One Week Later

There had been much more than the usual amount of grumbling at the suggestion that they spend the afternoon outside, and if Hermione were to be honest, she wouldn't have wanted to be the healer that escorted Professor Snape from his room to the warm lounge chair. The mediwitch who had certainly must have been a Gryffindor. But, despite all of his protests and threats to hex the next healer that dared assist him, once seated, he seemed quite content in the sun.

More than an hour had passed in the fresh air when Hermione felt Professor Snape's eyes on her. She looked up at him, questioning. "I think it's past time that you called me Severus, Miss Granger," he said evenly, breaking the companionable silence.

"All right…Severus," she responded, openly smiling, his given name delightful on her tongue. "So you must call me Hermione."

"Very well then…Hermione."

After a moment, she said, "May I ask you something? Do you miss the life you had…Severus?"

"Do you mean the torture, the constant fear for my life, or the stress of lying to the Dark Lord on a daily basis?" he cracked sarcastically, but without heat.

"I'm sorry, sir. I should have asked if there was anything about it you missed."

"A decidedly odd question, Miss…Hermione." He paused, gazing out onto the grounds. "I have to admit, there will be one thing that I miss…"

"What, sir?"

He paused again before answering her, considering. "The Malfoys would host grand parties with…dancing. I…enjoy the…art of the waltz," he responded slowly. He turned his dark eyes on her. "I realize how petty, spoiled, and petulant that sounds. But…" he paused, "it also happens to be true." He cleared his throat and continued. "Do you enjoy dancing, Hermione?"

"I do. But I'm afraid I don't have much experience. The only formal dance I've ever attended has been the Yule Ball. I only know how to waltz, and barely so."

"I could…teach you if you like," he said with an odd look, as if he were embarrassed at the suggestion. "It would be my great pleasure to instruct you, should you desire."

"I would enjoy that immensely, Severus," she responded shyly, hoping that he wouldn't notice the flush she felt rise in her cheeks, then opened her book to read once more.

"Hermione…?" he asked after a few minutes.

"Hmmm…?" she said, not taking her eyes off her book.

"Never mind. I've forgotten what I was going to ask you."

"I can owl Neville Longbottom for you," she quipped, looking up. "He has a Remembrall—perhaps you could borrow it. That is, if he's remembered where he's put it."

"Merlin, Hermione, you don't have to threaten me," he said with a snarl.

"But it's so delightful to see the look on your face when I do."

Back at Grimmauld Place, Hermione shut the door to her bedroom behind her and sighed, glancing around at the mess. She had spent a pleasant afternoon in the sun with Professor Sn—Severus, she corrected herself—and had been looking forward to a peaceful evening. But her bedroom, in all its exhausting chaos, was not going to cooperate. Everywhere she looked screamed tumoil.

Laundry was everywhere, except, perhaps, in the closet and hamper. Daily Prophets lay abandoned on the floor. Leather bound schoolbooks were piled in teetering columns along the edges of the room and on top of every horizontal surface. She conceded that it was the first time in her life she didn't know exactly where every single possession she owned was located—especially her beloved books.

The part of herself she had relied upon for superb marks throughout Hogwarts, for planning during the hunt for the horcruxes, for order in everything in her life…had simply gone on strike. No matter how Hermione tried, she just couldn't bring herself to clean any of it up. It wasn't that she reveled in the clutter—instead, letting her room go to seed had been freeing somehow. It was one less thing she was responsible for. And if the price of this small freedom was the deplorable chaos that surrounded her, so be it.

With a sigh, Hermione sank down on a bare patch of bed. They had finally finished Wizards of Renown—she smiled as she remembered the scowl on his face when she teased him about being listed in the next edition—and they had also finished most of the volumes in the sparse Grimmauld Place library. Now it was time to add new choices to her rucksack. She needed to find something here, in this mess, that her Potions Master would enjoy. She owned mostly schoolbooks and Muggle novels, which were not of much interest to him. If the Hogwarts Library were only open. She could certainly find something worthy to read to him there.

As she evaluated the merits of yet another title, Ron sauntered in without so much as a knock. She turned when she heard him. "Hey, Ron," she said warily. He smelled of liquor.

"What, gonna go 'read' to that greasy Death Eater again tomorrow, 'Mione?" asked Ron with a sneer.

"Ron, he's still in the infirmary. And I don't mind. He's so different. If you'd come with me, you'd see."

"So," he sneered, picking up an arbitrary book and turning it in his hands, "you enjoy your sneaky little rendezvous, don't you, 'Mione? How many times has he gotten in your knickers? The greasy dungeon bat turned out to be a pretty good shag, huh, 'Mione?" Ron snapped the last, tossing the book back down among the debris on top of her dresser with a small crash.

"Ron, please. He's recovering—he can't even get out of bed without help."

"Exac'ly," he slurred.

"Ron, he just needs company," she pleaded. "Look, Ron, you've been drinking again so you're not thinking clearly," she said, trying to reason with him. "I know it's hard with Fred gone, but you don't have to do this."

"You're right, 'Mione, I don't have to do this," he snarled, indicating Hermione with a nod up and down, "and I certainly don't have to listen to this either," he added at a yell, walking out and slamming the door behind him so vehemently that it vibrated in its frame.

She sat there stunned and mouth agape, staring at the closed door. What just happened?

After a moment, the door handle turned, the door swung open slowly as someone knocked softly. "Hermione…?" the unkempt dark hair and round glasses of her best friend greeted her through the opening in the doorway.

"Hey, Harry," Hermione said. "I guess you heard Ron's exit."

"You okay?"

"Yeah. I think so."

"Come here," he said, enveloping her in giant hug. "Look, Hermione," Harry released her then took her hand in his. "We've all tried—me, Ginny…even George. You need to stop. Stop trying to make excuses for him, stop trying to protect him, stop trying to save him. He doesn't want to be saved. He doesn't want our help. You need to let it go, let him go."

"It's common for those battling depression to express themselves in anger," she recited automatically.

"Look, I get it. I really do. I'm worried about him, too. But at this point I'm more worried about you," he said, locking his green eyes on hers.

"I'm fine, Harry. Truly." She paused, taking in Harry's frown. "Listen, I'll be going to see Professor Snape tomorrow. Want to join me?"

"I can't, Hermione. I told Ginny I'd go shopping with her," he said with a wry smile. He put his hand on the doorknob and turned to go. "Just think about what I said, okay? I'll see you later."

"Okay," Hermione said, collapsing on her bed, surrounded by chaos of her own making.

"Severus, you're standing up by yourself!" she exclaimed with a delighted smile as she walked in to Severus's room the following day.

"Why, Miss Granger," he said, "I might be persuaded to assert that you have a firm grasp of the obvious today."

"Why, thank you, Professor. I couldn't be more pleased at my progress," Hermione responded with an exaggerated curtsey.

Madam Pomfrey looked from Severus to Hermione and pressed her lips tighter together in disapproval. "All right, Severus, that's enough for now," she said, helping him back towards the bed.

"How are you?" he asked, smiling softly at Hermionne after the mediwitch had left.

"I'm…okay, Severus," she said, sitting down. "Things can be…difficult at Grimmauld Place." She paused. "It doesn't matter. How are you feeling today?"

"Better each day." He considered her for a moment. "Something tells me it's the right day to read something lighter, especially after finally finishing Wizards of Renown."

"It was ghastly, wasn't it?"

"Ghastly indeed. Dreadful. I thought it was an attempt to kill me."

"How little you know me. I would much rather hex you than bore you to death. A sight more exciting."

"Well, speaking of exciting, perhaps we could read that book you brought the second day you came to the infirmary…it was Potions for Play, I believe? Do you still have it with you?"

"Let me find it." Hermione opened her bag, rooting around. Once she put her hand on it, she pulled it out and opened to chapter one…and blanched. Witches and wizards were arranged in various compromising…positions. Somehow she got an impression of legs and arms and…Merlin. She slammed the book shut, jumped up and dropped it like it was a spider. "Severus!" she squealed, her cheeks growing hot.

"Ah, the look on your face…" he answered, snickering. "Priceless."

"Severus, you…you…you…!" she sputtered indignantly.

"Indeed," he said between gasps of laughter.

"Sweet Merlin, I brought that to read to you the second day I visited you," she said, feeling herself lose all the blood in her face.

"Indeed," he repeated, with an amused smile when he could speak. "'A children's book…'"

"Very funny," Hermione said and started to laugh uncontrollably. "How did you keep a straight face when I brought it?" she managed finally.

"I am an accomplished thespian. It is just one of my innumerable gifts," he said airily. He continued, a bit more seriously, "It seemed you need a little laughter today. You don't laugh nearly as much as I'd like."

"I did," she said leaning in towards him to cover his hand with her own. "Thank you."

At the sound of two sharp knocks the following day, Hermione looked up to see Harry poking his head in her partially open bedroom door. "Hey," he said. "Ginny's practice was cancelled. What do you say if you and Ron and Ginny and I head out on the town tonight? Maybe dinner than some drinks? Ginny is begging me to take her dancing. And to tell you the truth, I could use a distraction. Whatcha think?"

"That sounds like fun," Hermione answered, smiling. "But who's going to break it to Kreacher that we won't be here for dinner?"

Some hours later, after moving from a restaurant to a nearby pub, the four settled in to a booth with a view of the rest of the pub.

"Dance with me then, Harry?" asked Ginny after the waitress delivered four Firewhiskys.

"Right," said Harry, standing and taking a swallow of his drink, abandoning Hermione with Ron at the table.

"Would you like to dance, Ron?" Hermione asked tentatively.

Ron scowled but didn't bother with an answer, keeping his gaze fixed on the crush of the dance floor. The two sat in silence as the music moved the warm air between them and the bar became fat with Saturday night revelers beginning their evening. Ron sat sourly, scrutinizing the mob, as the waitress approached again.

"Another?" asked the waitress, nodding in Ron's direction.

"Yeah. Might as well bring two," he responded without looking at her. The server rolled her eyes and strode away.

"Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"Never mind."

They sat in the booth, Ron continuing to stare at the couples maneuvering on the dance floor. A blonde witch, dressed in a skimpy shirt and miniskirt, crossed in front of the table and Ron's eyes followed her arse as it bounced by. Dismayed at Ron and distracted by the increasing temperature in the pub, Hermione pushed up the sleeve of her cardigan. At that, Ron finally turned towards her.

"You should cover that thing," he growled, nodding at the scar on her arm, "it's disgusting." He took a large swig of his Firewhisky and dropped it down on the wood. "Someone needs to pay for doing that to you."

"She's dead, Ron—no one needs to pay. Hasn't there been enough hate?" she reasoned.

"So she's dead. So what? Malfoys should be made to pay then. They haven't paid their due. They got away scot-free."

"Ron, I just want to forget—"

"Can't you understand, 'Mione? Merlin, you're supposed to be brilliant," he said with a sneer. At that he slammed down his empty glass and stood up, glowering down at her. "You might be comfortable walking around with that repulsive thing on your arm, but I don't need to sit here and look at it." And without another word, he rose and stalked off, vanishing into the crowded dance floor.

Hermione found that she didn't have the strength or inclination to bother to try and stop him.

As she approached his private room the next day, Hermione heard Severus's comforting, deep, rich voice twisting in laughter, then an unfamiliar tinkle of amusement mirroring his. Hermione hesitated. She knew each healer here at the infirmary—and it wasn't a voice she recognized. Should she go in? She'd promised she'd arrive at two. Perhaps it was a mediwitch who was new to the hospital? Perhaps a visitor? Perhaps the one who seemed to always move her chair?

His door was ajar. Hermione peeked in to find a witch leaning towards Severus and he was sitting up, gazing at her warmly. Hermione's stomach tightened. The witch was perched in the wooden chair—her wooden chair, for Merlin's sake—with her back to the door, her blonde hair perfect and straight, her fitted burgundy dress leaving little to the imagination. I'll just wait outside. Hermione caught his eye as she backed out of the doorway to alert him that she had shown up when she had promised. "Miss Granger, please come in," he said, turning a warm smile on her. The witch in the chair swiveled around and stared condescendingly at Hermione, taking her in, starting from her dusty trainers to her unkempt hair.

"I'll come back later," Hermione squeaked while backing up, picturing her unruly curls, and her ancient, lumpy jumper with matching threadbare denims. She'd not even bothered to look in the mirror before leaving Grimmauld Place. Merlin, she didn't even own anything remotely like what that low cut frock that witch was wearing. When was the last time she bought herself something new, anyway?

"I won't hear of it." He glanced at the witch next to him. "This is Miss Hermione Granger, Natasha," he said smoothly. "Hermione, this is an old friend of mine, Miss Natasha Avery."

Hermione squirmed in the doorway. "A pleasure," she managed.

"Likewise," responded Natasha, raising her eyebrows without rising from her seat. Natasha turned back to Severus, reached out and squeezed his hand. "It was an untold delight to see you, Severus," she purred. "As it appears that you have other plans for the afternoon, I will take my leave of you. But only if you promise I may return soon."

"As the lady wishes," he responded smoothly, kissing her hand. "I'm at your disposal, Natasha."

At that, Natasha rose and made for the door, stopping momentarily to survey Hermione again, spending an inordinate amount of time staring at her hair. "Miss Granger."

"Miss Avery," she responded as best she could, her throat dry. As the sharp click of Natasha's heels on the tile of the infirmary gradually faded, Hermione said, "Severus, I could have come back later."

"Sit, Hermione." He sighed. "Thank you for rescuing me. Natasha is a dreadful bore."

Hermione managed to make her way to her wooden chair. "I'm sorry?"

"A spoiled, insecure, vapid bore, if you must know."

"Merlin, Severus, tell me what you really think," she said evenly, the tightness in her chest loosening a little.

"What I really think? I think she's hunting for a husband. I'm afraid my recent status as a War Hero and Order of Merlin, First Class more than make up for my lack of pureblood status," he said with a scowl.

"Please don't tell me that some still think that way," she said with her own sigh.

"Some will always think that way." He sighed again. "It doesn't matter. I'm not interested."

"Why ever not?" she said, finding herself…fishing. "She's very pretty."

"I have no desire to marry a vacuous brat, which would require me to walk around my own home with my wallet open and a children's thesaurus so that I might translate my conversations into words small enough for her to comprehend."

"Severus…" Hermione giggled, "You're searching for someone who matches your intellect? There's nothing like setting your expectations high."

"Who said I'm searching?" he said, looking her in the eye, seeming to say, for the brightest witch of your age, you can be rather thick, can't you?

Hermione felt her face flush and looked away.

He broke his stare and cleared his throat. "I'm not interested in reading today, Hermione."

"Is there something else you would like to do? Chess? Muggle checkers, perhaps?"

"Not today. Tell me about you," he said simply.

"What do you mean?"

"It's not a difficult request, Hermione."

"Haven't you had enough of boring topics of conversation for one afternoon?" she quipped.

He ignored her comment. "Tell me what you enjoy doing with your time. Tell me about what you do when you aren't here honouring me with your company."

"Er…"

"Come now. I'd…like to know more about you. I realize I know very little about your life, actually."

She looked at him skeptically. "I can't imagine you finding any of what I'd tell you at all interesting. I'm just not very interesting."

He stared at her and frowned, saying, "Nonsense."

"I'm afraid if I describe my life in any amount of detail, you will beg Natasha to return and regale you with tales of her days, which, compared to mine, will sound like the most compelling adventures in world travel and contemporary witch fashion that one could dare to imagine. And then the illusion of my enviable life would be gone."

"Hmmm, she's far more intriguing when you put it like that. However, seeing through illusions is a favourite hobby of mine," he quipped.

"Well then, let me see. This week alone, I single handedly tamed a rabid laundry pile, rallied housemates in the cause of contributing to the organization of a neglected library, succumbed to an invitation to sweets, and, how could I forget—I was trounced at wizarding chess. However, in the interest of full disclosure, I also abdicated my throne and published a novel in my spare time. Make that a play, yes, being a playwright sounds so accomplished, don't you think?"

"Utterly riveting. Merlin, Hermione, how on earth did you find time to visit me?"

"Well, it's simply a matter of priorities. Attend to the masses or read the Daily Prophet gossip page to Severus? Obviously, I needed to abdicate the throne so as not to be bothered by such mundane things as, you know, ruling an empire."

"Obviously. But tell me how does one 'succumb to an invitation of sweets'?"

"A housemate offered me a chocolate frog. I was unable to resist."

"I'm on the edge of my seat."

"I knew you would be. It's beyond interesting. Captivating. Engrossing."

"Mesmerizing, even," he added with a slow smile. Returning to his original topic, he said, "Who are your housemates? Are you staying at Grimmauld Place?"

"Yes, I am. Harry, Ron and Ginny Weasley live there with me. Kreatcher has been cleaning it up. It's a bit better than when you saw it last."

"So, it's Potter and Ginny Weasley, and you and Ron Weasley, then."

She hesitated at this. It had been true once, she supposed. Even if she hadn't even been alone with Ron in that way for, well, months. Even if she hadn't wanted to be alone with Ron in, well, ages. "I have my own room, Severus," she said evenly.

"I'm not trying to pry."

"I know. It's okay. Ron hasn't been handling things well since the war ended." She hesitated again, unsure how much she should share. "He drinks. A lot. I suppose he's drunk more than he's sober. He's…angry all the time. I…we're not together. I thought we were immediately after the war but now…no. I…it just breaks my heart to see him so…bitter at the world."

"I'm sorry, Hermione." Now it was his turn to hesitate. Something changed in his dark eyes, as if a long past memory tugged at him. "Are you safe there at the house? With Mr. Weasley?"

"I'm fine, Severus. Even though he spends most of his time drunk and angry, Ron would never hurt me."

"If that changes, I am always here," he said seriously, locking his infinitely black eyes on hers. "For you, I can be anything you need me…or want me to be."

"Okay," was all she could manage, thinking she might fall into the depths of those eyes.

"See? That wasn't hard, was it? And now I know so much more about you."

"Yes, well. You must promise not to divulge any juicy details to the Daily Prophet. I have to think of the wellbeing of my empire, you know," she said cheekily.

"You have my word, Your Highness."

"Good afternoon, Severus," she said with a soft smile as she settled herself in her chair the following day. "I…brought you something," she stammered, suddenly shy.

"Indeed?" he responded, eyebrow raised.

Seeing that he was not put off by a potential gift, she continued. "I wanted to see if you would 'succumb to an invitation of sweets'," she said, her soft smile blossoming into wicked one.

"It sounds positively indecent when you phrase it that way," he quipped.

She found her face grow hot as his tease. She looked down into her bag to hide her flush, and produced two Chocolate Frogs. "One for you, one for me."

"Hmmm. It's been years." He looked at her thoughtfully. "I'm not sure what I'll do if I get Dumbledore."

"What are the odds?" she asked, handing him one. "What if you get you?"

"Pardon?"

"Didn't you know? All those the Ministry has deemed War Heroes have their own cards now."

"I think I've lost my appetite," he said with a frown, eyeing the package suspiciously.

"Nonsense. If you don't want to keep it, you can just trade me. I'd love to have you."

"You'd love to have me?" he replied. She looked at him and arched an eyebrow. "Perhaps I should rephrase…" he said, as she saw it was his turn to flush.

She decided teasing him was the best response. "Having you is all I think about each and every time I slowly tear one open…" she said in her best languid, sexy voice, demonstrating with the Chocolate Frog in her hand as she licked her lips and then bit her bottom one. She looked up and laughed.

He had turned alarmingly white, which was not an improvement from the pink. He cleared his throat. "Merlin, Hermione, yet another attempt to kill me?"

"Really, Severus, you truly do need a drink."

"Indeed, Miss Granger. Indeed," he managed, his face beginning to return to a normal colour once more.