Severus had scared the Grangers, he could tell by the silence at dinner. He'd also embarrassed Hermione. She stared into her dinner plate and chewed quietly. He didn't feel like he'd been in the wrong however. The only wrong he'd committed was letting her go off on her own like that. He ate his stew daring her to pick a fight, like he knew she was brimming to do. Her father finished and left to go watch the news in the living room. Her mother took his bowl which was mostly empty when he was mostly finished. Hermione took her dishes to the kitchen and came back with a wet rag to wipe down the table. She had been so sweet to him in the store, but now the panic had worn off at and she was upset at the scene.

She stormed upstairs when she was finished. Not wishing to be alone with either of her parents, he walked upstairs and knocked on her closed bedroom door. She didn't answer but he could hear her inside, moving around; setting things down with a bang. He opened the door and saw her sitting on the floor in front of an empty bookcase, surrounded by books.

"Hermione, what are you doing?" he asked.

"Alphabetizing my books," she snapped. "I don't recall inviting you in."

"I'm sorry I upset your family, but anything could have happened," he said.

"Yes, like I could have gotten new sheets and an afternoon to catch up with my mother," she said. "Instead I got no sheets and the shit scared out of me by a CRAZY PERSON."

"I was worried," he said.

"I work very hard to keep my parents in the dark about Voldemort, Professor Snape. They know about the war but they think I have to stay at Hogwarts this summer because of the sickness. If they knew how dangerous it really was? I don't know, but it doesn't help to have you tracking me down and causing a scene," she said. "Things are different for Muggles, and it's time you arrogant pure bloods realize that."

Snape was a bit taken aback. He'd never heard her talk that way, especially about bloodlines, something she worked hard to not care about. She always took the high road in regards to the younger Malfoy running around calling her 'mudblood' all the time.

"I…" he tried not to choke on the word. "I apologize."

"Thank you," she said. "But I think that we should go anyway."

"We don't have to leave until tomorrow," he pointed out.

"I know, but this is something I've been struggling with for a long time. If I'm going to be part of the wizarding world, I'm going to have to let my Muggle life go," she wiped at her cheeks; he realized she'd begun to cry.

"Give up your family?" he asked. "That's a little extreme."

"Is it? They would never rest if they knew that we were on the brink of a war that was centered around my best friend. They are safer if I keep my distance and you know that's the truth," she said.

"What will you tell them?" he asked.

"That I don't feel well," she said. "I don't, I don't feel well about being here anymore. This isn't my home." She sighed and motioned to the pile of books. "Will you finish this for me?"

"Of course," he said. He waved his wand the books flew up onto the shelves, alphabetizing themselves in the process. He sat next to her on the ground and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She leaned into him and closed her eyes. She wasn't mad at him, she was mad at the situation. She was actually glad he was there. She let her nose rest against his collarbone and she breathed deeply. He kissed the top of her head, her forehead and she tilted her head up to kiss him properly. He pressed his tongue against her lips and she parted them for him, letting the kiss deepen. She intoxicated him and he knew he would have gone insane if something would have happened to her.

She pulled away and smiled at him.

"We can't do this here," she said. "Let's leave in the morning, hmm?" He nodded, and stood.

"Will your family understand if I retreat for the rest of the evening?" he asked. She nodded.

"We'll all be downstairs if you need anything," she said.

In the guestroom he stretched out on the hard, double bed provided for him and stared at the low, plaster ceiling. He was used to living inside cold, damp stone and this modern house was simply full of surprises. He'd already gone through the desk in the room, writing on the thin, lined paper with the Muggle writing devises. The ink was actually on the inside which was an interesting idea. Quills lasted much longer, however. The ink inside a Muggle pen ran out long before the tip of a quill dulled. There were a few romance novels in the room as well as some other non-fiction books on Muggle politics but nothing interested him. On the shelf of the closet, however, was a photo album. He cracked it quietly and was delighted to find pictures of Hermione and her family years ago. Hermione looked to be six or seven and was in all sorts of different situations. Halloween costumes, football uniforms, ballet outfits. She looked the same, but younger. When it got too dark to see, he fumbled around trying to turn on the lamp. The light that flooded from the bulb was too bright and fake – he was not used to the severity of electricity. He'd grown up in fire light, after all.

Finally, he heard the house settle into to slumber. He was glad he'd never bothered to unpack his small, weekend bag. Dumbledore didn't expect them back for another night, maybe even two. He looked at the bag filled with clean clothes and books and money. What if they went somewhere – alone, together? He pushed the thought away, though. If it wasn't safe for her to go out shopping, it was hardly safe for them to spend a night at a bed and breakfast in the Muggle countryside or any other ridiculous location people went for holiday. He decided that, though he wasn't actually tired, he would try to sleep and stripped off his transfigured clothes until he was left in only his underwear. He never had full nights of sleep and he thought maybe it would do him some good.

The bed was not his own, however, and he had trouble drifting off to sleep. He knew Hermione was in the next room and he knew that she wasn't asleep. He could hear her moving around, tossing in her own bed as well. He got up and placed his hand against the wall where her head would be. Kissing her had ignited the fire within him, one he worked hard to keep under control. He was always worried about being caught, losing his job, getting her expelled, worrying her. But now, he was distracted by the taste of her and they weren't at Hogwarts. Sometimes, when he thought about all the consequences, he remembered how close she had been to dying that first month of treatment. Everything fell into perspective then. Pulling on his trousers, he opened his door softly and stuck his head into the hall. All was quiet and dark except for the sliver of light coming from under her bedroom door. So she was awake then, and probably reading. He tiptoed out of his room and knocked lightly on her door. He heard the movement pause and then the doorknob turned and the door opened.

"What's wrong?" she whispered.

"I can't sleep," he admitted. She rolled her eyes and opened the door fully, waving him in. The lamp on her desk was turned on low and the bed was rumpled from use. He saw a book lying open on her pillow though it looked cheap and flimsy – not even a hard cover. He looked at her standing with her robe wrapped around her. She looked more tired than usually and dark circles were under her eyes. She sat down on the bed and looked at him. "Hermione?" he asked.

"I told my parents we were leaving. I told them I probably wouldn't be back for a long time," she said.

"What did they say?" he asked.

"My father was angry, my mother upset. They don't understand." She shrugged. "It is my choice, though." He had made the same choice as a child but there was no love in his childhood. He could see that the Grangers loved their daughter very much.

"It will not always be war time," he said. It was little consolation. She lay back on the pillow and scooted close to the wall to make space for him. He was a little surprised but obliged. He could feel the heat emanating from her body. It was a warm night, summer, after all, and she was wrapped up in a flannel robe. He reached over and pressed his hand against her cheek, her forehead. She was warm, too warm. He got up and switched on the overhead light with the toggle on the wall and turned off the yellow bulb of the desk light. Her skin looked yellow.

"What are you doing?" she asked, opening her eyes. "Severus?"

"How do you feel?" he asked, barking it like an order.

"Tired," she said. "Let's go to bed."

"I'm serious, Hermione, are you achy? Are you cold? Are you nauseous?" She looked at him, and then looked away, as if finally considering the questions.

"Yes, I suppose I am all of those. I am just miserable because of the fight. Everything else is just psychological," she said.

"Get dressed," he said and threw open her door to go back to his room and get dressed himself. The bang of her door and then his caused her father to open the door leading to the master bed room and turn on the hallway light.

"What's going on here?" he asked, obviously having been woken from the noise.

"I'm sorry Mr. Granger," Snape said, emerging into the hall buttoning his frock coat. He no longer bothered with the transfigured clothing; he wouldn't need Muggle clothes any longer. "Hermione and I must depart tonight."

"Whatever for?" Hermione asked, but she had pulled on a sweater and a rumpled pair of jeans.

"I'm taking you to St. Mungos," Snape said. "Say your goodbyes."

They would keep her overnight at the hospital. They said something about her liver being damaged and Snape had yelled that stating the obvious wasn't at all helpful and so the healer had been keeping him in the dark probably out of spite. Snape had his own theories, however. The regimen of potions she had been put on was too much for her liver and it had slowly stopped working. It stopped filtering her blood causing the yellowed skin. It was easy enough to filter the blood magically, but getting her liver to work properly again was another story. Most organs could be revitalized by potions, but since the liver filtered, a potion was somewhat out of the question.

He owled Dumbledore the moment they took her away from him. Snape was sitting in a waiting area with his head in his hands when Dumbledore strolled in with a bland smile on his face, as if he had just arrived to a vacation spot.

"Hello, my boy," Dumbledore said. "How is Miss Granger?"

"I've cured one thing only by ruining another," he said, bitterly. "Her liver has ceased to function."

"I'd hardly compare cancer to a failing organ," Dumbledore said, sitting next to Snape. "Did you know that Muggle healers – doctors, they're called – will actually take a liver from one person and put it in another? They call it a transplant." Snape stared at him, disgusted. "Just a fun fact; I'll go see what I can find out." Dumbledore stood. It was late – the middle of the night now and Snape realized how tired he was. He wished they'd never come on this trip. He'd totally alienated her from her family in a matter of hours, first with his outburst in Harrod's and then in the hallway, whisking her away without an explanation. He wondered why he hadn't caught the slow decline of her liver before now. He should have expected it as a possible outcome to the intense treatment. She hadn't said anything to him though. She wasn't a complainer.

Dumbledore returned before too long.

"They've given her a sleeping draught and they will keep her for a few days but she will be fine, Severus."

"How will they fix her liver?" he asked.

"Fix it? That's impossible. They've already taken out the old one and have started to grow another," he explained. "Soon she will be as good as new. Now, come back to Hogwarts with me."

"I'll stay," he said.

"They won't let you see her until morning and she won't wake until then, either. You need rest, too," he said. Snape knew he was right but he still scowled as they left to apparate back to the gates of the massive castle.

In his room he did not bother to light a fire. He did not go for his bottle of whiskey and he did not bother to read or shower or finish his article for a potions journal. He knew he ought to record Hermione's liver failure in his notes on her treatment but he could not bring himself to do so quite yet. He stood in his cold, quiet, lonely room and decided he could not stand another moment there.

He went to Hermione's quarters. It was an unstated rule that people did not go in other people's quarters without permission, but she was gone and he knew her password ("Restricted Section") and inside the guestrooms, he saw her belongings lying around and he felt marginally better. It wasn't as if she had died. In fact, he had been surprised that the treatment had been successful at all – one organ failure after all this time was really the best that could happen. It was just hard seeing it happen to Hermione, to someone he loved, instead of some nameless, faceless patient.

He sat down on her loveseat and lit the fire with his wand. It wasn't cold but he liked the way the fire looked. He did love Hermione – he never wanted to be without her. He'd fought the feelings, of course, she still had a full year of schooling and most probably a war to get through. But, now, faced with the prospect of truly being without her, he was a lost man. His thoughts were interrupted by her portrait swinging open and Harry Potter stepping through.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked.

"I could ask you the same thing," Snape said. Harry shrugged and let the portrait close.

"Professor Dumbledore told me about Hermione," he admitted. "I guess this is as close as I can get to visiting her right now." Snape didn't respond – he didn't want to agree with Potter. Harry sat down in the arm chair and slumped down, staring gloomily into the flames. "We're going to have to work something out, you and I," he said finally.

"I assure you I don't know what you're talking about," Snape barked.

"I mean if you're going to be hanging around Hermione all the time, we're going to have to learn to be civil," Harry clarified, through clenched teeth.

"Hanging around Miss Granger?" Snape asked, tiredly.

"Oh come off it, Snape."

"Sir."

"Sir. You spend more time with Hermione than I do. All she does is talk about you. She's crazy about you," Harry said. "Which, I thought she was setting herself up for a world of pain, but here you are sitting in her quarters. You went MIA for three months to heal her and you met her parents. I think that you like her as much as she likes you."

"Just what are you implying, you half-wit?" Snape yelled.

"That she is your friend," he said, "Something you could use these days." Snape rubbed his forehead, he could feel a headache coming on. He opened his mouth to respond when he felt his forearm start to burn.

"I have to go," Snape said, rising.

"Is it…?"

"Yes," he said, looking at the boy who would come to save the wizarding world. "Tell the headmaster I have been summoned."