Author's note: Thank you, thank you, thank you for the wonderful kind words on the last chapter. What a wonderful Christmas surprise to wake up to your praise! I swear I was giddy all day. I hope the next part of the story is as well-received, and I hope it helps to clear up a few of the (very important) questions that readers raised. Oh, and excessivelyperky: you're good ;)

Part Two: Together

Chapter 4: Quite Frankly

"Roll away your stone, I'll roll away mine

Together we can see what we will find.

Don't leave me alone at this time

For am afraid of what I will discover inside."

-Mumford and Sons, "Roll Away your Stone"

The first Saturday in October dawned crisp and clear and with Severus tapping his fingers impatiently on his desk as he waited for Hermione. He had an odd feeling in his chest, sort of tingly and warm. Merlin, I cannot wait to see her.

She floated in a few minutes later, all flushed cheeks and wild hair, and flopped into the chair opposite his desk... wearing the exact same tiny purple shirt she'd worn the previous weekend in the library, when he had been spying on her. Suppressing the gasp in his throat, he forced his eyes onto hers and gave a curt nod.

"Good morning, Miss Granger."

"Morning, professor." She smiled at him conspiratorially, at the false detention for which she was in his office that morning. Disarmed as he was by her charming smile, Severus found he quite liked sharing secrets with the young witch. As he watched her mindlessly twisting an errant curl, he felt the conflicted pull of excitement at the prospect of spending the day with her and guilt for keeping her from her friends.

"Miss Granger," he began formally, forcing a professional demeanor, "I feel as though I must ask: are you... I mean, is this really how you want to spend your Saturday?" He cleared his throat to suppress the lump forming there. Oh yeah, and what are you going to do if she's changed her mind? The self-loathing part of his mind asked snidely. Way to fuck up your perfect chance before it's begun.

Hermione dropped the curl and looked at him, wide-eyed. "Of course!" She blurted suddenly, scooting to the edge of her seat and flattening her palms on the edge of his desk. Severus's heart jumped at her enthusiasm, relief calming his nerves.

Hermione seemed to recover herself a little, and stared meekly at her hands, spread across the professor's desk. "That is, if you still want... I mean, I understand if you don't..."

"No!" he very nearly yelped, throwing his hands over hers, grasping her as if she might fly away. She looked startled, but not afraid, of his sudden display, but she didn't pull her hands away. "No, I do..." Severus told her, more calmly now that he was fairly certain she wouldn't go. "I would love some help." For a slightly uncomfortable moment, he just watched her, smiling uncertainly. He was aware that he still held her hands pinned to his desk, but he could not bring himself to move; her small, warm hands felt so nice in his, and his stomach flipped, excited by their proximity. He did not notice the small purplish sparks emitting from between their clasped hands.

"You know, professor," she said finally, sliding her hands out from under his, "If you could ever use some help around here, you can just ask me." She smiled again at him, looking up at him through her lashes. "There's no need to assign false detentions, or hold me by force." She nodded to the desk, where his own large, pale hands were still splayed.

He stared at her for a moment, then realized she was teasing him. He straightened himself in his chair, trying to hide the furious blush he felt rising in his cheeks. Merlin, you're such an arse, Snape.

A tense moment passed before Hermione, perhaps sensing it, clapped her hands together and rose from her seat. "So, shall we get started?"

Three hours later, the pair had carefully removed each of the hundreds of boxes, bottles, vials, and casks of various potion ingredients from the shelves of the expansive supply closet and lined them carefully along every surface of the professor's office. It was a dirty job; dust hung in the air, illuminated by the streaks of bright October sun streaming through the windows.

"Merlin, it's everywhere!" Hermione giggled as she used a damp cloth to wipe a streak of gray dust from her elbow. "I'm tempted to whip out my wand and 'scourgify' the whole place!"

Severus frowned. "Oh no you won't, not unless you care to blow up the whole castle." His own wand was tucked away safely in his desk, safely out of contact with the hundreds of volatile potion ingredients strewn around the room. "Although sometimes, when I see those first-year essays..."

Hermione burst into laughter, clutching her ribs. I made her laugh! "Oh professor," she gave him a pretend scornful look, "perhaps you'll feel better after lunch."

Lest a house elf set of a dangerous magical reaction by appearing in the office, Severus had prepared sandwiches for he and his assistant, which they ate picnic-style on the floor, surrounded by containers of doxy egg and snakeweed and asphodel.

"Professor," Hermione asked suddenly, staring intently at a tomato on her sandwich, "can I ask you a question? You don't have to answer if you don't want to." She peered up at him timidly, and it occurred to him that whatever the question, it had taken some courage to bring it up. He resisted the urge to reach out to her, to caress her shoulder and let her know not to be afraid of him. But remembering how she removed her hands from his grip a few hours before, he nodded brusquely instead.

"Alright." he laid down his meal, giving her all of his attention. She looked surprised.

"Oh, okay. Well, it's just that..." she trailed off, gazing up at him. He looked at her expectantly, trying his hardest to look kind. "I just, I wanted to know why you came back."

Despite himself, Severus stiffened at her words. It was an oddly personal question, one he often asked of himself. But he found he didn't mind giving the answer, not to the disarming young woman who sat before him.

"Hermione," he began, using her given name for the first time, "You must know that it is... uncomfortable... for me to spend time with someone who knows so much of my past." More than uncomfortable, he thought to himself, more like downright excruciating, especially when that person is forcing her way into my life, giving me inconvenient erections and invading my dreams...

"Yes," she said.

"And you know, better than most, that I have... faced a lot."

"Yes," she repeated, he voice lower.

"But then again," he continued, "so have you."

"Yes," she almost whispered.

"I want..." he faltered. I want what? Someone to talk to? What a pussy. To be friends? She won't believe you, you cruel old arse. Severus scrambled for words, his disjointed thoughts working against him. Well just tell her the truth: that you want to pin her to your desk like you pinned her hands there and lose yourself in her you don't even remember your own name.

"Professor," she broke the silence, scooting forward on crossed legs until her knees touched his. "I think, you and I, we're the only souls in this castle who really know." Know what, she didn't say, but he understood and nodded. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, looking down between them, "for before. I know now that you didn't deserve the way we treated you." Severus struggled to find words, but their close proximity and her stark honestly clogged his throat; he could only shake his head vigorously. "And I'm sorry," she continued, "If this seems too forward now." She took his hands in hers, looking up into his startled eyes. "But I could really use a friend here and, quite frankly, Professor, I think you could too."

There was a part of Severus, almost the overpowering part, that wanted to tear away from the girl, stand up, and scold her harshly, order her out, and proceed to push her from his mind. This part wanted to crawl into his dungeon hole and continue his miserable existence as it was before this nosy, loud, insufferable witch forced her way into his life.

A second part of him yearned to clasp her face between his hands and kiss her roughly, pin her to the hard stone floor and grind himself against her, hold her hips against his and make her feel his hardness, make her know how much he wanted her. He wanted to tear away that fucking purple t-shirt and bite and suck her breasts; he wanted to hear her moan.

But the small part of Severus that was rational—certainly neither his cold, damaged heart nor the heat of another part of his anatomy—knew that neither of the conflicting sides of him could win. He could no more extract Hermione from his life as he could take her there on the dungeon floor.

So instead, before he quite knew what he was doing, he nodded.

She squeezed his hands in hers, smiling. He found himself smiling back.

"You wanted..." he coughed, clearing the emotion from his voice, "you wanted to know why I came back."

"Professor, you don't..."

"No," he interrupted, "no, if we're going to be friends, you need to know." The truth of it was, he wanted to tell her. It would be the first true test of their friendship: he would reveal his weakness, and see if she stuck around.

"Okay." She looked slightly worried.

"The day I was to be released from St. Mungo's," he began, "McGonagall came to see me. She was all apologies, thanking me for my service and whatnot." He waved his hand as though this service was a minor detail. "Anyway, she assured me my post at Hogwarts was still open, and should I wish to return, she'd be happy to have me. Of course, that was rubbish..."

"A bit awkward, was it?" Hermione interrupted, " What with her having attempted to murder you a few months before?"

Severus barked a disdainful laugh. "Yes, well. I had no intention of going back, before that. But when I got to Spinner's End... my home," he told her, answering her quizzical look, "It had been claimed by the ministry. You see, there was this little matter that I was supposed to be dead..." He scoffed again. " So I had to stay here, at Hogwarts, until I could get everything sorted out with the ministry, to give me my house back. When they finally signed it over to me again, it was late August. The teachers and staff were back, as well as a few early students. I'd gotten used to the noise and activity of the castle again, though I didn't realize it." He looked at Hermione, who was listening to his story with rapt but not pitying attention. "I spent one night at Spinner's End before I cam crawling back, begging McGonagall for my job," he nearly whispered. He couldn't believe he was being so candid; he supposed it was catching.

"You didn't want to be alone." Hermione stated firmly, as if diagnosing him.

He didn't contradict her. "The house was so quiet," he stared between them, unable to meet her eye.

Spinner's End was sparsely decorated, as it always had been, but the high ceilings and empty white walls suddenly seemed terrifyingly bright when he came home. He covered the windows and cowered in the bedroom like a bat in his cave, but still, the house was so light. And so quiet. While the lights of London penetrated the barriers of his sanctuary, the noise was kept out, so Severus had been left alone with his thoughts and his ghosts.

It was unbearable to think of endless months of that existence, so he returned to the comfortable, dark dungeons of Hogwarts. And as much as he hated it, teaching gave his mind something to do, something to focus on other than his own demons.

"Ron couldn't stand it either," she said finally, "being alone." Severus was relieved to have the focus of their conversation off of him for a moment, even if that meant bringing up her boyfriend. "He was usually fine during the day, since there were obviously a lot of people around to occupy his mind." Severus couldn't quite remember exactly how many Weasley children there were, only that he seemed to have at least three in class each year. "But he had these terrible nightmares," she told him, "or has, I guess..."

"You don't see him often?" He asked.

"Not since I've been back here." She shook her head. "He always wanted to sleep with me... In the bed with me," she corrected herself, blushing. "He said it made the nightmares better."

He pictured Hermione, holding the shaking Weasley against her chest, stroking his back and soothing him against his dreams. Severus was sure his own hellish nightmares would abate should he have such a brave and comforting presence in his bed.

"And did it?" He was genuinely curious.

"I don't think so," she said slowly, shaking her head. "He still... well, I don't think I should be telling you this." She blushed.

"No, I suppose not." They were quiet for a moment, before he asked, "what about you?"

"What about me, what?"

"Why did you decide to come back for your seventh year, while your companions did not?"

She screwed up her face in concentration, as if she was unsure of the answer to his question. A moment later, she answered, speaking slowly.

"I said that it was because I felt I had more to learn..." She cocked her head to the side. "But—and I hope you don't think me vain for saying so—that is not really the truth."

"What is the truth, then?"

She sighed. "The truth is, I don't know how to move on."

"I see," he said, giving her an encouraging nod.

"You have to understand," she explained, " The only wizarding world I've ever known is Hogwarts. Well, and the war. But... Harry and Ron were so sure, you know? They knew the next step. They are training to become aurors now. But me, I don't think a career, an apprenticeship... none of that would help me. I have to figure out my next step here," she pointed to her chest, "before I can do any of that."

"And the best way to figure out how to move forward was to take a step back?"

Hermione smiled at him. "I guess, in a way, I didn't want to be alone either."

Severus was smiling uncharacteristically as he organized his stash of ingredients. Glancing over his shoulder at the beautiful young witch dusting in the cupboard, he felt oddly peaceful, and for the first time in a long, long time, he felt a sort of lingering, thrilled excitement in his chest. He wasn't sure, at first, what to call this new emotion; he was excited but not anxious, contented but not sedated. As Hermione turned and smiled, her hair floating wildly around her face, it suddenly dawned on him: it was hope.

Reluctant as he was to see her go, he was pleased by the assurance that he would see her again soon: in class, but also for a butterbeer in Hogsmeade the following weekend. He was anxious to see her again, talk to her, this young woman who was proving to challenge him both emotionally and intellectually.

That night, Severus slept soundly. He dreamt of neither Lily nor Voldemort nor Dumbledore. All the usual haunters of his sleep were silent, leaving him to his thought—his memories—of Hermione. As he poured his morning tea, it occurred to him that perhaps her comforting presence in his life was sufficient guard against nightmares, her presence in his bed not as necessary as he'd imagined. Not to say he still wouldn't like that very much, but it was reassuring to know that the comfort stayed, even when she was gone.

But what of her intentions? Surely he was not imagining it, the way she held his hip as she moved around him in the close quarters of the closet, how she fiddled with her hair and reached around him tightly, brushing his arm with her breasts. Each time she came so close, his chest constricted and he felt their proximity in his groin. Was she doing it knowingly, or was this simply the easy, careless way she moved, oblivious to the growing lust of her potions professor?

Severus carried his tea into the bathroom, and he at once knew the answer to these questions: staring back at him from the mirror above the sink was a gaunt and aging face, set atop a gnarled body, knotted with scars like the tree through which he nearly found his death. He traced his finger along the worst of the scars, the crooked purplish one winding from ear to shoulder.

Stupid bastard, he told himself. Where do you get off hoping she could ever be interested in someone like you?

He traced the scar again, quicker this time, as if miming slitting his throat.

What an idiot. She is young and beautiful and so smart and what are you? Some lonely old pervert who can't think outside his pants for long enough to realize she would be better off without you.

His hands shook, heat rising in chest in anger at the truth he already knew.

Sick fuck! Fantasizing about bedding a student. What a pathetic, weak, damaged...

The mirror exploded, sending fine silvery splinters into the air, and Severus collapsed to the floor.