Author's Note: Disclaimer can be found at the start of the fic. Sorry for the delay; it took longer to get the draft done than I'd expected, and I wanted to get some space before final check and posting. There are still parts I'm not happy with, but on the whole, it's postable. I've drafted the final chapters and epilogue now, and once they've gone through editing and checking, they should be up. Depending on betas, and my own editing efforts, we're looking at one week to a month until it's all done.

I am very grateful to my two beta readers for this chapter; Mad Madam Me, and Maiden of Books.

Chapter 5

Maybe it was the sandwiches, or the shared familiar happy scoffing at the shoppers in Diagon Alley over tea, but I found myself a little taken aback when after two days I realised that Snape was, in fact, a sullen and withdrawn bastard. Not that I liked him any less for it, but it was frustrating to try and ask for an opinion on what to cook for dinner. It was painful to the point of drawing figurative blood trying to get him to agree to use some of my pay to fix the broken drawers in the kitchen. Stumbling every now and then around the odd corners and spells that concealed most of the rooms, and the assorted bruises that gave me, didn't help my mood in the slightest.

We were both stubborn and testy and not at all willing to compromise. If it hadn't been making me want to scream and tear out his hair, it would have been a beautiful and touching experience. Two arseholes finally finding their true place in this life. Grumbling, scorning, and reading in harmony. He'd taken, by the end of the first week, to hiding in his bedroom whenever I was home. I'm not sure when he ate. I always made enough dinner for two, and left everything for him to clean up. He stopped lingering over lunch, and eventually started leaving sandwiches in paper bags near the fireplace. On the Friday morning, I found a pubic hair in the shower soap and fumed my way into Ollivander's, smashing my lunch down onto the bench near the sink and screaming "Bah!" at the mess that I would have to swallow come my lunch break.

"Sounds like you need to relieve your tension." A voice lilted at me, from behind. I whirled around, ready for blood. Someone was in my shop. A female, lilting someone, and I had just about had enough of the day already. I rounded to the table and saw Ollivander, with Luna Lovegood, having a cup of tea. I had to clench my fingers into my palm. I respected the old man far too much, and I knew just how much he'd been through with Luna, at the hands of the Death Eaters.

"I'm going to castrate Snape, and feed his testicles to Fluffy." I stated, in as calm a voice as I could manage. Then, I poured myself some tea and put a biscuit in my mouth so that I wouldn't say anything else stupid or vindictive. Luna had been overseas tracking some beast or another, and Ollivander had missed her quite a bit more than he let on. I wasn't about to let myself ruin their reunion. I fumed, while they shared a very strange glance and a secret laugh, then chatted quietly about local folklore of the South Americas and the discovery of a real, live, some-nonsense-animal.

I very deliberately didn't think about the towel incident as I sipped my cooling tea. Because it wasn't really an incident, at all. I'd just happened to be coming up the stairs, and Snape, whose bedroom door was right near the top of the stairwell, had just happened to be wet from a shower and wrapped in a towel. Which had, when he heard me and turned, dropped.

And, alright, that had been an uncomfortable moment of realisation. He wasn't aesthetically attractive. Not handsome, or fit, or young. Tall, but not lanky. Not slim, or paunchy, just Snapish. But, as I saw his anatomy from a very strange angle, I had the thought that it was nice to finally see him naked.

I'd turned around, mumbled some apologies, and he had mumbled his own. When I'd heard his bedroom door shut, I'd made my way shakily up the hall to my own. I stared at the wall blankly, and tried to digest my own thoughts and reactions through my brain. I had thought it was nice to have finally seen his naked body. Balls, cock, all of it. Wonderful. Brilliant.

How long had I felt like this? It felt like a logical, simple, comfortable thought. I was certainly more than a little aroused, just from the sight of him. I wasn't sure, in that moment, what was worse. Was it that I had an apparent crush on my housemate, that he was naked and damp in the room beside mine, or that I'd basically proposed marriage to him earlier – oh shit, had it started then? Had I been angling for sex this whole time, unconsciously? I'd very deliberately avoided the concept of any real relationship. Just blowing Ron off, over and over again, was more than enough for me at the moment.

"He figured it out before I did," I stated dumbly, in the back room of Ollivander's. That was why he'd been so distant that last week. Ollivander and Luna stopped their quiet chat to glance at me curiously. Luna smirked, and nodded her head fondly.

"You'll never be anyone but yourself, will you," she smiled at me, "hating anyone else getting ahead of you, as if you're racing against time and space to understand the world."

She grinned, and sipped her tea. I stared at her, a little dumbfounded. Was that a criticism? We never had got on that well during school, after all...

She set her cup down, and nodded resolutely. "Promise me that you'll never change. You're brilliant."

Ah. There we go. Luna turned back to Ollivander, and they started talking about Yule and the potential plans for a memorial dinner. The short distraction didn't take the edge of my chilling realisation. Snape had figured out my silly crush well before I had, obviously, and so he'd been backing off. Probably hoping that I'd cool down and return to being a sane and sarcastic companion, instead of a twitchy and blushing, simpering idiot.

I rubbed at the ring on my hand, and decided that I wasn't being useful at all. I wasn't studying, I wasn't socialising, or serving any customers. So I excused myself for a while, and walked straight out of the store and along Diagon Alley into Flourish and Blott's. There is nothing like a new and exciting book, just waiting expectantly to be read, a promise for the end of the day, to chase away negative thoughts and worries. I hadn't bought any books in quite some time, to be honest, and as I thought of it, the need to have something new and interesting began to bring my mood back up slightly.

I swung the door open, focused entirely on my price limit, and the sections of choice – arithmancy, charms, woodworking, and the not-quite-a-section-in-itself shelf that would contain any books on theories of the interaction between magic and physical objects. Books just different enough from work that they'd be enjoyable on my days off, but close enough that the theories would help me build on my contextual knowledge. Or, I would have, if I hadn't noticed someone very familiar standing before the arithmancy shelves.

It was, of course, Snape. He was scanning the pages of a book, his back to me. I bit my tongue, and decided that my day had been officially declared a failure. I stole myself for the next moment that he turned a page, so that I could at least attempt a silent escape. He didn't seem to have noticed me, and so I clasped my purse to my side, to stifle any jingles or noises it might make when I fled.

"What do you think of this?" He asked casually. His voice wasn't the cold and clipped one that I had become used to in the last few days, but easier and open. "Krimp has some interesting concepts on Muggle space-time mathematics and the movement of spells through those dimensions, but he doesn't have anywhere near enough references..."

When I didn't answer, Snape turned and handed me the book. I gazed blankly at it, then back up at his face. He didn't seem happy, but he certainly didn't carry the atmosphere of absolute doom that he had the last time I had offered him tea, and been rebuffed. Perhaps he was just becoming used to the idea of my crush, less irritated? Fuck. Guessing, supposition – because I really had no certain idea of what he knew or felt – would only drive me mad. I should, instead, just be glad that he was being halfway civil to me, and that maybe I'd be able to guilt him into doing my share of the dishes for the week in compensation for his mood. There. That was a happy thought. I smiled cautiously.

"So, what was that, then," I finally asked, "our collective time of the month?!"

He hung his head, frowned, and seemed to be collecting his thoughts for a while. I turned the book over in my hands and began flicking through the bibliography. A book is, after all, only as good as its reference material.

"Do you like it, then?"

I almost jumped, I had been so absorbed in studying the lists of authors and titles. The disjointedness and lag of the conversation made me feel as if we were talking between two separate realities. Using paper cups and some string. He didn't seem to be noticing what I was saying.

"Yeah," I answered cautiously, "It seems to be interesting. I'd like to read it through, see how he uses some of these Muggle sources to form his theories."

Snape nodded, and took the book back from me. He walked to the counter, paid for the book, and returned. He put the book back in my hands, which hadn't even dropped to my sides. I couldn't shake the sense of oddness, so I stood there and looked at him blankly.

"It's September 19th, you do realise."

"Oh. It is? I mean, of course it is. Ah... thanks."

It was as if there were so many things to process, to maintain – mortification, guilt, hope, surprise, gratefulness – that I was simply incapable of any conscious thought. My mind sat, blank and silly as thoughts slowly filtered through my sluggish synapses. Even for a Birthday present, the book had been very expensive. Even with my rent to help, he would have had hardly any cash to spare. If it had been anyone else, if it had been Ron, spending that much on a book I'd picked out, I'd believe it was a sign of affection or dedication, or just kindness. But Snape was a little above my level, academically; he would know how much a book worth reading cost. How reasonable this one was priced, all things considered.

He bought books the way that I bought books. Well, the way that I would like to buy books, if I had enough of an income. For content, with price not being an issue at all. Unlike Ron, Harry, even my own parents, who saw my collection as a sweet geekish nuisance, Snape understood. I felt myself smiling wider, as we left the store and walked slowly along the cobbled street.

"Luna's visiting. Let's just go get some lunch."

He nodded, but didn't say anything. He didn't seem as tense, defensive, as he had last few days, but he was still withdrawn and quiet. I hoped that my giddiness wasn't showing too much, my stupid idiot infatuation. Even if he couldn't see it, walking beside me with his eyes on the ground, anybody else who came down the street would. I was so occupied worrying and trying to get myself to think about how I could phrase things right, to apologise for how inappropriate my feelings were, that I dismissed the nudge of his elbow against my own as a subtle redirection towards the nearest cafe.

Diagon Alley had, surprisingly, far more cafes popping up every month. I supposed that the sense of public fear was slowly easing; that it was simply the right time for small food businesses. Doubtless, a lot of pre-graduates were looking for some employment, either until Hogwarts re-opened, or the Ministry stabilised enough to start aggressively hiring all the employees they'd need in the next few years.

I huffed at my own serious thoughts, which were too war-centric for my own liking, on my forgotten birthday. I wasn't going to argue with something other than sandwiches or pub-fare for lunch, especially when I'd had such a foul morning. But as we walked, mute and slow and awkward, his scratchy coat sleeve swiped against the back of my hand. His arm bumped, tentatively and lightly enough that it had to be deliberate, against my own. Half-seconds of not-quite-contact.

As we were almost at the street tables and their fabric umbrellas, his fingers touched mine.

I turned to him, looking up into his shocked eyes, as he shoved his hand into his jacket. He was behaving like Ron had, back in Sixth year. The same way I'd seen Harry with Cho. Snape was acting like a boy who'd never really had any experiences with girls.

I realised, as we silently - and a little awkwardly - drank some wholly disgusting coffee, Snape staring down in deep communion with the menu, that he probably hadn't. Had any experience. Just Lily, and several lifetime's worth of hard shit. I was far more experienced than he was, what with Viktor and Ron...

I was pretty sure that laughter was not called for, but I had to struggle against it. I hid behind my new book, taking deep breaths and trying to get over how ludicrous the whole situation was. I had to get control, because when the bitter, awful coffee ran out, we'd have to order food. Talk. Deal with things. I took another deep breath, lowered my book, and as I opened my mouth, Snape beat me to it.

"I've never..." He winced, left off, and stared at his hands on the table. I decided it was better to let him speak. He gathered his thoughts, and tried again. "Brushed cuffs. I've never done anything like that before." He sounded exhausted as he spoke. "And I haven't had what I'd call a friend in years. Not that you didn't know already, of course, but..."

"But nothing." I said resolutely, when he'd sat silently for far too long. "I mean, Harry told me. I know that there's only one person that you've really been close to, right?"

It was easier for me to bring her up than I had expected. Snape's face showed that it wasn't that easy for him, however. He cleared his throat again, and looked back down at the menu.

"Fuck." I exhaled slowly, trying to find the words to handle the situation. My brain had fled the scene completely, leaving me vacant and stupid and powerless to fix anything. I'd know exactly what I should have said in ten minutes or so, but before then, I'd have traumatised him, spoilt him for any healthy relationships.

"I'm no better than you, you know. Well," I appended, "I do have Ginny some days, when she's not with Harry, and Luna, now she's home. But I'm a gormless, hapless grump who reads too much, and accidentally organised the worst mess of a relationship that The Prophet has had the luck to report on."

I stared down at my own hands, now. He wasn't speaking, wasn't looking up at me, wasn't doing anything.

"I mean, I'm complete balls at brushing cuffs myself. Always have been. And you're my friend. And I'm not going to risk losing you. You're the one person I can say anything to. I can talk to you about books!"

We ordered our food, and he barely waited for the waitress, Cho, to walk away before he was staring, hard eyes, right at me. I thought he was angry, but as I spoke, I realised that he was more terrified than anything else.

"What," he hissed, low and quiet and more awful than he'd ever been in the classroom, "if it happens again? If... I can't..."

I felt a fierce cool furious power in my chest. I imagined it was what the Furies felt like, burning for the agony of it.

"Well, I can't, either. So we'll just have to deal with that."

He scoffed.

"And if that means that I have to live with you forever, then you'll just have to deal with that. And fix the washing machine. And we should stop ordering coffee."

He blinked at me, and shook his head slightly. Cho emerged from the cafe door, balancing our plates carefully.

"I know you don't like tea brewed by 'incompetent teenage upstarts', but I know that's at least sixty percent exultation in being an old and picky bastard. If they can't count the five minutes that it takes for your cuppa, they're hardly likely to be able to use an espresso machine without cocking things up."

I lifted and tapped my glass once, heavily, on the small table in emphasis. I had the feeling that the heady strength of my emotions had carried my mouth completely away. Though I had been thinking about the coffee thing for a while now.

Instead of looking furious at me, or even just maintaining his glare, Snape's eyes softened. As Cho set down our food and gave me what was possibly meant as a sympathetic smile, Snape spoke with a much louder and lighter – a safer – voice than before. "Maybe I like my coffee to taste like burnt earwax."

Cho boggled. I felt a little confused. Snape ordered tea, and Cho wandered off with her order pad, looking as if she was torn between laughter and shock. When she was gone, Snape leant in, and smiled slightly.

"You know, when you get angry, you get very bossy."

I would have apologised, but it seemed that with the change in the air between us, whatever awful looming future between us had been sidestepped. I studied my sandwich, wondering how on earth I was supposed to fit the fancy thick bread in my mouth. "Is that a bad thing?" I asked him, trying to sound casual and failing completely.

He shrugged, and started examining his own food. "I think I like it, though I'm not sure if I'll feel that way every time. I might, for example, be livid, when my tea turns out undrinkable."

When it finally did arrive, I had made my way through as much of my meal as I was going to. I poked at the dregs of bread and salad dressing on my plate. Snape made a show of deliberately assembling his cup, only to take one sip and push the saucer victoriously across towards me. "This is abysmal!"

"Don't sound so pleased with yourself." I shook a finger at him, and picked up the cup to take a taste myself. "Eugh. Screw it. Let's go home. You can call Ollivander, tell him I'm chucking a sickie. Then you can make some real tea. I'll take a long, hot shower, and be out in time for a brew worth drinking."

I held my book to my chest, stood abruptly, and apparated home. It was impulsive, and I realised a little too late that I'd left Snape to pay for everything. I sheepishly headed for the stairs, hoping to escape before his current good mood spoiled. But then he was there, with a loud crack.

"I'd object to the unfair division of tasks," he said sternly, "but you'll just argue that it's a birthday privilege. I won't breach that; I'll want to exploit it myself when that day comes."

I smiled, quickly, at him, and headed on up the stairs. I stood in the hot water until I was sure that absolutely everything was rinsed off of my skin. I felt a little fed up with myself, my off-the-wall behaviour. Hot and cold all bloody day! Maybe he liked me, and maybe he didn't. I liked him more than I liked to admit. I was more upset than I felt; I knew that, from my chaotic outbursts earlier.

Pah. I was done with the day, and it was done with me. I dressed in the bathroom, closed my bedroom door decisively between myself and the universe, and lay down to read. It wouldn't solve anything, but it was, as Snape had reminded me, my birthday. I was going to damn well enjoy myself.

After my awful Friday, the weekend was nice. I bullied Snape into fetching curry for dinner that night, and he bullied me into making French toast for Saturday breakfast. We must have exhausted our awkwardness by then, because I found myself realising in the sudden calm of midday that we were settled. Though I still had uncertainties about how unstable we both were internally, those worries could come later. Right then, I was in my home. Comfortable and cluttered and damp and needing repair. It was everything that Grimmauld Place should have been to me. I had finished the first few chapters of my book, and was sitting back in a groaning old armchair, thinking about whether or not magical energy could be measured (let alone exist in simultaneous states before measurement). There was a knock at the door, which was extremely strange. An urgent knocking, which was stranger still.

Who knew that I'd moved in? I hadn't gone to great lengths to conceal it, but I certainly hadn't owled anyone, or called anyone, about it. Other than Ollivander, for obvious reasons, who wouldn't have any reason to drop by; I'd be in at work on Monday, and he could always owl me if he needed something. Had Cho been listening more closely than I'd thought, at the cafe? As far as I knew, Snape hadn't any friends, really. Could it be an ex Death Eater? Perhaps one of the Malfoys?

Snape was in the laundry, knocking about and making noises that I knew meant trouble for any who dared interrupt. The old pipes in the house hissed, gurgled and rattled in the walls. I heaved myself out of the armchair, kept my nice, heavy, hardcover book handy just in case, and opened the door. As it dawned upon me that perhaps a wand would be a more useful weapon against one of Snape's old and nastier acquaintances, a curl of red hair swam into view, and I head a very familiar mrowl.

Ron was standing on the doorstep, hair mussed, eyes frantic, arms covered in raised scratches. I could see Harry in the driver's seat of Arthur's car, similarly disheveled and grumpy.

I sheepishly set my book down on the floor beside the door, and reached a hand out to gingerly lift Crookshanks' claws from Ron's shirt. He winced as they withdrew.

"Since you aren't coming back, you can bloody well take responsibility for the monster!"

I would have snapped at Ron, but there was something that he had said...

"So, you realise I'm not coming back, then?" My voice came out a lot fainter, more tentative and weak, than I'd have liked. I supposed we were both still raw from everything that had blown up between us.

He nodded, and rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. I could see more scratches from Crooks on the back of his arm.

"Yeah, well... I'd still like to try, between us, y'know. But Ginny's beat it into me that what we had was never that..."

Ron petered off, looking a little paler than I'd expected. Snape was standing behind me. It was upsetting, that I hadn't heard him coming. Was Ron still seeing Snape the Death Eater, or Snape the Potions Master behind me? Hadn't those misconceptions been broken down, in the time we'd all lived together? Perhaps it was just me. Or maybe Ron really did think that Snape and I were...

No. I wasn't allowed to let my mind start on that train of thought, not while I still had to deal with the immediate situation.

A little apprehensive, I turned around, and hefted Crooks in my arms. He was purring, now, and his legs were starting to slip, his weight shifting lower. I resettled him, and looked up into Snape's grumpy eyes.

"So, this is my cat..." I said, lamely.

They regarded each other so solemnly that I almost forgot Ron at the door. As politely as I could, I set Crooks down on the floor, and stepped outside to talk to Ron. "How did you know I was here?"

He shuffled, and shrugged. His hand twitched, as if he'd almost reached out to me, but had decided against it.

"Luna came to dinner the other day. Yesterday. She thought we knew, you see. It was Harry's idea, that we bring you Crooks. Kind of making it official, your being gone. Us accepting it."

I nodded, not quite sure what I could say to that. "Er, thanks."

"Well, that, and he keeps on backing up against the edge of the litter tray, and pissing on the floor. I think he's missed you."

"Yeah, I've missed Crooks, too. Look, you'd better go. Harry's probably bored out of his mind. And thanks for bringing Crooks round."

Ron cleared his throat, nervously. "So, will we catch up sometime?"

"Sure," I said, "why not. You can come over for dinner."

He paled. "Ah, maybe. Not this week, have to help Harry clean out the attic."

He slouched to the car, and I waved goodbye stiffly as Harry reversed. Things wouldn't be right between us for ages, and although I did want to recover our friendship, I could see that it'd be an exhausting, drawn-out, painful process. When I couldn't see the car anymore, I walked back inside with heavy, tired feet.

"Isn't there a way to just skip forward, to a time where everything's fixed?" I sighed, more to myself than to Snape. He ignored me, and walked into the kitchen. I heard the water running, the already familiar and homey sound of the kettle set down on the stove. I followed him through, Crooks at my heels, and rummaged around in the cupboard for an old something that could do as a makeshift water bowl. The boys hadn't, of course, remembered to bring the cat things along with them.

"Sorry about him, by the way. With everything, I'd almost forgotten – almost, Crooks, stop giving me that dirty look – to mention him."

There was always the possibility that Snape would say something about pests, about lease agreements. He might tell me to get rid of Crooks, or to move out. I wasn't sure I was prepared for either.

"You can keep the cat, if you make sure that Potter never comes here again."

It didn't take a second for me to agree. "Deal."

I held out my hand, and we shook firmly on it. His hand was warm and firm around mine, and he held tight. Our eyes were locked, and I have honestly no idea how long we stood there, the moment frozen. It could have been seconds, or minutes. Crooks yowled, and we separated as if nothing untoward had happened at all. I hurried off to the shops to get some cat food, and Snape presumably went back to whatever he had been working on, because I didn't see him for the rest of the evening.