A/N: This is a transitional chapter...some sweet things happen, some not so sweet. This is important, readers: this chapter contains a scene depicting domestic violence. Please don't read this if it will bother you. And please, please don't send me a Howler about it, because, well, you've been warned. And as always, thanks for reading. -slbb

"Some of the leaves are beginning to change colour, Severus," Hermione remarked, turning from the expansive view of the grounds from his room in the Hogwarts infirmary. "Do you mind if we open the window? It's beautiful outside."

Severus looked up from the Daily Prophet. "Not at all. Autumn is quite dear to me. It heralded the end of tortuous summers at home and the return to Hogwarts."

"I'm sorry to hear your summers were tortuous, Severus."

He gifted her a rueful smile. "That was a very long time ago. I don't think on it often."

She stepped toward his bed and sat down gently on its edge, looking him in the eye. "I hope your future summers make up for the past ones."

"I have a feeling they might," he said enigmatically, still smiling at her softly. "Would you like to go outside?"

"Yes! Then how about a short walk today? Towards the lake, perhaps?"

"Indeed."

"Shall I call a healer to assist you?"

"Perhaps we can try it on our own." The unexpected we struck her in her belly, and she flushed. She offered her hand and helped pull him to standing, then linked her arm in his. With his first step, Severus stumbled, leaning into her smaller frame.

"You said you would teach me how to dance," Hermione teased, "I just didn't realize it was going to be today."

"If this is the best waltz you can manage, Miss Granger, you're going to need a lot of work," he whispered, unmistakable tenderness in the infinite dark of his eyes.

"Hours and hours of instruction to be sure," she replied softly.

"To be sure," he said, leaning closer for the briefest of moments then turning away.

As they reached the path to the lake, he quipped, "If the Daily Prophet gets wind that you've escorted me around the lake, you are certain to make the gossip page."

"As a stunning single witch, I am always on the gossip page. Or had you failed to notice?"

"I never fail to notice you," he said, keeping his gaze on the winding path in front of them.

"Stop teasing me, Severus," she said, arching an eyebrow, "or I will hex you into next week."

"Ah, threats from the Daily Prophet's most eligible witch. I'm shaking in fear."

"Obviously, you have no idea what power the gossip page wields."

"Obviously." He paused for a moment. "Madam Pomfrey assures me that I will be released tomorrow," he said evenly.

Her stomach turned to stone. "That's wonderful! I'm so happy for you!" she said as brightly as she could. Was this their last visit? Merlin, what would she do if she couldn't see him every day? "May I ask…where is home?"

"I have recently purchased a small cottage in Hogsmeade Village. I will continue my convalescence there."

Hermione swallowed. "May I still come read to you after you're home?"

"My…days would not be the same without you," he responded.

And with that, they continued toward the bench on the far side of the lake, arms linked, walking in companionable silence.

Back at Grimmauld Place later that afternoon, Ron swung the door to Hermione's bedroom open without bothering to knock. "'Mione?"

"Hello, Ron." She glanced up from A Study in Advanced Charms, willing herself not to look wary while attempting to assess his state of mind.

He leaned against the open doorway, fingers of his left hand twisting the silver ring he wore on his right. "I'm in the mood for some ice cream. How about we go get some? I heard there's a new place in Diagon Alley where Fortescue's used to be. You game?"

"Sure, I'm game," she said, closing her textbook with a snap.

When they had purchased their chocolate sundaes, Hermione and Ron sat down at a wrought iron table in the late afternoon sun. "Brilliant idea, Ron," she said, smiling at him.

At that, Ron reached across the table to take her hand. "You and me, 'Mione, we're still a thing, aren't we? Aren't we still a thing?"

She swallowed hard. "Of course, Ron," she responded levelly, looking down at the half-melted mess in her bowl. "Of course we are."

"And Severus, you must owl me immediately should you experience dizziness or nausea. I recommend-" Hermione stepped into Severus's room, interrupting Madam Pomfrey's lecture. Her Potions Master was sitting on the bed, his brow furrowed in displeasure, a packed leather bag resting next to him. Her chair was gone.

Severus took the opportunity to cut in. "Poppy. I assure you there is no need to repeat your…instructions…yet again. I will contact you should anything arise," he responded in a long suffering voice.

"Yes, but Severus—"

"It seems Miss Granger has arrived to…accompany me. I am in your debt, as ever, Poppy." He rose and turned to Hermione. "Let's go."

"I thought for minute we were going to have to make a run for it," she whispered as they reached the main ward.

"I don't think we're actually safe until we're past the door to the infirmary," he whispered back. "Don't turn around, she's still watching us."

"She's obviously become quite attached. I think you're breaking her heart."

"It wouldn't be the first time."

"You have no shame."

"You have no idea," he smirked.

As they passed the Hogwarts gates, Hermione asked shyly, "How would you like to get to Hogsmeade? I can Apparate us both there if you would like. Or we can just take the path."

"Let's walk for now."

When they had reached the path to the grey cottage—more the size of a bungalow—Severus showed no signs the small journey had tired him. "I believe this is it," he said, indicating a wrought iron gate thick with ivy. His new home was set back from the road, nestled in a copse of tall, still-leafy oaks. They ambled up the path from the gravel road arm in arm.

"It's lovely. I like the stone. And the trees," Hermione said.

"I thought it would suffice. It has a private garden in the back and a room I can dedicate to my work."

"And no view of Hogwarts, I see," she teased.

"Indeed." He paused. "Let's walk to the back," he said, guiding them towards the garden on far side of the property. A low rock wall surrounded the garden on three sides. Severus sat down on a stone bench as Hermione studied the surroundings.

The garden was crowded with established plants, the sheer variety of flora making Hermione smile. Someone had loved this place. She could almost see her Potions Master tending plants rooted in the dark soil, or reading the Daily Prophet while perched on the stone. "It's a peaceful spot, Severus."

"That was my hope. Of course, I was unable to see the property myself until today. It is…as described. It will more than suffice."

"May we look inside?"

"Certainly."

They pushed the wood door open to find a bright sitting room, already furnished. "It's perfect. Simply charming," she said as she walked through the doorway. "The windows…I love them. A bit of a change from your quarters in the castle, I suppose."

"I was fortunate to have someone I trust evaluate the property on my behalf."

"You'll have to introduce me sometime."

He chuckled and settled down on the leather couch. "Indeed."

Although she had never seen his chambers at Hogwarts, she recognized the possessions to be his: deep green curtains, a mahogany desk, a chocolate brown leather couch. Hermione indicated the bookshelves. "So you had your belongings moved already?"

"Minerva assisted me there. As you know, the dungeons were mostly intact after the battle. My quarters, including my books and workroom, were untouched."

"Well, perhaps we can find something more interesting to read now."

"It was unfortunate that no one has been allowed in the dungeon during reconstruction, otherwise my collection would have been at your disposal. Now it is yours to explore as you see fit."

She flushed at the gift. "That is…generous of you, Severus."

"I am known far and wide as a generous man," he said with a smirk.

"Perhaps a dictionary would be a worthy addition to your collection," she teased.

He chuckled. "Perhaps. Regardless, consider it yours."

"Thank you." Hermione sat down next to Severus on the couch. "It's warm today," she commented as she shed her jacket.

As she began to unroll her long sleeves that had bunched up under her coat, he caught her eye. "You don't need to hide that from me, Hermione," he said, indicating her scar.

"I don't want to offend you. I've been told it's…well…repulsive. Disgusting."

He raised an imperious eyebrow. "Repulsive?" He considered her with his infinitely dark eyes. "Hermione, you saw the scars on my back—are they repulsive? Is this brand? Knowing I volunteered for it?" he asked, pulling back his own sleeve to expose his Dark Mark, faded but still visible.

"No, of course not."

"There's nothing about you that is repulsive or could ever be." He got up from the couch and offered her his hand. "Don't allow anyone tell you otherwise."

And to that, she had no reply.

One Week Later

Harry glanced up from the Daily Prophet as Hermione entered the kitchen for breakfast. "Hey, Hermione. Are you going to see Snape today? I have to go to Hogsmeade to pick up some quills at Scrivenshaft's and I thought we could head over at the same time. I'd like to say hello to Snape and see his new place."

"Sure, I'd bet he'd enjoy seeing you. I'm leaving in a few."

The friends Apparated to the edge of Hogsmeade and walked farther east. "It's here, Harry," Hermione said, stepping off the winding gravel road onto the path towards the cottage. She knocked, opened the front door without waiting for an answer, and strode in. Severus was seated on the couch in the front room, an ancient potions book open on his lap. "Hermione," he said in greeting, softly smiling at her.

"Hello, Severus," she said affectionately as she sat down next to Severus on the couch. "Harry wanted to stop by today. I've been telling him how well you're doing. He's here to make sure I wasn't exaggerating," she said with a teasing smile up at Harry.

"Mr. Potter." Severus said, standing and putting out his hand for Harry to shake. "Good to see you. Please have a seat."

"Likewise, Professor. It's good to see you as well."

"May I get you something, Harry?" Hermione asked. "I believe there's pumpkin juice, and if Severus has been good—which I doubt"—Severus chuckled warmly at that—"there may be some butterbeer."

"Sure, Hermione. I'll have a pumpkin juice. Save the butterbeer for Professor Snape," Harry responded with an odd look at Hermione.

She turned to Severus. "What would you like, Severus?"

"A tea if you would, Hermione. Thank you."

"I'll bring out the scones we made yesterday," she said. She caught the look in Harry's eyes. "Rather, the scones Severus made yesterday. Severus has sampled my baking..."

"…and cooking…" Severus added with a wry smile.

"…and decided it was best that he be in charge of the kitchen from now on."

"One of the best decisions you've ever made, Professor," Harry commented.

Severus leaned towards Harry. "Thank Merlin the infirmary is not far, Mister Potter."

Harry snorted. "Once when we were camping last year, Hermione tried to cook a fish—"

"Okay, okay," Hermione said, cutting across Harry. "So I'm not the best in the kitchen. I'm good at…other things." Severus raised an imperious eyebrow. "I'll try not to ruin the snacks between the kitchen and here. Unless, of course, you miss Poppy, Severus…" she said playfully.

"I'd rather spend the afternoon with you," he responded seriously, looking at her, seemingly unaware of anything else. Hermione gave her Potions Master's hand a squeeze, rose from the couch, and entered he small kitchen, leaving her two favorite people to their conversation.

As Hermione returned home that evening, her thoughts were heavy. She never liked leaving Severus and the cottage to return to Grimmauld Place. It made her feel...distracted, almost like she'd left something important behind. She belonged there, sitting in the sunshine on the stone garden bench…or reading next to him on the leather couch next across from a lively fire in the hearth…not in the gloom of a dilapidated brownstone with peeling wallpaper and grimy windowpanes.

The war was long over. How long would she and her battle-weary friends huddle together at Grimmauld Place? How long would they find comfort in living in the same home? How long would she need this crutch? How long would she want it? Severus, who had one of the most difficult roles in the war, had somehow moved on. He had a new home, a new life, a new…future. Why hadn't she?

Still feeling the weight of her thoughts, Hermione sat down at the kitchen table with Harry for supper. "Kreacher fixed a most delicious dinner for Master Potter. And for you, too, miss. You will be liking this, miss," Kreacher said as he distributed the baked potatoes and roast beef.

"Thank you, Kreacher," said Hermione. As he set the food on the table in front of her, Ron sauntered in with a scowl on his face. He sat down and dug into his overflowing plate without a word. "Where's Ginny tonight?" Hermione asked, passing the warm rolls to Harry.

"They called an extra Quiddich practice," Harry said between mouthfuls. "She should be home before 9."

"I have to go watch her one of these nights," Hermione said.

"You should. She's brilliant." Harry stopped chewing for a second and turned to look at his friend. "You know, Hermione, Snape's even different even from when I saw him in the infirmary. I don't mean physically better. There's something else…"

"I know. Isn't it great? I'm just so thrilled for him. He's doing so well."

"So now you're visiting the greasy Death Eater, too?" Ron threw his fork down with a clatter and stood up abruptly, stalking out of the kitchen without another word. Kreacher looked somewhere between scandalized and dejected.

"Fabulous," Harry muttered into his food. "Bloody fabulous."

After finishing dinner, Hermione retreated to her room to continue A Study in Advanced Charms. A soft knock sounded on her open door as Harry peeked in the opening.

"Hey," she said. "Come on in."

"Hey yourself," he said. He made his way inside, trying to avoid the debris strewn on the floor.

"Thanks for coming with me today, Harry," she said, "I'm sorry Ron's in a twist about it."

"It doesn't matter," Harry responded, sitting down on the bed, squeezing himself between two piles of lumpy, clean laundry. "Snape's doing really well."

"Yes, he is. He hasn't left the cottage much yet, but he's walking well on his own and can do everything himself now."

"Hermione…you didn't tell me. You should have told me."

"Tell you what, Harry?"

"If there's one thing I know about you, Hermione, you're not afraid of the truth."

"What are you talking about?"

Harry paused. "You're in love with him, aren't you?" he asked, locking his green eyes on hers.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Harry," she responded. Hoping Harry would not see the heat she felt rise in her cheeks, she rose and moved away.

"Hermione. Listen to me. Does he know?"

She turned to her best friend still seated on the bed. There was really no use in lying to Harry. "I don't know," she conceded softly, looking down at her hands and leaning back against the top of her wooden dresser.

"He's a brilliant man, Hermione, not to mention one of the best Legitimens around. He was a spy for years—he understands how people work. He must know. Does he…care for you?" he said, stumbling though his last question.

"I don't know," she repeated, miserably. "Maybe. I think so." She paused then and looked Harry in the eye. "What do I do? What about Ron?"

"To hell with Ron. You need to do what's right for you."

"But I don't know what that is," Hermione admitted.

"I bet you would, if you talked to Snape."

The mere thought of talking about any…feelings she might have for Severus Snape to Severus Snape made Hermione want to sick up. Violently.

She would never talk to Severus about it, no matter what Harry said. She was smart enough to know better, thank-you-very-much. Smart enough to imagine his grand, condescending smirk and acidic response to her confession: "Really, Miss Granger, you've fallen for me? How charming. Whatever gave you the idea that I had any interest in you?" or "Perhaps you and Poppy can commiserate on what it feels like to pine after someone who just strings you along for their own amusement."

Merlin, he would laugh in her face.

Hermione sat in the Grimmauld Place library, alone with her thoughts. A Study in Advanced Charms lay idle on her lap. Harry and Ginny were off, only Merlin knew where, and Ron had disappeared into his room hours ago. The solitude had given her time to examine her feelings for…him. And, analyze, Merlin help her, whether it was possible that he—Merlin help her again—would ever return those feelings.

Okay, okay, first of all, she had to concede that Harry was right. Maybe she was a teensy weensy bit attracted to him. Who wouldn't be? His voice, his infinitely dark eyes, his wit…he was the most intelligent person she'd ever met. And if that last thing didn't get her knickers in a delicious twist, nothing would. Attracted? Sure. But in love?

What did the difference matter anyway if she had already decided she would never talk to him about it?

She certainly wasn't attractive. She wasn't wealthy, or from an old wizarding family. She didn't have connections…she didn't have…power. She was not Natasha Avery. And she would never be.

Hell, she was a Muggleborn Gryffindor. And he, he was a Slytherin.

Maybe he believed she was too young for him. Maybe he believed it was unseemly to date a former student. Maybe he flirted with everyone, and that was just his way.

And maybe she was a fool for anyone who gave her a bit of attention.

It was a hell of a lot of maybes.

Kreacher entered the library, interrupting her thoughts. With a floor grazing bow, he announced, "Dinner's ready, miss."

Hermione uncurled herself from an overstuffed chair and stretched. "Thank you, Kreacher. I'll call Ron."

"Very well, miss."

Hermione climbed the stairs wondering what state Ron would be in. How black would his mood be? Would he be stumbling drunk and beastly, or simply his once-familiar, albeit unreasonable, self? As Hermione reached his door, she heard muffled noises coming from inside. It sounds like he's asleep and snoring under his blankets. She hesitated, conflicted. Will he be more angry if I wake him or if he misses dinner? I should probably let him know dinner's ready. I'll hear about it for days if I don't wake him up.

Hermione turned the knob as she knocked. "Ron…?" she called softly into the semi-darkness. She heard Ron swear…linens moving and…giggling? She stared into the shadows, trying to discern images in the low light. "Oh!" Hermione gasped, as light blonde hair emerged from under the sheets. Hermione froze as the unmistakable crack of someone Apparating away echoed around the room. Ron did as he pleased—she'd always known that—but seeing a witch in his bed with her own eyes crushed her in new, more agonizing ways.

"How dare you interrupt me!" Ron leapt out of his bed and advanced on her, stopping only inches from her face. Hermione could smell the Firewhisky hot and sticky on his breath. His unbuttoned shirt flapped around him as he pointed in her face, spittle flying. "You stupid, stupid bitch. Now what the hell am I going to do tonight?" Ron fumed, his eyes narrowing.

"What…you said…I thought…?" Hermione stammered.

Ron seized her and slammed her against the wall so fiercely, so abruptly, the back of her head bounced against it. He pinned her there with one hand, his grip splitting the fabric of her blouse. His other hand was quick: his strike, hard and true, split her lip easily, ripping the skin with the ring he wore. "How dare you question me when you shag that greasy piece of shit Death Eater every…single…day? You open your legs for him yet you haven't even snogged me in months? You slut! I'm entitled to have fun, too!" He leaned in closer, the scent of his putrid breath mingling with the coppery smell of blood she felt pooling behind her lip.

"You will never see greasy git again," he whispered maliciously. As Ron raised his hand to strike her again, Hermione wrenched herself away and sprinted out of the dim room. Somewhere safe. With a fleeting prayer that she would not splinch herself, she opened her eyes to find she had Apparated to the front yard of Severus's cottage. Hermione licked her swollen lip. She smoothed her hair and torn shirt, and knocked with a shaking hand.

Severus opened the door, eyes widening fractionally as he took her in. She started talking before he could speak. "I'm sorry, Severus, I'm a bit early today. I mean early for tomorrow. I mean…I seemed to have forgotten my bag…" she babbled, and then the tears came.

Severus stepped forward, encircling her in his arms. After her sobs slowed, he said, "Come inside, Hermione," and sat her down on the leather couch. Steel glinted in his black eyes. "Hermione. What happened?" he asked as he handed her a handkerchief.

"Oh?" she reached up to touch her lip and looked down to see her finger was smeared with blood. "This? It's nothing."

"It's something," he corrected her. His dark eyes demanded the truth.

"Ron…was having a bad day. Apparently, I…interrupted his…plans when I called him to dinner." She blotted her lip with the fabric she found in her hand. Merlin, it smelled of…Severus.

His steely eyes turned flint. "Nothing warrants this," he growled, the dangerous edge in his voice terrifying her. "May I?" he asked, indicating her lip as he sat down next to her. "Hermione, I'm afraid I may not be able to completely prevent a scar," he told her gently. "There is some…skin missing. Would you like me to take you to Poppy?"

She shook her head. "No, Severus."

"I will do what I can," he said, vanishing the blood with a flick of his wand. As he began to sing a healing incantation in his rich velvet voice, she closed her eyes. Merlin, that voice. When he was done, she felt him brush her lip gently with his thumb, and she opened her eyes to the tenderness in his.

"Would you like me to pay a visit to Mr. Weasley?" he asked levelly.

"That won't be necessary."

"Perhaps Grimmauld Place is no longer safe for you. Would you like to stay here…" he stumbled, "until you sort it out?"

"That's not necessary either," she said.

"I cannot watch over you when you are not here," he said with an indecipherable look at her.

She noticed the odd emphasis in his words. "You don't need to do that," her voice still unsteady.

"Actually, I do." His eyes flicked to his bookcase. "Come here," he said, gently pulling her closer and putting his arms around her once more. "It's okay, Hermione. I'm here. I will always be here for you." And with that, she let herself cry.

"Ron has forbidden me to come back," she whispered finally.

"Yet you are here." She looked up at him with wide eyes but didn't respond. "Hermione, it is time for you to make a choice."

"What choice?"

"You know what choice," he said gently.

He rose and walked to one of the room's many bookcases. He pulled out a green leather-bound volume and opened it; inside was a scrap of parchment. He closed the book, placed it back on the shelf, and brought the parchment to her. It read:

use what you find

"I…I don't understand," Hermione said, "this is my handwriting. I don't remember writing this."

"Read it again, tomorrow, after Ginerva leaves your room."

"Tomorrow? I don't understand."

"You will."