Hermione sighed softly, so as not to wake the man next to her up, and looked over Severus' sleeping form carefully. Her hand reached out towards his face slowly, fingers tracing along the lines of his angular cheekbone with just enough pressure for him not to notice it and then move away a bit, just in case. He looked exhausted. There were usual shadows under his eyes, his features were paler than usual, and the twitch under his left eye was as significant as ever. Hermione shook her head. She knew perfectly well, that she looked worse for wear herself.

These two years had been hard on them both. And yet they still had no other choice but to carry forward as they always did. They couldn't stop now, not when there was nothing else to look forward to. But there were times when one or the other could feel like giving up and letting their masks drop for even the briefest moment. That night was one of them. She gently stroked his forehead, noticing how his frown relaxed under her touch and smiled sadly. She didn't want to seek the reasons why they had to break up. They had never been in a relationship, for starters, so what exactly had happened in the past? Hermione reflected miserably. Nothing tragical had.

There was nothing that could have possibly drawn them apart. He was the Potions Master and she was his Apprentice. His sense of duty had probably made itself known that time around. That was all... right? The only reason they had broken up was that he'd been too scared of the possible way it could lead them. They both were not ready. She couldn't blame him for that either; the same was true of her. It would have been selfish of her, however, to pretend that it was only him. Which didn't save Hermione from longing for their time together, their friendship, their gathering of herbs under the pale moonlight, and his hugs during the thunderstorms, when she turned into a sobbing mess... No, Hermione reminded herself forcefully. They had to get on without each other, and they were doing that now. She'd make sure of it. No matter what, she wouldn't risk ruining their friendship by putting any weight on his shoulders or trying to make it more difficult. That wasn't the way things should work.

Not in their case, anyway. Yet, he fell asleep in her living room, and he was unconsciously leaning toward her touch. They had both been two fools, Hermione concluded dejectedly. And the following second the bolt of lightning made her jump.

Severus awoke in confusion. The last thing he remembered was being in the forest, looking for herbs... and then falling asleep. Then there had been someone's presence next to him, someone who hadn't quite been able to let go of him yet and who kept running her hand through his hair. It was almost relaxing, although for the life of him he couldn't understand why. The sounds of the storm brought him back to reality. A crack of thunder. Someone breathing. Or perhaps it had been nothing at all.

"Sorry for waking you up," she said softly.

He opened his eyes, seeing that she was staring down at him, her features pale, lips trembling, and felt himself frowning in concern.

"Hermione?"

"It's just bad weather. It's nothing..."

"It's hardly "nothing". At the risk of sounding rude. I, nevertheless, ought to remind you about your difficult relations with heavy rains.

Hermione lowered her gaze. As usual, he saw right through her. It wasn't just nasty weather that caused her distress, it was the trigger she associated with it. Every time the sky was covered in dark rainy clouds, drifting aimlessly across it, she saw the Battle, her parents not recognizing her anymore, the Manor, and her helplessness. The darker it was, the more lost Hermione felt. It was the worst thing he'd seen in years. In the middle of the night, with his arms wrapped around her tightly, he'd wanted to reach out and grab her and pull her close until nothing remained except their warmth. He understood her anxiety. Hell, he sometimes felt the same way. No matter how many years they both spent in Muggle and Wizarding therapy, some scars just remained uncured. That was why they understood each other so well, they both had been through so many similar traumas, through the same hurt and abandonment. It made her feel safer when he embraced her like this because she believed that he could be trusted, that she could tell him whatever came to mind without having to worry about him rejecting her. She loved those moments when she could finally let go and cry openly against his shoulder and forget everything else for a while.

"Come here, witch," Severus whispered softly, opening his embrace in an invitation, "You don't have to play strong at least for this night."

"I stole your shirt...The one that smelled of herbs," Hermione confessed brokenly, hiding her face in the crook of his neck.

Severus laughed quietly. His heart squeezed painfully at the sight of the tear tracks marring her otherwise perfect skin. It was all the confirmation he needed, that she really felt safe enough to admit that her fear and insecurity dissipated in his presence. They need to talk about a lot of things in the morning, but for now, they were comfortable in the warm darkness.

Hermione buried her nose in his neck again and closed her eyes. And let the storm rage outside, here and now, she wasn't afraid.

Severus held onto her tight. For the first time in ages, he actually thought that he might sleep tonight. And with that thought, he fell into a deep slumber once more. The rain rustled softly on the roof, and pitter-pattered on window panes, whispering to them that nasty weather could be soothing because the warmth would always calm right after the storm, spring would follow summer, and they could solve their terrible misunderstandings.