Word must have spread that Severus was out of confinement, for over the next several days he received a string of visitors in the forms of Poppy Pomfrey, Rubeus Hagrid, and Minerva McGonagall. Poppy had been motherly, and after the initial apologies and assurances had been made had immediately set about performing every diagnostic charm under the sun upon his person.

'For Merlin's sake, woman, will you cease your manhandling!' Severus snapped when the meddlesome witch poked her wand into the tender flesh of his neck.

Poppy drew back her wand, completely unaffected by his outburst. 'Scrappy as ever, I see. I suppose that's a good sign.' Her shrewd eyes roamed his face. 'Frankly you look better than you've looked in years. Something in this house must agree with you,' she said, then added with a devilish twinkle in her eye, 'or someone – if the papers are to be believed.'

His sharp response only exacerbated the twinkle, and she left, cackling, while Severus glowered at her retreating back.

When Hagrid came the next day, he soaked through three handkerchiefs in the space of twenty minutes with his blubbering. Severus sat awkwardly across from the half-giant, attempting to reassure him, and could barely contain his relief when Lupin – who for the first time in his life Severus was actually glad to see – appeared at the drawing room door and declared that soup was ready to all those who wanted it.

Minerva's visit was the one he had been dreading the most. He'd been reading at the desk in his bedroom when he heard her strong Scottish brogue echoing from three floors down. Dimly, he heard Potter directing her upstairs, and soon enough there was a tentative knock at the door. Severus put down his book.

'Come in.'

'Oh, Severus,' said Minerva breathlessly as she crossed the room.

He stood to greet her, and went rigid as the older woman stepped forwards to embrace him.

'I'm so very sorry, Severus,' Minerva said, releasing him, and he took a step back. 'You must have a terribly bad opinion of me after the way I treated you last year.'

He stared dumbfounded at his former colleague. 'Not at all, Minerva. You were supposed to despise me. It was—'

'All part of the plan! Yes, so Albus's portrait constantly reminds me.' She let out an impressive huff. 'Believe you me, I've already given him a piece of my mind. How he could have done that to you without telling a single soul, I'll never know. Wretched, manipulative old codger! If he wasn't dead already, I'd – well.'

Severus was quite enjoying this little show of outrage on his behalf.

'I've berated myself every day for not having guessed,' she went on. 'How awful it must have been for you.'

He shook his head. 'I did what had to be done, Minerva.'

'But—'

'Let us not speak of it,' he cut in. 'How are the repairs at Hogwarts coming along?' He gestured for her to take a seat in Granger's chair (he was still working on calling her Hermione in his head – seven years of habit was hard to break.)

They fell into easy conversation after that, almost as though the previous twelve months had never happened. The two of them had never been friends exactly, but he'd been surprised by how much he had missed the company of the older woman – as heads of rival houses they'd enjoyed a competitive but good-natured camaraderie, and Minerva was one of the few people who could match him in wit. In fact, their sparring matches in the Hogwarts staffroom had been somewhat legendary among the faculty.

'After all this business with the trial is over, there will always be a place for you at Hogwarts,' said Minerva almost an hour later. 'Horace has agreed to come back for one more year, but we haven't yet filled the role of Defence teacher.'

Severus considered. The thought of what he might do for employment if he was cleared hadn't even crossed his mind. It seemed such a far-off notion to not be worth bothering about. But one thing he knew for certain – the role he had coveted for so many years held no appeal whatsoever anymore.

Most people thought he'd wanted the Defence Against the Dark Arts job because of his affinity for Dark Magic. He supposed it was partly true. But as the years had gone on, and as each year Dumbledore had handed the role to a seemingly endless string of incompetents, it had become only a very small part. The truth was he'd sought the title of Defence professor for the simple reason that Dumbledore hadn't trusted him with it. Well, he'd finally been granted his wish, the title and the trust that came with it. But it had come at a heavy price, and in the end the job had been a poor consolation prize for killing the man who had been his guide and mentor for the better part of two decades.

The idea of returning to Hogwarts frankly turned his stomach, but might there come a day when he had little other choice? He had been there so long that he could not truly envisage himself doing anything else, and even if he were acquitted he was hardly likely to be swamped with offers.

'You think the governors would allow me to teach again after everything?'

'Once you're cleared, they'll have no grounds to oppose it.'

He gave her a sceptical look.

'You will be cleared, Severus.'

'You know as well as I do, Minerva, that the odds are stacked hard against me.'

'I wouldn't be so sure about that,' said Minerva with a small smile playing on her thin lips. 'The tide is turning. Young Miss Granger's efforts haven't gone unnoticed by those in the corridors of power, you know. I've spent enough time dealing with Ministry officials over the last few weeks to sense the shift.'

Severus considered that and tried not to get his hopes up.

'Remarkable girl, Miss Granger,' continued Minerva. 'I have to say I was extremely glad when she agreed to return. It would have been a terrible waste of an intellect like hers if she'd chosen not to take her NEWTs.'

'Miss Granger is returning to Hogwarts?' That was the first he'd heard of it. Actually, he realised then, she hadn't mentioned anything about her future plans at all. It was probably the sort of thing he was supposed to ask her about, now she considered him a friend, but, true to form, he'd been too much of a self-centred arse to think of it.

'Yes,' said Minerva, then gave him a stern look. 'Try not to let that influence your decision. I know you never liked the girl, Severus – Merlin knows why, I've always found her quite charming – but without Mr Potter and Mr Weasley hanging off her arm I think you'll find her infinitely more tolerable.'

Tolerable indeed.

It was a good thing she was not looking directly at him, for he found he could not hold back a small smirk, which, had she seen it, would surely have invited a barrage of unwanted questions.

oOo

'Here,' said Hermione later in the day, placing a pot of tea and a plate of something sticky and cakelike on the kitchen table in front of him.

He peered down at the offering, idly stroking the large ginger kneazle in his lap, which had taken to following him around the house in a manner that was most irritating.

'What's this?'

'What does it look like?' she said, wearing an exasperated smile, and gestured for him to take a bite. Slowly, he put aside the Daily Prophet and reached for the fork.

His reluctance must have been palpable, for her expression quickly changed. 'Don't tell me you don't like chocolate?' she said, watching him as though she had just handed in a particularly complex potion for marking.

'I don't often partake of sweet things. I've always eaten more for sustenance than pleasure.'

She barely stifled a laugh. 'Why doesn't that surprise me?'

He cast her a withering glance, then, almost to spite her, broke off a small piece of cake with the fork and brought it to his lips.

'Well?' she said eagerly.

He chewed for the longest time, taking a perverse satisfaction in leaving her hanging.

'It's good.'

She beamed at him. 'Really?'

He nodded and took another bite as if to prove it, earning a satisfied smile from her as he finished off the treat. No doubt the girl had taken it upon herself to fatten him up. Molly Weasley had tried the same thing once, thrusting sandwiches and biscuits at him before Order meetings, a habit which he'd found profoundly irritating at the time; he wondered why he felt no such irritation now it was Hermione doing the same.

'I've been trying to work on my cooking skills,' she explained. 'After months of living on scraps and foraged mushrooms, I'm quite enjoying expanding my repertoire.'

'Hm. Practicing for the day you become Weasley's housemaid, are you?'

Her face fell. 'A woman can learn to cook for her own benefit, you know. It doesn't always have to be about a man.'

Ah, he'd touched a nerve there. 'I'm aware of that, Hermione. I was only teasing.'

She swiped away his empty plate, turning away from him to wash up. 'Yes, well, just because my relationship is a joke to you, doesn't mean it is to me.'

Her back was unnaturally rigid as she stood at the sink, taking far longer than was necessary to wash one single plate. The knowledge he'd upset her – even about something as deserving of ridicule as her choice of romantic partner – did not please him in the slightest.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he shooed Crookshanks off his lap, and the kneazle jumped to the floor, hissing at him. Then he stood and joined her, grabbing a tea towel and drying off the dishes while she washed some old mugs by hand, without magic.

'I apologise,' he said, after a few awkward seconds had passed.

She sighed heavily and turned off the tap. 'I'm sorry, too. I'm just a little touchy about Ron at the moment.'

Not liking where this conversation was going one bit, he hastily changed the subject. 'You know, if you wish to learn to cook, I could always teach you.'

She immediately brightened. 'You cook? I don't believe you.'

'Why not?' he smirked.

'Because out of all the wizards I've ever met, not a single one of them has been able to so much as magically whip up an omelette.'

'You doubt my word?'

'Yes!'

Smirking, he put away the last of the dry dishes before turning back to face her. 'Well then, faced with such undeserved scepticism, I suppose I've no choice but to prove myself. I'll cook for the house tonight,' he said, before adding, 'Do you have a preference as to cuisine?'

'Why, so you can order takeaway and get all the credit?'

He shot her a look of mock offense. 'You wound me, Miss Granger. Such a thing would never even cross my mind.' Then he added, in a more serious tone, 'Anyway, I couldn't. If you recall, I'm magically barred from leaving this building.'

'I imagine if you bribed George enough he'd happily sneak to the Indian around the corner.'

'I've no doubt he would. However, since you'll be assisting me, you'll see for yourself that I'm no liar.'

She grinned. 'I don't remember agreeing to be your assistant.'

He shrugged nonchalantly. 'You wanted to learn to cook, I have little to occupy my time here. And since I'm not allowed anywhere in this infernal house without a babysitter, we may as well kill two birds with one stone.' He moved to the table and grabbed a piece of parchment from a nearby pile, scribbling down a list and then handing it to her.

'What's this?' she said, frowning down at the paper.

'Shopping list,' he said. 'I've seen the pantry in this place. I don't know how anyone could be expected to make a nutritious meal out of the scant offerings there.'

She folded the parchment up and put it in her pocket. 'What time did you want to begin?'

'Six o'clock should give us more than enough time.'

'Alright, I'll pop to the shop now,' she said with a smile. 'I'm looking forward to this.'

He rolled his eyes. 'Only you, Hermione, could look forward to extra lessons with a professor.'

'Are you serious?' she laughed. 'Severus Snape, renowned potions master, terror of the dungeons, double agent, and accomplished home cook. I wouldn't miss this for the world.'

oOo

'So go on, Mr Secretive, how did you learn to get so good at cooking?' she asked, handing him a bowl of peeled and chopped potatoes.

'I taught myself as a child,' Snape said as he took the bowl from her. 'My mother wasn't much of a cook – even with magic – so if I wanted to eat something other than corned beef sandwiches, I had to make it. Here, slice these,' he added, passing her four large white onions. She took up her knife and did as she was told, but apparently she was doing it all wrong, for he soon swore under his breath and grabbed the knife from her, then proceeded to demonstrate how it should be done.

'It shouldn't surprise me really,' she said once he'd handed the knife back. 'You're a master of potions, and cooking isn't all that different.'

He gave her a withering look. 'I'll pretend you didn't say that. Cooking and potions are similar in a few superficial ways, I grant you, but they are nothing alike.'

Hermione felt her cheeks flush red. 'Still, I bet it gave you an advantage in potions class.'

He concurred with a brief nod. 'That it did. When my classmates were still learning how to chop a single flobberworm without slicing their fingers off, I was chopping twenty a minute. It left me more time to experiment.'

'Professor Slughorn let you experiment in classes?'

He shrugged and threw the potatoes in to boil. 'He was far too distracted scouting talent for his little club that he paid very little attention to what I was doing. I wasn't' – he searched for the right word – 'impressive enough for him back then. It was only in my second year that he began to take notice of me, and by then I had a secret laboratory in the room of requirement.'

'Hold on, you know about the room of requirement?' she said, looking at him in surprise.

He nodded, and paused a moment before saying, 'Lily and I stumbled across it one day while looking for somewhere to experiment.'

It took a prodigious willpower not to turn and gape at him; it was only the second time she'd heard that name pass his lips and it still sounded strange to her ear – to hear the ever-so-slight caress in his voice when he spoke of the long-dead woman. She'd heard that note before, she realised all of a sudden – his introductory speech in her first year and his first DADA lesson in her sixth. He might hide it well, Hermione mused, but Severus Snape was clearly a deeply passionate man, and she found herself pondering what it would be like to be on the receiving end of that kind of passion.

'Did you ever tell anyone about it?' she asked, after realising she'd gone too long without speaking.

'I didn't. I can't speak for Lily. But after our fifth year, I continued brewing there alone, and I was never accosted by Potter and his gang, so I can only assume she kept the secret.'

His fifth year? She wracked her brain; Harry had told her Snape and his mum's friendship had broken off around that time, but he hadn't shared the details of what he'd seen in the memories. From the casual way Snape referenced it, she wondered whether he thought she knew. If she was braver – or stupider – she'd press him for the details, but she was loathe to do anything that would spoil the amity they'd established these last few days.

She turned her attention back to the onions. 'That must be why it doesn't appear on the map.'

'Map?'

'The Marauder's Map,' she clarified.

'Ah, yes,' he said, a slight curl to his lip. 'I remember an encounter with it in your third year.'

Hermione got the impression he was recollecting something quite unpleasant.

She held the chopping board out to him. 'How's this?'

He peered down his overlarge nose at her handiwork. 'Good,' he said, taking the board from her and scraping the onions into a large pan along with the garlic and herbs he'd minced.

The rest of the household were soon drawn to the kitchen by the alluring aroma of the creamy fish and leek pie. Everybody demolished their plates when it came to dinner. Even Harry had complimented the professor's cooking, and Hermione had been half expecting him to refuse to eat anything prepared by Snape on the off-chance he'd slipped something poisonous into it. It was as far a display of trust as you could get.

She hadn't been lying when she'd told Snape he was becoming a friend. She liked to think he felt similarly, but he was impossible to read at the best of times. All the evidence pointed in that direction; he was calling her Hermione now – not "Granger" or "girl" – and he seemed content enough spending time in her company. He hadn't asked her to call him Severus – and truth be told, though he hadn't waited for permission to call her by her first name, she wouldn't dream of taking that liberty yet. Once or twice, though, she'd found herself testing the name on her tongue when she was alone in her room, just to see how it sounded. She'd been lying in bed at night replaying some interaction between them in her mind when the urge had come over her, and she'd whispered his name into the empty room, stumbling a little over the v. His name in her mouth was foreign and unfamiliar, and so very adult – and Hermione couldn't help thinking of a little girl trying on her mother's party dress.

Thoughts of his trial were never far from her mind. She'd taken to researching in the Hogwart's library, searching through the hundreds of tomes for some sort of legal equivalent to Snape's case, some precedent that might help in his defence. It seemed the only hope was the murky phrasing of wizarding law regarding murder, whether the Wizengamot placed more emphasis on the act of taking a life or on the use of the Killing Curse itself. If only Snape had used some other method of killing, he might stand a better chance now, but she supposed at the time the Headmaster's priority had been convincing Voldemort of Snape's loyalty, and anything other than Avada Kedavra came with a risk of not being one-hundred percent effective.

There did seem to be some precedent for the legal use of the Killing Curse; she remembered Sirius telling them years ago that during the First Wizarding War the Ministry had authorised Aurors to use the Unforgivables. The obvious flaw, of course, was that Snape wasn't an Auror, just a member of the Order. And even though the Ministry were perfectly happy to benefit from the Order's existence when it suited them, it would be just like the Wizengamot to ignore the Order's legitimacy now that it would be politically expedient. After all, the mere existence of the Order was an embarrassment to the Ministry – an admission that they hadn't done their job properly. Even with all her campaigning, there just was no getting around the fact that a large section of the wizarding political class were still baying for Snape's blood.

After several days of her research hitting dead-end after dead-end and running herself ragged, she allowed herself to once again contemplate her conversation with Lucius Malfoy in that dark corner of Diagon Alley. Something about his offer still didn't sit well with her, but the more she got to know Snape, the more she couldn't entirely shake off the thought of visiting Malfoy Manor. Because as she watched him now, sitting across from her at the kitchen table, conversing stiffly with Remus, she knew she'd regret it for the rest of her life if she didn't do everything she could to see Severus Snape a free man.

oOo

The next morning was a Saturday, and Hermione, Snape and Remus were lingering over a late breakfast. Snape was the first to rise from the table, gathering the empty plates and taking them to the sink – Hermione had long since given up telling him it was unnecessary, in fact she'd come to realise he relished, perhaps even needed, the mindless activity.

She was making idle conversation with Remus when they were interrupted by a noise at the window. Turning, she saw an unfamiliar owl hovering outside, carrying a rather large package and tapping its beak against the glass pane. Hermione waved her wand to open the window, and the owl promptly flew straight to her. She untied the parcel, casting a few revealing charms just to be safe, then slowly tore away the brown paper while the bird pecked impatiently at her finger.

'Ow!' she gasped. 'I'm sorry, I haven't got anything for you.'

There was a faint snort of amusement from behind her. She turned and raised an eyebrow at Snape, who was drying a mug with a tea towel, looking absurdly domestic. Picking up a scrap of leftover toast from a plate, he flicked it lazily towards the owl, who deftly caught it in his beak, gave a thankful hoot and then flew back out the window.

Turning back to the package, Hermione pulled the rest of the wrapping off to reveal a hardback book. Odd, she thought. I don't remember ordering anything recently. Frowning, she turned it over to read the cover …

And let out a small squeak of horror.

A gentler chapter perhaps - I wanted to give Severus a bit of an intermission before things go tits up again. Who can guess the book that arrived?

As always, thanks for reading and reviewing and being awesome!