She was snoring. A soft, almost purring sound that escaped her parted lips as she exhaled. The soft curls that framed her face were not stirred by the disruption, and the rest splayed neatly behind her head on the pillow. She lay on her side, facing the center of the space, legs tucked almost fetal toward her stomach, a hand tucked softly under her chin with the other reaching across toward the other, empty pillow. Her face wasn't as relaxed in sleep as he thought it would be, but she still exuded a sense of peace, and he knew the exhaustion would keep her from waking as he moved about the room. He stole a last glance at her still form and fought against the rising warmth in his chest. Severus Snape tread his steps with the practiced silence through the short hallway to the fireplace, leaving Hermione Granger to her soft bed and dreams.

As Severus extracted himself from his own fireplace, grey, pre-dawn light was growing in the sitting room. Winky stood at the foot of the stairs, eyeing him with an elf equivalency of amusement. "I hope you have not waited up all night, Winky."

"Oh no, Mister Sev, sir." The diminutive elf's eyes twinkled in a manner so reminiscent of Albus Dumbledore that Snape stopped his approach to the stairs. "Does Mister Sev need anything?"

"No, thank you, Winky. That should be all. I am to retire for a while and should like to remain undisturbed." Snape began to ascend the stairs, looking forward to the welcome of his own soft bed despite the breaking of dawn outside. The evening had slipped effortlessly into night and sloped into the beautiful morning.

"And if Missy Granger were to call?"

Snape could feel the elf hide a smirk behind his back, but he continued to climb the stairs. "Ask her to receive me in the back garden and wake me. Give her a cup of black tea, no sugar and a splash of milk while she waits."

He entered the bedroom, toeing off shoes and unbuttoning his shirt. Severus Snape felt wonderfully tired and made quick work to land on the bed. He knew Winky was right: it was possible Hermione might call, but only after a few blissful hours of sleep. They had both earned the respite.

—xx—

He had watched her as she removed items from the bag on her kitchen counter. As she bustled to acquire the appropriate dishes and flatware from cabinets, Severus took in his surroundings. The flat wasn't overly spacious and had a very comfortable, welcoming feel. There was but a singular bookcase that acted as a divider between the living space and dining room. He noted that the dining table held copies of The Daily Prophet from last week and the latest issue of The Quibbler. There was also a catalog for Weasley Wizard Wheezes, a Quidditch magazine, and several envelopes addressed to Hermione. None of it appeared disorganized, out of place or messy. A small hallway led away from the living area where, he assumed, her bedroom and bathrooms were. Perhaps a second room with an office was his guess for the third door he could see in the muted darkness. His attention returned to his dinner companion as she spoke and gestured back to the couch. "Molly sent stew and hearth bread. She tends to fret over me when I work a lot. And she always seems to know when I work a lot. Is it alright to sit there? I have yet to go through the correspondence on the table and don't trust myself to move things-I may not remember why I did it in the morning."

Severus reached out to take a share of the meal she offered and nodded his agreement of the living room. He let her lead across the small space to allow her to choose her seat first, and took up the opposite end of the couch from her. They set the bowls and plate of bread on the coffee table and Hermione summoned glasses of water from the kitchen. He noted his former journal rested on the end table next to her. He had deliberated sending it with Winky earlier in the week, but Severus Snape was a man determined to live this phase of his life with a marked difference: he would not be afraid to allow himself to be close to people he felt drawn to and he would try to make his emotions more accessible to them. Sending Hermione his research as a token of gratitude has made him nervous, he had not made such overtures to anyone since his childhood days, and the resulting vulnerability that permeated his thoughts of the last few days were quieted by her exclamations of excitement earlier about reviewing his notes.

They began their meal in silence. Severus barely managed to hold back the low sound of appreciation for the Weasley matriarch's well made stew, and he almost choked on it when a similar sound escaped out of Hermione. "Thank Merlin for Molly Weasley," he heard her chuckle as she looked at his face.

"I was never one to stay after meetings, or invited come to think of it, to partake in her cooking," he had turned his lips up in a half smile. "I'm thankful I never knew what I would have been missing."

Severus watched as the light started to leave Hermione's face as she spoke, "I am sorry for...well, all of that."

"I played my part well if none of you could tolerate me," he replied. "There is no need for apology."

It would be the first of many small bridges they built and crossed during the evening. They discussed the scar salve notes and her path to a success. Hermione told him of her work in Cursed Maladies and the exhaustion of the dragon pox outbreak. Severus told her of books he had read, experimental potion theories he pondered, and rebuilding his relationships with the Black sisters. Conversation between them would ebb and flow, and cease upon topics or people that still carried too much baggage. For Severus, when such moments arose, he found he became increasingly desperate to break through and carry the burden of her troubles-or attempt to ask that she shoulder some for him. As the night slipped further into day, Hermione surprised him over a cup of tea. They had been quietly musing in their respective places on the couch, bodies turned inward to face each other. He observed as she set her tea down and hugged her knees to her chest. She lay her chin across the arms that crossed atop the knees, and Severus noted the vulnerability her eyes betrayed. "Was ALL of it an act?"

Severus found himself leaning an arm across the back of the couch to draw himself closer to her, for she had almost whispered the question. But he knew what she had meant. He had spent a great deal of time reflecting on the myriad of layers he had created in his life over the last twenty years; he wanted to dissect apart what was his own, what was expected of him (and by whom), and what he allowed to be because he had no more will to challenge what his life had become. "No," he finally replied. "Not all of it was an act. But much of what was painfully real for you existed in a numbed sense of reality for me."

Hermione cocked her head to the side, her cheek now resting on the crossed arms, and he took it as the sign to continue his explanation for she was clearly dissatisfied with his answer. "I do not believe myself to be a good man that was irreparably led down a darkened path. I have never deigned myself a martyr to be saved and understood. In my youth, I made my decisions and was unmoved by the consequences of my choice; until the only balance I had ever known was taken from me. When she was gone, I allowed and welcomed the blackness of loss to seep into my very breath. Punishing myself was not fulfilling enough, it was not deep enough. I was unsatisfied unless I could be joined in misery by those around me. By the time I met you, I was willing to watch the world burn for the price of my own sins. I know how intolerable and cruel I was-I haven't lost that part of myself even now. But I let my grief become twisted, and my mourning became something that could be used against me."

He watched her closely as he spoke. He took in every micro expression that flirted across her face. He forced himself to keep open body language even as his brain screamed to hide his weaknesses, that it wasn't safe to willingly provide so much ammunition. But when Hermione Granger reached out a hand to cover his forearm on the back of the couch, Severus Snape found his reserve and knew he could continue speaking. "I'm unsure if it will ever be enough to apologize for the wrongs that I committed. I doubt explanations of my motivations will ever bring someone peace. But I know I shall carry much regret about my life,and these last few years have given me the chance to find balance again that is not dependent upon one person."

Her hand squeezed his arm, and Severus felt her warmth. He tried to understand the unspoken words she meant, but his tolerance for the new and unknown only lasted so long. He withdrew his arm and reached for his tea. Hermione pulled her hand back in on itself and settled her head against the back of the sofa. He saw her yawn and close her eyes. "You have done bad things for good reasons, and have kept yourself from enjoying good things for bad reasons. You are a contradiction of light and dark, good and evil. You are not a good man, Severus Snape, but neither were Albus Dumbledore or Tom Riddle. And so long as you don't treat me and mine like either one of those two men, I'm not afraid of how grey your soul might be."

Her voice trailed off as she finished speaking, and when he turned to her, Severus could see that fatigue had taken too fast ahold. He brandished his wand to send the dishes to the kitchen and then gingerly levitated Hermione down the hall and through the door that showed a large bedroom behind it. He arranged her gently before exiting to the hallway. The warmth he had been fighting in her presence threatened to overwhelm again, but he allowed it to seep into his veins. Something like affection flitted through his mind as he reached for the floo powder.


A/N: Love it? Like it? Have any feedback or questions? Drop a comment, give a favorite or a follow. Also, first time uploading via the app so I hope the formatting doesn't go to pot. -Archer