diligent attention bestowed on the bookkeeping this year, angel's trumpet blossom had been almost impossible to procure. Combined with a slight worsening of his condition, which he attributed to Hermione's effects on him, Severus had been forced to spend his stock almost to depletion.

"Don't I know it?" he said tiredly. "I was pushing it to have supplies to carry me over some years, but someone decided to thwart me."

"Twenty points from Slytherin," said Hern. "And detention. You should have been more careful."

"I was being careful. I have been doing this for more than a decade. But then the single most over-conscientious student I ever taught moves in, along with a fool of an auror. It's no wonder I'm running low."

"All is well that ends well, am I right?" Hern looked mischievous. "But if my understanding of British law enforcement is worth its salt, by now, you won't have access to it at all. Hermione explained to me how this might give you some grief."

"It might," admitted Severus warily. "Where are you heading with this, exactly?"

Hern produced a small parcel that he held out. "Consider it a peace offering," he said. "They're pistils and stamens, six ounces. I believe those are the parts you require for your potion."

For a moment, Severus could only stare. This solved his problem so easily –so unexpectedly–that he hardly dared believe it.

He cleared his voice, which had gone slightly gruff. "Hern, that is–" he looked up, "–how did you come by this?"

"At home." Hern smiled. "France, that is. It isn't illegal there and a certain Auror friend of yours assured me I wouldn't get in trouble over it." He pushed the parcel closer. "Take it," he said. "There's more where it came from."

Severus was hard pressed to produce a suitable reply, but Hern was quick to smooth it out by enquiring about his standing with the Ministry.

"Well, ah, Potter hopes they'll forget about me eventually," replied Severus, eyes still on the treasured gift. "Until then I'm being monitored for signs of treachery. They'll call on me every fortnight or so."

Hern shrugged. "Whatever else your deficiencies may be, I'm sure they can't find fault with your conduct here," he said. "Is Potter still–"

The echo of running feet interrupted him and they both turned in the direction of the main staircase. Severus barely managed to shift his parcel of angel's trumpet aside before Hermione was upon him, throwing her arms around his neck and almost pushing him off balance.

"Harry told me you were back," she breathed into his hair, "but even then I hardly dared believe it. Oh, Severus, I'm so relieved I could–"

A sloppy kiss was placed on his cheek and then she squeezed him so hard his breath hitched. It felt almost like his feelings were returned then, as impossible as it seemed. Was this what Potter had meant before?

"Go easy, Hermione," said Hern. "You'll give poor old Severus a heart attack."

"Shut up about it," grumbled Severus as Hermione released him. He had been about to die a happy man.

She gave them both a brilliant smile. "You've cleared the air, I take it?" she asked in a voice that let them know it was her wish. "No hard feelings?"

After only a little consideration, Severus found that there were none, at least not on his part. Out of his own need for forgiveness, he understood Hern perfectly. And there was little left in him of the young death eater that once had hated the world and himself so much that he automatically coined everyone else an enemy.

What did remain was that very young man's inability to express it. When Hermione looked up at him hopefully, he once again had no idea what to say.

"Oh, what good is he anyway?" said Hern casually. "Severus can't even get my name right." He looked up and in his eyes was acceptance and the amity of a cease-fire. "It's Cavan. How many times do I have to remind you?"

~o~

Hermione practically dragged Severus to her rooms that night. He tried half-heartedly to protest, muttering some nonsense about tomatoes and the sorry state of his quarters in the dungeon, but she would hear nothing of it. She had waited far too long, and was much too delighted to have him back, to allow him to steal away for even a minute.

"Did you talk him into this?" he asked as they passed the library on the first floor. He seemed almost nervous and she understood only from his covert glance at the parcel in his hand that he was talking about Cavan.

"Don't be silly," she replied. "You heard him; he could have no possible reason for faking that. Believe it or not, Cavan likes you. I rather think he finds you amusing, in his own singular way."

She almost expected Severus to press the point, to tell her how he was no one's entertainment and that no one gave him gifts purely for his benefit, but instead he remained quiet for a time.

"And Rose?" he asked next, voicing what was probably his true worry. "Is she–?"

"Rose is here," said Hermione. "She's been asking about you excessively. Although to be fair, I do believe you have some explaining to do."

Severus ran a hand over his face, groaning slightly. "I suppose I have. Is she very upset?"

Hermione smiled at him fondly. "She's been through all the stages," she said. "Disbelief, anger, betrayal, fear, grief. Noting more than you would expect from someone her age."

"Mm." He nodded, lost in thought and Hermione watched him askance. His beard was salt and pepper grey when it grew and his eyes the darkest brown. She had seen warmth in them, amusement, anger, and sadness. When he smiled, sometimes the only way to tell was that they crinkled at the corners. But now, the deepest line on his face was the furrow between his eyes.

"You can mend it, Severus," she said quietly. "Don't worry. Her affections aren't something fleeting or uncertain. Rose loves you. That is neither difficult nor fickle."

His eyes quickly searched out hers before returning to the door ahead. They had reached the Infirmary and Hermione held open the entrance to her rooms.

"Are you there, Rose?" she called, overruling any inclination Severus might have to worry further. In cases like this, it was best to tear the plaster off quickly. "I have someone here to see you."

Rose was in her bedroom, but came running out when they walked inside. She carried Kitten beneath one arm, but upon seeing Severus, she hid her face behind it shyly.

"Hello there," he said quietly, drinking in the sight of her. "It's good to see you."

"Sev'rus." Rose peeked through the fluffy teddy fur, not quite meeting his gaze. "Where have you been?"

"I'll make tea," said Hermione, passing by Rose on her way to the kitchen to give her a bracing hug. "Make yourself at home, Severus, I'll be out in a moment."

To give them a minute alone, she pulled out her old kettle to heat on the hot plate. Although he spoke quietly and with the hesitance of a long absence, it wasn't hard to make out Severus' voice.

"I was in Azkaban," he said. "That's the wizard prison. Do you know what that means?"

"It means you did something bad…what was it?"

Hermione heard the slight tremor in Rose's voice and her heart went out to Severus. She was sure he heard it too.

"Mm. Silly me. I did something I shouldn't have done, something that isn't allowed. But it's all right now. Your Uncle Harry explained it to them."

"Is that why mum was mad at you?" asked Rose uncertainly. "Why? Why were you bad?"

Hermione came to watch them from the doorway. Severus had crouched down in front of Rose, where she graciously allowed him to pet Kitten.

"There is some good in everyone, Rose," she said, "just as there are some things bad. What matters is that we try our best and that we make amends when we go wrong."

Rose tilted her head to look up at Severus, her expression mirroring his. "You're sad again," she mumbled. "Don't be sad. Tomorrow is another day."

Severus blinked. "You think?"

"That's what Mum says."

"Come here," he said, pulling her in for a one-armed hug. Rose allowed it with a little less of her previous apprehension.

"What's the smell?" she wrinkled her nose as Severus released her to sink into Hermione's sofa. "You shouldn't have eaten bad eggs. "

"I haven't," he replied, then pulled a face. "I've eaten a lot of other strange things though."

"Oh? What things?" She was still wary of him, but a sliver of curiosity had crept into her voice.

"Hn." He assessed her sceptically. "I'm not telling. You're not going to believe me anyway."

"Really? Why not?" Rose slowly approached his side of the sofa and placed her hand on the armrest. "But you can tell me," she whispered with a surreptitious glance Hermione's way. "I'd never squeal on you, you know that."

"I know that." Severus gave her a solemn nod and then lowered his voice conspiratorially. "But this…is creepy. Are you sure you want to know?"

"Of course I'm sure." Rose eagerly mimicked his movements. "Was it Brussel's sprout? I've had that too. Or Ton-Tounge Toffees? Those are awful. Uncle George says they make your teeth go blue."

"No," he said. "Much worse. It was–" He beckoned her to lean closer and whispered something in her ear that Hermione couldn't make out.

Whatever it was, Rose was duly impressed. Her eyes widened dramatically. "No," she blurted, "you didn't!"

"I swear I did. They were even–"

He whispered something else that plastered an awestruck grin on Rose's face. It was the first of its kind Hermione had seen for ages and she watched them in silence, breathing out a shaky sigh. Oh, Severus, she thought. He sure didn't have a way with most people, but around Rose he was simply brilliant.

Amidst her relief, Hermione blinked hard, because –oh– how she had missed his voice. It was lovely; bitter and rich at the same time, almost like dark chocolate. She wondered what it sounded like when uninhibited and beyond his control. When he–

Oh tosh, she was supposed to help him heal, not turn herself on! But now it was hard not to think about it.

"Wicked!" Rose was sitting on her knees atop the armrest now, balancing herself with a hand on Severus' shoulder. "I wish I could try," she said excitedly. "James would be so jealous…but I'm sure Mum would say no."

"I –ah– think that's perhaps for the best." Severus glanced at Hermione and paused. "What is it?"

"Nothing." She smiled. "You haven't shaved."

Speaking her mind with Rose there wasn't really an option right then, but she tried to convey with her eyes what she felt. Severus must have understood at least some of it because he soon cleared his voice and looked away.

"I don't know if we have whatever it is you're talking about, but maybe I should ask the elves for something?" Hermione glanced at Rose. "I'm sure you must be hungry."

"No–" Rose gave Severus a secretive grin. "–They don't have that."

The elves did have sandwiches, which was brought to them with much enthusiasm and many well-wishes for Severus. Feeling that situation called for something casual, Hermione told Severus and Rose to remain on the sofa, much to Rose's delight.

"This is just like Saturday," she said with a happy sigh, munching away and getting crumbs everywhere. "Severus, have you been playing quidditch?"

He blinked at her, understandably confused. "I – no, not at all. Why?"

"Your hands." She traced her fingers over one of Severus' knuckles. They were bruised and swollen. "They look like Dad's did when he played against Burglaria and fell off his broom."

"Bulgaria," said Severus. "Burglary is when someone breaks into your house to steal things."

"Bulgaria. Mum let me help when we fixed it." Rose mimicked the wand motion of a perfect episkey, looking up at Hermione expectantly.

Hermione took one of Severus' hands in her own. She liked his hands. They were slightly rough, but warm. It did not require a careful examination to tell that several digits were broken.

"How did this happen?" she asked him, forgetting for a moment that the answer might need censoring for five-year olds. "Were you in a fight?"

Severus shook his head as he put his plate away. "Nothing like that," he said gently. "I was trying to write a letter."

Well that certainly wasn't what she expected, although something about letters had been mentioned in the trial. Hermione glanced up at him, surprised to see traces of a blush high on his cheeks.

"Never mind," he murmured. "It didn't turn out the way I wanted." He didn't seem inclined to share any more so Hermione let it go.

"You can make it right, Mum," said Rose. "Can't you?"

"Oh, that's –" She frowned down at the hand she was still holding. "I fear it's a bit too late for a simple spell, Rose. I'll try to mend them, but perhaps that's better left for tomorrow."

"It's no matter," mumbled Severus. "I'll get a potion." But Rose refused to yield.

"Will they always be like that?" she asked. Her bottom lip trembled and Hermione wondered if the turmoil of the past week was catching up to her.

Although he didn't react quite the way she would have liked, Severus seemed to read her mind. "Don't be sad for me, Rose," he said and pulled his hand out of Hermione's lap. "This is – it's barely a scratch." He smoothed Rose's hair and stood. "Thank you for this. Thank you both for everything."

"Are you leaving?" Rose looked fearful again and Severus got that look in his eyes. Like someone had taken his sun away.

"I need a shower," he said quietly with a glance at Hermione. "I'm sure you can tell. And I think it's someone's bedtime soon."

"Don't go," said Hermione abruptly. She felt the pulse hammer in her throat. "I have a shower too, Severus. Don't go back to the dungeon."

~o~

This was how Severus came to find himself rather unexpectedly in Hermione's bathroom. It wasn't particularly tidy, nor very large, and the shower in the corner looked ancient. But a beautiful stained-glass window next to the cupboard reminded him of the comforts of living above ground.

He picked a few shards of eggshell off himself that had somehow escaped Potter's cleaning charm. Long experience with Hogwarts' plumbing lent him the foresight to turn the water on immediately and steam filled the air and fogged up the mirror above the sink as he discarded his clothes. Now naked, he spied his own blurry reflection for the first time in more than a week.

The same man that had prepared so carefully for Hern's Christmas party looked back, this time with significantly greasier hair. Severus wrinkled his nose.

His looks had always been critiqued as 'less than average,' which was all right with him. There had been other things to worry about in his life and so much else to spend his time on. Even after the war, there were potions to be brewed and students to be taught and books to be read and he hadn't really been able to imagine himself with a lover in any case – not that he would have any idea what to do with one.

Yet now there was Hermione. He couldn't stop staring at her. Couldn't quite believe what had happened. Severus touched his cheek where she had kissed him and a shot of hope burst through him, lodging itself somewhere beneath his breastbone. He had spent so much time and energy on worries lately that the feeling was entirely foreign.

But Potter –and even Hern– were right. It wouldn't do for him to approach her while looking and smelling like breakfast gone wrong.

With another sceptical glance in the mirror, he busied himself with finding a toothbrush among the toiletries the elves had brought for him. He didn't dare try Hermione's mouthwash and it stood there on her shelf, facing him accusingly.

Once his teeth no longer felt furry, he placed himself under the scolding water, taking his time to let it run over his hair and back. It was not just the pleasure of becoming clean that made him close his eyes and bow his head with a sigh; down the drain went also the stress and humiliation. He could almost picture them disappearing along with the guilt that Hermione and Rose had already made great strides to soothe.

Ignoring Hermione's delicate-looking flasks of shampoo and Merlin-knew-whatnot, he used the bar of soap on his entire body. It would serve, as it always had, and he was not about to end up with his hair dyed the wrong colour. Not that he knew Hermione to do such things, but one never could be certain. He suspected life had yet to teach him about the peculiarities of women.

Finishing the longest shower he had ever had made him feel better by degrees. Dressing half-way in trousers the elves had brought up from his rooms, he braced himself for tackling the beard he had grown during his stint in prison. He looked entirely too much like his father with it.

He cracked the door open to let out the steam and wiped the mirror. Old habit had him prefer a razor and he had no wand in any case. But before soon, someone knocked timidly. At his mumbled reply, Rose's bushy red hair appeared in his peripheral vision.

"Are you done?" she asked, watching him with large eyes. "Can I come in?"

"Certainly. Is it urgent?" Severus glanced down at her, prepared to go outside and wait, but Rose shook her head.

"Mum says it's bedtime." Deftly, she snuck below his arm to pick her toothbrush from a shelf and offer to him. "Help me?"

"Just wait a bit while I finish this." He leaned in closer to the mirror to do his chin.

Rose climbed over the toilet seat to wait on the edge of the sink. After a moment of studying him while swinging her legs in the air, she frowned.

"Sev'rus," she said seriously, "do I have to shave my face when I grow up?"

"That is very unlikely." A chuckle had him struggle not to cut himself. He had missed her absurd childishness so much that it made him feel slightly ridiculous. "Girls don't grow beards, Rose."

"Why not?" She tilted her head, puzzled.

"Because they're–"

He paused, coming up short in producing a good answer. Really, he should be used to it by now. Rose always asked about everything and he was equally clueless to the little things that occupy the minds of five-year-olds.

"I don't know," he said honestly, squinting at his upper lip.

"Oh. Well, I suppose you're right. Mum doesn't shave." Rose watched him with a thoughtful expression as he set to work on his cheek. "Neither does Grandma. However, I'm not sure about Aunt Angie."

"Women are different," he murmured, thinking about Hermione. "They're…fairer than men."

"Why do you have so many scars, Sev'rus?"

Easily distracted, Rose seemed to have forgotten Hermione's admonition not to bring up other people's imperfections. Or perhaps she merely found them to be beyond that point of familiarity; he was shaving in her bathroom, after all.

"Dad doesn't. He has one on his shoulder that looks bad, but they're not like yours."

She poked him lightly in the belly with one of her tiny fingers and giggled. A mischievous look was in her eyes – he was a bit ticklish and she knew it – but then she turned serious again.

"You were in St Mungo's, weren't you? Mum used to work there before. Did you have surgery?"

Severus rolled his eyes to himself. How she could misspeak everyday words like 'apparition' and 'Berlin' and still get difficult medical terms perfect, he had no idea. Perhaps she had spent too much time in the Infirmary.

"I didn't have surgery there, Rose," he said. "It was my heart they operated on. But that was a long time ago." He pointed vaguely at himself with the razor, to where a long, thin line was barely visible beneath his sparse chest hair.

"But why would anyone do that to you?" Rose seemed to find the trace of a jagged zig-zag gash on his side more interesting. This wasn't from St Mungo's, but a curse form the Dark Lord, and he didn't quite know how to tell her.

"I was in the war," he said carefully, feeling that these things were perhaps best left for when she was older. Rose didn't yet know that he hadn't always been on the right side. The true meaning behind the Dark Mark was still blissful ignorance to her and Severus winced with the knowledge that she still thought it to hurt him more than anyone else.

"People aren't nice in wars," he said. "I'm sure you know this from your mother."

"They're not nice in prisons either." Rose looked up at him shyly. "Did you think about me? When you were there? I thought about you all the time."

"I could think of nothing else but you." He ruffled her wild hair, making her grin and giggle again. "You and your mother."

"That's good to hear." Hermione stood at the open door and she was watching them with a gentle smile playing around her eyes. "We both thought you were gone a very long time."

Severus stepped aside for a bit as Rose held out her toothbrush to Hermione, feeling a sudden need to dress. The cotton shirt the elves had brought him was the exact same shade of grey as his prison uniform, but it was clean and softer by degrees, which was his only reason for not outright dismissing it. The elves must have been digging deep into his pile of washed-up muggle clothes to find it, as he couldn't even remember owning it.

He wondered absently what Proudfoot would do during her shifts in Azkaban now that the Death Eaters were destined for freedom. It wouldn't hurt if she signed up for a cooking class or two, but knowing her, she would be more set on gathering them back than anything else. It was with mixed feelings that he admitted to himself that perhaps that was for the best after all. Someone needed to keep an eye on Greyback in any case and Potter couldn't be everywhere at once.

"Are you nearly done?" mumbled Rose through Hermione's ardent brushing. The room smelled of children's toothpaste, which brought along fond memories. Severus used Hermione's earlier and it had been so strong he had to blink tears from his eyes.

"There. Rinse." Hermione released a squirming Rose, who wiped her face with much enthusiasm.

"I have to get Lady Marian from my backpack," she said, skipping off and leaving Severus alone with Hermione.

They stood in silence for a moment and Severus found himself oddly nervous. He had no idea how to pick off where they left off, but knew with chilling clarity that Hermione wanted something from him. Whether he was able to provide it was altogether a different matter.

"I'll finish this," he said quietly, holding up the razor and expecting her to leave. Instead, she came up behind him to watch.

"Thanks for staying," she murmured into his shoulder. A loose curl tickled his upper arm.

How someone could be so utterly unafraid of something so scary was baffling. He raised his eyes to look at her in the mirror, a spark of interest coursing through body parts he had long since given up hope on.

"You should hardly thank me."

"I'm not about to let you slip away." She laughed and pressed her face into his shirt, her irises the softest brown. "Not after all this."

He still couldn't quite believe it. "You're sure?"

Hermione turned him around to look into his eyes and place her palm on the side of his face. "I'm as certain as I've ever been," she whispered. "And I'm not about to change my mind. Stay."

"For as long as you'll have me," he murmured, bringing an expression to Hermione's face that was both tender and a little sad. Her fingers slowly slid down his neck, to where the scar from Nagini made shaving cumbersome.

"Missed a spot." She smiled. "Here, let me."

He hesitated only briefly before handing her the razor. Lip caught between her teeth in concentration, she nudged his chin lightly. "Is this okay?"

He tilted his head to the side. "It's all right."

He let her have her way, half closing his eyes as she slid the razor down his throat. When the pressure on his skin eased, she leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth.

"We have to put Rose to bed," she said. "Would you read to her?"

"Of course."

He wiped a finger over her chin to remove a spot of shaving cream that had lodged itself there, marvelling at the look in her eyes. They held and unspoken promise.

What she wanted with him, he had no idea, but he was not about to question it.