Several days later, Hermione sat reading on the couch. Severus was, apparently, still marking essays, or he was still avoiding her. She'd respected that he had needed time, but Severus's emotional processing was unlike how anyone else she'd ever encountered processed.

Truthfully, it didn't come as a surprise that Severus coped differently than other people. If he wasn't different, he would've ended up dead long ago. Still, watching him work through his own emotions and thoughts was difficult. Throughout much of the days, Severus was quiet and aloof. His eyes were flat, which told Hermione he was Occluding. He'd told her that Occlumency helped him "file" his experiences, but it still unsettled her because it felt, to her, like he wasn't actually dealing with any of it. Instead, to her, it seemed like he was excising the emotional aspects of the experiences to be able to look at the moments objectively in a way that was practically intellectual dissection.

He was polite to her, despite his aloofness, and he would robotically engage in conversations about their work days. He maintained a standoffish demeanor, though it held no malice. She could tell that her constant presence in this process made him uncomfortable, so she did her best to keep her distance. She did not press him for more intimate or deep conversation. She did not initiate any kind of physical contact. The night before last, she wasn't entirely sure he'd come to bed at all. She'd gone to bed late and he was still awake, and when she'd woken up, he was nowhere to be found. When she had seen him later that day, he'd seemed exceptionally stressed and frazzled by her presence, but he'd been too rigid with himself in not allowing himself to snap at her that he could not ask for the space he needed. She had taken the hint, though, and gone to mark essays of her own.

His body language was more unique than usual as well. In public, he usually seemed confident and graceful. The last few days, he had not looked as confident. To the untrained-in-Snape eyes, not much changed, but to Hermione... his posture was stiffer, his strides were shorter, his eyes were even darker, and the skin beneath those dark eyes appeared slightly bruised. He also made eye contact very infrequently where his usually glittering gaze was legendary.

Hermione continued to read as he finally entered their quarters very late that Friday evening. It was actually nearly early Saturday morning. She said hello to him as he sat down on the other end of the couch. He did not respond, but simply picked his book off the end table and began to read. It took a few minutes for her to realize he wasn't reading at all, which was unusual for him even in the past couple days. He never once turned the page. She knew better than to draw attention to it, though, and did her best to continue reading.

After a few more minutes, Severus said, "For most of my life, I could only focus merely on surviving from one day to the next. Even as a child, I thought solely about just making it through one day at a time." She looked over at him. His dark eyes were fixed on the book in his lap. "The choices that I made throughout my adolescence did not afford me the luxury of thinking about any type of future post-war. I did not expect to survive."

He went quiet again. His forefinger tapped the page idly. Several minutes passed. She did not pry. Then, he began to speak again. "When I found myself standing in the alley across from James and Lily Potter's home, I did not entirely recognize what I had subconsciously done." He swallowed. "Now, I have realized that that moment was the first time in my entire life that I have thought of a future in any sense other than surviving."

He tensed on the other end of the couch. She closed her book and set it on the end table. His jaw muscle was jumping. "I am not entirely sure what that means, and that uncertainty makes me uncomfortable."

"You haven't thought about what you want for your future at all since the war ended?" She asked. She didn't want to draw too much attention to the fact that he was acknowledging thinking about a future with her, and ways to make things better for her.

He shook his head once. "No," He said. "It is different post-war because I was no longer fighting for my life, but the recovery process, the... healing, the coping has not been easy. In a way, I have lived one day to the next for as long as I can remember."

"Okay," She said.

"I do not know how this realization makes me feel other than uncomfortable," He said plainly.

"I understand."

"We are nearing October, and that month is always difficult for me. I am moodier and more withdrawn," He said. "As unpleasant as I usually am, I am afraid I can be even more so."

"That's understandable," she said.

"Is it?" He asked with a soft bitterness. "After all this time?"

"Of course it is. Grief is cyclical," She said quietly. "I struggle every May. The smells of spring remind me of the anxiety I felt as we neared all out war. The feeling of the cool spring evenings remind me of battle," She said. "I lost people I loved that night. It will always be painful. I've learned to manage it better, and to cope."

"How do you do that?"

"Talking about people I lost helps."

He snorted. "That is not something I want to do."

"It also helps to be around people that I care about. I also like to keep myself really busy. For the first few years, I withdrew a lot, but when I started spending the hardest days with my friends, or my family, it helped make the days not feel so heavy."

He looked at her for the first time. His eyes were pained. He studied her face for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face. "I realize the last couple of days have been stressful and unfair for you."

"I understand that you need time," She said.

"I have never had to consider anyone else," He said softly. There was a hint of brokenness in his voice.

"But you have considered me. You considered me when you apparated to that alley, and you are considering me now. I'm not upset with you," She reassured him. His eyes moved away from her face and he nodded. She yawned and touched his knee. "Come to bed, Severus. You haven't slept well or much in days."

He did not protest, but she noticed he was still a bit stiff as he lay next to her in bed. When he finally fell asleep, his body remained tense and his sleep was fitful, but never deepened enough to even present a nightmare for him. She was shocked at what Severus had said. Going to that alley was the first time he'd truly considered his future? And the future he must have been thinking of obviously included her, and their relationship, and her friendships. Subconsciously in that moment, he had chosen to put her needs above his own, even if it was painful for him. If he realized that it indicated deepening feelings, he was probably terrified. She did not, however, think he recognized the indication. He was so solitary, so all of this seemed so foreign to him. There was also a risk that if he realized, he might panic and retreat fully into himself. She could only hope that he would slowly allow himself to wade a little deeper into the water.