True to her word, Hermione dragged Harry along with her the next morning when she set off to collect signatures for Snape's petition. She'd asked Ron to join them too, thinking that the image of the Golden Trio united would make for a powerful show of strength and credibility, but he hadn't seemed convinced.

'Rather not have my name dragged through the mud, thanks,' were his exact words. 'Can't afford to scupper my chances with the Auror Department.'

His attitude had annoyed her, but she hadn't pressed the issue.

It took five days of going doorstep to doorstep, travelling the length and breadth of Wizarding Britain, but they finally amassed the required five-hundred signatures for the petition to be acknowledged by the Wizengamot. Not everyone had been cooperative – there had been plenty of accusations and heated debates – but with Harry there, they'd had a much higher success rate than Hermione would have managed on her own.

Of course, she had no delusions that one petition would convince the Ministry to let Snape free, but she remained hopeful it would help to create a sense that the Wizengamot had the eyes of the public on them, and that they might be more likely to give him a fair trial as opposed to what amounted to mere show trials for the real Death Eaters.

Kingsley Shacklebolt at least had seemed genuinely impressed they'd managed to find so many signatories in so short a time. He also congratulated her on the successful Quibbler edition – apparently the magazine had caused quite a stir amongst certain sections of the Ministry.

She returned to Grimmauld Place after their meeting with the Minister, almost buoyant. For the first time since starting the campaign, she felt like they were making real progress.

oOo

'But Kreacher's been all right for ages now!' protested the redhead through a mouthful of elf-made mushroom omelette.

Since returning to work at the beginning of the week, Kreacher had been whipping up obscene amounts of food to make up for the days he'd been off sick. Hermione had tried to convince him it was unnecessary, but Ron had finally persuaded her to leave Kreacher be – as a result, her boyfriend was already on his third omelette of the morning.

'Not this again, Ron,' said Hermione, growing more irritated by the second.

She popped two slices of bread under the grill and grabbed the pot of marmalade. Her compromise to the Kreacher situation was to continue to prepare Snape's breakfasts. She didn't want to add to the elf's self-imposed workload and, besides, they had a good system going with the charmed notebooks and she was accustomed to the man's preferences now – she knew exactly how well-toasted he liked his bread (well-done, almost to the point of charred), how he took his tea (black, unsurprisingly, but with copious amounts of sugar).

And anyway, even aside from all that, she had long ceased to view bringing him his meals as a chore …

But there was no way to explain that to Ron without sounding like she'd gone certifiably insane.

'I just think it's weird how much time you're spending with him. Isn't it really awkward?'

'Not really, no. Besides, we can't just leave him up there on his own. Even he needs someone to talk to sometimes.'

Ron crossed his arms. 'I just don't see why it has to be you.'

'Well, why don't you go up and have a chat with him then?' snapped Hermione, slamming the empty mug she was holding on the kitchen surface.

Ron balked, and she immediately regretted her outburst. She let out a sigh, rubbing her temples. 'I'm sorry,' she said softly. 'I didn't mean to snap.'

'It's okay,' he said, though he still looked a little wary of her. 'I get it. I just … I miss you. But I know when you get on a project like this, you don't like any distractions.'

'You're not a distraction,' Hermione said with a frown, 'you're my boyfriend.' And Snape wasn't a project, was he? All right, maybe it had been that way at the beginning, but now he was … well, she didn't know quite what.

'I don't like fighting with you,' said Ron miserably. 'Can I at least get a kiss before you disappear?' He gave her that cheeky smile she always found hard to resist, and with a dramatic sigh of defeat, she gave him a quick peck on the lips.

'Don't spend too long up there, yeah?' said Ron. 'Let's spend the morning together in the garden.'

'You always say that, and then you end up playing Quidditch with the others,' she said, smirking. 'Like yesterday. I bet you didn't even notice when I came outside.'

The guilty look on his face told her he hadn't.

Gathering the last of Snape's breakfast items, she blew him a kiss. 'I won't be long, promise,' she said, and flew out the room.

Ron remained in the same spot for some time, deep in thought.

'You always say that,' he muttered.

oOo

'Morning, sir, how are … Crooks!' Granger exclaimed at the sight of the ginger beast nestled comfortably in his lap. 'So this is where you've been hiding. I'm sorry, sir, has he been bothering you?'

'He's no bother,' Severus said before reaching down to scratch the cat behind the ears. 'Crooks, hm. So that's your name.'

Granger nodded. 'Short for Crookshanks.'

He glanced at her. 'He's yours, I presume?'

'Yes, although I've barely seen him since I retrieved him from The Burrow. I don't think he's quite forgiven me for abandoning him when we were off looking for horcruxes.'

He snorted. 'He started scratching at my door at three o'clock this morning. I told him to bugger off, but he's a persistent little thing.' A little like his owner, he added in his head.

Her face turned an impressive shade of red and she gave the cat a stern look. 'You naughty cat. I'm so sorry he woke you up.'

'He didn't actually, I was already awake.'

She peered at him through long eyelashes and said, 'Trouble sleeping?'

He brushed off her concern with a wave of his hand; he wasn't about to reveal to her the visions that haunted his nights. He scratched under Crookshanks' chin, and the cat purred delightedly in response.

'He's fond of you,' Granger said softly. 'I can count on one hand the people he deems worthy of handling him like that. Most of the time not even Harry or Ron, and he's known them just as long as he's known me.'

'Well then, I'm honoured.' It was pathetic, he knew, but secretly he was more than a little satisfied to hear it.

To his bewilderment, she perched on the side of the bed, and he was struck by the mingled scents of peppermint toothpaste, something citrusy that seemed to come from her hair and – he noted with a small scowl – the lingering yet unmistakable odour of men's aftershave.

'As you should be,' she said, reaching out to stroke Crookshanks' back. 'He's part kneazle, you know. They're good judges of character.'

The warmth in her voice made him uneasy. 'Hm. Yours is clearly defective then.'

She stilled and pinned him with a serious look, then with no warning at all, her hand moved to cover his.

'Don't. Not even as a joke.'

For a moment he found it almost hard to breathe, spellbound as he was by the unbearable softness of her skin.

Two competing desires warred inside him – either to fling her hand away with carefully chosen scornful words, or to grab her hand in his and clasp it tight. When was the last time anyone had willingly touched him? Aside from the Healers at St. Mungo's, he could not even recall … Then, just as suddenly as she had brought her hand to his, she removed it and he was spared having to decide at all. It was probably for the best; she'd have run from the room whatever he'd done, whether from terror or disgust. Yet he wondered idly what it would be like to inspire something warmer in the young woman before him …

He dragged his eyes back down to his lap.

'What made you choose a cat over an owl?' he asked smoothly, his voice betraying not even a hint of his torment.

She cast a fond look at the animal purring in his lap and resumed her stroking. He forced himself to drag his gaze from her fingers.

'I was going to get an owl,' she admitted. 'But then I saw Crookshanks. The lady at Magical Menagerie told me he'd been there for years and that no one wanted him because he had a bad temper and a squashed face. I felt so awful for him I just had to take him home. He really was a menace at first, but I figured he'd been so neglected for so long he just needed a bit of affection.'

Another of her charity cases then. Why was he not surprised?

'Perhaps it was just his natural temperament,' he said. 'Did you never think of that?'

She smiled softly. 'I don't believe anyone's naturally bad-tempered. Anyone can change if given a chance. Even stubborn kneazles,' she added tenderly as Crookshanks purred under her attentions.

He was tempted to roll his eyes; the girl definitely needed to work on her subtlety. Still, he decided to play along.

'Even if one has been that way for so long they don't know any other way to be?'

'If they want to badly enough and they make an honest attempt at it, why not?'

He did not respond to that, and they lapsed into silence. With a jolt, he realised he had forgotten all about his breakfast, and he thought idly that it was a good thing she always remembered warming charms on his food. He reached out and poured himself a cup of tea, taking a thoughtful sip.

'And did it work?' he said after he had half drained the cup.

She gave him a puzzled look, and he glanced at the orange furball in his lap.

'Ah,' she said, comprehending, a secret smile on her lips, 'I think so. It took some time and a lot of patience, but he's much more friendly these days.'

oOo

Much later, she burst into the kitchen with a flustered apology, but Ron barely acknowledged her as he headed outside to play Quidditch with Harry and Ginny. He didn't speak to her until after lunch when she cornered him in his bedroom.

'I don't even care, Hermione.'

'Really? Because it seems as if you do. Otherwise you wouldn't be ignoring me.'

'I don't. If you prefer spending time with some greasy professor over me, who am I to say anything?'

'Ron, don't be a prat!'

'Oh, I'm a prat now, am I?'

'Right now, yes!'

'For wanting to spend time with my girlfriend?'

'Not for that bit, obviously,' she snapped, more viciously than she should have done. 'Look, I've said I'm sorry. What more do you want?'

'Maybe for you to sound as though you actually mean it.'

'I do!'

But Ron merely shrugged and walked past her into the hallway. 'Yeah? It doesn't seem like it.'

'Don't just run off like that!' Hermione called after him as he descended the stairs. She took off after him. 'I'm trying to solve this. I want to know what to do to make this better.'

'Oh, I don't know,' said Ron, coursing through the downstairs hall, before making for the drawing room, 'you could try paying me a bit of attention once in a while. Actually spending time with me.'

'We spend time together.' She followed him into the room just as she heard the gentle click of a nearby door being closed.

He feigned interest in a portrait on the wall. 'Do we? We haven't had a proper conversation in ages. Not since you started going up to him.' He jerked his head to the top of the house.

'And whose fault is that? Every time I see you, you moan at me.'

'I don't moan!' he protested, turning to face her.

'Yes, you do. I haven't said anything because … well, you're going through a hard time and I didn't want to push it. But just because you're mourning, doesn't mean you get to pick fights with me whenever you want.'

'Easy for you to say,' he spat, the bitterness coming off him in waves now. 'You didn't lose anyone in the battle. You don't know what it's like.'

Hermione felt herself go cold. 'I lost friends, too, Ronald.'

'Not anyone close. Not really.' And she couldn't say anything because she knew it was partly true. 'And just because you got back on your feet within a few weeks and everything's great in Hermione-land, doesn't mean the rest of us are fine and dandy.'

She glared at him, unable to hold back her fury any longer. 'You think my life is all sunshine and roses? That I don't have problems? Fuck you, Ronald Weasley! My parents are barely speaking to me because they're still furious I stole their memories and sent them to live on another continent, I barely sleep at night because every time I close my eyes I'm being tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange, I'm trying to stop a man whose life I saved against his will from being sent to Azkaban, I'm being lambasted in the press as a stupid and helpless victim of a love potion, and to top it all off, I've had to look after you!'

She knew as soon as she said it that it was inexcusable … reprehensible. Her hand flew to her mouth as Ron watched her from across the room with a half agonised, half vicious look in his blue eyes.

'Ron, I didn't—'

But he cut her off, his voice thick with emotion. 'That's how it really is, isn't it? I'm just a chore, a burden.' She started to protest when he laughed harshly, and for a moment she barely recognised him. 'Funny how you don't seem to mind looking after Snape. I'm starting to wonder if there's something to what they're saying in the papers after all.'

All her anger came rushing back and more.

'How dare you!' she hissed.

Ron shrugged angrily. 'You've got to be getting something out of being up there all this time.'

Her wand was out before he had even finished his sentence. She felt a flash of fury she hadn't felt since the day Ron had come crawling back to her and Harry in the woods all those months ago. She was so furious she couldn't even think straight. How dare Ron infer—

With a short, sharp wave of her wand, Ron's head was surrounded by an angry flock of her trademark yellow birds. He let out a yelp, and she watched with a smug satisfaction as he stumbled back, waving his hands around his face trying to bat them away. All his attempts, however, only angered the flock further.

'What the … Ow! Get them off me!' he cried through a wall of yellow feathers as the birds pecked at his fingers.

'Not until you take that back!'

'No!'

She crossed her arms in a defiant stance.

One of the birds broke through his fingers and poked him in the eye.

'Arrgh!' he cried, holding a hand to his face. 'Fine, alright! I take it back!'

She waved her wand and immediately the birds vanished. Ron looked up, his face flushed and angry, chest heaving, flaming hair all askew. He opened his mouth before apparently thinking better of it, then turned on the spot and made for the hallway. She heard his mutter of 'Fucking mental' before the front door slammed, rattling the portraits in the hallway, and waking Mrs Black from her mid-afternoon snooze and sending her off on a rant.

'Blood traitors! Half-breeds and Muggle filth! Polluting my ancestral home!'

'Shut up, you stupid woman!' shouted Hermione as she stormed into the hall.

'Mudblood! Vile, inferior girl! Begone from this house!'

Hermione jabbed her wand at the curtain, but it wouldn't budge; the woman continued screeching her hateful insults. She tried again, but her emotions were all over the place and she couldn't focus her magic …

'Everything all right, Hermione?' came Harry's voice as his messy black head peered out from behind the library door.

'Does it look it?' she snapped.

Harry said nothing, just moved silently past her and closed the curtains on Mrs Black. Hermione watched, dejected, as she took a seat at the bottom of the staircase. The reality of what had just happened suddenly hit her, and she began to cry silently. There was no excuse for losing her temper like that – she knew Ron well enough by now to know he didn't mean half the things he said when he was angry. But it had still hurt – the fact that he was willing to use the Prophet's ludicrous article against her like that.

'I'm sorry, Harry,' she said through her tears. 'I shouldn't have snapped at you.'

Harry took a seat next to her. 'Ron's gone, I take it?'

'Yes,' she said miserably as she wiped away her tears. 'You heard us arguing?'

He nodded carefully. 'Hard not to, to be fair. Pretty sure half the street heard that.'

She buried her head in her hands. 'I think I really messed up. Am I being totally unreasonable? I said some really awful things, but so did he, and he just makes me so angry sometimes …'

Harry shrugged. 'I reckon you both said things you'll regret. But … well, he's got a point in that you've barely seen him since all this stuff with Snape.'

She bristled. 'But it's only temporary, he knows that. And anyway he could have spent the week campaigning with us – I asked him to come, but he chose not to. He's just as at fault as I am.'

'I know,' he said. 'And it's no one's fault – it's still a weird time, you're bound to have a few teething problems.'

'But you and Ginny never seem to argue.'

'Yeah, well, we've got way less baggage than you and Ron.'

She laughed sardonically at that, then let out a long sigh.

'Besides,' Harry continued, serious now, 'Ginny's always been better at dealing with stress than Ron has. And after everything with Fred … well, I think Ron needs you, he just doesn't know how to say it. To be honest, I think he's been feeling a bit forgotten about.'

Guilt seared through her.

'But he knows he can come to me, doesn't he? I'd hate him to think I don't care about him.'

'No offense, Hermione,' said Harry, visibly uncomfortable, 'but you're not the most approachable person when you're in the middle of a project.' There was that word again – project. 'And I mean, do you really need to spend as much time with Snape as you do for the campaign? You don't spend all your time talking about that, do you?'

'No,' she admitted, flushing red all of a sudden. 'We talk about other things as well.'

Harry glanced at her. 'I've been wondering that. What on earth do you talk about with him?'

'Oh, I don't know … all sorts of things,' she muttered with a shrug. 'We've had some wonderful conversations actually.'

Harry stared at her in barely concealed horror.

'Wonderful conversations? You're talking about Snape? Professor Snape? The terror of the dungeons?'

She grinned weakly. 'Is it so hard to believe? He does have some social skills.'

'Could've fooled me,' mumbled Harry, to which Hermione rolled her eyes.

Just then the front door opened and Remus entered, pushing an old and rather conspicuous Victorian pram. He seemed relieved to be back indoors.

'Can't take the little lad anywhere,' he said breathlessly, pulling off his cloak and hanging it by the door. 'Some old Muggle woman was cooing at him when suddenly he sprouted a white perm to match hers. I had to Confund her just to stop her from screaming.'

When even Harry only managed a mild huff of amusement at the anecdote, Remus seemed to pick up on the fact that something was amiss.

'Is everything alright?' he asked, eyes darting between Harry and Hermione.

'I had an argument with Ron,' said Hermione bleakly.

'Ah. Yes, I thought I saw him as I was coming back. He seemed a little distracted.'

Hermione cringed. 'I'd rather not talk about it.'

Remus nodded in understanding.

'Alright,' said Harry cheerily, a glint in his emerald eyes, 'let's talk about these wonderful conversations you've been having with Snape instead.' Hermione jabbed an elbow into his arm. 'What? You can't drop a bombshell like that and expect me to just ignore it.'

Remus looked surprised. 'It's going well with him then?'

Hermione shrugged. 'I suppose. Much better than before at least. He can be interesting to talk to when he wants to be.'

Harry sniggered. 'Maybe they slipped something into his potions from St. Mungo's – a personality transplant elixir or something.'

'Oh stop it,' scorned Hermione, though she allowed herself a small smile before turning to the older man. 'You've worked with him, Remus. You must have conversed with him socially at some point.'

'I considered myself lucky if I got a civil greeting out of him, Hermione. Frankly, I'm as surprised as Harry. Severus must think very highly of you if he talks to you like you say he does.'

Heat flooded her face. 'I don't know about that,' she said. 'I'm sure he still thinks I'm an insufferable know-it-all. He just appreciates having someone to talk to as a distraction from everything. He'd probably speak to any of you eventually, it just happened to be me who barged in there and forced my company on him.'

'Perhaps,' said Remus thoughtfully, though he didn't seem at all convinced.

'Has he spoken about my mum?' said Harry eagerly.

Shaking her head, she said, 'He's mentioned her name once or twice, but nothing really personal about her.'

'Oh.' He looked disappointed.

'Talk to him, Harry,' she urged. 'You might find him surprisingly accommodating.'

'Soon,' he said, with not much conviction.

Remus excused himself then, pulling the baby from the pram and carrying him upstairs for his afternoon nap. Harry and Hermione remained in companionable silence for a few minutes until Hermione voiced the niggling thought at the back of her mind.

'Do you think Ron will come back? Should I have gone after him?'

Harry let out a sigh. 'Give him a while to cool off. He's probably gone to the Burrow. If he's not back tomorrow, then go and find him.'

'Yeah,' she said. 'Thanks, Harry. I think I'm going to go and have a lie down.' She rose to her feet. 'Do you think you could … Snape's dinner … I really don't think I can face him tonight after, well, everything.'

Harry nodded his understanding. 'Sure,' he said. 'Either Remus or I will do it.'

She rolled her eyes affectionately.

'Remus, then,' she said.

Harry grinned, but at least had the decency to look a little ashamed.

oOo

It was a quarter to eight, and still Granger hadn't turned up.

Clutching his novel, Severus peered at the words on the page before him, but he had long since given up any hope of taking them in. For the twentieth time in as many minutes, he wondered where she was. It wasn't like her to be late.

Mind you, it wasn't like him to become so focused on listening out for irksome Gryffindor know-it-alls that he couldn't focus on his reading, and yet here he was.

Had something happened to her? Was she unwell, injured, swarmed again by a mob of angry protesters, captured by rogue Death Eaters? A thousand scenarios, each more dramatic than the last, ran through his mind.

He'd spent far too much time cooped up in this damned bedroom if his imagination was running riot like this. An almost exclusive mental diet of Victorian literature probably wasn't helping either. He tossed the book aside.

Ten minutes later he heard footsteps and the door swung open. But instead of the vibrant brunette he'd come to expect, he found himself looking at the haggard and scarred face of the last of his remaining childhood adversaries. He swallowed the mortifying pang of disappointment that rose up within him.

'Lupin,' he said in greeting.

'Good to see you, Severus,' said the other man, offering a slight smile. 'How are you holding up?'

He grunted. 'Well enough, considering.'

'You're probably wondering why I'm here instead of Hermione,' said Lupin, laying down the dinner tray. Severus nonchalantly shrugged a shoulder. 'She had a row with Ron and is rather upset about it.'

Ah. So that was what that screeching had been earlier. He had assumed a banshee had been let loose in the house.

'I care not about the whereabouts of Miss Granger.'

'Is that so?' said Lupin with the smallest smirk. 'That's odd. She says you've been getting on rather well.' He glanced at the vase of tulips next to the bed, then leaned back against the desk, showing no signs of leaving.

Severus pulled the tray closer, preparing to cut into the plate of steaming hot pie. 'The girl is clearly delusional.'

'Yes, that must be it,' said Lupin, and Severus shot him a glare. Why wouldn't the man leave him so he could eat his dinner in peace?

'You know, I've been meaning to say, Severus,' the other man said, hesitancy written across his scarred face. 'That is … Harry told me about the night last summer when we moved him to the Burrow, about what he saw in your memories. He said that when you accidentally hit George with that curse, you were trying to save us.'

His hands stilled, and he nodded mechanically.

'You didn't have to do that,' said Remus. 'Thank you.'

Severus looked at the other man and, for once, found he had no desire to be waspish with him.

'Not at all,' he said.

There was a pregnant pause, neither man quite knowing where to go next in a conversation that wasn't laced with hostility.

'I am sorry about Nymphadora. She was a talented witch and a good person. She didn't deserve to die.'

Tears swelled in the werewolf's eyes before he cleared his throat and gained control of himself. 'No,' he said in a thick voice. 'But that's not how it works, is it?'

Indeed, it didn't; Severus knew that better than anybody.

'Your son is well?'

Lupin's expression turned in an instant. 'He is. And he's not a werewolf, if that's what you were wondering.'

'That's not what I …' Severus began awkwardly. 'Miss Granger already informed me of that.'

Lupin nodded. 'You'll have to meet him once you're up and about. Perhaps join us for dinner.'

He scowled at the offer; he wouldn't be surprised if Granger had put Lupin up to it.

'I hardly think that's a very good idea,' he sneered.

'Why not?' Lupin asked innocently.

'Don't be obtuse. You know as well as I do I'm not here because I'm wanted.'

'Severus …'

He shot the werewolf a glare.

Lupin sighed. 'Fine,' he said as he pushed off the desk and made to leave. 'The invitation's there anyway. You never know, it might do you some good.'