A/N: So. Sorry for the pause. I wrote the most soul-crushing, earth-shattering chapter seventeen and then it took my will to live and vanished so this is like the third or forth attempt to rewrite it. Anyway, it has also occurred to me that I've written Severus and Hermione to be lowkey autistic coded characters…this really shouldn't surprise me but I'm as yet undecided as to whether I'm going to actively write that as a part of the story - for now I'm just leaving it to see how they develop. For some reason it feels like crossing a line of realism because 1990s wizards don't seem like they would know about, let alone think to address, something like autism but I also don't want them to just be quirky and *eccentric* cause that feels like a disservice. Anyway, let me know if you've any thoughts I love hearing your opinions.

ALSO: little bit more dead dove vibes in this one. Not major but pls be mindful of the tags and your own health, I want to give a fair depiction but this will be here later if you have triggers so pls make good choices.

"So what on earth are we to do with him?" Minerva asked Poppy as they settled into bed.

It been a relatively pleasant dinner and Severus had been overjoyed by the extensive herbs Poppy had accumulated over the years. After wrangling him into a rather vicious game of Scrabble Minerva insisted upon, they retired for the night so as to begin working on the house first thing in the morning.

"I think we just do the best that we can. That tomb has to go, that is for certain. I think perhaps if we do the kitchen tomorrow, we can wrestle him into staying another night and, hopefully, agreeing to do something about that awful room."

"His parents' one you mean?"

"Yes. If we can change it enough that he can stand to sleep in there he might be able to turn that shoebox into a bathroom, so he has one inside." Minerva nodded thoughtfully.

"What if we don't do it by magic?" she suggested.

"Sorry?"

"I'll still transfigure the furniture and all that, but what if we helped him paint it, or wallpaper? That way he will really feel as though it is transformed, and it will keep him with us longer so he doesn't slip back into that state and just give up."

"I do believe that is a fantastic idea. We'll pitch it to him over breakfast and see how fast he runs." They both burst out laughing.

The sound caught Severus' ears as he lay in bed, reading one of Poppy's Mediwitch journals. He had never heard Minerva genuinely laugh, acerbically and sarcastically yes, but never as though she genuinely found something terribly funny.

He felt simultaneously warmed and uneasy. Their cottage was delightful; complete with a light filled, gleaming kitchen, cosy study, and towers of books. Meticulously ordered of course, Minerva's doing no doubt. The kind of place filled with such tangible, consuming love Severus could almost feel it clawing at his throat.

Hermione awoke the next morning with a near imperceptible weight on her chest. The first day of holidays. She lay awhile, thinking of the long month stretched out before her; the summer holidays had always seemed never ending, just months upon months of empty days. She had her school books, however, her parents often insisted she wait until the end of the holidays to purchase the next years curriculum so Hermione felt rather restricted to the library books she had managed to procure from Madam Pince and the introductory Alchemy text. It occurred to her that this she should save and not consume almost immediately. For, Hermione was certain, there would come a time in the upcoming weeks in which she would be grateful to bury herself in that text for the first time and thus it would have to be rationed. Hearing her mother beginning to vacuum, Hermione decided she should descend in some manner to begin her day.

Christopher was coming home and thus the quiet house would soon be swarming with noise and activity. Hermione was filled with a mixed sense of nostalgia and dread. She loved her brother, she wanted to spend time together as a family. A nice, happy, functional, family holiday was all she desired. But the day remained just slightly empty.

Friday 23rd August, 1993

Dear Severus,

I don't really have anything to say to you, I just don't know what to do with myself. Christopher comes home from school today and I am so excited to see him. Its been months, I can't even remember how long at this point. It'll be so nice to be back together again. We're leaving for France in a few days, and I am so incredibly excited, the French are famous for witch hunts and that is exactly what we have to write our history of magic essay on. Actually, now that I mention it, that is what I can do, I'll start drafting so I can encourage mum and dad to go to the useful places in France. I'm literally already excited for next year, I just want to come back and start studying alchemy – and everything else obviously. The electives sound so incredibly fun, I just hope it isn't too much work. Maybe I can convince mum to let me get my school things earlier given that I'm taking extra subjects, reading ahead might help…

Anyway, I'll study now.

Goodbye.

A few hours later Hermione heard the door open and, hurriedly finishing her sentence, rushed downstairs to greet her mother and brother. Embracing them both, she took a bag as they made their way into the kitchen.

"Tea?" she asked earnestly, trying to ignore the slight tension between the two.

"Thank you, Hermione that would be lovely." Her mother answered kindly.

"We'll talk about it later Christopher."

"How was school?" Hermione asked.

Throwing himself into a chair, Christopher smiled. "Oh, you know, bit of good, bit of mischief."

"The usual then." They turned to see their father standing in the doorway chuckling. "Sorry I missed the arrival." He said, bending to kiss Monica.

Hermione raised a mug, silently questioning.

"Lovely, thank you."

Soon the little family, furnished with tea and Monica's freshly baked scones, were gathered around the washboard table to hear Christopher's latest schooltime adventures. Despite being English – arguably very English – Hermione still managed to be shocked at her brother's tales of public school. Hogwarts, she supposed, really was no different but there was an element of suspended disbelief at the thing's children were capable of when they could transfigure objects and effectively play rugby in the sky. It shocked her that kids would remain so reckless without the fall back of a broken arm being mended in seconds.

The next morning found Hermione reading a letter from Ron over the Grangers 'Sunday Morning Pancakes – a reverent childhood tradition the Grangers' continued to try and replicate during the sparse months in which they had the children home from school.

Hermione had been overjoyed to receive a letter and, despite merciless teasing from Christopher at the blush she couldn't force down, her curiosity overcame her resistance to opening mail at the breakfast table.

Hi Hermione,

I hope you have been well. I know it's only been a couple days since I have seen you, but I wanted to let you know not to contact Harry by the telleyphone. I tried calling the number and his uncle was very angry and did not seem to know what Hogwarts was. Anyway, probably best if you just write in the normal way and don't bother the muggles. Mum suggested I send you the mail order section of the Daily Prophet in case you don't have a way to get him a present. It's fairly quick so it should work even though you've only got a few days although knowing you you've probably got it all sorted already. Anyway, have a nice summer I'll see you next term.

Ron.

P.S Hermione dear, use Errol. I know you don't have an owl and we will be away in Egypt for the next few weeks with no need for him. Love, Molly.

Hermione unfolded the Prophet. It was very sweet of Ron and Mrs Weasley to be so considerate. She had, in fact, forgotten entirely about Harry's birthday which, now she had been reminded, Hermione felt incredibly guilty for. It was awful to have your birthday forgotten. Scanning the paper quickly her eyes caught an advertisement for a broomstick servicing kit. Hermione couldn't understand why but Harry just loved flying and, although his broom was near top-of-the-range, it was a few years old now and could probably do with a service. Circling the ad with a biro, Hermione laid it aside and returned to her breakfast.

Upon returning to her room, Hermione rummaged in her trunk to find the sack of wizard money left from the previous years' Gringotts trip. There was just enough left to order the gift. Excitedly, Hermione enclosed the form and requested the delivery be made to her person rather than address in case they had already left by the time it was processed. Then, as it was Sunday, her mother insisted they spend some time together as a family. Despite everything she had never quite given up on the notion of family bonding. So, they enjoyed an afternoon of board games which smoothly transitioned to a documentary once Monopoly ended in a draw more diplomatic than the Treaty of Westphalia.

26th July, 1993

It actually has been a really lovely few days. The fantastic thing about Christopher also being away at school is that they're now really used to not involving me in disagreements and, since we're going away, nothing major can happen until we come back. He's been rather quiet actually, just staying in his room really, catching up on some television program all his friends insisted he watch before next term. I finished my draft of the history of magic essay. I've left a fair amount of length so that I can add plenty about French witch-burnings. I am incredibly excited for the holiday, I've never been to France before. Dad's gotten all the weeks off as well which will be really nice, usually we don't see him much during the hols cause obviously the practice has to stay open. Oh, and RON WROTE. I really shouldn't be so amazed but it was so incredibly lovely to hear from him. I can't reply which is a shame but it was nice to receive a letter anyway. Well, I really don't have much to tell you, I just wanted to write – that seems to be a bit of a theme doesn't it. Oh well.

Goodbye.

Two days later the Grangers were comfortably settled in a small villa on the South of France, enjoying the warmer weather and superb sea views, when a tawny owl tapped upon the kitchen window, a bookish-looking parcel tied to one leg. Rather bleary-eyed, Hermione attached her own card – as well as a Knut for delivery – and instructed the owl to deliver, as soon as possible, to a Mr Harry Potter of Privet Drive. Hooting gently, the owl nibbled a nice of bacon Hermione offered him before swooping off back to England.

Hermione returned to her seat. She had been up excessively late rewriting her History of Magic essay to include the additions she had already found and thus was dearly regretting the early mornings her family, did not require, but passively implied were preferable. Looking forward to several days of research and relaxation, Hermione was pleased to find the atmosphere generally quiet and composed. Their accommodation was lovely and, Hermione thought, little could improve reading alchemy by the seaside.

Almost a week had passed at the cottage since Severus had, begrudgingly, agreed to take some time to do little but read and help Poppy replant her herb garden. Then, of course, Minerva had insisted he help her perfect several brews she and Poppy liked to keep stocked. It always surprised Snape when he was reminded Minerva's weakness was Potions; she was such a stalwart rule-follower that he had assumed it would come naturally but alas, to Minerva's great displeasure, it was not so.

They had, rather expertly, avoided the topic of his house for the past few days and, although a part of Severus was incredibly uncomfortable, he enjoyed the women's company and thus had conceded to stay with far less protest than they realised. Thursday morning, however, brought the conversation to the fore.

"It was our intention," Poppy offered gently, "to perhaps help you remodel without magic." Severus paused a minute, pushing down the instant rush of revulsion he felt at the prospect of people seeing his house.

"Why is that?"

"We thought maybe you might feel less out of control if it was a more gradual process and something you were more directly involved in. However, we do understand that there may be reasons you don't want to do that so…what do you think?" Snape sat in silence a moment, considering their proposition.

"I appreciate your consideration, I think that could, perhaps, be beneficial. However, the kitchen and, if you would be so kind, the garden. Upstairs will not be touched."

Minerva and Poppy looked at each other, slightly exasperated. Upstairs was what was in most dire need of reconstruction.

"Very well."

And thus, they began. The kitchen was immediately discarded and revitalized by Minerva whilst Severus and Poppy thoroughly scrubbed all mildew from the walls and repainted the room a crisp white. Severus was shocked at the warmth the old leadlight windows let in once they were devoid of all dust and residue from years of neglect. The room was unrecognisable…warm and inviting and seemed to hug Severus like some long-lost memory he knew didn't exist.

Several days passed and Severus was persuaded to allow the pair to place a window in the wall of his bedroom. He would allow them to touch nothing more but even he had to admit, the sun streaming tinged the entire room with a type of optimism he didn't know existed. Even on a typical Manchester day when desperate rays of sun tried to fight through the thick cloud, imperceptibly, the window seemed to remind Severus he could walk out his door.

A few days passed. Then a week. Then another. And Severus climbed out of bed; each day he ventured to sip his coffee in irresistible sunshine. He took to walking. Not to the park, not yet, but through the streets. Through the rain and the light breezes that tried to prove it was summer. Severus tried. Really tried, for the first time. He breathed. And read, and wrote, and brewed potion after potion. Old projects were revived, and he could once again feel the passion of his youth coursing through his veins. The sense of possibility; he could create anything and everything. Nothing felt beyond his means, nothing beyond his skill.

Poppy and Minerva continued to visit, bringing various baked goods and gossip. They laughed and shared many a subtle glance that, to anyone other than Severus, blatantly displayed their immense pride. Though they shared the guilt with one another, for their lack of action, lack of involvement, they vowed it would not happen again. The broken man was theirs now and would remain so.

Severus tried to hide it. Tried not to show how much he felt their pride, how much he relished in their presence, their insistence on caring. Their complete and utter refusal to believe his lies. So, Severus tried. Every day. He kept trying.

And then came the eighteenth of August. A letter from Albus Dumbledore.

17th August 1993

Dear Severus,

Somehow, I haven't really felt the need to write the past few weeks. I suppose it has been lovely to get away from England for a bit but we are here now and, somehow, I already feel flat somehow. I don't know why, its not as though everything got better when we went away but somehow it was just easier not to think about it. It was a pretty good holiday if I'm honest, one of our better ones. I did very much enjoy completing all my homework though I've yet to start the alchemy text. I think two weeks until we start term should be the ideal time, I don't want to waste it. Christopher goes back to school the week before I do so I'll have at least one week of proper quiet which will be lovely. Both Mum and Dad have already gone back to work today so we are on our own a bit which really isn't too bad. I quite like being on my own. I think I shall do some reading actually. Now I've done all my work I can actually get into some fiction, it's been ages since I read anything just for fun with no intention of writing an essay. Well, anyway, that's my life really.

Hermione.

Hermione was, to an extent, correct. Her holiday had been perfectly ordinary. Her version of perfectly ordinary. What her darling rose-tinted glasses conveniently forgot was the constant heaviness that weighed on her chest and seemed to fall through her stomach. It had confused her often, how cold she had been in France despite the sunshine that left them all with rosy cheeks and slightly burned shoulders. Her books sustained her, she lost herself in the magic. In the memories of the world she was forced to forget each summer until September came. She envied Ron, it must be so delightful to never have to leave magic. To be surrounded by it every day, even if he couldn't use his wand. She could only dream of that. Hermione had hoped he would write. Not that she had really expected it, but she remained so isolated from the Wizarding World even through the newspaper which she got delivered occasionally. She missed her friends. But no matter, she told herself. Everything was better at Hogwarts; time stopped at Hogwarts. And soon she would be back.

18th August 1993

Dear Severus,

Remus Lupin shall join our staff in September to fill the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor and I must ask that, as a favour to me, you prepare the Wolfsbane Potion for him each month. The first full moon shall occur on the 30th September.

I appreciate your compliance and hope you are having a delightful holiday.

Albus Dumbledore.

Severus stared at the parchment for several minutes before dropping it in the fire. He watched as it caught alight briefly before curling into ash.

Remus Lupin. At Hogwarts.

Remus Lupin.

Remus fucking Lupin would be at Hogwarts.

Snape's mind felt like it had stopped working all together. He stood, staring into the flames, various images flashing across his vision. Empty corridors, the Whomping Willow, marauders. A snarling werewolf, a hand yanking him back by the collar, Sirius Black laughing. Severus found himself sitting, knees curled into his chest as he stared, rocking back and forth slightly. Remus Lupin would be at Hogwarts again. Who would help him this time? There was no Lucius Malfoy, with his influence and money and connections. If Severus died it would be a tragic accident. But who would miss him? His death could now, with ease, be covered up. He shuddered before a small voice appeared in the back of his head. He was stronger now. He knew things Remus wouldn't see in his worst nightmares. He had practice. He knew how to watch his back. He alone had lied to the Dark Lord and survived.

He hardened his Mind's Eye as best he could, sealing up the memories again. Until there was nothing left but peaceful, undisturbed calm. Useful calm, efficient calm. Terrifying, unnerving calm.

He went upstairs, there was brewing to do.

Three days later Minerva knocked at the door, surprised when a small parchment unrolled on the doorframe, informing her Severus was indisposed for a few days at the seaside. He wished her the best and informed her he would see her and Poppy at Hogwarts for the start of term. Despite being taken aback by the directness of the note, Minerva was grateful Severus was taking time for himself to ensure he enjoyed a proper holiday. Her and Poppy had noticed real improvement in the past few weeks as he began to make more of an effort to engage with the world around him. It truly was delightful to see the way he lit up when speaking of a various potion or ingredient he was studying. She hoped he maintained it in some sense when Hogwarts recommenced.

Severus heard Minerva knock. And the slight tut when she read his note. He almost considered, just for a moment, opening the door anyway. But it seemed so far from his position from the couch. And he was ashamed. The house had reached a state of untidiness that was in such sharp contrast to its appearance three days prior Snape could not bear to see the look on Minerva's face when she took it in. He also could not bear to clean. Severus had barely moved in days. The first day he threw himself into his work, but his passion had apparently deserted him. So, he remained stagnant. Only rising to make toast or soup or to drag himself step by step into his bed. Nothing drew his interest or concentration. He remained, stationary, and allowed the memories of the past to wash over him like ghosts each time plunging him again and again into icy water he could not escape. He had never felt so cold though it was the middle of summer. Dark nights shivering under the threadbare blanket swam to the surface and he tried to push them down; barefoot in the snow, stealing drink crates; down, as far down as possible. Until he couldn't feel.

The twenty-second came. Tomorrow Severus had to begin brewing for the man who almost killed him. He sat, staring. He had never been like this before. With considerable effort, Snape pulled himself up. He swayed slightly. Food. He needed food. Some toast later Snape sat at the kitchen table. He needed to clean the lab. Brewing would have to start tomorrow weather he liked it or not. Severus decided he had let himself waste long enough. Sighing heavily, he climbed the stairs.

Sitting on a stool he surveyed the room. There really wasn't a great deal to do but somehow it felt so overwhelming. Severus couldn't quite understand. He had been beaten and abused and tortured yet somehow the idea of working with a man who had bullied him as a child suddenly robbed him of every morsel of executive functioning he had. Staring around glumly his eyes caught sight of the silver potions knife that lay strewn across the bench. It was clean. Very clean. Hardly processing what he was doing, Severus picked it up. He turned it over in his hands several times. His palms started sweating but his head already seemed to clear.

With potioneers precision, Severus held the edge to his arm and gently rocked it across, trying to get a feel for how easily it cut. Nothing. Using the tip this time he gently flicked his forearm, taking care to avoid any vein. Ah. He took a sharp breath. This was what he was looking for. Taking one long, deep breath he tried to rationalise. Seven? He thought, was that a good amount? Enough but not too many. He could always heal them and just keep goin- no. He stopped himself. That was a bad idea. He was already feeling more reasonable. This was amazing he thought, better than alcohol even. Six more followed. By the seventh Severus knew exactly how much pressure he needed. To get just the right amount of blood. Not too deep, just enough to get the adrenaline going.

He cleaned, made dinner. Suddenly things felt more manageable.

Nothing ever happens Severus. I'm bored. And I never thought I would say that but I am. I watch movies and go for walks and read but I just really really want the next term to start. I've finally started the alchemy book and it is so interesting oh my god its literally amazing. I cannot wait to start classes with you. Even if I have to drop another subject for it I don't think I will want to stop learning from you, especially if it just keeps getting better. Like this is just the start there must be so many cool things to learn. So much is available to me and I just want to know it all right now. I just need to be back at Hogwarts. I haven't been very well and its kind of starting to stress me out a little. At least I know at Hogwarts Madam Pomfrey can fix pretty much anything if I really need it but being in the muggle world feels very isolating. Anyway, mum is calling me for dinner so I shall say goodbye.

Hermione

The next day Severus awoke. He got up relatively quickly, despite a complete absence of motivation, Snape now knew a method. And if there was one thing Severus Snape could always be counted upon to do it was follow orders. Thus, despite his complete and utter hatred for Remus Lupin, seven neat lines later Severus was prepared for a productive day of brewing. Then he would return to Hogwarts, and lose the privilege of falling apart.

Friday, 28th August 1993

Severus,

I need this feeling to disappear as soon as possible. I wish you had a potion that could make it all disappear, I almost wish I had remained petrified. It was so blissfully quiet, so peaceful. There were no dreams, no thoughts, no people. I need the shivering to go away, the shaking, the feeling of stones in my stomach that I thought were relegated solely to dinner tables and family gatherings. I don't really have anything to say to you. I wish you were here now. I don't think you would be comforting but I just wish you would see; I hate having to hide. Everything. It is all so hidden away in the darkness of shadows I now dread. I used to love the soft darkness of shadows, even as a child they didn't scare me. Now I suppose I am little more than a child but now the shadows illuminate themselves and I prepared each time for it to end. Perhaps that is why I have been writing to you so incessantly. I feel everything needs to be written down so someone may understand one day. What I was truly like. Someone needs to know the truth. And, I suppose, it will be you because what else am I to do with myself. I am scared. But I now feel just a little less afraid, just a little less as though my heart will jump out of my chest. I do, however, feel more than a little stupid for waking from nightmares, I am almost fourteen it really is a tad embarrassing to still be waking up like some traumatised film character. I don't know want time it is, I got a clock for Christmas, but I turned it off because I couldn't stand the ticking. I should go back to sleep though. It must have been a while I have filled almost two pages.

Goodnight.

Sunday morning dawned and along with breakfast came Errol, looking rather worse than usual, to bring Hermione the letter she had so desperately hoped for.

"Ron's family is staying at the Leaky Cauldron for the last night of the holidays so they can catch the train with Harry, can I stay with them?"

"Of course, darling. Just the final night?" Monica answered.

"Yes, I don't think they're planning on staying at longer, although Ron says Harry has been there a while, I'm not sure why." Her mother nodded curiously.

"Well…we were planning to give you some advance birthday money since we won't be with you this year so if you go a day early you might be able to get some interesting books from that Blotts place." Hermione's face shone.

"Really? You'll let me have my birthday money that early?"

"I don't see why not sweetheart," her father answered, "you might be allowed to go to this little village but who knows if they've got an adequate bookshop, we wouldn't want you to get bored locked up in that castle all year."

"Thank you so much," Hermione ran around the table to give her mother and father an excited hug. When she entered Hogwarts, the Grangers had realised they would no longer be able to buy her the books she wanted as presents and so they had attempted each year to somewhat make up for their complete lack of understanding about the muggle world by ensuring Hermione had as many books as she could possibly want.

They had been inordinately worried about the radio silence they had received for almost a month from their daughter who had previously sent one diligent letter a week regardless of occurrence. Only upon collecting her did they receive – to their knowledge – the full story as to such disengagement. Petrification! She had assured them it was an unlikely, once in a century, event that would never happen again and that she had been taken care of complete by the Matron and Potions Professor. Even so, during many hushed conversations in France, the pair had agreed they needed to keep a far closer eye of their daughter and insisted she purchase an owl so they might be able to communicate. Despite this, they had revelled in her apparent happiness. Hermione had always been a rather solitary figure who didn't like to give much away so to see her smile and almost blush at a letter was delightful.

Hermione sighed; it would be wonderful to return to school. The lack of routine made her restless and she missed her teachers greatly. To begin new subjects was particularly exciting; she was bursting at the seams to begin alchemy and had to almost constantly reassure herself that Snape would not simply forget the previous year of tutoring and reject her request. Hermione hoped desperately he wouldn't, she didn't know if she could stand an entire year without him.

Never too soon, the thirty-first arrived and Hermione, to her utmost delight, found herself once again entering the Leaky Cauldron, soon to be reunited with her friends.