Chapter 7:

Severus arrived in the outer chamber of his healing rooms and could hear the noises of Granger sobbing while her friend tried to comfort her.

"I really want you to spend time with Toby," she was saying. "But we need to return home. I can't…we can't stay here, Sarah."

Her friend made some noise of assent.

"I want it to work out with Adrian and I don't want to lose my friend," Granger continued. "I know that is selfish of me, but I can't stay here much longer."

"I thought that the healer man had fixed your issue."

"I can feel the potions wearing off and my magic is non-existent."

Severus felt cold fear seep into every pore. He was doing this to her. His distraction had cost her.

"But how do we go home?" her friend replied. "If Jareth has given his permission but it's not as straightforward as that…fuck, I have been so distracted. You had an excuse. This place was trying to kill you."

The words felt like a slap across Severus' face. He had never killed before Dumbledore and now this innocent life was in his clumsy hands. If only he had never given her the acorn. Why did his need to know how the war ended trump her ability to live; to perform magic? Even giving it back to her wouldn't completely undo the damage.

It hadn't activated the protective spells within because she hadn't unlocked it but he was still responsible.

"I got distracted by King Tight Pants and didn't even think to question how we were getting home," Ms Williams moaned.

"You saw your dead brother, Sarah. You're forgiven for your distraction," Hermione replied.

"Yeah…" Ms Williams replied softly. "I think I'm in trouble. I have developed an inconvenient crush on Jareth."

Granger didn't reply straight away. Severus fingered the acorn in his pocket knowing that it would lessen her illness but not alleviate it completely but he knew she wouldn't appreciate him barging in on their private conversation.

"Crushes do pass," Granger finally replied. "I've had my fair share of them. I should know."

"Ah, yes. Harry told me you fancied your teacher."

Every muscle in Severus' body stilled.

Hermione chuckled. "I had a foolish crush on him because he was the author of many books but that soon died when it was revealed that he was a fraud and tried to permanently damage Harry's brain."

"Maybe that's why Adrian is perfect for you. He isn't bookish."

Severus sneered with disgust at her adolescent crush on Lockhart. How could good looks and charm fool someone as intelligent as her? Her friend was wrong about bookish people being wrong for her. Ronald Weasley was proof of that. He tensed as that errant thought erupted in his mind.

I don't care, he told himself forcefully. Who she dates is none of my business.

"Ron is another example of misplaced crushes," Hermione continued. "Proof positive that crushing on someone is not a foundation for a relationship."

"For you maybe," Williams rejoined. "But I am not talking about relationships. I just want to fuck him and move on."

"Maybe there is something in the air," Granger replied, thoughtfully. "Like a desire potion, but in gas form."

"That's a thing?"

"Yes, and it would explain why I stupidly told Snape that I wanted to fuck him."

"You what?" Williams cried out, the incredulity dripping from every drawled American syllable.

Severus grimaced at the insults that would surely flow about his appearance and how undesirable he was.

"I felt like my head was stuffed with cotton wool when I woke and as I told you before, I thought this must all be some hallucination and as such, I told him that I wanted to fuck him. If none of this is real then there would be no harm."

"That is so unlike you." A pause. "You haven't even slept with Adrian yet. And you are loyal to a fault. Even when Baxter was cheating on you…"

"Let us not talk about Baxter!"

"Yeah, sorry." There were a few drawn-out sighs, but Severus wasn't sure who they were from. "But you must be attracted to him to want to fuck him, Hermione?"

Granger clicked her tongue against her teeth. "Yes."

Severus didn't want to hear anymore. He was about to burst in to announce his presence when she continued almost reverently.

"He isn't ever going to grace the cover of Vogue but he is attractive in a very non-conformist way."

"Brooding and dark you mean? Like Rochester."

"Yeah, or like Adam Driver or Benedict Cumberbatch," Granger supplied. "Interesting and full of character. Striking but not particularly pretty."

Severus had no clue who these people were but he had heard enough.

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He inhaled sharply and entered the room by throwing the curtains open and giving the impression he was largely put out by their presence. He had missed making people awestruck by simply bursting into rooms.

Granger looked startled while Ms Williams scowled at him. He took delight in the scarlet that rose in Granger's cheeks. At least it gave her some colour in her otherwise deathly pale face.

"I wish to see my patient alone," he said, leaving no doubt to his authority. His confidence was somewhat bolstered by the fact Granger had not outright declared him ugly.

Williams looked like she was going to protest, but slowly rose and left the room at a nod from Granger.

He tinkered around the room giving the appearance he was busy, but he was just delaying having to give the acorn back to her. And then get inundated with a thousand questions from her.

She watched him silently until he could not delay any longer. He fished the acorn out of his pocket and held it out to her. She eyed it and then eyed him.

"It's an acorn," she said dryly.

"Take it."

"I think not," she said, then blinking a few times, "Why?"

"It will offer you a certain amount of protection from the Labyrinth until we can get you home."

Her fingers grazed his skin as she took it from him and he felt a wave of dizziness wash over him.

Fuck.

He was in over his head. He desired her. It had hit him with all the force of an overladen lorry hurtling down a mountain. There was no slow burn. She had been here merely days and he…

He knew the air wasn't full of a desire potion. He hadn't lost his touch that much. But his sudden, fierce feelings for the insufferable know-it-all were not logical. And without logic, he could not contemplate or dwell or even give in to such feelings. He occluded with such a sickening force that he nearly keeled over.

"Snape, are you alright?" she asked, still clutching the acorn.

He nodded before he pointed at the necklace. "Put it on."

"I can't," she admitted. "I haven't the strength to reach around. I will get Sarah to do it."

Severus tutted impatiently as he instinctively positioned himself behind her so that he could prop her up against his chest. He reached around her with his hand and felt her fingers brush against his palm as she placed the acorn back into his hand. His eyes fluttered close as his shields dissolved. Try as he might, he couldn't hide from this. The Dark Lord was a doddle to keep out compared to the intensity of a friendly touch.

It's been three or so fucking days, he yelled at himself, I should not be feeling this way.

He broke down the task in his mind. Unclip the pendant, place it around her neck, clip it back up, and done.

But the moment he opened it, he realised her mad hair was in the way. With one hand he started, gently brushing the hair to one side, his fingertips tenderly stroking against the back of her neck.

She shuddered.

Severus tried to tell himself it was revulsion, but he knew it was not. His mouth went dry.

He placed the chain over her head and clipped it into place, trying to keep from touching her as much as possible, but he was weakness personified when the deed was done and he swept her hair back in place. That should have been the task completed. But his hand stayed in her hair, tenderly carding through the knots and snarls in her curls, teasing them out, relishing the silky feel against his skin.

She cleared her throat to speak and he knew she was going to ask him to desist.

"How do we get home?" she asked, her voice breaking slightly.

His fingers did not still, though his brain commanded them to abandon this futile exercise.

"How do you feel?" he asked, his own voice cracking as if he hadn't used it in years. He would answer her question, but not right that second. Not when he was lost in the sensations of touching this woman.

"Better," she replied, leaning back against him.

His surprise made his fingers twitch in her hair, yanking slightly harder than intended. He instantly found himself soothing her scalp with his fingertips. What the fuck am I doing?

"I feel more myself but not completely," she said. "I feel less like death warmed up and more clear-headed."

"That's…good."

"Snape?"

"Mmmm?"

"How can we go home?"

He swallowed thickly and nodded to himself.

"There are multiple ways," he replied, continuing to play with her hair.

"How did Sarah return last time?"

"As a result of completing the game," he replied. "The situation is different with you here. The Labyrinth would see your friend's arrival as her willingness to accept her title and will struggle to release her."

"And me?"

"It sees you as an intruder and has been trying to eliminate you."

"But if it doesn't want me here, why can't it send me home?"

"The same way your body fights to kill harmful bacteria and viruses," he said, grimacing at the hackneyed comparison. "Better to eliminate than to—"

"Risk its return." She sounded resigned.

"Precisely. You know the Labyrinth's secrets," he said, finding his fingers were now smoothing down the wayward curls at her temple. "Or at least it thinks you do, which is the same thing to that blasted maze. It won't want survivors going off blabbing its mysteries to the world. And unlike me, or your friend, it gets nothing in return for your stay here."

"So…?"

"And then you have Jareth's fathers," Severus continued. "They required the formal hearing. Bureaucracy exists even in faedom. But until they give their permission, the gates are sealed shut."

"Gates?"

"Multiple ways out but they all are gates."

"So it isn't looking good."

The worry in her voice, made his heart clench and his protectiveness rear up. "I will not let the maze hurt you."

"So what do we do?"

Severus knew he could return to the Above. He could leave the Underground because he was not fae-touched and he had served the Labyrinth as a Healer. He knew that if he was to die again it would be final, however. He couldn't be healed and gain a reprieve a second time. When he had arrived in the Labyrinth, he had remained that age and would continue to remain this age for the rest of his not-quite-immortal life. Which meant facing the reality he would age once again as soon as he stepped through the gate. He also knew that taking Granger with him was her best chance. But he couldn't return to the Labyrinth if he changed his mind.

She could also return with Williams, but there was every chance that the gates would refuse. Even with the aid of the two Kings of the Underground.

"Time," he replied. "Give me time and I will work out what needs to be done."

"Sentient mazes shouldn't be allowed."

He chuckled. "Or castles."

Granger grunted. "I swear every time I had potions the stairs purposefully slowed me down."

"Yet, you were never late."

His hands stilled in her hair as she rested her hand on his thigh. His legs had been dangling off the side of her bed to avoid any intimate contact but he was now—with her hand touching him—hyperaware of their proximity and the heat of her body pressed against his.

He cleared his throat. "Granger, I should…"

"Hmmm?" She turned towards him and his breath hitched at the relaxed expression on her face.

"We shouldn't—" Claiming they shouldn't sit this way would imply it was inappropriate. He simply couldn't acknowledge that. "You should rest."

"I've slept most of the day away," she said with a soft snort. "Now I feel better, I should maybe try and move around a bit."

He watched her other hand reach up and touch the acorn around her neck. He coughed to ease the tightness in his throat as she caressed it. His gift. His gift to her.

It was wrong to think of it in those terms.

"I will just get some food sent to you and then perhaps we could take a stroll in one of the gardens."

"We?"

"I would rather you didn't attempt such a feat by yourself for the time being." He pulled his hand completely free of her curls, regret knifing through him instantly. "As your healer, I still have a duty of…of care to ensure you don't…that the Labyrinth doesn't strike you down."

Granger released air violently through her nose. "Jolly good," she said wryly.

He placed his hands on her shoulders and eased her back against her headboard as he slipped out from behind her.

He left without a backwards glance knowing that he was far too deep now they had touched each other. And he hated himself as he realised what he was beginning to feel for her would never be reciprocated.

"Hermione deserves a better man but she also deserves someone that isn't dictated to her by a fucking piece of jewellery," Sarah insisted. "She is logical and this would defy all logic for her."

Sarah was sitting cross-legged on the sill of a bay window in the library. After leaving Hermione to the ministrations of her healer, she had tracked the elusive Jareth down to this room. She hadn't found him reading or even anywhere near a book. He had been hovering in his owl form by the painted dome that comprised the ceiling.

He had taken her in with his avian eyes and then soared down to her height, smoothly resorting to his humanoid form.

Presently, Jareth nodded. "I may have misspoken when I said the necklace chose her. It did, but it's not as simple as that." He spun a crystal around his wrist. "Lots of people fall in love in your world because they meet and hit it off. Right time, right place plays a huge part in it."

Sarah considered his words and had often wondered how people would have found someone to love if they'd never met their match. She had left Snape with Hermione but she still didn't see how anyone could think they belonged together. For one thing, he was rude and the way he had barged in like a dramatic bat was proof of his lack of respect for her privacy. The moment Jareth had presented himself to her, she had started this line of inquiry.

"So I have consulted with my fathers." Jareth looked uncomfortable for a moment, before sighing. "They have a deeper understanding of this kind of soulmate or serendipity magic than I do."

"Mmhm?" Sarah leaned forward, hoping against hope that at least she could rescue her friend from a bad match.

"The necklace made a choice for Severus but it's not mere magic meddling in love but…" He paused and vanished the crystal before leaning forward, mimicking her pose. "It took his choices into account too."

"What about hers?" Sarah snapped.

He nodded. "That too."

She sat with that knowledge for a while; reconciling the fact magic made a match for her friend but that it had considered their will.

"How?" she asked, falling back against the window. "How does it take their will into account?"

"Well, I believe Severus was deeply in love with another woman and yet the necklace never chose her. She wasn't in love with Severus—"

"Hermione isn't in love with Snape either. She believed him dead and she was a teenager the last time they met. She hasn't been pining for him."

"No, if you let me finish, Sarah," he drawled. "My magic is dreams and time much like the magic in that pendant. She doesn't love him now but the magic tasted her potential for love and concluded that he was the best match. As she was for him."

Sarah rubbed her hand vigorously over her forehead. "So what you're saying is—"

"That the magic contained in that acorn is nothing more than a key to unlock their potential. They will do the rest."

Sarah huffed. "I still don't like it."

"I guess the only people that it matters to should be Severus and Granger."

Sarah opened her mouth but knew when to admit defeat. "You're right. She wouldn't wish me to meddle and she certainly wouldn't meddle in who I lo—"

She clamped her mouth shut, ignoring the knowing smirk Jareth gave her.

"Indeed."

"Does Severus know?" she asked. "That the necklace chose Hermione? I think I may have asked this before."

He shook his head. "I'd rather give him the illusion that he is making his own conscious choice to pursue Granger. Even if he is mostly in control, if he learnt that the acorn steered him in the right direction, then he would most likely revolt."

Sarah's frown deepened. "An illusion—"

"You know precisely what I mean. He needs to believe he is getting what he wished for without any magical key. The merest sniff of interference and he will baulk and run a mile."

Sarah folded her arms, cross with Jareth and his meddlesome ways even if she was coming around to agreeing with him. Her stubborn pride wouldn't allow him to win any argument that easily.

"Now I hope you don't plan on uttering any of this conversation to anyone," he said with slow deliberation as he rose off his perch and then placed a hand on the sill on either side of her. She leaned back as she glanced up to see how his nose was practically touching hers. "I trust you, Sarah."

She glared at him before he smirked and rested his chin on her head.

"I know you want to protect your friend," he said. "But revealing what I have told you will only delay her happiness."

He removed his chin and surprisingly ran his nose down her forehead and the bridge of her nose until his forehead rested against her head. "Please, Sarah. I know you're quite keen on sabotaging your own happiness, but don't do it to her."

"What do you know of my happiness?" she asked, almost breathlessly as she felt his smooth, warm skin connected with hers.

"Sarah, Sarah, Sarah," he murmured. "It's not so much what I know of your happiness, but rather what I want to learn of your happiness."

"What would make me happy is you telling us how we are going to go home?"

"I have sent off my approval for your return to the Above to my fathers and I am waiting on them to open a gate for you."

"You gave me a straightforward answer?" Sarah asked dubiously as she peered into his mismatched eyes.

"Don't sound so surprised, " he said, his breath skittering across her cheek and down her neck. "After all, I can wait until you are ready and willing to join me. I can put my impatience aside."

"Just because I will have to return here one day, doesn't make me yours," she said, her willpower crumbling. "I could still assert my independence when I am brought here."

"You could," he said, nibbling at her ear. "You most certainly could try to live independently from me."

"Do you think I am so weak as to fall for your dubious charms?" Sarah asked, knowing how weak she sounded even to her own ears.

Jareth chuckled, as he moved his lips down her neck. "Sarah, love, you can spend the next two centuries denying me, but I won't ever give up on you."

"Wearing people down isn't romantic, Jareth," Sarah replied, feeling disappointed by him.

His lips stilled right above a pulse point in her throat. She resisted the urge to swallow as the point of one of his teeth pressed against her tender flesh. He sighed and pulled away.

"I want you to stay longer," he admitted. "I want you to get to know me better so that you neither fear nor welcome death."

Sarah gaped at him. At his honest expression and the way that his tone admitted no guile.

"I don't know what it is like fearing for death or for longing for it," he continued. "All I know of mortal death is from the books in my library. But I have no experience. I don't want you to dread your death and I don't want you to race into her arms. I want you to live a long, healthy and fulfilling life and then when death claims you, you accept it."

Sarah frowned. "And what if that means me getting married or having children?"

"Then your children will join you when they die."

"And my husband?"

"Unfortunately there is little I could do for someone that is not fae-touched."

"Convenient."

"Perhaps, but it is the truth."

She rolled her eyes. "And I am sure if there was a way to bring my hypothetical husband here you would find it."

Jareth tutted at her sarcasm. "I do not wish to share but if I had to then I am not averse to multiple partners. So if you choose a mortal partner, then make sure that it is someone that would be happy to fuck me too in case there is a way to bring him here."

The image of him fucking both her and her theoretical husband was too much for her loins and heart to take.

"I don't age," she said, changing the subject abruptly. "How do I know if I will even die?"

"You are fae-touched and somewhat less mortal than you were before you stampeded through my Labyrinth turning everything upside down," he said. "But you will die eventually."

"So I could live a very long life…see all my loved ones die…my hypothetical loved ones and Hermione, of course."

"Surely you have more than just Ms Granger to love in your current life."

Sarah shifted from foot to foot. "She's the only one I've met who hasn't started questioning my lack of ageing."

"You will live a long life and your death will not be a mortal death as you will be claimed before your last breath. You will age but slowly. You can always choose to speed up the process if you wish to join me sooner."

A goblin appeared shortly after Snape had left and placed a tray of food in front of her. It was just broth and bread rolls but she wolfed it down, feeling hungrier as her strength returned.

Funny how an acorn could heal her where magic and potions had not. Her fingers brushed the delicate chain and she found she was smiling. Then the smile slipped off her face at the recollection of having Snape sitting behind her, playing with her hair. Touching her. Caring for her.

Adrian. She had to let go of the idea that this was a fever dream and keep Adrian at the forefront of her thoughts. She couldn't let whatever was stirring inside her at Snape's tender side distract her from her boyfriend. He didn't deserve it and she certainly didn't either.

Feeling satiated, she pushed the tray away and kicked her legs out of the blankets and tried to try her weight on her own feet. She needed the loo and that had to be a positive sign. She had no idea how she relieved herself while unconscious, and she cringed at the thought of Snape taking care of that side of her medical treatment.

The toilet was easy enough to find and she returned on slightly wobbly legs to her sick bed to see Snape patiently waiting with his hands folded in front of him.

"There are some light gowns for you to wear and shoes." He gestured to a pile of fabric on the end of the bed and then a pair of slippers on the floor. "When you are ready, I will be outside in the corridor waiting." He gave her a stern look. "Do not rush."

Once she was dressed, she sat briefly to let the dizziness fade and she gathered herself and made her way to where he was waiting. Surprisingly he offered his arm to her and even more surprisingly she accepted it.

They covered a short distance to an oak door that opened to a garden.

"The castle provided us with a shortcut," he explained. "It may be trying to rid itself of you, but it is oddly obliging considering."

Hermione shook her head. "Why does my life involve either avoiding being offed or preventing my friends from being offed?"

Snape guided her towards what appeared to be a well. He indicated that they should sit on a low wooden bench that curved around the perimeter of the well. She acquiesced, finding the short walk taxing.

"Unfortunately, your disposition is such that you could never live a quiet life."

"What do you mean?"

He had been standing but at her question, he slowly sank onto the bench beside her.

"You are intelligent, brave and resourceful," he explained softly. "There are certain drawbacks to such…qualities."

"It must be polyjuice," Hermione retorted, laughing. "You're not doing the job of convincing me you're really Snape because the real snape wouldn't ever say anything to me that wasn't meant to sting."

His lips twitched. "When you return home, don't you dare tell anyone I paid you a compliment!"

"Oh, I will tell everyone but no one would believe me," she said, grinning. "They'd find a ward in St Mungos just for me."

"I have paid compliments to people before," he said, with an ineffable note to his tone. 'I can't think of any right now, but I am sure I have made them."

"But not to me," she said, her grin dimming at the serious look on his face. "The real Snape would insult my know-it-all tendencies, my hair or my teeth..."

"I did not once insult you about your hair," he said, pointing a slender finger up to the offending nest of curls on her head. "And while I did make such overtures about your teeth, it was…hardly something I could justify even then. And yes, you're an insufferable know-it-all but I said those things more bec…do you know how hard it was to see someone like me who was curious and inquisitive and wanted to learn but I couldn't even encourage that…"

He trailed off, his lips drawn together and his fingers twitching in his lap. Hermione could tell he was frustrated. He was used to paying his Slytherins compliments and going outside of those bounds was probably uncomfortable for him. A blow to his pride.

"The only people who have ever ignited my intelligence or challenged me in any way were Lily, Dumbledore and Minerva," he said, as Hermione fumbled with something to say.

"I couldn't exactly…Dumbledore told you what he wanted you to know. You couldn't ever engage in reciprocal discussion with him." He pressed the palm of his hand to his forehead. "Minerva, I could but…" He swallowed. "But I killed her employer, her mentor and her friend. And before that, there was always a disconnect between us. She would only indulge me so far. But then you came along. A student that Hogwarts hadn't seen in many years, who actually wanted to learn and even though I had spitefully made it seem like it was only for the sake of her exams..."

He made a frustrated sound at the back of his throat. "It was a new kind of torture that I couldn't be the professor you deserved and the other teachers…oh, they sang your praises but they didn't understand you like…like I could have if the situation…allowed. I had to content myself with favouring the likes of Draco Malfoy, who while clever, wasn't as enthusiastic about his studies as you were."

Hermione felt a pang of sorrow that she couldn't have known that better version of

Professor Snape. She felt mournful for that loss of potential. The working relationship they could have developed as mentor and mentee.

She sat stiffly through his tirade as she gazed at the well, noting the elegant script weaving through the mossy stones.

"Though I supposed it worked out for the best," he said softly, plucking at the stem of a nearby flower.

"How so?"

"If we had developed our relationship as a teacher and student past the antipathy we shared, then it would have blurred the lines somehow more now." He squashed the stem of the flower between his finger and thumb.

"What lines?"

He released the stem, allowing the head to hang limply down, deprived of its structural integrity. The only sound was their breathing and the soft gurgle of the water in the well. She looked past him and his study of the now injured flower stem, past the well to watch a flock of crow-like birds darken the sky above a lone turret.

She counted them as she waited for his reply.

"Friendship," he finally said, so quietly she almost didn't hear him. "It would perhaps complicate any friendship we could potentially have."

She tore her eyes from the crows to peer under her lashes at Snape who seemed to be sporting pink cheeks.

"I hope at least," he said, picking petals off the poor flower. "That we could be friends."

"If I am forced to stay here until the Labyrinth kills me, you mean. Or do you actually intend on coming back?"

"Either way," he replied. "Or if you go back and I remain here, you would at least think…if not fondly of me, at least not badly."

Hermione didn't know what to do with this confession. She nibbled her lip and maturely resorted to a joke. "I think I might need to kiss you and ascertain whether you like Polyjuice or not."

"You know what it tastes like to kiss someone under the influence of polyjuice?"

"I've tasted it if you recall."

At his frown, she meowed.

He chuckled. A deep throaty laugh that sent frissons of pleasure rippling across her skin.

"And…" She shuddered. "I also pretended to be Bellatrix to break into her vault."

He looked at her with an expression akin to admiration. It faltered when he started chuckling once more.

"I am not sure Pucey would approve of you kissing me," he said when he finally ceased laughing.

Reality slapped Hermione in the face. She shouldn't be joking about kissing anyone let alone Snape!

"I apologise," she said, hurriedly. "It wasn't appropriate of me. It's just…since the war, I can't take anything or anyone at face value especially if they are displaying traits contrary to what I know of them."

Snape didn't reply. Instead, he gazed out across the garden and seemed lost in his own thoughts.

"Perhaps we should walk a bit further?" he suggested, rising to his feet. She nodded, gathering her skirts and tentatively standing beside him.

They wandered, arm in arm. Hermione could feel the oppression of the Labyrinth pressing against her; trying to insert its claws into her and tear her magic out. She could feel the gentle pulse of the acorn against her chest bone. She could also feel the strength of Snape's arm beneath hers. And dare she say it, the warmth.

"You're right to mistrust me," Snape said as they made a circuit around a small pond. "I don't mean me specifically but anyone. I wouldn't wish a life of mistrust on anyone and Merlin knows I have never trusted anyone and I know how isolating that is, but people…hurt you, even if their intention is not deceit."

Hermione knew he wasn't wrong. And his words struck a familiar chord with her. She thought of Ron abandoning them that final year of the war, or the way Harry had lost contact with her for the better part of a year because she had disagreed with him about his arrest of a disgruntled goblin.

Her previous boyfriends hadn't fared much better. Baxter, for example, had been more interested in fucking her than maintaining any emotional connection and apparently every time she had been on her period, he was off screwing his way through university students. Most of her boyfriends were discarded by her or discarded her in amiable terms, but there was always something missing. In small ways, every one of them had hurt her one way or another. Even if it was not deliberate.

"Adrian is a good man though," Severus commented. "At least he was a decent student and one of the few in my house that made me proud of Slytherin."

He swallowed hard and seemed to be tensing on the precipice of saying something else but he closed his mouth and slumped his shoulders.

Hermione gazed at the crows once more until eventually, he spoke.

"I was so proud to be put into Slytherin," he said softly. "It seemed like the place for those who society deemed outsiders. The place for ambitious, cunning and resourceful magic folk. But of course, I read Hogwarts: A History the moment I laid my hands on it. My mother didn't have a copy." He paused and closed his eyes. "My mother was pureblood and the only magical person I knew. Until I met Lily. I didn't believe purebloods were superior. How could I? My mother barely used her magic until the lack of it killed her."

Hermione instinctively clasped her hand over her acorn as a sharp piercing realisation struck her about her shuffle down the mortal coil now that her magic was depleted. She needed to return home. Regain her magic. Live as she was meant to.

"I didn't agree with Salazar Slytherin's reasons for establishing his house," he continued. "I believed Lily would have made a good fit in there, despite her Muggleborn heritage."

"Was your mum a Slytherin?" Hermione asked, unsure quite where this conversation was going but wanting to show her active participation.

"She was not," he said. "My mother had one sister that still spoke to her after she was disowned. She had told me on the rare occasion that I saw her that everyone in the Prince family was from Slytherin except for mum. She was in Ravenclaw."

"I know she was incredibly good at gobstones," Hermione replied. At his questioning look, she chuckled. "When we were in sixth year and Harry had your old textbook, I was absolutely determined that the Halfblood Prince was a woman, and I found trophies for your mother in the trophy room. Given the year of the textbook, I assumed it was hers. There are records of other Princes, but they all were much older than Eileen."

Snape cleared his throat. "Mum was the youngest by quite some years."

"I assumed as much."

"My point is, that just because Slytherins are deemed evil and a lot of them are, there are some like Pucey who get sorted because of their ambitions and wit not because of their tendency towards the darker things in life."

"A house based on blood purity isn't going to churn out the most moral of people," Hermione countered sadly.

Snape ran his fingers over his mouth. "No."

"But then there have been others of questionable morality that have come from other houses, even Gryffindor."

"I am surprised to hear you admit as much."

Hermione folded her free arm behind her back. "I have it on good authority that even James Potter and Sirius Black tried to lure someone to their death without just cause."

Her heart beat rapidly against her ribs, knowing that she was walking on dangerous ground bringing up his memories even in oblique ways. She hurriedly thought of others that weren't so morally good to fill the awkward silence.

"Peter Pettigrew is another, of course." She chanced a glance at Snape who was sitting rigidly and looking quite grey in the face. "Lockhart and Quirrel weren't Slytherin and they are undoubtedly more immoral and dark than you ever were."

"How so?" he asked, tersely.

"Lockhart would have damaged the brain of a child to save face and goodness knows what state all his victims were in after he obliviated them," Hermione replied. "And well, Quirrel would have killed Harry without a thought because he was happily carrying Voldemort on the back of his head."

Snape remained silent, either lost in his memories or stewing in anger at her audacity to dissect him in such a way. She hoped it was not the latter.

"Zacharius Smith was an egotistical cowardly arse and not a good fit for Hufflepuff," Hermione added. "And then there is McLaggan." Hermione shifted uncomfortably. "He was not a decent bloke either."

"He was an arrogant Gryffindor," Snape replied. "No different from any of you."

"Well, I beg your pardon, but McLaggan epitomises the worst of us," she said, snippily. "And I for one, would never be so rude, pushy and entitled when it comes to romance."

She crossed her arms as that was all she could manage. "Besides, have we not all outgrown our house by now? In our thirties? Shouldn't we see past that and not judge people based on arbitrary categorisation? Isn't that the point? Isn't that what drew you to Slytherin in the first place? Your desire for connections and a sense of belonging with like-minded people? But then you discovered it was more about blood and that made you feel a stronger sense of isolation, which in the end made it easier to be coerced into the Death Eaters. Do you think that if there were no houses, you would have felt such a need to—"

"Stop," he hissed. "You assume too much. You go too far."

"I know I do," she snapped. "I lack a filter and any patience, but I am only sorry that I thought better of you than to take someone at face value based on their Hogwarts house." She comically slapped a hand across her forehead. "But how silly of me! You did just that with Harry for six years. All because of his father, and he was never anything like you assumed him to be and—"

"You've made your point." His voice was soft. Dangerous. A warning.

She ignored it. "You spent your teaching years pointing out the flaws of others, Snape. Don't tell me you can't handle a little bit of reciprocation."

"Oh, please," he snarled. "I have received nothing in my life but insults and criticisms. That's life. Why should I sugarcoat anything for anyone else, when no one has ever smoothed out a single rough edge for me in this life?"

Hermione was struggling to rein back her anger. She was still tired and vulnerable without her magic She felt delirious with her ire and yet, her body was not responding to her, forcing her to remain seated next to this man who had appeared to have changed, but beneath the surface, he was still the surly Potions master.

"I wouldn't be as bitter as you for all the world," she said, as the last trace of huffiness left her system, leaving her feeling dizzy and fatigued. Her throat burned, her eyes felt heavy and sticky and her skin felt like it was being rubbed with sandpaper on the inside.

She was taken by surprise when he shifted his position on the path, his knobbly knees bumping into her thigh and his hands gripping her by her shoulders, his face leaning in dangerously close.

"Don't you dare," he hissed.

Hermione flinched and his eyes widened and he relaxed his hands and moved slightly out of her space, but he didn't release her; not from his touch, or his gaze.

"Don't you dare," he said once again, in a softer voice. "Don't you dare turn to bitterness, Hermione."

Her look of shock must now be fully complete.

"I want you to go back to your world, back to your friends and Adrian and I want you to live," he said, blinking slowly. "I want you to find happiness—find love and never ever become like me. You are right."

He released her and seemed to cave in upon himself. "You are right. I am a bitter old man. And I know you meant well, but any analysis of my character has always been an assassination and not…not…" He made a strangled sound in the back of his throat.

"It's hard, relearning emotional intelligence when there has been no one to teach it to you," she remarked, gently.

"Why do you keep doing that, Hermione?"

She felt a wee thrill at his use of her name but chose to ignore it. "Do what?"

"Attempt to understand me." He shook his head. "It is easier for you, as it has been for everyone else to just walk away."

"I didn't walk away from Harry or Ron, though the latter did to us during that horrid year," she said. "I don't walk away from my friends in need."

He pulled his head out of his hands and gave her a searching look. She offered him a small smile. "Just because you get angry, doesn't mean that I should just give up. I get angry too."

"You will walk away," he said. "Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow but in a few days when the Kings of the Underground have pulled their heads out their arses and consented to let you go, you will walk through that gate and you will live your life. As it should be."

"The alternative is to, what, stay here and let myself die?"

"No, never," he replied. "There is no choice, Granger. You will leave."

"Yes, physically but emotionally and spiritually, I will…" She didn't want to say that she would always be there because that wasn't true and too sentimental and corny for Snape to tolerate. She nibbled her lip as she thought about how to summarise her cascading thoughts. "I will be your friend."

"And much good that will do me," he said, snorting. "You will benefit from the virtue of extending friendship to a person you will never see again. Rather easy for you, while I have to spend eternity wondering what my only friend is doing and if she is even alive anymore."

"You misjudged me again," she said sharply. "I don't hand out friendship cards to people as some kind of virtue signalling. It isn't an act to make me feel good about having done an empty moral thing while patting myself on the back. You, Sir, are as prickly as a cactus and yet, I want to be your friend."

She straightened up, finding her legs were barely capable of holding her weight for much longer. She pressed her palm against the nearby tree as she oriented herself.

"Snape, I have enjoyed our chats," she said. "My only regret is that I won't be able to have more of them when I return home. I find that despite all appearances, I will miss you. Believe me, or not. But that is the truth."

He came up behind her and gently took her elbow in his hand to support her weight.

"Let me take you back to the castle," he said. "I apologise for over-exciting you."

She glanced at him as she walked by his side, his dark eyes fixed on the path ahead.

"Oh, and Dumbledore was a Gryffindor and I would say his morals were questionable too," she said, as they weaved around a plant that was shooting off iridescent pollen in all directions.

He smirked. "I value your attempts at trying to please me, Hermione."

"Well, I just think you should let go of feeling shame for the house you were in and unpack your regrets for what they are. Merlin was a Slytherin after all."

"So was Umbridge." They both shuddered. "And I don't feel shame as such. Just that Adrian is someone who encapsulated the best of my house. You've made a good choice of partner."

Hermione sighed. "I wouldn't go as far as to say he is my partner. We are dating."

"I see," he replied, helping her navigate past a goblin-shaped rock that turned out to be a very slow-moving goblin.

"Hi ya," it said as they passed.

"Hello," Hermione replied, politely as Snape rolled his eyes.

"Well, I wish you the best of luck with Adrian," he said.

"Thank you," she said, smiling. "I really like him."

They had managed to make it to the door they had come out of when Hermione stopped walking and Snape gave her a quizzical look.

"Did you still want me to join you for dinner?" she asked, as two pink circles appeared on his cheeks.

"You remember?" he asked, almost shyly.

"I did."

"Well, if you would care to join me tomorrow when you have rested another full day, then I will oblige."

"I will look forward to it."