This story is DH compliant apart from a few tweaks: Severus lives obviously. I also saved Remus because I couldn't resist. This will be a slow burn between Severus and Hermione – there will be sex, but it will take a while to get there, and mostly it will be a tale of friendship, love, and healing.

I'm looking for a beta reader so send me a message if you're interested 😊

'I missed you,' came the sleepy voice of the redhead sprawled out on the mattress.

Hermione smiled indulgently and nudged Ron's feet away before levitating her trunk to the end of the bed in the room they'd been unofficially sharing for the last few weeks at number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

'I wasn't even gone a week, silly. Sorry for waking you by the way.'

'S'all right,' Ron said through a yawn, his pale, freckled skin illuminated by the dawn light streaming in through the window. 'Well, five days was long enough. You should have let me come with you.'

'I told you before, I wanted to do it on my own.' She kicked off her sandals, flexed her feet and shook the last stubborn grains of sand from between her toes as she oriented herself to her surroundings. Long-distance apparition always left her out of sorts – barely an hour ago she'd walked along a long stretch of beach on Australia's sunshine coast, and now she was on the other side of the world in a drizzly and overcast London.

'I know,' said Ron, sitting up and yawning again, 'but I don't get it. Anyway, how did it go? Are your parents back in your old home?'

She threw herself down on the mattress and tilted her head back, massaging the aching muscles of her neck. 'Yes, they're happy to be back I think. Reversing the charm wasn't as hard as I feared it might be. There were a lot of tears, which I'd expected, and Mum was furious, though Dad was a bit more understanding once I explained everything. They're happy I'm okay obviously, but I expect it'll be a while before they forgive me.'

'They will,' Ron said, and crawled up next to her, pressing a desperate kiss to her neck, his fingers digging into her waist.

In the few weeks they'd been officially a couple, Ron had surprised her with how demonstrably affectionate he could be. In the first days following the battle, they'd barely left one another's sides – Ron was still processing Fred's death and his way of getting through the grieving process, it seemed, was to cling to Hermione. She hadn't minded; after a year of worrying that every day could be her last it was a relief to just lose herself in exploring her first real relationship, and she'd needed the physical comfort as much as Ron had.

Once the flurry of funerals was over, however, she found a sense of normalcy beginning to return, and with it her sensible, rational side. Ron's attentions suddenly seemed overwhelming, suffocating even. Things between them had escalated so quickly, she'd barely had a moment to herself. She'd left for Australia less than a week after Fred's funeral, brushing off Ron's well-meaning offers to come with her. She'd felt tremendously guilty about it, but the distance had proved useful – she loved Ron, but a part of her still questioned the wisdom of jumping into a relationship so soon after a traumatic event. At this rate he'd be proposing to her before the summer was out, and she was nowhere near ready for that kind of commitment.

Hermione pulled back. 'They wanted me to move back in with them.'

'Who, your parents?'

'Mm. I couldn't though.'

'Couldn't keep away?' Ron said, wiggling his eyebrows.

She slapped him playfully on the shoulder. 'Don't flatter yourself!' Then her voice turned suddenly serious. 'No, it's just … I feel more and more out of place in the Muggle world these days. It's like it's not quite real or something.'

'That's to be expected, isn't it? You're a witch. You belong in the wizarding world, not the Muggle one.'

She snorted softly and made a face. 'You know that sounds dangerously close to something a Death Eater might say. Keep to your own kind,' she imitated in a menacing voice.

He squeezed her tight. 'You know I didn't mean it like that.'

Hermione smiled ruefully and shook her head. 'I know, I'm sorry. It's just hard.'

'Yeah,' he said, as though he understood. He didn't of course. How could be? But she felt a wave of affection for him for trying and pressed a kiss to the end of his long nose before getting up to unpack her trunk.

'Hey, speaking of Death Eaters,' said Ron. 'You've heard about Snape, I assume?'

She nodded and shook out a T-shirt, and a thousand grains of sand scattered on the ground beneath her. She waved her wand to vanish them.

'Harry told me just before I left,' she said. 'How's it been?'

The day she'd left to retrieve her parents, Harry had struck a deal with the Ministry that the Order would take responsibility for Severus Snape's detainment. The Wizengamot had been opposed to the idea of course, wanting to send Snape straight to Azkaban to await his trial with all the other captured Death Eaters once he'd been discharged from St. Mungo's, but with newly elected Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt on Harry's side, they'd eventually relented.

'Fine, I guess,' Ron said with a shrug. 'I haven't actually seen him, he's still confined to bed. He's only been out the magical coma for a week and it's going to take a while for him to completely recover from that bite. It's weird knowing he's up there, though.' He gestured directly above them to where Snape's room was.

She had a sudden vision of Professor Snape lying in a pool of his own blood, his neck ripped open and clutching desperately at Harry's shirt. Then a memory from a few hours later, of the same professor, pale as death, but just barely alive – proof of it in the pulsing blue light of her diagnostic charm – and clutching to her. For weeks that image hadn't been far from her mind. She supposed she'd have to go and see him soon; she wasn't looking forward to it, but there were things that needed saying.

'Has there been any news on the trial?' she asked, as a distraction more than anything.

'Middle of July is what Harry said.'

She paused in the act of folding her shorts. 'So he's to be a prisoner in that room for six weeks?' she said, aghast.

'He's allowed around the house. Only there has to be an Order member present in the building at all times, and he's not allowed anywhere other than his bedroom unsupervised.'

'That's absurd! What do they think he's going to do? They've taken his wand and his magic, I assume?'

'Yeah,' he said, 'but they don't want to take any chances I guess.'

'It's ridiculous!' she protested. 'They've already acquitted the Malfoys and all they did was switch sides at the last minute. Snape's been working for our side the entire time.'

Ron made a noncommittal noise and got up, wrapping his arms around her midsection. 'Yeah, well, the Malfoy name still counts for something even after everything's that's happened.'

She frowned. 'In other words, the Ministry's as corrupt as ever.'

'I guess,' Ron mumbled, and pulled her closer, and Hermione felt her resolve to slow things down crumble. 'Come on, let's stop talking about all this, there's nothing we can do about it. I haven't been able to kiss my girlfriend for five days and I've got a lot of making up to do.'

oOo

After making up for it, Ron fell asleep again rather quickly, so she crept out and headed down to the kitchen for breakfast. Remus and Harry were already sitting at the long, narrow table, the former looking exhausted and cradling his contented son in his arms as the baby fed from a bottle, and her bespectacled friend nursing a coffee and flicking through the morning's Daily Prophet.

'Good morning, Hermione,' said Remus.

'Morning,' she said brightly.

'You're in a good mood,' said Harry, raising his eyes from the paper.

She was, she realised. There was a lot to be happy for; her parents were back in the country (even though they might not be entirely happy with her), and she was no longer being hunted by a maniacal wizard intent on killing her and her friends.

However, another glance at Remus's face caused her to feel a stab of guilt. Her smile faltered. How could she be so heartless rubbing her good mood in the older man's face when his wife hadn't even been buried for two weeks? When her own boyfriend was still grieving the loss of his brother?

Remus clearly noticed her distress.

'You are allowed to be, Hermione,' he said softly, lifting the corner of his mouth. 'It's good to see someone smiling again.'

She felt tears forming in her eyes.

'How was Australia?' he added.

Swallowing the thick lump in her throat, she joined them at the table and gave Harry and Remus a brief rundown of what had happened in Australia while she prepared herself a cup of strong tea. Then seeing Harry was done with the paper, she took it from him and flicked through the first few pages while munching on a slice of toast smothered in strawberry jam. She ignored the disparaging front-page article about Snape and its accompanying unflattering photograph, instead turning to the third page where there was an story about the several high-ranking Death Eaters who were still unaccounted for; Fenrir Greyback had somehow escaped in the confusion and was now loose, along with Rodolphus Lestrange. Apparently there had been a promising but unconfirmed sighting of Greyback near Glastonbury in Somerset.

Just as she was reaching for a second slice of toast, there was a movement from the small cupboard door in the wall at the far end of the kitchen. A claw-like hand appeared and a second later a small being with long ears and a snout-like nose appeared.

'Morning, Kreacher,' she said absently.

Kreacher didn't spare her a glance, but let out a violent sneeze and shook his head as though to clear it. He then wiped his nose with his hand and crossed to the sink. She looked up from her toast and noticed that the house elf's eyes were shot with blood and a trail of thick mucus dripped from his nose.

She frowned. 'Are you all right, Kreacher? You look ill.'

The elf opened his mouth in an attempt to speak but only an awful croak came out. Then he threw his head back and sneezed violently, sending a spray of mucus halfway across the kitchen.

Hermione immediately pushed away her toast.

'Looks like a bad case of house-elf flu,' said Remus. 'I heard it's been going around, Minerva says half the elves at Hogwarts have it. You should get some rest, Kreacher. Take the day off.'

But Kreacher looked horrified at the idea and shook his head, managing to croak, 'K-Kreacher … cannot rest, Kreacher m-must … serve the house of …' Within seconds the little elf was overcome by a bout of horrible coughs.

'Go to bed, Kreacher,' urged Hermione, but the elf just shook his head and continued on with his work, coughing over every surface he could reach.

She turned to Harry. 'Tell him! He won't listen to either of us.'

'Kreacher, I order you to go and rest!' said Harry loudly.

Kreacher looked at Harry with wide, bulging eyes then stared longingly at the tray in his gnarled hands. For a second, Hermione thought the elf might actually disobey his master.

'Y-yes, Master Ha-Ha-Harry,' he said tearfully, dropping the tray to the floor with a noisy clang, and dragged himself back into his cupboard.

'Still not used to having that much power,' muttered Harry. Hermione shot him a warning look and immediately got up and performed every cleansing spell she knew over the kitchen surfaces.

'Poor thing. I'd brew him some Pepperup, but I don't know how it affects house-elves.' She scratched her chin thoughtfully. 'I'll have to look into it.'

'Severus would know,' said Remus idly before frowning. 'Ah, speaking of … who's going to bring him his breakfast now?'

Harry's eyes widened. 'Bugger! Didn't think of that.'

'I can't do it. I've got an armful of infant,' Remus said, raising Teddy in his arms as if to prove the fact.

'Well, I can't do it, he hates me,' said Harry.

Hermione eyed the both of them. 'Who usually brings Professor Snape his food?'

Harry blinked. 'Kreacher.'

'What, every meal?'

'Yeah, Hermione, every meal.'

'Do you mean to tell me he's been up there on his own for five full days with no one for company but Kreacher?'

Harry shrugged, but she was good enough at reading him that she could sense his discomfort. 'Don't worry. They're both miserable gits, I'm sure they get on like a house on fire.'

She gaped at her friend. 'Harry, how can you be so unfeeling? After everything Snape's done for us, for you, and you've left him up there like a prisoner.'

'Technically he is a prisoner,' said Remus grimly.

She glared at him.

'That may be, but he's not our prisoner.'

'Look, Hermione,' said Harry, 'I've been meaning to go up there, I honestly have, I just don't know what to say to him. Anyway, I really don't think he'd even want to see me. I doubt he wants to see anyone. He might have been on our side all along, but he's still an antisocial git.'

'Well, that antisocial git is awaiting trial for murder. You think he wouldn't appreciate being treated like a normal human being with feelings for once?' she snapped, turning away and making a racket as she rifled through the cutlery drawers.

'What are you doing?' asked Harry.

'I'm making him a breakfast tray. If you won't do it, then I suppose I'm going to have to. Or would you rather let the man starve?'

'He'll just snarl at you, Hermione,' Harry said, and Remus nodded sadly. 'I'll floo Hogwarts, surely the castle can spare a house-elf for a few days. Maybe Winky could come.'

'You'd have poor Winky wait on Professor Snape because you're too scared to do it yourself? Harry, shame on you! No one would think you just faced down the most fearsome wizard of all time when you can't handle taking someone a plate of toast. Now, does Snape have tea or coffee? And what does he like with his toast?'

She made the tray up as Remus instructed and headed for the stairs, making a point of flouncing indignantly out the kitchen. Climbing the stairs, though, her nerves began to surface; for all the fuss she'd made, she understood perfectly well why Harry and Remus hadn't exactly jumped at the chance for this job. What on earth did one say to a man who, mere weeks ago, had been the enemy, who they had all thought a cold-blooded killer?

As she drew nearer to the fourth floor, her steps faltered as she tried to sort out in her head everything she longed to say. It was all such a muddle now, where mere minutes ago it had been clear as day.

She was outside his room now and yet she was just … standing there. Honestly, this was ridiculous; why did she feel like she was walking to her execution?

Courage, Hermione, she scolded herself. Are you a Gryffindor or what?

She knocked three times. There was a pause and then: 'Come in.'

She pushed the door open and squinted into the small, dark room. Clearly this room hadn't been lived in for a while, perhaps even before Sirius' time; across the room was a small, battered writing desk, and next to that, an old wardrobe with the doors missing, revealing an array of frilly, moth-eaten robes that reminded her of Ron's outfit at the Yule Ball. Threadbare curtains framed the single dusty window and brickwork showed through the peeling plum wallpaper.

Then her eyes fell upon the thin form half-reclined in the narrow bed across the room, and her mouth ran dry. Severus Snape looked paler than she had ever seen him, and his eyes had a sunken, withdrawn look to them. His jet black hair was now host to a few strands of grey at his temple, brought on, she suspected, by the stress of the last year or the shock of Nagini's bite, and he had about a week's worth of stubble on his jaw. His sharp cheekbones were more noticeable than they had been in her sixth year, making his large nose even more prominent. Frankly, he looked terrible.

He was staring at her as though she were something dangerous.

'I've brought your breakfast, sir,' she said, more to break the awkward silence than anything else.

He said nothing for several seconds while she stood there stupidly. Finally he said, in a slightly croaked voice that told of his injury, 'What happened to the elf?'

'Kreacher has a bad case of elf flu. We've ordered him to get some bedrest, since he's in no state to work. So you've got me instead,' she added apologetically.

Snape's mouth twitched in displeasure as he gave a soft grunt. She crossed the threshold into the bedroom. His eyes were on her the entire time, and it took all her concentration to place one foot in front of the other and ignore the faint trembling in her legs. She wasn't even looking at him and she could feel his upper lip curling. A quick glance confirmed it to be the case.

'They said you'd snarl,' she said without even thinking. 'They weren't wrong.'

He visibly stiffened at that, and she could have kicked herself for her stupidity. 'Yes, I'm sure you've all had much amusement at my expense,' he said coldly. 'Leave the tray on the side table.'

She kept a hold of the tray and didn't move. 'No one's laughing at you, sir. I didn't mean to imply that.'

'You're a terrible liar, Granger, you always were.'

'I'm not lying,' she said. 'No one's laughing. Actually, I think everyone's still a bit afraid of you. Or afraid of talking to you at any rate.'

He grunted and averted his gaze to the window. 'I can't imagine why that would be.'

'Well,' she said, filled with a sense of confidence that could only be explained by a sudden onset of madness, 'I'm sure you don't exactly help yourself, sir.'

He continued staring out the window, but she noticed the tightening of his brows, the unease in his posture. At this angle, she suddenly had her first good look at the angry wound on his neck; the scars were red raw still, standing out vividly against his pallid skin. Her determination to stay increased tenfold.

'Perhaps I don't care,' he muttered.

'Rubbish.' His dark, glittering eyes pinned to hers, and she continued, 'I'm afraid it's quite impossible to believe you uncaring anymore.'

His upper lip curled in distaste. 'Don't speak as if you know me. You have no right.'

His tone was an venomous as ever, and if she closed her eyes she might have been frightened into submission as she had so often been at Hogwarts. But seeing him wrapped in an old cotton dressing gown, tucked up in bed like an errant child, rather ruined the effect he was going for. And after knowing what she did, it was impossible to place him back in the role of harsh, unfeeling tyrant. He was so much more than that now; he was just a man who had suffered horrid neglect as a child, been outcast by his peers, loved deeply and unconditionally, lost the most precious thing to him in all the world and spent the rest of his life blaming himself for it and trying to make amends. He was utterly human in a way he had never been before.

'Maybe,' she said quietly. 'But you probably need to hear it. The war's over. You don't need to push people away.'

'Spare me the muggle psychoanalytics, Granger. I'll act as I damn well choose.' His words were harsh, but he seemed lacklustre all of a sudden, as though it cost him too much energy to infuse the words with the bitterness he wanted. 'Now, please hand over my breakfast and leave me in peace. I wish to be alone.'

She placed the tray down on the side table, moving aside an old copy of Potions Quarterly. When she didn't immediately make a move to leave, he scowled.

'Did I not speak plainly enough?'

'Perfectly, sir. It's just …'

'Spit it out, Granger.'

She swallowed thickly. Now or never, Hermione. 'I've been wanting to apologise, sir. For leaving you in the Shrieking Shack after …' She stopped herself; no need to say the snake's name aloud, he hardly needed reminding. 'I should have checked you were still alive before we left. It didn't occur to me you might just have been paralysed. I've been thinking about it ever since, and I just … I wanted to say I'm sorry.'

He seemed deeply discomfited by her words, but when he spoke it was in a tone that was almost soft. 'You had a battle to fight if I recall. Not to mention you still thought I was the enemy. I never expected any of you to try and save me.'

'Still, I wish I had done something sooner. If I had, the venom might not have spread as far as it did and—'

'Don't be …' he cut her off, but then his eyes narrowed and the soft tone vanished. 'What do you mean "sooner"?'

She found herself stuttering over her next words. 'W-well, um … I … er …'

His eyes scanned her face and she got the feeling he was putting together the pieces of a rather intricate puzzle.

'You mean to say you were the one who came back for me?'

She nodded slowly. 'I thought you knew. I assumed Madame Pomfrey or someone told you.'

He stared at her. 'Nobody told me.'

'Oh,' she said, slightly breathlessly, and then launched into an explanation. 'Well, I don't know exactly why, but I just felt the strongest urge to go back for you. I guess I felt guilty and wanted to make sure your body was going to be treated with dignity. When I got there Fawkes was standing guard over you and the neck on your wound had been healed. I realised you were still alive, but barely. Fawkes had managed to close the wound but you'd still lost a lot of blood and there was venom in your system, so I gave you a blood replenisher and got you to swallow a bezoar. You came to for a minute, but you were so out of it you didn't know who I was. You kept calling me …' She stopped herself just in time. He definitely didn't need to know that in his delirium he had confused her with his dead love. Besides, with any luck he didn't remember that part. 'Anyway, Fawkes and I had managed to buy you some more time but you were still in desperate need of a healer. I conjured a stretcher and carried you to the hospital wing, and it wasn't long before you were taken to St. Mungo's.'

He'd remained curiously still all the while she'd been talking, giving nothing away. She hazarded a glance at him. He was watching her with a curiously blank look on his pale, drawn face. Hermione got the impression of a prey animal frozen in fright, or perhaps, she reconsidered after noting a flash of something wild in his dark, fathomless eyes, a predator biding its time, poised to attack. She held her breath and waited.

For a painfully long moment, he did not speak at all, and then, quite suddenly and with no warning, he let out a long and low breath and he was once again the feared Potions Master of Hogwarts.

'You stupid girl,' he hissed.

She blinked, feeling suddenly cold. 'I'm sorry?'

'I should have known it was a Gryffindor,' he sneered. 'Who else would be that naive?'

'I don't know what you—'

'That much is obvious,' he snapped. 'It never occurred to you that I wouldn't simply be allowed to walk free, did it? You never even paused to consider the kind of life you were condemning me to by not letting me bleed to death in that infernal shack like I was supposed to!' He was almost shouting by the end, and she shrank back, staring at him in horror.

'You mean you wanted to die?' she whispered.

'When the alternative is life in Azkaban, what do you think?'

He was angry she had saved him? For the longest time, Hermione found it impossible to speak. To think she had been worried he'd be angry she hadn't saved him early enough!

'But you won't be found guilty,' she said desperately. 'We have rock solid proof … the memories, Dumbledore's portrait ...'

'You think the Wizengamot give a shit what a painting of a dead man says or the memories of a known Occlumens? Neither of those will stand up in court before a panel of judges determined to see me pay for what I've done. I've no illusions about my chances at trial. The Wizengamot let me go the first time only because of Dumbledore's considerable influence, they aren't going to let this opportunity pass them by. It's utter foolishness to think otherwise.'

She shook her head. 'You're wrong! The entire wizarding world knows what you've done. You'll have Harry Potter testifying for you. There'd be an outcry if you were found guilty.'

He looked at her as though she had bubotuber pus smeared across her face. 'A dozen aging professors and a few members of a clandestine society do not make up the entire wizarding world,' he sneered. 'Merlin, Granger, I thought you were meant to be the brains of the bloody trio. You must have seen the protesters calling for my head when I was escorted out of St. Mungo's.'

Protests? She'd heard nothing of any protests. Damn Ron for leaving out that rather crucial piece of information.

'No, I … I've been away,' she said, trying to ignore the growing sinking feeling in her stomach. 'And anyway even if there were a few protesters, most people … most reasonable people … see things for what they are.'

'I assure you, being reasonable is not high up on the list of requirements for a seat on the Wizengamot,' he snapped. 'You should have let me die, Granger. I don't know what motivated you to save me, some foolish Gryffindor saviour complex no doubt. But any idiot could have seen the compassionate thing to do was to let me die.'

His words left her cold. She had hardly expected effusive gratitude from him; that wasn't his way, and she had no delusions that now the war was over he would suddenly blossom into a kind and amiable man, one that he had kept hidden under a veil of bitterness and snark all these years. But she hadn't expected this either.

'That's really quite low, sir,' she said, her voice rising in anger as she felt indignant tears brewing behind her eyes. Oh god, she wouldn't cry in front of him, she wouldn't. 'You think I saved you for the glory of it, or because I wanted you in my debt? I saved you because I hated the thought of you dying in that horrid shack all alone. Because I wanted to give a good man a chance at life. Because I thought you deserved it!' A quiet, cold laugh escaped her, and she barely recognised the sound of it as coming from her own self. 'Frankly, I …'

His eyes darkened, his lips twisted in an ugly smirk. 'Go on, Granger, say it.'

She scowled at him but she said nothing, not trusting her voice to remain steady.

'Say it,' he hissed. 'You wish you hadn't.'

Something snapped in her. 'No! I'm not going to let you bait me into saying something I don't mean.' His mouth opened but she cut him off. 'I don't regret saving your life one bit! Honestly, how was I to know you had a bloody death wish!'

She was openly crying now and it was utterly humiliating, but once the first tear had broken through there was no stopping the rest. It was as if all the emotion she'd been suppressing for the past few weeks since the battle – every tear she'd held back in order to be strong for her friends – was resurfacing with a vengeance. The grief for all those who hadn't lived to see victory. The children left without parents. The parents left without children.

If I could just save one person, she'd thought after the dust had settled on the battlefield and she'd discovered the professor alive, maybe the hurt will go away.

Except it turned out that the one person she'd managed to save hadn't even wanted it …

Her entire being was flooded with shame as she furiously swiped away her tears as they fell, heedless of her attempts to stop them. Snape was still glaring at her.

'Spare me the pathetic snivelling, Granger,' he sneered. 'Your concern is as insincere as it is unwelcome, and I've no desire to sit here all morning watching you soak my bedsheets. Kindly get out.'

But her feet were rooted to the ground out of fear or anger or perhaps sheer stubbornness, she wasn't sure. How could she leave him like this, when he was so certain he was a condemned man? She had to convince him, she had to—

'Leave,' he hissed, baring stained, uneven teeth.

She shook her head and opened her mouth to speak, but the lump in her throat prevented her from saying anything.

'Get out!' he shouted.

She turned and fled the room as though her life depended on it.

A/N: This is my first novel-length fic, so my knees are all aquiver about sharing it with the world. Let me know what you thought.

I anticipate the story will be a long one - I have 70K words already written. Updates will be weekly on Sundays.