'Oh for Merlin's sake,' huffed Hermione as Harry and Ginny stumbled through the doorway of the library, their lips locked in a passionate embrace, and entirely oblivious to their surroundings. Could she not get a moment's peace? That was the third time this morning she'd been interrupted from her reading.

'Oops! Sorry, Hermione,' said a pink-cheeked Ginny. Harry stood next to her looking awkward and ruffling his hair. 'Didn't know you were in here!'

'Where else would I be?' she said sardonically.

'Good point,' Ginny said with a smirk. 'We'll just, uh, go then.'

'No, it's fine,' she said, snapping her book shut with an irritated look at the pair. 'I was going to leave soon anyway. The room is yours.'

Tucking her book under her arm, she passed the amorous couple and headed for the kitchen where she thought she might find some peace and quiet, only to find Ron and George engaged in the noisiest game of Exploding Snap she'd ever witnessed. No such luck here then …

The sound of Teddy Lupin's crying could be heard emanating all the way from Sirius' old bedroom two floors above, along with Remus' desperate shushing. She felt a wave of pity for the poor single father – Little Teddy was going through a clingy phase and just wouldn't settle unless he was being rocked by his dad. She'd likely not get much reading done in her room either then, it being just down the hall from Remus'. And it was still far too hot to read outside.

A glance at the clock told her it was not yet eleven; too early to bring Professor Snape his lunch, but she wondered …

She headed to the magically charmed notebook on the countertop and wrote: I'm making coffee. Want some?

She'd come up with the idea a couple of days ago, nervously presenting Snape with the unassuming Muggle notebook. After she'd explained how it worked, he'd examined the notebook with interest and asked, 'Protean charm?' She'd nodded and had been delighted when he'd followed up with a quiet but approving, 'Very clever.'

One word appeared now in the notebook in Snape's familiar scrawl.

Please.

Smiling to herself at the neatness of the communication device, she set the kettle to boil and retrieved the pack of fancy ground coffee she'd purchased yesterday from the new deli around the corner. Kettle boiled and coffee brewed, she grabbed two mugs and a plateful of shortbread biscuits and headed upstairs.

She found him sitting upright against the headrest, propped up by several cushions, reading – he'd moved on to The Picture of Dorian Gray today.

'Here you go, sir. It's the good stuff from the deli around the corner, I thought you'd appreciate it more than the instant muck the boys seem to favour.'

He put aside the book. 'I'm sure I will.' His eyes settled on the two mugs on the tray but he didn't say anything about it.

'I wondered whether I might read in here?' she said, and he raised an eyebrow. 'The rest of the house is a no-go zone. Harry and Ginny have made it their mission to snog in every room in the house, and poor Teddy's wailing manages to get through all my silencing charms after five minutes. Besides, I thought we could share the coffee.'

Even two days ago she'd never have thought to suggest such a thing – but since their conversation the other day, she'd been spending more and more time in his room, coaxing him into lengthy discussions on all manner of subjects. Hermione had been surprised to find herself enjoying these discussions, and so far Snape had made no objections. Once or twice she worried she was bothering him with her endless questions, but then she remembered he'd had no qualms about throwing her out before and felt assured he would make it known if she overstayed her welcome. So far, though, she had never simply sat with him quietly and read … There was an intimacy in that that she hadn't really considered until she'd suggested it. Bugger. She'd overstepped the mark, she knew, she'd misread his civility for enjoyment of her presence …

Silly, silly Hermione!

She opened her mouth to tell him not to worry, she'd go find somewhere else to read, but he cut her off before she could.

'If you wish,' he said quietly.

Trying not to let her grin show, she settled into what was quickly becoming her chair and poured two coffees.

oOo

If anyone had told Severus Snape two weeks ago he'd have been sitting in bed sharing coffee with Hermione Granger while she sat next to him quietly reading and nibbling on shortbread biscuits, he'd likely have recommended them a lengthy stay in St. Mungo's.

And yet, remarkable as it was, here they were …

He couldn't remember the last time he'd read with another person in such companionable silence as this. Perhaps not since his schooldays, with Lily. He'd certainly not taken to reading in the staffroom when he'd begun to teach, like the other professors, preferring the peace and solitude of his own rooms – one could hardly be expected to concentrate on a book with Filius Flitwick's incessant slurping and Pomona Sprout's snoring as she drifted off in front of the fire. Thankfully, it seemed Granger had none of their irksome habits. In fact, after a few minutes the girl had become so engrossed in what she was reading that she forgot all about the coffee and biscuits. The only noise she made was the careful turning of a page every few minutes, and the gentle intake of breath as she reacted to a particularly fascinating morsel of information.

He did not find it unpleasant at all.

Staring at the page before him, he did not take the words in; instead, he allowed his mind to ponder the surprising force of nature that was Hermione Granger.

Without his even realising it, she'd slipped under his skin and made him want to reveal a side of himself he rarely showed anyone. Perhaps it was a desire to make up for his despicable behaviour that morning she'd first come to him (he cringed now at the thought of it), but he found he had no desire to scowl when she entered the room anymore.

Their discussions of recent days had been a source of much-needed intellectual stimulation. She had surprised him, actually, by how engaging she could be. Oh, he had always known she was book-smart and had a highly logical mind, but he was coming to see that she also possessed a capability for original thought that he'd not witnessed before in her – or perhaps had not cared to witness because of her proximity to Potter and her Gryffindor status. While every other professor had declared her the brightest witch of her age, he had never understood it; her essays had always been perfectly good, but they were by-the-book, more often than not simple regurgitations of what she had read. The most diligent witch of her age? The most hard-working? Absolutely. But the brightest – that was a moniker she hadn't yet earned in his eyes.

He was starting to see it now, though – when she would make a particularly insightful comment on something she had read in a book he had recommended, when she displayed a thirst for knowledge above and beyond simply what would help her pass her examinations. Even her nifty Protean-charmed notebook – not only was it a complicated spell, but she'd developed an entirely novel use for it, a feat that took a great deal of skill and creativity.

Perhaps he had been too quick to judge her all these years …

At that uncomfortable thought, he glanced at the girl, still thoroughly absorbed in her book. It was nearly midday now and it was growing very hot. After a few minutes, even she could not ignore the heat that percolated the small room and her discomfort eventually compelled her to cast a cooling charm upon herself and – after gaining his permission – on him, too.

The charm helped with the temperature, but it did nothing to cut through the stuffy, humid air. Absently, the girl reached for the old copy of Potions Quarterly on the side table and began to fan herself with it. For the briefest of moments, he was distracted by the sight of her wayward curls moving in the breeze created by the magazine, the way the dull brown caught the light streaming in from the window and turning it an almost golden hue …

Then her sleeve slipped down, and his eyes were immediately drawn to the deep purple bruises on her forearm. Frowning, he cast aside his book and leaned across the bed. In a flash his hand was around her wrist.

'What's this?' he said, gently pulling her arm down.

She gave him a startled look, a red flush spreading over her cheeks. 'N-nothing.'

'It doesn't look like nothing.' He inspected the bruise closer, and noticed the marks were in the clear shape of a hand. 'Did Weasley do this?' he said forcefully.

She gaped at him. 'What? No! Ron would never … Why would you even—'

'Granger, if he's hurt you, you must—'

'Ron didn't do this, sir!'

He frowned deeply. 'Then who?'

She glanced around the room, as if looking for an escape. He held her wrist as tight as he dared without hurting her.

'Who?'

Her shoulders slumped and she let out a resigned breath.

'It was … the other day in Diagon Alley. The men I told you about who confronted me; one of them grabbed my arm when I got my wand out.'

He went cold, his eyes dropping to the purplish markings, and his grip loosened.

'Why didn't you say before?'

'Honestly, I didn't think it was important.'

'Not important?' His eyes snapped to her face. 'Granger, you were hurt.'

'It's fine. It's not even very painful,' she said unconvincingly, and moved her hand away, pulling her sleeve back down over her forearm and wincing as her fingers brushed the still tender markings there.

She would not look at him.

At length, he sighed. 'This stops now,' he said quietly, 'this little project of yours. I won't allow you to do any more for me.'

She huffed in bemusement and pulled a face. 'Where on earth is this coming from?'

'It's one thing risking social ostracism for me, it's another risking bodily harm. I won't be responsible for any injury that comes your way.'

'It's just a bruise! Don't you think you're overreacting? And you aren't responsible for it, that man in Diagon Alley was. As far as I recall you were locked in this room.'

He considered her, this young woman with her wild hair and conscience of steel. He had no particular desire to end their … whatever the hell this was … but he'd be a fool to imagine she wouldn't be negatively affected by it. He was poison, and the more time they spent together, the more she was seen in public to be defending him, the further she was opening herself up not just to ridicule and hate but physical danger too. How would he ever forgive himself if she came to harm because of him?

It's the right thing to do …

'Miss Granger,' he said softly, 'I swore a very long time ago that I would never hurt a woman. And whatever else I may have done with my life, I can at least say I've held true to that promise. I may not have laid hands on you myself, but make no mistake, I am entirely responsible for those bruises on your arm. Please, do not concern yourself with me any longer – you've already done more than enough. I release you now from whatever absurd debt you may feel towards me.'

She opened her mouth to object, but he cut her off. 'This association can only end one way, I don't why I ever thought it might be otherwise.'

She regarded him contemplatively for some time. Then, slowly, she began to move, but not out of the chair and the room as he expected. Her hands came up to her shoulders and, slowly, deliberately, she rid herself of her cardigan.

Severus couldn't help but watch in fascination as soft-looking, pale skin was uncovered. His brain scrambled for some explanation for why she would be shedding her clothing in his presence, but found none; in fact, the entire organ seemed to shut down the moment her shoulders were revealed to the room.

She extended her left arm. His eyes dropped to the pale skin of her forearm to see …

He couldn't stop his sharp intake of breath.

'Bellatrix Lestrange gave me this while we were captured at Malfoy Manor. She had me under the Cruciatus Curse, and then when she was done with that, she held me down and used her wand to carve this into my skin. Letter by agonising letter. So as to be a permanent reminder of what I am.'

His hand reached out of its own accord and – with barely more than a cursory thought about how inappropriate it was – he traced a finger along the awful slur carved into her flesh. The letters were small, neat – reminiscent of the dead Death Eater's handwriting, he noted in disgust – and red and raw and painful-looking. He felt a physical stab in his gut at the thought of what Granger had gone through at that madwoman's hand. He'd known she'd been captured, but hadn't been privy to any of the details. Bellatrix was a master at torture; to think Granger had come out of that in one piece – mentally at least – was nothing short of astounding.

'I didn't know.'

'Not many do,' she said softly.

He swallowed, hard. 'Why are you showing me this?'

'Because,' she said, 'I need you to understand. Harry tried to convince me and Ron not to come with him last year. He was concerned we'd come to harm by being with him.' She held out the other arm now as well. The posture, her two marked arms outstretched on the bed before her, her halo of curls rendered unrulier than ever by the humidity, made her look faintly ridiculous.

But another part of him thought she looked rather like a fierce warrioress offering up a sacrifice to the gods. Strong. Fierce. Breathtaking.

She met his gaze, her deep-brown eyes unyielding. 'You didn't give me these bruises any more than Harry gave me this scar. I endured the worst pain imaginable for him. I think I can endure a few bruises for you, sir.'

The sheer force of what she was saying broke through his thick walls and he felt such a swell of emotion that, if his legs had been capable of carrying him across the room, he thought he would have rather jumped out the window to save himself the humiliation of her seeing how her words affected him.

Nobody had ever risked themselves for him … not even his own mother, who had been too afraid to stand in the way when his father took a mind to belting him … not even Lily, who had been content to watch from afar as James Potter and his sidekicks targeted him. Oh, she had defended him verbally on occasion, but she'd been careful never to draw her wand, never to get into the firing line herself. And yet this girl, who he barely knew, who had no reason to even like him, was offering him something nobody else ever had – and she likely had no idea.

What she was offering was a gift, and he would be the worst kind of man to accept it.

'It may not stop at bruises,' he said thickly. 'There are others out there who would see me hurt – Death Eaters who would do unimaginable things to you if they thought it might be a way to get back at me.'

'I'm already at risk from that, being Harry's friend,' she said.

'Then you know you do not need to add to your list of reasons to be targeted.'

'Do you think I haven't weighed all this up? That I went into this oblivious to the risks?'

He scoffed. 'I doubt you've ever done anything without weighing up every possible outcome, Granger.'

'Then believe me when I say I'm willing to take the risk. I want to help you.'

He stared at her, could not stop staring.

He knew he should say no, turn her away and tell her to forget about him, go and live her life and enjoy her freedom – for she had surely earned it. But as he stared into her stony eyes, he felt his resolve slip and a long hidden away part of him burst to the fore – the part that resembled the attention-starved little boy he had been, who had longed to be seen, to be valued.

He knew he should turn her away, but he also knew that he could not, and he only prayed he was not condemning her with his despicable selfishness.

'You won't do any more campaigning alone,' he said. 'From now on, someone will accompany you at all times. Potter or Weasley will do if you cannot find anyone more competent.'

That seemed to annoy her. 'I don't need protecting, sir. I can defend myself.'

'You will do your campaigning with protection or you won't do it at all.'

'But—'

'Promise me this.'

Her bottom lip caught in her teeth and she frowned at him. Then her shoulders slumped. 'Fine. But you have to promise me something in return.'

'What is that?' he asked, one brow arched.

'I want you to promise me you'll try and have some hope about your situation.'

'I can't control how I feel, Granger,' he said with a scowl.

'So what you told Harry during his Occlumency lessons, about controlling your emotions, was all a lie, then?'

He stiffened; was there not a single thing that Potter did not share with his friends? He supposed Granger knew about the memory Potter had seen in the Pensieve. Well, isn't that just wonderful?

'It was not a lie.'

'Then just try it. For a bit.'

He considered the young woman before him. He still deemed it incredibly unlikely that the Wizengamot would let him go unpunished. But then there had been a time when he could not imagine anything as unlikely as a young woman like her willingly spending time with a man like him. Had she not proven him wrong about that? Was it possible she could prove him wrong again?

'All right,' he said eventually. 'I promise.'

Her answering smile was blinding.

oOo

The next afternoon found Hermione in the garden with Harry, Ron, Ginny, and baby Teddy, enjoying the warm summer's day. Harry and Ginny were trying to coax Teddy to laugh by pulling faces at him, while Hermione had her head on Ron's lap as he gently ran his fingers over her hair. Instead of enjoying the rare moment of intimacy, however, she found her attention repeatedly drawn to the open window on the top floor.

The man on the other side of the window seemed to occupy almost every waking thought these days.

He'd already opened up to her more than she had dreamed possible. And now that they'd gotten past the initial awkwardness of their encounters, they got on remarkably well. At least she thought they did; it was entirely possible he was just putting up with her company out of sheer boredom. She couldn't rule that out; even with all the time they were spending together, it was still extremely difficult to read him.

He'd stopped biting her head off, though. Oh, he made plenty of barbed comments; though she'd noticed they were more often directed at her choice of company than at her, and those that were aimed at her were increasingly made with a slight glint in his dark eyes that told of teasing rather than malicious intent.

Lost in thought, she absently pulled at the long sleeves of her shirt. She didn't know what had possessed her to show him her scar. She didn't even like Ron seeing it, drawing her hand away whenever his fingers roamed too near the markings, unable to bear his pity. But with Snape she'd barely hesitated, even letting him run his fingers over the raised lettering. It hadn't occurred to her not to let him. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he was similarly marked that had allowed her to drop her defences.

She remembered the intense look in his dark eyes when he'd seen it, and she remembered his hands, elegant, like a pianist's, with long, graceful fingers that were ever-so-slightly calloused, hands that couldn't be more different than the large, clumsy ones currently tangled in her unruly curls, yanking at her scalp and—

'Ouch, Ron!' she gasped.

'Oops. Sorry, Hermione,' he said, pulling his hands back.

'Just be more careful.' Scowling slightly, she sat upright then gave Ron a peck on the cheek so he wouldn't be too put out.

'Hey, where's George today?' she asked, patting her hair down. 'I haven't seen him.'

Ginny guffawed. 'Hermione, we were literally just talking about that!'

'Were you? Sorry, I was miles away.'

'You're getting to be as bad as Luna,' said Ron affectionately. She lightly walloped him on the arm, and he laughed. 'If you'd been listening a minute ago, you'd know he's gone to the shop. I think he's gotten to the point where he's sick of hanging around here all the time. He's never been very good at being idle.'

'That's good,' she said, relieved. If he was spending time at the shop, then maybe that meant he was spending less time at the Three Broomsticks. She'd told none of the others about George's drinking habit, unsure of the right course of action.

'It'll be weird without Fred there, but I think it'll be good for him,' said Ginny, who promptly started to cry.

'It's what Fred would want,' said Harry, placing an arm around Ginny.

Ron plucked a few blades of grass. 'I can't imagine the shop without Fred.' His expression turned dark. 'I still forget sometimes … I see George rounding a corner and for a split second I just expect Fred to follow him.'

Hermione laid a hand on Ron's, and they all sat in quiet, respectful silence for a few minutes as each of them remembered the fallen redhead, broken only by the sound of Ginny's sniffling. Then the moment was shattered by Teddy Lupin of all things, as he did what all babies seem to do at the most inopportune moments, instantly breaking the maudlin mood of the group.

'Your turn, Ron,' laughed Ginny through her tears, holding out the smelly child.

Ron scrunched up his nose. 'Ugh, really?'

'You said you wanted four kids! It'll be good practice.'

Hermione guffawed and mouthed 'Four?' at Ron, who merely shrugged and reached for Teddy and carried him inside, holding him at arm's length.

'Four kids? He really said that?' said Hermione, aghast.

Ginny tried but failed to hold back a broad grin as she wiped the tears from her eyes. 'I thought you knew.'

'No! And he's got another thing coming if he thinks I'm going to … oh, what's that?' At that precise moment, something appeared in the sky; a large white owl carrying a small bundle. The three of them watched it flying closer before it landed gracefully onto the grass before Hermione and held out its leg.

'That's the Lovegoods' owl,' said Ginny.

Hermione eagerly untied the roll attached to its foot.

'It's the new edition of The Quibbler!' she exclaimed, unravelling the package. 'Oh, this is brilliant! The cover is genius! I'll have to write to Luna to thank her! Oh and Harry, did you really say that?'

She looked up to see Harry grinning at her, and gave him a beaming smile, before turning her attention to the magazine again.

A hand-drawn portrait of Severus Snape peered up at her, but it wasn't the sour-faced professor most were used to seeing. This version of Snape was smiling ever so slightly and his hair was tied back, giving him an almost aristocratic edge. The eyes glittered not with the usual haughty sneer but with intelligence and the slightest hint of warmth. He was utterly recognisable as the professor they all knew, yet smoothed of his rough edges – Severus Snape rebranded.

But best of all – beneath the portrait were the words: 'The Bravest Man I Know' – Harry Potter.

'I figured Mr Lovegood needed a catchy headline,' said Harry, and Hermione's eyes welled up with tears.

'Let's have a look,' said Ginny, reaching over and grabbing the magazine. Hermione tensed – she'd not remembered Ginny's harsh words about Snape not too long ago. 'Hm, it's good. She's made him a bit too good-looking though. Mind you, not that that can hurt.'

'Do you think?' Hermione cocked her head, trying to see what Ginny did. 'I don't see it. The eyes are uncanny.'

'Good idea to go for a drawing instead of a photo, eh?' said Harry. 'Could you imagine trying to get him to smile in front of a camera?'

Hermione laughed and flipped open the magazine – twelve whole pages were dedicated to Snape, with the bulk of the spread the writeup of the interview, which she skim-read. There was a page containing a column written by George about what had happened the night of Harry's removal from his aunt and uncle's, and one by Luna entitled 'Professor Snape Saved Me and my Friends From The Carrows', and opposite that there was also a whole page with supportive quotes from various students and Order members.

'Oh, this is even better than I could have hoped,' said Hermione, and got up. 'I'm going to take it up to him. Harry, you should come.'

Harry shook his head. 'I'll give it a few days for him to calm down after that headline.'

'He won't be angry about that!' she guffawed. 'You're just embarrassed for Snape to know you think well of him.'

'Well, I still don't think he'd want me in the room when he sees it.'

Exasperated, Hermione let out a sigh. 'Fine. But you really should go up and see him soon, talk to him properly. You can't put it off forever, and he is technically your guest.'

'I know,' he said with a cautious glance at the open window on the top floor.

She entered the house and passed Ron in the kitchen; he was pinching his nose and staring down at the waiting baby with a look of disgust and terror. Hermione had a chuckle at his expense.

Brimming with excited energy, she practically ran up the four flights of stairs. She rapped a happy tune on Snape's door and he permitted her with a bemused, 'Enter.'

'I have something for you,' she said, and he watched her warily as she took her usual seat and pulled it closer to the bed, hiding the magazine behind her back.

'I'm not generally fond of surprises, Granger. Out with it.'

She placed the magazine on his lap, and her smile faltered slightly when he merely stared down at the cover with no hint of a reaction. But she was rewarded a moment later when his finger reached out and touched Harry's quote, as though to determine it wasn't an illusion.

'Potter said this?' he said quietly.

'Yes.'

The corner of his mouth twitched and there was a strange look in his eyes. For a moment Hermione thought he might smile or laugh or even cry. But then his walls went up and he was inscrutable once more.

'I expect I'll have to grovel at his feet before long,' he said.

'Don't be stupid, it's he who should be grovelling at your feet, and he knows it perfectly well. Why else do you think he's been avoiding coming up here?' She gestured at the cover. 'This is the only way he knows to tell you what he really thinks of you.'

Snape made an unconvinced noise and opened the magazine to the main story. She watched him read in exasperation, wondering if there would ever be a time where he and Harry would get over their differences and have a sincere and civil conversation.

oOo

Granger left shortly afterwards, for which he was grateful. Alone again, he reconsidered the cover of the magazine.

For so long now he'd craved forgiveness and admiration, even though he'd never held out any hope of achieving them. Well, it would appear he had them now in spades, and from the most unlikely of sources. He had Hermione Granger's forgiveness; her words and the magically preserved tulips at his bedside testified to that. It would seem he had Harry Potter's admiration; oh, what he would have given to see the look on Sirius Black's face when he learned that fact.

He scanned the list of quotes included on the page opposite the younger Lovegood's column, his heart thumping in his chest.

'Severus Snape is a war hero deserving of the highest respect. Without him, my son George would be dead, and for that, I will never be able to thank him enough.' – Arthur Weasley, Head of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects.

'I'm ashamed of myself for misjudging Severus for so long. I allowed my grief to cloud my reasoning. I only hope he can forgive me.' – Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

'Always new [sic] he was a good one. Dumbledore trusted him for a reason.' – Rubeus Hagrid, Hogwarts Professor.

And on and on – Filius Flitwick, Pomona Sprout, Poppy Pomfrey, Aurora Sinistra, Bill Weasley, George Weasley, Remus Lupin, Horace Slughorn … Potter again, his words set in a gold-framed bubble at the centre of all the others: 'Severus Snape is the bravest man I know.'

Truly, it was enough to make one feel nauseous. Trust the idiotic boy to reach for unconvincing superlatives.

And yet when his eyes drifted back to the words, he could not deny he felt a small tingle of pride. Coming from the boy who had, on the night of the Astronomy tower, screamed at him for being a coward, this was the greatest peace offering one could imagine. It was certainly not one Severus had expected.

At peace with a Potter? Severus scoffed, ignoring the ludicrous impulse to check out the window for flying pigs.

Now that Potter had declared him a hero to the world, how in Merlin's name were they supposed to act to one another? He had no desire to becomes chums with the boy – but surely Potter didn't expect that. Did Granger expect it? He groaned; it would be just like her, in her infernal optimism, to think they could suddenly rid themselves of all old prejudices and for Severus to become some sort of mentor figure to the boy.

Well, if that's what she was hoping for, she was in for a great deal of disappointment.

He could see it now; the three of them sitting in the kitchen, him and Potter glaring daggers at one another while Granger tried to break the ice with dreadful pleasantries about the weather.

God help him.

As always, dying to hear your thoughts ;)