Author's Note: We're back! And again, thanks for all of the support and interest here, as I've said, it's helping to keep my brain focused :) I also had a very nice note on the last chapter that Petrificus Totalis would be a more appropriate spell for Snape to use when catching Hermione, and the reader was absolutely right. So thank you, I'll be making that edit :)

To that point, there are SO many spells and potions and incantations from canon (and fanon) to wade through when writing essentially a foreign language, that sometimes the one your brain latches onto, though it isn't exactly wrong, it isn't always the most 'correct' either. Again, writing those parts feels like writing a language that you don't speak natively, and that's exactly what happens in RL. I'd made myself a cheat sheet before I started, and I do try to google each spell again before I add it in here, but getting fluent in a second language takes time and practice. We'll get there :)

So to this chapter, it ended up being more of a warm fuzzies thing than planned. More at the end.

Direct continuation.

Exquisite Flaws

Snape carefully carried the sleeping Miss Granger down the hall and placed her back into her bed. After he'd brushed the loose tendrils of hair away from her face, and covered her over again with his blankets, for a moment he stood there by her side, thinking about that moment when her skull had nearly cracked down onto the bathroom floor.

Just the thought set a pit back into his stomach.

Not only the mental image of her blood spilling out onto that unforgiving white tile, but with the injuries she'd already suffered, he knew that a head trauma would have been too much for her poor body to handle. Her recovery would have been set back by days, if not weeks. Now to mention, with another substantial injury, it likely would have become near impossible to keep her on the regimented potion cycle he had her on now.

In short, her falling in that bathroom would have been an absolute disaster.

And thinking about her being so debilitated, possibly for an indefinite period, he found his hand reaching out to touch her again just as he had when he was holding her on the floor. This time though, with her injuries and their respective positions, he was restricted to just taking her fingers.

Those two on the end.

As he gave them a light, reassuring, squeeze, careful to avoid placing any pressure on the rest of her hand, he was reminded of the additional step he wished to add into her healing regiment . . . The Dittany. Although he stood by his reasoning in not applying any to date, there had been no point in it, he still had his concerns about the exact stage in which the herb would do her the most good.

Also, if it would indeed completely prevent any scars from forming after such catastrophic injuries.

To that end though, Snape did note that for the third round of potions she'd ingested that evening, Miss Granger's appearance had again improved, even from where she'd been that afternoon. Of course by any objective standard . . . his lips pursed . . . she still did not look, 'good.' The burns, though no longer raw and glistening, thank Merlin, had not healed ANYWHERE near to the point where he would allow her access to a mirror. They were at least another thirty-six hours out from there. Then noting a particularly bad indentation on her cheek where the flesh had yet to grow back, he bit down a sigh. Well, thirty-six hours might still be a bit optimistic.

Perhaps forty-eight.

Standing here and staring at her like this though, he rolled his eyes while gently disentangling their fingers, it was rather ridiculous. He could not heal her simply by . . . he sneered . . . positive thinking. That was muggle nonsense right there. So with no more to be done for his Miss Granger on that evening, Snape took out his wand and did a lockdown of the house wards.

Though his home was quite secure in the daytime, it was utterly impenetrable at night. Not even a floo request would come through while he was asleep. If anyone wished to speak to him, that person would have to physically show up outside the house and knock on his front door.

And even then of course it was unlikely he would allow them access to his home.

Regardless, as Miss Granger's arrival that morning had fulfilled his 'visitation list' for the entire year to date, he was clearly not expecting any additional company on that night. So with the wards locked, and knowing that he had no intention at all of leaving this woman alone for the next seven to nine hours, Snape turned around to deal with the matter of where he was going to sleep. Of course he had a bed upstairs, but there was also a perfectly serviceable reading chair right here in front of him. And once he had levitated it to the other side of the room . . . to give himself a little more space . . . he transfigured it into a regulation length sleeping cot.

Similar to the kind one would find as standard issue in a magical tent.

Then with a few quietly muttered "Accios" he had his pillow and mid-weight blanket retrieved from his bedroom. Miss Granger was still using his heavier quilt, but given how he would be sleeping by the fire, he would not need that second layer. He did have a few concerns about her potentially needing another blanket though . . . with them so far north, the temperatures were dipping quite low overnight, and it was clear she was susceptible to the cold . . . so he decided to set a charm on the woodpile. Once he was done with the incantation, the pile was set to send a log to the fireplace every hour on the hour, until six am. That would be more than sufficient to keep Miss Granger warm enough until morning.

Hopefully anyway.

But with that now taken care of, he removed his outer robe, then the frock coat underneath and finally his boots and socks. The latter items were set down on the carpet by Miss Granger's trainers, the former items were banished out to the hooks in the front closet. For his dress shirt, he simply un-tucked it, and undid the top two buttons of the collar. Then as he always did before bed, Snape ran his index finger lightly over the scar on his throat. It was just his daily reminder to himself.

He was lucky to be alive.

It was especially lucky today, because if he hadn't been alive, then who would Miss Granger have gone to for help after her accident? Just considering the limited possibilities, and the likely substandard level of care she would have received from almost any other wizard or witch, St. Mungo's be damned, sent a veritable chill down his spine. And with that not all cheery thought weighing on him as a last rumination before bed, he tucked his wand under his pillow and climbed up onto his cot. After he'd tugged the blanket over his body and tucked his hair back behind his ear, he spared the sleeping woman across the room another long, searching, look. Finally he let out a sigh.

"Sleep well, Miss Granger."

The words were barely a whisper, and the last ones he spoke before closing his eyes.

When he awoke again, it was with a start.

This was not unusual given the life that he had led. His dreams on most nights were generally quite upsetting, if not downright horrifying. On this night thought, over and over he'd had to see Miss Granger in that moment of her writhing in agony when she'd first fallen into his sitting room. It was not an image he'd wanted to add into his already expansive, evolving, catalog of nightmares, but it was no surprise really that it had happened.

Some days the bad things were all that he could remember of his life.

Now that he was awake though, even if it was still dark in the room, he knew his sleep for the night was finished. He couldn't go back to seeing her like that again. And as he sat up in the cot, lightly scrubbing his fingers through his hair to massage his scalp, he cast a tempus to take note of the time.

Five forty-seven am.

Hmph . . . he grunted to himself . . . not too bad. Given how physically (and emotionally) exhausting yesterday had been, he'd been hoping for at least seven hours of sleep, but six and a half wasn't too bad. Certainly he'd survived on much less during the war.

As he sat up, biting down a yawn into the back of his hand, he looked across the room at his house guest clearly visible in the glow from the crackling fire. His eyes actually widened in surprise, and delight, at the sight of her.

Her appearance was REMARKABLY improved!

Still not good . . . he slowly swung his legs around and brought himself up to his feet . . . not yet, but it did seem that the underlying structural issues which had been so troubling him, i.e. the burned away muscle and tissue in her face, had very unexpectedly re-grown in the night. There were also a few tiny spots of skin on her face that appeared almost normal in hue. Those patches were VERY small, but they absolutely were not there when he'd put her to bed, and he had not been expecting any such improvements to show up before that evening. It made him wonder if perhaps there was some validity to Miss Granger's theory about the potential healing effects in him sharing his magic with her.

If perhaps that is what had facilitated these unexpected improvements he was seeing.

All he had was this anecdotal evidence, and using the word "evidence" was obviously quite a stretch here, but if there was ANY possibility at all that there was a true correlation between that act and this result, it could not be ignored. So he decided then that he would propose to Miss Granger that they conduct another session of magic sharing as soon as possible. The fact that he had also found an unexpected degree of contentment in the intimacy of that process played no part in his decision to make this offer.

He was thinking only of what was best for the witch.

And as he walked across the room, squinting slightly as he attempted to memorize the exact locations of those miniscule improvements in her features, he could not help but note that they were coming soon to the point in her recovery where they would need to address the one area that he had not addressed yet at all.

Her burnt away hair.

Yesterday of course when her flesh was weeping, such a simple aesthetic hadn't been an issue even worthy of his passing consideration. But now, likely within the next twenty-four hours, she would have a newborn layer of skin cells covering over much of the currently damaged areas. And those newborn skin cells would quite notably be bare of the tiny hairs which would ordinarily go with them. Not to mention, there was also the matter of her half missing eyebrow and the withered lashes.

Those needed to be fixed as well.

So he made a mental note to start preparing the hair re-growth potion after breakfast. That way he could be sure it would be ready for her tomorrow. Two doses would probably cover all that needed to be done, though the hair that was actually on her head . . . his brow wrinkled as he reached over to run his fingers through the longer locks, the ones that were still left on the side . . . that was a bit of a lost cause. Her hair in the back was all right, normal in look and texture that is, he'd seen that when he was holding her. But the hair in the front and on the sides, she had entire clumps burned away in those areas, and all of the hair that was left framing her face, was crispy and brittle. His brow wrinkled as he rubbed one of the crispier pieces between his thumb and index finger . . . the strands began to disintegrate at his touch.

No . . . he shook his head slowly . . . no, re-growth potion could ever fix this kind of damage.

"Sir?"

Hearing the sleepy voice suddenly coming to consciousness, Snape immediately dropped the lock of hair he was holding, and took a slightly startled, half step back.

"Ah," he cleared his throat awkwardly, "you are awake. Apologies if that was my fault, I was just looking at your hair, and thinking about what needs to be done with it."

Hermione blinked.

"Oh," she answered on a yawn into her covered arm, trying to focus, "is it bad?"

"Yes," Snape made a general sweeping motion towards her face, "there are chunks here that have burned away, and that type of aesthetic damage cannot be fixed with a potion. If you wish for it to look normal again," he gave her a look, "it will need to be cut."

Hermione looked up at him and blinked again . . . this wasn't a conversation she was expecting to have ten seconds after she'd woken up. Still though, whatever he thought was best. So she answered him on another half yawn that she covered over with the back of a silk covered hand.

"Okay," she nodded and swallowed, "that's fine. You can cut it, if that's what you think is best."

Snape's eyes widened in surprise.

"I do not know any COSMETIC charms!" He sputtered while crossing his arms at his chest, and she shot him a wry look.

"Well, do you think I do?" She asked with a confused huff, "everything I knew about that nonsense I learned from Lavender, and I scourgified all of that from my brain years ago to make room for more useful knowledge."

"Well, today it seems like that knowledge would be useful to have, yes?" He asked sarcastically, and when she shot him back her half an eyebrow and a dry, sleepy, "indeed," he found his lips actually twitching.

It was most disconcerting!

Because really, the woman was beginning to do things to his emotional control, that he was not entirely sure how to handle. For the moment though, he just caught the twitch of his lips before she noticed it, and then a thought (memory) suddenly popped into his head, and he shot her a triumphant eyebrow of his own.

"There is a book!"

And he was so pleased to remember that this book existed, and would cover over the exact knowledge deficit the two of them shared, without another word, and though this was not at all how he had planned to spend the first waking moments of his day, he immediately spun around and hurried over to the first of the two floor to ceiling bookshelves lining the opposite wall.

It was in here somewhere!

"Wait," Hermione coughed out as she tried to push herself slightly up the bed . . . all she did was flop herself half off her pillow, "you have books on cosmetic charms? Also, sir," she called out with a slightly pained grimace, "can you please help me sit up?"

"What?" Snape turned back, realized what she'd said, and that she was now positioned rather awkwardly splayed out on the mattress, and immediately winced at his idiocy.

"Oh, Miss Granger," he groaned while hurrying back over to her side, "I do apologize. I got distracted by our conversation. Here let me . . ."

And he began to perform their usual routine, which included the charmed engorgement of her pillow and then shifting her by a combination of touch and spell so that she was sitting up properly on the bed. Once she was steady, he went over to get a phial of pain potion off the coffee table.

When he saw her pout at the color of the liquid, he bit his lip, because seeing her unhappy had now become a point of distress for him.

That development alone was a point of distress for HIM!

"I know," he murmured over to her while pulling off the topper, "it is not the new one, but it is too soon for your next dose there. You can have it at ten. In the meantime, this should help."

As she swallowed down the standard pain potion, he explained how she would not be taking the rest of her healing regiment until eight am. That before bed, he had given her slightly larger doses of the other potions to ensure that she could have at least eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. And if he perhaps saw the soft smile Miss Granger gave him at that news, or noticed that her gloved hand ghosted over his shirtfront in thanks, he pretended not to be affected.

It seemed the wisest course of action.

Once she was set with the pain potion though, and he was sure she was comfortable on the bed, he took a step back and lifted his eyebrow.

"Shall we continue with the effort to fix your hair, or just let it go for now?"

Hermione's lip quirked up with a faint bit of melancholy.

"Personally, I'd prefer to just get it done with so we can move onto the more important things we need to discuss."

Seeing Snape nod as he murmured, "yes, that was my thought as well," Hermione had her confirmation she was getting a haircut that morning. It wasn't something she'd been expecting . . . she'd actually given her hair no thought at all since she'd arrived at his home . . . but if Snape said it was too damaged to fix, then that was that.

She trusted his opinion as much, if not more, than anyone else still in her life.

So she sat there in her transfigured bed, in his tiny sitting room, watching while he scanned through the titles of the literal HUNDREDS of books that covered the walls, and were piled in neat stacks on the floor. She couldn't help then but feel a bit of her old self scratching from under the surface of the sad, harried, woman she had become. Because Young Hermione had always loved finding a new library, and it felt like she was convalescing in one now. For the past ten years she'd probably read five or six books a month, every month, beyond what she was assigned at Hogwarts. So that was perhaps seven or eight hundred books in total, just since she'd discovered she was a witch.

That didn't even cover all that she had devoured back when she was a child living a muggle life.

By her estimation at what she was looking at now though, there were probably near half as many books just in Snape's sitting room than she had read in her (known) magical lifetime. So she had to wonder how many of these volumes here would be brand new to her. This cosmetic charm book he was searching for certainly would be, as she'd never had time for such perceived, 'frivolity' in the past. Though Snape was correct that what she'd once considered frivolity, had now become a necessity. It was hard though to anticipate what knowledge might become useful later in life. That was why she'd generally preferred to learn as much as she could, about everything she could.

Just in case.

And as her attention shifted back to the man now stooped down running his fingers over one of the lower shelves, her expression softened.

She had never seen him so casual.

No robe, no frock coat, no boots . . . she bit her lip . . . not even any socks. And knowing that she was probably one of only a few people to have ever seen him in such an intimate state, made her feel special. Just the fact that he was actively searching for a bloody COSMETIC charm, book, simply to fix her hair, (her HAIR?!) made her feel special! She just could not imagine him doing that for, well, anyone. And when he suddenly let out a triumphant yell, and popped back to his feet, her brow inched up.

"Find it?"

"Yes, here, it is." He answered while flipping it open as he started walking back to the bed, "it was my mother's, and I knew it was in buried in with some of my old primary school textbooks from the same era."

"Primary school?" Hermione repeated his words with a wary confusion, "how old is this book?"

"I do not know," Snape muttered while flipping to the title page, "it says . . ."

For a moment he trailed off before his eyes snapped back over to hers.

"Nineteen sixty-seven."

Apparently noting by her unblinking stare, that she had some slight concern about the 'styles' they might find in a book that old, Snape rolled his eyes.

"We're just looking for edification on the basic cutting charms, Miss Granger," he reminded her, "we're not trying to prep you for a ball."

"Right," she let out an embarrassed huff, "sorry. And not that the look matters really, I just suddenly pictured myself like I was Emma Peel or something decked out in black leather with a straight flip."

Being quite familiar with the character of Emma Peel . . . he had grown up with a telly after all . . . Snape did not feel as though there was anything he could say to that statement which would not get him into IMMENSE trouble. So he simply blinked, twice, and looked back down at the Table of Contents.

"Anyway," he stated loudly while flipping forward through the pages, "I believe I have found exactly what we need."

It took him just a moment to find the pages which were outlined, and as he opened the section to find the moving images of six distinct hair styles on each page of the chapter, all with charm instructions and wand movements beneath them, he let out a satisfied grunt.

"Yes," he tapped the first of the pages, "here."

Then he spun the book around, levitating it so she could see clearly.

"Oh," Hermione murmured in surprise at how detailed everything was . . . like a textbook, "this is actually very helpful, much more so than those silly magazines Lavender used to leave on her bed. But," she shook her head as her gaze bounced around the page, "I don't know which one would be best. Like I said, it doesn't matter really," her voice faded slightly, "I just don't want people to stare."

Her eyes snapped up to his.

"You choose."

Snape looked at her for a moment, then his gaze fell back to the shifting styles, upside down, in front of him. After he'd spun the book back his way, he flipped forward a few more pages in the hair chapter until he saw something that he liked. A lot. He spun the book back towards her.

He pointed.

"That one," he stated firmly, "there, on the left."

Hermione leaned forward, her eyes widening slightly when she saw the length.

"It's very short," she murmured, with a clear undercurrent of worry.

"Yes," Snape nodded, "it is, because very short is what you need. The hair you have now, Miss Granger," his tone softened then when he saw how confused she was, "most of it is damaged beyond any hope of saving. So if you truly do not wish for people to stare, it would be best to cut it all off, and let it come in again naturally."

It took a moment for Hermione to truly accept what he was saying . . . that this giant bush of hair that she'd had for as long as she could remember, it was all going away . . . but then she reminded herself that there were more important things to be concerned with at the moment. So she took a deep breath and nodded.

"If this is the best option, then okay," she answered quietly, "I trust you."

For a second Snape almost responded with a bit of dry sarcasm at her response, because really he would HOPE that she would trust him after he'd saved her life twice in the last twelve hours . . . but then he saw the look on her face. How she was worrying her bottom lip as she stared down at the book floating between them. And then he thought of how he would feel if their positions were reversed. If she was standing here telling him that he needed to chop off all of his hair, and start from scratch.

That would be most upsetting.

Clearly he did not consider himself a 'vain' person, but he was very attached to these long, lank, strands brushing against his shoulders. For decades, they had been a part of his armor. And he had so often, starting from a very young age, ducked his head down, pulled out a book, and hidden behind his dark veil whenever he wished to close out the world.

He imagined Miss Granger had often done much the same with that long, riotous, swirl of twists and curls.

So before he reached for his wand to perform the charm they had settled on, he reached over to put his hand on the top of her head.

"If you would like," he whispered, while running his fingers gently through the thick, curly strands in the back, "I can save you one of the locks from here. There was no damage in this area, so your hair still looks as I have always seen it, if that is the image you would like to hold onto."

Hermione's eyes burned slightly as she looked up at him.

"Yes, please," she answered with a faint smile, "it might seem silly," she sighed, "very silly, but I would like a piece just in case the potion caused any kind of permanent damage. The length might not ever grow back, right?"

"I suppose that is possible," Snape answered with a faint wrinkle in his nose while considering her question, "but at this point I would not say that outcome is likely, simply because you do not seem to have any burns at all on your scalp. The hair," he tipped his head to the side, "that is absolutely a lost cause, but," he ran his fingers down another lock, "because it is so thick and curly, I believe that is what helped save you from suffering injury to the skin underneath. That and sheer luck, of course."

"Well," she nodded and swallowed, "that's something at least, but I would still the lock," she gave him a sad smile, "just in case."

"Of course," he murmured while pulling out his wand with his free hand, "just in case."

So with the riotous curl in his fingers stretched out at least four centimeters, Snape used his own teenage spell (slightly modified) and muttered a "Sectum" to dissect the single lock from the rest of the hair on her head.

It came off in one clean piece.

Once he had the lock in hand, he walked over and placed it down on the coffee table where he had laid out her healing potions. From there, he spent a few minutes studying their chosen cosmetic charm and practicing the styling motions with his wand until he felt completely comfortable with the movements. Then he turned back to Miss Granger.

"Are you ready?"

Though he had some concerns here with what needed to be done . . . he could tell Miss Granger was more upset about this cut than she wanted to be . . . he tried to mask the worry from his tone.

"Yes," Hermione took a breath and nodded, "I'm ready."

"All right," he raised his wand up high and then down sharply to the left, "Brevis Capillum!"

The charm was yelled out as he finished the last two movements of his wand. And just like that, Hermione felt the weight of her hair, the weight she had been carrying since she was six years old . . . disappear.

It felt like she'd lost a limb.

She felt an unexpected surge of genuine grief . . . and burst into tears. But knowing that was ridiculous, and also seeing how visibly distressed Snape was at her reaction, she tried to catch her breath.

"I'm sorry," she sniffled, wishing desperately that she had the ability to wipe her own tears away, "I'm sorry. I'm okay, I just, it felt so wrong when it all disappeared. I couldn't help it."

"Your reaction is understandable, Miss Granger," Snape murmured softly as he stepped closer, "there is no need to apologize." Then he brought his hand up to ghost over her now shorn locks.

"If it is of any comfort, the cut came out correctly."

"Does that um," Hermione sniffled again before she cleared her throat, "does that mean it looks all right?"

"It means," he gave her a look, "that the charm worked as it was supposed to work. Your appearance is now that of the witch in the book. I found her features to be similar to yours, and her appearance to be pleasant with this style of cut. The cut is correct."

Though there was a bit of filler in his response, Hermione was able to pick out the key point.

Pleasant.

The style was pleasant and the cut was correct. That meant he liked it.

And as she felt his fingertips now lightly brushing through what she knew had been the sixties witch's version of a "Twiggy" cut (she'd seen a picture of her muggle grandmother with a similar one fashioned after Twiggy herself) she bit her lip, and looked down to the open book laying open on her lap.

"Do you think I could see it?" she whispered hesitantly.

"No," Snape answered immediately, while letting his hand fall back to his side, "not today." His gaze slowly shifted along her still healing flesh, "tomorrow evening, perhaps, if your recovery continues along at the same pace. Even then, you still won't look quite like yourself yet, after but another twenty-four hours, I feel it is less likely you will cry when you see your injuries."

An unexpected gasp slipped from Hermione's lips.

"Wait, they're STILL that bad?!"

The hitch in her voice couldn't be helped, because it truly had not occurred to her that the damage to her face wouldn't have NOTABLY improved after a full day of potion repair!

How was that possible?!

For a moment Snape just looked at her, his expression was kind, and then he reached out to loop his pinky finger through hers . . . it was the pinky closest to the edge of the blanket. That and the adjacent ring finger, were her only completely perfect fingers left, and even through the glove, that physical connection with him immediately helped to push down her panic at what she must look like. Every time he touched her now, she felt better. She didn't quite understand it, but it was true. It was like they had this connection that she'd never realized before, perhaps quite frankly because they'd never had much occasion to have physical contact before. Whatever it was though, his touch was like a balm that could sooth her emotional pain, if not the physical.

So she tightened her grip on his finger, and watched as he took a deep breath.

"Miss Granger," Snape spoke softly, almost gently, "your injuries have markedly improved since you arrived, but they were quite frankly, catastrophic to start. Worse, I'm sure than you could have ever imagined. I did not wish for you to imagine it, so until now I have attempted to downplay the aesthetic truth of your injuries. You were never a monster," he gave her a knowing look given the conversation they'd had the day before and the way her eyes were welling up again now, "but the fact that it has been more than twenty-four hours and you are still not close to looking like yourself yet, is of no surprise to me. I know that at your age you have become accustomed to the," his jaw twitched, "immediacy, of magical healing. There are still some things though, which simply take time. And," he took a breath, "to prepare you in the event of some possible scarring, even with time, and Dittany, there are also some things that our world cannot fix completely. Like this . . ."

And suddenly, to her shock, he reached up with his free hand to pull down the unbuttoned collar of his dress shirt, to show the scar beneath. Hermione's watery eyes popped open wide as the fears over her own appearance were momentarily forgotten.

Nagini.

Memories of that night still brought a violent chill down her spine.

"This," Snape continued on while pulling the thick cotton down even further to show the ugly, surprisingly thick, red lines lashed along his neck, "has healed as much as it's going to heal. And you can see," he gave her a droll look, "it is not that great. But," he let his collar pop back, "I have grown to accept these markings with relative aplomb. I am alive. The creature that gave me these scars, both of the creatures . . . they are dead. I won."

"I don't think they look that bad actually," Hermione answered with a sniffle she couldn't help, though she made certain to focus her attention solely on him, because she knew in her bones that he'd ever shown these marks to anyone before. His trust in her was a gift.

One she was going to show the proper reverence.

"It is true though," she bit her lip, "it hadn't occurred to me that with access to our healing potions you would have been left with any scars at all, but," her expression softened, "they're just red, and it's not like they're on your face."

"Ah yes," Snape cut in drolly, "my face. Merlin forbid that cursed snake had marred the great beauty that is MY face. A true tragedy was averted there."

Trying, and failing, to keep her mouth from quivering at his biting sarcasm, Hermione let out a quiet huff and gave their joined fingers a little shake.

"You jest," she responded softly with a deep thread of emotion in her voice, "but I like your face. It's interesting. Most people's faces aren't interesting. They're plain, like mine, or they're pretty like Cho or Ginny, but there's really nothing special about pretty, either, when you think about it. Pretty just means that your features are aesthetically balanced, and in a large group of pretty people, aesthetically balanced can be quite plain too."

Feeling a spark of pride at her words . . . she had made him feel attractive, though he knew he was not . . . Snape had to look away for a moment.

Then he took a breath and when he looked back to see her staring at him, (her eyes were watering), he reached out to run his fingers through her hair again.

He really was quite fond of the cut. More to the point though, he wanted her to know how fond he was. His thought was, that might help her become more comfortable with it.

He just wanted to make things a little easier for her.

"If you agree," he spoke softly, with a brush of his thumb along the shell of her ear, "I would like to share my magic with you again today, as I believe you were correct that there could be some healing qualities to be found in the process. I think it has expedited some of your tissue reformation."

"Well, that's very good to hear," Hermione answered in the same hushed tone, as she felt that warmth spread out in her belly again . . . it was the way he was touching her, "but honestly, I would have wanted to do it again even if there weren't any healing qualities to be found."

And she left it that, because she was afraid to say the rest out loud. The feeling of his magic flowing through her veins, it had been the first time that she'd felt truly safe and happy, in years. And even though she hadn't said that part aloud, she could tell from the way Snape was looking at her with that gentle expression she'd never seen him use with anyone else before, that he understood how special the experience had been for her.

Which made her wonder if it had been special for him as well.

It was a question she nearly asked, but then he took a breath.

"We will do it this morning," he said softly, "after your potions. And as to your other thoughts," he gave her a look then, "so we are clear, the woman who showed up at midnight to harass me in my sickbed at St. Mungo's, was not plain. You are not plain, Hermione Granger. Not to me."

Suddenly realizing what he had just said, out loud, a faint flush touched Snape's cheeks. Then he cleared his throat and gently disentangled their fingers as he let his other hand fall from scalp.

He straightened up.

"I need to dress," he stated quietly, while making sure to look directly into her eyes, "and when I come back, you shall tell me why you needed to brew that potion and our day shall go from there."

And with that, and an "Accio boots," he turned with a metaphorical swirl, and as those boots flew into his hands, he headed out of the room, and down the front hall.

For a moment Hermione just stared after him, biting down on her lip.

He thinks I'm pretty.

It was such a curious admission to come within the same conversation where he refused to allow her access to a mirror because her face was still so disfigured.

But then she realized that made his confession all the more touching.

Because apparently when Snape looked at her, he still saw her as he felt that she really was . . . her eyes started to burn . . . even though right now, what she was, wasn't quite herself. And that's when she came to understand, this was the real reason why he had never recoiled from her.

To him, she was pretty no matter what.

Dear Merlin, she thought with a choked sob, if he wasn't the sweetest man she'd ever met! Because that was a beautiful thought he'd shared with her, and it was exactly what she'd needed to hear. Not only for the desperately needed boost to her morale, but as a reminder that this was a man to whom she could tell everything. And maybe he wouldn't condemn her. Maybe he would be able to see that the terrible things she had done, they hadn't really been her. That she had started this chain of events with the best of intentions.

And then . . . the tears began to slide down her face . . . everything had fallen apart.

/*/*/*/*

When Snape stepped back into the sitting room much more put together than when he had left it a few minutes before, he saw Miss Granger was staring at the fire.

It was clear that she was crying.

"Are you in pain?" He asked with concern as he continued forward, buttoning the last few buttons of his frock coat.

He'd left his robe in the closet for now.

"What?" She blinked and turned her head to look him. "Oh, no," she sniffled, "no, there's nothing physically wrong beyond the usual pain the potion can't touch. I was just thinking about where to begin with what I need to tell you." Her jaw twisted as she took in a raggedy breath. "I've made such a cock up of things, sir," she winced and looked down to the silken gloves covering her fingers . . . the gloves he'd made to comfort her, "you're going to be so upset with me."

Snape's jaw twisted.

"Perhaps," he answered honestly, because that was usually how he answered most questions, "but we shall not know until you tell me what you have done. And no matter what you have done, Miss Granger, no matter how bad it is, I will forgive your actions, of this I am sure."

Then with a snap of his fingers he conjured a chair to sit in . . . he sat.

"Now please," he let out a heavy breath and crossed his arms at his chest.

"Begin at the beginning."

A/N 2: Freely admit, no idea if they ever covered 'magical haircuts' in canon. Can't recall it ever coming up, but outside of them just breaking out scissors like muggles do, specific cutting charms designed for different styles made the most sense. To me :) And I really liked the idea of Snape pulling out his mom's old book to figure it out, because clearly this would be a knowledge gap shared with fellow book nerd, Hermione. And the inspiration for her Twiggy haircut (outside of it being so perfect for the era), was because it did also work with the chop EW did of her hair after the movies were done. Emma is obviously always going to be more 'glamorous' than Hermione, but in writing the fictional character, it is easier to 'see' her in my head if she bears a more general resemblance to the actress at that age. Basically the curly hair had to go no matter :)

I also decided that 'Sectum' alone could be used to cut anything Snape wanted to cut. It didn't have to be used as a weapon.

And I discovered that casting a tempus to check the time, though I've read it a MILLION times, is not a real thing! It was invented in ff, which is pretty cool, because it's very much become part of the lexicon, so I added it in here. God knows who invented it to start but, thanks, random writer!

Also, I had planned, and had written, their entire conversation at the end here, but the chapter was already getting very long and it would have been another five pages at least to clean up and my cat REALLY wanted to sit in my lap. She was making it difficult to type :) So I figured we could cut it here and just open with the meat of the plot next time. Basically that's how we ended up with mostly a warm fuzzies chapter when it had been designed originally to kick the plot ball down the road. But they need bonding time to facilitate the romance, (the fun bits) and they really did need to deal with her Kentucky Fried Chicken hair, so, it worked out. I haven't decided yet if this will be a 'soul bond' undercurrent, or if what they're experiencing is simply them discovering a more traditional (non-magical) emotional connection. I'll suss it out as we go forward.

Again, love to hear what you think :) Thanks!