The next year flew by. Hermione had Dimity move the chemistry equipment down to the workroom, and the portrait of Snape which was also in the attic was restored to its place over the mantelpiece. It was a Muggle portrait, with none of the movement that characterised a wizarding picture, but Hermione still found it comforting. Sometimes she would just talk to it, when Snape himself was not around for a chat. Sometimes she would read through his old notes in the potions lab, and wonder at the brilliance of the man. It seemed that, once he no longer had to deal also with tiresome students and hiding his own double agent status, his mind had exploded with ideas and concepts that ranged from fanciful to visionary.

Severus himself would show up from time to time, mainly in the afternoons after she had had her sleep, or in the evenings once the children had gone to bed. They talked about Hogwarts, about the years that Snape had led a double life, and of the years that Hermione had felt like an outsider in the prejudiced Wizarding community. Severus had not heard what Harry had called his youngest son, and Hermione watched Severus's face in amusement as the ex-Potions Master had to deal with the combined disgust and pride at hearing his name attached to his hated rival's grandson.

But Hermione had had her own troubles to deal with. Although both she and Ron had been given medals and honour, they hadn't had much money. Hermione's parents were irretrievably in Australia, their minds altered forever, and they had taken everything with them. The Weasleys, of course, were not well off. Comfortable, yes, but not wealthy by any means. And both Hermione and Ron had used most of their funds to help families torn apart and destroyed by the War. She could, of course, ask Harry to help out, but Hermione had her pride.

The children were attending the local school, as she had a firm belief in the value of a solid Muggle education before they had to face the oddity of the Wizarding school system, and she and Dimity kept the house under control and the garden looking healthy. A large amount of their food came from the garden, too, with the children encouraged to grow vegetables and fruit. But growing children need more than just vegetables, and as well as food there were clothes, and money for school equipment and excursions, and Hermione needed various medicines too. The public health system covered most, but there was still a constant drain on her purse.

So it came that on a Monday, not long after the children had run, laughing, down the road that led into the village, that Dimity brought the morning mail into Hermione with a look on her face that seemed that she was carrying a pile of foetid dog-blankets instead of a couple of envelopes.

"Bills, Dimity?"

"They is starting to use very strong language, Miz Hermione." Dimity had finally agreed to use Hermione's first name, but only with the honorific. "And they is using red in the address pane too."

"Bother."

"And the one from the village butcher says that they will not be sending us any more meat until we has paid."

"Drat and bother. Thank you, Dimity. We will cope somehow."

Dimity stood looking mournful. "Are we in trouble, Miz Hermione? You is not wanting to leave Cliff Cottage, is you?"

"I don't want to leave. It's too beautiful here, and the children are enjoying it so much. No, I think I shall have to see if there's anything left I can sell. We will cope." Hermione took the envelopes and glanced at the addresses. "The other one is from the agent. I'll just have to find three months' rent from somewhere… Dimity, are you able to scare up a cup of tea?"

"I will see, Miz Hermione." Dimity disapparated out with a 'pop', and shortly afterwards was heard bustling around the kitchen and muttering imprecations against filthy Muggles who made her Mistress sad.

Hermione looked again at the two envelopes, then added them to a small pile on the desk. Although none of the envelopes had been opened, there was a neat list under them of all of the debts and to whom they were owed. The final figure was not pretty. Hermione touched it gently, as if the very ink caused her pain. Maybe it did, for tears started to run down her face.

"You have a handkerchief in your pocket, Hermione. Use it."

Hermione sat, unresponsive, as Severus walked up to her and read the list.

"How in heaven's name did a sensible woman like you get into so much mess?"

"I don't know, Severus." Hermione finally fished out the handkerchief and blew her nose. "We've tried to be very careful, and heaven knows I did the move as cheaply as possible, and we have vegetarian days so we don't have to buy too much meat, but…" It was too much. Hermione buried her face in her hands, and burst into fully-fledged sobs.

Severus hovered over her, unable to offer more than murmurs of support, until he found himself being brushed brusquely away by a small but determined house elf.

"WHAT have you been saying to Miz Hermione?" Dimity put the cup of tea and plate of cake on the desk, then put her elfish arms around Hermione and patted her back until Hermione's sobs had diminished to a mild hiccup. The tea helped with that, and soon Hermione was able to talk, albeit with a hitch in her voice.

"You is not well, Miz Hermione, and this is making you worse."

"Maybe, Dimity. But that doesn't change the situation."

"Are you eligible for any benefits, Hermione? A government pension, or an allowance?" Severus racked his brains, thinking of the money that used to come in when he was a child and his father was out of work.

"No, not me. They'd want to know why I wasn't working, and I can't. I tried – I'd manage one day then I'd be collapsed for a fortnight. But the Atos people said that I was capable, so they banned me from any allowances. No, Severus, there's no help to be got out of them." Hermione sobbed again, and Dimity had to run a cleaning spell over the handkerchief to make it fit for use.

All three stood or sat in silence for a minute or so, until Severus looked over to the fireplace, then back at Hermione.

"Are you still capable of brewing potions?"

"I think so… so long as I take breaks and rest when I'm tired."

"Excellent." Snape rubbed his hands together, and his expression became almost jovial. "I think I have a solution. Literally."

"Oh?"

"The day that I died, Hermione, I had just worked out a variation on the Minusdolore cream. I'd discovered a combination of ingredients which, when made up as a cream, dissolves scar tissue and makes it as fine and as smooth as first-born baby skin. If you can help me work out how to manufacture this, then it will solve your money problems."

"It would? Of course it would, Severus! That would be brilliant!"

"And, Hermione, if you were certain of an income in the near future, would you consider perhaps borrowing some money from your friends now that you would be able to pay them back?"

"Perhaps." Hermione scowled, but looked much less worried than she had earlier. "I hate borrowing, but yes, if I know I'll be able to return it, then for the sake of the children, I will. They must not suffer because of this."

For the next two months, life was better and worse at Cliff Cottage. On the good side, Hermione was able to swallow her pride and ask Harry to lend her enough to cover her bills and a little more to live on for the next few months while she worked on the new Cutiskin ointment. Dimity responded by doubling her cooking efforts, and the children seemed to understand the importance of their mum's work.

One night, as the latest test batch of ointment lay cooling on the benchtop, Hermione walked out onto the small balcony to get a breath of fresh air. She was almost dropping with exhaustion, as she had pushed herself hard to try and get this product ready. Severus walked out with her, and they stood side by side and looked out onto the autumn mist that had risen around the house.

"I think we might have it this time,", Hermione sighed, pleased but tired. The cool air was reviving her slightly, but really only enough that she would have the energy to go to bed instead of collapsing on the chaise longue in the lab again.

"I believe we do." Severus looked out into the mist, although there was nothing to be seen but a grey swirl. "Why don't you take it up to London tomorrow, and talk with my old agents at Dust and Mildew? Augustus Worme isn't in the office much any more, but his grandson runs the business now. He dabbles in potions himself, so he'll be interested."

"I'll take the morning train. I should really get some sleep."

"Definitely, my dear. You look exhausted." Severus continued to look out at the mist, but Hermione startled at the endearment. He had never called her anything like that before. Her hand flew to her face, and then she realised something.

"Severus? My skin…"

He moved to her quickly, and had her hold her hands up where he could see her. "I don't understand. What about your skin?"

"I had scars all over this hand, Severus. But not only has the cream softened and reduced them, but it has also reduced the wrinkles."

"So?"

"So, Severus, we may have a bigger market that we realised. I think we'll sell more of this cream to the beauty products market than to the medical one." Hermione was suddenly animated, bouncing like a small child. "I detest the vanity that some women insist on, but have you any idea how popular this would be? I think we have it!" She went to hug him, but her arms just passed through his torso.

"Oh."

"Hermione…" Severus's face was sad, and his eyes looked as if his heart was breaking. "I wish…"

"I do too, Severus. But it can't be. You're …"

"A ghost. Go to bed, Hermione. What we both want is not possible. And we mustn't dwell upon it. It will only make both of us sadder than before." And on that note, he disappeared, and she stood looking at the space where he had been a moment before, until Dimity came in and wrapped her in a warm shawl and sent her to bed.